Picture This
He flashed Ray a grin and left hurriedly, grimly aware that his carefully-schooled poker face was close to betraying him. He negotiated the maze of corridors automatically, wondering how the hell he was going to get through a conversation with the ratty little bastard ever again when every inch of skin, every thought, every last nerve from face to fingertips was buzzing dizzily and running over with secret knowledge too explosive to be concealed: Ray, it seemed - surely, despite all appearances - must love him.
It was dark and the air was distinctly chilly when Bodie emerged onto the hospital esplanade; he shivered, regretting the thin leather jacket that had seemed just the thing for late spring - christ, was it only two days ago all this had started? - and determined to head back to his own place for a proper meal and a change of clothes. A nice tikka masala, a couple of pints and the footy highlights, all with Ray well on the road to recovery, was just what he needed to get his head straight; he’d be firing on all cylinders by tomorrow for sure. But midnight found him unable to settle; after closedown on all channels, except some mind-numbing programme about statistics for the Open University maths course that not even the most desperate non-statistician could watch, Bodie eventually gave up in disgust and drove back to Ray’s flat, refusing all the way to think about why he reckoned he was going to sleep any better there.
Pulling Ray’s covers over himself, though, was sheer bliss and Bodie let the comfort of it sweep over him - most birds, Bodie reckoned, turned their noses up at anything other than freshly-laundered sheets, but in truth he loved the smell of a few-days-unmade bed, whether his own or a bedmate’s. And this smell was Ray alive, was a pale shade of the sweat-and-cordite that meant Ray’s presence around him every day, now since that afternoon mixed with the spicy emanation of his own body. Bodie knew instantly that sleep would not be so elusive here, and as he felt himself relax he let his thoughts turn once more to that sketchbook, those pictures - that picture. What had Ray thought about as he drew it, Bodie wondered. Had he imagined himself watching unseen, invisible, while Bodie indulged unaware of his presence, or had he dreamed of Bodie performing willingly for him, for the pleasure of both? Not bloody likely; Ray was the exhibitionist in this partnership! A tendril of tension coiled in his gut at the idea, not unpleasantly, but there was something in the rapt, inward-turned expression on his own face in the picture that told him Ray was absent from the scene. Sort of - sad, really, in a way; didn’t look like they got together even in Ray’s imagination. Had it turned him on, though? Bodie almost laughed, picturing Ray sitting at his kitchen table, caressing the image of the naked body on the page with the pencil held in one hand while adjusting himself or rubbing comfortably at a hardening erection with the other. Randy little toad! But that was Ray all over, wasn’t it, always ready to eat the peach, that lad - fairly loved the feeling of his own body, it looked like, judging by the way he moved, the way he held himself, leaning up against a wall or the car like he was giving a come-on to the world … Grinning, Bodie stretched languorously and cupped his own genitals, feeling a faint glow of arousal. What would Ray say or do now, if he were to walk in and find Bodie making free with his bed? Would he give that dirty laugh of his, would he feign indignation, would he … Bodie knew what he would do. Stand there in the doorway for a moment, struck dumb, then try in vain to mask the heat flooding through him … and just for once, Bodie would be the one playing the wanton, the one to stretch and let the covers slip just a little, revealing the pale skin of chest and abdomen, to let Ray see by the movement beneath the covers where his hand lay, where it touched, slowly, tantalisingly … oh, this was a bad idea, the worst, the most irresistibly dangerous. With closed eyes, Bodie deliberately embraced the danger, let go and indulged.
He slept deeply and woke with a feeling of utter well-being, which lasted about as long as it took to get his eyes fully open and remember where he was and what he had done the night before. And all through the week, Bodie was … restless, not at all his usual cool calm and collected self; the still centre he had worked bloody hard to achieve was off-kilter, and he found his fingers itching for something to keep them busy in quiet moments. Work was less frenetic than usual, after the loose ends of their own op had been interrogated - with some considerable vigour on Bodie’s part - and despatched to await trial, and Cowley seemed to have altogether too much paperwork to send his way at present. His short fuse with just about everyone else on the squad may have had something to do with that … but Cowley really wasn’t being reasonable: the damn breakroom coffee machine hadn’t ever worked properly in the first place and it wouldn’t really be missed. Losing patience with it had only hastened the inevitable.
