The tiny room reeked of death. The yellow barriers were still in place, the team of specialist agents had already finished the crime scene analysis, the only one left were the single bobby on duty and Charlie McGee. Bodie scowled when he saw the journalist, and grabbed a fist full of hounds tooth coat and frog marched the man downstairs.

“Oi! Bodie leave it out,” McGee complained.

“Precisely, old man, what I am attempting to do," Bodie answered again in that long low drawl which brooked no argument. McGee stiffened under his captor’s hands and with a final tug freed himself.

“C’mon you must have some idea what this nutter’s about.” McGee ever the professional sleaze prompted the irate CI5 agent.

“No, Charlie, no idea at all. Now be a good boy and run along home to the poodle.”

Charlie laughed and stepped back, “Hey that’s no poodle, that’s my wife.”

The duty officer snickered and stepped back towards the entrance of the block and watched.

“So why is CI5 involved then if you have no idea?” Charlie continued.

Bodie stopped in mid-stalk and turned back to the little man. “Go home, Charlie. And if I read so much as a whisper of this in that excuse you call a paper tomorrow I shall personally come and introduce you to the printing press, understand?”

Charlie nodded and headed back to his car.

“And your name is?” Bodie turned and unleashed his anger on the cop doing duty.

“Richards, sir.” The young bobby paled and stepped away.

“I suggest, son, that if you want to stay in the force you’ll do a damned site better if you kept the scum away.”

Not waiting for an answer, Bodie took the stairs two at a time head down and ran straight into a tall blond man.

“Watch where you're going,” the man said sharply in a very cultured English accent.

“Sorry,” he offered and looked up. Making his way slowly to the little room again, this time he entered fully. The outline of the dead boy was draped in tape ignominiously across the blood-soaked bed, the scrawls on the walls precise and defined.

Bodie frowned. In all the years he had seen the worst of life he always believed that the people capable of this type of horror were in effect insane. Never once did he doubt it, never once did he even consider that the perpetrator might be “normal.” As he looked at the scrawls again he felt a cold hand of revulsion crash over him, just as his own firmly held beliefs crumbled. There was nothing, nothing insane in the way the words were formed, and nothing mad in the way the letters were drawn discounting, of course, the blood.

He read the words again and again. “We have come to take you away from yourselves, surrender to us and we shall envelop you in the freedom you do not want. Only when you give yourselves to us shall you be whole.” And it was signed – “THRUSH”

Bodie vomited.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Even in the deep underground rooms of UNCLE headquarters the RT sounded. Doyle reached across the files on the desk and grabbed it, thumbing the switch to open the channel.

“Three seven, four five.” Bodie sounded tired.

“Four five.”

“Where are you?”

“Well I’d tell you but then you would have to die,” Ray answered flippantly.

“Ray,” the voice growled.

“Enjoying the hospitality of UNCLE London. Why, where are you?”

“On the way home, you want me to get anything?”

Ray looked across at Illya and winked, “Yeah fish and chips we’ll be home soon.”

“Your wish is my command,” Bodie answered falling into the pattern easily and then a slight pause before an almost plaintive, “Ray?”

“Yeah, Sunshine?”

“Don’t be too late.”

Ray closed the RT and went back to the paper work. Illya sat and tapped a pencil on the table and watched the mop of curls bend studiously over the files.

“You’re worried about him?” Illya asked.

Ray’s head snapped up as he turned jade-green eyes on the younger man, showing too much emotion and concern. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Why?”

Ray passed a hand across his face and sat back. “I don’t know, Bodie copes well with most of the atrocities of life. Just sometimes it shakes him.” He answered truthfully, feeling no betrayal in talking to the Russian so openly about his partner.

Illya shook his head slowly and a smile bent his lips. It was rueful and rife with understanding. “I could be wrong mind you, but I rather suspect that it goes beyond that.”

“How?” Doyle asked not sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

“His confusion over me is hurting you.” Illya watched the green eyes and saw the minute flinch.

For a brief eternity it looked as though Doyle would argue the point, deny the facts if possible. Instead truth won out and the head hung. Ray was surprised to feel the warm hand rest on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “If he lets you go Ray, he’d be making a terrible mistake.” The hand lingered for a moment and then withdrew, the warm place it had rested cooling rapidly as he looked up. Illya already had his jacket on and was standing by the door.

“We going somewhere?”

Illya nodded. “Home.” The Russian smiled and in one brief, blinding light Doyle knew exactly what his mad partner had seen in the slight blond before him.

“I’m all for that,” Ray managed after a few seconds.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Christian watched the comings and goings at the crime scene, a smile curving his lips. The emergence of the journalist was a stroke of pure genius. He licked his lips. Soon the message of THRUSH would be spread across the newspapers and across the world again. The message on the wall was sure to make the desired headlines. His own immortality confirmed by the hard man he had walked straight into. The revulsion across the fine features had fueled his need to make them understand.

And soon the hunt, the trail was warm. Couldn’t they see that, couldn’t they smell the blood the same way as he did? Didn’t they feel the adrenaline rush that he did, these men who would hunt him, the men who made this game enjoyable?

