NIGHT OF THE CAT
by Caroline Dare
_______________________________________________________

Charles Nesbitt's plan to contaminate the local water supply was a bust. CI5 had located him and his cannister of ADX, a powerful hallucinogen, and had taken both into custody. Bodie and Doyle, still soaked from their plunge in the reservoir to deactivate the cannister, finished their debriefing with Cowley and received permission to go home and dry off.

Bodie followed Ray Doyle up the bank and to his car, obliterating his partner's wet footprints with his own. He twisted the front of his sweater, wringing out as much of the remaining wetness as he could, but Doyle still spread newspaper over the seats before letting him in.

"Hang on, I'll have the heat up in a minute," Doyle muttered, dripping on the dashboard as he fiddled with the buttons.

"S'all right, I'm not cold," Bodie shrugged. He should have been, after diving in the chilly reservoir, but either the adrenaline high had not worn off, or the nips from Cowley's whiskey flask afterward had already kicked in. Either way, he felt warm, almost flushed with a giddy sense of power in the aftermath of the operation.

"Nice for you," Doyle replied, "But one of us, as it happens, is cold."

Bodie glanced about the car, to annoy Doyle. Feigning surprise, he said, "Oh, is it you? Well, it's that skinny little body, I expect. Heat gets sucked right out of it." Actually, Bodie let his eyes wander the slender form, admiring its grace and tireless energy, though he would tie his tongue in a bow before admitting as much to his partner.

Doyle snorted, revving the engine extra long as he powered up the heater. "Then there's marine mammals, eh Bodie? A lovely thick layer of blubber to keep them cozy even in the chilliest water."

"Are you referring to my lean and sleek self?" Bodie asked in wounded tone. "Or don't you recognize solid slabs of hardened muscle when you see them?" He flexed an arm in Doyle's direction, and was a little surprised when Doyle stared at it a little longer than expected, then turned to look out the window without reply.

Down the bank, they could see Cowley coordinating the technicians who would take the cannister of ADX back to HQ's labs for testing. Charles Nesbitt was already gone, in the custody of the local police who would make him available to Cowley for questioning later.

"It's a wrap," Doyle observed. "My place is closer. Want to get dry there, or get dropped off at your car?"

"Where is my car?" Bodie frowned, trying to remember the day's events in order.

"HQ."

"Hell, let's not go back anywhere near there tonight! God knows what else Cowley might want us to do."

Doyle nodded agreement, and set off home. It was a quiet drive; for all their banter earlier, both became moody and wrapped in their own thoughts. Doyle was startled, in fact, when Bodie spoke up nearly an hour later, as they reached Ray's neighborhood.

"You can let me out here."

Ray blinked at his taciturn passenger. "Thought you were coming to my place, getting into something dry."

"Nah," Bodie dismissed. "I've got things to do," he added vaguely, and opened the car door even as Doyle swung in to the corner.

"Out here?" Ray asked, glancing at the neat residential lawns and semi-detached houses along the street. But Bodie was already swinging the door shut behind him, so Ray shrugged and drove on.

***

Huddling into his clammy collar as dusk turned the slight breezes cold, Bodie paced forward. He had no special location in mind truth to tell, just an unbearable prickly feeling under his skin that made him want to move, made sitting in a car a fidgety minor torture.

He needed air, needed motion. He needed to think about why the hell he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off Ray Doyle's dripping curls and clinging clothing this last hour, not from the moment they got back on land. He'd noted with a jolt the sweet way Ray shivered and curled his arms about his chest for warmth; had teased him by not sharing Cowley's scotch, just to see him pout and plead with soulful eyes. God, those eyes....

A blur of motion along the roof of the house opposite Bodie made him start, hand automatically reaching for his arm holster even as his brain belatedly recognized it was only a cat jumping from a tree. The creature regarded him silently, front paws tucked neatly together, and its tail curled gently around them.

"Got me," Bodie acknowledged with a snort, feeling somewhat sheepish at how startled he'd been. But it was the sudden movements, and the unexpected quiet sounds, which always put him on alert. Consequence of living a paranoid life, he thought wryly. But better paranoid than dead.

