(Or, SOME Things May Be Inevitable In The Long Run....)

This is a gentle story with a reference to AIDS before The Happy Ending--guaranteed no grief

It classified as bribery--Bodie was not fooling himself, and he knew he would not be fooling Ray, but it would work anyway, he thought happily: the wine was an expensive dry white, just the way Doyle liked it. He would not be able to resist the offer to split it while CASABLANCA was on, and that would get him into his partner's flat, alone, for the first time in three weeks. Cowley had had Doyle up north in Durham for almost a week, and he had made an impromptu holiday of it; he had come home a pound heavier, three shades more darkly suntanned and wearing his best cat-at-the-cream smile. He had been wined, dined and bedded-- frequently, Bodie was certain, especially since his photos had come back from the lab yesterday and been left carelessly in the locker.

In search of the cologne Ray had borrowed from him, Bodie had dug into the locker and found the packet of photos. Nice work--Doyle had a real gift with a camera, even if he did tend to overexpose the odd shot--and his subject matter deserved ten out of ten on anyone's scale. She was statuesque, with long legs and muscles like a would-be Olympian, and she did wonders for the scarlet bikini. She'd probably done wonders for Ray too, Bodie thought wryly, perusing the photos at his leisure before he put them back.

Then again, Doyle deserved the best. He put a lot into a relationship, so deserved to get a lot back--no one was more aware of that than Bodie. He felt a familiar pang of envy as he thought about the girl in the red bikini, on his way back to CI5 Central with the bottle of wine. HE hadn't had Ray to himself since the night after the Wallace Brothers drug bust; the next day his own lady, Joanna, had got back from Paris and Doyle had backed off without a word, though Bodie was too sensitive to his ways to miss the brief flicker of unspoken resentment. Then, the Durham job had come up--

And then, in the last week, since he got back, Ray had turned him down twice. Flatly, but with the old Doyle charm that made it hurt less. It was odd for Bodie to find unexplained rejection from that quarter; Ray always had good reasons for saying no. ("I've got a head cold," "I've got Sharon coming over for dinner," "I'm going to the pictures with Mike," "I've got two teeth acting up, see you after the dentist fixes me up".) He had a busy social life, two girls and Mike Lee, the tall good-looking security man from a prominent Whitehall bureau.

And me, Bodie thought with a smile. And I was his first. Doyle had kept a lid on his bisexual inclinations for ten years after he realised he had them, because he knew that the Met and the Cow, in that order, would have nailed him to a wall, and Bodie was the first safe way he had found to experiment and have the best of both worlds. It had been good. Two years had passed by like wildfire and Bodie had lost count of the nights they had had together. As he rode the lift up he tried to work it out. Reckon an average of two nights a week-- sometimes more, sometimes less--for two years. He blinked in amusement. A hundred nights, which meant he and Doyle had performed the rite several hundred times. And still I'm aching for him, and three weeks seems like six months, Bodie thought, surprising himself.

It couldn't be frustration, because he had Joanna, and sometimes Alexandra, and occasionally Paul Scott, the cute little tease from the health club, when Ray was not available. Bodie's social life was at least as active as Doyle's but he was aware of a certain emptiness, a nagging dissatisfaction, no matter how good his bedmate had been. Often, he'd make love with Joanna then dream about Ray, and that was food for thought. Or make love with Paul and forget that it wasn't Ray--and wish it was.

Three weeks was too long. Bodie had decided that as a fact by the time the lift slowed and stopped, and he was listening to his nerves tingling as he looked forward to the evening's activities. The locker room was deserted; he checked his watch as he padded in, then heard water running in the next room. He put the bottle down, tightening the brown paper bag around it, and ducked into the showers to see who it was--if it WASN'T Doyle, where the hell was he?

Shampoo streamed over Ray's shoulders and Bodie smiled as he sluiced the suds off again and shook his hair like a wet dog. Now, there was a body that belonged in an art museum. Or on an athletics track, circa 1000 BC, Athens.... Or in a large, rumpled bed. And Bodie had just the bed in mind. He gave a low wolf whistle and Doyle turned quickly toward him, laughing as he saw who it was.

