Midnight
Hi there. You've got me today, so here is the first of three parts of a fic I'll be posting over the next 24 hours. Hope you enjoy. :D
Doyle pulled the four of hearts from the top of the deck and frowned, his eyes quickly scanning the other cards laid out in front of him. Tossing the card half-heartedly onto the long column ending with the five of clubs, he yawned loudly and propped his chin in his hand, resting his elbow heavily on the table. Across the room, Fat Eddie Dawes put down his newspaper and sniffed loudly, wiping at his nose with a large, grey handkerchief. Doyle cringed as Dawes took a long look at the contents before shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, turning his attention to page three of the Sun with a wicked leer.
Well this was absolutely fucking wonderful! Doyle tossed the remaining cards down on the table and sat back in his chair, eyeing Dawes with undisguised distaste. Here he was - one of CI5's top agents - stuck in a cold, damp safe house in the shittiest part of town with the most disgusting grass ever to be plucked from the cesspit of the criminal underworld. And on New Year's Eve, of all nights. Any normal bloke would be out on the pull, looking for some willing girl to kiss when the clock struck twelve. Maybe a bit more than that, if his luck was in. Which to be fair in Doyle's case, it usually was.
Doyle took the time to study Dawes, who was still staring intently at the pair of tits on the page in front of him. Fat Eddie certainly didn't look like the kind of bloke who would risk his life to give Cowley a personal tip-off on the biggest arms deal of the century. More like the type of bloke you'd find playing darts and getting pissed in the pub on a Wednesday night. Then again, you never could tell these days.
He blinked and winced unconsciously as Dawes scratched absently at his crotch, his fat, pink tongue protruding from his lips as he brought the newspaper up to his face for a better look.
Oh yeah, Dawes was a real prince.
Doyle groaned inwardly and glanced at the digital clock on the bedside cabinet. 23.48. Twelve minutes to midnight, and here he was with no one to snog but a fat, lecherous supergrass - or Bodie. He shifted in his seat and stole a glance at his partner, slumped in a sagging armchair in the far corner of the room, his nose buried in some hardback he'd found in one of the cupboards downstairs.
Doyle swallowed drily as Bodie stretched his legs, crossing his ankles and slowly turning a page of his book. Bodie's eyes flickered across the words as he read, his mouth open in a small o of concentration.
Yeah - Bodie...
Bloody Bodie with his mismatched eyebrows and his infuriatingly tight cords, and that damn cocky attitude. Bodie would be good for a snog on New Year's Eve - God knows he had a tongue that was good for so much more than sweet talking Cowley every time the yearly pay review came round. Doyle leaned forward, his hand travelling unconsciously to his thigh underneath the table. He stroked absently up and down his leg, the heat already starting to pool in his stomach as he slowly started to touch himself.
He stifled a moan, closing his eyes briefly and conjuring up a recent, favourite memory. Bodie's hands wrapped tightly around him, his fingers pumping up and down, fast and hard along Doyle's length... Bodie's eyes, dark and hooded, boring into him as he came like a rocket in Bodie's hands... and then Bodie's arms wrapped around him, his strength lifting him from the floor where he'd slumped in a boneless heap; Bodie's lips, soft and pliant against his...
Jesus Christ! Doyle's hand flexed instinctively under the table, clutching at the material of his jeans before his palm rubbed briefly across his groin. Unable to stop himself, he stroked lightly over the tight denim, feeling his cock twitch and grow even further in response.
He sucked in a breath and leaned forward in the chair, his knee jerking underneath the table at the feel of tight jeans moving across his aching groin. He glanced at Bodie, slouched in his chair on the other side of the room, eyes fixed on the book in front of him, and bit down hard on his bottom lip as Bodie's jaw cracked open in a yawn, one hand lazily reaching to cover his mouth.
Oh, fuck. Bodie had a great mouth. All pouting lips and a hot tongue that licked in and out of Doyle's mouth as he worked him hard with his hand. God, it had been too long - far too long - since Bodie's mouth had last been on him. Doyle risked another glance at the other side of the room, let his eyes fix on Bodie as his hand stroked backwards and forwards more surely underneath the table.
It was nothing serious, they'd said when it all first started. Best just to keep it casual, right? After all, who wanted Cowley sniffing round where he wasn't wanted? And it wasn't as if they were in love or anything.
Doyle stared as Bodie sucked his index finger into his mouth, wetting the pad with his tongue before carefully turning the next page of his novel. A tiny smile flickered around the edge of his lips for a moment, and then disappeared as he read further.
Doyle's cock twitched harder in his jeans. Fuck yeah, it had been far too long. God, he wanted Bodie, and he wanted him now, the arrogant little bastard. And there he was, tarted out like a fucking prick-tease while they were stuck in a falling down shack with Eddie Eats-His-Own-Snot-Dawes.
