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Run Through the Jungle - Part Three

The call came as they were headed into Headquarters, Bodie having picked Doyle up from his flat. It was Cowley, tense and to the point.

”There’s been a suspicious object report from ANC Headquarters in Angel; it was found by a cleaner a few minutes ago. I want you and Bodie to check it out, now.”

“What kind of suspicious object, Sir?” Doyle responded.

“If I knew what it was I wouldn’t be asking you to check it out, would I, Doyle?” Cowley was sounding vexed so Doyle didn’t push his luck.

“Right. On our way, Sir. 4.5 out,” he said, switching the RT off just as Bodie did a tyre screeching turn down a side street that would send them in the direction of Islington.

“Co-incidence?” Bodie said as he wove in and out of traffic.

“What? You mean Nicole Goossens, Johannes Nkosi, the African national Congress and now a ‘suspicious object’? And why call us and not the bomb squad? No, I think not.” Dropping his tone slightly he carried on. “There is more to this than meets the eye, Watson.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Holmes,” Bodie responded

Unsurprisingly, Nicole Goossens was the first person to greet them as they hurried into the two-story building in Pattern Street that housed the ANC offices.

“Oh, you again,” were her first words on sighting Doyle. “I was right. You do work for Uncle George.”

Bodie looked at Doyle and quirking his eyebrow silently mouthed, “Uncle George?” Doyle shrugged a response before turning his attention back to the reporter.

“If you mean George Cowley, then yes. I’m Doyle, he’s Bodie.” They flashed their ID cards and Ray took the opportunity to add, “We didn’t realise you and Mr Cowley were related, Miss Goossens.”

“We’re not. And, please, call me Nicole,” she told them absently as she escorted them past anxious employees towards the rear of the building. “My father and George Cowley were in the same unit during the war. I’ve known Uncle George since I was a child.”

“Oh, right. That explains a lot,” Doyle said, giving Bodie a meaningful look. “Perhaps you’d better show us this object, Nicole.”

It was a suitcase, pushed in well behind a filing cabinet in Nkosi’s office. The cleaner was new and very diligent. He’d noticed the cabinet was sitting further out from the wall than it should and after unsuccessfully trying to push it back into place had investigated why the cabinet refused to cooperate.

Now the cabinet was across the room and Johannes Nkosi was studying the case with cautious interest. It was an ordinary brown case, similar to something once used by school children and about the same size. In fact Bodie thought that was exactly what it was, a school bag.

“Could be something,” Doyle suggested

“Could be nothing,” Bodie answered.   “Maybe someone just forgot to take it home with them.”

“What? After shoving it behind a filing cabinet?” Doyle was decidedly sceptical. Turning to Nkosi he said, “And you’ve never seen it before?”

“No. It wasn’t there yesterday. I’m sure of it,” Johnny told him.

“Okay, why don’t you clear out the building, just in case,” Bodie suggested to Doyle. “Take Mr Nkosi and Nicole with you. I’ll see if I can get a better look.”


“Promise I won’t touch. Go on, Sunshine, we need to get everyone clear.”

Doyle gave him a long look until Bodie started making shooing gestures. He turned to the couple in the doorway and nodded. Both Johnny and Nicole started out, Johnny giving orders for everyone to evacuate the building. 

Doyle turned to Bodie before following Johnny, “Just you make sure you wait. I’ll be back.”

As soon as everyone had left Bodie started checking out the visible areas of the suitcase. He’d promised Ray he’d be careful but they needed to know what the threat was, if it was a threat. There were no visible wires on the outside of the case and the locks were ordinary flip up toggles so they shouldn’t be booby-trapped.   Hunching down beside the case he held his breath and gingerly lifted the toggles. Nothing. With the locks loosened he checked the outer edges of the lid and again found no evidence of wires.

