margaret_r: (Big Bang 11)
[personal profile] margaret_r

Back to Part Two
 
Cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis,
Pumped a lot of pain down in New Orleans,
But I never saw the good side of the city,
'Til I hitched a ride on a river boat queen.

 
Big wheel keep on turnin',
Proud Mary keep on burnin',
Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river.

 
Part Three
 
Sunlight shafting across his face woke Bodie the next morning.  He was lying in the middle of the bunk and there seemed to be no one sharing it with him.  He blinked and double checked.  No, definitely no Doyle. How the heck had the wormy arsed bugger managed to crawl out of the bunk without waking him. 
 
He lay there for a moment, wondering where his partner had got to and what time it was but his watch was on the desk on the far side of the cabin and it suddenly seemed too much effort to get out of bed and look.  Judging by the angle of the sun he guessed it must be late morning. He closed his eyes again but the sun prodded at his eyelids, setting up little motes of darkness and light against his retina.
 
Stifling a moan he gave up and threw the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bunk, scratching at the sticky flakes that clung to his belly, a reminder of their activities last night, and that made him smile.  Doyle’s clothes made an untidy heap on the floor, his own discarded wardrobe resting near them.  Slipping off the bunk he checked his watch and was surprised to discover it was after midday.  Grabbing a towel from the rack next to the washbasin and wrapping it around his waist he opened the door and stuck his head out.  All was quiet.  Further investigation revealed that the bathroom was empty and he sneaked in quickly, dodging his way through a line of drying tights and other distinctly feminine undergarments to reach the shower cubicle.
 
Showered, shaved, dressed he followed the tantalising aromas that were emanating from the main deck, hoping he’d find his elusive partner on the way. He found both the source of the wonderful smells and Doyle, with B.J next to him, in the galley. They were both at the stove.
 
“’Bout time!” Doyle said, waving a whisk in his direction. “Knew the smell of food would bring you out of your pit.” He turned back to the eggs he was scrambling. “These are just about done, how’s the sausages coming on, B.J?”
 
“They’re done.”  The boy was dressed as usual; jeans and a loose shirt, baseball cap in place. He was poking a spatula at a half dozen or so sausages sizzling in a pan.  For once he was smiling, mainly at Doyle.
 
“I don’t have to ask if you’re hungry, do I?” Doyle directed the question at Bodie.
 
Bodie grinned at him.  “I’m starving, all that for me?”
 
“Not likely, mate.  Here, make yourself useful.” Doyle shoved the platter of bacon and fried tomatoes and mushrooms he’d just retrieved from the warming drawer into Bodie’s hands then picked up his own platter of scrambled eggs, checked that B.J was ready then led the way out of the galley.
 
They were out on the aft deck, Teri and Archie sitting at one of the table and bench sets nearest the clubroom entrance, drinking coffee and reading magazines.  A brightly coloured umbrella had been fastened to the table, offering some shade from the sun.  Billy was stretched out on an inflatable mattress next to the deck railings, sunbathing in a pair of skin tight shorts and floppy sleeved crop top that didn’t quite meet the top of the shorts. A broad brimmed, flower bedecked straw hat that covered his face completed the ensemble. 
 
“Grub’s up.” Doyle shouted as he and B.J set their platters down on the middle set of tables. 
 
“He cooks as well!” Teri said, collecting a plate from the stack already set out on the table. “This one is definitely a keeper, Bodie,”
 
“And he’s definitely being kept, going by the noises coming from their cabin last night,” Archie sniggered, filling his plate with food.
 
Bodie’s eyes widened slightly and he could feel the blush steeling up his cheeks which he tried to hide by ducking his head to find a place for his own platter of food.  Doyle, damn him, hadn’t batted an eyelid.
 
Billy lifted the hat off his face, blinked into the sunshine and looked towards the group at the food table.  “Well,” he drawled, “that was before a certain someone came down to earth with a thud. Never mind, Bodie, when Ray dumps you on the floor again, there’s always me.”
 
