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discoveredinaljSneaking in while it's still waiting to be midnight Monday night somewhere in the world...
Which rain-filled afternoon...?
by Slantedlight
By the time Sunday came around, still raining heavily, Doyle’s flat was shining, he’d written to his mother, uncle and two of his sisters, had a go at baking bread, and was so bored he was contemplating a run even if he’d have to wear a swimsuit to do it. Cathy was somewhere in Scotland on her annual duty tour of family, and the blazing sunshine she’d described on their last phone call hadn’t helped his equanimity at all. He’d read both his Sunday papers, done an hour of yoga, couldn’t face the novel he was halfway through and it was only lunchtime. When the doorbell rang, he practically vaulted the sofa to answer it.
“’allo?”
“Lemme up, I’ve just seen an ark down your high street and the doves are looking cranky.”
“The doves?” Doyle paused to try and puzzle that one out. “Push.”
He opened the door and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, listening as heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs, there was the rustling of a coat and much huffing and puffing, and then there was Bodie solid and dangerous all in black, grinning and rubbing at his short hair so that drops of water flew around his head.
“Still raining?” Doyle slopped milk into the mugs, and pulled the jar of sugar within reach.
“Still raining, he asks!” Bodie looked suitably indignant. “I nearly drown getting here, just to keep him company while his bird’s away, and he asks if it’s raining!”
“Julia not putting out?”
“Gone to her gran’s for Sunday roast. I’m not respectable enough to invite yet, apparently.”
“I always knew that girl was bright.”
Bodie just grinned. “Respectable’s boring. Rather be disrespectable here with you.”
Doyle’s heart, treacherous bloody thing, lurched in his chest and then started double-timing to catch up. “Oh yeah? What’ve you got in mind? If you’re planning to cheat at Scrabble again…” He watched Bodie lift his mug and take mouthful of coffee, watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down, and Bodie’s tongue slip out to lick the corner of his lips.
Doyle had licked those lips just last week, had felt Bodie’s lips on his neck, Bodie’s breath hot in his ear, Bodie’s cock…
Bodie was watching him back, and the bastard knew exactly what he’d done, and he was all but smirking.
Oh, no… Doyle glanced at his watch. “Anyway, you’re out of luck - University Challenge is just about to start.”
He had the joy of seeing Bodie look entirely nonplussed as he walked past him into the living room, coffee held in front of him like a shield.
As if he was going to head straight to the bedroom just because Bodie’s bird had taken an afternoon off. If that was what Bodie thought, that he was just here waiting until he was needed… He turned the TV on, glanced at the window as a gust of wind threw yet more rain against it, and adjusted the volume, then took his place in the corner of the sofa and stretched his legs out to rest on the coffee table.
He realised his mistake when Bodie emerged from the kitchen with his own coffee still in hand, crossed to the shelves where Doyle kept his booze, picked up a bottle and then plumped himself on the cushions not in the other corner, but right in the middle – shoulder all but brushing Doyle’s.
“Oh, help yourself, mate,” he said as airily as he could manage. “My best brandy? All yours!”
“Oh no!” Indignantly polite. “Only fair to share…” He splashed brandy into his own mug, then seemed to empty half the bottle into Doyle’s. “Besides,” he nodded to where Bamber Gascoigne was grinning and talking through his teeth, “you need all the help you can get.”
“…your starter for ten. Taking its name from the daughter of Tantalus in Greek mythology, which element is a widely used low-temperature superconductor and has atomic number 41?”
Doyle stared blankly at the screen, took a mouthful of coffee, and was all but drunk on the fumes before he tasted it. “Bloody hell, Bodie – there’s more booze in here than…”
Bodie was ignoring him, apparently intent on the panellists. “Niobe!”
“Corpus Christi, Meldreth!”
“Is it Niobe?”
Doyle’s eyes widened, and he glanced sideways at Bodie. Trust him to know about someone’s daughters…
“Correct. The element niobium was so named as an extension of the inspiration which had led earlier to the naming of the element tantalum by Anders Gustaf Ekeberg. On the basis of his argument that there were two different elements in the tantalite sample, Heinrich Rose named them after children of Tantalus—niobium and pelopium. Ten points to Corpus Christi and they’re off with a bonus of fifteen. Now, which chemical element is named after a village in Scotland where it was discovered in the ores of lead mines, atomic number 38, and…”
“Strontium!”
“Corpus Christi again.”
