Doyle wondered why he couldn't move his arm. Then a soft snore reached him.


Apparently it had stayed in his head. He cleared his throat and tried again, with a small movement to shift the head currently cutting off the blood supply past his right elbow.

Nothing. He turned his head slowly and found himself focusing on the back of a head about four inches away. He heard something between a sigh and a growl as Bodie actually rubbed his cheek on Doyle's upper arm and settled even further.

"Enough of that, you. Up."

A pause, then a different kind of noise.


"I said, ' 'S me birthday. Sod off'."

"Was, mate, was your birthday. It's all over now. And there are guests - well, Murph on the settee - and God knows who and what else crashed out on the carpet out there. You had all your indulgences yesterday, so move your head and your arse and go put the kettle on. Least you can do after all that fuss you made me make over you."

Bodie moved his head and his arse. Only not very far and not very quickly. Doyle tried to keep the amused smile off his face as Bodie loomed over him.

"All right there, Grandad?"

"Shut up. You're older than me."

"Yeah, but you look older than Cowley this morning."


"Any time, mate. You've got cake-"

Bodie kissed the end of the sentence right out of him, then pulled back.

"All my indulgences, Ray? You sure?"

Doyle never could resist Bodie that close and full of himself, even if he did have cake in his hair. Still, there were some things not to be borne. Not for love, money, or even for an early morning fuck.

"Brush your bloody teeth first."

-- THE END --

April 2008

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