Chapter Eight

Give me your answer in the morning.

Easy enough said, Bodie thought gloomily as he waited for Ray to return from the bathroom so that he could turn out the lights. Their guests were comfortably installed in the two rooms across the hall – Cowley in the infamous brown study and Murphy in the frilly pastel nightmare. Bodie had until dawn to come to a decision.

The door to the master bathroom clicked open. Bodie glanced up casually as his partner entered. The cold hand of desire squeezed his vitals, shooting a shiver of irrepressible want though his long-denied system. His attention unwillingly riveted on the half-naked man, Bodie watched his mate approach the bed and forced himself to remember to breathe.

Annoyed at his body's reaction, Bodie tried to channel his anger against his partner, anything to try and turn himself off, but the effort was futile.

Although the lithe motion might wreck havoc on Bodie's libido, the unconscious sensuality was just one more sign of Ray's returning good health. It sure as hell beat that agonizing, self-conscious shamble that had marked their early days in the chalet together.

Doyle could no more be held accountable for his sensuality than he could for breathing. This was just something Bodie was going to have to inure himself against again, he realized.

Besides, Doyle could hardly be blamed. He was dressed chastely enough in pale blue pyjama bottoms. Was it Ray's fault they were slung low on his hips and that the light pierced their semi-translucent fabric to cast tantalizing shadows of the firm musculature beneath with every slight movement?

Such thoughts were not aiding his plight, Bodie conceded wryly as he forced his reluctant gaze upwards to purer regions. Fortunately, the white towel thrown across Doyle's shoulders spared him the temptation of most of the chest. The sight of naked nipples he could most certainly do without; although, the downy triangle trailing to Doyle's naval was equally distracting. Looking close, he could almost see where it joined with a thicker thatch below the elastic waistband.

ENOUGH! The mental shout jarred Bodie back to his senses, reminding him of the danger of such thoughts. Stupid crud, he berated himself, what was he trying to do, put Ray back in a mental ward? Eyes front and definitely above centre. Concentrate on the dripping curls. There was little danger there.

The closed-in expression on Ray's face gave him the chilling fear that his partner had read his lecherous thoughts. Closer inspection revealed it to be the same abstraction that had plagued his friend throughout dinner. Looking at the foreboding, moody exterior, Bodie could almost imagine he was observing C.I.5's Ray Doyle, so threatening was Ray’s aspect.

Doyle plopped unceremoniously down on his side of the bed and turned to face the wall.

"Hey, your mop's still drippin' wet," Bodie remarked, poking an unresponsive shoulder.

"So?" his partner challenged, sounding as snarky and argumentative as only the old Ray Doyle could.

"So you don't want pneumonia again, do you?" Bodie matched the tone, trying to conceal his bewilderment.

Ray sat and began mauling the long locks with a vengeful towel.

"You'll never get the tangles out if you keep up like that," Bodie cautioned.

All movement stopped. A baleful green gaze glared out from beneath the terrycloth. "You could do better, I suppose?"

"Couldn't do much worse," Bodie grinned, pure brass, enjoying the spirit behind that glare. Six months ago, Doyle wouldn’t have had the courage to meet his eyes, let alone mouth off at him.

"Since it bothers you so much, you dry it," Doyle demanded, shoving the damp towel at him. The broad back turned his way as Ray's legs swung over the side of the bed.

Bodie could feel his grin fade from his face, so shocked was he. Touching Doyle hadn’t been in his game plan. But to refuse would make too big a deal of the issue.

Damning his argumentative impulse, Bodie fetched the comb from the night table and knelt behind Doyle’s tense figure. Though inside he quivered in a conflicting mass of confusion and desire, outwardly Bodie knew himself to be the essence of calm as he worked the comb through the mass of chestnut snarls with painstaking care.

Doyle had obviously belatedly realized the avenue of revenge he had unthinkingly offered by giving Bodie the towel and comb. Ray's body had gone bow-taut at his first touch, apparently anticipating the worst. That cat-wary distrust was so characteristic of Raymond Doyle of C.I.5 that it temporarily threw Bodie, who hadn't seen it displayed, especially toward himself, in over a year. Mystified by what he'd done to merit it, he continued to concentrate on untangling the ill-used hair.

The gleaming strands really were over-long, Bodie admitted. On another the past-the-shoulder burst of curls might be deemed effeminate, but Ray was too masculine for such a label to ever be considered. The red-highlighted fall of hair gave his partner an artistic, vaguely piratical air, he decided. Rarely, was Bodie given opportunity to freely touch Doyle's curls, so despite Ray's anger, he lavished in the sensation. Instead of roughhousing the water out of the now-tamed length, Bodie used the fluffy material of the towel to blot the moisture out, pressing it against the length wound around his hand.

Slowly he felt the tension melt from Doyle’s coiled form, as if assuaged by his unexpected gentleness. Doyle's head eased back into the scalp massage he was giving, a contented sigh escaping Ray’s parted lips.

"Feels good," Ray murmured, rubbing his temple against Bodie's nearby wrist in a totally feline gesture that brought the smile back to Bodie’s lips.

"It's supposed to," Bodie answered lazily, willing to continue for the rest of the night if Ray so desired.

His senses were flooded with an aching awareness of Ray: the damp curls and skin, silken soft beneath his fingertips, the way the lamplight touched off the golden-red highlights in Doyle's hair and tinted tanned flesh a warm honey colour, the relaxed sound of Ray's breathing and the over-loud noise made by even slight position adjustments and, above all else, there was the smell of him, the shampoo-rich, soap-scented, clean bouquet that threatened to drive Bodie over the edge with every breath. Ray's natural perfume seeped though Bodie’s defences, overwhelming starved yearnings with the promise of more.

With each gentle stroke of the towel across trapped hair, Bodie found himself leaning closer, breathing deeper. Relaxed in a euphoric sensation that was nearly intoxication, Bodie did not see trouble coming until it turned around and looked him in the eye.

The green gaze that peered over a shoulder at him held no warning of what was to come. Otherwise, Ray's casual question might not have hit him so hard.

"You really think I'm useless, then?" Doyle asked out of the blue.

"Huh?" Bodie stammered, dropping the towel. Here, then, was the cause of Doyle's moodiness.

"Before, you told Cowley I was useless. Is that what you think?" Ray reminded, the wounded green pools straying before Bodie could take full measure of the depth of the injury.

Bodie had a vague memory of saying some such thing to Cowley in anger, but what was his exact wording?

"No, of course, that's not what I think. What I said was that you’d be 'no use to him,' wasn't it?" Bodie corrected, relieved that Ray's preoccupation had such a simple cause and not the sinister basis he'd been imagining. For a minute there, he’d thought Doyle was on to him.

"There's a difference?" Doyle whispered, facing away.

Bodie gripped the bare shoulders of the back turned so eloquently his way.

"A world of difference," Bodie replied in a calm, almost bored tone. "Do you want me to lie to you and say that you'd make the grade if tested now?" The negative headshake sent a tingling bunch of hair across his gripping hands. "I thought not. If you can't remember your enemies, sunshine, you can't perform at peak efficiency and George Cowley will accept nothing less. That's all I meant by that stupid comment."

Kneeling behind him as Bodie was, Doyle had to tilt his head back and upwards to meet his gaze.

"Truth?" Doyle asked, tossing a boyish grin his way.

Their faces were inches apart. Bodie swallowed hard. He was too aware of his partner and of the invitation inherent in Doyle's position to do any more than nod.

The smooth skin on Ray's shoulders scorched his sweaty palms. Hypnotized by the shades of green in the compelling gaze, Bodie struggled for breath, only to have each gulp of supposedly calming air further his predicament with the heady scent it carried.

Lord, but Ray's head was tilted just perfectly for a kiss, the arched length of him just pleading for tactile investigation. It would be so simple to just . . . .

Ray's eyes narrowed in confusion and then sharpened with sudden understanding.

Impaled on those piercing green crystals, Bodie fought to pull back. His escape was impeded by a firm hand gripping his shoulder.

"Ray, I . . . ." he stammered, struggling to explain the inexcusable.

God in heaven, what had he been thinking! To get turned on by Ray after promising his abused partner safety! Bodie knew that he might just as well have tied Doyle to the bed and raped him for the degree of betrayal he’d committed. He’d promised Ray that he was safe with him, that he’d never ask that of him, and here he was . . . .

"It's all right, Bodie," Doyle soothed, an unnerving warmth softening his features.

"You don't understand, Ray, I . . . . "

I what, Bodie wondered – wanted to rape you like the others? Some excuse.

"I know," came the chilling acceptance. "I think I've always known."

The low, intimate tone trembled through his blood. But Doyle could not mean what Bodie had heard, or thought he’d heard.

"Known what?" Bodie tested, gambling that Ray could not be as certain as he appeared.

His bluff was called with appalling bluntness. "That you want me."

And then Ray was closing the distance between them. Bodie was shaking so badly that the first tender brush of dry, hot lips was all but lost to him. Instinct stepped in where senses failed. His lips clung to the full mouth with a desperation born of years of hopeless yearning. Bodie felt the warm pads twist into a smile as Doyle drew a fraction away for air.

"They're trembling." Ray's voice was soft with wonder. Two fingers rose to brush Bodie's mouth as if to reaffirm what his sensitive lips had detected.

Bared of all pretence, Bodie kissed the investigators. A slender index finger traced the crack between his lips. Bodie parted them, allowing the digit to slip inside.

Doyle gasped as his finger was sucked into the hot recess, a visible shudder claiming his slim figure. Never had Bodie seen those eyes so wide or so transfixed, seemingly enraptured by the sensation of Bodie’s tongue playing along the artist's finger. There wasn't an inch of Ray that Bodie wouldn't be willing to pay similar service to; although the lump clogging his throat restricted any such avowal.

All too soon, the finger left him to explore his facial features. Never sensitive there before, Bodie nonetheless found himself quivering as the damp digit trailed down the bridge of his nose.

With a start, he realized that it had been almost a year since he'd last been touched. That might explain his over-sensitivity, but he suspected that it was the fact that it was Ray doing the touching that was responsible for the tingling lightning bolts of ecstasy ripping through him. Like brittle reeds, he buckled under the white-hot flow of lava, consigning himself totally to Ray's tender mercies.

Made bold by Doyle's exploration, Bodie carded his fingers through the damp curls, sighing at their silken passage. To his every sense, Ray was perfect.

Leaning forward, Bodie nuzzled the pale skin above Ray’s long neck bone, the velvety stretch as touchable as a newborn babe's skin.

His right hand dropped down over Doyle's shoulder, to lightly skim the chest. Even here Ray’s body hair was soft as peach down. Bodie moved tenderly over the scars from May Li’s assassination attempt, loving the disfigured flesh as much as the healthy areas.

Although previous contact on those horror-ridden nights had proven Ray's chest hair not to be as wiry as Bodie had presumed, he'd never once imagined it to feel this good, this out right sensual. The hard scar material railroad-tracking it only accentuated the chest hair’s lushness.

At last Bodie’s searching fingers located Doyle's left nipple. He lightly flicked a finger over it, feeling the soft nub harden and peak in a firm bump. A sharp, indrawn breath rewarded his effort as Doyle's body tensed in anticipation.

Needing the contact of another kiss, Bodie's hands reclaimed the loose length of chestnut curls, capturing his partner's head between his grip. Closing his eyes to savour the sensation, Bodie bent forward.

Doyle's lips were just as wonderful as he recalled. Putting every ounce of tenderness his soul possessed into the gesture, Bodie paid worship to the yielding flesh.

Ray's lips parted at the first brush of his tongue. Bodie eagerly explored the moist interior, slightly awed by Doyle's generosity. His partner seemed perfectly willing to let him keep the lead, allowing him to explore every accessible millimetre in the sheerest, most exhilarating kiss Bodie had ever shared with a lover.

His mouth worked frantically against Doyle's open lips. Bodie sampled everything from the sharp, pearl teeth to the soft inner lining, hard roof and as close to the tonsils as he could reach - Ray all the while not impeding with playful volleys of his own or pleas for breath. Never had Bodie experienced such an intense union before, or desired to, for that matter. There weren't many people he'd ever wanted to get intimate enough to share saliva with – until Ray. If possible, Bodie would willingly make them one organism, inseparable.

Finally, longing to be touched himself, Bodie pulled back, giving Doyle's tongue a playful, inviting swab as he passed over it.

Contrary to expectation, Doyle's tongue did not dart in after him. Bodie tried again, tickling softly with his tongue tip in open invitation . . . but Doyle's remained as motionless and inanimate as a pickled cow's tongue in a deli jar.

Abruptly conscious of Doyle's utter stillness throughout his oral exploration, the lack of sighs, squirms or even giggles and the absolute surrender he'd been granted, Bodie's eyes snapped open.

One glance showed Ray’s features to be completely immobile. The dull glaze in the green eyes was as close to lifeless as Bodie ever wanted to see.

Bodie ripped his mouth free. Doyle's jaw hung slack like a toy soldier nutcracker's. Shock, Bodie recognized, horrified by what he’d done. He’d caused this, scared Ray so bad that the light had left his eyes again!

His shaky hand gently pushed Doyle’s chin up, closing the hanging jaw.

"R-Ray?" Bodie called, mortified by what he'd done.

The visions of hell called forth by Bodie's action poured through Ray’s expressive eyes. Bodie pulled back as though scalded, waiting until the memories cleared and the confused gaze sought him out. Strangely enough, there was no accusation to be found there.

"Bo-Bodie?" Doyle asked, as though unsure.

And how could he be, Bodie commiserated. For all the attention he'd paid to Ray's plight, he might just as well have been Van Cleef. Christ, but Doyle was shaking, as though convulsed with fever.

Bodie eased his partner back against the pillows, trying hard not to flinch at the wide-eyed terror that was turned his way as he temporarily towered over his supine partner.

Recognizing him, could Ray really still believe he meant to abuse him?

Why shouldn't he, the cynic in Bodie challenged, reminding him how close he'd come to doing just that.

"It’s okay, Ray. I’m sorry, I-I’m just sorry. It won’t happen again. Ever. I promise. Just relax, okay? You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you, ‘specially not me."

Bodie pulled the covers up around Ray's neck.

"Bodie, I-I'm sorry," Doyle stammered.

"Don't be," Bodie snapped. Then, before his controls broke totally, he fled the scene of the crime. The closing door sounded very loud behind him in the quiet house –almost loud enough to drown out the muffled sobs from the bed.

---

Eventually, his body stopped shuddering. Doyle raised his anguished face from the damp bedclothes to peer around the lonely room.

No Bodie. Not that he could blame him. Who in their right mind would want Van Cleef's leavings?

Things had been going so well, too, Doyle reflected morosely, until . . . until Bodie had trapped his head in that kiss – an unconscious parody of Van Cleef's final, obscene plundering.

Bodie had witnessed that degradation, Doyle recalled, humiliated by the memory. He'd seen those same images play through his partner’s vivid blue eyes before Bodie had flung him away like a rotting corpse. A more accurate picture of revulsion, Doyle could not imagine.

It was a pity, for if Bodie had kept his eyes closed for just a moment longer, Doyle was sure he could have rallied from his body's instinctive response to an aroused male. After all, he'd wanted this man.

