The Professionals Circuit Archive - Boyhole	    Boyhole

 

by Courtney Gray

  
 It was dark and quiet. They were lying on their sides, facing each other.
Bodie reached out and palmed his buttocks, rubbing in slow massaging
circles, his grip firm, possessive.

"Turn over, Ray."

Brushing a fingertip length of Bodie's erection, Doyle shifted to lie on
his back. "Not this time."

"Why not?" The dark head lowered as Bodie began to tongue Doyle's left
nipple, stiffening the nub immediately.

The knowing mouth sent a shiver through Doyle as it licked and nibbled
patterns across his chest.

"Because.. .mmm, because I want it... want it to be different."

"What're you talking about?" Bodie leaned back, head propped on an arm, a
trace of the caged tiger showing in his eyes.

Doyle pulled at Bodie's shoulders, urging him down into the pillows. His
hand slipped underneath the firm, round arse, fingers teasing the cleft,
pressing gently against the puckered opening. "Let me show you--" 

He was shoved away as Bodie sat up angrily. "I'm not some fucking little
boyhole."

Doyle was sprawled back on his hands where Bodie had pushed him. He
straightened slowly and looked Bodie in the eyes. "Meaning, *I* am?"

Bodie's jaw was set, lips drawn into an unyielding line. He glanced away
and didn't answer.

Doyle kicked the sheets aside and left the bed.

Several seconds too late, Bodie called out to him with a voice that
wavered slightly. "I didn't mean it like that!"

Doyle pulled on his clothes. "You meant it, all right." He gathered his
jacket and turned towards the bed. "Well, this little boyhole is leaving
and you can go to hell."

His eyes veiled by lowered lashes, Bodie settled himself against the
pillows, his hard-muscled arms crossed over his chest. "I'll wait until
you calm down."

Doyle walked out without looking back.

******

The cold wind was biting, the night starless in the overcast. Doyle zipped
up his leather jacket and stuck his fists into the fur-lined pockets. His
motor was parked around the corner in an alley, and he quickened his pace.

He was so angry, he could feel his eyes watering.

*Boyhole*.

Damn that bloody, arrogant bastard. Damn him. Sleeping with someone was
supposed to bring you closer, not farther apart. Wasn't it? Doyle knew he
should have expected Bodie's reaction. Maybe the real question was why,
after three months, was he still going to bed with the smug
son-of-a-bitch?

He fumbled for his keys as he approached the Escort, dropped them, cursed
as he stooped to pick them up.

"Don't bother, you won't need them."

Doyle glanced up at the sound of the woman's voice. His gaze stopped at
the gun in her left hand. The barrel of the Walther was pointed at his
head.

She was several feet away. It would be very risky. Even if he'd had his
Browning, he wouldn't have time to clear the holster.

"I wouldn't try it," she advised coolly, as though reading his mind. "I am
an excellent shot, but at this range, that hardly matters. Besides, I'm
not alone."

Like a cue, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Holding his hands
out at his sides, palms open, Doyle started to get up slowly.

"No. Stay down. On your knees. Do it. Now. That's better."

The woman was dark-haired, though it was too dim to be sure. Her features
seemed even, pretty perhaps, as far as he could tell. Small, gold loops
dangled from her earlobes. She was tall and wore a dark coat and boots.

He turned his attention to the automatic in her gloved hand as his arms
were pulled behind him and cuffs clicked shut around his wrists. He was
hauled up to a standing position and he chanced a look behind him.

The man was very big, 6'3" at least, with the weight to go with it. A
large hand jerked his head forward to face the woman.

She was smiling. He could see her white teeth.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked her. It was obviously too
complicated for a robbery.

"For a start, I would like to take you for a ride, Mr. Doyle."

He took a step, so he could see her better. He thought he detected a
slight accent, but couldn't place it. The big man clamped a hand on his
shoulder, making him wince.

"Oh, yes, of course I know who you are," she continued. Again, he saw her
gleaming white teeth.

She stepped to one side as Doyle was pushed forward roughly, towards a
late model saloon car. He was thrown head first into the back seat. His
ankles were grabbed in an iron grip as another pair of cuffs snapped
around them. Then he was tugged into a sitting position and the big man
sat down next to him.

The man took hold of his jacket collar and pushed him down to the floor of
the car, his face pressed into the rug. A heavy boot settled across his
back.

The woman came round to the driver s seat a few minutes later and seconds
after that, the car moved sedately out of the alleyway and blended with
the sparse flow of late night traffic in the area.

At first, Doyle tried to remember the number of turns, but soon gave up
the effort. It seemed as though the woman was deliberately driving in an
endless maze of circles and turns.

On top of everything else, he'd left his watch on Bodie's nighttable. As
much as he could tell, they drove for over an hour before the car finally
came to a halt. The woman left briefly, and Doyle heard the sound of a
door opening, a garage door he assumed. They drove inside and, once again,
he heard the door close behind them.

As he lay on the floor of the car, the big man reached down and drew a
black cloth hood over his head. He was dragged out of the car, hoisted
onto the man's shoulder like a sack and carried through several doors and
finally down a steep set of stairs.

He was dumped on some sort of padding on the floor. The man fiddled with
his restraints, removing the cuffs around his ankles. His wrists were
wrenched forwards, making him hiss against the pain. The sound of a chain
clanging against stone followed, then a sharp click on the short lead
between his handcuffs. His hood was removed as he struggled into a sitting
position, blinking against the sudden harsh light.

He was in a room with damp brick walls, no windows, one door. It was lit
by a bare bulb in the ceiling that swung from its electrical cord. A
corner of the room was blocked off by a dingy blue curtain.

He was sitting on a threadbare mattress, against the wall facing the door.

"I regret the spartan conditions, Mr. Doyle, but they are the most
practical for my purpose." The woman was standing by the door, gun
lowered.

"What is your purpose? Are you going to kill me? Torture me? What the hell
do you want?"

She leaned casually against the doorframe, measuring him with an amused
expression. "That chain will allow you to move ten feet in any direction.
There's a toilet and a small washbasin behind the curtain. You can reach
it with at least a foot to spare. However, you are four feet short of
reaching this door. Not that it would help you in any case. My colleague
will be right upstairs."

"What is this all about?" Doyle asked again. He was incensed enough at
being snatched like a rank amateur, his anger well ahead of any fear.

