Acts of War and Other Foreplay


Written for the Discovered Out of Context challenge on the discoveredinalj livejournal community

Special thanks go to Elizabeth O'Shea for Brit Reading this with her extra-special be-kind-to-silly-American-writer-glasses... Any mistakes are absolutely mine...

Bodie's record for going to ground, up until that moment, not counting the dreadful aftermath of the cock-up which got Marikka killed was three and a half hours. Usually, he let Doyle find him long before that, and Doyle was getting worried. Six hours earlier they'd parted company, albeit not on the best of terms.

Bodie had been stung by Cowley's treatment during the Meredith affair, and Doyle couldn't very well chime in with his opinion that Bodie just didn't like not being Cowley's 'golden lad'. However, alcohol had loosened his tongue and he had said it. The change that came over Bodie was instantaneous and unforgettable. He'd lifted one supercilious eyebrow and risen from his chair in the pub where they'd all gone to celebrate getting Radduk and walked out...

Meredith's duplicity was revealed. Kodai was dead. Radduk was in custody. All's well that ends with all hands breathing. Cowley had come and stood the lot of them a whisky, but left shortly afterwards. He wasn't likely to put the mantle of his office down long, if ever. That he'd come at all, Doyle thought, was as much of a 'well done' as they were likely to get. He was sorry that Bodie'd missed it.

Currently he was leaning indolently against the brick wall opposite one of a number of places he might possibly find Bodie, a pub known to be frequented by ex paras and likely to provide Bodie with an outlet if he was feeling so inclined. Doyle's expression tightened at the thought and he pushed away from the wall. If Bodie bloody well needed an outlet? Well. He'd be getting an outlet all right.

Bodie watched as his mates drank each other's health until it was a forgone conclusion they'd all be sick as pigs the next day. It was just the sort of thing Doyle, bloody Doyle, with his quiet, introspective, and perceptive disposition, would note. Maybe Doyle wouldn't say anything while they were all drinking together. He'd sit quietly and Bodie would read it in his eyes, and it would be their joke. Just theirs.

Bodie didn't know what had made him get up and leave earlier that evening. Perhaps it was that Doyle had begun subtly using that razor sharp wit of his against him. Or that he couldn't bear Doyle watching him; his thoughts shrouded behind layers of hair and unfathomable green eyes. Or possibly because with that gibe about being Cowley's 'golden lad' he'd hit uncomfortably close to home.

Bloody Doyle.

Bodie got up and walked to the front of the pub and cautiously pulled the heavy wooden door back the barest four inches. Speak of the devil. Doyle was leaning indolently on the wall across the way. No one could hold up a wall like Doyle. He looked like a rent boy. No doubt he was biding his time and planning his strategy.

Bodie suppressed the uncharitable thought that it had taken Doyle long enough. Six hours. Never mind that he himself had made it more difficult than usual. Bodie had the uncomfortable thought that Doyle hadn't started out as early or looked for him as hard.

He turned away from the door and walked back to his mates. One of them, Ronin, had been giving him the eye all evening. As he got just a little looser with drink Bodie began considering allowing him to move forward with that. He sat down next to Ronin, who looked up at him with the kind of special smile a bloke saves for a bloke he's going to roger in an alley later.

"Lo, there," Ronin said, leaning in.

"Ronin," Bodie murmured as he felt a hand slip over his thigh.

Dangerous that, among these men, thought Bodie. He liked Ronin all the more for his bravado. Ronin pulled some notes from his pocket and dropped them on the table, and as he started to walk to the door the same devil that had been goading Bodie all night made him shove his chair back as well.

"I'm out the back, Ronin," he said, tossing his own money down on the table. "Do you need a lift?"

"Yeah," Ronin met his eyes with understanding and, thought Bodie, with not a little pride, desire.

Bodie jerked his head and they walked out the back together. They turned down the alley a small way; the only sound a musical pinball sort of ping-ping-ping made by a bottle when Ronin accidentally kicked it with his foot. Soon, they left the circle of light from the back door of the pub and were immersed in the almost grainy darkness of the damp street.

"You don't have a car." Ronin looked around.

"No," replied Bodie. He leaned his own back against the wall, in some part of his mind aware that he was trying to beat the master at his game.

"I see," Ronin's hand slid down Bodie's side, from under his arm to the bone of his hip, and around the back, tightening at the last. He tugged Bodie into pleasurable contact with his body, the centerpiece of which was a rigid and throbbing cock. Bodie pulled Ronin in for a hard kiss, the kind that takes and bruises. His hands gripped Ronin's jacket. When they broke apart they were both smiling predatory smiles. Ronin's hands went for Bodie's zip. The silence was broken only by the sound of their panting and the loud, unmistakable clearing of a throat.

Bodie and Ronin broke apart. Ronin ran a shaky hand through his hair, ready to fight if need be. Bodie threw out a steadying arm.

"Doyle," Bodie said.

Doyle ignored him and spoke to Ronin. "Sorry to interrupt. Have to keep your hands off this one, mate, he's government property, he is."

Ronin eyed him suspiciously. "Who says?"

