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They had made it. Against the odds – even taking into consideration their out-of-the-firing-line status in recent years – they had survived CI5 and lived to start drawing their pensions.
Bodie smiled to himself as he watched a delightfully tipsy Doyle struggle to get the key in the front door. Three weeks' practice clearly not enough.
"D'you need back-up, sunshine?"
Doyle morphed from his stooped position over the lock into his trademark louche lean against the doorframe. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him, though time had solidified that once-scrappy frame somewhat. It was still a pose that made Bodie want to pin him to the nearest wall and snog the living daylights out of him though.
"'Sall yours, mate," said Doyle, dangling the keys off a gracefully extended fingertip.
Bodie's eyebrow – twinned with Roger Moore's, Doyle had once quipped – rose in familiar response.
"Did you let every man, woman and intern buy you a leaving drink?" he said, swiping the keys and stepping up to the door himself.
Doyle's mouth twitched. “Nah,” he said, shedding his drunken appearance like an unwanted undercover identity and sliding his hands on to Bodie's hips. “Just wanted you where I wanted you.” His eyes glittered in the orange glow of the streetlight. “Have to mark our retirement properly, can't do that with brewer's droop.”
Bodie rolled his eyes, opened the door and dropped a warm kiss on Doyle's lips. “And you have the cheek to call me a priapismic monster? Get in.”
Doyle grinned at him, kissed him back and poured himself into the house, feeling Bodie's heated gaze on his arse as he sauntered along the hall.
***
Bodie was lying on the bed, hands tucked behind his head, eyes apparently on the ceiling, but thoughts a lot further away when Doyle wandered back from the bathroom, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows as usual, top button undone, tie loosened – his natural scruffiness reasserting itself after an evening of enforced neatness.
“Penny for 'em?”
Bodie's lips creased into the smile that made Doyle's heart constrict a little every time he saw it.
“You always were a cheapskate.”
He sighed gently, his face serious again. “Just remembering the ones who didn't make it. Thinking about the times we nearly didn't. Honestly never believed we'd make it to the gold watch and pension.”
Doyle sat on the edge of the bed, smiling and running his fingers through the salt and pepper of Bodie's hair.
“We cut it a bit close sometimes,” he agreed, “but here we are, safe and sound. Let's make the most of it, eh? Best memorial we can give to absent friends.” He blinked away the tears that threatened to break free at the memories of the dead: Murph shot dead by the IRA, Jax stabbed by the National Front, Anson consumed by lung cancer.
Bodie brought a hand round to grasp Doyle's and squeezed it. “Sorry. Not like me to be maudlin. And you're right, we will carpe every bloody diem. They'll be squealing for mercy by the time we've finished with 'em.”
Doyle laughed and leaned forward to kiss his partner. “So which of us is the knight-at-arms and which the beautiful but merciless lady?”
Bodie quirked an eyebrow at him. “You gotta ask, angelfish?”
Doyle cuffed him lightly about the head and was about to resume the kiss when they tensed as one and sat bolt upright.
Both recognised the sound of someone trying to quietly break a pane of glass.
“Kitchen,” mouthed Bodie.
Doyle nodded. “I thought you said this was a classy neighbourhood,” he whispered.
Bodie rolled his eyes. “Shall we go and say hello then?”
They padded silently across the carpet and into the dark hall, the old moves not forgotten, the choreography as instinctive as ever as Doyle slipped across the gap at the top of the stairs and plastered himself to the wall.
They stared into each others eyes in the faint light that was available. Bodie gave the nod and Doyle began to work his way noiselessly down the stairs. He paused at the quarter landing, listening to their unwanted visitors while Bodie caught him up.
“Right,” said a male voice quietly, ”let's get rid of these fucking poofs then.”
Doyle dropped into a crouch and peered through the slight gap where the handrail peeled away from the downstairs ceiling, to see how many people were coming their way. He held up three fingers for Bodie, who tapped him on the shoulder to acknowledge the report.
Doyle slowly stood and whispered, “Spanish Inquisition?”
Bodie grinned and breathed his reply into Doyle's ear, “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition...”
The three intruders were inching slowly along the downstairs hall. Bodie and Doyle had to smother giggles at the lack of stealth. Someone's raincoat was rustling; spare change was clinking in a pocket; and one of them could be asthmatic judging by the wheezy breathing advancing slowly towards them.
As the first member of the group rounded the lowest newel, Doyle launched himself down the stairs, springing from his landing place halfway down into the dark shape and barrelling it into the figure behind.
