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discoveredinaljOh, man! Four minutes to spare...
My prompt was leftovers. Consider this an eccentric variation on that theme—some "leftover" story from Part Three of my "Discovered Under the Mistletoe" story from last year: "Four Things That Never Happened to Ray Doyle—and One That Did"
Timestamp is about two weeks following the events in that story—Doyle is out of the hospital and recovering from his injuries caused by Quinn.
Aftermath
Doyle winced as he made his way from his kitchen into the lounge, clenching his teeth as he put too much weight on his wounded leg. Quinn's bullet had gone deep, cutting through muscle and nestling up against bone, and the surgeons had hacked away at his leg for four hours before they managed to find it and pull it out. Now he had an incision four inches long on his thigh, with two weeks more medical leave and nothing but time on his hands to think about how much it itched and ached.
He doesn't remember the ride in the ambulance. Doesn't remember much except the excruciating pain in his leg when the attendants moved him, and the blue eyes that held his as he was placed on the stretcher and loaded up into the van. When he woke up in hospital, he was ridiculously disappointed not to find Bodie there. The man had felt like a lifeline during those minutes he'd lain bleeding out on the floor of the flat, offering a strong arm, and a voice Doyle could concentrate on as the blackness threatened to overwhelm him. Somehow, it felt wrong to wake up and find him gone.
Sarge had come by, though, and filled him in when he was out of surgery. Seemed Bodie was part of CI5, that new unit that had just been formed, the very one Doyle had been thinking so much about lately. Big hush-hush—no one seemed to know too much about it, except that it was small, elite, and for the best of the best.
Best of the best—that probably described Bodie, who had been quick on his feet that night, taking care of Quinn and saving Doyle's arse without breaking into a sweat or losing his cool. Unflappable, dangerous—and gorgeous as bloody James Bond, thought Doyle. Remembering that night and the way he'd handled himself made Doyle feel like a right idiot—inept and foolish as damn schoolgirl all at the same time.
Doyle sighed as he lowered himself onto his sofa. Didn't really matter. Wasn't like he would be seeing Bodie again. Unlikely that circumstances would cause them to cross paths again—CI5 was a whole different league from the Met. They found you, you didn't find them, and there wasn't much reason Bodie would have for running to ground a Detective Constable who wasn't smart enough to think twice before following a villain unarmed into an empty flat.
Doyle dropped his head back and closed his eyes. Best to stop thinking about one Mr. Bodie. Best to rest his leg and watch a bit of football and forget about how blue those bloody eyes had been.
He yawned. Or take a kip, perhaps. That medication the surgeon had given him was strong.
A quiet knock at his door roused him. He looked down at the cane near his leg, thought about how much he didn't want to get back on his feet, then took a deep breath and pulled himself up again. He limped across the floor to the door and threw the bolt.
"Hello, sunshine."
He stared. The sunny smile grew broader.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten your Good Samaritan, Detective Constable Doyle. I pegged you for a man with a better memory than that." Bodie held out a bottle. "I bring gifts, if that will get me an invitation inside."
Doyle stood aside and motioned him in. Bodie walked by him and into the lounge, shedding his jacket as he went. Doyle watched the easy movement of muscles under his jumper as he shrugged out of his shoulder holster, and told himself not to stare like some lovesick teenybopper.
Bodie turned back to him and held up the bottle again. "Glasses?"
Doyle gestured toward the kitchen. Bodie moved off and disappeared through the doorway, while Doyle hobbled back to the sofa, still a bit flummoxed by the sudden appearance of Bodie on his doorstep. He looked up as Bodie came back in and handed him a glass, pouring in a good measure of whisky.
"Cheers." Bodie lifted his own glass before taking a drink. He studied Doyle. "So, surgeon take out your tongue as well as that bullet while you were in hospital?"
Doyle flushed. "Sorry. Just a bit surprised, is all." He used his hands to settle his leg again. "Didn't expect I'd see you again."
Bodie smiled slowly. "Should've known better." Their eyes held, and then Bodie looked away. "The Cow sent me up north. Been in Newcastle. Couldn't make it back 'til now."
"The Cow?"
"George Cowley." Bodie grinned. "God on earth and Comptroller of CI5." He nodded at Doyle's leg. "So how is it?"
