The Power of Suggestion
by Anne Higgins
From an idea by SBC. (For SBC -- thanks for letting me play with this!)
Cold and wet. William Andrew Philip Bodie scowled at the miserable excuse for weather inflicting itself on everything just outside of his cosy -- at least by comparison -- alcove. He sighed, his breath coming out in a white puff that made him think of dragons. Nice, warm, fire-breathing dragons.
A gust of wind chose that moment to invade his hiding place, bringing with it the splash of rain. His scowl deepened. Bodie had never approved of anything that could be described as cold and wet. Well, anything but beer.
So what was he doing here, trying various contortions to keep the wet away from him? Following orders. Following the orders of one George Cowley more specifically. Another wet blast of wind struck him, and Bodie started mentally compiling a list of all the offences the Controller of CI5 had committed against him. As it was a very long list -- some of the items even being true -- sorting it all out kept him occupied through two downpours and one minor cloudburst.
Things had settled down to an annoying mist-like damp when the signal to move came. Bodie couldn't decide if he should be grateful for the improvement in the wet side of things or irritated the temperature had easily dropped another five degrees. Giving himself the old 'Ours Is Not to Reason Why' speech, he slid his Browning 9.mm out of his shoulder holster and moved out into the soggy mess of a street.
Unable to avoid the maze of lake-sized puddles, his nose wrinkled as water soaked his feet within a few steps. But, well-trained and all too aware of the dangers lurking in the house across the street, he did not let loose a string of curses in the usual mix of English and several African dialects to express his displeasure. Instead he promised the drug dealing bastards inside a painful and soggy existence. Christ, what a way to start a morning. Not that it looks like morning. More like five minutes until sunset than 9:00 a.m. Well, at least the gloom helped hide him and his mates from unfriendly eyes.
Whether due to gloom or luck, he reached the dubious safety of the wall of the house without suffering more than wet feet. Movement to the far left made him scowl in Lewis's direction, but both Merriot's position to the right and Doyle's to the back of the house remained hidden from Bodie and, he hoped, from their quarry as well.
His r/t clicked in the prearranged signal -- a brief burst of muted sound coming from his inside pocket -- and Bodie swung around kicking out at the front door with all his strength. The lock and surrounding wood gave way beneath the blow with a crashing sound equal only to that of the back door meeting a similar fate.
Bodie dove inside, tucked into a roll that carried him away from the doorway, then came up on his feet to face two men. The first threw his hands up in surrender, but the second tried to pull a gun. A double tap of Bodie's Browning shattered the man's chest and resolved the problem.
A single shot from the back of the house echoed Bodie's second shot, then he heard a body fall. Gesturing to Lewis to look after the prisoner and the corpse, Bodie moved towards the hallway.
His gun at the ready, he cautiously peered round the corner, then smiled as he found Raymond Doyle mimicking his actions from the other end of the hallway.
Doyle flashed him a grin, then glanced towards the stairwell.
Positioning himself so he could blow the head off anyone who appeared at the top of the stairs, Bodie gave his partner a nod.
Doyle went up the stairs, then covered Bodie as he joined him. With well practised care, the two of them began searching the upstairs. Opening the second door on the right located a wide-eyed blonde and an impressive number of packages filled with a familiar white powder. "Get the hell out of here!" the woman screamed at them, but she had no weapons to back up her command.
Bodie took a step into the room even as the door across the hall and to the left burst open. Doyle fired, dealing with the emerging gunman, while Bodie kept his attention on the woman. He walked towards her, unimpressed by her unarmed status; but a dozen guns could be hidden throughout the room, leaving him intent on getting her into handcuffs before she could decide to find one.
"I said, get out!" she shouted, snatching up a tray filled with a pale blue powder. He thought she meant to try and hit him with it -- a minor threat given his gun and distance from her -- but she threw the contents at him instead.
Doyle paced back and forth, the cramped confines of the room leaving him far too little room to vent his worried frustration. He glanced at Bodie. No change. Still sitting on the examination table with a blank expression on his normally animated face. The very sight of it made Ray's stomach churn. "Damnit, Bodie, I wish you would say something."
