(no subject)
Note: I do not claim to be able to write Gene Hunt. Ever. And oh, dear God, there's a very good reason why I never write accents. Fic is based on RP in paradisa, obviously. Gene is based on my bff dci_gene_hunt, who I have probably failed to do proper justice. Please do not shoot me, Gene. I promise to write fic where you actually get laid in the future. :<
Gene leans on Donna as they make their way through the halls. He is, unsurprisingly, completely pissed. Donna couldn't be arsed to argue with him about drinking, not when he'd been half-drunk when she got there, and Sam and Peter didn't even seem to care about the state of his liver. Donna's only a little tipsy; she'd had a couple of Cosmos, ignoring Gene's moccking comments about fruity drinks. (Really, she feels that since she's a woman, it's her prerogative to have all the damn colouful drinks with little umbrellas she likes.)
"You ever think about exercising, Gene?" she mutters, shifting his weight a little.
"'s all muscle, you dozy cow," he retorts. "An' you're one to talk about exercisin'. You spend half your time on the sofa with a pint o' ice cream."
Donna wisely refrains from pointing out that it isn't anything like half the time; Gene's far too drunk to care about mere technicalities. "Yeah, well, you can lecture me about getting fit when you're the one hauling my sodden arse back to my room," she says instead.
"I can think of other things I'd rather be doin' t' your arse, sweet'art," Gene tells her.
Donna rolls her eyes as she shoulders the door open. "You're probably too drunk to get it up right now." Not that she would mind, but arguing with Gene is more fun than agreeing with him. Besides, she certainly doesn't want to come across as easy. Flirtatious and sensual, yes, but not bloody loose.
"Donna, m' love, I could be stiffer 'n a corpse pulled out of the canals in January if I wanted to." He gives her a lecherous look that's slightly spoiled by his eyes' stubborn refusal to focus properly. "I'll demonstrate it if you like, you just take that lovely jumper o' yours off." He pauses for a moment of drunken contemplation, eyeing her cleavage. "An' your bra, too."
Donna isn't quite sure if she wants to deal with Gene's drunken propositions right now, not when she might very well give in and have to deal with his guilt in the morning - but she doesn't want to go back to her room, either. She doesn't want to be left alone to think about the Doctor and his decision, or about Jack and his lack of memories. She just wants to be with someone, even if that someone is a sloshed, vulger Mancunian.
She eases Gene down onto the bed. "I'm going to leave my clothes on, thanks," she tells him.
"Suit yourself." Gene shrugs, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "S'pose 'm goin' t' have a kip."
Donna frowns thoughtfully for a moment, weighing her options, then looks at him, her eyes a little sad. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"
He pauses in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, peering owlishly at her through the collar. "You get thrown out of the phone box so he could have a shag, then?" He's got half of it right, but Donna isn't going to tell him that.
"I just don't feel like sleeping by myself tonight, that's all," she says instead = and that's true, too. She sits down next to him.
"You can keep my bed warm anytime, love," he tells her, smirking a little. "Pref'rably while wearing nothing but silk knickers."
Donna doesn't seem to remember him being so flirtatious when drunk before - but she chalks it up to his newly regained ability to drink without passing out almost immediately. She can't help but wonder about Alex, though; would he be hitting on her if she were still here? But Gene's sudden change of heart isn't really any of her business, she reckons.
She leans against him, closing her eyes and relaxing a little. "What'd I say about keeping my clothes on?"
"Just checkin' t' see if you'd changed your mind, that's all." He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, so her head's resting on his shoulder. "Who pissed in your chips tonight, anyway? You seem t' be in a right pet."
She tenses a little in his embrace, shaking her head. "It's nothing, Gene." Donna forces herself to relax again, nestling against him. "Just don't forget me, yeah?"
"Forget you?" He snorts. "Bit hard to forget you when you're always goin' on at me about somethin' or another like me own fuckin' Jiminy Cricket." Still, he reaches up to stroke her hair, and Donna smiles faintly.
"Jiminy Cricket, Huh? What grows when you tell a lie, then, your dick? You must be a very honest person."
"Well, Donna, love, you aren't much of a conscience, either."
"I think Jesus himself couldn't get you to change your ways." She opens her eyes and smirks up at him, and he responds with a chuckle.
"Nah, but I could teach 'im a few things about enjoyin' 'imself. Be nice to 'ave 'im around t' change water into fuckin' whisky, too."
"You'd drown yourself in a cask," she mutters under her breat, but despite her tone of voice, she really does feel better. Bantering with Gene always raises her spirits.
"I'd die happy, though." He winks at her, smiling a little. "C'mon, Ginger Tits, you plannin' on shuttin' your yap anytime tonight, or am I goin' t' have t' kick you out after all? You can always go blab at m' ruddy lookalike down th' hall instead."
"Yeah, all right, I can take a hint." Donna rolls her eyes good-naturedly and settles down under the duvet as Gene divests himself of his trousers and shoes.
"None o' that cuddlin' shite," he warns her, pulling the covers up. "I know how you are."
Donna smirks to herself in the dark - she knows how he is, too, and that he'll humour her without complaining. She waits till he's lapsed into noisy drunken snores to make her move. Tucking herself next to him, she rests her head on his bare chest and drapes an arm over his stomach. She lets the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep - she's nearly there when she feels his arm settle around her.
"Thought I said no snugglin'," he murmurs sleepily. "Takin' advantage of me good nature, you are."
