The Professionals Circuit Archive - Strictly Classified	Strictly
Classified

 

by Alexandra

  
 Doyle reluctantly entered Cowley's office, wondering what this "special
assignment" was that the Cow had dragged him in for. He was supposed to
have two weeks' leave, just like Bodie, but he didn't see his partner
being hauled in. 

Cowley motioned Doyle to a chair. "I hope you're not too put out by this."

Doyle raised an eyebrow, unused to a conciliatory Cowley. "Er, not too
much, sir."

"I don't think this little job will disturb your leave that much. It
happens we needed a particular sort of person for this assignment, and it
happens you're a match." Cowley paused, sorting through the pile of
folders on his desk. Doyle got the distinct impression the Old Man was
stalling.

"A match for what, sir?"

Cowley cleared his throat as he handed a folder over. "We have information
that one of our top MPs has been...behaving in a questionable manner. We
believe he's been--" Cowley hesitated again. "That he's been replying to
certain personal ads in a certain newspaper...a paper which caters to
homosexuals."

"Ah." Doyle grinned. "Well, you know what they say, sir. To each his own."

"This is hardly a joking matter, Doyle."

"Not really a CI5 matter, either, is it, sir? I mean, if it's just
blackmail you're worried about--"

"Not blackmail. Security leaks. This MP has access to very high-level
military information. We'd like to know how easily someone could get to
that information. We need to know how...talkative he is to his...new
friends."

"I see. So where do I come in?"

"The type of ad he's been answering indicates a preference for certain
physical attributes and particular interests." Cowley passed him a few
sheets of paper, information which had been copied out of Doyle's personal
file. "I've highlighted the items which fit his requirements. You're the
best match we've got. I want you to compose an ad for yourself, to be
placed in this newspaper. Responses will come to a post office box. You
will regularly pick them up and check for a reply from our MP."

"You could simply write the ad yourself." Doyle smiled. "I mean, not you,
personally--I mean, you could write one for me."

"I could, if I so felt inclined. I do not. You will write it, Doyle. And
you will check for replies."

"And if I bag the big one? What then? Do I get to go out on a date?"

"I would appreciate it if you would take this a bit more seriously."

"Yes, sir."

"It normally takes one to two weeks for replies to come in, so this
newspaper informs me. As I said, this initial phase shouldn't interfere
with your leave all that greatly. If you get a possible match, however, I
do expect you to check it out."

"Terrific," Doyle muttered. He leafed through the folder on Albert
Tewksbury, MP, and came upon a photo of the man--he was fairly young, with
rugged good looks, dark hair and blue eyes. He decided it was time for one
last bit of Cowley-baiting. "Mind you, I might not object to following
this up. He's not a bad lookin' fella. I could see gettin' it on with
him--"

"Doyle!"

He looked up, all innocence. "Sir?"

"Get out!"

Doyle bolted.

******

*GWM, 30s, red-brown hair, green eyes, slim but fit, seeks tall, dark,
handsome stranger for fun and games; possible long- term relationship.
Like classical music, art, walks on the beach, cozy dinners, dancing til
dawn. Photo appreciated.* Doyle smiled and shook his head. It seemed like
a crazy way to go about finding someone. He filled out the address
information, popped the ad in an envelope, and went out to post it.

******

Doyle's leave time didn't exactly bustle with activity. Wanting to have
some time alone, he had holed up in his flat, doing a spot of painting or
a little reading, or simply idling away the hours. His job was exciting
enough; the last thing he wanted to do was run about in a frenzy during
his off-hours. Peace and quiet, that was all he needed.

Bodie rang him up a number of times, trying to talk him into drinks or
darts or both, but Doyle put him off. It wasn't that he didn't want to be
with Bodie--no, that was definitely not the problem. The problem was, he
wanted to be with Bodie far too much, in every sense of the word. And he
didn't feel like taking chances, of saying or doing anything around Bodie
that would make it obvious. Tall, dark, and handsome--yes, indeed. If
Cowley only knew how well the words fit Doyle's fantasies...Doyle would be
out on his ear. And who knew what Bodie would do to him. No, it was best
to keep such a fantasy quite, quite secret.

At the end of the first week, the early replies to his ad turned up in the
private post office box set up for him. Fifteen letters in all. Quite
impressive. Doyle took them back to his flat and spread them out on his
kitchen table; then he brewed a pot of tea and sat down to peruse them. A
photo fell out of the first envelope--of a massive, squat blond man with
more muscles than looked comfortable. Doyle made a tsk-tsking sound.
Didn't these blokes actually *read* the ad? This was definitely not tall,
dark, and handsome material. He gave the accompanying letter a cursory
glance and tossed it aside.

