A Pros romance a trois by Brenda Antrim. Rated NC17 for loving sex. No copyright infringement intended.
For Lily, #1 Martin fan and dear friend -- happy Christmas! With thanks to M & M for the thoughts and suggestions.
He couldn't believe his rotten luck.
Getting dumped was bad enough. But getting dumped on Christmas eve was ... too rotten to contemplate on his own in the middle of a slushy street freezing his short hairs off. Colin Murphy took one long last look up at the firmly shut shade in the window of the flat where he'd planned to spend his first free Christmas since joining CI5.
So much for plans.
He slogged his way through the freezing mush to the opposite kerb and stood at the side of his car, staring at the keys in his hand, blankly wondering what his next move should be. Since Karen wasn't on, and given the decisive slam the door had made in his face, she most definitely wasn't, he wasn't sure what he was going to do.
Home was right out. The last five weeks had been mad, running after bombers and sundry foreign interests intent on ruining the holidays. He'd thought she'd understood that. He'd called whenever he got the chance, not often, he admitted to himself, but as often as humanly possible under the iron thumb of the Cow on full roar. There was no food and less warmth in his utilitarian flat, the pubs were closed or closing fast, and the thought of dark cold emptiness waiting at 'home' was enough to make him drive right into the Thames.
A gust of wind caught at him, sneaking down his collar and ruffling his hair. Too cold to stand there like a dolt and make plans, that was certain. Unlocking the door with a hand that shook, either from cold or fatigue or something indefinable that felt like loneliness, he folded himself behind the wheel and started driving.
Away from the river.
Two hours later, he was no closer to a solution. He felt ridiculously like an orphan, but he simply didn't want to go home. He was twisted tight as a bundle of wires with excess energy from all the work lately, tired of being cold, and even more tired of being alone. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the car over and stared blindly at a street lamp.
That's when he realized he'd driven over to Bodie's flat.
He hadn't been spending much time with Bodie, lately. Not for the last few months, anyway. Things had been too hectic, work nearly non-stop, and Bodie had been distracted the times he'd tried to talk with him. Murphy stared at the front door of the building, wondering what Bodie was up to. Who he was up to it with. If he went upstairs and interrupted Bodie in the middle of some bird, Bodie would have his head.
It was still better than going home. And if by chance he got up there and Bodie was off with some bird rather than in one, it would be a sign. A sign to go home, crank up the heat, and sleep through 'til Boxing Day.
Losing his internal debate, he crawled out of the car before the cold could seep further into him and freeze him to the seat. Trundling up the front steps, he leaned on the bell. To his surprise, Bodie answered on the first buzz.
"What?" Not welcoming, but not actively hostile, either.
"Bodie, s'me, Murph."
"Work?" Suspicion underlay the welcome.
"Nah. Just me. C'n I come up? Before I freeze my balls off?" He felt like he was turning to ice from the soles of his sodden shoes to above his knees, and what the wet wasn't freezing the wind was finishing off. There was a long silence, and all the misgivings came rushing back. This wasn't a good idea. Bodie didn't need him barging in on his holiday plans ... his hand came back up to push the bell, apologize, and drag himself home. Before his finger reached the button, Bodie's voice came back.
"C'mon up, mate."
The bell rang out and the door gave. Curiosity about the delay warred with the need to get warm again, and he took the stairs two steps at a time. Bodie must have been listening for him, because as he came down the hall toward the door it opened.
Bodie looked ... wonderful. More relaxed than Murphy had ever seen him, even on climbing trips out to the back of beyond. He was wearing soft-looking trousers and a woolly pullover, a deep blue that made his eyes look like the ocean at sunset. Murphy shook off the romantic notion, not needing to get into that sort of trouble even in his own thoughts, and smiled sideways at Bodie as he was ushered in the door.
"Ta, Bodie, was about to turn to an icicle down there."
Bodie grinned at him and took his jacket. "Get in by the fire before your arse turns to ice and breaks off."
