No Gentleness


Party Spirit series #17: After "Bloodsports"

I'd never have thought a self-sufficient, smug, arrogant bastard could wring my heart the way Bodie does occasionally. If he knew what he was doing he'd probably do it all the more and that'd cure my sympathy, but the bugger has no idea of the effect he has on me sometimes. Like when he was talking about his Aunt Gwyneth. It didn't take a genius to work out his childhood was somewhere short of ideal; just the bleak look on his face as he said the few things he did was enough. Swept away what was left of the anger he'd roused in me, running out on me like he had. Christ! I was furious, so fucking furious I didn't want to have anything to do with him for a while in case I bloody gelded him with my bare hands.

He knew I was angry, he always knows. Tip-toed around me like a nervous virgin, staring at me out of sad blue eyes when he thought I wasn't looking and doing little things for me when I least expected it. Talk about unnerving. He'd been sweet as pie with Esther, not that he saw much of her but when he did he went out of his way to be pleasant. Probably would've made a play for her if he'd got the chance. Lucky thing he didn't; I wasn't in a mood to take it lightly. She was cute and she was good for me, but the best thing about her was the fact she lived several thousand miles away on the other side of the world and when the job was over she had to leave. No complications.

Same thing applied to Anita Cabreros of course, plus she was elegant, intelligent and an intriguing challenge, which made scooping her up right under Bodie's nose particularly satisfying. It was only the look in his eyes as I wandered out into her hall that made victory seem oddly hollow. He looked...stricken? Is that too strong? I'm not sure. Cowley had a definite twinkle of approval in his eye, the lecherous old scrote, but Bodie...

Took me aback, seeing that look. Don't know why he expects anything else, moving in to grab the other's latest fancy being accepted practice, but all of a sudden I wished I hadn't bothered this time; took all the pleasure out of what should have been a rattling good evening. I'd like to say Anita didn't notice but it wouldn't be true. I did my best; it wasn't a bad night and we parted amicably enough in the morning but I knew I wouldn't be back, that I'd leave the field free for Bodie if that's what he wanted.

He was very quiet all day, not at all his usual self, and he kept his distance. Kept his hands to himself too, for a wonder, Bodie being an easy toucher as a rule, and that did bother me. I accused him of bearing a grudge for getting him clean-bowled, and all he did was smile rather miserably and wander off to talk to Murphy. Part of me wanted to kick him, and part wanted to gather him up and cuddle him but with half the squad looking on that didn't seem such a bright idea.

Spent most of the day on paperwork, boring as hell but necessary, and as usual sitting at a desk for hours on end left me feeling my brains had turned to cotton-wool and my bones to boiled string. I paused by Bodie's chair, about to speak when I was ambushed by a yawn and a yearning to stretch that I indulged with languid pleasure.

"Do you mind," Bodie said sourly from somewhere around my middle, "you're standing in my light."

"I'm sorry," I said, ambling forward a couple of paces. "You nearly done?"

"I'll be done a lot quicker if you stop hindering me."

"What about this evening--got a date?"

"What d'you want to know for, sweetie?" His voice slid to a shrill falsetto. "You askin' me out?"

It always cracks me up when he puts on his camp act and he knows it. Does it at the most inappropriate moments just to get me going.

"I was thinking about a run," I said, fluttering a responsive eyelash his way. "Feel as though I'm growing corns on me bum, sitting at a desk all day."

He wrinkled his nose at me, reluctant as always to admit how much good it does him, mentally as well as physically. "Where? Brompton Cemetery as usual?"

"Nah--let's go out to Wimbledon, couple of circuits of the common; drink at the Hand in Hand afterwards."

"You're on."

"Pick you up about 6.00 then. Better get on with that," I advised, not waiting to hear his reply.

It was a sweet evening, perfect for running and I felt good, flowing along nice and easy with Bodie persistently a few steps behind like a brooding shadow. Whenever I looked over my shoulder he had his eyes glued on my rear and a heavy look to his eyelids. In a mood to be provocative I twitched my backside at him and ran on.

