"...die? Bodie?"

The sharp finger digging in between his ribs and the stress in Ray's voice registered immediately, although Bodie had no idea how long his name had been hanging in the air. His eyes snapped open, and he started to throw back the duvet and leap out of bed, freezing as the lights came blindingly on.

"Christ."

"Yeah," Doyle said, staring at Bodie with eyes wide behind the barrel of the gun being pressed tightly against his forehead. His gaze flicked quickly to the bedroom door, and Bodie turned.

"Shuddup, asshole."

American. Maybe Canadian; Bodie couldn't tell. What he did know was the make of gun currently aimed at his own forehead: a Colt Python. Rumoured to be able to blow a hole through two bodies at once. Not something he was in a hurry to find out.

The man holding the gun--a Walther P38--on Doyle was tall and heavy, with red frizzy hair. Bodie almost absently noted the freckles covering the man's face and hands. The one aiming the Python was shorter and heavier, dark-haired and unremarkable, except for the gun in his hand.

The Python made a minute move in the direction of the door, and Bodie slowly stood up, one eye on the gun, and one eye on Doyle, who was just as slowly easing himself out of bed. Bodie reached for his robe, halting halfway through the motion at the negative shake of his captor's head. He walked out of the room, his stomach churning, and stopped when he realised Ray wasn't following behind him.

"Keep movin'."

"What about--"

"I said move. Keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"But--"

"You want my buddy to spray that dude's brains all over the room? Didn't think so," he said smugly, as Bodie forced his rather reluctant feet to continue on down the hall and into the sitting room.

Once in the room, he was pushed into one corner of the settee, the gun never wavering from his head and Python--as Bodie now thought of him--never getting near enough for Bodie to make any kind of move, even assuming he'd chance it with Doyle held as he was.

"Okay!"

Bodie didn't move a muscle as Python called out. Seconds later Doyle appeared in the doorway, Red-hair behind him.

Pushed across the floor, Doyle sat down in the other corner of the settee. He looked around the room, then raised an eyebrow at Bodie, who shrugged minutely. He had no idea who these men were.

"They didn't tell us these two were a couple of fuckin' queers," said Red-hair. "At least it saves us from havin' to hit the other apartment."

American, thought Bodie. He resisted the urge to fold his hands and cover his genitals. Amazing how he suddenly felt more naked.

"They aren't, you know," Python commented slyly.

"Aren't what?"

"Fucking.... "

Red-hair let out a huge guffaw. "Wouldn't that be a hell of a hootin' riot? How's about it, you two? Feel like showing us a little action? Show us how two lily-boys can fuck?"

Bodie and Doyle both stayed silent.

"Doesn't look like they want to play, does it, Mi--"

"No names!" Python barked out, glaring at his partner, then mused: "So who should do who?"

"Whom," Doyle pointed out.

"Ray--"

"What?"

Bodie looked away. "Nothing."

"You." The gun poked harder into the soft skin behind Bodie's ear. "You do skinny there. Shut his flappin' yap for him."

"No."

Python sighed. "You see the 'stupid' tattooed across his forehead?" he asked Red-hair. "What is it with these limeys, anyhow? They lose their brains when they lost the Revolution?"

"See, you got two choices," he began to explain in an overly patient voice. "One: you will fuck the shit out of your poopsy-sweetie here. Or, two: you sit there and watch us do it, with this," he waved the gun in the air before putting it quickly back against Bodie's head. "I guarantee he'll come with a bang."

Bodie glanced at Doyle, who was looking at him expressionlessly. Of all the times for Bodie not to be able to read his partner's mind.... Come on, Ray, he thought, help me out here.

"Up." Another poke behind his ear, and Bodie slowly stood.

Up. That was a problem. He could feel the sweat cooling on his skin. He watched as Red-hair manhandled Doyle onto his knees, kicking the slender legs apart with savage glee.

Suddenly Doyle's toes clenched, and he shot forward, banging into the small stand next to the settee, sending everything crashing to the floor.

Within seconds Red-hair was right there, gun slamming into the back of Doyle's head with a sickening thud. Doyle slumped to the floor with a groan, then cried out as Red-hair grabbed a fistful of curls and tugged him back onto his knees.

"That was stupid, bones. Where'd you think you were gonna go? Stark naked and all?" Python asked. "And with me just itchin' to blow lover-boy here to kingdom come?"

Bodie didn't move, every muscle tense. What was Ray trying to do? Knowing it couldn't be mindless fear, not Ray, not about this. Bodie slowly ran his eyes around the floor. Why...? Then he saw it.

Almost buried under the dirt from the toppled plant was the red CI5 phone. Off the hook. Even now telling Security there was a problem in their flat. Seconds later the main phone rang.

Forming a questioning look on his face, Bodie looked at Python.

"Where's the phone?" Red-hair asked.

"In the kitchen," Bodie offered.

"Let it ring," Python said.

No one moved. Finally, the ringing stopped.

"Get on with it." Python gave Bodie a shove before moving back to stand next to Red-hair, gun still pointing Bodie's way.

"I can't."

"Bodie--"

"I can't, Ray."