As he stepped smartly to obey, Murphy noticed another person in the living room. Doyle looked up from his relaxed sprawl on the sofa in front of the small fire and waved a lazy greeting. "Hoi."
"You at loose ends, too, eh?" Murphy asked, making a beeline for the warmth. From the corner of his eye, he saw a significant look pass between the partners. All his instincts went on alert. What, precisely, had he interrupted?
"Naw, family tradition, this is," Doyle answered readily enough. His voice was relaxed but his eyes were watchful. "Close to family as we get."
"And close to tradition, too, since we never know where we're gonna be or what we're gonna be doin'," Bodie finished Doyle's sentence, as usual. There were no closer partners on the Squad than Bodie and Doyle. For a brief, bittersweet moment, Murphy envied them those ties. Then he shook that off, as well, and sank into the chair beside the fire.
"Here, get this down ya," Bodie offered him a hot mug of coffee, and Murphy wrapped his hands around it gratefully, feeling the numbness bleed from his fingers as the heat passed through the ceramic into his hands. He used the excuse of drinking to get a good look around.
If he hadn't gone to any effort to decorate for Christmas, the situation was obviously very different here. He knew that Bodie had been running off his feet -- they all had been. But he'd gone to the effort to add some cheer to his flat. There was greenery here and there, baubles hanging from it. And on the thin mantle above the fire, there were two stockings.
Murphy took a closer look around the flat. What he saw made his brain tick over at high speed. Bodie's things sat cheek by jowl with things that looked out of character for the ex-merc soldier-boy. Poetry, yeah, Murphy knew Bodie loved words. But art? Mystery novels? The sheer lazy sprawl of clutter was in itself un-Bodie-like. It practically yelled 'Doyle lives here.'
Under cover of their normal catch-up chat, talk bouncing with ease between the three men, Murphy noted other details. The small table in the corner, set for two, with an expensive label on the wine bottle and half-burnt candles in the holders. The low lights in the flat, most of the illumination stemming from the fire in the hearth and the lighted Christmas tree. The soft seasonal music coming from the stereo speakers, a pleasant background to their conversation without overwhelming it.
Seems he'd missed a lot of things, being so preoccupied the last few months.
Realizing that he had, indeed, interrupted a romantic evening, if not exactly the one he'd envisioned, Murphy finished his coffee. Setting it aside, he started to make his excuses and escape. He'd rather go back to his miserable cold flat than muck up the evening for Bodie and Doyle. They were his mates, and if they'd found something good together he wasn't going to stand in the way of them enjoying it.
"Make you uncomfortable, Murph?" Doyle asked shrewdly before Murphy could get the words out of his mouth. Murphy did him the courtesy of not even pretending to misunderstand.
"No," he answered honestly. "Love's love, doesn't matter what the package looks like. I just didn't want to play gooseberry. Know you don't get much of a chance to be alone, and be yourselves, and I don't want to be the party crasher."
Doyle studied him closely, a guarded expression on his face, then relaxed again into a wide smile when he saw Murphy's sincerity. Bodie piped up then.
"It's okay, Smurf. Can't have you pining away in the cold like a Dickens orphan in the night, 'specially on Christmas." Tacit permission to intrude.
"What happened, anyway? Thought you had great plans with some bird," Doyle added, curious but not unwelcoming, himself.
"She dumped me," Murphy admitted ruefully. Bodie and Doyle looked at him in amused understanding.
"Stood her up one time too many, eh?" Doyle grinned.
"Pretty harsh, getting dumped on Christmas." Bodie commiserated with a grin of his own. Murphy shrugged good-naturedly.
"The dumping I can take, but she'd promised to cook for me. My pantry's nothing but crumbs and all the shops are closed!" He made it as piteous as possible, and both men laughed gently at him.
"Can't have that, now, can we?" Bodie asked, winking over at Doyle. Doyle shook his head.
"Anything but. We've got plenty. Park it here and eat with us."
Murphy could see they meant it, and the last of the tension left him. They knew he had no problems with them being together, and they were inviting him into their private world willingly. He smiled at them both and relaxed to enjoy an evening of friendship and laughter, just where he should be on a cold Christmas eve.