"Hello, sunshine, what are you doing here?"

"Came to watch you cavort under the water," Bodie said glibly. "Nah. Came to make you an offer you can't refuse, didn't I? What about tonight?"

Doyle caught the towel that was tossed to him, rubbing his hair, and Bodie saw the hunger in those eyes--which made it all the more difficult to believe what the lips were saying. "I don't...I dunno."

"Oh, come on, Ray, you're not saying no AGAIN, are you? Three times? What do I have to do, make an appointment?" Doyle grinned but said nothing. "You've got a prior engagement?"

For a moment it seemed as if Ray was deliberating over what to say--to lie or tell the truth? "No, I haven't," he admitted at length.

"Then why not come and watch CASABLANCA with me? I've got a bottle."

"A bottle of what?" Doyle asked, towelled pink and reaching for his jeans.

"Something French and white and dry. And bloody expensive."

Ray shot a speculative glance at him. "D'you buy it specially? I mean, YOU don't like dry wine." And Bodie nodded with a smirk. "That's bribery!"

"Yeah. And it works. Good film, good wine, good company. Coming?"

"Frequently, if I know you," Doyle chuckled filthily. The humour was genuine but short- lived. "Look, I'm sorry, Bodie. I can't."

"Because you don't want the film, the wine or me," Bodie said methodically. "Now, I know classic films amuse you. I know the wine's your favourite, and that only leaves me.... Why don't you want me? Mike or the girls make you a better offer--or have you found someone new?"

The blue jeans went on like a second skin. Ray would not look at him for a long while. "No, it's not that," he admitted. "Not that YOU ever made me an offer other than bed-n-breckie with fringe benefits!" There was a note of bitterness in his voice as he spoke, quickly disguised. "Of course I want you, but...." Confused, Bodie just studied him, watching the obvious tussle that was going on with some problem. At last he pulled his shoulders square, looked Bodie in the eye and said, "Okay. MY place."

It was said defensively: MY place, where I'M the BOSS. Bodie frowned. Odd way for Doyle to react.... Something was wrong. Maybe it had been wrong for some time--since he had been turning down similar invitations for days. Some sixth sense told Bodie not to pry and he just nodded. "Okay, pet, your place it is.... You look great. Really nice. Good enough to gobble up whole."

"So do you," Ray grinned, looking him over slowly from head to foot, and the hunger was back in his eyes, making them glitter.

He wants me, all right, Bodie thought, reassured. But there was something about him that was haunted, preoccupied. "Hey, what's eating you, love?" Bodie said quietly as he pulled on his green tee shirt, tucked it in and buckled up.

A sigh escaped from Doyle's lips but he pinned on a smile. "Oh, nothing. It'll be.... Nothing. Come on, I'm hungry. I'll cook."

Bodie rubbed his hands together in glee. "Real food!"

"I often wonder if you jump into bed with me because you fancy me or because you're in love with your stomach!"

"Oh, Ray," Bodie said, managing a creditable hurt tone. "You ought to know better than that."

"Should I?" Doyle crooked a brow at him. "Does Joanna feed you, or Alexandra, or Paul?"

"No," Bodie admitted. "But who brings you wine- - -your birds or Mike?"

"No." Doyle shrugged it off. "Don't let's argue about it again."

"Argue--again?" Bodie blinked. "Since when have we argued before?"

Ray looked astonished. "Almost every time we've been together since last New Year you've sniped at me about my other partners! Now, joshing I can take but--what have you got to complain about, with YOUR entourage?"

Bitterness? Bodie thought. Was he jealous? "This isn't like you, Ray."

"Why--because I asked you not to start the argument again? Christ, anyone would think you were jealous!"

Bodie backed off a step. "I always start it? Seems to me YOU touch it off half the time. Possessive, are you?"

Bodie watched Ray inhale to make some stinging retort, but it was cut off unspoken. "Look, I don't want to fight with you, Bodie. Not now of all times."

"Of all times?" Bodie echoed. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning, I'm feeling low and I can do without the aggro."