"Something," came the immediate response.
At another time Doyle might have laughed or punched him one, but not today. His partner had merely done precisely what he'd been told to do - as he had done with every command given to him since he came to. If watching Bodie collapse in the midst of that cloud of blue powder had alarmed him, this ... trance terrified the hell out of Ray.
He'd nearly killed the survivors of the raid in his desperate attempts to find out what sort of drug the sodding bitch had thrown at Bodie. But Doyle had failed to get the answers before he'd needed to hop into the ambulance in order to stay with his partner. Maybe Merriot or Lewis would have better luck, but what information he had forced out of the prisoners had led Doyle to believe even its creators weren't certain of what they'd come up with. A concoction made of leftover chemicals and whatever else they'd found lying around. He bit his lip, trying to stay calm. Nothing he'd heard made him certain about Bodie's fate.
"I don't suppose ordering you to come out of it would work?" he mumbled, but Bodie continued to stare at nothing. Damnit! What --?
The door to the examining room opened, then the doctor walked in, his face disgustingly neutral as he leafed through the pages of Bodie's chart.
"Well?" Doyle demanded, more than happy to have a living target for his growing frustration.
"Your friends seem to have come up with quite a remarkable drug," the doctor mused with a hint of admiration that set Doyle's teeth on edge.
"They aren't my friends," he said, the chill of a winter storm in his voice. "Will Bodie be all right?"
"Yes. All our tests indicate he need do nothing more than sleep it off. A process that should take about ten hours."
Feeling almost dizzy with relief, Doyle sat down on the edge of the table. "He just needs to sleep."
"Well, there is a complication."
Of course there was. "What?"
"The chemicals in Mr Bodie's bloodstream have left him in a highly suggestible state. For the next few hours he will do or say anything anyone tells him to do."
Fuck. A head full of classified information and a lethal set of skills left the notion of a Bodie unable to resist the slightest command a major security risk. "He can't stay here, then."
The doctor looked alarmed, although past dealings with CI5 had to have at least prepared him for the announcement. "I really can't recommend his discharge."
"You said he wasn't in any danger."
"I don't believe he is, but complications could arise."
Naturally. Nothing could be easy. Seemed to be some sort of law of physics. "Can you sedate him? Keep him unconscious until this wears off?"
The expected shake of the head answered him. "Introducing any further drugs into his system could have unfortunate results."
So much for option one. Number two would be to surround Bodie with guards and medical personnel who had top security clearance. A possible solution, but a quick review of all the secrets locked up inside Bodie's head made it unworkable. They'd worked too many Operation Suzies, too many need-to-know cases no one besides the two of them and Cowley knew about. One joker from t he squad asking the wrong question, even in jest, and the Cow would have Doyle's head.
And it was his head on the block. George bloody Cowley was busy with yet another sodding international conference and had left them in charge of the drug operation. With Bodie's mind on vacation, it all fell to Doyle. So what would the old man do? The only one who knew at least most of what Bodie knew was Doyle, so that meant he pulled solo guard duty - as if anyone could have prized him from Bodie's side anyway. There were too many variables to control in the hospital, so, risk or not, he had to get him out of here.
"Tell me what to watch for."
The doctor sighed, but didn't look surprised, then gave Doyle a set of instructions that added up to 'any change and get him back here fast.' Far from reassured, but anxious to get Bodie away before some prat who thought it would be funny to ask what the code names were for all on-going MI6 operations -- something they weren't even supposed to know, but did -- showed up, he told Bodie to get dressed.
To his relief, that was all he had to say. Enough of Bodie's brain functioned to sort out the steps of a general order like 'get dressed,' leaving Doyle free to fidget instead of saying things like 'first, take off the hospital gown.' Watching the normally fastidious Bodie pull on his damp, muddy-around-the-edges clothes without protest made Doyle want to kill someone for doing this to his mate, but, reminding himself he couldn't look after Bodie from the nick, he restrained himself.
