Pros Drabbles

Rather than give each 100 word fic its own page, I decided to dedicate a page to such stories in each fandom. These stories were written for a variety of reasons. Some, just for fun. Others, for challenges. I like the discipline of trying to tell a story in 100 words. Mostly because I tend to use a heck of a lot more than that usually.

Work of Art

There were times when Bodie cursed the day he'd joined CI5.

Meagre pay. Lousy hours. Too many spent sitting on his arse, waiting.

Like now, tucked in a Hull bedsit, watching the rundown semi-detached opposite. Rain splatted against the windowpane, like one of those modern paintings Ray was always going on about.

See how the colour blends, Bodie, on the canvas, not the palette. Beautiful, yeah?

Only Hull had no colour. Just grey. Countless shades of it.

The door opened. "Oi! Got your sandwich, you lazy sod."

Green eyes met his.

Beautiful, yeah.

Fuck Hull. Bodie's world had colour enough.

Honey

No one who knew him would call Doyle sweet.

Tart was more like it.

Sharp tongue, cutting wit. Toughness as much metal as mettle.

His body was like that too, all angles and edges. Hard muscle shielding harder bone.

But Bodie knew how to pierce Doyle's armour. He would press his partner close, absorbing Doyle's anger, his restlessness, the thing inside him that never knew enough.

When it all got too much, Bodie would hold him, whispering, "Easy, mate."

And secure in Bodie's arms, Doyle would surrender, as he would to no other. His armour vanishing, revealing only a man.

Lost & Found

"Bodie, where the fuck are you?"

Doyle scanned Amberley's spacious grounds.

"Come on, mate. Where're you hiding?"

Agents and coppers buzzed about the place like vengeful bees, hustling villains into custody. Doyle ignored them. He had a different mission.

He searched the orchard, the hedgerows, followed an ancient stone wall as if it were the road to El Dorado.

Yet he sought a very different treasure.

Then he spied a hand framed in the gazebo doorway.

"Bodie!"

And discovered his partner bloodied, but breathing. A small mercy.

"Thought I'd lost you, mate."

"Nah," Bodie whispered, smiling. "Found is more like."

The Power of Words

"Doyle? Stop pissing about and answer me!"

Doyle stood, statue still, at the door, and turned to look at Bodie, his gaze narrow and incendiary. "I've nothing to say to you, mate."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Fuck off."

Reaching out, Bodie grabbed Doyle's shoulder. Doyle shrugged him off, and faced him, hands fisted.

Bodie didn't flinch. "No time for chat? Punch-up more your style then?"

"Past time for chat, more like."

"Why? Because we ended up not needing words last night?"

"No. Because this morning the first thing you said was 'This doesn't mean things have to change, right?'"

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