"You never answered my question."

Doyle glanced at the man in the driver's seat. Bodie shifted into top gear and eased his foot down on the accelerator as they reached the main road. Ahead in the inky black, the ribbon of white was a life-line, guiding them home along the forest-lined road.

"What question?"

Bodie knew, of course, but this was part of the game he and Doyle played, a kind of verbal tag, and Doyle was it.

"You know what question. The one we were talking about back at the house."

Bodie shook his head, a blatant denial.

"You'll have to remind me, old son," he told his partner cheerfully.

"When we were sitting round, at the Lodge, waiting for Mr. Big to show." Once again Bodie shook his head. "And Williams and Turner were playing cards, accused you of cheating..."

"I was NOT cheating," Bodie snorted indignantly. "I didn't need to!"

"Ah! See, you do remember," yelled Doyle gleefully, happy to have caught his partner.

Bodie brazened it out. "I remember the game, but... What did you say?"

Doyle's patience was wearing thin. "I said, you didn't answer my question."

"What question?" Bodie could play this all night. Doyle-baiting was a favorite pastime with him. "When?"

"When they all got pissed off with you winning. You said you could think of better ways to spend your time, and Williams asked how you would spend your last four minutes if they ever declared nuclear war anywhere."

"Yeah? So? I said I know what I'd rather be doing, and with who..."

"Whom," Doyle corrected automatically. "And you didn't answer my question!"

"What was the question?"

"Who was the question."

"Who what?"

"Who would you be doing what with?" Doyle sounded exasperated.

Bodie took full advantage. "That's two questions. You implied that you only asked one."

"I did." Doyle buried one hand in his unruly mop of hair. "My question was, WHAT would you be doing in your last four minutes?"

"I'd've thought THAT was obvious," Bodie snorted derisively.

"Williams reckoned that blond from typing, the one with the big," Doyle gestured with his hand, "possibilities."

"Did he, now?" Bodie was amused. "How very perceptive!"

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Would you?"

"What?"

Doyle would've punched him had Bodie not been negotiating a bend. "Would you have been with her?"

"Who? Oh, maybe. Depends on who's at hand when the balloon goes up, doesn't it?" Bodie flashed him a quick grin.

"If you had a choice," Doyle persisted, "who would you be with?"

Bodie was silent for a while; too long, in fact. The unnatural quiet grated on Doyle's nerves. "Pull over a minute," he ordered.

"Why?" But Bodie touched his foot to the brake, and the Capri glided into a convenient lay-by, and came to a halt.

Doyle flicked on the interior light, and twisted in his seat to face his partner. "Now tell me - seriously - who would you want to spend your last moments with?"

"Doyle, it doesn't matter who I spend ''em with. It's a hypothetical question." Bodie laughed. "Who cares how you spend the last four minutes. You'd be dead before you knew there was a war on anyway."

"I'd like to know," Doyle insisted. "Come on, someone special. Even you've got to have somebody you're really close to."

He watched his partner's face as it changed from cheerful wariness to an expression of sincerity Doyle rarely saw outside desperate situations. There was something else, too. The quality of the smile as it reached Bodie's midnight-dark eyes...

"Oh, yeah, there's someone," Bodie whispered, his mind far removed from the car and talk of wars.

Doyle swallowed, feeling unaccountably hurt by the admission. So, his partner had a special somebody. Someone he would turn to when the end was inevitable, when nothing could make a difference, some other person to be with, to share the most intimate and lonely of acts - that of dying.

"Who is it?"

Bodie blinked his dream away. "You don't want to know." He put his hand to the gearstick, and Doyle grasped his wrist.

"I wouldn't've asked if I didn't."

Bodie looked down at his captive hand, and then up into the earnest face of his partner. Somehow, they had lost the joke. Doyle was frowning, and it occurred to him that a lie would not be good enough. Equally, the truth could start the sort of reaction that would make the atom bomb look like a damp squib. "All right," his own temper flared as he faced his companion. "You won't like it, but remember, you asked for it."

"Well, come on then. Who is it?" Doyle pressed, tightening his grip.

"You."

Doyle snatched his hand away sharply.

"Satisfied now? Said you wouldn't like it." Bodie put the Capri in gear.

Doyle knocked it out. "You're serious?" There was a note of disbelief in Doyle's voice.

"You asked..."

Bodie attempted to get the car going again, but Doyle's hand came down over his once more, fingers curling, and pulled him away from the gearstick. This time, he held on.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you want to be with me?" He brought his left hand across to augment his hold on his partner. Bodie's hand was between both his now, and he rested it on his knee.

Bodie looked at him steadily. "Because you're my best mate."

Doyle swallowed again. He felt light-headed, as if he were in a dream, holding onto a strange compelling man that had Bodie's face, Bodie's voice, Bodie's body. Their eyes met, and locked together.

"What..." he breathed, "what would we be doing? If this was our last four minutes?"

"I'd've thought you were old enough to work that out for yourself!"

"Tell me anyway." Doyle twined his fingers with Bodie's.

"You," said Bodie slowly, "would be flat on your back with your legs apart, and I'd have my cock inside you." He dropped his gaze, almost hating Doyle at that moment for forcing his fantasy into the open. Doyle's grip tightened, and he caught his breath

"Bodie," he whispered, "look at me."

