AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to "The Ruthless Old Bastard."

Blame this one on Pam, although she insists she didn't mean for me to take what she asked for in quite this way.

Note: I know nothing about when the type of cuisine mentioned in this story made it to Britain or any cultural name variations. But, believe it or not, this one is a by-request Christmas pressie for a friend. So please check your sense of reality at the door for this little romp. Some things just are NOT meant to be taken seriously!

---

Raymond Doyle did not slam the door behind them, but it was a very near thing. Rotten, old -- He tightened his grip on his partner's elbow and headed across the street to where one of Pymar's men had been kind enough to drop off Bodie's motor.

To his exasperation, but not his surprise, Bodie tried to move toward the driver's side of the silver Capri.

"Oh, no, mate, not this time," Doyle insisted, tightening his grip on his prat of a partner and pulling him toward the passenger door. "I'm driving."

Despite the bleariness of his eyes, Bodie said, "Damnit, Ray, I'm fi-" Another mild bout of coughing interrupted.

"Sure you are." Doyle rubbed the broad back, easing the younger man and doing his best not to think about the silken span of flesh and muscle beneath Bodie's jacket and shirt. Had a gorgeous back, Bodie did. Was one of Doyle's favourite parts. Taking shameless advantage of Bodie's condition, he guided him into the passenger seat, then caressed the side of Bodie's face. "Time to get you home and into bed."

"Yours or mine?" Bodie asked, his expression hopeful.

"Mine. Not letting you out of my sight, am I."

"Think I need looking after?"

"No doubt about it. Need a keeper, you do." He did not add, 'especially with a father like yours,' but, like not slamming George Cowley's front door, it took a considerable amount of self-control to resist.

Out of habit, he scanned the street as he walked round the car, then got in. Inwardly he frowned at movement in a Jaguar parked down the street. Just a blur. As if someone had ducked down to avoid his seeing them. He started the Capri, drove to the corner, but turned left instead of going straight, intent on circling the block.

"Thought we were going to your place," Bodie muttered.

"Someone's watching the Cow's front door," Doyle told him. "We'd best check it out."

Instead of the alarm he expected, Bodie smirked. "You talking about the dark blue Jaguar?"

"Yeah."

"That's Peter Winslow's car."

"The Home Secretary? What would he be doing paying a call on the old man?"

"'spect he's come to air his grievances about the last few days."

The notion of the Home Secretary giving Cowley what for warmed Doyle's heart. 'Had us covered, my arse.' Still ... "You really reckon he didn't tell the Minister about what he was up to?"

Bodie nodded. "Was a need-to-know op, Ray. PM would have had to be told making telling the Minister --"

"An unnecessary risk," Doyle said in disgust. "Have I mentioned recently what a pain in the arse you military types are?"

"Was sort of hoping you'd be a pain in my arse tonight, sunshine," Bodie said, with a coy flutter of his eyelashes. The effect lost something when the eyes below looked so bloodshot, but at least it indicated Bodie felt good enough to prat around.

Doyle scowled, then sighed. "Pity the Minister didn't show up sooner. Would have fancied watching our George get reamed over this one."

Bodie's snort of laughter set off another coughing fit. One lasting long enough that Doyle pulled to the side of the road and repeated the back massage that had helped earlier. "Thanks," Bodie muttered when he could catch his breath.

"Mind telling me what was so funny?"

"Just didn't think you were that sort."

"What sort?"

"Sort who likes watching other blokes having it off."

"What?" Somewhere along the line, Doyle had completely lost control of this conversation.

"Dad and the Minister," Bodie said in a manner that suggested this explained everything, but Doyle gave him a blank look. "Oh, come on, Ray. You mean to tell me you thought it was always business when Cowley went off for a meeting with Winslow?"

A shudder passed through Doyle at the mental picture trying to form and he opted for denial. "You're not suggesting. ..."

"I think they make a lovely couple."

"Damn it, Bodie, that's twice!" Doyle bellowed.

The rotten bastard had the nerve to look the picture of puzzled innocence. "Twice?"

"Twice you've dropped a bombshell on me without decent warning."

The repentant look was no more convincing than the innocence. Doyle glowered at him, then concentrated on driving home, muttering under his breath all the while about devious, double dealing bovines and their equally treacherous offspring.

That little tidbit -- the one about who daddy was -- had been dropped on him after a weekend of blissful sexual excess. The sort of excess over which any decent father would have shot Doyle on the spot. Adding in daddy was also Doyle's boss hadn't made the news any easier to swallow. Bodie had taken the same 'I can't help it if you aren't observant' line then, too.

