* * * * * * * * *

It had been a funny week. They were both on three weeks' leave, Doyle was off romancing some moneyed Sussex girl up for a month's diversion in London...and for some reason, Bodie was unable to get Thomas Henry Pellin out of his mind -- though it was hard to see *why*, given that several summers and a lot of water had been passed since Pellin had come to his attention when he'd appealed to CI5 for their help.

Bodie grimaced. Now *that* had been a unappealing case -- though Pellin's stubborn residency inside his head rendered it less so. Pellin's dilemma had taken the CI5 agents to West Bromwich and the Black Country outskirts of Doyle's teenage stamping ground of Birmingham. Here, Chief Constable Gerald Green (retired) had been proud to boast that *his* patch was free of anyone and anything that might be regarded as "an affront to all decent and right-thinking individuals", irrespective of their *true* threat to law and order.

Green's town was lily-white and spotless, free from "queers", porn, muggers, drunks, vandals, "freaks", graffiti, "occult shops", beggars, prostitutes, drug-pushers, crack-heads, glue-sniffers and kerb-crawlers. Also frowned on were any members of ethnic minorities seeking protection from racial attacks -- "uppity wogs, chinks, nig-nogs, Gyppos, Pakis, and the rest of our tinted brethren" as Green preferred to define them. Regardless of their actual lack of desirability, *anyone* who might possibly be labelled "undesirable" would find themselves targeted -- with the inevitable consequences.

There was no denying that some of Green's personal bug-bears were shared by the locals, and with good reason. No-one wanted junkies lolling around the stairwells of tower-blocks leaving trails of dirty syringes, or whores plying their trade at the end of the road. Nor did they want "travellers" arriving en masse in their expensive caravans and trespassing on local parkland. Once on-site they would cause trouble by intimidating and stealing from the locals -- and turn a public amenity into a no-go area before being turfed off, leaving behind a filthy, litter-strewn open sewer. Some locals approved of Green's attitude wholeheartedly, while others welcomed his tough stance on some groups but not on others. Still more felt uneasy about the civil liberties aspect of Green's approach, but were either powerless to do anything about it, or simply didn't care -- since at the end of the day, theirs *was* a crime-free town.

But at what cost? As Bodie, Doyle and Cowley had discovered, this outer respectability had been achieved through the questionable actions of vigilante cop Inspector Graham Chives and a small but clinically effective group of fellow policeman only too happy to deal out their own brand of summary justice on Green's behalf.

Green and Chives had been merry bedfellows, with depressingly similar views on how society should be organised; on how "decent" people should be protected -- and "scum" dealt with and controlled. Green had maintained law and order in West Bromwich in a manner not unlike than of an Eastern European dictator or banana republic despot, with Chives his willing rod of iron. Chives had enjoyed wielding power -- had derived a big kick out of his activities. Bodie was quite certain that Chives had especially enjoyed the beatings he'd handed out: he wouldn't be the first man to experience sexual pleasure through exploiting his position and from inflicting pain.

It had been a nasty surprise to Bodie to learn that Chives had made an unsuccessful application to join CI5 at its inception. No doubt this could've rendered him bitter -- but in the circumstances, Bodie found it a chilling prospect to consider the full reasons behind Chives' rejection...

...All of which led him back once more to Thomas Henry Pellin. Pellin, the Secretary of the cumbersomely-titled "Gay Youth Organisation", had been run out of town by Chives -- but not before Chives had used a leather belt to give Pellin a vicious thrashing: Chives' own, Bodie recalled with a shudder of disgust. He remembered the cruel, still-fresh welts on the smooth white skin all too clearly: Chives had *really* relished his task.

But Chives hadn't been the *only* one, and it made Bodie reflect on just what kind of men they'd been dealing with. When Cowley had set up the trap for Chives and his men at the GYO's ramshackle headquarters with Bodie acting as bait, he'd thought at the time that it was a touch over-the-top for Chives' sidekick to be wielding a *bull-whip*, for Christ's sake...

So why was he remembering all this, and why was Pellin featuring so prominently in his thoughts, memories, and -- he confessed it -- daydreams? Probably *boredom*, Bodie reasoned, given that Doyle was celebrating his heterosexuality with *far* too much enthusiasm (in Bodie's opinion), while he himself was currently unloved, unwanted, and without even a *sniff* of totty, let alone romance. Allied with this was the fact that Bodie now actually had the free time to reconsider certain aspects of that case which still puzzled him.

Well. Not the *case*, exactly.

It was a matter of some quiet pride to Bodie that he had an in-built bullshit detector and could tell when someone was lying about their sexuality -- especially to themselves. No-one could ever hide their *true* sexual orientation from Bodie, and his detector had exploded like a fireworks display on Guy Fawkes Night at Pellin's firm declaration of heterosexuality. Come to think of it, he still didn't know how he'd kept a straight face when, repeating the complaint already made to Cowley, Pellin had uttered the classic line: "I'm not a homosexual myself, but many of my friends are" with such solemn sincerity. Only a man trying to convince himself that he wasn't gay could've said "homosexual" in *quite* that clumsy fashion. But *why* deny what you were? Especially when, as the head of a gay organization, you were amongst friends?

And then a devious plan began forming in Bodie's head. He had to confess himself intrigued by Pellin's obvious inner conflict, and wanted to uncover the answers to his questions. He thought of how he'd been captivated by those big dark eyes, that appealing baby face...and that irresistibly kissable mouth.

This was hardly going to be an...*onerous* task...

* * * * * * * * *

By God, but Birmingham had changed.

No longer was it the lackadaisical city relying on bluff central English charm to get by which for years had made it a sitting target for smart-alec Scouse and London comedians too lazy to develop more original material. Instead, driving over the Five Ways island onto Broad Street was more like entering a chic European city than the subject of a million idle gags.

Not having been here for several years, an impressed Bodie took in all the new delights as he drove. Brindleyplace, the Symphony Hall, the National Indoor Arena, the Birmingham Rep, the Walkabout Bar, Ronnie Scott's...even the bizarre, fluorescent blancmange-coloured marching figures of the Forward! statue in the grounds of the Rep and the strange beauty of The Iron Man further on fired his enthusiasm. This was indeed "No Mean City". There were, God knew, any number of dead-end comics *still* relying on the outdated Brummie cliches of ugly architecture and an even uglier accent; wild-cat strikes and restless, belligerent Lefties at the Longbridge Rover car plant; or the wobbling sets, wobblier acting and camp joys of Crossroads, the soap which became a byword for inept drama and yet was also the springboard for the careers of several acclaimed actors. Okay, so it was easier to keep on peddling the old myths, but some people really ought to be forced to come and see the changes for themselves. But then, mused Bodie with an evil grin as he took himself on a quick tour and enjoyed the sights to be seen in this revamped city, why bother? <Pearls before swine,> he decided, thinking of the London-centric media and others who believed that life, culture, and indeed, civilisation, began and ended in the English capital.

* * * * * * * * *

Bodie had set off from London at around 7.00am -- and by the time he'd checked into the discreet hotel just off Brindleyplace, unpacked and freshened up, it was time for lunch. Fortified by a glass of lager and a tasty ploughman's with fresh crusty bread, creamy butter, sharp cheese, tangy pickles and crisp, luscious salad, Bodie took a taxi and ventured out to do a little shopping. He was ready to explore every recommended purveyor of fine quality goods in the city: he had a credit card hungry for blood, and who was he to deny it its needs?

As he shopped, Bodie wondered how easy it would be to locate Tom Pellin. He had a phone number for the Gay Youth Organisation, but he'd hesitated to use it. *Ridiculous*, really: what was stopping him from simply picking up the phone and dialing? <It's because,> Bodie told himself as he assessed the combined effect of the new jacket and shirt in the cubicle mirror, <I'm not sure that I *want* it to be that easy.> It wasn't his style to be so direct in such matters; Bodie preferred to take his time, studying the lie of the land and taking stock of his chances. Like a panther stalking its prey he was cautious, because he had no wish to bungle this task he'd set himself. He had no fear of taking risks, but a calculated risk was *one* thing; the possibility of screwing up and falling flat on his arse was another...

...And that, most definitely, was *not* Bodie's style...

* * * * * * * * *

The blood-lust of his credit card sated and a preponderance of bags full of goodies from expensive and stylish stores scattered around him, Bodie fell asleep over a cup of tea and woke up stiff, uncomfortable, and drenched in cold tea, in sufficient time to shower, change, and go down to dinner. He was itching to get out and explore the city's gay night-life -- and perhaps pick up Pellin's trail. Assuming he *was* still in the area. He'd tried the GYO number, but it was no longer recognized. None of the telephone directories, the pamphlets in the foyer, nor the portfolio of guest information in his room contained any reference to the GYO either. So, unless they'd ditched that unwieldy name for something more user-friendly, this was a dead end -- and simply asking around if anyone knew him was far too easy.

"Can I bring you anything else, sir?"

Bodie looked up into the dark eyes of Amrit, the handsome young Indian waiter who'd been attending him. "Just a coffee, please," he smiled, registering the youth's glowing, honey-gold skin and the long, curling hair tied back into a thick pony-tail. <*Very* tasty,> Bodie thought happily.

Amrit brought across a tray with a coffee cup and saucer, a bowl of caramel sugar cubes with tongs, a jug of cream and a steaming pot of fragrant, freshly-percolated coffee. "Tell me," Bodie purred as the waiter began unloading the tray. "You look like a young man-about-town. Where would you suggest that I go for a pleasant evening out?"

The young man set down the last item and rested his knuckles on the table top. "It depends on what your preference is, sir," he smiled.

Bodie smiled back. "It's been a long day; somewhere with soft lights, soft music, and good conversation. I assume such a place exists?" he added, raising an eyebrow.

"Madame Marlene's," Amrit replied promptly. "It's *fab*. A 1920s-30s theme bar with decor to die for. Men only. You'll find a flyer in the foyer."

"And would you recommend it yourself?"

The waiter shrugged. "It's a cool place. But not quite *my* scene, sir. More suitable for the -- " Suddenly he flushed and clammed up.

Bodie raised an amused eyebrow. "For the -- *older* patron?" he suggested laconically.

The youth rallied admirably. "That's not at *all* what I meant, sir. I prefer something a little more modern. But it's a good place for the more...*discerning* patron," he parried.

Bodie chuckled. "Touche, young man. Such *tact*. You'll go far..."

* * * * * * * * *

"Strictly formal evening dress only", the flyer had said. Bodie adjusted his shirt's wing collar and smoothed down the elegant, well-cut black dinner suit. Good thing he'd brought his finery with him.

For all their banter, Bodie thanked Amrit from the bottom of his heart as he strode past the bouncers on the door and into the foyer of Madame Marlene's. Decorated in full-on Art Deco, the club oozed so much unashamed style and glamour that Bodie felt as if he'd gone back in time about fifty years. It was like stepping onto the set of Poirot and Bodie loved it, even though he suspected he ought not to: Doyle would have had hysterics at the very thought.