It was quiet at Ray’s flat, at least - his own current dive was over a chippie on a busy main road, something he ordinarily considered a bonus point in its favour but which irritated the hell out of him just now for some reason, so he went on spending the odd evening at Ray’s. By the third time, he began putting a bit of order into Ray’s usual chaos just to have something to do …
By the end of the week the flat was spotless and the unidentified bike parts Ray had been cleaning on the kitchen table were rust-free and gleaming. And still Bodie’s arms would suddenly ache sometimes, whenever he thought about the dirty concrete floor and the blood and Ray looking up at him - would ache to hold him, the feeling so close to actual physical sensation that Bodie took to working out in an attempt to work it out of his bones. Floor exercises in Ray’s bedroom late at night, endless pushups, situps, hell, he even tried some of Macklin’s less sadistic drills one night, and long hot showers, and still it wasn’t enough; nothing would ever dull the ache for long. Only the haven of Ray’s bed brought him any peace. He visited Ray in hospital almost daily, but could never sit still for more than a few minutes - he was over-cheerful and irritable by turns and he knew it, and he started cutting the visits short. Ray was nothing if not observant and tenacious with it, so he was bound to start asking what the hell was the matter with him …
And all that time, at work and at home, at Ray’s flat and at the hospital, Bodie’s secret sat warm and heavy in his stomach, sending tingling forays of adrenaline buzzing through him at seemingly random intervals. The secret only he knew - that Ray was in love with him. Almost certainly. Surely - surely he would never have worked so long on so many sketches, never have filled them with such intensity, if he didn’t feel … something, something big, something important. And keeping this newfound knowledge from Ray himself made it all the more powerful, gave it a kind of magnetism such that there were times he consciously had to force himself to concentrate on the job. He hugged it to himself at night, neglecting a perfectly good chance to ask out one of the nurses on Ray’s ward - not the prettiest, but one whose sure movements and steady gaze informed him that she would have no qualms about thoroughly enjoying him - and wondered instead whether he actually wanted Ray, or whether he just couldn’t resist the thought of having that stroppy little bastard at his mercy; he imagined Ray wanting him, begging him for the release that he would withhold, withhold, withhold … and then grant. It was on that thought, more than once that week, that Bodie found his own sweetest pleasure. He knew he wasn’t going to keep it from Ray indefinitely - too much depended on their being perfectly attuned - but he was only too aware that this could all go pear-shaped when it came down to it. Bodie dreaded Ray’s coming home almost as much as he longed for it.
But Bodie had never made a habit of putting off something he dreaded - especially not something he dreaded. The past ten years and more had made sure of that. So when Ray was discharged, after ushering him in and making him tea - other thoughts forgotten for a moment in the pleasure of seeing him, safe and alive, leaning back on the arm-rest with his feet tucked up on his own sofa once again - Bodie sat on the coffee table trying so hard to seem the picture of relaxation that Ray, being a suspicious little bastard, was pretty much bound to suss he was about to hear something significant. Sod it. He glanced casually at his hands and noted, almost absently, that they were not entirely steady.
“Got something I ought to tell you, mate.” Bodie ducked his head for a moment, then took a breath and looked straight at Ray. He essayed something resembling a smile. “Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”
“Going to tell me a story, then, Mum?”
Ray smiled for real, and just for a moment Bodie felt his own tension ease as he imagined a five-year-old Ray glued to Listen with Mother on the BBC Home Service.
It was the briefest of respites. Bodie opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed. “Last week. I was here, wasn’t I. Dead chuffed you were gettin’ released from solitary an’ back into general population, had enough of the bloody ICU to last me a lifetime, so I came haring on over here to sort your place out an’ I thought, I’ll just chuck a few bits in a bag for you, for when you got discharged.”
“Bit optimistic, weren’t you? Must’ve been obvious I was stuck on the ward for a week at least, couldn’t even take meself to the bog for three more days.”
“Know that. I was just - just pleased, that’s all. So - ” Bodie stopped again and looked down; vaguely hoping that inspiration would be forthcoming from somewhere - anywhere - he gazed intently at the pattern in the carpet, only to find the carpet relentlessly indifferent to his struggle to find the right words or indeed any words at all.
Ray groaned, theatrically feigning despair - “What did you do, you mad bastard, go on, you cleaned me out of whisky, trashed me record collection, what?”
“Was goin’ to sort you out some clothes, wasn’t I, clean knickers an’ all, had to get into your knicker drawer - ”
He saw every reaction as it played out on Ray’s face. The impact of real shock, almost nausea, then a look of such sadness, such utter misery that Bodie almost reached out to him only to see the shutters come down and Ray turn a deliberately blank gaze back towards him. Waiting - for the axe to fall, most likely. Bodie forgot any thought he’d had of bothering with apologies for prying - stuff that - stupid berk was hurting, and that was not to be allowed. Before he’d consciously formed the decision to move, he found he’d crossed the vast divide between them, all twelve inches separating sofa from coffee table, and as Ray shrank back against one end of the sofa Bodie collected him into his arms as if he’d been waiting all his life to do it. Ray gave a sort of strangled gasp and his hands came up to Bodie’s shoulders, pushing him away, but Bodie was having none of it - not bloody likely, not now - and held him, held him, held him, breathing in Ray alive.
“ … the fuck - ” Ray pushed at his shoulders for a moment more, struggling away from him, but Bodie tightened his grip and shook his head almost imperceptibly against Ray’s cheek, murmuring;
“Shut up. Just - just this, all right, just let me, just - ” He shook his head again. Just let me have this, just got to hold on to you for a moment, just fucking be here and be alive and let me have this …
A long time seemed to pass and Bodie realised that he was holding Ray in a close embrace and Ray was breathing harshly, radiating tension but letting it happen, one hand still resting lightly on Bodie’s shoulder while the other fell away as if even maintaining that cursory line between them were too great an effort. Bodie’s face was buried in clean hair smelling faintly of hospital shampoo, the neck beneath smelling deliciously Doyleish. He turned his face in towards the source of everything intoxicating, everything that he could not be without for a moment longer, everything that was, just in that instant, the breath of life to him. His lips were almost brushing Ray’s skin. He was holding Ray so close he felt almost short of breath himself, and the better to breathe he parted his lips unthinkingly, almost kissing him, and god, Ray’s hand - his fingers had moved, scant fractions of an inch but they were touching him now, barely brushing his neck, finding their way into his hair, from the little finger near the nape of his neck to the forefinger behind his ear, and that hint of a caress was more than enough, was too much, was everything.
