Usual Disclaimer
I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.
THREE OF THREE
The pub was almost empty. It was a Wednesday late morning, too early for the lunch time crowd, and far enough out of the West End to be free of the tourists.
Bodie sat himself down with a pint and took a sip. The doctor had checked his knife wound, and pronounced himself satisfied with the healing.
"You're young and fit. I wouldn't have expected anything less. Tell Mr Cowley you're on light duties for the time being, and then nothing too strenuous until Macklin checks you out."
He'd signed off on Bodie's discharge sheet and the CI5 agent left the hospital.
Bodie had gone straight to the pub. He didn't know anyone there and wasn't over familiar with the area. It was an ideal location for him to sit and think recent events through; to decide what to do about Doyle.
He thought back to the night at his flat: He had been heavily sedated, but certain warm, unformed thoughts stayed in his mind; Doyle carrying tea into the lounge; Doyle helping him out of his torn and bloody clothes. Then his memories snapped into sharp focus, and he remembered the hunger in his partner's eyes. It had frightened him for an instant, before relief had flooded through him, because then he knew that Doyle felt the same way.
They had slept together, spooned comfortably against each other. Bodie recalled being kissed, so gently, across his shoulders, Doyle's curls softly tickling his skin. Neither man had spoken again, and they had remained in a chaste embrace all night.
He'd had no time to talk to Doyle any further. By the time Bodie awoke the following morning, sore and nauseous, Doyle had left. He found a note propped up against the bedside lamp. Cowley called – gone to Oxford. Even as he collected his thoughts, the doorbell rang, and he found Sally waiting outside with a bag of groceries.
"Doyle called," she said. "Asked me to drop by and play nursemaid for a while. Sorry I haven't got the outfit," she added cheekily.
Bodie smiled, a tight tense look on his face. Sally looked at him and slowly shook her head.
"Come in love, I can manage some coffee," he croaked.
Sally swept past him and turned.
"Get yourself sorted Will. I've bought eggs, bacon, butter – Doyle said the cupboards were bare. I'll fix us breakfast."
She walked through to the kitchen and started to unpack. Bodie closed the door and made his way to the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, Bodie sat down to a feast. Sally had cooked a full English breakfast for both of them, toasted half a loaf of bread and produced honey, marmalade and a huge pot of tea. They sat down together, and in a companionable silence, devoured the food.
"I'm off today," said Sally, "so I might as well keep you company. Christ knows you look as though you need it," she added.
Bodie stopped eating and looked across at her.
"I'm fine, Sal. Just a bit sore," he offered.
Sally waved her knife at him, her eyes compassionate but her mouth stern.
"Bodie! Do not try to kid me," she scolded. "Falling in love isn't a crime! Falling for Doyle isn't either!"
Bodie managed to look both crestfallen and embarrassed.
"Don't know what you're on about love," he muttered.
"Bodie!
Sally pushed the chair back in a sudden movement. Her normally happy expression was missing and she banged the table with her hand.
He shot her an angry look.
"Oh yeah, sure," he said bitterly. "Of course, I'm going to admit it! The big tough merc has fallen in love with a bloke. Not just any bloke either, but his partner, who's fucked his way round most of London already! That's going to cause some gossip in the canteen! Anson will piss himself laughing!"
Sally listened to the outburst in silence.
"Times are changing Bodie," she said. "You're just too busy to notice."
Bodie pushed his plate away. He reached for the pot and poured them both another mug of tea.
"Sal, Doyle slept in my bed and I liked it! I wanted more! I had no idea . . ." he stopped, the words refusing to be said.
Sally laid her hand across Bodie's clenched fist.
"Will, Doyle swings both ways you know. He's accepted it in himself, but had no idea how you'd deal with it. He thought you were so doped up last night, you didn't realise what was happening."
Bodie dropped his gaze and muttered almost to himself.
"I didn't know. I wondered last night though. The look in his eyes . . ." Bodie's voice tailed off. Suddenly he sat up wincing slightly from the soreness of the stitches. He looked hard at Sally.
