Prosfic - Better With Two
Title: Better With Two
Author: Slantedlight
Format: A wee fic
Circuit Archive/Pros-Lib: Yes, if still archiving!
Slash/Gen: Slash always
Pairing: Eternally B/D
Notes: Written for the Pros Writing Holiday 2011
Disclaimer: The lads and the CI5 universe are not mine to make money from, just to lurve...
The sign said "Unicycle Hockey", but the only unicycles were lying flat on the grass or being ridden by teenage lads, black-clad and confident, in another string surrounded arena. Instead, the centre of attention on the tennis courts was a large contraption, rainbow coloured, and if the blokes attempting it so far were to be taken as measure, impossible to ride.
"You balance in the middle ring - look," Doyle said, nudging Bodie so that his ice cream dripped, and he had to step smartly back to avoid it dribbling down his jeans.
He frowned, squinted at the not-unicycle. "Can't be done," he said after a minute, "It's a trick to make you look stupid."
"Chicken," Doyle said immediately, predictably.
"I'm not - have you ever seen anything like that before?"
Doyle shrugged.
"There you are then, it's just a publicity thing."
"Nah, it's gotta be possible - no point to it otherwise."
"If you were twenty years younger you could give it a go," the white haired lady beside them said, with a smile and a nod to Doyle's own grey curls, and Bodie grinned into his vanilla. Red rag to a bull, that. Sure enough, the quality of Doyle's stare changed, became measuring.
"Do it on an angle," he said thoughtfully, "They're all trying to tuck themselves in, it's affecting their balance..." He swallowed the last inch of his cone in a bite, took his jacket off and handed it to Bodie, looked around.
"Come off it, mate," Bodie tried, de sotto, "You're not pissed enough to make a spectacle of yourself."
Red rag, red rag...
Doyle shot him a look, rubbed his hands together, and wandered off towards the two young men who seemed to be in charge.
"How much to 'ave a go?" Bodie heard him ask, and was torn between wincing and grinning yet again. He'd bet Doyle once that he wouldn't manage the spinning Bling ride at Blackpool, and Doyle had, being twisted and turned in all three dimensions practically simultaneously. He'd been sick afterwards, mind, but that could have been the burgers they'd eaten immediately beforehand...
Money had changed hands now, and Doyle was wheeling the - well, the wheel - further into the court, was peering at the handlebars, leaning down to rattle the chain slightly. Bodie's favourite pair of patched jeans had been consigned to the rag bag years ago, but he watched cheerfully as the thin pale denim of Doyle's current ones stretched across his backside, particularly as he lifted one leg to straddle the seat.
Reminded him of that night a few weeks ago, when they'd stayed at that place with the wrought iron bedstead. Bodie'd brought out his handcuffs for that one, and even before he'd got Doyle's clothes off, he... Well, anyway... He swallowed suddenly, sniffed and rubbed a hand surreptitiously over his trouser leg to readjust things.
Concentrate on Doyle making an idiot of himself...
What did you call that thing, anyway? An omnibike? Omnicycle? Yeah, that'd do...
Doyle was properly astride the bike now, taking his time, looking it carefully over as he did with everything.
As he'd done when it'd been Bodie's turn to lay splayed across the bed, as if every inch of his skin was about to be lathed in fine attention, so that his nerve endings tingled even before Doyle had lowered himself, had breathed on him, had very slowly licked...
One foot off the ground, Doyle was starting to move forward, getting the feel of it, getting the balance... Christ, Doyle balanced behind him as Bodie knelt on the bed, the mattress rising and falling beneath them, the feel of Doyle's hands on him, the same hands that were competently steering the omnicycle around now, that had curled themselves around his balls, that had gripped his cock, and...
Centred carefully now, wheel tipped slightly at an angle so that his head and shoulders were free of it, Doyle lifted his other foot properly from the ground, started to pedal, wobbling now and then as he coordinated the wheel he sat on with the one cycling around... every attention on what he was doing, on getting it right and making it work.
Then suddenly he was flying, faster and faster around the courts, in ever narrower and more controlled circles - figures of eight, straight lines, tight curves - and he passed Bodie, and he smiled in happy triumph, catching his eye and sharing it, sharing the pure joy of it...
That moment when everything was just right, when he was stretched under Doyle, or Doyle was stretched under him, and every nerve sang with it, and every breath they took together and passed between them, and they knew, they both knew that everything was as perfect as it ever could be, and then... and then...
Doyle relinquished the machine, accepted the applause and admiring smiles and laughs as his due, laughing back with strangers, but heading straight for the place where Bodie stood by the fence.
Bodie couldn't smile any more, couldn't do anything except take him by the arm, knowing that it was there in his eyes, his own measuring look, and that Doyle had seen it, because Doyle always did. Back to the hotel, that was where they were going.
