discoveredinalj | New Story: Autumn Afternoon by PFL

This is my contribution to the Discovered in Fallen Leaves challenge--although not the drabble part of it. *g* It is also sort of a response to the earlier Discovered in a Sketchbook challenge. I, er, incorporated the lovely, lovely drawings by

crimson_37 and

artconserv. (Click to see the original prompt drawing, and the reply "What Happened Next" Definitely not work-safe.)

Plus... (yes, yet more ambition for this slight story)

justacat a long time ago said she'd really like to see me put banter into a sex scene. "Ha!" I said. "No. Can't do it." "But you'd be so good at it," she told me, knowing I'm a sucker for flattery. So--ahem--here is my attempt at that.

Does it suffice to say that the working title for this story was "Autumn Smut"?

Autumn Afternoon
He was going to kill Doyle. Slowly and with great...pleasure. Bodie somehow suppressed a groan as Doyle licked his balls. Christ! Just a little more; move just— And again Doyle abandoned him, resting his chin on Bodie’s hip bone, looking at him, he had no doubt. Waiting. Bodie refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

“Bodie?”

“What?” It came out less of a roar than he had intended.

“Just wondering.”

“Would you stop fucking wondering and get on with the fucking—”

“Fucking?” He could feel Doyle’s smile.

“If it’s not too much effort.”

“No.” Doyle’s tone told him he was considering the question. “Definitely not too much effort.” His hand stroked lightly where his tongue had just been. Bodie was going to kill him. Really. Later.

“Doyle.”

“Well, just look at your prick.”

“Which one?” And at that he did look at Doyle, who grinned back at him.

“This one.” Doyle drew his finger down the length of Bodie’s cock. “There. See? You didn’t tell it to do that, right? It just reacted. In—vol—untary.”

This time Bodie couldn’t suppress the groan as Doyle grasped him strongly, pulling his cock. But then Doyle’s hand released him; left him hanging again. Dammit. Bodie surged up, determined to roll them over and take control. Doyle reacted instantly. He put his whole weight on Bodie, pinned him to the bed.

“Fuck. Ray!” He could barely breathe with Doyle pressing down on him. His eyes closed as Doyle’s weight shifted on his cock. He moved his hips, seeking friction and relief.

“Uh-uh.” Doyle slid off him, but his hands roamed over Bodie’s chest. “This is my show.”

Opening his eyes, Bodie caught a passing expression on Doyle’s face. He shied away from it and instead pulled out a smile. “Takes you a while to get going, eh? You older—” He gasped as Doyle bit his nipple.

“You were saying?” Doyle grinned at him.

“I stand by—” Doyle moved on to the other nipple. “Stand.... Oh. God.” He placed one hand on Doyle’s head, threaded his fingers through his hair. He slid his other hand along Doyle’s back—up and down, feeling the smooth skin and the flex of muscle.

Doyle raised his head. “Like that, do you?”

He didn’t have to answer.

“Thought so.” Doyle stroked from one nipple to the other. “I’d like to know what—” He stopped abruptly, then smiled—a wicked, salacious expression that shot a jolt of lust through Bodie. He licked a path down Bodie’s chest, stopped to investigate his navel, then continued towards what Bodie hoped was his goal.

Somehow, this had got out of hand. It was supposed to be his seduction, wasn’t it? He’d manoeuvred Doyle to his flat after a pub lunch—after a quiet, boring night at work. He’d thought to get them back to familiar territory; back to fun. He hadn’t thought they’d end up in bed again—not like this. There was nothing casual about this. Yet there had been no adrenaline from action this time; no stoppages or sheer, bloody survival luck; nothing to come down from. No threat of getting carried away, of forgetting who and what they were. It wasn’t like that night—the first time they’d made it to a bed. The only time they’d kissed.

“Ah!” He arched as finally, finally, Doyle took his cock into his mouth. He was surrounded by heat and pressure. The graze of teeth against his skin only added to the shocks arcing through him. He forgot everything except the need to move. Christ, he had to finish this.

Doyle pulled away, pressed hard at the base of his cock, and Bodie gritted his teeth against the need to cry out.

“It’s all right, all right.” Was there apology in Doyle’s voice? He was breathing hard. “But it’s not what you want, is it?”

Their eyes met, and Bodie’s heart leapt to his throat before he looked away. He didn’t want—but he did. All right. Ray was upping the stakes, but it was still Bodie’s game. It was still a game.

Doyle moved up on the bed. “You must,” he said, as he reached for the bedside cabinet, “learn patience, William.” His voice took on the cadence of teachers everywhere.

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

Doyle paused in his fumbling in the drawer. “What would you call it, then?”

