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discoveredinaljTitle: Nollaig Shona Dhuit
Author: lbc
Category and Rating: slash
Word Count: 7895
Notes: I hope I didn't do too much wrong in the Irish portion of the story. Anyway, Merry Christmas in every language.
The extremely large book that Doyle was trying to balance felt like it weighed more than Doyle’s ten stone, but he was on an undercover assignment for Cowley as usual and it would not do to break his cover by dropping the enormous book and waking all the sleepers in the various areas of the library.
Doyle couldn’t figure out why he had been assigned to this place. After all, it could scarcely be a den of iniquity, could it? Was there undercover smuggling of books or illegal ink being used in these corridors of knowledge and learning? -- Nah! That was even more ridiculous than it sounded. That moron Bodie had suggested that Cowley had given him this extremely important assignment because some unknown terrorist organization had planted bombs in each of the volumes and that they were all set to go off at a designated time.
If that was so, then why hadn’t he found any bombs in the approximately 100 books he had already shelved? It was more likely that the heavy book that he was carrying was designed to wipe out some poor, innocent librarian or patron when they attempted to pick it up and read from its words of wisdom.
Suddenly, the weighty volume began to slip from its perilous perch in his arms. As it rapidly proved Sir Isaac’s theory correct, the massive book sheathed in brown leather slid totally out of Doyle’s control and hit the ground with what Doyle would later claim set off a seismic disturbance of over 8.0.
The noise reverberated around the hallowed halls as numerous eyebrows shot up and, at least, five old geezers, who had been using the various hidden spots in the massive building to rest their eyes and other parts of their bodies, were roused from their slumber.
Ray Doyle was not a prolific speaker of languages, but he was well-versed in profanity and now he made use of nearly all of this vocabulary as he attempted to weight-lift the huge tome. He began to wonder if he would need a crane when he finally was able to turn over the book so that he could read the open and somewhat disheveled pages. Doyle was no linguist, but he quickly noticed three words which seemed to stand out, NOLLAIG SHONA DHUIT. Doyle’s Irish background permitted him to be able to read these words - - Merry Christmas.
Ray Doyle stood up so fast that he could hear his backbone crack. His astonishment had shaken him totally. He now realized that the heavy tome was a dictionary of sorts and various phrases were indexed in its mighty interior. Of the thousand or more pages lurking before him, how come the one phrase and page blasting away at his green orbs were the words, Merry Christmas and in Irish no less?
Doyle would have continued to have pondered this imponderable if MISS Abigail Ponsonby had not wandered over to stare intently at the utter idiot who had just dropped one of their valuable reference books. Abigail Ponsonby, she of the horn-rimmed glasses who were the twins of Cowley’s, had a thin, bony and extremely tall body which stared DOWN at Doyle making him feel even shorter than he was.
“Mr. Doyle, what are you doing? If you cannot perform the SIMPLE tasks that I give you; then perhaps you should be transferred to the CHILDREN’S reference section. You might be able to lift those volumes with more pro-fie-cien=cy." Her careful pronunciation of the word made Doyle’s skin crawl. He badly wanted to respond that she could put her volumes in a certain place, but Cowley would make sure that he would not get his next rise until he was a very old man of 95.
“Sorry, MISS Ponsonby, it was an accident. (Doyle had made the mistake of calling her Mrs. Ponsonby and paid the price for that faux pas by being assigned to the chain gang of returning books to shelves.) MISS Ponsonby’s reaction had dropped the temperature of the entire library so low that Doyle swore he could see his breath. Since that time he had been on Ponsonby’s list of least favourite people. If Cowley had not intervened by contacting Ponsonby’s superiors, Doyle would have been cleaning the numerous loos in the building instead of dropping expensive books.
“An accident, Mr. Doyle?”
“Yes, ma’am, I mean, MISS Ponsonby. Didn’t you feel the building shaking just before I dropped the dictionary? Must have been an earthquake?”
Abigail Ponsonby’s THICK eyebrows shot up at those words. “AN EARTHQUAKE? What are you talking about, Mr. Doyle? Have you been drinking, AGAIN?”
“No, MISS Ponsonby, I never drink when I work on the public’s time.”
Giving Doyle a disbelieving look, Ponsonby leaned over and easily hefted the large volume into her arms and walked off with the book, placing it in its correct place on the special table. She then returned to stand in front of Doyle saying, “Come with me, Mr. Doyle, apparently this work is too much for you. I have something else for you to do.”
Walking off with straight back and a dignified posture, Abigail Ponsonby headed off with a slouch backed Doyle following her, knowing that it was the Twilight Zone better known as the bogs which were in his future.
Two hours later with his heavy gloves and apron covering his scrawny body, Doyle was the epitome of Daisy, Miss Dishpan hands of 1984. He had been scrubbing porcelain for almost two hours and his back was killing him. Even his curls were drooping from the heavy chemicals being introduced into the air. Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind him. Groaning, Doyle tried to stand up but his spine creaked and groaned so badly that he remained bent over until the well-known voice of one, W.A.P. Bodie was heard saying, “Come on, Doyle, me old grandmum could do better than that and she’s been dead for five years. If Cowley hears about this, you’ll have a whole new job waiting for you.”
Doyle ground his teeth as he looked at the floor. When he finally was able to stand up, his green eyes were flaming as his gritted teeth issued forth the munificent declaration, “I’ll kill you, Bodie, if you tell anybody else about this.”
“Now, now, Sunshine, would I do that? After all, you are The Cow’s finest and every lad in CI5 will be so demoralized if they find out that you’ve taken a new job as a loo-scrubber.”
Continuing to hold in his temper, Doyle asked in a deadly whisper, “WHAT are you doing here, soon-to-be-strung-up big mouth?”
“Oh, I just came to tell you that the op has been called off. Cowley says that there was a mistake in information and that this place isn’t the site for the transfer of any secrets.”
Doyle’s mouth dropped open as he realized what he had gone through for nothing. Throwing his, gloves, apron, and bucket at the grinning 3.7, Doyle walked out of the loo with a grin on his face, the memory of the recent scream from the Bodie lips very pleasant indeed.
It was all Doyle could do to not deliberately seek out the less than appetizing MISS Ponsonby and throw his cleaning equipment in her face, but he made quickly for the egress, hoping to catch up with his partner but to no avail. Bodie was already gone or, at least, couldn’t be found. Feeling that he was justified a bit of a clean up after enduring the bucket brigade, Doyle headed for his flat to change clothes and have a bit of a wash up.
By the time that he got to CI5, he was expecting Cowley to have already put out a search party looking for his wayward agent, but surprisingly Cowley wasn’t available as Betty so pertly told him. The only thing she would mention was that Murphy and Bodie had spent the last half hour with the Controller and then hurriedly rushed out without informing her of their destination.
“Why don’t you go wait for Mr. Cowley in the restroom, 4.5. He did say that he wanted to see you BUT that was about a half hour ago and since HE’S very busy, he obviously didn’t have time to wait around for you.”
Doyle stared at the young woman, comparing her mentally to MISS ABIGAIL PONSONBY, and deciding they must have been fellow predators in a previous life. Nodding but remaining silent, Doyle headed off towards the restroom, thinking about going to the loo when the thought of his recent adventures in the PORCELAIN KINGDOM made him change his mind. He decided to hunt up some tea and then relax in the restroom until Cowley deigned to call him forth for further daring do.
Entering the restroom, he found a scene that reminded him a great deal of his recent activities since the piles of cigar and cigar ash that Anson had spread far and wide across the room was faintly reminiscent of the clutter scattered around the various loos in the library. No one could dispute that Anson looked a great deal like some discarded relic himself, but he was just the man that Doyle wanted to talk to, if not see.
“Anson, what happened in here? It looks like your cigars started a revolt against you and they lost.”
“Nah, nothing like that. That idiot McCabe said he was tired of my unsanitary habits and took all my cigars and stuff and spread ‘em around the room. Talk about an intolerant sod. Do I complain about how he leaves his tea containers all over the place? No!”
“I feel for you; I really do, but I need to ask you a question.”
“Since when do you come to me for answers? Usually, you and that denizen from the jungle know-it-all keep everything within your own periphery of knowledge.”
“Anson, I am absolutely amazed that you know words like that. You aren’t the ignoramus that everybody says you are, but never mind, I want to know where your partner is.”
“You mean, Murphy?”
Feeling like he was sinking in some bog in the Yorkshire Moors, Doyle managed to hold back his legendary temper, and answered with relative calm, “Yeah, he’s the only partner you’ve got, isn’t he?”
“Not anymore. He and Bodie have headed out for the Emerald Isle on some super, secret assignment that Cowley gave them. Murphy wouldn’t tell me anymore than that, so you see Mr. Smarty, I do have other partners besides Murphy.”
Doyle could hear the sarcasm in Anson’s voice but it scarcely registered with him as he realized that Bodie had left without telling him he was going. Here it was less than a week to Christmas and his partner had abandoned him. It was true that, as usual, they hadn’t planned anything, not even sharing pressies, but it was always nice to have the ex-merc around. They didn’t usually have the holiday free, but sometimes they found the time to have a drink or a get together of sorts. Bodie had been acting strangely though these past few weeks and now he had gone and run out on him. If Doyle’s temper had been bad before, it was now reaching a stage of monumental proportions.
