The Professionals Circuit Archive - Captivated       Captivated

 

by PR Zed 

 
 * A birthday fic for our talented and lovely archivist, Justacat. Long
may she grace our fandom.

 Thanks to Slantedlight and m. butterfly for helpful beta comments.*



 Bodie bit his lip and tried to resist the gasp straining to escape his
throat. He turned his head away from his captor and sucked in a deep
breath. This wasn't how today was supposed to end.

 ******

"Got any plans for tonight?"

 "Nah, I'm knackered." Bodie stretched and struggled not to yawn, too many
days and nights of twelve-hour shifts on the most boring obbo duty they'd
ever been assigned had caught up with him at last. "Thought I'd make an
early night of it."

 "Big kid like you and you don't have plans for your birthday?" Doyle
snorted. "I don't believe it."

 "Christ," Bodie said, sitting up straight in the car. "I forgot." 

 And he had. He'd never paid much attention to his birthday. Doyle was the
one who cared about birthdays and Christmas and all. To Bodie, they were
only dates on the calendar, to be tolerated or ignored as the mood took
him.

 "Can't forget your birthday." Doyle leaned over, laid a hand on his
shoulder. "Tell you what. I'll take you out for dinner. Maybe a nice wine
bar for afters."

 "If Cowley doesn't keep us all night on this miserable stakeout."

 "Nah, he'd never do that. Even he's not that mean. And anyway, Lucas and
McCabe are meant to be relieving us at six."

 "I don't know," Bodie said, a wriggle of disquiet squirming in his gut.

 "C'mon," Doyle said, removing the hand from Bodie's shoulder and elbowing
him sharply in the ribs. "It'll be fun."

 "Well..." Bodie drew the single syllable out, trying to work out why he
thought this was a very bad idea indeed.

 "Tell you what. We'll play a game. See who can pull faster. Settle the
question once and for all."

 Bodie knew what Doyle was doing, playing to his competitive side, his
vanity. He looked over at his partner, and saw an expression of amusement,
challenge and something else deeply buried and somehow irresistible.

 "All right, then," Bodie agreed, even as his better sense was screaming
at him to turn Doyle down, to get an order of something deeply unhealthy
from the chippy 'round the corner and sleep for a decent ten hours. "If
you will insist on being humiliated." Bodie batted his eyelashes in his
best camp style.

 "Oh, I do insist," Doyle said with a grin that did absolutely nothing to
ease the anxiety erupting in Bodie's middle.

 ******

"Tell me." The voice was rough and demanding and scraped his nerves raw.

 "No," Bodie said through gritted teeth. 

 The hands gripping his wrists tightened painfully as his arms were pulled
further above his head.

 "You'll tell me sooner or later." His would-be conqueror spoke softly in
his ear, so close that Bodie could feel the kiss of hot breath on his
skin.

 "No bloody way."

 "Any bloody way I like, mate."

 And that was exactly what Bodie was afraid of.

 ******

Dinner was better than he'd feared. 

 Doyle picked him up and drove them to an Italian place he knew from his
time in the Met. The menu went far beyond the usual spag bol and lasagna,
and the wine list was stunning.

 Plans for a small meal became starters and mains, one bottle of wine
turned into two, and afters at a wine bar transformed into tiramisu,
brandy, and espresso at the restaurant. 

 The contest for who could pull fastest never got off the ground. Bodie
told himself it was because there was no likely talent in the place--a few
middle-aged women out for a night on the town with their equally
middle-aged husbands, a teenaged girl in the company of her parents and
younger brother--but in truth he wasn't interested. The man sitting across
from him held all his attention.

 Doyle was at his charming best that night, keeping the conversation
flowing effortlessly, producing within Bodie a warm glow that he'd never
before associated with his birthday. Early experience had taught him that
birthdays were for broken promises and forgotten pledges. But here he was,
enjoying himself, finding ways to drag out the evening even as he noticed
the other customers leaving and the waiters piling chairs on tables.

 "C'mon," Doyle reached across and jostled his elbow on the table. "Let's
get going. Marcello'll bar me from the place if we hold up his staff any
more."

 "All right," Bodie agreed with a decided lack of enthusiasm that Doyle
must have noticed.

 "Tell you what. Come back to my place. I've got a bottle of single malt
in that'd make Cowley cry to see it. You won't even have to go home.
You've got enough clothes at my flat for the morning."

