The Professionals Circuit Archive - Bishonen Too	 Bishonen Too

 

by DVS

  
 "You're home," Doyle announced, throwing the magazine aside and standing
up in one smooth motion. As he was wearing only a T-shirt and underpants,
it was a sight that was indeed welcoming, and Bodie's grin showed he was
not unappreciative.

"I'm home," Bodie agreed, pulling at his already loosened tie with one
hand as his eyes feasted on his mate's lithe and furry body. When he
finally pulled it from his neck, Doyle snatched it from his fingers and
put it around his own neck, where it clashed enthusiastically with the
olive green of the T-shirt. Bodie smiled, caught hold of the ends and used
them to pull his lover close for a greeting kiss.

"I was sure it was you," Doyle nodded as his lips came free. He savoured
the essence of Bodie on his mouth and decided another kiss would not be
amiss. Bodie seemed willing so Doyle presented his mouth again. It was
even better the second time. A little suction, but a twist as they parted
so that there was only the softest of sounds because Bodie didn't like
kisses which smacked. While his lips were engaged, Doyle's hands got busy
helping Bodie with the black buttons on the rich maroon coloured silk
shirt. It was slow going, for once there was room for Doyle to slip a hand
inside, Doyle became temporarily distracted by the feel of Bodie's hard,
wide chest. Locating one small nipple with his-fingers, he fastened his
mouth upon the other, apparently oblivious to the fact that Bodie was
still unfastening the last button and there was a layer of cloth between
him and that portion of his lover's anatomy.

"Ray!" Bodie gave a shove to his lover's head to dislodge it. "That's a
silk shirt you're...ahhh," he was distracted as Doyle nipped hard and then
went back to sucking. "Do you know what we paid for this?"

Even reminding Doyle that it was one of the new shirts they had bought to
share didn't help. He made another effort to push Doyle's head away.
"Should have gotten it off a bit faster, mate," Doyle said, refusing to
shoulder any of the blame himself. He gave in to the second indelicate
push and straightened up to help Bodie out of the shirt. "You're a clever
boy. Figure out how to put it on Expenses."

"Can't. Don't you remember what the Cow said...about..." Bodie forgot what
he had been about to say as Doyle unzipped his trousers and reached in.
There wasn't much room for Doyle's hand and his own beginning-to-swell
flesh. It took even more effort to pull away from his partner this time,
but Bodie was one of CI5's best, and he found the strength from somewhere
to step back. Doyle made a small sound of protest, but he too was one of
Cowley's elite and he tried again.

"You'll be ruining those next," Bodie complained, taking a careful look at
the waistband as he wiggled out of the pants. "Finest polyester, these
are. Show some patience!"

"This from the man who jumped me at the door last Tuesday and had his evil
way with me right there on the dusty floor? Besides, you love the way my
mouth feels through cloth. You told me so last week."

"I lied," Bodie lied.

"How 'bout lying...down?" Doyle suggested.

"In the bedroom, properly," Bodie agreed.

"Okay. Do me properly!" Doyle abandoned his friend promptly and headed for
the bedroom.

Following leisurely, disrobing as he went, Bodie arrived at the bed
completely nude. He paused in surprise. The king-sized bed was draped with
a new cover of brown velvet, upon which was draped in turn Doyle's elegant
and unadorned form.

"Oh, very nice!" Bodie said, eyes feasting as he eased down into the wiry
arms of his lover. Kisses occupied them for several minutes, Bodie moving
aggressively into the last one and coming to rest firmly on top the other
man.

"Bodie?" Doyle's hands came round to fasten firmly on his partner's brawny
arms, squeezing the hard muscle and then sliding down to stroke idly over
the blunt point of the elbows.

"Something in particular on your mind?"

"I've been thinking," Doyle began.

"Dangerous habit," Bodie interrupted, and got an extra hard poke in his
ribs for it.

"I'm bein' serious. We've been lovers more'n two months now."

"Yes?" Bodie encouraged.

"I want to move in."

"So? We agreed we wanted to live together. Who's stopping you?"

"Gotta tell Cowley. He'll want to know why," Doyle seemed to be studying
Bodie's neck.

"We've already discussed this. Of course we're going to tell him," Bodie
agreed.

"Tomorrow," Doyle insisted firmly.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I know you wanted to put off telling him until the next time we
were changed, but Bodie? I don't want to wait."

"Half your stuff is over here anyway. There's even a bit of your bloody
motorcycle in that last box you brought over." Then, seeing Doyle's eyes
narrow, he said seriously, "Talk to Cowley tomorrow," he agreed, and then
added, "Speaking of waiting..." Bodie pressed his anatomical impatience
against Doyle firmly.

"Where's the stuff?" Doyle loved the flash of excitement which came to his
lover's eyes at the question. Sometimes it was worth acquiescing to Bodie
just to see the flood of masculine lust come over the man. There was no
doubt about how much Bodie liked this--or what his favourite position was.
Bodie was a top man. He was a scrupulously fair top man and usually gave
in without argument if Doyle indicated a desire for that role himself. It
was not that he didn't enjoy allowing Doyle to have his way with him-- it
was only that he enjoyed having his way with Doyle even more.

From the bedside table Bodie grabbed up a small glass jar, which he opened
carefully. "We're almost out," he commented, taking a small amount of the
extremely thick oil onto his finger.

"Have to go buying plain ky like the rest of the...down- trodden masses,"
Doyle grinned, and there was a challenge in his expression. Like the rest
of the fairies, the gays, the fruits, he implied, knowing that inside
Bodie there was still an adamant heterosexual who sometimes hated to think
of himself as otherwise. Bodie never referred to himself or to their
relationship in gay terms. And it wasn't that Bodie didn't want Cowley to
know about them. He didn't want the mob to know, because at that point the
label "gay" was going to be firmly fixed to "Mr. Macho...