The next envelope had no photo, and the letter looked as if it had been
penned by a seven-year-old. The poor fellow couldn't compose an English
sentence to save his life. He went on to the next. This one was tall and
dark. Very dark. Very black, in fact. The writing had a flowing, poetic
style designed to sweep the reader off his feet; unfortunately, Doyle was
the wrong subject for sweeping. He threw it onto the reject pile and slit
open the next envelope. No photo, just a typed letter. Not exactly
romantic. 

The author, however, described himself as tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed,
and attractive. Right age, too. Could he have already bagged the big one,
Albert Tewksbury himself? Didn't seem likely, but Doyle supposed he'd have
to check the Mystery Bloke out. He scanned the letter for interests or
hobbies, but the writer was less than informative. The fellow spent an
entire paragraph going on about how he'd been searching for someone quite,
quite special, and how perfectly PO Box 31976 fit his requirements. The
only interest he listed was sport, "all kinds," which he'd "be glad to
demonstrate." Doyle shook his head. Must think he's a clever bastard, poor
sod.

A quick look at the remaining letters produced no further possibilities.
There was nothing in that one damned letter which clashed with what he
knew of Tewksbury, and a lot which matched. The Mystery Bloke proved to be
very discreet indeed--he'd signed his letter "John", no last name, no
phone number, merely a PO Box. Doyle felt distinctly annoyed. One phone
call could have gone far towards ferreting out the writer's identity, but
now-- well, this could be more challenging than Cowley anticipated.
Following up what was likely to be a false lead was not Doyle's idea of a
simple, unintrusive holiday assignment. He'd have to send the bloke a
letter, arrange a meet, go see if it was Tewksbury or not. Bloody hell.

According to his file, Tewksbury favored a certain restaurant favored by
solicitors, a fancy place where good- looking young men met regularly to
discuss nothing more salacious than their latest briefs. Doyle dashed off
a note asking "John" to meet him there on Saturday at six. He smiled as he
signed it "George." Then he popped out for a walk to the post office.

******

Bodie tapped his fingers idly on the table, glancing at his watch for the
tenth time in two minutes. 6:05. His date was late.

He took the folded letter from his pocket, smoothed it out, and read it
one more time. Six o'clock, this Saturday, this restaurant. George. Not a
name he was ever likely to become fond of. Bodie pulled out the crumpled,
well-worn ad he'd cut from the newspaper--red-brown hair, green eyes, slim
but fit...yeah. But how close to his fantasy would reality turn out to be?

Sighing, Bodie tucked the letter and the ad away. No matter how close to
fantasy this "George" was, he'd never be Ray Doyle. And Ray was the only
one he really wanted. What on Earth had possessed him to search through
the gay personals, he'd never know. It was stupid, risky, and destined for
disappointment. Yet here he sat, after finally being bold enough to answer
an ad, waiting for the man of his dreams. Or rather, a poor imitation.
Stupid. 

Bodie checked his watch again. Not only stupid, but a waste of time. He
was being stood up. Bodie gripped his wine glass harder. *He* didn't get
stood up, dammit, he *did* the standing up. Trust someone named George to
be a right prick. He should've known better. 'Course, it might have been
more sensible not to have come at five to end up sitting here for over an
hour just because he was so bloody anxious. Damn stupid.

At 6:15 Bodie ordered another glass of the insipid red liquid which the
twits in this place seemed to believe was wine. At 6:20 he decided it was
time to forget George, relax, and try to enjoy himself. But Bodie couldn't
quite give up. He turned to peek past a curtain out the large front window
near his table, giving his "date" one last chance to make an appearance on
the street. Maybe the idiot had forgotten where the place was. He surveyed
the few pedestrians, then his eyes fastened on a too- familiar figure
lounging against a brick wall opposite the bar. It couldn't be. What the
hell was *Doyle* doing there?

But there was no mistaking those slender, sensual hips and legs, that
well-muscled chest, that curly hair--it was Ray, all right, and he was
watching the bar. Damn. Bodie turned away, scrunching down in his seat.
What if Doyle had seen him? The last thing he needed was for Doyle to join
him, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Bodie's "date". There had to
be a back exit. Bodie scanned the bar, spotted the sign. He dug out his
billfold, frantically searching for money to pay his tab. He stood up to
slap a few notes on the table when a friendly voice said, "Goin'
somewhere, mate? Without finishing your drink?"

