Author's Note: This is based, in its entirety, on the story "Facets" by MH, originally written for the Wiseguy universe. The original "Facets" is in McPikus Interruptus #1.


William Bodie lay staring at the fire, its warmth toasting his bare arm and his face, heating up all the places where Doyle's body didn't shield him from it. Doyle, jammy sod, had got himself a real fireplace in his current flat, and somehow Bodie had been roped into fetching spider-ridden lumps of wood at every verse end. He couldn't complain, though: not now, with Doyle soaking up the heat, bronze and yellow and unconsciously sensuous in the light.

Outside the rain was sheeting down, strong winds from the north ripping the stubborn, late autumn leaves from the trees and washing a bit of the dirt off the streets. It was cold and dark and miserable out there, but in the flat the fire crackled brightly, toasting them both to a turn. It was tranquil, too, the last chance they'd have at tranquillity for some time to come if the holiday season lived up to all the early indications.

He would be dusting off his thick Northern accent tomorrow, taking the train into Merseyside County--practically atop his old stomping grounds--and digging in to make fake explosives deals with IRA terrorists; there were, after all, only thirty-three shopping days till Christmas. He grinned at his own black humour. Have to remember that, use it on Cowley before 1 leave. It was sure to give Doyle a chuckle to help tide him over until the New Year.

Cowley no doubt had plenty in his bag of tricks to keep Doyle hopping, and Bodie was smart enough not to question what it would be. Smart enough, too, not to mention his irritation at their being separated for so long; hell, Ray already knew and didn't need Bodie pining as the train left the station. The box was still stuffed in his bureau drawer; he wondered whether he should actually do anything with it. It had been tucked in there for weeks, and he had yet to work up the bottle to actually give it to Doyle. Sentimental slush it was, wrapped up in green paper--like some damned betrothal gift. He wasn't even sure Ray would want it.

Bodie had waited this long; perhaps he should wait until this job was over.

He reflected the oddity of resenting an assignment like this. He'd be in the thick of it, right where he liked to be: danger, risk of discovery at every turn, armed maniacs with guns and bombs and only him between them and the High Street. He'd have begged for a job like this two years ago. Now, he resented the separation--not enough, he knew, a touch depressed about that knowledge, not enough to turn down the job or give up the thrill. He wasn't moronic enough to say that to Doyle, either. It'd only needle him, and there were plenty of easier ways to get Doyle's back up.

Almost as if he had heard, Doyle stirred in Bodie's arms and sighed. Bodie tightened his arms possessively round Ray's middle. More than a year together, and his feelings for Doyle were still so excessive and potent he didn't like to think about them. They filled him with a nervous foreboding, so he set them aside now as he usually did. It would be a pity to waste this quiet time speculating on an uncertain future, not when he knew Doyle would do whatever Cowley told him without argument, and that he himself would do it with pleasure. Better to enjoy the moment, to make the most of the quiet pleasure they shared now, and let tomorrow take care of itself.

"Ray?" He dipped his fingers in the wealth of curls, feeling the fine hair tickle his skin like eiderdown. "Wake up, mate," he whispered.

"'M awake," Doyle mumbled, sighing and inching just a little closer to Bodie's chest. Bodie snorted. Doyle's normal spring-coiled tension was gone; he was as limp as a wrung out dishrag--and just as attentive. It would've bothered Bodie, if he hadn't known every way there was to get Doyle to wake up and join in the party. Soft whispers did it when Bodie was feeling randy. Nagging did it when he felt neglected. And when he felt like this.... He pushed Doyle's hair back and licked gently, just behind a chilly earlobe, rubbing the rising goose-bumps with a fingertip. Doyle twitched, rolling his head back into the crook of Bodie's arm. "You're going to be wide awake in a matter of minutes, my son," he assured, dipping his fingers into the smooth hollow of Doyle's shoulder and down over his breastbone, drawing abstract patterns in the soft mat of hair. He didn't miss the faint smile forming, and bent to brush his lips against it.

Bodie smiled back unseen. Doyle, soft-hearted sod, was so very susceptible to romantic charm....

He used his nails, trailed his fingers to his lover's right nipple and just barely nudged at the little gold ring there. It roused him incredibly to touch it, to graze his fingers around the ring's circumference and feel where it went in, where it came out. Symbolic of the lengths Doyle would go to please him--when pushed enough--Bodie knew he would never tire of it. Watching the pleasure sweep his partner's face when he toyed with the ring made his groin ache; he had never known a better aphrodisiac than Doyle's reaction to the fetish.

He shifted a little, giving his cock room to grow, and leaned over Doyle's chest. The ring was small and subtle, less than the diameter of a penny, and it reflected brilliantly against the dark copper nipple and darker hair. He took the ring between his teeth and nudged it back and forth with his tongue. Doyle, eyes still shuttered in feigned sleep, bit back a gasp of pleasure as his nipple stiffened up under the twisting pressure.

"What will you think of next?" Bodie mumbled, tonguetip caught in the circle of gold, heart caught by the unconscious display of pleasure on his lover's face.

"I didn't think of it this time," Doyle whispered denial, arching his chest up and demanding more attention.

"You did do the next best thing, mate; you let me think for you."

"Must've gone insane," Doyle muttered, smiling nonetheless.

Bodie tugged sharply with his tongue, dragging a staccato grunt of pleasure from his lover. "Stop complaining, you know you love it. You'd do it again in a second."

Doyle just sighed and rolled his shoulders, increasing the tension on the ring in Bodie's teeth and dragging a shudder from them both. Doyle didn't often acknowledge the ring's presence, but Bodie knew how much his partner enjoyed it. Something about it excited Doyle so strongly, Bodie often wondered what he might be missing...but not enough to do it to himself, that was certain.

From their first fumbling mutual wank, Bodie had wondered about Ray Doyle's limits. He had pushed on occasion, just to find them, but they were as mercurial as his lover's moods. The ring in his teeth was the very best example; Bodie had never actually thought Doyle would let this happen. No, this he had used as a titillating threat when he was inducing Doyle to play harmless, spicy little games. "I'll have to get you a ring and drag you around by it then" powerfully aroused Doyle, for reasons Bodie had never examined too closely. He would pretend it didn't, acting bored or disinterested, and eventually he would give in "just to shut you up, Bodie". And just the memory of those bouts would keep Bodie half-hard in long jackets for days. Bodie licked the puckered nipple tenderly. There were certain things that Bodie knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Doyle would never do. Trouble was, getting himself pierced like this had been one of them.

Just this past May, on the continent. They had taken the train to Ipswich and an overnight ferry to Holland. In Amsterdam, fantasy and reality had a head-on collision in Bodie's balls and he was hungry to see his lover marked. He hadn't known what hit him, he just knew that the kick of arousal driving through him was something he needed to follow. He needed Doyle's willingness, and the abrupt intuition that he'd have it made him stiffen in his jeans. He needed Doyle to want it, and the very thought of it made him tug his jacket closed to cover his lengthening cock. But somehow, even with the heat that drove him, Bodie was still stunned when Doyle agreed to keep the appointment.

"Doyle," he said, following him along the street, voice carrying only far enough to make his lover shorten his stride to hear, "You've no idea how sexy it'll be. Come on, mate, it'll be our little secret."

"Yeh," Doyle hissed, "ours and anyone's who sees me with my chest bare." Which could, truth be told, include half the population of England. But Bodie didn't care.