As gingerly as he had opened the locks he lifted the lid of the case and saw the explosive and the clock face. He didn’t need to check with his watch to know he’d run out of time. The movement to turn and scream, “out!” to the startled Doyle coming back through the door was the quickest he’d made in his life. 


The sound of the explosion was deafening but Bodie thought he heard a wailing scream just after it hit. It might have been Nicole or it might have been him. Then everything went black.

When he opened his eyes seconds (minutes, hours, he wasn’t sure) later he was sitting propped up against the wall outside what had been Johnny Nkosi’s office and Doyle was in his face, his mouth opening and closing at a furious rate. He was talking, shouting maybe, what seemed to be his name and something else Bodie was sure wasn’t complementary, but he couldn’t make it out over the other sound.

“What, can’t hear you, Mate. ‘Cause of the bells,” he shouted back. At least he thought he shouted but he couldn’t hear his own voice either.

Doyle drew back slightly, a puzzled look on his face and Bodie knew by the shape of his mouth and lips what he said. “Bells? What bleeding Bells?”

“The ones ringin’ in me ears.” He knew the next word his partner uttered as well, more by instinct than anything else.

“Pillock!” But the hands were gentle as they ran quickly but efficiently over his body then pulled his head down for a close inspection before releasing him. The green eyes that searched his face were gentle too and full of concern.

Taking his own stock Bodie realised that, miraculously, everything seemed to be functioning, apart from his hearing and the headache that was pounding at his skull. “I’m okay, Ray. Honest. Just can’t hear anything. 

Doyle’s mouth quirked a little and smiled as he lifted his thumb to swipe at a streak of dirt on Bodie’s cheek. But then the smile faded and a frown replaced it. “You’ve got an egg on the back of your head the size of a small golf ball, your hair’s singed and your jacket’s got scorch marks. And you’re okay! Told you to wait didn’t I? But no, you had to go ahead and play bomb disposal all on your own.”

Things were improving because Bodie heard most of what Ray was saying through the persistent buzzing in his head. Wisely, he didn’t bother interrupting to mention that if he hadn’t opened the suitcase he wouldn’t have known the bomb was there and consequently they both might have got the full blast. At last Doyle ran dry and Bodie, who’d been checking the back of his head tentatively, wincing when his fingers found the damage, managed to get a word in, “Did you say me hair’s singed. How bad is it? It’s not burnt off is it?”

Doyle just shook his head and with a sigh turned to survey the damage wrought by the explosion. 

Johannes Nkosi’s office was a jumbled tangle of wooden beams and broken furniture, one wall having been blown out entirely, spilling debris into the passage. Dust and smoke swirled through the air. 

More bells started to jangle through Bodie’s head but they were genuine this time, the sounds of ambulance and police sirens and he realised he must have been out of it long enough for the troops to arrive. 

“Here, help me up,” he said, holding out a hand to his partner. Doyle gripped tightly and hauled him up, putting a steadying arm around his waist as Bodie staggered slightly.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, just a little wobbly. Anyone hurt?” Bodie asked

“Nah, got them all out before the shit hit the fan,” Doyle told him just as they both saw Johannes Nkosi hurrying towards them through the still drifting smoke and dust.

“Is he all right?” Nkosi rushed in to help support Bodie. 

“Yeah, just a bit unsteady on his pins,” Doyle told him, before Bodie had a chance to answer. 

“Better get him outside. The ambulance and fire services have arrived.” Nkosi said

Pulling away from Doyle and brushing off Nkosi’s helping hand Bodie straightened. “I am perfectly fine and quite capable of speaking for myself,” he said with dignity.

Johnny shrugged and stepped back. Doyle frowned but kept his mouth firmly closed as they made their way carefully through the broken beams and debris to the undamaged reception area. By the time they arrived so had Cowley, coming in through the front door followed by Phillips, their explosives expert.

“Let me know what you find, Phillips, as soon as you find it.” Cowley was in full stride, stopping only to glare at Bodie and comment. “Good heavens man, are you all right?” Bodie rolled his eyes at yet another enquiry into his general health but before he could reply Cowley carried on. 

