The Professionals Circuit Archive - Springtime in Paris	Springtime
in Paris

 

by Anonymous 1

  
 The job's done. And we have two nights in Paris, courtesy of CI5, Ray
Doyle thought gleefully as he watched the cold drizzle slide down the
windows that enclosed the cozy cafe.

"Springtime...in Paris..." he muttered as he saw a couple locked in a
lover's embrace stroll by, huddled together beneath a huge acrylic
umbrella. He sighed, envying them the opportunity to express their
affection so openly. Occasionally, he wished he could be so free with his
lover, but even Paris... Paris in springtime....would not be enthusiastic
about two men holding hands, stealing a fleeting kiss in the shadow of the
Arch de Triumphe [Arc de Triomphe?]. Nonetheless, his overactive
imagination conjured up the image of him embracing Bodie beneath one of
the many flowering trees that lined the banks of the Seine. A faint smile
became a huge grin as he watched his phantom self kiss the slightly parted
lips of his lover.

"What's so funny, sunshine?" Bodie inquired, returning to their table.

"Nothin'," Doyle lied, continuing to stare out of the window rather than
look at his partner. Even after two years as the man's bedmate, Doyle kept
his streak of romanticism well leashed; Bodie still shied away from
intense expressions of emotion. Wondering if he'd ever be able to indulge
the part himself that longed to tell Bodie the true depth of his love,
Doyle sighed audibly. "We're in Paris, Bodie. It's springtime, and a young
man's fancy turns to..."

"Dessert," Bodie interrupted neatly. "I'm still hungry." Doyle's eyes were
drawn to the smile he knew he would find on Bodie's face. He shook his
head in response to the predictable comment as well as the gleam of mad
merriment dancing in the blue eyes. Doesn't even realize how naturally he
deflects any attempt to bring up the subject, Doyle mused as he felt his
momentary melancholy melt away under the heat of Bodie's gaze.

Sensing something of his partner's mood, Bodie's right knee touched
Doyle's inner thigh, communicating the fact that he, too, felt the
stirring of romantic passion which springtime in Paris could elicit.

Can't say he loves me out loud, but it's there in those blue eyes. They
never lie to me, Doyle told himself as he slouched down, bringing the
questing knee almost in contact with the growing hardness in his groin. As
the openly affectionate stare continued to hold him in its power, Doyle
acknowledged the fact that he was still madly in love with Bodie, that he
wanted him with an intensity two years and three months had not
diminished.

"Why don't we..." Bodie began, his innuendo-laden voice trailing off as he
caught sight of an object moving behind Doyle.

Doyle sighed again, a sinking feeling dousing the flame of romance. The
look of eager anticipation in the too-blue eyes said it all. Shaking his
head once more, he glanced around to confirm his suspicion. "Lost me true
love to a French tart..." he grumbled woefully, adding another deep sigh
for emphasis. Only years of practice kept Bodie from laughing at the
self-pitying tone. Ignoring the sad face of his partner, he mercilessly
focused on the pastry cart as it neared their table. It was the only thing
that could subvert the tingling tightness in his crotch. Fond remembrances
of pastries-past drifted through his thoughts. High on the list was the
cheesecake he'd had in New York City when Cowley had sent them there to
assure himself that security for the Queen's visit was air-tight. Then
there was the plum pudding Doyle's sister, Theresa, made for them every
Christmas. And how could he forget the delectable treats Olivia down in
the Computer Center persisted in feeding him, her hopes of seduction baked
into each one. But then, Bodie found his inner vision directed to the
epitome of sweet delight ... cinnamon-laced whipped cream, liberally
mounded on Doyle's cock and nipples. The very thought made him hard. He
scrunched down further in his seat, edging his knee into Doyle's crotch.

Since hope springs eternal in the human heart and it was springtime in
Paris, Doyle realized that he might still have a chance. The cart had not
yet reached their table.

Nibbling his lower lip, Bodie looked from Doyle to the pastries. He wanted
to take a certain saucy English tart out back and have his way with him,
but he also wanted to eat. Faced with the most tempting of Paris' sweets,
decision replaced indecision; the pastries won - temporarily at least. As
he selected both an elegant walnut torte and a cream puff for himself,
Bodie's knee grazed the bulge in Doyle's crotch. He smiled at the waiter
and at his lover, confident he'd be able to have his tart and eat it too.

Irritated by the smug expression, Doyle pointed to a small cherry
concoction when the waiter cast an inquiring glance his way.

Surprise registered on Bodie's face. "Not proper to eat with your mouth
hangin' open, sunshine," Doyle told his partner.

Obediently, Bodie closed his mouth on the bite of cream puff. His gaze,
however, was still locked on Doyle and the tart.

Pleased, Doyle sat up straight, hoping he could pull off his charade
without getting sick. As he looked from Bodie to the dessert, he felt the
blue eyes follow. Delicately, he dipped the tip of his index finger into a
small spot of yellow custard peeking out from between two of the lush,
glazed cherries. He lifted the finger to his lips, where he held it
poised, as his tongue came out to taste the peak of pudding. As he closed
his mouth on the bit of sweet custard, he smiled slightly, actually
enjoying its viscous texture, so like that of another cream he'd tasted
last night in the back seat of a French police car where they'd sat on
surveillance detail.

His smile of approval grew as he opened his mouth to admit the still-laden
finger. Closing his lips around the digit, he sucked, his tongue wiping
the custard off before he slowly withdrew his finger.

Bodie, held prisoner by the suggestion in Doyle's innocent action,
swallowed hard, his own pastry forgotten as he watched his partner's
finger return to the tart for another dollop.

"Wanna taste?" Doyle asked, extending his custard-bearing finger toward
Bodie's parted lips. Stopping short, Doyle paused.

Leaning over in silent compliance, Bodie's tongue snaked out to lap at the
custard. When he finished, he licked his lips, his tongue deliberately
outlining them.

Green eyes widened slightly in response to the undisguised sexuality.
"More?" The naked hunger in Bodie's eyes was his cue to continue. Taking
the fork lying unused between Bodie's fingers, Doyle speared a ripened
cherry. Watching his partner intently, he held the fruit near his own
lips. Like a black widow he spun the web, certain of his prey. His tongue
darted out to taste the clinging custard first, then the sweet glaze on
the top. Turning the fork carefully, he licked the cherry clean.

Bodie took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. Doyle drew
the cherry into his mouth, closing his lips around it but not dislodging
it. He had other plans for the tempting fruit. With deliberate slowness,
he withdrew the fork and its burden. Raising it toward Bodie, he again
stopped short, once more forcing Bodie to lean closer to take the offered
cherry.

When Bodie forgot to chew, the thrill of victory surged through Doyle,
urging him on. Confident of his power, he continued to weave his spell.
"You're supposed to eat it."

"Oh," Bodie mumbled, mouth full of cherry as he began to masticate.
Distracted somewhat, he reached across the table to reclaim his fork.
Taking a bite of his neglected cream puff, he kept his gaze glued to the
confection.

Biting back a smile of satisfaction, Doyle retrieved Bodie's fork, ready
for round two in the pastry war. Instead of attacking his own tart, Doyle
scooped up a sample of the cream in Bodie's puff. Tasting a bit of it, he
offered Bodie the rest. "Nice," he stated.

"Only go for the best, I do," Bodie replied, shifting as he tried to ease
the discomfort of his hardening cock.

"A man of good taste."

"Taste good, too," Bodie said lewdly, momentarily regaining control of the
situation.

"I know. Ready for a second helping..." Doyle's voice faded as he slid the
fork into his dessert, capturing crust, custard, and cherry in one smooth
motion. Glancing up, he decided it was time for the spider to take the
fly. After dipping his forkful of tart into the cream of Bodie's pastry,
he fed the mingled sweets to Bodie, certain his innuendo was clear. To his
surprise, Bodie gulped down the mouthful without chewing, his eyes bulging
slightly as the cherry went down whole. "Like tarts, do you?" Doyle
inquired, his voice sultry.

When Bodie said nothing, Doyle eyed him speculatively. The peaches and
cream complexion was flushed, his breathing rapid, obviously keeping pace
with an inner pulse rate. Bodie's eyes were blue on blue as they stared
avidly at him. Doyle stuck the idle fork into a third cherry.

Once more Bodie squirmed in the chair, still trying to find a comfortable
position that wouldn't accentuate the effect his increasingly tight
trousers were having on his erection. "Damn you, Doyle," he whispered
through clenched teeth.

His mission accomplished, Doyle focused on the confection before him,
knowing he didn't dare look at Bodie again. Concentrating on his tart, he
slowly consumed it, aware of his partner's intense scrutiny. Deliberately,
he left one cherry for last. "Want me cherry?" he queried softly, holding
up the red fruit.

