Title:     Stage Fright
Author:    Augustus
Email:     gaius_octavius_@hotmail.com
Fandom:    The Bill
Pairing:   Skase and Boulton
Rating:    Um, I'm crap at this, but probably M/NC17 for language and sexual
           shenanigans. It's all pretty much implied, though.
Status:    New & Complete
Category:  First Time, Angst. Sound familiar?
Series:    A sequel to Just An Act.
Archival:  All official list archives are fine. Anyone else just ask. I'm not
           about to say no *g*
Warnings:  Very minor spoiler warnings for "Ticking Clocks", "Badlands" (&
           the rest of the Quinnan Suite *g*) and "A Question of Trust".
           Not so much that I give anything away, really, more that a few
           comments would make more sense if you had seen the episodes.

Feedback:  I live for it *g*. Email or onlist. Whatever *g*.
Summary:   The follow-up to the events in Just An Act. John and Rod have
           gone back to the Skase abode......

Disclaimer: I don't even know who *does* own The Bill. Thames Television,
perhaps? Anyway, this is just my little way of showing my appreciation. To
sue the hell out of me would be a rotten thing to do, seeing as you've
already got rid of Rodney and are about to do the same to John.

Notes: Somehow along the way, John's house became Rod's house. So shoot me.



***********************
Stage Fright
***********************


[ONE ]
// John Boulton //

This room screams "Skase". From the intentionally impressive books lying
'casually' on the coffee table, to the leather jacket discarded on a sagging
chair, it couldn't better represent its owner. Hell, it even *smells* like
him. That spicy, enticing scent that I really *must* identify before the not
knowing drives me insane.

Perhaps I should ask him.

Or would that make me sound like some kind of kinky pervert? // My name is
Detective Sergeant John Boulton, and I go around sniffing Detective
Constables......// It's not a serial thing, though. It's only him.

There's a photo of him on the side table beside the couch I'm sitting in.

That's definitely a woman standing beside him. I'm a detective. It's my job
to notice these things. Blonde; surprise, surprise. What is it with Rod and
his blonde bimbos?

Funny, I don't remember him talking about anyone serious enough to
photographically grace the Skase bachelor pad. Selective hearing, perhaps.
I wonder if I've got my signals crossed. Perhaps she's a current flame.
Perhaps this is all just one cruel joke. Perhaps he does this to poor,
unsuspecting Detective Sergeants all the time.

Prick.

How could he do this to me? Drag me here just to take his pleasure from my
humiliation...... God, it's no wonder that he's always irritated me.

Unless he's serious.

Oh, God, what if he *is* serious? I'm not sure I can cope with this. An
interlude is all very well, but I'm in way too deep already. There's some
sort of gravitational pull around this man. It might only affect me.
Probably some weird chemical I have an excess of in my blood stream.

That's it. It's a disease, that's what it is. I shall sell my story to
'Hello!' magazine for millions and I shall never have to work again. I think
I'll call it Acute Rodneyitis. Yeah. That has a nice ring to it.
I have to know who the woman is. There's no point in sitting here hoping if
he's just playing me for a fool.

"Rod?" I call, my voice coming out sounding as though it belongs to someone
else.

"Yeah?"

His voice echoes in the kitchen, where he's busy getting us the teas I asked
for, in order to stall for time.

"Who's the woman in the photo beside the couch?"

Rod turns up at the door to the kitchen.

"What, the blonde?"

I try to keep my voice even.

"That's the one."

He grins. Obviously I haven't been as convincing as I had hoped to be.

"Jealous, John?"

"No."

My reply is even less convincing.

"Well, she's my sister," Rod laughs. "Her name's Joanne. Or is that too
cliched an excuse for you to believe?"

"I believe you."

He smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling enticingly.

"Tea's almost ready. I'll be with you in a minute."

"Okay."

Once I'm left alone again, I have another look at the photo. Now that I know
to look for it, I *can* see quite a strong similarity between Rod and this
Joanne in the picture. She's a lot fairer than he is - possibly the work of
a peroxide bottle - but they have the same nose, and the same eyes. It works
a lot better on him. Of course, I could be a little biased......

I really must stop jumping to conclusions. It's got me into trouble enough
times with my job, let alone in my social life.

I shrug off my jacket, finally beginning to warm up from the walk back to
Rod's house. As I do so, my radio falls out onto the couch.

"Shit!" I exclaim, causing Rod to come running.

