Command Performance


With the packing of the last sock Bodie suddenly identified the hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach, straightened from his leaning position by the chest of drawers and laid a restraining hand on the fingers about to fasten the holdall's zip.

"Gonna miss you." A blunt statement of misery.

His partner paused, turned to look at him.

Bodie stared down at their joined hands, ashamed of behaving like a kid but needing Doyle to accept this as he accepted everything else about him.

"Don't want you to go," he said fiercely. "Bloody stupid...too old to..." He sniffed unhappily.

A thin arm snaked around him, comforting, close. He cuddled up, external pressure relieving internal ache.

"I know," Doyle whispered. "'s daft, innit - but I'm glad you feel the same way. Bloody Scotland - might as well be Australia."

Bodie managed a smile. "Glad it's not - journey takes so long."

He felt Doyle's cheek curve against his. "That's true - good fast trains, I could be home in under a week."

"You'd better be...or I'll sue Cowley for loss of my conjugals."

The slight body quivered against him as Doyle chuckled. "Record the interview on video, will you? Don't want to miss his face. You really gonna miss me that much?"

Finding the wide-eyed, interrogatory gaze searching his, Bodie couldn't hide his embarrassment or his need.

"Want you all the time," he admitted, shamefaced. "Surprised you hadn't noticed..."

Doyle hugged him. "Oh, I'd noticed - surprised me though, thought it was only me who couldn't do without for a couple days. Always thought you were a big grown-up who didn't need cuddles all the time."

Bodie's mouth curved in a smile, a lick of shyness still about him. "I need cuddles all right - and everything they lead to afterwards."

"But not now." Doyle drew away regretfully. "There really isn't time, I'll miss the train."

"Yeah, I know." Bodie finally let go, feeling better now he knew he wasn't going to be the only sufferer during their first enforced separation.

Holdall in hand, Doyle suddenly stopped in the bedroom door and turned.

"Tell you what..."

Bodie surveyed the glinting look and felt his spirits rise in response - extraordinary the way his mood could be affected, simply by Doyle's dejection or cheerfulness.


The crease in Doyle's cheek deepened with his growing smile. "I've just had a're going to like this one, Bodie. One of my nackier ideas."

"What is it?" Bodie demanded warily, having had experience of Doyle's wilder flights of fancy before.

"Not tonight because god knows what time I'll get there, but tomorrow night, 10.30, unless you're out somewhere for Cowley..." He paused, raking Bodie speculatively with a mint-green stare.


Doyle couldn't half string things out sometimes, Bodie thought in exasperation, drove you wild on occasions.

"Dead on 10.30," Doyle said, eyes agleam with anticipation, "you and I will be in our beds, you in that one there with all the jolly little memories to help you, and me up in my lonely Scottish cot with nothing but my imagination for inspiration."

"10.30?" Doyle knew damn well they neither of them went to bed at that hour under normal circumstances. "What are we going to be doing in bed at 10.30 for god's sake?"

Doyle regarded him lovingly and shook his head. "Thick," he said. "Beautiful but dumb. God knows why you aren't blonde - you're a natural. Wankin' of course."

"Wa..." The word died on Bodie's lips. He stared at his lover who stared back, unblinking.

"That's right." Doyle nodded, grinning perkily. "Don't tell me you don't how!"

Bodie ignored that with the contempt it deserved. "Why?" he demanded.

Doyle raised eyes to heaven. "You in that bed," he repeated patiently, "me in mine, BOTH at 10.30. You think of me, I'll think of you."

Not at all sure he wasn't blushing Bodie said, "You have the craziest ideas."

"I know." Doyle smirked. "An' you love every one of them. It's a date then, 10.30 tomorrow. OK?"

"OK," Bodie agreed, still slightly bemused. Where the hell Doyle got some of the notions he came out with god alone knew. The sexiest little bugger Bodie had ever come across, ready to try anything so long as it was pleasing to both of them - he was still working on some of Bodie's inhibitions, and winning as well, Bodie thought contentedly.

"OK," he said again, giving the slight figure a shove. "Go on, or you'll be late for the train and Cowley'll blister your balls for you."

"Can't 'ave that," Doyle agreed, swinging the bag up over his shoulder, "need 'em for other things. Bye, lover."

Bodie kissed the upturned face, licking it delicately.

"Sloppy kisser," Doyle said approvingly, and finally made it to the door.

At two minutes to eleven the next evening the phone rang.

Bodie swore, switched off the telly with the remote control and leaned over to pick up the receiver.

"Thought I'd give you half an hour to recover," Doyle said.


His mind still on the film he'd been watching, Bodie was puzzled.

"Recover," Doyle said again. "You know. As in get your breath back."

"What from? Oh!" Memory engaged gear abruptly: guilt flooded. "Um... Ray..."

"You," Doyle said disgustedly, "forgot. I might have known."