Bodie closed his eyes, fighting the effect of Doyle's question. Licking
his lips nervously, he tore his attention from his partner to summon their
waiter.

Popping the ripe cherry into his mouth, Doyle made a show of chewing it.
While the waiter wrapped Bodie's largely uneaten pastries, Doyle posed an
innocent question. "Thought you were still hungry?" His voice was low,
seductive.

"Am, but..." Bodie looked directly at Doyle and saw the wicked gleam of
satisfaction in the green depths, the anticipation of a romantic reply. In
control again, he finished with, "you're going to be sick any time now."

"Bodie, you're as romantic as a kumquat," Doyle grumbled, deflated and
dejected because the queasiness in his stomach told him that his partner
was right...again.

Suppressing his laughter, Bodie paid their bill. He collected his pastry
box and his lover, then bundled them both into a taxi for the short ride
to their hotel.

Doyle, whose face grew visibly paler on the trip, moved quickly into the
hotel lobby, headed for the door labelled "Hommes". The tart's sugar, more
than he generally consumed in an entire month, had made him violently ill.
He spent the next ten minutes throwing it all back up.

Concerned yet unsympathetically amused, Bodie stood waiting outside. When
Doyle finally emerged, obviously weak and sweaty, Bodie slipped an arm
around his partner's waist, pulling his lover near. The tightness in his
crotch, somewhat diminished by the taxi ride, returned as Doyle slumped
against him in the lift.

Breathing shallow and rapid, Doyle fought the waves of nausea still
pulsation [pulsating?] through him, accentuated by the acceleration of the
high-speed lift.

"Hurry," he whispered tensely as Bodie unlocked their room door.
Abandoning his partner, Doyle raced into the bathroom, about to throw up
the water he'd just drunk.

A few moments later, he stumbled out only to find his partner contentedly
munching away on the walnut torte, the cream puff obviously having been
devoured first. Sickened by the sight as well as the smell of the
sweetness, Doyle retreated for a round of dry heaves.

Deciding that Doyle would rather have privacy than pity, Bodie removed his
jacket, tossing it onto the bed as he lay down, the rumbling in his
stomach quiet now. He unfastened his pants, as much to ease the
constriction of his semi-hard cock as to allow room for the pastries.

When Doyle finally returned, the comment Bodie had prepared died on his
lips as he saw the hard glint in the green eyes, promising eternal
retribution if anything was said.

Since there was only one, a drained Doyle was forced to join his partner
on the king-sized bed.

Bodie waited a few silent moments before gathering his prideful companion
into a comforting embrace, one devoid of the passion that had radiated
from his body in the restaurant. Stroking the curls and the damp forehead,
Bodie planted tiny, tender kisses on Doyle's face, wildly touched by the
sentiment that had led his lover to perform such a foolish act.

"Romantic, innit?" Doyle commented wryly, snuggling down at last into the
strong arms.

"Actually, it was." One hand began to caress Doyle's back. "Tense, aren't
we?" Bodie added, feeling the knotted muscles.

"Yeah." Wiggling into the hands already kneading his buttocks, he pointed
out dryly, "Me shoulders could use a bit too," since Bodie's massage
seemed to focus solely on his derriere.

"Oh, yeah." With the innocent reply, his hands began moving deftly over
the other neglected portions of the lithe body resting comfortably in his
arms.

Sighing with contentment, Doyle finally broke the easy silence by asking,
"you really think me gobblin' up that tart was romantic?"

"Yeah...in a weird, Ray Doyle sort of way."

Annoyed by the tone, Doyle pulled away from Bodie and sat up so that he
could see his partner's face. Noting the amusement in the blue eyes, he
stiffened slightly. Doyle didn't like being laughed at, even by Bodie,
who'd earned the right.

Since it was springtime....in Paris...they both relented.

Bodie's expression softened. "Just meant that..."

"Know what you mean," Doyle allowed, aware of what Bodie had been about to
tell him. Assailed by residual nausea, Doyle cuddled up again. He enjoyed
being held by Bodie, enjoyed listening the steady rhythm of his heartbeat,
the regular inhalation of breath. He also enjoyed caressing the hard body
with its smooth skin, sneaking a feel of the dormant cock. As his hands
strayed to Bodie's crotch this time, Doyle found a rather firm cock
instead. Before he could explore the cloth-covered hardness, Bodie tipped
Doyle's face up.

"Want you to eat me the way you ate that tart," Bodie said forcefully,
demandingly.

Doyle laughed.

A study in injured pride, Bodie sighed and added sarcastically, "now, THAT
was romantic."

"Sorry, it's just that..." Doyle reached out to turn Bodie's face back
towards him. "Just that..." He smiled affectionately. "Just that you have
such a seductive way with crudities."

"And that amuses you?" Bodie's voice was hard, unforgiving.

"Sometimes, sunshine, sometimes." Still slightly queasy, Doyle knew he'd
either have to stall for the time necessary to recover, or confess his
lingering weakness. Since Sir Bodie of the Iron Stomach rarely suffered
such discomfort, Doyle decided immediately against telling his partner.
Left with only delaying tactics, Doyle began caressing Bodie's nipples,
hidden beneath the midnight-blue poloneck he'd given his partner last
Christmas. Bodie - alone, flat on his back in a bed waiting - in Paris
...in springtime ... was too much for Doyle to resist, even though he felt
somewhat fragile.

Ignoring his stomach, Doyle flashed Bodie one of his most sultry looks. He
was about to lift the cashmere when Bodie impatiently grabbed his wrist
and shoved the hand up under the fabric to touch flesh. Instead of rubbing
the soft nubs gently, Doyle pinched them. He looked up at his lover. The
blue eyes were such dark pools of anticipation that he forgot his uneasy
stomach.

Not given to passivity, Bodie pulled Doyle up to him, capturing the
crooked smile in a kiss.

Doyle found himself drowning in the caress. Bodie was one of the best
kissers he'd ever met. Knowing what those lips could do to him, Doyle
retreated from the sweet sensations, an idea taking shape as he sat up.

"What's the matter?" Bodie queried irritably when Doyle backed completely
out of the kiss.

Needing to soothe ruffled feathers before broaching his plan, Doyle licked
his lips appreciatively. "Nothin', lover. Just don't want to lose
meself....not yet..."

Bodie waited. He knew there was more, that Doyle had some erotic scheme in
mind. "What do you want me to do?"

Caught a bit off guard, Doyle asked. "How did..."

"Two years mate. I KNOW when you have a wicked notion." Doyle smiled
rather sheepishly, considering what Bodie had said. "Am I that
predictable?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer.

Hesitating, Bodie was uncertain of how to respond. It'd be easiest to lie,
to tell his lover he was completely predictable, but as this afternoon's
scene in the cafeC had demonstrated, Doyle was anything but. Glancing at
his expectant partner, Bodie swallowed hard. He was too much in love to
hurt Doyle. Knowing quite well that he'd roused that famous curiosity,
that it would be some time until his detective-of-a-partner was ready to
resume lovemaking, Bodie sat up leaning back against the headboard. Since
it was, after all, springtime in Paris, he would indulge his lover's need
for reassurance; it was the least he could do after Doyle's contribution
to romance in their lives. "No."

Greatly concerned that mystery and romance should remain in their
relationship, not trusting their veracity of Bodie's reply, Doyle inquired
again, "I'm not predictable?" Intent on staying out of Bodie's hands until
they'd finished this conversation, he assumed his favourite cross-legged
position nearer the foot of the bed.

Aware of what Doyle was silently communicating, Bodie smiled as he folded
his arms across his chest. "No...and yes."

His eyes widened slightly as Doyle waited for Bodie to continue.

Taking a deep breath, Bodie began patiently. "Yes, in after two years as
your lover and several more as just your partner, friend, confidant,
shoulder to cry on, tormentor..." he paused, pleased with the tiny smile
tugging at Doyle's succulent lips, "I do have some small idea of what goes
on in that sieve of a mind." When Doyle didn't take the bait, Bodie
proceeded. "No, in that while I rarely guess wrong in work, I try not to
psyche you out when we're off duty. I like being surprised by your wicked,
maniacal genius." He smiled evenly at his intense companion.

"Be serious, Bodie," Doyle admonished.

"Aren't I always?"

Doyle grimaced in exasperation as he desperately wanted this moment of
open conversation; such discussions were too few and far between. He often
wondered if they had stayed together for so long because they rarely had
time to probe deeply into their relationship.

They sat in silence for several moments while Doyle pondered. As always,
Bodie had spoken an almost-truth; the challenge was to ferret out the
unspoken lie in his partner's statement. After five years it was a game he
had finally mastered. Eventually, he said, "That's not true. You hate
surprises."

