---

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The instant Bodie's mouth closed over his, Doyle's bravado deserted him. Too stunned to protest and too scared to resist he felt his body become leaden and uncooperative, allowing no resistance as Bodie pulled him into a tight embrace and a hot, wet tongue pushed past his open lips.

The only movements he made brought him even closer to Bodie, his unvoiced cry of denial opening his mouth further to the probing invader. In the midst of his panic, though, he knew exactly where Bodie's hands were and shivered uncontrollably as they swept across his back, moving downwards until two hot palms neatly cupped his buttocks.

A sudden movement and he was flat on his back, Bodie's weight settling over him, pinning him to the rumpled sheet, his mouth captured in another deep oral exploration. The sensations assaulting his body began to make sense and he became aware of different things at the same time; he could taste whisky on Bodie's lips; the hair at the nape of Bodie's neck was soft and silky and too short for his fingers to grip; and Bodie, normally so cool, was incredibly hot, his skin moist and slippery under searching fingers in a line down the solid back, and between them their skin was wet where chests and bellies were close-pressed. Another shift of bodies and Doyle gasped aloud as he felt the first near-electric shock as two rock-hard erections clashed together in painful ecstasy.

Bodie swallowed the startled gasp into himself and adjusted their positions another fraction, lifting his hips and pulling Doyle a little further down the bed so their cocks nestled snugly against soft, firm bellies. Initiating a slow rocking motion he pulled his mouth away from Doyle's as the heat tore through him. "Fuckin' 'ell!" he groaned, thrusting down harder. "Oh my god...oh god..."

The words broke into Doyle's dazed state and he looked up at Bodie's face, the intensity of the larger man's passion breaking through his own sexual haze. "Bodie?" he whispered.

"Oh Jesus--Ray!" Bodie groaned as he thrust hard, rocking the man beneath him. "Oh...god...I--I-love-you," he cried out with eyes still blind as he captured the delicious mouth again.

A hand burrowing beneath them found Doyle's erection and grasped it confidently, setting an immediate rhythm that silenced any objections.

His body responding eagerly to the pleasures being given, Doyle's resistance faded to nothing and he knew he would accept whatever Bodie wanted to do with him. As the hand withdrew and Bodie rolled them to lie on their sides he moaned an inarticulate protest and then became boneless and compliant as Bodie pushed his legs apart, cupping tight-drawn testicles into the palm of one large capable hand, and manipulated them, rolling them carefully, feeling their size and shape and weight with gentle fingers.

When his mouth was finally released Doyle could only gasp for air, coherent speech and reasoned argument beyond him. When the cool mouth unexpectedly latched onto his nipple the sudden sensation made him scream and buck against Bodie.

"Like that, do you?" Bodie asked breathlessly. "How about this?" Twisting around on the bed, he laved a wet trail across the heaving chest, dipping over the rib cage and into the deep navel before swirling even lower down across the upthrust hip.

Eyes following the pink tongue tip, Doyle cried out and thrust forward even before it reached out to lick and then engulf him. His senses alight, Bodie rode him, his mouth taking the member with ease. Hearing the cry Doyle gave, Bodie concentrated on pleasuring him even more, his lips closing over the rosy crown and his tongue teasing the small opening, pressing against it and holding the bucking hips immobile.

Control stripped from him, Doyle felt himself hurtling towards climax with an intensity of desire and need that he had never encountered before and he found the experience frightening. Wanting to prolong the sensations and control them to make them more bearable, he pushed at Bodie's shoulders, gently at first but then with more strength.

"Bodie...Bodie..." he gasped, trying to gain his partner's attention.

Bodie allowed himself to be pulled away but immediately positioned himself on top of the smaller man and claimed the open mouth once again, his tongue pushing past Doyle's timid attempt to block him.

Doyle tried to pull away to escape long enough to break into the determined seduction. "Bodie...don't," he managed to get out as the other paused to draw deep, ragged breaths. "Please...don't...slower...please, Bodie..." he urged him to understand. His nervousness, however, returned in full force when he realised Bodie was not listening and his own need faltered and became less urgent.

But Bodie was beyond noticing anymore and Doyle had to struggle to get through to him, his fingers slipping uselessly as he tried to grip too-short hair and pull his head away. He twisted, drawing his knees up and pushing against Bodie's legs and midriff.

"Ray!" gasped Bodie. "Ray?"

"Please Bodie," Doyle begged, his voice catching. "Slowly, please slow down..."

"Ray?" Confused, Bodie pulled back a little. "What's wrong?" he asked when he saw the anxious face looking up at him. "I'm sorry...I thought..." Disappointment warring with sick dread, Bodie withdrew further; certain by the look on Doyle's face and the tense body that somehow he'd got it all wrong.

"No! Bodie," Doyle whispered shyly, understanding the change of expressions flitting across his face. "Just...take it slow, okay?" he said softly, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is all a bit new to me...not quite how I imagined..."

"Oh..." Relief coursed through Bodie and he collapsed back down onto the bed, his head resting on the pillow only inches from Doyle's. "For an awful moment I thought..."

"No, I haven't changed my mind," said Doyle softly, his fingers reaching out to trace one thick blue vein that lay beneath the pale skin on Bodie's arm. "I just wanted to...slow down...I'd like to...I'd like to feel it all properly."

"I wouldn't want you to miss a thing," teased Bodie lightly, squirming away from the tickling finger.

"Neither would I," Doyle confirmed, eyes firmly fixed on one tightly budded nipple. Almost objectively he noticed how little pressure he needed to apply before Bodie's cock gave a responsive twitch. "Funny, isn't it," he said vaguely and bent down to touch the bud with his tongue.

"What's funny?" Bodie asked a few moments later when the inquisitive tongue withdrew.

"This. These--they're not the same as mine..." Doyle's voice, muffled and indistinct, tailed off.

"What?" gasped Bodie as his second nipple received its own exploration.

"These," Doyle explained patiently when he lifted his head. "Not the same as mine, are they?"

Bodie had a quick look to see what he had missed. "I can't see anything different," he said, bewildered.

"You blind, or what," Doyle asked, withdrawing slightly. "Look at mine...yours are...different."

"How do you come to that conclusion?" demanded Bodie, thrown completely off balance by his partner's embarrassed insistence.

"Well--look at mine," Doyle ordered, brushing his hand across his own chest. "Look. And then look at yours...yours are bigger, almost half as big again as mine, and they're darker, they're almost black...mine are sort of lighter and yours, well, well they're..."

"They're what?" Bodie asked worriedly. "What's wrong with them, for christ's sake!"

"They're...naked," Doyle revealed in a hushed whisper.

"Naked!" Bodie sat up in the bed and regarded his partner in complete amazement. "I am naked," he pointed out. "And so are you!"

"No!" Doyle said, refusing to meet his eye. "You've got it all wrong...what I meant was--"

"What?"

"You haven't got any of this!" Doyle pulled a small handful of hair on his chest.

"Hair!" Bodie said. "You're upset I don't have a hairy chest!"

"No!"

"Ray?"

"It's not that," Doyle said, sitting up quickly. "I don't care that you don't."

"I don't what?" asked Bodie, totally confused now.

"Have a hairy chest," explained Doyle none too clearly.

"So you're upset because you have a hairy chest! Well...it doesn't bother me one way or the other--but I sort of like yours. It doesn't bother me if that's what you're worried about."

"No," Doyle said, desperate to make Bodie understand. "It's just that..."

"What?" Bodie yelled in frustration.

"It's just that...well, without all this lot," he brushed the pelt of hair on his own chest once more. "Without this your nipples are...sort of--naked. All on their own...and I like them like that. They feel nice," he explained as his fingers traced the upraised chocolate coloured nub.

"Oh." Feeling incredibly deflated yet pleased at the same time, Bodie sank back down onto the bed.

"You're so...white," Doyle whispered as he ran his fingers over warm skin that had a tendency to shiver at his touch. "I can feel your heart beating," he said quietly and rested his hand over a curve of chest muscle. His exploration soon continued.

"What's this?"

"Chickenpox," supplied Bodie after a quick look at the scar in question. "And that was the way out for my appendix."

"How old were you?"

"Chickenpox--about eight. Appendix...about seven years ago."

"Had my appendix out about seven years ago," Doyle informed him, sharing the knowledge. "Looks painful this one, what was it?" he asked, running his finger tips along a silvered line over one round hip.

"Piece of barbed wire three years ago."

"And this?"

Bodie lifted his left leg to inspect the indicated kneecap.

"Enforced dismount of my bike at sixty miles an hour on the north circular about...ten years ago."

"Nasty," commented Doyle as he covered the scar tissue with his hand, smoothing the skin.

"It was," agreed Bodie reminiscently. "Ruined a brand new set of leathers and wrote off the bike."

"And what's this one?" Doyle twisted Bodie's left foot around to reveal the back of the calf.

"A birthmark."

"Funny place for a birthmark."

"Why, where's yours?"

"Haven't got one. Bloody 'ell--how do you manage to walk with feet like these?" Doyle ran his hands over the prominent bunions and red, knobbly toes, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"I put one foot in front of the other one like most normal people do," Bodie responded defensively. "Leave my feet alone...no, don't...don't...I'm--Ray! Don't, please don't tickle me...I'm ticklish. Ray! RAY!"

Amazed at how easily Bodie succumbed and became helpless under the onslaught of tickling fingers, Doyle released the foot and moved to lie face-to-face once more, his hand returning to rest on the smooth hairless chest. "It's still beating," he observed across the pillow.

"Let me know if it stops," Bodie said huskily.

"It's getting faster."

"I'm not surprised," responded Bodie, his breathing becoming slightly more ragged.

Sensing that somehow it was now his turn to explore, Bodie lifted his fingers to the fascinating bump on Ray's cheekbone. He saw the withdrawal in the expressive eyes and leant over to trace the contours with his tongue. Doyle tried to turn his head to escape the touch but Bodie persisted, pressing his lips to the old injury before reclaiming the open, hungry mouth.

Pulling away slightly, Bodie leant up on one elbow and regarded his prize carefully.

"How did this happen?" he asked cautiously, hoping that the small scar on Doyle's chin was old enough to hold no terrible memories.

"Fell over on my roller-skates when I was about six. It took four stitches," Doyle boasted proudly.

"Six, eh! Needle and thread job, was it? Nasty."

"I don't think I enjoyed it very much," Doyle agreed, his grave voice at odds with his bright eyes.

"And how about this one, here?" Bodie fingered the small oval indentation on the fleshy shoulder muscle.

"Dunno." Doyle peered at the scar and frowned. "It looks a bit like your chickenpox spot."

They compared scars and decided they were indeed both from chickenpox. "Bloody hell," exclaimed Bodie as he bent to examine Doyle's appendix scar. "Didn't believe in keyhole surgery, did he!"

"'S only a bit bigger 'n yours."

"Now don't start boasting, Ray," Bodie said seriously. "Doesn't look much bigger to me."

Laughing, Doyle examined himself critically and then Bodie. "I'd say we were pretty evenly matched," he said, a subtle blush staining his cheeks at the teasing.

Seeing the blush and the air of embarrassment hanging over Doyle, Bodie continued his exploration of his lover's body. "Your knees are as bad as mine," he exclaimed. "How did you get all this lot?"

In complete innocence, Doyle lifted both knees up to his chest so he could look at them. Beside him, a little further down the bed, Bodie was presented with the totally unexpected sight of Doyle completely open to his eyes. The sight of the exposed anus, the most private part of his lover's body, was fully revealed to him as Doyle examined the scars on his knees.

From a distance he heard Ray telling of childhood pranks and mischief but he was unable to absorb the information. Unnoticed, he closed his eyes and took hold of his throbbing sex, gripping it tightly and willing himself into calmness. But he had already waited too long. One finger stretched out and stroked the tender underside of Ray's leg in a smooth line down into the next of slightly damp public hair. At the touch Doyle gasped in shock and let his legs fall back onto the bed, knocking the searching hand away.

Undeterred, Bodie immediately burrowed into the warm nest, roughly fondling the furry sacs and stimulating Doyle's erection. Bodie gave a deep-throated growl of pleasure and settled himself on top of Doyle, surrendering to his need to finish.

Taken by surprise, Doyle felt himself being overwhelmed again; the gentleness of the last few minutes gone and the fierceness of Bodie's touch frightening. He didn't want it to be like this. Not the first time.

"Bodie!" he cried out, desperate to stop it before everything was ruined. "Not like this Bodie!" but his pleas for gentleness fell on deaf ears as Bodie handled him with a rough deftness seeking his own satisfaction. He knew that he could fight--but he couldn't hurt Bodie--didn't want to hurt him. His decision made, Doyle allowed Bodie to position him as he wanted and even tried to help by wriggling further down the bed to get them both comfortable, but his responses were automatic and his own pleasure dwindled and he felt something deep in himself wither as only moments before it had blossomed.

The reluctance in Doyle's co-operation burst into Bodie's rush toward climax with the effect of a cold shower and he pulled away, horrified at what he had nearly done--for the second time that night.

"Ray--I'm sorry, sweetheart," he apologised breathlessly. "I'm so sorry...didn't meant to...god, you're so beautiful and I've wanted you for so long...can't believe we're really... Oh christ, Ray!" gasped Bodie. "I want this to be so good for you!" Pulling himself away from the pleasure of fulfilment, Bodie ran his hands gently over Ray's body, finally cupping the tense anxious face with both hands. "Anytime you want me to stop," he said raggedly, "you say so. Just say the word, Ray, and I'll stop. Even now. Do you want me to stop?" It would kill him if Doyle said yes; Bodie knew without a doubt that it would take every ounce of willpower to leave the bed and Ray now--but if he had to he could. He would.

Sensing the change in mood, Doyle managed to speak. "'S okay...don't...don't stop...just..." his voice faded into nothing but Bodie heard the unvoiced plea.

"Don't worry," he reassured him. "Just lie back and enjoy it. Remember--anytime you want me to stop..."

"Do it, Bodie!" urged Doyle, nerves and impatience mixing with frustration, making him sound angry.

"Your wish," said Bodie, bending to tongue one pale nipple, "is my command." Concentrating only on Doyle's pleasure, Bodie eased himself back down the bed. A quick glance upwards showed him Doyle's closed eyes and rapt, painfully hopeful expression and he took pity on him, obeying the directives of the hands gripping his shoulders so tightly. As his mouth closed on the taut member, the hands increased their pressure and for a second Bodie paused, wondering whether to proceed--another squeeze and downward push clarified the situation. Doyle screamed aloud Bodie's name as the shocking sensations closed over his cock, his hips bucked, driving himself deeper into the hot cavern engulfing him.

Trying to pin the threshing body down so as to avoid being choked, Bodie struggled to ride the heaving body and initiate a sucking rhythm that would bring release. The sudden stillness warned him and he pulled away scant seconds before Doyle's ejaculation burst from him, jets so strong that they arced across the bed before splashing onto bare skin as the explosion lessened.

In the silence that followed Bodie bent his head to Doyle's belly and lapped at the droplets caught on whorls of soft body hair. The first licks were tentative as he considered the texture and flavour but he was soon lapping across belly and chest, cleaning and loving Doyle at the same time.

Surfacing to the feel of silky wet tongue circling his nipples, Doyle squirmed away from the tickling overload of pleasure.

"About time too," Bodie observed raggedly. "Was beginning to think you'd died."

"That was..." Doyle lifted one heavy hand and dropped uselessly to his side, lacking the strength to wave it around. "It really felt...never felt that good before," he whispered in wonder.

"Do you feel up to returning the favour?" asked Bodie.

"Mmm," agreed Doyle sleepily and pulled Bodie down into a gentle kiss, all urgency and immediacy gone from his movements Feeling the gentleness, Bodie almost groaned in despair. What he needed most right now was not gentleness. On the brink of completion for the third time in quick succession, his balls were in painful knots and his erection hard and demanding release.

"Ray--please--" Bodie begged, pushing Doyle's hands down and folding them around his burgeoning sex. "Oh god!" he cried out, bucking hard into the relaxed grip and knocking Doyle down onto his back. The pressure of hands wasn't enough, though, and Bodie covered them with his own, squeezing and pumping in a hard beat; but four hands were still not enough to ease the painful pressure building up in taut balls. Pushing Doyle's hands away, Bodie moulded himself against him, hips snapping sharply, desperately, as he strained to reach completion.

Aware now that Bodie was struggling, Doyle tried to help but his hands were slapped away. The rejection stung a little but he tried again by running his hands over Bodie's back and pulling the bucking, thrusting body even harder against him. But Bodie only gave an impatient hiss and pushed the helping hands away, rolled onto his back away from Doyle and wrapped his own hands around himself, pumping furiously, blindly and almost frantically for release. It came with an explosive shudder that forced a cry of near rage from Bodie's throat; a joyless climax that had been denied too long to be enjoyed.

It was some time before Bodie felt capable of speech or movement and when he opened his eyes it was to see a very unhappy Doyle regarding him with unnerving intensity.

"I'm sorry," offered Doyle in a hushed whisper before Bodie could say anything. "You didn't enjoy that very much, did you?"

"I'm sure it'll get better," Bodie said lightly. "It'll teach me to be more patient."

"I wanted to make it good for you, too. I'm sorry."

"Shut up, Ray!" ordered Bodie gruffly. "It was just me getting my stupid balls in knots. Looks like you were right for once--you're always telling me that my brains are in my balls!" he joked easily, willing, praying for Doyle to relax. "First times aren't supposed to be perfect--just gives us the incentive to want to practise more."

"You reckon?" asked a dubious and not entirely convinced Doyle.

"I promise. Just you wait..." Bodie yawned. "Wait until next time. It'll be better."

"How long will I have to wait?"

"Don't...don't be so impatient," Bodie mumbled as they shuffled around into their usual sleeping positions, arranging knees and elbows comfortably.

"What time have you got to be in tomorrow?" Doyle asked suddenly as Bodie nestled even more snugly than usual against his bare back.

"What...umm. Ten o'clock. Get a lie in."

"Set the alarm early," ordered Doyle.

"What?"

"For the morning," Doyle said sleepily. "So we can have time for--you know."

"Time for what?" Already more than half asleep, Bodie struggled with the conversation but then realised. "Oh." Grinning he rolled away slightly and groped for the alarm, setting it for an early call. That done, he took Doyle back into his arms and nuzzled the back of his neck in a way he had long dreamt of doing. "Night, Ray," he whispered. "Love you."

"Night, Bodie."

Bodie waited for the words he wanted most to hear--but they didn't come.

---

Bodie's hand hit the button on the electronic buzzer with more force than was strictly necessary, silencing it on the second attempt. Doyle wriggled in response to the noise but didn't wake up.

During the night they had changed positions slightly; Doyle had pulled away and was now lying flat on his back, his head turned away from Bodie, who was sprawled out next to him on his stomach with one arm draped over Doyle's flat tummy and the other dangling over the edge of the bed where it had fallen after attaching the alarm clock.

After a few minutes to collect his thoughts, Bodie turned his head on the pillow to face his partner. Fast asleep, mouth slightly open and his face blue with stubble, Bodie knew he had never woken up to such a sexy sight before.

"Ray. You awake?" he asked hopefully, inching across the sheet to press a kiss on one smooth shoulder.

Doyle's eyes darted around under closed lids; he licked his lips, making a small sound, and turned his head on the pillow to face Bodie--but he didn't wake up.

"Ray!" Bodie called out a bit louder, tugging on the arm Doyle was still holding on to. "You awake?"

Doyle released his grip and mumbled something in response that Bodie couldn't quite make out.

"You what?" Bodie asked, frowning and smiling at the same time. "What was that? Ray?"

"'Course...I'm...wake."

Bodie understood the words the second time but still doubted the truth of them as the eyes stayed closed and the steady breathing remained slow and regular.

"How about a nice cup of tea and a kiss for the one you love?"

"'n a double...f'me."

"I beg your pardon?" Bodie asked, amused at the unconscious response.

"You c'n 'ave a double too..."

