Fic: Damaged - Part 24
Title: Damaged - Part 24
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What happens when Reese can't be in two places at once?
Warnings: Slash, possible spoilers for all episodes, WIP, angst.
Word Count: 2600 words
Damaged - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9
Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18
Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23
Reese wasn't sure how long he'd stood and cried in Finch's arms, but they were both shivering, skin dotted with goose bumps, when he finally pulled himself together and straightened up. He ached all over, a bone-numbing weariness weighing his body down, sapping his strength. He could barely find the energy to reach out past the shower curtain and grab them both towels. They dried off in silence, Reese the first to wrap the towel around his waist and step out of the tub.
He made the mistake of looking in the mirror, the fogged-over glass unable to hide the welts, bruises, cuts, and burns on his body. He looked like he ought to be dead.
A noise behind him drew his attention and he glanced back as Finch struggled to get out of the bath, his face twisted in agony as he raised his bum leg over the edge of the tub. Reese grabbed his arm, steadying him and taking his weight as he climbed out. Finch stood there, pale and gasping, before looking up at Reese.
"Thanks," he said, his voice hoarse and tight.
"How bad is it?"
"On a scale of one to five - a six."
"Is there anything I can do?"
Finch seemed to hesitate. "I just need to rest. I've overworked and inflamed the scarred muscles. I'll be okay in a day or two. Now, where's that first aid kit?"
"I'm fine, Finch, really," Reese protested, but Finch hobbled determinedly out of the bathroom, one hand clutching at the towel wrapped around his waist. Reese followed, the pain in his leg making him limp almost as badly as Finch.
"It's my fault you keep getting hurt," Finch said, sitting down on the edge of one bed and slowly bending down toward Reese's duffel on the floor. Reese hurried over and picked up the bag, setting it on the mattress beside Finch to spare his back. "The least I can do is tend to your wounds."
"These wounds are a result of my own choices and actions," Reese argued.
Finch stopped his rummaging and looked up at him. "I have a feeling that neither of us is ever going to accept that this wasn't our fault, so let's just let it go. I blame myself, you blame yourself - it's over with."
"All right," Reese said. He was tired of talking about it anyway. Finch turned back to the bag, pulling the red canvas kit out from under Reese's socks and underwear in the bottom. He motioned for Reese to take a seat and began pulling out bandages, alcohol, and antibacterial ointment. "This isn't necessary," Reese said as he put his duffel back on the floor. "I've survived worse."
"That's not really the point," Finch said. "Now sit."
Reese hitched his towel higher onto his hips and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his injured leg out in front of him to relieve the throbbing, fiery ache under his skin. Finch dampened a gauze pad with alcohol and reached out, taking Reese's hand in his own and gently dabbing at the cuts on his knuckles. It stung, but compared to the rest of his hurts, he hardly noticed.
He watched Finch wash each of the cuts, then smear them liberally with ointment before placing clean gauze over them and wrapping Reese's hand with an ace bandage. There was something almost hypnotic about Finch's actions, his touch soothing, and Reese found his thoughts drifting. Unfortunately, they drifted straight to Mark.
"I didn't tell him anything," Reese said suddenly, trying to focus on Finch and put those other memories behind him. Finch glanced up, one eyebrow quirked questioningly. "Snow. I didn't tell him anything about you or the Machine."
"I know," Finch said. "That's why I didn't ask. I knew you wouldn't have."
Reese looked away, feeling sick to his stomach. He would have. If he could have spoken, he'd have told Mark everything, if it would have made him stop.
"John, what is it?"
Reese swallowed hard. "You shouldn't put so much faith in me. I'm not unbreakable."
Finch was silent for a moment, engrossed in pouring more alcohol onto the gauze before starting to wash the punctures on Reese's leg. "You're stronger than any man I know," he said softly. "I would not have blamed you if you had told him. I saw those…things he stabbed into you."
"Orbitoclasts," Reese said absently, watching Finch's hands, his dexterous fingers. "For lobotomies. He attached wires to them and turned them into electrodes. He drove them into my arm first, slowly, just an inch at a time. The pain was terrible, but it was nothing compared to when he turned the power on."
Finch said nothing, he just rubbed ointment on the punctures and covered them with band-aids. His silence was reassuring, giving Reese the freedom to stop talking any time he wanted. But he found he didn't want to stop, or perhaps he couldn't stop. The words just ran out of him like blood from a gunshot wound.