Doyle shrugged.
"Hurts like hell, eh?" Bodie sank down onto the sofa next to him. "Got shot almost the same place last year. Still hurts when it gets damp." He looked at Doyle, reached out and ran a hand lightly down the side of his leg. "Right pain in the arse, it was," he whispered.
It took real effort to control the shiver that threatened to slide down his spine. "I'll survive, I expect." He took a fortifying swallow of his own whisky before meeting Bodie's eyes. "Nice of you to drop by and check in on me."
Bodie's smile intensified. "Nice got nothing to do with it and you know it." He slid his fingers onto Doyle's knee. "Couldn't get you out of my head, sunshine."
Doyle stilled. "What?" he asked carefully. Smart man took care not to jump to the wrong conclusions.
"Spent the last week haunted by a certain pair of green eyes," Bodie murmured. "In my dreams, waking and sleeping. Gorgeous," he whispered, leaning forward, tilting his head towards Doyle.
Doyle held up a hand, stopping him. "Wait—"
"Don't tell me you're going to play hard to get, Constable."
Bastard. Too sure of himself, Doyle thought. "Moving a bit fast, don't you think?"
"And what exactly should I be waiting for?" Bodie didn't move away. "Let's not play games we don't have to, Doyle."
"Look, how do you even know that I—?"
"You want me," and Bodie was sliding a hand up his good thigh, closing his hand over his pricked, hard and trapped beneath the denim of his trousers. "You want me and I want you. We're a perfect fit," he said and leaned forward again, pressing forward against Doyle's hand and closing the distance between them, capturing Doyle's mouth with his own. "Perfect," he whispered again, licking Doyle's lips.
"Arrogant sod," Doyle whispered back, letting Bodie's tongue dip inside his mouth.
"It's not arrogance if you're right." Bodie smiled, and then his smile faded and his eyes grew dark as he leaned forward again. This time when he kissed Doyle there was nothing soft about it—his mouth was fierce and wet and demanding, and Doyle moaned into it, clenching a fist in Bodie's jumper, pulling him in instead of pushing him away, and feeling his pulse pound in his groin as Bodie's hand found his prick again, stroking him hard through his jeans.
"Jesus, Bodie—" Doyle turned his head away to draw in an uneven breath but Bodie twisted his fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to his, and Doyle stopped pretending not to want this, and met Bodie's mouth kiss for kiss.
"Knew you'd be like this." Bodie licked a path down his chin to his neck, pushing away the collar of his shirt. "Knew you'd light up like a Christmas tree with my hands on you." He breathed heavily against Doyle's throat. "Christ, I want to fuck you. Want to bury myself in that tight arse of yours and fuck you silly."
"Can't," Doyle gasped. "Leg."
"Yeah, yeah, I know but—" Bodie bit his earlobe and laughed. "Can't blame a man for dreaming. Still," he shifted on the sofa, "other things we can manage without putting you back in traction, right? Starting by getting you out of some of these clothes."
Bodie was careful but relentless. He made sure not to jar Doyle's leg even as he stripped him ("how do you breathe in trousers this tight, mate?") and soon Doyle was spread out naked on his sofa, Bodie between his legs. He licked up the inside of Doyle's thigh, bit not too gently on the tender flesh there, and Doyle could feel his smile against his skin as Doyle swore and shoved his hips up into the pressure of Bodie's mouth.
"Shit—"
"Easy, mate. Make it good for you," Bodie whispered, lips teasing along the length of Doyle's prick. "Make it good for both of us," he said before sliding his mouth down.
"Fuck." Doyle groaned, engulfed in wet heat. He closed his eyes, shivered as Bodie's tongue dragged along the underside of his prick before wrapping itself around the head, sucking. "Fuck that feels good."
"Feel even better soon," Bodie whispered, and then Doyle felt the pressure of two fingers, dry and callused, against his hole. Bodie released his prick and Doyle moaned a protest, then groaned in surprise as Bodie's head dipped lower and he felt the slick rasp of his tongue against his arse, teasing him, getting him wet, until the two fingers slipped easily inside him.
"Bodie—"
"So beautiful," Bodie breathed, watching him writhe on the blunt fingers inside him. "So hot and tight and—" He sighed. "Gorgeous." He leaned down and took Doyle in his mouth again.
