CORNWALL, SEPTEMBER 1799

"Master William! Master William!"

Bodie was sure it must be his fevered imagination. Bertha couldn't possibly want him now. Intending to ignore the call echoing up the stairs so they could slip into Doyle's room, where he could see his companion already stripped to his shirt and breeches, he gave a guilty start when a relieved voice said,

"There 'ee be. I've been callin' and callin'. Best come quick. One of the mares is in labour an' in a rare old state."

Stopped in his tracks, Bodie's expression lengthened when Doyle froze with his shirt half-off, then shrugged back into it with a resigned sigh, mouthing for him to 'Go on'.

Pulling a wry face because he knew he had no real choice, Bodie leant over the banister. "Can't John Joe deal with it?"

"He's gone to town fer the evening," she called up to him. "An' Jess be that mazed he don't know whether he be comin' or goin'. The mare's right poorly by all accounts."

"Very well," sighed Bodie. "Tell Jess I'll be there directly. And have one of the lads set out after John Joe, for if matters are that bad I'll need his expertise."

"I'll be sendin' Jess hisself then, for the lad's good for nothing else," she sniffed, having no time for the unfortunate stable lad. She disappeared back in the direction of the kitchen.

A dejected slump to his shoulders, Bodie remained where he was for a moment, woefully considering his lot in life. The last thing he'd been anticipating was a prolonged stay in a draughty stable. He started at the light touch on his arm.

"I suggest you rearrange your clothing before you go down," Doyle whispered in his ear, his own expression a mixture of frustration, exasperation and amusement.

"Ray, I wanted - "

"I know exactly what you wanted," Doyle assured him with feeling as he pulled on a shapeless worsted jacket. "We'll simply have to wait."

Bodie contented himself with giving his partner a look of intense disgust as he descended the stairs, his clothing decorously arranged once more.

"I like it no more than you," Doyle pointed out, suppressed laughter thinly disguised. "For pity's sake take that expression from your face or Bertha will believe you ruined or some similar calamity."

"That's what it feels like," Bodie told him grimly, glancing down at his groin.

Doyle gave it a fleeting pat. "You'll survive," he said hard-heartedly, but his grin was belied by the longing in his eyes.

Bodie tried to maintain a look of hurt. "I'm beginning to wonder if you might not prove to be too philosophical for my own good," he said, but an unwilling grin was twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Ushering Doyle out of the back door in front of him, both of them taking it for granted they would go to the stables together, Bodie slung a casual arm over his lover's shoulders.



By late evening both men were chilled to the bone, but there was an unmistakable air of contentment in the draughty, lantern-lit stable. The foal was safely delivered at last and promised to be a fine young filly; the mare, while exhausted from a difficult labour, was making a good recovery.

Leaning back against a bale of straw, looking half-asleep, Doyle's attention was given to studying his lover's engrossed profile. It wasn't often that he saw Bodie's face so still, the mobile mouth relaxed in a half-smile, the chin blue-jawed and roughened by stubble. His gaze lingered on the endearing line of nose and the ridiculously long-lashed eyes. It was always a pleasure to watch Bodie performing tasks; he possessed a smooth economy of movement that made every action appear effortless and which made it easy to forget the strength and speed he was capable of displaying if the need arose. Doyle felt a sweet yearning, which culminated in an itchy stirring in his groin as he watched the capable hands deftly tend to the mare, remembering those hands on his own body. Longing to feel their caresses, he was resigned to waiting.

Watching his lover, he wondered if it would be possible to capture the essence of Bodie on canvas. Infinitely content, he finally broke the comfortable silence.

"I meant to ask you a while ago, but for some reason it slipped my mind. Why did you feel the need to adopt the name John Brown while you were in France?"

Bodie glanced up in surprise. "I thought you were asleep. The name? There was no need for me to assume a false identity, but early in life I fell into the habit of never using my own name when another would serve me equally well. By the time you and I were on such terms that I would admit the deception we had far more interesting things to discuss. I forgot," he admitted, wondering how the course of their lives might have been changed but for his stupidity. "John Brown or William Bodie, it makes no difference. You accepted me for what I was."

"I don't recall having any option," teased Doyle. "I had not appreciated how little importance you placed on a name - your own in particular. You still won't permit me to address you as William," he added sadly, lowering his gaze to disguise the amusement in his eyes.

Bodie scooped up and threw a soiled rag which Doyle dodged with ease.

"Half-wit," Bodie said in crushing rebuke. "A name isn't important. My own least of all. Perhaps because it was the one thing which my father had no choice but to give me, I chose to rid myself of it as soon as I could. Besides, I have - had," he amended, the expression in his eyes softening, "a dislike of being leg-shackled in any way, be it with a name, a possession or a person."

"I'm delighted to hear you confirm that's no longer the case," said Doyle with lazy confidence. He could do nothing to control the wide smile which threatened to split his face in two.

"I fail to see why you should assume I refer solely, or indeed at all, to you," Bodie said unconvincingly. "Look at me, with not only you but all this too." He waved a mocking hand around the stables. "I concede I was glad enough to take refuge here to recover from the rackety mode of life I had begun to lead. As time passed, I realised I had somehow accumulated more possessions than I knew how to keep repaired."

Doyle chuckled at the wry look on his companion's face.

"You may laugh now," said Bodie darkly, "but we'll have you in debtor's gaol yet, while the house continues to fall down around our ears. Easy, my beauty," he breathed to the mare. Gentling her with his voice and his hands, he ensured she had not lost her cover; the air was chill and she had been sweating heavily.

"It's gratifying to know I have my uses," Doyle murmured, Bodie's flippant remarks confirming that he was prepared to take as well as to give, and that he accepted the notion of sharing everything.

Turning back to him, Bodie's face was alight with happiness. "Oh, you have," he assured him unnecessarily. "You should take yourself off to bed. There's little enough you can do here, and no reason why both of us should be chilled to the bone."

Doyle waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm comfortable enough where I am."

"Then you're easy to please." Bodie cast a disparaging glance around the stables.

"I'm watching you," Doyle told him simply. With amused tenderness he saw the colour run up under his lover's pale skin. Taking pity on his sometimes easy-to-disconcert companion, he added inconsequentially, "But you're a fine sight for one who was boasting being a man of property. Those breeches have worn so thin they're barely decent."

"Then I'm wearing them in the right company." Caught by the urgency of his physical need, Bodie continued to stare at Doyle, who lay sprawled at his ease in the straw. Leaning back on one arm, the other was propped over a bent knee; his face in the half-light was that of a dissolute cherub. The glow from the lantern highlighted a muscled flank and thigh and the soft swelling at his groin. The half-open shirt gave a tantalising glimpse of warm, brown flesh, the thrust of a puckered nipple inviting the attentions of a loving tongue.

Meeting the intensity of Bodie's gaze, Doyle gave a rueful chuckle. "There's little point in your looking at me like a starving hound watching a bone. You won't be finished here for an hour or more. It's your own fault," he added with a hint of asperity. "Who else would send his stableman to bed and sit up over a sick mare himself?"

"John Joe is getting on in years," Bodie defended.

"And you are you. I would have it no other way. Well, not many changes," Doyle amended when Bodie cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

About to reply at greater length, Bodie was distracted by the mare's sound of distress. As she shuddered, her silken flanks rippling, the moment was lost as he gave all his attention to her needs.



"Here, take this," offered Doyle, his voice low and quiet as he re-entered the stables. Standing above his lover, he held out one of the tankards of mulled wine he had gone to prepare.

Bodie took it with a nod of gratitude. Curling his hands around the warmed pewter, he took a deep, anticipatory sniff.

Glancing around, Doyle saw that the soiled straw and aftermath of birth had been disposed of. "I told you I would attend to that on my return," he scolded. Shrugging out of his jacket, he sank onto the straw next to his partner.

"The activity helped keep me awake," Bodie explained, casting his free arm around his lover, his hand slipping inside the rumpled shirt.

Doyle flinched. "Bodie..." he protested, but he wriggled closer.

"The water," Bodie pointed out, "is cold. And I had this curious notion you wouldn't appreciate my arm covered in - "

"You were correct." Placing his jacket around Bodie, Doyle ignored the clucking sounds his companion made. "You feel chilled to the bone. Come closer. I'm warm enough for the pair of us."

After a token look of outrage, Bodie took up the suggestion with a sighed, "If you insist."

"So innocent. I don't recall giving your left hand licence to rove. Concentrate on drinking your wine before it gets cold," Doyle told him with what firmness he could muster in the circumstances. His own hand slid to cover the fingers which had been exploring his inner thigh in a friendly fashion.

Able to see the reaction his touch was producing, Bodie desisted with reluctance. "Perhaps you are right," he conceded.

"I know I am," said Doyle, his voice tart with the wanting. "Come, drink your mulled wine before it cools. We have all the time in the world, and I'm in the mood to linger over our loving tonight."

Bodie drank up without demur.

Sipping his own wine, Doyle decided it was time to change the subject. He was in no mind to spend the next hour with his balls tied in knots just because of the silent pleading in those wistful blue eyes.

"On falling over the dog on my way out, it occurred to me that he is a prime example of your disregard for names. Couldn't you have contrived something more original than 'Dog'?"

Nose wreathed in the fragrant steam rising from his tankard, Bodie looked up, his expression sombre. "That stems from some foolish superstition of mine. He was only a pup when I arrived here and I had no intention of doing anything but selling the place as soon as I could find anyone crazed enough to buy it. I had to call him something after he took to following me about the place."

"Yes, I can see that for someone who had no wish to be leg-shackled a dog that size could be considered something of an embarrassment," Doyle agreed. "But why so wary of giving him a name?" he asked more gently.

Embarrassed by his own sentimentality, Bodie shrugged, although he knew Doyle would understand. "As I child I was given a pup - Elsa. Childlike, I gave her my heart. My father ordered her drowned," he added expressionlessly. "Thereafter, I vowed not to be so free with my affections. I had no reason to reverse that decision until a certain individual threw himself at my feet in a prison cell. Not content with that, he then contrived to be washed up on my very doorstep." He was smiling now, relaxed against his lover's warmth.

The surge of hatred which swept through Doyle for those who had so wounded his lover that twenty-five years later Bodie still hesitated to name a pup, shocked him with its intensity. But he was still learning of the depth of emotion Bodie could inspire in him and so remained silent. His arm tightened around the other man in a comforting embrace.

"I have this curious notion that you'll be insisting I did that very thing for years to come," he murmured, brushing the heel of his hand across a bristled jaw. "And to make matters worse, I doubt that I shall make much effort to defend myself."

Hearing the wealth of love behind the casual tone, Bodie gave a stubble-darkened cheek a brief kiss, still finding it difficult to credit his good fortune. "Are you certain there's enough here to content you?" he asked with untypical diffidence. A moment later he was caught in a fierce embrace, wine spilling down his shirt-front with the impetuosity of Doyle's move.

"I'm certain," Doyle told him flatly. He cupped Bodie's face between his palms. "Now I know you must be fatigued. My home is wherever you are, be it Shambolt's Cove, London or St. Petersburg. You great dolt. I love you. Without you... Who can make me laugh as you do?" he demanded, knowing only that with Bodie he felt complete.

Bodie drew him into a fierce embrace, his kiss deep and urgent.

"I wasn't questioning your feelings for me," he explained, when finally they drew apart, shaking with desire. "Dear God, but I want you."

Their faces scant inches apart, Doyle's smile had a devastating effect. "Then let us repair to the house," he said, casting a cursory glance at the mare nuzzling her suckling foal. "We're no longer needed here and I - "

"Yes, I believe we should. You must be fagged to death, riding about the countryside as you have been."

"You're incorrigible," Doyle told him, placing a gentle finger to the mouth curving in a wicked grin. "If I had the resolve I should be delighted to pretend that was the case, if only to see your expression."

"But my charm overwhelmed you?" Bodie suggested, ever modest.

"Is that what you call it?"

"Get your jacket and we can be gone," Bodie told him, giving him a light, encouraging swat in the right direction. "There's no time to waste."

His attention elsewhere, it took Doyle only a moment to swoop down and scoop up his jacket. Gathering it to him, he gave a yell of pure revulsion when the young rat who had been investigating the contents of a capacious pocket suddenly appeared. His face stark and pinched with terror, Doyle froze. There was a flash of grey-brown fur as the rat streaked up his shirt-clad arm, disappearing over his shoulder to launch itself into the shadows on the other side of the light.

"Ugh!"

Bodie gave a sympathetic grimace, shaken himself by its sudden appearance, before he realised Doyle had not moved and that small tremors were running down his body.

"It's gone," he reassured him, picking up the fallen jacket and shaking it out. "That was enough to make me lose what few wits I have remaining. The stables are riddled with the damn things. Ray?"

Rigid with horror, his skin alive to every small touch of claw and fur, Doyle couldn't speak. His face colourless and damp with the cold sweat of absolute revulsion, he blindly reached out, seeking Bodie.

That wordless appeal was enough.

Without pausing to turn down the lamp, Bodie swept the helpless figure against him and hurried them both out of the stables, taking them first into the warmth and light of the house and then up into his bedchamber. Still half-supported, Doyle moved woodenly, his fingers clenched around Bodie's. It was only with difficulty that Bodie freed his hand. Standing them in front of the fire, he began to undress Doyle, then himself, before he took them both to bed. Throughout he maintained a soft stream of murmured reassurance and endearments, not sure if Ray could even hear him. There was a distant look to him, as if he was in another time and place.

Once in bed, he drew Doyle over his own body, wrapping himself around the other man's fear-chilled flesh. He stroked and soothed, continuing the murmured reassurances until that terrible tension eased, the muscles in Doyle's back unlocking under his touch.

"Dear Christ, I thought I'd forgotten that." Burying his face in the hollow of Bodie's throat, Doyle said fiercely, "Make me forget." His own hands moved to some purpose.

Bodie stilled. He knew it to be within his powers to make Doyle forget everything but the needs of his flesh, to leave him incoherent and writhing with desire. That, delicious as it might be, would solve nothing.

"Tell me what's wrong," he coaxed softly. "It helps to share the bad as well as the good. Just tell me," he repeated, his hand brushing back the sweat-dampened hair.

"There's nothing to tell," said Doyle in harsh denial. "I simply - I'm terrified of rats and there's an end to it."

"I could see that much for myself. Few people care for them, I don't myself, but your level of revulsion... There must be some reason behind it. Why won't you confide in me, Ray? Is it because you believe I won't be able to understand?" Bodie added with a well-judged trace of sadness.

Doyle stirred then. Leaning up on one elbow, he stared at Bodie, concern in his eyes as he searched his lover's face. "Don't be ridiculous," he said in more of his usual tone. "I may be reduced to a quivering jelly by the sight of a rat, but I'm not utterly - " Stopping, he gave a wry grin of recognition as Bodie just looked at him.

His expression softening, Doyle kissed the tip of his lover's nose. "You did that very well. For a moment I believed - Thank you. I was wallowing in self-pity, wasn't I?"

Bodie gave him a swift kiss. "Only a little," he assured Doyle, fighting his urge to hug the other man to him. But this was a problem best solved by Ray himself.

"A little too much," said Doyle, disgusted with his own behaviour.

"Oh, be done with castigating yourself." Cupping the independent, often wilful face between his hands, Bodie held his lover's gaze. "But you should talk about a memory that can produce so powerful an effect on you. Tell me." This time it was a virtual order.

Doyle looked away. "It's an ugly tale."

"Tell me," Bodie repeated quietly.

Sliding onto his side, one arm curved over Bodie's chest, Doyle began to trace an inconsequential pattern on the arm and shoulder nearest to him, concentrating on the movement of his drifting finger. "Some six or seven years ago I was seeking an informant out in Cheapside. When I got to our usual meeting place, a cellar, I could not see Anstey. The steps leading down into it were steep and, as I discovered when one gave way under me, rotten. In the fall I broke my leg and was to all intents and purposes immobilised."

Bodie's face tightened, able to guess what lay behind Doyle's terror now.

"I was trapped down there for three days with Anstey's corpse. I had a fever but I dared not sleep. I knew if I slept they would turn on me. They were already feeding from Anstey. I couldn't prevent it. The nights were the worst. Hearing them. Seeing their eyes in the dark. Once I recovered consciousness to feel them on me and - Jesus." Damp with the chill of fear, Doyle shuddered.

"And then help came and you were rescued." Bodie ached to say more but knew that Ray must come to terms with his fear for himself.

Bodie's voice was blessedly normal; making no judgements, he accepted what the reality must have been like. His very matter-of-factness returned Doyle to the present.

"And then help came," he confirmed, taking Bodie's hand in his own and linking their fingers. "I recovered quickly enough, and my leg healed but - I cannot bear rats at any price. It was feeling one upon me again that made me remember."

"Understandable."

"My reaction was out of all proportion." Doyle smoothed the back of Bodie's hand up and down his own body.

"Not in the circumstances you described. In fact it was remarkably restrained. I should be a gibbering wreck. I'll take steps to get the stables cleared of them."

Bodie found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He was over-conscious of the soft chest hair tickling the back of his hand, the tingling awareness of a taut nipple travelling up his entire arm to centre in his groin.

Seeing Bodie's distant expression, Doyle gave a faint grin. "There's no need to do so on my account. You were right, as usual. I won't swoon on you next time a rat appears, even if I do beat a somewhat hasty retreat," he added, able now to venture a mild joke on the topic. "I wasn't expecting such an encounter." He idly trailed Bodie's hand across his belly, his own muscles twitching in response.

"Your mind was on other matters entirely," conceded Bodie, trying to free his hand so he could make his own explorations.

His flesh lifting to meet Bodie's touch, Doyle made a contented sound deep in his throat, before he stopped. "Earlier. I wanted to use you to bury my fear."

"I know."

Doyle gave him a stern look. "Don't ever permit me to do that to you. Not ever," he added fiercely. "For if you allow me to manipulate you, I shall do so shamelessly."

Bodie placed a gentle hand over his mouth. "Have done with your fretting. I'll permit you to do just as you will - while it suits my purpose," he added after a suitable pause had elapsed.

Flummoxed, Doyle stared at him for a moment before he dissolved into laughter. Hugging Bodie to him, he smothered him with kisses, delighted by the reappearance of the arrogance which had once so irritated him.

"You are incorrigible," he said, when they finally stopped kissing.

"Completely," Bodie confirmed.

"I wish I could bring myself to believe you were joking."

"Only partly," Bodie admitted. "I know you, and I know my own nature. But that's just one of the matters we have to resolve."

Doyle gave him a thoughtful look. One of the things which had begun to worry him since they had accepted that they would make their lives together was Bodie's growing reluctance to impose even a flash of temper on him - almost as if he was afraid their relationship could not stand up to such a minor test. As one who was naturally prone to moodiness, such restraint sometimes seemed almost more than human to Doyle. He knew the inauspicious start to their relationship was partly to blame. Then, their sexual tension and doubts as to what they really wanted had culminated in open, though mercifully short-lived violence. But since then...

It wasn't only Bodie who was being so wary, he realised. They'd both been inordinately careful of each other, even in their love-making. Doyle knew his own responses to have been leashed because he was hesitant to make demands of Bodie that he might be unwilling to meet, afraid of discovering the limits, if any, of their sensuality. Now, watching Bodie's face with its veiled eyes, he was willing to swear that Bodie had been monitoring his own responses in the same way, for exactly the same reasons. Perhaps when they had demonstrated that physical reticence was unnecessary their partnership could be more open in every respect.

Rolling onto his side, Doyle gave his lover a speculative look from desire-clouded eyes. "So you'll permit me to do just as I want, while it suits you, will you?" he mused without rancour.

A jolt of desire shook Bodie as he recognised the invitation in the passion-roughened voice. Wordless, he nodded, every inch of him aware of the body beside him even though they weren't touching.

"Then make love to me, Bodie."

A moment later Bodie found himself locked in a bruising embrace that trapped their sensitised flesh together but did not permit any movement. Doyle's weight effectively pinned him to the mattress, which was too unstable to permit him to move with any degree of certainty. His genitals gone from tense awareness to aching arousal, Bodie made a soft sound of frustration.

"Wait, only wait. Not like this. Not tonight. Tonight I want you to take me. I want to feel you deep inside me." While there was a catch in Doyle's voice it sounded almost cool in contrast to the heat in his eyes. "All that hard, hungry power of you. In me. Fucking me."

When he moved it was to roll onto his back. He gathered Bodie to him, locking strong thighs around his lover's muscular waist as he guided Bodie to where he wanted him most.

Poised, the snub head of his cock nudging the entrance to Doyle's body, Bodie shuddered to a halt. He wanted this so very much but equally he wanted no passive partner, and from this position it would be difficult for Ray to respond as freely as he might wish. The tension he felt in the corded thigh muscles decided him.

"Yes, but not like this," he said on his second attempt at speech, his tongue seemingly glued to the roof of his mouth. "You'll get cramp," he explained when he received a look of incredulity.

It was then that Bodie discovered his hands were shaking.

"I hope that's from passion," said Doyle, tart because the ache in his loins was ruling him. But he released his lover, a trace of amusement mingling with desire as he privately admitted his willingness to hang by his heels from the rafters if that was what Bodie asked of him.

He leant up on one elbow to watch with unabashed appreciation as Bodie left the bed on unsteady legs to pad across the room; he returned with a small pot of Bertha's salve.

Half-on, half-off the bed, Bodie smiled ruefully down at him. Then, for no good reason except the joy of it they both began to laugh, becoming tangled in sweeping embraces and bed-linen. Fumbling in their urgency, they applied the sweet-smelling ointment to their hands and each other; the heat of their flesh dispersed it quickly, leaving them fragrant but slippery.

Nuzzling Bodie's testicles a final time, his tongue slipping around the tautly-drawn flesh, Doyle rolled onto his belly then rose up on his hands and knees.

"Now, Bodie. Please."

Kneeling, head down, his thighs spread wide and his hands twisted in the sheets, Doyle gave a low moan as first one then a second finger eased into his body and began to move in a slow, inexorable rhythm. The sounds he made grew, swelling with pleasure as he thrust back to meet the touch, the breath rasping in his throat.

"Yes!"

Neither man knew who had cried out.

