- Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - December 9th

[ankaree.livejournal.com]

Undercover Christmas
By Ankaree

Bodie lounged in the chair opposite Cowley's desk, ankle hooked over his knee, foot tapping an idle rhythm against the floor.

"I was hoping for something festive this week, sir," he said, flashing a grin. "Bit of tinsel. Perhaps a party hat. Not another case."

Cowley looked up from his paperwork. "If you want tinsel, 3.7, I suggest Woolworths. We deal in criminals, not Christmas decorations."



Doyle rested one hip against the filing cabinet and smirked. "He'd only chat up the bird on the till anyway."

Bodie grinned, not denying it. "Man's got to keep his spirits up, sunshine."

"Typical." Doyle's tone was dry.

"That's enough, both of you." Cowley glared at them. "Save your comedy act for later." He removed his glasses and set them aside. Opening a thin file, he slid it towards Bodie. "Name is Cedric Harcourt. He's been importing decorative glass ornaments from Amsterdam. The Dutch customs lads tipped us off. The baubles are stuffed with uncut diamonds."

Doyle straightened, humour gone. "Moving them at Christmas, eh? Clever. No one will give them a second thought, will they?"

"Precisely." Cowley nodded once. "There's a charity gala in Mayfair tomorrow night. Harcourt's expected to make an exchange there with a buyer. CI5 will ensure he doesn't."

Bending forwards, Bodie scanned the photo paper-clipped to the file. "Fancy party, eh? Black tie and all that?"

"Yes," Cowley said curtly. "Bodie. You'll be attending as a wealthy investor. Doyle—"

"Will be his disarming business partner," Doyle put in.

Cowley didn't blink. "You will attend together as partners in a new import firm. Two businessmen attract less attention than CI5 men sniffing around where they shouldn't."

"Hear that, Doyle?" Bodie's grin widened. "You and me, proper entrepreneurs. Suits. Champagne. The lot."

"Do us a favour," Doyle shot him a sidelong glance, "don't spend the entire evening admiring yourself."

Over his shoulder, Bodie threw him an exaggerated cross-eyed look.

Cowley rose, which meant the conversation was over. "You'll go in with no firearms. That's too risky in a crowd. The surveillance team will be parked outside. You are there to observe and stop the exchange. Not to start a shoot-out. Am I clear, 3.7?" He fixed Bodie with a hard stare and waited for his curt nod before continuing, "Retrieve the diamonds. And Harcourt as well."

"Yes, sir." Bodie stood, took the file, and once Doyle was by his side, they turned to leave.

"And lads," Cowley called after them, "try not to ruin Christmas for the rest of Mayfair."

**********

Out in the corridor, Bodie said to Doyle with a smirk, "Business partners, eh? Better practise your handshake, make it look convincing."

"Try not to get carried away playing Mr Moneybags," Doyle said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Bodie angled in, voice low and teasing. "Don't worry, I'll play it perfectly. And you will be my quiet, respectable partner."

"Quiet, maybe," Doyle muttered as he pushed past. "Respectable's pushing it."

Bodie chuckled and lengthened his stride to catch up. "That's all right, mate. You can polish my halo while we're at it."

Doyle rolled his eyes and elbowed him playfully as they headed for the stairs and the carpark, grey light slanting through the windows as they passed. London waited beyond, wet, grimy, with tinsel shimmering here and there. A city that never stopped moving, even at Christmas time.

As they shouldered through the exit, Bodie's voice drifted out. "So, dinner jackets, champagne, diamonds… remind me why we didn't join MI6?"

"Because we're the mugs who actually do the work." Doyle flipped his collar up against the drizzle. "Come on, then. Let's find something decent to wear."

**********

By the time they reached home, the rain was pelting down, forcing them to make a mad dash across the street and into the building.

When they entered their flat, the heating clanked to life, humming through the radiators. The faint trace of Doyle's aftershave lingered in the air, sandalwood with a citrus bite.

Bodie made his way into the bedroom, rummaged around in the wardrobe and grunted in satisfaction when he found what he was after. He spun around, gleefully holding up two suits on hangers.