 "I don't know, Doyle." The scotch was a lure, but Bodie wasn't sure he
could stay awake long enough to drink it.

 "I'll let you have the bed." Doyle smiled, a decidedly wolfish
expression. "You being the birthday boy and all. I'll take the sofa."

 "You'll never." Doyle could wrap him around his little finger and they
both knew it. No matter where they slept, Doyle always seemed to get the
better of it.

 "Cross my heart."

 "I don't believe it." Bodie looked at his partner with suspicion. "I
know: your mattress has gone."

 "No it bloody hasn't. Just thought I'd be nice."

 "Fat chance."

 "You know your problem? No trust."

 "Comes with being your partner. I've learned my lesson."

 "Ouch," Doyle said, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

 "Prat," Bodie said flatly.

 "Probably. But that doesn't answer my question. Are you coming back to my
place?"

 "Suppose I'll have no peace if I don't."

 "That's the spirit," Doyle said with a grin.

 Bodie shook his head, suddenly convinced he was making the worst mistake
in a life that included more than one man's share of right cock-ups.

 ******

He stared at his captor's eyes, seeing them glitter with hunger and
curiosity, and wondered why he'd let things go so far.

 He swallowed hard, and noticed the eyes above him flick down to his
throat before returning to his face. And then the man smiled, an
expression of complete control that made Bodie cold and hot at once, made
his heart beat faster and a sheen of sweat break out on his skin.

 "Tell me," the voice said, the sound scraping his nerves like rough
velvet.

 He could avoid it no longer. Bodie licked his lips and made his decision.
And then he took a breath to speak.

 ******

They took a cab to Doyle's, two bottles of wine and the brandy beyond even
their capacity to drive safely and neither of them wanting to risk
Cowley's wrath if they were done by a plod for drunk driving.

 Doyle was as good as his word with the scotch. He had a bottle of
Macallan that must have set him back a packet: twenty-five years old and
smooth as silk going down.

 They sprawled on the sofa, their sock feet on Doyle's battered coffee
table, and talked utter crap about footy and guns and whether Cowley would
ever sign this month's expense chits and whether Doyle would ever have the
bottle to ask for a pay rise.

 Bodie felt himself mellow, felt the exhaustion he'd been fighting all
evening begin to catch up with him fully. He only realized his eyes were
closed when he felt Doyle kick his foot. 

 "Oi, Sleeping Beauty. You ready for a kip?"

 "Suppose I must be." Bodie dragged a hand across his face. "Can't keep my
eyes open."

 "Right, off you go." Doyle gave him a shove. "Bedroom's yours."

 "You're really going to let me have it?"

 "I really am."

 "Without a fight?"

 "Listen, mate, if you don't shut up, I'll take it back."

 "No," Bodie said quickly. "Just wanted to make sure." He stood and headed
to the bedroom.

 "'Night, Bodie."

 "G'night," Bodie said, then walked down the hall, feeling as if he were
missing something very important.

 He stripped off his clothes as quickly as he could with fingers made
clumsy from drink and exhaustion and slipped under the covers. The sheets
were cool to the touch and he shivered, pulling them up to his nose and
hoping they'd soon warm up.

 He'd nearly dropped off to sleep when he felt the bed dip down beside
him. With reflexes born of too many years making his living with a gun in
his hand, his eyes shot open and he reached for a pistol that was under
the pillow in his own flat.

 "Only me," a voice said beside him. Doyle's voice. Bodie struggled to
focus and saw his partner. Doyle was still wearing his shirt, but it was
unbuttoned, exposing his chest to the night air.

 "Doyle," Bodie said, fighting to clear the cobwebs from his mind. "What
the fuck are you doing?"

 "Couldn't sleep," Doyle said with a shrug.

 "So you thought you'd wake me up. Ta very much."

 "It's only fair."

 "How do you reckon that?"

 "You’re the reason I couldn't bloody sleep, aren't you?"

 "What?" Bodie blinked rapidly, feeling very much out of his depth, with
the waters threatening to close over his head at any moment. "You don't
half talk crap, Doyle."

 "Makes two of us," Doyle said.

 "I don't know what you mean," Bodie tried for righteous indignation and
fell far short without quite knowing why. 

 "How about this?" With the economy of movement that marked all his
actions, Doyle straddled him and grabbed his wrists, pulling them above
his head so swiftly that Bodie didn't fight it. Bodie's mind refused to
believe what was happening, that Doyle would do *this*. But even as his
mind struggled to deny, his body betrayed him. He could feel his nipples
harden at the pull of the sheet across them, feel his cock fill with blood
at the sensation of Doyle's weight on him.

