The Professionals Circuit Archive - May Fair	     May Fair

 

by Ancasta 

 
 *Written for Discovered on May Day, on the discoveredinalj livejournal
community.*


 May Day. 

 A day of Morris dancers, hobby horses, pagan fertility rites... 

 ...and when May 1st fell on a Monday--a bank holiday.

 Holiday for most, that is.

 Not, however, for the good men and women of CI5.

 No. Cowley's crew spent that Monday much like any other day of the
week--Sundays included--protecting their fellow citizens from all manner
of villains, both foreign and domestic.

 Now it was widely acknowledged by those involved that 'protecting' was
thirsty work. So when their shift was over and Murphy mentioned a group of
people were headed to the Green Man for a pint, Bodie and Doyle didn't
even need to have a conversation. 

 "C'mon, mate," Doyle said, tapping Bodie's arm with the back of his hand.
"I'll drive. The Green Man is near your flat, after all. That way you
won't need to give me a lift after."

 About a dozen of the lads and half as many lasses made their way to the
pub. Bodie was familiar with the place, but didn't consider it his local.
It was a bit too touristy for that. Located on the High Street, too many
Yanks tended to find their way inside, all seemingly in search of
California chardonnays and ice for their Tabs. What self-respecting
Englishman would want to deal with that mob every time he craved a simple
pint?

 Still, for the occasional drop-in, it was a nice enough establishment,
well run and roomy by public house standards. Good thing too. The
combination of its High Street location and a national holiday meant the
place was packed when they got there. It took a fair bit of elbowing and
some dark looks from those on the receiving end before the agents were
able to carve out a spot for their party in the corner near the front
windows.

 "All right then," Bodie said, rubbing his hands together briskly once
everyone was situated. "First shout's on Doyle and me. What's everyone
havin'?"

 Such generosity earned him enthusiastic praise from the group at large
and a threatening scowl from his partner. Still, Doyle went with him to
the bar and contributed his half of the bill willingly enough, so Bodie
felt certain the glower was merely for show.

 Mostly, anyway.

 No matter. The evening quickly got underway and all was forgiven. Drinks
flowed, backs were clapped, and voices raised, all in the spirit of
kicking back and letting off a little steam. 

 After a couple of pints, Bodie let Doyle rope him into a darts match
between them and the team of Murphy and Simon. Although the other pair was
good, Bodie and his curly-headed partner won handily, each man winding up
twenty pounds the richer. Doyle bought Bodie an excellent single malt to
celebrate. Everything seemed to be going Bodie's way.

 Leaning against the bar, fresh drink in hand, he took hold of Doyle by
the elbow, leaned over and spoke into his ear, nearly needing to shout to
be heard over the din. "Think you can manage on your own for a bit?"

 Doyle cocked a brow. "Why? Where you goin'?"

 Bodie gestured in the direction of some of CI5's secretaries. "Going to
try my luck."

 "What? With the little Irish bird?"

 Bodie smiled. "Not so much of the little, if you please. Have you seen
the size of the girl's...?" He let his voice trail off meaningfully.

 "Jumper?" Doyle promptly supplied.

 "I was going to say 'eyes'," Bodie lied.

 The little Irish bird was Fiona Burton, the newest addition to CI5's
typing pool. Her winsome smile, wavy auburn hair and ample jumper were the
talk of the break room. 

 "It's just like you to abandon the one who brought you," Doyle said in
that way Bodie could never quite decipher. Was Ray camping it up or
flirting with him? Was there necessarily any difference in the end?

 "Oh don't be that way," Bodie said, playing along regardless. "You know
you'll always have my heart."

 Doyle seemed to study Bodie, his gaze searching, his expression strangely
wistful. "Is that all?"

 "It's all I have to give you, petal," Bodie said, still unsure of his
partner's intention, and strangely flustered by his regard. What was Ray
on about? Best to play it cool. "You're not interested in my lovely body,
after all. I can't live like a monk, mate. A healthy lad like me has
needs, you know."

