Thanks to Jatona for the lyrics; written as part of the C_S Lyric Wheel.
You walk into my life
With heartache on your mind
It's got me wondering about you
The playful innuendo
I'm tired of playing games
What I see through my window
Looks the same
Why are we keeping secrets
Why don't we both come clean and begin
I don't have the heart to hurt again
Why are we keeping secrets
Why don't we both come closer again
We're keeping secrets
We're keeping secrets
I don't like playing detective
Still I keep finding clues
We got to stop pretending
And pay the dues
Now I can see it coming
The writing's on the wall
We've got to stop this running
Before we fall
No, I don't wanna fall
--"Keeping Secrets" by Christine Mcvie
Whew, thank god that's over. Wasn't too bad a case either--Cowley certainly can't complain. I'm glad we're back in my flat though. Bloody Bodie, just look at him, sprawling over my couch...like a flippin' boneless cat.
Speaking of cats, he reminds me of a certain big cat; a black panther. Sleek, dark-haired, with an uncertain temperament. And, like cats, he's also conceited; takes over your bleedin' life. That's what he did to me, y'know. Walked into my life without so much as a by your leave. Not his fault, Cowley's. He's the one who insisted on us being partners. However, Cowley never told him he had the right to mooch around my life and my flat, doing what the hell he wants. He stays frequently--never on the couch, he always insists on sleeping in my bed. He drinks my whisky, expects me to cook, clean and look after him. Just like a little wife. Which I'm not.
But he does give me lots in return. He tends to drive us whenever we go on assignment, or even on holiday. He is very, very protective of me. Oh, he thinks I don't know, but I've heard him in the Squad lounge, with the rest of the lads. Defending me to the hilt, no matter what I've done or not done. Even if they are taking the piss, which they do frequently.
He'll defend me in front of the Cow too, despite all the times I've been in the wrong. Partners stick together, dontcha know? It's very sweet. Don't ever tell him that though. He'd fucking kill me!
His disposition alternates between a grown adult; hard, moody, touch-me-not, and a child; playful, funny, mischievous. He is a dreadful practical joker, with a touch of that all-important innuendo. I never know whether he's joking or not, but he never, never fails to cheer me up.
He's an outrageous flirt. Flirt with anyone, he will. Even me. Especially me. Particularly in front of women. Dunno whether he is pushing their limits, see how far he can take it before they either say anything or walk out. I love him when he does that, and I can't help but flirt back.
Don't say anything, but he also has a propensity for touching me. Especially my bum. Don't know what the attraction is, myself. My hair holds some kind of magnetism too. If he isn't ruffling it, or winding a curl around a finger, he's stroking it. Feels nice, actually...not that I'd ever let anyone else do it.
Just look at him, lying there...bloody snoring now! I'm enthralled with him. I do this routinely--just sit here, watching him. He doesn't know, of course! He just lies there, unaware of my interest. How I wish, once, just once, he'd look up at me, and notice my curiosity. How I rake my eyes over him and his body. And his beautiful face.
Did I mention how like a Hollywood film star he looks? His chocolate-box good looks combined with his elegant dress sense all pooled together in a 5 foot 10, heavy but fit package of unbelievable sexiness.
Let me list his attributes, starting at the top. His hair. Black, glossy. How can I describe it? Like...like...stardust has been stolen from the dark night sky and sprinkled on it. Does that sound too...soppy? I don't care; it's how I feel. And d'you know, no matter how much he touches my hair, I don't think I've ever laid hands on his? Wonder if it feels like silk? Certainly looks like it.
His eyes...oh those eyes, framed by gorgeously thick, black lashes. Luscious they are. Changeable colours, depending on his moods. I've seen them go from sparkling turquoise to almost navy. From stormy blue to laughing sapphire. They say the eyes are the windows of the soul, well his most definitely are! All topped by his quirky eyebrows. And doesn't he put them to good use. No wonder all the girls fall for him. One coy, teasing look from big Bodie, and they are either all over him, or simpering at him.
One smile from his pouting lips and they fall in love. Full stop. End of story. But I prefer his smirk. He saves that for me, only for me. Don't think I have ever seen him use it on anyone else. And it sends those butterflies soaring around in my stomach at top speed.
