"Kretch, you watch 'em now, hear!" Artie, the leader of the group, yelled before leading his mob out of the cellar. "And for Christ's sake, don't get near 'em. They're tricky bastards."

"Go to 'ell," Kretch hollered up the stairs. The slamming door was his only answer. Left behind again. Always leave me, it's not fair. The lean, life-abused figure sank into a filthy armchair, latched onto a whiskey bottle and swallowed long. Wasn't fair. They used his bloody place anytime they wanted, and thought they could use 'im too, all for a couple of bottles of booze. Kretch took another swallow, ran his dirty hand through greasy hair and stared at his guests. Two men, naturally. Why couldn't they ever leave him a bird? He studied the two men on the mattress. Been beat up good, these two 'ad. But musta showed themselves good. Kretch smiled, recalling Artie's puffy lip and discoloring eye and Tony clutching his middle.

The skinny one with curly hair didn't look like he could do much. Musta been the other one, not overly tall, but wide and solid, he was. Reminded Kretch of a bloody bouncer he'd once tangled with. Artie's mob had won out though, or these two wouldn't be here, hands secured behind them and ankles tied together.

Kretch continued to watch and to swig. He'd nothing better to do since his telly was out.

Curly squirmed in the dried stains on the mattress, wrinkled his nose and swore loudly. "What's 'e expect?" the host asked himself. "That's where Bitch Dog dropped 'er litter." Kretch had beat that damn dog for the inconvenience. He'd had to go out and find another mattress and drag it home.

With nothing else to do, Kretch sipped and watched. The skinny one, Curly, twisted his way closer to the bouncer, talking to him.

"He's out, ya daft idiot." Kretch shook his head in amusement. "He wants 'im awake. Ain't that somethin'. Here, I'll 'elp ya." Kretch pushed himself up out of his chair. Bottle in hand, he strolled around the dirty, littered cellar. He found his way to a dank corner and a rotting wood pile. There on top he spied something he could use, and pulled it from the stack: a long, narrow board, about one-half-inch thick and almost six feet long. He dragged it back to his chair. It wouldn't quite reach his prey, so he pulled his chair forward half a meter.

Feeling he'd earned it, Kretch took a long drink. Then he

reached out with the board and began poking the unconscious bouncer.

"Stop that!" Curly ordered.

Kretch hit him across the face with the board, then laughed as the man spit blood.

After another swig from his bottle, Kretch took up jabbing at the bouncer. Curly tried to use his own body and legs to deflect the blows. Two hard swats to his head sent him flat. Then the tormentor continued jabbing the bouncer, playing at it, first his middle, then chest, then his neck and head. Finally there was a response. The bouncer moaned.

This brought Curly leaning forward, talking. Kretch listened to the concern in Curly's voice. "Oy, what have we here?" he asked.

Bouncer tried to open his eyes, stuck shut with blood, some still oozing from the deep gash at his left temple. The two talked, voices subdued so Kretch couldn't make out their words, but they were mates, Kretch knew that. Oh yeah, Kretch, the loner, could tell that these two were bloody mates. "Worried are ya?" Kretch asked, "About the owie on his head. Well, kiss it and make it better."

Two sets of eyes locked onto him and Kretch froze under their hard gazes, falling back in his chair. Then he remembered who was in control here. The board flew.

Kretch's anger spoiled his aim with the unwieldy weapon. After several swings his arm tired and the far end of the board hit the floor. "Ya see," he yelled, "this 'ere's my place. I'm in charge here."

Kretch sat forward again and leered at his captives. He liked this, yeah, it felt bloody good.

That concern was back again as the two tied men inched their way towards each other. Blood was running into Bouncer's eyes from where Kretch had re-opened the cut. Curly offered the shoulder and upper sleeve of his shirt, the only clean spot around them. After a few more maneuvers, Bouncer was able to use it to clear his eyes of enough blood to be able to see.

