FIC: "New York Minute" 2/2 (Law & Order/Pros Xover Logan/Bodie/Doyle NC-17 Slash)
Continued from "New York Minute" (1/2)
For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see Part 1.
New York Minute (2/2)
It had been a long shift. Ernie might have stopped short of firing him, but he wasn't exactly pleased with his tardy counterman, and he showed his displeasure by assigning an endless laundry list of dirty, menial jobs for Mike to do in his brief spare moments. In between, he glared at every order Mike called back, and woe betide him if he was a nanosecond slow in snapping up the orders as they came off the rack. By the time Ernie finally packed in his apron and went home, Mike felt like he'd spent the last four hours in some form of Diner Purgatory. He was tired and sweating, and he had a second-degree burn on the end of his little finger from a spilled drop of too-hot cooking grease from an order of onion rings. He'd dropped the plate, too, and Ernie had given him hell for it. As a final petty display of pique, Ernie had "forgotten" to give Mike his break, and by eleven-thirty, when Ernie finally left, he was starving. Ten minutes after Ernie left, he was standing at the corner of the counter having an illicit snack of fried potatoes and scrambled eggs, slipped to him by the sympathetic hand of the short-order cook. It was all he could do not to drop the plate on the floor when the door opened and Bodie and Doyle strolled in.
At first, Mike didn't believe his own eyes. He knew he was tired, and hungry, and he wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if he *had* started imagining things. Things like seeing his two "good Samaritans" come through the front door of the diner, looking around as if they'd never been in one before. Then Bodie's sharp eyes flicked over to him, and he slapped his partner lightly on the arm, directing his attention to Mike's end of the counter. They sauntered over, grinning identical greetings to him, and slid onto two stools in front of him. Bodie leaned forward and gave the plate a sniff.
"Looks pretty good," he said.
"Yeah, if you see the help eating it, it can't be bad, right?" Doyle said to him, both of them speaking as if Mike weren't even there.
"Can I help you?" Mike asked, tingeing his words with more than a touch of sarcasm.
They glanced up, as if surprised to remember that he was still there, and then looked at each other again. "Two orders of that, please," Bodie said for both of them. "And coffee."
"Wait," Doyle protested. "You don't have to drag me along to your grave as well."
"Fine," Bodie said equably, grabbing a menu and pushing it in front of him. "You find something healthy on there, and I'll buy it for you." He turned back to Mike. "In the meantime, we'll have two of those."
Mike shouted the order back, and brought the coffee for them. He was glad for the distraction of the job, nonplused by their sudden appearance and not sure, exactly, how to handle it. And not sure why he cared.
They thanked him in grave unison as he set the cups in front of them, but neither of them made any move to drink. Instead, when he would have moved away, finding some excuse to be busy at the other end of the counter, Bodie spoke to him.
"Glad you didn't lose the job, mate," he said. "We were worried, about you, weren't we."
"That's right," Doyle seconded. "Thought we'd come by and impress your boss."
"Well, you're ten minutes too late to do that," Mike told them. He hesitated a minute. "But thanks anyway." He glanced over his shoulder. They were practically alone in the place, only one young woman reading a book in the far corner, and the cooks making the usual racket in back. He lowered his voice, and leaned on the counter. "Look," he said awkwardly, not sure how to make it sound right. It wasn't something he was used to. His family wasn't big into apologies. "I'm sorry," he said finally, "about the way I acted this afternoon. After . . . after you helped me with the old lady and all. You didn't have to do it, and I never thanked you for it."
"Hey, it was nothing," Bodie assured him. "Part of the service, right?"
Mike swallowed. That wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say, but it was a start. "I'm not just talking about that," he began, and was interrupted by the bell from the order window.
"Order up, Mike!"
"Got it!" he called back, and grimaced an apology at the two men before pushing off to collect their orders. He gathered up the plates and turned to ferry them back to the two men, but as he approached he saw Bodie turn to Doyle, leaning over with a sly grin to murmur something in the other man's ear, something that made him laugh, and duck his head in an emphatic nod. Bodie kept murmuring, and smiling, swiveling on the stool so that his arm brushed against his companion, one finger lifting to tap at the bare skin of Doyle's forearm. It was a friendly touch, nothing more than the most casual of pats, but it stirred a sudden, painful memory in Mike, the memory of him and Joey standing in the shadows of the back stairs, Mike's hand on Joey's arm, the other boy's breath catching in his throat as Mike's lips touched his.
It had been a mistake, a stupid, impulsive, lust-driven act, and Mike had regretted it the instant it happened. And then all the regrets had melted away, dissolving in the heat of Joey's mouth on his, and the breathtaking touch of Joey's fingers, lifting tentatively to frame Mike's face in his hands. And for one long, glorious minute, they'd stood there, lost in each other, mouths devouring, hearts pounding. And then Mike had shifted forward the merest fraction, feeling himself harden as the incredible softness of Joey's lips slid against his. It was a dangerous, illicit thrill, the rough-stubbled cheek under his mouth, the strength and weight of the body in his arms, knowing it was supposed to be forbidden, and yet knowing that it felt so good. His hips brushed Joey's, the hardness of his arousal kissing briefly against Joey's matching erection. It had throbbed through him like a jolt of liquid heat, the pulse of desire so strong that he almost came then and there. He'd pushed forward again, mindless, rubbing his crotch against Joey's, feeling the other boy thrust back, hips grinding together once in an all-too-fleeting climb towards ecstasy.
Then Joey had pushed him away, shaking, his face flushed with passion and with embarrassment, his erection straining visibly at the front of his pants, unfulfilled. They'd stared at each other, Mike seeing the shock in his eyes, knowing that some of the bewilderment he saw there was reflected in his own face. It wasn't Mike's first time here, not by a long shot, but he knew, now, that it was Joey's, and he saw, with a sinking heart, the horror rising in the other boy's eyes. He'd licked his lips, stepping forward, reaching a gentle hand to Joey's arm. "Joey . . ."
But Joey had run away. Not a word, not a sound. He'd simply fled, turning his back to Mike and putting as much distance between them as he could, as fast as he could. Mike hadn't seen him since.
And his mother had seen the whole thing.
That thought was enough to shock him back to the present, and he realized, with some surprise, that he was in the process of sliding the laden plates in front of the other two men, even his deep reverie not enough, it seemed, to disturb the powerful inertia of routine. Just as well. It would have been more than embarrassing to be caught staring off into space with two plates of eggs and potatoes sliding off his arms. And especially embarrassing to have to explain the reason.
"Ta, mate," Bodie said, picking up his fork and poking at the eggs that Mike pushed over to him.
"You need anything?" he asked, before they could engage him in any more conversation. "More coffee?"
"No, thanks," Doyle said. "We'll manage."
Mike nodded, and jerked his head over to the drink station. "I'll be cleaning up over here," he said. "Yell if you need anything." He shoved off without waiting for an answer, eager, for once, to be alone with his own thoughts for a while.
Up until now, he'd tried not to think about it too much. In that respect, Ernie's revenge had been something of a blessing, keeping him far too busy to worry about his own problems, and what his mother might say, and who she might say it to. It was no news to Katy, but it sure as hell would be news to his father. And that was one confrontation Mike hoped never to have. It'd kill the old man, maybe literally, and that was one thing Mike didn't want added to his conscience.
It wasn't even, he thought bitterly, as if he'd ever done anything that would even be worth all the pain and heartache. Stolen kisses, brief encounters in darkened rooms, frantic, hurried gropings in the bathroom stalls or the locker rooms at school. It was all furtive, shameful, none of the boys he'd been with even able, afterwards, to look him in the eye. But then they'd find themselves alone, with a few precious minutes, and it would happen again.
He shot a glance over to Bodie and Doyle, and was overwhelmed with a sudden, sharp pang of . . . something. Jealousy, maybe, or even self-pity. Or longing. They had, he thought sadly, each other. No need for endless flirting, countless pick-up lines, insincere promises, just for the chance to sweat up the sheets of some stranger's bed for an hour to two. And the women were the easy part. He was allowed, more or less, to pursue them, was expected to want them. And he did. But he wanted the other as well, and watching Bodie and Doyle, together, felt like having a hole ripped in his chest. He wanted what they had, and at the same time knew, with an almost physically painful flash of self-awareness, that it was something he might never have. Might never have the courage to have.
For the first time, he wondered what had brought them back here. To check up on him? Possibly. Because it was one of the only places they knew of to grab a bite at midnight in New York? Likely. It didn't, he realized, need to have anything to do with him at all. He was surprised, though, at how much that thought, true or not, hurt. 'Stupid,' he berated himself. 'What did you do, this afternoon, when you thought they might be coming on to you? And now you're wishing you could take it all back. And wishing that what you thought was true.'
They were talking again, Bodie tracing patterns on the counter between them, illustrating whatever it was that he was telling his partner. Doyle was smiling now, his head bent close to Bodie's, the two of them huddled in companionable collusion over the diagram Bodie was tracing. Mike watched them, and felt his throat tighten. He wished . . . he wanted . . . he wasn't sure what. If either of them had come alone, he would have known exactly what he wanted, and how to get it. But this was both of them. Trickier. Maybe even impossible. But he knew, now, that he had to try.
Bodie and Doyle were absorbed in their conversation, shoulders leaning together as they spoke in quiet undertones, barely aware, it seemed, of their surroundings. At least until Mike came over and slid two pieces of apple pie in front of them.
They looked up at him, mildly startled, and Doyle dropped his gaze to the plate in front of him. "Did we order this?" he asked, and Mike shook his head.
"On the house," he said, and grinned. "For services rendered."
Bodie was already tucking in, making an appreciative noise as he licked the filling from his fork. "Not bad," he said.
Mike let them get started, then leaned his hip against the counter, folding his arms on top of the smooth, cool surface, keeping his head close to theirs. "I didn't get a chance, before, to finish what I was saying," he said presently. "What you said, about what I was . . ." He stumbled, not sure, yet, how to identify himself with the words. "About what I might be feeling," he amended. He took a deep breath. "You were right. And what you told me . . . it helped."
Doyle looked at him seriously. "You're not alone, mate," he said. "Don't forget it, all right?"
"I won't," Mike promised. He glanced up as the door opened again, and waved absently as Elaine breezed through, heading for the office. "Well, my relief's here," he said. "I better look busy."
"Sure thing." Bodie pushed his empty plate aside. "How much do we owe?"
Mike glanced back, and slipped the ticket from under the plate, crumpling it in his pocket. "Like I said," he told him. "On the house." He picked up the dirty dishes and piled them in the dishpan, then wiped down the counter in front of them. A glance at the clock on the wall showed it to be nearly midnight, nearly time for him go home. "So," he said, striving to be casual, "today was your good Samaritan day. You interviewing for tomorrow yet?"
It took Doyle a second to get it, then he nearly choked on his coffee, his eyes wide. Bodie, on the other hand, was already grinning. "Why?" he asked. "You applying?"
"I might," Mike said slowly, buffing the edge of the counter, grinning back. "Hey, I might still lose this job. A man's got to keep his options open."
Bodie poked his partner, visibly enjoying the game. "What'd'ya think, Doyle? Think he's likely?"
"I dunno." Doyle looked him over. Playing along, Mike guessed, but there was a more serious assessment in the soft green eyes, something that made him turn quickly to toss a dirty cup into the dishpan, trying to hide the sudden betraying flush. Behind him, Doyle went on thoughtfully, "Reckon he might be a bit young, you know. Couldn't go breaking the law, could we?"
