The Professionals Circuit Archive - His Reply       His Reply

 

by Rosemary

  
 *(A gift for Jean Chun. Merry Christmas!)*

The door creaked open. Cheerful golden light spilled from the hallway
across the darkened living room. Bodie sighed and shifted the grocery sack
to his other arm as his right snaked along the wall to the overhead light
switch. Almost a week since he'd been home; although returning to the dark
emptiness of his flat after a weekend away with his partner felt like no
homecoming.

Quite unconsciously, he grinned at the memory. The Lake Country in
January. Crazy idea from the start. Bare, ice-glazed trees trembling in
the wind, frost brown reeds frozen as solid as the pond, snow so deep they
could hardly find the cabin door, a bleak, bone chilling setting at best.
Still, even as the utter loneliness of it had touched him, he'd found the
lithe form trudging gamely at his side more than adequate recompense.
After a while Bodie had even noticed how blue the sky blazed above, its
brightness seeming to bounce off the stark snow vivid as blood, and the
nights... moonlight caped the buried garden outside their window with such
an eerie glow that even the innocuous mounds of snow-blanketed rose bushes
took on a threatening aspect. His retreat to Doyle's arms then was
motivated by more than mere passion, although there had been plenty of
that.

Definitely one of Ray's better ideas. The place had been very much like
his partner--on first sight cold and highly foreboding, but on closer
investigation, warm and deliciously sensual. Returning to his empty flat
affected Bodie emotionally the way crashing through the deceptively thin
ice coating that damn pond had physically.

His fingertips finally made contact with the elusive switch. A flick
produced nothing but uninterrupted darkness. "Bloody hell, bulb's gone
again," he muttered, shoeing the door closed. The safety lock clicked
securely behind him, oddly loud in the unlit room. Shaking off a peculiar
sensation of being watched, Bodie started across the room. One blind step
after another headed him towards the lamp somewhere to his left.

Halfway there, he froze, muscles instinctively braced for combat. It was
only a slight stirring of air, nothing more. Nevertheless, it should not
have been there at all. Suddenly, the burnt out bulb took on ominous
significance.

Groceries dropped as his hand darted to his holster. Reaching fingers
never connected. Bodie crashed to the floor almost the same instant the
food did, his arrival there precipitated by a hard muscled body. He
squirmed, attempting to dislodge his attacker's octopus hold. Giving the
gun up as useless in the close tangle of arms and jacket, Bodie freed a
fist, hauled back, and hesitated in the ultimate delivery.

Aside from knocking him off his feet, his assailant had made no moves to
injure him, was, in fact, doing nothing more than cling to him as he
attempted to liberate himself. Abruptly, Bodie noticed that the movement
that the intruder was making was in no way related to his escape attempts.
The thin hips rubbing against his thigh were downright provocative.
Curious, he leaned fractionally closer and sniffed. The warm, heady scent
that tickled his nostrils could belong to only one person. A nearby sound,
suspiciously like a stifled chuckle, confirmed his suspicion.

"Doyle, you moron! You tryin' to get shot?" he demanded in exasperation.
"What are you do-"

The last word was smothered as a hot mouth fastened over his own. A moist,
Doyle flavored tongue risked amputation to thrust deep into his mouth.
Despite intentions of using his hold on the riotous mane to enforce
separation, Bodie found himself using the captured curls to lock his
partner in place, relishing the plundering kiss until both were
breathless.

Senses swimming as much from oxygen deprivation as arousal, Bodie
reluctantly broke free. His vision was now adjusted to the near dark. He
glared at his deranged friend, a very real anger hardening his facial
muscles. He could have shot the idiot before ever identifying the intruder
as Doyle.

The silver light seeping in from the window over the street cast a ghostly
pallor over Ray's skin, an occasional flash of sparkling teeth or the
gleam of his eyes being the only features definable through the gloom. The
burgeoning reprimand was never voiced. He'd wanted Ray here, what did it
matter how he'd gotten here? Almost of its own accord his right hand rose
to cup the cool smoothness of his partner's uninjured left cheek. For an
instant their gazes held. Bodie saw the cocky assurance give way to
surprise and a fleeting emotion he couldn't define before Doyle turned to
bury his face in the cupping hand.

All coherent thought fled as the full lips brushed a kiss, then parted to
allow the roguish tongue access. The wet sensation should have been
ticklish; as it was, Bodie was convulsed by shivers.

Without trying, Doyle somehow managed to touch the vulnerable part of him
that no other lover ever suspected of existing. The sex, though fantastic,
wasn't what put him so off kilter with his partner. There was nothing
unique in what Doyle threw his way sexually that Bodie hadn't encountered
before, though admittedly his friend was more intense. It was the
unexpected thoughtfulness, extended to him at the oddest moments, that was
breaking through his barriers, challenging a lifetime of habitual
noninvolvement.

From the very first time the fantasy of Doyle as lover tempted his roving
imagination, Bodie had instinctively drawn back from it as too dangerous a
trap. The bitter lesson Marikka had taught him in youth was well learned:
never, ever again would he allow his heart to fall thrall to a
disinterested love. As close as the job had brought them over the years,
the ex-mercenary had never deluded himself that the attraction was
anything but one sided. Putting any kind of move on his partner would have
set him up for rejection again, or worse still, manipulation. Yet, he'd
leaped at Ray's first overture, caught by the very casualness of it. Great
sex, no commitment. To have what he wanted at Ray's request was more than
he could have dreamed possible. As long as it didn't get too heavy, that
Doyle never discovered what his partner truly felt for him, all would be
fine. Or would have been, were it not for the change in Ray's character.
This new gentleness was making him careless. Some day soon, he'd slip up
and Doyle would have the upper hand.

"Got you good this time," Doyle whispered, audibly pleased by the success
of his sneak attack. The declaration was accentuated by a meaningful
thrust of the hips.

"Pretty sure of that, aren't you?" Bodie challenged, flipping them over so
that the shorter man was pinned beneath him. The infuriating smile that
greeted his action told him that that was what the curly haired bugger had
planned all along.

He wiped the triumph away with another kiss, the sheer ferocity of which
left his warm cushion breathing raggedly in sharp, almost harsh breaths.
Satisfied, Bodie drew back and methodically stripped his companion. The
white cotton shirt, soft, tan corduroys, briefs and socks, all heated and
variously scented from their contact with Doyle's flesh landed in a
tangled heap with his own quickly discarded attire. Bodie's movements as
he bared them both were rapid and economical, in sharp contrast to this
morning. Back at the cabin, he'd dallied over dressing, watching Ray don
each garment with the depressing awareness that it could be another full
week before he was again privileged with this carefree proximity.

Once finished, he sat back on his haunches. Hot blue eyes hungrily
devoured his partner. Doyle's boneless sprawl was an irresistible
invitation. Whether it was consciously so, Bodie couldn't decide. Doyle's
eyes did seem too busy in their own investigation for the pose to be
intentional. On some level the possibility of it being unfeigned disturbed
him even more than were it planned for effect. That anyone could have such
a hypnotically unbreakable hold over him without trying was mind boggling.

Hoping to find fault for once, Bodie's gaze followed the trail of
irregular street light dappling the familiar body. Once, he'd called Doyle
scrawny. Nothing could be further from the truth. Streamlined was more
exact, Bodie decided. For such a lithe form, the pale skinned shoulders
were surprisingly broad, almost as wide as his own. Finely muscled, the
torso tapered from its nearly square top in an almost perfect V shape to
the trim waist. A bony jut of hips gave way to the proud organ, that
amazingly was now rising at Bodie's mere gaze. Then came the powerful
legs, of which an athlete's muscles in thigh and calf could in no way
constitute scrawny. The slender length of his partner's toes was perhaps a
little too skinny for the width of Ray's foot, but it was an imperfection
that Bodie found oddly endearing. Sad state, when the only thing found
wanting was skinny toes.

"What's that, mate?" Bodie asked huskily, his appraisal interrupted by a
muttered whisper.

"You're beautiful, you are," Doyle repeated.