"Mark did that three or four times, then he pulled those things out of my arm and put them in my leg. He kept asking about you, about what we did, and I knew I couldn't tell him. I knew he would kill me, but as long as you were alive, you could find someone else, you could keep helping people. That was all that mattered."
Finch looked like he wanted to say something at that, but he just gathered up the medical supplies and levered himself up off the bed, hobbling around to sit on Reese's other side so he could reach the wounds on his arm easier. Reese watched him for a moment.
"I knew I was going to die," he said softly, "and my biggest regret, the only thing that I wished I had done differently, was not making love to you when I had the chance. I'm not going to let that happen again."
"If by that you mean you're going to stop almost getting yourself killed, then I couldn't agree more," Finch said, smoothing down the edges of the bandage on Reese's arm.
"That's not what I meant," Reese replied, reaching over and placing his hand on Finch's bare knee. Finch stared down at it, a shiver running through him as Reese began to slide his hand up under the damp towel, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of Finch's inner thigh.
"I know that's not what you meant," Finch said suddenly, sounding out of breath as he put his hand on Reese's, stopping him from going any higher. "I just don't know if this is a good idea right now. While I'm sure you're more than capable of engaging in a marathon session of vigorous and athletic sex right after being tortured and r- drugged, I can hardly move. Now hold still."
Reese sat quietly, just watching him as Finch dabbed at the cut above Reese's left eye, an injury he'd sustained in the precinct and had nearly forgotten about, Reese's hand still resting on Finch's thigh. As Finch smeared on the ointment and reached for a band-aid, Reese eased his hand higher, making Finch draw a quick breath.
"Mr. Reese," he started, but Reese didn't give him the chance.
"Relax, Harold," he said with a crooked smirk. "I'm not proposing sex. I just want to hold you, touch you, make you tremble and moan. You won't have to move at all."
Finch swallowed hard and applied the bandage over Reese's eye. "While I prefer to be an active partner in bed, your offer is tempting," he said, gathering up the extra bandages and putting them back in the kit. He zipped it shut and dropped it back into Reese's duffel bag, then took a deep breath. He seemed to be bracing himself for something. "Are you sure you feel ready for this?" he asked, looking Reese straight in the eye. "I noticed you didn't mention what else Snow did to you, and if you need more time to heal-"
"That's what I'm doing," Reese said, unable to meet Finch's gaze as he tried not to think about what else Mark had done. "I'm trying to heal. I don't want him to be the last memory I have of being touched by a man." He paused, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I need you, Harold. Help me forget."
"All right," Finch whispered, reaching up to cup Reese's cheek with his hand. Carefully, Reese coaxed him farther onto the bed, pulling him down onto the bare sheet, the comforter piled on the other bed. Leaning over him, Reese kissed him, deep and slow, hands moving over Finch's chest, fingers sliding through the light covering of wiry curls. Finch buried his fingers in Reese's hair, making soft, needy sounds into Reese's mouth.
Reese raised his head, both of them out of breath, watching Finch as he ran his hand down Finch's body, to the top of the towel. He untucked the end and shoved the towel back, his hand finding a bare hip creased with a long, hard ridge of scar tissue. He glanced down, his thumb slowly stroking along the ridge, and then he shifted his hand back to grab a handful of Finch's ass, making him groan as he gently kneaded the sore, overworked muscles.
"That feels really good," Finch moaned. "Your hands are amazing."
"We haven't even gotten to the best part yet," Reese said, leaning down and capturing his lips again. Finch curled his hands into fists, tugging at Reese's hair before relaxing his grip and sliding them down the back of Reese's neck. His touch was light, almost hesitant as his hands moved across Reese's shoulders. Reese shifted his hips, reaching back to pull at his own towel, tossing it off the bed before pressing his body to Finch's.
Finch drew a sharp breath, grabbing at Reese's shoulders. "Easy, John."
"Sorry," Reese mumbled, lips sliding along Finch's jaw, kissing and licking and biting his way down to the other man's neck, leaving fresh, dark marks over the deeper bruises. Finch groaned, his hands traveling down Reese's body, fingers lingering just below his navel before sliding down, one hand brazenly wrapping around Reese's shaft. Reese drew a sharp breath, Finch's touch like a fiery brand pressed to his flesh, the pain making him feel sick. Slowly, Finch uncurled his fingers.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine." Reese took several short, shallow breaths before pressing his lips to Finch's neck again. He reached down, wrapping his fingers around Finch's hard cock and stroking it, making the older man gasp and sigh.