"So," Bodie started, "which best says 'wealthy international investor' and which says CI5 yob who doesn't belong in Mayfair?"

From the bed, Doyle didn't look up from polishing his shoes. "There's a difference?"

Bodie released a long-suffering sigh and chose the classic black suit. "This'll do. Can't go wrong with black."

Doyle finally glanced up, eyes glinting. "You only like it because it hides the gun bulge."

Bodie grinned. "Bit redundant, that. We're not taking guns tonight, remember?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not the one who forgets he's meant to blend in," Doyle gave the shoes a final buff, stood, and finished dressing. "Put you anywhere posh, and you look like you're casing the joint."

"That's me natural charm, that is," Bodie said, hanging the suit on the open wardrobe door. "Can't help my roguish good looks, can I?"

Doyle's gaze roamed over Bodie, fierce and possessive, as he began to undress. "Roguish or not, you're mine."

"Always was, Ray," Bodie said without hesitation before a mischievous smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. "You're not returning me."

A sound of amusement escaped Doyle. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate."

After fastening the last button on his dress shirt, Doyle crossed to the dresser and, using the mirror, adjusted his cufflinks. Bodie watched him. The neat movements, the concentration, the light catching his curls. Doyle met his eyes in the reflection and winked.

"Try and behave, will you? Keep your hands to yourself," Doyle warned, giving him a look. "You're meant to be an investor, not a bloke carrying on with his business partner."

"Don't worry. I'll not embarrass anyone." Bodie pressed a light kiss to Doyle's temple. "I can behave. For one evening, anyway."

"Ha! That'll be the day," Doyle snorted.

For a moment, Bodie held still and simply drank in the sight of his partner. The familiar, knowing smile, the sensual green eyes, and soft curve of his mouth that never failed to undo him.

Doyle swung around and closed the distance between them. His hands roamed up Bodie's chest, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric. His fingers wrapped around the back of Bodie's neck in a claiming hold, and a moan escaped Bodie as a shiver rushed through him. And when Doyle drew him in, Bodie didn't hesitate; he went willingly.

The kiss started slowly, then heated quickly. His hands found Doyle's waist, tugging him even closer until their bodies fit the way they always did, perfectly aligned.

He parted Doyle's lips with his tongue, tasting, teasing, falling into the rhythm they'd built over the years. Doyle made a low, rough sound that curled through Bodie's chest and went straight to his groin. He smiled against Doyle's mouth and angled his head to deepen the kiss, sliding one hand up to the nape of Doyle's neck, fingers tracing the soft hairs there.

When they finally broke apart, Doyle's breath was ragged against his cheek. Bodie kept them there a little longer, not yet ready to let him go. Right then, there was only Doyle. Warm, breathless, and utterly his.

"Mmm," Doyle hummed, eyes half-lidded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "You're good at that."

A breathy sound escaped Bodie, his own voice rough. "Practice makes perfect."

Doyle broke into laughter, the sound vibrating against Bodie's chest. "Don't ever stop practicing, then."

Bodie stole one last kiss before letting Doyle go. The spell hung between them until Doyle stepped back with a reluctant sigh. He looked bloody adorable with his tie askew, hair slightly mussed, and shirt a tad wrinkled.

That familiar tug of want flowing through Bodie had to be ignored, and he forced himself to move away. It was time to get dressed. They still had places to be, faces to keep up, and a job waiting beyond the door. But for those few quiet seconds, Doyle's kiss lingered on his lips and carried him forward.

Doyle cleared his throat, bringing Bodie's attention back. "We get in, mingle, keep our eyes open. No heroics, yeah?"

"Understood," Bodie said, dressing quickly. "You're the brains, I'm the charm."

"Charm?" Doyle snorted with laughter. "Trouble, more like."

"Same thing, isn't it?" Bodie shot back, lifting his dinner jacket off the hanger.

**********

Bodie guided the Capri along the slick London streets, headlights glinting off puddles as they made their way through the West End.

At this hour, the city was alive. Shopfronts lit for Christmas, shoppers laden with parcels, and the occasional Salvation Army band braving the cold for pennies and goodwill.

