(no subject)

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Well, here I am, posting right up to the wire in my time zone. How December has gotten away from me. But, I dearly wanted to post something to help with the celebration. I will have a vid closer to Christmas, but it's not quite ready yet. To fill in the gap, a bit of fluffy mush...





He drew a circle that shut me out
--Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
**Edwin Markham (1852–1940)

Gin for executions, beer for birthdays, wine for weddings.
**John L. Balderston (1899–1954)


A birthday ought to be special, a young WAP Bodie had always suspected. Not that he'd much experience with that, none really. Any attention in his household was not special, it was just bloody painful, especially if you mentioned wanting a present for your birthday.

The day had never gotten any better. Year after year, it knelled a certain doom. If it was your birthday Bodie, best go to bed and cover your head, old son. It was guaranteed to be a total shite of a day. Jobs were lost, friends died, hell, bush wars had started on his natal day.

He'd driven home last night in a fog of exhaustion from their last op, mumbling something to Doyle he'd immediately forgotten as he dropped him off at his flat. Falling like a stone onto his bed after stripping off his clothes, he'd awoken to a feeling of dread he'd not been able to immediately diagnose the cause of.

After a few minutes, he remembered, then wished he could forget.

Stumbling to the loo, he splashed some water on his face, deliberately not looking in the mirror. After dressing, he went to the kitchen, plugged in the kettle and made a pot of strong tea. He drank a cup standing at the window, looking out into the tiny garden at the back of his flat. It was dormant for the winter, plants huddled up against the cold. The clouds were grey, heavy with the promise of snow.

He poured himself another cup, and walked to the bookshelf in his living room. Since starting with CI-5, he'd allowed himself to accumulate some possessions. Chief among these were books. He read all he could in his spare time, and allowed himself to purchase good copies of the works he valued.

Choosing Yeats for no reason other than he felt the absurdly romantic need to read Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven yet again, he settled into his comfortable chair to pass the day safely away from the wrath the birthday gods.

Several hours passed, and he exchanged the tea for some cheese toast and juice, the Yeats for Ginsberg, and returned to his chair.

The light was just starting to go when his door buzzer sounded. Only one person would have the temerity to disturb him today – Doyle. He pushed the speaker button and caroled, “I'm sorry, Mr. Bodie's not at home today.”

“Open the door, Bodie, or I'll break it down,” Doyle's less than dulcet tones came through the speaker with all the finesse of a lorry. He released the outer door lock and went to the door, opening it on the first knock.

“Don't understand the Queen's English, Doyle? I'm not receiving visitors today,” he made to close the door.

“Yeah,” Doyle smiled brilliantly, blocking the move. “Know that, I do. Your birthday, innit?”

“Don't want to celebrate, mate,” Bodie said exasperated. “Just want to endure until the damn thing's over.”

“You can endure it all you like,” Doyle put down the carrier bags he had brought on the kitchen counter. “But, you're not doing it alone.” One bag was from a local curry house, the other from the off-license down the street. He pulled out a couple of trays of Vindaloo and put them in the oven. Then he took some familiar brown bottles with gold lettering from the other bag and put them in the refrigerator, keeping two out.

“Decide you're my keeper, then?” Bodie was disgruntled, but the curry smelled delicious, and Theakston's Old Peculier was an old favorite.

“Somebody has to be,” Doyle retrieved two pint glasses from a cupboard, popped the tops, and poured out the beer, expertly building a perfect head of foam. “Cheers,” he said blithely, drinking down a good amount.

Bodie just looked at his glass, then at Doyle. Sighing, he muttered, “Cheers” and drank.

The evening moved on. Doyle was relentless. He poked; he prodded; he discussed. The curry was devoured and the bottles of Old Peculier were drank. Moving on to the single malt Bodie had stuck away, they were well-lit by the time the clock struck mid-night.

“S'ok now, Bodie,” Doyle informed him in the precise enunciation of the truly inebriated. “No more December 15th. S'all gone away.”

“'til next year,” Bodie replied morosely, he head flung back on the back of the lounge.

“Be all right,” Doyle assured him, nuzzling his neck. “Be here next year, too.”

“Can't get rid of you, can I,” Bodie, tugging his golly into his lap, nipping an ear.

Doyle just smiled lazily, tracing the outline of Bodie's face with his fingers. The kiss was light, just a meeting of lips.

For some idiotic reason, Bodie felt a stinging in his eyes as he looked at his partner. “You,” he began.

“Yeah, me,” Doyle agreed. “You, too,” he added in a husky almost whisper.

“A right pair,” Bodie sighed.

Doyle reached over for one of the books on the end table, and it fell open to a well-visited page. “Read it,” he requested, holding it out.

