Until My Well Runs Dry
by imp

Until My Well Runs Dry

imp

Summary

Jack gets sick. Phryne puts him in her bed.

Notes

None

Chapter One

"You don't seem well," Phryne said when Jack, having been invited over for dinner, knocked over a wineglass and a candle with a single sneeze.

"It's nothing," he said. "A few too many cold nights outside."

"Really, you should leave chasing the late-night lawbreakers to younger men." Phryne sipped her wine, eyeing him with a gaze that was frankly a bit more speculative than he preferred, from her.

"Are you calling me decrepit, Miss Fisher?"

"Of course not. I'm hardly fit for winter overnight stakeouts, myself." She narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head when a clap of thunder sounded outside. "Are you sure you're fit to travel home?"

"It's a short drive, Phryne. I'll be fine."

He became dizzy on his way out; he was not fine.

Normally, he was capable of keeping a good head on his shoulders when sick. It stood to reason that Phryne would be the one to ignore his usual brushoffs, bundling him off into bed before he had a chance to protest.

It wasn't until he woke up hours later, in the dead of night, that he realized - looking around the room - that it must be her room. The sheets certainly smelled enough like her. And that was...really, given the circumstances, not a wise thought. He still felt fairly infirm, but much better for having slept several hours. He'd been running himself ragged, and rest in a soft bed was exactly what he needed.

The bed was, in fact, very soft. And warm. So warm that -

He rolled over. Phryne was lying next to him, face as enigmatic in sleep as it was when she was awake. She was lying on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, an expanse of skin so soft-looking that Jack curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. Her hair was mussed, curly at the ends. She looked beautiful, and she was not his to touch - to kiss, or to hold. So he lay on his back and shut his eyes, doing his best to ignore his impulses.

He fell back asleep eventually; he was too sick not to. When he woke in the morning, he felt considerably refreshed. His fever, if it wasn't gone, was less intrusive, and his head felt clearer.

All of that made it somewhat more difficult to ignore Phryne curled into him, a warm weight against his side.

She didn't have her limbs thrown over him. Her hips were curved away from him, her legs and arms tucked up against him. She still looked a bit mischievous, and he felt something in him wrench - a compulsion to touch her a thousand times stronger than it had been in the middle of the night.

He didn't act on it. He couldn't. Instead he said, "Miss Fisher."

She didn't stir.

He swallowed and lifted a hand, putting it on her shoulder. "Miss Fisher," he said again, more adamantly.

She made a noise low in her throat, stretching as she opened her eyes. "Jack," she said. "You look better."

He forced his expression to stay noncommittal. "In no small part thanks to you making me rest. Though I'm not sure why I was put in your bed."

"I'd think that would be obvious." Phryne smiled at him. It was her usual sly smile, but there was a hint of concern in it, something that made him pay just a bit more attention. "I wanted to keep an eye on you."

The moment stretched, and stretched, until Jack became flustered by virtue of not having said anything. He sat up, then, and looked away. "Well done. I am thoroughly repaired."

"We'll go to breakfast," Phryne said. "I wouldn't dream of you leaving on an empty stomach." She sat up as well.

He didn't think about it. In fact, he didn't intend to touch her at all. But her lips were still red, stained a little - no doubt from the lipstick she wore every day. Her cheeks were flushed, her nightgown wrinkled. The layers that normally kept them at a safe distance weren't present - clothes, makeup, company. Formality. He said, without thinking, "Phryne."

Even as he registered how low his own voice was, her lips parted, and he leaned in to kiss her.

She handled it with aplomb, of course. He'd seen her stripped of her composure before, and he would have hated it if a kiss from him were enough to do that. She kissed him back, one hand rising to rest on his shoulder, then curl around his neck, nails digging into his skin. She leaned into him, pressing her lips against his a fraction harder before finally moving away.

He tried to look reasonable when she studied him. Calm, even. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded, but the insecurity that thought engendered wasn't nearly as frightening as it might have been even a month ago.

"Kissing in my bed is considerably different than kissing at a public table, to hide from a criminal," she said finally.

"It is," he said. "Are you opposed?"

"Jack," Phryne said. "Don't be ridiculous." She leaned in and pushed him, hard enough that he fell over. That made it easy for her to hike her nightgown up to her thighs and straddle him, before leaning down to kiss him again.

This time it was messier. She was skilled, and he was enthusiastic, but they both were - evidently - accustomed to being in charge. It didn't help that Jack himself was dizzy with desire, growing harder with every sweep of her tongue against his. He'd been celibate for a long time - too long - too absorbed in his work, and too determined to ignore his attraction to Phryne. Now he had her in his arms, could grip her thighs and press her hips down against him, and it was almost too mugh.

