The Professionals Circuit Archive - Fluff	  Fluff

 

by Courtney Gray

  
 *"sweet spring is your
 time is my time is our
 time for springtime is lovetime
 and viva sweet love"*
 -e.e. cummings

The doorbell played out an insistent, unintelligible melody that finally
drove him out of bed. Only one person he knew would have the nerve.

He stalked down the narrow stairs and threw open the door. "Bodie, you
idiot, get your bloody thumb off the bloody bell."

There on the front step, framed by dawn's very early light, stood his
partner, wearing a royal blue cotton shirt, cream jacket and pants, and a
ridiculously wide grin. He brought his left hand out from behind his back
and thrust a bright yellow daffodil into Doyle's face. "It's springtime,
Raymond," he beamed.

Doyle looked at the flower he was suddenly holding. "Do you know what time
it is?"

If possible, Bodie's grin broadened and he glanced down at his watch.
"6.23. Exactly." Then he brushed passed, shutting the door, and walked
through to the kitchen.

"What do you think you're doing?!" yelled Doyle indignantly. He marched
after the retreating figure, catching sight of himself in the hall mirror.
Clad only in berry-red underpants, hair tousled and shaggy, eyes puffy
with sleep, he was clutching the daffodil to his chest and looked, he
realized, even sillier than Bodie.

"I'll make coffee," his partner answered serenely. "Why don't you have a
shower. We've got a long ride this morning."

"Has someone dropped you on your head recently?"

Bodie chuckled as he scrounged through the cupboards. "It's going to be a
beautiful day. I've planned it to the last detail."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You're the guest of honor, my son."

Doyle leaned against the sink and tapped Bodie's shoulder with the flower.
"Go honor somebody else. I'm goin' back to bed." He stuffed the stem into
Bodie's jacket pocket. "Don't slam the door on your way out."

Several determined fingers slipped inside the waistband of his pants,
yanking him back. "Now, now, Raymond, don't be a spoilsport. You're
usually up jogging your little legs off by this hour anyway."

"*I* was chasin' Atkins up sheer rock cliffs for the passed three days
while you were havin' it easy, playing footsies with his girlfriend. I
reckon I've had enough exercise," he snarled. Granted, Atkins' bird
handled a flickknife like a holy terror, but Bodie'd come out of it with
only a flesh-wound.

Bodie removed the daffodil with exaggerated care and smiled at it.
"Besides, you made me promise, remember?"

"What are you jabbering about?"

Startlingly blue eyes gazed into his. "Our last night off. After the
party. You said you wanted us to spend our next free day together, just
you and me, in the country. You wouldn't shut up about it until I
promised. Well, today's our first day off in four weeks, and I'm keeping
my promise."

Apprehension crept up his bones as he forced himself to remember the night
of Murphy's party. Spirits had been soaring... and flowing, with abandon.
Unfortunately, the memory wasn't hazy enough. He remembered Bodie driving
them back to his apartment. Being too drunk and too affectionate. Somehow
winding up in bed together at 3 a.m., aware that they had to report to
Cowley at seven. He also remembered, too well, a lot of appallingly
saccharine declarations, all on his part. And more sloppy affection.

The recollection made Doyle cringe. He'd said a good deal to Bodie that
night. Neither of them had referred to that evening since. Until now.
"Oh." It wasn't exactly the most profound comment he'd ever made, but it
summed up his general state of mind. He found it very difficult to look
Bodie in the eye.

"Go on, then. Shower and get dressed."

Doyle turned without a word and headed for the refuge of his bathroom.

Fully awake, clean, shaved and dressed in new jeans and white wool
sweater, he still wasn't sure what to make of it. What was Bodie up to?

"Coffee's hot and I even managed to locate a crust of bread and a dollop
of jam amongst your godforsaken shelves." Bodie pulled out a chair for him
with a flourish.

Doyle sat down at the kitchen table, feeling a bit like a condemned man,
and stared at his steaming cup and toast.

"It won't improve with prolonged viewing," quipped his partner. "Never
mind, sunshine, I've got a picnic basket in the car that will inspire
paeans."

