Perhaps the June heat had affected his brain, or perhaps the strong drinks were to blame. Doyle didn't really care. He only wanted to revel in the warmth and companionship enveloping him; he felt he could drift within the hazy, lazy atmosphere forever.

He leaned against a wall in the noisy, crowded lounge of Murphy's flat, with the party ebbing and flowing around him. From time to time he sipped at the glass of scotch cradled in his hands, but mostly he just tinkled the ice cubes about. Tipsiness had been achieved hours ago. Now he felt downright drunk, and pleasantly drowsy with it. He heard the raucous conversations in the room as vague wafts of sound, saw the swaying bodies as waves in a colorful sea, heard the music from the stereo as a sprinkling backdrop of random, moody notes. Comfortable, surrounded by friends, he closed his eyes to drift even further into the waves, lost in a dream, oblivious to reality.

A light touch on his shoulder drew him back. "Hm?" He opened his eyes to see Bodie near by, drink in hand, smiling. He saw Bodie shift from side to side on unsteady feet, and he smiled in return. "'ello, 'andsome."

"Must be as drunk as I am," Bodie said, his smile widening. He slid a matey arm across Doyle's shoulders.

"'m gonna fall down soon," Doyle confessed, not at all convinced the wall could support him much longer. "I've gone legless." The floor looked inviting, though not as enticing as the sofa. Murphy and his current bird had been inhabiting it most of the evening, but as luck would have it they rose to head for Murph's bedroom at precisely the moment when Doyle felt his knees begin to wobble.

"Sofa," he said, careering towards it.

Bodie staggered across the room with him. They helped keep each other upright until reaching their refuge. Together they collapsed onto the long, extra-wide sofa, struggling for a few moments before finding an easy half-sitting, half-sprawling position. Doyle leaned into the soft cushions, legs stretched out. He slowly became aware that Bodie still had his arm around him, was practically hugging him. He basked in the closeness of Bodie's friendship, loving the touch, wanting so much more.

"Best mate," Bodie muttered between sips of his drink.

"Tha's right," Doyle agreed, happy to have his place in Bodie's affections confirmed. He snaked an arm round Bodie's back and hugged him. "You'n'me, best mates."

Bodie's glass hove into view, wavering before Doyle's face. "To friendship."

"Oh." A toast. Doyle aimed his drink at Bodie's and clinked glasses, a little too hard. Scotch sloshed over the sides, dribbling over both their wrists. Doyle grinned. "Sorry."

"'s okay." Bodie set his glass down, brought his own wrist to his lips, and flicked out his tongue.

Doyle watched, entranced, as Bodie licked at the pale drops of liquid, imagining his wrist as the object of Bodie's lavish attentions. Or other body parts... Unable to take his eyes off Bodie, Doyle put his glass aside. Imitating his partner, he brought his wrist to his mouth and slowly, carefully cleaned off the fiery-tasting scotch. If only it were Bodie's skin he tasted, smooth and firm. If only he could glide over Bodie's chest, touch him everywhere with his lips, arouse him, bring him to the brink and over... He imagined Bodie enflamed with desire, vividly saw Bodie's erection, hard and slick, felt his tongue swirl around his cock.

Bodie's eyes stayed hooded, his focus on his own hand, but when he finished he turned his gaze Doyle's way. Doyle's eyes locked onto Bodie's even as his tongue darted out to clean the last sticky patch of skin. He froze, caught in his heated vision of doing to Bodie's cock what he had just done to his own wrist, afraid to move or say anything lest it give away his fantasy.

Bodie raised an eyebrow. "You okay? Look like the cat with the cream."

A hiccup saved him, bursting forth uncontrollably. Bodie's laughter only made things worse; more hiccups erupted, and the harder Doyle tried to control them, the more frequent they became.

Bodie thumped his back, nearly sending him off the sofa.

"Oi, don't bloody kill me with the cure!"

"Sorry." Bodie abruptly launched himself off the sofa and disappeared, returning eons later with a glass. "Here." He thrust it at Doyle as he sank down beside him. "Drink that."

Frowning, Doyle sipped at it. Plain water. Very boring.

"No, no." Bodie stayed his hand. "Drink it upside down."

"You what?" Doyle studied his friend's face for signs of lunacy.

Bodie sighed. "You hold it like this." He demonstrated with his scotch, bending way over with his head between his knees, the glass held beneath. He put the far side of the glass against his lips. "You drink it like so." He tipped it towards his mouth. At least half the scotch spilled onto the rug.

It was Doyle's turn to laugh. "That's the daftest thing I've ever seen."

"But it's a well-known cure for hiccups," Bodie replied as he sat up straight.

"Yeah, well, I 'aven't got 'em anymore. Went away while you were gone."

"Oh."

Doyle smiled fondly at him. "'s the thought that counts." He gave Bodie's shoulder a light punch.

Bodie hiccupped.

