In the Dark

by




Banner by Agent Xpndble for summer_of_78


Written for the summer_of_78 livejournal fic exchange.



He hauled the body onto the stretcher, shivering in the icy coldness of the St George Hospital morgue, and thought, Cowley doesn't fucking pay me enough.

The body belonged to one Debbie Kozlowski. Pretty little thing, while she was still breathing, eighteen years of age, studying something or other down in Kensington. Caught in the cross-fire when half the CI5 squad stormed in on her father. Kozlowski and his companions shot their way out, accidentally hitting his own daughter, taking Doyle as a hostage. And now Kozlowski was offering an exchange. Doyle for his daughter.

Thing was, Kozlowski didn't know she'd died on the way to hospital.

And Bodie now had the unpleasant task of stealing her body from the morgue, prettying her up a little with Susan's lipstick and praying Kozlowski would think his daughter was just doped up to the eyeballs when they made the exchange. The things Bodie did for his country.

Because he sure as hell wasn't doing them for Doyle anymore.



"Christ, Doyle," the car skidded as Bodie cut the corner a little too fast, "When’s the last time you had a haircut?"

Doyle turned and looked at him. "Hmmn?"

"Your hair." Bodie snorted. "Any longer and--"

"Any longer, and what?"

"You’ll look like a bloody rent-boy, that’s what."

Doyle's eyes narrowed and he snarled. "I don’t know what the hell’s your problem, mate, but you’ve been a right bastard the last couple of days."

"Just saying." Then he spat out, "Flower."

"Shut up, Bodie."

But he couldn’t leave it. "You look queer, okay?"

Doyle just stared while Bodie clenched his jaw. "What the bloody hell’s the matter with you?"

"Just trying to help," he offered with a mock-smile, glancing into the mirror and changing lanes.

He could feel the heat of Doyle’s glare and he knew it wasn't a good thing to be on the receiving end of all that hot temper--but he couldn’t help it. He was almost enjoying himself.

"Sometimes I don’t understand you, mate," Doyle muttered, retreating. Bodie wished he would let loose instead. Maybe he could get Ray to hit him.

There's an idea.

He didn't bother hiding the smirk. "Surprised you still manage to pull the birds."

But he didn’t dare meet Doyle’s eyes as he said it. The ensuing silence made him change lanes again.

"That’s nasty," Doyle growled out finally. "Even for you."

"Well, I have my moments." He grinned.

"Obviously." Doyle sounded really pissed off now.

"What’s the problem then?" He stepped on the gas a bit and the Capri lurched past the red. "Or are you pulling the blokes instead?"

"You--is this some kind of a sick joke, Bodie?"

"What, like your love life?" He chanced a glance at Doyle and saw the flicker of hurt pass over the bland face.

He felt like congratulating himself.

"Christ." That’s all that Doyle said, just "Christ". Then he leaned back into the seat, turned his head to look out the window. And that was it.

The victory drained out of Bodie immediately. Not much of a victory when your opponent refused to fight back.

And then the thought struck him.

When had Doyle, his partner, his best friend, become his enemy instead?

The Capri turned onto the M1 and Bodie was so lost in thought he had to swerve to avoid a small Fiat.

"Fucking women drivers."

Doyle didn’t say anything.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked nastily.

His partner just closed his eyes.

"Yeah, suit yourself." Bodie turned on the radio, fiddled with the stations, and settled for an old Beatles song.

A loud beep disturbed the chorus. "Alpha One to 3.7."

"Ah, hell." Bodie picked up. "3.7 here."

"4.5 with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Hostage situation in St. Regis Heights, Hampstead."

"On our way, sir."



Bodie shifted in the carseat, hot and uncomfortable, but keeping his eyes on the building across the road.

"Should’ve stayed in Egypt," he finally muttered, tired of Doyle’s silence. Bloody op. Bloody moody Doyle.

But Doyle chose that moment to open his eyes. He asked, "Egypt?"

Bodie shrugged, and Doyle stared at him curiously.

"What’s wrong with that?" he went on the defensive.

"I never knew you worked in Egypt."

"Never said I worked there, did I?"

"Lived there?"

"With the nurse, you know." Doyle didn’t look like he knew so Bodie rolled his eyes and continued, "The one who took my pulse--"

"--to see if you were ready to do it again." Doyle grinned. First time this morning, probably. "Thought you said she was a doctor?"

