discoveredinalj | Discovered in a Christmas Cracker, Day 8

melanieathene.livejournal.com posting in

Happy holidays, everyone! Hope you enjoy the story.

Stakeouts were a bore. Of that, Bodie had not the slightest doubt, and rarely did he hesitate to express his opinion on the topic – loudly and vehemently – to anyone who chanced to be within earshot. This meant it was his partner who usually bore the brunt of his displeasure – whether he wished to or not. And, all too often, Doyle most emphatically did not want to listen. Which led to many a “Shut up, Bodie,” which progressed to “Make me, Ray.” From there, things frequently degenerated into pointless rows about nothing and everything, which inevitably culminated in CI5's finest giving each other the cold shoulder treatment for the duration of the assignment.

Yeah, stakeouts were bloody boring.

Babysitting jobs were a hundred times worse.

Bodie was pretty sure they were a special form of torture reserved as punishment for infractions – real or imaginary.

Liberating Cowley's finest bottle of malt whiskey to share at an impromptu office party with Murphy, Doyle and a gaggle of twittering secretaries clearly counted as an all-too-real infraction. So much for the holiday spirit. But then, the old man put Scrooge to shame every other day of the year. Why should Christmas Eve be any different?

Bodie sighed and peered out the window. There wasn't much to see. The snow was still chucking it down, obscuring his lovely view of a littered alleyway – as if nightfall hadn't already done a bang up job of that. Beneath the crooked halo of a street lamp, a wino slouched in the meagre shelter of a large bin, a woolly hat pulled down past his eyebrows, a raggedy scarf tugged up over his nose. The green glass of the bottle he held clenched tight to his threadbare jacket was less striking than the angry green glint of his eyes. As if sensing Bodie's gaze, the wino lifted a hand and casually shot Bodie a two fingered salute.

“Love you too, Ray,” Bodie chuckled, waving back.

“How's he doing out there?” Murphy drawled.

“Half way to frozen, I'd say,” Bodie replied. “Think it might be time to give the poor little bugger a break.”

“Yeah, suppose so...” Murphy stretched, the cheap wooden chair he sat on protesting loudly as his weight shifted. “I'm losing anyway. God, I'd forgotten how much I hate Monopoly. It's even worse when half the pieces are missing. Next time, Bodie, I'm bringing a pack of cards.”

“Hopefully, there won't be a next time.”

“That's what you said the last time.” Murphy grinned and sauntered towards the woefully shabby garments that constituted his costume. “Can't say I envy you,” he said, tipping his head towards the window. “If Ray's still on the warpath, I'd rather take me chances with the elements.”

“I can handle Ray.”

“In your dreams, Bodie. In your dreams.”

Yeah, every night... Bodie silently replied, busying himself with tidying away scattered board pieces. He didn't look up until the click of a latch signalled Murphy's departure.

In the scant moments of time he had to himself before Doyle came pounding up the stairs, Bodie closed his eyes and allowed himself a heavy sigh. So much for the promised trip to Derby. Kathy had been adamant that her brother and his 'good for nothing prat of a partner' should come and spend the holidays and have a proper Christmas for a change. Not that Bodie had been looking forward to sharing his precious hours off with a load of kids, but Doyle had been enthusiastic. And the grub would have been damned good...

No chance of that happening now. And little chance of Doyle forgiving him anytime soon.

The flat door burst open, crashing back against the wall.

“Shh, you'll wake the baby,” Bodie chided, gesturing towards a closed bedroom door, seriously concerned that their unpleasant ward would appear in a panic at the noise. “If I have to listen to him bitch and moan one more time, I'll off him myself.”

“Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?” Doyle muttered, shaking the snow from his clothing with little regard for where it landed. “Christ, it's colder than a witch's tit out there. Where's the coffee?”

“Gone.”

“Sandwiches?”

“Murphy finished the last of 'em.” Bodie held up a tenner.

Doyle glared.

“What?” Bodie said innocently. “You're already dressed to brave the weather. Be a good lad and trot out to fetch us something, eh?”

“Like anyone would serve me dressed like this.”

“You can't be suggesting I go?”