That made him turn back, brow raised. "Thanks," he said sourly, not sure whether to take it as a joke, a compliment, or a slap.
"That's right," Bodie said, as if he hadn't spoken. "Still, it's younger over here, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Doyle agreed, slipping into the now-familiar 'let's ignore Mike' routine, talking around and over him as if he'd suddenly vanished. And for all Mike knew, he had. "Eighteen, isn't it? Twenty-one back home, for two blokes anyway."
"Bloody stupid, if you ask me," Bodie said. "That's a double standard, that is. Now, two birds, there's nothing to stop them. But no, we have to wait three more bleedin' years. And they say they've got discrimination."
Mike cleared his throat, interrupting the discussion of equal rights, and earning himself identical looks of 'Oh, you're still here?' from the other two men. He leaned down a little, propping his elbows on the counter, ducking his head to speak in a soft undertone, for their ears alone. "I know you're kidding, all right?" he said quietly. "I just wanted you to know . . ." He glanced at them both, letting his eyes lock with each of their gazes in turn, then tilting his head forward, bringing his head between them, whispering into their straining ears. "*I'm not.*"
With that, he stood up and walked to the back of the counter, busying himself preparing a fresh filter of coffee, his last task before he could turn things over to Elaine. He carefully didn't look back, not daring to risk betraying himself. His hands shook at his job, and he nearly spilled coffee grounds all over the counter. Nerves, from fear. And desire. He hadn't known, until the words came out, how badly he wanted it. He'd told himself it was loneliness, that he wanted someone who would understand, who'd know what it was like to want something other than soft curves and smooth skin, to want to feel that matching hardness when pressing close, to know that he was loving someone exactly like himself.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to steady his jangling nerves. Merely thinking about it, about what he'd done, and what might come from it, left him as terrified, and as excited, as he'd ever remembered being in his life. Two emotions warring in him, twisting his belly in knots, cold fear and hot desire churning together until he thought he might actually be sick.
Part of him couldn't believe he'd actually done it. It was crazy, and stupid. 'Exactly the kind of impulse,' he reminded himself harshly, 'that led to Joey Cooper running away from you as fast as he could.' And the thought that these two might do exactly the same more than just crossed his mind. Who could, after all, blame them? They didn't know him, any more, he reminded, than he knew them. For all he knew, they could be a couple of hustlers themselves, preying on the young and innocent. 'Right, like you, Mikey,' he told himself sourly. 'Young and innocent, that's you to a "T." So innocent you made a pass at two--*two*--perfect strangers.'
He risked a glance over his shoulder. And his heart dropped straight to his toes, the fear and desire wilting as one, replaced by the sickening crush of disappointment. The two stools were empty, the abandoned coffee cups left among the scattered crumbs and crumpled napkins. He hadn't even seen them go. Mike turned back, swallowing, berating himself for even letting himself get his hopes up. It had been stupid, he knew it. They'd been kidding, teasing him, maybe flirting a little, yeah, but harmless. And he'd taken it too far. It wouldn't be the first time.
So why did it still have to hurt so much?
-----
Mike set a record counting out his till and clocking out, wanting nothing more to get the hell out of the stifling confines of the diner, out into the dubious sanctuary of the street. For once, the long walk home would be something to look forward to, a time to clear his churning thoughts, and hope he could get them under control before he had to face his family. It had been a hell of a day.
He said good-bye to the night crew, clocked out, chucked his apron and cap into the laundry, and headed gratefully for the front door.
Bodie and Doyle were waiting at the curb.
For a second, all Mike could do was stare. The turmoil was back, a tide of conflicting emotions so strong that, for a long time, he couldn't even speak. When he did, it was all he could do to summon up a phrase even as inane as, "What are you doing here?"
They looked at each other. "Waiting for you, mate," Bodie said calmly. He looked over at Doyle again. "I think we called his bluff, sunshine," he hissed in a stage whisper, and Doyle nodded solemnly.
The anger did what no amount of relief could do to clear his head, and let him find his voice again. "Hey, what was I supposed to think? You two cleared out of there so fast you left skid marks. Bluff, hell," he couldn't help adding, hearing the frustration in his own voice.
"Had to make sure, didn't we." Doyle said, and the humor was suddenly gone from his voice. "Didn't we?" he repeated, more softly, and Mike felt himself nod.
"Yeah, I guess so." He looked up and down the street, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, feeling the warm air on his skin. It was another hot night, the humidity in the air almost thick enough to cut, every breath like standing in a sauna. "So," he said presently. "You want to get out of this oven? Or are we going to stand here all night."
Bodie and Doyle looked at each other, shrugged, and stepped out into the middle of the sidewalk, flanking him effortlessly as they all began to walk down the street. Mike kept his hands in his pockets, to keep them from shaking, hoping that the sudden weakness in his knees wouldn't be obvious. This was, potentially, about the dumbest thing he'd ever done in his life. If these two weren't what they seemed--or even if they were--he might have bought himself more trouble than he could handle. And then Bodie touched his arm, signaling him to turn left with them at the corner, and the electric thrill of those broad fingers brushing his skin nearly made him gasp aloud. Maybe he needed a little trouble.
They spoke very little in the car, Mike being granted the front seat in deference to his longer legs, with Doyle driving and Bodie in the back. The only significant piece of conversation took place when they reached the hotel, after Doyle had switched off the engine and the car had fallen suddenly, deathly silent. Mike waited for Doyle to get out, then realized that Bodie was trapped in the back seat and reached for the door. But a strong, slim hand on his arm stopped him.
"Hang on a minute," Doyle said quietly. He didn't look at Bodie, and after a moment Mike realized that he didn't have to. They might not have rehearsed it, but Bodie knew, Mike was sure, exactly what Doyle was about to say. Once it was clear he had Mike's attention, Doyle went on. "Just wanted to say something, before we get on with this." He nodded behind Mike. "That's a door. You open it, we won't stop you. You walk away, we won't follow. Far as we're concerned, none of it ever happened."
The sensation of the hand on his arm was making it hard for Mike to breathe. "One last chance to back out?" he asked, and got a muffled chuckle from Bodie.
"No," Doyle answered. "First chance. I mean it," he went on, serious. "You want out, you say so. No hard feelings."
As far as Mike was concerned, the only thing hard about any of this was what was thankfully concealed by his jeans, but he didn't say it. "I'll remember," he promised. "Now, can we go?"
-----
It hadn't really hit Mike exactly what it was that he was about to do. Not until he was standing in the hallway, watching Ray Doyle unlock the door, Bodie a very tangible presence at his side. He had no idea what awaited him on the other side of that door. He'd simply moved from place to place, reacting with thinking, tossed around like a pinball in a suddenly very high-stakes game. He'd thought he'd known what he wanted, back there at the diner, but now he wasn't so sure exactly what that want was. For the first time in a long time, he felt out of his depth, unsure of how to proceed, of which moves to make.
He followed Doyle uncertainly into the room, very much aware of Bodie's continued presence behind him. The room was nicely cool, a welcome contrast to the sweltering heat, and Mike was suddenly acutely aware of his own sweaty, smelly clothing, his skin slicked with the film of grime and grease that inevitably clung to his body after a night at the diner. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the lank, oily weight of it against his fingers, the top of it mashed into a sweaty tangle from the work cap. Mike sent a surreptitious glance towards the mirror, wondering how bad he looked, and once he saw himself, couldn't decide whether to laugh out loud or die from embarrassment. He was a mess, his shirt and jeans stained with food and liberally splotched with grease and sweat, his hair falling in limp disarray over his forehead. It was a wonder they hadn't laughed in his face.
Bodie must have caught his involuntary grimace in the mirror, but when he spoke, his words showed more tact that Mike would have given him credit for. "You look knackered, son," he said.
Then again, tact had never been one of Mike's strong points, either. "I look like shit," he said, and felt himself smile. "Sorry, I didn't realize what I must look like."
Doyle waved it away. "Don't worry about it. Bodie and me, we've seen worse in our day. Been worse ourselves, haven't we?"
Mike appreciated the effort, but, he decided, he'd appreciate a lot more being clean. "Look, I know it's not the usual way of doing business, but I don't suppose you'd mind me taking a shower?"
"Whatever you want."
The touch of Bodie's hand on his hair was unexpected, the motion so smooth, so effortless, that Mike was hardly aware of it until the long fingers were running against his scalp, warm and tingling, sending a shivering thrill down his spine with one casual caress. Mike leaned into it, involuntarily, hardly realizing that it was exactly what Bodie intended until the warm lips were on his.
Taken unawares, Mike felt the soft shock of the kiss like a match to a powder train, the fire racing along his limbs, every part of him suddenly tingling and alive, all the sweat and dirt and weariness burnt to insignificance in a flash. He parted his lips, tasting the other man's mouth with relish, devouring the mingled flavors of coffee and whiskey and sweet apple pie, feeling Bodie give a startled jerk against him as Mike's tongue slipped, insistent, between his lips. But Mike was only allowed a brief taste, a promise of things to come, before Bodie was pulling back, regarding him with newfound amusement.
"Well, well," he said. "More than just a pretty face."
Mike might have been indignant at the adjective, if he'd had room in the turmoil of sensations for anything as trifling as indignation. His mouth was tingling with the kiss, his scalp prickling where Bodie's fingers were still threaded in his hair. Bodie smoothed his hand back, releasing him, but Mike felt the connection as if it were still tangible, a hot wire of pure lust coiled around his groin. A hand touched him gently from behind, and he jumped as Doyle spoke softly in his ear.
"Why don't you get that shower now?" he suggested, and Mike closed his eyes at the promises that crowded those innocent words. He sealed the promise with a soft kiss under the curve of Mike's jaw, and Mike nearly groaned out loud. Bodie, still standing in front of him, lifted a hand, but it was to Doyle's face that he reached, brushing his palm over the other man's cheek, pushing the soft curls back from his face. He leaned forward to kiss him, Mike pressed briefly between their two bodies, helpless. Then Bodie drew back, and touched Mike on the waist.
"Off you go," he said with a smile. "We'll be waiting for you."
-----
Bodie watched Mike disappear into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a soft, apologetic click..
"Think he'll do a runner?" Doyle asked, voicing the question for them both.
"Not a chance," Bodie said with confidence. "Saw him yourself, didn't you. Think he's going to turn tail now?" He shook his head. "He just wants a minute. You know, like a bird who wants to do her makeup before, or brush her teeth. Give him some time."
But Doyle still didn't look happy. "We doing the right thing, Bodie?" he asked, and turned, startled, as Bodie made a disgusted noise in his throat.
"Don't start with me, sunshine," he warned, giving Ray his best stern look. "He offered, remember?"
"But we didn't have to take him up on it." Ray shook his head. "I don't want him getting hurt, that's all."
"And who's going to hurt him?" Bodie pointed out sensibly. "I thought that was the whole point. Show him a good time, make sure he *doesn't* get hurt." He got up from his perch on the dresser, advancing on Doyle with a small smile playing around his lips. "Come on, Ray," he wheedled, drawing the other man into his arms, planting a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't you want to show him how it's done?" Another kiss, light as a feather, on his forehead, and another on his cheek. "Show him how good it can be?" He moved the kisses down, dropping them lightly on cheeks, nose, eyes and mouth, moving slowly over the planes of his partner's face. "Besides," he whispered softly into Doyle's warm, sallow skin, "He's bloody gorgeous, he is. I can't wait to see him when we get through with him. He'll be a bleedin' work of art, he will."