"Go on." the brooding Kretch egged, "Kiss the hurtie and make it better."

The two ignored him, didn't even grant him a look.

"Ay!" the man yelled, "I said kiss it, or I'll hit it!"

Curly's head snapped up, Bouncer's went down with a groan.

"Do it!"

There were words then, spoken to softly for Kretch to hear.

The board was raised, threatening. Then, before it fell, Curly stretched over and brushed his lips across the bleeding, open cut.

"Na," Kretch yelled, "Put some feeling into it." The board went up again.

Curly's mouth settled next to the gash, forming a soft kiss of sorts.

"Good for a start," Kretch snapped. "Keep at it." He leaned back in the arm chair and laughed. He hadn't had this much fun in a long time.

Kretch decided he must remember to thank Artie for the favour, hadn't figured the job for this many perks. He reached for the bottle and found it empty. "Damn," he muttered and threw the offending bottle. It smashed into the wall half a meter above the heads of his prisoners. Glass rained down on them, and their attempts to duck the flying fragments sent Kretch into a fit of laughter.

Fun over, he rose and went to what passed for his kitchen, a table containing a hot plate next to a janitor's sink. Among the clutter of dirty dishes, food containers and general filth were two pints of whiskey. They were Artie's payment for use of Kretch's place. Kretch grabbed one of the bottles, then set it back down. He trudged to the other end of the cluttered cellar and urinated into a floor drain.

Back in his chair again, Kretch opened his fresh bottle and returned his attention to his private performers. They were lying quietly, close to each other but not touching. "Playing fool me, are ya? Well, we'll see 'bout that." After a healthy swig from the new supply, Kretch picked up his board. "Let's put some life into this show," he roared. "Me telly's bought it back last week and I'ma needin' some perks."

"Let 'im alone, 'e's 'urt!" Curly commanded.

Kretch didn't like taking orders. He may have to take them from Artie, but not these two. The board cracked across Curly's arm, making for more noise than damage, but the backswing caught the bound man on the ear.

Bouncer managed to throw his tied legs over the board and was putting all his weight into holding it down.

Angrily, Kretch came out of his chair and pulled the board free. Now they'd pay. He moved in closer, getting a better grip on the board with both hands, making it a spear. He shoved it into both men's middles, then swatted heads from side to side.

"All right. All right." Bouncer yelled.

"That's better." Kretch smiled and walked grandly back to his chair. "Let's have another kiss, a real one this time." He didn't even raise the board, his sense of power was so great.

Kretch watched in delight as the two men squirmed and twisted into position. "Come on, come on," he urged. God, it felt good. He couldn't wait for Artie and the lads to get back. They'd take a new view of Kretch when they saw this. Might even want to join in, knowin' Artie. "Stay on yer sides, so's I can see real good."

Feeling inspired, Kretch went for his flashlight and spotlighted the two, shining the light right into their faces. When they turned away, he growled. "Just pretend you're in the movies, you know, makin' one of them there porno films." Then he

laughed, enjoying himself immensely.

Kretch sat back and sipped from the bottle as he watched his captives kiss, but his view was not very advantageous. He decided to move in closer, to improve his vantage point.

Before he did that, though, Kretch looked around the mess for a handier weapon. The long board was too awkward. By the stairs he spotted the club he always took on his foraging trips. "Yeah," he told himself, "That'll do nicely." Fortified, he ambled toward the two prone men. He stood behind Curly, but not too close; he remembered Artie's warning and he knew enough to stay out of range of Curly's legs, lest the man kick out. Kretch stood over them, just watching. Once aware of his close proximity, the two stopped kissing and stared up at him. They just stared silently, their eyes arrogantly telling Kretch that nothing he could do would touch them.

"Oh yeah!" Kretch raged and swung the club catching thighs, calfs and ankles in its wake. Fortunately for the two men at his mercy, the liquor was taking it's toll on Kretch. His shaky movements did not pack much power.