Bodie grimaced, then slowly turned to see Ray Doyle grinning at him. "Hi,"
he managed.

"'Ello yourself. Come on, sit down. I need a drink even if you don't."
Doyle settled in at the table and waited patiently for Bodie to sit back
down. Amazing luck, Doyle thought, to find Bodie here, of all places. He'd
written the evening off as a waste, having stood outside the bloody place
for nearly an hour watching for Tewksbury--he was supposed to meet "John"
inside, but decided to watch and wait; after all, if it wasn't Tewksbury,
there wasn't much point in going on in to meet some total stranger. Then,
with no luck and no prospects for an entertaining night, he'd suddenly
spotted Bodie in the window. The sight had cheered him immensely, though
it was curious to find his partner in this particular restaurant. "What're
you doin' here, mate?"

"Waiting for someone." Bodie downed half his wine. "Be better if you left,
actually."

"What?" Doyle raised his eyebrows, and put on his best affronted look. Of
all the bloody cheek. "What's the matter, you got a posh date? Am I too
scruffy to be seen in your illustrious company?"

"No, it's not like that--"

A waiter interrupted to take Doyle's order, and Doyle nodded at Bodie's
glass. "Whatever that is, just bring a whole bottle and another glass."

Bodie frowned. "You mug somebody on the way here?"

"Nah. Secret fund." Doyle had no intention of enlightening Bodie on his
"special" assignment, nor on the fact he was charging the evening to his
CI5 expenses.

"Okay, so what are *you* doing here," Bodie asked, "in this 'posh'
establishment?"

"Had a blind date lined up. But it looks like a no-show." Doyle took a
careful look around the large room just to be sure.

"Yeah? What's she look like?" Bodie checked out the bar as well. There
were very few women in the place, and they all looked taken.

"Oh, you know--tall, dark, and...gorgeous," Doyle murmured. Nobody truly
fit. There were a few men who were tall and dark, but not what Doyle would
call attractive, and a few short, dark, attractive fellows, and plenty of
blond men in all varieties. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and
good-looking...Doyle turned back, and saw Bodie. His eyes widened.
No...not *Bodie*--

The waiter appeared out of nowhere, flourishing a bottle of red wine. He
deftly uncorked it, filled their glasses, deposited the bottle on the
table, and drifted off. Doyle stared at the wine. He stared at Bodie. He
picked up his glass and chugged the liquid down, immediately pouring a
refill. He took a few more sips, set the glass down, and rolled the stem
between his fingers. *Bodie*? The Mystery Bloke? Impossible. "So tell me,"
Doyle said as casually as he could manage, "who's this bird you're
meeting?"

"What?" Bodie was still scanning the room, apparently oblivious to his
partner. He turned back to look at Doyle. "What was that?"

"Your *bird*. What's her name?"

"Oh. Er...it's Georgina."

Doyle spluttered his drink. "Are you serious?"

"It's a perfectly decent name," Bodie protested, instantly wishing he
hadn't used it. 

"*Georgina*? Where the hell did you meet her?"

"Didn't. It's sort of a blind date, too."

"Oh, is it? Looks like you've been stood up, then, doesn't it?"

"Maybe." Bodie felt decidedly irked at Doyle for still being there--for
not only failing to take a hint and go, but for blatantly making himself
at home. If George did turn up, he was done for. "You know how unreliable
birds are--never ready when you are." Bodie checked the room again,
searching for that elusive auburn hair. Nobody in the whole damn place had
auburn hair. Not male, anyway.

"Yeah. Unreliable is right," Doyle muttered, not caring one whit about
birds, not when the possibility that his fantasy was about to turn into
reality sat staring him in the face.

Bodie nodded. "And then they go and complain when *we* turn up late, as if
we didn't have a good excuse. You know, just 'cause we were busy saving
civilization as we know it, that's no reason to miss dinner at Luigi's."
Bodie gave up on his search. He let out a little sigh of relief, glad he
was apparently off the hook, while at the same time a trifle saddened that
there would be no slim, auburn-haired, green-eyed Ray Doyle imitation to
fulfill his fantasies tonight. He turned to smile at his friend, and
raised his glass. "Looks like we've both been given the shaft, mate. Let's
get sloshed, eh?"