If Doyle had any more protests, they dissolved as Bodie kissed him again, using every trick he knew to distract his partner from his brooding. It wasn't, he was pleased to note, very hard to manage, and by the time they parted there was distinct gleam in Ray's eyes, a feral light that Bodie knew all too well. Knew, and treasured. "So," he said, running his hands up the sides of Doyle's arms, "Should we give him a show when he comes out? Something to break the ice a bit?"
Now Doyle was grinning with him. "You're wicked, you are," he said, but almost admiringly. Then he smiled, and leaned over to kiss him again. "Yeah," he said into Bodie's mouth. "Let's."
-----
It was tempting for Mike to take his time in the shower, to savor the indulgence of unlimited hot water, and the further luxury of privacy, no need to rush because someone else would be waiting in line. Then he thought of what *was* waiting, and that was enough to spur him into action. It was a short, vigorous shower, but he felt much better afterwards, some of the pain and tiredness of the day washing from his body along with the dirt and sweat, leaving him clean and alert.
Still, he hesitated at the door of the bathroom, suddenly, unaccountably shy at the thought of opening that door, of walking back into the bedroom. He wished now that he hadn't broken the mood, that he'd not disturbed the electric connection that had existed, however briefly, between himself and Bodie, and between Bodie and Doyle. It would have been so easy then, to take them both, to let them take him, but he hadn't done it. And now, he realized with a sinking heart, it might be too late to recreate it again. But he was never going to find out standing here.
At first, he didn't see the other two, and felt a brief moment of acute, humiliated panic. Then a soft noise from the bed turned his head in that direction, and he felt his mouth go suddenly dry.
They were lying on the bed, naked, arms and legs wrapped around each other in a complex, sensual tangle. Bodie's hands were buried in the thick softness of Doyle's hair, pulling him forward to be kissed while the other man's thin, strong arms locked around his back. One hand groped down, finding the round curve of a buttock and squeezing, and Bodie groaned, surging forward to take Doyle's mouth again. Ray's leg wrapped around Bodie, pulling him closer, and Bodie rocked against him, muscles rippling in his back as he dragged his hands down the length of Doyle's body, caressing over him as if he were a sculptor reveling in the feel of his finished masterpiece.
That was enough for Mike. He'd come out of the bathroom wearing a towel, hedging his bets, but now he discarded it, letting it drop to the floor before stepping up to the bed. Mike put a cautious knee on the mattress, eyes still fixed on the erotic tableau being played out in front of him. It was a performance for his benefit, he realized, and felt his half-hard cock stiffen in appreciation, rising up to thrust proudly forward in front of him. He settled himself carefully at the foot of the bed, watching, smiling, and waiting for them to acknowledge his presence.
It didn't take long. The bed had shifted under his weight, and Bodie took the hint, delivering one last searching kiss to Doyle's parted lips, then gently rolled away from his partner, both of them turning to smile down at him. Bodie looked him over assessingly, and reached over to poke Doyle on the shoulder. "What did I say, Ray?" he said. "Not just a pretty face." He turned on his back, displaying himself as unselfconsciously as a cat, fingertips trailing down the length of his own belly. He only allowed Mike a moment to look, though, to take in the broad, strong planes of his chest, the smooth pale skin, almost hairless but for the soft cluster of curls at his groin. Then he was rising up, moving to the foot of the bed.
Mike found it hard to breathe as Bodie drew nearer, stalking him on hands on knees exactly, Mike imagined, as sleek creatures of the jungle stalked their small, helpless prey. But Mike was neither small, nor helpless, and he saw the dangerous gleam in the other man's eye, the thrill of hunting something that might easily turn and hunt him back. He stopped short of him, smiling, then abruptly lunged forward and caught Mike's mouth with his.
The shock of the kiss was more than physical. Bodie had trapped him, lured him in, and now he had him in his net. He seemed to have grown several extra arms, all of which were holding, stroking, and caressing Mike, setting fire to his clean, damp skin, finishing what the kiss had started. It crossed Mike's mind that maybe Doyle was responsible for some of the strokes, pats, and caresses, but a brief lift of his eyelids showed him the other man still sprawled at the head of the bed, watching the show. Their eyes met fleetingly, and Mike felt the thrill of it go right through him, setting his body ablaze all over again. He put his arms around Bodie, reveling in the feel of the soft, smooth skin, in the hard muscle bunching and shifting under his hands. It was the first time, he realized dizzily. The first time he'd felt a man's naked body under his hands, been able to touch and caress and explore every part of it. He shifted forward, wanting more, and Bodie obliged.
The other man was a solid, silky-skinned weight in his arms, gloriously strong and hard against him. Mike knelt up, pulling Bodie towards him, and Bodie deftly straddled him, planting his knees on either side of Mike's hips, hands snaking down to curve over his ass. It was another new pleasure, the big, broad hands cupping him there, stroking appreciatively, and Mike returned the favor, squeezing and kneading Bodie's round buttocks until finally the other man tore his mouth away, gasping for breath.
"Christ," he breathed, burying his face briefly in Mike's hair, his hands drifting up to stroke gently at the nape of his neck. "And here I thought we were teaching you."
"Oh, I've been getting educated, I have," Doyle said from the head of the bed, and Mike turned to him guiltily, realizing that he'd been so lost in Bodie that he'd forgotten all about his partner. Doyle, though, didn't look as though the inattention had done him any harm. He was stretched out on his side, head propped in one hand while he gazed at them with his soft, sleepy eyes. Mike had assessed him before as fragile, looking at the thin build accentuated by skin-tight jeans, and clinging T-shirts. But the clothes had hidden a body that was every inch hard muscle, about as fragile, Mike realized, as a titanium rod. His skin glowed a soft gold in the lamplight, the light picking out the highlights of the hair arrowing down his chest, sliding over the proud, firm arch of the hard cock between his legs.
A casual caress over his hip returned Mike's attention to the man in his arms, but only as long as it took Bodie to kiss him and slide away, taking Mike's wrist to pull him back with him to the other end of the bed. Doyle was waiting for them, his eyes traveling over Mike's body in a way that made him flush from head to foot, abruptly becoming painfully self-conscious of his own nakedness. He wasn't used to this kind of frank appraisal, and he was suddenly beset with the insecure fear that he wouldn't pass muster.
Doyle reached up, pushing his hair back with a critical gaze at Mike's face, then glanced over his shoulder to Bodie. "You were right," Doyle said. "A work of art, he is." The hand drifted down, following the flush that had risen anew on Mike's skin, fingers trailing over chest and belly and groin, finally curving to grasp briefly at the hard, reddening length of Mike's cock. "Beautiful," he heard Doyle whisper to him, but the words barely registered, the part of Mike's brain that should have processed the compliment shutting down as the blood rushed elsewhere, filling the swelling cock that was being stroked gently by Ray's fingers.
Mike had to remember to breathe, his breath sighing out of him in a long, soft groan. Apparently Doyle liked that, for his hand shifted, stroking him harder, giving him a little more. His fingers were cool on Mike's heated skin, the touch electric on the throbbing length. Mike could feel his heart thud in his chest, could feel his own pulse beat against Doyle's hand. It was almost more than he could take, and it was with a mix of relief and disappointment that he felt the stroking fingers withdraw. And then Doyle's arms were around him, and Bodie was urging him forward from behind, rolling him on his side and into Doyle's embrace.
This was nothing like kissing Bodie. The dark-haired man was all banked heat, smoldering and dangerous. Ray was like the fire itself, burning whatever he touched, his mouth a hot furnace pressing against Mike's mouth, then moving to touch his cheeks, his jaw, his throat, trailing the fire in his wake. Behind him, Bodie had moved closer, fitting his body to Mike's, his thighs tucked up to cradle Mike's hips, the hard length of him sliding neatly along the crease of his buttocks, sending another jolt of shivering pleasure down Mike's body.
Bodie began to kiss the back of his neck, soft, warm, wet kisses, almost soothing compared to the burning touch of Doyle's lips. Doyle's mouth fastened on his again, and Mike reached out, blindly wrapping his arms around the other man, startled as his arms locked around the slim, hard body, surprised, after all, that there was so little of him to hold. Bodie was holding him now, his hands snaking around to stroke Mike's chest, to brush lightly over the straining cock, then move forward to give Ray the same treatment.
Ray shuddered in Mike's arms, his hips pushing forward until he was locked with Mike, his shaft pressing against Mike's belly, and Mike's own length caught in the delicious vise of their bodies. Mike froze, overwhelmed, every nerve screaming as he fought not to thrust into that tight heat, knowing that he was too close, that in a very few seconds he might not be able to hold back at all.
Mercifully, Doyle and Bodie recognized the sudden immobility for what it was, and they drew back, Doyle withdrawing from his arms, Bodie rolling over, taking Mike with him until he was laying back in the other's arms, Bodie petting his chest and thighs, soft, comforting pats that were somehow soothing rather than erotic. After a while, Mike felt the pounding in his body subside, enough that he could finally speak.
"Sorry," he gasped, and he felt Bodie's chuckle as a warm caress on his shoulder.
"Well, it's two against one, isn't it?" he said, kissing Mike's neck, nuzzling softly at his hair. "Unfair odds, that." He sat up, pulling Mike with him, spreading his legs to settle Mike between them, drawing him back against his chest. Mike closed his eyes, lying back in the embrace, enjoying the feeling of being cradled in the other man's arms. The knife-edge of desire had lessened, enough that he could take the renewed caresses, that even the soft brush of Bodie's hand over his shaft evoked only a brief, mind-blowing throb of need, jacking the pressure up, but not so much that it was unbearable.
Then Doyle appeared in front of him, kneeling down beside him to run his hands over Mike's thighs. He leaned forward, kissing Mike briefly, then gently pulled Mike's thighs apart, sidling over to kneel between them. Mike gulped, shivering as Doyle's fingers trailed over the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, then groaned as he softly cupped Mike's balls from below, lifting the cool sacs with exquisite care, his hot fingers stroking over the taut skin until Mike was gasping for breath, his teeth clenched as he struggled not to scream. His head lolled back, finding the support of Bodie's shoulder, and the other man began to kiss him, shifting around until finally his mouth closed over Mike's, stealing the last of his breath.
Below, Doyle finally released him, but it hardly made any difference. He was as hard as he'd ever been in his life, his cock pulsing maddeningly between his legs. Doyle's hands slid over his thighs again, and now he was lifting his legs, hooking them over Bodie's raised knees. He was sprawled unashamedly against Bodie's body, legs lifted and parted, his arms wound loosely around Bodie's neck, stretching his body up, offering himself blindly to whatever they wanted. Bodie's arms tightened around him, holding him, and Mike finally accepted the implicit promise, letting his body melt into the embrace.
"That's it," Doyle murmured from somewhere in the vicinity of Mike's left knee, and Mike shivered as his lips pressed briefly to his skin. Bodie was kissing him again, his mouth locked to Mike's, distracting him from the things that Doyle was doing to him. There were more kisses now, moving slowly up the inside of his thigh, then across his hip to the other side. Then a hot, wet mouth was pressed to his balls, kissing one, then the other. Mike whimpered into Bodie's mouth, a helpless, moaning keen that was almost childlike. Bodie stroked his belly comfortingly, his kisses gentle, reassuring.