Bodie let go of something cold and heavy he had been hanging on to for half a lifetime and let his own lips graze softly on Ray’s neck. Ray uttered a sound between a gasp and a moan and clutched at Bodie convulsively, his fingers clenching and relaxing, the faintest of tremors running though every limb, and Bodie felt that moment of Ray’s surrender, his helplessness, and rejoiced - but together with the expected feeling of triumph, he felt again that irresistible, impossible longing to hold Ray safe from all harm, shield him, love him - love him. Oh god. As well think of shielding a wounded tiger; but love him? Yes. He had always loved him. And suddenly Bodie felt sure, with horrible clarity, that Ray was merely fond of him and his pretty face and of what his body might be good for, while he himself had found his heart cracked wide open, unawares. Too late, too late to stop, to reconsider, no way of unknowing what he now knew. And Bodie’s touch gentled even as the thoughts were forming in his mind, and he let his lips taste Ray at last, finding his blind way across the broken cheekbone and down to that beautiful mouth - mine, you have to be, as much mine as I am yours ...
Helplessly he let himself fall into the kiss, nipping softly at Ray’s lips with his own, determined that Ray would be as drunk on this as he himself, that he wouldn’t have the chance to pull away, make light of it, tease Bodie with that sensual assurance he always flaunted. But Ray was showing no signs of wanting to draw back now; he had long since ceased any attempt to push Bodie away, was urging him closer, murmuring yes and Bodie, oh fuck, Bodie, what - seemingly quite unaware of the half-moans and sounds of hunger he was making with an unselfconscious delight that filled Bodie with irresistible hope. Not alone in this, not alone …
Ray was carding through his hair with one hand now, running the other over his shoulder and down his arm, and then he was slipping down against the arm and back of the sofa until he was nearly prone, and he was pulling Bodie towards him. Bodie almost went, would have been content to sprawl on top of him, but part of him wanted to savour this - not to mention punish Ray a little for putting him through hell by damn near dying a week ago. He drew back just a fraction, ignoring Ray’s incoherent murmur of protest, and made enough space between them to run his own right hand firmly down Ray’s side. Ray twisted towards him, and Bodie lost no time in sliding his hand further back over that delectable arse - Ray gasped - and dipping his fingers unambiguously under the waist of the tracksuit trousers he’d picked out himself for convalescent wear.
Ray repaid his efforts by letting his head fall back helplessly, his legs moving apart seemingly of their own volition, and Bodie, exultant, kept up a relentless assault of kisses across his face and mouth while his hand teased and tormented, back and forth, shoving the tracksuit aside and sweeping down and then back up the soft skin of inner thigh, stroking firmly and then brushing with the lightest of fingertip touches across arse and balls until Ray was arching towards him, breathing raggedly, finally mouthing “please” against Bodie’s lips; and then with a rush of triumph and tenderness at once grasping Ray’s rigid prick and giving him one, two - barely three firm strokes and Ray was coming, with a moan that sounded as if it had been wrenched out of him, jerking and clutching at Bodie’s shoulders. Equally determined that Ray should have no doubts about his own feelings in this, no chance to fear that Bodie was playing him in his vulnerability, Bodie gathered him in once more and went on gently kissing and tasting Ray’s neck and throat while he recovered his breath.
But it seemed that either he had succeeded in this or else Ray had no such fears. His eyes, when he opened them again, were alight with both mischief and contentment, and he moved a steady hand to grasp at Bodie through his cords. It was Bodie’s turn to tense, to look a question at Ray, and Ray’s to pull his head down for another kiss - not so gentle this time. Bodie felt desire flare higher in response; undeniable, astonishing, wonderful, Ray wanted him, wanted him, wanted to - . “I’m pretty much all healed up, y’know. Fancy moving this to the bed?” Bodie’s breath caught; he was hard, burning, but he couldn’t speak, for the first time in years he found himself unable to make a move. Ray’s voice dropped all teasing as he added “It’ll be all right, mate. You’ll see.”
Still Bodie hesitated, frozen. Ray’s eyes were fixed on his own, and he had a momentary impulse to close his or look away because Ray was going to look inside, see right inside him and he would know … But Ray went on, his voice low, soft, soothing. Bodie thought of wounded tigers, and tried to unlock the fingers clutching at Ray’s shoulder.
“Thought you’d hand me my head, you know, if I ever let on, the sketches - ”
“Probably would have done if you’d been there when I found ’em, but - ” But last time I held you, you were dying. And now I know it would have killed me.
Their faces were close together, almost touching, hands unmoving, barely breathing, here in the small still centre of the world. Ray’s voice was almost a murmur, but every word was as clear and clean as the soft click of a safety coming off. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”
White-hot, boiling through him instantly. To pin Ray down, to hold him, have him, fuck him, make him his. Because god help him, he was already Ray’s. Dry-mouthed, Bodie still managed to choke out “Do you want that?”
“Almost nothing I’d like more, mate. But it has to go both ways, you know that. I can’t be your - ”
“Don’t want you to be.” Bodie swallowed, and forced himself to speak the truth. “Goes both ways. Us.”
Ray took a breath, blinked, broke the stillness with a smile so beautiful Bodie thought he might never look away. “Come on, then.”
