Comfort and Joy

by P. R. Zed


Bodie made his unsteady way into the hotel room. Doyle's relatives had plied him with far too many pints and vodka tonics this evening, and the alcohol was making itself felt at last. He threw the key onto the nightstand and sprawled out on one of the beds, feeling pleasantly giddy as his head spun just the slightest bit.

Doyle entered the room behind him, looking none too steady on his feet either as he stumbled to the other bed.

"Tell you what, mate," Bodie said. "The next time you invite me to a Doyle family gathering, remind me that the whole lot of you are stark, staring mad."

"I did tell you," Doyle said indignantly.

"You may have told me, but you did not emphasize sufficiently what that meant." Bodie grinned, inordinately pleased with himself that he could even come up with that last sentence in a booze-fogged haze. "And anyway, who has a wedding two weeks before Christmas? Madness, that."

"Our Pamela is a girl of conviction. Once she's made up her mind, she doesn't waste any time."

"I hope her lad knows what he's letting himself in for."

"I think Derek knows what to expect. Those two grew up together. And he's been mooning around after her ever since I can remember."

"Hmmph," Bodie said noncommittally.

Bodie reached up and undid his bow tie. Doyle's own tie had barely made it past the start of the reception, ending up in his pocket as soon as was decent. Not that Bodie had spent any time at all at the reception with Doyle. The youngest members of the Doyle clan had immediately recognized that Bodie was the most exotic, amenable adult around, and appropriated his company. Bodie had spent the first part of the night amusing the under-ten set with silly stories and even sillier imitations of African animals. When the sprogs had been packed off to bed, the men in the family took over, offering him drinks in exchange for outrageous tales of his mercenary days. Not a word of what he'd shared was true—the truth of that time was the subject of private nightmares, not amusing anecdotes—but he had been entertaining enough to keep his audience wide-eyed and himself in free drinks for the evening.

For his part, Doyle had been surrounded by sisters and female cousins. Bodie wouldn't have credited it, but Doyle's sisters clearly doted on him. The few times Bodie had got anywhere near them, the conversation had dropped to a whisper and he'd heard his own name mentioned amongst much giggling. Doyle had rolled his eyes and grinned at Bodie, but otherwise kept silent.

Deprived of Doyle's company, Bodie had found himself looking across the room at his partner far too often, admiring the almond eyes, the chiselled lips, the chest hair exposed by the two open buttons at his neck. Doyle caught him looking every time, and returned his gaze with a smug grin or an upraised eyebrow. And every time, the look in those well-known eyes had wakened the sleeping desire coiled in Bodie's gut.

They had been doing this dance for weeks, for months. Perhaps even for years. Each aware of the attraction that bound them, neither willing to close the final distance between them, to turn longing into action, to turn friendship into something else altogether.

So they took refuge in the familiar. They bantered and jousted. They fought, even as they defended each other against all comers. But every morning, Bodie wondered if this would be the day that they took the risk, if this would be the day that everything changed.

He looked at Doyle now, and felt the breath catch in his throat. His partner was spread out on the bed and leaning on his elbows, neck arched back, shirt now fully undone. Bodie was suddenly conscious of his own body, his skin. He could feel the linen of his shirt moving against his ribs with each rise and fall of his chest. He could feel the nap of the bedspread against his palms. He could feel his cock twitch against his trousers.

Bodie took a deep breath and lay back again, cursing the blush he felt rising on his cheeks. He forced his breathing to slow and tried not to think of Doyle, what he wanted to do to Doyle, do with Doyle. Tried not to think of the glide of skin on skin, of moans sounding low in throats.

Resorting to teasing to distract his thoughts, he grasped for the first wicked statement that came to his tongue.

"Your Aunt Gladys is a cheeky one. She was pinching my bum all evening."

As soon as the words left his lips, Bodie knew they could only get him in trouble. And found that he didn't care one bit.

"Has good taste, my Aunt Gladys."

"Runs in the family, then? Good taste, I mean."

"You could say that." Doyle aimed a slow, languorous smile at Bodie. "My sisters have always gone for the tall, dark and beautiful ones."

"Oh, yeah?" Bodie sat up. His senses were keyed so high he could feel the blood thrumming through his veins. He felt reckless and bold, the way he did at the beginning of a fire fight, when the fear had burned away and all that was left was the exhilaration. He was going to push this as far as he could and see where it got him. "And which way does their brother's taste run?"

Doyle paused before answering, the tip of his tongue running invitingly across his perfect bottom lip. "Oh, I think his taste runs to tall, dark and beautiful as well."

"Does it, now." Bodie could feel the smile slide across his own face. Neither of them was going to ignore this anymore, nor pretend it was all a lark. It was finally going to happen.

Bodie rose and crossed the small distance to Doyle's bed. Doyle's lips were parted and his eyes were mere slits. Bodie trailed a hand across the bare chest, taking pleasure in the feel of exposed skin beneath his fingertips, in the way Doyle's breath hitched in his throat, in the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

"Me, I'm fond of wanton gollies," Bodie said as his thumb stroked one brown nipple.