“Strontium.”
“Correct. Thomas Charles Hope originally named the element strontianite, but the name was shortened to strontium. Arsenic is atomic number 33, and the name has its origin in Syria, coming to us by way of Greek, Latin and French, but what test…?”
“The Marsh test!” Doyle almost shouted triumphantly, at the same time as a small blonde girl at the top of the screen.
“…what test is used in the field of forensic toxicology to determine its use in poisonings? The Marsh test is correct.”
“You’re getting the hang of this.” Bodie shot him a grin and stretched slightly so that his thigh rested against Doyle’s, and Doyle frowned at him.
“How the hell do you know about strontium?”
“Why shouldn’t I know about strontium? Third form science, that. I remember our teacher, she…”
“I’ll just bet you do. Let me guess…”
“Shh!” Bodie nudged him suddenly. “We’re up again!”
“And here’s the starter again. Which fruit has English varieties called Maydukes and Whitehearts?”
“Cherries.”
“Pears!”
“No, it’s cherries. In which novel are Cherry and Merry the nicknames of Mr Pecksniff’s daughters Charity and Mercy?”
“Martin Chuzzlewit.”
“The Pickwick Papers?”
“No, Martin Chuzzlewit. And lastly, which team, nicknamed the Cherries play at…
“Bournemouth!”
…the Dean Court ground, when they’re at home?... Anyone?
“Bristol Rovers?”
“No, Bournemouth.”
The panellists looked disappointed but resigned, and Doyle glared at Bodie again. He didn’t even glare back, his attention all on the game now.
“Which fictional character’s last words, ‘To the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale!”
“Captain Ahab!”
“…And thus I give up my spear. Manchester?”
“Ahab.”
This was getting ridiculous. “Alright,” Doyle said. “Who are you, and what have you done with Bodie?”
No answer, because Bamber Gascoigne was speaking again. Doyle drank his brandy-laced-with-coffee, and alternated looking at the screen and looking at Bodie, who had hunched forward with his arms over his knees, so that his shoulders were muscled and bunched beneath the skin-tight black poloneck he was wearing.
“…the Abyssal zone?”
“In the sea.”
“In the sea.”
“Yes, it’s in the sea. Five points. Now…”
He had good thighs too, Doyle thought, through another mouthful, thighs for running and moving and… well, good for a lot of things, those thighs were. Things he’d never thought about until last weekend. Well, not often.
“Bismarck!”
Stupid to be sitting here listening to some toffs on the telly playing word games, when…
“Autobahns!”
“Manchester are fifteen points up. Now what…?”
He could definitely think of better things for those legs to be doing. And Bodie’s mouth, come to that, sitting there shouting at people who were halfway up the country…
“Hegel!”
Bodie was looking pleased with himself now, relaxing back a bit, leg warm against Doyle’s leg, just waiting for the next question to come. Doyle tipped his mug back for the last mouthful – it had gone down okay in the end – and contemplated the smugness that was his partner.
“Oi, Bodie.”
Nothing, entirely focussed on something Gascoigne was wittering on about. How to distract him… Doyle reached across with his hand.
“Oi, Bodie – fingers on buzzers!”
Bodie turned around then, leaning back properly and raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?” he glanced down to Doyle’s hand on his thigh, Doyle’s thumb stroking back and forth across taut-stretched corduroy, and flexed upwards slightly. “Starter for ten?”
Doyle slid his hand up to Bodie’s shoulder, and in a single smooth move twisted up and over until he was straddling Bodie’s thighs. Bodie was hard underneath him, and warm, and his focus was all on Doyle. “Bonus round,” Doyle said, and he thought for a flashing second, as he leaned down to kiss Bodie, to feel Bodie’s lips and breath and heat on him again, that Bodie was looking strangely triumphant, almost as if he’d definitely won the game.
Outside, the rain poured down.
o0o
Title: Which rain-filled afternoon...?
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse isn't mine, I just play and imagine...
Which rain-filled afternoon...?
by Slantedlight
By the time Sunday came around, still raining heavily, Doyle’s flat was shining, he’d written to his mother, uncle and two of his sisters, had a go at baking bread, and was so bored he was contemplating a run even if he’d have to wear a swimsuit to do it. Cathy was somewhere in Scotland on her annual duty tour of family, and the blazing sunshine she’d described on their last phone call hadn’t helped his equanimity at all. He’d read both his Sunday papers, done an hour of yoga, couldn’t face the novel he was halfway through and it was only lunchtime. When the doorbell rang, he practically vaulted the sofa to answer it.
