A New Taste on the Tongue

A New Taste on the Tongue

Chapter 6: Something Pretty

/Something pretty, something pretty?/ George stood in front of his closet, hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. “What to wear?”

With a glance he immediately discarded a good half of his wardrobe (flannel wouldn’t do for his first date with the man he…with John) and immediately began working on the other half. Business shirt, business shirt, tragic memory of early fashion sense….

A date, John was actually taking him out on a date. Their first date. In public. Together. As a couple…It was about this point that his thought processes started to run together into unintelligible, embarrassingly giddy gibberish, and not even his vaunted, time-tested pessimism was enough to slap him back into something approaching calmness. Not that the idea of being that close to John in an even vaguely romantic setting, not having to worry about who was watching, feet sliding along sensitive areas under the cover of a tablecloth….

/Focus, George, focus. You have more immediate issues to worry about here./ Like how exactly one went about dressing for a first date with a guy you were crazy about, but absolutely, positively couldn’t do too much about yet because he hadn’t ever really done this before. Casual, but not too casual, as in “I feel incredibly comfortable with you but haven’t let my standards slip”? Something sexy, but not too sexy, as in “of course I’m not trying to pressure you, but I’m ready the second you are and if I could encourage you a little…” Wait a minute—did he even own anything sexy? What did John even consider sexy, when breasts weren’t involved? All he wanted was to see that spark in his eyes…

At about his twelfth pass through the shirts, George’s finger suddenly brushed up against an unfamiliar texture. Eves narrowing, he reached for it. What was a tie doing over here? He’d always put his in a drawer, ever since that one time…

Oh.

George’s thumb rubbed up absently against the red silk, far too flashy for him but always perfect looking on John. Even clean, it smelled faintly of tequila, surprising because it had spent a good part of the night wrapped around that faucet and away from John and his bottle. He’d been so traumatized; he’d forgotten to give it back that night. And afterward…well, there hadn’t exactly been a dignified way to go about it, had there? “Of course I have no idea what happened that night –by the way here’s your tie and other various articles of clothing.” At the thought (not to mention the accompanying visuals) George couldn’t help but blush. Talk about taking it slow….

At this thought George stopped, staring down at the tie with a speculative expression. It wouldn’t even be very dramatic –there wasn’t a whole lot of implication you could get across in just little tie. Besides, away from John’s gorgeous body it looked fairly average. He probably wouldn’t even remember. But if he did…

Slowly, George began to grin.

Moving with far more purpose now, he once again began rifling through his closet. That blue gray shirt he’d bought a few years ago would look pretty good with it, not to mention being one of the few articles of clothing that John had ever complimented him on. What pants would go with those? Did he have any pants that gave a message other than “I was bought at a very reasonable price?” Or should he just give into temptation and not wear any pants at all…

***
John swallowed as he knocked on the George’s front door, wondering why the hell he felt so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gone on dates before, damn it, and in those few circumstances they’d ended horribly it’d been over things that it’d done no good to worry about beforehand, like that unfortunate incident with the nose hair trimmers that had occurred a couple of years ago, so a little thing like going out with someone he actually cared about should be no problem.

Or, he admitted to himself, maybe that was the entire problem. Normally, the first date was at the very bottom of the commitment food chain—no stress, little planning, and hardly any chance that some girl would feel the need to ask how “serious” he was. And if she did, it was clear sign that she was nuts and it would be a good idea not to call her back. Not a problem.

But here, it wasn’t just a first date, it was a FIRST DATE. The first public date, to be more specific, the open acknowledgement that yes, he was far more fond of a particular piece of ass than he ever thought he would be. Not embarrassing, really, but not exactly the kind of thing you could take back—in other words, pretty damn close to a commitment…

One more knock and the door opened, making John sigh in relief at the distraction. “Damn it , George,” he said teasingly. “You take almost as long to get ready as a …ooooh” His eyes widened in frank admiration. After a few moments, he let out a long, slow whistle. “You really need to wear that shirt more often, George.”

Naturally, George blushed. John wondered if he’d ever get tired of making him do that. “I’ll consider it.” George’s eyebrow raised. “And I do not take as long to get ready as a girl. You’re just here early.”

John just grinned. It was the damnedest thing—he could spent hours absolutely paranoid about where the hell this was going, but as soon as he got within three feet of George, all he cared about was the novelty of falling in …just how good he looked in those pants. “Can’t help it if you get me so excited I forget what time it is.”

