Twenty minute fic game
Title: (still working on that - feel free to help!)
Author: ML Mead
Pros-Lib / Circuit Archive: eventually (will send when tidied)
Pairing and / or characters: Bodie/Doyle
Rating: adult
Word count: 650-ish. Okay, so it took a bit more than 20 minutes.
They really shouldn't have been playing such dangerous games at work.
Just because they were stuck on the graveyard shift, with nothing to do and no-one else to tease at headquarters, just because they were restless, bright-eyed, taut-muscled, energy pent-up, just because Anson had radioed ahead to warn them the op was bogged down and no-one would be back with prisoners to interrogate until daylight...
...all the same, they shouldn't have got into the aerodynamics of teabags. Which led to the theft of the final one and the clattering chase down the stairwell. Which led to the mock-fight by the double doors. Which led to a struggling and protesting Doyle being borne backwards into the nearest small holding cell, the one opposite the lift, the door banging hard and bouncing back open to the corridor. Which led to Doyle fighting back dirtily. Which led to one hand on Bodie's balls and one on his neck. Which led to Bodie throwing his full weight on Doyle. Which led to Doyle's cock leaping up with curiosity. Which led to Doyle's own shock. Which led to Bodie taking advantage of the moment.
Which led to the pair of them crashing heavily against the wall and Doyle's breath stolen away by what Bodie's mouth was doing at his neck and his hands at Doyle's groin. Which led to Doyle - still shocked but never one to back down - reaching for Bodie.
The laughs and shouts, the teasing and the accidents of play-fighting - "Gerroff, Bodie!", "Watch it, Doyle!" "Look out for the -- oh fuck.." "Tray?" "Yeah." - had long since gone. Instead, "There..." "Jesus..." "Don't stop.." "You fucking chancer..." "You complaining?" "...No..." "Well, then..."
And then the noise of the lift doors opening begins, and they freeze.
Bodie with one hand clutching the back of Doyle's neck, saliva dripping from his mouth, eyes squinting but bright, and his other hand frozen for long seconds on Doyle's cock. Doyle, trousers open and pulled half over his hips, cock weeping, and his eyes agonised and tightly shut.
The lift door is opening, and clamour and noise rolling out. A whole party of visiting villains, for sure, and Bodie and Doyle can hear four or five of CI5 shouting their guests down and slamming the more recalcitrant ones against the lift cage door to make their point.
The lift light slowly passes over the floor of the open holding room. Each man suspecting they are out of sight, neither man sure.
"Out! Out and through the door!" That's Fisher.
"You two, do what the nice lady says. Now!" That's McCabe.
"Argh, you fucking bastards!" That's a slow learner.
There is a thud and a shout.
Bodie and Doyle listen to all this in heart-pounding paralysis. Bodie switches his eyes to Doyle's. Doyle's eyes are still shut, but he is clearly listening on some level, although it seems right now to be a plane far from here. Bodie has done this to him. Bodie has reduced his partner to a state where he is willing to take the chance of being caught, how to put it, on the job? Caught with his trousers down? Put another way, Bodie has the upper hand.
A hand which is still squeezing Doyle: Doyle who is on the brink, and biting his lip in his efforts to contain himself. But it's not the expert stroking that makes Doyle's eyes open in shocked surprise. It's the jetting of liquid in the familiar long spurts, and his realisation of what he's just done.
If anyone comes into this room now, there is no way out of this one.
The returning agents hustle their new acquaintances down to one of the larger rooms, clearly intent on some demonstrations involving audience participation.
Doyle sags against the wall and rides the waves of euphoria out.
"Next time," he tells Bodie, "Next time, you bloody maniac, you shut the door."
Bodie grins madly. He likes the sound of next time.
Author: ML Mead
Pros-Lib / Circuit Archive: eventually (will send when tidied)
Pairing and / or characters: Bodie/Doyle
Rating: adult
Word count: 650-ish. Okay, so it took a bit more than 20 minutes.
They really shouldn't have been playing such dangerous games at work.
Just because they were stuck on the graveyard shift, with nothing to do and no-one else to tease at headquarters, just because they were restless, bright-eyed, taut-muscled, energy pent-up, just because Anson had radioed ahead to warn them the op was bogged down and no-one would be back with prisoners to interrogate until daylight...
...all the same, they shouldn't have got into the aerodynamics of teabags. Which led to the theft of the final one and the clattering chase down the stairwell. Which led to the mock-fight by the double doors. Which led to a struggling and protesting Doyle being borne backwards into the nearest small holding cell, the one opposite the lift, the door banging hard and bouncing back open to the corridor. Which led to Doyle fighting back dirtily. Which led to one hand on Bodie's balls and one on his neck. Which led to Bodie throwing his full weight on Doyle. Which led to Doyle's cock leaping up with curiosity. Which led to Doyle's own shock. Which led to Bodie taking advantage of the moment.
Which led to the pair of them crashing heavily against the wall and Doyle's breath stolen away by what Bodie's mouth was doing at his neck and his hands at Doyle's groin. Which led to Doyle - still shocked but never one to back down - reaching for Bodie.
The laughs and shouts, the teasing and the accidents of play-fighting - "Gerroff, Bodie!", "Watch it, Doyle!" "Look out for the -- oh fuck.." "Tray?" "Yeah." - had long since gone. Instead, "There..." "Jesus..." "Don't stop.." "You fucking chancer..." "You complaining?" "...No..." "Well, then..."
And then the noise of the lift doors opening begins, and they freeze.
Bodie with one hand clutching the back of Doyle's neck, saliva dripping from his mouth, eyes squinting but bright, and his other hand frozen for long seconds on Doyle's cock. Doyle, trousers open and pulled half over his hips, cock weeping, and his eyes agonised and tightly shut.
The lift door is opening, and clamour and noise rolling out. A whole party of visiting villains, for sure, and Bodie and Doyle can hear four or five of CI5 shouting their guests down and slamming the more recalcitrant ones against the lift cage door to make their point.
The lift light slowly passes over the floor of the open holding room. Each man suspecting they are out of sight, neither man sure.
"Out! Out and through the door!" That's Fisher.
"You two, do what the nice lady says. Now!" That's McCabe.
"Argh, you fucking bastards!" That's a slow learner.
There is a thud and a shout.
Bodie and Doyle listen to all this in heart-pounding paralysis. Bodie switches his eyes to Doyle's. Doyle's eyes are still shut, but he is clearly listening on some level, although it seems right now to be a plane far from here. Bodie has done this to him. Bodie has reduced his partner to a state where he is willing to take the chance of being caught, how to put it, on the job? Caught with his trousers down? Put another way, Bodie has the upper hand.
A hand which is still squeezing Doyle: Doyle who is on the brink, and biting his lip in his efforts to contain himself. But it's not the expert stroking that makes Doyle's eyes open in shocked surprise. It's the jetting of liquid in the familiar long spurts, and his realisation of what he's just done.
If anyone comes into this room now, there is no way out of this one.
The returning agents hustle their new acquaintances down to one of the larger rooms, clearly intent on some demonstrations involving audience participation.
Doyle sags against the wall and rides the waves of euphoria out.
"Next time," he tells Bodie, "Next time, you bloody maniac, you shut the door."
Bodie grins madly. He likes the sound of next time.