Sunday's Children


The two girls were taking a well-earned break from typing up the initial reports on the new intake left over from the previous Friday. Name after name, and a thumb-nail sketch of their characters, coupled with the official photographs of each aspirant agent.

"There's a few here who look like they should still be in school," Betty raised her immaculate eyebrows. "Thomas, and Williams... I feel old enough to be their mother!"

"Face it," teased Julie, "you ARE old enough to be their mother!"

"Bitch, bitch," Betty laughed. "How about yours?"

"I've got a couple of real dishes over here. EX-S.A.S. bloke, only late twenties, and he's been around a bit... Africa, and he was a sailor before that..."

"Ooh, let's see, Jules," Betty begged. She held out her hand for the file, and her colleague passed it across.

Opening the plain brown folder, she found herself face to face with one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen -- dark hair, grey eyes, and a cynical expression, she noted. Looks a lot older than --

"Don't you think he's a dream?" asked Julia. "I wouldn't mind making him breakfast!"

"He looks the sort that would expect you to wait on him," said Betty dismissively. "Handsome is as handsome does."

"But at least you agree that he's good-looking."

"Oh, yes," laughed Betty, "very pretty."

"Right, let's see what you can do!"

The instructor's voice carried clearly across the gym to the waiting combatants. A half-dozen men, clad in judo gis were lined at the side of the mats, eager to please and impress with their mixed abilities in various fight techniques.

Brian Macklin raised his hand, and chopped the air viciously, signalling the start of the free-for-all. He prowled the boarder of the tatami, making mental notes. Williams wasn't punching with conviction -- Thomson could work on his agility -- later he might match some of them against the first group, see how well they did against men like Bodie...

The curly-haired detective who had waded in at the beginning against the Irish mountain, O'Leary, was the best of Tuesday's bunch. He had put down his opponent with ease -- Macklin recalled that one of Doyle's listed hobbies was martial arts... Mentally approving, the instructor watched as the younger man glided around the mat, dealing with the other fighters methodically. He reminded Macklin of a cat -- the way he moved, quick, quiet, economical with energy, and judging his force to perfection... Yes, there was no reason to doubt his ability to look after himself... He dispatched Williams almost as an after-thought -- now, wondered Macklin, what about matching HIM against Bodie...

Doyle watched until Bodie walked out of sight. He checked the safety-catch then hefted the rifle to his shoulder. It took a lot, he knew, to bring Bodie to a state like this: his partner had been so far, seen so much, but this business with Marikka had shaken him to the core, and Doyle realised how much it had cost his friend. The worst of it was that he could only stand by, offering support that wasn't wanted, but that was needed, and wait until Bodie decided whether to trust him again. It occurred to him that he had come to rely on his partner for more than just the solid back-up at work, and now that Bodie could use that kind of support -- dare he call it by it's real name? -- he would be rejected as a part of the scheme that executed an innocent woman for reasons of state...

It was at times like this Doyle wanted to put his arms around his tough, independent partner, and make the pain go away...

Bodie hadn't bitten his nails for years -- not since leaving Liverpool's less-than-innocent shores to make his way in the world had he been so on edge. Doyle was due in to see the consultant this morning, two hours ago, and he STILL WASN'T BACK...

Christ, what were they doing, opening him up again?

Bodie was tempted to go down the corridor once more, to see if his partner was being wheeled back yet. He felt as fretful as an expectant father, his mind in a whirl -- distressing himself with dark imaginings -- now, where had he heard THAT recently...

Doyle, he knew, had had a miraculous escape, and the forecast for his recovery had been optimistic: he might eventually make it back to operational fitness...but that was a long way in the future, and right now all Bodie wanted was to know that his best mate wasn't going to have a relapse or anything -- that Doyle would live, and...

Bodie cuffed his partner lightly, sliding his hand up into the bushy curls, loving the feeling.

"So the old man wanted to see me, to slap my wrists," he grinned. "At least, we both survived to hear the telling-off."

"Always said you was crazy," snorted Doyle, enjoying the sensation of Bodie fingers combing his unruly mop. "Why the HELL didn't you lie, and tell him you were going in after Ojuka -- he'll start wondering about you, mate..."