 "Gerroff," Bodie said, bucking in a futile effort to throw Doyle off him.

 In response, Doyle leaned forward. Doyle's tongue played against his lips
before entering his mouth.

 Doyle tasted of tomatoes and wine, of scotch and coffee. His tongue was
curiously cool, but his breath was hot in Bodie's mouth. Bodie tried to
ignore the feelings flooding his nerves, but they were too insistent, too
inescapable. He opened his mouth more to Doyle's advances, sighing as
Doyle nipped his lower lip before pressing in with his tongue. Bodie
strained against Doyle, lifting his hips up in an effort to increase the
contact between them, but Doyle wouldn't release control. He tightened his
legs around Bodie's thighs and re-asserted his hold on his wrists. Then
breaking his contact with Bodie's mouth, he spoke.

 "Tell me that you want me."

 "No," Bodie whispered roughly, needing to reject the strength of his
response. 

 Doyle looked down at him, his eyes narrowed, his chest heaving. He held
Bodie's gaze for a long minute, then leaned down. Bodie felt Doyle's
tongue lick his neck, felt his teeth nip at his shoulder. He threw his
head back and strained against Doyle's hold, his cock lengthening and
hardening with the effort. Doyle ground his hips against Bodie's one last
time, then pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were black, the pupils
gone wide with lust, and Bodie fancied there was a flush at the base of
his throat. Bodie felt his own skin warm at exactly the same spot.

 "Tell me," Doyle said. Then waited.

 ******

"Yeah," Bodie said, taking in another deep breath before continuing. "I
want you." When he wasn't turned into a pillar of salt, Bodie found the
strength to go on. "Probably always have." Another deep breath. "You're a
rotten sexy bugger, aren't you?"

 Doyle hovered over him, his lips parted, the pulse thrumming visibly in
his throat. And then he did the one thing Bodie had never envisioned, the
few times he'd had the nerve to fantasize about what this moment might be
like.

 He laughed.

 He threw back his head and laughed, a dirty chuckle that sent a thrill
down Bodie's spine and right to his balls. 

 "You laughing at me, you bastard?" Bodie said, more humour than anger in
his words.

 "What if I am?" Doyle said, not backing down but releasing his hold on
Bodie's wrists just a little, just enough.

 Bodie didn't respond with words. Instead, he rose up, forcing Doyle to
let go at last, twisting so he was the one on top and Doyle was underneath
him. Doyle's shirt fell off his shoulders, trapping his arms at his side.
His unbuttoned trousers rode down slim hips. Bodie made short work of the
trousers, leaving the shirt binding Doyle's arms, and took Doyle's mouth
with his own. This time, Doyle's tongue was as hot as his breath, as hot
as the places their skin met. With no sheet between them, Bodie could feel
his bollocks against Doyle's thigh, could feel the glide of their cocks
meeting.

 He thrust down, gasping as Doyle returned the pressure. He concentrated
on every sensation--the crinkle of Doyle's chest hair, the heat of the
breath in his mouth, the tightening of his balls as he approached the
cusp. Taking Doyle's lip in his teeth he held his breath, hovering on the
edge, wanting and not wanting to fall over. But the fall was inevitable
and it happened, leaving Bodie panting and drained. 

 As if Bodie's climax was what he needed, Doyle now raced to cross the
finish line himself, thrashing under Bodie until Bodie felt him come,
their semen mingling on their bellies. 

 When his breathing had finally returned to normal, Bodie rolled off Doyle
and helped him off with the shirt. Doyle used it to wipe them clean then
threw it in a corner of the room.

 "Messy bugger," Bodie said.

 "You should talk," Doyle said, wrapping his released arms around Bodie.
Bodie returned the embrace and entwined his legs with Doyle's, pulling his
partner even closer. He touched his lips to Doyle's with a gentleness
they'd neither of them been able to manage before, then whispered in his
ear.

 "Best birthday present I ever had."

 "Too bloody right," Doyle said and returned the kiss before burying his
face in Bodie's shoulder and drifting off to sleep.

 Bodie lay awake for a few minutes more, taking comfort in the warmth of
the man in his arms. It wasn't the way Bodie had thought his day would
end. But it was a damned sight better than he could have imagined.

 -- THE END --

 *September 2006*

   Archive Home