The woman shook her head with a chilly, little smile. "I would not waste
time torturing you. It may not even be necessary to kill you." She flipped
the safety on her gun. "About two months ago, your superior, George
Cowley, took possession of a certain manuscript. The late Thomas Darby's,
to be precise. I want it."

Doyle gaped at her as the seconds ticked by. He thought about the recent
op, the old, dusty agents and their hatred for the turncoat, Thomas Darby.
The memoirs and legacy of a dead traitor. Apparently, the ripples were
still spreading from that one.

He smiled back at the woman. "Am I being held for ransom? Is that how the
KGB acquires documents nowadays? You *are *KGB, aren't you?"

"You have a narrow world view, Mr. Doyle."

He considered her cryptic reply for a moment and decided to try another
avenue. "You think that Cowley will trade the manuscript for my life?"

The woman chuckled. "On the contrary, I'm sure George Cowley would let you
die. It is, after all, a very important document, and worth a great deal
to many different parties. Your Mr. Cowley knows its value by now. It is
certainly more valuable than your life. No, I would not be so foolish as
to pose the proposition directly to your chief. No. Your partner, William
Bodie, will get it for me."

"Bodie?"

The woman sneezed. "This place needs dusting." She turned around and left
the room, shutting the door behind her.

******

Doyle checked his restraints first. The cuffs on his wrists and ankles
were more than just standard police issue, specially designed with a
double locking system. The long chain attached to his handcuffs was high
gauge steel, and the concrete around the loop embedded in the wall was
freshly, and firmly, cemented. *Just for me*, he thought bitterly.

The toilet was old but functional. There was even a roll of paper
provided. The hand basin was tiny and there was no soap. No mirror.
Nothing to break and use as a weapon.

The chain did indeed stop four feet from the door.

It took him roughly half an hour to ascertain that he didn't have any
chance whatsoever of escaping on his own.

That left him nothing more to do but wait, and think.

*Bodie. *

The steel links of the chain clinked noisily together as he settled
himself on the worn mattress and leaned against the cold brick wall.

How much did they know?

He turned his wrists, eyeing the lock of the handcuffs one more time. He
didn't think he could pick it open even if he had the tools.

Did the woman know about their affair? *God. *

He twisted a length of the long chain between his fingers, pulling it taut
with a clank.

She couldn't know. No one could know. They were too careful. Bodie was
near paranoid about it.

The uneven brick surface dug into his back. He pushed himself away and
shifted to lie flat on the mattress. It smelled musty. The chains knocked
against his knees and he swore.

What was Bodie going to do?

He stared up at the dirt-mottled ceiling. As he lay there, his anger
drained away He didn't want to die in this dismal, little room because of
his own stupidity.

*Bodie. *

It was too late to regret the sex. He didn't anyway, but he knew the fact
of it

wouldn't help his present situation and only made the possible
consequences a good deal worse. A little knife twisted in his chest when
he thought about the way he'd walked out on Bodie. Those ugly, last words
between them.

He closed his tired eyes against the dirty yellow light. It was quiet in
the room except for the occasional sound of the chain links touching. He
could even hear himself breathe.

He remembered the first time... how could he have resisted it?

******

Going to bed with Bodie occurred to him as an abstract thought, triggered
by a few smart remarks from a couple of the solo lads. Restroom
suggestions on what the agent teams could do on a dull stakeout. Giving
your partner a hand. Putting in a few good licks. Same old stale jokes,
directed, for a change of pace, at him and Bodie, rather than Matheson and
King or Lucas and McCabe. Bodie had put an end to it with the casual
announcement that the lads should fuck themselves before they bored him to
death.

Doyle recalled staring at Bodie and suddenly realizing that, unlike the
other teammates, Bodie was attractive. Doyle had never really paid
attention. Never *really* noticed.

As the weeks passed, the notion became less abstract and more literal. He
began to eye Bodie speculatively and with a certain degree of bemusement.
Doyle enjoyed sex, enjoyed the artistry of it. He enjoyed *thinking* about
it. And Bodie suddenly provided him with titillating new possibilities, a
fresh canvas upon which to paint his fantasies. Sexual fantasies that
excited him in wholly new ways.

Of course, Doyle would never have done anything about it. First and
foremost, he didn't think Bodie was interested. So he confined his
pleasure to teasing Bodie a little, just a little. Not enough to be
obvious, not enough to make him angry, but just enough to maybe puzzle
him, to make him look twice. It was enjoyable, acting the subtle flirt
with his macho partner. It didn't hurt anyone, not at first. Until Doyle
found himself pretending with his girlfriends. Playing mind games when he
was in bed with them. Wanting to take them from behind or, more often,
having them on top.

It made him feel guilty, and he didn't like that. But it didn't stop the
fantasies.

The days passed until, one afternoon, after a particularly bad, unexpected
encounter with a couple of IRA bombers, Bodie told him to stop by his flat
for a drink before going out for a fancy dinner. "To celebrate the
survival of the fittest." The Glenfiddich and the four-star restaurant
would be on Bodie.

It was a change from Bodie's usual lay-a-bird habit after a risky op and
Doyle couldn't think of an excuse to turn him down. Too often recently,
he'd wormed himself out of their usual weekly after-work drink at the
local or the evening relaxing at his flat or Bodie's, watching the telly
with pizza and lager. On the job, it was easy, and necessary, to
concentrate on the op. On their own time, it was getting tougher to keep
the guilt at bay.

Ill at ease, his nerves still strung taut, he went back to his flat to
change. His clothes were caked with mud and grass and blood. His hair was
sticky and there were deep red smudges on his hands and face. If the
makeshift bomb had detonated on schedule, it would have been Bodie's blood
on him instead of the bombers'.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the thought and let the spray of hot
water wash him clean. He stood in the shower for a long time, until a
fragile layer of numbness settled inside him, the water turning cool on
his skin.

He picked a shirt from his wardrobe without really looking at it. It
smelled crisp and fresh. As he pulled on his new blue jeans, he considered
calling Bodie and begging off from the evening. He was hardly in the mood
for a posh restaurant. He got as far as picking up the phone. The phone
cord was moving and he suddenly realized his hand was trembling.

