The Professionals Circuit Archive - Concerning the Past	Concerning
the Past

 

by DVS

  
 "I don't like this place," Ray Doyle observed to his partner as he took a
tentative sip of his fresh drink. Bodie snorted, half in agreement and
half in amusement. It wasn't likely that even the regulars drinking here
*liked* it. It was cheap and it was not far from the docks and nothing
else was required of the establishment.

Bodie looked out over the usual crowd of varied and unsavoury clientele.
Male, over thirty, laughing or talking loudly, they clustered in twos and
threes at the mis-matched tables and for the most part, they minded their
own business and drank the poor booze. The lighting was dim, but not
because there had been any effort to create a mood, or even to hide the
lack of amenities. It was quite probably only that it was difficult to
replace the burnt-out lights. A fair amount of cigarette smoke added to
the murk. After a bit the eyes grew accustomed to it, just as the nose
became inured to the stale miasma of unwashed bodies and spilled booze.

After a short moment studying the patrons, Bodie turned to his partner and
observed mildly, "It's improved since last Friday, mate. Didn't y'notice
they've swept up a bit?"

Doyle pretended to take a second look around the room. The mirror behind
the bar had a new crack and someone had slapped a few strips of black tape
across the worst of it. Not much else had changed. The lino along the
short passageway to the facilities was curling still, and said facilities
were as usual in a disgusting state, to the point where certain of the
patrons of the establishment preferred to use the alley.

Doyle sighed. It was not the sort of place either he or Bodie would have
chosen to do their drinking in, but Mr Cowley had ordered it, and so they
were here twice a week, establishing themselves weeks in advance that they
might not seem suspicious when CI5 finally made their move. The case
involved missing men, most of them out of work and members of minorities.
In a few more days Cowley planned on sending Jax in. Bait.

"I don't like this place," Doyle repeated, aware, as Bodie was, that they
had at least an hour more to endure before they could leave. This time
Bodie did not answer, but straightened the sleeve of his jacket, frowning
at it. Bodie was wearing clothing supplied by Cowley and he hated the
threadbare, dirty outfit. Doyle was wearing his oldest pair of jeans, the
ones with the stain of motor oil across both knees and he did not look
much different than he did some weekends when he worked on his bike.

"The same?" Bodie decided abruptly to get fresh drinks and he drained what
was left in his glass and stood up. Waiting only for Doyle's nod, he then
fought his way through the press of impatient men at the bar and collected
two more beers. Minutes later he was slumped, drink in hand, beside his
partner while Doyle read off particularly unattractive job descriptions
from yesterday's newspaper. Doyle was keeping them both entertained while
Bodie surveyed the motley crowd.

From their corner you could see the whole room. Bodie was not looking for
anything specific, it was only that he was nervous. He'd been shot at that
day. Given a choice, he would have been relaxing in a different fashion, a
different place.

There was a stir in the crowd, a change in the noise level, and Doyle
looked up from the tattered paper and Bodie, too, swivelled his head to
see. A woman had just walked in. There were other women present so it was
not her sex which attracted attention--it was the packaging, the dress
just a little too fine, the set of her shoulders just a little too
assured, and her smile--her smile and her eyes searched the crowd with a
predatory glow.

With a grin, Doyle nudged Bodie with his elbow. Although the woman was
well on her way towards 40, she was well constructed and had a sensual
face--just Bodie's type, Doyle decided. He gave another jab with his elbow
and was just about to make an appropriate comment when it died unsaid on
his lips because he turned his head and got a look at Bodie's face. White
around the thinned lips and blue eyes dark with--hate? Was that hate?
Disgust? It was hard to tell because Bodie's expression was now
controlled, his eyes veiled as he unobtrusively slid his feet under him,
shifting his weight so that he could be ready to move at the first sign of
trouble.

One hand artfully jammed on one shapely hip, the woman was also surveying
the room, apparently oblivious to the interest she was generating in
return, a stirring of bodies and lusts which moved in a wave along the
path of her gaze. She did not at first seem to have noted the pair in the
corner, but on her second viewing of the room her eyes fastened on Doyle's
curly head and she began to ease through the maze of tables and chairs,
obviously heading in their direction.

"Hullo, sailor," she said in a soft husky voice as she arrived. Her
attention was all on Doyle and she never gave his companion a glance. Out
of the corner of his eye Doyle could see a curious and unusual expression
growing on Bodie's face. A half-twist of his lips, an almost cruel humour
which distracted Doyle enough so that he made no immediate reply. This
transferred the woman's attention to Bodie.

She seemed puzzled at first, but the longer she studied Bodie's handsome
face the deeper the crease between her eyes became as she concentrated.
The exact moment when her memory dredged up the elusive information was
heralded by a nasty smile.

"Why.... It's Will, isn't it?" she announced with a negative delight,
leaning over the table to peer into his face. "I must say, you've improved
enormously at some point during the last fifteen years," she said,
evaluating him with a woman's eye. "Haven't come up in the world, have
you? Quite the contrary," she decided, a twist of her shoulder condemning
the establishment and its patrons equally.

