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A New Taste on the Tongue	By : ALittleGandA Category: M through R > Profiler Views: 2316 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
AN: Friends isn�t ours either, and I�m pretty dang sure the lines we use were never actually in the series. We�re Profiler freaks, not Friends freaks.

Chapter 4: Coping Mechanisms

Once inside the safety of his office, George sank back against the door, head in his hands. Forget about being sent to hell � he was there right now, the girls and John his own little set of pitchfork-wielding personal devils. How in heaven�s name was he ever going to be able to get out of this? Bribe the girls, maybe, dig up some decent blackmail or maybe just throw himself at their feet and beg for mercy. They were kind people � once they overcame their mass delusion and realized there was going to be no happy ending to all this, surely they would stop.

And John � George wasn�t going to be able to keep up this Cole lie for very long, and if this freakish persistence was any sign John ware tre to ask. Maybe he could say they broke up, first giving himself enough time to construct a better lie than he did today. As for the other .... Surely he would forget, one of these days ....

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, making George freeze. If it was one of the girls coming to apologize, he just didn�t want to hear it at the moment. Maybe they would go away ....

�George, it�s me. Are you in there?�

Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit. George heard his own voice coming back to him from the night before, saying almost exactly the same words. Mocking him. George remained frozen, but for an entirely different reason this time.

�George, I need you to move away from the door. It�s a little hard apologizing through a couple inches of wood.� His voice was soft on the last word. �Please.�

At that, George stepped away from the door, steeling himself for more tortures. It was either that or never speak to John again, a thought that even now struck him as remarkably painful. �Come on in.�

Shaking off a strange sense of deja vu, John slowly opened the office door, kicking himself once again when he saw the look on George�s face. �I�m sorry, George,� he said immediately, reaching an arm out to touch his shoulder and pretending not to notice when George flinched away. �I don�t know what got into me.�

�Oh, I have a pretty good idea,� George said darkly, glaring through the office wall towards the conference desk and the three girls.

John, having not been party to much of their earlier torture, interpreted this look incorrectly. Attributing it instead to the strange impulses he�d been following (Jealousy? No ....) He felt a sudden, wild need to defend himself. �It�s just that you need to be careful ....�

�Careful? You think I should be careful?� He had been careful, dammit! This was John�s fault, not his � if he hadn�t gotten stone drunk over some stupid girl (who didn�t deserve him) and forgot who he was kissing, George would have had no idea what he�d been missing in the first place. None of this would have happened. �That�s real good, John.� He whirled around, glaring at him. �But I�m not the one making out with strange girls in office bathrooms, now am I?�

He had meant to distract, he knew. He had even meant to hurt, probably, though not having been privy to certain earlier conversations he had no idea of the potency of the weapon he had chosen. What he had definitely not meant, however, was to inspire a few shocked blinks, then a very definite and suspicious narrowing of John�s eyes.

�I never told anyone I kissed her in the bathroom,� he said, voice quiet but frighteningly determined. �I didn�t think it would help my case any.�

Oh shit. Oh beyond shit. George stepped back a couple of paces, trying to escape the look in John�s eyes as he scrambled for a suitably convincing explanation. �I, er, found your keys in the bathroom.�

�And one of the girls may have told you about the kiss, unlike me and your secret boyfriend.� John stepped forward, causing George to fall back even further. �Still, that�s quite a leap to connect the two, especially without much to justify it.� His voice was hard, blocking out memories slowly stirring into life in the back of his brain. �Why did you?�

George felt the back of his legs bang against the desk about the same time he realized there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get out of this. �I ... I was in the bathroom ....� Realizing that what he had been about to say would only make things worse, he stopped, shaking his head. �I have no idea.�

�Oh, I think that you do ....� Suddenly, John�s cell phone pierced the air with a shrill ring, cutting off the implicit threat and giving George the last shred of hope he was going to have in the whole affair. It rang again and, after one last, angry glare at George, John answered it.

