All Places Alike
He woke ready to kill.
But then found it unnecessary.
After a quick assessment, he stood down from alert. His fingers no longer sought the nearest weapon, his pulse slowed, breathing eased, muscles relaxed. Gradually the tension left his body. Excess epinephrine relocated from his heart to his gut, inducing a passing jolt of nausea.
His glance took in his bedmate, there, sheltering in night shadows and stray gleams of street lamp highlights.
He leaned closer to lick the flesh of a bared shoulder. The sleeper, untroubled by night terrors, breathed steadily, intent upon his rest.
It seemed a reassurance of their conjoint safety.
What disturbance, domestic to Doyle, was foreign enough to Bodie that it awakened him? He rose to investigate.
He gave the water closet the scantest glance, so cramped a space as scarcely to warrant consideration. Then the living area, another inconvenient corner, with only the vast view of the city spread far below them to render it remarkable.
Finally the kitchen, crowded and dim. He searched the murky dark and light, variegated counter top, chairs, table, appliances. Demon with glowing eyes.
Hisses and howls, low throated, menacing. Scarcely above whispers.
Dangerous.
Bodie formed a warding sign with his fingers, while murmuring in his best Yoruban dialect.
"Royal grandfather, go seek you the green banks of the Niger far away from this cold place."
His other hand commanded the switch. Sudden light vanquished the gloom.
Yowl subsided to deep chested growl.
Bodie canted his head.
No dusky myth arisen from the depths of his dreamscape then. Rather a live piebald creature. Grimy patches of white hair mottled the coarse dark coat, scars randomly revealed naked hide. One ear was chewed to tattered remains. Angry eyes glared at transgression, running rheum into the facial fur. Paws and claws alone were perfect, gleaming ebony with fierce needle defences ready to strike.
The beast didn't seem to fancy the foreign lingo, so Bodie reverted to the king's English. "Hullo, Tom. Wha' d'yer wanna wake me for?"
One step onto the kitchen linoleum and the apparition vanished.
Bodie blinked, then shrugged, then sighed. He dowsed the lights and returned wearily to bed.
"Didn't know you kept a cat," he complained to Doyle.
"I don't," came the muttered rejoinder.
Dim daylight and delight. Doyle, groggy at the first sound of the alarm clock, scrunched his face into the bedding for "Jus' five more minutes."
Bodie, alive to the moment, wrestled Ray to pin him. "Five more minutes? I'll give you five minutes. And that's all it'll take, surely, surely." A protesting groan was muffled by the pillow. Bodie nibbled at the perfect curve of helix exposed above the sheets, then licked along it with a wet slurp.
"Olympic Todger Tussling event. Best of five falls in the ring," he whispered into the twitching ear.
"Go to hell."
"Only if you'll come along."
He grappled with the snug elastic of briefs, tugging down along muscular curves.
Raymond was being as difficult as possible. Never opening his eyes, he still contrived to contort into every unlikely conformation of limbs and torso, preventing the removal of the one scant article of clothing he wore.
Eventually, Bodie abandoned the y fronts, thigh high, where they served to bind the nether limbs and impede further resistance. No sooner were the legs satisfactorily arranged, however, than Ray twisted his upper body into an unlikely knot with the blanket.
By now, Bodie was fresh out of breath and thoroughly aroused. "Raymond, you shouldn't wrestle while erect," he stated succinctly. "Yer in danger of penile fracture."
"Yurk. Wha'?"
"Penile fracture. Knock yer boner against something hard, say, my knee, for instance. Sudden loud crack, pain, and instant detumescence. Permanently. Not a pretty picture, me lad."
"Broken? Zat possible? Got to be the worst thing I ever heard."
"S' truth, I swear it. Crunched cock. Punctured prick. Dehiscent dick. Slogged stiffy."
"I'll be Dame Ned. Where'd you hear that then?"
"Specials, o' course. We had this ancient sergeant, older n' Methuselah. Used to give the 'penis lecture' to the troops. Very popular, it was. Blokes would sneak in at the back, just to watch the new recruits' faces. Ha."
Doyle shuddered. "Penile fracture. Eck."
