Pros fic - The Waiting Game
Title: The Waiting Game
Author: Slantedlight
Format: A wee ficlet
Circuit Archive: If it returns, sure...
Pros-Lib: Certainly
Slash/Gen: Eternally slash
Pairing: And eternally B/D
Warnings: I don't do warnings... and this is a good example of why...
Summary: Cowley's late
Disclaimer: Neither Bodie, Doyle, nor anything in the CI5 universe is mine to make profit from, and so I don't
Notes: Written after a brief discussion with firlefanzine, though for the life of me I can't remember where we were, now! Mostly it's fluff, but hopefully it'll at least make sense to her...
The Waiting Game
by Slantedlight
Doyle watched in increasing frustration as the white haired gentleman at the entrance stood elegantly to greet yet another arrival - and yet again it wasn’t George Cowley. The two men stood chatting to one another, looking comfortably around the airy foyer with its pillars and drapes and subdued but clear lighting. Even the temperature was just right - warm enough to be comfortable without being stuffy, like sitting high on a mountain in the sunshine, everything crystalline and newly-laundered fresh.
“You’d think this time he’d make the effort,” he muttered to Bodie, who sat on the bench - the hard marble bench - beside him. “An’ what’s the betting that when he does get here he still keeps us waiting?”
“No bet,” Bodie said, promptly enough, but with distraction. Doyle turned to look at him, he was eyeing the two young women who’d come in next, all short skirts, big fluffy boots and wide eyes. “Do you reckon…?”
“No I don’t!” Doyle nudged him hard enough to hurt, and Bodie turned a wounded expression his way. “I’m right here, you bastard!”
“Yeah but you won’t let me, and all I’ve been able to think of since we got here is what we were doing this morning... It was supposed to be my turn next an’ all…”
Doyle grinned reminiscently as Bodie shifted his bum on the marble. “Still feel it, can you?”
“Every…” Bodie said, wriggling again, “…single…” He slid down slightly and flexed so that the bulge at the front of his pale trousers was prominent. “…inch.” He moved again, slowly, so that Doyle could almost feel the way his cock must be pressing against the tight fabric, the slight friction that just…
He looked up and met Bodie’s eyes. “You bastard!” he said again, but it was too late, he’d seen and remembered and he wanted - God but he wanted…
“Come on Ray - look, we could pop around the back there,” he nodded his head to the solid marble wall opposite the main entrance that vanished, presumably, into some sort of corridor. “There’s bound to be an empty room, place this size…”
Doyle’s gaze fell back to Bodie’s crotch, to the way his hands were lying innocently on his thighs, as if he didn’t know that Doyle was remembering the way they felt clutching his own legs, or his arse, fingers opening him, slick with KY, preparing him… “Look, we can’t,” he said, hearing the catch in his own voice, “Cowley’ll be here any minute…”
“No he won’t…” Bodie shifted slightly so that their shoulders were pressed more firmly together, so that their thighs shared warmth, so that every time he took a breath Doyle could feel it pulling at his own groin, could feel himself as hard as Bodie was. “An’ so what if he is - he’s kept us waiting.”
“Yeah, but…”
Bodie leaned in to whisper in his ear, tiny puffs of ticklish warm air that made Doyle want to pull away and at the same time made him want to give in and turn around and kiss Bodie for the eternity they were stuck on this bench, in front of anyone and everyone and God himself. “Look, if you’re worried about the sin thing it’s a bit too late for that.”
“I’m not worried about the…” Well, he was, just a little - what if Father Fitz had been right about that, too? On the other hand, it’d be him and Bodie together, whatever happened, and it wasn’t as if Cowley could kick them out now… A thought struck him. “Hang about - what if Cowley’s not coming?”
“What d’you mean, not coming?”
“Well - maybe he’s not keeping us waiting, maybe…” he nodded downwards slightly, willing Bodie to understand. He didn’t want to say it out loud, not here in these hallowed halls, where someone might be listening.
Bodie’s eyes widened briefly, and Doyle could all but feel the thoughts running through his head, then he relaxed. “Nah - it's Cowley. Besides, His Nibbs would have told us.”