It's not a suggestion, Bodie. I'm cold. I'm knackered. I'm famished. You work it out.”

“Tell you what, I'll toss you for it.”

Doyle waited impatiently while Bodie rummaged though his pockets for a coin.

“Fine,” Bodie said when it became apparent that they didn't have a penny between them, just a few rumpled paper notes. He scooped up the dice from the Monopoly box and rattled them in his hand. “These will do, then. High score wins?”

Doyle nodded.

Bodie rolled a five and a three, Doyle a six and a four.

“Best two out of three?” Bodie asked plaintively.

“I fancy a bacon sarnie, lots of brown sauce,” Doyle retorted, settling himself at the rickety card table. “Coffee... and a sticky bun if they have them.”

“You count your blessings if I find crisps and a chocolate bar at this hour. The bloody hols have decent people packing it in early.”

~*~

“That hit the spot.” Doyle sighed contentedly and rubbed his tummy. “Could do with a kip, though.”

“Uh-uh,” Bodie argued. “I need forty winks before I have to relieve Murphy. I'll warm the bed up and you can fight it out with him when he gets in to see who gets it next.”

Doyle eyed the dice peeping out from under his food wrappers. “High score wins?” he said, parroting Bodie's challenge.

Bodie dipped his head in quick agreement.

This time, Doyle rolled a two and a five. Bodie followed with a two and a three.

“Dim the lights would you, Bodie?” Doyle yawned as he stretched out on the sofa and turned his back on the room at large and Bodie in particular.

~*~

“Oi! Wake up, Ray. It's the changing of the guard.”

“So change away,” Doyle grumbled, burrowing deeper under the blankets. “What's that have to do with me?”

Bodie rattled the dice near his partner's ear. “Pretty sure third time's the charm,” he said. “What do you say, Ray? Wanna bet?”

“Not really.”

“What are you, chicken?”

“What are you, five? Gonna double dare me next?”

“If that's what it takes. Come on, Ray, let's not keep Murph waiting or he'll turn into an ice lolly.”

“Fine! If it will shut you up...” Doyle snatched the dice out of Bodie's hand and tossed them to the floor.

After a little diligent searching, Bodie determined that Doyle's total score was four. “Gotcha this time,” he crowed – and promptly rolled snake eyes.

~*~

“You might want to consider giving up gambling,” Doyle advised the next morning, watching his shivering partner huddle next to a stubbornly unresponsive radiator. “If it weren't for bad luck...”

“Don't need luck with my looks,” Bodie countered, trying hard to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Think pretty highly of yourself, don't you?”

“I'm a firm believer in the law of chance.” Bodie sniffled loudly. “I'm bound to win sometime.”

“Fortunes have been made and lost based on that philosophy. Just like you lost your jumper. And your gloves. And took an extra turn out in a snowdrift, watching the fire escape.”

“What are you willing to wager that I can't turn my luck around?”

“What do you have in mind?”

An evil gleam appeared in Bodie's blue eyes, followed by an even more evil grin.

Doyle was just about to say 'never mind, I don't want to know' when Bodie beat him to the punch. “Oh, I don't know, 4.5,” he said breezily. “How about a night in your bed?”

“With me in it?” Doyle squeaked.

“With you in it.” Bodie nodded decisively. “And all that that entails.”

Doyle stared at him wide-eyed and knocked speechless, all the while breathing a silent prayer that their charge was a late riser. The last thing they needed was an audience for this discussion. Hell! He wasn't sure if he was ready to discuss it himself.

They'd been dancing around the subject for years, too frightened to put it into words in the cold, harsh light of day. They never spoke of the heated rush of lips and tongues that sometimes happened under the cover of the night, when alcohol lowered inhibitions, or relief that they were still alive after a harrowing mission drew them together. As if silence kept their secret secret still...

But they both thought about it more often than either man would ever admit. Wondered. Relived stolen, drunken kisses over and over in private fantasies. Ached for the touch of the other's hand...

