Please note that this is an alternate ending to Hunter/Hunted.

"You weren't thinking of coming in were you? Without a warrant?"

Kathie Mason Preston stood well back from the windows and held her breath as she listened to her husband taunt Ray Doyle. Had he gone mad? CI5 didn'tneed a warrant for entry -- it was part of their brief. And she doubted she could escape the house without either Doyle or his partner seeing her. That would set the cat amongst the pigeons.

"Remember the plan, love. Remember the plan," she mouthed the words, notdaring to put breath behind them, then sagged in relief as she heard Doyle walk away. A few seconds later the roar of the silver Capri departing signaled the end of the threat.

She did not quite throw her husband an accusing glare when he joined her inthe living room. After all, she was not totally innocent herself. She'd taken a great risk coming here so soon after delivering the clue that would all but identify her husband as the man trying to kill Doyle. Yes, she should have known that Bodie and Doyle would arrive today, but she hadn't been able to stay away.

The same passion that had driven her to marry a disgraced copper on his way to prison, that had compelled her to help plot revenge against the two coppers who were most responsible for sending him there, had also demanded she seek his company whenever she was not needed to maneuver Doyle to his eventual death. And so far that had proven pathetically easy to do.

That one had always had a weakness for the birds, and Kathie had known she would be an irresistible temptation. An old flirtation from the past who had escaped the lure of his bedroom, coupled with the fact that 'Cowley didn't like his people getting involved.' A long-sought conquest and a way to keep things from getting serious -- yes, the perfect bait.

And Doyle had taken it. Hook, line and sinker. The excitement of the other night would make her blood race for many a night to come. Doyle had actually taken her to Maurice Richard's pub, a beautiful bit of irony even if it had forced her to kill the older ex-copper a bit ahead of schedule. Then Doyle had come back to her place -- the one she'd rented with the never-recovered profits of Preston's graft schemes. Oh, it had been delicious feeling him inside her, feeling the life of him throbbing away while knowing she would soon help to extinguish that life.

She'd liked it so much, she'd allowed him to have her again just before he had left in the morning. To her delight, Preston had come to her as soon as Doyle's car had cleared the block. They'd made love with a wild passion -- his seed conquering Doyle's -- even as Doyle's car had fallen prey to their scheme. She'd imagined the explosion as she'd come. Delicious.

So delicious that she couldn't resist the sweet temptation to come here just when Doyle would be most likely to arrive. She just hadn't counted on her husband practically inviting Doyle in.

A mild reprimand died unspoken as she saw Preston's face, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed with passion, reminding her that he too had an agenda. She went willingly into his arms.

Time of the essence, their coupling was quick, leaving them both bruised and scratched. Satisfied, they lay in each other's arms for a few precious moments, but all too soon, Preston brought an end to the silence. "I think it's time to rid ourselves of ex-Detective Constable Doyle."

She made a small sound of agreement, but couldn't help but feel a measure of regret. She had so enjoyed the game. Yet her husband was right. An old friend had performed their all but secret marriage, and she had used her position at C11 to keep her marital status hidden. But someone in CI5 would have already found out about it. Only a matter of time until the person doing her security check discovered the link with Doyle's case. If they had more than a few hours left, she would be very surprised.

Still, perhaps she should try one last time. "I still think we should use Bodie."

Preston sighed. "We've been all over this. He's no scared little grass like Brownie. He'd be a very dangerous hostage."

"We could sedate him." She actually had a vial and hypodermic in her purse despite the fact that Preston had overruled her on the choice of bait. "Just enough to make him cooperative."

Preston considered it for a moment, but he was a stubborn man, and she knew that he'd set his plans around Doyle's grass. It didn't surprise her then, when he shook his head. "No, I don't like changing things this late in the game."

Kathie sighed. How could she make him understand how important this was? Given time, she knew she could change his mind, but by now Doyle and Bodie knew that Montgomery was out of town, that Preston was the only real suspect they had. The fact that she had been the one taunting them yesterday with the 180, that she had been the one to kill Richards, while Preston kept his appointment with his probation officer, would not distract them for more than a few moments. They would just assume he was working with someone.

