Discovered in the Christmas Tree, Day 31 - A Christmas fic Part 2
Here’s the rest of the fic. I've been having a bit of trouble with the line formatting so I hope both posts show up okay for everyone.
Have a happy and safe New Year everyone. May 2012 be a grand year for you all.
The argument was forgotten as they advanced on the building, guns ready, Doyle and Bodie skirting to the rear alleyway while Murphy and Charlie tackled the front door. Anson, Ruth and McCabe (minus the pram) formed a perimeter in the street, blocking the exits with Cowley directing operations from their obbo point.
“Doyle, Bodie, remember I want them taken alive. And that goes for you to Murphy. No gunfire unless absolutely necessary.”
Doyle took a precious second to lift the RT to his ear with his free hand. “Of course, Sir. Understood,” he muttered rolling his eyes and mentally switching off the sound of Murphy’s voice coming through the RT agreeing with Cowley’s directive as he put it back in his inside jacket pocket. He glanced at Bodie, close behind him, saw the reciprocal grin on his face then he nodded and Doyle slipped around the large, overflowing industrial waste bin standing opposite the back door of the building. Ignoring the door they headed to the fire escape and began to climb, checking and covering as they went. This would never change, the implicit trust they had in each other, their almost telepathic knowledge of what the other was about to do.
Bodie reached the window of the top story flat first. They were to enter there and make their way down, clearing each room as they went. He checked, then began to open the window.
That was when Doyle’s RT barked into life. “Get out. Get out! The stupid bastard has triggered the bomb.”
Doyle and Bodie looked at each other then down at the metal stairs they had just climbed. They nodded in unison and jumped.
They both managed to land in the industrial bin, buffeted on the way down by the explosion that ripped through the upstairs flat and tore out the window they had been just about to climb through. Glass and pieces of debris rained down on them but they dug deep into the ordure of the refuse and it gave them cover of a sort. Doyle stayed as still as he could, holding his breath against the stench of the bin while the world around him reverberated to the noise of a thousand fireworks going off at once as another explosion split the air.
Finally the world settled into a steady hum of shouted voices, wailing sirens and his squawking RT. He pushed upwards, shoving at the pungent mix of rotting food and garbage until his head was clear and he could breathe in without taking in a mouthful of the stuff. The smell of smoke and fire almost covered the stench from the bin.
There was a shuffling beside him, a gentle heaving as Bodie emerged leviathan-like from the steaming mess, a glorious crown of egg noodles and some kind of indeterminate sauce dripping from the top of his head and streaming down towards his shoulders. Doyle stared, then spluttered, then laughed outright. Bodie looked offended.
“You’ve got noodles on your head,” Doyle explained, the laughter still bubbling
Bodie leaned forwarded, peering closely at Doyle. “Yeah, well something’s buried itself in that mop of yours and I’m sure it’s still alive. Hold still.” He reached out and slapped hard against the side of Doyle’s head. “Got it!”
Doyle jerked back with a “ger off” then they were both grinning like loons and Bodie’s hand was raking through Doyle’s hair and Doyle couldn’t stop himself as all the frustration and desire he’d been feeling over the past twenty four hours bubbled to the surface. He gripped his partner by the shoulders, pushed him up against the side of the bin and kissed him, hard and demanding. The feel of Bodie’s lips beneath his was sweet and soft, welcoming as he opened up slightly.
But then everything changed and Bodie wasn’t responding, if anything he was backing off and when Doyle pulled back to look into his eyes they were distant, like Bodie was getting ready to run again, that was if he could disentangle himself from both Doyle and the mess that was still pinning him in the bin, he was certainly trying hard enough as he struggled against Doyle’s light restraint.
Suddenly Doyle had had enough “Fuck you!” he stormed, pushing Bodie away from him and hauled himself up from the gooey mess, managing to get a grip on the rim of the bin and pull himself out. He could hear Bodie struggling and muttering behind him but he no longer cared what he might have to say. He did hear Bodie’s cry of ”Wait a minute, Ray” and the sound of Cowley’s voice coming from his RT, which was still in his jacket pocket but he ignored that as well. Instead he just kept walking.