Once they’d made it to Ray’s bedroom, however, Bodie’s courage stuttered and threatened to desert him altogether. He wanted this - god how he wanted it - ah, but that was just it, wasn’t it. For years he had known exactly what he was doing - in bed as everywhere else - the inner core of himself rigidly under control for so long the armour was fused to the skin and he scarcely knew he wore it. No-one was supposed to catch on a chink in it anywhere, no-one was supposed to drag at his heels - it was seamless, nothing to crack wide open. People disappeared; friends, family, lovers, they left you or you left them and they never came after you. Why should they? What did he have that anyone could love, that anyone could want for more than a passing fancy? And he wouldn’t want anyone to come after him anyway. Let someone in and you could crack open if you lost them, it would hurt, the quick exposed - perhaps too much to bear. Perhaps it might be fatal.
But Ray was already inside, already meant too much. Bodie was terrified now of his own inexperience - Ray mattered, and Ray knew what he was doing - could he tell that Bodie didn’t, would he be disappointed, would he… Hell, how could Bodie, how could anyone live up to the beauty and intensity of that damn drawing! But Ray, thank god, was not being reassuring now and clearly couldn’t give a toss about Bodie’s misgivings; he rummaged in the bedside drawer and shoved a tube into Bodie’s hand with an urgency that Bodie paradoxically found calming, muttering “Come on, come on for fuck’s sake, ’m dyin’ here, just bloody get into me, will you!”
Bodie’s hesitancy burned away in the face of Ray’s so unashamedly, openly wanting him and for a moment all he knew, all he cared about was that he was hot and hard as a bar of new-forged iron; he was on fire with it and oh, he was going to bury himself in Ray, in Ray, oh christ … He spooned up behind Ray, his right hand free to smooth the slick, silky stuff over himself, into the cleft of Ray’s arse, around the rim and into the ring of muscle, slip-sliding away again through Ray’s legs from behind to tease swiftly at his cock from root to tip and back, he found himself smearing it everywhere and Ray was writhing like an eel in a net … but not helpless, no, not being forced because he wanted this, Ray would do, would let him do anything … Bodie licked a wide swathe from shoulderblade to the lovely meeting of shoulder and neck, all open to him, all his, and held Ray fast with his teeth, gripping just so … and Ray shuddered, and his voice was cracking and he wasn’t asking, he was bloody well giving orders, “… now, you bastard, now!”
License my roving hands … O my America!, Bodie wanted to laugh, this was so insanely good, and he was going to make Ray wait for it just a moment more … the sensation of his hand gliding so easily over cock and balls and arse, dipping inside at random until Ray was cursing, demanding, almost begging, hard again, and oh the sound of his voice, husky and almost harsh with wanting … Just one last time now, slick and slippery, over his own cock again, and suddenly he couldn’t stay outside that gorgeous, glistening arse a moment longer and he was pushing forward, pushing slowly inside as if he were falling in slow motion, terrified and exhilarated, almost afraid to breathe. He eased forward in a tortuously slow advance, desperate to thrust home and yet somehow unable to move beyond a snail’s pace, and all the while Ray swore at him and laughed, and urged him on to more, and harder, and faster, and what did he think Ray was, made of china?
Feeling Ray struggle to thrust back, Bodie realised belatedly that with his right arm between Ray’s legs, holding the uppermost thigh in an unyielding grip, and the other pinning his shoulder to the bed, Ray was genuinely helpless, as much so as if Bodie had been using the wrestling hold this so resembled. Can’t let go - what if he - A tiny part of Bodie’s mind registered the fact that he was behaving as if he had a tiger by the tail, and that the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside him at the thought was as much the product of nervousness as of happiness. For a moment he was afraid that he might ruin everything, even now, if he lost control and fucked Ray too hard too soon. Or if he laughed. Or if he cried.
And again Ray saved him, almost as if he knew what Bodie needed better than Bodie did himself, relaxing so that his body seemed almost to draw Bodie in and telling him in broken fragments of words that this was good, that this was right, was what he wanted, that Bodie was who he wanted, who he loved. And Bodie slackened his iron grip at last, every movement becoming fluid and assured, suddenly full of the warm, beautiful knowledge that Ray trusted him to find his way across unknown ground, to know where Ray was and meet him there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The front door shut swung behind them as they left, with the solid thump that somehow spoke unmistakeably of a flat left empty and at peace for the day. The normally silent corridor was suddenly full of the sound of stifled laughter, clattering shoes and scuffling trainers as Bodie struggled valiantly to half-inch Ray’s car-keys out of a front jeans pocket he knew perfectly well had never held them (keys had a way of digging into the jewels at awkward moments) but that wasn’t going to stop Bodie conducting a thorough search. They stopped for a moment just inside the street door, bright sunlight streaming into the hallway though the coloured diamonds of the fanlight and tiger-striping them both, and Bodie was left momentarily breathless by the blaze of love in green eyes looking unguardedly into his own.
Bodie smiled. Because long and hot though their working day promised to be, Ray was back on the active list - yes, go on luv, you show ’em, you show the bastards! - and they would be working together once more. And when work was over for the day they would be hitting the pubs together - or maybe the men’s Bathing Pond on the Heath, now that would be a treat on a hot summer’s evening, Ray all pale gold in the slanting sunlight … and then they would be heading back to the flat that Cowley, citing the economy (whatever his unspoken reasons) had no objection to their sharing - and coming home. Together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Picture This
Author: Heliophile
Slash or Gen: slash, always.
