Christmas had always been Bodie's favourite time of the year.

As a small boy it had been due to the anticipation of waiting with bated breath on Christmas Eve to discover what goodies Father Christmas was going to produce for him next morning. Because of the family's poverty, caused largely by his father's drinking habits, there had never been anything spectacular, such as kids got nowadays, but there had always been something and he has always thought it was wonderful.

As an adult, he enjoyed the season for the opportunity it gave him to indulge in his second-favourite pastime: stuffing his face with all his favourite food and drink without, for once, anyone telling him he shouldn't be eating or drinking them. And also for the camaraderie of friends and colleagues, which appeared warmer and brighter at that time of year than at any other.

Even in Angola, when the chance to do the former had been all too conspicuous by its absence, the latter had still been there and all the more important for being so.

This year he was looking forward to Christmas because of one friend in particular: one colleague; one lover.

One, Ray Doyle.

Bodie still found it difficult to believe that he and Doyle had become lovers, to actually accept that they were in love with one another. It seemed almost a bizarre idea. Neither had even liked the other at the beginning of their partnership yet, with time, unwilling admiration of each other's abilities had developed. Professional admiration had grown into friendship then affection, and finally outright love. It was such an incredible outcome that nearly a year after they had first gone to bed together Bodie was still astonished that they had managed to get it together, and keep it together, despite the problems of the job and two such disparate personalities.

And now it was lunchtime on Christmas Eve, his favourite time of year again, to be spent for the first time with his favourite person: Ray Doyle.

Bodie ducked his head lower over the last few lines of the report he was re-reading, preparatory to signing it before going off duty, and grinned to himself.

Getting positively soppy in your old age, Bodie, old son, he thought.

But that was the way Ray Doyle made him feel, although he'd die rather than admit it to anyone other than himself. Ray knew him better than anyone else had ever known him, just as he knew Ray. Neither of them needed to make slushy declarations that would probably embarrass one as much as the other if heard spoken in the clear light of day. In bed was a different matter. You could be as soppy as you liked there in the throes of passion, and not feel stupid.

In the privacy of your own thoughts too. Like now.

A long pointed finger poked him somewhat painfully in the shoulder.

"Are you," enquired Doyle, "goin' to sit there until Boxing Day, grinning at your biro like a half-wit, or is it just that you've forgotten how to write your own name?"

"'Course not!" said Bodie, and proved the verity of that statement by signing W.A.P Bodie in his usual semi-illiterate scrawl before starting to shuffle his papers together.

"Good!" Doyle approved. "So, let's stop hangin' around then, in case someone does something nasty somewhere and we get lumbered with sorting it out. I've still got the booze to get in, and your pressie, and..."

"What are you buying me?"

Doyle shook his head firmly, curls flying. "Uh-uh! You'll 'ave to wait until tomorrow. It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises," Bodie said mendaciously.

"No you don't, you love 'em." Doyle was not deceived. "Big kid you are, under all that mad, bad, and dangerous-to-know exterior."

"That was Byron, not me."

"You and him both." Doyle dismissed the denial. "Are you going to tell what you bought me?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Well, then!"

Still wrangling cheerfully, they handed in their reports and went downstairs and out to the car park, from where they drove off in their separate cars. Bodie had some shopping of his own to do: a bottle of the very expensive wine Doyle loved, but was probably too tight-fisted to buy for himself even at Christmas; a supply of crisps and nuts and other nibbles that would have seen off the five thousand; various other edible and non-edible goodies; and last but by no means least Doyle's presents, gift-wrapped and waiting for collection. All this was succeeded by a trip to his own flat to pick up changes of clothing and some toilet articles, and then he was on his way to Doyle's.

As usual the traffic was horrendous, three-quarters of London's population apparently having decided to venture out on wheels and the remaining quarter on foot. It took him nearly three times longer than normal to cover the short distance between the two flats, and when he finally arrived Doyle was still out.

Bodie sighed, and fished in a pocket for the spare key and let himself in. Doyle commonly had music going in the background; depending on his mood, either Mozart or something loud and rocking. The present silence felt so odd that Bodie automatically switched on the TV set on his way through to the kitchen.

Exploring the contents of Doyle's cupboards while putting away the wine and other purchases revealed several little delights other than typical Christmas fare: a box of Bodie's favourite biscuits; two pots of strawberry jam, which Doyle loathed; and no less than four chocolate Swiss Rolls.

Bodie grinned. Not the only one feeling soppy, then.

He settled his toilet things in the bathroom and then went through to the bedroom with his spare clothes, thinking as he did so that it was past time that he and Doyle broached the subject of them sharing a flat to Cowley. It seemed stupid, keeping on both and having to lug things back and forth every time one stayed over with the other.