---

An hour later the party had thinned out, the noise had wound down, and Doyle still sat on the sofa, his head nestled against Bodie's shoulder. The heat of the summer evening made him drowsier than usual. He'd been dozing off and on while Bodie regaled him with dirty jokes, and raunchy stories of his most recent conquests. After the first few descriptions of bouncing knockers and the detailed recounting of every moan of pleasure, Doyle found napping more entertaining anyway. He supposed it was Bodie's way of compensating for their lack of birds tonight. Both their current girlfriends had called it quits a few days before the party. Bodie had been optimistic about their chatting up the unattached women Murphy had invited, but neither of them had any luck there. Doyle didn't mind. He much preferred having Bodie all to himself.

An elbow nudged his side. Doyle stirred, then buried himself deeper in the crook of Bodie's shoulder.

"You awake?" Bodie nudged him again.

"More'n I'd like to be," Doyle murmured. He took a deep breath, taking in the musky aroma of booze, sweat, and Bodie. He rubbed his cheek against the silky fabric of Bodie's cream poloneck. "Wanna fall asleep right here."

"You haven't been listening to my stories." He sounded hurt.

"Heard every word," Doyle lied.

Bodie shifted, dislodging him. "Sure you did."

"Hey," Doyle protested, upset by the loss of contact.

Bodie stood. "'m gettin' another whisky." He wobbled off to the drinks cabinet.

Just what you need, Doyle thought muzzily. A bigger hangover in the morning. He patiently waited for his pillow to return. As soon as Bodie sprawled across the sofa once more, Doyle snuggled up, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Bit cozy, innit?" Bodie said as he chugged down his drink.

"Best mate..." Doyle muttered into Bodie's sleeve.

"Best completely plastered mate," Bodie replied.

"Mm-hm. And you, too."

The last thing Doyle felt before dropping off to sleep was Bodie's hand gently ruffling his hair.

---

He awoke to a dark, stone-silent room. The party appeared to be over.

Doyle blinked and rubbed his eyes, slowly adjusting to his surroundings. Yes, he was still in Murphy's lounge. His dead empty lounge. And yes, he was still on the sofa, lying fully stretched out alongside a softly breathing Bodie. There was barely enough room for the two of them. They lay on their sides, facing each other. Bodie had an arm flung around Doyle's waist, holding them close together.

If he moved an inch, their noses would meet. With Bodie pressed snugly against him, with so much temptation staring him in the face, Doyle's resistance shattered. He drew a hand up to brush light fingers across Bodie's cheek.

"Mmm..." Bodie's head turned towards his hand.

"Oh, God..." Doyle touched him, loved him with a mere caress.

Bodie moaned lightly, opened his eyes, questioned with a whisper. "Ray?"

Doyle kissed him.

No matter how drunk they were, no matter how close they had felt throughout the evening, Doyle hadn't truly expected Bodie to kiss him back. A shock jolted through him when Bodie's lips parted for him, when Bodie's mouth took his in a long, fierce encounter.

Doyle moved his hand to stroke Bodie's chest, then slipped it around his waist. They pressed tighter together, touching, exploring, lingering in the kiss. Bodie broke off first, nibbling Doyle's earlobe and neck. Then he settled his head on Doyle's shoulder, his entire body relaxed, and soon after Doyle heard his soft snores.

Sighing, he resettled himself, regretfully aware they were both too out of it from the drink to really go on, but thoroughly looking forward to doing more when they were sober.

Doyle let sleep take him, the excitement of the moment fading into a solid contentment. In the morning... His mind played the thought over and over, lulling him into a deep slumber. Everything would be different in the morning.

---

"Jesus fucking Christ." Doyle groaned as he tried to sit up, holding his aching head in his hands. Why the hell was the room so damn bright? He tentatively opened one eye, saw a thin stream of sunlight creeping through the curtains. He moaned and covered his face.

His mouth felt as if he'd been sucking on someone's dirty socks all night. Jesus. Never, ever gonna drink this much again, he swore. Never gonna get this fucked up again. He tried to remember the evening, tried to recall if he'd made a fool out of himself at any point.

And then he remembered Bodie.

He dropped his hands from his face. Suddenly the morning light didn't bother him anymore. The aches and pains didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that he had kissed Bodie last night, and Bodie had kissed him back, and it had been wonderful.

All his fantasies... How many more could he fulfill? Doyle looked around, but the sofa was empty. Where had Bodie got to? He listened, and heard water running somewhere. Ah, the bog. Of course.

He leaned back to wait, wondering how long it would take to drive to his flat, where they could initiate new and more intriguing explorations in privacy. This was going to be one hell of a good day.

The water stopped running. A few minutes later Doyle heard the door open. He put on a big smile, ready to greet Bodie with beaming affection.

The sight which emerged from the hallway wasn't a pretty one. Bodie scuffled out into the lounge, clothes rumpled, hair uncombed, beard stubble prominent. Dark circles under his eyes and a ghastly gray-green pallor betrayed the excesses of the night.

Doyle couldn't have loved him more if he'd just crawled out of a garbage-strewn alley soaked in cat piss. "Mornin'," he said warmly, eager to resume where they'd left off.

