February Fortnight of Fic #1
Title: In the Tolkein Sense
Fandom: The Professionals
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Rating: R (some swears and brief sexual dialog)
Word Count: 1425
Summary: Bodie discovers Doyle's secret.
A/N: I can't believe this is to be my first Pros fic, not to mention the first fic I finished for Feb (fic #2 is done and ready for tomorrow). Based on snowgrouse's request for "elf!Doyle." Completely nonsense.
"What the fuck are those?"
"My ears," Doyle said, irritably, trying to finger comb his unruly curls back to cover them.
"Yeah, I know, but since when have they been pointy?" Bodie asked, brushing his partner's hair back again for a better look.
"They've always been."
"No they haven't."
Doyle swatted his hand away again. "Yes they have, just leave it alone."
Bodie considered his friend, sulking next to him still self-consciously fussing with the curls around his ears. Then inspiration struck. He smiled slowly. "Ray, did you go to one those Sci-Fi conventions and get your Spock ears stuck?"
Doyle pulled a face. "I don't even like Star Trek!"
"Ah, come on, I'll help get 'em off." Bodie tackled Doyle down on the settee, and despite Doyle's best attempts to throw him off, Bodie still managed to hold him down long enough to pinch a fleshy ear point and tug.
"Ow! Get off, you fuck!" Doyle kicked out, landing a foot squarely in Bodie's stomach, causing him to roll off him and the settee with a groan.
Doyle sat up, rubbing at his ear. "That really hurt," he hissed between clenched teeth. He got up and went into the bathroom to inspect the damage in the mirror.
Bodie got to his feet and followed him. He was amazed to see that the ear, including the pointy bit, had turned a fierce red. Doyle grabbed a flannel and held it under the cold tap. He winced as he put it against his brutalized ear.
Chagrined, Bodie apologized. "Sorry about that, mate."
"You're a real bastard sometimes."
"I know. But seriously, what is that all about?"
Doyle removed the flannel and gripped the edges of the sink. "I suppose it was going to come out some time. Couldn't keep it from you forever, could I?"
"What, just some kind of little deformity right? Got an extra toe or two as well? It's no big deal, Ray."
"No, Bodie. I-" Doyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm an elf."
Bodie laughed. "Of course you are, sunshine. And I'm Tinkerbell, care to see my faerie wings?"
"I'm serious!"
"I know what this is. You're trying to get me back for the gay rats story. Which, by the way, is still true."
"So is this!" Off Bodie's look of continued incredulity, Doyle continued. "Look, we've been partners, mates, long enough that we can tell when we're lying to each other, or holding something back, right? Look me in the eye right now and say to me I'm not being straight with you."
Bodie schooled his expression to all seriousness and did as Doyle asked. There was no betraying twinkle of mirth in those green eyes, nor even a schooled blankness that would also give him away. Bodie broke eye-contact and shook his head. "S'not possible."
"Why not?"
"Be-because it's ridiculous! There's no such bloody thing as elves, therefore you can't be one!"
"You really need to work on your racism, mate."
"It's not racism when the race doesn't exist. This isn't Middle bloody Earth!"
"Oh, so there's no such things as dwarfs, then? Tell that to Ronny works 'round the corner at the off license."
"That's different, and you know it. Okay, let's think about this rationally, and I can't believe I'm even using the word 'rationally' with this subject. So, you are an...elf, right?"
"Right."
"So that means what, pointy ears, immortality?"
Doyle, now standing with arms crossed, hip leaning against the sink as he talked to Bodie, shrugged. "More or less. Can always get mortally wounded still, you know that."
"Aha! But if you're all immortal, how do you explain this?" He turned Doyle towards the mirror again and brushed aside his brown curls just enough to reveal the whitening at his temples.
Doyle sighed. "Yes, that proves everything, doesn't it, Sherlock? We can still age, you moron, just a lot slower than humans."
"Right, so you're about to tell me you're what...500 years old?"
Doyle snorted. "Hardly! I'm only 322, just greying prematurely." He frowned at his reflection.
Sick of being interrogated in his own bathroom, Doyle shoved past Bodie and went back to the living room where he and Bodie were on the verge of having their first steamy kiss until Bodie had slid his fingers into Doyle hair and had gotten distracted by this whole ear business. Dammit, he knew he should have confided in Bodie sooner. If he had they could've been naked and sweaty on the floor by now, caught up in years of repressed passion!
Instead, Doyle cleared away the empty glasses that had earlier held a very good scotch, and determinedly not looked at his partner as he passed him on his way to the kitchen. Bodie followed him, his head bowed and his eyebrows knotted in deep concentration. Doyle braced himself for the next question.
"So...if you're suppose to be an 'elf,' aren't you suppose to be able to do magic?"
"Suppose so," Doyle shrugged as he rinsed out the glasses.
"Can you?"
"Maybe."
"Come on, Doyle! If you're going to convince me you're some sort of magical woodland creature, you bloody well better do some fucking magic! And if you just turn around and pull a coin from behind my ear, I'll deck you."
"You really want to see me do magic?"
"Yeah," Bodie said, challengingly.
"Suit yourself."