"What's wrong?"
The concern in his voice warms me somewhere deep within my chest.

"What with...... uh...... everything else...... I completely forgot to radio the
nick to let them know the obbo was a bust."

He grins sheepishly.

"Oops. I didn't even think about that."

"Understandable. Oh well, I'll just radio through now. They don't have to
know it's been half an hour since we lost Barratt and Fielding."

"Which means half an hour more overtime for us, right, Sarge?" Rod asks,
grinning evilly.

"Just a side benefit," I grin back. "My approach to this job has always been
one of 'what they don't know, won't hurt them'."

"I've noticed," Rod remarks dryly over his shoulder as he vanishes back into
the kitchen. "I've been on the *end* of that approach a few times myself."

I wonder what he could have meant by that remark? Am I meant to take it as
the light hearted comment it sounded like, or as a greater criticism on my
work ethic?

If only Skase realised that I would never intentionally keep him in the
dark - except for where my feelings for him were concerned. Rod's one of the
few people in this job whom I actually have an ounce of respect for. I'd
tell him anything and everything...... if only he would ask.

I pick up my radio and idly toss it from one hand to the other while I work
out what to say to whomever answers the call. I can't very well tell the
truth. Somehow I don't think Deakin would be at all interested in an excuse
that involves me kissing his current golden boy.

And besides, if tonight turns out to be a one off, I'm going to be in a bad
enough state as it is, even without all of uniform teasing me in the halls
about certain indiscretions with my inferior officers. I bet George Garfield
would *love* to have this to hold against me.

Well, he's just not going to be handed it by me. I can't control Rodney -
hell, no-one can - but I can at least make sure that the news doesn't escape
from my mouth.

No, as far as Sunhill nick is going to know, Rod and I lost our targets in
the crowd.


 [TWO]
// Communication from D.S. Boulton to Sunhill Police Station. //
// Saturday Morning - 12:07am //

BOULTON:  D.S. Boulton to Sierra Oscar, are you receiving?

HOLLIS: What's up, Sarge?

BOULTON: Just calling in to say that tonight's obbo was a bust. Rod and I
lost our subject in the crowd.

HOLLIS: Received. Deakin's not going to be too happy about this, is he,
Sarge?

BOULTON: Well, I wouldn't know, would I, Reg? You'd have to ask *him* that.

HOLLIS: He's not here, though, is he?

BOULTON: Yeah well, Reg, when you get to be a D.I. you don't have to hang
around outside in the middle of the night freezing your arse off any more.

HOLLIS: I thought you went to that gay club tonight, Sarge.
(There is a deep sigh from Boulton.)

BOULTON: Yes, *tonight* I was.

HOLLIS: (Snickering) See anyone you fancied, Sarge?
(There is a short silence.)

BOULTON: Of course not, Reg. Look, I have to go. Someone just came into the
gents and I don't want to blow my cover.

HOLLIS: Right you are, Sarge. Enjoy the rest of your night.
(There is a low, muttered comment from Boulton. It sounds an awful lot like
"smarmy git".)

- End transmission -


 [Three]
// Rodney Skase //

It felt eminently wrong to have brought my superior back to my home for less
than innocent reasons. I certainly hadn't set out for last night's operation
with that intention in mind. Then again, if I'm going to start listing all
the things that weren't part of Deakin's earlier briefing, I hadn't planned
on kissing him either.

Plans change.

It's not like I haven't thought about Boulton in this way before. Hell, it's
crossed my mind many a time when I'm sitting at my desk watching the office
get on with it's work around me. The thoughts hit me even harder whenever I
see him in action. There's no wonder surrounding the fact that a lot of my
fellow work mates call him "Robocop" behind his back. I've never seen
another cop with greater dedication to the job. I mean, I want to get out
there and catch crims, sure, but I just don't have the commitment that he
has.

I'm not sure that I'd *want* to.

He's a good looking man, too. I'm certainly not going to deny that. He
seemed to wrap that scrawny blonde-tipped profiler around his little finger
during that time she spent annoying the hell out of the rest of us. I think
she's out of the picture, now.

I hope she is.

Recently, it's been more than just my usual watching, however, as much as I
try to deny it. There's something more there than just that familiar old
feeling of unsatisfied lust. Although *that's* certainly still there too. Oh
my God it's still there. I just have to look at the bloke for my insides to
turn into the proverbial mush. And kissing him......