What further irked Doyle was both bombshells had explained a lot -- enough he suspected he should have figured them out. At least Cowley being bent as well as his son suggested a reason the old man hadn't bothered to have Doyle gelded after they'd reported their affair for the security files.

"You are a perverse bastard," Doyle announced as he pulled into a parking space in front of his flat.

"But you love me anyway."

"We all have our lapses in judgment," he said, then stalked round to open Bodie's door. "Come on, get out of there."

Dark eyes bright with amusement further irked Doyle, and he turned on his heel, then headed inside, bounding up the stairs to his fourth floor flat without giving the 'out of order' sign on the lift more than a fleeting glance.

He'd poured himself a scotch and downed half of it before he noticed Bodie hadn't followed. He heard the coughing as soon as he opened his front door. Running down two flights, he found Bodie sitting on the landing and trying to catch his breath.

"Sorry, sunshine," he said, getting Bodie to his feet, then helping him slowly up the stairs. Once he'd delivered Bodie to the dubious safety of his bed, he fetched a glass of water that worked far better on Bodie's throat than Cowley's scotch. Worked well enough he had to swat away hands reaching for him with less than pure intent.

"None of that, Bodie. You need to sleep that stuff out of your system."

"Don't want to sleep," Bodie pouted, reaching for Doyle again.

Doyle moved back and glared at his partner. Sometimes he swore Bodie was worse than a bloody five-year old. Hmm, then again, what worked for one of his sister's kids, might work for the overgrown one fate had thrust upon him. So what would get a prat with an overactive libido and a stun gas hangover to behave?

He thought a moment, then a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Perfect. "Tell you what, pet, you get your head down for a few hours, and I'll take you to that restaurant you've been wanting to go to."

Bodie's face brightened. "The Tex-Mex place in Chelsea?"

"That's the one." It was bribery. Pure and simple. But Doyle had become a firm follower of Cowley's 'by any means necessary' doctrine. Even better, remembering his own experiences with the type of food involved, it would provide a mild form of revenge for all these sodding news flashes Bodie kept giving him.

A tempted, but crafty look worked its way across the handsome face. "'s a deal, but I could use a cuddle to help me fall asleep."

Doyle's eyes narrowed, well aware of -- and usually very pleased with -- Bodie's wicked ways. And there was something so damned sexy about Bodie when he had that vulnerable look. Nope, too risky. Even if he could trust Bodie, he knew he couldn't trust himself. "I'll go out and buy you a teddy," he said, retreating to the doorway.

"Raaay," Bodie protested, then fell into a sulk at Doyle's well-aimed glare.

"Two hours sleep, mate. Or ... no nachos."

---

It was actually the next night before Bodie's throat felt up to a trip to the promised restaurant. The crowds had thinned out to a respectable number of customers since the grand opening three months earlier, and they got to sit down at a table after only a fifteen minute wait in the bar.

Doyle stuck to beer -- opting for a Mexican import to stay in the spirit of things -- while Bodie ordered a frozen margarita. To Doyle's eye it looked unappealing -- most mixed drinks did -- but his partner drank it with a look of satisfaction, then ordered a second one as soon as they got to the table.

Hungry, they tucked into the chips and salsa with enthusiasm. Accustomed to spicy Tai takeout, Doyle didn't think it tasted all that hot, but it was a different sort of heat. One that increased dramatically when the waiter returned with the extra hot salsa Bodie requested.

Doyle tried a single taste, smiled, then went back to the regular version.

They opted for two different sample platters, and Doyle convinced Bodie to give the 'diablo hot' version a try -- while he once again stuck to the less spicy food. Their dinners arrived and they devoured tacos, enchiladas, burritos, beans and rice. Doyle preferred the chicken filled items, while Bodie favoured the beef ones. And jalapeno peppers seemed to lace every bite Bodie took.

Doyle ate one and enjoyed the tingling in his mouth, but transferred the rest of the pepper slices off his plate onto Bodie's. "Don't think I care for these, mate. You best have them."

Bodie gave him a look -- they both knew Doyle normally loved spicy food. "You feeling okay, Ray?"

The small show of concern sent a surge of guilt through Doyle. One he ruthlessly quashed with memories of Bodie's smug smile when he had informed Doyle the 'two-faced son of a bitch' Doyle had been ranting about was Bodie's father. This after the raunchiest, sexiest weekend of Doyle's life, and, to his even greater disgust, after nearly five years of being Bodie's partner.