Mike accepted the kisses gratefully, caught perfectly between the two of them, his mind and body held in a glorious, exquisite torture of sensation. The mouth on his balls moved again, drifting higher, the softly exhaled breath tickling the fine hairs around the base of his penis. Mike froze, his hands gripping the back of Bodie's neck, then he cried out into him as Doyle's lips slid over the head of his cock, taking him inside that heated, sucking mouth in one smooth stroke. His hips arched up, or tried to, but Doyle's hands were holding him, keeping him welded to the hard arch of Bodie's spread hips. Doyle sucked him once, then again, then, unbelievably, he was drawing back. Mike made a nearly frantic sound, knowing he must sound desperate, but not caring.
"Shh," Doyle whispered into his stomach. "Almost there. I promise." He moved away again, leaving Mike hanging there, nearly insane from desire, thinking of nothing but the painful hunger between his legs. And then the hands were back, and a slick, slippery finger was gently exploring between his legs, trailing downward, across the smooth, sensitive skin under his balls, and then further.
Mike froze, not daring to believe that Doyle was actually going to do it, that he'd actually touch him where his hands seemed to be leading, and then the soft, slick finger did just that, brushing lightly over the suddenly throbbing tightness between Mike's buttocks. Doyle rubbed over him, slicking down the tight little bundle of nerves, and Mike shuddered in Bodie's embrace, a fleeting embarrassment quickly subsumed in the incredible pleasure of the touch. The finger continued to massage, pressing down to send electric jolts of sensation through Mike's body, and he found himself wondering, and hoping, what would happen if Doyle would push a little harder, how it would feel to have that hard, probing finger slip inside him. And then he found out.
Bodie's hand moved to cup his jaw as he cried out, thumb stroking over his cheek, caressing his hair back while he calmed him with kisses. But Mike scarcely noticed, every scrap of his attention focused on the incredible sensation of Doyle's finger going up his ass. He felt his muscles spasm around the rigid digit, trying reflexively to push it out at the same time as he drew it in. Then Doyle's palm was pressed against him, and he realized that the whole finger was now seated firmly inside him. It was all he could do not to come on the spot.
"You all right?" Bodie whispered to him, into him, and Mike managed a shaky, breathless nod.
"Oh, yeah," he breathed back, and heard Doyle give a soft, rich chuckle. He slid his hand back a little, then pushed in again, and Mike shivered all over, feeling goosepimples flood his skin. "Yes . . ." he whispered, scarcely aware that he'd said it out loud. Doyle obliged him with a longer, deeper stroke, leaving Mike trembling in Bodie's arms. He turned his head, blindly seeking Bodie's mouth, and lost himself in the other man's kiss, opening his mouth helplessly as Doyle's finger moved in and out. He was so close, the hot friction of that finger bringing him right to the edge, the soft caresses of Bodie's arms and the wet heat of his mouth keeping him there. And then Doyle's mouth was on him again, sliding him into hot, wet, tightness, sucking him hard. And it wasn't enough. Mike was about to come, was a second away, and it wasn't enough.
"Stop," he gasped, tearing his mouth from Bodie's, unwinding one arm from his neck to reach down and push Doyle's head away. "Please." He groaned as Doyle slid his finger away, too, though he hadn't intended that. "Please," he said, reaching his hand to Doyle's flushed, puzzled face, tracing the fine line of his cheek. "That was good," he said when he could speak, nearly panting the words, and then let his hand drop, fingers barely brushing the tip of his penis. "That would be better."
Doyle's breath caught, and his cock leapt up. "You sure?" he asked, and Mike felt Bodie laugh behind him, his hands caressing Mike's stomach.
"Oh, I think he's sure." Bodie's hand spread against his face, turning him to be kissed again. Mike closed his eyes, losing himself again, until Bodie drew back, planting tender, soft kisses on his face. He put his arms around him, holding him. "We'll take care of you, Mikey. That's a promise." He grinned against him, and kissed the tip of his nose. "But you're going to have to move, love, for us to do this properly."
A minute ago, nothing could have persuaded Mike to move from the warm haven of Bodie's arms. But the rich promise in Bodie's words proved to be enough after all. He slid away from him carefully, kneeling up on the bed, wondering where they wanted him, but only for a moment.
"Here." Doyle took him in his arms, kissing him, then urged him to lie down on his side, Doyle lying down to face him, his mouth curved in a smile. Bodie shifted behind him, and Mike shivered as his palm stroked lovingly over his ass, massaging gently before his hand slipped down, pushing Mike's leg forward to lie over the curve of Doyle's hip. Doyle pulled him closer, taking Mike in his arms, his knee slipping between Mike's parted thighs to stroke him. Mike allowed himself to be positioned, surrendering his body to Bodie's hands. It was almost as erotic a thrill as the contact of their bodies, the feeling of giving himself over to them, trusting them absolutely with his pleasure. Just as well. He was so charged now, so close, that if he'd so much as touched himself, it would have been all over. And Doyle was murmuring softly to him, encouraging him, using his mouth and hands and lips to set him quietly ablaze, his skin fired with sensation, his body melting into Doyle's arms, and opening to Bodie's softly probing hands. He wasn't sure how or when it had been decided that Bodie would be the one to take him, but right now he didn't care. All he wanted was to have that incredible bone-melting friction back, and he didn't much care where it came from.
He gasped as Bodie's fingers probed him, then entered him again. Mike quivered helplessly against Doyle's supporting body, moaning into his mouth, and felt Bodie stroke his back with his free hand, soothing him like someone might soothe a frightened animal. Mike felt nearly frantic now, only barely aware of the fingers carefully stretching him, opening him until he thought he might scream from frustration. It still wasn't enough, wouldn't be enough, he thought, until he felt that cock inside him.
When Bodie finally entered him, he froze in Doyle's arms, every nerve in his body abruptly short-circuiting in the hot sizzle of desire. He felt it race along his limbs, a hot flood of blood and heat rushing outward, turning his muscles to jelly. He heard Doyle's voice in his ear, quietly telling him to breathe, and he obeyed blindly, sucking in gulps of air while Bodie waited, his shaft buried only a maddening fraction inside Mike's body. He shifted forward, and it happened all over again, the mind-blowing wave of sensation reducing Mike to whimpering incoherence. He found Doyle's mouth, fastening on it with fierce passion, kissing him desperately to keep himself sane until Bodie was finished, until he'd pushed forward, inch by agonizing inch, and finally buried himself completely in Mike's body. And when he started to thrust, Mike thought he was going to die.
His breath stopped, his vision flooding crimson, Ray Doyle's flushed face dissolving before his wide-open eyes. The liquid, rasping heat of Bodie's cock filled him up, a long, delicious friction that seemed to go on forever. He hadn't realized that he'd cried out until he felt the raw air in his throat, and only realized that he'd come with the first thrust when he felt the hot liquid spilling over his thighs. Bodie stroked into him again, and Mike gave a helpless, strangled whimper, his hips shaking uncontrollably as his cock jerked, pulsing again over his own leg. Then Bodie groaned, a deep, hoarse sound, and Mike nearly came all over again as he felt him climax inside him.
They clung together, gasping in breathless unison, shivering and panting until finally Bodie gathered himself enough to pull away. Mike protested weakly, but he was too far gone to fight him. He leaned forward into Doyle's arms, searching for his mouth, and only then realized that not all of the wetness covering their bodies had come from him. He nudged with a questing knee, and Doyle's breath caught, his mouth curving in an almost apologetic smile. "You looked grand, you did," he told him softly. "Couldn't hold back, could I, not seeing you both coming right there in front of me. It was beautiful."
"Told you," Bodie said sleepily from behind Mike, and drew his hand over Mike's side. He tugged gently, urging Mike onto his back, and propped his head on his hand, looking down at him with an oddly tender expression. "Didn't I tell you, Ray?"
"You did." Doyle shifted himself up on the other side, reaching over to stroke Bodie's chest idly. "He's a work of art, like you said."
Mike felt the flush rise in his face. "I look like a guy who spent the last hour sweating like a pig," he said.
"But it's a very nice pig," Bodie said, and put up a hand to trace the edge of Mike's cheek. "Don't knock yourself, son," he said. "Doyle and me don't go around throwing compliments away. He says you're beautiful, you're beautiful."
But Mike barely heard him. He was drifting away, the tiredness of the long day finally catching up to him, the soft lassitude of the aftermath of orgasm weighing down his limbs, pulling his eyes shut. "Thanks," he managed to mumble, and heard Doyle laugh softly, and felt a hand push through his sweat-damp hair. A warm body settled close to him, arms wrapping around him, and soft lips kissed his temple, then his mouth. He heard voices over him, the deep rumble of laughter in the chest behind him, but he was too far gone to pay any more attention. A moment later, he was fast asleep.
-----
The phone woke them at six. Doyle recovered first, reaching for the receiver, dislodging Mike's sleepy embrace. He picked up, and listened for maybe a minute, then hung up without a word and rolled over to poke Bodie's shoulder. "That was our travel agent, sunshine," he said. "Says he's got our flight booked."
Bodie peeled a sleepy eye open. "What, now?" He still had his arms around Mike, a peaceful, heavy embrace that Mike was loathe to lose. But lose it he did, as Bodie carefully extricated himself from the tangle of bodies and bedclothes, abandoning Mike with a soft, apologetic kiss. "Duty calls, love," he said, and the regret in his voice was palpably genuine. On the other side, Doyle muttered something that sounded vaguely obscene, then leaned over abruptly to follow Bodie's kiss with one of his own.
"Sorry," he said, and reached up to run a hand through Mike's hair, feathering the soft strands in his fingers. "Wasn't supposed to end like this, was it?"
"Hey." Mike caught the caressing hand with his own, brought Doyle's palm to his mouth for a soft, sleepy kiss. "It's okay. I understand."
Behind him, Bodie shifted, and Mike turned to find him looking at him with an odd expression. "Yeah," he said, and put his hand softly on Mike's cheek. He caressed his face, and now his voice was quiet, almost sad. "Yeah, I think you do, sunshine." He stroked his cheek again, leaned into kiss him, whispering something that Mike couldn't quite make out as his lips brushed over his temple. He might have been saying, "More's the pity." Then Bodie stood up slowly, reluctantly heading for the closet where their bags were kept, moving more quickly with every step as he and Doyle fell into what looked like a long-familiar routine.
Mike propped himself on his elbows, watching, knowing he should probably get up, probably get dressed, and leave. But instead he stayed where he was, unwilling to dispel this early-morning lassitude. His whole body was still singing softly with the reminders of the night before, even the little aches and pains no more than a gentle trigger to the delightful reminiscence. He wanted to stay here as long as possible, watching them, soaking up every moment of memory, to hold and savor.
Presently, Bodie came over to kiss him again, his half-packed bag dangling from his hand. He tossed it next to Mike, and sat down, running a hand over his bared thigh. "You all right?" he asked, and Mike nodded.
"Never better," he said with a grin, and got an answering smile from Doyle.
"Good," he said. A set of car keys landed on the bed next to Mike. "Then you won't mind driving us to the airport."
-----
Epilogue
"What are you smiling about?" Lennie Briscoe shifted lower in his seat, staring grumpily out the window as they headed over the Brooklyn Bridge. Headed away from Manhattan. Normally, Mike felt the same way as his partner obviously did about seeing the familiar skyline recede behind him, but there was something about taking this route again, even after all these years. How many had it been? Ten? Fifteen, more like it. And he still remembered that early morning drive over the bridge, summer haze hovering over the river, all the car's windows open to let the cool air swirl in. And Bodie and Doyle, sniping at each other, complaining, grumbling, and arguing about who was going to get the window seat. He felt his mouth curve into another smile.
