Ever been walloped on the bottom with a fish slice?

Can't say I recommend it - not when the fish slice has a real whippy action and the wielder doesn't believe in pullin' 'is punches.

Christ, but it stung - brought tears to my eyes, it did. Was so ruddy painful I couldn't even retaliate, just stood there with me mouth open waitin' for the agony to subside

Give him his due, Bodie did have the grace to apologise. I think he might even have looked a bit guilty but I can't be sure because of the way my eyes were watering at the time

I tell you, I sat down very carefully to eat my supper. Turnin' the other cheek, so to speak.

Fish fingers, it was. Hardly food for the gods, let alone a grown man but the choice Bodie offered me was that or muesli and we'd want the muesli for breakfast. 's amazin' the way Cowley assumes all those little domestic details like shopping and cleaning take care of themselves. Starve to death, we would, if it wasn't for the wonderful world of takeaways.

I showed him the bruise when we got into bed - his bed; he'd woken me up earlier on by chuckin' a wet sponge into mine and I have this in-bred aversion to soggy bedding - but did I get any sympathy? Did I heck!

Wish I knew where Bodie gets his pyjamas. Think it must be the same firm that supplies the five-acre marquee for the Chelsea Flower Show. If it hadn't been so ruddy cold that night I'd've slept bollock-naked; I mean, it's expecting a bit much to hope you'll look sexy when you're goin' down for the third time in striped flannelette

OK, so I wanted to look sexy to him; is it that crazy?

Been flashin' it around under Bodie's nose for years hopin' he'd take some notice and I hadn't got anywhere. Oh, he noticed all right, even looked appreciative sometimes, as though he liked what he saw. I'd get a grin, maybe even a pat of approval, and then he'd go off wastin' his sweetness on some ruddy female who'd never be there for him when he really needed her.

Story of our lives, that was.

Up to recently.

For an intelligent bloke my partner can sometimes be so thick you feel like kickin' him. I'd kept layin' it out, tried it all ways from subtle to blatant and got not one single fllcker. Got so turned on whenever we shared a bed I used to snuggle up during the night'n try'n get him goin' 'n then, when he started complaining, I used to pretend to wake up'n realise just who I'd been getting so personal with. And he swallowed it - every time.

Like I said, he can be so thick -

Was beginning to think I'd have to spell it out for him I was gettin' so desperate, lay it all on the line, one-syllabled. Draw him a map as well, probably. With arrows.

Clinical diagrams?

Didn't dare try anything on that night, not after flashin' it around at him the way I did while I was getting' undressed. Put on those new underpants on purpose that day, once he'd given me the perfect excuse for goin' 'ome with him for the night. Striped, they were, bright, primary colours and not a lot of waste in the material. Wondered which girl-friend I'd have to blame these on - it was Fiona who carried the can for the pair with the Braille dots that said: 'if you can read this you are too close.'

Poor Fiona, she never did get to find out why Bodie went beetroot and shook every time he saw her. Just as well, I s'pose .

Was feelin' a bit disconsolate as I got into bed; smothered as well with those ruddy pyjamas draped around me like shower-curtains. Good thing I was knackered, made goin' to sleep that much easier. Bodie, of course, went out like a light; got into bed, turned his back on me and dogged off. Just like that.

Talk about rude awakenings. Mine was his ham-size fist thudding directly into the centre of my bruise like an arrow into a target. 's an odd sensation wakin' up screamin' in agony. Fortunately I scream fluently.

Bolster-like, his hand covered my mouth and nose, squashing the latter and effectively cutting off the oxygen supply to both.

"Wa' th'ell y'doin'?" I gasped, fighting for air. "Gerroff, you ape, you're throttling me!"

His face loomed over me, only inches distant, depriving me of breath as effectively as his hand had done.

"Shuddup! You'll have the whole bleedin' neighbourhood awake and they won't thank you for it! It's only just after five, you nerd."

"Well, stop attackin' me then," I said, would-be pathetic. "Landed your great fist right on my poor, bruised arse, you did, 'n it bloody hurt."

"You'n your ruddy arse - is it really that bad?" he asked with a very satisfactory touch of genuine concern.

Conscienceless, I milked the situation expertly: an exploratory touch and brief wince, a brave smile up at a gullible partner as I inched over onto my stomach.

"Might help if you rubbed it gently," I suggested, guileless. "It's achin' rather - throbbin' a bit too."

Wasn't entirely a lie, it was painful, but even at my most optimistic I don't think I really believed I'd get anything more than snide remarks out of him. Nearly died when I felt his hands lift the duvet away from me, uncovering my back. One finger snagged in my waistband.

"Undo the belt!"

Was his voice husky?

The mere idea that it might be sent my heart into overdrive.

I fumbled hastily underneath me, clumsy but willing; cloth whispered away, cool air flooding in; shivery.

"You cold?"

Bodie's hand closed on me, unhesitating and caressing, warm to my warmth. Prickles of sensation arched my spine.

"No." I was breathless, end-of-a-sprint shaky, moving up to the rhythm of his stroking, pressing mindlessly down onto the mattress as I swung between the two sources of pleasure.

"Sexy - little - bastard, aren't you!" A gentle push to emphasize each affectionate word.

Eyes closed I murmured: "don't knock it, mate."

At least he didn't seem shocked by my helplessly open response.

"I'm not, believe me. My favourite sport - beats marathon running."

"Takes you that long?" I asked, mildly astonished. "Two hour, eight minute man, are you?"

