A New Taste on the Tongue
folder
M through R › Profiler
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
2,330
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Profiler
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
2,330
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Profiler, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
I Should Have Stayed Home
E-mail: insanepagangod@hotmail.com
Summary: If you decide to get drunk at the office New Year’s Eve party, make sure you know who you’re kissing .... (John/George. *Very* John/George. Very *not* “I woke up gay.”)
Archiving: Please! Just ask us first!
Rating: Will be NC-17, as soon as we get all the fragging chapters up.
Spoilers: References little moments from all 4 seasons of the show (and some we made up) but nothing that will ruin the episodes for you. On a slightly AU note, we've completely ignored the last episode and all that horrible breaking up the VCTF business, and we've had Sam and Bailey get together though she has left the job. Use your fanfic of choice to explain how.
Author’s notes: What can you say about your first slash fic? It’s like the first time you wake up in a tree, a tequila bottle in one hand and someone else’s underwear in the other. There aren’t the words. Of course, there aren’t any apologies, either ....
Authors note 2/Disclaimer: This is all John’s, George’s, and “I Should Be Sleeping” by Emerson Drive’s fault (lyrics at end of story). Since none of them belong to us, all lawsuits, rotten eggs, and death rays should be directed elsewhere. Reviews of all shades, colors, sexual preferences and other permutations, however, are welcome here.
A New Taste on the Tongue
by Gatekeeper and AnitaB
Chapter 1: I Should Have Stayed Home
As George surveyed the FBI party, currently in full swing, he wondered very briefly just what it was Richard was doing right now.
Not that he particularly wanted to be a part of whatever it was, of course, but when one found themselves dateless on New Year’s Eve, it was easy for the mind to wander to exes and any other romantic might-have-beens that happened to be wandering around the place. If only things had been different ....
Of course, he reminded himself sternly as he took a sip of the Jamison’s he had been nursing throughout the night, if he had wanted to play the morose lonely drunk tonight he should be a lot farther along with his alcohol intake by now. Since he hadn’t, and in fact wanted to get a crack at his new laptop the minute he could sneak out from under Grace’s watchful eye (“George Fraley, you are going to have a good time tonight even if it kills you”) he decided he’d probably better find some way to distract himself.
He allowed himself a slight smile at the happy couples on the dance floor. Sam and Bailey, having finally gotten their act together, were over in the corner, trying to pretend they were dancing instead of just making out. Rachel, who was thinking about transferring to another unit to give Bailey and Sam more of a chance to be together, was flirting with an attractive brunette from her prospective unit, David somebody, he thought she’d introduced him as. Grace, cheek to cheek with her boy boyfriend, Paul, noticed he was watching them and eyed him for any hint of a morose expression. He tried to smile in response, but had no idea how convincing it was.
Taking another sip, he sighed to himself. He was happy for all of them, but in counterpoint couldn’t help but feel pathetic as hell. Was there some secret for maintaining a happy relationship that he was too stupid to figure out? Or was he just so unappealing that he would never find one in the first place?
Damn, he missed his computer.
At that point Bailey and Sam, having decided that they needed to breathe every once in awhile, wandered over with joint expressions of concern. George winced inwardly – he loved them both and he knew that they were both just worried about him after the whole Richaring,ing, but the last thing a guy with a broken heart needed to have hanging around was a doe-eyed, madly in love couple.
Fortunately, though, they had other things on their mind. “George,” Sam asked anxiously as soon as she was within earshot. “Have you seen John?”
Forehead crinkling, George scanned the room again. “I don’t think so. Not for an hour, at least.”
“Damn.” She looked over at Bailey, eyes solemn. “I told him he didn’t have to come tonight.”
Geo George was concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Bailey shook his head. “John’s ego. According to Sam, he’s been seeing Kim from accounting for awhile, and had plans to come with her to the party. Twenty minutes before it started, however, she calls him to say that she’s breaking up with him and going to the party with the guy in the cubicle next to hers.”
“They’re both here somewhere, and it had him pretty upset.” Sam scanned the crowd again, paying special attention to the bar. “He’s been drinking ...”
“Okay, okay, I get the hint.” Feeling his laptop slip farther and farther away from him, George set his drink down on the nearest flat surface. “You take the front lawn, I’ll check the bathroom?”
“Thanks, George.” Flashing him a smile, she started pulling her lover in the direction of the exit. “I’ll have Grace check the kitchens ...”