They both turned to watch the man on the door again. He was spry, but he wasn’t young, all white hair and a neatly coiffed white beard, and a dignified way of holding himself that shouted I’m in charge, whether or not he really was. He might ultimately take his orders from above, but for every day it was up to him whether you were allowed in or not. Right now he was looking a rather brightly dressed woman up and down with what could only be described as a sniffy expression.
Or… “Shit - maybe it’s us, maybe we’re the ones who’re in the...wrong place!”
Bodie looked startled again, and then just as alarmed as Doyle suddenly felt.
“You mean Cowley’s waiting somewhere else entirely, tapping his fingers and ready to give us a good bawling out, and we’re…?”
“Oh Christ,” Doyle closed his eyes in despair, dropped his head to his hands and hid for a moment. “We’ve been sitting here all this time, just waiting for it…”
“Sounds like bloody Cowley,” Bodie admitted, “Not even a sausage sandwich to look forward to…”
“Or any kind of sausage…” He sat up again and glanced at Bodie’s crotch. “The old…”
“Wait a minute…” Bodie sat up straight, reached out and grasped Doyle’s arm with one hand, laid the other firmly on Doyle’s denim-clad thigh, and squeezed. “Since when did we sit meekly down and do what we’re told anyway? If they’re playing that game, and we’re in it for the long haul, then why shouldn’t we…?” He tipped his head towards the corridor again, met Doyle’s eyes and gazed into them, soul touching soul.
“Nah…” Doyle said, but he felt himself weakening. He felt himself getting hard all over again too, drawn as fast as ever by the mischief in Bodie’s eyes, by the trouble in his smile.
“Not fair to miss my turn,” Bodie repeated, and he stretched out the hand on Doyle’s leg until his fingers were nearly touching Doyle’s cock, until they were pulling - not enough, not enough - on the denim that was pressing on him, so that if he moved just a little… oh, and just a little again… Bodie leaned in again, oblivious to the rest of the foyer, trapping Doyle in their own world, in their own tiny corner of heaven, and he nearly kissed him, lips a bare inch apart, before turning instead to whisper in his ear again. “Come on…”
Doyle swallowed, stood up quickly enough that he was the one tugging Bodie behind him by one arm, and they headed for the back of the room, giggling and scuffling in sheer relief and anticipation before they were halfway there, Bodie’s hands on him already, pushing him along, as if he needed to be pushed, as if…
“Bodie! Doyle!”
No…
“Ah, Saint Peter - it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, of course… I hope these two haven’t been causing you any trouble?”
They’d frozen, both frozen in automatic response to their names being called in that voice, and now they turned, Bodie’s hand still warm on Doyle’s back, Doyle’s fingers still clutching Bodie’s jacket.
“Now then - I understand Himself has let you know about our special remit?” Cowley had produced a well-read, leather-clad Bible and tapped it with one finger. “I can show you the small print, if…”
“That won’t be necessary - we’ve been waiting for you, George.” The doorman turned and smiled a faintly malevolent smile in their direction. “Haven’t we, boys?”
Cowley nodded genially, but he was already tucking his book away, and striding across the foyer, unbuttoning his coat one-handed as he came, briefcase held firmly in the other. He paused for a moment when he reached them, looked them up and down, and then breezed past. “Well don’t just stand there, come on - quickly now!”
“Yes sir, running all the way, sir!” Bodie said sharply, but he was grinning, and he was grinning at Doyle as he pulled them both around to follow in Cowley’s wake.
“Er, sir…?” Something troubled Doyle, niggled at him and worried at him, even as he stepped smartly along, almost jogging to keep up. “Sir, when you said Himself, which…um…which...?”
But all Cowley did was turn a saturnine eye on him and carry on along the gleaming marble floors, turning left into the corridor, aiming for some distant doorway that was, no doubt, his own long pre-arranged office.
For once, just for once, Doyle thought, he wished Cowley would give them the whole picture… Then Bodie’s hand found him again, a hurry-up caress to his arse, that meant that everything was alright in his world - where ever that was.