"Yeh, well, kind of." He didn’t feel much like explaining that she didn’t have a degree but was the bloody best doctor he’d ever seen. Come to think of it, he didn’t feel much like conversation, at all. He’d have liked to listen to another Beatles song rather than having Doyle pry into his past, but it was too late for that. Should’ve kept your mouth shut, you idiot.

"So what was she like then?" Doyle asked after a while.

"Eh?"

"The doctor. If you think you should’ve stayed there with her. What was she like?"

Yeah, what was she like, Bodie, old son?

"Young." Died young, too. Wouldn’t have if he’d stayed.

"Yeah." Doyle chuckled. "I trust you on that. But she had to have something special, right? You know, something that made you stay with her?"

"I didn’t stay with her." He was slowly getting irritated again. Happens every time I talk to him.

"Come on, Bodie--"

"Oh, I know what you mean, mate," his voice was ugly again. "You mean if she was like Ann. Special."

Doyle gritted his teeth. "You son-of-a--"

"Yeah, not much different from you then."

"And what’s that supposed to mean?"

Bodie didn't answer. He knew he was being a jerk but he also knew it was Doyle's fault. Bloody Doyle. Doyle's decision. Doyle's fucking idea.

Doyle, turning his world upside down.



He's leaning on the buzzer, the bastard, Bodie thought darkly, slipping his head under the pillow and holding it down over his ears. The buzzer didn't stop.

"Come on, Bodie, open up, I'm freezing me balls off down here," was his reward when he finally answered it. One full minute later, starkers, and really, really pissed off.

"Fuck off," he growled. If he let Doyle in now, he'd never get rid off him.

"Bodie," Doyle's voice had that coaxing tone to it, the one that he was so good at and that he seemed to be using an awful lot on Bodie lately. Come on, Bodie, it'll be fun. Come on, Bodie, you'll like her. Come on, Bodie, lend me a fiver. Bodie shuddered. "Come on," Doyle was saying, and it took all of Bodie's military training not to slam his fist through the wall. "I'll catch my death, Bodie, and Cowley won't be pleased, will he? You know what he thinks about replacements. Plus, it'll be your fault and you can say goodbye to your pension and that Swiss account I know you h--"

"No!" Bodie snapped out. "Listen carefully, Doyle, 'cause I'll say it only once, okay? I'm not letting you in. Macklin went over me like a steamroller yesterday, I was writing your bloody report till five, Daniella told me to leave her the hell alone--and in not so many words, mind--after I took her out to dinner, and now I've got a massive hangover, and would like to get a couple of hours kip, so sod the hell off'!"

"But it's your Birthday," Doyle said after a small pause, and it sounded so out of place that Bodie actually laughed. He hadn't even noticed, Cowley had been working him so hard whilst Doyle'd been away on an undercover stint at the Ritz, expenses paid, protecting the Minister. Riiiiiight. "So," Doyle went on, obviously pleased he had Bodie's attention, "I've got two presents down here you just have to meet. You gotta let me in."

"Presents?"

"Gifts, you know. Things you give to people for their Birthday."

"You got something for me?" Did Doyle think he was a complete idiot?

"Oh yeah," came the answer. "Real presents. With bows, the works." And Bodie could swear he heard Doyle grin.

"Doyle…"

"Long dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, truly… delectable."

"Doyle…" It sounded too good.

There was shuffling about and he heard Doyle say, "Tell Bodie what's your name, darlin'," then a mumble in answer and then, "And you," and then a giggle, and another mumble. "Heard that, mate? Won't believe our luck. Kristy and Kristine. Twins." Doyle laughed, very dirtily.

Twins? Bodie was pretty sure they'd never had twins before, and the idea had its appeal.

He'd get to watch Doyle. And Doyle would watch him.

And some time after, maybe nearing the small hours, when the world was quiet and peaceful, when the girls finally fell asleep, Doyle would toss him off and he'd do the same for Doyle.

He swallowed. Nothing wrong with that, was there? He'd been angry at first, blamed Doyle, but it wasn't like they were alone when they did it, was it? The girls were there and he and Doyle never did anything else, never touched anywhere else, careful to roll away as far as possible afterwards. Bodie thought he felt more disgusted every time, though. He would tell Doyle soon. It wasn't like they were queer and had to do it every time they double-dated, right?