"Are you sure?" Finch asked, his voice strained as Reese worked his hand faster, trying to shut him up. "You don't seem to be…enjoying this." He touched Reese again, running fingertips over his flaccid member. "Perhaps I spoke too soon," Finch said as Reese twitched against his fingers, starting to harden. Reese moaned against Finch's neck as those dexterous fingers teased his stiffening flesh, only to have the sound catch in his throat, a wave of throbbing, nauseating pain washing over him as the skin on his shaft grew tight, the tissues engorged with blood. He pulled away as his erection wilted.
"It is too soon," Finch said, reaching for his towel to cover himself back up.
Angry, Reese pushed his hand away and shifted his body on the bed, leaning down and taking Finch's cock into his mouth. Finch gasped, his hips jerking, and Reese put his hands on Finch's waist, holding him still as he bobbed his head in Finch's lap, licking and sucking, the room filled with wet slurps and breathless moans. Reese felt him shaking, his body tensing, and he knew Finch was at the brink even before the other man cried out in warning. He caught every drop on his tongue and swallowed, licking Finch clean before letting him slip from between his lips.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Reese rested his forehead on Finch's quivering pot belly, riding the rise and fall with each breath Finch took. Aching and exhausted, Reese crawled back up alongside Finch and lowered himself onto his back with a low groan.
"You didn't have to do that," Finch said softly, lying shoulder to shoulder with Reese.
"I like to finish what I start," Reese replied, closing his eyes. It was chilly in the room, but he didn't have the strength or energy to get up and get the comforter off the other bed. He could deal with it.
"Would you like me to try again?" Finch asked.
Reese shook his head. "No, I think you're right. It's too soon. I-" He stopped, took a shuddering breath, and continued. "Mark shoved one of those lightning rods down between my legs, underneath my balls, and turned on the juice."
"Jesus, no wonder you couldn't get an erection," Finch said. "There's got to be electrical burns, nerve damage - does it hurt now?"
"I can't tell," Reese said, with a bitter laugh. "Everything hurts."
Finch hesitated. "I have several outstanding prescriptions. I could call one of them in-"
"No. No more drugs," Reese said. "Unless you need it."
"It wouldn't help," Finch said. He took a bracing breath and pushed himself up into a sitting position.
"Where are you going?" Reese asked as he climbed off the bed.
"To get a couple of things," Finch said, limping around the bed and over to the second one. He gathered up the comforter and carried it back, arms bulging with the floral-printed blanket. He dropped it on Reese's chest, then sat on the edge of the bed, laboriously leaning down to pick up the first aid kit again. Reese watched as he pulled out a bottle of aloe gel. "This should help," Finch said, giving the bottle a shake before squirting a large dollop of clear gel into his hand. "Spread your legs a bit."
"You don't have to do that," Reese protested, but any further argument died on his lips as Finch took Reese's cock in his hand, gently slathering it with cool aloe gel. Eyes sliding shut, he bit his lower lip and spread his legs, letting Finch spread the gel over his balls and on the insides of his thighs, the hot, throbbing pain soothed by the aloe. It didn't stop it, but it helped.
"Thank you," Reese whispered, opening his eyes as Finch leaned over him, grabbing the damp towel off the bed to wipe his hand on.
"You'd have done the same for me," Finch replied, starting to stand up again.
Reese caught him by the arm. "Now what?"
"I have to make a phone call."
"Can't it wait?"
Finch hesitated. "I suppose so." He grabbed the comforter and gave it a shake, spreading it out over Reese. Reese scooted into the middle of the bed and threw back the blanket in front of him, inviting Finch to lie down. "You'll have to spoon me," Finch said, easing himself down on his side, his scarred hip facing upward.
"I can live with that," Reese said, placing his hand over the scar and softly stroking the ridged and puckered flesh. Finch pulled a pillow over to support his neck, settling down with a sigh. Reese shifted closer, drawing the blanket back over the both of them as he pressed himself to Finch's back, his arm draped over Finch's side, hand pressed flat to the older man's chest, feeling the strong beat of Finch's heart against his palm.
"I love you, John," Finch said softly.
Reese bowed his head and placed a lingering kiss on Finch's shoulder. "I love you, too, Harold."
