The Professionals Circuit Archive - Hide and Seek	  Hide and Seek

 

by Morgan Dawn	
 Bodie took another sip of ale. He liked the small pub--the locals ignored
him, the ale was warm, and it was far away from anywhere Doyle would go.
In fact, it was far away from where any Londoner would go--situated some
150 miles north of the city, the village sat on the edge of Sherwood
forest. No one but hikers, postal workers, and Bodie ventured here in the
fall months. The perfect place to hide.

Not that Bodie needed to hide--just sometimes it got to him. Being near
Doyle, wanting him, fearing discovery--he'd known it was a skill that
could never be recognized on the job--loving your partner, watching him
move through the streets with cool grace, sit next to you in tight
quarters, brush up against you in the thrill of the chase--and not show
any of the desires that twisted your guts every day. It all wore unevenly,
and every now and then he needed time away from Doyle and CI5. He had
stumbled across the village one night returning from an op in Scotland.
Too tired to keep driving, he'd pulled over on the road to sleep. The
sunlight shaking him awake as it filtered through the roadside trees had
been a pleasant surprise. One he was certain Doyle, with his urban tastes,
would never have appreciated. He, on the other hand, could value the
wooded silences that were far away from the daily grime, corruption, and
violence that circled CI5. He took another swallow and began the slow
process of unstringing himself.

A hand clapped his shoulder and he jerked his head around. "Well, there
you are," Doyle said. His face was flushed with triumph, a smug smile
spreading. Bodie stared. Doyle slid into the seat and poked Bodie again.
"Bet you didn't expect to see me--always did wonder where you'd sneak off
on these little jaunts of yours." Doyle glanced around, coughing slightly
as the man two seats down lit a cigarette. He seemed not to notice Bodie's
hand clutching his glass. Or the cold forward stare. 

"So why're you here?" Bodie was determined to keep this visit short. 

"I just told you. To see what you've been doing all these years. You know
what Cowley says: 'Know your partner. Know his secrets. They may kill you
or keep you alive.'" Doyle paused to wave the keeper over and ordered a
pint. "Dunno about this secret. Kinda big to be keeping all this time."
Doyle gestured to the almost vacant room; his tone took in the entire
village of 200 and maybe even the surrounding sheep.

Bodie kept his mouth shut. Possibly, Doyle would just go away. He closed
his eyes. When he opened them, Doyle was still there. Better to accept
it--and get through it. "Like it here. It's quiet. No one makes a fuss.
The ale is good." 

"Well, I'll have to admit it is good. But God, Bodie. This place isn't
quite your style." Bodie shifted his glance to Doyle. The curly hair was
still wet from the autumn drizzle. His jacket arms bunched up slightly,
showing his strong wrists, and broad hands. He was leaning comfortably
into Bodie, relaxed and at ease. Bodie envied him. He felt the erection
slowly forming. He had to end this.

"So you don't think it's my style. That's nice, Doyle. When you finally
decide what it is you want, call me--I'll be in London." He slid off the
chair and fished a fiver out. 

Doyle grabbed his arm before he could pay. "Hold on Bodie--let's not get
carried away. If I'd known you'd be this touchy, I'd never have bugged
your car."

So that's how Doyle had found him. "Figures," he said. "You were never
that good. Face it, Doyle. I like it here because it's not London. I
expect it's your style this place doesn't fit with. So let's go."

Walking into the afternoon air, he sensed Doyle had paused in the middle
of the street. "What do you mean by that?" he heard Doyle call out. Bodie
didn't answer. He was trying to remember where he'd left the car keys. 

Doyle skipped across the road and leaned on the bonnet of the car. "I
said," he repeated, "what do you mean my tracking skills aren't that
good?" Bodie faced Doyle, remembering he'd left the keys in his hotel room
because he didn't think he was going anywhere. He was trapped and losing
patience.

"You rely on gadgets. You don't have a sense for which way the target will
move. Outside an urban setting that is," he added trying to be fair. 

Doyle's eyes glittered. His face had taken a narrow cast, the one he used
when he was angry. He leaned even closer, almost tapping Bodie. Bodie
tried to circle around to reach the door, but Doyle blocked his retreat.
"Still hung up on that merc thing. Christ, Bodie, we've been partners for
five years. We've had the same training, stood in the same muddy fields,
and climbed through all kinds of forests--natural and concrete. And you
still act like I am a babe in the woods."

Doyle did have a point. But Bodie didn't have to see it. He wasn't the
keeper of Doyle's ego. "Exactly. I've been there. I've also been in more
jungles, fields of war, and scrub battles than you. I *know* what I can
do. And I know what you can't do." 

The challenge fell. Bodie relaxed when Doyle took a few steps back. Then
he saw the trap--but it was too late.