Caught, as he'd expected, Bodie sighed. "Okay, so I try to figure out what
you're thinking all the time. I hate being surprised - especially by you."

"Then how come I'm not predictable?"

"Just not." Bodie shrugged. He didn't share Doyle's enthusiasm for the
analytic approach to relationships.

"You don't really know me," Doyle stated for him.

Annoyed now that Doyle had targeted a very sensitive area, Bodie grimly
eyed his interrogator, trying to decide how to reply. It wasn't that he
didn't know Doyle; he did, just not as well as he thought he should. Some
of the man's motivations were more than mysterious, and yet, of the two of
them Bodie considered himself the better judge of people. He wasn't
certain why Doyle still seemed so elusive.

"'s okay, Bodie. I know I haven't exactly been an open book."

Bodie frowned slightly, a bit amazed that Doyle had quickly hit this
troublesome aspect of their relationship. The frown deepened as he
realized it was problematic for Doyle as well.

"But then, neither have you," Doyle added, staring, demanding a response.

"I don't want to know about some parts of my past, myself," was Bodie's
softly spoken answer, the words carefully chosen to deflect Doyle's
curiosity from focusing on explanations of self. Events, Bodie knew, were
much easier for him to discuss.

"Was it really that bad?" Doyle inquired, accepting the subtle shift in
emphasis.

"Some of it. Most of it." In spite of himself, Bodie found his thoughts
returning to a particular scene of horror he still had an occasional
nightmare about.

Doyle noted the faraway expression in the now glazed eyes. Pleased with
the prospect of Bodie's elucidating some new tidbit about his cryptic
history, he pressed on ... gently. "Like Angola?"

"Yeah. All the kids mur..." Bodie stopped himself, catching on to Doyle's
ploy. Looking his partner in the eye, Bodie continued, "Thought we were
discussing you?"

"Oh...yeah," Doyle muttered, disappointed, wondering how he could change
the subject before Bodie brought up HIS past; he was still ashamed, after
all these years, of the time he'd spent in the borstal, the embarrassment
of his family and the long line of policemen who'd come from it. Despite
his distaste for these moments of vulnerability as he'd dubbed them long
ago, Bodie's own curiosity was piqued. Doyle, the original closed book, as
he'd just admitted, has silently given permission for exploration of his
past. As much as he liked to talk, Doyle was every bit as adept as his
partner at avoiding the personal.

Realizing instinctively that keeping Doyle depended as much on knowledge
as on love, Bodie decided to seize the opportunity being offered. Again,
he was stirred by the passion he felt for the man sitting opposite, lost
in thought.

"Trade you secrets," he said, prepared for the fact that the only coin of
worth would be a secret of his own.

Roused from his reverie by the sound of Bodie's smooth voice, Doyle eyed
his partner suspiciously. Seeing that Bodie was serious however, he
shrugged his agreement. "Okay. But you have to go first," he qualified.

Shaking his head, Bodie chuckled. "Figured I would. It's that yellow
streak again. Ought to have it looked to, mate." His tone was light and
affectionate.

Doyle wished he had a pillow to throw at his grinning companion. He
settled for Bodie's jacket which was handy.

Bodie ducked easily, grabbing real ammunition. His partner nearly fell off
the bed, accompanied as the pillow was by Bodie himself. They wrestled for
a few moments until Bodie let himself be pinned.

Breathing hard, the adrenalin banishing the last of the nausea, Doyle
leaned down to give Bodie a deep, rough kiss before he sat back,
straddling Bodie's torso.

"Your secret or your virtue." With a straight face, Bodie replied, "Take
my virtue, please, Mr. Doyle...", his manner and tone a deft imitation of
one of Doyle's favourite snitches. "Please..." he added, his voice
dropping to a sexy timbre as he moved his hips suggestively beneath Doyle.

"Shame there's none left," Doyle said pointedly. "So, it's the secret,
sunshine," he continued, using a voice normally reserved for suspects -
and Bodie when he was insufferable. He grinned evilly, "Let's have it
mate, or I'll..." He wiggled the fingers of his left hand. One of the few
secrets he had managed to discover over the last two years was that Bodie
could be very ticklish.

"Please, no, no, don't..." Bodie begged, his voice full of false hysteria.

"Out with it then," commanded Doyle, wondering, if, in this situation,
he'd get a glib lie, a real secret, or Bodie's cock. He noted that Bodie
was seriously considering the lie, since he couldn't reach his fly.
Quickly, Doyle released his hold and lay down beside Bodie, again using
that broad chest as a pillow.

Sighing, Bodie understood Doyle's tactic and hunger for substantive
communication. He had to admit that he, too, actually wanted the open
conversation. "When I left home," he began, then stopped, not sure why
that secret had popped into his mind. Never had he expected to share this
with anyone, but now, having started, he was determined to continue. "When
I left home, it was not because of problems. I loved my parents. Very
much." He paused.

Doyle was holding his breath, waiting anxiously, not believing Bodie was
going to tell him something about his youth.

"I'd read too many adventure stories. The thought of spending my life
running the family shipping business...not sailing in those ships..." The
voice was soft, wistful even. "I left. To adventure."

"Got a rude awakening, too, I'll bet," Doyle said gently when Bodie halted
again. Idly, he began tracing the outline of Bodie's nipples, rubbing the
cashmere over the firming mounds.

Bodie's left hand lost itself in Doyle's curls, pulling the slighter man
closer.

"Yeah. Took me all of a day to realize there was more to it than Kipling
said. Captains Courageous, it was not."

"Why didn't you just go home?" Doyle raised himself somewhat to look at
his lover, then leaned over to kiss the frown that creased Bodie's
forehead.

"What? When you're 'the youth and beauty o' the boat'?" Bodie asked with
archness. Seeing that his lover didn't recognize the quote from Captains
Courageous, he added, "Bit hard, when you're already stowed away in a
cargo hold, on the way - well on the way - to Dakar." Bodie sighed,
obviously reliving a painful time in his life. "By the time I returned
home, two years later, my parents were dead. My half-brother was in
control of the family business, so I went back to Africa."

There was much, much more to the story, Doyle knew. Determined to extract
it from Bodie, he asked quietly. "Tell me what you've left out." Again, he
kissed away the sadness that contorted Bodie's face.

Bodie tightened his grip on Doyle, making him squirm slightly as he
realized the intensity of his lover's inner turmoil.

Suddenly, Bodie wanted to continue, to elaborate, to tell Doyle his guilty
secret. An old wall began to crumble and the words came tumbling out.
"Seems a local bloke followed me that day. Saw me board the Desert Star.
Sure that I'd be away for a long time, if not forever, he extorted 10.000
[pounds] from my parents. The coppers botched it though; they shot him
before he could tell them where I was."

Doyle felt his breath catch. He closed his eyes, absorbing the sorrow
radiating from his lover. Wanting to assuage Bodie's pain, he said, "You
don't have to go on."

"Yes, I do," Bodie allowed with a deep sigh. "There's not much more."

But Bodie was silent for so long that Doyle thought he'd changed his mind.
While there was a great deal to tell, Bodie decided to stick to the part
of the story that related to his parents. Softly, he continued, "Mother
died shortly after I left, of what no one was sure. But, I was her baby,
the only child she shared with my father. He was 50, and childless when
they married. She was the love of his life, as much as I was the joy of
it." He stopped, knowing no more need be said. A few tears, ones he's
never shed, threatened his composure. "He died a few months after she..."

Full of sympathy for the young innocent who had inadvertently caused so
much tragedy, Doyle pulled Bodie to him, cradling the larger man's body.
Stroking the dark, silky hair, he offered what little silent comfort he
could as his lover tried hard not to cry. Finally, Doyle looked into the
reddened eyes, easily reading the guilt that lingered there. Kissing the
tension lines on Bodie's face, he continued to hold him till the other
man's breathing slowed.

"Sorry," Bodie mumbled.

"Don't be. Problem is me. I don't know what to say." His hands roamed over
the stiff body he held, trying to convey reassurance and love.

"Nothing to say. It was my fault." There was no denying the essential
validity of the statement.

"It wasn't your fault that they died," Doyle said quietly, sorting through
the story.

"Know that. But my leaving set them on that course..." Bodie's voice
trailed off. He took a deep breath and rolled onto his back, withdrawing
physically. "Your turn."

"Wait..."

Bodie frowned, looking at Doyle with nervous expectancy.

"Why didn't you jump ship?" Doyle asked, sitting up so he could see the
other man's face.

"Didn't want to. Wasn't kidnapped...or abused," Bodie added when he saw
Doyle's concerned expression.

