Well, look at that — a little over a full year since the last update, but it seems there's still some life in this naughty little number yet. Besides, if Wombledon can manage an update to a great story after 2 years (go read "A Town Called Alex", OK? I tried linking it and this thing isn't behaving!), maybe I should have a go too, yeah?

Right, so when we last left them, Gene had... oh, just go back and re-read the last chapter or seven, that's what I had to do.

"You're still not going to tell me where we're going?"

Gene lit up while he waited for the light to change. The corner of his mouth twitched up. "Don't think I will, no."

"You're infuriating."

"So I've been told."

"And you're a complete arse."

"I believe we recently established my arse was one of your favourite features, no?"

"Well, there had to be some incentive for me to get dressed and into the car with you at this hour."

The light changed and he shifted gears, tearing through the empty intersection like the hounds of hell were on their tail. Alex let out a shriek and he glanced over at her. She'd worn the low-cut jumper, of course.

"Might want to grab hold of something, Bols. I'd offer my arse, but I'll be needing it over here for a bit yet."

"Eyes on the road, please. My tits will still be here when we arrive at... wherever the hell you're taking us."

Eight minutes, twenty-three seconds, and more ignored traffic signs than she cared to count later, the Quattro skidded to a halt, landing almost-neatly in an almost-legal parking space, outside a diner that could almost pass for open.

"Why am I not surprised that you know the only three places on this side of town that serve a full English at this hour? You're a bloodhound, Gene."

"Also undeniably true."

As per his prediction, the only places open for all-night brekkie were dimly lit, cheap and greasy. This one was greasier than most. Alex enjoyed watching Gene dive into his beans like a starving man, mentally ticking off her list of all the reasons why this was still such a completely bad idea.

"You know, just because men call you a bird doesn't mean you need to eat like one."

"Charming as ever." She took another bite of toast, swirled her tea in the cup and looked at him slyly over the rim. "I didn't come along for the food, you know."

"No?" He polished off the last of his black pudding, planted his elbows on the table, and slowly licked a bit of sauce from a finger. Then another. He picked up his mug and met her eyes. She was watching him behind her tea, one eyebrow arched in apparent amusement.

"What?"

"You may insist you're not a tart, Gene, but you are one hell of a tease."

"I beg your pardon."

"You refuse to take advantage of me earlier despite my repeated requests to the contrary..."

"Mmm, yeah. That was surprisingly forward of you. I could get to like that."

"...only to show up at my door five hours later for a 'third date' in which you whisk me out into public where we have to behave ourselves." His eyes narrowed at the air quotes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're dragging this out. Tease."

"Huh." He took another swig of tea. "Well when you put it that way, guess I'm guilty as charged."

She couldn't quite manage to keep her face entirely devoid of smugness. "And you are suspiciously agreeable tonight. Anyone who knew you might think you were plotting something."

"Never know with me," he retorted amiably. "Deeply mysterious, remember?" She snorted a laugh. "Of course," he leaned across the table toward her, closer, "I could just be testing a theory."

"A theory?" Her stomach did a little flip under his unflinching gaze. "Okay, I can play. Tell me your theory."

"All in good time, Luv." His eyes were devouring her. "So, you managed to catch a few winks, then?"

He's doing that... that... thing again. Where he sucks you in and... Damn him! Alex steeled her features to try and keep from giving away too much. If they were going to play this out, she was going to make him work for it. "Mmmm. Didn't fall asleep as fast as a I'd hoped, though. Too distracted."

"Oh?"

She became vaguely aware that he had started tracing a light pattern on the back of her hand, but still he never looked away. She felt the warm flush creeping up to her face. Stopitstopit, Alex... "Well, I had some built-up tension I had to work off first."

"Did you now."

"Mmmmm."

"Tell me."

"Right now?"

"Storytime Round Two, Bols. You brought it up, so go on, tell me what you did after I left last night. In detail." He leaned over the table and his lips nearly tickled her ear, thumb continuing to trace over her hand. "It's just us," he murmured, in a tone that she suspected was designed to melt knickers in three syllables or less. "No one else here right now."

