![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
solosundance.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
discoveredinaljThis goes in the category of um ... pointless fluff *g* The prompts were Portugal and Sunglasses.
Sun, Sea, Sand and Absolutely, Categorically, No Excitement
by JoJo
Coming up to midday Doyle laid his book aside, and sat up for a look round.
The sea was still blue. There were still three birds with no tops on cavorting in the waves. The pedalo of shirtless Brits was still going round in circles out in the bay.
Digging his toes into the sand at the foot of the towel, Doyle considered if he felt at all relaxed yet and eventually decided that there was an outside chance. To his left Bodie was asleep on the sun-lounger, lashes down behind the ever-present sunglasses, one knee in the sun, one in the shade. It was time to move the umbrella over a bit so the bloody idiot didn’t get sunstroke on top of everything else. Bodie had claimed this morning that since he was both a mad dog and an Englishman, Doyle should stop being a royal pain in the arse about it and let him fry in peace. Nevertheless, it was time, and Doyle got to his feet.
The move was completed without a hitch, and, still idly observing the splashing nymphs who were now less-than-idly observing him, Doyle slid his cut-offs up over his thighs and reached for his t-shirt. With a quick pat of the pocket to make sure his escudos were there he set off across the burning hot sand towards the wooden steps a hundred metres away.
There were a few Brits inside Tristao’s eating chips and some Germans at the bar. Tristao hailed him like a long-lost friend, and Doyle drank his first Superbock of the day while discussing Eusebio’s penalty-taking techniques. At least, Doyle thought that was what they were discussing. Tristao didn’t have much to say other than “Bobbeee Charlton,” accompanied by a toothsome grin and a thumbs-up. Still, Doyle felt they were somewhat on the same wavelength.
On the way back, with another Superbock for him and a Lilt for Bodie, he kept his eyes on the sun-lounger.
Bodie hadn’t moved a muscle. Doyle bent over him and whispered, “Wakey-wakeeeee ...” He let the un-Bodie-like slow transition from unconscious to conscious run its course, and then plopped the cold can down next to the nearest hand, well away from the letter-box sized area under his navel where the poor sod had been stitched up like a kipper. Some of his newly-acquired relaxation deserted him as he sat back down on his towel, aware of Bodie’s laboured progress from lying to sitting.
Up to now their so-called holiday didn’t seem to have made a dent in Bodie’s whole-body, all-encompassing fatigue.
But then, by rights, he shouldn’t actually be here at all. By rights, he should be six feet under a damp pile of earth in Cheshire.
“You ready for lunch then?” Doyle said.
There was a long yawn.
“Wezza sun?”
“Don’t start.”
“Fancy a swim?” The voice was croaky.
“As a matter of fact I do. But you’re not coming.”
“Fancy a shag?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid you’re still not coming.”
“Ha.”
“Nice sleep?”
“Dunno, was asleep.”
“Well you sit there and meditate for a bit, mate. Me, I’m going to swim out to that rock and back and then we’re going to have lunch.”
“What rock?”
“The one straight in front of you.”
“All I can see is three pairs of enormous ... Doyle.”
Doyle polished off his Superbock. “What?”
“I shall be watching you.”
“You do that,” Doyle said, shrugging off his t-shirt.
“Mind the jellyfish,” Bodie added, wincing his way on to an elbow. “And the sharks.”
The cut-offs dropped to the sand and Doyle began to step his way down to the edge of the shore.
“And the undercurrents,” Bodie called after him.
Doyle sloshed in up to his shins and then stopped. He couldn’t, he really couldn’t, wade past without saying something to the nymphs.
“I’m coming in,” he said to them cheerily. “Because the water’s lovely.”
A titter went round the group.
“Don’t get cold,” he advised them. Two tittered again. One challenged him with a look.
Doyle struck out, found the sand shelving sharply under his feet, and saved his stumbles by throwing himself forward under an incoming wave.
Water broke over his head, cold and calming, and then he was swimming straight for the offshore rock, the sun in his eyes. He had no doubt that Bodie was watching his every stroke. On the far side of the rock he lay on his back and floated for twenty minutes or more, caught between the relief of solitude and the regret that he was alone.