 Doyle looked at him for a beat longer before he smiled. It was as if,
during that brief moment, he had made a conscious decision to follow
Bodie's lead. The odd undercurrent that had been there only seconds before
vanished. "All right, Mr Needy," Doyle said, giving Bodie a friendly push.
"Go and try your hand. I forgot it's now the lusty month of May. Don't
know why I should have expected anything different."

 "Thank you, Julie Andrews," Bodie said with an appropriately fey voice.
"I'll be sure to give Fiona your regards." 

 Crossing away from his partner and towards Fiona and her friends, Bodie
could feel Doyle watching him, the weight of the other man's eyes almost
as tangible as a physical touch. 

 Neither agent had had that much to drink.

 What had just happened between them?

 Bodie pondered the question for as long as it took him to reach Fiona's
side. But when the curvaceous redhead looked up and smiled at him, a tiny
dimple denting her otherwise smooth cheek, Bodie wilfully banished such
queries from mind. 

 Don't overcomplicate things, mate, he told himself. Sure, you've been
attracted to Ray for years. The two of you banter back and forth, have
done ever since you've known each other. But nothing has ever come of it.
Likely nothing ever will. 

 Why would things change now? 

 "Well, hello, Bodie," Fiona murmured, looking up at him from beneath lush
lashes. "Don't know that I should be speaking to you. I have it on good
authority you'll likely break my heart."

 Bodie slipped his arm around her trim waist. "Funny, I heard the same
thing about you."

 And so the dance began, Fiona being a surprisingly skilful partner. It
was a game Bodie had played countless times before, usually emerging the
victor. But that night he was distracted, his attention waffling between
the woman he had set out to seduce and the man whose behaviour he couldn't
quite figure out. 

 Doyle didn't seem to be having the same problem. A second scotch in hand,
he had struck up a conversation with the barmaid, an elbow propped on the
bar top, his hips angled in such a way the pose couldn't have been
accidental. When Bodie managed to catch his eye, all the other man did was
lift his glass in a silent toast. Doyle had no doubt meant the gesture as
a salute; but it felt to Bodie more like a dismissal.

 His mood temporarily plummeted.

 Lucky for him, Fiona's warm, lush body was an instant tonic. She was
leaning against him now, all soft and willing, smelling of flowers and
spearmint and cigarettes, the scent, to Bodie's way of thinking, more
appealing than it ought to have been. 

 He bent his head closer, preparing to make his move. 

 And consequently didn't see the big blond man trying rather unsteadily to
get past him. The pint Bodie had been nursing since retrieving a half for
Fiona was in the bloke's path. The blond's widely swinging arm upended the
glass...

 ...all over Fiona's beautifully filled out jumper. She shrieked in
dismay.

 Sparing the poor girl a pained glance, Bodie grabbed hold of the man
before he could get too far. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Doyle
slowly making his way towards him across the crowded pub. "Hey, you. You
want to watch where you're going, mate."

 The blond turned around and shook off Bodie's hold. He stood a couple of
inches taller than Bodie and outweighed the agent by at least two stone.
"You watch it, *mate*. I'm minding my own business here."

 This wasn't going to end well. Bodie could tell that already. Still he
couldn't back down, could he? Not in front of a bird. "Minding it a bit
clumsily, I'd say."

 The blond behemoth swayed as he frowned down at Bodie. "What are you on
about?"

 "Bodie, leave it," Fiona said. She was standing behind him now, hand on
his arm, and peering around Bodie at the reason for her soggy state.

 Bodie ignored her. "I'm talking about your knocking into me and getting
my friend here all wet."

 Seemingly puzzled, the man looked at the pint in his hand. "I didn't
spill my drink."

 Bodie was hanging on to his patience by a thread. "No, you spilled mine."

 The blond looked at Bodie like he was an idiot. "Well, that's your
problem then."

 Christ. "Look, all I'm asking for is an apology here."

 The blond was having none of it. "What for? I didn't do nothin'."

 "I think my friend would beg to differ."

