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£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 …AS…AS TTWWOO £3£3 NOTESNOTES £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 Issue Number Two in the BENT COPPERS Series £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 £3£3£3 £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 Also available from Oblique Publications the OBLAQUE series (Blake’s 7 slash) Oblaque Oblaquer Oblaquest Oblaque IV: to be taken intravenously Oblaque V: in venery veritas the BENT COPPERS series (The Professionals slash) …As a £3 Note the PÆAN TO PRIAPUS series (multi-media and literary slash) Volumes I, II, and III …As Two £3 Notes is dedicated with love to LDM, most wonderful husband husband who put up with the madness of two zines in production simulta- neously. —CKC 2 £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 …AS TWO £3 NOTES £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 £3£3£3 £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 CONTENTS CONTENTS This is the zine that almost wasn’t—at least when it should ASSAULT AND BATTERY have been. But since you are reading this, then actually the Noli Me Tangere 5 zine eventually ‘was’, even though the editor and the Shoshanna Glaswegian should have their heads examined. For your Ambush 11 edification we highly recommend not producing two zines Thomas simultaneously if you are trying to do the majority of the November 23 writing yourselves. Thank God for our outside contributors Sebastian (Sebastian, Shoshanna, and Thomas) with their absolutely stunning stories. Now as to zine content: it’s mixed. If you BREAKING AND ENTERING want lighthearted and humorous, see Breaking and A Touch of English 57 Entering; for knockout dark emotion and angst, try Assault Emma Scot and Battery; and if you’ve a mind for sado-masochism in a Flight of Fancy 64 loving relationship, then the last story in three parts, Gael X. Ile Grievous Bodily Harm, is for you. Enjoy the zine. My Beautiful Launderette 72 Cally Donia —Caroline K. Carbis, Editor GRIEVOUS BODILY HARM Part I: In the Beginning 82 M. Fae Glasgow Part II: Seek and Ye Shall Find 93 M. Fae Glasgow Part III: Blessèd Are the Meek 108 M. Fae Glasgow £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3…AS TWO £3 NOTES £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 3 £3£3£3 £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 ASSAULT AND BATTERY A section title not to be taken too literally. Yes, these stories offer a harsher perspective on the Bodie/Doyle relation- ship than some would wish, but two of them end on a hopeful note. Thomas’ ‘Am- bush’ (printed here in final form for the first time) and Sebastian’s ‘November’ both refuse to concede that the path to true love is an easy one. Both stories also indulge in certain risky behaviors calculated to raise your temperatures as well as Bodie’s and Doyle’s. But the first piece is Shoshanna’s ‘Noli Me Tangere’—a lovely Latin phrase that says it all. There are some things you may want in life, but you can’t always have them… 4 £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 …AS TWO £3 NOTES £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 SHOSHANNA £3£3£3 NOLI ME TANGERE £3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3£3 NOLI ME TANGERE SHOSHANNA Never touch me. You can look; I like you to Their hips bumped as they walked, and look at me. I love you to want me, but never, Jax rolled his eyes when he passed them in ever touch me. the hallway, having to turn sideways in the Doyle had never said it. He didn’t need to. narrow corridor to get by. Doyle was talking, Bodie followed him up the stairs to Cowley’s something about his weekend, his date with office, dutifully trailing behind to watch the Wendy, who had turned out to be every bit as swaying of Doyle’s buttocks, moulded firm athletic as she looked. “My back is killing me,” and separate and succulent by the grey he proclaimed, wincing with ostentatious jeans. His cock stirred restlessly, and he pride, and Bodie, watching the tanned twisted his hips as he moved to try to settle it, shoulders pushing against the dark red of his angrily looking away. A few steps above him, shirt, hyper-aware of the crumpled cotton Doyle ran a hand casually through his hair, where the shirttails were jammed carelessly pulling his gaze back to tangle with Doyle’s into the waistband of his jeans, against the fingers in the thick curls. It was uncanny, swell of his arse and the sweet curve of his how Doyle seemed to know when Bodie’s back, damned himself for the thousandth attention veered aside, just as he knew how time even as he spoke. Bodie would move in a shootout. Mentally “Want a backrub, then?” Bodie writhed, caught in a web of helpless, And Doyle’s head turned, his eyes meeting lusting resentment. Bodie’s in an openness that was so much a Doyle paused at the top of the stairway, lie, a lie like the open empty rooms at Auschwitz ushering him forward with an ostentatious with only the showerheads inside, an open- gesture that meant he figured Cowley’s mood ness that gaped like crocodile jaws and smiled for sour and was generously allowing Bodie like them. Doyle smiled, his lips parting ever the chance to go in first and sweeten him up. so slightly against white, white teeth, and Bodie thanked him as he deserved—a knowing shook his head. tilt of the head and narrowed eyes, brushing “No, thanks, mate.” And Bodie’s chest past him and past Betty’s desk into the inner burned and ached with an emptiness that office. Doyle shut the door softly behind filled his body, until he felt on the verge of them. bursting. Cowley’s mood was no sourer than usual, Three years as partners, before he had Doyle’s intuition having failed him this once, finally told Doyle about himself. Told him and Bodie listened with half an ear to the what so few others knew, save a few men here details of the stake-out they were assigned to. and there over the years, and his father, if the The rest of his senses, all but his sight and old man hadn’t washed the knowledge from that fraction of his hearing, were focussed on his brain with gin by now, hadn’t beached his his partner, standing so close beside him. liver on the bitter salt shore of the alcoholic’s Close enough to feel the heat from his body, implacable doom. And Cowley, of course. to hear him breathing, and to know—yes, as And Doyle, the only one he’d ever simply told, they turned to leave came the gesture Bodie rather than admitting it, or wordlessly had expected, Doyle’s arm slung casually, sounding out a like-minded man, or being mate-like, across his shoulders. caught pants down in the most compromis- I can touch you. I like to touch you. But ing of positions by his da.