Bodie drove one-handed, the other resting on the gearstick, and tossed a brief glance towards the passenger seat. Doyle sat in quiet focus, watching the lights go by, profile visible in the passing glow. Always the thinker, his partner. Always a step ahead, even when he pretended not to be.

"If we weren't working," Bodie said, breaking the silence, "this could almost pass for a night out."

Doyle made a small, knowing sound. "Pity we've a fence to nick instead of a pint to enjoy."

"Maybe after, eh?" Bodie kept his eyes on the road. "Bit of Christmas cheer. You, me, couple of drinks."

There was a pause long enough for the wipers to squeak across the glass twice. Doyle's voice came quiet but steady. "Yeah. Would be nice."

Bodie could see their reflections in the windscreen, the sharp suits and ties sitting just so, and thought they looked the part. Two professionals on their way to a party. Not agents, not soldiers, simply men with a job to do.

He thumbed the indicator on and steered toward Mayfair. He felt that familiar coil of anticipation tightening in his chest, the one that came before an op.

He met Doyle's gaze, and the tension eased a fraction. Whatever awaited, they'd face it together. Same as always.

**********

The Mayfair hotel sparkled like a Christmas card brought to life. Glittering holiday decorations, doormen in crisp red uniforms, red-and-gold lights strung over the entrance, and carols drifting faintly from the inside.

Bodie pulled the Capri up behind a line of Jaguars and Bentleys, earning a few raised brows from the valet staff. When they exited the car, he tossed the keys to the nearest attendant with a grin.

"Mind the motor, mate," Bodie said. "She's sensitive."

The young man blinked at him, clearly uncertain whether it was meant as a joke or not.

Doyle adjusted his tie and turned to Bodie. "Couldn't hand it over quietly, could you?"

"Part of my image," Bodie said smoothly. "We're supposed to look rich, successful, and confident. I'm doing a proper job."

Doyle raised an eyebrow and stepped through the entrance.

Following close behind, Bodie straightened his jacket, feeling the cut of the suit across his shoulders. Black tie, clean shave, cufflinks gleaming. He looked the part, or near enough to fool a room full of people who never had to earn their living with fists and weapons.

He couldn't help but run an appreciative eye over Doyle in his sharp charcoal grey suit, hair neat, eyes already scanning the area. Together they crossed the red-carpeted entry, and Bodie had to smirk at the absurdity of two CI5 lads playing businessmen among London's upper crust.

In the lobby, a massive, beautifully decorated Christmas tree dominated the area, its lights casting warm reflections across the polished marble floor.

At the maître d' stand, an immaculately dressed woman greeted them with a warm smile. "Welcome, gentlemen. May I have your names?"

"Mr Windsor and Mr Talbot," Bodie supplied, their cover names easily rolling off his tongue. "Regency Investment Group."

She nodded, checking the guest list before waving them through. "Enjoy your evening."

The ballroom beyond was a sea of sequins, tuxedos, and chatter. The room shimmered under a dozen chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of perfume and expensive cigars. Off to the left of the bar, a string quartet played something soft and tasteful while waiters made their way through the crowd with trays of canapés and champagne.

Bodie snagged two flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to Doyle. "Cheers, mate." He clinked their glasses together. "Here's to the high life."

Doyle gave him a dry look over the rim. "Don't get used to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate." Bodie took a slow sip, and it fizzed on his tongue. Decent stuff, if you liked bubbles in your drink.

Discreetly, Bodie let his eyes wander over the crowd, cataloguing faces. They consisted mostly of businessmen, a sprinkling of politicians, as well as women draped in expensive silk and diamonds. Somewhere in this glittering mess was Cedric Harcourt, the sod clever enough to smuggle diamonds in Christmas baubles and smug enough to think no one would notice.

"Bodie." Doyle dipped his head. "Far corner. Grey hair, blue tie. Fits the bloke from the photo."

Bodie followed the direction Doyle indicated. It was Harcourt, no doubt about it. He stood chatting with a younger bloke in a pricey suit. Both men wore bright smiles and exuded breezy confidence. Not a hint of nerves between the pair, which never boded well.

"Got him," Bodie murmured. "What's the play?"