And he looked low. Bodie watched him towel his hair a little dryer and tug on his brown leather jacket; for some reason Ray would not look at him again, and that more than anything disquieted Bodie. The eye contact between them was often the only form of communication they had...or wanted, or needed. Take it away and they were down to words, and neither of them was terribly comfortable with verbal dramatics.

It was seven o'clock when the front door slammed behind them and Ray set the locks. Bodie wanted to kiss him, especially since he had shaved before showering and looked wonderfully smooth, like a commercial for Palmolive; but he had to trail him to the kitchen and wait for him to finish with the microwave control panel, and grab him physically to manage it. Then Ray fell against him, hot, eager, tense, his mouth working the kiss so hard as to bruise while he ground himself rhythmically into Bodie's right hip. He was aroused so far that it must be uncomfortable to just walk about, and if Bodie had had misgivings about not being desired they were dispelled in a moment.

The kiss broke and they both sucked at lips that were sore. Doyle leaned back against the sink unit, bending one knee to take some of the pressure off his groin. Bodie looked him over appreciatively. "What are you going to do about THAT?" he said softly, cheekily, indicating the tantalising swelling. He expected Ray to laugh, expected the offer of a quick release with much wriggling and giggling, but Ray just coloured up and turned away, staring out of the window and pressing himself against the cupboard, for all the world as if he wanted his erection to dwindle away.

Troubled, Bodie paced up behind him. He passed his hands over his back, felt him shiver, KNEW he was wanted, and drew Doyle back against his chest. With one strong arm holding him there, he reached around, unbuckling belt and unzipping jeans, and as he took the velvet-over-steel shaft in his hand Ray choked off a moan and leaned his shoulders back heavily against him, thrusting forward into the grasp. Bodie worked him silently, chin on his shoulder, face turned into the soft, sweet-smelling curls, and Ray reached up to cup his face, knot his fingers into the short cropped black hair. The tension on Bodie's hair peaked painfully as Doyle approached flashpoint and let go, and Bodie tightened his supporting arm around him as he shuddered.

"Better?" he murmured as the cock in his hand twitched and grew soft, and Ray swam back to his senses. In answer, as Bodie fished for a handkerchief to dry him off, Doyle turned to kiss him, slowly, gently, an expression of gratitude and affection.

"Yeah, much better now, love. That was hurting."

"I know it was." Bodie smiled. "I'm not far behind you, but I don't wear my pants as tight as you--" He broke off as he felt Ray's slender fingers reach down to return the favour with a strong, pumping grip. He buried his face in Doyle's throat, bucking into his hand and clinging to him for dear life, consciously trying to hold back, make it last, because--

Because even THIS, with him, is better than sleeping with Alexandra all last night, and doing Joanna on Thursday, and--he did not even remember Paul as he bit into Ray's shoulder. Why is it always so fine with him? No one else makes me half as crazy if they try for an hour! He clutched Doyle against him as he came, ears ringing, and it was half a minute later when he felt the handkerchief teased from his fingers and applied to the task again. As Ray looked up from the courtesy he kissed him. "That was nice, love. Thanks.... It WAS hurting."

"I know." Doyle smiled, a lovely expression but haunted by the same--sadness? Uncertainty? Pain?

"Hey, what's the matter?" Bodie asked huskily.

Ray pulled away. "I told you. Nothing. It's okay."

"You've had bad news? A death in the family? Your old pet Retriever die? You lose your goldfish down the sink when you were cleaning the bowl?"

"Nothing like that," Ray chuckled. "Set the table, will you? I'll get the glasses and such. Corkscrew in the drawer."

So Bodie let the subject alone. The food was good, right up to Ray's usual standard, and the wine lived up to its label. They sat on the sofa, curled around each other, shoes off, shirts untucked, stroking absently, kissing sometimes, while the film played out in glorious black and white. It felt wonderful and Bodie acknowledged a wish that every evening could be this good. So ask him home every night, he thought drowsily before sense reasserted itself: don't be a clot, Bodie, his birds'd beat you off with a stick, and Mike Lee is bigger than you are, and ex-Coldstream Guards! Lucky bloody Mike, he gets THIS while I'm getting strangled in a collar and tie and trying to figure out how not to mess up Alex's thirty-quid hairdo.... Bugger it!