Doyle figured he'd deserved the truth about four years and eight months earlier. He'd wanted to stay furious with Bodie for an equal amount of time, but the beautiful prat was too damned sexy for that. Grumbling all the way, he'd let Bodie kiss and suck Doyle out of his mood, but the news about Cowley and Winslow had reawakened his ire. "I'm fine, Bodie. Just don't like the taste of these things," he lied, giving his lover a smile.

Satisfied, Bodie nodded and went back to eating.

A few bites later, Doyle asked, "Bodie, how did you figure out about your old man and Winslow?"

"Superior powers of deduction, my son," Bodie answered around a mouthful of rice.

Doyle resisted the urge to snort, settling on giving Bodie his best 'out with it' look.

Bodie tried to ignore him, giving a great deal of concentration to stirring salsa into his refried beans. One bite later, he cracked, "I asked him."

"You what?"

"You know I stayed with him for a few months after I got back from Angola?"

Doyle nodded, then a thought occurred to me. "You never walked in on them?"

"No. I was thinking of going into the Paras, but got to thinking about him being all alone again. He said not to worry, and it went on from there until I asked 'So who is she?' Got the shock of my life, I did, when he told me."

Not that experiencing said shock had made him willing to spare his partner the news. Or at least ease him into it. "Poor, pet," he said with all the lying sincerity of one considered a master at undercover work. Deciding the mood lighting was dim enough to hide almost any sin, he picked up a whole jalapeno decorating Bodie's plate. "Open up."

Bodie's lips parted, then closed around the pepper. Taking small bites, he ate all but the stem, and between each swallow, he gave Doyle's fingers a nibble as well.

"Sexy bastard," Doyle muttered, when he could finally withdraw his hand, a heat having nothing to do with the food rising in him.

A chuckle, then Bodie went back to his dinner.

Fried ice cream -- a concept that sounded disgusting and required a great deal of Bodie's persuasive skills to talk Doyle into giving it a try -- and coffee laced with Kaluha finished up the evening. Mournfully, Doyle admitted not only the fried ice cream, but the whole meal had been excellent. He hated it when Bodie was right. But there was always tomorrow morning. He smiled with cheerful anticipation and paid the bill without even commenting on how much it cost to keep Bodie fed.

Naturally, his partner's hand instantly settled on his forehead to check for a fever. Doyle bit him.

---

When he woke up the next morning, Doyle found Bodie still deep in sleep and, deciding to leave him to enjoy his last morning off in peace, he slipped carefully out of both his partner's arms and the bed.

He went through his morning routine, then fixed a light breakfast to tide him over until Bodie woke up and wanted some horrible fry up. Doyle would give him a hard time about it, but unable to resist his lover when he pouted, he knew he would relent and produce something that would make their arteries harden at the mere sight of it.

Toast and coffee dealt with, he picked up the morning paper and retreated back to the loo for a leisurely sit-down. As he had remembered from the first 'morning after', he found it an ... interesting experience. Although far from the hottest food he'd ever eaten, Tex-Mex had proved unique in that it felt equally as hot going out as it had going in.

It didn't put him off the notion of making a return visit to the restaurant or cutting back even further on the spiciness, but he couldn't describe the sensation as pleasant either.

When he finished, he settled onto the divan with the mystery he'd been reading. A fast reader and aided by Bodie's fondness for sleeping as late as possible, Doyle got through 100 pages before he heard sounds of life coming from the bedroom. Since he only had one chapter left to go, he opted to keep reading, but he heard the sounds of Bodie' cleaning his teeth, then the shower coming on.

He finished the book only a few seconds before the toilet flushed, then smirked as Bodie walked out into the hallway with a preoccupied look on his face. "Something wrong, pet?" he asked, fighting the urge to chuckle -- he'd manoeuvred Bodie into eating at least three times the number of spicy peppers as he had.

Bodie looked at him, a shy smile crossing his face. "Ray, come to bed," he said, holding out his hand.

Doyle blinked in surprise. He'd expected a blush, a mumbled change of subject, or ... hell, he'd expected anything but this! "Christ, Bodie, I always knew you were a bit of a masochist, but this takes the biscuit," he said, walking over to his lover.

He took the naked body into his arms and found Bodie still warm from the hot shower. A long, deep kiss wetted Doyle's appetite -- not that it ever needed any help where this man was concerned.

Bodie squirmed against him. "Want you in me, Ray. Now," he whispered, insistent.

Doyle allowed himself to be guided into the bedroom, then helped Bodie strip him of his jeans and t-shirt, but he balked when Bodie tried to pull him down onto the bed. "I am not taking you without lube," he said, evading Bodie's grasp long enough to snatch the KY from the bedside drawer. Next thing he knew, the pillock would want him to trot out the whips and chains. Maybe all those jalapenos had cooked his miserable excuse for a brain?

