Taking It Neat


"Did you see Cowley's face when the skip tipped over on him?" Doyle slouched in the seat and slanted a grin at his partner. He'd remember the sight of Cowley, knee-deep in rubbish, for a long time. In fact, it might just be his final deathbed memory.

Bodie glanced away from the road for a moment, a tiny smile curving the corners of his mouth. "Never thought the old man could dance that fast. Except on Hogmanay."

"And with a few tots of single malt to kill the pain in his leg." Doyle stretched his own legs as much as possible within the confines of the car. "C'mon, Bodie. It's only a little stain on the cuff. No one will notice it but you."

"Some people may not care about their appearance." Bodie slid the car into a spot that magically appeared in front of his flat. It was a gift. "But I have a reputation to maintain."

Doyle shook his head, both at the miraculous appearance of the parking spot and Bodie's self-delusion. Silly sod. "Yeah, but what's your reputation have to do with how you dress?"

"At least I don't look like a yobbo." Bodie raised an eyebrow and opened the door. "You waiting here? Won't be a tick."

"Yobbo? You've got to be joking." Sliding out of the car, Doyle followed Bodie up the steps. "And yes, I'm coming in. I want a drink."

Holding open the front door, Bodie slowly raked his eyes over his partner. "Yeah, you're right. Only an O.A.P. would wear that jacket."

"Git." Doyle pushed past him and started up the stairs. "At least I don't stink of squashed cabbage and rotten sprouts."

His training held good; he had only two seconds to react to the feet pounding up the stairs after him. As he turned, Bodie's palm smacked his hip rather than his bum, and Doyle stayed two steps behind as they raced up the stairs.

He could have caught up with Bodie - he was the sprinter in their partnership - but Bodie was wearing his cream-coloured cords, and two steps behind gave him a perfect view.

A brilliant view.

Sure, Bodie was good looking, in that classic-Roman-bust way. Chiseled, he was. Lips, jaw, cheekbones. Chest. Thighs. Arse. Doyle had been to art school; he knew a thing or two about beauty.

For one thing, it was unattainable. For another, no one ever was harmed by just looking, right?


"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You decide to drink out in the corridor?" Grinning, Bodie held open the door and sketched a bow.

Which meant he had had time to unlock the door and disarm the alarm. Doyle blinked. Bad habit, that. Drifting off in the middle of a public place. And bad habits had a way of getting one killed. "Just waiting for you," he said, entering the flat. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair.

Bodie jerked his head toward the drinks cabinet. "Help yourself. Where d'you want to go?"

"Don't care, really." Doyle eyed the selection of liquor, opened the single malt, and splashed a finger in the glass. "Where was that place where all the air hostesses hang out? The one near Heathrow?" He took a sip, enjoying the bite on his tongue, the burn down his throat.

"Hand over." Grabbing the bottle, Bodie poured a generous measure. "Good stuff. Too bad Cowley couldn't join us."

"Oh, yeah. He'd make a cheerful companion." Doyle carried his drink over to the settee and collapsed. "After a shower and change, he'll probably go back to the office for a fun-filled evening of shuffling papers and biting the heads off civil servants."

With a shrug, Bodie leaned against the cabinet and took a drink. "Cowley's not so bad."

Doyle sat up. "You've gone out of your mind, mate." He lifted his glass. "And I didn't come here to talk about George Cowley. Go titivate, and we can leave."

"Titivate?" Bodie said in a low voice, and walked over to where Doyle sat, frowning down at him.

Which put Bodie's zip at eye height. The zip and what was obviously behind it.

Dry-mouthed, Doyle stared at the drink in his hand, which suddenly had become the most interesting sight in the world. He lifted a shoulder. "Do us a favour, Bodie, and change your damn trousers. There's an air hostess waiting with my name on her knickers."

Bodie downed the remainder of his scotch and turned toward the bedroom. The opportunity was too good to lose. Quick as an eel, Doyle stretched out his leg and Bodie tripped over his foot, almost landing on his face. Only an ungainly stagger kept him on his feet.

"What the hell?" Bodie slammed his glass on the side table and glared at Doyle beneath lowered brows. And then his eyes lit up, his mouth curved into a wide grin, and he rolled his head and shook out his arms. Loosening up.

Doyle licked his lips and wondered what he'd been thinking to bait Bodie that way. Too late to back down now, though. He pulled his legs under him and set down the glass, never taking his eyes off Bodie.

Before he could think of a reply, Bodie pounced.

Doyle was ready and deflected Bodie's grab, scrambling over the back of the settee. Keeping the settee between them, he sidled toward the door, but Bodie cut him off.

"Think you can catch me, do you?" Doyle feinted toward the kitchen.

Bodie grinned, but didn't reply. Didn't fall for his trick, either.


The bedroom or the window were his only escape routes.