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What happens when Reese can't be in two places at once?
Warnings: Slash, possible spoilers for all episodes, WIP, angst.
Word Count: 2600 words
Damaged - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9
Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18
Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23
Reese wasn't sure how long he'd stood and cried in Finch's arms, but they were both shivering, skin dotted with goose bumps, when he finally pulled himself together and straightened up. He ached all over, a bone-numbing weariness weighing his body down, sapping his strength. He could barely find the energy to reach out past the shower curtain and grab them both towels. They dried off in silence, Reese the first to wrap the towel around his waist and step out of the tub.
He made the mistake of looking in the mirror, the fogged-over glass unable to hide the welts, bruises, cuts, and burns on his body. He looked like he ought to be dead.
A noise behind him drew his attention and he glanced back as Finch struggled to get out of the bath, his face twisted in agony as he raised his bum leg over the edge of the tub. Reese grabbed his arm, steadying him and taking his weight as he climbed out. Finch stood there, pale and gasping, before looking up at Reese.
"Thanks," he said, his voice hoarse and tight.
"How bad is it?"
"On a scale of one to five - a six."
"Is there anything I can do?"
Finch seemed to hesitate. "I just need to rest. I've overworked and inflamed the scarred muscles. I'll be okay in a day or two. Now, where's that first aid kit?"
"I'm fine, Finch, really," Reese protested, but Finch hobbled determinedly out of the bathroom, one hand clutching at the towel wrapped around his waist. Reese followed, the pain in his leg making him limp almost as badly as Finch.
"It's my fault you keep getting hurt," Finch said, sitting down on the edge of one bed and slowly bending down toward Reese's duffel on the floor. Reese hurried over and picked up the bag, setting it on the mattress beside Finch to spare his back. "The least I can do is tend to your wounds."
"These wounds are a result of my own choices and actions," Reese argued.
Finch stopped his rummaging and looked up at him. "I have a feeling that neither of us is ever going to accept that this wasn't our fault, so let's just let it go. I blame myself, you blame yourself - it's over with."
"All right," Reese said. He was tired of talking about it anyway. Finch turned back to the bag, pulling the red canvas kit out from under Reese's socks and underwear in the bottom. He motioned for Reese to take a seat and began pulling out bandages, alcohol, and antibacterial ointment. "This isn't necessary," Reese said as he put his duffel back on the floor. "I've survived worse."
"That's not really the point," Finch said. "Now sit."
Reese hitched his towel higher onto his hips and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his injured leg out in front of him to relieve the throbbing, fiery ache under his skin. Finch dampened a gauze pad with alcohol and reached out, taking Reese's hand in his own and gently dabbing at the cuts on his knuckles. It stung, but compared to the rest of his hurts, he hardly noticed.
He watched Finch wash each of the cuts, then smear them liberally with ointment before placing clean gauze over them and wrapping Reese's hand with an ace bandage. There was something almost hypnotic about Finch's actions, his touch soothing, and Reese found his thoughts drifting. Unfortunately, they drifted straight to Mark.
"I didn't tell him anything," Reese said suddenly, trying to focus on Finch and put those other memories behind him. Finch glanced up, one eyebrow quirked questioningly. "Snow. I didn't tell him anything about you or the Machine."
"I know," Finch said. "That's why I didn't ask. I knew you wouldn't have."
Reese looked away, feeling sick to his stomach. He would have. If he could have spoken, he'd have told Mark everything, if it would have made him stop.
"John, what is it?"
Reese swallowed hard. "You shouldn't put so much faith in me. I'm not unbreakable."
Finch was silent for a moment, engrossed in pouring more alcohol onto the gauze before starting to wash the punctures on Reese's leg. "You're stronger than any man I know," he said softly. "I would not have blamed you if you had told him. I saw those…things he stabbed into you."
"Orbitoclasts," Reese said absently, watching Finch's hands, his dexterous fingers. "For lobotomies. He attached wires to them and turned them into electrodes. He drove them into my arm first, slowly, just an inch at a time. The pain was terrible, but it was nothing compared to when he turned the power on."
Finch said nothing, he just rubbed ointment on the punctures and covered them with band-aids. His silence was reassuring, giving Reese the freedom to stop talking any time he wanted. But he found he didn't want to stop, or perhaps he couldn't stop. The words just ran out of him like blood from a gunshot wound.