For years now he had watched them play tag with him. Only one had gotten close, the American who managed to get a shot at him. Oh, he was good. Very good, had him almost bagged. Napoleon Solo; the great UNCLE agent for the hemispheric office. And his partner; such a sweet delicacy, ready and prime, and oh so in need of attention.

Blond hair, blue eyes and a body ready and willing to give Solo anything he wanted, Christian mused, did Solo take? Did the American even see the Russian? Maybe it was time to open the American’s eyes to the treat then take his revenge. After all Solo had almost spoilt the game, had made him go to ground for a long time to recover, had cost him time and money and almost harmed his reputation. “Couldn’t have that now.” He muttered.

He turned and made his way to the Jaguar parked a street away. Yes, it would be this way. He always preferred blond boys, smart ones, and if they were foreign all the better. They begged so exotically when they were laid bare before him. And this Solo’s partner, Illya Kuraykin was smart already, held a Ph.D. in Quantum Mechanics, was Russian and was exactly what he had the taste for now.

He smiled. One day Solo would thank him. And he was a compassionate man he would give Solo, that one brief moment before he died of utter clarity. He would tell him how the Russian felt about him, tell him the name he would beg on his lips before he died. He would let Solo go to his grave knowing that he was a fool that he had been loved and had never tasted of that particular cup. Oh yes, it would be this way and this cup he would know had failed to pass by Solo’s lips would pass his own, and in the final moments Solo too would know that and take it to his grave.

Christian rubbed his hands together, he enjoyed his work. He challenged them to find him, to capture him to end his reign, and with absolute clarity knew that his reign would be a long time yet. He would take the Russian, Solo would die and then he would be rid of UNCLE. His power in THRUSH would never be argued, never questioned and he would rule supreme. Oh yes...he enjoyed his vocation.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"He's mad." Bodie announced at the dinner table as they sat around their fish and chips.

Solo was still out with the old man, probably at the club if the last message was accurate. Illya had found enjoyment in that, the old man taking the American to his club, a place Bodie had only ever traversed once and then only as 'Cowley's bloody trained monkey' to quote the CI5 agent correctly.

“No, he’s not,” Illya argued the point.

“He’s not exactly sane,” Doyle chipped in as he stuffed the fish into his mouth, long fingers found the napkin and wiped at the grease that spilled onto his chin.

“OK, Einstein,” Bodie addressed Illya directly, “if he’s not mad then what is he?”

Illya frowned as he burnt his tongue on the hot food and shrugged, “I realize you need to believe him mad, that for him to do what he did to his victims to come from a deranged mind is easier to believe than from a sane one. But there is a certain pattern but not enough for us to catch him. There is a certain set of rules he follows and just when he knows we have him, the rules change dramatically, throwing us off kilter.”

“So you’re saying that he plans this?” Bodie asked incredulously.

“Oh yes, quite definitely. This is not some random meandering of a lunatic mind. This is quite specific. I don’t say he is sane, but he is not mad. There is a difference. Brainwashing is often a form of paranoia that is quite sane, but leads the person to do obscene things.”

“So what makes him conditioned?” Doyle asked as he fixed a pot of tea.

“THRUSH, it is a substantial organization and capable of many things. Complete control over its minions is one of them. Of course a degree of social disassociation is required before hand.”

“So this is a career preferred by choice?” Bodie asked.

Illya took the mug of tea and smiled up at Doyle. “I wonder Bodie if this would bother you so much if you didn’t understand the mind behind the man.”

Bodie glowered and narrowed his eyes. Doyle turned his back and smiled at the perceptive barb thrown at his partner. “Don’t push it Illya.” Bodie growled from somewhere deep in his chest.

“I push nothing Bodie. But you have been in Africa, you have seen where people can be manipulated with very little cause, very little reason behind their acts except ingrained bigotry or stupidity. And you have been with soldiers and other operatives enough to know that we follow higher orders.”

“Are you suggesting that THRUSH would order this?” Doyle’s tone was disbeleiving as he forced the chip wrappers into the bin with a little more force than strictly necessary.

“No but they wouldn’t stop the actions of one of their top operatives. No matter what the personal views in the organization were. It's only when he becomes a loose cannon and threatens their operation that they will order his destruction.”

“Do they often disavow their own?” Doyle asked giving Bodie time to cope with his own feelings on the matter.

“About as often as we do,” Illya answered.

“Great.” Bodie mumbled as he snagged Doyle by the wrist and with a quick tug pulled the smaller man into his lap. Doyle smiled gently and allowed the bigger man to snuggle against his chest. Bodie’s eyes falling closed as he held his lover.

A small corner of Illya’s mind worked as he watched the two men before him, pleased that he was trusted enough to witness their love. Then a darker side caught him, the desire that he held so close to his heart, so well buried as to be almost non existent, the inane hope that one day Solo would hold him that way.