�Yeah, this is Grant. You have an update on the perp?�

It was now, with John�s attention finally diverted elsewhere, that John�s brain got it�s first chance in hours to actually think through the problem. Knowing that it wouldn�t get much time for this (this was John�s brain, after all) it started moving the pieces around with remarkable speed. His height, brown eyes, no lipstick, Jamison�s ....

�Orlando? Nabbed on his way down to Cuba? Good, good.�

George, seeing his chance, tried to slip around him and out the door, but as he tried to move past John�s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed George�s upper arm in an iron grip. Short hair, no jewelry, bathroom, nice hands ....

�Thanks. Yeah, you too. I�ll be sure and let them know.�

Little hazel flecks ....

George could almost see it on John�s face as it happened � the slowly dawning realization that life as he knew it had just taken a great big dive down the toilet. His eyes widened and froze, his mouth dropped, and the hand on George�s arm tightened intoeatheath grip. Sheer habit must have been the only thing directing his finger to the off button, because the rest of his brain was clearly only concerned with staring at George. He looked as though he�d been hit in the back of the head with a really big board.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit ....

�You�re the one that kissed me?!� The voice matched the expression � no anger, but enough sheer disbelief to hit almost as hard. George opened his mouth to protest (this was not his fault!) to deny, to do anything he could think of to halt the screaming destruction that would be coming along any second now, but before he could the final piece of last night�s memories slid into place in John�s mind. In the second of horrible, eternal stillness that followed, you could almost hear the click.

John gave a full-body wince as the truth hit him. �Aw, no,� he groaned, jerking away and covering his face with his hands. �I�m the one that kissed you.�

George could only stare as John sank down to the chair with another groan, still refusing to look at him. Later, ouldould be able to think, though �rational� wouldn�t be an appropriate descriptive term for at least the next several days. Later he would try to plan, desperately hoping to figure out a way to salvage the shattered pieces of the life he had loved. Later, he would get very, very drunk.

Now, though, he could only stare.

I�m sorry, John. I�m so, so sorry.

Then his hand was suddenly on the doorknob, and George found himself doing the only thing left to him � running. Out of hfficffice, down the hallway, straight passed the conference table and into the elevators without a single word, the waves of sheer panic and suffering wafting out behind him speaking so much more eloquently than he was in any condition to. Four sets of now extremely worried eyes followed him out, though even Bailey was intelligent enough not to try and stop him.

The first suggestion was hesitant. �Should we ....�

�I think we�d better.�

�Oh, definitely ....�

Leaving Bailey (who would need a much better briefing than they had time for to be of any help in things), the three girls went straight to George�s office, where they crowded through the open doorway to find John still sitting in the chair, looking shell-shocked.

�Well, that would explain it,� Sam murmured under her breath.

John, however, heard, and took the opportunity to shoot a well deserved glare at the three schemers. �I take it you knew.�

They just nodded, deciding that now was probably not the best time to try and explain themselves.

�Well, thank you so much for enlightening us.� He wouldn�t think about all of it, the great big mass of something that he could feel crowding around in his chest and doing strange things to his head. He would think about something small, something he could deal with. Like annoyance. �Clearly, you thought things through and came up with the best way possible to seriously fuck the both of us up.�

Rachel shook her head. �It just happened, John. Like the kiss.�

He flinched again, but smaller this time. �Don�t remind me.� Then he rubbed his eyes. �Ah hell. At least I can be grateful it was George and not somebody else.�

There was another moment of stillness while everyone processed just exactly how it was John had phrased the comment, as well as the dozens of ways he could have that would have carried so much less implication. Then John lowered his hands, took in the expressions of all the girls, and summed up the situation very neatly.

�Aw, shit.�

Then he was gone, nearly beating George�s time as he made his exit. Watching him, the three girls couldn�t help but grin in unison, smiles that only got wider when they heard Bailey�s voice coming from the conference room.

