Yellow Streak


Party Spirit series #12: After "The Purging of CI5"

An early start, I'd said, but it wasn't all that early when we walked in to HQ. 7.30. Just in time for the explosion.

Giggly best describes the pair of us that morning; the start of it anyway. Behaved like a pair of schoolkids. Thought it might be awkward seeing him after what we'd done that night, what he'd made me do, but as it turned out it was OK. Saw him pull up while I was eating breakfast, abandoned the sausages to eat later if I got the chance and opened my front door in time to see the redhead from upstairs hipping through the hall in the tightest jeans and the highest heels I'd seen in a long time. No visible panty-line either: I looked. So did Doyle and he gave one of his filthy chuckles as we caught each other at it.

After that every bird we saw as fair game--lucky thing we were taking that much notice as it turned out a day or so later--both of us reinforcing the macho image no doubt.

Hardly surprising when you think...

Wish he hadn't walked out on me that way he did, the things I could have said to him if only he'd stayed to hear.

Who am I kidding? Haven't found any way yet of mentioning what we get up to in private. What's to say anyway? It's fun and it passes the time...

Wonder if he did it because he was feeling guilty about Marikka? Maybe he'll get the urge every time his conscience starts pricking! Blimey, I 'ope not, I'll never keep up. Wouldn't mind doing it again though, it was... OK, it was OK.

Is he going to want me to...?

No. No, I can't. Not that.

No way.

Shouldn't even think about it only it worries me a bit that he'll expect... he's not always predictable. Wish I could forget it, what he felt like and the things he said to me... that husky note could make a memo from the Cow sound like porn.

Decided I'd ring Joanna, picking on the most willing and uninhibited bird I know to help drive the memories away.

Ring Joanna! What a laugh! 'ardly 'ad time to take a leak that morning.

Stopped feeling quite so 'appy when Williams bought it. Then Matheson and King. That put a stop to the horseplay. Can still see the way Ray looked while he was concentrating on my bloody phone. Christ! but my 'eart was clattering...

Wished he hadn't decided to wear those brown velvet jeans of his next day: didn't need reminding all the time his is the sexiest rump in CI5 and I knew it better than anybody.

Typical Doyle, pratting on about his ruddy pension: me, I was fretting about the prospect of permanent deafness. Perforated eardrums're no bloody joke and we'd escaped that by the skin of our teeth. Lucky, the doctor called us. I was too shook up to argue the word.

Cowley sent us home. No use to 'im saying 'eh?' every other word. My place was full of Phillips' mob still, checking over every bloody inch.

"You keep at it," I told 'em. "Don't want to go finding out the hard way you lot aren't up to the job." Luckily I couldn't hear what they said as I left.

Ray didn't look too delighted when I fetched up on his doorstep.

"Still unpackin'?" I asked him, stepping round a couple of tea chests between me and the comfiest looking armchair. He says he likes to take his time and get everything just right when he moves: personally I reckon he likes living in a muddle.

"Wha'? Wossay? Mind those cases, I haven't finished unpacking yet."

"I can see that."


"I said I can see that."

"See what?"

I sighed. "How about makin' us some tea? Tea!" I pantomimed drinking and he shook his head.

"I hid the whisky after Cowley'd been the other week and now I can't find it."

"Tea!" I yelled. "T.E.A.!"

"All right, all right, no need to shout."


"I said No Need To Shout."


Idle chat not being the order of the evening--shrieking everything three times over's not exactly restful even when you're not hoping to find an opening to broach a subject even more delicate than 'have you started yet, love?'--I swallowed the last of my tea and waved a hand at the packing cases.

"Want any help?"



"What d'you want to help with?"

"Oh, christ!" I put my head in my hands and groaned, looking up again to find a lurking twinkle in his eyes but before I could speak he said:

"Did you ring Jo?"

"Bring what?"

"Ring," he said, enunciating with bell-like clarity, "Jo-an-na."

"Oh, Jo! Where's the point--I'd only 'ear one word in ten if I did," I shrugged. Somehow the urgency to grab hold of something yielding and female and fuck myself legless had faded; tomorrow would do.

"OK then, you start on that case."

"What's the matter with my face?"

"Case! That one." He pointed. "Well, you did offer to help."

Bloody job took forever. It was nearly 11.00 when we finished, mostly due to his moving everything I put away and putting it somewhere else so I had to keep moving it back.

"Purposely aggravating, you are."

"Perfectly what?" I made for the welcoming depths of the armchair again.

"You 'eard. Isn't it about time you went home?"

I gazed at him, wounded. "Don't I even get fed?"

"I said isn't it time..."

"Food!" I pointed at my mouth. "Grub. I'm famished."


"Famished. But I'll settle for the other." The words were out before my brain connected with my mouth: still, the way my own hearing kept coming and going it was possible he hadn't caught what I'd let slip.

"Never knew you when you weren't hungry. Come on then," he said, resigned.

"Come on, what d'you mean, come on?" I lowered my spine another couple of inches.

"I mean you can bloody well help: I'm knackered as well."

