The Professionals Circuit Archive - Desperate Measures       Desperate
Measures

 

by Jane

  
 *(This one is for Tammy, who asked for it!)*

At ten past eight on a Tuesday evening Gino's was well patronized, but the
corner table had been reserved for days, and Ray Doyle enjoyed the
illusion of privacy afforded by the new tropical planters that had been
installed as part of the decor when the restaurant had been rebuilt after
the bombing back in 1978. Doyle was alone at the table, staring morosely
into his second Gilbey's and tonic as if he wished the glass were a
crystal ball. Bodie was late -- twenty minutes late; but for once Ray was
not surprised by that, and indeed, was not even watching out for him. 

Bodie would not be showing up, he was sure; if it had been Cowley, work,
which kept him away there would have been no pain in it, but as it was,
there was a weight like a stone in Doyle's chest, and he knew the awful,
dead mass was his heart. He sipped at the gin, barely tasting it, and
castigated himself as an idiot... He should have known better. No woman
had ever been able to hang onto Bodie for longer than a few months, so why
did he, not even a girl, really expect to hold Bodie's attention for
longer? Eight months, he thought bitterly... Eight months since we learned
how sweet it could be to touch and kiss; eight months of happiness, the
like of which Ray had scarcely known existed. 

Fool, he told himself viciously. Bodie mutters love-words into your ear
when he's out on Cloud Nine, climax ripping through him, you believe him!
Pretty lies he's used to mouthing to please his women... "Of course I'll
respect you in the morning..." Damn! Of all people, Doyle knew he should
have known Bodie. Never believe the words with the candy coating. Buggers
like Bodie are too fluent in them, they speak them all the time, until
they mean nothing, use them as tools to get what they want... 

Damn! Doyle gulped at his drink and glanced at his wrist for the time. He
looked up in search of the boss, but Gino was busy, ushering new clients
into the restaurant. Ray watched the old man take an expensive fur from a
woman's arm, and then checked in surprise. Bodie. Sauntering into the
place as if tomorrow would do, smirk on his face. Cat that ate the canary.
Doyle slammed his glass down and refused to watch Bodie approach their
table. So Bodie had done it. And if he had done it once, he would keep on
doing it... The beginning of the end, Ray thought sadly; it was as if a
knife was twisting under his heart. 

"Hey, I know I'm late, but it's not the end of the world, sunshine." Bodie
pulled up by the table, one large hand falling on Ray's left shoulder,
fingers squeezing for a moment. "What are you drinking, gin? Wouldn't mind
a vodka myself. Have you ordered?" 

"Twenty bloody minutes ago," Ray growled, and he shrugged Bodie's hand
from his shoulder. "Sit down, and wipe the bloody smirk off your face. No
need to rub it in!" 

Wooden chair legs whispered over plush carpet as Bodie seated himself,
frowning at the man who had been his lover for eight months. "What the
hell are you talking about ? " 

"What am I -?" Doyle began, and gave a derisive snort. "That's rich!
Innocence, yet. Come off it, lover boy, I've just spent the last ten
straight hours watching you systematically chatting up a woman, getting
her to eat out of your hand till she's drooling over you, and then you
disappear for an hour and show up for our date this late -- I bloody know
where you've been. Good, was she? Good as me? Better? Pity about the way
lipstick gets all over you when they suck you, isn't it? Panstick make up
all over your sheets -- well, you have to make these little sacrifices." 

Bodie's jaw slackened and he fairly gaped at Doyle over the table setting,
speechless for a full minute before he could find his voice, and words,
"You little bastard," he said eloquently, icily. "I ought to knock your
head right off. Chatting her up? Jumping into our bed with her? That's
vicious Ray, that's beneath you." 

"Is it?" For the first time Ray looked up, and it was the misery in the
green eyes that stole the wind from Bodie's sails. He was hurting,
physically wounded, and the harsh words were no more than the spines of
the porcupine, thrown out in self-defense. 

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Ray, you don't think I did it do you?" Bodie said
quietly. "A fat lot you think of me, don't you? You think I'd two-time you
for Rosalie Fletcher?" 

"I've watched you chat her up since she got off the plane," Doyle growled.
"Hour after bloody hour. You've hardly had time to speak to me since
breakfast. Miss Fletcher this, Miss Fletcher that. Then, Rosalie, would
you like a coffee? Then, Rosie, can I get you a taxi? Good mannered jokes,
touching her hand -- I saw you. I was there, but it was like I didn't
exist!" 

"Jealous, Ray?" Bodie asked softly. 

"Green to the gills," Doyle said honestly. "Look, Bodie, if you want to go
your own way again now, for Christ's sake say so. Just don't do this.
Don't chat 'em up under my nose, as if -- as if there isn't anything
between us. That's beneath *you*. I thought you cared more for me than
that." 

There was a brief, taut silence, and then Bodie exhaled in a long, loud
sigh, and shook his head. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, didn't even
realise what I was doing. She's... Jesus, Ray, when I saw her my eyes
nearly fell out. Tall as you, and slim as a reed, like you, with auburn
hair, like you, and then -- then you get to her face. You're trying to
tell me you didn't notice?" 

"She's okay," Doyle admitted grudgingly. 

"Okay?" Bodie echoed. "She's gorgeous, mate. Like something out of a
fantasy --" 

"One more word and I leave!" Ray hissed, and meant it. 

"You still haven't caught up with me, have you?" Bodie smiled. "You're a
bit thick, I just keep forgetting that. Ray, honey, you just didn't look
at her. If you had, your own eyes would have been on the floor... It would
be like looking in a mirror for you. She's... Rosie Fletcher is like you
in a woman's body. Same nose, same mouth, same eyes, green as the sea,
same colouring, the lot. I couldn't believe it." 

Doyle looked up with a frown. "Like me? Well, I noticed her colouring, the
hair and such, but... God, is that what I look like? I mean, if I was a
girl --" 

"If you were a girl, you'd be Rosie Fletcher," Bodie smiled. "I was just,
I dunno, sort of enchanted. Fascinated. Couldn't keep my eyes off her,
couldn't believe it." 

"I know," Ray sighed. "I watched you all day." 

"And I'm sorry for that," Bodie admitted. "Didn't mean to hurt you, but I
just couldn't believe what I was seein'. I mean, the prospects of you as a
girl --" 

Abruptly, Doyle scraped back his chair and was gone; Bodie blinked after
him for a startled moment before heading after him, fast, and they were in
the carpark beside the restaurant before Bodie's hand on Ray's arm slowed
him. "Stop, will you?" 

"I told you," Doyle said, savagery covering his hurt, "one more word and
I'm gone! You want a girl, go and bloody have one! I don't care." 

It was a lie; there was a feral glitter in Ray's eyes as he flung a
defiant glance at his partner and lover, and Bodie knew that he was saying
all the wrong things. "Just hear me out, will you?" Ray stood rooted to
the spot, waiting, and Bodie searched for the words he needed. "It was
just fascination... I've never been able to picture you as a woman -- know
what I mean? You can usually spot the 'anima' in anyone, even Cowley! But
you... Okay, you've got the hair and the features, but... 'airy chest and
sinews in your arms, struttin' about in leather and a scowl! Then,
suddenly, there you were with lipstick and high heels. Imagine it!" 

Ray frowned deeply at Bodie, trying hard to rationalise what was being
said, but the only way to make sense of it was to reverse it all... He
pictured Bodie as a girl and had to chuckle, in spite of himself. She
would be tall, with raven's wing hair and startling blue eyes, long, inky
lashes, lipstick making the mouth more sumptuous, earrings, smooth, smooth
chest, with contours there, and that round, alluring backside would be
just a little wider above legs a little more slender - Ray bit off a
guffaw. 

"You'd make a stunner of a girl," he admitted, as much to himself as to
Bodie. 

"So would you," Bodie added, "and Rosie Fletcher is *it*. Answer me
truthfully, Ray... If Rosie had been me in a woman's body, how would you
have reacted?" 

"Same way," Doyle admitted. "But I don't want you to be a girl, never did.
I bloody love you as you are, you great berk, and I don't want or need a
woman's body with your face on it! And even if a girl did show up looking
like you, I wouldn't rush off to bed --" 

"Neither," Bodie said loudly, "did I. I was twenty minutes late because
Murphy was setting up the security at Rosie's hotel, and when his bugs
malfunctioned Cowley sent me to the Southern to take him a bag of new
ones. There, satisfied? If you don't believe me, go and check the radio
log, I was on the air testing them, and it'd be pretty bloody hard to do
that and lay a bird at the same time!" 

A sheepish expression gathered on Doyle's face. "You're levelling with me,
aren't you? You've been waiting on that woman hand and foot all day
because she reminds you of me." 

