The Professionals Circuit Archive - Dancing in the Dark	Dancing in
the Dark

 

by Madelein Lee

  
 *They say you've got to stay hungry
 Hey baby I'm just about starving tonight
 I'm dying for some action*
 B. Springsteen

The dark figure stopped briefly in the quiet street and glanced about
quickly before entering the small nondescript pub. There were no prominent
signs advertising the entrance; anyone interested knew the kind of
establishment it was. Bodie came only when he could no longer stay away;
no one else knew about his infrequent visits.

He shrugged away any vestiges of disquiet as he paused just inside the
door to adjust to the dimness before moving to a deserted place at the bar
and ordering a half-pint. Tonight was not for drinking; tonight was for
scratching an itch. He drank deeply from the mug set before him and then
let his eyes rove over the room's occupants. It was early yet for a week
night and the crowd was sparse. Still, there was variety aplenty, and with
his looks, he almost always was spoilt for choice. His usual method was to
signal interest in someone and then wait to be approached. He had felt the
hot eyes following his progress across the room, and saw no reason why
things should be any different tonight. Swiveling the stool, he lounged
back against the bar, pelvis thrust forward, full of the self-assurance
that comes from knowing one's own desirability. 

Dressed all in black from leather jacket to old cords, too worn and tight
for work, he projected a macho sensuality and a superior elegance that
inspired molten glances. Lashes drooping, he unleashed his best sultry
expression as he inspected the night's possibilities. When he was ready,
the lucky person would be informed; until then he enjoyed the power he
wielded, keeping the room taut with anticipation.

Indicating his approval, he let a tiny smile quirk his lips as he pondered
a tall, wide shouldered, slim-hipped blond dressed in faded blue work
shirt and tight jeans. Long wavy hair provided the only softness about the
figure as the slender face was very masculine, very hard. He was the one.
Decision made, Bodie relaxed, turned back to the bar, and swallowed his
lager. His smirk faded abruptly as another half-pint was set in front of
him.

"Didn't order that, did I?" he asked carefully, looking up. "Who bought it
then?"

"Admirer," was the barman's laconic response.

"No thanks, don't want it." Bodie pushed the glass a quarter inch away.

A presence moved up beside him. "What do you want, then?"

The ex-merc didn't stir, didn't deign to glance at this unwelcome visitor.
It wasn't the blond, he was sure. He kept his attention on the mildly
curious face of the barkeep. "Who do you favor in Saturday's match?
Liverpool looks good t'me."

"I said," came a deep growl, "what do you want?"

The fragile hold on his temper snapped, and Bodie turned with a snarl.
"Look, mate, I'm having a quiet drink *alone.*"

"Not anymore."

Bodie's eyes widened slightly before narrowing in anger. "What?"

"You're not alone anymore, are you?"

Bodie studied the man contemptuously, intending to indicate his low
opinion, but instead, irritatingly, his heart kicked into high. Not his
type at all, but exciting, dangerous, nevertheless. He struggled to retain
his anger, but it faded quickly as he appraised the strong body next to
him. Dark feral looks and an aura of power accosted Bodie's senses; the
man wasn't handsome, but was compelling. He reminded Bodie of past
encounters with shadowy figures who took what they wanted and moved on.
This man was of that breed. An elephant's hair bracelet around a corded
wrist caught his eye and his suspicions were confirmed: he was sure the
man was or had been a mercenary.

Even the man's size, taller, and heavier, challenged him; but with a smug
confidence in his special skills, Bodie figured it only made them equal. A
little voice warned him of possible consequences, but he squashed them as
unthinkable. It'd been a long time since Bodie had lost at anything really
important.

"Very sure of yourself, aren't you?" 

"Very sure of you."

Bodie didn't twitch a muscle, just blinked once, decision made. This
bastard was going to deserve the lesson a certain CI5 agent would teach
him.

"You can't resist a challenge. I know your type, mate."

"What makes you think that?" he asked lazily, reaching for the previously
rejected beer.

"We're alike. As soon as you walked in, I knew we were a match."

Bodie's grin was savage. "I'm not sure that's a compliment. I've also
learned some assumptions aren't safe; but, if you're askin'...?"

"My place isn't far from here."

"No rush is there?" Bodie asked, again drinking. "I've got a thirst after
all."

"Sure it's not a yellow streak?"

The man's very existence dared him, questioning him on a primitive level,
and Bodie couldn't help responding. His glass slammed down on the bar top.


"You think I'm afraid of you?"

He'd invested a good amount of derision in his tone, but inside his
excitement expanded, filling him with raw energy. He clamped down hard on
the runaway emotions, not wanting to betray anything to this stranger, and
needing to decide whether or not he wanted to take the chance of going to
this man's place, or whether he should take the precaution of using his
own flat. If it were the blond he'd first decided on, he wouldn't have to
debate the decision, he'd have gone with him. There was a risk going with
Mick, but at his own place, while on familiar ground, he chanced Doyle
stopping by.

"Looks it to me, petal."

Bodie tossed down the rest of the drink, quickly deciding his flat didn't
insure the necessary privacy. "Your place it is, mate." Warm fingers
caressed his left buttock and he jerked forward. "Watch where you're
puttin' your 'ands," he barked.

"I am, blue eyes."

The hand insinuated itself under his coat next, and Bodie pulled back
before remembering he wasn't armed, that gun and I.D. were safe in his
flat; he never took chances on these excursions. "Yeh, well, save it till
we're alone."

"Shy are we?"

"Fancy yourself a master of repartee, don't you? Never mind, talk's easy
enough." An eyebrow lifted and he paused meaningfully. "Waiting to see how
you measure up."

A lecherous smile passed over the bigger man's face as he led the way out.
"Let's go put your fears to rest, shall we sweet'eart."

Bodie put his unease down swiftly and caught up. "Hoi! It's not petal,
blue eyes, or sweetheart, it's just Bo...," he muttered savagely, barely
cutting himself off before he revealed his true name.

Unaware of the almost indiscretion, deep brown eyes regarded him somberly.
"'Ello Beau; me name's Mick."

Bodie nodded dismissively and took the lead, shouldering the door aside.
"Which way to this room of yours?"

A wolf-smile lit Mick's features. "Eager, eh? I like that."

"I'll just bet you do," Bodie replied shortly.

Mick led him down the street to a shabby bed-sit that was obviously let by
the day. Sparsely and impersonally furnished, but spotless, a sagging
double bed stood in one corner, a worn army blanket on top. The obvious
neatness a giveaway to the military background he'd already surmised. Mick
was probably ex-army turned soldier-of-fortune.

Bodie shrugged out of his jacket and started to turn when a heavy weight
hit him low. Flying across the room he landed in a heap atop a wobbly
straight chair, splintering it. His head impacted sharply with the metal
leg of the bed, and dancing stars blurred his vision as he fought to
regain his feet. Groggily, he reached for the support of the bed.

"You bastard," he spat. "What'd you do that for?"

