|Fandom: Randall and Hopkirk Deceased (Original series)
Title: Some Body to Love
SOME BODY TO LOVE
After a long and profitless day at the office Jeff Randall arrived home exhausted. Days like this ought
to be banned under the Geneva Convention; they certainly constituted cruel and unnatural punishment.
And now here he was, coming home to an empty flat, no comfort or company to be had anywhere.
Fixing himself a cup of tea and grabbing a few biscuits from the tin he wandered idly into the spare
bedroom and sat down heavily on the bed. His life was pretty empty at the moment, he reflected, but at least
he could always rely on his partner for solace. Marty had his faults - a good many of them - but whenever
Jeff felt like death warmed up he always had Marty to fall back on.
Setting the mug aside Jeff rose, brushing biscuit crumbs from his lap before kneeling beside the bed and
reaching underneath to grab the brass handles of the box. Polished pine slid smoothly across the carpet,
dragging with it a disgraceful cargo of dust and fluff. Jeff breathed on the brass nameplate and
polished it proudly, then reached into his pocket for
"Just what do you think you're doing?" The sardonic voice of his white-suited ex-partner, the late Marty
Hopkirk, intruded on his pleasure.
"What does it look like?"
Jeff loosened the last of the screws and prised open the lid. "You don't mean that," he said, smiling
wickedly in Marty's direction. "And even if you did, what are you going to do about it?"
"Stand beside you and put you off. Or maybe open the window and let in a cold draft. That'd cool your
ardour!" Marty told him, triumphantly.
"You're being unreasonable, Marty," was the calm response. "Anyway, you enjoy it as much as I do."
"That's what you think!"
"You never complained before."
"I never got a choice, did I? I don't suppose it would make any difference to you if I said I had a
headache, would it?"
Randall was busy removing his clothes, positively salivating as he contemplated the contents of the
coffin. "None at all."
"Jeff, I've got a headache." A plaintive whine guaranteed to break the sternest heart, but it fell on
"Don't be daft," was the rejoinder. With gay abandon Jeff threw away the last of his clothes and climbed,
stark naked, into the box on top of the mortal remains of his partner.
"They're not too keen on this sort of thing in Heaven, you know," Marty reminded him, sighing. "It's frowned
upon in high places, is this."
Jeff wasn't listening. He was busily engaged in necrophilia.
"Jeff?" Marty tried again.
Jeff's head lifted for a brief moment and he favoured his partner with a basilisk glare. "Marty, just close
your eyes and think of England," he advised.
"But Jeff ... you know necrophilia's dead boring..."
"Marty!" The word had the tone of a last warning.
"Oh, alright, Jeff." With a sigh, Marty gave in and agreed to come