An elegantly-dressed flunky greeted him at the top of a short flight of stairs, enquiring as to his preferred pleasure.

"A quiet drink in comfortable surroundings amongst convivial company," he replied, smiling. "I've driven up from London and need to relax."

"Then let me show you down to the Egyptian Bar, sir. If you would just follow me..."

The spacious downstairs bar resembled a gentleman's drinking club, with its comfortable leather couches around a room which echoed the 1920's Tutankhamen craze inspired by Howard Carter's discoveries in the Valley of the Kings. There were currently about a dozen patrons present and, for all its size, the bar had a warm, intimate atmosphere, its subdued, discreet lighting provided by up-lights. Bodie bought a drink and took it to a couch from which he could observe his surroundings. Another glass of wine later and he felt even more totally at home -- ah, such elegance was something to which he could become accustomed! Hidden speakers relayed 20s and 30s music at *exactly* the right volume, while the chatter and occasional laughter from the occupied couches was sufficiently distant to be almost soporific. Oh, this was the life: perhaps he'd died and gone to heaven...

Part-way down a third glass of wine, Bodie realised that he was being observed. His military training coming to the fore, he scanned the bar with care -- and then he *knew* he'd died and gone to heaven...because, trying his best to be discreet but failing miserably, a voluptuous blond cherub straight from Raphael's palette and brush was eyeing him up from across the room.

Leaning against the bar and attempting to look nonchalant was a pleasantly plump young man in his mid twenties. Shorter than himself and dressed in a crisp white soft linen suit, shirt and cummerbund, he looked like a character out of a film about European men abroad in a hot climate. He had the look of a shy schoolboy and his full cap of short, thick, well-cut, dark blond hair only added to that impression.

Bodie was smitten. <*Exquisite*...>

"Excuse me, sir..." A barman bearing a silver tray was at his side. "The young gentleman at the bar has asked me if you would be kind enough to accept this drink with his compliments."

Bodie looked across to where the barman indicated and felt his heart somersault. It was the *cherub*, for God's sake. "Tell him 'thank you'," he replied, taking the glass and raising it in salute to the young man, who returned Bodie's smile.

"There's also a note, sir." The barman's face was impassive as Bodie took the folded note from the tray, opened and read through it quickly: *You look as though you're in need of company. May I join you?* "Will there be any reply, sir?"

"Tell him..." Bodie tapped his lips with the sheet of paper. "Tell him... No, wait. Thank him for the drink, and tell him that I would be *delighted* if he'd join me."

"Very good, sir." The barman turned and moved silently away.

Not long afterwards Bodie's nasal passages were teased by the delicious scent of a light but expensive male cologne as the cherub sank with deliberately hefty grace onto the couch. "I'm *so* glad you said 'yes'," the cherub twinkled, in a voice redolent of liquid toffee and sunny summer afternoons. "I needed the diversion. It's a quiet evening and I was at a loose end, and you looked *so* interesting. And you're new, and I thought you looked a bit lost, and so I thought I'd come and keep you company."

"Thank you. But how can you be so sure that I've never been here before?"

The cherub looked at him from beneath his lashes. "Oh, I'd've noticed *you*, darling..."

Bodie laughed. "I thought you were a *shy* little thing when I first laid eyes on you; in reality you're a brazen little hussy!"

"I was simply telling you the truth."

"*Hmmm*... I'm Bodie, by the way."

"Toby Dawson," replied the cherub, shaking Bodie's proffered hand firmly before resting his arms along the back of the couch. "And what brings you to Birmingham, Bodie? Business or pleasure?"

"Oh, purely pleasure. I'm looking for an old friend."

"I'm sure you'll succeed; you've already found a *new* one..."

"And *you*, young man, are too forward for words!"

He was also utterly, utterly beautiful, with his sky-blue eyes, elfin face and dimpled cheeks. Maybe it was the wine, the warmth or the soft lights, but Bodie was in no doubt that he was being seduced. If so, then he doubted that he'd put up much of a struggle.

"I don't believe in wasting time, Bodie."

"I'd noticed. Somehow I don't think we're going to get round to swapping life histories," he added with a droll grin.

Toby looked round the room and then made an elegant gesture with his hands. "Bodie, this is a place where so long as you share the fantasy, you can be whom and whatever you choose to be."

Bodie nodded, understanding. "So why do you choose *this* fantasy, Toby? What is it about the twenties and thirties that appeals to you?"

Toby shrugged and grinned. "Oh, Bodie, where do I begin! I love the fashions, the decor, the music, the architecture -- *everything*!"

"People think of it as being a very innocent period," Bodie observed. "But for some it was quite the opposite: some people led very hedonistic, decadent lives."

Toby gave him a slow smile and leaned closer. "That's another reason why it appeals to me..."

"And yet you look so sweet and innocent!"

"Oh I'm sweet, but not so innocent..."

"Well I'm *neither*."

"No, I didin't think you were. That's why I was drawn to you, Bodie. Sometimes I *like* a bit of rough."

Bodie raised an amused eyebrow. "Is that how you see me? As a bit of rough?"

"Oh, no, I see you as *much* more than that..."

Suddenly Bodie felt himself falling into the blue pools of Toby's eyes. For a moment there was silence -- and then Toby tilted Bodie's face towards him with a forefinger and kissed him. Bodie responded with fervour, savouring the taste and feel of the soft lips against his, and soon they were devouring each other hungrily, hands slipping inside shirts to tease nipples into hardness and tongues exploring warm mouths.

Toby's fingers trailed down Bodie's chest and into his groin, stroking the hardening cock through the expensive trousers. He kissed Bodie's throat and jaw, then trailed his lips towards his ear. "Let's go somewhere a little more private..." he whispered.

Bodie nodded, and the two of them moved half-blindly towards a door marked "Rest Room", beyond which they found more couches and chaises longues in darkened cubicles. Toby pushed Bodie into a curve of the line of washbasins along one wall, then pulled a padded stool towards him. He knelt on it and unfastened Bodie's trousers, pulling them down below his thighs. "I *knew* you'd be big," he purred as Bodie's erection sprang free, before capturing the swollen prick in his hand and enveloping it in his hot, wet mouth.

Bodie put his hands on Toby's head and twisted his fingers into the youth's blond mane. Moaning and gasping as his cock was ravished, Bodie relished the sight of it coated in saliva and pistoning back and forth into Toby's welcoming mouth as his balls were caressed in eager fingers. God, he was good at this, Bodie observed as Toby's tongue and mouth briefly fondled his balls and then recaptured his bucking prick, sucking hard as he dug his fingers into Bodie's bare arse.

Bodie wanted to pull the youth's face into his groan and keep thrusting hard, fucking his mouth, but knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he did. Maybe there would be time for that later... Instead, he gripped the edge of the roll-topped counter behind him and let the sensations wash over him. <This is *incredible*,> he thought, listening to Toby's groans and murmurs of appreciation and biting his lip at the feel of their vibration against his prick. <But God, I wish it was his *arse* I was fucking -- I wish my cock was in his lovely, juicy arse...>

The thought made him thrust harder, oblivious to everything but what was happening to his cock. Toby slid a finger wet with saliva and Bodie's own lubrication down the crack in his arse and pushed gently at the puckered hole; the finger slid home, found its target -- and then Bodie's hips were pumping furiously as he emptied his seed into Toby's eager mouth.

* * * * * * * * *

"You've done this before," Bodie observed wryly, his voice a hoarse squeak as his hammering heart slowed to a steadier pulse.

Toby continued to soothe Bodie's still-weeping cock with a soft, dampened cloth from a pile provided by the washbasins. "Practice makes perfect, my darling. There, now -- feel better?"

"Mmmm..." The touch of the cool fabric on his flesh was delicious.

Toby used another napkin to pat Bodie dry, then threw both cloths into a nearby container before rearranging the older man's clothing. "I enjoyed it too, my dear. Oh -- and by the way, I'd be *more* than happy to comply with your request."

Bodie's brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Your request. I'd be more than happy to satisfy your needs."

Bodie shook his head, bewildered. "No, sorry, you've lost me. I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Toby gave him a mischievous look and took him by the hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's go outside..."

He led Bodie back out into the bar, up the stairs, and down a corridor -- then through a door and out into a darkened alley at the back of the club.

"Very nice," said Bodie wryly. "But what about my drinks bill?"

Toby placed a finger against Bodie's lips and grinned. "All taken care of, my love. And now, my darling. About what you asked for..."

Bodie shook his head. "My dear Toby, I think the wine's gone to your head."

Toby merely gave him a coy smile and looked up once again through lowered lashes. "Oh well, I'd better refresh your memory, then. Now; what was it you said? Oh, yes: 'I wish it was your arse I was fucking', I believe it was. 'I wish my cock was in your hot, juicy arse'. And so on and so forth in a similar vein."

"Did I say that?" Bodie was amazed that his thoughts had been spoken aloud.

"Oh yes, and more." The grin was even more that of a naughty schoolboy. "Frankly, Bodie, I was *shocked* -- I never expected to meet someone with as fertile an imagination as my own... Well..." He turned to face the wall and unfastened his trousers, then lowered them to reveal his buttocks. Toby's hands curled round his cheeks, displaying the full, dimpled globes and parting them to show the jewel hidden between as he moved his hips lewdly. "Come on, Bodie -- help yourself..."

Without even thinking, Bodie closed the space between them. His mouth dry with desire and his cock stirring again, Bodie pressed himself against Toby, pushing Toby's hands away and replacing them with his own: soon he was enjoying the feel of the delicious, yielding flesh of Toby's arse as he squeezed the rounded pink mounds.

Toby's hips bucked, pressing hot, bare skin into Bodie's eager palms, and he whimpered and gasped excitedly as Bodie kissed and nipped at the back of his neck. "Fuck me, Bodie," Toby whispered. "Fuck me like you said you wanted to -- I want a really hard, rough fuck, Bodie -- I want to feel that lovely big, hard cock really ramming into my arse..."

"*Language*, Toby!" Bodie grinned, aroused all the same by Toby's words. "You seemed like such a polite, well-mannered boy."

"How *can* I be polite and well-mannered when all I want is to be fucked senseless?"

"*Quite*. And you *shall* be. I promise..."

The thought of fucking Toby up against the wall was exquisitely arousing. Sadly, owing to their disparate heights it would be difficult to fuck Toby satisfactorily without resorting to painful contortions. But there were other ways...

Offering a silent apology to his trousers, Bodie sank to his knees and began kissing and licking Toby's buttocks, his tongue teasing at the dimples and his teeth sinking into the warm, firm flesh. He parted the globes and licked slowly towards the tight, puckered hole between and then began teasing and tasting it, darting his tongue-tip in and out. Bodie slid his hands down and between Toby's legs, grasping his semi-erect genitals and rolling them roughly between his fingers. At once Toby let out a delighted yelp and shuddered dramatically, clenching and unclenching his fists against the wall as he hardened fully in Bodie's hands. Bucking and rubbing against the wicked fingers and tormented by the tongue invading his arsehole, it only took a little time before his hips pumped frantically and Toby howled out his orgasm, covering Bodie's hands in hot, sticky semen.

