Feasting With Panthers
by Kitty Fisher
It was six months after they first made love when he realised that it was not going to be enough.
Commitment, trust and a desperate attempt to suppress his darker desires counted for nothing. Cursing himself he persevered, fucking with Bodie was, after all, one of the more fulfilling experiences of his life. Yet even when Bodie took him hard and fast, the seized pleasure spiralling through both of them, he lay afterwards and ached for what might have been.
"Love you Bodie." Doyle spoke into the sweat scented darkness.
"Love you too." Bodie was almost asleep, snuffling into herb scented curls.
Love you, want you, need you.
But I'm a greedy bastard and I want it all. He shivered in the encircling warmth of Bodie's arms, rousing the almost sleeping man.
"Yeah, goose walked over my grave."
"Must've 'ad bloody big feet." Bodie settled back, perfectly relaxed, content to just hold for a while.
"Come on sunshine, relax." Bodie rubbed a firm hand over Doyle's bony back, contouring ribs, shoulders, spine. "Go to sleep." Purring catlike into Doyle's ear he made the lithe body in his arms wriggle with laughter.
"Okay, Okay, pussycat."
"Miaow ...... wait till morning and we'll see who's the pussycat."
"Promises ..... Promises ...."
Without really registering the answer, Bodie slipped gently into sleep.
The next morning, as usual, Doyle awoke before Bodie. Leaning, propped on one arm, to watch while Bodie slept, tenderness grasped his heart and squeezed it hard. I love you Bodie, but I wish ....... He caught the thought and held it unvoiced to himself. Never wish unless you see a falling star. All he could see was Bodie.
The sleeper stirred, opening one bleary eye to peer up at his all too awake mate.
"Yeah." Doyle curled back into soft warmth, feeling Bodie's early morning hard-on press into his belly. Its strength made him catch his breath. "Good morning indeed."
Squirming further down, he lay his head on Bodie's chest, rubbing his stubbly face across its smooth expanse, listening to the steady pulse of heartbeat.
"You smell wonderful first thing in the morning."
"Oh yeah, sweat, sleep and semen. Intoxicating." Bodie yawned.
Doyle knew Bodie thought he was teasing, but his erection pulsed and lengthened as he let his nose drift into Bodie's armpit: breathing in the heady scent. This is real life Doyle, not some crazy fantasy, he castigated himself. Yet all the same when he rubbed his cock against the sheet the rough abrasion fired his blood. Oh Bodie, I wish..... He felt as if no matter how often they fucked, a small part of him inside was dying. It hurt. In the cold light of day he knew he should let it die, cut it out, cauterise the wound. But he was too much of a coward and he had found long ago that pleasures, once learnt, are not easy to dismiss.
The tip of Doyle's tongue snaked out, flicking across a nipple, making Bodie murmur and flex in response. Slant eyes fever bright Doyle watched it peak into a hard nub of pleasure and shivered. Lapping like a cat, the sensory input from his tongue spreading through every part of his body, he sighed, and opening his mouth sucked hard. Bodie moaned with the rhythmic pressure but made no move of his own. Pressed against the sheets Doyle's own nipples ached to be touched, but he ignored them; this was for Bodie.
Restraint as eroticism.
It was almost as good as restriction.
Tonguing wetly down Bodie's torso Doyle licked into the dip of belly button, flicking it with his tongue.
Bodie arched and groaned "Ray..."
Soon, sweetheart, soon. Silent, Doyle kept the words to himself, his mouth too engaged to reply.
Burrowing under the covers, smiling, licking at white thighs, Doyle laughed. Oh, yes. Bodie's cock, sculpted in ivory tinted with rose, lay in wait for him. Lovely. And all for me. He felt dizzy with anticipation, and swallowed hard as the cock pulsed, a bead of crystal forming at its tip. All mine.
Tonguing the shaft, feeling the body around him shiver in response, he let the slow sensations build, until the veined flesh glistened. He paused and dipped his tongue into the slit, tantalising until Bodie groaned, his pelvis rising off the bed in need. Ray licked the head again, his stomach fluttering with frantic desire as he tasted his first drops of Bodie's pleasure. Sweet, so very sweet. Surrendering himself to both their need, Ray surrounded the cock with his mouth, letting his head drop, consuming, the smoothness hypnotising, the act taking every particle of himself and giving it to Bodie.
The shaft deep in his mouth, his own cock weeping with frustrated need as the round head hit the back of his throat, Doyle moaned and sucked hard. Position adjusted he fought the reflex need to gag; Bodie's length too great to allow this act with ease. Beautiful. He could feel the tension reaching critical force within Bodie's smooth body, and he shuddered as frantic hands reached for his head.
Yes Bodie, go on. Hold me. Use me.
Fingers knotted convulsively in Doyle's hair, unsubtely demanding, his flesh forced deep into the willing mouth, Bodie cried out and came.
Gagging, bile rising in his throat as the salt heat of Bodie's need poured into him, Doyle came, and was blinded by the intensity of his orgasm.
It was the best.
Swallowing, he wiped his face against the softening heat.
Love you Bodie.
Gathered up, Doyle was tucked into loving arms; boneless, worn out.
"Bloody fantastic, Ray, thanks." Bodie stretched, raising Doyle with him as he arched his body in satisfaction. "Come on, let's be having you." He reached down to take Doyle into his hand and encountered only limp satiation.
"Yeah, you can say that again."
Bodie restrained himself, but kissed the swollen lips instead, "What were you doing, wanking off at the same time?"
"No didn't need to. Told you before, I get as much of a kick out of it as you do; I love sucking you off." Doyle shivered slightly, wanting to be able to talk to Bodie, to ask, to beg if need be, for other things.
