Fic: Bordeaux and Black Cherry -- Part 2
Title: Bordeaux and Black Cherry
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After a month of waiting for Finch to make a move, Reese takes matters into his own hands. Sequel to Silk Stockings.
Warnings: Slash, cross-dressing
Word Count: 6700 words
Author's Note: And here is the second part. BTW, this is where all the smut is, lol.
Bordeaux and Black Cherry -- Part 1
His heart skipped a beat as Finch slowly made his way out, a pair of white high heels making the mysterious clicking sound. He must have been practicing. It helped - he didn't wobble, even with his limp. Smooth, shapely legs rose up from the heels, wrapped in dark burgundy fishnet stockings. Holding them up were white lace garters, and above that was a pair of white silk panties, Finch's hard cock clearly defined beneath the thin material. He wore a short, white silk camisole with a knee-length, sheer white robe over everything, but it was so sheer, it didn't conceal much. The robe was trimmed with soft burgundy feathers that fluttered as Finch moved and matched his dark lipstick. The rest of his make-up was like before, elegant and understated, and Reese simply couldn't stop staring. Only an insistent twitch from his neglected cock snapped him out of it.
"Oh, my God, Harold," he whispered. "You are absolutely...beautiful."
Finch blushed, but his dark lips quirked into that little pleased smile that Reese loved so much. "There's one more surprise," he said. Stepping carefully, he turned his back and swept his robe to the side, revealing letters embroidered in burgundy across his rounded ass - Property of John Reese.
Reese groaned and absently adjusted his aching cock. "I want you so much right now," he said, but he refrained from rushing across the room, with some difficulty.
Finch turned back around, letting his robe fall into place, and nervously licked his lips. "You- you can have me, John," he said breathlessly. Reese moved toward him, bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor, until he stood before Finch, close enough to touch, but not touching him. Even with the heels on, Finch was still an inch or two shorter than Reese. Reese looked him over once more, from head to foot, and he smiled.
"Love the shoes, Harold," he said. "They do such wonderful things for your legs - accentuating the muscles and tightening your ass."
"I'm glad," Finch said. "They're a nightmare to walk in. I don't know how women do it."
"Lots of practice, I'm sure," Reese said. He started to lean in and kiss Finch, but hesitated. "I don't want to smear your lipstick."
"You're not the only one who went shopping this afternoon," Finch said, reaching up and running a fingertip along his lower lip. "I thought something a bit more durable would be prudent."
Reese needed no further convincing. Lips parted, he pressed them to Finch's, surprised to feel Finch's tongue slip into his mouth. He moaned softly, licking against the exploring muscle, his eyes sliding shut as they tasted each other, deep wet kisses that left them both out of breath. It was Finch who drew back first, his face flushed as he turned his attention to the buttons on Reese's shirt, agile fingers making quick work of them. Reese shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, his heart pounding as Finch then went to work on his belt, but when Finch began to lower his zipper, he had to take a hasty step back, his body shuddering as he fought back the rush of orgasm.
"What is it?" Finch asked. "Did I do something wrong?"
Reese shook his head, for a moment just working on keeping his breathing even. "No, Harold," he said finally. "You've done everything right. So right, in fact, that I'm ready to blow at the slightest provocation. So don't do or say anything sexy, unless you want me to come in my trousers."
Finch flushed. "No, I- I wouldn't want that." Then a flicker of mischief glinted in his blue gray eyes. "Maybe you ought to take them off, then," he said, toeing off his high heels and slipping out of his robe. Reese glanced away, his body continuing to try and betray him. He shoved his slacks down and stepped out of them, his briefs quickly joining the pile, and he stood there, nude, waiting for Finch to look at him. Which Finch didn't.
"Have a seat on the edge of the bed, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sounding much like the stuffy genius Reese was used to hearing on the other end of the phone line. Not sure if Finch was finally feeling more comfortable around him, or if he was affecting his workplace persona to mask his true feelings, Reese stepped over to the bed and sank down on the edge of the mattress, his aching cock standing at stiff attention, pressed almost flat against his stomach.
"Now close your eyes," Finch said, "and describe to me how you would field-strip a rifle."
"Not exactly the sort of pillow-talk I was expecting," Reese said, shutting his eyes. "What sort of rifle?"
"I don't care," Finch said, sounding faintly exasperated. "I just want your mind somewhere else so we don't have any untimely accidents."
"Oh," Reese said. "The M 16 rifle, then. First, lock the bolt to the rear by depressing the lever on the charging handle and pulling the charging handle all the way rearward. While holding the charging handle all the way in the rearward position, push the bottom portion of the bolt catch, located on the left side of the magazine well." He was aware of Finch doing something not too far away, but he tried to remain focused on the rifle, describing each step, each part of the weapon. He was almost finished when a soft touch against the insides of his thighs made him draw a sharp breath. "Finch?"
"You can open your eyes now," Finch said. Curiously, his voice seemed to be coming from directly in front of Reese, about three feet off the floor, but before Reese could do little more than wonder why Finch would be so close to the ground, he opened his eyes. Kneeling between his legs, was Finch, wearing a small, shy smile that made Reese's balls draw up and nearly spill their load.
"Jesus, Harold," Reese whispered, his voice hoarse.
Without preamble, Finch leaned forward, wrapping one hand around his shaft as he took Reese's cockhead into his mouth, his dark, full lips pressed tight to Reese's flesh as he sucked, his tongue flicking up and down the slit. Reese didn't have time to give a warning or even draw a bracing breath before he unloaded into Finch's mouth, coming so hard he actually felt lightheaded. Finch worked his hand up and down Reese's shaft, his tongue never ceasing its wicked movements until the final shudder of pleasure had wracked Reese's body, leaving him breathless. He watched Finch swallow and draw back, licking traces of white from his lips.
"Interesting texture," Finch said, "and not as bitter as I expected. Still, not exactly a glass of Chateau Le Pin Pomerol."
Reese gave a breathless chuckle. "The day it is, I should probably see a doctor. Are you sure that was your first time?"
Finch nodded.
"Well, you're a natural. That was the best blow-job I've ever had."
The older man blushed like a teenage girl. "I did have a bit of help," he confessed. "I used my phone to Google techniques while I was in the bathroom."
