Solitaire

by


"D'you want me to go?"

The voice was rough-edged, bone weary.

"I think you'd better." She sat up straight, pulling the sheet around her, shutting him out. "Don't you?"

He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

"OK."

He reached for his pants and jeans and pulled them on, hauled his T shirt over his head: socks he did not bother with, simply stuffed them into his pockets. His jacket was in the outer room. He paused by the door, looking down, not at her.

"I'm sorry, Jill."

"Nice of you to remember my name - this time!" Her tone was vicious, the words intended to hurt. "Won't do to get us muddled up next time you're fucking him, will it? I'd stick to 'sweetheart' if I were you. It's nice and anonymous."

"I told you, I'm tired," he said wearily. "I've spent six solid days in Bodie's company. It's not so surprising..."

"Get out!" Her voice was high, on the verge of hysteria. "Get out! You make me sick, Ray Doyle, and I never want to see you again!"

"OK." He shrugged. "But you've got it wrong."

Something hit the door with a crash as he closed it - probably her radio, it was the only thing to hand.

He picked up his jacket by the loop and hung it, one- fingered, down his back as he let himself out.

Christ, was a fucking stupid thing to do, moaning out 'Bodie' like that when he was caressing a girl, just about to take her. He'd heard himself say it, too, but not in time to stop himself. He fingered the scratch on his cheek, wondering if she'd drawn blood.

Where was his car? He looked up and down the road, temporarily at a loss. Damn! Bodie had dropped him here and was going to pick him up again in the morning. He'd have to give him a ring early and tell him not to bother.

He walked down to the end of the road hoping to pick up a taxi at the station since the last train would have gone more than an hour ago at least. He was fortunate enough to see one dropping a fare as he turned the corner and ran to attract the driver's attention, relieved not to have to walk across half London; he had too many things he didn't want to think about at the moment to relish a six mile, midnight walk with nothing to distract him.

The journey was achieved all too quickly though and once he had shut the door of his flat he knew it would be impossible to sleep - for one thing he was still strung out on a wire of sexual frustration - he had been in a state of arousal for too long, been too close to climax when his tongue had betrayed him and now he was tense and aching, desperate for release.

He considered a shower - a cold one - and as instantly rejected the idea. It hadn't done any good over the last few weeks and he saw no reason why it should suddenly be so tonight either. Perhaps it was time he looked at this properly, decided what it was he really wanted and how he could come closest to achieving it.

Trouble was, he knew what he wanted and knew there was no way he could have it.

He wanted Bodie.

He leant his forearm against the frame of his bedroom door and dropped his forehead on it, his face showing his weariness. He'd been fighting off this temptation for night after lonely night and now he was going to fight no longer - he was going to go to bed and have a bloody good fantasy, no holds barred, about making it with Bodie and if he couldn't face him after that it would be just too bad!

Decision made, he felt almost calm as he stripped off, wistfully pretending that the touch was Bodie's, that the lingering fingers sliding over him so lovingly were his partner's square-tipped ones. Having finally given way to temptation he was going to go the whole hog and omit no deeply hidden longing from the imagined scene. The first thing he'd want Bodie to do was strip him slowly and sensuously, slide the shirt from his body with gentle hands, kissing his neck and shoulders - Doyle tilted his head touching himself with flickering fingertips, imagining that arrogant mouth, softened by desire, nuzzling into his throat - then hands would slither down his back, pulling him close, running over him, making him shiver.

Of course, knowing Bodie, he wouldn't want to be patient - hands like an octopus he'd heard one girl-friend mutter - and it wouldn't be too long before they'd be at the waistband of his jeans, attacking the button, hauling on the zip and impatiently sliding inside to seek out the heated urgency within.

Doyle groaned as his hand encountered his own burning flesh. It throbbed under his touch, demanding that he finish this and give it the longed-for release.

He discarded his jeans carelessly, kicking them aside, and moved to the bed, switching off the light to seek the kinder darkness, and lay back.

With a tiny moan of frustration he pulled at a spare pillow, cradled it to him, trying to pretend its yielding softness was Bodie's powerful frame, that the strong arms were around him, that his head was buried in the curve of that strong, beautiful neck.

God, how he wanted Bodie, wanted his body pressed close down every inch of him, wanted to feel his strength and power reined in, submitting to his slighter frame, melting beneath him, offering him everything he wanted, even the penetration of his body...

No!

If he started to think about that the fantasy would be over too soon and he wanted it to last. Just to think about that gorgeous arse was enough to set him on fire, the thought of actually entering it with his own yearning flesh...

He turned on his back with a little moan, his arms outspread, legs wide, his sex pulsing strongly just at the thought of Bodie, naked, as he had seen him only the other day cheerfully wandering about his flat having a swift, snack supper while he dressed to go out, little dreaming of the deep, dark dreams his partner was weaving in his head as he pretended to be absorbed in thought on the end of the sofa.