I doubt that I would have been able to stop if he *had* told me to.

But he didn't. I can't believe it, but he didn't! He seemed to be enjoying
it quite a bit too, although I've never been a fantastic judge of that sort
of thing. The amount of times that I've got hold of the absolute wrong end
of it with women has got to be into the triple digits by now. Perhaps it'll
be different with Boulton, though. Perhaps the communication will be less of
a mine field when it's another man I'm trying to understand.

Hell, I don't know. I've not done this before.

It's silly, really. I mean, how much more of a cliché could I be living?
Falling for my superior officer, of all people. If it wasn't for the whole
issue of him being a bloke, this could be right out of a Mills and Boon
novel. Although, I'm not exactly sure I'd ever be cast in the part of
blushing heroine. I don't *do* blushing.

Although, I *have* noticed that John's not exactly a stranger to it.

Sometimes I wonder whether there's anything I *haven't* noticed about
Boulton. It feels as though I've catalogued every last detail about him. He
has a small, dark mole just behind his right ear. You can only see it from
the right angle. There's something about it that makes you want to kiss it.
Or perhaps that's just me.

I don't know what to do about this. I feel as though I've come down with
some new, previously undiscovered disease. Perhaps I could make my millions
through identifying it to the public. The only problem is that I doubt it's
an ailment suffered by anyone other than myself. And I severely doubt that
it's communicable.

Actually, I hope it isn't. I've always been the jealous type.

As I pour hot water into the two cups in front of me, I can't help but smile
happily. Although he denied it, I'm pretty sure that Boulton was motivated
by a bit of jealousy himself when asking about the photo of my sister. It's
a good feeling. I like the thought of Robocop being a little less immovable
than he seems. It makes me feel almost as though I have a chance with the
man. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

I can hear him talking into his radio now in the other room. Although I can'
t make out the words, I have a feeling that it might be Hollis who he's
talking to, going simply by the tone of his voice. There aren't many of us
around the station who can stand old Reg, but Boulton's less tolerant of his
idiocy than most. I don't blame him. The bloke's a prat. And as for his
hair......

It sounds like he's finished on his radio.

"Sarge?" I call. "How do you have it?"

"White and one," comes the reply.

It's funny but I wouldn't have picked him for one to take sugar with his
tea. He presents such an image of being the ultimate "hard man" of the
police force that milk and sugar just don't seem to fit.

I fix our drinks, dropping an extra teaspoon full of sugar into my own cup,
before spending an inordinate amount of time putting the makings away and
cleaning up the kitchen. All of a sudden, I don't want to go in there. There
's so much at stake. It's not just my hormones and my ego; it's my career as
well.

What if he's just playing with me? I took such a risk in kissing him and he
seemed to respond, but who knows, really? He could be quietly chucking away
to himself in my lounge right at this moment. He's probably laughing about
how easily I've fallen for his little prank. I'm not stupid. I know there
are much more popular people around the Sunhill nick. I've got up quite a
few people's noses in my time. But I've never counted Boulton amongst the
most offended. In fact, we usually see eye to eye on most things. But just
because I can't think of a motive for him to humiliate me, that doesn't mean
that he doesn't have one.

I adore the guy, but I'm not blind to the fact that he's a bastard.

I need to decide what I want from this, but at the moment I'm still trying
to deny the fact that I want anything at all.

For Christ's sake, I can't believe that I'm this terrified. I come up
against things *much* worse than this every day in my career. I won't let
this annoying case of stage fright beat me.

I pick up our full cups and - plucking up all my courage - carry them into
the lounge room.


[Four]
// The perils of small talk //
// A conversation between D.S. John Boulton and D.C. Rod Skase //

BOULTON: That's a good cuppa.

SKASE: Thanks.

BOULTON: What sort of tea do you use?

SKASE: Harrods.

BOULTON: Ooh! Swanky high-class stuff!

SKASE: (Shrugging) I was brought up on the stuff.

BOULTON: I have to say, I'm never going to get used to these weaker Southern
brews.

SKASE: (Grinning .. .. .. he's heard this sort of story many times before)
Nothing's as good down here as it is up north, is it, Sarge?

BOULTON: John.

SKASE: .. .. .. eh?

BOULTON: Call me John. Please. We're not at work now.

SKASE: Okay Sar.. .. .. I mean, John.

BOULTON: I guess that feels rather strange.