"Is that why you were so hard when you came out?" Reese teased, getting his second wind back. "Your cock was about ready to rip through those silky little panties of yours." He glanced down between Finch's thighs. "Looks like it still is. How about you come up here and let me take care of you now?"
"Didn't I hear you say that you also had a surprise for me?" Finch asked, bracing one hand on the edge of the bed to help himself up off the floor.
"That's right, I do," Reese said, watching him tug up his burgundy fishnets and straighten the garters. He seemed so much more relaxed, comfortable, and it was a sight that warmed Reese's heart.
"What is it?"
"Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise anymore, now would it?"
And just like that, the wary suspicion was back, just a shadow in Finch's eyes, a slight thinning of his lips, a tenseness that drew his shoulders back. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed beside Reese, absently smoothing the front of his silk camisole, the room thick with unspoken questions.
Reese sighed. "Do you really think that I could ever hurt you, Harold?"
"No, John! Of course not, it's just..." He didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence.
"Old habits," Reese said softly and Finch nodded. "Can we try, though? Even if it is difficult for you, will you let me surprise you?"
Finch hesitated, then nodded again. "I'll try."
Reese smiled and leaned over, tasting his own musky flavor as he kissed those soft, dark lips. He groaned low in his throat, easing his tongue into Finch's mouth as he shifted on the bed, nudging Finch farther back onto the mattress. Reese supported his neck, both of them adjusting pillows as Finch stretched out beneath him. Once he was comfortable, Reese drew back, admiring the view one last time. "Damn, you look good," he said and smiled as Finch colored. "Don't move."
Reese hurried to his dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube and a rolled up hand towel. Finch watched nervously as Reese returned, eyeing the towel like it was a gun...or a sixteen inch rubber dildo.
"Is that the surprise?" he asked.
"That's a towel," Reese said, tossing it carelessly down onto the foot of the bed. He held up the bottle in his hand. "This is lubricant. It eases friction and makes things slide easier."
"I'm aware of the definition of lubricant, Mr. Reese," Finch said, his nervousness making him snappish. Reese refrained from teasing him further, instead sinking down onto the bed and starting to work Finch's underwear down. The older man raised his ass, though it caused a flicker of pain to dance across his face, and Reese slid the silk panties off his hips and over his stockings. He set them aside, letting his gaze rove over Finch's hard cock. Finch squirmed under his scrutiny, the motion making his cock sway back and forth, a drop of pre-come oozing from the slit, the thick fluid dangling from the tip.
"Oops, we don't want to get your clothes dirty," Reese said, reaching back and grabbing the towel. He let it unroll, paying no attention to the slender item that fell out of the towel onto the bedspread. Finch, his gaze restricted by the pins in his neck, didn't notice.
Reese spread the towel over Finch's belly, smiling as his breathing grew fast in anticipation. "Just relax," Reese said, peeling off the safety plastic on the bottle of lube. "We're going to take this nice and slow, even if it takes all night. Now, if you'll just bend your knees and spread your legs a little...Not so much that hurts, though," he added as he helped Finch draw up his bad leg until both his feet were flat on the bed, his legs spread wide enough for Reese to kneel between them. "You trust me, don't you, Harold?" he asked, popping the cap off the bottle.
Finch swallowed hard, his whole body trembling. "Yes," he whispered, his voice strained.
"Good," Reese said, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Finch's knee through the fishnet. "I'm just going to finger you right now, to see how you like having something in your ass. I'm not expecting to fuck you tonight, you know. When we do that, if we do that, I want it to be because you want to feel me inside of you, not because you feel like you ought to let me. And if we never get to that point...well, there are plenty of other things we can do. All right?"
"All right," Finch said, Reese's reassurance seeming to help. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, much of the tension in his body easing as he exhaled.
"This might be a little cold," Reese warned, squeezing a large dollop of lube onto the tip of his index finger. Finch cringed a little as Reese slipped his finger between the round cheeks and smeared the slippery substance across Finch's opening. Keeping an eye on Finch for signs of discomfort, he began to rub against the ring of muscle, slowly, lightly at first, feeling it twitch and flutter in response to his attention. When Finch finally relaxed, Reese drew back, adding more lube to his finger.
"Take a breath, Harold," he instructed, easing inside. He stopped as Finch tensed, clenching around him. "Does that hurt?"
Finch gave his head a slight shake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "It feels strange...and frankly, I can't understand why anyone would subject themselves to something this...undignified."
"You will," Reese assured him. With his other hand, he stroked the insides of Finch's thighs, trailing his fingers over the curve of a calf, lingering on the rounded knob of an ankle bone. Finch shuddered, a faint moan escaping him as his body relaxed. Reese slid a bit deeper, up to the second knuckle, and crooked his finger, pressing upward into Finch's body. "Tell me how this feels."
"Well, it's sort of- Oh! Oh!" His whole body jerked, his heels digging into the mattress as his ass left the bed. "Wh- what the hell did you just do?"
"Just a little prostate massage," Reese said, stroking his leg again as he sank back down.
Finch snorted. "I've had my prostate checked before, and it never felt like that."
"I should hope not," Reese said with a laugh. "Now try and stay still; I don't want to hurt your leg." Slowly, Reese worked his finger in and out of Finch's body, trying to get him used to the feeling of something moving inside him. Finch panted and made small, muffled noises, but he didn't seem to be in pain. Every now and then, Reese paused to stroke over the spongy lump just beyond the wall of Finch's rectum, making the reserved man gasp and moan every time.
"Is this all right?" Reese asked, falling into a steady rhythm, stroking Finch's sweet spot with each thrust.
"Oh...oh...oh, God, yes," Finch panted. "I had no idea it would feel like this." His legs shifted restlessly, his hips trying to rise up into each thrust, his stiff cock rocking back and forth, strings of pre-come dangling from the tip and glistening on the shaft. Reese smiled and reached out with his other hand, wrapping his fingers around Finch's cock and pumping him in time with the rhythm of his thrusts, Finch's soft, helpless cries like music to his ears. He could feel Finch tensing, his body shaking as he neared the brink, and Reese drew back, not ready for the fun to be over just yet.
"Ohh, don't stop," Finch moaned.