"Gonna' have you, sweet'eart. Doesn't matter how, but rather not have you
too damaged. Too good lookin' by half for your own good. Used to havin'
your own way, aren't you? Well, not this time."

Despite his disorientation, the man's words brought a red stain to Bodie's
cheeks. It was beginning to dawn on him that Mick was in deadly earnest.
This definitely was not going to be the cheerful free-for-all he had
become accustomed to in Africa, where most men were willing to let a
reciprocal fight settle the matter of dominance.

Contrary to stories about mercenaries, their sex lives were not all rape
and degradation. In fact, damned little of anything told was true.
Usually, two men reached an agreement and slipped away for a little
privacy. Sometimes a dust-up would ensue if both were intent on being top
man, but most didn't really object to losing--it was part of the sexual
tension. Bodie knew the violence existed, but Krivas had been his only
contact with the bastards who got their kicks through dominance and
humiliation, and his attention had been directed toward women.

Ignoring the increasing pain in his head, Bodie met Mick's charge this
time. Over balanced, both men crashed to the floor, struggling for
supremacy. Fighting hard and dirty, first one and then the other gained
momentary advantage until both were slick with sweat; but gradually,
Bodie's head injury began to take its toll while Mick just seemed to get
stronger. His mind finally registered that Mick was damned good and that
he might possibly lose. Losing was never as enjoyable as winning, but the
thought of losing to Mick suddenly scared him. Fear gave him new strength
and he surged up, breaking the other man's hold, and wriggled free. Silent
and deadly he was on his feet, looking for an opening.

Mick spread his arms and grinned. "C'mon, little man; I want that tight
ass you been flauntin'."

For just a heartbeat, rage hazed his eyes, and only reflexes saved him
from the full power Mick's right cross . He had no doubt that had it
successfully connected, it could have broken his jaw. As it was he fell
back, catching his knees against the bed; flipping himself he rolled to
land with his back against the wall. Mick was over the top and almost on
him before he scrambled away. As he moved, Bodie grabbed a leg from the
broken chair, swinging it up and under. Heart thudding with a combination
of fear and anger, he struck at Mick with his make-shift club. The other
man raised an arm to deflect the blow, absorbing the shock and grabbing at
the weapon with his other hand. Knowing he'd hurt the big man, Bodie made
the mistake of hanging on too long, and Mick laid hands on him.

Looking up into the triumphant face, Bodie knew a moment of panic as Mick
began to crush the breath from him. He let himself go limp, hoping to
catch him off guard, but Mick was ready for it and released him suddenly;
unprepared, Bodie staggered as his chin met the roundhouse punch coming
out of the blue. He didn't have time to register his loss before he slid
into darkness.

Awareness returned slowly. He cracked his eyelids and shut them hastily as
the glare from the overhead lamp blinded him. He didn't need sight to feel
the other man's presence, to hear his breathing. Emotions in a jumble, he
dealt with facts. Number one reality was he'd lost; number two, his head
vibrated painfully to jungle-like rhythms; number three, he was lying on a
bed, half-naked, his tied wrists forming an uncomfortable lump in the
small of his back. Angrily, he squirmed in protest and received an
immediate response.

"Bin waitin' for you to wake up so's you can join the fun," Mick said
softly.

Bodie flicked a painful glare in the direction of the voice. A
bare-chested Mick came into view.

"Was afraid you might have dented that pretty head once too often."

Bodie moistened his swollen lips before he trusted himself to speak.
"Feels like it." To relieve the knot in his back, he flopped gracelessly
to his side. "Surprised you didn't start without me."

"Never fancied necrophilia."

"Am I supposed to ask what you fancy, then?" Icy indifference overlaid his
voice.

"You." Mick trailed a languid hand down his own furred chest. Bodie
watched the other man's prick give a tiny leap in response to the caress.

"Why these then?" he grunted, pulling at the ropes. If Mick gave him any
chance he was getting out--this was not his scene. He had lost before, but
the kind of game Mick wanted seemed akin to rape.

"I like to play a bit rough. Most don't. Course I knew you didn't figure
on losing; afraid you might decide to leave when you woke up and that
won't suit at all and it did seem a shame to batter that beautiful face
anymore."

"S'pity it didn't stop you earlier," Bodie mumbled. The pounding in his
head worsened; he could feel where blood had dried stickily, taste it
where his teeth had cut the inside of his lip; and despite Mick's words of
regret, his cheek and mouth were swollen where he'd been punched
repeatedly.

Mick reached for him then, and Bodie couldn't suppress a flinch. He
suddenly wished the other man had gone ahead and started without him. The
immediate future didn't look too pleasant.

Bodie straightened painfully, each move shooting pain through him. He'd
been alone for sometime but was only now becoming reconciled to the idea
of calling for help. It'd taken him a while to accept the fact there'd
never even been a choice, and there was only one person he trusted enough
to see him like this.

Still, he hesitated to make the move that would summon help. Recent events
were too vivid in his mind, and he didn't know how to face Doyle. Angry
and embarrassed, he recalled how easily Mick had turned him and strapped
him to the bed. He'd been unable to do anything but promise himself a day
of retribution. Goaded into action by the memory, he turned to contemplate
the phone lying by his hand.

For some perverse reason, before he walked out, Mick had placed the
instrument on the bed after loosening one hand slightly.

"*'Spect you'll need a little help," he said going through the shreds of
Bodie's trousers and pulling out the wallet. "Souvenir," he grinned,
holding it up, then gestured toward the phone. "Hope you know someone
understanding." He slapped Bodie's ass and laughed as the other man
winced. "You're a good lay, Beau. One of the best I've 'ad. *"

Then the bastard had picked up his meager belongings and left.

Bodie closed his eyes and tried to blot out the image of Mick's face. He
had to put the past hours out of his mind and get on with it. He had more
important things to consider, such as what Doyle's reaction would be to
this situation, and how to explain what, how and why. There were a lot of
things he and Doyle had never talked about--their mutual pasts being one
of them--and he wasn't eager to begin. And without going into details, how
could he explain this? His mind raced, seeking a way out. He was nude,
could not free himself, and was injured. He didn't think Mick had done any
lasting damage, but flesh had been sorely abused. Doyle was going to be
particularly unhappy about that.

Sighing unhappily, he thrust the worrisome thoughts aside to face the
inevitable Knocking the phone from its cradle, he clumsily maneuvered the
receiver to his ear after dialing.

"Hello."

He let his breath out in a rush. "Doyle?"

"Yeh."

"If you have company, ditch her. I need you to come get me."

"Bodie, it's late."

"Shirrup." Not sure why he was suddenly furious, he gave the address
without further explanation.

Doyle's voice probed suspiciously. "Are you all right?"

He ignored the question. "And bring me some trousers and a shirt."

"Bodie, what's..."

"Now, Doyle. I'll explain when you get here."

"On my way. But if this is some kind of warped joke...." He hung up
without finishing the threat.

