#phalice

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: And Then There Were None (TV 2015), Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), CHRISTIE Agatha - Works Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alice Cunnigham/Philip Lombard Characters: Philip Lombard, Alice Cunningham Additional Tags: Drama, Romance Series: Part 4 of Killer | Queen Summary:

“Ewww, Philip, no!” Alice shrieked, twisting and curling and trying to pull away from Philip who’d grabbed her from behind the second the hotel manager pulled the door shut behind him.  He was determined to attack her neck and shoulders with kisses, teasing her with the bushy beard that had grown thick over the course of the past three weeks in the jungle.  “Stop!”

“No,” he growled, tightening his arms around her slender waist so escape would be impossible. “I like making you screaming.”

She swatted at his hands, but his grip was iron tight.  “Let go of me! I just want to take a bath!”

“That’s an idea,” he murmured, lips brushing against her ear.  Her shoulder came up involuntarily to ward against the prickly whiskers touching her tender skin. “I think the tub is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, it’s not,” she pertly informed him. The very thought of him seeing her naked without having had a proper bath in weeks was far more than she could stand.  She had thought she’d been filthy before, but she was mistaken. In typical male fashion, Philip seemed unperturbed by a few weeks’ worth of sweat and grime. “I’m going to have a bath and pray the hotel has enough hot water. You…you’re going to bathe elsewhere and shave off that animal you have growing on your face.”

“You don’t like it?” he asked, sounding wounded by her rejection.  His hold on her loosened.

Alice seized the opportunity to place some distance between them before turning to look at him, her nose wrinkled in disgust.  “No, I most certainly do not.”

“You’ve not minded before.” He was already next to the phone on the desk, back to her when he picked up the receiver to ring the front desk.  She waited while he made an inquiry about a barber for himself and someone to come see to her personal needs in the suite while he was out.

“I don’t mind a little scruff,” she said, drifting back into his arms after he put the phone down, feeling a bit guilty for pushing him away. It had been weeks since they’d done anything more than share a kiss so she really couldn’t blame him for being a bit impatient the moment they’d reached what passed for civilization in Africa. She knew she was eager to welcome him back into her bed once she’d had a wash and felt more like herself that is.

“But not a beard?” he asked a moment before capturing her mouth in a very tender kiss.

She sighed when he pulled away all too soon, and reached up to smooth some of the thick wayward curls hiding his strong jaw with gentle fingers.  “No.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Can I ask why not?”

“I miss you,” she breathed into the receiver of the heavy black phone in the foyer. Philip had rang late to tell her he’d be a few days longer in Manchester than he’d originally anticipated. Alice hated the having to be apart, but that was the nature of their work.

“I miss you too, kitten,” he said right back. “Did I wake you?”

She toyed with the dangling ties to the robe she’d pulled on to go downstairs when Maggie had summoned her to the phone.  "No, I was in bed though.“ He groaned, and she could image the look on his face as he considered her attire.

“What are you wearing? That simple pink number with the slit up the side?” he asked and she couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up. He could be so predictable sometimes.

“Noooooo,” she teasingly drew out the word.

“That lacy black one?” he guessed.

She laughed.  "Nope.“

"The icy blue silk one I brought you back from Italy?” he tried again. “I really like that one.”

“I know you do,” she said, smiling, rather impressed with his in depth knowledge of what she wore to bed (and he ended up tossing in the floor). “Guess again.”

“Just tell me, woman,” he pleaded. “All this guessing is making me feel like a dirty old man!”

“Oh, alright, I’ll put you out of your misery,” she chuckled. “I’m wearing your pyjama top and nothing else.” Philip was so quiet for a few moments that she if had heard him taking a couple drags on his cigarette, she would’ve thought the line had gone dead. “Alright there, handsome?”

“I-I,” he started, his voice tight. “That was not what I was expecting.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Philip/Alice - sharing a drink

Alice leaned over to nudge Philip with her shoulder and pulled her wrap a little tighter.  The evening was chilly, but it was a fine night for a late evening picnic and stargazing. They had driven far out into the countryside to leave the city lights far behind them. Thousands upon thousands of stars dotted the cloudless inky dark sky. It was beyond beautiful.  “I don’t know anything about you,” she complained after a while, when it became obvious he was lost in thought.

He took a sip of his whiskey before leaning in to kiss her.  “You know plenty enough.” 

“You're not going to distract me with kisses.”  She took the glass from his hand and tossed back the last swallow of amber liquor. 

"Damn," he muttered and laid back on the blanket spread out across the grass, one arm open in invitation to her.

She stretched out next to him, pressing along his side and laying her head on his shoulder. They always fitted together just right. "I don't even know when your birthday is."

“Birthdays are unimportant,” he said.              

“I’d still like to know.” Philip was a like an elaborate jigsaw puzzle she was trying to put together.  The outer edge was nearly complete, but the center was a hopeless jumble of thousands of little pieces that she could never complete in a lifetime without his help.

“Why?” 

“Because.” 

“Because why?” he prompted.

She groused under her breath and could feel the rumble of a suppressed chuckle in his chest. Philip was the most infuriating man she’d ever had the misfortune to come across. Everything in her neat, ordered world had been turned upside down and inside out because of him. He made her want things, do things, desire things she’d never thought she would before he came into her life. Damn him all to bloody fucking hell.  “Because you’re important to me,” she grudgingly admitted. 