The well-kissed mouth settled into a pout, but the fact Bodie couldn't lie still on the bed spoiled the effect, and he had to settle on glaring when Doyle laughed. "Just don't use too much and get on with it!"

Doyle kissed his nose. "Don't worry, pet. The tingling lasts for a good twenty minutes." Not that Doyle considered this a good thing. He'd thought of it in terms of mild revenge, a bit of discomfort and embarrassment when asked about it to remind Bodie he should have felt both when he'd revealed secrets kept from his long-suffering partner. Trust Bodie to throw a spanner in his plans. Not that he was complaining. Well, not too much. "If not, I could always stick a lit match up your bum."

"Raaay!" Bodie pulled at him, forcing Doyle to give him a swat on the side of his hip.

"I'm hurrying already!" Good job he'd never spent a lot of money on oysters to get Bodie in the mood. Looked like a cheap sprinkle of jalapenos would do the trick with this one. 'A nutter. I've fallen in love with a complete nutter.'

He used a light hand with the lube, spreading himself and Bodie with what he considered the absolute minimum to prevent any tearing. Bending Bodie nearly double, he draped the long, powerful legs over his shoulders. 'At least he's a beautiful, sexy nutter.'

Bodie groaned loudly as Doyle entered him with a slow thrust that buried him to his balls in Bodie's bum. Worried penetrating the burning tissue had hurt rather than heightened sensation, Doyle froze. "Do you want me to stop?" Surely Bodie would come to his senses now.

"No. Move, Ray. Take me. I need you to take me."

He should have known better. Still not quite convinced, but unable to resist, Doyle began a lazy rhythm, pulling all but the head of his cock out, then pushing all the way back in.

Loud groans of unmistakable pleasure accompanied each trust, and Doyle came to the unavoidable conclusion Bodie really did like this. That made his curiosity kick in. "Tell me what it feels like."

"It hurts," Bodie admitted, but before Doyle could stop, he went on. "But 's good hurt. Ah. ... Like when peppers burn ... your mouth. Makes ... it good. Oh, Christ. Ray." He clutched at his lover, grinding himself on the cock impaling him as if trying to scratch a relentless itch.

The sensation drove thought from Doyle's mind, and he began to thrust harder, faster, while Bodie writhed beneath him begging for even more.

His lover's name a half sob on his lips, Bodie came, his semen flooding between their bodies. Doyle ached to seek his own pleasure, but the fear that without the sexual heat to channel it Bodie's burning tissue would begin to really hurt stopped him. That, and an idea.

He froze, gritting his teeth as he willed his body to calm down.

Insensible in the wake of his orgasm, Bodie didn't seem to notice until Doyle withdrew from his body. "Ray?"

"'s all right," he assured Bodie, kissing him on the forehead. "Just got to do something."

"Now?"

The incredulous look on Bodie's face caused Doyle to laugh and his ardour cooled enough to let him stand up without too much discomfort. "Be right back," he assured his bewildered mate, then headed for the kitchen.

It took only a second to fetch what he needed, then he returned to the sprawled body decorating his bed. He sighed with satisfaction. "You're quite the beautiful sight, mate."

"So are you," Bodie answered with a smile. "Come back to bed and finish things."

Needing no further prompting, Doyle knelt on the bed beside Bodie. "Think you can hold your legs out of the way for a few minutes?"

Bodie nodded and drew his legs up to either side of his chest, holding them behind his knees to keep them in place.

Shifting between the spread legs, Doyle bent down and kissed the spent cock until it began to stir again. Satisfied that he wouldn't be the only one to enjoy this, he casually touched his prize to Bodie's anus.

Like a startled cat, Doyle's lover almost rocketed to the ceiling. "What!?!"

"Hold still," Doyle ordered, and Bodie pulled himself back into position, but his muscles remained coiled.

"Damn, Ray, what are you doing to me?" he moaned, his slowly filling cock reassuring Doyle Bodie enjoyed the sensation.

"Only cooling you down a little," Doyle answered, gliding the rapidly melting ice chip along the edge of Bodie's entrance. "Think of it as the frozen margarita to go with the nachos."

Bodie laughed. "You've gone mad!"

"Nah. Just proving what they always say," he informed him, the last of the ice melting away.

"What's that?"

"Some like it hot; some like it cold," he said, positioning himself to re-enter his lover's body.

Love and affection sparkled in Bodie's eyes. "You're a daft bugger, Ray Doyle."

"That I am, mate," he smirked, then set about proving the point.

-- THE END --