Eternity
This is a new Pros story.
Eternity by longstrt
Follows: Fall Girl
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William Andrew Philip Bodie thrust the weapon at his long time partner, Ray Doyle and stalked off - - not out of the curly-haired man's life or so he thought, but for the next week the ex-merc saw nothing of his partner.
Bodie had been hurt by the seeming betrayal of Marikka and Doyle. Seeing the two together had killed something inside and the thrust of the rifle had been just one manifestation of his pain, but, as so many other times, he expected the "Atlas" who bore the guilt of the world to come to his flat, and they would talk, but it hadn't happened.
Marikka was dead, mourned in East Germany and mourned in Bodie's heart, but not as deeply as the possible loss of the one true relationship that he valued above all others - - his friendship, his partnership with that scrawny, pain in the gorgeous arse, Raymond Doyle.
Why hadn't Doyle gotten in touch with him? Each and every day for a week, Bodie had expected to see the scrawny crud at headquarters. Cowley had been more close-mouthed than usual, merely stating that Doyle was on another assignment. It was not until day seven of the notable absence of the green-eyed imp that the bombshell dropped.
It had been several years since Bodie had gone solo, and he found that he was no longer comfortable doing so. Driving Cowley, doing records, and obbo work were not any fun without the snarky sod known as Raymond Doyle. They needed to talk, but how could they when Doyle chose to keep his carcass hidden?
Bodie found himself slurping his tea in the notable absence of the King Slurper. A sad smile crossed his handsome face as he realized how much he missed the simple sound that his friend made so often while enjoying a cuppa. The rest room was strangely quiet until Colin Murphy wandered in and promptly went over to explore the possibility that some sort of food might be available.
With his back to Bodie, Murphy didn't notice Bodie's penetrating gaze until the taller man turned and almost jumped as he saw the glaring ex-merc.
"Bodie, didn't know you were around."
"Been avoidin' me, sunshine?"
Looking guiltier than a pugilist with his knickers down, Colin Murphy tried to look innocent as he carefully edged his way towards the door. "Me, avoidin' you, Bodie? You know better."
"Where's Doyle?"
"Did you ask the Cow?"
"All he'd say was on assignment. Where is he?"
Murphy's big brown eyes looked mournfully at the now aggressive ex-para and replied, "In his office I guess; doesn't keep me informed."
With a voice that would freeze a tank in the desert, Bodie replied, "Not Cowley, you crud; I meant Doyle."
"Oh, how would I know?"
"'Cause you keep yourself well-posted on all the news; now where is he?"
"Well, I . . . I did hear that he was out doing some undercover work at some club or something. Anson was talking about being assigned to the Buggy Boo so don't ask me more'n that . . . sides, I heard that you and Ray had a . . . uh, disagreement or somethin' so maybe he's just doin' his job."
Bodie stood so quickly he almost knocked himself over as he rushed to grab Murphy, but the younger man was too fast for him and was out the door before anything could happen.
Unfortunately the rest of the day was spent in escort duty, but by nightfall, Bodie had traced the whereabouts of the Buggy Boo and approached it with caution. Opening the door, he was promptly overwhelmed by one of Anson's many cigars. Coughing, Bodie waved his hands to no avail. He wasn't an ex-soldier for nothing, however, and promptly overcame his desire to throttle Anson because of the need for information.
"Oi, Bodie. You finally got here? I was expectin' you a couple of days ago; guess them rumours about you and Ray are true?"
"What rumours, Anson? I've been busy, and Doyle's on assignment."
"Ta, if you want it to be like that. After all, it's not my partner who's doin' his thing in the PINK PETAL ENTERTAINMENT LOUNGE." Anson's emphasis was accompanied by the most lascivious leer that Bodie had ever seen.
"That's the undercover work that Doyle's doin'?"
"Yeah, gives a whole new meanin' to undercover work IF you get my drift."
At that moment, Martin Stuart entered the van and stopped the mayhem that was about to break out between Anson and 3.7. "Boys, boys, Cowley will not be happy if this little obbo draws more attention than the goings on in The Pink Petal. Control yourselves."
Bodie drew back, running his fingers across his throat in a pantomime of slitting someone's throat. "What's goin' on in The Pink Petal?"
Anson's eyeballs rolled back in his head as if he had never heard such naiveté but said nothing for fear of 3.7's retribution. Stuart was made of stronger stuff. Clearing his throat, he replied. "Well, Doyle is trying to lure a certain bad boy named Camille Dornier into committing some naughties so that we can take him in custody. It seems that the said Mr. Dornier likes young men of the scrawny . . . er, slender persuasion, and Ray fits the qualifications to perfection."
The super-satisfied smirk that Stuart wore for all of three seconds almost got him a facer from Bodie's fist, but the ex-merc held back. His heart was pumping rapidly and his stomach was doing flipflops as he thought of Doyle dealing with some pervert!
"Who else you got inside, backing Doyle up?"
"Weeellll, Murph has been acting as one of his . . . uh, dates and so has Lewis."
"MURPHY! I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I asked him what was goin' on, and he said nothin'."
"Well, don't blame him; he just got put on the job 'cause 4.5 couldn't keep a straight face when Lewis approached him with his come on."
