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Chapter Text

Smoothing her windblown bob as best she could, Phryne Fisher entered the lobby of the Savoy, and paused to exhale. As thrilling as the journey had been in parts, the unexpected delays and her father’s whinging had taken their toll, and she wished now for nothing more than to bask in the hotel’s opulence. Having left her parents to their incoherent reunion, she could think only of inquiring for telegrams and then retreating to her room for a long, luxurious soak. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her pocket, where a handful of such telegrams were gathered. Collected at various points along the way, they had both buoyed her spirits and sparked an even fiercer yearning for their sender.

Phryne reached the front desk and cleared her throat. She had attempted to wash her face at the airfield’s lavatory, but she knew she must still look a sight.

“Hello, might you have any messages for Miss Phr – ” she began, before a deep voice broke in.

“If you’re going to demand that I follow you, Miss Fisher, the least you can do is be on time.”

Incredulous, Phryne whipped to her right, to the sight of a man seated in an armchair. His legs were languidly crossed, and long, elegant fingers held a newspaper in front of him. He lowered it slowly, until Phryne saw the face that had lingered in her thoughts in innumerable moments, over innumerable miles. His skin was more tanned than she’d seen before, setting off his blue eyes in a striking contrast.

“I’m fashionably late, Jack,” she replied with a coy smile, holding back the compulsion to fling herself into the armchair as well. “Do you always acquiesce so nicely to demands?”

“I do on occasion, when they’re charmingly given.” He gave a small smile in return, looking utterly desirable, and a brief glance around the lobby confirmed to Phryne that hers were not the only female eyes with such thoughts. She had the sudden feeling that it had been far too long since she had last done something scandalous in London.

“How did you – ” she gestured with her hand, too tired to even form the question.

“Wartime connections, a good deal of luck, and the fact that that Uncle Ted left a bit more than his coin collection.” He turned a page of his paper, briefly glancing up at her again. Though his actions might seem detached to the openly curious desk clerk who was looking on, the flash in Jack’s eyes was unmistakable to her, and she was rapidly becoming desirous to see it in closer quarters. “How were your travels?”

“The travels, lovely. The traveling companion, less so.”

Jack turned another page. “Will you dine with with me tonight?”

“Of course.” Phryne paused until he looked up again. “And later,” she continued silkily, fixing her eyes on his, “I have another demand that I’d like to make.”

Slowly, Jack laid the paper aside, and then ran his hands over his knees once before standing. Closing the space between them in a few steps, he took her elbow in one hand and bent to brush a kiss across her cheek. His voice was low and soft.

“Charming.”

Chapter Text

The plush carpets of the Savoy swallowed up Jack Robinson’s footsteps as he rounded one last corner, his overcoat and hat resting casually on his arm. The longer distance between doors caught his eye, signifying that he’d reached the suites. He schooled his features into nonchalance as he nodded to a passing gentleman, as though strolling through a preposterously elegant hotel like this – to meet a woman in the daylight hours, nonetheless – was a common occurrence in his life. Jack glanced down briefly and gave a slight, rueful smile. Hell, he was usually arresting men in hotels like this.

So much had changed in his assumptions of himself in the past weeks, though, since that moment when Phryne had issued her challenge to come after her. He had once been so captivated by what he’d seen of the world as an untried soldier, before trenches and bullets had blighted the whole experience. And then after Rosie had left their home, he himself had barely left Melbourne, choosing instead to bury himself in his work. The accomplishment of closed cases would almost, but never quite, obliterate his dismal feelings of failure as a husband. But now he’d discovered he could be adventurous again, and could marvel from an open cockpit over windswept desert vistas and froth-tipped seas.

He’d discovered he could be indolent, too, spending an entire afternoon in a dusty used bookshop in his own searches, and then using his knowledge as a policeman to discreetly inquire about the books secreted behind the counter. (He hoped those slim volumes would amuse Phryne…perhaps they could read them together?)

And then he’d discovered he could be frivolous, squandering an unholy amount on a new necktie in a Saville Row shop. Uncle Ted, the pious and frugal soul that he had been, was probably turning in his grave. But Jack had held onto that sum for so very long, first in the hopes of a university education, then for the larger home that he and Rosie had once thought that they’d need. He was well and truly tired of saving it for days that never materialized, when a future with Phryne was easily within his reach.

