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Like a Moth to a Flame (2/6 of the Fire Series)

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When he’d left Bodie in front of The King’s Arms, propped up between Murphy and Anson, he’d issued one simple instruction to the lads.

“If you drop him, make sure he falls backwards. If he gets any uglier Susan won’t take him off our hands.”

Bodie’s reply had been mumbled but had contained an anatomically impossible suggestion involving Ray, a goat and the Archbishop of Canterbury to which he’d responded with the standard two-fingered salute as he’d walked across the car park.

By the time he’d returned with the Capri, Murphy and Anson had transmuted into blonde twins, who were laughing hysterically at something Bode had obviously just said or done.

“Girls, girls, now pay attention.” They clutched at Bodie as he started to lurch sideways. “This is my mate, Ray, my best mate, the best mate a bloke could ever have. He—”

“All right, Bodie, they get it.”

“Ray, meet Crystal and...” Bodie’s face screwed up as he tried to concentrate through his alcoholic haze. “Tiffany. They’re twins.”

He looked more closely at the strippers he’d hired, but never met before. “Not really though, right?”

“This one’s sober, Tiff, he can actually see past our tits.” Crystal put a hand on his arm.

He smiled at the girls and they smiled back.

“You don’t need to give me a lift mate, these lovely ladies have offered me a nightcap back at their place.”

“Sorry, ladies” He gently extracted Bodie from their grasp, pulling Bodie’s arm up over his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around Bodie’s waist “only I promised his fiancée I’d get him home safely.”

Over Bodie’s slurred protests that he wasn’t married yet, the girls had kissed Bodie on both cheeks leaving lipstick smears behind as evidence and Tiffany had slipped her telephone number in to Bodie’s trouser pocket, her fingers lingering.


He sat bolt upright on the couch, already reaching for his gun, before he realized that it was a loud thud and a curse from Bodie’s bedroom that had woke him. He waited on the end of Bodie’s bed for him to come back from the loo.

“You still here then?”

Bodie’s pale body, clad only in black briefs, almost glowed in the early morning light filtering through the curtain. He dug his fingers into the fur bed cover to stop himself from reaching out and caressing Bodie as he clambered back in to bed.

“Yeah, still here.” He moved closer, drawn like a moth to a flame. “It’s the best man’s job to make sure you survive your stag night.”

Bodie threw one arm across his face and Doyle’s eyes dropped to Bodie’s briefs, imagining mouthing his cock through the taut fabric.

“I’ll do the same for you, Ray, when you meet the right bird.”

He started. “And if it’s not a bird?”

Bodie lowered his arm. “What?”

He reached out and stroked one hand slowly down the length of Bodie’s chest only stopping when Bodie grabbed his wrist.

“What are you playing at?”

“You were going to fuck those girls, so why not me? I know you’re in love now, but like you said last night, you’re not married yet, live a little.”

Now?” Bodie pushed his hand away. “I was drunk off my arse, I didn’t mean it. Go home, Doyle.”