They were all smiling now and even Ray seemed amused by the conversation, Bodie not so much.  But he smiled as well, as charmingly as he knew how, and wrapped an arm around Doyle’s waist, bringing him close against his chest. “Thanks for the offer, Billy, but I think I’ll just hang onto him for now and risk the dumping.”
 
He felt Doyle stiffen imperceptibly for a second before leaning back into the embrace. Billy watched the manoeuvre with sharp eyes, as did Teri. So Bodie added to the moment by pushing his nose into the curls at Doyle’s neck.
 
“Sorry, Billy,” Doyle said, smiling and looking a challenge at the young man. “He’s all mine.”
 
Billy pulled a face, got to his feet and pretending to ignore the general laughter at his expense, began helping himself to sausages and eggs. 
 
Bodie planted a kiss on Doyle’s head, just to seal the matter, then let go of him and started heaping his own plate with sausage, bacon, egg.  Doyle shook his head and carefully selected a small portion of bacon, some egg and the tomato.  They settled down at a bench by the railing on the other side of the deck, giving them some space from the others and a view of the Thames and the power station towers.
 
“You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you?” Doyle queried, keeping his voice low as he buttered some bread.
 
Bodie pulled a face. “Give the people what they want,” he said, then continued with a grin.  “Besides, it’s got Billy off my back, hasn’t it?”
 
“For now,” Doyle conceded.  “Don’t think he’s the type to stay down for long.”
 
“Then I could end up decking the annoying little sod.” 
 
But the annoying little sod had decided to leave them alone for the moment, seeming to prefer to argue with Archie and B.J over a trip to the cinema.  They could hear the three of them bicker, their conversation drifting on the breeze.
 
“I’m not going to the cinema with you if you’re going to go wearing that!” B.J, indignant.
“What’s wrong with it?” Billy, even more indignant.
“You look like a Piccadilly rent boy, that’s what’s wrong with it,” from Archie.
 
Doyle grinned at him. “Punching out the help isn’t going to get you brownie points with the new boss, now is it?”
 
“No, but it would involve a certain amount of personal satisfaction.” Bodie frowned at his empty plate and speared the last piece of bacon on Doyle’s.  Doyle let him.
 
“Speaking of bosses, think it’s time to give Uncle George a call, don’t you?”
 
“Yes, I’m sure he’s missing us. It’s time we let him know how we’re getting on.”
 
                                   
 

Doyle slipped away in the late afternoon, long after the three boys had left for the cinema and while Teri was ensconced in the pilothouse office with Sid, apparently discussing the next week’s drag acts.  Bodie stayed behind, catching the last rays of the sun on the forward deck and the activity that was going on in the pilothouse, not that much was happening there beyond phone calls and conversation.  He’d have given a lot to be a fly on the wall.
 
After a while Sid came down from the bridge with two bottles of lager in his hand and, sitting down beside Bodie, handed one to him.
 
“Hear you’re ex-army,” he said conversationally.
 
“Yeah, para’s,” Bodie told him, seeing no harm in supplying the information. “Did some time in the Merchant Navy before that.”
 
Sid’s eyes light up at the common interest.  “Served in the Merchants during the war,” he said “Got my captains papers after and went on to the paddle steamers in the estuary. My dad was a fisherman, was at sea all my life until they took the Queen out of service. Been with her for ten years when her boilers packed in.”  
 
“Ray told me she was towed here from Hull.”
 
“Yeah. Must have cost Teri a pretty penny too, but she was determined to have the Queen, or Juno as she was then. Was glad Teri asked me to help out, couldn’t leave her on her own with strangers.”
 
Bodie wasn’t sure if he meant Teri or the Queen, both seemed to be of equal importance in the man’s life.
 
“Been working on the boilers off and on, reckon I can get them going too.  There’s still life in the old girl yet. Having trouble with the engine though, can’t seem to stop the leaks.”
 