Doyle's thoughts were scattered as Bodie settled down to serious loving.
Lips and licks and rubbing fingers--Bodie did it so well. His expertise,
as always, instantly caught Doyle in a web of glittering lust. With a
shiver, Doyle turned in Bodie's embrace, loving the feel of plush velvet
under him, and Bodie's hot flesh above.

With hands and lips, Doyle tortured them both as long as he dared, slowing
them down, drawing out the loving until Bodie was sweating and straining,
his thick cock heavily damp, lengthening even more in its attempt to reach
Doyle. Choice time. The one to be penetrated chose the position- -it was
one of the unspoken rules which had developed between them. Doyle rolled
onto his knees, clutching for a pillow to wedge under his face or stomach.
He liked it best when Bodie came from behind. Although supple enough to
have no difficulty on his back, Bodie's greater weight and passion fogged
enthusiasm sometimes prevented an entirely mutually-comfortable go.

Braced, ass-up, Doyle waited for the first cautious nudge, grunting a
little as Bodie forced himself past the first tight ring of muscle, and
then sighing in pleasure. It was those first two or three thrusts Doyle
found most exquisite--at least, until his prostrate became involved-- and
he groaned as the wave of heavy sweetness flowed through him.

Bodie's hands were busy, touching here and there until he settled into a
rhythm and needed to brace himself. He could shove in so deeply this way
that Doyle had to keep his wits about him. There was a place inside that
Bodie's most powerful thrust could reach, and that place would explode
into terrible pain if struck. Doyle had always figured that was the place
his guts started, a place nature had not intended Bodie--or anyone
else--to be. Once, Doyle had spent the afternoon at a library, pouring
over medical books, studying the illustrations and tracing over the
details of the rectum and the intestines. He'd known so little about that
part of his body, and in fact had scarcely given it a single thought until
this year. Now, his thoughts were often focused on his arse. Or Bodie's.

His lover had a nice back end. The thickly muscled thighs and flanks
joined a wonderful posterior, massive yet small, beautiful with flowing,
rounded curves. Doyle loved to touch it. His own construction was
different. Bodie had told him he had a fantastic bum, scarcely there at
all. Not having much padding allowed Bodie to get in deeper, and Bodie
loved it, and was careful of him in a way Doyle never had to be when
fucking 8odie. Doyle loved Bodie's care, it made him feel cherished,
although sometimes, when Bodie was being *too* careful, it also made him
impatient.

Face down in velvet, pillow under one shoulder, Doyle was loving the
loving his mate was giving him. 8odie reached under Doyle as Doyle reached
back, and their hands met around Doyle's hard cock. Together they worked
to make Doyle come, and Bodie waited until he felt Doyle wet his hand
before he gave in to his own impulses and hunched furiously into Doyle's
collapsing body. Holding that last thrust deeply he gasped for air and
came inside his lover's body. Then he was empty and pulling out, flopping
over onto his back and pulling Doyle into his arms in the same smooth
motion.

Love you. Doyle's lips moved the word into Bodie's sweet damp neck. He
didn't say them aloud--didn't have to. 8odie knew. 8odie gave him a
squeeze in response and settled them both more comfortably. Three seconds
later the phone rang.

"Good job it wasn't two minutes ago," Doyle whispered as Bodie reached
across him to answer it.

"Yes? Oh, hullo! Where? No...no gun. Yes, cash, fifty maybe. Keys. Had to
get all the locks changed. Yes, of course. Now? Right."

"What's that all about, then?" Doyle asked.

"MI6. Man named Parsons. Says they've practically dismantled Trasker's
place and found a whole room of personal property belonging to former
unwilling guests of the establishment. As I come under that category they
want me to go there and reclaim my ID and sort out whatever else 1s mine.
He wants me to come tonight, before he starts bagging and labelling it all
tomorrow."

"Don't blame him. Sounds like a pain in the arse," Doyle commented. "Good
job we hadn't started cooking. We c'n eat out now."

"Bring your money. It's your turn to buy," Bodie reminded him.

"Distinctly remember otherwise!" Doyle's mock-offended tone betrayed the
truth.

"You do try it on, don't you?" Bodie shoved his partner out of bed in
feigned disgust. "Get dressed. *You* didn't do anything today except file
reports and play with the new computers. *I* did real work, and deserve a
nice fat lobster with..."

"Oh, work!" Doyle interrupted. "Standing around like an elegant mannequin
all day. At a fashion show!"

"Not my fault they got bomb threats," Bodie replied, following Doyle to
the bathroom. When Doyle didn't have an instant comeback, Bodie punched
him in the arm, rather harder than he needed to. "Still thinking about me
with all those models? We have a no-birds policy, remember? And we
promised to tell each other if we ever wanted it otherwise."

"I know." They'd agreed to give their relationship an honest chance.
Flirting was okay. They had their images to maintain, after all. CI5's
hottest studs.

"Well? Have I said I wanted a bird? Did you think I'd go behind your back
to have one?" Bodie asked, letting Doyle see his anger.

"No!" Doyle took a deep breath and said in a more reasonable tone, "No, I
didn't think that. It's just..."

"It's just you can't imagine wanting your skinny little frame when I could
have the skinny little frame of some model? Stupid prat. Could have a
sweet little blonde yourself, instead of a 'hundred stone lummox'!"

"I only said that yesterday because you landed on my foot," Doyle
protested, but he was grinning now, reassured.

"Ummm." Bodie snatched a kiss. They'd made another rule. No demonstrations
of affection or hints about their relationship to be given in public. They
tended to do quite a bit of touching and kissing at home to make up for
the totally professional attitude they strove for at work. Although
Doyle's idea of what was professional...

The drive down to the modernistic building which housed the more public
activities of MI6 did not take long. Once through the metal detector they
were escorted to the lift by a short, untalkative guard, who directed them
to a large room filled with tables upon which were spread thousands of
items.