Bodie chuckled affectionately. "Bet you didn't."

"'Course not." Doyle's voice softened. "Smashing it was."

"Wish I could see you." Bodie knew what that often guarded little face would be looking like right now - flushed, full- lipped, a certain droop to the heavy lids.

"Tell me about it," he invited.

"Over the PHONE?" Doyle sounded shocked. "You flipped your lid, mate? Hotel switchboard this end. Big Brother way."

Bodie knew finality when he heard it: besides, Doyle was right, it was a crazy idea.



Two sighs echoed simultaneously across the Border.

"Well, never mind," Doyle said philosophically, "there's always tomorrow."

Bodie brightened. "I really am sorry about tonight."

"I'll bet you are. I had a great time." Doyle's voice floated dreamily over the wire to him, not even the mechanics of long-distance communication able to divest it of its husky, sexual quality.

"It's still not too late," Bodie began defensively.

"Oh no!" An instant reaction cracked on his ear. "Don't you dare - not on your own."

"Why not? You did."

"Not on purpose. You were supposed to be with me every inch of the way." Doyle invested the measurement with suggestive meaning.

"Well, start again." Bodie knew his partner's incredible stamina under the right stimulus.

"Too knackered," Doyle said sadly. "I really am. Only got one hour's sleep last night and I've bin run off me feet all day over half Scotland. I couldn't even raise a smile right now." His voice belied that though, but he did yawn, loudly, straight into the receiver.

Bodie held the earpiece away defensively. "You'll deafen me."

"What? Nah," Doyle said scornfully. "Hairy palms perhaps."

Bodie sniggered. "Get your head down, petal, you're past it. Get your strength up ready for tomorrow night."

"You," Doyle threatened, "had better not forget again."

"I won't."



"Scout's honour?"

"Brownie's as well."

"OK then - I'll trust you."


"On the dot," Doyle agreed. "'night."

"G'night, sunshine."

Bodie put the phone down, smiling at it. Trust Doyle to have meant it, he ought to have known his crazy-minded partner better. And if he'd really taken him seriously in the first place he couldn't possibly have forgotten all about it. Christ, no, he'd've been thinking of it all the bloody day...

He stirred restlessly, aware of a throb of arousal deep in his balls. He ignored it virtuously, certain that Doyle would be expecting him to succumb even though he'd promised he wouldn't. Well, some people could control themselves, not like other randy little buggers who'd fuck anything that twitched.

His mouth curving happily, Bodie tilted his head and look at the ceiling, wondering what sort of view Ray had had while he lay back and used those long, educated fingers on himself. Bet that was a fantastic sight, Doyle lovin' himself. None of your joyless wanks for the Ray Doyles of this world, nor a quick, efficient stroking to relieve tension, the sort you got used to in the barely private world of the army. No, you could bet your last penny he'd make a thorough meal of it, really turn himself on, beggin' himself for it before he finally gave in and made love to himself...

Christ, what he wouldn't give to have been a fly on a certain Scottish wall just half an hour ago.

Gritting his teeth, Bodie had a VERY cool shower before he went to bed.

9.30 the next evening found Bodie wandering restlessly through the flat unable to settle to book, telly or any of a number of long put off mundane domestic tasks.

What was Ray doing right now? In the hotel bar probably, talking to other residents, one eye on the clock for a timely getaway. Bodie wished he was there, sharing the anticipation, the faint undercurrent of excitement hidden under exterior calm.

Pity HE hadn't had the sense to go round their local, fill in the time that way. Take his mind off... One thing for sure, this wasn't going to take long once he got bloody started. He was already in such a state that one finger-touch would have him comin' hard enough to split bricks.

At 10.00 he went into the bedroom, breathing rather hard but enough in control to undress slowly and calmly, although each touch raised a flood of anticipatory goosebumps. A long, leisurely shower next, liberal helpings of Doyle's favourite soap, talc and cologne - things Bodie usually avoided but tonight used to enfold himself in a little cloud of Doyle-essence.

Dry again, skin like warm silk, he was about to lie on the bed and wait out the last minutes to the precise stroke of 10.30 when he paused - some weeks ago he had been surprised and embarrassed when Doyle presented him out of the blue with a garment he must have known Bodie would never buy for himself, his own taste in dressing gowns running to practical towelling, rather than the plush luxury of crimson velour. He'd been puzzled but polite, knowing he'd disappointed Doyle without understanding why. So long used to thinking of himself as neither particularly attractive nor sexy, he still hadn't quite accepted that Doyle found him both.

Idiot! It was so blindingly obvious he'd missed it - Doyle thought he'd look good in the damn thing and he'd just put it away and forgotten it ever since.

With a faint grin and a small shake of the head at his own obtuseness, Bodie went to get the gown from its hanger in the wardrobe.

