Doyle shifted uncomfortably in the hard pew, and despite himself, his eyes once again returned to Bodie only a few feet away. The man was made to wear a white tuxedo.

Smoothly then, Bodie and the groom turned to watch the bride glide down the aisle, and Ray's breath caught at the sheer perfection of the man's profile. Artistic instincts wished for a brush and canvas in that moment. Forcing his attention away, disturbed by his feelings, he watched the bride join her husband- to-be at the altar.

Idly he wondered if the poor girl knew how Bodie outclassed her. Every female eye in the church was on him; maybe even some of the men's. Fortunately, she seemed so wrapped up in the ceremony, she was immune to her surroundings. Doyle had not been impressed by the wedding couple when they'd all met yesterday when he and Bodie had arrived in Liverpool. On the condition Doyle could come along, Bodie had agreed to stand up for an ex- merc mate who went even further back as a school friend. Somehow this friend, O'Hanlon, had managed to snag the daughter of one of the few wealthy men left in the depressed city.

Doyle sighed as he was again presented with a rear view of his mate as the party faced front. The smooth black cap of hair commanding his attention gleamed softly in the muted lighting of the ancient building. Only this morning as he'd helped Bodie knot his tie, he'd had his first twinge of lust. Since then, the most unsaintly ideas had been running through his mind no matter how he'd resisted their intrusion.

Impressed from their first meeting with Bodie's looks, he had been put off by the man's attitude. The intervening years had changed his opinion and, he supposed, inured him to the man's face. Only occasionally had he noticed anymore, usually when some bird made much of him. But today, Bodie had knocked him cold, and he didn't quite know what to do about it. It was a damn good thing his partner didn't wear a white tux to work everyday though, as Doyle knew he'd never be able to keep his hands to himself.

With a start, he realized the wedding ceremony was over and Bodie was looked relieved. The bloody sod was, he knew, thinking about the wedding breakfast and free champagne as he flashed by with the bride's sister on his arm.

He'd bet the little cow had never seen anybody like Bodie outside of the cinema. Probably had visions of being ravished tonight. Might get her wish, too, if she kept clinging like that. The spurt of jealousy shocked him. He couldn't believe he really wanted Bodie in that way. Dismissing the idea, he threaded his way through various aunts and uncles, until he caught sight of the dark head bending over the bride, kissing her. O'Hanlon had better watch out--wouldn't take much of the Bodie charm and the little woman would be pining for greener pastures. The groom obviously agreed as he broke up the clench.

"'Nuff of that, mate; you're kissing my wife and I want the chance."

"Just showing her what she's missing, Gordy," Bodie replied breezily, releasing her.

The dazed girl turned to O'Hanlon with briefly unseeing eyes before she snapped out of her trance.

"Oh, Gordon, we have to hurry with the snaps so we can get back to the house," she breathed huskily.

"Pictures?" Bodie grunted in dismay. "Gordy, when do we eat?"

Doyle walked up to Bodie, neatly cutting off the maid of honor. "Always thinking of your stomach, aren't you? Need pictures, don't they, to remember the day and all? Besides, better capture one of your finer moments on film."

Bodie looked surprised. "Who, me? In this bloody penguin suit?" He preened for a moment, knowing he looked good. "Well, you be a good lad, Raymond, and maybe I'll get you a copy."

Doyle suddenly had every intention of owning one. "What'd I do with it? Guess I could scare the pigeons from the rafters, couldn't I?"

Bodie looked affronted. The arrogant brows raised as his lower lip slid out slightly. "More likely to attract birds, mate."

Captivated, Doyle silently agreed...and silently he condemned himself for the surge in his groin. Holy Christ, he did want Bodie and his body wasn't playing games; it was serious. "Not into crows, mate."

O'Hanlon laughed and pulled his best man back into the church. "C'mon, Bodie, look at it like a training exercise. Sooner started, sooner over."

Doyle lurked outside the church, waiting for the wedding party, hoping there'd be room for him in Bodie's car. He had no intention of abandoning his partner to that girl. What was her name? Rhymed with her sister's name--Jenny, that was it, and the bride was Penny. Twins they were.