“Torture.” Bodie couldn’t resist reaching out to touch Doyle. His lean muscles were stretched under skin that was just beginning to lose its summer glow. His hand traced the length of him, from shoulder to flank to thigh. “My self-control in the face of deliberate cruelty is exemplary.”

“Don’t tell me. SAS training strikes again?” Doyle brought a tube of lubricant back to the bed with him. “Very thorough, were they?”

“They maybe didn’t quite foresee this situation.” He felt a stab of desire as Doyle deftly took the cap off the tube and squeezed gel out.

Doyle looked at him from under lazy eyelids. “I thought they were always prepared?” He moved to a kneeling position and slid his hand along his own cock.

“That’s the boy scouts.” Bodie’s breath caught as Doyle shifted his hand to his arse, preparing himself to be fucked.

Doyle, it appeared, had no answer to that. His head fell back a little, his eyes shut. Bodie could no more resist him than he could fly. He sat up, reached for Doyle, his hands settling on his waist. And then he kissed him, as he knew he shouldn’t, but he was beyond caring. Doyle opened to him, allowed his tongue in, and for a moment Bodie felt he was flying. Then Doyle jerked back, and Bodie let him, because this wasn’t in the deal, was it? And he was the one who had set the game rules. But then...maybe rules could change.

He tightened his hands on Doyle’s waist and tumbled them to the bed, laughing at Doyle’s predictable curses as he was squashed by Bodie’s weight.

“Surely you’re ready by now, Doyle. We don’t want me sliding out, right?”

“Well, if you can’t keep it up....” Doyle’s voice was muffled.

Bodie decided to get some of his own back and subjected Doyle to the same thorough reconnaissance he’d suffered through. Doyle squirmed beneath him, and Bodie grinned. “Tut, tut. Patience, Ray.” He endured a pinch and retaliated by gripping Doyle’s cock. Doyle arched, all his focus obviously shifting to his balls, and then Bodie let his hand slide away.

“Bastard,” Doyle said, after a moment.

“Did you use up all the lube or is there any left for me?”

“You’ve probably squeezed it all out with all this thrashing about.”

“Are you complaining about my technique?” Bodie found the tube. Some of the gel had escaped onto the sheet, but there was more than enough.

“If we were wrestling—no. Want me to do that?” Doyle stretched his hand towards Bodie’s cock.

Bodie evaded him. “No, you stay where you are.” He carefully stroked his cock, trying not to think about Doyle.

“Coward.”

“Do you want a good time or not?”

“What, the Bodie technique might falter? Wilt? Droop?”

“Let’s find out. Over you go, my lad.”

But Doyle just looked at him, head tilted against the bed, a calculating expression on his face.

“What?” Bodie’s slicked hand roamed over Doyle’s stomach, and then down to his cock. Christ. The look of him, aroused, flushed.... It made Bodie feel invincible, and it hurt like bullet tearing through him. “Doyle.”

“Just wondering.”

Bodie groaned.

“How much of your self-proclaimed control is true?”

“All of it.”

He didn’t trust the smile that Doyle gave him, nor the whisper that followed: “Come on, then. Fuck me.”

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment. Doyle’s voice had been the same that night. The memory swept through him—the finger that had invaded him; the surge of need and want. Both of them had been reeling from the near disaster of the day. He would have done anything that night and Doyle, he knew, had been the same. In the cold of pre-dawn, he’d fled—from Doyle, from the need. It wasn’t what he wanted. It couldn’t be what he wanted. But here they were—by choice, for fun. Doyle was offering...there was a difference, wasn’t there? This wasn’t an all-consuming need. He started to turn Doyle, but met resistance.

“No. This way.”

He couldn’t do it facing him, seeing into those eyes. When Doyle looked at him, he saw too much. Bodie shook his head. “It’s easier—”

“Fuck easy.” Doyle grabbed him, pumped his cock, and then Bodie didn’t care any more. He was on fire, and all he could think of was the relief promised in Doyle’s touch and his cool smile. He got them into position, felt Doyle’s arse hole against him, and he pressed in.

Doyle audibly caught his breath and his face twisted, his jaw clenched. Bodie pulled back a little, then pushed in again, sinking deeper. His heart was thundering. Gradually, he felt the barrier relax, felt the tremor that shook Doyle. For a moment, Doyle’s eyes closed, then opened, meeting his. It was too much and he ducked his head, feeling exposed. He heard a laugh—a gasp of sound, and it drew him back.

“Control, eh?” Doyle’s voice was strained, but his gaze was steady, and it no longer seared.

“Always.”

Doyle reached for his own cock. “Prove it. Start counting.”

“What?”

“Ten.” Doyle pushed back against him, and Bodie huffed, then thrust strongly. “Count, damn you.”

