Work Text:
If Phryne Fisher were to to rattle off a list of adjectives intended to embody the complicated character of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, 'playful' probably would not have been a word that occurred to her.
In retrospect, she wondered if perhaps that was unfair. Jack had managed to unfold himself more over the past year than she had ever expected and, as a result, another erstwhile absent word - 'flirtatious' - was now firmly embedded within the adjectival roll where before there had simply been words or phrases such as 'long suffering', 'begrudgingly amused', and 'frustrated' (with 'sexually' occasionally placed before that last one, if Phryne did say so herself). But even now, Jack's flirtations were not wanton like hers, or as free. No, his flirtations were precise and focused, almost always borne after reflection of something that she herself had said or done. Jack was a man who listened, whose observational skills were unparalleled, and the fact that he was considering the things that she did instead of discounting them, taking them to heart and coming up with plans for reciprocation, was ever so exciting. The growing intensity of his interest as of late made it easier to face the reality that her own feelings for him had developed far past the gray area where she usually let stronger emotion languish; there was something about her brilliant, serious, kind – three more for the list – detective that made her want to hold on, to see what he would come up with next.
The waltz had certainly been a surprise. For her, anyway. But again – it was a response to her provocation. Jack had strongly endeavored to make it look spur of the moment, but from his careful dress to the record he had located, she knew it was anything but an impulsive maneuver. Phryne was no fool, and neither was he. “Deliberate” was another wonderful word for Jack, and besides – she'd felt how his hand had slid over her side. Tentative and gentle to the utmost, it revealed his uncertainty even within his deliberate planning, as if he was worried she might, for some unfathomable reason, bat his hand away.
'Ridiculous'. That was another word for Jack Robinson.
But until very recently, when Phryne had thought “ridiculous” alongside his name, she'd mostly been referring to his tendency to take himself too seriously, to doubt himself or to become self conscious. She had not thought it in terms of the aforementioned newest word on the docket. But now, as his fingers tripped over her stockinged knee after pretending to be searching for a spider, thus causing her to shriek and kick out at the tingling touch, 'playful' amusement was very clearly dancing in his eyes and tugging at his smirking lips.
“Jack Robinson, you're terrible!” Phryne said, kicking at him again, though this time of her own volition. “And a horrible tease!”
“That's a bit of pot calling kettle,” Jack responded, his hands innocuously braced against his own thighs now. “I'm simply concerned about your well being. I know how much you dislike spiders.”
He had been teasing her non-stop ever since he'd found out about her spider phobia, a development that might have thrilled her if he hadn't been doing it when her guard was down, claiming – often out of the blue, or when she'd been caught up in teasing him – the presence of spiders in her hair, along her neck and shoulders and, in one memorable instance, along the small of her back, his fingers scurrying against the silken fabric of her blouse.
She supposed she should be glad he was just using his fingers and wasn't actually cruel enough to utilize anything real. He'd finally thrown out that horrid thing he'd been keeping in the jar within his desk (and how he could sit there with the monstrosity scurrying around, glass barrier or no, was beyond her), but that hadn't stopped the teasing. It had been nearly two weeks since his discovery of her Achilles Heel, as he'd called it, and Jack had showed no signs of letting up. True, he didn't do it every day, and it wasn't as if he was pretending spiders were running through her hair while they were working a case, but it was as though he'd found a way to touch her without it meaning too much, a 'practical' way to initiate contact, and he simply wasn't letting it go. He'd been touching her more and more anyway, though still only under restricted circumstances such as said waltz, of course, or that beautiful moment when he was inspecting her neck after she'd almost been skewered.
Now, though, Jack seemed to have decided that his teasing spider fingers opened up a new avenue, and while part of Phryne relished the idea of his fingertips running over her skin, her version included far fewer articles of clothing, along with absolutely zero pronouncements of “Oh dear, I believe I just saw a spider”.
'Dreadful'. Another new word for Jack to go along with 'playful' and 'tease'.
When Jack's large hand closed firmly around Phryne's ankle mid-kick, another word popped into her head -'strong'.