“’allo?”
“Lemme up, I’ve just seen an ark down your high street and the doves are looking cranky.”
“The doves?” Doyle paused to try and puzzle that one out. “Push.”
He opened the door and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, listening as heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs, there was the rustling of a coat and much huffing and puffing, and then there was Bodie solid and dangerous all in black, grinning and rubbing at his short hair so that drops of water flew around his head.
“Still raining?” Doyle slopped milk into the mugs, and pulled the jar of sugar within reach.
“Still raining, he asks!” Bodie looked suitably indignant. “I nearly drown getting here, just to keep him company while his bird’s away, and he asks if it’s raining!”
“Julia not putting out?”
“Gone to her gran’s for Sunday roast. I’m not respectable enough to invite yet, apparently.”
“I always knew that girl was bright.”
Bodie just grinned. “Respectable’s boring. Rather be disrespectable here with you.”
Doyle’s heart, treacherous bloody thing, lurched in his chest and then started double-timing to catch up. “Oh yeah? What’ve you got in mind? If you’re planning to cheat at Scrabble again…” He watched Bodie lift his mug and take mouthful of coffee, watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down, and Bodie’s tongue slip out to lick the corner of his lips.
Doyle had licked those lips just last week, had felt Bodie’s lips on his neck, Bodie’s breath hot in his ear, Bodie’s cock…
Bodie was watching him back, and the bastard knew exactly what he’d done, and he was all but smirking.
Oh, no… Doyle glanced at his watch. “Anyway, you’re out of luck - University Challenge is just about to start.”
He had the joy of seeing Bodie look entirely nonplussed as he walked past him into the living room, coffee held in front of him like a shield.
As if he was going to head straight to the bedroom just because Bodie’s bird had taken an afternoon off. If that was what Bodie thought, that he was just here waiting until he was needed… He turned the TV on, glanced at the window as a gust of wind threw yet more rain against it, and adjusted the volume, then took his place in the corner of the sofa and stretched his legs out to rest on the coffee table.
He realised his mistake when Bodie emerged from the kitchen with his own coffee still in hand, crossed to the shelves where Doyle kept his booze, picked up a bottle and then plumped himself on the cushions not in the other corner, but right in the middle – shoulder all but brushing Doyle’s.
“Oh, help yourself, mate,” he said as airily as he could manage. “My best brandy? All yours!”
“Oh no!” Indignantly polite. “Only fair to share…” He splashed brandy into his own mug, then seemed to empty half the bottle into Doyle’s. “Besides,” he nodded to where Bamber Gascoigne was grinning and talking through his teeth, “you need all the help you can get.”
“…your starter for ten. Taking its name from the daughter of Tantalus in Greek mythology, which element is a widely used low-temperature superconductor and has atomic number 41?”
Doyle stared blankly at the screen, took a mouthful of coffee, and was all but drunk on the fumes before he tasted it. “Bloody hell, Bodie – there’s more booze in here than…”
Bodie was ignoring him, apparently intent on the panellists. “Niobe!”
“Corpus Christi, Meldreth!”
“Is it Niobe?”
Doyle’s eyes widened, and he glanced sideways at Bodie. Trust him to know about someone’s daughters…
“Correct. The element niobium was so named as an extension of the inspiration which had led earlier to the naming of the element tantalum by Anders Gustaf Ekeberg. On the basis of his argument that there were two different elements in the tantalite sample, Heinrich Rose named them after children of Tantalus—niobium and pelopium. Ten points to Corpus Christi and they’re off with a bonus of fifteen. Now, which chemical element is named after a village in Scotland where it was discovered in the ores of lead mines, atomic number 38, and…”
“Strontium!”
“Corpus Christi again.”
“Strontium.”
“Correct. Thomas Charles Hope originally named the element strontianite, but the name was shortened to strontium. Arsenic is atomic number 33, and the name has its origin in Syria, coming to us by way of Greek, Latin and French, but what test…?”
“The Marsh test!” Doyle almost shouted triumphantly, at the same time as a small blonde girl at the top of the screen.
“…what test is used in the field of forensic toxicology to determine its use in poisonings? The Marsh test is correct.”
“You’re getting the hang of this.” Bodie shot him a grin and stretched slightly so that his thigh rested against Doyle’s, and Doyle frowned at him.