"Let's go, Bodie," brought his partner to heel like a bloody dog. Maybe some day he'd think all of this was funny, but, right now, Doyle's stomach churned. Lewis had dropped Bodie's silver Capri off, and Doyle did manage a smile when Bodie headed for the driver's side. "I'll drive, mate," he said, gently guiding the unresisting man to the passenger seat.
Doyle got behind the wheel and considered his list of destinations. Tired and off-balance, he longed for the familiarity of his own flat, but quickly rejected the idea. Bodie couldn't wear his things, and Ray had lived there long enough for a few unfriendlies to have his address. A safehouse? It would be the most secure option, but activating one would also draw attention to Bodie's condition. He'd just as soon spare Bodie the later embarrassment, and the expense of a safehouse wasn't something the Cow would thank him for once this was over.
Bodie's flat, then? Third floor, limited access -- easily defendable by one person -- only moved in a few days ago, which reduced possible knowledge of the address -- seemed tailor made for the job, and he could wear Bodie's things, eliminating the need for a stop by his place. Bodie's flat it was, he decided, then started the Capri.
Although relatively certain no one would even hear about the state his partner was in until long after he'd recovered, Doyle kept a careful watch out for any sign of pursuit during the drive, and one hand hovered near the butt of his gun until he'd double locked the door of Bodie's flat behind them.
"Sit down on the settee," he told his charge, then went to work checking all the window locks and alarms. Once he'd satisfied himself everything was secured and in working order, he called headquarters to remove their names from the active duty roster. Anson was not pleased.
"Look, you can label it bloody stand-by if you want, but we aren't responding to any call-outs," he snapped, always irritated when he had to deal with the duty officer instead of Cowley, but even more so today.
"But Bodie doesn't need to be in hospital?" Anson asked, unwilling to pick up on or ignoring the fact Doyle didn't want to say anything more.
Ray reminded himself that with Cowley's pet conference in session, CI5 was short-handed and he should not beat Anson's skull in the next chance he got. "Doctor wanted him to stay, but there's a security problem. Bodie had to leave, and I need to stay with him."
A gusting sigh sounded over the line. "This anything one of the juniors can handle? I really could use you."
"No, has to be me on guard duty." Doyle didn't really think any of his fellow CI5 operatives -- A or B Squad -- would even consider asking questions that would compromise national security. But Bodie's own secrets wouldn't enjoy such protection. Not to mention he couldn't trust one of those prats not to tell Bodie to act like a chicken or something equally droll. "No one else. Sorry, mate, but forget we exist for the next ... say eighteen hours. Unless the alarms go off, then make getting here top priority. Trust me on this one. It's that important."
"All right, Doyle, consider yourselves off-duty VIPs until tomorrow night. Good luck," Anson answered, then hung up.
"Thanks," he muttered to the dial tone. "Think I'll need all I can get."
Setting the phone down, he turned his attention back to his silent mate. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, he could have been a life-like statue. A stuffed and mounted Bodie-of-prey adorning some natural history museum. "Come on, sunshine, let's get you cleaned up."
Bodie didn't move. Apparently the suggestion was too vague for him to know what to do. Normally he would have wrinkled his nose at his current mud-spattered state and led the charge to the bath. Now he needed fucking directions. Somehow, Doyle doubted he would ever look back on this with humour.
"Bodie, undress, then go shower."
In response, his partner stood up and stripped. Right in the middle of the front room. Christ, good thing he'd closed the curtains, or they'd have had a constable on the stoop within the hour. All they needed to make the day complete -- landing in the nick for indecent exposure.
Naked, Bodie padded off to the loo. Doyle took off after him, reaching the doorway in time to see him turn on the taps, then start to step into the stall without checking the temperature of the water. "Stop!" he snapped.
Bodie froze, then offered no resistance when Doyle drew him back from the rapidly warming stream of water. "You're not to hurt yourself," Ray said, diluting the hot water with more cold until it felt comfortable to the touch. "You understand? I don't want you hurt."
Nothing. Not even a reassuring nod.
Shit. All right, time for Plan B. He could do with a shower himself, so the solution seemed obvious. "Get in the shower, Bodie," he said, stripping out of his own muddy clothes.