"But you said it wasn't what you thought it'd be."

"Yeah, but it wasn't that bad. Ships like the Desert Star can always use
an errand boy. Worked for me passage."

Again, Doyle's eyes dilated as he obviously wondered just what type of
work was involved.

Correctly interpreting that look once more, Bodie was forced to elaborate.
"It's not what you're thinking, Ray. I worked like a horse and I ate like
a hog and I slept like a dead man." Doyle's bemused smile as he quoted
again from Captains Courageous made Bodie pause to ruffle his companion's
curls. "They were very good to me," he continued. "Taught me to take care
of meself, handle a gun, fight, gamble. Even showed me the value of an
honest day's labour..."

"Didn't learn that lesson too well, did we?" Doyle groused, leaning over
to kiss his partner on the forehead.

Bodie smiled in response, adding a rueful shake of his head. "Were two of
the best years of my young life, those I spent at sea." His tone was
wistful, far away.

"And what about the two we've been together?" Doyle inquired, his eyes
wide with mock indignation.

"They've been the best," came the smooth reply. Bodie pulled his lover
close for a deep kiss which emphasized his point.

When released, Doyle sighed deeply, the huge smile on his face indicating
his acceptance of the tactful answer. "Why didn't you write home?"

"Just never thought about it...you know how kids are." Bodie sighed.
"Wanted to be independent...thought I was old enough and smart enough..."
Finally, he shrugged, still not certain of his own motivations back then.

"Never thought they'd be worried?"

"No. Was havin' too good a time to think of that. When I finally did, I
wrote, but the letter obviously never reached home...it was too late then,
even if it had."

The sadness returned to cloud Bodie's features. Once more, Doyle used his
lips to ease the pain. "Finish the story, Bodie..."

For a moment Bodie was unwilling to continue, but the avid interest he saw
in Doyle's wide, green eyes melted his reluctance. "My older brother, a
half-brother from my mother's first marriage, took over since they thought
I was dead. When I did make it back, I was wise enough to see that John
was doing a decent job, better than I could have, so I left again."

The way Bodie spoke those last few words told Doyle he'd get nothing about
where Bodie had gone at this point, but he realized he might still coax
out more about his partner's family. "You check up?"

Doyle's eyes were alive with more curiosity than Bodie thought safe.
"Yeah...Now and then. He has two sons and a beautiful daughter --
Elizabeth Jane -- looks like me Mum did..." Again, Bodie lost his voice.
"Met her last year...she's a real charmer, too. She didn't know, of
course." Bodie finished, answering the question poised on Doyle's lips,
his tone one of finality in the face of the thousand other questions he
knew his partner wanted to ask. Bodie stood up then, terminating the
conversation by heading for the bathroom.

Once safely hidden from prying green eyes, Bodie leaned against the cool
tile of the French-blue bathroom wall. He stood silently for the next few
moments, breathing deeply, reconstructing his shattered composure, hoping
Doyle hadn't seen just how much it had cost to reveal that particular
secret. But he had wanted, very much, to share it with his lover.

Doyle...his lover...the man who loved him...the one person who really
cared about him. Suddenly, Bodie understood that his driving need to
always be there to protect Doyle stemmed in part from the losses in his
life, from those moments when he hadn't been there to protect the people
who loved him. That was the real story of his life -- a stinging string of
failures, failure to be there to protect those he loved. The thoughts spun
through his mind, bringing a clarity of perception. One of the reasons he
loved Doyle was that he had given him the chance to be there, to not fail
this time, to redeem himself. Of course, Doyle hadn't known about the
past. But, he had trusted and thus far, Bodie thought, he'd upheld that
trust. And he intended to do so for as long as Doyle still had faith in
him.

Doyle...thought [through?] him, he'd been brought back from the edge,
Bodie admitted, as he surveyed his face in the mirror. Doyle had rescued
him, forced him to re-open many of the doors he thought sealed shut.
Doyle, in making him want to feel again, had led him to rediscover William
Andrew Philip, a man he'd feared lost forever in the persona of Bodie. He
sighed as he looked into his own eyes. Noting their redness, he splashed
cold water on his face, ridding himself of the traces of unfamiliar tears.

Doyle...a once in a lifetime experience. Bodie could see in his own eyes
the love he felt for his partner, knew from the candid gaze holding his
own how difficult it would be to once again become the automaton he'd
constructed over the years before he met Doyle; the memories would not be
enough to sustain him. He shook his head, rousing himself from the morbid
train of thought as he dried off. He'd face Doyle's death, or departure,
when either occurred and not before.

Again, Bodie glanced at himself, scrutinizing the face reflected back. In
his own eyes, he thought he detected a difference, one brought about by
the confession he'd just volunteered. Once more, Doyle had unknowingly
begun a healing process that would allow Bodie to regain another measure
of the self- respect he'd lost too long ago. Smiling, he saw the familiar
inane image he had of an elfin Doyle sprinkling fairy dust on him, causing
all of the old wounds to heal, leaving him a better, stronger, wiser
person - -- one worthy of Doyle himself. Gone was the hollow shell he
imagined himself as if he hadn't met and fallen in love with Doyle.

Springtime in Paris really might cure the common cold, he decided. He took
a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Eyeing his own visage, he
resolved to analyze, soon, the circumstances surrounding the deaths of his
parents. Maybe one day, I might make peace with them. Feeling oddly
lighter, less guilty than he had in years, Bodie returned to the bedroom.

What he saw when he opened the door brought a smile to his face. Doyle had
stripped and was awaiting him in bed. Openly, Bodie leered at his lover,
noting with pleasure the look of wild abandon in Doyle's come-hither
expression, the already hard puckering of brown nipples, the gleam of
sensuality from the heavy silver chain that graced Doyle's neck...

"Won't work, Doyle," Bodie said, forcing himself to control the desire for
Doyle. "You owe me a secret, love."

"I know, later. After, I promise." The fingers of Doyle's right hand began
to caress his own left nipple. "I can't take away the pain of childhood,
Bodie. But I want you to know how much I love you, respect you. I need to
make love with you...now."

The few tears Bodie had shed as he'd revealed his secret were nothing
compared to what he felt threatening now. No one had ever loved him the
way Doyle did; nothing could get to him the way those liquid emerald,
vulnerable eyes could. Still, he hesitated, frightened by the intensity of
his own tightly reined emotions.

Sighing, Doyle added, "Don't fight me. Not now. Please..." He held the
sheet up, inviting Bodie to slide into the bed. When Bodie swallowed hard,
Doyle sensed the crux of his partner's dilemma. "Don't fight yourself,
Bodie. I don't mind if you love me. Besides..." he paused, smiling, "it's
springtime ... in Paris. Been too long since we've had the chance to do
this properly."

"Springtime in Paris," Bodie finally mumbled, walking over to the bedside.
Seeking to ease his companion's discomfort, Doyle leaned back, trying to
strike a pose of wild abandon. "Have your wicked way with me then."

Taking the escape Doyle provided, Bodie laughed as he considered just
which of many things he'd like to do to his lover.

Watching Bodie, whose face was for once, quite uncontrolled, Doyle could
see various scenarios being called forth and discarded. His partner was
the oddest mixture of sexual inhibitions and utterly depraved ideas. Even
as he wondered what Bodie would finally settle on, he recalled the
disastrous occasion on which he'd found out about the man's loathing for
bondage and the violent sex it hinted at. Bodie hadn't spoken to him for
three days afterwards and he'd had to pay for the damage to the hotel
room, all because he'd tied a sleeping Bodie to the bed. And yet, Bodie
enjoyed the reverse. Doyle's thoughts drifted back to the last time, a few
months ago, when Bodie'd bound him to the bed; he still wondered if it was
possible to die from orgasmic euphoria.

With a sigh, Doyle focused again on his companion. "Strip off, you moron,
or I'll start without you." Glancing down at the erect cock jutting
proudly from between Doyle's legs, Bodie said lustily, "Looks like you
already have." Chuckling at the face his lover made, Bodie removed his
poloneck.

"Finally," Doyle said lewdly, eyeing Bodie's body as flesh began to
appear. "So damned beautiful," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"I know," Bodie replied innocently. "Been tellin' you that for years..."

"Don't," Doyle interrupted, forestalling the usual explanation of how
Bodie had been born "tall, dark, and beautiful." Suddenly, that seemingly
funny, often cited line took on a different meaning. He looked his partner
in the eye as he saw that Bodie was sharing the thought.

Still standing beside the bed, Bodie turned Doyle's saddened face towards
him. "I love you," he said softly, knowing how much those words meant to
Doyle, how infrequently he found the courage to say them.