He wanted to see Bodie. Needed to see him alive and whole, to drink in the
sight until it dispelled the day's lurking spectres. The feeling drummed
inside him like a heartbeat as he rummaged absently in his closet for one
of the two ties he owned. He twisted it into a semblance of a knot, images
from the morning still flickering in gruesome splendour before his eyes.

Doyle didn't have a lot to lose, but what he had, he wanted to keep.

******

The sun was setting when he arrived at Bodie's flat. The windless day
combined with a layer of pollution to change the sun's last rays into
ribbons of gold and lavender. Doyle turned his face up to the rare
display, oddly captivated by the shifting colors. The sky seemed to be
bursting. For a moment, he couldn't tell if it was twilight or dawn. The
sun seemed poised for both beginning and end.

Bodie's voice through the intercom jolted him back. He opened the front
door and made his way up the flight of stairs to his partner's flat. The
door was slightly ajar and he let himself in.

"Pour yourself a drink if you want one, he heard Bodie call from the other
room.

"Yeh, okay," he answered. Glancing down at himself, he realized he was
wearing his green sports jacket and tie and his striped green shirt. He
grimaced, wishing he'd paid attention. He couldn't understand why he ever
bought the stupid things. Bodie always had something snide to say on the
few occasions he'd ever worn them.

He snaked a hand through his curls, rolling his head back as he worked a
knot of muscle in his neck. He started to walk towards the drinks cabinet,
but found himself drawn to the window instead.

The golden ribbons had disappeared, leaving the sky swathed in amethyst
and violet. A purple cloak was wrapping itself around the city. Everything
seemed bathed in strange, exotic light. The color of passion. He grinned
at his own musing.

It was warm in the room, and he loosened his tie and opened several
buttons on his shirt. As he turned, his thoughts drifted in a cocooning
lethargy

Bodie was standing naked in the bedroom doorway.

Doyle blinked to clear away the vision. His mouth dropped open.

Bodie's eyes were gleaming, his lips stretching in a feral smile. "Come
here," he said.

Violet light caressed the room, yet Bodie seemed untouched by it, his body
standing in stark, vibrant relief, flesh tones sharp and beautiful. His
cock hung long and thick between his balls, black pubic hair framing his
groin and contrasting against the fair skin and dusky pink genitals.

"Come here," Bodie told him again.

Doyle couldn't understand why the vision wouldn't go away. He felt
lightheaded. One foot stepped before the other until he found himself
standing before the naked man. Temptation gazed into his eyes and smiled
with arrogant confidence.

This is actually happening, his rational mind shouted. But the air seemed
to be lit by passion, as wild and enticing as a wet dream. He looked Bodie
up and down, trying to mesh his mind with his senses, wishing he didn't
feel so.. .displaced.

Bodie was alive and beautiful. That was right, comforting. But why was he
*like this? * What was he doing? The questions began to form, his mouth
working to make the sound.

Hypnotic, sapphire eyes met his gaze and held it. He could smell Bodie's
freshly soaped skin. He could feel the waves of heat from his body He
sensed Bodie's arm circling his waist and then the sudden tug as Bodie
grabbed his tie and brought him flat against naked skin.

His hand rose automatically, fingers feeling the warm, smooth flesh of a
muscular shoulder, anchoring around Bodie's neck. He couldn't stop
himself.

His throat was dry, his cock throbbing, blood racing through his veins.
"Wh-what are you doing?" he managed to whisper. Despite the fact that
Bodie was nude and he was fully clothed, *he* felt the vulnerable one, the
one exposed. He had to look away from the burning, blue stare.

"I'm giving you what you want, and taking what's mine.

The words were like a snap of fingers, a magician breaking his spell.
Doyle looked at Bodie and frowned. He started to pull away, the shock of
Bodie's appearance fully registering on him, but the strong arms held him
immobile. Bodie's lips curled into the same knowing, self-satisfied smile.

"No more teasing, Ray No more pretending." He leaned closer, the words
breathing into Doyle's mouth. "It's time for you to deliver."

His shirt was ripped open, buttons flying, his tie unknotted and thrown to
the floor. "You know I never liked this jacket," Bodie told him smoothly
as he tore it off his body, following it with the remains of the shirt.

Doyle was too shaken to react. A part of him frantically hoped that this
was all just some grand joke. *He's going to laugh now. He was going to
say 'I really had you going, Doyle. You really thought I was serious.'*
But Bodie only hooked a hand through his belt and pulled him like a rag
doll into the bedroom. He felt Bodie's knuckles against his navel, long
square fingers pressing against his belly as he was yanked and thrown onto
the bed.

Before he knew it, Bodie was tossing his boots and socks to the floor and
reaching for his belt again. Everything sharpened into focus, and he
clamped his hand over Bodie's fingers.

They were both stock still, only Doyle's eyes lowering to stare pointedly
at Bodie's fully erect penis. It was formidable and elegant, as perfect as
his fantasies had envisioned. He looked up quickly into his partner's blue
eyes. They gave nothing away, as cool as a seasoned gambler's.

Doyle's erection strained against his jeans. "All right, I-I'll do it," he
said softly He raised his hand for a moment and Bodie moved to stand
beside the bed.

Bodie's feral half-smile returned. "Slowly Do it slowly."

Nodding, Doyle unbuckled his belt and inched the zip down. He raised his
hips and slowly wriggled out of his jeans. His cock made an even more
prominent bulge against his skimpy underpants.

"I'm glad you wore white."

Momentarily puzzled, Doyle frowned at Bodie 's amused comment, until he
glanced down at his snowy, cotton y-fronts.

"Appropriate?" One scar-knitted eyebrow rose as Bodie made the word a
question.

He raked his lower lip with his teeth, heart thudding wildly in his chest.
"More or less," he answered tauntingly

Bodie's expression turned instantly cold. "Don't ever talk to me about any
other man. Not ever.

Doyle nodded once, quickly. The way Bodie looked, every word he spoke,
every move, was turning him on, arousal burning through his body Before he
could begin to remove his last scrap of clothing, Bodie reached down and
grabbed the waistband of his underpants and pulled them off. He held the
bit of material up to his face, sniffed it like a crushed flower,
leisurely rubbed it along his cheek, down over his nipples, to the base of
his cock. Then he grinned and tossed it to the floor. Doyle tried to sit
up. Bodie pushed him back into the pillows and climbed into the bed.