By the time he swam back Bodie was sitting on the edge of the sun-lounger getting ready to shift a gear. He had Doyle’s towel in his hand and he held it out. All Doyle could see was his own reflection in the sunglasses.
“Giant squid get you?” Bodie asked grumpily.
“Yeah, that and the riptides.”
“Ready for lunch?” Bodie did a fair job of sounding enthusiastic.
“Give us a minute.”
“Just us is it?”
“Eh?”
“Thought you might have invited your new friends.”
Doyle laughed, pleased. “Noticed that, did you?”
“They’re hard to ignore.”
Doyle looked round. “Where are they anyhow?”
“They put their wet t-shirts on and went up to the bar.”
“Right, come on then, sergeant, on your feet. I’m going to get a whole fish down you if it’s the last thing I do.”
Resigned, Bodie lifted one arm and Doyle gripped him under the elbow and braced. Bodie didn’t say a word or utter a sound as he rose to standing, even though Doyle was still having to take nearly all the weight.
“Here you are,” Doyle said, “You can carry this,” and he hung his wet towel round Bodie’s neck. The sunglasses stared impassively back at him.
The damn things stayed on all through lunch, and Bodie had less to say than usual. He wasn’t really eating anything, but something was certainly eating him. Doyle tracked him all the way from Tristao’s back to the apartment block, ochre and blue on the clifftop.
Once inside the heavy door of the apartment, Bodie launched the towel, still the only thing he was allowed to carry, across the dim, cool hallway and on to the tiled table inside the main room.
He grabbed Doyle by the shirtfront as if he was drunk although nothing but sugary fizz had passed his lips for weeks.
“Come on, nurse,” he said, “show us your stockings.”
“For God’s sake, Bodie ...”
“No, come on, let’s do what you’re supposed to do on holiday.”
“You can hardly get from here to the beach without oxygen, sunshine. You’ve managed the equivalent of one sardine in six days. With all the bloody pills you’re on I doubt you could get it up anyway.” All this was actually so near the truth that Doyle felt obliged to manoeuvre them on to more light-hearted ground. “And we’re covered in sand. That’s some serious chafing you could be looking at.”
“I don’t care,” Bodie said. “I don’t bloody, bastard care.”
Doyle held up the flat of his hand like he was directing traffic. “You were bleeding in the belly, mate. They said no excitement. Absolutely, categorically, no excitement.”
Bodie moved in close so the hand got trapped against his chest. His lips, salty-dry, touched on Doyle’s and Doyle felt the tip of a tongue probe in that slight, thoughtful, you-don’t-know-what’s-coming-to-you way.
Doyle pushed against him. He knew he could practically push the daft pillock over with one finger at the moment.
“Na na nah,” he said, wishing Bodie would lose the sunglasses. “We’re past all that, sunshine. Long way past it.”
Bodie’s head moved back a fraction.
“They gave you a ten per cent chance of survival, mate, and they had to send out to two other hospitals for more blood. I’m not risking any trouble. You’re here to stay off your feet and to sleep. That’s all.”
“So let’s lie down,” Bodie said.
“On these flipping tiles?” Doyle had occasionally tolerated Bodie’s penchant for sex in uncomfortable places, but he would have drawn the line at cold marble even under normal circumstances. He reached up to both sides of Bodie’s head and slid the sunglasses off. Bodie blinked sleepily. Now the glasses were gone, all hope of fooling Ray Doyle evaporated.
“You look like the undead,” said Doyle generously. “Boris Karloff on a bad day.”
“Wish I felt that good.”
“Yeah,” said Doyle. “Me too.” He watched Bodie working his jaw muscles trying to stifle another yawn.
“Bloody hell,” Bodie said miserably.
“Save it,” Doyle told him. “It’ll keep.”
“Keep?”
“I mean, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Right,” Bodie agreed uncertainly.
Doyle allowed him a weaving progress along the hallway and into the bedroom and watched him plump down on the side of the white bed. He wandered across to shutter out some daylight.
