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John saw Shaw's eyes get a little harder every time Harold complained at her while they were in the field. After the third week wrapped with two shootings, she hung up on Harold's latest critique and looked at John with a cold, considering look. "I'm taking care of this," she said in a flat tone, warning him out of the way.
John raised an eyebrow. "Be gentle," he said mildly, drawing a clear line of his own back at her. He wasn't completely sure why Harold was having such a hard time handling Shaw, either, but he couldn't disagree it was worth handling. As long as Shaw didn't cause any damage.
They headed back to the library. Harold was frowning at his screens with his mouth hard and turned down; he threw the two of them only the most cursory look. "Thank you; I think we're done causing unnecessary mayhem for the night," he said.
Shaw didn't break stride. She got to the desk, got Bear's leash, clipped it to his collar, and tossed the end to John. Then she pushed Harold's chair back out from the desk with a foot, caught him by the tie, and dragged him up. Harold's eyes went wide and startled. Shaw smiled, hard. "Not quite done yet, Harold," she said, and pushed him back into the stacks towards the back room.
"Ms. Shaw," Harold's voice floated back, indignant, "I hardly—mmph!" going rising and muffled. There was a thump.
John looked down at Bear, who looked back up at him, just as uncertainly.
Shaw's voice was low and dangerous. "I'm happy to fuck you, Harold," she said. "As long as I get an orgasm out of it, and I will, that's not a problem. You being a dick to me in the field because you can't get over wanting to fuck me, that's a problem."
John raised an eyebrow high.
There was a pause. Harold said, very stiff and formal, "I apologize, Ms. Shaw. It won't happen again."
"Good," Shaw said. There was a sound of a zipper going.
Harold's voice rose sharply. "And there is absolutely not the least need — "
"Yeah, there is," Shaw said.
"I am not — I do not need to be — sated — "
"Yeah," Shaw said, "but now I do." One more zipper went, and Harold inhaled loudly enough to be overheard. "Come on, Harold. You can touch them."
There was another long pause. John stood frozen, fascinated, waiting.
"This is a very bad idea," Harold said. His voice had gone strangely low, almost hoarse.
"By comparison to what?" Shaw said.
"There's that," Harold said after a moment.
They stopped talking. John stood there holding Bear's leash for several more moments, blank and listening too hard for small noises, before Shaw made an odd, hard grunt, and said, breathlessly, pleased, "Mm." He abruptly about-faced and left, fast, Bear trotting behind him.
#
On the bright side, it worked. Now if Harold fussed, Shaw just had to say, "Yes, Harold?" in a slightly sultry way, and Harold would backpedal so fast it was amazing he didn't fall over backwards. It even worked a little too well: John started to worry. There was a middle ground. You didn't want someone on your ass with a whip all the time, but a hand on the rein was a good thing. He'd operated without one for long enough to have learned that lesson.
"Maybe it's time to back off, Shaw," John said, after she'd nudged Harold into total silence while they waited with a sniper rifle for the number to come by.
Shaw glanced at him briefly. "Hm," she said. After they closed the case, she said, "Fine, you've got a point."
And then they got back to the library, and she dragged Harold off into the stacks again. "But I haven't been — !" Harold's voice came out, indignant.
"Yeah," Shaw said, "not even when you should have. Just get over it, Harold. Anyway," she added, "in case no one's ever told you, you're good with your hands."
"Oh, God," Harold muttered, half despairingly.
John fled almost immediately that time.
#
Apparently Harold was very good with his hands, because after that it became a regular thing. John wasn't tracking it, but Shaw fucked Harold seven times over the next three weeks. "You're late," he said without looking over, when she slid into the passenger seat next to him for a stakeout, fifteen minutes after she should have been there. She smelled of sex.
"Nothing's going to happen for the next three hours and you know it," she said. "We don't even need to be here yet; I don't know why you wanted to start now."
"People change their patterns sometimes, Shaw," John said flatly. "Just because these guys normally don't work until after midnight — "
"The one time they show up early isn't going to be on an office block in Manhattan that doesn't empty out until 10pm," Shaw said. Then she looked at him and snorted. "Are you trying to cockblock me?"
"Just trying to get the job done," John said.
Shaw was leaning back in her seat, smirking faintly, taking a drink of her coffee. "Well, since we've got three hours to kill before anyone comes to kill Mr. Larson, I don't see why I shouldn't have had a little fun first. Besides," she added, deceptively casual, "Harold likes to take his time, but he can get it done when he needs to."
He cut a look at her. "Glad to hear it," he said levelly: end of discussion, Shaw.
She didn't take the hint. "We just had a quick round in the chair this time," she said. "He warmed me up with his fingers and then I took him for a ride." She turned and leaned in a little. John didn't look at her. "You wouldn't guess to look at him," she added, low and insinuating, "but he packs pretty respectable heat. Nice and thick, you know? I can really feel it going in."
John stared out of the windshield straight ahead at the traffic light cycling from red to green and tried not to hear her. His mouth had gone dry. The earpiece was warm. He couldn't help seeing it: Shaw gripping the back of Harold's chair with one hand, smiling down thinly as she swung a knee over his legs to straddle him, Harold's hands on her hips to balance her and his face still and intent and a little worried as she eased down on him —
"And when we were done," she said, "he came in me."
John's hand clenched on the steering wheel.
Shaw smiled and tipped back the last of her coffee, then opened the door to pitch the cup out onto the street. She pulled it shut again and wiped her mouth, and then she reached down for the lever and slid her seat back all the way with a thump. "So what do you think, John? You want sloppy seconds, or would you rather eat him out of me?"
He breathed three times, and then he climbed over the stick and into the footwell while she unzipped and lifted her hips for him.
"Do you taste him?" she gasped above him, grinding her hips, sliding herself over his tongue, her hands tight in his hair. "Fuck, yes. Do you — fuck. Go deeper. Want me to tell you how it feels? Sliding down on him? Every inch — " He sucked viciously on her clit and she cut off with a groan.
When she was done, he jerked his pants open and climbed up on her. She was lying back heavy-lidded and smirking, relaxed, her thighs slick and open. He slid in easily. She was so wet. He shut his eyes and groaned, and Shaw patted his head condescendingly. The earpiece stayed silent.
#
They came back to the library late. Shaw had thrown John a pointed look on the hour, every hour, until the hitmen had finally appeared shortly after 3am. John had stared out the windshield ignoring her.
Harold came out of the stacks with Bear. He came over and handed the leash to Shaw. "Good night, Ms. Shaw," he said firmly.
She raised an eyebrow and smirked, taking it. "Night, boys," she said. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She whistled to Bear and sauntered out with him.
"Yes, well, that certainly leaves us a great deal of latitude," Harold muttered, and then he turned and said softly, "John," and drew him down to kiss him.
John shuddered with relief and leaned into the kiss. Harold kissed him softly, twice, three times. They broke apart, breathing hard. John swallowed. "You were listening."
"Always," Harold said, his voice gone low and just a little wobbly. He cleared his throat. "I thought we might — " He paused. John was maneuvering them backwards through the stacks towards the back room. "A hotel?" Harold tried again, a little plaintively, as John got them through the door.
John didn't bother dignifying that with a reply, just lowered them both to the air mattress and got to work on Harold's belt. It wasn't that he didn't believe Shaw — he just felt trust but verify was the best route to take here. Harold was saying, irritably, "I really don't understand this unreasoning prejudice against more civilized — " but he was unbuttoning John's shirt at the same time, so it was all okay.