Doyle glanced quickly at the clock, letting his fingers rub hard against the growing bulge in his jeans. 23.57. Three minutes to go. In just three more minutes they'd be off-duty, the cavalry would arrive and he'd be able to drag Bodie back to his flat and wipe that smug grin off his face. Doyle watched as the clocked ticked over to 23.58. His hand stilled underneath the table and he took a long, calming breath. It would be too late for a midnight snog, but it was the nearest he was going to get.
“You've stopped playing with yourself, then?”
Doyle's hand shot up to the table, sending the cards flying and nearly knocking over the half empty mug of tea from earlier in the evening. He looked up at Bodie in alarm.
“Eh?”
Bodie nodded his head at the playing cards scattered across the floor. “Patience. You stopped playing. Got bored with it, did you?”
Doyle narrowed his eyes and glanced across at Dawes, who was now lying back in his chair with his mouth wide open, the newspaper hanging limply from his hand. “Yeah well, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Better with two, you know?”
Bodie turned his attention back to his book and raised an eyebrow. “I know what you mean mate. Tell you what, if you can wait half an hour I'll give you a game myself.”
Doyle looked over at the clock and smirked. 23.59. One more minute until the night shift arrived. Five minutes for him and Bodie to get packed up and out the door. Half an hour to get back to Bodie's place. Thirty seconds to have Bodie stripped and begging for it. Yeah, he liked the sound of that. In fact, this could well be the best new year ev...
He leapt to his feet as three quick shots rang out downstairs, followed by another two. Pulling his gun from its holster, he listened to the crashing sound of the front door being kicked in, and then silence. Seven seconds of nothing except the rush of adrenaline in his ears, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs, hesitant at first but growing stronger. Bodie was on his feet now as well, gun cocked and at the ready. Shoving Dawes behind him, Bodie nodded at Doyle, jerking his head towards the door and counting down from three with his fingers.
Doyle raised his gun, positioning himself at the other side of the door, ready to cover Bodie. Behind him, Dawes stood in the centre of the room breathing raggedly and clutching at his chest, small beads of sweat already dripping down his round, red face. From the corner of his eye, Doyle saw the little clock on the mantelpiece strike midnight. He smiled grimly and cocked his gun. Happy fucking new year, everyone
A wink, and then Bodie was gone, the sound of his gunshots echoing far down the corridor.
Doyle took one final breath, prepared to launch himself from the other side of the door, less than half a second behind Bodie when Dawes' fist slammed hard in to his face before he'd even managed to cross the threshold.
And then - then there was nothing.
TRAILER
Title: Midnight
Author: Foxcat
Slash. B/D
Archive: Yes to proslib, no to Circuit
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all done just for fun
Doyle pulled the four of hearts from the top of the deck and frowned, his eyes quickly scanning the other cards laid out in front of him. Tossing the card half-heartedly onto the long column ending with the five of clubs, he yawned loudly and propped his chin in his hand, resting his elbow heavily on the table. Across the room, Fat Eddie Dawes put down his newspaper and sniffed loudly, wiping at his nose with a large, grey handkerchief. Doyle cringed as Dawes took a long look at the contents before shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, turning his attention to page three of the Sun with a wicked leer.
Well this was absolutely fucking wonderful! Doyle tossed the remaining cards down on the table and sat back in his chair, eyeing Dawes with undisguised distaste. Here he was - one of CI5's top agents - stuck in a cold, damp safe house in the shittiest part of town with the most disgusting grass ever to be plucked from the cesspit of the criminal underworld. And on New Year's Eve, of all nights. Any normal bloke would be out on the pull, looking for some willing girl to kiss when the clock struck twelve. Maybe a bit more than that, if his luck was in. Which to be fair in Doyle's case, it usually was.
Doyle took the time to study Dawes, who was still staring intently at the pair of tits on the page in front of him. Fat Eddie certainly didn't look like the kind of bloke who would risk his life to give Cowley a personal tip-off on the biggest arms deal of the century. More like the type of bloke you'd find playing darts and getting pissed in the pub on a Wednesday night. Then again, you never could tell these days.
He blinked and winced unconsciously as Dawes scratched absently at his crotch, his fat, pink tongue protruding from his lips as he brought the newspaper up to his face for a better look.
Oh yeah, Dawes was a real prince.
Doyle groaned inwardly and glanced at the digital clock on the bedside cabinet. 23.48. Twelve minutes to midnight, and here he was with no one to snog but a fat, lecherous supergrass - or Bodie. He shifted in his seat and stole a glance at his partner, slumped in a sagging armchair in the far corner of the room, his nose buried in some hardback he'd found in one of the cupboards downstairs.
Doyle swallowed drily as Bodie stretched his legs, crossing his ankles and slowly turning a page of his book. Bodie's eyes flickered across the words as he read, his mouth open in a small o of concentration.
Yeah - Bodie...