He reached out and brushed his thumb up the crease of Doyle's jeans, making him stumble. "Nah. Wouldn't even show, not without something in it. It wouldn't be a problem."

"And you know so bloody much about it, do you?"

Bodie shrugged behind him, unseen. He had, in fact, seen enough of them to be sure, and wondered about Doyle's staid sexual history that he hadn't. "I know enough. Do it, Ray, because I want it."

Doyle stopped dead and turned on him. "All right, then, if it'll shut you up, I'll do it."

The place was very up-market, a "salon" that catered to anyone with money, and this kind of thing was passé with the staff. Bodie paid for it, giving the Scandinavian blonde they were directed to a 100% tip and pointedly admiring her cleavage. "Make it go easy for him, eh?" he ordered, grinning cheekily, but his hand brushed his partner's in a subtle gesture of reassurance. Doyle ignored him, and cast a cool, smouldering look at the woman.

She silently noted the tip, slid it into her skirt pocket and smiled blindingly at Doyle, circling the counter and patting his hand.

"You've come to the right place, Mr. Smith." Doyle's swift glare was more than worth the conspicuous alias. "Now if you'll step this way we'll get right to it."

The bird hauled Doyle into a corner alcove and held out her hand for his shirt, which Ray--being Ray--stripped off without hesitation.

The bird's skin was pale and pretty, and against Doyle's it reminded Bodie vaguely of his own hands there. He was intrigued by the contrast. She ran her fingertips over Doyle's chest, automatically going for the right nipple. Politic of her, he supposed.

The bird turned away and Bodie eyed her figure, idly speculating.

"Shit." Doyle barely whispered the word, but it brought Bodie's head up. The green eyes were narrow, angry and staring attentively at something. Bodie looked. Miss Sweden was loading a round silver ring onto an impressive looking injector that was in all practicality a glorified staple gun.

"No." Doyle and the girl both looked up. "Ought to be gold." Miss Sweden looked nonplused.

"The stainless is much better; it's stronger, and hypoallergenic--" she stopped when she realized he wasn't bending.

"Thanks, really. Now use a gold one, if you don't mind." Shrugging, the bird did as she was told, and Bodie gave her extra marks for that. She selected another plastic, factory-sealed packet containing a single gold loop this time, and replaced the stainless ring.

Bodie examined his partner closely, trying to determine how he was taking this. Doyle's knuckles had gone white on the chair arms, and he was staring with vaguely hostile eyes at the bird. Bodie knelt by the chair. "Love you, you know," he whispered while the girl's back was turned. "It'll be over in a minute."

Doyle turned his head and glared at him. "Don't be such a prat, Bodie." But he did relax a little.

Doyle leaned back in the chair, frowning as he dropped his eyes and squared back his shoulder at the woman's request. His nipple rucked up hard as a pebble under the chill of alcohol-dipped cotton, and his hands grasped, ever so subtly, at the arms of the chair. He let her pierce him without a twitch, and Bodie laid a hand on his arm. "How long do I need to keep this in?" Doyle asked her, staring down at his chest.

"Three weeks. Disinfect the area with alcohol every morning, and don't wear anything like mesh that might catch on the ring." She pressed a saturated cotton ball against his nipple, and Doyle sucked air through his teeth. Bodie grinned, not putting it past Doyle to be enjoying this whole affair.

"See? All done, sunshine--and it didn't hurt me a bit."

Doyle frowned, and reached a finger up to test the weight of the ring. "Don't count on that just yet." The move was sensual and, in Bodie's estimation, entirely calculated, and still it made his balls tingle. "Let's go," Doyle added coolly, and held out his hand for his shirt.

"Feels odd, Bodie," Doyle said on the street. Already he was preoccupied with it, and Bodie longsufferingly pushed Doyle's hand down. "'S not polite to feel yourself up in public, Ray. Not even in Holland."

"Then Bodie," Doyle said, turning and staring with smouldering eyes, "You'd better hop to finding someplace private, because I'm going to fuck you into next week for this."

That wasn't the case at all. They both walked stiff-legged down the street, turned into the first rooms they found and Doyle dropped most of his converted cash on the counter. Bodie swept it up before the man at the desk could play on his partner's distraction, buying a room for the night to use for an hour and hustling Ray up the stairs. Once inside, they stripped without a word and struggled for domination. Bodie manhandled him, forcing him face-down onto the bed, and Doyle gasped as if in real pain.

He froze. "What'd I do?" But already Doyle was subtly shifting his shoulders, and Bodie understood with a jolt of heat exactly what was effecting his lover so.

He waited, pressed all along his lover's back and breathing hard, for Ray to growl, "Well do it then, damn you!"

They had fucked so fiercely coming had ripped at them like an animal. Doyle had spent the rest of their trip standing...relishing every wince and every tantalizing pose he struck, no doubt. Bodie certainly had.

The worst part hadn't been getting it done, though. No, the worst part had been listening to Doyle's insufferable bitching about how many layers he had to wear to hide the ring while the hole healed. But it had been worth the trouble.

All those months ago, now, and Bodie was still surprised that Doyle had done it. He sighed and shelved the contemplation, considering himself lucky that most of the time, their odd little impulses turned out so well. Now well-healed and incredibly sensitive, the pierced nipple was silent testament to Doyle's hedonistic perversions. Not that Ray would admit it. Oh no, he liked to pretend with that cool superior glint in his eyes that it was all Bodie's depravity, that only Bodie got any pleasure from it. He wouldn't even put the thing on by himself. He had handed over sole possession of the ring to Bodie, whose task it was to decide when Ray would wear it. But the little shiver that went through Doyle when Bodie slipped the cool metal against the pierced nipple and tugged it through the tiny hole was always there, pronounced and unmistakably pleasure. Bodie never failed to find an answering tingle in his own groin. Bodie never would have let this be done to himself, while Ray--Ray would do almost anything, Bodie supposed, if he thought it'd feel good enough.

He drew his attention back to the moment; he'd have at least a month, after all, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Better to enjoy Doyle, to let a bit of the tenderness show that was all too frequently tacit between them.

"Ray," he whispered, straying a hand over the soft fur and concave hollow of belly. Doyle was already hard. "Are you going to keep trying to sleep, mate, or wake up and join the party?"

"What do you think?" was the demanding reply as Doyle's hand joined his, increasing the pressure of his fist.

"I think you're ready to be fucked through the carpet, that's what I think." He pressed his firming erection against Doyle's hip in emphasis.

Doyle's eyes popped open at that and a speculative gleam caught and reflected the firelight. "Yeh?" he asked casually. "I must've been mistaken; here I thought I was ready to fuck you through the carpet."

Bodie rolled atop him, settling his weight carefully, and smiled into the wide green eyes. He felt discomfittingly indulgent. He wanted Ray happy tonight. "Then it'll be my pleasure," he allowed.

Doyle's tongued darted out, wetting his lips. His eyes were soft, and warmer than the fire. "I hope so, Bodie. Not much point in it otherwise, is there?" Bodie let his head be pulled down for a kiss and Doyle counted his molars with thoughtful precision, sucking Bodie's tongue so expertly that he felt it all the way to his groin.