"Good thing you've got one then, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Bodie said, the word emerging from his lips as the barest whisper.

Then neither of them was speaking, both putting their mouths to far better purpose. Bodie licked his way down the line of Doyle's jaw till he came to his mouth. He nipped at Doyle's lips, swollen with arousal, then pushed his tongue into Doyle's willing mouth.

Doyle tasted of whisky and cake, of musk and honey. The taste was intoxicating and Bodie found his senses spinning out of control. A kiss wasn't enough, wasn't nearly enough. Without breaking contact with Doyle's mouth, Bodie pushed the shirt off Doyle's arms, throwing it aside. He started undoing his own shirt, but Doyle's hands pushed his away and tore open the buttons. Together, they removed the shirt and it joined Doyle's on the floor.

Trousers and pants were removed with even greater haste, and then there they were, naked and in bed. Or at least, on the bed. Panting, Bodie pulled back for a moment, taking in the sight of Doyle laid out before him. The skin at his throat had gone pink and Bodie could see the pulse throbbing in his neck, see his cock hard and tight against his belly.

"Oh, fuck," Bodie moaned, feeling his own cock throb in response.

"Yeah," Doyle said. "Definitely that. Fuck me, Bodie."

"Be careful what you ask for, Sunshine."

"I'm through with being careful," Doyle said, his voice gone husky with need. "I wouldn't want you if I were careful."

"I may not always be careful, but I don't want to hurt you. And fucking you without lube is too likely to do that."

Doyle didn't seem to take Bodie's concern at all seriously. He only grinned and let loose a positively filthy laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Check the night stand," Doyle said.

"You never…" Bodie opened the drawer and found a tube of KY waiting for him. "You randy bugger. You were bloody sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"Wasn't sure of myself. Was sure of us," Doyle said, sitting up to kiss him thoroughly. "Now, are you going to put that to good use, or what?"

"I'll put you to good use, you smug bastard."

"That's what I'm counting on," Doyle said, wiggling his arse and settling on his back.

Still, Bodie hesitated. "You sure you want to do it this way?"

"I want to see your face, don't I? And to kiss you." Doyle moved forward and did just that. "Now, on your bike, Sunshine," he said with a wicked laugh.

Bodie lost no time in preparing them both with the lube, and then pushed into Doyle. He went slowly, both to give Doyle time to adjust and to let himself savour the sensation of being surrounded by Doyle. He went gently, until the gentleness itself was a kind of exquisite torture and they were both sweating with the effort of remaining still. Finally, he found himself buried to his bollocks. Trapped between their bellies, he felt Doyle's cock pulse with need and his own throb in response, but still he remained frozen, waiting for the signal to continue. That came soon enough.

Doyle pushed up his hips and commanded him with one word. "Move."

Bodie needed no further urging. At first he was cautious, still reluctant to hurt his partner, but Doyle was quickly writhing beneath him. He began thrusting harder, Doyle matching him stroke for stroke, strength for strength.

They kissed and bit and sucked, marking each other's flesh. Bodie reached between them and took Doyle's cock in a firm grip, stroking it in time with his own thrusts. Doyle moaned with pleasure. Bodie kissed him and took the moan into his own mouth, felt the sound vibrate in his throat.

Then Doyle was arching his back and coming over Bodie's hand, over both their bellies. The warm fluid was slick between them, one more sensation for Bodie's already overloaded nerves, and then he was falling over the edge himself, his cock pulsing deep within Doyle.

Thoroughly spent, Bodie pulled free of Doyle and rolled onto his side. He grinned at Doyle, lying beside him with his limbs sprawled, his chest still heaving with exertion.

Doyle met his gaze, his own face lighting up in a transformative smile. Bodie wrapped an arm around his chest, sighing as his partner, no, his lover, curled into his embrace.

"Christ, why didn't we do this a long time ago?" Doyle asked, burying his face in Bodie's shoulder.

"Mightn't have been so good, then. Anticipation sharpens the appetite, doesn't it?" Bodie squeezed Doyle tightly. "Tell you what, though. We're definitely going to do it a lot more."

"Until we get it perfect?"

"I'm sheer perfection already, mate. Reckon your technique might need some work though. I could give you a few pointers, if you like."

"Berk," Doyle said.

"But I'm your berk, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I reckon you are."

Bodie shifted, making them both more comfortable, resting his chin on Doyle's curls. He could feel Doyle falling asleep in his arms, feel his muscles relax, feel his breathing slow into the easy rhythm of sleep. Bodie could feel himself drifting, too.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that he should get a flannel, get them cleaned up a bit, but he was far too content to consider moving. And besides, they could put the room's bathtub to good use tomorrow cleaning up. And getting dirty again, no doubt.

Touching his lips to Doyle's forehead, Bodie was struck by sudden inspiration. He didn't usually go in much for Christmas—there hadn't been much to celebrate on that day in his family, and he had ignored the holiday altogether as soon as he'd left home—but this year he was going to make an exception. This year, he was going to do his whole flat over in mistletoe. The angels would have nothing on him for tidings of comfort and joy.

A smile on his lips, Bodie at last fell into a peaceful sleep.

Fin


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