A hand slipped beneath Doyle to cup and gently squeeze his balls before encircling his cock, the thumb rubbing across the weeping tip. Doyle's breath caught as a sleek, smooth bulk nudged against his newly sensitised flesh, entered him with ease, then paused before thrusting forward and pausing again.

It felt - Doyle gave a growl of frustration, arching up and back as he cried out at the incredible sensation of Bodie within him.

"Come on, damn you," he ordered, moving because Bodie would not. "More. Harder."

"Patience," Bodie whispered hoarsely, his face tight with ecstasy. "Just... be... patient."

A hand reached back to find him as Doyle wriggled again, mouthing obscenities and soft pleas.

Then all that hot, tight need was more than Bodie could bear.

Doyle gave a shuddering moan of pure pleasure as Bodie moved strongly, the velvet strength of him withdrawing almost completely before filling him again and again and again.



Bodie's hand still trapped beneath his body, sticky with his own seed, Doyle eventually stirred weakly under the weight that was pressing him into the mattress, only now appreciating they had both survived the annihilating climax. Reaching behind him, he found sweat-slick skin and stroked a muscled flank.

"Bodie?"

There was a soft groan, then cooler air as Bodie rolled to lie beside him, still quivering from the force which had ripped through them - him - he was no longer sure.

Doyle wriggled until he was in a position to take the other man in his arms; Bodie just found the strength to return the embrace.

"Well..." Still lost to the incredible sensations they had created and shared, Doyle lost the thread of what he had been about to say and began to chuckle instead.

"Mmn?" Smiling fatuously to himself, Bodie opened one eye.

"I believe it's safe to assume that we have established I don't break," Doyle announced, trying to sound matter-of-fact and succeeding only in sounding smug. His guts turned to water at the love in Bodie's eyes. Taking the relaxed hand resting on his chest in his own, he licked the sticky fingers clean before kissing each tip; his tongue slid across the palm, making the fingers curl in instinctive response.

"Tastes good," Doyle remarked, linking his fingers with Bodie's again.

"You do," Bodie told him lovingly, "everywhere." Making a soft, incoherent sound, he drew Doyle to him and kissed his face, his neck and his face again, testing his taste and his scent and the glorious feel of him.

"We established something else just now," Bodie informed him, his voice roughened. "It was passion."

Doyle gave a helpless gurgle of amusement. "I had contrived to work that out for myself. What was?" he added in vague afterthought.

"Passion that caused my hands to shake," Bodie explained.

He found to energy to move so he could reach a rose-brown nipple. Licking it with a thoughtful pleasure, enjoying the brush of hair against his cheek, he rubbed his chin across the high rib-cage. He gave a muffled yelp when he received a sharp pinch before the small hurt was massaged away, Doyle's slowly circling palm caressing his entire buttock. Bodie peered with more hope than expectation into his lover's pleasured, heavy-lidded face.

Doyle read his expression with ease.

"Oh no," he said, laughing. "I shall have to wait, and so will you. For what I could contrive now... After that?" he added incredulously. His body was still singing where it sprawled heavy and sated against Bodie's. "Besides, I had that hard ride earlier, remember?"

Bodie's blinding smile turned to a lecherous grin as he glanced at their entwined bodies. They were both marked with each other's hands and teeth; the blood coursed through him at the memory of the passion they had unleashed, uninhibited responses merging, the sweet savagery offered and embraced wholeheartedly.

"I believe my ride was the harder," he said, barely stifling a huge yawn. Tucking his head under Doyle's chin, his arm pinned the other man in place.

Doyle was still chuckling faintly when he realised Bodie had fallen asleep in his arms. Lightly kissing the top of the cropped head, he just managed to reach the covers and draw them up, taking care to tuck them around his lover. Bodie stirred with a half-sound. Doyle quietly soothed him back to sleep, his fingers laced in the dark, damp curls at the nape of Bodie's neck.

The bed was sticky, rumpled and uncomfortable, the air seeming chill to his passion-warmed skin. Otherwise completely content, Doyle realised he had never cared for this bed. The mattress had a tendency towards the unpredictable and was lumpy besides, and the drapes around the heavy, imposing frame were musty and half-rotten. Perhaps Bodie would... Glancing at the half-averted profile, defenceless in sleep, he grinned. He couldn't imagine Bodie being prepared to sleep permanently in his chamber with the smell of turpentine. It caused him to sneeze too often and inopportunely.

So, a new bed then.

Somehow he could not foresee Bodie permitting him to renovate his bedroom, whatever other work was carried on in the house. But there must be some solution. Doyle stared thoughtfully at the heavy posts which supported the canopy above them, a devious smile forming.

Woodworm could strike in the most unexpected places. And with a little judicious sawing where that post curved inwards...

Tomorrow, he thought sleepily, he would find himself a saw.

---

LONDON, JUNE 1983

"George, it simply won't do," expostulated Doctor Kenyon severely, blocking Cowley's retreat with his comfortable bulk.

"Good morning, Laurence," acknowledged Cowley with resignation. "What won't?" he added with a brisk curiosity.

"You've been driving your people too hard. That's the third one I've had in here in as many days - and all of them suffering from exhaustion. Is it an epidemic? Jax has got his plaster on now so he can leave today, but he needs time off, not just time away from the firing line. And as for Bodie and Doyle..."

Cowley interrupted what threatened to be a lengthy monologue. "I've just come to tell them they can have two weeks off, beginning today," he lied smoothly, having learnt how to negotiate with the other man over the years.

Kenyon shook his head and smiled his disbelief. "Oh, no, not this time. That wound in Doyle's back took fifteen stitches and he's got two cracked ribs besides. Bodie can't walk more than six paces without turning grey and he'll need physiotherapy on that shoulder for some time. So neither of them are going to be any use to you. Two weeks' sick-leave for the pair of them, followed by a month's leave. And I'm not including this week in that calculation." He smiled when he was the recipient of an intimidating glare.

"Three weeks?"

"I'm not negotiating on this one, George. Why all the fuss? I thought things had quietened down in the last week or so? They'll be more of a liability on duty if you try to use them."

"They're in that bad a shape?" Cowley said, genuinely surprised.

"Bad enough. Their reaction times are down by almost a third. Quite," Kenyon said dryly, when he saw Cowley's expression. "They aren't the only ones. Collins should never have had that accident. And as for Stuart... If you don't do something about him soon I trust you're ready to answer for the consequences."

Aware that he now had Cowley's complete attention, Kenyon steered him down the corridor towards his office. "Let the youngsters take over for a while. You have to throw them into the deep end sometime, and it isn't as if you're totally without experienced backup. The responsibility will do them good at this stage. You can't keep putting it off."

There were few people Cowley allowed to speak to him in such a manner; even fewer whose advice he took seriously. Kenyon was one of those few. He considered what he had been told, then nodded.

"Maybe you're right. This last year has dented my nerve. Ten men lost." He roused himself with a perceptible effort. "Don't worry yourself about Stuart. I'll see him. You're right, of course. Damn you."

"I don't envy you your meeting with Stuart. He's a spiky bastard to deal with at the best of times," Kenyon told him frankly.

Cowley gave an unsympathetic laugh. "Not all my operatives think doctors are wonderful," he agreed, knowing that Bodie, for one, would be less than happy in his present surroundings.

Kenyon led the way into his office and automatically poured out two cups of coffee, passing one to his companion. "I accept that, George, but it would be a pleasant change if I came across just one who appreciated our efforts," he said wistfully.

"You're getting soft, Laurence. 11.8's due for a physical next week. Does that console you at all?" offered Cowley, betraying the fact he had taken the trouble to check the files of each of his agents since he had seen the doctor on Sunday night.

Kenyon's eyes lit up with a most unprofessional gleam as he remembered the shapely and charming agent in question. "Send her in today and I'll even volunteer to tell Bodie he's got to stay here until the end of the week myself," he promised rashly.

"It's a deal," said Cowley with regrettable promptness. "Well, I must be away. I'll look in again on Wednesday to see how he's taken the news."



"Good morning, Doyle," said Cowley as he strolled into the private room.

Busy with a mouthful of cornflakes, Doyle grinned and lifted his spoon in welcome as he crunched valiantly. "Morning, sir," he managed. His eyes lit up with anticipation when he saw the bag Cowley was carrying. "Grapes, Mayfair, scotch, or all three?" he asked hopefully.

"Socks, sneakers and a sweatshirt courtesy of Kirsty," replied Cowley, placing the bag at the side of the bed. "Though no doubt you'll find something to interest you in the bottom."

His cornflakes disposed of, Doyle swung the table free of the bed and rolled his eyes in mock dismay. "So I should hope. We'll need something to keep our strength up. It's hell in here," he added pathetically.

"You've heard they're keeping you in until the end of the week then?"

Doyle gave a dispirited nod. "With no time off for good behaviour either."

Cowley sank onto a chair at the side of the bed and cast a meaning glance at the clock. "Isn't it late for breakfast?"

"Elevenses," defended Doyle. "Besides, I slept through breakfast. I'm getting them trained not to wake up me just to ask if I'm asleep," he added with satisfaction. "I heard about the sick-leave. It's ridiculous. I don't need all that time." With only a hazy recall of what he'd said to Cowley on Saturday night, he gave the older man a look compounded of unease and guilt. "My suspension?"

"Never took effect. Well, you'd hardly be in this wing, where you're allowed to play havoc with the nursing schedule, if you weren't still on the squad, would you?" Cowley reminded him affably.

He knew Kenyon's assessment of Doyle must be correct when he read, with ease, the younger man's relief.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked gruffly.

From the expression in Cowley's eyes, Doyle knew better than to make a joke of his answer. "Lousy," he said honestly. "It would be better if I could stop falling asleep."

"Well, you must need it. Where's Bodie?" added Cowley, glancing at the other bed.

"The lady in white took him away to have her wicked way with him just before you arrived. Bodie's not very happy. Claims half an hour with her is worse than a set-to with Macklin. After that he's due down in X-ray again. It's all go, you know. Especially now they've given him wheels. A wheelchair," Doyle explained in answer to Cowley's raised eyebrows. "And he doesn't take very kindly to that, either."

Bodie had always hated hospitals, Cowley recalled. It had been his suggestion that the two men share a room, on the basis that Doyle stood more chance of getting Bodie to co-operate fully with his treatment. It also saved the necessity of searching the corridors for the pair of them as they wandered off to check on each other's progress.

"No, I don't suppose he does," Cowley said wryly. "But he'll do exactly as he's told. You too," he added with an admonishing glare.

Doyle took it meekly. "Of course, sir. Don't we always? Rhetorical question," he added with haste when Cowley showed every sign of replying.

"You mentioned Macklin earlier," Cowley reminded him, deciding to come to the point of his visit while Doyle was still awake.

The drooping eyelids re-opened and Doyle gave him a wary look from beneath his lashes. "I think I'd better sit up to hear this," he mumbled, before he tried to straighten. With a brisk sound of impatience Cowley came to the rescue.

"Should you be trying to do that alone?" he asked, concerned.

"Forgot, didn't I?" said Doyle when his protesting ribs had quietened down. "You shouldn't go frightening me like that. I'm not ready for horror stories. What about Macklin?" he demanded, experience having taught him to mistrust that tone in the older man's voice.

"I understand you're likely to be fit enough for light duties by the end of the week, although Bodie, while ambulatory, is unlikely to be well enough to overtax his strength." Cowley paused, checked the time and continued at a slightly faster pace.

"I had hoped to speak to the pair of you, but I must be away by noon. The new training course is due to begin on the sixth of June. I'd like the pair of you to go down there for the first fortnight with a view to giving me your assessment of the course, the staff and the methods they employ. You'll be interested spectators, no more, with full clearance to go everywhere. You won't," he warned, "be doing anything else. Absolutely nothing. Kenyon will have my blood otherwise."

Doyle blinked and tried to cover his surprise. "Well, the course needs bucking up," he said at last. "Some of the kids they've been sending out hardly know what day of the week it is. The physical training side seems all right, as far as it goes. They're all fit enough." His tone was disparaging.

"Then you'll do it?"

"We have a choice?" Doyle's voice was higher than normal. He wished Bodie was here to enjoy the rare sight of Cowley asking anyone to do anything, least of all them. Snapped-out commands was his usual style.

"You're technically on sick-leave," Cowley pointed out with an unusual degree of patience, "and would be within your rights to refuse."

"Oh yeah, I can see that scenario," Doyle agreed dryly before he gave the older man a look of consternation. "Look, sir, if it's about what I said on Saturday..." Before it trailed away his voice had travelled through mockery and apology to irritated exasperation when the penny finally dropped.

"I know you've got used to not letting your right hand know what the hell the left one's doing, but didn't it occur to you to let us know how bad things were? I hadn't stopped to think how many we lost last year. Well, you don't, unless you're of a really morbid turn of mind. But that's why we've been working our bollocks off these last few months, isn't it? And not just us. All the old guard - Jax, Murphy, Stuart..."

His expression grim, Cowley nodded. "That's why. I lost ten men in as many months. That kind of expertise isn't replaced overnight. As for telling you, I'm not in the habit of confiding in my operatives," he reminded Doyle with asperity before his tone softened. "Perhaps I should have done in this instance. Of course, Barnes and Jary didn't exactly help matters by putting themselves out of action for over a month," he added with acid disapproval.

"Be fair, it was hardly their fault," Doyle pointed out, grinning like mad. "I mean, you couldn't expect them to know that Ambassador's kid was going to give them mumps. Besides, they got off lightly. It could have been very nasty, that."

"Why I expected a serious answer from you I'll never know," sighed Cowley, relaxing for the first time.

"Hope springing eternal," Doyle said absently as he peered into the depths of the metal teapot on the table, before he raised it in query. Cowley nodded.

"Here, take this." Doyle handed over a lukewarm cup of tea. "You look like you could use something and this is all I've got. Don't drink too far down, there's still some sugar in the bottom of the cup."

Cowley drank his tea piping hot and without sugar, but he accepted the peace-offering in the spirit in which it had been made. He winced as he absent-mindedly stirred it, then had to drink the over-sweet brew.

"For almost two months the only experienced agents left on their feet were those who work to best advantage solo - with the exception of yourself," Cowley added.

"And Bodie," Doyle reminded him as he munched a previously discarded toast crust with evident enjoyment.

"Only when partnered with you," Cowley said, recalling his unsuccessful attempts to pair Bodie with anyone else when it had become necessary to split his most successful team.

"That's true," Doyle conceded fairly. "He's a bit set in his ways. He'd eat some of the cretins you lumbered me with for breakfast."

"He isn't the only one if I'm to believe some of the tales of woe I've been hearing." Cowley's voice was dry with displeasure. When Doyle looked up with dawning comprehension, he gave a faint smile. "I had three very unhappy young agents by the time you finished with them. Connors holds you in some - "

"I did ride him and Tim hard," Doyle admitted. "My patience had worn a bit thin by that time. Those two are shaping up nicely. They're ready to come onto full strength. OK, so now I understand why you did what you did. But it's got to slow down, sir. We can't keep up that pace."

"Aye. I should have realised that sooner," Cowley admitted, disconcerting the younger man into choking on a toast crumb. "You and Bodie are good enough for me to take your services for granted. And not just you two. The situation's in the process of being rectified. I'll be bringing a number of the more junior members of the squad onto full operational strength in the next few days."

Cowley gestured to the bag he had brought with him. "I want your assessment of Rice and Connors, together with reports on Gregson, Peters and Rabinowitz. You'll find copies of everything you'll need in there, together with a tape deck. Well, I can't have you in here twiddling your thumbs with nothing to do, can I?" he pointed out when Doyle gave him a look of disgust.

"Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, you know that? All right," he sighed. "You're planning to bring them on strength then?"

"Amongst others. If your assessment concurs with others being made. You've worked with all of them for varying periods of time."

"There'd better be a bloody bottle of scotch in this somewhere."

"There will be," Cowley assured him. "Just as soon as Doctor Kenyon says you can have it."

Settling against the pillows with care for his sore back, Doyle saw how tired the older man was looking. If Cowley had driven his people hard, he had driven himself harder. Maybe CI5 was his life, and he certainly seemed to have few outside interests beyond the odd game of golf, but he looked as if he could use a holiday himself. It would be easier to tell him to have his leg off.

With a hazy memory of himself lecturing Cowley, Doyle winced. He'd been over-emotional, unprofessional and a pain in the bloody arse. All in all he'd made a right prat of himself. Guilt prompted him into speech. Looking self-conscious, he met the older man's eyes.

"Listen, that leave I was bitching about. A couple of weeks in the country watching everyone else work themselves into the ground will be as good as a holiday. Why not give Hodgkinson back to me while Bodie's on leave and I'll see if I can't do something with him this time," Doyle offered with true heroism.

Cowley was hard-pressed to hide his amusement; in the end he abandoned the attempt. While Doyle had a sharp tongue, his losses of temper were short, if spectacular, and his innate sense of fair play usually led him to make amends if he knew it had been unjustified. But this was an unprecedented level of repentance.

"I appreciate the sacrifice, Doyle, but it won't be necessary. Hodgkinson has left CI5."

Doyle pulled a relieved face. "You've just saved a few lives there." His flippant manner did not disguise an underlying truth. "I never dared tell Bodie that cretin had been in the Paras."

"I'd been wondering about that myself," Cowley confessed, unbending a little. "Well, he's gone. I might be short-staffed but I see no reason to lower the existing high standard that has been set. Besides, I have three new teams ready for the full-scale operations."

He replaced the cup on the table. "A car will take you and Bodie down to the centre on Monday morning. I'll see you both the following Friday to hear your reports. Incidentally, the medical staff have been fully briefed and provision made for Bodie to continue his treatment. You'll have your own medical on Friday morning. Thereafter you're both scheduled for four weeks leave."

"Four - " It was rare to see Doyle at a loss for words. "I knew it," he said with conviction, when he had got his breath back, "you've finally cracked."

"Your faith in me is touching. Nevertheless, a month's leave." Cowley got to his feet. "Take it, lad. The pair of you have earned it." He brushed a hand back over his hair, checked his watch to make sure he wasn't running late, and added with seeming inconsequence, "Incidentally, the Squad recently underwent another security check. You and Bodie are both in the clear."

"That's nice," said Doyle, before his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "How the hell can we be in the clear? We're queer."

Standing by his chair, Cowley studied the younger man with more than a trace of amusement. "Are you trying to tell me you're a homosexual?"

Under the impression he had already let that particular cat out of the bag, Doyle wondered just how specific he had to be. "Eh?" he said, to win himself more time.

"You heard me. Or are you simply being wilfully obtuse?"

Doyle's face was lit by a brief, vivid grin. "By way of a change, no, sir, I'm not. Look, I'm not being difficult but - Oh, what the hell. Bodie and I - I love him, I sleep with him and I live with him, when I get the chance," he added in a disrespectful aside, afraid he might otherwise become too emotional. "And I intend to keep on doing all of them until he tells me he's had enough."

Cowley nodded, waiting for him to get to the point.

Sighing, Doyle continued, "That means I'm sharing a permanent, committed, sexual relationship with a man. If that doesn't make me queer, what do I have to do to qualify?"

Cowley gave a faint sigh of his own. "Sometimes I wonder about you. You have a brain, try to use it. Have you ever slept with another man?"

Deciding not to take offence at the question, Doyle chuckled instead. "Any number." He took the time to enjoy Cowley's start of surprise. "Murph, Stuart, Wilson, you, come to that. Then there was - "

Cowley's glare had reached intimidating proportions. Sobering, Doyle shook his head. "No, sir, I haven't."

"One day, Doyle," Cowley promised him. "Bodie aside, have you ever felt a sexual attraction for other member of your own sex - to the degree where you would act upon it?"

"Not a flicker," said Doyle casually. "I dunno if that's normal, but I was too hooked on the ladies to give blokes a thought. I had offers, of course. Almost inevitable that."

Cowley nodded. "And women? Since your relationship with Bodie began. Are there any you might not wish him to know about?"

The faint hint of distaste told Doyle Cowley was enjoying this conversation no more than he was. Though to give credit where it was due, Cowley had never pried into his agents' private lives, except where they might adversely affect CI5.

"None so far," he said as lightly as he could. "Bodie's all I want." Hearing what he had said, he looked away uneasily. This wasn't the sort of conversation he had ever expected to have with George Cowley. There again, better him than Bodie. And if it got Intelligence off their backs...

"I'd managed to grasp that simple detail," Cowley told him dryly. But his face softened as he watched the range of expressions which had played across Doyle's face. "From what you've said, I think we can assume that your taste is heterosexual, with one notable exception. An important detail only in so far as Intelligence are concerned because they seem to have grasped the fact that the relationship you and Bodie formed last August is a committed and stable one. They also know that I have been aware of it from the beginning."

"I thought you must have been," Doyle murmured. "But it isn't the sort of thing you throw into a Monday morning conversation. We meant to tell you."

"Sometime. Aye, I can imagine. It's been accepted that you two are less likely to pose a security risk than some of my other operatives."

"Intelligence won't have liked it though," Doyle hazarded, beginning to relax. If this conversation was necessary, and he knew it was, he would rather have it with Cowley.

"They aren't required to approve," Cowley told him in his most repressive tones, "merely to accept the facts and my recommendation. I've just received formal notification that you and Bodie have been cleared. This isn't the first time the non-fraternisation rule has been set aside, you know," he added, in case they should have the audacity to believe his efforts had been solely for their benefit.

"It isn't?" Fascinated, Doyle began to speculate wildly, ignoring the more conventional pairings which he knew of. "Not Murph and Stuart?" he said irrepressibly, offering the most unlikely combination, after Bodie and himself, that he could think of.

Cowley's lips twitched but he gave Doyle a quelling glare when it occurred to him that no conceivable pairing could be ruled out. If Bodie and Doyle had finally settled down - as a pair - nothing was impossible. He'd been forced to waste an inordinate amount of time over their case; should a similar situation arise... Well, he had all the arguments marshalled now. But it would be a relief to let the matter rest; he had never shared the prurient interest in his agents' sex lives that was displayed by those responsible for vetting all the various branches of the Intelligence services.

"You know better than to expect an answer to that," he said, rousing from his abstraction to fix the other man with a cold eye. "I must go or I'll be late. I'll see the pair of you on Friday the twenty-fourth."