Two hours later, Doyle was on his way to his flat - - he had been suspended for one week. MISS Ponsonby had reported him for not using proper protocol to remove himself from the library premises and as a result, Cowley had relieved him of duties (without pay) for one week. Since this was the week before Christmas, the lack of pay really put a crimp in his lifestyle, especially since Bodie would not be around to be the monetary fount that he often was. The mobile bank from Liverpool had usually been available for a loan here or there, but now it had moved all the way to Ireland.
As Doyle entered his flat, he looked around and saw nothing to remind him of the coming Advent season. “GOOOOD!” he screamed in his own mind. Tearing off his clothes, he threw himself on his bed, telling his weary body that he deserved a long winter’s nap.
It seemed strange to be home for the next couple of days. Without a salary, Doyle was less inclined to go out, and he didn’t even have that jolly old elf, Murphy to sponge off of so he scrounged around his flat and found a few things to keep him going. Too bad Father Christmas wouldn’t be dropping around because he sure could use some goodies. Oh well, without Bodie here, it didn’t make much difference.
Without money, he was reluctant to spend the few shillings he had left on washing clothes so that put a real crimp in his plans for the holiday. No bird would want to dally with a less than cleanly dressed Doyle. Bodie wouldn’t have cared, but the fairer sex was mighty uppity about things like that.
It was amazing how often he thought of the ex-merc during his time of suspension. He had already figured out what Bodie meant to him, but he also knew that the handsome lad was spoken for by at least half the birds of Greater London so a certain Ray Doyle would rank very low on the priority list.
Not having money was good, however, for his campaign to stay in shape. Miles of jogging took the place of having his wicked way with the ladies or visiting the pubs and spending his money on getting plastered. Doyle kept telling himself that he was doing a free job for that miser, George Cowley, by keeping his ever vigilant green eyes peeled for troublemakers as he ran the streets of various places in the city. He kept counting his money but as the days wound down to Christmas Eve, he found that he had lost his taste for going out and having one fling. He had lost all desire to do anything special by the time Murphy called late in the afternoon of Christmas Eve.
When the phone rang, Doyle was in an especially grumpy mood and showed it in his response, “Doyle’s mausoleum and abandoned waifs home.”
For a moment there was silence, then Murphy’s well-known voice could be heard saying, “Now, now 4.5, is that any way for a proper agent of CI5 to respond on his phone?”
“It is when he’s been suspended by George Cowley just for telling him what he could do, if it were possible, with MISS Abigail Ponsonby.”
Hearing a slight laugh, Doyle’s temper shot up several degrees. “Yeah, even over here, we heard about your explosion. You really shouldn’t say those things to The Cow; you know how easily his feelings are hurt.”
“His feelings can do the other thing. How’d you hear about my little conversation with the Cow all the way over in Ireland?”
“When the explosion hit, we could hear it easily. My informant said that it was louder than Krakatoa in 1883.”
“What informant was that?”
“I cannot betray a fellow agent, but I might be wrong, it was very hard to understand him when he has a cigar stuffed in his face. Maybe it was Vesuvius or Etna or one of those European volcanoes instead.”
“I should have known it was Anson. He’s such a fount of information. I am surprised, however, that you called him. You two are becoming more and more like Eng and Chang, although that image is really revolting, especially with Anson’s hygiene habits.”
“Ha, ha, Doyle. If anybody is a Siamese twin, it definitely isn’t me and Anson, is it now?”
“Now what would you mean by that, I’m wondering?”
“Well, why do you think I’m calling when I could be spreading my Irish charm among the colleens over here? Bodie insisted I call you to let you know that our op isn’t quite done and so not to expect us for a few more days.”
Although Doyle did not let it be heard in his voice, his heart dropped to the floor. He had been counting on seeing Bodie for a few minutes before he went out on his orgy of Yuletide celebrating. Breathing deeply, Doyle replied, “Well, it was nice of you to deny the innocent young ladies of your company by calling me. Thanks, I’d best let you go. Have a happy whatever. You’re sure everything is okay with the op though, aren’t you?”
“Of course, Nanny Doyle, your boy is just taking longer than Cowley planned to get the bad guys. See you when we get back.”
With a click there was silence which permeated the flat for several minutes as Doyle contemplated several more days without the one person that he wanted to be with more than anyone. Doyle’s thoughts were scarcely printable as he cursed the Scouser, who had truly ruined his holiday. He had known, just known, that something was wrong when he had read those three words, Nollaig Shona Dhuit, blazing before his eyes earlier.
Doyle wasn’t a superstitious man, but it was like an omen when he had seen Merry Christmas pop up in that large volume and in Irish as well. Of course, Bodie wasn’t in Ireland when he had read the words. He was still in this country, but it hadn’t felt right that he should be reading those words and then a few hours later, Bodie and Murph were on their way to the Emerald Isle. Of course, it meant bad luck. Bodie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas, was he?
Doyle’s depression sank further and further into an abyss. The bottles of liquor that Doyle had put in for the coming celebration grew more and more attractive, but his vitality for celebrating and drinking had quickly drained away as soon as he had heard that Bodie would not be home.
Doyle felt like throttling Cowley for sending him to the library to mind the Loo Brigade while Bodie and Murph risked life and limb on a mission in Ireland. There was definitely no justice in the world and Father Christmas had done a definite skedaddle on this one.
Doyle’s energy was so low that he decided to make an early night of it. If it got around CI5 that 4.5 was going to bed before 22 00 on Christmas, the agents would never let him live it down. He would be made the butt of every joke in the entire place for at least a week before some other poor soul got to be their next victim. Doyle could hear it now, POOR DOYLE, HE’S GOT SO DECREPIT THAT HE CAN’T EVEN SCARE UP A DATE FOR CHRISTMAS EVE!!!
Tearing off his hastily donned robe, Doyle, once again, threw himself on the bed and covered his tense body with a duvet he kept on the bed, but sleep was not readily available. First, he was too hot; then he was too cold; then every little noise in his flat, grated on his nerves. Doyle couldn’t figure out why he was so restless. Certainly it wasn’t like it had been when he was younger. Even though he and his mum were desperately poor, she had made every effort to do something special for Christmas. Christmas Eve night was a time of lying in bed and dreaming of what could be waiting for him in the next few hours. Unfortunately, those years lasted all too little because when his mum died, he left home and really never had another Christmas celebration or even pressies to contemplate under a tree. Bodie didn’t believe in Christmas so they hadn’t exchanged gifts, but they had spent a bit of time together during the season and that had been enough. His family was wrapped up in those moments with Bodie.
Now, what did he have? The headache pounding behind his eyes told him what he had - - NOTHING but pain. Maybe if he got up and had one drink, he could rest, but what was he resting for? There was no one to be with so why not just lay here, tossing and turning?
Realizing that he needed to go to the loo, Doyle threw back the covers and started to get up when he heard a huge thump which was so forceful that it seemed to shake the flat. At first, Doyle thought it was a bomb going off, thanks to the IRA, but then he noticed a small light, peeking through his bedroom door from some place that looked remarkably like his own lounge. Had he forgot to shut off his lights when he had come to bed? Then, he heard another thump, not as loud as the first one, but it was certainly distinguished by a voice, mumbling in some foreign language. Maybe he was being robbed? If so, the thief was certainly making a hash of it. Targeting a CI5 agent’s abode was definitely not too smart. Now where was his gun?
Doyle realized that his gun was resting in its usual secure spot and that was in the lounge. Great protection that was, wasn’t it? Looking around, Doyle spotted the cricket bat that Bodie had given him. The nut had chased down the bat that he had used to almost get his century before being called out on an assignment. Doyle still remembered with fondness, watching his handsome partner change from his whites into his street clothes in the back seat of their speeding car. Doyle never admitted to Bodie that he had got some pretty good views of the uncovered Bodie body thanks to the rearview mirror.
Bodie was always so modest about showing that delicious body that it had been a real treat to get a view. Now that body was across the sea in a life threatening situation without Doyle as his backup.
Another small noise brought Doyle back to the reality of the moment. The cricket bat wasn’t much, but he was a trained CI5 agent, he ought to be able to take on one very noisy burglar, shouldn’t he?
Creeping carefully from the bedroom down the corridor, Doyle continued to hear off and on what sounded remarkably like a language he should know, just couldn’t recall. As he approached his final destination, Doyle noticed that the lounge was no longer the dingy, dark, lackluster room that it had been. Now, there was a medium size Christmas tree with decorations, standing in the corner of the room with lights that illuminated the entire room. The room now seemed to be aglow with a cheerful elegance that it had seldom seen. Standing near the tree was a tall figure with his back towards Doyle, but the costume of the figure looked remarkably like - - Father Christmas!!
The effect of the large person, standing there in his luxurious red robes with white fur and a sort of droopy hat was almost surreal. Doyle wiped his eyes several times as he tried to tell himself that he was dreaming or in an alcoholic stupour except that he hadn’t been drinking. He was about ready to creep over and use the bat effectively against the housebreaker when the tall man turned around and stared straight into Doyle’s astonished face. Father Christmas had the deepest, blue eyes that Doyle had ever seen except on one other person, a person he knew and loved to the depths of his being.
A slightly muffled voice issued from the obviously false-bearded face, “Ah, you have awakened. Have you been a good boy this year?”