His partner obeyed, then Doyle joined him. Ray picked up a flannel, soaped it, then gave Bodie a quick but thorough wash and rinse. Satisfied with the job, he did the same speedy wash up for himself, but, more than a little tense, he lingered beneath the hot water as he rinsed.
It felt so good, he let the water flow down his neck, then over his chest, drawing the steam into his lungs with each breath. Only a few moments of bliss, then he turned to allow his back muscles to enjoy the same comfort.
That's when he noticed Bodie's erection. Not a slight swelling, but a full fledged erection. It looked so bloody odd attached to the same body as the face that lacked any hint of expression. It also looked damned uncomfortable.
Thinking it might be the result of the hot shower combined with the drug, he shut off the water and grabbed up a towel. "Dry yourself off, mate," Doyle said, giving him the towel, unwilling to do the job himself with that hard monster pointed at him.
He got another towel, then concentrated on getting himself dry, while giving Bodie as much privacy as a turned back could provide. When he finished, he turned around to find he now had a dry Bodie with a raging hard on to deal with.
Shit. Damned thing was even weeping now. He knew how much he hated it when he found himself in a similar state with no relief in sight. Then again, he also knew how little effort it took to deal with the problem once in that condition. He couldn't stand the thought of Bodie suffering this on top of everything else, but maybe. ...
"Bodie, I want you to. ..." Did a drugged mind understand slang? Maybe not. "Go into the bedroom and masturbate. Do it however you like to do it best, but mind not to hurt yourself."
Having received his orders, Bodie left the bath and went into his bedroom.
Remembering set-up had been the main problem with the shower, Doyle followed, stopping in the doorway.
He'd expected Bodie to flop down on the bed and get the job done fast with his fist. Instead, the other man opened the bedside drawer, pulled out a tube of KY, then. ...
Doyle's jaw all but dropped open as he realized Bodie held a dildo in his hand. A part of Ray's brain screamed at him to leave, but he felt frozen, unable even to look away while Bodie coated the sex toy with the lubricant. Doyle had the stray thought the dildo was only a little smaller than his own cock, then Bodie lifted his right leg, bracing it on the edge of the bed.
Lubricant slick fingers probed Bodie's anus, Doyle watching transfixed as they stretched and pushed. That was the moment when he knew Bodie would not hurt himself, whether it was Doyle's command to take care, or to do it however he best liked it, the notion of avoiding injury had penetrated the drug-fogged mind. He could leave. He could turn around, walk back into the front room and leave Bodie in peace. He knew it. But he did not move.
With a slow, smooth pressure, Bodie eased the dildo into his body until only the broad base showed. He sighed, a soft sound of pleasure, then carefully lay down on his bed, face up, his legs spread wide and bent at the knees. His hips began to rock, letting the weight of his body nudge the plastic within him.
Though it looked as if it would explode at any moment, his hands ignored his cock, caressing the smooth muscle of his chest with a lazy circular motion that slowly carried fingertips to nipples already hard and begging for attention. A rub, a pinch, a twist, a soothing caress -- his lips parted at the last gentle touch, his tongue brushing against the inner rim of his upper lip as if to say he longed for a mouth to replace his fingers.
Another sigh, one with a more wistful tone, then he abandoned his left nipple, his free hand stroking slowly down his body to the angry erection. He teased the tip with a single finger, gasping at the touch, but did not take hold of the rigid flesh. Instead he rolled over, coming up on his knees, then rested his forehead against one folded arm. He reached around with the other hand, grasped the base and began thrusting the dildo in and out with long, hard strokes that made him moan with every inward push.
In. Out. In. Out. His body began to shudder, the smoothness of his movements deteriorating into a jerky thrusting that made him move the dildo all the faster. Then he went rigid, screaming out a single word as his all but untouched cock spurted his release -- "Ray!"
Doyle jerked in surprise at the sound of his name, spun on his heel, then fled to the front room. "God, oh, my god," he gasped, feeling like some wide-eyed nutter. Scotch. Cowley's cure-all leapt into his mind, and he ran to the kitchen cupboard where Bodie kept a bottle of pure malt. His hands actually shook as he pulled out the cork, then, foregoing the glass, he drank straight from the bottle, swallowing one mouth full, then starting on another when reason returned.