“If you’re good,” he said as he turned round, “I might even let you beat me at mini-golf.”
“Now that’s what I call excitement,” Bodie said, although actually it was what he called something far more profound. He keeled gently sideways and did a face-plant on the pillow.
Doyle tip-toed out to find his book.
Title: Sun, Sand, Sea and Absolutely, Categorically, No Excitement
Author: JoJo
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Please
Disclaimer: Not mine.
.
Sun, Sea, Sand and Absolutely, Categorically, No Excitement
by JoJo
Coming up to midday Doyle laid his book aside, and sat up for a look round.
The sea was still blue. There were still three birds with no tops on cavorting in the waves. The pedalo of shirtless Brits was still going round in circles out in the bay.
Digging his toes into the sand at the foot of the towel, Doyle considered if he felt at all relaxed yet and eventually decided that there was an outside chance. To his left Bodie was asleep on the sun-lounger, lashes down behind the ever-present sunglasses, one knee in the sun, one in the shade. It was time to move the umbrella over a bit so the bloody idiot didn’t get sunstroke on top of everything else. Bodie had claimed this morning that since he was both a mad dog and an Englishman, Doyle should stop being a royal pain in the arse about it and let him fry in peace. Nevertheless, it was time, and Doyle got to his feet.
The move was completed without a hitch, and, still idly observing the splashing nymphs who were now less-than-idly observing him, Doyle slid his cut-offs up over his thighs and reached for his t-shirt. With a quick pat of the pocket to make sure his escudos were there he set off across the burning hot sand towards the wooden steps a hundred metres away.
There were a few Brits inside Tristao’s eating chips and some Germans at the bar. Tristao hailed him like a long-lost friend, and Doyle drank his first Superbock of the day while discussing Eusebio’s penalty-taking techniques. At least, Doyle thought that was what they were discussing. Tristao didn’t have much to say other than “Bobbeee Charlton,” accompanied by a toothsome grin and a thumbs-up. Still, Doyle felt they were somewhat on the same wavelength.
On the way back, with another Superbock for him and a Lilt for Bodie, he kept his eyes on the sun-lounger.
Bodie hadn’t moved a muscle. Doyle bent over him and whispered, “Wakey-wakeeeee ...” He let the un-Bodie-like slow transition from unconscious to conscious run its course, and then plopped the cold can down next to the nearest hand, well away from the letter-box sized area under his navel where the poor sod had been stitched up like a kipper. Some of his newly-acquired relaxation deserted him as he sat back down on his towel, aware of Bodie’s laboured progress from lying to sitting.
Up to now their so-called holiday didn’t seem to have made a dent in Bodie’s whole-body, all-encompassing fatigue.
But then, by rights, he shouldn’t actually be here at all. By rights, he should be six feet under a damp pile of earth in Cheshire.
“You ready for lunch then?” Doyle said.
There was a long yawn.
“Wezza sun?”
“Don’t start.”
“Fancy a swim?” The voice was croaky.
“As a matter of fact I do. But you’re not coming.”
“Fancy a shag?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid you’re still not coming.”
“Ha.”
“Nice sleep?”
“Dunno, was asleep.”
“Well you sit there and meditate for a bit, mate. Me, I’m going to swim out to that rock and back and then we’re going to have lunch.”
“What rock?”
“The one straight in front of you.”
“All I can see is three pairs of enormous ... Doyle.”
Doyle polished off his Superbock. “What?”
“I shall be watching you.”
“You do that,” Doyle said, shrugging off his t-shirt.
“Mind the jellyfish,” Bodie added, wincing his way on to an elbow. “And the sharks.”
The cut-offs dropped to the sand and Doyle began to step his way down to the edge of the shore.
“And the undercurrents,” Bodie called after him.
Doyle sloshed in up to his shins and then stopped. He couldn’t, he really couldn’t, wade past without saying something to the nymphs.
“I’m coming in,” he said to them cheerily. “Because the water’s lovely.”
A titter went round the group.
“Don’t get cold,” he advised them. Two tittered again. One challenged him with a look.
