Old Friends #3
Bodie gave in at last to the pressure of his bladder and went to empty it. To his relief, no one accosted him at the urinals--although there were some quite suspicious sounds coming from the stall on the end. He thought briefly about going over and putting his eye to the crack and spying on them, but didn't give in to the impulse.
He didn't care, really, as long as he didn't have to watch it. He'd never understood the attraction of homosexuality. Women were designed to make love to, so why settle for second best?
The question wasn't just a rhetorical one. They had been waiting for a grass of Doyle's for well over an hour now, and although Bodie had not been really comfortable with any of it, Ray Doyle had. He joked with the barman and he'd winked at the funny old cross-dressing man and declined a sincere offer by saying he was with big and butch--and he pointed to Bodie when he said it.
Ray wasn't nervous. No, Ray had been having a good time. Bodie was beginning to wonder about Ray. Yet every time something caused him to speculate, another part of his mind mocked him for even thinking such rot.
Ray wasn't gay. They'd gone out on enough double dates now for Bodie to swear that not only was Doyle a card carrying heterosexual, but he was something of a stud as well. Women really fell for those curls and those tight jeans.
Maybe the man was just better at undercover work than he was. The idea rankled, but Bodie had to admit that it took real acting ability to pretend to be at home in a gay pub.
Bodie washed his hands and checked his watch. The grass was an hour late. Why not give it up and go home? Get a decent night's sleep for once. Too late to go dig up some talent for the evening. The whole day had been wasted, in his opinion. Files and reading and research all things he found deadly dull. He'd been glad when Doyle asked for his company.
Even if it was just so he could pretend to have a boyfriend and legitimately turn down the offers he had been getting since the moment he walked in the door. Strangely enough, Bodie found himself rather perversely with his nose out of joint. The men had zeroed in on Doyle, and not one proposition had come his way. Since he was sincere in his belief that he was the best looking man in the room, he wondered if he somehow broadcast his orientation, his lack of interest in men.
And what did that say about Doyle, since he was being hit on once every ten minutes?
It was that hair. Doyle's hair was in one of its longer phases. Any day Cowley would bark out an order for Doyle to see a barber.
Or, it could be the chains. Doyle was wearing silver tonight, at his wrist and neck. The silver caught the light as he moved and laughed, drew the eye to fine bones, and the curls of hair revealed by his open shirt collar. Doyle had more chest hair than Bodie. But then, almost anyone did. When he'd been young, Bodie had imagined how it would be to have hair on his chest, he'd celebrated the first dark curls which appeared and counted them as they arrived. The count had never gotten very high, to his secret disappointment.
And here he was, in the washroom of a gay pub, listening to men sucking each other off in the stall while he thought about his chest hair. He shook his head at the thought and made his way back to the bar, where Doyle had a fresh pint waiting for him. He drained half of it in one long swallow unaware of a dozen pairs of eyes on the long column of his neck--and then suggested to Doyle that they give it up.
Doyle reluctantly agreed. They'd come in Doyle's car, and Bodie was obviously getting bored. After finishing their drinks, he led the way out. He looked over the place as he left it--earlier in the evening Doyle had thought he had seen someone who looked familiar, a tall man who's name didn't spring to his mind, but whose body had caused a physical reaction. Memory of that particular person, or memory of all the years when he had taken occasional walks on the wild side?
Doyle was lost in the past as he drove Bodie home. Remembering male bodies and the way it felt to have one hot inside him. He hadn't had that since he joined CI5, and tonight he had to admit that he missed it. It wasn't wise to think of such things with Bodie in the car, though. Beautiful Bodie, everything a man like himself found attractive. Beautiful, forbidden fruit, Bodie.
Bodie, too, was uncharacteristically not paying much attention as he was ferried home. Too many thoughts, too many fragments of ideas and feelings roiled around in his brain. Couldn't even blame it on one too many beers, although he did feel the buzz, still.
So neither one saw the truck at the corner as Bodie climbed out of the car. A few words exchanged and then Doyle pulled away from the kerb, leaving Bodie standing on the pavement, staring after the red lights as they drew away.