Bodie stroked down the length of Ray's sturdy back muscles, then rolled him onto his flank.
"There, there, old son. Just lie you quiet and peaceful like. We'll take great care of it, wont we? Nothing bad'll happen to it, with me faithfully on the guard, see?" He grasped Doyle's cock tenderly in one hand, caressing it with the finest devotion. Touching the details of the corona, tugging gently there, while running the prick's fullness between the V of his fingers, up and down rhythmically.
"It likes being handled just so. Carefully, as a fine piece of machinery should, admired like a glorious work of art," he murmured soothingly, just before swallowing it whole.
Doyle erupted volcanically, like an upsurge of magma.
Bodie suckled him clean. "There now, tis all nice and soft and tidy. No breaking of it now."
Still whispering gentling phrases, he rolled his shivering mate, face down. Firmly grasping the shoulders, he bit once into the tender flesh overlying the vulnerable cervical vertebrae.
"Mine," he declared.
He handled his own erection, which required no coaxing, pressing it right between Ray's legs, above the crisp friction of the pants' waistband. He revelled in the co-mingling of sensations, harsh fabric, smooth skin, the recoil of testicles against his prick, the plush curve of arse against his own belly.
He bit again into the body beneath him, as he came.
Then Doyle got his "five more minutes", with Bodie nestled comfortably beside him.
"Fried eggs," Bodie growled.
"Cereal, hot or cold, your choice," Doyle countered.
"I'll be hungry again in half an hour. Cereal, bah."
"Beans on toast then. That's filling."
"Spend anytime on obs in a closed space, you'll wish I hadn't."
"Eat yer cereal then. And I'll heat up a coupla kippers for you."
"Three at least."
"Okay. Lovely omega-3 fatty acids in fish oil. Lubricate yer arteries. Slick as original sin."
"Thought you said you don't keep a cat."
"Tha's right." Doyle reached for the red package of Hamlyn's oats.
"What's this?" Bodie tapped a blue carton labelled "Burns Real Food for Cats", which stood there on the cereal shelf.
"Monthly rent," Ray grinned as he tossed the fish into the frying pan.
"Discovered the beast in here last night. Nearly shot him when he startled me."
"Tsk and tut, Bodie. Scared of a moggy?"
"Newt odd assort. He disturbed my slumbers, tha's all."
"Well, it's his place. Can't help it if me landlord is a four legged fuzzer, can I?"
As if by invocation, the apparition reappeared, hissing and spitting at Bodie.
"Breakfast in a tick, your lordship," Ray winked at the animal. "Shove yer nose in that and regret it." He plucked the feline from the stove top and dropped it unceremoniously onto the tiles.
The cat proceeded to rub a quantity of visible slobber into Doyle's trouser leg, then turned, and with a fine sense of precision targeting, lifted his vibrating tail and sprayed the base of the refrigerator.
"How's he get in here?"
"Haven't a baldy notion."
"Security Department will love that if they find out."
"KGB kitty. Har. Double agent. In exchange for Crimean caviar, puss will reveal to the Kremlin whether the notorious SAS Sergeant Willem Handjob Pirrip Bodie wears boxers or briefs."
Bodie's eyes widened as Doyle set a saucer of Jersey gold top on the floor, followed by a bowl of Burns Natural Holistic Ocean Fish Crunchies and an entire kipper.
"Here now, you feed him better'n me," Bodie objected, fluttering his lashes and offering a luxurious pout.
Raymond laughed out loud at the image.
"I need a sedan," Bodie told the mechanic.
"Take Gertrudamein."
Bodie sceptically viewed the venerable BMW. "How's she running?"
"Just replaced the starter. Now she purrs like a kitten. Chauffeuring the Old Man, are you?"
"Naw. Hauling Doyle to physio. Needs room to stretch out his game leg."
"Damnation! There it goes again," the mechanic shouted, and took off darting about the garage like a madman.
Bodie caught a quick glimpse of a black and white blur that zoomed past and disappeared.
"Little meff wont hold still long enough to get caught," the mechanic puffed breathlessly as he returned to his starting position.