Doyle struck out, found the sand shelving sharply under his feet, and saved his stumbles by throwing himself forward under an incoming wave.
Water broke over his head, cold and calming, and then he was swimming straight for the offshore rock, the sun in his eyes. He had no doubt that Bodie was watching his every stroke. On the far side of the rock he lay on his back and floated for twenty minutes or more, caught between the relief of solitude and the regret that he was alone.
By the time he swam back Bodie was sitting on the edge of the sun-lounger getting ready to shift a gear. He had Doyle’s towel in his hand and he held it out. All Doyle could see was his own reflection in the sunglasses.
“Giant squid get you?” Bodie asked grumpily.
“Yeah, that and the riptides.”
“Ready for lunch?” Bodie did a fair job of sounding enthusiastic.
“Give us a minute.”
“Just us is it?”
“Eh?”
“Thought you might have invited your new friends.”
Doyle laughed, pleased. “Noticed that, did you?”
“They’re hard to ignore.”
Doyle looked round. “Where are they anyhow?”
“They put their wet t-shirts on and went up to the bar.”
“Right, come on then, sergeant, on your feet. I’m going to get a whole fish down you if it’s the last thing I do.”
Resigned, Bodie lifted one arm and Doyle gripped him under the elbow and braced. Bodie didn’t say a word or utter a sound as he rose to standing, even though Doyle was still having to take nearly all the weight.
“Here you are,” Doyle said, “You can carry this,” and he hung his wet towel round Bodie’s neck. The sunglasses stared impassively back at him.
The damn things stayed on all through lunch, and Bodie had less to say than usual. He wasn’t really eating anything, but something was certainly eating him. Doyle tracked him all the way from Tristao’s back to the apartment block, ochre and blue on the clifftop.
Once inside the heavy door of the apartment, Bodie launched the towel, still the only thing he was allowed to carry, across the dim, cool hallway and on to the tiled table inside the main room.
He grabbed Doyle by the shirtfront as if he was drunk although nothing but sugary fizz had passed his lips for weeks.
“Come on, nurse,” he said, “show us your stockings.”
“For God’s sake, Bodie ...”
“No, come on, let’s do what you’re supposed to do on holiday.”
“You can hardly get from here to the beach without oxygen, sunshine. You’ve managed the equivalent of one sardine in six days. With all the bloody pills you’re on I doubt you could get it up anyway.” All this was actually so near the truth that Doyle felt obliged to manoeuvre them on to more light-hearted ground. “And we’re covered in sand. That’s some serious chafing you could be looking at.”
“I don’t care,” Bodie said. “I don’t bloody, bastard care.”
Doyle held up the flat of his hand like he was directing traffic. “You were bleeding in the belly, mate. They said no excitement. Absolutely, categorically, no excitement.”
Bodie moved in close so the hand got trapped against his chest. His lips, salty-dry, touched on Doyle’s and Doyle felt the tip of a tongue probe in that slight, thoughtful, you-don’t-know-what’s-coming-to-you way.
Doyle pushed against him. He knew he could practically push the daft pillock over with one finger at the moment.
“Na na nah,” he said, wishing Bodie would lose the sunglasses. “We’re past all that, sunshine. Long way past it.”
Bodie’s head moved back a fraction.
“They gave you a ten per cent chance of survival, mate, and they had to send out to two other hospitals for more blood. I’m not risking any trouble. You’re here to stay off your feet and to sleep. That’s all.”
“So let’s lie down,” Bodie said.
“On these flipping tiles?” Doyle had occasionally tolerated Bodie’s penchant for sex in uncomfortable places, but he would have drawn the line at cold marble even under normal circumstances. He reached up to both sides of Bodie’s head and slid the sunglasses off. Bodie blinked sleepily. Now the glasses were gone, all hope of fooling Ray Doyle evaporated.
“You look like the undead,” said Doyle generously. “Boris Karloff on a bad day.”
“Wish I felt that good.”
“Yeah,” said Doyle. “Me too.” He watched Bodie working his jaw muscles trying to stifle another yawn.
“Bloody hell,” Bodie said miserably.
“Save it,” Doyle told him. “It’ll keep.”
