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It’s down to the two of them at the end of their shift change again, because Henry dragged his feet at their shared desk and, for some reason, George stayed there to listen. Even now, Henry dallies, still in his uniform with just the front unbuttoned, while George is down to civilian clothes. He’s tying his boot with his foot on the bench behind them when Henry starts prattling on again: “They really should give me a new uniform, being that I’m a constable first class and all.” Rolling his eyes, George finishes and gets both feet on the floor, turning back to the row of lockers Henry’s hovering over. He’s eyeing himself in the little mirror hanging from the back of his, preening like a cat. “And one that shows my rank a bit better, you know? Show that I’m above all the others.”
Something snaps in George. It’s been a long day, like their hands-on, bloody job is wont to be, but Henry’s made it so much worse, on and on, nonstop, about his new promotion above George. George takes that one step forward and grabs Henry’s shoulder, whirs him around, and then he slams Henry right back into the row of lockers hard enough to make them shake. He’d never do that with anyone else, but they have a precedent and Henry deserves it. He looks at George with wide eyes, while George pins him in place, one hand on each bicep, and asks, half growling and half hurt, “Why are you being so insufferable?”
For a moment, Henry just blinks. But then the smile comes back to his lips, lopsided and quirked on one end, which bizarrely just makes him cuter. His stupid slicked back hair and his pilfered perfume don’t hurt, either. His eyes dart quickly up George’s body, and he murmurs through his grin, “So jail did toughen you up, eh George?”
George makes a face, staring at him. Henry just keeps eyeing him, now obvious, more so than should ever be in this locker room, however alone they are at the moment. It makes George realize, slowly and half-aloud, “You... you’re trying to ruffle me up.”
Henry shrugs his shoulders in George’s hands. He’s probably trying to look nonchalant, but he just comes off cheeky. “It’s been a while since we fooled around,” he admits, and suddenly he’s the one with the nerve to put a touch of offense in his voice, “and you haven’t touched me since you came back.”
“I almost got married,” George blurts incredulously.
Henry just repeats, “Almost.”
“You’re such a brat!”
“So spank me.” Henry tries to shrug again, but now George’s grip is too tight to let him.
A part of George is fuming, and a smaller part is amused, because Henry just won’t let the fun get sucked out of him, and of course George missed some of this teasing, of their play on the side. But it was always on the side, and he doesn’t feel guilty for dropping it for the things that matter. Henry grins at him like it’s all on offer again, like nothing ever happened. No one’s ever infuriated George like Henry Higgins.
But no one baits him so well, and he splutters for a moment before letting out a frustrated growl and diving forward, shoving their mouths together. It’s just like he remembered; Henry tilts for him, opens for him, is soft and warm and good, and strangely obedient in his arms. He expects Henry to break free and thread needy fingers back through his hair, but instead Henry stays in place and lets George’s tongue guide him. George is devouring him a moment later, one ear to the door but mostly focused on Henry bloody Higgings kissing him back with fire.
Henry doesn’t stop there but writhes, grinds into George so wanton and moans noisily into his mouth, so that George has to clumsily swallow it away. George grinds back, having the advantage; he can trap Henry’s hips against the metal of the lockers and flatten Henry underneath him. He shoves one leg between Henry’s thighs to pry them open, and before long he’s got a hard bulge rubbing against his own. He keeps meaning to stop, but it’s been too long and his body missed this, and the taste of Henry is strangely intoxicating.
When George does finally pull back, it’s only because he’s afraid he’ll spend them both right here, and they’ll leave too suspicious. Even when they pull apart they’re touching in so many places. Close enough to feel Henry’s breath on his cheek, George murmurs, “Is that what you wanted?”
Henry shivers in clear lust and nods, moaning, “Yes.” George wants to fuck him right into the floor of the stationhouse.
Somehow, George resists. He pulls back properly, all the way to the bench, his hands slipping from Henry’s arms. He says as sternly as he can, “Then stop being such a prat.”
Henry still grins, but George goes to shut his own locker and leave, ready to go, while Henry scrambles and calls after him, “George, wait!” Then, when George isn’t stopping and is just rounding the corner: “I’ll see you at home!”