Christ, he was feeling cynical tonight. Cynical, but horny. Just like that little pricktease partner of his to get him worked up then leave him panting. Bodie thought again of Ray Doyle's eyes and the way they beckoned at times, like tonight. And again Bodie had walked away from them at the last minute, for Bodie knew better than to pursue those tempting looks. Doyle liked him, cared about him, and perhaps even desired him, but only for so long, Bodie was convinced, as he never learned the truth.

Another cat strolled onto the walk of the house approaching. He nodded good evening to it as it settled down to a watchful vigil over the street. The cat gave a soft mew as if in reply.

In his head, he could hear a repeating echo of Doyle mewling in pleasure. He'd heard the sound once, when they'd double-dated and double-screwed two pretty birds one evening. He'd hoarded away the memory of Doyle so shamelessly wanton that evening, uninhibited and untamed, arresting Bodie's attention and nearly his heart as the beautiful little figure displayed his capacity for sensual enjoyment.

So innocent, too, in a special way. He knew, he had to know, the effect he had on Bodie. The way he would bend over in front of Bodie, displaying long lean legs and a tight round ass so biteable, so fuckable, then casually glancing at something near Bodie's crotch, as if gauging how powerful he was at communicating directly with Bodie's cock. But he didn't see anything wrong in it, and that was the innocence. He really didn't fear flirting and teasing with Bodie, didn't know what danger he toyed with, what forces might be unleashed if Bodie ever took him up on his playful invitations. And because Bodie cared about his partner as much as a crippled soul could, he protected them both from himself.

Another cat came into view as he crossed into the street which led to Doyle's latest lodgings.

***

Doyle stripped the last soggy garment from his body and tossed it into a gaping laundry bag. He rubbed himself over with a towel, added it to the heap, decided they wouldn't mildew by morning, and kicked the bag over to the entryway to help him remember to take it with him in the morning.

Humming a bit of Vivaldi, Doyle sauntered naked to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Pity Bodie hadn't come along to share the tea, he regretted. Ah well. The case was ended, the guilty apprehended and the innocents safeguarded once more. Time to shrug off the day's responsibilities and unwind.

Doyle wandered back into the living room, still nude, and lit the gas jet of the fireplace. It wasn't quite as cozy as a real wood fire, but it was still an immeasurable improvement on the white metal space-heater of his last bedsit. He stretched comfortably in the blue-tinged glow of the flames, turning to let his backside soak up some of the warmth.

Music. He needed soft melodic sounds around him now. Digging through a pile of records still boxed from his recent move, he pulled out several old favorites and stacked them on the record spindle, knowing but not caring that such haphazard handling might damage them. He wanted to listen to all the music, greedily, in one great gulp, as he lay back in his bedroom loft and stared up through the skylight at the stars. Shivering at the sweet vibration of violins and flutes darting about the room, he curled an arm around the ladder leading up to his loft, and waited for the kettle to boil.

***

Bodie stood on the doorstep of Doyle's flat, finger poised over the top bell for the top flat. He couldn't press it. Doyle was so close, just through the door and two flights up, past L. Ravenscarp and P. Singh, according to the mailboxes. But the door may as well have been welded shut, for Bodie could not bring himself to enter that snug haven of domesticity. Once inside, he would be trapped. No escape then, no turning back.

The twin desires waged war inside him; a fierce longing to be with Doyle and take the bounty he'd been offered; and an equally strong fear of losing everything in the attempt. His heart, his soul, his very identity, all on the line.

Bodie walked away from the door. Rounding the corner of the building, he boosted himself up on the garden fence, and began to climb up the ledging brickwork.

Negotiating a final tricky turn over the drainpipe gutter, Bodie rolled himself onto the roof. He rested a moment, catching his breath and throwing back his head to let the wind cool his heated face. There was a gently sloped square of skylight nearby, lit with the soft yellow flickering of a fire below. Bodie was drawn to the warm glow, and he crouched beside the pane, hands pressed to glass as he peered through.

There was music playing inside. Bodie couldn't hear it, but he could feel it in faint vibrations of the glass. He could see inside too, as the street lamp outside flickered to life and flooded Doyle's loft with strips of light through the window shutters.

