Title: Taste Test
Author: Mindy
Rating: K
Disclaimer: No money etc
Spoilers: Nope
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Summary: Jack tests Liz's taste buds.
A/N: For more Jack/Liz fic by me, find me as mindymakru at Livejournal.
-x-
There's a game that the writers like to play. Of which Liz is reigning champion. Four years, no one has been able to defeat her. No one can even touch her.
Basically, it involves a blindfold and whatever happens to be in the staff refrigerator on any given day. The aim being that the player who can correctly identify whatever food is put in their mouth for the most consecutive guesses wins. With her honed palate and strong competitive streak, it is the sort of challenge Liz naturally excels at and enjoys. In fact, not only can she quickly and accurately identify the type of food she is being fed, she can also pinpoint the brand, various flavors and sometimes even the expiration date.
Jack is familiar with this game, though he's never actually been involved. This changes one day when he walks into the writer's room to see Liz sitting in the chair closest to the door, facing him in her seat, an old tie, brown and blue striped, secured about her head, covering her eyes. Her back is to the round writer's table where her colleagues and underlings are gathered about the purged contents of the fridge, various bottles and tubs and half-eaten remnants of who knows what from who knows when being poked and prodded and seriously discussed.
Liz claps her hands a few times, calling out smugly: "Come on, people! Let's do this! Championship point!"
The writers continue to bicker in urgent whispers behind her back, attempting to choose the taste most likely to trip up her talented taste buds. Toofer is holding up a jar of ancient looking chutney while Frank insists a withered vegetable will do the trick. But Jack lifts a hand, silencing them all. Slowly, silently, he steps closer to Liz's chair, slips his hands under hers, resting on the edge of the seat, then lifts them, bringing her to her feet.
Liz shuffles on the spot, hands dropping back to her sides. "Okay…" she murmurs, eyes shifting beneath her blindfold as the room goes suspiciously still. "Sock it to me," she says. Then she boldly tips up her chin and opens her mouth.
Jack immediately leans in, slots his bottom lip between hers, giving the upper, left corner of her mouth a lingering nip. He shifts, giving another light nip to the other side. Liz freezes, stunned and unresponsive, lips still parted. So Jack takes the opportunity to cover her mouth with his and slip his tongue inside. It strokes over hers, slow and languid, delivering his taste into her waiting mouth and collecting hers on his tongue. He doesn't touch her the whole time. They both have their hands at their sides, and his body doesn't even brush hers. But he steps close enough so that his extra height can allow him to tip back her blindfolded face, tongue delving deeper into her.
He finishes with a final soft kiss to her lower lip, before withdrawing and stepping back. There is a collective mumble from the watching writers who are not sure whether to be repulsed, confused or excited at the prospect of Liz's impending downfall. Her hands lift to her blindfold, but Jack reaches out, pressing it in place over her temples, stopping its removal. Her hands drop. His hands drop. There's an expectant pause.
"Well?" one of the writer's prompts.
Liz draws a breath, swallows. Jack sees her tongue dart out, furtively tracing her lower lip, which is slightly moist from his kiss. Her mouth twitches with the beginnings of a smile. "Jack," she states finally, an almost imperceptible waver in her voice. She pauses, licks her lips once more before adding: "And he had roast beef on rye with dijon mustard for lunch. And a brownie."
The writers groan in defeat and start mumbling among themselves. Liz slides the tie up off her eyes, leaving it sagging over her forehead. She meets Jack's gaze, which hasn't shifted for one second from her face. He smiles silently, eyes glinting. She smiles back, red-cheeked.
Behind her, Frank announces, obviously irked: "Well! That makes nineteen. A new record."
Liz lifts a shoulder, her eyes steady on Jack. "I win," she mutters impishly.
His smile widens. He takes a few steps back, not breaking eye contact, before disappearing out the door again. The writers have no interest in his departure, or, it seems, in what just transpired between him and their boss. Their only interest is in their recurrent defeat at their puerile game and picking a new contestant to attempt to break Liz's record. As he heads down the corridor, away from the writer's room, Jack hears Liz warn them, clearly and very sternly:
"And if any of you idiots ever do that, you will be fired. So don't even try, okay?"
Jack chuckles to himself – taking a moment to run his tongue around his mouth - and keeps walking.
END.