Doyle slapped the roof of Bodie's Capri. His gaze moved between the road
and the open forest and Bodie, and back again. It centered straight on
Bodie's eyes, swooping in for the coup de grace. "So you think I can't
match you in the field. How much do you wanna bet?"

Bodie did not want to bet anything. He wanted to be as far away from
Doyle, this village, this question as possible. But five years of studying
Doyle told him that he'd have to play this one through or he'd never have
any peace. "One month's salary."

Doyle grimaced. "No way. I'm not letting you off that easy. Cash means
nothing to you. When I win, I want it to hurt. No, I'd take the three
wishes from you Bodie."

"Eh?" Bodie was afraid to ask. "Three wishes?"

"Or three favours. However you want to say it. When I win, I want you to
do me three favours. Over the next year." Doyle smiled then, a wide,
disarming smile that offered little warmth. 

Bodie was suspicious. "Any limits on these favours?" he asked, thinking of
the time Doyle had tried to talk him into stuffing fish into Cowley's
briefcase. 

"No limits. Well--" Doyle hesitated, probably thinking of some similar
scrap that Bodie had pulled, "nothing that'll cause permanent damage or
harm." Doyle waited. Something turned inside Bodie, as if the earth had
shifted under his feet, changed into water and set him floating down to
the sea. He studied Doyle's shoes, his legs, the road beneath them both,
looking for some way to end this farce, to pack it in and go home. But he
was tired of hiding, of running away.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. You picked the prize. I'll pick the rules."
His abrupt shift startled Doyle. His partner opened his mouth and then
shut it again. "We can use whatever is in our cars--except for the RTs and
guns and bugging equipment. The town is off limits. We stay within a ten
mile radius. No contact with other people. The first person to capture the
other wins."

Doyle bounced slightly in anticipation. "What about time limits? Wouldn't
want your bones to be found three years from now." 

Bodie answered, his own eagerness rising. "Let's keep it simple.
Twenty-four hours. Starting now." For a moment, he felt something slide
between them--an unspoken communication, a shared purpose. It was moments
like these that always left Bodie hoping for more. Before he could act on
the moment, Doyle had turned, and jogged around the corner to find his
car.

******

Finding Doyle was easy--he just waited near the edge of the village and
followed him in. Keeping ahead of him, 300 yards out, he was able to
laterally track Doyle and also reconnoiter the terrain. Bodie's feet moved
silently across the fallen leaves--the approaching winter had stripped
most of the cover. This would be more of a challenge than he'd ever admit
to Doyle. He rested a moment, listening carefully for Doyle's rustlings.
The cool air was still heavy with the earlier rain. Neither of them had
thought to stow rain gear in their cars--and CI5 didn't consider a rain
coat an "essential" survival option. Bodie doubted even he could cut the
waterproof tenting issued by CI5 into something fashionable.

Doyle was moving again. This time to the left, in a steady direction,
towards Bodie. Bodie picked up his pack and began moving away, keeping the
trees between them. What was he doing? The footsteps kept coming closer.
After they had each moved sideways another 200 yards, he heard Doyle pause
again. Bodie matched the movement and waited. Doyle made another left turn
and started walking.

Bodie grinned. Trust Doyle to follow the book. Concentric circles--the
standard search pattern. Doyle was playing tiger; he'd be actively hunting
and searching for Bodie until long after darkness fell. Bodie glanced up
at the pale sun deciding he had just enough time. Carefully retracing his
steps, he swung behind Doyle and moved to the center of the forest. Doyle
wouldn't know what hit him. Bodie resisted the urge to laugh--sound could
carry. It was time to play turtle to Doyle's tiger.

Three hours later, his mood had soured. Each time Doyle had paused, he'd
left a little surprise. Here a little snare, there a little footfall. He'd
even dug a small man trap, hoping to slow Bodie down. They hadn't, but
Bodie's left arm smarted and his knee moved unsteadily after the last
fall. Fuck Doyle--he'd do anything to win. Bodie wiped the sweat and
listened again for signs of Doyle. He estimated it would take another
forty-five minutes for Doyle to reach his position. He sized up the hole
he had dug--maybe borrowing the shovel hadn't been quite within the rules.
He hadn't seen anyone when he'd stolen it from the forest shed. Not much
different from the wire that he'd swear had not been in the boot of
Doyle's car. 

He scattered the dirt in a wide radius. Playing turtle had its rewards.
All he'd have to do was hide in his hole, cover it with leaves and wait
for Doyle to pass by. Bodie had left his pack and some trail sign twenty
yards away as a lure. All he needed was the element of surprise and Doyle
within reach. Slipping into the hole, Bodie felt the keen edge run through
him. He shut his eyes and briefly rested his forehead against the cool
earth. The smell of earth, combined with the deep rich tang of moistness,
surrounded him. He loved this moment--the quiet before the fervor of
battle. This instant was filled with more devotions than any Sunday
meeting. His hands trembled with unshed adrenaline. Doyle wouldn't stand a
chance.