Bodie stared at him. "Is that what this is? Christ, it sucks." He ambled towards the kitchen doorway. "I'll see if I can find Murphy's coffee pot."

"Bodie?" A flicker of doubt crossed Doyle's mind.

The other man paused, looked at him steadily. "What?" There was a distinct note of irritation in his voice.

Still smiling, still trying to be happy, Doyle said, "I was just thinking what a terrific evening we had. Didn't we?"

Something wasn't right. The blank look on Bodie's face wasn't right at all.

Bodie slowly shook his head. "You're mental, Doyle. Gettin' so sloshed I can barely pee straight is not my idea of a good time."

"But--" Doyle's smile faded. It suddenly struck him what the problem was. Bodie was pretending that nothing had happened last night. Because he didn't want anything to have happened. He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"But what?" Bodie demanded. "We got way too drunk, we fell asleep on that damn sofa, which was uncomfortable as hell, and now we're hung over. What's so terrific about that?" He turned towards the kitchen again. "I'm making coffee. Maybe you should take a shower, mate. Might sober you up. Bet you're a bit rank by now, too." He vanished into the kitchen.

Doyle closed his eyes, striving to shut out reality. Bodie couldn't have said it any more clearly. Nothing happened. We're not going to talk about it, we're not going to do anything about it, because it never happened, we never touched, we never kissed. Let's just pretend it was a bad dream.

Doyle brought his fingers to his lips, ran them lightly over the surfaces, remembering the touch and taste of Bodie's lips on his. No dream.

Guess I'm not worth the trouble to him, he thought bitterly. Too risky, getting emotionally involved. Not worth it to Bodie, not even if it could be the best thing to ever happen between them. Bodie didn't like to admit that he cared for anyone, liked to keep strict control over his feelings.

Doyle knew it could be incredible, knew in his heart that there was no one else who could make him feel so deeply. But Bodie didn't want to know. Bodie had shut him out.

The ache lodged within him had nothing to do with his hangover.

Doyle managed to find his shoes, his jacket, and his car keys before Bodie finished making the coffee. He quietly let himself out of the flat without looking back.

---

Rain poured down, beating against the grimy windowpanes of the bedsitter. Bodie had cracked the window open; dirty rivulets streaked down the frame. But nothing relieved the stifling heat of the day.

The op was a dead boring surveillance number, the two of them spelling each other at the window, watching the rowhouse across the street where a group of Muslim extremists had been stirring up rumors. Terrorists always tended to get trigger-happy in hot summer weather.

"Wish they'd all blow themselves up," Bodie said from his post. He lowered his binoculars.

Doyle ignored him. He sat at a rickety wooden table, keeping an eye on the unreliable coffee pot which was supposedly brewing the third pot of the morning. It bubbled and spat ominously, at length producing something between coffee and tea in color. He poured out a cup anyway, adding enough sugar to cover the taste.

The patience game he'd laid out had kept him occupied for a good two hours, mainly due to his habit of pausing for a quarter-hour or so between moves to gaze blankly into space while pondering the vagaries of life in general and love in particular, and his feelings for the bastard at the window in excruciating detail.

Cold heart, that's what his partner had. So damn cold, it ought to be able to air-condition the whole block of flats, let alone this one miserable room.

The Cow had sent them here the evening after Murphy's party, with barely enough time to recover. They had been on the assignment two days now--two days of watching, sleeping, eating, reading, cards, bad coffee and stale food. And very little conversation. Doyle didn't feel like talking, and Bodie was not loquacious by nature. So he had spent two days being utterly wretched. When he wasn't busy dwelling on what might have been, he spent time fretting over what was yet to come. Tomorrow, in fact.

Tomorrow was his birthday.

The last thing he really wanted to think about was spending his birthday trapped in this bleak bedsitter with the last person he wanted to be alone with, and the only person he wanted to be alone with.

Well, maybe it wouldn't be so awful. Bodie probably wouldn't remember what day it was, and if he didn't mention it himself, which he wasn't planning to, then there wouldn't be any awkwardness over the lack of a present. He was pretty certain Bodie wouldn't get him anything. Not after a night of unwanted passion and two days of strained silence.

Doyle stared at the cards. Something was amiss. Ah, yes, there it was. He'd put a red jack on a red queen. Wrong color. Perhaps the heat had fried what was left of his brain.

"Oi." Bodie picked up the binoculars. "We've got company."

Reluctantly rising, Doyle joined him at the window. A dark-haired, bearded man climbed the steps of the rowhouse carrying a large box wrapped in brown paper. "Is that our friend Rhadafy?"

"Yeah. Expert with explosive devices. Bought some new toys, no doubt."

"Great." They had spotted two other men entering the house yesterday, two men known to hold violent views. "Wanna go roust 'em?"

"Nah." Bodie lowered his binoculars as the man disappeared inside. "Let's give 'em a few more hours, see if anyone else shows."

Doyle returned to his seat at the table. It wasn't long before he felt restless. He stared at his alleged coffee without enthusiasm. Surely it was getting on to lunch time. He shoved the chair back. "I'll get us some nosh, shall I?"