"Oh, yes. Mr. Bodie." The man behind the desk at the door of the room
peered up at them, pushed his designer frames into place and looked again.
He nodded, reached down and pulled a plastic bag out of the drawer to his
left. "We have your ID and wallet here." He shoved it over and then held
out a clipboard. "Please sign that you've received them. Then you'd better
check for any other belongings," he advised, waving at the laden tables.
"We close at 10 pm." Without any other conversation he went back to
sorting through the box on his desk.

Bodie opened the plastic bag and checked through. Cash, cards, everything
as he had left it.

"Might be contaminated," Doyle reminded Bodie cheerfully. "All that spy
dust at Traskers. Got new everything except money, so why don't we spend
that on the way home and then toss the lot?"

"Has to be disposed of properly. Shredded. Remember? Make yourself useful.
Take that side of the room and look for my keys. The ring has a silver
coin on a short chain..." Bodie described it as he moved to the other side
of the room to begin his own search.

Doyle wasn't much help, always distracted by this or that, picking things
up and turning them over in his hands before going on to the next. Bodie
found his keys first, and a few minutes later his small address book. Not
much good to anyone else--he kept it in code.

"Ah," said Doyle, suddenly appearing at Bodie's elbow. "Won't need that
anymore, will you?"

"What?" Bodie asked, confused.

"That little black book. Won't need that." Doyle's arm brushed lightly
against his.

Bodie couldn't help looking over to see if the MI6 agent was looking their
way. He wasn't, and realising that the man couldn't hear, Bodie relaxed.

"Not birds in this one, mate. No need to be jealous," he managed to make
his voice faintly patronising.

"Blokes, is it? And I thought I was your first!" Doyle took the poisonous
look Bodie gave him at that and grinned. "And I'm not jealous. No need to
be." He changed the subject abruptly. "You remember Wilkerson. Witness to
a murder, went missing four years back?"

"Tall, ugly, walked with a limp?" Bodie did indeed remember. It had been
one of the first cases he and Doyle had worked on together. Unsolved, too.

"Yeah, that 'un." Doyle held out an object he had found on one of the
tables.

"What is it?" Bodie asked, poking at it with a hesitant forefinger.

"Orthopaedic insert. You wear it in your shoe to correct the way you walk.
Had a bird once who wore one. Nice kid. I embarrassed her asking about it
but she explained it all to me. Said it had to be custom made and it
really helped her limp. She's been in one of those big smash ups over the
holiday."

"Doyle!" Bodie's tone asked his partner to get to the point.

Intent, Doyle turned the object of metal and plastic over in his hands.
"Custom work can be traced."

"Wilkerson end up at Traskers, do you think?"

"Be an interesting connection, wouldn't it?"

"It would. Let's see if they'll let us have this." Bodie wasn't as hopeful
as he sounded. MI6 never gave CI5 anything. He was right. The best they
got was an instant photo of it, with the manufacturers name pencilled on
the back, along with the MI6 lot number.

As they left the room Bodie tucked away his extra ID, handing the picture
to Doyle, and they resumed their discussion on where to eat and whose turn
it was to pay.

"Have you tried the San Linda?" asked a warm deep voice from behind them.

"Van Colan!" Doyle whirled, smiling and throwing a mock punch at the MI6
agent who had come up so quietly behind them. "Fancy meeting you here."

Jack was looking well, if a little tired. His jacket draped over one arm,
he leaned against the wall, and his long black hair twisted slightly in
the gust of air which came with the opening of the lift door. His coral
shirt was open slightly at the neck and he matched Bodie for sartorial
elegance. However, unless he had gotten terribly sloppy with his eye
shadow, there were the beginnings of bags under his eyes.

Looking down at his own unspectacular attire, Doyle answered, "I doubt if
I'm dressed for it."

"Au contraire," Van Colan looked Doyle up and down and then traded a
glance with Bodie, "I cannot imagine anyone turning you away." As Bodie
straightened he chuckled. "Allow me to take you both to dinner,
gentlemen."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances.

"Are you sure? He eats like a horse," Doyle said, jerking his chin
Bodie-ward.

"I approve of appetite, Ray," Van Colan replied, his half- smile giving
more than one meaning to the words.

Bodie met Van Colan's laughing eyes with a measuring look.

"I don't trespass, Bodie. Unless invited to do so, of course."

"Where's Maraich?" Bodie said, not quite changing the subject.

"With the king. In Italy. Maraich is assisting him in the investigation of
a small mystery."

"Willingly?" Doyle asked.

Van Colan shrugged, his ebony hair rippling off his shoulder to fall
naturally as he straightened. "I am here in regards to a matter in which
Maraich is not to be involved. Maraich is better off searching for missing
emeralds with Patalliro." He offered a small and very sincere smile. "Do
come. I will appreciate the company and you will enjoy the place, I
think."

Bodie exchanged another glance with Doyle, who nodded and said, "Let's."

Van Colan gestured with his head towards the lift and followed them in.
"You have your car? It would be best if you followed me over. I have a
meeting at midnight." He gave directions in case they became separated and
they separated to claim their cars.

"I don't recognise the make," Doyle muttered as Bodie followed Van Colan's
white sports car out into traffic. Bodie was driving, which left Doyle
free to study the red lights of the car ahead. When he'd been a copper
he'd known all the models produced by the automobile manufacturers of the
western world and it disconcerted him to realise he wasn't up with it
anymore.

"Japanese, isn't it?" Bodie gave Doyle something to consider as they went
along, although it was, in fact, only a good guess. The Koreans were
putting out some unusual cars lately. They argued about it as they went
along.

Van Colan met them as they stepped out of the car. He put out his
cigarette casually and asked what they were arguing about. His car was,
indeed, Japanese, which brought a smile to Bodie's face and a frown to
Doyle's.