Shaking his head, George headed in the proper direction. Ah well. At least it would give him something to do.
***
Twenty minutes later, George knocked on the door of his third bathroom of the night. “John, it’s me. Are you in there?” Given the man’s supposed state of inebriation, George doubted that the question would have been answered even if John had been in there. Still, there was always a chance, and bending to look under all those bathroom stalls was beginning to do terrible things to his back.
There was no response, and George started to turn the door handle. There were only so many bathrooms within a reasonable distance, and John hadn’t been in any of them. Brie Geo George wondered if someone should be checking the women’s bathrooms. Depending on how inebriated he was, there was a good chance John wouldn’t have noticed a little thing like a skirt on the front door.
“Hey, George. Cum’on in.”
All right, so they wouldn’t have to worry about the women’s bathrooms.
His sigh a mixture of relief and resignation, George moved to push open the door. He couldn’t. George tried again, a little harder this time. Still couldn’t.
“John, I need you to move away from the door. Can you do that?”
There was no response, but the door was suddenly much easier to open. When he had managed it, George leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head as he took in the scene before him. “John, this is not a good thing.”
John, who had been sprawled face-up on the floor, his jacket gone and tie off and wrapped around one of the faucets, attempted to stand up. Somehow, he still managed to keep a firm grip on his bottle of tequila. “Nope, I’m fabluss.”
George dove for his side just as John was about to dive back down to the ground, John’s body arguing strenuously with the brain’s decision to attempt such an arduous task. Thankfully, George managed to grab him just before he hit the floor. “Least, thought I’s fabluss. Course, Kim din’t tink so.”
George hooked his limp friend’s arm around his neck, preparing to help him along to somewhat safer territory. At the very least, carpeting. “John, believe me – no one is worth doing this to yourself, whether they be male or female.”
John peered at him, a memory trying to crowd its way through his alcohol fogged brain. “Oh yeah, you go’ dumpt too.”
Though George realized it wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good, he still felt the need to correct him. “Actually, I kicked him out of the apartment.” He sighed. “But I suppose the samencipnciple still holds.”
“‘S good. Rishar not good nuff f’r you.” John nodded, as if pronouncing a great truth.
“Why, thank you, John.” Despite the general absurdity of the situation, George couldn’t help but be a little touched. In a moment of fellow feeling he added, “I’m certain that Kim wasn’t good enough for you either.”
“‘S right.” Somewhere in the distance, the countdown started. 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... As if a thought occurred to him (how, George couldn’t begin to guess), John turned his head to look at George. 7 ... 6 ... 5 ... “Y’ know, mebbe you’n me good nuff f’r each’thr.”
3 ... 2 ... 1...
Then, as he was expected to do in such a situation, John rang in the New Year by practicing his prodigious kissing skills on the nearest available individual.
This time, that individual just happened to be George.
George froze as John’s lips covered his, completely unprepared for the gentle assault. Shocked, George gasped slightly, his lips opening just enough to allow John’s tongue to slip in between them and begin to explore the dark corners of his mouth.
Something in the back of George’s brain told him he should be stopping this – not only was it wrong in most senses of the word, but it would totally destroy his entire friendship with John should he happen to remember it in the morning. But the rest of him refused to obey, completely lost in the softness of John’s lips against the hint of stubble, the gentle stroking of his tongue against his. The way that something inside him woke up for the first time in what seemed like forever.
This, a tiny voice somewhere inside him noted as alcohol and fire seared its way across his mouth, was the only way to taste tequila.
All too soon the kiss ended, closing with nothing more than a final brush of warm lips against his and a slight smile from John. “Happ’ N’Year.”
Then he slumped against George’s shoulder, completely unconscious.
George closed his eyes, forcing his heartbeat to return to normal as he fought back regret, relief, and a thousand other things. “Come on, John,” he said to no one in particular, left with nothing else to do. “I’ll drive you home.”
After which he was going to forget his computer and get very, very drunk. When your universe flipped sideways and you needed to forget it ever happened, you needed something stronger than technology.
***
Unfortunately, reality crashed down even harder the next morning when George had to drag himself and his massive hangover back to the office, reminded once again that, though alcohol can often assure someone a dreamless sleep, it did nothing for the nightmare awaiting them when they woke back up.