Finding himself more under control again he began the stimulation once more, his hand running down his chest, caressing himself while he murmured Bodie's name softly, pinching and rubbing at his erect nipples, pleading, begging for the touch of a cool hand on hard, hot skin, for the sweet touch of lips on his aching balls, for the haven of a warm, sucking mouth...

With a groan, his hand closed over himself, climax closer than he'd thought, control mindlessly gone. He had to come, had to...

Bodie...

Bodie...

He was there, coming in joyless spurts, physical release meaning nothing in this solitary prison.

His hand fell away, lay open on the bed, fingers curled upward as if reaching for something unobtainable...

The puddle on his belly cooled, grew sticky.

After a while he got up, walked to his bathroom a little unsteadily and had a shower.

It had solved nothing, left him lonelier than before: but a small, weary voice told him that he would do it again.

It was all he would ever have, and Bodie wouldn't grudge him just a little loving in the privacy of his mind. He'd never know, after all.

It was very late when he finally slept.



Bodie rang the bell impatiently a second time.

God, they must have been at it like rattlesnakes all night to be so bloody hard to wake up this morning.

He pealed the bell again, rattling the letter-box for good measure, and felt the door open.

A sleepy, cross face peered out at him.

"Oh, it's you! Go away!"

"Can't be done, sweetheart. Duty calls. Where's Romeo, then? Isn't he up?"

"Romeo!"

The word was high-pitched, furious. Bodie eyed her in surprise.

"Yes - curly-headed little bugger. You must remember him. He slept her last night!"

Her face darkened. "Oh, no he didn't, Mr. William Bodie, not last night nor any night in the future. I don't want to see him or you ever again, so get your filthy foot out of my door and go away!"

She tried to slam it shut but Bodie was too quick for her and was inside before she could stop him.

"Now hang on a minute, Jill. Just calm down and tell me what's wrong!"

"Wrong?" she spat. "You have the bloody cheek to ask me what's wrong! I threw him out, that's what's wrong!"

"Threw him out - whatever for? What did he do, for god's sake?"

"What did he do?" Her voice was growing shriller by the minute.

"He must have done something to upset you this much," Bodie pointed out, not unreasonably.

"I don't like to sleep with perverts." Her voice dropped, became cold and vicious.

Perverts? Ray? What the hell had the poor little sod tried to do to her to arouse this sort of venom? He wasn't the kinky sort, for chrissake!

"What on earth did he do - bring out the whips and chains?" he said lightly.

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you, Bodie," she snarled. "Is that what turns him on when he's with you?"

"With me?" Bodie repeated stupidly.

"Yes. I expect you were both laughing up your sleeve, stringing me and that girl-friend of yours along. Well, I don't like being used as a smoke-screen and Ray Doyle can have you; as far as I'm concerned you deserve each other!"

White-lipped, Bodie caught her arm.

"And what made you think that Ray and I are.. are..."

"Fucking each other," she supplied crudely. "It didn't take much to work it out, after all."

"I asked you what!"

"You're hurting my arm!" she gasped, going pale. "Bodie, you're hurting me. You'll break my arm!"

The cruel grip softened just a little and his other hand came up, one finger stroking down her cheek in a terrifying parody of a caress.

"Then tell me, my lovely, what I want to know."

She shuddered, gasped as his fingers slid over her throat.

"He called me Bodie," she croaked, terrified of the coldness of those wide blue eyes as they stared into hers. "Called me Bodie as he... got into me..."

She gave a gasping sob as he let go, visibly shaking as his grasp loosened.

He went to the door, looked back.

"You're wrong, you know," he said pleasantly, the affable tone almost more frightening than the earlier threats. "You're absolutely wrong."

And he left, knowing she wouldn't believe him, not caring that she wouldn't.



Doyle came awake to the insistent ringing of his doorbell and rolled over, burying his face to try and shut it out.

The morning was bright, too bright to his still only half awake eyes. Christ, what time was it? God send that wasn't Cowley frantically hammering at the door!

He climbed groggily out of bed, scrambled into a dressing gown shouting, "OK, OK, I'm coming as fast as I can get there," and opened the door to find Bodie on the mat.

It was the last person he'd expected to see. How the devil had Bodie known he was here? He was going to pick him up from...

Doyle could feel himself going red.

He ducked inside saying numbly, "I'll be dressed in a minute. Hang on - make yourself a coffee."

Bodie took his arm, pulled him back.

"I've just been to Jill's."

"Have you?" Doyle couldn't look up to save his life.

Bodie put a hand under his chin, lifting his face. His eyes were soft, his touch gentle.

"Is it true, Ray?"

Doyle closed his eyes. "What did she tell you?"

"Something that made me hope... Ray, do you really want me?"

Hope?

Doyle opened his eyes, seeing his own leap of wonder mirrored in the twilight gaze.

"Yes," he said simply. "I want you, Bodie."

The arms were even better than his fantasy, the kiss more glorious.

They were very late for work that day.

-- THE END --

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