Prosfic: A Heatwave for Bodie
It occurred to me that the pictures I posted the other day went together quite nicely...
A Heatwave for Bodie
by Slantedlight
The sun had unexpectedly come out, and the summer felt almost like summer, which wasn't what Bodie'd expected when he'd dressed for the grey sky that had lowered sullenly outside his window that morning. He hadn't sweated through the firefight with McMillan's lot, mind, comfortably cool in his own ability, and Doyle's. He hadn't even been worried when McMillan himself suddenly appeared, replete with AK-47 and a death-or-liberty attitude about him. No, what had got him finally, had him hot and quietly flustered, was the sight of Doyle stripping off his jacket to stroll casually around the clean up operation, pausing here for a quiet word, leaning there to survey the scene and make sure it was all to his satisfaction. And Cowley be damned, Bodie thought, half exasperated, half admiring, Doyle would make sure it was done himself, and God help anyone who wasn't paying the same attention as he was.
The sun shone down, bright as all his days ahead with Ray, and Bodie turned and slipped off his own jacket, dropping it beside Doyle's on the car seat. He rolled up his sleeves and glanced around to make his own checks - how much longer Doyle was going to insist on being, exactly when they could get the hell out of there and go home.
And there was Doyle, resting back against someone else's vehicle, doing nothing now but stare across the sun-struck day at him. His gaze moved slowly from the open collar of Bodie's shirt to where he'd pulled it untucked from his trousers, and his lips parted. Bodie caught his eyes and smiled slowly back. Everything was clearly to Doyle's satisfaction.
Time to go home.
A Heatwave for Bodie
by Slantedlight
The sun had unexpectedly come out, and the summer felt almost like summer, which wasn't what Bodie'd expected when he'd dressed for the grey sky that had lowered sullenly outside his window that morning. He hadn't sweated through the firefight with McMillan's lot, mind, comfortably cool in his own ability, and Doyle's. He hadn't even been worried when McMillan himself suddenly appeared, replete with AK-47 and a death-or-liberty attitude about him. No, what had got him finally, had him hot and quietly flustered, was the sight of Doyle stripping off his jacket to stroll casually around the clean up operation, pausing here for a quiet word, leaning there to survey the scene and make sure it was all to his satisfaction. And Cowley be damned, Bodie thought, half exasperated, half admiring, Doyle would make sure it was done himself, and God help anyone who wasn't paying the same attention as he was.
The sun shone down, bright as all his days ahead with Ray, and Bodie turned and slipped off his own jacket, dropping it beside Doyle's on the car seat. He rolled up his sleeves and glanced around to make his own checks - how much longer Doyle was going to insist on being, exactly when they could get the hell out of there and go home.
And there was Doyle, resting back against someone else's vehicle, doing nothing now but stare across the sun-struck day at him. His gaze moved slowly from the open collar of Bodie's shirt to where he'd pulled it untucked from his trousers, and his lips parted. Bodie caught his eyes and smiled slowly back. Everything was clearly to Doyle's satisfaction.
Time to go home.