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes
Disclaimer: Much to my regret, The Professionals are not mine but the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. Bodie and Doyle are definitely not mine - believe me, I would have noticed - which clearly indicates that something is Seriously Wrong with the order of the universe.
It was dark and the air was distinctly chilly when Bodie emerged onto the hospital esplanade; he shivered, regretting the thin leather jacket that had seemed just the thing for late spring - christ, was it only two days ago all this had started? - and determined to head back to his own place for a proper meal and a change of clothes. A nice tikka masala, a couple of pints and the footy highlights, all with Ray well on the road to recovery, was just what he needed to get his head straight; he’d be firing on all cylinders by tomorrow for sure. But midnight found him unable to settle; after closedown on all channels, except some mind-numbing programme about statistics for the Open University maths course that not even the most desperate non-statistician could watch, Bodie eventually gave up in disgust and drove back to Ray’s flat, refusing all the way to think about why he reckoned he was going to sleep any better there.
Pulling Ray’s covers over himself, though, was sheer bliss and Bodie let the comfort of it sweep over him - most birds, Bodie reckoned, turned their noses up at anything other than freshly-laundered sheets, but in truth he loved the smell of a few-days-unmade bed, whether his own or a bedmate’s. And this smell was Ray alive, was a pale shade of the sweat-and-cordite that meant Ray’s presence around him every day, now since that afternoon mixed with the spicy emanation of his own body. Bodie knew instantly that sleep would not be so elusive here, and as he felt himself relax he let his thoughts turn once more to that sketchbook, those pictures - that picture. What had Ray thought about as he drew it, Bodie wondered. Had he imagined himself watching unseen, invisible, while Bodie indulged unaware of his presence, or had he dreamed of Bodie performing willingly for him, for the pleasure of both? Not bloody likely; Ray was the exhibitionist in this partnership! A tendril of tension coiled in his gut at the idea, not unpleasantly, but there was something in the rapt, inward-turned expression on his own face in the picture that told him Ray was absent from the scene. Sort of - sad, really, in a way; didn’t look like they got together even in Ray’s imagination. Had it turned him on, though? Bodie almost laughed, picturing Ray sitting at his kitchen table, caressing the image of the naked body on the page with the pencil held in one hand while adjusting himself or rubbing comfortably at a hardening erection with the other. Randy little toad! But that was Ray all over, wasn’t it, always ready to eat the peach, that lad - fairly loved the feeling of his own body, it looked like, judging by the way he moved, the way he held himself, leaning up against a wall or the car like he was giving a come-on to the world … Grinning, Bodie stretched languorously and cupped his own genitals, feeling a faint glow of arousal. What would Ray say or do now, if he were to walk in and find Bodie making free with his bed? Would he give that dirty laugh of his, would he feign indignation, would he … Bodie knew what he would do. Stand there in the doorway for a moment, struck dumb, then try in vain to mask the heat flooding through him … and just for once, Bodie would be the one playing the wanton, the one to stretch and let the covers slip just a little, revealing the pale skin of chest and abdomen, to let Ray see by the movement beneath the covers where his hand lay, where it touched, slowly, tantalisingly … oh, this was a bad idea, the worst, the most irresistibly dangerous. With closed eyes, Bodie deliberately embraced the danger, let go and indulged.
He slept deeply and woke with a feeling of utter well-being, which lasted about as long as it took to get his eyes fully open and remember where he was and what he had done the night before. And all through the week, Bodie was … restless, not at all his usual cool calm and collected self; the still centre he had worked bloody hard to achieve was off-kilter, and he found his fingers itching for something to keep them busy in quiet moments. Work was less frenetic than usual, after the loose ends of their own op had been interrogated - with some considerable vigour on Bodie’s part - and despatched to await trial, and Cowley seemed to have altogether too much paperwork to send his way at present. His short fuse with just about everyone else on the squad may have had something to do with that … but Cowley really wasn’t being reasonable: the damn breakroom coffee machine hadn’t ever worked properly in the first place and it wouldn’t really be missed. Losing patience with it had only hastened the inevitable.
It was quiet at Ray’s flat, at least - his own current dive was over a chippie on a busy main road, something he ordinarily considered a bonus point in its favour but which irritated the hell out of him just now for some reason, so he went on spending the odd evening at Ray’s. By the third time, he began putting a bit of order into Ray’s usual chaos just to have something to do …
By the end of the week the flat was spotless and the unidentified bike parts Ray had been cleaning on the kitchen table were rust-free and gleaming. And still Bodie’s arms would suddenly ache sometimes, whenever he thought about the dirty concrete floor and the blood and Ray looking up at him - would ache to hold him, the feeling so close to actual physical sensation that Bodie took to working out in an attempt to work it out of his bones. Floor exercises in Ray’s bedroom late at night, endless pushups, situps, hell, he even tried some of Macklin’s less sadistic drills one night, and long hot showers, and still it wasn’t enough; nothing would ever dull the ache for long. Only the haven of Ray’s bed brought him any peace. He visited Ray in hospital almost daily, but could never sit still for more than a few minutes - he was over-cheerful and irritable by turns and he knew it, and he started cutting the visits short. Ray was nothing if not observant and tenacious with it, so he was bound to start asking what the hell was the matter with him …
And all that time, at work and at home, at Ray’s flat and at the hospital, Bodie’s secret sat warm and heavy in his stomach, sending tingling forays of adrenaline buzzing through him at seemingly random intervals. The secret only he knew - that Ray was in love with him. Almost certainly. Surely - surely he would never have worked so long on so many sketches, never have filled them with such intensity, if he didn’t feel … something, something big, something important. And keeping this newfound knowledge from Ray himself made it all the more powerful, gave it a kind of magnetism such that there were times he consciously had to force himself to concentrate on the job. He hugged it to himself at night, neglecting a perfectly good chance to ask out one of the nurses on Ray’s ward - not the prettiest, but one whose sure movements and steady gaze informed him that she would have no qualms about thoroughly enjoying him - and wondered instead whether he actually wanted Ray, or whether he just couldn’t resist the thought of having that stroppy little bastard at his mercy; he imagined Ray wanting him, begging him for the release that he would withhold, withhold, withhold … and then grant. It was on that thought, more than once that week, that Bodie found his own sweetest pleasure. He knew he wasn’t going to keep it from Ray indefinitely - too much depended on their being perfectly attuned - but he was only too aware that this could all go pear-shaped when it came down to it. Bodie dreaded Ray’s coming home almost as much as he longed for it.
