Discovered During a Test Match
Hey, it's still Tuesday in Pago Pago, right?
He was just making conversation. They were sitting in the ready room, waiting for Cowley to call them in, and Doyle had asked Bodie if he had a cricket match that weekend.
Bodie sighed. "Probably have to forfeit--we haven't got enough batsmen."
"No?"
"I don't think Murph's going to be up to it--not till they've got that bullet out of his shoulder, at least."
"Yeah, I guess not." Doyle glanced up from the paper in time to see Bodie's eyes light up dangerously. He hopped up from his chair to perch on the sofa beside Doyle.
"You busy Saturday afternoon?" he asked, too innocently to mean anything good.
"Depends."
"Fancy standing in for Murphy? Buy you a drink, after."
"No," Doyle said flatly, without looking up from the paper.
"Oh, come on, Ray! It won't be that bad, I promise. Won't even make you dress up for it, you can just wear jeans--"
"Bodie, you don't want me for a batsman. I'm terrible--worse than I am at poker."
He couldn't quite stifle a wince, and Doyle thought he'd finally made his point. His hopes were dashed when Bodie just slapped him on the shoulder. "That's all right, then. We've Friday off as well--I'll teach you."
-----
Doyle had hoped Bodie would forget about the whole thing, but he showed up at Doyle's flat on Friday afternoon with a cricket bat in one hand and a wicked grin on his face.
"Thought I'd forget, didn't you?"
"Only in my fondest dreams," Doyle replied, resigning himself to mortification.
The back garden was a broken window just waiting to happen, so they drove to a scrap of park-land, settling on a secluded stretch of lawn where no passerby was likely to get hurt, should Doyle prove to be even more dangerous than he expected.
After the first half-hour or so, even Bodie's boundless hopes began to fade. He wasn't really even bowling the ball at Doyle--there was no dramatic wind-up, just a series of easy lobs at the wicket--and still Doyle couldn't quite get it. He'd thought he was doing all right once, and then Bodie had called leg-before-wicket and he'd had to figure things out all over again.
The sky was already dimming into evening when Doyle shook his head and stepped away from the wicket. "Forget it, mate. I told you I was hopeless."
"You're not that bad," Bodie protested, obviously lying. "Maybe if you move your hands up--no, the other way, and hold the bat at different angle...oh, come here." He crossed the lawn and stood behind Doyle, closely enough to reach around him and cover Doyle's hands as he gripped the bat.
"Bodie!" Doyle turned to look over his shoulder, and found his face very close to Bodie's. He turned back around just as swiftly, and Bodie spluttered on a mouthful of Doyle's curls.
"Quit fidgeting," Bodie ordered, positioning Doyle's hands on the bat. "If you hold it like this, it's easier. You can swing at the ball whichever way it comes, you see?" He demonstrated, guiding the bat forward and back at different angles.
Doyle tried not to think about how absurd they must look. He tried even harder not to think about the fact that Bodie obviously wasn't wearing a box--which was really monumentally stupid, considering he'd given a cricket bat to an absolute novice.
And Doyle could tell that he wasn't wearing a box, because...oh, Christ.
He'd just pretend that he hadn't noticed--and that noticing hadn't had an effect on him. He'd got rather good at that sort of pretending since he'd been partnered with Bodie.
Bodie was still talking, though Doyle couldn't have repeated a word of what he'd said. He forced himself to pay attention again, and that was when he felt Bodie's hand sliding up his thigh.
Perversely, Doyle began to relax. Bodie was having him on, that was all. No doubt he expected Doyle to get flustered, to tell him to quit taking the piss, to push him away or maybe try to punch him in the jaw.
But then, Bodie had always underestimated how much Doyle could take. So he stood still as Bodie's hand crept closer to its destination, waiting to see when he'd give it up and pull away.
He didn't.
Bodie's hand settled over the front of Doyle's jeans, thumb sweeping lightly along the line of Doyle's cock, and suddenly it wasn't such a joke anymore.
"Caught out, sunshine," Bodie murmured, his breath hot on the back of Doyle's neck.
Then Doyle did turn, tipping his head up just slightly to look Bodie in the eye. "Not the only one, am I?" he said, his voice even.
Bodie's lips parted, and for a heartbeat Doyle thought Bodie was actually going to kiss him, and they were both going to be arrested for the public indecency that would follow.
"Come on," Bodie said, pulling away. "Back to yours, then?"
"Yeah. You coming up?"
"Already am, aren't I?" he replied, grinning, and started off towards the car.
Doyle stared after him, the cricket bat still held half-forgotten in one hand. "What about all this?" he asked. "The match?"
"Forget about it," Bodie said, looking back over his shoulder. "I can think of better things to do on a Saturday--can't you?"
Title: Caught Out
Author: Sarah K
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Professionals, and really I still know nothing at all about cricket.
Prompt: Prompt: "Watching him bat is a bit like turning up for a flying lesson to find the instructor wearing cataract glasses."