After all, it wasn't as though the Old Man was unaware of the change in their relationship. They had told him about it at the very beginning. Homosexual might not be the four letter word it had been only a few years ago, but there was still a lot of prejudice out there. Working in a sensitive department like CI5 left them wide open to blackmail attempts or worse. Giving Cowley the final option as to whether they stayed or resigned had seemed the only thing to do at the time.

Bodie grinned again at the memory. Those pale blue eyes had peered over the top of his spectacles at them, standing in front of his desk like two recalcitrant schoolboys, and he had declared somewhat impatiently that as long as they kept themselves off the front page of THE SUN what they did in bed, in their own time and with whom, was no one's business but their own. And didn't they have some work to do, because if not he was certain he could find them some?

Maybe the old so-and-so wouldn't be so sanguine about them sharing a flat, but over the past ten months they had proved they could be discreet. There had never been any raised eyebrows about Lucas and McCabe sharing their place, even if their circumstances were different, so he couldn't see why there should be a problem with him and Doyle...

On the bedside table there was a slim book that had not been there a week ago, the last time they had been able to spend a night together. His ingrained curiosity getting the better of him, Bodie picked it up, and an eyebrow climbed. THE SONNETS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, no less! He knew Doyle liked poetry, but Shakespeare as bedtime reading...?

The book fell open easily where a white edge protruded from between the pages, about a third of the way through, revealing the bookmark to be a photograph. Bodie recognised it immediately. One taken in the summer, he was leaning against a tree, arms folded across his chest and smiling a little smile straight at the camera. He remembered it being taken, on a day off when he and Doyle had driven out into the country, eaten lunch at a little pub off the beaten track, and later made love under the trees in a secluded spot near the river...

It had been one of the happiest days of his life, that day.

His eyes turned to the printed page, and widened.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other.
When that mine eye is famished for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart.
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself, away, art present still with me.
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them and they with thee;
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.

Bodie sank down on the edge of the bed, the book and photograph lying loosely in his grasp. Doyle: tough, ratty, bad-tempered, acid-tongued little toad on the surface, and so much romanticism and loving deep inside. Oh God, the dear idiot! And he has the cheek to call me a great big softy!

Barely aware of what he was doing, Bodie picked up one of the pillows and wound his arms tightly around it, as though it were Doyle he was holding. He discovered, without any real surprise, that his eyes were wet and he buried his face in the cool cotton and wiped them dry. He sniffed deeply, drawing in a lungful of Doyleness: the scent of the apple shampoo he had taken to using recently and, mingled with it, the other smell that was uniquely Dole's own.

He wanted Doyle fiercely here and now, so he could hold him not just a pillow; hold him and tell him just how much, how deeply, he was loved in return. Actually say the words out loud, not just show him, even though he was aroused, his body hot and hard and urgent with desire. He buried his face deeper in the softness of the pillow, letting his mind drift on thoughts of his lover: the touch, taste and scent of him; his voice; the way he smiled and laughed; the way he moved...

The sound of a key turning in the lock and Doyle's voice calling his name startled Bodie back to awareness. He shouted an answer, then stood and replaced pillow and book as he had found them and went out into the lounge. On the TV a very young Burt Lancaster was engaged in a duel on the deck of a sailing ship, accompanied by stirring music. Bodie ignored it. Doyle had dropped his heavy, red-and-black-checked jacket on a chair and gone through to the kitchen, and Bodie followed, needing very much to see and touch and taste.

There were several bottles and a number of gaily-wrapped packages on the worktop, and Doyle was bending over putting something into the refrigerator, best asset prominently on display. Bodie crossed the floor of the small room in a couple of strides and enfolded the other man in his arms. Doyle, taken by surprise, uttered a startled "Ooof!" at the tightness of the unexpected embrace and straightened, allowing his head to fall back against Bodie's shoulder.

"Oi, what's this all about?"

Bodie slackened his hold slightly, enabling the other man to turn within the circle of his arms and face him before he tightened it again. "Been missing you," he said huskily.

"Can feel that-" Doyle began, before his mouth was covered with desperate urgency, smothering his attempt to speak. His lips parted willingly under the assault, granting Bodie's tongue the freedom to roam at will, searching, tasting. He wrapped his arms around Bodie's neck, threading his fingers into the thick smooth cap of hair, and plastered his body up against the broader, heavier one holding him. From chest to knees he could feel Bodie's heat, sense his need with every nerve ending. The hard thrust of Bodie's arousal pressing against him fuelled his own.

Breathless, their mouths parted at last. Doyle sucked air into oxygen-starved lungs as Bodie's lips and teeth and tongue tracked down over his jaw. One arm released its fierce embrace so that fingers could push aside the open collar of Doyle's shirt for the kisses to continue down the side of his neck until Bodie's mouth fastened on the throbbing artery in the bared throat.