Doyle sipped his coffee mechanically. Maybe Bodie was playing an elaborate
joke. The possibility, suprisingly, made him a little sad. Still, if it
wasn't a joke...

"Deep and meaningful thoughts, Ray?"

Doyle glanced up, vainly hoping to read some clue in the pale handsome
face. "Bodie, I--"

"Can't wait to get started," Bodie cut in, rubbing his hands together with
boyish enthusiasm. He walked to the backdoor and turned, his expression
abruptly serious. "We've wasted enough time." He smiled enigmatically.
"I'll wait in the car."

The door closed before Doyle could utter a word. He ran a hand through his
damp hair and grimaced at the spot where his partner had just been
standing.

******

"Have we reached Scotland yet?"

"Bit o' the ol' Doyle sarcasm, eh?"

"Where the hell is this place? We've been driving for years and my foot's
starting to get cramp."

"That's what I admire about you, Ray: your pleasant disposition and
easygoing manner."

"Bugger off." Doyle stretched his leg as best he could and slumped deeper
into his seat. He wasn't really irritated. He was nervous. And Bodie's
seemingly permanent grin wasn't helping any.

His partner gestured towards the pastoral landscape. "Do you realize this
is the first spring in years that hasn't sogged us up to the eyeballs?
Hardly rained in weeks. Flowers bloomin' early--"

"Taking up horticulture, have you? Gardening with Mister Bodie. Gonna give
us the latest scoop on fertilizers?" Doyle giggled at his questionable
pun, gratified to hear a groan rising from the driver's seat. It relaxed
him somewhat and he eyed the passing scenery. In truth, the countryside
was lovely. There wasn't a cloud in the gentle blue sky. The air smelled
crisp and mossy. He had to admit, at least to himself, it was good to be
out of the noise and grime of the city for a while.

They left the main road and ambled through several narrow, unpaved lanes
before Bodie finally eased the car to a halt. "We have arrived."

"High time."

Bodie slid out of his seat and went round to the boot of the car. "How
about helping me with the hamper?"

"No, thanks, don't feel like it." Doyle got out and stretched, his eyes
widening as he watched Bodie struggle with a basket the size of a small
steamer trunk.

His partner blinked at him balefully. "It's alright, then, a hernia will
be a new experience."

"Oh, for godsakes, how many third world countries are you plannin' on
feeding with that lot?" But he strolled over and took hold of one of the
handles, grunting for effect.

"Cooler. Wanted to keep the wine properly chilled, didn't I?" Bodie led
them through a gap in the hedge and down a winding path to a small glade,
whistling as he went.

"S'nice," conceded Doyle as they deposited the hamper by an old, leafy
tree. He spotted a stream on the opposite side of the glade and pointed.
"Even has running water. How'd you find this place? You're not exactly the
original nature boy."

Bodie hemmed a little. "Bird I used to date."

"Which one?"

"Jane. Jane Atherton. Think you met her."

Doyle tried to fit a face to the name. Bodie's black book had more entries
than the London directory. He snapped his fingers. "Strawberries and
cream."

Bodie nodded smugly. "We drove up here a couple of times. Picnic. I got
called in to HQ each time before we even got the tablecloth out. She
wasn't too keen on seeing me after that. Think she's engaged to a tennis
instructor now." Bodie gave him a heavy, long-lashed stare. "I liked this
place, though. Promised myself I'd come back, have a proper picnic.
Peaceful here. Thought you'd enjoy it, too. You know, bring out the wood
sprite in your soul."

Doyle huffed and looked away. "Let's get on with it then. 'M hungry."

"Right."

With remarkable speed, Bodie set out a very traditional red and white
checked tablecloth and a quantity and array of foodstuffs that had Doyle
shaking his head in wonder. "You *did* bring the kitchen sink now, didn't
you?"

Bodie glanced up from where he sat, propped comfortably against the tree
trunk, and patted the spot of tablecloth beside him. "You did say you were
hungry." As soon as Doyle had settled himself, a good meter from his
partner, Bodie picked up a fat purple grape and held it out towards him.
"Shall I peel it for you?""Mate, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you
were on something."