He chose a high-backed wooden settle in the pub and sat at a polite distance until the place filled up when he moved in closer than he needed, his thigh pressing mine from time to time. I wasn't arguing; if he was feeling like a bit of the other that was OK with me. Take any crumbs I could get, I would, and be grateful, and if it'd help him get over whatever it was bothering him I'd be grateful for that too.

Was nice knowing it was going to happen later, for it was. I could see it in the languid droop of his eyes and the arrogant thrust of his mouth, and it excited me, arousing a sweet ache in the pit of my stomach, sitting there, close as Siamese twins, knowing we'd go home and make love and that no one but us knew how it would be, that it was our secret, so deep and dark that even we didn't dare talk about it...

"Huh?" I said, suddenly aware he'd spoken.

"I said 'will you stop grinning like that'. Look a right nana with that big soppy smile all over your face."

"Well, I'm happy..."

"So am I. So are all this lot, but they're not making exhibitions of themselves, are they?"

"So how d'you know they're happy?"

"By the noise they're making, of course."

If that was the test they were the most contented lot of people in the whole of South-West London, the bray of the middle classes at play being quite over-powering at close quarters.

"How about going 'ome?" I asked, sinking the last of my beer.

"I thought you'd never ask..."

We went to his place, being slightly the nearer of the two. He was on me before I was properly through the front door, grabbing for me, biting at my neck and his hands seemingly everywhere at once. I made a mild complaint when he tried to pull me down, preferring the softness of a bed to cold, hard floor but he took no notice and when I struggled to get away he exerted his full strength against me and we went down together, banging into his sitting-room door and sending it crashing open. A vase rocked perilously on a nearby shelf.

"Bodie!" I protested.

"Shut up! Gotta have it. Have you!" He was hauling off his track suit trousers, pulling at mine, hissing his frustration at their hindering closures.

Unexpectedly, my guts twisted, melting. I knew that feeling, knew the brain-numbing urgency of need, the near-pain of wasted time spent in foreplay when all you wanted was to bury yourself hilt-deep in warm wet welcome. So I let him have it, have me, sprawled on my back on the bare boards in his sitting-room doorway with my legs flung over his shoulders and his hands bruising my flanks and a soul-deep satisfaction searing my mind at his pleasure and my part in creating it.

Afterwards he pulled away from me, turned his back, chest heaving harder than when he was running, and burned his face in his arms. My own arousal was minimal but growing by the second and I tore off my sweat-damp top and tossed it towards the trousers he'd flung carelessly aside then reached for his. His arms tightened, preventing me.


"Ah, come on, Bodie, let me take it off for you. Come on..."

He turned abruptly, almost toppling me a second time, and his arms came round me in a numbing hug.

"Oh Christ! I'm sorry, Ray. Must've hurt like hell...was nearly out of my mind wanting you...wanted you all day...shouldn't've hurt you...forced you...I'm sorry, so sorry..."

It took me a moment to sort out what he was saying, his head was buried so diligently against my chest so that he snuffled and puffed and lost half his words somewhere deep in my armpit. Ticklish. Arousing.

Not prepared to admit how much pleasure there'd been in his urgency I contented myself with soothing noises, patting at him until he finally shut up. Then I began to talk, pointing out my deprived and rampant condition and suggesting in a fine flow of blunt four-lettered words just what he could do about it, guiding his head downwards and coaxing his hands to the intimacies I craved.

Love being sucked, 'specially by Bodie...seemed I love being fucked by him too. The thought didn't bother me, only that he didn't want it too. Thought it might be a problem some time, but not then, not with his mouth and his hands and the hot, hard press of his body all about me.

He was very quiet afterwards but his eyes said a whole lot he didn't know about. I'm not sure he ever knows just how expressive his face is with someone he trusts--me, Cowley, Murph, the occasional bird... He apologised again but I cut him short; he didn't need to explain, any man'd understand and even some women...urgency brooks no gentleness.

I stayed the night, not for sex but just to be close to him, taking advantage of the uneasy guilt that still hung about him and ruefully aware that a few hours would be enough to burn it away and give me back my own arrogant, devilish, devil-may-care partner.

But I like him that way.

-- THE END --

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