"Fine. Uh, thanks, sir." Doyle could imagine the amount of in-fighting Cowley must have had to do to keep Bodie and him on the squad. Whatever the old man's motives, the fact remained that he had done it, and had then taken the trouble to let them know they were in the clear.

Recognising that denial would be pointless, Cowley paused in the doorway. "I should think so," he said severely. "My entertainments bill has reached an extortionate level, thanks to you two. I'll be looking to the pair of you to reimburse some of it."

Doyle's offer of, "A penny a week," floated down the corridor behind him.



"You're looking remarkably pleased with yourself," said a familiar voice suspiciously.

Doyle stirred awake to find Bodie sitting on the edge of his bed. "Wha- ?"

"Smirking in your sleep. Disgusting, it was."

Stretching with caution, Doyle gave a sleepy, lascivious chuckle. "What do you expect? I was thinking about you." He looked at Bodie properly for the first time in glorious and swollen technicolour. "You're looking - God, you look horrible. That face is enough to give anyone nightmares." But his outstretched hand hovered, hesitant about touching the damaged areas.

"You should be so lucky. I'm fussy about the nightmares I star in. But for you..." Bodie leant down, mindful of his bruises and the bandaged torso beneath him.

"No. Listen, get off me, will you? What if one of the nurses comes in?" Doyle protested weakly, but his lips were already responding.

"She'll see me kissing you, won't she?" Bodie told him happily.

He managed the merest peck on Doyle's lips before he groaned. "Christ, I can't even do that properly. It hurts too much," he discovered woefully.

"It's OK," Doyle comforted him, his voice muffled and his touch feather-light. "I'll kiss you instead."

Avoiding the cut and swollen mouth, he contented himself with a chaste caress between the blue eyes smiling down at him. "You've even got sexy wrinkles," he said wonderingly.

"Character lines, mate. And you're a fine one to talk. It's like sharing a room with Rip Van Winkle. Still, you're starting to look more like Dorian Gray again so the sleep must have done you good. What's that?" Bodie added casually when he caught sight of the bag at the side of Doyle's bed.

"Reports Cowley wants done. Next Monday he wants us to assess the training course. A fortnight's stint, if you feel up to it?" Doyle added with a trace of doubt.

Bodie gave him a look of astonishment. "You mean he gave us a choice?"

Doyle nodded, enjoying his partner's expression.

"What's up? The old man discovered religion or something?"

"No way." Carefully drawing himself up in bed and wincing even then, Doyle waited to catch his breath before adding, "We had a long chat while you were gone."

"That's nice. I can't say I'm sorry to have missed it. What about?" Bodie added incuriously. One hand resting on the other man's pyjama-covered hip bone, he stroked him with absent-minded affection.

Doyle offered him a guileless smile. "Nothing much. I told him I loved you and Cowley told us we weren't queer."

Bodie's jaw sagged before he recovered his aplomb. He sniffed, winced, and said casually, "It sounds like an interesting conversation."

"It had its moments," Doyle admitted, his expression wry. "Intelligence cleared us. They decided our relationship wasn't a security risk."

"Good of them," said Bodie with a trace of acidity. "Cheaper if they'd just asked us."

"Yeah, well, they asked Cowley instead."

"Oh."

"Quite. He's not such a bad old sod."

"I could have told you that. You had a row with him then."

Doyle sighed. "It's lucky I'm not the secretive sort. Yeah. Not about that, but about the hours we've been working. I got a bit uptight," he admitted, shamefaced.

"I can imagine. For such a law-abiding little sod you can let rip when it suits you," said Bodie, knowing he would hear all about it in due course. "He didn't chuck you out then?"

"Of course not. Though at the time I think he was tempted. He'll not risk losing you though. He has this stupid idea that you'd quit if I did," said Doyle absently. Unable to stop staring at his lover, the realisation grew of what he had almost lost.

A loving smile curled Bodie's mouth, lighting his eyes as they crinkled at the corners. If George Cowley could see it as an outsider, how could Ray be so thick?

"Not so stupid," he said. "Whither thou goest and all that. You're stuck with me, sunshine."

Doyle gripped his hand, his fingers tightening to the point of discomfort; his eyes were very bright. "Bodie?"

At the open plea on his face, Bodie bent, his mouth hungry, his hurts forgotten in the need to comfort - and for the joy of it.

"I wish to god you were a bank clerk," Doyle muttered finally, his fingers still laced in the dark hair as he inhaled the scents of the hospital: shampoo, antiseptic and beneath that mask, the essence of the man he loved.

"You have the weirdest fantasies of anyone I've ever met," Bodie mumbled. "Or is it just the thought of me behind bars?"

"It's the thought of you here, safe," Doyle said fiercely, his gaze devouring the man in front of him.

There was a world of understanding in Bodie's eyes.

"I know," he agreed quietly. "You can stop the guilt trip you've started on right now. It wasn't your fault I got snatched. We both got complacent and forgot to take adequate precautions. There's nothing wrong with me that a few days' kip won't put right so don't start going broody on me," he warned. He ruined the stern effect when he gave a huge yawn. Abashed, his face wrinkled in wry apology.

"I wasn't thinking of that," Doyle told him with a trace of melancholy. "Just that... It would be nice if you were the sort to take up knitting instead of deep-sea diving."

Bodie gave the wickedest of grins. "Ah, but think of me in all that black rubber."

"Yeah, them long zippers, too," mused Doyle thoughtfully.

It was then he accepted that he was going to have to accustom himself to the gut-tearing anxiety every time Bodie put himself in a position of risk. He'd been afraid for Bodie many times before but for some reason, had never actually believed he would lose him. Not even that time Bodie had got himself knifed. Somehow he'd always been sustained by an unshakeable belief in his partner's immortality. And it was that belief which he had lost.

But Bodie had never had that comforting belief and he managed to go on. More importantly, Bodie had found the guts to let him go on; had silently let him risk his neck time after time, rarely betraying what that must have cost him. Caught on a wave of love, Doyle contented himself with ruffling the dark silk of his companion's hair.

Bodie just gave another huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

"Come on, sunshine," Doyle urged. "Bed, before you fall asleep on mine and get us thrown out of here. Where's the wheelchair?" he demanded, narrow-eyed and accusing when he noticed the lack for the first time.

"I don't need it, do it?" Bodie told him with a trace of smugness. Rising painfully to his feet, he discovered the other bed was further away than it looked.

"CI5's finest," mocked Doyle. "Come on." Swinging himself out of bed, he gave a yelp when he pulled the stitches across his shoulder blade. Sagging against his unprepared partner for support, there was a moment when they were propping each other up.

"What a pair," sniffed Bodie in disgust, appalled to discover how weak he was. "Listen, I'll race you back to bed, OK?"

"Get stuffed. I'm going to tuck you in whatever you say, so you may as well give in gracefully."

"Now there's an offer." But by the time Bodie sank onto the mattress there were white marks of pain around his mouth. His expression lightened as he watched the heavily bandaged torso and pyjama-clad bottom limping away from him.

"It's a sin to cover that arse," he mumbled with regret, winning a lop-sided grin of acknowledgement.

"Viewing will take place between the hours of three and six," Doyle told him sedately as he eased into his own bed with obvious relief.

"Wake me up for it. A man's got to have some pleasures in this place. There's no chance we'll get any leave, I suppose?" Bodie added drowsily.

Doyle snorted. "Only a month, after we've completed that assessment. I'll tell you later. Go to sleep."

"A month!" A beatific smile appeared. "Four whole weeks?" Bodie checked anxiously, wanting to be clear on this.

"Four whole weeks," Doyle confirmed.

"Christ," Bodie whispered, with the closest he ever came to reverence. "You and me and four glorious weeks off. It's summer time, we might even get some sun." Drifting on a happy haze of expectancy, he stirred when an unhappy thought surfaced. "Hang on, the state we're in what will we do with that leave?" he asked with some pathos.

His plans already made, Doyle grinned into his pillow. He knew Bodie's recuperative powers. "I expect we'll be able to come up with something."

A sleepy blue eye opened. "I wouldn't bank on it, sunshine. Not for a while, anyway."

"Trust me."

"While you're smirking like that? Not a chance." Bodie gave a heavy sigh and tried to be philosophical. "Never mind. We can always spend our time looking at your baby pictures."

Doyle's grin widened. "Funny you should say that."

Bodie groaned.

"I was very photogenic," Doyle told him, all dignity. "Then we're going back to that hotel in Cornwall, lay a few ghosts."

"Might get to lay me, if you're really lucky," Bodie told him drowsily.

Distracted, Doyle just looked at him.

His bones turning to water under the impact of Ray's slow, sweet smile, Bodie conceded that there might be some hope for this leave after all.

"All that sun, Cornish beaches, swimming. And when we get back I'm going to teach you to cook, then we'll get my bike on the road, and..."

Doyle's voice provided a very good background, thought Bodie muzzily as he drifted with it. Moments later he was asleep.

Lying on his side, Doyle watched his lover's sleeping face and felt at peace for the first time in many months. Some deep spring of never-before-discovered happiness began to well in him.

He was looking forward to seeing Bodie on the beach. He'd be like some overgrown kid.

Neither man was awake when the staff nurse came in to offer them lunch.



His expression one of heavy gloom, Bodie succeeded in ridding himself of his unwanted escort at the door of his room. Stepping inside, he cast a disparaging glance around the spartan quarters he had been allocated.

It was like a cell, he thought with disgust, conveniently forgetting that not so many years ago he had been more than happy to settle for a place in one of the six-bed dormitories now occupied by another batch of recruits. During the first two weeks they spent here approximately three-fifths of those eager to join CI5 would drop out; then the real weeding-out process would begin.

The view from the window, to Bodie's somewhat jaundiced eye, was lousy. He had always thought the pleasures of the countryside over-rated, especially in an establishment like this where they expected you to run halfway across it before breakfast.

He scowled. Ray was somewhere out there now, watching some bloody assault course. A whole fortnight of watching over-earnest, eager young incompetents. He'd go crazy.

It was all right for Ray, thought Bodie morosely, feeling exhausted, abandoned and unloved. With that poker face of his he could be thinking about anything - and he probably was. The old man must have a screw loose to send them down here. It was all very well to tell them to keep a low profile. Jack Crane, the bastard, had loused that up in the first five minutes. Odd that he should get called away like that, leaving him and Ray knee-deep in that discussion on urban survival tactics that Jack had drawn them into.

His unpacking finished, Bodie sank thankfully onto the support of the bed. The discussion itself hadn't been that bad; they seemed a bright enough bunch. In fact he'd almost been enjoying it by the time Jack had got back. If only they would stop calling him 'sir' all the time.

Yawning, Bodie glanced at his watch. Nine o'clock and he'd kill to go to bed. He must be getting old. He felt lousy. And it was no consolation to realise he had brought it on himself. He'd had the option of staying at his flat and letting Ray get on with it down here, like everyone had advised. Advised? Hell, everyone had been busting a gasket to tell him what to do, which was why he'd done the opposite. Besides, Ray had been looking so bloody chirpy that it hadn't occurred to him that his own recovery might take longer, particularly while he continued to ignore what the doctors had been telling him.

He rubbed the healing scar by his eyebrow with absent irritation. It wouldn't be so bad if everyone he met didn't start off the conversation by asking how he felt. He'd have felt a whole lot better if Ray hadn't been thrusting chairs under him all day - as if he was some geriatric.

Nine-fifteen, he discovered, giving his watch another morose glance. He may as well have a bath and then go to bed, he decided with resignation. There wasn't anything else to do down here.

It took Bodie longer than he had anticipated to get out of the bath. By the time he padded, naked, back to his room, he was feeling distinctly the worse for wear.

Curtains drawn, he came to an abrupt, unamused halt. The narrow bed looked singularly uninviting. Muttering dire predictions about Cowley, his partner and the uncaring world in general, he crawled in between the sheets and switched off the light, convinced he wouldn't sleep a wink for the racket the birds were making outside his window.



"Well, this is a fine welcome, I must say. Come on, sunshine, shift your arse."

Bodie sat up, reaching for the Magnum he no longer carried before he was fully awake.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded truculently, scowling as he switched on the light, having recognised his intruder.

"Freezing to death, right now. There's a bloody hurricane coming through that window. Come on, move over. My goose bumps are getting chilly," Doyle urged.

"The bed's too small," protested Bodie, stubbornly staying where he was.

Doyle ignored that lack of enthusiasm and clambered under the covers, easing himself onto the mattress; he still came close to pushing Bodie out of the other side of the bed.

"Strewth, you weren't joking, were you? Never mind," Doyle said comfortably, "I've got nothing against losing all sense of feeling down one side in a good cause. Will you snuggle close, I'm not a contagious disease."

Bodie's expression begged to differ.

After some determined wriggling, Doyle, by dint of lying three-quarters under his partner, proved that there was room for the pair of them.

"Your feet are frozen!" Bodie protested.

"You'll soon warm me up," Doyle assured him. But he was careful for all his flippancy, not so much out of respect for his own rapidly-healing flesh as for Bodie. That shoulder was still giving him trouble and from the marks that were only now beginning to fade, it was obvious someone must have put the boot in. Pushing the bedding down a little, Doyle eyed his lover with regret and ran a gentle finger down his lover's rib-cage and belly. "At least the colours are starting to tone down but you still look terrible," he said frankly.

He had spent more of the afternoon session than he cared to admit wondering if Bodie was going to collapse.

Bodie pushed away the hand caressing him and fumbled for the bedding. "I feel fine, or I did until you insisted on waking me up," he grumbled irritably.

His abrupt awakening and instinctive response to possible attack had started up all the small throbbing aches again and his growing discomfort was doing nothing to sweeten his mood. Trying to move in the small amount of space allocated to him, he winced under the press of a bony shoulder.

"Oh, this is going to be really comfortable, this is," he groused sulkily. "Perched on the edge of the bloody bed all night. Why you couldn't stay in your own room I don't know."

His voice trailed away when it dawned on him that he had several more inches of mattress to his name. Not only that, but Ray hadn't shut him up with one of his acid one-liners, or an elbow in the ribs. Aggrieved, he turned his head. There was a distinctly dopey look on Ray's face, even allowing for the fact that he was smiling.

"And what's so bloody amusing?" demanded Bodie with aggressive dignity. He moved to take up the space that had been made for him and more besides, glaring into the face inches from his own. A look he did not recognise entered Doyle's eyes before the expression was veiled by the fan of lashes.

"You always did get ratty when you're woken up," Doyle told him, his voice oozing a nauseating, and highly irritating, patient understanding.

Bodie ground his teeth. "Oh, did I? Well, you being such a bundle of joy to have around the place would know all about that of course. If you must stay, for chrissake shut up. I'm tired, even if you're not." If he had been capable of it, his eyes would have slammed shut.

A few moments later, realising that the bedside lamp was on his side of the bed, Bodie had to open them to switch it off. Turning with considerable difficulty, he presented his back to Doyle. He felt unaccountably hard done by when no mocking comment was offered, and an arm didn't reach out to draw him closer.

After fifteen minutes of lying on the edge of the mattress, increasingly conscious of the soft breath at his back and the warmth that was almost but not quite brushing the length of his body, Bodie discovered he wasn't sleepy any more. Snapping the light back on, he turned to give his partner an accusing glare.

"How did you get in here anyway? Those doors have got security locks fitted."

Blinking in the light, Doyle made no attempt to advance or withdraw, but gave an easy grin, as if he was unaware of his companion's ill-humour. "Easy. After an afternoon with Billy Miles a kid of six could open them. I dropped round to see him on Thursday afternoon for a refresher course. I needn't have bothered, they haven't changed the system since the first time I was here."

"You must be bloody mad," Bodie announced when he had finally got his breath back. "As a security risk it'll have to go in our report to Cowley, and he's going to have no trouble guessing whose room you experimented on. And why," he added bitterly.

"Well he won't be wrong, will he?"

"Christ, I've met some funny ex-coppers in my time but you're something else."

"I wanted to be with you, didn't I?" said Doyle with truth.

"What the hell's got into you tonight?" demanded Bodie explosively, having had enough of this saint-like - and untypical - forbearance. It made him uneasy. He wanted Ray back.

"Nothing. Go to sleep, mate. You need the rest."

That soft note of concern was the last straw.

Bodie heaved himself up against the pillows, stifling a yelp of pain, and gave the portion of pillow Doyle had been using an unceremonious yank. "Stop telling me what I need. I'm a big boy now."

Used to Doyle's hair-trigger response time, Bodie was puzzled by the ensuing silence.

"Sorry," Doyle murmured eventually, edging away with a faint sigh. "You're right, of course. I'd better go back to my own room and let you get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." It had the sound of a question, as if there could be any doubt about it.

Bodie grabbed Doyle's arm and dragged him back onto the bed with a strength which surprised himself. But then this was a crisis. Glaring down at Doyle, who was flat on his back, he suppressed a small pang of guilt when he saw the resigned acceptance in his eyes and the lack of expression on his face.

But enough was enough, he reminded himself. Ray had been driving him nuts all day, hovering around him. And when it had got to the point of Ray fetching him a cup of tea...

"For chrissake, Doyle," he hissed in a furious whisper, abruptly remembering any neighbours he might have. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Sliding to sit up, his legs tucked into his chest with his chin propped on his bony knees, Doyle didn't reply immediately.

"I've turned over a new leaf, haven't I," he said quietly, looking at Bodie with wide, grave eyes.

"What new leaf?" demanded Bodie with suspicion.

Sighing, Doyle looked away again. "I've been doing some thinking," he said, his voice subdued. "About you and me. I know I can be difficult to live with at times. A bit moody."

"So?"

"Well, I'm going to try and change all that. It's not fair to take it out on you all the time, like I've been doing. It'll be different from now on, you'll see," Doyle promised, his expression earnest. Peering over the top of his knees with his hair straggling around that near-cherubic face, he was all guileless eyes and lush, drooping mouth. He would have roused anyone's protective instincts.

His mind on other things, Bodie had all his instincts under strict control.

"What the - ?" Reaching out, he rested the back of his hand against Doyle's forehead. The skin was warm and dry; it felt normal enough. "What is this, some kind of joke?" he demanded.

His head bowed, Doyle shook his head, gave an audible swallow and said with a kind of weary hopelessness, "I should have expected you to expect that from me."

Bodie's stomach lurched as he experienced a genuine pang of remorse. He hadn't intended to hurt Ray's feelings, he just hadn't learnt how to deal with a Ray Doyle who seemed to be in danger of changing out of all recognition. He slid a comforting arm around the hunched figure.

"Listen, sunshine, I don't know what brought this fit on. Was it something I said? I mean... Christ, I can't stand any more of this," he said baldly, the sight of the too-quiet and vulnerable figure doing something peculiar to his insides.

Uncurling, Doyle slid down to lie full length on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling dull-eyed.

Bodie carried on as if his partner had in fact spoken. "OK, so you can be a vicious-mouthed little sod when it suits you. I've got used to that." He prodded the thinly-covered ribs to reinforce his point. "It's you I need, not some mealy-mouthed prat who'll let me walk all over them."

The crescent-shaped fan of lashes lifted then, eyes shining. "But I thought..."

"I don't give a shit what you thought," Bodie interrupted with ruthless vehemence. "I was just starting to get used to living with the old Ray Doyle. The last thing I need is a new model being dumped in my lap. You're fine as you are."

Doyle stared at him in silence.

"Come on," Bodie added with a rough impatience which imperfectly concealed his concern. "You know I bloody love you - everything about you." He leant assertively over his partner.

"You're sure?" Doyle checked, an unusual catch in his voice.

"I'm bloody positive," Bodie assured him, guilt supreme in him at the moment.

"Then get your fucking elbow out of my ribs and gimme my fair share of the bed," snapped Doyle in a more familiar tone, his eyes alight with laughter.

Caught off-balance, Bodie stared at him with dawning comprehension as his lover's soft chuckles shook them both.

"You rotten, lousy, stinking, devious little bastard," he breathed, scarcely able to believe he could have been conned so easily.

Doyle was still laughing, the sound muffled against Bodie's shoulder.

"Just checking," he said happily. He curved a possessive arm over the broad chest as he curled around his infuriated lover, his voice a thread of amused sound in Bodie's ear.

"On what?"

"Can tell you never listened to any of those psychology lectures they dish out here. That you love me for what I am and not just for my beautiful body or undoubted superiority as CI5's finest." Doyle's tongue delved in to chart the intricacies of Bodie's inner ear in the spirit of friendly exploration.

Fighting against the distraction, Bodie tried to hold onto his anger. "You can think yourself lucky I don't beat that beautiful body into a pulp. I've a good mind to when I've got my strength back. Of all the rotten..."

Crouching over him, Doyle beamed into the scowling, black-browed face of his love. Bodie had been wallowing in self-pity for three days. At least he was showing a spark of life and interest in something other than his aches and pains. In fact he was looking decidedly healthy. It wasn't often Bodie went on a downer, but when he did...

"You and whose army?" he inquired fondly.

By no means won over, Bodie gave a slow smile that would have warned Doyle, had he been watching. "Just me," he promised, silky-voiced.

Flicking back the duvet, his hand cracked down with unlover-like force across Doyle's curved and defenceless rump.

Unprepared, he gave a muffled yelp of surprise, the force of the blow collapsing him onto Bodie. All his muscles tensed before they unexpectedly softened; buttocks unclenching, his fingers slipped through Bodie's hair.

"If that's what you want," he whispered, his voice husky and accepting as he nuzzled the skin between Bodie's neck and shoulder.

Bodie shivered. He'd thought he was prepared for anything Ray might throw at him by now but that voice promised... Raising his head to kiss his lover, he caught sight of the crimson imprint of his hand emblazoned on the pale skin of Doyle's backside. Surprised, he gave the warmed flesh a comforting, open-palmed rub, his movements slowing to a sensuous caress.

"I didn't mean to belt you that hard," he mumbled apologetically, discovering that the contact brought its own distractions.

Doyle slid easily against him, his free hand slipping down Bodie's flank. "It's all right, I don't mind."

"You into s 'n' m now?" Bodie inquired, his manner absent as his hand moved in sweeping caresses from buttock to thigh, sliding between the parting legs to brush the heavy testicles. He heard the soft groan of pleasure and felt the stir of Ray's cock against his hip.