Bodie just smiled brilliantly and sucked the grape into his mouth. "Don't
need drugs when I have you," he said a moment later, spitting a seed into
his palm. He edged closer to Doyle and whispered. "Spring is in the air.
Spring is a time for love." Doyle drew back warily and Bodie chuckled.
"And all sorts of other lewd, lusty, and lascivious pursuits."

"Crazy loon. Cut out the jokin'."

Bodie reached into the cooler, fished out a plastic container and opened
it carefully. "Oyster?"

Before he could protest, Doyle felt a cool, slippery blob shoved neatly
onto his tongue. "Ooof." He swallowed noisily in his attempt to get out a
suitable curse. "Maniac!" he managed finally, working up a growl. "You
been standin' under a full moon or what? And," he added pointedly, "I
don't like oysters!"

"I should've realized that, I suppose. You don't need them."

"Damn you, stop being so... peculiar. What's this all about?"

Bodie relaxed against the tree, arms folding casually behind his head.
"You remember what you said to me that night, after Murph's bash?"

Nerves prickling, Doyle shook his head firmly in denial.

A slow, hunter's grin spread over Bodie's face and he dropped his arms,
scooting over to lean against Doyle's shoulder. "Allow me to refresh you
memory. First off, you said I was gorgeous. Nice start, that. Called me a
walking wet dream, you did. Then you started in cataloguing my
considerable attributes, point by point while you pawed, kissed and
cuddled various parts of my anatomy. Let's see now, you said my eyes were,
and I quote, breathtaking indigo jewels, and my lashes were, uh, long,
lush ebony veils." He paused, obviously trying not to laugh. "Then you
said my hair's so silky it must've been spun out of moonbeams."

Doyle squeezed his eyes shut in mental agony, but Bodie went on without
mercy.

"You told me my body's so beautiful it could make a Greek god weep with
envy. You said my skin was like alabaster, my muscles--"

"Stop it! You're making me sick. I--I never talk like that! I'd never come
out with such bilge." Unfortunately, Doyle remembered the bit about the
moonbeams. He wasn't about to admit it; he had his pride.

"Yeh, well, it was pretty nauseating, but you've gotten like that when
you're really pissed. Sound like Barbara Cartland on a bad day." Bodie
blew into his ear, startling him, and added. "Oh, and you also said my
mouth was a poem to passion." Bodie couldn't keep from chortling. "You
kept hiccuping as you said it. Took you about ten minutes to get it all
out. You must've run out of ideas by then because you said I had the
cutest nose in the whole wide world. Not too imaginative, that."

Doyle could feel his cheeks going red, as much from anger as
embarrassment. "I couldn't have said--"

"You *know* you did. C'mon, you remember. You wouldn't be all pink in the
face if you didn't."

Doyle jumped up, his movement knocking Bodie over. "I was drunk! Not in my
right mind. I think it's fuckin' lousy of you to... to fling it at me like
this!"

Bodie seemed completely unperturbed by his outburst. "I never thought you
were capable of that kind of sentimental, romantic drivel either. Gave me
quite a shock at the time. Had me reeling, in fact. I mean, I wasn't as
pissed as you. I know you lean to it when you're drunk, but I never heard
it as bad as that. Certainly not with me as your target. One thing,
though, it confirmed my suspicion that behind your mean, bad-tempered,
moody, alleycat exterior there beats a heart of blancmange. O' course, I
had to decide what to do about it then."

"What... what do you mean?" Doyle stared down at him, sensing the moment
of truth, his stomach flip-flopping.

"You love me. You told me that, too, that night. I believe it."

"I--I--"

"You're scared to death, Ray. If it's any consolation, so am I. But I
reckon one of us has got to bring it out in the open and admit it or we'll
be living off drunken nights for the rest of our probably too-short lives.
I want more than that. Need more than that. What do you say?"

Feeling his legs growing weak, Doyle sank inelegantly in a heap beside his
partner. He stared dumbly at a bowl of pasta salad and tried to gather his
thoughts. "How about forgetting the whole thing?"

"No," Bodie replied with perfect aplomb and a heart-stopping smile.

"We're not a couple of pansies."