Doyle grinned and clinked glasses. "Now you're talkin'."

Bodie swallowed a large gulp. He watched Doyle's beautiful, full lips as
Doyle sipped his drink. If only... ah, but that was fantasy. Nothing but
an auburn-haired, green-eyed, slim-but-fit fantasy...Bodie blinked. Then
he surreptitiously pulled out the ad, keeping it below the table, and
glanced down at it whenever Doyle looked about the room. *Like classical
music, art, walks on the beach, cozy dinners, dancing til dawn.* Bodie
didn't know about the beach walking, but everything else fit. Right along
with the age, the hair, the eyes, and the build. *Seeks tall, dark,
handsome stranger.* Bodie's eyes widened. *Oh, you know-- tall, dark, and
gorgeous*, Doyle had said. A blind date, Doyle had said. Been stood up...
*Doyle*? Bodie hastily stuffed the ad away. It wasn't possible. It simply
wasn't--

"Somethin' the matter?"

"Huh? Oh, no, not at all." Bodie smiled and lifted his glass. "'m just
waiting for you to catch up with me. Had a bit of a head start, you know."

"Too right." Doyle drained his glass. "How many have you had, then?"

"Um, two."

"Counting that one?"

"No, this is three." Bodie studied his half-empty glass.

"Okay, I've had two." Doyle poured more wine into his glass and downed
half of it. "Now we're even." He topped up both their glasses, and
grinned. "Let's keep it straight, shall we?"

It was all Bodie could do to stifle a laugh. "Right. What were we talking
about, anyway?"

"I dunno," Doyle said. "Birds, I think."

"Oh, yeah. Them."

Doyle studied the man across from him. What did Bodie really want? If it
was him, answering the ad--well, come on, "Georgina"? Just a coincidence
Bodie had picked a variant of George? Okay, so it *was* Bodie. That meant
he was looking for a male lover. Which was surprising enough. But beyond
that--a male lover who looked like Doyle. He clearly remembered what
"John" had written--how he'd been searching for someone very special, and
how well the ad matched up. So did it mean that Bodie wanted *him*, but,
afraid to make a move, had resorted to a lookalike substitute? Or did he
really want something, or someone else, entirely? Time for a bit of
investigation. "Yeah, birds," Doyle repeated. "Bit of an annoyance, aren't
they?"

"Too bloody right," Bodie agreed. "Never understand, do they. Never
understand the job we do, not one bit. All it is to them is inconvenient.
Can't even bloody well *talk* to 'em about it, can we?"

"Nope," Doyle replied. "Can't talk to 'em. Not like you and me can."

"Yeah." Bodie grabbed the bottle and topped them both up again.

"So," Doyle said, "how come you tried a blind date? Didn't think you went
for that sort of thing."

"Oh, did I say that? Nah, it wasn't really blind..." Bodie wondered how to
explain it without giving too much away, how to get Doyle to loosen up and
admit the truth of why he was here without having to admit it himself
first. "You see," he said carefully, leaning forward, arms on the table,
"I'd been, well, intrigued by someone, but I didn't want to make a move.
Just couldn't bring myself to do it. So I had it arranged." He waited,
nervous, hoping Doyle would leap in to confess. After all, if he really
*had* written that ad, and was really looking for a tall, dark, and
handsome blue-eyed man, he'd certainly found one. If that was Doyle's idea
of the perfect lover, then his own fantasies were a helluva lot closer to
becoming reality than he'd ever dreamed. If only Doyle had just *said*
something before--if only he'd tried it on.... Of course, Doyle couldn't
have known. And that was why he'd sunk to trolling the gay personals for a
second-rate Bodie substitute. So now all Bodie had to do was make certain
his suspicions were correct, by getting Doyle to come out and say it.
Bodie was damned if he was going to blurt it out first, only to end up
being completely mistaken. 

Doyle twirled his glass. "Since when were you ever afraid to chat up a
bird?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And just what was it that
intrigued you so much?"

"Well, it was all just different, somehow." Bodie cursed silently. Was he
giving too much away? Doyle was looking decidedly suspicious. "You know
how some people seem too...remote. Can't ever tell how they really feel."

"Yeah." Doyle nodded. "I know people like that."

Bodie drank the rest of his wine, then noticed the bottle was empty. Just
as he turned to seek out their waiter, the fellow appeared, bearing a
second bottle. "Ready for another, gentlemen?" He poured out the wine.
"Perhaps you'd care to order dinner?"

