Fic: A Slow Burn
Apr. 24th, 2009 08:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
callistosh65.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
discoveredinaljA time-stamp to my Discovered Whilst a-Carolling challenge fic, Sanctuary
A Slow Burn
“In honour,” said Bodie, handing Doyle a glass of whisky.
“Of what? You not burnin’ anything?” replied Doyle. Bodie had cooked. Well, he had thrown two steaks into a frying-pan and opened a tin of beans. But the principle had been sound and heartfelt, and Doyle really did know better than to bait him for it. So he grinned and took an exaggerated sip and slurp as Bodie settled in the armchair across from him.
“Peasant,” sighed Bodie predictably. “Should just give you Lucozade and be done with it.”
“Nah, you know you love me really.” Doyle deliberately kept his gaze steady as Bodie’s eyes met his over the glass.
It had been a week since that strange hug in Wales, a week since Bodie had all but fallen asleep in his lap on the way home with Peterson determined not to look at them through the rearview mirror. And almost a week since Bodie had come to, cleared his throat, ruffled Doyle’s hair, and then left him in the car park outside headquarters.
At least the eye contact was getting better. Bodie had become deft at avoiding too much of it since they’d got back: telling his jokes to the windscreen, turning down a post-op game of squash, and surrounding them with whoever was off duty whenever a pint at the pub beckoned. Still, here they were finally. Just the two of them in Bodie’s front room.
“Anyway,” said Bodie looking away after a beat too long, the tiny muscle jump in his jaw telling Doyle he was anything but bored. “Where were we?”
I was telling you that you love me. “You were rabbiting on about drinking in honour of something.”
Bodie raised his glass in Doyle’s general direction. “So I was. Peterson got his full squad clearance today. They’ve paired him up with Jenkins and sent them both off on that blackmailing case.”
Doyle raised his glass back. “To Peterson, then.”
“To Jenkins more like.”
“Ah, don’t be like that, Bodie. Peterson’s all right. He saved our hides.”
“Oi! I’m the one who struggled through the snow trying to find you, mate. All Peterson did was wait in a nice warm room with a hanky pressed to his head.”
Doyle grinned even wider at the indignation. “All right, have it your way.” He leaned forward a little to clink his glass on Bodie’s. “My hero.”
“That’s better.” This time the smile which met his went right to Bodie’s eyes and Doyle wondered if either of them was actually thinking of Peterson.
Doyle sat back and sipped his drink, content for the moment to leave things at that. The day had been a long one, and right now he was happy enough to sit there and unwind without worrying about the nuances of Bodie’s moods and looks. Time would tell soon enough, and while not renowned for his patience, Doyle knew that the one thing guaranteed to send Bodie off and running would be sudden movement in the wrong direction. Like he’s a bloody thoroughbred.
“What?”
“What what?” responded Doyle.
“You looked like you were laughing at something.”
“Sorry about that, won’t do it again.”
“Prat. Just share, will you? Could do with a laugh after today.”
Doyle took a deep breath.“I was just-”
A nasty spat of wind and rain rather dramatically interrupted, rattling the large window behind him.
Resisting the urge to shiver, Doyle took his drink with him and moved onto the carpet to sit cross-legged in front of Bodie’s electric fire. He turned to his left and found exactly what he expected to. Bodie, all warm and dark in his usual black polo and cords, his eyes alight with obvious amusement.
“You do know those coals are plastic, Doyle.” He leaned forward to say it, as if imparting some high and noble truth to the simple and uninformed.
Doyle gave him a look. “So?” He took a generous mouthful of whisky, enjoyed the slow burn of it, and then laid his drink slowly on the carpet next to his right knee. He looked up and caught Bodie staring at him.
Doyle cleared his throat and gestured a thumb at the fire. “Ever since that sodding cottage I can’t get warm.”
“Well, maybe if you wore a little more than yesterday’s T shirt under your jacket, you might not feel the cold.”
“Be more like you, you mean? Seven layers and counting?”