Doyle shuddered deeply. Waves of heat flooded through him to centre in his groin and he moaned at the pleasure of it. He felt himself swell and grow even harder within the constriction of his jeans, and he moved his pelvis, thrusting it forward to press that aching arousal against the corresponding hardness of Bodie.

Shaking hands tugged at the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them and sliding inside, hot on the skin over his ribs and spine and pulling the garment free of his jeans. Bodie's mouth slid lower and fastened on a small brown nipple, suckling strongly. Doyle groaned, tightening his grip on Bodie's hair and using it to pull the other man's face away from his chest while he still had the will to do so.

"Bodie... Bodie, love! Slow down. Please! You'll 'ave me over the edge any minute, mate. You'll 'ave us both over..."

He gazed into lust-hazed blue eyes, seeing them clear slowly as Bodie regained control and feeling the restless hands slip down to rest on his hips and continue to mould their bodies closely together. After a moment Bodie closed his eyes and sighed.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let it get so heavy." He swallowed, and his lips twisted into a wry little smile as his eyes opened again. "I just needed to hold you so very, very much. Need to tell you something too. Something I ought to have told you long ago. Thought it wasn't necessary, but I was wrong. I've never actually said anything like this to anyone before, Ray but... Oh God, I love you so much it hurts!"

Doyle had to clear his throat in order to speak. "Oh, Bodie love! I know you do, I've always known, but I never thought you'd come right out and say it. I love you too, sunshine." He cleared his throat a second time. "So what on earth brought all this on, then?"

"Was being nosy here on my own," Bodie confessed. "I found that book by the bed with my photo in it, and I read the poem. God, Ray, that's the most...! Made me go all mushy, and want you something fierce at the same time."

He watched, fascinated, a tide of rich colour flood into Doyle's face as he actually blushed. "Yeah, well... I was missin' you something rotten all week, you up in Liverpool and me left behind down here. 'Tisn't the same, just talking to you on the phone. Needed something to keep me going, didn't I? You weren't ever supposed to find out about it. Should keep your nose to yourself, you should," he added belligerently.

"I'm glad I didn't." Bodie leaned forward the necessary few inches and rested his cheek against Doyle's riotous curls. They were soft and ticklish on his skin, and he breathed in the familiar scent of his lover as though he had been starved for it, as indeed he had been. "I missed you too, you know, more'n I would have believed possible. I used to lie in that bloody hotel room, tossing myself off and thinking about you, wanting your hands on me instead of my own. Wanting you on me and in me; wanting to be in you... I wanted to be able to reach out and touch you, not just hear your voice on the phone." He drew back a little, so he could meet Doyle's eyes, and added with urgent sincerity, "And it isn't only for the sex, Ray. That's merely the icing on the cake as far as I'm concerned."

"I know, love, I know. Me too! That flamin' photo isn't much, but it was all I had and better than nothing." Doyle's voice was husky and shaking. He laid his forehead against Bodie's neck and said into his collar with quiet desperation, "Let's go to bed, Bodie!"

Bodie tightened his grip on the taut, denim covered buttocks for a moment, pulling their lower bodies even closer together than formerly, and leaving neither in any doubt about the other's state of arousal. Then he reluctantly let go and stepped back, draping an arm over Doyle's shoulders.

"I take it you don't fancy having it away on the kitchen floor, then?"

Doyle produced a dramatic shudder. "You take it right! Gettin' too old for that sort of thing, mate, aren't we? It plays merry hell with the knees and elbows, not to mention the back. So why suffer when there's a nice, comfy bed waiting and a new tube of KY? I don't much care for polyunsaturated straight from the fridge, it'd only freeze me assets..."

Bodie sniggered all the way to the bedroom.

As they passed through the lounge, on the TV Burt Lancaster was now climbing energetically in the ship's rigging, pursued by the villain clutching a large sword and wearing an evil leer, while the remainder of the crew fought viciously on the decks below them. Neither Bodie nor Doyle really noticed.

They undressed each other, hands trembling with fresh urgency as they unfastened buttons and zips and drew clothing from flesh aching to be touched. Bodie trailed his fingertips through the soft hair on Doyle's chest, and rubbed his thumbs over little brown nipples. They hardened under his touch, and he marvelled anew how even in winter Doyle's skin was never as pale as his own.

Doyle groaned at the stimulus, and sent his lips and teeth and tongue roaming across Bodie's collarbones and down the planes of his chest, leaving moisture and little bite marks in their wake. His hands swept up and down the muscular back and flanks, until at last one homed in on the swollen shaft that rose to meet his own.

It was Bodie's turn to groan eloquently as he thrust his hips forward involuntarily, trapping Doyle's stroking hand and both erections between their bellies. The two cocks, already weeping pre-ejaculate, rubbed hotly together, eliciting another sound of pleasure from Doyle as they steered each other the couple of steps necessary to the bed and fell upon it.