"You really mean to go through with this," murmured Doyle, even as he knew
he desperately did not want Bodie to stop.

Bodie's laughter was silky as he blanketed Doyle in hard muscle and heat.
"Stop pretending it's such a shock, Ray Less of the startled virgin and
more of the prick-teasing tramp, if you please."

"I--I didn't--" But he didn't bother to protest his innocence. It was too
obviously and undeniably a lie. Besides, his mind was rapidly surrendering
to his senses as Bodie licked a wet line from his collarbone to his ear.
Hands traced his ribs, his hipbones, burrowed under to grip his buttocks,
fingers delving into his cleft.

It was so very like his fantasies. Doyle strained upward, jostling the
heavy body that covered him.

The hands moved away and began to play over his chest and shoulders. Bodie
sucked his earlobe and tongued inside, warm breath tickling erotically.

"W-why--now?" Doyle managed through a gasp of delight.

"Because I feel like having you now.

"You're not queer," murmured Doyle.

There was a smile in the reply "Oh, well, of course not. No more than
you." Bodie shifted to straddle his hips, his fingers raking through
Doyle's pubic hair. "I'm fed up with acting dumb and crotchless while you
strut in front of me like a stripper down a runway" The fingers skimmed
lower to caress the soft skin of his inner thigh. "Too many close calls
lately" Doyle tried to listen but couldn't keep from squirming as his own
erection throbbed for attention. But Bodie kept talking. "I'd hate to miss
the chance of pushing my cock into that hot, little hole of yours because
of some well-aimed bullet or a bomb that went off properly"

It was at that moment that Bodie's eyes gave away a flash of emotion, a
feeling that was totally at odds with the glibness of his words. "Shut up
and kiss me." Doyle held out his arms. "Take me, fuck me, but kiss me
first."

For just an instant, Bodie looked surprised, his expression revealing
something akin to reluctance before it was immediately masked. Then he was
lowering himself into Doyle's open arms, their lips touching for the first
time, melting into each other.

When they broke apart for air, Doyle moved to taste the full lips again,
but Bodie rolled tight against him, head turned to suck a sensitive spot
between his neck and shoulder. Doyle moaned as a tingle spread through his
body, intensifying as Bodie's hands rubbed skillfully over his skin. He
returned the caresses with an almost frantic need as the breath caught in
his throat and his pulse raced with desire.

When Bodie took his cock into his mouth, Doyle thought he would explode,
the room turning into brilliant white light around him. But Bodie pulled
him back, squeezing his cock and balls, applying a steady pressure to hold
off his release.

Doyle groaned in frustration. "L-let me c-come, damn--"

"When I'm in you and not before." Bodie reached over to the bedside table,
flung open a drawer and drew out a tube of lubricant.

As Bodie moved away from him, Doyle took hold of his own erection. It felt
like his balls would burst.

A moment later, Bodie slapped his hands away and flipped him roughly onto
his stomach. A pillow was pushed under his hips.

A sliver of fear coiled through his need, jarring him. Here was his
fantasy come to life, but pain was something he never imagined. His
daydreams dwelt on Bodie's sexual power and on his own acquiescence, his
artful submission, all in a kind of hazy frenzy of pumping cocks and
monumental orgasms. He felt Bodie's palm flat against the base of his
spine.

"I-I never...Bodie, I've never-- "

"Had a prick shoved inside you?" finished Bodie.

Despite his apprehension, the words excited him, his penis throbbing at
the crudeness. It was just like he had imagined. He nodded his head, face
hidden in the white cotton sheets.

"That's good, that's very, very good. I like that."

He could hear the smile in Bodie's voice.

"I'm not going to let you tear me to shreds, Bodie. Understand that." Even
with the blood pounding through every vein like fire and his cock leaking
cum, he meant every word.

"That'd be stupid, wouldn't it? Nah, like I said, I'm going to give you
what you want." Bodie gripped his waist and pulled him up to his knees,
arse in the air.

The small part of his brain that could still think rationally marveled at
Bodie's control, at the steadiness of his voice.

"Have to make sure you're nice and wet for me. Can't damage this sweet
virgin hole. I'm planning on using it as often as I please from now on."
Bodie's voice sounded a little more breathless. "Pull your cheeks apart
for me, Ray"

Swallowing his nervousness, Doyle reached back and slowly parted his
buttocks, exposing his anus.

"Dark little rosebud, yeh. Hold yourself open for me, flower."

"Damn you, Bodie, just do it!"

He heard Bodie's breathy laughter and flinched as cold, slick cream
smeared his entrance. He tried to keep his hands from trembling and to
remain in position. It was what he wanted, just as he had dreamed it.

Bodie's fingers touched him, working carefully into his body. He felt a
hard cock nudge his thigh, its moist tip brushing against his skin.

He squirmed against the pressure and the strange discomfort as the fingers
burrowed deeper. Instinctively, he tried to pull away and sank into the
bed.

Bodie followed him down. "Too late, now, Ray No stopping now" The words
blew hot breath along his spine. "You'll love it. I know you will."

He tried to shake his head in negation, but Bodie's hand was slipping
under him to stroke his straining penis.

"Yeh, you'll love it, all right. It's what you've wanted all along, isn't
it Rayboy?"

Doyle turned his head to look at the other man. Bodie was...wild. Skin
glistening from sweat and arousal, dark hair tousled and eyes that seemed
to gleam in the new night. He looked beautiful.

As Bodie settled between his legs and pulled his buttocks apart, Doyle
gasped. He was appalled at himself for what he was allowing himself to
become, yet at the same time, he couldn't remember desiring anything quite
so much.

He cried out when Bodie's cock entered him, the sudden pain of the
invasion shocking him. The pain seemed to grow and grow and grow as the
hardness pushed deeper and deeper, until he had to scream for Bodie to
stop. And the movement stilled.

"You can take it. Always hurts... the... first... time." Bodie's voice was
ragged, unsteady

Doyle's vision was blurry with tears. Clawing and twisting at the sheets
with his fingers, he gulped in air until, finally, the agonizing fullness
seemed bearable. And the iron cock pushed deeper into him.

Bodie fucked him long and hard. He fucked him into a kind of exquisite
pleasure that had him begging with his arse for more. It was his fantasy
come true.