“Could be the bushes gone, or the O rings, and they’re a bugger to get to when they go.”
 
“Aye, you’re right there.  Had half the darn thing stripped down and still couldn’t get at them.”
 
The discussion on boilers and turbine engines continued for some time until, fresh lagers in hand, they adjourned to the engine room, Bodie considering it safe to leave Teri on her own and unobserved in the pilothouse, sure in the certainty she wouldn’t be leaving it any time soon.
 

 
Doyle skirted around the edges of the warehouse buildings fronting onto Tideway Walk and the pier then down one of the lanes that led to Nine Elms Lane, which in turn ran on to Battersea Park Road.  He finally found a phone box not far from the Dogs' Home and put a call through to HQ.  When Cowley answered he gave him the list of crew members for The Riverboat Queen.
 
“Sorry, Sir,” he finished.  “No last names. The boy, B.J, is apparently Bradley’s cousin and Billy and Archie have a drag act under the name of The Pointless Sisters, that might help identify them.  Sid told me he was captain of The Riverboat Queen when she was still the Juno. He doesn’t live on board either, it might be worth checking where he does live and set up a watch.”
 
“Good, I’ll get Susan onto it,” Cowley told him, then reported on his own findings. “It appears that the Jamiesons suffered a family tragedy some twelve months ago.  The family home in Brighton was burnt to the ground and both Mr and Mrs Jamieson died in the fire. Roberta was not home at the time and Andrew, of course, no longer lived there.  Roberta went to live with her brother in London after the tragedy and then they both moved to Long Ditton three months ago.  Andrew Jamieson had a good record with the airline he worked for and, up to now, appears not to have been involved in any illegal activities.”
 
“Well, the fire explains why there wasn’t much in the way of personal items in the house when we searched it.  But not why Andrew decided to go in for diamond smuggling.”
 
“We may never have the answer to that question,” Cowley sounded disgruntled.  Doyle knew how much he disliked missing pieces of a puzzle.  “You’re sure Bradley hasn’t left the boat at any time?”

“Positive, there’s no way she could leave without us at least hearing her.”
 
 “All right then, keep Bradley in your sights, she will have to lead us to the girl sooner or later.”
 
“Yes, Sir. Any word on the identity of the shooters?”
 
“No, not yet. But the licence plate for the vehicle involved has been traced to Tony Reynolds.”
 
“The guy who ended up dead on Jamieson’s lawn?”
 
“Yes.  The vehicle itself was found at Reynolds’ house.  His wife claims to know nothing about his activities or who he was with on the night of the shooting.  We’re looking into his known associates now.”
 
“Right, Bodie and I’ll just keep hanging in here, then,” he sighed.
 
“Yes, carry on as you are.  You’ll be contacted tomorrow night.”
 
He hung up the phone and headed back towards the pier, stopping on the way at a chippy; Bodie was bound to be hungry again by now.  By the time he got back he discovered his partner and Sid happily elbow deep in engine oil and lagers discussing the intricacies of replacing O rings.  Both seemed happy as pigs in shit.
 
0000
 
Dusk had fallen and Billy, Archie and B.J hadn’t returned from their cinema outing.  Bodie and Doyle were playing a game of snap that Doyle was winning.  Teri and Sid were again in the pilothouse, although every so often Teri would venture down to find out if the boys had come back.  Bodie could tell she was getting anxious.
 
It was the cries and angry shouts that alerted them to the fact that something was wrong, very wrong. But it was the high pitched scream that galvanised them into action and gave Teri confirmation of her worst fears as she hurried down the pilothouse steps.
 
“That’s B.J. Something’s happening out there.”
 
Bodie was already moving, heading to the paddle steamer’s railing. Doyle, inches from his back, swung round to shout, “Stay there,” as Teri and Sid made towards where the gangplank lay.
 