Bodie raised his eyes and glanced at his partner. Before he realized what was happening, Doyle had tugged him across and was leaning over to hesitantly touch his lips to Bodie's mouth. Bodie went numb with shock.

"Come on," Doyle encouraged, "you wanted to, didn't you?" He kissed Bodie again, more insistently, and coaxed his companion's hand up towards his groin. "The siren's just gone. War has been declared. Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to do something useful with your last four minutes?"

Bodie tried to bring his other hand up to touch Doyle's face, but the steering wheel was hampering him. Breathily, he laughed. "Sorry, Ray, but they'd better not start a war when I'm driving. I couldn't do anything... Ray?"

Doyle had twisted back and shoved open his door. "We've got three minutes," he informed his partner as he scrambled out of the car.

"Ray, wait!" Bodie bailed out in his wake, and saw Doyle clambering over a gate into the wooded area beyond. He slammed the car door and followed, fired by his friend's proposed scenario.

Doyle came to a halt on the leeward side of a large tree, screening him from the road. He waited for his companion.

Bodie slithered to a stop a few paces away, still not certain of Doyle's sincerity.

Doyle held out his arms and whispered, "What are you waiting for?"

Bodie cannoned into him, pinning him to the trunk, mouth feeding on Doyle-flesh: lips, cheeks, throat - everywhere he could reach.

And Doyle reveled in the attention. He freed his tee-shirt from his jeans, and tugged at Bodie's sweater, wanting as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. He fumbled at his partner's belt and flies, then pulled down his own zip. "Two minutes," panted Doyle, "can you make it in two minutes?"

Bodie put his hand into the waistband of Doyle's underpants, and eased them down over distended flesh. Doyle's hands slid over his buttocks, under Bodie's briefs, kneading the muscles, and holding them close. Bodie freed himself hastily so that his erection was rubbing against Doyle's caught between their bodies.

"Damn, place is too wet," gasped Bodie who had been sucking at Doyle's neck, "or I'd have you down..."

"Spread our jackets," suggested Doyle between mouthfuls of Bodie's ear.

"Don't think I haven't thought of it," mumbled Bodie, "but you'd still get soaked. Dying of pneumonia is unromantic. God, Ray..." He

thrust against his partner's slender body. "Gonna come in a minute anyway."

"So'm I," Doyle breathed. "Touch me! Hold my balls!"

Bodie's hand cupped the tender sac, and with a groan, Doyle spent himself against Bodie's belly. Bodie pressed closer, moving his hips, spreading semen between them. Doyle reached down and smeared his seed over Bodie's damp cock-tip.

"Again, Ray!" begged Bodie. "Stroke me, make me come!"

"Do better than that..." Doyle let his knees buckle and he landed at his partner's feet on the damp moss. He began to lick the column of straining flesh, tasting himself together with the sweetness that was Bodie, before engulfing the wet head in his mouth. With a whimper, Bodie came, clinging to Doyle's shoulders for support as his partner drank down everything he had to give. Doyle gave the lax penis one final stroke with his tongue-tip before gaining his feet unsteadily.

"That's it, mate. We're dead." He began to tidy his clothing.

Bodie chuckled breathily. "What a way to go!" He tucked himself back into his briefs and zipped up his slacks. Doyle was wriggling, putting his tee-shirt back haphazardly, but Bodie stopped him, reaching round the slender waist to kiss him on the lips. "Would've preferred it at home, though, in a proper bed. Wouldn't you?"

Doyle grinned and returned the kiss. "Your place or mine?"

"Assuming it's still standing, mine," Bodie offered.

"Should be," replied Doyle. "Think that may have been a false alarm."

---

Dozing against the lightly-furred chest, Bodie suddenly recalled what he'd meant to ask his partner on their return to the flat.

"Ray?"

"Hmm?"

"You still awake?"

"Depends."

"I want to ask you something."

Doyle managed to open his eyes a little way.

"No, I can't get it up three times in a row. You've had all I can give you, greedy sod!"

"Wasn't going to ask you that," snorted Bodie.

"Then I'm asleep." Doyle's eyelids dropped.

"Ray?" Bodie tried again.

"Go away, I'm asleep!"

"Can't, s' my bed," objected Bodie drowsily. "Just one question."

"All right, what is it?"

Bodie raised his head slowly, and peered at his bed mate. "What would you do in your last four minutes?"

Doyle started to laugh, and pulled him down against his sweat-dampened body. "What would I be doing? Can't you guess? I'd be making love with you."

Bodie lapped at one brown nipple sleepily, and Doyle sighed contentedly. "But then," he added softly, "I don't need a war as an excuse."

"Wish we'd said something sooner," yawned Bodie. "I mean, four minutes isn't long enough to do what I want if the world ended tonight."

Doyle grunted in agreement, and brought up one lazy hand to caress Bodie's head, stroking the dark hair until he was sure his partner was asleep. "It's long enough to tell you I love you."

He hugged Bodie close, and sighed deeply again. "If the world ended tonight," he thought sleepily, "I'd die a happy man. I've got my lover safe in my arms."

-- THE END --