“Careful,” Jack said, pulling her ankle towards him, turning her further sideways so that she faced him. Her right knee folded beneath her on the couch cushion to accommodate the new position, her back to the arm rest, left leg extended and still trapped in his grip. “Your shoe heel could cost a man his eye.”
“If you keep up your spider fingers for much longer, Jack, you're going to lose more than an eye,” Phryne shot back, for once flinging her skirt down to further cover her knees (rather than gleefully exposing them to Jack's distraction).
He tugged her ankle to rest on his own knee, looking entirely too smug. “I can't help it, Miss Fisher, if your household is suddenly infested with arachnids.”
This, of course, was punctuated with the skittering of fingertips over her trapped ankle, sliding over the stocking, and Phryne shrieked again, jolting in her seat, hands shooting out to grasp at the couch cushions at the sensation.
Jack did grin then, too amused for his own good. “Honestly, Miss Fisher! You saw that one coming. No spiders to be found here, yet you insist on being so dramati-...” He trailed off, staring at her consideringly. Phryne glared back at him with far more force than she felt, her body tense against his touch.
The grin slid from Jack's face, leaving a sly intensity in its wake eyes as he readjusted his grip on her ankle. Slowly, very slowly, he began sliding the tip of his finger over the thin skin surrounding the bone. He said nothing.
Phryne mused that, one day, all of the words and intentions left unsaid within them would likely send her into cardiac arrest. She'd been wooed by the best, flirted with and courted by the most charming men, but there was something about this man's touch on her ankle that threatened to render her senseless.
Forget waltzing – this was turning far more potent, and she wasn't even sure he realized the extent of what his touch was doing.
So, to regain her hand, she kicked herself (figuratively) into action. She let herself wriggle freely at the sensation, squirming in place and flexing her toes in her strappy heeled shoe. “Jack, really! I didn't take you for the tickling type!” Phryne grinned, giggling at the touch (perhaps more than she truly needed to). “Though I think I prefer it to your spider fingers scurrying up and down my body to scare me. This is much more... intimate.”
Phryne felt as though she must have absorbed Jack's own smugness to claim as her own, as the man himself suddenly seemed bereft. He swallowed heavily, finger stilling on her ankle. His eyes visibly darkened as he watched her move, and when she let out one last giggle, he swallowed hard. “I – oh. I, um...” He cleared his throat, abruptly moving his hand away from her ankle, though he left it perched on his knee. “I didn't mean to take liberties.”
“Oh no? You just wanted to tease me? Isn't that the same thing?” Phryne asked. “Besides, you've only discovered one spot. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try looking for more? Or,” she said, lifting her ankle from his knee and sitting up fully, sliding closer, her own hand coming out to skirt along his thigh, “I could see how you react to spider fingers. Anywhere sensitive on you, Jack?”
The expression on Jack's face was a new one, shock mixed with amusement and what suspiciously looked like arousal, tempered by what she assumed was embarrassment due to said arousal. “I – I don't -”
“No, don't tell me,” she said, leaning further still, aware that the front of her dress, loose around the low cut neck, must have been gaping quite provocatively. “I want to find them all myself.”
“Miss Fisher!” Jack exclaimed, sounding more scandalized than anything, but that glint in his eye gave him away despite the blush beginning to just barely darken his cheeks. “Accosting an officer of the law is a punishable offense. I may have to take serious measures.”
Phryne laughed. “Oh Jack, all of my accosting is done above board, I assure you. Besides.” She smirked. “One should always be on the lookout for spiders.”
She wriggled her own fingers at him, and he tilted his head back, looking at her again with soft eyes, affection palpable even through the reactions she could see him attempting to suppress. “I'll do the spider finding if you don't mind, Miss Fisher.”
“Oh. Well, if you think that's best,” Miss Fisher said, reaching out to take his hand, a hold he allowed willingly. “However, that does add something to your character that I hadn't expected. A new adjective, if you will.”
Jack's eyebrows raised. “Oh?” he said. “And what's that?”
Phryne grinned. “Delusional,” she replied, and set about locating spiders of her own.