![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
maddalia.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
discoveredinaljWell, in true Maddalia style, my idea for a Christmas fic this year promised to be long, complicated, and involve lots of research I don't really have time to do. It's a pretty good plot bunny, though -- WWI AU. So maybe I'll do that one next year! :) For the moment, I felt like writing a happy, ramble-y, Christmassy story, and I thought you lovely people might also like to read one.
A Human Christmas
When they reached Bodie’s flat at 7:45pm on Christmas Eve, Doyle noticed he still had blood under his fingernails. He lifted one hand to to his face and sniffed discreetly — yes, he could still smell it, too.
‘I have to wash my hands,’ he muttered, with barely a glance at Bodie, who was balancing a carrier bag of fish and chips on top of a cardboard box full of Christmas decorations that he’d inherited from his mum when she died.
They had returned to HQ after a violent skirmish. Bodie had been checked out by a doctor who’d verified that the knuckles of his right hand were bruised and no bones were broken; they had both showered, changed, promised Cowley their reports would be in the morning they got back off leave, then switched their R/Ts off, turned the car radio to a normal station, and headed off to Bodie’s lockup, where he kept the aforementioned box of decorations.
Then it was a quick stop at Bodie’s favourite chippy, and back to his place to try to have a normal Christmas, just once. Not the extended family crowded in front of the TV bickering over who’d demonstrated the unfortunate after-effects of too many overcooked sprouts type of normal. Just the decorations, tree, presents, no bloody CI5 kind of normal.
There were times when the agents loved their jobs, but December was not one of them. They had jumped at the rare chance of Christmas leave.
By the time Doyle was satisfied with his ablutions and had emerged from the bathroom, Bodie and already set to work, taking the netting off the tree they’d bought two days ago in a brief window of opportunity, and not had time to pot. He was watering it when Doyle entered the room. The carpet around the tree was already littered with pine needles.
‘Doesn’t look too bad, considering it spent half of Thursday on the roof of your car,’ Bodie remarked by way of greeting.
‘Well, I expect it’s the only Christmas tree in history to have taken part in a car chase.’
‘Just like us, aren’t you?’ Bodie addressed the tree. ‘Had your excitement for the year, now you want a rest.
‘And you’ll be all lit up with joy,’ Doyle put in, with heavy sarcasm.
‘And just like me, you’ll be spending Christmas with a curly-haired angel on top of you,’ said Bodie, removing a white-clad doll from the top of his box, and giving Doyle a cheery, close-lipped smile.
‘Ha, ha.’ Doyle pushed a hand through his hair, still a bit damp from his shower at HQ. Bodie’s shorter hair was long dry. ‘That a promise?’
‘What, you getting to be on top? Course.’ Bodie winked. ‘We can do my favourite position — sitting up.’
‘Oh, that kind of on top.’ Doyle rolled his eyes as Bodie straightened the angel’s halo and positioned the doll on top of the tree. He stood up as his partner pulled a length of rather worse-for-wear silver tinsel out of the box. ‘Bodie, leave all that for later, the food’s getting cold.’
He set their portions of fish and chips out on the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen area for drinks. Bodie put a record on and sat down to unwrap his dinner.
’I thought you didn’t mind.’
‘What, cold food?’ Doyle called from in front of the fridge. He fetched a couple of beers and joined Bodie on the couch.
‘No, you know, which way…’
Doyle, who wasn’t in the mood for a discussion they had so far succeeded in avoiding, snorted: intending to convey something in between amusement and derision, and resulting in the need to blow his nose — which he did.
‘I don’t. Do you?’
‘No, not really.’ Bodie sneaked one of Doyle’s chips. ‘Both have their merits.’
‘Good, because I thought if one of us did, it would’ve come up by now. We’ve been at it nearly nine months. And I thought we were enjoying ourselves, not compromising.’
‘You thought right.’