Another blush, much redder this time, and John leaned in for a quick kiss. Funny, though, they always managed to slip in a bit of tongue…George broke away first, breathing hard. “I … I need to get my jacket.”

“Okay, but don’t take too long. I don’t think I can handle the anticipation.” Another kiss (hard to help yourself, sometimes), and John’s nose caught faintest whiff of tequila, a drink he had grown remarkably fond of recently. Probably taste even better off of George…

They broke away again, realizing that continuing would not only seriously threaten their ability to leave the apartment, but quite possibly their ability to remain upright. And somebody had said something about slow, hadn’t they…

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Trying to slow his pulse rate to something approaching normal, John grinned again as he gently pushed George in the direction of the closet. “Nice tie.”

***

Antonia’s –a cozy little Italian restaurant with checkered tablecloths, soft candle light, good food (perfect to feed yourself or the person across from you) and waiters that knew when they needed to be attentive and when people wanted their privacy. In short, just the kind of place to make your significant other completely forget that this is the second time you’d forgotten her birthday.

Bemused (and trying not to pay attention to the way his heartbeat was speeding up), George glanced over at John. “And exactly how many girlfriends have you brought to this place?”

“Only one or two.” Grinning at the hacker’s disbelieving look, John slid his fingers through George’s. “I tend to save this place for the special ones.”

George’s hand tightened around his. “You know, you can stop trying so hard, it’s almost impossible to see blushes in this kind of lighting.”

John chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Maybe, but I still know they’re there.”

The waitress winked at them as she showed them to their table. “I love it when new couples come in,” she admitted as she handed them their menus. “That crazy in love stage is so adorable to watch. Speaking of which, anything I can get you two? Strawberries and whipped cream are a popular appetizer choice.”

After she left, George eyed John from over the top of the menu, gauging his response to the rather…public declaration of their status, one that to be honest they themselves hadn’t made yet. He couldn’t be too ashamed, surely – you didn’t take someone to this kind of place without knowing what it was you were getting into. But there was something about hearing it said out loud…Not to mention the blazingly obvious use of the “L” word…

Oblivious to George’s mental processes, John glanced once in the direction of the waitress smiling slightly. “Nice kid. Not a bad ass, either, come to think of it.” His gaze slid over to George. “Vastly inferior to yours, of course, but it’d be unfair to hold everyone to your standards…”

George chuckled and lowered the menu. Ignoring. He could definitely do ignoring. Especially if John kept looking at him like that… “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

John feigned offense. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true—I have excellent taste in dates. Besides, it wasn’t always ass—I varied the appendage used according to their best feature.” He took a sip of his wine, looking speculative. “Admittedly, though, the asses were always my favorite.”

At this, George’s voice softened, his masochism no longer able to help itself. “You miss it?”

“Nah—like I said, I managed to snag the best one.” John grinned, shoeless foot brushing against George’s under the table. “Now, are you gonna order, or are we just gonna sit here all night making googly eyes at each other?”

“Am I gonna order? I wasn’t aware you were that far ahead of me.”

“I just know what I like, that’s all.”

George raised an eyebrow, trying desperately not to think about the way the aforementioned foot was slowly but surely making its way up his pant leg. Dammit, John, you were the one that said slow, remember? The least you could do is help me out here. “If that’s the case, Mr. ‘I’ve only been here twice but am very familiar with the menu’, any suggestions?”

“The lasagna’s pretty good, but I’d stay away from anything with too much garlic. Makes it harder to kiss you.”

George grinned at John, not caring about the blush. If this was the farthest they ever got, he could almost swear it was enough. “And we wouldn’t want that to happen.”

John grinned back. “Definitely not.”

***

Slowly, Chloe sidled over to Bailey. “Think I should get all the breakable stuff out of the way, Uncle Bail?”

Evaluating the temperament of the woman he loved more than anything in the world (though from a safe distance away), Bailey shook his head. “I don’t think so, Chlo,” he replied, carefully edging Chloe even further out of harm’s way. “It would just upset your mother more to accidentally run over you.”