And they'd been double-dating a lot lately, before Doyle landed that cushy job at the Ritz and before Bodie got sent off for a bit of a refresher with The Sadist, and Bodie thought he'd like to double-date one more time. Tell Doyle it didn't really do anything for him, after.

"All right." Bodie gave in and buzzed him through.

"You won't regret it," was all Doyle said. He wasn't so sure.

Back in his bedroom, Bodie pulled on black cords, not bothering with underwear, and a black poloneck. Birds often said that black was his colour, and if Doyle's watchful eyes tended to land on him more often as well, he didn't complain. Didn't mean anything.

There was a knock on the door, and Bodie went to open it--stopping dead to find Doyle standing there, in tatty old jeans, grinning, with two girls on his elbow. Real girls. One looked about nine, the other all of ten.

Fucking. Years. Old.

"Happy Birthday!" both of them were saying in high sing-song voice, and Doyle's grin grew impossibly wide. Bodie indulged for a moment imagining giving him a second chipped tooth, before the girls chorused, "Happy Birthday, Mr. Bodie!" again, and he had to clench his fists at his side, this close to hurting somebody.

"Now these ladies," Doyle began, eyes twinkling with amusement, "these ladies are--"

"Ladies," Bodie repeated coldly.

"Yeah." Laughing. "These two ladies are my cousin's kids. Thought you'd like to… uh… meet some members of my family."

Bodie looked at him blankly.

"Since uh…"

"Since I don't have any of my own?"

The grin disappeared from Doyle's face. "No, I… I thought… well, she's--Marie, my cousin--she's waiting outside for 'em and they're just in London for the weekend, and I thought it'd be good for a laugh. You know. You meeting the girls."

No, he didn't know. But Doyle was shifting uncomfortably, fingers clamped tightly on the girls' shoulders, so he forced a smile. "Right. Let me get you something," he said to the girls. He started for his kitchen, Doyle and his four-foot ladies following.

If you made it alive across Bodie's threshold, Bodie tended to be a good host. Quality alcohol when the Cow dropped by to scold him or when some of his old pals visited, and quality chocolates when he was dating someone and for himself when he wasn't. He could cook, too, but Doyle didn't know that, and Bodie was certainly going to keep it that way.

"Okay, I've got Dairy Milk chocolates, Creme Twists, some Cadbury fudge and Galaxy Ripples… Doyle, stop the fuck laughing… And some Creme Egg minis and Cadbury flake. Doyle."

Kristy and Kristine were happily stuffing the chocolates into their pockets, and Doyle was watching Bodie, then the girls, and then Bodie again with a very pleased expression on his face. Bodie was going to wipe that look off soon.

"--you've got more Flakes that I do--"

"--you took all the Ripples--"

Bodie left them to it and leaned forward to Doyle to whisper in his ear. "Gonna kill you for this, Ray."

"Yeah?" Doyle was grinning, tilting his head a bit to look into Bodie's eyes. Their faces were very close.

"Or fuck you."

And time stood still for a minute in the kitchen, the girls forgotten, only the two of them, eyes locked. Bodie couldn't breathe. Couldn't believe what he'd said, would take it back if he could because he didn't know where it had come from.

Doyle was staring at him, wide-eyed, and Bodie wasn't sure he wanted to know what his partner was thinking, wasn't sure of his own thoughts. All they'd been doing was mucking about, for chrissake, they weren't queer, never kissed--only as a joke on the cheek or on the top of the head. What they were doing was just for fun, when they were in bed with their girls, and slightly tipsy, and it was the dead of night, when it didn't count. What Bodie was proposing was quite different.

He had to say something. "Doyle, I--" His voice wavered and he tore his eyes away, unable to look at him any longer. Christ, there was no excuse for what Bodie was proposing. It was completely, utterly unjustifiable. They were men, straight men, and straight men didn't go around suggesting things like that to their straight friends. It was sick, a sin against nature and God, still a crime in many countries, punishable by years in prison or death. He'd seen men stoned to death in Iran, he'd seen a contact get a hundred lashes in Sudan. He hadn't agreed with it, but he hadn't thought too much of it. Homosexuality wasn't natural. Fucking hell, what was wrong with him?

Doyle wasn't looking at him now, his head was bowed, curly locks hiding his expression. And then he pushed off the wall and walked into the living room. Bodie watched him go, watched his hips move, and his arse, and his heart was pounding.