“How the hell do you know about strontium?”
“Why shouldn’t I know about strontium? Third form science, that. I remember our teacher, she…”
“I’ll just bet you do. Let me guess…”
“Shh!” Bodie nudged him suddenly. “We’re up again!”
“And here’s the starter again. Which fruit has English varieties called Maydukes and Whitehearts?”
“Cherries.”
“Pears!”
“No, it’s cherries. In which novel are Cherry and Merry the nicknames of Mr Pecksniff’s daughters Charity and Mercy?”
“Martin Chuzzlewit.”
“The Pickwick Papers?”
“No, Martin Chuzzlewit. And lastly, which team, nicknamed the Cherries play at…
“Bournemouth!”
…the Dean Court ground, when they’re at home?... Anyone?
“Bristol Rovers?”
“No, Bournemouth.”
The panellists looked disappointed but resigned, and Doyle glared at Bodie again. He didn’t even glare back, his attention all on the game now.
“Which fictional character’s last words, ‘To the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale!”
“Captain Ahab!”
“…And thus I give up my spear. Manchester?”
“Ahab.”
This was getting ridiculous. “Alright,” Doyle said. “Who are you, and what have you done with Bodie?”
No answer, because Bamber Gascoigne was speaking again. Doyle drank his brandy-laced-with-coffee, and alternated looking at the screen and looking at Bodie, who had hunched forward with his arms over his knees, so that his shoulders were muscled and bunched beneath the skin-tight black poloneck he was wearing.
“…the Abyssal zone?”
“In the sea.”
“In the sea.”
“Yes, it’s in the sea. Five points. Now…”
He had good thighs too, Doyle thought, through another mouthful, thighs for running and moving and… well, good for a lot of things, those thighs were. Things he’d never thought about until last weekend. Well, not often.
“Bismarck!”
Stupid to be sitting here listening to some toffs on the telly playing word games, when…
“Autobahns!”
“Manchester are fifteen points up. Now what…?”
He could definitely think of better things for those legs to be doing. And Bodie’s mouth, come to that, sitting there shouting at people who were halfway up the country…
“Hegel!”
Bodie was looking pleased with himself now, relaxing back a bit, leg warm against Doyle’s leg, just waiting for the next question to come. Doyle tipped his mug back for the last mouthful – it had gone down okay in the end – and contemplated the smugness that was his partner.
“Oi, Bodie.”
Nothing, entirely focussed on something Gascoigne was wittering on about. How to distract him… Doyle reached across with his hand.
“Oi, Bodie – fingers on buzzers!”
Bodie turned around then, leaning back properly and raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?” he glanced down to Doyle’s hand on his thigh, Doyle’s thumb stroking back and forth across taut-stretched corduroy, and flexed upwards slightly. “Starter for ten?”
Doyle slid his hand up to Bodie’s shoulder, and in a single smooth move twisted up and over until he was straddling Bodie’s thighs. Bodie was hard underneath him, and warm, and his focus was all on Doyle. “Bonus round,” Doyle said, and he thought for a flashing second, as he leaned down to kiss Bodie, to feel Bodie’s lips and breath and heat on him again, that Bodie was looking strangely triumphant, almost as if he’d definitely won the game.
Outside, the rain poured down.
Title: Which rain-filled afternoon...?
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse isn't mine, I just play and imagine...
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no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 06:47 am (UTC)Wonderful domestic afternoon at home with the Lads! Thank you so much for this happy read.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 06:49 am (UTC)Thankyou.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 12:11 pm (UTC)[P.S. Don't forget to check your loveheart thingies next to the comments.]
no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 01:50 pm (UTC)Wonderful. And clever and funny and so... well, so the way you write them. I always love it. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 02:37 pm (UTC)Learn more about LiveJournal Ratings in FAQ (https://www.dreamwidth.org/support/faqbrowse?faqid=303).
no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-09 10:45 pm (UTC)(I work in a lab - we test for tantalum, strontium, niobium and a whole lot of other 'iums'!)
no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:06 pm (UTC)(And I had no idea you worked in a lab - how cool that you test for my -iums, it makes them feel more real!)
no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-10 01:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-12 03:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-12 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-13 03:52 am (UTC)I love Doyle frowning. I love them each scheming and plotting behind the scenes, each with the same end objective. Hell, I love them, full stop. Thank you for the beautiful story.