Doyle took the proffered menu. He let out a low whistle at the prices.
Then he decided Cowley surely couldn't object, especially as he was doing
the old bastard a favor on his time off. "I'll have the sirloin with
prawns."

Bodie's eyes widened. "You're mad."

"'s okay. Go on, order whatever you like."

"Since you insist." Bodie ordered lobster. The waiter nodded and left.

"'m not used to this," Bodie said. "Don't serve us this well in the pubs
we frequent, do they?"

"Money talks," Doyle replied.

"You should know, mate, 'cause you're buying." Bodie paused. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm buyin'."

"Must be nice to be rich. Who died and left you the inheritance?"

Doyle grinned. "Nobody. It's the blind date. I'm doing an old friend a
favor, and this friend is footing the bill."

Bodie sat up a bit straighter, feeling wary. What the hell was Doyle
playing at with this "favor for a friend" line? Had he got it all wrong?
"And your date didn't even show. What a pity."

"I'm glad, actually." Doyle shifted his chair slightly in Bodie's
direction. 

"You mean you'd rather have my company?" Bodie asked, more confused than
ever.

"'s a lot more fun sometimes," Doyle admitted. "You remember that pair of
stewardesses we took out last month? Susan and...and somebody or
other...we thought they looked like right little ravers." Doyle lay his
arms on the table, leaning in closer.

"I remember. They nearly put us to sleep." Bodie smiled at the memory.
"But not in the right way. Couldn't talk about anything but some bloody
boring American soap opera." Bodie's smile widened as he recalled the very
pleasant evening he and Doyle had spent together after getting rid of the
stewardesses. Just he and Doyle, a few drinks, a few darts games, and lots
of easy conversation. No longer quite so wary, and feeling a tremendous
sense of warmth for the man beside him, Bodie relaxed enough to lean
forward until his elbow touched Doyle's. "Glad we ditched 'em."

"Was definitely an improvement," Doyle agreed. He smiled back, raising his
glass in a toast. "To good mates."

Bodie happily clinked glasses. "To me *best* mate." He drank the liquid
down.

"Gone sentimental on me, you 'ave." Doyle looked at Bodie's normally hard,
controlled features, now softened by an alcoholic haze. It was a very
attractive face. With an attractive person attached--the person he felt
closer to than anyone else. The idea that Bodie might want him as much as
he wanted Bodie sent a thrilling tremor through him as he considered the
possibility-- friendship, love, and sex all in one. He shifted his chair
closer still, sought out Bodie's foot with his own, and then brushed it
ever so briefly against Bodie's calf.

Bodie bit his lower lip as a tingle coursed up his spine. What the hell
was Doyle doing playing footsies with him? And those big eyes of Doyle's
were positively glowing...or was it the wine? Bodie pushed his glass away.
He suddenly didn't want to be any drunker.

"You had enough?" Doyle asked sweetly.

Bodie was momentarily at a loss. "No," he finally replied. "It's
just--well, I drove here, and have to drive back."

"Nah, we can get a taxi." Doyle refilled Bodie's glass. "It's my treat,
remember?" He favored Bodie with a soft, downright sensual smile.

Bodie swallowed hard. Doyle *knew*. Had to, the way he kept looking at him
like that. He knew, and he knew that Bodie knew, and it was driving Bodie
nuts. Just how long would they both stay stubborn enough not to admit it
first? Bodie forced his gaze away from Doyle, and looked about. It was
this damn restaurant, that was the trouble. It was too public. "Okay," he
said as he picked up his full glass. "One more. And then we eat our dinner
and get the hell out of here. Right?" He turned his best smouldering look
on Doyle.

Doyle jerked, taken aback by the fierce desire in Bodie's eyes. No
mistaking that. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Right," he
murmured, as excitement fought the trepidation suddenly rising within.
"One more." He raised his glass to his lips.

******

"Ouch." Doyle rubbed his shin where he'd banged it against the front door
of his flat. He could've sworn he hadn't had *that* much to drink. And
he'd had a good meal on top of it. But just how many times had they said
"one more"? He couldn't remember.

"Oof." Bodie bumped into Doyle's back. "What're you doin' stoppin' in the
doorway, mate?"

"Sorry." Doyle straightened, and managed to get inside, pulling Bodie past
him so he could shut and lock the door. He wasn't that drunk, Doyle
decided as he flung his jacket over the nearest handy object, which turned
out to be plant stand. He was just pleasantly tipsy.