"Nothing," he said at last to Lennie. "Just a memory, that's all."
THE END
For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see Part 1.
New York Minute (2/2)
It had been a long shift. Ernie might have stopped short of firing him, but he wasn't exactly pleased with his tardy counterman, and he showed his displeasure by assigning an endless laundry list of dirty, menial jobs for Mike to do in his brief spare moments. In between, he glared at every order Mike called back, and woe betide him if he was a nanosecond slow in snapping up the orders as they came off the rack. By the time Ernie finally packed in his apron and went home, Mike felt like he'd spent the last four hours in some form of Diner Purgatory. He was tired and sweating, and he had a second-degree burn on the end of his little finger from a spilled drop of too-hot cooking grease from an order of onion rings. He'd dropped the plate, too, and Ernie had given him hell for it. As a final petty display of pique, Ernie had "forgotten" to give Mike his break, and by eleven-thirty, when Ernie finally left, he was starving. Ten minutes after Ernie left, he was standing at the corner of the counter having an illicit snack of fried potatoes and scrambled eggs, slipped to him by the sympathetic hand of the short-order cook. It was all he could do not to drop the plate on the floor when the door opened and Bodie and Doyle strolled in.
At first, Mike didn't believe his own eyes. He knew he was tired, and hungry, and he wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if he *had* started imagining things. Things like seeing his two "good Samaritans" come through the front door of the diner, looking around as if they'd never been in one before. Then Bodie's sharp eyes flicked over to him, and he slapped his partner lightly on the arm, directing his attention to Mike's end of the counter. They sauntered over, grinning identical greetings to him, and slid onto two stools in front of him. Bodie leaned forward and gave the plate a sniff.
"Looks pretty good," he said.
"Yeah, if you see the help eating it, it can't be bad, right?" Doyle said to him, both of them speaking as if Mike weren't even there.
"Can I help you?" Mike asked, tingeing his words with more than a touch of sarcasm.
They glanced up, as if surprised to remember that he was still there, and then looked at each other again. "Two orders of that, please," Bodie said for both of them. "And coffee."
"Wait," Doyle protested. "You don't have to drag me along to your grave as well."
"Fine," Bodie said equably, grabbing a menu and pushing it in front of him. "You find something healthy on there, and I'll buy it for you." He turned back to Mike. "In the meantime, we'll have two of those."
Mike shouted the order back, and brought the coffee for them. He was glad for the distraction of the job, nonplused by their sudden appearance and not sure, exactly, how to handle it. And not sure why he cared.
They thanked him in grave unison as he set the cups in front of them, but neither of them made any move to drink. Instead, when he would have moved away, finding some excuse to be busy at the other end of the counter, Bodie spoke to him.
"Glad you didn't lose the job, mate," he said. "We were worried, about you, weren't we."
"That's right," Doyle seconded. "Thought we'd come by and impress your boss."
"Well, you're ten minutes too late to do that," Mike told them. He hesitated a minute. "But thanks anyway." He glanced over his shoulder. They were practically alone in the place, only one young woman reading a book in the far corner, and the cooks making the usual racket in back. He lowered his voice, and leaned on the counter. "Look," he said awkwardly, not sure how to make it sound right. It wasn't something he was used to. His family wasn't big into apologies. "I'm sorry," he said finally, "about the way I acted this afternoon. After . . . after you helped me with the old lady and all. You didn't have to do it, and I never thanked you for it."
"Hey, it was nothing," Bodie assured him. "Part of the service, right?"
Mike swallowed. That wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say, but it was a start. "I'm not just talking about that," he began, and was interrupted by the bell from the order window.
"Order up, Mike!"
"Got it!" he called back, and grimaced an apology at the two men before pushing off to collect their orders. He gathered up the plates and turned to ferry them back to the two men, but as he approached he saw Bodie turn to Doyle, leaning over with a sly grin to murmur something in the other man's ear, something that made him laugh, and duck his head in an emphatic nod. Bodie kept murmuring, and smiling, swiveling on the stool so that his arm brushed against his companion, one finger lifting to tap at the bare skin of Doyle's forearm. It was a friendly touch, nothing more than the most casual of pats, but it stirred a sudden, painful memory in Mike, the memory of him and Joey standing in the shadows of the back stairs, Mike's hand on Joey's arm, the other boy's breath catching in his throat as Mike's lips touched his.
It had been a mistake, a stupid, impulsive, lust-driven act, and Mike had regretted it the instant it happened. And then all the regrets had melted away, dissolving in the heat of Joey's mouth on his, and the breathtaking touch of Joey's fingers, lifting tentatively to frame Mike's face in his hands. And for one long, glorious minute, they'd stood there, lost in each other, mouths devouring, hearts pounding. And then Mike had shifted forward the merest fraction, feeling himself harden as the incredible softness of Joey's lips slid against his. It was a dangerous, illicit thrill, the rough-stubbled cheek under his mouth, the strength and weight of the body in his arms, knowing it was supposed to be forbidden, and yet knowing that it felt so good. His hips brushed Joey's, the hardness of his arousal kissing briefly against Joey's matching erection. It had throbbed through him like a jolt of liquid heat, the pulse of desire so strong that he almost came then and there. He'd pushed forward again, mindless, rubbing his crotch against Joey's, feeling the other boy thrust back, hips grinding together once in an all-too-fleeting climb towards ecstasy.
Then Joey had pushed him away, shaking, his face flushed with passion and with embarrassment, his erection straining visibly at the front of his pants, unfulfilled. They'd stared at each other, Mike seeing the shock in his eyes, knowing that some of the bewilderment he saw there was reflected in his own face. It wasn't Mike's first time here, not by a long shot, but he knew, now, that it was Joey's, and he saw, with a sinking heart, the horror rising in the other boy's eyes. He'd licked his lips, stepping forward, reaching a gentle hand to Joey's arm. "Joey . . ."
But Joey had run away. Not a word, not a sound. He'd simply fled, turning his back to Mike and putting as much distance between them as he could, as fast as he could. Mike hadn't seen him since.
And his mother had seen the whole thing.
That thought was enough to shock him back to the present, and he realized, with some surprise, that he was in the process of sliding the laden plates in front of the other two men, even his deep reverie not enough, it seemed, to disturb the powerful inertia of routine. Just as well. It would have been more than embarrassing to be caught staring off into space with two plates of eggs and potatoes sliding off his arms. And especially embarrassing to have to explain the reason.
"Ta, mate," Bodie said, picking up his fork and poking at the eggs that Mike pushed over to him.
"You need anything?" he asked, before they could engage him in any more conversation. "More coffee?"
"No, thanks," Doyle said. "We'll manage."
Mike nodded, and jerked his head over to the drink station. "I'll be cleaning up over here," he said. "Yell if you need anything." He shoved off without waiting for an answer, eager, for once, to be alone with his own thoughts for a while.
Up until now, he'd tried not to think about it too much. In that respect, Ernie's revenge had been something of a blessing, keeping him far too busy to worry about his own problems, and what his mother might say, and who she might say it to. It was no news to Katy, but it sure as hell would be news to his father. And that was one confrontation Mike hoped never to have. It'd kill the old man, maybe literally, and that was one thing Mike didn't want added to his conscience.
It wasn't even, he thought bitterly, as if he'd ever done anything that would even be worth all the pain and heartache. Stolen kisses, brief encounters in darkened rooms, frantic, hurried gropings in the bathroom stalls or the locker rooms at school. It was all furtive, shameful, none of the boys he'd been with even able, afterwards, to look him in the eye. But then they'd find themselves alone, with a few precious minutes, and it would happen again.
He shot a glance over to Bodie and Doyle, and was overwhelmed with a sudden, sharp pang of . . . something. Jealousy, maybe, or even self-pity. Or longing. They had, he thought sadly, each other. No need for endless flirting, countless pick-up lines, insincere promises, just for the chance to sweat up the sheets of some stranger's bed for an hour to two. And the women were the easy part. He was allowed, more or less, to pursue them, was expected to want them. And he did. But he wanted the other as well, and watching Bodie and Doyle, together, felt like having a hole ripped in his chest. He wanted what they had, and at the same time knew, with an almost physically painful flash of self-awareness, that it was something he might never have. Might never have the courage to have.
For the first time, he wondered what had brought them back here. To check up on him? Possibly. Because it was one of the only places they knew of to grab a bite at midnight in New York? Likely. It didn't, he realized, need to have anything to do with him at all. He was surprised, though, at how much that thought, true or not, hurt. 'Stupid,' he berated himself. 'What did you do, this afternoon, when you thought they might be coming on to you? And now you're wishing you could take it all back. And wishing that what you thought was true.'
They were talking again, Bodie tracing patterns on the counter between them, illustrating whatever it was that he was telling his partner. Doyle was smiling now, his head bent close to Bodie's, the two of them huddled in companionable collusion over the diagram Bodie was tracing. Mike watched them, and felt his throat tighten. He wished . . . he wanted . . . he wasn't sure what. If either of them had come alone, he would have known exactly what he wanted, and how to get it. But this was both of them. Trickier. Maybe even impossible. But he knew, now, that he had to try.
Bodie and Doyle were absorbed in their conversation, shoulders leaning together as they spoke in quiet undertones, barely aware, it seemed, of their surroundings. At least until Mike came over and slid two pieces of apple pie in front of them.
They looked up at him, mildly startled, and Doyle dropped his gaze to the plate in front of him. "Did we order this?" he asked, and Mike shook his head.
"On the house," he said, and grinned. "For services rendered."
Bodie was already tucking in, making an appreciative noise as he licked the filling from his fork. "Not bad," he said.
Mike let them get started, then leaned his hip against the counter, folding his arms on top of the smooth, cool surface, keeping his head close to theirs. "I didn't get a chance, before, to finish what I was saying," he said presently. "What you said, about what I was . . ." He stumbled, not sure, yet, how to identify himself with the words. "About what I might be feeling," he amended. He took a deep breath. "You were right. And what you told me . . . it helped."
Doyle looked at him seriously. "You're not alone, mate," he said. "Don't forget it, all right?"
"I won't," Mike promised. He glanced up as the door opened again, and waved absently as Elaine breezed through, heading for the office. "Well, my relief's here," he said. "I better look busy."
"Sure thing." Bodie pushed his empty plate aside. "How much do we owe?"
Mike glanced back, and slipped the ticket from under the plate, crumpling it in his pocket. "Like I said," he told him. "On the house." He picked up the dirty dishes and piled them in the dishpan, then wiped down the counter in front of them. A glance at the clock on the wall showed it to be nearly midnight, nearly time for him go home. "So," he said, striving to be casual, "today was your good Samaritan day. You interviewing for tomorrow yet?"
It took Doyle a second to get it, then he nearly choked on his coffee, his eyes wide. Bodie, on the other hand, was already grinning. "Why?" he asked. "You applying?"
"I might," Mike said slowly, buffing the edge of the counter, grinning back. "Hey, I might still lose this job. A man's got to keep his options open."
Bodie poked his partner, visibly enjoying the game. "What'd'ya think, Doyle? Think he's likely?"
"I dunno." Doyle looked him over. Playing along, Mike guessed, but there was a more serious assessment in the soft green eyes, something that made him turn quickly to toss a dirty cup into the dishpan, trying to hide the sudden betraying flush. Behind him, Doyle went on thoughtfully, "Reckon he might be a bit young, you know. Couldn't go breaking the law, could we?"
That made him turn back, brow raised. "Thanks," he said sourly, not sure whether to take it as a joke, a compliment, or a slap.