Still, he could just manage to focus his eyes on the computer screen in front of him, was well-braced with asprin (though not quite as much as he wanted – he still had to be careful) and John wasn’t in yet, quite possibly having decided not to show up at all. With any luck, he just might be able to survive the day.
Of course, escaping scrutiny was another matter entirely.
Eyes narrowed, Grace leaned over the front of George’s desk. “You look like hell, George. What happened to you last night?”
George rubbed his eyes, knowing she wouldn’t let up until she got an answer and currently in no condition to think up a properly brilliant lie. “I was depressed and decided to get drunk in the privacy of my own home.”
Grace, unfortunately, ’t b’t buying it. “When sobriety had been suiting you fine for most of the night, you hardly ever drink too much and Richard wasn’t worth getting drunk over in the first place? You’re usually better than this, George – if you weren’t so clearly in the midst of painful hangover, I’d be disappointed I didn’t get a better story out of you.” She straightened, hxprexpression suddenly sympathetic. “It’s too bad though. And here I was hoping you’d gotten lucky.”
George very rapidly dove for something in his bottom desk drawer, desperately hoping Grace wouldn’t notice just how red he’d gotten all of a sudden.
Unfortunately, the speculative look on Grace’s face made it clear that she had noticed, and at some undetermined point in the future a full-fledged interrogation would occur. Fortunately, Bailey chose that moment to walk by, distracting Grace and making sure the moment occurred just that much later.
“Bailey,” Grace called from across the room, knowing that anyone within hearing range would have already heard about the situation. “Did you ever figure out what happened to John?”
Damn, but this blushing thing was getting to be a chronic habit with him. George pretended that his bottom drawer had suddenly become extremely fascinating.
Tucking the file he had been carrying under his arm, Bailey shook his head. “No, but I called his house at about 4:30, and the unintelligible grunting on the other end was definitely his voice. So I would presume that he somehow made it home.”
Smirking slightly, Grace an eyebrow. “And just what were you doing up at 4:30 in the morning? In between sessions with Sam, were we?”
This time, it was Bailey that blushed. George was perversely gratified.
***
Why in the hell are all the lights so bright? Someone must really have it in for me. John walked slowly through the VCTF’s door, trying not to move his head as he crossed the room. “Bailey, the next time youide ide we have to work on New Year’s Day, tell me not tink ink at the party.”
“Well, you look alive.” Bailey’s voice rumbled with laughter as he leaned against the table. A small grin on his face said he’d seen John flinch at the sound level.
“Barely.” Grace looked at the slow and careful way John was moving, her expression falling somewhere between “I told you so” and parental concern. “Have you taken anythin
“Yeah, but it isn’t doing much yet.” With his head down on the table, John didn’t see the way George looked at him, a combination of curiosity and concern.
With a force of will, John lifted his head and looked at his friends and co-workers. “Whoever took me home last night must still have my keys. I couldn’t find them this morning.” Glancing around at the people looking at him with pity, John noticed the vague red coloring George’s face. “So who’s got ‘em?”
“Hey, I called you later because I couldn’t find you before I left.”
John smiled with a mixture of vague envy and humor. “With Sam around you weren’t looking too hard, were you, Bail?” Everywhere around him people were happily involved in relationships and he was alone. He couldn’t help but feel a little bitter.
Grace looked at George suspiciously, then turned to John. “I couldn’t find you either. I didn’t take you home.”
George fumbled in his pocket and John’s keys skittered across the table. Grace couldn’t help smiling as several of the males in the room flinched at the metallic scraping sound.
“I found them in the bathroom sometime after you were gone. I just assumed you took a cab.”
John hesitated before reaching for his keys. Searching through his hazy memories, he thought he remembered being in a bathroom, but something didn’t quite make sense. He could almost remember someone acting like a crutch and helping his through his apartment door, but there wasn’t a single image in his head of a cab. He couldn’t remember calling, riding in, or paying for a cab, and cabbies didn’t usually do as much for their drunk fares as he remembered being done for him. But then, what did he know. I was very, very drunk. I wouldn’t be surprised if I remembered a threesome with dancing green elves. “Uh, thanks George. They would’ve been expensive to replace.”
“No problem, John.” Not meeting his eyes, George buried his nose in a file folder. “It was nothing.”
Something inside John flinched at the dismissal in those words, was somehow disturbed that George wouldn’t look at him.
But for the life of him, John didn’t know why.
***
“Head still hurt?”
