Not in Love
The Professionals is the property of Mark One Productions. This is done for love, not money.
Bodie drove straight to Doyle's, saw with relief that his partner had beaten him through the traffic. He leaned against the wall, pressed the intercom. "Guess who."
The door buzzed open without comment and Bodie jogged up the stairs. "Doyle?"
Not quite sure what to expect, Bodie paused. Not quite sure what he wanted to find.
"You coming or not?"
Decision made, he walked through.
"Catch." Bodie just managed the grab the holdall that was flung at his face. "Shove it in the cupboard, will you? I'm nearly unpacked."
Doyle, fully-dressed, was dropping a bundle of cotton into the laundry basket. Bodie's heart rate slowed.
"Nearly done. Take it yours'll moulder in your car till it evolves legs and runs off?"
"Nah, I'll let the servants take care of it. They like to feel useful." He watched as Doyle carried his toiletry bag through to the bathroom. "Thanks for getting me out of there," he blurted to the bathroom door.
"Hmm?" Doyle came back out. "Yeah, sorry about that. I meant to tell you last night that Cowley wanted us back but......" He grinned broadly. "Theresa kind of distracted me."
"So we are needed back?" Bodie blinked.
"Yeah, the Hardman group's threatening a couple of judges. And Anson went and fractured his ankle while parachuting so Cowley needs us on bodyguard duty."
"Oh no." Bodie's face twisted with disappointment as he sagged back against the wall. "Nursemaiding. Couldn't even be something interesting."
"'Fraid not." Doyle pulled his jacket on. "We've got time for a pint before we're needed. Coming?"
Bodie's eyes jerked wide and he swallowed. Quickly, covering his annoyance at Doyle's sly dig - it had to be a dig - he stepped back, gestured for Doyle to precede him through the door. "Age before beauty." And, as Doyle pulled a face, stepped between his partner and the wall, before he could think, Bodie pushed him back, pinned him against the wall.
Doyle frowned at him, tried to push him off. "Bodie. Stop playing silly buggers."
Bodie leaned harder.
Doyle stopped struggling, stared at him, puzzled confusion written on his face. "What's the matter?"
He wanted to kick the shit out of Doyle. Make the little bastard realise that he'd made a big mistake last night, that he shouldn't have listened to what Bodie had said...
But there was the warmth of Doyle's body pressed against him, heat scorching its way through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Doyle's breath - hot, damp - panting against his cheek. Tensed muscles feeling so good as Doyle squirmed slightly, testing Bodie's grip.
"What the fuck's going on, Bodie?"
Bodie kissed him.
And the next moment, was stumbling backwards, propelled by a vigorous shove.
"Come off it, Bodie!" Doyle glared at him, rubbing his fist.
Bodie made it to the bed, managed to sit down with a semblance of dignity. He was silent.
"Bodie?" Doyle had retreated to the other side of the room, lounged against the wall.
"Last night," Bodie mumbled.
"Oh, Jesus. I should have known you wouldn't just drop it." Doyle rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look, I was pissed, Bodie. I shouldn't have done it."
"Why not?" Doyle looked at him as though he'd just asked whether Miss World had nice legs. "Why the hell do you think? You're my partner Bodie. We work together."
Bodie looked away. "I wasn't exactly fighting you off. And you seemed to know what you were doing."
"I don't do men." Doyle shrugged, looked away, and his tone was a little less definite as he continued. "Not any more."
"So you did?"
"Well, yeah, but... Oh, come off it, Bodie. I mean, you're my mate and everything but I don't fancy you."
"Good job, too." The automatic response was out before Bodie could even begin to consider the logic of it.
Doyle looked at him for a long moment, face unreadable. "Just thought it'd be a more convenient way of getting a shag than going through the palaver with one of the girls?" he finally offered.
"Yeah." Bodie seized the excuse gratefully. He forced a twisted grin. "Besides, with that hair I could easily get confused."
Doyle didn't respond. "Just after a shag, then?"
"No, I'm madly in love with you and I want you to have my babies." Bodie paused, considered. "Adopt my babies. Come off it, Doyle." It would be so much easier to divert Doyle from the truth if he had the faintest idea what the truth was. "Just drop it."
Finally, Doyle took a deep breath, lifted his hands in surrender. "It's dropped." He sniffed. "Coming to the pub?"
Bodie watched Doyle shrug into his jacket and felt well, felt relief. It had been a one off. It hadn't meant a thing. And if there was a slight twinge of regret, he shoved it way down into the part of his conscience that he never looked at.