Bodie wove his way into the sitting-room, located the sofa, and sank onto
it gratefully. Bloody lovely evening, he thought as he watched Doyle
stumble about the room trying to remove his boots while still standing.
Simply wonderful. Bodie shrugged his jacket off and tossed it in the
general direction of an armchair, not caring where it landed. All he cared
about was getting Doyle on the sofa beside him, where he intended to find
out if those bedroom eyes Doyle had been flashing at him all evening were
real. Bodie kicked his shoes off and propped his feet on the coffee table,
knocking off a file folder in the process. He let out an exasperated sigh
and bent to pick up the scattered papers.

Doyle, having succeeded in taking off his boots, turned to see Bodie
collecting the folder contents. *Shit*. Tewksbury's file. He spotted the
glossy paper of Tewksbury's photo, lying face down, mere inches from
Bodie's grasping fingers. "Let me help!" he shouted, grabbing for the
photo a fraction of a second too late.

"Who's this?" Bodie flipped the picture over. Then he glanced at the file
label. "Tewksbury? The MP?"

"It's nothing." Doyle tried to snatch the folder away, but Bodie held on
tight. "It's only work."

"You're on leave," Bodie replied, feeling much more sober than he had a
few minutes earlier. He stared at the color photo. Handsome, dark-haired,
and with blue eyes. He scanned the first few pages in the folder,
automatically picking out key words and phrases.

"Bodie, please--" Doyle leaned over him.

Bodie slapped the folder on the table and stood, shoving Doyle away. "What
the hell is going on?"

"Nothing." Doyle moved in close again. "Doesn't have anything to do with
this--"

"With what? You gonna come out and say it, Ray?" Bodie's eyes glittered.
"Go on, say it! You put that bloody ad in the paper, didn't you?" He
grabbed Doyle's shirtfront. "*Well*?"

"Yes," Doyle replied.

Bodie nodded towards the file. "To flush *him* out, is that right?"

"Yes." Doyle held Bodie's gaze, not making any move to get out of the
tight grip Bodie had on him. "But--"

"Fuckin' 'ell." Bodie released him. He ran his hands over his eyes. So
much for fantasy and reality. He looked around for his shoes, and sat down
to tug them on.

"Don't go," Doyle said quietly.

Bodie looked up at him, unable to dismiss the aching longing inside.
"Why?" he choked out. "You want more laughs at my expense? Haven't you had
enough?"

Doyle stared down at him, wanting to erase the pain on that beloved face.
"When did I ever laugh?"

"Don't try to explain it, Ray." Bodie stood and strode to the armchair,
snatching up his jacket. "I know you weren't there for *me*. It was just
an assignment." He shoved his arms into the jacket sleeves, pulling it
tight around him. "Well, I hope you had a good time." He started past
Doyle towards the door.

"Dammit, I'm trying to tell you--" Doyle caught him up, tugging at his
sleeve to stop him. "I *did* have a good time."

Bodie sighed, turning to face him. "Yeah? Were you having a good time
teasing me with your little games? Touching me with your thigh, shining
those big eyes at me like that--having a fun 'assignment', were you?"

Doyle closed his eyes and slowly counted to five. He opened his eyes, gave
Bodie a steady look, and said, "You want me."

"What?" Bodie frowned.

"It started out as a job, that's true," Doyle hurried on. "Then I figured
out you were 'John', you were the one I'd arranged to meet. And I realized
you wanted me." He hesitated. "Don't you?"

Bodie nodded. "Yeah."

"Good." Doyle smiled. "'Cause that went and changed everything. Wasn't
even thinking about the damn job anymore, not then. Was only thinking
about you." He pulled Bodie close. "Want you, too, you idiot." He cupped
his hand round the back of Bodie's head, and leaned in to kiss him.

Bodie's lips parted for him, and Doyle responded, opening to meet the
smooth tongue, exploring the soft texture of Bodie's mouth. Then Bodie's
arms were around him, holding him tight, and Doyle gasped as he felt the
swelling in Bodie's groin. He ended the kiss. "Talk to me," he said
nervously, afraid to go on, and not wanting to stop. "Say something,
dammit."

Bodie brushed his fingers through Doyle's hair, resting his hand against
Doyle's cheek. "What do you want me to say?" Bodie was still reeling from
the kiss, overwhelmed by the truth in it, and his own voice sounded far
away to him.