John lifted the aforementioned body part off the surface of his desk, oddly touched to see George standing in the doorway with a glass in each hand. At John’s nod, he walked into the room. “Bailey, who’s had a lot more experience with hangovers than either of us, said the hair of the dog actually works.” Leaning over the desk, George held a glass out to him. “Jamison’s. Have a drink.”
“Thanks.” Reaching for the glass, John’s fingers met George’s around its edge, a sudden warmth filling his as both their hands lingered longer than necessary. Confused, John watched as George’s eyes fell to his lips before both gaze and touch were withdrawn and he sat down. “We all know Bailey’s love for scotch.” John wrapped both hands around the glass and took a sip, wincing slightly. “I don’t know how he drinks it all the time, though.”
“Yeah. Tequila’s easier on the tongue.” George flinched at his own words and took a long drink of Jamison’s to cover the red that was spreading over his face. To be more specific, tequila was easiest off someone else’s tongue .... The feel of last night’s kiss washed through George’s mind, sending the flush into a brighter red.
What the hell is going on? John just sat back in his chair, even more confused than before. George was sitting there in his office, beet read and drinking a glass of scotch as if it was the only thing he had to hold on to. John rubbed his hands together, wondering why the touch of George’s hand had felt so warm against his own. Why his eyes kept finding their way back to George. Why George’s kept finding their way back to him.
How it made him feel ....
There had to be something about last night. That was when all this had started. The problem was, he couldn’t remember much of it. John rubbed a hand over his temple, fighting headache and haziness to try to remember. The images and sensations were disconnected, blurred. The cold tile of a bathroom floor against his arms. The couch under his back as someone took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket. Lips against his own in a kiss that took his breath away, flipped his heart upside down. But no face, no memory of who he had kissed so passionately.
Who was she? And what did that have to do with this?
“So yemememember anything about last night, John?” George’s voice was deliberately casual, his eyes never leaving the empty glass in his hands.
“Not much,” he said, emptying his glass and setting it down on the desk. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell George about the girl. “And none of it clearly.”
“Oh.” George’s voice held an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “Well, we’d better get back to work. My computer’s calling.” Standing, he left toom oom before John could analyze his voice or expression.
John groaned, returning to his own work. “I should have stayed home today.”
***
“George, honey, are you all right? You look like hell.” Grace laid a palm against his forehead as she sat down next to him.
‘Thanks, Grace. Your kind words make me feel so much better.” Patting her hand, George smiled and moved it back to the table’s surface. “I’ll live, so don’t worry.”
“Damn. And here I was, looking forward to the autopsy. I’ve been dying to get my hands on your body.” Leaning on the table, she put on a serious expression. “Now that we’ve exchanged the required jokes, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong, Grace. I’m just hung over like half the agents here. You were too busy playing kissy face with Paul to get riproaring drunk like the rest of us.”
“He was sweet, wasn’t he?” Grace put on a sappy smile and folded her hands on her knee. “But don’t change the subject, dear. I want to know what happened between last night and this morning to get you so down.” She held up a hand to stop his response. “And don’t even try to tell me it was the breakup with Richard, because I know it wasn’t. So, Georgie, what’s up?” Settling back in her chair, Grace watched his face pointedly.
While it was touching to know that she cared, George wasn’t about to tell her what was wrong. The look on her face if he confessed that he’d fa for for a straight co-worker – a very straight co-worker, based on the bragging he did at the coffeepot every day – would hold more pity than his ego could take. He’d wallowed in enough pity of his own last night with his bottle of hard liquor – he didn’t need hers, too.
George smiled at her sweetly, maybe a little too sweetly, and lied. “Sorry, Grace, I’d share if I could, but there’s nothing wrong to tell you about.”
“Good, very good. I almost believed you, George. Almost. Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to talk.” She paused, waiting for a sign of his willingness to comply. Not getting one, Grace stood to leave. “I’ll just go talk to John.”
“Why?” The near panic in his outburst turned her around with a curious, purposefully blank face.
Sitting down, Grace folded her arms on the table and stared at George. “Why, because he seems down after his breakup with Kim. Why did you think I was going to talk to John, George?”
Turning back to his computer, George kicked himself internally. “No reason, Grace.” The nonchalant tone of his voice wasn’t perfect, but he was proud of himself for the strong effort.
“All right, George. Whatever you say.”