Doyle decided to play along because his heart felt lighter than it had for a long time. “No, not very.”
“That is too bad. I have already given out many lumps of coal to other individuals and I am running low. Do you know someone named Anson? He got a large harvest of my coal.”
Doyle smiled and said sweetly, “He’s not so bad, but I think coal would certainly smoke better than those cigars of his.”
“I see you do know the gentleman. Why have you not celebrated this day by decorating your abode? You know that is the tradition?”
Doyle took a step back so that he could get a better look at “Father Christmas”. “That’s true, but I haven’t felt much like celebrating or honouring the season.”
“Why is that, Mr. Doyle?”
“Because I thought I wouldn’t get what I wanted for Christmas anyway. I know I’m lucky to have a job and my health, but when you get suspended and get just the opposite of what you want, well it didn’t seem like there was much to celebrate.”
Father Christmas stood looking at the smaller figure for several minutes before he asked, “And just what was it that you wanted for Christmas but did not get?”
Now it was Doyle’s turn to hesitate because to speak might destroy the magic of the moment, but Doyle quickly decided that now seemed to be the time for a miracle so he said quietly, “I wanted to be with my best friend this special day, but, you see, he’s across the sea many miles away.”
“Indeed, is there a reason you wish to be with him especially?”
“I want to be with him because he is my life, and it’s time I told him so.”
The silence in the flat seemed to overwhelm the place. Father Christmas seemed speechless, and Doyle was afraid to say anymore because he had hidden his feelings deep inside him for several years, and to let all of his thoughts out now might truly destroy the precious gift of his partner’s presence.
Finally, Father Christmas spoke, “I think you are wrong. I think you deserve a gift this Christmas. It might not be what you want most, but who am I to judge? You have failed to leave me mince pies and brandy, as you should, so go quickly and find these gifts of thoughtfulness and I will deliver what you truly deserve.”
Doyle hesitated; he was afraid to leave for fear that Father Christmas would disappear, but finally he nodded, turning to go to the kitchen to find some sort of goodies since he was sure that he did have any mince pies or even wine, let alone brandy. Although Doyle quickly returned to the lounge with a miserable swiss roll and some lager, he found it deserted. His heart plunged in his chest as he told himself that it had all been a dream, but the tiny tree was still there. A crash in the bedroom followed by something that sounded remarkably like Scouse issued forth and spread across the entire flat. Rushing into the bedroom with his offerings, Doyle stopped when he saw the backside of a totally naked ex-merc, wrestling with a cricket bat that had been hastily abandoned as Doyle had rushed to the kitchen.
Turning around, Bodie demanded to know why Doyle had put a cricket bat in his bed. “Are you nuts, you might have wiped out the family jewels, you know?”
Smiling with love bursting forth from his entire body, Doyle smiled and said, “Sorry, I thought I would have to defend myself from a burglar, and I hadn’t planned on the burglar stealing into my bed.”
“Well, I was sent here as your Christmas pressie (motioning to the big red bow around his neck) and this is the reception I get.”
“Who sent you to me?”
Bodie looked at his partner like he was an ignoramus and said quite vocally, “Duh! Who do you think, Father Christmas?”
“Oh, I thought I was going to get coal from him. YOU don’t look much like a lump of the black stuff, do you?”
Bodie suddenly got a threatening gleam in his eyes as he whispered, “Come over here and say that, Doyle.”
Doyle took a few steps then stopped and said, “If you’re supposed to be my pressie, then I have the right to see all of you. Remove that cover and let me get a real look at you. After all, I’ve only seen you without any clothes on during those few showers we’ve taken together.”
“Well, this body is not for everybody to see. Only special people get to see this hunk of gorgeous.”
“Hmmmm!” Doyle wheezed as he almost choked from snorting loudly. “There must be half the women in London and elsewhere who are the special ones then, if that’s true.”
Bodie’s face turned red as he whispered, “Not that many, ‘sides they aren’t who’s special. Only one person means anything.”
Doyle’s heart seemed to flip-flop, “And who would that be?”
“Probably the most blind man in the kingdom. “ Bodie’s well-loved voice sounded wistful and faintly insecure as he continued. “Honestly, after all these years, I would have thought it would have been evident. Even Murph has figured it out.”
“Murph?”
Bodie’s left eyebrow shot up into the air as he heard the doubt and confusion in Doyle’s question. “Yeah, why do you think the Smurph was willing to make that phone call, telling you that we wouldn’t be able to get home for Christmas?”
“Whatta ya mean? Did you blackmail him or something?”
“Nah, you idiot, Murph is a born romantic and I told him that absence makes the heart grow fonder and he was all for that. Of course, it also helped that I paid him back the £10 that I’ve owed him since our last op together.”
“You mean . . . you mean you weren’t in Ireland when he called?”
“Nah, the whole thing went bust and we had been back since the day before. Boy was Cowley wrong about that information. So Murph called you to throw you off the track. We didn’t expect you to be suspended though. It’s a good thing that Father Christmas can do just about anything, isn’t it?”
Doyle smiled slightly and then said sarcastically, “Yeah, except be quiet when he’s sneaking into a fellow’s flat. Had he stopped by the local Off License and started the celebration early?”
Bodie’s blue eyes began to sparkle, his face turning a deep red as he burst out with, “How dare you impugn the integrity of Father Christmas! Perhaps, he had a bit of the wassail, but he never drinks the hard stuff when he’s out on a mission.”
“I apologize for denigrating the old fellow’s habits, but I do think it strange that he’s never shown up before, at my place. What made him show up tonight?”
“He heard that you had got into a rumble with Cowley and that the Cow was going send you a shipment of coal and so he wanted to give you something, A LOT BETTER THAN COAL.”
“And what would that be, pray tell?”
Looking faintly huffy, Bodie coldly looked at Doyle in the gloom of the bedroom and said, “ME, of course, you moronic sod!”
“But, I thought you said something better than coal, didn’t you?”
“Well!” When Bodie wanted to, he could do upper class elite better than anybody and that one word proved his absolute mastery in elitism. Bodie started to get out of bed, but quickly realized that he wasn’t dressed, his deeply ingrained modesty taking over. Trying to cover up both his annoyance and his desire to murder Doyle, Bodie realized why he was there so he laid back in the bed, spreading his legs and saying in the most seductive voice he could, “Come over here, big boy and I’ll show you just how good I can be. You won’t ever mix me up with a piece of coal ever again. In fact, you’ll discover that I’m a pearl beyond price.”
“That’s what I like about you, Bodie – your modesty, but I will give you a chance. After all, I did say that I wanted my best friend with me this Christmas. So I guess you’re it.”
Rapidly removing his clothes, Doyle launched himself onto the bed with such force that he just barely missed the Bodie family jewels once again.
“Watch it mate, the Cow won’t be happy if I’m laid up in hospital for a grievous bodily injury caused by a flying, curly-haired Irish lad.”
“Well, I won’t be too happy either since I’ve been promised a great pressie from the Old Fella.”
“I’ll show you how great I can be.”
For the next hour or so, Doyle’s body was treated to ecstasy which turned to exhaustion after being treated to love making like he had never experienced before. Bodie was an expert on every part of the body and Doyle was too stupefied to even contemplate how he got to be such an expert. Finally, after being treated to a mouth treatment that extended all the way from head to toe, his body erupted in a cataclysmic orgasm that overwhelmed him. When he finally recovered from the first le petit mort that he could ever remember having, he fought back to the surface of reality. He was sheltered in Bodie’s arms, sticky and fatigued but also unbearably ecstatic. When he could recover his speech, he whispered into Bodie’s body, “You definitely aren’t just a piece of coal, my friend, you’re a diamond in the rough.”
Bodie smirked although Doyle couldn’t see it. “You weren’t too bad yourself, but what I want to know is how come you didn’t tell me how you felt before now?”
“I was scared.”
“Scared of me?”
“Not exactly. I was scared that it would change our partnership if I told you the truth. I wonder how Father Christmas knew how I felt?”
“He didn’t.”
“Whatta ya mean, he didn’t?”
“Are you deaf or what? He didn’t know how you felt, but he did know how I felt.”
Doyle frowned, looking extremely confused. “Huh?”
“I’ve written him a letter every year for the last eight years, telling him how I felt about you, and asking him to put you under my Christmas tree as my pressie, but it never happened until this year.”
“But you don’t even celebrate Christmas!”
“Well, would you, if you never got what you wanted?”
“Guess not; how come this year was different?”
“I sent the Man in Red a different letter this year, and it worked.”
Doyle leaned over and kissed Bodie’s nearest nipple. Reaching for the tantalizing penis that lay quietly on Bodie’s groin, Doyle took it solidly in hand and began to caress it in the same manner that he liked himself. Immediately, he got a reaction from both the organ and its owner. Whispering seductively, Doyle asked, “What was in your letter this time?”
“If you keep doin’ what you’re doin’ now, I won’t be able to tell you.”
“Oh, come now, you’re SAS, Army, and CI5, you’re tougher than that aren’t you?”
Bodie began to wiggle as Doyle kept up the pleasurable torture, “Stop it, Doyle or you won’t get any more of your pressie.”
Quickly, Doyle relaxed the pressure of his hand on Bodie’s manhood, but kept the cock very close as a threat that more torture was to come if Bodie didn’t answer. Within seconds, Bodie broke and burst forth with, “I told him that if he didn’t do something this year; I would stop asking for you as me pressie and live celibate.”