Doyle sat back in his chair, surveying their unexpected guest over the ruins of an excellent dinner. Murph had tumbled to the truth pretty quickly, not a big surprise, but it could have gotten unpleasant fast if he hadn't been so easygoing. And that would have hurt Bodie, for whom Murphy was as close to a best friend as he got, not counting Doyle. Since Doyle considered himself the other half of Bodie, and knew Bodie felt the same, there was no jealousy. Just a pinch of curiosity.
Throughout the evening, Doyle had kept a close watch on both Bodie and Murph. His partner was easy to read, after so long, and once Murph realized he really was welcome and stopped looking like he was about to bolt, he was an open book. Puzzlement followed by understanding, surprise followed by curiosity that melted into a low boil of arousal by late that evening. Oh, he'd covered it pretty well, had Murph, but Doyle had always known there was latent desire on Murphy's part when it came to Bodie.
He hadn't known until tonight that it extended to himself, as well.
There were three conversations going on that evening around the dinner table, one aloud and two subliminal. Murphy broadcast his need and his desire without ever realizing how much he was giving away, and Doyle brought it to Bodie's attention without a word being spoken. Bodie hadn't been all that surprised, and had flirted in small doses, gauging the reaction. Murph had relaxed even further and bloomed like a bloody flower under the attention.
Now, as the candles burnt down and the last of the food was tucked away, that happy glow was fading, and Doyle found he didn't want it to disappear. He was feeling pretty mellow himself, more than a little horny, and his curiosity was biting at him. As they carried their coffee into the living room, he looked over at Bodie. With a glance and a tilt of a brow, he proposed seduction.
A devilish curl of that long mouth was all the affirmative he needed.
By the time the coffee was gone, he had a plan. He'd settled on the sofa opposite Murphy and kept relatively quiet while Bodie and Murphy talked. When the talk had died away, Bodie got up and fed the fire, getting a nice roaring blaze going. Murph sighed unconsciously and made a move to get up, reluctant but resigned. It was Doyle's cue. Biting back a stab of excitement, he reached across the cushions between them and ran his hand along Murph's sleeve.
The Irishman froze like a rabbit caught in headlights. From the side, Doyle heard a little sound escape Bodie, and recognized the state of his partner's arousal by the muffled moan caught in his throat. His own arousal hitched up several notches.
"What's the rush, mate?" he asked softly, sliding over toward Murph. For all the five inches and three stone advantage the younger agent had, he might as well have been tied to the sofa. He gave every impression of being utterly cowed by Doyle's approach.
"Thought ... thought you might want ... alone?" he stammered. A flush rose from his collar to sweep up his face. It made his eyes look even bigger. Doyle swallowed with some difficulty.
"Not tonight," Bodie answered from his new position, standing behind Murph. Murphy started and looked wildly over his shoulder up at Bodie. Bodie smiled, a dark smile full of promise to match the tone of his voice.
"Tonight's for sharing. You feel up to sharing?" Doyle slid closer still, until his thigh was flush with Murphy's. Deciding a sledgehammer was as subtle as Murph could interpret given his current state of total confusion, he reached out with his right hand and ran it down Murph's cock.
Hard as a rock. With a sigh that was half relief at not misreading the signals and half excitement at the prospect of a more adventurous Christmas Eve than he'd originally expected, Doyle reached over with his other hand and began to unbutton Murph's shirt. Above him, he saw Bodie run his fingers into Murph's hair, then lean forward for an upside-down kiss that had more than a touch of the conqueror about it.
Murph groaned. Wriggled. Waved his hands helplessly in the air, first toward Doyle, then toward Bodie, uncertain which way to go. Doyle chuckled, then leaned forward to plaster himself against Murphy's now-naked chest.