Sam, for her part, was too busy pacing to pay attention to any of this. Not your average, every day “movement will help me work out a difficult problem” kind of pacing, where onlookers are left with nothing more than a mild headache from watching the pacer too long. No, this was the super, ticked off “I’d go straight through the wall if I didn’t have to pay for the damages” kind of thing, where onlookers felt grateful if they escaped getting knocked unconscious.

Sam, it seemed, had a previously hidden talent for them.

“Rachel’s right. I hate to admit it, but she has to be right.” Neither Bailey or Chloe understood half of what their beloved was muttering about, but under the circumstances it seemed wisest not to comment. “They have to be together. That’s the only reasonable explanation. Attraction doesn’t just vanish, particularly when it’s felt by both sides. And it was felt by both sides, though they approached it from different angles. We all could see it, and lives have depended on our observational skills.”

Suddenly she started in the other direction, her argument immediately following her. “But still, we don’t have enough evidence for any of this. Neither one of them are showing any signs of such an emotional or physical attachment, and it’s not like we haven’t been looking. Hell, George hasn’t even been staring like he did, and at the time he didn’t seem able to help it. And there was that damned conversation—did they somehow know we were there? How could they? There were no prompts, no unusual pauses—the conversation started before it even moved within edgeshot. I must be missing something…”

Chloe leaned closer, voice gaining a distinct nervous edge. “Uncle Bail…”

Bailey sighed. “I’m on it, sweetie. But if I don’t make it back, I want you to go back to the kitchen and call Angel for me.” Their heads whirled around as Sam let out something they swore approached a growl. “Or possibly a doctor.”

Then, taking a deep breath and employing years of FBI training, Bailey moved, intercepting Sam with the least amount of damage to either of them. “Sam.” His gaze forced her to meet it (a rather pleasant experience, mind you, when she was calm enough to enjoy it). “I want you to take a deep breath and tell me exactly what’s wrong. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Offended brilliance melted under the love and concern shining out of those Italian brown eyes. “No, I’m sorry, Bail. Everything’s fine.” Sighing, she leaned against his warm strength. “There are some people who are just being…difficult.”

“Difficult.” Bailey’s arms came around her, one of their favorite positions to be in. “Good difficult or case difficult?”

Sam chuckled briefly at the thought of the boys under VCTF investigation. Well, official VCTF investigation. “Good difficult, I suppose, though they’re being so stubborn about it.”

“You do have a problem with stubborn men.” Bailey grinned at the thought, inspiring Chloe to quietly slide out the door with a pleased expression on her face. When Bailey started smiling like that, he and Mom were about to do things no 12-year-old should see her parents doing.

The corners of her own mouth unable to stop from sneaking upward, Sam planted a kiss on Bailey’s chin. “Oh, I’ve managed to get you pretty agreeable this past while.”

“Maybe,” Unsatisfied, Bailey caught Sam’s mouth with his for a longer, much more thorough kiss. Long as he lived, he would never find anything that tasted like this. Not even Jamison’s could touch it… “But you’d better not be trying those persuasive techniques on anyone else.”

As soon as she got her breath back, Sam laugh outright at the thought of kissing either John or George into submission. “Don’t worry—I doubt it would be very effective.” Her expression turned wicked as her fingers found the way between the buttons of Bailey’s shirt. “Or nearly so enjoyable. I found I’ve developed a taste for Italians, Mr. Malone.”

“Oh, really?” Bailey’s voice roughened as he pulled her closer, hand sliding its way under the edge of her skirt. “Then we’d better make sure you get your fill, then.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.” Pushing Bailey toward the bedroom, Sam decided firmly that the problem of John and George could wait another day. All she would do now was hope that, whoever they were with, they were enjoying themselves as much as she was about to.

***
About halfway through the meal, a small dab of sauce clinging quite enticingly to the corner of George’s mouth reminded John of an entirely new set of problems: sex.

Not that he didn’t want it—he gained a rapidly growing appreciation for various parts of George’s body over the last couple of weeks or so, and if that didn’t’ include…all of him yet it was certainly going to any day now., An d it had been a long habit of John’s to spend plenty of time with things he enjoyed –no reason to stop it now just because he was sampling from a different end of the buffet table.