Doyle nodded. ‘Just as long as we share equally, you know…’
Bodie did his ‘tried to wind you up, succeeded, enjoyed it’ grin. Doyle exercised stellar self-control by not thumping him. Both men took a long, silent drink of lager. At length Bodie said: ‘Missionary’s my second favourite.’
‘Ah. So…’
‘Exactly. But I’m not a sex dictator, you get to pick two as well.’
‘At least,’ said Doyle. ‘I plan on us having sex more than four times while we’re on leave, Bodie.’
‘No fear.’
They clinked their cans together, finished them, and Bodie got up to replenish their supply. They ate and drank in silence for a while after that — until Doyle remembered something Bodie had said, and snorted again, this time with laughter.
‘What?’
Doyle grinned. ‘ “Sex dictator.” Makes me think of Napoleon in negligé.’
Bodie appeared to consider the notion. ’Could be worse. Could be Hitler.’
‘Ah, well, maybe people wouldn’t have taken him so seriously then.’
‘Long as Maggie Thatcher never becomes a sex dictator…’
‘Oh? You’d prefer Callaghan?’
‘Almost!’
Doyle did his best impression of a man thinking seriously about something.
‘Hmm. I see your point.’
‘Maybe that’s how we should decide the next election,’ suggested Bodie.
‘So rather than worrying about the candidates’ respective stances on the unions, we should evaluate their appearance in black stockings and suspenders?’ Doyle laughed. ‘I’ve always admired your political mind.’
They finished their fish and chips, then set about decorating the tree. They bickered good-naturedly about how many baubles to put on, and whether they should have one set of lights on the tree or two. They compromised between Doyle’s “less is more” and Bodie’s “let’s add everything,” and sat back on the couch to admire their handiwork.
‘It’d look even better with some presents underneath it,’ remarked Doyle. He went over to his bag, which was still by the front door, and retrieved four parcels. Three were for Bodie. An LP, a book, and some cufflinks. Not incredibly exciting, but they rarely had time to do much outside work anyway. Since they’d got it together they had exchanged a birthday present each: Doyle had bought Bodie a watch with an inscribed back, which Bodie never wore to work in case it got damaged. He had bought Doyle a chain, which Doyle hardly ever took off. This was their first Christmas as — boyfriends? A couple? Slightly-more-involved partners — whatever the hell they were, it was a good time to play at being a family.
Speaking of family… Doyle swallowed. The other gift was for him, from his mum, and it reminded him that he was taking Bodie to meet her on Boxing Day. That was a visit he didn’t want to think about just now. It made him nervous. She’d known for years that he had the odd craving for intimate male company, and she’d eventually become quite accepting, even occasionally teasing him about it, which was always a positive sign with his mother, who only ever mocked good-naturedly. He just wasn’t sure how she’d react when he produced a whole boyfriend. Whether he personally called Bodie that or not, that was how she’d see it.
Bodie said that time would tell, and he’d charm her socks off, so why worry? But Doyle wasn’t fooled. He knew Bodie was nervous too. Meeting the parents — or in this case, parent — was frightening enough for straight couples.
Bodie had gone into the bedroom, and he added his own small pile of presents to Doyle’s. They arranged them under the tree, stood back, and exchanged a grin, then a brief one-armed hug.
‘Not bad!’
‘Not bad at all. We might even succeed at this normal human being lark.’
‘Wonder how long we’ll be able to keep it up?’ Doyle wondered.
‘At least until New Year.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And we’ll also succeed at being normal human beings till then.’
Doyle laughed. ‘Twat. One last thing, I nearly forgot.’
‘What’s that?’
Doyle went and dug into his coat pocket. He produced a piece of mistletoe. With a bit of tape, he fastened it to Bodie’s cooker hood.
‘There.’ He brushed his hands together. ‘Now when we — that’s we, Bodie — cook dinner tomorrow, we have to snog every time one of us passes the stove.’
‘Do I get a snog now, or do I have to put my little pink pinny on first?’
‘Ah, I’ll let you off, just for tonight.’
Grinning over his shoulder, Doyle walked into the bedroom. He didn’t need to look twice to know that his partner would follow.