Doyle reached to take Bodie's hand in his. "Tell me what you would have
said to him. To 'George.' What would you have told him if he'd been real?
I want to know."

Bodie started to protest that he would never have actually gone this far
with a mere substitute, but he could sense it was important to Doyle. And
it *was* important. Bodie felt an unusual nervous as he searched for the
right words. "What I would have said," he began, "was this. I've got a
friend, and you remind me of him. This friend means more to me than life
itself, but he doesn't know that, because I've never told him. I've never
told him I loved him, either. I wish I could."

Doyle let out a pent-up breath. "You know, if I'd been this George fellow,
I'd be very envious of your friend just now."

"Would you?" Bodie smiled. "Good thing you're you, then, isn't it." He
brought their clasped hands to his lips and lightly kissed their joined
fingers. "Is it really all right?"

Doyle stared at him, so unused to seeing this side of Bodie, and surprised
to find how much he needed it, needed Bodie, wanted him in all his facets,
in every way he could think of. "Yes," he said simply. "It is."

Bodie kissed him. As their lips lingered over each other's, they began a
slow undressing. Bodie deftly undid the buttons of Doyle's shirt, sliding
it off as Doyle returned the favor, until they were pressed chest to
chest. Bodie relinquished Doyle's lips to nuzzle his neck, planting light
kisses along his throat while running his hand along Doyle's spine. When
he reached the top of Doyle's jeans and slid his hand under the belt, and
beneath the fabric of Doyle's soft cotton pants, he felt a responsive
shiver. He continued pressing their bodies together, and felt the
answering swell in Doyle's groin.

Doyle pulled back. "Keep talking to me." He slowly stroked Bodie's smooth
chest, feeling the powerful muscles.

"Don't usually talk much." Bodie put his arms around Doyle's waist,
bringing him close again.

"Yeah, well, this is different." Doyle wanted more of the Bodie he'd newly
discovered, the one who could be tender.

"'Different'," Bodie repeated, smiling. "That's the understatement of the
year." He tugged at Doyle's belt. "How 'bout continuing our conversation
in the bedroom?"

Doyle nodded. He led the way down the hall to his room, flicking the
bedside lamp on. He turned to find Bodie right there, a hunger in his
gaze. "So how does it go in your fantasies?" Doyle asked. "You've been
having 'em about me, haven't you? I know I've had 'em about you."

"Oh, yeah." Bodie placed his hands on Doyle's shoulders. "I've had them."

"So who gets to finish the undressing, then?"

"It varies. But usually, it's me."

Doyle's voice was low and husky. "Then do it."

Bodie briefly closed his eyes, then focused on Doyle's belt, fumbling with
it as he had never done in any of his dreams. "Sorry." At last he pulled
it loose, unzipped the jeans, and began working them down and off Doyle's
slim hips. Doyle rocked gently, helping to ease the denim along, until he
was able to kick the jeans off. Bodie paused--there was only one article
of clothing left. He lay his hand on Doyle's pants, feeling the growing
hardness beneath soft, blue cotton. Doyle gasped, jutting forward against
the pressure of Bodie's palm.

"Ah," Bodie breathed, "like that, do you?" His own erection strained
within the confines of his trousers, but he didn't want to hurry this.

"You know I do, you teasing bastard..."

There was no heat in the term, and Bodie found he liked hearing Doyle use
it. "Say that again," he growled as he slid his fingers beneath the
elastic band of Doyle's pants.

"I said..." Doyle moaned as Bodie slowly, ever so slowly, pulled the
cotton pants down. "--you know I like it..." Bodie cupped his other hand
over Doyle's left buttock and gently squeezed. "--you
teasing...ah...bastard--"

"Who, me?" Bodie grinned as the pants joined the jeans on the floor. He
touched Doyle's engorged cock lightly, then stepped back. "And whose foot
was that brushing my leg back in the restaurant, hm?"

"Mine..." Doyle found it difficult to speak, flushed and aroused, his
breathing reduced to ragged panting. He would never have imagined it would
be like this--the way Bodie lingered over every move, every touch--it was
all so wickedly sexy...

"Who's a teasing bastard, then?" Bodie asked. He gave Doyle a steady,
appreciative look as he undid his own belt and began to pull his trousers
down.

"You are, you sonofa--" Doyle drew in his breath as Bodie tugged at his
pants, freeing his cock. "Never knew I could get you so...enthusiastic."

Bodie tossed his trousers and pants aside, moving in close to Doyle. "Glad
to see you're in the same state." He pulled Doyle to him, their cocks
touching.

