Companion piece is Little Black Book


Ray Doyle has a good memory for faces. It's essential in his job and has helped to keep him alive this far. But some faces he forgets as soon as he leaves them. Those that he sees in the dark alleys or in the anonymous hotel rooms on his days off. To him, they're nobody. But to him, they are all one person.

Bodie.

His best friend. His work partner. The man he trusts to watch his back and keep him alive. The man whose back he watches and who he keeps alive. The man he wants and knows he can never have.

The man in the biker jacket who drags Doyle into the alleyway near the Three Feathers has Bodie's face. As Doyle tugs at his jeans and turns to face the wall, he imagines it's Bodie's arm around his waist and Bodie's cock sliding between his cheeks. When he closes his eyes, it's Bodie's voice he can hear; not grunting or cursing, but whispering sweet endearments. It's Bodie's fingers inside of him, preparing him lovingly, and not some nameless biker slamming into him, desperate for release. It's Bodie's hand gently caressing his neck and jaw, not a forearm across his neck threatening to cut off his air supply if he so much as breathes a word to anyone. When he's done, Biker-Man grunts and pulls out, zipping himself up and leaving Doyle to do the same. Doyle has forgotten him already. Just another faceless fuck.

Doyle is living dangerously. If Cowley finds out, Doyle will be out of the squad, no questions asked. He's a security risk. Being indiscreet, he's leaving himself wide open to blackmail. He should stop it.

He will. One day.

---

The honk of the horn and flash of the headlights signals Bodie's arrival outside Doyle's latest residence. Doyle slides into the seat next to his partner, exchanging grins and the usual morning banter. He can do this. He's okay. His urge has been satisfied, and he can look at Bodie, can work with him, without wanting him.

Until the next time that Bodie ruffles his hair, or slaps him on the back the way that mates do. Until the next time Bodie puts his arms on Doyle's waist to steady himself, or a knowing glance lingers just a fraction longer than it should.

Until the next time.

-- THE END --

January 2008