She looked around the restaurant. True enough, they were alone. Even the waitress had buggered off to the back. The short-order cook was nowhere to be seen, probably out lighting up in the alley. Or over the grill, which would explain the strange flavour to her toast.

"I didn't bring us here because they had the best food, you know. Point of fact, nine out of ten night-owls and pub-crawlers agree it's the worst, so we have the place to ourselves." He leaned back and picked up his tea again. "Go on, now. Tell the Gene Genie your bedtime story."

"You complete, utter bastard," she said, a little breathless. "I'm impressed. You're not just any tease, you're a master tease."

"Yes, I am, thank you for noticing. I'd like to say I came by it naturally, and I know it's a shock to learn that I wasn't always this silver-tongued, but in truth it's a skill that took me years to perfect."

"Well I, for one, am relieved to see you use your powers for good."

He looked away briefly with a smile that on anyone else might be described as coy before pinning her down with his level gaze. "Come on now, I'm waiting. After I left, what did you do? Don't leave out a single thing."

She sat up a little straighter and composed herself. He asked for it. "Okay, then. After you left, I put on my pyjamas and went to bed..."

"That black satin set I folded earlier?"

"Yes, the black satin. But I couldn't seem to fall asleep. I... I..." She took a deep breath. "This is surprisingly hard."

"It's not the only thing," he noted.

"Really?" She slipped a shoe off under the table. "Hmmm."

"Black satin..." he prompted.

"...and not able to fall asleep," she continued.

"Something about 'built-up tension', you mentioned."

"Quite a bit, yes." Under the table, her shoeless foot sought out... ah, there. She slowly began running her foot up his leg. "And I find the best way to deal with being that tense is a good, firm rub down."

"Firm, you say?" He adopted what he felt was his best poker face as her foot reached his thigh, but he knew it was going to become more difficult by the inch. She was still moving upward. Slowly. "How firm are we talking here?"

"Very firm. Have to work out all the... kinks." She pressed her toes somewhat more solidly into his upper thigh, and his eyes flicked down to his lap quickly and back up again.

"Got a lot of those, do you?" he deadpanned. "Kinks?"

"A few. But I know exactly how to deal with them." She blinked demurely, and just as she was about to move up the last couple inches, Gene grabbed her foot under the table.

"Nope, not yet, Bolly. No playing footie with the goods until you've had a taste of your own medicine." He tickled the bottom of her foot and she let out a yelp, pulling it back out of his hand.

"Okay, then, your turn. What did you do after you left?"

He put an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "I got home, flopped down in my comfy chair, closed me eyes..." His voice dropped to a low growl as he leaned slightly forward. "...and all I could think about was your lips and your tits."

She smiled. "Good to know you have your priorities."

"Oh yeah. Tits. Lips." He reached up to her face and his thumb traced lightly along her jaw to her mouth. She closed her eyes and leaned slightly into his touch as he continued, more quietly, "and how both of them would feel wrapped arou—"

Her breath caught and her eyes flew open. "Oh, God, you're killing me here."

"Good. Consider this payback for all the times you've waltzed around the office in short skirts."

"Bastard," she panted.

"And loving it."

She put on a pout, leaning in to say archly, "And just what makes you think I'd be willing to—"

He caught her hand as her finger wagged in front of him, interrupting her with a wicked, narrow-eyed smirk. "You didn't slap me for suggesting it."

Her mock-pout became a smile. She leaned back and picked up her nearly-empty cup of tea.

"So," she asked as innocuously as she could manage, "just how are your... arteries?"

"Definitely getting harder by the minute."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Because my tea is cold. I'm going to need something to warm me up."

He pulled out his wallet, retrieved some cash, threw it down on the table and stood up, holding out his hand to her. "In that case, get your shoes back on, woman. I know just the place." He pulled her to her feet just as the waitress burst out through the kitchen doors.

"Yeah?" the weathered woman called out loudly, kitchenward, "Well next time don't leave it hangin' out if you don't wanna chance it catchin' fire!"

They looked as one at the waitress, and then back to one other. "And would you believe," he said, "that it's even posher than here?"