The Professionals Circuit Archive - No Gentleness	  No Gentleness

 

by O Yardley

  
 *Party Spirit series #17: After "Bloodsports"*

I'd never have thought a self-sufficient, smug, arrogant bastard could
wring my heart the way Bodie does occasionally. If he knew what he was
doing he'd probably do it all the more and that'd cure my sympathy, but
the bugger has no idea of the effect he has on me sometimes. Like when he
was talking about his Aunt Gwyneth. It didn't take a genius to work out
his childhood was somewhere short of ideal; just the bleak look on his
face as he said the few things he did was enough. Swept away what was left
of the anger he'd roused in me, running out on me like he had. Christ! I
was furious, so fucking furious I didn't want to have anything to do with
him for a while in case I bloody gelded him with my bare hands.

He knew I was angry, he always knows. Tip-toed around me like a nervous
virgin, staring at me out of sad blue eyes when he thought I wasn't
looking and doing little things for me when I least expected it. Talk
about unnerving. He'd been sweet as pie with Esther, not that he saw much
of her but when he did he went out of his way to be pleasant. Probably
would've made a play for her if he'd got the chance. Lucky thing he
didn't; I wasn't in a mood to take it lightly. She was cute and she was
good for me, but the best thing about her was the fact she lived several
thousand miles away on the other side of the world and when the job was
over she had to leave. No complications.

Same thing applied to Anita Cabreros of course, plus she was elegant,
intelligent and an intriguing challenge, which made scooping her up right
under Bodie's nose particularly satisfying. It was only the look in his
eyes as I wandered out into her hall that made victory seem oddly hollow.
He looked...stricken? Is that too strong? I'm not sure. Cowley had a
definite twinkle of approval in his eye, the lecherous old scrote, but
Bodie...

Took me aback, seeing that look. Don't know why he expects anything else,
moving in to grab the other's latest fancy being accepted practice, but
all of a sudden I wished I hadn't bothered this time; took all the
pleasure out of what should have been a rattling good evening. I'd like to
say Anita didn't notice but it wouldn't be true. I did my best; it wasn't
a bad night and we parted amicably enough in the morning but I knew I
wouldn't be back, that I'd leave the field free for Bodie if that's what
he wanted.

He was very quiet all day, not at all his usual self, and he kept his
distance. Kept his hands to himself too, for a wonder, Bodie being an easy
toucher as a rule, and that did bother me. I accused him of bearing a
grudge for getting him clean-bowled, and all he did was smile rather
miserably and wander off to talk to Murphy. Part of me wanted to kick him,
and part wanted to gather him up and cuddle him but with half the squad
looking on that didn't seem such a bright idea.

Spent most of the day on paperwork, boring as hell but necessary, and as
usual sitting at a desk for hours on end left me feeling my brains had
turned to cotton-wool and my bones to boiled string. I paused by Bodie's
chair, about to speak when I was ambushed by a yawn and a yearning to
stretch that I indulged with languid pleasure.

"Do you mind," Bodie said sourly from somewhere around my middle, "you're
standing in my light."

"I'm sorry," I said, ambling forward a couple of paces. "You nearly done?"

"I'll be done a lot quicker if you stop hindering me."

"What about this evening--got a date?"

"What d'you want to know for, sweetie?" His voice slid to a shrill
falsetto. "You askin' me out?"

It always cracks me up when he puts on his camp act and he knows it. Does
it at the most inappropriate moments just to get me going.

"I was thinking about a run," I said, fluttering a responsive eyelash his
way. "Feel as though I'm growing corns on me bum, sitting at a desk all
day."

He wrinkled his nose at me, reluctant as always to admit how much good it
does him, mentally as well as physically. "Where? Brompton Cemetery as
usual?"

"Nah--let's go out to Wimbledon, couple of circuits of the common; drink
at the Hand in Hand afterwards."

"You're on."

"Pick you up about 6.00 then. Better get on with that," I advised, not
waiting to hear his reply.

******

It was a sweet evening, perfect for running and I felt good, flowing along
nice and easy with Bodie persistently a few steps behind like a brooding
shadow. Whenever I looked over my shoulder he had his eyes glued on my
rear and a heavy look to his eyelids. In a mood to be provocative I
twitched my backside at him and ran on.