Discounting her importance, he decided Jenny was going to have to do without Bodie in her bed because he'd insist on going back to London tonight instead of staying over as they'd originally planned. He didn't let himself think about what Bodie might want, or why he was so determined.

Church doors swung wide at last and the others emerged, but as he leaned on the motor and waited, Doyle's attention was riveted on the one figure.

"Stranded, sunshine?" Bodie joked as he and Jenny approached.

"Can I ride with you?"

"You can drive," Bodie announced, delivering the girl into the backseat.

"Play chauffeur?"

"Yeh, why not?" Bodie said, settling into the back. "C'mon, sunshine, I'm starving."

Shrugging at the helpless appeal, Doyle slipped the motor into gear and followed the other vehicles, while listening to the familiar patter Bodie was trowelling out in the back. The girl was way out of her league and Bodie wasn't even trying very hard to impress her. He'd heard it all before, so bored, his mind slipped into a fantasy of Bodie and him in bed. Rather shocked at some of the things he'd like to do to his partner, he almost passed the car ahead when it pulled over to the kerb. Once parked, Bodie climbed out, presenting well-formed buttocks for innocent inspection, handed the girl out, and ushered her inside.

Doyle took a minute for himself to be quietly impressed with the house he was about to enter. Large and well-kept, it sat back on an immense, exquisitely manicured yard. Its neighbors looked well-cared for, too. Obviously everyone in Liverpool wasn't on the dole. Jenny's father lived the good life, and perhaps that's what had attracted hard-man O'Hanlon. Certainly the girl's fortune was more impressive than her face.

Inside, he avoided the other guests and leaned against an available wall space in the large main room. He wanted to continue Bodie-watching while the man was unaware of his scrutiny.

Bodie was enjoying a great deal of feminine attention from Jenny, Penny, and aged aunts right down to the youngest nieces. Jenny pouted jealously as she vied for her share of the handsome best man. She obviously felt as maid of honor she deserved his full attention. Doyle found he could understand, if not commiserate with her chagrin as Bodie generously shared himself with his audience. Except for the short time the buffet table took his attention, of course.

Even Doyle had to admit it was an excellent repast as he availed himself of it a little later. Popping a last egg into his mouth, he took his coffee to the terrace to further observe his partner.

Jenny had finally separated him from his admirers and was feeding him strawberries dipped in sugar, and the ruddy sod was lapping it up. As he watched, the curly-headed operative had the strangest reaction as the pouty mouth parted to allow another strawberry to be slowly fed in.

Jenny dabbled at Bodie's lips with a napkin, and he felt both a stab of lust and pique as he observed her fingers brush lightly across his friend's chin and mouth.

Astounded at himself, he decided he'd had enough voyeurism for one day and went back inside to determinedly chat up Olivia, O'Hanlon's nubile younger sister. Neglected by Bodie, it didn't take her long to be swayed by the now-in-force Doyle magnetism. Feeling rather smug, he was about to suggest a walk in the garden when a new arrival caught his eye.

The man was not dressed for the festivities, but then he was so obviously from O'Hanlon's past that Doyle wasn't too suspicious of his presence. Especially when he approached the groom and began a conversation.

"Who is that, luv?" he asked Olivia. "One of your brother's old chums, is it?"

Olivia rolled her eyes as she turned to look at the dark complexioned man Doyle was referring to. "I'm sure I don't know Mr. Doyle...Ray, I mean. Except for old school chums, I've not met any of Gordon's more recent friends, thank goodness."

Doyle almost smiled at her attempted gentility but managed to restrain it as she continued. "Too rough a lot for me, I'm sure."

He was about to reply when O'Hanlon and the man left the room together. Eyes narrowed as nerves prickled up his spine and, momentarily, he thought about seeking out Bodie. Reluctantly then, he shelved the idea as he recalled he was a guest here and whoever the other man was, O'Hanlon knew him and could certainly handle him if there was trouble. After all, O'Hanlon was a powerful ex-merc who wouldn't appreciate any interference in his business.

Turning back to Olivia, he started to ask her something when the unmistakable sound of a gunshot shocked the assembly into silence. The sound of a window breaking echoed in the ensuing hush and Doyle rushed in the direction of the noise, flinging open doors as he ran down an empty hallway. At the last one, in a small den, he found O'Hanlon lying in a gathering pool of blood, the draperies fluttering wildly at the shattered window.