Supporting himself on his elbows, Doyle stared into Bodie's face, narrowed eyes heavy with need. "I think I must be," he admitted. "I can't think of anything I wouldn't like to try with you."

Before Bodie could respond to that matter-of-fact declaration, the hard press of Doyle was all about him, his cock slick and hard and hot brushing against his own straining flesh. Doyle cradled them side by side, a strong thigh curving over his flank to draw them groin to groin and belly to belly.

Losing the exquisite sensation for a second as Doyle changed position again, Bodie groaned with a mixture of frustration and pleasure. The sound was muffled against Doyle's mouth, swallowed in their first kiss.

Entwining himself with his damaged love, Doyle moved with great care for his partner's well-being. He caressed the muscled buttocks, sliding up the dark-haired cleft to rim the anus. His finger slick with saliva, he pressed gently until he sank into welcoming heat, withdrawing and sinking deeper and deeper, his slow, rhythmic movements taking them higher and higher.

Bodie made a soft sound deep in his throat, his eyes scrunched shut in ecstasy, the muscles down his back, and thighs bunching as he reached the short strokes.

Doyle watched his lover's face at the moment of orgasm, feeling every point of contact they shared through to his heart as Bodie arched strongly against him then stiffened and came, the smooth, rich heat of him pulsing against his skin. He climaxed moments later, triggered by that heavy-lidded fervour and the passion-roughened voice that whispered his name over and over again.



"I told you there'd be room in this bed," mumbled Doyle smugly when he felt Bodie stir against him. He blithely ignored the protest of the scar tissue where his shoulder dug into the edge of the bedside table. He still wasn't sure when he had moved to this side of the bed.

"That's what I like most about you, modest to the end," Bodie told him with drowsy contentment, his uninjured arm heavy and numb from the weight of his partner's body.

Doyle moved lethargically, then paused, caught by an encompassing yawn. "I'm stiff in all the wrong places," he discovered. "Damn, it's twenty to eight. I should have left two hours ago. Any ideas how I get back to my room without making it obvious I've been here all night?" He sounded less than concerned.

"That's your problem, mate," Bodie told him, ever-helpful. "I was quite happy in my monastic little bed," he added mendaciously.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Resigned, anyway," Bodie amended, smiling.

Sitting up with care, he gave a cautious stretch and was surprised to discover he felt halfway human. Looking down at the dishevelled sprawl of his partner beside him, he knew where to place the credit for that improvement.

"What's that look of superiority for?" asked Doyle with idle interest. Reaching out, he traced a meandering path across Bodie's rib-cage, loving the warm smoothness of the virtually hairless skin and the leashed power.

"I was just wondering how anyone as skinny as you could look and feel so good. You're going to have to take up eating again, Ray. I'm sure I've got a couple of new bruises from your hipbones."

"I'll tell you how I look so good, inbred elegance, mate. That's the secret. Some of us have got it. Too much of it in some cases." Doyle gave his companion's thickened waistline a look of meaning.

"I wish I was the one who wasted away and went pale and interesting," complained Bodie ruefully. He was too used to their different metabolisms to be troubled by it now.

Doyle gave him a quick kiss. "Always interesting," he assured him. "Besides, a few early morning jogging sessions..."

Bodie gave a theatrical groan.

Becoming aware of some localised soreness, Doyle rolled onto his stomach, one arm sweeping out to prevent Bodie from being thrown from the bed in automatic compensation.

"Speaking of bruises, how does it look?" he inquired mischievously as he tried to peer over one shoulder to see his backside.

A fatuous grin on his face, Bodie happily surveyed the area in question before subjecting it to a lengthy and tactile exploration. "Beautiful," he said dreamily, before he delivered a parting pat. "But I'd love to know how you're going to explain that bruise away at your medical."

A look of consternation crossed Doyle's face. "Oh shit. Well, that's that, then," he added, serenity regained when he realised that all traces of the minor bruise would have faded by then.

"What is?"

"Disturbed nights. You're in for a spell of celibacy, mate. This body is going to be unsullied and unmarked when I go for my medical."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. There's no need to look so pathetic. It's only - " Doyle started to count the days off on his fingers but stopped when the total was approaching a depressing number.

Bodie stared at him, a ridiculously hopeful expression on his face.

"All right," Doyle surrendered, "but no nipping, chewing, sucking, smacking..." His breath caught as Bodie stroked down his length, hands settling on his buttocks, where his thumbs caressed up and down the edge of the cleft.

"It'll be a bit dull then."

"Nah, just like always," Doyle said lovingly, dipping and rising against him; already half-hard, he could feel Bodie stirring in response to the rhythmic stimulation.

"You've got a beautiful arse," Bodie told him, his voice catching as he moved beneath his lover.

"Bodie." Caught between lust and concern, Doyle tried to concentrate. "You're supposed to be taking things easy," he reminded him, his voice breaking when his balls were rolled between his partner's competent fingers in just the right way to make him lose what semblance of mind he had left.

"We got anything I can use?" asked Bodie hoarsely.

"Yeah, in your bag. Wait. I've gotta move to get it, sunshine," Doyle pointed out.

He was back on the bed in a matter of seconds. His hands on the narrow hips, encouraging Doyle onto his hands and knees, Bodie nuzzled the warm, sweet flesh that smelt and tasted of Doyle, tonguing down his cleft. The stubble on his chin was an abrasion which drew Doyle's cock up towards his belly. He moaned when Bodie applied the lubricant.

"I'll take it easy," Bodie promised, his voice tight with need as Doyle opened to him - still incredibly moved that it should be so. He tongued the heavy testicles, before gently squeezing the tightening flesh.

"Easy?" groaned Doyle. "That'll be the day. God, yes!"

Running a finger along the heavy vein pulsing in Ray's cock, feeling him quiver at his touch, Bodie centred himself.

Doyle was mumbling incoherent encouragement as he arched back. "Just do it, Bodie. Please. Just do it. Yeah..."

Filled with the glorious heat and strength and bulk that was his lover, thrusting up and back to meet him, Doyle forgot everything, lost in the twin sensations of Bodie's cock inside him and the sure hand encircling him, drawing him into an ever-tightening spiral of pleasure. Reaching back, he clasped Bodie's flank, wanting to keep Bodie with him forever.



"Now will you believe me when I say I'm fine?" demanded Bodie, his voice an exhausted thread of sound. He opened a suspicious eye at the muffled choke which greeted his claim, to meet Doyle's uneven-toothed grin. "What's so funny?"

"You look shagged out," Doyle told him lovingly.

"It's not unnatural in the circumstances," Bodie said, defending his powers of recuperation with dignity. He felt about ninety, but marvellous with it.

Cupping the side of his partner's face, Doyle kissed the corner of Bodie's mouth. "Course it isn't." Aiming for sobriety, he could do nothing about the huge smile plastered across his face. "But I'm afraid you've missed breakfast."

Bodie gave a moan of anguish. "We can't have. I'm starving," he added with pathos. His stomach chose that moment to support his claim.

"It's a quarter to eleven."

"It can't be," said Bodie with great authority as he struggled to sit up. "Oh," he added, having peered at the small alarm clock. Recovering fast, he gave a lecherous grin and gently ruffled Doyle's hair. "I know you said to take it easy but - "

"Cretin. Fell asleep on me, didn't you," accused Doyle, untroubled.

"Did I?" Bodie was purposefully vague.

"Yeah." Doyle gave his shoulder a forgiving nudge with his nose. "You did. It won't do you any harm to miss breakfast. You can always have a huge lunch," he added consolingly.

Bodie's arm slid back around him, the tight press of their bodies disregarding the growing heat of the day. "You should have shifted me."

"I would have but I fell asleep myself, didn't I? You do realise we were supposed to start today's assessment at eight?"

"Then we'd've been late anyway."

"Not the point, is it? We're meant to be on the job."

"We were," Bodie interrupted him, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

Doyle ignored him. "Not having it away like there was no tomorrow. Still, I don't suppose they'll have missed us. It isn't as though we had a fixed schedule."

"I don't care if they did," said Bodie with sleepy unconcern. "I could make my assessment right now. This place is too slack, complacent. Security's a joke. Anyway, you and me have got a lot of time to make up for, and you can't pretend you'd rather have been eating your Shreddies."

"I wasn't going to try. Rather eat you any day of the week. It was good. But then you always are for me," Doyle added, feeling a ridiculous lump settle in his throat, loving Bodie so much it was almost a physical pang.

Staring into his partner's too-bright eyes and changed expression, Bodie pulled a comical face. "You going all soft and sentimental on me, Raymond?"

"I think so," he admitted. "Can't seem to stop myself."

"About bloody time, too," Bodie told him approvingly. His head dropped back onto the pillow they were sharing.

Doyle snuggled a little closer. "You don't mind then?"

"I've been wondering how long it would take," Bodie confessed, one finger teasing through an over-long chestnut curl. "I told you last night, I don't suppose you took any notice though." His lugubrious tone was negated by the happy light in his eyes.

"Which bit in particular?" Doyle asked in the tone of one unable to recall any earth-shattering revelations.

Bodie gave a wounded sigh that didn't fool his companion for a moment. "I might have known. I only told you that you're everything I want and need, all in one irritating, loveable package."

"I'd forgotten that," Doyle admitted, his smile apparent in his voice. "I never could remember poetry. Nice hearing you say it though," he confessed sheepishly. "Know what I love most about you?"

Bleary-eyed, Bodie lifted his head fractionally off the pillow. "Nah, but you're bound to tell me anyway." His tone was that of one expecting the worst, just before his face contorted as he yawned.

Doyle winced. "Strewth, what a sight. You've got a nice throat though. Sexy."

"That a fact?" mumbled Bodie, noticeably unmoved.

"You can't possibly be planning to go back to sleep."

The impossibly long lashes slowly lifted to reveal drowsy eyes so blue a man could drown in them. "Why not?" asked Bodie, all reasonable sweetness.

"Apart from the fact we're meant to be working. What if anyone comes in?"

"They'll find me asleep, cuddling you," Bodie told him with sleepy unconcern.

"Well, if you put it like that..."

But Bodie was already asleep.

---

CORNWALL, DECEMBER 1799

"Home at last," said Bodie with satisfaction as they rode in through the narrow gateway to Shambolt's Cove. He brought his mount to an abrupt standstill to stare about him in amazed disbelief. "What the devil - ?"

The yard was almost unrecognisable, with nary a weed in sight. Even the viscous mud seemed less than was usual for this time of year and the cobbled area around the stables positively gleamed. Piles of lumber were stacked in neat heaps waiting to be disposed of, and innumerable figures were still to be seen working on the scaffolding above the kitchen wing, for all that the evening was closing in.

A wry expression on his face, Doyle let out a long sigh, his breath hanging whitely in the air. "I had anticipated that the work might be completed by the time we returned," he said ruefully.

"The work might - " Bodie turned in the saddle. "What work?"

"Oh, come. You must recall," Doyle urged him. He drew up the collar of his greatcoat against the tendrils of fog collecting around them. "The work of renovating Shambolt's Cove. Our house," he reminded Bodie with a sunny smile. Even now the change about the place was a remarkable improvement.

Bodie glared at him. "The deeds were only signed five days ago," he reminded him with quiet menace. "The workmen have clearly been here for far longer."

Doyle dismounted, a trifle stiff from his hours in the saddle, to give his irate companion an appeasing smile. "I know, but as you had already signified your agreement in principle, I was sure you would have no serious objection," he offered, with more hope than veracity.

"Then you were mistaken," Bodie snapped, all ruffled pride.

Urging his mount forward, he went to investigate what liberties had been taken in his absence. The remnants of a smile still lighting his eyes, Doyle watched the stubborn set of the straight back recede from view before he gave a faint sigh. Stubborn did not begin to describe Bodie, he decided, unperturbed by his companion's ire because he trusted in his own powers of persuasion. Calling on a stable lad to take charge of his horse, he made his way into the house.

Bertha took him in a delighted hug the moment he stepped inside the door. "Eh, lad, but it's grand what they've been doing. Come and see what they've made of my kitchen," she urged him, relegating their seven-week sojourn in London to its rightful place in the scale of local events.

Peeling off his damp greatcoat, Doyle dropped it on the oak settle in the hallway and tossed his hat, gloves and riding crop on top of it.

"You're satisfied with the quality of workmanship?" he inquired, slipping an arm around her waist as he duly expressed his admiration for the work which had been completed.

"Give over, do," she scolded, smoothing a fond hand across the wool of the dark green coat he wore. "You know it be all I hoped for an' more. An' as for the upstairs, you'd not credit what they've done there. I've had no trouble with the men neither. They're as good a bunch of lads as you could hope to find."

"What did I tell you?" said Doyle with a hint of smugness.

In her delight at seeing him again Bertha let that pass. "An' you're looking in fine trim yourself," she told him, pausing to take in the evidence of his town finery, although his pale primrose breeches and high-polished boots were sadly marred by mud splashes.

Doyle made her an elegant bow. "You approve?"

"Vainer than a maid, you be. Where's the Master? Ain't he with you?" she asked with sudden anxiety.

"Er..." Doyle wrinkled his nose and pulled an expressive face. "He's out in the yard. He was taken aback to find - That is, I had neglected to - "

" - acquaint me with what was going on behind my back. I take it that you and Jedediah knew from the first?" asked a dry voice from the doorway.

"Master William!" Bertha turned in a trice then came to a halt as she took in the dark elegance of the man leaning negligently against the door jamb. "Oh..."

Safe behind her shoulder, Doyle gave a satisfied smirk. Bertha's appreciation made all his struggles to persuade Bodie to take up with a decent tailor while they were in Town worthwhile.

Looking bashful at the reception he had been met with, Bodie's hand moved in a dismissive gesture. "This outfit was Ray's doing," he said defensively.

"Aye, well, he's been known to have the occasional notion worth taking heed of. You look grand, but you can take your shoulder from that doorway this instant," Bertha told him severely in an imperfect attempt to conceal her delight and pride in his appearance.

Bodie gave her a wide, loving smile. "You shameless fraud," he accused her softly. Returning her fierce hug with one of his own, he planted a kiss on either cheek. "I do believe you've missed me - both of us," he amended, his glance straying to encompass his companion.

Having no difficulty in interpreting the light in the blue gaze turned upon him, Doyle gave him a wary look.

"It's been mortal quiet, if'n that's what 'ee mean," announced Jedediah sourly as he came into the hallway. "You've seen what's been going on?"

"It would have been difficult to have missed it," Bodie acknowledged as he went over to greet him.

"Aye, well, we've been doing right enough without 'ee," Jedediah told him with gruff pleasure. "I half thought you'd be stayin' up in London for a spell. You've been gone a powerful long while." His glance at Doyle mixed accusation and welcome, demonstrating that he knew where to place the blame for the continued absence.

Feeling under attack from all sides, Doyle began to wend an inconspicuous path backwards to the door.

Seeming to have eyes in the back of his head Bodie reached out a lazy hand to restrain him. "I shall want a word with you shortly," he warned. "My room."

"Best make it Master Ray's," Jedediah told him with gloomy relish. "The plaster ain't dry in your'n yet, nor in any of the others on that floor, for all that there be fires in every room. You'll be a mite cramped as it is. We had to put the furniture somewhere," he added when Bodie raised an eyebrow in question.

Doyle decided this was an appropriate moment at which to retire and duly slid away.

Continuing to stare at the older man, Bodie let him go. "I should have guessed," he said with a resigned sigh, before he gave a delighted grin, the years dropping away from him. "But from what little I've seen I hardly know the place, it looks so fine," he confessed, making no attempt to conceal his pleasure now Doyle was out of earshot.

Jedediah viewed him with an indulgent eye. "It's well enough. No doubt you'll be tellin' us 'bout the gallivanting you two got up to in due course." The invitation was clear.

Recalling their days of intensive hard work and the long hours spent at Cowley's dingy office, culminating in three days of feverish activity down in Rye, Bodie schooled his expressio n to one of nonchalant surprise.

"There's little enough to tell in all conscience," he said, perjuring his soul without a moment's hesitation. "Before we made our way back we spent several days with Ray's family. None of the workmen have brought their families with them, I trust," he added in an abrupt change of subject.

Bertha gave him a look of surprise. "They're locals in the main, so there was no call. But that's never troubled you in the past."

Helping himself to a tankard of ale, Bodie passed another to Jedediah. "Ray has an inordinately large family, most of whom seemed to be present at the time of our visit." His long-suffering tone told its own story.

"You allus had a soft spot for young 'uns."

"Perhaps so, but I trust I shall never again meet as many in such a confined space for an appreciable time," Bodie told her wryly as he recalled the small house set in extensive grounds on the river. The whole place had teemed with the ebullient Doyle offspring, ranging from those barely out of short-coats to Andrew, with Ray's great-niece and nephew in tow.

Jedediah gave an amused grunt. "You'll be glad of the quiet down here then."

A heavily laden cart rolled past the kitchen window, rumbling and groaning under its load of workers bound for the village now that the light had completely gone. Then came a welter of indignant voices, calming into shouts of conflicting advice as the cart became bogged down in the mud. Numerous dogs voiced their protest, Dog's deep bay predominating.

Bodie just grinned. "Aye, I'll be glad enough o' that," he said, in a poor imitation of Jedediah. "There are a number of matters I intend to settle with Ray," he added, unaware of his grim expression. "Don't fuss over preparing any food, Bertha. We can forage for bread and cheese, should we be hungry. We ate well in Plymouth. Jedediah, our luggage should arrive tomorrow morning. You'll arrange for it to be brought in?"

Jedediah nodded, a faint look of anxiety in his eyes. As Bodie made to leave, he moved to detain him. "About Master Ray," he began awkwardly. Bodie gave him a nod of encouragement. "The work about the place. The lad meant well enough. I swear 'ee thought 'ee'd be pleased. You'll not be too hard on 'un?"

Giving him a look of astonishment, the corners of Bodie's mouth began to twitch with amusement. Ray had obviously found himself a champion.

"No," he promised, with what gravity he could contrive. "No more than he deserves. Rest assured, I'll see no serious harm comes to your prodigal."

Moving with a deceptively slow stride up the stairs, he gave his henchman no opportunity to deny that claim, nor did he see the look of comprehension which entered the older man's shrewd grey eyes.

"What be troublin' 'ee?" asked Bertha.

He turned to his wife, his expression wondrously softened as his arm went around her, a calloused hand caressing an ample buttock with familiar pleasure. "Nothin', maid," he reassured her, seeing her eyes sparkle as they had when they were first wed.

"We'll have none o' that in public, Jedediah Tombey," she told him severely. "'sides, there's nothin' needin' our attention down here."

Never one who needed telling twice, Jedediah checked that the back door was locked and followed her up the staircase off the pantry, which led to their quarters.

The gentry were willin' to try anything, he'd always known that. He hadn't ever thought to see Master William take up with them dandified ways, least of all with -

Hearing the rustle of Bertha's petticoats, Jedediah paused in the act of stoking the fire blazing in the hearth.

Unnatural ways... But whatever his views on the subject there was no denyin' a matched pair when you came upon 'em. Besides, when all was said and done, it was no concern of his where the Master spent his nights. They were content enough, that was plain to a blind man.

Then he forgot everything else when Bertha crouched beside him, one hand slipping under the waistband of his corduroy breeches.

"You be takin' a mortal while with that fire, old man," she chided.

"There be time for everythin'," he informed her with gruff pleasure, inhaling the familiar scents of linen, lavender and Bertha.

"Aye, an' now's the time for 'un."

Jedediah needed no further urging.



Entering Doyle's bedchamber, Bodie paused to turn the key in the lock before he leant back against the door, his arms folded, eyes searching out his companion through the extra furniture the room now contained.

Standing by the window, Doyle turned at the first sound and watched his every move through tranquil, welcoming eyes. He smiled at the expression on Bodie's face. "You can't still be displeased?"

Those wide-spaced eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight, their colour difficult to determine as they picked up a hint of the silver-grey of his waistcoat, the green of the jacket which hung with scant regard for its well-being from a negligent hand, and the gold of the candle flames.

A familiar sweet tightening centred itself in Bodie's groin. "Can I not?" he inquired with suspect affability, taking an indolent step forward.

Doyle gave him a thoughtful look from under his lashes, deducing Bodie's intent with no difficulty at all. "I wanted to surprise you," he explained, taking care to keep the wing-backed chair between Bodie and himself.

His jacket undone, Bodie finally succeeded in removing it, cursing its close-fitting lines. "Oh, you did," he conceded, untying his neckcloth and letting it fall where it would as he unfastened his waistcoat.

"But you have no real objections?"

Bodie could do nothing about the smile which lit his face. "None that we cannot resolve," he admitted.

"What are you doing?" Doyle asked, diverted.

Bodie gave him a look of disbelief. "What does it look like?" His fingers unsteady as he began to unlace his shirt, his heavy-lidded gaze remained on the desirable, over-dressed figure who stood such a tantalising distance away.

Doyle smothered a lecherous chuckle. "It's a trifle early for you to be considering retiring for the night?"

"It is," Bodie agreed, wrenching one boot free and dropping it by the foot of the wing-backed chair. His eyes never left Doyle's face.

"You're not too fatigued from our journey?" Doyle checked, trying to control his expression.

"No," Bodie said smoothly as he removed his other boot, "I am not."

Doyle's jacket slid, unnoticed, to the floor. "Nor sore?" he said, referring to the mill they had been involved in only a week before.

"Not nearly as sore as you'll be when I've done with you," Bodie promised him in his silkiest tone.

His face alight with anticipation, Doyle gave a lazy sensual stretch and ran an idle hand down his body. "A threat?"

"Or a promise. Whatever it takes to keep you in one place for long enough for me to reach you - or must we circle around this damn chair all night?" complained Bodie, abandoning his never too convincing air of menace.

Doyle had never been able to resist the longing in those blue eyes. Placing a hand on the chair-back, he effortlessly cleared the seat. Bodie caught hold of him with urgent hands, his mouth finding Doyle's, needing the unique touch and taste and feel that was his lover's.

"Eleven days," he muttered in bitter complaint when their mouths parted.

His eyes clouded with desire for this one body, his hands were busy with the small buttons of Doyle's waistcoat; he ripped one free when it would not open quickly enough to suit him.