"Well, I should think so." Bodie huffed around the van, feeling like slugging someone or something then, he whirled and stared at the other two agents, "Has Doyle had any bites?" Realizing the connotations of what he had just asked, he quickly changed the question to, "Has Dornier shown up yet?"
Stuart had the grace to blush, but Anson announced proudly, "You kiddin'? He's in there now with our boy, and they're gettin' on famously!" At that point Anson stopped, realizing what he had said and what the implications were. Contrary to popular opinion, Anson was a lot faster than what CI5 thought, he managed to duck Bodie's thrusting fist as it hit the side of the van.
"Watch what yer doin', 3.7; this van in't paid for."
The cigar that suddenly smashed into Anson's face smothered the smirk that occupied it. Apparently the cigar-devotee had never swallowed half of a cigar before so it was a whole new experience for him. Fortunately, William Bodie was out of the van and on his way to The Pink Petal.
By the time that he reached there, however, Raymond Doyle was gone. He and his target had left during the "cigar" dust-up. The ex-merc was livid. Rushing back to the Buggy Boo he was forbidden entrance. Anson was continuing to gag but Stuart had had the presence of mind to call Alpha One and inform him of the loose cannon that was threatening to destroy the whole operation.
Within moments a few "select" words from George Cowley's silver tongue had "calmed" his agent, and the rest of the operation went well. By 3:00 am, Camille Dornier was in custody, and Raymond Doyle was writing his report, not much the worse for wear except for a few bruised, scuffed knuckles due to a well-timed punch as the "pervert" attempted to get fresh.
Cowley had informed his agent that he would be needed for the debriefing of Dornier later that same day so Doyle took off for his flat in hopes that this would forestall Cowley demanding further work from him.
Raymond Doyle had had a terrible week. First, he had had the fiasco with Bodie over Marikka Schumann. Then, he had seen the hate and the terrible hurt in Bodie's eyes as he thrust the rifle into his chest, and, finally, Cowley had put him on this op to expose a real sicko. Normally, Doyle didn't mind undercover ops because he knew he had Bodie covering his back, but now he wasn't sure about anything to do with Bodie.
Every part of his body ached as Doyle climbed the stairs to his flat. All he wanted now was to climb into a hot bath, have a drink and get some sack time. Instead what he got was the figure of William Andrew Philip Bodie standing at the top of the stairs, seething in magnificent fury.
BDBDBDBDBDBD
For the life of him, Raymond Doyle didn't know what to say to his long time partner. He wasn't afraid of Bodie but the black look on the ex-merc's face must have been the same one that he had worn in his earlier military days. Doyle had known that Bodie had been angry with him after his supposed betrayal during the Marikka op, but he had hoped that the absence of a week had made 3.7's heart grow fonder. Apparently, that hadn't worked.
Doyle approached the door to his flat, coming almost eyeball to eyeball with his partner. The situation reminded the curly-haired agent of those moments on the tower when Bodie's anger had been so great that he had not spoken, merely thrusting the rifle at his traitorous partner.
Green eyes widened as they stared into the deepest blue eyes on earth. Waiting for the avalanche of anger to hit him, Doyle stood his ground, but nothing happened. Doyle could see the effort that Bodie was making to hold back his temper. A slight shiver ran through the slender man as he remembered the fury that Bodie had unleashed early in their partnership when he and Bodie had prevented the assassination of a Greek dignitary.
Raymond Doyle understood what Bodie's temper could do. It was true that the big man did not unleash his emotions very often, and Doyle had seldom been on the receiving end, but he was definitely the target this time. Thinking of nothing to say, Doyle went with, "Wanna a beer?"
THAT unleashed the avalanche. Following Doyle into the quiet flat, Bodie began his diatribe on the less than intelligent behaviour of his partner. Doyle's brains were called into question more than once and his questionable conduct had been denigrated numerous times. If Bodie had not needed to breathe, the explosion would probably have made that little episode in Pompeii look like a mere hiccup, but Doyle was able to jump into the conversation as Bodie took a much needed breath.
"I'm not going to apologise, mate, for doin' me job. If you don't like what I do, then complain to Cowley or tell him how to run the world. I don't always like it, but I do me job so back off!"
Suddenly, Bodie seemed to rein in his anger. Doyle's words didn't make much of an impression, but the hint that he complain to Cowley did. Sighing Bodie walked to the door, but quickly turned and, with a snarl, bellowed out, "I didn't know you were such a devoted follower of George that you'd do anything the man told you to. Did he tell you to lean back and think of England when you were with Dornier . . . or maybe he didn't have to tell you that?"
Doyle stood frozen. What was Bodie talking about? 4.5 had thought Bodie was here because he was still angry about Marikka and just using the Dornier incident as an excuse? "What are you blatherin' about, mate?"
The deep blue eyes pierced the gloomy room as Bodie whispered in a voice colder than the Arctic, "You know bloody well what I'm talkin' about. I was in the Buggy Boo tryin' to find out what my so-called partner was doin', and I heard all about you gettin' friendly
with Dornier.
"I WAS DOIN' ME JOB!"