The film finished and they stirred, Ray getting up to turn off the set and yawning deeply. "Christ, look at the time, and we're due on the job at eight in the morning."

"Time to head for Slumberland," Bodie agreed, draping an arm about his shoulders. He felt Ray tense up against him. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I--" Doyle swallowed. Bodie kissed his ear, tongue probing into its depths, and Ray closed his eyes, shivering, before he tried to draw away. "I don't feel like it tonight."

Bodie blinked, astonished, then tucked his fingers into Ray's crotch. "The hell you don't, mate. You're turned on like the Battersea Power Station. So am I, just being with you. What are you trying to get rid of me for?"

The hands on his chest pushed halfheartedly. "I can't, that's all."

"Can't sleep with me, or won't?"

"Can't," Doyle sighed. "I want to, but I can't."

"Why?" Bodie demanded. "You haven't oathed fidelity to some paragon of virtue, have you? Her father's an oil millionaire and she's buying you a red Concord for Christmas? Because you blew it in the kitchen!"

"No, it's just...." Ray bit his lip. "Oh, all right, come to bed."

But he was as tense as a sprinter under the gun. He let Bodie undress him, and his own hands stripped the ex-SAS man's broad, muscular, velvety body with equal delight. They kissed, then Bodie's lips were feathering over the furry chest, toying with the neat, brown nipples until Ray squirmed, and Bodie went to one knee, feeling the strong abdominal muscles rippling under his tongue. He felt the rigid heat of Doyle's cock, hard against his cheek, but he had kissed it exactly once before Ray stepped quickly away and pulled him toward the bed.

A little miffed but not unhappy, Bodie sprawled out. Ray licked and kissed, biting and teasing everywhere until Bodie could barely breathe, and he spread his legs eagerly, lifting his knees and dragging his lover down on top of him. Doyle kissed his nose tenderly, then Bodie felt something that made him blink in surprise: Ray pushed his knees back together. A moment later he mounted Bodie, wriggling into position, moulding their aching bodies together, and thrust hard against him.

It was not what Bodie had wanted but the friction was still exquisite and before he could express his surprise he was wafted away on the surge of pleasure and responding to Ray's thrusts with his own bucking hips. They rocked together for a long time, a sheen of perspiration slick between them, and then Ray came with a growl, leaving Bodie on the painful edge of release. Bodie bit his lip hard, fighting for breath, and rolled Doyle over onto his back; Ray was limp, barely aware of what was happening until it was nearly too late. Bodie had his knees apart by the time he was thinking again, and for the second time astonishment hit Bodie squarely in the ribs as Doyle squirmed desperately away.

"What the hell are you DOING?" Bodie gasped as Ray rolled him onto his side. The urge was to fight, to TAKE what he wanted, but the instincts of the predator had no place here. He watched with hazed eyes as Ray bent to help him, pressing his face into the musky dampness of Bodie's throbbing groin, lips caressing, tongue exploring every ridge and fold along his overheated cock before he offered his mouth and let Bodie use it without restraint, even encouraging him, though Bodie realised vaguely that he must have been on the point of choking. Fingers kneaded his buttocks, the sucking was beyond any resisting, and Bodie cried out as he came, fingers coiled in Ray's hair, pulsing out his essences, so much of the scalding fluid that he thought it would never stop. Doyle gave a whimper, swallowing repeatedly, and then Bodie was still.

Exhausted, they lay there for minutes, and it was the confusion that brought Bodie to his senses first. He reached for tissues, coaxing Doyle gently onto his back, then tossed the Kleenex aside and bent to lick Ray's cheek and neck clean, kissing him softly. Doyle was rubbery, drowsy, spent. And he was crying so silently that at first Bodie did not notice the tears among the film of perspiration on his face which, flushed with effort and heavy-eyed, looked never more lovely.