“Get seen to by the paramedics and then I want the two of you back at HQ. Mr Nkosi, I presume? Perhaps you’d care to come with me a moment, there are some questions I’d like to ask you.” Without a backward glance at his men the Scottish dervish that was George Cowley swept through the clearing dust, Phillips and a bemused Johnny Nkosi trailing in his wake.

“Yes, Sir,” said Doyle to the retreating back before turning to Bodie. “Come on, let’s get you sorted.”

“Don’t need sorting,” Bodie said with a petulant twist to his lips. “Told you, I’m okay.” 

Doyle, finally giving in to his exasperation, turned on his partner with a snarl. “For once in your life, you stubborn bastard, just do as you’re damn well told!” and before a startled Bodie could respond he found himself being dragged outside to the waiting ambulance.


By the time the paramedics had finished with Bodie and cautioned a watch for any signs of concussion and sent them on their way with their blessings and painkillers for Bodie’s headache Cowley had left. Phillips continued to shift through the debris muttering about timing mechanisms and C2 while Nkosi was busy reassuring his staff. Of Nicole Goossens there was no sign. 

The drive back to Headquarters was a mostly silent affair with Doyle giving monosyllabic responses to Bodie’s comments until he decided to give up and let Doyle get on with his foul mood on his own. 

It was not a surprise, when they reported in, to find Nicole in Cowley’s office, seated at his desk, both of them apparently deep in conversation.

The atmosphere in the office was strained, despite the glasses of whisky set on the desk. Bodie looked pointedly at the glasses as he and Doyle took up position, but Cowley chose to ignore him, asking instead, “I assume both of you are now aware Miss Goossens and I are acquainted?” Without waiting for a response he continued, “Nicole is just about to tell me what her newspaper has uncovered that would cause an attempt on her life.”

“You know the bomb was most likely meant for Johannes Nkosi, not me, Uncle George. There is no reason to think anyone even knew I would be there.” Her tone was reasoning, and Bodie guessed this was an old argument between his boss and the reporter.

 “That may well be, Nicole. But at the moment we have no evidence as to who planted the bomb or whom it was intended for. Perhaps you could tell us exactly why you were there? What’s the connection? What information would Nkosi have that would be of interest to you or your newspaper?”

“None. You don’t remember him do you, Uncle George? Johannes Nkosi is Petrus’ son.” 

“Petrus, your father’s headman? He’s young Johnny?” At Nicole’s nod Cowley sat back in his chair, his surprise evident. “Of course! I remember your father telling me he had run afoul of the Government and left but I never heard any more about it, or him. I never made the connection to Johannes Nkosi and he didn’t say anything when I spoke to him.” He looked chagrined by this admission of fallacy on his part.

“There’s no reason you should, it’s a long way from a farm near Zeerust to the ANC in London. And he wouldn’t have mentioned it, you know how reclusive he could be at times.” Nicole turned to Bodie and Doyle. “Johnny and I grew up together on my parents’ farm in Northern Transvaal. I knew he was here, in London, in the ANC so I looked him up.”

“And that’s where you went after I lost you at King’s Cross?” Doyle asked.

“Yes. I’d approached my contact here in London earlier. But you already know that,” she said with a slight smile. Doyle grinned back at her. “I was free after that and I didn’t particularly want your company,” she told him, almost apologetically.

“I had you followed for a reason, Nicole,” Cowley interrupted. “Suppose you tell us what exactly it is you and your newspaper are after, what you’ve uncovered.

She nodded and paused, seeming to collect her thoughts.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you much about the stranglehold the National Party and John Vorster as Prime Minister have had on South African politics for decades?” She stopped for a moment as the three men confirmed her assumption, then carried on. “But perhaps what you don’t realise is just how much the Government and Vorster are held in awe by most of the country and the sense of security, the belief within the Government that it is unassailable, this stranglehold gives them.