"Get Chinese," Bodie said, not taking his gaze away from the window.

He failed to provide any cash.

---

Bodie propped himself on the narrow window ledge, half-standing, half-sitting, staring steadily across the street while he ate his sweet and sour pork.

Doyle sat on the bed, watching him. His untouched chicken chow mein sat in its container beside him, growing tepid.

He'd reached his breaking point. Two days of not talking, not even about something as inconsequential as the weather, let alone something as important as their encounter on the sofa, had slowly driven him over the edge. He no longer cared that Bodie had decided it never happened. He didn't care if Bodie didn't want him. No, he cared a great deal, but that was precisely why he needed to hear it firsthand, direct from the source. Escaping from unpleasant realities by pretending they didn't exist just wasn't on.

Dammit, he wanted to talk about this, and he wanted to talk about it now. There were things he needed to tell Bodie.

Doyle wondered how long it would take, after telling him, for Bodie to call HQ to demand a new partner.

He wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and took a calming breath. He wished it weren't so damn hot. Terrorists weren't the only ones who got irritable in the heat.

"Bodie?" he said tentatively.

"Hm?"

"Can we talk?"

Bodie swallowed a bite of food. "Well, that would be a novelty, wouldn't it?"

At least he recognized they had a problem.

"It's about the party." Doyle eyed the distance from the bed to the door. Eight feet. He could get there before Bodie killed him. "You know, about our night on the sofa."

"Is that what's been bothering you?" Bodie set his food aside and put his hands on his hips. "Why?"

"Why?" Doyle couldn't believe Bodie was still trying to deny reality. "Because you won't bloody well talk about it!"

Bodie blinked. "Talk about what?"

Doyle clutched the edge of the bed, fingers entwined in the blanket. "Oh, drop the amnesia act, will you? Can't you bloody well say it? Can't you bring yourself to admit what you did? What we did? Christ, if you thought it was that disgusting, why'd you respond in the first place?"

The expression of surprise on Bodie's face was Doyle's first clue that he'd got the wrong end of the stick. Bodie sank against the window frame, one eyebrow up. "What the hell are you on about?"

Maybe... oh, hell. Oh, Christ. It had simply never occurred to Doyle that Bodie might genuinely not remember what had happened. That he wasn't pretending, that he wasn't deliberately shutting him out. He honestly didn't know what he had done while under the influence.

He was about to find out.

Turning a deep shade of red, Doyle stared hard at his shoes, not knowing how to go about explaining this. There was no way he would try to cover it up, though, not now. Not after all he'd gone through in the past two days. He wanted Bodie to know everything, wanted to get it over with, because he didn't want to risk anything this awful ever happening again.

"What did you mean, respond?" Bodie said. "Ray, what the hell did we do?"

Biting his lower lip, Doyle glanced up. Maybe he should try being nonchalant. He shrugged. "Had a bit of a snog. You really don't remember?"

Bodie's eyes widened. "You kissed me? Have you gone bloody bent on me?"

Nonchalance flew out the window. "Wasn't one-sided, mate! You kissed me back!"

"The hell I did."

Doyle gave him a long, hard look. "I wouldn't have wanted to talk about it if it had been one-sided."

Bodie stared back, features set, unreadable. Then he gave a barely perceptible shrug. "Was drunk, wasn't I? Must've been confused, thought you were a bird."

"No." Doyle refused to let it go. "You said my name."

"You were drunk as well," Bodie replied. "Must've been hearing things."

"Think whatever you like, mate. It happened."

Silence settled between them. Bodie turned away, his attention on the window.

Doyle idly picked up his food, poked at it with the chopsticks, put it down again. A fly immediately landed on the container, and he brushed it away. Damn heat. Drew all the vermin out of their lairs. Probably had rats in the wainscoting.

Bodie's smooth voice cut through the oppressive air. "What difference does it make?" He did not shift his gaze from the window, didn't look at Doyle.

"Oh, not much," Doyle replied, outwardly calm, while inside, every atom of his being vibrated with tension. "I just had this crazy notion that it might be the best thing that ever happened to me, that's all."

He saw the reflexive clinch of Bodie's jaw. There were some things a cold-hearted bastard couldn't hide.

"Best thing?" Bodie repeated. "Kissing another bloke?"

"No. Kissing someone I cared a hell of a lot for."

Bodie sighed. "All that sentimental best mate' rubbish went to your head, Doyle. Got you all muddled."

"I don't think so," Doyle said carefully. "And I don't believe that you don't care a lot for me."

Bodie looked away from the window, looked at Doyle. There was something fleeting in his expression Doyle couldn't quite place--almost a certain sadness. Bodie turned away once more.

Doyle watched him. "I wanted it to happen," he said quietly. And I want you more than anything.

"Yeah, well I didn't."

"Are you so sure?"

The pause before Bodie replied was a fraction too long. Doyle smiled, a faint hope edging away at the tension.