The minutes passed into an hour. Still Bodie waited. He matched his
breathing to the sounds of the forest. Every shift was covered by a
falling leaf, a rustle of wind. Doyle was not so careful. Bodie could hear
him stepping through the clearing. He was still circling where he thought
Bodie was hiding. Then he paused, suddenly alerted by a creaking tree.
Bodie swore silently as he listened to Doyle move away from him, away from
the pack. Still Bodie waited. He knew it was a matter of time--Doyle's
restless energy would not keep him away for long. Not when victory seemed
so certain, so clear.

Bodie knew when the right moment came. His rush over the ground bracketed
Doyle cleanly. The impact sent Doyle forward to his knees. Even with the
element of surprise on his side, Bodie was nearly targeted with a vicious
kick in the stomach as Doyle rolled onto his back and tried to scramble to
a more advantageous position. Bodie's body covered him, forcing the breath
and fight out until he could reach the handcuffs and slap them into
position. Panting, he shoved Doyle into the dirt and then stepped back to
survey his work.

Doyle sat, sprawling awkwardly, spitting out a bit of twig that had lodged
in his mouth. His hair looked like someone had dipped it in mud--which,
come to think of it, someone had. Bodie laughed. "Gotcha. You're it."

"Dammit, Bodie. We said capture. Not bloody beat into submission. And get
these cuffs off of me." Doyle's eyes had turned grey in the dark, his face
flushed with the struggle and humiliation.

Bodie's hand reached inside his pocket for the key but froze. Doyle sat
there, breathing heavily. His jacket had fallen open and his shirt had
been pulled out. His chest was covered with sweat. His legs, encased in
his tight jeans, were coiled underneath his arse as he started to rise.
Without thinking, Bodie leaned forward and shoved Doyle back into the
dirt.

"Fuck off Bodie. This isn't funny. What do you think you're doing?" Doyle
was shouting. He was angry and confused. His voice rang clearly into the
air. There was no one to hear him--not this far into the forest in a cool
fall twilight.

Bodie licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Doyle. He knew what he wanted to
do. His cock had known even as he rushed forward to claim his victory. Now
it was pressing inside his trousers, demanding another victory. One he'd
wanted for a very long time. 

Bodie knew then what the first favour would be. The fact that Doyle could
not refuse made his cock swell even harder. He moved his hand to his groin
and gave himself another jolt of pleasure. "Claiming my first wish,
Doyle," he said through his teeth.

Doyle stared. His gaze moved from Bodie's face to Bodie's crotch and back
again. Anger transformed his face into a hard line, his fear close behind.
He kept his voice low. "Don't think you'll get away from this one alive,
Bodie." Bodie ignored him. He ignored everything but the insistent wave of
pain and pleasure growing from his middle. He knelt down and reached for
Doyle's zipper. 

The eruption was not unexpected. In fact, Bodie would have been
disappointed if Doyle hadn't tried. He had no illusions that this was
going to be easy--Doyle may have flirted with him, even confessed a few
incidents of rough trade in his wilder youth. But his body and eyes had
always claimed him off limits. That had never stopped Bodie from dreaming
and wanting. It wouldn't stop him now--he couldn't let it stop him.

After Doyle's legs had been tied, he reached again. He could see the fear
straining in Doyle's eyes, could see him bite his lip to keep silent.
Smiling silkily he said, "Relax Doyle, I'm not going to rape you here in
the woods." He gripped Doyle's limp cock with both hands, gently cradling
it between his fingers. The cock was longer than Bodie's; it felt softer,
too. He stroked the tip, gently touching the balls and the uncovered
thighs. Doyle trembled once, then stilled himself in protest. Bodie nearly
came then and there--Doyle, naked and pale, was his for the taking.
Bending down he kissed Doyle's cock with dry lips. He heard Doyle's sharp
intake. Staring into Doyle's face he mouthed, "You always welsh out, you
know." Doyle scowled. Bodie bent down again, knowing that this would work.


The cock fit neatly in his mouth. He spent some time simply holding it in
place, letting the moistness and heat seep into Doyle's nerves. Doyle
began to swell, growing, lengthening into hardness. Bodie glanced to see
Doyle's expression but he had turned his head away. Bodie moved his
tongue, circling the tip while keeping the cock deep inside his mouth.
With a free hand, he cupped Doyle's testicles and gently pulled. A soft
moan escaped Doyle's lips, one that Bodie would have missed had he not
been listening. He moved his mouth up and down the shaft, still teasing
the testicles, first with soft strokes and then more pressure. Doyle
remained still, his body taut with exertion. Fighting Bodie even as he
responded, even as flesh lost itself to Bodie's caresses. Bodie drew him
in deeper, filling his senses with the touch, taste and sound of Doyle. He
held the tip of Doyle's cock against the back of his throat and swallowed.
Doyle's orgasm was silent, powerful, and draining. Bodie could feel the
shudders, saw the twisting torso, and tasted the bitter flavour of
victory. So absorbed with Doyle, he did not notice the wetness spreading
through his underlayers at first.