"Observe, mingle, keep our cover." Doyle's tone was easy, but his eyes never stopped moving.

"Right," Bodie answered with a brisk nod.

They drifted apart, working the room from opposite angles. Bodie strolled through the crowd as though he belonged there. He smiled at a pretty bird in an evening dress and pearls, swapped pleasantries about champagne and the price of art with an older bloke, then continued towards the buffet table where Doyle was already pretending to study the hors d'oeuvres.

"Could get used to this," Bodie said quietly, eyeing the spread. "Bit of steak tartare, caviar on the side, a few diamonds for afters."

Doyle's lips twitched. "You'd get bored inside a week."

"True enough," Bodie said, giving his champagne a lazy swirl before taking a sip. "No one to shoot at."

In the reflection of the mirrored pillars, he saw Harcourt again, beckoning a waiter over. The lad was carrying a small wooden box marked Fragile – Glass Decorations.

A spark of anticipation zinged through Bodie. It was the baubles. The exchange was happening sooner than they expected.

Doyle edged closer, voice barely audible. "Got the signal from Murphy. Teams are in position."

"Got it." Bodie knew exactly what Doyle was thinking. It was the same thing they always thought before a bust.

Get in. Get it done. Get out alive.

For all the glitter and music, something in the air had shifted. A quiet hum beneath the noise. Instinct, or perhaps anticipation.

Harcourt laughed, clapped the young buyer on the shoulder, and reached for the box.

Doyle flicked a glance Bodie's way. "Ready?"

"Was born ready," Bodie said, setting his glass down on the nearest table. Without another word, they set off. Two shadows in fancy suits cutting through a sea of sequins and champagne.

**********

The moment Harcourt's hand touched the box, everything slowed. That small, charged pause before things kicked off. Bodie had felt it a hundred times before. The lull before the storm, the rhythm his pulse always recognised.

Harcourt lifted the lid, enough for his buyer to peek inside. A glint of coloured glass caught the light. Christmas baubles, neat as you like. Somewhere among them, diamonds worth more than Bodie and Doyle's yearly wages combined.

Bodie edged closer, smile firmly fixed in place. While Doyle had wandered the other way, circling through a group of guests. They moved in tandem without a glance. Years of practice turning into choreography.

When the buyer made a low, amused remark, Harcourt chuckled, his fingers sliding over a tissue-wrapped ornament. Bodie saw the subtle shift of Harcourt's hand.

A signal.

Here we go.

The buyer reached into his jacket. Not for a gun, that was too public, but for a slim envelope. Payment, most likely.

In three easy steps, Bodie closed the gap.

"Evening, gents," he said breezily. "Cracking party, isn't it? Shame the baubles look like Woolworths' finest."

Both men froze. The buyer's hand jerked, the envelope vanishing into his pocket. Harcourt's mask slipped, surprise flaring a second before he smothered it.

Doyle appeared at Bodie's shoulder, quiet and steady. "CI5," he said, calm as ever. "Stay put."

For a heartbeat, the criminals paused. Then Harcourt did a runner. Not towards the diamonds, but sideways, aiming for the gap between the tables. Bodie was faster. He reached out, grabbed Harcourt's wrist and wrenched his arm up behind his back. The man's grunt of pain was drowned out by the crowd's collective gasp.

"Oi," Bodie gritted out. "No need to make a scene. Wouldn't want to ruin this fancy do, would you?"

Harcourt struggled, face reddening, eyes darting towards the exits. The buyer legged it in the opposite direction, nearly bowling over a waiter.

"Bloody hell," Doyle swore and set off after him, moving through the crowd with the smooth precision of a CI5 operative well used to chasing down criminals.

Hefting the box of baubles under one arm, Bodie began frog-marching Harcourt across the room. The man was still breathing hard, muttering frantic protests about mistaken identity. Bodie ignored him, eyes sweeping the room instead, scanning for any threats.

Guests pressed back against tables and walls, talking over one another as he pushed through. Women clutched their pearls, blokes abandoned their drinks, and even the band had stopped playing. Bodie felt the room's attention shift to him, wary eyes following his progress.

