Playing to Win
(during 'Stake Out')
Life really wasn't fair, Bodie had decided. Here they were, stuck in this bloody bowling alley, on the most boring stake out he'd ever known, and, as if that wasn't enough, Doyle was beating him at the bowling too. In fact Bodie knew he was making a right Charlie of himself. Well, he couldn't help it, could he? Wasn't his fault if he'd never played before. It was a bloody silly game anyway -- no way for an ex-mercenary to be spending his time...
On top of all that the smug, complacent little sod was really putting through it, giving him a tempting eyeful of that firm, cute little ass every time he bowled... and reveling in Bodie's resulting discomfiture...
Rubbing it in, that's what Doyle was doing, and Bodie had already decided he was gonna pay for it when he got him home.
But, in the meantime, some form of interim revenge was needed, and Bodie's brain was ticking over, trying to think of something that'd wipe the aggravating smile off the smug little face.
Doyle had just bowled, and was loping back to the table with that easy stride of his, which did Bodie's blood pressure no good at all. He had a cheeky grin on his face, looking very pleased with himself.
"How about that, then?" he said, waving his arms triumphantly in the air, "that was a strike, mate, in case you hadn't noticed."
Insufferable, Bodie thought, taking a deep, calming breath.
Doyle pointed to the mass of crossings out which served as their score sheet. "Come on," he said aggressively, pointing at the sheet with an imperious finger, "get it marked down. 10... right there." He watched over Bodie's shoulder, making sure he did it.
"Right then, partner," he said, with an air of aggravating superiority, leaning back on the table, relaxing, crossing one foot over the other, folding his arms, "let's see you beat that."
Bodie pulled a face at him and got up stolidly, sighing. Doyle always did play to win. Talk about a competitive streak... he was bloody vicious about it once he got going...
He bowled, knocked down his usual two pins, trudged back to the table with his customary air of nonchalance, ignoring Doyle's sniggering, and his helpful comment of "getting better, sunshine... nearly made it three that time," Doyle illustrated with an infinitesimal gap between two fingers, "missed it by that much."
"Still warming up," Bodie informed him with feigned bravado, "just wait till I get going, that's all."
"Oh yeah?" Doyle challenged, giving him the eye, standing looking at him with his legs apart, hands on hips, flirting outrageously.
What the hell is the trying to do to me? Bodie thought desperately, drive me crazy? Christ, those jeans were so tight, those legs so long and slim, those evil green eyes so full of promise...
He hardly believed what he saw next either. Still smiling at him Doyle sensually licked his tongue over his lips and winked at him. Bodie's heart missed a beat. He decided the time had come to start exacting his revenge. Stake out or not, Rays wasn't gonna get away with that.
But he began subtly enough, having his own methods of getting at Doyle. He glanced over at the two nubile tennis-skirted girl bowlers they'd noticed earlier on, as he picked up his returning bowl.
"How do you fancy that dark-haired one warming your bed tonight?" he asked tongue in cheek, nodding in her direction.
Doyle's smile widened, shining eyes following in the direction of Bodie's gaze, having a good look at the girl. "Not bad," he conceded, coming up close to Bodie and allowing his hipbone to brush oh so casually and apparently accidentally against his, "rather have you though."
"Oh yeah?" Bodie said, feigning surprise, "she's well stacked," well aware that this was Doyle's weakness as far as the female sex was concerned.
Doyle shrugged. "Yeah, but I can think of something else I like more, that I can only do with you," he said softly, bending over the table guilelessly to retrieve their score sheet, which had blown onto the floor, and giving Bodie another spectacular view of his ass at the same time.
Bodie laughed out loud. "Christ, you're incorrigible," he protested, shaking his head at him, felling the first unavoidable stirrings of desire and willing them away. He wasn't about to give up now he'd started.
"You mean you'd rather lie against my chest than hers?" he persisted invitingly, darkening eyes holding Doyle's.
"Anytime, sunshine," Doyle said, brushing back the heavy curls from his forehead with a provocative hand, "not just your chest either."
Bodie couldn't stop himself from flushing at that comment, as a graphic picture of exactly what Ray did enjoy laying against flashed through his mind.
But he recovered quickly. "Mmmm, interesting," he said, nodding, and then, under his breath, "behave, will you, Ray. Driving me crazy."
"Me?" Doyle protested innocently, "what am I doing?"
Bodie gave him his 'don't give me that' look and smiled at him sweetly. "You'll be sorry," he whispered on a rising inflection.
"You love it," Doyle whispered back, "wouldn't do it otherwise," then in a more normal tone of voice, giving him a dig in the shoulder, " come on, I'll you have another go," magnanimously, "so bowl, will you, mate. You're holding up the game."
Bodie accepted the offer gratefully, needing all the help he could get if he was going to come anywhere near Doyle's score.
He concentrated hard, determined to do well this time... and knocked down one pin...
Doyle's hoot of suppressed laughter reached him even before he'd make the long journey back to the table.