It was not the first time his partner had complimented him; however, this
time there was a difference. Beneath an uncharacteristically shy gaze,
Ray's cheeks appeared flushed, in spite of the color-sapping light. The
hushed tone, added to the way his normally confident partner was staring
up at him from the carpet, made a quaking shambles of Bodie's controls.

Stay cool, take it light, relish the pleasure but remain untrapped by the
emotion behind it... all wise philosophies for survival, all vanquished by
the aching need in a pair of green eyes. Christ, in this light he couldn't
even tell that they were green, aware only of the twin pools of shimmering
ink of the enormous pupils flashing his own reflection back at him and
revealing a longing that matched his own yearning spirit.

A small sound was wrenched from Bodie's throat--a cry of defeat?--as he
settled into Doyle's velvet embrace. He dared his conqueror's eyes,
dreading the self-satisfied victory that would no doubt show there. It
didn't take much, after all, for Ray to prove how thoroughly he had him
wrapped around his finger. Instead, he found only the fire of helpless
abandon and relief.

Ray clutched at him as though it had been months and not only this morning
since they'd last touched. Their mouths locked together, tongues meeting
in intimate caress as Bodie's hands roamed free. Doyle bucked beneath him
as the soft glide of fingertips from armpit, over ribs, taut stomach and
hips strayed across the fine hairs of the inner thigh. Bodie let his hand
stray further and was rewarded by a slight whimper at first contact with
the warm, moss-soft testes. He took his time there, feeling the effects of
his ministrations ripple through the close held body. Seconds later, Ray's
mouth pulled free of the kiss, lips parted in a gasp for air as the curly
head tilted over Bodie's supporting forearm, the rest of Doyle arching up
to his touch.

In another, such a response would herald orgasm, but with his partner,
this was only the beginning. Witnessing the way pleasure ravaged Ray's
body was intoxicating, and not just a little frightening. His first night
in Ray's bed, Bodie hadn't known what hit when passion exploded between
them, his normally remote partner almost demonically possessed by it.
Uninhibited didn't begin to cover the reaction. Not that Ray wasn't a
tender lover, he was almost heartbreakingly so at times. It was just that
when Doyle decided to let go of his barriers, which he was doing more and
more of late, ecstasy owned him and there was never any question of what
was or wasn't proper or allowed. From the very first night, Doyle had been
his for the taking. That Bodie hadn't done so immediately, that he'd
waited until he knew Ray's pleasure even better than his own was a
testament to his self control.

Still, even now after over five months of loving, the wild thing in his
arms sometimes terrified him. Not that he was shocked or put off by Doyle.
More the opposite, in fact. Seeing Doyle sizzle with want was an
inimitable turn on. What bothered him was the fact that Ray hadn't set any
restrictions. When his partner was aroused, as he was now, there didn't
seem to be any limit to what he'd permit Bodie to do. The power so freely
handed over to him was exhilarating, the trust behind it shocking. The
fear of misusing that faith outweighed even his own insecurities of
Doyle's hurting him.

Bodie's reverie was shattered as Doyle squirmed up to reach his face. The
kiss he expected turned out to be an exploration of Ray's tongue around
the perimeter of his mouth. Slowly, the moist swab circled, stopping at
last to tickle his lips apart. Once he'd conceded, the lower lip was
trapped between Doyle's and treated to one of the most delightfully
prolonged nuzzling, sucking kisses he'd ever experienced.

A hand slipped down his back in a shiversome glide, halting at the curve
of his buttocks. He gave a galvanized jerk at the gentle squeeze, its
dizzying shockwaves of sensation rippling through him and finally coming
to rest in the hot, demanding swell of needy flesh. Bodie gave an
uncontrollable thrust against his partner's answering hardness, only to
feel Doyle shift again. This time the lower body moved upwards, thighs
spreading to tightly grapple his waist. He gasped at the abrupt friction,
suede softness of sacs colliding with his aroused cock. The move was at
once disappointing and exciting-- disappointing in that it robbed him of
the immediate pleasure of sharing the climb to release with Ray's hardness
tight pressed to his own, exciting in his anticipation of the aperture now
tantalizingly just beyond reach.

Bodie leaned back onto his heels, still clutched in his partner's intimate
hold, and brought a trembling hand along the coolness of a curvaceous
cheek to the warm cleft between them. Doyle moaned as his searching finger
probed its objective. There was no resistance in the firm ring of muscle,
yet Bodie found the tract too dry for comfortable penetration. Even his
finger had to be uncomfortable, although he'd never have suspected so from
the way the surrounding wall of muscle kept squeezing and releasing him.
Bodie withdrew his finger, wincing a little at its abrading exit.

"Don't stop," Doyle pleaded, wide eyes wild and unfocussed in a haze of
arousal.

Temporarily frustrated, Bodie looked down at the sweat sheened face. A
lump formed in his throat at the beseeching, passion racked features. He
gulped it back, shaking at the strain caused by denying that plea. With
anyone else, Bodie would have acceded and made do with saliva, but he knew
his lover too well for that. Doyle was not a passive partner in anything.
In some ways, Ray was even more abandoned in his surrender than in a more
aggressive role where reluctance to injure restrained him, however so
infinitesimally.

Bodie ripped his eyes from Doyle's face. He'd be capitulating in another
moment if he didn't. There'd be no recriminations later from his partner
if he did give in, but for the better part of six years protecting Ray had
been his main purpose in life. Nothing that hurt the other man, no matter
how slightly, could bring Bodie joy.

Desperate as he was to complete what they'd started, Bodie reluctantly
conceded that he was going to have to make a trip to the bedroom to fetch
the KY from the nightstand. Doyle must have read the decision in his face,
or his thoughts, for all Bodie knew. The sprightly figure began to sway
against his barely checked arousal with devilish determination.

"Ray..." The roar came out more as a whimper.

Stiff with tension, Bodie began to pull his way loose, his partner
fighting him all the while. His panicked gaze swept from the irresistible
face and beyond, stopping at the jumble of scattered groceries haloing the
crushed curls. Shocked, he recognized the round jar sticking out from
beneath a celery stalk. Petroleum jelly. Not as good as the distant
KY--the petroleum product had an annoying habit of hanging about far
longer than desired--but it would do.

He lurched forward and grabbed for the jar at the same time Doyle hooked
his ankles over each other behind his butt to keep him from escaping. The
result was unavoidable. Bodie toppled like a giant redwood, crashing down
on top of the irresponsible fool beneath him. Both grunted at the painful
impact, Doyle recovering almost immediately.

"Christ, Ray, hold on a minute," Bodie begged of his unfazed friend.
Rather than releasing him to rub at the banged portions of his anatomy,
Doyle's arms and legs enfolded him like a tenacious starfish. A chuckle
made its way through the mask of disapproval he was trying so valiantly to
keep in place as Bodie struggled to his knees, his lover's not
inconsiderable weight still pasted barnacle-like to his front.

The impossible grab for the jar might have been a total victory, had Doyle
not chosen that particular moment to attack his left ear. Bodie yelped as
a wet tongue and hot breathing found its target with unerring accuracy.
His right hand did manage to close around the celery-hidden jar but the
left one supporting most of their combined weight jolted in response,
toppling them once again to the carpet.

Cushiony as the rug was, his knees and elbow stung as they scraped roughly
along it. His worries for Doyle's back, which had taken the brunt of the
fall, fled when the swollen lips claimed his mouth again.

Sensitized to every inch of contact with his fiery friend, Bodie moaned as
the thighs, tight clamped around his legs since the fall, inched their way
upward as Doyle's body folded over upon itself. He was released from the
snug hold as bony knees gripping his waist were drawn to rest on Ray's
shoulders. He looked down, swallowed hard.

Unnaturally pale in the half light, Doyle's flesh looked pure as the snow
piled high around their cabin. Its beauty had much the same effect, a
reluctance to defile. Yet at the same time there was no way to turn away
from the offer, or desire to. The very pallor of the cheeks was
compelling, the mystery of the shadows between promising delights that
Bodie alone of all men had ever experienced.