The look on Bodie's face was one of total disbelief. His smirk and sarcastic smile spoke volumes. "Oh come on, Doyle, just how far did you let it go before you put the cuffs on him?"
Hurt lashed through Doyle's slender body. In the almost four years that the men had been partnered, Bodie had never before thrown his bi-sexuality at him. They had accepted each other's pasts and had put their friendship first; now that all seemed to be gone.
"For your information, I gave him a facer without giving my all for Queen and country, you moron. Now I would appreciate it if you'd get the hell out of here. I'm tired."
Doyle turned to walk into the bedroom, but was stopped by a large calloused hand. Bristling, Doyle shook off the hand rapidly. Turning to launch an attack on his partner, Doyle stopped as he saw a strange . . . rare look of emotion on the dark-haired man's face.
The two men continued to stand in each other's personal space; the tension so thick that a London fog would have been easier to navigate.
In a voice, hesitant and insecure, Bodie asked, "Ray, why din't you tell me about your undercover job? I could have been your cover; you didn't need Murph."
"Why didn't I tell you? Didn't have a choice. Cowley thought you might not be feelin' so kind towards me after Marikka, so he had me go solo. That look on the tower near froze me."
The dark eyes dropped as 3.7 looked down at the floor. "Din't trust you much right then, but I din't . . . don't hate you. Never could."
One of Doyle's curls drooped onto his forehead. Taking one slender finger he pushed it back then took a step back as if to give the two men breathing room. "Wanna a cuppa?"
Bodie nodded, breathing deeply. Maybe the friendship wasn't totally broken.
"Ray, you okay then . . . I mean what with Dornier and everything?"
Doyle said nothing, but the tension had somehow decreased, allowing Bodie to let out a sigh of relief. Following his partner into the small kitchen, Bodie helped prepare the tea things then the two men collapsed into the large sitting room chairs with their mugs in hand.
Doyle took up the conversation as if it never had stopped. "Didn't care for his smelly breath all over me, but nothin' happened, wouldn't let it. 'Sides, Murph was right there murmuring sweets in me ear every once in awhile."
It was obvious by Bodie's face that Doyle had said the wrong thing, but he didn't know why. The temperature had dropped again by several degrees, and the look on the normally imperturbable face showed hurt or something that seemed a near relative.
"What's wrong, mate?"
"How come Murph?"
"What?"
"How come Cowley chose Murph; thought Lewis was working with you?"
A naughty gleam entered the emerald orbs. "Couldn't keep a straight face when Lewis tried a come on. Lewis complained and Murphy took over."
"Yeah, that's what Murph said, but I didn't believe him. Everybody knows how he feels about you."
The slender, muscular body took on a new tension as Doyle sat forward on the settee. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh come off it, sunshine. Everybody knows that Murph would like to have a small cuddle with you." Leering at the gorgeous form of his partner, Bodie continued, "Well maybe not such a small one."
"You're daft! Me and Murph are just good friends, just like WE are!"
Once again the temperature plummeted and Doyle didn't know why. Bodie's midnight blue eyes were colder than the North Atlantic and so was his voice. "So, that's all I am, am I - - a good friend?"
For a moment Doyle let his tongue run over his cupid's bow lips, not sure what was the correct thing to say. Bodie was everything to him - - life itself, but in the past few weeks, he had angered Bodie, and Doyle was no longer sure how much Bodie still wanted to be his friend.
"Of course, you're not just me good friend. You're my partner and a whole lot more; just know that you don't care for all those mushy sentiments so I'm tryin' to keep me words in check."
Instead of nodding his understanding or agreement, Bodie seemed to be even more withdrawn after the words. In that curiously fragile, insecure voice that he brought out at deeply emotional times, Bodie uttered the question that shook Doyle to the core.
"Since when don't you trust me enough, to say whatever you're feelin'?"
**Since you thrust that rifle at me, after Marikka.** After Marikka had become insidious in their partnership. Doyle continued to stare at his friend, trying to figure out how to express the very real fear that he had felt when Marikka Schumann had re-entered Bodie's life.
"Bodie, I trust you. You have to know that, but I know I hurt you over the Marikka op, and I didn't want to tramp all over your feelins' after what happened that's all."
Bodie was not given to feeling sorry for himself, but it didn't take his closest friend to realize the pain and anguish that accompanied the next words, "Did you think that Marikka was . . . was more important to me than my own partner?"
Doyle inhaled a deep breath that caught in his throat; he coughed, trying to stop the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. **Could Bodie actually think more of him than his former lover?**
Moisture caused the emerald orbs to sparkle, but Doyle said nothing; his heart was in his throat, blocking the words. The tall, ex-merc suddenly stood and headed towards the door. With his back to Doyle, he murmured, "Guess I got me answer."
With a speed that was desperate, the curly-haired man reached the door before his friend. Looking up into desolate eyes, Doyle asked, "You abandoning me, mate?"
"Thought you'd already done that, sunshine."
With a small, fleeting smile, 4.5 replied to the man who meant everything to him, "Not for a long time, if ever, mate."
The ex-para stood staring into the green eyes he knew so well, trying to read the message there. Suddenly, he didn't have to read it because the two luscious lips that had lured him for years were caressing his own and a gentle tongue was probing for entrance into his mouth. The kiss was everything that Bodie had hoped for. Both men were breathless when they broke apart.