It was rare when they took this much time with each other. Bodie touched Doyle everywhere, one hand resting proprietarily over the ring as he moved his mouth down gently heaving ribs. Doyle shivered when Bodie licked along the join of leg and thigh, skin and muscle jumping sharply under his tongue. He rubbed the flat of his palm over the ring, rolling the flesh with it. Doyle winced, just a little; Bodie smiled, and tugged on it. Air hissed through Doyle's teeth--oh yes, Ray had hidden depths. He gave the ring a parting pat, nudged and prodded Doyle onto his belly and straddled his hips, pressing his weight between his lover's shoulderblades.

Doyle tensed. "Bodie, I--"

"Like a bit of a massage?" he offered, starting in, grinning to himself when Ray grunted and relaxed back against the rug. Suspicious little git had thought he wouldn't get his turn on top, when in fact Bodie would likely have done anything he wanted just then. Bodie was feeling reckless, impetuous; he was afraid he'd start spouting sentimental mush any minute, and not even regret it.

The fire crackling and Doyle's groans were the only things to break the minutes-long silence. Doyle started to wriggle under him, purposely bumping his arse up against Bodie's groin, and Bodie sat down hard on him. He was enjoying looking forward to it, and wasn't willing to give Ray his lead just yet.

He wanted to put his partner in just the right mood, wanted him to take his time. They'd been going at it like minks for most of the afternoon, hot and lusty and incredibly satisfying--and a bit too reminiscent of zipless fucks. Doyle settled down, accepting the silent message, and eventually Bodie leaned down, pressing his weight against the smooth, hot skin of Ray's back.

"Mmm, 's delicious, Bodiemate," Doyle mumbled, rocking under him, "But shift it now, eh?" Bodie lifted a little to let Doyle turn under him, catching the heat and hunger that was wide-awake and glowing in the forest green eyes, feeling the hard press of cock against his groin. Bodie let himself be pulled down for a short kiss, passing the reins to his partner. He rolled where Doyle led him then, ending flat on his back with the rug caressing him.

Doyle stared down at him, mouth opening slightly, the white shine of enamel catching the firelight. As he watched, Doyle's tongue slid out, sensuously wetted full lips.

Bodie nodded, his pulse beating slow and thick, and closed his eyes when Doyle's mouth fixed on his nipple. Fingers trailed over him, tickling, pinching, moving ever so slowly toward his groin. Teeth bit at his tit and he hissed in air, tightening his muscles against the pleasure. "Should have one of your own, you know," Doyle murmured, licking across his chest.

Bodie reached and tightened his fingers in Doyle's hair. "No," he answered, thinking again of the box in the bureau. "Jewelry's for you, in this partnership." Doyle shrugged, shook off the hand in his hair, slid down and took Bodie's cock into his throat without a pause. Bodie gasped, thrusting hard, unable to keep from it as Ray slowly sucked at him. He let it go on as long as he could stand it, trembling when Doyle would swallow against his length, gasping when Ray laughed, the sound rumbling like a vibrator through his cock. "Easy, Ray, I'm no good to you if I'm spent," he breathed eventually. The generous mouth released him and Doyle slithered back up him to fit their bodies together. Bodie offered a seductive smile, raising his eyebrows. "You said something about fucking me senseless?"

Doyle smiled. "Through the carpet, I think it was." He licked at Bodie's lips. "But you'll be senseless, I promise."

"Then do it." The waiting had induced a fine, slow burn in him, that had heated by slow degrees. He was far past ready; he knew it, and Doyle knew it. Doyle started to pull away and Bodie grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm a bit too impatient to suffer through the niceties." That was putting it mildly. When an hour ago he had been sated and content, now his nerves were howling for it. His cock burned, his arse hungered, his heart ached with emotion he wasn't willing to admit even now--easier to couch it in sexual fury. Safer.

He moved quickly, bent and sucked Doyle, licking him hard, making him groan. He let him go as abruptly as he'd captured him, reclining back against the rug and spreading his knees. "Just do it."

Doyle bared his teeth, then put two fingers into his mouth, sucking them wetly, the movement hollowing his cheeks and making Bodie's stomach tighten. A moment later, he felt the wet fingers at his arse, pressing gently at him, into him. He sighed, lifting his hips to the penetration, wanting more. "Come on, Ray."

Doyle smiled, green eyes sharp and knowing, penetrating his defenses. "Where's the fire, love? Relax."

He should've known better than to open his mouth. Doyle kept bent over, sliding his face between Bodie's thighs, replacing his fingers with his tongue and driving Bodie wild with sensation. The wet silk of tongue penetrated intimately, aggressively, while Doyle's breath tickled fine hairs, making him twitch and squirm. Finally, Doyle prodded his legs wider, pulled his hips up against slim thighs and pushed into him in one long, slow glide. Bodie groaned as his lover's cock opened him, reaching a hand down to stroke himself, but Doyle intercepted it, patted it, shooed it away. Doyle had his own agenda now, and Bodie had little choice but to succumb to it. Far from through the carpet, Doyle's lovemaking was gentle and persistent, a delicate, unhurried rhythm with hips and hand, masturbating Bodie along until he was whimpering and groaning and trembling with need. Doyle was testing the limits of his patience, finding and tweaking every hungry nerve, every itching patch of skin, until Bodie begged for him to finish it. Doyle wouldn't. Doyle could stretch the tension impossibly taut, gentling him when he was too close, working their bodies into a sweating, trembling fury--always watching, searching with eyes that saw more than Bodie would ever say aloud.

Bodie whimpered with frustration, twisting his fingers into the rug; his eyes stung with his unwillingness to blink as he held his lover's gaze. Doyle finally picked up the pace, just enough, to send him spiraling over the edge. The fire glowed on his retinas as his eyes squeezed shut and orgasm flared through his body. Doyle shuddered and groaned, coming with him, hand clenching hard on Bodie's cock and making it all last. He felt his lover's full weight drop down on him like a winter quilt. His skin was vibrant, hypersensitive to every panted breath on his neck, to the fine tracings of Doyle's fingers skimming along his ribs and the firm fullness still in him and the hard stamp of the little ring against his own chest.

He could have lain like that for a week. It took all his effort to stroke a lax hand slowly up and down Doyle's sweaty back. Some minutes later Doyle groaned and shifted, pulling out of him, and he hooked his ankles behind his partner's knees to hold him there.

As his left side cooled and his right dried by the heat of the fire, he decided to opt for warmth, with Doyle settled down comfortably in his arms, and both of them dozing away the rest of the night. The exacting, drawn-out lovemaking pulsed in his nerves and left a luscious ache in his arse, and all he needed to do was tighten his muscles to remember it. But the fire was dying faster than he wanted and Doyle lying against him had smeared his semen over them both. He rolled, dumping his protesting lover onto the bunched-up blanket, rising to throw on more wood and go clean himself up. He knew as he wet a towel that he was going to give Doyle the gift, now. He wiped himself down and tossed the damp cloth into the laundry hamper, stretching and loving the way his body always felt after Doyle had finished with it. Doyle had spoiled him, and Bodie savored it. So now it was time to do a bit of spoiling, himself. God only knew what would be happening over the next couple of months.

On his way back from the loo he slipped into the bedroom and rummaged through his bureau, pulling out the small, wrapped jeweler's box. Doyle would love the sentiment and the value even as he steadfastly refused to do anything about it. Bodie smiled, holding back a quiet chuckle. Besides being the most sentimental gift he'd ever wrapped for Doyle--and there had been more than he wanted to remember--it was also the least practical. Completely frivolous, in fact, which was part of why Ray would appreciate it.

