(no subject)

[murphybabe]

This is just the beginning

With grateful thanks to byslantedlight for the help, encouragement and the hard work on the beta.

Bodie listened as some stuffed shirt with a hee-haw voice and immaculate school tie gave them the standard briefing.  This was just the beginning, blah, blah.  Only the best, no shame to fail, not for everyone… blah, blah, blah.  Only it would be shame to fail, wouldn’t it, and it wasn’t going to happen to him.  He was bloody good and he knew it – and soon these pillocks would know it too.  He stared at the instructors again, summing them up, sure that he would be able to take them all on.  Yeah, he was gonna ace this session, show ‘em all what the best looked like – from afar of course, because not one of them was going to catch him round this course.

 

At the start of the second week they had another lecture, this time from a sandy-haired bloke with a Scottish accent.  This one commanded a lot more respect: yes, Bodie could see himself paying attention to this one.  Ex-army, and sharp as they came, his was definitely the squad to aim for.  Piercing blue eyes seemed to sum up everyone in the room, and as they all filed out Bodie saw the instructors waiting to enter.  They’d probably be discussing all the candidates.  Bodie felt smug, knowing he was doing well so far.

 

Another week later, and Bodie was no longer quite so sure.  He’d been pushed and tested as he’d never been pushed and tested before, and he wasn’t even certain which way was up anymore.  The nightly sessions in the bar had turned from testosterone-fuelled, macho posing to bitter complaining to weary acceptance that, perhaps, not everyone would make it after all. 

 

Still, another day, and at least they hadn’t been dragged from the depths of sleep for some team search-and-rescue mission like the other night.  He limbered up, looking at the assault course ahead of them, and wondering who he was going to be teamed with on today’s killer jaunt.

 

Doyle.  Well, that would be okay.  Better than Williams, who was a sly little git Bodie wouldn’t trust to pass him a cup of tea without ‘accidentally’ spilling it over his trousers.

 

“Ready for today's outing, then?”  Doyle had a little smirk on his face as he looked at Bodie. Bodie wasn’t sure what was likely to be funny about this survival course, but right now it wasn't important, given the size of the first wall in front of them.

 

“After you, mate.”  He followed Doyle as he ran lightly down the first slope to a bloody great ditch – shit! – hidden at the foot of the crumbling brickwork they had to scale. 

 

Four painful hours later, still gasping for breath, Bodie had had enough.  To top it all off, Mackin had seen – and heard – them arguing as they’d tangled over a particularly nasty rope bridge.  Somehow he’d come up behind them and shoved them both over the edge into the mud pit under the camo net.  There was a lot of swearing, pushing and shoving before they climbed out.  Running the rest of the course in wet, gritty clothing had slowed them down, given them chapped, sore skin in tender places, and by the time they reached the end ensured that their joint mood was as filthy as their tired, sodden selves.

 

It was Doyle’s fault.  Doyle.  A sarky, bad-tempered sod who was really pissing Bodie off.  The little bastard had matched him throughout this whole fortnight of tests and workouts – had actually beaten him on handguns – and despite Bodie’s extra weight, muscle and training had fought so dirty on the mat that he’d held him to a draw, not something that happened to Bodie often. They’d had a few good moments paired together mind, and even Bodie could see there were a couple of flashes of brilliance between them, but Doyle’s whole attitude today had been full of shit, needling, teasing and arguing about the best way of tackling obstacles Bodie had dealt with time and time before.  He was still griping as they made their way back to the muster point, but Bodie ignored him, brooding about their failings.

 

They'd managed a barely middling performance, their potential colleagues were either already back, loudly victorious, or still straggling in. 

 

“Right, you lot – showers.  You’re done for the day.  Off you go, lads – don’t dawdle!”  Martin surveyed the pack.  “Not you two.  Major Cowley wants to see you for a little chat.  In his office – now.”

 

Bodie stood at parade rest, eyes front and centre while Cowley laid into them.  Doyle slouched against a wall, picking mud out of his hair and scowling at Cowley. 

 

“What did you think you were doing?  Do you think the terrorists are going to wait politely until you two have resolved your differences?  There’s no room in this organisation for those who can’t work together!” 

 

Cowley continued in fine style but Bodie tuned him out, thinking.  He knew Cowley was right, but for some reason Doyle got right under his skin. 