Normally, Bodie was the most modest man in the world, when it came to clothes but today he had been so angry that he had permitted his shirt to have a small opening at the neckline. That opening soon became the target of Doyle's voracious mouth. Within seconds the neck, throat, and chest of his partner had become the nuzzling ground of the gorgeous, slender agent.
A few strategically loosened buttons led to small brown nipples exposed to further exploration by the most sensuous mouth in all Great Britain. Bodie's mind was reeling and his cock was fishing as well. With supreme effort, Bodie managed to bring a little sanity to the goings-on by reaching down and taking the lips into an incredible kiss that left the older man in a total stupor.
Pulling his partner down onto the settee, Bodie pushed Doyle back to a more horizontal position asking, "Ray, you sure about this? We've been partners a long time; why now? You're not trying to make up for Marikka, are you?"
Doyle looked faintly bemused, asking in a slurred voice, "Do I have to make it up to you for Marikka?"
A brief smile crossed the handsome merc's face as he shook his head no then his eyes hardened as he replied, "BUT, you've got to promise me to never do another stupid thing like going into an op like that Dornier thing without me."
Doyle looked so innocent and angelic, but his tongue was like a viper. "But, Bodie, Murph was there!"
Bodie pushed off the settee, straightening his clothes. Once again Doyle sat up planning to use his body to block the door, but the large frame of William Andrew Philip Bodie stopped on the way to the door and whirled to face his partner. "You ever" . . . here Bodie stopped the emotion seeming to overcome him, "you ever do that again, and so help me I'm out of here for good."
Puzzlement crossed Doyle's beautiful face. "Do what again? Murph was just my back up!"
"Weren't you listenin' to me earlier? Murph has the hots for you. Haven't you ever noticed how they all look at that bum of yours? They all want you. Why do you think that I insist we take showers separately? Those guys don't drop their soap 'cause they're clumsy!"
Doyle's laughter filled the room then his arms circled the narrow waist of his partner and best friend. "You're jealous!"
For a moment blue eyes stared then a whispered "Yes," was heard. For the next several minutes the two men were entangled in an embrace that threatened to overwhelm them. Finally, Doyle whispered, "Let's take this to the bedroom."
For a moment, Bodie seemed to balk at the suggestion then he nodded carefully and slowly. His errant left eyebrow shot up into his forehead, "What we goin' to do in there, mate?"
Doyle licked his lips as he peered at his friend from under his curls. "Now what you think . . . sleep, of course."
Bodie laughed quietly. "I'm not anxious to hear you snorin', angelfish. Can get a 100 piece orchestra that's quieter."
The scrawny body launched an attack that carried the two men into the bedroom and onto the bed. Within minutes, Bodie was naked, thanks to some strategic tickling to parts of his body that only Doyle knew were vulnerable. The two men were breathing heavily as if they'd run a marathon. Doyle, on his knees, pulled back to stare at the gorgeous creature that lay sprawled on the bed. The room was dark, but had enough light to see the plum coloured cock leaking fluid.
"Hmmm! Delicious."
The ex-copper smiled lasciviously then stepped back off the bed. Slowly and sensuously he began removing his clothes. There wasn't a stripper in the business who could compete with the display that Raymond Doyle was putting on. Bodie's tongue was practically hanging out. Doyle had to move further away from the bed to keep out of the range of the grabbing hands of his best mate.
Finally, Doyle stood au naturel, in all of his glory. William Andrew Philip Bodie had a feast, first visually and then for consumption. Doyle's erection was promptly swallowed, milking the slender figure dry, before Doyle flipped over on his stomach so that his lover could enter his demanding body.
Within moments, it was over but the two men clung together contented and satiated. Pulling the duvet over the sticky bodies that were covered with semen and sweat, they slept, holding each other securely.
Several hours later, they awoke, smiling at each other. Fearing a Doyle guilt coming out, Bodie began to nuzzle his partner's throat as he whispered, "Like that, did ya?"
"Hmmm! It was okay."
Bodie immediately sat up, indignity on his handsome face. "What you mean, me birds have given me outstanding marks for that lovin'."
A smirk of doubt crossed the marred face, "Only one event; can't really judge. Need more to go on."
A twinkle entered the blue eyes. "How much more evidence ya need, sunshine?"
"Don't know; let's start with 50 years and go on from there."
The ex-merc's eyebrow flew up again, "50 years . . . 50 years, you goin' to throw me over when I'm 83?"
"Won't you still be tall, dark, and handsome and engagingly modest?"
"Of course, mate, but what about you?"
For the next several minutes, a pillow fight broke out that was finally put to rest when the two exhausted bodies collapsed with groins pressing to each other. A gentle rhythm began which resulted in a cataclysmic orgasm. Finishing off the climax with a lingering kiss, Doyle laid his head on the heaving chest for a moment as if to recuperate then he lifted his head and looked lovingly at Bodie's tired face.
"Changed my mind, mate. 50 years won't be near enough, have to be . . . eternity."
Moisture appeared in the deep blue eyes as Bodie whispered before kissing the lips he loved, "Not even that will be long enough, love."