“Keep?”
“I mean, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Right,” Bodie agreed uncertainly.
Doyle allowed him a weaving progress along the hallway and into the bedroom and watched him plump down on the side of the white bed. He wandered across to shutter out some daylight.
“If you’re good,” he said as he turned round, “I might even let you beat me at mini-golf.”
“Now that’s what I call excitement,” Bodie said, although actually it was what he called something far more profound. He keeled gently sideways and did a face-plant on the pillow.
Doyle tip-toed out to find his book.
Title: Sun, Sand, Sea and Absolutely, Categorically, No Excitement
Author: JoJo
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Please
Disclaimer: Not mine.
.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-20 11:28 pm (UTC)Thank you! This was lovely.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-20 11:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 03:16 am (UTC)I do love a story with an emotional undercurrent... sorry, couldn't resist *hangs little head*
This really starts off as an almost travel brochure image of Portugal, complete with traditional British disregard for sunburn (Bodie), topless girls and the bar right off the beach. Then with this sentence, it turns:
He let the un-Bodie-like slow transition from unconscious to conscious run its course and the whole thing is rammed home simply and quietly bt this, By rights, he should be six feet under a damp pile of earth in Cheshire, right before the dialogue starts. Of course after that thought, it is just so perfectly the lads for the conversation to be about lunch, swimming and shagging, complete with Doyle's little joke.
Again, you reveal Doyle's feeling in a really understated way with this, caught between the relief of solitude and the regret that he was alone and Bodie's with actually it was what he called something far more profound
Really well done, thank you! :D
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 09:56 am (UTC)“Wezza sun?”
“Don’t start.”
“Fancy a swim?” The voice was croaky.
“As a matter of fact I do. But you’re not coming.”
“Fancy a shag?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid you’re still not coming.”
“Ha.”
“Nice sleep?”
“Dunno, was asleep.” Wanna hug 'em both and get them that shag.*g*
Thank you, Jo. I do so love your Bodie and Doyle.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 01:25 pm (UTC)As others have mentioned, the reveal I think is what made this story particularly special. You had a nice tension going--I couldn't decide if Ray was overreacting, if they were fighting about something else entirely (the topless birds), or just plain what the heck was going on.
I really like how Ray is so matter-of-fact about his nursemaiding. It has to be done, yet Bodie doesn't want it to be done. Only Doyle doesn't care what Bodie wants, and he is going to do what he has to bloody do just the same.
It was lovely.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:45 pm (UTC)I liked you title though, as it captured the era as neatly as the description of that beach did.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 08:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 09:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-22 12:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-22 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-22 11:02 pm (UTC)Thought the nymphs were a delightful interlude. And the bar tender communicating so well in sign language, wonderful. Also that Doyle had the imagination to fill in the blanks in their conversation seems very-Raymond.
I was totally engaged by the lads' concerns, but not overwhelmed by them, so the plot came over as quite well balanced.
And an especial hurrah for medical reality. Appreciate the extra thought process that always entails.
Overall, excellent ficcage. I totally enjoyed the read.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-24 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-25 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-25 09:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-25 04:41 pm (UTC)But yes. I truly, truly adored this fic. All my favourite parts have already been mentioned by the others above, so I'll just babble briefly. I really loved how vividly you painted the Portugese sea-side - I could just imagine the sun, sea and sand before me. Marvelous banter between the lads too, and I love how your Bodie was still irrepressibly Bodie despite being injured and thus un-Bodie-ly tired. And the lads, the lads! I love how you've written their relationship - warm and tender, and eve though we're aware that Bodie's hurt and Doyle's worried, it's both subtle evocative as opposed to overly dramatic and in one's face. Finally, the title of the fic's also making me grin.
Thank you so much for writing and sharing this! I really enoyed reading it.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-27 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-27 07:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-27 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-28 11:27 pm (UTC)“Fancy a swim?” The voice was croaky.
“As a matter of fact I do. But you’re not coming.”
“Fancy a shag?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid you’re still not coming.”
Which felt exactly like them and made me laugh outloud.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-03 05:58 pm (UTC)