Wrapped Around Your Finger


Wine in hand, Bodie sat before the fire. Any moment a beautiful woman would be arriving to share both the wine and the fire. But there was another face, another body in his thoughts.

Ray Doyle. Two weeks had passed since Bodie had made his arrogant prediction. You'll be back. Every time you'll come back to me.

So, where was he? If he went to Doyle, he could get him into bed and on his stomach with a little talk and the right moves, but that wouldn't prove anything. Doyle had to come to him.

But what if he didn't?

That thought occurred more and more often as the evenings passed. At work, strangely enough, their tug-of-war wasn't a problem. He had meant it when he told Doyle it was just between them. They had fallen back into their 3.7/4.5 "Ace" CI5 team persona with no difficulty on his part and outright relief on Doyle's.

It was after work that thoughts of Doyle obsessed him. Where was he? Who was he with? Tonight's date was an attempt to dispel his tension, to keep him from going to Doyle. Wait, he told himself, be patient. The game was rigged in his favour. As soon as Doyle walked in the door he would automatically forfeit the game of bluff Bodie had set in motion.

A slamming car door brought his thoughts back to the present. It was time to think about Julie. She was beautiful and she would come across. A good, uncomplicated fuck.

He crossed the room and opened the door before his irritating door buzzer could sound. He stared at the person there. It wasn't Julie.

Ray Doyle stood with his hand poised above the buzzer, as if he hadn't made up his mind to push it. It was difficult to judge who was more surprised.

"Evening, Ray." With a show of unconcern, he walked to the living room. When he turned, Doyle was still poised in the open door.

Bodie watched him coldly. Too late, Doyle, much too late. Even as Doyle shut the door and walked through the small vestibule to hover in the entry to the living room, Bodie's anger grew, sparked by the realization of what these weeks had cost him. Desiring something this badly implied need. He didn't need Doyle. He wanted Doyle, and he would have him -- on his terms.

There was wariness in Doyle's face and more than a little fear. He had the look of a man trying to convince himself that he was in control, but was beginning to realize he'd made the wrong decision.

"What can I do for you?" Bodie asked with deliberate nonchalance.

"Give it a rest, Bodie. Stop the games. We need to talk." Doyle shifted his position slightly as Bodie moved closer. They glared at each other, green fire frozen by blue ice. The sound of the door buzzer made them both flinch.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Doyle asked, his relief evident.

"No need. I know who it is." His eyes remained fixed on Doyle. Underneath a veneer of amusement, hardness lurked.

"Then I'll get it." Doyle almost made it to the door before Bodie's strong hands gripped his upper arms and turned him, pinning him against it. The knocking began again.

Doyle glared up at him, his nostrils flared and his chin jutted out in a typical show of temper, but there was a curiously expectant aura about him that fueled Bodie's assurance. He released his grip, leaving whip-thin muscles to splay against the dark wood of the door, caging Doyle between his arms. He leaned close, so close that when they inhaled their chests brushed for a fraction of a second in a conspiracy of nature.

"You didn't come here to talk." Bodie's voice was soft, ruthless. He brushed his lips over Doyle's, then applied a harder pressure, but the lips beneath his were unresponsive.

"That wasn't up to your standard," he chided. "You remember what it felt like. I know I do." His hot whisper rustled the curls over Doyle's ear.

Doyle jerked his head away, as if to deny the seductive reminder. But Bodie stalked him. His mouth slowly nipped and licked along the sharp jawline, nibbling patiently until Doyle slowly began turning toward him. When their mouths finally met, Doyle was drawn into the kiss.

Bodie sank into the sensations. His own memories of their last encounter flooded from the protective box in which he'd stored them. Dwelling on them would have been too painful had this been denied him.

But Doyle was no longer denying him. The hands that had been doggedly clutching the door frame were sliding slowly across the rough wood, edging closer. Bodie felt a stealthy brush across his hip, then a firmer caress up over his ribs.

"Bodie, are you in there?" The muffled words from outside the door were like being dashed with cold water.

Doyle jerked away. "Who the hell is that?"