He was just making conversation. They were sitting in the ready room, waiting for Cowley to call them in, and Doyle had asked Bodie if he had a cricket match that weekend.
Bodie sighed. "Probably have to forfeit--we haven't got enough batsmen."
"No?"
"I don't think Murph's going to be up to it--not till they've got that bullet out of his shoulder, at least."
"Yeah, I guess not." Doyle glanced up from the paper in time to see Bodie's eyes light up dangerously. He hopped up from his chair to perch on the sofa beside Doyle.
"You busy Saturday afternoon?" he asked, too innocently to mean anything good.
"Depends."
"Fancy standing in for Murphy? Buy you a drink, after."
"No," Doyle said flatly, without looking up from the paper.
"Oh, come on, Ray! It won't be that bad, I promise. Won't even make you dress up for it, you can just wear jeans--"
"Bodie, you don't want me for a batsman. I'm terrible--worse than I am at poker."
He couldn't quite stifle a wince, and Doyle thought he'd finally made his point. His hopes were dashed when Bodie just slapped him on the shoulder. "That's all right, then. We've Friday off as well--I'll teach you."
-----
Doyle had hoped Bodie would forget about the whole thing, but he showed up at Doyle's flat on Friday afternoon with a cricket bat in one hand and a wicked grin on his face.
"Thought I'd forget, didn't you?"
"Only in my fondest dreams," Doyle replied, resigning himself to mortification.
The back garden was a broken window just waiting to happen, so they drove to a scrap of park-land, settling on a secluded stretch of lawn where no passerby was likely to get hurt, should Doyle prove to be even more dangerous than he expected.
After the first half-hour or so, even Bodie's boundless hopes began to fade. He wasn't really even bowling the ball at Doyle--there was no dramatic wind-up, just a series of easy lobs at the wicket--and still Doyle couldn't quite get it. He'd thought he was doing all right once, and then Bodie had called leg-before-wicket and he'd had to figure things out all over again.
The sky was already dimming into evening when Doyle shook his head and stepped away from the wicket. "Forget it, mate. I told you I was hopeless."
"You're not that bad," Bodie protested, obviously lying. "Maybe if you move your hands up--no, the other way, and hold the bat at different angle...oh, come here." He crossed the lawn and stood behind Doyle, closely enough to reach around him and cover Doyle's hands as he gripped the bat.
"Bodie!" Doyle turned to look over his shoulder, and found his face very close to Bodie's. He turned back around just as swiftly, and Bodie spluttered on a mouthful of Doyle's curls.
"Quit fidgeting," Bodie ordered, positioning Doyle's hands on the bat. "If you hold it like this, it's easier. You can swing at the ball whichever way it comes, you see?" He demonstrated, guiding the bat forward and back at different angles.
Doyle tried not to think about how absurd they must look. He tried even harder not to think about the fact that Bodie obviously wasn't wearing a box--which was really monumentally stupid, considering he'd given a cricket bat to an absolute novice.
And Doyle could tell that he wasn't wearing a box, because...oh, Christ.
He'd just pretend that he hadn't noticed--and that noticing hadn't had an effect on him. He'd got rather good at that sort of pretending since he'd been partnered with Bodie.
Bodie was still talking, though Doyle couldn't have repeated a word of what he'd said. He forced himself to pay attention again, and that was when he felt Bodie's hand sliding up his thigh.
Perversely, Doyle began to relax. Bodie was having him on, that was all. No doubt he expected Doyle to get flustered, to tell him to quit taking the piss, to push him away or maybe try to punch him in the jaw.
But then, Bodie had always underestimated how much Doyle could take. So he stood still as Bodie's hand crept closer to its destination, waiting to see when he'd give it up and pull away.
He didn't.
Bodie's hand settled over the front of Doyle's jeans, thumb sweeping lightly along the line of Doyle's cock, and suddenly it wasn't such a joke anymore.
"Caught out, sunshine," Bodie murmured, his breath hot on the back of Doyle's neck.
Then Doyle did turn, tipping his head up just slightly to look Bodie in the eye. "Not the only one, am I?" he said, his voice even.
Bodie's lips parted, and for a heartbeat Doyle thought Bodie was actually going to kiss him, and they were both going to be arrested for the public indecency that would follow.
"Come on," Bodie said, pulling away. "Back to yours, then?"
"Yeah. You coming up?"
"Already am, aren't I?" he replied, grinning, and started off towards the car.
Doyle stared after him, the cricket bat still held half-forgotten in one hand. "What about all this?" he asked. "The match?"
"Forget about it," Bodie said, looking back over his shoulder. "I can think of better things to do on a Saturday--can't you?"
Title: Caught Out
Author: Sarah K
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Professionals, and really I still know nothing at all about cricket.
Prompt: Prompt: "Watching him bat is a bit like turning up for a flying lesson to find the instructor wearing cataract glasses."