"That's what I thought you said." Bodie smiled affectionately and left the bed. "Sleep on Sleeping Beauty--I'll come back and claim my kiss in a few minutes."

The few minutes turned into half an hour as he took the time to prepare a mountain of buttered toast before loading the breakfast tray up and returning to his somnolent partner in the bedroom.

Setting the tray down on the edge of the bed, Bodie knelt carefully on the mattress and leant over the sleeper. Bodie's absence from the bed must have penetrated Doyle' subconscious because he was now sprawled, face down on the pillows, across the bed where his partner had been lying. Holding on to the tray with one hand, Bodie pulled the duvet down the last few inches to expose a beautifully proportioned pair of buttocks.

"Wakey, wakey, lover!" said Bodie loudly. "Rise and shine, breakfast's here and so am I." There was no immediate response and so Bodie ran the tip of his index finger lightly along the line of Doyle's spine, all the way from the curls at the nape of his neck to the secret tantalising crevice.

It was several shockingly painful seconds before Bodie began to grasp what happened next; the consequences of his loving caress leaving him with legs tangled in the duvet, his back and head impacting hard on the bedroom floor; two mugs of tea and a china plate with slices of stickily buttered toast and Ray Doyle plastered on top of him. Quite apart from suddenly, belatedly, remembering how stupid it was to try and touch his partner when he was asleep, Bodie also realised that the tea was bloody hot, he'd hurt his back and one of Ray's elbows was embedded in his belly.

"Bodie! Oh christ! Ouch!" yelled Doyle. "That's hot!"

"Will you--ouch! Shit! Move your bloody elbow! Mind the other mug!" he yelled uselessly and watched it slide off the lopsided tray onto the floor beside them.

"Ow!"

"Move! Will you...shift up." Bodie pushed Doyle off him and managed to untangle his legs from the bedding. Rivers of hot tea ran across his chest and belly, cascading onto the cream coloured carpet. Trying to right himself, Bodie put his hand unwittingly on a pile of soggy, tea soaked, buttered toast.

On the bed, more or less upright, Doyle dabbed at the tea splashed over his chest and picked up some of the toast, placing the slices neatly on the plate. He avoided looking at how well Bodie coped with the mess on the floor.

By the time Bodie regained his feet, Doyle had dashed into the kitchen for some towels and passed a damp one over for Bodie to mop up his scalded skin. Slowly order was restored; the bed was a mess and Bodie knew that sadly the carpet would probably never recover. Throughout the entire cleaning-up procedure neither man spoke; Doyle refused to meet his partner's eye and Bodie decided they each needed time and distance to deal with the shocking awakening.

Eventually, when the room was clean and the bed linen had been pushed into the washing machine, Doyle found his voice. Embarrassed, his words were harsh and he flung them at Bodie.

"I'd 'ave thought by now that you would have learnt not to do stupid things like that! You know I don't like being touched!

"After last night I thought things would be different," retorted Bodie.

"Well now you know better, don't you!"

"Too bloody right," Bodie answered, aggrieved and rubbing at his tender skin. "How stupid of me to have forgotten--even more stupid of me to imagine that things would change--"

"Bodie..." Doyle started but then hesitated, his anger and hurt vanishing as he saw the depth of Bodie's pain.

"So now I know. I'm just like everyone else, aren't I? You think I'm no different to some ageing pervert--"

"Bodie don't!" Doyle cried harshly, turning away from his partner's anger. "I'm sorry. I can't help it--I know you're not...I know you're not like--other people, but--"

"Ray?" Doyle's distress cut through the hurt outrage like a knife.

"Bodie, I'm so sorry." Doyle tried to pull away from the arms that encircled him. "I wish I could stop myself--but I can't. I just can't--and I'm so sorry. It's going to keep happening--over and over and over. It's never going to stop--"

"Hey, it's okay sunshine," soothed Bodie. "It's my fault too. You're right. I should have remembered. I'm the one who should be sorry. But," he added quietly, "if anyone's to blame it's that pervert, Kingsley, isn't it!"

Doyle froze at the sound of the name but then gave a small sigh and wriggled even closer to his lover. "Bloody Bert Kingsley," he muttered. "What I wouldn't give for five minutes alone with him."

"Revenge?"

"I think I've earned it," Doyle replied wryly. "Christ, him and his bloody games! I'll still be having nightmares about him years from now!"

"You'll get over it, Ray. Even the bad memories will fade in time."

"How much time?" Doyle asked, snatching himself out of the comforting arms. "I haven't set eyes on the man in nearly three years and I still leap a bloody mile when someone touches me!"

"What did he do to you that was so terrible?" Bodie asked quietly.

"I've told you before; ages ago," replied Doyle, refusing to look at him. "Just games. Stupid, perverted little games."

"What sort of games?" Bodie asked, not liking the shuttered look on the half hidden face one bit.

"What's up?" Doyle asked, his voice biting and contemptuous. "Haven't you got any imagination. You want me to spell it out for you? No--don't do that--don't touch me--leave me alone!" Doyle backed away from the reaching hands but Bodie refused to be put off.

"I've got plenty of imagination, Ray. Maybe too much. Just what did that bastard do to you?"

"I've already told you," Doyle said, stubbornly refusing to look at him.

"You've told me that he tried to wank you, that he liked groping you and wanking himself silly while talking dirty to you. That's not the reason why you still jump out of your skin every time I touch you when you're sleeping--not three years on. There's something else, isn't there. Something you've not told me." Bodie took a firm hold of the trembling shoulders and pulled Doyle towards him. "Can't you tell me?" he asked softly, sadly, holding the reluctant man close. "I love you, Ray. I only want to help you but I can't unless I know what I'm up against. Can't you talk to me--tell me?"

Doyle burrowed into the embrace, burying his flaming face and threatening tears of shame in the soft towelling robe Bodie was wearing.

"Ray?"

"No--" he managed to gasp out. "I... I can't--"

"Did he rape you?"

The question fell between them and Bodie felt Ray become rigid in his arms and feared the worst.

"I know the ones that attacked you after Kingsley's release tried--but now you know that they didn't succeed. You weren't gang raped but--"

"No," cut in a quiet voice. "Not--not really, but then it depends on your definition of rape, doesn't it."

The cryptic answer did little to reassure Bodie and he knew that he had to discover what had gone on between his lover and Albert Kingsley, however ugly or painful the tale.

He manoeuvred Ray into the lounge and settled them both on the settee. Doyle was reluctant to let him go and was clinging on to him with a desperate grip but still refusing to lift his head and look him in the eye.

Settled and finally comfortable, Bodie let the silence go on until Doyle felt ready to talk.

"He tried." The words were mumbled into the comforting blue towelling covering Bodie's shoulder. "Lots of times. But he couldn't because...he said I was too tight. It hurt him as much as it hurt me and so he gave up on trying to fuck me." It went quiet while Doyle allowed the memories to flow past the walls he had spent so long reinforcing. "He'd wait until I was asleep and then he'd tie my wrists with--dunno, bits of string; nylon stuff that was really strong. Then he'd tie the string to the metal frame of the bed. At first I always woke up...but he got better at doing it and then I didn't realise what was happening until it was too late and he was already turning me.

"He'd turn me over once my wrists were secure and push my face into the pillow. Sometimes--sometimes he'd gag me with things...clothes, a towel...and then he'd lie on top of me--on my back, flattening me. He's a big bloke, must be fifteen or sixteen stone easily. Once I was tied and turned over and he got on top of me I was helpless. The screws never came no matter how much noise I made.

"Once I was stretched out underneath him he could do almost anything he wanted to do--he tried to fuck me...but like I said, it would have hurt him just as much as me...so...so he used his fingers--suppose I should be grateful he never rammed anything too big or too sharp up me--"

"Jesus!" Bodie swore and pulled Ray into a fierce embrace. "Surely the screws, the authorities could have done something, stopped him and helped you?"

"They thought I was willing," Doyle replied in a toneless voice. "They don't like admitting homosexual practices go on in the cells--once they acknowledge it they'll have to do something about it."

"But he raped you!"

"Wasn't rape--there's no such thing as homosexual rape."

"What?"

"'S true. Buggery is illegal if you're under 21 but not otherwise. It's not called rape; it's common sexual assault--"

"It's bloody rape!" Bodie exclaimed angrily.

"It's history!" Doyle replied forcefully. "Or at least it should be."

"How often did he try it on?"

"All the bloody time. Most nights I'd wake up as soon as he moved or touched me and I'd make him back off. But I couldn't stay awake all night every night. He chose his moments and then I'd wake up too late to stop it happening."

Having pulled his worst memories out into the open and talked about them Doyle felt inexplicably better and snuggled up against the warm bulk of his partner--but the story had the opposite effect on Bodie. Knowing more of what Doyle had suffered, he wondered how on earth Ray could ever want a sexual relationship with a man. He finally managed to voice his question but Doyle just shrugged it off.

"It's not the same, is it?" Doyle replied. "With Bert and the others it was a power game. Domination with me underneath. This is different, I hadn't even thought about...before, when I thought about us," Doyle admitted quietly, lifting his head and meeting Bodie's troubled eyes for the first time since the disaster in the bedroom. "You're not into domination and bondage, are you Bodie?" he teased, secure in his knowledge of his partner.

"I love you," replied Bodie helplessly. "I'll never do anything you don't like. Last night was...I've wanted that for so long but I never dreamt it would ever happen--"

"Last night was pretty good, I enjoyed it and it all felt...so right. I wasn't expecting anything like that to happen--"

"You mean you expected it to be better or worse?" asked Bodie, teasing his lover affectionately.

"It should have been better for you, at least. I didn't do much for you, did I?" Doyle answered, dropping his eyes once more.

Remembering the fierce need ignited by the man in his arms and the tentative loving he had been offered and been forced to reject--tenderness and gentleness being the last thing he'd needed at that time--Bodie felt ashamed of himself. "Last night I was suffering very badly from lover's knots. I'm just not used to denying myself," he joked weakly. "I wanted you so bad it hurt--but there was no way I could let myself hurt you. It won't be like that next time," he promised fiercely.

"Speaking of next time," Doyle said smoothly as he twisted round to lie half across Bodie's lap, "what time did you say you had to be at work?"

Bodie looked at mantel clock and groaned. "Shit! I've got to be at the armoury for ten o'clock."

"Still gives us...an hour, providing you don't want any breakfast."

"An hour--what can we do in an hour?" snorted Bodie in disgust.

"Improvise!" suggested Doyle coyly.

Deciding he could survive without breakfast, Bodie was faced with another choice; he also needed a shower.

Doyle resolved that for him by pulling him into the bathroom and helping him strip off his robe. The small shower cubicle was cramped with both of them fetching up against cold tiles or clinging chilly plastic curtain, but the minor discomforts were unnoticed by both men.

For Bodie it was a dream come true and the whole experience was tinged with a strong sense of déjà vu as Doyle smiled at him and pressed against him under the hot jets of steaming water. It was his favourite fantasy and again it wasn't; his dream lover's seductive, tantalising smile replaced with a nervous, hungry look; the elegant, practised sensuality gone but a more alluring and desirable air of vulnerability and willingness to learn in its place. Bodie ran his hands through Doyle's short, thick growth that allowed him little purchase. It would soon grow again, he consoled himself.

Doyle's hands moved slowly across Bodie's back, touching him, tracing the line and shape of muscle in shoulders, arms and in between their bodies over chest and belly. Making his own exploration, Bodie didn't fail to notice that Ray's hands didn't pass below his waist. Slowly he realised that Doyle was mirroring his movements and so began to lower his own hands to caress the arch of lower back and the rise of tense buttocks. Hands cupping Ray's arse, he pulled them together, closer, grinding their bellies and urgent erections together. As the arousal surged through Doyle, Bodie felt him suddenly sag in his arms as his knees buckled and nearly gave out.

Eyes close, mouth parted and gasping for air, Doyle hung, helpless in Bodie's arms, and Bodie groaned in frustration; he was so close and needed only a little more friction, a little more pressure. But then it would be over too soon and he wanted to make it last. Easing them apart, Bodie made sure Doyle's legs were strong enough to support him but Doyle protested with leaden arms and fought to keep Bodie close. Slowly but surely, though, Bodie won out and Doyle found himself turned around.

He tried to resist the guiding hands resting on his hips but Bodie nuzzled his neck, sucking on the tender skin beneath his ear, making him weak and helpless, and then suddenly he was facing the shower wall and Bodie was pressed up behind him, rubbing against him and all the while his throat and ears were being assaulted by a hot, darting tongue. He was aware of the snub, hard bulk of Bodie's cock nestled against the crack of his arse, rubbing and pushing against him; in his ears Bodie's breathing had become ragged and harsh and Doyle's own erection faded to nothing, leaving him aching and frightened, his heart pounding furiously. "Bodie--"

"Nearly there..." Bodie panted into his ear. "Just a bit...a bit more--"

Doyle twisted desperately in the strong grip and pulled away from the grip on his hips.

"Ray--" Bodie, fiercely aroused to too far gone to be able to react to the fear in the wide eyes, grabbed at Doyle, pulling him closer. Face to face now he captured the open mouth and tugged the slim hips towards him, thrusting strongly into the soft belly.

Opening his mouth wider, Doyle pushed the invading tongue back and plundered Bodie's mouth forcefully for the first time. Their tongues met and for a moment they fought for supremacy but Doyle refused to concede and forced past, plunging deep into Bodie's mouth. After a brief hesitation Bodie gave in and allowed the exploration to go unchallenged. Feeling as if he had somehow gained an advantage, Doyle pressed hard with his body and felt Bodie bending to his will, his desire; the feel of power was wonderful and his arousal flared again.

Eyes open throughout, barely blinking, he watched as Bodie stiffened and groaned his release, his own climax following a few heartbeats after. Propped up by Bodie who was leaning on the wall, they regained their senses gradually; their bodies still sensitive and nerves singing with excitement, their cocks twitching as they brushed together, sending little jolts of pleasure through both of them.

But time was against them and, without breaking the spell by speaking, they stepped from the shower and patted each other dry with soft towels, touching and smiling often. In the bedroom they dressed themselves but found they were stopping in the middle of mundane everyday acts of putting on socks and buttoning up shirts to look at each other and smile.

Dressed and ready to face the outside world once again, Bodie finally broke the silence.

"I love you, Ray," he said, preparing to leave the flat to go to work and needing to hear the once response he still longed for.

Doyle looked at him, blinked, flushed, and dropped his eyes, sighing heavily before stepping forward to press his lips to Bodie's in a light, unbearably tender caress, stepping back when Bodie tried to deepen the kiss.

Eyes falling away again and a flush creeping up his neck and face, Doyle turned away to open the front door. "I know," he said and began to walk away.

As his bubble of inner euphoria burst unexpectedly, Bodie watched the retreating back and downbent head and guessed he still had a long way to go.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ann-Marie allowed her concentration to waver once more as she looked through carefully lowered eyes at her colleague. Lost in a daydream, Ray Doyle was totally unaware that he had doodled a multitude of crazy, geometric designs across two pages of test material.

"Ray! Ray, are you feeling all right?" she enquired.

Her voice jolting him into some sense of awareness, Doyle give her a blinding smile, blinked lazily at her and then returned to his daydream.

Five feet away, Ann-Marie felt scorched by the warmth of the smile. The sexual contentment so tangible and obvious, she felt like an intruder. So, she thought sadly, now she knew why he hadn't made a play for her and a strong sense of regret and envy swept over her. "Ray?" She had to call his name three times before gaining his attention. "Didn't you say you had an appointment in the medical section this afternoon?"

"Yes, that's right," Doyle agreed sunnily.

"It's getting late--you don't have to miss your check-up because of these papers. We've still got a week before the training programme takes off."

"Don't worry. Willis said sometime this afternoon, I'll go later on," Doyle said vaguely.

"Ray. It's quarter to five."

"Oh," Doyle responded, unfazed. "Expect he'll 'ave gone home then. Have we finished for today?" he asked, perking up and packing away pens and paper and switching off his terminal.

Together they tidied away the work, Doyle's gentle air of distraction oddly endearing and amusing. Eager to be off, Doyle was holding her jacket up for her to slip on when Bodie barrelled in through the door.

"Willis is looking for you," he announced gruffly, scowling at the pair of them. "You should have been up there two bloody hours ago--he's doing his nut."

"I forgot the time," Doyle answered casually, his fingers automatically straightening the girl's collar and picking a few strands of stray hair from the beautifully styled linen suit she was wearing.

Seeing the soft smile and air of distraction with which Ray moved around the woman, Bodie felt his insides knot uncomfortably. "Well come on--he's waiting for you now!" he finished, voice sharp.

"Okay." Doyle turned and smiled at him, oblivious of the puzzled look Ann-Marie threw Bodie. "Are you going to wait for me?"

At first Bodie thought he was talking to Ann-Marie but before he could recover his wits Doyle turned to her and said, "Good night, Marie. Have a nice weekend."

"See you Monday morning. Goodnight, Bodie," she called out as she slipped through the door.

"Night," Bodie called after her belatedly. He turned back to Doyle. "Why do you call her that?"

"Call her what?"

"Marie. Her name's Ann-Marie," replied Bodie as they walked up the two flights to the medical suite.

"It's her name, isn't it?" responded Doyle sharply. "I thought Miss Hellman was a bit too formal."

Bodie let the comment go but was troubled by the defensive answer. Everyone else in the building called her Ann if not Ann-Marie.

They were just about to turn the final corner when someone hidden from sight back down the corridor called out Bodie's name.

"Damn," muttered Bodie. "You go ahead, Ray. If this turns into anything I'll meet you later at home."

"Is there anything on at the moment?" Doyle asked, curious only so far as he wanted to know if Bodie was about to vanish for any length of time.

"Dunno. You know how it goes. There are several ops simmering, something bound to blow sooner or later."

"I thought you were still on reserve status?"

"I am--unless something crops up."

Down the hall-way the voice shouted for Bodie even louder. "I'm coming!" Bodie shouted back. Turning to Ray, he smiled and giving into the temptation, reached out and ruffled the thick curls. "I expect they just want to know where I hid the chocolate biscuits--I bloody hope it's nothing else, I've got plans for tonight and Cowley promised me a weekend off."

"Plans?" enquired Doyle, a pink tinge rushing to colour his cheeks. "Am I included in these plans?"

"Be bloody pointless doing it if you're not there, sunshine!" Bodie said breathlessly.

The corridor was hardly the place to talk but they each knew what the other was thinking without using words. When Doyle finally entered the medical suite a furiously disgruntled doctor did a double-take when he saw his rosy cheeked, hot looking patient stumble backwards in through the door.

"Finally!" he sapped at Doyle when his presence was eventually acknowledged. "Only two hours late, I suppose I should be grateful you managed to turn up at all," he said sourly but the sarcasm was completely wasted on Doyle.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," he responded with no trace of regret in his voice. "Forgot the time," he explained casually.

With a great deal of 'hurumphing', Willis conducted a ruthless examination and then he reached his finale. "Don't bother getting dressed just yet," he said with a steely glint in his eye. "I want to check your weight."

"I've been following the diet," Doyle protested but was unable to meet his doctor's eye as he spoke.

"Properly?" Willis enquired knowingly.

"Well...Bodie's been ramming best steak and potatoes down my throat every bloody day."

"There's more to a balanced diet than steak and potatoes!" retorted Willis. "And how have you been sleeping?"

The innocent question hit Doyle like an electric shock. "Why?"

Sensing a sensitive nerve, Willis pushed harder. "Have you been taking those pills I prescribed?"

"I don't need them," Doyle replied, eyes dropping to examine the stiletto marked tiles. "Bodie says that I'm better off without them."

"Do you still suffer from nightmares?"

"A bit," replied Doyle, remembering the previous night. A smile transformed his face. "But I don't think they'll be much bother now," he finished dreamily.

"You've been working a full day for nearly two weeks, you're not feeling overtired? The travelling between home, Repton and here doesn't cause any problems?"

