He led Taylor through a door that had peeling frosted glass, and Taylor couldn’t help but pinch the corner between his fingers as he walked past. It made a satisfyingshucksound as it ripped off in a long strip.
Johnny smacked his hand, grabbed the strip and scrunched it into his pocket. Then he took Taylor’s hand and hooked it over his belt. “Do not. Touch. Anything,” he said, pulling Taylor along like a naughty child.
Once inside, it wasn’t all that different from West Newton. Musty air, shitty tiled carpet, walls the colour of soap scum and brown stains along the skirting boards. It was kind of comforting—not that Taylor’s wolf agreed as it pushed against his skin. It always did that when they went somewhere new.
Fucking baby.
They rounded the corner, almost running into a cluster of filing cabinets labelled Crime Reports.
“This is great,” Johnny said, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Any fucker could walk in, help themselves to some confidential paperwork and walk back out again.”
Taylor laughed. “Bet they’re empty.”
He knuckled the top of one of them, the sound reverberating like a gong down the empty corridor.
Johnny stopped abruptly, making Taylor collide with his back. When he looked up they were face-to-face with another two doors—one read Report-writing Room, and the other Cloakroom. Both were slightly ajar.
Voices drifted from within the report-writing room, followed by soft laughter. It didn’t sound like it was directed at them, but Taylor stepped back, letting go of Johnny’s belt. His stomach fluttered, then twisted as though a swarm of locusts had been let loose in his intestines.
Johnny looked over his shoulder, eyes softening. “Let’s get our stuff first. Make sure it’s been brought over.”
The tension in Taylor’s stomach eased a little. “Yeah. Yes, let’s do that.”
They needn’t have looked far, because the cloakroom consisted of a few gold hooks, some lockers and a floor-length mirror with the words ‘Do you feel proud of your appearance today?’ written across it. And if Taylor was being completely honest,yes,he was feeling pretty proud of his new haircut and he looked ripped as shit in Johnny’s too-tight shirt.
They found their stab vests and utility belts slung in a heap in the corner of the room.
“Dickheads,” Taylor said, picking up Johnny’s body armour and handing it to him. “Bet it was those officers from yesterday.”
Johnny slipped on his stab vest then ran a hand through his hair, making a few curly strands poke free from his hairline. There was a deep crease between his brows, and before Taylor could stop himself he pressed his thumb to it.
Johnny’s mouth twitched, but Taylor just stuck out his tongue and rubbed the crease even harder.
Johnny slapped his hand. “Stop that,” he said with a soft snort.
Taylor did not stop, instead picking at a stray piece of lint that had gotten stuck to Johnny’s stab vest. Then he found one of his own bright orange hairs lodged in his collar. He removed it, but then decided to stuff it back in. He ran his hands over Johnny’s arms, squeezing his biceps and feeling the solidness of them under his palms.
They were good arms. Thick. Strong.
Oh God, his wolf was scent marking him.
He grabbed Johnny’s elbow, lifted it and sniffed his armpit. Good. Fresh. Although it smelled like he’d accidentally used Taylor’s shower gel that morning. Running his nose up and down his neck, Taylor sniffed his hairline too, just to be sure, then checked behind his ears for bits of lint. He pressed his thumb and fingers into Johnny’s mandibles, cracking open his jaw to check inside his mouth.
Teeth all present and correct.
“Tay…” Johnny slurred.
“Mhm,” Taylor mumbled, turning Johnny around and pressing him against the wall to check the back of his vest. He ran his hands over the POLICE patch and wiggled his fingers into the Kevlar plates around his shoulders and ribs.
“Tay, I wasn’t expecting to be frisked this morning.”
Taylor ignored him, turning him around again and pressing his face into Johnny’s neck. Johnny’s skin pebbled, which meant he must be cold, so Taylor wrapped both arms around him in a bear hug.
“You done?” Johnny mumbled against his shoulder, pressing his palm to Taylor’s hip. His chest was heaving a little, and he looked as though he’d been attacked by a horde of angry pigeons.
Taylor reached up to pat his hair back into place, but Johnny grabbed his wrist and held it. His eyes were dark as he pressed his forehead to Taylor’s.
“I asked if you’re done scent marking me, Taylor?”