But for a moment there, despite his undeniable attraction to his partner, it was as though the last six months had ceased to exist. His body had reacted as though he were back in that cold, dark room being brutalized by strangers. There had been no logic behind that paralysing terror, nothing but instinctive withdrawal. Poor Bodie, once again he'd taken the brunt of his moods.

Reminded of what he had been to so many men, what man would want to continue, Doyle thought as he dragged himself from the bed and headed toward the loo.

He'd been counting on Bodie's love to carry them through, forgetting all along that it was another Ray Doyle that his partner wanted. Bodie wasn’t in love with him. It was the hardened killer who'd been lost in the mental shuffle that Bodie longed for. That Doyle wouldn't have frozen . . . or thawed in the first place, jealousy unkindly supplied. He'd seen that Doyle in his memories, heard Cowley talk about him tonight. That Doyle would never have cared enough about Bodie to respond to a kiss. Cool and removed, that was what that former Doyle was.

The current Ray Doyle didn’t find either of those traits especially attractive, but, by the same token, that former Doyle wasn't unclean. Pure as the driven snow and just as untouchable, or so Ray had gathered from the information his partner unconsciously supplied in his harmless anecdotes. Why Bodie would be so devoted to such a cold creature, Doyle still couldn't fathom.

Just when he had begun thinking of himself as two individuals, Doyle wasn't sure. Probably when he started remembering his former, unsavoury existence, if he were to be honest. Somehow, he'd emerged changed from his experiences with Van Cleef.

Changed for the worse, if his partner were to be any judge, for Bodie plainly preferred the old Doyle. Tonight, the first instance Doyle could recall being intentionally abusive and argumentative, also marked the first time Bodie had revealed his physical desire for him. There had to be some connection. Add that to the fact that Bodie's interest had dropped the instant his own aggressive pose had, and the proof seemed incontestable.

Well, he couldn't help being what he was. And, as he'd told Cowley earlier, he wasn't sure he'd go back to being what he'd been if given the chance. Bodie was going to have to accept those facts.

And if he didn't?

The tear-streaked face staring out of the dim bathroom mirror at him had a scared, feral slant to it that Doyle hardly recognized.

Answer enough. If Bodie couldn't love him for who he was now? Well, then, he’d just have to find a way to be that former Doyle again.

Ice cold water helped erase some of the night's ravages. Donning a warm robe, Ray slipped quietly into the hallway to find his friend.

As on another emotion-wrought night, Doyle's search eventually led him to the study. The door opened soundlessly.

Bodie stood a substantial shadow in a roomful of darkness. Back-lit by the stormy window, his partner was a foreboding figure, more apt to haunting a bleak moorland than their cosy chalet.

Doyle snapped on the overhead light.

He was temporarily baffled by Bodie's peculiar outfit. The grey training suit shirt ill-suited the brown slacks, though both complimented Bodie's muscular build separately. Bodie was also barefoot.

Only after a moment’s puzzling did Ray realize what must have happened. Bodie had stalked away clad only in his briefs. Obviously, this was the best Bodie could manage from yesterday's wash-load.

"Are you always this predictable when you're run to ground?" Doyle asked, taking the offensive, since that was how his partner seemed for prefer him.

Bodie blinked at him a few seconds longer, apparently startled by his presence. "Ray?"

"Very good. Eyes still work, recognized me straight off, you did." Doyle closed the door carefully behind him, and then crossed the study to ease himself casually onto the desk corner closest to his mate, no small feat considering the bulky towelling robe he was wearing and the number of bric-a-brac cluttered there. Fortunately, none fell to demolish the effect. Ray claimed the eight inches of available space with a cat-like grace, so studied that it almost managed to blot out his awareness of Bodie's observation. His partner was watching his approach as one would that of a venomous reptile.

Bodie’s aggression was all bluff where he was concerned, Doyle realized, wondering if it had always been so.

"What do you want?" Bodie's barriers were near impenetrable. The cold tone would have discouraged almost anyone, except Ray Doyle, who had never known any better than to go sticking his hand down a lion's throat.

There was an excitement to this hard-line, a knowing flirtation with fire that could more than consume him, Doyle acknowledged. He could easily see where one could become addicted to this aggressive interplay, scoring the points off each tiny victory. Except, unlike that other Doyle, he could not completely ignore the vulnerability prompting Bodie's stand. Their bedroom debacle had wounded Bodie far more deeply than himself it seemed.

"I wanted you a little while ago, 'fore you ran out on me," Doyle offered smoothly, knowing instinctively that he had to keep Bodie dancing on the knife-edge to dispel the guilt so clear in those haunted eyes.

Statue-like, the pale face just stared at him. "Don't please . . . . "

How often had this man asked anything of him?

Hardening his heart, Doyle ignored the whispered entreaty, "I don't blame you, of course." He needed truth now, not well-intentioned cop-outs. "Wouldn't be all that eager for Van Cleef's leftovers myself."

An angry flush of colour rewarded his gamble.

Bodie instantly denied, "Don't be a moron. That wasn't the reason . . . ."

"Sorry, sunshine, I saw your eyes. You dropped me like the proverbial hot potato when you remembered." Score that one to Bodie, Doyle conceded. The hurt wasn't supposed to show.

Bafflement forced some of the defensiveness from Bodie’s guarded eyes.

"You froze," Bodie stated, too gently for the accusation it should have been to keep within the rules of the peculiar fencing that fit so naturally between them.

"I'd've thawed."

His curt rejoinder earned him a sceptical snort. "You'd have freaked in another minute."

"Sure of that – are you?" Ray challenged.

"Yes."

Bodie's answer the embodiment of utter certitude, Doyle found no argument that could circumvent the emotional wreck he had been when Bodie had left him. Having no defence, he remained silent.

"It's best this way, Ray," Bodie lamely offered, as if uncomfortable under his gaze. The blue eyes strayed nervously away to fix on Doyle's reflection in the mirror-like, slick, black windowpane.

Unsure of what to say, Doyle stayed quiet, not realizing how silence could work for him until he saw the taut figure before him squirm under his penetrating gaze.

"Don't know why you'd want to anyway – after what happened to you," Bodie said.

Doyle wasn't sure if that was meant as a legitimate question, sensing instead that it was something Bodie might have been asking himself.

"Told you before – I wanted you," Ray repeated. "It has nothing to do with anything that happened before."

Or shouldn't, Ray thought, if he could just persuade his body.

"Why?" Bodie sounded almost as if he were in pain.

"Why what?"

"You never . . . felt that way before. Why now, after I was . . . careless?"

"Why do you think?" Ray’s tongue countered before thought could counsel. This hard image came too easily, Doyle decided, seeing Bodie's entire body flinch as if a sharp barb had just gouged out a piece of his flesh. Bodie’s heart, no doubt, for his partner truly looked as though he'd lost something that dear.

"Gratitude," Bodie hollowly suggested, sounding as if it were the worst possible reason.

"You're not very bright sometimes," Doyle said around the emotion that was threatening to choke him. He rose from the desk and came to stand beside Bodie’s tense figure. His index finger hooked the down-bent chin, forcing his partner’s reluctant gaze to meet his own. "It'd be a lie to tell you I'm not grateful. There's nothing I could ever do that could even begin to make up for all you've done for me – and nothing you'd expect me to, if I'm not mistaken," Doyle added hastily, seeing from the pain-filled gaze that Bodie was taking his words as confirmation of his suspicions. "But that's not the reason."

"Why, then?" Bodie spat out. His strained features revealed that he was tortured by even Doyle’s light touch to his chin. "Why should you want me?"

Could Bodie really consider himself that undesirable? With those perfect looks?

"For this," Ray said, running his hand through the soft, almost militarily, short hair. "And for the way these," he touched both corner of Bodie's eyes, "sparkle and dance like sapphires in the sun when you laugh, and the way you look down your nose at me when I'm being impossible, but mostly for what's in here," Doyle admitted, patting the poly-cotton blend above Bodie's heart.

It was frightening how susceptible Bodie was to his touch. Doyle could actually see the quiver that coursed along the full length of Bodie's frame.

Bodie's Adams apple gulped up and down, the sound absurdly loud in the closeness. Then, the dark-haired man stepped away from him.

"That was good, Ray. Almost had me convinced." The compliment might have been genuine had Bodie’s desolate gaze been hidden.

As it was, the expression seared Doyle as though he'd been purposely cruel.

"Wh-what?" he stammered.

"Do you really expect me to believe that someone who'd been – put through what Van Cleef did to you would be admiring another bloke's anatomy? I mightn't be terribly bright, but I'm not completely stupid."

"Damn close to it," Ray countered, infuriated by the arrogant delivery. "It wasn't the wrapping I was talking about, Einstein." Seeing Bodie’s unrelenting disbelief, he struck out in the only way left to him. "Well, what the hell else have I had to admire for the last six months" he spewed venomously, stung by this second rejection. "You took me to the top of a bleedin' mountain, for Christ's sake, not the Riviera. After six months, even you began to look good."

Bodie retreated from Doyle’s outburst – all two steps back, until Bodie was cornered against the window, his back flat against the glass.

God, what was he doing? Was this how it had been between them before he’d lost his memory?

Doyle sank back onto the desk. Not so careful this time, a grass-skirted Hawaiian ceramic figure crashed to the rug. Never so utterly dejected, Doyle hugged his arms around his chest and stared at the shattered figurine.

His worst fears were true after all. Bodie didn't want him on any terms, just the other Doyle. Though how he could be more like that Doyle than he had in the last few minutes without getting himself killed, Ray couldn't imagine.

"I didn't mean that," Ray said at last, directing his apology to the statue shards.

"Doesn't matter."

"No, it wouldn't. It wasn't me you wanted in the first place, was it?" Doyle asked dejectedly. "Sorry, mate, I just don't know how to be him."

"Him? Who him?" Bodie asked after a long enough period had passed for the sense of Doyle’s words, which Bodie obviously hadn’t really listened to, to penetrate.

What more was there left for either of them to say, other than goodbye, Doyle wondered.

"The other Doyle," even to his own ears, he sounded like a petulant child.

"What other Doyle? What are you talking about, Ray?"

"Me – before Van Cleef. I was a different person back then, wasn't I? You'd've gone for him."

"I still don't understand what you're on about," Bodie said, regarding him as though this were a trick.

"All of this – " Doyle made a gesture encompassing the chalet, himself and Bodie, " – it was for him, not me, so's you could get him back."

There was no reason to feel so betrayed, Ray told himself. Facts were facts.

"You are Raymond Doyle," Bodie said firmly. "There's no 'him'."

"Yeah? You said yourself, I'm not the same."

"And you weren't the same after that Chinese bird put a bullet through you or after that Coogan kid went and croaked on us. You've had a shock, Ray. It's going to take you time to recover, that's all."

Doyle snorted and looked away, hugging himself all the tighter.

"This – this is crazy, Ray." Bodie stepped close, Doyle's need seeming to beckon like a planet's gravity field to its moon. Ray noted the phenomenon with interest, knowing that his nervous partner did not really desire to get any closer to him, yet Bodie appeared incapable of ignoring his isolation. "There's only ever been one of you. Lord knows, one's enough to handle. It just seems different this time, cause you can't remember; that's all."

"That's all?" Doyle repeated sarcastically. "Then if you don't agree with me, how come you only turned on when I acted like him?"

"This is getting weird, mate."

"Answer me," Doyle demanded, refusing to be distracted by Bodie's desperate play to lighten the situation with understatement. To Doyle's mind, their predicament had passed weird hours ago.

"For Christ's sake, you were there. Nobody else, just you – acting irritating as only you can!"

"See, even you admit it." There was no victory in being proven right in this.

"Admit what?" Never had he seen Bodie look more flabbergasted.

"That I was actin' like him."

Bodie’s distinctive jaw dropped open, then slowly closed. "You're serious 'bout this, aren't you?"

Doyle nodded, still unwilling to meet Bodie's eyes, lest they see the extent the rejection had hurt him.

"Look, sunshine, I don't understand a lot of this. Why don't you explain . . . what makes you think they're two yous."

"Damn it, don't look at me like that. I 'm not schizophrenic. I know that there's just one of me; it's just inside, I'm different than the man you knew. He was harder than me." That seemed the least offensive description. Although Doyle would have liked to be completely honest, he really didn't think Bodie would care to hear his heart's love slandered.

"Memories of your past might seem to make you out to be a harder man than you are right now, but, remember, Ray, you weren’t recovering from a vicious attack back then. 's only natural that a little of your self-confidence would be shaken. Of course," Bodie continued somewhat confidingly, "I never thought it rattled quite this much. You're you, Doyle, the one and only."

"Your one and only?"

Bodie's eyes dropped for a second, embarrassment tingeing every aspect of his features. "If there were ever any doubt of that, it's been made more than obvious today. Make what you want of it."

"I can't," Doyle confessed, charmed by the belligerent acknowledgment, "you won't let me."

Bodie’s uncompromising glare didn't last long. Eventually, an exasperated, slightly sheepish smile replaced it. "Try the patience of a saint, you would. And, in case you hadn't noticed, I haven't got a halo. What am I going to do with you?"

Doyle glanced up almost coquettishly from his perch on the desk. "Anything you want. Try takin' me back to bed for starters."

Purposefully seductive as his suggestion had been, Doyle was still a little startled by its impact. Bodie's face drained of colour and expression.

"Please, Ray, stop this. I – don't know how long I can keep sayin' no, and I won't hurt you. I do want you, but I want you well."

"I am well. Before, that was only a temporary setback. Things were moving a little too fast for me, but . . . ."

"Jesus, you are a stubborn sod," Bodie told him.

"I know what I want," Ray countered. He watched the smooth planes of his partner's handsome face alter, becoming hard and more than slightly dangerous.

"You know what you want, do you? And you're sure that's me," Bodie checked.

"Totally."

Bodie moved toward Doyle's perch on the desk corner, stepping so close that his waist was almost pinned between Doyle's outstretched thighs.

Doyle's breath caught in his chest at the sudden, provocative proximity. He looked up at Bodie's supremely towering length until his gaze touched the chillingly blue, arctic ice that was Bodie’s eyes.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" Bodie drawled, in a vaguely mocking tone, his tone as cold as his gaze.

Before Doyle in his confusion could frame an answer or even suspect his partner's intent, the dark head swooped to claim Ray’s mouth with brutal force. No lazy exploration, this. The joining of their mouths was more akin to an outright attack.

Through his panic, Doyle struggled to comprehend what was happening. Van Cleef had used him thus, as had any of his followers with similar inclinations, but this was Bodie, the partner who had vowed just seconds ago to safeguard his well-being.

Before the incipient terror could grip him in its paralysing stranglehold, Doyle's intellect offered a suggestion.

What better way than this to purge any idea of making love to his partner from Doyle's mind? Bodie knew that Ray would recoil from force faster than a beam of light could make its way across the airless void of space. Even so, his partner was taking a terrible gamble, for Bodie had no guarantee he'd ever be forgiven such a breach of trust.

Knowing only one way to test his theory, Doyle grabbed hold of the short, downy hair on both sides of Bodie's head. The lack of resistance in the strong neck muscles testified to Bodie's willingness to be pushed away.