"I could do without tramping up to Repton twice a week, but it's no problem. Bodie reckons the rest is doing me a lot of good."

"How do you feel about continuing at Repton?"

"I think it's a bloody waste of time," Doyle said with little real hope of turning Willis around to his way of thinking. "That doctor--whatever his name is, is still wet behind his ears. He's years younger than me--how the hell can he know anything useful?"

"So why keep going?" Willis asked quietly.

Doyle shrugged and continued dressing, hoping to escape. "Bodie says I should co-operate, plus I don't suppose I stand a chance of getting back to full status if I don't bloody well go!"

"The treatment at Repton is your choice entirely. If you no longer wish to avail yourself of the facilities you're not obliged to. Of course, you do still have to convince Dr Ross and myself that you are fit both mentally and physically. Speaking of which," Willis said, pointing at fully dressed, about-to-exit-the-room patient, "I did say I wished to check your weight.

"No, don't bother getting undressed again; just slip your shoes off. Now, where's your weight chart?"

Willis turned to sort through the thick medical file and Doyle quickly delved deep into his pocket, palming something black and small.

"Right, just step up here," Willis ordered as he grasped the chart with one hand and balanced his spectacles on the end of his nose with the other.

Standing on the wobbly step, Doyle made a grab for the end of the metal bar--supposedly to keep his balance. "Oops," he said loudly as the magnet clocked onto the covering of the T-bar. At first it wouldn't stick and he was forced to move his target but then he found the right spot and withdrew his hand.

Bending to check the reading, Willis re-positioned his glasses ever more firmly on his nose. Glancing up from the weight bar he looked suspiciously into Doyle's innocent face before scowling and returning his attention to the bar once he had also double checked that all his test weights were still displayed on the adjoining table.

"How am I doing?" asked Ray Doyle in a very smug voice.

"Well," Willis straightened his back and maintained his scowl, "according to these scales you have a most serious weight problem, Mr Doyle. Most serious indeed." He shook his head and sighed heavily.

"I really must have words with our Mr Bodie; the steak and potatoes will have to come off the menu at once!"

"Why?"

"Because, Mr Doyle, you have--thanks to Mr Bodie's culinary efforts gained some weight--but I fear his enthusiasm for the problem has gone too far. You weigh fifteen stone and four pounds--although I must say, I really don't know where you've put it!" The last said with difficulty as he fought to keep his expression sombre and forbidding but finding his unintended double entendre too amusing to ignore.

"How much!" Doyle gasped in shock.

"Goodness me," exclaimed Willis as he stooped down to examine the bar more closely. "What have we here?" He detached the small object and held it out for Doyle to see.

"Looks like a magnet to me," Doyle said in a resigned voice.

"Wonders will never cease. Your weight has suddenly dropped back down to...ten stone three pounds. That magnet must have been affecting the balance!" he said in amazement.

"Yes. It must," Doyle agreed glumly.

"Well, I suppose it's an improvement, but I still expect you to gain a further half stone."

"But am I cleared for duty?"

"Office bound for a bit longer I'm afraid 4.5," Willis said briskly. "But you're well on the road to return to full status."

"How much longer?"

"Another six weeks or so, perhaps sooner," the doctor said, relenting a little in the face of such dismay.

---

After searching in vain throughout the building for his partner, Doyle finally thought to check the car park. His descent into depression was made complete when he saw the empty bay. Driving himself home, he wondered if another month or so would make much difference; he knew he still had to endure endless sessions with Ross and pass all her stupid tests and games before resuming work as 3.7's partner.

Parking up and wandering slowly into the building, he wondered when Bodie would get home; his morose thoughts, however, were cut short as soon as he pushed the front door open.

"Bodie!" he yelled thankfully as he kicked the door shut behind him and automatically reset the locks. "You're home!" He ran down the hall and burst into the kitchen, a huge grin splitting his face.

Bodie was standing with his back to the door pouring something into the sink and the rigidity of his back caused Doyle to freeze his instinctive urge to enfolded the man in his arms. "You're home," he repeated tonelessly. "I thought you had been called out. I'm glad you weren't." Staring at the broad shirt-clad back he remained by the kitchen door.

Hands shaking, Bodie struggled not to scald himself again as he fought with the colander, ten thumbs and far too much slippery spaghetti. Scooping up the strands he'd spilt onto the worktop, he managed to return the greeting.

"Hello sunshine. Thought I'd come on ahead and start dinner. It won't be long." In truth he'd come home alone because it had been so hard trying to act normal around his partner when other people were about. The spaghetti safely contained, he turned to find Doyle still standing by the door. With his short curls blown into confusion, green eyes that were wider than ever and sparkling with life and a mouth that was an invitation all of its own, Bodie wanted to pull him into his arms, drag him into bed and love him to exhaustion. But all he said was, "Why don't you go and wash up. Dinner'll be ready when you get back."

Doyle blinked at the quiet words. For a moment he had thought--but maybe he had only seen what he wanted to see. "Okay," he replied, swallowing his disappointment, his arms aching from the effort not to reach out and grab Bodie and kiss him. He wanted to kiss him, wanted more than anything else to hold him, smell his warmth and closeness. The desire to take what he wanted washed over him, leaving him hot and weak and aching. "Can I do anything to help?" he offered.

Oh yes, sunshine. Please! Bodie begged silently. He managed to drag his eyes away from Doyle and turned back to the cooker. "It's ready now. I'll dish it up while you're getting sorted out."

Feeling incredibly high and yet terribly deflated, Doyle left the kitchen to dispose of his jacket and freshen up. By the time he returned Bodie and the dinner were already in the lounge. The arrangement of the dinner trays was like a slap in the face; Bodie was sitting in the armchair by the stereo unit and his own tray on the other side of the room by the window. Doyle picked the tray up and moved to the sofa, deciding only at the last minute to sit on the middle cushion; the end cushion was suddenly too close to Bodie.

Apart from the noise of the television the room was quiet as they ate their meal, the distance and strain between them getting worse by the minute.

"How did you get on with Willis?" asked Bodie eventually.

"Fine--except for the magnet. I told you it wouldn't work!" Doyle replied awkwardly, groping for the right words.

"All you had to do was stick it on one end of the bar."

"It's a precision instrument, Bodie!" Your little magnet had me weighing in at fifteen bloody stone!" he retorted indignantly.

"Ah. Willis guessed you'd fixed it then," Bodie said. "I keep telling you he isn't stupid. If you'd only eat decent, regular meals he wouldn't have to bother you--"

"There is nothing wrong with my weight. I'm the same now as before...before everything happened. We can't all be muscle-bound hulks!" he said sharply, glaring meaningfully at Bodie's greater bulk.

"I see," Bodie replied quietly.

Doyle knew his barb had hit a sensitive spot. While not obsessed with his weight, Bodie did not like being too heavy and unlike himself, suffered from a slower metabolic rate which meant he had to eat less to stay slim and almost perish from starvation to lose excess weight.

"Oh please!" Doyle sighed, rolling his eyes upwards. "Spare me the pathos. I don't mean you're a muscle bound hulk. God, do you have any idea what you look like when you pout like that?"

"I," Bodie said, mustering his dignity. "I do not pout. Why, what do I look like?"

Doyle grinned and looked at his partner carefully, examining the dark eyes and full, pouting mouth that still held traces of tomato sauce. "Beautiful," he said, slowly drawing the word out and delighting in the blush that crept up the pale neck and cheeks. "You're blushing! I didn't even know you could blush!"

Bodie felt his face burn even hotter and, anxious to do something, anything, he got up from his seat to take the trays out into the kitchen. Doyle stood at the same time and removed the trays from his hands, setting them both aside on the small table.

"I'll put them outside to soak," Bodie said, trying to grab them back only to have his hands brushed away.

"What's wrong?" Doyle asked softly, his face only inches away from Bodie's. "Don't you want me to say that I think you're beautiful?"

"It's...it's not that," Bodie struggled to get the words out. "It feels...odd to hear you saying it to me. I...I want to say the same things to you...I wanted to say something when you came home--but I wasn't sure you'd want me to."

Doyle placed his hands on the broad shoulders, sliding them up Bodie's neck and cupping the downbent face, lifting it up to look at him. "What did you want to say to me when I came home?" he asked softly as the pad of one thumb rubbed away the traces of tomato sauce.

"Dunno, can't remember now," Bodie lied, remembering very well the wave of love and lust that had swept over him. "Just, hello, I suppose."

"You've said hello to me hundreds of times. What was so difficult about saying it tonight?" Doyle echoed his partner's nervous gesture of licking his lips.

Seeing the pink tongue darting out, Bodie felt as if a great weight settled on him making breathing almost impossible. "I wanted it to be different," he admitted, his voice dropping to a deep huskiness. "I wanted to make it a special hello...but when you walked in...I just couldn't...all of a sudden I wasn't sure if you'd want me to do it."

"Do what?" Doyle asked excitedly, knowing now that Bodie had felt just as hot and confused as he had. Tilting his head at an angle, he leaned into the embrace and found his mouth claimed as Bodie demonstrated his way of saying hello.

An endless time later it was Doyle who pulled away, his mouth damp and shiny where Bodie's lips had covered his. "Been looking forward to that since morning," he said breathlessly. "Today's been impossible, couldn't think of anything except you; wondering where you were, what you were doing."

"I've been on the ranges all day. My ears are still ringing from it," Bodie complained lightly.

"You sure it's not us making the bells ring?" teased Doyle and he gave a little push with his hips.

"Only wish it had been," Bodie replied sorrowfully. Made a right fool of myself this afternoon 'cos I was thinking about you." At Doyle's questioning look, he elaborated. "Had to demonstrate one of the new guns to some ministry cretin; I've been complaining endlessly about the quality, how they keep jamming, so he came down to see for himself.

"Had everything lined up ready to go and first of all I forgot to load the bloody thing, then I went and used the gun I've spent five bloody hours re-sighting and balancing; of course the fucking thing worked like a dream!"

"Oh dear." Doyle made sympathetic noises as he tongued, hotly and gustily, the skin behind Bodie's ear. "Does this mean we're going to get lumbered with the bloody things?"

"I hope not," Bodie said decisively. "But..." he gasped as the exploring tongue flicked around his sensitive earlobe. "But you looked like you were getting on well with Ann-Marie," the words escaped before he had a chance to stop them.

"She's okay," Doyle replied easily. "She knows her stuff."

"How come you get to spend so much time with her?" Bodie asked a little while later as they made themselves comfortable on the sofa.

"Jealous?" Doyle asked, laughing.

"No!" retorted Bodie defensively. He wasn't jealous, not any more he was forced to admit.

"Sorry, didn't mean to tease. I'm only working with her until the end of June, another couple of weeks. Just until the new training programme gets off the ground."

"I still don't understand what you're doing though."

"Blame Cowley, it's all his idea," Doyle said. "He thinks that my computer training and my knowledge of how CI5 systems work will help Marie put the right sort of training programme together.

"None of you lot have been very enthusiastic about using the new system so everyone's going to get a chance to learn properly. I've been helping write a program you lot will be able to understand and learn from."

"You're writing a program!" Bodie said in amazement. "I thought that was high-level stuff, you can't program a computer!" he ended in disbelief."

"Ta very much for the vote of confidence," Doyle said tartly, and more than a little hurt.

"Whoa!" Bodie held on tight to stop Doyle pulling away. "I'm sorry but I had no idea you knew any more about computers than I do--"

"Which isn't much!" Doyle added dryly.

"I've never needed to use them until now. So, you know a bit about computers do you?"

"A bit more than a bit," Doyle replied, still irritated by the condescending tone. "I've got a BTECH diploma in computer studies. Well," he hesitated. "Not exactly a diploma as I never sat the final exams. But I would have passed if I had," he added confidentially. "Marie thinks I ought to go back and finish it and perhaps move on to the next level."

"Why didn't you do the final exam?"

"I was in hospital recovering from that last fight in Maidstone, and then I missed the re-takes because I was in solitary on extended punishment," Doyle answered quietly but without hesitation.

"You studied while you were in prison?"

Irritated even more by the continuing disbelief, Doyle pulled himself out of the encircling arms, straightened his disordered clothing and glowered at Bodie. "What's so difficult to believe? Do you really think I peeled potatoes and stitched fucking mail bags for three years! Or maybe you think I spent my time smashing rocks in some fucking quarry!"

"Ray--" Bodie struggled to his feet and tried to pacify his lover.

"Honest to god Bodie," Doyle stormed. "What do you think I did all day?"

"Well--" Bodie's mind went blank.

"I'll tell you. Some long-term prisoners like I was, get the option of further education or work--if they're lucky. I chose education because I bloody knew I wasn't going to walk through those gates back into my old job!" His anger genuine, Doyle's voice was harsh.

"Ray, I know all that, I just never thought about what you'd done and you've never said so I didn't like to ask."

"Well now you know. I spent four evenings a week in class and a couple of days a week in the machine shop." Anger abating, Doyle allowed himself to be pulled back into an embrace.

"What did you do in the machine shop?" asked Bodie a considerable time later as they rearranged themselves on the sofa. "What was that--I didn't catch it?"

"I said," Doyle repeated reluctantly, "that I sat on a machine that stitched buttons onto shirts."

"You what?"

"All the prison uniforms, even the screws' stuff, are made in the workshops. At Maidstone we had to do shirts, T-shirts and pyjama jackets. I suppose the rest of the stuff is made by other prisons."

"So you stitched buttons on!"

"I don't think it's very funny," Doyle said, pretending to be upset.

"Just buttons? Nothing else?"

"Just bloody buttons! Stupid little plastic buttons with five fucking holes onto millions of bloody shirts!"

"Just buttons! For three years!" repeated Bodie, trying, and failing dismally, to be serious.

"No. Not for three years. For a while I machined cuffs, then collars and then buttons."

"Ray?"

"What?" Doyle asked, suspicious of the rumbles of suppressed mirth coming from his partner.

"How come you've never even offered to sew a button on my shirt when one's popped; you know I'm hopeless with a needle and thread?"

Doyle twisted around and tussled furiously trying to pin Bodie down onto the cushions. They wrestled, falling off the sofa and landing heavily on the floor with Bodie underneath taking the full impact of their weights. "I will never, I repeat never sew another fucking button on anyone's shirt for as long as I live!" he yelled.

"Okay, okay," Bodie shouted back. I give in, I surrender--and get off my bloody stomach!"

Doyle rolled sideways to lie on the carpet and found himself wedged between Bodie and the sofa and unable to move. Suddenly the mood between them changed, the air crackling with sexual electricity. Eyes wide, breathless and excited they stared at one another for long moments before Doyle, closing his eyes, slowly bent forward, inclining his mouth towards Bodie's whereby he took gentle possession of the open lips.

Rolling onto his back, Bodie lifted his head for a supporting arm to slip underneath it and relaxed into the kiss, closing his eyes and sighing heavily as the hot little body settled firmly over him.

At first they only kissed, eyes shut, savouring the taste and closeness, but the level of intimacy soon escalated and fingers unfastened buttons and zips and pushed restricting material aside to expose straining bodies.

Unable to remove Ray's T-shirt without breaking their own kiss, Bodie settled for leaving it bunched around his chest, his own shirt still wrapped around one arm and their trousers and pants pushed down their legs only as far as eager hands could get them. Naked from armpit to upper thigh, Bodie ran his hands along Ray's length, stroking, rubbing, tickling and arousing every exposed inch.

Fiercely aroused, the scent of Doyle's musk rising and filling his senses, Bodie pulled their bodies closer, grinding their lower bodies together, adjusting positions so their cocks fitted snugly into each other's soft belly. Pulling Doyle hard against him, he cupped soft buttocks in his hands, massaging the muscular globes, enjoying the pleasure of touching as much as the resulting squirms his touch instigated. Deepening the kiss, forcing Doyle's tongue to give way to his, Bodie rocked them together in a fierce rhythm, his arousal peaking but Doyle's movements suddenly breaking the pattern, preventing his climax. Fighting to re-establish the steady rhythm, Bodie tightened his grip on the clenched buttocks, forcing their bodies even closer with one hand while the other continued to knead tense muscle, his fingers slipping into the dark crevice as they moved.

Bucking against the probing, bruising grip, Doyle managed to break free and roll right over with Bodie to land on the other side of him; gripping tightly with his legs and pulling hard as he twisted, he manoeuvred his eager lover on top of him.

After a surprised 'ooff' Bodie, anxious to take them both to climax, claimed the open mouth beneath him and pushed gently against one bony hip. He felt an answering throb as Doyle's cock lying snug between their bodies indicated its own need for completion. It took a moment or two for them to work out a method where Doyle wouldn't be squashed flat against the hard floor but shortly Bodie, weight taken on his knees and forearms as he straddled Doyle, managed to re-establish the rhythm that took the bottom man to climax. Swallowing his own frustration as Doyle stiffened and then slumped boneless into the carpet, Bodie waited for the shuddering spasms to pass. Slipping sideways, Doyle's seed thick and slippery on their bellies, Bodie pulled one lax hand and wrapped it around his painfully erect sex. It was a moment or two before Ray pushed the covering hand away and shoved Bodie to lie on his back. With his own cock still sending delightful tremors throughout his body, he concentrated on bringing his lover the same pleasure, his hands tracing the purple cock from tip to root, squeezing the taut sacs and then brushing the shiny glans with the pad of his thumb, spreading the seeping moisture he found there along the hot, urgent organ.

"Ray!" Bodie cried out in near agony as the thumb grazed over the sensitive head again pulling along the foreskin. Once more, and then again and he exploded with such force Doyle jerked back in surprise, a jet of semen arcing across their bodies and splashing them both with a heat that immediately became cool.

Panting heavily, Doyle lay down beside Bodie and snuggled up close to him. The whole thing hadn't taken long, no more than a few minutes from unexpected beginning to shattering conclusion, but it left them both exhausted, numb and pleasurably sated.

"Do you want to know something?" Bodie asked in a hushed voice once their breathing had slowed.

"What?" asked Doyle, twisting his head to look into a pair of almost unbelievably blue eyes.

"Carpet burns hurt!"

"What?"

Hands rubbing his sore elbows and knees, Bodie complained in an aggrieved voice. "I knew there was a reason I'd given up making love on the floor--my bloody knees!"

"Well," smiled Doyle easily. "It's all your fault so don't blame me."

"I seem to recall you starting all this when you kissed me!" retorted Bodie without any real heat as he rearranged his clothes.

"You wanted to be kissed as I remember it," said Doyle. "Not going to pretend otherwise, are you?"

"'Course not," said Bodie as he passed over a handful of tissues to Doyle for him to clean himself. "Did it feel as if I objected? No? Well then--just next time I'd rather we had a bit more comfort. It's been a long time since I had to settle for a quick grope on the floor."

Doyle felt his insides freeze at the teasing words. Was that all it was to Bodie, he wondered. No more than a 'grope on the floor'?

Scrambling up from the carpet, they each dealt with the messier aspects of homosexual love, cleaning cold drying semen from their bodies and re-adjusting their clothing. Clean and tidy once more, Bodie fell back onto the sofa and patted the cushion next to him in invitation. Awkwardly, and more embarrassed than he cared to admit, Doyle sat down and found himself pulled into a strong-armed embrace.

"Shift your head, sunshine," ordered Bodie gently as he made them both comfortable. "Okay?" he checked, smiling into the flushed face resting against his shoulder.

"Fine," Doyle responded. It was only a half truth; he was comfortable but his mind was far from easy still troubled by his partner's casual off-hand words. A quick grope; he looked up at the averted face searching for an answer. Was that all it meant to Bodie, he wondered fearfully; was it really little more than just sex--for all his easy declarations of love. Words were too easy, cheap and rarely meant much, a fact Bodie knew only too well.

As if sensing the uneasy thought, Bodie glanced down and saw the pensive expression on Doyle's face. "All right, Ray?" he asked, ruffling the short curls with one hand, the silky cool feel of the thick growth sending shivers along his arm.