Still musing, Jack referred again the slip of paper in his hand, even though the words would likely be seared into his mind until his dying day:

“Suite 305. Give me 30 minutes. Yours, Phryne”

The message had been handed to him by a bellhop just 32 minutes ago. He’d accepted it unblushingly, although his heart threatened to jump out of his body on the reflection of just what she would spend those minutes doing. He must have read the same column of his paper a dozen times over as he envisioned her pulling her jumper over her mussed hair, stepping out of her dusty trousers and letting her underthings pool around her feet, before easing herself delicately into the hot, scented water. She’d let out a contented moan – oh, how often he’d imagined that moan – as she would settle into the tub, letting it caress her thighs, stomach, chest. He’d seen almost every inch of her body before, in either pictorial or actual form, and it seemed those last remaining mysteries were not going to remain as such much longer…

Jack knew he would never ask her if she’d found…companionship…along her journey, but her eager summons gave him hope that she’d waited for their reunion. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes at the lobby desk downstairs, the slight slump to her shoulders, but he should have known that it would take more than a few paltry continents to fully exhaust Phryne Fisher. And if she wanted him this instant, he was hers, even if these last hallways seemed rather more terrifying than the long miles he’d already covered. Jack’s eyes widened as they encountered, at last, Suite 305. With one last gulp, he knocked.

The door opened almost immediately. “Jack!” Phryne exclaimed happily, breaking into a wide smile. Her hair was combed into her usual sleek style, the tendrils around her face still somewhat damp.

She said something else, but at that moment, Jack Robinson was discovering yet another descriptor to add to his new persona: lascivious. Phryne was swathed in a thick white dressing gown, and as far as he could determine, only that dressing gown. Without hesitation, and smiling in return, he allowed his gaze to stroke down her entire form, from the pink flush of her cheeks, to the dampness that lingered in the hollow of her throat, to the curves and swells of her breasts and hips, to the knee that peeked out from the overlap. She was unspeakably beautiful.

“It would seem that the remainder of my luggage was mistakenly routed to Claridge’s,” Phryne said demurely, as Jack’s darkened eyes traveled unhurriedly back to hers.

Jack assumed a look of deep concern, if only to hide his laughter. “What a quandary in which to find yourself,” he murmured, moving nearer. “Whatever will you wear to dinner?”

Phryne tilted her head to look up at Jack, and a hint of her perfume wafted across him. Her eyes were wide and bright. “We can always have dinner brought up here, can’t we?”

“I think I could cope with that.” Jack reached his free hand out to her arm, as much to steady himself as to touch her. His mind was running to how just one quick pull on her sash could bring to pass so much…but while Phryne would probably not even mind it here in the open doorway, that was still far beyond his present sensibilities. He could no longer keep from kissing her, though, and was about to lower his face to hers when Phryne’s sultry look suddenly changed to one of sharp inquisitiveness.

“How did you know where I’d be?” she practically blurted out, her forehead furrowing.

Jack lifted an eyebrow loftily and smirked. “I’m a detective. I detected.”

In reality, he’d spent a long number of hours and countless pints in various pubs, cultivating friendships with three desk clerks, two concierges, and Ernie the airfield mechanic, but Phryne needn’t know that. There had been some tedium involved, but it resulted in knowing where an advance reservation had been made for “The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher”, and even the hour when her plane had safely landed. He owed Ernie a full case of ale as thanks for the pleasure that Phryne’s tortured puzzlement was giving him right now.

“And just who do you know from the war who could get you to England before me??” she continued doggedly, her mouth in a pretty pout.

Just inches from her face, Jack extended a finger and ran it down the bridge of Phryne’s nose, smiling at its newly acquired freckles. Lord, she’d made it. She was alive. He curled his hand into one front edge of her dressing gown and ran it slowly across her body, down to the sash at her waist, as he leaned in.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Mata Hari,” his warm voice rumbled into her ear.

Eyes gleaming in acknowledgement, Phryne grasped Jack firmly by the lapels and pulled him inside.