Author: Slantedlight
Format: A wee ficlet
Circuit Archive: If it returns, sure...
Pros-Lib: Certainly
Slash/Gen: Eternally slash
Pairing: And eternally B/D
Warnings: I don't do warnings... and this is a good example of why...
Summary: Cowley's late
Disclaimer: Neither Bodie, Doyle, nor anything in the CI5 universe is mine to make profit from, and so I don't
Notes: Written after a brief discussion with firlefanzine, though for the life of me I can't remember where we were, now! Mostly it's fluff, but hopefully it'll at least make sense to her...
The Waiting Game
by Slantedlight
Doyle watched in increasing frustration as the white haired gentleman at the entrance stood elegantly to greet yet another arrival - and yet again it wasn’t George Cowley. The two men stood chatting to one another, looking comfortably around the airy foyer with its pillars and drapes and subdued but clear lighting. Even the temperature was just right - warm enough to be comfortable without being stuffy, like sitting high on a mountain in the sunshine, everything crystalline and newly-laundered fresh.
“You’d think this time he’d make the effort,” he muttered to Bodie, who sat on the bench - the hard marble bench - beside him. “An’ what’s the betting that when he does get here he still keeps us waiting?”
“No bet,” Bodie said, promptly enough, but with distraction. Doyle turned to look at him, he was eyeing the two young women who’d come in next, all short skirts, big fluffy boots and wide eyes. “Do you reckon…?”
“No I don’t!” Doyle nudged him hard enough to hurt, and Bodie turned a wounded expression his way. “I’m right here, you bastard!”
“Yeah but you won’t let me, and all I’ve been able to think of since we got here is what we were doing this morning... It was supposed to be my turn next an’ all…”
Doyle grinned reminiscently as Bodie shifted his bum on the marble. “Still feel it, can you?”
“Every…” Bodie said, wriggling again, “…single…” He slid down slightly and flexed so that the bulge at the front of his pale trousers was prominent. “…inch.” He moved again, slowly, so that Doyle could almost feel the way his cock must be pressing against the tight fabric, the slight friction that just…
He looked up and met Bodie’s eyes. “You bastard!” he said again, but it was too late, he’d seen and remembered and he wanted - God but he wanted…
“Come on Ray - look, we could pop around the back there,” he nodded his head to the solid marble wall opposite the main entrance that vanished, presumably, into some sort of corridor. “There’s bound to be an empty room, place this size…”
Doyle’s gaze fell back to Bodie’s crotch, to the way his hands were lying innocently on his thighs, as if he didn’t know that Doyle was remembering the way they felt clutching his own legs, or his arse, fingers opening him, slick with KY, preparing him… “Look, we can’t,” he said, hearing the catch in his own voice, “Cowley’ll be here any minute…”
“No he won’t…” Bodie shifted slightly so that their shoulders were pressed more firmly together, so that their thighs shared warmth, so that every time he took a breath Doyle could feel it pulling at his own groin, could feel himself as hard as Bodie was. “An’ so what if he is - he’s kept us waiting.”
“Yeah, but…”
Bodie leaned in to whisper in his ear, tiny puffs of ticklish warm air that made Doyle want to pull away and at the same time made him want to give in and turn around and kiss Bodie for the eternity they were stuck on this bench, in front of anyone and everyone and God himself. “Look, if you’re worried about the sin thing it’s a bit too late for that.”
“I’m not worried about the…” Well, he was, just a little - what if Father Fitz had been right about that, too? On the other hand, it’d be him and Bodie together, whatever happened, and it wasn’t as if Cowley could kick them out now… A thought struck him. “Hang about - what if Cowley’s not coming?”
“What d’you mean, not coming?”
“Well - maybe he’s not keeping us waiting, maybe…” he nodded downwards slightly, willing Bodie to understand. He didn’t want to say it out loud, not here in these hallowed halls, where someone might be listening.
Bodie’s eyes widened briefly, and Doyle could all but feel the thoughts running through his head, then he relaxed. “Nah - it's Cowley. Besides, His Nibbs would have told us.”