Peering out first, he saw a white-tuxedoed figure in hot pursuit of a fleeing figure. Cursing mightily, he flung himself out the window to follow, drawing his weapon as he ran. Up ahead, the dark-coated man turned to fire at Bodie who was almost on his heels. He missed but it was with renewed fear Doyle ran faster. Bodie was not armed. As he'd informed Doyle only that morning, guns were de rigueur under tuxedo coats this year.

If style killed Bodie, he'd never forgive him.

Especially not when he'd just discovered he loved him.

The thought was so shocking, it almost stopped him, but his feet ignored his brain and kept functioning. The two men ahead dodged among and through shrubberies, vegetable gardens and along paths, with Bodie gaining enough ground so that when he spotted a short cut through an open-ended shed, he went through to head off the villain. Doyle's heart lurched. Bodie was too visible in the white tux, almost like the giant rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.

Desperately, Doyle closed in on the two larger men, and just as he felt he was close enough to get in a telling shot, the other man, confronted with a charging Bodie, fired his gun. There was no way he could miss at that range and Doyle, blood frozen, screamed out Bodie's name too late.

Too late.

One shot and then another rang out, and the bright figure crumpled to the ground.

Sick horror commingled with a gut-wrenching fear which he blindly ignored as he continued to chase the man ahead, until he could shoot without missing. Accurate as always, when he did fire, he watched his target drop like a stone.

Barely checking to make sure the man was out of action and cuffed, he turned back. Swallowing sour bile, he made his way back to the unconscious sprawl that was his partner. A red spot stained the shoulder of the white jacket. This wound, however, did not explain the unmoving form; long fingers probed shakily as Doyle quickly examined the other man. With a small sigh of relief he found a tiny crease parting the skin just above Bodie's ear.

Almost dazed with relief, he eased the jacket back from the wounded shoulder and saw that the injured flesh had very nearly stopped bleeding. "You lucky crud," he breathed in near awe. "Only two creases, and that bastard shooting almost on top of you. He musta' been blind." Gazing down at the pale features, he watched long eyelashes flutter and then open.

"Ray, did we get 'im?" Bodie croaked.

At the earnest question, his emotions surged, overwhelming him by the very cessation of nerve-killing dread. As a result, he sagged forward, hugging Bodie to him, while the laughter and tears poured out. Finally he grew aware that Bodie was pushing ineffectually at him, and he sobered up, realizing that he was close to losing it.

"Hey, mate," Bodie complained. "Me head is killing me, and I can't breathe with my face smothered in your manly chest. What's so bloody funny anyway?"

"Nothing, sunshine, just finding life good all of a sudden." His ear-splitting grin was uncontrollable as were his shaking hands. It seemed he couldn't get enough of touching a living, breathing Bodie. Fuzzy blue blinked, seeking the reason for Doyle's obvious insanity.

"You're alive, aren't you?" he answered the unspoken question. "Think I'd be laughing over a corpse?"

The accusing eyes softened and for a few seconds, Doyle felt like Bodie had let him inside an enchanted world. Understanding and love shone out at him in equal parts. Suddenly then, it was gone as quickly as it'd come, and he was left out in the cold as Bodie scowled at him.

"C'n tell who's bleedin' around here. You gonna' help me up or just laugh yourself sick?"

"Come on then," he said, managing a small smile. "Let's get you to a doctor. And I suppose we'd better get 'im to hospital. My aim was a little better."

Bodie spared a glance at the now moaning gunman. "Who'd he shoot? Was on the terrace when he came flying out the window."

"Oh." Doyle realized Bodie might be more than a little perturbed to learn an old mate had been shot...was maybe even dead. "It was O'Hanlon. Don't know how badly he was hurt either, so don't ask."

Supporting Bodie was an arm, he steered him back to the reception site. All was chaos at the house, and an ambulance was already there along with the police.

It took Doyle several hours and a call to Cowley to sort out the confusion so he could finally join Bodie at hospital. Once there, he was mightily comforted by the sight of the unhappy man with bandaged head and arm in sling.