When he slid back onto the rug, Doyle moved just a little to make room. The box dropped with a satisfying thump onto the middle of Doyle's chest and his lover tucked in his chin, straining to bring it into focus.

"What's that?"

"Looks like a box, dunnit. Open it and see if there's a prezzy inside."

A suspicious look crept onto Doyle's face, and Bodie broadened his smile. "Remember, it's the thought that counts," he quipped as his partner gingerly removed the paper.

Inside the box was a diamond earring, a conservative 1/3 karat in a simple, antique gold setting. Doyle stared hard at it, and eventually pulled it from the box.

"All right," Doyle said neutrally, "what's the joke?" His eyes queried in silence and Bodie sighed, taking the earring and holding it up to watch the fire reflect through its clear facets.

"It was me Mum's," he admitted casually. "I nicked it when I left home, and as far as I know it's one of the only things of hers I'll ever have." He shrugged, and stared down at his partner's suddenly damp eyes. They looked like leaves after a rain, and Bodie felt a tightness grow in his chest. "Stop that, Ray." He reached to run his finger over the cool stone in Doyle's hand. "I've lost it and found it again a dozen times, as much as I move about."

Doyle looked back to the earring and blinked. "Why?"

Bodie wasn't sure he had an answer. "I thought you could take better care of it than me, is all," he muttered, casting his eyes about for something to look at besides Doyle.

"For convenience' sake, eh?" Doyle speculated, giving him an out.

Bodie realized, with some surprise, that he didn't want one this time, and that the answer was clear. "No," he said, feeling his nerves settle with truth. "It means something to me, Ray. Means quite a bit. Seems only right you should have it."

The look in the green eyes was more than enough compensation for the gift, and Bodie ducked his head down to Doyle's shoulder, uncomfortably embarrassed. He'd mind the giving less if Ray just wouldn't appreciate it so...obviously.

"I--Bodie, I don't know what to say."

"How about saying you love me," he offered, trying to keep his voice light.

"Oh, that I do." Bodie felt himself being pushed off balance, and when he was on his back Doyle's face loomed into view, intent and serious. "I love you." Bodie was kissed, hard, tongue and teeth laying claim on him, and when his lover pulled away, he was breathless. Doyle said fiercely, "I may look her up and steal the other one for you." His voice was determined, as if trying to convince Bodie, and Bodie shut his eyes against it. He knew, he didn't need convincing; he just liked to hear it sometimes, and they neither one of them were much for saying sentimental shite like that.

Doyle's weight on him lifted, cool air sliding into the new space between them. Bodie looked, saw bare back and shadows and the full tangle of curls. Ray had returned his side, staring at the fire, fingers toying with the ring where it lay on the floor.

"Now don't go all sentimental on me," he said, working hard for the right note of irony. He said it as much for Doyle as for himself, not really sure what to do with his feelings except get a little distance from them. He slid up against Doyle's backside, fitting them together like spoons. Doyle lifted an elbow and squirmed back against him, then tucked his head down, Bodie wrapping his arms round Doyle's ribs and settling comfortably. He could tell from the cant of head that Doyle was still staring at the diamond. Certainly, Doyle had liked it. Worth every moment of guilt I suffered over lifting it, Mum, he thought with a smile. Every second.

When embers were all that was left of the fire, they went to bed, nestled close together in the dark and made love again. It was work, his body so wrung out and sated that they neither one of them was much good for it. It was almost a competition, to see which of them would say 'uncle'. But neither of them did and, completely spent, Bodie tucked his chin against the curve of Ray's shoulder and fell directly into sleep.

---

Bodie woke the next morning mentally fresh, and physically a bit the worse for wear. He was pleasantly sore, his back not quite stiff, his muscles lax. He didn't want to move a hair, but the smell of coffee was driving sleep away and nothing he could do would bring it back.

The bed was empty beside him. He made the effort to roll, hit Doyle's thigh with his foot and glanced down the bed to see Ray, sitting cross-legged atop the bunched-up duvet. "Morning," he said, eyeing the steaming coffee mug with envy. He slid a hand under the covers, testing sensitive skin.

Doyle tilted his head and smiled, sipping at his cup. "Coffee?"

"God yes, please."

"Be right back."

Doyle set his own cup on the night-stand and left the room, returning a minute later with a mug for Bodie, heavily milked and sugared. It was ambrosia.

Doyle didn't try to talk through his first cup, and it gave him the impetus to drag himself out of bed and fetch another for both of them. Doyle was lying back on the bed when he re-entered the room, the towelling robe fallen seductively open. Bodie manfully ignored it and held out the second cup. No quickie they could manage this morning would match last night, and he didn't want its memory paled.

Doyle broke the silence. "Cowley's going to have you up north at least through Boxing Day, right?"

"That's what he said. Hope like hell I won't have to keep hopping across the Irish Sea. I'll catch me death of cold on those damned ferries."

Doyle chuckled filthily. "Nah, you'll just have to find very good bedwarmers. Try and pull in clean girls, too, Bodie; I won't thank you for bringing home the clap."

Bodie paused for a long moment, not liking anything Ray had just said. "All right," he said neutrally, not sure why the words bothered him. Something about Doyle's natural assumption that he'd poke some bird every night when Bodie knew for a fact that Doyle probably wouldn't. Not every night, perhaps not at all.

"Ray," he began, not quite sure what he wanted to say next, "you know you're welcome to grab a bit on the side. 'T'isn't like I mind."

Doyle glanced up at him, his lips rounding into an almost pout. "I know," he said simply. "I just don't need it like you do, Bodie."

And how was that? Every night? Not bloody likely no matter how much he enjoyed acting the macho stud. Anonymously? Well, yes, occasionally that did have its merits--but it seemed there was something to be said for absence making the heart grow fonder. It had been some time since he'd wanted anyone else; he didn't want anyone else right now. Later, maybe, when the novelty of making love with Ray instead of having a leg over with a nameless, faceless bird had worn off, maybe then he would. But not right now.

"I'll save it for you, mate," he said brashly. "Special Christmas present."

He'd expected surprise, raised eyebrows, even a sentimental smile. He hadn't expected laughter. Coffee spattered over Bodie's bathrobe while Doyle went puce, his eyes leaking tears of mirth. "Right, Bodie. You'll keep your wally dry for uncounted weeks? When pigs fly!"

Bodie wondered if he should feel hurt by the assessment, but Doyle, clutching his middle and helpless with laughter, was utterly charming. Besides, Doyle had a point and anyway, it was an odd idea. So he shrugged off the observation and decided to give the concept of celibacy serious thought. Might be a novel thing to do; he might surprise Ray Doyle yet.

---

It had been a very long six and a half weeks. The weather had been worse than shitty, northern breezes buffeting him every time he stepped outside some drafty, half-frozen out-building. He still didn't understand why terrorists couldn't find decent digs.

By the grace of God and George Cowley, he'd managed to avoid the flu or something equally irritating, even through the rains and snows, hails and ferryboat crossings. He'd spent a great deal of time indoors, and he'd missed his partner more than he had thought he would. The job had gotten sticky more than once and it had kept him distracted, on his toes. But whenever there was a quiet moment his mind inevitably drifted back to an image of Doyle, lying spread out on Bodie's bed wearing that artfully draped towelling robe. As the weeks wore on, the robe's placement shifted, then shifted more, and eventually disappeared entirely. Women he'd not given a second glance in his first week looked positively appealing, and there was even a bloke or two he'd have considered tripping....