It was unbearable, the slick warmth of Bodie's mouth all around his, sucking hard and sure. Doyle bit his lip, trying to stop the soft, keening noises pouring out of his mouth but it was useless—he couldn't stop the sounds any more than he could keep his hands from reaching down, wrapping themselves around Bodie's head, holding on as he tried to move, tried to thrust deep into the tightness of Bodie's throat. "Bodie—"
"Let it go," Bodie murmured, slipping his mouth free and tightening his hand around him. "Let it go, Ray. C'mon—"
"Fuck!" Doyle closed his eyes and came all over Bodie's hand, arching against him. "Bodie—" he tried to gasp, but his cries were smothered under the weight of Bodie's mouth covering his. He chased the taste of musk and salt on Bodie's tongue while Bodie's hands fumbled in the space between them, yanking open his trousers and pulling out his prick, stripping it with his hand, hard and fast. Seconds later Doyle felt the sharp press of teeth against his neck and felt the warm splash of ejaculate again as Bodie came hard between his legs, striping his belly and thighs. He wrapped his arms around him tight, holding on, and if he wasn't sure where this thing was, what they were doing and what it meant, if anything, he knew one thing.
He knew he wasn't letting go.
Title: Aftermath
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aerye
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: No, please.
Notes: Rushed and unbetaed—my apologies!
My prompt was leftovers. Consider this an eccentric variation on that theme—some "leftover" story from Part Three of my "Discovered Under the Mistletoe" story from last year: "Four Things That Never Happened to Ray Doyle—and One That Did"
Timestamp is about two weeks following the events in that story—Doyle is out of the hospital and recovering from his injuries caused by Quinn.
Doyle winced as he made his way from his kitchen into the lounge, clenching his teeth as he put too much weight on his wounded leg. Quinn's bullet had gone deep, cutting through muscle and nestling up against bone, and the surgeons had hacked away at his leg for four hours before they managed to find it and pull it out. Now he had an incision four inches long on his thigh, with two weeks more medical leave and nothing but time on his hands to think about how much it itched and ached.
He doesn't remember the ride in the ambulance. Doesn't remember much except the excruciating pain in his leg when the attendants moved him, and the blue eyes that held his as he was placed on the stretcher and loaded up into the van. When he woke up in hospital, he was ridiculously disappointed not to find Bodie there. The man had felt like a lifeline during those minutes he'd lain bleeding out on the floor of the flat, offering a strong arm, and a voice Doyle could concentrate on as the blackness threatened to overwhelm him. Somehow, it felt wrong to wake up and find him gone.
Sarge had come by, though, and filled him in when he was out of surgery. Seemed Bodie was part of CI5, that new unit that had just been formed, the very one Doyle had been thinking so much about lately. Big hush-hush—no one seemed to know too much about it, except that it was small, elite, and for the best of the best.
Best of the best—that probably described Bodie, who had been quick on his feet that night, taking care of Quinn and saving Doyle's arse without breaking into a sweat or losing his cool. Unflappable, dangerous—and gorgeous as bloody James Bond, thought Doyle. Remembering that night and the way he'd handled himself made Doyle feel like a right idiot—inept and foolish as damn schoolgirl all at the same time.
Doyle sighed as he lowered himself onto his sofa. Didn't really matter. Wasn't like he would be seeing Bodie again. Unlikely that circumstances would cause them to cross paths again—CI5 was a whole different league from the Met. They found you, you didn't find them, and there wasn't much reason Bodie would have for running to ground a Detective Constable who wasn't smart enough to think twice before following a villain unarmed into an empty flat.
Doyle dropped his head back and closed his eyes. Best to stop thinking about one Mr. Bodie. Best to rest his leg and watch a bit of football and forget about how blue those bloody eyes had been.
He yawned. Or take a kip, perhaps. That medication the surgeon had given him was strong.
A quiet knock at his door roused him. He looked down at the cane near his leg, thought about how much he didn't want to get back on his feet, then took a deep breath and pulled himself up again. He limped across the floor to the door and threw the bolt.
"Hello, sunshine."
He stared. The sunny smile grew broader.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten your Good Samaritan, Detective Constable Doyle. I pegged you for a man with a better memory than that." Bodie held out a bottle. "I bring gifts, if that will get me an invitation inside."
