A New Taste on the Tongue

Chapter 5: Counterattack

Sam stood by Bailey’s chair, an arm around his lderlders as she watched the boys walk in a few minutes apart. Not far apart at all, and they’re certainly looking cheerier. Maybe…

Sam smiled and trailed after John to his office. There was work to be done.

***

Shedding his coat, John turned to see the blonde profiler standing in his office door. He smiled widely and waved her in towards a chair. “Hey, Sam. Just how long are you going to be visiting?”

“Until I get this figured out, John.”

Taking a seat behind his desk, John stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his hands over his stomach. “Figure what out, Sam? Perp’s caught, sitting in Florida waiting for extradition. Case’s over.”

“Not the case, John. I’ve got that figured out. What I need to understand is what’s up with you. You’re looking better today. Why?”

Ah, the moment he’d been waiting for. His smile turned into a grin, his voice deepened, and as a final touch his hand played idly at the buttons of his shirt. “It’s amazing what a good haircut can do for a man’s bad week.”

The tone and inflection for this comment was so perfect that the actual words took a minute or two to sink in. Then, however…

“John!” She sat back, mild disappointment and bald admiration clear on her face. Ballsy move, but she wasn’t buying. Leaning forward, Sam crossed her arms on the edge of his desk with a grin. “And what does George think of the new do?”

“George? I haven’t asked.”

***

George settled in at the conference table with his laptop, feeling supremely unconcerned by the sight of Sam following John into his office. Sure, Sam was good, but John was better.

Thinking of interrogations, his should be here any time now. Would it be Grace or Rachel?

A few minutes of peace later a curvaceous redhead draped herself over the edge of the table near his hip, grinning like mad. “Morning, George. How are you feeling today?” The tone of her voice was simply oozing implications, and the way she was sitting would have been a wonderful show . . . for anyone but George.

“Oh, I’m feeling great. How about you, Rachel?” With a hand on her knee, he pushed her back for a little more breathing room

“Come on, George. You left here a week ago in a blind panic and now you’re calm, collected – not blushing -- and acting like nothing’s happened. What’s gotten into you?”

Does John’s tongue count? Shaking the thought – and the memories – away, George barely fought off a blush. “Nothing has, Rachel.”

Though the frustration twitched inside her as she watched the look on his face, Rachel smiled. “You’re not going to tell me, are you, George?”

“Nope.”

“Can’t change your mind?”

“Not a chance, but before you hurt yourself reaching for it …” George calmly stood tud turned the laptop to face her. “Have at it. I’ll be back in a few.” Patting a fuming Rachel on the shoulder, he then walked slowly over to the coffee pot as sharp glares struck him in the back.

***

John couldn’t help but admire the view as George walked from Racand and the laptop to the coffee machine. Or the lines of his back as he leaned over the counter ….

Coffee sounded good right about now.

Meandering slowly over to the counter himself, John made himself a cup without even glancing at George out of the corner of his eye. Lifting the mug to his mouth for cover, he whispered just loud enough for the man standing at his side to hear. “Funny thing, George, I really don’t miss the taste of lipstick at all.”

Unfortunately, but adorably, this came right in the middle of George’s first sip, catching him off guard enough to send him into a short coughing fit. Pounding lightly on his back, John felt his breath stop at the heat in George’s eyes when he looked up at him, heat that demanded another kiss.

Some part of John responding instinctually and moved a little closer to those sweet, lipstick free lips before sense caught up with him. Rachel was watching them avidly from less than 10 feet away. Anything they did now would give them away. So, reluctantly halting the movement, John instead rested his other hand on George’s chest, feeling a rapid heartbeat just under his fingers. “You okay, George?”

John’s voice held so much more than simple concern and George chose his reply with care. “Better than okay.”

Dropping his eyes to the other man’s lips, John dragged his gaze up and let his voice lower the few notes it wanted to. “You better believe it, George.” The heart pressed under his palm jumped a beat and accelerated even more before John’s suddenly fragile willpower dragged him away.

“George, you okay?”

The man in question looked at Bailey standing just outside his office door and put a properly self-amused expression on his face. “I’m fine. It was just a little too hot.”

John hid a smile inside his cup, certain that he hadn’t meant the coffee.

***

Despite the vigilance of three very determined women, mid-afternoon found the boys alone in one of the offices (one with less open blinds than normal) doing paperwork to wrap up the slasher case. Piles of it, and every sheet had to be perfect -- wouldn’t want the bastard to get off on a technicality.