But Doyle, damn him, had planted the seed of fidelity in his mind and he couldn't in good conscience uproot it.

They'd managed to talk on the phone three or four times, but twice had been through Central and at no time had they had a chance for much more than 'how're you holding up?--fine-you?--fine.--Looking forward to getting home--looking forward to having you.' Everything sounded like innuendo, and any conversation was had only with guilty paranoia and no satisfaction.

Irritating rubbish, almost worse than not talking at all, it made the time away seem interminable.

Harder though, was the stress of sublimation, the schooling himself into older, harder patterns where he could passively observe the routine violence in these little clans he dealt with. It'd been a long time since he'd felt little enough to ignore women being beaten, kids being abused, and he found with some surprise that he didn't like himself much when he did it. Doyle would love that. Add to it the necessity of flirting back when he was flirted with, offering cool, callous brushoffs because he'd decided to take this celibacy lark seriously after all while watching the occasional deal happen that he knew would end in blood-spattered human remains on middle class Belfast streets, and William Bodie wasn't a happy man.

He'd been back in London three days now, filing reports and climbing the walls because the Cow had sent Doyle out on a 'small job' less than an hour before Bodie'd got himself back to Central. Bloody Cowley, he'd already overworked them into January and still felt the need to wring a few more days out of Doyle.

Well, at least there was the account of Ray's latest little job to look forward to. Poor Ray, he'd been sent under in Birmingham, rubbing elbows with prossies and queers in private sex clubs, the kinds of places he and Doyle would have killed for a chance to patronize just to if only for the kinky thrill of being with men of their own bent. They'd never have risked it, not ever--and here Cowley had sent Ray off alone to play the poufter. It would've been funny, if it weren't so ironic.

They'd talked by R/T a few times about that and other things but only in the most oblique of ways; Doyle had called him night before last from a phone box in Coventry, and talked him through a handjob that had left them both gasping. Bodie had refused to ask if Ray had wanked himself at a public telephone. His imagination had supplied him vivid details of just that, and he didn't want it spoiled.

Christ, but the last three days had been the hardest. Back among friends and co-workers, he'd been able to relax for the first time in weeks--and relaxation kept drawing his mind round to Doyle: broody and fey; that filthy chuckle that'd get Ray arrested for indecent...something; Doyle's eyes on him, Doyle's hands on him.... Well, not long now. Cowley had cocked up their tentatively planned happy reunion, but nothing short of an A-1 callout would keep him and Ray from spending this evening in bed. Together.

Bodie smiled at his own whimsey; he was supposed to be old enough to know better than this. But he and Doyle were going to his flat after hours, to lie together until hunger or exhaustion drove them apart. And as soon as they'd taken in a bit of sustenance, they were going to come back home, strip down and crawl right back into his bed, until they couldn't get it up anymore or ran out of things to talk about in between.

So much to share, so much feeling stored up in these last weeks that he'd been powerless to think about. The job is the only thing that matters, and if your loyalty to your partner interferes with your loyalty to C15, then you're of no more use to me.

It was a standard lecture, years-old and clichéd. And true, he grudgingly admitted. "Great sermon, Cowley," he muttered under his breath. "Really great." Well, neither he nor Doyle were inexperienced enough to let that happen, so Cowley--if he knew at all--hadn't a damned thing to complain about.

Their performance had netted them a few days' leave, and Bodie planned to utilise every second of it. He hadn't touched Ray since November for godsake. Impatiently, Bodie checked his watch. Doyle was late getting back; they had a meeting with Cowley for god knew what, Ray had a preliminary report to file and then they'd be off. Just a few hours, now. A few hours longer than he thought he could stand.

He threw a Biro in the old coffee cup they used for pens, resisting the urge to pace. Doyle should be back now, and waiting was wearing on him. His groin ached for Ray, his hands itched to touch him. His eyeballs felt as if they were crawling in their sockets just for a look.

The door to the agents' cramped office cubicles opened and Bodie's head jerked up, but it was only Murphy. "Oi, Bodie, what're you still doing here? Thought you were off an hour ago."

Bodie shrugged, pretending boredom. "I was. Was going to eat dinner with the golly, though, and catch up on December. He isn't in yet."

"Yes he is."

"Eh?"

"He's in the rest room." Murphy started chortling, shaking his head at some private joke.

Bodie went numb. "What's he doin' in there?" he asked laconically, his pulse beginning to pound.

Murphy was laughing harder. "Oh Bodie, I don't know how you cope with him sometimes. He's bloody insane, he is!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Murphy wiped at his eyes, and looked back at Bodie for the first time. "Oh no, mate, this you have to see for yourself. He's completely lost his nut." Murphy started laughing again, caught up in whatever it was that Doyle had done. Bodie wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Come on, Bodie, I'll go back down with you."

It was unnerving, seeing Michael Murphy so damned excited.

They reached the double doors of the restroom, and Murphy bowed grandiosely, ushering him in first. He eased open the door almost afraid of boobytraps loaded on the doorframe. Murphy snickered behind him and goosed him, making him jump into the room. There, he stopped cold and grinned to himself; bad mood burned away like morning mist on a summer's day, all he needed to be content was a willing Ray Doyle...and Ray Doyle looked willing for anything and anyone. He was leaning against the wall like a whore not fifteen feet from Bodie, shoulders drawn back and hips jutting slightly. Doyle was still dressed for his part, wearing denim so faded and tight it looked painted on, in boots that gave him two extra inches and the look of legs that went all the way to his neck. His shirt was thick but open, defying the fact that it was below freezing outside the building--and not much above it inside. The leather jacket he wore was new, expensive, supple-looking, its russet color two deliberate shades lighter than his hair. It invited touch. The chains at neck and wrist glimmered in the strong overhead lighting. Bodie thought very cold thoughts, trying to keep his body from betraying him.

There were a half dozen agents milling about the room, three gathered in front of Doyle. Jax was near the far wall, looking positively pale with shock. Parker had fallen into a chair and was doubled over with laughter. Linda Keogh was doing something to Ray's hair, Bodie couldn't see what.

He whistled under his breath. "Looks the right whore, doesn't he?" he asided to Murphy.

Murphy laughed again. "That isn't the half of it, mate."

"Eh?" Doyle hadn't even noticed him in the room, but Bodie was riveted by the show. Bloody exhibitionist his lover was, willing to use the flimsy cover of a three-day job to ooze sexual heat all over anyone who got close enough. Every move, glance and twitch was a solicitation for sex.

"Bodie, why didn't you tell us you had a new boy in the stable?" It was Williams, holding up the bar by the tea kettle on the far side of the room.

"Because I didn't know meself, until now," Bodie answered lightly, never taking his eyes off his partner. Doyle's head tilted just slightly, his eyes slanting to make contact with Bodie's, and the heat in the room went up by fiery degrees. "What've you done now, Ray?" he asked, forcing calm into his voice.

Michaelson glanced from Doyle to Bodie with a disgusted look on his face. "Does Cowley know you've packed it in for the night?" It was directed at Doyle, and the double entendre earned Michaelson a head-to-foot sweep of cool green eyes. Doyle showed his teeth in a salacious smile.

Good-humoured laughter filled the room, and Bodie crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the tight resistance of the leather jacket. Keogh finally dropped her hand and turned away, shaking her head. "I'll say one thing for you, Ray Doyle, you really throw yourself into the part."