Chapter Text

Phryne Fisher never liked to re-think her actions. She trusted herself, as a woman of competence and experience, to make whatever decision a situation required. But when her Tiger Moth had pulled further and further away from the earth, leaving one Jack Robinson behind on it, she had felt a twinge of unease that had nothing to do with the many miles, mountains, and oceans ahead. But she’d steeled herself and pushed the feeling aside, knowing that it would take her full attention to operate the plane, as well as to withstand any impulses to drop her still-complaining father off into the bush.

In the evenings, though, before sleep would engulf her, the question would return. Yes, she’d been caught up in the emotion of the moment – the unexpected treat of seeing Jack one last time – but how could she have issued a challenge so near impossible to follow? The demands of Jack’s work, the expense of the journey…she could only hope that she hadn’t dealt a fatal blow to the relationship before it had ever properly begun.

Still, she had resolved to have faith in him. Jack had once told her, in their earliest acquaintance, that it would be a tactical error to peg his character just yet. And over the many months, she had discovered a multitude of infuriating, intriguing, and tantalizing facets to the man. Despite Jack’s ridiculous adherence to the speed limit, she just knew that an adventurer’s curious soul lurked within him. How he would love Europe, away from the horrors and stench of war. And perhaps away from the distractions of their Melbourne lives, they could finally embark on certain intimate explorations that had been put off for a disgracefully long amount of time.

Before long, the telegrams began to appear at frequent intervals of the journey. The little slips of paper never failed to lift her spirits when she began to feel more like a childminder than adventuress, constantly making certain her father didn’t get lost on the way to a back alley cockfight or sample too much of the local brew. They consisted mostly of literary quotations – just a sentence or two – some with cheeky allusion, some with clever references to shared cases, and some with heartfelt language that stopped her breath. How often she would repeat them in her head, straining to hear the words in the deep richness of Jack’s voice.    

She had encountered some intriguing men along the journey, it was true, and had even shared drinks and smiles with a few. But each time that unmistakable glint would appear in their eyes, her mind would recall the feeling of Jack’s firm clasp against her hair, his insistent lips against her own, even his tender admission of fear that she would be “swept away” by another. Darling Jack…to him, she would never be a possession to be “taken”, plucked away from his hands. The telegrams never gave any word of his intentions, but they gave her hope that her Inspector might surprise her yet again, and that was enough to help her gracefully decline any romantic advances.

And now here he was – inexplicably ahead of her! – in London’s Savoy Hotel.   Phryne had pulled him into the suite with a blazing determination, despite her lingering fatigue, but all interrogation stilled on her lips as the door shut behind them with a momentous “thunk”. Making no effort to hide her giddy elation, she let Jack seep into all of her senses. The sight of his broad, stalwart shoulders. The stirring resonance of his voice, moving throughout her body. The graze of his fingers, still hooked into her dressing gown.

As she gazed on, a corner of Jack’s mouth turned up deliciously, and he extended his other arm to drop his overcoat and hat to the ground without ceremony. As though his reserve were left behind on an Australian airfield, he removed his hand to wrap it around her waist, tangling the other into her hair. Phryne came to him without hesitation, opening her lips as Jack’s beautiful mouth quickly sought hers for a searing kiss, their tongues connecting in a heated reunion. Breathless with delight, she let her hands move across him however they might – stroking down his neck, running across his shoulders, sweeping down his torso to release the buttons of his jacket. Jack had once made the claim that he was not always noble, and more than anything, Phryne wanted for this to be the moment when he proved those words beyond doubt. She gasped in pleasure as he seemed to sense her wishes, lowering a strong hand to grasp her derriere. (Thank God her small black case had made it into her luggage, which, despite her earlier claims, was hidden in the bedroom closet.)

Little by little, sigh after sigh, they fumbled their way across the room, leaving his jacket and then waistcoat in their wake. Jack had not yet moved to address her state of attire, despite his questing hands, but the dressing gown was becoming remarkably loosened, and Phryne was not about to make any effort to adjust it.

“No more questions?” Jack finally panted when at last they broke apart, his back against a wall.

“Later,” Phryne laughed, running her fingers under his braces, eager to seek out the skin below his final layers. “First I’ll make you delirious with desire, and then you’ll tell me all.”

“It’s been a state of delirium since the day we met,” Jack smirked, his shoulders still heaving. His arms ran around her body, as though to keep himself upright. “Perhaps I’m habituated.”