"Fine," Doyle replied, only just managing not to jerk his head away from the affectionate touch and he pretended to watch the television. After a moment Bodie's hand slid down to rest against his bare throat, one finger absentmindedly stroking the soft, warm skin. Every time Bodie touched his hair in that way Doyle had to fight the impulse to jerk away from the seemingly innocent touch; but that very same touch had been one of the more public demonstrations of ownership he had been forced to endure from Albert Kingsley and it was almost impossible to accept that touch from Bodie without remembering all it entailed. But Bodie didn't know that, he didn't understand everything that Albert had done to him--he only thought he did and Doyle knew he could never tell him the whole truth.

Unaware of the turmoil going on beside him Bodie gave a contented wriggle and settled down more comfortably to watch the film, his fingers caressing the warm skin at Doyle's throat as if reluctant to break the contact. Slowly, though, he began to realise something was missing; there was little of the loving contentment that usually followed lovemaking and he knew he was unsatisfied with the hurried tussle they had shared on the floor. He wanted more, a lot more. He wanted to tilt Doyle backwards over his lap, kiss him and touch him all over, arouse him again and tell him he was beautiful and loved, yet the words remained unspoken. Ray's non-committal response to his declaration of love that morning as they left home had rocked his certainty; he had meant the words deeply and sincerely and had expected to hear them returned. It had not been the first time Ray had refused to respond to him and he began to wonder if they really wanted the same things from their relationship.

Bodie knew that they should talk but lacked the courage to ask the questions. 'Could you ever love me, Ray? Could you ever love me the way I love you? Do you want to love me?'

Unknown to Bodie the object of his thoughts was suffering similar agonies. 'You say you love me and then laugh about a quick grope on the floor.' Doyle suppressed a shiver as one finger slid under the edge of his tee-shirt and he leant towards the warm pressure against his throat, the feel of Bodie's fingers resting against his pulse point almost melting him. 'I've heard it all before, Bodie. You're very good with words--do you really mean what you say? How could you? Why should you be any different to the rest of the world. Do you love me?'

The television chattered away to its unseeing audience of two, the film ending and the late news fading away to a dreary weather forecast and then to an uninteresting exposé of something terribly important. The late night film was over halfway through before they admitted they weren't watching it. Withdrawing his arm from around Doyle's shoulders and massaging the numbness away, Bodie said curtly, "Lift up, Ray. I need to take a leak."

Levering himself away from his human cushion, Doyle righted himself and sat back watching through gritty eyes as Bodie left the room. Alone in the lounge he stretched and yawned widely then dragged his hands over his face and through his hair. He was tired. Any other night there would be no problem with that simple fact; but tonight, tonight he thought wearily it was a problem. Last night, last week, last month even he would simply have said 'I'm tired,' and gone to bed.

Bodie's bed.

The bed he shared with Bodie countless times over the last two years.

He wanted to go to bed. With Bodie. Nothing all that different to the nights they had gone to bed together before.

Except nothing was the same anymore. Not since last night.

In the bathroom Bodie flushed the loo and padded out heading for the bedroom. He left the curtains open half-way and turned the small lamp on on his side of the bed. He was tired and wanted to go to bed. Apart from last night Doyle had spent the last week sleeping alone in the spare room. Where would he sleep tonight, he wondered.

In their bed or in his own.

Soft footed he padded back to the lounge and found Doyle still sitting on the sofa; he looked up as he entered. For several minutes the remained motionless, Doyle sitting on the sofa and Bodie by the door, each too scared to make the first move. Doyle was aware his breathing was becoming ragged and noted Bodie likewise was having similar problems. Without breaking eye contact Doyle slowly stood up and hit the switch to silence the television. Expectant and edgy at the same time, he was relieved when Bodie took the initiative and, smiling gently, his eyes twinkling with tender amusement, held out one hand inviting Doyle to join him.

They didn't speak until long after fingers that had a tendency to tremble had stripped them both naked and they slid under the covers, their hands still gripped tightly together.

"Now's where we have to make a choice," Bodie said, his voice hitting the lowest register as he whispered across the pillow.

Uncomprehending but prepared to trust him completely, Doyle smiled tentatively and asked, "What choice?"

Bodie pulled the smaller man towards him, moulding them together. "Well," he began hesitantly. "It's up to you what happens now but I'd like to make a couple of suggestions."

Something of Bodie's caution seeped through to Doyle and his voice was tight when he enquired what the suggestions were.

"It's the light. We can leave it on for now and we can...make love until we're both sleepy and relaxed before turning it off and risk spoiling everything. Or," he said, stroking the stiff back, "or we can turn it off now; I'll be here for you and we can both just hold on tight and see what happens. It's up to you."

Doyle went rigid as soon as he understood what Bodie was trying to do. "Why can't we leave it on?" he asked, already knowing he had to face the problem sooner or later. Bodie didn't answer him. "I think..." struggled Doyle, "I think we should..." his mind raced around the problem. What should he do. How could he relax enough to make love to Bodie if he knew that at any minute the light was going to be switched off. "Turn it off now," he said firmly, hands already gripping the strong shoulders and bracing himself for the darkness.

He couldn't breathe. The walls closed in; the duvet pressed heavily, weighing him down. He tried to drag air into his lungs and claw his way out of the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest and a great roaring filled his ears. He still couldn't breathe, couldn't see and it seemed to last forever. Gradually, though, the roaring in his ears lessened and he could hear Bodie's voice. Little by little the weight lifted, his breathing became easier and the dark more bearable. Turning his head slight and pulling back from the limpet-like grip he had on his partner's reassuring bulk he realised he could see him, the amber streetlights casting a soft glow though the partially open curtains.

"Okay now?" Bodie asked as the punishing grip on his arms weakened.

"Mmnn," Doyle murmured, unable yet to vocalise.

Now the worst was over Bodie ran firm, knowing hands across the taut muscles, massaging the fear-induced tension from them, willing him to calm down and all the time speaking soft words of encouragement. It took time, a long time for the racing heartbeat that even Bodie could feel thundering against Doyle's chest to slow down; slowly, gradually, the touches became more intimate, intended to arouse rather than relax. Concentrating solely on soothing his lover, Bodie ignored his own needs, the burning urgency of their earlier loving almost forgotten as he sought Doyle's pleasure. Pausing often simply to cuddle or kiss, it took forever until the undemanding rhythm and the pressure of their bodies tumbled them into an easy, unhurried climax totally unlike anything they had previously shared.

The sleepy contentment that had eluded them earlier that evening now washed over them, barely leaving them the time or energy to untangle limbs before falling asleep.

---

It was an annoying shaft of sunlight inching over his face that awoke him next morning. Screwing his eyes tight shut against the hated intrusion, Bodie buried his face in the pillow.

Beside him Ray stirred and remembering the previous morning Bodie froze. As usual, Ray was holding his left arm firmly and was lying mostly on his back turned towards the centre of the bed, his face only inches away across the pillow. Bodie wanted to kiss him but carefully considered the risks involved and decided it wasn't worth it. Moving carefully, he lifted his right arm onto the pillow below his head to prop him up, the slight movement causing the sleeper's grip on his arm to tighten and Bodie saw the sudden darting movements of eyes behind closed lids. "Ray," he called softly, blowing gently onto the sleeper's face. "Raymond," again a little louder a few seconds later but still gained no response. He tugged his left arm and caused Doyle's whole body to tense up but not waken. "Raymond! Wake up, sunshine." But all to no avail.

Sighing with exasperation, Bodie pulled himself up the bed a little further and almost free of the death-grip on his arm. Cautiously--and wondering why such a light tough the previous morning had caused such a disaster when his efforts this morning were so far unsuccessful--he pulled his arm free. Murmuring a protest, Doyle rolled onto his side and inched across the mattress towards Bodie but still didn't wake up.

Sitting up now, Bodie glared in amusement at the graceful curl. "Ray," he asked in a loud voice. "You awake yet?" There was no answer. "Ray! Ray! Raymond-bloody-Doyle will you please wake up!" But apart from Doyle inching closer to him there was no response. Desperate to touch but still scared of the consequences he backed away, slid out of bed and left the room. In the kitchen he washed up the previous night's dishes and prepared breakfast, just as he had yesterday morning, returning to the bedside with a loaded tray. Setting it down carefully on the floor, he stood uncertainly before the bed. "Ray?" he called loudly, still hoping for an answer.

There was none forthcoming.

Resigned, Bodie planted his knees firmly on the mattress and placed his hands on Doyle's bare shoulders, his strength and weight straining against the convulsive heave that resulted. "It's only me, sunshine," he said quickly as the eyes snapped open. "'S okay Ray, it's only me, Bodie." The tension remained for several heartbeats until Doyle's mind caught up with his body and stopped fighting the strong grip pinning him to the bed.

"Mornin'," Doyle mumbled thickly, subsiding back onto the bed and sliding his hands over the restraining arms. "Good morning," he repeated a little clearer.

"Morning," responded a smiling Bodie. "Didn't think you were ever going to wake up, proper little sleeping Beauty you were," he grumbled good naturedly and pretending not to notice the automatic struggle.

"Should 'ave kissed me, I'd 'ave woken up then," Doyle said once his mouth closed on a jaw-breaking yawn.

"Might 'ave turned into a toad," retorted Bodie, "or knocked me into the middle of next week," he added truthfully in a wry voice.

"Ah!" Doyle conceded, pulling a face. "You have a point there."

"Have a cup of tea," offered Bodie. "I took the precaution of leaving the tray at a safe distance this morning."

Laughing unselfconsciously, Doyle accepted the tray onto his lap. Saturday mornings spent lounging in bed were a luxury not often encountered in CI5 and Bodie was shameless in his enjoyment, making Doyle, who had spent far too many mornings of his extended sick leave lounging around, laugh. "Born to live a life of leisure and pleasure, you were," he joked. "Parents let you down did they?"

"Obviously," was Bodie's abrupt answer and Doyle realised too late he had trespassed on forbidden ground; Bodie never discussed his family and had even ignored pointed questions about them in the past.

The strained atmosphere such a direct contrast to the sunny cheerfulness of moments ago was obvious. Pushing the tray aside, Doyle brushed the crumbs out of the bed and turned towards Bodie, his face solemn and eyes serious. "You know almost everything there is to know about me; what makes me laugh and cry; what makes me happy or sad. You know my worst secrets and fears and you've accepted them all, accepted me despite everything." He rubbed his thumb across the corner of Bodie's mouth, trying to ease the sign of tension there. "I really don't know that I could have coped without you at my back. You've been beside me every inch of the way since I walked out of Maidstone and I know that you've helped me in ways that I don't even know about.

"When I talk about things that hurt me...you listen. There isn't much I couldn't tell you, but you've never talked to me the same way--you've never let me share what hurts you. If you have any family you've never mentioned them. Oh, I've heard rumours from the squad but you've never said anything about your past.

"I don't know anything about you, the real you except..." he faltered as Bodie lifted his face to meet his gaze. "Except...I'd trust you with my life..." Doyle's voice dropped to a whisper at that last comment.

Bodie closed his eyes again so Ray wouldn't see the pain in them. 'He'd trust me with his life but he won't say he loves me,' he thought sadly.

"Tell me who you are, Bodie?" Doyle asked. "I need to know who you are."

"I'm me," responded Bodie, his face averted and unable to meet the over bright eyes. "This is it, there's nothing else, nothing that's worth anything or worth telling."

"You're William Andrew Phillip Bodie," Doyle said quietly. "And I only know that because it's printed on the cover of your file. You're two years younger than me; you've spent a few years running with a smuggling ring in Europe and then saw the light and joined the army. You served five years with the regulars and then moved into the SAS and from there to CI5. That's all I know about you, Bodie, and it's not enough!"

"Not much else to tell," Bodie evaded but not unmoved by the quiet desperation in Doyle's voice.

"Are your parents alive?"

"Last I heard."

"Mother, father, brothers and sisters?"

"No sisters," Bodie admitted.

"Do you ever visit your family?

"You don't visit yours," Bodie pointed out, unhappy with the questions but unwilling to tell Doyle to shut up.

"You know why I don't see my family--I'm asking you about yours."

"No!"

"Why not?" pushed Doyle.

"Because, that's why. Just because," Bodie answered, almost childish in his reluctance to reply properly.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Doyle asked quietly, badly hurt by the belief that Bodie could not--or would not--share his pain.

The questions stirred up memories in Bodie's mind that he had thought safely locked away. "I can't," he said harshly, brushing away the tentative hand reaching out to him. "Just leave it, Doyle. We can't all go around baring our souls to people!" He would have gained the same response from Doyle had he slapped him in the face and the recoil drew Bodie back from his own mental horrors. "I'm sorry Ray. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean that...but...I still can't." He pulled Doyle back into the bed and clung to him. "I didn't mean to hurt you and I am sorry...it's just--I've never been able to. No-one's ever asked me to explain things before and I can't...not right now, not today."

Returning the frantic grasp and offering his own comfort, Doyle was pleased with the concession and grateful Bodie accepted his embrace. "I'm sorry as well," he whispered. "I should have realised...I don't suppose there's many people on the squad who have conventional backgrounds--wouldn't be able to do the jobs we do if we did, would we? Sorry I pushed--but maybe one day you'll be able to tell me. I'd really like to know all of you, Bodie, the same as you know me--warts 'n all," he ended with a shaky laugh.

"Warts 'n all, I'll remember that when the time comes. Later," Bodie promised, relaxing under the warmth of Doyle's body as it pressed him into the mattress. Today or next year, it didn't seem to matter anymore.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Relieved to reach the cooler sanctuary of home, Bodie gratefully slipped his jacket off.

"Want a beer from the fridge?" Doyle asked, helping himself to one, the hiss of the ring pull making Bodie's mouth water.

"Thought we'd finished the last of them last night?"

"I picked up another six-pack when I went out for the papers this morning," replied Doyle as he passed over an icy cold can.

"Mmmn," Bodie murmured appreciatively. "It's bloody hot out there!" he said between great gulps.

"Shut up--you want it to snow?"

"You're not expecting it to last like this for long, are you?" asked Bodie. "This is the summer, probably all we're going to get, at any rate. It'll be autumn tomorrow and winter the day after."

"Pessimist!"

"Optimist," countered Bodie.

"You just don't like the sun, admit it. I can't understand why you agreed to go to the park if you were determined to sit in the shade all afternoon."

"We can't all be sunfish," Bodie said, collapsing with undisguised relief onto the sofa. "'Sides which I never go brown anyway. I've got two colours, beetroot red and pasty white. Look at you, it's disgusting--two hours in the sun and you're already three shades darker!" he complained good naturedly. But, on reflection, he decided it had been a lovely way to spend their Sunday afternoon; sitting under an enormous, sprawling oak tree doing nothing more energetic than counting clouds and soaking up the peace and tranquillity of the area and enjoying watching the malicious glee with which Doyle had stripped off his shirt to sun bathe in his shorts--leaving Bodie, armed and hot, sweltering in his jacket. "I think I need a shower," he added, tugging at the damp cotton in an effort to cool off.

Doyle walked over to him, sniffed the air loudly and agreed, only narrowly escaping the retaliatory swipe. "If you're going to behave like that I won't offer to wash your back for you," he laughed.

The jump from comfortable companionship to instant arousal took both of them by surprise, the events of the past two days not lessening their urgency nor their desire for more.

In the bathroom they stripped slowly, pausing here and there to kiss and fondle; when naked, there was still no hurry to enter the shower and they held each other gently, prolonging each kiss. But it was Bodie, uncomfortably hot and sweaty, who finally steered them into the shower. As the cleansing jets washed over them, Bodie found his mind drifting away from the promised pleasures, his thoughts settling on what he feared was going to prove a problem.

Experimentally he pulled Doyle closer to him and ran his hands down the wet back to cup taut buttocks. He waited for the movement he knew Ray would make and countered the sudden twist of hips by gripping the rounded arse a bit harder. Still kissing, he felt the tension building in the man in his arms but still continued to rub his hands in powerful circular motions over Doyle's flanks, skimming the cheeks of his arse.

As one finger dipped lightly into the crack of his buttocks, Doyle broke the kiss and pushed hard against Bodie's chest, separating them, and twisted his body slightly to dislodge the gentle intruder; he then lifted wide eyes to Bodie, smiled nervously and slid his hands down the smooth white belly to grasp the rising sex in deft hands.

Having confirmed his suspicions, Bodie gave in to the pleasure his partner was prepared to offer. "Ray," he said, holding the other man's hands to halt their actions. "Let's wait until we get to the bedroom...please?"

Doyle agreed, nodding mutely, and a few moments later, skin still slightly damp from a hurried rub down with the towel, Bodie slid between the covers, his hands eagerly stretching out to draw Doyle down beside him. Within moments his arousal was as hot and urgent as before and he guided Doyle's hands down to resume their task. He moaned aloud as fingers held him confidently, cupping the taut sacs and teasing through the this mass of public hair; he pushed his legs further apart and lifted his hips, pushing against the teasing pressure. Twisting around, he threw one leg over Ray's hip, opening himself even more, and wrapped his arms around Doyle's shoulders, tugging him even closer and trapping the hand grasping him so deliciously between their bodies.

At first surprised but then delighted at the uninhibited action, Doyle returned the bruising kiss, forcing his tongue past the would-be invader to seek out the taste that was Bodie. Wriggling his trapped arm a little, he found he could still manipulate the furry balls and with his fingertips traced the intriguing ruck of skin along their centre, back and down to where the skin was firmer and less hairy. As his fingers moved and explored the different textures he heard the moans Bodie made and felt the tremors that shook him.

Canting his hips further forward in encouragement, Bodie groaned a mixture of relief and frustration as Doyle's fingers traced lightly along the path to his anus. Holding his breath as the fingers slid easily along the sweat slick channel he was unable to contain his delight as they reached their target and his body convulsed with an overload of pleasure.

"Sorry," Doyle said, quickly snatching his fingers back in alarm and trying to withdraw his arm from between their bodies, but Bodie clutched him tighter than ever and tried to move his body to find the fingers again.

"Ray!" he cried out desperately.

"Well move then!" responded Doyle, equally desperate though not for the same reason. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you--"

"Ray!"

Doyle finally managed to pull his arm free. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he apologised.

"Hurt me?" said Bodie, puzzled. "You weren't!"

"Bodie, please!" Doyle cried out in anguish, trying to withdraw from the enveloping arms and legs.

"Don't," begged Bodie when he realised Ray had mistaken his moans of pleasure for ones of pain. "It felt good, you weren't hurting me. It felt great...really good."

"Do you think I'm stupid!" Doyle snapped angrily. "There's no need to lie, Bodie. I'm sorry if I hurt you--only my arm was caught and I couldn't move any other way--"

"You don't understand," said Bodie, a sad smile on his face as he recognised the mixture of disgust and embarrassment in Doyle's voice. "I liked it--"

"You liked me touching your arsehole!" Doyle said, his disgust overcoming his shame. "You can't possibly enjoy that--it's... I'm sorry."

"Ray, listen to me please. You weren't hurting and I honestly liked it, it felt wonderful!"

"What? Having someone shove a finger up your arse!" Doyle said crudely.

"It wasn't the first time it's been done to me, I like it," Bodie said quietly. "I enjoy the sensation."

"But it hurts! I know it does! You can't seriously expect me to believe you enjoy being hurt?"

"It doesn't have to."

"Don't be stupid! I know it hurts, I've had it done to me enough times to know that; it always hurts."

"Only if you fight. Only if you're tense. Didn't anyone ever touch you there before Kingsley?"

"No!" yelled Doyle in outrage. "Of course not."

Having enjoyed the caress from several of his girlfriends over the years, Bodie was surprised at the prudish outrage. "Never?" he asked disbelievingly.

Doyle surged up in the bed, breaking free of Bodie's grip totally before turning on him angrily to confront him. "Have I given you any reason to think I enjoy being hurt to get my rocks off?" he demanded to know. "I didn't realise you liked that sort of sex but I won't do it to you, I can't."