________________________
The End
Eternity by longstrt
Follows: Fall Girl
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William Andrew Philip Bodie thrust the weapon at his long time partner, Ray Doyle and stalked off - - not out of the curly-haired man's life or so he thought, but for the next week the ex-merc saw nothing of his partner.
Bodie had been hurt by the seeming betrayal of Marikka and Doyle. Seeing the two together had killed something inside and the thrust of the rifle had been just one manifestation of his pain, but, as so many other times, he expected the "Atlas" who bore the guilt of the world to come to his flat, and they would talk, but it hadn't happened.
Marikka was dead, mourned in East Germany and mourned in Bodie's heart, but not as deeply as the possible loss of the one true relationship that he valued above all others - - his friendship, his partnership with that scrawny, pain in the gorgeous arse, Raymond Doyle.
Why hadn't Doyle gotten in touch with him? Each and every day for a week, Bodie had expected to see the scrawny crud at headquarters. Cowley had been more close-mouthed than usual, merely stating that Doyle was on another assignment. It was not until day seven of the notable absence of the green-eyed imp that the bombshell dropped.
It had been several years since Bodie had gone solo, and he found that he was no longer comfortable doing so. Driving Cowley, doing records, and obbo work were not any fun without the snarky sod known as Raymond Doyle. They needed to talk, but how could they when Doyle chose to keep his carcass hidden?
Bodie found himself slurping his tea in the notable absence of the King Slurper. A sad smile crossed his handsome face as he realized how much he missed the simple sound that his friend made so often while enjoying a cuppa. The rest room was strangely quiet until Colin Murphy wandered in and promptly went over to explore the possibility that some sort of food might be available.
With his back to Bodie, Murphy didn't notice Bodie's penetrating gaze until the taller man turned and almost jumped as he saw the glaring ex-merc.
"Bodie, didn't know you were around."
"Been avoidin' me, sunshine?"
Looking guiltier than a pugilist with his knickers down, Colin Murphy tried to look innocent as he carefully edged his way towards the door. "Me, avoidin' you, Bodie? You know better."
"Where's Doyle?"
"Did you ask the Cow?"
"All he'd say was on assignment. Where is he?"
Murphy's big brown eyes looked mournfully at the now aggressive ex-para and replied, "In his office I guess; doesn't keep me informed."
With a voice that would freeze a tank in the desert, Bodie replied, "Not Cowley, you crud; I meant Doyle."
"Oh, how would I know?"
"'Cause you keep yourself well-posted on all the news; now where is he?"
"Well, I . . . I did hear that he was out doing some undercover work at some club or something. Anson was talking about being assigned to the Buggy Boo so don't ask me more'n that . . . sides, I heard that you and Ray had a . . . uh, disagreement or somethin' so maybe he's just doin' his job."
Bodie stood so quickly he almost knocked himself over as he rushed to grab Murphy, but the younger man was too fast for him and was out the door before anything could happen.
Unfortunately the rest of the day was spent in escort duty, but by nightfall, Bodie had traced the whereabouts of the Buggy Boo and approached it with caution. Opening the door, he was promptly overwhelmed by one of Anson's many cigars. Coughing, Bodie waved his hands to no avail. He wasn't an ex-soldier for nothing, however, and promptly overcame his desire to throttle Anson because of the need for information.
"Oi, Bodie. You finally got here? I was expectin' you a couple of days ago; guess them rumours about you and Ray are true?"
"What rumours, Anson? I've been busy, and Doyle's on assignment."
"Ta, if you want it to be like that. After all, it's not my partner who's doin' his thing in the PINK PETAL ENTERTAINMENT LOUNGE." Anson's emphasis was accompanied by the most lascivious leer that Bodie had ever seen.
"That's the undercover work that Doyle's doin'?"
"Yeah, gives a whole new meanin' to undercover work IF you get my drift."
At that moment, Martin Stuart entered the van and stopped the mayhem that was about to break out between Anson and 3.7. "Boys, boys, Cowley will not be happy if this little obbo draws more attention than the goings on in The Pink Petal. Control yourselves."
Bodie drew back, running his fingers across his throat in a pantomime of slitting someone's throat. "What's goin' on in The Pink Petal?"
Anson's eyeballs rolled back in his head as if he had never heard such naiveté but said nothing for fear of 3.7's retribution. Stuart was made of stronger stuff. Clearing his throat, he replied. "Well, Doyle is trying to lure a certain bad boy named Camille Dornier into committing some naughties so that we can take him in custody. It seems that the said Mr. Dornier likes young men of the scrawny . . . er, slender persuasion, and Ray fits the qualifications to perfection."
The super-satisfied smirk that Stuart wore for all of three seconds almost got him a facer from Bodie's fist, but the ex-merc held back. His heart was pumping rapidly and his stomach was doing flipflops as he thought of Doyle dealing with some pervert!
"Who else you got inside, backing Doyle up?"
"Weeellll, Murph has been acting as one of his . . . uh, dates and so has Lewis."
"MURPHY! I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I asked him what was goin' on, and he said nothin'."
"Well, don't blame him; he just got put on the job 'cause 4.5 couldn't keep a straight face when Lewis approached him with his come on."