"Didn't think about it at the time," Bodie squirmed, letting his hand fall. "Was acting on instinct -- knew you were in trouble -- and I couldn't let you get hurt again could I?" Bodie was looking rather self- conscious at the admission.

"Next thing I know, you'll be wrapping me in cotton- wool, and fighting Macklin for me!" grumbled Doyle.

Don't think I wouldn't, thought Bodie. I hate it when you suffer -- every time you get injured, I know I've failed you somehow...

"There's no need to look like that about it, Bodie," Doyle was speaking. "We both know it's true. Cowley knows -- half the squad knows you wouldn't let me loose on the streets if you could help it." He stopped, seeing the unhappy droop of Bodie's mouth. "It's a good feeling to have someone care that much," he added softly, "but you don't have to protect me. I'm big enough to look after myself."

This was getting dangerously serious.

"Ray --"

"Bodie --"

"Fancy a drink?"

Doyle laughed.

"You paying?"

"I'm paying."

"Then I'm drinking..."

"D'you know, that has to be one of the toughest bloody jobs I've ever been on," Doyle announced, as he reached for his pint.

"What, nailing Quinn?" asked Bodie, as he sipped at his half.

"No, no," Doyle frowned. "Babysitting Cowley! That was a stroke of genius on your part to bug the old sod!"

"I thought so, too," smirked Bodie.

"You won't half cop it on Monday, though... He was not pleased!"

"That's the trouble with the Scots," sighed Bodie, "all that porridge and haggis -- unhealthy diet makes for an unsound temperament."

"Very deep," Doyle was impressed. "Got any more words of wisdom like that?"

"Whole bookful," Bodie informed him blithely. "Want to come and have a read?"

"Makes a change from looking at your etchings," Doyle grinned.

Bodie was delighted.

Sunday morning crept in slowly behind a bank of rain clouds. Bodie rolled over and checked the digital display on the radio at his bedside. Seven o'clock -- far too early yet. Movement beside [him] suggested he'd disturbed his bed-mate, and he turned back, winkling his arms around the fur-trimmed body of his partner -- now lover.

"What time's it?" mumbled Doyle, pressing his nose against Bodie's collar-bone.

"Early yet, sweetheart," Bodie tried to kiss the top of his head.

"You hungry?"

"Hmm!" Bodie laughed softly. "Why, were you going to feed me?"

Doyle smiled against his lover's shoulder.

"Was going to tell you to help yourself, thassall. I'm too knackered to move..."

"It wasn't that bad," snorted reprovingly.

"No -- wasn't BAD at all," agreed Doyle dreamily. "Was very, VERY good..."

"I'm glad you liked it," Bodie murmured into soft curls. "Do you want to do it again?"

"Yeah," Doyle stated, "I do... I like making love with you."

"Now?" asked Bodie hopefully. His cock lifted in anticipation. "We've got all day."

"And all tomorrow, assuming nothing drastic happens..."

"Ray, I've got a problem only you can solve," Bodie told him huskily.

"Something's come up, has it?" teased Doyle.

"Hard case -- needs specialist handling --"

Doyle's fingers closed over his erection.

"Think I'm getting to grips with it -- Bodie, this needs a bit of teamwork, mate."

Bodie's free hand went straight to Doyle's genitals.

"See what you mean, sunshine..."

They began to move together.

"Isn't this -- the bit -- where one of us yells 'cover me'?" breathed Doyle.

"What're you waiting for?" gasped Bodie. "Do it!"

"Spread 'em," Doyle pushed his knee between his partner's thighs, "and I will!"

Bodie obliged, and as soon as Doyle was on top of him, he pulled the slighter man hard against him, bucking his hips to rub them together. They came within seconds of each other, clinging desperately until they were both drained. Neither of them was up to a journey to the bathroom, and they dozed, bodies still twined, semen drying on their bellies, a physical expression of their love... Later, there would be time for serious discussion, but for now, they were content to be close...

"You know," sighed Doyle happily, "I like working undercover with you..."

Bodie's only reply was a deep breath: Doyle's beautiful partner had fallen asleep. With a drowsy smile, Doyle copied him...

Monday's child is fair [of] face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for his living,
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny, blyth, good...and gay.

-- THE END --

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