"I was expecting company tonight." Bodie pushed himself away from the intoxicating body, forcing himself under control. He had almost forgotten his goal. Letting this turn into another frenzied grappling wouldn't prove anything.

Leaving one arm propped against the wall, he used his free hand to trace a one-fingered path across the body sprawled before him. He was the maestro and Doyle his instrument. He knew how to bow the strings to get the richest response. A series of staccato touches teased the hollow of skin beneath Doyle's collarbone. The nipples straining against the thin t-shirt drew a plucking touch. Long languorous strokes carried Bodie's finger down until it was poised above Doyle's jean-clad crotch. He pulled the finger back and Doyle's hips followed, swaying to Bodie's direction.

Bodie slid his hand across Doyle's hips, cupping the erect flesh in a possessive grip. Doyle's thrusting cock nudged one palm while the renewed knocking sent small vibrations through the palm still pressed against the door.

The voice from the other side of the door again intruded. "Bodie, this isn't funny. I can hear you in there." She knocked again, more insistently this time. Doyle groaned.

"Quiet, she'll hear you," Bodie admonished, amused. He flicked open the snap of Doyle's jeans and slowly lowered the zip. Doyle's breathing was fast and shallow. His lower lip was firmly caught in his teeth, but small moans escaped with each exhalation.

He brushed the tight jeans down until they rested around the lean thighs. His hand brushed aside the stiff cock, pushing farther back, seeking the pucker of flesh, but when he found it, he didn't push inside. Instead he toyed with it, making Doyle squirm.

"You see, Ray, I was supposed to fuck Julie tonight. But I'd much rather fuck you." He slid the finger inside.

Doyle's breath hissed through clenched teeth. His body tensed with resistance, trying to move away, but Bodie followed every movement, every feint.

"That's it. Open up for me." Bodie slid another finger into the tight channel, massaging away any resistance.

Julie was knocking again, but there was no one to hear her indignant words and eventual departure.

"Look at me, Doyle." Fear and shame mingled in the glazed eyes that finally met his, but stronger than either was pleasure. "Is this why you're here?" He emphasized the words with a thrust of his fingers. "Tell me."

"S'wrong." But the lean hips were moving with the fingers, encouraging the strokes.

"Of course it is," Bodie agreed. "You shouldn't want my cock up your arse and I shouldn't want to put it there. But I will, won't I?"

The fingers stilled.

"Won't I, Ray?" The tension in the body he was pressing against the door increased, then abruptly vanished. Doyle's eyes dropped.

"Yes." The word was soft, hardly more than a sigh, but Bodie heard it. Doyle shifted, granting Bodie's hand greater access.

Bodie's terms had been met but his surge of triumph was short-lived. His own desire became urgent. He captured Doyle's lips, smothering a moan of disappointment when he removed his fingers.

Bodie broke the kiss and glanced over his shoulder.

The fire was still there, as was the wine and the inviting rug. But he was rock hard and not at all sure he could move. The scene would have to be played here. He couldn't risk letting it end any other way. The right had been won, and now it had to be wielded.

"Let's get you out of these clothes," Bodie said soothingly, gripping the bottom of the t-shirt and tugging. He nibbled on an exposed nipple until Doyle's arms slowly rose, allowing him to pull it off. All it took was a nudge for the pants to finish their descent. Bodie urged him to step out of them, while keeping a massaging hand moving on the inside of Doyle's leg, keeping him malleable by bombarding the trembling body with sensation.

Impatiently Bodie undid his own pants, freeing his straining cock. He wrapped his hand around his erection, but it didn't have the calming effect he'd intended. Impatience flared into urgency.

"Bodie, it doesn't have to be like this." Doyle grabbed Bodie's arm, gripping it painfully.

Bodie shook loose. Ignoring the desperate words, he grasped one sharp shoulder, turned Doyle toward the wall, and pushed him forward. There was no resistance when he nudged Doyle's feet apart.