*Without Bodie to look after me*. She was on the point of giving in for expediency's sake, when she remembered the chill she'd felt when Doyle had said that. She'd watched the two of them. Something about them together made her afraid of a Bodie left alive. That one would hunt Preston down and kill him no matter what sort of alibi they came up with. She just knew it.

The way Doyle and Bodie had clowned around in the car, their awareness of each other even when they were all out on that double date, the way Doyle had pressed up against Bodie when they were leaving him at the cabaret... *Without Bodie to look after me.* Just a flip little remark, but his eyes when he'd said it... they'd held the look of a man who never doubted for an instant that he was safe when his partner was around.

She'd been around various partnerships for her entire career, but never one that seemed to sparkle like theirs. Doyle hadn't even told Bodie to leave when they'd worked on the bomb -- as if he had known his breath would have been wasted. As if... "Preston, I think... I think they're in love."

Bodie tossed the 180 into the boot of the Capri, then got back behind the wheel of the car. He drove with a bit more speed than the situation warranted, but he was anxious to get back to Doyle. He hadn't quite gotten his partner to promise not to go anywhere without him. Raymond Doyle did not need a nursemaid and all that. Stroppy bastard, Bodie couldn't think why he he'd fallen for him. Should have his head examined.

His tires squealed around the next corner, earning him a few admonishing looks from pedestrians, but he only vaguely noticed them. He shouldn't have left Doyle alone, or he should have brought him with him, but Marty hadn't been pleased with his bringing Doyle along the first time, and he'd needed to talk to Marty. For the third time. He'd played it all charm and old times during the first two meets with the arms dealer, but both times he'd felt like Marty was hiding something.

When Montgomery had proven to be a dead-end and Preston questionable, Bodie had decided to resort to firmer methods of persuasion. A few silken threats and Marty had come across with the last thing Bodie had expected -- a second 180. Not quite as sophisticated as the rifle he and Doyle had lost, it was still a functional gun and the site was the same. He didn't know what good it would do, but he'd taken it anyway. One never knew.

Why had he left Ray alone? *Because you're afraid he'll twig if you hold on too tight.* Bodie wasn't certain when he'd fallen in love with his partner, but he had -- hard and permanently. He'd known that when he'd stood up... he couldn't even remember her name now -- but she'd made lasagne for him. Not that he'd ever gotten to eat it. Doyle had needed him, and she and her carefully-planned dinner had vanished from his mind only five seconds after he'd talked to her on the phone.

To this day, he felt a bit badly about that. The job had made him stand up a lot of women, but he'd never done it just because Doyle had looked at him with those big green eyes and asked him if he wanted to go along on a condolence visit. Christ! he HATED that sort of thing. Yet off he'd trotted without a second thought.

He'd had a moment of pure panic when he'd figured it all out, figured out that he'd done the one thing he would have bet he'd never do, let alone with his partner. Then he'd done the only thing he could do -- he'd kept his feelings from Doyle and kept hoping one of the birds he dated would convince him that Doyle wasn't really the love of his life. No joy so far.

In the meantime, he concentrated on enjoying the relationship he had with Doyle and tried not to resent every bird who got a bit of what he wanted. He managed it fairly well, but he couldn't make the same claim about dealing with this nutter after Doyle. He wanted to whisk Ray off to someplace safe, while he tracked down and dealt with the shooter. He could just imagine his partner's reaction to that, and shuddered in sympathy for the teeth he was bound to lose.

So he hadn't forced the promise, had settled for Doyle's agreeing to stick to home unless something important came up. Damn, he never should have left him alone. He pushed down all the harder on the accelerator, then almost jumped when his radio went off.

Terrified it was news he didn't want to hear, he grabbed up the mic. "3.7."

"3.7, call for you from a Sergeant Mason."

Relief nearly made him dizzy, and he slowed the car a bit. "Thanks, 2.4. Got a number?"

She gave it to him, and he pulled the car over to the nearest call box. Two rings later, Kathie answered, "Sergeant Mason."

"'s Bodie."