The thought died as he controlled the urges. For him it had been relatively simple, a long time ago he had accepted the fact that he was in love with his partner and had learned to deal with that. To restrain himself and to revel in the nearness of the man he loved, knowing that it was closer than any other could possibly be and that in truth he didn’t really need the sex. Just so long as Solo trusted him, kept his as a partner and honored him in the many little ways he already did. It was enough, had been enough for years. He closed his eyes again to the two men cuddling at the kitchen table and when he opened his eyes was staring into pits of liquid brown.

Solo smiled and rested his hand on the broad shoulder before him. “Gentlemen,” he acknowledged his hosts and drained the tea from Illya’s cup wincing when he hit the crust of sugar at the bottom.

“So how was the club?” Bodie asked his face still muffled against Doyle’s chest.

“Like most clubs, stuffy, boring and pretentious,” Solo answered simply.

“ Now I’ve heard everything,” Illya muttered as he stood up and headed upstairs to his room.

“Eh?” Solo asked quizzically of the retreating back.

“That you would find an upper class English gentlemen’s club pretentious...” Illya made small tutting noises in his throat and muttered as he left, “I wonder if it's possible THRUSH have messed with his mind. I know,” he said clicking his fingers. “They’ve swapped you again.”

Doyle laughed, the hair poking over his shirt tickling Bodie's nose till the big man also laughed. Solo sighed, shrugged and said his goodnights.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

The kitchen was quite as Doyle shifted in Bodies lap, his arm hooked around the broad shoulders gently stroking the short, dark hair.

“Ray.”

“Yeah sunshine.”

“I love you.” The voice was soft and echoed through Doyle's chest and straight to his heart.

“I know.” Doyle dropped a kiss on top of the bent head.

“I’ve been unfair to you love,” Bodie said again. So unlike the big ex-merc to speak of his feelings so openly that Doyle took pause to reflect and listen carefully.

“If it's any consolation, I can see what you saw in him and it's not been that hard. You see you big half-Irish bastard, I don’t have any doubts. None at all.”

Doyle's lips found his lover's, covering them, prying the soft lips apart and plundering the sweet depths. He tasted tea and vinegar and salt and beneath it all the man he loved. He tasted Bodie and for what seemed like an eternity drank of the divine wine, till his erection demanded its own attention.

Bodie traced the curve of hip, the flat of stomach across the faded jeans and let his hand rest against the bulging cock. He scratched lightly and Doyle arched back into the touch, skilled fingers opened the shirt as his mouth caught a sensitive nipple. Bodie’s teeth worried at the small nub until it hardened and he licked across the flesh. Doyle growled low in his throat, his heart pounding in time to the touch.

Standing up in one fluid motion, Bodie sat Doyle on the kitchen table and making sure the door upstairs had finally closed let his fingers travel to the zip that held his lover's cock trapped beneath unyielding layers of denim. He opened the jeans and still deep in the kiss pulled his lover to him, tiny kisses across the jaw and down the throat devouring and tasting every morsel of his special treasure, charting the writhing body with infinite patience.

Doyle panted and attempted to launch his own assault only to be held at bay until Bodie's hand found the throbbing shaft and began to gently stroke it, pausing every so often to tug at the head or swirl his fingers in the clear pre-cum.

The jeans lay around his ankles and he was pulled to his feet, his cock colliding with the linen of his lovers pants and underneath that, the strong powerful manhood pulsing in time with his own. Swooning, he leaned forward kissing Bodie’s mouth, a long time broken only by the occasional gasps for air.

“Sunshine,” Bodie retreated from the attack and held Doyle still in his arms. The smaller man's body was rocking in need of release, desperate now, he whimpered at the loss of touch. “Ray, turn around.”

His sex-fogged brain impeded by the denim around his ankles complied as he leaned against the kitchen table spreading his legs as far apart as he could. His hands braced on the wood as he expected the assault, what he felt sent shocks of sensation through his over aroused body. Bodies tongue licked at his anus pushing in past the tight ring of muscle and replaced by blunt fingers as the tongue continued to lick and nip its way up to his waist. Fingers splayed against his arse cheeks pulled him open and he felt the snub nose of Bodie's cock drive into him in one fluid motion.

A cry erupted from dry lips as he rocked back into the feel of being filled by his lover, the pain liquid fire up his spine. Bodie pulled him up with him, leaning his back against his chest as he guided Rays hand towards his jutting cock.

“Play with yourself for me love.” He whispered into Ray’s ear, “Let me see you come.” He watched the rhythmic stroking over Ray’s shoulder, his cock surrounded by tight hot velvet as he spent himself in the channel only seconds before Ray's own cum splattered his hands and the tabletop.

He lay back against Bodie's chest , his own body spent and drained as he felt the jeans pulled back over the tender flesh, the fresh cum spilling from his backside and the hot throb where Bodie's cock had been kept him on edge.

“You ready for round two?” Bodie whispered into the turned ear. Pausing only long enough to clean the tabletop.

“Yes...oh yesss,” Ray whispered as his lover captured his hand led him upstairs to the shower.