Phryne tilted her head and flashed her most charming smile. “We’ll see.”

She grazed a hand through his hair, which had become adorably tousled, before tracing a finger around the curve of his ear. The quick dilation of his eyes didn’t escape her, and their gazes locked together. Though she couldn’t bring herself to describe in words exactly what Jack meant to her, she knew he was immeasurably more than just a pleasant diversion, or a moment of sensual escapism. It only remained to assure him of that, to let him know that she would not be flying away from him again anytime soon, if ever.

“Did you think I wouldn’t make it?” she questioned softly, pulling her body flush against him. The answering pressure from behind his trousers sent a frisson of heat to every corner of her body. No longer was Jack Robinson flinching at her touch, and she intended to see that he never wanted to again.  

“I had every faith in your abilities,” Jack replied, even as his eyes fluttered shut, overcome with sensation. “Less so…in the propeller’s...”

Phryne smiled dreamily at him, but her knee betrayed her with tell-tale wobble as she tried to pull even closer and obliterate any last remaining space between them.

“Phyrne, you’re exhausted,” Jack chuckled softly under his breath as he gathered her up, stooping to lavish kisses across her jawline.

She let her body, warm and pliant, lean back against his encircling arms, before urging his eyes up to hers.

“I have waited far too long to have you, Jack Robinson – I won’t wait a moment longer.” She pressed her hands against his chest for emphasis. “You CANNOT make me.”

With a laugh and a groan, Jack pulled her back to him, drawing the soft flesh of her neck into his mouth. “Can’t arrest you in England, can I?” he growled, weakening her knees even further. His hand moved to cradle her head, then slide down to the base of her throat.

“I’ll give you a much better jurisdiction,” Phryne purred, angling her head to bring his mouth back to hers. Draping a hand over his, she guided it several inches downward to rest on her breast.

“But you can barely stand on your feet…” Jack’s fingers caressed her tentatively, tenderly.

“Then perhaps I shouldn’t stand at all.”

Phryne stepped out of Jack’s arms, taking his hand in hers and pulling him with her through the open bedroom door. Stopping when her legs connected with the pillow-laden bed, she raised her arms to either side and gave a beckoning smile. “Your assistance, please?”

Jack’s hands moved quickly to the sash, but he looked up in brief alarm when Phryne stopped them from moving further.

“Shhhhh,” she murmured sweetly, reassuring. “Will you – will you use your teeth?”  

He stared at her, and Phryne could only laugh sheepishly. “Indulge me, Jack?”

Though some confusion lingered on his face, Jack sank to his knees with a wordless nod, bracing himself with hands splayed over her hips. Phryne ran fingers into his hair, swaying as she felt him nuzzle again the dressing gown, then slowly pull the ends of the sash apart with his mouth. And then at once there was the hot rush of Jack’s breath over her stomach, the press of his lips against bare skin. A high sound of need escaped her, and Jack looked up, his face completely exposed in its expression of awe…adoration…desire.

The look clutched at her heart, and then Jack dipped his head again, and Phryne Fisher was not on her feet much longer.

Chapter Text

Phryne awoke with a slight start, her body in confusion. After a succession of bunks, mats, and the occasional army cot, she’d almost forgotten the feel of a comfortable mattress. But within seconds, she was drowsily turning her gaze to the foot of the bed, playing back the lovely scene she’d been treated to not long ago. Jack – eyes dark and hungry, trousers low on his slim hips – pulling his singlet over his head in one swift movement. She sighed in deep contentment and settled further back into the pillows, looking over at the sight of the actual man.

Really, she thought, as she ghosted her fingertips over the visible muscles of his back, the whole of Melbourne should be thanking her and Jack for their welfare. She scooted up to look at his turned-away face, almost boyish in its repose. Had she truly known just what an utter delight he could be, against her body and in her bed, there might be decidedly fewer criminals behind the bars of the city’s jails. As matters now stood, she would simply have to continue assisting him in his investigations, so that they might be able to retreat to her boudoir all the sooner.

Phryne glanced over at the clock. Not that much time had passed since their earlier encounter, but Jack slept soundly, which led her to think that his body had still not fully adjusted to England’s time. So perhaps he hadn’t arrived on the island all that much earlier than her. She grinned to herself. Perhaps she could use her persuasive powers to convince him to call it a draw.