Bodie moved toward the bedroom, leaving a clear path to the front door. A trap...

Which he would spring.

Doyle sprinted toward the door, Bodie lunging after him. Bodie had the advantage of reach, but Doyle was faster. Until Bodie shoved a chair in his path and he tumbled over it, landing flat on his back.

And then Bodie landed on him, face to face, chest to chest, groin to...

Doyle froze.

Their erections fit neatly side-by-side, cupped in the well-muscled hollow between jutting hipbones, separated only by straining corduroy and taut denim. They fit, for all the world as if they belonged there, beside each other.

Blue eyes burned above him, but he could not move, couldn't even summon up the strength or presence of mind to push Bodie off and scarper. The fire in those eyes dimmed, growing uncertainty showing clearly in the arch of the black brows, in the drooping corners of the mouth.


That one word, tentatively spoken, broke through his paralysis like a stone through a sheet of ice.

Doyle's arms snaked around Bodie's back, his fingers sliding into the short, thick hair at the back of his skull. "Berk." He pulled Bodie's head down, down to meet his mouth, and the tension twisting those lips suddenly dissolved and washed away. Doyle took his time, didn't rush - Bodie's mouth was made for kissing. And damn, Bodie knew what he was doing. No wonder the birds loved it when his eyes grew heavy-lidded and his mouth opened. Ambrosia, it was. Nectar of the bleedin' gods.

But he wanted more.

Rousing himself, Doyle braced his foot against the floor, then pushed. Bodie rolled onto this back, thighs spread wide, and Doyle settled himself between them, stifling a gasp as their cocks pressed together. He looked down at Bodie's solemn face.

Before he could speak - what the hell was he going to say anyway? - Bodie lifted a hand and cupped the side of his face. Bodie's thumb brushed his cheekbone, the smashed one, and Doyle quickly shut his eyes, startled by the unexpected tenderness.

"Forget the air hostesses, Ray." Bodie's voice was as unsteady as his breathing.

Doyle turned his head, dropping a kiss on Bodie's palm before opening his eyes. "What air hostesses?"

A broad smile greeted him. "How long have you wanted to do this?" Bodie lifted his hips enough to squeeze their groins together. They groaned in unison. "You crafty cow."

"God, don't bring Cowley into this." Doyle ground his cock against Bodie's, fire sizzling up his spine and down his thighs. So damn good. "I'll lose my stiffie in a flash."

Bodie barked out a laugh that ended in a moan. "Don't want that happening. But you didn't answer my--"

Doyle shut him up with another kiss, teasing, almost taunting him, never allowing the press of their lips to deepen, keeping Bodie off balance with licks and nips until Bodie grabbed his skull and pulled him down into a kiss that went straight to his groin and threatened to set him off prematurely.

"Wait!" Doyle gasped, tearing his lips from Bodie's and raising his hips, trying to ease some of the pressure. "Wait, for God's sake, or this'll be over before we've begun."

Clasping Doyle's shoulders, Bodie closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. "Too right," he muttered, shifting beneath Doyle. "And there's a bed in the next room. We might as well be comfortable."

So Doyle levered himself off Bodie, careful of knees and elbows, and stood, sticking out his hand, an offer of assistance.

Which Bodie grabbed and rose, groaning, from the floor. Then Bodie pulled him close, kissed his forehead, squeezed his arse, and grinned. "Get yourself and your John Thomas into that bed, Ray, or I'll..."

Doyle chuckled and rubbed his chest against Bodie's. "Or you'll what?" He twisted out of Bodie's grasp and darted into the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed it onto the floor, then sat on the bed, toeing off his plimsolls. As long as he could keep Bodie away from any more awkward questions about how long he'd wanted to do this, he'd be fine.

Bodie appeared in the doorway. "You're a randy bastard."

"And you're still dressed." Doyle leaned back on his elbows, a blatant invitation. Bodie's eyes raked down his body, pausing at his bulging crotch. Doyle spread his legs. "You afraid you won't measure up to the competition?"

"Competition?" Bodie snorted, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it over the doorknob. "I'm just more modest than you." He pulled his polo shirt over his head. "Of course, a stripper's more modest than you."

"A stripper doesn't have this." Doyle rubbed his aching cock. Bodie stripped well, all smooth skin and hard muscle. "And if you don't hurry up, I'm going to--"

"Hands off." Bodie stepped forward and grabbed Ray's wrist. His eyes narrowed. "And you never answered me--"

"Did anyone ever tell you," Doyle said, sliding to one side and tugging Bodie down onto the bed, "that you talk too much?" He rolled back on top of Bodie, straddling his hips. Without pausing, he bent over and took Bodie's mouth in a fierce kiss, stroking Bodie's cock through the soft corduroy.

A deep groan rewarded his efforts.

