Fic: Bicycle Race
Title: Bicycle Race
Author: joss80
Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: PG
Summary: Reese is in cycling gear and Finch drops by. Inspired by Queen's classic hit "Bicycle Race." Humor :)
Warnings: Somewhat slashy.
Word Count: 1200
Author's note: Earlier this week I was listening to Bicycle Race by Queen and thinking about Person of Interest at the same time. I proceeded to listen to the song about another 10 times in a row while picturing Reese in form-fitting cycling clothes. This fic is the result, and I challenged myself to fit in as many of the song lyrics as I could :) If you haven't heard the song before or aren't too familiar with it, you can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuzouX-udLw&feature=related
Finch rang apartment 5A’s doorbell and waited anxiously. He had no reason - none - at all to be at John Reese’s door except for a social call, and “social call” wasn’t exactly something in the relationship vocabulary that the two men shared. “I was in the neighbourhood” somehow sounded false and hollow even though it was true, but what other reason could he give -
The door swung open and Finch tried really hard not to gape open-mouthed as he appraised Reese, who was standing there clad in very form-fitting black cycling gear, and sweating. The half-zipper shirt bared his arm muscles and the tight shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Hey Finch,” Reese greeted him with a smile, not seeming the least bit perturbed by his unexpected visitor.
“I was in the neighbourhood,” Finch began, but Reese interrupted him quickly.
“I’m in the middle of a training session, but come on in.” Reese turned back in towards his apartment and Finch followed, closing the door quietly behind him.
The decor in Reese’s loft didn’t appear to have changed much since Finch last saw the place. The bed was still there, looming large on the left hand side of the space. The long couch had been joined by a coffee table and two club chairs, equally black in colour. Two bar stools and a small table-and-chairs combo completed the additions to the kitchen space. Nothing out of the ordinary.
What was unexpected was the stationary bicycle taking centre stage in the living room, facing the windows. Reese hopped onto the bike, locked his shoes into the pedals, and started pedalling furiously. Finch walked slowly towards the bike, taking it all in and not knowing quite what to make of it all.
Reese gave him a cursory backwards glance, then muttered “sprint” and “barstool” in quick successive breaths before focusing forward and on his harried pedalling again.
Finch raised an eyebrow as he watched Reese’s lycra-encased buttocks waggle to and fro on the bicycle seat, then grabbed a barstool from the kitchen and dragged it over to the front side of Reese’s bike. After awkwardly shifting himself onto it he waited, knowing that Reese couldn’t keep up his pace for too long. Sure enough, three minutes later Reese geared down and began a steadier and slower pace. He pulled his water bottle from the holder on his bike and squirted some coloured liquid from into his mouth before regarding Finch.
Finch shot a quizzical look back at him. “First yoga, now cycling, Mr Reese?”
Reese cracked a full-on grin at him. “I gotta stay in shape, Finch.”
“But you’re in your living room?”
“Have you looked outside today, Finch? I can’t train out in that.” Reese puffed. “And I want to ride my bicycle.”
Finch noticed sweat beading on Reese’s upper lip and found himself staring, and had to resist the urge to wipe it away. “You want to ride your bike…” he repeated, trailing off distractedly.
“I want to ride it where I like, and indoors works for today. Besides, a bicycle race is coming my way.” Reese grabbed a towel from his handlebars and swiped at the sweat on his forehead and upper lip.
Finch blinked sharply several times, back from his reverie. “So what kind of training exactly is involved for this race you’re doing?”
“Don’t worry, Finch,” Reese smiled up at him while leaning on his forearms. “I won’t forget all my duties. It’s a few hours a day, a mix of biking and strength training and a good deal of stretching and Gatorade.” Then, “I’ve got another sprint coming up. I need some good distraction on my last long stretch - think of something that doesn’t involve too much talking but will still be good.”
Reese geared back up and began pedalling furiously again.
“On your marks, get set, go,” Finch mumbled under his breath.
Sweat began beading on Reese’s upper lip again, and Finch forced himself to look elsewhere. There was no sense in getting caught staring. He took in the long, lean form of John Reese on the bicycle, noting the smooth shorts once again and also the tight-fitting shirt which was unzipped just slightly in front, allowing a few rogue chest hairs to escape out through the opening. Having seen Reese shirtless several times before, Finch knew how lightly Reese’s chest was peppered with hair, how taught the muscles were beneath his skin, how….
Too much! Finch slipped off the chair, walked over to the kitchen and found himself a glass and some cold tap water. He turned away from Reese and mindfully drank his glass of water, paying attention to every sip and willing his thoughts away from the hot bicycle action behind him. He soon felt more calm and collected and returned to the barstool.