If his lips hadn't been otherwise occupied, Doyle would have smiled at the smooth trap. However, the brilliant plan lacked one major ingredient – Doyle was no longer afraid of Bodie. Instead of pushing Bodie's head away, as the other man so obviously expected him to do, Ray clutched his partner in place, meeting the fierce kiss with an equal fervour.

Bodie was understandably stunned by his response. In that instant when Bodie’s ravaging drive temporarily faltered, Doyle took over.

Ray used the stillness of Bodie’s utter astonishment to temper the gesture with tenderness, gradually instilling gentleness into the act. His right hand left its imprisoning hold on Bodie's too-short locks to stroke down the back of the smooth neck. At the same moment, his tongue flicked questioningly across swollen lips.

There was no hesitation. Almost of their own accord those lips opened to him. Bodie's sole objection was a dismayed whimper.

After a moist, breathless moment, Doyle drew back. The taste of Bodie was still fresh on his lips, exciting and strangely comforting.

Bodie's entire body sagged against him like so much boneless rubber. Doyle clamped his legs about the standing man and held him close, rubbing his palms over that powerful back as he felt the tremors running through his friend.

Bodie felt so damn good, and tasted better. All Doyle wanted to do was plunge in for more as he met his breathless partner's stare.

His heart was beating wild. He could barely think around its thunderous tattoo. Stunned, he recognized his own state as active, physical desire. It had been so long that the entire experience was alien to him. He was used to curling up into a tight ball, emotionally and literally, to protect himself when another man moved in this close. Feeling good about sex was as exhilarating as the idea that he would have to offer emotional bolstering to a male partner was unthinkable. Yet, here Bodie was, leaning on him, needing him. It felt good to hold Bodie this way, and better to know that he had the strength to share.

"Yeah," Doyle answered at last, "that's what I wanted."

Bodie’s head lifted from where it was resting against Doyle’s shoulder. Bodie's downcast eyelashes fluttered open and the chokingly defenceless gaze came to rest upon him.

"Damn you," Bodie muttered, but the words lacked vehemence, being more an acknowledgment of defeat.

But how complete the victory? To test its parameters and also for mere enjoyment, Doyle reached out to touch Bodie's face. The gesture was not rejected, neither was the kiss that followed.

Ray took his time, savouring Bodie's particular flavour as the last traces of resistance melted from his partner’s tense muscles. Bodie was a good kisser. His enthusiasm and responsiveness were as enticing as his addictive flavour.

It was strange. Doyle knew that he should be the one who was reluctant, the one who was freaked out by the idea of getting close to another man, but kissing Bodie was one of the most natural, sweetest pleasures he’d ever known; not that he could remember any others, he wryly acknowledged.

"Come on, let's move this act upstairs," Doyle suggested before things could get completely out of hand.

"But – "

"Sssssh," he silenced whatever new objections Bodie had dredged up. "Everything will be all right. Come along."

"Aren't you afraid, Ray?" Bodie asked, taking a step backwards so that Doyle could slide from his seat on the desk corner.

Doyle considered the serious tone, trying not to be sidetracked by the appeal of Bodie’s uncertain expression. One could easily drown in eyes that blue, he realized, more than a little stunned by the sudden surge of desire that rocked him. He could feel his insides constricting with a tightness that wasn’t at all unpleasant.

Up until this moment Ray’s motives for forcing this issue were unclear even to himself. In spite of his denial, a large part of his reasons for wanting to make Bodie happy this way had been gratitude, this being a means to make up for all the hurts he had unknowingly or intentionally inflicted upon his partner. But even more than that, there was Ray’s own need for emotional closeness. He wanted to be loved and held close again, to be cherished, even if just for a little while – and who better than Bodie to do that? Man or woman, there would never be anyone who'd love him this much.

Was he scared? Hell, yes, there was no way he could help that, not with his past. To look into another man's eyes and burn . . . that was something Doyle had never anticipated.

In retrospect, Ray recognized that there had been hints of this growing desire. Finding out Bodie’s secret should have had him on the first plane out, but it hadn’t frightened him, not the way it should have. That night, weeks past now, when Bodie had held him close after a bad dream, he'd felt a vague stirring . . . and ignored it. The resultant restlessness had hung about until almost this very moment. Unlikely as it seemed, Doyle felt at peace now, untroubled by what was to come.

"Ray?"

Doyle blinked, not comprehending his partner's urgency until he belatedly recalled that he’d never answered Bodie's question about being afraid aloud.

"You want to know if I’m afraid?" Doyle checked to be certain. At Bodie’s worried nod, he answered honestly, "Only of the past. And that has nothing to do with the present."

Or so Ray hoped. He was determined not to fail his friend again.

Bodie nodded. Although his eyes were still shaded with doubt, his partner was apparently committed – for better or worse.

They climbed the stairs to their room without speech or touch.

Doyle was uncomfortably aware of an underlying current that seemed to be drawing them together. Each infrequent brush of their bodies on the narrow stairs ignited a reaction far out of proportion to the accidental contact. Above all else, he was conscious of Bodie's nervousness. It was almost a living thing, so fierce and jumpy was its presence.

Even without seeing those troubled eyes settle on the two closed guestroom doors, Doyle felt his partner’s apprehension. Bodie's tense shoulders descried the emotion more boldly than Piccadilly's flashing neon signs would have done.

This time Ray allowed his hand to intentionally brush the training suit shirt clad arm. As he'd gambled, the tension between them worked for him. Once again he was the centre of Bodie's universe.

Doyle gave what he hoped was his most rakish smile and opened the bedroom door.

His bravado held out as the door closed behind them, lasting all the way to the huge bed. There it deserted him completely, leaving only his resolution to see this through and the fledgling desire that was even now making butterfly spirals through his insides.

Walking to the side of the bed, Doyle divested himself of his robe, then paused to watch Bodie strip down.

His partner hovered behind the closed door, a portrait of uncertainty. Looking Doyle's way, a steely determination settled across Bodie's features, barring doubt from all but his eyes. Without further delay his partner crossed to the foot of the bed and shrugged his way out of the grey sweat shirt.

The soft golden lamplight highlighted rippling muscles, making Bodie appear even bigger by the unveiling. The brown trousers were tugged off next, the action rushed, as if Bodie wanted them off before he could change his mind.

Doyle eyed the outcome, trying to be critical, but there was nothing there to be critical of. Smooth, hairless skin glistened like honey wherever he looked. The colour was a gift of the lamplight, Doyle knew, for unlike himself, his partner had no predilection for exposing his flesh to the sun's burning rays. In reality, Bodie's skin shades varied from bud pink to alabaster, both equally as pleasing as the light's illusion.

Bodie's shoulders and chest were square, tapering down in almost classic perfection. The sculptors of ancient Greece had coveted such bodies for their models and more. Every limb and muscle spoke of power and sleek sensuality, Bodie's beauty the awesome appeal of the timber wolf or the wild stallion. One could struggle to make such beauty one's own – and suffer the consequences which came to those foolish enough to try to tame children of the wind.

Doyle shivered, damning his imagination. Wolves and wild stallions, he didn't need such fanciful allusions to intimidate him; Bodie's physical presence was quite daunting enough.

His gaze dropped to Bodie's briefs, settling on the excited flesh that was so tautly defined beneath the snowy fabric. That erection was, after all, what Ray had laboured for.

"Well?" Bodie asked, nervousness making it a harsh demand. Bodie looked for all the world as though he expected to be rejected again.

"Very well, indeed," Doyle answered, drawing on his earlier appreciation of the pleasing form. That the form in question was bigger than Van Cleef and stronger than all but Miller, his captor’s main henchman, was something Ray tried not to dwell upon.

Despite the encouragement, Bodie remained rooted at the bed's edge. Only slowly did Doyle realize that the other man would not come to him. If he wanted Bodie, this was something he was going to have to be sure enough to initiate.

The necessary few steps were taken in a numbed daze. In spite of his resolution, they still fell short of touch by a few feet. The hand Ray held out to his partner shook almost convulsively.

Warm strength fast encompassed his unsteady limb. Bodie used the handclasp to draw him into an embrace as solidly supportive as their mountain.

"You don't have to do this, you know. We can stop now," Bodie whispered, the words shivering down Doyle’s neck in a gust of warm breath.

Doyle mutely rejected the idea with a fierce shake of his head, his eyes dropping immediately afterward when they encountered the hunger in Bodie’s gaze. Ray wished he were stronger, but he was still scared. Even so, the quivers Bodie’s breath caused on his neck felt so incredible that Doyle wanted to feel more. He hoped his courage would hold out, that he wouldn’t end up a gibbering wreck again.

Inside, Ray was a roiling mass of conflicting emotions; he was as frightened as he was aroused . . . and he was aroused as hell, which meant that he was pretty damned frightened. He was living from moment to moment now, holding onto his control, hoping it would last long enough to carry him through, but underneath it, he was uncertain, and scared of failing Bodie again.

His friend didn’t deserve that. Bodie deserved something as fine and special as he was himself. Not some coward who couldn’t trust enough to believe in the one person who had never let him down.

Doyle tensed as Bodie lifted his chin up.

"You're scared out of your wits, Ray. If I touched you now, you'd start screaming," Bodie gently pointed out, knowing him so well that Ray couldn’t even consider an evasion.

His mouth clamped tight against just such a possibility, Doyle forced the words out, "Would not."

"I wish I understood why this is so all-fired important to you," Bodie murmured.

A hand rubbed lightly across Ray’s robe covered back, Bodie seeming incapable of restraining from touch at such close quarters.

Doyle shrugged and tried to answer around the distracting touch's effect. That unthreatening palm felt so good.

"I need someone to show me it can still be . . . good." Doyle gulped, feeling utterly naked before that penetrating stare. "I’d like it to be you."

Bodie's gaze dropped. "A bird'd be better for you, easier."

"Yeah," he agreed, waiting until Bodie's head snapped back up. "Yeah, she'd be easier, but she'd never be you; would she, sunshine? It's you I'm after."

The grip on him changed at that point, locking him tight to Bodie's chest. Closer than mistletoe vine to hosting oak, they breathed the same damp air. Bodie's heart thudded beneath Doyle's ear, so loud that Ray could barely make out the reply when it came. Or was it the curls at his neck that Bodie's face was buried in which muffled the reply? Either way, Doyle had to strain to catch the unsteady, breathy, "Why?"

What did Bodie want – sweet words? Ray had very few of those. Even if he'd been gifted with a honeyed tongue, it would have failed him at a time such as this. "'cause you're mine."

Bodie shivered, withdrawing from the embrace far enough to see his face. "Yours?"

"Any objections?" Doyle demanded, perhaps too roughly in view of the complete lack of rebellion.

A simple, negative headshake was all Bodie offered him.

Made brave by his partner’s susceptibility, Doyle dared another kiss.

The eyes that regarded Ray’s own breathless features as they drew apart for air were more than a little dazed.

"Bed?" Doyle suggested, suspecting in his present preoccupied state that Bodie would agree just as readily to the dark side of the moon as a destination, as long as there was more touching involved.

Ray could appreciate that. He was feeling pretty much the same way himself.

Ignoring his fear, Ray concentrated on the sweet singing in his blood. That was real. The demons and fear were just spectres of his past. The touch and feel of Bodie’s skin was intoxicating. His partner’s fresh, clean scent was making his head reel quite pleasantly. And, although the hard organ nudging Doyle’s hip was causing some apprehension, it was nowhere enough to inhibit his pleasure.

Judging himself the more clear-minded of the pair, Doyle guided his unresisting mate toward the bed. Locked in the kiss, Bodie followed docilely.

His partner surprised him once there. As Doyle made to lower himself onto the mattress, pulling Bodie down on top of him, an iron grip aborted his descent.

"Not that way."

Doyle froze. The hoarse command called forth the ghost of many an obscene or nauseating order.

His fragile composure shattered as Doyle waited the other man's pleasure.

Ray frantically assured himself that this didn't necessarily mean what he was interpreting it to. Bodie was an aggressive male, as he himself had once been and was trying to be again tonight. It was only natural that in this charged-up state his partner would be somewhat less than delicate in voicing his needs. Although, for his sanity's sake, Doyle wished Bodie had been a little clearer in his desires.

"How, then?" Ray asked, trembling. Bodie didn't want him face down on the bed, did he?

The tight grip on his left elbow loosened. Bodie’s hand rose to his face, his pinkie tracing Doyle’s cheekbone. The touch was shivery-light, its inherent tenderness choking Ray's throat with guilt. Such was not the look of a man about to savage his companion.

"You on top. We don't want any more . . . misunderstandings, do we?"

Doyle shook his head, too ashamed to meet Bodie's gaze as his partner climbed into the bed, pushed the covers and top sheet aside and lay down.

Doyle’s eyes travelled over the prone body as it lay before him, the expectant tingle almost cancelling out his guilt.

Becoming aware that he was the object of similar scrutiny, Ray flushed and began to fumble with the belt of his robe, self-conscious about the amount of time he'd kept his friend waiting. He'd been the one who'd badgered Bodie into this, yet at every turn his partner had had to coax and gentle him along. It was a wonder Bodie was still interested, considering the delays.

"Don't," Bodie said, catching hold of his suddenly clumsy fingers before they could undo the robe’s simple tie. "Come get comfortable first. We'll take care of that later."

"But . . . . " Only then did he realize Bodie still had his briefs on.

His partner was stretched out on Doyle's side of the bed, arms lifted in silent invitation to join him. Forgetting Bodie's preference of having him on top, Doyle settled on his side in the tiny space left between his companion and the bed's edge.

To Doyle's tense mind, Bodie's sigh seemed tinged with exasperation, the crinkle in the normally smooth brow a frown of displeasure.

"You haven't changed at all, you know," Bodie offered in a low tone.

Still a tease? Still untouchable? Doyle wondered, daunted despite his best intentions.

"How's that?" Ray asked, needing to hear it all, even if it would destroy this first gambit toward healing.

He couldn't blame his partner. Bodie had been more patient than Doyle had a right to expect.

"You're still the bravest bloke I know."

Too stunned to restrain his reaction, Doyle laughed, the sound bitter with self-honesty. "Brave? I'm shakin' like the last leaf of autumn, mate."

To demonstrate, Doyle held out a faintly quivering hand.

Immediately, it was enfolded by the rock-steady warmth of Bodie's own.

"Maybe so, but you’re still going through with it, aren't you? Don't know if I'd be brave enough to do the same in your shoes," Bodie whispered.

"Bravery's got nothin' to do with it, sunshine. Is pig-headed stubbornness, tha's all," Doyle chuckled, relaxing and moving closer to his partner. "Besides, haven't 'gone through with it' yet, have we?" With that Doyle placed a light kiss on Bodie's nearby shoulder.

He wasn't sure if his partner's calling him brave had been intended to bolster his confidence as it had, but Doyle was nevertheless grateful.

Releasing Doyle's hand, Bodie turned on his side to face him. Face to face, so close they breathed the same air, Bodie kissed him, long and leisurely.

The sensation danced like quicksilver through his veins. There was no air in the world, just that which he pulled from Bodie’s lungs. Doyle's tongue slipped into his partner's mouth to sample Bodie's unique flavour. Like the scent and feel of him, that too coursed through Doyle's blood, its potency leaving his heart pounding and nerve endings throbbing for more.