Using his hands to propel himself, Bodie vaulted the rail and landed with a steady thump on the solid ground of the embankment, Doyle landing next to him.  They took off at a run down the walkway, turning into a narrow cut between the estate buildings, the shouts and screams louder now as they were drawing closer to the source.  They found what they were looking for in the deserted car park at the end of the cut. 
 
Billy, Archie and B.J were all there; so were the skinheads of the previous evening   B.J stood a little to the side, his hands to his mouth.  He was crying, the tears spilling down his face.  Archie struggled in the grip of one of the skinheads, being held back from the group that were crowded around Billy. Two of the skinheads were holding Billy’s arms forcing him down to the ground while a third was in front grabbing at his legs; they were all grinning.  Whitey stood before the tableaux, advancing with intent, his hands at his belt. There was a bright red mark on the side of Billy’s terrified face and his lip was bleeding.  He was repeating over and over, “No, no please, don’t.”
 
“C’mon you little faggot, let’s give you what you want, see how you like it from a real man.” Whitey took another step forward, pulling at his trousers.  Archie, still struggling and kicking uselessly, screamed out, “Leave him alone you fuckin’ moron. Get away from him.”
 
Whitey spared a moment to turn on Archie and hit him across the face.  “You’re next, homo, so shut the fuck up.”
 
They didn’t waste any time talking. Bodie took on Whitey, pulling him around and slamming his fist into the leering face before the man had a chance to realise what had hit him, then he hit him again for good measure.  Doyle’s kick to the one holding Billy’s legs landed squarely on the man’s nose and the scream that accompanied the crack of breaking cartilage was loud and satisfying.  Blood spurted and he went down clutching his face.
 
Using the advantage of distraction, Archie twisted out of his assailant’s grip and planted a solid kick to his shin.  The assailant’s shriek joined the screams of broken-nose as he hopped on one leg, gripping the wounded shin in both hands.  B.J, in the meantime, threw himself onto the back of one of the two remaining skinheads, gripping with his knees and hitting him around the head with his fists.  The man dropped Billy’s arm and swung round, trying to dislodge his unwanted passenger – straight into Doyle’s fist.  He went down without a sound. 
 
Then there was only one skinhead left standing and Bodie advanced on him, ready to take him out but he backed up a step, hands held up in surrender, shaking his head.  Bodie dropped his fist and stepped back.
 
They looked around at the carnage.  It had taken seconds. Whitey was still unconscious, lying on the car park tarmac like a pathetic broken doll, his arms and legs out flung, his penis poking through the unzipped trousers.  Broken-nose was sitting, huddled on the ground, the blood pouring down his face.  The one Archie had kicked sat next to him, still moaning and holding onto his shin.  Doyle looked a question at Archie, who grinned.
 
“Steel capped boots,” he said.  Doyle grinned back, the man would be lucky not to have a broken shin, at the very least he would be well bruised. The last skinhead Doyle had taken out was stirring, starting to rise. He didn’t look as if he would be causing any trouble.
 
Doyle turned his attention to the only undamaged skinhead.  “Right, zip him up” he said, pointing to Whitey “And get him and the rest of this garbage out of here.”
 
The skinhead glared at him, sullen and confused, as if his pet dog had turned on him and bitten him, but did as he was told, helping his friends up then, leaning over Whitey, hastily adjusted his clothes before hauling him to his feet. 
 
“Don’t bother coming back,” Doyle told them as the skinheads retreated into the darkening night, dragging a now groaning Whitey between them.  “Next time we’ll get serious.” 
 
Once they were out of sight Doyle turned back to where Bodie was now crouching over Billy, who had slid to the ground and curled into a foetal position, shuddering and retching.  B.J and Archie were next to them, anxious, unsure what to do.
 
“It’s okay, Billy. It’s over.” Bodie’s voice was gentle as he reached out a hand and touched Billy’s shoulder.  Billy shuddered again then turned and clutched on to Bodie’s shirt, his face streaked with tears. 
 
