The Professionals Circuit Archive - Another Bedtime Story	  Another
Bedtime Story

 

by Jane

  
 *(Companion to "Bedtime Story") *

There were times when Bodie wished he was a shoe salesman. Or a geography
teacher. A milkman. Anything in the entire world but a 'CI5 superman',
because, unlike the man of steel, bullets *hurt*, wounds had a nasty habit
of bleeding, and torn muscle fibres could be expected to heal only so
fast. The bullet had chewed through his calf, nicking a ligament, and old
Doctor Petersen had given 3.7 his orders. Stay off it for a week and then
perform light duties.

Light duties, Bodie thought gloomily. That meant shuffling papers at the
office while Ray ran about in the car with Murphy. Not that Murphy was not
a good lad; far from it. If anyone had to partner Doyle, Bodie would have
chosen Murph at once, for he was the best there was at his job. But there
was the bone-cracking worry, every moment Ray was on the job and out of is
sight.

'Occupational hazard,' he thought gloomily as he toiled up the stairs to
bed. Stairs that seemed to have assumed the proportions of the north face
if the Eiger. And Murphy had climbed that too, he remembered as he snapped
on the bedroom light. Worry about Doyle went in tandem with loving Doyle;
if the alternative to worrying was not being in love -- there was no
choice, Bodie conceded. No choice at all.

He stood in the bedroom doorway, surveying the room, its comfortable
clutter, its vast double bed. Ray had been in here this afternoon; there
were wine red silk sheets and a branch of candles on the bedside. He
racked his brain, wondering if it was some special occasion. Not Ray's
birthday, that was January; not their anniversary, that was July. So Ray
was just in a romantic mood? Bodie smiled. His afternoon off had been
spent alone, as Bodie had been having his leg looked at and had waited for
an hour to see the specialist at Charting Cross. He had got home late,
limping inside to find his lover missing and a note stuck to the door of
the refrigerator.

'Have gone out for groceries, will brine dinner in with me -- Chinese if I
get to Wong's's, Indian if I don't. Cake in the tin, don't binge, you'll
put on pounds while you're sitting on your bum with that leg. Love, Ray.'
Such brief, even terse notes were Bay's standard when he was in a hurry,
but Bodie did not mind, for there was a four letter word second to last
that said it all.

******

The food had been Chinese and sumptuous, the wine fruity and rich.
Pleasantly full, Bodie contemplated the sheets and candles. Ray in a
romantic mood was worth waiting all day for. He fished for a box of
matches, foregoing the main lights, and listened to the sounds of his
lover moving about downstairs. He was locking up, standard procedures,
safety first. He had never forgotten his big mistake, not setting the
second locks on a day when a Chinese girl was gunning for his blood.

Stiff, favouring the wound, he undressed, sliding in between cool silk,
and watched the candles. Moments later he heard light footsteps on the
stairs and Ray's voice said, "Oh, you lit 'em. Nice." Bodie looked toward
the door, seeing Waterford crystal glasses and the last of the wine in
Doyle's hands as he came to sit on the bedside.

"The good life," Bodie toasted as he took his glass. "To what do I owe
this special treatment?"

"Just thought you might like a bit of fussing," Ray said with a smile,
sipping at his wine. "Not every day you get a bullet in you. Leg bothering
you?"

Bodie shot him a wary expression. "It's not up to much strenuous activity,
if that's what you're wondering. Couldn't kneel on it, for a start."

"Oh." Ray rubbed a fold of silk between his fingers. "Pity. Ah, well, we
can always get a good night's kip instead, can't we?"

"Sleep?" Bodie demanded incredulously. "You kidding me?" Doyle was
teasing, he knew; he was sitting there with an innocent expression, but
the candlelight haloed his hair, his shirt was open halfway to his waist
and his long legs were crossed elegantly. Seductively. Bodie groaned.
"What are you going to do to put me to sleep, hit me on the noggin? Slip
me a mickey?" He waved the wine glass. "Get me drunk? Tell me a bedtime
story?" The last suggestion made them both chuckle richly as they
remembered the tale of Crown Prince Bodievski yon Passionvort and
Raymondo, Prince of the Gypsies. Ray threw his head back, laughing aloud,
and Bodie could not resist pushing his luck. "Go on then, mate, your
turn."

"My turn for what?" Ray poured a drop more wine.

"Tell us a story. You had yours, I want mine now."

A pained expression replaced Doyle's smile. "Goldilocks and the Seven Sex
Maniacs? No? Well, how about the one where the Daddy Bear gets Snow White
into the club? No? The Virgin and The CI5 Man? The C15 Man and The Gypsy?
Christ, there's no pleasing some people."

"Make one up," Bodie suggested smugly, settling back against the pillows
with his glass. "I'm going to enjoy this."

There was a glint of amusement in the green eyes.. Wicked, Bodie thought,
and suspected that he was about to be treated to a phenomenal leg-pull. He
hid a smile, adopting a saintly expression as Ray said sweetly, "Are we
all comfortable? Then we'll begin. Once upon a time, far, far away in the
mountains to the east of Bucharest, there was a bus company with big
problems.'