Doyle’s face went five shades of purple as he broke out laughing, “YOU go celibate!!! That’s a good one. I don’t think you could survive for a week without getting up close with some bird.”
Suddenly, Bodie drew away from Doyle and moved to the other side of the bed. The look on his face clearly showed the depth of pain he was suffering. Doyle could have kicked himself as he realized that he had hurt his friend once again. It hadn’t taken very long in their relationship for Doyle to figure out that he had the power to hurt Bodie, nevertheless, his mouth never seemed to learn that lesson.
“Gee, I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that since I’ve known you, you’ve had a new bird practically every week, and some of them you’ve even dumped off onto me.”
“Is that all you’ve noticed about me - - the birds?”
Doyle began to think back, especially over the last few years. “Don’t tell me you’ve been shagging guys as well?”
“Would it make a difference to you?”
Doyle felt his temper rise at the implication in the question, but now that he thought about it, hell yes it would make a difference and that is exactly what Doyle roared out at his hostile partner. “Hell yes, I wouldn’t like it a bit!!!”
“Why?”
Doyle stood there stunned as he honestly tried to tell Bodie of his feelings. “I . . . I don’t know really. I guess I’ve always assumed that you would never get really serious about any woman, but you might about some guy, and if you did, it would have to really mean somethin’ to you for you to risk your job and your security clearance.”
“Well, considering what I just did with you, how fearful do you think I am?”
“You mean, you’re serious about me? This isn’t just a one night Christmas stand?”
“I might ask the same thing of you. Why did you ask Father Christmas for me to be here now? After all we’ve been partners for over eight years; did you just fall for me or what?”
“Nollaig Shona Dhuit.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was shelving books and lugging around a heavy dictionary with foreign phrases in it while I was working at the library and when I dropped it that phrase was on the open page. I knew what it meant right away, and I thought . . . well, I thought it was an omen. We never celebrate Christmas together, but then you were sent to Ireland and I missed you so much and I felt that something bad might happen and I would never get the chance to tell you how much I love you. So when Father Christmas showed up, I asked him to send my best friend to me so we could be together. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I’d say that was quite a bit. I had told Father Christmas a long time ago how I felt about you, but like most things I asked for, you never came to me even though I would write pages and pages about you. I figured it was an omen too - - that you and I would never get together.”
“I wonder what was different this year.”
“I’m not going to wonder; I’m just going to be glad that the gentleman finally saw the light. You’re the best pressie I ever got and I’d like to keep you, if that’s okay?”
Bodie’s shyness and uncertainty touched Doyle’s heart as he realized that even though Doyle had told Bodie that he loved him that the ex-merc still couldn’t believe it. “Tell you what, mate? How about I make us some food, change the bedclothes and then we can start Act II of what will become the longest running affair in CI5 history.”
After both men devoured the food that Doyle had been able to scrounge up, the two men got in Doyle’s bed and sat very close to each other but far enough that they could see and read each other’s faces.
“Did you mean It, Bodie? Do you really want us to be together from now on?”
“I am the soul of veracity, and you are definitely what I want. Any more comments?”
Shyly Doyle looked at his bed partner and then cleared his throat as if to give himself time to put his thoughts in order. “I want to be with you, but I am going to insist on some rules. Okay?”
Bodie merely nodded and waited for Doyle to announce his rules.
“I will not share you with anyone, no bird or male, or any ring-tailed baboon that might be attracted to you. If you don’t like that, then we’ll call it quits right now.”
“It’s fine with me, but if that new recruit gives you one more lascivious leer or tries to grope you when you are in the gym, I promise you, I will deck him.”
Doyle grinned as he imagined his lover decking a 22 year old recruit who did have a tendency to be quite friendly with Doyle’s anatomy. “You mean you are the only one who grabs my bum when we go up and down stairs?”
“You got it. You better make it VERY CLEAR to him that you are off-limits.”
“Yes, sir. Now I have a few more rules. Two, no more going off on an undercover op without me to back you up.”
“You know that Cowley does all the assignments, but I think I can bring him around to seeing the . . . uh . . . advantages of such a suggestion.”
“Great.” Doyle took the time to kiss Bodie’s nose and then his face turned extremely serious. “Finally, no more secrets from each other. There is nothing we can’t share, do you understand?”
“Not so sure about that one, Angelfish. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, and I’m not so sure that I want you to know about some of them.”
Doyle moved a few inches back from where he had been; his heart felt heavy and his mind filled with turmoil as he realized that Bodie would never totally give up all of his secrets, not even to a lover.
“All right, we’ll work on that. Every secret I give you; you have to return one, but I guess we’ll both have to accept that we need to keep secrets from each other --at least until we can work out something.”
“That’s great mate, now how about us carrying out mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for a while?”
“How nice that you are insatiable. What are you going to do when we’re on an op and can’t touch each other?”
“Don’t you worry; I’ll figure something out.”
“So, you can keep your hands off this body when it’s necessary, can you?”
“Of course, you see before you a man made of steel with an iron will and absolute fortitude when he makes a decision.”
“I see. A real man of steel, sort of like Superman, are you?”
“You’ve got it me curly-haired friend. I can’t be turned away when I don’t want to be.”
“Hmmmm!” With that one reaction, Doyle immediately got up and began to prowl around the bedroom. The fact that he was totally naked and an alpha male who was in the prime of life didn’t escape Bodie. As Doyle canted his hips seductively, his pubic hair seemed to jut forward, luring Bodie to put his mouth where his eyes were. Doyle knew his man very well and began to caress his chest hair and that thin line of hair that travelled down below his navel. As he wandered around the bed, close enough for Bodie to see but not touch, the ex-merc was on the cusp of mayhem on that alluring body. His unique Doyle essence permeated the room as Bodie could not take his eyes off the luscious male, and when Doyle took his own cock in hand and began to caress himself, Bodie felt himself losing all self-control. Bodie had never really felt the need to masturbate since he had had many women who were quite willing to do it for him, but when Doyle began his not-so-subtle technique Bodie was nearly lost. He began to drool and his only conversation consisted of inane gasps and groans that he could not hold back.
Bodie found himself barely breathing, but he could stand it no longer when Doyle turned his glorious, naked bum towards him, leaning over just enough for Bodie to get a real view. Immediately, Bodie made a grab for the satyr who was luring him into a state of sin and degradation. Bodie barely knew his own name, but he definitely knew that he wanted to participate in anything the siren would throw at him.
As the two men came up for a breath of air after a monumental kiss, Doyle whispered In Bodie’s ear, “You certainly are a man of steel, but not exactly the way I expected. I’m not sure I will be safe with you sans chaperone.”
“You’re always safe with me, sunshine.”
“Are you kidding? Look at that licentious, lascivious gleam in those deep blue eyes. You want to have your wicked way with me, I can tell.”
“Well, we better do it soon before I turn back into my usual modest but handsome self. After all, anyone who knows me knows that I never act like a ravening beast, unless, of course, I am enticed and provoked.”
“I thought you were my pressie for all night? What’s this about your modest self? I think that’s one of them oxymoron that you hear about.”
“You callin’ me a moron?”
“No, you idiot. I just find it very hard to put the concept of modesty and you together, but since it’s Christmas I guess anything can happen. After all, didn’t Father Christmas send you to me? What’d you tell him about me in your letters?”
“I didn’t. I just told him that I loved the bestest mate a man could have, and I would really like to be stuck with him for the rest of my life, and could he make it happen this Christmas.”
Doyle moved back a little away from his partner to stare at him intently then Doyle cleared his throat and said, “Well that was hardly a virtuoso declaration of love, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Now, what’s the matter? I thought it was pretty good. After all, I told him I loved my mate and I wanted to be with him this Christmas.”
“Yeah, but what about this ‘stuck with him’ bit. Sounds like to me, you didn’t exactly recognize how lucky you are to get me.”
Bodie’s blue eyes began twinkle as he began to lick the cupid’s bow lips that had taunted him ever since their partnership had begun. “I am very lucky to get you, very lucky, but sometimes that temper of yours gets to be pretty sticky so I want you to know that no matter what - - good times and bad, I want to be stuck with you.”
Doyle smiled as he began to play with Bodie’s ear, “What a silver tongue you have, mate. I know something else that gets us stuck together so how about I clean us up and then we’ll make an effort at Round 2?”
“Now that sounds perfect. I promise I’ll lose 426 out of 518 falls.” Stretching back on the bed, his manhood demonstrating his readiness for more action, Bodie smiled and said, “This is absolutely the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
“How about we make this the first of many years of best Christmases, sunshine. Nollaig Shona Dhuit, Bodie, and many, many more.”
The End
,
.
Author: lbc
Category and Rating: slash
Word Count: 7895
Notes: I hope I didn't do too much wrong in the Irish portion of the story. Anyway, Merry Christmas in every language.
The extremely large book that Doyle was trying to balance felt like it weighed more than Doyle’s ten stone, but he was on an undercover assignment for Cowley as usual and it would not do to break his cover by dropping the enormous book and waking all the sleepers in the various areas of the library.