"Leave it out, mate, you know I can't cook as well as you."

"You can make toast and open tins. Go on, move yourself."

"Make toast? Open tins? Is this the Cordon Bleu chef I know and love?" I followed reluctantly.

"Baked beans--bacon and egg with it. OK?" was what he said but he gave me a very funny look that I couldn't read and wasn't sure I wanted to. Let myself salivate instead of worrying about it. I broke lustily into song:

"'Beans, beans, a musical fruit; the more you eat the more you toot..."

"You do and you can go home to your own bed afterwards." he turned away as he said it, leaving me staring at the back of his head and not finding it particularly communicative.

"Breakfast in bed tomorrow?" I demanded, deliberately pushing my luck to see how far he'd let me go.

"That'll be nice. Thanks. I'll hold you to that." And he grinned at my expression.

I love a good fry-up and once I'd convinced him to pop a couple of slices of bread in the pan for me it was one of his best efforts. I patted my stomach and leaned back, belching to demonstrate my appreciation.

"Manners!" He wagged a finger at me.

"Funny how you only hear what you want to."


"Watt's pot never boil."


"I beg your pardon," I corrected reprovingly.

"I asked you what you said."

"No, you didn't, you said 'eh'. 's very rude to say 'eh'."


About to deliver a terse opinion of his intelligence I was shaken by another subterranean rumble.


"You see, you heard that all right."

"Are you surprised? Force 8 on the Richter scale I should think that was."

"Beaufort--Richter's earthquakes. That was wind!"

"In that case," he got up to his feet and shot nimbly towards the door, "you can do the washing up while I 'ave a shower. I'm gettin' out while the atmosphere's still breathable."

Is it my fault if it turned out that running the hot tap in this new kitchen affected the supply to the bathroom?

He arrived back, starkers and shivering, just as I was rinsing the last plate under hot running water and strode over to wrench the tap closed and glare at me eyeball to eyeball.

"What the 'ell are you trying to do--freeze me to death?"

"Are a bit goosepimply, aren't you," I agreed, having a good squint down at him. Looked like a drowned rat with his hair plastered to his head. A fat drop plopped off his fringe and landed on my shirt-front. "Do you mind, you're making me all wet."

"And you were freezing me balls off. Didn't you hear me keep yelling at you to leave the hot tap alone?"

"Oh! was that you? I thought the neighbours must be 'avin' a domestic or something..." But I couldn't hold down my grin and he bristled visibly, as outraged as a maiden aunt at a blue movie.

"You were doing it on purpose, you bastard! Right, that does it!"

"What are you... No! Ray, stop it! Don't! Mind my collar! You're choking me... Ah, you little devil, come 'ere, let's see 'ow you like it!" And I removed the sodden J-cloth from down my neck and advanced on him menacingly. Chicken, he retreated to the other side of the kitchen table.

"So where are you going to shove it, then?" he demanded, indicating his nudity as I turned from refreshing the cloth in the washing-up bowl.

"You need to ask?" I said sweetly.

I finally caught up with him at the door to his bedroom--he was laughing too much to get clean away--and I grabbed him with one hand and rubbed vigorously up and down his body with the J-cloth in the other. I had to pull him very close to keep him under control, nearly going for a Burton as he wriggled and squirmed and fought to get the cloth away from my grasp.

I let him take it: I'd found something better to do.

He was damp, he was chilly, he was the most desirable thing I'd held since the last time and I had a sudden vivid memory of the time a year or so back when we'd started in violence and ended in a sweaty, clinging tangle. I got my mouth onto his neck and almost fell over as his knees buckled. He was trying to say something but what with the ringing in my ears and the way my blood was pounding through me I couldn't hear a word, didn't want to hear a word in case it was 'No'. Not that he seemed to be arguing any, in fact there was only one problem--I was still fully dressed and it was definitely cramping my style.

I needn't have worried; when I began fumbling with shirt buttons he got impatient and pushed my hands aside, undoing them for me. Then he folded back the material and bent his head, licking a tumultuous path along my collar bone and down my breast bone to my navel where he lingered, the pad of his tongue pressed flat against me, barely moving.

"Ray," I pleaded. "Ray!"

"Yeah. 's OK, 'm gonna... Just be patient." And he slid to his knees.

Felt a complete fool afterwards standing there with my trousers sagging round my hips 'n my prick hanging out, but he was hard still, up-thrust, seeking but not asking for what he needed.

"Come to bed," I said roughly, shedding my clothes as I went. "Come on, lie on me. Between my thighs... yeah. That's the way. Yeah, like that..."

His head was heavy on my shoulder, his hair still damp. I wound a curl round my finger and wondered what he was thinking.

Ought to say something, Bodie. Break this silence. 's getting harder all the time, finding the words.

Hard? Impossible!

Ah, come on, it's not such a big deal. What's a little sex between friends? If Ray wants to talk he'll talk. C'n have the hind leg off a donkey, he can, when he gets going.

's better this way. Much better.

But maybe Doyle isn't the only one with a streak of yellow all down his back!

-- THE END --

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