Bodie's hand dropped. Phone call over, he felt a sudden release of tension
and slumped against the sheets. He was in worse shape than he'd thought;
head throbbing, body aching, and he didn't want to think about his nether
region. Christ, would he never learn? Taken unaware like a bloody innocent
virgin in the city for the first time. Doyle was going to have enough
ammunition for a lifetime of insults.

He wished he could get free so he could clean himself, but the ropes on
his wrists and ankles were secure. Finally he quit worrying about
it--Doyle was going to raise hell no matter what. And there was still the
matter of deciding just what he was going to say to his partner. He could
think of nothing but the truth that would sound remotely plausible, and he
wasn't about to hand that to Doyle.

He could just hear himself telling Doyle, "I needed something you
couldn't, wouldn't give me." Or, "I needed to be with a man I wasn't
afraid of going soft on and blurting out I loved him." Or closer yet: "I
needed to be in control of my life again."

Whatever he said, Doyle was going to think him a stupid fool, or worse.
And what Ray thought about him mattered a lot. Always had.

Why the hell had he given in to the urge to be with someone else tonight?
He and Doyle had been having it off for several months now; that should
have been enough. But it wasn't, and he knew it never would be. He wanted
more, and that Doyle would never give.

Wearily he shifted, trying to ease his muscles, but had so little latitude
for movement, he only succeeded in renewing his discomfort. Pain was
welcome because it diverted him for some moments, but as it receded, his
mind returned to his problem: what he and Doyle had wasn't enough anymore,
if it ever had been.

The stud of CI5 was in love and wanted to be loved back. Doyle cared about
him, enjoyed going to bed with him, and needed him as a friend and
partner, but he didn't love him. As a result he sometimes craved
irrelevant human contact. To put it bluntly, he wanted fucking rather than
sex-complicated-by-love. No fears he'd give himself away and invoke
Doyle's guilts, or worse, his pity. Lately, he sometimes felt Doyle
controlled their after-hours life by whim alone. At such times, he felt
like the bottom man emotionally and needed to reverse the situation, to be
the one with power.

Unfortunately, tonight had not worked out as planned so Doyle was going to
find out about his occasional forays into the gay life style. Bodie had no
idea how Doyle would view his sleeping with other men; he only knew his
partner wasn't going to approve of the results. 

A knock at the door made him jump and he cursed softly as his stiffened
muscles protested the sudden movement.

"Bodie, you in there?" Doyle's voice sounded impatient.

Yeh, the door's locked. You'll have to pick it."

"Bodie?" He heard fear and worry through the irritation. "If you're...."

"What're'y waiting for then, an engraved invitation?"

"Daft bugger!"

Bodie heard the key scraping in the lock and looked up to meet Doyle's
gaze. His partner stood mesmerized.

"What the Christ happened to you? You hurt bad?"

"Untie me and I'll tell you."

Bodie watched Doyle approach the bed, his face a study of mixed emotions
as he took in the condition of his partner's backside. A steady flow of
soft epithets streamed from him as he cut the ropes binding his partner,
and then before Bodie could move, a light touch brushed across his
shoulders.

"C'mon, mate, let's get you to hospital. I'll get the bastards who did
this later."

"No." He pulled away, the touch threatening to shred his defenses.

"Don't give me that. You're hurt, and from the looks of it, a particularly
nasty bloke has had his hands on you."

Suddenly Bodie felt guilty. He hadn't expected that. But neither had he
foreseen the gentle voice and hands touching him. Clearing his throat, he
sat up and swung shaky legs over the side of the bed. "Yeh, but I walked
right into this one, sunshine. And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather
the news didn't get around. Bit hard to explain in the rest room, not to
mention old George."

"Doesn't matter." Doyle brushed his reasons aside. "You could be badly
hurt."

Bodie didn't want to argue. "No, it just looks bad. Give me the clothes
and let's get out of here. I just want to go home."

There was a stubborn set to Doyle's chin, and Bodie relented. "Listen, I
know someone if I need a doctor, okay?" Now give me some pants. Please,
Ray?" The last was nicely calculated. Just enough pathos showed through
and Doyle eased up.

"Here. Lucky the laundry came back yesterday and you had some things in
it."

He dressed in silence, avoiding the questioning gaze, but Doyle was not to
be stifled.

"Bodie, what happened here?"

Concentrating on pulling on his clothing, he answered laconically. "What's
it look like?"

"Like you were beaten and raped. You're bleeding, you know, and the bloody
room smells like an orgy."

Bodie's heart began to thump uncomfortably hard. He wasn't up to this
conversation. "Once a copper, always a copper, eh?"

Doyle made an exasperated sound.

"Look, can I go home and get cleaned up first? I'll explain later."

"You keep saying that." Doyle looked unhappy. "Will you let me put
something on that arse of yours? It looks bad. Christ, Bodie, what did
they use on you?" His voice rose a little in pained anger.

Bodie eased into the shirt and bent painfully to pull on his shoes. "One
guy, mate, and he beat me with a belt buckle. Satisfied? Then he fucked me
rigid. I'm no virgin, but he was out to hurt and he did. Can the rest wait
now that I've satisfied your curiosity?"

Doyle's shocked eyes widened even further. "You bastard, you know better."

Bodie sighed. "Yeh, I do. Sorry. Not at my best, you know?" He stepped
toward the door. "I'm ready. Can we go?"

Doyle drove him straight home whilst he knelt in the back of the car.
Despite the fact Doyle's place was closer, Bodie appreciated that his
partner remembered from past experience that he preferred to be home when
he was hurt. Grateful wasn't half what he felt when they finally arrived
at his flat as the pain was worsening, and during the ride, a nausea had
commenced that convinced him he suffered from concussion, too. He knew he
must look bad since the glances that Doyle was throwing told him his
partner was worried.

Once inside, he ignored his wobbly knees and headed stolidly for the
shower. Doyle was on his heels picking up his discarded clothing and
steadying him with a touch.

"Easy, sunshine."

One hand on the wall, he reached for the faucets, but Doyle was there
first.

"C'mon, slow and steady." The hands that held him and guided him under the
water at the same time were almost unbearably gentle.

"Do you need some help?"

He shrank from the emotion he saw in Doyle's eyes, for the moment desiring
only to cleanse. "Nah, I'll let out a yell if I need any help, okay?"

Doyle gave a reluctant nod and left him.

He stood there till the water turned cold, gritting his teeth against the
pain, letting it wash the merc's touch from both his flayed skin and his
mind. Not until he was thoroughly chilled would he leave. Finding a clean
robe in the bathroom cupboard, he pulled it on and headed for the kitchen,
but Doyle waylaid him before he made it to the doorway.

"Wrong, mate. To bed. I'm going to take a look at your arse."

Bodie didn't argue, felt it was almost too much effort to talk; but Doyle
hadn't really pushed yet, and he was hoping maybe they could avoid a
confrontation altogether.

He slipped off the robe and edged his bruised body onto the bed,
gratefully settling his aching head on the cool pillow.