Bodie pressed himself against the young man as he panted for breath. "And *that*, Toby my darling, is merely a *taste* of the delights that I have in mind and would like to do to you if you'd accompany back to my hotel room. Assuming you're still willing, of course..."

Hands braced against the wall, eyes closed and head back, Toby stilled his gasps as best he could. "I'm willing, Bodie," he said, lips curling into a slow smile of anticipation. "Believe me, I'm *willing*!"

* * * * * * * * *

<*Lovely* arse,> Bodie thought dreamily, watching the twitch of Toby's buttocks as the blond youth showered. Then he remembered the events of the previous night and an appreciative, lascivious leer settled on his lips. <Felt like I was sinking my prick into warm syrup...>

God knew what his neighbours must be thinking, though. Toby wasn't given to non-vocal fucking and his shouts and moans must surely have been audible half-way down the street, let alone in the bedrooms either side. And as for when he came...! Still, Bodie mused, it had been worth it! Toby;s cries, whimpers and exclamations had really turned him on -- and his repertoire was extensive: it was likely that the CI5 agent's body would reverberate with pleasurable muscular aches and pains for the rest of the day.

There was nothing that Toby hadn't been prepared to let him do, willingly offering his arse, cock and mouth for Bodie to do with as he wished. It was a disappointment to Bodie that Toby wouldn't fuck, only *be* fucked; but then, he had no real complaints. Toby had a stout and sturdy cock and had been more than willing to let Bodie straddle him, lifting his hips vigorously to meet the older man's downward thrusts: it had been good to feel that long, plump cock pounding inside him. Toby also loved being sucked, and he so revelled in his submissive role that it seemed churlish not to focus instead on how eagerly and with what obvious satisfaction the young man had given himself over to being well and truly, thoroughly fucked senseless. Though come to think of it, Bodie reflected with a broad grin, Toby had been *very* much in charge of their love-making, telling Bodie what he might like to do and making delectably obscene suggestions. And Bodie had been *very* happy to follow his lead. So just *who*, exactly, had been the submissive one?

But Bodie wasn't complaining in the slightest. Toby was an exceptional lay, but he was also delightful company. Between their bouts of lovemaking he'd been easy to talk to; well-informed, chatty, charming, and good-natured. He could be mischievous, but there seemed to be little genuine spite or malice in him. It seed odd, therefore, that Toby should have to resort to picking up strangers in bars, unless it was his particular pleasure of choice.

Bodie, still in bed and propped up on the pillows, was playing with the hopelessly inadequate piece of silk and elastic that he'd discovered passed for Toby's underpants. Totally useless for restraining his sizable genitals, they nevertheless performed the excellent function of displaying them to their best advantage...

"Toby," he called out, "can I ask you something?"

"Ask away, dear heart," Toby replied as he shut off the water and padded in, towelling himself and his hair dry.

"I just wondered... I find it hard to believe that you need to go trawling round bars for pick-ups. Why isn't a lovely boy like you spoken for? You should've been snapped up *long* ago."

To his surprise, Toby blushed. "That's easy," he sighed. "It's because the one man I'm *really* interested in barely acknowledges my existence."

"You *must* be joking, sunshine -- what bloke in his right mind wouldn't be interested in you!" He tried to rally the younger man with a smile. "Who *is* this blinkered idiot?"

Toby's face crumpled. "Tom Pellin, that's who. Oh, I know the name means nothing to you, Bodie, but -- God, I just wish I knew what it was I had to do to make Tom notice me...to make him want me like I want him. To make him *love* me like I love him..."

To Bodie's dismay, Toby closed his hands over his face as his blue eyes brimmed with tears. Combined with the hammer blow to his solar plexus of hearing *that* name when least expected, Toby's genuine distress was almost too much to bear. Bodie pushed back the covers and got out of bed, pulling on his bath-robe. "Hey, don't take on so..." He patted Toby's shoulder and attempted to sound jovial, but knew he was failing. "Maybe he's not worth it!"

Toby dropped his hands and gave Bodie a piteous look. "But he *is*," he replied wistfully. "That's what makes it all such a bitch."

"I never realised it was *love* that drove you to finding strange men to fuck you into unconsciousness..."

"*Don't*..."

Toby's resigned tone was sufficient reproach and Bodie regretted the bitterness in his voice immediately. "I'm sorry -- that was uncalled for."

Toby shrugged. "Love makes you do crazy things, Bodie," he said mildly. "Especially when it's unrequited."

Coming from anyone else this might have sounded melodramatic -- but the genuine feeling in the younger man's voice meant Bodie never doubted the authenticity of what Toby was saying. Knowing how Toby felt about Pellin made him question the nature of his *own* reasons for seeking him out; but then, he reasoned, discovering Pellin's true sexuality might settle matters all round once and for all. Besides, Bodie mused with happy remembrance; should Pellin's first gay sexual encounter be with Toby Dawson, the poor man might be scared off repeating the experience for life...

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Toby dress: seeing the disrobing process in reverse was rather pleasant. Amused thoughts of Casablanca came into his head as he digested all this new information; of all the bars he could've gone into, he'd managed to choose the very one frequented by someone who knew the very man he was seeking. But of course, he had to be *sure*. He looked across at Toby and saw that he was more composed now; folding his arms across his chest, Bodie chuckled and shook his head.

"What's so funny?" enquired Toby with a bemused grin.

Bodie rubbed his nose. "It's just that...well, I'm not sure what to make of all this. You *did* say Tom Pellin, didn't you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Thomas *Henry* Pellin? About my age? Around five ten -- eleven? Dark curly hair? Brown eyes? hang-dog expression?"

"*Yes*..." Now Toby was looking at him suspiciously.

"Well good lord... Is he still around?"

"Well -- *obviously*..."

Bodie felt the atmosphere chilling by the second. Well, it couldn't be helped -- and Toby had nothing to be jealous *of anyway. <Not *yet* he hasn't...> an inner voice sneered. Bodie chose to bat it away: he was in enough trouble already.

"You *do* know him..."

The unspoken accusations in Toby's voice and the painful mixture of tangled emotions in his eyes made Bodie uncomfortable. "I wasn't sure we were speaking about the same man -- that's why I asked." The older man shrugged. "I met him a few years back."

"Oh?"

Bodie was all too aware of the many unspoken questions in that single syllable and groaned inwardly. Toby was now wondering just *why* he wanted to meet up with Pellin again, and accepted that the younger man suspected that the object of his desires was about to be snatched from under his nose by a former lover. A love-rival, furthermore, who'd spent much of the previous night using his dick to ram him through the mattress...and the floor ...and the wall...and...

Bodie shook himself, as much to stem the beautiful memories as to indicate his innocence to Toby. "Oh," he said, laughing, "there was never anything between us, I can assure you. He got into some trouble a few years back with some people who objected to the presence of a gay organisation in West Brom. A couple of friends and I were able to help him out...get him back on his feet again, that sort of thing. An extremely attractive man, I agree; but he told us he wasn't homosexual, so I never even *considered* making a play for him." He could sense Toby relaxing by the nanosecond. Thank God. "I've often wondered how he was getting on; so, as I had a few days off, I thought I'd come and look him up. How is he?"

"I'm -- sorry." Toby smiled, at once both shy and apologetic. "What am I like! It's just that -- " He sighed. "It's just that I want him *so* much and I thought... Well, never mind. My drama queen instincts took over again -- and when my hormones run wild, I imagine all *sorts* of -- " He checked himself, and laughed shakily. "Forgive me. He's *well*, thank you. Works *much* too hard, but he's well. Thank you."

"Is he still running the Gay Youth Organisation?"

"The *what?* Oh, no -- oh *no*, that name *had* to go. It's now called 'Totality', because it's an organisation for gays, lesbians and the pan-sexual. We work together, you see. Tom and I think it's a *dreadful* name, but we were outvoted, so... Oh, and yes -- he still runs it."

Bodie nodded, then thought of how best to phrase his next question -- but there *wasn't* an easy way. "Toby, I hope you won't mind me asking this, but... You know, I could never understand that. Him running the GYO, I mean. When he's straight." He counted silently, timing his pause with the precision of the consummate actor. "Do *you* think he is? Straight, I mean."

Toby grinned ruefully and raised his eyebrows. "He *thinks* he is."

Something in Bodie leapt with anticipation as Toby confirmed his suspicions. "How can he *not* know by now?"

Toby chuckled. "Because he's in serious denial," he replied. "Besides, he's got so many battles to fight -- save this building, protect that meadow, rescue that whale, stop that motorway... He's much too busy out there trying to save the world and fighting injustice to be concerned about his sex life."

Bodie laughed out loud at that, thinking of Doyle. "He sounds a *lot* like someone I know!"

"Ah, but the point is that Tom's so busy saving the planet that he doesn't have time to even stop and think about his sexuality. And I think he ought to."

"So you find that suspicious?"

"Don't *you*?"

"It would explain a lot. Perhaps you should try seducing him."

"I might just try that..."

"But for God's sake don't do the same with him as you did with me! Be gentle with him -- you don't want to scare him off!" He looked thoughtfully at the younger man. "He clearly means a lot to you, Toby," he said gently. "Why do you love him so much?"

Toby merely shook his head. "Just *because*," he grinned. "It's hard to explain. Maybe it's because I think he needs to be taken care of," he added wistfully. "He's a good man, Bodie; I don't suppose you got to see him at his best when he was in trouble. Oh, he has his faults. He can be pompous and bossy, but he wants a world where the likes of us can be accepted -- and he wants a better world for *everyone*, and he's prepared to work towards that. I just wish he'd take the time to let someone in and love him -- but I don't think the thought ever crosses his mind. Either that or, like I said, he simply doesn't think it's of sufficient importance in the scheme of things."

"Well, I'd certainly like to meet up with him again and renew our acquaintance. Where can I find him?"

Toby looked at his watch. "I ought to be at work by nine, but I need to go home and change. You've got transport, haven't you -- I'll meet you back here at 10.30 and I'll take you."

"It'll be a pleasure, I can assure you," Bodie grinned. Then he cupped Toby's face in his hand. "Thank you for last night, Toby." Now he was serious. "I'm glad I met you. You were *amazing*."

"You were pretty amazing yourself, Bodie," Toby replied, eyes twinkling. "Right, I'm off. See you at 10.30. *Don't be late*!"

"I won't, mother...!"

* * * * * * * * *

Toby took one look at the sleek car and whistled. "If that's the kind of motor you can afford on *your* pay, I think I want a career change..."

"You wouldn't last five minutes, sunshine," Bodie said with a mock-weary sigh. "Get in."

