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[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

May Day -- Part Twenty-Two

"For a bit of a taste? Old times and all?" Foley said with a smirk.

Bodie moved so quickly that Doyle didn't have time to stop the hand that reached out and latched onto a creamy throat.

"Oi! Bodie! Stop!." Doyle wrapped an hand around the wrist that led to the hand that led to the clench on Foley's neck.

Bodie cast a sidelong glance at Doyle, the scowl clearly showing his ire at Foley's words. Doyle would have smiled at Bodie's reaction except this Bodie wasn't in the mood for games. At least not this kind.

"Please, mate," Doyle said levelly, his fingers lightly clasping Bodie's wrist. He moved one finger sightly, sending an unspoken message. Bodie's eyes widened minutely before he nodded curtly and stepped back. Doyle had to hide his hand behind a fake cough when Bodie rubbed his palm on his own trousers as if to remove the taint of Foley's skin.

Turning back to Charlie, Doyle said, "I suggest you tell us everything. And quickly. I don't think Bodie's in a good mood."

"No shit," Foley muttered, rubbing at his throat.

"You don't want to be around him when he's really ready to rip." Doyle cast an amused glance Bodie's way before he added, "And right now, he's workin' up to a really fantastic set on, so if you value all that fine skin and those expensive choppers, you'll spill it. And hurry up about it."

Foley actually paled even more and licked his lips nervously when he took in Bodie's glare. Doyle snickered cruelly.

"You wouldn't...!" Foley said.

Bodie moved forward a scant inch. Foley blurted, "Morris! You need to find a chap named Morris!"

"Morris? Plenty of blokes names Morris," Doyle said in his most conversational tone. Bodie only grunted. "First name or last?"

"Don't rightly know. But there can't be that many with connections," Foley said, a very satisfied grin crossing his face. He puffed out his chest. "Connections to Whitehall, you know. Connections clear to the top."

Another quick look at his partner, then Doyle asked, "We need more, Charlie. Too vague. Give me something concrete. Something to identify this Morris with."

Charlie lifted his chin. "Saw him once. Was with Andy when he took a meet. Andy was quite adamant that I stay out of sight. Let drop that this was some high and mighty, and that he was the trusted man. Andy never could keep a secret. Wasn't supposed to be seen, was I? Stayed in the lorry but I took a peek.."

"Wait a second. Who's Andy? You are a shitty grass, Charlie! You never give the goods in proper order. You make a mess of it." Doyle sighed with exasperation.

"Being your grass is not my profession," Foley said haughtily. "And if you'd tell your Doberman here to stand down, I might be able to speak in a more dignified manner."

"Told you already, Bodie needs blood today, but he's -- willing to collect it elsewhere if you come through. Now get on with it!"

"All right! Andy. Andrew Williston. Runs a small electronic shop over in Bagley Road."

"Electronics? Now that's something that could be useful. Bodie might be happy with that bit of information if it's what we want. You don't want us returning. Trust me on that. Ta, Charlie." Doyle patted Foley's cheek none too gently and headed for the door. Bodie turned the handle and opened it, waiting for Doyle to pass through first. Doyle had to smile. Bodie's fingers on his free hand tapped on the butt of his weapon, a gesture Foley did not miss. Doyle noticed the relief that crossed Foley's face as they started to leave.

In the doorway, Doyle turned. "Oh, Charlie? This Morris, what did he look like?"

Foley shrugged. "Older gent, quite dignified, with a limp."

Bodie finally spoke. "Bloody hell."

They walked to their car slowly, each man digesting this latest information. Once inside, they turned to each other. Doyle gave a half-hearted smile. "You've been watching too many copper shows, mate. But I admit you do play the bad cop to my good cop admirably."

Bodie shook his head as he looked at Doyle fondly. Then he straightened in his seat and started the motor. Before he pulled into the roadway, he said evenly, "Who was playing?"

May Day - Part 21

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

o0o

The vision of loveliness that met them at the door to Foley's bedsit was clearly less than pleased that they'd made it into the building in the first place, let alone to number three-oh-one, dragging a very short silk dressing gown to a slightly more respectable level, and frowning at them.

"Who's Foley?"