"Where you bin?" Bodie demanded. "Thought I'd been deserted." Without even stopping for an answer, he continued wrathfully. "Will you just look at my suit. It's going to cost a bloody fortune to get it cleaned and mended. And then I'm not sure all this mucky lot will come out."

Doyle stood the complaints, merely directing a questioning look at the accompanying nursing sister.

"He's got mild concussion, but you can take him home," she said tartly.

Regarding the young woman with close sympathy, he observed correctly, "Fractious, was he?"

"Appalling disposition," she muttered, walking away.

"Come on then, you. Let's leave the doctors and nurses to help the patients with sense enough to appreciate their help."

Wearily, Doyle let him ramble as he got into the car, but once they were settled, he interrupted the grumbling. "I've got all our things and unless you want to go back to the house and change, we can leave now."

Bodie looked up, his harangue halted. "Leave? You mean head back home?"

"Yeh."

"Let's go." Bodie settled back, sparing him a cursory glance. "How'd you spring us from the clutches of the local constabulary?"

"Wasn't me, was Cowley. Guess he thought we might have too much fun hanging around here in Liverpool."

Bodie grunted noncommittally. "How's Gordy? All the docs would tell me was that he's stable."

"Even Cowley knew more about his condition than we do," Doyle replied disgustedly. "He took a bullet low in the shoulder--almost nicked his heart. Good thing Callahan, that was the hitman's name by the way, was such a lousy shot. The bride is cosily ensconced in bed at home with about a dozen females running attendance. I didn't think women had the vapors anymore," he added with a trace of amusement.

Bodie just rolled his eyes expressively. "Poor Gordy. Always attracted trouble, he did."

"Yeh, well he did it again. Seems Callahan was hired by some feller who said your mate owed him a L50,000 gambling debt. It was either pay up or feet-first time. Evidently Gordy hadn't had time to get the money from his new da yet." He shook his head. "You sure do have some questionable mates."

"I know," Bodie shot back. "Look at you." With that he laid his head back and promptly fell asleep.

All the way back to the city, Doyle thought about the weekend, what had happened, his new feelings for Bodie, and what he was going to do about it. Even Bodie couldn't count on that kind of luck very many times in his life, and neither could he. Somehow it had become very imperative to decide just what it was he wanted with Bodie, not to mention, just how he was to go about accomplishing it. There was a good chance his partner would have him committed, or even decide he wanted a new backup; one who didn't fancy his arse anyway. He scowled ferociously. He wouldn't let that happen. He could learn to live with these new feelings, but he didn't want to live without the irritating sod.

Bodie's pain medication had worn off by the time they finally reached Doyle's apartment so he stuffed some tablets down him and then poured his recalcitrant partner into bed. It didn't take long of unpacking and sorting through dirty laundry before he decided it was time to quit himself. Wrinkling his nose at the lumpy settee, he crawled inside Bodie and fell asleep immediately.

Sometime before dawn, before his alarm shrilled, he awoke to find himself wrapped up in a pair of strong arms, an early morning erection pushing against his buttocks. Confusion and lust strove for dominance; panic won.

Easing away from his somnolent bedmate, he hastened to the privacy of the bog to try and unscramble his still groggy brain in the shower and cool down his ardour. When he reentered the bedroom for clean clothes, Bodie was awake, looking like death.

"Morning."

A groan was the only response.

"Not feeling well, then?"

Baleful blue tracked him across the room. "Head feels like someone started World War III inside it."

Looking at Bodie, Doyle was amazed to realize how far gone he was. Bloodshot eyes, stubbled chin, and foul disposition aside, he found the man irresistible. "How about some breakfast?" he asked in a moment of weakness.

As the hooded eyes widened, he felt pity. "Got eggs in, think maybe a bit of bacon as well."

The figure on the bed relaxed visibly. "Heaven," Bodie murmured.

Later as they sat over their coffee in contented silence, Doyle stared down into his cup. He could learn to like this, he decided. Bodie was always good company, even suffering his present discomfort.

"What's up?"

The soft inquiry took him by surprise and his head flew up. "What?"