Not that the boys minded at all. Perfect paperwork required quite a bit of time spent shoulder-to-shoulder bent over the case files. Exactly how close those shoulders should be was, of course, up to you ….

George turned his head to openly admire the line of John’s profile. The man was simply beautiful to look at. And those lips…no one’s kiss had ever affected him like John’s could. Pulling his eyes away with difficulty, George slapped himself mentally with the word slow. “John, could you pass me the first victim’s autopsy file?”

“Sure, George.” He turned to pass the folder over and saw the heat, the need George couldn’t quite get out of his eyes. Glancing around quickly to reassure himself that there was no one in sight through the windows, John deliberately set the file between George’s wrists, running his fingertips up one muscled forearm to the hard line of his bicep as he did so. “George ….”

George’s arm tensed under his touch, hand clenching as though trying not to reach out with it. “Yes, John?” He tried but failed to keep his eyes off John’s lips, his voice shaking slightly and a little rough.

“Come here, George.” John smiled at the matching rasp in his own voice and gripped the silk of George’s tie in one hand, pulling him close. The feel of George’s groan brushing against his lips only tightened John’s hold on his “G “George ….” Desperately closing the small distance between them, John claimed the other man’s lips, explored his mouth with an avid tongue.

A harsh sound trapped in his throat, George responded with every inch of himself as he kissed John back just as eagerly. One hand found its way to the back of John’s neck, pulling that sweet mouth harder against his own as the other hand clenched helplessly in the cloth over his stomach. “John,” George needed more contact and stood, pulling John up and against his body. “God, John, you feel so…” Pressing close, he recaptured John’s mouth in a passionate kiss, plunging his tongue inside to stroke and taste and savor.

It was amazing, how good this felt. George’s arms around him, the hard heat of his body pressing so close, the passion of his kiss – each dragged an urgency from deep inside John. He needed more; he needed to touch, to f Re Releasing the tie, John slid both hands down George’s chest to the shirt buttons over his stomach, opening them to slide his palms inside the cloth to the heat of bare skin. George’s skin. “George ….”

“John ….” George gasped, breaking the kiss, and caught John’s hands with his own, both stopping any movement and keeping the skin to skin contact. Breathing raggedly, George tried to the the right words. “You have absolutely no idea what you do to me, John.” Raising one hand, he ed ted the pad of his thumb over John’s lips. “You just don’t know.”

John thought he might know; the feeling heating his blood could rival the need written on George’s face. “You’ll have to show me sometime and we’ll see if I know.” Spreading his hands wider over the firm muscles under his touch, John fought back a groan and smiled as George wasn’t so successful in staying quiet. “Now, one of the girls will check on us soon. We wouldn’t want to be caught making out, now would we?” John pulled his hands free, rebuttoning the shirt and trying to ignore the chilled ache in his palms.

“Yeah, we should get back to the paperwork.” George pulled himself together and moved back into the chair, opening the autopsy file in front of him.

“Yeah, the paperwork,” John settled into his chair and reclaimed George’s hand in his own. “So we were looking at the first victim.” He paused, smiling. “Before you distracted me.”

“I… I distracted you! I distracted you? Remind me, John. Who kissed who, here? You distracted me. I was the one trying to work.”

Raising the back of George’s hand to his mouth, John whispered against his skin. “You didn’t react like you minded much.” A look flashed in George’s eyes that indicated he might be the one initiating the next set of distractions ….

“George, dear, where are you?”

“Grace,”

George freed his hand and turned to his computer. John stood and arranged himself in an innocuous pose – one hand on the desk, one on the back of George’s chair to better see the computer screen. Both men looked up innocently as Grace crossed the threshold. Maybe too innocently.

“Yeah, Grace. Whattaya need?”

***

A few days and several unsuccessful interrogations later (not to mention many rounds of surreptious kissing) the boys found themselves on George’s couch after work, holding hands (as usual) and watching a movie. Untoucheen ben beers sat on the coffee table near their feet and a big bowl of popcorn was balanced on their laps. Or more correctly, on the surface created by their legs touching from hip to knee.

It should have been strange that this felt so comfortable, so right, but it wasn’t. This was the way to unwind after a hard day’s work – a warm hand to hold, a body pressed close, the taste and feel of amazing kisses, an ear to whisper into. Ahh, this is the stuff. Thinking of kisses, John turned his head and caught George’s mouth with his own, licking a little butter and salt off the other man’s lips. Pulling back about an inch, he smiled. “Hmmm. Delicious popcorn, George.”