"She could be your twin, Ray," Bodie shrugged helplessly. "I just couldn't
help it... If I've made a fool of myself, I'll apologise. Come on back
inside, I'll buy you dinner." 

"Damned right you'll buy me dinner," Ray said tartly. "You bought her
lunch, and tea and coffee and drinks, and -" 

"And afterwards I'll take you home, and you can screw me senseless," Bodie
said brashly, "so you can convince yourself that I don't think of you as a
girl. How can I think of you as a bird if you've spread me wide and rammed
yourself into me? Girl? Ha!" 

Doyle tried to read the expression in the night-dark blue eyes. "Mean
that?" 

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Bodie promised. "Come and eat, get your
strength up for later -- you'll need it. Been wanting you all day, got an
ache it's going to take a lot to cure, sunshine." 

******

Bodie was serious. They were barely through the door when Doyle found
himself jumped and suffocated with a kiss, and before they reached the
bedroom both of them were half naked. The bed was still freshly made with
clean sheets, as it had been left that morning, and if there had been
doubts in Ray's mind, they evaporated. He let Bodie manhandle him as he
wanted to, stripping him and stroking him, and they flopped onto the foot
of the bed, bucking together, kissing and laughing. Relief, after a day of
pure misery, made Doyle relax utterly, and if Bodie had wanted to take
him, he could have done it. But Bodie was as good as his word, and as
Doyle floated back to reality, tingling and throbbing, sucked within
seconds of coming, he found a yellow plastic tube deposited on his belly.
He looked at it through hazed eyes and smiled. 

"You still alive?" Bodie panted. "Come on, mate, get on with it." 

"Patience is a virtue" Doyle said wisely, uncapping the tube, The vitamin
cream had a delicate, flowery scent. He squeezed out a palm full and
tossed the tube aside. 

"How d'you want me?" Bodie asked, kissing Ray's shoulder and watching as
he spread a little of the cream on his cock, catching his breath at the
coolness. 

"Flat on your back," Doyle smiled, waggling cream-laden fingers at him. 

"Like a girl," Bodie observed. 

"Rubbish," Ray retorted. "One more word of nonsense out of your mate, and
you'll get it standin' up, against the bathroom door, and like it." 

"Floor's too cold," Bodie said plaintively. "And besides, I can go longer
when I'm flat on my back." He flopped down and spread his legs. "Howzat?" 

In answer, Ray slid his fingers in through the gripping anal sphincter and
twisted them. "How's *that*?" 

But Bodie had forgotten how to speak. He wriggled, desperate for the kind
of loving only another man could give, the kind of caresses Rosalie
Fletcher was simply physically incapable of bestowing the deep, hard, hot
invasion of erect flesh, scorching his tender inside as Ray took him,
first gently, then harder, until they were grappling and wild. Soft curses
panted over Bodie's lips and he wound his fingers into the auburn curls to
hold Doyle's head still, cheek to cheek; Ray wanted his mouth, ravishing
it as he ravished his body, and Bodie was eager to surrender to the sweet
domination of it. He gave a cry as Ray exploded inside him, arching up to
press their bellies together, rub his straining cock on the sweat- slick
skin of his lover's abdomen, and then Bodie was coming too, the long
gushes of semen tangling in Doyle's fine body hair. 

It was a long time before either of them could speak, and then Bodie
laughed, tousling the curls by his ear. "Think of you as a girl? Don't be
daft. You -- a girl?" He wriggled and mouthed a silent "ouch" against
Ray's mouth. "Can't think how a bloody girl could make me so sore and so
happy at the same time." 

"Have I hurt you?" Ray asked, slurring the words. "Didn't mean to be
rough." 

"You weren't rough," Bodie admonished, "but you're not exactly little, are
you?" He cupped a hand over Ray's damp groin, one thumb stroking his
softened cock. "Used to frighten the life out of me at one time." 

Ray lifted his head curiously. "What did?" 

"The idea of getting screwed. Especially by a bloke who's well endowed.
Like you." 

"Same here," Doyle admitted with a yawn. "I used to come out in a cold
sweat at the thought... Been nice learning, together, hasn't it?" 

"There you go with your gift of understatement," Bodie teased. "Nice? No
it hasn't. It's been terrific, and we get better as we go on. Eight months
-- been more like eight weeks, hasn't it? And I love you, so stop goin' on
and on about ruddy Rosie Fletcher!" 

"Fair enough," Doyle smiled. "Love you, Bodie. Now, can we please get some
shut-eye? We're due to spell Murphy at the Southern at ten in the morning,
and there's half a day's chores to do around the flat before we can get
out of here, so I want to be up early." 

"You," Bodie accused, "are going to make someone a good wife." 

"I thought you just said you couldn't think of me as a woman," Doyle said,
digging his lover in the ribs with one sharp finger. 

"Ah," Bodie teased, almost asleep, "but that was before I met Rosie
Fletcher ..." 

She was a witness to a terrorist hijacking; she was right on the top of
the Baader Meinhoff hit list, and the hit lists of half the crime
syndicates in Europe. And she was in London to testify at the trial of
British terrorist Alfred Spencer. Spencer was an anarchist; he would
support any terrorist group that could be used to pull down any legitimate
government. And he was very, very rich. Rosalie Fletcher had worked for
him as a private secretary for almost two years before she had stumbled
across various accounting figures in Spencer's computer -- and run for her
life. She had gone to the police, and CI5 had made fourteen arrests before
Rosalie had been sent to Canada into hiding, to keep her alive until the
cases could be brought into court and witnesses would be required. 

Simply for her to be in England was dangerous, and Cowley had sent 3.7 and
4.5 to the airport to meet her plane. She came in on an Air India flight
from Toronto, and was chauffeured from Heathrow to the Southern Hotel. Not
one of the big, expensive, plush establishments; a security operation
attracted too much attention at those places; the Southern was neat, and
clean, and it was not a long journey from there to the courts. The danger
was long-term, everyone was aware of that. Spencer's fortune ensured that
he could afford all the flash-bugger lawyers in the British Isles, and
that his case could be in court for years. How often Rosalie would have to
testify was not known, but CI5 were resigned to the fact that they would
be providing "minders" for a long time. 

It would be on a duty roster; Cowley considered it important enough to put
his best men on it, and Bodie and Doyle did not contest his judgement.
They arrived at the Southern Hotel at five to ten, and were greeted by
police in the foyer. Their ID passed them inside and the hotel manager
gave them a sour look and a jaundiced monologue . There were bullets in
the desk, more in the walls, and the police forensics men had just arrived
on the scene. Bodie took out his R/T, calling Murphy, who was up on the
third floor in Room 41, and when the younger man answered he demanded an
update. 

"We were stretching our legs," Murphy said simply. "Been a long night, and
boring... Rosalie felt like a breath of fresh air, so we thought we'd take
a walk --" 

"Unwise," Bodie said wryly. "She's a target." 

"At ten in the morning in the foyer of a hotel?" Murphy demanded. "We
weren't going out through the door, you understand! Just a turn around the
building... They must have followed you here from the airport and got
inside before we set up the security screen... Damn, Bodie, this isn't
going to work. I told the Cow that earlier. She's going to be dead, and
that's the end of it, if she stays here." 

"If she stays here?" Bodie echoed. "Like, where the hell else is she going
to go?" 

"Somewhere safe. Smuggled out," Doyle said aridly. "If they don't see her
go, they won't know where she's gone." 

"But they've got the place staked out," Bodie argued. "They'd see her from
a mile away. Unless..." He let the thought trail away, unvoiced. 

"Unless what?" Ray pressed. 

"Unless we suckered them. Made them think they were looking at her, when
in fact they're looking at a decoy." He shrugged. "It's Cowley's decision,
though: let him make the rules." 

"Speaking of Cowley," Murphy chimed in over the R/T, "he's on his way
here. Why don't you come up for tea and bickies?" 

They took the lift up to the third floor, and Bodie led Doyle into Room
41, smiling a greeting at the woman who sat in the armchair beside the
window. Rosalie Fletcher was no more than thirty, Ray's height and weight,
with a tangle of long auburn hair that swept forward about her face and
neck, and a face that gave Bodie shivers. Full, high cheekboned, with a
chiselled nose and soft jaw, wide generous mouth with the Cupid's bow
lips, and green, almond eyes, slanting and bewitching. Her skin was the
colour and consistency of cream, and when she moved it was with the same
lithe grace as Ray Doyle. They could have been twins, and the two were
almost certainly related, even though they had no knowledge of it... Sixth
cousins. 