Doyle changed that night. He felt it the moment Bodie came inside him and
his own semen splashed across his belly He knew it as Bodie's limp cock
slipped from his body and he turned and looked into his partner's eyes.

"Are you happy now?" Bodie had whispered to him as they lay in each other
s arms.

Nodding silently, Doyle wondered why the question sounded so wrong. He
hooked his hand behind Bodie's neck to pull him close for a kiss, but
Bodie buried his face against his shoulder. As they fell into a doze,
Doyle realized why the question had bothered him; Bodie hadn't said 'too'.

******

The chain clinked against his handcuffs. He gathered a fistful of the
steel links and pressed them to his forehead. They were cold, like the
room, like the air.

Remembering the beginning of the sex with Bodie gave him no solace, only
another kind of cold that was very, very lonely.

There was so much unfinished, so much that was... wrong... about their new
relationship. How could so much passion and desire and utter satisfaction
have so much... wrong... with it?

*Boyhole*. Angry words and disillusionment. Was that to be the last memory
they had of each other? He gazed up at the dusty ceiling and wondered what
Bodie would do about the kidnappers' demand. Immediately, he knew, with
complete conviction, that Bodie would do *whatever* he could to try and
rescue him. He was sure of that. Bodie would do it for their friendship,
for all they were to each other *before* the sex. The sex was a thing
apart, a secret playing-out of fantasies. *His* fantasies, not Bodie's. He
didn't know if Bodie bothered with such things. He had never asked.

The thought striking him like a physical blow, Doyle sat up on the old,
faded mattress, the chain slipping through his fingers. He covered his
face with his hands

*'Are you happy now?*' The question floated back from his memory
accusingly.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He'd have to fix it up
with Bodie. *Somehow*. Which meant he couldn't afford to die beforehand.
He yanked impotently at the chain, his teeth gritting in frustration.

The hours passed as he thought and thought of what could be happening with
Bodie, the nameless, smiling woman and her hulking colleague. And George
Cowley. None of the possibilities reassured him. He had no idea how much
time was passing. The windowless room gave him no clue. Despite the worry,
he felt very tired and sleepy. He hadn't slept at Bodie's; they never
slept together. It was another thing he wanted to change.

He dozed off and woke to the smell of dust and cobwebs. He shook his head
and staggered to his feet, chain rattling between his wrists. The grimy
yellow lightbulb glared down from its dirty black cord. He gazed at the
door and wondered if there was really anyone 'upstairs.

He screamed for help at the top of his lungs. Then he yelled 'fire' until
his voice was hoarse.

Nothing happened. No one came.

He shuffled over to the toilet and relieved himself. He drank some water
from the tap in the washbasin. It was very cold and he splashed some on
his face. His stomach rumbled and he realized he was hungry.

How long had it been? Ten hours? Twenty? He stared hard at the door. Was
Bodie all right? What if everything went wrong? If the woman never came
back, not even to kill him? If no one came?

He took several deep breaths to calm himself. It wouldn't be over until he
was dead. Carefully, he again surveyed every inch of the room that he
could reach. There had to be a way to break the chain. The pipe that
curved beneath the washbasin into the wall was a possibility, if he could
loosen the nuts without benefit of a wrench. He could use the pipe to try
and chip away at the cement that fixed the chain to the wall.

At least it gave him something to do.

******

He was very hungry. He smelled of sweat and rust. His hands were raw,
scraped and blistered from trying to release the pipe. One of the metal
nuts was loose, but the other wouldn't budge. His head ached. He rubbed
the back of his hand against the stubble along his jaw and sank down onto
the mattress, eyes closing wearily He'd try again in a little while.

When he opened his eyes, the room was pitch black. Panic seized him, steel
jangling in the darkness as he twisted to sit up. For a split second, he
thought he was blind. "Oh, god!" he cried out. He turned from side to
side, hands reaching out wildly. His throat made a choking sound, his
heart pounding in his ears. Then his eyes found the faint lines of light
beneath and along one side of the door. He scanned the darkness above his
head, realizing that the bulb had burned out.

He crawled towards the door, as far as the chain would allow Sagging back
on his heels, he held out his hands. Vision adjusting, he could just make
out the darker shadow of his body against the floor and the shape of the
chain, like a black snake between his wrists. He looked towards the blue
curtain but couldn't distinguish it from the room's darkness. The dark
closed in on him from all sides leaving only the slender threads of light
around the door, beyond his reach.

"Don't let me die here. Bodie, Bodie, don't let me die here!" He pressed
his knuckles against his mouth, struggling to push back his fear. "Have to
hold myself together," he whispered. "Can't fall apart. Damn it, it's my
own damn fault. All of it." He rocked back and forth on his knees. "My
fault.. .my fault..."

When he finally staggered to his feet, his eyes were gritty and hot, his
face wet, his muscles knotted with cramp. He stared for a long time at the
thin lines of light around the door, and wiped away the moisture from his
eyes with unsteady fingers. Then he turned towards the darkness and made
his way towards the curtained alcove. He drank some water from the basin,
hearing the dripping sound from the loosened pipe underneath. The cold
water stung his scraped hands. With measured care, he settled himself on
the floor and began working on the pipe again.

He slept on and off, he wasn't sure of how long each time. He never felt
rested. The feeling of hunger became a permanent, blunt ache in his
stomach. The pipe was almost free but his hands were painfully swollen and
cut from the effort. Water pooled around the floor of the basin where it
poured down from the open drain whenever he used the taps. It added a
damp, moldy smell to the cold room.

He deliberately tried to focus on the physical details of the room. He
didn't want to think about why no one had come for him. When he started to
think about that, he'd crawl to the pipe, his legs wet from the pooling
water, and he would clutch and pull at the metal, his chain rattling in
the darkness, until the pain in his hands blotted out everything else in
his mind.

When the curved pipe finally came loose, he almost didn't believe it. He
hugged it to his chest as if it would vanish in the next instant. Fatigue
seemed to overwhelm him then and he made his way back to the flimsy
mattress and curled into a ball, the pipe held tight against him, the
chain weaving around his legs.

Sleep pulled him down. When he woke, he didn't feel like moving. His eyes
searched anxiously for the lines of light around the door, finding them
with a wave of relief. His hands burned with pain and they felt sticky,
his fingers stiff and cramped. He knew he had to start working on breaking
the chainloop from the wall, but it seemed so much easier to lie there, to
close his eyes and sleep. He would rest, for just a little while longer...