"Sweetheart, what's this ABOUT?" Bodie lifted him to his knees and held him, curly head cradled against his shoulder. "You wouldn't take me, you wouldn't let me take you, but you'll ride me and do THAT for me.... Why?" There was silence, but Bodie was not going to take any more of that. "Now, you TELL me. I don't care what it is, you tell me, right bloody now."

"Oh, all right, you'll have to know sometime," Ray sighed. "It's all this loose living, isn't it? The permissive society."

"Clap?" Bodie wondered, nearly cracking a grin. "You didn't come home from Durham with the clap?"

"No, you prat. It's worse. COULD be worse. I don't know. Yet." He lifted his head from Bodie's shoulder and stared at the quilt beside his folded knees. "You know that guy I sleep with sometimes, Mike Lee?"

"Yeah, he's a tasty morsel. What about him? I resent him like hell, mind you, but I can see why you like him."

"Resent him? Do you?" Ray smiled into Bodie's sapphire eyes. "Like I resent that health fiend you go with, Paul What's-his-name?"

"Do you?" Bodie mirrored Doyle's expression.

"Yeah, course I do. Anyway...Mike wasn't feeling too well while I was away in Durham, so he went to the doctor. He--I--they think.... Oh, Christ." He met Bodie's eyes levelly with an effort. "They're testing for AIDS. Bodie, I slept with him about a fortnight ago, because you'd gone off with Joanna. I wanted you but I made do with him." He looked away. "If he's got it, I've got it. And that means it's just about over for me. Can't make love with a bird, no way. Can't make love with ANYONE the usual way. I mean, I can be with you, but I can't be inside of you, and you can't be inside of me. I can suck you like that.... You can suck me, too, but you mustn't let me come in your mouth, not ever. Then you have to clean up fast." His eyes came back to Bodie's, dark and serious. "That won't be enough for you, I know. Look, I'm not being a martyr or anything, but there's not much I can do.... For every person who gets sick and dies of it there's droves of people who just carry it like the plague and give it to everyone else instead. I heard on telly that it's about one person in two hundred who's going to get sick and die, so the chances are about a hundred and ninety-nine to one AGAINST me getting sick even if I have got it, but my love life's over, unless.... Well, hell, unless you let me come to you now and again, and do it this way, without being inside. I know it's not what you want, but it's about all I can do, and I'll be careful. I'm sorry, Bodie. Mike must have got it from the girl he picked up at a disco a while ago. She must have been sleeping with a bi. Like ME," he added bitterly. "But I'm not going to give it to you, no way. Just let me come to you sometimes, will you? I mean, I can't just stop altogether, forever.... I'll go off with a bang! And if I can't ask my best mate to help me, who can I--"

"I might already have it," Bodie said quietly. "How long since Mike slept with that girl?"

"Oh, eight months, so he said. But there could have been others before that, couldn't there? There's no way to tell!"

"And you've been sleeping with Mike for--?"

"Six months or so."

"So, if I'm going to get it, I've probably got it," Bodie said flatly.

There was silence, and they looked at each other bleakly. "It's dangerous sleeping around these days," Ray said softly. "TOO dangerous."

"Especially since you only went with Mike because you couldn't have me," Bodie added, "and I've resented Mike and your birds something rotten."

"And I've resented your birds and the jogging nut," Ray sighed. "Jesus, Bodie, what have we been DOING? Hating each other's friends, then sleeping around with other people we resent when all we want's each other these days.... It'll be bloody ironic if we've killed each other. I COULD have picked it up from a girl up in Durham for all I know! How do I know she didn't sleep with a bloke who slept with a gay, or a bird who slept with a bi, two years ago?!" He shuddered. "That is IT, Bodie. No more sleeping around. Not for me."

"Yeah," Bodie agreed quietly, watching the colour drain from Ray's face. "It's a bit of a fright, isn't it? What are we going to do? If Mike's tests come back okay that still doesn't mean much, because of the girl in Durham.... And the bird I picked up at the pub last week. Oh Christ, what about Alex's other bloke? If he slept with a gay, or a girl who slept with a bi- - -Mm. Raymond, we've got a definite problem here."