Winded from this simple exertion, Kretch staggered back to his chair and collapsed into it. The thirty-odd years of Kretch's life had been hard ones of bad food, poor shelter, almost non- existent medical care, but a good supply of drugs and alcohol. All had left their mark body and mind. Unable to maintain his concentration on anything for very long, his rage faded fast. He sat and drank, almost seeming to forget about his two prisoners. They lay still, not about to remind him.

The second bottle empty, Kretch absently set it on the floor and toddled off for the other he knew was there. When it came to liquor, Kretch's memory could be very acute.

On his return to the chair he tripped over his board, studied it for several perplexed seconds, then picked it up and dragged it back with him. He looked at his victims and found them looking back. He swung the board, more to cover his own feeling of intimidation than anything. "Kiss, I said!" They did.

The triumphant Kretch moved back into the shadows by his chair and stared at the two men kissing. They seemed to be getting back into the mood again. Heads were moving slowly as they fitted together and their eyes were closed--fancy that. And the breathing coming from that direction was definitely getting heavier. Ever so slowly, the bodies inched closer until they were touching, chest to chest, groin to groin. The two parted: to catch their breaths, Kretch surmised as he leaned forward. But the wiggling that Curly went into told the delighted voyeur the real problem: Curly's tight, constricting jeans.

In a lightning move Bouncer lunged forward, capturing Curly's mouth. Curly pulled back as if burned. Kretch enjoyed that, and he enjoyed it even more as he watched Curly stare silently at Bouncer for several seconds, then after a soft moan leaned forward to reestablish the kiss.

Head and body movements intensified now and tongues could be glimpsed darting to and fro.

"Too hot by half!" Kretch sighed as he encouraged Bouncer to get on with it. "He likes it. See." Kretch rubbed the end of his board roughly into the bulge in Curly's crotch. "I'm tellin' ya, 'e likes it... Either that, or he's got a piece of pipe down his pants." Kretch, tickled at his joke, threw his head back laughing. Kretch began rubbing again, trailing the board back and forth, then up and down Curly's groin. He moved the board across to Bouncer and found his crotch in the same condition. "Ya," he squealed, pleased with himself, as if he had just discovered something very important. "He likes it, too. Oh, oh, naughty lads. I've got me a couple of poufs. That's perverted, ya know." He slapped his thigh in delight and the uncontrolled board wavered over the unnoticing pair. "They don't believe me," he said to some non-existent companion, "Fancy that. I'll just 'ave to show 'em." Laying down his board, he grabbed his club. Although he was not too bright, Kretch was able to discern that Curly's dead weight would be easier to move than Bouncer's. Grabbing him by the shirt, Kretch jerked Curly around. "Now, that's what they call 'sixty-nine. And you poufs know all about that, don't ya?" he roared.

Kretch's joke was short lived as Curly tensed and kicked out backwards. The tormentor went down, but out of range from further contact. He came up slowly, undamaged but furious.

For protection both men curled into fetal positions, but Kretch got first one and then the other several times in the back, shoulders and kidneys, then switched to their heads for more blows.

The one-sided battle made his captives passive and Kretch used the opportunity to reach over Curly gingerly and undo the snap and zip of his jeans. With no kindness at all he pulled back the denim and bikini briefs and jerked out the now only semi-erect penis. "Now see whatcha done!" he stormed, stretching the organ toward Bouncer. "He's lost it. Have to get it up all over again." Then he backed up and moved around to do Bouncer. His trousers were not so tight-fitting. Kretch had only to unzip them and reach in to find the prize he wanted. "There!" he slurred, almost drooling. "Now let's see you kiss that."

Neither man moved. They only stared up at him with defiant eyes.

The club was raised.

They complied.