'A -- bus company?" Bodie demanded. One line into the story and he was
outraged already.

'Yeah," Doyle said mildly, "a bus company. They only had one, and all it
knew how to do was break down, and the tourists got into a real temper
when they had to hike back to Bucharest every day. Got sued a lot, did
that company. Misrepresentation in their advertising told British Airways
they had three Greyhound coaches with air conditioning and a loo in the
back. Anyway, the court case doesn't matter."

"I'm so pleased," Bodie said, pained. An episode of RUMPOLE OF THE BAILEY
he could do without.

"Host of the tourists used to give up when the bus broke down and walk
back to the city," Ray said between sips at the wine. "But every now and
again some smart aleck with long, strong legs and a brain the size of a
peanut would take it into his head to make a day of it and call the others
cowards. The others, well, they'd heard all the stories, they had more
sense than to push their luck?" He took a sip of wine, regarding Bodie
with an angelic face.

"Stories," Bodie echoed. 'What kind of stories?" "Yugoslavia's full of
mountains, and the mountains are full of forests, and the forests are full
of werewolves,' Ray told him conspiratorially. "And that's not all. You
can get a pain in the neck over there that you don't get over." He bared
his teeth. "Oh, yeah. They'd heard all the stories and decided they
weren't going to get caught out at night in the forests. They all scooted
back to Bucharest. All except one. It was an Englishman, thought he knew
it all, on account of his years with various notorious outfits such as the
Pares and SAS." He drowned a snort of laughter in his drink. Bodie was
wearing a suspicious expression. "Well, this English tourists had guts,
I'll say that for him," Ray went on, oblivious to the looks he was
getting. "He was tall and dark, and handsome, with deep blue eyes and
black hair, and a gorgeous little bum that twitched when he walked and
used to drive people mad just to look at it. But," he added darkly, "he
had more courage than sense, did our William Andrew." He put down the
empty glass, turning toward the half outraged, half rapt audience.

One drop of wine was left like a ruby on his lip, dark in the candlelight;
as Bodie watched it spilled, trickling slowly down his chin, very red. He
swallowed. "And he, er, didn't go back to Bucharest?" he asked, mesmerised
by the image of carnality before him. "This tourist went on, did he?"

"Oh, yeah." Doyle paused, the tip of a warm, soft, pink tongue extending
to lap away the spilled wine. "He had heard the stories, I expect, and
being that way inclined wanted to see if they were true. Stories," he
added, voice deepening, "about Count Ramon Mikhail Igor Doylevitch, who
was said to live in a great, dark castle on the top of Bare Mountain, all
alone, save for his giant black wolf, Nightfang. Count Ramon, said the
stories, was the most handsome, the most gorgeous creature ever to be born
in Bucharest --"

"Then," Bodie asked reasonably, "how come he lives all alone with a dog?"

"Wolf," Doyle corrected. "And he lived alone because the people shunned
him, because they were terrified of what he was. Because not only was he
the most gorgeous bloke ever born in Bucharest, he was nine hundred years
old --"

"And there were no women his age," Bodie snorted.

Doyle shot a glare at him. "He could have had his choice," he said
sternly. "Because...Count Doylevitch's kind do not age. Oh, no. Neither do
they eat. They drink. They drink the blood of those unwary enough to be in
the forests after dark." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Count Ramon
was a vampire. Now, William Andrew did not fully believe in vampires.
After all, it was 1982 and no one had seen a vampire for years. But he had
heard the stories of Count Ramon, and could not resist finding out for
himself if the legend was true."

"If Ramon was a vampire, and gorgeous?" Bodie clarified.

"Got it." Doyle leaned back into the pillows, studying Bodie intently. "So
when the bus broke down he parted company from the rest of the tourists
and walked on. And as it grew dark and the woods began to whisper with
strange and sibilant rustling,, he heard the soft padding of the feet of a
wolf. There, in the blackness, was Nightfang with the moonlight glittering
in his feral, yellow eyes and slaver coursing from his ivory teeth. Fear
clutched at the vitals of the beautiful young British tourist and for the
first time he wished he had gone back to Bucharest with the others. But it
was too late now, and Nightfang was on his heels. Chasing him, shepherding
him, upward, ever upward, toward the looming shape of a castle that stood
against the sky."

The husky voice was mesmerising; Bodie chided himself for allowing it to
seduce him into the absurd dramas "Flickers of lighting," Doyle said
thickly, "outlined the courtyard as Nightfang herded the hapless
Englishman in under the great black gateway. Fear clutched at his heart,
and then, in one great slash of *lightning*, he saw a man at the doorway
to the great hall. It could only be one *man*, he knew, and he fell back
in fear, knowing full well that his was to be a fate worse than death." A
chuckle of laughter was expertly turned into a cough.

"A fate worse than...?" Bodie clasped his hands, lacing his fingers as he
felt the lick of tension coil through his loins. "He's after blood, isn't
he?"

"Oh, among other things." Ray licked his lips. "The Count beckoned, and
Nightfang snapped at William's heels until the Englishman mounted the
steps and entered the great hall. The door swung closed. Inside, all was
dark and warm and musky."