"I'm no masochist, Ray," said Bodie, only just managing to grab a wrist and pull Doyle back onto the bed. "Neither am I a sadist. So what if I like you touching my arse or even pushing a finger or two inside me? When it's done right it can feel incredible. If that bastard Kingsley was the first person ever to finger-fuck you I can understand why you feel like this but please believe me, it doesn't have to hurt."

Disbelief written all over his face, Doyle turned towards him. "You want to do it to me, don't you? You keep on trying to touch me there. Is that what you want...to...to fuck me with your fingers like Kingsley did?"

"No! Not like him at all. I'm nothing like him--Christ, I love you Ray, I don't want to make you feel bad--"

"But you still want to shove your fingers up me arse," Doyle said coldly.

"Not if you don't want me to--"

"I bloody don't!"

"Then I won't," Bodie said firmly. "But now that I've told you how much I like it would you mind doing it to me?"

"Now?" Doyle asked in alarm.

"No," Bodie replied tiredly. "Not now, I doubt either of us would enjoy it very much right now."

"I won't hurt you, Bodie."

"You wouldn't, believe me. But if you prefer, whenever you're ready to try there's some Vaseline in the drawer there. You could put some on your fingers and some on me; then you'd know you couldn't possibly hurt me."

Doyle's eyes went to the bedside drawer before glancing back, a little of the coldness leaving his eyes. "I don't know, it's hard to believe it could feel..."

"Some other time perhaps," Bodie said softly as he pulled him to lie down beside him again. "But for now--where were we?"

Still tense and nervous every time Bodie's hands skimmed open palmed across his buttocks, Doyle was difficult to arouse again but Bodie persevered until urgency and need overtook conscious thought and they both moved freely towards a shattering climax, Bodie first, followed a few heartbeats later by Doyle.

Wrung out and exhausted, Bodie tugged some tissues free of the box and passed them over. "Better get some sleep, sunshine," he suggested. "Work tomorrow."

"What's Cowley got lined up for you now you've finished the weapons assessments?" Doyle asked sleepily as they curled into their usual sleeping positions.

"Expect I'll find out soon enough," Bodie responded vaguely, knowing full well he was due in court in the morning. "You're at Repton first thing tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Supposed to be," mumbled Doyle. "Might give it a miss though."

"Can you do that?" asked Bodie.

"'S up to me if I go or not--at least that's what they keep on telling me. Shift your arm a bit, that's better. I'll go on Thursday instead. Night, Bodie."

"Night, love," whispered Bodie softly across the pillow.

---

As soon as the sunlight began to creep over the windowsill Doyle was wide awake. Turning gently and lifting Bodie's arm away he lay beside him, propped up on one elbow watching. His sleep, though sound, had not been relaxing and he still felt gritty-eyed and tired. Looking at the easy sprawl of his partner, he envied him his sleeping oblivion. Lying on his belly, face turned away, only Bodie's back and a little of his face was visible to Doyle; and, stretched out across the bed like a starfish he looked very comfortable. Pushing the duvet down carefully, Doyle exposed some more of the naked back and then, when the sleeper still didn't wake, the defenceless arse. The white mounds drew Doyle like magnets and he barely contained the impulse to reach out and touch.

What, he wondered, was so fascinating about someone's arse? The globes of muscle, relaxed in sleep, looked smooth and soft. Can an arse be sexy? Pondering the answer to the question, he sat up and twisted around on the bed to kneel carefully beside the object of his attention. The discovery of a small but fierce looking pimple on the underside of one of the cheeks cheered Doyle immensely; the simple discovery suddenly making Bodie human. On closer inspection he was surprised to realise he could see between the slightly parted legs and see Bodie's balls, the hairy sacs squashed almost flat under his weight. But, even has he looked, Bodie stirred. The muscles in the strong back tensed and rippled and he clenched his buttocks tightly together, inhaled sharply and finally snapped to instant awareness.

"Ray!" He was alarmed to discover the pillow beside him empty and the covers missing.

"I'm here," replied Doyle and he brushed his hand over the tense shoulders, feeling them relax.

Turning over, Bodie opened his eyes. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Do you always wake up like that?" Doyle asked bluntly, pointing at the hard upthrust sex.

Still sluggish, Bodie stretched and automatically wrapped a hand around himself, waking himself up properly as every nerve in his body responded to the touch. "Yes," he said and then, his eyes pinning Doyle with a lecherous look asked, "Don't you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Used to think it was overactive hormones or something. Ann..." his voice cut off abruptly and then he continued in a hard voice. "Not everyone likes being confronted with one of these first thing in the morning. Puts some people right off."

Some people meaning Ann-Bloody-Holly, thought Bodie grimly. "Does it put you off?" he asked. Doyle shook his head slowly and then brushed Bodie's hand away and began his own gentle rhythm of push and pull. "Mmmmm," groaned Bodie as the pleasure grew and pleased that there were few limits to his partner's inhibitions.

"Feels good," murmured Bodie has he closed his eyes again. "Yeah...oh yes...harder, a bit harder. There...and my balls," he ordered breathlessly. "Harder...squeeze...that's it...just a bit...oh yes...that's..." With a final lush sigh Bodie spilled his seed over the hand that gripped him and collapsed back onto the mattress.

Leaning forward to kiss him, Doyle tugged the duvet back over their bodies and cuddled up close.

"Gimme a minute," Bodie said, almost asleep once more. "Then I'll return the favour."

"No need," said Doyle. "I think you must have worn me out over the weekend," he quipped lightly. "Don't go back to sleep, the alarm'll be going off in a few minutes."

"Give us a quick cuddle then," Bodie said, collecting his lover in a scoop of arms and legs.

"Don't start anything, Bodie," warned Doyle sternly. Because you don't have time to finish it!"

Warned off, Bodie subsided and made do with an extra ten minutes in bed cuddling his partner.

---

Doyle really thought he was going to go ahead with his usual session in the sterile room at Repton right up until the doctor appeared in the waiting room and greeted him in his normal aggravating cheerful manner. "I'd rather miss this morning out if it's all the same to you," he suddenly heard himself saying.

The youthful face of the doctor barely registered a flicker of surprise. "If that's what you'd rather do," he answered evenly.

"I would," Doyle said firmly. "It's a smashing day, I thought I'd rather go out on the track, have a go in the gym perhaps.

"If that's what you want to do."

"You're sure you don't mind?" Doyle asked hesitantly, surprised at how easy it had been and wondering if there was some catch he hadn't though of.

"There's no point us sitting down together if you're wishing you were somewhere else. I agree, it's a lovely day for using the track--and a bit of fresh air and sunshine will do you good."

"Well," Doyle said, awkward now his escape was assured. "If you're sure it's no problem then?"

"It's completely up to you, Ray. You come when you want to. Will you be there next Tuesday or will you want to give that one a miss too?"

Poised for flight, the question aroused his suspicions once more; it was all too easy--he'd expected some resistance to his missing a session. "No, I'll come on Tuesday as usual," he said cautiously.

"See you on Tuesday then," the doctors smiled and waved a farewell.

Resisting the urge to wipe the smirk from the acne-covered face, Doyle exited from the clinic with as much decorum and speed as he could muster.

---

Adjusting his position on the hard, polished bench once more, Bodie checked his watch for the hundredth time; he could hardly believe it was still only just after two o'clock. 'You'll be first in', the prosecution barrister had told him plummily earlier that morning. That was four long hours ago and they hadn't even broken for lunch.

But, sitting in the corridor waiting to be called gave him plenty of time to think. Unfortunately though, his thoughts were not ones best enjoyed sitting on solid wooden benches in cold corridors outside one of the highest courts of law in the land.

He had been forced to dash across the road to buy a newspaper when it became obvious his jacket was not long enough to hide the physical reaction his thoughts produced. Maybe I'm just oversexed, Bodie thought miserably at one point; the suggestion had been made to him by more than one person in the past. Re-adjusting himself discreetly once more he stood up and walked back and forth along the corridor. The Court Usher didn't take her eyes off him once. Over-eager? he wondered, footsteps echoing hollowly in the great hall, 'not oversexed; just keen. Hot. Desperate.' The adjectives tumbled through his mind as he catalogued his responses to Doyle's loving. On several occasions he knew he had gone too far too fast for him and had frightened him. All the time he'd had to be aware of what he was doing, what he was saying just in case it was the wrong thing.

He decided he hated Albert Kingsley with a vengeance. The harm done to Doyle could take a lifetime for him to recover from completely--if ever. There were so many innocent gestures and touches as well as the more intimate ones that Kingsley's games had deprived them both of and Bodie found himself wondering if Doyle would ever be able to participate fully in their love-making. The weekend had already shown Bodie that he wanted a lot more than he was ever likely to be offered.

Doyle's disgust at the suggestion of touching such a private place was strong, too strong perhaps for him to overcome. Ever. Bodie sighed heavily as he realised the consequences of Ray's refusal; if fingers weren't allowed it was a sure bet that nothing else would be either. Just the thought of sinking into the taut, perfect arse caused a surge of helpless lust to wash over Bodie. From across the hallway the Court Usher peered at him with disapproval and suspicion.

Turning his back on the woman, Bodie walked slowly to the opposite end of the long hall. Would Doyle ever let him fuck him? Did it really matter if the answer was no? Bodie knew that it shouldn't matter--but unfortunately he also knew his own nature and knew that it did.

He could be careful; he knew it would take time--a long time for Ray to put all the bad memories away but, in the meantime it was hard. Ever since Thursday night he had been suffering the agony of holding back, going slow, so as not to alarm his lover and it was proving more and more difficult each time--but at the same time Bodie felt Ray was gaining in confidence. Providing he didn't spoil things by rushing them too fast Bodie felt there was still some hope.

---

Sitting back in his chair, Cowley wondered why Doyle had requested the interview and when the polite knock came he was surprised to see the young man in question looking so fit: the drawn face, dark shadowed eyes and tense body language replaced by a more relaxed openness; the almost regimental haircut, while severe, improved the overall effect no end. He was pleased to see Doyle was pulling himself together. "Good afternoon 4.5. You wished to see me?" He indicated the armchair to one side of the desk.

Shunning the informal chair, Doyle remained standing, momentarily at a loss for where to start.

Seeing the confusion and realising that the young agent was still not as sure of himself as he appeared, Cowley deliberately softened his voice and face. "How are you managing?"

"I'm all right," Doyle said defensively but then tried to sound less emphatic. "I'm fine." He sat down in the armchair and tried to relax.

"And what was it that you wanted to see me about?" Cowley prompted gently, all too aware of the hundred and one other pressing matters he had waiting for his attention.

"Jack Crane says I have to have your permission before he can return my gun to me," Doyle blurted out and then instantly wished he had sounded less like a kid asking for his ball back.

It wasn't what Cowley had been expecting but he didn't let any surprise show on his face and continued to look at the young man.

"And so, that's why I'm here," Doyle explained into the silence. "I'd like my gun back.

"Do you indeed," Cowley said slowly. "May I ask why?"

"I want to use the ranges. I've been cleared by the physio., my arm's healed okay but it still feels a little stiff. The practice and the exercise will do me good."

Cowley stared at Doyle, the icy-blue gaze pinning him to his chair. "I see no reason why not. I'll see to it that Jack issues you your gun for range practice." He said when Doyle had all but given up hope of an answer; Cowley did not miss the way the young man flushed and bristled with embarrassment.

"Restricted access! Why?" he demanded to know.

"Until such time as you have been cleared for a return to full duty you will not be issued with a gun," Cowley stated calmly.

"And when will that be?" raged Doyle. "If ever!"

"I have not been led to believe that you will not return to full status," Cowley replied kindly, understanding the helplessness Doyle felt. "But, until such time you will have no need for a gun. It will be returned to you when you are ready."

"When Ross thinks I'm ready, you mean!"

"Her opinion in the matter will be a factor of some importance," Cowley agreed.

"So," Doyle sighed. "You'll clear it with the armoury to let me shoot?"

"On the ranges, yes." With the agreement barely out of his mouth Cowley found he was talking to himself and the door slammed shut behind Doyle. He suppressed a little smile; Doyle, he decided, was getting more like Bodie every day.

Sitting up straight at his desk he put Ray Doyle from his mind and turned to the next problem, leafing through the intelligence reports and considering which agent would be best suited to this particular undercover operation. Who on his squad might look like a killer out for hire?

---

Wasting an entire day sitting idle outside a courtroom when all he wanted was to be too busy to think, Bodie did not count the day a success--and that was before the flushed, harassed Crown Prosecutor emerged at 3 pm to deliver his bombshell.

"How the fuck can the judge direct the case to close?" he demanded angrily as the cheerful defendant strolled past them. "No witnesses were called. I've been stuck out here all bloody day!"

"Then I strongly suggest you inform the arresting officer in this case to take a refresher course, Mr Bodie," the prosecutor said wearily. "It would appear that Mr Greerson was never formally cautioned or arrested."

"What?" Unable to believe his ears, Bodie's temper rose another notch.

"The local police who handled the arrest after CI5's efforts were, it seems, somewhat overawed by the exalted company of CI5, members of the Prime Minister's staff and such a well-known personality as Mr Greerson."

"I don't believe it!" Bodie was already imagining Cowley's reaction.

"You have little choice, Mr Bodie. Plus," the prosecutor added in a confidential whisper, "they knew Mr Doyle was not going to appear to give evidence. We never even got that far but I overheard the defendant referring to the fact. I doubt Mr Doyle's evidence would have helped but--"

"Now we'll never know!" Bodie snorted in disgust.

---

Ear defenders firmly in place, Doyle aimed carefully. His right arm ached from the recoil as he fired but he reloaded and fired again. And again. Only slightly down on his usual scores, he was satisfied, but handing the gun back in to an expressionless Jack Crane destroyed any sense of achievement. By the time he returned to his care parked in a nearby sidestreet, his mood was even grimmer; being forced to sign his gun in and out was akin to rubbing salt in a sore wound. What, he wondered, did they think he was going to do with the damn thing anyway? Kill himself? Locking his gun away was no safeguard against that, he reasoned; if he wanted a bullet in his brain he could use Bodie's gun...couldn't he? Without warning he finally identified something that had been puzzling him for weeks. Whenever Bodie arrived home he would usually head straight for the bedroom for a minute or two; nothing strange in that except that later, during the evening when he removed his jacket, his gun and shoulder holster would already be gone. Bodie, realised Doyle in a sudden, blinding flash, only wore his gun when he was on duty: at home with his mentally unstable partner his weapon was mysteriously absent.

Arriving home, Doyle walked slowly into the bedroom, scanning the walls and furniture for the hiding place. It wouldn't be obvious, he knew Bodie too well to think finding it would be easy. By the time he'd discreetly checked all possible places Doyle's temper was simmering just below boiling point. A search of the entire flat revealed Bodie had even removed the spare weapons they had secreted away for emergencies.

This discovery of how far they had gone to 'protect' him made Doyle even angrier; the stupidity of allowing Bodie to be defenceless in an emergency at home was so great he couldn't believe it was true and so a spare weapon had to be hidden somewhere.

Somewhere Ray Doyle wouldn't be able to find it. He began looking.

---

Parking behind Doyle's car, Bodie sighed; less than pleased with the shambles the police had made of Greerson's trial, Cowley had not spared his wrath. Already weary emotionally, mentally and physically, Bodie had found the criticism heaped on his shoulders hard to bear. And, the worst of it all was if Doyle hadn't fiddled around with the cameras trying to pretend he was David Bailey the focus would have been okay and their evidence on film for the judge and jury to see. At least then they might have been able to move for a re-trial instead of it being thrown out of court.

Letting himself in, he called out a greeting and went to put his gun away. The mess that greeted him stopped him dead as he pushed open the bedroom door. "Ray?" he called out anxiously, his finger automatically releasing the safety catch.

"What?" the soft response came from behind him.

Spinning around, Bodie could see no sign of alarm in Doyle and so he relaxed, thumbed the safety back on and turned to wave an arm over the room. "What happened?"

"I was looking for something."

Hearing the mild voice, Bodie knew something was very wrong. "Did you find it?" he asked in a very level voice.

"No."

"I see," he said, conscious of the icy green eyes following his movements. "Maybe I know where it is, why don't you ask me?"

"If I thought I'd get an honest answer I would," returned Doyle, his expression giving lie to the even voice.

Slipping his jacket and holster off then wrapping the leather straps around the heavy gun, Bodie turned to face him. "I won't lie to you. Ask your question."

"Why don't you finish putting that away first," Doyle said nastily. "Then maybe we can talk."

It was then Bodie realised what his partner had been searching for and he mentally cursed Ross and Cowley for their insistence on keeping all weapons away from Doyle. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at his angry partner. "You seem to want to talk now," he said quietly. "So why don't we?"

"Put your gun away first. You wouldn't want to run the risk of me getting hold of it, would you? Who knows what crazy games I might get up to with a loaded gun!"

"Ray," Bodie tried to placate him. "This wasn't my idea, it was the only way they agreed to let you stay here. It was this or forcing you to stay at The Beeches."

"Who the fuck are 'they'--as if I couldn't guess! And what good does forcing you to lock your gun away do me? All they've done is put your safety at risk--how the hell are you supposed to protect yourself if you're not allowed to wear a gun because I'm in the same house as you?"

"They had perfectly good reasons," Bodie said slowly and then, looking Doyle square in the face added, "and I'm not so sure they were wrong."

"You what!" yelled Doyle, even more outraged.

"It's taken you this long to notice what should have been obvious weeks ago. I would have been out of my mind to leave you within reach of a loaded gun those first few weeks. And, just in case you didn't notice, even your sleeping tablets were kept out of your reach; there was never more than two nights' worth in the bottle just in case you decided to swallow the whole lot!

"Yes, I hid my gun, and your tablets. Do you really believe we would be so stupid as to leave them around for you to get hold of?"

"I wouldn't have done anything like that!" Doyle said, shocked out of his anger by the fury in Bodie's voice. "I wasn't going to kill myself."

"Well no-one was prepared to take bets on it!" retorted Bodie. "You didn't seem to know where you were or what you were doing half the time!"

"I wouldn't have tried...suicide," Doyle said hollowly.

"How was I supposed to know that?" replied Bodie. "All I knew was you'd considered it before. Not five minutes after I saw you turn the gun on yourself you told me how you'd torn up sheets to make a noose for your neck--"

"Maybe I have thought about it. Before." White faced and perspiring heavily, Doyle didn't recognise how shocked he was by what he was hearing. "Okay, I thought about it; I even tried saving my drugs when I was in the hospital--it would have been easy taking an overdose when I was in the General Hospital, or I could have hung myself while I was in solitary. So what if I considered that as a way out? So bloody what--did I do it? No, I didn't, of course I didn't, I never even tried, not seriously. But wouldn't you consider death as an option in some circumstances? But thinking about it, working out ways and means isn't the same as doing, is it!"

Bodie looked hard at Doyle, his face set. "I have never considered suicide as a way out."

"That's probably because you always jump in feet first and leave worrying about the consequences to others!" Doyle snarled.

"That's--"

"You tell me what I had to look forward to when I was in Maidstone. Go on, tell me! Nothing! I had absolutely nothing except another two or three years of the same life in front of me before finding myself out on the streets, homeless, unemployed and on my own.

"Yes, there were days when it just didn't seem worth the effort but then slowly, I realised it wasn't the end of the world--it only felt like it. I was surviving and I knew I could survive the rest of it. By the time you pulled me out of there like some bleedin' knight who'd lost his horse I'd already decided that I could make it.

"As for what happened at The Beeches..." Doyle faltered, his eyes dropped to stare blindly at the floor. "I really don't know. Maybe I was a bit crazy then, but all I really wanted was to get back to London. When they told me I had a visitor I thought it was you--but then Bob Craig turned up. After that stupid argument we'd had that morning I was scared that I'd pushed you too far. I only wanted to come and find you--but then it all went wrong." Doyle didn't realise he was crying, that big fat tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I didn't mean to take the gun, it was just there and I wasn't going to shoot anyone, but everything just went wrong and then they were chasing me.