Peripherally aware of motion, Bodie focussed on the foot dangling beside
his face. On impulse, he captured it, planting a wet kiss on the back of
the ankle. Ray's body jerked again, a sound, more sob than sigh, piercing
the darkness of the living room. Encouraged, he blazed a trail of kisses
up the back of Ray's leg. He rather enjoyed the thicker growth of hair in
the unfamiliar territory, discovering to his delight that if he left a
slight bit of moisture in his kisses' wake and blew the barest stream of
cool air across it, his partner's entire frame would tremble as though
with fear.

By the time he reached the exposed buttocks, Doyle was whimpering. Funny,
Ray was never at all inhibited when it came to demonstrating how much he
enjoyed something. Bodie had only to look at him to know how close he was
to feverpitch or that something new he was trying out on him wasn't having
its desired effect, but he could never tell just by listening. When it
came to vocally expressing his joy, even the tiniest sounds were
practically wrenched from Doyle. It was an unexpected enigma, but one
Bodie had become accustomed to. For Ray to be making this much noise, he
had to be really enjoying this.

Bodie paused to catch his breath and slow down his racing heart. Sweat was
pouring off him almost as heavily as it was from his pleasure racked
partner. He licked a light sheen of perspiration from above his upper lip,
unsure if the moisture was from his own skin or picked up in his contact
with Doyle.

Aware that he was being watched again, his eyes rose to Ray's face. No
longer was it twisted solely with pleasure. Large beads of perspiration
dotted and streaked the strained features. Doyle's lower lip was trapped
firmly between his teeth as if to prevent his crying out, the huge, hungry
gaze fixed upon Bodie with almost tangible desperation.

Without further hesitation, he eased Ray even further up until Doyle's
knees rested almost on the floor on either side of his head. His fingers
fumbled with the lid of the jar, finally releasing it and sinking into the
gooey slickness of the grease. A healthy amount was withdrawn and the jar
cast aside.

With painstaking care, Bodie parted the exposed cheeks, achingly conscious
of the other man's vulnerability. In this position, having Bodie's weight
pressed down on him and his legs folded so awkwardly, Doyle was virtually
powerless.

Wishing for more light, Bodie's gel covered finger probed the dark
entrance to Doyle's body. Breath caught audibly in Ray's throat at the
first penetration of the tight ring of muscle. Because it was Ray, Bodie
turned the mundane task of lubrication into its own particular form of
worship. After liberally coating the opening, his finger began a steady
circular caress around the clenched pucker of flesh gripping his digit in
place. Gradually, his gentle coaxing relaxed the tense guardian until he
found he could fit a second finger in. Once the passageway was adequately
prepared, Bodie withdrew his hand.

A breathless pause, then his throbbing shaft replaced his fingers. Easing
into the tight heat of the slick channel was almost enough to bring him to
orgasm in itself. Gathering his controls, Bodie drew a deep, shuddering
breath, took hold of Ray's straining cock and gave in to the bursts of
longing that had been tingling through his nerves since Ray first jumped
him.

From the first an instinctive rhythm existed between them. For years it
had manifested itself in the almost psychic awareness they possessed of
each other's position and intention in action situations. Now it had
expanded to encompass these unforeseen delights. Bodie knew what effect
each thrust was having on his slender companion, could feel the ecstasy
ripping through the sleek form with each pump of his gripping hand along
the rock hard shaft almost as clearly as he could the dizzying shocks of
pleasure rampaging through his own defenseless body.

Bodie grunted in surprise as his friend shifted again, the sudden downward
plunge impaling Doyle more fully than Bodie would ever attempt. For a
passion blind instant Bodie remained still, paralyzed by the overwhelming
sensation of the living sheath encasing his engorged flesh. Then Doyle's
heels connected with his backside, spurring him into motion.

It wasn't long after that. His conscious mind lost awareness of the
frantic thrusts and withdrawals, the quickening movement of his hand. The
thrashing body beneath him was only a dimly perceived extension of
himself. All that was real in those moments was the exquisite anguish
ravaging his nerves, the beloved torment so fierce in its mastery of the
senses that he feared they would never return to sanity.

An eternity later, the sweat slickened form beneath him convulsed in a
shudder. A milky spurt of liquid sprayed over Bodie's hand and Doyle's
belly. The tossing head stilled, wild eyes staring blindly up at his face
as Ray's body arched upwards in ecstatic release.

As though that were the signal, his own passion peaked. One last wave of
joyous agony ripped through his overloaded system, and then he too was
spasming, shooting his seed deep into the secret places of Ray's body.
Sobbing, he collapsed onto his partner, burying his face in the crook of
Doyle's neck.

Doyle cradled his shaking form, rubbing his sweat covered back while their
rasping breathing stilled.

Feeling a cool stream of perspiration collide with his nose, Bodie's
tongue slipped out and experimentally lapped it off. Pleased, he felt a
shiver course through his sated lover. "Taste good all over, you do," he
observed contentedly, enjoying the throaty chuckle that answered his
compliment.

"Then you don't mind?"

"Mind?" Bodie asked, puzzled by the uncertainty. "That you taste good?"

"No," Doyle corrected with infinite patience and then gestured at their
entwined forms. "This. Thought that after this past week it might be a
little like... overkill."

Bodie digested that quietly. With anyone else he would have called it
insecurity, but that was the one thing Ray never was. "Only thing likely
to get killed is me. You really wipe me out, mate," he admitted, lightly
kissing the tip of Ray's nose.

A sunny smile rewarded him, but the telling crinkle in Doyle's brow
returned almost immediately. "Ray, what is it?"

The unreadable eyes searched his face. Then Doyle's hands locked in his
hair and guided him down into a surprisingly fierce kiss, almost brutal in
its desperation. After he was at last released to draw a much needed
breath, Bodie was once again subjected to the intense scrutiny. Whatever
Doyle found there seemed to satisfy him.

"Ray?"

"'s drafty down here," Doyle announced.

Hurt by the evasion and confused by the mood shift, Bodie nevertheless
respected his partner's wishes. "Best move inside then," he conceded,
climbing shakily to his feet and offering a hand up. He escorted Ray to
the huge duvet draped bed and settled him gently beneath its heavy folds.
"Hang about a minute, mate. I'll be right back."

Doyle's gaze burned a hot trail down his back as he left the room.

The living room seemed even emptier on his return than it had when he'd
first stepped into the flat. Bodie knelt beside the couch, hunting up the
scattered groceries. He shoved them all into the paper sack and then put
the bag, petroleum jelly and all, on to the first shelf in the
refrigerator, vowing to sort them tomorrow.

His next stop was the loo for a quick washup. He rinsed a cloth with warm
water and soap and brought it back to his room with him.

"What's that?" Doyle asked guardedly upon his return.

"Personal service." Bodie lifted the duvet, blushing furiously. He'd never
done this before. He felt the perfect fool as he carefully swabbed the
drying flakes of semen from Ray's flat belly. "Lift up," he ordered, then
cleansed the sticky gel and traces of his own seeping seed from the more
intimate region.

Distinctly ill at ease, Bodie started to stand, ready to flee to the
bathroom rather than brave comment upon his atypical gesture.

Doyle's hand clamped around his wrist in an unbreakable grip. The cloth
was removed, placed on the spotless ashtray that had stood on his
nightstand since chain-smoking Cloe's last stay.

"Come here," Doyle ordered, the deep, sonorous tone shivering right
through him. Fears lulled by the scent and feel of his friend, Bodie
relaxed into the embrace. Once again Doyle's arms and legs clamped around
him, anchoring him in place. Lush curls tickled his chest as Ray pillowed
his head there. "Got a knack for making me feel good," Doyle murmured,
then, without further fanfare, fell promptly to sleep.

Clutched tight as a child's favorite stuffed toy, Bodie drifted after his
partner, imagining how wonderful it would feel to end every night so
close, free of the shadow of Ray's leaving the next morn.

******

Nineteen hours later that same thought was still with Bodie, had been all
day on the uneventful stakeout. Beside him, Doyle had been equally
preoccupied, gazing out the window at the no doubt empty house in moody
silence.

Now, heading back towards his flat, the ex-constable suddenly perked up.

"You hungry?" Before Bodie could reply, Doyle answered his own question.
"You're always hungry. Want to stop by?"

