The Professionals belongs to Brian Clemens and Mark 1 Productions. This is done for love, not money.

"They're fluffy," Bodie said flatly. "Not to mention being pink."

Doyle shrugged. "They'd run out of the black."

"You didn't need to buy any in the first place. Handcuffs come with the job, in case you'd forgotten." Bodie pulled plain steel cuffs from his pocket and swung them in front of Doyle before tossing the newly-bought cuffs on to the table. "These fluffy things? Too flimsy to be any good. Wouldn't exactly take a Houdini to get out of them."

"We're only playing. We don't need anything serious." Doyle retrieved the discarded cuffs and held them, unaware of how his fingers nervously played through the thick layer of fake fur. "Besides, I want fluffy."

"I don't."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"I am doing. In case you hadn't noticed."

"Would have been useful if you'd said before I shelled out a fiver."

"Didn't think it was necessary."

"They hurt without padding, you know."

"That's the whole point of BDSM, Doyle." A strange smile quirked Bodie's mouth. "Pain."

"I thought it was about, you know." Doyle shrugged, looked uncomfortable. "Domination. Submission."

Bodie shook his head sharply. "Not for me."

Doyle swallowed. "I don't know if I want to do this, Bodie. Don't know if I can."

"You promised."

Doyle turned away from the accusation in his partner's eyes. "I don't like pain."

"You don't have to like it. Just do it." Bodie's hand was on Doyle's shoulder, turning him, forcing him to meet Bodie's eyes. "I need this. Please."

Doyle shut his eyes. Anything to avoid the look Bodie was giving him. Then the warm weight of Bodie's hand was gone and there was only the cold snap of cuffs snicking shut.

Doyle forced his eyes open, focused on Bodie's arm in front of him and the too-solid steel clamped around his partner's wrist. "Have you got the keys?" he asked quietly.

"In the car."

"I'll get them."

Bodie's unchained hand shot out, grabbed Doyle's wrist in a grip warmer than steel but just as firm. "Not yet. Later."

"How much later?"

Bodie smiled gently. "That's up to you. Master."


Bodie bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Master."

Doyle took a deep breath. "Give me your hands."

"May I speak, Master?"

Doyle flinched. "Go ahead."

"Probably worth leaving the other arm unfastened till we're upstairs and you can chain me to the bed."

Doyle kept his attention firmly fixed on the steel cuff around Bodie's wrist; used the already raw marks to distract himself from the eerie reappearance of normal, everyday Bodie in this bizarre scenario.

"I've got some stuff already up there. Whips and things," Bodie continued and Doyle dropped his partner's arm, stepping back as though the steel had flared to white heat.

"I can't do it. I'm not doing it."

Bodie's face froze. "I see." He rubbed his wrist absently. "I suppose you think I'm a pervert."

"No!" Doyle knew his protestation was too vigorous.

Bodie's short laugh was completely lacking in humour. "I am a pervert. I enjoy pain. At times. In certain circumstances."

"I don't care if you enjoy it. It's still pain."

"You can dish it out on the job without this much of a guilt trip."

"You're not some murdering bastard. You're my partner."

"But you can't give me what I want."

"No." Doyle took a tentative step towards Bodie and rested his hand on the cuff. Bodie stiffened but didn't move. "I can't hurt you, Bodie. I love you too much for that."

For a long moment, Bodie didn't respond. Then he relaxed and sighed. "You have a very strange way of showing it, Raymond." He let his head drop forward until his forehead was resting on Doyle's shoulder.

"I know." Doyle wrapped his arms around Bodie and let his partner's warmth melt the frost forming inside him.

-- THE END --

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