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Jack’s mother always said he was special. 


It made sense then, the air full with sugar from the cookies she was making, his small greedy fingers reaching out for the batter covered spoon. 


Even when he was soaring through Richmond on his bicycle, causing a general ruckus with the other local lads she still said it. 




Jack’s chest warmed every time she said it- even though he was then tall enough to see the sour disappointment in his father’s eyes. 


Then school came, and along with it puberty. And Jack found out what ‘special’ really meant.




Jack takes a sip of whiskey, flipping through his officer's notes. He normally doesn’t drink on the job. But it’s September, and he needs something to take his eyes off the way the days are ticking down to the inevitable. 


Usually he’d be grateful for the way the alcohol is burning down his throat- typical chilly Melbourne weather. But tonight he’s chasing the feeling rather than anything else. 


Jack fingers the knot of his tie for the hundredth time, his coat and blazer long since discarded. The flush on his cheeks had flared up long before he made a start on the bottle. 


The front door of the station swings open and closed. Jack’s eyes flutter shut. 


A year ago he would have assumed it was an officer bringing in a perpetrator. Or perhaps Colin’s forgetting something at his desk. But now it could only be one person. 


If the heady scent of French perfume wasn’t the give away, the confident clop of high heels definitely was. 


“Good evening, Miss Fisher,” Jack tilts back his head to finish off the last dregs of his glass before she’s even had a chance to swing open the door. 


It’s a delight to see her, as always. But he really can’t afford to be around her right now. 


“Jack!” Phryne trills happily, sauntering into his office like she owns it. As her familiar scent brightens up his room, Jack can’t help but think she probably does. 


Phryne deposits herself onto his desk in a bundle of furs, sinking into them like a cat in the sun. She’s shivering, a rare occurrence, so it must be more than freezing. Jack honestly can’t tell. 


Her gloved hand is sitting right next to his pen, tempting him as per usual. 


Take her hand. So strong, so soft. Ours to warm up’


Jack grinds his teeth, trying to pretend his discomfort is from her surprised visit and not the idiotic horny voice trailing through his mind. Each word louder than the last, making him feel more than insane. 


“What do I owe the pleasure?” Jack asks, threading his own fingers together instead.


It’s becoming more and more usual for her to come visiting, even if, like now, they don’t have a case to work on together. Normally it’s just for Phryne to invite him to dinner the next night (which he always graciously accepts), or out drinking in the wee hours (Which he always ruefully declines). 


Phryne smiles down at him, and Jack presses his knees together hoping it wasn’t obvious his breath caught in his throat.


This close to his heat every second next to her- every gesture, every compliment she pays- makes him tremble. Jack was already too close to the edge of tumbling into her bed, and now his subconscious wants her to have him, right here on his desk. 


“Just stopping by,” Phryne explains glibly, leaning backwards as if he wasn’t already admiring her breasts behind the beads of her dress, “Mac and I were going dancing,” 


Were?” Jack repeats casually, although his pulse is racing at his neck. 


He’s never been one for dancing. At least not after 1918. And not at the places Phryne visits often. 


But alone in her parlour perhaps…It must be the pheromones taking over him, but god he couldn’t think of anything better right now. Phryne in his arms- he’d waltz her, he loves a good waltz. Straight and steady. He’s sure she’d figure out a way to spice things up; he’d look forward to it in fact. 


And perhaps if he played his cards right she would let him rest his nose in her neck. Breathe her in. Jack feels his mouth grow dry. From here he can clearly admire the lean line of her throat- the long loop of diamonds brushing against her scent glands he longs to lick. 


Alpha,’ The amorous voice inside him moans appreciatively, ‘Beautiful, special, mine,’


She’s nobodies, Jack argues back inwardly, pouring himself another drink. 


“Mac has found a lovely lady to spend the night with,” Phryne batters her eyelashes coquettishly down at him- damn her, “And I’m all alone,”


Jack can’t help but smile a little at her shameless flirting. He stares up at her purposefully. She should know what he’s going to say. He should know. 


And yet.  


“So I thought I’d ask if you’d like to join me,” Her blue eyes sparkling under his dim desk light. 


Jack swallows thickly, extremely glad for the desk-top in front of him. His unruly mind can’t help but drift to his most recent of fantasies. 


Phryne laid out on her couch, or even closer, on the chair he’s sitting on. In something lacy like what Rosie before the war- he can’t deny lingerie is not his forte. But her nipples would be budded pink, and her heels hooked around his shoulders. Her thighs would be cool against his hot forehead- her cunt silky and sweet. 


The voice of his Omega inside him purrs contentedly, as arousal pours through him, warming his blood.