"Well, I should think so." Bodie huffed around the van, feeling like slugging someone or something then, he whirled and stared at the other two agents, "Has Doyle had any bites?" Realizing the connotations of what he had just asked, he quickly changed the question to, "Has Dornier shown up yet?"
Stuart had the grace to blush, but Anson announced proudly, "You kiddin'? He's in there now with our boy, and they're gettin' on famously!" At that point Anson stopped, realizing what he had said and what the implications were. Contrary to popular opinion, Anson was a lot faster than what CI5 thought, he managed to duck Bodie's thrusting fist as it hit the side of the van.
"Watch what yer doin', 3.7; this van in't paid for."
The cigar that suddenly smashed into Anson's face smothered the smirk that occupied it. Apparently the cigar-devotee had never swallowed half of a cigar before so it was a whole new experience for him. Fortunately, William Bodie was out of the van and on his way to The Pink Petal.
By the time that he reached there, however, Raymond Doyle was gone. He and his target had left during the "cigar" dust-up. The ex-merc was livid. Rushing back to the Buggy Boo he was forbidden entrance. Anson was continuing to gag but Stuart had had the presence of mind to call Alpha One and inform him of the loose cannon that was threatening to destroy the whole operation.
Within moments a few "select" words from George Cowley's silver tongue had "calmed" his agent, and the rest of the operation went well. By 3:00 am, Camille Dornier was in custody, and Raymond Doyle was writing his report, not much the worse for wear except for a few bruised, scuffed knuckles due to a well-timed punch as the "pervert" attempted to get fresh.
Cowley had informed his agent that he would be needed for the debriefing of Dornier later that same day so Doyle took off for his flat in hopes that this would forestall Cowley demanding further work from him.
Raymond Doyle had had a terrible week. First, he had had the fiasco with Bodie over Marikka Schumann. Then, he had seen the hate and the terrible hurt in Bodie's eyes as he thrust the rifle into his chest, and, finally, Cowley had put him on this op to expose a real sicko. Normally, Doyle didn't mind undercover ops because he knew he had Bodie covering his back, but now he wasn't sure about anything to do with Bodie.
Every part of his body ached as Doyle climbed the stairs to his flat. All he wanted now was to climb into a hot bath, have a drink and get some sack time. Instead what he got was the figure of William Andrew Philip Bodie standing at the top of the stairs, seething in magnificent fury.
BDBDBDBDBDBD
For the life of him, Raymond Doyle didn't know what to say to his long time partner. He wasn't afraid of Bodie but the black look on the ex-merc's face must have been the same one that he had worn in his earlier military days. Doyle had known that Bodie had been angry with him after his supposed betrayal during the Marikka op, but he had hoped that the absence of a week had made 3.7's heart grow fonder. Apparently, that hadn't worked.
Doyle approached the door to his flat, coming almost eyeball to eyeball with his partner. The situation reminded the curly-haired agent of those moments on the tower when Bodie's anger had been so great that he had not spoken, merely thrusting the rifle at his traitorous partner.
Green eyes widened as they stared into the deepest blue eyes on earth. Waiting for the avalanche of anger to hit him, Doyle stood his ground, but nothing happened. Doyle could see the effort that Bodie was making to hold back his temper. A slight shiver ran through the slender man as he remembered the fury that Bodie had unleashed early in their partnership when he and Bodie had prevented the assassination of a Greek dignitary.
Raymond Doyle understood what Bodie's temper could do. It was true that the big man did not unleash his emotions very often, and Doyle had seldom been on the receiving end, but he was definitely the target this time. Thinking of nothing to say, Doyle went with, "Wanna a beer?"
THAT unleashed the avalanche. Following Doyle into the quiet flat, Bodie began his diatribe on the less than intelligent behaviour of his partner. Doyle's brains were called into question more than once and his questionable conduct had been denigrated numerous times. If Bodie had not needed to breathe, the explosion would probably have made that little episode in Pompeii look like a mere hiccup, but Doyle was able to jump into the conversation as Bodie took a much needed breath.
"I'm not going to apologise, mate, for doin' me job. If you don't like what I do, then complain to Cowley or tell him how to run the world. I don't always like it, but I do me job so back off!"
Suddenly, Bodie seemed to rein in his anger. Doyle's words didn't make much of an impression, but the hint that he complain to Cowley did. Sighing Bodie walked to the door, but quickly turned and, with a snarl, bellowed out, "I didn't know you were such a devoted follower of George that you'd do anything the man told you to. Did he tell you to lean back and think of England when you were with Dornier . . . or maybe he didn't have to tell you that?"
Doyle stood frozen. What was Bodie talking about? 4.5 had thought Bodie was here because he was still angry about Marikka and just using the Dornier incident as an excuse? "What are you blatherin' about, mate?"
The deep blue eyes pierced the gloomy room as Bodie whispered in a voice colder than the Arctic, "You know bloody well what I'm talkin' about. I was in the Buggy Boo tryin' to find out what my so-called partner was doin', and I heard all about you gettin' friendly
with Dornier.
"I WAS DOIN' ME JOB!"