"Not happy, Ray?" Van Colan teased.

"Thinking about a case," Doyle said virtuously, and it was half-true.
Wilkerson was in the back of his mind. Maybe it would take another four
years to solve it, but Doyle didn't intend to just forget about it. Too
many years with the Met.

"Always," Van Colan agreed. At Doyle's half-questioning look he smiled
grimly. "I have an appointment with..." he shrugged, running his fingers
through his black hair. "I was assigned because I have the look of a man
who traffics in children. Or so I was told."

"You do look a bit...decadent," Doyle conceded.

"Come in," Van Colan invited, leading the way into the building. "Perhaps
you, too, can acquire decadence."

The interior did not look particularly decadent. It had the air of one of
the better modern clubs, but was curiously deserted at the door. They
proceeded down a well-carpeted corridor and then down a flight of wide
stairs into a large room. The carpet was dark, the lights were tangled
sculptures of white and gold, the tables which were scattered around were
brass and glass. Perhaps three or four dozen people sat at the tables, and
most of the patrons were men, although there were five women seated at the
table nearest the small stage at the back of the room.

Not too far from the bottom of the stairs was a baby grand piano. The
elderly man who sat playing looked up long enough to see who they were and
to tell Van Colan his regular table was available. Van Colan led the way
down three more steps to a round table from which one had a good view of
both the stage and the entrance. Their waiter arrived, tall and blond and
wearing an evening gown; he provided information and a menu each and then
glided off.

Bodie glanced at the menu and then waited impatiently while Doyle and Van
Colan discussed drinks and then debated the merits of lobster and shrimp.
Bodie knew quite well his partner would decide on one of the vegetarian
items. And he was possessive enough not to like the way Van Colan leaned
towards Ray as they spoke.

"Do you like it?" Van Colan turned his attention to Bodie.

"Yeah." Casual, despite the fact that the cross(dressing waiter left him
uneasy, Bodie looked around the room again, and had to acknowledge to
himself that in all other aspects it was the sort of place he liked. There
was a touch of the hedonist in Bodie which responded to it.

"Everyone *is*...aren't they? Even the ladies?" Doyle asked, surveying the
room himself. The look on his face was one of happy interest and caused
Bodie and Van Colan to trade looks of amused tolerance.

"Yes, of course. There is dancing after midnight, and entertainment.
Sometimes the music is quite good." Van Colan lit another of his
cigarettes. "Maraich and I come here occasionally. Maraich likes to sing."

Bodie asked, " 'e any good?" and then cringed at the knowing look Jack
tossed him and he became aware of the double meaning of the words he had
said.

"Very," Van Colan murmured.

Doyle gave his partner a startled glance.

"Perhaps we should come by some night to hear," Bodie found himself
suggesting. It surprised him. Any place where Van Colan's extravagant
appearance didn't get a reaction had its advantages, of course but he'd
prefer a pub any day and suspected Doyle would as well. A mental image of
Van Colan in a game of darts with the boys caused him to grin.

The look Doyle threw him said that his partner didn't know what he was up
to but he had enough of it. "What about your case then? Who's selling
kids?"

Van Colan was willing to talk shop. "We are not precisely sure. The
children are all under the age of perhaps ten, are dark-skinned and do not
speak English. Possibly, they are from Bolivia or Columbia. We do know
they are sold through video presentation, with no transfer taking place
until payment has been made. I became involved after tracing diamonds the
syndicate laundered through Columbia. The diamonds are in some way
connected with the sale of the children but we are not..." The waiter
arrived with drinks, took their order and withdrew.

"Do you want to buy a child?" Van Colan asked Bodie as soon as they were
alone. Bodie gave him a telling look. "I am quite serious," Van Colan
said. "I set up this meeting before I became aware of the role the gems
played. As you perhaps know, the diamond syndicate is one of my primary
assignments. I am known to them. It would be better if they did not meet
Jack Van Colan tonight."

"Cowley'd have our necks," Bodie said, with a warning look at his partner.

"Yeah," Doyle said, reluctantly. He explained to Van Colan, "It was only
five days ago he gave us hell for puttin' our oar into one of MI6's ops."

Van Colan shrugged elegantly, dismissing the whole idea.

"MI6 must have someone else to send?" Doyle asked.

"None I trust to do the job as I want it done," Van Colan said sourly.

"Nice," Doyle told Bodie. "He trusts us."

"Don't know why," Bodie said, half-sincerely.

"My honest face," Doyle assured him.

"You're not after his bird, his job or his ass," Bodie offered his own
reasons.

Van Colan laughed, and Doyle said apologetically, "Not that the anatomy,
or Maraich, aren't very nice, mate."

"And the job?" Van Colan teased, lighting another of his cigarettes with
one-handed aplomb.

Bodie said, his face solemn, "Generally known your lot are right
bastards."

"You know, of course, what is said about CI5," Van Colan countered.

"Don't want to hear it," Doyle said, virtuously. "Besides--I can guess."

"Other department's leavings," Van Colan went on as if he'd been
encouraged. "A little from this dustbin, a little from that."

"Treasure from trash," Doyle agreed. "Including MI6. You should see where
we got *him* from," Doyle said, indicating his partner. Fortunately, their
meal arrived and the talk turned to more general subjects. As they were
finishing, the first of the entertainers arrived and began to set up.
'She' spent a good bit of time patting 'her' hair.

"He's pretty," Doyle decided.

"Bloody hell," said Bodie, in disgust.

"It gets to him," Doyle confided to Van Colan in a loud whisper.

"Sometimes, my friend, it "gets" to me as well," Van Colan admitted, but
the appreciative look on his face put a whole new slant to his words.
"Shall we go?" He led the way, Doyle craning his neck for one last look at
the singer and catching up with them at the door. They parted at the
street after a few general words.

