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discoveredinaljHappy 10th December everyone! I'm posting on behalf of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
f_m_parkinson again today - more Prosfic by this classic Pros author! Happy reading! *g*
That Time of Year
by Felicity M. Parkinson
“Aww, do I really have to do this, Ray?” Bodie glared at the two sleeping bags and the cans of lager already sitting in the boot of the Capri.
“Yeah,” Doyle’s reply was uncompromising as he put his holdall in beside them, “you do.” He looked down at the second holdall by Bodie’s feet, then at his partner. “C’mon. Can’t hang around here all day. Stick it in, and we’ll get going.”
Looking like a condemned man, Bodie complied, then slid into the passenger seat of the car.
They headed north on the motorway, Bodie staying silent till they passed the Watford Gap services.
“Goodbye civilisation,” he mourned as his other half shifted the car into the second lane to overtake a slow-moving lorry.
Doyle snorted in response. “Anyone’d think you’re a soft southerner, the way you go on about north of Watford. What happened to that Liverpool spirit?”
“I abandoned it as fast as possible,” Bodie replied frankly, in a thick Scouse accent.
After leaving the motorway, they stopped in a layby. Blowing on a cup of tea from the thermos, Bodie tried again. “First Christmas off in years. We could’ve got in a few more six-packs and some pizzas. And we could’ve tried out that microwave oven I bought. Why do we have to spend the festive season with your mum?”
“You and that microwave,” Doyle muttered. “I’m surprised you’re not glowing in the dark. All that radiation nuking the food – it’s not natural.”
His partner refused to be deflected. “We could’ve had a bit of time off together. Would’ve been great. Why did you agree?”
“Couldn’t help it,” said Doyle, slurping his tea. “Mum caught me at a weak moment last May. I didn’t think we’d actually have the time off.”
“You could’ve rung her up the other day and said we had to be on duty, after all – last-minute decision by Cowley,” Bodie suggested in a doleful tone. “Made our apologies, but we had to stay in the Smoke for the duration. No rest for CI5 agents…”
“I couldn’t lie to my mum,” Doyle protested. “Anyway, she’d only find me out in the end. She and my sis keep asking when they’re going to meet you, every time I mention your name.”
Bodie found that his tea was at last cool enough and drank half the contents of the cup. “I know about your relatives,” he said ominously. “They sound a bit like that lot in the Express.”
“Who? Oh, you mean the Giles family?” Doyle glanced over at him and grinned.
“Yeah. That lot.” Bodie grimaced. “A bit…overwhelming.”
“They’re not all like that,” Doyle told him. “And they won’t all be there.”
Bodie gave him a look. “You said anything to your mum, yet?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
Bodie frowned. “Why not? You ashamed of me? Or us? I don’t want to stay with your family under false pretences. If they don’t like it, we can go back to London and have Christmas on our own.”
He finished his tea, replaced the thermos top, then wriggled around in his seat. “Gotta go.”
“Get a move on, then,” Doyle said resignedly. He wound down the car window and threw the dregs of his tea out of it, then wound it back up before putting away his cup and the thermos. “Should’ve gone before we left.”
“I did,” said Bodie with immense dignity.
“Bad sign, that – a weak bladder.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Bodie got out of the Capri, and facing the hedge, gave it a thorough watering. Sliding back into the car seat, he closed the door quickly. “It’s cold enough out there to freeze your bits off.”
Doyle looked at him. “At least there wasn’t a car going past. You get nabbed for flashing and you’re on your own, mate. You can spend Christmas in the nick.”
Bodie ignored the comment. “So who else from the Doyle clan is going to be at your mum’s?”
“Apart from mum,” said Doyle, “there’ll be my sis, and I think Cousin Frank and his wife Susan will be there as well. Mum often has them over to stay. Can’t understand why.”
“Oh god,” Bodie lifted his eyes towards the car roof, “more relatives.”
“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion,” Doyle told him as he started the engine.
“Fat chance of that,” muttered his partner, as they made their way out of the layby and back onto the road.
Doyle slowed the Capri outside a row of terraced houses, reversed into a parking space and turned off the engine. “We’re here. You behave yourself.”
“Would I do anything else?” Bodie replied, an innocent expression on his face.