"You'd be surprised." A soft, admonitory pat, almost a spank, soothed away by a caress from his thumb that slid into my centre, destroying me.

Muffled the whimper that escaped, willy-nilly, in the secrecy of my pillow, only to find the material drawn away from my face and questioning blue eyes peering in.

"You OK?" Sweet solicitude; mocking.

Ignored the tone, answered the words, heartfelt.

"Yeah. Oh yeah. 'm OK!

"Gonna carry on, are you? All the way?"

He was breathless as well; unmistakable. I turned my head to look at him.

"If," I said, carefully articulate, "I get the slightest encouragement."

The hooded eyes were heavy, watchful, mouth outthrust in pensive mien.

Kissable.

"What," said Bodie, flabbergasted, "did you do that for?"

But his lips had answered mine, responded, clung -

"Got that kind of mouth, you have. Needs kissing," I said seriously. "By me," I added, determined to get that clear.

"Is that what you mean by 'slight encouragement'?"

"If you like."

Thought he'd laugh, draw away - joke over.

Instead, the warm press of him all down my side.

"D'you know what you look like lying there with just your arse sticking out of those pyjamas?" he asked conversationally.

His lips were close to my ear, ticklish.

On an indrawn breath I said: "No. What?"

Resigned to some insult, instead his answer shattered the past, broke it into tiny fragments, formless, inchoate; future still uncharted.

"Fuckable!"

Somewhere, beyond us, the world went on. For me time had stopped, so too my heart and lungs.

"D'you want to - ?"

Wasn't sure the words had come out. His hand circled on me, one finger dipping.

Mouth nuzzling my ear, breath hot, he said: "Would you - ?"

I gulped, came to a decision, nodded.

"Yeah. If you want."

His arm tight around me, muscles quivering, I could tell Bodie was scared, terrified by what had suddenly awoken between us.

"Or," I added, turning to look at him, "you could save that for another day, if you'd rather."

He didn't say a word, just looked at me, too shattered to speak.

Could've conquered the universe in that one, single second of his realisation.

Lying close I took him into my arms with infinite care, unashamed of my erection blatantly prodding his thighs. I said gravely:

"I've been wanting you for ages only you were too bloody thick to see it. Dunno why so it's no good asking. Just find you sexy, that's all."

's not often you find him at a loss for something to say - got a quick, slick tongue, has Bodie, humour blacker'n a miners Y-fronts - but for once he had no smart comeback; all sweet confusion, he was, achingly vulnerable.

I could have had it all then, pushed him over the edge into commitment before he was aware he had a choice, lost him in passion - and ultimately lost him to doubt.

Somehow I held back, quivering with the effort it took to lie still, not to use my body as reinforcement for my tongue.

"I think I love you," I told him, knowing it for truth as I said it for the first time, even to myself.

"Love?"

Didn't blame him for the question. 'tisn't a word either of us use a lot; doesn't come easy.

"I think so. Can't picture life without you around filling up the blank spaces," I explained, as much for my own benefit as his. "You're important to me. Necessary. Isn't that love?"

He stared at me, scenting mockery, but there was none in me. I was laid bare to him, open to any wound he might inflict. His face softened.

"Something very close," he agreed, duly solemn.

Was a pretty serious moment; scary.

"Us against the world, mate, remember?"

Used to taking the stick Joe Public keeps for anyone prepared to do the work he's too high-minded to sully his hands with, we were also used to turning to one another for comfort when things got rough. No one else to give it, to understand what makes us live the life we do. We'd both seen too many wives and girlfriends backing off when they found involvement, even peripheral, too much to take, to risk finding our own solution, outside our own enclosed world.

"I need you," I reminded him. "And now it's all the ways there are. I love you, Bodie, need you to love me."

I'd said the right thing, got to him where the armour was thin. A lot of people who know him well have still never seen his tenderness, the caring side of him that he buries under that hard-man steel-plating. Took a long time for him to offer it to me, wary for good reason. Been hurt too often, he has, plus he knows how easy it is to get the rough edge of my tongue.

Couldn't hear what he said, wasn't even sure there were words in the sound he made against my neck, but the tight clutch of his hands revealed everything hitherto unsaid, unsayable.

's funny - all those months of desperation to have his body and now it was mine for the asking all I wanted to do was lie still and cuddle, soak up being close; freed to touch at last, urgency was gone, unmourned. We were quiet together for a long time, awake and alone in an as yet unwaking world.

The rattle of a milk-float brought me down from my cloud, just a little way, just enough to allow more earthy thoughts to creep in, thoughts about that firm, strong body, brush of skin, pressure of strong-muscled legs -

I licked his chin, first sweet taste of his sweat. "Hey, sleepyhead, we've got to be up early, got to be in Cowley's office at 7.30, remember!"

One blue eye opened, regarded me reproachfully at the intrusive name. He squinted at the clock on his bedside table. "It isn't even six yet, lover."

The endearment came naturally, easily from him, slipping past his guard.

"Ah, but I'm not yet, am I! And I want to be."

"Not what?"

Told you he was thick, didn't I! Sometimes he surprises me still, how slow he can be.

"Your lover," I told him, deep and sexy. "Don't you want to make love?"

"Might've known you couldn't leave it alone."

He did his best to sound resigned; put upon. Couldn't keep his face quite straight enough to be completely convincing though.

"Come here," I told him firmly. "Come here and make love with me."

And he came.

Matter of fact, we both did.

-- THE END --