Bodie did not withhold his attentions, any more than Doyle himself did. Throughout the prolonged union of their mouths, their hands ran aimlessly up and down bare backs and sides, each seemingly addicted to the silken feel of heated flesh.

At last Bodie pulled back. His partner’s feverish blue eyes aglitter in the dark, Doyle could feel the gaze hungrily assessing him.

"Ray, can I . . . ?" Bodie whispered, his hand poised above Doyle's chest.

"Anything," Ray granted, meaning it in that hazed moment.

With slow care, Bodie’s hands moved to undo the belt of Ray’s light blue robe.

First Doyle was hit by the chill of the room, then the heat of Bodie’s gaze appraising the uncovered territory. It was like ice water had just dripped on the revealed skin. Ray shivered and erupted into gooseflesh, his breath catching in his chest as his partner reached for him.

He jumped a little as Bodie's index finger swirled around his right nipple. He'd been afraid that after what had happened with Van Cleef, he'd be unable to respond sexually to another person ever again. But the sensation caused by that whisper light finger jolted right through Doyle. Somewhat stunned, he felt the awareness centre in his groin, only a dull throbbing as yet, but there and demanding recognition.

Bodie's head bowed over Ray. The sweat-beaded forehead with its feather soft bangs pressed against Doyle’s chest as a wet tongue replaced Bodie’s finger at Doyle’s nipple.

Despite himself, Doyle tensed. Many a dark head had bent over him this way. The tender flesh of his nipples had been bitten and chewed as those other men were carried away by sensation. But Bodie’s mouth only kissed the hard puckered nipples and sucked on them. Teeth never once so much as grazed him. The most aggressive act Bodie performed there was that insistent sucking, and that pleaded to Doyle’s pleasure, rather than hurt him.

The gasp that was torn out of Ray as his partner’s skilful mouth turned this to a once again delightful practice shook Doyle's frame. He felt like he was being reborn here, like Bodie was taking all the bad memories and making them right with his loving attention, healing him with love.

Noting that Bodie seemed completely absorbed in his service, Doyle allowed his hand to snake down to his pyjama bottoms. Almost with trepidation, Ray touched the hard organ arching beneath soft cotton.

A full erection. Doyle couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced one. Once or twice in the past weeks of feeling better, he'd attempted to masturbate during his afternoon naps, but his cock had never surpassed a semi-hard tumescence, wilting under the inevitable shadows. One by one, Bodie was expelling those nightmare memories.

Eyes abrim with tears, Doyle closed his arms over the beloved shoulders, banding Bodie to his chest.

His partner seemed willing to stay there forever, but eventually the mouth moved downwards. Bodie trailed the line of chest hair to Doyle’s navel. Ray shuddered as Bodie's tongue dipped within, warm and wet in its lapping.

That was a new sensation. In all his months of captivity, Ray couldn’t recall any of his attackers touching him there. His guts constricting with a yearning that seemed to shiver from his groin straight down to his toes, Doyle gasped in a breath and tried to stay sane.

Bodie's chin nudged the elastic band of his pyjamas. Doyle waited in expectation of the moment when the clothes would be pushed aside, but other than that one accidental push, Bodie didn’t touch him there again. Instead, Bodie’s head moved back up, the sweet lips eager to reclaim Ray’s own.

Already short of air, Doyle’s senses reeled in an ecstatic swirl, his mouth kneading against his partner’s in frantic compulsion.

Bodie's arms locked around his back. A quick, abrupt motion, and Doyle found himself atop the well-toned body. His shocked gasp was swallowed in their kiss.

Every pore of his body was sensitised to Bodie. Bewildered by the near-sensory overload, he marvelled at the contrasts of sensation. The skin of his partner's sweat-sheened chest felt smooth and soft beneath his questing fingertips, yet where Doyle’s weight pressed heaviest against it, it was hard and firm, rising and falling in a rushed, yet eternally reassuring rhythm.

And then, more overwhelming than the awareness of chest, intoxicating mouth and pleasure-giving fingers, there was Bodie’s iron-hard, brief-covered bulge trapped beneath Doyle’s own straining organ. The mental adjustment necessary to assimilate his lack of fear at the sensation was a strange and over-joying surprise. Positioned as they were with himself on top, worry never touched Ray.

Breaking free of the kiss to gulp down some much-needed air, Doyle asked, "Shouldn't we get rid of these?" To illustrate, he gave a tug to the band of Bodie's briefs.

"Ssssh," Bodie soothed. Rubbing flat palms across Doyle’s spine, Bodie drew him back into the kiss.

Their hips seemed to know what to do. Without any conscious decision on his mind’s part, Ray’s groin started rocking and grinding down against his partner’s. This was so perfect, with so much of their bodies pressing against each other. The contact was electric, like heat lightning sparking along a dark horizon at night, the pleasure unexpected and all consuming.

Bodie whimpered beneath him. The small sound trickled through Doyle, touching something deep within.

This was so different from anything that he'd known while Van Cleef's captive. From the way his heart was racing at Bodie’s touch to the innocent joy of the entire encounter, Ray was beginning to wonder if he’d ever known loving like this.

It was entirely possible he hadn’t. Bodie had made it plain that Doyle had had many girlfriends, but no one steady. This type of tenderness didn’t normally occur between strangers. It meant something, something more than the enthusiastic enjoyment of each other’s flesh. What made every touch so special was the feeling Ray held for his partner, and the love Bodie had for him. Ray knew that he might have been able to deal with unthreatening intercourse with some girl he'd just met, but the sex wouldn't have rocked him the way touching Bodie was doing. Doyle mightn't know anything about his past, but he knew that much. This was special, to him now, and to the man he’d been.

The hands on Ray’s back moved downwards. Bodie’s long fingers reached to cup the cheeks of Doyle’s ass. Although the touch was gentle, Ray froze as though Bodie's fingers had dug right through his skin.

Bodie’s closed eyes snapped open. Passion bright, dazed with hot, honest need, they searched Doyle’s face. "Trust me, Ray, please?"

Raw yearning permeated Bodie’s plea.

Incapable of rejecting that need, Doyle haltingly reaffirmed his earlier promise, "Anything, anything you want."

Doyle told himself that he could deal with the outcome. Had done so many times before when he'd been taken without permission. At least Bodie would be gentle.

"Oh, god," Bodie’s exclamation was almost a sob.

Doyle felt his concession shake his friend. An actual tremor was running through Bodie’s body.

Bodie’s lips strained to meet his own again. Doyle drowned in their sweetness, fire building despite Bodie's overwhelming tenderness.

The hands on Rays butt gave a gentle squeeze.

Instead of freezing into a motionless mass of terror, Doyle’s body jolted like he’d stuck his finger into an electric socket. Sizzzzzz, his supercharged nerve endings screamed as they were buffeted with raw sensation. It was almost too much to take, as unexpected as it was moving. Ray gasped as the air rushed out of his lungs, the oxygen forced out by a constricting, gut-melting blaze of ecstasy. It was so good, too good . . . .

Having his backside touched and handled shouldn't feel right, Doyle told himself as another squeeze sent him spiralling into the stratosphere. But like so much else he’d learned from this incredible man over the last few months, Bodie was teaching him how touches there should feel.

Struggling for every breath, Doyle hardly noticed when the gripping hands stopped their fire bursts to begin to guide his rhythmic thrusts. Ray clung to his partner for dear life, or for his sanity, at the very least. His arms were buried somewhere under Bodie. Ray was almost afraid to let go, lest the tides of ecstasy ripping through him should tear him away like driftwood from the shore.

Despite his unbreakable mooring, the relentless buffeting did just that. Ray’s reality became a wild tumble of ever-maddening tidal waves of flaming passion. He'd top one unbearable pleasure crest, only to have an even greater one splash over him in drowning fury.

The quicksilver joy brimming through him was so good, so right - perhaps righter than anything else had ever been.

Or maybe he was merely reaping the wages of abstinence. After six months' inactivity, Doyle knew that he was ultra-sensitive to the slightest stimuli. And Bodie was hardly slight. Whatever the cause, Ray was helpless against so overwhelming a feeling.

Bodie thrust up at him as Doyle’s own hips plunged down. Raging tide to shore, they met with a resounding splash of pure ecstasy. Not even two layers of cotton could mute Doyle's reaction to the perfectly timed thrust. An instant of absolute stillness, and then his whole world exploded, funnelling outward in a dizzying maelstrom.

His cock jumped to spurt the inside of his pyjama trousers with hot, sticky seed.

"Boodiee . . . . " he cried, burying his face in the nearby shoulder.

Bodie's body gave a similar twitch and a matching warm dampness seeped through the taut briefs to plaster their clothes together. The only sound that betrayed the dark-haired man's coming was a sharp gasp, as much relief as ecstasy.

Deaf to all but the pulse pounding wildly in his ears, Doyle clutched his lover tight to him, his body still convulsed in shudders.

"R-Ray?" Rarely had he heard his partner's voice so worried.

He looked at Bodie, confused to see the handsome face waver blurrily before him.

"Ray, are you all right? You're not hurt?" Curled fingers were dabbing at his wet cheek while Bodie’s other hand swept down Doyle’s spine to his butt, as though searching for scratches. Ray was sidetracked from his effort to interpret the frantic whisper by a shiver, his body's automatic response to the unconsciously sensual caress.

"I'm sorry, sunshine. I got carried away; didn't mean to frighten you," Bodie assured, sounding guilty, of all things.

The trembling apology and utterly stricken expression rallied Ray’s wits.

"I’m not scared," Doyle protested. "Just . . . hold me for a bit, will you?"

Ray’s request was hardly coherent between the sobs he hadn't even realized he was emitting.

Even so, of the two of them, Doyle was willing to wager his partner looked the more frightened. The handsome features were so tense, like Bodie was waiting for his entire world to fall apart.

Yet Bodie didn’t hesitate in fulfilling his request. Bodie gathered him even closer, his touch so tentative as to be almost timid.

"I'm all right," Doyle declared when, after long moments, the tension gripping the sleek body pillowing him failed to abate.

"Sure you are. Always sob for nothin', don't you?"

The self-reproach Doyle heard in Bodie’s voice outweighed even the sarcasm.

Doyle pushed up against Bodie's chest till he could see his partner's face, which was reflecting only a need of oxygen after Doyle's unexpected move. He smiled a bit sheepishly as he eased up enough to let Bodie breathe. Hoping to radiate the contentment pulsing through his sated body, Ray pointed out, "You must admit, I have been doin' my fair share of weepin' lately."

"You had your reasons."

His partner's automatic defence turned Ray’s tentative effort at a smile into a full-fledged beam. "And my solace, thank God, and your stubbornness."

Because it was so close and tipped up in an attitude of lofty disbelief, Doyle kissed the tip of his partner's nose, letting his tongue dart out across the cooler skin for a second's mischief. Withdrawing, he continued, "If I have to spell it out for your fetching, but dense, head – you did not hurt me."

"Than why –"

"Didn't expect it to feel so good, did I? You were supposed to turn into an ogre, not Prince Charming. But then, you never could get your metaphors straight," Doyle joked.

His teasing worked where Doyle knew no amount of avowals would have convinced his doubting friend.

Joy sparked through Bodie's intent gaze, fire-bright and sudden. "Me mixin’ metaphors? It's a frog, not an ogre, mate."

"That mean I'll get warts?" Doyle quizzed, unable to believe how happy . . . how loved he felt at this moment.

"You said I was fetching," Bodie protested, looking up at Doyle through improbably long lashes with a mock-wounded expression.

Ray sobered immediately.

"You’re devastating," Doyle admitted, squiggling back down into the cosy embrace. The damp patch on his pyjama front reminded him of the alteration in their relationship. As much to reinforce his rights to initiate these intimate privileges as for the sheer enjoyment of it, Doyle kissed the smooth chest that pillowed his head, marvelling at its hairless perfection.

The events of the last hour whirled through his mind. Devastating, he'd said, and so it had been, for him. But what of Bodie? The other man had hardly spoken, and suddenly it was important that Doyle know.

He stretched his neck up for a look, his lips parted to call his lover's name, and stopped.

Bodie's eyes were closed in sleep. The dark fringe of lashes brushing the skin beneath his eyes and the lingering flush of passion in Bodie’s cheeks lent a vulnerable air to the man whom Doyle was accustomed to regarding as ruthlessly competent.

Angelic, Ray decided, aware that such a description would fit his friend at no other time. Bodie’s face was bent down toward him. From the angle, Doyle realised the reddened mouth must have been brushing the tips of his curls.

Doyle was loath to disturb such tranquillity merely to satisfy his own insecurities. His neck craned the few extra inches necessary for a kiss. The lightest touch of his lips revealed his feelings. The unconscious care he took to safeguard his partner’s slumber was as telling as Bodie's cautious handling of him had been. This was so much more than mere lust.

With a last foggy thought as to where they were headed, Doyle settled down against the comfortable chest and abandoned thinking for a while.

---

Chapter Nine

His leg hurt. With an irritated moan, Bodie shifted in an attempt to ease the persistent pressure. It was no use. Whatever had him, it had him good and tight. Manacles at the very least, he thought numbly, beginning the reluctant rise from the comfort of sleep.

About to kick free, Bodie stopped to reconsider. Of all the types of restraints he'd been subjected to in his colourful life, fabric ones didn't number among them. Besides, these felt warm, and were it not for the pins and needles cramping his leg, pleasant.

His eyes cracked open a fraction. Weak dawning light had barely breached the curtains. Its feeble attempt cast a dreary grey tone through the fleeing shadows. Meagre as the illumination was, it was sufficient to detail his captor.

Ray's head was pillowed on Bodie's chest just beneath his rib cage. The uncomfortable lump beneath his back was his partner's right arm, which was no doubt as cramped as Bodie's leg at the moment. Ray's other arm was slung across Bodie's waist to complete the hold. As for what was trapping Bodie's numb leg, that turned out to be both of Doyle's. His left thigh was clamped between Ray's powerful ones in a death-hold.

Memories of last night came flooding back: the warmth and smell of his partner, the exhilarating knowledge that Ray had allowed him to love him. The reality of it percolated within, struggling to be expressed in a whoop of delight. He settled for a half-witted grin, knowing that he'd have to pry Doyle off the ceiling were he to give in to his first impulse while Ray was sleeping. Lord, but it felt good just to hold Ray, even if his lower body were losing all sensation.

The muscles of the forearm beneath Bodie twitched, as Doyle flexed his fingers. A crinkle creased Ray's peaceful brow. "Uuuaah . . . ."

The low moan of discomfort preceded a tensing of Doyle's already taut muscles. Then Ray's eyes snapped open, wide with alarm.

Not even daring to draw breath, Bodie waited. He hadn't been the one to initiate last night's events, but by Doyle's own admission, his friend wasn't himself. It was entirely possible he was about to be blamed for taking advantage of Ray.

After a moment of non-reaction, Doyle disengaged from the embrace. Rolling over onto his back, he even pulled the arm out from under Bodie; though he did it gently.

Ray's chiselled profile was blank of expression, but Bodie could sense the tumult of emotion brewing behind the eyes that were fixed so squarely on the ceiling. Ray couldn't – or wouldn't – even look at him.

Bodie tried to gulp down the lump that swelled his throat almost closed, but couldn't manage as little as a normal swallow.