 

Cowley hectored on, until finally they were dismissed to go and clean up.  “And you need it!” was the old man’s parting shot.  As they left the room, jostling in the doorway, they heard a final shout, “Och, my wall!”  Doyle grinned.

 

They headed for the shower block, Bodie grim and bleak, Doyle rueful.  Bodie caught Doyle glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. 

 

“What?”

 

“Look, I just wanted to say –“

 

“Doyle!  I want a word with you!”  Jack Crane shouted from over the way. 

 

“What, now?  Can’t I go and clean up first?”

 

“Now, Doyle!”

 

“Bloody hell.  Look, mate, I’ll catch you later, all right?”

 

And with that, he was gone, loping over the grass and arguing with Crane before he reached him, shoulders and back stiff with tension and fatigue, obvious to Bodie even from that distance.

 

All the rest were through the showers and gone.  The place stank of old socks and damp towels.  Bodie sat heavily on a bench and started to strip off his cold, clammy fatigues.  He was looking forward to a hot shower, cleaning the mud off, getting some dry clothes on and heading over to the barracks for a beer even if he would take some stick from the other blokes for Macklin’s little stunt.  Shit, maybe he'd blown it.  He hadn’t realised until now how much he wanted to join this outfit, wanted a new start, with new challenges and new rules.  He sat for a minute, eyes closed, trying to get up the energy to move, to plan flip come-backs for the arses in the bar, to think what he’d say to Cowley if…

 

No.  It wasn’t going to happen.  He was bloody good and he knew it.  They needed him – he’d aced all their damn tests, even the psychological computer crap that bloody witch-doctor had taken them all through. 

 

He sat up from his slouch, opened his eyes – and there was that arrogant bastard Macklin, standing directly in front of him and smirking. 

 

“Sloppy, Bodie.  Letting someone sneak up on you?  You need to get your head in order, or one of these days you’ll get it blown off.”  He sounded superior, knowing he was top dog and loving it.

 

Bodie grunted in acknowledgment.  He knew.  It was just that at the moment, he couldn’t really be bothered. 

 

Macklin took a step closer, frowned down at him.  “What’s wrong?  You did all right out there, Bodie, only you let Doyle get to you.”

 

“I know.  Dunno why, it’s just…” His voice tailed off, and he looked up at Macklin.  The instructor looked down at him.

 

“Bodie, you, Doyle and Anson are the only ones Cowley will take from here.  All the others, well, they’re good enough for MI6, I guess.  But this is just the beginning, this isn’t even the training course. You’ve got a long way to go yet, and it’s going to get tougher.  I’ll push you until you can’t do any more – and then you’ll get up and you’ll give that bit more.  You’re good now, but by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be the best, no question.  This just proves you’ve got it in you.  Then it’s up to me, and I’ll put you through hell, Bodie, through hell and out the other side.  You’ll hate me and you’ll curse me and you’ll think you can’t do it, but you can and you will.  And you’ll be stronger for it.  But you need to sort out this problem with Doyle.  Think about it, Bodie, and think hard.  Now get your arse in that shower and get cleaned up.”

 

Bodie blinked as Macklin sauntered out of the changing room.  He hadn’t expected that.  There he was, getting most uncharacteristically down in the dumps, and Macklin – Macklin, the most hated man on this course! – was the one to dig him out of his pit of depression. 

 

So – Cowley was going to take him on!  He sat up again, a small smile on his face.  If he had to, he could cope with Doyle.  He’d got on quite well with Anson, helped him out a couple of times and taken a hand when Anson offered a lift from the top of a wall.  Doyle had done the same sort of thing, but there was an edge there, needling and sharp.  He thought about it, trying to pin down what bothered him.  At first he’d thought the bloke wouldn’t last the first day – had written him off as too lightweight and with a flashpoint temper that would get him into trouble - but as they slogged through the tests he started to see a determination that matched his own, a wicked sense of humour and a wiry strength and grace that got Doyle through the roughest patches.  It was something about his eyes – he had amazing eyes, really – or the expression in them when he looked at Bodie.  What was it he wanted?  Bodie wasn’t quite sure, but there was something that he was failing to understand.  It made him feel off balance, out of kilter and uneasy.