 "Bodie." Fiona again, fingers tugging on his jacket.

 Bodie pulled free from her grasp and grabbed on to the blond again, his
hand wrapping tightly around a meaty forearm. "Apologize to the lady."

 "Go to hell," the man said, and flung his nearly full pint in Bodie's
direction.

 Most of the contents hit Bodie squarely on the face.

 Some of it flew over Bodie's shoulder to land on the beleaguered Fiona.

 "Aw fuck!" she wailed, her Irish lilt not nearly as charming when she was
cursing like a sailor.

 Bodie couldn't speak at all. At least not at first. He was too busy
blinking bitter out of his eyes. As soon as his vision cleared, he lunged
at the man responsible for his dousing. "Come here, you bastard!"

 "Easy, mate. Easy!" Doyle advised, materializing out of nowhere. Grabbing
hold of Bodie by the shoulders, he dragged him away from his intended
target.

 "Let go of me, Ray," Bodie seethed, twisting against the restraint. Some
of the lads had come over to try and corral the blond, their efforts
hampered by the density of the crowd and their desire not to inflict any
true injury. Bodie wasn't bothered by any such niceties. He wanted a shot
at the ruddy bugger.

 But Doyle clung like a barnacle, thwarting his attempt at escape. "Not a
chance, mate. I'll not have that handsome face rearranged for something as
stupid as this."

 "Stupid?" Fiona said from somewhere behind them, her voice high and
shrill. Bodie turned to see beer trickling from her matted hair. "You call
this stupid?"

 Bodie finally shrugged free of his partner and crossed towards her. "Aw,
Fiona, love. Look at it this way--at least no one got hurt--"

 He reached out to take her into his arms. Only she slapped him before he
could draw her close. The crack of palm against cheek reminded Bodie of a
gunshot.

 "You idiot!" she said, eyes flashing with temper. "I told you to leave
it. But, oh no, not the macho man! The girls were right--you and your kind
are more trouble than you're worth."

 With that, Fiona turned on her heel and marched out, head held high, if
dripping slightly. The rest of CI5's female contingent followed in her
wake. The men watched them go, all seemingly bemused by such behaviour.

 "She's right, you know," Doyle said, stepping close to murmur in Bodie's
ear. "You and your kind are more trouble than you're worth."

 Bodie looked at him. Their faces were close. "You're my kind."

 Doyle smiled, his look pure provocation. "I can be trouble."

 Bodie just bet he could. But before he could comment, Jax crossed to join
them.

 "Sorry, mates," he said, not looking sorry at all. "But we've been asked
to leave."

 Chuckling ruefully, Bodie pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket
and quickly swabbed his face with it. "Have we? Whatever for?"

 Once everyone was outside on the sidewalk, Murphy tried to rally the
troops. "Come on then. Who's with me? Got nearly an hour till last orders.
There's bound to be someplace close by looking for a bit of business."

 Bodie tossed his now soaked handkerchief in a nearby rubbish bin. "Count
me out, Murph. I'm bathing in the stuff. I think I'll settle for a
nightcap at my own flat."

 "Want some company?" Doyle asked. 

 Bodie smiled at the idea. Why the hell not? "Sure, mate. Come on."

 The night was lovely, warm with a light breeze. They decided to walk.
Leaving their friends and Doyle's car behind, they strolled side by side
to Bodie's place. Bodie was able to tell by the way the edges were rubbed
off Doyle's words and the other man's loose limbed saunter that his
partner was comfortably squiffy. This was a level of drunkenness Bodie
often encouraged in Doyle, as it rendered him warmly affectionate and
unusually sweet-natured. That evening was no exception. They bumped
shoulders companionably as they rambled, the earlier commotion left
further and further behind with every step they took. 

 They made it to Bodie's place without incident. This is what we should
have done in the first place, Bodie thought, trailing behind his partner
as they climbed the stairs to his flat. Why had he thought he would need
additional company that night? Ray and he had always done better on their
own.

 Once inside, Doyle got the stereo going while Bodie poured Doyle a couple
fingers of scotch. *Dark Side of the Moon* soon murmured softly in the
background.