But Bodie had never made a habit of putting off something he dreaded - especially not something he dreaded. The past ten years and more had made sure of that. So when Ray was discharged, after ushering him in and making him tea - other thoughts forgotten for a moment in the pleasure of seeing him, safe and alive, leaning back on the arm-rest with his feet tucked up on his own sofa once again - Bodie sat on the coffee table trying so hard to seem the picture of relaxation that Ray, being a suspicious little bastard, was pretty much bound to suss he was about to hear something significant. Sod it. He glanced casually at his hands and noted, almost absently, that they were not entirely steady.
“Got something I ought to tell you, mate.” Bodie ducked his head for a moment, then took a breath and looked straight at Ray. He essayed something resembling a smile. “Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”
“Going to tell me a story, then, Mum?”
Ray smiled for real, and just for a moment Bodie felt his own tension ease as he imagined a five-year-old Ray glued to Listen with Mother on the BBC Home Service.
It was the briefest of respites. Bodie opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed. “Last week. I was here, wasn’t I. Dead chuffed you were gettin’ released from solitary an’ back into general population, had enough of the bloody ICU to last me a lifetime, so I came haring on over here to sort your place out an’ I thought, I’ll just chuck a few bits in a bag for you, for when you got discharged.”
“Bit optimistic, weren’t you? Must’ve been obvious I was stuck on the ward for a week at least, couldn’t even take meself to the bog for three more days.”
“Know that. I was just - just pleased, that’s all. So - ” Bodie stopped again and looked down; vaguely hoping that inspiration would be forthcoming from somewhere - anywhere - he gazed intently at the pattern in the carpet, only to find the carpet relentlessly indifferent to his struggle to find the right words or indeed any words at all.
Ray groaned, theatrically feigning despair - “What did you do, you mad bastard, go on, you cleaned me out of whisky, trashed me record collection, what?”
“Was goin’ to sort you out some clothes, wasn’t I, clean knickers an’ all, had to get into your knicker drawer - ”
He saw every reaction as it played out on Ray’s face. The impact of real shock, almost nausea, then a look of such sadness, such utter misery that Bodie almost reached out to him only to see the shutters come down and Ray turn a deliberately blank gaze back towards him. Waiting - for the axe to fall, most likely. Bodie forgot any thought he’d had of bothering with apologies for prying - stuff that - stupid berk was hurting, and that was not to be allowed. Before he’d consciously formed the decision to move, he found he’d crossed the vast divide between them, all twelve inches separating sofa from coffee table, and as Ray shrank back against one end of the sofa Bodie collected him into his arms as if he’d been waiting all his life to do it. Ray gave a sort of strangled gasp and his hands came up to Bodie’s shoulders, pushing him away, but Bodie was having none of it - not bloody likely, not now - and held him, held him, held him, breathing in Ray alive.
“ … the fuck - ” Ray pushed at his shoulders for a moment more, struggling away from him, but Bodie tightened his grip and shook his head almost imperceptibly against Ray’s cheek, murmuring;
“Shut up. Just - just this, all right, just let me, just - ” He shook his head again. Just let me have this, just got to hold on to you for a moment, just fucking be here and be alive and let me have this …
A long time seemed to pass and Bodie realised that he was holding Ray in a close embrace and Ray was breathing harshly, radiating tension but letting it happen, one hand still resting lightly on Bodie’s shoulder while the other fell away as if even maintaining that cursory line between them were too great an effort. Bodie’s face was buried in clean hair smelling faintly of hospital shampoo, the neck beneath smelling deliciously Doyleish. He turned his face in towards the source of everything intoxicating, everything that he could not be without for a moment longer, everything that was, just in that instant, the breath of life to him. His lips were almost brushing Ray’s skin. He was holding Ray so close he felt almost short of breath himself, and the better to breathe he parted his lips unthinkingly, almost kissing him, and god, Ray’s hand - his fingers had moved, scant fractions of an inch but they were touching him now, barely brushing his neck, finding their way into his hair, from the little finger near the nape of his neck to the forefinger behind his ear, and that hint of a caress was more than enough, was too much, was everything.