They both turned to watch the man on the door again. He was spry, but he wasn’t young, all white hair and a neatly coiffed white beard, and a dignified way of holding himself that shouted I’m in charge, whether or not he really was. He might ultimately take his orders from above, but for every day it was up to him whether you were allowed in or not. Right now he was looking a rather brightly dressed woman up and down with what could only be described as a sniffy expression.
Or… “Shit - maybe it’s us, maybe we’re the ones who’re in the...wrong place!”
Bodie looked startled again, and then just as alarmed as Doyle suddenly felt.
“You mean Cowley’s waiting somewhere else entirely, tapping his fingers and ready to give us a good bawling out, and we’re…?”
“Oh Christ,” Doyle closed his eyes in despair, dropped his head to his hands and hid for a moment. “We’ve been sitting here all this time, just waiting for it…”
“Sounds like bloody Cowley,” Bodie admitted, “Not even a sausage sandwich to look forward to…”
“Or any kind of sausage…” He sat up again and glanced at Bodie’s crotch. “The old…”
“Wait a minute…” Bodie sat up straight, reached out and grasped Doyle’s arm with one hand, laid the other firmly on Doyle’s denim-clad thigh, and squeezed. “Since when did we sit meekly down and do what we’re told anyway? If they’re playing that game, and we’re in it for the long haul, then why shouldn’t we…?” He tipped his head towards the corridor again, met Doyle’s eyes and gazed into them, soul touching soul.
“Nah…” Doyle said, but he felt himself weakening. He felt himself getting hard all over again too, drawn as fast as ever by the mischief in Bodie’s eyes, by the trouble in his smile.
“Not fair to miss my turn,” Bodie repeated, and he stretched out the hand on Doyle’s leg until his fingers were nearly touching Doyle’s cock, until they were pulling - not enough, not enough - on the denim that was pressing on him, so that if he moved just a little… oh, and just a little again… Bodie leaned in again, oblivious to the rest of the foyer, trapping Doyle in their own world, in their own tiny corner of heaven, and he nearly kissed him, lips a bare inch apart, before turning instead to whisper in his ear again. “Come on…”
Doyle swallowed, stood up quickly enough that he was the one tugging Bodie behind him by one arm, and they headed for the back of the room, giggling and scuffling in sheer relief and anticipation before they were halfway there, Bodie’s hands on him already, pushing him along, as if he needed to be pushed, as if…
“Bodie! Doyle!”
No…
“Ah, Saint Peter - it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, of course… I hope these two haven’t been causing you any trouble?”
They’d frozen, both frozen in automatic response to their names being called in that voice, and now they turned, Bodie’s hand still warm on Doyle’s back, Doyle’s fingers still clutching Bodie’s jacket.
“Now then - I understand Himself has let you know about our special remit?” Cowley had produced a well-read, leather-clad Bible and tapped it with one finger. “I can show you the small print, if…”
“That won’t be necessary - we’ve been waiting for you, George.” The doorman turned and smiled a faintly malevolent smile in their direction. “Haven’t we, boys?”
Cowley nodded genially, but he was already tucking his book away, and striding across the foyer, unbuttoning his coat one-handed as he came, briefcase held firmly in the other. He paused for a moment when he reached them, looked them up and down, and then breezed past. “Well don’t just stand there, come on - quickly now!”
“Yes sir, running all the way, sir!” Bodie said sharply, but he was grinning, and he was grinning at Doyle as he pulled them both around to follow in Cowley’s wake.
“Er, sir…?” Something troubled Doyle, niggled at him and worried at him, even as he stepped smartly along, almost jogging to keep up. “Sir, when you said Himself, which…um…which...?”
But all Cowley did was turn a saturnine eye on him and carry on along the gleaming marble floors, turning left into the corridor, aiming for some distant doorway that was, no doubt, his own long pre-arranged office.
For once, just for once, Doyle thought, he wished Cowley would give them the whole picture… Then Bodie’s hand found him again, a hurry-up caress to his arse, that meant that everything was alright in his world - where ever that was.