"How come you're so sure of things, when I'm not?" he demanded. "We're partners, him and me. We've been through some tough situations. We think alike. We even finish each other's sentences! He's saved my life more than once. How come you know all the answers?"
Sally spoke up defiantly.
"I've known Doyle for a long while. He's tried to hide that he's bisexual . . . causes too many problems with the likes of Anson. Now he's fallen in love . . . with you . . . and doesn't quite know how to handle it. He rang Cowley this morning and told him he'd rather keep busy while you got better. That's why he's in Oxford, picking up a suspect. He'll be back later tonight."
Bodie sat there open mouthed. He thought he knew Doyle inside out, from his impressive temper tantrums and commitment to his job, to his easy charm and delight in female company. Bodie had never once suspected his partner was not one hundred percent straight, and found such a revelation hard to comprehend.
However Doyle didn't return from Oxford. He chose to interview the suspect and follow up leads over the next few days. He neither phoned Bodie nor contacted anyone in CI5 other than Cowley.
Now Bodie had been given the all clear to return to work. He left his pint, warming and barely touched and walked out of the pub.
The Thursday morning shift started early. The agents, some still yawning, others ready for whatever lay ahead, milled around the kettle. Steaming mugs of tea littered the tables, while the smell of toast wafted in from the small kitchen along the hall.
Bodie was greeted with the usual comments; 'big girl's blouse', 'it was only a scratch', 'pulling a sickie' all of which he accepted with a grin. The inner turmoil was hidden from them. Now and again he took a surreptitious glance at his watch. Doyle was late.
Cowley walked in and the room fell silent. He looked around the room, noting details about his agents they would not have realised; Murphy, his blue eyes dull and reddened, still grieving for his father; Roberts displaying an air of newly found confidence following his handling of a difficult hostage situation; Bodie, still at odds with his feelings for Doyle and Doyle nowhere to be seen. Cowley observed and noted.
He gave a short concise briefing and assigned agents to various tasks. The meeting ended and the agents moved off. Cowley beckoned across to Bodie.
"Go home laddie. I'm not satisfied with the doctor's assessment. I think we can spare you until next Monday. Use the time wisely Bodie," he added.
Bodie scowled. Two extra days alone was not what the doctor ordered.
The mid morning traffic was light, and twenty minutes later, he let himself back in his flat. Morosely he flung his keys across the hall.
"Temper, temper."
Bodie heard the flattened Derby drawl. He froze and turned to see Doyle standing near the window, mug of tea in his hand, munching his way through some toast.
"Fuck," said Bodie, succinctly.
Doyle placed the mug down, and faced his partner.
"Maybe later," he said. He took in the stricken look on his partner's face. "I'm sorry," he said. "You didn't deserve that."
Bodie moved across the room and gathered up the smaller man in his arms. For a long moment he stared at Doyle taking in the off kilter looks of the broken face, the steady green gaze and the generous mouth. He noted the silver neck chain laying in the dark chest hair, and the matching bracelet adorning the slender wrist.
"What happened Ray?" he asked.
"I fell in love," Doyle replied, "with you. Have been for a while. Wasn't sure what to do," he added.
Bodie cupped his partner's face and lightly kissed the generous mouth. For half a heartbeat, he thought Doyle might hit him, and then his friend responded with a long, slow deep kiss that took Bodie's breath away.
They parted slowly, each unsure as to what to do.
Bodie ran his finger around Doyle's chin, his eyes never leaving the other man's gaze. With their arms wrapped around each other, they stood quietly enjoying each other's closeness, for what seemed like hours.
Finally Bodie broke the embrace and taking Doyle's hand, led him to the bedroom. With infinite patience he undid the buttons on Doyle's shirt and pushed the garment from his shoulders. Doyle's skin was warm under his touch, and Bodie could smell the muted spicy scent of his aftershave. He looped his finger through the silver chain round Doyle's neck, and pulled him closer.
Not a word was spoken, as they lay side by side, exploring each other's body. Bodie's senses were reeling as Doyle mirrored his friend's actions. His cool hands lightly feathered down Bodie's chest, taking care not to touch the healing wound. Bodie gulped as Doyle's hand brushed over his hardened cock, restricted behind layers of clothing. His trouser zip slid down with a soft sigh, and Doyle slipped a hand under his balls, and gently stroked them.