A few hours later, Bodie carefully didn't wince as he accidentally reached too far for his mug of tea, causing a recently dislocated shoulder to object. He did, however, allow himself a quiet "Ow" as he glanced over at Doyle from his sprawl on the restroom sofa. "It would be my right arm that the bastards messed with, wouldn't it?"
Doyle looked up from the desk. "Such a hardship for you, having to lie there while I write up the report. What exactly was it that Hardman called you when you were cuffing him?"
Bodie frowned in concentration. "A tool of Cowley's fascist regime, with all the self-awareness and reasoning ability of a- something. I kicked him in the kneecaps and he lost the thread of his argument."
"Yeah, well, I think I'll leave that bit out. It doesn't really come under 'reasonable and necessary force'."
"Nope. Comes under getting my own back on the sod who dislocated my shoulder." Bodie grinned with satisfaction. "On the bright side, the sling makes me look all noble, sacrificing myself for the good of my country. Birds love it."
"It makes you look as though you've fallen off your bike," Doyle corrected absently. "And stop kicking up such a fuss it wasn't exactly a serious injury. A couple of days and you'll be good as new."
"Oh, charming." Bodie lifted his head to glare balefully at his partner. "Wait till the next time you get kicked in the bollocks and you're staggering round sounding like a choirboy. You won't get any sympathy from me."
"I never do."
"And you never will."
"God, you're a nuisance when you're feeling sorry for yourself."
"And you regress to age seven. Can't you go and hassle Betty?"
"Cowley threw me out her office."
"Not on duty."
"Out on assignment."
"Out on the same assignment as Susan." Bodie frowned. "If he's moving in on her, I'll knock his block off. I've already had to cope with you beating me to it. If he does, I'll lose my reputation completely."
Doyle smirked. "Athletic birds are so much fun. You ever tried naked judo?"
Bodie raised an eyebrow. "I can usually think of better things to do with a naked woman. I'm happy to give you a few pointers if you need them."
"I don't need 'em, sunshine."
"Considering you missed the woman completely last night..." The words fell into a dead silence. Bodie shut his eyes, mouth twisted. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up."
The silence continued for a long moment before Doyle spoke. "Well, it didn't come up for you in the first place."
It took a few seconds for the joke to sink in. Bodie smiled in relief. "Theresa was a bit of alright, wasn't she?"
"Not seeing her again, then?"
Bodie glanced over but could only see the back of Doyle's head as he bent industriously over the report. "Nah." He didn't volunteer any more details, hoped that Doyle would leave it.
"Mind if I give her a call?"
"Feel free." The response was automatic, though Bodie wished he could have refused.
"Might just do that. I'm free tonight."
"A Saturday night without a date?" Bodie gasped with exaggerated shock before settling back down. "I'm set up with Helen, the nurse who saw to my shoulder. Want me to get her to bring one of her friends along?" Bodie asked.
"I can get my own dates, ta very much."
"Well, if you're happy with my cast-offs..." Bodie grinned as Doyle turned to face him.
"D'you want me to dislocate your other shoulder?"
"You think I'm a nuisance with one arm out of commission - do you really want to bust the other one as well?"
Doyle pulled a face before turning his attention back to the report. "Push me much futher and I'll risk it..." A few minutes later, he looked up. "Get Helen to bring a mate, will you?"
Helen was a tiny, fragile-looking brunette with abundant freckles; her friend Tina was taller and more substantial with dark blonde hair and a habit of giving attractively coquettish looks. To the benefit of Doyle's ego, her look of trepidation had melted away when she was introduced to him. "I don't usually go on blind dates," she'd explained earnestly. "Too many bad experiences."
"Settle back and enjoy a good one," he'd replied with a confident grin. She'd laughed and tucked her hand into his arm as he led her to the car. Meanwhile, Helen had been scolding Bodie for wearing his sling, telling him that the muscles would just stiffen up if he didn't use them - especially with his medical record.
But now, settled into a private little table at one of Bodie's favourite restaurants, Tina kept giving Doyle those promising little looks and as good as ignoring Bodie's extravagant tales of his time in Africa.
"So there we were, fifty miles outside the village, me holding the halter of this donkey that was happily eating the map and Soueif in just his shirt and boots," Bodie was saying. "And Edwell and Schroelkamp disappearing down the track with the jeep. And Soueif looked at me, looked at his watch and offered me odds of fifty to one that the boss'd be by to pick us up within the next hour. And sure enough, forty minutes later, there he was."