Slowly Doyle slid down Bodie's thighs, kissing his way down stubbled chin, neck, over the sternum, along the heaving ribs. Bodie released his wrist, then slipped his fingers into Doyle's curls, massaging his skull.

Hands shaking more than he cared to admit, Doyle unfastened and unzipped Bodie's trousers, breathing hard onto his cock, now covered only by a thin layer of cloth. Bodie's fingers tightened, then withdrew.


"What d'you want, Bodie?" Ray mouthed the twitching cock, which was quickly dampening the fabric.

"Your mouth." Bodie's hands gripped the counterpane, and his voice rasped. "Please."

Doyle grinned and tugged on the corduroys. "Lift up."

Bodie's trousers and pants pooled around his ankles, but Doyle didn't pull them off completely. He had plans for Bodie, and it suited him to have those strong legs bound, even if lightly, by the clothing.

After a preparatory lick up the length of Bodie's cock, Doyle settled in for some serious work. He wasn't an expert at fellatio by any means, but with the help of his hands and some creative thinking, he had Bodie red-faced, sweating, and swearing within a couple minutes. Fun, really, to see Bodie all rumpled and hot-eyed, to see the glaze form over his eyes with a slow suck, or a shudder run through his body with a warm breath of air over the tip.

Bodie kept trying to spread his thighs wider, his unspoken request clear. Doyle kept one hand wrapped around Bodie's cock, squeezing gently, while he wet two fingers on the other. Timing is everything, especially when it comes to sex. Taking a deep breath, Doyle slid his lips down Bodie's cock, and slid his fingers into Bodie's arse.

With a strangled yelp, Bodie thrashed on the bed, hands still twisted in the counterpane, and climaxed. Coughing, Doyle pulled off after the first bitter surge, his hand stroking Bodie's cock as he eased his partner through his orgasm.

Bodie's panting chest was painted with come, his hair damp and his face flushed. Real beauty, that was, not some cold marble bust or even colder hard-faced killer. Doyle's heart flip-flopped oddly, setting off an ache in his chest. He released Bodie's softening cock and carefully pulled his fingers free.

His turn.

Guiding Bodie with a hand on his side, Doyle turned him over and shoved a pillow under his hips. Bodie lifted his arse and struggled feebly with the fabric binding his ankles.

"Get these off me, Ray," he mumbled, sounding sleepy.

Doyle tugged off the offending trousers, and Bodie immediately spread his legs. With a moan at the sight, Doyle opened his zip and grabbed his cock, hard. He was not going to spoil this by coming in his trousers like a kid.

"'S some salve in the drawer."

It was the work of a moment to shimmy out of his trousers and find the salve. Another moment and he was kneeling between Bodie's strong thighs, working some of the salve into the hot place between Bodie's arsecheeks. His own cock was so sensitive to touch that even a stray breeze made him gasp and groan. Please God, let me get all the way in before...

He leaned across Bodie's damp back, bracing himself on one arm, and pushed into the tightest, hottest place his cock had ever been. Bodie bore down - he knew what he was doing - and Doyle slowly, agonizingly, slid home.

And paused, gasping.

He was fucking Bodie. He was fucking Bodie. He was fucking Bodie.

Bodie levered himself onto hands and knees, shoving Doyle up and - oh, God, he was seeing stars - even deeper. Doyle grabbed Bodie's hips and pulled out a little, then pushed back. Hard.

"Christ, Ray!" Bodie's head fell forward. His arms shook, and he landed on his elbows.

Had he hurt him? Before Doyle could open his mouth to ask, Bodie pushed back. "Move, damn your eyes!"

He wouldn't last long; it was too good, too much. Doyle moved, one thrust, another, yet another, and, with a cry ripped from his lungs, climaxed.

Everything dimmed around him, save the fever-bright knowledge that this was what he wanted; this, and no other. He collapsed onto Bodie's back and kissed his way across shoulders and along the long tendons of the neck.

"Bodie," he whispered.

Bodie slowly sank flat onto the bed, groaning as Doyle pulled free.

It wasn't until they were both relatively clean and bundled together beneath the blankets that Doyle sighed and answered Bodie's earlier question. "Couple of months, at least." He looked over at Bodie, whose eyes flickered away. "You?"

Bodie lifted his eyebrows and tried, spectacularly unsuccessfully, to look nonchalant. "A while."

"How long's a while?" Doyle grabbed his chin and pulled Bodie around to face him. "Bodie..."

"From the moment I set eyes on you, you berk!"



He blinked and turned to Bodie. If Bodie were a bird, he'd know what to say. But as it was...

"Why didn't you say something?"

But, of course, Doyle knew the answer to that.

Bodie closed his eyes, his face relaxed. "Shut up, Ray, and get some sleep. I've got plans for you tomorrow."

Doyle closed his eyes, too, and smiled. Plans. He'd show Bodie plans.

-- THE END --

11 May 2004

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