He was aware of Doyle bustling about but ignored it until he felt the
tentative touch on his abused anatomy. Doyle was careful but Bodie closed
his eyes and tried to blank his mind, pressing his face into the linen,
until his partner was finished. He thought maybe they were both equally
glad when the first aid kit was put away.

"Sorry," Doyle apologized.

It was the first word he'd spoken since he'd begun his ministrations,
communicating only by touch until now.

"S'all right," he muttered. "Ta, mate."

"Bodie?"

"Yeh?" Tension seeping away now that it was over, Bodie longed to drift
into sleep and forget the pain in his head.

"Turn over."

He sighed. Doyle wanted to talk and he had promised. Resigned, he turned
to his side. "Awful bossy," he complained.

"Tell me what happened. I deserve that much."

Too tired to argue, Bodie closed his eyes in defeat, all his resolve
stripped away by the concern in Doyle's face. "Went looking for action;
found more than I'd bargained for. You can guess the rest."

"You went looking for this? You wanted it?"

He looked up to find green confusion staring at him. "Looking for strong
sex, yeh...not to get beat up."

"Why'd you need another bloke?"

Bodie saw, with surprise, what looked like hurt. He also heard the unasked
question: Doyle wanted to know why *he* wasn't enough. He couldn't answer
that one, not now, not ever. "Look, I knew we might play rough, but I
didn't expect this."

"Play rough!" Doyle snapped angrily. "He must have been a bloody caveman,"
He rubbed a hand over his face, obviously trying for control. "Okay,
there's no accounting for taste, I guess."

"I said I didn't expect this," Bodie growled. "You deaf now?"

Doyle got up and headed for the door, suppressed fury and hurt evident in
every line of his body. At the last minute he turned. "I guess this means
you've outgrown me; I mean just in case you ever want to try that on with
me, you oughtta' know I don't go in for the rough stuff."

He'd blown it. Doyle was never going to believe him or forgive him. There
just was no way to make the man understand what had driven him tonight.
Bodie stared up at the defiant face framed in the doorway, and figured in
for a penny, in for a pound. 

"You didn't want it any way tonight, did you? At least not with me."

For just a second Doyle looked blank. "What are you saying? You wanted to
be with me tonight? You never said...."

"I did."

"That's what this is all about? You think it's my fault then?"

"Never said that."

"It's pretty obvious you're thinking it," Doyle shot back.

Bodie paused, and was surprised when he found that Doyle was right.

The tenuous hold on his emotions shattered. "All right, yes, it's partly
your fault. Tonight I needed you, but you were too busy, too involved in
yourself - and to do what? wash your hair? clean your apartment? read a
book? what? Tell me, Ray, I'd like to know just what's more important than
your partner?"

Doyle was startled now. "Nothing. Nothing's more important. You know
that."

"Do I? You made it pretty clear that whatever it was, was more important.
Why'd you turn me down? And why are you the one who always decides when we
see each other?"

"You didn't ask," Doyle denied. "I mean, I didn't think...."

"I did ask. You didn't pay attention." Bodie sat up, ignoring the pain and
the sudden nausea that gripped him. "Cause you're a selfish bugger, that's
why." He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "And tonight proved just
how much I rate in your books. And yeah, I know you came when I called and
I appreciate your help. But when it comes to...well, when it comes to more
than an emergency, you don't give much of yourself, do you?"

Bodie couldn't stand looking at the white face hanging over him and lunged
to his feet to escape.

"Where do you think you're going?" Doyle asked, clutching at his arm.

"Anywhere I can be alone," he snarled, looking anywhere but at Doyle.

"You look like hell. Lie back down before you pass out."

He ground his teeth in exasperation and met the angry glare of his
partner. "Doyle...."

"Shirrup!" Doyle unclenched tight fists. "Christ, you make me mad. Do you
really think I don't care?"

Bodie's voice was a ragged whisper. "I know you care, Ray." Without
warning, depression settled over him like a great black cloak. He had
probably just ruined what little they had with unthinking accusations, and
now Doyle would want to back off completely. Suddenly it occurred to him
that maybe he would even want another partner.

Perversely then, Bodie decided he would finish it before Doyle did. "It's
not all your fault. S'mine, too. I let you get away with murder too often,
just waiting, wanting some sign I really matter. Hasn't happened yet, has
it?"

Increasingly embarrassed at spelling out his needs, but compelled to let
out all his frustration, he stared hard at the space beside Doyle's head.
"Sometimes I need to know I come first with you, and I don't mean just as
a partner. Most of the time I can live with the way you act; but sometimes
it just won't do. Tonight was one of those times." He dragged his eyes to
Doyle and fixed him with an unblinking stare. "I need more than you seem
willing to give, Ray."

All strength gone, Bodie backed up to the bed and sat down, head hanging,
convinced it was all over.

As the silence continued and Doyle didn't move, he dredged up the interest
to look at the other man. Doyle was running a distracted hand through his
hair, creating a regular crow's nest. Finally he turned and walked to the
door, hesitated, wheeled around and came back to the bed to stand before
Bodie..

"Bodie, maybe I did know; but sometimes I get scared by all this...us. 'M
not sure, you know, where we're going." He peered out from under a fringe
of curls. "And 'm not sure what you really want, either."

"Want you."

The starkness of the reply seemed to surprise Doyle and he scowled. "Hard
to tell. Christ, when I think of the tricks I've pulled just...."

"Tricks?"

Doyle shuffled nervously. "Never meant you to know." He sighed. "Remember
that time you broke a date with Karen to be with me?"

Surprise broke through Bodie's frail composure. "How'd you know that?"

Briefly Doyle let his gaze drop before the questioning look. "Knew you had
one set up with her when I asked you to come over." He wiped his hands on
his jeans and fidgeted. "Hoped you didn't care that much for her."

Bodie felt like he'd been gut-punched. "Why?"

"You're not the only one who doesn't know where he stands, you know."

"Don't give me that. You were bloody testing me."

"No, Bodie, no. I wondered how much you wanted me, s'all; but I wanted
you, needed you that night. Always do."

Past pride, Bodie heard his voice break without caring. "You really take
the biscuit, don't you? Did you find out what you wanted then? Your
partner wants you more than he wants birds. Good for a laugh, was it?"
Blindly, he turned away, knowing his misery was plain to see.

"Bodie?" Doyle sounded worried. "It wasn't like that."

"Leave me alone." His head was throbbing; he rubbed a careless hand over
his back where it had impacted with the bed and winced as he encountered
the laceration and swelling.

Doyle didn't miss the grimace and his angry look intensified. "Bodie, who
did this to you?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Don't say that to me! It *does* matter. Who, dammit?"

"Just a guy, all right? I'll take care of him when I feel better."

A hard grip forced his head up, blistering green seared him. "Tell me."

Bodie exploded then, shoving Doyle away from him. "Damn you, Doyle, get
out of here. You don't care that I made it with someone so who're you
kidding with all this concern?"

"Tell me!"

"His name was Mick and I met him at the Chaingang. So what good does that
do you? He won't be hanging about, will he? And he's cleared out, no
forwarding address."

