Author: Eggbert

E-mail: mbejane2000@yahoo.com

Fandom: Midsomer Murders

Disclaimer: The characters are the creation of Caroline Graham and therefore are her property, not mine. Damn shame.

Pairing: Tom Barnaby/ Gavin Troy, implied Jack Dorset/Peter Drinkwater

Rating: R

Summary: 'Dalliance' is a delightful word, one of which Joyce Barnaby approves wholeheartedly.

Spoilers: For the 'Judgement Day' episode.

A/N: Much as I love this series, one or two canon errors may have crept in which a more observant fan may pick up on. The errors are entirely my fault.  Apologies in advance.

Dedicated to Carmen, Louise and Chris.

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Passion Play


Joyce Barnaby looked up from the book she was reading in time to see her husband stoop to pick up a carrier bag that clinked gently.

"Where are you off to? " she asked with a smile.

"I'm going to see Sergeant Troy, " replied Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby.

"Gavin? What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"The Midsomer Mallow case. For some reason it's upset him. I just want to make sure he's all right. And I'm taking a couple of bottles of your rhubarb and elderflower wine along to see if that'll help him tell me what's wrong."

Joyce's eyes narrowed. She hadn't been married to Tom for all these years without picking up his various hints and subtexts. Ever since the personable young sergeant had become Tom's CID partner there had been a change in her husband. He was fond of the young man, she knew. But was there more to it?

"I have a feeling there's something important he wants to tell me," added Barnaby with a very familiar grin. Joyce recalled the chat she had had with her daughter shortly after her return home following the conclusion of the murder case and felt a familiar tingling.

"Have fun then," she said. "I'll still be up when you get back. "

The evening was hot and sultry and Barnaby was grateful for the occasional breath of air as he walked through the quiet streets of Cawston to where Gavin Troy had his flat. Impatiently he thumbed the doorbell.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

The doorchimes made Gavin start. It was too hot and he had been completely lost in his own thoughts, angry with himself for wanting to take the arrogantly beautiful Peter Drinkwater to bed and screw all the bad temper out of him. And wasn't there just the tiniest hint of relief when the young man had been found murdered with a pitchfork at Windy Whistle Farm? Relief that his secret would be kept safe for another little while?

But lust for a beautiful boy was merely fudging the issue; his problem was greater than that. The outside world perceived Gavin Troy as being poker straight, slightly homophobic and that was the way he wanted them to think. But in the pit of the night when his hand crept down to touch himself it was Tom Barnaby he thought of and it always spurred a furious climax as he fantasised about coupling with his boss. The man had him bewitched, there was no other way to describe the incredibly erotic pull Gavin felt every time he laid eyes on him.

Gavin had accepted the fact that it was a hopeless fantasy and yet...he had caught the DCI looking at him a couple of times in a way that made his pulse race and his shirt collar suddenly feel two sizes too small.

Muttering to himself he got up off the sofa, pulling his clinging boxer shorts and T-shirt into some semblance of decency, and answered the door.

"Sir!" he exclaimed. "Has something happened?"

He knew it was stupid the moment he said it for the DCI would never dream of attending to official business in anything less than a suit and tie, not the cotton trousers and short-sleeved shirt he was currently wearing.

Barnaby smiled as the younger man unconsciously eyed him up.

"No, nothing like that," he said reassuringly. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sorry," muttered Gavin, standing aside to let him past.

"I hope you've got a corkscrew," said Barnaby over his shoulder as Gavin followed him into the living room.

"Of course I have, sir. Why?"

"Joyce's vintage home-made wine," said Barnaby, proffering the carrier bag. "It'll put hairs on your chest."

"Like I need it," muttered Gavin as he rummaged around in his poky kitchen for the corkscrew and two wineglasses.

Expertly he opened the bottle and poured the fragrant liquid into the glasses, handing one to Barnaby who gulped it down thirstily.

"Wonderful stuff," he proclaimed, his dark grey eyes shining. Gavin sipped at his own glass and found it delectable, smooth, powerful and very drinkable.

"Sorry, sir. I don't mean to be impolite but why are you here?"

"I'm worried about you. And drop the 'sir' nonsense, Gavin. We're off-duty, remember. My name is Tom."

"Why are you worried, s..er Tom?" Gavin blushed slightly at the familiarity.

"You seem very distracted recently. As if there's something troubling you. And I didn't like the way you reacted to seeing Peter Drinkwater's body either. We need to be focused in this job. So tell me, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Gavin defensively, taking another slug of wine. "Honestly."

"Hmmm." said Barnaby disbelievingly.

Oh shit, thought Gavin desperately. He can't know. He //mustn't// know.

"I had a very interesting chat with Jack Dorset," said Barnaby conversationally, observing the younger man closely all the time. "He and Peter were lovers."