If only Bodie would take some of that fine aggression that he used every day and bring it to bed with him. Doyle sighed, Bodie's strength had captivated him from the first. No mere matter of muscle, it was the pure arrogance that had swirled the dark lees at the bottom of Doyle's soul and sent it scudding like snowflakes under glass to cloud reality.
Self-confidence, aggression, power, sublime indifference, strong slide of heavy muscles over solid bone, big hands, big cock, fire, ice, Bodie.
But if only.....
Bodie's hands mastering him. Controlled.
The willing suspension of free-will.
All about as likely as snow in August. Bodie loved him, genuinely and openly. It had been enough. Doyle just had to make sure it stayed that way.
For the next six months he honestly tried. Never having been in a long term relationship before, Doyle learnt from day to day how to make it survive. Sexual experimentation had always been one of the more powerful forms of release for him. Gay, straight, SM, vanilla, all his partners had been taken, used, thanked politely and discarded with absolute efficiency. He'd never found it in himself to give so unstintingly to anyone else, before Bodie. Amazing what love could do.
Before, when it had all got too much; the violence, the control, the aggression that formed his days, he had dressed in leather and silk, to go walking in the shadows, prowling leather bars, seeking the opposite side to his own coin. Mostly it had succeeded, only once getting out of his control, when tied up and floating on a cloud of amyl he had been too out of it to stop the big bastard from really smashing him up. Yet that hadn't changed his need. Just taught him a never to be forgotten lesson; not to trust at all. The disfigurement that he saw on his cheekbone every time he looked in a mirror was a permanent reminder, one he took care not to ignore.
The trouble was that loving Bodie as he did he couldn't cheat on him, not in any way, not even if it is was without being fucked, the mental surrender was as bad, if not worse than the physical. So no moonlighting.
Ergo: it had to be Bodie.
Perverting the course of Bodie's mind was not easy. He tried buying a few toys, but never used them, throwing them away rather than face Bodie's laughter. He hadn't dared try anything more obvious. Not yet.
Shame and need. The twin spurs that urged him on. He needed Bodie's love, wanted it, craved it. Yet Doyle wanted Bodie to play on his own terms and he wasn't sure if he could manage it without making Bodie despise him. Each time his thoughts circled around this far, the shame would burn him. Why couldn't it be enough, being loved.
After a while even Bodie could not ignore the fact that the man he loved was not happy. The resignation this knowledge engendered was quite calm; after all what did he have that would ensure Doyle's contentment. After due observation though he was even more confused as his partner seemed serene enough with their relationship; just out of balance with himself.
In the end Bodie's first real clue came in the aftermath of a botched operation. Doyle had been taken hostage and though he had freed himself without too much difficulty, he was bruised and the adrenaline still bubbled under his skin from the narrow escape as they all stood over the gunman Doyle had killed.
In the cold afternoon light he stood watching Bodie, his face grim, the urge to hit out because Bodie couldn't take the pain away almost overpowering. Unfair, he knew, but not even God promised equity.
Holding his ground, he waited as Bodie took the few paces needed to bring them close. Doyle's wrists were lacerated, red weals clearly defined on the blue veined skin. Touching his forefinger to the marks Doyle looked straight into Bodie's eyes and wished. Wished that Bodie understood. Wished that the marks were the brands of Bodie's love.
The dilation of ice green eyes was unmistakable. Bodie had seen that look countless times, been mesmerised by it as they fought their way to ecstasy. Doing a classic double take, Bodie tightened the muscles around his eyes looking for a put on. It wasn't there. Doyle really was turned on.
Very casually, just to test this strange theory that was being thrust at him, Bodie flicked Doyle's finger away and slowly ran his own, very lightly along the red furrow.
Doyle stopped breathing.
Eyes wide he looked at Bodie with love, guilt, need and arousal merging, as if he had discovered the gates of heaven but wasn't sure if he would be allowed in.
Briefly the moment held as they searched each other's souls. Then like a sea mist it was gone and they were caught up in the aftermath of the operation.
Later that night after a bout of sex that had been gentle, even tentative, Bodie lay awake.
There were hints enough in the erratic behaviour of his lover for Bodie to have expected something out of the ordinary. He'd just expected it to be a lack of permanence; the need for Doyle to either fuck around or fuck off; a gypsy, always looking for greener grass. In many ways that was expected.
In the soft twilight he wondered how far it went and why it was so difficult to talk about. Did Doyle want Bodie to beat the shit out of him; could he do it if Doyle did. What if it was the price of their staying together. Shifting he looked down at Doyle's wrist lying loose in sleep on the pillow, the marks of bondage still clear.
All that fire and passion controlled and channelled. Bodie's cock pulsed and lengthened in response. Jesus.
Throughout his life Bodie had never cared to delve too deeply into the dark underworld beneath the surface of plain, uncomplicated give and take sex. He had been perhaps too scared, too wary of himself and how far he could go to look too hard. He knew the darkness was there, deep in himself, but he ignored it, stepping carefully around the sign that said; let sleeping dragons lie.
Gentled by sleep, irascible temper and violent passions were soothed away. Slender, springing curls framing a face that was feyly beautiful and ugly as a demon, Doyle lay, the sum of Bodie's yearning.
Bodie knew that the other man's androgyne, slight build had from an early age forced him into confrontation. That much Bodie had pieced together from facts dropped in passing about Doyle's past. It had warped Doyle's life into the shape it was now; contoured by violence and shaped by destruction. There was little wonder that he needed to have the constant control wrested away from him.