Hmm. Murph smelled wonderful, musk and salt and vaguely sweet. His chest made Doyle's fingertips twitch. Skin like velvet over nice long hard muscles. Nearly hairless, just like Doyle liked 'em. The anticipation of seeing all that skin stretched out over all Bodie's creamy skin gave him such a jolt he thought he'd come from the thought alone, but he mentally counted to twenty -- in Mandarin -- and calmed himself down enough to make sure they all enjoyed it. They had a long night ahead of them.
Pulling himself reluctantly away from Murphy's chest, he signaled Bodie with his eyes, and they attacked their next objective -- getting Murph naked on the floor. Bodie pulled the shirt off his broad shoulders and pulled him upright as Doyle stripped his pants from him. Bodie then spun him about, gently, and Murph followed instinctively, arms going around Bodie as he lowered them both to the soft rug in front of the fire.
Doyle made short work of Murph's boots and socks, tossing them behind him to the pile beside the sofa. His own clothes followed quickly, slowing at Bodie's meaningful throat-clearing. Looking up, he saw that both men were staring at him intently. So he took a deep breath and took his time, knowing the firelight would highlight the golden tone of his skin, ease away the imperfections and make him look good. From the slightly dazed expression on Murphy's face and the ferally hungry look on Bodie's, it must have done the trick. Naked, erect, shivering slightly with lust, he pointed at Bodie.
"You're overdressed, mate. Shuck 'em."
Then he went down on his knees and drew Murph into a short, hard kiss. Murph's mouth opened and he fell into the kiss, shifting over until he was almost covering Doyle. With a groan, Doyle tore his lips away and gestured with his chin over Murph's shoulder. "Missing the show," he prompted with a whisper. Huge eyes, dark with passion, stared at him for a heartbeat before Murph twisted around to watch Bodie strip.
By the time Bodie was naked, all cream and flushed pink and jet black accents, Doyle wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last. Murphy had reacted to Bodie's strip by unconsciously grinding his erection into Doyle's groin, pinning him to the floor and rocking against him as he watched. Doyle had squirmed around until his erection was sawing against Murph's, and he was ready to explode. Bodie knew, as Bodie always knew, and he took it to the next step.
Laying down behind Murphy, Bodie ran his hands all over Murphy's sides and flanks, rubbing himself against Murph's arse, licking and nibbling all along the back and sides of his neck. Murphy's head fell back in response, and Doyle took advantage of the new territory in his reach, kissing and sucking at Murph's throat, his collarbone, along his jaw. Doyle kept up a steady rocking against him, hands caressing his shoulders, running along his chest, before dropping down to take both their erections in one hand and pump them in unison.
The extra pressure was all Murphy needed, and he groaned as he came, jerking back and forth between Bodie and Doyle. The spasming flesh against his triggered Doyle's climax, and his eyes went wide, meeting Bodie's over Murph's shoulder. Bodie was watching him avidly, pupils so expanded his irises were mere slivers of midnight blue around them. Doyle's expression got to him, as it so often did, and he pressed hard against Murphy's shaking frame, his own orgasm splashing across Murph's buttocks.
In the afterglow, Doyle snuggled into Murph's chest, practically purring as long arms wrapped around him. Bodie was his usual affectionate self, and as Doyle let himself relax into sleep, his last impression was of Bodie's warm hands running over him and Murphy, soothing them both, loving them into oblivion.
It was late -- or early, depending on how one looked at it. Bodie lay, head resting between Murphy's shoulder blades, listening to Murph and Doyle breathing in their sleep. He hadn't been sure what to expect when Murph had shown up, but he should have known. Ray was one of the most generous lovers he'd ever known, if not the most generous, and there was no way, once it became clear that Murph wasn't turned off by the fact that they were lovers, that Doyle was going to let the other man go home to an empty flat for Christmas.
The sex was a bonus.
Smiling to himself at just how good that bonus had been, and the fact that barring London exploding around their ears they had another whole day to explore all the possible permutations of that bonus, Bodie glanced lazily around the room. Doyle always dropped off after sex, but Bodie was energized. He had to get up and move.