Bodie let go of something cold and heavy he had been hanging on to for half a lifetime and let his own lips graze softly on Ray’s neck. Ray uttered a sound between a gasp and a moan and clutched at Bodie convulsively, his fingers clenching and relaxing, the faintest of tremors running though every limb, and Bodie felt that moment of Ray’s surrender, his helplessness, and rejoiced - but together with the expected feeling of triumph, he felt again that irresistible, impossible longing to hold Ray safe from all harm, shield him, love him - love him. Oh god. As well think of shielding a wounded tiger; but love him? Yes. He had always loved him. And suddenly Bodie felt sure, with horrible clarity, that Ray was merely fond of him and his pretty face and of what his body might be good for, while he himself had found his heart cracked wide open, unawares. Too late, too late to stop, to reconsider, no way of unknowing what he now knew. And Bodie’s touch gentled even as the thoughts were forming in his mind, and he let his lips taste Ray at last, finding his blind way across the broken cheekbone and down to that beautiful mouth - mine, you have to be, as much mine as I am yours ...
Helplessly he let himself fall into the kiss, nipping softly at Ray’s lips with his own, determined that Ray would be as drunk on this as he himself, that he wouldn’t have the chance to pull away, make light of it, tease Bodie with that sensual assurance he always flaunted. But Ray was showing no signs of wanting to draw back now; he had long since ceased any attempt to push Bodie away, was urging him closer, murmuring yes and Bodie, oh fuck, Bodie, what - seemingly quite unaware of the half-moans and sounds of hunger he was making with an unselfconscious delight that filled Bodie with irresistible hope. Not alone in this, not alone …
Ray was carding through his hair with one hand now, running the other over his shoulder and down his arm, and then he was slipping down against the arm and back of the sofa until he was nearly prone, and he was pulling Bodie towards him. Bodie almost went, would have been content to sprawl on top of him, but part of him wanted to savour this - not to mention punish Ray a little for putting him through hell by damn near dying a week ago. He drew back just a fraction, ignoring Ray’s incoherent murmur of protest, and made enough space between them to run his own right hand firmly down Ray’s side. Ray twisted towards him, and Bodie lost no time in sliding his hand further back over that delectable arse - Ray gasped - and dipping his fingers unambiguously under the waist of the tracksuit trousers he’d picked out himself for convalescent wear.
Ray repaid his efforts by letting his head fall back helplessly, his legs moving apart seemingly of their own volition, and Bodie, exultant, kept up a relentless assault of kisses across his face and mouth while his hand teased and tormented, back and forth, shoving the tracksuit aside and sweeping down and then back up the soft skin of inner thigh, stroking firmly and then brushing with the lightest of fingertip touches across arse and balls until Ray was arching towards him, breathing raggedly, finally mouthing “please” against Bodie’s lips; and then with a rush of triumph and tenderness at once grasping Ray’s rigid prick and giving him one, two - barely three firm strokes and Ray was coming, with a moan that sounded as if it had been wrenched out of him, jerking and clutching at Bodie’s shoulders. Equally determined that Ray should have no doubts about his own feelings in this, no chance to fear that Bodie was playing him in his vulnerability, Bodie gathered him in once more and went on gently kissing and tasting Ray’s neck and throat while he recovered his breath.
But it seemed that either he had succeeded in this or else Ray had no such fears. His eyes, when he opened them again, were alight with both mischief and contentment, and he moved a steady hand to grasp at Bodie through his cords. It was Bodie’s turn to tense, to look a question at Ray, and Ray’s to pull his head down for another kiss - not so gentle this time. Bodie felt desire flare higher in response; undeniable, astonishing, wonderful, Ray wanted him, wanted him, wanted to - . “I’m pretty much all healed up, y’know. Fancy moving this to the bed?” Bodie’s breath caught; he was hard, burning, but he couldn’t speak, for the first time in years he found himself unable to make a move. Ray’s voice dropped all teasing as he added “It’ll be all right, mate. You’ll see.”
Still Bodie hesitated, frozen. Ray’s eyes were fixed on his own, and he had a momentary impulse to close his or look away because Ray was going to look inside, see right inside him and he would know … But Ray went on, his voice low, soft, soothing. Bodie thought of wounded tigers, and tried to unlock the fingers clutching at Ray’s shoulder.
“Thought you’d hand me my head, you know, if I ever let on, the sketches - ”
“Probably would have done if you’d been there when I found ’em, but - ” But last time I held you, you were dying. And now I know it would have killed me.
Their faces were close together, almost touching, hands unmoving, barely breathing, here in the small still centre of the world. Ray’s voice was almost a murmur, but every word was as clear and clean as the soft click of a safety coming off. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”
White-hot, boiling through him instantly. To pin Ray down, to hold him, have him, fuck him, make him his. Because god help him, he was already Ray’s. Dry-mouthed, Bodie still managed to choke out “Do you want that?”
“Almost nothing I’d like more, mate. But it has to go both ways, you know that. I can’t be your - ”
“Don’t want you to be.” Bodie swallowed, and forced himself to speak the truth. “Goes both ways. Us.”
Ray took a breath, blinked, broke the stillness with a smile so beautiful Bodie thought he might never look away. “Come on, then.”