“Some months ago one of the paper’s contacts put us in touch with a man, a civil servant, who had a story to tell about corruption in high places and that a lot of money was involved, money that could be linked to the Department of Information. That man was our first contact. Since then there have been more. What the paper is trying to uncover is the extent of the corruption.”

“And that’s where Starling comes in?” Doyle asked.

“Yes, he’s the Department’s front here and in Europe, their spokesman for apartheid propaganda, the one who’s been negotiating for the purchase of foreign owned newspapers and bribery of Government officials. He knows where the money is coming from, who’s involved and he’s willing to co-operate, give us documentary evidence on the Department’s activities. Fortunately for us he appears to have become disenchanted with the concepts of apartheid.”

“And the bird has begun to sing,” Bodie put in with a grin. 

Nicole agreed. “This bird has the power to help bring down Vorster’s Government if we can prove the extent of his connection to the Department’s activities. It’s almost certain their funds have been syphoned through the Defence budget, illegally.”

“Which is precisely why what you’re doing is so dangerous, Nicole,” Cowley interrupted. “It’s already known by CI5, and MI6 that the Department of Information is very closely associated with South Africa’s Bureau of State Security. If they are aware of your investigations and Starlings’ defection they may have decided to take action.”

Nicole regarded her adopted uncle closely for a moment. “So, you think BOSS may have initiated the bomb attack?”

“I think it’s highly likely they’re behind it. BOSS has already been responsible for several bombings and assassinations involving ANC personnel. The question is still, was it you they were targeting or Johannes Nkosi?” Turning to Doyle he asked, “Did Phillips have any information on the device?” 

“C2 probably, on a timer, which we knew already,” Doyle answered, looking pointedly at Bodie, who shrugged and rolled his eyes. 

“Well, they’ve tried once, whoever ‘they’ are, and there’s no reason to think they won’t try again.” Cowley suddenly seemed to notice the dusty and dishevelled condition of his agents for the first time. “Good heavens, you two are a mess! Go home, get some rest. I’ll discus further security arrangements with Nicole and see to her immediate safety and inform you of your duties tomorrow.”

Bodie was only too pleased to comply. He felt tired, dirty and disgruntled. 

 Nicole rose from her chair as they prepared to leave. “Thank you for today, Bodie. We could all have been killed, you were very brave to do what you did.”

Bodie preened a little and tried his most captivating smile. “All part of the job,” he told her.

“Exactly,” Cowley cut in. “And no less than I would expect from any of my men.”

Doyle just scowled and headed to the door with a cursory goodbye to both Cowley and Nicole. After another exchange of smiles with Nicole and a nod to Cowley Bodie followed him.


“Where we headed?” Bodie dared to ask as he hurried after his partner.

Doyle was making a beeline for his own car, left in the car pool all day as Doyle had preferred to use Bodie’s car, and trust to Bodie’s driving.

“My place. Get in,” was all his partner offered and Bodie obediently deposited himself in the passenger seat of Doyle’s Ford Escort.

The drive to Doyle’s flat was just as silent as the drive to CI5 had been earlier and Bodie couldn’t make out what was annoying his partner so intently. Any hope of talking things out or even the prospect of a little physical activity were flying rapidly out the window and Bodie was starting to wish he’d gone back to his own place and left Ray to his brooding. He just hoped he’d at least feed him.

Doyle headed towards the kitchen as soon as they hit the flat. Bodie followed more slowly, taking time to pick the discarded jacket up from the couch where his partner had carelessly tossed it in passing. Taking off his own jacket he examined the scorch mark, shaking his head sadly, before carefully arranged both over the back of a chair.

Doyle was leaning on the kitchen sink, staring out the window, pensive and silent, an open bottle of whisky on the bench and a full glass in his hand, another set next to the bottle.