"Mark did that three or four times, then he pulled those things out of my arm and put them in my leg. He kept asking about you, about what we did, and I knew I couldn't tell him. I knew he would kill me, but as long as you were alive, you could find someone else, you could keep helping people. That was all that mattered."
Finch looked like he wanted to say something at that, but he just gathered up the medical supplies and levered himself up off the bed, hobbling around to sit on Reese's other side so he could reach the wounds on his arm easier. Reese watched him for a moment.
"I knew I was going to die," he said softly, "and my biggest regret, the only thing that I wished I had done differently, was not making love to you when I had the chance. I'm not going to let that happen again."
"If by that you mean you're going to stop almost getting yourself killed, then I couldn't agree more," Finch said, smoothing down the edges of the bandage on Reese's arm.
"That's not what I meant," Reese replied, reaching over and placing his hand on Finch's bare knee. Finch stared down at it, a shiver running through him as Reese began to slide his hand up under the damp towel, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of Finch's inner thigh.
"I know that's not what you meant," Finch said suddenly, sounding out of breath as he put his hand on Reese's, stopping him from going any higher. "I just don't know if this is a good idea right now. While I'm sure you're more than capable of engaging in a marathon session of vigorous and athletic sex right after being tortured and r- drugged, I can hardly move. Now hold still."
Reese sat quietly, just watching him as Finch dabbed at the cut above Reese's left eye, an injury he'd sustained in the precinct and had nearly forgotten about, Reese's hand still resting on Finch's thigh. As Finch smeared on the ointment and reached for a band-aid, Reese eased his hand higher, making Finch draw a quick breath.
"Mr. Reese," he started, but Reese didn't give him the chance.
"Relax, Harold," he said with a crooked smirk. "I'm not proposing sex. I just want to hold you, touch you, make you tremble and moan. You won't have to move at all."
Finch swallowed hard and applied the bandage over Reese's eye. "While I prefer to be an active partner in bed, your offer is tempting," he said, gathering up the extra bandages and putting them back in the kit. He zipped it shut and dropped it back into Reese's duffel bag, then took a deep breath. He seemed to be bracing himself for something. "Are you sure you feel ready for this?" he asked, looking Reese straight in the eye. "I noticed you didn't mention what else Snow did to you, and if you need more time to heal-"
"That's what I'm doing," Reese said, unable to meet Finch's gaze as he tried not to think about what else Mark had done. "I'm trying to heal. I don't want him to be the last memory I have of being touched by a man." He paused, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I need you, Harold. Help me forget."
"All right," Finch whispered, reaching up to cup Reese's cheek with his hand. Carefully, Reese coaxed him farther onto the bed, pulling him down onto the bare sheet, the comforter piled on the other bed. Leaning over him, Reese kissed him, deep and slow, hands moving over Finch's chest, fingers sliding through the light covering of wiry curls. Finch buried his fingers in Reese's hair, making soft, needy sounds into Reese's mouth.
Reese raised his head, both of them out of breath, watching Finch as he ran his hand down Finch's body, to the top of the towel. He untucked the end and shoved the towel back, his hand finding a bare hip creased with a long, hard ridge of scar tissue. He glanced down, his thumb slowly stroking along the ridge, and then he shifted his hand back to grab a handful of Finch's ass, making him groan as he gently kneaded the sore, overworked muscles.
"That feels really good," Finch moaned. "Your hands are amazing."
"We haven't even gotten to the best part yet," Reese said, leaning down and capturing his lips again. Finch curled his hands into fists, tugging at Reese's hair before relaxing his grip and sliding them down the back of Reese's neck. His touch was light, almost hesitant as his hands moved across Reese's shoulders. Reese shifted his hips, reaching back to pull at his own towel, tossing it off the bed before pressing his body to Finch's.
Finch drew a sharp breath, grabbing at Reese's shoulders. "Easy, John."
"Sorry," Reese mumbled, lips sliding along Finch's jaw, kissing and licking and biting his way down to the other man's neck, leaving fresh, dark marks over the deeper bruises. Finch groaned, his hands traveling down Reese's body, fingers lingering just below his navel before sliding down, one hand brazenly wrapping around Reese's shaft. Reese drew a sharp breath, Finch's touch like a fiery brand pressed to his flesh, the pain making him feel sick. Slowly, Finch uncurled his fingers.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine." Reese took several short, shallow breaths before pressing his lips to Finch's neck again. He reached down, wrapping his fingers around Finch's hard cock and stroking it, making the older man gasp and sigh.
