Doyle turned into the almost deserted car park at CI5 Headquarters. It was nearly eleven and only a skeleton staff would be left in the building. Cowley might still be there, but if he had any sense he would be at home with his bottle of pure malt scotch.

Doyle had contacted Cowley earlier from the police station, about the undercover job in Bristol, which had turned out to be a complete disaster. His cover had been blown by the local coppers, who were too eager and too inexperienced to be of any use.

---

While he had been in a pub waiting for his contact, a fight had developed and in the confusion he had been arrested together with a couple of other innocent bystanders. He had to talk himself out of a tight hole to be released, in order to make it in time for the meeting with his contact.

Arriving on the pub doorstep, the landlord had refused him entrance, saying he was nothing but trouble. A local policeman, who had been at the police station while Doyle was there had gone over to the landlord to tell him not to worry, that Doyle was CI5, but undercover and that he would be no trouble at all.

Doyle had been about ready to give the policeman a piece of his mind, when he had been startled by a shout from the door. When he turned round he saw his contact run off, probably alerting all his brothers in crime that CI5 was in town.

Furiously Doyle had gone off to the police station where the Chief Commissioner had apologised until he was blue in the face. But it didn't help one bit; Doyle had to return to Cowley without a result.

Cowley had been furious, reminding Doyle that a sensible agent would choose other meeting places. At his words, Doyle's temper had erupted. He told Cowley exactly what he thought of him sitting high and mighty behind his desk ordering people about. Adding that the Controller didn't have a clue what it was like to actually be out there.

An icy silence had met him and for a while he feared he had lost his job. Then Cowley had actually apologised to him. Up to this minute Doyle was still speechless about that.

Cowley had then ordered him to write his report that same night. Before Doyle could protest, his boss then gave him a full two days leave. Unwilling to chance his luck, he had thanked his boss and put down the phone.

---

Doyle walked into the building waving to Fred and went to his and Bodie's 'walk-in-closet', which other people might refer to as an office.

He finished his report within thirty minutes and left it in Betty's in-tray, Cowley's secretary would make sure it would reach the old man in the morning.

He dragged his hand through his curls and sighed. He was tired and sticky and he wanted a nice hot shower to work some of the tension out of his body.

Walking passed the rest room he noticed Jax and Pennington playing cards to pass the time, crime was apparently slow at the moment. Jax called a welcome home greeting while Pennington just nodded.

On his way to the car park, he changed direction and decided to take a shower at headquarters. Luckily, he still had some clean clothes in his locker.

The corridors were deserted at this time of night, and he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

Undressing swiftly, he grabbed his shampoo and soap and took the shower in the far corner of the room, adjusting the tap until the water was nice and hot.

He let the water sluice over his body, revelling in the warmth when it spread through his body; he washed his hair and felt a lot better already. Together with the stickiness, the tired feeling seemed to vanish down the drain.

Doyle closed his eyes and started soaping himself, his hands travelling over his body, feeling the pleasure of his own touch on his nipples. Soapy hands travelled towards his groin and stroked his shaft, not lingering there too long then continuing, he washed his legs and feet enjoying the spicy, woody scent of the soap.

Returning to his shaft he cupped his balls and massaged them carefully, sending tiny bolts of pleasure through his body. His other hand took hold of his shaft and started a gentle stroking, his eyes were still closed and then he suddenly felt a presence behind him.

He didn't turn round but kept stroking himself. The presence stepped closer and his hands were pushed away from his body, other hands took over and he felt something nudging at his buttocks, something blunt and hard.

There was no need for words. The water cascaded over him, the hands were stroking him and at the same time he was taken by a rock hard erection, which had entered him without any pain.

He felt loved and cherished, while moving in the rhythm of the thrusting. The hands kept up their stroking, increasing their pace until an orgasm was building. He felt a final thrust and the gift of love was poured deep inside his body. Then his own release was there, powerful and endless until there was nothing left.

There was one name on his lips: "Bodie."

Doyle blinked his eyes, the presence was gone and the water had become tepid. He turned the tap off and walked with unsteady legs towards his locker. Pulling out a towel he quickly dried himself. He pulled on his jeans and shirt, clean socks and his trainers, ran a comb through his curls and he'd finished his ablutions.

He strode swiftly out of the building to his car, determination in his step. Driving through town he finally arrived at his destination. He took the stairs two at a time and then rang the bell.

After a few minutes the door was opened.

He pushed passed the sleepy figure in the doorway and said, "Bodie, we have to talk."

-- THE END --

June 2005