Bodie's finger traced over the weals. Ray, do you really want this. No, stupid question. Rather, is it what you really need. What I need.
Suddenly his cock was weeping, springing hard against the bed clothes. Took me long enough didn't it sunshine. Ray's sweet submissiveness in bed suddenly took on a whole new meaning. So, what do I do. Jump feet first into this, or do I let you take the initiative?
Entranced and addicted he would have done anything to ensure Doyle's love.
But damn it all, it wouldn't be easy, playing the master, far easier in fact to let Doyle do the mastering.
Yet, that produced no frisson of response. Unlike the vision of Doyle, bound, helpless, crushed under the weight of Bodie's body, Bodie's cock deep in his flesh. Jesus who'd have thought it, Bodie let his hand slide down and grasp his burning shaft, faintly scandalised by his own easy decent into lust. Well, first things first.
He pushed himself on top of Doyle's sleeping form, waking him, unsunny temper and all.
"What the fuck."
"That's the idea sunshine." Bodie stabbed his iron hard erection into Doyle's groin. "I've woken up randy so turn over and be a good boy." Twisting to one side Bodie used heavy muscle to turn Doyle's body over using his superior weight to press him face down into the bed.
"I've been awake for a while." Bodie's voice was a seductive whisper, his mouth pressed into tangled curls. "Been watching you, thinking about fucking you. Didn't want to do it alone did I?" With his right hand he rubbed the slit head of his cock between Doyle's buttocks. Pushing over the dark opening to rub against the tightening scrotum. The trapped body bucked. Rocketed from sleep to fantasy by the spell of Bodie's body and Bodie's voice, Doyle hissed with need. "Yes go on do it." He writhed urgently, trying to take control of even this submission. "Fuck me."
"I'm going to. But because I want to, so stop making demands."
Bodie grasped thin wrists and held them tight pressed into the pillows above Doyle's head. Bending, he bit into the back of the exposed neck, sinking his teeth in hard enough to draw a moaning response.
"Like that do you?" Not waiting for an answer he laid a series of kiss-bites across bony shoulders.
Doyle groaned, "Jesus Bodie, fuck me for chrissake."
"Patience is a virtue, Raymond."
"Never had any. Never said I did, did I?"
Intent, Bodie used one hand to turn Doyle's head and kissed him, fucking the open wet heat with his tongue, clumsy, gasping as his desperation was returned ten-fold, he moved back and pressing on Doyle's wrists to keep him still, reached for the tube of gel they kept by the bedside, spreading it in quick, jerky movements over them both. Pausing only for a brief second to appreciate his lover's golden beauty he took a deep breath before pushing his cock past the spasming ring of muscle, deep into Doyle's body. Caught in his own web of desire that needed neither tenderness not subtlety, he fucked hard, taking ruthlessly that which was his.
Screaming as his body was plundered, Doyle came the instant Bodie slammed into him. Gasping, he slumped emptying himself onto the white cotton sheets.
Bodie was stunned by the success of his idea, and smiled as he spoke, "needed that didn't you."
Doyle's only answer was a stifled groan.
"Now, this is for me." Bodie pulled back until just the head of his cock rested enclosed by the knot of muscle. It was so tight. Bodie closed his eyes. So tight. The body beneath him relaxed and spent. Giving nothing. "Come on Doyle, wake up." He rammed hard into the hot channel pushing unmercifully into the accommodating flesh, using his cock as a tool to wake the inert Doyle. "Come on." Doyle groaned and with the third hard slide sobbed and moved back against it.
"Yeah, come on, make it good for me."
Bodie fucked hard, animal, nothing tame or civilised. The sensations, even the sounds of sweat slick flesh smacking against his buttocks a further spur that incensed Doyle, this forced arousal painful, making him writhe, his abandon pushing them both irrevocably higher until muscles clenched, Bodie came, slamming deep into Doyle, the heat ripped from his body with claws of fire. The pulsing seemed to go on for ever, until Bodie realised that Doyle was screaming, body convex, mouth wide to the night as, for the second time, he was dissolved by orgasm.
At dawn they both awoke. Doyle turned over and groaned as his aching bones protested.
"You Okay?" Bodie's hand was gentle, lightly soothing over Ray's shoulder.
"Like being black and blue do you?"
Doyle's answer was so quiet that Bodie wasn't sure he had heard it correctly. "Sometimes."
"Sometimes." Bodie repeated the word, tasting it on his tongue.
"Never thought you'd want it like that."
Doyle shrugged. "I tried hinting, but you're a thick bastard sometimes. Besides, didn't want you to think I was some sort of pervert did I." He waggled his eye-brows making Bodie laugh.
"Nah, love you don't I."
They kissed, light and tender, pleasure from pleasure. Love and subtle awareness of all that it was so impossible to say in words, exchanged in a kiss. Lying side by side they touched at toes, hips and nose. Content beyond care.
Yet Bodie couldn't leave it alone, though he skirted tentatively around the issue. "Was that really okay?"
"Mmmm" The ecstatic groan gave no room for doubt.
"How about next time and the time after that." Bodie tried to keep both hope and dismay from his voice.
"No. Just... occasionally." Frowning, concerned, Doyle tried to elucidate; "what we've done, what I am," he looked away, it was easier talking to the wall than to the intent perfection of Bodie's face. "It all gets a bit much sometimes. I just need to let go." Turning back he nuzzled Bodie's neck frustrated by his own inability to paint a clear picture in words. "Can't explain, but thanks."
"Thanks! Jesus don't thank me as if I've just given service for Queen and country. Wasn't exactly a chore you know mate." Bodie planted a kiss on the tip of Doyle's nose and continued more gently. "Got my own kicks too."