The material felt soft to his hands, good against his skin as he thrust his arms into it. He let it hang open, surveying himself in the long mirror, wondering what it was Doyle saw that turned him on with such delicious regularity.

His own face stared back, smiling faintly in self- deprecation, his frame too broad and solid surely to be sexy... No, looking in a mirror was off-putting, that small throb of arousal dying as his eyes listed his manifold deficiencies with a chill clarity.

He turned away, accepting that Doyle liked to look at him but no nearer understanding it; 10.29 now in any case, no need to hang around waiting any longer. He turned back the duvet, folding it over the side of the bed Doyle usually occupied and lay down on his back.

Having a shrewd suspicion Ray would be demanding descriptions later, honesty making him admit he fully intended to extract every last detail from Doyle, he settled himself carefully, adjusting the pillows for maximum comfort, stretching his body out tautly before relaxing, then with a sigh of pure content he fixed his mind on Ray, letting his imagination have full reign as to what the sexy, inventive little devil was doing right this very minute.

Knowing the touches that got Ray going he applied them to himself, light ticklings down his neck and across his chest, lingering over nipples and collar bone, ignoring the growing ache at his groin, the urgent throb and jut of his sex. Just thinking about Ray could always turn him on, had done for ages before he'd had the guts to admit it even to himself. His hands stroked, rousing pleasurable sensations, exquisite needs. He raised his knees, parting them to permit easier access to his aching balls, caressed heated, hairy softness, his fingers defining each rounded swelling within the enfolding skin.

His prick throbbed, begging its own attention but he ignored it resolutely - this was too good to hurry through as though ashamed. Bet Ray was lovin' it too, body on fire, movin' around on cold hotel sheets, a wanton satyr on heat with self-love.

On a little choke of longing, Bodie reached for Doyle's pillow with his left hand, burying his face, desperate for the faint lingering of Doyle scent, inhaling deeply as he pressed it hard down on face and chest, blotting out the world.

Past control now, unable to spin preliminaries out one second longer, his hand slid from his testicles to the hard thrust of his sex, fingertips lightly defining its length, absorbing its smoothness, blood pulsing in him as long-needed touch fed urgency, sending him higher as with a groan of delight and regret that he could no longer hold off, his hand closed round himself, sliding from root to tip, cupping the head with its single, leaked drop.

Abruptly, curious to know what taste it was Doyle found on him, whether he tasted like Doyle, he took his hand away, bringing it to his mouth, pushing the obscuring pillow aside.

Eyes closed, he tested, licking at his fingers, absorbing scent and flavour. Like, but unlike. Subtle. He couldn't really tell - would need to try again when Ray was there, watch him taste himself also...

The dark unaccustomed wantonness of his actions roused him to fever-pitch - long used to handling his own needs at times of deprivation, a brisk, practical pleasuring, this erotic, vaguely sinful delight was overwhelming, intense, almost painful...

His hand clenched round his sex, tight, hard, hurting...releasing again with a sob of joyed anguish, adjusted to precisely the right pressure for maximum pleasure, swiftest release, began to move, bed shaking beneath him as his fist gained momentum.

He gulped breath harshly, head rolling over the softness of cotton pillow, eyes opened in sightless rapture...gathering...


Away to his left - abruptly stilled.

In the doorway someone stood watching...

Travelling up in the lift, Doyle danced with impatience, eager to be home - only three days and it felt like a month already. Thank god for that last-minute flash of inspiration which led him to make the crucial cross-check and concluded the affair that had sent him to Scotland in the first place. Sheer inspiration then to fly back to London rather than travel by train - no time even to phone Bodie and warn him he'd be back well ahead of his expected return, early enough to make a night of it and still get some sleep in.

What time was it now? He glanced at his watch. 10.31, nice and early and...


In the sudden flash of realisation, Doyle almost missed the opening of the lift doors, pushing his way through them just as they began to close.

Shit - Bodie'd kill him, arriving home in the middle of...

A slow smile lit his face. Yeah. RIGHT in the middle of...

What a picture!

He opened the lock with exquisite care, closed it on the small inner handle, no sound, set the holdall down silently, bent to remove his shoes and set them aside, then stealthy as a cat he crossed the silent sitting room in the dim glow spilling through the half-open bedroom door from the bedside lamp.

Good - be just like Bodie to be doin' it in the dark, dear old prude that he was.

Avoiding the furniture with dexterity, careful even to breathe without a sound, Doyle applied his eye to the gap between hinge and doorpost.

Christ, but he looked gorgeous lying there.

Bless him, he was even wearing that bloody dressing gown that had been such a failure - and looking just as devastating as Doyle had thought he would in its subdued crimson lustre.

And god, just look at him, huggin' that pillow to him in a dopey sort of way, a delicious, Bodie-smile givin' his face that lovely little-boy-happy look while his other hand combed dreamily through the heavy thatch of curled hair around his balls.