"Tired?" Bodie asked as they turned towards home.

"Randy, are you?" Doyle asked, very interested.

"Yes." He was. Surprisingly so.

"The singer got to you! And you sitting there, too cool and calm,
pretending not to notice him!" Doyle sniggered.

"Not him. Not Van Colan, either," Bodie offered.

"Me, then?" Doyle suggested in a tone of pleased discovery.

"You, sunshine," Bodie agreed, but he knew it was more than Ray's
admittedly appealing body which inspired him. It was knowing Van Colan
admired Doyle and couldn't have him, it was the masculine and aggressive
side to his nature which urged him to take Doyle home and re-establish his
claim on the curly-headed bugger.

"You drive like a maniac," Doyle observed mildly, not entirely unaware of
what was going through his partner's head. Still, be was not averse to
getting back quickly. A tightening in his own pants told of his own
anticipation.

The moment the door of the flat closed behind him he was in Bodie's arms,
his lips plastered hard onto Bodie's and his hand already groping for the
other's waistband. Bodie was co-operating fully. Kissing and touching,
they left a trail of clothing scattered from the door to the bed. It
creaked as they' fell onto it together, long limbs entwining, hands and
mouth roving. Hard, eager, Doyle drew away too soon, his face towards
Bodie but his hand searching blindly for the pot of lube.

Bodie's hand closed on his wrist. "No," he whispered fiercely, drawing
Doyle back to him forcibly, rolling onto his back as he did so that in one
smooth motion he pulled Doyle on top of him. His legs went around the slim
body of his lover, trapping him close, and he tangled one hand in the riot
of curls and pulled Doyle's ear down next to his lips.

"Do me without," Bodie whispered.

The hot breath in his sensitive ear set Doyle on fire, but he drew back
far enough to stare into those so blue eyes because he wanted to be sure
he understood.

They had always used the oil Maraich had given them, and had always been
careful not to harm each other. Bodie wanted...?

Him. Just Ray Doyle and nothing else. Nothing else and no one else. The
thought excited him and Doyle braced up on his knees eagerly. Suddenly, he
was wet everywhere, sweat breaking out on his lip, on his chest, under his
arms and at his groin, where his stiff penis began leaking too. Under him,
Bodie positioned himself, legs wide, ready to fold them around Doyle's
shoulders.

"Now," Bodie demanded hoarsely.

Doyle tried to be cautious, but Bodie wasn't having it. The moment Doyle's
cock touched the red pucker of his anus Bodie was twisting up, pulling
Doyle down so that they joined in a single hard, and unexpectedly smooth,
thrust.

Deep-buried, Doyle sighed and turning, kissed the knee on his right
shoulder and then the one on his left, his tongue shifting and tasting
through the sparse hair there.

"Hard." A quiet demand from Bodie broke into Doyle's abstraction, and
Bodie's internal muscles squeezed tight on the iron bar of Doyle's flesh.
Doyle instantly burst into a frenzy of fucking, bracing himself so that he
could ravish the long, muscular body beneath him. It should have been over
immediately, but for once his body seemed imbued with a superhuman
threshold for pleasure. He felt every hard inch of his joy as he rammed in
and out; he was on fire, he was dizzy and when he came it was with an
explosion of such power that his mind--stopped, went completely blank. He
never remembered the convulsions of his body as he shot his liquid life
into 8odie. When he became aware, he was face down on the cold sheet, one
arm trapped under Bodie's thigh.

"I don't think you've ever done that better," Bodie said, lifting his leg
to free Doyle's hand when the other man gave a tug. His own hand was very
gently pressing his own genitals as if exploring to see if they were still
really there.

Doyle laughed, complimented and half-sure it was true. His own hand went
drifting up Bodie's chest, finding the drops of Bodie's "seed pearls" and
rubbing them in "to make the grass grow" even though he loved Bodie's
almost hairless chest exactly as it was. Bodie stopped him by snaking an
arm around and jerking Doyle close and using his lips to stop Doyle's
teasing.

"8odie?" Doyle asked when his lips were finally freed.

"Umph?" Bodie made an effort at alertness.

"Did it feel different? I didn't hurt you, did I?" The thread of fear in
his voice caused Bodie to lift his head as he tried desperately to make
some sense out of that. He miscalculated and ended up with a face full of
brown curls. With the choice of drawing back or taking advantage of it, he
buried his face in them and inhaled deeply. His voice was rather muffled
as he replied.

"Not much different, no. And you did not hurt me," he stopped talking to
kiss the back of Doyle's ear lovingly.

"Do you suppose," Doyle squirmed as Bodie's lips hit a sensitive spot,
"over the weeks we've...uh, stretched things a bit? We won't need it
anymore?"

"We'll need it," Bodie contradicted. "Just not all the time."

"Oh," Doyle managed, around a yawn. Sleep was closer than he had thought
and in a matter of seconds he had subsided into slumber, leaving his
partner smiling at him fondly as he eased Doyle down to the pillow. Bodie
did not fall asleep right away. He found himself thinking about telling
Cowley tomorrow, practising over first one and then another scenario...

The phone rang. Bodie untangled the sheet and Ray Doyle from around him so
that he could reach for it, at the same time his eyes sought out the
clock. Five fucking am. He fumbled for balance as he brought the receiver
to his ear and grunted what passed for a greeting.

"Bodie? Is that you?" Cowley. The old sod had even been in his dreams,
8odie remembered. Didn't he ever rest?

"S'sir." Bodie answered.

"What's this?" Their boss could have been talking to Bodie or to someone
who was in the office. Bodie heard faint paper sounds and the thin sound
of a woman's voice. Then Cowley said clearly, "You're not kidnapped then."

"Kidnapped? No, sir." Considerably more awake, 8odie reached over to shake
Doyle, certain his partner would want to be awake for this--whatever it
was.