Too soon. He'd known it last night, but Ray had been so damned persistent, so utterly irresistible.

That was no excuse, Bodie told himself. After what had happened to him during his captivity, Doyle was confused about his sexuality and self-image. Bodie's undemanding friendship had so far helped to restore some of Ray's damaged self-confidence. In the cold morning light, what Bodie had allowed to happen between them last night seemed almost criminal when he considered the destruction it could do to his partner.

Doyle had grown fond of him during these past months, Bodie knew. The abused man had even learned to trust him. But having been little more than a sex toy to Van Cleef for so long, Ray no longer understood that such feelings of friendship were enough, that he didn't have to trade his body to retain Bodie's affections. In hindsight, Bodie now realized it had been his duty to refuse his confused partner's sexual advances. Once again, he'd failed Ray.

Now he was about to reap the harvest of that failure. In the cold morning light Doyle would no doubt see the abuse for what it was.

Bodie's heart attempted to stop, along with his frozen breathing, as Doyle's curl-tangled head rose to face him.

Some people might not find that first morning view of Ray Doyle very attractive. Long hair awry so that it resembled a tumbleweed bush, and the blue-black sprinkling of beard stubble darkening his chin, Doyle looked very unlike the clean-cut man who would emerge from the shower in an hour. But to Bodie, Ray was perfect first thing, wild and somehow savage – a warrior of old, exactly the fantasy he'd like to be ravaged by.

Such fancies passed through his mind on a subliminal level, for his apprehension claimed his complete attention. Bodie didn't even know what kind of apology he could offer that would even begin to cover the depth of his offences. He felt like he'd awoken from a drunk to find he had raped a child, instead of slept with the willing woman he'd thought he'd gone home with. His transgression was that much of a nightmare reality, one of those things that he never thought could happen, because the very idea was beyond consideration.

The empty gaze that turned his way was not at all encouraging. Bodie thought he would welcome even accusation. Then he saw Ray gulp, his companion seeming less the wild barbarian now and more his unkempt partner.

"Good morning," Ray whispered, a hand reaching out to tentatively touch Bodie's cheek. The greeting sounded like a question, as if Ray were completely unsure of what type of reaction he could expect this morning.

And why wouldn't Ray be uncertain? Bodie realized that his own fear had paralysed him to the point where his wariness might have been misinterpreted as displeasure.

Bodie cursed himself a fool and let his relief shine through in a smile. No accusation, yet.

"Hello." Bodie turned his head a little so that his lips brushed Doyle's fingers in what might have been a light kiss or an accidental touch.

The tense figure relaxed, some of Ray's barriers dropping away.

"Can I kiss you?" Doyle questioned.

Bodie didn't even try to work through the tightness gripping his throat.

"You can do anything you want with me," Bodie rasped, his good intentions of not inflicting any further stress upon Ray defeated by the tentative touch of Doyle's mouth to his own.

First thing in the morning kisses could never be said to be sweet, but Bodie found himself drowning in his partner's taste all the same. Ray was just so . . . Ray, morning breath and all. Their stubbly chins rasped together as their dry mouths became reacquainted.

Venting a sigh that sounded relieved, Doyle withdrew after a long, intimate exploration of Bodie's mouth, to settle his head against Bodie's chest again.

"Ray, about last night . . . . " Bodie began hesitantly, finding it far easier to speak to the top of Doyle's head than to his expressive eyes.

Doyle's rumpled head rose again, something like abashment colouring his tanned cheeks. "I know it couldn't have been . . . very exciting for you, but . . . was it enough?"

Bodie's faltering apology died on his lips as the sense of the awkwardly phrased question penetrated. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Tell Doyle that, yes, it was just fine, but they could never do it again? Ray would never believe it was for his own sake.

Compelled by the hurt that was intensifying with each moment's silence, Bodie spoke the truth.

"This would have been enough," Bodie said, indicating their close-held bodies. "You spoiled me last night, Ray, gave me more than I had any right to ask for. If I were a true friend, I would have thought of you first and turned you down, but . . . I just couldn't help myself. That's an explanation, not an apology. I ought to be sorry it happened, but . . . . "

"You're not," Doyle finished in a near-satisfied tone. "And you can stow that rot. No one ever thought of me as much as you did last night."

Bodie felt his cheeks warm under the emotion-filled gaze. Doyle was practically glowing.

With love? Hard as Bodie found it to believe, that was the interpretation his instincts kept giving to his mate's expression. But that couldn't be. Joy, maybe.

Unwilling to foster delusions, Bodie sought escape in humour. "In case you've forgotten, you've got amnesia. You don't rightly remember anything else, do you, Ray?"

The joke fell flat. Doyle took him completely seriously. "No, you're right. I don't remember anyone else, but I do remember how I felt."

"Ey?" Bodie prodded, perplexed by the earnestness.

"You never did ask me last night why I wanted to stay here in the chalet so badly."

Not seeing how one applied to the other, Bodie shrugged, bouncing Doyle up and down in the process. "I figured you liked it here. 's pleasant."

"True, but that's not the reason. It was you, mate."

"Huh?"

"What I remember about the past isn't a lot, Bodie, but it was enough to let me know one thing. I – I don't think I was ever really happy there."

"Happy?"

"You know – content, satisfied. Or have I just forgotten?"

Bodie thought hard on the question. "You were always a moralist. What we did never came easy to you, but I wouldn't have said you were actively unhappy."

Or would he, Bodie reconsidered once the words were out. He'd never really thought about Doyle being unhappy. Ray had done all the things that a bloke did when he was having fun – Doyle had pulled a different bird every week, done the pub crawls, followed the sports, done all the superficial window-dressing that spoke of a successful young man enjoying his life and yet . . . Bodie had never seen Ray more content than when his partner was painting. And he'd never seen Ray paint until a couple of months ago. Rack his brain as he would, Bodie couldn't recall seeing so much as a sketchpad in any of Doyle's flats, let alone an easel. It was almost like Ray had closed off that part of himself when he joined C.I.5.

"Was I like I am now?" Doyle challenged, almost as if he'd scented Bodie's uncertainty.

Bodie chose his words very carefully, "I'm not agreeing with that two Doyles stuff you were spouting, but you were right about one thing. You were harder, more sarcastic, a right hurricane once you got going; although you were giving a pretty good imitation last night."

Doyle evaded his gaze, looking down to watch the finger that lazily trailed across Bodie's collarbone.

"I felt . . . threatened last night," Doyle finally mumbled.

"Threatened? By Cowley and Murph?" Bodie tried for coherency, but the absentminded touch was playing havoc with his concentration.

"No, by the past. I had thought it would lure you away from me."

"'Had thought'; past tense. What about now?" Bodie questioned.

"Doesn't matter now," Ray said.

"Why not?" As far as Bodie could see, last night had complicated things immensely, yet Ray was speaking as though his reasoning were perfectly obvious.

"Yesterday, the way Cowley was talking, he made it plain that the other . . . that I called the shots. You didn't correct him."

Although voiced as a gentle inquiry, the words pierced Bodie to the core. Of course, the threat didn't matter to Doyle now. Bodie could once again hear his partner's voice telling him that he was Doyle's. Bodie had offered no objection last night when Ray had made that proprietary claim. Even now when his weakness was being arrogantly lorded over him, Bodie couldn't refute the truth.

"What could I say to you or Cowley? I followed you here, didn't I? Whither Doyle goeth, Bodie follows." The bitter shame he felt forced him to look away from Doyle's rising gaze.

"But not the reverse?" Ray added salt to his open wound. "If you left, you were never sure I'd follow. You were never even certain enough of your place in my life to tell me how you felt, were you?"

Bodie stared at the ceiling, unable to believe this cruelty of his gentle Ray.

"Look at me, Bodie," Doyle demanded, then forced compliance by guiding his chin around. "All that's changed, if it were ever true to begin with. You're what's made me happy. I – I don't think I ever had anyone I could call my own before. Cowley's taking you away doesn't frighten me anymore because wherever you go – England, Timbuktu, wherever – I'll be right behind you. Understand?"

Bodie had never seen his partner look so earnest. The love clearly visible in Ray's eyes was heart-warming and Bodie had no doubt that at this moment, Doyle truly meant what he was saying. Equally, Bodie had no doubts that all of this would change once Ray got his memories back. When that happened . . . Bodie pushed the thought from his mind, resolved to live only in the present. He was being let off the hook – for now.

"Yes, I understand that you enjoyed last night," Bodie said. Much as he'd like to believe that Ray might feel that much for him, he wasn't fool enough to imagine such an attitude would last once memory was restored.

Doyle's eyes flared brilliant green in their anger, but the momentary spark gave way to something softer; something that was both sad and humouring.

"I guess he . . . I mean I've given you reason enough in the past to doubt me, but it's okay. I'll prove it to you, sunshine," Ray all but promised, resolution stamped in his every feature.

Bodie had never loved anyone so much as he did Ray at that moment for making that promise. But as much as he wanted to believe, the realist inside him knew he was living on borrowed time here. All he could give Ray in response was a shaky smile that probably never touched his eyes. Bodie knew where this was going to end, even if his amnesiac partner were momentarily smitten with him.

"Great pair we are," Ray said, shaking his head. Once again Doyle's hand lightly brushed Bodie's cheek in that oddly tender gesture before he responded to Bodie's last statement where Bodie had tried to brush off Doyle's present infatuation as a by-product of last night's sex. "Yeah, I enjoyed it. There more in our future?"

The firm denial Bodie had planned came out as a helpless nod of agreement.

"One thing, though."

"What's that?" Bodie finally managed.

"Do you think we could take our clothes off tonight?" There was no hard edge under the humorous inquiry. Doyle seemed to be sparkling with contentment again.

Buoyed by his mate's good spirits, Bodie gave his friend an exuberant hug. "That might be arranged."

Both froze at the sound of a toilet flushing across the hall. What with one thing and another, they'd all but forgotten about their houseguests.

Bodie wondered what the other two men might have overheard. Sanity eventually assured him that, although emotion wrought, the proceedings had been extremely quiet.

"Cowley, I'd imagine," Bodie explained at his partner's quirked eyebrow. "The old man gets up awful early. Better get the coffee on. Murph's like a bear first thing."

"Oh."

Bodie smiled at Ray's unfeigned reluctance. "Time to hit the showers, sunshine. I'll go first and have breakfast waitin' on you when you get down." The offer was truly heroic, considering the mountain cold morning.

"Why don't we go together?" Doyle suggested. "Be fun, showerin' with you."

Bodie gaped at the mischievous imp in his arms, paralysed by a sudden vision of water sluicing down that desirable body. Never would he be able to restrain himself at such close quarters. "It'd be loud, is what it'd be."

"Coward," Doyle laughed.

"Got it in one." His own chuckle complimented his partner's boisterous good humour.

Doyle stopped, gazing at him with sudden seriousness. "You're really happy, aren't you?"

"You still have a knack for understatement," Bodie declared, kissing the space between the far-set eyes. "Yes, I am, but I'd better get moving now before the old man beats us down."

"Will you wait for me to get there to tell him you'll do the job?" Ray's tone revealed nothing of his feelings on the matter.

Unsure if he were about to blunder blindly into a chasm, Bodie quietly asked, "Do you want me to?"

Bodie wasn't really surprised that Ray had read his mind on the decision. If last night were any indication, they were more in sync then he'd ever imagined possible.

"To wait to tell him? Yes."

The cryptic reply told Bodie nothing. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

The ghost of a look he hadn't seen since Ann Holly had walked pinched his partner's features, as though Doyle were once again anticipating the collapse of his world. It made sense; Bodie understood that he was all Doyle knew. Bodie tried not to place too much significance on a fleeting expression, but found his heart aching for his friend. Could he really mean that much to Ray?

"Do you have any objections?" Bodie asked, praying his voice conveyed his willingness to heed Doyle's wishes.

Doyle's gaze flickered, as if considering evasion, before settling squarely upon him.

"I've got plenty," Ray admitted at last, a rueful smile tweaking his mouth up at one corner, "but none of 'em valid. 's a question of honour, isn't it? We owe Cowley."

"For what? You said you barely remember him," Bodie reminded.

"You seemed to think we owed it to him last night."

"And that's enough for you?" Bodie asked.

Doyle shrugged. "He didn't cart you off in leg irons. He could've. That's enough for me. We owe him. Besides, it's only a couple of weekends."

"Right. I'll be back before you have time to miss me," he promised. Doyle's curls were too long to create complete anarchy anymore, so Bodie contented himself with displacing the disorderly tangle.

"I'll have time."

Lowered lashes veiled all emotion, but Bodie heard the unhappiness. "Hey, it's just a few days. If you don't want me to go, just say."

"No, you do what you have to. I'll be waiting."

Still not entirely satisfied, Bodie decided to take Doyle at his word. "So will our guests if I don't get moving. See you later, sunshine."

---

Later, much later, Doyle walked quietly through the blackness.

Four days of rain had ceased at last. The ground was sodden. Each step felt as though his boots were being sunk into a thoroughly saturated sponge, but the sky overhead was clear as crystal and dark as plush velvet. Thousands of stars were littered across it, numerous as the tiny shells left by a receding tide. Eyes accustomed to the dreary overcast feasted on the pristine clarity of the night.

Ray pulled his jumper closer about him. Tonight's breeze was more than cool. In fact, most would call it a wind, but Doyle preferred to think of it as the last breeze of summer.

Trying very hard not to find too much relevance in that thought, he ambled toward an outcrop of boulders. Hidden behind four wide-reaching spruces, the rocks weren't visible in the dark. Even in daylight one might have difficulty sighting them between the evergreen branches, but, like every other rock and dip in the land up here, Doyle knew their location by heart. Fleetingly, he wondered if he had loved his home in London with the same fierce passion he felt for this place.

Probably not, he decided while climbing up to perch on a chilly stone twice his size. A man who could fail to appreciate Bodie properly would no doubt lack such sensitivity.

He surveyed his overview. The rock had been a good choice. The fragrant trees behind shielded him from most of the wind. Off to the far right the chalet's glowing windows warmly beckoned him home. The road was a greyish brown ribbon banding the dark shadow that marked the cliff's chasm. Beyond that, all was shades of black. The uneven line of the mountains stretching heavenwards on all sides looked like a hungry dragon had eaten chunks of sky out of the horizon. Black as space and as starless as the empty stretches between galaxies, the jagged peaks fringed the astral tapestry.

Doyle drank in the cold night with all his senses. His nose was beginning to sting from the wind and his breath fogged around him, but he still lingered on the damp rock. Another time he might have heeded the mud and chill and headed home, but just now he couldn't bear the sight of his partner pouring over the files Cowley had left behind this morning.

His aversion was foolish, Doyle knew. He'd been the one who had urged Bodie to accept the assignment . . . yet he couldn't help but feel that this boded the end of their stay here. The conference was over three weeks away and Bodie was already so absorbed in its preparations that he'd all but ignored Doyle the entire afternoon - and this not even twenty-four hours since they'd become lovers.

This morning's apprehension returned with a vengeance, reminding Ray of just how many times Bodie had said "no" last night before Doyle had finally persuaded his partner to acquiesce to his wishes.