Bodie covered the vulnerable back with his body to quell the words of protest. One hand caressed Doyle's body, massaging his chest, then his lower stomach, before grasping the erect cock. Doyle groaned, and nestled against him.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Bodie whispered. There was no response, but Bodie could feel the shiver his words evoked. He rested his head on Doyle's shoulder, nuzzling his ear, and brought his free hand up, inviting his fingers to be sucked into Doyle's mouth. "That's it. Get 'em wet." Pulling them free, he smoothed the moisture on his cock. "Again." This time he added his own contribution to the slick palm before applying it to Doyle's arse.

Taking a ragged breath, Bodie steadied himself, wiping his face on Doyle's back. One hand guided his cock, centering it, the other stroked Doyle's. Slowly, he pushed inside, mesmerized by the sight of his flesh disappearing into the small, rounded arse.

You consider me the young apprentice
Caught between the Scylla and Charybdis
Hypnotized by you if I should linger
Staring at the ring around your finger.

And I'll be wrapped around your finger.

"A little slower," Bodie instructed. The wet suction slowed as an inventive tongue created a delicate pattern. "Very nice," Bodie complimented. "However --" he pulled a damp thumb from Doyle's mouth. "I'd be more impressed if you applied these techniques to the proper anatomical area."

Bodie made a lazy grab for him , intending to pull him close, but Doyle scooted away, seeking his customary corner of Bodie's king-sized bed. Curling on his side, he lay there, a look of mock-offense on his face.

"I'll get there. Y'see, I'm working toward it in gradual steps," he explained. "I can't be expected to learn all these sordid practices in -- what is it? -- 3 weeks. Besides, I know where its been."

Bodie chuckled hollowly. There was an amused grin on Doyle's face, but Bodie sensed a bitter, almost accusatory, edge in his words. He looked for a clue to his intent, but all he saw was Doyle in a relaxed, almost languid sprawl, the expressive green eyes free of shadows.

Don't look for trouble, Bodie admonished himself. The rebellion he'd been expecting had never materialized, but waiting for it was worse than dealing with it. Unvoiced resentment had thickened the air the first week after their showdown. But as the days passed that had seemed to ebb away.

Bodie shielded his eyes with his arm. He'd never noticed how irritating the sunlight was through that window, but then he wasn't used to lounging around in bed at this hour. Bedding Doyle on a regular basis tended to solve the difficult problem of what to do with an unexpected afternoon off in the middle of the week.

A lazy smile touched Bodie's face. Another afternoon like this one and they'd end up on the disabled list. Christ, but they'd been hot for it. They were on each other the moment the door closed. The wrestling match that ensued made a shambles of his living room and earned a thump on the floor from his neighbor below. They'd ended up in a naked tangle on the bedroom carpet, Doyle crushed beneath him, going at it like animals in heat.

Today he had wanted it rough and Doyle had been with him, fighting and wrestling, all the way. But when he wanted it softer, Doyle would be content to lie in his arms, moving gently, accepting his caresses. Never had he had a bed partner so in tune with him.

Guilt plagued him during the quiet times; guilt for keeping Doyle off-balance, guilt for not offering the words the green eyes silently demanded. Doyle sometimes had a forlorn look about him after they fucked, as if he were blaming himself for letting it happen. Bodie wanted to soothe it away, to say the words that would ease the defeat.

"I know what you're thinking."

The soft sing-song pulled Bodie from his half-sleep. Peeking under his arm, he saw where Doyle's attention was focused. Bodie pulled up the sheet to cover his gently throbbing cock, feeling an absurd urge to blush.

The sheet was jerked off. Doyle rolled closer and rested his chin on Bodie's stomach. "I like it when you suck me off."

Bodie's muscles tightened at the soft statement. "The whole block knows you like it." He tried to sound off-hand as the curly head moved a little lower. He shut his eyes and wondered if Doyle was really going to do it. A finger lightly brushed his rapidly stiffening cock.

"I did a decent job on your thumb," Doyle teased. "I remember everything you told me. I just wonder if I'm ready to make the jump. What do you think, since you're the expert?"

Doyle looked up at him consideringly, his eyes alight with mischief. Getting no reply, he continued. "Should I start by licking it or should I throw caution to the wind and take it all in my mouth?"