"How come?" Helen asked curiously.
Bodie laughed. "He had a date that evening - and Soueif had snaffled his only clean pair of underpants."
Doyle laughed dutifully. Last time he'd heard the story they'd been abandoned ten miles away from the village and it had been Heijenk who'd swiped the boss's whisky. Still, he had to admire Bodie's ability to avoid saying exactly what he'd been doing in Africa, even when asked directly.
"So what do you do now?" Helen asked. "I mean, you were wearing a gun when you came in, so it must be something pretty exciting."
"Nah, dead dull. Just security stuff." Bodie dismissed the question easily.
"Police?" Tina asked.
"No!" Bodie's vehemence prompted a grin from Doyle.
"Kind of police," he said. "But only kind of. Dull stuff. Not like you girls. Bet you never know what's going to come in each day."
And Helen was into a description of the results of an RTA that had come in that day. Doyle had no doubt that normally any date not in the medical profession would have had to leave the table by the time she'd finished. He felt a faint stirring of pride when both nurses glanced at the two men with a hint of respect - respect that deepened when Bodie asked for his steak rare. Doyle's mouth twitched as Bodie gave him a bland, urbane look that clearly said the steak was no coincidence.
The evening passed quickly and, all too soon, Doyle had dropped Helen and Bodie at Bodie's flat and was left alone with Tina. "Coming back to mine?" He grinned. "I've got some great coffee."
She gave him one of those looks. "How can I resist?"
As Doyle put the coffee on, Tina wandered round his flat. "I like your toy soldiers," she called. Doyle felt a faint irritation - they weren't toy soldiers, they were scale models. "Were you in the Forces before this?"
"Nope." Carrying the mugs, Doyle walked through from the kitchen. "Bodie was but not me."
"My brother's in the Navy," Tina said absently. "Wonder if they ever met."
"I doubt it." He handed her one of the mugs. "Bodie didn't have much to do with the Navy."
"What did you do?"
"Me? Copper with the Met."
"But you're not from London."
"Nah. But the Met's the best police force, so it's the one I went for."
"Do you always go for the best?" she asked.
Doyle smiled, stepped closer. "Always."
The mugs of coffee were left, untouched, on the table.
Doyle lay awake, staring into the darkness. Tina was fast asleep, her hair spilling over his shoulder and tickling his chest. Absently, he pushed it away. She mumbled something in her sleep and pulled the covers closer under her chin.
There was something wrong.
Okay, Tina wasn't Miss World but she was appealing enough. So why had he kept expecting to find hard muscle instead of soft curves? Why had he been wanting to bury his fingers in short, black hair rather than blonde waves? And why would Tina's moans and tangled phrases of pleasure have been so much more satisfying if they'd been a couple of octaves deeper and spoken with a Birkenhead accent?
He sighed with frustration. It was perfectly understandable, if you approached it logically. His most recent sexual experience had been with Bodie and it was so unusual and so recent that, of course, it had kind of imprinted itself on his consciousness. Probably there was always this comparison going on in the back of his mind and he just didn't notice it.
Fancying Bodie would be more trouble than it was worth, so he'd just have to prove to himself that everything was perfectly logical, understandable and normal.
"I want hazardous duty pay." Bodie had his head angled so he could use the mirror in the office showers to look inside his mouth. "Five days after I dislocate my shoulder, I lose a sodding tooth."
"You get hazardous duty pay," Doyle pointed out from underneath a towel as he emerged from the shower. "I want hotter water in the showers.
"Well, I want more hazardous duty pay. That's the second tooth I've lost." He frowned as he looked at the temporary cap. "And I can't get it seen to properly until after the weekend."
"So?" Doyle took up his position next to Bodie and frowned at his own injuries. "At least you don't look like you've gone six rounds with Mohammed Ali."
"True, I'm not quite as ugly as you. But I'm operating from an advantage, there."
Doyle glanced over. "Where's it safe to hit you?"
Bodie considered. "I think there's a patch in the small of my back, about six inches square, that isn't too badly bruised. Aim carefully and I mightn't scream."
"Easier if I leave it till we're both recovered?"
"I'll write an IOU."
"I'll lose it."
Doyle winced as he pulled a clean t-shirt over his head. "Doing anything at the weekend?"
"I was meant to be going out on the bike with Stacey but I'm going to cry off. It'd just break her heart, seeing the state of this once-handsome face. You?"
