Overnight, Hungover, Shoulder to Shoulder
Two separate drabbles and a drabble series written for the 2-Day Drabbles challenge on the discoveredinalj livejournal community
He blames adrenaline for the first time, alcohol for the second, and gratitude for the third, when he slams into Bodie's injured arms before the locks have even clicked.
And it is three. Doyle has no idea who the fuck Bodie thinks he's kidding by pretending not to be sure.
Besides, if Mr Oh-So Casual can't bloody count, then how come he wakes up after the fourth time with his arms and mouth full of a Bodie who hasn't left, and whose grip on his arms will bruise by morning?
Overnight they've gone and done it, then.
Partners to partners.
"No sense in glaring at me, mate, no one forced you to do flaming Drambuies."
Bodie was propping his head on his hands at the kitchen table. Doyle looked so charged up and bouncy from his run that Bodie's first thought was to hit him and crawl back to bed.
Nope, no good, can't reach the bugger with me fist from here.
"And you, you pillock, do them with Mackintosh." Doyle clattered the dishes in the sink with unnecessary vigour as far as Bodie was concerned. "Who is Scottish and probably weaned on the stuff."
"Now he bloody tells me."
"God, but you look horrible."
Bodie took his head off his hand at that because he'd almost forgotten what affection sounded like from the mouth of Ray Doyle, but there it was. In the smile, the relaxed posture against the sink, and in the mug of tea now being extended out towards him. He almost dropped the mug when Ray's hand paused on his shoulder, and a thumb brushed the skin of his neck.
"I'm off. Go slope back under the covers and contemplate a life of sobriety..
"...'til next time." They chorused together, and even Bodie managed a smile.
"Um... call you later?".
Doyle snorted."No chance. Seen enough of your ugly mug to last a lifetime. You just drape yourself round someone else for an evening, mate, and I'll see you tomorrow, 7 o'clock sharp. And don't be bloody late." The front door banged and he was gone.
Bodie drank his tea and sat back, shaking his head as much as he dared. The day he could predict his partner was the day his toes would curl up. The warm thumbprint was still there, though, as was the hot tea. A man could do a lot worse...
Shoulder to Shoulder
NOTE: With apologies to HG, as this is inspired by a moment in my favourite story of hers, Strange Days Indeed.
They stood, shoulder to bare shoulder at the kitchen doorway. Doyle chewed his lip. Bodie noticed.
"Eh? ... Nothing."
"Come on, sunshine. Spill."
Bodie's indulgent tone made Doyle smile. He studied their bare feet on the lino.
"It's nothing... y'know, lovey-dovey."
"Be still my heart, then."
Doyle turned enough to cuff him. "Oi! I come off an undercover where I've been stuck with a bunch of bran-eating weirdos for five days, and all you've got in for me are eggs, and salt and vinegar crisps!"
"Bought you soft loo roll, what more do you want?"
Doyle bit the nearest shoulder.
-- THE END --