�Girls? I�ve changed my mind. I don�t think I want to know.�

***

When one has just undergone a potentially life-changing experience, there are several options available. You could embrace it, analyze it endlessly with your therapist, try to deny that it ever happened (and/or the results of what happened) or bypass all these and get very, very drunk.

As mentioned previously, George chose this last option, though after a single small sip pathologically refused to even look at the one bottle of tequila he had in the apartment. For his part, John seriously considered taking the same route (anything to keep from thinking), and even went straight to a local bar in order to begin doing so in earnest. Soon, however, he realized that there were more important issues at stake here.

He was straight. He was very, very straight. Hell, he was good at being straight, and could affidavits from several women backing this up even though half of them had sworn never to speak to him again. He had never even looked at another man, not even in college. Hell, he spent his junior year going through an entire sorority, plus half the cheerleading squad. He was definitely straight.

But really, it never hurt to reassure oneself, particularly after the kind of day John had just had.

�Ooooh, you look like you�ve had a hard day, big guy.� The voice was low and silky sweet in John�s ear as a distinctly feminine hand ran itself across his jacket covered shoulders. �Let me buy you another drink, take some of the edge off.�

Suppressing the sudden memory of another, far more masculine hand in just about that area (�don�t worry John, you�ll get him � I have faith in you�) John nodded as a gorgeous brunette slid onto the stool beside him, breasts bursting out of a silky black halter top.

Noticing the direction of his gaze, she leaned forward to give him a better view as she signaled the bartender. �What�s your poison?�

Jamison�s �. �Vodka shot.�

She gave him a slow, seductive smile. �Ooooh, brave man.�

As she gave their order she took the opportunity to rub up against him, bare thigh and leather covered ass stirring him in a far different way than that kiss.

No. Thinking was bad, remember?

After the drinks came, John downed his in one swallow and ran a hand along the woman�s lower back. �Thanks, babe, but I�ve learned there are easier ways to take the edge off.�

Her hand moved downward. �More fun ways, too.�

***

The alarm on her nightstand said 3 o�clock in the morning as it shone its feeble little light on the man sitting on the edge of her bed, who was staring at the wall with the slowly sinking realization that he was in far deeper shit than he had originally thought.

Not that it hadn�t been good. It had been great, actually � whoever she was had been remarkably inventive, and John hadn�t drunk enough alcohol to impair his ability to keep up. At least, he was pretty sure she hadn�t been faking � a girl didn�t normally want to go four rounds unless she was getting something out of it. All in all, a top-notch distraction.

But � that was all it had been, really, a distraction, leaving him with nothing more than a burning desire to get the hell out of here and far, far too much time to think.

That kiss � no, dammit, he was drunk. Any feelings of safety, of comfort, of � pleasure, of thinking that the other person might actually give a damn about what he was really like, and that he might give a damn in return � that was all thanks to the tequila. It had to be. The fact that he didn�t feel any of it here was only to be expected.

And it was George, dammit.

Reports. There were always reports for this sort of thing, particularly when you ran into the line of fire to rescue a kid without authorization. Normally he would have just started them tomorrow, stretching them out for as long as possible over the next week or so. Except �.

�That wasn�t very smart, John, going out after that girl. Brave, but not very smart.�

John turned toward the figure smiling at him from the doorway. �Oh come on, George. You know it�s my looks I�m famous for, not my brains.�

George just shook his head. I�m going to have to get Bailey to put a tracking collar on you, keep you from getting into too much trouble.�

�Oh, I�m sure you�ll keep me in line.� John grinned at his friend. �It�s good to have you back, George. Bailey filled us in.�

�Believe me, it�s good to be back.� Sobering suddenly, George moved forward, hinghing John briefly on the shoulder. �I�m sorry, John.�

�Don�t worry about it, George. We all go through tough times. The fact that you�re over them and back is all that matters.�

�I didn�t mean about the pills, though I�m definitely sorry about them, too.� George leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded and eyes serious. �I mean about Kate. Your tough times.�

John quickly shifted his attention to the papers in front of him, voice suddenly rough. �Why? You�re not the one that let her get killed.�

�Dammit, John, it wasn�t your fault, and I know I�m at least the fortieth person to tell you that. It�s me I�m saying I�m sorry for, that I�d managed to get myself so fucked up that I couldn�t be there for you in a crisis. That�s what being a friend is supposed to mean, and I blew it.� His hand went back to John�s shouldsolisolid and warm and r �S �So I�m sorry. I know it doesn�t mean much right now, but if you ever need anything ....�

John swallowed, his eyes suddenly a little misty. �Thanks.�

Dammit, he needed a drink.

***

A few nights later:

They fell together on the bed, lips still locked together as tongues tasted and explored each corner of the other�s mouth. Hands took it upon themselves to cover a far wider range of territory, threading their way through hair, along exposed skin, and fighting their way through stubbornly resistant shirts. All those damn buttons ....

Finally, fingers found skin, and John maned as his partner�s hand traced its way along the sensitive skin of his lower back, moving downward. �Not fair,� John rasped as he finally just yanked his partner�s shirt over his head, popping buttons. �I�m going to make you start wearing t-shirts after this.� Then his lips moved downward, following collarbone and chest as his hands dipped lower, finding their way to the edge of pants and beyond ....

This time, it was George�s turn to moan. �You seem to be doing just fine on your own.�

John shot upright in bed, glaring into the darkness and breathing hard for far more reasons than he was comfortable with.

There weren�t enough swear words to begin to cover this.

Suddenly, blessedly, the phone rang, cutting off any potential thought processes that were threatening to spill over.

�This is Grant.� You had to be firm with random late-night callers, no matter how grateful you might be. �Whoever you are, what the hell are you doing calling me at this time of night?�

�Well, at least we know you�re alive.� Grace�s voice was calm and mildly amused. �There was some question around the office.�

�Look, I told you they caught the guy, there�s been no reason to go back to the office and this is all your fault in the first place.� He paused, suddenly unsure. �Have you talked to George, by the way? Any more info about this ... Cole person?� He wouldn�t ask what his reaction to all this was. Or what he might be doing to help George�s reaction ....

Grace stopped what she had been about to say, surprised. He still hasn�t figured out who �Cole� was yet? How perfectly fabulous. Should she .... No � the imagination was a wonderful thing. �Not yet, and given your reaction to all this I�m a little afraid to.� Then she noticed something else. �John, are you breathing hard?�

�That�s none of your business. And besides, how do you think I�m supposed to be reacting tis? is? What would you do if you woke up one morning and decided that Sam had a really nice ass?�

Grace chuckled. �Well, Sam does have a pretty nice ass, but I�m fairly sure Bailey would get upset if I tried to do anything about it.�

John sighed, rubbing his eyes. �You�re not helping.�

�I would if you�d let me ....�

�Oh, I bet you would. Good night, Grace.�

�Sweet dreams, John.�

John groaned. �Dammit, Grace, that was the wrong thing to say.�

***

Step three of any major emotional trauma: pacing.

Traditionally, this is done in a single room, but if the tense energy proves to great can be expanded to include a house or apartment. Or a building. Or the sidewalks around a building. Or an entire city block. Or an entire city.

John was feeling very tense.

As John walked, he thought. Not that he wanted to, of course, but it was getting harder and harder to hold off as the days went by. Pretty soon, he wouldn�t be able to control it at all, and if that was the only other option it was better to meet the enemy head on.

George.

He hadn�t ever tried dating a friend before. Really, he hadn�t had much of an opportunity � Sam, Rachel and Grace made up most of his short list of female friends, and Sam was taken (had been for years, though she hadn�t seemed to realize it), Grace was more like a big sister and he and Rachel would kill each other within a month. Besides, sex was what you had a relationship for, not friendship. Not someone to talk to. Not someone who was always there in your head, who you thought and worried about more than you did yourself. Not a reason to go home at night ....