In the torrent of words hitting him, Doyle latched on to the concrete
facts. "Chaingang?"

"Leave it."

"His name was Mick, yes?"

Goaded beyond endurance Bodie pushed himself off the bed. '"Yeh, and he
was a merc, too. Know what you think of the breed, don't I? Disgusting
doesn't begin to define it, right?" he taunted, pulling his cords on.
"Must be reverting to type, don't you think?" He found his shirt and
continued. "S'funny though. Even with what happened, it doesn't hurt as
much as...." 

Abruptly he sat and slid on his boots. "I'm going out. I'll see you
later."

Doyle's face shuttered. "Don't bother, sunshine. I'm leaving." He strode
to the door, then paused looking at his partner. "S'pect you're right
about me," he said quietly, and then he was gone.

When he heard the door slam, Bodie sank back on the bed, shaking. Doyle
would be back. He always came back, didn't he? Everyone knew Bodie was the
one who might walk out. But every time the door closed on Doyle's anger,
he could imagine what it'd be like to lose him permanently.

Doyle went directly home from Bodie's flat, a vague plan already forming
in his mind. The tension playing along his nerves demanded release, and
since he could do nothing right now about his relationship with Bodie,
nerves demanded he do something about Mick.

He kept seeing his partner's bloodied back and buttocks, and his emotions
bounced between fury and a sick pain that anyone would hurt Bodie in such
a manner. His partner's stoicism when he treated his lacerations was also
disturbing. Bodie always kept a stiff upper lip, but his eyes had been
carefully blanked of any emotion. That was unusual because those blue
barometers normally told Doyle everything he needed to know. Or so he had
thought until tonight.

While automatically showering and shampooing, his mind kept going back to
their conversation. He was just a little bewildered by Bodie's vehement
indiction of his faults, but he had been too shook to defend himself. He
knew he could be ratty at times and had been told by more than one person
his disposition could stand improvement. On the other hand, he genuinely
cared for Bodie. Maybe he had never allowed himself to equate his feelings
with being in love, but that didn't mean he wasn't.

He was also a little perplexed with himself. If anything, he was given to
worrying things to death until he had them figured out in his mind. It was
one of the things that made him good at his job. But for some reason he
had not done it this time; and he had gone wrong with Bodie because he
hadn't thought it all out. The only excuse he could conceive was that
their affair had grown out of the job, and it had seemed a perfectly
natural extension of their already symbiotic relationship. Anyway, he
hadn't given it his usual thorough thinking-through. In fact, he had gone
out of his way not to examine it.

That was intriguing in itself and very unlike him.

Putting the disturbing thoughts aside for a better time, he concentrated
on his hair, working for the casually tousled effect he desired. When he
finished he stood looking in the mirror for a few minutes, contemplating
his reflection. The eyes of a hunting cat stared back at him.

Splashing on cologne, he considered the undeniable effect he had on
people. He'd never understood it, but too many unwanted advances from both
sexes had come his way over the years to not believe in it. Before he'd
learned how to handle his own sensuality, it had been either delightful,
difficult, or bewildering depending on the circumstances. Now it was an
accepted part of himself--just another talent on which he could draw.

Back in the bedroom he sorted carefully through his wardrobe. Satisfied
finally, he eased on the jeans over a bare torso, so tight he had to
inhale sharply as he zipped them up. The green t-shirt, soft and thin
after many washings, was also tight. Abstractly, he noticed how his
nipples peaked gently against the fabric. Boots next, then he added silver
chains around his neck and wrist. Stepping back to the full length mirror
he turned, finger-tips sliding into back pockets, and viewed himself from
the rear.

Bodie had threatened him if he ever wore this pair to work again; said the
blue patch down his arse put one thing only in his mind and it wasn't
work-related. Experimenting, he jutted his hips fractionally, the soft
swelling at his groin coming into relief. He reckoned he would do.

There only remained for him to pick out a few odd assortments and he could
put his plan into action. It was fairly fluid at this point, considering
he had not yet located Bodie's assailant, but he knew somehow Mick was
going to pay in kind for what he had done.

At the small bedside table he pulled out a sheathed knife and concealed it
in his belt at the small of his back. Nodding approval, he grabbed the
leather jacket draped across a chair and went into the hallway to rummage
through a small cupboard where he kept odds and ends; there he found the
length of strong but lightweight rope he remembered keeping. One last stop
by the garage where he kept his motor bike to pick up a wrench he could
conceal up his sleeve, and then he was on his way.

It was late even for private clubs and yet Doyle had a feeling about this
place, sure his quarry was in reach. The bartender at the Chaingang had
known some of Mick's friends, and some of the bars they frequented. This
one--The Headmaster--was the last.

Pausing to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, he took time to note the
thinning crowd. Strobe lights still flashed, but the music was muted, the
dance floor almost empty. Only one table had a group of any size around
it. Two of the six men wore army fatigues; the rest were dressed in dark
leather jackets and jeans, all of them laughing boisterously. At the bar
Doyle turned, leaning back, his elbows on the bar, one foot propped up on
the rail. Dismissing the other patrons as suspects, he turned his
attention to the six men.

They were in a very loud, back-slapping mood, in the middle of an
hilarious exchange of stories. Doyle eavesdropped openly, hoping to pick
out Mick, if indeed, he were there..

He was rewarded when one of the men pointed to a dark, rather sinister man
and spoke to him. "Mick," said one of the two dressed in fatigues. "Don't
be such a skinflint. Drinking pints on your mates all night is your style,
but fair's fair, you bloody tightpockets!"

"You little ponce," Mick growled. "I've only been here a couple hours."

There were hoots of laughter at his expense. "Can't help it if you had to
go hunting your last night in London town, mate," said one of the
leather-jacketed men. "Still your turn."

"You're just jealous cause I got the beauty." Mick aimed a punch at the
other man's jaw but rose to go for drinks.

Doyle examined Mick as closely as the darkened room allowed, his eyes
dissecting the man as if he were some alien specimen. It was a relief to
finally let his anger grow, accumulate and mount higher and higher, as he
considered Mick's fate. It had been almost painful to remain detached
during the hunt so his skills remained unimpaired. Now there was a focus
for his fury and he released it. At this point, his anger would help him
do what he must to revenge Bodie.

It was time to remember this man had hurt and humiliated Bodie, time to
savor what he would do to Mick when he had him away from this bar and his
friends. No one touched anything that belonged to him and got away with
it. Bodie had a partner who watched his back, took care of him, too, even
though the other man sometimes forgot it. Just as important, Mick had
fucked Bodie. Something that Doyle had not even done yet, something Doyle
had reserved for his own pleasure when the time was right. Now this man
would have to pay for what he'd done to Ray Doyle's partner and lover.

Sidling down the bar next to Mick, he brushed casually against the man's
thigh and posed provocatively. Mick glanced at him cursorily, then let his
eyes return for a slower reconnaissance.