Toby looked ridiculously fresh-faced and innocent, with his scrubbed face and neat hair. Dressed in trainers, jeans and baggy long-sleeved jumper, it was hard to reconcile this dimple-cheeked, schoolboyish scamp with the previous night's athletic, demanding, imaginative satyr. God knew what Severn Trent put in the local water apart from fluoride; but whatever it was had clearly had an effect on Toby Dawson in his formative years -- not to mention Ray Doyle. Bodie was already very fond of this young man and found himself deeply envious of Tom Pellin, whom he considered to be damned lucky!

As they drove out of the city towards Handsworth, Toby leaned forward and began fiddling with the radio. "I'm missing the Doolan show," he grumbled.

"Oh no," Bodie said, smacking Toby's hand away and rapidly retuning. "I can't take all that relentlessly cheerful iddly-diddly-diddly-dee Paddy music so early in the morning."

Toby fought back. "He's *Australian*," he retorted, as though that explained everything. "And it's a consumer advice phone-in discussion programme."

"Oh. *Right*..."

As they hit the Soho Road, passing a beautiful Sikh gurdjwara and a conglomeration of Asian businesses, Toby pointed imperiously at a row of shops set back from the road. "Pull up here somewhere -- I need to go to one of the shops..."

Bodie rolled his eyes, but obeyed. With promises of haste Toby got out of the car and ran towards an Indian sweet shop, emerging a little later with two large white boxes, one of which he placed in the glove compartment.

Bodie looked at Toby, one eyebrow raised. "What've you got *now*?" he asked, pulling back out into the traffic.

"Mattai," Toby explained, opening the box on his lap and extracting a large, sticky green ball which smelt of almonds and vanilla. "A traditional Indian sweetmeat usually given on special occasions. Loaded with calories and *horrendously* sweet, but *ohhh* -- absolutely *delicious*" He bit into the ball and groaned ecstatically. "Ooh -- *heaven*..." He proffered the ball to Bodie. "Want some?"

"Not -- *quite* so soon after breakfast, thanks..."

"Suit yourself," Toby shrugged, mouth full of sticky sweetmeat. "Tom *loves* them -- so I thought I'd take him a box as a peace-offering. You're sure I can't tempt you?"

"You *know* you can tempt me -- that's why I don't accept sweets from strange men..."

"*Sure* you don't want some?"

That tantalizing smell was getting to him. "Oh, all right, then. Giz a bit."

Toby broke off a piece and popped it into Bodie's mouth. "There you go. Enjoy!"

Bodie chewed -- and grimaced. "You're right about them being sweet! But -- *nice*. Ummm! It's no *wonder* you're such a chunky and *chubby* little fellow if you live on *these*."

Toby licked his fingers. "I'm very *proud* of my love handles -- and I've never had any complaints. *My* men just *adore* having something to grab hold of and hang on to..." He gave Bodie a sly look. "*You* did," he pointed out.

Bodie grinned. "I've certainly got no complaints. Are we nearly there, yet?"

"Almost." Ahead of them loomed the imposing bulk of The Hawthorns. "Turn down here -- on the left."

Bodie followed Toby's instructions, turning down a side road past the West Bromwich Albion ground and twisting through a maze of streets until Toby told him to pull onto a small car-park. "This it?" he asked, dubious, applying the hand-brake and switching off the engine.

Toby had already gathered up his boxes of sweets and was half out of the car. "Hurry *up* -- I'm *late*..."

"*Hurry up*?" Bodie exclaimed, feigning affront. "Since when have *I* been your devoted slave?"

Toby turned back and gave Bodie an artful, shameless smile. "Since I gave you that blow-job at Madame Marlene's last night," he reminded him, before striding off.

Bodie caught up with him as he punched numbers into a security key-pad and then swiped a plastic card through the lock. Smiling, Bodie shook his head as he followed Toby into the foyer of the building; a man would have to possess a heart of stone not to fall for Toby Dawson. But as Toby made his apologies to the receptionist and then headed for the offices beyond, Bodie reflected that maybe Toby *did* have an uphill struggle.

Toby had been correct; Bodie hadn't met Pellin at his best -- but all the same, he and Toby would be strange bedfellows. He remembered Pellin as a quirkily handsome, attractive and charismatic man -- but also a solemn, serious, almost *humourless* one. Not that there *was* much to laugh about when corrupt policemen had destroyed your work and reputation. And perhaps that would be half the fun -- breaking through that typical cool, English reserve to the warmth beneath. There *was* passion there -- Bodie had sensed it himself -- but Toby had indicated all too clearly that Pellin diverted his sexual drives into his campaigning. A delicious thought suddenly swept through Bodie's mind: imagine all that energy put into bedroom athletics... <Toby would look like an arthritic tortoise -- maybe *he* wouldn't cope...!>

The sound of loud voices and laughter, underpinned by a radio, grew louder as Toby pushed open a door.

"Tobes!" a Scottish voice called out. "How the divil are ye?"

"What time do you call *this*, Dawson?" On hearing the affectionate reproach, familiarity jabbed into Bodie's brain. "You've got press releases to write, young man!"

"I did phone, Tom..." Toby's voice was seductive and apologetic, and Bodie grinned, relishing what the sound was doing to his loins. Toby could probably wind the Pope around his little finger. "You said it would be all right..."

"So I did, and I meant it. I'm *far* too lenient with you, you dirty stop-out you!"

"I've brought you a peace-offering..."

Hands in pockets, Bodie leaned against the door jamb and looked around the office as Toby offered Pellin his gift and everyone else "ooh"ed and "aah"ed and Tom thanked him. It was a large, L-shaped office, busy, and full of flourishing spider plants, desks, fax machines, phones, racks of books and pamphlets, computers and other paraphernalia. A line of big windows let in plenty of light and overlooked a broad, patchy square of grass and a patio area that someone had taken the trouble to plant, tend, and beautify; beyond that were a row of conifers which screened some light industrial units about 800 yards away.

Since all the staff had congregated at the far end of the room -- clearly this ritual of Toby being late and offering sweetmeats as an act of penance to his liege lord was a regular and popular one -- Bodie chose not to draw attention to himself, but to study the other staff instead.

There were about ten of them, a mixture of races, varying in age from late teens to sixties with a preponderance of men. There were New Agers in dreadlocks and bright-coloured ethnic dress, more ordinary types in smart suits or casual wear: still more in combat trousers and tight t-shirts. In fact, nothing that would look out of place on the High Street.

He couldn't see Toby and Tom past the crush, so decided to bide his time. But as people began to drift back to their work stations, Bodie caught snatches of their conversation.

"Another late night, Tobes?"

Yes, Bodie remembered Pellin's low, measure voice all right -- even when muffled by a mouth full of confectionery. Come to think of it, even back then his voice had had a touch of chocolate and caramel to it -- but it didn't have the warmth of this soft, affable tone. <Oh God, now *I'm* falling in love with him!> Bodie chuckled to himself.

Meanwhile, Toby's voice could have charmed any ravening beast. "I'll make up for it, Tom..." <And if I were *you*, Thomas Henry, I know *exactly* how I'd like him to do *that*...> "I'll get down to it straight away, Tom. I did all the drafts before I went out last night."

"Oh, well!" Now there was less sweetmeat and more genuinely-meant appreciation. "I knew I could rely on you. Are these the drafts?"

"Um-hm..."

There were several moments of silence, and then an exclamation of pleasure. "Tobes, your way with words is exemplary."

"Now you're just flattering me, Tom..." Yes, and Toby was loving every minute of it -- probably batting his eyelashes like fury as he did so.

"I *mean* it. *You* could get Section 28 repealed with no more than an carefully-worded press release and a flash of that little-boy smile and those dimples..."

"Oh, *Tom*...!"

Bodie could easily imagine Toby's coy but blissful expression; the cherub would be in his oil-tot. But it was quite clear to Bodie that not only did Pellin admire Toby and hold him in great affection, from his remark he was also definitely not immune to Toby's charms. <Oh yes,> Bodie thought; <Pellin's not as blind or unaware of you as you think, Toby...> And if Pellin could only be persuaded to take that awareness a step or so further, Toby would have his dream come true...

He was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of Toby calling his name and the bustle of approaching feet.

"Bodie! Bodie! *There you are!" The pleasure and excitement in his voice was enchanting. "Tom, there's someone here that I'd like you to meet -- though I believe that you've met before."

Tom Pellin took Bodie's outstretched hand and shook it firmly, studying his face. Then he smiled. "My God, so we have! How could I forget! It's *Bodie*, isn't it -- how are you keeping?"

Bodie smiled back. "I'm keeping well, thank you."

"And how's George Cowley?"

"Oh, same as ever. Must be the Scotch that keeps him fresh!"

"And your partner -- Boyle? No -- *Doyle*?"

"Doyle. Doing well, thank you. And yourself?"

Tom grinned. "Bodie, believe me; the man you see before you today is a million miles removed from the man who came to CI5 for help. All this -- " he gestured to the buzz of activity around him. " -- Is down to you. If it hadn't been for you and CI5, we wouldn't be doing the work we are now."

"Believe me, it was a pleasure..."

Toby, a beaming smile splitting his face from ear to ear, touched Tom's arm. "Right; I'll leave you two to talk over old times, and I'll get on with my work. See you both later!"

As Toby strode back to his work-station and booted up his computer, Tom turned back to Bodie. "Well! It's really good to see you again! I'll make you a coffee, show you around, and then maybe we can go somewhere and talk? I'm sure you've heard about what happened to Chives and Green: I'd be interested to hear *your* opinion!"

"That would be *very* agreeable."

Tom nodded and headed for the kitchen. "How'd you like your coffee?"

"Like my men," Bodie replied, almost without thinking. "Strong but sweet."

Tom's grin was positively elvish. "Milk?"

Bodie smiled ruefully. "Please..."

As Pellin went off into the kitchen to make coffee, Bodie blew air from between pursed lips, very glad that he was now alone...

The Thomas Henry Pellin he'd met today was definitely *not* the same Thomas Henry Pellin who'd been desperate enough to contact CI5. *That* Thomas Pellin had been a grave, stiff, coldly angry, unsmiling man; *this* Thomas Pellin was relaxed, warm, friendly and open, with a smile like sunlight. His hair was longer now, an unruly shock of springy black curls above well-shaped brows, sloe-black eyes, and the full lips of a mischievous angel: while the large, gold-rimmed round glasses he now sported leant him the appearance of a sexy owl. Dressed in snug-fitting jeans, loose shirt, waistcoat and tan rigger boots, he looked like a disreputable sociology lecturer -- and Bodie was tempted to ask him for a *very* private tutorial...

* * * * * * * * *

"Come on," said Tom, after the sights of the office were exhausted and Bodie was fully conversant with Totality's work. He led him out of the building. "I'll take you to lunch. My treat. We can carry on our conversation there."

"Good idea! Do you have anywhere in mind?"

"Oh, there's a nice little place round the corner; we go there a lot for office Christmas parties, birthday do's, that sort of thing. They do a *great* line in pasta -- and their desserts are to die for."

Bodie's face fell. "Not vegetarian, is it? Only Toby tells me you're a bit of a tree hugger."