"When you came up those stairs...I dunno...I was so scared. Couldn't believe it was really you. You're right, I could have shot you...I nearly did--but I couldn't... I couldn't shoot you, that's why I turned the gun away from you...because I couldn't shoot you--not because I was going to shoot myself...don't think I even thought of doing myself--oh shit!" Suddenly discovering his face was wet, Doyle wiped off the tears and spun on his heel, trying to hide himself away until he could regain some control, but Bodie leapt up from the bed and caught him.

"I didn't know all that--how could I? You wouldn't tell me, you've never explained what you felt that day." But now he did know the cause, Bodie was stunned; the whole thing had been his fault entirely--if he hadn't lost his temper with him that morning nothing would have happened.

"Leave me alone!" Ray snarled, breaking the grip on his arms.

"I only want to help--"

"Then leave me alone! Let me go!" Doyle yelled at him, tears of anger mixing with despair. "Christ, I don't know how you manage it but whenever you're about I start blubbering like a baby." He wiped his hand across his face once more. "I can count on one hand the number of times I've cried since I was a kid and you've been around poking your bloody nose in practically every time!"

"There's nothing wrong with crying."

"So how come you don't do it?" Doyle snapped back.

Bodie just stood there, looking at him for a long moment before answering quietly. "Just because no-one sees any tears doesn't mean I don't cry. Tears just come easier to some people than others--it's supposed to be healthy; bottling it all up inside is bad for you."

"Well once, just once I'd like to bottle it all up--I hate doing this!" Doyle said in disgust, scrubbing away the last of the moisture with his hand.

Tentatively, Bodie moved closer and when he met no resistance wrapped his arms around the trim waist and pulled him into an embrace that, after a moment's hesitation, was fiercely reciprocated. Realising the mood had changed, Bodie steered them both towards the bed. Doyle remained passive and unresisting as their clothes were peeled away and pushed onto the floor with the gun. Pulling back from a long open-mouthed kiss, Bodie found Doyle's solemn eyes watching him intently; the wide eyed gaze was disconcerting and so he pulled the warm body even closer, his cock pressing hard against Doyle's partial erection. Deliberately, Bodie ran his hands down the hairy chest and body seeking him out, relieved when Doyle's eyes closed and the curly head dropped back and the soft cock began to thicken and lengthen.

One hand cupping the rising cock, Bodie tugged Doyle around to lie on his side and pulled them face to face. Panting, mouth open slightly, Doyle allowed himself to be moved into position. As one hand slid off his hip to settle over his bum, though, Bodie saw the eyes open wide to watch him, but although he stilled beneath the searching hand, Doyle made no move to brush it off.

Withdrawing from the forbidden territory, Bodie swallowed a groan of disappointment but then, surprisingly, felt Doyle's hand sneaking over his hip and light fingers skimming over the crack in his arse. Looking at Doyle and seeing the wide, nervous eyes and feeling the slow sexual response to his careful handling, Bodie felt his hopes shatter. "You don't have to, sunshine," he said quietly.

"It's what you want, isn't it?" Doyle responded harshly, his hand lying still on the curve of Bodie's arse.

Feeling the tips of Doyle's fingers resting so close to that most secret of places, Bodie shivered. "You know I do," he whispered, only scant seconds away from begging. "But you don't."

"Different people like different things," replied Doyle and Bodie shivered at the cold, detached voice. "Open your legs then so I can get to it."

The order made Bodie's toes curl and even though he knew he shouldn't allow it to continue he rolled over onto his belly and parted his legs, lifting his hips enough to let him position his cock more comfortably. There was movement, a dip and sway of this mattress and then, all down one side he could feel the heat from Doyle's body--scant inches away, not touching him but close, so close. He jumped when a hand settled on the small of his back and hot, dry fingers rubbed the patch of downy hair found there the wrong way, tickling and arousing, and at the unspoken pleasure of what was to follow he groan aloud his pleasure and squirmed against the sheet, rubbing his cock and bringing himself closer to the brink.

Propped up on one elbow, Doyle heard the groan and saw the undulating body try to bring itself off on the sheet and exerted a little more pressure on the vulnerable arse, observing the reaction with near clinical detachment--although his own cock gave a hopeful twitch at the lush, rich groan that Bodie gave. He really did like it, Doyle realised bleakly, still not understanding how anyone could like what he knew was ugly and painful. But, if Bodie liked it...face grave, Doyle continued his movements over the squirming arse, noting how Bodie shuddered each time his fingers slid over the dark crease splitting the white cheeks in two. But Bodie's enjoyment and pleasure was so obvious that slowly the bleak expression left Doyle's face, a surprised, delighted smile replacing it. "You really do like this, don't you," he said in wonder as another pass over the dark crease resulted in more groans and wriggles.

"Ray!" Bodie gasped. "Don't tease...for god's sake...don't tease!"

The painful urgency in his partner's voice drew Doyle out of his childlike amazement. Looking down at the strung out body beneath his hands he was suddenly lost for what to do next.

"Touch me, please touch me." Strung out and helpless, Bodie begged into the pillow; his hand wrapped around his cock was pumping furiously but it wasn't enough. "Touch me...please!"

Swallowing hard, Doyle swept his hand across the clenched buttocks to the beginning of the crease.

"Ray!" Bodie shouted in desperation, the weight of the fingers driving him insane.

Reluctant even now to hurt Bodie but anxious to give him whatever he wanted, Doyle took a deep breath and then swept down the enticing crack forcefully, driving his fingers into the pucker of muscle and pressing against the resistance he encountered. Bodie jumped and then howled; heart hamming against his ribs, Doyle withdrew his fingers and then pushed in again hard, only two fingers this time. Bodie bucked again, his voice muffled in the pillow as the intruders were twisted sharply and withdrawn.

His hand was suddenly taken in a steely grip and Doyle found himself flat on his back with Bodie's furious face inches from his own.

"You little cunt!" Bodie spat. "You had to do that, didn't you! I thought you said hurting people wasn't how you got your fucking rocks off!"

"Bodie?" Stunned, Doyle had no idea what he had done to so enrage his partner.

"Do I disgust you that much?" Bodie demanded. "Do I? Is that why you did it? Christ!" he spat out, pushing himself off the bed and away from Doyle. "I don't know why I fucking bother!" Giving Doyle a final venomous look he stalked out of the room and then slammed the bathroom door behind him.

Alone in the suddenly too quiet bedroom, naked and dazed, Doyle swung his legs over the edge of the bed and went to follow him but found the door locked. Shivering with cold, he picked up his clothes and pulled them on. Dressed but barefoot he sat on the edge of the rumpled bed and waited for Bodie to return and explain what he had don wrong. The minutes ticked away and Bodie remained behind the locked door, the sound of the shower drowning out Doyle's calls to him.

Looking around the room that was still showing the evidence of his furious search for Bodie's spare gun, Doyle bent down to pick up a shirt, a shoe, a robe, and put them away, his movements, stiff and mechanical. Then he saw the small, squat tub of Vaseline on the floor beside the bed. It had been resting on Bodie's side table and the reassuring words of the previous night flooded back to him. 'It doesn't have to hurt. You put some on your fingers and some in me...it doesn't have to hurt.' His eyes went from the still locked door to the tub of Vaseline and he remembered how Bodie had bucked and howled as the dry fingers had been forced in to the tight anus.

He had hurt Bodie exactly the same way Kingsley had hurt him, the only difference being that Bodie hadn't been tied down and forced to endure it. No, Bodie had trusted him not to hurt; he had been expecting something loving and gentle; something totally unlike the pain and humiliation Kingsley had forced on his victim.

Dipping his finger into the cold gel, Doyle rubbed his thumb and forefinger together feeling the easy glide; would it have made so much difference? Of course it would, and he berated himself for his stupidity and blindness. It didn't have to hurt, even Kingsley had known that much and had pleaded with his victim to relax and enjoy it. Remembering the hot, tight feel of Bodie clamped around his fingertips Doyle shuddered and knew it should have been very different.

Standing outside the bathroom door he knocked and called out in the silence after the shower had been turned off. "Bodie? Bodie? I'm...I'm sorry, really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Bodie? Can you hear me? Answer me...please, Bodie." But the silence remained unbroken and Doyle realised he would have his work cut out to convince him he was genuinely sorry. He padded back into the bedroom and continued to tidy away the mess he'd made earlier. He picked up the gun from where it had fallen onto the floor and carried it through to the living room with him. Absent-mindedly holding onto the weapon, he continued to repair the damage he'd done to the flat, stuffing papers and books back onto shelves and into drawers. He heard the bathroom door open but then the door to the bedroom slammed shut and he continued to tidy the flat.

Unable to bear the silence in the flat a moment longer, Doyle turned the television on and stood in front of the screen, not really watching it but unable to think of doing anything else and needing something else to focus on. It was the familiar name that snapped him back to awareness although it was a few minutes before he began to grasp what the newsreader was talking about.

Back in the bedroom Bodie bent down to retrieve his shoes when he saw the empty shoulder holster. Snatching it up, he dropped to hands and knees to peer under the bed looking for the missing gun. It took several seconds for him to believe that it wasn't there and another second for him to realise that Doyle had it. The sickness that had settled heavily in his stomach contracted as he wondered how much Doyle could possibly despise him. His abused anus still smarting from the shock of several fingers being rammed into him with no preparation, Bodie knew he had no idea what his erratic partner might do next and he ran along the hallway to the lounge. The sight that greeted him silenced any outburst he might have made.

Hearing Bodie's arrival, Doyle swung around to face him, the gun clenched in his white-knuckled grip forgotten, and his face twisted into an ugly snarl as he confronted his so-called partner. "Hiding guns and pills isn't all you've been doing, is it? You've no intention of letting me work with you again, have you? All those fucking lies you've fed me--'See the doctors, Ray. Talk to me, Ray. Co-operate, Ray, talk to the shrinks, Ray. Talk to me, Ray'--You've been lying to me haven't you!" he accused. "You're just edging me out a bit at a time hoping I won't notice--"

"What the hell are you--" Bodie tried to interrupt but Doyle didn't seem to hear him.

"Are they so fucking scared I'm going to fall to pieces when they finally chuck me out? How much longer were you going to leave it before telling me I'm out? How much longer, Bodie? How much longer?" Shouting, furiously angry at his own blindness and Bodie's apparent deceit, Doyle shook the gun in his hand, waving it around carelessly.

His eyes on the gun, Bodie shouted back at him. "I haven't a clue what you're raving about--and be careful with that thing!"

"What? Oh, this." Doyle seemed surprised to find the gun in his grip. "Your gun. Oh, you've really slipped up this time, 3.7. The Cow'll have your guts for this. Naughty boy, 3.7. Leaving your gun lying around so any old nutter can get hold of it. Careless, 3.7. Very careless. Thing is," Doyle said, his voice suddenly becoming quiet, controlled. "What do I do with it now I've got it?" He smiled, his lips drawn in a grimace which cut an ugly line across his face causing a shiver to run down Bodie's spine; he looked hard, distant and insane; frighteningly so. "Do I blow my head off...or yours?"

Bodie didn't dare breathe, not sure whether Doyle was serious or not.

"I'm spoilt for choice, aren't I. Oh, and let's not forget Old George--Oh--fuck it! Fuck the lot of you!" Screwing his face up in disgust, Doyle thumbed the safety catch back on and tossed the cold, black metal toward the cushioned chair in front of Bodie.

Snatching the gun up, Bodie felt himself relax a fraction. "I suppose you know what that little outburst was all about?" he asked as Doyle turned round and switched the television off.

"Oh please! Spare me the outraged innocence. That was our case and you let them throw it out of court. We spent weeks trailing that bastard and you let him walk away--"

"Greerson," Bodie said hollowly.

"So you do remember," Doyle snapped back. "When was it decided that I wasn't fit to appear as a witness? How long have you known they don't trust me to appear in court? When did they decide I was finished, Bodie? When?"

"It wasn't like that--"

"No? So tell me how it was then. Tell me how hard you've been working to get me back on the squad. Tell me that you've not been acting on orders. Tell me that you've not been ordered to look after me, to keep me happy and quiet. How far did those orders go, Bodie?" Doyle walked over until he was only inches away but made no move to touch. "Give him anything he wants. Is that what they told you? Be his friend, give him a shoulder to cry on, be nice to him. Is that what they told you, is it?"

Bodie flinched under the onslaught, the abuse and hostility being projected at him flaying already sensitive, raw nerves. "Would you rather I'd left you at The Beeches?" he flung out.

"Why didn't you? You were happy enough to the first time--even pinned me down while that fucking doctor stuck a hypo in me!" retorted Doyle.

"Well I'm sorry I didn't just hold you down the last time," countered Bodie, his shame at having deserted Doyle that first time still painful to remember.

"Oh, I bet you're sorry. Would have saved you a whole heap of trouble. But I still don't understand something; why did you go so far? Did Ross tell you to take me to bed or did you think that one up all by yourself? Maybe you believe all those fucking stories about me and Old Bert. I bet you had a great time with Day, swapping stories. That sort of thing turns you on, does it?"

Doyle's attack was laying Bodie bare; all the loving protectiveness of the last few months turned into something calculated and ugly.

"Don't you think the tea and sympathy got a little out of hand though," Doyle continued harshly. "Have you told them what you've had to do to get me to open up and talk to you? I've got to hand it to you, 3.7, you certain know how to loosen a bloke's tongue. One or two tumbles between the sheets and you get me opening myself wide don't you. I bet you're really pleased with yourself."

Bodie backed away, his own temper flaring out in self defence. "I'm beginning to understand why no-one laid out the welcome mat when you got out of prison," he said harshly when Doyle paused in his own angry tirade. "In fact, I'll bet everyone in that place cheered when they realised you were going; they were glad to see the back of you! Listen to you," he said in a voice that trembled slightly. "Just listen to yourself for once. It's a wonder you've never done yourself an injury with a tongue that sharp. Do you ever stop to think about anyone except number one?

"For your information, Doyle, I am not here for your sake. I'm not here to pander to your whims and your tantrums or to be your whipping boy. If you want to think I've helped you because of orders then go right ahead. I don't care anymore. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder why I ever cared in the first place. You're a selfish, spoilt little cunt who wants the whole fucking world served to him on a platter.

"Christ--I must be slipping to have even thought you could ever care for me--for anyone! You make me sick!" he said in a quietly venomous voice, then turned on his heel and collected his jacket from the bedroom. He almost made it to the front door.

"Where are you going?" demanded Doyle, one hand on the door catch stopping Bodie from storming out.

"Out! Where is none of your fucking business!"

"Bodie, will you hold on..." Doyle called out. "Just hold on..." barefooted he stepped onto the cold stone landing. "Bodie...Bodie, come back...I'm... Bodie!"

His final shout was eclipsed by the loud slam of the street door.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Checking through the night book on his arrival early Tuesday morning, Cowley was surprised to find 3.7's presence logged in just after midnight. Calling the duty officer briefly before the man went home to bed, he had a quick word with him and then went in search of Bodie.

Looking less than bright after an uncomfortable night on the army style camp-bed, Bodie was in no mood to confront George Cowley.

"Problems, 3.7?" he asked directly.

Taking his time to finish the final strokes of his shave, Bodie splashed water over his face before answering. "No, sir," he lied smoothly.

"You just...happened to be passing and decided to sleep over?" Cowley enquired mildly, the steely glint in his eye sharpening at the obvious evasion.

"Didn't fancy getting breathalysed, sir. Thought it best to stay put." Half the truth was better than a complete lie, Bodie decided at the last moment and finding himself unable to think of any better excuse.

"Drinking while on standby, 3.7," Cowley said smartly. "Hardly to be commended."

"No, sir," agreed Bodie with less than his usual military precision.

"And Doyle?" asked Cowley, already trying to guess what the problem really was.

"Sir?" Bodie seemed puzzled by the question.

"Where is 4.5--or did you misplace him during your drinking session?"

"He doesn't live in my pocket!" Bodie snapped irritably. "He's quite capable of amusing himself for one night!"

Cowley merely looked thoughtful and refrained from commenting on the unusual response. "I daresay he is," he said quietly and then turned to leave. At the door he paused and turned back. "My office in half an hour 3.7--and don't be late."

---

Waking up in the overlarge bed with a sudden jump as the alarm burst into life, Doyle knew instantly that he was alone, that Bodie had not returned home during the night. Rolling across the sheet he silenced the voice of the disgustingly cheerful DJ. It was odd that he had never noticed before how quiet Bodie's flat was.

Pushing himself out of bed, he quickly washed and dressed and set the coffee pot to boil. After waiting until the early hours of the morning for Bodie to come home he needed the stimulant badly. In the cold light of morning he was still angry with his partner; as the hour had ticked by last night his fury had waned and then grown strong again when he finally accepted that no-one was going to come home and hear the wonderful apology he'd composed.

Bodie had been uncomfortably accurate in his description of his personality, thought Doyle during a period when his anger subsided enough for him to be honest with himself. When, he wondered, was the last time he had had ever seriously considered someone else's feelings before his own? Bodie had been right: He was a selfish little bastard. The self knowledge was as bitter as the too-strong coffee--but where he could pour the coffee down the drain there was no easy solution for himself. Bodie wasn't a liar, Doyle knew that, believed it--but that knowledge hadn't stopped him from accusing him of a host of deceit and lies. During his fruitless wait for Bodie to come home, around three o'clock in the morning, Doyle had managed to work out that voices other than his partner's had prevented him from appearing in court. Sensible decision really, he had finally conceded, they had all known it was likely to be thrown out of court. With him or without him he knew that the outcome would have been the same.

Probably.

Looking impatiently at his watch, Doyle swore. "Come on, Bodie--if you don't get back soon you're going to be late for work." Come home, he urged silently. Wherever you are, please come home. "Okay, I'm a selfish prat--I know it, you know it and the whole bloody world probably knows it too," he shouted angrily at his reflection in the hall mirror. "But I am sorry--so bloody well come home and let me prove it!" In the silent flat his voice sounded harsh. Leaning his forehead on the cold glass, Doyle closed his eyes, tiredness and anxiety adding to the weight of self-pitying misery that clung to him. "Come home, mate. Please."

---

Looking across his desk at the bland mask on the young agent's face, Cowley wondered if Ross would enjoy being proved right. "How is Doyle shaping up, Bodie?" he asked softly.

"I'm not his doctor, Willis can answer that better than I can," was the polite, clipped reply.

"But I'm asking you," Cowley, returned, demanding an answer.

Bodie looked up from clenched hands. "He seems fit enough. He's been using the gym, working out, running. He doesn't appear to be having any problems."

"That is not what I'm asking. How is he...emotionally?"

Remembering the deliberate way Doyle had lulled him into believing his feelings were wanted and reciprocated before turning on him so viciously last night, Bodie answered unhesitatingly. "Back to normal," he said flatly. "Nothing much wrong with him now."

"I see," Cowley responded, not liking the hidden anger in the flat voice one bit. "Is he ready to move into his own flat yet?"

"Probably got his bags packed already!"

Cowley didn't blink. Have the two of you had some...disagreement?" when Bodie remained silent he pressed harder for a response. "I realise that Doyle has suffered a great deal over the past few months--not to say the last few years--but I am not blind to the fact recent events have been trying for you also, 3.7," he said in a gruff voice. "Being Doyle's partner--and his friend--can't have been an easy task--"

"It hasn't," interjected a vehement voice.

"...and I can understand if relations between you have become a little...strained."

Bodie snorted at that, causing Cowley to halt. "Strained is one way of describing it, I suppose," he said.

"Dr Ross predicted as much," Cowley said, noting carefully the guilty start of surprise Bodie gave. "I may have been wrong but I thought teaming you with 4.5 would be beneficial to both of you--"

"Not to the department?" Bodie asked in disbelief.