"Not much." Doyle examined the beginnings of a black eye as he pulled on his holster. "Pub round the corner from mine's just reopened - fancy giving it a go?"
"Not really. Not with this monstrosity." Bodie glared at the cap's reflection. "Looks like I've got a lump of chewing gum stuck to my teeth."
"Don't smile and you'll be okay. At least you haven't got a sodding great black eye."
Bodie grinned. "The look on Bedin's face when you clocked him, though... Classic."
"Yeah." Doyle examined the grazes on his knuckles. "Oh well, think I'm as human as I'm going to get any time soon."
"I'm sure you've evolve one day."
Doyle gave him a disgusted look and Bodie lifted his hands in injured innocence. "Come on! You give me a feed line like that and I'm meant to ignore it?"
"Okay, okay. You going to be ready any time soon?"
"Yeah, just give me a few minutes."
Doyle perched on the counter, legs swinging, and watched as Bodie finished dressing. It was a kind of test, he decided. If he could watch a half-naked Bodie without getting in the slightest turned on, it would prove that the problems with Tina had been as logical and understandable as he suspected - knew - they were.
Unaware of Doyle's scrutiny, Bodie belched and scratched his groin.
Not arousing in the slightest, Doyle was pleased to note.
Bodie bent over to pull on his trousers.
Nice bum. Purely aesthetically. No ulterior motives. He was allowed to appreciate the masculine form on an artistic level.
Bodie fastened his trousers and frowned critically. "I'm getting a belly." He sighed. "Sod. I'm going to have to spend more time at the gym."
Well, yeah, there were the slight beginnings of a gut, Doyle concluded. Nothing really noticeable. And it was, well, endearing.
Endearing? Jesus Christ...
"I'll ask the Cow to send you off to Macklin for a week."
Bodie glared. "That's not funny."
Doyle twitched an eyebrow. "Who said it was a joke?"
"Pink or blue?"
"Pink or blue what?"
"Shirt. Blue. Brings out my eyes." Bodie fluttered his eyelashes.
"They're so bloodshot, you'd be best with the pink." Doyle felt a twinge of disappointment as Bodie pulled the blue shirt on. Nice arms. Well muscled without being offputtingly so. For a moment, he let himself remember the feel of those arms on each side of him, the weight of Bodie's body pressing him back against the wall. The feel of Bodie's mouth on his.
The feel of Bodie beneath him, gasping with humiliated pleasure. Sweat-slicked skin sliding under him. Strong hands clinging to his.
Oh, Jesus Christ. He did not need this. Down. Not now.
"I'm done." Bodie turned round. "Get those reports finished and then we've got the weekend off."
"Doesn't count as a weekend off if it's sick leave." Doyle hoped his voice didn't sound quite as strangled as he suspected. Perfectly normal physical reaction to the memory of a good bout of sex, specially as he still had the adrenaline rushing round his system from the fight earlier.
"Try telling Cowley."
Bodie didn't seem to have noticed. But now he had to stand up. And in these jeans, Bodie wouldn't be able to avoid noticing. "Yeah, s'pose so." Doyle didn't move.
"Coming?" Bodie frowned.
"Yeah." He rubbed his jaw. "Er, you go on ahead. I've got stuff to do." A quick wank and he'd be able to concentrate on work.
"What stuff?" Bodie didn't look convinced.
"Do I have to tell you everything?" Doyle summoned his most offensive glare.
"Okay, okay..." Bodie backed off, hands in the air. "I'll be making a start on the reports."
Doyle watched him go with relief and, as soon as the door was closed, bolted for the privacy of one of the toilet cubicles.
Now, sex. Susan. Susan would be a good one to concentrate on.
He quickly unbuttoned his jeans, pulled his cock out. With a look of distaste, he grabbed a handful of rough toilet paper. Could be worse could be that shiny stuff they'd had in the Met.
Anyway, slender arms pulling him close as-
Arms. Broader arms dusted with dark hair. Bodie's mouth - those sullen lips - closing on his.
Oh, Jesus. Doyle opened his eyes and glared at the wall, without taking in the fact that Chelsea were for the cup or that, for a good time, he should call Laura on 381 3873. If thinking of Bodie would get this taken care of as quickly as possible so he could get the reports done, get home and...... Probably fantasise about Bodie if this was any indication. Get drunk. He sighed and shut his eyes again.