"'kay." He swung the Capri towards Doyle's.

Halfway there an exasperated, "Oh, damn!" exploded from the passenger's
seat.

"What's up?"

A sheepish flush spread across the mismatched cheeks. "I... uhh... never
had a chance to get to the off hour last night. 's nothing in the place
but some stale bread."

Knowing from experience just how hard Ray's bread was allowed to become
before being decently chucked out, Bodie quickly offered, "Larder's full
at my place. We could stop by your flat, pick up your stuff for tomorrow,
and then go back to mine if you'd like."

Always, it was a carefully phrased suggestion. Never any assumptions or
pressure, never any indication of just how much was hanging on the answer.

Doyle's ready acceptance heartened him to broach the subject that had been
brewing in his mind all day.

His next action would perhaps be the hardest thing he'd ever do. Still
afraid and unsure, Bodie did not know how to even begin. He was certain of
only one thing--he wanted Ray beside him morning and night, always. The
insecure part of him paraded previous rejections in front of his wavering
confidence with sadistic glee. His heart braced the floundering resolve
with the reminder that none of those hurts had come from Ray. Doyle was...
different, important enough to take the chance for. Maybe it was a defeat
of sorts, needing someone that desperately, but Bodie could no longer deny
it.

Yet, the insecurity was still there. Which was probably why as the silver
Capri pulled up in front of the red brick building that was Doyle's latest
home, Bodie found himself resorting to humor. "Don't know why we don't
just leave our mess in one place. Spend half our lives carting things back
and forth across the whole of London like some bloody sight-seeing coach."

In the act of getting out of the car, Doyle froze, the vibrant body
momentarily stone still. Breath held, Bodie took in the rigid shoulders
and too-straight back, and KNEW he'd failed, transgressed beyond the
over-generous limits Ray had set for them, broken his word.

Unable to meet Doyle's eyes in his shame, he stared over the brown,
leather clad shoulder. Missing how the overbright gaze softened at his
words, Bodie heard only the lilting laughter in the melodious voice which
mocked him.

"Come live with me and be my love, ey?"

"Sorry, mate," he said stiffly, the shuttered dignity that was pride
offering no balm to his torn heart. "Guess it is more like Her Reply."

With that, he jerked the little car ruthlessly back on to the road,
oblivious to the screech of brakes and the hornblast from the mini behind
him.

******

Mouth agape, Doyle watched Bodie's car roar around the street corner. His
shock numbed mind struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Bodie had asked him to move in with him. He recalled that much with
perfect clarity. Wasn't the sort of thing he was likely to miss, he
conceded wryly, not after how hard he'd worked for it. Five months of
careful handling, of not pushing, of taking only what he was freely
offered for fear of losing it all had finally paid off. His lover had at
last asked for more of a commitment, and, almost in the same breath, left
him standing alone on a kerb gaping down the deserted street like a
solitary guppy at the front of a twenty gallon tank. When it became
obvious that his friend had indeed left him here and not simply circled
the block, Doyle slowly made his way into the flat.

He should have been angry at the desertion, but found himself only
terribly confused. That look on Bodie's face....

Always, he more than anyone else had the power to hurt his partner. In the
past, it was often done without thinking when the frustrations of a case
got to be too much for him to handle and had to be directed at someone,
Bodie, more often than not, tended to be their target, but this--Bodie had
looked crushed.

All he had attempted to do was the same as always, match Bodie's lightness
with his own. He couldn't even recall exactly what he'd said to so wound
the other man. The first thing to come to mind had come out. Some quote,
Shakespeare, he thought, a light hearted response barely able to contain
his bubbling delight. "Come live with me and be my love," an expression of
joy, nothing more. And then, WHAM! Bodie had frozen up as though he had
just spat at him. His partner's parting remark had been even stranger than
the original freeze-up. What was it Bodie had said? Something like it
being more like her reply, whoever she was.

Still trying to fathom it, Doyle made himself a cup of tea. The rush of
water from faucet to kettle echoed hollowly through the flat, the total
absence of sound from the other rooms making each of his movements
incongruously loud. For three months now he'd been living in this flat,
but tonight the utter emptiness of the place gave him the absurd feeling
that he was trespassing in some long abandoned dwelling, the ghosts of its
former occupants intent upon letting him know that he was an unwelcome
intruder.

Ignoring the ridiculous sensation, Doyle concentrated on making his tea.
His open fridge revealed only the untempting bread heel he'd mentioned
earlier, no milk. Doyle sat down at the kitchen table, vaguely waiting for
the steaming mug to cool down and tried to pinpoint exactly what had gone
wrong.

Somehow, his innocent remark had been misconstrued as a rejection. How and
why was beyond him. He didn't even know where it came from.

With a start, Doyle realized that his partner would know. Keats, Shelley,
Wordsworth, Blake, a slew of others Doyle couldn't even begin to keep
track of, the ex-mercenary could quote them all, verbatim. Probably knew
the bloody Bard's sonnet he'd drawn it from line for line.

Cursing his own ignorance on the subject, Doyle slammed the unwanted cup
onto the table top. He briefly considered calling his partner or going
after the fool, but knew from experience that he'd get no answers from him
when Bodie was hurting. With his own uncertain temper, going in blind was
out of the question.

If he only knew what meanings had been culled from his innocuous remark
he'd at least have a basis for repairing the damage. The library flitted
through his mind, but that had closed hours ago.

Doyle straightened at a sudden inspiration. Somewhere in this barely lived
in flat was a huge poetry book his partner had carted over to his last
apartment and promptly abandoned. Trying to recall where he'd stashed the
ungainly tome, his thoughts strayed to the circumstances surrounding its
arrival, his attention captured by the vivid memory.

Nine, perhaps ten, months back, Bodie had stayed the weekend with him. The
flat was different from now as were his partner's reasons for staying, but
for Doyle at least, that had been the beginning of their altered
relations.

They'd been running down two separate leads on an arms smuggler. Depending
on one's point of view, Doyle had gotten lucky and tracked the suspect to
a deserted, riverside warehouse. That was as far as his luck had held.
Upon entering, he'd been attacked from behind. He recalled little of the
beating he'd received, only the agony of awakening and the awareness that
he'd never been so thoroughly worked over, even Holton's goons could have
learned from this lot.

The clawing scratch of smoke upon sensitive nostrils had awoken him. Bound
amid crates whose markings declared them to be the highly explosive armory
he'd been hunting, Doyle realized he'd been left to go up with the
evidence. Shouting got him nothing but a raw throat. He'd tried to console
himself with the idea that Bodie would eventually figure out where he was,
but it would be hours before he'd be missed and the crackling sizzle
coming from the lower story told him he didn't have that long.

Desperation sent him rolling to the smoke veiled stairwell. The rickety
wooden flight hadn't held under his weight. His first roll downwards sent
him crashing through the brittle lumber to the blazing lower level.

Dazed from his ungraceful landing, Doyle dimly registered the wail of
sirens. His eyes kept fixing on the brilliant flames, now less than ten
feet away as they licked at the broken bannister. On the force, he'd seen
fires like this. Water wouldn't quench the writhing walls of flame. The
fire brigade would be forced to allow it to burn itself out, concentrating
their efforts on keeping it isolated to the supposedly empty warehouse. At
least Doyle hoped that would be their plan. He didn't want anyone else
around when the fire reached that little surprise package upstairs. When
the arms went off, half the building would doubtless follow.

Choking on the dry smoke, he'd huddled into a crawlspace beneath the half-
standing stairs, praying that the fumes would thicken before the firestrip
dancing his way reached him.

Half asleep, he fought for each breath, listening to the roar of the
ravenous flames. Whatever else fire was, it was not quiet. Then,
amazingly, a familiar shout pierced the inferno raging around him. A
feeble, choking reply brought his smoke streaked savior immediately to his
side.

At that moment, Bodie had looked insane. Eyes wild, lower lip smashed and
bleeding, a grimy sheen of sweat glossing the rage twisted features,
clothes scorched and smoke stained, his suave partner was transformed into
a savage warrior from Britain's primitive past, dangerous and ultimately
untameable. The primal stare fixed upon him had been unsettling, almost
devouring.

