by Helen Raven
Theyd found Terry Wilson in his local, where he was being very generous with his earnings from the latest run to the continent. Ill-gotten? The proof wasnt overwhelming, but he went to all the right places, and he knew all the wrong people - and in CI5s experience, this was more than enough to make him worth talking to.
It was gone eleven when he left the pub, which meant that Bodie and Doyle had been waiting for him for more than two hours. Theyd had other plans for the evening, and had their doubts that Wilson would be an adequate substitute.
Well, hes left on his own, Bodie said. Give him some credit for making our job easier?
What? Credit as in go easy on him? Been reading you wrong all day, then.
Bodie shrugged. Get a proper look at him first. Decide how to play it.
Their first chance for a proper look was half an hour later, in one of the smaller rooms in CI5s basement. They stood some ten feet from the man, side-by-side, expressionless, waiting during the time it took for Wilson to give up on indignation and settle on a defiant stare. You could tell that he wasnt entirely surprised to be here - hed planned for this, prepared himself. Refreshing to be dealing with a professional, to be spared the usual bluster and self-delusion.
What would work best? Always the most important issue. Wilson was tough, bright in his way, but not experienced. A greedy youngster who wanted everything now. Theyd seen his type before - had no shortage of proven techniques.
Reckon youd been reading me right all along. Bodie hadnt needed to look at Doyle. They knew each other very, very well.
Knew it. Best yet, if you ask me. Doyle ambled towards the bound man.
A doubtful sound from Bodie, who had stayed back. Cant tell yet. Not that simple, is it?
The smile that Doyle turned on his partner was warm, affectionate. You know you havent got my experience. I can tell.
Yeah, hard man. Your little friends this close to wearing me down by pure boredom.
Poor Wilson: prepared for anything except their uncomplicated laughter. Thats good, Terry. Doyle always took the lead in these sessions - it was natural and right. I like you. We both like you. And thats important, isnt it?
Oh, yeah. Bodies tone was too fervent, his gleaming gaze too intent. You could see the flicker of Wilsons thoughts, the scramble to second-guess this pair. Failure, presumably, as the old defiant stare reappeared.
Yeah, cant be just anyone. I had a feeling about you right from the start. So I came prepared. The knife was out. Doyle loved his own speed. Always had. And he didnt have to look to know that Bodies erection would be visible by now. For himself, the pleasure was still (just) at the intellectual stage.
Oh, yre one of those. A very creditable boredom. This lad would go far.
Wrong, sunshine. Bodie had come close, was standing by Doyles knife-hand. Two of those.
Yeah. Different kinds of those, maybe, but not in any way thatll matter to you, Terry. To Bodie: Ready?
Ready. Relaxed, smiling, and in unison, they came to within a foot of the chair.
You know your knives, dont you, Terry? But youve never been this close to one this sharp. Look. On Doyles last word, Bodie stretched his left arm out in front of Doyles body, the palm turned to face Wilson. Doyle switched the knife to his left hand - loving his equal skill with both even more than his speed - supported Bodies wrist with his right, and laid a cut quickly and precisely through the meat of Bodies thumb and right to the thumb-tip. Bodies only reaction was a flutter of eyelashes, and the other men were not watching his eyes. Even before he lowered his hand, the blood was dripping onto the floor.
Wilson was already lost, though he didnt yet know it. Nothing in his planning had prepared him for this. They smiled at him, their smiles now thoroughly complicated.
Youre thinking, arent you? Doyle. The one who controlled. We can see exactly what youre thinking. And you dont even know the whole of it yet. He sheathed the knife, then turned to Bodie, and lifted the hand. Slowly, he explored the wound, displaying it to Wilson while - this time - Bodie made small flinching movements.
Fucking maniacs. A helpless, involuntary mutter. Poor, poor Wilson. A fair guess that a good proportion of his brain was screaming at him that he was English! In England! This wasnt... really... happening.
Doyles policy was to ignore everything until the confession. He stroked the wound closed, but kept Bodies hand in his as he raised his eyes to his partners face. Think about this, Terry. Ive known this man for seven years, and I love him more than my life. But you... An hour at most, and youre not making me laugh like you did at first. Now he turned his head to Wilson, expression all bright curiosity. Are you thinking?
Ray. Ray, hes thinking. Lets get started. Bodies voice was hoarse with longing.
Self-control, my friend. Do you remember me explaining about self-control? Unfair of him to put his hand to Bodies groin then. Most unfair. From Bodies groan, youd think he was the one under interrogation. These moments aroused Doyle more than anything else these days - eventually, no doubt, all his appreciation of sex would have to be channelled through Bodie first.
Shit. Fucking shit. A whisper under Bodies groan. Oh, dont say theyd overestimated Wilson. He couldnt be that close, could he?
Doyle stepped back from his partner then gave a light touch to his arm. Where do we start then? Ill let you name.
A pursing of the lips, then a slow, thoughtful nod. You werent kidding about going easy on him. I wonder about you sometimes. Up to doing the belt?
Yeah. No problem. Bodie wiped his left hand on his cords - black, not to show the stains - and was quick and efficient about removing the belt from Wilsons jeans and turning it into a gag. Doyle, kneeling before the bound and parted legs, watched throughout, his appreciation obvious.