Once they’d made it to Ray’s bedroom, however, Bodie’s courage stuttered and threatened to desert him altogether. He wanted this - god how he wanted it - ah, but that was just it, wasn’t it. For years he had known exactly what he was doing - in bed as everywhere else - the inner core of himself rigidly under control for so long the armour was fused to the skin and he scarcely knew he wore it. No-one was supposed to catch on a chink in it anywhere, no-one was supposed to drag at his heels - it was seamless, nothing to crack wide open. People disappeared; friends, family, lovers, they left you or you left them and they never came after you. Why should they? What did he have that anyone could love, that anyone could want for more than a passing fancy? And he wouldn’t want anyone to come after him anyway. Let someone in and you could crack open if you lost them, it would hurt, the quick exposed - perhaps too much to bear. Perhaps it might be fatal.
But Ray was already inside, already meant too much. Bodie was terrified now of his own inexperience - Ray mattered, and Ray knew what he was doing - could he tell that Bodie didn’t, would he be disappointed, would he… Hell, how could Bodie, how could anyone live up to the beauty and intensity of that damn drawing! But Ray, thank god, was not being reassuring now and clearly couldn’t give a toss about Bodie’s misgivings; he rummaged in the bedside drawer and shoved a tube into Bodie’s hand with an urgency that Bodie paradoxically found calming, muttering “Come on, come on for fuck’s sake, ’m dyin’ here, just bloody get into me, will you!”
Bodie’s hesitancy burned away in the face of Ray’s so unashamedly, openly wanting him and for a moment all he knew, all he cared about was that he was hot and hard as a bar of new-forged iron; he was on fire with it and oh, he was going to bury himself in Ray, in Ray, oh christ … He spooned up behind Ray, his right hand free to smooth the slick, silky stuff over himself, into the cleft of Ray’s arse, around the rim and into the ring of muscle, slip-sliding away again through Ray’s legs from behind to tease swiftly at his cock from root to tip and back, he found himself smearing it everywhere and Ray was writhing like an eel in a net … but not helpless, no, not being forced because he wanted this, Ray would do, would let him do anything … Bodie licked a wide swathe from shoulderblade to the lovely meeting of shoulder and neck, all open to him, all his, and held Ray fast with his teeth, gripping just so … and Ray shuddered, and his voice was cracking and he wasn’t asking, he was bloody well giving orders, “… now, you bastard, now!”
License my roving hands … O my America!, Bodie wanted to laugh, this was so insanely good, and he was going to make Ray wait for it just a moment more … the sensation of his hand gliding so easily over cock and balls and arse, dipping inside at random until Ray was cursing, demanding, almost begging, hard again, and oh the sound of his voice, husky and almost harsh with wanting … Just one last time now, slick and slippery, over his own cock again, and suddenly he couldn’t stay outside that gorgeous, glistening arse a moment longer and he was pushing forward, pushing slowly inside as if he were falling in slow motion, terrified and exhilarated, almost afraid to breathe. He eased forward in a tortuously slow advance, desperate to thrust home and yet somehow unable to move beyond a snail’s pace, and all the while Ray swore at him and laughed, and urged him on to more, and harder, and faster, and what did he think Ray was, made of china?
Feeling Ray struggle to thrust back, Bodie realised belatedly that with his right arm between Ray’s legs, holding the uppermost thigh in an unyielding grip, and the other pinning his shoulder to the bed, Ray was genuinely helpless, as much so as if Bodie had been using the wrestling hold this so resembled. Can’t let go - what if he - A tiny part of Bodie’s mind registered the fact that he was behaving as if he had a tiger by the tail, and that the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside him at the thought was as much the product of nervousness as of happiness. For a moment he was afraid that he might ruin everything, even now, if he lost control and fucked Ray too hard too soon. Or if he laughed. Or if he cried.
And again Ray saved him, almost as if he knew what Bodie needed better than Bodie did himself, relaxing so that his body seemed almost to draw Bodie in and telling him in broken fragments of words that this was good, that this was right, was what he wanted, that Bodie was who he wanted, who he loved. And Bodie slackened his iron grip at last, every movement becoming fluid and assured, suddenly full of the warm, beautiful knowledge that Ray trusted him to find his way across unknown ground, to know where Ray was and meet him there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The front door shut swung behind them as they left, with the solid thump that somehow spoke unmistakeably of a flat left empty and at peace for the day. The normally silent corridor was suddenly full of the sound of stifled laughter, clattering shoes and scuffling trainers as Bodie struggled valiantly to half-inch Ray’s car-keys out of a front jeans pocket he knew perfectly well had never held them (keys had a way of digging into the jewels at awkward moments) but that wasn’t going to stop Bodie conducting a thorough search. They stopped for a moment just inside the street door, bright sunlight streaming into the hallway though the coloured diamonds of the fanlight and tiger-striping them both, and Bodie was left momentarily breathless by the blaze of love in green eyes looking unguardedly into his own.
Bodie smiled. Because long and hot though their working day promised to be, Ray was back on the active list - yes, go on luv, you show ’em, you show the bastards! - and they would be working together once more. And when work was over for the day they would be hitting the pubs together - or maybe the men’s Bathing Pond on the Heath, now that would be a treat on a hot summer’s evening, Ray all pale gold in the slanting sunlight … and then they would be heading back to the flat that Cowley, citing the economy (whatever his unspoken reasons) had no objection to their sharing - and coming home. Together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Picture This
Author: Heliophile
Slash or Gen: slash, always.
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes
Disclaimer: Much to my regret, The Professionals are not mine but the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. Bodie and Doyle are definitely not mine - believe me, I would have noticed - which clearly indicates that something is Seriously Wrong with the order of the universe.