The look on Bodie's face was one of total disbelief. His smirk and sarcastic smile spoke volumes. "Oh come on, Doyle, just how far did you let it go before you put the cuffs on him?"
Hurt lashed through Doyle's slender body. In the almost four years that the men had been partnered, Bodie had never before thrown his bi-sexuality at him. They had accepted each other's pasts and had put their friendship first; now that all seemed to be gone.
"For your information, I gave him a facer without giving my all for Queen and country, you moron. Now I would appreciate it if you'd get the hell out of here. I'm tired."
Doyle turned to walk into the bedroom, but was stopped by a large calloused hand. Bristling, Doyle shook off the hand rapidly. Turning to launch an attack on his partner, Doyle stopped as he saw a strange . . . rare look of emotion on the dark-haired man's face.
The two men continued to stand in each other's personal space; the tension so thick that a London fog would have been easier to navigate.
In a voice, hesitant and insecure, Bodie asked, "Ray, why din't you tell me about your undercover job? I could have been your cover; you didn't need Murph."
"Why didn't I tell you? Didn't have a choice. Cowley thought you might not be feelin' so kind towards me after Marikka, so he had me go solo. That look on the tower near froze me."
The dark eyes dropped as 3.7 looked down at the floor. "Din't trust you much right then, but I din't . . . don't hate you. Never could."
One of Doyle's curls drooped onto his forehead. Taking one slender finger he pushed it back then took a step back as if to give the two men breathing room. "Wanna a cuppa?"
Bodie nodded, breathing deeply. Maybe the friendship wasn't totally broken.
"Ray, you okay then . . . I mean what with Dornier and everything?"
Doyle said nothing, but the tension had somehow decreased, allowing Bodie to let out a sigh of relief. Following his partner into the small kitchen, Bodie helped prepare the tea things then the two men collapsed into the large sitting room chairs with their mugs in hand.
Doyle took up the conversation as if it never had stopped. "Didn't care for his smelly breath all over me, but nothin' happened, wouldn't let it. 'Sides, Murph was right there murmuring sweets in me ear every once in awhile."
It was obvious by Bodie's face that Doyle had said the wrong thing, but he didn't know why. The temperature had dropped again by several degrees, and the look on the normally imperturbable face showed hurt or something that seemed a near relative.
"What's wrong, mate?"
"How come Murph?"
"What?"
"How come Cowley chose Murph; thought Lewis was working with you?"
A naughty gleam entered the emerald orbs. "Couldn't keep a straight face when Lewis tried a come on. Lewis complained and Murphy took over."
"Yeah, that's what Murph said, but I didn't believe him. Everybody knows how he feels about you."
The slender, muscular body took on a new tension as Doyle sat forward on the settee. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh come off it, sunshine. Everybody knows that Murph would like to have a small cuddle with you." Leering at the gorgeous form of his partner, Bodie continued, "Well maybe not such a small one."
"You're daft! Me and Murph are just good friends, just like WE are!"
Once again the temperature plummeted and Doyle didn't know why. Bodie's midnight blue eyes were colder than the North Atlantic and so was his voice. "So, that's all I am, am I - - a good friend?"
For a moment Doyle let his tongue run over his cupid's bow lips, not sure what was the correct thing to say. Bodie was everything to him - - life itself, but in the past few weeks, he had angered Bodie, and Doyle was no longer sure how much Bodie still wanted to be his friend.
"Of course, you're not just me good friend. You're my partner and a whole lot more; just know that you don't care for all those mushy sentiments so I'm tryin' to keep me words in check."
Instead of nodding his understanding or agreement, Bodie seemed to be even more withdrawn after the words. In that curiously fragile, insecure voice that he brought out at deeply emotional times, Bodie uttered the question that shook Doyle to the core.
"Since when don't you trust me enough, to say whatever you're feelin'?"
**Since you thrust that rifle at me, after Marikka.** After Marikka had become insidious in their partnership. Doyle continued to stare at his friend, trying to figure out how to express the very real fear that he had felt when Marikka Schumann had re-entered Bodie's life.
"Bodie, I trust you. You have to know that, but I know I hurt you over the Marikka op, and I didn't want to tramp all over your feelins' after what happened that's all."
Bodie was not given to feeling sorry for himself, but it didn't take his closest friend to realize the pain and anguish that accompanied the next words, "Did you think that Marikka was . . . was more important to me than my own partner?"
Doyle inhaled a deep breath that caught in his throat; he coughed, trying to stop the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. **Could Bodie actually think more of him than his former lover?**
Moisture caused the emerald orbs to sparkle, but Doyle said nothing; his heart was in his throat, blocking the words. The tall, ex-merc suddenly stood and headed towards the door. With his back to Doyle, he murmured, "Guess I got me answer."
With a speed that was desperate, the curly-haired man reached the door before his friend. Looking up into desolate eyes, Doyle asked, "You abandoning me, mate?"
"Thought you'd already done that, sunshine."
With a small, fleeting smile, 4.5 replied to the man who meant everything to him, "Not for a long time, if ever, mate."
The ex-para stood staring into the green eyes he knew so well, trying to read the message there. Suddenly, he didn't have to read it because the two luscious lips that had lured him for years were caressing his own and a gentle tongue was probing for entrance into his mouth. The kiss was everything that Bodie had hoped for. Both men were breathless when they broke apart.