SKASE: Yeah. Although, I *do* usually think of you as John inside my head.

BOULTON: (Pleased) You do?

SKASE: Yeah.

BOULTON: Just don't call me that around the others. They'd be making stuff
up before we could take a breath.

SKASE: Will they *need* to make it up?

BOULTON: I don't know.. .. .. What do you think.

SKASE: I don't know. It's not like most of them have any imagination to
speak of. I mean, look at Deakin. He has the chance of a lifetime to check
out how the other half lives on this whole obbo tonight, but instead he
chooses to stay at home.

BOULTON: You know, I think he knows the ol' Gilded Cage a lot better than he
would like to admit.

SKASE: You think?

BOULTON: I'd be willing to bet on it.

SKASE: Who would have thought.. .. ..

BOULTON: (Carefully) So, you haven't noticed that he has a real thing for
you?

SKASE: (Shocked and not a little disgusted) You're joking, right? Please
tell me you're joking, John!

BOULTON: (Smiling a little at the sound of his first name on Rod's lips) I
wish I could. It makes me as jealous as hell.

SKASE: (Smiling a little himself at this admission) Yeah?

BOULTON: (Shyly) Yeah.

SKASE: I'm flattered.

BOULTON: Why does that sound like a gentle put down?

SKASE: It wasn't meant to.

BOULTON: Oh.

SKASE: Deakin, eh?

BOULTON: Yeah.

SKASE: D'ya reckon this'll help my chances at promotion?

BOULTON: Only if you shag him or something.

SKASE: (Angrily) And you think I'd do that, do you?

BOULTON: No. Well.. .. ..

SKASE: Well?

BOULTON: You wouldn't, would you?

SKASE: Of course not! What do you take me for?

BOULTON: So that's not why you asked me here?

SKASE: I don't even think that question is worth an answer.

BOULTON: Sorry.

SKASE: Yeah, well, it's nice to know that you think I'd be able to
prostitute myself for my job.

BOULTON: I didn't say that.

SKASE: No? It certainly sounded like you did.

BOULTON: I didn't mean it to. Sorry. I guess I'm just nervous. Stage fright
or something.

SKASE: Yeah, well, I guess I can understand that.

BOULTON: I'm ballsing this whole thing up so badly.. .. ..

SKASE: I don't think either of us is doing particularly well.

BOULTON: (Managing a small smile) Perhaps we should start all over again.

SKASE: (Grinning again, finally) Definitely.

BOULTON: That's a good cuppa.. .. ..


[Five]
// John Boulton //

This is going badly. In fact, I might even be so bold as to say that it's
going *dreadfully*.

I can't believe that I managed to offend Rod so horribly within a few
minutes of attempting to talk to him. Honestly, I think my foot *lives* in
my mouth. Although, he's not exactly innocent of that charge himself......

I think he's forgiven me. I hope so. I certainly didn't mean to suggest that
he would prostitute himself to Deakin to further his career. It was just
that, once the idea was planted within my mind, it seemed to make a hell of
a lot more sense than Rod bringing me back here because he *liked* me. I
mean, this man could get anyone he wanted. Why would he give me a second
glance - let alone invite me into his home - without an ulterior motive?

"Look, Rod," I begin. "About before......"

He smiles wryly.

"What's say we forget all about that little conversation?"

I wish I could let it drop that easily, but I know that I'll never be able
to forgive myself if I do.

"I just want to say something first," I press.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, go on," he nods finally.

"I just want to say that I would never - deliberately - try to suggest that
you could ever prostitute yourself for your work. It was just......"
I pause, wondering whether I really want to be this honest. I'm encouraged
to continue by the warm look in Skase's eyes.

"It was just because I couldn't believe you'd actually like me for myself,"
I finish all in a rush.

I notice a flicker of surprise in Rod's eyes.

"Why not?" he asks curiously.

The corner of my mouth twitches in a wry smile.

"That's a silly question, isn't it?" I ask incredulously. "I mean, pretty
much *everyone* hates me at Sunhill by now."

"I don't hate you," Rod says simply.

"They all think I'm bent," I go on, ignoring his last comment. "I think Don
Beech is the only one who doesn't think so. And I'm *positive* they still
blame me for what happened to Dave Quinnan."

"I don't, and I don't," Rod replies, grinning slightly. "We all bend the
rules a little when it suits us to do so. It's just that you arrived at the
nick with a reputation for being a little feisty, so naturally all the
goody-goodies around the place are going to be watching your every mood. And
as for Dave Quinnan, that sort of thing happens all the time in our line of
work. If he can't accept that, then maybe he's not cut out for the job."