He looked up to see Doyle watching him. Flat eyes stared back, giving no
hint of what had happened. Bodie knew that Doyle had liked it. The
proof--or taste--was in his mouth. He doubted he'd get Doyle to admit it
though. He didn't need to--he'd made his point. No need to rub it in.
Besides, there was other evidence that only a close partner could
understand. Doyle's one moan, low, from the back of his throat, for
instance. In all the ménages à trois they'd done, he'd never heard Doyle
give voice to his pleasure. So, flat eyes or not, Doyle really didn't look
hostile. Pulling out the key he uncuffed Doyle, slashed through the ties,
and moved back a few feet. He waited for Doyle to rearrange his clothing
and then spoke.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "not bad for a beginning." The fist that
knocked him over was not a surprise. Except he never knew Doyle to hit
that hard--or quickly--when he didn't mean it.

When Bodie awoke, night had progressed into deep black. His body, stiff
and cold, protested as he gained his feet. Doyle was nowhere to be seen.
Bodie sighed. Trust Doyle to make a big deal out of this. Trust him to
stalk off like some outraged virgin. He'd seen Doyle in bed often enough
to know that was not the truth. Doyle was a big boy--he played as hard and
as fast with his women as Bodie did. Without doubt, Doyle was a sexual
predator to equal even Bodie.

By the time he reached his car, he had it all worked out. He'd head
straight over to Doyle's and check him over. No need to leave anything to
fester. Probably should try and pick up some whiskey as a peace offering.
Couldn't hurt. He threw his pack onto his car, and bent down to tie his
shoe. Something on the ground caught his eye. It was a bit of rubber.
Bodie stared at it in the dark, then looked to his left. The front tire
had been slashed. The back tire had been slashed. Every tire had been
slashed--probably even the spare in the boot. The bastard, Bodie thought.
Can't play fair. Can't even lose fair. Well, no more rules. He trudged
back up to the inn using his anger as a shield against the prickling cold.

******

The off duty room was buzzing when Bodie entered. Another gun-running op
from the looks of it--what a way to end a vacation. He stood aside and
watched Haning and Foxtree carry a large box down the hall. Maybe he could
just turn around and find another office to walk into. Then he saw Doyle. 

Bodie knew his expression did not change. His body seemed to have a mind
of its own--it lurched forward, pulled by the sight of Doyle, hair
tumbling, bent over a table filled with bits of metal and debris. Bodie
stopped a few paces away, knowing he was staring, knowing he'd look like a
fool if someone really noticed. He was in luck--every agent was either on
the phone or stumbling through the doors in an effort to get something
very important done right now. Bodie took his time; the memory of Doyle's
white thighs bared under the dark canopy was something that should be
savored, even in the halls of CI5. 

He waited for Doyle to feel his presence. He would--there was no doubt of
that. He waited and was rewarded with the lift of the head, the slight
sideways glance, and the stiffening legs. He smiled thinly when Doyle
turned to face him. Doyle met him directly, without pretense, without
hesitation. Only Bodie could see the gentle tapping of the hand, the
twisted backbone, the clenched jaw. 

Doyle stood there, firmly entrenching his opposition. Then, as if
satisfied the message had been received, he started to stalk past Bodie
into the hallway. Bodie watched him walk; a flush spread across his face.
Doyle's eyes dropped slightly, refocusing on a non-existent image next to
Bodie's shoulder.

Bodie reached out to grab Doyle's arm. The result startled him--pausing
his anger. Doyle's heat was a familiar known. It had comforted him on many
nights, crammed into small spaces. Now Doyle burned him. His hand slipped,
falling away. Doyle's eyes flickered back. He brushed the spot where
Bodie's hand had lain. Watching Doyle continue through the door, Bodie
concentrated on the retreating figure. He had seen that look
before--Doyle, poised, trying to decide whether to kiss an outraged Ann or
walk away in disgust. Bodie grinned brilliantly. Trotting down the hall,
he reached Doyle just before the lift. Leaning forward, Bodie whispered
into Doyle's ear. "Remember. Two favours left." He laughed. Doyle swore
and jerked himself down the stairs. Bodie kept laughing into the lift and
all the way down to the second floor. This would be well worth it.

******

Bodie never missed the monthly duty assignment. He had plans this
weekend--and the next and the next. Three weekends had been carefully laid
out--one for Mary, one for Gwen, and one for Nancy. They were a welcome
amusement until he collected on his two favours. He was waiting, savoring
the idea of having Doyle when he wanted and where he wanted. Maybe on Guy
Fawkes night. Amidst all the loud noise, one scream more or less would go
unnoticed. Definitely New Year's Eve--ring the new year in right. Scratch
Guy Fawkes then--he'd save the third favour for his birthday.