"Didn't notice you come in, sweet'eart. A cute little bugger like you all
alone here. Ain't you afraid the big, bad men will eat you alive?" He
laughed at his own crude wit.

Head tilted, Doyle smiled up at him. "I'm much more interested in eating
them, ducks." He was rewarded when Mick sucked in his breath sharply.
"Big, bad men are ever so much more interesting, don't you think?"

"You're looking to find out, sweet'eart, if you keep that up," Mick
promised, glancing down at Doyle's hand sliding up his leg.

"Wicked, aren't I?" he murmured. "Don't know what comes over me
sometimes." His gaze roved freely as he leaned back, thrusting his crotch
forward into prominence. "Like me to show you just how interested I am?"

Studying the hard body, Doyle wondered just what it was about Mick that
had attracted Bodie. Knowing his partner, he figured it had to be the air
of menace this man exuded as naturally as sweat. Bodie was a sucker for
dares. The daft nutter would do anything if he thought it was a test of
his manhood. Just like him to think he could take this mountain of meat.
Very optimistic, his Bodie. Stupid, too.

His attention was drawn back as Mick finished paying for his drinks.

"You're not usually my type," Mick drawled, patting Doyle's full crotch,
"But I'd make an exception for you. For such a little 'un, you look a hard
case."

"If you only knew how hard," he said meaningfully.

"I c'n get a room," Mick offered, voice low.

"Okay," Doyle agreed. "Let's find it."

"Just a minute," Mick said.

Doyle watched him carry the drinks over to the table and lean down to
speak to one of the fatigue-clad man who looked up in surprise. The man
laughed as he produced a key. "You owe me, mate; I'll collect later."

The man's careless reply suddenly clarified everything in Doyle's mind,
and he knew what Mick's punishment would be.

Again Mick spoke and raucous laughter overpowered them all before he waved
the key and sauntered over to Doyle. "Got us a place now, petal. We'll
have to catch a cab."

"S'all right, I've got a car," Doyle said.

"What's your name sweet'eart?" Mick asked.

"No names," Doyle replied. "Not going to meet again, are we?"

Mick laughed and followed him out to the kerb.

In the car, Mick groped a hand between Doyle's thighs and he gritted his
teeth in disgust. Deciding it would be easier to touch Mick than be pawed
about, he used his free hand to discover what his eyes had told him
already; Mick was of average size which probably had helped save Bodie
from serious injury. As his hand defined Mick's prick, the other man
desisted, satisfied with his own pleasure. Anger still carrying him along,
Doyle continued to stroke the man, hiding his wrath with great effort.

The small hotel Mick directed him to was unprepossessing and shabby.
Excitement that had settled in his stomach rose into his gorge and raised
him to a higher pitch of fury. Balanced on his toes, waiting for the right
moment, he allowed Mick to precede him into the unfamiliar room, and as
the man fumbled about for the switch, Doyle slid the bike wrench out of
his sleeve.

"Ouch, dammit it all. Can't find the bloody light," Mick swore in
irritation. 

Anticipation rose and peaked as Doyle slipped into the room behind the
merc. When the weak overhead bulb flared, Doyle laid the wrench alongside
Mick's head with all the strength of his terrible anger.

To Doyle's high-strung sensibilities, it seemed Mick toppled to the floor
in slow-motion. The wrench gripped in both hands, he fought to regain some
control. The satisfaction of striking Mick once was not nearly enough, and
he longed to continue his attack. By a supreme effort he made himself
pocket the wrench, and still shaking, began to strip the man, only
stopping to repossess Bodie's watch, and as an afterthought, take the
bracelet from Mick's wrist.

Dragging the dead-weight to the bed, he hoisted the unconscious man onto
it and rolled him to his back before tying his hands and feet to each bed
post. When he finished, he paused, severely disappointed it had all been
so easy.

Straddling the mercenary, Doyle succumbed to the desire to hurt the man,
and slapped him hard. His handprint sprang into bright relief on Mick's
swarthy skin. "C'mon, *sweetheart, *" he grated. "Wakie, wakie." The man
groaned; another slap and he rolled his head back and forth in protest.

"Open your eyes, you perverted son-of-a-bitch," Doyle hissed.

Mick's eyes cracked open and he moaned. "You little prick tease. You
better make sure I never get up from here."

Doyle smiled mirthlessly. "That could be arranged."

Mick's eyes opened to take in the malevolent figure crouched over him.
"Whatta' you want with me?"

With interest Doyle heard the note of new-born respect and panic in Mick's
question. Grabbing the man's chin with rough fingers he said, "Your guts
for garters to begin with."

Mick twisted away from the hard touch. "Who are you? You're not just some
ponce on the make."

"No. I'm on the hunt, sunshine. I've been searching out your arse all over
London, and I'm taking Bodie a piece of it. You know, you're lucky it was
me and not 'im who found you."

"Bodie?"

"Your memory is better than that. Good-lookin', dark-haired feller...you
didn't treat him too friendly, did you? Now you're gonna' pay."

"Bodie? You mean Beau? You know Beau?" Mick forced a nervous laugh.
"C'mon, petal, he wanted it rough--he knew what he was gonna' get."

"Shirrup," Doyle shouted and grabbed a sock from the floor to stuff in
Mick's mouth. "You got too much to say for a feller in your position." He
grinned then. "You'll be all right till your friends come." Cocking his
head, Doyle studied him. "They are friends, aren't they? Wouldn't take
advantage of the situation, would they?"

Doyle picked up the bedside phone and dialed slowly, watching the panicked
realization hit Mick. "Headmaster?"

Yeh, pass a message on to the group at the large table, will you? Tell
them Mick wants 'em to join the party. Thanks."

He turned and laughed without humor as Mick heaved up against the
restraints. "Not sure of them, are you? From what I saw, I wouldn't be
either." He shook his head. "Should choose your friends more carefully,
sunshine." Sighing in mock consternation, he went on. "If the sight of
your ugly mug didn't put me off, I'd do you, too." He patted Mick's
stubbled cheek. "Hope you enjoy your reunion, mate." He paused at the
door. "Oh, and the next time you think you want some kinky fun, you might
remember you could be messing with a bloke who belongs to someone else."

After leaving Mick, Doyle sat in his car waiting. It wasn't long before an
old car pulled up and emptied out four men who entered the hotel.
Recognizing them, Doyle smiled unpleasantly.

It didn't take much imagination to picture the scene being enacted in that
dreary room. Those men would be quick to take advantage of Mick's helpless
state and even quicker to bandy the tale about town. The merc wouldn't be
able to hold his head up in London for a long time. A leather man who let
a lightweight poofter put him down and then leave him for the vultures
wasn't deserving of his machismo label.

Too keyed up to go home, Doyle headed for the M-1 to relieve his
tension-high with some fast driving; he was grateful for the slackened
pre-dawn traffic. Usually he and Bodie helped each other defuse after ops,
but tonight that avenue was closed to him until he could straighten out
some things in his own mind. The problem was simple really: Bodie. Equal.
Alter ego. Partner. Lover.