The sly grin on Tom's face did wonderful things to Bodie's groin. "Is *that* what he's been telling you?" he asked as he deactivated his car alarm and unlocked the doors.

"He's been telling me a *lot* of things."

"Such as?"

Feigning coyness, Bodie batted his eyelids playfully and gave Pellin a dazzling smile. "Not for me to say, really..."

"*Now* I'm *worried*! I bet he's been telling you all about my terrible taste in music and movies and out-of-hours activities..."

"Well no, he *hasn't*, actually..." <But this is getting more fascinating by the minute...!>

"He's a *lovely* boy, but he *does* tend to exaggerate." Tom laughed, eyes full of mischief. "If you ask me, I think Toby's going the right way about getting his P45!"

Bodie laughed too, but he couldn't help observing what amazing effects the unconscious could produce. <Oh *yeah*, Thomas Henry...and if you keep blushing like that every time you mention his name, Toby's going to get something a *lot* nicer than his P45...!>

* * * * * * * * *

"Actually," Tom was saying as they studied their menus, "it's just a really good Italian eaterie -- they do a *marvellous* zabaglione."

"Oh, right. And they're gay-friendly?"

"Oh sure; none of the male staff feels his masculinity threatened by our presence," he dead-panned. Then he grinned. "There's not much of that macho Italian crap in evidence here, Bodie; partly because they know us, and partly because of the power of the pink pound."

"Try saying *that* after a nice drop of vino..."

"Toby's right in a way, though," Tom grinned at Bodie over his glass of wine. "I *have* been known to hug the odd tree in my time; I've hugged the odd hawthorn, cuddled a conifer, embraced an elm..." He burst out laughing. "Good *God*, Bodie -- your *face*...!"

Bodie shrugged and laughed. "No, honestly, I respect your commitment. I think it's just the way Toby put it!"

Tom gave him a slow, wicked smile. "I can imagine...!"

Bodie gave him a crooked grin in return, taking a sip of wine and fighting down the urge to play footsie under the table. Oh God, that *smile*... Neither did it help that the way Tom kept pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose with his forefinger was so endearing that it was driving him nuts with an urge to do something delicious and sexy but completely at odds with the respectable behaviour expected of patrons in a smart restaurant. "In fact," Bodie said at last, "Toby talked a *lot* about you."

"Did he now... And what exactly did he say? Nothing good, I'd imagine."

"On the contrary! He really admires you," he added seriously. "I think he'd do anything you asked him." Bodie looked up at him coyly. "How does it feel to be hero-worshipped?"

Tom pulled a wry face, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise that that's what he was doing; I always think he's taking the piss. He's quite a handful, is Tobes." <*I'll* say...> "He's our resident enfant terrible and I never know when to take him seriously. You'd think I'd be a better judge of character by now..."

Bodie nibbled on a slice of tomato. "Don't worry: I think Toby's one of a kind..."

"He's *that* all right. So when was it that he was telling you all this?"

Bodie saw the raised eyebrow and glint in the eye, and he sighed. "Yes, I admit it, we spent the night together," he chuckled. "And he talked about you a lot. That's how I know about your dedication to good causes -- which *I* admire too, I'll have you know."

Tom spread his hands momentarily, then clasped them and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and his chin resting on his hands. "All things considered, I've been very lucky. I feel I have to give something back, and there are a lot of battles out there to fight."

Bodie scooped up a forkful of lasagna. "Are there more Greens and Chiveses out there?"

"'Fraid so. The new man at K Division is on our side, though; we actually find the police very supportive now."

"You're lucky."

"We *are*. I wouldn't like to meet another pair like those two in a hurry."

Bodie took a sip of wine and put his glass down thoughtfully. "I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but I'd like to ask you something."

"Go on."

"I'm just thinking about what happened to me when I acted as bait for you. Forgive me if this seems unsavoury, but when Chives gave you that beating with his belt -- did he seem to you to be enjoying it rather *too* much?"

"Are you asking me if it turned him on?"

"Yes."

Tom's face clouded. "I'll say it did: Christ, Bodie, you should've *seen* his hard-on." Suddenly he dropped his gaze. "For someone who hated gays, he..."

Frowning, Bodie placed his hand over Tom's. "Don't say any more," he said simply. "Scum like that have no idea about the harm they're causing -- not that they *care*. I can understand you not wanting to say anything when you contacted CI5."

"I was too *ashamed*..."

"It wasn't for *you* to feel ashamed. Look, if you've never talked about it before and you want to, then I'm here. It could've happened to me, too."

Tom gave Bodie a wan smile and patted his hand. "Thank you. Christ, I don't know what brought that on -- I've blocked it out for so long."

Bodie clasped Tom's hand and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles. "Seeing me again probably didn't help..."

"Perhaps it's not such a bad thing, though," Tom suggested, regaining his composure. "Denial's not healthy."

"Well look, my ear's yours if you want it. But not here, obviously -- this isn't the place."

"Thank you; I'd be grateful for that."

"Yeah, well, not so squeaky clean after all, was he, Chives, eh?"

"*Exactly*. Green's retired now, of course."

"Oh, of *course*." The thick sarcasm in Bodie's voice brought back Tom's smile. "On a fat pension too, I've no doubt. What happened to Chives?"

"Didn't you hear? He got five years."

"It's not anywhere near enough: he'll probably be out in two and a half."

"Yes, but where can he go after that?"

"Who *cares*? Back under the same stone he crawled out from."

"Do we *have* to talk about them, Bodie?"

"It was your idea," Bodie reminded him.

"I know," he grimaced cheerfully. "But frankly, I think I'd rather hear more about what Toby Dawson said about me."

Bodie's interest was piqued. "And why's that?"

Again, Tom pulled a face. "Because I'm *worried*!" he laughed. "Oh, Toby's a *lovely* guy, Bodie, don't get me wrong. He's talented, witty, and totally adorable: I'm just concerned that he's made me out to be some sad, lentil-eating loony."

"Quite the *reverse*," Bodie assured him, intrigued as to why Toby's opinions should bother Pellin in the circumstances, and heartened by Tom's use of the words "talented, witty, and totally adorable" in connection with Toby. "He doesn't just admire you, he's completely in awe of your dedication."

"I'm *sure*," replied Tom dryly. "Tobes Dawson has a very clever, very wicked tongue."

Bodie smiled, suddenly drifting off into a happy reverie. "I'll say he has..."

Tom laughed with delight. "Bodie, if you've been sleeping with members of my staff, then I think *you* should pay for lunch!"

"We didn't exactly *sleep..." Bodie couldn't help himself; something about this man encouraged him. Besides, it might help Toby's cause with Tom...not to mention his own.

"Oh *really*..." The mischievous look in Pellin's eyes was wonderful.

"For such a chubby little fellow, Toby is extremely athletic -- not to mention ingenious."

"I'll bet: you should read his press releases..."

* * * * * * * * *

As they talked, Bodie felt his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth and had to struggle against an increasing dryness that the wine could not assuage. Oh *God*, he wanted this man... Toby had been sweet temptation enough; but the older man was even more so, given that Pellin's total ignorance of the effect he was having on Bodie and his poignant air of innocence was like a rush of hot brandy to the groin.

Now he was more determined than ever to determine Pellin's sexual orientation and hoped against hope that his bullshit detector hadn't failed him. He didn't -- and wouldn't -- dismiss Toby's yearning for Tom; but suddenly this paled in comparison to Bodie's own wanton desire to bed Pellin and teach him just how pleasurable love-making between men could be. He imagined himself holding Tom in his arms, stroking his face and body and watching the wonderment in his eyes as he... Oh sweet Jesus, those *eyes*...he could *drown* in those eyes...

And of one thing Bodie was sure: he would not be rushed. Instead, this campaign would be one of long, slow, sweet seduction...

* * * * * * * * *

"So what are we going to see, then?" The idea of getting Tom alone in a darkened cinema was far too irresistible for comfort. "*Please* tell me it's not some smutty French flick with illegible subtitles!"

Tom flicked the indicator switch and gave him a sly look. "Is *that* what you think of me?"

"Well, I can't see you going for the latest Schwarzeneggar blockbuster."

Tom laughed. "No; I like my testosterone rush as much as the next man, but Arnie doesn't do it for me. There's a special showing of Kind Hearts and Coronets on at the MAC -- that's more my style. Ah. I see it's not yours...?"

Bodie gave a dismissive snort. "It's *not* a problem! If it keeps me away from my lonely hotel bedroom, then I'm grateful. I'm just surprised you asked me to come with you in the first place; you've already bought me lunch today."

"Just accept it as an example of typical Midland hospitality," Tom grinned. "Besides, I was going anyway, and I fancied having some company. No-one else wanted to come."

"Philistines," snarled Bodie playfully. "Mind you, I'm just as bad. Still, I never refuse a free lunch -- or night out at the pictures, in this case. And I'm ungrateful, just...pleasantly surprised!"

Tom shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. Perhaps this is my feeble way of attempting to repay you for what you did for me. You remind me of a bad time, but you were also part of the solution. And it was really good to see a gay man playing such a prominent role in an elite organisation like CI5."

"But Doyle and me -- we're only foot-soldiers."

"I beg to differ. I went to CI5 because it only takes on the very best of the very best -- and you two weren't just foot-soldiers! I knew I was right to come to you."

"You knew then that I was gay?"

"Yes." He smiled. "When you and Doyle were acting as decoys and I gave you all that stock to take up to the office, Doyle didn't have a clue about what he was handling. *You* on the other hand were clearly already familiar with a lot of it. I won't ask you how your sexuality squares with your colleagues, though; I won't *demean* them or you by asking."

"Well I'm glad: why ruin a beautiful evening by talking shop?"

* * * * * * * * *

To his shame, Bodie had fallen asleep during the early stages of the film. Kind Hearts and Coronets was a film he associated with rainy Sunday afternoons and sleeping off a large Sunday dinner -- not to mention his inability to disassociate Alec Guinness from Star Wars.

But Tom hadn't been offended, and for that Bodie had been grateful. He'd been even *more* grateful for training that had prevented him from saying anything incriminating when Tom had woken him up with a hand gently shaking his shoulder...

And now, three days later, here he was, getting ready for another night out with Tom Pellin. This time it was to the theatre, and a production of Much Ado About Nothing at the RSC which had garnered a magnificent slew of favourable reviews in the media. This was actually rather more up Bodie's street; the heaving bosoms, hose and cod-pieces of Elizabethan dress would be a pleasant distraction. But a distraction from *what*? In this case, from quite a lot...

<Can I see you again?>

The words echoed and re-echoed in Bodie's head as he showered. It had been a curious expression to use to another man if you were heterosexual and you weren't dating, but he wasn't complaining. Tom had actually asked *him* for another "date", so he must've been forgiven for sleeping through the film. Oh, this would make things a *lot* easier for Bodie; he'd no longer need to feel as though he were exerting any undue pressure. It may only have been Tom's way of saying "thank you", but it *was* another meeting with Pellin and it was a start.