 "Just going to pop in the shower for a mo," Bodie said, handing his
partner the tumbler of scotch. "Wash off some of the foam. Make yourself
at home. I won't be a tick." 

 "Ta. Take your time. I can entertain meself."

 When Bodie emerged not long after, clad in a white towelling robe and
nothing else, he found Doyle sitting on his sofa, shoes off, scotch at his
elbow, the latest copy of Mayfair in his hands. Pink Floyd played on.

 "Raymond! Does your mother know you read that sort of filth?" he queried
as if scandalized, pouring himself a drink and crossing to sit beside his
friend, one arm extended along the sofa back, behind the other man's
shoulders.

 "I only ever pick it up for the articles," Doyle assured him, as pious as
a bishop.

 "Haven't had the chance to give this issue the attention it deserves,"
Bodie said with mock sorrow, leaning in close to catch a glimpse of the
page. "I've had it nearly a week and haven't had time to get past the
table of contents."

 Doyle turned his head Bodie's way and lifted a brow. "You read the table
of contents?"

 Bodie shrugged. "Want to make sure I don't miss any of the important
bits."

 "I'm pretty sure those aren't in the table of contents, mate."

 Chuckling, they settled in to share the magazine as children would a
picture book. Together, they commented on the various models' attributes,
the degree of airbrushing on any given photo, how many frames it must have
taken to get the shot. Content in each other's company, they sipped their
scotch and allowed the rest of the world to fade away. 

 Gradually, the hour grew late. They were nearing the back of the
magazine, when they turned the page to a pictorial featuring a slender
brunette with enormous blue eyes, short tousled hair and flawless ivory
skin. Posed on top of an artfully mussed bed complete with satin sheets
positioned just so, she wore white stockings, a garter belt and nothing
else.

 Doyle lingered over the photo, which came as no surprise to Bodie. While
Bodie tended to prefer his birds experienced, Ray had always had a thing
for "the good girl." The nubile young thing making cow eyes at the camera
looked the part.

 "See something you fancy?" Bodie murmured in Doyle's ear, thinking only
to tease.

 That intent only heightened when, as if in answer to his question, he saw
Doyle's cock twitch, pulse beneath the jeans his partner wore. That
strange current Bodie had felt between them earlier in the evening sparked
to life again.

 "My, my, my, Raymond. Is that reaction for your new girlfriend there or
for me?" Bodie asked, leaning in even closer to his partner, purposely
allowing his breath to stir the other man's hair. A bit of the devil urged
Bodie on; he wanted to see how far he could take things before Doyle would
feel compelled to stop him.

 "What are you on about?" Doyle asked, his nonchalance not quite as
convincing as it might have been. He gave Bodie a quick little sideways
glance. "She's a pretty girl is all."

 "You seem a little jumpy suddenly. That's all I'm sayin'," Bodie
countered, raising his hand from where it rested on the back of the sofa,
and lightly tracing the curve of Doyle's other ear. "You're not getting
turned on, are you, by all the tits and arse?" 

 He got another twitch for his efforts.

 "You are, aren't you?" Bodie crowed. "You randy old sod. This is getting
you hot."

 "Leave off. I'm ticklish there," Doyle complained, although he didn't bat
Bodie's hand away, didn't even bother to shrug off the caress. He kept his
eyes on the magazine. Yet Bodie was almost certain his partner was
breathing harder and heavier than before.

 And suddenly it hit him.

 Bloody hell. 

 Raymond Doyle was his for the taking.

 Bodie could have him. There, on his sofa, in his arms. He was sure of it.
Bodie didn't know if it was the magazine or the booze or him, but his
partner was strung high wire tight with need. 

 Bodie wondered what it might take to release that kind of tension.

 He pitched his voice low and intimate. "Do your birds know that
*this*..." Bodie nuzzled Doyle's ear, rubbing the bridge of his nose
against the velvety lobe, then up and around, following the shape.
"...Makes *that *dance?"

