Midsummer's Musings



Summer in the city.

Doyle rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing when his hand came away soaked with his own sweat. Wiping his damp palm on his trousers, he leaned back in the car seat and eyed the street around with him a baleful glare. London was a haze of sweltering sunshine, droplets of humidity frying on the sidewalks. The air was heavy with it, not a single breeze stirred the molten atmosphere. And final confirmation of the utterly unseasonable heat wave was his partner's concessions in dress and manner.

Always dapper and cool, Bodie had actually given up on his normal elegance of dress, and was giving his partner competition in sloppy wear. His jeans were a bit too snug, the faded denim obviously dragged from the bottom of his wardrobe, while the stained white T-shirt had obviously seen better days. Now the jacket was a hold-over, the cool cream linen creaseless and fine as it draped over those broad shoulders. Doyle couldn't help a self-satisfied smile of appreciation...the jacket was a necessity given the hardware slung beneath Bodie's left arm, and it would disappear the moment they were out of the public eye. And the view of his muscular partner in the old, tight, short- sleeved shirt was a pleasure to be well-savoured. Nothing would beat it, in fact, short of a very large, ice-cold glass of lager. The American style was in for the moment - who wanted to drink beer with the temperature of boiling water?

Sweat pooled unpleasantly in the hollow of Doyle's throat, then began to trickle down his chest. He rubbed at the spot, but only succeeded in spreading the moisture further. His own light green shirt was stained with sweat, the material clinging limply to his flesh. He pulled at it, grimacing with distaste, wishing for about the thousandth time that afternoon that the CI5 pool motors had the luxury of air-conditioning. No such hope, though, and he could imagine the scowl on Cowley's face if he'd actually had the balls to ask for it.

"And 'ow do ye expect that to be paid for, 4.5?" Cowley would demand. Doyle could hear that voice now, rising quivering in his ears, yet absolutely firm and resolute. Doyle cringed in his seat; merely the imagined memory of being subjected to one of the Major's penetrating stares. Not that he didn't like working for the old man, it was just... he always seemed to be on the receiving end of a lecture. Now Bodie...

OK. That wasn't really fair. While Cowley had a definite soft-spot for Mr. Blue Eyes here, that didn't stop him from giving the irrepressible ex-Sergeant an earful. And Bodie would take it with military-trained acceptance. Acceptance, and then total disregard. For a man who had spent most of his life as a soldier, he had a remarkable dislike for taking orders.

The subject of that thought shifted in his seat, taking his own turn at swiping at the sweat beading on his brow. Doyle's eyes (totally of their own accord, of course!) followed that hand as it rubbed over fair skin, then weeded through short dark hair. Ebony strands were curling against Bodie's brow, caressing the edge of his ears, and Doyle's own hand trembled in his lap with the desire to reach out and play with those wayward tendrils. Bodie's hair felt like silk, he knew well, and if they had been in private...

But they weren't. No. They were sitting stakeout in the middle of bloody London, slowly roasting in a sauna disguised as a motor, while the criminals sat in air- conditioned splendour in the house across the busy avenue. Definitely unfair. A true believer in justice, peace, and the British way, Doyle still drew the line at this kind of willful mistreatment of two of the country's best guardians. Surely he and his partner deserved better!

Doyle's eyes slid shut as he considered what, in full justice, he and Bodie ought to be doing. The scorched streets of London gave way to the cool, green grasses of Scotland, a soft breeze washing over the deep blue of a lake. Feet stretched out on a soft blanket, he could lean his head back against a solid abdomen and snuggle into the warmth of his Bodie's presence. Several bottles of good ale, and a hamper of homemade food would rest to his side, easily in reach. And they'd be fully alone in the shore of the loch, with only the birds and the bees for company. And speaking of the birds and the bees....a certain, definite sort of activity could keep them occupied...

"Hoy! Doyle! What're you thinking about, mate?"

Bodie's demand was a rough disturbance, forcing Doyle sharply out of his pleasant day dream. Startled, he bolted upward, hand instinctively reaching for the heavy gun strapped beneath his armpit. His knee hit the dashboard, his eyes jerked open, and he shouted a combination of pain and surprise.

"What... Bodie! OOWWW! "

Additional moisture squeezed out of the corners of his eyes as he rubbed at his screaming knee.

"Ray?" Bodie's voice was deeper now, concern a slow, throaty undercurrent beneath a trickling brook of amusement. Doyle shot him a fierce look of annoyance, still stroking the bruised spot on his kneecap, even though the pain was beginning to recede.

"What were you shouting for?" he demanded.

Bodie shrugged. "Just wondering what you were dreaming about." His expression turned wistful. "It looked awfully nice."