His gaze lit on the mantle, and he grinned. If he was quiet enough, he could get the stockings stuffed and have them ready to greet Doyle come morning. Murph sighed in his sleep beneath him, and Bodie stopped anticipating bars of chocolate and wrapped his mind around a new small logistical problem.
No stocking for Murphy.
This called for the talents of Father Christmas Bodie.
Withdrawing from the crumpled heap of exhausted lovers, he crept with all possible stealth into the bedroom. Both Ray and Murph slept on like the dead. Bodie did a thorough recon of all possible solutions to the Stocking Problem, and ended up digging a clean sock out of his drawer. When in doubt, improvise.
Practically tiptoeing around the sleepers, he slipped another hook on the mantle and hung the third stocking, appropriately enough, between his and Doyle's. Then he tiptoed back into the kitchen and got the booty. Back in the living room, it was a test of patience and quiet persistence to fill the stockings without waking anyone else. Apple in the toe, satsumas, nuts, bars of chocolate -- manfully resisting the urge to eat just one -- and a couple small gifts stuck in the top. He stepped back and looked.
A little lumpy, but they would do. Except ... Murph's looked a little empty.
Creeping back to the pantry, he snagged a bottle of Newcastle's Brown Ale and placed it with care in the top of Murphy's stocking.
Crossing his fingers that the hooks would hold for a few more hours, feeling fatigue wash over him now that the work was done, he lay back down behind Murphy and drew the duvet over them all. The last thing he saw as he fell asleep was Doyle's face, expression serene, tucked into the curve of Murphy's shoulder.
Doyle came awake as he always did -- a short burst of complete alertness, followed by drowsy relief when he didn't have to immediately shoot anyone. He lifted his head from its comfortable rest against Murphy's chest and looked around lazily. The sight of the stuffed stockings made him grin. Trust Bodie to find a way to make sure nobody went without on Christmas morning.
Stretching as much as he could without rousing anyone else, Doyle surveyed his lovers. They'd shifted in the night, and Bodie was flat on his back, one hand resting on Murph's ribs, the other stretched out toward the now-cold fire. Murphy was also flat on his back, one hand flung over his head, the other draped over his belly. There were pressure marks from Doyle's ribs across his forearm.
Doyle got up as quietly as he could and rebuilt the fire. By the time he'd coaxed it to life, it wasn't the only thing raring to go. Turning back to his bedmates, he swallowed.
They looked good enough to eat. Starting with Mr. Strawberries and Cream there.
Ensuring that he gave enough warning not to startle Bodie awake -- which could be painful, especially if any dangling parts were within reach before Bodie was completely aware of the difference between amorous intent and hostile attack -- he straddled his sleepy lover. Knowing how Bodie enjoyed it, he slid his knees up nearly under Bodie's armpits and gently lowered his body until he was caressing Bodie's cock with the soft skin of his perineum.
It didn't take much of that before Doyle's own erection was painting patterns in pre-cum across Bodie's chest. Writhing purposefully, trying not to pant too loudly, Doyle aimed at Bodie's nipples, stroking across them with the leaking end of his cock. A stifled gasp behind him caused him to look over his shoulder.
Murphy was staring at him, one hand passing slowly up and down over his erection, eyes wide as saucers. "Feel like a bloody voyeur," he whispered, licking dry lips.
"Then get off your arse and join the fun," Bodie answered, full voice, without opening his eyes.
No second invitation needed. Murph rose to his knees and straddled Bodie behind Doyle. Doyle's hands went two directions as Bodie gave up playing possum and rose up on one elbow, kissing the tip of Doyle's cock as he came up. Doyle's right arm curved around and he cupped the crown of Bodie's head in his palm, looking down at him with all the love he had beaming out his eyes. His left hand went behind him and his fingers spread wide over the side of Murph's hip, urging him forward.
Bodie grasped Doyle's left knee with his right hand, balancing himself as his left arm came up to wrap around Doyle's waist. Doyle reveled in the strong grip, then shuddered with sensation as Murphy's right hand slid around the side of his hip and his cock was caught in long fingers. Murphy's left hand made a leisurely journey over Doyle's left hip, along his ribs and up toward his left nipple. The heavy weight of Murph's head between his shoulder blades, the whisper of a kiss over his left shoulder, completed the picture.