Doyle was relaxing. "Noticed that," his voice held a quiver of laughter.
"Always the observant little copper aren't you."
"Fuck off Bodie."
"Not on your life."
They smiled in complicity, silently enjoying the simple pleasure of being in accord.
"Ray, you don't have to tell me but I'd like to know how far this goes, anyway, how long have you been into it." Bodie wanted every scrap of information about Doyle that there was in existence.
"What; whips, chains and all that?" Doyle's mouth twisted into a half smile.
"Since ever." It was so simple, and he offered the words without artifice.
"Ever." Bodie repeated the word, with doubt and query in his voice.
Doyle sighed and settled back. "Mmm, I was, I suppose, 16. I met this older bloke, never lived with him or anything, think he was married anyway. But I saw him from time to time and he ... taught me something about myself, and about how good it can be. Like last night. But then I love you, and that makes all the difference, doesn't it?" Vast insecurity buried under layers of calm self-possession.
"Light years." Bodie squeezed his partner with a bone cracking hug. "But this bloke, how far did he go." Bodie had to ask, curiosity about Doyle being one his more acceptable vices.
"Why? D'you wanna hear stories about rubber and leather and fetishes galore. I could tell you them if you want, let you do them if you want." Doyle leant up on one elbow, slightly flushed, and looked mischievously at Bodie. "Wanna know all about little innocent 16 year old Ray Doyle discovering the secrets of the universe?"
"Shuddup" Bodie was laughing, but was aroused all the same. Then he sobered, "don't like the idea of you getting really hurt."
"Oh, there's a world of difference, between being hurt and SM. Anyway, he wasn't quite into the full bit, no rubber suit and oxygen mask, so don't worry."
"He wasn't? Damn you'd look so cute." Bodie teased, trying out the new boundaries created by the revelation.
"Sweetie." Doyle lisped then curled back down to continue, slightly hesitantly, "he helped me, I suppose, I was a right tear- away Bodie, into everything and well on the road to borstal. Then I met him and it ... channelled all my aggression, letting me control the vicious side of me or at least ..." he poked Bodie's ribs in punishment for the eyebrow raised in polite disbelief, "it helps." Suddenly he was desperately earnest, "I love you. I enjoy SM. If I admit it I might even need it, but it doesn't have to be like that if you don't want it. I'll manage. Whatever happens I need you more than I need anything else."
They kissed, breaking slowly apart, touching with no thought of arousal.
Bodie confessed, "No I couldn't say I didn't enjoy it; came like a grenade had gone off. I wanted to be sure that you weren't playing games with me; that it wasn't a momentary aberration that will have you up in arms the next time I try it."
"No. I trust you, and for God's sake, don't ask my permission first or you'll take half the fun out of it."
"That's all right then. Yeah, I can't see it being part and parcel of your fantasy being asked nicely." Content, Bodie snuggled into the pillow, only to be shocked into awareness by a husky voice in his ear.
"Day off today. Fancy a trip to Soho?"
"Yeah, little shop I know in Berwick Street. It might have something to tempt your jaded appetite."
"Oy, are you never satisfied?"
"Often, but never for long." As proof he pressed his body against Bodie. Then spoiled the effect by yawning widely in Bodie's face.
"Beautiful set of tonsils you've got there."
"Idiot... I'm going to have a nap." Ray curled up.
"So what?" His voice was muffled by Bodie's flesh.
"True." But I thought you wanted to go to shopping?
"Come 'ere and shuddup. There's plenty of time ..."
They curled into sleep, complacent and content, neither one aware that the dragon had awoken.
By September it had been five months since Doyle had last fucked Bodie. The restraining word, 'sometimes' had been lost and Bodie controlled their sex life with an iron hand.
Work was much the same as ever; good days and bad days, bullets and mayhem. The usual cycle that meandered on in the way lives do.
In bed, life was more complicated. Bodie was so at ease with his role that for him the enjoyment of normal sex grew pallid in comparison. The passionate response his mastery drew from Doyle was far beyond anything he had ever experienced before, and it enticed him like a moth to a flame.
For Doyle the five months had been some of the most rewarding in his life. The fantasies Bodie created weaving their way into his dreams, freeing, enlightening. The trust between them made all the difference and Doyle no longer found himself absentmindedly fingering the disfigurement of his face.
He now dressed with more casual flamboyance. Velvet and silk preferred over denim and cotton, though these days he often had to wear his sleeves buttoned, which he hated. Bruises were common in his line of work, but too many would have caused comment, even among the short sighted bunch of sexual cretins they worked with.
He would often smile secretly to himself, remembering. For the first time in years he was content, this happiness though, was a strange, elusive thing. It would enshroud him from nowhere then vanish, only to return just as unexpectedly. Bodie had quickly become an expert in the wielding of both whip and cane, and though they were never debilitating, days would often pass before the weals faded. Doyle loved the marks for what they were; a clear symbol of their love. For it wasn't the pain, it was the possession; subject as overlord. The pain was only an adjunct to pleasure, inseparable maybe, perhaps even necessary, but not the be all and end all of everything.
Unfortunately either Bodie was loosing sight of this or he had never grasped it. The dark, ignored side of his sexuality showed itself to be alert, alive and out to recompense itself for the years of imprisonment.
The more complicated, the more violent the cases they worked on, the more intense their sexual meetings became, until Doyle knew exactly how long after the flat door closed it would be before Bodie had him naked, screaming for release.
Sometimes he fought, the adrenaline snapping at them both, but he never fought to win, only for his own satisfaction.