Bloody Bodie with his mismatched eyebrows and his infuriatingly tight cords, and that damn cocky attitude. Bodie would be good for a snog on New Year's Eve - God knows he had a tongue that was good for so much more than sweet talking Cowley every time the yearly pay review came round. Doyle leaned forward, his hand travelling unconsciously to his thigh underneath the table. He stroked absently up and down his leg, the heat already starting to pool in his stomach as he slowly started to touch himself.
He stifled a moan, closing his eyes briefly and conjuring up a recent, favourite memory. Bodie's hands wrapped tightly around him, his fingers pumping up and down, fast and hard along Doyle's length... Bodie's eyes, dark and hooded, boring into him as he came like a rocket in Bodie's hands... and then Bodie's arms wrapped around him, his strength lifting him from the floor where he'd slumped in a boneless heap; Bodie's lips, soft and pliant against his...
Jesus Christ! Doyle's hand flexed instinctively under the table, clutching at the material of his jeans before his palm rubbed briefly across his groin. Unable to stop himself, he stroked lightly over the tight denim, feeling his cock twitch and grow even further in response.
He sucked in a breath and leaned forward in the chair, his knee jerking underneath the table at the feel of tight jeans moving across his aching groin. He glanced at Bodie, slouched in his chair on the other side of the room, eyes fixed on the book in front of him, and bit down hard on his bottom lip as Bodie's jaw cracked open in a yawn, one hand lazily reaching to cover his mouth.
Oh, fuck. Bodie had a great mouth. All pouting lips and a hot tongue that licked in and out of Doyle's mouth as he worked him hard with his hand. God, it had been too long - far too long - since Bodie's mouth had last been on him. Doyle risked another glance at the other side of the room, let his eyes fix on Bodie as his hand stroked backwards and forwards more surely underneath the table.
It was nothing serious, they'd said when it all first started. Best just to keep it casual, right? After all, who wanted Cowley sniffing round where he wasn't wanted? And it wasn't as if they were in love or anything.
Doyle stared as Bodie sucked his index finger into his mouth, wetting the pad with his tongue before carefully turning the next page of his novel. A tiny smile flickered around the edge of his lips for a moment, and then disappeared as he read further.
Doyle's cock twitched harder in his jeans. Fuck yeah, it had been far too long. God, he wanted Bodie, and he wanted him now, the arrogant little bastard. And there he was, tarted out like a fucking prick-tease while they were stuck in a falling down shack with Eddie Eats-His-Own-Snot-Dawes.
Doyle glanced quickly at the clock, letting his fingers rub hard against the growing bulge in his jeans. 23.57. Three minutes to go. In just three more minutes they'd be off-duty, the cavalry would arrive and he'd be able to drag Bodie back to his flat and wipe that smug grin off his face. Doyle watched as the clocked ticked over to 23.58. His hand stilled underneath the table and he took a long, calming breath. It would be too late for a midnight snog, but it was the nearest he was going to get.
“You've stopped playing with yourself, then?”
Doyle's hand shot up to the table, sending the cards flying and nearly knocking over the half empty mug of tea from earlier in the evening. He looked up at Bodie in alarm.
“Eh?”
Bodie nodded his head at the playing cards scattered across the floor. “Patience. You stopped playing. Got bored with it, did you?”
Doyle narrowed his eyes and glanced across at Dawes, who was now lying back in his chair with his mouth wide open, the newspaper hanging limply from his hand. “Yeah well, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Better with two, you know?”
Bodie turned his attention back to his book and raised an eyebrow. “I know what you mean mate. Tell you what, if you can wait half an hour I'll give you a game myself.”
Doyle looked over at the clock and smirked. 23.59. One more minute until the night shift arrived. Five minutes for him and Bodie to get packed up and out the door. Half an hour to get back to Bodie's place. Thirty seconds to have Bodie stripped and begging for it. Yeah, he liked the sound of that. In fact, this could well be the best new year ev...
He leapt to his feet as three quick shots rang out downstairs, followed by another two. Pulling his gun from its holster, he listened to the crashing sound of the front door being kicked in, and then silence. Seven seconds of nothing except the rush of adrenaline in his ears, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs, hesitant at first but growing stronger. Bodie was on his feet now as well, gun cocked and at the ready. Shoving Dawes behind him, Bodie nodded at Doyle, jerking his head towards the door and counting down from three with his fingers.
Doyle raised his gun, positioning himself at the other side of the door, ready to cover Bodie. Behind him, Dawes stood in the centre of the room breathing raggedly and clutching at his chest, small beads of sweat already dripping down his round, red face. From the corner of his eye, Doyle saw the little clock on the mantelpiece strike midnight. He smiled grimly and cocked his gun. Happy fucking new year, everyone
A wink, and then Bodie was gone, the sound of his gunshots echoing far down the corridor.
Doyle took one final breath, prepared to launch himself from the other side of the door, less than half a second behind Bodie when Dawes' fist slammed hard in to his face before he'd even managed to cross the threshold.
And then - then there was nothing.
TRAILER
Title: Midnight
Author: Foxcat
Slash. B/D
Archive: Yes to proslib, no to Circuit
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all done just for fun