Meeting the open gaze, Doyle responded, "There's no one else I want or
need to hear that from, Bodie. Keep telling me that."

Smiling, Bodie kissed the lips that had taught him the meaning of those
words again. Quickly, he finished undressing.

Doyle pulled the now-naked Bodie down into bed, once more intent upon
demonstrating the significance of that declaration.

They were both on a short fuse, however, the emotional intensity of the
afternoon's ups and downs taking its toll. All too soon, they had both
settled into their favourite positions -- Doyle with his right ear over
Bodie's heart, listening to its slowing beat as it resumed its normal pace
- -- Bodie holding Doyle close.

Bodie was about to drop off when Doyle elbowed him, intruding on the peace
stealing through his thoughts. "Ouch," he groused, not particularly
pleased.

"Don't want you to fall asleep, mate."

To his horror, Bodie realised that his lover was not only wide awake, but
ready to talk. "Doyle. Go to sleep," he commanded hopefully, adding a
scowl for good measure.

Evilly, Doyle set about kissing away the frown lines, determined to keep
Bodie alert. "You haven't heard my secret yet. I promised..." his voice
trailed off seductively.

Desperate for sleep, Bodie almost forgave Doyle the vow, but his curiosity
won; he wanted to know what Doyle would choose to share. With a sigh of
mock resignation, he said, "So, 'fess up, sunshine. What'd you do that you
regret? Steal...cherry pies...from your Gram's windowsill?"

"Yeah," Doyle admitted quickly, tempted to take the out Bodie was
offering. "They...," he paused, clearly referring to today's tart, "also
made me sick."

"Just can't hold your sugar, can you?" Bodie quipped.

Laughing, Doyle idly began to tease the nipple nearest his lips. After a
few moments of tormenting the puckering mound of flesh, Doyle, safe in the
security of Bodie's embrace said softly, "Lied to you during the Parsali
affair. I did get caught once. Spent a year in the Borstal. Had to work
like hell when I finally decided to follow the family tradition and be a
copper."

"I know," Bodie replied, playing with the curls that fell near the nape of
Doyle's neck. "You've carried that chip on your shoulder to CI5. Always
have to prove something to somebody."

Shocked, Doyle moved to look at Bodie. "How?" he demanded.

"Suspected during that business with Haydon. Tried to check, but the cow
had your file sealed."

"What?" Doyle was surprised at this bit of information. Finally he
understood what Cowley had implied with his assurances during that affair.

"Then your mum told me. Some time ago, as a matter of fact."

Doyle searched the blue eyes and handsome face for sincerity and any trace
of a negative reaction.

"Was a long time ago, Ray. We all make mistakes," Bodie added ruefully,
referring to his own childhood.

"Why didn't you say something," Doyle asked, embarrassed that Bodie had
known his guilty secret for so long.

"No need. It's not important."

"Yes it is," Doyle insisted, sitting up.

"No," Bodie answered firmly.

"It's part of who I am, what I am," argued Doyle emphatically.

"Okay, okay. But it's also in the past." This was an old argument. Bodie
maintained that what was in the past should occasionally be remembered,
but generally ignored. Doyle, on the other hand, felt that remembering
kept a person from repeating past mistakes. They had never resolved their
difference of opinion. And we aren't likely to now either, thought Bodie.
Not wanting to argue, seeking to preserve the tender mood, he changed
directions. "Why don't you tell me WHY you reformed. Most kids who go to
those places come out worse." He reached out to touch Doyle's damaged
cheek.

Fully aware of Bodie's tactic, Doyle seized the extended arm and drew the
warm hand to his lips. He kissed the centre of Bodie's palm before saying,
"Bob Thomas..." Doyle stopped suddenly, as the pieces fell into place. Now
he understood the reason that about a year ago Bodie had talked him into
volunteering a few hours of free time to work with the boys at the Centre.
They both had been helping out ever since. "She told you that long ago?"
Quite able to keep up with the shifts in Doyle's train of thought, Bodie
used the hand still being held near Doyle's lips to turn the absorbed face
toward him. "Yeah, that time she trotted out the family album to show me
you 'au natural'."

Bodie's voice was gentle, laced with affection, as he thought about the
pleasant afternoon.

Doyle sighed heavily, shaking his head as he recalled the visit. When
she'd finally accepted his relationship with Bodie, his mother had
insisted on the ritual, much to his embarrassment and Bodie's delight.
Realizing now why Bodie doted on his mother, Doyle looked to his partner
for confirmation, finding it in the blue depths that were catching him.

Choosing to ignore the understanding that passed between them, knowing he
was not yet ready, Bodie elaborated. "Picture of you and Bob in the book."

"And using the old Bodie charm, you mercilessly twisted the truth out of
her," Doyle supplied, respecting Bodie's desire to say no more about his
own parents. Bodie smiled his most disarming smile in response.

Doyle again kissed the open palm he held before advancing to the smug
lips. As Doyle moved down to kiss his nipples and then his quiescent cock,
Bodie said "Spirit's willin', sunshine, but the flesh..."

"...is dead." Doyle conceded with a profound moan of regret, pointedly
ignoring Bodie's gaze, directed as it was at his own very somnolent penis.

"Could do with a bit of sleep," Bodie stated hopefully.

"Or we could take in the Paris night life."

"Suppose we could," replied Bodie agreeably, if not terribly
enthusiastically.

"You don't want to go out."

"No. Rather stay here and cuddle you."

Smiling at the sentiment, Doyle said, "We can do Paris tomorrow night."

"That's why you're the brains and I'm the beauty."

"Fuck you."

"Wish you would." Bodie's tone was wistful, as if he and Doyle hadn't had
sex in years.

"Give us a couple of minutes, sunshine," Doyle murmured seductively.

"Be asleep then," Bodie allowed as he snuggled down under the blankets,
his eyelids drooping.

About to make a comment on the absence of the legendary Bodie virility,
Doyle realized that his lover was asleep. Smiling fondly, he sighed. He
sat and watched for awhile as he tried to decide what he wanted to do. The
idea of seeing Paris without Bodie held little appeal, but he was
restless. Too tired to sleep, he let his thoughts wander over the
conversation they'd had earlier. There was much food for thought in what
Bodie had said, not said, and intimated.

It was then that he realized he was hungry; he'd thrown up lunch.

Doyle scoured the room till he found the room service menu. Quietly, he
ordered for them both, knowing that the smell of food would rouse his
sleeping partner. He recalled the time he'd tried an experiment. Bodie had
fallen into an exhausted sleep after a rather arduous assignment. Going
into the living room of their flat, he'd turned on the stereo -- full
blast. No response from the bedroom. Then he heated up the lasagna left
over from the night before. As soon as the scent had reached the bedroom,
Bodie was awake and hungry.

His thoughts lingering on his partner, Doyle slipped into the bathroom for
a quick shower, that somehow became a long soak in the tub as he
contemplated the state of his relationship with Bodie. When he finally
returned, drying his curls, he found a table set for two, the food, and
Bodie contentedly munching on the salad Doyle had ordered for himself.

"Boooodie, that's my salad." To emphasise his point he flung his damp
towel at his nibbling associate.

The picture of smugness, Bodie easily caught the missile as he snatched
another carrot from the salad. Tossing the towel back, he commented "Bit
drippy, aren't we?"

Ignoring him, Doyle resumed the task of drying his hair.

"Going to dress for dinner, luv?" Bodie inquired, eyeing the towel
fastened around Doyle's waist.

"Yeah." Both towels fell to the floor.

Bodie leered appreciatively. "Buff is your colour." Before Doyle could
comment, he rose to pull out a chair. With a dignified bow, he swept his
dinner date into the waiting seat.

Doyle slipped into the absurd role and nodded a polite thanks as he sat
down. Expectantly, he waited for Butler Bodie to place a napkin on his
lap, which he did, giving Doyle's cock a fond caress in the process. As
his lover turned to resume his own place, Doyle reached out to pinch the
bare ass. "That's for eating my salad."

Pointedly ignoring him, Bodie sat down to eat the steak Doyle had ordered.
Half the steak later, he seemed to remember that he had a dining
companion.

"Good?" Doyle asked when Bodie looked up.

"Just right. Want a bite?"

"Not of that," Doyle replied, his tone a mixture of lechery and disdain as
he ogled Bodie's naked torso. "Don't neglect your veggies," he admonished
in imitation of his mother. Watching Bodie attack the cauliflower buried
under a rich cheese sauce, Doyle laughed, quietly delighted that after all
these years he had finally managed to convince Bodie that there were
culinary delicacies beyond steak and pastry. Not in that order, he
corrected himself automatically as he saw Bodie's fork sneak across the
table to nick a corner of his Vegetable Wellington. "Still a growing boy,
are we?"

