NOTE from story-giver: I recommend reading it aloud for maximum effect.

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Doyle, skinny, beautiful, little aggravation that he was, was elegance personified as he draped his slim, lovesome body elegantly against the hard, rosy, erect courses of herringbone-patterned bricks, an attractive blush staining his wild-Irish-rose-complected uneven cheekbones, lending an air of lushness to his beautiful, elfin, even wicked features. His clear mint-green eyes literally lit up as they observed with well-trained ex-art-student precision the well-tuned silver Capri powering around the street-light-lit London street corner toward him, backfires punching staccatoly into the dusky ebony-shadowed silver-smogged urban gloaming, silver-halide halogen headlamps glowing, the much-anticipated sight of Bodie's porcelain skin gleaming pearl-palely through the ever-so-slightly-rose-tinted safety glass windscreen of the sporty mid-sized government-owned vehicle causing his once-damaged-but-now-surgically-restored-to-its-former-health-and-efficiency heart to beat ecstatically.

"Bodie," he murmured through manly-pink Cupid's-bow lips, over which a welcoming but tough-guy smile hovered seraphically and ambiguously.

"Ray, my lad," Bodie mused arrogantly, as he pulled up to the firmly upthrusting kerb, inadvertently missing his mark in his macho, hard-case delight at being reunited with his beguiling ruffian of a partner, the scruffy little delight of his seemingly otherwise pointless existence. Doyle, in his customary, cantedly-provocative but off-balance pose, was knocked gorgeous, tight, firmly-rounded arse over beautiful, tousled, windblown teakettle by the jarring impact of the sturdy, shiny, silvern bonnet and onto the blackly glistening tarmac of the historic roadway, used by ancient manly-but-loving tribesman before the day that Caesar's lusty legions invaded the fair but foggy land of the decorative and decorated-in-blue Celts. In heavy-limbed languor, Doyle subsided gracefully to the ages-old pavement, expensive steel-belted radial-type tyre-tracks marking the front of his revealing sage-green tee-shirt, Bodie's favourite, because he reveled in the revelation through the thin fabric of his elfin partner's small rosy-brown nipples, and the oatmeal tweed jacket, also a favourite of Bodie's, for mouth-watering but different reasons, something about the way it brought out the auburn highlights in Ray's unruly fringe, he thought, when he could think straight, which wasn't often around his Ray.

Doyle, limp and helpless in the aftermath, yelped at every verse end, as Bodie, trying desperately but as-yet-ineffectually to locate the powerful hand brake, reversed the gutsy little four-litre engine and ran him over twice more, where he was tenderest, making a mess of Doyle's new and expensive and of course, so-tight-as-to-make-it-certain that Ray would never produce any lithe, green-almond-eyed, mop-headed moppets in his own gorgeous image, jeans, and leaving an iridescent film of forty-weight oil over his softly pelted chest and the apple-shampoo-scented fluffy copper-highlighted curls, from which his daily vitamin pills, which Bodie popped arrogantly but lovingly into Ray's ex-CID sensual mouth, had all but eradicated the silver strands.

Bodie leapt urgently but ruggedly out of the Capri's well-fitting argent driver's-side door, and ardently tripped ex-SASedly over his big-eyed boy-partner, falling in his turn and by his slim side to the hard, firm, wet, sticky ground. Taking immediate advantage of his inadvertent but welcome position, the darkly-handsome ex-merc crushed the slender, hard, beloved body of his slight but complex partner to his midnight-blue, polo-neck-clad heavily-muscled chest and sighed, "Oh, Ray! Petal! Poppet! Pet! Puppy!"

Ray had just slim, precious seconds to realize the boundless, passion-filled depths of the love and longing in the early-evening storm-at-sea blue, dark-lash-fringed eyes of his bigger, taller, heavier partner, then he passed out, whimpering.

Bodie, believing that he might be bereft forever of his moody, aggravating but vulnerable little partner in legalized death, destruction, mayhem and protection of the innocent and stolid British public, numerous attractive but somehow-never-attractive-enough-to-take-their-minds-off-each-other, young women, and occasional visiting Arabs, Australians, and South Africans, cried great, glistening tears in an anguished flood over Ray's slim, furred chest, slightly tarnishing the delicate silver chain that nestled there, twinkling like the evening star over lovers' heads in a twilit forest glade in some other-worldly elven land, diluting and partially washing away the magical-rainbowed sheen of motor oil glinting on his delicious anatomy, and rubbed his hands in big, loving, soothing circles over Doyle's slender, elegant, beautiful ribs.

Ray groggily awoke to the heaven of hearing his big, tough, reticent but touching partner throatily murmuring husky words, finally openly expressing all the buried but nonetheless intense emotions he had held so long, ex-SAS style, at bay, or under siege, or taken hostage and held under house arrest, probably in a foreign country, in an embassy, most likely.

"Oh, Ray, it took your nose--your perfect nose, your exquisite, honey-brown, willow-slim, lovely nose--to make me love. And, oh, how you made me love you. I thought I'd go mad, you curly-haired armful of trouble, trouble of the sweetest possible kind. You beguiling ruffian, I'm in your power and you bloody well know it. You're something out of a fantasy. Honey skin, mint-green eyes--apricot skin, almond eyes, and even that butter-soft suede jacket of yours--I just want to eat you up. Oh, Ray, Ray my silk and velvet angel, what am I ever going to do with you?"

Ray wriggled, writhed, whimpered, and yelped. Bodie, rapturously ecstatic at these sights, sounds, and signs of response, kissed the soft, full mouth deeply, ravenously, drugged with the long-desired pleasure of having his very own cuddlesome Ray cuddled in his bigger, stronger, heavier, longer arms, reveling in the smell of him--oil, cologne, road tar and apple shampoo, plus the odd, but to him just part of Ray's unique lovesomeness, flavour of the mega-doses of B-vitamins his smaller ex-copper mate indulged in to keep his uncharacteristic fear of aging under control. Dreamily yet stickily, as the oil was persistent, Ray responded with a long, hungry, searching kiss, filled with longing, his doe eyes peering out from behind stray, wayward curls, his fantasy mouth curving into a smile of incalculable sweetness.

"Oh, Bodie, Bodie, take me home so I can love you like you deserve!" Ray mused, supinely quiet on his best assets in his ex-cabin boy partner's manly, black-trousered lap.

"Do you mean it, my pet?" Bodie questioned softly, all his ex-para bravado muted in the face of this much-desired moon-on-a-platter tied-up-with-silver-and-gold-ribbons of a partner. "Aren't you for tender bruising on the elegant ribs, as his hands slid down the taut, slim, small, well-rounded-in-all-the-best-places body.

"Not as sore as you'll be!" Ray exclaimed with heavy meaning, and a heavy, angel-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks, wicked wink. The lovesome, lush love of Bodie's life, and many previously-lived lives too, smiled heart-wrenchingly into his delphinium blue eyes, opened his honey-slim, willow-brown, heavily-pelted arms and took his taller, tougher, flawlessly-skinned, newly-found beloved mate and partner in new senses of both words, into his fervid embrace, and whispered sweetly and beguilingly, "Take me home--our home, from now on, lover."

His heart wrenched, and his back, just a trifle, from lifting his smaller, slighter, slimmer little partner from the glistening, slick, well-lubricated-with-forty-weight roadway, into his welcoming, firmly-muscled but virtually hairless arms that had seemingly waited literally years for this enchantingly fulfilling moment, not that he would admit it, of course, trained to ignore pain as he had been by Macklin's Towser-aided tutelage, Bodie did.

-- THE END --