"Just in time. Bodie, I may have something. One of my informants says he has some information about Doyle, and he's willing to meet. I got him to agree to my bringing you along, but he says he doesn't want to be within miles of Ray."

Given all the bombs and bullets lurking about Doyle, Bodie couldn't really blame the grass. "Where and when."

"Fifteen minutes, the old swing bridge past the moorings. I'm already there, and it looks on the up and up."

Fifteen minutes. Not enough time to go back and check on Doyle. But if he could get this wrapped up without him... "On my way."

He jumped back into the Capri, then headed toward the Thames. With one minute to spare, he pulled into the shipping yard and spotted Kathie waiting by her car. He pulled up next to it, got out, took a few steps toward her, then froze as he saw the red dot centered on her chest.

"I'm sorry, Bodie" she said, looking more miserable than scared.

Bodie cursed himself for a fool. Been so busy worrying about Doyle he hadn't really considered he might be a target as well. Walked right into it like a bloody amateur. Seeing no way out of it beyond over Kathie's dead body, he raised his hands in surrender.

"Very good," a voice he recognized as Preston's called out. "Now, put the cuffs on him, Sergeant, like a good girl."

The dot stayed on her until she stepped behind him, then switched to the center of his own chest as his wrists were secured. He flinched as the metal bit into him, then hissed, "Not so tight, I won't be able to get free."

"I know," she said sweetly, the words not registering until he felt the sharp prick of a needle, then the sting of something being injected.

Red dot forgotten, he whirled around to find her face a picture of triumph. "I believe my husband wants a word with you," she said, her voice a silken purr.

"You bitch, you set Ray up!" he spat, wanting to break her scrawny neck with his bare hands, but his knees gave out instead.

"No, we're going to leave that to you," she told him as Preston came up and put his arms around her.

# # #

Doyle was making a cup of tea, trying to think of something he'd missed, to think of just who Preston might be working for, when the phone rang. "Doyle," he answered.

"Ray, it's Kathie. I think I may have something."

Four minutes later, he locked the door of his flat behind him and headed for his car. Bodie wasn't going to be best pleased about this, but a chance to wrap this up before Preston could make another move was too good to pass up. And he didn't have time to wait for Bodie to get back before the meet.

He picked up the mic, and radioed in using the call sign for an agent who was a target. "3.6. to 2.4."

"2.4. Go ahead, 3.6."

"I'm on my way to meet a contact."

"Roger, 3.6."

"Maintaining radio silence. Out."

He thought again of Bodie and his reaction. It irritated him a bit that it mattered, but then he hadn't actually promised to stay put. And ever since he'd seen Maurice Richard's body, he'd been terrified that Preston would go after his current partner as well. Richard's death had hurt, as had Sid Parker's back in his Met days, but he honestly didn't think he could survive Bodie's death. He'd tried very hard not to examine that too closely, but he'd been so... aware of Bodie in the last few weeks.

Even in the cabaret, when his attention was supposed to be absorbed by the long sought after Kathie Mason, he'd noticed how good Bodie had looked. Kathie. She was all a CI5 man could ask for -- pretty, intelligent and accustomed to the danger and crazy hours of the job. Yet he'd spun her that old line about Cowley not liking his people to get involved. He'd known she'd never find out the truth -- Kathie wasn't quite good enough to make CI5, even under the less rigorous requirements for the junior intelligence squad. The truth was that Cowley didn't like his people getting involved period. Serious relationships meant security checks and all sorts of hassles, but if they did get involved, the old man preferred it to be with persons already in the intelligence game -- which included other members of CI5.

So he hadn't quite lied, but he certainly hadn't told the truth either. And he wasn't quite certain why. Or rather, wasn't certain why he had been so quick to give her the reason they weren't going to get serious. He'd been enjoying her company -- despite the blue-eyed distraction across the table -- yet as soon as they were alone... At the time he'd told himself it was to cover for the mistake of offering to put in a good word for her. Be embarrassing that. Occasionally, when the junior squad was light, CI5 accepted applicants instead of seeking them out, but mostly it was the support staff who got hired off of applications. Doyle knew that -- was a bit surprised Kathie hadn't -- and had known she hadn't any real chance for that second interview. More likely she'd be another entry into the 'keep in mind' file.