“Nine,” Bodie said. Doyle’s head moved back, his mouth opened but no sound came out. “Eight.” He timed his thrusts to the count, and put his hand around Doyle’s, on Doyle’s cock. He’d never felt more in control, more powerful. “Seven.” Oh, Christ, it felt good, and he must have hit the sweet spot for Doyle, because his eyes widened and he shuddered.

“Harder.” Doyle’s words were nothing but gasps. “Fuck. Bodie.”

“Control, you said.” He pulled back.

“Would you—”

He pushed in hard and deep. “Six.” Doyle groaned and Bodie lost himself in the sound; hearing that from Doyle. So...tight. Doyle was so tight around him, he could feel every inch, every fucking—

“Five.” Doyle’s voice was guttural, but firm. Bodie looked at him, saw something close to a grin appear. “Gonna fail, aren’t you...Butch....” The grin faltered as Bodie tightened his hold on Doyle’s cock. He paused, held his position, panted.

He could sodding well do this. Just...hold on. He breathed in deeply, resisting the need to push, trembling as he fought to hold out. All he wanted to do was sink in, drive all the way through Doyle, make him groan and come. Come himself. He clenched his jaw and waited until he slid back from the peak. “Four.” Triumph surged through him.

After that, it was easier. They were fully in sync, and he was in control. Doyle was his. “Three.” Doyle cried out, to Bodie’s intense satisfaction. “Two.” Oh, God, he was going to come. His eyes met Doyle’s. “One.”

He thrust fully into Doyle, felt the rushing start of release, and as he hit home he heard Doyle make the sound of a bomb exploding.

Bodie laughed as he came—unable to stop, his body out of his control. Everything was mixed together like falling debris: laughter, lust, love; euphoria and a wild sort of glee. He held fast to Doyle, buffeted but safe, and let it all sweep through him.

When he could breathe; when he could move, he slid off Doyle, still tangled with his legs, and laughed again. He could feel Doyle laughing with him, although the sounds he made were closer to snorts. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and looked down into Doyle’s face. “Boom?”

“Well, there was an explosion. Two, in fact.” Doyle was grinning at him again. He looked sated, debauched, and far too pleased with himself. Something twisted tight and sharp within Bodie, and it broke him. He patted Doyle and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed. Fuck. No. He left the bed, pulled on his trousers, but he only made it to the window, not the door. Doyle was silent now.

Bodie leaned one hand on the windowsill and lifted the curtain with the other. Outside, the sunlight had dimmed as the day drew towards its close. Leaves skittered across the pavement, heralding change—for better or worse, he didn’t know. They’d spent the afternoon in bed. He didn’t turn round as he heard Doyle move in behind him. Doyle put his arm on his waist, and Bodie tensed, but Doyle didn’t tighten his hold, didn’t try to capture him.

“So you were right, then.” Doyle’s tone was casual; carefully safe. “Does this mean I’ll have to believe everything you say? Bugger.”

Bodie didn’t smile. Doyle would give him this—would let him keep it a game, light and uncomplicated. It wasn’t safe to need each other. It wasn’t done. Doyle knew that as well as he did. But Doyle wasn’t as good at hiding.

Bodie turned round. “That wasn’t what I was right about.”

He saw wariness enter Doyle’s eyes. Or perhaps it had been there all along. There was a price to be paid for need. Doyle’s chin went up. “What then?” Ever foolishly brave, his Doyle.

He could take the escape Doyle had offered him. Doyle might even be relieved. But they’d made love this afternoon, without the goad of adrenaline, without desperation. He hadn’t known that need could form and grow out of shared laughter. He hadn’t realised just how powerful sunlight could be.

Bodie took a step forward. “I was right and I was bloody wrong.” He cupped Doyle’s face with his hands, and kissed him as a lover would. For a moment there was no response, and then Doyle’s mouth moved under his and their tongues met and caressed. Move and countermove; pledge and answer. Slowly, Bodie broke the kiss. His left hand traced a line down the curve of Doyle’s shoulder, along his back, and found a resting place under his bum. He felt Doyle’s hand settle on his arm. The grip was gentle, but Bodie felt the strength behind it. He pulled Doyle close, dropped his chin against Doyle’s shoulder, and they leant against each other.

For a long time they stood there, until Doyle pulled back slightly. Doyle’s eyes searched his, and there was no hiding for either of them. “What changed your mind?”

“What changed yours after the Ainsworth op?”

“Ah.” He watched as a singularly sweet smile curved Doyle’s lips. “But I didn’t get to fuck you.”

“Patience, Ray.”

“Not much, William.”

“Is this how it’s going to be, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Bodie turned him and steered him towards the bed. “How much self-control have you got, Doyle?”

End
October 2007

Title: Autumn Afternoon
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit/Hatstand: Yes, please
Notes: Thank you to: Dorinda,

crimson_37,

elizabethoshea,

justacat, and O Anonymous One.