"I--" Bodie faltered, shaking his head. "Ray, it's crazy, what you're thinking. Just because we care about each other, just because--" He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Dammit, why couldn't you have left it alone?"

The implication hit him like an explosion. Doyle leapt from the bed, crossing to the window in two strides. "You bastard." He spun Bodie round to face him. "You bloody well did remember all along! Why the fuck did you keep pretending you didn't?" He grabbed Bodie by the upper arms, furious. "Why?"

"Because it scares the fucking piss out of me, that's why!" Bodie broke the hold easily, and snatched Doyle's shirtfront, cloth bunched in his fist. "Because I don't want to know!"

His hot breath rushed over Doyle's face. That intangible air of sadness still lingered in his eyes. Doyle made no move against him, his anger fading in the face of Bodie's confusion. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then he laid a hand on top of Bodie's, gently easing the grip. Without relinquishing Bodie's hand, he began to speak, softly and steadily, telling him what he had yearned to say for two long days.

"For what seems like ages now, I've felt as if I've been spending my life just missing out...coming close--" He held his other hand up, thumb and index finger half an inch apart. "--this close, to finding the one thing that makes it all worthwhile. Kept lookin' left when I should've looked right, turned up the road instead of down, went slow when I should've gone fast. I don't want to spend the rest of my life fumbling about, don't want to wind up all alone, wondering how the hell I could've gotten so lost on the way home." He paused to take another deep breath, to calm his pounding heart. If only he could find the words that would make Bodie understand. "I didn't ask for this to happen. It just bloody well did. One morning I had a long look about, trying to see if there was anybody out there I cared for, or who cared about me. And there you were."

Bodie started to speak, but Doyle held up his hand. "No, let me finish this. You don't want to know, right? Well, I do. I don't know if you're the one, Bodie. I don't know if you're the only one who can fill the empty place in here." He brought Bodie's hand to his breast. "But I couldn't miss the chance of finding out. It scares me, too. But it scares me a helluva lot more to be alone."

He waited, wanting more than anything to move one step closer, to kiss Bodie, very much aware that he didn't dare risk it. It was Bodie's move now.

Bodie looked down at Doyle's hand clasping his. "Took me by surprise," he said softly. "Finding you touching me like that in the night. Felt too good to be real. Thought I must've dreamed it."

"Wish you had?" Doyle asked.

"Be better all 'round." Bodie drew his hand away. "Can't give you what you want, Ray. Haven't got it in me."

Doyle didn't believe that for one second. "Go on, tell me you've never fallen in love before."

Bodie leaned his head against the window frame. "Played at it, that's all I ever did. Always tried to keep a few pieces on my side, never realized 'til too late that the point of the game was to give up and surrender." A wistful smile graced his lips. "Don't like to lose, do I?"

"I've noticed," Doyle replied. A wave of desolation flowed through him, a sense of tremendous loss. This wasn't working; nothing was working out the way he wanted. He didn't know what to do or say to keep Bodie from drifting away.

"Maybe we ought to get back to work," Bodie said, his eyes on the house across the street.

Doyle brushed his arm. "Okay." Overcome by a wave of loneliness, he started towards the bed. But he never reached it.

A rumbling blast shook the entire building, sending him to the floor. Bodie was flung flat beside him. "Jesus..."

Doyle lay there as the room continued to shake; he watched his takeaway container jiggle off the edge of the bed and spill across the rug. Then everything was abruptly still.

He glanced at Bodie. Thank God the window hadn't shattered...

Bodie suddenly laughed.

"What's so bloody amusing?" Doyle asked as he sat up. "We could've been killed."

"Nah." Bodie staggered to his feet and went to the window. "Went and blew themselves up, didn't they?" He grinned. "Just like I said they should."

Doyle joined him. The top floor of the rowhouse was a smoking, blackened ruin. "Missed your callin', mate. Ought to be tellin' fortunes."

He went to get his R/T from his jacket to call in the news to Cowley.

---

They spent the afternoon talking to neighbors, trying to piece together all the events leading up to the blast, and then returned to HQ to write up their reports. At the end of the day, Bodie left the CI5 building, and Doyle, with a brusque "See you later," and that was that.

Doyle went home to his stuffy flat, and opened up the security windows in a vain effort to air it out. The one small fan he owned could barely cool a cat. He turned it on anyway, setting it near the sofa. After cobbling together something vaguely resembling a meal, he sat down to a night of boring telly that he knew would not go far in the way of distraction.

And he was right. The comedy show didn't amuse him, the American import was poorly acted, and even the darts tournament nearly put him to sleep. Maybe that would be the best thing, sleep. Except that he didn't want to dream. Lately, his dreams had not been good ones.

Doyle turned off the telly. He glanced at the newspaper he'd picked up on his way home, for all of about ten seconds. Then there was the small stack of mail he'd brought in but hadn't looked at yet. Bills, no doubt. He opened each envelope with a determined lack of interest. Two bills, a bank statement, and a birthday card from his sister. Oh, yeah, his bloody birthday. Doyle idly checked his watch. He'd been born just after midnight, so in two hours time, he'd officially be thirty-two.