"He's not good enough for you, Keogh," someone said as she walked away.

"Too bloody right he isn't," she agreed hotly, "especially when crap like that looks better on 'im than it does on me."

Murphy had sauntered past Bodie and well into the room, swishing and camping it up like there was no tomorrow. "So lissen, Ray," Murphy chortled, trying to get control of himself. "Bodie said you two were havin' dinner tonight, but ah, how about after?"

"Doyle," Bodie said again. It was a warning, this time, and Doyle's eyes found his. Ray's tongue slipped out, wetting his lips; Bodie's stomach tightened in reaction.

"What?"

"What've you done?"

Ray shrugged, pushing arse-first away from the wall. "Nothing much. Just made it easier to do the job, is all." Bodie felt the herald tingling of revelation, and narrowed his eyes. This was going to be good.

"Eh?" he asked, playing along, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets and leaning his shoulders against the wall by the door. His pose was casual, not like Ray's pointedly sexual one, but Ray liked it all right. They must be crazy, flirting like this in a room full of agents...crazy masochists, to do this to themselves when they'd not be able to touch for at least two hours, yet: Ray had to see Cowley when the Old Man got back in, and write his preliminary report after. "Like what?"

Doyle turned to face him for the first time, and Bodie felt his mouth drop open. He ordered his brain to close it, but his chin was still on his chest and his eyes started to burn because he couldn't seem to blink, of a sudden. He felt his guts tighten and his muscles tingle in erotic shock.

Doyle's eyebrows raised, the smile widened fractionally. People were laughing, laughing at him now instead of Doyle, but he couldn't be bothered to shut them up. "Fuck," he heard, and realized he had said it. It snapped him out of the sexual seizure his brain was having. Doyle was wearing the bloody earring.

"You don't think it's me?" he asked, tone innocent and mocking.

Bodie waited until he was sure of his voice, said, "Oh no, it's perfect. But don't expect me to leave this building with you while you're wearing it, Ray." He glanced round the room, registering the disparaging smiles, the speculative gazes, the nervous frowns. "For that matter, he added with a calculated wry grin, "I'm not sure I want to be too close to you around these animals, either. Might give them ideas." He walked over to the counter, a few feet from Murphy.

Doyle frowned and Bodie turned toward the tea urn. His cock was half-hard already and it'd be bloody obvious in a minute if he couldn't get it under control. "Tea?"

Five voices, none of them Doyle's, said "please." Bodie filled a single plastic cup.

"So, Doyle, d'you mind enlightening us as to why, exactly, you did such a foolish thing like that?" He narrowed his eyes, acted suspicious. "It is real, isn't it?"

Doyle's mouth rounded succulently. "Of course it's real. Trinket like this opens all the doors I needed opened." He snapped his fingers. "Easy as that."

The tea burned Bodie's inner lip when he sipped at it, barely felt. He shook his head. "Cowley'll go into apoplexy if he sees that."

Doyle showed his teeth, licked his lips like a whore. "Yeh, there is that."

Bodie feigned surprise; there was only one reason in this universe that Ray Doyle had put in his mum's earring, only one goal he'd had--and it hadn't a damned thing to do with the job or George Cowley. "On purpose?!"

Doyle shrugged. "Thought he deserved a shock before I took it out. Seemed the least I could do after being goosed, pinched and groped for three days on his orders."

Bodie felt a surge of jealousy rush through him, heating his skin: that blokes had felt up his partner... that strange men had put their hands on Ray while Ray had flaunted and taunted and teased... that he hadn't been there to see it....

Wait until they got out of here and back to his flat? He wasn't sure he was willing to wait until they reached the nearest toilet. Damn convention and double damn common sense, he wanted Doyle and he wanted him now--"Doyle." Bodie started, remembering of a sudden that there were plenty of other people in the room, among them now, the Cow's secretary. Betty's voice was stern from the doorway. "Mr. Cowley is due back at three o'clock. You're to wait for him in his office."

Bodie looked at Doyle, looked at Betty, and looked at his watch. two thirty-five. "Come on, Ray, let's get this over with. Then, if you've an appetite left, I'll buy." Bodie, his goal clearly in sight--in those jeans, it was clearly in everyone's sight--hustled a startled Doyle out of the restroom right behind Betty.

"What're you doing?" Doyle asked, wisely wary.

"Sooner in, sooner out," he replied cryptically.

"This from the man who says he likes to take his time." Sotto voce, no one else could have heard it, but still it made Bodie's skin tingle with the rush of danger, of imminent discovery.

Doyle's pace slowed to a crawl, and Bodie took his elbow. "Come on."

Doyle stopped in the middle of the hall, unfazed. "Where are we going?"

There was only one place. The thought of a knee trembler in George Cowley's office invoked more fear-filled taboo for Bodie than the thought of doing it across a church altar: much more. "The Cow's office."

"Why are you coming?"

"Betty just told us--"

"She told me, mate. I'll meet you after."

The game was up. Doyle knew what he wanted, and was scared of it. What Doyle didn't know, was that Bodie wanted him enough to bodily drag him down this hallway and behind the first potted plant he found. "Come on," he denied, "d'you think I'm insane? We're not going to do anything in there." He glanced furtively up and down the hall. "Just need to touch you, Ray. Y'know."

Doyle's face was schooled into the calmest, coolest of lines. Doyle didn't believe him for an instant. "No."

"Afraid?"

Green eyes narrowed angrily. "No, just not stupid. It's too risky."

Mouth barely moving, breath barely disturbing the drafty air, Bodie made sure his partner got the message. "I'll tell you risky. Risky is you showing up wearing...that, and expecting me to respond like a nun. I've been months without you, and you didn't even offer me the luxury of seeing this in private. You posed back there like you belonged in some wanker's magazine, so have some pity on me and let me touch you. Besides," he added in desperate afterthought, "you need me to protect you from Cowley. He'll go through the roof when he sees that."

Someone--Williams and Michaelson--jostled past him, and he resisted the urge to swat at them like gnats. Doyle looked at him for a long moment, speculating, then slim fingers reached up and twisted the earring. Bodie felt the muscles in his face twitch in reaction, watched the self-satisfied smile that replied. "How can I say no to an offer like that?"

Bodie turned for Cowley's office, sure in the knowledge that Doyle was barely a step behind. Doyle settled at his shoulder like his shadow, and he felt his partner's presence like the warmth of summer sun against his skin.

Down the corridor, left and left again, and Bodie was waving a casual hand at Betty as he sauntered through the outer office. "When did you say Mr. Cowley would be back?" he asked her, leaning his hip on the edge of her desk. The brisk walk had offered him a bit of a breather. He didn't feel explosive, now.

She raised a suspicious eyebrow; Doyle grimaced and tugged at his sleeve.

Cowley's office, in the right light, was still a dump. But it was an incredibly private one, he decided, carefully snicking the door shut behind him. He checked the tiny bath and made sure the other door was locked, then he advanced on his partner. Two feet away he paused, feeling the tension vibrating like an engine between them. "Ray."

Doyle smiled softly, welcoming, and Bodie felt the knife of passionate emotion twisting sensuously in his belly. The arching pain was enough to dull the sharp pangs of hunger for sex and more sex until they exhausted themselves. If he tried, if Doyle made him, then he could wait. "Hullo," Doyle said, the word as light as a feather. Bodie reached out a hand, trying to swallow the idiot grin on his face, and slid his fingers into his partner's hair, feeling it like silk, watching his mum's diamond wink right beside his palm.