"I wasn't to know my mother's house would be full," Doyle excused himself as he tugged Bodie's shirt free, his fingers clumsy with the buttons of Bodie's breeches. The wanting had built to an almost unbearable level as he inhaled his lover's fragrance, staring at the half-dressed, dishevelled figure before him.

Abandoning his quest with the laces of Doyle's shirt, Bodie caught hold of his partner's unsteady hands and held them firmly away from himself. "Perhaps not, but you might have warned me that we should find ourselves bedded at opposite ends of the house. Every occasion that I ventured forth to find you I came upon one damn relative or another, whatever the hour. I gave up in the end."

"That's fortunate," Doyle told him with a crooked grin as he insinuated his body closer to Bodie's, enjoying the heat and soft swelling that twitched as his flank brushed his lover's groin. "I can see you're not accustomed to large families."

"A situation you're taking pains to rectify," Bodie said with a rueful grin.

Freeing Doyle's hands, he parted the lawn shirt, sliding in open-palmed. His mouth traced the line of the collar bone before moving downwards, enjoying the soft brush of body hair against his cheek. His nose brushed the taut press of an erect nipple. Rubbing it, he felt a shudder of response echo through his lover's wiry frame.

"We'll not need to visit - "

" - my mother for another year," anticipated Doyle, a trifle breathlessly. He gave a sharp gasp of pleasure at the tongue teasing down his belly, muscles contracting. He drew Bodie upright, sliding his own hands inside the waistband of the partially unfastened breeches.

His hips thrusting forward in involuntary response to the touch which was so tantalisingly close to his aching flesh, Bodie took the seeking hands back in a firm grasp. "Oh, no," he said, with as much firmness as he could muster.

His face flushed, his eyes glittering with need, Doyle stared at the determined face with open disbelief. "No?" His tongue flicked over dry lips. "Bodie..."

"No," he repeated. "Tonight I mean to have my revenge for those eleven days of abstinence."

"They weren't my doing," Doyle protested with a trace of indignation. Blood racing through his veins, his skins tingled at that rough-voiced promise. "Cowley - "

"What I have planned for you would not suit Mister Cowley at all," Bodie told him. By this time his hands were busy with the second buckle at Doyle's waist; finally succeeding in unfastening it, he drew the breeches down the beautiful buttocks to bare them, Doyle's engorged cock springing from confinement. Bodie gave a soft sigh of appreciation and teased a finger around his lover's anus.

Doyle groaned, his hips thrusting, his cock bobbing with every breath he dragged into his lungs. Gasping, he had to clutch at Bodie's flanks for support.

"Please." Whether the plea was for more or less stimulation wasn't clear.

Bodie drew Doyle tighter against him, locking them groin to groin, his open-palmed hand firm in the centre of his lover's buttocks as his middle finger delved inward in a searching caress.

"Tonight, ah, tonight I want you to beg for it," he whispered into Doyle's ear.

Shivering with anticipation, every small hair on his over-stimulated skin erect by this time, Doyle's head drooped to rest on Bodie's shoulder, his hair an unconscious tease as it tickled Bodie's naked flesh.

"Oh, I'll beg," he promised fervently. "Now, if you wish it. Oh, God, yes. Let me at you."

But the teasing finger moved again, causing Doyle to arch and twist against the soft abrasive rub of Bodie's breeches and confined sex.

It was too much.

His need overcoming desire, Doyle gave a low cry as warmth pulsed from him in dizzying bursts of pleasure. Limbs heavy and leaden, he remained upright only because of the powerful body supporting him. Limp and breathless, he whispered soft obscenities into his lover's throat at the waste of it.

"Though it's no more than you deserve for treating me so," he told Bodie eventually. His would-be severity melted away when he saw his lover's expression and became aware of the tension in every line of the powerful body he was pressed against.

Unlocking his arms from around Bodie's neck, Doyle stroked the side of his lover's face as Bodie slumped onto the arm of the chair. The clear definition of his erect flesh where it strained against his breeches, leaving the smallest of damp patches, offered mute testimony of his need.

"Wait but a moment," he promised softly, bending to unbutton his breeches at the knees, thankful he had already discarded his boots as he pulled them free and then slipped off his shirt. He held out one hand.

"Why so tardy?" he teased. "For here I am, at your complete disposal. It would be a double tragedy to permit that to go to waste," he added, his gaze fixed on Bodie's erection. He brushed it tenderly with the knuckles of his hand.

Bodie made an incoherent sound of pleasure, his head going back when cool fingers parted his clothing. His flesh jutting in silent plea, his every need was centred in his groin.

"Ah, love," murmured Doyle.

Then all thought was lost, Bodie's world splintering into shimmering fragments of pulsing pleasure as Doyle's mouth took him in and he gave himself up to that loving touch.



Floating in heavy-limbed languor Bodie felt gentle hands on him and obediently moved as they indicated. Flinching when he was seated on chilly leather, he was vaguely aware that the last of his clothing was being removed. Sated, he opened his eyes to see a tousled head at groin level, Doyle kneeling at his feet.

His fingers drifted over the riotous curls. "Ray?"

"Ah, you've rejoined the land of the living, have you?" Doyle teased, resting his elbows on Bodie's knees, his chin propped on his folded arms.

"This wasn't quite what I intended," Bodie admitted, his mouth quirking wryly.

"I rather gathered that. But confess, you've always wanted to see me kneeling at your feet." He brushed a finger across Bodie's lower belly, enjoying the way the silken skin quivered at his touch. "There's always tomorrow, or the day after."

Still dazed, Bodie looked at him in disbelief. "You would imagine this to be our first loving, so urgent was our - Oh, God, Ray..." His mouth found the already parted lips, tasting Doyle and himself, then returning for more.

"Enough," Doyle told him firmly. Drawing away a little, he shivered as draughts eddied around his cooled flesh. "For while we may have the inclination, I doubt that either of us possesses the ability." He planted a light kiss against the lax penis nestling in tautly curled dark hair, and heard Bodie's weighty sigh of acknowledgement.

Rising to his feet, Doyle pulled on a heavy crimson robe and drew it around him. "Get you to bed," he ordered. "I'll make up the fire and fetch us some food and wine."

"Why so domesticated?" inquired Bodie. He found the energy to cross to the first of the two beds and clambered between the covers, gasping at the chilly touch of unwarmed linen.

Doyle grinned at him from over one shoulder before his smile fixed as he took in the picture Bodie presented. Lounging at his ease, one leg crooked, he raised one hand to rub the back of his neck and muscles played down the length of his arm. Transfixed, Doyle felt as if he had never seen the human body before, enraptured by the play of candlelight over a pale flank and dark-shadowed groin. He would capture that beauty on canvas if he had to tie Bodie to the bed while he did so, he vowed to himself. An anticipatory gleam lit his eyes.

"Why so smug?" demanded Bodie as he became aware of his lover's intent stare.

"Smug? I?" Doyle prevaricated, his eyes wide and innocent as he paused in the doorway.

Bodie gave a long-suffering sigh. "Food, menial! Get me food before I fade away before your eyes. No doubt I shall discover what you're proposing for me in due course."

"Oh, you will," Doyle promised him before he disappeared into the kitchen.

---

CORNWALL, JUNE 1983

"Well, second time lucky," said Bodie as the car swept into the hotel drive. This time they avoided the potholes they had found the hard way on their first visit.

Drawing up in the car park at the side of the modern wing, Doyle gave him an interrogative glance. "You sure you're happy about staying here after last time?"

This early in the morning the only occupants of the car park were some foraging sparrows.

Bodie brought his hand to rest on a velvet-clad thigh. "I'm delirious," he said firmly. "No, honest, it's fine. Besides, you said something about that room we had the last time. It being the other Bodie and Doyle's room."

Stretching where he sat behind the steering wheel, Doyle relaxed back into his seat. "I can't understand how you didn't notice something our first night there. What made you pick this hotel in the first place? There are plenty of others."

"I dunno," Bodie admitted, looking puzzled. "I'd three others on my list. All above this because it was in alphabetical order. Maybe it was the name - Shambolt's Cove. Then when we got here... it felt familiar. But good familiar, you know? Besides, I'd got other things on my mind by then."

Doyle's hand covered the one on his thigh. "Like us?"

"Like us." Bodie's expression was sombre. "I couldn't see any way of bridging the gap between us. And I was too busy envying that pair their thirty years together," he added, pulling a wry face.

Doyle leant over and gave him a lightning kiss somewhere in the region of his right ear before he sat demurely back in his seat again. "You and me both, sunshine. You got any doubts now?"

Bodie gave a familiar, arrogant grin. "What, with my charm? It was my fault, anyway. I should have said something sooner rather than go all broody on you."

Giving him a thoughtful look, Doyle pulled down his dark glasses to peer over the top of them before he took them off altogether and slipped them into his jacket pocket. "One of your most loveable traits must be the way you take the blame for my cockups."

"And you can stop squinting at me like that," Bodie warned him. "I'm likely to go all of a tremble. We both mucked it up. We're not going to start arguing about whose fault it was, are we?"

"Nah," replied Doyle serenely, giving Bodie's hand a gentle squeeze, "because I'm never wrong."

"More than once a day," Bodie agreed, ignoring his partner's wounded expression.

"It must have been a good life down here for them," said Doyle, inhaling the warm, salt-laden breeze with pleasure.

Recognising the trace of wistfulness in his lover's voice, Bodie shot him a glance. "No CI5?" he asked, understanding the feeling.

Snapping out of his vague melancholy before it could spoil the day, Doyle gave him a grin of acknowledgement. "Something like that. It's all right, I'm not going to get broody on you again. Mind - "He hesitated.

"OK, what is it?"

Doyle pulled a face. "It sounds stupid. Fanciful, even. But somehow I can't see that other pair, if they were anything like us, settling down to a life of domesticity."

Bodie made no attempt to disagree. Such a life, all the time, would drive them crazy.

Doyle scanned the rambling facade of the hotel as if seeking to learn the secrets it could offer before he visibly shrugged free. "I can't see how we're ever going to find out what they did. Anyway, it's not important. Come on, let's see if the hotel will take us back."

"You mean you didn't reserve a room?" Bodie demanded.

Doyle gave a shamefaced shrug. "I forgot, didn't I?"

"How could you forget? You've been rabbiting on about this bloody place ever since we got out of hospital."

"You kept side-tracking me, didn't you?" Doyle accused as he got out of the car.

"Excuses, excuses," sniffed Bodie as he watched Doyle unlock the stuffed-to-capacity boot. "Let's get booked in and down to the beach. I fancy a swim."

"It's lucky I packed your water-wings then," grunted Doyle as he hoisted the last of their luggage out of the boot. Because they still had three weeks' leave left and weren't sure what they were going to do with it all they had come prepared for every contingency, bar the outbreak of war - and knowing Bodie, he'd probably have something up his sleeve for that.

Staring at the mound of luggage surrounding him, Bodie held the elbow of his injured arm with a well-judged wince. Like taking sweets from a baby, he mused with glee as Doyle staggered across the car park laden like an eastern beast of burden.

Doyle paused at the front entrance of the hotel to give him a look of suspicion. "Funny your shoulder should start to play you up now," he said conversationally.

"It is odd, isn't it," Bodie agreed. "But the doctor knows best. Must be careful not to overdo it," he added, oozing virtue.

Convinced by this time that he was being had, Doyle gave a snort of derision.

"Not too heavy for you, are they?" Bodie asked with concern.

"Oh, no. I'll probably just end up with a double hernia. Nothing for you to worry about," Doyle gasped bravely as he shouldered his way through the swing doors into the small lobby, staggering when one of the cases caught against the door frame.

"And they called this man a seven-stone weakling. Little did they know, behind this puny frame was - "

Doyle winced at the appalling imitation of an American accent. "Very funny, that, mate. Only thing in its favour is that it's better than your impersonation of Cowley. No, it's all right. Don't worry about this next lot of doors."

"OK," said Bodie obediently, standing back to enjoy his partner's struggles.

The small lobby was dim, cool and, except for themselves, deserted. A wicked grin sliding across his face, Bodie watched the beautiful definition of Doyle's arse moving in front of him, the flesh firm, rounded and tempting, sheathed as it was in soft, brown velvet jeans. He reached out.

There was an indignant yelp as Doyle fell through the next lot of doors, tripped over a suitcase and fell, hard, onto the object of his partner's lustful thoughts.

About to detonate, Doyle recognised the gleam in Bodie's eyes and the poorly concealed grin and remembered how he had had the upper hand the last time they had visited this hotel.

"Next time we come here maybe it'll be with a bit of decorum and dignity," he said. Taking hold of the hand Bodie extended to him, he made no attempt to get to his feet. "I deserved that."

Bodie drew him up without visible effort. "Quite probably. But that isn't the reason I did it." Slinging a bag over his good shoulder, he picked up one of the cases.

"No?" Having paused to rub the afflicted area, Doyle was virtually trotting to catch up with his partner's stride across the entrance hall.

Bodie paused, his voice too low to carry beyond Doyle. "Nah, it's those trousers. "I've always fancied you in them."

"That's why I bought this new pair," Doyle told him, dropping the cases with relief once they reached the reception desk. "Make the most of them. It looks like it's going to be too hot for anything but shorts."

"I'll try to bear up," said Bodie bravely. Velvet was good, but tight, faded denim cut-offs were better.

"Stop drooling," hissed Doyle.

"I was that obvious?"

Doyle sighed. "Only to me."

There was no mystery at all to Bodie in the look in Doyle's eyes. His expression softened, a delighted grin quirking his mouth as he discovered his secret weapon. "I'll give you a request list," he promised under his breath as the receptionist came out of the small office.

"Good morning, gentleman. How can I - Oh, it's you." Her welcoming smile congealed, disapproval taking its place.

"You remember us then," said Doyle with would-be nonchalance. He tried an ingratiating smile.

"Vividly. It isn't every day one of our guests gets himself kidnapped and we get inundated with police and CI5 agents. Or a helicopter parks in the middle of the croquet lawn."

Doyle choked back a giggle at the fleeting look of pain on Bodie's face.

Ignoring his partner, Bodie smoothly bridged the silence. "That's one of the reasons we wanted to come back here," he said with complete disregard for the truth. "To apologise for all the inconvenience we caused. I know you'll have been reimbursed for any damage CI5's chopper caused but that can't compensate for the extra work you would have been put to. We're really grateful."

While sceptical, the receptionist began to thaw under the impact of Bodie's smile.

"Well, I suppose it wasn't your fault," she conceded fairly.

His expression earnest, Doyle nodded in grave agreement. "Most upsetting all round," he said, in a passable imitation of Cowley with one of the more pompous Home Secretaries he'd had to deal with. He saw Bodie's mouth twitch in appreciation. "But everyone here was really helpful."

She relaxed a little more, remembering how all this one's hard competence hadn't succeeded in camouflaging his concern for his partner. He'd seemed to have aged ten years by the time he'd flown out in the helicopter. Besides, the lawn was as good as new again.

"I see you got him back," she said.

It was a moment before Doyle placed the reference. "They wouldn't keep him, would they? Can't blame them really. He eats enough for two and would you want this lying around, making the place look untidy?"

Bodie gave him a patient look.

"Any time," she told him cheerfully, before she peered over the desk top at their mound of luggage. "You've come to try your luck a second time?"

"Something like that," agreed Bodie, realising Doyle was too busy not smirking. "We've been given some leave and wondered if there was any chance of a room."

"Rooms," Doyle corrected

"I'm sorry, but it's the start of our high season. The whole place is booked solid for the next six weeks."

"No room at all?" checked Bodie, his appealing expression threatening to become cute if he wasn't careful.

Doyle wanted to be ill. Bodie could be nauseating at times. What was worse, women fell for it. At least he'd got the excuse of loving the shameless bugger.

"I'm sorry, no. Unless... Well, there's always that suite you had last time," she offered doubtfully.

Bodie's face brightened.

"Oh, well, that's it then," said Doyle, shaking his head.

Bodie kicked him in the ankle. Ray always had a tendency to overplay.

"I did warn you last time," she reminded them. They made a welcome change from the hotel's usual line of expense-account guests.

"I know, love. I wasn't complaining," Doyle assured her. "It was very - er - It's just that... the plumbing," he added delicately. "Still, it's a fantastic coastline. And all these sea breezes. You're sure there's nowhere else?"

"It's that or nothing. But why do you want to stay here so badly? I know I'm biased because I love the place but it isn't smart and it is expensive. Though our food is excellent."

Flummoxed, Doyle gave her a fish-eyed look.

Bodie leant confidentially across the desk. "He's a bit shy about mentioning this - it doesn't go with the image, see - but, well, he does a bit of sketching. He started one last time we were here. From the window."

"Oh." Her expression brightened. "An artist. We get lots of those."

"Not exactly an artist," said Doyle uneasily, aware of his shortcomings in that direction.

"More of a butcher," added Bodie sotto voce.

"You can't be worse than some of the 'talent' we get," she told him with feeling. "But I'm afraid the old suite's all that's available. But at least you know the worst," she encouraged them, eager to let it out. They could always use the business to tide them through the lean months. Besides, she'd always had a soft spot for that old wing, for all that it was hell to keep clean.

Doyle nodded thoughtfully, in the manner of one doing an enormous favour. "Why not?" he said. "We'll be here at least a week, but we're not sure what we'll be doing after that. Can we let you know when the time comes?" There was a strong chance they'd be bored out of their minds after a week down here.

Losing interest in technicalities like the register, Bodie sniffed the air, aware of the delicious aroma of frying bacon somewhere close at hand. It had been hours since they'd had what Ray had called breakfast. Following his nose, he drifted over to find the restaurant.

Only when he and Doyle were halfway through a full English breakfast did Bodie remember what this place had cost the last time.

"Can we afford the arm and leg it'll cost us to stay here?" he asked through a mouthful of fried bread.

Doyle crunched a burnt bacon rind with pleasure. "Mmn."

"Have we had a rise I should know about?"

"I'm paying. Careful, your chin nearly dropped into the egg stain on your shirt," Doyle advised him.

"You're paying?"

"Why not?" said Doyle mildly. He was enjoying his meal too much to rise to the familiar teasing.

"Bloody hell." Sobering, Bodie stared at him. "Look, there's no need for this. It's my turn. Anyway, since when haven't we shared?"

"Finish your breakfast," Doyle told him with placid uninterest.

Shrugging, Bodie did as he'd been told.

Doyle grinned and poured him a second cup of tea. "If it offends your finer feelings to be a kept man, you can always pay me back - in kind." His foot slid up Bodie's calf.

"Ray, will you... Stop it," Bodie hissed, distracted when the foot crept higher, to tickle the inside of his knee. "If I didn't know better I'd swear you're pissed," he added severely.

Infinitely content, Doyle's fork reached across the small distance between them and, to the disgust of the couple at the next table, appropriated the lone tomato sitting on his partner's plate. He ate it with evident enjoyment.

"If I didn't know better, I'd agree with you," he said happily. Bodie's dismay was all he had hoped for.

Bodie started in on his toast before that vanished too. "I can see I'm going to have trouble with you," he said resignedly, spreading strawberry jam with a liberal hand.

"Nothing you can't handle," said Doyle, holding his gaze. One hand disappeared beneath the table cloth; the tables were only small.

By the time Bodie had stopped choking on an errant toast crumb, the couple at the adjoining table had given up and left, their disapproving glances and audible asides about juvenile behaviour going unnoticed.

---

CORNWALL, JANUARY 1800

"If this weather continues we'll have to consider moving the stock down into the West Pasture," Bodie announced into the comfortable silence.

Doyle glanced up from his sketch pad, his face lit by the branch of candles placed on the table at his side. "Jedediah believes we're in for a blizzard so it's as well that the repairs have been completed or heaven only knows what state we should find ourselves in."

"It would have been a trifle chilly," Bodie agreed with a faint grin, not troubling to open his eyes. "But I should warn you that Jedediah's predictions about the weather are notoriously inaccurate."

"I'll tell him you said so," Doyle offered.

Bodie's mouth slid into a grin. "Too kind," he murmured.

His chin sunk into his neck-cloth, warm, content and weary from their exertions that day, he fell into a semi-drowse.

Studying the relaxed, fire-lit figure through narrowed eyes, Doyle returned to his sketching, pausing to enjoy the occasional sip of brandy as the wind howled around the sturdy walls of Shambolt's Cove. It was rare to find Bodie remaining still for any length of time; Doyle was determined not to waste the opportunity his partner had unwittingly presented him with. There was a certain, elusive quality about Bodie that was impossible to capture from memory alone and a desire to immortalise him, even in a sketch if he could not persuade Bodie to sit for a full portrait in oils, had been obsessing him for some weeks.

The room was silent but for the companionable crackle of the fire, which hissed and spat as errant snowflakes found their way down the chimney, and the sound of the wind outside. Becoming aware of his surroundings an untold time later, Doyle discovered himself to be under a heavy-lidded, unamused scrutiny. With a guilty start he laid aside the sketch pad and charcoal.

"The subject is myself, I presume," said Bodie, his displeasure obvious in his icy manner.

Doyle gave a rueful nod.

"How many times must I tell you - ?" Bodie gave an uneasy twitch where he sat, trying not to appear as self-conscious as he felt.

Doyle gave an exasperated snort. "One would suppose you had either some guilty secret in your past or that you were so pudding-faced it would be a penance to look upon you," he said, aggrieved.

Avoiding his lover's gaze, Bodie said, "No, it's neither of those but - It makes me wonder if I've begun to sprout horns. Do you have any conception of how disconcerting it is to find oneself caught in a green-eyed glare? You looked through me for a five-minute stretch just now."

"My using you as a subject for a sketch really does make you uneasy, doesn't it," Doyle realised, taking Bodie seriously this time.

Bodie gave him a wary look, searching for some sign of amusement. Finding none, he relaxed. "Yes," he admitted simply.

Doyle gave a rueful nod. "Very well," he sighed, conceding defeat, "then I'll plague you no more." The fleeting look he cast at his abandoned pad was unconsciously wistful.

Rising to pour them both some more brandy, Bodie dismissed the subject from his mind. Desultory conversation continued while they played a couple of hands of faro, discussing what work remained to be done around the farm in view of the weather conditions. By mutual consent, they resumed their seats by the fire. Throughout the evening Bodie was aware that something was amiss about Doyle's manner; Ray wasn't sulking, or brooding, and he didn't seem to bear any grudge about his disinclination to be dissected and reassembled on paper, but his manner was undoubtedly muted, the light absent from his eyes.