Christ. Thirty-two years old. In his teens, he'd thought that blokes over thirty were old, close to decrepit. Well, judging by the current level of his intelligence, he hadn't been far wrong. How had he ever managed to live this long without learning anything about love?

Hell, he couldn't even manage friendship. At least he needn't worry about having to spend his birthday in Bodie's company; Cowley had given them tomorrow off. Maybe he could spend it searching for a nice, cool, dark cave to crawl into, and not come out again.

Doyle rose and went to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a brandy nightcap, hoping it would help him sleep soundly. He drank it down, picked up the small fan, and headed off to bed. As he lay there, letting the steady whir of the fan's blades lull him into slumber, he wondered just how many more birthdays he was destined to spend alone.

---

The buzzing of his doorbell brought Doyle up from a deep sleep. What the hell... Couldn't be work, they would've used the R/T or the phone. He hit the lamp on the bedside table, studied the clock there. 12:15. Terrific.

Doyle crawled from his bed, dragged his robe on, and stumbled along to his front door. He pushed the intercom button. "This had better be good."

Bodie's voice came through. "Happy birthday, Ray."

A few moments of stunned silence later, Doyle said, "How much have you had to drink?"

"Haven't opened it yet."

"Opened what?"

"Oh, for chrissakes. Let me in and I'll show you!"

Doyle sighed. He undid the security locks and let Bodie in.

The idiot shoved a gaily wrapped package at him, a package with a distinct bottle shape.

"Ta very much," Doyle said. "You do know what the time is, don't you?"

Bodie ambled past him into the lounge. "Sorry. Thought you might have trouble sleeping." He shrugged off his jacket, flung it over the sofa arm. "What with this heat and all."

He'd always thought Bodie was immune to any type of weather. The man swathed himself from head to toe no matter what. "Were you bothered by it, then?"

"By what?" Bodie grabbed two large glasses from the drinks cabinet. "Open your pressie, Ray."

Something was very odd here, Doyle thought. Almost as if Bodie were high. But what the hell, the bastard had remembered his birthday after all; maybe that meant he wanted to make amends. The package felt chill to the touch. Doyle ripped the paper off. "Champagne?"

"Yeah. That's the first part of your birthday present." His eyes were positively glittering, and he bounced on his heels with a certain nervous energy.

Doyle was too tired to bother trying to figure out Bodie's peculiar mood. But if the idiot wanted champagne at midnight, he was willing to humor him. He set about opening the bottle. "What's the second part of my pressie?"

Bodie grinned. "Me."

The cork popped. Doyle watched it hit the ceiling, then arc to the floor and roll beneath the stereo. He watched the champagne burble out the top and dribble down the bottle's side. The heat must have killed off his remaining brain cells, because he certainly couldn't get them to function. Perhaps that was a good thing.

He looked up, feeling as if he were trapped in a surrealist film. Bodie held the glasses out for filling.

Doyle filled them.

"Cheers," Bodie said, handing one over.

"You've cracked," Doyle replied. He set the bottle down and drank half his glass in one go. "That's what comes from wearing polonecks in the middle of summer. Stifles your brain." He went to work on the second half of his champagne.

"Maybe," Bodie said, moving in closer. "And maybe I'm just curious."

Doyle sputtered. "Curious? More like desperate. What's wrong, get turned down by every bird who's warm and under fifty, did you?"

Bodie frowned. "Knew you wouldn't believe me."

"Try starting at the beginning, mate." Doyle suddenly didn't like how near Bodie was standing to him. Not when he had that wild, unpredictable glint in his eyes. Very un-Bodie-like. He scooted towards the sofa and sat down.

"Well," Bodie began, pacing the length of the lounge, "I had a good think."

"Better than a bad one."

"Lighten up, Doyle."

"Yeah, yeah. Get on with it, then."

"I'm tryin'." Bodie halted, stood facing the sofa. The wildness had abruptly left his eyes. "Thought about what you said. About not missing out. Wanting to know you hadn't missed the one main chance." He stared into his glass a moment, then brought it to his lips and drank it dry. He set the empty glass down and came to join Doyle on the sofa, near, but not touching. "Scared myself all over again, thinking about what it might mean to do this. Don't want it to mean anything at all." He stared down at his own hands. "Ray, do you understand what I'm saying? I want you to have your chance to find out. And me, too. But I don't want you to be the one for me. I'm hoping we'll find out that we're wrong." He reached across to lay his hand on Doyle's thigh. "It's only tonight, just once. Right now, I want to be with you. Because I found out I do want to know. But I don't believe there'll be a next night, ever."

The tremor running along his thigh was almost more than Doyle could bear. Bodie's hand warmed him, his touch set him on fire. "I'll take one night. It's enough."

Bodie sighed. "Is it?"