Carefully, pain written in the lines of his face, Doyle turned his head around to face his partner. Bodie waved an ineffectual hand in the direction of his flaccid penis.

"Christ. Can't you--"

"Try a little jerkin' off, you moron," Red-hair laughed. "Use your right hand. You know, boom, boom, boom, get it hard."

The gun pointed at Doyle's head moved slowly down his back until the muzzle rested between his buttocks. With an audible gasp, Doyle slammed his legs together and jerked away.

Immediately Bodie reached down and took hold of his cock and started masturbating. Up, down, up, down, down.... Christ, come on, he thought. Closing his eyes, he thought of Ray, of making love to him in the privacy of their room, of their wild nights together, of their tender, gentle times. Imagined Ray's mouth on him, those lips nibbling along his cock, tongue licking the sensitive head.

With relief, Bodie felt his cock start to fill. His hand continuing to move, he opened his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on his lover. The only way to do this was to not think about the two men with the gun, and what would happen if.... His cock dwindled.

"Shit." Bodie muttered.

Red-hair laughed. "What's the matter, sweetheart, can't get it up? Havin' a little problem?"

"No," Bodie protested, both hands working his cock. "Just give me a--"

"Let me," Doyle said.

"What?" Bodie's hands stilled, and he looked at Ray in surprise.

"Let me fuck him," Doyle clarified. "He always has to be on top, macho butch bastard that he is."

"What? Ray...." Bodie felt a painful stab through his heart. He never insisted on the dominant role; they were equals both in bed and out. His hands fell to his sides as Doyle stood. Bodie stayed still, his mind working furiously. Of course. Ray was using some of that excellent double-think of his. Had to be that.

"Let me." Doyle turned his back on Bodie and faced the other two men, his hands working madly on his cock. "Look." He canted his hips forward, displaying a rock-hard cock. "Let me do him. Be the only chance I'll have," he added in a hard voice.

Python glanced at his partner, who nodded, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Sounds good to me. Kinda like to see the big dude get his."

"Do it," Python ordered.

"Ray...." Bodie closed his eyes, not quite believing this was happening.

"Shut-up, Bodie." Doyle moved, baring his back to the two men and their guns. "Open your bloody eyes."

Slowly, Bodie did as he was told, surprised at the expression on Doyle's face. The green eyes were confident, and the full lips were soft with love. Bodie quickly schooled his own features into an expressionless mask before moving down onto his knees and elbows, legs spread.

Strong hands grasped hold of his hips, and he tried to relax, tried to send his mind back to the night before when they'd made love. Instead, the image of the two men, guns trained on Doyle rang through his head. Relax.... Relax, you love this man, and he loves you. And this is going to hurt him, too.

He tried not to cry out as Doyle pushed against him, grunting. Christ, this was almost worse than the very first time all those years ago. Where the hell was CI5?

The thought had barely left his mind when the front door smashed open, and he was pushed onto the floor, his nose smashing into the carpet, Doyle heavy on his back. The sound of gunshots was deafening, and he felt Doyle jerk above him. He tried to rise and stopped as Doyle's arms wrapped more tightly around him.

"Hold still, dammit," came from the direction of his left ear.

Then: silence.

Bodie turned his head, trying to see.

"You can get up now, boys." Anson's shoes appeared in front of Bodie's eyes. "Doyle? You all right?"

When there was no answer, Bodie heaved himself out from under his partner's body. Doyle was unconscious, blood streaming from his head. Fingers fumbling, he felt for a pulse, sighing in relief as he found it beating strongly. He glanced around quickly; Murphy and Lake had Python and Red-hair in cuffs and were hauling them out the shattered door. Anson was on the R/T to headquarters arranging for an ambulance.

Turning his attention back to Doyle, he bent closer to examine the wound. It was a simple crease; whatever bullet had headed his way, it had only slid across the side of his head above his ear. Ray was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up, but that was acceptable. You had to be alive to hurt. Bodie turned him over onto his side and settled the lax arms and legs into a more comfortable position.

"Doyle all right? Who were they?" Anson asked once he was off the R/T.

"I haven't got a fucking clue. Ray's going to be fine," Bodie said, keeping his hand on Doyle's pulse, more for the contact than anything else; he didn't expect it to stop beating. "Get us some clothes or something, will you? Don't want the old man to show up and find us showing everything we've got."

"What were you, were they...?"

Bodie glanced up to catch a surprising mixture of embarrassment and curiosity disappear from Anson's face.

"Just get the bloody clothes, Anson."

Without another word, Anson turned and went into the bedroom, coming back out with Bodie's discarded shirt and trousers and a blanket to cover Doyle.

Bodie had to take his hand off Doyle in order to get dressed, and he did so quickly, watching as Anson fixed the blanket. Clothed once more, Bodie sank down beside Doyle, fingers back on his partner's pulse.

Now all they had to do was wait for the ambulance and wait for Cowley to do his thing with Python and Red-hair. At the moment, Bodie didn't care who they were, or even why they'd shown up like they had. All he cared about was beside him on the floor, breathing slowly and evenly, and alive.

-- THE END --