And after all that anguish, what had Bodie gotten? Someone too scared and inhibited to take his stupid clothes off. Little wonder his partner was so quickly disenchanted.

"Ray?"

The soft voice so close at hand almost cost him his cold seat. Doyle swung toward the sound, the wind immediately sending the hair he'd once again forgotten to bind whipping into his eyes. Doyle's fingers brushed the irritating tangle aside.

"What are you doing here? You'll catch your death," Bodie said.

Doyle blinked down at his partner as though Bodie had just materialized on the spot beside his rock. Whether it was his own morose preoccupation or Bodie's jungle training, he hadn't heard the man slosh his way across the mucky ground.

A small smile touched his lips as he took in his partner's appearance. A bit of wind and Bodie was dressed for the arctic in a black anorak with the hood pulled up and tightly closed, heavy wool trousers and some kind of fluffy hand warmer.

"What's with the muff?" Doyle asked, looking at the odd garment wrapped around his friend's hands.

Bodie shook the bundle.

Surprised, Doyle recognized his own light grey jacket. Bodie handed it up to him with a self-conscious shrug. " 's a little nippy, isn't it?"

"A bit," Doyle agreed, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "Thanks."

Pretending to contemplate the Milky Way, Doyle watched his friend out of the corner of his eye.

"Care for some company?" Bodie was forced to ask at last. In no way did the smooth voice betray that Bodie would be affected by a negative response.

Two could play that game. Ray waited until Bodie's discomfort with the silence was visible before off-handedly remarking, "Thought you were too busy for company."

"There was a pile to get through," Bodie agreed in the same matter-of-fact tone.

Ray swallowed hard. The silences between them seemed to be saying more than their words. Doyle didn't at all like the messages those empty stretches were communicating, but as had happened when they'd argued in the study last night, Ray found himself falling very naturally into this attack and avoidance pattern.

He hated being this way with Bodie, hated the distance that was suddenly gaping between them, but he had no clue as to how to circumvent it. After being so totally ignored all afternoon, a part of him was afraid of revealing too much. He was tired of being an object of pity, and even more disenchanted with his role as invalid. If they were going to be lovers, they had to be equals and equals didn't snivel about being ignored . . . but, God, it was hard to sit here and play these stupid games when he was hurting so much inside.

Maybe Bodie was right. Maybe he wasn't up to this. Perhaps he wasn't Bodie's equal yet. No one knew better than Doyle himself how completely screwed up he was inside, but . . . be that as it may, his pride wouldn't allow him to fold on this.

If he wasn't hard inside, he could pretend to be. He had a feeling that he was a master at keeping up these kinds of fronts.

Bodie's gaze was an intruding weight as it sought to penetrate the secrets of his ungiving profile. Doyle let his partner stare, guarding his privacy. He knew as long as Bodie didn't get a clear look at his eyes that his secrets would be safe.

"Yeah, it was a lot of work," his flat tone betrayed none of his insecurities, or so Doyle thought.

Bodie scaled the boulder, and sank down uncomfortably close to him.

Another time Ray might have enjoyed the proximity, but tonight he didn't want the other man this close. Doyle's nose was dripping, making it impossible to catch Bodie's fragrance even with so little space between them, but he could still feel his friend's body warmth seeping through his chilled flesh where their arms were brushing. Wanting to keep up his guards, Ray struggled to ignore the distraction.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bodie tug down his hood. At first Doyle didn't understand why, for his friend was obviously freezing, but then he realized that Bodie had pulled it down because it obscured his view of Doyle.

"You going to tell me why you're mad at me or are we going to sit out here all night?" Bodie asked at last.

" 's nice out here," Ray evaded.

"If you're a longhorn sheep with a woolly coat. Although, that mop could very well pass," Bodie joked, ruffling the windblown length of Doyle's hair.

Doyle couldn't help but jerk back from the casual contact. What was he – a child to be condescended to?

"Ray?"

No amount of resolution could harden him to the bewilderment that flashed through Bodie's eyes. Rather than deal with it, Doyle looked away.

"It's last night, isn't it?" Bodie asked, his note of resigned sadness slicing into Doyle's conscience. "I knew that once you got to thinking 'bout it, you'd have second thoughts. I'm only surprised it took this long."

" 's not about last night," Doyle snapped peevishly, unable to maintain his stoicism in view of the dejection he was causing.

"Huh?"

"It's about today," Doyle corrected.

"Today?" Bodie repeated, sounding the most cretinous Doyle had ever heard him. "What's been wrong with today?"

Doyle swung back to his companion. The confusion within surfaced as anger. "It's like last night never happened."

Even to his own ears the complaint sounded sophomoric, like a schoolgirl mooning over her first love.

Bodie, however, appeared to find nothing childish about it. All the barriers dropped from his face. "Christ, Ray, you're right. I should have paid more attention to you. It's only that there was so much background material to absorb. I still haven't gotten through it all. I didn't want to let the old man down, but that's still no excuse for ignoring you."

Feeling twice the fool, Doyle mumbled, "I was just feeling left out, that's all. Don't give it a second thought; it'll pass."

"Like hell it will. Come here."

And, just like that, everything was all right in his world again.

After only one night together, embracing Bodie so openly should have felt awkward. Yet Doyle was amazed by how naturally he accepted the enfolding embrace. Bodie's warmth seemed to be precisely what his chilled body was longing for. He curled around the larger man, venting a grateful sigh. With budding familiarity, Doyle lent back against the sturdy support of Bodie's chest, smiling as Bodie's arms settled shyly around his waist. Obviously he wasn't the only one harbouring uncertainties.

"Was I always this moody?" Doyle asked conversationally after a few moments had passed.

Bodie snorted, the sound explosive in the stillness. "You don't know the half of it."

"Why'd you put up with it, then?"

A chin came to rest intimately on Doyle's shoulder, moist breath shivering down his neck. "Because it's a part of you, as much as these curls or your smile. Where I act, you think. It balances us."

"Seems it would weigh you down."

Bodie chuckled. "I needed it. More often than not my . . . enthusiasm landed us in the doghouse." Bodie was quiet for a spell before continuing in a more serious tone, "You never held that against me, regardless of how wild the old man got. I never could understand why you never complained. Got you in trouble often enough."

"It does seem out of character," Doyle commented, attempting to fit this new information into the picture he'd drawn of his former self.

"Nah, not really. You were the softest touch goin'."

"Thought I was a snarky, ill-tempered sod that never let anyone close to me," Doyle joked.

Bodie tensed, turning him to study his face. Doyle tried not to squirm under the close examination.

"I know I've said all of those things and more on occasion," Bodie said slowly, choosing each word with care, "but that wasn't all you were."

"No?" Try as he would, the simple syllable wavered.

"Do you think I could care so much for someone like that?"

Doyle's gaze strayed to the cold granite between their knees. "You're very loyal, Bodie."

"Ray."

The cold steel in the tone demanded his full attention. Doyle met the humourless gaze with defiance. "What?"

"Answer me."

"All right, then. Yes, I think you could. Despite all your talk about my moralizing, memory paints me a cold-blooded killer. Even when you're telling stories about us, my temperament . . . it sounds like you spent half your time tap-dancing through a minefield."

"Christ, you've a knack for twisting things, mate. Listen up. Ray Doyle never killed even the darkest souled villain in cold blood. Killing, even in self-defence, came hard to you. That's why you were so moody, agonizing over situations where you had no choice but to take the hard line."

"Right," Doyle agreed, unwilling to argue further. Of course Bodie would defend the hard Doyle, the man he'd wanted all along.

"Don't patronize me, Ray. Even at your most infuriating you never did that."

Wondering where all that closeness they'd felt moments ago had fled to, Doyle pulled back to his own side of the rock and countered, "Fine. Answer me one thing."

"What's that?"

"How did I win your heart back then?" Doyle asked, needing to know.

"What?" Bodie stammered, paling.

It wasn't until that instant that Doyle realized how much he was asking of the other man.

But he'd already stepped in it. There was no taking the words back. Making his tone a bit less contentious, Ray asked, "What was it you liked about me? Or was it just the packaging?"

The steel in Bodie's gaze melted. "You are mixed up, aren't you? I hadn't realized it was this serious, though I should have done. This is more of that two Doyles business, isn't it?"

"I need to know, Bodie."

Bodie's dark head nodded. "Okay. It wasn't the packaging. If you must know it wasn't even your sense of what was right, or how gentle you were with those weaker than you, or the way you always backed me up straight down the line."

"What was it then?" Doyle prodded.

Here Bodie's gaze intensified. "You. There were never two Doyles, Ray. Never. The man you are now was always buried in there. Hurting, bleeding, crying, you were always hidden there beneath that prickly exterior. Sometimes you'd let me in far enough to see what was hurting and I'd catch a glimpse of the real you, the man who cared so deeply. That's what did it."

"Not often enough," Doyle guessed, reading the longing for more in Bodie's expression.

"Perhaps," Bodie agreed, "but that was as much my fault as yours."

"How's that?"

Bodie abruptly appeared uncomfortable. "You never trusted me enough, did you?"

Doyle still saw that as a failing in himself. "Was I good to you at least?"

Visibly bewildered, Bodie asked, "What do you mean?"

"My memories . . . they're all scrambled," Doyle gave a weak smile as he tried to explain the disorder in his mind. "They seem to jump from one trauma to another. I can remember us together, chasing and being chased. Times when we were scared or angry and shouting at each other, even times when we played word games like in the study last night, but little else. No quiet times. Were we just 9 to 5'ers, partnered at work? Didn't we ever watch Liverpool on the telly together?"

Bodie's nose crinkled with amusement. "Of course we weren't 9 to 5'ers. As for the telly, you didn't have one in your last flat." His expression must have revealed his dismay, for Bodie hastened to explain. "There were lots of quiet times, Ray. You just can't recall them yet. Even the action parts were usually different than you described them. Sure, there were times we were worried and snapped at each other or other times when we fought, but usually we got on well together. I've a bent toward black humour that some of the darker aspects of our cases would touch off. You were never as callous, but you could be bloody irreverent when the situation called for it."

"You callous?" Doyle laughed. That was one adjective he could never equate with his partner. "Go on."

" 's true. You just don't remember," there was no pride in Bodie's protest, only bald insistence.

"I don't believe you."

"I know. You've forgotten what I'm really like. That's one of the reasons you trust me as you do now."

"What do you mean?" Doyle demanded, caring neither for the tone nor worried expression.

"We were good mates, Ray, don't get me wrong. The closest. Off duty and on, but eighteen months ago we never could have had a talk like this."

"Why not?" Doyle demanded.

"My fault, I suppose."

"How's that?" Doyle probed, confused. Bodie sounded as if he were making a confession.

"Because that trust has to work both ways, sunshine. There were times when you'd been hurt so bad you couldn't keep me out. We'd talk like this. You'd feel better for the talking and I'd feel closer to you."

"So?"

"So, I'd never let the scales balance. When it was me, I'd push you away, handle whatever it was on my own. It would hurt you when I shut you out like that, Ray, and . . . even though I knew it was hurting you, I'd do it anyway. I'm afraid I haven't changed that way," Bodie's words were offered in the tone of a warning.

"No?" Doyle had the vivid recollection of Bodie alone with his misery the day he'd spat the cheese sandwich all over his partner. Bodie hadn't pushed him away that day.

Doyle's hand settled on Bodie's shoulder. Beneath the heavy anorak and jumper bundling his cold-sensitive mate, he could feel the tension. Even as Bodie was stubbornly answering 'no', Ray was drawing the larger man into an embrace. He hid his smile in the nook of Bodie's neck and shoulder and allowed his lips to caress the chilled, soft flesh beneath an ear.

"That's all right, then. We'll manage," Doyle whispered, surprised by the shiver that quaked through his friend.

"Ah, Ray." Bodie's arms clamped convulsively tight around him as Bodie pulled far enough back to lower his head for a kiss.

Their first kiss since this morning, Ray thought. Once again, the feelings sparked like wildfire between them, warming Doyle from the inside out.

Bodie's mouth pressed demandingly against his, so hungry, so needy . . . .

It should have frightened him, but although not overly gentle, Doyle found himself content with the passion between them.

They eventually broke from the lengthy, wet exploration, both winded from the effort.

"Home?" Doyle suggested, rising gracefully to his feet at Bodie's nod of agreement.

"How do you do that?" Doyle demanded irritably as they made their way across the soggy field.

"Do what?" Bodie asked.

"I sound like a full platoon trudging through this muck."

"You do at that, " Bodie concurred, a smile in his tone. "So?"

"So I can't hear you at all."

"You trudge through as many jungles as I did in my youth and you'd soon pick up the habit of stepping softly."

"What were they like, those jungles?' Doyle wondered.

"Humid, buggy, though I dare say we'll be wishing for some of that heat in a few weeks time. It's cold up here, mate."

"But beautiful," Doyle said, his gaze straying to the stars overhead.

"It's definitely got its attractions," Bodie agreed, his absorbed tone drawing Doyle's attention. One thing he'd learned about Bodie, the man was no nature lover. Doyle felt his cheeks warm as he realized the object of Bodie's praise.

"Did I say something wrong?" his partner asked as they approached the chalet's door some time later with no further conversation between them.

Doyle considered best how to phrase his discomfort, and then answered, "No, not really. I'm just . . . not used to you looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With hunger." A chill that had nothing to do with the night wind touched him. A collage of other gazes – hungry, hot, and ultimately ugly – flashed through Doyle's mind.

Ray had the fleeting thought that he was playing with fire here. Bodie was so much bigger and stronger than himself. Last night had been perfect, but he could hardly expect that restraint to colour all of Bodie's dealings with him.

"Does it upset you?"

Ray knew that if he said yes that Bodie would once again be thinking his love was unwanted, Doyle realized as he drowned in the pools of sorrowful blue. Yet a no would be an outright lie.

"On some levels," Doyle hazarded.

Bodie's hand rose toward his broken cheek, hovering close enough for Doyle to feel its heat without actually touching him. "You know what you are to me. I'm no poet to offer you golden promises, but know this, Ray Doyle. Whatever we share, it is for you to say. I'll not lay a finger on you that you don't invite. I swear it, on everything I might ever have held sacred."

Doyle tried to gulp past the lump in his throat. Finding himself still mute, all he could manage was to reach up and press Bodie's large palm flat to his face. With his other hand he snagged the dark head, pulling his partner down into a kiss.

"You don't need an invite," Ray gasped as they parted, the strange, quavering voice barely recognizable as his own. Without trying, this man destroyed him, moving him down to the very fibre of his being.

His forwardness amazed him. Two, three months ago the idea of any man touching him as Bodie had last night and today would have left him shaking in a cold sweat, sick with nausea. But, although Ray trembled now, very little of it was fear.

Without breaking his gaze, Doyle pushed open the door. Bodie trailed him inside like a cobra's mesmerized victim. Pausing only to remove muddy boots and his jacket, Doyle led them to the sitting room, to the island of thick beige rug between hearth, easel and couch.

Strange, yet somehow familiar yearnings fluttered through him as he watched Bodie take off his jumper and knell at the hearth's edge to feed some more wood onto the smouldering remains of the fire. The new log caught with a ripping crackle, bathing Bodie's profile in a fierce orange glow and shower of sparks that turned his partner's eyes to glinting sapphires.