Yesterday Ray had simply resented the woman; today he took a good, long
look at her, saw what Bodie saw, and blinked. Bodie was right. It was a
lot like looking in the mirror. The only real differences were that her
woman's features were naturally that little bit smaller than his masculine
attributes, and of course, she had a cheekbone that had never been
smashed. Other than that, the likeness was uncanny, and made him feel a
little uncomfortable. Bodie poured coffee and sat talking to her while
Murphy lounged at the window, watching for Cowley to arrive, but Doyle
wandered aimlessly about the suite, trying to avoid Rosalie because she
made him feel ill at ease. 

Rosalie was watching him, he knew, and it must be equally as odd for
her... At last he took pity on her as Bodie went to call for more tea, and
offered her his hand in truce. "No sense making enemies of ourselves
because we're like cats from the same litter, is there?" he said affably.
"Call me Ray." 

"Call me Rosie," she said, smiling. "And thank Christ you've loosened up.
I was sure you were going to kill me yesterday!" 

"Were you?" Ray blinked. "Sorry. I was just feeling ... nose put a bit out
of joint, you know. Doesn't matter -- I was wrong about it." 

"Something I did?" Rosie asked, frowning. 

"No, just me being a prize twit... Forget it," Ray smiled. 

From the window, Murphy spoke up. "The Cow's arrived. Car just pulled up."


The ride up to the third floor did nothing to sweeten the Scot's temper,
and he was wearing a face like thunder as he appeared in the doorway; he
had been briefed by R/T but wanted the whole story again, and Murphy gave
it, blow by blow, stressing the danger to the woman who was their charge.
Cowley nodded in agreement of that judgement and was silent for some time,
clearly weighing and measuring their options. There was only one way out
of the mess, he knew. He had known Rosie Fletcher since the time of the
Spencer bust and greeted her with a preoccupied smile. 

"There is too much danger here, Miss Fletcher," he said flatly. "You have
to leave, and soon, or you'll be leaving this place in a box." 

"I know," she sighed. "But they've got the place surrounded like Fort
Apache! There is no way out. Murph has been trying to sort it out --" 

"Doing my job for me, eh?" Cowley asked, with a smile in Murphy's
direction. 

"Never hurts to use the old grey matter," Murphy grinned, "And anyway, I
can't see a way around it. Bodie had the right idea -- sucker them." 

"Sucker them?" Cowley echoed, crooking one brow at Bodie. 

"Decoy," Bodie shrugged. "Make them think they're looking at Rosie in one
place -- in fact she's miles away." 

The Scot's smile widened. "That has been my idea too... Decoy." 

There was a long, pregnant pause, and in it, Raymond Doyle realised that
everyone in the room was looking at him. He blinked, first at Bodie, then
at Cowley. "What?" 

"Decoy," Cowley said succinctly. "Any decoy must be sufficiently like Miss
Fletcher that a man with binoculars or a 'scope will be taken in... None
of our women look anything like Miss Fletcher, Doyle... But one of us
does." 

Another very pregnant pause, and then Doyle erupted in outrage, "You want
me to -- no, I won't do it!" 

"Och, come on man, it's only for a few days, a week at the longest. All
you have to do is be Miss Fletcher, let them see you and be convinced,
until she has been into court and her testimony is over and done with. It
means a woman's life, Doyle." 

Put in those terms, there was no ready argument on Ray's lips, but still
he protested. "But, sir -- impersonate a girl? In a dress and everything?
For days?" 

"To buy Miss Fletcher her life, yes," Cowley said mildly. "Do you want me
to make it an order? I will, if need be." 

The look on Doyle's face was one of pure misery and he shook his head. "I
know when I'm licked... But I don't know *how* to impersonate a girl,
goddamn it! I'm not a bloody drag-queen! I don't know where to start!" 

Cowley turned toward Rosie and his smile widened. "You've got the best
teacher sitting right here. The original Rosalie Fletcher... Can you help
him, Rosie? If you can make him enough like you to fool them, it means
your life... But, it will have to be good. They're hidden among the hotel
staff, there's no way we can be sure of keeping them at a distance." 

The woman got to her feet, frowning at Doyle's dismayed face. "I can try,
if you'll let me, Ray... I'll owe you my life, if you will." 

"Haven't got a bloody choice, have I?" Doyle muttered. "You just heard me
get my orders!" He heaved an enormous sigh. "Oh, all right, get on with
it." He stabbed a finger at Murphy. "And you, clear off out of here before
you start laughing, and I knock your front teeth out for you!" 

"I'm going, I'm going," Murphy chuckled, and fled. 

"Bodie stays," Cowley said tartly, "This is still a security op." 

"We'll need another hand, too," Rosie added. "There's going to be a lot of
shopping to do, if we're going to make this work well. Has to be a woman,
Mister Cowley -- a man just can't shop for these kinds of things without
getting arrested." 

Ray groaned. "I don't believe this... Can we have Susan Fiscer, sir? She
hasn't got a funny bone, and she doesn't tell tales to the class later." 

"Aye, I'll send her over," Cowley agreed. "And I must be on my way... I'll
leave you to it, Rosie... The 'transformation scene' from Mother Goose,
eh?" He allowed himself a small chuckle at his field agent's expense, and
was gone. 

Bodie flopped onto the settee and stared at the two of them... One a man,
the other a woman, so much alike it was uncanny, and yet so unalike. Ray
was Ray, so much a man that he did not have to run about proving his
masculinity all day... And yet Cowley and Rosie were conspiring to -- 

What they were planning would have seemed utterly absurd, but Rosie was
making out a shopping list as they waited for Susan Fiscer to arrive;
Bodie peered at it, hardly daring to look, and swallowed. Wax. Cosmetics.
Underwear. She had Ray draw around his foot, measured his chest and waist
and his head, and when Susan arrived the startled agent was presented with
the list and told to get moving. 

There were several peaceful hours for Doyle while Susan ran the errands,
but all too soon she was back, dumping a mountain of carrier bags down on
the sofa. Ray shuddered at the sight of them as Susan was banished, and
Bodie debated his own plan of action... flee like a coward, or stay and
watch? Rosalie produced white basket sandals with two inch heels, deep tan
nylons, and a wig, auburn and curly, almost identical to her own head of
hair: then she delved into the cosmetics and nodded, satisfied with what
Susan had brought. She had a look of deep apology for Doyle. 

"I'm awfully sorry, Ray... And this is going to hurt a bit too. Will you
take your shirt off, please?" 

Bodie had seen the wax, and it took an effort of will for him to stay and
watch; he took Ray's denim shirt from him and stood aside, horrified, as
Rosalie produced a strip of waxed plastic, applied it to his chest, and
tore it off again, hair and all. Ray gave a yelp of pain and outrage,
running his fingertips over the abruptly baby-smooth skin, a swathe across
his right breast. "That bloody hurt!" 

"Yes, I'm sorry, it does," she sighed. "We women have to do this all the
time to our legs. Have to fix your legs, too, at least up to your knees."
She applied another strip of wax and ripped it off; Bodie couldn't bear to
watch. "It's either this, or shave your chest again and again," Rosalie
murmured. "And this way's better in the long run, won't make the hair
coarser, when it grows back, and won't make your skin irritated, give you
a rash." 

"Just get on with it," Doyle said, manfully gritting his teeth. If women
could do this... 

Twenty minutes later he was standing in front of the mirror in the
bedroom, having gone to change into a short robe so that his legs could be
given the same torture, and was gaping at himself. In the doorway behind
him, Bodie was equally horrified, and came to run his fingers over a chest
that was, now, smoother than his own. "Christ... What does it feel like?" 

"Tender," Ray admitted. "Sensitive." 

"Can I kiss it?" Bodie whispered. 

"Not now!" Doyle hissed. "Too dangerous. Tonight, or after she's gone." He
took off his jeans and threw them on the double bed. "Gimme the robe." 

He waxed his own legs, preferring to inflict the pain himself now he had
got the hang of it, and meanwhile Rosalie was fiddling with clothes and
wig and jewellry. "It's a good thing I'm not built like Dolly Parton," she
quipped, "or you'd feel awful... It's going to feel a bit strange as it
is, but all this is, is a bit of padding to, um, well, sort of fill you
out, Sorry. Got to round your hips out, too, so I sent Susan out for foam
rubber and fishing twine. All we have to do is cut it properly to fit,
and..." Absorbed in the work, she was unaware of the men until Ray had
finished with his legs and fled to the bedroom. Bodie followed him, unable
to find a chuckle -- he had ceased to see the funny side of it. 

Rosie was going through her suitcases the next time Ray dared look at what
she was up to, and he gave a wary eye to the assortment of garments she
had set out for him. "You can't wear slacks," she said apologetically.
"You're, well, too obviously a man in slacks you see. Can't conceal
*that*, can we? Has to be dresses -- and the skirts have to be full, or
you'll still look like a man. Oh dear. Here, what about these?" 

"Search me," Ray groaned. "I'll leave it up to Bodie." 