“What’s the matter?” Bodie moved to stand behind him, not touching but near enough to bring his lips close to his mate’s ear for the quiet words.

“Things were rough out there today, close. A few seconds sooner and we’d have been sweeping’ you up off the floor right now.” Doyle took a full swig from the glass and Bodie watched the movements of his throat as the he swallowed the liquid. Reaching around his partner he picked up the other glass and took his own swig before putting it down again, breath catching slightly at the flowing burn of the spirits.

“Is that what’s been getting to you? Could have been you in the way, could have been either of us, then or any other time. Comes with the territory, Sunshine.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it just.” Relaxing, Doyle let his body fall back against his partner’s solid bulk and Bodie gratefully received it, moving his arms to wrap around the slim waist.

“You know the trouble with you, Doyle?” Doyle didn’t answer, just snuggled a little deeper into Bodie’s depths. “Take everything to heart you do. A simple little bomb in a dissident’s office and you think the world’s comin’ to an end.”

Bodie felt more than heard the soft chuckle as Ray deposited his own glass next to Bodie’s before turning in his arms to look at him. “You stayin’ the night?”

“You want me to?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do. Need you, mate. Always.”

Bodie’s breath caught at the simple admission and all it might mean. But he wouldn’t question it - not now, not yet. Instead he bent his head to touch his mouth to those inviting lips. Ray’s mouth opened in response and his tongue licked at Bodie’s lips until he opened up and let him inside. Ray was gentle at first, almost tentative but that quickly changed to a rough possession, tongue and mouth demanding, insistent. Taken by surprise Bodie stepped back a pace and Ray took advantage, pushing and manoeuvring him backwards towards the bedroom, pausing only to allow them both a quick breath before continuing the assault. Backing Bodie up to the edge of the bed he allowed them both to fall, landing on the soft mattress, Ray on top and straddling Bodie’s hips.

“Whoa, Ray. Slow down.”

“Shut up!” Doyle’s voice was quiet, almost gentle, belying his words and manner as he ruthlessly tore at Bodie’s clothes, ripping open his shirt and pulling it off then reaching for the belt and zip on his cords. The pants were yanked down and off his body in seconds, along with shoes, socks and underpants - all thrown over Doyle’s shoulders to land in untidy heaps on the bedroom floor. Doyle’s clothes were next, gone in the same quick fashion until they were both naked and Doyle was on top again, pinning Bodie’s arms above his head while he once again attacked the already swollen mouth with his own. Bodie, stunned by the ferocity of Doyle’s actions and effectively pinned beneath the hard body, could do nothing but allow him his way.

Doyle drew back slightly and looked down at him. “Mine,” he announced and proceeded to prove his point, moving his mouth to Bodie’s neck, nipping and sucking hard, then tonguing over the tingling bite before moving to another expanse of skin to repeat the same stinging kiss. Bodie gasped at the pull and burn of his mouth, feeling the sensations all the way down to his groin. Releasing Bodie’s wrists Doyle moved further down his body continuing the assault on the skin of chest and stomach, hands moving possessively over the body writhing beneath him.

When Doyle reached his hips and, ignoring the erect, leaking cock, headed for the soft skin of inner thigh Bodie groaned and wrapped his hands in Doyle’s hair trying to steer his head in the right direction. But Ray was having none of it. Moving back up to Bodie’s mouth he kissed him roughly and hissed, “Be still!” against his lips. Bodie obeyed.

Then he was back, crouched between Bodie’s legs marking first one thigh and then the other in the same way he’d marked the rest of his body. Finally holding Bodie’s hips firmly in place he planted one last sucking kiss on his groin, just above the line of pubic hair, before sitting back slightly to grin up at his partner 

Bodie, looking back at him caught sight of the dark marks scattered over his body. “Shit, Ray,” he gasped, staring into those feral green eyes, “what’d you do that for? I’m not going to be able to shower at HQ for days.”