"Yeh, it does get a bit confusing. Had me bothered, too; machismo, my
manly image and all." His blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "Ah, Ray, I
guess I just decided I wasn't going to worry about it. You'll do enough
for the both of us. I just want to hold you, make love to you, wake up
with my nose buried in those big, fluffy curls of yours." He threw up his
hands like a man defeated. "You could've fallen off that cliff; Atkins'
bird could've sliced my throat open. What could be worse than that?"

"My god, but you know how to throw me, Bodie." A small, stubborn part of
him was angry at Bodie for making it impossible to maintain the
comfortable facade. For laying it all bare and leaving them vulnerable. He
waved a defiant arm towards the food. "Let's eat." Maybe his head would
stop spinning in the meantime.

"But, aren't you--"

"Listen, did you buy all this just for exhibition?" He grabbed a china
plate and began piling it with cold pheasant, endive salad and a dozen
other items.

Bodie's sigh drifted over him like a breeze. "Okay, evasive action it is.
We'll eat... first." There was a decided emphasis on the last word.

The meal was delicious and he washed it down with two glasses of very good
chardonnay, finally throwing down his napkin and sagging against the tree
for support. Bodie'd been watching him silently for the passed ten minutes
like a patient cat waiting for a bird to light on his fence. Unable to
avoid the contact any longer, Doyle looked at the man beside him... just
in time to see Bodie bite into a very juicy peach, making a soft sucking
noise as the nectar trickled over his lips.

"Taste? It's sweet." Bodie held the peach out to him, smiling. Charming
the birds out of the trees; the phrase gained new meaning as Doyle slowly
leaned forward, lifting a hand.

"Uh, uh. I'll hold it for you. Just bite."

Doyle was feeling too good to be disagreeable. Or sensible. Shrugging and
becoming resigned to the inevitable, he bit delicately into the tender
fruit. The sweet juiciness welled over his lips. Before he knew it, Bodie
was licking it away with lazy pleasure, snaking in to invade his mouth
with confident ease.

"Mmm, dessert at last," murmured Bodie sometime later. "It's always been
my favorite part of a meal."

Feeling lightheaded and about 16 years old, Doyle took a minute to
rediscover speech. "I... I keep telling you that rich foods are 'orrible,
clog up your arteries."

"You beat them to it, Ray. You clogged up my heart years ago. In fact,
there are moments when I think you cut it out completely and put it in
your back pocket." The night-blue eyes held him with irresistable force,
pulling him forward for another long, wet and thorough kiss.

The sun was high in the sky, dappling light over them through the new,
green leaves. "I must be ravin' mad to be sitting her with you like this.
We're both crazy, you know," he admonished weakly as Bodie's fingers
slipped under his sweater, rubbing his nipples into small hard peaks. It
was like the night of Murphy's party. Only this time, Bodie was loving him
back. And they were both quite sober. The scarred cynic in him had to make
one last stand. "We can stop right now, you know. Clock it up to spring
fever, sunstroke. We'll just be asking for trouble if we keep on. Lose our
jobs, god knows what else..." He felt Bodie's palms pressing him down into
the grass. "Cowley'll do his nut when he finds out we've gone bent. And
Cowley *will* find out," he managed to add before Bodie kissed him again.

After that, he lost his train of thought.

Then he realized that he'd lost his sweater as well. His zip slid open and
a tantalizing stroking began that electrified every nerve ending in his
body. When Bodie's mouth replaced his hands, Doyle nearly jumped out of
his skin.

"You're beautiful, Ray." The words blew hot and tingling across his pubic
hair, his cock, his balls. Doyle struggled to slow his reactions, savor
the closeness. He grabbed at Bodie, shifting him. "Lie on top of me."
Bodie felt wonderfully heavy and solid, the clean smell of him mingling
with the scent of crushed spring grass and sunwarmed earth. With a sigh,
Doyle wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his neck. "Wh--what happened
to your shirt and jacket?" he asked, enjoying the feel of satin smooth
skin beneath his fingers.

Bodie nibbled at his earlobe. "You tore them off about five minutes ago."

They made love there beneath the old leafy tree, adding their sounds of
pleasure to the soft, lulling breeze as the afternoon lengthened.