"I said it, just now." Doyle looked over at Bodie. "I did say that didn't I? I wasn't just imagining it?" A muscle moved in Doyle's cheek, a sure sign that he was hiding his feelings for the greater good. The sod.

"You said it." Bodie acknowledged. "Doesn't make it true."

Doyle crossed his arms. "I'll wait whilst you finish, if that's what you'd like." The way Doyle looked at him sometimes. Like he was a recalcitrant child who'd stolen sweets from the supermarket. Bugger him.

"You do that," said Bodie, pulling Ronin back into him with a hiss.

"No," Ronin spat back at him, shoving away. "I don't know what this is, but I'm out, mate. Make up your bloody mind and then find me."

"Later," Doyle nodded to him.

Bodie held Doyle's eyes. "Doyle," he warned, as Ronin scrambled away.

"Wise choice," Doyle murmured, watching the man go.

"Have you nothing better to do than spoil my fun?"

Doyle turned on his heel and began to walk around the pub to the front. No doubt he'd parked his car down the street. To Bodie's surprise Doyle turned and went into the pub.

"What're you up to?" Bodie asked, following him.

"Thirsty," Doyle said, nodding to the barman. He laid a few coins on the bar for a lager.

Bodie almost sneered at him. "You're not likely to find the most respectable company in a place like this. Proper Red Riding Hood you'll be, among the wolves."

Doyle answered him by moving across the bar with his usual sinuous, fluid walk, sitting down in the chair so recently vacated by Ronin.

One of Bodie's mates looked up. "Thought you were giving Ronin a lift."

Doyle smirked, but said nothing. Bodie took his previous seat. "He changed his mind."

A couple of the older blokes exchanged knowing looks, Bodie saw, but soon enough the group had got him off their minds and were laughing at something entirely unrelated. Bodie watched Doyle, who watched his mates. His mates would eventually, Bodie was sure, fire a shot across Doyle's bow. When it came, it was rather more benign than he would have hoped.

"Don't coppers have their own places to drink?" This from Phil, who'd had a bad run in with Traffic the previous week and felt disinclined to let it go, even though it had been entirely his fault.

Doyle smiled, and Bodie decided to goad him further. "This here, is former Detective Constable Raymond Doyle. PC Plod. I let him tag along sometimes for research."

Catcalls and groans made a round of the table. "Must be nice to have a pocket copper. Fix your speeding fines, does he?"

"Nope. Gentlemen, I give you the last honest copper. Ray? Tell them what an upright and uncompromising citizen you are, I doubt they'd believe a word out of my mouth after all these years."

"I'm not a copper anymore, just a civil servant. Like you." That got a wince from Bodie and another reaction from his mates.

"Never say so," said one, incredulous. "Our Bodie?"

"Oh yeah," said Doyle. "He's a real company man too. Acquits himself well and faithfully for queen and country. Boss's golden lad."

Bodie's chair shot back. "Get out of my pub."

Doyle rose as anxious eyes watched. "Didn't see your name on the sign, mate."

"Take it back."

"Never," Doyle watched Bodie carefully for any sign of movement from him. One twitch and they'd be paying for the furnishings of this place out of their pockets. "Everyone knows you're the Cow's favourite. It's bloody obvious you like it. Soak it up like a sea sponge don't you, and you the big, bad ex-merc. Polishing the headmaster's apples are we?"

Bodie never could ignore the sparkle in Doyle's eyes when the man prepared himself for battle. It was like a fucking drug, that look. Those green eyes could switch in an instant from a light tease to the cool precision of a killer.

Bodie's attention was diverted by one of his mates, Phil again, saying derisively, "Polishing his apples? Bodie, never say--"

"Sod off, Doyle," Bodie could feel his face growing red.

"See," Doyle went in for the kill, "Our boss is like a father figure to Bodie here... Thinks he hung the--"

Bodie put his head down and rammed Doyle right in the breadbasket, causing that man to expel a whoosh of breath and agony that stopped abruptly when he hit the table behind him. Four of Bodie's mates joined in the fray, spraying beer, blood, and glass bits. There was a great overturning of tables. In the beginning Ray was surrounded on all sides, giving as good as he got, but getting winded as one after another of Bodie's para cronies took a shot at him.

It didn't take long, though, until Bodie positioned himself at Doyle's back. At the end of the fracas, everyone looked around dazed. Bodie wondered if they even knew how the whole thing started and how it came to be that he'd switched sides. Confusion replaced rage, at least until they took a moment out to realise it was time to run or get nicked. The pub patrons boiled out the back way in half a second. The last to go, Bodie, tossed a tidy sum of money on the bar and winked at the barman on the way out.

Back farther in the darkness, almost where he'd stopped with Ronin, Doyle waited for him. Bodie saw he was fresh with the intensity of battle, hardly standing still. As he came into view Doyle sprang for him, gripping his shoulder tightly and slamming him against the wall. Bodie had a moment to digest that he was likely to be seeing stars for a while when Doyle spun him around, and started to tear at the buckle on his belt.

"Doyle," Bodie began, only to have his face pushed into the dusty brick and mortar surface.

"Yeah," Doyle answered seconds before he found the soft place at the junction of Bodie's neck and shoulder with his teeth.