He thought he was dreaming when he heard the voice. *Bodie's voice. * It
was mixed up with other sounds, a hammer beating, another voice. They were
indistinct, muffled. He didn't want to open his eyes to the darkness. He
wanted to hear Bodie's voice. He strained to bring it closer, hold on to
it, wrap himself in it. Incoherent murmurs became clear as the voices rose
to shouts.

"Move it, c'mon! Damn it, break it down, or fuckin' let me do it!"

"Okay, okay. Take it easy, Bodie!"

Doyle squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Murphy The other voice sounded like
Murphy.

Heavy thudding sounds, wood cracking. And then a crash like thunder.

His eyes popped open and closed tight again as blinding light poured in
through the doorway.

"Ray! Ray! Where are you!?" Footsteps rushed into the room.

"Strewth, it's like pitch in here. Damn light switch doesn't work."

"Ray? There he is! Over there."

Footsteps raced to where he lay. He felt hands on his shoulders, his face.
He started to shake. The hands felt like Bodie.

"Ray? Ray? It's me, mate. How bad are you hurt? Ray?" Fingers stroked his
hair. "Murph, call in for an ambulance. And get a torch from the car. Go
on!"

He heard someone rushing away and dared to open his eyes again. He had to
squint. The light from the door seemed too bright. Bodie's face looked a
pale blur above him.

*Bodie? *

"It's okay, Ray. You'll be fine. It's all over now."

All over? *All? *

The words tumbled from him, welling up from fear, deprivation, and
exhaustion, his voice a hoarse whisper. "My fault, Bodie. My fault. I'll
be your boyhole if that's what you want. Wouldn't mind. I'll try and
understand, okay? Okay, Bodie? Don't leave me. I won't ask you for...
for... anything. I promise. Please believe me, Bodie?"

Bodie seemed frozen for a moment and then he drew Doyle up in a desperate
hug. "Dear god, Ray, don't talk like that. Don't." The arms were warm and
familiar, telling him he was safe.

He shuddered, suddenly aware of how icy cold he was, and angled his head
to look into the dark, gleaming eyes. "You-you're really here."

"We'll get you to hospital. Can you move? What's that you're holding?"

Doyle pressed the pipe tighter against his chest, the chain jangling.

"What in hell--" Bodie felt along his arms, to the handcuffs around his
wrists, following the chain to the bolt in the wall. "Fucking bastards."
The words were low and full of rage. Bodie moved to take the pipe.

"No!" he croaked. "Need it to break-- to break the chain away."

"Ray--" Bodie's voice faltered. Doyle felt the other man's hand pat his
shoulder awkwardly before it moved to gently brush the heavy curls back
from his eyes. "Won't need the pipe, Ray. You're not trapped anymore.
We'll get you out of this in a few minutes."

Murphy was back with the torch and he heard him gasp as the light shone on
his hands. Bodie swore under his breath and told Murphy to bring the tools
for the cuffs and chain.

Doyle felt so dizzy. The lights hurt his eyes. He was so very, very tired.
Everything in him ached. But Bodie was with him. Bodie had come for him.
He tried to pull his thoughts together, hold *himself* together. "The
woman, Darby's manuscript?" he whispered, not realizing he was still
clutching the pipe, refusing to let go, his hands dripping red with blood.
Suddenly there were so many questions. And so much he had to tell Bodie,
to try and explain. "Bodie, you didn't--you didn't--"

"Shh, shh, it's all right, don't worry. We're getting you the hell out of
this stinking place. Oh god, Ray I thought I'd be too late. I would
have--"

Doyle tried desperately to listen, but he felt like everything was
draining out of him, as though he was a sieve, all his energy flowing out
of him. The light faded as he struggled to listen...

******

The air was violet, shimmering with anticipation and promise. Doyle gazed
down at himself, his body nude, his cock erect. With a smile, he felt eyes
watching him and looked up at the black-clad figure standing a few feet
away. Black leather boots, black trousers, thick black polo. Bodie stared
at him through lowered lashes, enticing and dangerous.

Doyle moved towards him, reaching out to grip the hard biceps. He pulled
Bodie down into the violet air, the black clothing shredding in his
fingers like tissue, fading, melting into the purple glow that surrounded
them. He ran his hands along the smooth, fair skin, playing with the
aureole of a nipple, tracing the curve of a rib, feeling the warmth of
flesh all the way down to even warmer genitals. His mouth and tongue
followed the trail of his hands until he was rewarded with a lush moan
that seemed to linger in the shimmery air.

He raised his head to meet Bodie's deep blue eyes. Pleased with the desire
he saw there, Doyle stretched out on top of him, their erections pressing
against each other, fitting his body to the other's angles and planes,
sealing them together. Only then did he move to touch his mouth to
Bodie's, stealing a kiss. And Bodie let him. When he finally drew back,
Bodie's lips were wet and passion-bruised.

Doyle stroked the dark, shiny hair, the porcelain clear skin of forehead
and cheek. Bodie's expression was soft and agreeable, his moist mouth
forming a shy, young smile. Unable to resist, Doyle kissed him, again and
again. A newborn feeling rose in Doyle that seemed even stronger than his
physical need. As much as he *wanted* Bodie, he also wanted to make him
happy.

With a gentle shove, he turned Bodie over, exhilarated at the other man's
relaxed acceptance. Pushing the strong thighs apart with his knees, he
cupped the pale, round buttocks. He parted them to see the tight bud of
muscle, grazing the small opening with the edge of his thumb. "I want to
know you, Bodie," he murmured, emotion thickening his voice. "I want to be
your lover."

He pressed himself against the smooth, strong body, his cock sliding hot
between Bodie's firm mounds.

And the air exploded. Incandescent bolts sliced through the violet air,
purple light crackling and breaking with electric sparks.

He was flung away by a force he couldn't see. They were standing, facing
each other, still naked, still hard. Bodie raised his hand, a finger
pointing at him in judgment. "You're the boyhole, Ray. *You*, not me.

Doyle looked down and saw cuffs around his wrists, attached to a long,
steel chain that glimmered like silver ice. He followed it with his eyes.
To cuffs that bound Bodie's wrists, locking them together.