Abandoned to the task of choosing the dresses, Bodie scratched his chin.
"Always liked you in light colours," he admitted. "So we'll take the
yellow, and the white, and the pink and the pale blue. Okay?" 

"Good choice," Rosalie smiled. "Okay, let's look at the face now." 

"In which case," Doyle growled, "I'd better shave. And I haven't got any
stuff here." 

It was, perhaps, misfortune that Murphy had left in such a hurry that he
had forgotten his overnight bag; Doyle shaved methodically, thoroughly,
twice, with the Gillette electric, and then ambled into the bedroom to be
given a little education. They sat him down in front of a mirror, and
Rosalie said sternly, "Now pay attention. There isn't much to it, but
after I'm gone you'll have to do this for yourself!" 

First, there was an exercise in pain as she plucked his eyebrows, and
Bodie tried to pretend he was miles away, hardly daring to look when she
was finished. She had arched his brows, fined them down, and now was
applying mascara to them to darken them a little. Then the mascara went
onto his eyelashes as she showed him how to apply it, and Bodie realised
that Ray was paying proper attention. 

"My beard grows fast," he was saying, "and it's dark. Can't be shaving
every hour, can I? I'll shave my face off!" 

"Well, keep the bristles down as best you can," Rosalie mused, "and then,
some panstick will cover up the colour. Here, like this." She applied the
Max Factor panstick with her fingers, smoothing it into his face until he
had the skin of a model, or a child. Bodie was rapt by this time. "Right,
now this here is eyeliner. And you use it like this." She drew beneath his
lower lids, and across his top lids, sweeping the curve of his eyes
upward. "See? Just makes the natural shape of your eyes show more. I've
got green and brown shadow for you, same as I use, because we have the
same colouring, and it goes on like so..." Bodie edged closer, watching
with a horrified fascination. 

There was lip liner and lipstick next; coral red, darker in the corners of
his mouth, turning them up. A touch of blusher on his cheekbones, and
Rosalie was satisfied. She put the cosmetics to one side and brought out
the wig. Ray's own hair was still quite short; she simply swept it back
off his forehead and wriggled the wig down into place. Bodie shut his
eyes, not daring to look for a moment, but he *had* to look... 

Sitting before the mirror was a woman, and "gorgeous" did not even begin
to say it. A woman with huge, luminous eyes, lustrous hair and a sensual,
painted mouth, arching brows and thick, curling eyelashes. Bodie
swallowed, letting his bemused gaze fall, down the slender neck to the vee
of Doyle's chest, revealed by the robe; smooth as a girl and honey brown.
Below the hem of the robe, which covered his thighs but not his knees, his
legs were long, slender and smooth. 

There was an expression of desperate defiance on Doyle's face. "Well say
*something* for Chrissake!" 

"You're --" Bodie was about to betray them before a woman who was a
stranger, and bit back the word just in time. 

But Rosalie did not need to hear it. "You're beautiful," she said softly,
every bit as bemused as Bodie. "You've got something extra on top of what
I've got - and I don't mean the obvious! I don't know what it is, but...
Damn! Here, then, give me your hand." 

She was rounding off his fingernails as Bodie watched, and painting them
shell pink; when the polish was dry she handed him the bottle. "Do your
toe nails." 

"My -- my toe nails?" Doyle demanded, outraged. 

"You're going to be wearing sandals," she smiled apologetically, "and I
paint my toe nails, so... Oh, just do it. It's only an act for a few days,
not a grand tragedy." 

That, Doyle thought darkly, is what you think, But he bent to the task,
carefully painting the shell pink polish onto his toe nails. "Better give
me the shoes, see if they fit right," he growled at Bodie as the polish
dried. Bodie said not a word, disappearing into the other room and
returning with a brown carrier bag in which were several pairs of shoes --
sandals and dress shoes. With a resigned sigh, Ray slipped the sandals on.
"Good thing I'm used to wearing boots with heels," he muttered, peering
down at the sandals, "or I'd be flat on my face!" He pulled the robe
straight and looked at himself in the mirror. "Oh, my God." 

He had expected to look ridiculous in the extreme, but it was a girl who
looked back from the glass: tall and slender with long, brown legs, a mane
of auburn hair and a face that was awfully familiar. He looked at Bodie
for support, seeing the dumbfounded look on his lover's face. Bodie was
shaking his head. "There's only one thing wrong, only one," he said
slowly. "Hairy forearms. Have to wax them too." 

Ray gave a groan. "Do it for me, will you?" 

The strips of wax tore the hair off his forearms in a dozen sharply
painful rips, and Bodie was satisfied, running his fingertips over skin
that was as smooth as that of a baby. They were finished when Rosie
returned, carrying clothes; she dumped them onto the bed and withdrew,
closing the door behind her. "Try the gear on... You don't need my help
for that -- if you don't know where everything goes now... And in any
case, I'll have to get ready myself. Won't be long, and then I'll be
needing *your* help!" 

"Wonder what she meant by that?" Bodie frowned, sorting through the
clothes. Rosie had set out a pink cocktail dress with a low neckline and a
white belt, fitted in the bodice and full in the skirt, and with it were
two items that made Doyle cringe. Bodie felt his face warm with a blush.
"Round you out a bit, she said," he offered. 

"Padding," Doyle said disgustedly, picking up the small-cup, cotton wool-
stuffed bra. "Thank Christ she's not one of the world's pneumatic types.
Here, gimme a hand." He took off the robe and submitted to the torment of
it with a dangerous growl, but by the time Bodie might have laughed he had
found the foam- rubber-and-twine construction that would sit on Ray's hips
to broaden them, and laughter was stillborn. Ray was cursing fluently but
since he had come this far he knew that sheer fascination would have made
him go all the way. The dress went on over the top and Bodie zipped it, It
fit almost to perfection, and beneath it, on the foot of the bed, he found
a selection of Rosie's jewellery. 

She had picked out large items -- a big, chunky ivory bracelet that went
onto his wrist, and gave the illusion that it was even more slender, and
big, gold earrings that clipped onto unpierced ears, half hidden by the
auburn curls. "What about nylons?" Ray asked as he scowled into the
mirror. 

"Nylons?" Bodie whispered absently, hardly able to make sense out of words
as he saw the results of a few hours' work. "Nylons?" 

"They go on your legs," Ray said acidly. "Wake up, Bodie!" 

Bodie shook himself hard. "Don't need 'em, sunshine, you're brown and
smooth, and it's summer. Might wear 'em tonight, in the dining room,
though, if you wanted to." 

"If I *wanted* to?" Doyle echoed. "I'll tell you what I want --" 

He was interrupted by knocking from the door, and Bodie opened it. "We're
all..." Words failed him again as Rosie Fletcher stepped into the bedroom
that had become a torture chamber. She had on a pair of jeans, very tight,
and white tennis shoes, and she had appropriated Ray's denim shirt,
abandoned in the other room when his chest had been waxed. All her make up
was washed off, except for the eyebrows, and she had thickened them with a
brown pencil. And her figure was gone. Bodie took another look to be sure
and managed not to bleat the words. "What happened to your -- figure?" 

"The wonderous uses of a crepe bandage," she said wryly. "And before you
ask, yes, it's bloody uncomfortable. I'm too wide in the hips, of course,
but Ray's jacket will cover a multitude of sins, if he'll lend it to me.
The watch, too, Ray. And here." She had a pair of scissors in one hand,
and gave them to Bodie, tugging at her hair. "Cut it." 

"Cut -?" Bodie echoed, horrified. 

"Yeah. Cut about four inches off it." Rosie had to grin at the appalled
expression on the CI5 agent's face. "Come on, it'll grow back again, same
as the hair on his chest!" 

"You're going to walk out of here as me," Doyle said -- it sounded weird
indeed to hear a man's deep voice issuing from what seemed to be a girl,
and Bodie stole a glance at him: Ray was sitting on the foot of the bed,
left leg crossed over his right, trying to get used to having a skirt. "It
might work, you know. You look --" 

"Like you," Bodie sighed. "All right, Rosie, sit down and I'll cut it for
you... I'm not much of a hairdresser, mind you, but I ought to be able to
manage this. His hair always looks like it was cut with a lawnmower
anyway." 

"I resent that," Doyle said heatedly, getting to his feet to get the feel
of the shoes. 

Rosie watched him with a smile. "Swing your arms less, and try to put your
feet down one in front of the other, as if you're walking along a chalk
line like they do with drunks. As for me, I'll have to swing my arms more
and my hips less... Desperate measures, these." 

"Means your life," Bodie said pragmatically as he sheared off the long
auburn hair, turning Rosie's coiffure into a shortish, slightly untidy mop
that was, as much as he hated to admit it, very similar to Doyle's hair...
The woman's hair was not as thick, which made the front look thinner, but
otherwise, when she stood up and turned around, the effect was
bewildering. "It's just the hips," Bodie admitted. 