Normally, Bodie was the most modest man in the world, when it came to clothes but today he had been so angry that he had permitted his shirt to have a small opening at the neckline. That opening soon became the target of Doyle's voracious mouth. Within seconds the neck, throat, and chest of his partner had become the nuzzling ground of the gorgeous, slender agent.
A few strategically loosened buttons led to small brown nipples exposed to further exploration by the most sensuous mouth in all Great Britain. Bodie's mind was reeling and his cock was fishing as well. With supreme effort, Bodie managed to bring a little sanity to the goings-on by reaching down and taking the lips into an incredible kiss that left the older man in a total stupor.
Pulling his partner down onto the settee, Bodie pushed Doyle back to a more horizontal position asking, "Ray, you sure about this? We've been partners a long time; why now? You're not trying to make up for Marikka, are you?"
Doyle looked faintly bemused, asking in a slurred voice, "Do I have to make it up to you for Marikka?"
A brief smile crossed the handsome merc's face as he shook his head no then his eyes hardened as he replied, "BUT, you've got to promise me to never do another stupid thing like going into an op like that Dornier thing without me."
Doyle looked so innocent and angelic, but his tongue was like a viper. "But, Bodie, Murph was there!"
Bodie pushed off the settee, straightening his clothes. Once again Doyle sat up planning to use his body to block the door, but the large frame of William Andrew Philip Bodie stopped on the way to the door and whirled to face his partner. "You ever" . . . here Bodie stopped the emotion seeming to overcome him, "you ever do that again, and so help me I'm out of here for good."
Puzzlement crossed Doyle's beautiful face. "Do what again? Murph was just my back up!"
"Weren't you listenin' to me earlier? Murph has the hots for you. Haven't you ever noticed how they all look at that bum of yours? They all want you. Why do you think that I insist we take showers separately? Those guys don't drop their soap 'cause they're clumsy!"
Doyle's laughter filled the room then his arms circled the narrow waist of his partner and best friend. "You're jealous!"
For a moment blue eyes stared then a whispered "Yes," was heard. For the next several minutes the two men were entangled in an embrace that threatened to overwhelm them. Finally, Doyle whispered, "Let's take this to the bedroom."
For a moment, Bodie seemed to balk at the suggestion then he nodded carefully and slowly. His errant left eyebrow shot up into his forehead, "What we goin' to do in there, mate?"
Doyle licked his lips as he peered at his friend from under his curls. "Now what you think . . . sleep, of course."
Bodie laughed quietly. "I'm not anxious to hear you snorin', angelfish. Can get a 100 piece orchestra that's quieter."
The scrawny body launched an attack that carried the two men into the bedroom and onto the bed. Within minutes, Bodie was naked, thanks to some strategic tickling to parts of his body that only Doyle knew were vulnerable. The two men were breathing heavily as if they'd run a marathon. Doyle, on his knees, pulled back to stare at the gorgeous creature that lay sprawled on the bed. The room was dark, but had enough light to see the plum coloured cock leaking fluid.
"Hmmm! Delicious."
The ex-copper smiled lasciviously then stepped back off the bed. Slowly and sensuously he began removing his clothes. There wasn't a stripper in the business who could compete with the display that Raymond Doyle was putting on. Bodie's tongue was practically hanging out. Doyle had to move further away from the bed to keep out of the range of the grabbing hands of his best mate.
Finally, Doyle stood au naturel, in all of his glory. William Andrew Philip Bodie had a feast, first visually and then for consumption. Doyle's erection was promptly swallowed, milking the slender figure dry, before Doyle flipped over on his stomach so that his lover could enter his demanding body.
Within moments, it was over but the two men clung together contented and satiated. Pulling the duvet over the sticky bodies that were covered with semen and sweat, they slept, holding each other securely.
Several hours later, they awoke, smiling at each other. Fearing a Doyle guilt coming out, Bodie began to nuzzle his partner's throat as he whispered, "Like that, did ya?"
"Hmmm! It was okay."
Bodie immediately sat up, indignity on his handsome face. "What you mean, me birds have given me outstanding marks for that lovin'."
A smirk of doubt crossed the marred face, "Only one event; can't really judge. Need more to go on."
A twinkle entered the blue eyes. "How much more evidence ya need, sunshine?"
"Don't know; let's start with 50 years and go on from there."
The ex-merc's eyebrow flew up again, "50 years . . . 50 years, you goin' to throw me over when I'm 83?"
"Won't you still be tall, dark, and handsome and engagingly modest?"
"Of course, mate, but what about you?"
For the next several minutes, a pillow fight broke out that was finally put to rest when the two exhausted bodies collapsed with groins pressing to each other. A gentle rhythm began which resulted in a cataclysmic orgasm. Finishing off the climax with a lingering kiss, Doyle laid his head on the heaving chest for a moment as if to recuperate then he lifted his head and looked lovingly at Bodie's tired face.
"Changed my mind, mate. 50 years won't be near enough, have to be . . . eternity."
Moisture appeared in the deep blue eyes as Bodie whispered before kissing the lips he loved, "Not even that will be long enough, love."
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The End