“I know,” Ray’s grin became even more feral and completely unrepentant. Leaning forward again he licked from the base of Bodie’s cock to the tip, pausing to swirl his tongue around the slit and lap at the fluid there, before dipping down to encase Bodie in hot wet heat. Bodie fell back onto the pillow, unable to stop his whimper, or his instinctive thrust up into that velvet mouth. Doyle sucked and pulled and used his hands to massage and caress, gently squeezing and rolling Bodie’s testicles and stroking over his opening before deftly probing with one finger, then another.   Just as Bodie thought he couldn’t hold back any longer, that he would explode into Ray’s mouth, his lover released him to turn him over onto his stomach. The oil Ray used was sweet smelling, fragrant as, while continuing to caress and massage, his fingers opened him completely, then he was filled by Ray’s hardness. They moved together, giving and taking, Ray’s earlier aggressiveness gone, replaced by an urgency that was both tender and electrifying.

They came almost as one, Doyle shuddering to climax first, Bodie following, whispering his secret to himself as Ray pulled on his cock to bring the final release. 

Sated, exhausted they lay together, the world around them quiet and peaceful, their ragged breathing the only sound. Bodie found he couldn’t have moved if he wanted to and barely had the strength to utter a small complaint as Doyle lifted away and moved off the bed. He felt the warmth of a damp clothing cleaning him, and the dip of the bed again as Doyle returned and wrapped him tightly in his arms. Then he slept.


When Bodie woke it was to the sensation of warm air tickling his cheek. He murmured and brushed absently at the irritation. It stopped immediately. He was just drifting off again when the shaft of air returned, this time attacking his earlobe. He muttered and tried to move his head out of range but the sensation followed him, persistent and annoying. Reluctantly he opened one eye and discovered two bright green eyes staring at him.

“You awake?” Doyle was propped up on one elbow, face inches from his own.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

Doyle shook his head, “Nah! 

Still fuzzy with sleep and wondering why his partner had been blowing in his ear Bodie managed to open his other eye. “Why not?”

“’Cause you lie all the time.”

“No I don’t,” Bodie denied, then thought about it for a second. “Like when?”

“Like when you told me you were goin’ to the match with Jax, only you’d hooked up with that bird I fancied.”

“Ah, yes. The fair Fiona, I remember her well.”

“And the time …”

 “Yeah, okay, you’ve made your point,” Bodie interrupted. But Doyle leaned over and placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

“And when you said, ‘I love you’.”

Bodie’s heart stopped beating for a second but it felt like minutes. “When did I say that?” he whispered as the finger began to trace the outline of his lips.

“Last night, just as I was coming inside you. Remember?”

He did, but he’d hoped, after the words were out and couldn’t be recalled, that Ray hadn’t heard, it had only been a whisper after all, a notion to be kept to himself. He took a breath and felt his heart pounding now, probably catching up on those few lost beats. “I wasn’t lying,” he finally admitted.

Ray studied him for a moment and for once Bodie couldn’t read him like he usually could, his expression shuttered to him.   

“Right, we’d better talk, hadn’t we? Get a few things sorted out.” If Ray was keeping his feelings closed to him, Bodie’s must have been all too obvious because Ray seemed to sense his apprehension. “But first …”

Bodie’s heartbeat didn’t have a chance of slowing down as Ray kissed him, open mouthed and hungry, demanding a response Bodie was only too pleased to give. Finally they broke apart, gasping slightly, gazing at each other with new understanding.

“What are we going to tell Cowley?” was all he needed to say.

“That we’re together. That there’s nothing he can do about it short of firing us both. That it doesn’t make a difference to the way we work together.”

“You know it’s not going to be that simple, Ray.”

“Why not? Homosexuality’s not against the law any more you know.”

Sensing one of Doyle’s self-righteous paddies coming on Bodie tried a reasoning tone. “No, but it’s not accepted either,” adding in an exaggerated accent, “especially not in the Civil Service, old man,” and was rewarded with Doyle’s sexy grin.