Doyle stood aside and motioned him in. Bodie walked by him and into the lounge, shedding his jacket as he went. Doyle watched the easy movement of muscles under his jumper as he shrugged out of his shoulder holster, and told himself not to stare like some lovesick teenybopper.
Bodie turned back to him and held up the bottle again. "Glasses?"
Doyle gestured toward the kitchen. Bodie moved off and disappeared through the doorway, while Doyle hobbled back to the sofa, still a bit flummoxed by the sudden appearance of Bodie on his doorstep. He looked up as Bodie came back in and handed him a glass, pouring in a good measure of whisky.
"Cheers." Bodie lifted his own glass before taking a drink. He studied Doyle. "So, surgeon take out your tongue as well as that bullet while you were in hospital?"
Doyle flushed. "Sorry. Just a bit surprised, is all." He used his hands to settle his leg again. "Didn't expect I'd see you again."
Bodie smiled slowly. "Should've known better." Their eyes held, and then Bodie looked away. "The Cow sent me up north. Been in Newcastle. Couldn't make it back 'til now."
"The Cow?"
"George Cowley." Bodie grinned. "God on earth and Comptroller of CI5." He nodded at Doyle's leg. "So how is it?"
Doyle shrugged.
"Hurts like hell, eh?" Bodie sank down onto the sofa next to him. "Got shot almost the same place last year. Still hurts when it gets damp." He looked at Doyle, reached out and ran a hand lightly down the side of his leg. "Right pain in the arse, it was," he whispered.
It took real effort to control the shiver that threatened to slide down his spine. "I'll survive, I expect." He took a fortifying swallow of his own whisky before meeting Bodie's eyes. "Nice of you to drop by and check in on me."
Bodie's smile intensified. "Nice got nothing to do with it and you know it." He slid his fingers onto Doyle's knee. "Couldn't get you out of my head, sunshine."
Doyle stilled. "What?" he asked carefully. Smart man took care not to jump to the wrong conclusions.
"Spent the last week haunted by a certain pair of green eyes," Bodie murmured. "In my dreams, waking and sleeping. Gorgeous," he whispered, leaning forward, tilting his head towards Doyle.
Doyle held up a hand, stopping him. "Wait—"
"Don't tell me you're going to play hard to get, Constable."
Bastard. Too sure of himself, Doyle thought. "Moving a bit fast, don't you think?"
"And what exactly should I be waiting for?" Bodie didn't move away. "Let's not play games we don't have to, Doyle."
"Look, how do you even know that I—?"
"You want me," and Bodie was sliding a hand up his good thigh, closing his hand over his pricked, hard and trapped beneath the denim of his trousers. "You want me and I want you. We're a perfect fit," he said and leaned forward again, pressing forward against Doyle's hand and closing the distance between them, capturing Doyle's mouth with his own. "Perfect," he whispered again, licking Doyle's lips.
"Arrogant sod," Doyle whispered back, letting Bodie's tongue dip inside his mouth.
"It's not arrogance if you're right." Bodie smiled, and then his smile faded and his eyes grew dark as he leaned forward again. This time when he kissed Doyle there was nothing soft about it—his mouth was fierce and wet and demanding, and Doyle moaned into it, clenching a fist in Bodie's jumper, pulling him in instead of pushing him away, and feeling his pulse pound in his groin as Bodie's hand found his prick again, stroking him hard through his jeans.
"Jesus, Bodie—" Doyle turned his head away to draw in an uneven breath but Bodie twisted his fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to his, and Doyle stopped pretending not to want this, and met Bodie's mouth kiss for kiss.
"Knew you'd be like this." Bodie licked a path down his chin to his neck, pushing away the collar of his shirt. "Knew you'd light up like a Christmas tree with my hands on you." He breathed heavily against Doyle's throat. "Christ, I want to fuck you. Want to bury myself in that tight arse of yours and fuck you silly."
"Can't," Doyle gasped. "Leg."
"Yeah, yeah, I know but—" Bodie bit his earlobe and laughed. "Can't blame a man for dreaming. Still," he shifted on the sofa, "other things we can manage without putting you back in traction, right? Starting by getting you out of some of these clothes."