Doyle slowly shook his head. "But how can I say no?" He wanted Bodie, on any terms. Even if all Bodie wanted was to prove this could never work, even if he were only here to disillusion him. So what if Bodie didn't believe they belonged together? Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe one night would be enough to change his mind. And if he failed... Doyle didn't really want to think about that possibility. It would hurt never to have Bodie at all; it would hurt even more to have him only to lose him. He had no good reason to feel optimistic, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to feel that they were doomed quite yet.

"Put the glass down," Bodie said, rising. "Let's go to the bedroom."

---

Doyle had a good time taking Bodie's clothes off, lingering over every newly exposed bit, stroking the smooth flesh. Bodie kept a look of exasperated tolerance on his face throughout, then deftly helped Doyle out of his jeans, shirt, and undergarments in record time.

"You don't have to be so mechanical about it," Doyle protested as Bodie climbed onto the bed. "At least try to enjoy yourself." He crawled in alongside.

"What I'm trying to do," Bodie replied, "is to not think about this too hard."

"Good." Doyle propped himself on one elbow to gaze at Bodie's splendidly nude form. "That's the best way. Don't think, just feel." To hell with what Bodie wanted, or didn't want. Damned if he wasn't going to give it his all anyway. One chance. If that was all he got, then he was going to take it and run with it as far as he could.

"And don't talk," Bodie said.

"Right." Doyle complied by applying his lips instead to Bodie's forehead, brushing the skin. He moved down Bodie's nose, planting a kiss on the tip, then left a feather touch on his lips. The only response he got was an amused look.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

With a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, Bodie obeyed.

In the soft amber glow from the bedside lamp, Bodie's skin shone with a warm, inviting luminescence. Doyle stroked the broad chest in slow circles, willing Bodie to relax, to forget everything but the moment. With smooth, gentle motions, he sought to bring him to acquiescence, and from there he would start his campaign of arousal. He felt hot, more from the heat in the room than anything else; the small fan sent ripples of air across the bed, but the air itself was too warm. Doyle tried to ignore it, and to focus on building a heat within him, within them both.

He worked at Bodie's torso, rubbing down his belly and back up to his chest, until he heard his breathing steady, until he heard a light murmur of contentment escape Bodie's lips.

Now for the assault... Doyle abruptly pinched a nipple, pleased at the instant response. Bodie uttered a surprised "ah" as the nipple hardened his under sustained fondling. Doyle played with it, massaged it, then put his mouth to work, nipping and sucking, swirling his tongue round the nub of flesh, shifting his attentions from one nipple to the other. Meanwhile, his hands roved ever downward, grazing across Bodie's abdomen before sweeping along his thighs.

As he lingered over his exploration of Bodie's body, a hungry need rose within him, sweet arousal taking him to a new high. He briefly palmed Bodie's cock, felt the answering swell there. Wait, he thought, don't go too fast. Make him ache for it, make him want it more than he can bear. Doyle withdrew, hovering over Bodie, watching him, listening, and when he heard the faint whimper, he knew he had him.

He leaned over Bodie, kissed him, drove his tongue inside. Bodie opened to him, and as they delved within each other's mouths, Doyle flashed back to their night on the sofa, to the long, lasting kiss, to that momentary burst of passion. Reliving that moment, but pushing it further, he shifted up, sliding a leg across Bodie's thigh, his arm brushing his waist before settling on the other side of Bodie. He made a subtle thrust of his whole body, rubbing against Bodie's flesh, then slipped a hand down to run his thumb along the length of Bodie's firm cock.

Then he broke the kiss, paused, held still above Bodie, lying there half on, half off him, holding back despite the growing urgency of his need. He waited. But he didn't have to wait long.

Bodie grabbed him, one arm snaking behind his head to seize a handful of hair, his whole body suddenly in motion. Doyle responded with equal strength and fervor, and they pressed into each other, stroking everywhere they could reach. Bodie gripped Doyle's head, pushed his tongue inside his mouth, then twisted away, letting go, panting, sweat beading on his brow. "Oh, God..." Bodie moaned, "Oh, God..."

Doyle wrapped his hand around Bodie's cock and pumped it vigorously, eliciting a groan. Then he cupped Bodie's balls, squeezing them, enjoying the feel of him, loving the heady sensation of bringing Bodie to the edge.

And then Bodie's hand was touching him, clasping his cock, briefly but avidly gripping him before sliding down to his balls and squeezing them, sending a wave of shivering pleasure up Doyle's spine.

The frenzy between them built, and the heat of the night merged with the heat within Doyle; all thought fled, lost in the drive to possess and the urge to let go. Here, now, riding on a cloud of fire, he was joined completely to his lover, yet when he came, mere seconds after Bodie, he shattered into a million pieces, with absolutely nothing binding him anywhere, or to anyone.

He gradually regained control of his senses and came down from his high, came back home, back to the reality of his bed and to Bodie. But Bodie had pulled away from him, was sitting near the foot of the bed, arms clasped around his knees, head bent.

Only one night... Doyle closed his eyes tight against the image of Bodie leaving him, of an empty room and an emptier life. He shuddered, feeling lonely though he wasn't alone, an unwelcome solitude when all he wanted at this moment was to hold another.