Bodie's hands twisted in the sheet. Rotten little tease. One more minute and he'd show him. "Choose one, Sunshine, because talking to it isn't doing a damn thing."

"What I don't need is a critic." Doyle's hand twitched the sheet, sending it floating down to cover Bodie's face with whispery softness.

His protest mutated into a groan of surprise. Doyle decided on the direct approach, because his cock was swallowed in one slick movement. Slowly he uncurled his fists, releasing the his fists, releasing the crumpled sheet, and steepled his fingers against the cool sheet, pushing up and down, mirroring the movement of Doyle's mouth on his cock.

The sunlight beating against the gauzy material produced an eerie glow. He saw nothing but whiteness, heard nothing except soft suckling sounds. His whole being was focussed on the sensations that rolled over his body in rippling waves.

Doyle was growing more adventurous, using his tongue to trace unpredictable patterns, his hand to rub the soft balls of flesh. The intensity was devastating, but he wanted more, needed more, so he let his thighs fall open, begging, and was rewarded when Doyle's tongue laved his balls.

He floated with the sensations until he felt a finger exploring his arse, moving along the crack. Not allowed. The thought was there, but nothing else. The finger was rubbing over his anus. Stop him. The finger pierced him.

With a vague, disconnected certainty, he knew Doyle meant to screw him. He fought to get that knowledge to a part of his brain that could call a halt, but everything was pleasure-fogged. The mouth on his cock was too skillful, the finger probing him too enticing.

Then both were gone, but he was still imprisoned by the white barrier he refused to breach. The nightstand drawer was being opened. Doyle would be reaching for the tube of lubricant kept there. Except this time it was meant for him.

The bed dipped, Doyle was moving closer. His hand would be reaching to spread lubricant on his arse. He could almost hear it moving closer and closer --

No! The thought reverberated through his mind, shattering his lethargy. His hand shot out, grasping Doyle's wrist only inches from his body. He raked the sheet away from his face, sucking in huge lungfuls of air, appalled by what he had almost allowed. The wrist jerked, but he grimly held on, his eyes fastening on the large dab of lubricant that adorned two outstretched fingers.

"That's not where it goes."

Soft menace tinged the intense words.

The air around them was electric. Bodie slowly sat up, still gripping the hand. Doyle, on his knees leaned away, but there was nowhere to go.

Bodie switched his grip, placing his hand under Doyle's, his two fingers supporting the two that still held the glistening gel.

"Let's put this where it will do the most good," Bodie suggested and guided the hand lower till it hovered above Doyle's tight-pressed knees.

He looked at Doyle reasonably, as if this had been the plan all along. Just a little mistake in direction. Not by word or gesture would he ever admit how close he had come to losing control. The seconds stretched between them, as Doyle stubbornly met his his gaze, but then his eyes slid away, disappointment turning to resignation.

Bodie waited while Doyle's knees slowly parted, then guided the captive hand down, pushing it back into the shadowed territory beneath Doyle's body. Judging the distance, Bodie pushed up, impaling Doyle on his own fingers, and spread the lubricant with a slow spiralling stroke.

Doyle inhaled sharply and arched his back. Cupping Doyle's chin with his free hand, Bodie kissed him, forcing his tongue into Doyle's mouth as he continued manipulating the fingers.

Finally he released his dual hold, leaving Doyle swaying with the sensations. Doyle, still on his knees, looked at him question- ingly. Bodie settled himself on his back, then wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it erect.

"Come here." He tugged at the still figure. "Move your leg over here." He patted the opposite side of the bed. "That's it." "That's it." Doyle straddled him, his weight resting on Bodie's upper legs.

Doyle was looking at him questioningly. A measure of Bodie's confidence returned as he realized Doyle was waiting for a signal. None was forthcoming.

Doyle finally wrapped his hand around the base of Bodie's cock and leaned down, his mouth opening to take it inside. But Bodie's hand pushed him away. Looking exasperated, Doyle straightened.

"How then, damn it?" Doyle snapped.

Bodie smiled. Doyle was close to the point, Bodie could see it in the hot eyes, hear it in the quickened breathing, feel it throbbing against his leg. Doyle was under his spell once more, but he needed to be sure.