Doyle couldn’t figure out why he had been assigned to this place. After all, it could scarcely be a den of iniquity, could it? Was there undercover smuggling of books or illegal ink being used in these corridors of knowledge and learning? -- Nah! That was even more ridiculous than it sounded. That moron Bodie had suggested that Cowley had given him this extremely important assignment because some unknown terrorist organization had planted bombs in each of the volumes and that they were all set to go off at a designated time.
If that was so, then why hadn’t he found any bombs in the approximately 100 books he had already shelved? It was more likely that the heavy book that he was carrying was designed to wipe out some poor, innocent librarian or patron when they attempted to pick it up and read from its words of wisdom.
Suddenly, the weighty volume began to slip from its perilous perch in his arms. As it rapidly proved Sir Isaac’s theory correct, the massive book sheathed in brown leather slid totally out of Doyle’s control and hit the ground with what Doyle would later claim set off a seismic disturbance of over 8.0.
The noise reverberated around the hallowed halls as numerous eyebrows shot up and, at least, five old geezers, who had been using the various hidden spots in the massive building to rest their eyes and other parts of their bodies, were roused from their slumber.
Ray Doyle was not a prolific speaker of languages, but he was well-versed in profanity and now he made use of nearly all of this vocabulary as he attempted to weight-lift the huge tome. He began to wonder if he would need a crane when he finally was able to turn over the book so that he could read the open and somewhat disheveled pages. Doyle was no linguist, but he quickly noticed three words which seemed to stand out, NOLLAIG SHONA DHUIT. Doyle’s Irish background permitted him to be able to read these words - - Merry Christmas.
Ray Doyle stood up so fast that he could hear his backbone crack. His astonishment had shaken him totally. He now realized that the heavy tome was a dictionary of sorts and various phrases were indexed in its mighty interior. Of the thousand or more pages lurking before him, how come the one phrase and page blasting away at his green orbs were the words, Merry Christmas and in Irish no less?
Doyle would have continued to have pondered this imponderable if MISS Abigail Ponsonby had not wandered over to stare intently at the utter idiot who had just dropped one of their valuable reference books. Abigail Ponsonby, she of the horn-rimmed glasses who were the twins of Cowley’s, had a thin, bony and extremely tall body which stared DOWN at Doyle making him feel even shorter than he was.
“Mr. Doyle, what are you doing? If you cannot perform the SIMPLE tasks that I give you; then perhaps you should be transferred to the CHILDREN’S reference section. You might be able to lift those volumes with more pro-fie-cien=cy." Her careful pronunciation of the word made Doyle’s skin crawl. He badly wanted to respond that she could put her volumes in a certain place, but Cowley would make sure that he would not get his next rise until he was a very old man of 95.
“Sorry, MISS Ponsonby, it was an accident. (Doyle had made the mistake of calling her Mrs. Ponsonby and paid the price for that faux pas by being assigned to the chain gang of returning books to shelves.) MISS Ponsonby’s reaction had dropped the temperature of the entire library so low that Doyle swore he could see his breath. Since that time he had been on Ponsonby’s list of least favourite people. If Cowley had not intervened by contacting Ponsonby’s superiors, Doyle would have been cleaning the numerous loos in the building instead of dropping expensive books.
“An accident, Mr. Doyle?”
“Yes, ma’am, I mean, MISS Ponsonby. Didn’t you feel the building shaking just before I dropped the dictionary? Must have been an earthquake?”
Abigail Ponsonby’s THICK eyebrows shot up at those words. “AN EARTHQUAKE? What are you talking about, Mr. Doyle? Have you been drinking, AGAIN?”
“No, MISS Ponsonby, I never drink when I work on the public’s time.”
Giving Doyle a disbelieving look, Ponsonby leaned over and easily hefted the large volume into her arms and walked off with the book, placing it in its correct place on the special table. She then returned to stand in front of Doyle saying, “Come with me, Mr. Doyle, apparently this work is too much for you. I have something else for you to do.”
Walking off with straight back and a dignified posture, Abigail Ponsonby headed off with a slouch backed Doyle following her, knowing that it was the Twilight Zone better known as the bogs which were in his future.
Two hours later with his heavy gloves and apron covering his scrawny body, Doyle was the epitome of Daisy, Miss Dishpan hands of 1984. He had been scrubbing porcelain for almost two hours and his back was killing him. Even his curls were drooping from the heavy chemicals being introduced into the air. Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind him. Groaning, Doyle tried to stand up but his spine creaked and groaned so badly that he remained bent over until the well-known voice of one, W.A.P. Bodie was heard saying, “Come on, Doyle, me old grandmum could do better than that and she’s been dead for five years. If Cowley hears about this, you’ll have a whole new job waiting for you.”
Doyle ground his teeth as he looked at the floor. When he finally was able to stand up, his green eyes were flaming as his gritted teeth issued forth the munificent declaration, “I’ll kill you, Bodie, if you tell anybody else about this.”
“Now, now, Sunshine, would I do that? After all, you are The Cow’s finest and every lad in CI5 will be so demoralized if they find out that you’ve taken a new job as a loo-scrubber.”
Continuing to hold in his temper, Doyle asked in a deadly whisper, “WHAT are you doing here, soon-to-be-strung-up big mouth?”
“Oh, I just came to tell you that the op has been called off. Cowley says that there was a mistake in information and that this place isn’t the site for the transfer of any secrets.”
Doyle’s mouth dropped open as he realized what he had gone through for nothing. Throwing his, gloves, apron, and bucket at the grinning 3.7, Doyle walked out of the loo with a grin on his face, the memory of the recent scream from the Bodie lips very pleasant indeed.
It was all Doyle could do to not deliberately seek out the less than appetizing MISS Ponsonby and throw his cleaning equipment in her face, but he made quickly for the egress, hoping to catch up with his partner but to no avail. Bodie was already gone or, at least, couldn’t be found. Feeling that he was justified a bit of a clean up after enduring the bucket brigade, Doyle headed for his flat to change clothes and have a bit of a wash up.
By the time that he got to CI5, he was expecting Cowley to have already put out a search party looking for his wayward agent, but surprisingly Cowley wasn’t available as Betty so pertly told him. The only thing she would mention was that Murphy and Bodie had spent the last half hour with the Controller and then hurriedly rushed out without informing her of their destination.
“Why don’t you go wait for Mr. Cowley in the restroom, 4.5. He did say that he wanted to see you BUT that was about a half hour ago and since HE’S very busy, he obviously didn’t have time to wait around for you.”
Doyle stared at the young woman, comparing her mentally to MISS ABIGAIL PONSONBY, and deciding they must have been fellow predators in a previous life. Nodding but remaining silent, Doyle headed off towards the restroom, thinking about going to the loo when the thought of his recent adventures in the PORCELAIN KINGDOM made him change his mind. He decided to hunt up some tea and then relax in the restroom until Cowley deigned to call him forth for further daring do.
Entering the restroom, he found a scene that reminded him a great deal of his recent activities since the piles of cigar and cigar ash that Anson had spread far and wide across the room was faintly reminiscent of the clutter scattered around the various loos in the library. No one could dispute that Anson looked a great deal like some discarded relic himself, but he was just the man that Doyle wanted to talk to, if not see.
“Anson, what happened in here? It looks like your cigars started a revolt against you and they lost.”
“Nah, nothing like that. That idiot McCabe said he was tired of my unsanitary habits and took all my cigars and stuff and spread ‘em around the room. Talk about an intolerant sod. Do I complain about how he leaves his tea containers all over the place? No!”
“I feel for you; I really do, but I need to ask you a question.”
“Since when do you come to me for answers? Usually, you and that denizen from the jungle know-it-all keep everything within your own periphery of knowledge.”
“Anson, I am absolutely amazed that you know words like that. You aren’t the ignoramus that everybody says you are, but never mind, I want to know where your partner is.”
“You mean, Murphy?”
Feeling like he was sinking in some bog in the Yorkshire Moors, Doyle managed to hold back his legendary temper, and answered with relative calm, “Yeah, he’s the only partner you’ve got, isn’t he?”
“Not anymore. He and Bodie have headed out for the Emerald Isle on some super, secret assignment that Cowley gave them. Murphy wouldn’t tell me anymore than that, so you see Mr. Smarty, I do have other partners besides Murphy.”
Doyle could hear the sarcasm in Anson’s voice but it scarcely registered with him as he realized that Bodie had left without telling him he was going. Here it was less than a week to Christmas and his partner had abandoned him. It was true that, as usual, they hadn’t planned anything, not even sharing pressies, but it was always nice to have the ex-merc around. They didn’t usually have the holiday free, but sometimes they found the time to have a drink or a get together of sorts. Bodie had been acting strangely though these past few weeks and now he had gone and run out on him. If Doyle’s temper had been bad before, it was now reaching a stage of monumental proportions.
Two hours later, Doyle was on his way to his flat - - he had been suspended for one week. MISS Ponsonby had reported him for not using proper protocol to remove himself from the library premises and as a result, Cowley had relieved him of duties (without pay) for one week. Since this was the week before Christmas, the lack of pay really put a crimp in his lifestyle, especially since Bodie would not be around to be the monetary fount that he often was. The mobile bank from Liverpool had usually been available for a loan here or there, but now it had moved all the way to Ireland.
As Doyle entered his flat, he looked around and saw nothing to remind him of the coming Advent season. “GOOOOD!” he screamed in his own mind. Tearing off his clothes, he threw himself on his bed, telling his weary body that he deserved a long winter’s nap.