Bodie gazed down at the room, thinking Doyle as his eyes swept over the furnishings, noting every nuance which marked Doyle's individual personality. There, the books of art history, of cinema, of philosophy, in a battered pine bookcase whose top shelf bore lifelong ring stains from overfilled beer glasses. There, the untidy clutter of art supplies beside a blank stretched canvas, shiny with fresh white priming in readiness for painting. There, the bed....

The bed. It was a soft nest of rumpled linen and puffy down pillows, large enough to fill nearly half of the modest-sized room, even pressed close to the window as it was. A tangle of quilts overlay one corner of the bed, spilling on down to sprawl across the polished plank floor. It was a bed that was well-slept in, tousled and rumpled and comfortable as old blue jeans. It throbbed with Doyle's presence, every crease and fold of the sheets imprinted by the touch of Doyle's body wrapped nightly inside them.

Bodie pictured the outline of Doyle's body taking shape, like a strengthening shadow, coalescing into a shimmering form which lay stretched naked and open across the bed, molding the bedding around it. His fantasy Doyle twisted slowly, rocking his hips out in invitation to Bodie, lifting one knee up a little to impart a better view of velvet loins and softly curved ass cheeks.

Bodie sighed in longing, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead drop against the glass. He wanted Doyle so badly it was a physical ache inside him.  

***

Inside the flat, Ray swallowed the last of his tea, relishing the hot rush of liquid down his throat as it sent warming comfort out from the center of his chilled body.

Chopin had ended and Tchaikovsky begun. Ray nudged up the volume again, and abandoning his empty tea cup atop one of the speakers, he began to dance in the firelight. His slow swaying steps turned the classic Sleeping Beauty waltz into a dance of seduction, as Ray attuned himself to the sweet rhythms of the ballet.

His eyelashes brushed down onto his cheeks, shutting out the room and allowing a vision to replace it -- Bodie, standing close to him, swaying in perfect reflection to Doyle's movements. Just a breath away from each other, untouching, they danced in perfect unison. Each step, each tiny movement by either, was anticipated and responded to perfectly by the other.

Ray swirled and spun with his reflective partner until the final notes of the ballet quavered off into silence. He stopped then and tipped his head back, raising his mouth for a kiss which he knew would never come, but which he reached for anyway. His fantasy Bodie shook his head in refusal, then shattered away as if turned into sprinkled shards of glass when the phonograph clicked the next record down on the turntable.

Overcome with aching melancholy, Doyle stumbled up the ladder to his loft. Alone, so terribly alone, he curled onto his bed and hugged his pillow to him. He wanted to feel Bodie's comforting arms around him, strong and hard and solid. He wanted cuddling and petting and hot kisses planted possessively on him. He wanted to know the weight of Bodie lying on top of him, pressing his legs apart and filling the void inside him.

Oh, and how Bodie would fill him. Doyle moaned softly at the thought of that massive cock pushing its way up his arse. He'd peeked every opportunity he got; when Bodie was dressing, or urinating, or showering down at HQ, and each time he'd been mesmerized by the thick, heavy member which Bodie sported so nonchalantly.

Doyle glanced down at his own cock wistfully. It was as slender as the rest of him, a pretty little prize, but it made him look like a young boy beside Bodie. Still, it functioned all right, enthusiastically in fact, and as it was the only one at hand, Doyle took it in hand and began fondling himself. Somehow, this night, it was easier to pretend those were Bodie's fingers tweaking his nipples hard and stroking up between his thighs to tickle his sensitive balls. Doyle groaned softly and settled on his back, partly propped up by pillows, legs splayed widely, and began to pleasure himself as he summoned up accompanying thoughts of Bodie.  

***

Bodie was plastered to the skylight, nearly drooling on it at the banquet of Doyle-flesh spread out below him. The object of his lust was close enough to reach out and grab, if not for the barrier of glass between them.

Bodie watched Doyle trail a lazy hand across hair-dusted chest and abdomen to stroke gently between his legs, and suddenly Bodie's sweater became suffocatingly hot. Doyle arched his back and canted his hips in a slow rolling motion as he stroked himself. Bodie's pants were now too tight as well.