Uncertainly, he'd whispered his partner's name, his sleepy mind almost
convinced that he'd died and his partner had somehow preceded him to Hell.
At the sound of his voice, the unleashed passion vanished. With one sweep
of the translucent, long lashed eyelids, Bodie was himself again.

As his worried partner searched him for broken bones, Doyle had
concentrated on the bruised face, looking for echoes of the other Bodie
who had found him. While trying to ignore the pain the probing fingers
inflicted, Doyle saw something in the unguarded, absorbed features, not a
new look, but something that had always been there before but had gone
unnoticed until that instant. No longer was it mere worry, the affection
of a friend, protective instincts or the thousand other mislabels Doyle
had tagged onto Bodie's attitude towards him over the years. It wasn't
even anything as simple as possessiveness. In the sauna-like heat of their
hellish surroundings a chill passed through Doyle as he recognized the
naked longing in the orange tinted, fire-lit face of his closest friend.

Perhaps if it had been a new discovery rather than the identification of
something that had been there all along, Doyle might have reacted to it
immediately--in all probability adversely, for he was too well acquainted
with the fate of abandonment that awaited all of Bodie's lovers to be
rushing to join their ranks--but several things restrained him from
squelching it there and then.

First, was the possibility that he'd read it wrong. After all, his partner
was the last person he could imagine suffering from unrequited love. Had
Bodie wanted him, he would have done something about it.

Unless that one time his drunken friend had brought up his experiences in
the mercenaries had been some sort of attempt to broach the subject.
Hardly a seduction, that. He'd ended up with the sobbing man clutched in
his arms the entire night. Nothing had been born of that experience save
Doyle's intense hatred of the sadistic, violence high freaks that had
nearly destroyed his partner with their degrading games. But, then, Doyle
figured that such a past might also keep a man silent about any unorthodox
desires.

The fact that Bodie had never tried anything, if he did feel that way
about him at all, revealed a consideration for his own feelings that quite
frankly startled Doyle. As far as Bodie knew, he was straight. That that
assumed fact had restrained his friend all this time--this was not a new
development, Doyle could plainly recall a similar expression gentling his
friend's face as little as a year into their partnership--made Doyle
suspect that what Bodie felt for him was more than a passing fancy.

His own reaction to the possibility was unexpected. Perhaps it was the
consideration behind those careful fingers as they searched his battered
form for breaks that made him feel so treasured, or maybe it was merely
his tired mind's response to being able to rely unconditionally upon the
strength of another to keep him safe when his own was no longer
sufficient, whatever the cause, as he lay in that blazing inferno, nothing
had ever seemed more inviting than the idea of letting Bodie take care of
him.

The ferocity of the yearning frightened him. Whether hate or love, his
emotions were always highly intense. The affection he felt for his friend
was enough to warn him that his heart could be forfeited in this
encounter. Pure disaster, in view of Bodie's character. And yet, in his
whole life, nobody had ever stayed beside him as long as the crazy
ex-para.

Why Bodie out of all the others had remained, if not this new explanation,
Doyle couldn't imagine. Lord knew, it wasn't the job. There were any
number of ways, all more lucrative, that his partner could achieve that
same excitement. Nor was it Doyle's warm welcome which kept Bodie around,
for more than half the time his own biting comments were aimed at shaking
that monumental self- confidence.

What compelled him to be so abrasive when it came to Bodie, Doyle could
never understand. Though sometimes pigheaded, his partner was of a
basically easy-going nature. Nine times out of ten he did nothing to
deserve the anger Doyle dumped on him. Nevertheless, the self-sufficient
ex-merc took it all, sticking by him like a devoted setter.

In the past, most of his partners had wanted to have very little to do
with him off-duty. Not that they disliked him, quite the opposite, in
fact. But all had been seasoned veterans, with lives and families that had
demanded their full attention during what little time they had off duty.
Even Sid Parker, who'd been more of a father to him than his own
biological parent, had had his sick wife to worry about. The loneliness
he'd felt over those years was equally his own fault, Doyle knew. There
were hundreds of other young rookies undergoing the same experiences, but
he'd never encouraged friendship with them and none had ever gone to the
trouble of seeking him out before Bodie.

Doyle could still recall his amazement during those first traumatic months
in CI5 when the lunatic George Cowley had saddled him with as a partner,
and whom he still utterly detested, persisted in inviting him out for a
drink after a job. Tell him no six nights in a row, and inevitably there
it would be again on the seventh--"Lucas, Murph, McCabe and I are goin'
down to the Red Lion. Why don't you join us, mate?"

Bodie's steadfastness had always mystified him, until now. Doyle was in
some ways satisfied by this new explanation. Sex had long been something
he excelled at, always finding it easy to attract whatever partner he
desired. That he'd attracted Bodie without consciously trying to proved
it.

But, as he'd learned, hooking someone's interest was quite another thing
from holding it. How often in the past had everything that existed between
him and a lover been burned away with sated lust?

Amidst the smoke filled crawlspace, Doyle had resolved that it would not
happen that way with Bodie. Their partnership was too important to
jeopardize with a mere sexual fling. Bodie, too, had obviously recognized
this danger and held back for that reason. But somehow Doyle suspected
that it was more than a fling that his partner wanted. The concern and
affection that characterized Bodie's attitude towards him betokened much
more than that. But he had to be sure.

From the moment Bodie got them safely away from that would-be funeral
pyre, Doyle had embarked upon a campaign to satisfy his suspicions. That
weekend when Bodie stayed at his place to ensure that his roughed up mate
got on all right Doyle initiated the flirtatious banter that had always
been so much a part of their relationship. Curious, he'd noted how the
other man would engage in it, up to a point. Then, as if sensing a sudden
risk, Bodie would change the subject or bury himself in that daunting
poetry anthology he'd lugged along with him.

Surreptitious observation over the next four months confirmed his beliefs.
How for all those years he could have remained unaware of the hunger in
the gaze that basked on his body whenever Bodie thought him not looking
amazed him. His partner's feelings were admirably well concealed behind
his usual bragging, hidden by a smokescreen of romances that would have
put even the most successful of fictional Don Juans to shame.

During this period, Doyle paid special attention to these affairs, double
dating as often as possible. He'd learned two things from these trying
nights.

First, how easy it was for him to gain his partner's full attention. No
matter how lovely the lady Bodie happened to be seeing at the time, Doyle
found that all he had to do was glance at his partner a certain way or
whisper some irrelevant comment in a lover's seductive tone to have
Bodie's interest riveted on him the entire night.

The second lesson he learned was as disheartening as the first was
flattering, pinpointing the death knell of Bodie's affairs. Surprisingly
enough, it wasn't the girl's falling for him that put Bodie off. From the
first, most were totally enchanted by Bodie's flawless charm. Two or three
dates and he had them hooked for sure. Doyle saw that it was when his
partner started to show some attachment in return that Bodie would cut the
poor girl off cold. At first, Doyle thought that it was because of him,
but only slowly did he realize that it was something more.

Commitment, that was what Bodie was out to avoid, probably why he'd never
tried it on with him in the past. Going into any sort of sexual
relationship with Doyle, there was already too strong of a existent bond
to tangle with. The realization almost stopped Doyle there.

Except, he'd had a peculiar reaction to discovering that Bodie desired
him. His body blazed at commonplace touches, his blood running wild while
his partner continued on with whatever they were doing, oblivious to the
fire he'd lit. Bodie mightn't have shown any interest in committed
relationships in the past, but the sweet anguish Doyle endured during
those four indecisive months made him hopeful that it could be different
with him, that whatever sense of honor had kept Bodie silent all these
years would safeguard their unlikely romance.

There was a chance, if he played the game right. With Bodie, the trick
would be his approach. Talk commitment and Doyle knew he'd lose at the
first gambit. His strategy had been simple. One rule only, that there be
no rules or no strings involved. Lure his cage-shy mate with the freedom
of the proposition, and make it so good for Bodie that he'd have no desire
to stray. Doyle had been all too conscious of the risk inherent in such a
gamble; the possibilities for rejection seemed endless.