Doyle's own body tightened responsively but he ignored it, praying he'd not half-strangle himself inside these darned brown velvet jeans; they didn't leave him much room to manoeuvre at the best of times and there was no way he could release himself without making a sound.

Bloody zips - at least you could undo buttons quietly!

Bodie was moving more now, his hand actually going to his prick at last, rubbin' it beautifully, must be feelin' so good 'n...

Doyle's heart leapt, hammering in his throat.

Lickin' at his own fingers like that, cat-got-the-cream look intensifying, beautiful, sexy bastard.

Just at that moment, Doyle loved him so much he could burst.

Adorable, cuddly Bodie, sprawled out on his bed, legs parted in glorious abandon, wankin' his little heart out...perfect, just perfect. Flushed and fervent, those lips thrust out in a quivering pout, tiny fleeting expressions of anguish and rapture lighting his face, gulping air down into him suddenly as though he'd forgotten to breathe for a very long time...

God, he was goin' at it like there was no tomorrow, really givin' it to himself hard and strong.

Needing to see properly, Doyle moved to the doorway.

Bodie choked, gasped, lay still, frozen on a beat of ecstasy, staring at him out of huge, gentian eyes...

"Lover, I'm sorry...shoulda kept still..."

Bodie moved, flicking crimson decency over his body. He was shaking.

Remorsefully, Doyle crossed the floor and dropped to his knees on the bed.


Bodie lay still, the robe hugged around him. The hurt look was gone now, his face remote, shuttered.

Doyle leant down, gathered him close and cradled him.

"Didn't do it on purpose," he said sadly. "Didn't even remember until I looked at my watch in the lift."

"And then you came creeping in by accident too, I suppose."

Doyle hugged tighter, acknowledging Bodie's pain.

"No, hoped I'd catch you. Glad I did. You looked gorgeous."

"You're a devious bastard..."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed mournfully. "Kinky as well. Got really turned on just lookin' at you. You're so beautiful - love you so much..."

Over the shock now, Bodie was relaxing slowly.

"What you doin' here then, back so early?"

"Didn't think you'd mind." Doyle looked up, wide-eyed and solemn. "Finished early. Came home by plane, got here quicker that way. Was missin' you something awful..."

"Cowley'll do his nut..."

Awed, Bodie studied him with equal solemnity. "Christ, you must love me."

"Told you I do." Doyle's gravity was beginning to slip. He eyed Bodie hopefully. "Am I forgiven?"

"What, for givin' me heart failure? I'll think about it."

But Bodie began to hug back, cuddling him close.

After a minute Doyle said breathlessly, "You look fantastic in red, d'you know that?"

"You," Bodie retorted, tugging ruthlessly at Doyle's tee shirt, "look good in anything - better in nothing, though."

Doyle wriggled cooperatively, undoing his zip.

Too impatient to undress fully he bundled his shirt under his armpits, pushed jeans and briefs down his legs and clambered over Bodie, landing clumsily between the parted thighs, then supporting himself on his toes, hands each side of Bodie's chest, he lowered his body down so that their cocks were just touching and pushed gently, heat on hard heat.

Bodie lifted his head to kiss him full on the mouth and slid his hands between them, capturing them both in his palms, holding them firmly.

"'m I too heavy?"

Bodie's arm tightened, head just moving in negation.

"Love you."

Mouth muscles finally under a meagre control Bodie mumbled, "Love you too."

"Forgive me?"


Doyle's head lifted, his hair tickling Bodie's nose.

Bodie made a small sound of protest and scrubbed at the offended organ with the heel of his hand.

Doyle managed to look shocked. "Gave you a handkerchief for Xmas," he said sadly.

Bodie picked up an errant curl instead.

"Filthy brute," sighed Doyle, snuggling down even closer. "Can't think why I find you so bloody wonderful."

"'cause I'm perfect," Bodie said sleepily. "You goin' to sleep like this?" He curled a possessive, if sticky hand around Doyle's rump, delighted yet again with the discovery that it fitted his palm so perfectly - made for him, purpose built...

"Nah - need a leak," Doyle explained disconsolately. "Help me off."

Moving cramped jean-encased limbs was not easy but they made it at last.

"'s all right helpin' you off," Bodie said, "who're we gonna get to help you on when you need it though - Cowley?"

Knees trapped in his jeans, Doyle kangaroo-hopped clear of the trailing duvet, fell over, gave up and removed his trousers lying flat on his back. Between his legs, Bodie's face looked down, one big, broad beam of approval at the view.

"Like to have watched you too," he offered softly.

Doyle paused, heart melting at the hesitant but eager look.

"Do it 'specially for you," he agreed huskily. "Whenever you like. Sort of Command Performance."

"I'll wear me tiara for that," Bodie promised him.

-- THE END --

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