(entry for Challenge 1 of LJ community the_safehouse: What did the Lads think the first time they met)

It was the stroll that made him notice it.

A perfect, ripe for the plucking, to-die-for twitching arse - along with small hips and waist and broad shoulders: poetry in motion. Tightest jeans ever and a killer glare. 'Look don't touch' kind of glare, but do look.

The others were paying attention to his shooting skills, marksman trophies having being mentioned - he was the man to beat. Bodie didn't bloody care. He had no competition whatsoever with rifles and that was enough to make him feel secure of passing the target shooting evaluation with flying colours.

"What's his name again?" A veiled tone of interest mixed with bored indifference, a casual question tossed to the closest observer and fellow aspiring CI5 agent.

"Doyle. Raymond Doyle."

In the car-park, later that night, Bodie was panting, the brick wall scratching his left cheek. It was hard and fast, just as he liked.

"What's your name again?"

"Tosser."

"That'd be you, technically. Wasn't bad."

A two fingered salute was all that Bodie got in reply, along with a delightful view of that perfect bum walking away.

There were many reasons for Bodie to get into CI5. That perfect bum was now top of the list.

-- THE END --