Gavin stared at him, open-mouthed. "He's lying,"

Barnaby chuckled.

"What is it about that that you find so hard to comprehend?"

"Well," stuttered Gavin, trying to regain the high ground. "Peter had a girlfriend. And there was the vet's wife. He was screwing her as well."

"He had the girl solely in order to annoy her parents. Fatally as it turned out. The vet's wife was a business arrangement, but he loved Jack Dorset. Jack adored him and went along with Peter's criminal schemes for love."

Barnaby opened the second bottle as he waited for Gavin's response.

"I see." was the reply. Barnaby raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"No expressions of disgust? No doubting their mental state?  Gavin, what's happened to you?"

You, thought Gavin darkly. You happened and now I can't move for hormones. Do you know one smile from you can keep me awake for days, Chief Inspector?

"Tom...I..."

"What? Tell me, please."

"I don't know. I want..." Gavin tailed off, disturbed at how close he had come to blurting it all out, and confused.

Tom Barnaby was within kissing distance now, the pupils of his eyes huge as he leaned closer still. Gavin could smell a faint tang of aftershave mingling with fresh sweat and soap, an aroma that made parts of him sit up and beg.

"What do you want?" breathed Tom. "This, perhaps?"

Lightly he brushed Gavin's lips with his. He heard the indrawn breath then Gavin's arms were around him and he found himself being kissed back with an innocent ferocity that he found erotic in the extreme.

The kiss broke. Gavin was practically incoherent, his fantasy was being made flesh and he had never been so aroused in his life. Before his brain closed down all higher functioning, he had to know where he stood.

"We can't do this," he said flatly. Tom's fingers continued to gently caress the side of his neck.

"Why not?" asked Tom, genuinely surprised.

"You're married. I'm friends with Cully. And I love working in Cawston. I don't really want to leave."

Tom smiled gently. "Let me put your mind at rest, Gavin. I love Joyce very much and I have always been completely honest with her. She knows I'm bisexual and that, even though I get everything any sane man could want from her, I still enjoy making love to other men. And since you started working for me there's been no one, for I cherished a foolish hope that the attraction might be mutual. It was Cully who told me the other night that my hopes might not be in vain."

"Cully said that?" Gavin was flabbergasted.

"She likes you a lot and being a copper's daughter has made her very observant. She's seen the way I look at you when I think no one's watching. She's seen the hunger. And she watched you too. All that time you spent at my house; you didn't just come to see her, did you?"

Tom was delighted to see a faint blush starting in the hollow of Gavin's throat.

"No," he admitted. "I came to see you. I didn't realise it to begin with but it didn't take long for me to work out I was attracted to you, even though I knew it was wrong and if you'd got the slightest inkling of what I was feeling you'd have me transferred, even disciplined."

Tom silenced him with another kiss.

"No one needs to know. You and I make a very good team and I intend to keep it that way. In bed and out. As long as you don't sit on my knee in the CID office or call me 'darling' instead of 'sir' then there won't be a problem."

The thought of snogging Tom Barnaby between the filing cabinets of the CID office made Gavin's neglected erection throb and he wound his arms round Tom and held him close.

"I think I can live with that," he murmured, arching himself against his soon-to-be lover as Tom's hands slid beneath his T-shirt to touch the overheated skin beneath.

Somehow they made it to the bedroom, a trail of discarded clothing marked their passage and Gavin began a voyage of discovery in his own bed, finding out exactly what pleased his lover and being initiated into the forthright joys of being made love to. His fantasies didn't even come close to the reality as every thrust, every movement evoked more pleasure than he would have believed possible and the entire world slipped away from him briefly as he climaxed.

Some time later, Tom stirred in his arms.

"I must go," he said with genuine regret. Gavin was the picture of corrupted innocence, his dark hair plastered to his head with passion's sweat, his soft mouth bruised and swollen with hungry impatient kisses and his fair skin bore the marks of fulfilled desire.

"See you tomorrow, Tom," said Gavin sleepily as his lover got out of bed and began searching for his clothes.

Tom kissed him hard on the mouth.

"See you. And we'll be together again very soon. I promise."

Gavin smiled. It had been like you always believed sex to be when you were sixteen and full of imagination. The smile remained as he drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

As promised Joyce was waiting up for him, even though he had stayed far longer with Gavin than he had intended.

She smiled at him as he poured himself a nightcap.

"Well," she asked. "Did you sleep with him?"

"Yes, of course. It was what we both wanted, Joyce."

"Yes, I know. Was he good?"

"Very good."

Her breathing quickened, as she stood up, the signs of her arousal unmistakable.

"Let's go to bed and you can tell me all about it tomorrow," she said decisively.

He put down his glass and went upstairs with his wife, thanking whatever benign deity that was listening for Joyce's understanding.


The End.

10/4/2003