“Least I’m not cuddling up to plastic, mate.”
And it was all perfectly fine and as it always was between them. Except that it wasn’t really, because Doyle was fairly sure they usually bantered above a whisper and at more than an inch or two away from each other.
“Doyle?”
Bodie was all the way forward now, right on the edge of the armchair, and Doyle was watching, mesmerised by the swallow his fingers suddenly wanted to feel going down Bodie’s throat.
His mouth was dry at the thought, so in answer to Bodie’s barely audible question he simply reached out and put his left hand on Bodie’s neck. His thumb smoothed over yet another swallow. And then another.
“Ray?”
Doyle finally looked up.
Over the years, trusted remarks, looks, and the occasional drunken tidbit had long confirmed what Doyle had always suspected; that neither had walked the straight and narrow when it came to sex, but that for Queen, Country and Cowley both had given up anything remotely alternative when CI5 came calling.
Only here Doyle was, on yet another floor at Bodie’s feet, with yet another fire to his right and a drink between them, and about to give up Queen, Country and Cowley for the smile gradually making it’s way to Bodie’s eyes.
“Don’t you want to get warm, then?”
Typical. So like fucking Bodie. Avoid him like the plague and make him wait all week for some kind of sign, and then act as if it was his bloody idea all along.
Doyle opened his mouth to growl something suitable in reply... and then it didn’t matter who started what and why, because he was kneeling up and in another hug with his partner. And just like in Wales it was warm, solid, and somehow his alone. Unlike in Wales, there was nothing tentative about the arms wrapping around his shoulders, the hand smoothing down his back. And instead of an apology in the air, he had Bodie’s mouth on his neck and no fisherman’s jumper separating him from the thump of Bodie’s heart. Which was just about matching the speed of his own.
“God... ”
“Thanks, sunshine, but Bodie will do.” It was muffled, a little wobbly, and Doyle felt it in his curls before he heard it. But the jolt of weak laughter it sent through them both gave Doyle the courage to pull back enough to see what Bodie’s face was doing. He needn’t have worried. The sod was trying to be all arrogant and calm about being caught with his mouth and arms where they had never been before, but there was a flush to his skin and a hitch to his breathing Bodie couldn’t have hidden from Doyle right then if his life had depended on it.
And Doyle knew just how to handle it. “This you warming me up, then?”
Bodie visibly relaxed. And stayed exactly where he was. “Could be. Someone’s got to, can’t have you doing indecent things to plas—”
Enough.
Doyle did something he dimly realised had been on his mind since Wales; he kissed the wit right out of Bodie, and neither of them thought of the cold or coals for quite a while.
******
Title: A Slow Burn
Author: Callisto
Genre: Slash
Disclaimer: Not mine sadly.
Notes: Hug and a thank you to the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
przed for a lightning quick beta and the title. I do realise most of you are going to post up War and Peace size epics for this WIP challenge – and huzzah say I! But as I tend to have just the odd discarded sentence or two lying around, this single scene is where I thought about ending Sanctuary originally.
A Slow Burn
“In honour,” said Bodie, handing Doyle a glass of whisky.
“Of what? You not burnin’ anything?” replied Doyle. Bodie had cooked. Well, he had thrown two steaks into a frying-pan and opened a tin of beans. But the principle had been sound and heartfelt, and Doyle really did know better than to bait him for it. So he grinned and took an exaggerated sip and slurp as Bodie settled in the armchair across from him.
“Peasant,” sighed Bodie predictably. “Should just give you Lucozade and be done with it.”
“Nah, you know you love me really.” Doyle deliberately kept his gaze steady as Bodie’s eyes met his over the glass.
It had been a week since that strange hug in Wales, a week since Bodie had all but fallen asleep in his lap on the way home with Peterson determined not to look at them through the rearview mirror. And almost a week since Bodie had come to, cleared his throat, ruffled Doyle’s hair, and then left him in the car park outside headquarters.