Title: A Human Christmas
Author: Maddalia
Slash: Bodie/Doyle
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: I don't own these things, I just play with them.
A Human Christmas
When they reached Bodie’s flat at 7:45pm on Christmas Eve, Doyle noticed he still had blood under his fingernails. He lifted one hand to to his face and sniffed discreetly — yes, he could still smell it, too.
‘I have to wash my hands,’ he muttered, with barely a glance at Bodie, who was balancing a carrier bag of fish and chips on top of a cardboard box full of Christmas decorations that he’d inherited from his mum when she died.
They had returned to HQ after a violent skirmish. Bodie had been checked out by a doctor who’d verified that the knuckles of his right hand were bruised and no bones were broken; they had both showered, changed, promised Cowley their reports would be in the morning they got back off leave, then switched their R/Ts off, turned the car radio to a normal station, and headed off to Bodie’s lockup, where he kept the aforementioned box of decorations.
Then it was a quick stop at Bodie’s favourite chippy, and back to his place to try to have a normal Christmas, just once. Not the extended family crowded in front of the TV bickering over who’d demonstrated the unfortunate after-effects of too many overcooked sprouts type of normal. Just the decorations, tree, presents, no bloody CI5 kind of normal.
There were times when the agents loved their jobs, but December was not one of them. They had jumped at the rare chance of Christmas leave.
By the time Doyle was satisfied with his ablutions and had emerged from the bathroom, Bodie and already set to work, taking the netting off the tree they’d bought two days ago in a brief window of opportunity, and not had time to pot. He was watering it when Doyle entered the room. The carpet around the tree was already littered with pine needles.
‘Doesn’t look too bad, considering it spent half of Thursday on the roof of your car,’ Bodie remarked by way of greeting.
‘Well, I expect it’s the only Christmas tree in history to have taken part in a car chase.’
‘Just like us, aren’t you?’ Bodie addressed the tree. ‘Had your excitement for the year, now you want a rest.
‘And you’ll be all lit up with joy,’ Doyle put in, with heavy sarcasm.
‘And just like me, you’ll be spending Christmas with a curly-haired angel on top of you,’ said Bodie, removing a white-clad doll from the top of his box, and giving Doyle a cheery, close-lipped smile.
‘Ha, ha.’ Doyle pushed a hand through his hair, still a bit damp from his shower at HQ. Bodie’s shorter hair was long dry. ‘That a promise?’
‘What, you getting to be on top? Course.’ Bodie winked. ‘We can do my favourite position — sitting up.’
‘Oh, that kind of on top.’ Doyle rolled his eyes as Bodie straightened the angel’s halo and positioned the doll on top of the tree. He stood up as his partner pulled a length of rather worse-for-wear silver tinsel out of the box. ‘Bodie, leave all that for later, the food’s getting cold.’
He set their portions of fish and chips out on the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen area for drinks. Bodie put a record on and sat down to unwrap his dinner.
’I thought you didn’t mind.’
‘What, cold food?’ Doyle called from in front of the fridge. He fetched a couple of beers and joined Bodie on the couch.
‘No, you know, which way…’
Doyle, who wasn’t in the mood for a discussion they had so far succeeded in avoiding, snorted: intending to convey something in between amusement and derision, and resulting in the need to blow his nose — which he did.
‘I don’t. Do you?’
‘No, not really.’ Bodie sneaked one of Doyle’s chips. ‘Both have their merits.’
‘Good, because I thought if one of us did, it would’ve come up by now. We’ve been at it nearly nine months. And I thought we were enjoying ourselves, not compromising.’
‘You thought right.’
Doyle nodded. ‘Just as long as we share equally, you know…’
Bodie did his ‘tried to wind you up, succeeded, enjoyed it’ grin. Doyle exercised stellar self-control by not thumping him. Both men took a long, silent drink of lager. At length Bodie said: ‘Missionary’s my second favourite.’
