Why is it the minute you know you should be doing other things an idea for a fic springs into your head and won't leave you alone? Still, it makes a pleasant change from the daily grind of job hunting, at least.
I blame Jazzola for this one, she wanted more in the way of plot. Although this being Galex I suspect some smut will sneak in. Eventually …

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Tits in a Jumper

Chapter 1

Alex Drake woke up on the sofa yet again feeling somewhat disorientated. The clock on the mantelpiece indicated four fifteen and she blinked in disbelief, sighing heavily. She really must stop reading Sam Tyler's file before bed, this was the third night on the trot she'd fallen asleep midst paragraph. Trouble was, it was such a fascinating case she found it hard to put down.

Thank goodness it was Friday and she had the whole weekend stretching ahead to really get to grips with it. Reluctantly she tiptoed upstairs so as not to wake Molly, dropped her clothes in a heap on the chair and crawled into bed. She lay looking up at the ceiling, her hands pillowing her head. What was it about Gene Hunt that fascinated her so much? He was clearly a colourful figment of Sam's vivid imagination, a boorish Northern copper with all the social graces of a barn wall but actually a decent bloke underneath. Not unattractive to the opposite sex either, from Sam's description. God, she was so fed up of all the politically correct 'new men' she crossed paths with on a daily basis. What a shame 'the Guv' wasn't real: a handsome bit of rough was probably just what she needed right now. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep, a little smile playing round her lips.

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She had her nose firmly stuck in the file the following afternoon as she blithely stepped out between two parked cars. There was nothing the van driver could do as he told the older police officer shakily, watching in shock as she was carried into the ambulance and raising a silent prayer. Judging by the grim faces of the paramedics, it wasn't looking good. The younger copper picked up the file she'd been so engrossed in and flicked through it. Must have been fascinating reading, he thought, tucking it under his arm with a sad shake of his head.

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When Alex came round she was lying flat out on the pavement, struggling to focus on the craggy face of the man holding her hand. A middle aged woman was fussing over her and trying to help her sit up.

"Are yer alright, luv? Still feel faint?"

Alex blinked, shaking her head and struggling to her feet. She swayed, feeling as though her legs belonged to somebody else, and the man offered her his arm.

"Let's get yer inside, shall we? Nice cup of tea'll help."

She looked up at the grim façade of the building in front of her, not recognising it.

"Where are we?"

"The police station, luv. I'm sure they'll look after yer."

Their accent was distinctly northern, and the woman behind the desk had the same nasal twang as she led Alex to a chair.

"Just wait there fer a minute while I get rid of this bloke, luv, and I'll sort yer out a cuppa, alright?"

Alex nodded dumbly, wondering if she was dreaming. She glanced down at herself and blinked in disbelief. A figure hugging V-necked sweater which left very little to the imagination and a matching pair of tight flared trousers. In purple. Not so much a dream as a nightmare.

"We'll leave yer now, luv. Yer in good hands."

"Thanks for your help."

She gave her rescuers a weak smile and turned her attention back to the woman behind the desk who was clearly having a few problems with an unwanted visitor.

"Frank, yer rat-arsed. Again. If yer don't bugger off I'll bang you up fer bein' drunk and disorderly, and get DCI Hunt to come and 'ave a quiet word, alright?"

"Yer a hard woman, Phyllis."

Alex pricked up her ears as the other man weaved his way towards the door, grumbling to himself. The other woman sighed and shook her head.

"Sorry about that. One of our regulars, just wants a nice cosy cell fer the night. Now, about that cuppa …"

"Did I hear you mention DCI Hunt? That wouldn't be Gene Hunt, would it?"

"Yes, luv. Do yer know him, then?"

"I know his name, I'm not quite sure where from, though."

Phyllis looked sceptical and scratched her head.

"I'd best take yer to him then. What's yer name, luv?"

Alex furrowed her brows and concentrated hard. Nothing.

"I honestly have no idea …"

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As Phyllis pushed through the doors ahead of her, Alex was immediately aware of a thick fug of cigarette smoke and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Surely this couldn't be a police station? What about Health and Safety regulations? As she followed the older woman into the room an outburst of rowdy male laughter assaulted her ears before silence descended.

Ahead of her was a cluster of male officers, and there was a collective intake of breath as several pairs of eyes swivelled in her general direction. One man stood out from the crowd even though he was facing away from her, his hands in his pockets and his feet planted firmly apart. He was taller than the rest, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, and something about his macho stance told her he was unmistakeably in charge. She contemplated his broad shoulders and tight backside before he turned slowly and she found herself gazing into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Her stomach did a little flip as he looked her up and down, his arrogant stare stopping to rest on her ample cleavage.

Out of the corner of his mouth he mumbled quietly to one of the others, but she caught the remark.

"Tits in a jumper, Raymondo."

She was sure she'd come across that phrase somewhere before. Suddenly aware that all their eyes were fixed on her chest she crossed her arms defensively, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. Phyllis squeezed her shoulder and she took some comfort from the small gesture of female solidarity.

"This lady thinks she might know yer, Guv."

His gaze never wavered from her chest.

"Sweetheart, if we'd met before I'm sure I'd remember."

The other officers laughed lasciviously and Alex decided she'd had enough of being ogled, speaking through clenched teeth.

"Maybe you could talk to me, I'm up here."

Slowly his gaze moved up to her face and she was lost, drowning in those glorious eyes with their insanely long lashes. He might not be conventionally handsome but he was undeniably attractive, with that cleft chin, those pouting lips and that air of brooding masculinity. She felt like Jane to his Tarzan, and the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. A pulse started up between her thighs and her knees went weak as she found herself mentally undressing him.

He sat on the corner of a desk, his endless legs crossed at the ankle, his eyes narrowed in contemplation as he took another drag from his cigarette. She felt intimidated by his sheer male presence and her body's instinctive reaction to it.

"So. What do yer remember then, luv? Get it off yer chest."

The other men sniggered and she sighed, rubbing a hand tiredly over her eyes and deciding she couldn't be bothered to react to his pathetic sexist attitude.

"Nothing, really. Your name just sounded familiar from somewhere."

He smirked.

"I'm the famous Manc Lion, the whole of Manchester quakes in its boots at the mere mention of me name."

Phyllis rolled her eyes.

"Infamous, more like. She was found spark out on the pavement, Guv. Maybe she's had a knock to the head."

He nodded and motioned her in the direction of his office.

"Come and take the weight off yer feet, luv, don't want yer keelin' over again on my watch. Tea, Phyllis?"

"On the way, Guv."

As he followed her Alex knew his eyes would be glued to her shapely behind and she couldn't help herself, exaggerating the sway of her hips as a little shiver of desire ran down her spine.

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Intrigued? Want more? Be kind and let me know, then! :)