Yeh, that was the problem: Bodie was his lover. The sex had complicated
their relationship, and it was his fault in a way. Once he had discovered
his lust, he had been so bloody eager to get Bodie in bed he had ignored
his own inner warnings. And, because of that, he hadn't stopped, hadn't
wanted, to think that he might be exploiting his partner--because he knew
Bodie had loved him for a long time. 

Events tonight showed him that blinded by his initial passion, he had
misjudged not only the depth of Bodie's commitment to him, but what Bodie
wanted from him as well. It just hadn't occurred to him that Bodie might
want more in a relationship; and to be fair to himself, he could see no
reason why he should have presumed such a thing. They had both been
unwilling to voice their needs.

When his partner was feeling better, he intended pointing that out. After
all, Ray Doyle was not a sodding mind reader. Of course, now that he was
aware of the problem, he could fix it. Just because he had never given
Bodie what he wanted, didn't mean he was incapable of giving it. If he was
any judge of Bodie, and he hoped he was doing better now that he was
thinking again, the nutter did love him.

He sighed in frustration. How to convince Bodie of all this excellent
hindsight was not going to be easy. In an attempt to protect himself, he'd
put up unconscious defenses that Bodie had read as a lack of feeling; and
now Bodie wrongly believed he wasn't loved so Doyle was going to have to
deal with Bodie's insecurities. And soon. Not only was his partner feeling
at a disadvantage in their relationship, as well as hurting, it was
causing serious ramifications--like tonight. It hurt almost more than he
could bear that Bodie had gone out and gotten injured because of him. As a
small afterthought, he mentally added that Bodie was his, and he wasn't
going to put up with him sleeping around.

Maybe the answer was to let his actions demonstrate his feelings instead
of trying to explain. Rather than keep what had happened from Bodie, he
should confront him with it. Maybe then he'd begin to get the idea Doyle
really cared.

At the thought of the coming confrontation, a fresh surge of adrenaline
caught him, and he turned the car for home and Bodie. It was with some
surprise he noted the sun had long been up.

Bodie counted the rings before dropping the phone into its cradle;
disgusted with himself, he walked over to the window and peered out at the
sunlit street, scanning the passing traffic for a white Ford Escort.
Nothing. Irritated, he let the draperies fall, walked into the kitchen and
put the kettle on to boil. Too impatient to wait, he stalked back to the
lounge and checked the window again.

The kettle whistled. After making a cuppa, he brought it back into the
room, and since it still hurt to sit, he threw himself face down on the
settee, damning Doyle the whole while. Where was the little sod? As his
temper had cooled, and as his own hurt and humiliation had become
manageable, he was able to consider Doyle's last words and the funny
crumpled expression on his partner's face. He hadn't seen that look since
Ann Holly had walked out.

Picking up his tea, he contemplated the cup with undue solemnity. Doyle
couldn't be blamed for not loving as he was loved. He should be willing to
accept what Doyle could give instead of haranguing him for more.

The single blast on the intercom jarred his frayed nerves, and he barked
his shin on the hall table as he hurried to answer its second peremptory
summons.

"Who is it?" he snapped.

"Lemme' in."

As he released the door, his initial relief was overwhelmed by irrational
anger.

"Where the hell you bin?" he demanded as Doyle walked in. "Tried to call
you all night."

"Was out. What did you want?" Doyle said, teeth showing too whitely.

Staring hard, Bodie caught that singular intensity in Doyle that was
usually there after an op. His partner was strung fine, wire-taut, ready
to burst.

"What's up?" Bodie asked suspiciously.

"Been out," Doyle repeated shortly, prowling restlessly about the flat.

"Yeh, I know. Said I'd tried calling, didn't I?"

Eyes glittering green fire, Doyle moved up to him. "Went hunting." He
reached into his pocket and pulled out Bodie's wallet. "Found this," he
said, tossing it to a stunned Bodie. "And this," he finished, fishing
Mick's elephant's hair bracelet out of his pocket and displaying it

For just a second Bodie stood transfixed, staring from wallet to Doyle who
absently fastened the bracelet on his wrist. Then he exploded. "How the
fuck did you get this?"

"Took it off Mick," Doyle said too casually, stepping closer and gripping
his partner's shoulders. "Bodie, don't ever do this again. You want me,
you make it clear."

The harsh touch removed his stupefaction. "You took Mick." Abruptly, his
tightly clenched fist shot out and clipped an unprepared Doyle. Deep
satisfaction filled Bodie as the other man hit the floor with a solid
thump. "Who the hell appointed you my keeper?" he raged at the downed man.

Doyle caught his breath and rubbed his chin, obviously unrepentant. "You
great pillock, you could've broken my jaw."

"Goddammit, Doyle...."

Recovered, Doyle bounded to his feet and rushed Bodie, finger jabbing
hard, voice rough with emotion. "Shirrup, Bodie, and listen." Green eyes
were strangely beseeching for a moment and then the intensity was back.
"This was no different from the job. I did it for you and you've got to
allow me that."

"Allow you! Seems like you took it upon yourself easy enough."

"Look, he's still alive and well--go kill 'im yourself if you're that
stupid; but you cause trouble, and Cowley'll kick you out. I need my
partner...but I want you more." Doyle looked away. "Anymore than that, I'm
not promising." He lifted his eyes to Bodie then and said in a broken
voice, "But I feel so much inside, mate, more than you'd guess."

At Doyle's soft avowal, shame flooded him. Last night's confession seemed
unreal, and further, revealed a humiliating weakness he wished they both
could forget. "Ray, just drop it, okay. I don't want you to promise
anything. I'm sorry for what I said. I was way out of line, and I'd
appreciate it if we could just forget it, okay?"

"You dumb crud!" Doyle howled, past patience with Bodie's short
sightedness. "I'm going to say this just once so try to follow me. You go
out with other blokes again and you'll think Mick's treatment was
lover-like. You and me--it's exclusive."

The rough voice gentled a little. "Next time you want me, I'll be there.
I'm sorry about that. No excuse, just wasn't thinking, and for once, you
were being too subtle." His voice hardened again. "And it's the only
reason I don't half kill you for going with that bastard." He leaned
forward and slid his fingertips into Bodie's hair and kissed him hard.
"Want you now, but you're in no shape, so I'm going for about a ten mile
run. I'll call you tomorrow." With that he was gone before Bodie could
recoup his senses. Only this time he didn't slam the door.

The sudden quiet was almost as shocking as Doyle's brief visit, and Bodie
found himself emotionally numb as he stood staring at the closed door. A
wry grin slowly covered his face. Doyle had certainly been
inspirational--the little sod.

He was still furious with the man for tackling Mick, but basically, Doyle
was right. If he'd gone after Mick, it probably would have ended with one
of them dead. Even more important though were Doyle's motives. He hadn't
actually admitted it, but he was jealous and angry that Bodie had been
with another man. And it sounded as if he were committed to more than an
occasional bedtime romp; had, in fact admitted to caring deeply. Anyway he
looked at it, Doyle and he seemed to have a future of sorts. Whatever, it
was enough for now.