"You're here, Jesse," Bodie pointed out by way of greeting.

The sarcasm seemed to be easy for her to ignore. She went on speaking as
if she had not heard it. "Won't Caitlin just love to hear about this,"
Jesse murmured, maliciously adding, "*She* married a banker, you know."

Bodie hadn't known, and did not care. He made no response except to pick
up his glass and take a long swallow.

"Paula and Norman are on holiday--the Bahamas, you know, and Diana and her
husband--Robert's a banker, too, you know--are with them. And Anna...have
you kept track of Anna, Will? She's married, too, you know."

Doyle bit back a grin and the impulse to parody the unconscious 'you know'
and slid his eyes over to Bodie, intending to share the joke without
opening his mouth. Bodie did not meet his eyes however. As the woman moved
closer Bodie turned an expression of steadfast hostility towards her.

"Do remove that unattractive expression from your face, Will," the woman
suddenly said in a much kinder tone. "It spoils your looks. You really
have grown into an attractive man. Still hot? I always wondered how you
managed Caitlin *and* Diana *and* Anna...." She didn't see the swell of
muscle in Bodie's arm and shoulder, the signs of great rage building
inside his friend. Doyle put his hand to his friend's shoulder,
automatically responding to the anger in Bodie, calming him.

It worked. Doyle felt Bodie relax. This also brought the woman's attention
back to Doyle and her avid, too-bright eyes stroked across his body. She
bit her own lip, lowering her eyelids and projecting her lust openly.
Doyle didn't like it. He had already decided he didn't like her.

"Slummin' darling?" Doyle asked, too sweetly. "Try someone else," he
advised, flicking a glance at Bodie to see if his partner would pick up on
his act. He sensed that Bodie was no longer angry, that his nasty sense of
humour was coming to the fore instead. Doyle grinned in anticipation,
knowing now how it would go.

Turning to Bodie he gestured to her, saying, "Not your usual, you know,"
happily he had his chance to parody her and did so, and when she did not
react, he added, "Not nearly as good looking as I am, love."

"True. You're nicer, too," Bodie observed, nodding in agreement.

Doyle pretended to take a closer look at the person before them. "She's
not nice?" he asked, as if the news astounded him.

"Never was," Bodie informed him sadly, with just the touch of disdain in
his voice.

"The people you know," Doyle matched the disdain and added a rueful shake
of his head.

The woman opened her mouth to angrily protest, but Doyle's intense
expression as he leaned forward kept it in check as Doyle waggled a finger
at her, urging her to lean closer.

"Jesse, is it?" Doyle asked, but he didn't wait for her confirmation to
continue, "Jesse-my-girl, the boyfriend here would rather you went away.
Anywhere else will do, love, so toddle on, that's a good girl."

"Who do you think..." she began, but Doyle's finger came up to her mouth
in a shushing gesture which may have looked playful, but which was, in
fact, quite painful as it caused her teeth to cut into her own lip.

"You don't understand?" Doyle implied her lack of intellect was sadly
expected. "Once again, then. Good-bye." He exaggerated the movements of
his red lips and gave a little dismissing wave before turning his
attention to his drink.

"You're pretty enough, but I *know* you're not fairies. Not unless Will
changed a lot!" the woman exclaimed. "So don't...."

"Will," Doyle sent a sly grin Bodie's way as he used the name, "Have you
changed, darling?"

"Don't be disgusting. Dear." Bodie smiled as his reply brought chuckles
from Doyle.

"I," Jesse began, annoyance battling with confusion in her tone, in her
stance. She had straightened and taken a half-step back.

"Oh, this is so tiresome," Doyle said with a languid gesture which was not
quite limp-wrist but managed to encompass that as well as weariness. "Go
away, sweetheart, do."

"You don't know how to handle her sort," Bodie informed Doyle, his face
already forming into a scowl as he reached forward, grabbed her wrist and
jerked her close. "Jesse, luv, if you happen to see the family--and I know
you will, can't wait to run with your tale, can you, sweetheart? You tell
'em when you see 'em that I'm fine. Give 'em a shock, tell 'em me and the
boyfriend are happy as clams. Then you tell 'em they can all go t'hell,
Jesse, and you with 'em. Now you go. Walk out of here now, Jesse, or we'll
all go." Behind the shield of her body he put pressure on the delicate
bones of her wrist, causing her to jerk away with the swift rill of pain.
Bodie smiled his black-wolf smile. "And you wouldn't like that. Not at
all, darlin'." He released her and she shoved herself away from him
quickly, her quick breath showing her agitation. There was real fear in
her eyes and she whirled and went half-running towards the door.

Doyle sipped from his glass and watched dispassionately until she was out
of sight. Then he turned a mild face towards Bodie and said, "Have you
noticed how often we play the gay?"

Bodie threw him a glance over the rim of his own glass and shrugged.