He rolled away from the two figures sprawled and complaining on the floor and into a fight-ready pose near the front door. The last intruder grinned beneath his balaclava and raised a baseball bat in his hands.
“Feisty aren't you?” he spat. “Going to defend your boyfriend's honour?”
Doyle snorted. “At this rate he's going to be pissed off that there's no one left to punch.”
At the foot of the stairs the first man was curled up in a foetal position moaning to himself. Next to him lay a woman, the owner of the noisy raincoat, apparently knocked unconscious.
The man laughed. “I don't think you appreciate the damage a baseball bat can do to the human body, me old son.” And he swung the bat at head height. Doyle dropped swiftly to his haunches and winced as the bat left an ugly dent in the wall.
Doyle tutted as the man staggered back to his fighting position, while he sprang back up like a jack-in-the-box. “I don't think you appreciate how lethal a Monty Python sketch and a rather fetching blue tie can be in the right hands, mate.”
“You ain't turning me into a dead fucking parrot, mate,” growled his attacker. “Not letting you get anywhere near me with your tie neither.” He hefted the bat in his hands, considering whether to attack Doyle's stomach or his shins next.
Doyle rolled his eyes and watched as the man dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat in a vain attempt to release the pressure Bodie was exerting with the tie that Doyle had bought him for Christmas.
“Got any cuffs on you, sunbeam?”
“What do you think this is? A bleeding Ann Summers shop?” Doyle shook his head impatiently. “Keep an eye on 'em, I've got the next best thing.” Doyle kicked the baseball bat down the hall and out of reach, and ducked into the cupboard under the stairs.
He returned a minute later with cable ties and restrained first the woman and then the groaning man. He dropped down behind the third man, still struggling for breath in Bodie's grip, and slid the cable tie shut as tightly as he could. The man let out a squeak as his flesh caught in the plastic.
Doyle leaned forward and hissed menacingly in his ear. “Good job you didn't try this yesterday, Sonny Jim. You'd have a dirty great bullet hole in you by now.” He looked up at Bodie, who had released the pressure on the man's neck fractionally now he was restrained. “Do you want to call the cops?”
“Nah,” said Bodie, “You do it. I'm going to explain to our new friend what the main weapon of the Spanish Inquisition is...”
Doyle smiled and started heading for the phone, imitating Cardinal Ximénez as he went, “Our main weapon is fear, fear and surprise. Our two main weapons are...”
Bodie chipped in, “...fear, surprise and ruthless efficiency. Our three main weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope...”
Doyle almost felt sorry for the bloke.
***
It was nearly one o'clock by the time Bodie and Doyle sank on to the edge of the bed to pull off their clothes and slide under the covers.
“You know, all these years I assumed the dozens of near-death experiences were an occupational hazard. I'm starting to think we're just disaster magnets. Catnip for criminals.” Doyle fizzed with indignation.
Bodie rolled on to his side and gave him a sceptical look. “Ray...”
Doyle flung himself over to face Bodie. “It's not even our first day of retirement and we've still got people trying to kill us!”
Bodie ran a hand into Doyle's steel-grey hair and squeezed the back of his head affectionately. “Doesn't matter how many bad guys you lure with your catnip magnetism, I'll always have your back. Okay?”
Doyle sighed, smiled and leaned in to kiss his partner. “Ditto, sunbeam.” He snaked an arm around Bodie's waist and pulled him closer. “Now, are you going to make it worth my while turning down all those drinks earlier?”
Bodie smirked and shifted his hand, running it down Doyle's spine until he could cup that still-perfect arse. “When have I ever needed to be asked twice?” he said.
Doyle pulled a face. “Well,” he said, “there was that time...”
His words were smothered by Bodie's kiss. “Ray?”
Doyle could feel Bodie's fingers tracing the lightest of touches around the curve of his buttocks and caved in. “My memory's not what it was,” he said, “me age you know.”
Bodie's lips curved into a lecherous grin. “Always did go for the older man, me.”
“That make you my toyboy?”
“You talk too much.”
“So you have told me, at least once a day, for the past 35 years.”
“Famous for me powers of observation.”
Doyle inched himself across the mattress. “What are you observing now? Bo-die...”
Bodie rolled his eyes and curled his lip at the feel of Doyle's erection pressing into his own. “That you, mate, are a priapismic monster.”
Doyle leaned in and sucked gently on Bodie's lower lip before nuzzling into his neck and punctuating his words with kisses, “Takes. One. To. Know. One.”
