The Professionals Circuit Archive - Sentinels       Sentinels

 

by Castalia

  
 "Ray!"

It's more than a gasp, and less than a cry. It's been a long time, and I
remember when it used to be yelling and thrashing.

I must have been doing something right, then.

It's half dark, a little light from the street filtering through the
curtains. It's been a warm summer. Bodie never liked 'warm'. I guess it
came from 'Africa' as with all the other things and little quirks--or big
ones--he doesn't care to elaborate upon. Not even with me, which used to
be a major cause for fights. I mellowed. A lot. I bark more and bite less.
At least, that's what Bodie says.

The sheets are all over the place, very little of them where they are
supposed to be, on our bodies. There must have been some thrashing, then.
I shuffle closer, not touching, just letting him know that I'm there. Most
times, that's more than enough. Bodie reaches for me, however. Is he
awake? I don't know. The bastard would lie anyway, if I asked about it
later. His hands grab me and pull me against him, hard.

He needs to know I am there.

He hides his face in the curve of my neck. His stubble rasps and scratches
on my skin. A little sweat, bittersweet. I smell it on him, and feel the
need to lick it off him. Still have it bad, I reckon. Then come the
kisses, the need to map me. As if Bodie, in these dreams of his, forgets
my shape, my taste.

I move around a bit, finally on my back and his weight is still as solid,
as comfortable as it has always been. I think he really is sleeping, this
time. His hands are down on my hips, fumbling, lips still on my chest,
awakening nipples.

But I am quiet. This is not about sex, not exactly. Not often, anyway. As
it happens, sometimes he simply needs to know that I am there, and then he
goes back to sleep, me as his pillow. Sometimes it is different, and maybe
this is one of those times. I have threatened him with the possibility of
me taking a picture of him during one of these particular nights. Well, he
is still an obnoxious, arrogant bastard when he wants to. He went all
moody, last time I said that. Doesn't he know I wouldn't do it? I hope he
does.

I spread my legs a little, to make space for him. Such a solid body, he
has. Still muscled, but age has caught up with him a little now. He says
he likes me going grey and all, but I know he has a lock of my hair hidden
in his desk's right drawer, with his photo album, a few postcards, the
grand total of three letters I wrote him, his birth certificate, a handful
of passports, a cutting of one of Marikka's romantic films, his perfectly
oiled .44.

Such a collection, for such a man.

He is down there, now, curled between my legs, nuzzling me with tongue and
lips. Will he go to sleep holding my cock in his mouth? Sometimes he does.

And me?

I'll wait for him to wake up.

******

Bodie stirred the coffee, slowly, continuously. Doyle had left for his
morning walk, a quick kiss still lingering on Bodie's lips. The coffee was
getting cold. How embarrassing was it, for a man his age, to wake up like
that? He couldn't just suck his thumb, could he? No, he had to be special
in his quirks and nightmares. It used to be better, when he was younger.
He was better at hiding it, then, pretending everything was always under
control. Until events such as the King Billy fight turned up. Bodie always
expected Doyle to retaliate for being hit in the stomach so hard. Doyle
never did. Strangely enough, for the old toad had a vindictive streak a
mile long.

Bodie let out a little chuckle and stopped stirring. Sipping with a
grimace, he moved to the bedroom, mug in hand, starting his daily routine:
making the bed, collecting Doyle's clothes from chair, floor, chest of
drawers. A sock was beneath the bed, and Bodie swore. He checked Doyle's
pills on the bedside table, the two red ones, the blue capsule, and the
precious little white ones for emergences. Though there hadn't been one
for a while, now. Thank...whoever. Maybe moving had been the right choice,
after all. After the operation, Doyle had seemed so...ready, to let it go.
To let all go. The new house had been a good idea, lots of green around, a
few challenges. But they were both survivors, weren't they? And Bodie had
made sure Doyle would survive, this last time. Would take his pills, do
his routine checks. He had laid it out very clearly, in words of one
syllable. It was two lives, not one. Not just one, not anymore.

That had been one hell of a fight.

Laundry taken care of, Bodie made himself some more coffee, sitting at the
breakfast table, jotting down on a scrap of paper a list of groceries and
other necessities. He wasn't due at the shooting range until the
afternoon, so there was time enough to catch up with a few household
chores. Doyle would probably be down in the garage 'til late, as usual. It
was due time to check out the local amenities in proper detail, and there
was a little Italian restaurant calling to them. Add some spice to
domesticity. Bodie still liked cheerful company and good food, and the
fights seemed to have quietened down.

At least until after his new two wheels acquisition was to be safely and
finally parked in the garage.

Pocketing the car keys, whistling, Bodie let himself out, looking forward
to the day ahead.

-- THE END --

August 2003

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