“Have some more, John.” Curving one hand around the back of his neck, George pulled him in for a deep kiss, savoring the lips against his own and the soft hair between his fingers. One hand wandered of its own accord from John’s to rub up and down one thigh, reveling in the heat and strength under his touch.

John found himself leaning harder into the kiss, reveling in how good it felt. From the amazing and ardent play of lips and tongues to the rapid heartbeat under his palm to the hand stroking his thigh felt … well, good. George felt good too, but it would feel so much better if that hand moved up just a little higher up ….

Suddenly the thought of what he’d wanted -- almost wished for, in fact -- and where it could lead clarified in John’s head. Awh, shit.

Breaking the kiss, John captured that wandering hand between his own, more nervous about where he’d wanted it than where it’d been. Twining his fingers through George’s, John settled himself close along the line of the body beside him, resting his head on a welcoming shoulder. The feel of George’s hand squeezing his pushed away some of the nerves rattling inside him. It was George and this was okay.

Sliding an arm around John’s shoulders, George pulled him closer and squeezed his hand. Resting his cheek on John’s hair, he whispered. “Too much?”

John shook his head slightly, his hair rubbing against George’s neck. “No, not too much. Just a little too soon.”

Brushing a kiss over John’s forehead, George smiled. “There’s no hurry, John. You’re here -- that’s more than enough.”

***

“George, it’s John. The slasher’s escaped and he’s running. See you at the office in twenty minutes.” The voice on George’s machine gained a low note and a soft sound that almost sounded like a groan. “Once you get out of the shower and all. See you soon.” Pressing stop, George didn’t bother erasing the message. He sorta liked the sound of John’s voice on his machine. Running fingers through his wet hair, George moved into the kitchen, sipping the coffee John had left for him and putting John’s empty cup in the sink.

He must’ve only gotten home minutes before Bailey had called. His blanket and pillow were still lying rumpled on the couch. It had been harder to move last night, to leave the couch after John fell asleep. The warm weight of John’s body and the feel John’s fingers threaded through his had been harder to let go of than before.

And the tone of the voice on the machine made the prospect of going to work, of seeing that face across the conference table, all the more appealing. “Time to go to work.”

***

John couldn’t help but watch as George walked into the office that morning, his hair still a little damp. He’d like to run his fingers through that hair while their lips…wait a minute. I didn’t get my good morning kiss today. Well, that’ll hafta change. Leaning back in his chair, John folded his hands over his stomach and anticipated the feel of George’s skin against his palms and the taste of his kiss.

“George, good to see John got a hold of you.”

Not as much as I’d like him to. “Yeah, whatta we got?”

Handing George a piece of pager, Bailey continued without noticing the brief look that flashed across George’s face. “He cold-cocked a guard and was spotted a half hour later at another bus station. Find the bastard.”

“I’m on it.” George turned towards his office before hesitating a moment. “Might as well come with me, John, and get the APB’s out quicker.” Despite the deliberately casual tone, the heat in his eyes d ead easily be seen by the man meant to see it.

“Right behind you, George.” John quickly followed, trying not to look too eager.

Two steps past the closed door, John caught George’s face between his hands and pulled him close. “I didn’t get my kiss this morning.”

“Then we’re going to have to fix that.” Curving one hand around the back of John’s neck and resting the other on his ribs, George followed the pull of those hands forward and met John’s sweet lips with his own. And his tongue, and his body ….

John tilted his head to deepen the kiss, fisting one hand in George’s hair and desperately claiming the other man’s mouth with his own. Sliding an arm around, John rubbed one palm down the length of George’s back to rest on his hip, pulling himself closer against the length of George’s body and groaning deep in his throat at the contact.

“John,” George gasped and broke the kiss, stepping back or at least trying to. Neither his own desire to stay close nor John’s arms let him put too much distance between them. Seeing the bald heat in John’s eyes, George’s lips smiled of their own accord. “Good morning, John.”

“Morning, George.” With his eyes on George’s lips, John leaned in again, not anywhere near being ready to stop. Barely an inch from his goal, he heard one of the most beautiful sounds of his life: a low moan of unmitigated desire from George.