“The seventeenth of March," Philip said softly.

“St Patrick's Day?" she asked, puzzled for a moment before her mirth started to bubble up, leaving her shaking with laughter.

"It's not that amusing," he huffed.

"Yes it is!" she giggled, leaning up on her elbow to look down at his handsome, frowning face. "An Irishman born on the most Irish Irish holiday of them all!"

His dark eyes narrowed dangerously, and had she'd been anyone else, it might have scared her, but this was her Philip and he'd never hurt her. "Keep talking and see what happens," he warned, his fingers twitching where they rested on her bum.

"Whatcha going to do about it, Irish boy?" she teased, dipping her head down to playfully rub noses with him.

"Something you won't like," he said after stealing a kiss from her.

"Oh," she pressed a little more against his side, making sure the soft swell of her breasts brushed his chest, "I don't know about that."

"I do," he said, rolling to pin her beneath him while his free hand roamed her side, ruthlessly tickling her until she was writhing and squirming in desperation to get away from his favorite form of torture.

"Philip," she squealed, twisting and turning, but trapped. "Philip, oh God, stop!"

"Keep begging.” His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her blouse to get at her bare skin, "I'll just tickle harder. “What's the magic word?" he demanded, grinning down at her.

"P-please," she whimpered.

"Please what?" he asked.

"P-please, P-Philip."  She relaxed the moment his fingered stilled, still gasping for breath from his assault.

He regarded her carefully, one dark brow quirked. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

She nodded and wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue, her hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders.  "Yes, Philip," she breathed, pulling him down to her, "kiss me," and melted the moment his whiskey tinged lips brushed against hers.

"October twenty-seventh," Philip murmured as he trailed kisses along her jaw to nuzzle her ear.

Alice arched, leaning her head back to give him even more access to her neck, warmth spreading languidly through her limbs. "Hmmm?" she purred, finding it difficult to focus her mind on anything more than the absolutely decadent feel of his sinful mouth on her skin.

"Your birthday," he said, laying back on this side to look down at her.

"My birthday?" She managed to drag her eyes open to see his dark eyes watching her intently.  "You know my birthday?"

"Of course I do," he chided gently, breaking out grin.  "How else would I know when to get you a nice gift then take you out for dinner and dancing?"

"Oh, Philip," she cried, hating the prickling of tears in her eyes, but she was equally stunned and touched. "How?" They'd only recently moved from casual acquaintances (who enjoy shagging each others brains out) to something more permanent, yet still undefined. She had no idea what to expect from him.

"I have my ways," he teased, and reached over to brush a stray red curl from her cheek.

"Sneaky bastard," she griped

"Whatcha going to do about it, Irish boy?" she teased, dipping her head down to playfully rub noses with him.

"Something you won't like," he said after stealing a kiss from her.

"Oh," she pressed a little more against his side, making sure the soft swell of her breasts brushed his chest, "I don't know about that."

Rural Kent, England – May, 1934

Alice laughed when Philip started pulling long guns out of the black duffle bag he'd removed from the boot of the car and arranging them on a blanket spread out over the grass.  "And here I thought you brought me all the way out here for a romantic picnic."

"You'll like this better than a picnic," he assured her with a smug grin.

"I don't know," she said, dropping down to her knees to run her fingers along the cold steel mussel of an exceptionally lethal looking gun.  Thankful she'd worn trousers and sensible shoes if she was going to be running around. "I think you might have other plans.  The bag for me after you use me for target practice?"

He tossed the now empty bag over by the car and squatted down next to her, picking up the weapon she'd just been touching. "Ruin my good bag by stuffing your bullet riddled bloody corpse in it? No. I'd just leave you where I dropped you."

"Charming," she grumbled, giving him a very hard look. Alice never thought she'd see day she might have to reevaluate her opinion of Philip Lombard if he apparently thought so little of her.

"Just most convenient," he responded with a shrug, clearly unfazed by her best glare of death, "moving a body is a sure way to get caught. It's no reflection on you." Philip winked and she instantly melted. It was a good thing he was as handsome as sin and charming to boot.

"Then what are we doing all the way out here if you're not going to kill me?" she asked, picking up a box of shells and shaking it.

"Showing you the difference between a shotgun and a rifle," he stated.

Alice frowned, confused. "There's a difference?"

"Yes."

"Why do I need to know this?"

"Because I'm going to teach you how to kill someone from a great distance and you need to know which one is the proper weapon for the task." He handled the bolt action rifle with ease, holding it firmly to his shoulder and peering through the sight.

"Oohh," she purred, instantly delighted at this unexpected turn of events, "you do know the way to a girl's heart don't you?"

He laughed, lowering the weapon and leaning over to kiss her thoroughly enough to leave her breathless.  "Just yours, kitten."

Philip showed her to a bench outside the door, had her sit, and resumed his examination of her hands. Thankfully there was only one bad cut that would need binding, the rest would only need to be kept clean.  "We'll get on with our lives."

"No, here." She hissed and snatched her hand away when he poured alcohol from a flask over the gash. "Ouch, you bastard! That fucking stings!"

He laughed, continuing his ministrations undeterred. "There's my girl."

"Hrmph, ‘my girl,’ my left arse cheek, hurt me again and see what happens, wanker," she huffed at him, eyes narrowed, but she let him finish wrapping a strip of cloth he'd torn from the hem of his shirt to bind up her hand without further comment.