"Just hang on a minute," Reese said with a crooked grin. "There's an agenda here, remember? I'm going to add another finger now, so tell me if it's too uncomfortable." He drizzled more lube on his fingers and rubbed them against Finch's relaxed opening before slowly pushing inside. Finch drew a noisy breath, his muscles tightening around Reese for a moment, but then he exhaled, his grip on Reese's fingers easing. "That's very good, Harold," Reese murmured, deliberately ignoring Finch's prostate as he slowly finger-fucked his boss. "How does that feel?"
Finch just moaned. After a moment, he reached toward his neglected cock, but Reese caught his hand, stopping him.
"Just wait," he said. "It'll be worth it."
"Oh, you're going to kill me," Finch said with a groan, but he did pull his hand back, instead reaching up to pinch and twist his nipples through the thin silk of his camisole. The sight of him touching himself, his skin flushed and sweaty, the quiet whimpers and muttered obscenities that escaped his lips, made Reese's cock rise to the occasion again, but he ignored it; he couldn't afford to be distracted.
He pulled his fingers out again. "Need more lube," he said, but Finch wasn't paying attention anyway. Keeping an eye on him, Reese surreptitiously reached over and picked up the item that he'd had hidden inside the towel. Squirting lube into his hand, he thoroughly coated the bright blue silicon beads before pressing the tip to Finch's opening. "Remember how I said I had a surprise for you?" he asked.
"Y- yes," Finch said. "I thought this was it."
"No, this is it," Reese replied, easing the first elongated bump inside. It wasn't much larger than the end of Reese's little finger and slid in easily. He stopped, letting Finch rest at the narrow part that connected each bead.
"What is that?" Finch asked, his body trying to pull the toy further in as he tightened his muscles. Reese gently tugged back, applying pressure to the sensitive nerves around the inside of his entrance and making him gasp.
"They're called anal beads," Reese explained. "These are slightly oval, a little soft, and very smooth - the girl at the porn store assured me they'd be perfect for a beginner-"
"John!" Finch exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "You didn't!"
"Of course I did," Reese said with an unabashed grin. "I had to make sure I did this right. I didn't want to hurt you, just drive you insane with pleasure and need."
"I'd say you succeeded," Finch said, managing to sound annoyed, even though his voice took on a strained tone as Reese gently pushed the second bead into him. "That one felt bigger."
"It was," Reese said. "They get gradually larger. The biggest one is about an inch in diameter-"
"Oh?" He sounded alarmed.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to put them all in," Reese assured him, "and even if I did, my two fingers are wider than an inch across, and you didn't have any trouble taking them."
"Oh...Yes, I suppose you're right," Finch said. "An inch just sounded like a lot to fit in...back there." He even blushed as he said it. He really was just too adorable.
"Here's the next one," Reese said. Finch groaned, the muscles in his thighs tensing as Reese pushed it in. "Everything all right?"
"Yes," he panted. "I can just...feel it inside me, moving...feels strange, but...I think I like it."
"How does this feel?" Reese asked, pulling until the bead he just inserted started to emerge, then pushing it back in, in and out once, twice, three times. Finch shuddered, a long, low moan all the answer that Reese needed. "Good. Just a couple more beads and then we'll wrap things up, okay? I have a feeling you'll need some time to recuperate afterward."
"Are you...saying I'm...old, Mr. Reese?"
"Never, Mr. Finch," Reese said with a smile. "I'm saying that I'm going to fuck you with these beads until you blow like Vesuvius. I think anyone would be tired after that." Finch shuddered again, his cock twitching, and Reese carefully pushed two more beads inside of him. "There we are. There's only three more, but I think we'll save that for another time. How do you feel?"
"Full," Finch said, then he drew a sudden breath and shivered. "When I tighten the sphincter muscle, the beads press against my prostate." Reese watched the puckered entrance clench around the toy, watched the shudder of pleasure race through the older man, and it gave him an idea.
"Keep doing that," Reese said. "See if you can make yourself come." He sat back, one hand absently stroking his own cock, and laughed at the dubious look Finch gave him.
"If I had known I would have to do this myself..." He didn't stop trying through. Soon, he was clenching both cheeks, little gasps and whimpers filling the quiet apartment as he lifted his ass off the bed, thrusting into the empty air, the motion making the last three beads bounce up and down. "Oh, fuck...oh, fuck...come on," he gritted through his teeth before collapsing back onto the bed, his legs shaking from his exertion. "I can't. John, please - I can't."
"All right," Reese said, sitting back up. He squirted another dollop of lube into his palm, then wrapped his hand around Finch's cock, spreading the lube with slow, calculated movements. Finch made a frustrated noise and jerked his hips, trying to fuck Reese's fist, but Reese just pulled away. "Not yet. Patience, my little bird." He began to stroke him again, and Finch managed to stay still, although he was a mewling, quivering pile of aching need by the time Reese began to play with the beads sticking out of his ass. Tugging gently, Reese watched him shudder and twitch. He moaned as Reese pulled steadily, withdrawing three beads one after another, and cried out as Reese pushed them back in.
"Oh, John! Fuck me, please!"
Reese shuddered, pre-come bubbling from his cock, and it took a monumental force of will not to give in to Finch's demands. Reese knew Finch could take it, even if Reese's cock had twice the girth of the beads that Reese was working in and out of Finch's body. The human body was resilient - he'd either stretch now or heal later - but Reese wasn't willing to risk what they had, not for a few short minutes of complete bliss, not if there was a chance that Finch would regret it afterward. When the time came to make love, Reese wanted it to be a mutual decision made beforehand, not him giving in to the desperate pleas of a man driven half out of his mind with pleasure.
"Next time," he promised, for once glad that he was ambidextrous for a reason that had nothing to do with guns. One hand pumped Finch's cock, feeling it strain and jerk as the other fucked him with the toy, the beads rubbing against his prostate as his body tensed with every wave of ecstasy.
"Oh, oh, oh! I'm - I'm-" He cried out wordlessly as his heels dug into the bed, lifting his ass off the mattress as he spilled himself onto the towel draped over his stomach. Reese pulled the beads out in one slow, continuous motion, stimulating Finch's clenched opening as thick strings of white striped the towel. He didn't stop stroking Finch's cock until he gave one last convulsive shudder and collapsed bonelessly back against the mattress, his whole body shaking as he gasped for breath. Reese smiled at the dazed expression on Finch's face, and then began cleaning up, gathering up the towel and wiping the last dribbles from Finch's softening cock. He folded the beads inside and set it out of the way. If Finch was willing, they'd have one more mess to clean up.