At least the eye contact was getting better. Bodie had become deft at avoiding too much of it since they’d got back: telling his jokes to the windscreen, turning down a post-op game of squash, and surrounding them with whoever was off duty whenever a pint at the pub beckoned. Still, here they were finally. Just the two of them in Bodie’s front room.
“Anyway,” said Bodie looking away after a beat too long, the tiny muscle jump in his jaw telling Doyle he was anything but bored. “Where were we?”
I was telling you that you love me. “You were rabbiting on about drinking in honour of something.”
Bodie raised his glass in Doyle’s general direction. “So I was. Peterson got his full squad clearance today. They’ve paired him up with Jenkins and sent them both off on that blackmailing case.”
Doyle raised his glass back. “To Peterson, then.”
“To Jenkins more like.”
“Ah, don’t be like that, Bodie. Peterson’s all right. He saved our hides.”
“Oi! I’m the one who struggled through the snow trying to find you, mate. All Peterson did was wait in a nice warm room with a hanky pressed to his head.”
Doyle grinned even wider at the indignation. “All right, have it your way.” He leaned forward a little to clink his glass on Bodie’s. “My hero.”
“That’s better.” This time the smile which met his went right to Bodie’s eyes and Doyle wondered if either of them was actually thinking of Peterson.
Doyle sat back and sipped his drink, content for the moment to leave things at that. The day had been a long one, and right now he was happy enough to sit there and unwind without worrying about the nuances of Bodie’s moods and looks. Time would tell soon enough, and while not renowned for his patience, Doyle knew that the one thing guaranteed to send Bodie off and running would be sudden movement in the wrong direction. Like he’s a bloody thoroughbred.
“What?”
“What what?” responded Doyle.
“You looked like you were laughing at something.”
“Sorry about that, won’t do it again.”
“Prat. Just share, will you? Could do with a laugh after today.”
Doyle took a deep breath.“I was just-”
A nasty spat of wind and rain rather dramatically interrupted, rattling the large window behind him.
Resisting the urge to shiver, Doyle took his drink with him and moved onto the carpet to sit cross-legged in front of Bodie’s electric fire. He turned to his left and found exactly what he expected to. Bodie, all warm and dark in his usual black polo and cords, his eyes alight with obvious amusement.
“You do know those coals are plastic, Doyle.” He leaned forward to say it, as if imparting some high and noble truth to the simple and uninformed.
Doyle gave him a look. “So?” He took a generous mouthful of whisky, enjoyed the slow burn of it, and then laid his drink slowly on the carpet next to his right knee. He looked up and caught Bodie staring at him.
Doyle cleared his throat and gestured a thumb at the fire. “Ever since that sodding cottage I can’t get warm.”
“Well, maybe if you wore a little more than yesterday’s T shirt under your jacket, you might not feel the cold.”
“Be more like you, you mean? Seven layers and counting?”
“Least I’m not cuddling up to plastic, mate.”
And it was all perfectly fine and as it always was between them. Except that it wasn’t really, because Doyle was fairly sure they usually bantered above a whisper and at more than an inch or two away from each other.
“Doyle?”
Bodie was all the way forward now, right on the edge of the armchair, and Doyle was watching, mesmerised by the swallow his fingers suddenly wanted to feel going down Bodie’s throat.
His mouth was dry at the thought, so in answer to Bodie’s barely audible question he simply reached out and put his left hand on Bodie’s neck. His thumb smoothed over yet another swallow. And then another.
“Ray?”
Doyle finally looked up.
Over the years, trusted remarks, looks, and the occasional drunken tidbit had long confirmed what Doyle had always suspected; that neither had walked the straight and narrow when it came to sex, but that for Queen, Country and Cowley both had given up anything remotely alternative when CI5 came calling.
Only here Doyle was, on yet another floor at Bodie’s feet, with yet another fire to his right and a drink between them, and about to give up Queen, Country and Cowley for the smile gradually making it’s way to Bodie’s eyes.
“Don’t you want to get warm, then?”