“We could try some free association if you want,” Finch suggested as Reese geared down again a few minutes later.
“Some free what?” Reese asked, huffing and puffing like nothing else as his heart rate slowed a bit.
“Free association,” Finch repeated. “I say a word, and you say the first thing that comes to mind.”
“Okayyyy…” Reese drawled at him, still trying to catch his breath as he settled back into a slower pace.
“Let’s see…” Finch stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and then looked back at Reese. “Black”
“White,” Reese threw back immediately.
“Bark,” Finch added.
“Bite,” Reese replied as he raised his eyebrows at Finch.
“Shark.”
“Jaws.” Reese smiled at that one. “I love Jaws, man. Spielberg’s awesome. He and George Lucas are movie Gods.”
“Jaws was never my scene and I don’t like Star Wars, but I’m glad you enjoyed them Mr Reese,” Finch retorted.
“I bet you don’t believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman?” Reese threw back at him with his trademark smirk.
Finch huffed and crossed his arms, more difficult than expected given his precarious position on the barstool. “I refuse to even dignify that question with an answer, John.”
“Okay, well, keep going. This is kind of fun,” Reese looked surprised at his own admission.
Finch pursed his lips in thought before throwing out his next word.
“Rolls.”
That seemed to stymie Reese for a few seconds before he answered, “Royce.”
“Smile.” Finch couldn’t help do exactly that.
“Cheese,” Reese grinned uncharacteristically back at him.
“Coke.”
“Caine.” Another smirk in Finch’s direction.
“John....” Finch warned, his tone patronising.
“Wayne,” Reese replied seriously, then he gave a hearty chuckle a few seconds later when he saw Finch’s face, which was a light shade of pink at being caught at his own game, so to speak.
“Maybe I should go,” Finch said pointedly, getting off the barstool.
Reese glanced at his wristwatch, then stopped pedalling and climbed off the bike. “I’m actually all done here, except for stretching. If you don’t mind waiting, we could have lunch together afterwards once I’ve showered?”
Stretching in that clothing? Reese in the shower? Potential for Reese in a towel after his shower?
“That sounds good,” Finch said, settling back onto the barstool to watch the action.
Author: joss80
Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: PG
Summary: Reese is in cycling gear and Finch drops by. Inspired by Queen's classic hit "Bicycle Race." Humor :)
Warnings: Somewhat slashy.
Word Count: 1200
Author's note: Earlier this week I was listening to Bicycle Race by Queen and thinking about Person of Interest at the same time. I proceeded to listen to the song about another 10 times in a row while picturing Reese in form-fitting cycling clothes. This fic is the result, and I challenged myself to fit in as many of the song lyrics as I could :) If you haven't heard the song before or aren't too familiar with it, you can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuzouX-udLw&feature=related
Finch rang apartment 5A’s doorbell and waited anxiously. He had no reason - none - at all to be at John Reese’s door except for a social call, and “social call” wasn’t exactly something in the relationship vocabulary that the two men shared. “I was in the neighbourhood” somehow sounded false and hollow even though it was true, but what other reason could he give -
The door swung open and Finch tried really hard not to gape open-mouthed as he appraised Reese, who was standing there clad in very form-fitting black cycling gear, and sweating. The half-zipper shirt bared his arm muscles and the tight shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Hey Finch,” Reese greeted him with a smile, not seeming the least bit perturbed by his unexpected visitor.
“I was in the neighbourhood,” Finch began, but Reese interrupted him quickly.
“I’m in the middle of a training session, but come on in.” Reese turned back in towards his apartment and Finch followed, closing the door quietly behind him.
The decor in Reese’s loft didn’t appear to have changed much since Finch last saw the place. The bed was still there, looming large on the left hand side of the space. The long couch had been joined by a coffee table and two club chairs, equally black in colour. Two bar stools and a small table-and-chairs combo completed the additions to the kitchen space. Nothing out of the ordinary.
What was unexpected was the stationary bicycle taking centre stage in the living room, facing the windows. Reese hopped onto the bike, locked his shoes into the pedals, and started pedalling furiously. Finch walked slowly towards the bike, taking it all in and not knowing quite what to make of it all.
Reese gave him a cursory backwards glance, then muttered “sprint” and “barstool” in quick successive breaths before focusing forward and on his harried pedalling again.