He smiled at the soft sigh escaping Bodie's lips and continued working his way down's Bodie's body, peppering the well-loved flesh with kisses and the occasional nibble. As his mouth traced the line of downy hair from Bodie's navel he heard a moan and felt Bodie push out his hips in invitation. He paused for a moment to savour the warm, musky scent he knew and loved so well before wrapping a hand around the base of Bodie's cock and slipping the rest of it into his mouth.
As he ran his tongue along the silky skin and tried not to let Bodie's growls of pleasure tip him over into orgasm, he remembered the first time they had done this. Strung out on adrenaline after a particularly risky op, alone in his flat, he and Bodie had kissed, hard and urgent. He had dropped to his knees, unzipped Bodie's trousers and sucked his cock for the whole minute it had taken for Bodie to come.
He sucked harder and felt a flash of lust in his flesh at the groan this produced. His hand found Bodie's balls and began to massage them. Another groan, and he knew it was taking all of Bodie's self-control not to fuck his mouth until he came.
He heard the sharp little intake of breath that was Bodie's tell, and a second later was swallowing his cum, while Bodie muttered happy curses to gods he didn't believe in.
He scooted back up the bed, licking his lips clean as he went.
“Fuck me, Ray,” sighed Bodie.
“Going to. Till you see stars, my son.”
Bodie chuckled and rolled on to his back while Doyle fished out the lube and quickly slicked his cock and fingers before positioning himself between Bodie's thighs.
“Sunny side up then?”
Bodie wriggled his hips closer to Doyle. “Less yap,” he said.
“Always the romantic, Bodie,” said Doyle, shaking his head. He leaned down to pull a slow, deep kiss from his lover and ran a finger over the circle of puckered flesh he knew so well. Bodie gasped mid-kiss and Doyle carefully slid one finger inside him, relishing the tight heat and the moans that communicated pleasure and lust and need and want. He worked as quickly as he dared to slide a second and then a third finger in, the sight of Bodie wriggling in his hand threatening to bring him off right there and then.
Bodie sighed as Doyle slid his fingers out and growled happily as his partner filled the emptiness with his cock instead.
Doyle was lost in a haze of sensation and desire, buried balls-deep in the man he loved. The man who gave real meaning to the phrase 'my other half' (and for that matter 'my better half', though Doyle wasn't going to tell the smug sod that).
When he regained the power of speech and began to fuck Bodie, slow and gentle, the slap of skin on skin like waves breaking on the hull of a boat, he stroked his fingers along Bodie's hips. “You're so beautiful, Bodie.”
Bodie grinned. “You have listened to some of the things I've told you over the years then.”
“Nah. You know me. Won't be told anything. Like to make up me own mind.”
Bodie gasped and shut his eyes as Doyle grazed his prostate.
“Worth me passing up free alcohol then?”
Bodie sank his fingers into the flesh of Doyle's arse and ground their bodies together. “I may never let you drink again,” he growled. “Now, you promised me astronomy. Show me what you've got, sunshine.”
Doyle grinned, dipped to capture Bodie's mouth in a languorous kiss and set about fucking him into both the mattress and glorious oblivion.
***
They lay sweaty, sticky and panting in a tangled heap of limbs. Eyes closed, fingers soothing whatever bit of the other's skin they rested on.
Bodie turned his head and placed a kiss on the top of Doyle's head. “This is why we can't complain about people trying to kill us, Ray. You can't deny the sex has always been at its best after an op.”
“It's not so bad the rest of the time that I wouldn't mind missing the brushes with death.”
“That's my little ray of sunshine. I give you a silver lining and all you see is a dirty great grey cloud.” Bodie chuckled and extricated enough of his body to turn and face Doyle. He cupped Doyle's face in his hand, a thumb sliding along the broken cheekbone. “Love you, Ray.”
Doyle's heart folded in on itself and he smiled at his partner. “Love you too, Bodie.”
“If we're going to be carpeing the diem tomorrow, we'd better get some kip. Turn the light out, sunshine.”
Doyle groaned and reached out for the light switch, before rolling back to Bodie's side and nuzzling into his neck. He slid an arm across Bodie's chest and felt tears prickle his eyes. “Don't ever leave me, sunbeam. I wouldn't last long without you.”
Bodie wrapped himself around his partner and squeezed. “Wherever we're going, we go together.” He kissed Doyle's forehead. “Including the sodding DIY place in the morning to fix the kitchen window.”
He felt a small laugh. “So, go to bloody sleep you maniac or it'll be the soft cushions for you.”
Doyle let out a mock squeak of horror. “Not with all the stuffing up one end?”
“Exactly.”
“I'm asleep already. Night, Bodie."
“Goodnight, Ray.”