Yes, that had to be the reason he'd done it -- yet, all that evening he'd kept thinking that Bodie was beautiful. It wasn't that he'd never tried it on with a bloke before -- before he'd joined the Met he'd tried about everything once -- but Bodie wasn't his type. Doyle liked to be in charge -- always chalked it up to the lack of control in his childhood -- so, while he'd never been interested in fragile flowers, he'd also avoided macho men like his partner. But it might be different if it wasn't just sex.

He blinked in surprise. Now where had that come from? What else would it be if not just sex? He thought about it as he drove, thought about Bodie as one of his casual flings, and knew it wasn't possible. Bodie was too important to him. Bodie was... special. He wondered what big, strong, macho Bodie would think of a partner who was considering taking him to bed for a good cuddle, then decided his jaw was better off not knowing.

Kathie pulled Bodie's Capri into the garage and shut the door. Just a few things to gather up, then she'd make a stop at headquarters to establish an alibi while her husband killed Doyle and his partner. There would be no way to prove that they had done it, so the great George Cowley would have to sit and watch them board a plane for South America day after tomorrow.

She and Preston would be able to live quite well on what he'd accumulated before Doyle and Richards had ruined things. It was actually a nice enough sum for them to live comfortably in England, but it would be good for a life of luxury in Brazil.

Her mind was on visions of lazy days of passion and long walks on sandy beaches when she pushed open the back door, then stepped inside. She found George Cowley sitting in her kitchen. For an instant she panicked and thought of running, but the door shut behind her, the way to it blocked by Ruth Pettifer.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Preston," Cowley said. "I believe it's time we had a talk."

She decided to brazen it out. "I don't believe I have anything to say to you, Mr. Cowley. And I am in a bit of a hurry."

"So I would imagine," he said in the same sort of calm voice he might use to discuss the weather. "I seem to have lost contact with 3.7 and 4.5, and I think you might know something about it."

"I'm afraid not, now if you'll excuse me." A hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder, shoved her down into a chair across from his, then handcuffs snapped into place, securing her to the chair.

"Thank you, Miss Pettifer," Cowley said. "I believe I recognized 3.7's car when she drove in."

The attractive blonde nodded. "I'll go check it out."

Cowley waited until they were alone, then he just looked at Kathie. There wasn't anything threatening about it, but her blood chilled all the same. She'd heard the stories, of course -- everyone in law enforcement had -- about Cowley and his interrogation techniques. Even if only a fraction of them were true, she was in a great deal of trouble.

"I realize that you could keep silent until long after my men are dead and your husband safely away," he said. "I also know there is nothing to prove you killed Maurice Richards or in any way aided Preston. Given that, there is very little reason for you to talk."

Just the truth, so why did it scare her so much to hear him say it?

"But, I promise you, Mrs. Preston, if you do not tell me the location of all three men within the next minute, I will shoot off your kneecap, then the other, then perhaps an ear, and I will keep shooting until you want nothing more from life than to die."

She stared at him in disbelief even as he removed his gun from his holster. "You... wouldn't." No, he wouldn't. The great Cowley had over-played his hand, made a threat he would never carry out. She smiled at him, knowing she would win.

He smiled back and slipped off the safety.

"You could never fake the autopsy report," she told him, unnerved but defiant.

"What makes you think your body will ever be found?" He asked her, standing.

She watched him move around the table and over to her.

"Just one last thing you should know before we begin our... discussion," he said, pointing the gun at her right knee. "3.7 -- Bodie -- is my son."

# # #

Doyle got out of the car. "Kathie?" he called.

No answer.

He didn't like it. Not at all, but it was a big place, and he wanted that information. Though part of him knew it was stupid, he started looking around.

As he moved across the bridge, the half-expected shower of bullets broke the oppressive silence. He threw himself to one side, rolling away from the burst that only chased him. More games. Gaining his footing, he ran, rolled, then kept his head down as another barrage riddled the rubbish he'd chosen as a temporary refuge.