"Just a tick, I'll get Ray's jacket," she muttered, and vanished. 

Half a minute later, Raymond Doyle and Rosalie Fletcher stood side by side
before the bedroom mirror, and Bodie was sure he was on the royal road to
schizophrenia... There was his lover in the guise of a beautiful woman,
and here was a beautiful woman in the guise of his lover... And if he told
the terrible, shocking truth, he could have taken them both to bed and
ravished the pair of them till he was exhausted. Rosalie and Ray stood in
a kind of numb horror at what they saw, and at last it was the woman who
broke the silence. "Jesus Christ, I look like a man." 

"And I look like --" Doyle shook his head in utter disgust. "I'm afraid to
say what I look like. Bloody drag artist!" 

"You look," Bodie corrected quietly, "like the most gorgeous creature I've
seen since -" He let the words go unspoken, trusting the expression in his
eyes to say it... The most gorgeous creature I've seen since *you*
ravished me last night, The green eyes flickered gratitude, and Bodie
turned to the woman. "And you make a bloody good looking lad," he added.
"You keep an eye open for the girls, love; you'll be getting the same
treatment as he gets, and it can be embarrassing." 

"Like what?" Rosalie asked, betraying trepidation. 

"Sometimes I get pinched," Ray admitted, "or patted. There's something
about my bum that makes certain rational human beings act like loonies." 

For reasons Rosalie could not pinpoint, Bodie choked and had to disguise a
torrent of giggling as a coughing fit. "Well, you're both ready," he said
at last, mopping at his eyes, "so I'll call the Cow. You, my lovely, can
walk out of here as 4.5, and you, 4.5, can sit on that celebrated portion
of your anatomy and read a book until dinner time. Live the quiet life for
a while." He departed in search of his R/T to make the call. 

"How often will I have to shave?" Ray was asking. "And do I have to take
the eye makeup off every time?" 

"Just the panstick, Rosalie said carefully. "The rest of it'll need fresh-
ening up now and then, of course; if it gets shiny, press loose powder on
it. I sent Miss Fiscer out to get everything you need. Keep an eye on the
lipstick, you know -- it comes off all over everything. Has to be
freshened up all the time. Also the mascara can make little black smudges
under your lids, so keep looking in the mirror and fixing it up. In
electric light, tonight, you'll want darker shades of eyeshadow -" 

"There's a lot to remember," Ray sighed. 

"There is... I'm sorry." Rosalie shrugged in apology. "I've got the easy
job. Just wash my face, cut my hair, thicken my eyebrows, put on men's
clothes and walk out of here." 

"While I stay here and risk getting shot at," Doyle added wryly. "Oh, it's
just a few days, though. How long, till you get into court?" 

"They're not sure, End of the week, early next week." She looked down at
the jeans, jacket and denim shirt. "Will I do?" 

"Put it this way," Ray admitted, "it's good enough to frighten me!" 

"Like looking in a mirror," she guessed. "So imagine what you're doing to
me! You look so much like me it's awful, if you don't mind the word. Bodie
thinks you look incredible; he might start fancying you, so watch it!" 

Ray bit off a guffaw, thinking back to the previous night... Might start
fancying me? He gave the woman his hand. "Good luck, Rosie. You deserve
all the breaks." 

"And you." Rosie took his hand, squeezing it, and then gave a girlish
giggle, which sounded absurd, issuing from a tall, denim-and-leather clad
"man." "Want to give in to the narcissists in us?" 

"And do what?" Ray smiled. 

"Give us a hug and kiss for luck?" 

The temptation was too much, and Doyle took a step forward. It was
strange, like taking himself in his arms, except that, when he got hold of
Rosie he could feel the woman inside the deception, and he guessed that
Rosalie felt his maleness as she held him. 

For Bodie, at the door, it was worse, There was his partner, embracing a
lovely woman -- except that his partner *was* the lovely woman, while the
mop of curls and leather jacket that seemed to be Doyle were... He put a
hand to his head, breaking them up. "Cowley's coming over in person to
take you out of here," he said, and then laughed as the two kissed swiftly
and stepped apart. "You," he said to Rosie, "have got lipstick on your
face, and you, Raymond, my boy, 'ave smeared your makeup. Get it put right
before Cowley gets here, or he's going to know there's been kissing goin'
on, and the way the three of us look right at this moment, the whole lot
of us'd be for the high jump!" 

Rosie rushed away to pack her bags, so recently unpacked, and Doyle stood
at the mirror to repair the lipstick. Bodie stood at his left hand,
watching him; the green eyes met his in the mirror, full of insecurity,
and if he had been inclined to tease he let it go. "Bodie, you reckon it's
okay?" Doyle whispered urgently, clearly desperate. 

"Sweetheart, you look fabulous," Bodie said honestly. "Just wait till the
Cow takes her out of here; we'll have to run decoy for them, but after
they've gone you can scrub it all off and be yourself again, till it's
time to show up for dinner." 

"We could eat here, in the room," Ray said doubtfully. 

But Bodie shook his head. "The whole point of this is that they *see* you,
love. See you and think Rosalie Fletcher is still here... Can't see
through walls, can they?" 

"So we have to go down for dinner." Ray sighed. "Damn!" 

"Outside of wolf whistles and offers of a quickie behind the potted palms
from every bloke in the place, you've got nothing to worry about," Bodie
assured him. "You'd never guess in a month of Sundays, love. Relax, will
you?" 

Doyle had found relaxation of a kind by the time Cowley was at the door,
and it was a kind of perverse revenge to see the look on the Scot's face.
Thunderstruck was an understatement. Bodie smirked in the background.
Yeah, take a good look, George... If you were ten years younger you'd be
chatting him -- her -- up, wouldn't you? But she -- he -- he's all mine.
All mine, every inch of him. Cowley looked his agent over from head to
foot and nodded, as if he were making an impartial, rational examination
of a rare insect, but Bodie knew better. Doyle in pink and white and
suntan, with the hair and the makeup, was enough to drive any bloke's
blood pressure up. There was a wicked satisfaction in witnessing that not
even George Cowley was immune. Hoist on his own petard... 

The Scot's eyes were icy as they met Bodie's -- daring him to notice the
effect the deception could have, and Bodie pantomimed a shrug of utter
indifference, stealing a glance at Doyle instead. Ray's whole bearing was
one of defiance, and it gave him the kind of million quid look of the top
professional model; "look at what I got; lay a finger on me and get your
teeth knocked out!" Cowley muttered some approving platitude for Doyle's
supreme sacrifice, but it was Rosalie who said it all. 

"Ray, I probably owe you my life," she said as she paused at the door with
an overnight bag, about to just walk out of the hotel with the CI5
Controller. 

"Yeah," Doyle said uncomfortably, "well, just make sure you have a nice
life with it." He heaved a sigh and beckoned Bodie with a nod of his head.
"Come on then, darling," he said acidly, consciously trying to irritate
Cowley who was, as yet, unaware of the personal relationship between the
two men, "let's go and make decoys of ourselves. Why don't you take me for
a coffee?" 

Cowley and Rosalie went in one direction, Bodie and Doyle in another, and
Bodie shepherded his disgruntled partner to the lift, and thence to the
dining room, where they were serving afternoon tea. The skirt of the pink
cocktail dress had pockets, and he noticed, in the lift, that Ray had
shoved several items into them. "What are you carrying?" 

Beneath the makeup, Ray was blushing rosy red -- with fury. "Lipstick, a
mirror, and panstick, in case I get the bloody stuff smudged. Haven't got
a handbag." Yet, he added, unspoken... It would be a good idea if he got
one; he ought to be carrying the eyeshadow too, in case that got messed up
-- and how did he sneeze and blow his nose without wiping all the panstick
off his face? Come to that, how did he drink a cup of tea without losing
his lipstick? In the privacy of the lift he gave a groan of honest agony,
and sagged back against the wall. "Oh, Bodie, I feel such a fool. How
could I let Cowley -- and you! -- talk me into this?" 

There was an edge of pain in his voice that reached Bodie, and he
swallowed the teasing comments he had been about to make. "Look, I keep
telling you, you look smashing. Just relax, Ray, honey. Come and get a cup
of tea, and watch the way other people react to you. You may *feel* like a
real twit, but I can promise you, you don't *look* like one. Didn't you
see the effect you had on Cowley?" 

For the first time Doyle smiled. "Yeah. His eyes fell out. Didn't think it
was me for the first minute -- thought it was Rosie, was about to call me
'Miss Fletcher' and try on the charm. Got news for you, as well," he added
wickedly as the lift doors opened. "If Rosie hadn't appeared out of the
bedroom, I'd have let him go on and 'ang 'imself!" 