Too fast for Bodie to see it coming, Doyle grabbed a large knife from the block on the counter, whipped around and sliced it across Bodie's upper arm.
"Fucking hell you do that for?" Bodie shouted, gripping his arm. Doyle had cut deep, blood spilling from a three-inch gash.
Doyle dropped the knife, grabbed Bodie's hand away from the wound, and replaced it with his own. Bodie hissed in a sharp breath at the contact, but then a warm heat permeated his skin and muscle around the wound, then the sensation turned into a soothing coolness. Doyle took his hand away. Bodie looked down, and the wound had completely healed, the blood on his arm and what soaked into his shirt sleeve were all that remained.
Doyle stepped back, head low. It took Bodie a moment to get over the shock of That-Really-Just-Fucking-Happened. But the implications didn't take long to creep into his mind. "Bloody useful that," he glowered. "Would've been nice to have around when one of the mob, or someone we were suppose to be protecting got hurt."
Expecting this reproach, Doyle kept his head down. "Had to keep a low profile. Wanted to have a normal human life."
"Yeah, I'll remember that next time I get stabbed-up by a bunch of thugs or shot somewhere vital. Does Cowley know?"
"No. Are you going to tell him?"
"Right, and get kicked out of CI5 for having finally gone completely balmy." He looked down again at where he'd been cut. "No chance of you fixing my shirt, too?"
"Sure! I'll go get needle an thread."
Bodie none-too-gently pushed Doyle out of his way to get to the sink. He stripped his shirt off and ran the tap to wash the blood that started drying on his arm.
Watching Bodie remove his shirt and staring at his bared back, reminded Doyle once again of what they ought to have been doing. But he acknowledged and resigned himself to the fact that after all this, it would take awhile to get to that point in their relationship again.
Bodie turned around, leaned on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. To Doyle's surprised he looked amused. "What?"
"You consider working for CI5 a 'normal human life'?"
Doyle slid his hands in his pockets and desperately tried to look Bodie in the face and not stare at his smooth, well-defined torso. "Back in the old days I was a warrior and expert bowman. Seemed the appropriate way to modernise."
Bodie didn't say anything. He just looked worryingly contemplative.
"Look, if this is going to be a problem, I'll understand if you need some time-"
"No, just...are there any other physical differences I ought to know about? We've got the pointy ears, the long life, magic, all right. But you're not going to come sparkles or anything like that?"
Doyle stared at him, blinked a couple times, then laughed so hard he started coughing. Bodie's mouth twitched and always unable to resist his partner's infectious laughter, joined in. Collecting himself, he flung his arms around Bodie's neck and said, "there's only one way for you to find out."
Fandom: The Professionals
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Rating: R (some swears and brief sexual dialog)
Word Count: 1425
Summary: Bodie discovers Doyle's secret.
A/N: I can't believe this is to be my first Pros fic, not to mention the first fic I finished for Feb (fic #2 is done and ready for tomorrow). Based on snowgrouse's request for "elf!Doyle." Completely nonsense.
"What the fuck are those?"
"My ears," Doyle said, irritably, trying to finger comb his unruly curls back to cover them.
"Yeah, I know, but since when have they been pointy?" Bodie asked, brushing his partner's hair back again for a better look.
"They've always been."
"No they haven't."
Doyle swatted his hand away again. "Yes they have, just leave it alone."
Bodie considered his friend, sulking next to him still self-consciously fussing with the curls around his ears. Then inspiration struck. He smiled slowly. "Ray, did you go to one those Sci-Fi conventions and get your Spock ears stuck?"
Doyle pulled a face. "I don't even like Star Trek!"
"Ah, come on, I'll help get 'em off." Bodie tackled Doyle down on the settee, and despite Doyle's best attempts to throw him off, Bodie still managed to hold him down long enough to pinch a fleshy ear point and tug.
"Ow! Get off, you fuck!" Doyle kicked out, landing a foot squarely in Bodie's stomach, causing him to roll off him and the settee with a groan.
Doyle sat up, rubbing at his ear. "That really hurt," he hissed between clenched teeth. He got up and went into the bathroom to inspect the damage in the mirror.
Bodie got to his feet and followed him. He was amazed to see that the ear, including the pointy bit, had turned a fierce red. Doyle grabbed a flannel and held it under the cold tap. He winced as he put it against his brutalized ear.
Chagrined, Bodie apologized. "Sorry about that, mate."
"You're a real bastard sometimes."
"I know. But seriously, what is that all about?"
Doyle removed the flannel and gripped the edges of the sink. "I suppose it was going to come out some time. Couldn't keep it from you forever, could I?"
"What, just some kind of little deformity right? Got an extra toe or two as well? It's no big deal, Ray."
"No, Bodie. I-" Doyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm an elf."
Bodie laughed. "Of course you are, sunshine. And I'm Tinkerbell, care to see my faerie wings?"
"I'm serious!"
"I know what this is. You're trying to get me back for the gay rats story. Which, by the way, is still true."
"So is this!" Off Bodie's look of continued incredulity, Doyle continued. "Look, we've been partners, mates, long enough that we can tell when we're lying to each other, or holding something back, right? Look me in the eye right now and say to me I'm not being straight with you."