"Are you sure?" Finch asked, his voice strained as Reese worked his hand faster, trying to shut him up. "You don't seem to be…enjoying this." He touched Reese again, running fingertips over his flaccid member. "Perhaps I spoke too soon," Finch said as Reese twitched against his fingers, starting to harden. Reese moaned against Finch's neck as those dexterous fingers teased his stiffening flesh, only to have the sound catch in his throat, a wave of throbbing, nauseating pain washing over him as the skin on his shaft grew tight, the tissues engorged with blood. He pulled away as his erection wilted.
"It is too soon," Finch said, reaching for his towel to cover himself back up.
Angry, Reese pushed his hand away and shifted his body on the bed, leaning down and taking Finch's cock into his mouth. Finch gasped, his hips jerking, and Reese put his hands on Finch's waist, holding him still as he bobbed his head in Finch's lap, licking and sucking, the room filled with wet slurps and breathless moans. Reese felt him shaking, his body tensing, and he knew Finch was at the brink even before the other man cried out in warning. He caught every drop on his tongue and swallowed, licking Finch clean before letting him slip from between his lips.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Reese rested his forehead on Finch's quivering pot belly, riding the rise and fall with each breath Finch took. Aching and exhausted, Reese crawled back up alongside Finch and lowered himself onto his back with a low groan.
"You didn't have to do that," Finch said softly, lying shoulder to shoulder with Reese.
"I like to finish what I start," Reese replied, closing his eyes. It was chilly in the room, but he didn't have the strength or energy to get up and get the comforter off the other bed. He could deal with it.
"Would you like me to try again?" Finch asked.
Reese shook his head. "No, I think you're right. It's too soon. I-" He stopped, took a shuddering breath, and continued. "Mark shoved one of those lightning rods down between my legs, underneath my balls, and turned on the juice."
"Jesus, no wonder you couldn't get an erection," Finch said. "There's got to be electrical burns, nerve damage - does it hurt now?"
"I can't tell," Reese said, with a bitter laugh. "Everything hurts."
Finch hesitated. "I have several outstanding prescriptions. I could call one of them in-"
"No. No more drugs," Reese said. "Unless you need it."
"It wouldn't help," Finch said. He took a bracing breath and pushed himself up into a sitting position.
"Where are you going?" Reese asked as he climbed off the bed.
"To get a couple of things," Finch said, limping around the bed and over to the second one. He gathered up the comforter and carried it back, arms bulging with the floral-printed blanket. He dropped it on Reese's chest, then sat on the edge of the bed, laboriously leaning down to pick up the first aid kit again. Reese watched as he pulled out a bottle of aloe gel. "This should help," Finch said, giving the bottle a shake before squirting a large dollop of clear gel into his hand. "Spread your legs a bit."
"You don't have to do that," Reese protested, but any further argument died on his lips as Finch took Reese's cock in his hand, gently slathering it with cool aloe gel. Eyes sliding shut, he bit his lower lip and spread his legs, letting Finch spread the gel over his balls and on the insides of his thighs, the hot, throbbing pain soothed by the aloe. It didn't stop it, but it helped.
"Thank you," Reese whispered, opening his eyes as Finch leaned over him, grabbing the damp towel off the bed to wipe his hand on.
"You'd have done the same for me," Finch replied, starting to stand up again.
Reese caught him by the arm. "Now what?"
"I have to make a phone call."
"Can't it wait?"
Finch hesitated. "I suppose so." He grabbed the comforter and gave it a shake, spreading it out over Reese. Reese scooted into the middle of the bed and threw back the blanket in front of him, inviting Finch to lie down. "You'll have to spoon me," Finch said, easing himself down on his side, his scarred hip facing upward.
"I can live with that," Reese said, placing his hand over the scar and softly stroking the ridged and puckered flesh. Finch pulled a pillow over to support his neck, settling down with a sigh. Reese shifted closer, drawing the blanket back over the both of them as he pressed himself to Finch's back, his arm draped over Finch's side, hand pressed flat to the older man's chest, feeling the strong beat of Finch's heart against his palm.
"I love you, John," Finch said softly.
Reese bowed his head and placed a lingering kiss on Finch's shoulder. "I love you, too, Harold."