 "Bodie," Doyle murmured, frowning, the single word rumbling up from his
throat like a purr. He didn't turn his head. He didn't try to stop Bodie
at all. 

 Bodie did it again, this time pressing a lingering kiss to the other
man's ear when he was finished. Doyle's eyes fluttered shut and a delicate
shiver rolled through his body. 

 Chuckling, Bodie recognized the signs of surrender and decided to be
generous in victory. He took the magazine from Doyle's slackened hands and
set it aside. He then kissed him softly on the temple, his hand coming up
to cradle the back of Doyle's head in his palm.

 "Relax, Ray," Bodie said against Doyle's skin. "I've got you. I'll take
good care, I promise." Bodie clenched his fist in Doyle's hair and gently
tugged, tilting the angle of his partner's head, so he could better get at
him. Doyle let him. It was as if he were floating with it, like a hawk
riding thermals, virtually soaring with desire. Doyle was malleable
beneath Bodie's hands, allowing Bodie to move him as he would. He moaned
when Bodie nuzzled the side of his face again, then nipped at his ear,
capturing the lobe between his teeth and tugging, before letting it slip
free. 

 Pleased with his partner's reaction, Bodie skimmed his other hand down
the front of Doyle's body, making certain to glance over and around his
nipples, peaked as they were, pressing up against soft, faded t-shirt. He
saw the outline of Doyle's stiffening cock beneath his jeans, and longed
to finally touch it, to hold it in his hand. "You know something,
sunshine. I'm afraid you're going to do yourself an injury, carrying on as
you are. All that activity down below, and it's being stifled by those
tight trousers of yours."

 Bodie placed his palm over the budge at Doyle's groin and closed his
fingers round it, squeezing carefully, feeling the heat of Doyle's sex
rise up like steam through the denim. Doyle groaned and lifted his chin,
his mouth falling open on the cry and staying that way. Eyes yet closed,
he clutched at Bodie's thigh, his long fingers clenching around the
muscles there. Bodie felt the touch deep in his centre, his own cock
having long since begun to harden and lengthen.

 "I'll make it sweet for you, shall I?" Bodie whispered as he popped the
button on Doyle's jeans and lowered the zipper, surprised by how low the
words had come out, how ragged. "I'll give you what that little tart in
the magazine never could."

 Doyle's eyes opened then, his excitement turning them dark and just the
tiniest bit unfocused. "What's that?"

 "A bird like that doesn't know you, does she?" Bodie said, rubbing the
edge of his thumb back and forth along Doyle's erection, the pressure firm
against the thin layer of cloth yet shielding the shaft. "Doesn't know
what you fancy, what turns you on."

 Taking his hand from Bodie's leg, Doyle reached up and slid his fingers
through Bodie's hair. Bodie thought he might be trembling, thought they
both might be. "And you do, eh?"

 "'Course I do. I know it all, don't I, sunshine? Just like you do for
me." Bodie took Doyle's hand and pressed a kiss to its palm before
releasing it. "We don't need centrefolds, you and me, Ray. No Fionas,
either. Not when it's like this between us--this easy, this hot. We don't
need anything but each other."

 "You sure?" Doyle asked. Eyes on Bodie's face and not what he was doing,
Doyle's fingers delved beneath his friend's robe, and captured Bodie in
his grasp, his grip tight and warm. Exactly how Bodie imagined the inside
of Doyle's body must feel. Bodie's back arched at the very thought,
pushing his hips up and forward as if in plea.

 "Aw, Christ," Bodie groaned, struggling for control. More than anything,
he wanted to move within his partner's hold. To pump and thrust and feel
his achingly sensitive flesh glide against Doyle, skin to skin. Only he
couldn't. Not yet. "Ray, mate. Let me go."

 Doyle looked at him like Bodie had lost his mind. "What on earth for?"

 "Because, you stupid prat--if you don't, I'm going to lose it!"

 Seemingly emboldened by Bodie's confession, Doyle smiled, but didn't
release him. "I thought that was the point of this exercise."