Doyle trembled, exhilarated by the contact. "More," he said. "I want
more..."

"You got it," Bodie replied. He took Doyle's wrist and pulled him down
onto the bed, where they rolled about, ending in a comfortable,
side-by-side embrace.

Doyle couldn't get enough of Bodie--the feel of the muscular body against
his own excited every nerve. He touched every part of Bodie that he could
reach, lapped and sucked every inch of smooth skin. He entwined their
legs, rubbing calves and thighs together, delirious with the pleasure of
flesh against flesh. And Bodie reciprocated--hands and mouth all over
Doyle, caressing, tasting, finding the spots where a little pressure made
Doyle moan in delight.

"Not enough," Doyle murmured, lost even as he was in a haze of sheer lust.
"Touch me there--" He guided Bodie's roaming hand to his cock, and Bodie
wrapped his hand round the shaft and pumped with a rhythm strong enough to
bring Doyle to the edge. He relaxed his hold, massaging Doyle's abdomen in
a gentle, circular motion.

"You're evil," Doyle whispered in Bodie's ear, giving the lobe a quick
bite.

Bodie brought his other hand to cup Doyle's balls, lightly kneading the
taut sac. "Am I?" he purred as he thrust his own rigid cock against
Doyle's with a new, more insistent rhythm. "Want me anyway?"

"Want you...ah..." Doyle let out a gasp as he neared the edge again. "Need
you..." He ran a finger along Bodie's straining cock, pleased at the moan
the touch elicited. "Love you..." He found Bodie's mouth and plundered it,
keeping his hand on Bodie's cock, Bodie's hand joining his as they stroked
each other, working to a frenzy, until Doyle broke away from the kiss with
an incoherent shout, head back, body rocking as he came, the shattering
release shaking him utterly. 

Doyle sagged back into a limp sprawl on the bed, his senses slowly
recovering. As Bodie frantically shoved his cock against Doyle's thigh,
Doyle idly reached to grasp him, one quick, hard stroke enough. He
watched, fascinated, Bodie's shuddering orgasm, loving the expression of
pure ecstasy on Bodie's face. Warm liquid spurted over Doyle's abdomen,
mingling with his own cooling semen. As Bodie gradually subsided into a
relaxed state, limbs casually draped over Doyle's form, he let out a long,
satisfied sigh.

Doyle nuzzled his neck and cheek. "Wanna do that again. Lots."

"Um." Bodie nestled his face among Doyle's curls. "I'm willing to oblige."

"So kind of you." Doyle leaned over Bodie to grab a few tissues from the
box on his bedside table. He dabbed at both their bellies, then tossed the
tissues at the waste bin. "Messy bastard," he murmured, snuggling up to
Bodie's neck again, arm flung over his chest.

"Look who's talkin'." Bodie suddenly grinned. "I can think of a couple
ways to avoid that in future." He placed his hand on Doyle's buttocks,
giving them a gentle pat. "Not, mind you, that I want to remove what we
just did from our repertoire."

"Good," Doyle replied. "'Cause it was fantastic." He stretched his entire
body, yawning.

"You goin' to sleep already?" Bodie tweaked a curl.

"Stop that." Doyle batted Bodie's hand away from his hair. "'m not
sleeping, 'm just resting a bit. Got loads of stamina left." He yanked the
bedcovers up around them. "You've got my pillow."

"What?" Bodie gave him an exasperated smile as Doyle tugged at the pillow
cover. "Thought you were using my shoulder for that."

"I am. But this is my favorite pillow." Doyle yanked the pillow free and
shoved the one on his side under Bodie's head. The exchange made, he
settled in again, head resting on Bodie's upper chest. "And that's my side
of the bed, as well."

"Too bad."

"Yeah, guess so." Doyle smiled. "Hey, I just remembered something."

Bodie, feeling warm and content and loved, waited for enlightenment.
"What's that?"

"You know that huge drinks and dinner bill we ran up--and the taxi--"

"I did wonder how you were paying for it all."

"Gonna put it on me expenses," Doyle said, chuckling. "Let CI5 pay for the
evening."

Bodie laughed softly. "I like it."

"Best assignment I've ever had." Doyle lifted his head to place a light
kiss on Bodie's cheek, then nestled down again. "Love you, John."

"Love you too, George." Bodie kissed Doyle's forehead before reaching up
to flick off the lamp.

-- THE END -- 

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