"D'you suppose it means...?" Doyle didn't end the sentence, but he arched
an eyebrow, asking.

Bodie shrugged again, but thoughtful this time.

"Do you think so?" Doyle asked, wonderingly.

Bodie did not answer, but studied his empty glass for a moment before
announcing, "My turn?" His glance at Doyle's almost drained glass caused
his partner to quickly finish it and shove the now empty glass towards
him. Laughing, Bodie scooped it up and headed for the bar.

Doyle knew his partner quite well, knew that Bodie had volunteered to get
the beer because he wanted some time to think. Doyle watched his mate's
progress across the room, watched him lean on the bar, both elbows firmly
planted on the stained wood as he leaned forward to give his order to the
woman who dispensed the worst drinks in the city. As he waited, Doyle
considered his own question. Yes, they played, pretended, joked. What did
it mean? Had to mean *something*. Didn't it?

"Are we?" Doyle greeted his friend as he took his glass--or was it
Bodie's?--from Bodie's hand, not waiting to be offered but simply taking
the one which held the most.

"Not likely," Bodie pointed out.

"An immense quantity of unlikely events are quite true," Doyle replied
with pedantic seriousness. "Did I ever tell you about Pendergrast and the
egg?"

"Twice. Didn't believe it either time," Bodie assured him, settling down
into his chair and setting his glass to his lips.

"True, though," Doyle maintained. "Or how about that time you knocked over
Gregor with one kick and took out Roberts, too? Unlikely, wasn't it? But
you did it."

"Skill," Bodie insisted.

"Blind luck, more like," Doyle countered and then zeroed in on the subject
at hand. "Maybe we *are*, Bodie, and neither of us knows it."

"Not the most brilliant theory you've come up with in the last three
years," Bodie said with a touch of impatience. "If we were, we'd know."

"Protesting a bit, aren't you?" Doyle suggested. He was gazing at the worn
plastic table top, no longer looking for answers in his partner's
too-schooled face, but seeking inside himself. On the one hand, he agreed
with Bodie. Surely he would know if he *was*. On the other hand, the idea
did not distress him much and that wasn't as it should be, either.

They sat together in silence for almost five minutes. Bodie's reply had
been an expressive snort. Was that it, then? The question not worthy of a
proper reply? Mentally Doyle set it aside and considered his other
mystery.

"What about her, then?" Doyle asked, chin indicating the door. "Jesse."

"Someone I knew once." Bodie offered nothing.

Doyle remained silent. Silence could be either a comfort or a weapon and
in this case Doyle was using it as a goad. If Bodie did not want to talk
about it, well enough, but Bodie would have to find the next topic of
conversation. Doyle stubbornly kept his head down.

"Don't pout," Bodie ordered eventually.

"Never do," Doyle replied.

"Do."

"Do not."

"Argue, too," Bodie observed pointedly.

"Takes two. As me mum used to say," Doyle allowed more animation to come
into his voice, ready to forgive and forget. This was abandoned
immediately as he sensed a change in Bodie. Even without looking he sensed
his partner go still and cold.

Doyle looked up then, anxious to know what had caused this, to see what
showed in Bodie's eyes.

Pain. Quickly hidden. Deep, deep pain. This wasn't the sort of place in
which one offered obvious gestures of comfort. Under the table Doyle moved
his knee against Bodie's, trying to give his support through that totally
inadequate pressure. For a brief moment Bodie's knee pressed back and then
he moved his leg away.

"You want to hear it, then? The sordid story of my youth?" Bodie asked.

"Yeah." Doyle was no longer looking at Bodie, hoping that this would
encourage him to continue. As well, he hoped he was hiding his eagerness.
Bodie never talked about his past.

"It's very complicated. Starts out when I was born. Two years later my
father died. I don't know anything about him except that he was twenty
when he died and he--it was some sort of traffic accident. Two years after
*that* my mother married a man named Bridges and then she had my sister,
Anna." He caught Doyle's eye to see how his friend would react to the news
of this half-sibling. Doyle only nodded at him to continue.

"Then Bridges got drunk and went off a bridge one rainy night. Ironic, eh?
Six years after that, when I was ten, almost eleven, she married a man
named Swayne. Swayne had a daughter from his previous marriage, named
Caitlin, who was two years older than I. With me?"

"So far," Doyle admitted, his beer ignored as he became interested in the
story.

"Gets worse," Bodie warned. "When I was eleven, mother died. I was legally
Swayne's--he adopted me, so I stayed with him. Then, when I was twelve, he
married Paula. Paula had a daughter named Diane who was six months older
than Caitlin."

Doyle was forced to narrow his eyes at that. It *was* confusing.

"Two adults, four children, all of us related one way or another to each
other. Life wasn't too bad. Swayne made a good living--not rich, you
understand, but comfortable. The two older girls were usually off at
school. We weren't a close family, but...." Bodie shrugged and then paused
to take a sip. He was obviously putting off what came next and Doyle found
himself leaning forward, an expression of sympathy on his face.