Not up to par yet the next day, Bodie called in sick, and what with Doyle
being assigned an out-of-town surveillance, it was a week later before
they worked together. Happily it proved the incident had done no harm to
their partnership. When they met in the rest room, everything seemed
normal. The separation had done them both good, Doyle thought, given them
time to think.

He eyed Bodie carefully, noting he moved easily, with no outward sign of
pain, before he began bitching about his week's interment in Manchester.

Airily, Bodie reassured him. "Don't fret, sunshine. Now that your keeper's
back, Cowley will let you do some real work."

Before Bodie could really get started with his ragging, he was
serendipitously interrupted by Cowley. Minutes later they'd been briefed
and bid to get on their bikes and earn their keep. Once Doyle settled into
the seat next to Bodie, the feeling of rightness resumed immediately, all
the connections sparking. He felt a great relief that their working
relationship had not suffered as a result of their personal problems.

"Feels good to be seeing some real action, dunnit? Been dead borin'
lately."

Bodie flicked him a smile. "Boring anyway."

Doyle chuckled easily, feeling complete for the first time in days. He was
shocked at how much he'd missed being with this man. Their reunion was a
coming home, and he knew it was part of the reason he did the bloody job:
for the satisfaction of being partnered with Bodie. His other half.

"S'good, this," he murmured.

Bodie didn't answer and Doyle didn't expect it, his mind already on the
job ahead.

It was well past 3 a.m. when they rounded up the last villain and more
than 24 hours later--hours spent conducting interrogations and writing
reports--before they crashed at Doyle's flat.

Doyle was the first to wake when the midday sun filtered through the
draperies and zeroed in on him. Rolling to avoid it, he came up against
the warm, solid body of his mate. He lay still for a few minutes soaking
up the pleasure of finding Bodie there. It occurred to him that the man
fitted him just as perfectly in bed as he did out.

He shifted closer so he could feel the other's soft breath whispering over
his skin. Touched by the rare innocence of a sleeping Bodie and gentled
momentarily by the feelings welling within, he ran a forefinger up a
stubbled cheek to explore the pouting lips. Smiling, he replaced his
finger with his mouth, coaxing Bodie awake. It was a heady feeling having
his partner come alive under his nipping kisses and caresses, knowing his
touch could arouse Bodie so easily.

Fully awake now, Bodie was responding eagerly, his erection thrusting
against their close pressed groins.

Doyle pulled back. "Easy on, mate. Maybe we should talk first."

"Talk later," Bodie mumbled, pulling him back.

It didn't take much effort for his partner to persuade him.

Only later, as he surfaced, did he feel he should have put up more of an
argument. The sex was great but they had things to get clear. Still unsure
of each other in this new phase, their insecurities stemmed from the fact
that their personal knowledge of each other was more intuitive than
factual. He could fill about one page of a small notebook with what he
knew of Bodie's life--and Bodie could make the same complaint.

Their working knowledge and faith in each other was a miracle considering
all things. Now they needed the knowledge to build a solid base that would
support these new emotions. Also important on his list of things to
discuss was spelling out what they wanted and expected of their
relationship...because if he'd learned one thing, it was that he wanted
Bodie included in all aspects of his life.

"You alive?" he asked.

His partner merely grunted and moved away from the prodding finger.

"Bodie," he insisted.

"Christ, what is it?" Bodie breathed, sounding irritated.

"We should get up."

"Nobody's stopping you, are they?"

"We need to talk before we report in."

"About what?" Bodie sat up and Doyle saw a hint of panic in the blue eyes.
"Seems to me talking gets us into trouble; action's our forte."

Doyle snorted derisively as he got out of the bed to search for his robe.
"Pull the other one, mate. 'Not' talking has been our problem, and you
know it. Besides, you agreed. Man of your word, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Bodie inquired mildly, looking away.

Abruptly Doyle's good mood dissipated. "You are if you're my partner," he
said flatly.

Bodie's head swung around. "All right, so we'll have a talk if it's so
ruddy important."

Doyle's emotional equilibrium rebalanced at the concession, and he came to
sit by Bodie on the bed.

"It is - to both of us." Serious now, he leaned to cup Bodie's face in his
hands. "Think we want the same thing, sunshine. But we need to learn how
not to hurt each other having it, don't we? And if we know where some of
the tender spots are, we'll have a better chance." He smiled. "Besides,
being a biddable lad, I think you might become a good flat-mate with
time." He surveyed the astonished face of his lover. "Only don't think
you'll bully me into doing all the cooking."

"I'll do my bit," Bodie said with some indignation, then a self-conscious
smile covered his face. "Come on, we can talk while we're cooking
breakfast."

Encouraged by Bodie's response, Doyle followed his partner to the kitchen.
"First thing we gotta' straighten out is why I went after Mick. Want you
to understand. I needed to get 'im for you and me."

Bodie was at the refrigerator and wouldn't look at him.. "You took a big
risk; you could've gotten the same treatment. How'd you think I'd've felt
about that?"

"But I didn't. Is that bothering you?"

"No...yes." Bodie turned around shamefaced. "In a way. Didn't want you to
be hurt, but guess I'm upset at how easy you took him."

"Easy! Mate, I laid a six inch wrench alongside his thick skull and then
trussed him up like a Christmas goose. Saw what he did to you, didn't I?
Knew I had to put him down fast."

Bodie flushed. "Wanted 'im myself."

"I know. It was just that he hurt you," Doyle said, moving closer. "Bodie,
it kills me when you're hurt. For Christ's sake, don't you know yet how
much you mean to me?"

Bodie sounded uncertain, "You mean you...".

"Love you? Yeh, that, too. Mostly I value you. Don't wanna' live without
you Maybe that's part of love. Dunno' anymore." He grasped Bodie's arms.
"I know you'd've gone after Mick for me. You've got to see it works both
ways."

"Don't do it again, not without tellin' me, okay?"

"Not likely to as long as you stay out of those bars," Doyle said, sliding
his arms around Bodie, enjoying the solidity and warmth.

Bodie hugged back, and when they broke for air, Doyle grinned at him.
"Want to tell you a story tonight."

"What kind? Bedtime story?"

"Life story, mate, I'll go first but then I want to hear yours."

"That's nice, that," Bodie scoffed. "Dead cert to be better'n a blue movie
anyway."

"You agree?"

Bodie sighed. "Have to, don't I? If I want to hear yours?"

Doyle nodded.

"Well there you are. Can't take a chance of missing an opportunity like
this, can I?"

Doyle nodded again, content for now. If nothing else in his life worked
out, he was determined this relationship would; and he was a very
persistent bloke. Up to now he hadn't had much luck with affairs of the
heart, so it was about time the odds began to favor him. Convinced Bodie
loved him, and aware that whatever he felt for Bodie was equally powerful,
he decided that he might just have got it right for once.

-- THE END --

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