"How're you doing, Harold?" he asked after a minute. "I didn't kill you, did I?"
Finch gave a faint, breathless chuckle. "I'm not entirely certain. It's possible that I may have died and gone to heaven."
"I'm pretty sure there's no gay sex in heaven," Reese said with a crooked grin.
"Well, there should be," Finch said. "That was divine."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Reese said. "An artist likes to know that his efforts are appreciated. But there's just one more little thing. Well, not so little actually." He stroked his aching cock as Finch shifted enough to look at him.
"Oh, John - I'm sorry, I completely forgot. What can I do?"
"Can you turn over, lie on your stomach?"
"I think so. Why-" He stopped, his gaze dropping to Reese's cock, and he swallowed hard. "Y- yes, I can do that."
It was gratifying that Finch was so willing to allow Reese to do something that he was clearly uneasy about. Reese reached out, putting a hand on Finch's hip as he started to roll over.
"Wait," he said, taking Finch's hand. "Sit up for a minute." He helped Finch up, then began working his hands under the white silk camisole. "Not that I don't like it when you dress up, but right now I want to feel your skin against mine," he said, peeling the slinky top up and off over Finch's head. He tossed it aside and slid his hands over Finch's chest, running his fingers through the soft mat of curly hair, gripping and kneading the flesh as he moved down Finch's body. He slid garter and stocking down each leg, taking a moment to caress Finch's smooth calves, making the man groan softly.
"Uh ho," Reese said when he reached Finch's feet. "Looks like those shoes messed up your toenails a little." There were a few small marks in the dark polish, hardly noticeable. "Well, I suppose you'll take it off in the morning anyway. All right, now turn over."
He helped Finch move the pillows out of the way, Finch resting the side of his face against one bent arm, much the way Reese had caught him sleeping at his computer so many months ago. Had it really been over a year? It didn't seem possible. He remembered meeting the quiet, enigmatic man like it was yesterday.
"Are you comfortable?" Reese asked, one hand gliding from Finch's shoulder down to the mound of his ass.
"Fairly. I'm not in pain, if that's what you're asking."
"That's good," Reese said, patting the rounded cheek before rising to his knees and swinging a leg over Finch, straddling his thighs. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."
"I know," Finch said, but there was a tremor in his voice.
Reese leaned down and kissed the back of his neck, over the surgical scar. "Do you trust me, Harold?"
"Yes," Finch answered immediately.
"Then relax. I'm not going to enter you. We're not ready for that yet."
"You...you can if you want to," Finch said quietly. "I think I can handle it."
"I think so, too," Reese said, "but I want to be sure. Next time." He placed a line of soft kisses down Finch's spine, to between his shoulder blades. "Now, you'll tell me if anything I do is uncomfortable or painful, won't you?"
"All right. What are you going to do?"
"Think of this as a test-run for the real thing," Reese said with a small smile. "I want to know how much of my weight you can take."
"But how is that going to...satisfy you?"
"You'll see." He kissed Finch's shoulder, then reached down, working his fingers in between Finch's cheeks and teasing his opening, which was still relaxed and slippery with lube. Finch made a muffled noise and tried to push back against him, but Reese just stroked the small of his back with the other hand and began to smear the lubricant along the crack of Finch's ass. It was starting to get sticky, as water-based lubricants did after a while, but it would work well enough for what Reese had in mind.
Stretching out, Reese braced his forearms on either side of Finch's body, lowering himself onto the smaller man until he lay draped over him like a blanket. "Is this okay? I'm not too heavy?"
"No, you're fine," Finch said. "It actually feels good to have you on top of me. I didn't expect that."
"I'm glad," Reese said, nuzzling the crook of Finch's neck. He began mouthing the soft skin, taking deep, noisy breaths as he inhaled Finch's scent, his hips rocking as he pressed his groin more firmly against Finch's ass, his cock sliding along the slick valley. Finch groaned, his legs shifting as he pushed back against him, giving him more purchase. Trusting Finch to tell him if he got too rough, Reese began to thrust, rutting against Finch, the delicious friction making him gasp and groan into the side of Finch's neck.
"That's it, John," Finch murmured. "Come on - harder; you're not going to hurt me."
Shoving his arms beneath Finch's chest, Reese clung to him, squeezing his eyes shut as the pressure inside him built, the shuddering pleasure rolling through his body.
"Oh, Harold," he moaned, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into Finch's soft flesh, but Finch didn't tell him to go easy. He could feel himself nearing the brink, his muscles tensing, his movements growing quick and desperate. "Oh, God, Harold!"
"I love you, John."
Reese gasped, his chest constricting at Finch's quiet declaration. Then it felt like he'd been dipped into melted chocolate, a slow warmth creeping over him, and he cried out as he came, remembering at the last minute to turn his head so he didn't shout in Finch's ear. He bucked, his cock sliding along the crack of Finch's ass, now well-lubed with his seed, his hips continuing to rock long after he'd stopped coming. He just didn't want it to end.
Finally, the friction grew to be too much against his overstimulated flesh and he came to a shuddering halt, turning his head back to nuzzle and kiss Finch's shoulder. "I love you, too," he murmured into the crook of Finch's neck. He didn't have to ask if Finch had meant what he said; he knew Finch would never lie to him, would never say it if he wasn't sure it was true.
"I know," Finch said. "My neck is starting to ache, though, and-"
Reese lifted himself off of the smaller man and flopped down beside him, lying on his back to keep from soiling the sheets. "And what?"
"And I think I need a shower."
Glancing down at the thick smears of white at the small of Finch's back, Reese couldn't help the lazy smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, we did make kind of a mess, didn't we?" He forced himself to sit up and grab the towel, turning it until he found a clean end to wipe most of the semen and lube off of Finch's skin. "You can shower first."
"Thank you," Finch said, climbing slowly off the bed. Reese wasn't sure if he was stiff, or weakened from all the unusual activity. Reese didn't even bother trying to stand yet; his knees felt like rubber, his whole body tingling.
"Do you need any help washing your back?" Reese asked playfully as Finch limped toward the bathroom. The older man stopped, standing there for a moment before turning back around.
"Not this time, John," he said. "I think I need a few minutes to myself. Just to...think."