Still living in separate flats, it turned out that they spent all their spare time at Bodie's, it was low ceilinged and more sound proofed than Doyle's. Perfect for games. They had spent a small fortune on accoutrements and accessories to feed their fantasies and the bedroom was now their playground.
Considering that the initial idea and the curiosity about the toys had been Doyle's, it was strange that it was Bodie who became obsessive about them. He conjured elaborate scenarios from his always fertile imagination; ceremony and ritual adding to his pleasure. Bodie loved to see Doyle's slender body manacled, chained, aroused beyond sanity, begging in silence for more.
The fantasies that Bodie enacted came from a thousand different times, a thousand different places; dark pirate and his cabin boy who had once been his captive; errant knight and novitiate monk; Turkish Pasha and his difficult catamite; and his favourite, himself as Norman lord with droit de seigneur, choosing not the bride but the bridegroom to deflower.
The fascination fed on their daily proximity. Bodie would watch Doyle and remember intense minutiae of pleasure that the lithe body had given him and he would have to touch. Even when they were working, anywhere, a slight, brief touch would reaffirm Doyle's reality.
Doyle never touched Bodie.
Unless Bodie allowed it.
Silent, gagged by obedience, Raymond Doyle begged with every cell in his body for a touch that seemed never to come.
He'd stood, close to desperation for an hour, watching through pain narrowed eyes as Bodie lounged naked on the bed, watching the T.V. Bodie had pounced on him the moment they got back from work, tied him, rammed his cock home and come, hard and fast, all the time holding tight onto Doyle's balls so that he couldn't find release. Sated, he'd withdrawn and manacled Doyle to their wooden bed-frame, leaving him needing and untouched. All this with Doyle's unvoiced consent.
Restriction as desire. Doyle had whispered the plea into the darkness and received the gift in abundance.
Except as with all things, the dream had changed somehow in transition to reality. The games and the aggression that Doyle craved had been taken by Bodie and remolded into long dances of erotic play that left Doyle so exhausted that he felt....erased was the only word that fitted, but also more saturated with sexual pleasure than he'd ever been in his life.
It was churlish surely to ask for anything else.
Swollen with arousal, untouched, his flesh wept into the air. His thighs and buttocks were red and stinging from Bodie's earlier use of the belt. So far neither the whip nor the cane had been used, though Doyle knew with dry-mouthed anticipation that it would be soon, for Bodie's cock was showing signs of renewed arousal. Doyle tried to keep still, to restrain every impulse that screamed out for him to beg for attention. He knew from bitter experience that Bodie was quite capable of wanking himself off and ignoring him if the bound man did not behave. The mere thought was enough to paralyse movement.
Without warning Bodie reached for the remote and turned the T.V. off. Laying back he turned and smiled at Doyle, dark blue eyes encompassing the yearning body and sweat stained face; pleading cock and erect nipples. Yes. Bodie ran his hand lightly over his own body, brushing his fingers against the smooth heat of his growing erection. Decision made he stood and reached for the crop that hung by the side of the bed. He saw Doyle tense and deliberately took his time, playing the weapon between his hands making his lover appreciate it's length and flexibility, making him sweat before a single blow had landed.
The leather raised an immediate welt; cleaner and finer than the slightly messy marks that were left by the belt. The second stroke was lower, across tension taut thighs and Doyle gasped, any cry stifled by will power alone. Six strokes only. Bodie rationed himself, trying to prolong his pleasure. Throwing the crop onto the bed, he moved to stand behind the bound man and smoothed his cool hands across sweating over-heated skin, making Doyle's taut body shiver and sigh back against him. Beautiful. Ray was so beautiful. He murmured softly into Doyle's ear, "I love you," and pressed two fingers into Doyle's oiled anus.
Breathing harshly, Doyle's control was taken to the limit as Bodie spread his fingers and twisted them, he scarcely heard the voice that whispered in his ear, "I know you like that, but what does it make you want? Do you want me to fuck you again, or would you like the rubber cock shoved up your arse." Doyle was shaking, blind and dizzy with lust, he held the groans deep in his body, though he was almost undone when the fingers were wrenched away.
His hands released, Doyle fell to his knees, slight tremors running through the long muscles of his body. Patience, oh God, it was such a difficult virtue to learn so late in life. The crop touched him almost gently on the shoulder, hardly enough to mark the skin, but he jumped nonetheless.
"Get on the bed."
Obeying, Doyle tried to be graceful, wanting it all to be perfect. He knelt in the centre of the bed, quite still as Bodie refastened his wrists behind his back. Bodie kissed him, deep and passionate, it left them both gasping.
"Patience sunshine, we've got hours yet."
Doyle shivered, the fine hairs on his body prickling in reaction. Hours. Jesus.
Wide-eyed he could do nothing but wait, offering the only gift he had; silence.
Bodie's hands traced erotic paths over Doyle's body, creating a web of need that almost made the bound man weep. Passion's captive, striped with the battle scars of love, each nerve alive with sensation he surrendered himself to the beguiling dream.
Guiding an almost blind Doyle off the bed, Bodie sat on its edge placing the bound man kneeling at his feet. He leant back, resting his weight on bent elbows, "suck my balls .... lick them."
The willing mouth was avid, beautiful ... too much. "Stop. Rim me instead." Bodie rolled back to grant the searching mouth access and moaned as the agile tongue fucked him, as Doyle's cock had not been allowed to do. Bodie clutched at the sheets, sweating under the expert caress, it was not enough to trigger orgasm and he flew high on the thermals of arousal.