“No,” George halted the other man’s forward movement with a hand on his chest. “Don’t look at me like that, John. You know I want to, you have to know I want to --though I honestly don’t think you know how much.” George shook his head with a small curving of his lips. “But you’re so warm and close and so…” Unable to find exactly the right word for just how desirable John was, he brushed a quick kiss over his lipsSo wSo we shouldn’t…”

Reluctantly agreeing, John took George’s hand and led him to the computer. “So you’d better get working before I decide to change your mind.” Standing behind George’s chair, John laid both hands on his shoulders and leaned over a little to better see the screen. “Get those magic fingers moving.”

George felt himself – not flinch, more shift – at that voice saying ‘magic fingers’ and how it sounded just like it had in his head. Not to mention the pictures it painted in his mind …. “You got it, John.”

***

Somehow managing to concentrate for most of the day on the task at hand, George decided a coffee break was in order. Pouring two cups, he made certain that John’s was just how he liked it before moving through the doorway into his office.

“Coffee, John?” Damn -- just the sight of him sent heat into George’s blood. The memory of that hand on his hip, the length of that body pressed so close increased the heat and poured a shiver down his spine.

“George, you’re a godsend. Just what I needed.” Raising his head with a smile, John watched George walk across the room with a slight swagger to his hips. John remembered the feel of his hand on that hip, the fef thf that body against his own from chest to knees, with a strange mixture of desire and nervousness. He knew George’s kisses could affect him like no one else’s ever had. He knew that the touch of those hands sent tingles along his nerves. He knew that the warmth of that body and heart close to him made him feel…. comfortable like no one ever had before.

But all this heat and need had to lead somewhere, and that’s where the nervousness was coming in.

But hesitation couldn’t diminish the warmth inside John when his fingers touched George’s around the handle of the mug. Raising the coffee, he took a sip to find it perfect, delicious. Just like George’s lips.

Lifting the cup to his lips, George hid a smile in the rim. “I forgot to tell you earlier. Love the new aftershave -- absolutely delicious.”

The image of George nibbling down the skin of his neck and chest sent John sputtering, the coffee cup tipping in his hand to splatter its contents all over the front of his shirt. Only his lightning reflexes saved the fabric of his pants. “Shit.”

“John?”

“I’m okay,” John smiled at the concern in George’s eyes and the tender touch of a hand on his shoulder. “It was just a little too hot.” His tone of voice changed. “And I don’t mean the coffee.” Tugging the tail of his shirt out of his pants, John swiftly unbuttoned it, thoughtlessly stripping off the wet fabric and dropping it on the desk. Only then did he turn to see so much heat in those hazel-flecked brown eyes that his hands started shaking. John could almost feel those hands on his skin, where both men wanted them to be. Standing stunned, he watched as George dragged his eyes away and moved to the filing cabinet. Some functioning (and therefore rather small at the moment) part of John’s brain knew that the drawer at the bottom held several spare shirts. He needed them sometimes, bloodstains, all-nighters and the like.

“Here,”

John reached out a hand for the shirt, his eyes trying to meet George’s evasive ones, wanting to see the need, the desire in his face. Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he stepped closer, reaching out an uncertain hand. “George,”

After a brief moment of stillness, something snapped in the air between them and John found himself close to George. Very close. Fisting a hand in George’s hair, he moaned into his mouth at the stroke of those hands over his ribs. Groaning at the heat of those palms moving over his chest and back, John gasped and broke the kiss, gasping louder as those lips trailed down the skin of his neck.

“John,” George nibbled at the pulse in John’s throat, opening his lips to taste the salt and aftershave there. “Delicious…John,” Licking the hollow at the base of his neck, he moved back up to recapture those lips with his own, hands rising to test the bulk of muscles in John’s shoulders.

John groaned, responding to that kiss with every cell in his body. Those hands trailing down his back sent heat ricocheting through him. “Hmm,” He deepened the kiss, savoring the taste and urgency of that mouth as those hands rubbed low against his stomach. The light, gentle touch just above the edge of his pants tightened nerves all over his body. “God, George,”

“George, John?”

“Grace,”

Jerking out of John’s arms, George moved to the desk and began sopping up the spilled coffee with the dirty shirt. John turned towards the hall, casually buttoning his shirt as Grace walked through the open door.

“What’s up, boys?”

“Oh, nothing, Grace. My coffee tried to attack me.”

“Did it burn you?” The concern on her face was touching.

“No, Grace, I’m fine. My shirt valiantly jumped to my defense.”