His senses weren't completely numbed. He heard them and whirled, but strong arms pinned his arms as a bag was thrown over his head. He jerked, almost won free, but was tripped and fell to the cement, hard. The wind was out of him for the few moments it took for him to be bound and gagged. Then he was painfully dragged across the kerb and thrown into the back of a panel truck.
Of all the stupid, careless, brainless things to do! He cursed himself, and the men, there had to be at least two of them who had jumped him, and he tried his bonds, twisting in the effort to win free. Damn it. The truck went over a bump, slamming his head painfully against something hard beside him, and he saw stars for a brief moment.
He wondered if this was related to their latest assignment, or if it was something else. It wasn't robbery, for no one had searched for his wallet. It was kidnapping, but...why?
The truck stopped. Doors slammed. Voices. Scraps of conversation on the night breeze reached him even through the fabric of the bag over his head.
"...stupid idea...no. Give it...not until...need to learn...."
They weren't speaking when they lifted him from the truck. He was thrown over a broad shoulder and carried up two flight of stairs. His captor was breathing like a labouring elephant, but he kept a firm hold. Bodie was put down--dropped, more like it--and then tied in an upright position to some sort of barrel or industrial sized steel drum. Then, he was left alone in the dark. He began working on the ropes at once, but they were slick nylon and tended to get tighter as he worked at them, instead of looser. He had to stop when the light was snapped on. His captors were back. He waited for them to come up to him, but they seemed to be moving furniture or something, right in front of him.
They stopped. The lighting changed, and to his surprise, a radio was turned on and soft music filled the air. To his further amazement, his hood was taken off, he was re-gagged, and then he looked upon one of the strangest sights he had ever seen. He was in some sort of storeroom, with shelves along one wall. The floor and walls were cement, painted white.
Spread out on the floor was a mattress, the narrow kind which must have been taken from some sort of couch or lounge. Two lamps illuminated the area. And two naked men wearing masks of torn cloth were walking away from him.
One was tall, more or less blond, with a long torso, long legs, long, dangling genitals. The other was big, with a little fat on top of thick muscles, and with a fat short cock over big round balls. They seated themselves on the mattress and began to kiss.
The situation was the strangest Bodie could recall getting into for years. He'd heard of voyeurs, but what did you call people who got their kicks by forcing someone to watch them make love? Exhibitionists? That didn't seem right, for both of the men seemed nervous, somehow. Shy.
But skilled, too. They were shifting now, the kiss breaking apart as mouths moved two different directions. The tall one had his head thrown back and his neck exposed to the nibbles and kisses of the big one, and then they shifted and reversed their positions, their bodies sliding against each other in slow, heavy movements.
It was strange, watching two men make love. Watching fingers and lips travel where they would, watch as they got caught up in the act and forgot the watcher. Soft whispers. Stroking hands. Quivering flesh. Rising cocks.
Now the big one was on top of the other, feeding his cock into the mouth which clung to it in a greedy oval. He fucked the mouth slowly, his balls banging up against the upturned chin. It was incredible to Bodie that so much could disappear into that open mouth, that it could be done without gagging. The red flesh was shiny with spit. The man beneath was making grunting, humming noises, encouraging, showing appreciation of what was being done to him.
Then the big man pulled from the wet haven, which released him with a moist, smacking sound, obscenely loud over the soft music. He turned his partner over, patting the thin arse, making it plain what he was interested in. The man cooperated, lifting it up, letting it be explored, kissed, separated, rubbed. A finger, then two slipped in, he was finger-fucked with enthusiasm.
"Like that, don't you? You'll like this even better!" the big man whispered, and he pushed at the upper back, directing the face down to the mattress, pulling the arse up high. Bodie had an excellent view of the head of the cock up against the red opening to the body, to the cock pushing at it, opening the portal and easing in. The one below sighed like the night wind, wiggled to make it easier, reached back to grab at a thigh to pull the man into him faster.
The big man reached under, to push his own balls against the balls of the other man, to roll them against each other while the two bodies relaxed and accepted each other. Then he leaned over and asked, "Are you ready to be fucked?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm ready. Do it. Do it hard!"