"And to the department," added Cowley frostily, then, softening his tone again he continued. "You've always been a loner, 3.7, but I thought you well matched with Doyle. Right from the first I thought I saw the makings of a first rate pairing. And to some extent I was right--you were good--although never perfect," he added, never liking to give too much praise. "But Ross warned me against it; she knew that Doyle's dependence on you would prove too much in the long run--is she right?"

The harsh question almost caught Bodie by surprise and his denial was instinctive, but even so he wasn't unable to silence his doubts. "Doyle's just fine. There's nothing wrong with the partnership--it's just--just we've--the last few months haven't been easy. We've been living in each other's pockets for too long. I need--I need a bit of space...some time to myself...that's all." Bodie found he didn't like the direction the interview was taking; was the Old Man considering breaking the partnership after all? Perhaps Doyle had been right--they were trying to ease him out. "Ray is going to make it back to the squad, isn't he?" he was forced to ask.

Cowley took his time answering, watching the anxious man all the time. "I see no reason why not. The reports I have received have been favourable although I am reluctant to return him to full service precipitately." He noted the sigh of relief that escaped the younger man. "Which brings us to yourself," he continued. "Is Doyle is managing so well you feel he can cope without your assistance? Are you ready to resume normal duties?"

Bodie looked up hopefully; if he returned to full shifts again he wouldn't have to spend so much time with Doyle.

Cowley noted the hurried affirmative. "And if I put you undercover--is he able to cope with living alone?"

"Yes," Bodie agreed without hesitation. "He's fine."

Cowley considered the matter carefully for a few more minutes before deciding finally, then the benevolent mannerisms vanished and he turned to business and pulled the buff file from the locked drawer. He slid the photographs of two glum looking men across the desk towards Bodie. "Jeffrey James Twigg and Herbert John Ferris," he said crisply. "They appear to be developing a new line in employment agencies--they are seeking to hire men prepared to kill to order."

"Mercenaries?" Bodie asked, looking at the picture.

"Apparently not. Your contacts with the--shall we say import and export trade, 3.7," Cowley said, referring discreetly to Bodie's unsalubrious history. "Do they include one Francis King?" Bodie nodded mutely, wondering how the hell Cowley had ever found out about him and Frankie but not daring to ask such a stupid question. "Arrange to meet him...accidentally. Let him know you're looking for work."

"Frankie won't be easy to find--I haven't even seen him for over three years."

But Cowley was prepared for the evasion. "Here is his current address, current that is as of last Friday. And this," he passed over the sheet of paper, "is the address of a public house he occasionally frequents. Ferris is known to use the same bar."

Reading the information from the computer printout, Bodie listened to the cover Cowley outlined for him. An hour later he carefully let himself into the flat and was both relieved and disappointed to find it empty. In the bedroom he packed a suitcase with all the necessities for a long undercover job--surprisingly little--his identification already stored away at headquarters until his return. He packed methodically, refusing to look at the rumpled, unmade bed or even thinking about the man he shared it with. Locking the case shut he left the flat behind him knowing that when he returned next month Doyle would have moved out.

In no mood to withstand the soul-searching required of a morning at Repton, Doyle skipped the session completely, leaving the clinic to discover for themselves he was not coming. With the day promising to be as hot as the previous weekend, he took himself into Hyde Park and found a comfortable, quiet spot on the lush grass overlooking the lake. Balling his jacket and shirt up to use as a pillow, he stretched out under the blue sky and blazing sun but, although his eyes were shut his mind refused to co-operate and allow him to fall into an unconscious doze--Bodie's angry voice playing over and over again making him re-live the scenes of the previous night.

Now that it was too late he knew that Bodie had not been expecting the painful and brutal touches Kingsley had forced on him--for which a small part of him was extremely grateful--throughout those long nights in prison Bert had kept trying to tell him that it didn't have to be like that, only he had never believed him--never wanted to believe anyone could find enjoyment in such games; but maybe Bert had been right all along. All those rasping, husky entreaties to join in with the pleasure were beginning to make sense: imprisoned for over ten years, Kingsley was old and lonely, for all his power and iron control.

Would his co-operation really have made so much difference?

Recalling the sight of Bodie grinding himself into the bed trying for release and the quivering muscles each time a hand brushed across his buttocks, Doyle guessed that it would have. The sudden penetration of the unprepared anus by Doyle's hard, dry fingers had not been what he had been expecting at all.

Suddenly uncomfortable lying on his back, Doyle rolled onto his belly, the rising hardness of a growing erection eased slightly by the firm ground beneath him. It was all Bodie's fault, he decided unfairly. He'd known what his experiences with Kingsley had been, he'd known how much he disliked even the thought of being touched there--he should have expected him to be ignorant of the required subtleties of anal sex.

The thought of Bodie showing him how to do it properly sent a shiver down the length of Doyle's spine, the tingling sensation running through him and centring not as usual in his groin, but unexpectedly several inches further round, his buttocks clenching tight against the imaginary invader, his cock throbbing and growing in response to this shiver of combined fear and arousal. Maybe next time, he thought as he struggled against the desire to rub himself on the ground. Next time it will be different, he promised.

---

During the afternoon Doyle managed to look for his partner without letting on to anyone what he was doing, but by the end of the day shift his patience was wearing thin and his annoyance at Bodie flared up again.

Still unwilling to actually ask anyone where Bodie was, he had deliberately avoided the squad rooms since arriving at headquarters halfway through the afternoon. So far he had managed to avoid seeing too many of his fellow agents but, eventually as the day shift ended he was forced to enter the squad rooms and give the impression that he wanted to be there and wasn't just passing through or looking for someone. He drew a blank in the offices and locker rooms and finally braced himself to enter the rest room. He wasn't surprised to find Bodie not there and was grateful to see that he barely knew the few men and women who were lounging around drinking, smoking and chatting.

Returning a nod by way of greeting, Doyle acted out his charade by collecting a beaker of coffee. The machine hadn't finished delivering the strong-smelling brew when he noticed one of the men break away from the group around the table and come over to him. Not wanting to be drawn into conversation, he concentrated on the slowly filling beaker.

"Nice to have you back," the man said in a friendly voice. Unable to ignore the man without being obviously rude, Doyle turned to look at him. "The name's Kelly, Pat Kelly. I don't often get up here," he cast his eyes around the sparsely furnished rest room. "I work with Henderson's mob and we work for the Albany Street offices." He extended his hand and smiled in a friendly if vaguely embarrassed fashion. The explanation meant even less to Doyle than the introduction. Henderson's section he knew dealt with surveillance operations and the man in front of him was a complete stranger but he returned the handshake. Seeing the puzzled look, Kelly smiled and continued talking, helping himself to a cup of coffee once the machine had finally delivered Doyle's cup.

"You should'ave heard the sigh of relief that went round when they found you out at Holly's place--bleedin' load of tight-fisted misers. The collection for the wreath had already started the rounds--I hear one or two people went and demanded their money back! Still, I'm sure most of us would rather have you alive and well rather than 'aving to stand over another grave in our best suits in the pouring rain...well, I mean all of us would prefer--" At the look in Doyle's eye's Kelly stumbled to a halt, the joke, which had never been funny in the first place, coming out all wrong. Embarrassed and angry with himself for being so thoughtless, Kelly tried to make amends. "I hope that partner of yours has forgiven me," he continued. "I admit I overstepped the mark but it was as much his fault...well, I suppose I can't really blame him for being so strung out--we all thought you were either dead or running for Argentina--but I'm sorry he took the rap for the fight. Cowley was a bit hard suspending him on top of everything else that happened. Still...all's well that ends well--and we did a pretty good repair job on your flat once the dust had settled. The place was okay by the time you arrived home, wasn't it?" asked Kelly, aware that he was digging himself in deeper and deeper each time he opened his mouth.

Barely comprehending what he was hearing, Doyle managed to dredge up some response. "I've moved out," he managed to say, the mess at his flat the only thing he'd successfully understood.

"Oh...well... Tell Bodie when you see him that...I'm really sorry. I'll make it up though--you tell him I owe him a favour, a big one."

"Kel!" One of the men called out as the group he'd been with made to leave the room. "We're on, so shift it."

Doyle let him go without revealing his confusion. Running for Argentina...suspension--Bodie? He was sipping at his coffee, thoughts whirling around inside his head when the door opened suddenly and another group spilled in from the corridor; they all greeted Doyle cheerfully enough but only Lake attempted to speak to him, the others moving away with casual deliberation and poorly concealed embarrassment.

"I gather you've been helping our lovely Ann-Marie with this training course that starts for some of us unlucky people next week. The Cow's got me down for the first group--so 'fess up and tell me what I'm in for," Lake demanded with friendly menace.

Comfortable with the topic of conversation, Doyle managed to answer all of Lake's questions with ease and confidence and, one by one, the others joined in the discussion until the rest room was buzzing with talk on computers and training programmes. Eventually, when Doyle had answered most of their questions and put their minds at rest over what they could expect in the coming weeks, the talk turned to more general matters and he was able to draw Lake to one side to ask some burning questions of his own.

"I've just met a bloke from Henderson's lot, Pat, Pat Kelly. He was telling me something he obviously thought I knew--something about everyone thinking I'd run off to Argentina and Bodie being on suspension--what the hell was he talking about?"

Lake disguised his surprise with an effort and considered his reply carefully. "It was one theory and yes, Bodie was suspended, just for the one week."

"What theory and why?" asked Doyle, puzzled.

"No-one's told you about it?" hedged Lake, still worried about how much the other man ought to know.

"Puddle!" Doyle glared at him, daring him to delay any more.

"All right," he conceded, deciding that Doyle deserved to know everything and hoping to heaven and George Cowley that he was doing the right thing. "Incidentally, what I'm going to tell you isn't public knowledge--apart from Bodie's suspension--and we all thought the Cow was wrong on that score.

"Bodie told me that when the notification of the car bomb came through he was being shown some photographs of you that Day's team had unearthed; they showed you with Conroy, who we now know to have been Holly's right-hand man operating within the drug syndicate, and they were taken about three months before you were arrested six years ago." Lake held up a hand to stop Doyle from interrupting. "Conroy was Ann's uncle and the photographs were taken at a family party--until a few months ago no-one even suspected Conroy and no-one believes your links with him are more than coincidental--but at the time, before Holly...before he killed Ann and everything else happened it looked very bad for you.

"Day was convinced he had proof that you were involved with the syndicate--then, when the news of the bomb came through and we heard there was only the one body, a woman's, it was...suggested that you'd done a runner." From the waxy, colourless expression staring blankly at him, Lake knew that all this was news to Doyle and he mentally cursed Bodie for keeping him in the dark for so long--he was bound to have found out sooner or later. "Bodie wouldn't accept you were involved with the syndicate even when all the evidence seemed to point that way, he refused to believe you had murdered Ann but, as the days went by without finding any trace...I think he began to believe you were dead--even though the theory that you were running was being checked out. There was an all-ports watch for you...then, Cowley ordered your flat to be turned over by Henderson's lot. He told Bodie to witness it--" Lake broke off as Doyle tried to protest. "He had no choice, Ray. But they didn't find anything and it all went smoothly until the team found some old suitcases," he carried on repeating what he had heard from the surveillance team after the incident. "Bodie and one of the men started arguing; he didn't want them to touch the cases and tried to stop them. Bodie...Bodie lost his temper and ended up on the floor with Pat Kelly. When Cowley found out he suspended Bodie and let Kelly off with a reprimand." Lake shrugged. "By that time I don't think Bodie cared what Cowley did or thought. He was convinced you were dead. When we found out about Holly we all thought maybe...but then when we found his body no-one expected to...we--we carried on looking for you but--but we all thought we were looking for a body. I don't think anyone expected to find you alive..." Lake ground to a halt. Doyle was staring at him, shock robbing him of any coherent response. "Look," Lake said quietly, placing his body between Doyle and the others in the room, shielding him from prying eyes. "I'm sorry if this is the first you've heard of all this but...I'd 'ave thought Bodie would have--"

"No," Doyle said, pulling himself together with an effort. "He hasn't said a word--no-one has. I had no idea..."

"The whole thing hit Bodie pretty hard," Lake added quietly. "By the time you were found everyone knew Holly had framed you...and then you weren't in any state to be told what had been happening. I expect he was just waiting until you felt--until you were up to hearing about it."

"Yes. You're right," Doyle agreed numbly. "I expect Bodie will get around to telling me one day." When he thinks I'm stable enough, he thought bitterly. "Speaking of Bodie--have you seen him this afternoon?" he asked in a carefully casual voice.

"You don't know?" Lake asked in surprise.

Doyle blinked at the tone, the assumption that he ought to know irritated him. "If I knew I wouldn't be asking would I?" he replied acidly.

"Sorry," said Lake. "But I thought--he's gone on an op. Undercover. Surprised he didn't let you know."

"What operation? Where's he gone?" demanded Doyle.

"4.5," admonished Lake. "If you don't already know you should know better than to ask--and don't try asking me--I only know what I've just told you."

"How come you know that much?"

"Bumped into him this morning and he asked me if I'd give you a hand when you move."

"Move? Move where?"

"He said accommodation have a new flat ready for you--didn't you know?" It was Lake's turn to be surprised. "I hadn't realised you were still staying at Bodie's place," he added, "but I'll help you when you're ready to move--he said most of your stuff is in storage so it shouldn't take us long to get the rest shifted."

Leaving a bewildered and bemused Lake standing staring after him in the rest room, Doyle hurried down to the admin office and caught the accommodation officer just as he was leaving for the night. Within half an hour the disgruntled officer ran down the corridor hoping to catch the later train and still make it home in time to catch his favourite early evening television programme, and Doyle had the keys and address of his new flat neatly tucked inside his pocket, his possessions held in CI5 storage arranged to be delivered next Thursday.

He found himself out in the car park standing beside his car and wondering where he should go next. He had no enthusiasm to see the new flat, not really, and so he went home and found Bodie's flat to be as quiet and empty as it had been when he'd woken up that morning. He looked for a note even though he knew he wouldn't find one and then pretended that the hurt he felt when he found he was right wasn't that bad. No more than he'd expected.

With the prospect of a long empty evening ahead he decided staying at home alone and brooding was probably not a good idea but, as the door snapped shut behind him realised that there was nowhere he could take his bad mood. He sat at the wheel of his car staring blankly down the road for a long time. Slowly it dawned on him that it wasn't that he didn't know what to do that was the problem; for the first time in an age there was no-one in his life telling him what to do. There was no-one making demands on his time; no-one anywhere in London waiting for him. There was no-one anywhere. Not even Bodie.

He was in complete control of his life. The realisation was shocking and caused Doyle to look at the street he was in with new eyes. He could go anywhere. Anywhere he wanted.

The keyring to his newly allocated flat weighed heavily in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the address tag. It was as far north of headquarters as Bodie's flat was west. The area, as he quickly found out, was unfamiliar to him, and he took several wrong turns before he found the building tucked neatly down a mews backstreet behind a busy high road. In contrast to the wide pavements that were probably crammed with shoppers during the day, Wyndham Mews was quiet and secured.

Already impressed that the flat had its own parking bay, Doyle opened the door and stepped inside. Although old, the building had been extensively and beautifully renovated and the decorations and furnishing were quietly elegant. He walked through the rooms, his fingers trailing over polished wood and plush velvet upholstery, finding the place to be on the small side but perfectly comfortable for a bachelor with no intention of becoming a housewife in his spare time. Spirits lifting, he began planning where he would place his own belongings and it was then he discovered he hadn't yet found any bedrooms.

Walking through the small lounge and even smaller dining room once again he took a closer look at what he had thought to be a wall cupboard, opened the door and found a narrow spiral staircase at the top of which he discovered a second lavatory and the bedroom. Small, like the other rooms, but cheerfully decorated, the room immediately struck him as colder and darker than the others. Crossing to the one small window he discovered why.

The row of mews cottages backed onto the high street shops, a narrow road giving access for delivery vehicles, only the shadowed side street giving perfect cover for potential cat-burglars and opportunists, and so the window was heavily barred. The security grill on the inside of the room was neatly disguised behind heavy net curtains and the keys to unlock it in an emergency were held in a quaint porcelain dish in a small niche in the wall.

The need for security was obvious, but Doyle could barely grasp that; the room became even smaller and darker as he stared in disbelief at the thick, wrought iron bars. It was a cell. A beautifully furnished cell.

He'd never sleep in that room.

Locking the mews behind him, he decided that he couldn't very well turn the flat down without giving a reason--and he wasn't prepared to do that. He would have to think of something else.

---

A small celebration marked the completion of the first week of the training course, students and tutors alike unwinding with a well-earned and much-needed drink. The group took over one end of the bar in a social club the various security departments had made their own--Ann-Marie and Ray Doyle sharing the praise being heaped on them by their first bunch of unwilling students.

"I still think it's a bloody shame we can't play games on it," Lake complained good naturedly.

Ann-Marie and Doyle shared a secret smile. "Just wait until all the higher-ups have finished checking the system," the attractive programmer said. "Once the system is running properly there's no reason why one or two games can't be loaded in--the system engineers have more than likely already set a few up, they usually do in a system this big."

The party continued with the new converts spouting computerese at anyone who would listen to them. During the evening Doyle found himself in a small group with Lake, Jax and McWilliams.

"Are you going to stay with the training section, Ray?" asked McWilliams in all innocence.

"I thought it was only a temporary thing," said Jax in surprise. "You're not off the squad, are you?"

"It is only temporary," Doyle said with a genuine smile. "I'm with the section for one more week just to make sure it all comes together as planned and then I'm back to office-based day shifts."

"And when will you get back to full status?" Lake asked. Any idea yet?"

"God knows--and Cowley, of course. But hopefully not much longer. Maybe another month. I've still got to get past Macklin yet!" And Ross, he added silently.

Lake saw the sudden moodiness and guessed its cause. "You'll make it, Sunshine, don't worry," he said in a quiet voice the others didn't hear.

The use of the affectionate nickname caused a sudden lump to develop in Doyle's throat, it had been a long three weeks since Bodie had vanished into deep cover: three weeks without so much as a single word.

"You used to shoot for the Met. in the Inter-Constabulary Competitions, didn't you, Doyle?" Pat Kelly had joined the group unnoticed by Doyle.

"That's right," he answered warily, knowing precisely how the man had come by his knowledge.

"Team or individual?" Kelly asked, choosing to ignore the closed expression on Doyle's face.

"Both. Why?"

"Just wondered," replied Kelly easily. "Was wondering why you've never joined our team, we're pretty good; we've beaten the Home Office and the Joint Services three times in the last five years," he boasted, neatly skipping the last two years when they'd not taken a single trophy.

"I wouldn't have thought you would be short of members," Doyle replied, feeling uncomfortable at suddenly finding himself in the limelight.

"I wouldn't have this lot in my team," Kelly said scathingly, dismissing a good portion of CI5's complement of staff. "Any old fool can shoot, but competition--that requires true marksmanship and only a few of us have that skill, don't we Ray." Even though he agreed, Doyle felt it could have been said with more tact but a quick glance at the faces of his companions showed they hadn't been offended by the slur on their abilities. "Come on Ray, don't let the side down. First round in the competition is next week and we're still a man short--will you shoot with us?"

His practise on the ranges had been useful and Doyle knew his skills were equal to the challenge but there remained one problem. Kelly had the answer to that too. "Don't worry about old Jack Crane," the team captain said cheerfully. "He's the team armourer and he's been watching you. He reckons with you on our side we'll wipe the floor with those Home Office bastards."

Doyle almost choked on his drink in amazement. He'd seen Jack watching him the past few weeks and had felt resentful at what he'd considered a lack of trust. "Well," he said, clearing his throat. "If Jack says it's all right, I suppose it must be. Where's the first round being held?"

Delighted, Kelly told him the details and the times of the team practise sessions, the first of which was being held the coming Sunday afternoon on the army ranges in North London.

Driving home that night, Doyle felt more at ease with himself than he had for a long time. The evening had been surprisingly pleasant, starting from nowhere and ending in a party-like atmosphere. For the first time he was actually pleased to arrive home to the peace and quiet of Bodie's empty flat instead of dreading the silent oppressiveness that usually greeted him.