Conscious only of Doyle's movements, Bodie shrugged free of the irritating, constricting clothing he wore. He breathed in deeply the cool, moist air that rolled over his bare skin, and shivered a little at the electric prickles he felt. The air was charged with it, the positive ions of a building storm. Bodie could feel the electricity working within him as well, as his eyes bored through the double-glazed glass to the gaze at the lithe figure which beckoned below.

Doyle's eyes were veiled, half-lidded, as he retreated to his private fantasy realm. Bodie yearned to follow him in there, to learn what it was that made Ray part those soft full lips and pant with excitement. His partner's eyes frequently had the look of a cat about them; now, narrowed to slits beneath slanted brows, with emerald green glinting behind the sweep of dark lashes, the resemblance was unnerving. A tip of pink tongue moistened Doyle's lips, then disappeared. Bodie's cock pulsed up another degree in angle, begging to follow that glimpse of tongue back into the hot wet mouth which housed it.

As Doyle took on the appearance of an exotic cat-creature, so Bodie took on the personality. He was not the same cuddlesome kitten his partner looked just now, either. Bodie was what he'd made himself become long ago; a dark jungle hunter, the hungry stalker of prey. The beast had never been buried far below the surface, and now it was risen, swallowing the civilized cover persona. He wanted to wail his desire to dig his claws into this beauty below, and rut with the instinctive furor of the wild.

The wind rose from behind Bodie, fanning his fever as it gusted into a steady rush. The first fat drops of rain began to fall from the long-threatening overcast sky, splattering and rebounding along the roof. Bodie stood silent under the onslaught, his body burning with such fire that the rain seemed to vaporize on contact with his skin.

He wanted Doyle. He was afraid. He didn't care anymore. He wanted Doyle.

The air crackled all around Bodie, lifting the hair on his arms and neck. A flash lit the sky brilliantly, followed almost instantly by an ear-splitting crack of thunder which rolled endlessly across the rooftops in aural afterimage.

In the instant of the lightning flash, the outside of the skylight was more brilliantly illuminated than the inside, and Bodie saw the image of a great jungle cat reflected, replacing Doyle for an instant. Then the light was gone and he could see Doyle again, staring up with eyes gone wide and face paled.

Bodie knew Doyle had seen the jungle cat too. Had seen it, and recognized the beast as Bodie. He had to move now. There was no more time for dreaming, he had to choose; escape or attack?

The creature he had loosed decided for him. Bodie clawed at the frame of the skylight, pulling up hard enough to snap the slender inside latch. The skylight flew open, hinges straining as the free end banged against the roof. Bodie dropped through the opening, landing squarely on Doyle's bed. His arrival was punctuated by a gust of rainfall which followed him through the opening before the wind blew the skylight frame back down with a crash.

With a wordless snarl, Bodie snatched up the amazed figure lying before him, clutching Doyle to him like a possessive child with its rag doll.

Doyle was too stunned to be alarmed at Bodie's sudden entry, for he had looked up at the lightning flash, only to see Bodie looking down at him, dazzling, dangerous, unleashed, gloriously naked in the wild night weather. Doyle's heart had leapt at the sight, and fiercely he prayed that this time it was not just a vivid daydream. This was a magic night indeed, for Bodie had instantly burst into the room and swallowed him in a whole-bodied embrace.

Doyle melted into that embrace, pliantly allowing Bodie to lay him back on the bed and claim his mouth with hot hungry kisses. He arched at the touch of Bodie's fingertips stroking up his inner thigh to curl around his pulsing cock.

Bodie suppressed a moan at the sight of Doyle stretched back beneath him, so beautiful, so inviting, so sensual. He caressed the tawny skin, wanting to bite into it with his teeth and shake Doyle apart. His hand cupped Doyle's stirring cock, rubbing slow circles on it as he felt its answering throbs of life. This, yes, this was what he needed. To witness Doyle in all his resplendence; naked, alive, exquisitely responsive to Bodie's every touch and movement.

His own cock jutted up before him, hard as tempered steel, oozing moisture in readiness to plunge into the delicate flesh below. But Bodie denied that part of himself as he quaffed his fill from Doyle's tender, eager display.