"Sit on my cock."

Doyle recoiled at the words, as if Bodie had slapped him. Vise-like hands halted his escape.

"Do it." It was a duel of wills that was over quickly. In Bodie's eyes there was a confidence honed by five weeks of winning and a certain knowledge of how Doyle's body responded. He'd created the perfect lover and he intended to keep him.

Doyle's eyes closed, the long lashes falling on red-tinged cheeks. Sensing acquiescence Bodie released his grip. Doyle inched up, then raised himself over the stiff cock.

A long sigh escaped Bodie as he watched Doyle impale himself. Doyle was his. The thought cycled through his mind, growing stronger as more of his cock disappeared into Doyle's body. Doyle opened his eyes when his buttocks rested against Bodie. Lurking behind the pleasure Doyle was never able to deny or conceal there was a hardness, a hardness that was chilling. But it was so fleeting that much later, when he held Doyle, warm and quiet in his arms, he couldn't decide whether or not he had imagined it.

Mephistopheles is not your name.
But I know what you're up to just the same
I will listen hard to your tuition
You will see it come to its fruition

I'll be wrapped around your finger.

Bodie lifted the cover of the pan to let some risotta-rich steam escape for his inspection. His nose crinkled as he considered his creation. It smelled good, but he knew enough about cooking to realize that it wouldn't necessarily taste good. Unfortunately, he knew too little to tinker with it. He shrugged, covered it, and started to clean up the counter littered with rejected bits of vegetables and topless seasoning jars. Tossing the scraps in the bin, he picked up the crinkled recipe he had torn from a magazine, not at all sure he shouldn't toss it as well. The decision to cook Ray a welcome home dinner had been impulsive, leaving him vaguely embarrassed. He could always tell Doyle that it was left over from Clarissa's visit.

He switched the light off on the now spotless kitchen. Doyle would earn every mouthful of the bloody meal, anyway. The hardest part of the evening would be letting him alone long enough to eat it. Three weeks of abstinance, after three months of being literally an arm's length away from a bundle of simmering sexuality had made for a difficult adjustment.

The soft, overstuffed settee engulfed his sprawled body, as the hot itchiness that had been plaguing him all day returned with a vengeance. Maybe a quick one, he mused, jump the little devil the minute he walked through the door. Yeah, that was it, he decided, letting one hand brush his crotch as images of Doyle pinned against the wall unfolded before his eyes. Doyle would be ready for it, his pilot light was always burning. It was only a matter of adjusting the flame, and Bodie enjoyed playing the pyromaniac.

The clock on top of the television read 6:30. Doyle must have gotten stuck with Cowley. This was all the old man's fault. Agents of Doyle's caliber didn't belong on low-priority babysitting jobs.

Flipping on the television, he absently watched the action show hurtling across the screen. But above the screeching of tires, he heard each number flipon the digital clock.

Brassy theme music heralded the end of the programme. The itchiness had given way to a dull throb, elevating anticipation impatience. The only consolation he could muster was the knowledge that however bad these weeks had been for him, they would have been impossible for Doyle. A crooked smile briefly touched his face. Doyle had probably spent the three weeks furiously wanking away in the loo. No control, that was Doyle's problem.

Bodie's hand gripped the arm of the sofa, studiously ignoring the desire to grip his now semi-erect cock. He should have taken Clarissa to bed when he'd had the chance. She had obviously planned to spend the night; there had been breakfast items casually mingled with the food she had brought to cook for dinner. The evening had followed a familiar pattern, dinner, wine and soft music. When he reached for her, she had moved easily into his arms, but the sensations had been subtly wrong, leaving him curiously uninvolved. The phone call summoning him to headquarters had almost been a relief, but he should have let her stay over. It might have taken the edge off what he was feeling tonight.

Nine o'clock. Where the hell was he? Restlessly, he pulled himself up from the couch and wandered into the bedroom, leaving the television blaring, and lay down on the bed.

His fingers carded through the fur bed spread. There was something reassuring about the feel of it, something solid. You could get hold of it. There was nothing at all comforting about the silk sheets that lay underneath. They would slide over him, turning every movement into an unintentional caress. More a distraction to him than the turn on it was to Doyle, he sometimes regretted the impulsive purchase.