Bodie might have been chiselled from marble, Doyle thought, so creamy was the larger man's skin. His cheeks were flushed from the night wind and fire's heat; they stood out stark as roses on a snow covered field. Beneath the dark polo and clinging trousers, every one of Bodie's well-formed muscles was sharply defined.

Even at rest, Bodie was a powerful, vibrant figure. Doyle's breath caught at the sight, awed that such an incontestably masculine physique could arouse him as it was so doing.

"You all right, Ray?"

Not realizing he'd made a sound to draw the inquiry, Doyle nodded. He came to stand behind Bodie, his hands dropping to rest on the broad shoulders as his friend fussed with the fire. Needing more, he crouched down to nuzzle the exposed neck, not quite sure how Bodie would react to his assuming a more aggressive role.

In truth, he was experimenting, uncertain of both the drives within and his partner's preferences. As to Ray Doyle of C.I.5, he had no recollection of any of his sexual exploits. All he had to draw on were his experiences at Van Cleef's hands and instinct told him that none of that was applicable here. Whatever Bodie wanted of him, it wasn't a docile bed slave. So he was left to grope in the dark for the proper approach, ignorant and frightened as any schoolboy.

"Mmm . . . feels good," Bodie murmured, leaning back to bare more of his neck.

"Yeah?"

Where another's gaze might be said to devour him, Bodie's embraced. The hunger was there still, but muted, balanced by a warmth void of threat.

"Yeah," Bodie sighed, leaning further back.

Already unbalanced by his shaky knees and the emotions pummelling his system, the extra weight completely undid him. Doyle gave a startled yelp as his feet went out from under him. Both he and Bodie tumbled unceremoniously back onto the carpet.

Doyle cursed his clumsiness, wondering what Bodie must think of him. Last night he couldn't get his clothes off and tonight he wasn't even able to manage a kiss. His partner's laughter assaulted his ears, marking him the idiot he felt. Cheeks aflame with shame, he turned away from his friend.

"Ray?" Bodie called, still gasping on a laugh. "You all right, mate?"

"Just fine."

His frigid response cooled some of Bodie's merriment. "What's the matter then?"

Inexplicably annoyed by the concern, Doyle stormed sarcastically, "You mean aside from turning a love scene into a comedy act? Nothing's wrong, sunshine, not a thing."

"Hey."

Doyle glared up as he was rolled over onto his back, too infuriated by his stupidity to be intimidated by Bodie's hovering bulk.

Bodie didn't say anything to him for a long moment, just stared down at him with those amazingly gentle eyes as they lie side by side facing each other now. Bodie's gaze was alight with contained humour, but not a trace of mockery. "Killed the mood for you, did it?"

Doyle tried to look away and failed.

"Are you laughing at me?" Doyle demanded, not giving an inch.

"Not at you, at us. This is typically us," Bodie explained.

"How so?" Unmollified, Ray kept his tone hard.

"Here I am trying so hard to seduce you with my suave charm and I go and knock you off your feet like a bloody bowling ball. Go ahead, light into me and get it off your chest. Then we can get back to the important matters."

Doyle's grin seemed to disconcert the other man. "Your fault? I'm the one that toppled over."

"Fell for me in a big way, huh?" Bodie asked with his usual outrageous cheek.

Doyle gave the expected groan, then allowed his smile to settle into something more serious. "You know I have. Are you going to finish seducing me now?"

Bodie gulped, his head lowering the necessary few inches for a kiss before he carefully eased his heavier body down on top of him. It was a testament to how far they'd come in one day that Bodie would even try that position again after the disastrous reception it had had last night.

Tonight, Ray didn't panic under Bodie's blanketing weight. Rather, Doyle felt himself spinning dizzily under its impact. He was overwhelmed by the larger man's presence – the heat pouring off the heavy body, Bodie's scent, familiar as his own, but tantalizingly arousing now, the power held so carefully in check, and, most pervasive of all, the tender care behind every touch. He was drowning in Bodie, drifting in a carefree haze of sensation.

Bodie's roving hands wandered to his shirtfront. "All right?"

Ray nodded dreamily, utterly unconcerned by anything Bodie might ask of him. Piece by piece his clothing was peeled away, a generous boon of kisses and caresses lavished upon each section of skin.

Doyle roused himself from the pleasant daze only when Bodie's fingers settled on the opening of his jeans, at which point the quality of the encounter changed somehow. He met Bodie's heated gaze. His partner's need was encapsulated by the burning heat in those blue eyes and accentuated by his short raspy breaths.

Bodie's expression was intense as he undid the zipper. Doyle lifted his hips as his partner gave a firm tug, pulling down jeans and briefs in a single smooth movement. Bodie tugged his socks off as an afterthought then sat back on his heels and just looked at the naked sprawl of him.

There was little doubt that Bodie was pleased by what he saw. Doyle withstood the appreciative examination as long as he was able. Although there was nothing proprietary in the gaze, he found such close examination of his nakedness unnerving, especially in view of Bodie's completely clothed state.

"This is a little one sided, don't you think?" Ray finally commented when his partner showed no indication of moving.

Bodie started, rousing as from a trance. "You're exquisite, tawny and lithe as a lion."

Doyle felt his cheeks warm under the praise. He glanced down at himself, trying to see what Bodie saw. Too skinny, too hairy, at best average, certainly nothing to merit that light in Bodie's eye. "And you're waxin' poetic. Come on, shed 'em."

"You sure?"

"Bodie!"

Correctly interpreting his tone, Bodie scrambled out of his clothes, the operation too rushed for Doyle to properly enjoy the divestment. He stared at the result, more than a little awed.

The man was perfect, from Bodie's short-cropped crown to the pink buds of his toenails. Spilt cream skin so light the blue web of vein-work showed through, blushed from exposure to the sun in other places. Doyle's eyes travelled the length of his partner, finally hesitantly coming to rest on the one area unfamiliar to him.

Doyle swallowed nervously at the sight of the powerful penis, which was aroused from just looking at him. At that instant Bodie seemed enormous to him, the testes a heavy weight below the blood red, straining shaft.

Doyle froze inside, thinking of all the cocks his blood had stained, remembering . . . .

"Bodie," he stammered before the horror could take hold, "talk to me, please."

Disgusted, Doyle realized he was shaking again.

"Huh?" Bodie's gaze softened as his partner took in his state. "More poetry, sunshine? Shall I tell you how your eyes are like plush tree moss or . . . . "

"Tree moss!" Doyle interrupted, almost outraged enough to forget his fear.

"Very fetching tree moss, of course. Or your teeth, white as dry bones, or your hair, wild as a tumbleweed bush or your nose, red as . . . . "

"Bodie!"

Bodie's expression stilled to one of utter seriousness, except for his eyes, which still twinkled outrageously. "I mean it, Ray, every word of it."

Then Doyle chuckled and the world seemed right again. "Oh, come here, you mad bugger," he crooned, reaching for Bodie's strong hand.

"They say that about all us poets," Bodie lamented as he seated himself close by. The ink-dark, blue gaze surveyed their island of space with something akin to disdain.

"What's wrong?" Ray asked.

"Not quite comfortable down here, is it? But these should help."

Doyle watched his partner drag the cushions and pillows from the couch. He was fascinated by the ripple of muscle beneath the moon pale skin of Bodie's flat butt.

"That do?" Bodie asked once he'd arranged the cushions to his liking.

"It looks like a harem," Doyle commented, leaning back on the pile.

Bodie shot him an odd glance, the joke in his eye never voiced.

Doyle couldn't fathom the restraint. Normally Bodie would have chuckled and made some ribald comment about that being the point. The reticence puzzled him until Doyle realized its cause. Were Bodie to make a joke about seraglios, he would be making it to a man he'd bought and paid for.

Moved by the unnecessary consideration, Doyle reached out to draw his friend down into his arms. As Bodie's head settled on his chest he experienced an odd sensation. He'd expected the larger man to blanket him with his body as Bodie assumed the aggressive role so natural to him. Or, barring that, that Bodie would once again instruct Doyle to lay atop him, directing their lovemaking that way. The last thing he'd anticipated was to have his partner cuddle around him like this. Despite Bodie's obvious arousal the embrace was strangely non-sexual, almost one of comfort.

A little startled, Ray realized that for once, he wasn't the one in need of comforting. Whatever this was about, Bodie was the one seeking solace right now. The warm feeling soaking through his guts was one he couldn't remember experiencing any time in the recent past. It took a while to place it, but he finally decided that the peculiar feeling running through him was protectiveness. It seemed a little absurd at first, that an emotional basket case like himself would be feeling protective of this competent warrior. Bodie needed a protector like he needed a third ear, and yet, at the moment, Bodie did seem to need him to hold him like this. The way Bodie was clinging to him, soaking up the closeness, told Ray that this was something his friend was enjoying immensely.

Almost of their own volition his hands roved the smooth expanse of Bodie's back, stopping to finger the deep scar above the left shoulder blade. Perhaps that protective instinct wasn't so far misplaced, Doyle considered as he recognized the deep indentation in Bodie's otherwise perfect flesh for the knife wound it was. Obviously, there was cause for concern.

Overcome with emotion, Doyle bent to place a kiss atop the feather soft hair. All he wanted to do was hold Bodie like this and keep him safe forever.

"Mmmm," Bodie murmured. "Ray, may I touch you?"

Not without an invitation, he seemed to hear Bodie's oath whisper through his mind.

"Please," Ray's reply was immediate, uncluttered by doubt or hesitation, as was his body's response when his partner tongued the nipple that Bodie's cheek was resting closest to.

What Bodie did to him after that . . . he'd read about experiences which transcended the boundaries of normal perceptions. Ray had undergone some of the darker means by which this could be accomplished in Van Cleef's bed, but never did Doyle believe pleasure could have the same mind-boggling effect. Where Van Cleef's acts had driven him deep and tight into himself, Bodie's ministrations seemed to unwrap him to the universe. Bodie pleasured him with lips and tongue, relaxing him, unfurling him. Starburst after starburst of ecstasy sparked through his nerves, each opening up new levels of feeling. His senses reeling like a galaxy hurtling through the void, Ray was nevertheless aware of everything. Each touch Bodie gifted him with was as individual as a gem crystal.

He blushed at some of the places Bodie put his tongue on the journey up and down his front, but not once did it occur to Doyle to stop. And when at last his companion reached the area most desperately craving Bodie's attention, there could be no question of halting.

Bodie's hot mouth engulfed him and Doyle's mind just flew. There was a galaxy birthing inside him, newborn stars shooting up nerve fibres too miniscule to hold their energy, ripping their way through him in a pleasure so fierce it was painful. Out of control, he bucked under Bodie's mouth, almost as if his body were struggling to free itself from the wet suction. For an eternity everything stilled, held there on the apex of creation, then all those new stars moved at once. No mortal could survive the intensity of such an experience. Doyle felt his world burst, his body liquefy.

Vaguely, Doyle heard himself voice a tiny sound, part whimper, part plea. The cry echoed through him, coming as it did with that cosmic immolation. The liquid galaxy spurted out in five powerful gushes. Bodie drank down the stars and released his limp organ afterwards, climbing up the mountain of cushions to gather him close.

Reality was slow in returning. Doyle clung to the sweaty body beside him, needing its physical presence to anchor him to the here and now.

He blinked up at the sweaty man beside him, still too overcome for words. His lips found their counterparts and within seconds Ray was drowning in those dizzy depths again.

Bodie broke away, quite abruptly. "Whoa, mate. Slow down."

Doyle prevented his friend from slipping free of his embrace. Only then did he feel what his befogged senses had veiled, the steel-hard shaft jutting into his thigh.

"Don't," he commanded, as Bodie tried to squiggle away. "My turn."

Bodie's smooth flesh was sheened with sweat. The large droplets of glistening liquid were prisms in the flickering firelight. The face that Doyle was so used to seeing laughing was creased with strain, Bodie's thick muscled body hard and tight with tension.

Abruptly, Doyle remembered that his partner had been fully aroused before they'd sorted out the cushions. He eyed the distended organ with its flaring, moist head. The scarlet colouring was almost angry looking. And the huge purple vein down its side was throbbing a tattoo of want above Bodie's tight-drawn balls; Bodie was long past ready. Pleasure had surpassed pain and was now approaching torture.

Still buoyed by Bodie's lavish generosity, Doyle would have liked to reciprocate. He craved the opportunity to linger and give his partner the same cherished gift he'd received. Besides, still uncertain himself, he would have appreciated the chance to go slow.

But such was not to be. From the look of things, one touch would finish his friend.

Unwilling to be denied at least a modicum of foreplay, Doyle lightly ran his hands down Bodie's incredibly smooth, slick chest.

Driven beyond the possibility of restraint, the larger man's hips bucked helplessly up at him as an incoherent cry escaped Bodie's tight-clenched lips.

"Don't worry, mate. I've been told I've got a talent for this," Ray forced the assurance from his suddenly dry mouth as he bent his head toward Bodie's swollen shaft, which was so desperate in its need.

The scent of musk and sweat rising from his friend's heated groin sent his senses swirling. Time was when Doyle would have gagged at the very smell of arousal, but strong as it was, there was a clean earthiness to Bodie that Ray couldn't equate to his previous experiences. His partner was a rain-washed field of wildflowers to Van Cleef's open cesspool. Smelling the tang of Bodie's arousal made Ray want to get closer, not pull away and vomit in revulsion.

Always, going down on someone had been the hardest act required of Doyle in his months of imprisonment. Horrible and painful as being fucked was, it was easier in some ways. While being buggered, he could be a passive victim. All Doyle need do was kneel, lie, or stand where ordered and suffer through it. But in fellatio, he was an active partner to his own humiliation, having to work to bring off his abusers had made the shame all the more biting. On a physical level, his captors would hurt him worse when they took his arse, but the pain in fellatio had been mostly mental. Sometimes even now Ray could hear Van Cleef's mocking croon telling him that he was a natural born cock-sucker.

And now for the first time, Ray was voluntarily taking another man's cock into his mouth. The mental transition from victim to willing participant didn't come as easily as he'd hoped it would. There were just too many memories to overcome.

It shouldn't be an issue, Ray told himself. He'd sucked cock hundreds of times, for men he despised. Doing Bodie should have been easy, but . . . Doyle looked at that angry red cock and everything in him just froze up again. All he could think about at that moment was how many times he'd nearly choked on organs that looked just like that one. He couldn't . . . .

"You don't have'ta, Ray," Bodie's voice, thick and gruff with frustration called him back from the scary place his mind had retreated to. "Just let me go and I'll . . . . "

Take care of it himself, Doyle's mind completed. Bodie would just crawl away and get himself off, after giving Ray the best sex he'd ever had – or the best sex he could remember having.

That was just not happening here, Doyle decided, stubbornness stepping in where courage failed.

If he could do it for Van Cleef and Miller, he could do it for Bodie, Ray told himself, getting a grip on his irrational panic. It was a cock, the same as his own. Bodie wasn't going to rape him with it or choke him with it. All it was going to take to get through this was a little bobbing, a little sucking . . . a little semen. Nothing earthshaking or painful . . . and it would mean so much to Bodie . . . .

"Don't, Ray," Bodie repeated, his right knee rising to cover his groin and block Doyle's access to the area. Bodie was needing it so bad that his fists were clenched tight in the bedding in an obvious effort to hold himself back.