“I know you,” said Doyle, darkly. “You’ve got that look that says butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.”
Heaving holdalls and the lager out of the boot, they went up the front path and rang the bell. A short, plump, middle-aged woman opened the door.
“Hello, Sis,” Doyle greeted her, submitting to the hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Meet Bodie.”
“So you’re Bodie?” said his sister as they crowded into the narrow hallway with their luggage, and she closed the front door behind them. “I’m Angela. It’s so nice to meet you at last.” She gave him a hug. Bodie hugged back and gave her his most charming smile. “Ray’s always mentioning you. Put your stuff in the front room and come through to the kitchen. It’s warmer in there.”
“Who else is here?” Doyle immediately wanted to know. “Are Frank and Susan staying?”
“Yes, they’ve already arrived,” his sister replied. “They’re in the kitchen with mum.”
“Thought they would be,” Doyle muttered darkly. “We’ll get the sleeping bags in from the car first and then come through.”
The car unloaded, they went back into the house, deposited the sleeping bags in the front room, then went along the passageway to the kitchen. A man and woman were seated at the formica table. An older woman stood at a work surface, busy rubbing flour and butter together in a bowl. She turned as they entered the room. Doyle’s sister emerged from a doorway and came in behind them.
“Hello, Mum.” Doyle was brisk in his greeting as he moved forward to give his mother a brief kiss on her cheek. He surveyed his relatives. “Hello, Frank. Hello, Susan. This is Bodie.” He indicated his partner with a nod of his head and retreated to the doorway.
“Lovely to meet you, dear,” said Mrs Doyle, breaking off from what she was doing. “I’m sorry, my hands are all greasy. I daren’t give you a hug or your jacket will end up with smears on it.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Bodie said politely and smiled at her.
Angela went over to the sink, filled the kettle and put it on the stove to boil.
Mrs Doyle looked over at her son. “Come and sit down. I’m sure you could both do with a cup of tea. You must be frozen after your journey. And I must get these scones finished and in the oven.” She turned to her nephew and his wife. “Bodie works with Ray, you know,” she said. “Ray always talks about him when he telephones, and he often says that Bodie likes his cake.”
Doyle leaned heavily against the doorframe and Bodie remained standing beside him.
Frank got up and came round the kitchen table. “How do you do,” he said, very formally. He shook Bodie’s hand. “So you’re a civil servant too?”
“Yes,” Bodie replied with a bright expression. “You know the sort of thing: filing reports, writing memos, drinking cups of tea.” He accepted a cup and saucer from Doyle’s sister. “Thank you.”
“Oh, clerical work.” Frank sniffed. “Do you do filing, Ray?”
“Frank’s a manager with an electrical business,” Susan explained, addressing Bodie. “In Coventry.”
“Sometimes,” Doyle said, in reply to his cousin.
“He’s a glorified filing clerk,” added Bodie, slanting a look his partner.
“Clerical staff don’t come home with knife slashes,” Angela remarked from where she was pouring the tea. “And that’s what you had across your hand last time you visited, Ray. Don’t try telling me it was just a deep paper cut.”
Doyle shrugged. “I was taking a staple out of some documents and got careless with the scissors.”
“So what do you do, exactly?” put in Susan. She looked up at Bodie as Angela handed round the remaining teacups and saucers, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Frank told me that Ray never says much about his job. Civil servants do lots of different things, don’t they?”
Bodie looked over at her innocently. “If you really want to know, we work in Customs and Excise. Occasionally they let us out of the office to raid ships along the Thames. That’s when it gets exciting. You never can tell what you’re going to find in those dark cargo holds. Or what’s going on in a steamy cabin.”
“Don’t get him started.” Doyle glared at his partner. “It’s mostly paperwork. The only thing he gets to terrorise is the typing pool.” He turned to his mother. “We’ve put our sleeping bags and luggage behind the sofa in the living room, as Angela told us, along with several six-packs Bodie’s brought with him. He was afraid you wouldn’t have any alcohol in the house apart from sherry and advocaat. And we managed not to knock the Christmas tree over.”