"That's right," Bodie said, as if he hadn't spoken. "Still, it's younger over here, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Doyle agreed, slipping into the now-familiar 'let's ignore Mike' routine, talking around and over him as if he'd suddenly vanished. And for all Mike knew, he had. "Eighteen, isn't it? Twenty-one back home, for two blokes anyway."
"Bloody stupid, if you ask me," Bodie said. "That's a double standard, that is. Now, two birds, there's nothing to stop them. But no, we have to wait three more bleedin' years. And they say they've got discrimination."
Mike cleared his throat, interrupting the discussion of equal rights, and earning himself identical looks of 'Oh, you're still here?' from the other two men. He leaned down a little, propping his elbows on the counter, ducking his head to speak in a soft undertone, for their ears alone. "I know you're kidding, all right?" he said quietly. "I just wanted you to know . . ." He glanced at them both, letting his eyes lock with each of their gazes in turn, then tilting his head forward, bringing his head between them, whispering into their straining ears. "*I'm not.*"
With that, he stood up and walked to the back of the counter, busying himself preparing a fresh filter of coffee, his last task before he could turn things over to Elaine. He carefully didn't look back, not daring to risk betraying himself. His hands shook at his job, and he nearly spilled coffee grounds all over the counter. Nerves, from fear. And desire. He hadn't known, until the words came out, how badly he wanted it. He'd told himself it was loneliness, that he wanted someone who would understand, who'd know what it was like to want something other than soft curves and smooth skin, to want to feel that matching hardness when pressing close, to know that he was loving someone exactly like himself.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to steady his jangling nerves. Merely thinking about it, about what he'd done, and what might come from it, left him as terrified, and as excited, as he'd ever remembered being in his life. Two emotions warring in him, twisting his belly in knots, cold fear and hot desire churning together until he thought he might actually be sick.
Part of him couldn't believe he'd actually done it. It was crazy, and stupid. 'Exactly the kind of impulse,' he reminded himself harshly, 'that led to Joey Cooper running away from you as fast as he could.' And the thought that these two might do exactly the same more than just crossed his mind. Who could, after all, blame them? They didn't know him, any more, he reminded, than he knew them. For all he knew, they could be a couple of hustlers themselves, preying on the young and innocent. 'Right, like you, Mikey,' he told himself sourly. 'Young and innocent, that's you to a "T." So innocent you made a pass at two--*two*--perfect strangers.'
He risked a glance over his shoulder. And his heart dropped straight to his toes, the fear and desire wilting as one, replaced by the sickening crush of disappointment. The two stools were empty, the abandoned coffee cups left among the scattered crumbs and crumpled napkins. He hadn't even seen them go. Mike turned back, swallowing, berating himself for even letting himself get his hopes up. It had been stupid, he knew it. They'd been kidding, teasing him, maybe flirting a little, yeah, but harmless. And he'd taken it too far. It wouldn't be the first time.
So why did it still have to hurt so much?
-----
Mike set a record counting out his till and clocking out, wanting nothing more to get the hell out of the stifling confines of the diner, out into the dubious sanctuary of the street. For once, the long walk home would be something to look forward to, a time to clear his churning thoughts, and hope he could get them under control before he had to face his family. It had been a hell of a day.
He said good-bye to the night crew, clocked out, chucked his apron and cap into the laundry, and headed gratefully for the front door.
Bodie and Doyle were waiting at the curb.
For a second, all Mike could do was stare. The turmoil was back, a tide of conflicting emotions so strong that, for a long time, he couldn't even speak. When he did, it was all he could do to summon up a phrase even as inane as, "What are you doing here?"
They looked at each other. "Waiting for you, mate," Bodie said calmly. He looked over at Doyle again. "I think we called his bluff, sunshine," he hissed in a stage whisper, and Doyle nodded solemnly.
The anger did what no amount of relief could do to clear his head, and let him find his voice again. "Hey, what was I supposed to think? You two cleared out of there so fast you left skid marks. Bluff, hell," he couldn't help adding, hearing the frustration in his own voice.
"Had to make sure, didn't we." Doyle said, and the humor was suddenly gone from his voice. "Didn't we?" he repeated, more softly, and Mike felt himself nod.
"Yeah, I guess so." He looked up and down the street, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, feeling the warm air on his skin. It was another hot night, the humidity in the air almost thick enough to cut, every breath like standing in a sauna. "So," he said presently. "You want to get out of this oven? Or are we going to stand here all night."
Bodie and Doyle looked at each other, shrugged, and stepped out into the middle of the sidewalk, flanking him effortlessly as they all began to walk down the street. Mike kept his hands in his pockets, to keep them from shaking, hoping that the sudden weakness in his knees wouldn't be obvious. This was, potentially, about the dumbest thing he'd ever done in his life. If these two weren't what they seemed--or even if they were--he might have bought himself more trouble than he could handle. And then Bodie touched his arm, signaling him to turn left with them at the corner, and the electric thrill of those broad fingers brushing his skin nearly made him gasp aloud. Maybe he needed a little trouble.
They spoke very little in the car, Mike being granted the front seat in deference to his longer legs, with Doyle driving and Bodie in the back. The only significant piece of conversation took place when they reached the hotel, after Doyle had switched off the engine and the car had fallen suddenly, deathly silent. Mike waited for Doyle to get out, then realized that Bodie was trapped in the back seat and reached for the door. But a strong, slim hand on his arm stopped him.
"Hang on a minute," Doyle said quietly. He didn't look at Bodie, and after a moment Mike realized that he didn't have to. They might not have rehearsed it, but Bodie knew, Mike was sure, exactly what Doyle was about to say. Once it was clear he had Mike's attention, Doyle went on. "Just wanted to say something, before we get on with this." He nodded behind Mike. "That's a door. You open it, we won't stop you. You walk away, we won't follow. Far as we're concerned, none of it ever happened."
The sensation of the hand on his arm was making it hard for Mike to breathe. "One last chance to back out?" he asked, and got a muffled chuckle from Bodie.
"No," Doyle answered. "First chance. I mean it," he went on, serious. "You want out, you say so. No hard feelings."
As far as Mike was concerned, the only thing hard about any of this was what was thankfully concealed by his jeans, but he didn't say it. "I'll remember," he promised. "Now, can we go?"
-----
It hadn't really hit Mike exactly what it was that he was about to do. Not until he was standing in the hallway, watching Ray Doyle unlock the door, Bodie a very tangible presence at his side. He had no idea what awaited him on the other side of that door. He'd simply moved from place to place, reacting with thinking, tossed around like a pinball in a suddenly very high-stakes game. He'd thought he'd known what he wanted, back there at the diner, but now he wasn't so sure exactly what that want was. For the first time in a long time, he felt out of his depth, unsure of how to proceed, of which moves to make.
He followed Doyle uncertainly into the room, very much aware of Bodie's continued presence behind him. The room was nicely cool, a welcome contrast to the sweltering heat, and Mike was suddenly acutely aware of his own sweaty, smelly clothing, his skin slicked with the film of grime and grease that inevitably clung to his body after a night at the diner. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the lank, oily weight of it against his fingers, the top of it mashed into a sweaty tangle from the work cap. Mike sent a surreptitious glance towards the mirror, wondering how bad he looked, and once he saw himself, couldn't decide whether to laugh out loud or die from embarrassment. He was a mess, his shirt and jeans stained with food and liberally splotched with grease and sweat, his hair falling in limp disarray over his forehead. It was a wonder they hadn't laughed in his face.
Bodie must have caught his involuntary grimace in the mirror, but when he spoke, his words showed more tact that Mike would have given him credit for. "You look knackered, son," he said.
Then again, tact had never been one of Mike's strong points, either. "I look like shit," he said, and felt himself smile. "Sorry, I didn't realize what I must look like."
Doyle waved it away. "Don't worry about it. Bodie and me, we've seen worse in our day. Been worse ourselves, haven't we?"
Mike appreciated the effort, but, he decided, he'd appreciate a lot more being clean. "Look, I know it's not the usual way of doing business, but I don't suppose you'd mind me taking a shower?"
"Whatever you want."
The touch of Bodie's hand on his hair was unexpected, the motion so smooth, so effortless, that Mike was hardly aware of it until the long fingers were running against his scalp, warm and tingling, sending a shivering thrill down his spine with one casual caress. Mike leaned into it, involuntarily, hardly realizing that it was exactly what Bodie intended until the warm lips were on his.
Taken unawares, Mike felt the soft shock of the kiss like a match to a powder train, the fire racing along his limbs, every part of him suddenly tingling and alive, all the sweat and dirt and weariness burnt to insignificance in a flash. He parted his lips, tasting the other man's mouth with relish, devouring the mingled flavors of coffee and whiskey and sweet apple pie, feeling Bodie give a startled jerk against him as Mike's tongue slipped, insistent, between his lips. But Mike was only allowed a brief taste, a promise of things to come, before Bodie was pulling back, regarding him with newfound amusement.
"Well, well," he said. "More than just a pretty face."
Mike might have been indignant at the adjective, if he'd had room in the turmoil of sensations for anything as trifling as indignation. His mouth was tingling with the kiss, his scalp prickling where Bodie's fingers were still threaded in his hair. Bodie smoothed his hand back, releasing him, but Mike felt the connection as if it were still tangible, a hot wire of pure lust coiled around his groin. A hand touched him gently from behind, and he jumped as Doyle spoke softly in his ear.
"Why don't you get that shower now?" he suggested, and Mike closed his eyes at the promises that crowded those innocent words. He sealed the promise with a soft kiss under the curve of Mike's jaw, and Mike nearly groaned out loud. Bodie, still standing in front of him, lifted a hand, but it was to Doyle's face that he reached, brushing his palm over the other man's cheek, pushing the soft curls back from his face. He leaned forward to kiss him, Mike pressed briefly between their two bodies, helpless. Then Bodie drew back, and touched Mike on the waist.
"Off you go," he said with a smile. "We'll be waiting for you."
-----
Bodie watched Mike disappear into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a soft, apologetic click..
"Think he'll do a runner?" Doyle asked, voicing the question for them both.
"Not a chance," Bodie said with confidence. "Saw him yourself, didn't you. Think he's going to turn tail now?" He shook his head. "He just wants a minute. You know, like a bird who wants to do her makeup before, or brush her teeth. Give him some time."
But Doyle still didn't look happy. "We doing the right thing, Bodie?" he asked, and turned, startled, as Bodie made a disgusted noise in his throat.
"Don't start with me, sunshine," he warned, giving Ray his best stern look. "He offered, remember?"
"But we didn't have to take him up on it." Ray shook his head. "I don't want him getting hurt, that's all."
"And who's going to hurt him?" Bodie pointed out sensibly. "I thought that was the whole point. Show him a good time, make sure he *doesn't* get hurt." He got up from his perch on the dresser, advancing on Doyle with a small smile playing around his lips. "Come on, Ray," he wheedled, drawing the other man into his arms, planting a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't you want to show him how it's done?" Another kiss, light as a feather, on his forehead, and another on his cheek. "Show him how good it can be?" He moved the kisses down, dropping them lightly on cheeks, nose, eyes and mouth, moving slowly over the planes of his partner's face. "Besides," he whispered softly into Doyle's warm, sallow skin, "He's bloody gorgeous, he is. I can't wait to see him when we get through with him. He'll be a bleedin' work of art, he will."