Abruptly, Doyle's annoyance fled as quickly as it had aroused. A smiled dawned on his face, curling up the corners of his mouth.

"Nice is not the half of it mate," he replied with satisfaction.

Bodie's blue eyes danced, his curiosity engaged. "Ahh, and are you gonna tell me about it, mate?

Doyle's grin turned faintly mischievous, though he pretended to consider the question quite seriously.

"Hmm, I dunno. Some things are just private, you know."

Bodie's generous mouth pursed into the beginnings of a pout. They were playing now, both men well aware of it, both enjoying the process. Anything that lightened this tedious, sweat-stained stakeout was more than welcome.

"Ahh, now Raymate, you know you can tell Uncle Bodie anything."

"Uncle?" Doyle shook his head, thoroughly eyeing his partner up and down. "You're no uncle of mine! In fact, you're just a kid, you are!"

"A kid?" Bodie snorted, even as his eyes danced. "Just cause you have a couple of years on me..."

Doyle lifted his head proudly. "Three years, in fact, all filled with experience."

"Ah, but I'm an early starter," Bodie replied, lifting a crooked eyebrow.

"Early?" Doyle scoffed. "And who's the one who 'as to drag your lazy arse out of bed in the morning? Me, tha's who!"

"'Ey? I seem to recall waking you up just the other morning. Slug-a-bed!"

"I'd only gotten to sleep two hours before that! It wasn't my fault Cowley kept me up half the bleedin' night reporting..."

"Excuses, excuses..." Bodie teased, deftly darting away as Doyle swiped at him. They both chuckled, for the memory of that morning carried far more than simply lack of sleep. Bodie had chosen to wake his exhausted partner in a manner that neither of them would long forget, and which both ardently hoped to repeat on many an occasion.

Smiling at each other through the heavy, stifling air, they relaxed into a silence as comfortable as the meaningless conversation they'd just had. Doyle treasured these moments between them. They could sit in total silence and yet be fully connected to each other. Sometimes he felt they communicated more this way than with words. In the deepest silences, in the stillness that fell between them, the depth of their communion echoed louder, carried on the beat of their hearts and the soft whisper of their breaths. He could sit like this with Bodie for ever...

Well, not forever. There were other things he definitely wanted to do... and that reminded him of his daydream. A gentle nudge of his elbow against Bodie's and he instantly had his partner's absolute attention. The details of his imaginings were fluid on his tongue, flowing easily between them. And in the quiet, heat-soaked companionship of the small motor, the tastes and smells of a long distant countryside took shape. Closing his eyes Doyle could almost feel the cool breeze lingering on his face.

The breeze - and the soft, tender touch of Bodie's fingertips.

Life wasn't so bad after all.

Even though it was bloody, damn hot!

This was definitely not what he had planned.

Doyle trailed along behind his partner, squinting in the summer sun. A young woman pushing a child-burdened stroller jostled past him, and he jerked aside, barely missing the man behind him. They exchanged meaningless apologies, then Doyle hurried forward to catch up with his partner. The big dark man was standing still, shoulders back, head held high, features drawn tight in concentration. Moving up beside him, Doyle paused and followed the line of the intent blue gaze.

It was a lovely picture. Snow fell through the yellow glow of a lantern, lighting a narrow lane. The white crystals bedecked a small brick house, glittering around the chimney that gave off a gray trail of smoke. The windows were lined with holly, light shining through them, giving the air of comfort and warmth. Nice...

But hardly what Doyle wanted to stand looking at while the sun beat mercilessly on his shoulders. London's August heat wave seemed to be endless. They'd spent far too many sweat- soaked days driving around oven-baked streets, sitting in stifling cars, sleeping beneath an array of noisy fans. At last they'd gotten a day off -- a measly twenty four hours -- and Doyle had held hopes of burrowing into an air- conditioned hotel room. It wasn't quite as good as his dream of a cool Scottish lake-side, but it was the next best thing. They could be spending some time in a swimming pool; drinking cold drinks while ensconced in a big wide bed; and...

And Bodie had suddenly gotten a 'bright' idea. One of the older London suburbs was having a massive art show. Artists came from all over Britain to display their work amidst crowds of Londoners and tourists. To Doyle's surprise, Bodie had dragged him out of bed almost before the sun rose, just so they could get there in time to beat the crowds. A faint hope that had turned out to be. Even as the sun broke over the horizon, hordes of people had descended upon the large open commons and narrow, store-front line streets. By the time they had parked and joined the throng, a dozen languages filled the steamy air, while the smell of fried food floated on the faint stirrings of a breeze. The crowd swelled around them, a thousand human bodies adding to the heat.

No, this was definitely NOT what Doyle had had in mind.