He chose a high-backed wooden settle in the pub and sat at a polite
distance until the place filled up when he moved in closer than he needed,
his thigh pressing mine from time to time. I wasn't arguing; if he was
feeling like a bit of the other that was OK with me. Take any crumbs I
could get, I would, and be grateful, and if it'd help him get over
whatever it was bothering him I'd be grateful for that too.

Was nice knowing it was going to happen later, for it was. I could see it
in the languid droop of his eyes and the arrogant thrust of his mouth, and
it excited me, arousing a sweet ache in the pit of my stomach, sitting
there, close as Siamese twins, knowing we'd go home and make love and that
no one but us knew how it would be, that it was our secret, so deep and
dark that even we didn't dare talk about it...

"Huh?" I said, suddenly aware he'd spoken.

"I said 'will you stop grinning like that'. Look a right nana with that
big soppy smile all over your face."

"Well, I'm happy..."

"So am I. So are all this lot, but they're not making exhibitions of
themselves, are they?"

"So how d'you know they're happy?"

"By the noise they're making, of course."

If that was the test they were the most contented lot of people in the
whole of South-West London, the bray of the middle classes at play being
quite over-powering at close quarters.

"How about going 'ome?" I asked, sinking the last of my beer.

"I thought you'd never ask..."

******

We went to his place, being slightly the nearer of the two. He was on me
before I was properly through the front door, grabbing for me, biting at
my neck and his hands seemingly everywhere at once. I made a mild
complaint when he tried to pull me down, preferring the softness of a bed
to cold, hard floor but he took no notice and when I struggled to get away
he exerted his full strength against me and we went down together, banging
into his sitting-room door and sending it crashing open. A vase rocked
perilously on a nearby shelf.

"Bodie!" I protested.

"Shut up! Gotta have it. Have you!" He was hauling off his track suit
trousers, pulling at mine, hissing his frustration at their hindering
closures.

Unexpectedly, my guts twisted, melting. I knew that feeling, knew the
brain-numbing urgency of need, the near-pain of wasted time spent in
foreplay when all you wanted was to bury yourself hilt-deep in warm wet
welcome. So I let him have it, have me, sprawled on my back on the bare
boards in his sitting-room doorway with my legs flung over his shoulders
and his hands bruising my flanks and a soul-deep satisfaction searing my
mind at his pleasure and my part in creating it.

Afterwards he pulled away from me, turned his back, chest heaving harder
than when he was running, and burned his face in his arms. My own arousal
was minimal but growing by the second and I tore off my sweat-damp top and
tossed it towards the trousers he'd flung carelessly aside then reached
for his. His arms tightened, preventing me.

"Don't!"

"Ah, come on, Bodie, let me take it off for you. Come on..."

He turned abruptly, almost toppling me a second time, and his arms came
round me in a numbing hug.

"Oh Christ! I'm sorry, Ray. Must've hurt like hell...was nearly out of my
mind wanting you...wanted you all day...shouldn't've hurt you...forced
you...I'm sorry, so sorry..."

It took me a moment to sort out what he was saying, his head was buried so
diligently against my chest so that he snuffled and puffed and lost half
his words somewhere deep in my armpit. Ticklish. Arousing.

Not prepared to admit how much pleasure there'd been in his urgency I
contented myself with soothing noises, patting at him until he finally
shut up. Then I began to talk, pointing out my deprived and rampant
condition and suggesting in a fine flow of blunt four-lettered words just
what he could do about it, guiding his head downwards and coaxing his
hands to the intimacies I craved.

Love being sucked, 'specially by Bodie...seemed I love being fucked by him
too. The thought didn't bother me, only that he didn't want it too.
Thought it might be a problem some time, but not then, not with his mouth
and his hands and the hot, hard press of his body all about me.

******

He was very quiet afterwards but his eyes said a whole lot he didn't know
about. I'm not sure he ever knows just how expressive his face is with
someone he trusts--me, Cowley, Murph, the occasional bird... He apologised
again but I cut him short; he didn't need to explain, any man'd understand
and even some women...urgency brooks no gentleness.

I stayed the night, not for sex but just to be close to him, taking
advantage of the uneasy guilt that still hung about him and ruefully aware
that a few hours would be enough to burn it away and give me back my own
arrogant, devilish, devil-may-care partner.

But I like him that way.

-- THE END --

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