Bodie looked down at his cock and responded lewdly, "Not yet, but will be
soon."

Chuckling, Doyle sought out the liver pate hiding beneath the pastry
shell.

"How can you eat that?" Bodie inquired, sounding as if he'd just been
poisoned.

"Good for the libido," Doyle answered smoothly, helping himself to the
remnants of Bodie's cauliflower. He glanced to find Bodie eyeing him
speculatively. "All those vitamins," he elaborated, trying not to laugh.
There was a sucker born every minute and Bodie was often the one, Doyle
thought with evil glee as he saw where the conversation was headed.

"Meat has vitamins," Bodie said defensively as he popped the remaining bit
of steak into his mouth.

"Some, yes," Doyle conceded seriously. "Too much cholesterol though."

"That why you stopped eating it?"

Doyle bit his lip. "Haven't stopped, sunshine," he said, his voice even.
Bodie frowned.

"You're all the meat I need," Doyle replied, leering at his lover.

Bodie caught himself mid-reaction, schooling his features into a mask of
injured pride. Folding his arms across his chest, he radiated an aura that
befitted his pained posture of wounded innocence.

The response made Doyle stop to consider. The expression in those blue
eyes was so pathetic, so injured that he wondered if he'd really hurt
Bodie's feelings; he had, after all, been trying to conduct an earnest
discussion. Doyle, who'd glanced down as he mulled over the situation,
analysing it, looked up to see the smug smile now suffusing Bodie's face.
"You cretin," Doyle said with exasperation, recovering quickly. "Was
trying to be romantic..." but Bodie wasn't buying that line.

They both laughed then, the score even. The next few minutes passed in
comfortable silence as they finished their meal, freely eating whatever
the other had left. Finally, Bodie began looking around the table
trappings.

"Didn't order you any," Doyle told his partner, knowing he was searching
for dessert. "You've already had two, no, three," he amended a bit
lecherously as Bodie's expression became grim.

"But that was hours ago," Bodie moaned, adding a sad sigh for emphasis.

Since it was springtime...in Paris...the forlorn look quickly became more
than Doyle could tolerate, even though he liked to make Bodie suffer.
"There's a bar of chocolate in me overnight bag," he reluctantly admitted.

Bodie's radiant smile melted any lingering resistance, forcing Doyle to
acknowledge to himself that he had fallen into the habit of carrying
sweets ...just for Bodie, for just such emergencies. Must be love, he
thought, pleased with himself. Doyle's eyes feasted on his own dessert as
he watched the naked body of his lover with its toned muscles rippling
under the delicate, pink skin.

"Bleedin' hell, Doyle!" Bodie sounded shocked at the cavalier description
of what he held. "This isn't just a bar of chocolate; this is Godiva," he
chastised as he sat down. Waving the confection under his partner's nose,
he added "Romantic."

"Think so?"

"Yeah...but I won't tell." He set about unwrapping the chocolate,
savouring the scent before he took a large bite.

"Bodie," Doyle sighed. Lately, he'd found himself increasingly annoyed by
his lover's automatic tendency to deflect sentiment with humour.

Noting the pain that flitted briefly across Doyle's expressively open
face, Bodie sobered quickly, realizing what he had done. Not wanting to
destroy the rare mood of candor Paris in springtime had brought to them,
he apologised.

"Sorry,...reflex."

Doyle smiled wanly as he brushed Bodie's cheek with his fingertips. "It's
okay," he added reading the sincerity in the blue eyes watching him. As
Bodie resumed eating, Doyle let his thoughts drift back to the subject of
romance. For all his protest of the contrary, Bodie was the more romantic
of the pair. In fact, Doyle thought, it was that innate, almost
subconscious sense of romance that told him he was loved even when Bodie
couldn't say it out loud.

Sensing his lover's wistfulness, Bodie very deliberately placed the
uneaten portion of the chocolate on the table. He took a deep breath and
said, looking Doyle squarely in the eye, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Bodie knew, he operated on instinct, a felling of what was right, but
Doyle needed to discuss, to analyse, to discuss again, every aspect of his
own life and their relationship. That, Bodie understood and accepted, was
what made Doyle the better detective.

"Yes."

"Your turn to go first."

"You really don't want to, though." Doyle had read the reluctance in his
partner's body language.

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because you do. It's important to you," Bodie paused, moving his chair
closer to Doyle's. "It's important to us." His companion said nothing so
Bodie pressed on, driven by the need to give back to Doyle something of
what the man had given to him earlier. Inspired insight, his speciality,
struck yet again this day. It'd taken them two years to reach this point,
and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to prolong openness -- the
vulnerability.

Despite his reticence about soul searching, Bodie was determined to
proceed. "Well...," he led, waiting for Doyle to begin.

Again. Doyle did not reply.

Irritated by the lack of response, Bodie said angrily, "For once, I'm
willing to talk and you turn clam. Why?" His ire grew as Doyle looked at
the floor rather than at him. "Talk to me, Doyle." The normally smooth
voice was rough, indicative of Bodie's frustration.

"Don't patronise me, Bodie," Doyle shouted. "I don't want to sit here and
talk because you feel like indulging me in a habit you consider weird and
perverted. Talk is..." He closed his mouth, trying to restrain the rush of
words. He continued to count the fibres of the carpet.

"...too important?" Bodie supplied, trying to grasp Doyle's point.

"What the fuck would you know about it?"

Bodie remained silent while he fought to control his temper; Doyle had
pushed the wrong button once too often. Finally, when he felt it safe to
speak, he said, "I'm a bit dense, as you say. Need something explained..."

The tone was Doyle's cue as to which emotion Bodie was struggling with.
Tensing, half-expecting a physical blow, he silently urged Bodie to
continue.

"Why is it, you can get properly outraged with me for hiding behind humour
when sarcasm is your shield?"

"Because your humour isn't funny," Doyle evaded, seeking to ease the
nervousness he knew they were both suddenly experiencing. When Bodie made
no reply, Doyle shrugged and added, "Because you let me get away with it."

"Oh," Bodie replied succinctly, realising that it was really just that
simple.

Finally, taking the bull by the horns, Doyle elaborated, "We need
different things, Bodie."

Patiently, Bodie waited.

Pleased with that response, Doyle went on, after reaching out to touch the
very solid form across from him. "Talk is the only way I can understand
us."

Bodie frowned, grabbing Doyle's wrist as he did so. With bruising strength
he tightened the hold. "You don't understand this?"

"There's more to us than that, you moron," Doyle replied steadily, not
flinching. The iron grip was relaxed, but only slightly.

"Do you really think you can analyse love?" Bodie asked incredulously.

"Your poets try; why can't I?"

Tipping his head, Bodie silently acknowledged the point and the rhyme.

"There are times when I don't know why I love you, Bodie, or why you love
me, and this bothers me because I'm afraid..." Doyle paused, considering
his choice of words even as he checked to see if Bodie was still with him.
Noting that Bodie was listening intently, Doyle went on. "I'm afraid that
if I don't understand why you love me, I'll do something to make you not
love me anymore. And Bodie..." Doyle rushed on now, worried that Bodie
would turn away from the naked, raw emotion of the moment, "I don't want
that to happen. Not ever. I love you too much, need you too much for my
own good..." Doyle's voice faded as he realised he'd confessed his deepest
secret, the depth of his love for Bodie, a feeling so intense it
frightened him; the thought of being without Bodie scared him even more.
Nervously, he looked at his lover, unsure of what he'd find in Bodie's
eyes. The last time he'd tried to express just how deeply he cared, Bodie
had withdrawn from him for days, apparently trying to assimilate the frank
sentiments. Doyle had vowed then not to reveal his deep feelings again
until Bodie seemed ready. Afraid that he'd misjudged the moment, Doyle was
about to apologise when Bodie spoke, his grip on Doyle's wrist still
vise-like.

"And what happens when I die?"

Relieved that he hadn't lost his lover, Doyle took hold of Bodie's wrist.
"I don't think about it," he said. Seeing Bodie's look of disbelief he
amended. "...not much anyway. Always figured it'd be like you said the
night before the Parsali caper -- we'd go together." Glancing at Bodie,
Doyle realised that his partner was thinking of the price of such love,
one his parents had paid.

Swallowing hard, deserted again by his smooth as silk tongue, Bodie
finally said, "I don't know what to say."

"Tell me why you love me, Bodie. I need to hear why." Doyle's eyes grew
wide.

"Because you love me."

Suddenly, irrationally, almost hysterically afraid that he'd trapped Bodie
into a relationship the man hadn't wanted, Doyle frowned.

Bodie, correctly interpreting the direction of Doyle's thoughts, used his
free hand to trace the worry lines on Doyle's contorted features. "Wild
goose chase, Ray. Let me explain."

Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, Doyle's eyes grew even wider as
they always did when Bodie was really talking to him.

Smiling fondly, Bodie read in that open expression, the avidness, the
hungry need Doyle had for earnest conversation. It reminded him that he
held the key to a part of Doyle no one else had - the innocent boy who
still trusted people, and most important, him. It was undeniably romantic
to have that; it reminded him of how much he loved Doyle and that made it
easier for him to speak. "I love you because of what it means when you say
you love me."

Obviously, Doyle was waiting for him to elaborate, so Bodie took a deep
breath and continued, drawing on the strength of his feelings for Doyle.
"It means that if you can love all the things I am -- the conceit, the
black humour, the recklessness, the disrespect, the inability to accept
emotion -- then I can feel free to love all that you are -- a notorious,
self-aware flirt who's an egomaniac and a closet romantic."

In a weird, Bodie sort of way, it made sense. "More," Doyle commanded.

Sensing again the need and the opportunity to give back to Doyle the love
he felt, Bodie understood for the first time in two years that Doyle would
not use the information to hurt him, that Doyle loved him; he wondered why
he'd never realised this before. "Springtime in Paris," he muttered as if
explaining it to himself before he ploughed ahead, aware of his
awkwardness.

"I love you because you accept me, don't try to change me, well not too
much, you respect me, you trust me and you've brought back my
self-respect. You also take care of me, protect me like no one else ever
has. And...you give damned good head."

Smiling in response to the face Doyle made, Bodie continued. "What I love
about you is..." He stopped to scrutinise his partner's bare body. "I just
like the package - Ray Doyle. I love your body -- makes me hard at the
oddest times if I think about you." Biting his lip, Bodie managed to
refrain from commenting on the delicate pink colouring of Doyle's cherubic
face. "Who you are is just as appealing. You're strong enough, secure
enough in your insecure way, not to be threatened or bulldozed by me.
You're my equal and I need that. I respect you and your opinions. You're a
good man. I trust you because you've proven that you'll always be there
and I need that, at home as much as on the job. You're bright, sharp,
witty and you make me hop just to keep you. You challenged me to love you
and then made me accept the dare."

"Why?" Doyle knew he was visibly hanging on Bodie's every word.

"Because you showed William Andrew Philip..." Bodie's voice trailed off in
frustration. He didn't have the words to explain. Also, he had to admit,
he was still too afraid to reveal his deepest motivations even as he
reminded himself that Doyle wouldn't use them against him. "Because I love
being 'we' with you."

There was a strain of finality that Doyle didn't fail to hear through the
elation that threatened to carry him away; Bodie really did need him, love
him. The words sank in as they never had before and headed straight to his
heart. Quickly, he brought himself under control, knowing that to show too
much of his euphoria would destroy the openness of the moment. Leaning
over, he kissed Bodie on the forehead and then the lips. "See, that didn't
hurt, did it?" Doyle queried, afraid that his eyes were too bright with
moisture. He looked down at their interlocked hands. If Barbara Cartland
could see us now...

"Don't know," was Bodie's candid response. "You still haven't told me why
you love me and I seem to remember that it was your turn to go first."

"You've already said why I love you."

Bodie sighed in mild exasperation.

Taking pity, Doyle added, "You're conceited, reckless, disrespectful,
can't handle honest emotion and ... you have no sense of humour. I like
that in my men."

"Now who's not being serious," Bodie chided.

"I don't have to be. I've told you before why I love you." Sanctimony rang
from Doyle's voice; it matched the angelic look on his face.

"Well, I want to hear it again," Bodie demanded. "What you don't seem to
understand, sunshine, is that you talk about and around an issue till
we're both blue, but you manage to avoid the heart of it all as easily as
I do."

Trapped by the truth of Bodie's observation, Doyle sighed. "I love you
because you do really know me and you are still here."

"More." Bodie quoted.

Laughing, lightheaded, Doyle continued. "I love you because...'I love
being we with you'."

"This is beginning to sound like a friggin' wedding ceremony."

"Maybe it is," Doyle said softly, sobering. "Till death?" he ventured,
praying that Bodie wouldn't refuse, struck by the fact that it'd taken
them two years to reach this point.

"Till death," Bodie replied promptly and sincerely. "Do I get to carry you
over the threshold now?" he asked, deliberately seeking refuge in humour.

"Think I might find it difficult to play the part of the blushin' bride,"
Doyle said seriously, glancing down at his semi-erect cock.

"To the honeymoon bed then," Bodie announced happily, using the hold he
still had on Doyle's wrist to pull his partner up and to him as he stood.

"As I recall," Doyle muttered between kisses and caresses, resisting
Bodie's attempt to get him to their bed, "this is my dance. I'm supposed
to lead."

"Oh," Bodie responded as he tasted a nipple. He'd half hoped Doyle'd
forgotten; but then, he half-hoped he hadn't.

Seizing both the initiative and Bodie's protruding cock, Doyle took his
lover to bed.



Roused by sunbeams streaming into the room, Bodie glanced at the clock,
surprised to find it was only 7:30 A.M. After last night, he'd been
certain he'd sleep till noon. Mindful of his partner burrowed beneath the
blankets, snuggled securely between his left arm and side, Bodie flexed
his toes, wishing he could also stretch stiff arm and leg muscles. A
murmur from Doyle made him stop even wishing.

"Shhh," he said softly, his voice low and soothing as he stroked Doyle's
spiny back in an effort to lull his lover into a deeper sleep. When he
thought it was safe to stop, he summoned the memories of last night.
They'd made love, had champagne, had each other again, then more champagne
until they finally slept. Or rather, Doyle had fallen asleep. Bodie had
remained awake for some time, considering the potential ramifications of
their confessions and declarations. He wanted to resume his deliberations
this morning. It wasn't often he was given to self-analysis, but much of
what had been said was too important to ignore -- especially the part
about his parents and the revelation of just how much Doyle loved him.
He'd just barely found his place when Doyle poked his head out from under
the covers.

"Morning?" he asked, frowning as he looked around, seeking an answer to
where he was as well.

"7:35 A.M. -- Paris." Bodie supplied with a smile.

"Oh," Doyle replied, remembering at last. "Did we really drink three
bottles of champagne?"

"Yeah, Moet & Chandon."

"Expensive?"

"Very."

The frown became a grimace.

"What's the matter, sunshine?" Bodie loved to watch Doyle find his way to
alertness on those rare mornings when he could waken naturally.

Doyle's response was a deep sigh. "Paris?"

Nodding, Bodie put his arms around the still disoriented man and once more
stroked his back. "'s okay, Ray. 's okay."

Content to let his partner hold him, Doyle settled down. He was nearly
asleep when he remembered. Shifting so he could see Bodie's face, he asked
urgently, "What did we do?"

Startled, but fully aware of what Doyle was asking about, Bodie swallowed
hard, fighting back the trepidation that filled him as his lover stared at
him. "We got married?" He offered it meekly, suddenly, desperately afraid
of the power he'd given Doyle.

For a moment, Doyle continued to stare at Bodie, wondering if the man
would truly ever learn. Shaking his head, he decided to explain what he
felt, hoping they still shared last night's unique openness. "You know,"
he began, moving till he was comfortable, till Bodie was close and clearly
visible, "when I say I love you, it means that I have a responsibility to
you, that I know how vulnerable you are. It means I promise to protect you
when you're bein' soft and mushy, and I promise not to abuse the power
you've given me. Don't you understand that yet?" An exasperated sigh
completed his discourse.

His voice a whisper, Bodie replied, "Only just figured that out last
night."

The smile on Doyle's lips was affectionate; laughter and love danced in
his eyes. "Well, at least you figured it out," he eventually allowed,
reaching over to ruffle Bodie's dishevelled hair.

"What'll I do if you ever walk out of my life, Doyle?"

Surprised by the question, Doyle wondered if he should also be angry.
Looking deeply into the very blue eyes watching him, he licked his lips
and said. "I'm not gonna walk out, Bodie. I'm here for the duration -- in
sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better or for worse,
through thick and thin, till death do us part."

The declaration left Bodie unable to trust his tongue, so he leaned over
to kiss his lover. "Speaking of thick and thin..." he mumbled lewdly,
nudging Doyle's thigh with his erect cock.

Since it was springtime...in Paris, Doyle decided he'd let Bodie's
diversionary tactic succeed. They'd made enough progress in the last 24
hours to satisfy him -- temporarily. There was even a good chance Bodie
would say "I love you" again before the day was over. He'd just taken hold
of the thick prick in question when Bodie's hand covered his, stopping
him.

"I love you, Ray."