 "Eventually," Bodie said, slipping his hand beneath the towelling now as
well, he laid it on top of his partner's. Gently, he peeled Doyle's
fingers away from his shaft. "But not yet."

 "Why not?" Doyle looked at him with confusion and a mulish set to his
jaw.

 "Because I want to watch," Bodie told him.

 "What...me?" Doyle asked, his colour high.

 "Yeah," Bodie said, feeling a bit mulish now himself. "You got a problem
with that?"

 Doyle slicked his lips with his tongue. "None that I can think of."

 Bodie kissed him then. How could he not? Open mouthed and unhurried.
Their first kiss. Telling Ray he was being lippy would never mean the same
thing again. "That was brilliant," Bodie whispered when they were through.
"Now why don't we see how hard I can make you come?"

 They both wrestled with Doyle's jeans and pants, tugging them to
mid-thigh. Baring Doyle completely. Taking his partner's silky length in
hand, Bodie took a moment to introduce himself to it, to enjoy its damp,
heavy heat, the slide of it against his palm, his fingertips. Then Bodie
really got started, stroking the shaft, working it with a sure and steady
rhythm. 

 Alive to every gasp, every shiver, he read Doyle's reactions like a road
map. Long, smooth glides at first. Shorter, tighter thrusts as Doyle's
need rose. Then, when Bodie could tell his partner was there, wracked with
it, about to tumble over the edge, he backed off, choosing instead to
merely rub his thumb across the rosy crown, smearing the moisture there
round and round, the pressure soft and maddening. 

 "You bastard," Doyle choked out with a blend of laughter and outrage.
"You bloody bastard."

 "Temper, Raymond, temper," Bodie murmured before pressing a chaste kiss
to Doyle's cheek. "Have a little faith. I told you I'd take good care of
you. You just need to be patient. It'll make the end that much sweeter." 

 Bodie wanted Doyle out of his mind with it, to prolong the pleasure until
it was everything--everything Doyle ever wanted, everything he knew. But
Bodie wasn't prepared to be cruel. He teased just long enough to make
Doyle squirm in delight and frustration before switching to strong, fast
pulls...

 Doyle gasped.

 And came with a kind of violence, shuddering helplessly in his release. 

 When it was over and Doyle was coming down from the pleasure high, what
moved Bodie most profoundly was not how strangely beautiful Doyle was at
climax, how horribly vulnerable, or even how much Bodie wanted to do the
whole thing all over again. 

 Instead, what struck him was the way Doyle turned to him, grabbed at
Bodie when ecstasy rolled over him like a wave. Eyes squeezed shut, his
partner seized hold of Bodie's robe, gripped his arm with strength enough
to leave bruises. Mumbling nonsense and curses, Doyle buried his face
against Bodie's neck, his breath puffing against the tender skin there,
hot and fast. Doyle reached for Bodie blindly, and when he found him, held
on tight.

 From that evidence alone, Bodie knew this wouldn't be a one-off. Doyle
needed him, needed him for more than just what they had together
physically.

 And Bodie needed him right back, his want every bit as fierce.

 Once Doyle recovered, came back to himself just a bit, he sighed with
utter languor, and kissed Bodie softly on the neck. Then again on the
cheek. Then one last time on the lips, his mouth clinging to Bodie's as if
loath to leave it.

 "That was a bit of all right," Doyle whispered, pulling away only far
enough to speak the words. 

 "Liked that, did you?" Bodie asked, fingers carding lightly through his
tousled hair.

 "Didn't mind," Doyle murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking in
amusement. "You're rather good at it."

 "Ta, I'm sure," Bodie said, shifting a bit against the sofa cushion, his
arousal fast becoming uncomfortable. "But can I tell you what *I*
mind...?"

 "In a bit of a state, are you?" Doyle said, his hand slipping beneath
Bodie's robe once more.

 "Just a bit," Bodie confessed, thinking it the understatement of the
year. Then Doyle's hand closed around him. And he could barely think at
all.