But…well, this was where things got tricky. John took another sip of his wine, very carefully not dwelling on the line of George’s throat as eh swallowed. See, he’d spent several years very comfortably not thinking about the …mechanics of what he suddenly very much wanted to do, and wasn’t quite sure how to go about trying to change that fact. Was desire going to be enough to get past all the details? Sure, it was a lot of desire, but…

And another thing. For the first time since he’d been a teenage, he was going to be the inexperienced one in a sexual relationship. The thought was mind-boggling, and not in a good way. What…

Then a warm finger began tracing its way along the edge of John’s hand, and he could feel all of his questions and worries start to very subtly fade into the background. “John? You okay?”

“Yeah,” John grinned, catching up George’s hand and planting a light kiss on the palm. “Just thinking too much.”

George’s expression flickered, and his eyes shadowed slightly. “That can be a dangerous habit. Eat some more linguini and make it go away.”

John’s grin widened. “Oh, there are plenty of better ways to keep yourself from thinking.” Examining George’s hand very carefully (great hands, long and slim and strong—probably could do a lot with those) John caught one of George’s fingers between his teeth and every slowly drew it into his mouth. Maybe if he didn’t think, just felt, then things would work out fine. And it wasn’t like George made it hard…

“John…” the word was a hiss as John very slowly started sucking, using a rhythm that he was very familiar with. An ever so slight quickening of the pace brought a low moan (not to mention a valiant attempt at suppressing it) and the fork clattering to the plate.

John was quite pleased. Not that he’d ever had much of a chance to practice this particular technique, but it had always worked extremely well when a girl had tried it on him. He was more than happy to pass it along…

“John…” Oooh, that one was barely intelligible. Time to throw in a bit of variety –a little twist here, a bit of a pull, maybe some teeth action…damn, there was going to be marks in the top of the table when this was all over. “Please.”

Shit—that was the kind of opening you just couldn’t let pass, no matter how much fun you were having. Slowly, he let George’s finger slide out of his mouth, though he wrapped both hand around his wrist before George had the chance to snatch it away. The way George was dearly fighting for breath inspired yet another grin in John (he found himself doing that a lot lately, especially when George was around). “Please what?”

A laugh burst out of George, almost despite himself. “Dammit, John, you know how many answers I could give to that question, most of them quite detailed and not the kind of thing you’re supposed to do in a restaurant?”

“Yeah,” A low chuckle, and John planted another kiss on his knuckles. “Though you’d be surprised at the kind of things you could get away with, especially in a dimly lit place like this…”

“Don’t tempt me.” At this George snatched his hand away completely, before something happened that both of them would no doubt eventually regret (though certainly not in the heat of the moment…) “Or it might just get to the point where I don’t care who’s watching.”

“Watching?” A totally irrational shot of hurt stabbed through him. “You embarrassed to be seen with me, George?”

a look of total incomprehension flashed across George’s face for a moment, then his head sank down to the table with a long and extremely heartfelt sigh. “No, you extremely adorable idiot. That’s not it at all. I’m not even suggestion that you’d be embarrassed to be seen with me. It’s just that…” Shit, this wasn’t fair. It was a miracle that the idea hadn’t occurred to John already—why should he have to be the one to bring it up and freeze John all to hell. They were going to have enough problems like this as it was—did George really have to be the one to bring this down on them, even if it was for their own good? Besides, he liked having John suck his finger, dammit…

George rubbed his eyes, knowing he was going to do it anyway. “See, John, despite the face that everyone I know would strangle themselves with either jealousy or sheer admiration over the fact that I’d managed to snag you, I doubt that most of the people you know would have a similarly…open-minded response. Frankly, they’re not prepared for it, and if you decide you want to tell them, it’s going to be the kind of thing you want to break to them gently. Slowly. Believe me, I‘ve had experience with this sort of thing.”

Fingers slid their way across the table and linked themselves through George’s, even though John’s eyes had stuck a little wide. “Shit,” He let out a long, slow whistle. “I’d been trying not to think about that.”

“Really?” George raised an eyebrow. “How could you not?”

At this, John lifted George’s hands to his lips, a slightly sheepish smile playing across his face. “Believe me, make it real easy not to think too much…”

“John Grant?” the distinctly feminine voice coming from a few feet away sounded very much like George’s probably would if his laptop suddenly stood up and started dancing. Or if John suddenly kissed him… “Is that really you?”