“I was so scared.  They were going to…” He didn’t finish, just put his head into Bodie’s chest and sobbed. With a helpless look at Doyle, Bodie gathered the weeping form into his arms as B.J and Archie touched and patted with shaking hands, trying to bring some comfort.
 
Then Teri and Sid were there, Sid holding a baseball bat, murder on his face, Teri taking in the scene in front of her, expressions of relief at finding them whole and fear of what might have happened flicking across her features, before running to Billy’s side. He had quietened by then, his crying reduced to hiccuping gasps and together they helped him shakily to his feet.
 
“What happened?” Teri asked, although from her expression she plainly guessed at least part of it.
 
“Whitey and his gang, that’s what happened.  I told you they were trouble,” Bodie was ready to rage against the obvious idiocy of underestimating an enemy as feral as the skinhead gang, but Doyle shook his head and Bodie subsided. 
 
“They were waiting for us, they were going to hurt Billy … and us.” B.J was sheet white and trembling almost as much as Billy.  Teri put a comforting arm around his shoulders.
 
“If it hadn’t been for Ray and Bodie they would have succeeded too,” Archie told them, describing quickly what had happened, how the gang had come out of one of the side alleyways between the buildings and what had started as catcalls quickly escalated into something much worse when Billy gave back as good as he got.
 
“Never can keep his mouth shut,” Archie finished, giving his friend an affectionate hug.  Billy started crying again.
 
“Always are too talkative aren’t you, son?” Sid’s face was full of compassion.  “Didn’t deserve this though.  Come on, let’s get you home.”  He slid his arm around Billy’s waist and started walking him back towards the paddle steamer. Teri, Archie and B.J kept pace, making a tight huddle around Billy, a shield against the world. 
 
Bodie followed them at a short distance, Doyle close beside him.  “The poor little bugger didn’t deserve it. What a bloody mess. Think they’ll be back?”
 
“Dunno, maybe.  Didn’t think we’d have a gang of skinheads to deal with though, could really cock things up.”
 
“Too true.  What we need is a plan, you got one?”
 
“Nah, you?”
 
Bodie sighed.  “Guess we’ll just have to wing it then.”
 
Doyle grinned.  “Don’t we always?”
 
0000
 
The plan, as such, was simple.  But the players wouldn’t play.
 
“So, you won’t call in the police, have them charged?” Bodie tried the argument again, not expecting a result. They were in the clubroom, Billy leaning back on the couch in one of the booths, clutching an icepack to his swollen and bruised cheek while B.J fed him medicinal brandy and Archie alternated patting his hand with refilling the icepack.  He didn’t look annoying any more, just sad and vulnerable.
 
Bodie, Doyle, Teri and Sid were in a huddle at the bar, also partaking of medicinal spirits, only theirs was fine malt scotch, the best in the house.
 
Teri was adamant. “No, I won’t.  There were no witnesses and there’s no profit in it. The cops will probably think Whitey and his gang were doing the ratepayers of Wandsworth a favour, clearing the streets of queers.”
 
“But they were going to rape Billy.  And they had the same planned for Archie and B.J as well.  At least you could get them charged with assault.” Doyle tried being reasonable.
 
Teri smiled.  “I think the police would consider the assault more on our side, judging by the damage you two did.”  She took another swallow of the scotch.  “Look, I’m grateful for what you did, more than grateful.  But the best we can do now is leave it.  After the thumping you gave them they’ll steer clear.”
 
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Bodie told her.  “Arseholes like that don’t learn, they’re too stupid or too ignorant.”
 
“Bodie’s right,” Doyle said.  “That kind don’t give up easily.  They were given a pasting but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back for more, you need to protect yourselves.”
 
“How do we protect ourselves, Ray?  You of all people should know that the only sure method of protection for people like us is to stay locked away, hidden, let the world pretend we don’t exist.  I don’t intend doing that.”
 