Not having the heart to wake Jack just yet, despite her growing impulse to explore every inch of him yet again, Phryne lay back and closed her eyes. Sleepily, her mind flitted back to the first of their goodbyes in Australia. The new Mr. and Mrs. Collins had just departed the churchyard, as had most of the guests…

“So many have asked me why I’m doing this, but not you,” Phryne asked as she walked towards Jack, joining him to lean against the Hispano-Suiza. “Why?”

“You’re the one to see it through,” Jack replied. “Mr. Butler doesn’t have a pilot’s license.”

Phryne laughed. “That we know of, at any rate.” She threaded her hand through his arm, leaning into his reassuring presence. Her mouth opened three separate times before she was able to speak her next sentence. “And I thought that after all –all that happened with Janey, that I could, at least, give them this.”

Jack turned his head sharply. “Phyrne…”

His voice was unbearably gentle, and his eyes soft with concern, but she shook her head quickly to keep him from speaking further. She knew what he would say, that she’d been just a girl, that there had never been a debt to be paid, but she couldn’t speak of it further. If she could just get her father to England, then perhaps she could leave the last of the ghosts there, too.

After a long moment of scrutinizing her shoes, Phryne lifted her face to his again. “And what will you be doing in my absence?” she asked brightly, although a note of melancholy lingered.

“I’ll be taking some leave, as it happens.”

“Jack Robinson, off the job? I wouldn’t have believed it,” she teased. “Were you worried you couldn’t maintain your closure rate without me?”

Jack leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping an octave. “The pressure was overwhelming.”

“What will you do?”

“Travel a bit, perhaps? I could go for a visit to my brother’s in Adelaide. I’m told there’s a whole world out there beyond Victoria. I might even find Collins’ fishing hole.”

Phryne chuckled softly and dropped her head against his arm.

“I’m sorry I disrupted our last moment in the moonlight.”

Jack scuffed at the ground with one shoe, not meeting her eye. “Is your head always turned by every shiny new clue that crosses your path?” His voice was light, too light.

“It probably is,” she replied, twisting her mouth in resignation. She increased her pressure on his arm. “But I am very sorry, Jack.”

Jack looked at her then, sweeping his eyes over all of her face as though etching it into his memory, at last running his long fingers down the dangling strands of her gold headdress.

“What are you doing?” Phryne whispered.

“I’m sometimes distracted by shiny things myself,” Jack said, before moving to open her car door. “You’ve got an early morning.”

Silently, Phryne stepped inside, but before he could leave, she pressed a kiss to two fingers and raised them to his mouth. “So you don’t forget me,” she said.

Jack smiled, almost ruefully. “Not likely, Miss Fisher. Not likely.”

Chapter Text

A number of novel sensations registered with Jack’s wakening mind before his eyes ever opened. Sunlight filtering onto his face through gauzy curtains, coming from a different direction than in his bedroom at home. Fine linen resting against his cheek, finer than that on his narrow hotel bed in Bloomsbury. And lastly, the unfamiliar, but certainly not unwelcome feeling of Phryne Fisher’s delicate hand stroking over his bare backside.

He felt a brush of silk, a current of warmth from her body as she moved nearer. Her soft voice carried across his ear.

“I’m terribly sorry to wake you, darling, but dinner will be here shortly.”

Jack nestled into the bedding and gave a low hum of acknowledgement, too utterly content to move any more than that. The fleeting thought occurred that perhaps he ought to apologize for falling asleep, to reassure her that his slumber had nothing to do with his interest in the current scenario, but everything to do with the fact that even when on the brink of exhaustion, Phryne Fisher could still overwhelm a man. But Phryne didn’t seem affronted in any way, and after a moment of deliberation, Jack decided that there couldn’t possibly be a better moment than this for him to adopt her attitude of unrepentant pleasure-seeking.   That her hand continued to move across him, tracing lines and muscles, indents and swells, made the resolve extremely easy.

Moving his head slightly, Jack cracked one eye open to watch her. Phryne was wearing a black, embroidered dressing gown that he’d never seen before, not the white one of earlier. Had her luggage been found? Her face was free of cosmetics still, though a becoming flush lingered on her cheeks. She was regarding his body with open curiosity…blatant admiration, even. Every way in which he was long accustomed to looking at her.