Of course, no need to let Doyle in on any of this. He loved watching
Doyle's face darken whenever Bodie would start to ask, "Doyle, could you
do me a favour...?" He loved telling Doyle about a new children's book
loosely based on Aladdin's Lamp. He loved hinting that they really should
check out that sex shop before the weekend.

Doyle bore up to the teasing fairly well. Considering it gave Bodie daily
amusement and affirmation that life could be fun--if you had a Raymond
Doyle in your life.

Bodie flicked the roster sheet. There were always five solo weekend shifts
to be assigned. The number 3.7 appeared on each of them. Every single
weekend for the next five weeks. Bodie squinted and turned the printout
closer to the light. Maybe it was 7.3 reversed. Of course, there was no
such number or agent. He tore the paper off the wall and marched to the
duty desk.

"What's this?" he asked, handing the list to the faded clerk. The man, a
born bureaucrat, did not look up. 

"A piece of paper," the clerk replied, carefully rounding his stack to fit
the angles of his mind. 

"Well, yeah," Bodie acknowledged. "But this piece of paper has cocked up
every single weekend between now and forever. Someone's made a mistake."

He knew *he'd* made a mistake when the pen was abandoned. "No mistake has
been made," the dry voice intoned. Bodie decided he had nothing to lose. 

"Well, one's been made. And we've got to change the roster." 

The clerk picked up his pen, smiling as if amused. "The roster does not
get 'changed.'" 

"Never?" Bodie put all the sarcasm he could into his response. 

"Never," the clerk replied. "Not after Cowley has signed off." The clerk
paused, offering Bodie all the time to hang himself further. Since Bodie
was no fool, he continued. "And since I don't see the name Cowley hanging
around your neck...." 

Bodie stared at the clerk. He'd get no results by attacking the issue
directly. Leaning forward, he put all his charm into the next question,
"Well, perhaps, if you could give me the names of the agents assigned to
weekend duty before the roster was finalized...."

"Why would you want to know that?" The man still would not look up.
*Probably not in his job description*, thought Bodie sourly. 

"Because as the duty sergeant, I want to make certain they are informed of
the changes to the schedule." Bodie kept his voice low, certain that if he
yelled, the man would simply stare past him until Bodie crumpled up and
blew away. 

"4.2." 

"And next weekend?" 

The man frowned deeply. Thinking wasn't apparently part of the job
description either. "2.4." 

"And--" 

"Why don't you just look it up?" the clerk said, swinging the ledger
across to Bodie. Bodie smiled back, certain that one day someone would
appreciate the monumental effort he was making.

He spent the next half day tracking each of the agents. Each had thanked
him for volunteering to trade. Each had been approached individually by
one person--Raymond Doyle, Bodie's partner and trusted personal assistant.


Bodie sat in the off duty room, twisting the roster in his hands.
Eventually, he'd have to put it back up--except to do so would be to admit
defeat. Doyle had outmaneuvered him. He could think of other things he'd
like to twist.

He glanced up to see Doyle standing in the doorway. His face radiated a
new-found serenity, and the calm conviction of the innocent. Bodie glared.
Doyle smiled--and walked over to his chair. 

"That the duty roster?" Doyle asked, raising an eyebrow archly. 

"No, my laundry list," Bodie growled. Snatching the paper, Doyle noted,
"Got it all crumpled. Can barely make it out. Look here, you've been
assigned all the duty for next week. And next week. And--" 

"Shove off," Bodie was not going to shout. "I know what you did. I know
why you did it, too." 

"You do?" Doyle's voice was icy, the edge sliding sharply into Bodie's
awareness. 

"Yes." Bodie stood then, matching Doyle's ice and determination. "It won't
work you know. Can do five weekends standing easy." 

Doyle's laugh conveyed the cool stillness between them. "I am sure you
can, Bodie. But what about the next five weekends, eh?" Moving swiftly, he
left the room before Bodie could respond. Bodie evaluated Doyle. How far
would he go to win? How many favours would he bargain for, just to avoid
Bodie's? It didn't matter--he could still play turtle to Doyle's tiger and
win. Buoyed by his surety, he stalked after Doyle, tossing the sheet onto
the table. 

******

Bodie tripped over the sill for the third time that afternoon. This time
he could not catch his slow motion fall. Exhaustion wore at him, dulling
the pain to his knees and elbows. He would have been all right if they
hadn't pulled six straight days of duty. It wasn't Cowley's fault that the
KGB had decided to blackmail a cabinet member. It wasn't his fault that
every agent seemed to have developed very urgent weekend plans and
couldn't be persuaded to switch shifts.