“I’ll go get this soaking before the stain sets.” Smiling sweetly at Grace, George walked calmly out of the office with coffee-drench shirt in hand.

“So, Grace, what did you need?” John threw a smile at George over her shoulder, or more specifically at the uneven edge he could still hear in his breathing. God, that man is hot.

***

With the South Carolina locals closing in on the slasher, the end of the workday came on time for once, leaving John in a quandary. He wanted to see George tonight; there was no question about that. But another evening on George’s couch with the memory of those hands on his body, those fingers at the edge of his pants…. Well, the couch was probably a bad idea right now. So, where?

With a solution in mind, John gathered up his suit jacket and trench coat and headed to George’s office, leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, George.” A smile curled John’s lips at the shiver his voice sent up George’s back. Walkiloseloser, he looked over his shoulder – all clear. Sliding a hand along that back, John listened more to the harsh rasp of George’s greeting than the words. “I’ll be by your place at eight o’clock. Be ready and wear something pretty for me.” Placing a hand on George’s cheek, John pulled that sweet mouth to his own for a short kiss. “It’s my turn to get dinner.”

“You don’t cook, John.” It was a statement, completely void of doubt or hesitation.

“Of course I don’t. That’s why we’re going out to dinner. I only cook for the dates I don’t want to see again.” He brushed a thumb over those lips, letting his eyes wander over the body so close to his own. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of you, so I’ll spare you my cooking. Be ready at eight.” Reluctantly moving away, John curled his hand up, missing the heat of skin against his own.

“Eight o’clock, right. I’ll be ready.” The tightly controlled sound of his voice was belied by the tension in his shoulders and the trembling of his hands.

***

“Theories, anyone?”

Once again protected by the walls of the women’s restroom (just because something’s a cliché doesn’t mean it’s not also a good idea) the three girls leaned their heads together. Sometimes, even the VCTF needed more than one great mind to solve a problem.

“They had to have gotten together and are now just sneaking around to drive us crazy.” Rachel slapped a frustrated hand against her thigh for emphasis. “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”

“As loathe as I am to say this, I don’t think we have enough evidence to jump to that particular conclusion.” At Rachel’s very…determined glare, Sam shook her head. “Sexuality is very closely tied to manhood for John, both of which are very important parts of his identity. I don’t know if he would be capable of making such a … drastic change so quickly.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Honesty or devil’s advocate?”

Sam gave a weary shrug. “Both, I’m afraid.”

“Then how do you explain the way they’re both so calm, so …” Rachel struggled a minute for the right word. “…contented? A week ago they were both about ready to tear their hair out.”

Sam hesitated. “There are other ways to resolve an emotionally tense situation ….”

Hearing noises outside the door, Grace waved a hand to silence the profilers. “Shhh -- I think I hear them coming.” At the signal, they all crowded around the door to listen.

George’s voice: “At least you had the sense to pick somebody from outside the office, this time.” A pause. “You do realize she’s just a rebound girl from Kim, don’t you? You have to watch out for those.”

John: “Hell, yes, I know she’s just a rebound. That’s the best part – they actually expect some emotional distance. Aren’t you feeling that at least a little of that with Cole?”

George: “Emotional distance wasn’t really what I had in mind.” A sigh. “Anyway, have fun on your date tonight.”

John: “You, too. Good thing we found the guy, so you can finally get the chance to introduce Cole to the wonderful world of Jewish cooking.” Even through the doorway, the chuckle in his voice was clear.

George: “Oh, I’ll bet. You just make sure not to drink too much – don’t want to find yourself kissing random people again. It might give Stephanie the wrong impression.”

John: “Oh, don’t worry. I’m very specific about where I put my lips these days.”

The last sound they heard cly way was George coughing abruptly, the boys’ voices fading at they moved down the hallway. As soon as she was sure they were gone, Grace turned to meet the stormy expressions of her co-conspirators, both of whom immediately burst.

“But I thought Cole was… How could they…”

“Could have lied to him, maybe… But what about…”

“And who the hell is Stephanie?”

“Yes, who the hell is Stephanie?”

Grace smiled inwardly. It was a priceless reaction, really, everything John and George had no doubt been hoping for. And if neither of them had noticed the sexual energy jumping between the boys like a firecracker, who was she to mention it? “You know, ladies, there’s always a chance that our initial profile could have been off…”

They both turned at once. “No!”

***