"I still don't believe you had the balls to do that."

Abruptly Doyle looked mischievous, and dangerous for it. "There's plenty you think I won't do, Bodiemate," he breathed. Casually, Doyle rolled his shoulders, and the full mouth opened in pleasure. Only then did Bodie put the last pieces together, and when he did he felt as if a live current of electricity was being pumped through his cock. "Oh shit." He looked back up at his partner's knowing smile, at his mum's earring winking through Ray's curls, and swore again.

The tattering cloak of control swept away by the simple, knowing lure, Bodie pressed his lover back against the door, sucking on his mouth, biting at Doyle's full, wet lips, pulling the very breath from his lungs. Ray was responding, hips grinding against him--and suddenly he wasn't.

Ray jerked his head away. "What time is it?" he breathed, eyes wild.

"Don't know, don't care." Bodie's hands were already working, jerking the heavy cotton shirt from the tight jeans.

"You know what'll happen if he walks in on us in flagrante?"

He knew, all right. Cowley would chew them up and spit the bits out. Bodie didn't care a damn. "I'd fuck you in the street and love it, when you do things like this to me," he grated, surprising himself by meaning it, shoving his hands down to the waistband of the too-tight jeans. "God, but you're the sexiest bastard--" He didn't give Doyle time to argue before taking his mouth again, raping it, his fingers clumsy on shirt buttons as he tried to expose more skin. He tugged the fabric apart, pressed his palms against the crisp hair and stiff nipples, felt the outline of the ring pressed into his skin and groaned into his lover's mouth. Doyle's chest was heaving, and Bodie tugged hard on the ring, twisting it, forcing Doyle to catch up to the painful kick of arousal that was kicking through him. He pushed a thigh between Doyle's legs, spreading him and rubbing hard.

Doyle twisted against him, breaking the contact of mouths, chests, groins. "Christ, Bodie, we can't--"

Bodie got the belt loosened and the zipper down before Doyle grabbed his wrist. "Cowley's due back any minute. We can't."

"Why the fuck are you wasting time arguing with me? You started this!" he snapped, but quietly.

"Copping a feel is one thing, but if we're half naked there's no way we can cover it."

Urgency swelled like white pain behind his eyes. It was worse than that time in Holland; he needed this. "Well, it's a risk I'm willing to take, Ray."

"It's too much risk. He'll kill us."

Bodie cupped his lover's crotch, delineating the hard heat of erection with his fingers, almost whimpering when Doyle choked back a groan. "Yeh," he argued, "but he wouldn't press charges. He might kill us, he'd definitely fire us--but he wouldn't press charges. He wouldn't make it public."

"But it'll be our jobs--everything--"

Bodie looked into the wide green eyes, seeing the wild fire stoked high by lust-laden adrenalin, and risk. He understood his partner. Some ways, they were just the same. Sometimes, they didn't have any limits at all.

"You're right. We're risking everything but life and limb for a fuck we could safely, easily have two hours from now." He slid his free hand across his lover's chest, finding the ring and massaging with his palm, tugging on it and the flesh beneath. He licked at Ray's open lips, feeling them like damp silk catching against his tongue. "And you'll never come so hard again in your entire life."

Ray's face took on a look of anguish; he understood all right, and he wanted it. Ray was fighting himself and Bodie, now, and it was a losing battle. "This is crazy, Bodie."

He pressed his crotch hard against Doyle's, gasping with the sharp pleasure of heat and hunger between them. "I never said it wasn't."

"Betty's right outside the door...."

"Then you'll have to be quiet for once in your life." The shirt was loose; he shoved his hands up under it and pressed his palms flat against hot, hard flesh. He shivered, and painfully bit back a groan as Ray's muscles tensed under his hands. The thought that someone might hear thrilled and terrified, and sent a surge of tight heat through his groin. He opened the button and zip, peeling the denim down slim hips. "I'm sucking you, I'm fucking you. 'S been too long."

Doyle's pupils were dilated with passion, taking in every detail. He stared, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Finally, he dropped his head back against the door and shut his eyes tightly. "Fine, if it'll shut you up," he hissed.

Bodie knelt, balancing on his heels to keep telltale smudges off the knees of his trousers, and eased Ray's erection from the tight confines of denim. "Tell me you want it," he demanded in a hiss, his hand tight and still on Doyle's cock. "Tell me." The silence between them stretched out as burning green eyes stared down at him. Bodie squeezed the twitching cock once, wondering what would happen if Betty tried to open this door....

Ray's answer came then, not in words; fingers clutched hard at his head, the heels of hands pressing into his temples, and Doyle lurched forward. Sighing, starving, Bodie opened his lips and let Doyle's cock into his mouth. It had been too long since he'd felt his lover's stiff erection in his throat, drawn Doyle's familiar, explicit musk into his nostrils, or slid his hands across the inviting curves of Doyle's arse. He thought he might come just from this. Long, thin fingers curled round his head, kneading, guiding, pulling. He heard a choked-off groan and pinched Ray's arse hard. They couldn't risk the noise, he knew it even whilst he wanted to groan himself. Doyle's belly was tightening, his balls drawing tight against his body, and Bodie tasted the herald tang of semen. He froze, knowing his partner all too well. When Ray's hands dug in to hold him, he jerked his head away.

"No," he panted, rising out of his crouch. "Need to be in you." Bodie thrust against him, the ache in his groin like fire burning his flesh.

"You're crazy." Doyle said it again, looking at Bodie like he was seeing a stranger. "No."

"I haven't touched anyone since the last time I touched you, Ray. I need it."

Doyle's jaw went slack, his eyes widened. "What? You haven't--"

Bodie dropped his head, pressing his forehead against his lover's neck. The smell of Ray filled his nostrils, the solid presence inundated all his senses. "No, all right?" he mouthed against the warm silk of skin, "I haven't." He jerked open the snap and zip of his corduroys, shoving them past his hips. The first brush of his flesh to Ray's was a balm to the burning ache. "Let me, Ray," he urged.

"Shit," Doyle swore, and nodded his head.

"Oh god, yes. Turn round." Doyle faced the door, his hands spread high against the frame, his chest meeting the wood and pale, smooth buttocks arching away. Bodie slid his hands over trembling flesh, fingers delving between the silk crease of cheeks and spreading his partner. He licked his fingers, rubbing the spittle against the delicate skin; he couldn't breathe. His cock was burning, ready to explode as he pushed the head against Doyle's arse and forced it through. Ray was too tight, still too dry; this was stupid and he knew it, but the clutching heat of his partner's body sent sparks up his spine, exploding behind his eyes. He wrapped a hand up over Ray's shoulder, covering his mouth. When Doyle bit him he choked on a groan and thrust hard. Doyle, hot and strung out on the lush promise of incipient orgasm, just bit harder and shoved back against him. The tension around his shaft relaxed a little and he buried himself to the hilt in the damp velvet heat of his lover's body.

Then it came: the first spasmodic jerk, the rhythmic clenching of muscle, the abrupt stillness of his lover's body. Bodie cupped his hand over Ray's erection as Doyle came and kept coming, hard and long and gasping as his body tightened like steel with it.

The rich silk of semen filled his palm, slid sensuously over his fingers, and he brought his hand to his mouth to smell, to taste. After all this time it was like nectar, familiar and sweet and so well-missed. He was on the brink himself as he swallowed hard. He needed so little, and wanted so much, to go over the edge.