"Easy, ladies and gents," Bodie said, flashing his most disarming grin. "Just a small misunderstanding. Scotland Yard's finest Christmas entertainment."

A ripple of nervous titters followed him out into the lobby. Two CI5 men hurried over, taking Harcourt and the box off his hands. "Get him to HQ. Cowley will want a word."

Once they'd hauled Harcourt out the front entrance, Bodie rolled his shoulders, flexing the tension away.

Down the corridor, Doyle reappeared with the buyer in tow, looking smug and slightly rumpled.

"Didn't fancy the long way round," Doyle said, giving the bloke a shove to keep him moving. "Cut through the kitchens. Did nicely in a pinch."

Bodie raised an eyebrow. "Don't suppose you nicked me a mince pie, did you?"

"Tempting," Doyle said dryly, "but no." When Murphy walked over, Doyle handed the buyer off to him. "Ta, mate."

"Well," Bodie said, waggling his eyebrows at Doyle, "not bad for a night out, eh?"

Doyle shot him a look. "You call that a night out?"

"Maybe it's your company I enjoy," Bodie said lightly.

Doyle snorted, giving him a shove towards the door. "Move it, Casanova. Cowley will have our hides if we're late."

Outside, they waited under the canopy for the valet to bring their car around. "You owe me a pint." Bodie grinned cheekily.

Sliding into the passenger seat, Doyle quirked a crooked smile. "Need to see Cowley and file our report first."

"Fine." Bodie started the engine, headlights flaring across the wet tarmac. "First round's mine."

"Oh, ta," Doyle drawled, settling back.

"What can I say, sunshine?" Bodie grinned. "It's Christmas time."

The city blurred past, and for a brief stretch, everything felt simple. It was the two of them together again, the world outside fading into rain and lights.

**********

It was gone midnight by the time they made it home. London had settled to a low hum. Streets glistened, puddles reflected the last of the fairy lights, and the air was heavy with that damp chill that crept under Bodie's collar.

They entered their flat, and Bodie locked the door behind them. The place was warm, the radiator ticking faintly. Doyle shrugged out of his dress jacket, muttering something about Cowley's timing and the lack of Christmas spirit at CI5 headquarters.

Stepping into the sitting room, Bodie turned on the table lamp, casting the room in a soft glow.

"Want a drink?" Doyle asked, heading for the kitchen.

"Wouldn't say no." Bodie slipped off his own jacket, yanked his tie free, then popped open the top two buttons on his shirt.

Doyle came back with two glasses and a bottle of whisky. He poured without ceremony, handed one over, then dropped onto the couch.

Turning on the telly, Bodie lowered the volume and searched through the channels until he found a late-night concert with a brass band playing Christmas carols.

He flopped down next to Doyle and took a sip from his glass, feeling the warmth of the whisky spread through him. "Not bad for a Christmas Eve, eh?" he said finally. "Bit of glamour, bit of danger, couple of arrests."

Doyle stretched his legs, draping one arm along the back of the couch behind Bodie. "You forgot the bit where you nearly redecorated the ballroom with Harcourt's face."

"Details." Bodie waved that away. "We got the job done. And no one shot at us. That's what I call a festive miracle."

Doyle's low chuckle warmed the room more than the radiator. He raised his glass in a small toast. "To miracles, then."

Bodie tapped his glass against Doyle's "And to surviving another Cowley Christmas."

They drank in comfortable silence. Fairy lights from the small Christmas tree in the corner flickered colour over the walls, making the room feel snug.

The tree was a tad crooked, a bit sparse, but it did the job. Doyle had insisted on having one. Bodie had grumbled about it, then gone out and bought the tinsel and lights anyway.

He watched Doyle for a moment. The relaxed line of his shoulders, the way the light threaded through his hair. It struck Bodie, as it sometimes did, how natural this felt. Not the work, not the cover stories or the chaos, but this. The quiet after. The steady company. Their love for each other.

Doyle noticed him looking, smirked and bumped their shoulders. "What?"

Bodie stroked his thumb along Doyle's jaw. "Not a bad way to celebrate Christmas."

"Yeah," Doyle answered, voice soft. "Could've been worse."