"We're doomed now, you know." Doyle kissed his lover's slightly upturned
nose. "Doomed." He stretched an arm to gather his underpants and jeans
from where they lay tangled in the grass.

Bodie rolled onto his back and laughed up at the sky. "You're such a
romantic, Doyle. Always know just the right thing to say in a tender
moment."

"Guess it's not so complicated if this is just a one-off." He waited for
Bodie's reaction and traced the sticky line of semen over his belly with a
fingertip. He thought about Bodie's mouth, sucking him to climax, making
him plead for it, and the sensation of Bodie's cock spilling over his own
lips, the sweet- salt taste of it down his throat. And then, coming again,
just pressed against each other, cocks hard so quickly from the contact.
It wasn't a novelty to Doyle anymore as he once fleetingly imagined it
might be: curiosity satisfied and on to other mysteries. No. Not with
Bodie.

Doyle hadn't been so drunk at Murphy's after all. He'd meant what he said.
Perhaps it'd take him a while to say it all to Bodie stone sober, but he
never felt it more.

"You can't believe I'm *that* shallow, Ray."

The know unwound in his chest and he took a deep breath. Fumbling
uncharacteristically with his clothes, he started to put them on.

"Hang on. I want to look at you some more."

"*You've* already got your pants on."

"Yeh, but I'm a modest lad. Believe it or not, I don't make a habit of
prancing around nude in the countryside. You, on the other hand, are
shameless, and gorgeous, bare-bottomed."

A twinge of uncertainty shook Doyle. "This isn't just a physical thing
with you, is it?" He felt silly asking a question that never concerned him
before with anyone else. It was a question others had asked *him* in the
past. And he never realized how important the answer could be.

Bodie pulled him down and cradled him against his chest. "It'd be a sight
easier if it was. I told you you had my heart in your pocket and it's
true. I love you, Ray."

Doyle knew he was grinning like a fool but he couldn't help it. "Ah, but
would you give up swiss rolls for me?"

Bodie pinched a curl on his forehead. "Now that's pushin' it a bit. Tell
you what, I'll cut down on strawberry jam."

"Well, it's a start." Doyle eased away and tried again to put on his
pants, pausing to watch as Bodie rifled through his jacket and brought out
a slim, square box.

"Present for you," he said, tossing it into Doyle's lap.

"What's this?"

"You can use your x-ray vision or you can open it up and find out."

Doyle fingered the pale blue box, turning it over in his hands. Then he
shook it by his ear, listening to the low, muffled rattle. "It's not
ticking."

"No bombs. Go on, will you, the suspense is beginning to kiss

Slowly, Doyle pulled off the flat blue ribbon and lifted the cover. He
stared at the contents while his mouth dropped open and the frown line
deepened across the bridge of his nose. "You bought me a bracelet. A
*bracelet*." The thin silver band glistened in the afternoon sun, nestled
in its box atop his crotch.

"It'll look great on you," Bodie assured him.

"What's next, silk stockings with matching high heels. Or maybe a green
lace nightgown to compliment my eyes?"

The blissful contentment faded from Bodie's face. "I thought you'd like
it."

"What, a fuckin' queer bracelet?"

Bodie was already reaching for the box, his lips drawn into a tightening
line. "I'm sorry. I'll take it back."

It was the look in Bodie's eyes, the hurt and total lack of defense, that
shook Doyle and doused his quick-flare temper. Love had never been a
responsibility for him... not until he saw that look in Bodie's eyes. He
snatched the box away. "No. I... apologise. Can we redo the last couple of
minutes?"

Bodie glanced downward, his face shuttered. "You don't have to humour me.
It's alright, just give the damn box over."

"No. Besides, it's not polite to offer someone a present and then take it
back. It's almost as bad as yelling like a bloody idiot when someone gives
you one." Doyle stared at the bracelet, still not touching it, and tried
to explain. "I wasn't expecting..." He sighed and tried again. "For as
long as I can remember, I've always had to fight against the way I look.
The way people assumed I had to be. I've always had to be... tough. Had to
things you said to me, after Cowley teamed us?"

Bodie shook his head slowly.