Bodie stared down at his hands with an expression of shock and disgust. He
stumbled back, yanking helplessly at the chain. With each backward step,
the chain lengthened and the air around them darkened, changing from
lavender to a murky, deepening grey.

"No!" Doyle cried as Bodie was swallowed by the growing dark, leaving only
the heavy silvery chain snaking into the black emptiness...

"No!" Doyle sat up in the bed, sweat beading his forehead. He blinked as
his mind registered the reality of his hospital room, the dim light above
his bed, the faint sounds of staff talking through the half-open door. The
blinds on the window were slitted open. It was night outside.

He threw off the sheets and stood unsteadily as a wave of dizziness
passed. Carefully, he walked over to the mirror in the small bathroom and
looked down at his hands. Bandages swathed them from wrists to fingertips.
The stabbing pain was fading to a low, fiery throb across his upper palms.
He gazed into the mirror and frowned at the gauntness of his face. His
eyes, large and bleak, looked like they belonged to someone he didn't
know.

He moved away and slowly returned to the bed, easing himself down into the
clean-smelling, cotton sheets. Almost three days in hospital and he had
yet to see Bodie.

He slept for a little while, thankfully without dreams. When he woke, he
knew he had to leave. He still felt weak and the bandages on his hands
would be a bother, but he had to get out. A change of clothes lay on a
chair, waiting for him. Murphy had brought them earlier that day Since he
was admitted, Jax had been by to see him, Susan Fischer, Anson, even the
redoubtable Betty. All bringing a good word from the rest of the squad.
And Cowley. Cowley had come to see him, too, even before the others.

It took him a frustratingly long time to pull on his trousers, and he was
grateful to Murphy for bringing a sweatshirt and boots that freed him from
dealing with buttons and laces.

"Mr. Doyle, what do you think you're doing?!" A middle-aged nurse in a
starched white uniform was glaring at him from the doorway.

"I'm going home," he replied calmly

"You're not to be discharged until tomorrow morning."

"I'm leaving *now. *"

"Why don't you just get back into bed and I'll help you off with your
clothes. You need your rest."

"I'll get plenty of rest in my own flat." He fumbled with his jacket,
deciding to carry it instead.

"You're being very unreasonable, Mr. Doyle. Must I call the doctor?"

"You just do that, Sister." He started for the door and froze, oblivious
to the nurse's stern expression.

Bodie was standing behind her.

The jacket dropped out of Doyle's hands, bunching at his feet.

Seeing the direction of his stare, the nurse whirled around. "What--sir,
visiting hours are over."

Bodie drew out his I.D., his eyes never leaving Doyle's. "If I could have
a few minutes with Mr. Doyle, Sister."

The nurse frowned at his identification, then gave each man a sharp look.
"This is highly irregular. I shall call Dr. Stansfield at once." She
shouldered passed Bodie and headed down the corridor.

"You'd do better to stay here tonight. I thought I'd find you fast asleep
as it is." Bodie put his I.D. back in his pocket and leaned casually
against a wall.

Blinking away a surge of emotion, Doyle stooped to gather up his jacket.
"I want to leave *now*," he insisted, hearing the frantic edge in his own
voice with some surprise. "They can't make me stay here!"

"Okay, take it easy I'll talk with the doctor and explain. I'll be right
back and then I'll drive you home."

Doyle answered him through gritted teeth, his head down. "Hurry up. I want
to

He had to sign a small stack of papers, in triplicate, endure a lecture
and warning from the doctor, as well as the obligatory ride in a
wheelchair to the exit, but he was out of the hospital within a half hour.

Only when he was sitting in the passenger seat of the silver Capri,
watching the streetlights flickering by, did he speak to Bodie again,
asking the question that gnawed at him since he woke in hospital. "Where
were you?"

"Didn't Cowley tell you?" Bodie's voice was tired. He kept his eyes on the
road.

"He told me a little when I woke up in hospital." *And asked for you*. But
he didn't say it.

"What did he tell you?"

"He said you were cleaning up a botched job."

"That all?"

"He said I should have been alert and then I wouldn't have been snatched.
He's scheduling me for a refresher course."

Bodie snorted derisively

"Where the hell have you been?" Doyle asked again, his voice strained.

"Had to get the manuscript back."

Doyle felt a chill run through him. "You *gave* them Darby's manuscript?"

"Only the part they wanted. Ever so carefully altered, of course."

"A fake?"

"Cowley had several at hand."

"Then why try and get it back?"

Bodie only sighed.

Doyle didn't have to read Bodie's expression to understand. He answered
his own question. "So they'll be more inclined to believe it's genuine."
He gazed out at the traffic, at the lights in the streets. "How far did
you have to go?"

"Berlin."

Doyle rolled his head back and then turned to stare at Bodie. "How far did
you have to go?"

Changing lanes, Bodie kept his eyes on the road. "The woman managed to
pass the manuscript to her contact before she died."

"You killed her."

"She was very good. I think she knew it was a fake all along. Probably
didn't care as long as she was paid. It was her or me."

"And the goon with her?"

"No longer a problem."

Doyle shook his head. "Damn Cowley and his fucking games."

Their conversation faded into silence until the Capri finally pulled up in
front of his block of flats. The two men looked at each other. "Cowley
said I was in that room for eight days. Seemed longer." Doyle saw Bodie's
jaw clench.

Bodie reached for the door handle. "I don't think you should stay by
yourself tonight. I can call Murph or Jax."

As Bodie left the car and came round to open his door, he felt an
incredible surge of loneliness. And fear. What was happening to them? On
the surface, the conversation seemed ordinary. That was the wrongness of
it.

Bodie opened the car door and walked away from him to stand by the steps,
staring down into the street.

Something important was slipping away from him. Doyle suddenly felt like
he was chained and in the dark again. *This isn't the way I thought it
would be*. He took a deep breath and got out of the car, walking up to
Bodie. "I don't want you to go.

A moment passed before Bodie nodded slowly, the night shadows obscuring
his expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Doyle's ring of
keys. "How were you going to get in, eh?" he asked mildly, with a ghost of
a grin. Doyle had forgotten that the woman had taken them. Opening the
door, Bodie gestured for him to go ahead. He felt the somber blue eyes on
his back as he dragged himself into his flat, quickly snapping on the
lights as he entered.