No, it was all Doyle's fault. Standing there in the hallway, jacket swung
over his shoulder. Watching Bodie creep to his feet. The wall was rough
beneath Bodie's fingers as they slid across the surface.

"You all right?" Doyle's voice held surprising warmth and a hint of
concern. Bodie blinked, stupidly short of words. "Here. Give you a hand."
Doyle tugged upwards. Bodie followed the pull, leaning into Doyle
self-consciously. He peered sideways wondering what Doyle was playing at.
Doyle's grip was firm, his arm circling Bodie's waist without hesitation.
Bodie swallowed and stepped forward. The shooting pain in his knee neatly
counterbalanced the stiffness in his cock.

He yawned. And then yawned again, his eyes watering with exhaustion. Doyle
turned his head slightly, his breath caressing Bodie's neck. "Stop being
so bloody stupid. You can barely see, let alone operate a gun."

"Can shoot with my eyes closed," Bodie protested. "'ve killed many a man
in my sleep." He giggled, humour bubbling beneath his weariness. Doyle
shifted his hold, giving Bodie another pricking of pleasure. "I'm sure you
have," his voice purred. "But it's still stupid."

Bodie had no answer to that argument. He was tired. That, he knew. He was
slow, stupid and sluggish. He'd get himself--or Doyle--or someone else
killed if he didn't rest.

But he had another weekend shift to live through. He headed over to the
car and Doyle let go. The warmth was gone. Bodie leaned against the cold
metal and blinked in the night air. He was so tired. His mouth opened to
breathe, but he found himself speaking instead. "Take the weekend duty,
would you, Doyle?" The words were out before he realized what he said. 

Doyle stood quietly, watching him as he had watched him all evening.
"Okay," Doyle murmured. "I'll--" 

"I know, I know" Bodie interrupted. "It'll cost me one favour. Just need
to sleep." His voice faded and wondered why Doyle kept looking at him
until he got into the car, before turning to walk away. *Wanted to savor
his victory*, thought Bodie acerbically. Bodie kept the window open all
the way home so he wouldn't fall asleep.

******

Bodie kicked the chair. It did not move. He kicked the sofa. It bloody
hurt. He tripped through his dark apartment, swearing. He'd slept the
whole day. For all he paid for this weekend, he'd barely slept one day.
Eyeing himself in the mirror, he thought he could have at least have gone
another eight hours. His face, unshaven, gazed grimly back at him.

Bastard. That's all Doyle was. Cheating, swearing, manipulating. Pushing
him just to win--to come out on top. Couldn't be bottom to any man.
Couldn't stand to let Bodie best him at anything.

He gritted his teeth expectantly. Maybe he should have used them on
Doyle--it seemed the only way to get through to him. Probably wouldn't
recognize a good screw if it was offered to him on a platter.

His grip snapped the toothbrush. He shifted as a piece fell into the
washbasin. Didn't it matter? Didn't he matter? Not to Doyle, it seemed.

Pulling on his shoes, he checked his watch. Doyle would be coming off duty
soon. And Bodie would be there waiting for him. Echoes of the forest
threaded through him. He stepped into the street feeling more alive than
he had in weeks.

Doyle entered his flat, throwing his keys on the hall stand. He must have
seen the light--must have known it was Bodie, but his face bore no
surprise. Bodie had already used up most of the liquor bottle. The alcohol
had washed into his veins, heightened by a lack of food. He loved the buzz
it gave him--surges of pleasure mingled with the warmth in his stomach. He
leaned back in the chair. Let Doyle make the first move.

"Evening." Doyle threw his jacket next to Bodie and poured himself the
last glass from the bottle. He must have had a rough shift--his shirt was
stained with sweat and he gulped the drink as if it were water. Bodie
stared, fascinated with the convulsing throat. Doyle tipped the glass back
on the table and ran his hands through his hair. Each move was precise,
bound up with an inner tension that Bodie ached to touch. He kept his
hands still, letting his eyes speak instead. The pleasure had fled his
groin and was now buzzing through his brain, tingling into his legs,
reaching his mouth. He stopped himself before licking his lips in open
provocation.

Doyle had kicked off his shoes and relaxed in the opposite chair. Bodie
knew the ease was feigned--knew too that even if he could outwait Doyle,
he preferred more direct action.

"Tough shift?" he asked with mocking sympathy. His sharp tone must have
carried because Doyle's head jerked slightly. 

"Yes. Pity you weren't there." Doyle's voice echoed his. 

Bodie scooted a little forward, itching to move. "Well, I had a good rest.
Feel quite myself again." 

"Then you won't need my help next weekend?" Bodie thought he detected a
faint air of disappointment. A thread of hopeful wishing. The hypocrisy
pulled at him, driving him directly to the point. "What's the matter,
Doyle. Feeling the piper at your heels?" Doyle looked back at him,
confused. "The piper, you know the saying: it's time to pay the piper.
Now." He stood, letting his shadow fall across the room, putting height
into his words.