Yet, to his astonishment, it had worked. His partner had turned away from
nothing he had offered, accepting all intimacies without any hint that
they were an infringement upon his independence. His partner had even
given him a key to his flat after the first month, which, in view of the
way Bodie had once balked at Cowley's possessing one, Doyle had taken as a
sign of definite progress. And, more than that, he was entirely certain
that there had been no one else for Bodie since the first night he'd taken
his partner to bed.

Doyle grinned at the memory, recalling his apprehensions. One fleeting
affair with another art student at school, near forgotten over the
intervening years, was hardly enough to prepare him for his partner. He
imagined Bodie's approach to sex to be the same as to action, wild and
reckless, a whirlwind of unrepressed want, knew his own desires would have
to be equally fierce to survive that first storm intact.

Doyle's primary concern had been his own lack of experience. The success
of his plan hinged entirely upon presenting a casual demeanor, make his
partner think that this was just another of many sensual adventures, which
would require a good deal of acting. The scene between Ashley and him had
never been heavy. Although Doyle knew the basic mechanics of sex between
two men, he'd never felt enough for his classmate to allow him to take
him. Things would be different with his partner. Somehow, he didn't think
Bodie was the type to wait for the offer.

Which led to his other fear. Competition was one of the major foundations
of their friendship. His own personality was not keyed towards
diminutiveness, any more than was his partner's. Mentally, he was ready to
submit that first time, to bluff his way through it if the situation so
required, but on some level he'd still worried that their loving would
degenerate into the type of battle for dominance that Bodie had
experienced in Africa. That brand of sadism Doyle was not, and hopefully
never would be, interested in. Of course, he might not be given the chance
to choose if things got out of hand.

So, such thoughts had left him shuddering as he'd sat naked on his bed
watching Bodie complete his undressing. The quake that passed through him
as lowering pants unveiled his partner's cock, bobbing up to full erection
at the mere anticipation of what they were about to do, had had very
little to do with desire. Bodie's beauty was that of power and strength,
hard muscle and lean flesh. Right then the potency of the man threatened
him. Seeing the way passion had darkened the brilliant blue of Bodie's
eyes to near black, a reaction Doyle had only viewed in the past when his
high-spirited mate was blind with rage, hadn't helped any. Rage, lust,
according to Bodie the two had been the same when laying a man in Africa,
might be the same here for all Ray knew.

Instinctively, he'd tensed as Bodie crossed to the bed, steeling himself
to allow the other man to make the first move, half expecting it to be a
pounce. Every iota of self discipline had been required to suppress the
flinch his body wanted to make as the strong hands gripped his naked
shoulders almost painfully tight. Looking up the hairless chest in the
Bodie-scented closeness of the shadows, he'd braced himself as the dark
head lowered. His anxieties had led him to expect anything, including
rape, prepared him for everything... except tenderness.

A gasp of shock was ripped from him as a whisper soft kiss was delivered
to his exposed neck. Always one of his most sensitive areas, the sheer
sensuality of the unexpectedly gentle touch immediately quickened his
pulse and respiratory rate, shooting a warm burst of yearning through his
fear numbed system.

All too soon, Bodie withdrew his lips, stepping back to settle almost
hesitantly on the bed's edge beside him. Uncertainty hazed the gaze
regarding him, and an expression of utter vulnerability that seemed to
invest Doyle with the same dreadful qualities his own overactive
imagination had credited to his friend. "You're not afraid of me?" he'd
asked, voice hushed with wonder.

"Not physically." Doyle read the honesty behind the strange answer, the
level gaze also telling him that his own apprehensions had been observed
and purposefully dispelled with that one brief touch.

If not physical, then what could Bodie fear of him?

Too overjoyed with his loss of fright to analyze the significance of
Bodie's remark, Doyle had filed it away in his memory and hastened to
reassure, reaching out to draw his friend into his arms. Bodie had felt
wonderful in that first embrace, the touch of his sleek skin bringing to
mind sun-warmed apricots. Bodie, too, must have found comfort in the
closeness, for his hands began an exploration of Doyle's body that was
more thorough than any he'd ever undergone.

The reckless rush to possess, the thoughtless climb to lust Ray had
anticipated never materialized. Each touch, every caress, seemed designed
to fuel Doyle's delight only. Never had anyone made him so aware of his
own flesh, of the heights of feeling possible. When his body burned with
desire, cried for release, Bodie still somehow managed to wring more
pleasure from him.

Whereas with another lover self-protective instincts would have demanded
he withdraw to maintain his controls, with Bodie all such inhibitions were
absent. Mentally, he'd known that his partner was in a position to take
and use him as none had before, but the thought no longer frightened him.
In fact, at one point while soaked with sweat and exerted from the savage
pleasure shocks jolting through him, he'd craved more, all but begging to
be taken with thighs spread wide apart and hot groin arching up at his so
far obliging partner in unspoken invitation. Only there had Bodie drawn
the line. Offering no outright rejection, he'd pushed the idea from
Doyle's thoughts with a blaze of new stimulation. When they'd come that
first time, it had been in each other's mouths, sharing each second of the
experience.

Doyle's wonder at the overwhelming sense of completion in their initial
joining was rivaled only by his relief that his previous experience was
sufficient to prevent awkwardness from tainting their intimacy.

That hadn't caught up with him till almost a month later. Bodie hadn't
been at all reluctant about Doyle's taking him. First time it happened it
was done totally without Doyle's consent. One night following instructions
to close his eyes, Doyle had found his pulsing cock entering a tight, hot
channel of flesh as Bodie slowly lowered himself down onto him. The
experience had been all- consuming, wilder and freer than any pleasure yet
felt. Persuading his overprotective mate to return the favor had promised
to be a new career there for a while.

The joy of success was overshadowed by his recollection of the confusion
which had clouded Bodie's face at his body's reaction to a simple finger
probe. The freezup had been instinctive, totally unanticipated. Try as he
would, Doyle was unable to relax his sphincter muscle enough to allow even
the entry of one slender forefinger. Half joking, Bodie had asked, "You've
done this before, mate, haven't you?"

Perhaps he should have bluffed his way through it. So far, he'd been able
to conceal how limited his experience was from his lover, and therefore,
how important their relationship was to him. But, looking into those
bewildered eyes, he hadn't been able to lie outright. Letting Bodie draw
assumptions from his ability to give a decent blow job was quite another
thing from conscious deceit. Besides, if he lied to Bodie now, he was sure
to think that Doyle didn't like it or was permitting him to take him out
of a sense of obligation.

Aware that either decision could destroy everything he'd labored for, all
he could do was shake his head in mute denial. Bodie might be furious with
him for his pretense, but Doyle would not allow him to be wounded by the
possibility that he didn't really want him.

At first there was no reaction. Then, Bodie's face had gone blank with
shock, his adam's apple jumping in a plainly audible gulp. A light, never
so openly viewed before, warmed the bright blue eyes as Bodie spoke
quietly to him. "Don't worry, Ray, 'm good at what I do. You're going to
like this." The kiss that punctuated Bodie's words was filled with gentle
promise.

And then, Bodie had... unleashed him. It was the only description that
adequately fit the event. Starting at his mouth and working his way
downwards, Bodie kissed, sucked, licked or caressed every square inch of
him. Never had it been like that for Doyle before. His nerves screamed
under the sweet torment of every touch. By the time his partner had
reached the pebble hard buds of nipple, that involuntary fear of
submission had been burned from him.

Sensation raged through his blood like wildfire, singeing every cell he
possessed, but still Bodie held back, prolonging the inevitable, driving
him to even higher, unbearable peaks of ecstasy and seeming to feed on his
pleasure while he writhed there. Bodie could have carved him to pieces,
slowly, during the intensity of those endless moments, he'd had no guards
left at all, no conscious conception that he was in any way able to stop
or alter the outcome. There was no other reality besides surviving the
feeling and catching those few, impossible gulps of air that were
permitted.

And, then, in the midst of that maelstrom of sensation, unbelievably, came
the awareness of a new form of stimulation. A slender explorer inside,
touching off a rarely indulged pleasure zone. This new breed of joy was
fiercer than the others, the shockwaves merciless in their mastery of his
overloaded system. Vaguely, Doyle had felt his body bucking, almost too
excited to climax.