Sighing, he nudged Bodie forward, gaining a delighted, impish grin for his trouble. The big bloody sod was having the time of his life. Who'd have thought it? Doyle was the artist of the pair. He still painted in his spare time -- and he just as good as some of these punters (Doyle grimaced at a display of 'modern' art, giant blobs of colors spread randomly over a large black canvas). Ugh! He shook his head in disgust. Still, it wasn't that he didn't like art shows. He did, but not today. Not when they could have been...

But Bodie was getting away from him, and, resigned to his fate, Doyle hurried to follow Bodie as the man weaved his way effortlessly through the mob.

Finally Bodie came to a stop. He turned, paused, then reached out and tugged on Doyle's arm.

"Come on, Doyle!" he insisted, pulling his partner into a long line. Doyle arched his head to try to look over the heads in front of him. There was a small stand there, selling something...

Something that looked rather like sherbert in plastic cups.

"What is it?" he asked Bodie.

Grinning happily, Bodie replied, "Frozen, ice-blended fruit!" He sounded like he had just discovered a gold mine. His blue eyes twinkled with delight. For a moment he looked nothing like the hardened ex-mercenary soldier that he was, and more like a ten year-old boy at the circus. That childlike joy was infectious and Doyle couldn't help responding despite himself.

"At least it's not chocolate or full of grease," he said gruffly.

"Nope - 100% natural," Bodie offered.

And it was good. Quite good. The sweet icy mixture of strawberry and banana pulp slid down Doyle's grateful throat as easy as the best malt Scotch. Bodie was slurping his, even as his alert eyes darted from sight to sound, absorbing his surroundings with obvious satisfaction. Doyle took another delicious sip, then took in a deep breath. Relaxing slightly, he began to appreciate Bodie's enjoyment of the event, and within a few minutes was busy chatting with a nearby artist.

By the time they returned to Bodie's flat, both were grimy, sticky, and laughing. Bodie clutched a treasure under his arm, a life-like rendition of a merchant marine ship fighting a storm at sea. It brought back memories, not always good ones, but images colored with the excitement and awe of a young boy exploring a new world.

Doyle plopped down on his couch, sighing as he pushed off his shoes.

"Damn, I wish this weather would lessen up!" Even with the fans running full speed, the air was still and muggy in the small room.

Re-examining his chosen painting, Bodie didn't look up.

"Yeh, but just wait until winter. Then you'll be complaining that it's too cold."

Doyle snorted, but couldn't argue with that. The weather was rarely just the way he liked it. Sixty to seventy some degrees, clear sky, light breeze... Oh well...

Bath time!! Heaving himself to his feet, he moved himself towards Bodie's small bathroom. His partner looked up just as he reached the door.

"Hey!" Bodie rose swiftly to his feet. "It's my flat, my bathtub, and I get to use it first!"

A protest rose in Doyle's throat as he turned to face his rapidly approaching partner. Just as Bodie loomed up before him, the words died in his throat. Light sparked in his eyes, flashed from his teeth. His grin was predatory; his mind settled; his heart determined. Something warm rumbled in his groin, even as he reached out to take Bodie firmly by the arm.

"Hey..." Bodie responded in surprise as he was pulled almost off balance.

But without so much as a word, Doyle moved with absolute assurance. It took barely a moment for him to drag his confused partner into the bathroom, and not much longer for his silent intention to penetrate the other man's thick skull.

Actually, Bodie was quite quick on his feet. A heartbeat later, he was assisting Doyle in the rapid removal of their clothing. Water filled the big tub, and they tumbled into it like a pair of little boys at a swimming pool. A big splash sent droplets flying everywhere, but neither man noticed. Settling down into the embrace of the wide porcelain tub, they turned absolute attention to each other.

Making love in a bathtub was a lot more difficult than you might think, and the relief from the turbid summer heat had been momentary at best. Sprawled out now on damp sheets, Ray Doyle rubbed at the sore spot on his hip, then let his fingers wander down to the bruise forming dark and livid on his shin. Twisting over in the hot bed, he grimaced at his soundly sleeping partner. Bodie was breathing lightly, but rhythmically, his thick-lashed eyelids fluttering against the pale skin of his cheeks. In easy slumber, the strong features of his face relaxed, giving him an appearance of pensive sweetness. The mask of experience had lifted, stripping bare the personality hidden within. The air of competence had fled, stealing with it the edge of menace the ex-soldier wielded like a weapon. Left behind was feathery wisp of innocence, a hint of boyish charm, the faint quiver of a smile.