Doyle had only mentioned how good they could feel, so he had bought them for him as a joke, but they had stayed on the bed. They'd cost a bloody fortune, but Doyle had been suitably appreciative.

Bodie let his hand slide underneath the spread to glide over the cool smoothness of the sheets. Yeah, that had been a good night. He let the images play, a practice he'd indulged in often over the last three weeks, but the nagging tiredness that plagued him was too distracting. He rubbed his gritty eyes. Just finding Doyle beside him when he woke in the middle of the night seemed inviting at the moment.

The odor of burning food drew his attention. Swearing, he stalked into the kitchen, lifted the lid off the pan, and groaned. The broth had boiled away, leaving limp vegetables to burn at the bottom of the pan. He gripped the handle, only to jerk his hand away, hissing in pain from the scorching heat. Wrapping a dish towel around the handle, he pulled the pan from the burner and dumped it, leaving two hours work in the bottom of the sink.

Cooking dinner for Doyle had been a stupid idea anyway, he told himself as he scooped the mess into the garbage. A crust lined the bottom of the pan. Disgusted, he threw it back into the sink and stalked out of the kitchen.

He'd dialed half of Doyle's number before he slammed the receiver down. Instead, he phoned headquarters only to learn that Doyle had signed out at 5:30. He dialed Doyle's number again. On the fifth ring he hung up. There was nothing to say.

Saying nothing was the foundation of their relationship. Over the weeks Doyle had been in his bed more and more, but they had said less and less. It was like dancing blindfolded.

Bodie scooped up his car keys, snagged his leather jacket and was out the door. He only intended to see if Doyle was home, but the sight of Doyle's car along the curb drew him out of his car. There were no lights on inside. His hand was gripping the key to Doyle's flat so tightly that there was an image of it on his palm. He let himself in.

The living room was dark. A ratty-looking leather jacket and discarded trainers were the only signs of habitation. A faint light shining from the bedroom door beckoned him. Bodie kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jacket, leaving it all on a nearby chair and walked into the bedroom. The deep pile of the carpeting muffle his progress. He stopped when he reached the corner of the L-shaped alcove where the bed was hidden, he pressed up against the cool wall.

There hadn't been a sound from the bed since his arrival. Doyle was probably deeply asleep which was why he hadn't come over tonight. The poor little sod must have pulled some long hours.

Bodie closed his eyes, visualizing Doyle curled on his side amidst the rumpled bedding, and planned his seduction. He'd lie down beside him, gently start rubbing the narrow back, coaxing him from sleep as he let his hand drift lower and lower until his palm cupped the rounded arse. Bodie's cock was throbbing insistently, but this time he didn't fight the sensations. He didn't have to; Doyle was only a few feet away.

"You made good time getting over here."

Doyle's lazy drawl shattered the silence, leaving Bodie standing among the ruins of the scene he'd been constructing . "Why don't you come around where I can see you?"

Bodie was drawn toward the voice, moving around the concealing wall.

"You do need to improve your obscene phone call technique, Bodie. You're supposed to do the deep breathing before you ring off, not after," Doyle chided.

Bodie struggled to regain the lost advantage, and denying the phone call was the first step. There were any number of ways to go about it, but his mind couldn't latch onto any of the usual techniques. He couldn't think of anything at all.

Doyle was naked, half-lying, half reclining on top of the sheets, his legs sprawled open. One long-fingered hand was moving slowly over the inside of his thigh while the other was making circles on his abdomen. His eyes were focused on the cock arching up from his body. There was nothing frantic in his arousal, nothing hurried.

Bodie swallowed, trying to drag air into his constricted lungs.

He felt like a master juggler, his hands effortlessly moving, throwing and catching, throwing and catching, who looks up -- only to discover that the air in front of him is empty. Bodie couldn't remember when he dropped the balls.

His eyes met Doyle's. He hadn't dropped them, they had been plucked away, by the apprentice he thought mesmerized by his skill. The realization hit him like a kick in the guts. Doyle had been waiting for this moment. Bodie could see the proof in the hard green eyes and the bitter half-smile.