<Can I see you again?>

Bodie was trying hard to reconcile this strange innocence with the cultured, sophisticated man and strong, feisty campaigner that Toby had talked about. But it would fit in with Toby's observation that any sexual desires Pellin had were diverted into other things; perhaps part of Pellin's problem was that as a result, he himself didn't actually know what his sexuality was. If he was hetero, though, he was certainly still a flirt -- and one who felt perfectly at ease flirting shamelessly with a gay man. Not that *Bodie* was complaining.

But then Bodie shook his head, scattering shampoo froth, water and doubts. The Bodie Bullshit Detector was never wrong -- and perhaps the fun was only just beginning...

* * * * * * * * *

"You stayed awake this time..."

"Cheeky," Bodie retorted as he pulled on his seat-belt and Tom started the car. "There's nothing like live theatre for keeping an audience on its toes. Besides, how can *anyone* sleep with all that row going on?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Certainly did. It's not usually my thing, but that was *great* fun! Acting first rate. great costumes, cool music and scenery... Yeah, it was pretty good. I *particularly* liked all those handsome actors in figure-hugging breeches. Oh, and as for the *soldiers* -- especially the ones in the long leather boots..."

"I'm sorry I asked, now."

"No you're not; you know it's all part of my rough, simple charm. Oh, look out for that cyclist: if you put your foot down you might just get the bastard."

Tom's weary sigh at this evil suggestion made Bodie smile broadly as they moved off the car-park into the traffic and then struggled round the crowds leaving the theatre and one of those road-layouts straight from the drawing-boards of the town-planners from Hell. He was still chuckling to himself when they hit open roads again and were heading towards Wootten Wawen and Henley-in-Arden.

"What's so funny?" Tom asked as they passed the stepped weir and floodlit facade of Wootten Hall. "I can't take much more of this chortling. You're *not* still sniggering about that damn cyclist, are you?"

"He didn't half jump," remarked Bodie by way of reply.

"The way you'd got your hand stuck on the horn I'm not surprised."

"There's nothing nicer than having your hand on a horn," Bodie observed, leering affably.

"Oh God, *spare* me..."

Seeing that Tom was trying hard not to laugh, Bodie continued. "Cyclists are a damned *nuisance*," he opined, face devilish with amusement in the sodium-lit darkness. "Scare you half to death, coming out of nowhere."

"I'm just glad he didn't think it was me..."

"It was his own fault, anyway," Bodie snorted, warming to his theme. "No lights, no reflective clothing, nothing. One of these days..."

"Oh *do* shut up about it, Bodie...!"

"Will co, Chief..." Bodie switched on the radio. "Do you mind?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then no," came the resigned reply. "Go ahead..."

The radio was tuned into a sophisticated "easy listening" channel; Bodie would be happy to tolerate the likes of Simply Red or the Corrs until they got home, just so long as on this cold night he could stay here in this warm car with...

...He woke from his doze just as they turned on to the slip-road for the M40 and M42. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just dozed off there..."

"I've heard nothing about cyclists for the last fifteen minutes. I'm not complaining."

Bodie settled back in his seat. "I'll keep schtum."

"You do that."

This stretch of motorway, pushing its way through the Warwickshire countryside, had no lighting; the only illumination came from oncoming car headlights and the headlights of their own vehicle as the beams picked their way through the darkness. At this time of night there was barely any traffic, and Bodie felt as though they were in some tiny space capsule, lonely astronauts finding their way through the midnight vastness of space.

There was also something intimate and erotic about being in a car with a handsome man, late at night on a dark road. The pale glow from the dashboard lit up Tom's face, picking out the slender features. <A pretty thing he is,> thought Bodie, glad that the relative darkness allowed him to ogle in peace. <I never noticed that before. Not effeminate, but pretty. A thing of beauty. And when he smiles, I could eat him...> A sudden flicker of desire snaked through his loins. <I wonder if we could pull off the motorway and find some lonely country lane where I could have my supper...> But then he sighed. No, it was *still* much too early for that. <I really would love to suck him -- but he doesn't know me well enough yet. He'd probably *die* if I tried to cock and gave him a blow-job *this* early in the game...>

Not that he wasn't tempted. The mere idea of sitting in the darkened car whilst sliding his hand across and over Tom's thigh and into his crotch was making him hard. <I wouldn't care if he was hung like a hamster, just as long as he'd let me...> Then Bodie's lips curled into a wicked grin. <Bet he *isn't*, though. When he wears those jeans I can see a *lovely* big handful...> He let the happy thought drain away. <*Not* a good time for sexual fantasies, Bodie,> he pointed out to himself sadly. <And it's no good writing cheques that your body really shouldn't even be *thinking* about honouring...>

* * * * * * * * *

When they got to Tom's house, it was obvious as soon as they got through the front door that something was wrong.

"Your flamin' 'eatin''s knackered!" Bodie exclaimed, rubbing his arms frantically. "It's bloody *freezin'*!"

Tom merely regarded him gloomily. "No it isn't: I forgot to put it on before I left to pick you up..."

"Oh *Tom*...!" groaned Bodie. "It's like soddin' Siberia in 'ere!"

Sighing, Tom deposited his jacket and car keys on the hall table and pressed a switch on the wall by the kitchen door. The "crump" and faint howling noises that followed assured them both that the central heating was definitely operative. "Sorry," he said. "I heard the weather forecast say that it was going to be a cold night, but I was in so much of a rush to get out that I never thought to switch the heating on before I left."

"I'll bet it's like a bloody ice-box in the livin'-room," Bodie grumbled. "An' I 'ave to sleep in there tonight..." Suddenly he became aware of the silence and looked up to see Tom looking at him curiously. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

Tom's lips twitched. "And just *where* did that Scouse accent come from?"

"Eh?"

Tom folded his arms and grinned. "Quite the well-spoken little James Bond you were before. What went wrong? Do you only turn into a Liverpudlian in times of crisis?"

"Something like that," agreed Bodie, grinning back. "And now I suppose I'd better go and get my arse onto the sofa..."

"Have a drink, first. Cocoa, or something stronger?"

"Oh, something *stronger* if I've got to sleep on that sofa."

There was a pause. "How about the spare room?" There was an even longer pause. "Or would you rather go back to your hotel?"

Pellin had hesitated just a fraction too long before asking the question -- not to mention uttering the phrase *I was in so much of a rush to get out* in such a way as to make Bodie's ears prick up. The Bodie Bullshit Detector suddenly sprang into action, its scanners whirling like fury. <*Yes*,> Bodie thought, fighting down his exultation. <I think he *is* interested...> "Too late now," Bodie lied. "Too much hassle. I'll take the spare room. Though you might've suggested it *earlier*. And do you have anything I could sleep *in*?"

"Okay, okay, keep your hair on. I'll pour us a drink and then I'll go and get you something to sleep in." He returned a little later, carrying two glasses of whisky and with a t-shirt and boxer shorts draped over one arm. "Will this do?"

"*Both* are a sight for sore eyes," Bodie smiled. "Cheers..."

* * * * * * * * *

According to his watch, it was two o'clock in the morning. Bodie gave a low moan. This room was little used, and it was no wonder. What Pellin had failed to point out -- or perhaps, indeed, had either forgotten or didn't realize -- was the fact that there was no radiator in this spare bedroom and consequently it was like sleeping in a draughty shed. Bodie still couldn't be sure whether the sheets were actually damp or just bone-chillingly cold. Shivering in the slightly too small t-shirt and boxer shorts, Bodie cursed the vagaries of an English spring.

* * * * * * * * *

At first he wasn't sure whether the soft rapping on the door was real or part of a waking dream. And then it got louder, and Tom was calling his name, asking if he was awake.

Bodie rolled from between the sheets and went across to open the door. "Yeah, I'm awake," he replied, bleary-eyed. "What's up?"

"Nothing. But I've been thinking. The heating's only really just kicked in, and I'm still too bloody cold to get to sleep. I was just wondering if you felt the same?"

"Too right, mate. It's colder than a penguin's arse in 'ere."

"Well -- I was wondering..." <Oh, *this* is promising...> "I mean, if you wouldn't be insulted, that is..."

"Wondering what?"

"Whether you'd like to come and share my bed?"

<Is David Ginola the most shaggable footballer in Britain?> "That sounds like an *excellent* idea to me. On a night like this, two bodies are *much* better than one..."

* * * * * * * * *

There was no light on in Tom's room, so it was too dark for Bodie to gain much of an impression. The rest of the house suggested a sophisticated, well-read man with slightly off-beat (to Bodie) tastes, so there was no reason to suppose that his bedroom was any different. The house was full of books, all manner of ethnic throws, prints and artifacts, comfortable furniture, and plants that could survive without too much attention. Bodie had therefore changed his mind about Tom: now he pictured him more as an anthropologist than a sociologist. He wondered if there were any quaint customs with which he could acquaint Tom -- he was sure that *Toby* would be able to think of a few...

Bodie shifted restlessly under the covers. How Toby would envy him this, he mused; sharing a bed with Tom and lying close enough to touch. But being close enough to touch and not being able to was a different matter altogether. "Are you awake?" he asked.

"No."

"Still cold?"

"No, I was thinking about the play we saw tonight. I was glad you said you'd enjoyed it. Personally, I thought it was *fabulous*. It certainly deserved all those rave reviews."

Bodie propped himself up on an elbow and smiled. "It *was* good, yeah. I don't normally go for Shakespeare, but you're right -- that production was amazing. What I liked most was seeing two people who clearly have the hots for each other, and yet can't -- or won't -- actually admit it. So instead, they insult and tease each other whenever they meet; when in fact, they're madly in love and all they *really* want is a good, hard shag. And then they finally admit how they feel, and both live happily ever after!"

Tom winced. "So that's your summary, is it? Much Ado About Nothing is a play about two people, Beatrice and Benedict, who pretend to be deadly enemies whilst secretly wishing to fuck like bunnies'? You missed your vocation: you could've had a *glittering* career in Shakespearean criticism and analysis..."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Well -- it boils down to sexual chemistry in the end. They've loved each other since the day they met, but can't admit their feelings because they're too scared to. So instead of following their hearts they sublimate their emotions and sexual longings into their verbal exchanges -- all that banter is really a substitute for sex: the back and forth of their arguments are like the movements of two people making love. I bet Beatrice and Benedict would be sheer bloody *dynamite* in the sack."

There was silence, and then an amused, throaty chuckle which stirred Bodie's loins. "I take it all back. I misjudged you. If you didn't get all that from the programme -- "

" -- Which I didn't, of course..." lied Bodie.

" -- Then I'd say you were a shrewd judge of character. However, I too read those programme notes -- and let me tell you that you are *not* a good liar..."

"Oh, I don't know... Well, *some* of it was my expert assessment."

"And we know which bit *that* was..."

Bodie's face creased with lascivious mirth. "Yeah -- the shaggin' bits! But be fair -- I *could* see it for myself, y'know. It must be the skill of the actors who got that across -- even to a low-brow Scouser like me!"