Doyle curled up on his side, leaving his left hand free to linger above Bodie's face. Whatever the sleeper was dreaming, it looked to be pleasant. Yes, there for sure was a lifting of those mobile, generous lips into a wider grin. The glimmer of a dimple formed in his cheek and Ray let the sensitive pad of his forefinger drop to touch that slight crease in the silken skin. The long, ebony eyelashes flickered, Bodie stirred, his breath deepening as his chest rose and fell in a steady beat. The draw of intertwined affection and lust was undeniable, despite the uncomfortable burden of the heat, and Ray could not resist exploring further.

His hand quivered, then slid downwards towards that lightly-furred chest. Twin nipples poked upwards, and he ran a light stroke over them, delighted to see the small nubs tighten in response. Bodie shifted again, his senses coming alert even in his sleep. His smile turning mischievous, Ray continued to tenderly trace the sensitive spots of his partner's body. He knew it so well now, knew exactly where to touch, where to linger, how to gently coax the embers of desire into full flame.

Losing himself in the pleasure of exploration, Ray didn't notice when sleep gave way to awareness, and his partner's deep blue eyes opened to the world. The sudden strike took him by surprise, and he abruptly found himself laying flat on the mattress, a growling panther looming above him.

"Bodie!" he cried out, but that man was far beyond words. Ray only caught a quick glimpse of burning eyes and a flash of white teeth, before his mouth was stolen away from him. The kiss was ravenous, and it took less than a heartbeat for Ray to abandon himself to heated pleasure of it. Delighting in the freedom to move after their recent struggle with the closed confines of the bath, Doyle wriggled beneath the weight of his partner's body, his sigh swallowed into Bodie's throat as the rub of their flesh sent tingles of anticipatory ecstasy racing through his groin. Getting one leg and arm lose, he flung those appendages around Bodie's long, broad back and squeezed his partner's bulky frame against his own.

Oooh, that felt good, and given the quick chance to gasp for air while Bodie assaulted his neck and shoulders with hungry lips and teeth, Doyle gave full reign to verbal appreciation. His sounds weren't exactly coherent, but neither man could have cared less. Arching his back and tugging on slippery strands of short, still-wet hair, Ray guided Bodie's oh-so experienced mouth down to his chest....and then a few, glorious moments later, down further still.

When that tongue found it's goal, the slick flesh taut over burgeoning, blood-thickened flesh, Doyle gave up any attempt at making a sensible sound, and simply screamed aloud. The bubble of laughter in Bodie's throat was only one more erotic sensation, and Ray's hips began to pulse, desperately seeking more contact with the mouth that teased and tormented him. More, oh more, he wanted more...

And then a finger found the near entrance to his body, and fire lanced through his veins. Demanding, pounding, roaring need burst before his eyes in sparks of liquid fire, etched into the back of his tightly squeezed eyes.

"Yesssssss," he managed to moan aloud. The simply syllable became a dancing echo. "Yess, yessss, yyeeeessss...."

And his partner was more than ready to meet his desire. Bodie's hands were surprisingly tender in their firmness as they lifted him upwards. Those tantalizing fingers were thorough in their preparation. One struck the pulse of his body, finding and caressing the center of his pleasure - his ecstasy - the fiery gland screaming within him. His entire body lifted in one single convulsion, head arcing back, hips thrusting, needing...

Receiving. Clutching at anything he could reach, Doyle gave vent to another loud cry of satisfaction as Bodie's heavy penetration seared his nerves. It burned as his body gave way, the thick, intrusion demanding, filling, taking -- and giving, in a wave of sensation so intense it sheared away any knowledge of self or surroundings. The pounding rhythm took over, each shock of pleasure building upon the others, until the world toppled over. His only awareness outside of the sea of ecstasy was of the solid, hot presence of Bodie with him as he fell into star-streaked darkness.

Ray awoke slowly to find himself crushed in a tight embrace. His skin was streaked and damp with moisture, water, sweat, and semen sticky across his flesh. Bodie's long, muscular arms were wrapped around his chest and hips, squeezing him close. Breath tickled against the back of his skull, a faint sniffling disturbing the curls around his ears. One powerful thigh was pressed between both of his, the other sprawled out against the length of his own. They were almost matched for length, the fit nearly perfect despite Bodie's bigger build. A teasing waft of air, stirred by the nearby buzzing fan, blew across Doyle's nose. He wriggled, instinctively seeking the relief it promised, but Bodie squeezed, pulling him even closer against the furnace of his body, and with a sigh, Doyle laid back down into the sweaty embrace.

There was a soft murmur at the back of his head, the only distinguishable word being his own name..."Ray"... and the man so named gave way to the unintelligible, but clear emotion underlying the throaty mumble. Closing his eyes, Ray let the discomfort of the summer humidity wash over and past him, leaving him snug and secure in the arms of his love.

-- THE END --

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