“Yeah, but Cowley will cover for us, rather than lose his best team. And we are his best team after all.”

“True,” Bodie admitted. “And everyone else?”

“Not their business,” Ray looked up to glance around at the restrictive bedroom with its one small wardrobe. “I fancy a bigger flat though and yours doesn’t have much more room than this one. Maybe a semi somewhere nice - or a cottage with a garden.”

Bodie laughed. He doubted it was going to be as easy as Ray suggested, that Cowley or anyone else who found out would simply accept the situation of their being together, a couple. His mind played with it for a moment - him and Ray a couple. It had an odd feel to it, a sense of unreality and he wondered at their chances of weathering the future storms. But he’s wasn’t going to let such thoughts spoil this moment, not for anything.

“Whatever you want, Angelfish. We’ll become suburbanites with an allotment an’ all. I’ll even help you with the turnips,” he told his lover and pulled him back down for another satisfying kiss.

Some time later, dishevelled and breathless, Bodie remembered something. “You haven’t said it back yet.”

“What? That I love you? ‘course I do, you daft prat,” Ray told him as he turned onto his back, pulling Bodie to lie on top of him and between his legs. “I adore you. Fuck me, now.”

And Bodie, feeling smug, self satisfied and wonderfully loved, obliged.


The next time Bodie woke it was to the jangling sound of a telephone. Doyle, wrapped tightly around him, head resting on his chest, barely stirred at the sound and Bodie was forced to nudge at his ribs.

“Ray, phone.”

“Thas’ nice. Answer it can’t you?”

“Ray, it’s your phone and I can’t move anyway. You’re on top of me.”

“Hmmm nice bein’ on top. Nice bein’ on bottom too.”

“Ray, answer the bloody phone!”

“Whaa.. Oh, okay, got it.”

Ray finally rolled half off him and reached for the offending instrument, managing a reasonably awake sounding “Doyle,” into the mouthpiece, while Bodie idly traced his finger over a now accessible flank and listened to Doyle’s end of the conversation.

“Yes, Sir. He’s here. Stayed over in case of, you know, concussion or something.” Bodie sniggered and Doyle wiggled, then batted at the straying finger, sending his partner a frown before grabbing at a piece of paper and pencil to scribble rapidly. “Yeah, he’s fine. In fact he’s never been better.” Doyle smirked and Bodie answered with his best lecherous grin. “Right, Sir. On our way.”

“Cowley?” Bodie queried, moving his finger to even more interesting portions of Doyle’s anatomy, lechery still in place.

“Who else? And none of that now, no time.” Doyle told him, rolling completely off and heading to the wardrobe. “Nicole’s agreed to a safe house. Cowley’s arranged it all, took her and Nkosi there already. Cowley wants us there yesterday!”

Bodie groaned at the loss of the warm body but sat up anyway, deftly catching the clean underwear and shirt tossed to him by Ray.  

They showered together, Ray carefully washing Bodie’s hair and tutting at the lump still visible on his head, before dressing quickly, Bodie pulling on the cords he had been wearing the day before and donning Ray’s shirt. As soon as he had it on he realised it wasn’t going to cover the marks horribly visible on his neck and Cowley at least knew where he’d been all night. Immediately seeing his problem Ray hunted around in a drawer until he found what he wanted. 

“Looks like it’s tie day for you, Sunshine,” he said, tossing the brightly multicoloured tie to his partner with an unrepentant laugh 

Bodie looked at the tie, then looked at Ray. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this.”

Ray walked over to him and taking the offending item out of his hands draped it around his neck. “It’s the only one I’ve got, mate. So you’re stuck with it,” he told him as he set about efficiently knotting the tie and drawing it up tight against Bodie’s throat. “And it has its uses.” Doyle added, with one last pull that brought Bodie’s mouth to his for an open mouthed kiss. Bodie had to agree.

 Part Four


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