Securing the front door for the night, he cheerfully helped himself to a generous amount of Bodie's whisky, making a silent toast to his absent host. Apart from checking that the packing cases were safely delivered from the storage warehouse to the new flat on the other side of town, Doyle had made no other attempt to move in. Control knew to switch any calls for him over to Bodie's flat if there was no answer but so far, not being on duty, there had been no calls. Not even from Bodie.

On Sunday night Doyle understood why he had been invited to join the team. The names on the individual trophies and team lists decorating the walls of the clubroom looked more like a list of dead and retired agents, Mathieson, Williams and King featuring prominently. But he was genuinely honoured that he had been invited onto the new, fledgling team and the first practise showed them that they stood a good chance of winning at least a few of the old trophies back--next time round if not this year.

Driving back into town following the afternoon's shooting, Doyle felt hot and thirsty and in need of something wet and refreshing. On impulse he decided to pay a visit to The Brewers and leaving his identification locked in his car, entered the unusually crowded bar.

His arrival was greeted with no great show of ceremony but his usual drink was waiting for him by the time he managed to reach the bar.

"Where's the crowd come from, Ivy?" he asked the bubbly landlady. "I came in here looking for a quiet drink."

"Get off with you!" scolded Ivy. "This place needs a bit of life--not to mention a bit of money in the old till," she said chirpily. "It's only temporary, though, the Kings Head on the corner of Queen Street was burnt out last week and the Seven Bells on the High Road has been closed for refurbishment--they're turning it into some fancy cocktail bar, if you don't mind!" she said, screwing her face up at the thought. "I can't see one of those places fitting into this neighbourhood," she said disdainfully. "But as long as we get some more customers I don't much care!"

"You can't beat an old-fashioned public house," Doyle agreed gravely, sipping at his drink. "Beats me why some people want pink umbrellas and lumps of fruits floating in their drinks--'sides which, they usually cost the earth."

"Ray!" The loud greeting rang out over the hub-bub of conversation. "Just the bloke we need--get over here and make a team up. Kevin's got some arrows for you." Thomas Mahone, landlord and manager of the Brewers Arms Darts Team, organised his customers ruthlessly.

Finding himself roped into filling in for an absent team member, Doyle helped the pub to a hard won victory over the displaced team from the King's Head.

"Shame you don't call in more often, Ray," Mahone said sadly. "We could do with you in the team all the time."

"Sorry," said Doyle easily. "I'm not always able to get here, it's difficult to let you know when I'll call in next."

Mahone said nothing as he pushed through the crowd back to the bar with his strange customer. It had been many years since his national service days but the smell of cordite and gun oils was one he would never forget. A discreet rub over the arm of the scruffy old jacket Doyle was wearing confirmed his suspicions. There was so much cordite on Doyle it was rubbing off on everything he touched. "How's work?" he asked casually, knowing better than to ask specific questions. Doyle's moods and appearance altered so drastically between visits it wasn't wise to question his means of living too closely and Mahone thought himself clever enough to guess his friend's occupation as something out of the ordinary and not entirely legal.

"Not bad," Doyle replied. "Can't grumble I suppose but I'll be glad to get my teeth into something profitable--living's not free," he said grimly, deliberately giving the impression life was costing more than he had.

"Times are hard," Mahone agreed readily. Work was hard enough to find if a man had conventional skills--and he guessed his friend wouldn't be able to pick up any old job at the local job centre. "Times are hard, but there's always work out there for them as what wants it," he added with a sly smile.

Returning the smile, Doyle didn't say anything. He knew exactly what Mahone thought of him and was only mildly surprised to discover that it didn't bother him any more. It suited his purpose.

---

From the observation gallery the men on the floor could be seen clearly as they worked through their exercises. Although there were several people on the mats, the two watchers were concentrating on one solitary figure warning up before taking his place on the apparatus.

"He's looking fit," Cowley said in a pleased voice. "Willis is still carping on about the weight problem but then he always does. Doyle's weight may be less than average but it's normal for him. I'm pleased with his progress. And you, Doctor Ross?" he turned to his companion on the balcony.

"I agree he's looking very fit," the department psychologist said in carefully measured tones. "But I feel his behaviour is still too calculated. He knows what is expected of him and he's providing it. The effort is taxing and at times it shows.

"You know that he only attends the clinic for one hour a week now?" Cowley simply nodded and she went on. "He certainly appears more stable--"

"You are implying that his behaviour is no more than an act?" Cowley asked.

"His actions are not spontaneous. Everything he has done since 3.7 went undercover has been carefully thought out. The only inconsistency appears to be his reluctance to move in to the new flat." Ross frowned over the problem. Short of confronting Doyle with evidence that he was still being closely monitored there was no way for them to discuss the situation with him openly.

"He's clearly comfortable at 3.7's flat. He'll probably move out when the undercover operation closes." Cowley shrugged off the matter as inconsequential. "He's done extremely well with the shooting team--with him on our side we'll beat the pants off the Home Office this year," he said in a burst of departmental pride.

"A little macho-ego trip is probably the best medicine," agreed Ross in a snooty voice. "His marksmanship skills have certainly eased his passage into the department's social circles."

"As you predicted it would," Cowley commented dryly.

"As I suggested it might," Ross corrected with a smile, recalling how Cowley had at first refused to even consider her recommendation.

"He's ready for Macklin," Cowley decided finally as Doyle joined a group on the mat for a friendly free for all.

"I agree--but with reservations. A physical refresher course and grading exercise is not sufficient. Once he's cleared by Macklin I want him for two days to run through a full psychological profile. I'll not agree to him returning to full status until I am satisfied with the results.

Cowley nodded. He had expected no less. "I'll tell Macklin to expect him next week."

Unaware that his future was being decided, Doyle was thoroughly enjoying the physical exertion demanded by the unarmed combat with Lake and McWilliams. Pinning the larger framed and two stone heavier McWilliams to the mat until he agreed to submit was the ideal end to a pretty good week.

---

The celebrations after they won the second leg of the tournament went on long after the bar should have closed but, considering the army barracks were off-limits to the local constabulary and the camp's C.O. was drinking with them, they knew they were safe. The only sober faces belonged to the drivers of the visiting teams' mini-buses and Ray Doyle. Not in the mood for a drinking binge, he watched his teammates get steadily drunk. Perched on a high bar stool with his back resting against the wall, he watched as they all cavorted around, playing as hard as they worked, and tried to work out why he didn't feel like joining in. Scanning the room, a dispassionate observer, he saw that everyone else was talking or drinking in groups of two or three or more; the three teams calling a truce on the rivalry as they enjoyed themselves, exchanging crude jokes and laughing about their scheming department controllers, politics, the way of the world, life in general and nothing in particular. He was not excluded from any group and could join any drunken huddle he wished but found himself reluctant to do so. There was only one person he especially wanted to talk to and Bodie wasn't there.

A whole month without a word, except for occasional references via Cowley to the fact that the operation--whatever it was--was moving very slowly, had done little to ease the hurtful separation. No matter how deep the cover, he told himself time and time again, surely Bodie could have got the briefest of messages through to him--a few words passed through Control would have been sufficient--but there had been nothing.

But, without Bodie's hindrance in those first few weeks, he had been able to uncover everything that had happened while he was Holly's prisoner; initially he had been angry with his partner for not telling him the truth but, gradually, he came to understand and accept his reasons for not having done so. Faced with the prospect of living alone with his own moods and misery, he had also accepted that he had to attempt to socialise with his colleagues; Ross he knew expected it of him and so he had tried.

It had proved surprisingly difficult.

His efforts at approaching people socially caused them surprise that had been blatantly obvious and he slowly began to realise how distant he must have appeared to them all. The invitation to join the shooting team had been regarded with suspicion until he accepted that they truly wanted someone with his level of skill--if not him personally!

Arriving outside Bodie's block of flats Doyle squeezed past the snoring, snuffling drunkards that called themselves CI5's Hot Shots, grateful to breathe the cold refreshing night air and relieved that only the driver was sober enough to know the address. No-one else realised it was Bodie's address he had given.

Collapsing into bed, still damp from the shower, he groaned as he groped for the clock and set it to rouse him in less than five hours. His pleasure at starting his refresher course with the burly instructor was destroyed by the knowledge that he was going to die the first time Macklin pushed him too hard. At least when Bodie was with him he could hope to suffer a little less as Bodie always deflected some of the Scotsman's temper. 'Sod you, Bodie, wherever you are,' was his last coherent thought before falling asleep...

---

...Even though the dream was familiar and unwelcome he knew something was different and he was curious to discover what. It was a while before he realised he wasn't afraid, that the usual gut-wrenching, cringing terror was missing; the burning tightness around his wrists was also strangely absent but he knew not to move and he waited patiently for whatever was going to happen.

From nowhere a hard, heavy warmth pressed him down onto the bed but, try as he might, he couldn't see who it was. A moist silky touch on his neck and a brush of warm breath on his ear made him shiver but still he made no attempt to struggle. The comforting presence lifted off him and he cried out in protest but was silenced as a hand brushed across his naked back, sweeping low down over the curve of spine and pressing firmly in response to the instinctive uplift of his hips.

But, even in this dream he suddenly knew he should be afraid of the hands causing such strange and unusual feelings and he tried to move away. He expected the hands to become cruel and grasping but they let him go without a struggle, leaving him confused and sorry he'd moved. Unable to bring himself to move back into the warm touch he could only wait until he was sought out again. Wait and hope.

As tentative fingers brushed over him a second time he tried desperately not to squirm although his heart hammered against his ribs; but the owner of the gently exploring hands seemed to share his fear and he was pulled into a gentle protective embrace, his wrists held in lax fingers that wanted only to hold and share and not hurt and restrain.

As the expected hurting failed to happen he slowly began to realise that it was gone forever and this comfortable warmth had taken its place. The knowledge was understood, absorbed and believed.

The hurting was gone.

But what was he left with...

---

The alarm rang out loudly, wrenching him from his dream, leaving his heart hammering in his chest and sweat running in rivers from his overheated body. Silencing the alarm, Doyle sank back onto the pillow, his hands automatically reaching for his painfully erect sex. In the first moments of waking the dream was still vivid and he knew who the comforting warmth in his dream had been. The tenderness and love he'd received had been Bodie's offering and he knew at once how close he was to losing it forever.

Closing his eyes and relaxing into the sensations coursing through his body he allowed himself to remember the way it had been that first weekend, only drawing out the memories of the gentleness Bodie had offered him and ignoring the times when it had been too fierce, too hard. At a safe distance from the painful confusion he was now able to remember other fumbling, clumsy first times and know that it would get better. It had to. It always did when you loved someone.

Increasing the pace a little to take him over the peak, Ray lifted his hips, pushing even harder into his hands and straining his muscles as he fought for release. The mental image of Bodie loving him was so strong that he opened his mouth blindly seeking a kiss.

Muscles relaxing, he sank back onto the bed, his cock still twitching hopefully in lax and sticky fingers. Lying back to enjoy the afterglow, he glanced at the clock--he still had time for another five minutes in bed--and smiled dreamily, and wondered how Bodie was coping with frustrating, lonely mornings. Forty-five minutes later he awoke with a jolting awareness that he had a scant fifteen minutes before he would be late to meet Macklin.

---

As comfortable in his vest and track suit as George Cowley was in his suit and tie, Brian Macklin finished off his report on 4.5's grading. "He's angry, George. At what I'm not sure; himself mostly I think. He's young--hot-headed and he's got good reason to be angry. He's ready to go to work but I'd be careful where you put him for a while."

"Careful in what way?" Cowley asked.

"Like I said, he's angry. Let him use that anger to suit the department; don't keep him inside bottling it up. He's been away a long time and he needs to get back before it's too late."

"His responses are the required standard?" Cowley asked, checking. "I can't afford to nursemaid him once he's on the street."

"His responses are fine--better than before I'd say. There's more aggression in him now, I found him easier to provoke but still cautious. He's changed, he's...harder somehow."

George Cowley had observed the difference for himself and was not convinced the changes in Doyle were all to the good. Being hard and aggressive was not a requirement of CI5--although measures of those qualities were necessary. He made the arrangements for Ross to have her two days with Doyle. They would soon see whether 4.5 was going to be of any real use to them in the future.

---

Arriving at The Brewers just in time for the match to start, Doyle chose his darts, collected his drink and joined the rest of the team.

"Thanks for coming, Ray," Mahone said, patting him on the back. "You keep this up and you can take Old Tom's place permanently--he can play reserve in your place when he's up and around again."

"Don't bank on it, Tommy," Doyle replied, laughing. "With any luck I'll get a job soon and I won't have the time to hang around here--besides, I thought you said Old Tom was home from the hospital now? I'm surprised he's not already here creating hell because that lot from the Kings Head 'ave taken over his corner of the bar!" Even the prospect of two whole days locked up with Kate Ross and her games and trick questions couldn't dampen Doyle's high spirits.

"He was in at lunchtime," answered Mahone, his eyes twinkling brightly with amusement. "He managed to down half a pint before his daughter in law, Rita, came barging in and dragged him back home to bed. She's not going to let him out of her sights for at least the next week--poor old sod. Job prospects looking up then?" he enquired with a casual air that didn't fool Doyle for one second. "Only," Mahone looked over his shoulder before continuing and lowered his voice. "Only, I've heard of something that might be of interest to a man like yourself--if you're interested, that is." Intrigued by the conspiratorial whisper, Doyle asked for more information. "See me after the match," Mahone said, winking and tapping the tip of his nose with one finger. "Don't rush off at closing time."

As the match began, Doyle wondered what on earth the publican had lined up for him.

---

George Cowley had waited impatiently for Doyle to arrive at the hastily arranged meeting and snapped at him irritably the moment the door closed behind him as he entered the inner office. "You're to see Ross whether you like it or not, 4.5," he said testily without waiting for the expected protests. "The matter is not open for discussion."

"I know that sir, and I'm not here to argue about that," replied Doyle, more than slightly peeved at the assumption that he was. "You have asked me to keep you informed of what happens at The Brewers."

Understanding that the young man was not about to make a final plea for release from Ross's ministrations as he had first thought, Cowley nevertheless snapped at him to get on with his report.

Unaware that he was clearly irritated and embarrassed by the suggestion that he was still trying to escape the psychologist's clutches, Doyle snapped out his report in crisp, concise words, intending Cowley to have to ask for all the minor details. "The landlord, Mahone, gave the name and phone number of a man he says is looking for people with particular skills. He seems to think that I might be the kind of person this man Twigg is looking for."

"Twigg?" Cowley repeated the name, a totally different note in his voice, the half interested, half irritated tone gone completely. "What kind of person exactly is this Mr Twigg looking for?"

"Tommy wouldn't say but he insisted that the job is right up my street and considering he thinks I'm a closet psychopath I'd guess something pretty heavy," Doyle said wryly.

"Have you been in contact with 3.7?" Cowley demanded to know.

"No sir."

"Are you familiar with the case he is working on?" Doyle frowned at the intensity of Cowley's expression and denied any knowledge of his partner's whereabouts or the job he was working on. "How are you supposed to contact this Mr Twigg?"

"Tommy said he'd give me the number to ring if I was interested. I said I'd think about it and call him back this morning."

"And you know nothing of the job 3.7 has spent the last six weeks on?" Cowley asked again.

"No sir!" Doyle repeated, puzzled at the man's insistence and tone.

"And this...Mahone," Cowley said thoughtfully. He thinks you're capable of murder?"

Realising that something was happening that he wasn't aware of, Doyle nodded. "He thinks so."

Cowley thought for another few minutes, leaving Doyle to stand in confused silence. "Call Mahone now, tell him you're interested," Cowley ordered, deciding it was worth the risk. He pushed the phone across the desk towards the startled young man.

Dialling the pub's number, he spoke briefly to Tommy, who had been expecting his call. He jotted down the number the publican gave him then hung up. A swift check with the operator proved the second number to be a telephone box in the Whitechapel area. He dialled it and found it was continuously engaged.

"Must be an exceedingly busy call box," Cowley said, recognising it instantly as the number Bodie had been given a week ago.

At last the line was free and the ringing tone finally answered. "Hello," said a gruff uncultured voice with a distinctive London accent. "And who might this be?"

"The name's Doyle. A mate of mine gave me this number--said I was to ring it if I wanted a job that paid well."

"And who was this helpful mate?"

"Landlord of a pub in Kilburn, Tommy Mahone," replied Doyle.

"Tommy's still goin' is he," the man at the end of the line cackled into the phone. "And you think you're what we're looking for, do you?"

"Tommy seems to think so," Doyle said casually.

"Well known are you?"

"What?"

"Got any form?" the man clarified with poorly concealed boredom.

"None of your fucking business if I have!" Doyle swore hotly. "You're not recruiting for the League of Light and Purity are you!"

"Where'd you do your time?"

"Maidstone," Doyle growled down the phone.

"Which wing?"

"The Governors quarters, of course," Doyle snarled. "Look mate, if you know Tommy so well why don't you ask him for a fucking reference!"

"I might just do that," the voice said cheerfully. "Ring this number again in twenty minutes." The line went dead.

Cowley took the receiver from Doyle's grasp and switched off the tape recorder. "Was it necessary to be so abrasive?" he asked, annoyed at Doyle's attitude throughout the brief conversation.

"He'll call Tommy," Doyle said confidently. "Whatever I tell him wouldn't impress him as much as what Tommy'll say."

"Well," said Cowley quietly, he leaned back in his chair and regarded the young man standing in front of his desk with shrewd eyes. "It would appear that your involvement at The Brewers has not been such an idle exercise, after all."

Doyle felt himself twitch at that. He had never seriously thought anything would ever come of his foray into the criminal society at The Brewers but he hadn't realised Cowley had shared his feelings; he'd used the tatty old pub to try out the image he knew Cowley had wanted him to adopt--but as time had passed he'd simply enjoyed visiting the pub and playing games with the landlord's perception of him. And he genuinely liked Tommy, his wife Ivy and most of the customers and found himself hoping he hadn't unearthed a nasty can of worms. "You've heard of Twigg before," Doyle decided eventually. "What do you know about him? Is this a police job or CI5?"

Electing to ignore the presumptuous question Cowley glared briefly at Doyle before speaking. "It took 3.7 several weeks of careful, painstaking preparation to get hold of that very number your tame landlord gave you just now and even longer to make contact with Mr Twigg. After six weeks he has still only scratched at the surface of this whole operation." Noting the surprise in the wide eyes with satisfaction, Cowley continued to explain how Bodie was setting himself up to be recruited by Twigg and his sidekick, Ferris, who were collecting an impressive list of ruthless men and that a number of unexplained accidents had recently caused an alarming increase in the mortality rate of ex-government employees, suggesting that someone was executing their own euthanasia plan.

By the time Doyle was up to date with the operation it was time to make the next call.

"Dead on the nose," the man cackled loudly. "Raymond, I presume?"

"You've talked to Tommy?" Doyle said.

"He gave you a very impressive reference, Mr Doyle," the man said. "Are you willing to...shall we say, attend a little interview?"

"An interview?" repeated Doyle in amazement.

"Where are you right now?" the voice asked.

"Near Vauxhall," Doyle answered, purposefully vague.

"Vauxhall...right, there's a telephone kiosk by the railway bridge off Blackfriars Circus. Be there in...twenty minutes if you really want the job."

The line went dead, cutting of Doyle's protest.

"It's their check-up procedure," Cowley said quickly. "They'll be watching to see you arrive. Take a car as far as Waterloo Bridge and then start running--a car will pick you up downstairs."

Moving towards the office door Doyle protested. "From here to Blackfriars in twenty minutes!"

"Eighteen minutes!" Cowley said urgently. "Go!"

Halfway out of the door Doyle remembered why he had arrived at headquarters so early that morning. "But what about Ross?"

"Move it, 4.5," barked Cowley. "Miss that call and Ross will be the least of your worries!"

Doyle ran.


...Continued in Chapter 30...

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