"And it would have served him right," Bodie agreed wholeheartedly. A few
steps from the lift, he slipped his arm through Ray's. 

Doyle jumped as if he had been shot. "What in blazes are you doing?" 

Bodie took his hand instead. "Holding your hand. What's it look like?" He
grinned impishly at Doyle's bemused expression, "I can, now. And I'm ruddy
well going to make the most of it. Never been able to touch you in public
before, might never get the chance to do it again. Might even kiss you,"
he said airily. 

"Just buy me a cup of cha and have done," Ray growled. 

"And that's another thing," Bodie said urgently, "your voice. For Christ's
sake keep your mouth shut, will you, and if you have to speak at all,
speak *softly*. Can't do anything to make it higher, but --" 

"You mean you prefer it this way?" Doyle asked in a sweet falsetto, half
an octave above his normal speaking voice. 

"Yeah," Bodie said with a grimace, "Like that. But for Chrissake, only
with other people, Ray. When nobody's in earshot, drop it." 

"Oh, you don't like it?" Doyle batted his eyelashes. 

Abruptly, Bodie noticed that the joke, if there had ever been one, was
paper thin. "No, I don't," he admitted quietly. "You're too... You aren't
a girl, but it'd be too easy to forget." 

"Until I need to shave," Doyle scoffed as they entered the dining room,
"and then you'll get a pretty good reminder." He let Bodie pull out a
chair and seat him at the table, and took a look around at the other
patrons... Men were looking at him. In the days before he had learned what
it was like to be in love with a man, and *make* love with a man, he knew
he would have been petrified; as it was, he was merely resigned. Bodie was
the only male lover he had ever had, and certainly the only one he would
ever want, but at least it was not quite so appalling to be gawked at by
men this way... Was this the way women were looked at? He tried to
remember the way he would have looked at women who were -- well,
attractive, he conceded. Perhaps women had a lot to endure, not all of it
thrilling. 

A man of fifty, well dressed and obviously made of money, winked at him,
and Ray resisted the impulse to snigger. Instead he winked back and
smiled, and watched the man blush to the roots of his hair. This, Ray
decided, could be fun. The tea arrived, delivered by a boy who poured the
first cups for them before leaving the pot, and spent his entire time at
their table looking at the long brown legs below the full pink skirt. Ray
crossed them, displaying the painted toenails: if he had gone to the
trouble of painting them, men were bloody well going to see them. When the
young man departed, Bodie leaned across the table and said, "You're evil.
Make a good hustler." 

Unsure whether to be flattered or insulted, Ray sipped at his tea. "Well,
if I can't get a good laugh or two out of it, what good is it? Oh, drink
your tea and shurrup, Bodie. Watch me smear me lipstick all over the cup."


Bodie watched, horrified and fascinated, quite well aware of the reactions
of the other men at surrounding tables; Ray drank his tea and calmly took
lipstick and mirror out of his pocket. He had watched women fix their
makeup a thousand times before, and simply copied what he had seen,
attention on the mirror, long-fingered hands recolouring his lips. Bodie
bit back a groan. "Oh, God, Ray, don't." 

"Don't what?" Doyle murmured, intent on his lipstick. 

"Don't do this." 

"Lipstick looks a mess, sweetheart," he said in that lyrical falsetto. 

Bodie put one hand over his eyes and shook his head. 

"Got a headache, dearest?" Doyle asked acidly. 

"Just don't like this," Bodie muttered. "You're not a bloody girl!" 

"I'm not bloody gay either, but I sleep with you," Ray snorted. "Now, I
sleep with a man and I'm wearing a dress and lipstick and such. Don't know
if you're aware of it, dear, but this is enough to get me arrested." 

"You're on an undercover assignment!" 

"Cheers!" Doyle said with a blinding smile, and put his things back in his
pocket. "There you go, mate, all fixed. Look nice?" 

"You look..." Bodie's mouth tightened. "You look so... Christ!" 

Doyle frowned. "I look that bad? That silly, or ugly?" 

Blue eyes leapt up, at first angry, and then contrite. "No, you fool. You
look so ruddy beautiful I want to touch you, and it scares me." 

"Didn't scare you last night," Doyle said, still frowning. 

"Last night, you were a man... I wanted you to screw me, and you did.
Today, you're well, you're like this, and I... I want to screw you, and
I'm afraid, Ray. You look like a girl , and I -- Jesus, I'm sorry -- I
want you like one." 

Very slowly, Doyle put down his cup and stood up, pushing the chair back
in to the table. He said nothing, nor did he look at his partner, and
Bodie sat rooted to the spot for an endless half minute, watching the
tall, slender woman in the pink dress and white sandals walk away from
him. Christ, the way he walks Bodie swallowed the irrelevant thought with
an effort, knowing he had said the wrong thing, perhaps the worst thing he
could have said... Also the truth. He beckoned the waiter, paying for the
tea and hurrying after Doyle, but he was minutes behind Ray as he escaped
from the dining room, and then had to stand in line at the lifts. 

There was no sign of Ray in the suite, and for a moment, Bodie assumed he
had not returned, until he thought to look into the bathroom; as he
approached, he heard the shower begin to run, a cascade of hot water that
drenched Ray's body in a moment. The dress and absurd undergarments had
been dumped on the chair, and as Bodie watched, Ray soaped both his hands
and physically wiped away the femininity. The wig lay on the skirt of the
pink dress and his own hair was plastered flat to his head. When the
makeup was gone he turned off the shower and reached for a towel, rubbing
his hair with short, angry strokes betraying his mood. Bodie stood at the
door, watching, waiting for the storm to break. 

Ray was angry; but he did not react with violence; the fury glittered in
his eyes, but there was a grudging comprehension of what Bodie had
admitted -- anger would not set it to rights, he knew. Anger solved
nothing. 

Water streaming from him, he tossed the towel away and ran his fingers
through his hair until it was a disorganized tangle, then stood with his
fists on his hips and invited Bodie to look. "Take a good, long, hard
look, mate. What do you see?" 

It was the first time Bodie had seen his lover so *smooth*, but that was
the only difference between the man be fore him now, and the lover who had
possessed him the night before. Bodie shook his head ruefully. "I know
it's all an illusion," he offered. "You're Ray, my Ray, all I want... But
are you going to start blaming me because you can turn yourself into the
most gorgeous woman I've ever seen? How do you think I'm going to react --
aren't I supposed to fancy you as a woman when I'm so crazy about you as
you are?" 

"I didn't say that," Ray admitted. "But there's a difference, Bodie. Don't
ever make the mistake of thinking I'm... Oh, Jesus! He slammed his fist
into the wall in frustration. "How can I say this to you? Don't seem to be
any bloody words!" He gave Bodie a look that was less angry than
desperate, and Bodie saw him swallow. "Get 'em off." 

"What?" Bodie murmured, caught up in feasting his eyes on Doyle's dewy,
unnaturally smooth body. 

"I said get 'em off -- strip, Bodie, right now. I want you." 

The blue eyes cleared as Bodie came back to reality with a jolt; it was as
if a charge of electricity had been shot through him. Gone was the
gorgeous woman who had him uncomfortably aroused for the last hour, and in
her place was this water sprite, furious, masculine, becoming aroused
himself as Bodie watched. Doyle took a step forward, and it took an effort
of will to keep Bodie in the one spot; the compunction was to back off,
avoid the aggression he saw in his lover -- Fear? Bodie laughed at the
idea. Since when had he ever been afraid of Ray? The idea was absurd. Ray
took another step forward, damp hands tugging Bodie's jacket from his
shoulders, and it was Bodie's turn to swallow. 

Perhaps he should have argued, even run, but somewhere between contrition
and love was a realm of pure lust, and when he found himself on his knees
with Ray's cock thrust into his mouth he sought only to swallow his lover
into his throat, sucking him avidly, urging him toward climax, eager to
have his seed. But Doyle stepped away, panting and hot now, and gave Bodie
a push that tumbled him onto the bed. "Over," he growled between teeth
that were clenched, physically lifting Bodie over onto his knees and
elbows. 

Bodie knew it was going to be hard and took a breath, ready to ride it
out; he deserved it as an object lesson, he knew, but realised with an
electric thrill that he also wanted it. Everything Doyle had ever done
with and to him had been beautiful, and he wanted it all, the tender and
*this*. Slick with Bodie's own saliva, Ray pressed into his lover without
preamble, ramming hard and deep into him, allowing the anger to
communicate as he drew back and thrust again and again. Bodie was moaning,
heaving beneath him, excitement singing along his nerves as Ray let go and
came violently inside him. "Rub me," he begged, "Ray, rub me, please --" 

Somehow Doyle heard and moved an arm that seemed to be made of lead; one
squeezing caress was enough, and Bodie was there too, spilling wet heat
into his hand before they both went down, ears ringing. It was a hundred
years before either of them could see, and then Bodie had to smile. "You
know, I haven't the foggiest idea why I started picturing you as a girl...
Illusion, like you said. And I'm sorry." 