Doyle was certain he would come, his nostrils filled with the heady scent of sexuality, but Bodie could play this game with consummate skill and before his body took control the task was taken away. Wide eyed and breathless Doyle leant back on his heels. The plea was silent. And ignored.
Ordered back onto the bed he was a wordless supplication. Wrists unfastened, he was laid unbound on the sheets and ordered into immobility. He twisted his hands into the cotton, and gripped as if hanging from a precipice.
The crop again; six strokes. This time he cried out, screaming into the cool linen as tears of frustration bled down his face. Then the cooling hand, taking the pain and re-shaping it, re- forming it into pleasure. He felt Bodie's weight shift, and he was shaking as he was covered and roughly penetrated. He moaned into the bed as Bodie's hand caught his balls and pulled hard; again denying the release of orgasm. The desperate need was a knifing pain more insistent than Bodie's cock ramming unmercifully into his body.
When he was past the point where he knew that Bodie would never let him come, his body was pulled upright, balls released and with one final thrust Bodie sent them both over the edge, whispering permission to deafened ears as Doyle came, blacking out as the final surge emptied his body.
Doyle was never so sweet and docile as after he'd just been fucked.
It was a shame that Bodie was oblivious to the brief transformation. Laying curled against Bodie, Doyle was completely at peace with the world, watching whilst his lover slept. After an hour, still dazed, sore from head to foot, Doyle headed for the bath; a shower just didn't have the same effect. He left Bodie sleeping, touching lightly the cropped dark hair as he went.
Reflected in the bathroom mirror, his body was marked. Bodie never broke through the skin but even so the weals were stark in the fluorescent light. This was all surface pain, abrasion of nerve endings creating a shell of agony that Bodie could crack open to free the pleasure inside. In the harsh light Doyle touched himself, nipples too sore for anything but the lightest caress, tangled chest curls threaded with drying semen that shimmered into nothingness as his fingers brushed it. Wealed wrists. All for love. He shivered. There was no leeway now. It was everything, consuming any impulse for ordinary sex that they still had. At least, Doyle still had. Bodie had changed, never seemed to need anything else. Still, he couldn't complain could he, he'd got what he wanted, after all.
Moving away from the pale faced image, he turned on the taps, filling the bath with steaming water. Yes, it was what he wanted. To be needed. To give Bodie ... everything. Remade nightly. He stepped into the water, hissing as the heat made his welts sting. Bodie still loved him. After eighteen months it still caught him by surprise. Bodie. There was nothing else after all, was there?
In their working life they still functioned as a team, none of the imbalance of their sexuality interfering with their pairing.
Thin as a lath, strong muscle defined under smooth skin, Doyle was as much the hunter as ever. Daydreams were allowed, and he let himself indulge on more than one occasion when at work, letting Bodie see his arousal, making Bodie ache for a change; when he was the one that could look but not touch. Bodie always made him pay later, and the knowledge that his game would be turned back on him added fiery spice, making him flaunt himself all the more, flirting with Bodie in public, flirting with anything that moved. Bodie took his revenge with cool authority, and his strength had Doyle at Bodie's feet, kneeling, on his back, anyway that Bodie wanted. He would beg to be fucked, the game weaving its way through every part of their lives.
Doyle believed he had never been so happy. Until he found out that Bodie was seeing someone else.
To say that Bodie and Doyle had sex, had become over the past months, an exaggeration. There was little left in their relationship of normal sexuality and if on cold nights when Bodie didn't seem to want to hold him or caress him after beating him, Doyle had little to complain about. He had shown Bodie the ropes. The fact that Bodie had taken them and woven a completely new fabric out of them had not escaped him. This was what he had always thought he needed. Even if Bodie never spoke of love anymore. Or turned away after a cursory pat. Or if the beatings had gradually become more and more severe, now leaving Doyle with marks that meant he didn't go swimming anymore. Even then, so what? Bodie was his and he was giving Bodie what he wanted.
He found out about the woman through Murphy. A casual night's drinking, Bodie off somewhere else, and the two of them had got quite drunk. Doyle, as usual these days wearing a sweat shirt pulled down to cover his bony wrists, had watched with hazy complacency Murphy eyeing up the barmaid. I don't need to do that anymore he thought to himself.
"Where's Bodie tonight then, not seeing that bird again is he?" Murphy's voice made Doyle jump.
"Bird?" Doyle felt stupefied.
"Yeah, you remember, they wear short skirts and 'ave long legs, at least that's the way Bodie likes 'em."
"Oh yeah." Doyle cleared his throat. "Didn't think that Bodie had a regular girl at the moment."
"Don't know about that Ray, but I saw him with a cracker the other night. Seemed well acquainted if you get my meaning. They were actually kissing in public. I nearly fell over, thought it took a sawn off up the backside to get his lordship to hold hands if he thought there was an audience."
"Yeah, used to be certainly." Doyle laughed, willing his mind to clear so that he could understand what was being told to him.
"Blond, she is, sweet as a nut. I thought Bodie would have introduced you two, being partners and all that."
"Well, you know Bodie." Doyle laughed hollowly.
They were probably fucking now. Bodie hadn't fucked Doyle for a month, and Doyle couldn't remember the last time that he'd fucked Bodie at all.
Jealousy, envy and heartache. The pain was worse than anything.
"Sorry mate I've got to go," and Doyle was off leaving a puzzled Murphy to finish both their pints.
Bodie and a woman. Bodie. How could he.
He reached Bodie's flat and leant on the doorbell, no answer, the windows were in darkness. Shit. He leant against the wall and chewed his thumb. Can't traipse around every fucking club in London just on the off chance. Damn. He kicked the door before using his keys to open it. The flat was empty.