"Then?" Doyle prompted.

"Have to explain about Caitlin next. She was--pretty. A tease. Blonde,
and," he grinned ruefully, "great knockers. Jesse was her best friend.
Lived one house down. Told each other everything--although I didn't know
it at the time." His voice was low, directed only at Doyle, yet he glanced
around the room nervously and leaned a little closer. "Caitlin was
sixteen, I was fourteen, and she liked to tease me. Show a glimpse of
herself naked and then shut the door in my face. Or she would pretend she
didn't know I was in the bath and come in--no lock in the house except on
the master bedroom. Swayne didn't believe in them. His house was his
castle and he didn't like the thought of any part of it being closed to
him. So we could walk in on each other. She'd walk in on me when I was
dressing. Sometimes she'd let me touch her. She'd decide how much and
when. A real tease."

"And?" Doyle asked when Bodie stopped talking.

"She'd get me going, and usually left me with my balls in knots.
Except--three times, she actually let me do her. She was my first. I don't
think I was first with her, though. Doyle, I never thought of her as my
*sister*," he explained in a tight voice. "She wasn't, really."

"No," Doyle agreed. "She wasn't." Bodie had gone silent again and there
was a new surge of pain in his eyes. Doyle tried to offer encouragement
with his eyes.

"Anna...my sister, Anna," Bodie began. "Anna was twelve, and she turned up
pregnant." Bodie was speaking quickly now. "They said--Caitlin said it
first, but they all believed it. She said it was me. The father. She told
Swayne about how I'd done it with her, and she said he could ask Jesse,
that she'd told Jesse and he could question Jesse about it so he'd see she
wasn't lying. And I had, hadn't I? Caitlin, I mean. Then Diane, Diane said
I'd done her too, and I hadn't, not ever. But...I think she was jealous.
It looked like I'd had Anna and Caitlin and maybe she felt like I was
rejecting her. She wasn't as pretty as Caitlin, wasn't around as much."

Doyle's knee gave its silent support again and his expression was
sympathetic.

"Caitlin accused me and everybody said it had to be me. Nobody would even
*listen* to me!" A boy's bitterness came thorough clearly; hurt, betrayal
and pain sharp and poignant. It echoed in Doyle's chest. Not believe
Bodie? How dare they! Bodie lied when it suited him but he could be
trusted. Unless he was fooling around, joking. This situation had been no
joke, obviously.

"But what about Anna?" Doyle realized. "What'd she say? Wasn't a mute, was
she?"

"Might as well been. She wouldn't say. Refused. I begged her, Ray! My own
sister, and she wouldn't say." This old wound still bled as well.

"Maybe she couldn't," Doyle offered. "She was only twelve. Maybe she
didn't know, even. Or maybe she was afraid. Somebody threatened her,
maybe."

Bodie nodded. "Could be. I've thought a lot about it. Through the years.
She was frightened, of course, all the shouting and the anger. Anna was
quiet. Big blue eyes and curly black hair, not pretty, not then, but you
could see she was going to be." He brought up his head, facing Doyle but
lost in the past. "I've thought it could be...him."

"Him? The step-father? Swayne?" Doyle asked, copper's instincts flaring.
Yes, that wasn't unknown--a step-father taking advantage of a girl under
his care.

"I've thought...maybe. It would explain why Paula was so adamant it was
me. She didn't want to think it of her husband so...."

"He had opportunity," Doyle commented. "Twelve year old girl, back then,
wouldn't have been in many situations where she could be taken advantage
of like that. Had to be somebody who knew her--unless she was raped by a
stranger who threatened her...but that would have shown in the way she
acted...." It was Doyle's turn to trail off, lost in possibilities.

"He had opportunity," Bodie answered. "But so did I, remember," Bodie
bitterly pointed out.

"It'd explain, though, why she wouldn't say anything. Maybe he'd said no
one would believe her. Maybe he said he'd hurt her. Or told her that
it...."

"And maybe it was the milkman," Bodie interrupted with impatience. "It
doesn't matter. Not anymore."

"What happened then? What'd you do?" Doyle asked.

"I gave an impassioned speech about my innocence, vowed never to darken
their door again and left home," Bodie recounted dispassionately.

"And?"

"I never darkened their door again," Bodie said simply.

"So you never knew how it all came out?" Doyle asked.

"Cowley had it in his files--about why I left home and once, I asked him
what else was in there. He showed it to me. There was never a baby born,
so they must have had it taken care of, but nothing else. They didn't seem
to notice I was gone. Never reported it to the police."

"Their loss," Doyle said succinctly. "Another?" Bodie's glass was empty.

"No. My bladder's had it," Bodie explained. They usually called it a night
when the prospect of using the disgusting facilities loomed.

"Let's go, then," Doyle suggested, standing up. They worked their way
between the tables, turning up their collars and doing up jackets as they
stepped out the door into the chill night air. It was a moderately long
walk to where they had left the car. CI5 had provided that battered wreck
as part of their cover. They parked in a relatively safe place not because
it had any value, but because Mr Cowley would expect it back when they
were finished with the assignment.