There was a tug at his sleeve and he looked down at Kristy or Kristine or whatever her name was, and the kid smiled up at him and said, "Thank you, Mr. Bodie." He'd forgotten the girls were still here, for godssake. He ushered them out to their mum's car, and waved goodbye; they were nice girls, polite, maybe he'd have children like that himself one day. Maybe not. He locked the door, rested his forehead against the cool wood and wondered what to say to Doyle, how to apologise. Maybe he'd fucked it all up, his friendship with Ray. Maybe there was no way to say sorry. Maybe he didn't even want to.

Doyle was standing by the window when he returned to the living room, holding a glass of scotch, but not drinking it, and Bodie would have laughed under any other circumstances. Alcohol was the answer to a lot of things when you were in CI5. You drank to forget about pain and death, and you drank to celebrate victory over it. If Doyle wanted to get pissed, Bodie wasn't going to stop him. In fact he was going to join in himself.

"Are you trying to get drunk, Bodie?" and Bodie turned his head a bit to look over his shoulder, saw Doyle pinning him with a green-eyed glare.

He shrugged, turned back to the drinks cabinet and the glass in his hand, tipped the contents back and swallowed it all in three big gulps. "Dunno, maybe. Are you? Who the hell cares, Doyle? I feel like it."

"Did you mean what you said?"

Yes. No. He couldn't tell either way. It had shocked him, he hadn't truly known until he'd voiced it, and now the thought scared him, disgusted him, and warmed him like nothing ever had. "Ray," he said slowly, his hand with the glass shaking so much he had to put it down. "Ray," he said again, turned around to face Doyle, who was still standing by the window. "There's… there's nothing I can do to take back what I said," he muttered, his eyes slipping from Doyle's because he couldn't stand what he saw in them.

"That's not what I asked."

Anger shot through Bodie. He hated to be trapped. And now here he was, because of what he had said, and there was no getting out of it. "I'm not queer," he growled out, and Doyle laughed at him.

"Aren't you?"

He was breathing hard, sweating, remembering. On all fours, someone behind him, forcing him. It made him want to throw up. The humiliation, the pain. Christ. No, he definitely couldn't imagine ever offering himself. But, oh, he could imagine doing Ray Doyle.

His eyes snapped back up, and he found his partner still staring at him. "You're wondering what it would be like now, aren't you?" Doyle said quietly, turning back to look out the window, the sunlight creating a golden aura around him, making him, to Bodie's eyes, beautiful.

"Wondering," Bodie said miserably, "and wanting are two different things."

Doyle turned to look at him then, his eyes cold, his pretty mouth twisted into a vicious little snarl. "I want answers, Bodie. You started this, mate, and don't you forget that. It's a game to you what we're doing, isn't it? Yeah, I bet it is. But I don't think it's enough for you. I've seen the way you look at me."

That's not true! But all the energy had drained out of him and all he said was, "Please, Ray, don't."

But Doyle was shaking his head. "I can't, Bodie. I'm sorry. You started this. I can't just drop it."

"What do you want from me?" he asked, defeated.

"Answers? The truth," Doyle shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it."

And if I don't know myself, what then? So he looked up at Doyle, defending himself with the last thing left, attack. "So it doesn't bother you, what I suggested? Doesn't worry you that your partner's sick?"

"Stop it, Bodie."

"You're the one who wanted to hear what's on my twisted, perverted mind," he said viciously.

"You started this," Doyle reminded him again, voice ice cold, something in the way he was standing, in the way his shoulders hunched, telling Bodie how tense he really was. "You started this, you bastard. It was good, what we were doing. Harmless, a bit of fun, a little excitement, wasn't it, Bodie? A taste of the forbidden, and I was okay with that. But what do you do? What do you go and fucking do?"

Oh yes, he knew what. He'd turned it into something serious, something unacceptable. "Ray," he begged. "Let's forget this. Please."

"I can't."

"Why not?" he spat. "Why the hell not?"

"Because," Doyle was very still, "I'd let you."

And there was nothing Bodie could say to that. Nothing that could stop the anger fully surfacing now, aimed at Doyle for saying such a thing, for forming that forbidden, sinful image again in Bodie's head. Doyle, under him, writhing in ecstasy.

Hunger uncurled in his gut, and something else too, that both shocked and excited him, and he felt heat spreading to his groin. And what did that say about him?