There was rubble and debris covering the street in front of the flat. Curious residents and onlookers crowded the pavements. Doyle was relieved to see Murphy and Anson loading what was obviously one of the Irish terrorists into a squad car. Cowley was there too, talking to the police officer in charge. He spotted Doyle as he rounded the corner.
“Doyle, where the hell have you been and where’s Bodie?”
“Probably still up to his neck in shit, Sir,” he told him
Cowley gave him an odd look but he didn’t care about that either.
“Right, well make yourself useful. Another one of these idiots is still alive. Get yourself to the hospital, see what condition he’s in and then report back.”
Doyle was happy to accept the assignment and he wasn’t bothered where Bodie was or what he was doing. This time he was doing the avoiding.
bdbd
The chill woke Doyle, a misty cold that penetrated through the bedcovers and into his bones. He’d been too tired and dispirited when he’d finally got home the night before, or maybe it was the morning, he was no longer sure, having lost track of time, to do anything other than slip out of his clothes and don an old pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt as protection against the icy sheets and slide into bed without bothering to turn on the boiler. He’d walked after they had questioned the injured terrorist at the hospital, needing to be alone but not yet wanting to face his empty flat. Bodie’s reaction, his desire to forget what had happened between them had hurt more than he wanted to admit and he wasn’t sure yet how he was going to make that hurt go away. But if that was the way Bodie wanted it, then so be it.
He snuggled further down into the bed, pulling at the covers in an effort to bring some more warmth into his freezing limbs but it didn’t work.
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here. I’ve turned the boiler on. Not sure why you didn’t turn the damn thing on last night though, better than freezing your arse off now waiting for it to heat up.”
The shock of the quiet words were like a blow and he added to the feeling when he banged his head on the headboard in his rush to sit up. Bodie was sitting in moonlight and shadow at the bottom of the bed, leaning against the wooden footboard gazing at him with a hesitant half-smile on his face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Bodie shrugged “I was watching you sleep. Now I’m talking to you. You do know you drool a little when you’re asleep, don’t you? It’s actually quite endearing”
Doyle couldn’t stop the reflexive swipe at his mouth or the grimace at the slightly damp feeling he found there. “Pillock,” he muttered. “That’s a bit creepy you know, watching someone like that could get you arrested, same as breaking into a person’s flat.”
Bodie held up his hand, a key on a plain key ring dangling from his fingers. “Didn’t break in, used the key you gave me,” he informed him, looking slightly smug at his reminder of the mutual decision they’d made several months ago to ensure their own security by exchanging keys.
Doyle shuffled, pulling the blankets closer around himself, using them as a barrier between them. “You still haven’t answered the questions. Why are you here? And don’t tell me it’s because of a sudden interest in my wellbeing.”
“Wanted to talk to you.”
Doyle rolled his eyes. “You wanted to talk,” he repeated. “Couldn’t it have waited until we were at work?”
“Cowley’s given us the day off, which you’d have known if you bothered to check in instead of disappearing off the face of the earth. So no, it couldn’t have waited.”
“Why, Bodie? You’ve barely spoken to me for days. What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, or even the day after?”
“Because you kissed me.” Bodie faltered, seemed almost lost, unsure and Doyle felt a moment of pity for him, but that’s all it was, just a moment.
“We did a lot more than kiss two nights ago,” he told him, all the hurt and anger welling up again. “But somehow you seem to have forgotten all about that.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Was tryin’ to work up to something for weeks, then it all happened so quickly. Didn’t want it to end up as Wham bam thank you …” Bodie faltered.
“Sir?” Doyle suggested, slightly amused at the analogy.
Bodie laughed then grew serious again. “Yeah, Couldn’t stand the thought of it just being a one off - meaningless sex. So I backed off, thought we could start again."
“Stupid berk! You didn’t back off, you took off, like a scalded cat. And when, exactly, were you going to start off again and what with? "
Bodie had the grace to look guilty. “That’s why I brought that,” he said looking at a point above Doyle’s head. “Thought it might help get us back on track.”