The vertical man stood over the two horizontal ones and made sure they followed his orders. Any hesitation was rewarded with the club. Kretch watched as Bouncer nudged Curly's softened organ into position and sucked it into his mouth. Curly groaned as his whole body tensed and his penis came back to life. Satisfied with that action, Kretch focused on the opposite point of view. Curly was not being as cooperative as Bouncer. Kretch nudged the auburn hair with the club. The closed eyes slowly opened and even the undiscerning Kretch could tell that Curly's mind was not on the captor with the club. Kretch nudged again, with somewhat more force this time. Curly glanced up unseeing, then moved and Bouncer's cock disappeared from view.

Kretch paced in a semi-circle before his little stage and its performers. He continued to observe, but in some subconscious way soon realized that an invisible barrier had come between him and "them". When he found that he no longer needed to prompt the action, the fun was gone. Kretch muttered to himself, and went looking for his bottle.

The drama continued on to its natural conclusion, the players oblivious now to their surroundings or to the fact that their tormentor had abandoned them.

---

The cellar had been quiet for several minutes.

"Ray?" Bodie whispered.

"Yeah, I hear it. He's asleep," Ray said incredulously.

"Asleep! He's bloody snoring," Bodie sputtered. "Bleeding half wit!"

"Don't knock it." Ray said. "Gimme a little help. I think I can get free."

"Sure, whatcha need?"

"Got my shoes off. If you can get hold of my pant legs, I might get out of these ropes."

Bodie wrestled himself around and felt for his partner's legs. He grabbed onto one leg of Doyle's jeans.

Ray squirmed forward as Bodie tugged. By twisting his body and bending his feet straight, Ray made progress and slowly the ropes were left behind, and the jeans and socks with them.

Quietly, Doyle got up and made his way, barefooted, across the maze of broken glass and garbage and past their sleeping captor, to the table. There, among the mess he found what he needed. Almost in the middle of the table lay a knife. It was too far for Ray to get by backing up to the table and reaching with his tied hands. He had only one choice. Bending over, he

secured the food crusted knife between his teeth and carried it back to Bodie.

Once free they used the same ropes to tie Kretch, and left the bewildered drunk to face Artie. Then cautiously they made their way out of the cellar and to where they had left Ray's car.

Seeing the car just sitting there waiting, they nodded to one another. At least something was going their way. Ray crawled under the car and retrieved the hidden key.

The two checked in to CI 5's headquarters, filed a sketchy verbal report, were seen by the staff physician, and were pronounced bruised but basically undamaged. Bodie's head cut was butterflied shut and they were released with orders to file full written reports in the morning to the now absent (thank the gods) Cowley.

In somewhat less than two hours after they had released themselves from the basement, Ray halted his car outside his own flat.

"I'll just come up and get my keys and wallet," Bodie stated, not sure why, but some uneasiness making him feel that his exact intentions needed specifying.

Ray opened the door and let Bodie in, then closed it. Hearing the lock catch in place, he planted himself in front of the door.

As fast as he could without wanting to appear to be in a hurry, Bodie gathered his things from the coffee table and turned to leave. He saw Ray blocking his exit, noted the tense green eyes flashing.

"Bloody hell, Ray, what now?"

"I want to talk about our report."

All Bodie wanted was out. Fighting to maintain his cool, he said through clenched teeth "We'll write it in the morning."

"Not that simple, is it?"

"Hell yes, it is! We got caught by Artie and his mob, beat up some, then held for four hours. The guy in the cellar used us for batting practice, then passed out drunk and we got away. That's what my report's gonna say, will yours be different?" Bodie challenged.

"No, but we've got to be careful. Bodie, if our reports don't read the same, don't jibe exactly... You know Cowley, if he picks up on any nuance it'll mean Dr. Ross forever."

"And we neither of us want that, so what's the problem?"

Bodie's voice was calm, too calm. Ray recognized the tension, knew the signs: the fists clenching and unclenching.

"I think we should write our reports together, now."

"Hell no! I smell like a sty and all I want is to go home and get a shower."

"Take one here. You can go first, even have some clothes here."