If Doyle had known what was good for him, he'd have left it and never questioned Bodie. He'd have left it, or maybe thumped him or maybe asked for leave for a while. But never should he have questioned Bodie.

"Ray," he breathed, quite unable to understand why Doyle would let him do such a thing, why it felt so good knowing he would.

"What," Doyle said, his voice odd, husky.

"We'd lose our jobs," Bodie was saying, arguments popping up inside his head, anything to stop himself from doing what he really wanted, reaching out and touching Doyle.

"I know."

Doyle was looking at him, eyes very soft, very green, intense.

"Better if we forgot about this," Doyle said suddenly.

"Yeh," he agreed. That was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? He couldn't say anything else--he felt ill.

"Go back to where we were."

"Yeah."

"But," Doyle glanced down at his shoes, looked back up at Bodie. "I don't think we can."

"Can't we?"

Doyle shook his head. "No."

Madness, what Doyle was suggesting. Bodie didn't say anything.

"Maybe," he went on. "Maybe if we give it a go--"

"--we'll find we're not that way inclined?" Bodie finished for him, smiling, though he didn't feel like it.

"I dunno, Bodie," Doyle said, looking away. "I think we're doomed, one way or another."

And it was true, Bodie realised, what Doyle was saying. Waiting for them, at the very end, was either… that, or a bullet. They weren't that young anymore, but they had experience, and when you had experience you got sent out to do the dirty work. And how many more years did they have left in them? Two, three? And if they somehow managed to live through them, managed to get transferred to B-squad, there were no guarantees there, either. Doyle's mate, Cookie, an example.

The fierce protectiveness Bodie felt towards Doyle suddenly swamped him, and he couldn't shake the picture of Doyle, dying, covered in milk and blood, from his head. He'd never been so fucking scared in his entire life. When did Ray Doyle become so important?

Suddenly light-headed, Bodie imagined ditching his job, coming out and announcing, "I'm a ponce," and living in a nice little cottage outside London, choosing petunias and new curtains and bloody matching handbags for himself and Doyle if that was what Doyle wanted. It made his stomach churn but when it came down to it--there was nothing he could deny his partner.

Funny how one's life was made on split second decisions. Everything was very clear now.

"Bodie," Doyle said, and Bodie knew Doyle was reading him like a book and agreeing with what he found there.

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

"Bossing me around like always, Doyle?" But there was no venom in it, just amusement. Excitement.

Doyle's eyes narrowed, but he was smiling himself. "Gonna make me come get what I want, are you?"

"And what do you want?"

Doyle crossed the floor to him, stopped a breath away. Bodie could see the green eyes turn very dark, could feel the warmth of Doyle's body, could smell the spicy after-shave, Armani, and something that was uniquely Doyle. And Doyle reached out, cupped Bodie's head between his hands, searched his eyes. "This," he whispered, brushing the pads of his fingers over Bodie's cheeks and jawline. "This," running his hands down Bodie's shoulders and arms. "This," pressing his palm against the bulge in Bodie's trousers, and Bodie jumped, his breath quickening, his chest rising and falling like he'd just finished a Macklin jog. "And this," and Doyle rested one hand on Bodie's waist, let the fingers of his other hand trace the curve of one buttock, wickedly trace the crack.

"Ray… Ray…" and Bodie rocked his hips, unable to hold back his need any longer.

Doyle's mouth came against Bodie's, and hard. Bodie tasted blood, felt Doyle's stubble graze his skin. He groaned. His own hands went to the front of Doyle's jeans, fumbling with the belt, and the zip like an over-sexed teenager, his cool seductive skills and years of experience flying out the window because this wasn't some bird he'd picked up at his local, this was Ray Doyle, his partner and best friend.

He couldn't get the bloody zip down, or maybe it was stuck, and Doyle, without breaking their kiss, grinned against Bodie's mouth, covered Bodie's trembling hands with his own and slid the zip down for him. But when Bodie tried slipping his hand inside, Doyle caught his wrist, and he tensed, meeting Ray's eyes with dread.

"Ah, mate, that's not what I meant," Doyle was saying quickly, soothingly, when he saw Bodie's face, kissed him again, and whispered, "Just wanted to take this somewhere where we'd both be comfortable…"

And Bodie relaxed again, could breathe again, and let Doyle lead him to the bedroom, amazed how warm, solid, good, Doyle's hand felt in his. Doyle was on him as soon as they crossed the threshold, plastering his front to Bodie's, joining them together as much as their clothing allowed, and Bodie did what he would never be able to get enough of, slipped his hands down to Ray's arse, and squeezed.