"All right," Reese said. "Take all the time you need. But don't use all the hot water," he added with a smile. Finch smiled back and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Reese stared at the closed door for a moment, then sighed. He could think of worst things than giving Finch time to think, but most of them involved violent injury or debilitating illness. Hopefully, he wouldn't think himself into a guilt induced panic attack.
The muffled sound of a phone ringing drew him out of his own thoughts and he reluctantly rose to his feet, his legs wobbling slightly as he followed the sound to where he'd dropped his trousers. He pulled the cell out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Why would Carter be calling him at a quarter to midnight?
"Good evening, Detective," he said in his typical smooth, disarming voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Care to explain to me why Fusco thinks you and I got busy last night?"
Reese closed his eyes. Oh, God; he didn't. "I think Fusco must have misunderstood the conversation we had this morning."
"Well he better have," Carter said, an edge to her tone. "I don't need you spreading rumors to my partner that I'm shacking up with some vigilante killer. You're not my type, John."
"O- okay, Joss," Reese said, fighting hard not to laugh. It wasn't funny. "Do me a favor and tell Fusco that I made the call and it all worked out."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Just tell Fusco, all right, Carter? He'll understand and he can explain it to you. I have to go; I'm with someone."
"With someone-"
Reese pressed the button ending the call. Carter made for a nice, dependable ally, but sometimes her questions were just exhausting. He could still hear the shower running, so he made himself useful and finished cleaning up the bed, turning down the blankets, and gathering up their clothes that had been scattered about the apartment. He was standing beside the bed, holding Finch's panties in his hands and running his fingers over the cool silk when the bathroom door finally opened.
"It's all yours, Mr. Reese," Finch said, limping out in the burgundy bathrobe Reese had bought for him, his suede satchel in one hand and his suit neatly draped over his arm. "I hope there's plenty of hot water left. I tried to be quick."
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Harold," Reese said, walking over and handing him his underwear. Finch blushed as he took them and tucked them away in his satchel. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge; I'll be back in a few minutes."
"All right," Finch said, his attention on his clothes as he draped the suit over the back of one of Reese's chairs, fussing with the fold of his trousers so they wouldn't crease crooked. Reese headed for the bathroom, but something made him stop and glance back, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to shrug it off and started walking again.
"John?" Finch said, and he turned back. "Thank you." There was something very raw and vulnerable in his eyes, and Reese couldn't help but feel that this was a very deep and all-encompassing thank you - thanks for his work, his dedication, his friendship, his love, his patience, his tenderness.
He smiled in spite of the bleak certainty that settled over him. "You're welcome, Harold." He went into the bathroom and shut the door, the air warm and damp, the shower head still dripping as he stepped into the enclosure. As he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, he tried not to think about Finch getting dressed in the other room, even though that was surely what he was doing. He would be gone when Reese came back out, but Reese didn't try to hurry, didn't try to get done before he could leave. This was just how it had to be, at least for now. Reese didn't particularly like it, but that was what Finch needed, and he could respect that.
Reese finished washing up and climbed out, drying off before wrapping the damp towel around his waist. Taking a bracing breath, he turned out the light, opened the door, and stepped out into the silent, empty apartment. He glanced around and let slip the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Ignoring the hollow pain in his chest, he crossed to the door and locked it before turning out the lights and going to bed.
Determined not to make Finch feel uncomfortable about what they had done, or the fact that he'd snuck out without even saying goodnight, Reese entered the library with a peace offering of green tea and donuts. His steps were easy and fluid as he climbed the stairs and sauntered down the hall, but inside he was tied in knots, the worry eating at him. Would Finch even be there? Would he speak to him? Had Reese ruined everything?
"Morning, Finch," Reese said, managing to keep his relief from affecting the air of casual professionalism he'd decided on. "Do we have a new number yet?"
Finch glanced up as Reese set the tea and box of pastries down on the table beside his keyboard. For a moment, it seemed there was something searching in his gaze, but then it was gone.
"Just came in early this morning," Finch said, levering himself out of his chair and limping over to the printer. His limp was noticeably more pronounced this morning, and on his chair sat the cushion that Reese had never used. Reese felt terrible. He opened his mouth and took a breath to apologize, but Finch turned back around, pictures in hand.
"Her name is Sasha Baker, twenty-six years old, college student at NYU. She's about to graduate with a degree in elementary education, probably at about the worst possible time to be a teacher. It's appalling that the moment there's a shortfall in the budget, education is the first sacrifice they make. It's no wonder this country has so many problems."
Reese just listened, watching him tape the young woman's picture to the board, unable to fight down the feeling of disappointment, even though he was damn sure not to let it show. Business as usual was not what he wanted. A long, slow good morning kiss would have been closer, but just an acknowledgement of the glorious moments they had shared would have been nice.
"Are you listening to me, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked and Reese snapped out of his self-pitying reverie.
"Sorry, Finch," he said. "My mind wandered for a moment. Please, continue."
Finch regarded him, then turned back to the board, taping up two more photos, one of an older woman who appeared to be in poor health, her skin dull and papery, her hair thin and lank, and the other of a young man with gang tattoos on his arms and chest.
"I'm still wearing the nail polish," Finch said suddenly, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the cracked pane of glass. "I went to take it off this morning and...I didn't want to. So I didn't." After a moment, he turned stiffly to look at Reese.
Reese smiled, relief washing over him. "Same here," he said. He took a step toward Finch, stopping as the smaller man tensed, his eyes darting around, as though afraid they might be seen. "I think we're alone, Harold," Reese teased. "And I promise, I'm not going to turn the library into a love nest, I just need this right now." He finished closing the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Finch, and kissed him. Finch stood stiff against him for a moment, then melted into his arms, returning the embrace and the kiss, a soft groan escaping him as Reese slipped his tongue past Finch's lips, tasting green tea.
He drew back and licked his lips. "Maybe I should give that tea a try," he said with a grin. "It's pretty good."
Finch rolled his eyes and turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the broad smile that lit up his face. "Are you ready to get back to work now, Mr. Reese?"
"I believe I am, Mr. Finch," Reese replied, turning his attention to the board.
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After a month of waiting for Finch to make a move, Reese takes matters into his own hands. Sequel to Silk Stockings.
Warnings: Slash, cross-dressing
Word Count: 6700 words
Author's Note: And here is the second part. BTW, this is where all the smut is, lol.