"That's because you wore 'em and didn't return 'em. Bloody hell!" Bodie stomped into Ray's bathroom and slammed the door. It was a good twenty minutes later when he poked his head out of the door and asked Ray for his clothes.

They changed places. After another fifteen minutes Ray emerged from the steaming room, barefooted and wearing a jogging suit.

Bodie was staring out the window, a drink in his hand. "I helped myself," he said. "Hope you don't mind."

"Damn!" Ray swore. "I knew this would happen. God damn creep!"

"What're you talkin' about?" Bodie's retort came out sharper than intended.

"Us. What we had. We were friends, partners, a good team. Now it's all changed because of what hap -- because of that creep. Asking me if it's all right if you helped yourself to a drink. When's the last time you asked?"

"Forget it, Ray. I'm tired. If you want to write those reports, then let's get at it so I can get out of here."

"Come on, Bodie. Don't do this. Don't give that bloody pervert that kind of power."

"He's not!" Bodie yelled, then calmed. "Look, Ray, you're makin' this more than it is. It's no big deal."

Doyle's eyes challenged that remark.

"Christ, Ray, many's the time we've had the shit kicked out of us. Today wasn't so bad. I mean face it. It could've been worse, a lot worse."

"Yeah," Ray smiled in spite of himself. "It could've been his cock in my mouth."

"Hell yes, or up your ass. Or that board. We'd a been pickin' splinters for a month. Ray, the only things really lost today were our guns, ID's and dignity. Now I can love with that."

"Yeah," Ray conceded. "If Artie and his mob had stayed around, we'd probably be in hospital, but..."

Bodie swore inwardly. "Ray, cut it out."

"What?"

"You and your guilt."

"I wasn't..."

"Hell you weren't. I know you. Can't deny, or forgive that rock hard cock of yours this afternoon and so now you're on a heavy guilt trip."

"Bodie, it's not that." Ray stared at his partner, then dropped his eyes. It would be easier to continue this conversation if he didn't have to look at Bodie. "I've been around. I know what's

happenin'. Just never happened to me before. Never been turned on by a bloke."

"Come on, Ray, you know the physical responses are the same for either sex. You turn yourself on, don't you?"

"If I have to, but never with a guy. I've seen my share of male bodies, they just never did anything for me."

"Maybe that's because you always had the birds close at hand, never been deprived."

Understanding flickered across Ray's face as he looked at his partner. "You mean like being in the African bush for weeks at a time?" It was a subject Ray had often wondered about.

"Yeah, like that," was Bodie's quiet answer.

"Why not do for yourself?"

"Because it gets old. Christ, just want the closeness of another human being sometimes."

"I guess so. But you're right, I never thought about it, never had to. Bodie," Ray said, veering the subject off into uncharted territory. "What you said this afternoon, about closing me eyes and pretending I was with a bird."

"Yeah, I remember." Oh bloody Christ, Bodie remembered and that memory sprang to mind and manifested itself physically.

"Tried it." Ray said softly. "Didn't work. Everything was so different. Even your skin felt different, did you know that? Not just the stubble on your cheek either, whole texture is different and your mouth and tongue, so much more force, ya know, stronger. And nobody has hair as silky as yours..."

"Ray," Bodie tried to interrupt, but Ray would not be silenced.

"Bodie, did you know that each person has his or her own unique individual essence? Even through the stench of that place, with my eyes closed tryin to picture some bird, all I could see was you. Bodie, I knew it was you."

Completely unnerved by Ray's words and especially by his tone of voice, Bodie interrupted his partner. "Well, Raymond, me lad, that just makes you human like the rest of us. Don't go thinkin; you're special."

Ray just nodded. "Just a little late at coming to it, I guess."

"Well," Bodie gulped the rest of his drink and set the glass down with more force than necessary. "A good night's sleep and tomorrow this whole incident will look different. May even be able to laugh at it." For the a second time Bodie gathered his wallet and keys and made for the door.