Ray's body sighed and undulated as Bodie stroked smooth sure hands along his hips, around his thighs, up under his balls and down his cock. Bodie trailed a wet tongue along squirming shoulders and down to the hardened swell of rose-brown nipples, catching first one and then the other between sharp but gentle teeth. He sucked hard a moment on the left one, pulling his head back at last to let it pop out as Doyle gave a soft whimper. It shone wetly in the latticed light, a flushed circle ringing it from the suction.

"Ah, Bodie," Doyle moaned, and thrust his cock hard against Bodie's still rubbing hand.

Bodie hushed him, laying his other hand over soft cupid's lips. Now was not a time for speech. He needed to drink in this sensual interlude while his mind was still receptive to it. Already he could feel the beast rising back up, summoned by his hungry cock. He knew it would again submerge conscious thought, leaving him unaware of anything but the call of aching flesh.

Doyle was panting little warm puffs of moist air into the palm of Bodie's muffling hand. His eyes were squeezed shut and his head tossed as his hips tried to follow the movements of Bodie's other hand along his cock. He had never looked sweeter, nor riper for plucking. Bodie's hands slid, as if pulled by magnets, between Doyle's legs and under his bent knees.

Drawing the compliant legs apart, he positioned Doyle's body to receive him. The hunter within was hammering to be loosed on that prize beneath him, but Bodie managed to cling to the shreds of his self-control, and he worked swiftly but gently with saliva-slickened fingers to open the tight passage into Doyle.

Doyle gasped audibly when the first finger was introduced, burrowing in to pierce through the clenched bud of muscle. Bodie chuckled low in his throat at the way Doyle's body tightened, then slowly relaxed again. He worked a second finger in alongside the first, doubling the diameter of space stretched open. Doyle groaned softly and reached down to restrain Bodie's hand. But Bodie pushed Ray's hand away instead, holding it down on the mattress beside Ray's hip as he worked at nudging a third finger into the tight little tunnel in Doyle's arse.

Ray felt a tinge of unease as his wrist was imprisoned, and the pressure at his anal passage increased. He tried to meet Bodie's eyes with his, to re-establish the common wavelength they'd been in, but Bodie didn't look up from Doyle's hips. With a little sigh of patience, Doyle tried to relax his anal muscles.

Bodie's world had narrowed to those small areas where their bodies intersected; the cool hardness of the tense, fine-boned wrist he gripped in one hand, and the heated velvet-softness of the clinging orifice he probed with his other hand. Only dimly was he aware of Doyle's gasp and sudden stiffening as he penetrated deeply with four fingers now, spreading the inner bands of muscle before pulling his hand free to make way for his aching, dripping cockhead.

Doyle was shaken from his lazy complaisance by the surge of pain from Bodie's thorough exploration.

"Slow down, Bodie," he said, trying to push the bigger man back, and wait for the ache to subside before continuing.

But Bodie would not be put off. The perceived rejection only aroused his hunting instinct. He growled at the uncooperative form that tried to draw away from him, slapped away interfering hands and seized Doyle's legs to wrench them back open after they tried to kick at him. Now that his prey had been brought to ground, it had to be conquered. He would mount his captive and mate him, no matter what the resistance. Doyle was his, and had to be marked off-limits to all the other predators out there.

Bodie deliberately fell across the squirming body, using his weight to pin it in place. Working with deft and self-assured motions, he immobilized Ray long enough to line himself up with the red puckered opening, then he rammed his throbbing cockhead forward, knifing his way past clenched resistance to the soft, yielding flesh beyond.

Ray gave a startled cry of pain, his body convulsing as it was violated. The invading cock slid ever inward, pushed inch by inch up the tight sheath.

Mine! Mine! chanted Bodie's victorious predator soul with each hammering plunge. Bodie was sweating hard. He rubbed himself over Doyle covering him with the scent, Bodie's scent, warning off all trespassers.

Ray's head was swimming from the rich pheromones of arousal that Bodie radiated. The air was thick was it, the heavy heady smell of sex. He pushed again at Bodie, gasping for breath, trying not to drown in the powerful call to mate.

Aroused beyond thought or care for Doyle's ineffectual struggles, Bodie bit down on a rigid shoulder and squeezed his fingers deep in the tensed flesh of Doyle's round arse. His cock plunged in to its fullest length, and rested in the clasping embrace of Ray's body.