“Thank you, dear,” replied Mrs Doyle, adding milk to the mixture and turning out the soft dough onto a floured surface. She kneaded it lightly and flattened it out with her rolling pin. “I know there’s not much room in there but one of you can have the sofa if it’s long enough. I’m afraid the other will have to sleep on the floor. But there’s the hearthrug to put underneath, and I’ve plenty of blankets for you to lie on. There just aren’t enough beds to go round. Frank and Susan are in the double, and I’m in the spare bedroom with Angela. She’s going to sleep on the camp bed. I know we’re a bit crowded but I’m sure we’ll all be very cosy. It’s so nice having family to stay at Christmas.”
“It’s not a problem.” Bodie grinned. “We’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mrs Doyle, expertly using a cutter and placing the rounds onto two greased baking trays.
“Yeah, we can manage,” he assured her. He glanced at Doyle, a hint of devilry as well as apology in his eyes. “We don’t have to argue over who gets the sofa. We’ll just pile all the sofa cushions on the floor and put the sleeping bags and blankets on top them.”
Doyle tensed.
Bodie grinned at him. “It won’t be the first time we’ve slept together.”
A faint gasp and then a giggle escaped Angela and she put her hand across her mouth as if to stifle anything further. Frank and Susan looked at him with expressions of doubt and embarrassment. Mrs Doyle washed her hands at the sink, put the baking trays in the oven, and calmly began clearing up the utensils and the work surface.
“We usually have a fight over the spare blankets,” Bodie added pleasantly, looking round at everyone. “I’m Ray’s boyfriend, in case you didn’t realise.” He gave his partner’s family his sweetest smile.
Doyle’s tea went up his nose and he coughed violently.
“That’s very nice for you, dear,” said Mrs Doyle to Bodie as he thumped his partner on the back, “and it makes the arrangements so much easier.” She indicated a cake sitting under a glass cover. “When Ray’s recovered, have a slice of yule log.”
Title: That Time of Year
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes please
Disclaimer: Pros are not ours, we play with them freely and then put them back nicely.
Notes: Originally written for WriteTime 2013 with the story prompt ‘seasons’. Revised December 2021.
f_m_parkinson again today - more Prosfic by this classic Pros author! Happy reading! *g*That Time of Year
by Felicity M. Parkinson
“Aww, do I really have to do this, Ray?” Bodie glared at the two sleeping bags and the cans of lager already sitting in the boot of the Capri.
“Yeah,” Doyle’s reply was uncompromising as he put his holdall in beside them, “you do.” He looked down at the second holdall by Bodie’s feet, then at his partner. “C’mon. Can’t hang around here all day. Stick it in, and we’ll get going.”
Looking like a condemned man, Bodie complied, then slid into the passenger seat of the car.
They headed north on the motorway, Bodie staying silent till they passed the Watford Gap services.
“Goodbye civilisation,” he mourned as his other half shifted the car into the second lane to overtake a slow-moving lorry.
Doyle snorted in response. “Anyone’d think you’re a soft southerner, the way you go on about north of Watford. What happened to that Liverpool spirit?”
“I abandoned it as fast as possible,” Bodie replied frankly, in a thick Scouse accent.
After leaving the motorway, they stopped in a layby. Blowing on a cup of tea from the thermos, Bodie tried again. “First Christmas off in years. We could’ve got in a few more six-packs and some pizzas. And we could’ve tried out that microwave oven I bought. Why do we have to spend the festive season with your mum?”
“You and that microwave,” Doyle muttered. “I’m surprised you’re not glowing in the dark. All that radiation nuking the food – it’s not natural.”
His partner refused to be deflected. “We could’ve had a bit of time off together. Would’ve been great. Why did you agree?”
“Couldn’t help it,” said Doyle, slurping his tea. “Mum caught me at a weak moment last May. I didn’t think we’d actually have the time off.”
“You could’ve rung her up the other day and said we had to be on duty, after all – last-minute decision by Cowley,” Bodie suggested in a doleful tone. “Made our apologies, but we had to stay in the Smoke for the duration. No rest for CI5 agents…”
“I couldn’t lie to my mum,” Doyle protested. “Anyway, she’d only find me out in the end. She and my sis keep asking when they’re going to meet you, every time I mention your name.”
Bodie found that his tea was at last cool enough and drank half the contents of the cup. “I know about your relatives,” he said ominously. “They sound a bit like that lot in the Express.”
“Who? Oh, you mean the Giles family?” Doyle glanced over at him and grinned.