Ray stared at his partner and wondered how or why this had happened. He had no answer, but since he had spent this afternoon in that dirty, filthy cellar with his partner and that crazy alcoholic, things were different and it was impossible to go back to their original state. Ray knew that as he had never known anything before. In that short space of time all things had altered, and he'd been forced to re-evaluate his partner according to a whole new set of criteria. Bodie's once-familiar touch had been known to him in so many unnoticed, taken-for- granted ways, but what had always been reassuring and comforting was now provocatively exciting, driving his

thoughts in hitherto unthought-of directions. His feelings had passed through some indefinable barrier, never to return. He and Bodie had been so at ease with each other. Look at him now, falling over his bleeding self to get out that door. They had touched so many times in the past three years, rough housing in free moments of good natured fun, in concern at some happening on an assignment, a giving pat on the shoulder for a job well done. Always casual, but no more. After today he could never touch or be touched by Bodie again and have it be casual. No, never again. He had no idea what that meant for himself and the man hurrying to the door, but he felt a desperate need to do something, to stop Bodie from going.

"I wish today hadn't happened..."

"Yeah, me too," Bodie supplied a shade too loudly, "But it's like I said, could've been worse." Bodie had the door almost within his reach, was about to make good his escape. Relief flooded through him as his hand grasped the knob. And he would have made it too, if Ray hadn't chosen that exact moment to continue.

"I mean happened like that."

Bodie stopped, his hand still on the knob. "Go," a voice inside him urged. "Open the bleeding door and get the hell out of here!" Bodie didn't listen to that voice. Instead he turned to Ray and asked, "What did you say?"

Green eyes lasered through him.

"I said I was sorry that it happened that way... That that creep was there..." His voice fell to a whisper. "...That there was a board."

Bodie knew he shouldn't ask. That same little voice inside his head told him so. Again he ignored it. "Why?" he asked in a husky voice that was all he could manage.

Ray didn't answer. He just stood there looking at Bodie with new eyes.

Bodie took two steps forward. Startled, Ray tensed, prepared to defend if Bodie attacked. Just as quickly Bodie retreated, backing into the door. Then he repeated his one word question. "Why?" If anything, it came from even deeper within his throat this time. "Why, Ray?"

"Cause I didn't like where we were, and I didn't like that sadistic moron, or being tied up, but -- Bodie -- I liked you."

"Christ, Ray." Bodie slumped against the door frame and watched the vision before him. There were no lights on in the room, only what the setting sun poured through the west window. It silhouetted Ray, making his hair all red/gold.

"What a bloody sight you are, Raymond." Bodie's voice was guttural. A short time ago he had been intent on beating a hasty retreat before he said something that would land him on the wrong side of Ray's considerable temper. He had also been thinking how some night he would slip back to that cellar and snuff the life out of that stupid half-wit for putting him in such an awkward position, but at this exact instant Bodie was considering thanking the old fool.

Gaining courage, Ray advanced on Bodie wanting the feel of that mouth on his. Bodie offered no resistance as Ray pulled him close. Their excitement flared instantly upon contact, fed by the residue of earlier arousal, memories fueling the desire. This kiss was hard, demanding, not conciliatory like that of earlier today. Groins were pressing, then grinding together.

"Bed." Ray finally gasped. "No more floors, want to be comfortable with you."

"Ray, do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Yeah, I know what I'm doing. Just don't know how, do I?"

Bodie could only stare, unbelieving, at his partner. "And you're wanting to learn, are you?"

"Only if you're teachin'."

"Classroom's that way." Bodie pointed to the bedroom and Ray led the way.

"Besides," Ray said, aiming his gaze at Bodie's bulging groin, "I always finish what I start. Can't have you taking all my hard work to some bird, now can I?"

"Not considering me a mercy case, are you?" Bodie tensed, his voice guarded.

"Afraid not, Sunshine, my balls are in such knots that..."

Ray never finished that sentence because the teacher claimed his student.

-- THE END --