“But you won’t call the authorities.”
 
“What good would it do? Believe me, I know. And in any case, I don’t want the police around here.”
 
Sid, who had been quiet up to now suddenly proved an unexpected ally.  “Maybe the lads have a point, Teri.  Maybe the police should be involved, in everything.”
 
Teri looked at him, the expression in her eyes unreadable but there was a softness there.  “No. I know you’re concerned about us, Sid.  But I’ve made up my mind.  No police.”
 
“I am concerned, Teri.  I don’t want to see you, or any of the boys, hurt. Just think about it, will you? Think about letting the police know what’s happened.”
 
Bodie watched the play of emotions slide across her face, watched as she looked away from Sid and over to the three lads on the couch and wondered if there was more to their conversation than was obvious on the surface. Finally Teri brought her attention back to them.
 
“All right,” she said. “I’ll give it some consideration.” Then her smile encompassed Bodie and Doyle.  “But I don’t think those skinheads will come back.  Our knights in shining armour have seen them off” 
 
“Some knights.” Doyle muttered but he was smiling back at her.  Sid reached over and patted her hand.  Bodie just worried that she was completely wrong.
 
0000
 
“There’s blood on your hand,” Doyle said as they made their way to the lower deck after everyone else had retired - Archie leading a still silent Billy by the hand, B.J trailing along behind - and Sid had returned to his own flat, wherever that was. Teri had refused his offer to stay on board for the night, pointing out they had adequate protection in the form of their new barman slash bouncer, a statement that Doyle found facetious in the extreme, but Teri had won out, of course.
 
“Must’ve caught my knuckle on Whitey’s teeth,” Bodie mused, picking at the bits of dried blood marring the skin of his knuckles.
 
Doyle took hold of the wounded appendage and examined it critically before dragging Bodie past the dressing room and into the bathroom.  “Better get it cleaned up, don’t want you catching anything nasty.”
 
Bodie grinned.  “Whitey does bear a striking resemblance to a rabid dog,” he said.
 
“Did you know that the human mouth contains as much bacteria as a dog’s?  Catching rabies is probably the least of your worries,” Doyle said as he held Bodie’s hand over the sink and turned on the taps, letting the water wash over fingers and knuckles.  Carefully and very gently Doyle rinsed away the dried blood. Then, turning the taps off, he grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and just as gently dried off Bodie’s hand, working the cloth over the now clean scrapes.  He studied the hand carefully as he worked, turning it this way and that until everything was clean and shipshape.
 
“Satisfied?” Bodie queried, his eyes full of amusement, and something else that sent a slight shiver of desire down Doyle’s spine.
 
“Nearly,” he replied.  The fight with Whitey and his gang and the knowledge that Teri was probably right about the uselessness of appealing for legal justice had left a bad taste, made him feel fouled, dirty and now he wanted to wash away the nastiness if he could. “Fancy a shower?”  He didn’t wait for an answer but began stripping off his jeans and t-shirt.  In seconds he was naked and reaching for the shower taps, the sound of the straining pipes and spurting water momentarily drowning out Bodie’s protested “Ray!”
 
He slipped under the spray as it settled into a warmish steady stream letting the water sluice down the front of his body and ease away the tension of the night before turning so that his back got the same attention.  Bodie hadn’t moved.  His expression was bemused now, his eyes wandering the length of his partner’s body making that shiver wriggle its way down Doyle’s back again, so he winked and held out his hand.  It took Bodie about a second to make up his mind and begin to strip off. 
 
“You’re crazy, you know that?”  he said as he slid out of his black cords, jacket and shirt already crumpled on the floor.  “What if we’re caught in here together?”
 
Doyle shrugged.  “It’s only you and me still up and I need to get clean.”
 