"Mmmmn. Good point!" Bodie liked the appreciative tone in Pellin's voice. "I'm impressed, all the same -- and I wouldn't describe you as *wholly* low-brow!"

"Thank you," Bodie purred.

They fell silent again. But Bodie suddenly found his mind whirling. Everything he'd said about the play -- every comment he'd made about the interplay between Beatrice and Benedict... *Jesus*... "...Two people who clearly have the hots for each other, and yet can't -- or won't -- actually admit it to each other...they do nothing but insult and tease each other, when in fact they're really madly in love..." Dear God, *why* hadn't he seen it before... "...Who've loved each other since the day they met...people who can't admit their feelings because they're too scared...instead of following their hearts they sublimate their longings into their verbal exchanges." Oh Lord, who did *that* remind him of... He might be reading too much into this, but there was certainly an elegant synchronicity here that he found appealing.

"Bodie..."

"Mmmm?"

"Are you warmer now?"

"Yes, fine now, thanks. Though I wish the clothes were a better fit -- you're skinnier than me."

"Do you want to go back to the spare room?"

<Now why did he ask *that*?> Bodie pondered. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No, it's not that; I just thought you might prefer to sleep on your own."

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. "Don't be daft," he chortled. "Go back to that lonely single bed when I can stay 'ere with you? What are you *like*? C'mere -- let me give you a cuddle!" With that, Bodie rolled himself against the other man, wound his arms around him and pressed his body hard against Tom's back.

The next thing he knew was that he'd been jabbed in the chest by an elbow. "No -- *don't*! Get *off* me!"

What the hell was going on? "What's *wrong*?" Bodie couldn't keep the hurt from his voice. "I wasn't about to rape you -- I was only going to give you a cuddle. I don't rape men," he added bitterly. "Least of all kind, intelligent, honourable straight blokes who've done their damndest to make me feel welcome."

"Oh *God*..." The drawn-out syllable was full of unutterable misery. "I am so *sorry*. I didn't mean..." Pellin sat up and rubbed his face. "It's not your fault. It's..." He sighed. "It's not that I'm straight and you're gay -- it's *nothing* to do with that. It's just...*him*."

"*Him*?"

Tom nodded. "That bastard Chives. And what he did."

Bodie went cold. "Is this to do with what happened at the GYO?" Tom nodded. "And what happened when Chives beat you?"

"Yes..." The voice was barely audible.

"What happened, Tom? Is it something to do with him getting turned on by it?"

Tom lowered his head and nodded.

Now Bodie's heart was pounding. <Oh Christ, don't let this be what I think it is...> "Tom, you said that beating you gave him a hard-on. What happened after that? What did he do to you, Tom? Tom -- " Now his voice was as icy as his blood. "Did Chives rape you?"

Tom looked at him, and smiled wanly. "No, not as such. Though he might just as well have done. When he beat me he kept stopping to push his dick up against me so that I could feel how hard he was. And he kept asking me if I liked it -- if I liked how it *felt* to have his dick shoved up against my arse. And then, when he felt I'd taken enough of a beating, he...oh, *Christ..."

Bodie touched his hand. "Go on..."

"...When he thought I'd had enough, he got the others to push me down across the desk and -- and they pulled down my trousers and pants and -- " He was gulping for air, and Bodie squeezed his fingers. " -- And then he was touching me, feeling me up -- and then he pulled my arse cheeks apart and started rubbing his bare cock between them. And all the time he was telling the others that this was what queers liked, that I'd *love* it because I was queer -- but that I'd be disappointed because he wasn't actually going to shove his dick up my arse. And he kept on, and on, jeering at me and rubbing himself off -- and the others kept laughing, and it didn't matter how much I struggled and tried to get free, or told them how much they were hurting me. That just seemed to make them *worse*, and it made Chives enjoy it all the more. And after he came, the others -- I don't remember how many -- held me down and did the same. I know Chives really got off on it, but it was all tied up with power, rather than sex -- and Bodie, they *knew* the power they had over me: all of them against one man, and knowing that there was nothing I could do about it. But the *worst* of it was -- " Suddenly he was choking back sobs; Bodie sat up and put an arm around his shoulders, letting the other man lean into him for comfort. " -- I was so *ashamed*... I -- I found that *I* was getting turned on. And I don't know *why*. It was so humiliating -- so *degrading* -- and -- and yet I found myself getting hard. It didn't last for long, but I can't forget the shame I felt -- not just being...*assaulted*, but -- but getting an erection. I felt that there must be something desperately wrong with me -- I *had* to be a really sick, perverse, and sordid individual to get turned on by what was happening."

Bodie wound his free arm around Tom and hugged him tight, kissing his temple and nuzzling against him. "Don't be stupid. Sometimes it happens -- you can't *help* yourself. It doesn't mean that you *were* turned on by it. Did you *really* want them to take turns at raping you?"

"Of *course* not! Do you honestly think I *would*?"

Bodie placed his fingers against Tom's full lips; he was having difficulty swallowing the bile that festered in his throat. "Of course I don't. Just as I don't think you were *really* turned on. You were being put through one of the most vile and disgusting things that one man can do to another. They didn't rape you, but they could've done -- and they wanted you to know that. What happened was most likely some defence mechanism -- your brain trying to shut out as much as it could. What those men did to you was something *nobody* could really want -- but it proves what sick, filthy, pathetic cowards they were." Bodie pulled Tom closer and kissed his forehead. "They're all in prison, now, or demoted, or disgraced. But look how far *you've* come -- you beat them in the end. And with everything you've achieved, you, of *all* people, have nothing to be ashamed of."

"But -- "

And then Tom began to cry, shoulders heaving with wracking sobs. Burying his face in Tom's dark, tousled curls, Bodie held and gentled him, knowing the poisons that his tears would release. After a while Tom slid his arms around Bodie and held on, seeking solace in the other man's warmth until at last the tears subsided and he slumped against him, empty and exhausted.

Bodie combed his fingers through Tom's hair, then kissed his temple. He unwound Tom's arms and took his hands as Tom whimpered in protest. "It's okay, Tom," he said softly. "Ssshhh... Lie down..."

Carefully the two men lay down together again, face to face; Bodie snuggled up against Tom and wound his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. He rested his chin on Tom's shoulder, and let the other man sag against his body, drawing on his strength.

Before long Tom sighed, and Bodie felt him relax. "Why are you being so good to me, Bodie?" Tom asked sleepily.

"Because you deserve it," he replied simply. <And because I'm doing this for someone who loves you...> "Now go to sleep, Tom; you'll be safe now."

"Yes, Bodie..."

Soon Tom's breathing grew deeper and more even -- but Bodie lay awake, wide-eyed, for some time, hating Chives and his cronies for what they'd done to this gentle man. If Bodie could encourage him to accept Toby's love, it would be a final, sweet revenge on those homophobic bastards who'd started all this...

* * * * * * * * *

Several days later, Bodie was contemplating the end of his leave and a return to London. He was in no way ready to go back, since both of his missions remained uncompleted. He couldn't forget how Toby felt about Tom, nor could he forget what Chives had done. Then again, he couldn't forget Tom Pellin full-stop.

But as he returned to his hotel after a trip to Birmingham Art Gallery and a close study and appreciation of the androgynous, curly-haired beauties amongst the city's formidable Pre-Raphaelite collection, he acknowledged the fact that he was getting closer. The Bullshit Detector, not to mention his own field investigations, indicated to him that -- if left to his own devices -- Tom Pellin was, at the very least, bisexual. He'd certainly responded to Bodie -- and even *he* had to take on board the notion that this might *not* be due solely to his own personal magnetism! Still, this was promising stuff -- as was Tom's obvious affection for Toby.

As he approached the reception desk for his key, from the corner of his eye he saw a figure get up from one of the chairs in the foyer and approach him.

"Hello, Bodie," said Toby shyly.

He turned -- and marvelled once more at the exquisite beauty of this plump cherub. "Hello, Toby. What brings you here? Playing hooky again?"

Toby shook his head. "Just passing. Well. On an errand of mercy, actually."

"Oh, yeah?"

Toby's face crinkled with impish embarrassment. "This is going to sound to you like an *extremely* lame excuse, but I lost my fountain pen when I spent the night with you. I had it when we got here, but it must've dropped out of my pocket."

Enlightenment dawned, and Bodie grinned. "Of *course*! I *wondered* where that had come from. Yeah, I've still got it. Wanna come and pick it up?"

"If you don't mind. My parents gave it to me for my twenty-first, and it means a lot to me."

"I can't believe you're over twenty-one," Bodie told him mischievously as he collected his key and they headed for the lift. "You barely look old enough to have left school. I bet you're really only at Totality on work experience, and that you've got GCSEs to sit in the summer." He shook his head and smiled. "You and that baby-face of yours."

"Older faces have charm too," Toby replied primly. "Not *all* gay men find beauty only in the very young. Older faces can be *more* handsome; they have *character*."

"Depends who they're attached to, of course," Bodie pointed out as they reached his bedroom door.

"That does play a part," Toby conceded. "But then beauty is in the eye of the beholder; I like men with lived-in faces."

"Some are more *squatted* in than lived in. Anyway, you fancied *me* and I don't think *my* face is very lived in. Nor is Tom's," he reminded him as he unlocked the door and they entered the room.

Toby sighed, as though talking to an idiot. "No, but you both have character. You've both lived a little, and have something interesting to say for yourselves. I *hate* himbos," he added passionately. Then he looked up at Bodie. "You don't think *I'm* a himbo, do you?"

Bodie stared at him in disbelief and then burst out laughing. "Never in a million years, sunshine. Now then -- here's your pen. Glad I could reunite you."

"Thanks." Toby turned, but seemed reluctant to leave. "Bodie," he began hesitantly, "can I ask you something?"

"Sit down and I'll ring for coffee and mini-doughnuts from room service. I didn't think you were here just to get your pen, sentimental value or no!"

* * * * * * * * *

Toby drank his coffee and tucked into the doughnuts with enthusiasm, leaving Bodie to marvel at how the young man could turn such a simple act into a thing of pure sensuality.

"Now then," Bodie began as Toby, lips smothered in sugar and strawberry jam, finished a third jam-filled ball of crunchy dough and was reaching for a fourth. "What was it you wanted to ask me?"

Toby paused, doughnut part-way to his mouth, thinking carefully. "I was just wondering," he said at last, licking congealed grease and sugar from his lips and fingers.

"Wondering what?"

"If you were thinking of staying on here or going back to London."

"I'm going back to London," Bodie told him firmly. "I've got no plans to stay. Anyway, I have a *job* to do! Why'd you ask?"

Looking uncomfortable, Toby lowered the doughnut. "I -- was wondering if Tom would be joining you there," he finished, avoiding Bodie's scrutiny.

"Why should he be?" Bodie asked coolly.

Toby shrugged. "You seem to be seeing a lot of each other. I suppose you've got a lot of catching up to do, but I'm beginning to wonder just exactly *how* well you know each other. And I suppose I thought that as he talks so much about you, whatever there was between you before has been rekindled, and he may well want to go back to London with you." With that, he took another bite of doughnut and began chewing disconsolately.