No. He was blowing this way the hell out of proportion. This was George, dammit. He hadn�t had a single feeling of ... anything like this for the man in the entire six years he�d known him. Not even a thought. Why this, why now?

It was all that damn kiss�s fault. The entire obsession/panic/major physical and psychological stress was based on nothing more than a drunken fantasy. And six years of really solid friendship. And a dream ... and a couple of dreams. And that strange emotion that at the time felt an awful lot like jealousy. And that weird electric tingle he could still feel under his skin in some places ....

The kiss. Just the kiss.

John glared at himself to reinforce the reminder, causing a nearby teenage boy to think the look was directed at him and suddenly inspiring the bow to be much nicer to the police officer he had been talking to. The officer, a little unnerved himself, nodded his thanks, but John had other issues on his mind.

It was just that kiss. Forget about it, and everything else could work itself out. He could get down on his hands and knees (stop it!) and apologize to George, who was a good enough person that he would forgive him eventually. He had to. If George never spoke to him again ....

Hell, there was a chance he was over it already. That Cole guy was probably helping quite a bit .... John winced. So maybe �felt an awful lot like jealousy� was something of an understatement.

Fine. So maybe forgetting about it wouldn�t be so easy. He�d just go talk to him, alright? Friendly, casual ... he�st gst go talk to him. And if George didn�t kick his ass at the front door, then maybe he�d be able to prove to himself that it was all just a fantasy. Then he�d get sane, go back to work, and everything would be okay between him and George. It would be best for everyone.

And maybe if he told himself that enough times, he�d actually start believing it.

***

By about the fourth day, George forced himself to stop drinking. By the fifth day he had decided (albeit pullyully) that the hangover was really for the best � it was good preparation for the sheer hell he would have to face when he finally dragged himself back to the office. If he finally dragged himself back to the office. By the night of the first dream he wondered if he should think about leaving the state.

John would never, ever forgive him.

By the sixth, seventh and eighth days he had found himself another drug too ease the pain (you had to think too much with computers) � television. What else could he do? He had fought it, made his lists, forced himself to see the truth and then deliberately and repeatedly tortured himself with that look on John�s face. And he still couldn�t rid himself of the memory of that kiss, or the niggling little flashes of a life, a future, that kept creeping into George�s brain.

A kiss, quick but warming right down the soul, then John folded his arms along the back of George�s chair. �How�s it coming, George? Your magic fingers hit the jackpot yet?�

George smiled. �Any minute now.�

�Good.� John leaned closer to George�s ear. �If we crack this, your magic fingers are finally gonna get a chance to work on an entirely different jackpot when we get home.� Having gotten the blush he was looking for, Jon chuckled as he straightened and planted another kiss on the top of George�s head. �So get to work.�

So, since he couldn�t forget what he needed to, the next thing to do was try and forget everything and sort out the details later.

Friends was good for that.

At the moment, Monica (at least, he thought it was Monica � he hadn�t really been into TV before this) seemed to be yelling at Ross. �I know it�s hard seeing Rachel with David, but randomly sleeping around isn�t going to make you feel better.�

�Well, it seems to work for Joey ....�

Disgusted, George snapped off the television. The last thing he neewas was more bad ideas � he was not going to go bury his sorrows in another man�s ass. Besides, it probably wouldn�t help much ....

There was a knock on the door.

George groaned and forced himself to stand up. Grace had threatened to come over during three separate phone calls, and Sam and Rachel each once. He�d told them all no every time they�d asked, but if it was one of them at the door (and who else would it be, at this time of night?) there was no way they could be persuaded to leave until George opened the door and showed them hard evidence that he was still breathing.

There was another knock, more insistent this time.

�I�m coming!� Damn, was that his voice? He paused a moment to clear his throat a couple of times � no need to give the girls any more ammo. Then there was a third knock, and he moved to open the door. �You know, I told you you didn�t have to ....�

His voice trailed off when he saw John, leaning against the doorframe with an unreadable expression on his face.