Heartache swelled up from Ray's breast. This was not how it was supposed to have been. For a time all his fantasies had come to life, and he had soared with them, giddy and breathless at the wonder of it. But those dreams had always envisioned a link between him and Bodie, a wordless understanding of one for the other. Now Bodie had united their bodies, but their hearts could not have been driven farther apart.

Doyle could feel a sharp sliver of pain cutting through his heart. It hurt far more than the blunt object shoved up his vitals. The heartache welled up to his clenched eyes and condensed into tears that spilled over and ran in scalding tracks down his cheeks. A shuddering sob rose in Doyle's throat like a swelling balloon, bursting with a silent rush past his gritted jaws.

It made only a little sound, for that sob was composed of inaudible, inexpressible sorrow. Yet Bodie heard it. Softer than a sigh, that gasp of breath was filled with a pain so raw it seemed to flay the skin from Bodie's nerves. He froze, his veil of madness pierced at last.

Confused, disoriented and unsure, Bodie raised his head to look at the source of that terrible, wounded sound. He saw Doyle's face and read desolation in its crumpled features.

"Oh my love," Bodie whispered as his heart was wrenched from darkness by the need to succor that sad visage. "Oh Ray, my sweetheart, I'm sorry."

The hunter in Bodie fled to the nether regions of his soul, for here in his arms was no captive, no prey to be subdued, but the sweet embodiment of his heart's desire, the realization of everything cherished and meaningful in his life. Here was the one who filled the emptiness in his soul, and Bodie had nearly destroyed that perfect love in his hunger to possess it.

Doyle could feel the hard shaft within him collapse. Bodie carefully pulled himself free, his hands releasing their punishing grip at the same time. Guilt and shame were broadcast in his every movement.

"You heard it," Doyle whispered in wonderment. "You felt what I felt." His face was still wet with tears, but they were only the damp remnants of an ended pain, and he wiped them easily away. Hope had reignited in his breast, melting the cold sliver of ice in his heart. He smiled then, dazzling Bodie with the angelic sweetness of his expression.

He loves me, Bodie realized with the instant certainty of recognized truth. He's seen the real me, the terrible thing I am inside, and he still loves me. It was impossible, a contradiction of all Bodie believed, but it was true. He stared dumbly at the beatific smile which beamed at him below Doyle's hypnotic green cat's eyes.

I never wanted to hurt you, he thought mutely.

I know, the eyes seemed to answer him.

I wanted to feel close to you, but I didn't know how. I let the beast take over.

I know, I know, I love you, the eyes shone.

"Don't," Bodie said, uttering his denial aloud as his shame attempted to block out the radiance of Doyle's smile. "I can't love you back. I don't know how to love."

The confession ripped open the wall inside that he'd constructed stone by stone through years of denial. Great sobs wracked Bodie's form as all the shut-away parts came flooding out. And still Doyle gazed at him, brilliant smile lighting the room.

As if a lamp had been thrust into the darkest recesses of his soul, Bodie saw with brilliant clarity all the ugliness hidden inside himself. He'd always been uneasily aware of what lurked beneath the surface, feared it, controlled it, used it when it suited him. And yet, for the first time, he saw himself clearly -- not only the deeply flawed things inside him, but the reasons he'd created and kept them.

And there in the midst of them, shrunk down into itself, was his jungle creature. With shocked amazement, Bodie saw that it was only smoke and snarls wrapped around a tremulous core of fear. Bodie studied it, and the other horrors, and he could see that they were all unreal, all made up from his terrors and his blind responses to them.

It shattered Bodie to see the reality of himself so painfully clear, but there was unutterable relief as well. He'd looked inside, really looked, and had seen fearful truths, but had also seen that it was he, not the terror, which was in control. He wept for shame at the evil he had harbored, then with forgiveness for himself, understanding there were no demons, only his panicked drive for survival.

Dimly, Bodie became aware of hands stroking him, arms rocking him, as he purged himself of the last buried fragments of the past. Gulping air like a swimmer emerging from a great depth, Bodie surfaced to outside awareness once more.

He was curled in a ball, collapsed in on himself, supported in Doyle's arms. Doyle's cheek was pressed to the rise of his back, and he was crooning soft nonsense words of comfort. Even now, even in this, Doyle was his lifeline to sanity.