Bordeaux and Black Cherry -- Part 1
His heart skipped a beat as Finch slowly made his way out, a pair of white high heels making the mysterious clicking sound. He must have been practicing. It helped - he didn't wobble, even with his limp. Smooth, shapely legs rose up from the heels, wrapped in dark burgundy fishnet stockings. Holding them up were white lace garters, and above that was a pair of white silk panties, Finch's hard cock clearly defined beneath the thin material. He wore a short, white silk camisole with a knee-length, sheer white robe over everything, but it was so sheer, it didn't conceal much. The robe was trimmed with soft burgundy feathers that fluttered as Finch moved and matched his dark lipstick. The rest of his make-up was like before, elegant and understated, and Reese simply couldn't stop staring. Only an insistent twitch from his neglected cock snapped him out of it.
"Oh, my God, Harold," he whispered. "You are absolutely...beautiful."
Finch blushed, but his dark lips quirked into that little pleased smile that Reese loved so much. "There's one more surprise," he said. Stepping carefully, he turned his back and swept his robe to the side, revealing letters embroidered in burgundy across his rounded ass - Property of John Reese.
Reese groaned and absently adjusted his aching cock. "I want you so much right now," he said, but he refrained from rushing across the room, with some difficulty.
Finch turned back around, letting his robe fall into place, and nervously licked his lips. "You- you can have me, John," he said breathlessly. Reese moved toward him, bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor, until he stood before Finch, close enough to touch, but not touching him. Even with the heels on, Finch was still an inch or two shorter than Reese. Reese looked him over once more, from head to foot, and he smiled.
"Love the shoes, Harold," he said. "They do such wonderful things for your legs - accentuating the muscles and tightening your ass."
"I'm glad," Finch said. "They're a nightmare to walk in. I don't know how women do it."
"Lots of practice, I'm sure," Reese said. He started to lean in and kiss Finch, but hesitated. "I don't want to smear your lipstick."
"You're not the only one who went shopping this afternoon," Finch said, reaching up and running a fingertip along his lower lip. "I thought something a bit more durable would be prudent."
Reese needed no further convincing. Lips parted, he pressed them to Finch's, surprised to feel Finch's tongue slip into his mouth. He moaned softly, licking against the exploring muscle, his eyes sliding shut as they tasted each other, deep wet kisses that left them both out of breath. It was Finch who drew back first, his face flushed as he turned his attention to the buttons on Reese's shirt, agile fingers making quick work of them. Reese shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, his heart pounding as Finch then went to work on his belt, but when Finch began to lower his zipper, he had to take a hasty step back, his body shuddering as he fought back the rush of orgasm.
"What is it?" Finch asked. "Did I do something wrong?"
Reese shook his head, for a moment just working on keeping his breathing even. "No, Harold," he said finally. "You've done everything right. So right, in fact, that I'm ready to blow at the slightest provocation. So don't do or say anything sexy, unless you want me to come in my trousers."
Finch flushed. "No, I- I wouldn't want that." Then a flicker of mischief glinted in his blue gray eyes. "Maybe you ought to take them off, then," he said, toeing off his high heels and slipping out of his robe. Reese glanced away, his body continuing to try and betray him. He shoved his slacks down and stepped out of them, his briefs quickly joining the pile, and he stood there, nude, waiting for Finch to look at him. Which Finch didn't.
"Have a seat on the edge of the bed, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sounding much like the stuffy genius Reese was used to hearing on the other end of the phone line. Not sure if Finch was finally feeling more comfortable around him, or if he was affecting his workplace persona to mask his true feelings, Reese stepped over to the bed and sank down on the edge of the mattress, his aching cock standing at stiff attention, pressed almost flat against his stomach.
"Now close your eyes," Finch said, "and describe to me how you would field-strip a rifle."
"Not exactly the sort of pillow-talk I was expecting," Reese said, shutting his eyes. "What sort of rifle?"
"I don't care," Finch said, sounding faintly exasperated. "I just want your mind somewhere else so we don't have any untimely accidents."
"Oh," Reese said. "The M 16 rifle, then. First, lock the bolt to the rear by depressing the lever on the charging handle and pulling the charging handle all the way rearward. While holding the charging handle all the way in the rearward position, push the bottom portion of the bolt catch, located on the left side of the magazine well." He was aware of Finch doing something not too far away, but he tried to remain focused on the rifle, describing each step, each part of the weapon. He was almost finished when a soft touch against the insides of his thighs made him draw a sharp breath. "Finch?"
"You can open your eyes now," Finch said. Curiously, his voice seemed to be coming from directly in front of Reese, about three feet off the floor, but before Reese could do little more than wonder why Finch would be so close to the ground, he opened his eyes. Kneeling between his legs, was Finch, wearing a small, shy smile that made Reese's balls draw up and nearly spill their load.
"Jesus, Harold," Reese whispered, his voice hoarse.
Without preamble, Finch leaned forward, wrapping one hand around his shaft as he took Reese's cockhead into his mouth, his dark, full lips pressed tight to Reese's flesh as he sucked, his tongue flicking up and down the slit. Reese didn't have time to give a warning or even draw a bracing breath before he unloaded into Finch's mouth, coming so hard he actually felt lightheaded. Finch worked his hand up and down Reese's shaft, his tongue never ceasing its wicked movements until the final shudder of pleasure had wracked Reese's body, leaving him breathless. He watched Finch swallow and draw back, licking traces of white from his lips.
"Interesting texture," Finch said, "and not as bitter as I expected. Still, not exactly a glass of Chateau Le Pin Pomerol."
Reese gave a breathless chuckle. "The day it is, I should probably see a doctor. Are you sure that was your first time?"
Finch nodded.
"Well, you're a natural. That was the best blow-job I've ever had."
The older man blushed like a teenage girl. "I did have a bit of help," he confessed. "I used my phone to Google techniques while I was in the bathroom."
"Is that why you were so hard when you came out?" Reese teased, getting his second wind back. "Your cock was about ready to rip through those silky little panties of yours." He glanced down between Finch's thighs. "Looks like it still is. How about you come up here and let me take care of you now?"
"Didn't I hear you say that you also had a surprise for me?" Finch asked, bracing one hand on the edge of the bed to help himself up off the floor.