Not just a game, he realized after a third session of run-and-duck. He was being herded. Sorry, not interested, he thought, a quick glance around giving him the choice of at least three routes back to his car and two to the river. But before he could act, the bullets sounded again, this time striking a target well away from him.

He didn't move for a second, and another barrage pummeled that same distant area. His mouth suddenly dry, Doyle moved forward and peered around the corner of a small shack.

"Oh, God." He found himself staring at his worst nightmare.

Across the open pier, he could see Bodie tied to a huge crate sitting on a winch platform. He took some brief comfort from the fact that he could see Bodie moving, even if the twisting wrists had caused rope to cut into pale flesh, sending blood trickling down Bodie's outstretched arms.

A cold rage surged through Doyle as he stared at the helpless figure. Bodie had been stripped to the waist, his smooth muscular torso mottled with dark bruising, but it wasn't just the bruising that made Doyle mutter an oath to send Preston straight to Hell. Somehow it was all that bare skin. Bodie always kept himself so covered up, it was like... Preston had raped him.

Doyle tried to clear his mind, tried to think of a way to save Bodie, but as he took the moment to think, the red dot slid across Bodie's chest, caressed his ribs, then another shot sounded. He saw Bodie's body jerk at the impact, watched the blood start to flow from his side, but his partner didn't make a sound.

"Preston, let him go!" Doyle shouted, desperate to draw the nutter's attention back to himself.

At his voice, Bodie's head jerked up. "Get away, Ray!" he shouted, his voice surprisingly weak. "Get out of here!"

Doyle paid as much attention to that as it warranted and ran forward. He did a few evasive maneuvers -- just to be certain -- but he knew Preston wouldn't shoot him until after he'd reached Bodie.

"Ray, you stupid bastard--!"

"Shut up, Bodie!" Doyle bellowed as he leaped onto the platform. As he expected, the winch started up and the platform rose into the air. He pulled his switchblade, then cut through the ropes holding Bodie's ankles, noting out of the corner of his eye that the wound in Bodie's side was little more than a graze. Painful, but not dangerous.

He moved toward the nearest wrist, wondering why Preston hadn't started shooting yet. Surely the bastard knew that the two of them could jump clear of the pier and into the water?

Then he noticed how much of Bodie's weight was supported by his wrists, his legs bent at the knees. Drugged and in no shape to make any sort of jump. Now, he understood. Preston had set it up perfectly. Doyle could escape a dozen different ways -- and Preston would let him. But Bodie would die. But if he stayed, Bodie would die with him. One way Preston left him to live with the guilt of Bodie's death; the other, they both died.

"It's hopeless, sunshine," Bodie said softly. "Jump. Please, jump."

Doyle shook his head, then saw a way he could at least delay things. He grabbed the cable securing the platform, sending it into a slow spin that moved them out of Preston's line of fire. Not that an empty crate would provide much cover, but it would make things harder for the bastard.

There was enough room along the edge for Bodie to lie down, but Doyle knew if he cut him loose, he would lose him. The gleam in those blue eyes told him that. If Bodie got free, he'd deliberately roll off the platform -- and he couldn't survive the fall.

The shooting started up again, hitting around and through the edges of the crate -- Preston's way of letting him know he could put a bullet through the crate and into Bodie's back at any second.

Furious, Doyle tugged the cable the other direction, trying to keep the spin in an awkward, hard to track pattern. And all the while, Bodie's wrists twisted and pulled. "Stop it!" he snapped, terrified rope or bullet-damaged wood would give way. "We go together!"

"No! Not because of me, damn you," Bodie hissed. "Not because of me."

Doyle heard the snap of wood, saw the red dot slipping up one of the cables toward the main support. It seemed both Bodie and Preston had decided to end things. No longer caring that the crate's spin was taking them back around to face Preston, Doyle stood up, stepped in front of Bodie, then wrapped his arms around the battered torso. "Together, mate," he said, then kissed him.