“Oh, shit.” The words escaped both of them at pretty much the same instant, and John was suddenly torn in a second of absolutely panicked indecision. George, on the other hand was more than clear about the proper course of action and pulled his hand away before the woman came close, trying desperately to remember how to look at John in an even remotely casual manner. He’d pretend anything he had to to make sure he didn’t screw this up…

“I thought that was you, John Grant.” The woman stepping into the circle of candle light was well-built, blond, and curvy in what George presumed to be all the right places. Heels, a body-hugging little black dress and sea-green eyes completed what was no doubt an incredibly gorgeous picture, and George couldn’t help but wince inwardly as she folded her arms across her chest and gave a low, self-satisfied smile. “Though I certainly never merited seeing you in this particular lighting when we were dating.”

Great. An ex-girlfriend. Head ducked, George drew himself in even further, entertaining himself with the incredible number of ways that things could go even worse.

“Tina,” John flashed that smile that only those closest to him could tell wasn’t quite genuine. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good, as soon as I managed to break myself of my little cop habit.” She gestured to a table in the corner. “I only go for rich pretty boys now.” After a small chuckle at what was presumably an old joke between them, Tina finally gave in and let her eyes drift over to George. “And who are you….here with?”

Taking a deep breath, John held a hand out. “This is George.” He wrestled with himself for a few moments, trying to add a description that all of him could be comfortable with. Failing, his hand went back to the table-just George would have to do.

Tina briefly eyed George up and down, the smile flickering out for a moment, then held a hand out to shake his. “I remember John telling me about you.” George felt a brief stab of panic until re realized that, back when they were dating, that was the last thing they would have been talking about.

George shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he lied as evenly as he could manage.

“Oh, I would most definitely agree,” The smile was very firmly back in place and slowly widening as she released his hand and turned back to John. “It’s always nice to meet a hand John Grant feels is worthy of kissing.”

She burst out laughing at the identical expressions that blossomed on both their faces, then slowed and trailed off completely into wide-eyed silence as she realized exactly what the full implications of them were. “You mean you were serious?” she whispered, incredulous. “You were really…with a guy…I can’t believe it…thought for certain it must be…” Her eyes looked frozen into position as her mouth dropped open. “Oh my…”

Both of the boys opened their mouths to protest (though how and with what they had no idea) when the waitress walked by, obeying a subliminal cue from some truly awful romantic comedy. “You think that was impressive for PDA, you should have been here for the finger sucking. Mr. Fraley’s expression made the guys from three tables on both sides absolutely green with envy.”

George’s head dropped into his hands with a groan as Tina’s eyes bulged out even further. “This is unreal.” An almost hysterical laughter was bubbling up in the back of her throat. “The great John Grant suddenly decides he’s gay? A sign of the apocalypse if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I’m not gay, dammit!” John’s denial was, for once, quick and vehement (though pitched in the hope that not all of the tables would be able to hear what was going on) and George forced himself not to visibly flinch. Really, it was a perfectly reasonable thing to say in the given situation—given the opportunity, there was chance George would have said it for him. It didn’t have to mean anything to their relationship…

Tina tried arching an eyebrow, but was laughing too hard to really make it come out right. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. It’s just…” Once again John struggled for a response, frustration and wounded manly pride battling it out with honest emotion. “I’m not gay. I’m…” His entire body flinched at the thought of being called gay—there was only one male ass he was interested in, dammit, and he wasn’t about to let anybody say otherwise. But there were also so many things he could say right now that would hurt the hell out of George, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. There was too much at stake here to screw up this quickly. But…

Giving up, John threw his hands up in the air, no longer caring whether his answer made sense. “I’m just George’s, all right?!” If he had to come up with excuses later, at least he could say it was the truth.

At this, Tina quite abruptly stopped laughing, looking almost as shocked as before. She just started at John as George slowly lifted hi head, his own eyes wide and a suspicious lump forming in his throat.

After a few moments, Tina blinked. “John, I’m absolutely certain that is the most beautiful thing you have ever said to or about anyone.” Then she turned to George. “Whatever you’re doing, Mr. Fraley, keep it up. I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, but you might actually be the one that finally snags him for keeps.” Her face split into a wide grin. “And even if not, you’ve certainly gotten farther than the rest of us have. It’ll be good for him.” With that and a little wave, she was gone. “Enjoy your dinner.”

After she left, John moved his hand back across the table to rest on top of George’s (who was still looking shell shocked, but in a good kind of way). “I bet it’ll get easier after this, don’t you?”