Doyle twisted, looking up to follow the direction of Bodie’s eyes. At the top of the headboard, held on with bits of sticky tape, was a tatty piece of mistletoe, its berries sad, the leaves drooping.
Suddenly Bodie was there, right beside him and his kiss was possessive and demanding, claiming him, seducing him. Doyle wanted to pull away, like Bodie had done with him before. But he couldn’t because this was Bodie and it was so right.
Bodie finally drew back a little. “I’m sorry, Ray. I’ve been stupid.” The words were whispered against his mouth. “Forgive me?”
“Well I suppose you can’t help being a complete arse at times,” Doyle conceded, then laughed when he felt Bodie’s indignation and pulled his partner close again to kiss away the pout.
This time there was no rush when Bodie pulled off his t-shirt then ran his hands down Doyle’s sides to slide under the elastic of his pyjamas. Or when Doyle unbuttoned Bodie’s shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. There was even less rush when Doyle’s pyjama bottoms were gone and Bodie’s trousers had been unzipped and disposed of. Instead there was a languid journey of exploration with hands and lips. But when Doyle’s cock became encased in Bodie’s hot mouth things speeded up quite a bit until they were both panting, sticky and sated. But this time Bodie didn’t run and Doyle heaved a contented sigh as he drifted off to sleep again his arm wrapped firmly around his partner’s waist, holding him close - just in case.
bdbd
He woke this time to daylight streaming into the room through open curtains and snow drifting past the window. The flat was toasty warm now and he could hear movements in the kitchen, low music and Bodie singing along to what he realised was a Christmas carol. He looked up at the headboard and smiled. The mistletoe was looking even more bedraggled, bits of sticky tape curling up from the leaf edges.
“You should put that in a glass of water,” he said as Bodie walked into the bedroom wearing nothing but a broad smile, carrying a cup of tea and still singing Joy to the World.
“Yeah, can’t let it die now. Was the perfect excuse to kiss you,” he said setting the cup of tea down on the bedside table.
Doyle snorted. “You needed an excuse, did you?”
“Well, I thought there was less chance you’d deck me if it was traditional,” he said unsticking the tape before vanishing out the door again, mistletoe in hand. He was back in seconds carrying the plant perched jauntily in a glass and already looking more cheerful.
“Merry Christmas, Bodie,” Doyle told him as he set the glass down on the bedside table.
“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Ray. We’re alright aren’t we?”
“We are,” Doyle agreed, pulling the blankets aside. The next bit was out before he could stop it, or even think about it. “Ah, Bodie, love. You’ve given me more joy than any other I’ve ever known.”
Bodie beamed. “You too, mate,” he said as he settled next to his lover. “And the sex is good too.”
“Prat,” Doyle told him as Bodie began nuzzling into his hair. “The sex is great.”
“Hmm, it is that.” Bodie sniffed delicately near his ear. “You didn’t have a bath when you got in last night did you?”
“You saying I smell?”
“Well, maybe there’s just a little whiff of eau de refuse. And I think that small creature I found in your hair yesterday has nested.” He ruffled through the curls, searching diligently for evidence.
“Ger off!” Doyle jerked away, batting at the laughing Bodie’s hands until he fell back on the bed and held them up in mock surrender. Satisfied with his victory Doyle leant over the supine body to do his own sniffing.
“You’re a bit ripe yourself,” he said. But he was lying. Bodie’s aroma was that of sex and aftershave, maleness and something uniquely Bodie and it was delicious.
Bodie’s arms came around him then, pulling him down until their bodies were close.
“We can have a bath later, together,” he said against Doyle’s mouth. “Okay?”
More than okay thought Doyle as he confirmed the arrangement in a practical way and without words.
On the bedside table his cup of tea grew cold and the mistletoe’s leaves took on a bright glow.
End.
Title: A Winter’s Tale
Author: Fiction Writer
Slash or Gen: Slash
Warnings: No warnings
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me