Bodie swallowed, aware that his body was responding to that sexuality, that his balls were tightening and his cock getting hard. The smell of sex was in the air, of sweat and exertion too, as the man obliged his friend and really began to give it to him. The pair of them grunted sometimes with the force of it, the man on top working his pelvis for their mutual pleasure, holding onto the hips which bucked under him. Once, he slapped the other, hard, first on the right side of the buttocks, then on the left, sending the man heaving back onto the invading cock harder and harder.
Then it came to him, the moment of rapture, and he cried "Yes!" and thrust in even harder, obviously spraying into the depths of the other man. "Take it. Suck it up into you!" the big man demanded, and Bodie could see from the flexing of the arse that the man was clenching around the cock, milking it dry.
"Come on, love," the tall man said, tipping the big man off his back and then twisting over to kiss him sweetly. It was clear that for all the heat and action, his own climax had not come. His stomach slapping cock was the longest Bodie had ever seen erect, and a one handed massage was insuring that it stayed that way. Scooting closer, the man urged the other onto his side and then up onto his knees.
Head down like a tired horse, the man waited while he was laved with spit, kissed in a way that Bodie had never kissed anyone. Perhaps the tongue prodded the entrance to the body, perhaps it did not. Bodie swallowed again.
"Ready, love?" asked the almost blond, whose hair was now damp with sweat and whose hazel eyes were fixed on the thick thighs and solid buttocks that his hands were caressing.
"For you. Come home, lover. Put it in."
It should have sounded dirty. It should have been crude. But the love was showing through in the careful way the man thrust between the parted cheeks, in the way he crooned as he sank in and then stretched himself along the massive back. He kissed what bits of neck and shoulder he could reach, and his lover twisted his head around so that their lips could meet, and meet again. All the while, the slim hips were moving, moving, pumping himself inside his lover's body in a slow, easy rhythm.
It seemed to last so long, that slow, deep mating. Bodie watched it, licking his lips when they became dry, watching as they shifted to provide a different penetration, listening as they murmured love words and begging demands and praise for each other.
It was over quietly, just a sigh and a slowing to a stop.
Did he really hear that? Bodie wasn't sure, for the music suddenly seemed quite loud in the room. The two men untangled themselves and stood up, and then the big one came over to him and put the sack over his head again. By sound, Bodie followed the progress as they put the room back to rights, turned out the lights, switched off the radio, and came to untie him. He was once more slung over the big one's shoulder, and carried down a flight of steps, and then through a long room or corridor. Outside, he heard the sounds of locking up, and then he was pitched into the back of the truck again. It was damp, cold and uncomfortable, but he was not as worried as he should have been. He was not at all surprised when they stopped, unloaded him, untied his arms and roared off.
Of course, by the time he got the sack off his head, they were nowhere in sight. He had some trouble with the knots of the rope which bound his legs, which were stiff, cramped and tingling. Slowly, he headed for his flat.
Once there, he fixed himself some coffee, and went to sit on his sofa to drink it. He didn't know what it meant, why he had been forced to watch two men make love. He couldn't see a security angle to it, and he had no intention of reporting it to Cowley. Or Doyle. It wasn't the sort of thing he wanted anyone to know. Ever. One more thing to keep secret. But then, he had a lot of secrets.
People were kinky, he decided, as he prepared for bed. If you had to be kidnapped, it was just as well it was odd poofs who wanted someone to watch them get it on, and not terrorists. He was tired, and after he slept on it, it would fade into yesterdays and be forgotten. Yawning, he went to take a shower.
That night, he did not know he dreamed of them, loving on the floor of a bare cold room, whispering lovers' words to one another. He didn't know the seed they had planted had gone deep into the fertile soil of his mind and taken root there. He didn't know that a few miles away, his partner lay awake in bed, remembering his past and deciding to risk finding a male lover again. He didn't know how much he would one day appreciate the instruction he had received this night. He did not yet know about love.
But he would.
-- THE END --
Originally published in Old Friends, Chained-to-the-Typewriter-Press, c.1994