After Hours

by


"Fancy a drink?"

Now what does he mean by that, Bodie thought suspiciously. Wonder what's behind it . . .

Predictably, his face remained expressionless as he voiced his suspicions.

"What's that supposed to mean, sunshine? What's behind it, huh, sugar plum?"

"What the hell do you mean . . . what's behind it?" Doyle spluttered disbelievingly, "I asked if you fancied a drink. Do you or don't you?"

"Yeah, but what's behind it, sweetheart?" Bodie persisted. "What're you after, curly top?"

"I'm not 'after' anything!" Doyle exploded, but Bodie's wariness increased as he noticed that his partner had flushed guiltily.

"I'm thirsty. I fancy a drink. Is that a crime? I'll even pay, all right? What's the matter with you anyway? Why're you always so bloody suspicious?"

Bodie's expression hardened only infinitesimally, notwithstanding his inner torment, but his hands were clamped on the steering wheel in a vice-like grip.

"My training taught me to question everything, Robin," he said mysteriously.

"Batman, you nitwit."

"What, chicken?" Bodie queried absentmindedly, eyes on the road, changing from fourth to third gear and back again unnecessarily, just for the thrill of feeling the gear stick in his hand, and because he knew it looked very macho.

"I've told you time and again," Doyle said, voice cracking with emotion, "Batman, not Robin."

Bodie shrugged. "Does it matter, angel fish?" he asked, offended.

"So, do you want a drink or don't you?" Doyle persevered desperately, nearly in tears now.

"Possibly, Watson," Bodie replied cryptically.

Doyle pounded his delicate fist against the dashboard of the car.

"Sherlock . . . " he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh yeah, Sherlock . . ." Bodie amended casually.

"Look, we've already passed the Crown and The Fox and Hounds," Doyle informed him, looking out of the window despairingly. "There's only The Pigeon and Sparrow left. What do you say?"

"What do I say, Professor?" Bodie echoed mysteriously.

"Yeah, Bodie, what do you say," Doyle replied, nerves in tatters, gnawing anxiously at his exquisitely shaped left knuckle.

"I say . . . maybe, poppet," Bodie said slowly, drawing out the suspense, as usual not giving so much as an inkling of his true feelings away.

"God, Bodie, why is it always like this between us?" Doyle said, bursting into tears at last, and fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Why can't you trust me? I haven't had a drink for three weeks now. and it hurts, you know . . . I thought we were close," he flushed prettily, " . . . might even get closer . . . but every time I try to get you to go for a drink so I can get you pissed and take you home and seduce you, we always go through the same agony." He blew his nose loudly, wiping his eyes with the handkerchief.

"Knew you were after something, petal," Bodie informed him smugly, subduing the beginnings of a self-satisfied half smile, which threatened to show what he was really feeling.

"So, what do you say?" Doyle asked, sniffing.

"OK, baby, let's give it a whirl," Bodie agreed as he did an emergency stop outside the Pigeon and Sparrow, brakes screeching dramatically.

Bloody exhibitionist . . . Doyle thought to himself.

He sprang out of the car like lightning and made it to the entrance in two seconds flat, hopping from one foot to the other in excitement as he waited impatiently for the more stolid, sauntering Bodie to bring up the rear.

But the pub was in darkness, there were no cars in the car park, and the door was firmly closed.

"Looks like it's after hours, precious," Bodie said nonchalantly, glancing at his watch, after Doyle had hurled himself unsuccessfully against the immovable door at least a half dozen times.

"Oh, that's bloody marvelous, that is," Doyle said, bursting into tears again. "What do you suggest we do now?"

"What do I suggest we do now, love?" Bodie echoed, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"For Christ's sake, will you stop repeating everything I say!" Doyle said, stamping a small, neatly booted foot.

"Anything you say, darling," Bodie said calmly.

"Not anything I say, everything I say," Doyle corrected him, going into a full scale tantrum.

"All right, everything you say, love of my life," Bodie agreed wearily. "It isn't grammatical . . . doesn't make sense, but as long as it keeps you happy . . . "

"Oh, sod you, I'm going home to bed," Doyle said, at the very end of his tether, stomping off gracefully in the direction of the bus stop.

The car slammed loudly to a halt at the bus stop two minutes later. Bodie had stopped there, intending to tell Doyle to piss off and see if he cared, but he underwent a sudden change of heart as he saw that Doyle's nose had gone red with cold and that his face was very white and pinched looking. He wound down the window as casually as he could and leaned over in Doyle's direction.

"Want a lift, petal?" he asked placatingly.

Doyle continued to blow into his frozen hands and ignored him.

"Thought you wanted to seduce me, treasure?" Bodie invited.

"Yeah, I did, but I've lost interest now," Doyle said, sulking, not looking at him. "Too much like hard work."

"Good things are always worth waiting for, flower," Bodie said profoundly, putting the full force of his charm to work.

"Do you mean it?" Doyle asked warily, looking at him at last, " 'cos if you don't . . . " He raised a dainty fist warningly.

"Course I do, dearest," Bodie said magnanimously, opening the passenger door for him.

Doyle jumped inside, smothering Bodie with kisses, heedless of anyone who might be watching.

Once he'd managed to free himself Bodie drove at a steady 90, which was quite a feat considering Doyle's hands were all over him at the time.

Knew I'd get him in the end, he thought smugly, reflexively accelerating to a 100 in a built-up area as Doyle's hand continued to explore his nether regions with great thoroughness. The casual approach always works, given time . . .

Got him! Doyle thought triumphantly, smuggling his head against the broad chest, unaware that his hair was in Bodie's mouth and that his partner was slowly choking on it. Not sure what I'm gonna do with him now I've got him, but I'll think of something . . .

At that precise moment the car hiccupped, shuddered once and chugged painfully to a halt in the middle of the road.

Doyle lifted his head enquiringly.

"Out of petrol, chuck," Bodie said calmly, delicately removing several of Doyle's curly hairs from his mouth.

"Oh, God . . ." Doyle said, sniffing again, feeling another tearful outburst coming on, "didn't you check the tank?"

"Mustn't have done, sweetie pie," Bodie said philosophically. He looked behind him, considering. "How about the back seat, chuchy face?"

"Forget it," Doyle said, peeved, as he got out of the car, preparatory to pushing it. "Where's the nearest garage?"

"Opposite the Pigeon and Sparrow, dearest," Bodie informed him conversationally.

-- THE END --

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