Doyle was surrounded by heat, walls of strength below and behind him. Bowing his head, he caught Bodie's mouth in a passionate kiss, tongues sweeping together, mouths working over one another. Murphy took advantage of his new position by catching the nape of Doyle's neck in his teeth, holding him in place with the hint of threat in the sharp bite. Doyle moaned into Bodie's mouth.
His erection was trapped against Bodie's chest as Murphy moved forward, carefully keeping his weight off the men below him by balancing on his knees. Murph's fingers were trapped as well between the tense muscles of Doyle's stomach and the soft steel of his erection. The strong hand curled around him, milking him as Murphy slid his cock down the crease of his buttocks, the tip sliding between his thighs to nudge at his hanging sac with each thrust. Bodie's erection joined their play, sliding up into the tight heat between Doyle's arse and Murphy's belly, passage eased by the sweat pearling on their skin as well as the fluid leaking from Murphy's cock.
Murphy's other hand was roaming freely over Doyle's chest, pinching and soothing his nipples, combing through his chest hair. Doyle would have been vocal in his appreciation, but his moans were swallowed by Bodie, kissing him as if he'd never let him go. Bodie's hands were busy as well, sliding past Doyle's ribs to rub along Murphy's sides from shoulder to flank. He was whimpering into Doyle's mouth, hips bucking as strongly as possible given his position, pinned below both of the other men.
The intensity built. Nothing that felt that good could be contained indefinitely. Orgasm ripped like flash fire through Murphy, and his strong thrusts drove him down onto Doyle, trapping Doyle's cock and rubbing it hard against Bodie's chest and Murphy's clenching fingers. Doyle came with a sound like a howl, finally breaking the kiss with Bodie to throw his head back against Murphy's shoulder.
The movement and pressure were too much for Bodie, trapped as his cock was between Murphy's frenzied movement and Doyle's uncontrolled spasming. Doyle felt the earth shift as Bodie bucked one final time and came, heat bathing Murphy's softening cock and semen mixing with Murphy's along the length of Doyle's arse. Doyle collapsed against Bodie and curled sideways, one hand still clutching Murphy's flank, so that Murphy collapsed beside them both, long arms wrapped around Doyle's torso, hands grasping at Bodie's chest and shoulder.
For long moments there was no noise in the room but harsh panting and the heavy thunder of heartbeats slowly returning to normal. Doyle was pressed warmly between Bodie's bulk and Murphy's, his head tucked into the curve of Bodie's shoulder, his back tight against Murphy's front. He was almost asleep again when he heard Murphy ask, incredulously, "Is that MY stocking?"
Bodie laughed, the sound sending warmth through Doyle as it rumbled under his cheek. "Happy Christmas, Murph," he answered. Murphy started to laugh, and hugged them both even tighter.
Doyle smiled and patted Bodie's shoulder and Murphy's hip. "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night," he slurred.
"It's morning, Ray-mate," Bodie corrected him.
"Christmas morning," Murphy added.
"We've got pressies to open," Bodie kept on. Doyle considered growling, but he didn't have enough energy to pull it off.
"Stockings!" Murph exclaimed, too perky by half.
Great. Two morning people. If Doyle hadn't been loved to a puddle of goo, he'd've been really irritated.
"Breakfast?" Bodie prodded Doyle, gently at first, then harder when Doyle didn't move.
"Gimme time to recover, already," Doyle managed to mutter, then gave up the battle and wrapped himself around Bodie like a limpet. "'Nother week or so should do it."
There was a moment of silence, just long enough to warn him that something was coming but not time enough to avoid it. As Murphy dove face-first into his groin and Bodie took his mouth in a soul-stealing kiss, Doyle mentally shrugged and let himself be taken.
After all, Christmas was the time for giving.
-- THE END --
Happy Holidays, everyone, and a wonderful 2000!