Typical. So like fucking Bodie. Avoid him like the plague and make him wait all week for some kind of sign, and then act as if it was his bloody idea all along.
Doyle opened his mouth to growl something suitable in reply... and then it didn’t matter who started what and why, because he was kneeling up and in another hug with his partner. And just like in Wales it was warm, solid, and somehow his alone. Unlike in Wales, there was nothing tentative about the arms wrapping around his shoulders, the hand smoothing down his back. And instead of an apology in the air, he had Bodie’s mouth on his neck and no fisherman’s jumper separating him from the thump of Bodie’s heart. Which was just about matching the speed of his own.
“God... ”
“Thanks, sunshine, but Bodie will do.” It was muffled, a little wobbly, and Doyle felt it in his curls before he heard it. But the jolt of weak laughter it sent through them both gave Doyle the courage to pull back enough to see what Bodie’s face was doing. He needn’t have worried. The sod was trying to be all arrogant and calm about being caught with his mouth and arms where they had never been before, but there was a flush to his skin and a hitch to his breathing Bodie couldn’t have hidden from Doyle right then if his life had depended on it.
And Doyle knew just how to handle it. “This you warming me up, then?”
Bodie visibly relaxed. And stayed exactly where he was. “Could be. Someone’s got to, can’t have you doing indecent things to plas—”
Enough.
Doyle did something he dimly realised had been on his mind since Wales; he kissed the wit right out of Bodie, and neither of them thought of the cold or coals for quite a while.
******
Title: A Slow Burn
Author: Callisto
Genre: Slash
Disclaimer: Not mine sadly.
Notes: Hug and a thank you to the lovely
przed for a lightning quick beta and the title. I do realise most of you are going to post up War and Peace size epics for this WIP challenge – and huzzah say I! But as I tend to have just the odd discarded sentence or two lying around, this single scene is where I thought about ending Sanctuary originally. 
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 05:57 pm (UTC)And as I stupidly chose to start a whole 'nother WIP-thingie over at Safehouse for Comic Relief, I'm not sure how epic anything I manage will be... eep!
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Date: 2009-04-24 06:26 pm (UTC)And I see that WIP is your biggest fic yet, so well done! I'm dead impressed by what you've achieved there. I'm waiting till you finish now, so I can sit down and enjoy it all at one go.
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Date: 2009-04-24 06:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 07:22 pm (UTC)And I do love geting our lads on the same wavelength eventually. Thanks, K!
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Date: 2009-04-24 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 07:12 pm (UTC)I don't know about the lads, but my breath hitched at: His mouth was dry at the thought, so in answer to Bodie’s barely audible question he simply reached out and put his left hand on Bodie’s neck. His thumb smoothed over yet another swallow. And then another.
I love how low key and quiet this is, Doyle ready to wait because he know it will happen, the lads in strange territory but still so very much themselves and trusting in each other... and the God joke! :D
Thanks, Petal! ♥
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Date: 2009-04-24 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-04-24 07:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 08:44 pm (UTC)Oh Lads! This is just such a romantic little scene, I love it to bits. And it's absolutely epic, no worries there! Two steaks and a tin of beans in a pan ... yup, that sums it up perfectly *g* Thanks for this mate, it's gorgeous. And oh yeeees ... that WIP challenge, I remember now!
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Date: 2009-04-25 07:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-25 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 09:01 pm (UTC)I am totally in love with this phrase. :-)
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Date: 2009-04-25 07:09 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-04-25 09:48 am (UTC)I do love you, you know? *Hugs* Aww, thank you ::hugs you back and gets all misty-eyed:: love you too.
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Date: 2009-04-26 03:45 pm (UTC)Lovely! I love the peace and the weather outside, and Doyle kissing the wit out of Bodie ::goes all warm and mushy:: Perfect ending to the original, thank you.
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Date: 2009-04-28 03:04 pm (UTC)I have been a bit bogged down with RL recently, and not always up to date on LJ - hope I haven't missed any crucial updates. But you are writing - so I hope this means you are feeling better!
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