Doyle made a half-strangled sound, grabbed Bodie by the lapels and tugged him roughly forward, over to the bed. Doyle's calves bumped the edge of the mattress and Bodie's knees bumped into Doyle's, and then Bodie was tumbling down on top of him.

"You're crushing me," Doyle growled before fastening his teeth on Bodie's shoulder. "Love it."

Bodie hissed. "Got… myself… a vampire, eh?" he panted, shivering when Doyle blew on the abused area.

"Randy vampire," was all the answer he got, then Doyle was pulling his poloneck up, his fingers roaming up over Bodie's belly, over his nipples, his hips rocking urgently.

It was going to be over too soon if Ray kept that up, Bodie thought desperately, so he pulled the jumper off himself, tossed it aside, and clamped his hands down on Doyle's hips. Their eyes met.

"Ray… slow down, mate."

"Can't."

Bodie laughed breathlessly. "No wonder you can't keep a bird."

The look on Doyle's face hurt more than the punch that followed.

"Ow! What d'you do that for?" He found he was on his back with his palm pressed against his jaw. It stung like a son-of-a-bitch.

Doyle, on top of him now, shirt unbuttoned and jeans only just hanging on his hips, hissed, "You're a right vicious bastard, aren't you?"

"Didn't mean it like that, Ray..."

"And when you said you were going to fuck me--did you mean that?"

They glared at each other.

"Yeah," Bodie admitted finally.

"But you're not queer."

Bodie tried shoving Doyle off of himself but Doyle wouldn't budge. "What do you want from me?" he demanded, exasperated.

Doyle's hand on his arse was his answer.

"No," he shook his head violently. "No way."

"Come on, Bodie," Doyle was saying. "Only fair, innit?"

"I'm not queer."

Doyle laughed. "Well I've got news for you, sunshine," and he dove for Bodie's mouth, rubbing their groins together, while Bodie squirmed underneath him, hands digging into the sheets, refusing to touch Doyle, head to the side rejecting Doyle's kiss though he'd been desperate for it a second ago. Doyle cupped Bodie's head between strong hands, forced him to look at him, made him see what they were, lying like this in Bodie's bed, belly to belly, crotch to crotch, and Doyle pressed his lips against Bodie's forehead, against his nose, the corner of Bodie's tense mouth, the other corner, licked at Bodie's bottom lip, pressed his mouth full against his, until at last Bodie's body surrendered to him, melted against him, and Bodie's hands came around Doyle, holding him close.

"Ray," when Doyle pulled back a while later.

"What."

"I want you," he whispered, his heart racing.

"Do you?"

"Christ, Ray."

Doyle stared at him, something in his eyes unnerving Bodie. "Okay," Doyle said at last, his voice cool, steady. "Got anything we can use?"

Ah, lubrication. "Yeah…"

"Good."

Bodie reached into his bedside drawer, took out a small tube.

Doyle watched him expressionlessly. "So how do you want me?"

"I…"

"Any way's fine," Doyle was saying. "I've been round the merry-go-round a bit, mate."

"You…"

Well, it should have been obvious, shouldn't it? Doyle, tossing him off that first night, Doyle, seducing him today, Doyle, taking it all so well, while Bodie's head hurt from it all. Yes, he should have known, should have realised it when he'd been "helping" Ray up the stairs with a hand or when he'd goosed him that last time, in the CI5 car pool, for all passers-by to see. Should have known a straight man would never have let him.

Doyle was holding Bodie's gaze defiantly. "Yeah, Bodie. Got a problem with that?"

"No." Yes. No. Jesus.

"Thought so. Good, too, since you want to do me." And the sarcasm was obvious.

"Ray, I…"

"What?"

"I don't… we shouldn't…"

"Shouldn't what?" Doyle asked coldly.

And God, it was hard not to shake him then, not to demand why he was taking it so coolly when it made Bodie ache so much. He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted to know what he really was, what this made him, but now that they were here, together, Doyle offering himself, Bodie wanted him to feel the same thing he was feeling. The hot pain in his chest that could have been anything from anguish to love.

Doyle was staring at him with an odd kind of detachment. "Well?"

"We shouldn't do this," Bodie got out finally. "Not when…"

"Not when what?" And Bodie knew Doyle was really getting angry now.