Phryne turned then, finding his gaze on her. The unaffected brightness of her smile overtook her entire face. “I must say, Jack,” she laughed, “If this is what cycling does to a man, then I’m highly in favor.”

He returned a drowsy grin from his pillow. “Admirer of the sport, are you?”

Phryne leaned in and nipped at his shoulder. “Oh, I’m an admirer…” she murmured against his skin, nuzzling. Jack closed his eyes again and let her touch soak into him. London was a damn fine city.

After a moment, he turned to lie on his back, rather hoping that his response to her caresses wasn’t too terribly obvious under the bedsheet that gathered at his waist. Or perhaps, with Phryne, one should embrace the obvious? He stared at her beautiful, disheveled face, still slightly disbelieving that she could want him, Jack Robinson, in this way.

“You came after me,” she said simply as she ran a hand down his chest, a statement of both wonder and fact.

“The fishing hole was already claimed,” Jack replied, his face somber. Phryne giggled and moved in to pinch his ear for the impertinence, but he intercepted her hand more quickly, bringing her wrist to his mouth to feel her pulse against his kiss. She was so vibrant, so alive.

“And…” he continued, as he grazed his teeth across her skin, “…you left some very beguiling photographs behind. I didn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.”

Phryne’s eyes widened in an expression of innocence that he didn’t buy for a moment, and she pursed her lips primly. “Goodness! Were they the photographs I took of Aunt P’s prize hydrangeas? Wherever could I have left them?”

“As it happens, I discovered the photographs in the Remington double murder file as I was waiting to brief the Chief Commissioner. Miss Fisher, I had to go before the man with a – ”

“ – with a what??!??”  Her gleeful cackle interrupted him, but it quickly turned to a gasp as the long fingers of Jack’s other hand found their way through black silk to her upper thigh.

“ – with a blush on my cheeks,” he finished dryly. Jack gave her thigh another stroke for good measure, noting her quick intake of breath with rapidly developing pride. He never would, never could tire of this.

“I thought you didn’t blush, Inspector.”

His hand moved even higher.   “There’s a first time for everything.”

Phryne shivered. “That, there is.”

Despite the bewitching feel of her warm skin, Jack’s hand paused abruptly in its movements. In all the joy and frenzy of their earlier coupling, a rather important consideration had completely slipped his mind.

“Phryne??” He hoped to God his voice wasn’t squeaking. “ I – I didn’t even think to ask – your device??”

Phryne smiled and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. “Mac slipped a new one into my purse at the church, the cheeky thing.” She hesitated for the smallest of moments, before kissing him again. “You were here for the, um, maiden voyage.”

Although his heart wanted to explode with her admission, which he understood perfectly, Jack remained quiet as he pulled her down to rest against his chest. His fingers twined through her thick, silky hair.

“Were you planning to fly home?” he asked after a long moment. “I’ve been wondering how best to bring my books back.”

Phryne looked up and propped her chin on his chest. “Books, Jack?” she asked in amusement. “You’ve spent your time in London acquiring books?”

“Well, I had so much time to pass…”

She did pinch his ear at that.

“I bought some for you, too,” Jack offered contritely.

“And what makes you think I’ll like them?” she demanded, though her delight was evident.

“You’ll like these ones,” he assured her. “City South hasn’t even confiscated any copies yet.”

Phryne threw back her head in laughter, and Jack found himself joining in.

“Where are you staying?” she asked, when her howls subsided.

A small smirk crossed his lips. “Not at the Savoy.”

“Could you stay here?” Phryne’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper, and her eyelashes fluttered tremulously. “Because you must know that I’m a woman alone…newly arrived in a dangerous tow…ummph!”

Jack’s mouth didn’t let her get any further.

***

Six days later…

Strong hands on her hips push her gently into the bookshelf, causing dust motes to scatter.

“Jack!! We’re in the Bodleian Library, a place of wisdom and learning!”

Soft, heated lips meet her neck.

“I, myself, am feeling…quite…enlightened…at the moment, Miss Fisher. And you can’t convince me that you don’t already know every secluded corner throughout all of England.”

A moan rises in her throat. He pauses.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She tilts her head back even further.

“Well, I have always believed that a woman should take...every chance...to further her education...”