He needed Doyle. The thought mocked him even as its truth resonated through his body. He had sworn this wouldn't happen again. He would never depend on anyone, never need anyone.

"Is this why you're here, Bodie?" Doyle's hand dipped lower to brush his cock.

So Doyle was going to make him say it. "Yes."

"Come on then."

Doyle's soft invitation released him from his paralysis. He should walk away, but instead he was frantically pulling at his shirt. It was his last chance to escape, but he was already kneeling on the foot of the bed, wrenching open his pants.

"Whatever you want." The words, with their slightly mocking edge, revealed his downfall. Doyle had turned his own responsiveness into a weapon and had wielded it well, freely giving everything Bodie wanted until it was all he wanted to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.

With a groan of need, Bodie covered Doyle's body with his own, all thoughts of strategies and scenes forgotten. He fought to get closer, every bit of contact a balm for his frazzled nerve endings. He buried his face in Doyle's neck as his hands burrowed beneath the thin body to pull it closer.

It was over too soon. His cock jerked in its refuge between Doyle's tight-pressed thighs. He was too stunned to move, the relief the arousal. Doyle was chuckling indulgently as his fingers combed through the short hair. He canted his hips, rubbing his still erect cock against Bodie's leg. Bodie rolled away and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Doyle crouched on his knees and reached over Bodie to the nightstand were he picked up a tube of lubricant.

"Any way you want it."

There was no triumph in Doyle's voice, no gloating but Bodie heard victory because he felt defeat. It had been a perfectly orchestrated coup, offering no time for negotiations, only unconditional surrender. Under the new regime his choices were limited -- on his back or on his stomach. Electing to stay on his back, he spread his legs and Doyle moved between them. As the lubricant was massaged into him, Bodie looked away, letting his head fall to the side, uncomfortable under the cool gaze that swept over his body. But a hand gripped his chin and turned it back.

"Bodie, I told you once that it didn't have to be like this. You wouldn't listen. These are your rules," Doyle said fiercely.

Bodie closed his eyes until a soft finger trailed down the side of his face. Doyle leaned over him and kissed him lingeringly, gently. It was a sad caress, full of regret, ensnaring them more securely in a web too tangled to unravel.

When Doyle pulled away, breaking their moment of communion, Bodie didn't protest, nor did he flinch when the cock penetrated his body. At Doyle's brisk urging, he draped his legs over the narrow shoulders, and they settled into the rhythm of sex. Doyle looked intent in his pursuit of pleasure, all brief signs of regret gone, but he was generous in his victory. Bodie thrust into a ring of circling fingers as flicking touches and caresses played over his body.

But the focus of pleasure was the pressure filling his arse. It pushed him from lulled acceptance to frenzied participation until they were both fighting toward completion. When Doyle crouched over him, every muscle rigid, Bodie reached out, lacing one hand through the curls at the side of Doyle's head and held him as he climaxed. Bodie's own climax followed, splashing their still joined bodies.

Aftermath left them in a huddle of sweaty limbs and mingled breaths. Finally, Doyle untangled himself and laid down on the other side of the bed. Bodie stretched his cramped legs, barely breathing because of the tension building as the silence lengthened. He looked cautiously at Doyle, but nothing was discernable from the self-contained expression.

Doyle reached over and turned off the light. In the silent darkness Bodie realized that he should leave on his own. Just get out of bed, get dressed, and leave. Doyle wouldn't stop him, but there would be no coming back.

Bodie reached a tentative arm around the sleeping man beside him. Holding him like this felt so right, so complete. It hurt to know what they were both missing by letting this madness continue. Bodie pulled him closer and sighed. This game would come to an end. All games did. He just hoped there would be survivors.

Devil and the deep blue sea behind me.
Vanish in the air you'll never find me
I will turn your face to alabaster.
When you find your servant is your master.

And you'll be wrapped around my finger.

-- THE END --

Inspired by"Wrapped Around Your Finger" by Sting, from Police's album "Synchronicity"

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