He could not get drunk. A sodding voyeur who'd had less respect for his partner than the most mean-spirited junior-grade he might be, but he could not get drunk. Christ, if he'd been this irresponsible sober, what the fuck would he do after a few drinks?
Spitting into the sink what remained in his mouth, he grasped the edges of the counter with enough force to turn his knuckles white and tried to think. Bodie's idea of wanking was to fuck himself silly with a hunk of plastic while fantasizing about Doyle. Mr Stud-of-CI5, Mr No-Woman-Can-Resist-Me fancied a furry, flat-chested body with the wrong equipment between his legs to visions of buxom birds with legs spread.
His thoughts flashed over all the times Bodie had touched him and gave new meaning to each of them. Bodie wanted him. As he looked back over their eight-year partnership, it was all so clear it amazed him he could have missed the clues and still be considered one of Cowley's finest. But he'd never suspected. Not through all the pinched bums, all the gay jokes, all the off-duty time they had spent together, not once had he even had an inkling.
So what the fuck did he do now?
He shook himself. He'd do what he always did when this life of his threw him for sixes and nines -- take refuge in what the job demanded until he could suss things. Tonight that meant tending to Bodie, who, he suddenly remembered, had not been given any further orders.
Rushing back to the bedroom, he found Bodie still kneeling on the bed, still impaled by plastic. And Doyle had thought the erection looked uncomfortable. "Hang on a minute, mate," he muttered, went to the bathroom, warmed a flannel, then forced himself to walk over to the bed.
In the course of his job, Doyle had dealt with blood, vomit, urine and shit more times than he cared to remember, but nothing made him feel quite as dirty as easing the dildo out of Bodie. His disgust had nothing to do with his partner, but with his own actions. He'd been so concerned about protecting his partner from others, yet it was Doyle himself who had betrayed him. Why had he watched? For that matter, why hadn't he steered Bodie into a cold shower to solve the erection problem in the first place?
He cleaned Bodie's bum of the lubricant, his chest and belly of semen, then got him tucked into bed. "Close your eyes, sunshine," Doyle said. "Maybe I can do a decent job of looking after you if you're sound asleep."
By the time Doyle washed the dildo and returned it to the nightstand drawer, he found Bodie had indeed gone to sleep. Normally Ray would have crawled into bed beside him without concern, but he knew he could never do so again. He'd ruined it. The best friendship he'd ever had and in one tasteless error in judgment he'd destroyed everything.
There had been no reassuring promises of amnesia from the doctor. Come the dawn, Bodie might well remember everything. If he didn't, his well-fucked bum might give him a few clues. Christ, he might even think Doyle's anatomy, not plastic, had done the job. Without consent, wanting fantasy to become real or not, anyone with sense would consider that a rape. How would Bodie forgive him? How could Doyle make this right? Why the fuck had he watched?
Bodie woke with a pounding headache and the sort of disembodied feeling he normally associated with a fever. What the hell? He couldn't remember feeling like he was coming down with something. Couldn't remember drinking either, but his head felt like he'd downed half a case of pure malt scotch. The cheap stuff, at that.
Last thing he remembered clearly was some bitch throwing blue powder at him. After that. ... he frowned. Images and voices. Smells. Hospital. He'd been in hospital. He'd blacked out and come to in hospital. Ray had been there. He could remember him and the doctor's voice. Something about orders and Bodie being a security risk. "I never," he muttered, outraged by the very notion and sat up.
His stomach didn't protest, but his head did not approve. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Two pain tablets chased down by a glass of water gave him hope of relief, so he turned his attention back to the day before. He remembered orders. A lot of them. One of them had been to. ... His gaze swept to the shower.
Doyle had stopped him from burning himself, then had climbed into the shower with him. Fine as far as that went, but then the sexy bastard had started stretching and preening like some high-class moggy. Bodie'd had the usual reaction -- this time without benefit of his trousers or a long jacket to help hide it.