All upper brain functions stopped completely. �To ... ah ....�

�I know. But I was just out walking,� the corner of his mouth quirked up ruefully, �and I thought I�d stop by.�

�Walking? At this time of night? In this neighborhood?� Instinct brought a second of welcome respite. �That�s not safe ....�

Something flashed in John�s eyes. �Not now, please. I�m fine.�

�Oh.� There went George�s voice again.

�Actually, I ....� John hesitated as he glanced over George�s shoulder into the room beyond, somehow relieved by who he did or didn�t see. �There�s something I wanted ....�

�Don�t. Please.� George closed his eyes. �I don�t know what you wanted to say, but you don�t have to. The kiss was nothing, really. You were drunk, I should have been drunk � if people were held responsible for all the things they did under the influence, half the planet would be in prison by now. So let�s just forget it, please. There�s nothing ....�

�George.�

His eyes flew open.

�Shut up.�

As he did before, George gasped at the first contact of John�s lips against his, once more giving John the access he needed and immediately took.

But there was nothing easy about this kiss, nothing gentle. John assaulted George�s mouth, devouring it, demanding an answer when George didn�t even know the question. Even if he had, thouhe whe wouldn�t have been able to answer anyway � he had drowned in the sensations, the feelings, long ago.

John�s fingers wrapped themselves in the front of George�s shirt as his hands settled on John�s shoulders, the contact sending an electric thrill through the both of them and somehow draining some of the desperation out of John. Anger slid into acceptance, to need as the dance slowed, tongues taking more time to truly savor the other. Each ed ted the other closer without realizing it, completing ....

Suddenly John jerked away, eyes closed and still breathing hard. �Shit,� he whispered.

George stumbled backwards, still shaking and with his hands over his eyes. He would definitely have to quite now, maybe even leave the country ... something, anything. Except for crying ....

�Dump Cole.�

The universe froze. George slowly slid his hands downward until his eyes met John�s, which were looking incredibly ... determined? �What?�

�Dump this Cole guy, whoever in the hell he is.� John stepped closer, his voce still rough. �You don�t look like you�ve had any better a week than I�ve had, and where the hell is he? He�s clearly not good enough for you.� He looked down for a minute. �I�m not saying I�ll be much better, and it�d be really great if we could take this slow, but at least I�m here ....�

His voice trailed off when he realized George was staring at him, eyes widened in almost panicked shock and looking like he was about to cry. Or like his universe had flipped again ....

�John.� His voice was thick, and he was clearly fighting to keep his voice as even as it was. �I need you to tell me exactly what it is you�re saying.�

�Dump Cole.� The statement was soft, hesitant. �Give me a chance.�

George�s sudden laugh was more than a little wild as he collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor. �That�s what I thought you said.� Taking a deep breath, he wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. �I can�t do it.�

�Oh.� The sudden stab of pain through his body was almost surprising. �I see.�

�No you don�t.� George looked up at him. �You are Cole, John.� He took another deep breath. �I, unfortunately, couldn�t forget New Year�s Eve, and was having a rather ... strong reaction to it. The girls wormed the truth out of me.� He shrugged his shoulders, apologetic. �I needed to make up something.�

Fighting the urge to grin (vast, soul-deep relief can do that to a man) John slowly sat down beside George and put an arm around his knee, his fingers closing over the top of George�s. After a brief hesitation, George leaned his head against John�s shoulder, and John settled his head on top of George�s.

Yes, this was how it should be.

�George,� John said after a long moment. �Let�s keep the girls out of any further developments.�

�Oh, definitely.�

Now John allowed himself the grin, turning his head slightly to plant a kiss on the top of George�s head. �You know, you�re really cute when you�re confused as hell.�

***

Oddly enough, George found himself kneeling beside his own couch at 7 a.m. Of course, at least this morning, there was a very good reason for him to be there � John, stretched out across the length of his sofa, sleeping.