He kept his eyes on the screen until her footsteps had left the room, then dropped his head to the table and groaned. “I should’ve stayed home today.”
***
Summary: If you decide to get drunk at the office New Year’s Eve party, make sure you know who you’re kissing .... (John/George. *Very* John/George. Very *not* “I woke up gay.”)
Archiving: Please! Just ask us first!
Rating: Will be NC-17, as soon as we get all the fragging chapters up.
Spoilers: References little moments from all 4 seasons of the show (and some we made up) but nothing that will ruin the episodes for you. On a slightly AU note, we've completely ignored the last episode and all that horrible breaking up the VCTF business, and we've had Sam and Bailey get together though she has left the job. Use your fanfic of choice to explain how.
Author’s notes: What can you say about your first slash fic? It’s like the first time you wake up in a tree, a tequila bottle in one hand and someone else’s underwear in the other. There aren’t the words. Of course, there aren’t any apologies, either ....
Authors note 2/Disclaimer: This is all John’s, George’s, and “I Should Be Sleeping” by Emerson Drive’s fault (lyrics at end of story). Since none of them belong to us, all lawsuits, rotten eggs, and death rays should be directed elsewhere. Reviews of all shades, colors, sexual preferences and other permutations, however, are welcome here.
A New Taste on the Tongue
by Gatekeeper and AnitaB
Chapter 1: I Should Have Stayed Home
As George surveyed the FBI party, currently in full swing, he wondered very briefly just what it was Richard was doing right now.
Not that he particularly wanted to be a part of whatever it was, of course, but when one found themselves dateless on New Year’s Eve, it was easy for the mind to wander to exes and any other romantic might-have-beens that happened to be wandering around the place. If only things had been different ....
Of course, he reminded himself sternly as he took a sip of the Jamison’s he had been nursing throughout the night, if he had wanted to play the morose lonely drunk tonight he should be a lot farther along with his alcohol intake by now. Since he hadn’t, and in fact wanted to get a crack at his new laptop the minute he could sneak out from under Grace’s watchful eye (“George Fraley, you are going to have a good time tonight even if it kills you”) he decided he’d probably better find some way to distract himself.
He allowed himself a slight smile at the happy couples on the dance floor. Sam and Bailey, having finally gotten their act together, were over in the corner, trying to pretend they were dancing instead of just making out. Rachel, who was thinking about transferring to another unit to give Bailey and Sam more of a chance to be together, was flirting with an attractive brunette from her prospective unit, David somebody, he thought she’d introduced him as. Grace, cheek to cheek with her boy boyfriend, Paul, noticed he was watching them and eyed him for any hint of a morose expression. He tried to smile in response, but had no idea how convincing it was.
Taking another sip, he sighed to himself. He was happy for all of them, but in counterpoint couldn’t help but feel pathetic as hell. Was there some secret for maintaining a happy relationship that he was too stupid to figure out? Or was he just so unappealing that he would never find one in the first place?
Damn, he missed his computer.
At that point Bailey and Sam, having decided that they needed to breathe every once in awhile, wandered over with joint expressions of concern. George winced inwardly – he loved them both and he knew that they were both just worried about him after the whole Richaring,ing, but the last thing a guy with a broken heart needed to have hanging around was a doe-eyed, madly in love couple.
Fortunately, though, they had other things on their mind. “George,” Sam asked anxiously as soon as she was within earshot. “Have you seen John?”
Forehead crinkling, George scanned the room again. “I don’t think so. Not for an hour, at least.”
“Damn.” She looked over at Bailey, eyes solemn. “I told him he didn’t have to come tonight.”
Geo George was concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Bailey shook his head. “John’s ego. According to Sam, he’s been seeing Kim from accounting for awhile, and had plans to come with her to the party. Twenty minutes before it started, however, she calls him to say that she’s breaking up with him and going to the party with the guy in the cubicle next to hers.”
“They’re both here somewhere, and it had him pretty upset.” Sam scanned the crowd again, paying special attention to the bar. “He’s been drinking ...”
“Okay, okay, I get the hint.” Feeling his laptop slip farther and farther away from him, George set his drink down on the nearest flat surface. “You take the front lawn, I’ll check the bathroom?”
“Thanks, George.” Flashing him a smile, she started pulling her lover in the direction of the exit. “I’ll have Grace check the kitchens ...”
Shaking his head, George headed in the proper direction. Ah well. At least it would give him something to do.