"So we have," Doyle nodded. "I've been trying to sort it out for days, s'why I kept turning you down. But tonight, I wanted you so much. I knew how to do it--I mean, even if I've got it I wouldn't have given it to you tonight. I just wanted you so badly." He paused. "What are we going to do?"

Bodie smiled faintly at him. "You wanted me that much? You know, I've been aching for you for weeks. I mean ACHING for you." Doyle's green eyes lit up as he heard that, and Bodie nodded. "What are we going to do, sunshine? Well, for a start, I've got ME figured out; we'll figure you out in a minute. I love you, Ray, that's my whole trouble. I could thump other people for seducing you. So from now on, I'M not sleeping around anymore.... It's better with you anyway. Then, we both go and get a blood test and make sure we haven't got it. Think positive, right? Then, if we stick together like glue we can stop worrying and I can have you three times a day if I want. Or you want. What about it, pet? Do you, Raymond Doyle, take this William Andrew Phillip Bodie to be your pairbonded lover for as long as we both can stand living together, and file for an amicable divorce in five or ten years, or twenty, or never...?"

For the first time in days, Ray's green eyes were alight. "You love me?"

"I already said that part. That's my little problem, sweetheart. It snuck up on me when I wasn't watching. First I liked you, wanted you as a friend. Then you were my best mate, best I ever had, and I noticed how luscious you are, and wanted you for my lover. Then you were my lover and I was fond of you, then terribly fond, then ridiculously affectionate.... That's love."

Doyle's eyes closed and he exhaled through his teeth. "Never thought I'd live to hear you say it. I've loved you for bloody years, you clot. Since the night you came to the fancy dress party as Captain Hook, with the silk shirt and the earring. I'd fancied you for months before that, but you were half-smashed and loony at the party, and I played charades with you, remember? The word was 'passion' and we did it as 'pass' and 'shun.' You made a pass at me, and I shunned you, which was the last thing I wanted to do.... That was the night. Still took me three months to get you into my bed, and I never dared tell you I love you because, well, I didn't want to tie you down. Thought you'd run a mile. Sorry, Bodie."

"You're telling me," Bodie said wryly. "Wish I could roll you over right now and...." He shook himself hard. "When our blood tests come back clean I'm going to have you till you scream blue murder and can't walk about the next day! Nah, I don't want to hurt you, never did, never will, but you know what I mean. You MUST know, you're as stiff as a fresh cucumber.... I can't suck you?"

"Not wise," Doyle said, blushing darkly, "all things considered."

"All right." Bodie grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him down. "All's fair in love and war, mate. Jam your gorgeous legs together before I get carried away, and it's my turn to be on top."

Ray opened his arms and Bodie went down onto his chest, hot, heavy and deliciously salty. This time it took forever and when they came, just seconds apart, it was deep and powerful and sweet, and they were asleep in the same sticky embrace minutes later.

In the interests of tactful anonymity they drove up to Doncaster where a mobile clinic was set up in a shopping centre's carpark. People of all descriptions were there, from Cro-Magnons to gays so girlish they could have BEEN girls, to worried housewives, worried straights, hookers, gigolos, and worried mothers with errant adolescents in tow. They had expected to feel embarrassment at having to admit publicly to their less-orthodox pleasures, but in reality it was nothing like that. They could have been a couple of bachelors who had bought it using the same tart at a stag night for all anyone cared, and no one asked.

The only flush of embarrassment was completely impersonal; the nurse on duty--very obviously a lesbian herself--handed them two forms and asked for them to be filled in candidly and truthfully, without any names attached. All data was confidential and needed to help in research. So they filled them in, sharing a glance of burning discomfort at the questions. Tick the boxes. Are you gay? Are you bisexual? Do you have sex with multiple partners? How often? Do you have anal intercourse? How often? Do you use condoms? And so on. Ad nauseam. Folded up, the anonymous forms went into something like a ballot box, and they gave the blood samples.

The hassled nurse labelled each with a number and gave them the receipt stubs with the codes, and a business card. "Call that number on the 22nd. The lab will have finished by then. Quote the number and they'll give you the result. If it's positive, go along to your doctor. Thanks for your help with the forms--do you want a booklet on avoiding AIDS?"