‘Ah. So…’
‘Exactly. But I’m not a sex dictator, you get to pick two as well.’
‘At least,’ said Doyle. ‘I plan on us having sex more than four times while we’re on leave, Bodie.’
‘No fear.’
They clinked their cans together, finished them, and Bodie got up to replenish their supply. They ate and drank in silence for a while after that — until Doyle remembered something Bodie had said, and snorted again, this time with laughter.
‘What?’
Doyle grinned. ‘ “Sex dictator.” Makes me think of Napoleon in negligé.’
Bodie appeared to consider the notion. ’Could be worse. Could be Hitler.’
‘Ah, well, maybe people wouldn’t have taken him so seriously then.’
‘Long as Maggie Thatcher never becomes a sex dictator…’
‘Oh? You’d prefer Callaghan?’
‘Almost!’
Doyle did his best impression of a man thinking seriously about something.
‘Hmm. I see your point.’
‘Maybe that’s how we should decide the next election,’ suggested Bodie.
‘So rather than worrying about the candidates’ respective stances on the unions, we should evaluate their appearance in black stockings and suspenders?’ Doyle laughed. ‘I’ve always admired your political mind.’
They finished their fish and chips, then set about decorating the tree. They bickered good-naturedly about how many baubles to put on, and whether they should have one set of lights on the tree or two. They compromised between Doyle’s “less is more” and Bodie’s “let’s add everything,” and sat back on the couch to admire their handiwork.
‘It’d look even better with some presents underneath it,’ remarked Doyle. He went over to his bag, which was still by the front door, and retrieved four parcels. Three were for Bodie. An LP, a book, and some cufflinks. Not incredibly exciting, but they rarely had time to do much outside work anyway. Since they’d got it together they had exchanged a birthday present each: Doyle had bought Bodie a watch with an inscribed back, which Bodie never wore to work in case it got damaged. He had bought Doyle a chain, which Doyle hardly ever took off. This was their first Christmas as — boyfriends? A couple? Slightly-more-involved partners — whatever the hell they were, it was a good time to play at being a family.
Speaking of family… Doyle swallowed. The other gift was for him, from his mum, and it reminded him that he was taking Bodie to meet her on Boxing Day. That was a visit he didn’t want to think about just now. It made him nervous. She’d known for years that he had the odd craving for intimate male company, and she’d eventually become quite accepting, even occasionally teasing him about it, which was always a positive sign with his mother, who only ever mocked good-naturedly. He just wasn’t sure how she’d react when he produced a whole boyfriend. Whether he personally called Bodie that or not, that was how she’d see it.
Bodie said that time would tell, and he’d charm her socks off, so why worry? But Doyle wasn’t fooled. He knew Bodie was nervous too. Meeting the parents — or in this case, parent — was frightening enough for straight couples.
Bodie had gone into the bedroom, and he added his own small pile of presents to Doyle’s. They arranged them under the tree, stood back, and exchanged a grin, then a brief one-armed hug.
‘Not bad!’
‘Not bad at all. We might even succeed at this normal human being lark.’
‘Wonder how long we’ll be able to keep it up?’ Doyle wondered.
‘At least until New Year.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And we’ll also succeed at being normal human beings till then.’
Doyle laughed. ‘Twat. One last thing, I nearly forgot.’
‘What’s that?’
Doyle went and dug into his coat pocket. He produced a piece of mistletoe. With a bit of tape, he fastened it to Bodie’s cooker hood.
‘There.’ He brushed his hands together. ‘Now when we — that’s we, Bodie — cook dinner tomorrow, we have to snog every time one of us passes the stove.’
‘Do I get a snog now, or do I have to put my little pink pinny on first?’
‘Ah, I’ll let you off, just for tonight.’
Grinning over his shoulder, Doyle walked into the bedroom. He didn’t need to look twice to know that his partner would follow.
Title: A Human Christmas
Author: Maddalia
Slash: Bodie/Doyle
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: I don't own these things, I just play with them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-12-08 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-12 09:15 am (UTC)