Doyle's face paled, then reddened. His features quickly schooled
themselves into the calm appearance that he'd worn over the last month.
"So what did you want me to do, Bodie? Don't see any cuffs. Or are we
going to trot over to the new shop and see the whips and chains
selection?" Bodie flared a bit, settling back on his heels. He didn't know
why, but this hard edge had always attracted him. No need to let Doyle
know it though. 

"Nah--" he said. "Thought I'd try something special. Something a bit
more...," he paused looking for the word "...powerful. Penetrating." He
smiled at his word choice. "So, let's do it." He moved forward and held
out his hand.

Doyle sat a beat too long. He rose from his chair and stepped around
Bodie. He walked, without looking, straight into the bedroom. Bodie
happily followed. The bedroom was dark and Bodie could not find Doyle at
first. "Still playing hide and seek?" said Bodie. "Wicked, wicked." Doyle
was silent, his form glittering in the darkness. Bodie moved forward
eagerly, mouth and hands opening greedily. He felt, rather than saw Doyle
flinch. Felt him sidestep and then steady himself as if bracing for an
onslaught. Felt the muscles tense. Felt the silence spread between them
like a pool of darkness. 

Bodie flicked the light on and Doyle stood inches away, trembling. Anger,
lust--it all mingled into a potent mixture. He glared at Doyle who blinked
calmly back. "Fuck you, Doyle. Who do you think I am? The bloody pope,
with you the sacrificial altar?" 

Doyle met him squarely, a deep glimmer rising in his eyes. "Stop bitching,
Bodie. You're getting what you want. Since when did you care about how you
got it?" The words were meant to hurt--and they did. 

Bodie hit back, "Same as you--don't care how you get off--bird is just as
good as bloke. Didn't see your interest wilt any when the opportunity
knocked." Doyle said nothing, his face tightening further. Bodie swept on,
"Of course, I've never forced myself on an unwilling partner." Doyle made
a choking sound and pushed forward, past Bodie, out of the room. Bodie
pitched his voice loudly, choosing his next words with care. "And
Doyle--don't tell me you were unwilling. Or is the rough bit necessary to
keep you willing?"

There. The words were out. He watched Doyle's back straighten, watched the
hands curl into fists. He moved a step back and angled himself to meet the
assault. Doyle turned, face set, and advanced slowly towards Bodie. Bodie
balanced a bit more loosely on his heels. With precise movements, Doyle
reached out with his left hand, fingers open and trembling. The caress was
soft, calming. Bodie felt his knees unlock, felt years of training and
readiness skip past in one heart beat. He breathed heavily, frozen into
place. Doyle leaned forward, locked his arms around Bodie and licked
Bodie's lips. Bodie slid into the caress, falling like a wounded bird. He
opened his mouth again--this time to feel a tongue skirt the inside of his
mouth teasingly. "Can have you any way I want, Bodie," Doyle whispered.
"Anytime." 

Bodie could not breathe under the weight of this new knowledge. He could
not focus on Doyle--he was too close, his body too solid and real in his
arms. The muscles underneath his hands, the contact of warm body against
warm body--these diminished his capacity to reason. He opened himself up
to the possibilities. He stroked Doyle's hair, letting his left hand trail
softly down the back to the rounded arse. Pressing firmly, he nudged his
hip and thigh into Doyle and was rewarded with the feel of a hard cock. 

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, this time. This way." Doyle stepped back,
leaving Bodie an open space to cross. He walked forward avidly. 

Doyle laughed. "Down, boy. You think you'd been starving for it." He
stripped his shirt smoothly, baring his chest, soft whirls, and nipples to
Bodie's eager gaze.

"Have been starving. For you." Doyle laughed again, a darker edge
threading through the sound. Bodie looked up from Doyle's body. The soft
light was gone, replaced by an almost somber expression. "Doyle?" he began
cautiously. "I mean it--you don't have to do this." 

Doyle fixed him with a scornful look. "Have never done you any favours,
Bodie. Don't flatter yourself. Get over here and collect on your debt
before I change my mind." Bodie could not refuse a come-on like that.
Doyle tormented him further by undoing his trousers with one hand.