She doesn't say anything, remaining still - and just before she falls asleep, she swears she feels a kiss placed on her forehead. (But surely she's mistaken, isn't she?)
Gene leans on Donna as they make their way through the halls. He is, unsurprisingly, completely pissed. Donna couldn't be arsed to argue with him about drinking, not when he'd been half-drunk when she got there, and Sam and Peter didn't even seem to care about the state of his liver. Donna's only a little tipsy; she'd had a couple of Cosmos, ignoring Gene's moccking comments about fruity drinks. (Really, she feels that since she's a woman, it's her prerogative to have all the damn colouful drinks with little umbrellas she likes.)
"You ever think about exercising, Gene?" she mutters, shifting his weight a little.
"'s all muscle, you dozy cow," he retorts. "An' you're one to talk about exercisin'. You spend half your time on the sofa with a pint o' ice cream."
Donna wisely refrains from pointing out that it isn't anything like half the time; Gene's far too drunk to care about mere technicalities. "Yeah, well, you can lecture me about getting fit when you're the one hauling my sodden arse back to my room," she says instead.
"I can think of other things I'd rather be doin' t' your arse, sweet'art," Gene tells her.
Donna rolls her eyes as she shoulders the door open. "You're probably too drunk to get it up right now." Not that she would mind, but arguing with Gene is more fun than agreeing with him. Besides, she certainly doesn't want to come across as easy. Flirtatious and sensual, yes, but not bloody loose.
"Donna, m' love, I could be stiffer 'n a corpse pulled out of the canals in January if I wanted to." He gives her a lecherous look that's slightly spoiled by his eyes' stubborn refusal to focus properly. "I'll demonstrate it if you like, you just take that lovely jumper o' yours off." He pauses for a moment of drunken contemplation, eyeing her cleavage. "An' your bra, too."
Donna isn't quite sure if she wants to deal with Gene's drunken propositions right now, not when she might very well give in and have to deal with his guilt in the morning - but she doesn't want to go back to her room, either. She doesn't want to be left alone to think about the Doctor and his decision, or about Jack and his lack of memories. She just wants to be with someone, even if that someone is a sloshed, vulger Mancunian.
She eases Gene down onto the bed. "I'm going to leave my clothes on, thanks," she tells him.
"Suit yourself." Gene shrugs, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "S'pose 'm goin' t' have a kip."
Donna frowns thoughtfully for a moment, weighing her options, then looks at him, her eyes a little sad. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"
He pauses in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, peering owlishly at her through the collar. "You get thrown out of the phone box so he could have a shag, then?" He's got half of it right, but Donna isn't going to tell him that.
"I just don't feel like sleeping by myself tonight, that's all," she says instead = and that's true, too. She sits down next to him.
"You can keep my bed warm anytime, love," he tells her, smirking a little. "Pref'rably while wearing nothing but silk knickers."
Donna doesn't seem to remember him being so flirtatious when drunk before - but she chalks it up to his newly regained ability to drink without passing out almost immediately. She can't help but wonder about Alex, though; would he be hitting on her if she were still here? But Gene's sudden change of heart isn't really any of her business, she reckons.
She leans against him, closing her eyes and relaxing a little. "What'd I say about keeping my clothes on?"
"Just checkin' t' see if you'd changed your mind, that's all." He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, so her head's resting on his shoulder. "Who pissed in your chips tonight, anyway? You seem t' be in a right pet."
She tenses a little in his embrace, shaking her head. "It's nothing, Gene." Donna forces herself to relax again, nestling against him. "Just don't forget me, yeah?"
"Forget you?" He snorts. "Bit hard to forget you when you're always goin' on at me about somethin' or another like me own fuckin' Jiminy Cricket." Still, he reaches up to stroke her hair, and Donna smiles faintly.
"Jiminy Cricket, Huh? What grows when you tell a lie, then, your dick? You must be a very honest person."
"Well, Donna, love, you aren't much of a conscience, either."
"I think Jesus himself couldn't get you to change your ways." She opens her eyes and smirks up at him, and he responds with a chuckle.
"Nah, but I could teach 'im a few things about enjoyin' 'imself. Be nice to 'ave 'im around t' change water into fuckin' whisky, too."
"You'd drown yourself in a cask," she mutters under her breat, but despite her tone of voice, she really does feel better. Bantering with Gene always raises her spirits.
"I'd die happy, though." He winks at her, smiling a little. "C'mon, Ginger Tits, you plannin' on shuttin' your yap anytime tonight, or am I goin' t' have t' kick you out after all? You can always go blab at m' ruddy lookalike down th' hall instead."
"Yeah, all right, I can take a hint." Donna rolls her eyes good-naturedly and settles down under the duvet as Gene divests himself of his trousers and shoes.
"None o' that cuddlin' shite," he warns her, pulling the covers up. "I know how you are."
Donna smirks to herself in the dark - she knows how he is, too, and that he'll humour her without complaining. She waits till he's lapsed into noisy drunken snores to make her move. Tucking herself next to him, she rests her head on his bare chest and drapes an arm over his stomach. She lets the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep - she's nearly there when she feels his arm settle around her.
"Thought I said no snugglin'," he murmurs sleepily. "Takin' advantage of me good nature, you are."
She doesn't say anything, remaining still - and just before she falls asleep, she swears she feels a kiss placed on her forehead. (But surely she's mistaken, isn't she?)