A hard hand held Bodie's shoulder steady while another took down his zip none-too-gently. Hot breath fanned the back of his neck. Doyle knew his way around an unbreakable hold. Bodie was glad the man wasn't carrying cuffs.

Bodie felt compelled to say something. "Unseemly, this."

"Make do," Doyle ground out as he shoved Bodie's trousers down until they bunched around his knees. His belt buckle dangled forlornly between his feet. Bodie felt a hand smack his arse hard.

"Doyle!" Bodie hissed as Doyle slid a slick finger to play in his private places.

"Made me run a merry chase today." Doyle's anger sounded like it was fading as other things claimed his attention. Bodie felt a callused hand spread him as something much larger took the finger's place. Bodie could hear Doyle grind his teeth. "Now is when you say yes." Doyle waited, his prick poised at Bodie's entrance as everything but the sound of their breathing receded into the background.

"Yes," Bodie managed. "Fucking plod, let's see you--"

Bodie lost his ability to breathe as Doyle surged into him. His fingers touched the rough surface of the bricks and clung. The almost-pain of being shoved again and again into that gritty, hard surface notwithstanding, this had to be one of the best damned moments in his life. Like leaping out of an aeroplane. He closed his eyes and let it take him; let Doyle take him, knowing he was in the best and safest hands in the entire world. He felt a rough hand knead his cock, and let go of everything except how it felt to belong to Doyle.

Bodie gave up an unearthly mewling noise and collapsed limply back into Doyle's arms. Doyle held him against the wall for some time, his forehead pressed tightly to the back of Bodie's neck. He heard the sound of distant footsteps and bent over quickly to help Bodie with his trousers. He pulled them up and got them safely zipped, but only had time to tuck the belt into Bodie's waistband as he clearly heard a voice come out of the darkness.

"You there," it called, "What's this then?"

Doyle started walking with Bodie, the almost inert man's arm around his shoulder as he lurched away from the wall.

"Mate's a bit worse for the wear, sir, just seeing he gets home to the missus," said Doyle, using some indefinable combination of accents that sounded a little slurred to his own ears.

"You in the pub there? Had a bit of trouble, I hear," said the copper, looking them over by the light of a torch.

"Yeah," said Doyle. "Para rabble. I always hotfoot it out of there when the fighting starts. It's slow going tonight, though. Him and the little woman had a row, and now I can hardly get him to put one foot in front of the other."

Bodie chose that moment to begin singing, 'You Really Got Me" loud and off-key.

"You've got me so I don't know where I'm--"

"Shut it," Doyle coshed him on the head and turned a smiling face to the PC. "See what I mean?"

"That was our song, you know, mine and Edith's," wailed Bodie. "She used to go-go dance at the Painted Maid in Ipswich and she was the most beautiful thing I ever laid me eyes on," Doyle could see he was only warming up. "Oh Girl! You've got me going now..."

"Come on, Sunshine," said Doyle leading him off down the alley.

"You keep your voices down there lads, no need to wake the dead!" called the copper after them as Doyle half carried Bodie around a building onto which they both collapsed, they we're laughing so hard.

"Edith?" asked Doyle. "That's one I haven't heard."

"Ipswich!" Bodie was holding his sides and laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. He was floppy and trembling. "My legs," he complained.

"Serves you right."

Bodie quietened and Doyle instantly regretted saying anything.

"Six hours, Bodie." Bodie looked at his feet. "You are a piece of work, you are."

Bodie toed the ground between them. "You saying I'm too much trouble?"

"I can handle trouble."

"You can surely bring it on."

Doyle grinned. Something about Bodie just made him happy. He really didn't care what hurdles the man made him jump. In the end it came down to need, passion, burning off excess adrenaline, and maybe even love. For him it was love. He didn't hold it against the man, but there it was.

"I'll show you bring it on," said Doyle, allowing a slim quarter of what he felt for Bodie show for a moment in his tired green eyes.

Bodie leaned against him, stretching his sore muscles and testing his jaw, which was developing a perfectly awful bruise. "A roomful of my mates and you have to go and start a brawl."

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," said Doyle. "I've been meaning to talk to you for a while now about your unusual notion of foreplay..."

Doyle put an arm around Bodie's waist and helped him to the car. Bodie got in, giving him a saucy wink and a grin that lit up the night.

"Don't lecture me, Petal, it's been a long day, and I require sleep."

Doyle slammed the door in his face and walked around the back of the car to get into the driver's seat. He was warming up all the old arguments over the fire of his indignation when he turned to Bodie and distinctly heard the man snore.

Doyle smacked the steering wheel with his hand so hard it almost hurt. He thought if he looked up at the ceiling of the car and counted to an absurdly high number, say, four thousand three hundred and thirty six, he could calm himself down. He was about to start the engine when a hand joined his on the gear stick of the car. He looked over to Bodie, who was neither snoring nor asleep.

Bodie leaned over and brushed a delicate kiss over his lips, following it up with a touch of his thumb, as if to seal it there.

"My place?" grinned Doyle, "Or do I need to start World War Three to get you in the mood again?"

-- THE END --

June 2008

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