Bodie's cock and nerves carried him forward achingly, tenderness pulled
under by desire. His lips tasted the hollow of Doyle's neck, passing the
more tempting target of Doyle's mouth. He shivered as Doyle's thumb
caressed the edge of his jaw. Suddenly, two hands gripped the back of his
head, forcing his face upwards, and a hot tongue pressed urgently into his
mouth. Bodie grabbed each arm and tested the strength of Doyle's resolve.
Doyle met him, inch by inch, and edged Bodie unhesitatingly towards the
bed. Doyle's knees touched the covers first. Bodie could feel the heat
flowing from Doyle's bare arse, could trace the tremors in Doyle's body
like they were his own. The lamp cast a stark shadow across Doyle's back
as he leaned forward to brace himself. The bed moved gently under Bodie's
weight when he knelt behind Doyle--the lure of flesh, the thread of
anticipation and craving flooding his mouth better than the sweetest
chocolate. He clawed his trousers open and spit into his fist, rubbing his
cock lightly. Positioning himself, he eased into Doyle. He expected the
sharp hiss, the tensing of back and shoulder muscles. 

"Easy. It'll get better." Coherency was almost beyond him, the squeeze on
his cock both a burning and a pleasure. He reached underneath Doyle,
trying to stroke some ecstasy into the pain. Angling upwards, he was
rewarded with the sight of Doyle's head jerking in surprise. He knew that
spot well--Doyle was never going to forget it by the time he was done. 

"God that's good," he heard Doyle mumble. Bodie deliberately pressed
harder. Doyle cried out and Bodie felt the throbbing in his hand increase.
Bodie's heart beat faster--Doyle began to move underneath him, waves of
pleasure washing off of him into Bodie. Doyle's sweat-slicked skin and
curved back filled Bodie's eyes. Doyle was the picture of a man submitting
to his first taste of a new pleasure--the fact that he was the one giving
that pleasure made Bodie's cock vibrate unbearably. With a groan, he came,
filling Doyle, filling a space inside of himself he never knew existed.
His hold on Doyle tightened inexorably until he heard the sound of his
name and the splash of warmth into the palm of his hand. Then whiteness
blinked behind his eyes and wiped away thought. The last thing he heard
was the harsh breathing of Doyle underneath him. 

******

The morning creaked itself into Bodie's awareness. He was salty and gritty
and very, very happy. His memory was fuzzy, but he knew he had finally had
Doyle. Bodie rolled over, eager to have another go now that he wasn't so
drunk. There was a cold, empty space next to him. Propping his head up, he
peered across the room. The flat was silent--it had the forlorn air of the
abandoned. Bodie tented the sheets over him and stepped into the living
room. Doyle's jacket, his keys, and his shoes were missing. His gun and RT
had been left behind. His CI5 ID--Bodie's heart paused, scrunchingly aware
of what this might mean--his CI5 ID was there on the table. Bodie sank
into the couch, feeling numbly for the gun. He cradled it against his
thighs, staring at the ID. Doyle never went anywhere without his ID. Doyle
never went anywhere without the RT--well, almost anywhere. Doyle never
left his gun behind--except for the time he'd quit. Stormed off, telling
both Bodie and Cowley they could shove their interference and the job up
their respective arses. Except this time, it had been Bodie who had done
the shoving. Into a Doyle who probably had no idea what he was getting
himself into. 

Bodie closed his eyes, his thumb tracing the edge of the barrel. He should
have known better than to push Doyle. The man was stubborn and
willful--and would never back down from a challenge. Bodie had known
that--he'd counted on it when he walked into the flat. And Doyle had
responded. But in the cool light of day, he must have surely seen what
Bodie had done. And condemned him for it. No matter that Doyle might have
thought he wanted it--Doyle was no fool. He'd not let himself be tricked
into bed again. He'd certainly not forgive being maneuvered there in the
first place. Their only ties were the ones of loyalty and trust. And Bodie
had broken each and every one of them.

A fragment of memory popped into his head--the first thrust into Doyle and
the outcry of pain. Had he even bothered to lubricate himself? Or give
Doyle pleasure? At least on the forest floor he'd made damn sure that
Doyle had come. He pounded the butt of the pistol into his thigh, feeling
the numbness spreading through his middle. 

He stood up, the room spinning slightly. Still carrying the gun, he
re-entered the bedroom and fished his trousers from the bed clothes. He'd
have to find Doyle; he'd have to explain to him that if anyone should go,
it had better be him, not Doyle. He'd have to explain... what, that he
loved Doyle? Oh, that'd be a rich one: I loved you for so long, wanted you
for so long that I just assumed you wouldn't mind if I helped myself? How
to explain that he really didn't want to go--or see Doyle go?

He groped for his shoes, wondering where Doyle would hide. The crinkle of
paper met his fingers. Hauling the shoe out, he retrieved a small sheet.
Doyle's hasty scrawl stared back at him, "You're it. You have 24 hours.
Same rules. Limits: London. Winner: gets three favors. Doyle." 

Bodie read the note two times, noting that Doyle had misspelled favours.
Amazing how such a few words could carry such potency. With shaking hands,
Bodie shoved the paper into his pocket. The gun, RT and ID went on the
sofa. He'd already decided how to collect on the first favour before
reaching the front door. 

-- THE END --

   Archive Home