I can't help but grin stupidly back at him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now do you believe that I could be interested in you beyond
nefarious reasons?"

"Not really," I shrug. "But I guess that's just me."

He smiles evilly. It does something to my insides that doesn't feel
altogether bad.

"What would I have to do to convince you?" he asks, discarding his empty
coffee cup on the floor and moving over to sit on the couch next to me.
I blink, those signals too clear for even someone as dense as myself to be
able to miss.

"Uh...... I...... I don't know," I stammer, attempting a weak smile myself. "I
guess you could continue what you started back at the Gilded Cage."

"Yeah?" he asks softly, taking my own cup from my hand and placing it next
to the photo of him and his sister on the table beside the couch.

"Yeah."

The smile is beginning to come a little easier now. It's like we've been
thrust back into the game, and the game is one thing I feel comfortable
within the boundaries of. It's only when you place me on a couch in a
strange house, trying unsuccessfully to make small talk with the man of my
dreams that I really begin to flounder.

The man of my dreams. What a strange phrase that is. But if there were
really such a thing, then Rodney would have to be it. Especially in these
leather trousers he's wearing tonight. Those things ought to be illegal. I
certainly doubt that there's any sort of illegal drug out there that could
effect my blood pressure in such a way. Perhaps I could have a word with
Brownlow when I go into work on Monday.

Then again, with last night's little cock-up, I'll probably be too busy
being bawled out by good ol' D.I. Deakin.

No pun intended.

"And how exactly would I go about doing that?" he asks now.

He widens his eyes and looks at me in such a manner that I feel as though I'
m about to melt right through the fabric of the couch. I'm not usually one
to go for blue eyes, but there's something about *his* eyes that makes me
want to change my ways. It's a blue with extraordinary character, as
changeable as my own hazel, and yet infinitely more appealing to me.

"Oh, I don't know," I grin, once I remember how to string syllables together
to form words and sentences. "You could certainly start by moving a little
closer......"

"Hmmm......" he muses, eyes giving away the fact that it's all just another
scene in this act we've been playing out all night. "That sounds like an
awful lot of effort......"

"Surely I'm worth it?" I throw back.

"Yeah......  perhaps."

The glint in those eyes is positively evil, now. He's not going to let me
get anywhere without a fight.

"Only perhaps?" I smirk, knowing full well that it's one of my more
attractive expressions.

The look on his own face would suggest that it's not a fact that has gone
unnoticed by Skase.

"Oh *hell* no," he says finally, and suddenly he's almost sitting right in
my lap.

I can feel his thigh pressing warm against my own, and the scent of his
cologne is overwhelming again - and in only the best sense of the term.
I can't help it. I just have to ask before I lose the power of speech
altogether.

"What are you wearing?" I ask shyly. "It's Calvin Klein, isn't it."

"Obsession," he nods, grinning. "But you can't change the subject that
easily, John!"

I love the sound of my name when he says it. Hell, I love the sound of
*anything* when he says it.

"I wasn't trying to change the subject," I admit. "It's just I've been
trying to work out the scent all night."

"Well now you know," Rod smiles. "And you can transfer all of that attention
back to me!"

"My attention has been on you all night and you know it!" I exclaim.

"I know."

And with that, he leans in and his lips reclaim mine. And all attention is
refocused on the sensation of his kiss.


[Six]
// Random Thoughts //
// Documentary of a Kiss //

BOULTON: Oh my God.

SKASE:  Oh my God.

BOULTON: Oh. My . God!

SKASE:  Oh. My. God!

BOULTON: It wasn't this good in the Gilded Cage. Sure, it was good - it was
very good - but I don't think it was this good.

SKASE:  I hope he thinks I'm an okay kisser......

BOULTON: Sooo good.

SKASE:  ......Because he's fantastic! *This* is fantastic!

BOULTON: I hope I'm doing okay here......

SKASE:  Really fantastic.

BOULTON: He would tell me if I was crap. I'm sure he would. Well, I hope so,
anyway.

SKASE: How am I ever going to look at this guy in the office again without
thinking about throwing him onto one of the desks and kissing him until I
died from lack of oxygen?

BOULTON: There's no way that I would ever be able to order Rod around after
this. Hell, I'm not his superior. I'm not even his equal. I just can't turn
a man to liquid like he can.