Ray had never felt so loved in his life. His heart melting at Bodie's concern, Doyle appropriated one of Bodie's hands and firmly pried the tight fist open. He pressed his lips into the sweaty palm, his tongue peeking out to mischievously tickle the calloused skin. The salty taste of the droplets he absorbed shot through Doyle like a swig of whiskey. Apparently, the action had just as much effect on Bodie, who gasped like he'd been unexpectedly doused with ice water.

"Please, let me. I want to," Ray pleaded.

"You can't mean that," Bodie denied. "Not after all you've been through."

Deciding to try a different tactic, Ray began to speak in an emotionless tone, "They used to come to me when they got off duty. Three, sometimes four men. I'd suck them all off, take them in and drink their foulness down and puke my guts up afterwards. I never had any choice there, mate. They were cruel and ugly and hateful, but I had to pamper them like they were my dearest loves. I . . . hated it. Once you put my head back on straight, I never wanted to look at another bloke's privates again, never mind suck 'em. But now . . . I want to do this with you, Bodie. You gave me that freedom." Doyle paused to gather his thoughts, allowing the fingers of his free hand to trail over Bodie's nearby inner thigh. The whimper his stubborn friend gave was heart-wrenching. "All this ever was to me was humiliation, but you showed me just a few minutes ago that it can be something more. I saw your face, Bodie. You weren't revolted or shamed to do me that way, were you?"

Bodie gave a tight shake of his head and gulped. His eyes were tortured now, barely sane.

"You told me before that you wouldn't touch me without my say so. I give you that same promise. I won't force this on you, not if you really don't want me that way. Lord knows, what with the scum I've serviced, I wouldn't blame you for not wanting their leavings. Only, just so's you know, you don't disgust me the way they did. I like the way you smell . . . want to know how you taste as well. Let me love you this way, Bodie. Please?"

His argument appeared to work.

Bodie bit his bottom lip and lowered his knee, his expression still fraught with trepidation.

Doyle was once again reminded of how easy it would be for him to hurt this man, without even trying. It was clear that more than anything, even more important than Bodie's own sexual satisfaction, that it was important that Bodie be desirable to him.

Ray could feel Bodie's anxious gaze searing his face as he lowered his head once again. Doyle kept his own fears resolutely buried. He was determined not to fail his partner, no matter the cost to himself.

"Ray, we can just . . . aaahhh . . . . "

In spite of his nervousness and the near panic gripping his guts, Ray smiled as Bodie's words faded into that exclamation of incoherent pleasure. All he'd done was collect the moist shaft in his palm. It twitched like a live thing, seeming to grow just from the heat of his hand.

Bodie's musk surrounded him as he lowered his head. The gag impulse was still there, but it was manageable tonight. Though it was still male musk, it was Bodie, and somehow it being Bodie, it was more a fresh, clean fragrance of desire rather than the dirty reek of old sex. The fact that it was Bodie made it different . . . acceptable.

Ray opened his mouth and poked out his tongue to meet Bodie . . . and then gasped in shock as warm spurts of semen showered his face. Some hit his open mouth and he tasted the tangy burst of hot liquid, but most of it landed on his chin and left cheek.

"Godddd . . . .Raaaay . . . 'm sorry, so sorry . . . ." Bodie sobbed as he came, managing to look mortified even as climax took him.

Bodie was panting like a winded stallion as the shaft in Ray's palm slowly deflated. His partner had never looked so attractive. Bodie's entire body was sheened with sweat and glowing golden in the firelight. His normally handsome face had a softness to it Ray had never seen before. The red lips were still slightly parted in an expression Doyle could only define as bewildered bliss.

And Bodie was apologizing for it?

Astounded that his touch could mean so much, Ray bent down and gave the wilted cock a soft kiss.

"Oh, Ray . . . ."

"Sssssh," Doyle soothed, reaching up to stroke Bodie's beaded brow.

Bodie's hands rose to frame his face, guiding him down a bit . . . for a kiss Doyle thought, until Bodie's tongue touched him. He held totally still as Bodie carefully licked the splattered semen off his cheeks and chin. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Bodie that he didn't have to, but the sheer joy in Bodie's expression told him it was no hardship for his companion.

Ablution completed, Ray got his kiss. It was weird to taste Bodie's semen in Bodie's own mouth, but exciting, too. They exchanged saliva until long after the need for oxygen became a pressing issue. Almost light-headed, Ray finally drew back for some much needed air.

Gulping in the pleasantly cool lungfuls, Ray stared down at the face of the man who was so comfortably cushioning him.

"God, Ray, you just touched me and I couldn't hold back," Bodie explained, still looking troubled. "Know it wasn't pleasant for you, but . . . . "

"It was perfect, just like you, mate," Ray whispered, a quiver running through him at Bodie's open vulnerability. "Only one problem, though . . . ."

"Wha's that?" Bodie asked, appearing braced for the worst.

"You went by so quick, I barely got a chance to taste you. Know a way to remedy that, though."

"Huh?" Bodie looked so relieved that Doyle hadn't voiced a complaint that Ray's actual words seemed to go over his head.

"You'll see," Doyle promised in a husky tone, leaning over to lick a bead of sweat from Bodie's well-developed pectoral muscle. Bodie's helpless gasp was all the encouragement he needed.

Never had Doyle thought that he would be glad of the skills he'd acquired in

Van Cleef's service, but tonight he found himself rejoicing in his ability to stimulate his companion. Literally inebriated by the sense of wild freedom his feelings for Bodie granted him, Ray felt many of his crippling inhibitions drop away. His fingers and lips hungrily sampled places Doyle's eyes wouldn't have dared three days ago.

Bodie's face, neck, shoulders and chest were all familiar territory after last night's explorations. Even so, Doyle treated them all as virgin ground, showering each site with kisses and caresses. Ray's insides quivered as he moved lower, more from excitement than nervousness. Bodie was so touchable, a study in contrasts: baby soft skin above hard muscle, night dark hair against near-translucent flesh.

Bodie's powerful thighs splayed apart at Doyle's first touch, Bodie seeming to offer him anything he might desire. Doyle bent to lick up the inner softness of that athletic thigh, smiling at the prolonged moan that produced. His partner was absurdly responsive to him. Bodie was responding as though he'd hungered for the smallest of these touches for years.

Which might just be the case, were even half the things he'd inferred over the past few weeks true, Doyle realized. All through the interview with Cowley yesterday, both Cowley and Bodie's attitudes had made it clear that his partner's feelings for Doyle were no secret. Bodie had all but told Ray afterward that his feelings had never been reciprocated.

What a way to live. For a man as proud as Bodie, it must have been pure hell, Doyle thought as he once again approached Bodie's shaft.

That rosy cock was already fully erect, visibly aching for his touch. Bodie was so big here that it was hard for Ray to fully master his fears. So many cocks had hurt him in so many ways that it was hard for him to trust that this one wouldn't be used as a weapon against him as well, but all he had to do was glance up at Bodie's raptured features to know who had the power here right now. For all that Bodie was turned on as hard as any man who'd ever hurt Ray, Bodie seemed almost incapable of action at the moment, so blown away was he by the experience.

Emboldened by Bodie's seeming incapacitation, Ray lent down and tentatively licked the pulsing, sweaty shaft. Salt and musk filled Doyle's senses. All of it Bodie, all of it good.

The moan that lick inspired sounded like it had been dredged from the depths of Bodie's soul.

"You okay with this, Ray?" Bodie stunned him by grunting out.

Pulling back for a much needed, clear breath, Doyle sighed, "Mmmm, Bodie-mate, you're like fine wine."

His upwards glance was caught and held by Bodie's flushed cheeks and incandescent gaze. Doyle's heart wrenched at the open yearning there. It was clear that Bodie was dying for something that he would never ask his abused mate to do for him. Spellbound by the mute plea, Ray lowered his head again, this time taking his partner fully into his mouth instead of just licking the shaft.

"Ahh . . . Christ, Ray . . . yeahhh . . . please . . . use your tongue like that . . . ahhhh . . . . " Bodie's groans filled the room as his dark head thrashed about once Ray had him fully in.

Doyle raised himself up enough for his tongue tip to trace delicate patterns up the sensitive head of the glans, punctuating his pattern with playful swipes at the loose foreskin and wet swabs from the cock's base to its tapered tip. Bodie's flavour rushed through him as he worked diligently at the other man's pleasure. Never had Ray been so absorbed or playful in this act as to use his imagination to come up with new innovations to delight his companion. Ray spared nothing, giving Bodie the full benefit of his dubious talents.

Pausing for breath, Doyle regarded the object of his ministrations – his partner's throbbing cock. Rising from its nest of sweaty dark curls in a majestic sweep, Bodie's shaft was truly something to behold. Slick with saliva, its glossy sheen glistened in the flickering orange firelight, almost an archetype of male sexuality.

Looking at it, Doyle was overcome with the absurd desire to paint Bodie's cock. The primal power it represented; the wanton, pagan beauty of its sexual declaration . . . Doyle observed it all and wasn't once touched by its threat. Even when Bodie's iron fingers locked in his curls and guided his head back down in a grip he had always loathed, Ray didn't panic. He knew whom he was with, and until Bodie gave him reason to feel otherwise, he would trust his partner not to hurt him.

"Harder . . . more . . . .yeah . . . tha's it . . . . " Bodie panted as Ray did his very best to suck his partner's brain out through his cock. And maybe he succeeded. The shocked outcry that followed Bodie's rushed words sounded pretty mindless. No thought, just a pure reaction to pleasure.

Doyle held on as the powerful body spasmed beneath him and did his best to drink down the bitter, salty out-pouring.

He had Bodie in his arms seconds after the last bit of semen sprayed his throat, with no conscious recollection as to how his partner had gotten there. Not caring about the details, Ray cuddled his armload closer. He shivered as Bodie's tongue lapped the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat. Bodie was just so oral.

"Feels good," Doyle approved, stroking down Bodie's sleek back.

"So did that. Best ever, Ray. You okay?"

Reading the wealth of concern behind the quiet question, Doyle hugged his partner even closer. "Perfect."

"Mmmm . . . that you are," Bodie agreed around a stupendous yawn.

"'ey," Doyle called some time later, aware of how heavy the weight in his arms had grown.

Looking down, he found that Bodie's eyes were already closed, his face relaxing into the familiar blankness of sleep. His partner was totally blown away by what they'd shared.

Normally, Ray would have let his companion sleep, but the fire was already starting to burn down. Despite the afghan and cushions from which they'd made their little pleasure dome, in a few hours the sitting room floor was going to be freezing.

Not looking forward to a midnight move, Ray poked his partner and repeated in a firmer tone, "Hey!"

"Hmmm?" Bodie grumped.

"Come on, Sleepin' Beauty, your mattress and pea are awaitin' you upstairs," Doyle said, climbing to his feet and grinning at the groan Bodie gave as Ray's movements disturbed him.

Staring down at his adorably outraged, sleepy mate, it was all Doyle could do to keep his laugh in as he offered the miserable man a hand up.

Bodie took him at his offer, making Ray work to haul him to his feet, and then immediately trusting the bulk of his weight to Doyle's safe keeping as he slung an arm across Doyle's shoulders.

"Wasn't Sleeping Beauty that had the pea," Bodie mumbled.

"Huh?" Ray grunted, more in response to keeping all that weight upright than in reaction to his sleep-fogged lover's observation.

"Sleeping Beauty slept for a hundred years," Bodie explained. "She didn't have any peas."

"So who had the pea then?" Doyle demanded as they carefully navigated the chalet stairs.

"Who cares? All this talk about peein' . . . Ray, can we . . . ."

Doyle had to laugh then. He'd never seen Bodie so charmingly boyish. Totally infatuated with this hidden part of his friend, Ray detoured to the master bath.

"You going to watch?" Bodie peevishly demanded as Doyle leaned against the sink after propping his partner up in front of the commode. Bodie's beautiful hands were frozen above his penis.

It was ridiculous. They were both standing here bollocks naked. Doyle had just sucked the damn thing off, and here Bodie was fixating on his modesty like a Victorian virgin. Still, Ray knew that propriety demanded he be more conscious of his companion's preferences.

About to apologize, Ray stopped himself. He'd accompanied his mate into the bathroom mostly to assure himself that Bodie didn't do himself an injury in his exhausted state, but now that he was here, Ray found himself wanting to watch the proceedings, weird as that might seem. He knew that decorum demanded he allow his partner the same privacy that Bodie had so thoughtfully accorded him in those first few months when he was so emotionally damaged, but . . . something in Ray wanted to stay and he trusted Bodie enough to be honest about it.

Changing mental cylinders, Doyle cautiously replied, "Thought I might."

Holding his breath, Doyle waited for Bodie to balk and tell him it was indecent or something of the same.

Bodie's left eyebrow arced up, a speculative light entering his now wide-awake features. "Go in for that kinda thing, do you?"

No judgment, just simple curiosity seemed to motivate Bodie's question.

Ray felt his face heat as he tried to explain the bizarre impulse. "I . . . don't think so. 's just . . . I like watchin' you. Doesn't much matter what you're doin'."

Ray didn't know what he'd said to cause it, but his response seemed to emotionally derail the other man. The jaded air left his partner's visage, leaving behind a slightly ill at ease Bodie. It was strange. When Bodie had thought it a kink, he'd seemed totally fine with the idea. Only now did he seem off centre.

"You want me to clear out?" Ray offered, uneasy himself now.

"No," Bodie shook his head.

"Too weird for you?" Ray quizzed, wishing he'd kept his trap shut.

Seeming himself again, Bodie chuckled, aimed his cock at the bowl and let loose in a powerful stream that foamed and steamed as it hit the cooler water of the toilet.

"Nah," Bodie conversationally answered. "Some night when we've got nothin' better to do, I'll tell you about weird, mate."

Ray grinned as Bodie shook himself dry, flushed the toilet and headed toward the sink.

"What're you laughin' at?" Bodie demanded when Doyle couldn't contain his amusement any longer.

"You," Ray shook his head as he watched his partner fastidiously wash and dry his hands afterwards. "Your mum must've been proud of your manners."

"Some of us have manners, you know," Bodie groused. "You wouldn't want me comin' to bed with you with dirty hands, now would you?"

"Don't care 'bout your dirty hands, just so long as you come," Doyle joked back.

Bodie's grin was instantaneous. Worried, Ray watched it fade by slow degrees to something softer. "God, Ray. It's good to see you so . . . you."

Doyle blinked at that. Bodie thought he was acting like his old self again? As far as he could remember, he hadn't been the least bit snarky in the last few minutes. This happy, silly horsing around was how Bodie thought of his partner behaving? Beginning to rethink his opinion of his former self, Doyle answered, "It's good to be me again, especially now. Let's go to bed, mate, ey?"

"You can't possibly be suggestin' that we . . . ." Bodie's words trailed off.

Ray just raised his eyebrows and gave his partner a speculative look.

His exhaustion seemingly a thing of the past, Bodie took his hand and led him to their room.

Ray's suggestion had been voiced more for effect than out of any actual desire, but he followed his friend willingly, amazed to find himself actively anticipating whatever might develop between them.


...Continued in Chapter 10…

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