"That's right, I do," Reese said, watching him tug up his burgundy fishnets and straighten the garters. He seemed so much more relaxed, comfortable, and it was a sight that warmed Reese's heart.
"What is it?"
"Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise anymore, now would it?"
And just like that, the wary suspicion was back, just a shadow in Finch's eyes, a slight thinning of his lips, a tenseness that drew his shoulders back. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed beside Reese, absently smoothing the front of his silk camisole, the room thick with unspoken questions.
Reese sighed. "Do you really think that I could ever hurt you, Harold?"
"No, John! Of course not, it's just..." He didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence.
"Old habits," Reese said softly and Finch nodded. "Can we try, though? Even if it is difficult for you, will you let me surprise you?"
Finch hesitated, then nodded again. "I'll try."
Reese smiled and leaned over, tasting his own musky flavor as he kissed those soft, dark lips. He groaned low in his throat, easing his tongue into Finch's mouth as he shifted on the bed, nudging Finch farther back onto the mattress. Reese supported his neck, both of them adjusting pillows as Finch stretched out beneath him. Once he was comfortable, Reese drew back, admiring the view one last time. "Damn, you look good," he said and smiled as Finch colored. "Don't move."
Reese hurried to his dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube and a rolled up hand towel. Finch watched nervously as Reese returned, eyeing the towel like it was a gun...or a sixteen inch rubber dildo.
"Is that the surprise?" he asked.
"That's a towel," Reese said, tossing it carelessly down onto the foot of the bed. He held up the bottle in his hand. "This is lubricant. It eases friction and makes things slide easier."
"I'm aware of the definition of lubricant, Mr. Reese," Finch said, his nervousness making him snappish. Reese refrained from teasing him further, instead sinking down onto the bed and starting to work Finch's underwear down. The older man raised his ass, though it caused a flicker of pain to dance across his face, and Reese slid the silk panties off his hips and over his stockings. He set them aside, letting his gaze rove over Finch's hard cock. Finch squirmed under his scrutiny, the motion making his cock sway back and forth, a drop of pre-come oozing from the slit, the thick fluid dangling from the tip.
"Oops, we don't want to get your clothes dirty," Reese said, reaching back and grabbing the towel. He let it unroll, paying no attention to the slender item that fell out of the towel onto the bedspread. Finch, his gaze restricted by the pins in his neck, didn't notice.
Reese spread the towel over Finch's belly, smiling as his breathing grew fast in anticipation. "Just relax," Reese said, peeling off the safety plastic on the bottle of lube. "We're going to take this nice and slow, even if it takes all night. Now, if you'll just bend your knees and spread your legs a little...Not so much that hurts, though," he added as he helped Finch draw up his bad leg until both his feet were flat on the bed, his legs spread wide enough for Reese to kneel between them. "You trust me, don't you, Harold?" he asked, popping the cap off the bottle.
Finch swallowed hard, his whole body trembling. "Yes," he whispered, his voice strained.
"Good," Reese said, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Finch's knee through the fishnet. "I'm just going to finger you right now, to see how you like having something in your ass. I'm not expecting to fuck you tonight, you know. When we do that, if we do that, I want it to be because you want to feel me inside of you, not because you feel like you ought to let me. And if we never get to that point...well, there are plenty of other things we can do. All right?"
"All right," Finch said, Reese's reassurance seeming to help. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, much of the tension in his body easing as he exhaled.
"This might be a little cold," Reese warned, squeezing a large dollop of lube onto the tip of his index finger. Finch cringed a little as Reese slipped his finger between the round cheeks and smeared the slippery substance across Finch's opening. Keeping an eye on Finch for signs of discomfort, he began to rub against the ring of muscle, slowly, lightly at first, feeling it twitch and flutter in response to his attention. When Finch finally relaxed, Reese drew back, adding more lube to his finger.
"Take a breath, Harold," he instructed, easing inside. He stopped as Finch tensed, clenching around him. "Does that hurt?"
Finch gave his head a slight shake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "It feels strange...and frankly, I can't understand why anyone would subject themselves to something this...undignified."
"You will," Reese assured him. With his other hand, he stroked the insides of Finch's thighs, trailing his fingers over the curve of a calf, lingering on the rounded knob of an ankle bone. Finch shuddered, a faint moan escaping him as his body relaxed. Reese slid a bit deeper, up to the second knuckle, and crooked his finger, pressing upward into Finch's body. "Tell me how this feels."
"Well, it's sort of- Oh! Oh!" His whole body jerked, his heels digging into the mattress as his ass left the bed. "Wh- what the hell did you just do?"
"Just a little prostate massage," Reese said, stroking his leg again as he sank back down.
Finch snorted. "I've had my prostate checked before, and it never felt like that."
"I should hope not," Reese said with a laugh. "Now try and stay still; I don't want to hurt your leg." Slowly, Reese worked his finger in and out of Finch's body, trying to get him used to the feeling of something moving inside him. Finch panted and made small, muffled noises, but he didn't seem to be in pain. Every now and then, Reese paused to stroke over the spongy lump just beyond the wall of Finch's rectum, making the reserved man gasp and moan every time.
"Is this all right?" Reese asked, falling into a steady rhythm, stroking Finch's sweet spot with each thrust.
"Oh...oh...oh, God, yes," Finch panted. "I had no idea it would feel like this." His legs shifted restlessly, his hips trying to rise up into each thrust, his stiff cock rocking back and forth, strings of pre-come dangling from the tip and glistening on the shaft. Reese smiled and reached out with his other hand, wrapping his fingers around Finch's cock and pumping him in time with the rhythm of his thrusts, Finch's soft, helpless cries like music to his ears. He could feel Finch tensing, his body shaking as he neared the brink, and Reese drew back, not ready for the fun to be over just yet.
"Ohh, don't stop," Finch moaned.
"Just hang on a minute," Reese said with a crooked grin. "There's an agenda here, remember? I'm going to add another finger now, so tell me if it's too uncomfortable." He drizzled more lube on his fingers and rubbed them against Finch's relaxed opening before slowly pushing inside. Finch drew a noisy breath, his muscles tightening around Reese for a moment, but then he exhaled, his grip on Reese's fingers easing. "That's very good, Harold," Reese murmured, deliberately ignoring Finch's prostate as he slowly finger-fucked his boss. "How does that feel?"
Finch just moaned. After a moment, he reached toward his neglected cock, but Reese caught his hand, stopping him.