Doyle turned his head, breathing hard, and the earring glinted in the overhead light. Bodie froze, watching the sparkle of diamond framed by fat, springy curls. That Doyle had done this, had risked Cowley's wrath and the Squad's disdain-- In slow motion he moved, mouth opening to take in the pierced earlobe. Gently, so tenderly he barely felt its presence in his mouth, he tongued his mum's diamond, moving it carefully within the still-new puncture. Struggling, aching, Bodie slid his hand between Ray's chest and the door, pressing it flat against Ray's nipple. Doyle's body trembled against his, and it was more than enough. He thrust one long, last time, and came with the silence that the fear of discovery and death had taught him, years ago. He thought his chest would explode with the need to yell. His muscles were liquid with pleasure, as if they'd pour off his bones and puddle on the floor.

Everything was still for a long moment as his body absorbed the orgasm, heart pounding like a hammer in his chest and against Ray's back, before Doyle forcefully shoved him backward and wriggled away from the wall, leaving him leaning heavily against a book case with his trousers tangled round his trembling thighs.

"Pull yourself together, Bodie," Doyle growled. "It's fuckin' three o'clock. We've got to look normal, now," Doyle breathed as stared and panted. Ray was already dragging up his jeans, tucking himself haphazardly back in and zipping up. Bodie needed a minute to get his wind back. And some control of his muscles. And a bit of oxygen to his brain. He leaned heavily against the shelf, limp with release, pleasure coursing in him still. He couldn't understand how Ray could be moving yet.

"Give me a second," he panted, nonetheless dragging his pants back up and working hard to tuck his undershirt into his trousers.

"No."

"But--"

The sound of Cowley's voice in the outer room almost gave him a heart attack. Adrenalin gave him the strength to move as Doyle, wide-eyed, dragged his jacket over his shoulders and dropped heavily into a chair. He winced, glaring daggers as Bodie got himself zipped up. "Siddown, mate," he said in a normal speaking voice.

Training overrode both the inertia of sex and the sheer, blind panic. In less than ten seconds Bodie looked positively sartorial, posed in the chair with one knee casually slung over its arm. His temples pounded, his blood oxygen-hungry as he breathed deeply and evenly; orgasm still waned within him like a tide, lapping ever more gently at his nerves.

When Cowley strode in Bodie sat up quickly. Doyle wiped at his mouth and the Old Man paused by the desk, eyeing each of them in turn. Cowley looked about the room, at the liquor cabinet, the closed and locked file drawers, and finally the papers on his desk. "Bodie," he finally said, "if you've used your time waiting here to launch some sort of practical joke, you'd best defuse it right now. I'm in no mood for childish pranks."

"Me sir? No sir." He clenched his muscles, feeling the wave rebounding through his middle. It was all he could do to keep from smirking. Cowley, poor bastard, knew something was up but hadn't the foggiest idea what.

The old man's eyes settled on Doyle, and widened. Bodie panicked, wondering what detail Doyle had missed that Cowley hadn't, and only then remembered that his boss hadn't yet seen the earring. "Tell me that isn't real, 4.5."

Bodie chortled in sheer relief, bringing Cowley's glare to bear on him. "You find that amusing, 3.7?"

"Nossir," he laughed. "In fact, I said exactly the same thing when I saw it a half hour ago."

"I see." Cowley then astonished them both by launching into a detailed synopsis of their last jobs, making the odd personal compliment and the much more common criticism, and letting Doyle off with a vague command to turn in his written report sometime tomorrow. He didn't once return his eyes to the earring, nor did he mention it again.

Fifteen minutes later Bodie and Doyle were in the hall alone, and Doyle's fingers were again toying with the earring, twisting the post round and round in its hole. It sent pleasant chills careening up Bodie's spine. "Funny, I thought this'd nudge him right round the twist," he mused.

Bodie, the beast in him fed a wonderful appetizer they'd likely never repeat, was philosophical about the whole affair. "Probably why he didn't. I mean, he must've sussed you did it just for him."

Doyle tilted his head, eyes narrowing speculatively, and Bodie smiled in return. "Yeh."

"Still, he took the wind out of your sails, didn't he?"

"He's actually made me consider keeping this."

"Bugger that!"

Doyle turned, surprised. "Thought you'd love the idea."

Bodie shook his head vehemently. It chilled him, that Doyle would even think it. Plenty of things they did, they could explain away by partnership, or sheer bloodymindedness, but not that. They might as well stuff scarves in their back pockets or set up housekeeping. "No, Ray. That's bloody stupid."

In reply, Doyle raised his eyebrows and casually scratched at his chest, moving the ring that still hung against his nipple. "Not the same," Bodie hissed, dragging his eyes away. "No one can see that."

Doyle shrugged, and followed in silence.

He logged out at the back exit, looking out the window. It was sleeting again, the icy rain sheeting down and whipped near horizontal by the wind. It looked... invigorating. He donned a Mackintosh and ran for the Capri, Doyle splashing and bitching along right behind him.

He was already on the simmer for the next round, and acknowledging silently that man did not live by bread alone. Maybe they'd need a break by midnight, and fetch dinner then. Certainly, they'd surface by breakfast.

He let the engine warm up a bit, enjoying watching as Ray stretched languorously in the carseat and propped on one hip.

"How did you get your trinket, anyway?" Bodie asked.

Doyle read his mind, or was watching how his eyes were glued to his lover's chest. "Told Joel Meyerson I'd left some things in your flat that I needed to get out, just after you'd left. Checked out a key and turned it in the next day."

"Oh, clever, Ray." He chuckled, bubbling with energy and desire and incipient satisfaction. "You should've been a detective."

Doyle raised innocent brows, eyes widening. "Y'think so? Perhaps it isn't too late to change my occupation."

"Getting off the game, are you?"

Doyle's laugh was filthy, making Bodie's groin tingle. "How would you get any, then?"

He slid the Capri into first and skidded over the ice and out of the carpark. "Could make a killing at it, Ray," he said seriously. Doyle glanced over, smiled.

Out of the blue, Doyle laughed beside him and shook his head. 'Months', Bodie?" His eyes were sparkling with pleasure.

Bodie counted the time, and shrugged. "Month, then." He grinned. "One point five months," he added, drawing out the 's'.

Ray just laughed and dropped a gentle hand to Bodie's thigh. A few minutes later, Doyle again broke the silence. "Hate to admit it, but that was bloody good. Penny gets you a pound you shredded my arse, which means you just used up your only chance to fuck me for a couple of days--but it was bloody good."

"'S okay. It was more than worth it. I shall never again be able to treat Cowley's office with the respect and dignity it deserves."

"You never could before."

"True. Well, there's plenty left for us to do." He chortled. "Over, and over, and over...."

Doyle sighed, and smiled seraphically. "'S a shame I can't keep your mum's earring in, eh?" he asked.

Bodie watched out of the corner of his eye as Doyle absently twisted it round and round. "Too bloody right it is," he agreed vehemently. "Too bloody right." Still, he decided, there were certain benefits to the need for discretion; every time they traveled abroad, he could get Doyle to do it again. Or, he thought with a twinge of sensual fear, Doyle might make good on a few of his own threats made over the years....

Bodie was looking forward to it.

-- THE END --

Originally published in Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink 3, Manacles Press, 1993