The Professionals Circuit Archive - On Being Blue	  On Being Blue

 

by Bistokids 

 
 *Written for "Discovered in the Brandy Butter," on the discoveredinalj
livejournal community, to the prompt "mandarins and tangerines"*

 ******

"Doyle?"

 No response. Bodie glanced thoughtfully at his partner, immersed in some
profound-looking philosophical discourse. Pretentious, Bodie called it.
He'd sneaked the briefest of looks at a page or two, in the interval
between snatching it out of Doyle's hand and the inevitable tussle that
came as a direct consequence. Had even read out, in exaggerated
declamatory tones, a tiny sequence:

 *Art, like light, needs distance, and anyone who attempts to render
sexual experience directly must face the fact that the writhings which
comprise it are ludicrous without their subjective content...*

 At which point he was cut off by a sharp elbow to the kidneys -- meant as
nothing more than a mock-threat, nevertheless the impact was enough to
have Bodie's eyes watering as he clutched his side, leaving Doyle to
retrieve the hastily dropped book.

 "Bloody hell, Doyle, you trying to kill me?"

 "Serves you right. And don't tempt me."

 Offering an unsympathetic wink, Doyle curled himself up once again in the
only comfortable chair in the room and resumed reading, leaving Bodie to
recover his breath and broodingly contemplate as many imaginative ways as
possible of bringing about Doyle's agonising demise.

 Twenty minutes on, having conducted a solemn internal dialogue on the
relative merits of thumbscrews and Chinese water torture, he was bored
again. And uncomfortably aware that the mental images of a chained and
helpless Doyle were beginning to have unexpected and potentially
embarrassing side effects. Casting around for a distraction, his eye was
drawn to his oblivious partner.

 "Doyle?"

 "Hmm?"

 "You got anything to eat?"

 "Nothing you'd want." Doyle absently licked a finger, flicked over the
page. Bodie took a calming breath.

 "What've you got, then?"

 A slight frown creased Doyle's forehead. "What?"

 "If you've got something, I might want it. Oh come on, mate, I'm wasting
away here."

 His concentration finally broken, Doyle glared at Bodie with irritation.
"Oh for Christ's sake...here."

 He twisted round, reaching into his jacket pocket to extract something
small and round, which he launched without warning towards Bodie's head.
Instinctively Bodie's hand flashed up in defence, intercepting the missile
within scant inches of his face, his lips curving upwards in a smug grin.
Doyle returned the smile with a gleam of white teeth, acknowledging the
swift reaction with approval.

 Bodie looked down at his hand, the grin vanishing to be replaced by a
wrinkle of the brow, a slight pout.

 "What's this?" Disapproval radiated like a living presence. Doyle rolled
his eyes theatrically.

 "It's a tangerine." Slowly and clearly, as though speaking to a
particularly dim child.

 "Thought you said you had food."

 "It's seasonal, isn't it?"

 "So are mince pies. Proper food, they are."

 "Well, if you don't want it, give it back."

 "Huh." Unwilling to relinquish even this meagre offering, Bodie subsided
into silence, grumpily picking away at the puckered orange skin until the
soft insides were exposed. Carefully he separated the segments, laying
them side by side on the battered Formica tabletop. Glanced towards his
partner, now once again immersed in the pages of his book, thoughtfully
chewing a fingernail as he mulled over whatever he was reading.

 Bodie paused, his attention captured. Art, like light, needs
distance...there was something in that. Undeniably, the sight of Doyle
like this, head bowed in contemplation, soft dusty light from the
uncleaned window catching shades of red and gold in the tousled hair and
accenting the angularity of the bone structure, was aesthetically
satisfying, adding an artistic quality to his partner's appearance that
was less apparent as you got closer and saw the toughness, the scars, the
inevitable backlash of too much exposure to too brutal a reality. At rest,
from a distance, his mind far from the grimness of the job, Doyle was...

 Bodie shied automatically away from the word beautiful, blinking and
giving himself a vigorous mental shake, cheeks tinged uncharacteristically
red as he thanked God that his partner's many skills didn't extend to mind
reading. Cabin fever, that's what it was. Being cooped up on comms duty,
today of all days, might be the altruistic thing to do, given that he
hadn't any family he wanted to share the joys of the season with, but it
was bad for his head. God, if he was resorting to fancying Doyle, things
had to be grim.

 He cleared his throat.

 "You want any of this?"

 Something of his thoughts must have carried into his tone, because Doyle
glanced at him sharply, eyebrows raised.

 "You all right, mate?"

 "Yeah. Bored. You want some of this?"

 Doyle looked over at the precisely arranged tangerine pieces. "Yeah,
that'd be good. You really are bored, aren't you? You should get yourself
a book. Improve your mind."