If Doyle had any more protests, they dissolved as Bodie kissed him again, using every trick he knew to distract his partner from his brooding. It wasn't, he was pleased to note, very hard to manage, and by the time they parted there was distinct gleam in Ray's eyes, a feral light that Bodie knew all too well. Knew, and treasured. "So," he said, running his hands up the sides of Doyle's arms, "Should we give him a show when he comes out? Something to break the ice a bit?"
Now Doyle was grinning with him. "You're wicked, you are," he said, but almost admiringly. Then he smiled, and leaned over to kiss him again. "Yeah," he said into Bodie's mouth. "Let's."
-----
It was tempting for Mike to take his time in the shower, to savor the indulgence of unlimited hot water, and the further luxury of privacy, no need to rush because someone else would be waiting in line. Then he thought of what *was* waiting, and that was enough to spur him into action. It was a short, vigorous shower, but he felt much better afterwards, some of the pain and tiredness of the day washing from his body along with the dirt and sweat, leaving him clean and alert.
Still, he hesitated at the door of the bathroom, suddenly, unaccountably shy at the thought of opening that door, of walking back into the bedroom. He wished now that he hadn't broken the mood, that he'd not disturbed the electric connection that had existed, however briefly, between himself and Bodie, and between Bodie and Doyle. It would have been so easy then, to take them both, to let them take him, but he hadn't done it. And now, he realized with a sinking heart, it might be too late to recreate it again. But he was never going to find out standing here.
At first, he didn't see the other two, and felt a brief moment of acute, humiliated panic. Then a soft noise from the bed turned his head in that direction, and he felt his mouth go suddenly dry.
They were lying on the bed, naked, arms and legs wrapped around each other in a complex, sensual tangle. Bodie's hands were buried in the thick softness of Doyle's hair, pulling him forward to be kissed while the other man's thin, strong arms locked around his back. One hand groped down, finding the round curve of a buttock and squeezing, and Bodie groaned, surging forward to take Doyle's mouth again. Ray's leg wrapped around Bodie, pulling him closer, and Bodie rocked against him, muscles rippling in his back as he dragged his hands down the length of Doyle's body, caressing over him as if he were a sculptor reveling in the feel of his finished masterpiece.
That was enough for Mike. He'd come out of the bathroom wearing a towel, hedging his bets, but now he discarded it, letting it drop to the floor before stepping up to the bed. Mike put a cautious knee on the mattress, eyes still fixed on the erotic tableau being played out in front of him. It was a performance for his benefit, he realized, and felt his half-hard cock stiffen in appreciation, rising up to thrust proudly forward in front of him. He settled himself carefully at the foot of the bed, watching, smiling, and waiting for them to acknowledge his presence.
It didn't take long. The bed had shifted under his weight, and Bodie took the hint, delivering one last searching kiss to Doyle's parted lips, then gently rolled away from his partner, both of them turning to smile down at him. Bodie looked him over assessingly, and reached over to poke Doyle on the shoulder. "What did I say, Ray?" he said. "Not just a pretty face." He turned on his back, displaying himself as unselfconsciously as a cat, fingertips trailing down the length of his own belly. He only allowed Mike a moment to look, though, to take in the broad, strong planes of his chest, the smooth pale skin, almost hairless but for the soft cluster of curls at his groin. Then he was rising up, moving to the foot of the bed.
Mike found it hard to breathe as Bodie drew nearer, stalking him on hands on knees exactly, Mike imagined, as sleek creatures of the jungle stalked their small, helpless prey. But Mike was neither small, nor helpless, and he saw the dangerous gleam in the other man's eye, the thrill of hunting something that might easily turn and hunt him back. He stopped short of him, smiling, then abruptly lunged forward and caught Mike's mouth with his.
The shock of the kiss was more than physical. Bodie had trapped him, lured him in, and now he had him in his net. He seemed to have grown several extra arms, all of which were holding, stroking, and caressing Mike, setting fire to his clean, damp skin, finishing what the kiss had started. It crossed Mike's mind that maybe Doyle was responsible for some of the strokes, pats, and caresses, but a brief lift of his eyelids showed him the other man still sprawled at the head of the bed, watching the show. Their eyes met fleetingly, and Mike felt the thrill of it go right through him, setting his body ablaze all over again. He put his arms around Bodie, reveling in the feel of the soft, smooth skin, in the hard muscle bunching and shifting under his hands. It was the first time, he realized dizzily. The first time he'd felt a man's naked body under his hands, been able to touch and caress and explore every part of it. He shifted forward, wanting more, and Bodie obliged.
The other man was a solid, silky-skinned weight in his arms, gloriously strong and hard against him. Mike knelt up, pulling Bodie towards him, and Bodie deftly straddled him, planting his knees on either side of Mike's hips, hands snaking down to curve over his ass. It was another new pleasure, the big, broad hands cupping him there, stroking appreciatively, and Mike returned the favor, squeezing and kneading Bodie's round buttocks until finally the other man tore his mouth away, gasping for breath.
"Christ," he breathed, burying his face briefly in Mike's hair, his hands drifting up to stroke gently at the nape of his neck. "And here I thought we were teaching you."
"Oh, I've been getting educated, I have," Doyle said from the head of the bed, and Mike turned to him guiltily, realizing that he'd been so lost in Bodie that he'd forgotten all about his partner. Doyle, though, didn't look as though the inattention had done him any harm. He was stretched out on his side, head propped in one hand while he gazed at them with his soft, sleepy eyes. Mike had assessed him before as fragile, looking at the thin build accentuated by skin-tight jeans, and clinging T-shirts. But the clothes had hidden a body that was every inch hard muscle, about as fragile, Mike realized, as a titanium rod. His skin glowed a soft gold in the lamplight, the light picking out the highlights of the hair arrowing down his chest, sliding over the proud, firm arch of the hard cock between his legs.
A casual caress over his hip returned Mike's attention to the man in his arms, but only as long as it took Bodie to kiss him and slide away, taking Mike's wrist to pull him back with him to the other end of the bed. Doyle was waiting for them, his eyes traveling over Mike's body in a way that made him flush from head to foot, abruptly becoming painfully self-conscious of his own nakedness. He wasn't used to this kind of frank appraisal, and he was suddenly beset with the insecure fear that he wouldn't pass muster.
Doyle reached up, pushing his hair back with a critical gaze at Mike's face, then glanced over his shoulder to Bodie. "You were right," Doyle said. "A work of art, he is." The hand drifted down, following the flush that had risen anew on Mike's skin, fingers trailing over chest and belly and groin, finally curving to grasp briefly at the hard, reddening length of Mike's cock. "Beautiful," he heard Doyle whisper to him, but the words barely registered, the part of Mike's brain that should have processed the compliment shutting down as the blood rushed elsewhere, filling the swelling cock that was being stroked gently by Ray's fingers.
Mike had to remember to breathe, his breath sighing out of him in a long, soft groan. Apparently Doyle liked that, for his hand shifted, stroking him harder, giving him a little more. His fingers were cool on Mike's heated skin, the touch electric on the throbbing length. Mike could feel his heart thud in his chest, could feel his own pulse beat against Doyle's hand. It was almost more than he could take, and it was with a mix of relief and disappointment that he felt the stroking fingers withdraw. And then Doyle's arms were around him, and Bodie was urging him forward from behind, rolling him on his side and into Doyle's embrace.
This was nothing like kissing Bodie. The dark-haired man was all banked heat, smoldering and dangerous. Ray was like the fire itself, burning whatever he touched, his mouth a hot furnace pressing against Mike's mouth, then moving to touch his cheeks, his jaw, his throat, trailing the fire in his wake. Behind him, Bodie had moved closer, fitting his body to Mike's, his thighs tucked up to cradle Mike's hips, the hard length of him sliding neatly along the crease of his buttocks, sending another jolt of shivering pleasure down Mike's body.
Bodie began to kiss the back of his neck, soft, warm, wet kisses, almost soothing compared to the burning touch of Doyle's lips. Doyle's mouth fastened on his again, and Mike reached out, blindly wrapping his arms around the other man, startled as his arms locked around the slim, hard body, surprised, after all, that there was so little of him to hold. Bodie was holding him now, his hands snaking around to stroke Mike's chest, to brush lightly over the straining cock, then move forward to give Ray the same treatment.
Ray shuddered in Mike's arms, his hips pushing forward until he was locked with Mike, his shaft pressing against Mike's belly, and Mike's own length caught in the delicious vise of their bodies. Mike froze, overwhelmed, every nerve screaming as he fought not to thrust into that tight heat, knowing that he was too close, that in a very few seconds he might not be able to hold back at all.
Mercifully, Doyle and Bodie recognized the sudden immobility for what it was, and they drew back, Doyle withdrawing from his arms, Bodie rolling over, taking Mike with him until he was laying back in the other's arms, Bodie petting his chest and thighs, soft, comforting pats that were somehow soothing rather than erotic. After a while, Mike felt the pounding in his body subside, enough that he could finally speak.
"Sorry," he gasped, and he felt Bodie's chuckle as a warm caress on his shoulder.
"Well, it's two against one, isn't it?" he said, kissing Mike's neck, nuzzling softly at his hair. "Unfair odds, that." He sat up, pulling Mike with him, spreading his legs to settle Mike between them, drawing him back against his chest. Mike closed his eyes, lying back in the embrace, enjoying the feeling of being cradled in the other man's arms. The knife-edge of desire had lessened, enough that he could take the renewed caresses, that even the soft brush of Bodie's hand over his shaft evoked only a brief, mind-blowing throb of need, jacking the pressure up, but not so much that it was unbearable.
Then Doyle appeared in front of him, kneeling down beside him to run his hands over Mike's thighs. He leaned forward, kissing Mike briefly, then gently pulled Mike's thighs apart, sidling over to kneel between them. Mike gulped, shivering as Doyle's fingers trailed over the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, then groaned as he softly cupped Mike's balls from below, lifting the cool sacs with exquisite care, his hot fingers stroking over the taut skin until Mike was gasping for breath, his teeth clenched as he struggled not to scream. His head lolled back, finding the support of Bodie's shoulder, and the other man began to kiss him, shifting around until finally his mouth closed over Mike's, stealing the last of his breath.
Below, Doyle finally released him, but it hardly made any difference. He was as hard as he'd ever been in his life, his cock pulsing maddeningly between his legs. Doyle's hands slid over his thighs again, and now he was lifting his legs, hooking them over Bodie's raised knees. He was sprawled unashamedly against Bodie's body, legs lifted and parted, his arms wound loosely around Bodie's neck, stretching his body up, offering himself blindly to whatever they wanted. Bodie's arms tightened around him, holding him, and Mike finally accepted the implicit promise, letting his body melt into the embrace.
"That's it," Doyle murmured from somewhere in the vicinity of Mike's left knee, and Mike shivered as his lips pressed briefly to his skin. Bodie was kissing him again, his mouth locked to Mike's, distracting him from the things that Doyle was doing to him. There were more kisses now, moving slowly up the inside of his thigh, then across his hip to the other side. Then a hot, wet mouth was pressed to his balls, kissing one, then the other. Mike whimpered into Bodie's mouth, a helpless, moaning keen that was almost childlike. Bodie stroked his belly comfortingly, his kisses gentle, reassuring.