SKASE: Forget rank, if John asked me to walk on fire I would do it just
because he had asked me to do so. Hell, I feel as though I'm a*lready*
walking on fire! I'm burning up. In a *good* way. Sergeant or not, this man
can order me around as much as he wants!

BOULTON: I wonder if it would be too pathetic if I  bought a bottle of CK
Obsession just so I could smell it all day long......

SKASE: I wonder what that cologne *he's* wearing is. He asked me about mine,
so I guess it would be okay for me to ask. I wouldn't want it to seem as
though I was more interested in smelling him than kissing him, though......

BOULTON: God, I really do go around sniffing Detective Constables. Well - at
least I go around sniffing *this* Detective Constable.

SKASE: I don't think that it's possible for me to be more interested in
anything than kissing him. Well......

BOULTON: I could do this all night. Not that there aren't other things that
I'd like to do......

SKASE: I wonder if it's bad workplace etiquette to shag your superiors......

BOULTON: I wonder if it's bad workplace etiquette to shag your inferiors......

SKASE: I suppose there's no reason that anyone would have to find out......

BOULTON: We wouldn't have to tell anyone, though, would we?

SKASE:  That's if he wants to shag me......

BOULTON: It's not like it'll be an issue anyway.....

SKASE:  Oh my *God*, he's good at this.


[Seven]
// Rodney Skase //

If I had realised that kissing Boulton would feel this damn good, I think I
would have done so sooner. Never mind shyness or rank or even whether or not
he was up for it. This would be worth *anything*. Hell yeah.

But you know, now that it's happening, somehow it's not enough anymore. And
I'm not just talking about sex here, because it's gone beyond that, without
me ever intending it to do so. And yes, I want him that way, but I want
something more too. Something so much more.

Something I could never request.

Yet it's this that consumes my mind now, not what's happening at this
moment. It's not what his hands are doing with the buttons of my shirt, or
what mine are doing to the zipper of his jeans. It's not the feel of his hot
mouth on mine or of the battle of our tongues. It's not even the heat of his
body pressed tight against my own.

It's something else.

And it's thoughts and not actions that are beginning to consume me; emotions
and not sensations that are taking away my control. It's as though my
resolve has abandoned me for good and areas of my mind that I thought I had
closed and nailed planks across have been ripped wide opened and exposed to
things they can't possibly defend against. People they can't possibly defend
themselves against.

Him.

Oh dear god, him.

And this is not good. I should be pushing him away; telling him to get out
of my mind. But I won't. I can't. And I'm not sure that I want to.
And his body is just as I have imagined it, now that it's suddenly made its
way into my sight and not just my hopeful imaginings late at night when I
can try to pretend that it's just me being tired, and not due to any real
underlying emotions. It's certainly not helping me forget what this is doing
to me. *He's* not helping.

Perhaps I should just ask him to stop. Tell him that this is effecting me
too deeply; tell him that I'm not sure I'll be able to cope with reality
again once the dream of tonight is over.

But I won't do that, and there will be no one to blame but myself as always,
when I wind up hurt and lost and alone. And I say always, but this is the
first time. Not just with him but for me as well. Nothing has dug this deep
before. No one has dug this deep.

I've never let anyone.

And this one is different, and it's not just the way he feels as his body
slides hot against mine, hard and urgent and so damn *right*. This one means
so much more to me than I want him to. This one's going to tear me into
pieces and throw them into the flames he's fanning within me right at this
moment.

And I'll let him. I'll probably beg him to do it.

I'm probably imagining the gentleness of his touch; probably making what I
want of the damp hand stroking the long fringe back from my eyes. And for
this moment I'm going to pretend that he's not just here for the sex; going
to let myself believe that there might be nights beyond this one. Days even.
Mornings. Evenings.

Lifetimes.

I know I'm foolish to set myself up in such a major fashion. But for now
this is what I need and this is what I want more than I ever could have
realised before this moment. And once it's over the fall will be greater and
I'll regret it - hate myself for it. But it's not over yet. I want to taste
the sweetness of what will never be so that at least I'll have that memory
when I no longer have these sensations.

And suddenly we're standing and I'm guiding him to my bedroom, although I'm
not quite sure how I'm managing to move my limbs. I just want to hold him
forever; only barely releasing him even now, making our progress more
difficult than really necessary.