"You mean musty," Bodie corrected.

Doyle Shook his head deliberately. "No, I don't. I mean musky. William
knew that the Count was right behind him, for he could smell the scent of
a man. A man who...wanted him." He let his eyes roam over Bodie's bare
torso, and Bodie felt the tension redouble. "Oh, William was frightened.
He'd got himself into something he had never really anticipated, and there
was no way out. He tried to escape, but Count Ramon stood barring the
door, and with his deep, cool green eyes he mesmerised his prey. Not even
the SAS could teach you how to get out of that. William stood still,
frightened and palpitating as cool hands took off all his clothes."

"What, all of them?" Bodie demanded, breathless now. "I thought vampires
only bit you in the neck!"

"Depends what they're hungry for." Doyle shrugged. "Count Ramon's only had
a wolf for company for three hundred years, and he', a vampire, he', not
kinky. Well, not that kinky, anyway."

"Oh? And just how kinky is he?" Bodie asked shrewdly, eyeing Doyle's
seraphic face.

"Got a thing for lady bats with turned up noses," Ray told him. "and
maidens tied to a stake at moonlight, and handsome young British tourists
with a severe shortage of common sense. Oh, yes. He took all the clothes
from his victim, and William was trembling."

"Terrified," Bodie whispered as Ray ran his fingers from chin to breast.

Doyle shook his head once more. "Not any more. He', mesmerised, remember,
and he', never seen anyone this gorgeous either."

"Oh, no?" Bodie lifted one brow at him.

"No." Doyle withdrew his hand, leaning on the pillows again. "And Count
Ramon is ravenous. For his blood. For more. And William feels the nip of
fangs just for a moment before he passes out in the Count's arms, and when
he comes to he's lying in a big bed with satin drapes, and he's still
mesmerised. Can't move a muscle as his legs are spread apart."

"How paralysed is he?" Bodie demanded. "If he can't move a muscle--" 

"Oh, he san move *that*," Ray said, exasperated. "The Count's kinky, not
stupid. But our beautiful, young, hapless tourist tries to struggle, all
to no avail. It is too late, he brought Fate upon himself when he walked
into the forest, brought himself to this place, spread wide upon this bed
and panting as he knows what it is the Count wants from him." He bared his
teeth, bending toward Bodie's neck and sinking them into soft flesh there.

Bodie caught his breath, feeling his wayward body responding to the
suggestion. "The Count must be bloody frustrated," he observed, "after
going without for three hundred years."

"Mm," Ray agreed affably. "Besides which, vampires are insatiable sex
maniacs and have stamina that'd see off a horse. And there was William
Andrew, mesmerised and helpless, the first victim Ramon's fancied since
1696. He's cheesy, is Ramon. Likes 'em tall and leggy and darkly handsome.
All that insatiability, all that hunger, ravenous for something exactly
like this beautiful man he has in his hands tonight. It was a night," he
added darkly, "that the Englishman would never forget."

Bodie shuddered. "I'll bet."

"He'd never had a lover like it," Doyle purred. "And soon, he begged to be
allowed to respond, and the Count freed his limbs to move, and there, in
the moonlight, they pledged their love, and swore they would never be
apart again. So, William was somewhat concerned when he woke up alone." He
chuckled at Bodie's outraged look. "It took the idiot Englishman ten whole
minutes to work out that Count Ramon was three storeys lower, in the
cellar, out of the sunshine. He crept down the steps, frightened that he'd
find his gorgeous young lover in an earth filled coffin, but Ramon was
knackered after his night's carousing, flat on his back in a huge four
poster. And William could have killed him where he lay, with a stake of
holly through his heart; but he was in love, you see, for his body was
still tingling and throbbing with the things that had been done to him,
and instead of killing the Count, what did he do?" The words had grown
soft, the husky voice uttering them gentle and warm.

Mesmerised utterly, Bodie surrendered to the heat that was suffusing his
groin. "What did he do?"

"He climbed into the big four poster and pulled up the blankets, and
cuddled his new love until he woke. Then the Count took possession of his
lovely young body again and he knew they would be together ever after, and
the people of Bucharest would never again have to worry about their local
vampire, because the only blood Ramon wanted, and the only body, belonged
to the Englishman who had wandered off into the forests, never to be seen
or heard of ever again. Everyone," he added ingenuously, "lived thankfully
ever after."

"Not happily?" Bodie teased, acknowledging a sweet, warm ache in his
bones.

"Nah." Ray stood up to undress, sliding into bed and stretching out atop
his lover's relaxed body. "They didn't know what happiness was. Never
dared wander into the forest to take pity on a poor old vamp who hadn't
had a nibble since 1696 -- ow!" he yelped, as Bodie bit him. "And speaking
of frustrated vampires --"

"Got a cure for all that frustration," Bodie offered. "Got nothing to do
with garlic and silver crosses either." He gathered his lover up in both
arms, kissing him hard. "Bucharest, eh?" He nuzzled Ray's neck tenderly.
"Nice place to live happily ever after. If you like musky old castles." He
silenced Doyle's laughter with another kiss, and set about his revenge.

-- THE END --

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