Mike accepted the kisses gratefully, caught perfectly between the two of them, his mind and body held in a glorious, exquisite torture of sensation. The mouth on his balls moved again, drifting higher, the softly exhaled breath tickling the fine hairs around the base of his penis. Mike froze, his hands gripping the back of Bodie's neck, then he cried out into him as Doyle's lips slid over the head of his cock, taking him inside that heated, sucking mouth in one smooth stroke. His hips arched up, or tried to, but Doyle's hands were holding him, keeping him welded to the hard arch of Bodie's spread hips. Doyle sucked him once, then again, then, unbelievably, he was drawing back. Mike made a nearly frantic sound, knowing he must sound desperate, but not caring.
"Shh," Doyle whispered into his stomach. "Almost there. I promise." He moved away again, leaving Mike hanging there, nearly insane from desire, thinking of nothing but the painful hunger between his legs. And then the hands were back, and a slick, slippery finger was gently exploring between his legs, trailing downward, across the smooth, sensitive skin under his balls, and then further.
Mike froze, not daring to believe that Doyle was actually going to do it, that he'd actually touch him where his hands seemed to be leading, and then the soft, slick finger did just that, brushing lightly over the suddenly throbbing tightness between Mike's buttocks. Doyle rubbed over him, slicking down the tight little bundle of nerves, and Mike shuddered in Bodie's embrace, a fleeting embarrassment quickly subsumed in the incredible pleasure of the touch. The finger continued to massage, pressing down to send electric jolts of sensation through Mike's body, and he found himself wondering, and hoping, what would happen if Doyle would push a little harder, how it would feel to have that hard, probing finger slip inside him. And then he found out.
Bodie's hand moved to cup his jaw as he cried out, thumb stroking over his cheek, caressing his hair back while he calmed him with kisses. But Mike scarcely noticed, every scrap of his attention focused on the incredible sensation of Doyle's finger going up his ass. He felt his muscles spasm around the rigid digit, trying reflexively to push it out at the same time as he drew it in. Then Doyle's palm was pressed against him, and he realized that the whole finger was now seated firmly inside him. It was all he could do not to come on the spot.
"You all right?" Bodie whispered to him, into him, and Mike managed a shaky, breathless nod.
"Oh, yeah," he breathed back, and heard Doyle give a soft, rich chuckle. He slid his hand back a little, then pushed in again, and Mike shivered all over, feeling goosepimples flood his skin. "Yes . . ." he whispered, scarcely aware that he'd said it out loud. Doyle obliged him with a longer, deeper stroke, leaving Mike trembling in Bodie's arms. He turned his head, blindly seeking Bodie's mouth, and lost himself in the other man's kiss, opening his mouth helplessly as Doyle's finger moved in and out. He was so close, the hot friction of that finger bringing him right to the edge, the soft caresses of Bodie's arms and the wet heat of his mouth keeping him there. And then Doyle's mouth was on him again, sliding him into hot, wet, tightness, sucking him hard. And it wasn't enough. Mike was about to come, was a second away, and it wasn't enough.
"Stop," he gasped, tearing his mouth from Bodie's, unwinding one arm from his neck to reach down and push Doyle's head away. "Please." He groaned as Doyle slid his finger away, too, though he hadn't intended that. "Please," he said, reaching his hand to Doyle's flushed, puzzled face, tracing the fine line of his cheek. "That was good," he said when he could speak, nearly panting the words, and then let his hand drop, fingers barely brushing the tip of his penis. "That would be better."
Doyle's breath caught, and his cock leapt up. "You sure?" he asked, and Mike felt Bodie laugh behind him, his hands caressing Mike's stomach.
"Oh, I think he's sure." Bodie's hand spread against his face, turning him to be kissed again. Mike closed his eyes, losing himself again, until Bodie drew back, planting tender, soft kisses on his face. He put his arms around him, holding him. "We'll take care of you, Mikey. That's a promise." He grinned against him, and kissed the tip of his nose. "But you're going to have to move, love, for us to do this properly."
A minute ago, nothing could have persuaded Mike to move from the warm haven of Bodie's arms. But the rich promise in Bodie's words proved to be enough after all. He slid away from him carefully, kneeling up on the bed, wondering where they wanted him, but only for a moment.
"Here." Doyle took him in his arms, kissing him, then urged him to lie down on his side, Doyle lying down to face him, his mouth curved in a smile. Bodie shifted behind him, and Mike shivered as his palm stroked lovingly over his ass, massaging gently before his hand slipped down, pushing Mike's leg forward to lie over the curve of Doyle's hip. Doyle pulled him closer, taking Mike in his arms, his knee slipping between Mike's parted thighs to stroke him. Mike allowed himself to be positioned, surrendering his body to Bodie's hands. It was almost as erotic a thrill as the contact of their bodies, the feeling of giving himself over to them, trusting them absolutely with his pleasure. Just as well. He was so charged now, so close, that if he'd so much as touched himself, it would have been all over. And Doyle was murmuring softly to him, encouraging him, using his mouth and hands and lips to set him quietly ablaze, his skin fired with sensation, his body melting into Doyle's arms, and opening to Bodie's softly probing hands. He wasn't sure how or when it had been decided that Bodie would be the one to take him, but right now he didn't care. All he wanted was to have that incredible bone-melting friction back, and he didn't much care where it came from.
He gasped as Bodie's fingers probed him, then entered him again. Mike quivered helplessly against Doyle's supporting body, moaning into his mouth, and felt Bodie stroke his back with his free hand, soothing him like someone might soothe a frightened animal. Mike felt nearly frantic now, only barely aware of the fingers carefully stretching him, opening him until he thought he might scream from frustration. It still wasn't enough, wouldn't be enough, he thought, until he felt that cock inside him.
When Bodie finally entered him, he froze in Doyle's arms, every nerve in his body abruptly short-circuiting in the hot sizzle of desire. He felt it race along his limbs, a hot flood of blood and heat rushing outward, turning his muscles to jelly. He heard Doyle's voice in his ear, quietly telling him to breathe, and he obeyed blindly, sucking in gulps of air while Bodie waited, his shaft buried only a maddening fraction inside Mike's body. He shifted forward, and it happened all over again, the mind-blowing wave of sensation reducing Mike to whimpering incoherence. He found Doyle's mouth, fastening on it with fierce passion, kissing him desperately to keep himself sane until Bodie was finished, until he'd pushed forward, inch by agonizing inch, and finally buried himself completely in Mike's body. And when he started to thrust, Mike thought he was going to die.
His breath stopped, his vision flooding crimson, Ray Doyle's flushed face dissolving before his wide-open eyes. The liquid, rasping heat of Bodie's cock filled him up, a long, delicious friction that seemed to go on forever. He hadn't realized that he'd cried out until he felt the raw air in his throat, and only realized that he'd come with the first thrust when he felt the hot liquid spilling over his thighs. Bodie stroked into him again, and Mike gave a helpless, strangled whimper, his hips shaking uncontrollably as his cock jerked, pulsing again over his own leg. Then Bodie groaned, a deep, hoarse sound, and Mike nearly came all over again as he felt him climax inside him.
They clung together, gasping in breathless unison, shivering and panting until finally Bodie gathered himself enough to pull away. Mike protested weakly, but he was too far gone to fight him. He leaned forward into Doyle's arms, searching for his mouth, and only then realized that not all of the wetness covering their bodies had come from him. He nudged with a questing knee, and Doyle's breath caught, his mouth curving in an almost apologetic smile. "You looked grand, you did," he told him softly. "Couldn't hold back, could I, not seeing you both coming right there in front of me. It was beautiful."
"Told you," Bodie said sleepily from behind Mike, and drew his hand over Mike's side. He tugged gently, urging Mike onto his back, and propped his head on his hand, looking down at him with an oddly tender expression. "Didn't I tell you, Ray?"
"You did." Doyle shifted himself up on the other side, reaching over to stroke Bodie's chest idly. "He's a work of art, like you said."
Mike felt the flush rise in his face. "I look like a guy who spent the last hour sweating like a pig," he said.
"But it's a very nice pig," Bodie said, and put up a hand to trace the edge of Mike's cheek. "Don't knock yourself, son," he said. "Doyle and me don't go around throwing compliments away. He says you're beautiful, you're beautiful."
But Mike barely heard him. He was drifting away, the tiredness of the long day finally catching up to him, the soft lassitude of the aftermath of orgasm weighing down his limbs, pulling his eyes shut. "Thanks," he managed to mumble, and heard Doyle laugh softly, and felt a hand push through his sweat-damp hair. A warm body settled close to him, arms wrapping around him, and soft lips kissed his temple, then his mouth. He heard voices over him, the deep rumble of laughter in the chest behind him, but he was too far gone to pay any more attention. A moment later, he was fast asleep.
-----
The phone woke them at six. Doyle recovered first, reaching for the receiver, dislodging Mike's sleepy embrace. He picked up, and listened for maybe a minute, then hung up without a word and rolled over to poke Bodie's shoulder. "That was our travel agent, sunshine," he said. "Says he's got our flight booked."
Bodie peeled a sleepy eye open. "What, now?" He still had his arms around Mike, a peaceful, heavy embrace that Mike was loathe to lose. But lose it he did, as Bodie carefully extricated himself from the tangle of bodies and bedclothes, abandoning Mike with a soft, apologetic kiss. "Duty calls, love," he said, and the regret in his voice was palpably genuine. On the other side, Doyle muttered something that sounded vaguely obscene, then leaned over abruptly to follow Bodie's kiss with one of his own.
"Sorry," he said, and reached up to run a hand through Mike's hair, feathering the soft strands in his fingers. "Wasn't supposed to end like this, was it?"
"Hey." Mike caught the caressing hand with his own, brought Doyle's palm to his mouth for a soft, sleepy kiss. "It's okay. I understand."
Behind him, Bodie shifted, and Mike turned to find him looking at him with an odd expression. "Yeah," he said, and put his hand softly on Mike's cheek. He caressed his face, and now his voice was quiet, almost sad. "Yeah, I think you do, sunshine." He stroked his cheek again, leaned into kiss him, whispering something that Mike couldn't quite make out as his lips brushed over his temple. He might have been saying, "More's the pity." Then Bodie stood up slowly, reluctantly heading for the closet where their bags were kept, moving more quickly with every step as he and Doyle fell into what looked like a long-familiar routine.
Mike propped himself on his elbows, watching, knowing he should probably get up, probably get dressed, and leave. But instead he stayed where he was, unwilling to dispel this early-morning lassitude. His whole body was still singing softly with the reminders of the night before, even the little aches and pains no more than a gentle trigger to the delightful reminiscence. He wanted to stay here as long as possible, watching them, soaking up every moment of memory, to hold and savor.
Presently, Bodie came over to kiss him again, his half-packed bag dangling from his hand. He tossed it next to Mike, and sat down, running a hand over his bared thigh. "You all right?" he asked, and Mike nodded.
"Never better," he said with a grin, and got an answering smile from Doyle.
"Good," he said. A set of car keys landed on the bed next to Mike. "Then you won't mind driving us to the airport."
-----
Epilogue
"What are you smiling about?" Lennie Briscoe shifted lower in his seat, staring grumpily out the window as they headed over the Brooklyn Bridge. Headed away from Manhattan. Normally, Mike felt the same way as his partner obviously did about seeing the familiar skyline recede behind him, but there was something about taking this route again, even after all these years. How many had it been? Ten? Fifteen, more like it. And he still remembered that early morning drive over the bridge, summer haze hovering over the river, all the car's windows open to let the cool air swirl in. And Bodie and Doyle, sniping at each other, complaining, grumbling, and arguing about who was going to get the window seat. He felt his mouth curve into another smile.
"Nothing," he said at last to Lennie. "Just a memory, that's all."
THE END