It seemed strange to be home for the next couple of days. Without a salary, Doyle was less inclined to go out, and he didn’t even have that jolly old elf, Murphy to sponge off of so he scrounged around his flat and found a few things to keep him going. Too bad Father Christmas wouldn’t be dropping around because he sure could use some goodies. Oh well, without Bodie here, it didn’t make much difference.
Without money, he was reluctant to spend the few shillings he had left on washing clothes so that put a real crimp in his plans for the holiday. No bird would want to dally with a less than cleanly dressed Doyle. Bodie wouldn’t have cared, but the fairer sex was mighty uppity about things like that.
It was amazing how often he thought of the ex-merc during his time of suspension. He had already figured out what Bodie meant to him, but he also knew that the handsome lad was spoken for by at least half the birds of Greater London so a certain Ray Doyle would rank very low on the priority list.
Not having money was good, however, for his campaign to stay in shape. Miles of jogging took the place of having his wicked way with the ladies or visiting the pubs and spending his money on getting plastered. Doyle kept telling himself that he was doing a free job for that miser, George Cowley, by keeping his ever vigilant green eyes peeled for troublemakers as he ran the streets of various places in the city. He kept counting his money but as the days wound down to Christmas Eve, he found that he had lost his taste for going out and having one fling. He had lost all desire to do anything special by the time Murphy called late in the afternoon of Christmas Eve.
When the phone rang, Doyle was in an especially grumpy mood and showed it in his response, “Doyle’s mausoleum and abandoned waifs home.”
For a moment there was silence, then Murphy’s well-known voice could be heard saying, “Now, now 4.5, is that any way for a proper agent of CI5 to respond on his phone?”
“It is when he’s been suspended by George Cowley just for telling him what he could do, if it were possible, with MISS Abigail Ponsonby.”
Hearing a slight laugh, Doyle’s temper shot up several degrees. “Yeah, even over here, we heard about your explosion. You really shouldn’t say those things to The Cow; you know how easily his feelings are hurt.”
“His feelings can do the other thing. How’d you hear about my little conversation with the Cow all the way over in Ireland?”
“When the explosion hit, we could hear it easily. My informant said that it was louder than Krakatoa in 1883.”
“What informant was that?”
“I cannot betray a fellow agent, but I might be wrong, it was very hard to understand him when he has a cigar stuffed in his face. Maybe it was Vesuvius or Etna or one of those European volcanoes instead.”
“I should have known it was Anson. He’s such a fount of information. I am surprised, however, that you called him. You two are becoming more and more like Eng and Chang, although that image is really revolting, especially with Anson’s hygiene habits.”
“Ha, ha, Doyle. If anybody is a Siamese twin, it definitely isn’t me and Anson, is it now?”
“Now what would you mean by that, I’m wondering?”
“Well, why do you think I’m calling when I could be spreading my Irish charm among the colleens over here? Bodie insisted I call you to let you know that our op isn’t quite done and so not to expect us for a few more days.”
Although Doyle did not let it be heard in his voice, his heart dropped to the floor. He had been counting on seeing Bodie for a few minutes before he went out on his orgy of Yuletide celebrating. Breathing deeply, Doyle replied, “Well, it was nice of you to deny the innocent young ladies of your company by calling me. Thanks, I’d best let you go. Have a happy whatever. You’re sure everything is okay with the op though, aren’t you?”
“Of course, Nanny Doyle, your boy is just taking longer than Cowley planned to get the bad guys. See you when we get back.”
With a click there was silence which permeated the flat for several minutes as Doyle contemplated several more days without the one person that he wanted to be with more than anyone. Doyle’s thoughts were scarcely printable as he cursed the Scouser, who had truly ruined his holiday. He had known, just known, that something was wrong when he had read those three words, Nollaig Shona Dhuit, blazing before his eyes earlier.
Doyle wasn’t a superstitious man, but it was like an omen when he had seen Merry Christmas pop up in that large volume and in Irish as well. Of course, Bodie wasn’t in Ireland when he had read the words. He was still in this country, but it hadn’t felt right that he should be reading those words and then a few hours later, Bodie and Murph were on their way to the Emerald Isle. Of course, it meant bad luck. Bodie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas, was he?
Doyle’s depression sank further and further into an abyss. The bottles of liquor that Doyle had put in for the coming celebration grew more and more attractive, but his vitality for celebrating and drinking had quickly drained away as soon as he had heard that Bodie would not be home.
Doyle felt like throttling Cowley for sending him to the library to mind the Loo Brigade while Bodie and Murph risked life and limb on a mission in Ireland. There was definitely no justice in the world and Father Christmas had done a definite skedaddle on this one.
Doyle’s energy was so low that he decided to make an early night of it. If it got around CI5 that 4.5 was going to bed before 22 00 on Christmas, the agents would never let him live it down. He would be made the butt of every joke in the entire place for at least a week before some other poor soul got to be their next victim. Doyle could hear it now, POOR DOYLE, HE’S GOT SO DECREPIT THAT HE CAN’T EVEN SCARE UP A DATE FOR CHRISTMAS EVE!!!
Tearing off his hastily donned robe, Doyle, once again, threw himself on the bed and covered his tense body with a duvet he kept on the bed, but sleep was not readily available. First, he was too hot; then he was too cold; then every little noise in his flat, grated on his nerves. Doyle couldn’t figure out why he was so restless. Certainly it wasn’t like it had been when he was younger. Even though he and his mum were desperately poor, she had made every effort to do something special for Christmas. Christmas Eve night was a time of lying in bed and dreaming of what could be waiting for him in the next few hours. Unfortunately, those years lasted all too little because when his mum died, he left home and really never had another Christmas celebration or even pressies to contemplate under a tree. Bodie didn’t believe in Christmas so they hadn’t exchanged gifts, but they had spent a bit of time together during the season and that had been enough. His family was wrapped up in those moments with Bodie.
Now, what did he have? The headache pounding behind his eyes told him what he had - - NOTHING but pain. Maybe if he got up and had one drink, he could rest, but what was he resting for? There was no one to be with so why not just lay here, tossing and turning?
Realizing that he needed to go to the loo, Doyle threw back the covers and started to get up when he heard a huge thump which was so forceful that it seemed to shake the flat. At first, Doyle thought it was a bomb going off, thanks to the IRA, but then he noticed a small light, peeking through his bedroom door from some place that looked remarkably like his own lounge. Had he forgot to shut off his lights when he had come to bed? Then, he heard another thump, not as loud as the first one, but it was certainly distinguished by a voice, mumbling in some foreign language. Maybe he was being robbed? If so, the thief was certainly making a hash of it. Targeting a CI5 agent’s abode was definitely not too smart. Now where was his gun?
Doyle realized that his gun was resting in its usual secure spot and that was in the lounge. Great protection that was, wasn’t it? Looking around, Doyle spotted the cricket bat that Bodie had given him. The nut had chased down the bat that he had used to almost get his century before being called out on an assignment. Doyle still remembered with fondness, watching his handsome partner change from his whites into his street clothes in the back seat of their speeding car. Doyle never admitted to Bodie that he had got some pretty good views of the uncovered Bodie body thanks to the rearview mirror.
Bodie was always so modest about showing that delicious body that it had been a real treat to get a view. Now that body was across the sea in a life threatening situation without Doyle as his backup.
Another small noise brought Doyle back to the reality of the moment. The cricket bat wasn’t much, but he was a trained CI5 agent, he ought to be able to take on one very noisy burglar, shouldn’t he?
Creeping carefully from the bedroom down the corridor, Doyle continued to hear off and on what sounded remarkably like a language he should know, just couldn’t recall. As he approached his final destination, Doyle noticed that the lounge was no longer the dingy, dark, lackluster room that it had been. Now, there was a medium size Christmas tree with decorations, standing in the corner of the room with lights that illuminated the entire room. The room now seemed to be aglow with a cheerful elegance that it had seldom seen. Standing near the tree was a tall figure with his back towards Doyle, but the costume of the figure looked remarkably like - - Father Christmas!!
The effect of the large person, standing there in his luxurious red robes with white fur and a sort of droopy hat was almost surreal. Doyle wiped his eyes several times as he tried to tell himself that he was dreaming or in an alcoholic stupour except that he hadn’t been drinking. He was about ready to creep over and use the bat effectively against the housebreaker when the tall man turned around and stared straight into Doyle’s astonished face. Father Christmas had the deepest, blue eyes that Doyle had ever seen except on one other person, a person he knew and loved to the depths of his being.
A slightly muffled voice issued from the obviously false-bearded face, “Ah, you have awakened. Have you been a good boy this year?”
Doyle decided to play along because his heart felt lighter than it had for a long time. “No, not very.”
“That is too bad. I have already given out many lumps of coal to other individuals and I am running low. Do you know someone named Anson? He got a large harvest of my coal.”
Doyle smiled and said sweetly, “He’s not so bad, but I think coal would certainly smoke better than those cigars of his.”
“I see you do know the gentleman. Why have you not celebrated this day by decorating your abode? You know that is the tradition?”
Doyle took a step back so that he could get a better look at “Father Christmas”. “That’s true, but I haven’t felt much like celebrating or honouring the season.”
“Why is that, Mr. Doyle?”
