by O Yardley
Party Spirit series #6: After "Killer With A Long Arm"
Talk about waiting for the other shoe to fall. I'd been on tenderhooks for days expecting Doyle to produce some sort of reaction--probably vengeful--to what I'd done the day we nicked Nesbit. Being that close to disaster always does funny things to me and I was privately ready to admit I'd gone over the top groping him practically in full view of Cowley, not to mention jumping him afterwards at my place. Made me go shivery all over again remembering that. But Ray was in a funny mood, unpredictable, stroppy as anything with everyone else and all sweetness and light with me; took the wind right out of my sails, that did. Still I couldn't let myself get complacent, anyone who does that around Ray Doyle is simply begging for trouble, and I even tried to deflect a bit of his acidity when he started in on some well-meaning idiot who happened to get up his nose.
Mind you, that bitter and twisted attitude had its uses and the way he handled Tarkos was little short of pure genius; I was sufficiently impressed to tell him so too, and he didn't even take advantage of that, just mumbled something about only being offensive.
Offensive is what he does best.
He was watching my back efficiently too, pushing me out of the possible line of fire when we went dashing off after young Tommy Karishkos; all the same, I took his gun off him before he could use it without thinking, unintentionally relieve some of that meanness. To be honest we were working together so smoothly I was beginning to get superstitious about it, reckoning something would have to give sooner or later even if it was only me having to rescue some poor bastard who'd taken offence at getting the rough edge of the Doyle tongue. I could see Mervin for one taking care what he said from now on, having been savaged twice in as many days; but then our forensic expert's always been the sort to put his mouth in motion before getting his brain in gear.
I'd swear the little devil was deliberately tantalising me too; especially that night we spent in H.Q. Stifling hot it was, the sort of night when you get sticky just making up your mind; a long, cool shower helped, and a cool beer. I got in a dig about Betty just to keep my end up but all he did was turn around and grin at me. Later he began swanning around the rest room with his shirt undone all the way down to his navel and he knew damn well I was sitting on that excuse for a sofa watching every move he made from under the towel I had draped over my head. Said he was going to have a shower too and then stayed talking to me while he stripped right down to a pair of pretty, striped underpants that barely covered essentials, standing right in front of me so I'd get the full benefit. Teasing little sod. Maybe he thought I wouldn't dare jump him a second time.
Maybe he was right.
I started to get really worried about his mood next day when he smashed in the window of that Range Rover and I began rehearsing what I'd say to Cowley on his behalf. Ray's never known how to handle the Cow; either goes at it like a bull at a gate when a bit of soft soap's wanted, or else dabbles about in kid gloves when he should be getting him all riled up, taking his mind off his worries.
Like I said, we were working almost too well together, and that was why, when he held his fire that split second longer than I thought we needed, I yelled at him so furiously, scared that we'd lost whatever it is that welds two such poles-apart blokes into Cowley's best, rocking back on my heels when I heard his answer.
Not the words, they were ordinary enough--justified, too. No, it was the tiny break in his voice that disconcerted me, the look of horror (as instantly suppressed) in his eyes.
"And if I had fired from the door--and missed--who was standing in the window?"
Since when did he miss? I asked myself scornfully, shouting it after him after him as he made for the door to the bedroom.
He was all warmth after that, all untroubled closeness as we checked over that scope and found it everything I'd suspected and more. Leant on me, panting into my ear as we focussed it on our target. I had a dazed sort of feeling he'd forget where he was any minute and bring himself off against me and I wondered what Cowley would have to say when he came in and caught him at it. She was a bit of all right though, that girl; like Cowley said, a natural blonde, those panties leaving next to nothing to the imagination. I was getting a bit keen myself, wishing I'd made that date with the girl in the flats for that night instead of the next. I didn't dare look at Ray when Cowley said that though, 's the sort of thing I say to Ray, trying to get him going and I was afraid he'd set me off sniggering if I caught his eye. As it was, I went on laughing longer than Cowley considered decent.
As we finally made our way out of the building having tied up all the loose ends which, inevitably, had taken the better part of the evening, Doyle said: "Christ! but I'm hungry," and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. I owed him several meals and I'd been expecting him to remind me as much for some time.
"OK," I agreed, resigned. "Where do you want to go?"
"Want a shower first," he said, "I'm all sticky. It's so hot, real Wimbledon weather."
"I thought that meant blowing straight from Siberia fit to freeze your...arse," I added lamely, having just choked off the words 'best asset' in time and wondering at myself.
But it's true, it is his best asset and he bloody well knows it; dresses to show it off if you ask me, with those spray-on jeans 'n bum-freezer jackets.
"That or hot as Hades," he said, opening another button on his shirt in an ostentatious way while we waited for the lift. "Let's get a curry to take home, shall we? Just the weather for it. Not doing anything tonight, are you?" he added in afterthought.