Bodie nodded and shrugged. Then he noticed Lucas standing nearby with his hands in his coat pockets. "What's wrong with the Capri?"
"Nothing," the other agent admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Can't quite get the hang of shifting."
"Brought her back home to papa," the mechanic crooned with an affectionate glance at the sleek silver sports car.
"Oh, yeah. Retrofitted with unsynchronized transmission. You need the Mario Andretti correspondence course in double clutching. Toe and heel manoeuvre," Bodie chuckled.
"You and Doyle's Capris both retrofitted?"
"But of course."
Lucas sighed. "Just give me something fast, equipped with synchromesh. Please." He rolled his eyes at the laughing mechanic. "And while we're on the subject of idiot-syncracies, why was Doyle so fond of that wretched flat of his? Even with two good legs, it takes an epoch or two to climb all those stairs. Drafty, worse than a bell tower with the wind whistling through. And its damned crowded, no room for anything."
"Imagine he liked the view," Bodie offered a crumpled little tolerant smirk. "How are you and the landlord getting along?"
"Eh?" Lucas gave him a puzzled glance. "Housing Department takes care of the details, same as usual."
"I meant the resident cat. Or haven't you met yet?"
"Naw. No cats. I'm allergic."
"Oh."
"Monster!" the mechanic shouted, abruptly racing toward the farthest wall of the building. "Raunchy four footed barcode. I'll get you this time, see if I don't."
"Lunatics. I'm surrounded," Lucas huffed.
With an exhausted sigh, Bodie slid into the comfortable familiarity of his Capri.
Then the hair rose up on the back of his neck, as he realized the car already held a passenger. Enmity hung palpably dense in the air.
"So. You plan to use me to get to Doyle, huh?" He spoke cautiously, not fancying any escalation in aggression.
He really didn't want any bloodstains on the upholstery.
"Visited his old flat, didn't you? And discovered he'd moved. Tried out his motor next. Only to find snot-nosed Lucas behind the wheel. Reckon that was a major disappointment to you. So now, here you are. And likely you think I'll drive you straight over to Ray's new digs. Well, maybe I will. But you and I've got to have a truce, savvy? And I'll tell you one thing, straight up. Hurt him, and I'll see you stretched out before the fire in place of a hearthrug. Got it?"
Bodie turned over the engine, eased his motor out of the building and onto the road. "See, the thing is, Raymond of Ours, he doesn't look much like a hero. But still he tries to measure up to it. And this time he was too late by far to rescue the damsel in distress. They'd done her in. Which gets to him. It does. And, instead of Doyle doing the deed, I wound up slaying the evil villain. It was very satisfactory, mind you. Could hear the ribs cracking, even at a distance. And then, there was this great surge of blood. Terrific sound effects. And that mean piggy face, so surprised and agonized. I lie awake at night, reminiscing over the glory of it all. You would have appreciated it. Right in your line, it was."
Bodie slid his tongue luxuriously over his lips. "But Doyle's rather lame just now. And quite low and gloomy. So don't expect much out of him at present. Discretion is advised and all that. So here we are now. And mind, I'm watching you, so you'd bloody well better toe the line."
"Raymond?"
"In here."
"Wan and swooning upon the sofa?"
"As if."
"I'm put in mind of a quotation from Kipling."
"Trust you for that."
"It goes like this. 'He is the cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.' See for yourself."
"Incredible. How the hell did you get him here?"
"Believe me, it was entirely his idea."
"Hullo old fellah. How's the rat trade these days?"
Ten minutes on the mantel clock ticked away in silence. Bodie returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, to find the beast comfortably curled on top of Doyle.
Both of them were sound asleep.
Bodie smiled a little. "I find I've done you a disservice. Thought you only loved him for his kippers." He sipped thoughtfully at his tea. "But after all, it is our Raymond. I might have known, it was for him."
In the soft garden light of late afternoon, scars faded. Doyle's face appeared rather innocent in repose.
And the cat's form seemed sleek, even elegant.
To Bodie's thinking, the image punctuated the end of the tale.
Rudyard Kipling, 'The Cat that Walked by Himself', from 'Just So Stories'.
-- THE END --
February 2007
Archive Home