With Bodie silent beside him, Doyle unlocked the doors and settled into
the driver's seat. Bodie, who usually drove when they went anywhere had
never cared to drive this hopeless and aged vehicle and he took his place
now without speaking. He did not comment when Doyle took him, not home,
but to Doyle's place. Doyle offered him a drink and Bodie took him up on
it, helping himself from Doyle's well-stocked drinks cabinet. They did not
have to be in until ten the following morning.

Doyle rescued the end of a bottle of pure malt scotch from an untimely end
in Bodie's well-filled glass and poured the last drops into his own. He
did not especially wish to drink, but had an instinct to blot out the
taste of the foul stuff he had imbibed earlier. Bodie had picked up a
magazine from the table and was idly looking through it, but he lifted his
head when Doyle asked him a question.

"Is it because I'm pretty?" Doyle asked.

"What?" Bodie was confused and absently scratched his chin as he stared at
his partner.

"This gay thing. All the jokes, and occasionally putting it on for the
benefit of this one or that."

"Oh." Bodie remembered their earlier conversation finally. "No, course
not," he decided. "You're not pretty."

"I'm not?" Doyle asked with a smile.

"Good looking," Bodie said, offering honesty instead of giving in to his
first impulse to tease. "But I wouldn't call you pretty." Bodie wasn't
going to give him the truth--that he sometimes found his partner
unmasculinely beautiful. Something beyond pretty. It had put him off at
first. He hadn't been thrilled when Cowley had matched him with someone
who looked like a light-weight nancy-boy. Two weeks in Doyle's company had
put that notion out of his head once and for all. Doyle was tough, strong
and when necessary he could be cruelly ruthless. With two days beard and
enough sweat and dirt he became positively ugly, both in appearance and
disposition.

"Stay there. I want to go get something to show you," Doyle ordered. Bodie
suppressed his curiosity enough to go back to the magazine. He was shaken
from his absorption when Doyle thrust a photograph under his nose. Bodie
pushed the hand holding it away until he could get a good look at it. It
was a picture of a group of women, taken in a pub somewhere. Seven women,
only the one in the middle....

"You?" One large forefinger came down on the smiling image and Bodie
looked up at his friend questioningly.

"Me. The one in the long dress," Doyle admitted, lips compressed as he
stared at it. "There weren't enough policewomen for an operation. Three of
those are men."

"And it still bothers you?" Bodie asked, studying the picture. Doyle in
his mid-twenties, say seven or eight years ago. There was no denying that
Ray Doyle was the prettiest one in the photo. "Put make-up on you, did
they?" Doyle nodded. "Teased?" Bodie deduced.

"Pretty-boy-Doyle," Doyle quoted sourly.

"It's not like you're ugly," Bodie pointed out. "And it's not like you to
go on about your looks. What's all this in aid of?"

"I want to know what you see. If it has anything to do with the way we act
sometimes. Would you play the gay if your partner were, say, Anson?"

"I see my partner." Bodie pushed the hand holding the photo away,
impatient with Ray's fixation on it. Ray continued to stare down at the
frozen image. "Five foot ten inches of idiot. What does it matter what you
look like? I'd like you if you had the face of a frog."

"Fancy the French, do you?" Doyle asked, smiling at last.

"Toad, then. Or lizard. The point I am trying to make, Raymond, is that
you have more than good looks going for you. You're a good partner, Ray.
And you know it."

"But there has to be something behind the gay jokes, Bodie, behind the way
you pat my backside sometimes and...."

Bodie finally made the connection. "Do you want there to be one? Are you
trying to get us into bed?"

"No!" Doyle blushed a deep dull red which Bodie entirely ignored, as he
did the denial which came from Doyle's mouth. Instead he looked for some
clue in Doyle's eyes. Those eyes wouldn't meet his.

"Curious, are we?" Bodie asked. Bodie's elegant control allowed him to
present an extremely cool, amused face to his partner. The lightness of
the tone infuriated Doyle who scowled and turned away only to be stopped
by Bodie's lightning-fast grab of his upper arm. Bodie used his grasp on
the arm to pull himself up, at the same time dragging Doyle up against his
body. Doyle was sideways to him and Bodie's mouth was only inches from
Doyle's ear. "Come and give us a kiss," Bodie whispered, moving around
Doyle so that they faced each other directly. Bodie brought his free hand
up to his own mouth, tracing his fuller bottom lip with two fingers.
"Right there, Ray. Give us a kiss."

Doyle appeared stunned. Bodie's hand on Doyle's arm relaxed and he slid it
up to his friend's shoulder, rubbing the hard muscles slowly. "C'mon, Ray.
You want to know. Best to find out." His fingers went from his lips to
Doyle's, following the curve of the red mouth. He leaned forward, his
breath hot on Doyle's face. "Give it your best shot, sunshine."