He reached the sofa and sank down into it with a sigh. "Open the curtains.

There was a brief rustle of material as Bodie slid the curtains back,
revealing the glow of streetlamps and lighted windows.

Doyle looked up into Bodie's face and saw what he'd missed before. Bodie
looked worn out, haggard, his clothes rumpled. There were dark circles
under his eyes. He seemed thinner, too. "You look awful."

The other man shrugged. "Makes two of us." He turned towards the kitchen.
"I'll put a kettle on. I'll leave the tablets the doctor gave you on the
table." He fished two plastic prescription bottles out of his jacket and
read the labels. "You should take two of these tonight." He started
walking away. "Murph has a spare key from Cowley. He and Susan stocked up
your kitchen for you. They were going to bring you home tomorrow. I should
call him and let them know--"

"Fuck the bloody tea, fuck the call!" Doyle sat up, ignoring a jolt of
pain through his hand as he propped himself up. *Why won't you touch me? *
They were both too tired for sex. There was no reason to touch. It would
mean something else. Was that what Bodie was thinking? "How did you know
where to find me?" he asked instead.

"They left a few clues scattered around the city, enough to make it look
like they were keeping their end of the bargain and give them plenty of
time to get away We found you faster then they expected. Cowley wanted me
to tail them right away"

"Instead of looking for me? Is that how you botched it?"

Bodie turned around slowly "I had to leave as soon as we found you."

"Let's go to bed," Doyle said it, even though he didn't have the strength
or the interest. He just wanted Bodie to hold him.

When Bodie made no move except to glance away, Doyle couldn't stand it. He
looked down at his bandaged hands, knowing he couldn't keep his voice
steady anymore. "I'm a m-mess, Bodie, a fucking mess. I don't want it to
be the way it was before but I-I don't know what to say to you."

Bodie crossed the room and crouched down in front of him. "I would've
given them the real manuscript if I had to. I would've given them
anything."

Haltingly, Doyle reached forward to touch the leather-clad shoulders,
slowly raising one bandaged hand to brush the side of Bodie's face,
wishing he could feel the warmth of his skin. "Because we re partners?"

Agonizing seconds ticked by until Bodie shook his head and answered him.
"No, not only for that." The dark head lowered. "You may not want it to
be... different between us, Ray. You're tired, you've been through a
lot--"

"And *you* haven't?" Doyle pulled Bodie against him and wrapped his arms
around him. For the first time in weeks, he thought he could actually
smile. "Had a lot of time to think lately. There's nothing like a little
solitary confinement for sorting out your priorities. I just wish I didn't
have to keep learning the hard way." He moved back just far enough to look
into Bodie's eyes, searching the face he had thought he knew so well.
"Every time we went to bed together, you never wanted to kiss me. Why?"

After a moment's surprise, Bodie glanced away guiltily.

"Lovers kiss and that's not what we are," Doyle said into the silence. "I
set it up that way from the beginning, didn't I?" He looked at Bodie's
profile and recognized the truth. He drew a deep breath. "You were right,
you know. I did like acting the boyhole."

Blue eyes flashed up at him. "I never meant--"

"But you were right, just the same. Maybe that's why it made me so angry
when you said it. I never put a name to it." Doyle smiled and locked his
wrists around Bodie's neck. "I enjoyed a lot of fantasies about you and
you lived them out for me. You were what *I* wanted you to be. But that's
*all* I wanted. If you had let me take you, you would've been my boyhole
and nothing more. You knew that."

"Don't make me out the martyr, Ray It was hardly a burden taking you to
bed."

Doyle lifted his head defiantly "Does that mean you'll be my boyhole now?"
He watched as Bodie hid his eyes behind lowered lids. He felt warm hands
grip his waist as if he might fade away

"You don't want it to be different then."

He shook Bodie until the blue eyes looked up again. "Damn you, you'd let
me get away with anything, wouldn't you?"

"I don't believe in fantasies, Ray. We can't trade yours for mine. I just
don't have any. I take you on your terms and gladly." Bodie paused as if
he hesitated to go on, his expression uncommonly defenseless. "I don't
want to lose you," he said.

Doyle gazed back with a tenderness that came from something new inside
him. "No more fantasies, Bodie. Just you, just me. Real life, not dreams."
He paused. "Partners, in everything. Okay?"

******

He was afraid to wake up to the dark. As his mind climbed from sleep to
consciousness, he began to toss and turn, fighting it. He reached out to
pull at the chain, his eyelids squeezed tight, but then he felt a warm
touch brush over his arms and shoulders, hands cupping his face, pushing
the darkness away Doyle opened his eyes to see Bodie leaning over him.
"You're here with me, Ray Everything's all right."

The nightmare fear dwindled away and he managed to grin weakly into the
worried blue eyes. "Remind me never to stay in small dark rooms again,
will you?"

"I'll make a point of it."

He touched his hands to Bodie's t-shirt, one bandaged finger pressing
against the bump of a nipple, and shook his head wistfully "We finally
spend a whole night together and all we did was sleep.

"I couldn't have raised an eyebrow last night, let alone anything else.
And you're more exhausted than I am."

Doyle curved his arms around Bodie's neck. "I plan to get my strength back
in a hurry." He turned his head towards the windows. The light was growing
brighter, filling the room and tinting it a warm golden hue.

"It's going to be a clear day, lots of sunshine from the look of it."
Bodie's voice was close by his ear as he settled against the pillows
beside him.

"I like this, Bodie. Just being together like this. It's damn good." He
turned back and met Bodie's steady gaze. "We've got a lot to talk about."
He chewed his lip, a small frown growing over his face. "My luck's been
pretty lousy when it comes to the real thing, you know."

Bodie's mouth twitched into a grin. "Your luck's been lousy, period."

Doyle rolled his eyes, but wound up smiling anyway "I want this to work, I
really mean it and I'll try my best. I promise you that. We've both had
one hell of a long night."

Bodie glanced towards the windows. "Night's over, Ray. Day's just
beginning." He shifted up on an elbow and faced Doyle with an expression
of longing and hope. "Can I kiss you, Ray?"

As Doyle slowly pulled his lover down into his arms, his smile was as
brilliant as the morning sun that spilled in through the wide windows.

-- THE END --

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