 

He was a strange looking bloke, Doyle – ugly as sin sometimes, but at others, possessed of a weird, fascinating – well, no other word for it – beauty.  Bodie was not accustomed to thinking of other men as beautiful.  It made him uncomfortable.  It made him even more uncomfortable to realise that he knew that Doyle had a fantastic arse and legs.  How did he know this?  Why was he looking, for fuck’s sake?  He didn’t usually look at other blokes’ bums.  And the hair – Bodie had initially found it hard to believe that Doyle was ex-Met.  Didn’t they have standards?  Wouldn’t that mop give villains a great handle?  And the way the tosser constantly played with it, pushing long fingers into it when he was puzzling something out, lifting it off the nape of his neck when he was hot.

 

Bodie gazed into space, considering.  He took people as they came, usually, hail-fellow-well-met with most people and giving just enough to get the job done without setting up any ties which would later hold him down.  Doyle wasn’t arrogant, like Tyler, or untrustworthy, like Willis.  He wasn’t too eager to please, like that young sprat from the Navy – what was his name?  Didn’t matter, he was gone anyway, packed off back to his unit with a broken ankle due to indecision at the wrong moment.

 

He was… good to work with.  They’d done all right on the assault course, until Bodie had assumed too much – yeah, admit it – at the rope bridge and Doyle’s spitfire temper had kicked in and they’d missed Mackin’s arrival.  It was downhill all the way after that, to a miserably average finish and the knowledge that they were expected to have done a lot better.  So, why?  If he was good to work with, what was the problem?

 

He thought back to a tricky moment earlier today.  He’d been sliding down a roof, too fast and heading for a nasty drop, when Doyle had flung himself full length and grabbed his arm, braking his descent.  After a minute’s hectic scrabble back to safety, Bodie had looked up to find Doyle’s face close to his, laughing in relief, warm and friendly and… intimate. 

 

Intimate.  Bodie’s shoulders twitched.  Surely not.  He thought back.  There wasn’t much room for the concept of personal space on the assault course or in training.  You got used to sweaty bodies pressed close to yours, but it didn’t mean anything.  Hell, Bodie had spent most of his adult life in close bodily contact with a variety of blokes, living in cramped barrack conditions and minding his own business just fine.  Others had furtive, sticky liaisons in dark corners, but not Bodie.  His good right hand served him well until he got back to civilisation and all the lovely ladies who fell for his good looks, muscular body and devastating charm.

 

Intimate.  No.  Friendly, yeah, relieved, amused, caring… caring?  No.  It was just the acknowledgement that if Bodie had plunged off the roof, Doyle would have been penalised for not completing the course with his partner.  So if it wasn’t caring, what was it? 

 

Ah, well, never mind.  Too much thinking - time to sort Doyle later.  And there would be time.  Bodie gloated over Macklin’s surprise news for a minute, then put it to the back of his mind.  He knew he was more introspective than people gave him credit for.  He was happy with his image – carefully cultivated – of big, bluff Bodie, letting everything roll off the surface and living life for the moment.  So – time to slam the shutters back up and give people what they wanted. 

 

A hot shower and then beer – the cure for many things, in Bodie’s experience.  He finished stripping and stood under the water, luxuriating in the heat and the steam, soaping his body methodically and enjoying the moment.  He visualised all the strain of the day washing away down the drain with the dirt and the muck, then turned the water off and wandered back to the benches, towel wrapped round his waist.

 

There was still a muscle in his leg that felt tight.  He stretched it out, dug his thumbs deep into the knot of tension, kneading away the ache.

 

“Oh, very nice.  Some people would pay to watch that, you know”.

 

Doyle.  Bodie refused to be hassled, continued to massage his calf, one foot up on the bench.  Behind him he could hear the wet slap of clothing hit the floor, and then the pad of feet across to the shower area.  Bodie breathed deeply, maintaining his calm.  Not worth getting worked up about – Doyle was just messing around.

 

The water pattered on again, and he could hear a husky voice crooning something over the sound of the water.  Quite pleasant, really – Doyle didn’t have a bad voice.  His leg was finally easing, so he stood up and shed the towel, reaching for dry clothes.

 

Suddenly, Doyle was back, clad only in a low-slung towel, and gazing with interest at Bodie’s groin. 