Only half tempted to say yes--it wasn't worth the aggro if he found out I'd been lying--I merely asked wearily what time he thought I'd had lately to do anything about my social life, then remembered my date next day and ushered him into the lift ahead of me so he wouldn't catch me grinning, anticipating the joys in store.
"It's hell, innit!" he agreed gloomily. "Makes old Barret look permissive, Cowley does."
Not being acquainted with the gentleman I wasn't in a position to argue, but he saw I'd perked up a bit and pursed his lips at me.
"Oh yeah, who is she? Anyone I know?"
"Who's who?" I retorted, keeping a straight face.
"The girl you've just started lusting over. I saw you get that look in your eye," he said, knowing and nosy at the same time.
"Where're we eating, your place or mine?" I asked evasively. Doyle'd probably move in on her sooner or later, same as he does on most of my birds, but I'd keep her to myself for a day or two at least.
"Mine. It's nearer. I'll go on ahead while you collect the curry--get the plates hot."
"You only want to get in the shower first," I said, having few illusions.
He grinned. "I'll light the oven to keep the grub warm when you bring it in. Got a key, have you?"
I just looked at him; he knew perfectly well it was on my key-ring with my own. His grin widened but he didn't say anything, just loped off towards his car.
He was nowhere to be seen when I got there with the curry and as I bunged it in the warm oven I heard the shower start up. Feeling irritated and put upon and abruptly longing for a shower more than food I barged into his bathroom and stuck my head through the curtains all ready to make some acid comment or other and found myself instead just staring at him goggle-eyed.
He was standing there utterly still, head thrown back, back arched, hands on his arse, with the water cascading down his body, like something primitive and pagan in fountain statuary. His eyes were closed and his hair, still only misted by fine spray, had curled tighter than usual, emphasising the sculpted look. His eyes came open, watching me watching him, and he moved slowly, picking up the soap, breaking my enchantment.
"Thought you'd be finished by now," I said sourly, "and mind you leave me some hot water this time."
"Want to use my shower, do you?" he said, pretending to be surprised, soaping his chest in a leisurely way that for some reason made me want to hit him.
"Not the only one who's hot around here, are you? Come on, hurry up or the supper'll spoil."
"Come in with me if you're in that much of a rush."
His eyes held mine but even without looking I knew his hands had slid down to soap his prick. It felt like forever that I stared at him but I expect it was only a second or two. His lips were parted and I could just see the tip of his tongue.
Moistening my own suddenly dry mouth as I drew back I let the curtains fall shut and, heart pounding, began to strip.
He was warm, slick with soap and running water, sexy as hell. And he knew that I wanted him, wanted to bury myself in the sweet, secret darkness of his body and fuck him, fiercely and wantonly and without thought until the savage urgency was burnt out. He knew it, accepted it, and refused it with a grave shake of his head as he pulled me to him, trusting me to care enough for him not to turn this into something ugly.
I hope he never knows how close I came to it.
His arms were strong, tight about me so that I could scarcely breathe what with the water and arousal to contend with as well; he was hard already, thrusting into my belly and I slid my hands down to hold his length, smooth and slippery in my grasp, hotter even than the cascading water. He rested his arms on my shoulders, propping himself up I suspected, and made little pleasured noises deep in his throat as he pushed rhythmically, pressing into my cupping palms. Then he pulled away, almost having me over, and turned me around so that it was his prick jabbing at my cheeks as I had wanted to have him and all of a sudden I wanted that with an even fiercer urgency, wanted to know what it was like to have him inside me, hard and hot and... I came even as I thought it, helplessly, humiliatingly quick.
It was only the shower fitting that stopped me ending up on the floor of the unit; my knees were shaking, ears ringing, the world still unreal and far away. Doyle's hands clutched my hipbones for dear life and I wondered vaguely which of us he was holding up and why he bothered.
I didn't even notice when he came, too caught up in the shattering aftermath of my own reaction.
Where's your macho image now, Bodie old son?
Shot to hell.
He was so gentle with me it was embarrassing; and I was certain he knew how easily I'd have surrendered myself to him if he'd made even half a move to take me. It was only pride that kept me from haring out of there so fast I'd strip the pile off his carpet; I didn't even taste the curry for all it burnt my lips as I ate it.
I left as soon as I decently could.
Didn't go home straight away though, just drove aimlessly around; found myself out at Richmond in the early hours of the morning, not long before dawn, so I parked up near the terrace and got out to lean on the railing and watched the sun rise over Surrey, glinting on the Thames below me. I stood there a long time just looking, not thinking at all, not daring to.
When I moved to go I was stiff from standing so still and I knew that for all the blankness inside my head I'd come to a decision.
No way was I going to give in to what hit me this evening. A bit of fooling around, yeah, any time it looked halfway on and I felt like it, but nothing heavier than that, for chrissake. Bisexual I didn't mind being, not if the other bloke was a sexpot like Ray Doyle, but letting myself get fucked smacked of something a lot more serious than just a bit of fun with a mate. Keep it light and everything'd be OK.
It'd have to be.
-- THE END --