He sighed and opened his eyes. Bodie was trembling. Doyle wished he would say something, anything, get it over with, get out the disgust, the rejection, the need to get away. Why else would he be sitting there like that? Doesn't want to face me, can't face me, that had to be the reason. Because he didn't know how to break the bad news gently.

Just say it, Doyle screamed silently. Say I was wrong, tell me you're walking away, just fucking say it.

"Ray--" Bodie's voice sounded far away.

Doyle stared dully at Bodie's broad back. "Yeah, I know." He dug his nails into his palms until they hurt. "Do you want to leave? I mean, if you want to stay, I can sleep on the sofa--"

"No."

"No? No what?"

Bodie raised his head, turned towards him, pain etched across his face. "I don't like to lose, Ray."

Confused, Doyle shook his head. "Neither do I, mate. But I'm not playing at games tonight."

"I thought I was." He turned away, got off the bed, and crossed to the window. "It's hot in here." He raised the window as high as it would go.

Doyle leaned over to flick off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. "Don't want you frightening the neighbors."

For the longest time, Bodie simply stood there at the window. The only sound in the room was the incessant murmur of the fan. Doyle stayed on the bed, not taking his eyes off the pale form, wishing to hell he knew what Bodie was thinking.

What did he mean, he thought he'd been playing at games? If he had, he must also have believed he would win, had told Doyle earlier, when this started, that he didn't want it to mean anything. And now he seemed disturbed--Doyle had assumed Bodie was upset at having to find a way to say "I told you so." But what if he were upset, instead, because their encounter had meant something to him after all?

They had been good together, no denying that. Yet even Doyle, who had wanted this night to mean the world, wasn't completely certain it had, couldn't say that they would go on being good together. He also knew their future shouldn't ride on one night, that there was a lot more holding them to each other than a shared bed.

He rose and crossed to the window, stood behind Bodie, and slid his arms around him. He pressed up against the warm solidity of his back, and nuzzled his face along Bodie's neck and shoulder. "Will you stay?" he whispered.

Bodie relaxed into the embrace, put his arms on Doyle's, pressed their bodies tighter together. He nodded.

They stood there awhile, locked in each other's arms, enjoying the light breeze through the window. Then Doyle led Bodie back to the bed, and they lay down in nearly the same position, Bodie on his side, Doyle behind him, an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. He kissed Bodie's shoulder before settling down on the pillow.

Into the silence Bodie said softly, "Ray, do you love me? I mean, what you said before...do you think I'm the one?"

"I don't know," Doyle replied honestly. "But I hope so." He waited, wondering if Bodie would tell him what this night had meant to him.

"I don't know, either," Bodie said. "I didn't realize--" He paused, let out a great sigh. "You did something to me. I never thought--" He paused again, and Doyle felt him shaking, and he was making the oddest snuffling sound. Suddenly Doyle recognized it.

Bodie was laughing.

"Oi." He kicked at a leg. "What is so amusing?"

"You, mate." Bodie rolled over to face him. "It struck me that I just got totally turned on by someone who thinks checked jackets look okay with striped shirts." He cupped Doyle's face in both hands. "I never thought I'd have such a good time in bed with someone I knew so well."

"Is that so bad?" Doyle asked.

"Well, I didn't like it at first," Bodie replied. "Didn't like thinking, he knows all about me, too. But maybe it's not such a bad thing."

Doyle took Bodie's hand in his, leaned in to kiss him, taking his time. "Threw 'em away," he muttered when they parted.

"Hm?"

"All the shirts with stripes," Doyle said. "I threw them away last year."

"Good."

Doyle nestled against him. "Does this mean there'll be a next night?"

"Yes."

"And is that what upset you?" Doyle prodded, still seeing that lonely figure huddled at the foot of the bed.

"Felt too damn... exposed," Bodie said.

Doyle smiled. "Yeah, you don't like that." He gently tapped Bodie's forehead. "Don't like anyone to see inside there, do you? Well, don't worry, mate. I might know a lot about you, but believe me, there's a hell of a lot more that I don't know." He paused. "Yet."

"Ah. Bet you'll want to find out everything now."

"Could take years," Doyle said. And he knew, somewhere deep down, that they would have those years, that they were going to stay together. There wasn't a simple, one-night answer to the question of love.

Bodie brushed his lips across Doyle's forehead. "Gonna try and get some sleep."

"Okay." Doyle closed his eyes. "Got the day off, you know. What do you fancy doin'?"

"Go someplace cool," Bodie murmured.

"Oh, I don't know," Doyle replied. "Rather stay somewhere hot."

"Like right here?"

"Mm-hm."

"In bed?" Bodie's voice grew fainter. "All day...?"

Doyle felt sleep overtaking him. "All day," he managed, giving Bodie a light hug.

"Okay. First thing we do, though," Bodie said, and they were the last words Doyle heard before fading into slumber, "is to buy a bigger fan..."

It wasn't the first thing they did in the morning, but it did come a close second.

-- THE END --