But I don't care, because I'm postponing the inevitable moment when I'm
going to have to face the truth.

He's the one in control here, which makes sense, as he *is* my boss, after
all. I guess he's done this before, although I don't want to know. I don't
want to know anything about *anyone* he's been with in the past. For this
moment at least I think I can pretend that I'm the only one.

And by God it's good.

And his kisses are so soft that I can almost believe that he's thinking the
same as I am...... feeling the things that I am...... hoping the things that I
am.

And I would have thought that his arms would be looser or harsher or
*something*. Just not this gentle, and not caressing me rather than just
grabbing me to him as I would have expected them to. Just not like this.

Nothing like this.

It's almost as though he's loving me, rather than just shagging me. And I
shouldn't be using that word - know I shouldn't - but somehow it creeps
inside my thoughts anyway. And I try to push it aside but it just keeps on
crawling back past my defences; past my attempts. Until it seems too hard to
even try any more.

Until it's just so much easier to give in.

I can pretend all I like that I don't really care, but this isn't casual
sex - could *never* be casual. Not when he means so much to me, although I
could never admit it. Not when this joining of our bodies is more a
revelation than a release. Not when meeting his eyes...... returning his
smile......tasting his lips...... speaks of beauty to me rather than just of
lust.

Although that's there too.

And it's over too soon. Always too soon. I refuse to let him go yet. I still
want to hold him - want to hold him forever. I need to memorise every curve
and plane of his body while I still can. I need this. It's not a matter of
want any more. It stopped being that long ago.

And he's not making any protest, seeming to want (need?) this as much as I
do. His mouth still seeks mine, although his kisses are languid now, his
passion sated, even if his lips are not. His arms are still wrapped tight
around me, his much smaller body fitting mine more truly than it rightfully
should. And his eyes are still looking at me in the same way.

As if he wants (needs?) me too.

"John," I begin, not knowing where my words are going, but somehow feeling
the need to speak nonetheless.

"Um-hmm?"

His voice is tired, satisfied - happy? I can't read his words, as much as I
try.

"I......"

I can't find the syllables, my tongue thick and my mind hazy and tumbled
with thoughts I don't want to accept.

"Yeah?"

Gently prompting me, trying to entice the words from my uncooperative mouth.

"That...... that meant a lot to me."

And now his gaze is sharper, as if he's trying to read between my words,
trying to find a deeper truth within. I feel exposed, threatened.
Waiting......

"Me too," is the eventual response.

A flicker of the eyes, a tentative smile and somehow I know that it's all
going to be okay. That we're going to work this out - that I might actually
be able to handle this, whatever ends up happening.

And you know, his eyes are telling me that whatever it is, is going to be
good. Fantastic......

The ultimate performance.


[Eight]
// Aftermath //
// Just another day at work? //

(Monday Morning. D.S. Boulton enters the CID office, looking as though he's
actually in a good mood!)

BOULTON: Good morning, everyone!

RAWTON: (Whispered to Holmes) What's up with him?

HOLMES: (Whispered back) I'm not sure I've ever seen him happy before......

RAWTON: (And again) Something's very wrong with this picture.
(Boulton practically tosses his suit jacket onto the CID coat-stand {TM} and
nearly bounces over to his desk, huge grin plastered on his face.)

BOULTON: (To Daly) Morning, Geoff!

DALY: (Guarded) Uh...... morning, John.
(D.C. Skase enters the CID office, seeming to be in an equally good mood.)

SKASE: Morning everyone!
(By now, everyone else in CID is looking rather scared. Something's up with
CID's two most petulant fellows......)

LENNOX: (Slowly) Uh...... hello, Rodney......

SKASE: (Placing his own leather jacket on the coat-stand and looking fondly
at the familiar suit jacket on the hook beside it) Hi, Duncan! Wonderful
morning, isn't it?

LENNOX: Uh...... sure, sure......
(He exchanges a 'look' with the others. Suddenly an expression of horror
appears on his face.)

LENNOX: (Whispered) Oh dear God, don't tell me......
(Around the office, the other members of the CID club are coming to the same
conclusion. Bemused looks are flying all over the place. Skase and Boulton
seem to be oblivious.)

BOULTON: So - any leads on this affair with Barratt and Fielding?
(It's just another day at work, really. Apart from the looks being exchanged
between one particular Detective Sergeant, and one particular Detective
Constable, that is......)


FIN
Augustus, July 2000