Doyle began to peel away the remainder of Bodie's clothes. When he'd finished his task, he raised himself up on an elbow and looked down into the blue eyes.
He bent over, his chest hair brushing against Bodie's pale skin. He ran his tongue down Bodie's chest, avoiding the wound. His mouth settled over his partner's groin, and briefly hesitated.
"Doyle, don't you dare stop." Bodie could barely speak; his throat was so constricted with need.
Doyle raised his head and looked up at his partner.
"Lie still love," was the soft reply.
Bodie obeyed and gave himself to the ministrations of Doyle's mouth and tongue. His cock felt encased in velvet, soft and warm. As Doyle continued the licking and sucking, Bodie felt himself grow closer and closer to climax. His fingers dug into Doyle's shoulders, before entwining round the rebellious curls. Doyle pushed his partner's legs further apart and settled himself down between muscular thighs. He worked relentlessly on the tumescent organ, until Bodie, too helpless to do anything but moan, came, panting and thrusting into Doyle's mouth.
They lay there for a short time, recovering their senses. Doyle rolled over onto his back and sighed.
"That was worth waiting for," he said. "I always wondered what it'd be like . . . doing that to you . . . and it was worth it." He rolled over and wrapped his arms around the larger man.
Bodie felt as though his nerves were singing. He wriggled around until he was facing Doyle, and ran a finger around a small nipple. Doyle sighed contentedly.
Bodie slipped his hand in between Doyle's legs, feeling his friend rise magnificently to the touch. He continued stroking and rubbing the rough denim. Doyle put a strong hand over Bodie's fist and stopped his action.
"I need to slip out of these and into something a little more comfortable," he muttered.
He slipped off the bed, and slowly unzipped his jeans. Bodie was mesmerised at the sight of Doyle, shimmying out of the tight trousers. He drank in the sight of Doyle finally naked in front of him. He looked at the long legs and golden skin and at Doyle's erection, proud and hard.
"Get yourself back here now," he rasped.
No sooner had Doyle climbed back on to the bed, than Bodie pulled him close. Both men settled down face to face, green eyes watching blue eyes. Doyle whimpered as Bodie's large hand slipped around his cock. Bodie moved down slightly and his tongue began questing through Doyle's chest hair in search of a nipple. Doyle watched as Bodie began to stroke and knead his groin. He looked down at the dark head, fastened onto his chest and ran his own hand through the short cropped hair.
Bodie slipped his other hand round Doyle's balls, squeezing and tickling in time with the rhythmic stroking. Doyle felt himself grow harder as Bodie continued. He placed a hand under Bodie's chin, and drew him upwards.
Level with each other again, and with Bodie's hand never deviating from its stroking and rubbing, they kissed again. Doyle began to feel his balls tighten with anticipation. He watched Bodie watching him, as the irrepressible climb towards orgasm began. He realised he was panting as if he'd run a marathon, and then with a cry he climaxed, his seed showering Bodie, the bed and his own body.
Afterwards they lay together, entwined and sated.
Bodie sighed.
"Never thought this would happen with you. Been wanting it to for a while. Thought you were straight."
Doyle snickered.
"Nah. I've always fancied both. Told Cowley about it the day I joined CI5. He said to keep it quiet and don't frighten the horses."
"Got ourselves in a pretty mess this time though, haven't we love?" said Bodie quietly. "What are we gonna tell Cowley? Will he really turn a blind eye?"
Doyle shuffled around, spooning himself into Bodie's lap.
"I dunno mate," he answered. "Sal said times are changing, and I reckon the service will have to accept it."
"We'll see. Piss Anson off though won't it?"
Doyle laughed quietly.
"Sal saw right through me," said Bodie ruefully. "She told me what I'd been avoiding."
"She's a good girl," replied Doyle. "I've slept with her you know."
Bodie chuckled
"So have I mate."
Doyle's laugh rang out.
"Now that will piss Anson off!"