"You know," Phryne said the next time they pulled apart, "I'm told I'm quite skilled at this."

"I'd be shocked if you hadn't been," he said.

She smiled. She still looked calm, even serene, sitting on top of him. It made him want to roll them over and make her shake, make her keen.

There was nothing stopping him, he realized. He gripped her hips and rolled them, keeping hold of her body. When he was fully on top of her, she laughed a little. "How often did you have to practice that?"

"Most women don't put themselves on top right away," Jack said, and tugged at her nightgown.

She shrugged it off with ease, and then there was only her skin - smooth, beautiful, but not flawless. She had spidery marks on her legs and a few scars on her hip, and their presence more than anything else anchored him. This was real. She was real.

He'd been thinking about it more than he should, but his imagination was a paltry, sad construct next to the real thing.

"Not that I object to being looked at," Phryne said, "but there are other things you could be doing, too."

"True," Jack said. He trailed a single finger through the hair at the apex of her legs. She was a little wet, but he had ambitions beyond a little. He rubbed his thumb over her clitoris, smiling a little when her breath hitched. His objective was less direct, though. He spread his hands on her thighs and pushed them open, then settled between them. From here he could kiss her thighs, her hipbones, one hand reaching up to play with her breasts. Later, he thought, he could spend more time getting to know her body. Right now...

He gave her tight nipple one last light squeeze, then returned his hand to her cunt. It was easy to spread her lips a little, to look at her - pink and brown, impossibly soft, utterly ordinary and yet beautiful at the same time. He almost laughed when she reached down and tugged his hair. "Don't worry. I'm not a tease." He leaned in and licked her, slowly, firming his tongue and curling the tip so that he caught her clitoris on the way up.

"Jack," Phryne said. Her legs curved around him, thighs shaking, as he circled her opening with one finger. She seemed more than amenable, canting her hips towards him as he licked her, so after a moment he pressed two fingers in - slowly, firmly, feeling her flutter around him.

She wasn't quiet. He hadn't thought she'd be. She moaned, thrashed, said his name over and over, repeated blasphemies, and finally just cursed and cursed as he brought her over the edge, his fingers curled inside her, his mouth open over her cunt. His head was swimming as she slowed the pace of her hips. He felt overcome by her, in the best way. Her fingers batted at his throat, and then - perhaps remembering that she'd taken his shirt off last night - tangled in his hair, pulling him up.

Her kiss was languid this time. She smiled into his mouth, then lifted a hand he hadn't even noticed her move. "Family planning," she said, and reached down for his trousers.

He laughed a little, making quick work of his clothes. Moments later, he was sliding inside her, supporting himself on arms that were shaking a little more than he'd prefer. She didn't seem to mind, though. She arched her back and moved with him, digging her nails into his back. He'd have scratches, which he supposed was deliberate. She kissed him, squeezing around him, wet and inviting. He reached down between them, but she batted his hand away. "You need the leverage," she said, smiling up at him. It was a friendly smile, an affectionate smile. It made him dizzy. He almost didn't hear her say, "I prefer men to exert themselves, after all."

That was clear instruction. He thrust hard, jolting them both. She moaned and rubbed herself, locking her legs around him. He could last - he wasn't some boy at university - but he almost didn't want to. He kissed her, moved with her, until his own pleasure built past what he could endure. He came inside her, shaking all the while, and she pressed her fingers flat against herself and followed him in short order, biting his lower lip as she shuddered through it.

He started to talk, saying, "Miss -", but she cut him off with an almost vicious kiss.

"Jack. If you don't call me Phryne, after all this, I will be extremely put out."

It was an arch, imperious command, but he could sense the feeling beneath it. It was the same sort of need he felt in his own heart, a sense that this had been a long time coming, and he needed it.

"Phryne," he said. He sounded as spent as he felt. He pulled out of her, then kissed her neck, her shoulders, her cheeks. Her lips. "Phryne."

She smiled. "Much better," she said, and pulled him to her, arranging him until he was half on top of her. She seemed quite comfortable that way, and it meant he could keep an eye on her. Even Phryne couldn't get up to too much when pinned by him.

Probably.

He was drifting off when someone knocked on Phryne's door. "Yes?" she said.

"Hugh's on the telephone, miss," Dot said. "There's been, well. They need Jack at the station, if he's able."

Jack groaned. Phryne laughed.

"We'll be out in just a few minutes," she said.

"A few minutes?" Jack said, lifting his head.

She looked like a queen when she said, "A lot can be done in a few minutes."

She proceeded to prove it.