Not to mention his body. Did I mention that? 5 foot 10 of smooth, sleek muscle. Not an ounce of fat anywhere to be found on his body. Doesn't stop me winding him up about his weight anyway. A bloke's gotta get his fun somehow.
But he doesn't know. Will never know, actually, how much I adore him. Love him, if I'm being truly honest. It's a secret, my secret.
But it's getting more difficult to keep.
Thank god that's over. At least Cowley won't have cause to complain. And I managed to con Doyle into typing the report up. Bless him; he falls for it every time. He's such a sucker for my I-can't-type-very-well excuse. I don't feel too guilty, though, as he has me fetching and carrying his drinks whilst he's typing.
Ahhhh, this ol' sofa of his is sooo comfortable. I love how I can sprawl out over it--it's so big, my feet don't even dangle over the edge. Ray never objects either, just takes the opposing armchair like a good Doyle.
My favourite time of day, this is. Me stretched out, pretending to sleep, observing him surreptitiously staring at me. I even manage to slip out a few snores, just to put him off the scent.
But it's fine, because I get to scrutinize him too. My quick-witted, volatile, exasperating, warm hearted, generous partner. Dunno how I put up with him, being the tall, dark, handsome and excessively modest person I am.
All right, so I'm being ironic, okay? If I'm honest, he's really the beauty in this partnership. Me? I'm big and bulky. Need to lose a few pounds, so Doyle keeps telling me. I don't need my bloody nose rubbing in the fact that he's lithe and fit. I'm fit too...just...anyway; lets leave it there, shall we?
Besides, I get up his nose too. I have several different nicknames for him. Angelfish is a good one; he rolls his eyes at that! Goldilocks. I think he likes that one; I get a little grin when I call him that. I have others I would love to call him but daren't. Darling, sweetheart, love just for starters. He would kill me.
And he is beautiful. Oh, he thinks he isn't, but he is. His hair, I adore his bouncy hair. Probably why I have my hands in it so much. It's not quite red, not quite brown. Like someone has taken a paintbrush and dabbed streaks of shimmery red at random. I find it irresistible.
He has these cats' eyes. Huge, feline emerald eyes. They can glow with happiness, or turn dull with anger. Occasionally, they can brim with tears. But whatever he does with them, they work a treat on the ladies. Talking of cats, he makes the females purr just by turning his eyes in their direction. If only.... Ahem, back to the inventory.
His lips. Round, full lipped, he is. Unlike my own, which are rather thin. Would just love to lose myself in his kisses. I bet he kisses like a dream...hot, sweet, spicy and sexy. Okay, Bodie, stop it now, before you start drooling, and before Ray suspects.
He has this broken cheekbone. Apparently, he broke it years ago in a fight. Because he looked like a 'poof', according to him. Who decides who looks like a poof and who doesn't?
Do I look like a poof? Hope not. I may be queer, but that doesn't mean I have to conform to the stereotypical view of the handbags and mincing that the majority of people think, when asked to describe one.
He blushed when he told me that story, y'know. Actually blushed. Maybe there is hope for me... us...yet. I know he's watching me, and I can hear little tiny sighs. Very quiet, wistful sighs as he runs his eyes up and down my body. As if...as if he wants the same thing as me.
We keep running away from the truth, both of us. All those nights out, double dating. Flirting with anything female and under fifty with a pulse. Shagging any bird that comes across. Hiding from our real selves.
Well, it's time it stopped. Time we faced up to reality. Our lives are harsh enough, and no doubt short enough, without playing out this game.
I'm out of the sofa before my courage deserts me. His eyes widen and his tongue peeps out to moisten his lips, as I carefully, slowly walk across the beige and red carpet. I can feel my heart pounding, my body shaking, as I reach him.
I kneel tenderly at his feet, before I fall, because the only falling I want to do is into his arms. His eyes soften. All at once, I'm certain.
I lean forward, placing my suddenly sweaty palms on his jean clad knees. Slowly, gently, I touch my lips to his. Our first kiss. I can feel the slight shiver through my body, and his racing heart.
As I move away, unsure of my welcome, my heart almost gives way as he sweeps me into a huge embrace and whispers in my ear:
"About bloody time, Bodie-mate."
-- THE END --
AUTHOR'S NOTE: - Having never written in the fandom before, I asked for, and got, some wonderful betas, so HUGE thank yous go to Elaine, Lin, and Sal. Big hugs to you all.