Finch raised an eyebrow as he watched Reese’s lycra-encased buttocks waggle to and fro on the bicycle seat, then grabbed a barstool from the kitchen and dragged it over to the front side of Reese’s bike. After awkwardly shifting himself onto it he waited, knowing that Reese couldn’t keep up his pace for too long. Sure enough, three minutes later Reese geared down and began a steadier and slower pace. He pulled his water bottle from the holder on his bike and squirted some coloured liquid from into his mouth before regarding Finch.
Finch shot a quizzical look back at him. “First yoga, now cycling, Mr Reese?”
Reese cracked a full-on grin at him. “I gotta stay in shape, Finch.”
“But you’re in your living room?”
“Have you looked outside today, Finch? I can’t train out in that.” Reese puffed. “And I want to ride my bicycle.”
Finch noticed sweat beading on Reese’s upper lip and found himself staring, and had to resist the urge to wipe it away. “You want to ride your bike…” he repeated, trailing off distractedly.
“I want to ride it where I like, and indoors works for today. Besides, a bicycle race is coming my way.” Reese grabbed a towel from his handlebars and swiped at the sweat on his forehead and upper lip.
Finch blinked sharply several times, back from his reverie. “So what kind of training exactly is involved for this race you’re doing?”
“Don’t worry, Finch,” Reese smiled up at him while leaning on his forearms. “I won’t forget all my duties. It’s a few hours a day, a mix of biking and strength training and a good deal of stretching and Gatorade.” Then, “I’ve got another sprint coming up. I need some good distraction on my last long stretch - think of something that doesn’t involve too much talking but will still be good.”
Reese geared back up and began pedalling furiously again.
“On your marks, get set, go,” Finch mumbled under his breath.
Sweat began beading on Reese’s upper lip again, and Finch forced himself to look elsewhere. There was no sense in getting caught staring. He took in the long, lean form of John Reese on the bicycle, noting the smooth shorts once again and also the tight-fitting shirt which was unzipped just slightly in front, allowing a few rogue chest hairs to escape out through the opening. Having seen Reese shirtless several times before, Finch knew how lightly Reese’s chest was peppered with hair, how taught the muscles were beneath his skin, how….
Too much! Finch slipped off the chair, walked over to the kitchen and found himself a glass and some cold tap water. He turned away from Reese and mindfully drank his glass of water, paying attention to every sip and willing his thoughts away from the hot bicycle action behind him. He soon felt more calm and collected and returned to the barstool.
“We could try some free association if you want,” Finch suggested as Reese geared down again a few minutes later.
“Some free what?” Reese asked, huffing and puffing like nothing else as his heart rate slowed a bit.
“Free association,” Finch repeated. “I say a word, and you say the first thing that comes to mind.”
“Okayyyy…” Reese drawled at him, still trying to catch his breath as he settled back into a slower pace.
“Let’s see…” Finch stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and then looked back at Reese. “Black”
“White,” Reese threw back immediately.
“Bark,” Finch added.
“Bite,” Reese replied as he raised his eyebrows at Finch.
“Shark.”
“Jaws.” Reese smiled at that one. “I love Jaws, man. Spielberg’s awesome. He and George Lucas are movie Gods.”
“Jaws was never my scene and I don’t like Star Wars, but I’m glad you enjoyed them Mr Reese,” Finch retorted.
“I bet you don’t believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman?” Reese threw back at him with his trademark smirk.
Finch huffed and crossed his arms, more difficult than expected given his precarious position on the barstool. “I refuse to even dignify that question with an answer, John.”
“Okay, well, keep going. This is kind of fun,” Reese looked surprised at his own admission.
Finch pursed his lips in thought before throwing out his next word.
“Rolls.”
That seemed to stymie Reese for a few seconds before he answered, “Royce.”
“Smile.” Finch couldn’t help do exactly that.
“Cheese,” Reese grinned uncharacteristically back at him.
“Coke.”
“Caine.” Another smirk in Finch’s direction.
“John....” Finch warned, his tone patronising.
“Wayne,” Reese replied seriously, then he gave a hearty chuckle a few seconds later when he saw Finch’s face, which was a light shade of pink at being caught at his own game, so to speak.
“Maybe I should go,” Finch said pointedly, getting off the barstool.
Reese glanced at his wristwatch, then stopped pedalling and climbed off the bike. “I’m actually all done here, except for stretching. If you don’t mind waiting, we could have lunch together afterwards once I’ve showered?”
Stretching in that clothing? Reese in the shower? Potential for Reese in a towel after his shower?
“That sounds good,” Finch said, settling back onto the barstool to watch the action.