“Yeah. That lot.” Bodie grimaced. “A bit…overwhelming.”
“They’re not all like that,” Doyle told him. “And they won’t all be there.”
Bodie gave him a look. “You said anything to your mum, yet?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
Bodie frowned. “Why not? You ashamed of me? Or us? I don’t want to stay with your family under false pretences. If they don’t like it, we can go back to London and have Christmas on our own.”
He finished his tea, replaced the thermos top, then wriggled around in his seat. “Gotta go.”
“Get a move on, then,” Doyle said resignedly. He wound down the car window and threw the dregs of his tea out of it, then wound it back up before putting away his cup and the thermos. “Should’ve gone before we left.”
“I did,” said Bodie with immense dignity.
“Bad sign, that – a weak bladder.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Bodie got out of the Capri, and facing the hedge, gave it a thorough watering. Sliding back into the car seat, he closed the door quickly. “It’s cold enough out there to freeze your bits off.”
Doyle looked at him. “At least there wasn’t a car going past. You get nabbed for flashing and you’re on your own, mate. You can spend Christmas in the nick.”
Bodie ignored the comment. “So who else from the Doyle clan is going to be at your mum’s?”
“Apart from mum,” said Doyle, “there’ll be my sis, and I think Cousin Frank and his wife Susan will be there as well. Mum often has them over to stay. Can’t understand why.”
“Oh god,” Bodie lifted his eyes towards the car roof, “more relatives.”
“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion,” Doyle told him as he started the engine.
“Fat chance of that,” muttered his partner, as they made their way out of the layby and back onto the road.
Doyle slowed the Capri outside a row of terraced houses, reversed into a parking space and turned off the engine. “We’re here. You behave yourself.”
“Would I do anything else?” Bodie replied, an innocent expression on his face.
“I know you,” said Doyle, darkly. “You’ve got that look that says butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.”
Heaving holdalls and the lager out of the boot, they went up the front path and rang the bell. A short, plump, middle-aged woman opened the door.
“Hello, Sis,” Doyle greeted her, submitting to the hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Meet Bodie.”
“So you’re Bodie?” said his sister as they crowded into the narrow hallway with their luggage, and she closed the front door behind them. “I’m Angela. It’s so nice to meet you at last.” She gave him a hug. Bodie hugged back and gave her his most charming smile. “Ray’s always mentioning you. Put your stuff in the front room and come through to the kitchen. It’s warmer in there.”
“Who else is here?” Doyle immediately wanted to know. “Are Frank and Susan staying?”
“Yes, they’ve already arrived,” his sister replied. “They’re in the kitchen with mum.”
“Thought they would be,” Doyle muttered darkly. “We’ll get the sleeping bags in from the car first and then come through.”
The car unloaded, they went back into the house, deposited the sleeping bags in the front room, then went along the passageway to the kitchen. A man and woman were seated at the formica table. An older woman stood at a work surface, busy rubbing flour and butter together in a bowl. She turned as they entered the room. Doyle’s sister emerged from a doorway and came in behind them.
“Hello, Mum.” Doyle was brisk in his greeting as he moved forward to give his mother a brief kiss on her cheek. He surveyed his relatives. “Hello, Frank. Hello, Susan. This is Bodie.” He indicated his partner with a nod of his head and retreated to the doorway.
“Lovely to meet you, dear,” said Mrs Doyle, breaking off from what she was doing. “I’m sorry, my hands are all greasy. I daren’t give you a hug or your jacket will end up with smears on it.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Bodie said politely and smiled at her.
Angela went over to the sink, filled the kettle and put it on the stove to boil.
Mrs Doyle looked over at her son. “Come and sit down. I’m sure you could both do with a cup of tea. You must be frozen after your journey. And I must get these scones finished and in the oven.” She turned to her nephew and his wife. “Bodie works with Ray, you know,” she said. “Ray always talks about him when he telephones, and he often says that Bodie likes his cake.”
Doyle leaned heavily against the doorframe and Bodie remained standing beside him.
Frank got up and came round the kitchen table. “How do you do,” he said, very formally. He shook Bodie’s hand. “So you’re a civil servant too?”