But Bodie shook his head. "No thanks. If we don't have it NOW there is absolutely no way we'll get it in future. Good morning, Nurse."

And so began the worst waiting game they had ever sweated through in their lives. They spent the time together; it was easier to scramble through the preoccupied, ruined days and uneasy nights that way. They made love with a caution that, oddly, seemed to make it all the more tender, something to be savoured, not taken for granted, and learned what a pleasure it could be to say it, three silly little words. "I love you."

The 22nd was their day off, and they were at Bodie's. They sat looking at the phone for half an hour, nursing stomachs full of butterflies, and sweating in nervous anticipation like a couple of virgins about to be gang-banged. At length Ray gulped a double scotch and took the plunge. Bodie dived at the couch and shut his eyes, listening intently as Doyle gave the code numbers off the receipt stubs and waited while they were punched up on whatever computer.

Ray's voice was flat and emotionless as he said: "Could you give me that again, please--yes, both of them, in order.... All right. Thanks."

The phone clicked back into place and bare feet padded over the carpet. Bodie pried open one eye, trying to read Doyle's face, but he hardly had time to see him before Ray collapsed on top of him and yelled at the top of his lungs, nothing articulate. "Ray?" Bodie demanded, but it was a yell of joy he had heard and he didn't have to ask.... They had always commanded the luck of the devil, but that was all it was this time--luck. And luck would only stretch so far before it broke. Doyle lay on top of him, kissing him, tongue deep in his mouth, one knee rubbing between his legs, and he wrapped arms and legs about that skinny, beautiful body with a groan of relief.

Ritual pairbonding, was it? With a deep, aching love and the best sex he had ever found anywhere, and a partner who was beautiful and his best mate to boot? It suited him fine, and it seemed to suit Doyle right down to the ground. Propelled into the bedroom, he undressed Bodie deftly, dumped him onto the bed and performed an innocent slow strip to Vivaldi that was so delicately erotic that Bodie very nearly spoiled everything by coming passively, just watching. How he managed not to he would never know, but when Ray slid down across the quilt at last and gave himself up he took him long and gently, soaking in the sensations they had been denied, first by outsiders, then by separation, then by worry.

"No more outsiders," he said against Doyle's soft open mouth as they lay in the wonderful, breathless aftermath, still interlocked and loath to move. "Don't need 'em, can't afford 'em, don't want 'em. Not anymore. Not worth the risk, not worth the bother."

"Yeah," Ray agreed. "I'd kind of like to stay alive, and I can't live without loving." He chuckled. "Are you married to me?"

"Why not?" Bodie climbed off him and pulled him into a lovely, sweaty, sticky embrace, back-to- chest, legs tangled up, face against his tousled hair. "Pairbonded. S'better than being married--none of that 'obey' garbage, both partners equal. Next thing is, we start saving feathers for a nest. Whose place do you want to live in? 'Cause we're living together now, aren't we? Say no and I'll thump you."

Ray dug an elbow into his ribs. "Course we're living together. Are you going to start thumping me for disagreeing now we're married?"

"Nah." Bodie yawned. "You're too nice to thump. Cruelty to gollies is not allowed." He dropped a deliciously wet kiss on the nape of Doyle's neck. "Sleep off the celebrations now, love, and we'll sort out the domestic arrangements later. Wouldn't mind whisking you away for a honeymoon, though."

George Cowley never learned of the blood test, but he signed the authorisation for 3.7 and 4.5 to live together with a raised eyebrow, putting it down to that old northern belief that two can live as cheaply as one, which fitted to perfection with their money-grubbing natures. In fact, they saved a fortune on the arrangement, on rent and casual dating, and when they had accumulated a month's holiday Cowley found himself signing their ticket of leave and envying them the beaches of Hong Kong.

They saw the beach only rarely.

The suite at the Mandarin had the best king- sized bed they had ever seen, and the first Magnum of Great Western was on the house.

-- THE END --

March 1986

(If anyone is interested, the information sources used were Australian Playboy, March 1986, and Here's Health, March 1986. One assumes the information to be accurate!)