"I see." There was some sour satisfaction in the older man's voice.
"Bodie, according to a note presented to the police 20 minutes ago, you
are being held by persons unknown and will be returned to us upon the
release of one "Geoff T. Cordwin" from Dartmoor."

"A joke, sir?" 8odie suggested, running a hand through his hair and then
digging at the corner of one eye with his thumb. Covering the mouthpiece
with the same hand, he informed Doyle, "I'm kidnapped."

"You're not," Doyle was positive.

"They have sent your ID as proof that they hold you," Cowley said, his dry
tone inquiring as to how Bodie could be so careless as to lose such a
vital item--and not notice.

"My ID?" He gestured to Doyle, who went scrambling for Bodie's pants,
which were in a heap by the door. He patted down the pockets and brought
it over to Bodie, who checked it over and then said, "It's here," with
considerable relief.

"Uh Bodie? The other one?" Doyle reminded him.

"Damn! Sir? Doyle's just reminded me, I picked up the one I lost a couple
months ago last night, from MI6, but that's missing now. Brown wallet with
the ID."

"Bodie?" Cowley's voice asked how Bodie had managed to lose it in only a
few hours.

"We had dinner last night with Van Colan, of MI6, at a club. Came right
home..."

"So you lost it or it was taken from you." How Cowley managed so much
scorn in such flat tones was a matter Bodie had often wondered about. At
the moment, it stung more than it usually would because Bodie suspected it
was well deserved. "I will expect you and your partner both to be in my
office in twenty minutes," Cowley said. The conversation was plainly over.
Bodie sighed and handed the phone to Doyle to hang up.

"He wants us there yesterday?" Doyle guessed.

"Um," Bodie agreed, his mind racing as he pulled on clean clothing. On the
other side of the bed his partner was looking for the clothes he had worn
the night before, but he soon gave it up and went pawing through Bodie's
drawers for something. Together they locked up and headed for the car.
They were three minutes late when Cowley met them at the door of his
office.

"And how did you manage to misplace your identification?" Cowley asked, as
if the answer might have come to them on their drive in.

Bodie, who had given it some thought, answered, "Van Colan."

"And how *did* the MI6 agent remove the items from your pocket without
your notice?"

Bodie flushed slightly. Groping and pats in the vicinity of his buttocks
hadn't been uncommon these past weeks. He did remember a touch on his ass
as they had left the San Linda. How could he tell Cowley he had assumed it
was Doyle and had scarcely taken any notice?

"We were at this place called San Linda," Doyle was explaining for him.
"Jack's treat." His eyes went wide as he saw Cowley nod. Did the old sod
*know* about the place? His mind took off on an incredible flight of fancy
as he Imagined Cowley in drag. "Van Colan had a case he wasn't too happy
with--thought they'd recognise him, or maybe his name. I think he just
planned to be Bodie for the meet and lifted his ID...didn't intend to get
grabbed."

Bodie nodded. It made sense.

"If you don't wish to become the laughing stock of the intelligence
community you had better find and rescue this MI6 agent. Quickly." Cowley
made the order as his eyes were already sliding towards a stack of files
on his desk.

"Sir," Bodie said respectfully, "Have they traced the note?

"Jax has the details." He waved them out impatiently.

"Coffee." Doyle made it a declaration of his intentions and veered off to
fetch it, leaving his partner to find Jax. Upon consideration, Doyle made
it three cups and balancing them carefully, he backed into Jax's tiny
office and eased them down onto the already well-littered desk. Snatching
up the fullest cup he leaned heavily on his partner's shoulder and thrust
his curly head down to see what Jax was entering into the computer. Almost
immediately he drew back, squinting. It had just gone six and in his
opinion it was too early to have to endure that particular shade of green.

"I have entered everything Bodie remembered from the conversations last
night and asked for matches with names in our files. The best lead is a
man who calls himself Leo or Leon Truesdale. He is definitely connected
with child exploitation, had contacts in South America, and he lives
within a reasonable distance of where the note was delivered this morning.
CI5 did an observation on him two years ago--agents 2.9 and 3.2."

"Current address? Doyle asked.

"Patience. Have you a pen?" Doyle wrote the information down, using his
protesting partner's back for a table, while Jax blanked the screen.

"Thanks," Doyle said. "We may be back. We'd like to get this taken care of
without going to MI6."

"And if Cowley didn't want him I'd let him rot," Bodie grumbled as they
went down the stairs. "Picking our pockets. It isn't friendly."

"He's MI6. Even the decent sorts there are bastards," Doyle reminded him.
"It's right there in the job description."

"Wouldn't put it past Van-bloody-Colan to have done this deliberately--get
captured using MY ID and knowing we'd have to come get him out."

"Unlikely even for Jack, don't you think?" Doyle asked mildly.

"No. He's...Where are we going?" he asked as Doyle took a abrupt turn to
the right.

"Properties. He had your money and ID which had been at Trasker's, which
might have that spy dust on them, which means it can be traced if we have
the right gadget."

"Not just a pretty face, are you?" Bodie said with admiration, and then
ran smack into Doyle, who had stopped.

"You mean you love my mind, too?" Doyle asked, half seriously, lowering
his

voice as he turned towards Bodie.

With a glance to insure there were no others in the immediate vicinity
Bodie leaned forward and whispered "Yes!" and prodded Doyle onwards,
suppressing a twinge of guilt. They both knew he'd never actually said "I
love you." He should. It was true, after all, but somehow, the words had
never come, and now wasn't the time, either. He poked his friend into
motion.

It took the best manipulation and cajoling both were capable of to get the
twelve pound unit which traced the dust and then they headed out in
Bodie's car towards Truesdale's extremely unpretentious flat. Mr.
Truesdale was not home. Bodie had the means to gain entrance and used his
skill while Doyle kept watch.

"Look! Video!" Doyle noticed as soon as they entered, and he immediately
went to turn it on.