“For a night-cap, of course,” Phryne corrects herself, her voice drenched in innocence. 


He’s long since abandoned the thought he’s mistaking the desire echoing in her own gaze.


Jack is sure she’s thinking about the exact same thing. 


But his Omega, always greedy, wants more. Wants to set up a nest- a home- in Phryne’s bed. To lie in her arms, snoozing while she threads her long fingers through his hair. Coffee in the morning, and old-fashions at night, while they compare classic literature quotes. 


Not a fuck to let go of some of the tension constantly bubbling around them. And Jack can’t deny, for once, he agrees with his alter ego. 


He has too much pride to fall on his knees and beg her for even just one more night, which is surely what would happen. And w ith his heat so close, Jack knows he will plead for everything. 


Phryne, always so in tune with him, must catch the expression on his face, because her brilliant smile falters. 


“You’re not free tonight,” She guesses correctly. Jack squirms uncomfortably under her soft gaze. 


Her scent- like a foreboding thunderstorm and a sudden splash of furious sea spray- fills his nostrils. It begs him to change his mind. 


Alpha upset, must please her, tell her you’ll do anything she says,’ Jack’s Omega mewls pathetically.


The awful thing is, if Jack had had a few more drinks, he might’ve given in to it. 


“Unfortunately,” Jack’s smile in wan, “I’m having dinner with Rosie,” 


At the mention of his ex-wife, Phryne’s face goes carefully blank. Her scent gets sharper however, leaving no mistake of what she’s currently feeling. 


‘Alpha upset!’ His Omega relates unnecessarily. 


“But of course I’ll try to pop by,” Jack adds weakly. Honestly he’s exhausted- dehydrated and twitchy. All signs he should be sleeping right now. Preferably in her lap. 


It’s worth him saying it though, just to see Phryne brighten up again. 


“I hope there will be,” She says the flirtation in her voice ebbing, leaving sincerity in its wake and Jack knows he would drag himself over hot coals to see her be happy. 


A calm floods over Jack at her contented expression, his emotions tied to hers. It’s not right- dangerous even. He’s never had Alpha friends for this exact reason. And Phryne is so much more than that. 


Thankfully for his nerves she finally hops off his desk, the blue beads on her dress clinking as she moves. 


Jack relaxes into his chair, slumping slightly, sending a quick prayer up to every god he can think of. 


Female Alpha’s are about as rare as male Omegas. Ever since they met, Jack has felt like a simple brown moth being drawn to a fierce flame. 


He watches lovingly as Phryne twirls happily, always drink on life, her skirts flying up to show a hint of white garter and shiny new stockings Jack wants to take off with his teeth. 


“Wait- you’re all disheveled,” Phryne leans over, her deft fingers knotting up his tie before he can protest otherwise. 


Jack's entire body feels like a live wire. He usually feels buzzed around her. But it’s different now. More intense. He feels like a young boy who has seen a girl's breasts for the first time- fluttery and helplessly aroused.


Phryne fiddles with his collar and Jack barely resists a moan. Her fingers are just brushing against his throat, and yet his cock is already half hard in his pants. 


“God Jack, are you sick?” Phryne asks, her voice dropping into a tone of worry, “You feel feverish,” One of her dainty hands moves from his neck to his forehead and then down his cheek. 


Jack leans into her touch immediately as her thumb brushes over his cheekbone. Ever since they arrested George and Sidney their flirting has felt a little more dangerous.  And the way Phryne is watching him now seems more raw than anything he’s seen from her before. 


“You really don’t look right,” Phryne cocks her head, a slither of hair falling with her movement, “Do you want me to drive you home? I’m sure Miss Sanderson will understand,” 


Home, yes our home,’ His Omega agrees immediately. But it’s not his small shack with the fading furniture and threadbare carpet he’s thinking of. Instead it’s her parlour, warm and bright, with his armchair waiting for him.


“I want-” Jack begins all of a sudden, and stops just as quickly. 


Phryne looks like she wants to devour him, and drive him to the hospital all at once. 


Jack pulls himself away from her hand before he makes even more of a fool of himself. Or he loses his wits altogether. 


“To go to Rosie's- I made her a promise,” Jack’s conscience twinges with the lie, but he'd rather hide the truth than confess, “But please forgive me if I end up in bed instead of tasting your whiskey,” 


Phryne takes two large steps away, the tops of her cheeks are pink like he’s slapped her. 


By the time it takes Jack's muddled brain to work out what it sounded like he meant, she’s disappeared in a flurry of skirts.


Jack is left to sit in regret, with a dwindling erection and her name on his lips.