Actually, if George was going to be honest with himself, the man sleeping in his living room was the reason he�d left the couch at 3 a.m., when John had fallen asleep with his head on George�s shoulder and his hand on George�s knee. If he�d stayed that way and fallen asleep himself ....

George shook his head and smiled at the unusually peaceful-looking man before him. Waking up next to John .... Slow would have been the furthest thing from his mind, and slow he had to be. John asked if we could go slow, and if it takes every ounce of my self-restraint and lots of cold showers, I�ll give it to him slow.

The mental image that phrasing conjured up was quickly (but not too quickly) pushed away. I�ll go slow with John.

�John.� George�s hand found its way to brush John�s hair back off his forehead completely without any orders to do so from his brain. �John, it�s time to wake up. We have to go to work.�

�Hmm, George.� Still half dreaming, John nuzzled his cheek into George�s palm, his lips opening slightly to barely touch the tip of his tongue to the other man�s skin.

�John.� George�s voice was shaking a little more despite his best efforts to hide the reactions that little kiss caused in him. Somewhere in the depths of John�s mind, he head that shaky sound and pressed an urgent kiss to the beating pulse under his lips.

Staring at that mouth against his skin, George felt �slow� slipping rather rapidly away. Pulling his hand away, he sat back on his heels, giving himself a few more inches of breathing room. Reaching behind him, he retrieved the cup of coffee on the end table. �Come on, John, wake up and have some coffee. We�ve got to get to work.�

The relief George felt when those eyes slowly opened was cut short by the heat in them. John really wasn�t making this slow thing any easier, looking at him like that.

�Morning, George.� Lowering his eyes, John sat up and took the cup, smiling as their fingers touched around the handle. �What time is it?�

�A little after seven � we�re not late yet.� Lifting his own cup, George hid behind it as his eyes involuntarily detailed the line of John�s shoulders through the rumpled business shirt.

Taking a sip of his own coffee, John was surprised to find it made exactly like he drank it, with the perfect amounts of sugar and cream. �Great coffee, George. Just how I like it.� John couldn�t help but smile at the faint red blush that was just now creeping back off George�s face. Could he .... �I guess I�ll be drinking your coffee more often now.� Yep, there was that blush coming back.

�We should get to work. The girls will be watching for us if we�re late.�

John smiled, taking no offense at the slight backpedaling George was doing. Really, it was sorta cute. �Yeah, but they�ll also be watching us anyway. And this,� he plucked at his sleep-rumpled shirt, �isn�t gonna help us keep �em off our backs. Can I borrow a shirt?� Something deep inside John thrilled at the look on George�s face. He could almost see the picture of the two of them together behind those hazel brown eyes. He�d need to borrow a shirt then, too ....

Shaking his head slightly to clear the image from his mind, George found his voice. It was only a little hoarse. �Yeah, sure. I�ll just go get you one, John.� Setting his cup on the coffee table, he fed down the hall to the bedroom and the closet.

***

Skillfully parking the car in a VCTF spot one-handed, George turned off the engine and looked over at John. More specifically, he looked at the spot on the front seat where John had claimed George�s hand and kept it since the first few minutes of the drive. George smiled and squeezed John�s hand. �Ready for work?�

�Almost.� John�s other hand found its way into George�s hair at the same moment their lips met, a breathy groan caught in the air between them. Helplessly deepening the kiss, George reveled in the urgency of John�s touch, the agile dance of tongues and lips. Without his knowledge, George�s hand moved from the steering wheel to the center of John�s thigh, rubbing back and forth a little. The hand at the back of George�s neck pulled him in as John�s body fought the seatbelt to get closer.

Help was on its way. George�s hand reluctantly left John�s leg to unfasten the troublesome seatbelt, moving up to the warm skin on John�s neck and closing the distance between them.

The warm press of George�s body against his own forced a harsh sound from John and he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against George�s. �Now I think I�m ready to go in.�

�So am I.� George smiled. �Just give me a minute to catch my breath.�

***

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A New Taste on the Tongue