"Fucking hell," he sighed. Eight years of pretending Ray's neat bum twitching around in tight jeans didn't interest him, eight bloody years of relentless heterosexuality when he only wanted one rat-tempered little bastard, all for nothing. What a joke.
He remembered it all now. He'd fucked himself silly while Doyle had watched. He didn't even have to remember it to know he'd cried out his partner's name when he'd come. He always did. Bitten the inside of his lip raw more than once to keep quiet when he was with one bird or another. Nothing but another ruddy waste of time.
Now what? Getting dressed seemed the obvious answer, so he went back to his bedroom, pulled on a clean pair of sweats, then decided coffee sounded like an equally good idea. On the way to the kitchen, he discovered Doyle snoring away in Bodie's favourite chair and dressed in another pair of his sweats. He stared at the sleeping man and thought he should be angry with him. But he couldn't manage it. Hell, if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that he'd have watched if their situations had been reversed. Watched? It would have been like a dream come true. "Next time, angelfish," he whispered, "you take care of the villain with the drugs."
Next time. Like there would be a next time. Odds were Doyle would wake up, make certain Bodie was all right, then break his jaw. Stroppy sod would probably have his request for a new partner on Cowley's desk before Bodie finished picking himself up off the floor.
He sighed again. His version of crying his eyes out, although he suspected he'd resort to the real thing before this was over. Yeah, the destruction of an eight-year partnership and the only relationship he'd ever had that really mattered was worth a few tears. But he'd get to them later. Maybe help them along with a bottle of scotch.
When he found the open bottle on the counter, he was tempted to make a start of it. A little anaesthetic to dull the pain while Doyle established his masculinity by breaking as many of Bodie's bones as possible -- hard not to see the sense of that. But he re-corked the scotch and returned it to the cupboard. If he got drunk, he might make it worse. Might admit he loved Doyle and he'd really just as soon curl up and die than face a future without Ray in it.
Another sigh, then he set about making coffee. When he finished pouring a cup, a voice behind him announced, "Could fancy one of those myself."
His hands started to shake, but he managed the trick of getting Doyle a cup without breaking anything. "Here you go. Nice and hot." Perfect for flinging in a bent mate's face.
"Thanks." Doyle didn't throw it at him. Instead he slurped at the coffee with the enthusiasm of a drowning man scrambling for a life line. He'd sucked down well over half of it before he paused to ask, "You feeling all right?"
"Touch of a headache." The painkillers had taken the edge off it while he'd been busy contemplating a Doyleless future. "That's about it."
"Good." He went back to the coffee.
Bodie had expected dire retribution by this stage, so he wasn't quite certain what to do next. Then again, when in doubt, resort to routine. "You want some breakfast?"
An eyebrow arched. "You offering to cook?"
"If I have to." It wasn't that he couldn't cook, but he didn't like to.
Doyle smiled. "Nah, 'm not very hungry." Another few sips of coffee, then, "When are you going to start yelling?"
"I was a right bastard last night. And don't try to tell me you don't remember. You've been all pink in the face since I walked in here." Shit. He'd hoped that heat might be a mild fever, not a blush. Would have sworn he'd forgotten how to do that. He shrugged. "I was the one keeping the deep, dark secret. Think that gives you more a right to shout than me."
"What if I don't want to shout?"
"Depends on the alternative. Not partial to broken bones."
Doyle set down his now empty cup. "Don't want to break any of your bones, sunshine." His gaze shifted to the wall to Bodie's right. "Think I want you to kiss me."
Bodie's heart sank. He'd known there was another possible reaction besides a hostile break-up of their partnership, but finding the notion of broken bones less painful he'd shoved it to the back of his mind. Curiosity and sensuality -- Doyle had an abundance of both. A mercy fuck, maybe even an occasional tumble if the first went well enough -- Doyle wouldn't see it as too much to offer to someone who protected his back from worse fates. Bodie supposed he should be grateful Doyle didn't count fucking him as one of those worse fates, but sometimes having a part of something hurt more than not having it at all.