Bodie lounged back, half-smiling. "So, what d'you reckon? Day off tomorrow, or will Cowley have us dressed up as elves on security duty somewhere?"

"Don't even joke, Bodie." Doyle glared and knocked back the rest of his drink.

Bodie huffed a laugh. "All right. We'll sleep in, then. Wake up late. Have a decent brekkie."

"Like what?"

"Something Christmassy," Bodie said, mulling it over. "Bacon. Sausage. Eggs. Beans. Tomato. Toast." He vigorously rubbed his palms together. "More bacon."

Doyle shook his head. "You're impossible."

"Yeah." Bodie flashed him a wicked grin. "But you like me that way."

"I do." Doyle set his glass aside and rested his head against Bodie's shoulder, eyes half-lidded.

"Happy Christmas, Ray," he whispered, kissing the top of Doyle's head. "Love you."

"Love you too." Doyle's reply was warm and certain, the smile plain in his voice.

And for the first time that long day, Bodie closed his eyes and rested against Doyle. Everything else fell away, replaced by the heat of Doyle's body pressed to his, the steady rhythm of Doyle's breathing, and the unspoken bond that felt sweet and sure between them.

It wasn't the colourful lights, the decorated tree, or the bloody carols that made it a perfect Christmas. It was Doyle. Always Doyle. The one constant he trusted. The only person who ever felt like home.

**********

A week later, London was easing itself into the New Year. Fireworks were being tested somewhere over the river, the city wearing that hopeful, hungover look it always did this time of year.

Bodie stood by the window, bottle of beer in hand, watching the stars twinkle in the evening sky. Behind him, Doyle was engaged in fussing with the radio, trying to land on a channel playing a music countdown.

"You realise," Bodie said, not turning, "we survived December without getting shot at. That's a bloody miracle, that is."

"That's because we're professionals," Doyle answered dryly. "Or very lucky."

"Could be both." Bodie chuckled.

He angled towards Doyle as his partner approached, hair slightly mussed from where he'd raked fingers through it.

"Plans for midnight?" Doyle asked.

"This, right here." Bodie caught Doyle's wrist and drew him closer. "You, me, and perhaps what's left of that whisky."

Doyle's eyebrows rose, but there was that familiar, fond tilt to his mouth. "That all?"

"That's enough." Bodie's grin softened.

He gathered Doyle into his arms, tugging him close until their bodies fit together, the soft flare of fireworks painting colour across Doyle's skin.

The next moment came as naturally as breathing. Bodie slanted his head and kissed Doyle. Slow and deliberate, and a flush started low in his chest and spread outwards.

Without hesitation, Doyle leaned into it, his hand finding the back of Bodie's neck, fingers curling there like he'd done it a thousand times… which, of course, he had.

The kiss deepened, and the rest of the world slipped away. When they finally broke apart, Doyle stayed close enough that Bodie could feel his breath ghosting across his lips.

A yawn suddenly ambushed Bodie. A proper jaw-cracker.

"Right, bedtime for you. Before you go arse over tip. Wouldn't want you bashing that pretty head, would we?" Doyle nicked another kiss as he laced their fingers.

"Not likely," Bodie protested. "I'm no delicate flower, Ray."

"Of course not, petal. Wouldn't dare suggest it," Doyle answered in an appeasing tone, giving Bodie's hand a tug. "Keep walking."

They headed down the short hallway towards the bedroom, floorboards creaking softly underfoot. There was no hurry, there never was with them, there was only that warm certainty of knowing each other's body by heart, every familiar caress a promise.

In the bedroom, the lamplight was soft and golden, pooling over the rumpled sheets. Doyle faced him, and Bodie reached out, brushing his fingers lightly along Doyle's cheek. It wasn't about want, not really… not just that. It was about all the things that didn't fit neatly into words, like trust, affection, and love.

When they came together again, it was slow, all heat and the familiar bond that never faltered. A hand sliding over fabric, a breath hitching, a laugh half-murmured into a kiss. The world outside might have been ringing in the New Year, but here, in their bedroom, time felt like it had stopped for them alone.

Much later, they lay tangled under the covers, the glow from the streetlights slipping through the curtains. Doyle's head rested on Bodie's chest, hair tickling his chin.