 The smug expression returned. "My mind doesn't need improving, thank you.
Steel trap, this." He flipped a piece of tangerine over to Doyle, who
caught it deftly.

 "Thanks. Well, unfortunately us lesser mortals have to put a bit more
effort in than someone of your natural brilliance."

 Bodie affected a haughty demeanour, along with a frankly shambolic upper
class accent. "Oh, quite so, old boy. Quite so."

 Snorting, Doyle returned to his book, twisting the segment of tangerine
absently between thumb and forefinger. Bodie worked his way methodically
through the remaining pieces, taking little bites of each, ostentatiously
chewing for longer than necessary, literally making a meal of it. The last
morsel consumed, he turned doleful eyes on Doyle, checking to ensure that
his performance had been observed. What he saw froze him into breathless,
stunned immobility.

 Doyle, still absorbed in his reading, was holding the segment close to
his mouth, lips brushing lightly against it, gently playing it back and
forth. As Bodie, entranced, followed its smooth progress along the full
lower lip, Doyle suddenly pressed it further in, biting down firmly,
tongue darting out to catch the golden droplets of juice that threatened
to spill over onto the exposed page below. Pushing the other half in to
join the first, he stroked his finger over the corner of his mouth to trap
the last errant drop, sucking the tip to clean away the tart stickiness.

 It was one of the most sweetly erotic and powerfully arousing sights
Bodie had ever witnessed. Heart racing, he dragged his gaze away, slumping
down with a stifled groan until his forehead connected, satisfyingly
painfully, with the table in front of him. He closed his eyes. This was a
nightmare. God, if Doyle ever found out, his life wouldn't be worth
living.

 Although, come to think of it...As Bodie's frazzled brain began to clear,
it occurred to him that, throughout the entire unsettling sequence,
several minutes worth, Doyle hadn't actually turned a single page of the
book he had seemingly been devouring with such gusto. Slowly, he lifted
his head, knowing he'd been had, unsurprised to encounter an openly
grinning Doyle, head slightly tilted, watching him with a combination of
amusement and speculation.

 "Problem?"

 "You little bastard." There was no sting in the words. Despite himself,
Bodie couldn't help admiring how adeptly Doyle had played him.

 The grin widened. "Took you long enough."

 There was a pause. Bodie looked away, shielding himself as he frantically
cast his mind back, trying to work out how much he had given away,
analysing Doyle's motives -- was this a prank, or something more? Doyle
was perfectly capable of setting the whole thing up just to amuse himself
on a dull day.

 Doyle must have sensed the shift in mood, because he uncurled himself
from the chair, coming to sit across the table from Bodie, leaning towards
him earnestly.

 "Bodie, listen mate. Please."

 Bodie took a deep breath, forced himself to meet his partner's eyes. Had
to force himself to maintain the contact, because the solemnity, the utter
naked honesty he encountered there rocked him beyond imagining. Again, the
phrase from the book rolled through his mind. Art, like light, requires
distance. Just minutes ago he was agreeing wholeheartedly with the
sentiment. And now, with Doyle so close that it felt like he could crawl
inside his soul, Bodie realised that distance did no justice to the man in
front of him. The nearer you got, the better the view.

 "I'm listening."

 He heard the unintentional edginess in his own voice, saw a hint of
uncertainty creep in to cloud the raw beauty of the green eyes.

 "Look, Bodie, you've got to understand. I..."

 With shattering timing, the comms crackled into life for the first time
that day.

 "Alpha One to Control."

 For the second time, Bodie let his head thud onto the table, as Doyle
went to answer the radio.

 "Good afternoon, Alpha One." Doyle's tone was admirably enthusiastic.

 "Ah, 4.5. Anything to report?"

 "Not really, sir. Quiet as the grave here. All the bad guys must be
visiting their mums."

 "Aye, you're probably right. You and 3.7 can stand down. I'll expect you
in tomorrow at 10am. Happy Christmas."

 "And the compliments of the season to you too, Mr Cowley. Control out."

 A stillness descended on the room as the transmission ended, the two men
gazing at each other with an air of frustration, the mood broken but
neither willing to let the matter go. Characteristically, it was Doyle's
voice that penetrated the silence.

 "So. Free at last. What're you going to do then?"

 "I dunno. Head back to mine, I suppose." He paused, took the plunge. "You
coming?"

 Doyle's smile was laced with a wickedness that sent a shiver through
Bodie.

 "Who knows, sunshine. Who knows." He prowled toward his partner, leaning
in close, his words the ghost of a breath against Bodie's ear. "I
guarantee you will be, though."

 -- THE END --

 *December 2007*

 **NOTE:*The featured quote is from 'On Being Blue' by William H Gass
(1976)*

   Archive Home