"You're not going all broody on me, are you?" Bodie queried. "What's wrong...not like you to be this quiet?"

Doyle was gratified by the concern. Also it meant the analgesics must have helped if Bodie was again noticing his surroundings. "Head better?"

"Yeh." A half-smile lit Bodie's features. "Good grub. Thanks."

Doyle's heart flip-flopped at the warm grin. Pushing his chair back, he stood. "Gotta go. Can't all be lying around on sick leave." He paused. "I'll fix something for supper."

"I feel better; no need to bother. P'raps I'll go home."

"Rather you didn't," he persisted. "Concussion and all," he explained.

Bodie capitulated easily. "You sure?"

He nodded. "Gotta go. Cowley'll be wanting a report on the goings-on."

"Tonight then, you'll tell me, right?"

Doyle looked blank. "What are you rattling on about now?"

"You'll tell me what's on your mind, right? Not like you to avoid talking about what's bothering you, whatever it is. Means you're trying to hide something. Makes a man suspicious, that does."

Doyle grimaced. "You're mad, completely mad," he said and walked out.

Coming home that night, Doyle wondered what he'd say if Bodie persisted with the same line of questioning. All day, every minute he had to give to personal problems, he'd considered his next move. He still didn't know whether to tell Bodie the truth about his new feelings or dissemble further. Now, practically on his own doorstep, he had no idea how to handle the situation.

Inside he was surprised to see Bodie, sling off, working awkwardly over a salad bowl.

"Hi," he offered. "Smells good. Spaghetti bolognese?"

"Mmmm," Bodie agreed, chopping onions finely and dumping them in the bowl. "Thought it might appeal after a day of fighting crime."

"Hah, fine chance it'd be," Doyle snorted.

"Slow day?"

"Yeh." Not wanting to remember the day catching up on reports, he changed the subject back to food. "I'd have cooked."

"Know that, don't I? Feel much better or I'd have let you, too." He looked up smiling. "Nice to be waited on, isn't it?"

Unable to deal with such bonhomie, Doyle grabbed the opened wine bottle from the counter and reached for a glass. "This has breathed long enough," he announced, pouring a tumbler full, hoping for some needed fortification.

Bodie looked at him in amazement. "Hoi, that's not a wine glass. You'll go all tipsy on me drinking that on an empty stomach."

Doyle tipped the wine down. "Want some?"

"Yeh, and mind you use the proper glassware for mine. Like my refinements, I do."

Doyle grinned, the wine already warming his stomach, empty since breakfast. "Know that. Piss elegant at times, you are. Looked positively splendid in that white tux. Time's when I've wondered if one of your ancestors was born on the wrong side of the royal sheets." Immediately embarrassed by his lax tongue, he was grateful that a pole-axed Bodie was too astonished to reply and let the comment slide by. Burying his nose in a newly-filled tumbler, he drank some more; shortly he felt much more relaxed, and by the time Bodie sat salad and pasta in front of him, he'd conveniently forgotten his indiscretion.

"Here, sunshine, wrap yourself around that."

Suddenly ravenous, he cleaned his plate, successfully battling Bodie for the last piece of garlic bread. He won, and as he chewed, Bodie as loser, began the clearing up.

"Oh," Bodie announced, visage brightening. "Got dessert, too."

Doyle blinked. "You made a dessert?"

"Nah," Bodie replied scornfully. "Walked down to the news agent to get a paper and picked up some strawberry sorbet."

"Strawberry?" He had a sudden vision of that succulent mouth being fed red berries one by one. Rather lost in that memory, he jumped when Bodie plonked a dish in front of him and then started in on his. Mesmerized, Doyle watched the creamy pink treat disappearing between parted lips. Spoon by spoon Bodie demolished the icy mixture, and it was with no regret, Doyle pushed his over. "Have mine."

Bodie's spoon didn't miss a beat, and Doyle watched absorbed.

When Bodie finished, he looked up into his eyes. "I shall want to start in on you next, if you don't quit looking at me like that," he admonished softly.

Doyle gulped audibly as he tried for nonchalance. "How? I mean how am I looking?"

"Like you want me."

Trust Bodie to say it right out.

"Do you?" Bodie persisted.