Ray settled back as Bodie stirred. Picking up one of Bodie's fists, he nudged open the clenched fingers, rubbing his thumb in slow circles on the palm until he felt tension drain from the hand. Bodie could feel the heat of healing energy pouring out from Doyle's hand into his. Raising his own eyes to meet once more those jade cat's eyes, Bodie felt a surge of love rise through them both, soaring to blend them in their locked gaze. He gathered Ray in his arms, both of them clinging to one another, kissing each other now, caressing each other with tender care.

And so Bodie entered Ray's private fantasy world at last, welcomed in by his display of vulnerability where his previous attempt to storm in had failed.

It was a place of great sweetness and beauty, Ray's dreamscape, a place where broken things were made whole, where ideals triumphed, where all love was perfect love. Bodie could feel Ray's emotions enveloping him like a warm blanket, drawing him in to lose himself in sheer pleasure of Ray's presence.

Their bodies entwined, rolling together as their mouths rained moist kisses over each other and their fingers stroked and probed every sensitive inch of one another. Orgasm built and spilt in long shuddering waves as they held each other fast. The crescendo rolled on and on, like the echoing rumble of thunder, and they lost track of themselves during it, as they felt their hearts blending and beating in one rhythm.

There was a slow return to individual consciousness after, and a stunned silence in the aftermath of the intense union. Then Ray gave a small contented sigh, and curled himself snugly into Bodie's arms to fall asleep. Bodie flexed his arms in a protective hug, buried his nose in Doyle's tousled curls, and followed suite. All other action was beyond their capabilities.  

***

"What's this?" Cowley asked as one of the lab technicians presented him with a thick sheaf of papers.

"It's the report on the ADX cannisters you requested."

Cowley took the papers and flipped through them to the summary. It noted the dangerous power of the drug, estimating that a single drop absorbed through a person's skin would be enough to cause temporary hallucinations, distort sensory perception, evoke paranoia, and seriously impair good judgement by releasing all inhibitions. The last page was a request, advising that the cannisters be destroyed, as they would be difficult to store or safeguard against leakage.

Cowley thought about the implications, the possible uses of such a drug for his organization. Then he signed his authorization for the drug to be destroyed. It was simply too unpredictable, too dangerous to keep around. Handing back the paperwork, he headed to his office to be briefed on the newest problem for CI5 to handle.  

***

Bodie woke after a long oblivion, incoherent memories tumbled about him like scattered pieces of a jigsaw. Something significant had happened, he remembered that much clearly. But so much of it had been like a dream, how much of it was real?

He focussed blurrily on the body he'd wrapped himself over. One thigh was thrust between Ray's, the other was beneath, his spent and sticky cock was pressed tightly in the crease of Ray's even stickier bum, and both his arms were curled tightly, possessively around his hot little partner's hot little body.

Maybe it had all been real?

Before Bodie could ponder the improbabilities of that thought, Doyle stirred and opened his eyes. He inhaled a few deep breaths, stretched, and turned a smile on Bodie so sweet it seemed to light the room. Bodie melted. He felt so much in love it swept away all the niggling questions. Only an idiot would have questioned the past night when there were present matters, pressing ones, to attend.

Ray purred with pleasure as Bodie stroked him. Bodie listened attentively as he caressed the length of his partner's body. He was sure he had heard Ray mewl at one point the night before, and he was going to explore every inch of his lover until he found the spot that produced that helpless cry of desire.

A sunbeam shone down through the skylight as morning broke through the last of the night's clouds. It would be a bright clear day outside. A cat, late returning from its nocturnal forays, glided along the damp rooftop and paused beside the skylight, curious. Inside, two figures romped playfully on the sunlight-splashed bed. A mewling sound kept the cat there, watching, until the figures shouted joyfully and collapsed back into silence. The cat roused itself then, and trotted off home. The humans slumbered on together in the slanted square patch of sunlight.  

_______________________________________________________

the end


Let me know whatcha think at cardare@hotmail.com.

Or check out my other stories:

Rough Ride (Pros)

Force and Deception (B7)

Manhunt (B7)

Dracula and Jonathon