Bodie stroked his fingers idly along Doyle's arm, tracing the lines of muscle.

"A few years ago," Bodie said softly, "if someone said I'd end up here with you, I would have called them barmy."

"Life's full of surprises, isn't it?" Doyle kissed the hollow of Bodie's throat.

"Yeah." Bodie dipped his head and pressed his mouth against Doyle's hair. "And some aren't only worth keeping, Ray… They're worth everything."

Doyle's hand found his and laced their fingers together. "You're everything to me too, Bodie. Always have been."

Outside, another firework went off. A muted burst of colour behind the curtains. Bodie didn't bother to look. He already had the only thing worth watching right here in his arms.

"Happy New Year, sunshine," he whispered and tightened his embrace.

Lifting Bodie's hand, Doyle placed light kisses across his knuckles. "Happy New Year."

And as the colours faded across the ceiling, Bodie closed his eyes, revelling in the feel of Doyle beside him.

**********

Bodie woke to pale morning light spilling into the room and the sun rising over the rooftops.

Doyle was still asleep, one arm flung across Bodie's waist, curls tousled, face relaxed in a way Bodie didn't often get to see. The sight tugged a slow smile from him, that familiar mix of fondness and disbelief that this, somehow, was his life now.

He lay there a while longer, listening to the soft rhythm of Doyle's breathing. For once, there was no urgency, no briefings, no phone to answer. Just warmth. Just peace. Just them.

Bodie stroked his thumb lightly across Doyle's hand, careful not to wake him. "I love you, Ray," he said, the words barely there.

Doyle stirred, eyes still closed, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Five more minutes."

Bodie snickered under his breath, perfectly content to stay right where he was. Outside, another year had begun. Cold, uncertain, and full of the usual trouble. But here, in this dim, peaceful room, with Doyle in his arms, everything he cared about was exactly where it belonged.

And for Bodie, that was enough. More than enough.

THE END


Title: Undercover Christmas
Author: Ankaree
Genre: Slash, Holiday
Archive at ProsLib: Yes
Warnings: None
Notes: Thanks so much to LilyK for the great beta work!

Summary: Over a glittering London Christmas, Bodie and Doyle go undercover to stop a diamond-smuggling ring hiding the stones in festive glass baubles. The job's a clean success with no casualties, no shots fired, just sharp teamwork and a neatly wrapped arrest. Back at their flat, the banter softens into domestic warmth with soft laughter, the glow of a crooked Christmas tree, and the familiar comfort of being together. When New Year's Eve arrives, their quiet closeness deepens into something sure and tender, sealed with a kiss that means everything.

Comments

[krisserci5.livejournal.com]

Fabulous story. Thanks so much!

[ali15son.livejournal.com]

A lovely christmas story.

Thankyou.

[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

It was my pleasure to beta your lovely story. I enjoyed it very much! Thank you!

[agt-spooky.livejournal.com]

Oh, this was brilliant! Your dialogue and banter was spot on. What a beautiful story. This was my favorite bit: "It wasn't the colourful lights, the decorated tree, or the bloody carols that made it a perfect Christmas. It was Doyle. Always Doyle. The one constant he trusted. The only person who ever felt like home." Yes! So well said! Thanks for sharing this with us. ❤️

[cloudless-9193.livejournal.com]

Very enjoyable! :-)

[merentha13.livejournal.com]

Wonderful story!

"Bit of glamour, bit of danger, couple of arrests." sums the lads up perfectly.

[queenafoster.livejournal.com]

It wasn't the colourful lights, the decorated tree, or the bloody carols that made it a perfect Christmas. It was Doyle. Always Doyle. The one constant he trusted. The only person who ever felt like home.

Love this line!

[f-m-parkinson.livejournal.com]

Loved this story. We got an 'on the job' side to it *and* a relationship one. Really liked the atmosphere it conjured up, both in the carrying out of the operation and in their own private world. A good Christmas read!

[sw33n3y.livejournal.com]

As soon as I saw 'charity gala' I knew we'd be in for some Lads-in-black-suits fun . Great Christmas caper!