"Oh, for pity's sake," Bodie said with impatience.

When Doyle looked up in inquiry, he stalked across the room to take up the sketch pad, before thrusting it at his partner.

"What - ?"

"Oh, so innocent," mocked Bodie, giving him an affectionate cuff. "I know you almost as well as I know myself. Take the damn pad, sketch what you please so long as you cease to look so damn pathetic. But if you intend to make me the subject of any of the drawings I don't wish to know of it. Clear?"

A wide smile lit Doyle's face.

"I knew it," muttered Bodie with despair. "Damn it, I had a suspicion you were bamboozling me from the first. Why I should permit you to manipulate me in this fashion I cannot conceive."

Tossing the pad onto the floor, Doyle gave a contented chuckle. "I could hazard a guess. I'll plague you no more on the topic. You won't be aware of me but - Won't you sit for just one?" he wheedled.

Bodie glowered at him.

"I love it when you pout," Doyle told him. Rising to his feet, he strolled over to where his irate lover sat, stroking a teasing finger across the severe mouth, which slid into a reluctant grin.

The expression in Ray's eyes was irresistible. With a sound of exasperation, Bodie took a handful of the wayward curls and shook Doyle's head from side to side. "You wouldn't be attempting to seduce me into compliance by any chance?" he inquired, already knowing he was lost.

Unrepentant, Doyle studied him in lecherous, lingering appraisal. "Would I succeed?"

"More than likely," Bodie admitted, abandoning even a token show of independence as he slid his arms around his companion.

Doyle slipped from the embrace to snuff out the candles. "Sometimes I despair of you," he said, giving his partner a gentle push in the direction of the door.

"Is that serious?" asked Bodie, pausing in the doorway.

"Nothing we can't resolve," Doyle assured him, caressing a warm flank. "Provoking isn't the word for you on occasion. Vanity is abhorrent in anyone but your singular lack of that vice tries my patience beyond belief. Don't you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Bodie resisted the firm pressure in the small of his back. "Beautiful?" His nose wrinkled with distaste.

"Yes, damn it all, beautiful," Doyle all but yelled at him, tenderness overwhelmed by sheer exasperation. "And when we finally get into the Godforsaken bedchamber I intend to prove it to you if it takes all night."

Anticipation and apprehension mixed in his expression, Bodie meekly allowed himself to be pushed up the stairs.

---

CORNWALL, JUNE 1983

Squinting ferociously in the brilliant sun, the salt water drying on his skin, Doyle caught his breath as Bodie waded out of the sea. The waves lapped, smooth as silk, around the bunched thigh muscles, rising to brush the snug swelling at his groin before receding again; droplets of water glistened across the broad shoulders and down his chest.

Like bloody Aphrodite, thought Doyle, tearing his gaze away because a crowded beach was neither the time nor the place.

"You're looking a bit flushed," remarked Bodie. He sank onto the towel Doyle had left out for him. "You been getting too much sun?" His head vanished into a towel as he rough-dried the worst of the water from his hair and face.

Re-emerging, he found Doyle simply sitting, staring at him. Correctly interpreting the expression being directed at him over the top of the sunglasses perched on the end of Doyle's nose he gave an abashed grin.

"Oh. Wasn't thinking."

"Yeah, oh," Doyle mimicked affectionately. "Sorry, mate. You'll have to get used to me lusting wistfully. I don't normally get to see so much of you."

"We can't all be sun-worshippers," Bodie told him loftily as he watched his partner basking in the sun with a cat-like sensuality.

"Maybe not. Still, you're a decent colour. Sort of pale Rich Tea biscuit," Doyle offered.

"Thanks a bundle." Bodie delved into a convenient rock pool for a can of their beer. "You'll get all wrinkled and prune-like if you're not careful."

"Not me, mate."

"Ugh! This beer's warm. You want any?" Bodie added, ever solicitous for his lover's well-being.

"Too kind. Nah, it's too hot. You don't really need that shirt on, you know. You won't catch a chill." That was an understatement if ever there was one. It must be over ninety in the sun.

"Listen, I know you love me for my body, but will you still love me when I'm lobster-red and peeling?"

"Always," Doyle told him, all seriousness, before the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. "I'd love you even more if the beach wasn't so crowded."

"It's OK," Bodie told him comfortably. "I've found this cave, haven't I?"

"What? Where?"

"All in good time. If you behave I'll show you this evening," Bodie promised him lazily.

"You'd better," Doyle threatened, subsiding onto the sand.

"Oh, I will. Deep and dark and damp it is. The sand's soft in there, too," he added reflectively.

"You're a tormenting sod," Doyle told him with feeling.

Bodie made a contented sound of agreement. By unobtrusive stages he fell asleep. Doyle gently relieved him of the can of beer before it should spill over him. He couldn't think of a leave he had enjoyed more than the last eight days. The weather had been fantastic, early morning mist making it cool enough to go for a decent run in comfort before the mist dispersed to reveal unblemished skies and a brilliant sun.

As a kid he'd never enjoyed beach holidays overmuch; watching Bodie unselfconsciously enjoying himself, Doyle had rediscovered all the childish pleasures of a holiday by the sea, not the least of which had been watching Bodie constructing a huge sand-fortress with the receptionist's kids when they'd come to the rescue and offered to baby-sit for a morning. It had never been Doyle's favourite occupation but he had made no demur when Bodie had offered to take them off Lorna's hands, a part of him eager to see yet another facet of his partner. Even after all these years there were so many things he had still to discover about him.

Sweat trickling down his ribs, Doyle moved into the shade opposite where Bodie lay, leaning back against a relatively smooth side of rock. Reaching out, he dragged over their bag and fished out the sketch pad and pencil he'd bought from the village store.

It had been a good many years since he had done any sketching - applied himself to the sheer discipline of studying form and composition with a critical eye. Bodie, lying prone, with one leg crooked and relaxed, was perfectly posed, he thought, wondering if he could be objective.

Gradually losing awareness of his surroundings, Doyle was not conscious of the passage of time or of the adenoidal breathing that had been gusting down his left ear for the past few minutes.

"That's nuffink like 'im, you know," a gruff voice informed him out of the blue.

Doyle jumped, his 2B pencil skidding across the page. Turning, he scowled at his uninvited critic, a skinny kid of about ten, all ears and scabbed knee-caps.

"What would you know about it?" he demanded.

"Got eyes, haven't I?"

"OK, so you've got eyes. Keep your voice down unless you want to wake up the whole beach."

Bodie smothered a grin and decided to play possum until Ray had reached the limits of his patience. It shouldn't take long.

"I'm Ray," the boy announced, pulling a piece of flaking skin from his peeling arm. He sat next to Doyle; too close for Doyle's liking.

"So am I," he said without enthusiasm.

"Hell, innit," Ray said with heavy gloom.

"No need to swear," said Doyle automatically, having been kept in practice the previous morning.

He received a surly glare from under an unprepossessing fringe, followed by a huffy silence.

"Won't your mates be wondering where you are?" Doyle asked a few minutes later, inhibited by his heavy-breathing audience.

"Ain't got none."

Terrific!

"D'you get all them jokes about your name?" Ray asked in a lugubrious voice as he peeled off another piece of skin.

Trying not to watch, Doyle said, "What jokes?"

"Sunbeam. Bleedin' sunbeam. I ask you!"

Taking off his sunglasses, Doyle shook his head. "Not sunbeam. Not often anyway. Sunshine," he said with a grin. He'd used the term himself for so many years he couldn't remember where it had originated; now he was used to hearing it from one person in particular.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"I've been called worse," Doyle replied.

Unimpressed, Ray wiped his nose on the back of his hand, then examined the result before turning his attention back to Doyle. "Where did you get that funny scar from?"

"None of your business," Doyle told him placidly, refusing to look down at the faint, pink tracery on his chest.

"You a soldier?"

Doyle continued to shade the area around Bodie's knee.

"Car accident?"

He'd got Bodie's legs OK, even his position was right. The proportions weren't bad and that left hand, with the fingers curled into the palm, was bloody good. So why the hell does it look so lifeless? he wondered, aggrieved.

"Police?"

Christ, he was a persistent little bugger. Leaning over, Doyle peered into their rock pool. "Want a coke?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Then help yourself. Put the ring-top in the bag. I don't want to go stepping on it later."

Muttering under his breath, Ray did as he'd been told, then took a long swallow of his drink. "Ugh, it's warm."

"Tough," Doyle told him unsympathetically, staring at the sketch again.

"So where did you get that scar from then?"

Enjoying himself immensely up to this point, Bodie almost choked on his rising hysteria. He had a private bet with himself how long Ray - Doyle - would last.

"I fell off me ladder into a cold-frame," said Doyle with awful dignity.

"You're a window cleaner!"

"What's wrong with it? It's a good, steady job," said Doyle sententiously.

Bodie bit down on his inner cheek and ventured to open his eyes a fraction, peering through his lashes. No question about it, he thought with glee, Doyle was definitely getting a hunted look.

"Nuffink," said Ray hastily; his disillusion was obvious. "You don't 'ave to tell me if you don't want to."

"Listen, mate, you and me are going to fall out any minute now. Pack it in, will you?" Doyle demanded in exasperation. "If you want me to be James Bond, I'm James Bond, all right?"

"Have you seen his latest?"

"Yeah, before we came down here. Like his films, do you?"

Ten minutes later Doyle wished he hadn't asked. The subject of cars took them through another fifteen minutes, by which time he'd had enough. But he couldn't bring himself to get rid of his unwanted companion.

"Fancy a game of football?" Ray asked hopefully when the conversation flagged again. His gaze drifted wistfully to the game in progress on the far side of the beach.

"No ball," said Doyle, feeling a pang at that look despite himself.

"I've got one on the other side of them rocks."

You would have, Doyle thought with disbelief. "I'm too old and it's too hot," he said. He could feel the conker-coloured eyes studying his grey hairs; despite himself, he rose to the silent challenge.

"All right, we'll play football. But you'd better be good," he warned. Getting to his feet, he dusted the sand from his legs.

"What about 'im?" Ray jerked his head in Bodie's direction.

"What indeed?" said Doyle in a tone that his partner recognised all too well.

"'E sleeps a lot, don' he?"

Bodie concentrated on keeping his breathing at just the right level, but he was pretty sure it was too late.

"Not as much as you'd think," Doyle told Ray grimly, having realised a while ago what his partner was up to. He studied the close-lidded face, his own expression preoccupied, then bent down to pick up the sketch he'd been working on.

"You were right," he admitted wryly. "This isn't anything like him."

"Told you, didn't I? It's not your fault, he's got a funny face," Ray consoled.

Warming to his unprepossessing companion by the minute, Doyle grinned. "That's what I'm always telling him." He crumpled the drawing and tossed it into Bodie's lap. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. Ice cream van's at the top of the beach. What do you fancy, Ray?"

"You buyin'?" Ray demanded with innate caution.

"Nah, he is," said Doyle as he met rueful blue eyes.

"Pistachio 'n' raisin - with a flake. A big 'un."

Doyle shuddered. "Strawberry for me. No flake. And don't go eating ours on your way back. Come on, Ray, I'll teach you how to play football."

Uncharacteristically Ray hesitated, toes scuffing the sand as he stared between Doyle and Bodie, who was raking through their bag for his wallet.

"Actually . . The thing is," he said in a confidential tone, "it's me Gran's birthday on Monday."

"That's nice." Doyle waited.

"An' me Mum sent me out to get her a present. Gave me a quid."

Doyle didn't take him up on his hopeful pause, forcing Ray to labour on.

"You can't get much for a quid. Not for an old lady. Anyway, I spent it."

"What on?" asked Doyle with resignation.

"Space Invaders."

"Ah. So now you've got nothing for your Gran and you want me to give you a quid," guessed Doyle, having decided it would be cheap at the price.

"Course not," said Ray with near contempt.

Bodie decided to postpone his trip until he'd heard the punchline.

"Oh. Well, what do you want?" pursued Doyle.

"I saw you drawin'. That's what brought me over," said Ray artfully.

"But you said I couldn't draw," protested Doyle, feeling a faint glow of gratification despite himself. He'd known he couldn't be that bad.

"No, I just said you couldn't draw him," corrected Ray patiently.

"Because I've got a funny face. I heard you," Bodie told him.

As untroubled as his namesake by Bodie's scowl, Ray gave him a wide grin. "No offence," he assured him.

"None taken," said Bodie, perching on a nearby rock.

"So you want me to do a drawing of you to give to your Gran," guessed Doyle, failing to hide his pleasure at having someone, albeit a scruffy kid, taking his art seriously.

"Not likely," said Ray with deflating haste. "Nah, I wondered if I could 'ave your sunglasses for me Gran. They're just what she could do with. An' if I clean 'em up she'll never know they're not new."

Bodie laughed so hard he fell off the rock.



"Will you just shut up?" implored Doyle, holding his aching ribs as he unlocked the door to their room.

Red-faced with laughter, Bodie leaned weakly against the door, unable to make more than faint wheezing noises.

He set Doyle off again.

"It wasn't that funny," Doyle protested eventually. Needing some support, he swept Bodie's trainers from the armchair.

Bodie beat him to the chair and leant back in it. "I don't know which was best," he spluttered, "your face when he first told you or watching you give him the damn glasses. He must have seen you coming, mate. And when he said, 'not likely'. Oh, christ. That second ice cream was a mistake."

Moving in on the seated figure, Doyle placed a hand on either side of the cracked leather wings, framing Bodie's face as he stared into the laughter-creased eyes while trying to maintain his look of menace.

"And what's wrong with my face?" he demanded.

Hiccupping now, Bodie stared back, taking in every inch of the nut-brown skin and the cool, green eyes. "Not one thing," he conceded, kissing Doyle on the nose and watching him go cross-eyed.

Doyle blinked, cleared his blurred vision, and kissed him back with a leisurely pleasure, his hands cupping Bodie's face by this time. "Well, that's all right then."

"It's a pity though," mused Bodie reflectively. He licked the hollow of Doyle's collar bone, tasting the sun, sweat and sun-oil; he wrinkled his nose at the latter, preferring unadulterated Ray Doyle.

"What is?" asked Doyle vaguely, beginning to lose the thread of this particular conversation.

"That you can't draw."

His head buried between a salt-coated arm and rib-cage, Doyle bit Bodie with some care for placement, but when he looked up his face was alight with laughter. "Y'know, that's what really hurts. I was so chuffed he wanted one of my drawings. The little sod."

"You can't blame him," said Bodie fairly.

"That bad?"

"Better than I can do," Bodie consoled, ruffling the salt-sticky hair.

"Oh, thanks a bundle."

Leaning back on his heels, a beatific smile appeared on Doyle's face as he glanced over the arm of the chair to the shabby, worm-eaten desk in the corner of the room. He wanted Bodie to discover those sketches for himself; wanted to be there when Bodie found them. That desk would look really terrible in Bodie's flat.

The fledgling thought appealed no end.

His hands braced on Bodie's knees, he pushed himself up onto his feet. "Back in a minute."

"Ray, where are you off to now?"

Doyle was already halfway downstairs to undertake an important transaction, hoping that the woodworm would be taken into account when it came to valuing an antique desk.

---

CORNWALL, JANUARY 1800

Having been given grudging permission to sketch his mate, Doyle could not bear to waste any time in taking Bodie up on his offer. He already knew that one, two or even a dozen attempts would not be sufficient. How could he content himself with capturing just one of Bodie's many faces or moods? But there was one moment in particular that he ached to capture - the expression on Bodie's face after love: drowsy, sated and totally desirable, the hint of arrogant complacency, and the tender delight.

The only possible setting was their bedchamber, gloomy though it was. While the light in Bodie's room was far from ideal, particularly during these dark winter months, it would have to do, for he could bear to delay no longer. Doyle began to plan his campaign with unusual subtlety.

Over the next few days Bodie accepted the sketch pad as part of the furnishings, and the blazing fire when he awoke each morning as being due to Doyle feeling the cold more than he. The open drapes puzzled, until he saw some hurried sketches outlining the frosty vista from their window. Why Ray should find a snowland scene so irresistible that he must leave their warm bed at some unearthly hour in the morning was beyond Bodie's sleepy comprehension, but while he had been woken so sweetly these past three mornings it scarcely seemed to matter.

The fourth morning their loving was as wild and sweet as if it was the first - and last - time they would share. Bodie drifted back to sleep, aware that it was barely light, to the accompaniment of the murmuring voice that had woken him in the first place.

When next he awoke it was still at an earlier hour than was customary for him, due in part to the fact that the inclement weather had kept them both within the confines of house and yard for the past four days; for once Jedediah's predictions about the weather had proved to be correct.

Bodie's first conscious thought was that he was cold, his second that he was alone in the bed. Rather than bestir himself to pull up the covers, which he seemed to have lost, he remained sprawled with heavy-limbed languor against the pillows, intrigued by the soft sounds he could hear. He knew they must originate from Ray but could not establish what he could be doing. He felt too comfortable to make the effort to open his eyes and find out. He heard a soft, faintly abrasive whispering sound, then a muttered imprecation. Ray was sketching again then.

There were times when he wished he had taken a wheelwright to his bed rather than an artist.

Bodie gave a silent laugh, denying the notion. Perhaps not. Ray would be just as single-minded, whatever his passion. Heaven only knew why he should feel the urge to sketch at this unearthly hour of the day. The light must be abysmal.

Suspicion of what his companion might be sketching dawned only slowly; he had forgotten Doyle's earlier preoccupation with his face and form. The suspicion crystallised when he heard a rustle, followed by a dissatisfied sigh. Moments later the quilt was drawn back over him, a chilly hand offering a fleeting caress to his thigh.

Bodie opened his eyes, startling Doyle as he straightened from where he was bent over the bed.

"Good morning," said Bodie in a non-committal tone. "You began work early this morning."

"I didn't intend to wake you," said Doyle, certain he must look as guilty as he felt. If Bodie did not suffer from this absurd missishness this subterfuge wouldn't be necessary. As he made to leave the bedside a strong hand shot out, restraining him.

"No, I don't suppose you did," Bodie agreed, his voice too even as his suspicion became a certainty. "Particularly not while you took such pains to ensure I should sleep sounder than usual." Rising in one smoothly coordinated movement, he tipped Doyle onto the bed. Ignoring his murmur of surprise, Bodie went over to the table under the window.

Doyle half rose to stop him then shrugged and lay back on his elbows, resignation on his face as Bodie found the abandoned sketch. Bodie gave the charcoal drawing one incredulous glance before letting it fall back onto the table.

"You scheming bastard," he breathed, contempt echoing in the insult. "So this is why I've been woken so sweetly these past few mornings. Why I awoke chilled - " He ran a hand over his cool flesh. "I thought I imagined your touch." Mercifully, words failed him.

Watching him through troubled eyes Doyle realised he had totally misjudged Bodie's feelings on the subject. Already frustrated by his inability to capture what he wanted of Bodie's expression for the fourth consecutive morning, he said only, "You didn't imagine my touch." Spurred on by the scorn on Bodie's face he added, "But unless you do me the courtesy of actually looking at the sketch in any detail you're unlikely to understand my intent. Or do you seriously imagine that I regard you only as some magnificent animal to be captured in all its sensuality?"

"Don't you? One would never suspect otherwise! This piece of - of pornography reveals quite eloquently what regard you hold me in, I thank you."

Doyle flinched, the accusation striking home. The fact that his loving intent could be so misconstrued, that Bodie should believe him capable of such insensitivity, sinking in, an icy anger ran through him.

"You must believe what suits you best," said Doyle at his chilliest. "I realise nothing I say is likely to convince you."

Bewildered and hurt, Bodie was experiencing an unacknowledged jealousy of a passion he could not share; now he heard only the hard, biting tone, not the pain it failed to conceal.

"No, there's nothing you could say," he retorted. "I know your arguments too well by now. Unless you propose we fuck? The sketch isn't completed, after all."

Doyle's mute, white face spurred him on.

"God's teeth!" In his rage Bodie swept the decanter and glasses from the table, feeling a savage satisfaction as they shattered on the floorboard. "I went to great pains to make it clear I had no desire, even some dread, of being immortalised, but you went right ahead, regardless. Anything to satisfy your artistic whim. Well, I trust you've studied me for long enough, lover." There was a bitter irony to the endearment.

"Why, is it to be my last opportunity?" mocked Doyle.

"You once accused me of treating you like some second-rate whore," Bodie reminded him in a harsh tone, ignoring the question and the sickness in the pit of his belly. "What name would you give your recent behaviour? Or am I supposed to feel so grateful for your attentions that I shouldn't care?"

"Bodie - " Doyle didn't want this ugly scene to go any further, or for them to rip into each other any more, but stung pride and the knowledge that he had been in the wrong prevented him from stopping it. "I meant it only for the best," he said lamely.

"Best?" Bodie gave a humourless laugh. "Whose best? Mine? I beg to doubt it." His tone cutting, he watched with bleak satisfaction as Doyle, curiously silent by this time, flinched as if his attack had been a physical one. "But I'm a fool," continued Bodie in the same deceptively gentle voice. "Why should I expect you to consider my wishes when your art is at stake?"

Before he could say more Doyle made a low sound of fury. Launching himself from the bed he knocked Bodie aside with his shoulder. Reaching the table, he took up the sketch, tearing it in two, then again before thrusting the pieces at the other man.

"Well, take it then. It's a test, is it not? My feelings for you versus my art. Very well, you win. Much joy may your prize bring you."

His fine rage vanquished by the expression in Doyle's eyes, knowing his over-reaction had stemmed solely from an irrational jealousy that there was a portion of Ray's life which he could not fully understand or share, Bodie caught hold of him.

"Ray, don't - I didn't - "

The torn pieces of the sketch fluttered around him to fall to the floor amid the broken glass and spilt brandy. Doyle had already turned away, freeing himself from Bodie's grasp with ease as he headed for his own room and the half-completed work stored there, prepared in his fury to destroy everything.

Bodie caught up with him in the doorway, the door still wincing on its hinges, and was only just able to restrain the other man.

"Ray, for God's sake! Ray!"