"Not when…" he swallowed. "Not when I can't… return the favour," he spat out, disgusted with himself for both denying Doyle this and for even considering it. "I can't," he said, at the look on Doyle's face, "not yet."

Not yet. Which meant…

Doyle knew what it meant, judging by his sudden wide smile. "You mean that?"

He smiled back nervously.

And Doyle kissed him again then, slowly, carefully, tongue lapping at Bodie's lips, slipping inside his mouth. This Bodie could do, this was safe territory, made him feel warmth inside instead of fear.

He felt even more warmth when Doyle slid a hand across his hips, cupped his erection firmly.

"Ray…"

They fumbled with Doyle's jeans again and Bodie's cords, and kissed till they couldn't breathe, till they felt the bumps and bruises on their shins from the rolling. Bodie let his hands drop to Doyle's arse, rubbed his palms into the firm muscle, heat pooling in his crotch, unable to stop himself, thrusting his hips against the man on top of him, and then he tensed, groaned, and came.



Afterwards, they lay together on the rumpled sheets, legs entwined, Doyle's mouth in the crook of Bodie's neck.

"Ray?"

"Uh-hmm?" A mumble, Doyle half-asleep already.

Bodie smiled happily. "Was bloody fantastic, Ray."

"Uh-hmm."

"Is that all you're gonna say?" He laughed.

"Mm, yeah," Doyle fidgeted a little in Bodie's arms, making himself more comfortable. His thick genitals brushed against Bodie's hip, and Doyle fidgeted again.

Bodie smirked and reached down to touch him. "Ah," he said knowingly when Doyle moaned in response. "Thought so. Ready to go again, aren't you, you randy little bugger!"

"Wouldn't mind…"

Grinning, Bodie rolled them over so that now he was on top of Doyle, and then was still.

"Oi," Doyle gave him a wounded look. "You stopped."

"So I did," Bodie said, just looking at him, memorising the green in his eyes, the wrinkles, the strong jawline, the battered cheek. Raymond Doyle, his implacable, self-sufficient ex-copper of a partner, naked as the day he was born, in his bed.

"What?" Doyle said, amused with the inspection.

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. How could he answer?

So instead he silenced Doyle with a kiss, and reached down to stroke him.

"Mmmm, yeaaah…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't you… dare …stop this time."

Bodie chuckled breathlessly; he couldn't if his life depended on it. It was turning him on something fierce, watching Doyle rocking into his hand, eyes glazed with lust, face flushed. Impulsively, he bent down and nuzzled Doyle's belly, felt the muscles ripple underneath his tongue, Doyle's hips undulating in time with the stroking.

"Bodie…"

He lowered his head and took Doyle's cock in his mouth. Doyle half-sobbed with shock, not expecting this but quickly adapting, hands coming to rest on Bodie's head--encouraging, but not forcing.

"I'm gonna…" Doyle groaned, and did.

Bodie swallowed quickly, thought he would choke, but didn't, and when Doyle relaxed again, he gave the lax cock a kiss, grinned up at his partner, and then slid up to lie down next to him.

Doyle stretched luxuriously, basking in the after-glow, and fixed his eyes on Bodie's. Bodie's heart skipped a beat. "Was fantastic, mate," he said, smiling. His voice was husky.

"Told you so earlier." Bodie grinned back, trying to sound cool, but matching Doyle's tone instead.

"So you did." And Doyle reached down, took Bodie's very erect cock in his hand. "Want me to suck you off too, Bodie?"

Christ, yes.

"Yeah?" Doyle was saying, propping up on one elbow, looking down into Bodie's face, his other hand gently stroking up and down Bodie's cock. "Want me to, mate? Tell me. Do anything."

Bodie couldn't get the words out of his mouth, only the small whimpers in time to Doyle's ministrations, and Doyle gave him his slow smile, the one all the women in CI5 talked about, and Bodie felt something clench in his chest.

"Yeah," Doyle climbed on top of him. "Think you'd like that. Wouldn't you, mate?" And then he stopped, caught Bodie's hand in his and brought it down on his rump. Bodie groaned, and Doyle whispered in his ear, "Touch me there, Bodie. Want you in me. Make me ready…"

Bodie shook his head, and Doyle groaned but understood. Not until they were both ready. And that was fine because when you had a partner you always waited for him.

-- THE END --

June 2006

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