This time he didn't fight. This time he leaned into the kiss. Slid his hands under Bodie's shirt and caressed the strong body, gloried again in the feel of warm skin. Felt a sudden electric surge of lust at the imagined restriction of the holster.
And this dream Bodie pulled away, used reddened lips to give a sultry smile, and dropped to his knees. Doyle let out a strangled groan as dream-Bodie slowly licked down his cock, used previously undiscovered knowledge of exactly what drove Doyle wild.
He swallowed hard, tried to stop any more groans escaping. He was vaguely aware that he wasn't succeeding but he couldn't really be bothered caring. Just as long as he could avoid screaming.
And dream-Bodie swallowed him with an expertise it would take years to acquire. An expertise it had taken Doyle himself at least a couple of months to acquire.
It was more of a muffled squeal than a scream, Doyle consoled himself, when he finally managed to get his thoughts into some semblance of order. And did it really matter, seeing as nobody was listening?
Does a man reaching orgasm still squeal if there's nobody to hear?
Doyle laughed silently as he sagged back against the door and slowly wiped himself clean. How many years had it been since he'd quit sleeping with men? And one little drunken shag and he couldn't get Bodie out of his mind.
God, that sounded pathetic.
Well, it was pretty pathetic. A grown man not able to make it through the day without a wank - he was a walking definition of pathetic. Bodie'd laugh his head off if he knew about it.
Oh, of course he would.
Doyle dropped the wad of tissue into the toilet and sagged on to the seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He needed to figure this out.
First off, was he in love with Bodie?
Nope. That was fairly easy to answer. He supposed that, in a way, a very select, very quiet, very wouldn't-mention-it-to-anybody way, he did love the guy. But that was understandable after working together for three years or so with the sort of closeness Cowley demanded. It was certainly a long way from being in love with him.
So did he fancy Bodie?
No, he'd just had a mid-day wank over somebody he wasn't attracted to in the slightest.
Did Bodie fancy him?
Now that was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. He didn't believe the 'easier than getting a bird' line but there were plenty of other reasons for Bodie's behaviour. It could just boil down to the fact that he'd suddenly discovered he liked having a dick up his arse and Doyle's was the closest to hand.
Come to think of it, his behaviour could just boil down to the fact that he'd remembered how much he liked having his dick up somebody else's arse.
Oh, sod it. Bodie had made a pass, hadn't he? Doyle was just going to take him up on it. Pure, harmless sex.
Trying out a new recipe tonight," he told Bodie, kicking the door of their office shut. "Wanna come round?"
"Is it healthy?" Bodie asked suspiciously.
Doyle sighed. "Reasonably healthy, yes. It's not swimming in grease."
"I'll give it a miss, then. I need plenty of cholestorol to help me heal."
"You what?" Doyle clicked the kettle on and dumped teabags into mugs.
"Cholestorol's good for recovering wounds."
"You're talking bollocks." He sniffed the milk suspiciously. "How long has this been here?"
"No idea. And cholestorol has to be good for something, so why not that? In a couple of years, they'll decide we should get as much cholestorol as possible."
Doyle shrugged and splashed the milk in on top of the teabags. "The only thing cholestorol's good for is heart attacks."
"How many times do I have to tell you to put the milk in after the water?"
"Oh, stop whingeing and get it yourself if you're that bothered."
"I'm not - I've already got mine."
Doyle looked over to the desk and the steaming Liverpool mug on it. "Oh, now you tell me." He threw himself on to the sofa. "So, coming round tonight or not?"
"Come round abou-" Doyle looked up. "Not?"
"Going deaf in your old age, Raymond?"
"Why not?" Doyle demanded. "If you're that desperate for grease, I'll do you a bacon buttie instead."
"I don't feel like company, that's all."
"Since when have I been company?" Doyle let his indignation show.
"I just want to flop in front of the telly, okay? Stop taking everything so personally."
Doyle frowned. Come to think of it, Bodie hadn't been round since they'd got back from Theresa's. Okay, it could just have been coincidence but Doyle was no great believer in coincidence when it came to Bodie. Especially not when it got in the way of his plans. "It's because of last weekend, isn't it?"
Bodie's suddenly expressionless face told him he'd hit the mark. "Stop taking everything personally," Bodie repeated calmly, his voice for once free of all trace of accent.
Doyle paused, poured boiling water into one of the mugs. "What would you do if I told you I couldn't be bothered going through the hassle with a girl tonight?"
"I'd say you were a cheap little faggot." Despite the words, the tone was strangely affectionate.