Ray leaned over and kissed him deeply, spent, drained and wanting to be
held and kissed now; Bodie obliged. "Got to shave and get the gear on
again before we go down for dinner," he said, sighing. "Damn." 

"Won't be for long, love," Bodie murmured. "Few days, a week. You only
have to put the stuff on when you have to go out there and show yourself,
otherwise... Look, nice hotel room, big double bed, and it's all ours.
Room service, and all the time in the world to screw each other witless,
if we want to." 

"Just so long," Doyle prayed fervently, "as you don't start thinking about
women while you're between my legs... I can take anything but that." 

"Idiot," Bodie accused fondly, one hand stroking Ray's damp groin,
pressing gently on still too-sensitive genitals. "The conclusive ruddy
'evidence is between your gorgeous legs, isn't it?" He wriggled around to
kiss the objects in question. "And I love you, so don't be mad with me for
making a twit of myself over you as a girl. You're so beautiful in the wig
and the makeup, it ought not to be legal!" 

Doyle gave an unbridled guffaw. "Just thinking about you as a girl... long
black wig, curly, held back off your face with gold combs over your ears.
Earrings too, big gypsy-type things. Fancy you in black. Evening gown...
padded about the chest and hips like me; least you wouldn't have to have
the hair ripped off your chest! Have to cover your arms up, though... Too
many muscles. Lipstick all over that pout; blue shadow on your eyes, and
gold on the tips of your eyelashes. You'd be bloody gorgeous." 

Bodie was caught between pleasure and panic. "You reckon?" 

"Yeah." Ray leaned over to kiss Bodie's nipples. "Big gold rings for your
fingers, and scarlet polish on your nails; toe nails too... Sandals
thonged up to your knees, skirt split up the sides to show off your legs.
You'd need nylons, though, because you're too white to do without 'em --" 

"Ray!" Bodie protested, outraged. 

The green eyes were wide and innocent. "Don't like it when the boot's on
the other foot, do you? No? Well try bein' a bit sympathetic toward me!"
He paused and then asked sheepishly, "I was rough, wasn't I? Are you
hurt?" 

"Sore," Bodie admitted. "Is there anything in the bathroom?" 

"No, but Rosalie got me heaps of stuff to go with the makeup, there must
be something to get you. Just a tick, love. And I'm sorry. Was angry." 

"You had every right to be," Bodie said ruefully, watching his lover get
to his feet, and pad over to the dressing table where the collection of
pots and jars and bottles was enough to make a man shudder. 

"Baby oil," Doyle smiled. "Just the thing. Turn over, then." 

The oil was soothing and cool, and Ray's fingers were especially gentle.
Bodie purred in pleasure and gratitude, and grabbed him again, pulling him
back onto the bed. "Give us a cuddle?" Doyle obliged with a smile and a
kiss for Bodie's nose. "We're getting adventurous in our old age," Bodie
said, much later, when they were almost asleep, the quilt tossed over
them. "There was a time it frightened the life out of us -- being screwed,
I mean." He kissed Ray's temple, felt him give a silent chuckle. "Remember
the first time I did you?" There you were with this facade of confident
indifference, but when I held you I realised you were shaking, trembling.
Eyes big with fright. I almost didn't have the nerve to go through with
it." 

"Glad you did, though," Doyle murmured. "What time is it?" 

"Five o'clock." Bodie tightened his arms about his love. "Time for an
hour's kip before you have to put the warpaint on." 

******

This time Doyle did the work himself, deftly and quickly, and Bodie
watched, fascinated as he dressed for dinner. Ray shaved thoroughly and
applied the makeup methodically, adding the wig and combing it before
looking for the rest of the costume. Rosalie had left him a lot of her
clothes, and among them was an emerald green evening dress; Bodie helped
him into it and whistled as he stood back to admire the result. "Christ,
you're going to get mobbed -- good thing I'm there to protect your
virtue." 

"Is that a fact?" Ray grinned, the expression altered by the trappings of
femininity, and pressed close to kiss Bodie deeply, realising too late the
error of it. He drew back and let out a very masculine guffaw. 

"Eh?" Bodie asked dreamily. "You know you've smeared your lipstick." 

"You're covered in it," Ray laughed, "look at yourself! Come on, wash it
off and I'll tie your bow tie for you... Can hold my hand in the dining
room, if you like." 

"Can I?" Bodie looked for some part of Ray that could be kissed without
resulting in a cosmetic disaster, and selected the middle of his
idiotically smooth chest. 

"Yeah. You're right about that... Never been able to touch in public
before; always felt bad about that, you know! Catch up on it now, eh?" 

Fifteen minutes later they ambled into the dining room arm in arm, and the
only looks they drew were ones of total envy. Bodie looked superb in black
and white, gold cuff links and black bow tie, and Doyle knew from the
looks he was getting that he looked better than just "good." The women
were looking daggers at him because of that and because he had Bodie on
his arm... Meanwhile, Bodie was getting the same looks, partly because he
looked a million quid and knew it, and partly because the most ravishing
woman in the room was holding his hand and smiling at him with bewitching
green eyes. Ray had chosen the darker shades of shadow for the evening, a
touch of blush on the cheekbones, darker red for his lips, and the effect
was amazing. Bodie still got hard looking at him, but he was painfully
aware that it was no more than an illusion; each time he sat or moved, he
could feel the sore little reminders of how annoyed Ray had been... In
spite of himself, he was wondering what it might be like to have this
creature in reality, to take her to bed, take off her clothes and find a
woman beneath them -- not padding and a slender male body that had been
depilated in a good cause. Rosalie Fletcher was on his mind, but the truth
came home like a body blow as he touched the rim of his champagne glass to
Ray's, met the green eyes by candlelight and felt the familiar wave of
love come up and drown him... So he fancied Rosalie -- if he felt the
pangs of lust for Ray, how could he *not* fancy Rosie! But he didn't love
Rosie; she was a stranger with different tastes and ways, and Ray was --
Ray. Irritating, opinionated, often arrogant, forceful, typically *Doyle*,
which, to Bodie, meant absolutely irresistible. 

They laughed about it over dinner, talking in whispers with their heads
close together over wine and coffee, and when Bodie left to make a routine
check-in to CI5 Central, he leaned over and carefully kissed the painted
lips, revelling in the chance to do that. Ray threw his head back and
laughed, and Bodie guessed that half the men in the room must have
co-produced the nearly audible *oof*. 

Doyle had it in him to be wicked, and now he was playing, deriving a
devious delight from the game. Bodie checked in by phone, watching Ray
repair his lipstick after dispatching the last of the wine. A waiter was
fussing over him, and the lad received a dazzling smile, a coy shake of
the head -- *no more wine, thanks, we're off to bed*... Bodie felt the
kick of arousal through every nerve and pitied the waiter. If he only
knew! He made the routine call quickly, hung up and returned to the table.
"Saw you giving the waiter the works," he smirked, "Having fun?" 

"Wanted to see if I could," Ray said sheepishly. "Had to speak to him you
see -- was a bit nervous about the voice. Seemed to work okay though." 

"Seemed to?" Bodie sniggered into the last of his wine. "Poor boy had a
hard time walking away without disgracing himself, or didn't you notice." 

Ray returned the complacent snigger. "I noticed. Christ, I'm sick of these
clothes... Earrings are pinching my ears, shoes hurt my feet, and the
padding is too hot. Is my face goin' shiny? Needs powder. Could do with a
bloody handbag to carry all the junk around in!" 

"Women aren't daft," Bodie admitted. "What worried me is where you're
going to carry your gun -- can't wear a holster with these togs." 

"Tucked in me frilly little knickers," Ray growled, disgusted. "That's
your lot, sunshine. Time to take me away from all this; want to get this
muck washed off and get out of these clothes before I cook. The dinner was
great and if the hard boys are watching, the show's been pretty bloody
good... Was nice, getting kissed over the table." 

"Was it?" Bodie smiled. "Want to know a secret? I was terrified, doing
it." 

"Same here," Doyle admitted as Bodie took his chair like a proper
gentleman, ushering him to his feet. "Christ, these shoes hurt. What I
wouldn't give to be stark naked in silk sheets without the bother of
getting there." 