Bodie was careful but relentless. He made sure not to jar Doyle's leg even as he stripped him ("how do you breathe in trousers this tight, mate?") and soon Doyle was spread out naked on his sofa, Bodie between his legs. He licked up the inside of Doyle's thigh, bit not too gently on the tender flesh there, and Doyle could feel his smile against his skin as Doyle swore and shoved his hips up into the pressure of Bodie's mouth.
"Shit—"
"Easy, mate. Make it good for you," Bodie whispered, lips teasing along the length of Doyle's prick. "Make it good for both of us," he said before sliding his mouth down.
"Fuck." Doyle groaned, engulfed in wet heat. He closed his eyes, shivered as Bodie's tongue dragged along the underside of his prick before wrapping itself around the head, sucking. "Fuck that feels good."
"Feel even better soon," Bodie whispered, and then Doyle felt the pressure of two fingers, dry and callused, against his hole. Bodie released his prick and Doyle moaned a protest, then groaned in surprise as Bodie's head dipped lower and he felt the slick rasp of his tongue against his arse, teasing him, getting him wet, until the two fingers slipped easily inside him.
"Bodie—"
"So beautiful," Bodie breathed, watching him writhe on the blunt fingers inside him. "So hot and tight and—" He sighed. "Gorgeous." He leaned down and took Doyle in his mouth again.
It was unbearable, the slick warmth of Bodie's mouth all around his, sucking hard and sure. Doyle bit his lip, trying to stop the soft, keening noises pouring out of his mouth but it was useless—he couldn't stop the sounds any more than he could keep his hands from reaching down, wrapping themselves around Bodie's head, holding on as he tried to move, tried to thrust deep into the tightness of Bodie's throat. "Bodie—"
"Let it go," Bodie murmured, slipping his mouth free and tightening his hand around him. "Let it go, Ray. C'mon—"
"Fuck!" Doyle closed his eyes and came all over Bodie's hand, arching against him. "Bodie—" he tried to gasp, but his cries were smothered under the weight of Bodie's mouth covering his. He chased the taste of musk and salt on Bodie's tongue while Bodie's hands fumbled in the space between them, yanking open his trousers and pulling out his prick, stripping it with his hand, hard and fast. Seconds later Doyle felt the sharp press of teeth against his neck and felt the warm splash of ejaculate again as Bodie came hard between his legs, striping his belly and thighs. He wrapped his arms around him tight, holding on, and if he wasn't sure where this thing was, what they were doing and what it meant, if anything, he knew one thing.
He knew he wasn't letting go.
Title: Aftermath
Author:
aeryeSlash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: No, please.
Notes: Rushed and unbetaed—my apologies!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 01:08 pm (UTC)If you ever feel like taking this storyline even further ... would the thanks of a grateful world do you? I really love this, because it feels like so much more - the characters feel very real, especially Doyle at the moment - very resonant - makes a person want to see more of them, both in and out of bed of course! Doyle has to get into CI5, doesn't he? hmmm? Next time?
no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:22 am (UTC)It is fun to think about how each of those alternative realities might play themselves out. In this one, yes, it never occurred to me that Doyle wouldn't end out in CI5, although how he gets there might be interesting to figure out. I'm sure Bodie would give him a good reference, right? ::g::
Thanks so much for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:24 am (UTC)It might be fun to take all of the stories a step further. Personally, I'd love to think about what happens next in the Artist!Doyle story. Oh, and the one where he comes out and Bodie belts him. Loves me some angst, I do. ::g::
Thanks again!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:26 am (UTC)Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Man, I love these guys. ::g::
Thank you so much for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 03:43 pm (UTC)What a great idea, given the situation, to carry on from one of the scenarios from last year. So this is what happened, eh? Cool. I love it.
Thank you! I hope now you can catch your breath for a bit, eh?
no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:30 am (UTC)This was totally
But thank you!
And I can't wait to talk more Pros with you!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:37 am (UTC)Thanks so much for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-07 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:40 am (UTC)And thanks again for running this! I've been insane and haven't had time to read anything, but now that life is letting me off the hook a bit, I intend to settle in and catch up. Yum!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-07 12:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:41 am (UTC)::koff::
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-07 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:42 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-08 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 01:43 am (UTC)