***
Twenty minutes later, George knocked on the door of his third bathroom of the night. “John, it’s me. Are you in there?” Given the man’s supposed state of inebriation, George doubted that the question would have been answered even if John had been in there. Still, there was always a chance, and bending to look under all those bathroom stalls was beginning to do terrible things to his back.
There was no response, and George started to turn the door handle. There were only so many bathrooms within a reasonable distance, and John hadn’t been in any of them. Brie Geo George wondered if someone should be checking the women’s bathrooms. Depending on how inebriated he was, there was a good chance John wouldn’t have noticed a little thing like a skirt on the front door.
“Hey, George. Cum’on in.”
All right, so they wouldn’t have to worry about the women’s bathrooms.
His sigh a mixture of relief and resignation, George moved to push open the door. He couldn’t. George tried again, a little harder this time. Still couldn’t.
“John, I need you to move away from the door. Can you do that?”
There was no response, but the door was suddenly much easier to open. When he had managed it, George leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head as he took in the scene before him. “John, this is not a good thing.”
John, who had been sprawled face-up on the floor, his jacket gone and tie off and wrapped around one of the faucets, attempted to stand up. Somehow, he still managed to keep a firm grip on his bottle of tequila. “Nope, I’m fabluss.”
George dove for his side just as John was about to dive back down to the ground, John’s body arguing strenuously with the brain’s decision to attempt such an arduous task. Thankfully, George managed to grab him just before he hit the floor. “Least, thought I’s fabluss. Course, Kim din’t tink so.”
George hooked his limp friend’s arm around his neck, preparing to help him along to somewhat safer territory. At the very least, carpeting. “John, believe me – no one is worth doing this to yourself, whether they be male or female.”
John peered at him, a memory trying to crowd its way through his alcohol fogged brain. “Oh yeah, you go’ dumpt too.”
Though George realized it wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good, he still felt the need to correct him. “Actually, I kicked him out of the apartment.” He sighed. “But I suppose the samencipnciple still holds.”
“‘S good. Rishar not good nuff f’r you.” John nodded, as if pronouncing a great truth.
“Why, thank you, John.” Despite the general absurdity of the situation, George couldn’t help but be a little touched. In a moment of fellow feeling he added, “I’m certain that Kim wasn’t good enough for you either.”
“‘S right.” Somewhere in the distance, the countdown started. 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... As if a thought occurred to him (how, George couldn’t begin to guess), John turned his head to look at George. 7 ... 6 ... 5 ... “Y’ know, mebbe you’n me good nuff f’r each’thr.”
3 ... 2 ... 1...
Then, as he was expected to do in such a situation, John rang in the New Year by practicing his prodigious kissing skills on the nearest available individual.
This time, that individual just happened to be George.
George froze as John’s lips covered his, completely unprepared for the gentle assault. Shocked, George gasped slightly, his lips opening just enough to allow John’s tongue to slip in between them and begin to explore the dark corners of his mouth.
Something in the back of George’s brain told him he should be stopping this – not only was it wrong in most senses of the word, but it would totally destroy his entire friendship with John should he happen to remember it in the morning. But the rest of him refused to obey, completely lost in the softness of John’s lips against the hint of stubble, the gentle stroking of his tongue against his. The way that something inside him woke up for the first time in what seemed like forever.
This, a tiny voice somewhere inside him noted as alcohol and fire seared its way across his mouth, was the only way to taste tequila.
All too soon the kiss ended, closing with nothing more than a final brush of warm lips against his and a slight smile from John. “Happ’ N’Year.”
Then he slumped against George’s shoulder, completely unconscious.
George closed his eyes, forcing his heartbeat to return to normal as he fought back regret, relief, and a thousand other things. “Come on, John,” he said to no one in particular, left with nothing else to do. “I’ll drive you home.”
After which he was going to forget his computer and get very, very drunk. When your universe flipped sideways and you needed to forget it ever happened, you needed something stronger than technology.
***
Unfortunately, reality crashed down even harder the next morning when George had to drag himself and his massive hangover back to the office, reminded once again that, though alcohol can often assure someone a dreamless sleep, it did nothing for the nightmare awaiting them when they woke back up.
Still, he could just manage to focus his eyes on the computer screen in front of him, was well-braced with asprin (though not quite as much as he wanted – he still had to be careful) and John wasn’t in yet, quite possibly having decided not to show up at all. With any luck, he just might be able to survive the day.