"What're you laughing at?" he said, as he returned, "beautiful action that, mate. Was only aiming at that right hand pin anyway. Precision, that's what that was."
Doyle was still sitting at the table, carefully marking their grubby score sheet, and made as if to get up for his turn. But Bodie sat down quickly in the vacant chair next to him, yanking him back down again. "Let's check the score," he said mildly, as his thigh pressed warmly against Doyle's under the table.
"Mmmm... that 's nice..." Doyle whispered on an indrawn breath, pencil in hand, pressing his leg against Bodie's in response, "what do you reckon the score is then, sunshine?"
"It was 30-love to you, but I'd say it was 30-15 after this, wouldn't you?" Bodie whispered back. He could see Doyle's smile widen wickedly, even through his partner's head was bent.
"Here, let me have that pencil a minute," Bodie went on, eyes on the sheet, apparently concentrating hard on the scrambled additions visible there. He held his hand out for the pencil, without looking at Doyle and Doyle innocently passed it over.
Bodie grabbed at the pencil, fumbled convincingly with it, dropped it on the floor conveniently between Doyle's outstretched legs and immediately sank to his knees under the table to retrieve it. And did so... but not before his hand had snaked up the inside of Doyle's thigh to the soft heat between his legs and given him a quick, fleeting caress.
Doyle jumped, whispered, "God, Bodie..." under his breath, and drew his legs together tightly like a prim virgin.
Bodie's innocent face smiled up at him from the floor for a moment as he held the pencil aloft. Then he scrambled to his feet, and sat down again whispering, "30-all, I think?"
"Nah," Doyle said admiringly, "fair's fair. For all that I'll make it 40-30. You deserve it."
"Thanks," Bodie said modestly, pleased by the compliment, "fancy a deuce?" giving Doyle a seductive pout and a quick bat of his eyelashes.
"What, out here?" Doyle asked, fascinated, "come on, Bodie. You'd never have the nerve."
"Oh no?" Bodie asked innocently, eyes on the score sheet again, "you deserve it for what you've done to me tonight, sunshine." He looked up. "You watching in case anything's happening by the way while I've been otherwise engaged?"
"Course I have," Doyle said disgustedly. "I know what I'm doing, you know. Been on more stake outs than you've had hot dinners, mate."
"So you keep reminding me," Bodie taunted, fishing a convenient rubber out of his jacket pocket and erasing one of Doyle's calculations on the sheet with careful precision.
He looked up again, staring into the distance for a moment, thinking before an evil grin spread over his face and he scribbled something furtively on the sheet, his arm hiding what he was writing from Doyle.
"Are we on then?" he asked, when he'd finished writing.
"We're on," Doyle assured him, "wouldn't miss this for the world." He looked down. "What've you just done to that score sheet by the way?" eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Corrected on of you additions," Bodie said sweetly.
"Oh yeah?" Doyle said disbelievingly, "come on, let's have a look then," holding out his hand for the sheet. "I'm winning here, mate, and I'm gonna keep on winning."
"Oh no," Bodie said, the hand holding the now folded sheet well out of Doyle's reach. "Bowl, Ray. It's your turn."
Doyle gave him another suspicious glance, then got up from the table, picked up his bowl and took up his position, swinging his hips just a little as he walked, glancing over his shoulder for Bodie's reaction and giving him another wink, before he bent down and bowled.
He was off form this time and only scored an eight, which wasn't surprising, considering his confused state of mind. He was worried about the score sheet, and had no idea what was coming next...
He didn't have long to wait to find out. Bodie came up behind him almost before he'd straightened up from bowling, clapping his average performance loudly, looking round, nodding his approval of Doyle's talent to any other bowlers who might have been watching. He pressed himself against Doyle's back for a fraction of a second, then one hand reached between their bodies, caressed Doyle's left buttock tenderly, then gave it a painful pinch.
Doyle flushed and drew in his breath, turning round in time to see shining, triumphant eyes and a wide, smiling mouth, before Bodie moved away.
"Now it's 40-30," Bodie muttered to him as he moved back to the table and sat down.
Doyle followed unsteadily in his wake, subduing the bubble of laughter in his throat which threatened to escape at any second.
"Wanna check the score?" Bodie queried innocently as Doyle arrived at the table, tossing the still folded score sheet in his direction.
Doyle looked at him in suspicion.
"Go on, put your eight down then," Bodie prompted.
Doyle picked up the sheet, eyes still on Bodie, unfolded it, read it, gulped, flushed bright red, closed his eyes in consternation, folded the sheet up and stuffed it shakily in the pocket of his jeans.
"Game, set and match?" Bodie queried just as innocently, waiting for Doyle's flush to die down.
Still in shock, Doyle looked down at him admiringly, nodding. "Yeah, all right, I concede," he said, "but I'll tell you something you might not be aware of, mate. That's physically impossible."
"Wanna bet?" Bodie said smoothly, "it's not you know. Wait till we get home and I'll prove it to you..."
-- THE END --