 

“Blimey, sunshine, don’t let that hold you back when we’re paired together.  Can’t be hanging about waiting for you to catch up, with all that excess weight to lug around.  Do you strap it down when you run, or what?”

 

All Bodie’s hard-won serenity evaporated in a flash.  He grabbed his towel and slung it back round his waist.  He glared at Doyle, furious that this man could unbalance him again with just a few words.

 

“Shove it, Doyle!”

 

“Be glad to, darlin’ – your place or mine?”

 

“You fucker!” He grabbed Doyle and shoved him away from the benches.  If Doyle thought he was some kind of fairy... He backed him up against the wall with a hand round the base of his neck.  He could feel the pulse beating strongly against his fingers.  Green eyes widened, then slowly slitted as a small, secretive smile appeared.  Then Doyle swallowed, and a pink tongue flicked over that lush mouth.  His breathing deepened and he caught his lower lip between white teeth. 

 

Bodie growled, leaning in closer.  He could feel the heat coming from Doyle’s body, smell the shampoo and see the water dripping from the wet curls.  His heart was hammering in his chest and his breathing caught unevenly.  His other hand drifted up to rest on Doyle’s chest, where silky chest hair tickled the inside of his wrist.  Doyle looked up at him, lips parted now, eyes half closed, and Bodie caught the faint scent of – arousal? 

 

That was it!  The little sod had been coming on to him all bloody fortnight!  That was what had been making Bodie feel unsettled!

 

 “What you gonna do about it, then?” Doyle murmured.  “Big, tough bloke like you, Bodie, you’ve got me up against the wall.  What next, mate?  Gonna take me down?  Or are you gonna take me up, Bodie, fly me high?  Bet you could, know you want to.  That’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it, mate?”

 

Bodie rocked back on his heels, uncertain, his face determinedly blank as he looked at Doyle. His hands fell from Doyle’s body, to fall helplessly by his side.  He swallowed, uncertain.  Doyle had no such doubts.  He stepped forward, leaning into Bodie’s body, twining one hand round the nape of Bodie’s neck and insinuating the other under Bodie’s towel, snaking up to caress Bodie’s buttock. He raised his mouth to meet Bodie’s, and seeing the confusion in Bodie’s eyes, smiled, the first genuine, open smile Bodie had seen from him. 

 

“It’ll be okay, sunshine.  Trust me.”

 

Trust him?  Should he?  Could he?  Well… there was no doubt that his body wanted to.  He was urgent, straining, cock blindly seeking upwards.  With a sense of stepping off into the unknown, Bodie closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment, lips parted, leaning into his first male kiss, blood thundering through his body.

 

Before their lips could touch, the door burst open with a bang. 

 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!  Are you two still fighting?  Bloody well grow up and let it go, will you?”  Anson looked at them.  Honestly, what a pair of twats.  Confronting each other, three feet apart, one scowling, the other flushed and breathing heavily. 

 

“Come on, lads, give over and come for a drink.  You’re one round behind already.”  Anson picked up his sweatshirt and looked at them again.

 

“You all right?”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, we’re fine.”

 

“Well, come on then, get your bloody clothes on.”

 

Anson stayed, prattling about the day’s events, while they dressed, hands clumsy with zips and buttons.  They didn’t look at each other, didn’t say anything other than the social fillers intended to affirm that yes, they were listening, yes, they were part of it, and yes, they were looking forward to a drink with the rest of the group to celebrate the end of the course.

 

They left the changing block, shoulder to shoulder, walking in step behind Anson.  Doyle turned to Bodie, questioning.

 

“All right?” 

 

Bodie didn’t respond.

 

Doyle looked at him sharply, green eyes narrowed, trying, perhaps, to read his face.  Not looking where he was going, he stumbled, and Bodie’s hand shot out to grab his elbow and steady him.

 

Doyle grinned.

 

“Cheers, mate!”

 

Then, lower, just for Bodie, an intimate murmur,

 

“It’ll be all right, sunshine.  This is just the beginning.”

 

 

Title:  This is just the beginning
Author:  Murphybabe
Slash or Gen:  Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit:  um… if you want it
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):  same
Disclaimer:  I wish they were mine, but they’re not.
Notes:  A first attempt.  I can’t thank byslantedlight enough for encouragement, a fantastic beta effort and help.