"Children need to be amused, I suppose," Bodie announced as he began a
methodical search of the premises.

"Uh-huh. Video presentations, Van Colan said. And these tapes are marked
only with a code of some type. So let's just take a quick peek." Some time
later he felt Bodie's presence and looked up to see his partner leaning
against the wall and feigning patience. "Find anything?" Doyle asked.

"Bit of money."

"Yours?"

"No. The numbers on it are too big. You?"

"Could be. The man thinks he's clever. There's a list of addresses and
phone numbers at the end of this movie. I think every tape ought to be
checked. And Van Colan was right. Three of these tapes...six, actually,
they're duplicated, are of children in a park somewhere. They aren't
playing much."

A quick call to Cowley resulted in orders to bring the tapes in. A dozen
file clerks and every other person unlucky enough to be in the vicinity
were drafted to view videos. Meanwhile, Bodie and Doyle had run the 15
addresses already located through the computer and come up with several
other good leads. Their first stop was the home of a Bolivian businessman
with a formerly unblemished reputation. The woman who opened the door was
not young or pretty and appeared to be too frightened to speak English.
She became even more upset at the sight of their identification and very
reluctantly allowed them to enter. Bodie's passable Spanish only upset her
more. However when Doyle thought to bring in the gadget, with its flashing
lights, she became almost hysterical. In the flood of almost
incomprehensible words, they eventually sorted out a name.

Mr. Bain. The name was on the list they had from Truesdale. Taking the
woman with them to prevent her from contacting anyone, they made
arrangements to drop her off at the nearest police station, suggesting
that inquiries be made into her background. At that point Bodie mournfully
noted that even sex symbols had need of sustenance. They ate as they
drove, even though Bodie hated to have food in his car.

"When you have to be kidnapped, this is the way to do it," Doyle said,
feeding a chip to Bodie, who was driving.

"You're hogging up all the best bits," Bodie decided, reaching out and
stealing the biggest chunk of fish for himself.

"Am not," Doyle obliged perfunctorily. "Turn here."

Parking some distance away, they approached the house carefully. It was
set back from the road and partially hidden by large bushes, which was a
kindness, Bodie pointed out, as it was all pink stucco and narrow windows.
They investigated the detached garage. It was locked; but 8odie loaned his
shoulder to Doyle's feet.

"Nothing," his partner reported. "No cars, and none of the usual clutter
either." That was significant. It might mean the inhabitants of the place
were unusually tidy--or it might mean something else. Doyle stayed at the
corner of the house where he could see the back entrance while Bodie went
to the front. No one answered the bell, and this door didn't surrender to
Bodie's probing. Nor did the back door, and so it suffered somewhat from
Bodie's enthusiastic sidekick. No alarms could be heard as they entered,
guns in hand. It was very quiet, with the slightly musty scent of a house
which has been closed up all day. The carpet was thick and they moved
silently from room to room. They went up the stairs together, Doyle first,
Bodie backwards so that he could keep an eye on the front door.

The first door at the top of the stairs was locked with a padlock. Bodie
employed his one and only martial arts technique again. The door
splintered from its hinges. Doyle stepped through, gun levelled--at Van
Colan.

The MI6 agent had obviously been tied to the chair in the centre of the
room. He was in the process of unwinding tape from around his ankles. The
gag which had been in his mouth was still around his neck, and the marks
of a light beating graced his cheek and forehead.

"What kept you?" Van Colan asked, his tone dry and amused.

"It took me awhile to realise I was missing," Bodie explained.

"He does look like you a bit with his hair back that way," Doyle felt
obliged to point out, stepping to the window to check the street. Van
Colan's hair had been drawn back and fastened at the nape of his neck, and
he wore his jacket over it. The result did look vaguely Bodie-ish. It also
made Van Colan look even taller and thinner and, to Doyle's surprise,
almost ordinary looking. Except for the eyeshadow.

Shoving aside the last bit of tape, Van Colan stood, stretched, and walked
slowly to the dresser, where he scooped up his keys and cigarette case.
"Love your tie," Doyle murmured, and grinned as Van Colan remembered the
gag still around his neck and removed it with a grimace. Then he turned to
the CI5 men, his manner businesslike.

"Check the other rooms." Oblivious to Bodie's automatic balk and Doyle's
'oh-do-it-anyway' shove towards the door, Van Colan led the way down the
hall. In the last room they hit the jackpot--a child, dark-skinned and
thin, lay asleep on a small bed.

"Drugged," Van Colan suggested, for the child did not wake up as they
entered. He was still rubbing his wrists as he leaned over the child and
his face was full of dark anger that anyone could do such a thing. He
reached out to lift the boy up, but Bodie shouldered him aside. Their eyes
met.

"Tied up for hours? You can't be in very good shape, mate." Bodie made his
explanation, and offered his gun to Van Colan, who took it--but still gave
Bodie a very telling look.

Doyle shook his head at Van Colan. "Needn't get shirty. Bodie did *not*
mean to imply you couldn't be trusted with children. And we haven't time
to play games. Let's get out of here." He turned and led the way down the
stairs, Bodie coming second with his light burden and Van Colan last,
Bodie's gun held ready.

 eased his keys out of his pocket and stopped beside his car.

Tossing his cigarette to the ground Van Colan watched Doyle climb into the
back before he turned and gave Bodie an address. Then he eased his way
into the front seat beside Bodie.

"Sore?" Doyle asked with the sympathy which comes from personally
experiencing the aches which come from being tied for hours.

"Come rub it out for me?" Van Colan asked with lazy hope as he looked back
over his shoulder at Doyle. Catching a glimpse of Bodie's darkening face
he changed his request to, "Both of you?"

"Settle for a soak in a hot tub," Bodie advised, ungenerously.