Challenged, Doyle lunged forward, arms wrapping around Bodie as his mouth
fastened hard onto Bodie's. Bodie had been speaking, his lips a trifle
apart; his mouth was easy prey to the tongue which suddenly invaded.

Bodie may have intended to remain passive, to allow Doyle free use of his
talents without any response from Bodie, but if so Bodie proved to be
without resolve, for within seconds of finding Doyle's tongue inside his
mouth he was responding aggressively, trading pressure, fighting to get
his own tongue between Doyle's hot lips. It was fierce and wild and then,
all in a moment, it was tender and sweet. At last their mouths came apart
with the softest of sounds.

If Doyle looked stunned, it was nothing to the panting amazement of his
partner. "Bloody hell," Bodie murmured reverently. Doyle's photograph had
ended up on the floor and now Bodie unknowingly stepped on it as he curved
an arm around Doyle and tugged him towards the bedroom door.

"B...Bodie?" Doyle's uncertainty asked a half-dozen silent questions even
as he allowed himself to be drawn along.

"Guess you were right. There is something between us. Something underneath
the gay jokes and the...." Bodie cut himself off by leaning forward to
taste Doyle's lips again, as if he could not entirely believe his own
words. When the kiss, as wonderful as the first, ended he spoke again.
"Let's see how far we go. Either of us can call a stop to it, any time?"
Even as Bodie made the suggestion his hands were busy on Doyle's buttons.

The simple clothing they were wearing came off quickly, each piece
littering a different part of the room as they made their way towards the
bed. When they at last stood nude, they tentatively touched, the embrace
very loose.

"Shy? You?" Bodie asked, taking Doyle's hesitant hands from their light
exploration of his neck. He brought the palms to his chest, pressing one
over each of his nipples and rubbing his body hard against them until twin
peaks rose under them. He sighed and leaned into the hands, letting go
that he might wind his arms around Doyle and pull him closer.

Fire flickered through Doyle's blood as this brought his rising cock up
against Bodie's already rigid organ. The heat centered behind his navel
and radiated out of his groin, causing him to sweat and begin to pant. As
Bodie chose that moment to cover Doyle's lips with his own again Doyle
gasped, which had the effect of stealing Bodie's breath and tongue right
out of his mouth. Bodie's eyes went wide and he twisted his mouth on
Doyle's eagerly until they were forced to break the vacuum seal they had
created. Both were gulping for air as Doyle pushed Bodie onto the bed,
climbing onto him as soon as he was stretched out. He was bucking his hips
even before his body covered Bodie's, and then he was forcing his hardness
between Bodie's hairy thighs.

Bodie did not object, in fact, his hands came up to clutch Doyle's back
and buttocks, controlling the thrusting, making sure Doyle rubbed his
shaft just the right way so that both of them had the benefit of the
wonderful friction.

When Doyle came it was with a keening, wavering sound which startled Bodie
into stopping, surprised and as yet unsatisfied, clutching Doyle's
buttocks in his wide strong hands as if to somehow hold onto the passion
pouring out of the other man.

"Bodie?" Doyle said from his collapsed position on Bodie's chest.

"Umm?" Bodie managed to reply.

"That long hard thing poking into my thigh...duz'it by chance happen to
belong to you?" His head came up enough to get a good look at Bodie's
face, and then he wiggled off of Bodie in order to be able to study the
problem.

The problem was tall, thick and hard, curving slightly as it quivered
above Bodie's belly. It was shaded with the most interesting colours of
plum and pink. Tentatively, with a glance up at Bodie's face to be sure it
would be accepted, Doyle reached out and took hold of the bobbing shaft.
It felt so strange and wonderful in his hand, so alike and so different
from his own that at first his attention was on his own reactions. Bodie's
were soon brought to his attention as the other man squirmed and thrust up
against his hand. Doyle squeezed experimentally, then began a steady
stroking, milking it hard.

"Ray?" Bodie found his voice as the hand was replaced by Doyle's mouth and
Bodie got an elbow under him so that he could raise his body up enough to
be able to watch the incredible sight of Ray Doyle's lips around him.
Doyle's tongue tasted lightly and Bodie moaned and fell back.

At the sound of his name, Doyle stopped, his mouth coming free so that he
could speak. "Ugh?" It wasn't an intelligent sound, but it was thick with
passion and so suited Bodie well enough.

"Ray," Bodie repeated, "the secret of fellatio is spit."

"Spit?" Doyle said, half laughing.

"A lot of spit. Quite a lot of spit," Bodie amended. "And some energetic
application."

Doyle pursed his mouth in what he hoped was a saliva-producing position,
causing Bodie to laugh so that Doyle, when he surrounded the cock again,
found the organ giving tiny thrusts with each chuckle. This distracted him
for a moment, but he was soon easing the broad head into his mouth, then
pulling away to wetly mouth up one side and down the other before coming
back to suck it into his mouth again. His lips ovalled around it and he
began to move his head. The smallest pressure from his teeth added a
sparkling excitement, a sense of near-danger.