Troubled, he made his way home to his own place and pulling the Capri up outside stopped. The lights were on. The bastard. Couldn't use his place because of our bits and pieces so he uses mine.
Face strained and white he slammed the car door, before running across the street, then taking the stairs two at a time, too uptight to wait for the lift. His security locks were in place so he had to ring his own doorbell. He was shaking.
Bodie answered the door wearing a bathrobe.
"Hello Ray, thought you were out with Murph," he stepped back to let Doyle in. "Finish up early did you?"
"Something like that." Doyle considered prevaricating, but the pain was eating at him and the words forced themselves out of his mouth. "Murphy told me."
Doyle pushed the door closed behind him and leant on it.
"I'm sure he did, but what exactly?" Bodie was amused.
"That you've got a woman."
Bodie only shrugged, not seeing the problem. "So what, nothing unusual in that is there?"
Even when Bodie finally saw the pain in Doyle's eyes, he ignored it.
"I don't think so." He went to pour himself a drink. "I never made any promises of exclusivity. I can do exactly what I want Ray. In the bedroom and out of it."
"No." The word was whispered, and Doyle gestured emptily, "I love you."
"I know." Bodie nodded. "Look Ray, stop making a mountain out of a molehill. I'm a red blooded bloke, I need to fuck a little tart occasionally, so what?"
"So what?" Doyle's voice shook. "So what about me Bodie?" He bit the word off. "What about fucking me?"
"Don't be so wet, that's not the be all and end all of what we are ...."
"It's been so long I can't remember. Is she here?"
Bodie looked at Doyle through narrowed eyes, "You're jealous, that's what this is all about. Don't I lavish enough time on you sweetheart, don't I let you know that I want you?" Bodie moved towards Doyle. "Kisses and cuddles Eh Ray?" Doyle backed away, moving along the wall. "Well I must have got the wrong end of the stick, I thought you rather liked the things I do to you; being strung up and whipped, then being made to suck my cock. And no she isn't."
Doyle opened his mouth to speak, to explain, but no sound came out and he collided with the other wall as Bodie's hand reached forward to rub the side of his face.
"Don't try it on with me Ray, you might have me so worked in with your plans that I've nearly forgotten how to screw a woman, but not quite. It was a nice try. But I'm still myself, I can do what I want, when I want. And you can nag all you want."
"I wasn't bloody well nagging." Anger finally managed to surface through the confusion of emotions.
"No, I'll be fair; just trying to tie me in one more knot. Well it won't work. What did you really come here for, you must have known I've had women, never stopped the occasional night out did I, where did you think I was, playing bridge?"
Doyle, trapped, leant heavily against the wall, fury wrenching in his stomach.
"No Bodie, not playing sodding bridge, but I thought if you were going to go out and fuck half of London you might at least have had the courtesy to tell me. I'm your bottom man in bed, not out on the streets. I love you you stupid bastard and I took it as read that neither of us played around."
"Did you." Calmly Bodie ignored the temper of the man in front of him, continuing to rub gently at the beard shadowed chin. "Well that's your fault not mine."
The casual dismissal was too much and Doyle lashed out catching Bodie on the jaw even as the other man weaved away. He followed it up with hard bitter blows that were off target; his vision blurred, co-ordination shot. A knee was turned away at the last moment, causing pain but no disabling damage. Unfortunately it also awoke Bodie's temper and suddenly they were both fighting in earnest, crashing over furniture, rolling on the floor, until Bodie's superior body weight and lack of blinding passion told, and straddling Doyle's prone body, he forced it into stillness, Doyle's wrists twisted hard into his shoulder blades. Breathing rapidly, Bodie ground his pelvis against Doyle's buttocks, letting him feel his arousal.
"This what you came for, sunshine?" He shifted his weight, leaning onto the captive wrists, while he undid the tie of his robe. "Hard and fast Ray, burn out that jealousy, that what you want?" Bodie hadn't been this excited for months.
"No." Humiliated, crushed, Doyle bent his head into the carpet. This had all turned out so wrong. He wanted to shout at Bodie, to tell him he loved him, that this wasn't how it should be, but the words guttered in his throat. He couldn't think of any way to reach past the hard shell that was all Bodie showed him. Bitterness burnt like wormwood in his mouth, for he knew that he could have taken anything from Bodie, anything but treachery, or indifference, or rape.
Doyle gave one last despairing heave, but Bodie only sneered, laughing as he nuzzled the shock-chilled skin of Doyle's neck, biting hard, until Doyle groaned.
"Yeah, love it don't you." Bodie used the belt off his robe to anchor Doyle's wrists, "got so used to seeing you like this that I hardly recognise you any other way."
"Stop it Bodie." Doyle kept his voice even. "This isn't what I want. Please stop."
"I don't think you mean it." He ripped Doyle's jeans open, pulling them down, still keeping control of the struggling body.
"Bodie..." Doyle fought, but hampered by clothing and the frightening revelation that there was no way that he could really hurt Bodie, he ended up wound in strong arms, Bodie's cock trying to press into his body.
"No!" He shouted it in despair.
"Why, thought this was what you were missing." Bodie pushed hard, grunting with effort.
There was too much pain, "Jesus, Bodie, don't do this...I can't...," tight as a virgin with tension, Doyle cried out as Bodie succeeded in driving his cock deep into his arse.
"Come on Ray, show some enthusiasm." Though it didn't matter, Bodie was too far gone for Doyle's attitude to matter, and while Doyle lay inert beneath him, Bodie took his own pleasure, and after a few long strokes came deep in Doyle's body, the heat of his seed burning a path straight to Doyle's heart.