On the other hand, it must have taken a lot of effort to work up the bottle to make such an offer. Enough effort that rejecting it might accomplish what an exposed secret had failed to do and end their partnership. He couldn't risk that. Not if it broke his damn fool heart in two. Nothing for it then, but to go along with what his partner wanted and make the best of it. He forced a smile. "You sure, angelfish?" He gave Doyle one last chance to come to his senses and back out. "'s not something I want you forcing yourself to do."
Doyle smiled. "You talk too much, pet," he said, then pressed his lips to Bodie's.
Heaven and hell offered up in a single touch. Bodie groaned softly, only partially in pleasure, but the kiss deepened and all but the pleasure began to fade. "Ray," he murmured when Doyle drew back.
"Bedroom, Bodie," Ray said. "'m not taking you for the first time in the middle of the kitchen floor."
Take him. Oh, Christ. Bodie got so hard so quickly walking proved difficult, but he managed the trip to the bedroom with Doyle's help. As he fell back against the bed, he found himself wondering when he'd fallen down the rabbit hole. None of this could be real. Could it? Maybe this was all some drug induced hallucination -- maybe he hadn't really come round from the effects of the blue powder.
That thought/hope got him through Doyle stripping him off, but the warm weight of the body he'd wanted for so long pressing down on him pulled him back to reality. Doyle's hands caressed his chest, then went for his nipples. One thing he had to say for Doyle -- the man noticed details. Everything Bodie had done to himself, Doyle seemed to have memorized and was now intent on putting into practice. It was bliss. It was torture.
When Doyle's tongue licked his left nipple, it was also too much. Bodie pulled away, rolling on to his side, then curling up into a ball, wanting nothing more than for Doyle to leave him to his misery.
It couldn't be that simple. "Bodie? What's wrong, pet?" Doyle asked, his hands rubbing Bodie's back with a gentle, soothing motion.
He fought for the words, desperately trying to think of some way to save both his heart and their partnership. The only thing he could come up with was to beg. "Don't do this to me, Ray. Please, don't."
"Why? I thought you wanted this."
He bit his lip and tasted blood in his effort not to speak the words, but Doyle wasn't having any of it.
"Stop that!" he ordered, and like the pathetic prat he always was, Bodie obeyed. But Doyle hadn't finished giving orders. "Tell me."
"I. ..." He couldn't say it. He straightened out, rolled over onto his back, then said, "Just feeling emotional, sunshine. Must be some after effect of the drug. Carry on with what you were doing."
Doyle's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Nice try, mate. Now, let's have it. You want me or just the fantasy of me?"
"Wanted you for years," he admitted, hoping an ego stroke would save him. "Fantasized about having you for years, too. All of it together wasn't as good as one real kiss from you."
That earned him a slight smile, but no reprieve. "So it's not about want or fantasy. This about you trying not to say you love me?"
Bodie stared at him. How? ...
Doyle chuckled, then kissed him on the tip of the nose. "Don't look so surprised, sunshine. I'm an intelligent lad. Eventually get to the answer, I do, even if I do take my sweet time at it."
"Mind, it took getting smacked in the head with your little display to set me to rights, but how was I supposed to figure out we loved each other when we only dated birds?"
"Ra- ...." Hang on a minute. "'Loved each other?'"
"Yeah. See all last night I kept asking myself why I watched you. I mean, it was obvious you weren't going to hurt yourself, so why stand there gawking like a fool?"
Knowing well the workings of his partner's brain, Bodie guessed, "You decided you watched because you liked what you saw."
Doyle nodded. "Kept picturing you going at it, and I got so hard. Had to take myself in hand to keep from screaming. Imagined I was with you. Dead sexy, that was. Made me want the real thing."
Bodie sighed. "I know how that feels."
"You should have said," Doyle scolded him, then gave him a kiss. "Also started thinking about us. How we are with each other. Lucas and McCabe, Merriot and Lewis, Charlie and Anson - all good teams, and I reckon they'd each call their partner a good friend, but they don't act like us. Not a lot of touching. No shared vacations, either. Lucas told me once he was glad to get away from McCabe on his holidays, gave him a change of pace. Me, I always spend the few holidays we're apart missing you. That the way it is with you, Bodie?"
"Day's always better when I spend it with you, Ray."