Unprepared to have his wish granted so soon, it was Doyle's turn to flee
from the statement of emotion. "Diversionary tactic, Bodie. You just don't
want me to fuck your ass into the floor."

"Well, I was just practisin'," Bodie explained, his eyes telling Doyle not
to believe that. "If you think I should stop..."

Sobering quickly, Doyle's eyes grew wide, deeper green. "No, please don't,
Bodie."

"'s okay, sunshine. I rather like how 'I love you, Ray' rolls off me
tongue. Has a nice ring to it." He pulled Doyle close and made his kiss a
silent vow to never stop saying it. Bodie also used the moment to securely
pin his lover beneath him. "Now, who's gonna fuck whom into the floor?"

Expecting this, even as he was overwhelmed by the depth of Bodie's love
and the fact that, for once, he'd been permitted to see it, Doyle deftly
turned the tables, propelling them both off the bed and onto the floor.
Aided by the tangle of sheets and blankets around Bodie's feet, he was
able to trap his partner.

"Think I'm the one who'll be doin' the fuckin', sunshine," he announced,
carefully bending to lick Bodie's ear. The resultant quiver in the body he
was sitting on prompted him to continue. "Also think I'll see if I can
make you come by just blowin' in your ear."

"Mixed up, as usual, Doyle," Bodie replied. Since he was, in effect,
unable to move, he was quite content to let his partner play this little
game.

"Guess that's because there isn't much difference between the shit that
comes out of either end."

Sighing melodramatically, Bodie said, "Shut up and start screwin'."

"Okay," Doyle agreed happily, pivoting so that his lips could tease
Bodie's throbbing cock. "Don't touch -- just watch," he commanded,
glancing back once he was situated so that his own swelling cock hung down
over Bodie's face.

The effect of Doyle's mouth and the sight of the prick he thought one of
the world's most beautiful, aching for him as a few drops of pre-cum fell
on his cheek, soon had Bodie ready. "When are you gonna do the fuckin',
Doyle? I'm ready." A moan of pleasure escaped his lips. "Come on, Ray. Do
it. I..."

"Lift up, then," Doyle instructed as he turned. His own voice husky with
passion, he groaned, "Haven't got any K..."

"Who cares?" Bodie interrupted. "Fuck me, you stupid bastard, I'm not a
virgin."

Aroused as he always was by Bodie's desire for him, Doyle ignored his own
needs and teased, "Want me, huh?"

"Nah, not in the least," Bodie deadpanned even as he thrust upward,
seeking Doyle.

"In that case..." He moved slightly, as if he were going to stand.

"I'll beg, I'll plead, promise you anything..."

Considering the offer, not caring if a court of law might rule this a
promise obtained under duress, Doyle asked, his voice softened by a surge
of timidity, "Promise, you'll me you love me once in a while?"

Impossible as he thought it might be, Bodie forgot the insistent pulsing
of his cock as his eyes locked with his lover's. "I promise. I'll even let
you bring me flowers and treat me to a candlelight dinner now and then."
He paused, his smile affirming the words. "But if you don't get on with it
soon..."

Scrambling into position, Doyle placed Bodie's legs over his shoulders.
Very carefully, he entered him, trying to take it slowly so he didn't hurt
his lover. But Bodie had other ideas. He pushed against Doyle, impaling
himself. That released Doyle's own need and he began an urgent, in-out
motion that soon had Bodie ejaculating all over his chest. The involuntary
contraction of anal muscles as orgasm claimed Bodie sent Doyle over the
edge. He collapsed on top of his heavily breathing partner.

"You weigh a bleedin' ton, Doyle," Bodie mumbled sleepily a few moments
later.

"All those tarts I've been havin' lately, goin' straight to me waist."
Doyle had no intention of moving.

Both men were startled awake by the ringing of the telephone. Suddenly
reminded that he had a hangover, Doyle swiftly crawled toward the phone.

"'lo." When he heard the voice at the other end, he silently mouthed
"Cowley." Bodie groaned and hauled himself to his feet, a sinking feeling
telling him he should shower while he had the time. A few minutes later,
Doyle joined him. Too knackered to make his usual advances, Bodie settled
for washing his lover's curls. While they were drying, he finally found
the courage to ask.

"So what did the old man want?"

Doyle shrugged as he began to dry his hair.

"We don't have to rush off to save 'bonnie ole England' today?"

"Nope."

"Good. Then, I'm off to bed." He was tempted to snap his towel at Doyle's
pink rear end, but the thoughtful expression on the man's face was Bodie's
indication that Doyle was lost in his own mind.

A bit puzzled as to what had brought this on so suddenly, but
understanding that Cowley's voice may have reminded Doyle of the world
outside their hotel door, a world whose realities would make these few
days all the more precious, Bodie climbed back into bed, intent on taking
what he felt was a well-deserved nap.

He awoke sometime later to the sound of Doyle pacing. Opening one eye, he
watched his brooding, clearly restless partner. The other eye opened when
he saw that Doyle was fully dressed. "Cowley does want us back," he said,
despair evident in his voice.

Totally self-absorbed, Doyle jumped when he heard Bodie's voice. "What?"
he asked, willing his heart to slow down. A rush of adrenalin was the last
thing he needed.

"I said the Cow must want us back. Why else would you be dressed?"

Looking down at his clothes as if he was surprised to find them on his
body, Doyle glanced at his partner. "Bodie...it's Paris..." he pleaded,
anxious to take in the spirits.

"And springtime," Bodie finished, rolling his eyes. "And a young man's
fancy turns to exploring the city."

"Yeah," Doyle allowed hopefully. "Out of bed, Mr. Romantic," he ordered,
pulling the covers off Bodie's still reclining form.

Grabbing the sheet, Bodie mustered his wounded dignity and replied,
"Haven't a romantic bone in my whole body."

"That why you told me Cowley was picking up the tab for these extra
nights?"

Doyle watched Bodie's face closely.

Genuinely caught off guard, Bodie's eyes grew wide. He'd wanted a bit of
time alone with Doyle...in Paris...in the springtime. So he'd lied, said
the Cow was rewarding them when, in fact, he himself was paying. "How..."

"When he called and you were trying to sing in the shower awhile ago. I
made the mistake of thankin' him..."

Bodie didn't know whether to respond to the insult about his singing or to
the information that his partner had actually spoken in gratitude to their
boss.

"It's funny how you can tell when he's lying...even on the phone." Doyle
continued thoughtfully. Bodie's bemused expression and his own sheer
delight in having trapped his lover in a very romantic plot made Doyle go
on. "Said I appreciated him lettin' us stay at company expense, that these
last few months had been tough and we needed the break - -- especially
you."

Clearly enjoying the moment, Doyle ignored his partner's outraged
expression and forged ahead with his explanation. "Space isn't as quiet as
that phone line was. Then he said we were welcome. Knew we could use a bit
of a break. Told us to report back at 8:OO A.M. three days from now." He
sighed heavily. "Must have known it was our honeymoon," a reference to the
fact that Cowley had given them extra time off.

Trying to dissipate the smugness radiating from Doyle, Bodie said, "Can't
afford that many more days."

A wicked smile of anticipation spread over Doyle's lips. "Might be able to
lend you a few quid."

"Yeah? At what rate of interest?" Bodie asked suspiciously.

"Think we might work something out," Doyle replied speculatively as he
lifted the sheet and began to caress Bodie's naked body, touching it in
just those places he knew would excite, forgetting that only a moment ago
he'd wanted to see Paris. There would be time for that later. This was
more important.

"Settled, then. We can spend the rest of the day here at the office,
workin' out the details." Bodie drew Doyle down onto the bed, unbuttoning
the green and white patterned shirt. "Tomorrow, we can sightsee," he added
as he began working on Doyle's zipper, seeking out the hardness hidden in
the forest green jeans.

"Besides, as newly weds, aren't we supposed to be behind locked doors,
with the curtains drawn, more in than out..."

Doyle giggled when Bodie attacked his exposed navel, sticking his tongue
in to punctuate his words.

Yes, it was indeed springtime...in Paris, Doyle thought happily as he lost
himself in the sensations flooding through his body. And a young man's
fancy most certainly turns to....Bodie.

-- THE END --

*Originally published in *Mobile Ghetto 2*, Entwhistle & Duck, 1987*


*Too often we treat being in love as the ultimate goal, and upon attaining
it we stop trying anymore. In truth, being in love is no more than a
stepping stone. Ignorance and fear often keep us from exploring the
greatest intimacies of understanding, being a part of, yet separate from,
another human being. Being in love is the first step, one that anyone can
take; it takes courage to move beyond the confines of love to the
awareness that lies beyond.*
    --Phoebe


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