Bodie's heart melted. Oh God, he was turning into the mushiest bastard in all creation. "No, he *won't* be joining me, Toby. And do you want to know why? Because there's nothing between us: he's not in love with me, and I'm not in love with him -- and because no matter what you think, we were *never* lovers*. I *told* you that. More importantly, his work here means far too much to him. I met Tom when members of the local police force took the law into their own hands and drove any undesirable elements out of town. The GYO office attracted their attention, and they attempted to do the same to him. But Tom fought back -- he approached the man I work for, and my work-partner and I set about helping him and Tom to break their hold over the town. Tom was very brave, Toby; he was the first person to stand up and be counted. He was the one who decided that it was time for something to be done because those bastards were abusing their power. Tom was the only one to stand up to them, Toby -- and he paid the price for it. But he won in the end -- and I don't think he'd give up something so hard-won just to follow *me* back to London."

"He *might*," Toby replied sulkily, taking a savage bite out of his doughnut.

"I don't think so."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure. Listen, Toby; a lot of things he's said to me this week make me sure. Oh, and given the way he talks about you, it's even *more* unlikely."

That made Toby look up. "How *does* he talk about me?"

"With great affection," grinned Bodie. "And he blushes when he does. I think he's smitten with you, Dawson; only he's too scared to admit it."

"But *why*?"

"Perhaps because he's a few years older than you."

Toby snorted. "Well *that* doesn't matter."

"Well, maybe he thinks he'd disappoint you in bed."

"That's *nonsense*!"

"Not really. He's never had sex with another man, don't forget."

"He'll soon learn," Toby assured him.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Bodie sighed.

"Why?"

"Listen, Toby, the man's a virgin -- and you most definitely are *not*! Be gentle with him, for God's sake: I'd never forgive myself otherwise -- it would be like throwing a Christian to the lions!"

Toby laughed, then shook his head. "I'd be gentle," he said emphatically. "I'd never hurt him. I love him *far* too much for that." Then he gave Bodie a curious look. "Wouldn't *you* like to fuck him too?" he asked blithely.

For a moment Bodie couldn't speak, Toby's words having knocked the breath from his lungs. And then he saw the look in the younger man's eyes and knew he couldn't deny his own feelings. "I -- I'm sorry, Toby. Yes, I would. I would *very* much." Now it was Bodie's turn to look away. "You *know* I would," he finished lamely.

"Don't blame you," replied Toby wistfully. He put down the remains of his doughnut and wiped his mouth and fingers on a paper napkin. "Look, I know this is going to sound cold, clinical and calculating, but I don't know how else to say it. If what you say is true, and Tom *does* care for me, then I'd like to be the first man to make love to him. But if Tom wanted it to be you, I wouldn't mind, you know."

"Why *not*?" Bodie didn't want to stop and analyze the feelings now coursing through him. "And why should he want it to be *me*?"

"Because he likes you and trusts you," Toby answered firmly. "We've talked about you quite a bit, and I know he still feels that he's in your debt. He still feels he owes you."

"That doesn't mean he has to offer me his body," Bodie retorted. "Seeing his success with Totality is thanks enough -- knowing that what my friends and I did made a difference."

"I know -- and I'm grateful to you and proud of him for that."

"But it still doesn't follow that I'll end up in bed with him, Toby." He sighed. "Okay, Toby, I'll lay my cards on the table. One of my reasons for coming up here was to find out if Tom was gay because I didn't believe him when he told us he was heterosexual. And I won't deny that I was hoping we might..." Bodie gestured expansively with his hands and let the rest of the sentence trail off: he knew he didn't have to explain further. "You and your feelings were an added complication, but it didn't alter the way I felt -- especially when I actually set eyes on him again. I do want him, Toby -- but I don't want him punching my lights out if I make a pass at him and he takes offence."

Toby stifled a delighted giggle. "Oh, I don't think he will," he replied. "He's *changed* since you turned up; he's *curious*, Bodie. At long last I think he's actually beginning to question his sexuality. And I don't think he'd turn you down."

Suddenly Bodie felt hurt and angry. "You make me feel like a *tart*..." Clenching his fists, he glared at the younger man. "What the hell do you take me for, Toby? I'm not a whore -- and I hope you're not trying to use me as one. Because sitting here and discussing it like *this*... I never saw you as a pimp before."

"That's not how it's meant to seem," Toby assured him. "I just want what's best for Tom."

One look at the earnest expression on Toby's face and Bodie began to calm down. "And you think that's *me*?"

Toby fixed him with arresting blue eyes. "*Yes*." His voice was emphatic. "You've fucked me," he went on. "I know how it feels to be fucked by you, and I know *how* you fuck. That's why I know you'd be good for him. I don't think I'd have the patience to be gentle. Not the first time. But *you* have."

"Bollocks. I'm not Mr Sensitive, you know."

frankly, I'd be *terrified*."

"But you're the one who loves him, Toby..."

"So do you, in a way."

Bodie exhaled noisily through pursed lips. "Christ, Toby. Th-thank you..."

"What *for*?" Toby asked mildly.

"You *know* what for. Giving me your blessing."

Toby shrugged. "Consider it an assignment from me, if you like. He's very special to me, Bodie -- and I think his first time should be with someone who knows what they're doing."

"*You* know what you're doing when you're in bed," Bodie chuckled.

"Well, yes -- but I'm used to being taken, not the one who takes."

"You could learn together..."

"Don't be naff, Bodie. I want him to learn from an expert."

"*Now* who's being naff..."

"You know what I *mean*..." Toby picked up another doughnut. "Sure you don't want one of these?" Bodie shook his head. "No?" With that, he began eating again. "Look, Bodie, Tom thinks I'm just a bit of a kid -- "

" -- The office enfant terrible," Bodie quoted with a grin.

"Quite. He'd never take me seriously if I told him how I felt."

"That's bullshit."

"May*be*. But I still want you to plead my case, Bodie. And if that means you get to fuck him at the same time, then we'll *both* have got what we want."

"And what about what *Tom* wants?"

For the first time Toby's face crinkled into a genuinely bright smile. "You're talking about the only man in the town prepared to stand up to a gang of corrupt cops and get help from an elite government organization. Yes, Bodie," he grinned, taking in the expression on Bodie's face. "He finally told me about you and CI5 when I told him what you'd said about standing up to those bastards." He shot Bodie a mischievous, heavy-lidded look. "Are you trying to tell me that even *you* could make him do something he didn't really want to?"

"Point taken. But what if he doesn't want me *anyway*?" But then Bodie had already noted the speculative looks Tom had given him. It was too late for doubts now.

"Maybe you'll get the chance to find out before you leave."

"Maybe. But somehow I don't think so."

Toby brushed sugar and crumbs from his person, took his pen and walked to the door. "We'll see," he replied wistfully. "You never know *what* might happen..."

* * * * * * * * *

"Dinner? Tonight? And you're cooking? I'd *love* that! Thank you. I'll see you at seven-thirty."

Bodie replaced the receiver, alive with anticipation. It was too good to be true. Tom had just invited him to dinner, and he'd got the distinct impression that this was to be an intimate dinner a deux. Oh yes, he could live with that. For a heterosexual, he reminded himself, thinking back over his discussion with Toby, Pellin had flirted shamelessly with him -- and it was *greatly* to Bodie's taste. A good meal, a good wine, and a lot of meaningful eye contact over the cutlery...

His campaign of seduction hadn't exactly gone to plan, now that he thought about it. Instead, he had his suspicions that -- yet again -- *he* was the one being seduced. Oh, he doubted if Pellin actually realized what he was doing, but Bodie knew; Pellin, not Bodie, had done all the running -- and innocent or no, events seemed to be leading to some kind of turning point. Bodie hoped that in this battle, he wasn't about to face his Waterloo.

* * * * * * * * *

At precisely 7.15pm, Bodie presented himself at Pellin's front door and rang the bell. The door was opened approximately five seconds later, and Bodie was pretty sure that Pellin had been looking out for him. But Bodie was *not* complaining: not only did he find this oddly touching, it also heightened his feelings of expectation. And as his gaze swept appreciatively over his host, he knew that given the opportunity, he would gladly have foregone dinner and ravished his host right there and then on the doorstep -- and to hell with the neighbours. Instead, he handed Tom the flowers and bottle of wine he'd brought with him and allowed himself the luxury of drinking in the vision of masculine charm Tom presented as he ushered Bodie indoors and led him into the living-room.

Quite frankly, the only phrase that came to mind was "totally fuckable". Tom's dark hair was still slightly wet from a shower and it tumbled round his face and nuzzled into the nape of his neck in damp curls. He wore a mauve ethnic-style long-sleeved cotton shirt over loose-fitting straight-legged jeans, and his bare feet were still pink from his shower. <I want you,> Bodie thought, suddenly overwhelmed by lust as he watched Tom put his flowers into a vase and his wine in the fridge. <I swear to God I wouldn't hurt you, but I've just *got* to have you...> With luck there would be plenty of time for that later...

"Sorry I'm so early," Bodie said, finally.

"Not at all. We can *eat* earlier. Chinese all right with you?"

Well, roast beef and Yorkshire might've been nearer the Bodie culinary mark, but he wasn't going to turn his nose up at it. "Yeah, fine. Er..." Bodie looked from the table in the heel of the L-shaped through-room and around the kitchen. "You're doing the cooking, then?"

"Um?" Tom was extracting a recalcitrant cork from a wine bottle. "Good God, no. I've no desire to stand over a hot wok for hours tonight, thanks very much." The cork came free with a resigned plop, and soon two glasses were being filled. "There's a takeaway round the corner, and they deliver. Menu's on the notice-board. Sorry to disappoint you," he added apologetically, handing Bodie a glass of wine.

"Not at all!" Bodie laughed, secretly relieved. "It means less washing-up!" Suddenly he began sniffing -- then leant over Pellin and inhaled deeply. "*Mmmnmmnm! What *is* that you're wearing? Smells absolutely *delicious*."

Tom smiled, looking pleased. "It's something Toby bought me for Christmas," he admitted. "Outrageously expensive it is, too, so I'm told. I've never really had occasion to wear it before. Well -- " He ruffled his hair. "Never actually *dared* to, if I'm honest. Still, I thought I'd give it a try in honour of the occasion."

"I'm flattered. You know, it's probably just as well you've never actually worn it out in public..."

Tom looked anxious. "Why not?"

"Because this is pure *dynamite*," Bodie opined, happily breathing in a devastating mixture of musk and sandalwood and citrus and a warm, clean, Tom Pellin until his nose experienced some kind of olfactory orgasm. "Ohhh...*gorgeous*...ummm! What's it called?"

Embarrassed, Tom grinned and rubbed at his hair. "Something French and suggestive..."

"That figures. You'll have to show me later. Right. Where's this menu then, cock?"

"On the notice-board."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot," he added. "Went clean out of my head." Bodie lea