He could no more deny that than he could give up breathing. Nodding slowly in the affirmative, he could only await Bodie's reaction, good or bad.

It was not slow in coming.

Bodie rose and came around to him, holding out his hand. Beyond thought, he took it. Pulled to his feet, he found himself locked within strong arms.

As Bodie lowered his head, he murmured softly, "If I'm wrong, feel free to knock my head off." And then a strawberry flavored tongue sought him out and his passivity ended. A delightful love-lust seared his heart with a passion that sang through his blood. Then he was eating Bodie alive with little darting kisses and nibble-licks and finding him delicious.

Finally Bodie pulled back, looking rather bemused and sounding breathless. "Blimey, mate, I wasn't far wrong, was I?"

"What about?" Doyle muttered abstractly, annoyed that he'd lost that luscious mouth to conversation.

"You. Me. Way you've bin looking at me the past few days. Figured there's no sense pratting about if that's what you want."

"Don't you?" Doyle asked, filled with sudden aching doubt. Bodie was always giving in to him, but not this time. Unless Bodie wanted him, too, he wouldn't let it happen.

"I'd be a real idiot standing here kissing you if I didn't, wouldn't I?"

The panic and fear subsided as quickly as it'd come. "You're not though," Doyle reminded his partner.

It was Bodie's turn to look confused. "Not what?"

"Kissing me," he explained succinctly.

Happily, Bodie ended the boycott on loving and somehow they ended up on Doyle's big bed.

"D'you know how to go about this?" he whispered once.

"Nope," Bodie replied indistinctly, nose buried in soft chest hair, hands roving over his rump.

"Then get on with it," Doyle encouraged, voice husky with need.

Anticipation grew as Bodie worked his way down him, and he gave an incoherent groan of delight as he felt his rigid cock disappear into the hot mouth. He'd dreamt of this since he'd watched Bodie eating strawberries. Arching, unable to help his response, he reached for the dark head. Guttural moans and whimpers issued forth from his mouth, and he was unable to control those either. The exquisite sensations sent waves of pleasure spiraling throughout his body, until cresting, he felt the delicious tension gather behind his balls. Wanting to warn Bodie he was going to come, he was speechless at the moment the unbearably wonderful pressure spilled over into a mind-shattering climax.

Eons passed and he struggled slowly from the darkness to find the still body of his partner draped over him. Languorously, he reached down to pull him up to lie over his heart.

"Lover?" He liked the sound of that. "Lover," he repeated, sliding fingers under Bodie's chin, lifting him to a deep kiss. It was a totally hedonistic desire to know his own taste on those lips that drove him to claim Bodie's mouth.

"Let me take care..." he started to say, reaching down the relaxed body, before breaking off as he found a limp cock nestled in clinging curls.

Choked, he dropped his face in the black silk resting on his shoulder. "You came when I did."

"Yeh," Bodie murmured contentedly. "Such a sexy bastard, you are." A sigh punctuated his words.

"Gonna make it good for you next time," Doyle promised. "Earth will move for you like it did for me."

Bodie levered himself up, eyes alight with curiosity. "That good, am I?"

"And then some," Doyle laughed.

Bodie lowered his head to nuzzle a peaked nipple. "It'll be a few minutes before I'm ready," he admitted between licks.

"S'all right," Doyle assured him. "We've got the rest of our lives."

"Counting on that," Bodie purred with deep satisfaction.

Doyle lay quietly, not really sleepy, just savouring their closeness when his eye was caught by something white hanging on his closet door. Quickly he identified it as the tuxedo. Chuckling, he mentally extended the clothing a silent thanks for opening his eyes.

"What?" Bodie asked.

"That suit of clothes up there, shame it has to go back. I rather fancied you in it."

"You're in luck, then," Bodie said gloomily. "Rental agency called round to pick it up today. When the man saw it, he refused it. Ruddy thing cost a fortune, too."

Doyle sighed lustily. "Good. We'll have it fixed and you can get all togged up every so often."

Bodie snorted. "Look a treat, I will, walking along with a scruffy urchin like yourself."

"Like that," Doyle said dreamily, not bothering to tell his partner he'd never make it out the door dressed in that particular suit of clothes.

-- THE END --