A sob sounded in the mouth beneath his, even as the wood gave way, freeing Bodie's left wrist. The powerful body half sagged, half lunged, pushing them both down and to the right. A bullet shattered the wood right at the center of where Doyle's back would have been -- a bullet that would have passed through his body and into Bodie's heart.

Doyle clung to Bodie all the harder, determined not to survive him for a second, but as he braced for the final shot, he heard. "Look down, Preston. Look down."

Cowley. A bit muffled by a bull horn, but definitely -- God bless him -- George Cowley. "Gently now, Preston. Put the gun down slowly... Don't be a fool, Preston!" Cowley warned, then Doyle heard the clatter of a gun falling.

"It's over, sunshine," he soothed Bodie, reaching up to cut his right wrist free. "It's over."

He kept hold of Bodie, sinking down to sit on the platform as he controlled Bodie's collapse.

"Doyle!" Cowley called.

"We're all right!" Doyle called back, cradling Bodie against him, rocking him like a child. "We're all right."

"Here we are, sunshine. Home sweet home," Doyle announced, pushing open the door to Bodie's flat.

Bodie moved passed him, leaving his partner to deal with resetting the locks and the alarms, and headed straight for the cabinet he used as a bar. *He kissed me. I almost got him killed.* The two thoughts had whirled round and round in Bodie's head for the last few hours, until his head hurt and his very soul seemed to crave a generous glass of scotch.

He got it poured and halfway to his mouth, before Doyle's hand snatched the glass from his own.

"Here now, what do you think you're doing?" Doyle demanded, his green eyes flashing with anger.

"I would have thought it was obvious," Bodie muttered.

"You heard the doctor, Bodie. No booze for at least another twenty hours."

Bloody doctor, what the hell did he know? It was typical of Bodie's current luck that the one time he'd actually wanted to be confined to a night in the hospital and his door barred to all visitors, he'd been released -- provided someone was around to look after him.

His list of grievances grew as he remembered his father handing him over to Doyle's care with the excuse that the security of Doyle's flat had been compromised so he'd need a place to stay until accommodations could find him a new one. Miserable, old ... see if he got a bottle of his favorite scotch come his next birthday. Yeah, maybe something nice and cheap would teach his old man to look after his own son instead of turning him over to a stroppy, rat-tempered son of a bitch without the sense to run when he was told. *I almost got him killed.*

He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, getting a good mouthful before Doyle could stop him. Glaring at Doyle, he swallowed, then stalked off to the window.

He ached, but not a great deal, and he was too keyed up to even think of trying to sleep despite the dozy doctor's insistence that it would be hours before the sedative was out of his system. Which left him sober, wide-awake with most of the evening stretched out before him. He kissed me.

Doyle's hand took hold of his arm. "Come on, mate, take the load off. I'll get us something to eat."

Bodie jerked his arm free. "Oh, that's rich. Now, I'm supposed to do what you say. Never mind what I might think, what I might say."

"Bodie--"

"Dammit, Ray, I told you not to leave your fucking flat! I told you --"

"To leave you to die!" Doyle snapped back, then his voice broke a bit, "How was I supposed to do that, Bodie? Tell me how?"

Bodie had to look away from the pain he saw in Doyle's eyes. "Was my own stupid fault. Should have left me to deal with it."

"Oh, right. Super soldier strikes again. And here, dumb, helpless little me, I was thinking we were partners."

Bodie's thoughts were a bit too muddled to follow that turn. "What are you going on about?"

"Partners take it in turns, Bodie. Just my turn to play hero, wasn't it."

"No." Bodie shook his head. "Don't give me that, Doyle. You didn't know Cowley and Ruth would show up. You were trying to die."

Now it was Doyle's turn to shake his head. "No, sunshine. I wasn't trying to die. Was just trying to stay with you no matter what."

Bodie stared at him, watching the angry face soften as Doyle reached out to caress his arm.

"Told you, Bodie. Together. Live or die. We stay together."

"You kissed me," Bodie blurted it out, then felt the heat of a blush sweep through him.

"Yeah, I did." Doyle smiled at him, moving closer. "Do it again if you stop being a prat."

"Why?"

"'cause I love you, you great clown."