"William Charles Foley," Doyle repeated, almost patiently. "The charming photographer that you're," he looked the vision up and down, from tousled hair to bare feet, "Sleeping with."

"Who wants him?"

"Ray Doyle,"

"Well, Ray Doyle, Charlie's asleep, and..."

"Raymond Doyle!" a voice interupted him, from within the bedsit, "Does he have divine cheekbones and the hair of an angel?"

The young man blocking their path looked Doyle up and down in his turn, clearly disagreeing, but left the door wide open as he turned around and stomped back into the flat. He shed the dressing gown halfway into the room, sliding under the sheets and blankets of a large bed and burrowing amongst them until he could be seen no more.

"And finally my dreams come true again - Raymond Doyle wants me."

Doyle winced, feeling Bodie close behind him, interest no doubt piqued beyond all repair. "Charlie," he nodded as politely as he could, trying to ignore the way Foley was leaning against the headboard, all blond hair and limpid blue eyes, muscular arms and chest, and - beneath the sheet - legs spread wide.

"It's a little early for a social call, dear boy," Foley suggested gently, "And I somehow don't think you've brought us an extra toy to play with."

Despite himself Doyle had to suppress a smile. Foley'd always been able to do that, to make him laugh, even as he watched in appalled fascination. But Bodie - no man's toy, let alone a man like Foley's - was bristling, and so he did his best to scowl back and look unamused.

"I'm here on business, Charlie."

"Oh I wish you were..."

"My business, Charlie."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Charlie blink at that.

"They said you weren't in the police any more!"

Doyle shook his head slowly. "I'm not." He could hear Bodie reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, waited until his ID was held out, and opened with a flourish. "CI5." And Bodie looked good in that photo.

Charlie, almost unflappable, stared at it in fascination for a moment, then blinked again and gazed back up at them. "Well I am the lucky one," he said, before sitting up straight and eyeing the bedclothes beside him instead. "I think this calls for coffee." The bedclothes didn't move, so he lifted a hand and gave the most rounded area a firm slap, before emerging from the bed himself to stand and luxuriously stretch every muscle in his entirely naked body.

Doyle watched, knowing the show was for both of them, but especially for him, and wondered again how he was going to explain Charles Foley to Bodie.

A pair of jeans and a shirt, flung together, struck Charlie's chest as he stretched, and he clutched at them automatically. "Can't beat a good valet," he said, winking at Bodie and pulling on the jeans. No underwear, Doyle couldn't help thinking, and he was leaving that shirt unbuttoned on purpose. Bodie was going to have a field day.

Unless Charlie came through, of course, and that depended as much on Charlie's mood as it did on whether or not he had the information. Charles Foley always had the information.

"Tell me about the Embassy Ball," he suggested, following Foley across the room to a small sink and kitchen surface.

"My dear boy, I can't," Foley said, pouting, "I wasn't there." He took filter papers and a jar of coffee beans from a cupboard, caught Bodie staring at him. "If it's not drip it's not worth drinking."

"I'll drip you..." Bodie began, clearly out of patience, reaching out a hand. Doyle caught it before it clamped down on Foley's wrist, and glared at him until Bodie shook himself free and turned away, hands on hips. He swung back, caught Doyle's eye, and visibly took a deep breath.

"But you know all about it anyway," Doyle suggested, turning back to Foley, who had poured the beans into a wooden grinder, and was posing against the sideboard, muscles flexing as he turned the handle. Doyle closed his eyes a moment, took his own deep breath. That was his Foley - living in a bedsit, making coffee with a Habitat grinder. When he opened them again, Foley was grinning, and looking up at him through pale lashes.

"Well, you get to hear about these things. Friends in the right places, and all that. I hear you were there, in fact."

"In fact I was. What else do you hear?"

"Well, I suppose this," he glanced sidelong at Bodie, "Was the tall dark one you were there with. They told me he was rather delicious." Bodie took a step forward, and Foley, unusually for him, backtracked rather hastily, "Unavailable, but delicious."

"That's right," Doyle said quickly, before Bodie let his temper get the best of him, "Very unavailable." He held Foley's gaze for a moment, until Foley turned away with a small moue to fill the coffee jug with water.

"So tell us what else you heard."

o0o