To Bodie's dismay, a sixtyish, retired army type was passing by, quite
close enough to hear the huskily whispered remark. Bodie's fair skin
blushed rosily, the colour mercifully concealed by the soft lighting, but
there was relief a moment later as the older man just winked
conspiratorially and gave the "woman's" retreating figure an envious look.
That put the smirk back onto Bodie's face, and he trailed Doyle to the
lifts, linking arms with him as they waited for service. "Got to learn how
a lady speaks, my sweet," he admonished. "You just gave the old gent with
the silver whiskers a case of blood pressure." 

"I what?" Doyle demanded, expression sultry. "Wiggle me hips, did I?" 

"No, you just used that basso profundo voice to make various remarks about
being starkers on silk. Didn't your Mummy ever tell you there's things
nice girls don't do?" 

"Certainly she did," Ray snorted, reverting to the falsetto tone as a
group of young people ambled by. "Which means you'll be sleeping on the
couch, Mister Bodie." 

When the young people had gone by, Bodie heaved a resigned sigh. "That
will teach me to keep my big mouth shut, won't it?" 

"I," Doyle said murmured succinctly, "will tell you what to do with your
mouth , sweetheart." 

******

The makeup came off with cleansing cream that left Ray's skin soft and
fragrant, and they were in bed, relaxed, petting as the fancy took them,
when Bodie made an admission that made Doyle laugh. "You know, I miss it.
The hair on your chest. Like to run my fingers through it, and... Well,
your chest's nice without it, but... Not you, if you know what I'm talking
about." 

"Oh, I know," Doyle panted as he stopped laughing at last. "Never mind,
it'll grow back soon. Six or eight weeks." 

"Six or eight --" Bodie shot up in bed, outraged. 

"That's what it said on the packet of wax," Ray said indifferently. "Lie
down and stop complaining. Thought you were lusting after a female type
body earlier -- well, you've got a smooth one now, and all you can do is
complain." 

"But six or eight weeks before I can get my fingers in your fur again?"
Bodie grumbled. "I shall buy a cat, I warn you." 

"If you want something to stroke," Doyle suggested, "there are other items
of interest around here, like -- that." The last word was a lush sigh as
Bodie's hand found its way between his legs. "Furry enough for you?" 

"Furry enough," Bodie admitted, moving over to lie on his lover and kiss
him hard. "Ray... You won't misunderstand, from now on, will you, when I
want to be inside you?" 

The tangible insecurity of the question made Doyle blink. "Good grief, you
love to worry, don't you?" He tousled Bodie's hair tenderly."I know how
you felt... I still see girls too, and now and then I dream about making
love with one. If one came along that was like you in a woman's body, I'd
be half way schizo in five seconds and wanting to screw you to the floor.
That the way you felt with Rosalie?" 

"No, not really," Bodie confided. "But, that's the way I felt when you..."


"Got into a dress and lipstick the first time." 

"Right. Forgive me?" 

Doyle kissed him. "Nothing to forgive. So long as you remember that I'm
not a girl, and don't bloody well want to be one." 

Bodie chuckled filthily, the hand that cupped Ray's groin massaging in
lazy circles. "Tell me how I'm supposed to forget that for five
consecutive minutes?" 

"Dunno," Ray sighed, pushing up to rub himself against Bodie's hand.
"S'nice, don't stop, mate... So nice." 

They slid into an easy, slow, undemanding lovemaking that made a mess of
the sheets and sent them to sleep better than a lullaby. 

******

The court case would go on for years, but Rosalie Fletcher appeared only
once before she was spirited out of London and back to anonymity in
Canada; it took four days, and by the end of that time Doyle was stir
crazy and Bodie had long since accepted the costumes and props as
necessities. Ray dressed for lunch and dinner and stayed in the room the
rest of the time, bored, watching TV, reading and getting randy out of
sheer frustration. "S'the only exercise we're getting, mate," he told
Bodie sternly as he summoned him back to bed in the afternoon. "And
besides, the hotel staff expect messed up sheets; good looking couple like
us, we're the talk of the establishment." 

Sex, they conceded, was as good an exercise as any, and a hell of a lot
better than some; and they indulged themselves until the impromptu holiday
came to a close with a call from Cowley by R/T. Rosalie had left England,
and it was over. Doyle flopped on the bed in relief. "Farewell to high
heels and lipstick and that wig!" 

"And hello to denim and leather and crash helmets," Bodie grinned. "I
shall miss her, though." 

"Her?" Doyle looked up with a frown. "Her who?" 

"The gorgeous bird with the long auburn hair and the backside like a
peach," Bodie said soulfully. 'The one with the racehorse legs and pink
fingernails... You, you twerp." 

"If you're serious, I'm booking you an appointment with Kate Ross," Ray
threatened. 

"Teasing." Bodie grinned, pulling the sash which held the robe closed
about Doyle's spare frame and tickling his belly. "She's an illusion
outside that door; reality's in here, keeping me exhausted. You're a randy
animal, Ray Doyle, and I don't know how to say 'no' to you. That's one of
my little weaknesses." 

"Just one of them?" Doyle said with a leer. "What are the others?" 

"Too numerous to mention," Bodie said offhandly. "Come on, then, let's
pack up and push off. Got a year's jobs to do at home." 

With a sense of enormous satisfaction, Ray pulled on his jeans and the tee
shirt he had been wearing under the denim shirt Rosie had departed with.
"Have to send her clothes on to her," he said, enjoying the nice, tight
feel of denim about him. "God, it feels good to be me again." 

"I'll bet," Bodie agreed, watching his lover caress his own rump and
thighs. "Narcissist." 

Doyle gave a derisive snort, and pulled on his white jogging shoes. "Why
don't you take me away from all this? Starting to feel like a lounge
lizard." 

"Stop touching yourself up," Bodie said crossly, busying himself with the
bags. 

"Getting you going, am I?" Ray asked fondly. "Just feels good to get back
into a pair of jeans...tight in all the right places, you know. Makes you
feel like a nice, warm hand has hold of you. S'why people wear jeans.
Ought to try it sometime... Though, maybe not. Don't want you wandering
about with a hard-on all the time, frightening old ladies." 

"If I can live and work with you all day," Bodie said with an exaggerated
display of patience, "I can manage..." He gave Doyle's denim-clad rump a
welcome- back glance. "Mind you, there's a lot to be said for a tight pair
of Levis. Ever thought of angling for an advertising contract? You could
strut up and down on telly in a pair of Blues Unions, get yourself mobbed
in the street by screaming teenagers and pensioners..." He heaved a
theatrical sigh, hand on his heart, eyes on Doyle's rump. "Thank God
you're a bloke." 

Ray's smile warmed by degrees. "Mean that?" 

"Yeah. You're *you*, with all that means and entails... A man." Bodie
reached for Doyle's head and kissed him. "Ray, it's days since you let me
have you, let me inside you. It really bothered you, didn't it, me wanting
you as a girl." 

"A bit," Ray admitted, holding Bodie by the shoulders. "Identity crisis?
It was hard enough having to paint my face and clatter about in high heels
and a skirt, without lying down and spreading my legs for you... I didn't
do it consciously -- refuse you, I mean. You never insisted." 

"I'm not thick," Bodie said, cuffing his lover's ear. "Well, not as thick
as all that... I guessed what the problem was, knew better than to push
you." 

"Let me have you all the time, instead," Ray said. "Oh, Bodie!" 

"Wasn't an imposition," Bodie said cheekily. "Nothing I like better than
having you in me... Must be love." 

"Course it's love," Doyle murmured huskily. "And I could say the same...
Love having you inside me; nothing else like it." He pressed hard against
Bodie, lean and muscular in denim and warm cotton. "Tell you what, if you
take me straight home I'll cook lunch for you and you can have me this
afternoon. How d'you feel about that?" 

The shudder that rippled through Bodie was answer enough. "Can hardly
wait. Feeling more in touch yourself, I presume? Sure of who you are?" 

"Not *who*," Ray corrected, "*what*." He bucked his hips into Bodie. "A
bloke... Lipstick and high heels are for the birds -- feathered variety!"
He opened his mouth to Bodie's kiss and then extricated himself from the
embrace, reaching for his bag. "Let's get out of here. Got better things
to do than stand around 'ere nattering." 

Infinitely better things, Bodie agreed wholeheartedly, grabbing Rosalie
Fletcher's luggage and urging his lover out of the suite... The sooner
they were out of here, the sooner they could partake of a home-cooked
lunch, and then -- *then* -- Bodie reached out to give Ray's shapely rear
an affectionate caress before they left the privacy of the room. Once on
the other side of that door, they were no longer permitted to touch openly
any longer; there was cause for regret in that... Dress or jeans, Ray was
Ray, and it was absurd that clothes should make such a world of
difference. Doyle shot a sultry glance back over his shoulder, saw the
look in the dark blue eyes, and caught the mood of urgent longing. 

Genuinely inspired, they made a sprint for the carpark. 

-- THE END --

*1986*

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