discoveredinalj | May Day

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The vision of loveliness that met them at the door to Foley's bedsit was clearly less than pleased that they'd made it into the building in the first place, let alone to number three-oh-one, dragging a very short silk dressing gown to a slightly more respectable level, and frowning at them.

"Who's Foley?"

"William Charles Foley," Doyle repeated, almost patiently. "The charming photographer that you're," he looked the vision up and down, from tousled hair to bare feet, "Sleeping with."

"Who wants him?"

"Ray Doyle,"

"Well, Ray Doyle, Charlie's asleep, and..."

"Raymond Doyle!" a voice interupted him, from within the bedsit, "Does he have divine cheekbones and the hair of an angel?"

The young man blocking their path looked Doyle up and down in his turn, clearly disagreeing, but left the door wide open as he turned around and stomped back into the flat. He shed the dressing gown halfway into the room, sliding under the sheets and blankets of a large bed and burrowing amongst them until he could be seen no more.

"And finally my dreams come true again - Raymond Doyle wants me."

Doyle winced, feeling Bodie close behind him, interest no doubt piqued beyond all repair. "Charlie," he nodded as politely as he could, trying to ignore the way Foley was leaning against the headboard, all blond hair and limpid blue eyes, muscular arms and chest, and - beneath the sheet - legs spread wide.

"It's a little early for a social call, dear boy," Foley suggested gently, "And I somehow don't think you've brought us an extra toy to play with."

Despite himself Doyle had to suppress a smile. Foley'd always been able to do that, to make him laugh, even as he watched in appalled fascination. But Bodie - no man's toy, let alone a man like Foley's - was bristling, and so he did his best to scowl back and look unamused.

"I'm here on business, Charlie."

"Oh I wish you were..."

"My business, Charlie."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Charlie blink at that.

"They said you weren't in the police any more!"

Doyle shook his head slowly. "I'm not." He could hear Bodie reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, waited until his ID was held out, and opened with a flourish. "CI5." And Bodie looked good in that photo.

Charlie, almost unflappable, stared at it in fascination for a moment, then blinked again and gazed back up at them. "Well I am the lucky one," he said, before sitting up straight and eyeing the bedclothes beside him instead. "I think this calls for coffee." The bedclothes didn't move, so he lifted a hand and gave the most rounded area a firm slap, before emerging from the bed himself to stand and luxuriously stretch every muscle in his entirely naked body.

Doyle watched, knowing the show was for both of them, but especially for him, and wondered again how he was going to explain Charles Foley to Bodie.

A pair of jeans and a shirt, flung together, struck Charlie's chest as he stretched, and he clutched at them automatically. "Can't beat a good valet," he said, winking at Bodie and pulling on the jeans. No underwear, Doyle couldn't help thinking, and he was leaving that shirt unbuttoned on purpose. Bodie was going to have a field day.

Unless Charlie came through, of course, and that depended as much on Charlie's mood as it did on whether or not he had the information. Charles Foley always had the information.

"Tell me about the Embassy Ball," he suggested, following Foley across the room to a small sink and kitchen surface.

"My dear boy, I can't," Foley said, pouting, "I wasn't there." He took filter papers and a jar of coffee beans from a cupboard, caught Bodie staring at him. "If it's not drip it's not worth drinking."

"I'll drip you..." Bodie began, clearly out of patience, reaching out a hand. Doyle caught it before it clamped down on Foley's wrist, and glared at him until Bodie shook himself free and turned away, hands on hips. He swung back, caught Doyle's eye, and visibly took a deep breath.

"But you know all about it anyway," Doyle suggested, turning back to Foley, who had poured the beans into a wooden grinder, and was posing against the sideboard, muscles flexing as he turned the handle. Doyle closed his eyes a moment, took his own deep breath. That was his Foley - living in a bedsit, making coffee with a Habitat grinder. When he opened them again, Foley was grinning, and looking up at him through pale lashes.

"Well, you get to hear about these things. Friends in the right places, and all that. I hear you were there, in fact."

"In fact I was. What else do you hear?"

"Well, I suppose this," he glanced sidelong at Bodie, "Was the tall dark one you were there with. They told me he was rather delicious." Bodie took a step forward, and Foley, unusually for him, backtracked rather hastily, "Unavailable, but delicious."

"That's right," Doyle said quickly, before Bodie let his temper get the best of him, "Very unavailable." He held Foley's gaze for a moment, until Foley turned away with a small moue to fill the coffee jug with water.

"So tell us what else you heard."

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