"Ray!" Plea and prayer, Bodie shouted it out just before he clutched at
Doyle's head, holding it to him while he thrust three times before he
sobbed and threw himself backwards, releasing Doyle's head at the same
time. He spouted white sperm over Doyle's shoulder as he fell back onto
his elbows with enough force to bounce them both.

"You should have let me have it," Doyle protested, grabbing hold of
Bodie's torso and hanging on as if Bodie would somehow be torn from him
again. He turned his head and licked up several drops from his own skin.
It was sensual and endearing and it caused tears to collect in the corners
of Bodie's eyes.

"Can have it next time, if you want," Bodie whispered. "I didn't think you
would."

"You...you've done it before and you don't like it?" Other questions were
thick in his voice, but he did not voice them.

"Africa. Was forced. Hated that." Bodie's terseness spoke volumes. Having
a dirty, lusty man shoving a huge cock into his mouth had never been
anything Bodie could enjoy, but he had gotten very good at it to preserve
other parts of his body from invasion.

"Yes. Next time I want it," Doyle told him, lowering himself to lie beside
him. He reached out again with his tongue, stretching to lap up another
drop. "It tastes like...peas."

Bodie choked on a snatch of laughter.

"It *does*. And I like peas," Doyle insisted, throwing his arm around
Bodie and laughing, too.

"Next time?" Bodie whispered suddenly, moving his head towards Doyle so
that the words went into the riot of dark curls.

"Yes," Doyle reassured him again, turning his head so that Bodie touched
his forehead. "Please." A small silence, not uncomfortable, followed, and
was broken when Doyle said, "Found out, didn't we?"

"We always knew," Bodie decided. At Doyle's curious nudge he explained,
"You were right. It *was* our favourite game."

"It was, wasn't it?" Doyle agreed. They had not played it too often, but
it had been the most exciting, the most daring of the verbal exchanges
they had practiced. Something wanted very much and hidden in words they
exchanged.

"Since I'm spending the night," Bodie began.

"You'll want to borrow my toothbrush?" Doyle asked.

"No. Yes, actually, but what I wanted was the light out."

"Oh. Why me? What's wrong with your legs, then?"

"If I do it I can't watch you walk across the room, can I?" Bodie pointed
out in a very reasonable voice.

"Well, that's true. Think you'll like that?"

"Quite sure," Bodie assured him.

Doyle then crawled out of bed, allowing Bodie to view his backside and
giving him just a glimpse of his front before the light winked out.
Seconds later his chilled body crawled into Bodie's arms.

It was past midnight and sleep should have come to them both, but it did
not. Bodie's mind swung between time-distorted images of his family and
the bright fresh visions of a passion-filled Ray Doyle. Neither subject
was at all rest inducing. Past to present. Rejection to acceptance. He was
fully aware of the worth of the man in his arms, of what Doyle meant to
him. It was not only that Ray appreciated him as no one had ever before.
He could trust Ray--and trust Ray to trust him as well. That was a good
feeling, too good to give up just to go to sleep.

Ray Doyle was lying on Bodie's shoulder and wondering about sodomy. Of all
the things Doyle had never planned on doing, sodomy was top of the list.
Having a man's cock up the arse had always seemed to be going just a bit
too far, no matter what pleasure there was alleged to be. Yet now he was
thinking of it--not only thinking of it, but planning on it, anticipating
it. The memory of Bodie's generous organ curving high over the pale plain
of Bodie's belly haunted him. So big, his friend's body. Broad in the
shoulder, broad everywhere, yet not fat. That breadth of torso appealed to
Doyle, made him eager to know it even more, to touch it, explore it. It
tantalized him--and so did the long curve of Bodie's arse. In his
imagination he saw himself kneeling over Bodie, separating the white moon
halves and sinking between them. Would it be like going into a woman?
Tighter. It would have to be tighter and they would need something to make
it easier. Bodie might know. Bodie might have done it before and even if
he had not, Bodie would know something about it. Bodie knew an amazing
amount, both practical and impractical information. When they had first
met, that knowing, and the arrogance which had accompanied it had gotten
up Doyle's nose. It was only when he had realized that Bodie's confidence
was in some measure justified that he began to tolerate his new partner.
Now, Doyle depended on that knowing. Yes, Bodie would know. That thought
was not precisely the sort that put Doyle to sleep. He moved restlessly.

The arm Bodie had around Doyle changed position, stroking down his back.
"Comfortable?" Bodie asked.

"Too much to think about," Doyle replied. He tilted his head to rub
against Bodie's shoulder and then turned to press his lips against the
satin hardness of Bodie's collarbone. The moment seemed imbued with
'realness'. There were experiences more intense than others, more
important, which were especially clear in his memory. Times in pubs with
good mates, times when bullets had come too close. This, he was sure,
would be his clearest memory of all until the day he died. Cuddling up to
Bodie on their first night together. For all their earlier joking he was
sure it was as meaningful to Bodie, that this was the beginning of the
most significant chapter of his life.