Of course, escaping scrutiny was another matter entirely.
Eyes narrowed, Grace leaned over the front of George’s desk. “You look like hell, George. What happened to you last night?”
George rubbed his eyes, knowing she wouldn’t let up until she got an answer and currently in no condition to think up a properly brilliant lie. “I was depressed and decided to get drunk in the privacy of my own home.”
Grace, unfortunately, ’t b’t buying it. “When sobriety had been suiting you fine for most of the night, you hardly ever drink too much and Richard wasn’t worth getting drunk over in the first place? You’re usually better than this, George – if you weren’t so clearly in the midst of painful hangover, I’d be disappointed I didn’t get a better story out of you.” She straightened, hxprexpression suddenly sympathetic. “It’s too bad though. And here I was hoping you’d gotten lucky.”
George very rapidly dove for something in his bottom desk drawer, desperately hoping Grace wouldn’t notice just how red he’d gotten all of a sudden.
Unfortunately, the speculative look on Grace’s face made it clear that she had noticed, and at some undetermined point in the future a full-fledged interrogation would occur. Fortunately, Bailey chose that moment to walk by, distracting Grace and making sure the moment occurred just that much later.
“Bailey,” Grace called from across the room, knowing that anyone within hearing range would have already heard about the situation. “Did you ever figure out what happened to John?”
Damn, but this blushing thing was getting to be a chronic habit with him. George pretended that his bottom drawer had suddenly become extremely fascinating.
Tucking the file he had been carrying under his arm, Bailey shook his head. “No, but I called his house at about 4:30, and the unintelligible grunting on the other end was definitely his voice. So I would presume that he somehow made it home.”
Smirking slightly, Grace an eyebrow. “And just what were you doing up at 4:30 in the morning? In between sessions with Sam, were we?”
This time, it was Bailey that blushed. George was perversely gratified.
***
Why in the hell are all the lights so bright? Someone must really have it in for me. John walked slowly through the VCTF’s door, trying not to move his head as he crossed the room. “Bailey, the next time youide ide we have to work on New Year’s Day, tell me not tink ink at the party.”
“Well, you look alive.” Bailey’s voice rumbled with laughter as he leaned against the table. A small grin on his face said he’d seen John flinch at the sound level.
“Barely.” Grace looked at the slow and careful way John was moving, her expression falling somewhere between “I told you so” and parental concern. “Have you taken anythin
“Yeah, but it isn’t doing much yet.” With his head down on the table, John didn’t see the way George looked at him, a combination of curiosity and concern.
With a force of will, John lifted his head and looked at his friends and co-workers. “Whoever took me home last night must still have my keys. I couldn’t find them this morning.” Glancing around at the people looking at him with pity, John noticed the vague red coloring George’s face. “So who’s got ‘em?”
“Hey, I called you later because I couldn’t find you before I left.”
John smiled with a mixture of vague envy and humor. “With Sam around you weren’t looking too hard, were you, Bail?” Everywhere around him people were happily involved in relationships and he was alone. He couldn’t help but feel a little bitter.
Grace looked at George suspiciously, then turned to John. “I couldn’t find you either. I didn’t take you home.”
George fumbled in his pocket and John’s keys skittered across the table. Grace couldn’t help smiling as several of the males in the room flinched at the metallic scraping sound.
“I found them in the bathroom sometime after you were gone. I just assumed you took a cab.”
John hesitated before reaching for his keys. Searching through his hazy memories, he thought he remembered being in a bathroom, but something didn’t quite make sense. He could almost remember someone acting like a crutch and helping his through his apartment door, but there wasn’t a single image in his head of a cab. He couldn’t remember calling, riding in, or paying for a cab, and cabbies didn’t usually do as much for their drunk fares as he remembered being done for him. But then, what did he know. I was very, very drunk. I wouldn’t be surprised if I remembered a threesome with dancing green elves. “Uh, thanks George. They would’ve been expensive to replace.”
“No problem, John.” Not meeting his eyes, George buried his nose in a file folder. “It was nothing.”
Something inside John flinched at the dismissal in those words, was somehow disturbed that George wouldn’t look at him.
But for the life of him, John didn’t know why.
***
“Head still hurt?”