 "Let me see if I can help."

 Kicking his jeans and pants free entirely from his legs, Doyle slithered
to the floor with an ease Bodie could only envy. Clad merely in his
t-shirt and socks, he knelt at Bodie's feet. Hands on Bodie's knees, he
pushed his partner's legs wide and scooted forward so they bracketed him
like bookends.

 "Getting up close and personal, are we?" Bodie queried, the question a
grumble of sound, his centre heavy and swollen now, and wanting so much to
be touched.

 Doyle reached up and undid the knot holding Bodie's robe closed. "Want to
make sure I can reach all the tender bits." Grabbing hold of both halves
of the robe, he pulled them open and out of the way, exposing Bodie from
shoulder to toes. Bodie shivered in reaction, although from cold or
anticipation he couldn't really say.

 Eyes alight, like a kid at Christmas, Doyle reached up and laid both
hands high on Bodie's chest, just below his collarbones, Doyle's fingers
spread wide as if eager to caress all the skin he could. "You really are a
lovely lad, aren't you? And here I thought all that talk was nothing but
empty bragging."

 "No need, is there?" Bodie murmured, doing his best to keep his voice
level. Which was difficult with Doyle painting abstract patterns on him,
skimming from breast to ribs to belly, his fingertips like tiny tickling
brushes. "It's so much simpler to tell the truth."

 "Hmm," Doyle hummed in agreement, smiling almost as if to himself, and
shooting Bodie a look from beneath his lashes. Then he bowed his head and
pressed his lips to the space between Bodie's nipples. Bodie's eyes slid
shut. His hands came up to bury themselves in Doyle's hair, not trying to
force Doyle in any way, just to touch in return.

 "Shall I tell you a truth, then?" Doyle asked between kisses, each press
of his lips firm yet soft, and warm beyond belief as they blazed a trail
down the middle of Bodie's body.

 "Sure," Bodie whispered, eyes open again, needing to watch. 

 "I'm going to suck you, mate," Doyle said from just below Bodie's navel.
Bodie's cock laid there on his belly, curving to the left, plum coloured
with arousal, needy and hard. Yet Doyle ignored it, choosing instead to
lick lightly at the faint line of hair leading to its base, wetting the
strands there, coaxing them to darken and lie flat. Bodie thought he might
weep with it--the longing, the joy. All he could manage to mumble by way
of encouragement was:

 "Yeah?"

 Doyle didn't seem to notice his lack of sparkling repartee. His hands
were on Bodie's hips now. His lips busy, mouthing the tender skin on the
inside of Bodie's thighs. 

 "Yeah," he husked, his words scattered between kisses. "I'm going to make
you come in my mouth." 

 His hair brushed against Bodie's balls, against his cock. Head seemingly
too heavy to be held upright for much longer, Bodie let go of Doyle's
curls, grabbing hold of the towelling pooled on either side of him
instead. Breath shallow and thin, he began to rock his hips, nudging them
in tiny controlled thrusts, unable to stay still. If his partner didn't do
something soon, Bodie was going to come from Doyle's words alone. "Fucking
hell."

 "You want that, Bodie?" Doyle asked, bending down to take first one ball,
then the other between his lips, the caresses slick and hot against
Bodie's fragile skin. "You want to be inside my mouth?"

 Not giving Bodie time to answer, Doyle began to work his way north,
stringing kisses up the length of Bodie's cock, each one open-mouthed and
slow. 

 Bodie was going to lose it. He was going to fucking lose it before Doyle
ever even followed through on his promise.

 "Oh for Christ sake, Doyle," Bodie pleaded, beyond pride, beyond anything
but need. "Do it. Just fuckin' do it. Don't make me wait."

 Doyle had Bodie in hand now, pulling his erection away from his belly, so
he could press one last kiss to the very tip of it. Bodie whimpered. Doyle
smiled at the sound, his expression holding nothing but tenderness. 

 "All right, sunshine."

 And he took Bodie inside. 