Doyle grinned. "Never been accused of being cheap. So, you coming round or not?"
After a long pause, Bodie picked up his pen. "Better get a move on with these reports or it'll be too late for you to cook."
Bodie leaned against the kitchen wall, beer in hand, and watched Doyle cook. Whenever Bodie ventured into his kitchen for something more complicated than sausages and beans, he ended up using every pan and every implement he possessed. There were times when he suspected that more appeared from some alternate dimension. It was the only explanation for some of the things he found in his kitchen drawers. Doyle, on the other hand, kept everything confined to one or two pans, one or two wooden spoons. Splatters of sauce on to the worksurface were wiped away before they could congeal. Somehow, the spoons never dared to drip their contents.
He didn't know what it was but it wasn't human, Bodie decided, finishing his beer. He glanced at the empty can with a little surprise. His first beer normally lasted until halfway through dinner at the least. Nerves were making him thirsty, he admitted reluctantly to himself.
Everything seemed so bloody normal, that was the problem. He didn't spend all of his time with Doyle but it wasn't too unusual to come round for dinner, usually a precursor to a match on the box or a film they both wanted to watch. And on those occasions, he'd lean against the kitchen wall, beer in hand, and watch Doyle cook. Throughout the evening, he'd have a couple of beers then climb into his car and drive home. Once or twice, he'd had enough to drink that Doyle had refused to let him drive and he'd spent the night on the sofa, in a sleeping bag that Doyle had reluctantly dug out of a cupboard in the depths of his bedroom.
The closest Bodie had ever been to Doyle's bedroom was passing through it on the way to the bathroom.
And for all this looked like any other evening, it wasn't, and Bodie wished Doyle would do something to acknowledge that. He wasn't looking for a candle-lit dinner, romantic music on the stereo and a bunch of flowers delivered to the office. Heck, he'd run a mile if any of that was offered. Just, well, just a look. Maybe a bit more bodily contact than normal.
Oh, okay, just being slammed up against the wall and kissed into the middle of next week.
Although possibly - he shifted to allow different bruises to come into contact with the wall - slamming wasn't a good idea. He had a feeling tonight was going to have to be taken slow and gentle. He watched Doyle wince as he stood up from shoving the casserole into the oven and decided his partner wouldn't be likely to object too much.
"How long till it's done?" Bodie asked.
"About an hour." Doyle checked his watch. "Nothing much on the telly."
"Right." Bodie dropped his empty can into the bin. "Want another beer?"
Doyle shrugged. "Why not. Not as though either of us is going to be driving tonight."
Bodie was grateful for the chill of the fridge as he fished out a couple of beers. He'd wanted an indication that tonight was going to be different and, although something a little less practical might have been preferable, he wasn't going to run screaming like...
Like some dumb girl, forcing Doyle to go through the palaver of dinner and wine and romantic talk. Forcing himself to go through the palaver.
Bodie enjoyed the seduction game. At times, enjoyed it more than the actual conquest. But there were other times when all he wanted was sex and that was all Doyle was offering.
Dinner was a waste of time.
He put the beer back in the fridge but stayed facing it, the door still open. "I can think of something better to fill an hour."
Silence, broken only by the faint rasp of demin, the soft squeak of trainers on linoleum, and then there was the gentle pressure of Doyle's hands on his biceps, turning him round. For a moment, there was a terrifying softness to Doyle's expression and then there was just the familiar dirty grin. "Sounds good to me."
There was the faint confusion as his hands collided with Doyle's, allayed by shared rueful smiles, and then he was holding Doyle and kissing him. For a too-brief moment, he kept his mind clear and catalogued the differences. He didn't have to bend his neck. Those full lips were surprisingly hard against his own, confident, demanding. But they were personal things, nothing to do with the fact that Doyle was male. But the hard body pressing against his own, pushing him backwards, that was male. Oh, that was male.
He let his hands drift down Doyle's back, cup those deliciously rounded buttocks as Doyle ground his hips against him. Doyle let out a disappointed groan as Bodie finally broke the kiss. "My back's getting cold. Bedroom?"
Doyle blinked absently. "Yeah. Bedroom. Hang on." He set the timer on the oven. "I'm not planning on watching the clock. And I know how much you'd complain if dinner got ruined."
Bodie grinned reluctantly as he shut the fridge door. "I'm certainly planning on working up an appetite."
Doyle returned the grin, snagged Bodie's hand and led him through to the bedroom.
-- THE END --