John lifted the aforementioned body part off the surface of his desk, oddly touched to see George standing in the doorway with a glass in each hand. At John’s nod, he walked into the room. “Bailey, who’s had a lot more experience with hangovers than either of us, said the hair of the dog actually works.” Leaning over the desk, George held a glass out to him. “Jamison’s. Have a drink.”
“Thanks.” Reaching for the glass, John’s fingers met George’s around its edge, a sudden warmth filling his as both their hands lingered longer than necessary. Confused, John watched as George’s eyes fell to his lips before both gaze and touch were withdrawn and he sat down. “We all know Bailey’s love for scotch.” John wrapped both hands around the glass and took a sip, wincing slightly. “I don’t know how he drinks it all the time, though.”
“Yeah. Tequila’s easier on the tongue.” George flinched at his own words and took a long drink of Jamison’s to cover the red that was spreading over his face. To be more specific, tequila was easiest off someone else’s tongue .... The feel of last night’s kiss washed through George’s mind, sending the flush into a brighter red.
What the hell is going on? John just sat back in his chair, even more confused than before. George was sitting there in his office, beet read and drinking a glass of scotch as if it was the only thing he had to hold on to. John rubbed his hands together, wondering why the touch of George’s hand had felt so warm against his own. Why his eyes kept finding their way back to George. Why George’s kept finding their way back to him.
How it made him feel ....
There had to be something about last night. That was when all this had started. The problem was, he couldn’t remember much of it. John rubbed a hand over his temple, fighting headache and haziness to try to remember. The images and sensations were disconnected, blurred. The cold tile of a bathroom floor against his arms. The couch under his back as someone took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket. Lips against his own in a kiss that took his breath away, flipped his heart upside down. But no face, no memory of who he had kissed so passionately.
Who was she? And what did that have to do with this?
“So yemememember anything about last night, John?” George’s voice was deliberately casual, his eyes never leaving the empty glass in his hands.
“Not much,” he said, emptying his glass and setting it down on the desk. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell George about the girl. “And none of it clearly.”
“Oh.” George’s voice held an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “Well, we’d better get back to work. My computer’s calling.” Standing, he left toom oom before John could analyze his voice or expression.
John groaned, returning to his own work. “I should have stayed home today.”
***
“George, honey, are you all right? You look like hell.” Grace laid a palm against his forehead as she sat down next to him.
‘Thanks, Grace. Your kind words make me feel so much better.” Patting her hand, George smiled and moved it back to the table’s surface. “I’ll live, so don’t worry.”
“Damn. And here I was, looking forward to the autopsy. I’ve been dying to get my hands on your body.” Leaning on the table, she put on a serious expression. “Now that we’ve exchanged the required jokes, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong, Grace. I’m just hung over like half the agents here. You were too busy playing kissy face with Paul to get riproaring drunk like the rest of us.”
“He was sweet, wasn’t he?” Grace put on a sappy smile and folded her hands on her knee. “But don’t change the subject, dear. I want to know what happened between last night and this morning to get you so down.” She held up a hand to stop his response. “And don’t even try to tell me it was the breakup with Richard, because I know it wasn’t. So, Georgie, what’s up?” Settling back in her chair, Grace watched his face pointedly.
While it was touching to know that she cared, George wasn’t about to tell her what was wrong. The look on her face if he confessed that he’d fa for for a straight co-worker – a very straight co-worker, based on the bragging he did at the coffeepot every day – would hold more pity than his ego could take. He’d wallowed in enough pity of his own last night with his bottle of hard liquor – he didn’t need hers, too.
George smiled at her sweetly, maybe a little too sweetly, and lied. “Sorry, Grace, I’d share if I could, but there’s nothing wrong to tell you about.”
“Good, very good. I almost believed you, George. Almost. Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to talk.” She paused, waiting for a sign of his willingness to comply. Not getting one, Grace stood to leave. “I’ll just go talk to John.”
“Why?” The near panic in his outburst turned her around with a curious, purposefully blank face.
Sitting down, Grace folded her arms on the table and stared at George. “Why, because he seems down after his breakup with Kim. Why did you think I was going to talk to John, George?”
Turning back to his computer, George kicked himself internally. “No reason, Grace.” The nonchalant tone of his voice wasn’t perfect, but he was proud of himself for the strong effort.
“All right, George. Whatever you say.”
He kept his eyes on the screen until her footsteps had left the room, then dropped his head to the table and groaned. “I should’ve stayed home today.”
***