You want to talk to us, Terry, just nod. OK? Any time. But right now youd be best to keep still. Doyle had a second knife - the ripper. He started the cut in the fold of denim at Wilsons left knee, then brought it along the length of the inner thigh, just above the seam, in one smooth, continuous movement. Hed had a lot of practice at this, and had never cut Bodie, not even a scratch. Wilson was rigid, staring down with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Oh, very nice. Bodie slid the fingers of his right hand into the slit. Wilson jerked and protested, and the two agents exchanged slow smiles. You keep fit. Stuck behind a steering wheel most of the day, but you still keep fit. He stroked and kneaded, and Wilson showed no signs of getting used to this, of summoning a workable frame of mind. Still got the tan, too, from that fortnight in Tenerife. Yeah, youre the best weve seen in a long time.
Thought you wanted to get started. Doyle was teasing. He had the first knife again, now, and was rubbing the handle between his palms as if warming it. Stop feeling him up, and give me room to work. Eh? He moved around to the right side of the chair, opposite Bodie, and knelt up with the knife in his left hand, ready for the sweep from knee to groin. Bodie took a grip on the denim, held the slit open.
Wilson was giving small, hoarse near-screams. Bodie glanced up. Hey, hes really shaking his head. Looking forward to it, Id say.
s what I like to hear. The knife went in just above the knee, came out after three inches. Then a thorough inspection, Doyle opening it to the full depth - about a quarter of an inch - while Bodie gazed down, breath now fast and loud. Ah, now he feels it. Takes a few seconds, doesnt it, Terry?
God, Ray, youre good. On a breath, with a note of awe close to pain.
Doyle withdrew his hands, pressed the bloody fingertips briefly to Bodies lips. Bodie groaned and his eyes sank closed for several seconds. Next onell be even better. Your favourite. Look. I can take it along this vein right up to here. A fingertip traced a curving path to within an inch of the groin. Wilson yelped, then when the knife was raised again, he started shaking his head frantically, pushing out a strangled shout with each shake. This time both agents looked at him: Doyle with curiosity, Bodie with growing impatience.
Huh. Doyle. Youd think he was trying to tell us something.
Just wants attention if you ask me.
Must be. cos I told him what to do, didnt I?
Well, I heard you. And you werent even speaking to me.
Doyle nodded, and they bent again to the thigh. Knife raised... But now Wilsons body was rocking backwards and forwards against the restraints.
Bodie looked up, then gave a sharp sigh. Ray. Hes nodding.
No! Doyle turned to check, then slumped. Bastard. Terry... A slow, disappointed shake of the head. I thought you were one of us. Bodie?
Bodie stood and went behind Wilsons head to unfasten the belt. At his signal, Doyle reached under the chair to start the tape recorder, and in the next second Wilson was giving them everything theyd asked for, and more. He talked for a good five minutes with pauses only to draw breath, looking straight up at the ceiling, not at them, not at his leg. When he stopped it was sudden, and he slumped forward, eyes closed. Doyle switched off the tape recorder, picked it up, and they left the room without speaking.
Still without speaking, they entered a room two doors along the corridor - another cell, this one with a hard, narrow bed. Doyle dealt with the door - shutting and securing the observation window, and turning the locks - and by the time he was finished Bodie was already in his position at the end of the bed: on his back, legs folded up to his chest, clothing hobbling his knees. Far from comfortable, but this never took long. Doyle lubricated himself with saliva and blood, and pushed in very slowly, holding his breath as he waited to discover how Bodie would be this time. Quiet? Or frantic? Or something altogether new?
Quiet. His most quiet. Not a sound throughout the steady, relentless penetration. Once it was complete, Doyle finally raised his head and sought Bodies face, and found it turned to the wall, with eyes tight closed. It looked like pain, like desperate denial, and it was only from experience that Doyle knew otherwise. For some time Doyle had suspected that if Bodie was ever going to come from the fucking, then it would be during one of the quiet times. But it was not today, and maybe that meant that Doyle should accept that it would be never. Possibly just as well - hed miss the ache in his jaws, the taste in his mouth, he knew he would.
They didnt linger afterwards. They never did. Crazy they might be, but not stupid. But there was always time for a kiss by the door. When they drew apart, Bodie turned and reached for the first lock, but Doyle pulled him back, not yet willing to relinquish control.
Each time, I find Ive forgotten how good you are. Bodie looked self-conscious, a sign that they were heading up to the surface, back to the ordinary world. You make yourself so tight, as if it really had been months. Do your other men appreciate it, what you do to make them think theyre the only one? Now Bodie was blushing, head turned again towards the wall. Doyle wouldnt accept that as an answer, and the whisper in Bodies ear was fierce. Do they, Bodie?
Two rapid blinks, a swallow, and Bodie was recovered, and his smile all wicked charm. Whyre you so sure youre not, eh? Reckon I could do better?
Reckon youve never known when youre well off. Hmm. A long, considering look - and Bodie was still grinning at him. Of course, its not your place to make an approach outright -
No, Ray. Of course. Mock-serious, now. Doyle wanted to take him back to the bed immediately.
- but we both know you could have done more to tell me that you were available.
But everyone on the squad knows semaphore. A secret handshake?
When weve finished with this - Doyle pointed to the the tape-recorder, which was on the floor to the left of the door. - youre coming home with me. I dont care how late it is. If youre claiming Im the only one, its time you learned what that means. He saw Bodies body jerk, heard the roughened breathing - more reaction than hed got during the fucking.
Hope it means youve got some plasters. I know Im out.
Enough for what youll need. Now you can unlock the door. Bodie looked at him, eyes intense, mouth opening - then nodded sharply and turned to deal with the locks. Doyle bent down to pick up the tape recorder, and within a minute they were back to work.