“Because I thought I wouldn’t get what I wanted for Christmas anyway. I know I’m lucky to have a job and my health, but when you get suspended and get just the opposite of what you want, well it didn’t seem like there was much to celebrate.”
Father Christmas stood looking at the smaller figure for several minutes before he asked, “And just what was it that you wanted for Christmas but did not get?”
Now it was Doyle’s turn to hesitate because to speak might destroy the magic of the moment, but Doyle quickly decided that now seemed to be the time for a miracle so he said quietly, “I wanted to be with my best friend this special day, but, you see, he’s across the sea many miles away.”
“Indeed, is there a reason you wish to be with him especially?”
“I want to be with him because he is my life, and it’s time I told him so.”
The silence in the flat seemed to overwhelm the place. Father Christmas seemed speechless, and Doyle was afraid to say anymore because he had hidden his feelings deep inside him for several years, and to let all of his thoughts out now might truly destroy the precious gift of his partner’s presence.
Finally, Father Christmas spoke, “I think you are wrong. I think you deserve a gift this Christmas. It might not be what you want most, but who am I to judge? You have failed to leave me mince pies and brandy, as you should, so go quickly and find these gifts of thoughtfulness and I will deliver what you truly deserve.”
Doyle hesitated; he was afraid to leave for fear that Father Christmas would disappear, but finally he nodded, turning to go to the kitchen to find some sort of goodies since he was sure that he did have any mince pies or even wine, let alone brandy. Although Doyle quickly returned to the lounge with a miserable swiss roll and some lager, he found it deserted. His heart plunged in his chest as he told himself that it had all been a dream, but the tiny tree was still there. A crash in the bedroom followed by something that sounded remarkably like Scouse issued forth and spread across the entire flat. Rushing into the bedroom with his offerings, Doyle stopped when he saw the backside of a totally naked ex-merc, wrestling with a cricket bat that had been hastily abandoned as Doyle had rushed to the kitchen.
Turning around, Bodie demanded to know why Doyle had put a cricket bat in his bed. “Are you nuts, you might have wiped out the family jewels, you know?”
Smiling with love bursting forth from his entire body, Doyle smiled and said, “Sorry, I thought I would have to defend myself from a burglar, and I hadn’t planned on the burglar stealing into my bed.”
“Well, I was sent here as your Christmas pressie (motioning to the big red bow around his neck) and this is the reception I get.”
“Who sent you to me?”
Bodie looked at his partner like he was an ignoramus and said quite vocally, “Duh! Who do you think, Father Christmas?”
“Oh, I thought I was going to get coal from him. YOU don’t look much like a lump of the black stuff, do you?”
Bodie suddenly got a threatening gleam in his eyes as he whispered, “Come over here and say that, Doyle.”
Doyle took a few steps then stopped and said, “If you’re supposed to be my pressie, then I have the right to see all of you. Remove that cover and let me get a real look at you. After all, I’ve only seen you without any clothes on during those few showers we’ve taken together.”
“Well, this body is not for everybody to see. Only special people get to see this hunk of gorgeous.”
“Hmmmm!” Doyle wheezed as he almost choked from snorting loudly. “There must be half the women in London and elsewhere who are the special ones then, if that’s true.”
Bodie’s face turned red as he whispered, “Not that many, ‘sides they aren’t who’s special. Only one person means anything.”
Doyle’s heart seemed to flip-flop, “And who would that be?”
“Probably the most blind man in the kingdom. “ Bodie’s well-loved voice sounded wistful and faintly insecure as he continued. “Honestly, after all these years, I would have thought it would have been evident. Even Murph has figured it out.”
“Murph?”
Bodie’s left eyebrow shot up into the air as he heard the doubt and confusion in Doyle’s question. “Yeah, why do you think the Smurph was willing to make that phone call, telling you that we wouldn’t be able to get home for Christmas?”
“Whatta ya mean? Did you blackmail him or something?”
“Nah, you idiot, Murph is a born romantic and I told him that absence makes the heart grow fonder and he was all for that. Of course, it also helped that I paid him back the £10 that I’ve owed him since our last op together.”
“You mean . . . you mean you weren’t in Ireland when he called?”
“Nah, the whole thing went bust and we had been back since the day before. Boy was Cowley wrong about that information. So Murph called you to throw you off the track. We didn’t expect you to be suspended though. It’s a good thing that Father Christmas can do just about anything, isn’t it?”
Doyle smiled slightly and then said sarcastically, “Yeah, except be quiet when he’s sneaking into a fellow’s flat. Had he stopped by the local Off License and started the celebration early?”
Bodie’s blue eyes began to sparkle, his face turning a deep red as he burst out with, “How dare you impugn the integrity of Father Christmas! Perhaps, he had a bit of the wassail, but he never drinks the hard stuff when he’s out on a mission.”
“I apologize for denigrating the old fellow’s habits, but I do think it strange that he’s never shown up before, at my place. What made him show up tonight?”
“He heard that you had got into a rumble with Cowley and that the Cow was going send you a shipment of coal and so he wanted to give you something, A LOT BETTER THAN COAL.”
“And what would that be, pray tell?”
Looking faintly huffy, Bodie coldly looked at Doyle in the gloom of the bedroom and said, “ME, of course, you moronic sod!”
“But, I thought you said something better than coal, didn’t you?”
“Well!” When Bodie wanted to, he could do upper class elite better than anybody and that one word proved his absolute mastery in elitism. Bodie started to get out of bed, but quickly realized that he wasn’t dressed, his deeply ingrained modesty taking over. Trying to cover up both his annoyance and his desire to murder Doyle, Bodie realized why he was there so he laid back in the bed, spreading his legs and saying in the most seductive voice he could, “Come over here, big boy and I’ll show you just how good I can be. You won’t ever mix me up with a piece of coal ever again. In fact, you’ll discover that I’m a pearl beyond price.”
“That’s what I like about you, Bodie – your modesty, but I will give you a chance. After all, I did say that I wanted my best friend with me this Christmas. So I guess you’re it.”
Rapidly removing his clothes, Doyle launched himself onto the bed with such force that he just barely missed the Bodie family jewels once again.
“Watch it mate, the Cow won’t be happy if I’m laid up in hospital for a grievous bodily injury caused by a flying, curly-haired Irish lad.”
“Well, I won’t be too happy either since I’ve been promised a great pressie from the Old Fella.”
“I’ll show you how great I can be.”
For the next hour or so, Doyle’s body was treated to ecstasy which turned to exhaustion after being treated to love making like he had never experienced before. Bodie was an expert on every part of the body and Doyle was too stupefied to even contemplate how he got to be such an expert. Finally, after being treated to a mouth treatment that extended all the way from head to toe, his body erupted in a cataclysmic orgasm that overwhelmed him. When he finally recovered from the first le petit mort that he could ever remember having, he fought back to the surface of reality. He was sheltered in Bodie’s arms, sticky and fatigued but also unbearably ecstatic. When he could recover his speech, he whispered into Bodie’s body, “You definitely aren’t just a piece of coal, my friend, you’re a diamond in the rough.”
Bodie smirked although Doyle couldn’t see it. “You weren’t too bad yourself, but what I want to know is how come you didn’t tell me how you felt before now?”
“I was scared.”
“Scared of me?”
“Not exactly. I was scared that it would change our partnership if I told you the truth. I wonder how Father Christmas knew how I felt?”
“He didn’t.”
“Whatta ya mean, he didn’t?”
“Are you deaf or what? He didn’t know how you felt, but he did know how I felt.”
Doyle frowned, looking extremely confused. “Huh?”
“I’ve written him a letter every year for the last eight years, telling him how I felt about you, and asking him to put you under my Christmas tree as my pressie, but it never happened until this year.”
“But you don’t even celebrate Christmas!”
“Well, would you, if you never got what you wanted?”
“Guess not; how come this year was different?”
“I sent the Man in Red a different letter this year, and it worked.”
Doyle leaned over and kissed Bodie’s nearest nipple. Reaching for the tantalizing penis that lay quietly on Bodie’s groin, Doyle took it solidly in hand and began to caress it in the same manner that he liked himself. Immediately, he got a reaction from both the organ and its owner. Whispering seductively, Doyle asked, “What was in your letter this time?”
“If you keep doin’ what you’re doin’ now, I won’t be able to tell you.”
“Oh, come now, you’re SAS, Army, and CI5, you’re tougher than that aren’t you?”
Bodie began to wiggle as Doyle kept up the pleasurable torture, “Stop it, Doyle or you won’t get any more of your pressie.”
Quickly, Doyle relaxed the pressure of his hand on Bodie’s manhood, but kept the cock very close as a threat that more torture was to come if Bodie didn’t answer. Within seconds, Bodie broke and burst forth with, “I told him that if he didn’t do something this year; I would stop asking for you as me pressie and live celibate.”
Doyle’s face went five shades of purple as he broke out laughing, “YOU go celibate!!! That’s a good one. I don’t think you could survive for a week without getting up close with some bird.”
Suddenly, Bodie drew away from Doyle and moved to the other side of the bed. The look on his face clearly showed the depth of pain he was suffering. Doyle could have kicked himself as he realized that he had hurt his friend once again. It hadn’t taken very long in their relationship for Doyle to figure out that he had the power to hurt Bodie, nevertheless, his mouth never seemed to learn that lesson.