Wrenching free, Doyle swung around, his expression murderous, his temper fully unleashed. His eyes blazed a feral green, his face implacable. It was the face of a stranger, and shockingly wild.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? No rivals." The thickened voice was equally unrecognisable.

Sliding past him, Bodie blocked the way into the room with his own body. "Ray, I'm sorry. I meant none of it. None of it, do you hear? I just - forget on occasion how important this is to you. I don't fully comprehend it and sometimes... Sometimes I resent it." He cupped the livid face between gentle hands, half-expecting a blow. It never came.

His gaze clearing, Doyle stared at him in near-shock as he relaxed under Bodie's hands. Seeing the love in the worried face opposite his own, he realised what he had almost done. Giving a shuddering sigh of remorse, he rested his head against Bodie's shoulder for a moment before he straightened again.

"Well, that's as fine a display of reasoned debate as you're likely to meet from me," he said in almost his usual tone. Shamed, he met the remorseful eyes dark with anxiety and recognised the love there for him.

"What I ever did to deserve you I shall never know," he whispered, running a gentle finger down the worried crease between Bodie's eyes. "The fault isn't yours. I have an appalling temper - particularly when I know myself to be in the wrong." His voice became muffled as, holding Bodie as tight as he could, he buried his face in his lover's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I, God knows." His hands slipped between the folds of the robe Doyle wore, needing this gentleness. "You find me so worthy of your time that you're willing to get up at this unearthly hour to sketch me?" Bodie asked with a trace of hesitation, wanting to understand.

Doyle drew away a little to give him a searching look, then nodded; his smile had reached his eyes by this time. Accepting the mistakes they had both made with unusual tranquillity, he was determined to learn from them. At Bodie's look of puzzlement he encouraged his lover back to the warmth of the fire and quietly closed the door to their room. Shrugging out of his robe, he slipped it around Bodie's shoulders on realising how chilled the other man had become.

"I sometimes wonder whether I'll try your patience too far one day. I didn't think, Bodie. Like a greedy, thoughtless child I just took what I wanted and in the taking I hurt you."

Bodie's reply was immediate and tart, as an antidote to sentiment. "Yes, you did. But if you imagine for one moment that I now wish to hear you castigate yourself for the next hour in penance you're much mistaken."

Doyle stiffened with surprised hauteur before, recognising the wry expression on Bodie's face, he gave a choke of laughter and hugged the other man to him as his sense of the ridiculous came to his rescue.

"That's my Bodie, always subtle. It's your damned face," he complained. "It's so irresistible to try and capture... I didn't stop to think about you. But I swear there was no premeditation in our pre-dawn loving. No cold-blooded decision. It was simply the fact I could not resist you. After that... The opportunity seemed too good to waste. I give you my word not to sketch you clandestinely again. Besides," a heavy sigh escaped him, "I doubt I shall ever capture what I seek. I lack the skill."

"What, am I so difficult a subject? That I can't believe," Bodie told him briskly. He heard himself doing an about-face and knew it was because Doyle would keep his promise otherwise.

Crossing the room, stepping over broken glass as if it wasn't there, he bent to scoop up the pieces of the torn sketch and placed the quarters on the desk top. This time he did not concentrate on the explicit nature of the drawing which had so shocked him at first viewing but took the time to study the face. The relaxed, drooping eyelids, barely-glimpsed eyes, dishevelled hair and curve of the lips all betrayed...

A sweet melting pierced his gut.

"How in Heaven's name did you contrive this? Ray, 'tis almost indecent to see one's every thought mirrored in this fashion," he said with a helpless gesture of his hand. He felt a lick of arousal at the sight of his sated face and languidly sprawled body, willing to swear he could see his lover curved over the lines of his own body.

Only half-believing Bodie's reaction, Doyle smiled and shook his head as he came to stand at his side. "It's all right, you need not pretend to -"

"I know. I wouldn't lie. Not after having made the fuss I did." Aware that Doyle did not believe him, Bodie pulled a face. "I can see you are going to take some convincing. Is this truly how you see me?"

Doyle nodded in puzzlement.

"Dear God," Bodie repeated, but with a vast difference in his tone. This time it held a kind of awed wonder.

Under Doyle's surprised gaze Bodie shrugged free of the robe and taking Doyle by the arm, headed for the bed he had left so precipitately.

"Bodie, what are you - ?"

"Now I know you are not that naive. Research," Bodie told him with succinct glee. "Well, come on then."

"An admirable thought," chuckled Doyle, "but I don't believe I could." His face was alight with happiness even so.

"Well, I certainly can, so why not leave all the work to me?" Bodie suggested kindly. He gave a yelp of surprise. "What are you about? Put me down, you imbecile."

"Make me," gasped Doyle, just before he tipped Bodie onto the bed, breathless with the effort it had required.

Bodie had never been able to resist a challenge. The ensuing wrestling match did the ageing mattress no good at all, causing it to lurch in the most alarming manner. There was a faint groaning sound which neither man heard.

"Surrender," demanded Bodie, leaning over his partner.

"Never," declaimed Doyle dramatically. As he levered Bodie away from him he forgot that the other man still had a grip on his shoulders. Only one of the heavy, carved bed-posts prevented them from being flung from the bed to the floor. They were so engrossed in one another that neither of them heard the sound of protest it made.

"You were saying something about surrender?" Doyle said silkily a few moments later as Bodie heaved and twisted beneath him. "How convenient," he breathed, nipping at the curved buttock presented to him.

Bodie was laughing too hard to offer any resistance, half-stifled by the thick, feather mattress. "I surrender," he said weakly, going limp under Doyle's hands. Rolling onto his back, he drew Doyle down with him. "But you must swear to be gentle with me."

"Oh, I will be," Doyle assured him, voice soft with promise. His earnest tone was belied by the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes. "You'll scarce know what I'm about."

"There's no cause to go to the other extreme," Bodie protested, his hands smoothing down the ridges of Doyle's spine as he held them belly to belly.

Arching up as best he could for the weight of his lover, Bodie gave a low groan of pleasure as their cocks met. Doyle's hands tightened over his shoulders and he saw his desire mirrored in the clouded eyes staring into his own.

Conversation faded as they found a slow rhythm, leisurely kisses deepening, then easing as their breathing became less controlled. Languid pleasure in each other's bodies increased to a hard urgency and a moment of shared intensity as their warmth mingled between their close-locked flesh. Caught at the height of pleasure, there was a groaning crack, and a shudder, followed by a rending sound. Seconds later they were almost buried in a heavy, musty darkness.

For a moment there was a shocked silence before they began to cough and splutter from the clouds of dust enfolding them in their soft prison.

"Ray?" There was an odd note in Bodie's voice, not accounted for by the fact he had begun to cough in the hot, arid space they shared.

Plastered against his partner, a soft, heavy weight pressing into the small of his back, Doyle was shaking with spasms of laughter.

"Oh Lord. I'm familiar with the little death," he near-wailed, almost incoherent.

"And here was I about to take the credit," gurgled Bodie, just before he buried his over-heated face in the hollow of Doyle's throat and shoulder.

They laughed until they were weak from it and scarce able to draw breath.

"This is no occasion for levity," Bodie informed a hiccupping Doyle with mock severity. He began to push and poke at the folds of the heavy fabric encasing them. "What in hell's name - ? Ah, rest easy. It wasn't Armageddon, merely the canopy collapsing on top of us and bringing down two of the drapes." As he spoke he inadvertently put his fist through the half-rotten damask. He cursed the ensuing cloud of dust.

At least they could breathe again, though Doyle had begun to shiver, the temperature seeming chilly after the half-suffocating darkness they had been trapped in. Blinking against the light, fraying crimson threads and an ancient cobweb trailing from his curls, he cautiously raised his head to peer out at the ruin of the bed.

"I trust you appreciate that if the canopy had chosen to collapse only a moment before it did, the consequences to ourselves could have been severe," he announced, glancing at his quiescent flesh with meaning.

Bodie chuckled. "Not to mention painful. I wonder what caused the disaster." Wriggling free, he knelt up on the mattress and immediately saw that one of the carved bed-posts supporting the canopy had broken in two at its narrowest point. His eyebrows snapped together.

"How did that come about?" he wondered out loud. "Woodworm, or perhaps it was weakened by being moved from one room to another?"

"Or old age," said Doyle acidly.

Straightening only with difficulty, he flexed his stiffened spine. Then, bending again, he began to haul the rotting material clear of the mattress, bundling it up as best he could. He was forced to pause several times, racked by minor convulsions as the dust made him sneeze. Wiping his reddened and weeping eyes and unconsciously smearing the dust coating his face a little further, he paused to give Bodie a stern look.

"You will recall that it was you who wouldn't entertain the notion of this room or its contents being touched in any way," he said, unable to hide his satisfaction at being proved right.

"So I was in error. Everyone is permitted one mistake," said Bodie, admitting defeat. "We'll repair to one of the guest rooms and recall the workmen."

"Can we afford it?" asked Doyle, all mischief.

"Of course we can, for surely I heard the Squire commissioning you to do a portrait of his wife. We'll use the proceeds of that," said Bodie, ever generous with other people's belongings.

Doyle threw a remnant of the drape at him. "Imbecile."

"Quite possibly. I took up with you. You look a complete urchin at present," Bodie told him frankly, grinning as he took in the full glory of his companion's dusty and dishevelled appearance.

"While you're neat as a new pin, I suppose," snorted Doyle. He tried to manhandle the pile of material into a less obtrusive heap with a conspicuous lack of success.

Bodie had turned back to the bed-post, frowning as something about its appearance struck him. The break was too far above his head for him to be able to see it in detail and he fetched a high-backed chair, stepping up onto it so he might better be able to examine the cause of the accident.

"No, this wasn't caused by worm, I'm glad to say," he said slowly, sounding puzzled. "It's the strangest thing. The post has been sawn halfway through. You may see the marks quite plainly. Who the devil would wish to - ?" His voice faded away when he saw the expression on his partner's face.

Guilty as a truant schoolboy, Doyle looked at him across the ruin of the bed, recalling his endeavours of the previous October only too plainly, having forgotten them until this moment.

"Er, I - That is... I can explain," he told Bodie feebly.

Betraying laughter perilously close to the surface, Bodie stepped down from the chair and padded towards his lover with slow deliberation.

"Of course you can," he said, all patient understanding. He flexed his hand in a meaning way.

"It was just - It seemed an excellent notion at the time," Doyle told him lamely. "This bed's damnably uncomfortable and I knew you would not entertain the notion of replacing it." He had begun to retreat, rightly mistrusting the gleam in those blue eyes.

"So you sought to force me to replace it," nodded Bodie, experiencing no difficulty at all in following his bird-brained companion's thought processes.

Gratified by Bodie's immediate grasp of the situation, Doyle nodded and offered a tentative smile. He relaxed the moment it was returned.

"I was in the wrong of it, I know," he admitted, "but it had slipped my mind, what with one thing," his hand moved in a vague, all-embracing gesture, "and another."

"Yes, I can see that it would," Bodie agreed softly. Without warning, he pounced on his off-guard mate, his face alight with laughter. But when his hand moved there was nothing vague about it.

Doyle's indignant yelp was muffled by a warm, amused mouth as Bodie tumbled him onto the bundle of curtaining.



Spreadeagled under Bodie's weight, his hands again held above his head, Doyle opened sated eyes and gave a contented sigh.

"Beautiful," he muttered with dreamy pleasure. His body was still tingling from the touch of Bodie's hands and mouth over him which had held him captive and captivated.

Bodie gave him a look of the deepest suspicion.

Untroubled, Doyle grinned. "I was not referring to you," he assured his lover.

"No?"

"Well, only in part," Doyle admitted. "Lord, that was - I would not have believed I could be brought to - What of you?" he added huskily. His expression softened when he realised Bodie was unlikely to require his aid for some time. "Love you," he mumbled.

"I know," Bodie replied absently, his attention elsewhere.

"You could have tried for a becoming modesty," Doyle pointed out with a touch of acid.

Bodie refocussed. "What do I have to be modest about?" he retorted, jumping when Doyle stuck his tongue in his ear, about all the retaliation open to him while he was pinned.

Rubbing his cheek over and over against his lover's shoulder and inhaling his scent, Bodie was deep in thought again. So Ray was expecting a new bed, was he? Miller was an excellent carpenter and would be able to replace the damaged post in a trice. But he had no objection to purchasing a more stable mattress; the present one seemed to have a life and will of its own on occasion. There was no need to tell Ray about that concession, however.

"You may leave the question of the bed to me," he declared.

Doyle was only too happy to do so; despite his exhausted state he had more important matters on his mind.

"On one condition," Bodie added. He smiled at the wary look he received.

"I know that look," Doyle warned darkly. "If you have some outrageous notion planned so that you may gain your revenge, I give you fair warning - "

"Be still. Am I a child?" Bodie silenced the budding argument by finding the parted mouth for a lingering kiss. "You may sketch me to your heart's content," he whispered into dusty curls. "On one condition. I want at least one sketch of you."

"Me?" Doyle all but squawked.

"You," Bodie confirmed blandly, enjoying the expression on his lover's face.

"But, but it's impossible," spluttered Doyle, appalled at the notion. "I couldn't do it."

"I expect you'll contrive to produce something," Bodie told him complacently. "No sketch of you, no sketch of me. It's very simple." He listened placidly to a lengthy diatribe regarding his parentage, nature, sexual habits and appearance.

"A fine vocabulary, but I mean it, Ray. If I'm to suffer the indignity of being captured by your acute eye at every turn I fail to see why I should suffer alone. Besides, I shall want to look at this beauty when we're both old and wrinkled."

Sighing, Doyle gave him a glare of frustration, but the pleading look in the blue eyes melted away his resistance faster than mist in the sun.

"Very well," he acquiesced, "I'll try."

Bodie gave a smirk of satisfaction. "I thought you'd come round to my way of thinking," he said smugly.

"Getting over-confident?" inquired Doyle, but without resentment.

"Very probably."

"You have cause," Doyle admitted. "Release my hands?" he requested meekly.

"Why should I?" asked Bodie with lazy pleasure, knowing Ray could have freed himself at any time if he had wished to.

"Because I cannot touch you and I want to, very much."

Bodie released him without another word.

By the time the blizzard had stopped howling around the house both men were curled together, filthy and exhausted in front of the fire, sound asleep.

---

LONDON, JULY 1983

Turning irritably on the same damp spot on the bed, Bodie gave up all pretence of being comfortable. After an aggrieved look around the room, he turned his attention to his partner, who was sprawled limply at his side.

"Ray, you awake?"

"Mmnph."

Cheered by this vague sound of life, Bodie rolled lethargically onto his side. "It's too hot to get a decent night's sleep," he announced to an expanse of brown back, feeling the need to explain why he had woken so early to himself as much as to an uninterested Ray Doyle.

The air hung hot and heavy in Bodie's usually cool flat; even with every window cast wide there was no breeze and he could feel the prickle of sticky heat where he rested on the once-crisp sheet. Despite the early hour, muted traffic sounds were louder than usual as people set off to work earlier in the hope of avoiding at least one polluted journey in a humid traffic jam. Listening to the sounds outside, Bodie was conscious of a smug satisfaction that at least they didn't have to go to work. Not yet, anyway.

On the edge of sleep, Doyle snuggled deeper into his pillow. Sprawled face down on the mattress, his arms outstretched above him, he looked infuriatingly cool and by no means awake.

Running a light finger down the ridges of Doyle's spine, Bodie was reassured to find the smooth brown flesh felt as hot and damp as his own, despite its appearance to the contrary. Doyle didn't so much as twitch at the contact.

"That scar on your back's healed up a treat," Bodie said, persevering. "It didn't give you any trouble yesterday, did it?"

Aware of a faint tickling sensation, Doyle tried to shrug it away. "Ump."

"That's all right, then. As we spent all yesterday in the gym I thought we could take a break today. Go out in the country, find somewhere quiet. All green and cool," Bodie added, ever the optimist.

"Nowhere's cool," mumbled Doyle, reluctantly conceding that Bodie was going to keep talking whether he responded or not. Lifting his head, bleary-eyed, from the pillow, and cursing muscles stiffened after his hours working in the gym, he pulled a face when he saw what time it was. With a muffled groan, he subsided again.

There was a blissful silence until a tentative finger poked him in the ribs. "Are you going back to sleep again? I've been awake for ages."

Bodie sounded so pathetic that Doyle had to grin with a rare indulgence. Leaning up on one elbow, he yawned widely, then shook his head.

"Obviously not, with you in this mood. Why don't you go and make us both breakfast?" he suggested. He would have at least another half-hour's peace that way. Bodie wasn't the fastest thing on two legs first thing in the morning. "It was just a thought," he conceded at the expressive look he received.

"Not one of your best," Bodie told him, enjoying the sight of his naked companion as if it was their first morning together as lovers. The even, dark-honey tan was complete except for the narrow expanse of cream over buttocks, flanks and groin, highlighting already attractive areas. He'd thought those shorts of Ray's were a bit brief at the time but the resultant demarcation between what was and what wasn't for public viewing was a stirring sight.

He slid his hand under the heavy curls to caress the nape of Doyle's neck, the skin there already damp with sweat. The hair lay, soft and silky, between his fingers.

"You could do with a haircut," he said absently, sifting through it.

"You're starting to sound like my mum. Pack it in, will you? Anyway, I'm having one this afternoon, three o'clock."

"You never told me."

Trapping Bodie's hand as he rolled over, Doyle gave a lazy grin. "I didn't think you'd be interested, mate."

"I'm interested in everything you do," Bodie assured him.

His hand curved over the ball of Doyle's shoulder, tracing along the collar-bone before brushing across the definition of the pectoral muscles; feeling them quiver, Bodie let his hand trickle down the rib-cage, his fingers drifting to tease the soft, sun-bleached hair where it arrowed in a thin line down the flat belly.

Doyle looked from beneath his lashes at the engrossed face bent to him. "You said it was too hot last night," he reminded his lover. His toes were starting to twitch in response to Bodie's attentions, but otherwise he managed to remain still.

"That was last night."

"It's still hot," Doyle pointed out, stretching with a lazy pleasure. His arching spine flaunted his growing interest in the path of Bodie's hand.

"So am I," Bodie whispered.

"We'll get all hot and sticky," Doyle warned him.

Bodie just gave a slow, sweet smile, his mouth but a breath away.

With a soft, incoherent sound, Doyle drew his lover to him.



"Where's breakfast then?" demanded Bodie as he strolled into the kitchen, his skin still damp from his shower, his hair sleeked down over his skull. "I'm starving."

As naked as his partner, Doyle nodded over to the table as he put the milk back in the fridge and came over with their mugs of coffee. Bodie studied the frugal display in appalled disbelief.

"Yoghurt!"

"And fresh fruit," encouraged Doyle.

"I'm a growing lad," Bodie told him pathetically as he slumped down on his chair. He gave the small tub in front of him a look of dislike.

"We had this discussion yesterday, remember?"

Bodie's mournful nod spoke volumes.

Doyle gave a sigh of exasperation. "Listen, mate, yesterday down at the gym only proved that neither of us is in what you could call the peak of physical fitness, so we've got to start doing something about it. We both know that Cowley's bound to pack us off to get hammered by Macklin when we get back - especially after that assessment we turned in."

"Thrashed you at squash though, didn't I?" Bodie retorted with satisfaction.

"Fluke," Doyle dismissed as he finished his mug of coffee.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Christ, I don't believe this conversation. We both know you always beat me at squash."

"You won once," Bodie reminded him kindly, determined to be fair. He got up and poured them fresh mugs of coffee.

Dipping his spoon into his yoghurt, Doyle made as if to flick some at his partner.

Unfazed, Bodie just grinned at him. "You'll do better to eat it. You'll need the energy."

It was a relief to know Ray was almost back to normal after nearly a month of over-protective, watchful concern. It had been starting to get him down. That stint in the gym yesterday must have completed the reassurance. Doyle had been a walk-over, but things wouldn't be that easy for him again.

The sound of Doyle scraping out the last spoonful of yoghurt made Bodie realise he hadn't started on his own breakfast. He began a familiar fight with the foil top on his tub; as usual, it got the better of him. He swore with feeling when he received an unwanted splattering of natural yoghurt down his cheek.

"It's supposed to be good for the complexion," Doyle announced conversationally.

"We talking sex or yoghurt here?"

Doyle thought about it. "Both."

"Know what I'd rather have," Bodie grumbled. "Bet there's a damn sight more vitamins to be had from you, too." Wiping away the last trace of yoghurt from his cheek he grinned, feeling too good to be able to pretend otherwise. "So what are we doing today, the gym, country-air or what?"

"I don't mind. We should get fit," said Doyle conscientiously. "Still, we can do that this evening, when it's cooler. How about going down to - "He broke off to peer around but couldn't see a calendar. "What date is it? I've lost track while we've been on leave."

"The eighth," Bodie told him promptly as he started in on a plump peach, the downy skin and warm colour faintly reminiscent of the hollow of Ray's back.

"Bugger. Sorry, mate, I can't go out this morning."

"Why not?"

"I've got something being delivered at eleven," said Doyle evasively.

Bodie groaned. "Terrific. Your flat will be hell after being locked up in this heat."

"That's all right, it's being delivered here, isn't it."

"Here?" Bodie gave his partner's bland face a long look. "OK, what have you been up to this time?" he demanded, sounding resigned.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. I know that bug-eyed look of old. What have you been up to, Ray?"

"Nothing. Well, nothing you'll object to," Doyle amended. "Probably," he added after a pause for reflection. "It's a present." He achieved a nicely judged air of self-consciousness.

Bodie's face lit up. "For me?"

"That's right." Doyle began to suck the last shreds of succulent flesh from his peach stone with great relish and even more noise.

"Your table manners are really horrible, you know that?"

"It's been mentioned," Doyle conceded sunnily.

"I'll just bet it has. What is it then?"

Doyle was all limpid innocence. "Ah, now that would be telling. You'll just have to be patient."

And despite artful questions, pleas and out-and-out threats he would say no more on the subject.



Bodie started to unpeel the solid object which was cluttering up the centre of his living-room as soon as the delivery men left. Pulling away the last sheet of corrugated cardboard, his face dropped in dismay.

"It's a desk." His incredulity and disappointment were obvious, although he made a valiant effort to brighten.