Bodie sat down -- hard, since he'd forgotten he wasn't anywhere near a chair. But he only dimly felt the impact of his bum striking the carpeted floor. "You love me?" he whispered, looking up at Doyle in amazement.

Doyle didn't quite manage to stifle the snort of laughter as he stooped down bedside Bodie. "Yeah. Was hopin' you might feel the same."

Dumbfounded, Bodie struggled to form a coherent thought, during which time Doyle began nuzzling his neck -- making it all the harder to think. Finally, he got a little bit of air into his lungs and managed to kick-start his brain. "I love you, too," he all but squeaked.

Doyle chuckled against his throat. "Good. Now that we've got that settled, can we go to bed? You've got some bruises that I want to kiss all better," he said, then kissed Bodie.

A touch of love, instead of a desperate good-bye, Bodie practically purred beneath it, his lips parting to permit a long, lazy exploration of his mouth. Somehow, by the time it ended, he found himself naked and on his bed with an equally naked Doyle on top of him.

Oh, he liked that. Liked the warm, living weight pressing down on him. Liked it even more than the mouth licking and kissing its way across his chest. Liked it so much, he needed more. "Ray," he whispered, his legs parting in invitation.

He didn't miss the hunger in Doyle's eyes, but his mate frowned a bit as well. "You ever done that before?"

Bodie shook his head. "'s new. Just like being in love," he answered, his hand reaching for and finding the bottle of baby oil Doyle had used to give him a few rubdowns while Bodie had been recovering from being stabbed. Bodie had never thought -- never dared hope to use it like this. "Please."

Another long kiss answered him, then Doyle told him, "Shift over onto your good side, pet."

He obeyed, then squirmed with delight a minute later as Doyle began preparing him with oil-slick fingers. At another time, Bodie figured he would have been desperate for orgasm, but right now he was floating on a gentle sea of pleasure, one that didn't end with the sharp, but brief pain of penetration. Doyle had been a part of him for so long that this joining felt far less like sex than a completion, and he sighed in pure satisfaction when he felt Doyle's balls press up against his arse.

"All right, pet?" Doyle whispered in his ear, then nipped the lobe for good measure.

"Perfect. 's perfect," Bodie assured him, then quickly lost the capacity to think let alone speak as Doyle began to thrust.

Doyle's mood matching his own sweet need, they moved together for a long time, their bodies lost in a lazy, slow dance of love, but still it seemed all too soon when Bodie felt the treacherous final tightening in his groin. "Ray!" he cried out, and Doyle's hand gave his cock one last stroke to match the thrust into his backside.

He moaned his release, spurting over Doyle's hand, then he lay still, determined not to miss a single sensation as Doyle's seed spurted up inside him. Absolutely perfect.

Doyle had a slightly different description. "You were fantastic," he murmured, nuzzling the back of his partner's neck.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Doyle held him for several minutes, just caressing him and kissing him, then he said, "Bodie, I think we should give up birds. They're much too dangerous for the likes of us."

Humor to mask the fear of rejection. Doyle didn't do it as often as Bodie, but he did do it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Fine by me," Bodie said. "Haven't really wanted anyone but you in ages."

Doyle urged him over onto his back, then looked down at him with a glorous smile. "Should have told me."

"Too scared."

"Hmmm, speaking of scared...Your old man might have a few things to say about this."

"Nah, sent me home with you, didn't he," he said, wrinkling his nose as Doyle's finger stroked down it. "He's known I loved you for a long time -- even before I knew it."

Doyle shook his head in his typical 'I should have known' response to the workings of George Cowley's mind. "Give us a silver tea set for a wedding present, will he?"

Bodie grinned. "Yeah. Was his mum's mum's. Been saving it for me."

Doyle laughed. "I'll move my stuff in tomorrow."

Bodie smiled and snuggled up against Doyle -- glad that the nightmare of the last few days was over. Strange though. In a weird sort of way he owed the Prestons a debt of gratitude. No telling how long it would have taken him and Doyle to end up together if those nutters hadn't tied him to that bloody crate. Then Doyle kissed him, and he forgot all about anything but his own happy ending.

End

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