Did it mean as much to Bodie? He sighed, hoping it was so, but unsure of
the words to use to ask. Everything he thought of sounded like a trite
cliche.

"Thinking? That's trouble, mate. Every time you get to thinking...."

Doyle pinched him to shut him up and was partially successful--Bodie gave
a snort and laughed. But then Bodie gave him a poke in return and asked,
"What's on your alleged mind, then?"

"Sex," Doyle confessed, turning to support his head with his hand so that
he could look down at Bodie. Before Bodie could reply to that he asked one
of the classic questions in a small self-conscious voice. "Bodie? Was it
good for you?"

"Oh, it was," Bodie laughed, pulling himself up on one elbow as well so
that he could look at his partner.

"Serious," Doyle commanded. "I know it's a stupid question. I always
thought any man who couldn't tell if he did a good job was an idiot, and
if he can't tell, *she* isn't about to set him straight. Birds lie and say
it was even if it wasn't. Had a girl tell me so. Maybe a bloke asks cause
he wants to know if he's better than other men she's been with, I dunno,
but...." He faltered to a stop and just lay, cheek in palm, eyes on Bodie.

"Might be a point in all that, somewhere?" Bodie asked.

"'M getting to it. The point," he said, rolling onto his stomach so that
he could no longer look at Bodie, but had a good view of his rumpled
pillow tangled in the sheet, "is that what they really want to know is,
was it good enough to mean something. They want to know not if the sex was
good, but if it *means* something. Not just a once...."

"It's not," Bodie assured him swiftly, pulling Doyle back to his shoulder,
placing his head so his words went directly into Doyle's curl smothered
ear. "It means something. It wouldn't be any good for me with any man but
you, Ray. That what you wanted to hear, sunshine?" He felt Doyle's nod
against his cheek, his lips, and he buried his face in that amazing,
wonderful hair for a moment before he drew back and said, "It was probably
too good."

That intrigued Doyle and he lifted his head a bit. "No such thing as too
good, is there? Unless you mean you think we couldn't do it that well
again?"

"Tonight?" Bodie inquired with the air of a man willing to rise to the
occasion if honour demanded, but one who would prefer to get some sleep
first.

"Nah," Doyle, equally not up to the effort, although it made his heart
beat a trifle faster to think of it. "What did you mean, then?"

"'Bout what?"

"Being too good," Doyle reminded him.

"If it's too good with you, the birds...."

"Will have to do without?" Doyle asked, hopefully.

"Will have to do without," Bodie agreed, grinning as Doyle hugged him
happily.

Eventually Doyle turned, sliding from Bodie's shoulder onto the pillow.
"Hope you don't mind. I never could sleep propped up on a person."

"Good. Don't like being pinned down at night myself. Makes me too insecure
to get a good night's sleep. Feel trapped."

"I know what you mean. Hard to explain to a bird, though," Doyle agreed,
punching his pillow into shape and curling up beside Bodie. "Got enough
room?"

"Mmmm. G'night," Bodie whispered.

"Night," Doyle replied, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Bodie did not fall asleep immediately. Once again his mind drifted over
the events of the day. Jesse. Caitlin and Diane and Anna. And Ray. Sweet
Ray, all his now, if he was careful and didn't muck it all up somehow. He
thought briefly of the time last year when Ray had fallen in love with
that Ann woman, how he had felt towards her. Hated her, for all he'd said
differently to Ray at the time. Had he wanted Ray, even then? Probably.
Though come to think of it, Ann looked a lot like Caitlin, the bitch. He
felt the old anger tighten in his chest and made a deliberate effort to
expel it. Didn't matter. That was the past. Ann and Anna, all in the past,
but Doyle was here, close enough to touch. So he did, reaching out to
lightly run his fingers through the warm curls once before he turned over,
found a comfortable position and fell asleep.

-- THE END --

******

*AUTHOR'S NOTE:* This was going to be a much longer story, with the second
half having one of Bodie's relatives show up at the pub and.... But the
story wouldn't develop further than that and it was all so frustrating
because it wouldn't go where I wanted it to go and I had weeks of writer's
block while I wrestled with it. When I finally realized *why*, I was
floored. Of course there was no resolution, for there had not been any in
the real-life situation I had unconsciously based it on.

If anything, the actual events were even more complex than in the story,
for there are seven of us (nine if you count the two siblings I have never
met) half, step or full siblings and the accusation that the middle boy
had made the youngest girl pregnant occurred the day after the funeral of
the boy's mother. The boy left, changed his name back to that of his real
father, and never went back to that house. The step-father bullied the
girl into an abortion. An attempt at family reconciliation ten years later
at a wedding lasted only a few hours.

The girl never has said who fathered the baby. Did he lie? Or...? Doesn't
matter, I suppose. I haven't seen any of the family in years. I especially
avoid their weddings and funerals! And I can't finish this story the way I
had intended to, but if anyone else wants to give it a shot, go for it.
Something in me would be very satisfied to know how it all comes out. 

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