Bodie nodded as he slipped into the shower cubicle and closed the curtain around them. It was close in the confined area, starting to get steamy, and there was no space between them.  Doyle manoeuvred around slightly trying to give Bodie a bit more room but the curtain caught his back, clinging and cold like an unwanted lover, forcing him forward with a gasp, onto his warm and wanted partner.  Bodie grinned again and grabbed for the soap.  They lathered and soaped each other clean and let the water run through their hair and over their faces until Doyle’s curls were tendrils and Bodie’s hair was plastered flat to his head. 
 
It was when they had finished and were dripping onto the bathroom floor they realised they had nothing to dry themselves with, the towel Doyle had used on Bodie’s hand a short time ago too tiny a scrap to make any impression on their wet bodies.
 
“Put our clothes on and get them sopping or run for it?” Bodie asked.
 
“Run for it,” Doyle decided, opening the door with a rush and haring down the passage like a greyhound, clothes clutched to his chest, leaving wet footprints on the deck, Bodie one step behind.  They were both breathless when they tumbled through the door of their cabin, Doyle throwing his clothes on the floor as soon as they were inside, then leaning back against the wall, to give vent to his urgent need to giggle.  Bodie’s laugh added harmony.  Their giggling fit lasted only a few seconds before Doyle realised that Bodie had stopped and was staring at him, his eyes dark, the damp lashes looking even longer and blacker than usual.  
 
“Make love to me?” Bodie’s question was a surprise, although perhaps it shouldn’t have been. They were alone in a cocoon of privacy all their own but the walls were flimsy and those same walls had ears perhaps sharper than Cowley’s.
 
“Why?” his own question was out before he thought about it, the “why” being more of why, when you know we’re probably being listened to and that seems to worry you more than it does me.
 
Bodie read him as easily as he always did.  “Because I want you, need you inside me,” he told him, his mouth close to Doyle’s ear. “And I’ll be very quiet while you’re doing it.”
 
Doyle smiled.  “Of course you will,” he said, pulling Bodie to him and sliding his hands through the short wet hair before tipping his head forward and capturing Bodie’s mouth with his own, playing with the warm lips, taking his time to decide what way of kissing them felt the best. When he was finished he pulled back and pushed gently, the space between wall and bunk small enough that Bodie only had to back up a step or two to come up against the bed.  Doyle was right with him, lowering him down onto the mattress then covering the long body with his own, delivering kisses to forehead, rough stubbled jaw and finally that sensuous mouth again.  When he was sure Bodie was almost inarticulate, incapable of anything other than short moans and gasps, he did what his lover had asked him so nicely to do and made love to him, hands moving in delicate strokes over limbs and musculature, lips exploring again the curves and hollows he knew so well.  This was theirs: their time to be themselves, to love shut off from a world around them that might object, and it was precious so they would make the most of it and maybe he could make Bodie forget his inhibitions and insecurities. 
 
Carefully he worked his way down Bodie’s torso with his mouth, licking and sucking at the moisture that still clung to the soft skin, sweeping his tongue and teeth over the erect nipples, then pushing Bodie’s thighs apart to reach into the creases where hip and groin joined before moving further down to the cleft between his cheeks.  Finally, when Bodie was a suitable writhing mess beneath him he moved to the hard, weeping cock, intending to finish off his handiwork but he was halted in his progress by Bodie’s voice, soft and needy but determined.  “No. Fuck me.”
 
Doyle looked up at him.  His partner was flushed and sweaty, his arm pressed against his mouth, being used as a gag. 
 
That wouldn’t do, not at all. He pulled up and settled himself between Bodie’s legs so they were groin to groin.  Bodie’s moan was stifled as their cocks met but the next one came out clearer when Doyle forcibly removed Bodie’s arm from his mouth only to become muffled again when Doyle kissed him. The moans grew louder though, and unfettered, a few minutes later when Doyle was looking into his partner’s eyes as he moved deep inside him, his still damp stomach sliding along Bodie’s cock with every thrust, causing a delicious friction. But by then Bodie didn’t seem to care.
 
 








On to Part Four

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