Incredibly, the newcomer abandoned him there, alone and so close to the
edge that he was whimpering at the sudden cessation of stimulus. Desolate,
he'd lain there awaiting annihilation, too lost to realize that he had the
ability to relieve his own need.

After an indeterminate period of solitary suffering, his legs were lifted,
cold air assaulting his deserted, unnaturally slick anus as his buttocks
were parted. Soon, a bulkier probe took the former's place. He'd gasped at
the first, wide entry. It wasn't pain, being more of an uncomfortable
stretching to accommodate Bodie's thickness. Although the penetration did
court the idea of hurting him, it never succeeded. Just as his
passion-dazed mind began to register the discomfort, Bodie rubbed against
that internal point his finger had caused such havoc by touching and
blasted all reason from him.

The madness hadn't lasted long after that. Bodie's thrusts were as
effective at pleasuring him as the hand working his overburdened cock.
Orgasm ripped through him, exploding his senses and the very life out of
him in the too hasty oblivion seconds before Bodie's cry deafened his left
ear.

From the very first Bodie had been able to bypass his shields, but that
night he eclipsed all previous gains. Long before that, Doyle had lost his
heart, but that night delivered his soul to his partner.

Bodie never suspected the conquest he'd made. Keeping the secret was
perhaps Doyle's hardest accomplishment. At all times his speech had to be
carefully censored, lest he reveal too much with an unguarded comment.

Like today's little ditty.

Abruptly returned to the present reality of the deepening shadows in his
unlit kitchen, Doyle abandoned the cold, milkless tea to search out
Bodie's poetry book.

Forty minutes later the bottom of his bedroom closet disgorged a cardboard
carton still packed from his last move. Within, amid a jumble of girlie
magazines and gun collecting journals was the book. The brown leather
binding was brittle and dry to the touch, the age-stained pages almost as
dark as the cover. Heavier than most bibles, it required both hands to
heave it out.

Curled in the middle of his bedroom floor, he thumbed through the
anthology, dismayed to see that nothing was in alphabetical order. Chaucer
brazenly preceded Sir Robert Ayton. Only after several minutes of frantic
study did he realize that the poets were listed chronologically. He
shifted through the tome to Shakespeare's selection and groaned at the
size of it. If he had to read every one of the sonnets and play excerpts,
it would be days before Bodie saw him.

On impulse, he turned to the table of contents, half expecting the answer
to leap off the page at him. Not surprisingly, that didn't happen, but he
did notice something else--an index of first lines. As a last hope, he
rolled the book over, much the way one would a beached dolphin, and sorted
through the C's.

There, below "Come away, come away, death", "Come live with me and be my
love" was listed. Surprised, Doyle saw that he'd had the right period in
mind. The poet was Elizabethan, but it wasn't Shakespeare. The line was
drawn from Christopher Marlowe's PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. Eagerly,
he flipped to the given page and started reading the short poem.

 

*Come live with me and be my love
 And we will all the pleasures prove
 That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 
 Woods or steepy mountain yields.

 And we will sit upon the rocks
 Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls
 Melodious birds sing madrigals.

 And I will make thee beds of roses
 And a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
 Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

 A gown made of the finest wool, 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
 Fair lined slippers for the cold, 
 With buckles of the purest gold.

 A belt of straw and ivy buds
 With coral clasps and amber studs: 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Come live with me and be my love.

 The shepherd swain shall dance and sing
 For thy delight each May morning: 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me and be my love.*

 More confused than ever, he reread the piece. What in it could have
offended Bodie? The sentiment seemed harmless enough. Was, in fact, very
close to the proposition Bodie'd made to him. Perhaps the ex-merc's
approach hadn't been such outright bribery, but Bodie had phrased his
offer to stress the convenience of the set-up rather than his true
reasons.

So what now?

About to call a halt to his futile investigations, Doyle froze as his eyes
automatically scanned the title on the opposite page. THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO
THE SHEPHERD by Sir Walter Raleigh. According to the short introduction,
it was the most widely accepted companion piece to Marlowe's poem. With a
peculiar knot of dread twisting his empty stomach, Doyle read on:

 

*If all the world and love were young
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue
 These pretty pictures might me move
 To live with thee and be thy love.

 Time drives the flocks from field to fold, 
 When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, 
 And Philomel becometh dumb; 
 The rest complains of cares to come.

 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
 To wayward winter reckoning yields; 
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall
 In fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, 
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
 Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

 Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
 Thy coral clasps and amber studs, 
 All these in me no means can move, 
 To come to thee and be thy love.

 But could youth last and love still breed, 
 Had joys no date, nor age no need, 
 Then these delights my mind might move
 To live with thee and be thy love.*

 Shaken by the bleak dismissal of the joyous, love filled offer of the
previous poem, Doyle reviewed the impossible conditions set down in the
last quatrain, mystified as to how any of it pertained to them.

Forever? Was that what Bodie thought he'd been asking for? Could his
partner believe that his light comment had been meant to lock him into an
unwanted commitment? That seemed to be the only feasible possibility. The
only other choice was an incredibly cryptic rejection--which was exactly
how Bodie had taken it, right down to an apology for ever making the
suggestion.

Doyle slammed the book shut, glaring at its aged facade as though it were
personally responsible for the events of the last two hours.

Damn it, Bodie couldn't be that insecure! Not after all they'd shared. An
aversion to commitment, Doyle could understand, having the same hang-up.
But, when being brutally honest, wasn't that in itself motivated by a fear
of rejection? Never let them get close, that way when they became
disgusted with the demands of the job and dumped you, it didn't hurt.
Theoretically.

Was it the same for Bodie? Could his partner possibly believe he'd dump
him?

No great amount of effort was required to recall the tension tightening
Bodie's powerful form, even through the happy haze that his partner's
offer had caused, Doyle had noticed it. In retrospect, it almost seemed as
if Bodie had expected nothing but a rejection from him.

Stifling a curse, Doyle leaped to his feet. The bloody idiot! How could
anyone in CI5 be that dense?

His charge to the car faltered in the living room as he paused to
consider. What was he going to do, race over to his partner's and make
fools of them both? In this state, his temper was sure to get the better
of him, and, reluctantly, it was occurring to Doyle that none of his rage
was really directed at Bodie.

This was all his own fault, Doyle admitted, his brilliant no strings
strategy. He'd given such an artful performance, covered his feelings for
Bodie so well that his lover was unaware they existed.

Bodie knew that he wanted him, that he lusted after him. Doyle had shown
up on his doorstep in the middle of the night or invited his partner back
to his home enough for him to be sure of that much. But as for anything
more... Doyle had been too careful. True, every move towards increased
intimacy had been initiated by him--Bodie seeming to wait until Doyle
suggested something first before chancing it himself--but even there it
was always delivered along the line of `Do it for the experience,' not
because he wanted to get closer to him.

How could Bodie be sure of him when not once had the word love been
mentioned between them? He kept hearing his partner's voice as it sounded
that first night, the hushed whisper telling him that he wasn't physically
frightened of Doyle. But emotionally? Every action, every hesitation, even
the gentleness that Doyle so loved in his mate all bespoke of deep
uncertainty. Could it be that Bodie handled him like antique porcelain not
because he thought he would break, but for fear he'd bolt?

Only one way to find out, Doyle thought, heading to his room to prepare
for battle.

******

Suitcase in hand, Doyle stood before Bodie's door. The flat was one of
CI5's classier Victorian numbers--all marble hallways, brass bannisters
and dark wood doors. Although he kidded his partner no end about the place
being out of Bodie's league, privately he thought that its understated
elegance suited his lover quite well.

But tonight such irrelevancies were far from his troubled mind. He noted
the deep luster of the door's finish only because it served as an
inadequate mirror. Nervously, he checked his appearance. The clinging
white pullover shirt with its bright bands of color across the chest was
one of Bodie's favorites. At home, he'd thought it complemented the tight
black cords and new black leather jacket perfectly, but the distorted
reflection in the dark mahogany made him out to be a twisted gnome,
certainly not the sprite elf Bodie sometimes called him when in an
especially mischievous mood. Ignoring the unflattering vision, he ran a
hand through his disorderly hair. More than damp, the curls were still wet
from his hasty shower, the waterlogged strands cold to the touch. So much
for the clean, sweet smelling tempter he'd hoped to be. With a wry smile,
he wondered if Bodie got off on clammy trolls.