"Not a big step from realizing that to knowing you're in love, is it?"
"Not a big one at all. Ray?"
"Go back to what you were doing?"
Doyle grinned, then pounced. He gave Bodie's mouth a proper ravishing, his tongue probing deeply while his hands stroked the powerful body beneath him. "Love you, Bodie," he whispered, nuzzling an ear. "Going to make you mine."
"Always have been," he whispered, parting his legs.
The bedside drawer yielded up the familiar tube of KY, but this time it was Doyle who held it, who spread it on his fingers, then began to prepare Bodie. That alone almost made Bodie come, and he moaned his pleasure loudly.
Doyle shifted up, covering Bodie's body with his own. "Ready to fly, pet?" he asked, nuzzling Bodie's jaw.
Clutching at his partner's shoulders, Bodie had to fight to stay coherent. "Yes, Christ, yes."
"You want it on your hands and knees?"
"No. Easier that way to do myself. Want to see you."
Doyle smiled, gave him another gut-wrenching kiss, then entered him. Flesh not plastic. Doyle's flesh. The nudge of Doyle's balls against his arse pushed him over the edge, and Bodie screamed his love's name as he came.
Gasping and disoriented from the power of his climax, he clung to Doyle -- his safe harbour in a storm of sensation the man himself had caused.
Dimly he felt Doyle's hands caressing him, soothing him. "Shhh, love, it's all right," Doyle murmured in his ear. "I'm here. Shhh."
Bodie blinked, then gave his lover a weak grin. "Too sexy for both our own goods, Ray," he said when he found speech possible. "Now, why don't you get on with it."
"Move, Ray. Take what you need and let me feel you come inside me."
"All right. Hang on," he said, then began to thrust. Gently at first, but he responded eagerly to Bodie's soft urges to move faster, to take him harder.
It surprised Bodie how much he loved the sensation, though his own need for sexual release had been all but short circuited by his climax. But it was Doyle moving in him. Not a piece of cheap, vibrating plastic or even one of the anonymous pick ups he'd resorted to in his time before joining CI5. He'd not been able to endure the thought of another man inside him, once he'd fallen for Doyle, but he'd never even dreamed how glorious this would be.
Doyle stiffened, then hissed, "I'm coming, Bodie. Do you feel it?"
The cock within him pulsed and a warm heat seemed to flood Bodie's bowels. "Yes, I feel it," he whispered. "So good, Ray. So bloody good."
Another shudder passed through Doyle, and he threw his head back, something between a grown and a yowl erupting from his throat, then he slumped against Bodie, who gave him the same soothing, loving attention Doyle had given him.
He managed not to whimper in regret when Doyle withdrew and settled himself more comfortably against Bodie's side, but it must have been on his face, for Doyle caressed his cheek, then said, "I'll want this again, pet. Often. That meet with your approval?"
"Can have me whenever you want, Ray," he answered, his heart pounding at what he thought Doyle was trying to say. But to make certain, he added, "Be difficult to keep me and the birds happy, won't it?"
Doyle smiled. "Prat. No more birds, Bodie. Just you and me."
Bodie felt like shouting for joy, but instead simply smiled and said, "Whatever you say, Ray."
"Good, I--" Doyle frowned suddenly. "Bodie, tell me you hate me."
He blinked. "Why would I say something like that?"
A sigh of pure relief puffed out of Doyle, then he gave Bodie a rueful smile. "Realized I've been giving a lot of orders."
"Nothing unusual about that, sunshine. Always been a bossy thing, haven't you."
"Hmm, maybe, but you haven't always been programmed to do anything I say."
Bodie snorted. "Since when? Got me wrapped around your little finger, angelfish. Always have, but if you're worried about some drug pulling my strings, don't." He cupped Doyle's face between his hands. "Been head over heels in love with you for years. If anyone should be doubting reality, it's me. Dreamed of this too many times for my peace of mind."
Doyle turned his head, then kissed Bodie's right palm. "Sounds like we both need some reassurance, and, as Anson doesn't expect us to report in for another four hours, I have a suggestion."
Bodie smiled, then drew Doyle down to him.
-- THE END --