"If I must," Van Colan smiled thinly, and then he leaned back and closed
his eyes. He actually slept, waking only when they drew up in front of the
rather fashionable address he had provided. Unfolding himself smoothly, he
murmured "Ciao," and was gone, black hair flicking across Doyle's cheek as
he went.

"Maybe we should..." Doyle began as he switched to the front seat so that
he could sit beside Bodie.

"He'll be okay. Have a lie-down and be fine tomorrow," Bodie said firmly,
his foot going to the gas. "Don't even know if that's his flat, do you?
Could be he's getting his kinks taken out right now," he suggested lewdly.

"After maybe eight hours in ropes? Got a high opinion of 's abilities, do
you? Listen, mate. Unless bondage turns him on something fierce, he is
asleep this minute. You're just jealous," Doyle observed.

"Am I?" Bodie asked, too sweetly.

"Wouldn't have you any other way," Doyle claimed. " 'm jealous myself. Not
because I don't trust you. Just don't want to share. Why do you think I
talked you into 'no birds' last week? The boys don't lure you. Birds
might."

Bodie grinned. He'd been under the impression that he had manipulated
Doyle into the 'no birds' agreement himself. Bodie negotiated around a
stalled VW at the corner and said, "Doyle?" And then changed it to, "Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"You've nothing to worry about."

"Old girlfriends," Doyle named his-biggest fear. Old girlfriends like
Marikka. "Bodie? Except in the line of duty...I've never had a married
woman. Not knowingly. But I've seen you move on married ladies, known you
to bed 'em, as long as they were the ones to suggest it."

"So? That was then."

"This is now. Yeah. But if marriage doesn't mean anything to you...and
what we have, it's not...I mean, it's not a marriage, even, is it, and..."
He scowled out the window.

"I thought we had this all worked out," Bodie said impatiently. Damn Van
Colan. All his fault. Something about Van Colan set his teeth on edge and
he was willing to assign Jack a good share of whatever blame there was
going. He forced his irritation down, though and reminded himself that
they had been lovers only a bit more than two months. If Doyle needed
reassurance, then he'd get it.

"Ray, you've nothing to worry about. As soon as we get home, I'll prove it
to you."

"Home!" Doyle exclaimed. "Bloody hell! We forgot to tell Cowley!"

"We *were* going to talk to him today weren't we?" Bodie remembered. With
sudden resolve he made a highly illegal turn, causing the wheels to squeal
loudly.

The unexpected switch in directions brought Doyle's hand automatically to
his gun before he realised what Bodie had in mind. "You sod," he said
fondly. "Not taking us back, are you?" Without waiting for an answer he
continued, "The Cow won't thank you for the interruption, silly berk. Do
it tomorrow."

"I'm going to convince you Ray. I'm serious about this." His face, when he
turned it towards his partner, showed that he was indeed very serious.

"You've convinced me," Ray responded. "Let's not spend *our* time. Do it
tomorrow," he repeated firmly. "On his time. Besides," he said
suggestively, "there's a different kind of convincing I had in mind for
tonight." He grinned as the car was once again zipped around, and they
were home in a remarkably short time. They were scarcely through the door
before Bodie's arms had captured Doyle's and his lips were pressed tight
into the riot of curls.

That was not where Doyle wanted Bodie's lips at the moment and he broke
away, tilted his head back and with one hand he hooked Bodie's head and
pulled the red lips down to his. It was a thorough, sweet kiss and Doyle
was not un- aggressive, but it ended with his head thrown back in wanton
capitulation as Bodie's tongue fucked his mouth, thrusting in deeply over
and over.

When the kiss finally ended a breathless Bodie hustled a gasping Doyle to
the bedroom, where they tore off their clothing and tumbled into the
unmade bed, already wrapped around each other before they bounced once.
Bodie was too hot for slow loving. Another hard, kiss later he was
reaching for the jar of lube, slathering himself with the last of what was
there but scarcely aware of what he was doing because his eyes were
feasting on the sight of Doyle who was going on his hands and knees so
eagerly.

One large hand held Doyle still, the other Bodie used to position himself,
and he thrust in, hard--and found out immediately why Maraich had once
warned them about using too much of the stuff. It was slippery and wild
and twice Bodie lurched free and frantically rejoined them, although it
was something like trying to catch a live fish in one's bare hands--all
slithery and uncontrolled until Bodie calmed down a bit. The rest of the
solution was for Doyle to collapse on the bed and freeze, arse up, utterly
stationary, and allow Bodie to have his hard fast way with him.

Still, it was Doyle who came first as Bodie, his head not far from Doyle's
curl smothered ear, began to whisper hot, dirty declarations of love. The
breath in his ear, the words, caused Doyle to heave once as his body
abruptly emptied itself onto the bunched up sheet beneath him. He
struggled for breath in a daze as Bodie's body continued to claim his arse
and Bodie's words his heart.

"I love you!" Bodie whispered one last time, going rigid with orgasm--or
trying to, for as he did a slight movement on Doyle's part caused him to
lurch so that his cock slipped free and the last of the pearl drops of his
seed were spattered over Doyle's buttocks and up the long curve of his
back. Bodie collapsed on that beautiful back seconds later, gasping for
breath and not at all sure he hadn't wrenched something.

"Bodie?" Doyle began, some minutes later.

Bodie rolled off to lie beside Doyle, one hand stroking Doyle's arms as he
answered, "Mmm?"

"You squashed me flat," Doyle complained without hostility.

"I'll love you no matter how flat you are," Bodie assured him.

"You idiot," Doyle said, planting a kiss beside Bodie's nose. "I'm going
to shower. Join me?"

"Nah. I'll never move again," Bodie predicted into his Doyle-scented
pillow. An hour later the smell of supper proved he had been wrong and he
got up and helped Doyle devour a huge meal. They were both back in bed by
nine, however, where, cuddled together, they slept the long night through.

-- THE END --

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