Raymond Doyle - Bodie's very own red rag...
Author: Slantedlight
Format: A wee fic
Circuit Archive/Pros-Lib: Yes, if still archiving!
Slash/Gen: Slash always
Pairing: Eternally B/D
Notes: Written for the Pros Writing Holiday 2011
Disclaimer: The lads and the CI5 universe are not mine to make money from, just to lurve...
The sign said "Unicycle Hockey", but the only unicycles were lying flat on the grass or being ridden by teenage lads, black-clad and confident, in another string surrounded arena. Instead, the centre of attention on the tennis courts was a large contraption, rainbow coloured, and if the blokes attempting it so far were to be taken as measure, impossible to ride.
"You balance in the middle ring - look," Doyle said, nudging Bodie so that his ice cream dripped, and he had to step smartly back to avoid it dribbling down his jeans.
He frowned, squinted at the not-unicycle. "Can't be done," he said after a minute, "It's a trick to make you look stupid."
"Chicken," Doyle said immediately, predictably.
"I'm not - have you ever seen anything like that before?"
Doyle shrugged.
"There you are then, it's just a publicity thing."
"Nah, it's gotta be possible - no point to it otherwise."
"If you were twenty years younger you could give it a go," the white haired lady beside them said, with a smile and a nod to Doyle's own grey curls, and Bodie grinned into his vanilla. Red rag to a bull, that. Sure enough, the quality of Doyle's stare changed, became measuring.
"Do it on an angle," he said thoughtfully, "They're all trying to tuck themselves in, it's affecting their balance..." He swallowed the last inch of his cone in a bite, took his jacket off and handed it to Bodie, looked around.
"Come off it, mate," Bodie tried, de sotto, "You're not pissed enough to make a spectacle of yourself."
Red rag, red rag...
Doyle shot him a look, rubbed his hands together, and wandered off towards the two young men who seemed to be in charge.
"How much to 'ave a go?" Bodie heard him ask, and was torn between wincing and grinning yet again. He'd bet Doyle once that he wouldn't manage the spinning Bling ride at Blackpool, and Doyle had, being twisted and turned in all three dimensions practically simultaneously. He'd been sick afterwards, mind, but that could have been the burgers they'd eaten immediately beforehand...
Money had changed hands now, and Doyle was wheeling the - well, the wheel - further into the court, was peering at the handlebars, leaning down to rattle the chain slightly. Bodie's favourite pair of patched jeans had been consigned to the rag bag years ago, but he watched cheerfully as the thin pale denim of Doyle's current ones stretched across his backside, particularly as he lifted one leg to straddle the seat.
Reminded him of that night a few weeks ago, when they'd stayed at that place with the wrought iron bedstead. Bodie'd brought out his handcuffs for that one, and even before he'd got Doyle's clothes off, he... Well, anyway... He swallowed suddenly, sniffed and rubbed a hand surreptitiously over his trouser leg to readjust things.
Concentrate on Doyle making an idiot of himself...
What did you call that thing, anyway? An omnibike? Omnicycle? Yeah, that'd do...
Doyle was properly astride the bike now, taking his time, looking it carefully over as he did with everything.
As he'd done when it'd been Bodie's turn to lay splayed across the bed, as if every inch of his skin was about to be lathed in fine attention, so that his nerve endings tingled even before Doyle had lowered himself, had breathed on him, had very slowly licked...
One foot off the ground, Doyle was starting to move forward, getting the feel of it, getting the balance... Christ, Doyle balanced behind him as Bodie knelt on the bed, the mattress rising and falling beneath them, the feel of Doyle's hands on him, the same hands that were competently steering the omnicycle around now, that had curled themselves around his balls, that had gripped his cock, and...
Centred carefully now, wheel tipped slightly at an angle so that his head and shoulders were free of it, Doyle lifted his other foot properly from the ground, started to pedal, wobbling now and then as he coordinated the wheel he sat on with the one cycling around... every attention on what he was doing, on getting it right and making it work.
Then suddenly he was flying, faster and faster around the courts, in ever narrower and more controlled circles - figures of eight, straight lines, tight curves - and he passed Bodie, and he smiled in happy triumph, catching his eye and sharing it, sharing the pure joy of it...
That moment when everything was just right, when he was stretched under Doyle, or Doyle was stretched under him, and every nerve sang with it, and every breath they took together and passed between them, and they knew, they both knew that everything was as perfect as it ever could be, and then... and then...
Doyle relinquished the machine, accepted the applause and admiring smiles and laughs as his due, laughing back with strangers, but heading straight for the place where Bodie stood by the fence.
Bodie couldn't smile any more, couldn't do anything except take him by the arm, knowing that it was there in his eyes, his own measuring look, and that Doyle had seen it, because Doyle always did. Back to the hotel, that was where they were going.
Raymond Doyle - Bodie's very own red rag...