Bodie schooled his expression to all seriousness and did as Doyle asked. There was no betraying twinkle of mirth in those green eyes, nor even a schooled blankness that would also give him away. Bodie broke eye-contact and shook his head. "S'not possible."
"Why not?"
"Be-because it's ridiculous! There's no such bloody thing as elves, therefore you can't be one!"
"You really need to work on your racism, mate."
"It's not racism when the race doesn't exist. This isn't Middle bloody Earth!"
"Oh, so there's no such things as dwarfs, then? Tell that to Ronny works 'round the corner at the off license."
"That's different, and you know it. Okay, let's think about this rationally, and I can't believe I'm even using the word 'rationally' with this subject. So, you are an...elf, right?"
"Right."
"So that means what, pointy ears, immortality?"
Doyle, now standing with arms crossed, hip leaning against the sink as he talked to Bodie, shrugged. "More or less. Can always get mortally wounded still, you know that."
"Aha! But if you're all immortal, how do you explain this?" He turned Doyle towards the mirror again and brushed aside his brown curls just enough to reveal the whitening at his temples.
Doyle sighed. "Yes, that proves everything, doesn't it, Sherlock? We can still age, you moron, just a lot slower than humans."
"Right, so you're about to tell me you're what...500 years old?"
Doyle snorted. "Hardly! I'm only 322, just greying prematurely." He frowned at his reflection.
Sick of being interrogated in his own bathroom, Doyle shoved past Bodie and went back to the living room where he and Bodie were on the verge of having their first steamy kiss until Bodie had slid his fingers into Doyle hair and had gotten distracted by this whole ear business. Dammit, he knew he should have confided in Bodie sooner. If he had they could've been naked and sweaty on the floor by now, caught up in years of repressed passion!
Instead, Doyle cleared away the empty glasses that had earlier held a very good scotch, and determinedly not looked at his partner as he passed him on his way to the kitchen. Bodie followed him, his head bowed and his eyebrows knotted in deep concentration. Doyle braced himself for the next question.
"So...if you're suppose to be an 'elf,' aren't you suppose to be able to do magic?"
"Suppose so," Doyle shrugged as he rinsed out the glasses.
"Can you?"
"Maybe."
"Come on, Doyle! If you're going to convince me you're some sort of magical woodland creature, you bloody well better do some fucking magic! And if you just turn around and pull a coin from behind my ear, I'll deck you."
"You really want to see me do magic?"
"Yeah," Bodie said, challengingly.
"Suit yourself."
Too fast for Bodie to see it coming, Doyle grabbed a large knife from the block on the counter, whipped around and sliced it across Bodie's upper arm.
"Fucking hell you do that for?" Bodie shouted, gripping his arm. Doyle had cut deep, blood spilling from a three-inch gash.
Doyle dropped the knife, grabbed Bodie's hand away from the wound, and replaced it with his own. Bodie hissed in a sharp breath at the contact, but then a warm heat permeated his skin and muscle around the wound, then the sensation turned into a soothing coolness. Doyle took his hand away. Bodie looked down, and the wound had completely healed, the blood on his arm and what soaked into his shirt sleeve were all that remained.
Doyle stepped back, head low. It took Bodie a moment to get over the shock of That-Really-Just-Fucking-Happened. But the implications didn't take long to creep into his mind. "Bloody useful that," he glowered. "Would've been nice to have around when one of the mob, or someone we were suppose to be protecting got hurt."
Expecting this reproach, Doyle kept his head down. "Had to keep a low profile. Wanted to have a normal human life."
"Yeah, I'll remember that next time I get stabbed-up by a bunch of thugs or shot somewhere vital. Does Cowley know?"
"No. Are you going to tell him?"
"Right, and get kicked out of CI5 for having finally gone completely balmy." He looked down again at where he'd been cut. "No chance of you fixing my shirt, too?"
"Sure! I'll go get needle an thread."
Bodie none-too-gently pushed Doyle out of his way to get to the sink. He stripped his shirt off and ran the tap to wash the blood that started drying on his arm.
Watching Bodie remove his shirt and staring at his bared back, reminded Doyle once again of what they ought to have been doing. But he acknowledged and resigned himself to the fact that after all this, it would take awhile to get to that point in their relationship again.
Bodie turned around, leaned on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. To Doyle's surprised he looked amused. "What?"
"You consider working for CI5 a 'normal human life'?"
Doyle slid his hands in his pockets and desperately tried to look Bodie in the face and not stare at his smooth, well-defined torso. "Back in the old days I was a warrior and expert bowman. Seemed the appropriate way to modernise."
Bodie didn't say anything. He just looked worryingly contemplative.
"Look, if this is going to be a problem, I'll understand if you need some time-"
"No, just...are there any other physical differences I ought to know about? We've got the pointy ears, the long life, magic, all right. But you're not going to come sparkles or anything like that?"
Doyle stared at him, blinked a couple times, then laughed so hard he started coughing. Bodie's mouth twitched and always unable to resist his partner's infectious laughter, joined in. Collecting himself, he flung his arms around Bodie's neck and said, "there's only one way for you to find out."