Bodie took the book in one hand as Doyle slid into the crook of his other arm and settled in comfortably, and began, “Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths...”

FIN


Endnote: My favorite poem of Yeats is worth reading in its entirety, because, in my opinion, it embodies Bodie and Doyle's relationship. Thank you for reading.

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
**William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Cheers,
bistokidsfan
December 2007

Title: A Pint of Truth
Author: bistokidsfan
Genre: Romance, Slash
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Status: Complete
Rating: Mild
Finished: December 2007
Summary: It's the veracity that will get you, every time. And the love.
Disclaimer: Brian Clemen's lads – I just wanted to have them snuggle a bit.
Feedback: bistokidsfan@gmail.com, website: http://www.bistokidsfan.com
Posting: After the challenge – The Circuit, The Hatstand, my website. Anywhere, sure, just let me know.

A/N: For Discovered in a Life Journal's “Discovered in the Brandy Butter”. My prompt: Theakston's Old Peculier.

A/N2: Happy 30th Anniversary to the Pros and their fandom – a finer group of people you'll not find anywhere.

Comments

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

Oh very nice! I was really caught by the vision of Bodie making tea, and then drinking it by his window, looking over the winter garden - summed up alot there, I thought! And yeay for Doyle knowing, and for the lightest of kisses... *g*

Quick mod-ish thing, which I'll edit out later - could edit this please to put your notes at the end of the piece rather than the beginning (a footer rather than a header!)? We try to do it that way so that people aren't spoilered unless they choose to be. Thanks! (And you know, we had you down as the 16th, so your timing was perfect! Great start to my day... *g*)

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Thanks - a winter garden is a bleak thing, yet full of hope. That's Bodie sometimes.

[probodie.livejournal.com]

Oh this is sweet and so them. And that poem is one of my favourites and it does encompass them adn their relationship. IMHO anyway.

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I have always just melted when I read this poem - and it always makes me think of the Lads. I'm sure Yeats won't mind :D

[gilda-elise.livejournal.com]

This is so nice. Sweet, but not saccharine. The image of Doyle sitting in Bodie's lap, more in affection than lust (though I get that there's that, too,) is wonderful.

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Won't take no for an answer, will Doyle. Affectionate bugger isn't he? Tee hee.

[msmoat.livejournal.com]

You drew that image very well--of a Bodie who has learned that his birthday brings nothing but sorrow and pain, and is better endured than celebrated. Endured alone. Except there's nothing he can do that will keep Doyle out. *g* I like it, too, that Doyle's presence didn't suddenly change the day into a brilliant one for him, but rather made it more endurable, until after midnight and the dawning of a new day (more or less *g*) Thank you!

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much. I tried to show that Doyle being there didn't really change the day, merely his impression of it. And brought beer & food - always good things :D

[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

I really liked the bleakness you painted at first, then the light came through when Doyle appeared. Very nice. I appreciate your posting this bit. Thanks!

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Thank you - Doyle is the sunshine is his life - I just wanted to say it, again :)

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

Ah.. romance Bodie and Doyle style- very nice indeed! Loved the bit where Doyle climbed on to his lap and this exchange is full of undercurrents and very, very them:

For some idiotic reason, Bodie felt a stinging in his eyes as he looked at his partner. “You,” he began.
“Yeah, me,” Doyle agreed. “You, too,” he added in a husky almost whisper.

I alos enjoyed the way you combined Christmas with Bodie's reluctance for his birthday, and the backstory you gave it was very nicely done.

Thank you for this, a treat.

[bistokidsfan77.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much! I'm fond of drive-by backstory and flash of feeling fics, just because you can concentrate on just a few images to draw a feeling for the reader. This one just caught me - thinking of Bodie reading poetry all alone in a bleak winter setting. Why was he there? Thus, the ficlet.

[solosundance.livejournal.com]

Jobs were lost, friends died, hell, bush wars had started on his natal day. *sob* poor Bodie! So glad Ray wouldn't take no for an answer. I particularly love the combination of war Bodie and poetry Bodie ... and the end scene with him reading poetry out loud to Ray ... now that's what I call hot *g* Thank you, this was a lovely fic.

[ancastar.livejournal.com]

You set the mood beautifully here, from the garden to the poetry to Bodie's pot of strong tea. I really got the isolation and depression (fear?) Bodie was struggling with. How lovely when Ray blasted right through that gloom with all his usual finesse. *g* It made their day together all that sweeter. Thanks so much!

[izzie7.livejournal.com]

Beautiful & poignant - just like the Yeats poem, which has always been my favourite of all his work. Thanks for this - it may be short, but it works very well just as it is.