“Gee, I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that since I’ve known you, you’ve had a new bird practically every week, and some of them you’ve even dumped off onto me.”
“Is that all you’ve noticed about me - - the birds?”
Doyle began to think back, especially over the last few years. “Don’t tell me you’ve been shagging guys as well?”
“Would it make a difference to you?”
Doyle felt his temper rise at the implication in the question, but now that he thought about it, hell yes it would make a difference and that is exactly what Doyle roared out at his hostile partner. “Hell yes, I wouldn’t like it a bit!!!”
“Why?”
Doyle stood there stunned as he honestly tried to tell Bodie of his feelings. “I . . . I don’t know really. I guess I’ve always assumed that you would never get really serious about any woman, but you might about some guy, and if you did, it would have to really mean somethin’ to you for you to risk your job and your security clearance.”
“Well, considering what I just did with you, how fearful do you think I am?”
“You mean, you’re serious about me? This isn’t just a one night Christmas stand?”
“I might ask the same thing of you. Why did you ask Father Christmas for me to be here now? After all we’ve been partners for over eight years; did you just fall for me or what?”
“Nollaig Shona Dhuit.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was shelving books and lugging around a heavy dictionary with foreign phrases in it while I was working at the library and when I dropped it that phrase was on the open page. I knew what it meant right away, and I thought . . . well, I thought it was an omen. We never celebrate Christmas together, but then you were sent to Ireland and I missed you so much and I felt that something bad might happen and I would never get the chance to tell you how much I love you. So when Father Christmas showed up, I asked him to send my best friend to me so we could be together. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I’d say that was quite a bit. I had told Father Christmas a long time ago how I felt about you, but like most things I asked for, you never came to me even though I would write pages and pages about you. I figured it was an omen too - - that you and I would never get together.”
“I wonder what was different this year.”
“I’m not going to wonder; I’m just going to be glad that the gentleman finally saw the light. You’re the best pressie I ever got and I’d like to keep you, if that’s okay?”
Bodie’s shyness and uncertainty touched Doyle’s heart as he realized that even though Doyle had told Bodie that he loved him that the ex-merc still couldn’t believe it. “Tell you what, mate? How about I make us some food, change the bedclothes and then we can start Act II of what will become the longest running affair in CI5 history.”
After both men devoured the food that Doyle had been able to scrounge up, the two men got in Doyle’s bed and sat very close to each other but far enough that they could see and read each other’s faces.
“Did you mean It, Bodie? Do you really want us to be together from now on?”
“I am the soul of veracity, and you are definitely what I want. Any more comments?”
Shyly Doyle looked at his bed partner and then cleared his throat as if to give himself time to put his thoughts in order. “I want to be with you, but I am going to insist on some rules. Okay?”
Bodie merely nodded and waited for Doyle to announce his rules.
“I will not share you with anyone, no bird or male, or any ring-tailed baboon that might be attracted to you. If you don’t like that, then we’ll call it quits right now.”
“It’s fine with me, but if that new recruit gives you one more lascivious leer or tries to grope you when you are in the gym, I promise you, I will deck him.”
Doyle grinned as he imagined his lover decking a 22 year old recruit who did have a tendency to be quite friendly with Doyle’s anatomy. “You mean you are the only one who grabs my bum when we go up and down stairs?”
“You got it. You better make it VERY CLEAR to him that you are off-limits.”
“Yes, sir. Now I have a few more rules. Two, no more going off on an undercover op without me to back you up.”
“You know that Cowley does all the assignments, but I think I can bring him around to seeing the . . . uh . . . advantages of such a suggestion.”
“Great.” Doyle took the time to kiss Bodie’s nose and then his face turned extremely serious. “Finally, no more secrets from each other. There is nothing we can’t share, do you understand?”
“Not so sure about that one, Angelfish. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, and I’m not so sure that I want you to know about some of them.”
Doyle moved a few inches back from where he had been; his heart felt heavy and his mind filled with turmoil as he realized that Bodie would never totally give up all of his secrets, not even to a lover.
“All right, we’ll work on that. Every secret I give you; you have to return one, but I guess we’ll both have to accept that we need to keep secrets from each other --at least until we can work out something.”
“That’s great mate, now how about us carrying out mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for a while?”
“How nice that you are insatiable. What are you going to do when we’re on an op and can’t touch each other?”
“Don’t you worry; I’ll figure something out.”
“So, you can keep your hands off this body when it’s necessary, can you?”
“Of course, you see before you a man made of steel with an iron will and absolute fortitude when he makes a decision.”
“I see. A real man of steel, sort of like Superman, are you?”
“You’ve got it me curly-haired friend. I can’t be turned away when I don’t want to be.”
“Hmmmm!” With that one reaction, Doyle immediately got up and began to prowl around the bedroom. The fact that he was totally naked and an alpha male who was in the prime of life didn’t escape Bodie. As Doyle canted his hips seductively, his pubic hair seemed to jut forward, luring Bodie to put his mouth where his eyes were. Doyle knew his man very well and began to caress his chest hair and that thin line of hair that travelled down below his navel. As he wandered around the bed, close enough for Bodie to see but not touch, the ex-merc was on the cusp of mayhem on that alluring body. His unique Doyle essence permeated the room as Bodie could not take his eyes off the luscious male, and when Doyle took his own cock in hand and began to caress himself, Bodie felt himself losing all self-control. Bodie had never really felt the need to masturbate since he had had many women who were quite willing to do it for him, but when Doyle began his not-so-subtle technique Bodie was nearly lost. He began to drool and his only conversation consisted of inane gasps and groans that he could not hold back.
Bodie found himself barely breathing, but he could stand it no longer when Doyle turned his glorious, naked bum towards him, leaning over just enough for Bodie to get a real view. Immediately, Bodie made a grab for the satyr who was luring him into a state of sin and degradation. Bodie barely knew his own name, but he definitely knew that he wanted to participate in anything the siren would throw at him.
As the two men came up for a breath of air after a monumental kiss, Doyle whispered In Bodie’s ear, “You certainly are a man of steel, but not exactly the way I expected. I’m not sure I will be safe with you sans chaperone.”
“You’re always safe with me, sunshine.”
“Are you kidding? Look at that licentious, lascivious gleam in those deep blue eyes. You want to have your wicked way with me, I can tell.”
“Well, we better do it soon before I turn back into my usual modest but handsome self. After all, anyone who knows me knows that I never act like a ravening beast, unless, of course, I am enticed and provoked.”
“I thought you were my pressie for all night? What’s this about your modest self? I think that’s one of them oxymoron that you hear about.”
“You callin’ me a moron?”
“No, you idiot. I just find it very hard to put the concept of modesty and you together, but since it’s Christmas I guess anything can happen. After all, didn’t Father Christmas send you to me? What’d you tell him about me in your letters?”
“I didn’t. I just told him that I loved the bestest mate a man could have, and I would really like to be stuck with him for the rest of my life, and could he make it happen this Christmas.”
Doyle moved back a little away from his partner to stare at him intently then Doyle cleared his throat and said, “Well that was hardly a virtuoso declaration of love, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Now, what’s the matter? I thought it was pretty good. After all, I told him I loved my mate and I wanted to be with him this Christmas.”
“Yeah, but what about this ‘stuck with him’ bit. Sounds like to me, you didn’t exactly recognize how lucky you are to get me.”
Bodie’s blue eyes began twinkle as he began to lick the cupid’s bow lips that had taunted him ever since their partnership had begun. “I am very lucky to get you, very lucky, but sometimes that temper of yours gets to be pretty sticky so I want you to know that no matter what - - good times and bad, I want to be stuck with you.”
Doyle smiled as he began to play with Bodie’s ear, “What a silver tongue you have, mate. I know something else that gets us stuck together so how about I clean us up and then we’ll make an effort at Round 2?”
“Now that sounds perfect. I promise I’ll lose 426 out of 518 falls.” Stretching back on the bed, his manhood demonstrating his readiness for more action, Bodie smiled and said, “This is absolutely the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
“How about we make this the first of many years of best Christmases, sunshine. Nollaig Shona Dhuit, Bodie, and many, many more.”
The End
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Date: 2016-12-19 01:35 pm (UTC)Thank you for the holiday fun!
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Date: 2016-12-19 07:35 pm (UTC)What a Father Christmas!
Date: 2016-12-20 02:04 am (UTC)lbc
Nice note
Date: 2016-12-20 02:05 am (UTC)lbc
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Date: 2016-12-20 03:04 am (UTC)Glad you thought it was fun.
Date: 2016-12-20 03:35 am (UTC)lbc
no subject
Date: 2016-12-25 10:59 pm (UTC)Thanks so much.
Date: 2016-12-26 02:49 am (UTC)Thanks for the wonderful note. I really appreciate it.
lbc
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Date: 2017-01-01 01:09 pm (UTC)“Well!” When Bodie wanted to, he could do upper class elite better than anybody and that one word proved his absolute mastery in elitism.
Bodie to a "T"!
Isn't that the truth?
Date: 2017-01-01 05:03 pm (UTC)lbc
no subject
Date: 2017-01-01 07:17 pm (UTC)Poor Doyle, trapped in a library with the librarian from hell! The line fellow predators in a previous life really made me grin *g*
Thank you for such a sweet, Christmassy read.