Bodie kicked the duvet and top sheet out of the way, his extra weight pressing his lover down into the mattress, and launched a pleasurable assault on Doyle's body. He stroked and explored every inch, his mouth pursuing where his hands led, until Doyle was writhing almost mindlessly under his ministrations. Their bodies were drenched with perspiration, sliding slickly against one another, and Bodie's flesh ached and throbbed with need. He sensed that Doyle was as near the peak as he was himself and pulled back for a moment, leaning his weight on his elbows as he looked down at the marks his hands and mouth had left behind on Doyle's skin. He watched Doyle's chest heave, gasping for breath with tiny whimpers, and the green eyes, hazed with lust and love and wanting, clear slightly.

Doyle swallowed convulsively, and raised a shaking hand to run its fingertips weakly down Bodie's throat through the film of perspiration there. It came to rest on the broad chest over the hammering heartbeat.

"Jesus, Bodie! You can set me on fire easier than anyone I ever knew. I want to do the same for you, but I don't think I can-not just now... I need you to finish what you've started, love, before I go crazy..."

Bodie leaned forward and kissed him, very lovingly, stroking his tongue over the sensitive inner skin of Doyle's lips before delving deeper to meet Doyle's and taste it. The other man's body surged up against him in involuntary response and he drew slowly back again, a little farther this time, sitting back on his heels and leaving himself open to Doyle's gaze.

"You don't need to do a thing for me, sunshine," he whispered. "Got myself in a right state already, without you laying more'n a finger on me."

Doyle swallowed again, staring at the impressive erection at Bodie's groin. "You got turned on that much, just from turnin' me on?"

He stretched out a trembling hand to touch, and had it caught and held.

"You do that and I'll disgrace myself," Bodie protested hoarsely. "It'll be all over in a second. Oh God, I want you, Ray, I want you so much! I want to come inside you..."

"If you want me, you can have me." Doyle moved, rolling over onto his stomach and relaxing in a boneless sprawl. "I'm all yours. Always will be."

With his blood thundering in his ears, Bodie leaned across the spread-eagled body and extricated the tube of KY from the drawer beside the bed. He squeezed some onto his hand and spread it quickly on himself, feeling the pulsating tension in his body increase. Getting inside Doyle was going to be a close-run thing; the intensity of his arousal was already nearly unbearable, and it was obvious Doyle was in a similar state.

He eased unsteadily up onto his knees and arched his back as Bodie smoothed the cool lubricant around and then inside the small entrance to his body, moaning with excitement and pushing back onto Bodie's impaling fingers.

"C'mon, lover, do it now... Put it in... Please... For both our sakes..."

Bodie knelt between Doyle's spread thighs, settling himself in position. He took a deep, calming breath, trying to catch hold of every ounce of self-control he could find, and then pressed slowly forward. The guardian muscle relaxed, letting him through, and he pushed in, still trying to keep it slow although the urge was to ram home and find his release. Abruptly, Doyle stiffened with a small gasp of pain, his body clenching in rejection around the invader. Bodie paused, forcing himself to wait for the other man to see it through. Slowly the clamping pressure around him eased and with a lush moan Doyle thrust back against him, drawing him deep inside until he was fully sheathed and could go no farther. He leaned over Doyle's back, sweat-slick skin sliding on sweat-slick skin, and nuzzled the damp, clinging curls on the back of Doyle's neck, seeking out the warm skin beneath them.

"You okay?"

Doyle groaned breathlessly. "You've gotta be joking" I'm fucking brilliant! Will you get on with it!"

Bodie got on with it.

He began to move, thrusting into the tight hot tunnel of Doyle's body. Soon Doyle found the rhythm too, pushing back and rotating his hips so that his anal muscles rippled around Bodie's cock, driving him wild. Bodie reached one hand around to grasp Doyle and milk him in time with his own escalating movements as the sweet sensations built in both of them.

Somewhere, above and beyond the sounds of their lovemaking, beyond his own ragged, gasping breathing and Doyle's harsh whimpers of pleasure, Bodie could have sworn he heard music soaring upwards with them as they climbed higher and ever higher towards the peak they were searching for so desperately. For a moment he thought his over-stimulated body was making him hallucinate, then he remembered they had left the TV on in the lounge, and instantly forgot about it again as they reached their summit and hung there for a few precious, timeless seconds before tumbling over it...

In the lounge beyond the bedroom door the film had long since ended, and the TV programme had changed to a more traditional one. The organ of King's College Chapel swelled in the old familiar music of a carol, and the high, clear voices of the choristers rose with it.

"Oh come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant..."

And they did.

-- THE END --