“Yes,” Bodie replied with a bright expression. “You know the sort of thing: filing reports, writing memos, drinking cups of tea.” He accepted a cup and saucer from Doyle’s sister. “Thank you.”
“Oh, clerical work.” Frank sniffed. “Do you do filing, Ray?”
“Frank’s a manager with an electrical business,” Susan explained, addressing Bodie. “In Coventry.”
“Sometimes,” Doyle said, in reply to his cousin.
“He’s a glorified filing clerk,” added Bodie, slanting a look his partner.
“Clerical staff don’t come home with knife slashes,” Angela remarked from where she was pouring the tea. “And that’s what you had across your hand last time you visited, Ray. Don’t try telling me it was just a deep paper cut.”
Doyle shrugged. “I was taking a staple out of some documents and got careless with the scissors.”
“So what do you do, exactly?” put in Susan. She looked up at Bodie as Angela handed round the remaining teacups and saucers, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Frank told me that Ray never says much about his job. Civil servants do lots of different things, don’t they?”
Bodie looked over at her innocently. “If you really want to know, we work in Customs and Excise. Occasionally they let us out of the office to raid ships along the Thames. That’s when it gets exciting. You never can tell what you’re going to find in those dark cargo holds. Or what’s going on in a steamy cabin.”
“Don’t get him started.” Doyle glared at his partner. “It’s mostly paperwork. The only thing he gets to terrorise is the typing pool.” He turned to his mother. “We’ve put our sleeping bags and luggage behind the sofa in the living room, as Angela told us, along with several six-packs Bodie’s brought with him. He was afraid you wouldn’t have any alcohol in the house apart from sherry and advocaat. And we managed not to knock the Christmas tree over.”
“Thank you, dear,” replied Mrs Doyle, adding milk to the mixture and turning out the soft dough onto a floured surface. She kneaded it lightly and flattened it out with her rolling pin. “I know there’s not much room in there but one of you can have the sofa if it’s long enough. I’m afraid the other will have to sleep on the floor. But there’s the hearthrug to put underneath, and I’ve plenty of blankets for you to lie on. There just aren’t enough beds to go round. Frank and Susan are in the double, and I’m in the spare bedroom with Angela. She’s going to sleep on the camp bed. I know we’re a bit crowded but I’m sure we’ll all be very cosy. It’s so nice having family to stay at Christmas.”
“It’s not a problem.” Bodie grinned. “We’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mrs Doyle, expertly using a cutter and placing the rounds onto two greased baking trays.
“Yeah, we can manage,” he assured her. He glanced at Doyle, a hint of devilry as well as apology in his eyes. “We don’t have to argue over who gets the sofa. We’ll just pile all the sofa cushions on the floor and put the sleeping bags and blankets on top them.”
Doyle tensed.
Bodie grinned at him. “It won’t be the first time we’ve slept together.”
A faint gasp and then a giggle escaped Angela and she put her hand across her mouth as if to stifle anything further. Frank and Susan looked at him with expressions of doubt and embarrassment. Mrs Doyle washed her hands at the sink, put the baking trays in the oven, and calmly began clearing up the utensils and the work surface.
“We usually have a fight over the spare blankets,” Bodie added pleasantly, looking round at everyone. “I’m Ray’s boyfriend, in case you didn’t realise.” He gave his partner’s family his sweetest smile.
Doyle’s tea went up his nose and he coughed violently.
“That’s very nice for you, dear,” said Mrs Doyle to Bodie as he thumped his partner on the back, “and it makes the arrangements so much easier.” She indicated a cake sitting under a glass cover. “When Ray’s recovered, have a slice of yule log.”
Title: That Time of Year
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes please
Disclaimer: Pros are not ours, we play with them freely and then put them back nicely.
Notes: Originally written for WriteTime 2013 with the story prompt ‘seasons’. Revised December 2021.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2021-12-10 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 12:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-10 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-10 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 12:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 05:25 am (UTC)⬅️ I can picture his face exactly 😂
That was fun! And very much the way I imagine the Doyles 😁
no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 12:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-11 09:47 pm (UTC)Thank you very much.
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Date: 2021-12-12 03:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-12 11:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-12 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-13 02:54 am (UTC)And that Bodie!
Enjoyed this — thanks for posting!
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Date: 2021-12-13 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-21 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-12-27 12:02 pm (UTC)