 Sliding down as far as he could, Doyle closed his lips tight and sucked.
It took him awhile to figure out what he could handle, how deep and how
long. But he quickly caught on, his head lifting and lowering, his soft
tongue adding more stimulation.

 Bodie didn't care that his partner's technique needed a little
refinement. Doyle's enthusiasm more than made up for any initial
awkwardness. It was heaven.

 With as much teasing as he had endured, Bodie knew he wouldn't last long.
He soon felt the telltale tightening at the base of his spine, the sense
that everything he was, all the energy he possessed was gathering there,
waiting to be released.

 "Ray," he muttered, slit-eyed and gravel-throated. "Ray,
mate...gonna...I'm gonna..."

 Bodie didn't need to say exactly what he was going to do. Doyle
understood. But rather than pulling away as Bodie had thought he might,
Doyle instead tightened his hold on Bodie's hips and intensified all he
was doing, ratcheted up the pleasure until Bodie thought he might die of
it, might overload on sensation.

 "Oh, Jesus," Bodie cried at last, eyes slamming shut and everything
inside him suspended just for a breath before heat tore through him like
liquid flame, shooting out from his centre to the farthest corners of his
being, his body emptying into Doyle's mouth with a mix of abandon and
furious relief.

 Doyle stayed with him to the end, doing everything to help Bodie ride his
release like a surfer commanding the curl. But eventually, Bodie softened
and Doyle's caresses gentled. With one last damp slide of his lips, Doyle
raised his head and let Bodie slip free. He rested his cheek against
Bodie's thigh and slumped to lean against Bodie's leg, one hand wrapped
around Bodie's ankle, his thumb tracing the bone there in small lazy
circles.

 Bodie smiled down at him and laid his hand heavily on Doyle's rumpled
head. "Shit," he said with satisfaction.

 Doyle smiled back. "That bad?"

 Bodie shook his head. "That good. Surely you could tell."

 "You did give off signs."

 "Subtle ones, I'm certain."

 "Cryptic as a sphinx."

 Chuckling, Bodie played with Doyle's curls, rubbing a few strands of hair
between his fingertips. God, but he was tired. In the best way possible,
of course. Good thing Doyle and he were off the next day. "You staying the
night then?"

 Doyle looked up at him, languid and replete like Bodie, and seemingly as
completely shagged out. "You askin'?"

 Bodie nodded. "I'm askin'."

 "Then I'm stayin'."

 Bodie smiled again. Just one more thing he needed to know. "How long?"

 Doyle looked at him quizzically. "How long what?"

 "How long you stayin'?"

 Doyle shrugged, but his eyes were keen. "You said the night."

 "For starters."

 "What's for finishers, then?"

 Bodie slid his hand over the curve of Doyle's head in a gentle caress.
"That's up to you, I imagine."

 Doyle captured Bodie's hand in both of his and pressed a kiss to its
back. "I get to choose?"

 Bodie smiled. "That's right."

 Doyle kept hold of Bodie's hand, bowed his head over it for a beat before
lifting his eyes to Bodie. "Then I choose you."

 Bodie beamed. "Clever lad."

 "Exceedingly," Doyle agreed, giving his hand a squeeze. "And to think, we
have Mayfair to thank."

 "Don't forget Fiona," Bodie said.

 Doyle scowled, though Bodie could tell he didn't mean it. Not much
anyway. "*You* better forget Fiona. And all other women as well, not to
mention blokes."

 "Who were we talking about again?" Bodie asked, the question made
promptly and with the proper measure of befuddlement.

 "Us," Doyle told him, releasing Bodie's hand, and pressing to his knees.
Stretching forward, he kissed Bodie, the buss full of promise. "And the
rest of our lives."

 "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," Bodie quoted,
all but giddy with happiness. 

 Doyle draped his arms around Bodie's shoulders and looked deep into his
eyes. "Just so long as you take each and every one of those steps
alongside me."

 It was the easiest promise Bodie had ever made. "Wouldn't have it any
other way, mate. Wouldn't have it any other way."

 -- THE END --

 *May 2007*

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