"It was just before we were supposed to meet Macklin. You looked down that
elegant nose of yours and said, 'Doyle, don't you think this line of work
is a bit rough for a pretty little flower like yourself?' Of course, you
hated my guts then, almost as much as I hated yours."

"Never hated you. Disliked maybe."

"Well, maybe I'm too sensitive about it. About a lot of things. The
bracelet... I guess I thought you were seeing me as your new 'girl' or
something. Makin' a joke out of it. I should've known better. Just
overracted."

"God, Doyle, if your opinion of me was any lower, it'd be buried below
ground. Right next to your opinion of yourself."

"I reckon I have to learn that I'm not the only one whose feelings are
involved. It's a new arrangement for me, you know. I *am* sorry about
sounding off like I did."

Bodie sniffed and smiled shyly, accepting the olive branch. "There's an
inscription."

Doyle felt the cool circle with the pad of his index finger. "Is it real
silver?"

"Yeh, it's bloody real silver, you sod. Plannin; on havin' it appraised?"

"I just meant you shouldn't have spent--" Bodie's lips were curling into a
familiar, aggravated line; Doyle decided to shut up about it.
"Inscription, eh?"

"Yeh."

Ray picked up the band and tilted it to the light, searching. He found it.
Three words. 'Today is ours.' He liked it. Suddenly found he had to
swallow back a wave of emotion. "Um, I was figuring it'd be 'How do I love
thee, let me count the ways,'" he chided lightly, finding humour easier.
It was strange to feel quite so happy.

"I gave that strong consideration, but it was too wordy. Considered 'you
live in this and dwell in lover's eyes', too."

"Where's that from?'

"Shakespeare sonnet."

"Showoff."

"One of the reasons I decided against it. Besides, the Bard was talking
about a tomb."

"Nice."

"Then I remembered the title of this little poem, and it seemed...
fitting." Bodie looked like he was trying not to smirk.

"What is it?" Doyle asked suspiciously.

"Ummm."

"Come out with it."

"The, uh, inscription. It's a poem by Cowley."

"Cowley?!"

Bodie grabbed him in a hug, dissolving into soft laughter. "Take it easy.
*Abraham* Cowley. Ol' boy lived in the 17th century."

"Cowley. I should've known he'd sneak in here somehow. The guy was
probably an ancestor,": snapped Doyle half-heartedly. It was difficult to
complain when Bodie smelled so delectable and felt like a great warm
blanket around him. With a satisfied purr, he kissed the edge of his
partner's mouth and licked a love bite on his throat. "All's right with
the world," he murmured into the hollow.

"Mmm. Actually, there's an interesting fact about ol' Abraham Cowley."
Bodie stopped long enough to give Doyle a proper kiss before he continued.
"He was a secret agent."

Doyle pulled back a little. "You're kidding."

"No, s'true. Staunch royalist, supported the Stuarts. He even got thrown
in prison for being a spy. Got out, though, wound up with an estate after
the Restoration. He was probably better at spying than at poetry, from
what I can tell."

"Wonder what *our* Cowley'll say?" Doyle meant more than just the silver
circle that lay in his palm.

"As long as we're the best he's got, he'll be benignly tolerant."

"So, you do admit he'll know there's something going on between us."

"Yeh, well, Cowley could teach ferrets a few tricks. Still, I can twist
the Old Man round my finger, if I need to. Most of the time anyway."

"Arrogant bastard, you are." But he believed Bodie could do it.

"It's the confidence of the pure at heart, my fallen angel." Bodie picked
up the bracelet, all trace of arrogance gone from his voice. "Will you
wear it for me, Ray?"

Doyle smiled and raised his right arm. "Put it on." Carefully, Bodie
slipped the silver band over his hand until it lay shining around his
wrist.

It didn't look bad at all. "You've got good taste."

"Told you often enough, haven't I? You look terrific wearing nothing but a
silver bracelet."

It was the loveliest spring day Doyle ever knew. He rested his palm flat
against Bodie's bare chest, over his heart. "Today is ours?"

"For as long as we have it. For as long as you want."

"Forever?"

Bodie drew even closer, touching his forehead to Ray's. "I think that
could be arranged."

-- THE END --

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