Written for the April two-day drabble challenge on the discoveredinalj livejournal community

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No one who knew him would call Doyle sweet.

Tart was more like it.

Sharp tongue, cutting wit. Toughness as much metal as mettle.

His body was like that too, all angles and edges. Hard muscle shielding harder bone.

But Bodie knew how to pierce Doyle's armour. He would press his partner close, absorbing Doyle's anger, his restlessness, the thing inside him that never knew enough.

When it all got too much, Bodie would hold him, whispering, "Easy, mate."

And secure in Bodie's arms, Doyle would surrender, as he would to no other. His armour vanishing, revealing only a man.

-- THE END --

April 2008