Doyle, who hadn't considered the impact of the desk itself, felt a pang of regret. Still, Bodie had always been quick on the uptake, it shouldn't take him long.

"I thought it would look good under that window," he offered, gesturing across the room.

"Yeah. You what?" Studying the battered piece of furniture with more care, Bodie swung around, his expression mirroring his disbelief. "It's... it's got woodworm, Ray," he pointed out with some delicacy, not wishing to give offence.

Slinging an arm around Bodie's shoulders, Doyle gave him a quick, impetuous hug. "A bit," he agreed ruefully.

"A bit? It's riddled with the - " The penny dropped. "OK, what does it do, explode, get up and make the tea or pee on the carpet?"

Circling the desk, Bodie eyed it with caution. His puzzled frown turned to a look of recognition. "All of a sudden I get this feeling that I've seen this before. Hang on, isn't this the desk from - You haven't taken to nicking furniture from hotel rooms, I hope?" he demanded severely.

"No, I haven't," Doyle denied indignantly. It hurt to think of the hole purchasing this worm-eaten lump of firewood had made in his bank balance. "All bought and paid for, this is."

"But why did you buy it from the hotel? Oh." Bodie was smiling now. "I suppose the period would be about right. They'd have used this, wouldn't they?" From his emphasis it was clear who he was talking about. He ran a gentle hand over the dented and scratched wood.

"Oh, they used it all right," Doyle told him, moving to kneel beside him.

Something in his lover's voice made Bodie give him a look of question. "Why do I get the feeling you know they did? Come on, Ray. What's all this in aid of?"

"You're not usually this slow on the uptake. I just thought you'd enjoy looking at it. In detail," he added with deliberation, getting up to perch on the arm of one of the easy chairs.

"Detail?" Bodie stared from Doyle to the desk and back to Doyle again. "There was something about these old desks, wasn't there. Yeah, what was it Cowley was burbling about that time? Secret drawers? And the only reason for having them is to put something in - " He was talking out loud rather than to Doyle as he walked around the desk, assessing it.

Doyle gave him a fond smile. Bodie never had been able to resist a puzzle. He watched the other man slide the drawers free and place them on the carpet, having examined each one with great thoroughness. His capable fingers ran lightly over the wood with something like a lover's touch, growing attached to this worn survivor from another age as much for its own sake as for any association it might have. He assessed each joint and curve, studying the craftsmanship through eyes that could measure out two miles or two inches with equal ease.

"They really knew how to make things in those days," he announced in ungrudging appreciation. "I like this, Ray. Really."

"I can see that, sunshine." Doyle smiled again, wondering where the hell they were going to find a furniture restorer. They'd have to do something about that woodworm before Bodie's floorboards disappeared.

There was a small click and Bodie made a soft sound of satisfaction as he slid the drawer free and placed it carefully on the desk top before getting to his feet. "What have we here then?"

His voice trailed away as he lifted out the first sheet of paper, his breath hissing inwards in a sharp sound before he began to study the drawing.

He was silent after that but he removed each sketch with deliberation, handling them with the greatest of care before he went on to the next, studying each one with an intensity which told its own story. Long before he reached the end his hands began to tremble.

There was a level of near-reverence in the slow, deliberate movements that was so different from Bodie's usual fluid speed that it brought a lump to Doyle's throat. Loving Bodie very much, he watched the bent head and half-visible profile, the long, dark lashes shadowing the curve of cheek, the lips just parted in wonder.

As if becoming aware that he was under surveillance, Bodie swung fully back to Doyle.

"Ray, I - Oh, christ." His eyes too bright, and incredibly softened, he kissed Doyle fiercely, his fingers locked in brown curls.

"They're beautiful," Bodie said at last, his voice still tinged with disbelief. "Seeing them like this..." Caught in a tangle of emotion, he couldn't find the words. Burying his face against Doyle's shoulder, he held on with all his strength.

Doyle cupped the dark head between his palms and drew it up so he could see Bodie's face. "You like them then," he said with fine understatement.

Bodie's eyes seemed to be lit from within by small, blue flames. "Oh, I like them, sunshine." He drew a shaky breath. "God, Ray. This is the most beautiful thing anyone's - You set these up for me to find, didn't you?"

"Found them by accident when I was stuck in the room, waiting to hear from Hodge. I knew you'd - I wanted to see your face when you found them for yourself. He knew his Bodie, did that Ray Doyle. But while they might be good, I'd rather have the original."

"That's lucky, because you're stuck with me, mate," Bodie told him, wiping the moisture from his face with no trace of self-consciousness. He gave a dazzling smile of sheer happiness, half-tender, half-bashful. "It's nice to know they had what we've got." Long fingers caught hold of his, twining between them.

"And you wondered why I started going soft on you," mocked Doyle gently. "Yeah, it's nice." He eyed the desk top, which was covered in sketches. "I thought we might get them framed. It's a shame to keep them hidden away. Besides, they'd look great on the walls."

A look he didn't understand crossed his partner's face.

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," Bodie said with a trace of unease. "I mean... Well, some of them aren't the sort of thing I'd like visitors to walk in on."

Doyle gave him a look of astonishment. "Come off it, mate. Where's the harm? It might be a bit narcissistic, but I'd be happy."

Bodie began to look faintly hunted. "Listen, I'm all for being liberal-minded and keeping you happy, but some of them are a bit explicit, you know. I can't see the meter-man appreciating a semi-tumescent me staring him in the eyeballs first thing in the morning."

Doyle was on his feet and looking at the sketches before Bodie had finished speaking.

"Christ." Pole-axed, Doyle just stared at the drawings, appreciation, envy, amazement and sheer lust on his face. "They're fucking fantastic," he breathed, leaning back against Bodie for support. "I've never seen anything so - " He gave himself a small shake and tore his gaze away from them. "The only thing is, they're not the drawings I found. There must be two secret drawers. Trust me, I would have remembered these. Who could forget them?" he added helplessly.

Drawn back to the sketches, one in particular caught his attention. He touched it with an unsteady finger.

"Yeah, I can see they've had quite an effect on you," Bodie remarked, studying his lover's body with barely concealed amusement. "More to the point, how do you feel about the original?"

He had to repeat the question to gain Doyle's attention. The heavy lids rose on lust-bright eyes which roved slowly over him before they lifted to hold his gaze.

"Passable," Doyle conceded throatily. But he turned his back on the sketches on the desk without a moment's hesitation.



Sitting on the carpet at Bodie's feet, his hair brushing a bony knee, Doyle raised his condensation-frosted glass. "Lucky you'd stuck this in the fridge," he said, taking an appreciative swallow. It wasn't particularly comfortable leaning against the hard press of Bodie's shin and knee but he was unwilling to lose the contact.

"Forethought, that's what it's called," Bodie told him with smug content. He reached out for the bottle at his side to top up their glasses.

"I thought it might be nice if we gave the old man one of those pictures," Doyle announced, leaning back to peer up at him.

Choking, Bodie sprayed his partner with a mouthful of liquid, the minor convulsion upending the remainder of the well-chilled wine into Doyle's unsuspecting lap.

---

LONDON, 14th JULY 1983

Becoming aware that he wasn't alone, Cowley glanced up, his expression of angry impatience fading when he saw who the intruders were.

His door jamb was being propped up from two directions. Doyle, his legs nonchalantly crossed at the ankle, hands in his pockets, was brown as a nut, the smooth tan accentuated by the pale, half-open shirt and his uneven grin. There was a decidedly mischievous expression in the light eyes. Bodie, propped against the other side of the door, his arms folded, looked pale in comparison, but there was an air about his relaxed figure that Cowley could not immediately place. Then he realised: serenity wasn't a word he usually thought of associating with Bodie but it was apt now. The crooked grin curving the long mouth also lit the rich, blue eyes; that had not always been the case.

"Well, you may as well come in," he snapped testily, beckoning them in with a brisk gesture to cover the pleasure he felt at the sight of them. "You're cluttering up the hallway and letting the hot air in."

His small electric fan clicked noisily in the background, failing even to stir the papers on his desk.

Their grins widening, they obeyed him with unusual alacrity, Bodie's smooth easy stride contrasting with his partner's loping bounce. They slid onto chairs on the opposite side of the desk, Bodie sitting straight-backed but informal, Doyle slouching down, one leg propped over the other; some things never changed. Neither of them made any attempt to break the silence but their expressions had more in common with truant schoolboys than what he expected from two of his top operatives. Cowley trusted neither of them in this mood of bright expectancy.

Placing his pen on the blotter and folding his hands upon it, he sat back to watch them with polite interest. When it became clear they were prepared to wait him out rather than break the now lengthy silence, he gave an exasperated snort.

"Och, you know where the bottle is better than I do."

Bodie gave a gratified smirk.

Doyle was crouching down at the cupboard, taking out the glasses before he had finished speaking.

"Thought you'd never ask," he said impudently, rising with an enviable ease. Standing at the desk he poured out three generous measure, ignoring Cowley's look of pain at his liberality.

"Oh, did you now?" Cowley said with dry disbelief as he accepted his own glass. "Well, I suppose it's something that you waited to be asked."

Sliding his spectacles from his nose, he sat back in his chair, undoing the second button of his shirt before studying them with barely concealed satisfaction. Bodie had lost and Doyle had gained weight. They both looked rested, fit and disconcertingly ready for anything. For a moment he felt old and tired.

"You certainly look as if you had a good leave," he remarked dryly.

Bodie took a luxurious swallow of whisky, his expression mirroring his approval, before he shrugged and gestured to his shoulder. "Not only was it good, it was careful, too," he announced in a voice heavy with gloom.

Lifting his eyes heavenwards, Doyle slid further down his chair, disowning his partner.

Cowley's level gaze remained on the too-innocent face until Bodie began to fidget. "I see your jokes haven't improved."

"I'm working on him," Doyle said with mournful resignation. He spared Cowley a sad, confiding glance. "Mind, it's an uphill task."

"Night and day he works on me," Bodie confirmed, dead-pan.

From Bodie's grimace Cowley judged that Doyle had probably applied a little heavy pressure from a trainered foot, because Bodie subsided with a suspect meekness, his face assuming an expression of wounded innocence.

"After your prolonged leave, may I take it that you're both ready to resume your duties bright and early Monday morning?" he inquired blandly, looking from one man to the other.

There was a tangible difference between the pair of them, he realised. Their jokes and manners continued to be appalling; they sat no closer and found no excuse for fleeting body contact, in fact they seemed not to need to glance at each other quite so often, as if they had already anticipated each other's thoughts. Their unity was an almost tangible thing; perfectly attuned, they were comfortable and unmistakeably content with each other. He no longer found it difficult to accept that they could achieve a stable, durable relationship. The evidence sat in front of him: a matched pair.

There was an almost palpable aura of vitality surrounding them, a poised-on-a-knife-edge expectancy. This time he had no need to fear which way they would fall. Stale and over-tired as they had been, it was a wonder they hadn't got themselves, or someone else, killed.

He made a brisk mental note to review the duty rosters for all field agents on a continuing basis; there seemed to be something to be said for a prolonged period of leave, judiciously applied.

Sensing he now had the older man's full attention, Bodie looked up from his drink. "We're ready and willing for work," he said with supreme confidence. "Knew you must have missed us," he added with a typical display of cheek.

Cowley raised his eyebrows as he refilled their glasses, ignoring Doyle's exaggerated double-take at this uncommon privilege.

"Well, you always say we're your best team," Bodie added encouragingly, his face dropping in dismay when he compared his own short measure with Doyle's comfortably filled glass.

"I may have said something to that effect," conceded Cowley, who was in a rare expansive mood. "In one of my weaker moments." He topped up Bodie's glass, then gave him an appraising look. "But situations change."

Bodie set his glass down, the contents untouched. "What situations?" he demanded, his deceptively lazy smile vanishing.

Next to him, Doyle straightened in his chair in one smooth movement. They exchanged a fleeting look before subjecting him to a joint glare.

"Your fitness for the job - both physical and mental. There's the possibility that you've lost your cutting edge, in which case you're of no use to CI5 or me. Then there's the question of your shoulder, Bodie, and the small matter of 4.5's insubordinate manner."

Receiving a look of deep reproach from Doyle, Cowley realised Bodie hadn't been told everything that had passed between Doyle and himself.

Bodie had obviously begun to suspect the same thing because his eyes were narrowed and thoughtful as he turned to look at his partner.

"You been misbehaving, Raymond?" he inquired. He'd already had his suspicions about his partner's debriefing with the old man, particularly after Ray had actually admitted to losing his temper. He glossed over the reference to his own physical condition with the ease of long practice.

Cowley had always admired Doyle's acting ability, but never more so than at this minute.

"Who, me?" The wide-eyed indignation was judged to a nicety. "Nah, more like some little activity of yours that I'm getting the stick for."

Bodie didn't appear to be convinced by Doyle's look of candour. "You didn't by any chance - "

To his surprise, Cowley heard himself coming to Doyle's rescue.

"4.5's behaviour has, to the best of my knowledge, been exemplary," he interrupted, casting a quelling look in Bodie's direction. "I merely anticipate his normal course of conduct."

Diverted, Bodie gave a crack of surprised laughter. "What, old do-it-by-the-book Doyle? You must be confusing him with someone else," he said in blithe dismissal.

Unnoticed by his partner, Doyle breathed a sigh of relief. The last time he'd been in this office he'd made a right prat of himself. Not for the first time by any means, but there were a couple of scenes he'd rather tell Bodie about himself. Sometime.

"It's a bad habit I'm trying to pass on to him," continued Bodie, "but it's not easy. He keeps insisting on doing everything by numbers. The human body's only so flexible, you know," he added in a confiding aside, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

"I'll take your word for it," replied Cowley, his voice ultra-dry as he subdued the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth out of respect for the expression on Doyle's face.

He had wondered how Bodie would take the news that he was, and always had been, aware that they had become lovers. Bodie was taking considerable pleasure in showing him. But then Bodie had always hidden the depths of his emotional responses behind a flippant style of humour designed to distract the attention. If he should do so in grief, it was fitting he should do so when happy.

And there was no mistaking the fact he was happy.

"Incidentally, while I think of it, Bodie, you're due to see Doctor Kenyon again on Monday morning, eight-thirty sharp. Whatever he says regarding your fitness goes, so you can save the arguments. Clear?"

"As crystal," replied Doyle placidly, his equanimity restored. "He'll pass the medical if I have to carry him through it. He's only looking pathetic in the hope of getting some old lady's seat on the bus home."

"Save the fare and jog instead," said Cowley. "When I'm satisfied you're both fit enough to resume operational status you're scheduled for a three-day refresher course. After a month off, you'll need it."

"I told you we shouldn't have left Bognor," said Bodie with a mournful air, casting a look of reproach at his partner.

Doyle ignored him. "Macklin hasn't retired then?" he checked with a trace of desperation.

Cowley took a sip of whisky and gave Doyle a smile of great affability. "Indeed no, but I'll ensure he hears of your concern for his aged bones. He's enjoyed a short spell of leave himself, so you'll be equally fresh."

"Oh, good," said Doyle, his voice hollow.

"We wouldn't want to take unfair advantage," said Bodie, trying to be objective about the prospect ahead of them.

"Speak for yourself," Doyle told him without heat. "I'll take all the advantage I can get with that sadistic bastard, including a howitzer," he added, knowing himself to be in the peak of condition. Macklin might find himself getting a few surprises of his own.

"I have every confidence you'll survive somehow," Cowley said with a noticeable lack of concern. Catching sight of the time, he remembered the half-finished report he wanted to clear tonight if he was to fit in a game of golf in the morning before the Security Committee Meeting. "Much as I appreciate the pleasure of your company, what exactly are you doing here four days before your leave expires?"

There was a short silence.

"We wanted to catch you alone," Bodie explained with an airy wave of his hand.

"You've succeeded," Cowley told him unhelpfully, waiting for an explanation.

Bodie tried an ingratiating smile and when that failed nudged his partner in the ribs. "Go and get it then," he hissed in exasperation when Doyle just gave him a wounded look.

Cowley had always suspected Doyle's look of polite attention to be a facade.

Dreamily enjoying the sight of Bodie ill-at-ease, Doyle was slow to recover. "What? Oh, yeah, it wouldn't do to go forgetting that," he agreed chattily. "Back in a tick, sir." Padding across the office, he opened the door and hooked his arm around the corner; when it came back into view, he was holding an attractively wrapped package.

Rectangular, weight approximately five pounds and about thirteen inches by nine, Cowley judged, eyeing it with suspicion and interest in equal measure.

Returning to stand in front of the desk, Doyle tried to pass the package to his partner.

Shaking his head, Bodie was having none of it. "It was your idea," he said, all pious virtue.

Sparing him a venomous glare, Doyle fidgeted, coughed, then, failing to find inspiration in the wall above Cowley's sandy head, thrust the parcel over the desk.

"For you," he said baldly, his expression as wary as if delivering a ticking bomb.

Giving him a look of the darkest mistrust, Cowley made no attempt to take the package. With the pair of them in this mood there was no knowing what crazy stunt they might try to pull.

"Why?" he demanded. "What for?"

There was a disconcerted silence, neither man having anticipated this reaction, when they had paused to think this far.

"Christmas present?" offered Bodie, clutching at straws.

"Today is the fourteenth of July, 3.7." His glare effectively quenched the grin tweaking the edges of Bodie's mouth.

"Birthday?" suggested Doyle, his manner a little too bright. "I always thought you were a typical Gemini, sir."

"Try November," said Cowley dryly.

"Might have known you'd have the sting in the tail," mumbled Bodie.

Cowley elected to ignore that remark. "I repeat, why have you presented me with this?"

Doyle gave a helpless shrug and stuffed a hand into the back pocket of his faded denims as he hitched the package further up under his arm. It had seemed a good idea at the time, he remembered dolefully.

Bodie's barely audible, "Would you settle for love and kisses?" caught Doyle unprepared. He choked, coughing sharply to try and cover the fact while hoping the old man hadn't heard the quiet aside.

"To celebrate Bastille Day," he suggested with hoarse desperation. "Community spirit and all that." He stepped back onto his partner's foot, wishing he was wearing his boots rather than trainers.

Cowley gave a faint smile of approval. "Well, on that basis," he reached out and removed the package from Doyle's nerveless grasp, "I accept."

Doyle shot his companion a look of wicked triumph and Bodie experienced a moment of sheer panic about which sketch Ray had actually framed and wrapped before he relaxed again. If Ray had gone to the trouble to stagger back from the library with all those books on picture framing to reinforce the rudiments he'd touched on nearly twenty years ago while at art college, it didn't seem too likely that he'd present Cowley with one of the sketches which turned him on every time he glanced at them.

His face betraying none of his curiosity, Cowley unwrapped the oddly shaped gift. Even in this he remained in character. Bodie would have torn indiscriminately at the paper, with no thought to the care which had gone into the wrapping of the parcel. Doyle would have prodded and shaken it, trying to guess the contents before he gave way to curiosity and did the same thing. Cowley continued to peel away the tape meticulously, folding back the paper with slow deliberation.

Losing patience, Bodie began to fidget. "It's all right, sir. The paper shortage finished nearly forty years ago and we won't be wanting to use the sellotape again."

Doyle slid to block him from Cowley's wrath. "High spirits," he excused, spreading his hands wide. His gaze dropped back to the half-unwrapped parcel, awaiting Cowley's reaction. He hoped the old man liked it.

"Maybe so, but I'll have you know, Bodie, that a tidy mind is more of an asset to a - "Cowley's voice trailed away.

For the first time his men saw him silenced as he stared at the sombrely-framed portrait sitting between his hands. His face alight with disbelief and a growing pleasure, he reached for his spectacles. Looking up an untold time later in unspoken question, he met Doyle's uneven grin and Bodie's expectant smile.

"Better than a stick of rock, we thought," ventured Doyle diffidently.

"More original than a paperweight that snows when you shake it," added Bodie, uneasy at Cowley's lack of reaction.

Cowley opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say.

More perceptive than his partner at this time, Doyle urged Bodie to his feet with a hand under his arm. "Right, now that's done we'll be off to enjoy the rest of our leave. Glad you liked it, sir. See you Monday. Come on, sunshine."

"What?"

"And if you're good I'll buy the first round," coaxed Doyle, almost dragging his partner in the direction of the door.

Clearing his throat, Cowley said, "I like it fine. If you'll hang on, I think I could manage to stand you both a drink at the Red Lion."

"Great."

"Not before time," added Bodie disrespectfully, a faint question in his eyes as he shot a look at his partner. Doyle gave him a reassuring nod. The old man liked it.

"And perhaps you'll tell me how you came by it," Cowley invited. Rising stiffly to his feet, he gave the portrait a last, lingering look of disbelief.

Doyle's disappointment was obvious. "You didn't, even for a moment, think I might have done it?" he inquired hopefully.

Remembering the only artistic effort of Doyle's he had been unfortunate enough to see, a somewhat modernistic thing, Cowley gave him a look of pain.

"Nah, I thought not," accepted Doyle, knowing his limitations. "That bugger could draw," he added wistfully.

"You know the artist?" Cowley asked, alerted by Bodie's expression.

Bodie nodded with glee. "So do you."

"But this is a genuine - " Cowley caught sight of the small, cramped signature with disbelief and shared his threatening glare impartially between the two men. "You'll tell me where you came by this in the Red Lion."

"Of course," said Bodie easily. "Once you've got a couple of drinks inside you. You'll need 'em," he added happily, having already decided he would leave most of the explaining to Doyle. After all, it had been his idea.

"Did we mention we're drinking doubles now?" Doyle said as he ushered Cowley out of the door.

"Remy Martin, at that," added Bodie, resisting the temptation to mention the old man's pet hate, cocktails.

As it was, Cowley's voice, raised in protest, could be heard receding down the corridor.

The signed and framed portrait, circa 1803, remained on Cowley's desk. The flowing lines of the charcoal sketch stood out on the yellowing paper, as fresh and vibrant as the day they had been drawn. The three men were grouped informally around a table, looking, despite the half-filled glasses and decanter, as if they had been caught in the middle of a heated argument; but the older man was smiling faintly at the mutinous scowls on the two younger faces.

-- THE END --

Written January - July 1982
Published as a zine novel, Doghouse Press, 1998

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