Trust Bodie to bring it all out in the open. Wild and crazy Bodie, with a devil-may-care grin that did little to conceal the frightened little boy he was inside. But Doyle knew. He always knew. He saw past Bodie's facade and understood exactly what the stakes were, how deadly serious he was about this wager. But if Bodie wanted to treat it as a joke... Fine. If it was a joke, it didn't matter. It didn't count... did it? And it was Christmas. A time of giving. Maybe it was also a time for giving in... or, better still, getting back. After all, it was Bodie's fault they were stuck here instead of living it up at Kath's.

“Fine,” Doyle grinned. “You're on. But what do I get if I win?”

“Well, I'd say it's a win-win situation for both of us but, hey, it's Christmas. I'm feeling generous, old son. Name your terms.”

Doyle drew his lower lip between his teeth and chewed on it, ignoring how Bodie's eye followed his every move. “I've had my eye on a Suzuki GSX-R for some time now.”

Bodie whistled sharply. “Now who's thinking highly of himself? You play rough, Raymond.”

Doyle smiled a wolfish smile. “Trust me. I'm worth every quid.”

“All right.” Bodie shrugged carelessly. “I'll call your bluff. It's a bet.”

Doyle accepted Bodie's hand, shaking it briskly to cement the deal. Neither commented on the dampness of the other's palm.

“So...” Bodie said awkwardly. “Shall we?” He gestured helplessly at the table.

“Go ahead, Bodie.” Doyle nodded. “Roll the dice.”

“Uh-uh, sunshine,” Bodie said. “You first. Age before beauty, and all that.”

Despite the quickening of his pulse, an electric hum of dread laced with anticipation that thrummed its way through his entire body, Doyle accepted the dice with steady hands and blew on them, less for luck than to warm his chilly fingers. Both men's eyes were firmly fixed on the dice as they tumbled across the tabletop.

A six and a five. Eleven. He'd rolled an eleven.

Doyle smirked. “I want a posh leather seat, Bodie. None of that vinyl crap.”

Bodie picked up the dice, squeezing them tightly in one fist as he screwed his eyes shut and held his breath for a long, endless moment. And, then, he brought both hands together and let the dice rattle in the cage of his hands.

“Bodie...” Doyle breathed. “Fuck... roll the damned things.”

Bodie's fingers opened and the dice went spinning across the table, one die rolling off the edge from the force of the throw, its clattering to the floor sounding like fate cackling at them.

“Well?” Bodie said, stubbornly refusing to open his eyes. “What did I roll?”

Silence was his reply.

“Ray?” Bodie forced himself to meet his partner's shell-shocked stare. “Ray,” he repeated hoarsely. “For God's sake, Ray, put me out of my misery.”

“Twelve, Bodie,” Doyle whispered disbelievingly. “You rolled a bloody twelve.”

~*~

“Imagine,” Doyle said much, much later from the comfort of his bed, where he and Bodie lay blissfully entwined. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Bodie's mouth, fingertips running up and down his lover's spine, eliciting delicious little shivers that had nothing whatsoever to do with the storm still raging outside. “I was one spot away from missing out on this.”

“Fat chance of that,” Bodie murmured. “Who do you think planted the Monopoly game at the safe house? We started off with normal dice, but then I pulled the old switcheroo right under your nose. Those dice were loaded, sweetheart. No way I was leaving this – ” he cupped Doyle cheek affectionately, “ – to a roll of the dice.”

“You – you what?! Bo-die!”

Bodie merely shot Doyle a cocky grin and arched his body against him suggestively.

“Whaddya say, Ray? Double or nothing? I'm feeling lucky tonight.”

Title: A Roll of the Dice
Author: Melanie Athene
Slash or gen? Slash
Archive at Pros-Lib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Even after all these years of playing with them, Bodie and Doyle still don't belong to me.
Notes: My prompt for this challenge was "a pair of dice"
Many, many thanks to

cali_se for betaing and brit picking above and beyond the call of duty.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

grey853.livejournal.com

Oh, I liked that. Bodie's a sly one, that's a fact.

From:

milomaus.livejournal.com

Wonderful warm and cold first time, I very much like Bodie complaining!

Only I wondered about the dice, we use six sided ones for Monopoly.....

I love the implication that they´re "together" even in the eyes of Doyle´s sister!

From:

Discovered in a Christmas Cracker, Day 8 - A Roll of the Dice (Fic)

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