After a moment, Bodie knelt back, "There, told you." He undid the binding from around Doyle's wrists.
"What?" Doyle's face was averted, his voice muffled by the carpet, and he made no effort to move.
"That you'd enjoy it."
"Oh yeah." His voice shook as he answered, "loved every minute of it." Doyle stood up, awkwardly. Revulsion was clear on his face. He pulled his jeans up, willing himself not to wince. "Thanks for the service, but don't call again." He wanted Bodie to go, he wanted to stand under the shower where no-one would tell that the moisture on his cheeks was tears.
"Don't be like that. You wanted it and I obliged." Bodie's voice was sharp edged.
"Went down on bended knee, didn't I." Doyle turned away, remembering all the times he'd done just that. For love. Now it was all thrown in his face and shown for what it was; an empty, shallow self-deceit.
Taking a deep breath that caught as the pain spiked at him, wrapped in tattered dignity, Doyle straightened his shoulders. "This is my flat Bodie, in case you'd forgotten. Please leave."
Bodie stared at him.
"Gone deaf? I want you to go. Permanently."
Bodie was stunned, as if the reality of it all had suddenly hit him. "You really mean it don't you," and he looked ridiculously lost. "Ray, for God's sake we've played stronger games than that before, I love you."
"Games. Yeah I suppose we have. But I didn't know we were playing one this time. Bodie, I trusted you. Why did you do it?" He caught the look on the pale features and went on, "see other people. I thought I was enough for you. For Christ's sake, I must be an idiot, do you know what? I really believed that we had something special. Even when you started getting a bit over-enthusiastic with that crop you love so much, even then I just thought - it's what he wants, just trust him and it'll be okay. So I did. More fool me. Then on top of all that you stopped wanting to make ordinary love, or even wanting to fuck me... oh Bodie." Even in despair he could feel his resolve waiver, his catalogue of grievances suddenly seeming pathetic in the face of Bodie's bewilderment. There was a knifing pain deep in his chest, and remotely he wondered if his heart was breaking. All he wanted to do was to beg Bodie to love him, to need him in the same way that he needed Bodie. The idea almost made him laugh for the gesture would be misread and that would be that.
The notion hit him like a sledge hammer.
What have I done?
And with appalling clarity he saw with whom the guilt lay.
Not that it made anything easier to bear. The opposite in fact.
He backed away, treating Bodie's presence with all the respect due to a wild animal. If he could get out of here. Let Bodie alone. Try and find some balance again. Jesus, no wonder he's looking at me as if I'm around the bend.
"I'll go out for an hour so that you can get yourself organised." He headed for the door then hand on the latch he turned, one last time and Bodie finally saw the dampness that matted his eye-lashes. "'Spect I'll see you at work on Monday. We'll have to talk before then. Have to sort something out or Cowley'll crucify us," and before Bodie could move to stop him, he was gone.
"Ray." The bellow brought no response and Bodie punched his fist against the panelled door, fighting with the paralysing emotions that tore at him. Understanding Doyle too well, he made no move in pursuit, knowing better than to tempt either fate or Doyle's volatile temper. Show willing. Yeah, that's the idea. An hour. Long enough to pack only some of his own junk that littered Doyle's flat. If he had to, he'd come back for the rest another day.
If he had to.
If he could just let Doyle cool down, maybe he could reason with him. There was no way he wanted their relationship to end and he cursed himself for letting Murphy see him with the blond. No, not that. The mistake had been in seeing her at all. Looking back he wasn't even sure why he had, except perhaps on a whim; the right circumstances to make the wrong decision. None of the women he'd fucked had meant anything at all except to prove that he could still pull. What he should have done was to take the same impulse and use it on Doyle; wine and dine him for a change, instead of taking him for granted. Made love to him. Make love.
It hit him that it really had been a long time since they had done just that, and why? The tingling arousal in Doyle's presence was still there. But the games had become so involved that he'd lost track of normality. So why play around? he turned away from the thought.
The worst mistake had been in not remembering that Doyle felt differently; that he wanted more than domination. What a fiasco.
Bodie called himself every name under the sun. Yeah Bodie, you fucked it all up. Very neat. So what are you going to do now, go and rape him again? Do you think that will make him see sense. Stupid bastard. Words didn't begin to describe his self-loathing and he felt a heart stopping need to go back to the beginning. So stupid. Or was it?
Their sexuality had been allowed to run wild, blanketing the rest of their needs, under its cover. And he'd managed to delude himself that he only went along with it because it was what Doyle wanted. God, he'd experience sublime pleasure and treated it as if it was of no more consequence than a casual fuck with a stranger.
So why not make love to Doyle.
All the mastery in the world couldn't replace the love, friendship and delight that they had shared. That they would share.
He felt the tension drain out of his body. Doyle had said that they needed to talk before work on Monday, well it shouldn't be that difficult to lead the conversation around to more delicate topics; like love and affection and apology.
Doyle would understand, surely. He'd have to, for Bodie couldn't imagine life without the pig-headed, mercurial, irritating, sensual man who was Bodie's as was no-one else in the world. He felt no diminishing of the love that bound them, but he knew that however much Doyle might love him, 'like' was a different matter, and one that would have to be worked on.
The first step would be in getting his apology accepted.
Bodie walked into the bedroom to gather a few token bits and pieces together, prepared to leave the field to Doyle for another day.
Well, Scarlett, tomorrow is another day.
Smiling faintly to himself he locked up and was whistling as he ran down the stairs, his thoughts already busy plotting Doyle's seduction.
-- THE END --