Taking a last breath, he inserted his key into the lock and brazenly
strolled into Bodie's flat.

As on the previous night, the pitch blackness of the place was nearly
impenetrable to the eye. Just as he'd known then that the flat was empty
as soon as he'd stepped over the threshold, tonight he sensed its
occupation. More than the subtle scent of scotch wafting through the air
told him the rooms were inhabited: there was a certain feel to the place
when his partner was here that he could never have explained to Cowley.
Usually, it was a warm, bright feeling that immediately lifted his
spirits, but tonight the mood was as unrelentingly dark as his
surroundings.

That, at least, could be immediately remedied. Under different
circumstances he would've smiled at the memory of the production Bodie had
made over having to retighten the lightbulb.

His groping hand stopped at a nearby movement. The living room couch.
Bodie was closer than he'd thought.

"Ray?" An uncertain voice whispered from the dark.

Unable to distinguish more than a silhouette huddled in the sofa's
shadows, he flicked on the overhead light.

Once he'd recovered from the vicious onslaught of light, his gaze fixed on
his lover, who was still blinking blindly up at him. At that moment there
was a look about Bodie that reminded him very much of a young child who'd
been told that big boys don't cry and who was valiantly trying to imitate
his elders, a little boy very much in need of a hug. His partner's pride
forbade such a reaction, much as his own reticence once had, but at that
instant Doyle ached to do it. He comforted himself with the thought that
when this was all sorted out there would be no such foolish restrictions
remaining between them.

Considering the near-empty scotch bottle on the end table, the piercing
stare that finally settled upon him was surprisingly sober. The wariness
in the depths of those vivid blue eyes was unsettling, used as he was to
seeing them brighten at his arrival.

Steeling his nerves against the silent accusation, Doyle pasted a smile on
his face. "Just like you it is, ask me to move in and then leave me to do
all the work," he greeted with false cheer, plopping his suitcase noisily
by the green armchair and shrugging his way out of his jacket before
sinking down into its soft cushions. "So what's so important that you
couldn't give me time to pack me nightie?"

There was no verbal response, but Bodie's gaze swiveled away, coming to
rest upon the tan carpet between his dark socked feet.

"Bodie?" he prompted gently.

"Ray, before, what I said, didn't mean to..."

Midway through the pathetically transparent lie, Doyle shifted over to the
settee. Bodie's last word faltered as he lifted the lightly stubbled chin,
guiding the reluctant head around to face him. The stark misery he read
there hurt.

"I think I know how you feel in here," Doyle admitted, tapping the left
side of Bodie's chest with his forefinger. Amazingly, Bodie's left nipple
gave immediate confirmation to his supposition by popping up to a firm
peak under the tight black polo. Doyle gulped, humbled by the unwilled
reaction. He continued, "But 've no idea of what's happening in here." His
fingers softly settled on the center of his partner's forehead.

Bodie's eyes blinked closed, his features contorted with strain. Doyle
couldn't tell if his partner were savoring the sensation or fighting
against it. The latter, he thought. The tiny parting of the sensitive lips
and rapid rise and fall of the chest beneath the midnight black of the
shirt's material did bring to mind the helpless surrender Doyle often
felt, but with Bodie it was different. Whereas Doyle revelled unashamedly
in the sensation, his partner seemed to resist it, as if frightened of
what it might bring. Many times Doyle had seen that same desperate
expression, half ecstasy, half suffering, and realized that he was
circumventing nearly unassailable barriers. But even in his vulnerability,
there was an unapproachability to Bodie, a caution that kept his heart
forever beyond reach.

Forever? Everything within Doyle rebelled against that bleak prophesy.

He stroked down the softness of Bodie's face, trying to soothe the tension
away. "Let me know what's goin' on in here. Don't hide from me anymore,
Bodie, please."

Scrunched eyelids snapped open. Cornered, trapped... Doyle read it all
there, and knew that he could ask no more of his partner. If he pushed,
Bodie would tell him what he needed to hear, but it would hurt the other
man. Doyle decided that any risks now would be taken by him. "Be easier
all around, it would, if I could touch your soul as easy as your body."

"Why?" Bodie questioned his wistful statement, the guarded narrowing of
his eyes more appropriate to the Prince of Darkness asking for his soul
than a lover for his heart.

Doyle tried not to respond to the mistrust behind it, but his good
intentions melted in a blaze of irritation. " 'cause then you'd see how I
felt about you, you dense blackguard."

A tiny smile lighted the pouting lips, but the wariness never left Bodie's
gaze. "How's that, then? How you feel 'bou' me?"

Doyle caught the hand making its nerveshattering way down his chest
towards the bulge in his too tight cords, all anger killed by the
resignation in the watching eyes. Was that all Bodie thought he felt for
him, lust? "Not that," he moderated the sharpness of the denial,
"leastways not now."

"Then why'd you come here?" Tiredness overrode Bodie's usual patience, the
tone of voice one generally reserved for Cowley's machinations.

"You mean why, besides bein' invited?"

"I didn't mea..."

"I know. You didn't mean to invite me to live with you. Fine. Came so's I
could tell you something."

"What?"

His partner was certainly not making this easy for him. Somehow his
imagination had always assumed that Bodie would want to hear what he had
to say to him. Doyle had had warmer reactions upon pulling his friend from
some bird's bed on one of the Cow's midnight escapades in the past.
"Our... arrangement," Doyle stumbled, disheartened by the lack of
encouragement, "it's not working for me anymore."

A choked off gasp came from Bodie's throat, the lush lashed eyes snapping
tightly shut. Confused, Doyle watched the play of emotion across the
expressive features, not understanding what his words must have sounded
like until they reopened and he saw the desolation and loss within. Bodie
was steeled to accept his goodbye, Doyle realized. There were no tears, no
surprise even, only a dismal sense of inevitability.

" 's not what I meant," Doyle quickly reassured, grabbing hold of a tight
clenched fist. The locked muscles would not relax under his stroking hand.
As he searched his mind for the words that would make this all better, he
raised the powerful appendage that was capable of such destruction to his
face and rubbed it against his skin. Long before the healing words were
found, he felt the fist uncurl, the fingers clench in his still-damp
curls. "Not the arrangement, just the no strings part of it."

That, at least, brought a reaction to the protective blankness of the mask
guarding Bodie's features. Curiosity entered, but caution was still
uppermost apparent.

"I broke the rule, mate," Doyle confessed. "Know we promised no
commitment, no involvement. I just thought you should know that's changed
for me."

"Changed?" Bodie asked, as if not understanding the word.

Reading the hope brightening Bodie's gaze to an unbearably vivid blue,
Doyle continued. "It doesn't have to for you. I'm not asking you to let me
move in, or for anything more than you already give me. Thought you should
know that I... well, that 'm in love with you."

Bodie gasped, the fingers curled in his hair falling to grip his shoulder.
The other hand rose to skim his facial features, the touch light as the
brush of thistledown in a smooth autumn breeze. "Ray, you are really here,
aren't you?"

Doyle pulled his partner close, gathering him into that hug he'd so wanted
to give earlier. "For as long as you want me to be." He leaned forward to
kiss the nearby, scotch flavored mouth.

******

When he pulled away breathless sometime later, Doyle could feel his
partner trembling.

"Would always be too much to ask for?" Bodie whispered.

Doyle smiled, reading the uncertainty that was still in his friend, but
knowing that it was now only a matter of time. Bodie would come to believe
in him soon. It wouldn't happen overnight or through anything he could say
to him in the next few hours, but through the steady demonstration of his
own feelings. Bodie had asked him for forever. That was all he could ever
ask for.

"Too much? Nah, not for all we've got to do, mate," Doyle declared,
pulling Bodie down on top of him as he hooked their lower bodies onto the
sofa.

-- THE END --

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