"Just wait," he said. "It'll be worth it."
"Oh, you're going to kill me," Finch said with a groan, but he did pull his hand back, instead reaching up to pinch and twist his nipples through the thin silk of his camisole. The sight of him touching himself, his skin flushed and sweaty, the quiet whimpers and muttered obscenities that escaped his lips, made Reese's cock rise to the occasion again, but he ignored it; he couldn't afford to be distracted.
He pulled his fingers out again. "Need more lube," he said, but Finch wasn't paying attention anyway. Keeping an eye on him, Reese surreptitiously reached over and picked up the item that he'd had hidden inside the towel. Squirting lube into his hand, he thoroughly coated the bright blue silicon beads before pressing the tip to Finch's opening. "Remember how I said I had a surprise for you?" he asked.
"Y- yes," Finch said. "I thought this was it."
"No, this is it," Reese replied, easing the first elongated bump inside. It wasn't much larger than the end of Reese's little finger and slid in easily. He stopped, letting Finch rest at the narrow part that connected each bead.
"What is that?" Finch asked, his body trying to pull the toy further in as he tightened his muscles. Reese gently tugged back, applying pressure to the sensitive nerves around the inside of his entrance and making him gasp.
"They're called anal beads," Reese explained. "These are slightly oval, a little soft, and very smooth - the girl at the porn store assured me they'd be perfect for a beginner-"
"John!" Finch exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "You didn't!"
"Of course I did," Reese said with an unabashed grin. "I had to make sure I did this right. I didn't want to hurt you, just drive you insane with pleasure and need."
"I'd say you succeeded," Finch said, managing to sound annoyed, even though his voice took on a strained tone as Reese gently pushed the second bead into him. "That one felt bigger."
"It was," Reese said. "They get gradually larger. The biggest one is about an inch in diameter-"
"Oh?" He sounded alarmed.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to put them all in," Reese assured him, "and even if I did, my two fingers are wider than an inch across, and you didn't have any trouble taking them."
"Oh...Yes, I suppose you're right," Finch said. "An inch just sounded like a lot to fit in...back there." He even blushed as he said it. He really was just too adorable.
"Here's the next one," Reese said. Finch groaned, the muscles in his thighs tensing as Reese pushed it in. "Everything all right?"
"Yes," he panted. "I can just...feel it inside me, moving...feels strange, but...I think I like it."
"How does this feel?" Reese asked, pulling until the bead he just inserted started to emerge, then pushing it back in, in and out once, twice, three times. Finch shuddered, a long, low moan all the answer that Reese needed. "Good. Just a couple more beads and then we'll wrap things up, okay? I have a feeling you'll need some time to recuperate afterward."
"Are you...saying I'm...old, Mr. Reese?"
"Never, Mr. Finch," Reese said with a smile. "I'm saying that I'm going to fuck you with these beads until you blow like Vesuvius. I think anyone would be tired after that." Finch shuddered again, his cock twitching, and Reese carefully pushed two more beads inside of him. "There we are. There's only three more, but I think we'll save that for another time. How do you feel?"
"Full," Finch said, then he drew a sudden breath and shivered. "When I tighten the sphincter muscle, the beads press against my prostate." Reese watched the puckered entrance clench around the toy, watched the shudder of pleasure race through the older man, and it gave him an idea.
"Keep doing that," Reese said. "See if you can make yourself come." He sat back, one hand absently stroking his own cock, and laughed at the dubious look Finch gave him.
"If I had known I would have to do this myself..." He didn't stop trying through. Soon, he was clenching both cheeks, little gasps and whimpers filling the quiet apartment as he lifted his ass off the bed, thrusting into the empty air, the motion making the last three beads bounce up and down. "Oh, fuck...oh, fuck...come on," he gritted through his teeth before collapsing back onto the bed, his legs shaking from his exertion. "I can't. John, please - I can't."
"All right," Reese said, sitting back up. He squirted another dollop of lube into his palm, then wrapped his hand around Finch's cock, spreading the lube with slow, calculated movements. Finch made a frustrated noise and jerked his hips, trying to fuck Reese's fist, but Reese just pulled away. "Not yet. Patience, my little bird." He began to stroke him again, and Finch managed to stay still, although he was a mewling, quivering pile of aching need by the time Reese began to play with the beads sticking out of his ass. Tugging gently, Reese watched him shudder and twitch. He moaned as Reese pulled steadily, withdrawing three beads one after another, and cried out as Reese pushed them back in.
"Oh, John! Fuck me, please!"
Reese shuddered, pre-come bubbling from his cock, and it took a monumental force of will not to give in to Finch's demands. Reese knew Finch could take it, even if Reese's cock had twice the girth of the beads that Reese was working in and out of Finch's body. The human body was resilient - he'd either stretch now or heal later - but Reese wasn't willing to risk what they had, not for a few short minutes of complete bliss, not if there was a chance that Finch would regret it afterward. When the time came to make love, Reese wanted it to be a mutual decision made beforehand, not him giving in to the desperate pleas of a man driven half out of his mind with pleasure.
"Next time," he promised, for once glad that he was ambidextrous for a reason that had nothing to do with guns. One hand pumped Finch's cock, feeling it strain and jerk as the other fucked him with the toy, the beads rubbing against his prostate as his body tensed with every wave of ecstasy.
"Oh, oh, oh! I'm - I'm-" He cried out wordlessly as his heels dug into the bed, lifting his ass off the mattress as he spilled himself onto the towel draped over his stomach. Reese pulled the beads out in one slow, continuous motion, stimulating Finch's clenched opening as thick strings of white striped the towel. He didn't stop stroking Finch's cock until he gave one last convulsive shudder and collapsed bonelessly back against the mattress, his whole body shaking as he gasped for breath. Reese smiled at the dazed expression on Finch's face, and then began cleaning up, gathering up the towel and wiping the last dribbles from Finch's softening cock. He folded the beads inside and set it out of the way. If Finch was willing, they'd have one more mess to clean up.
"How're you doing, Harold?" he asked after a minute. "I didn't kill you, did I?"
Finch gave a faint, breathless chuckle. "I'm not entirely certain. It's possible that I may have died and gone to heaven."
"I'm pretty sure there's no gay sex in heaven," Reese said with a crooked grin.
"Well, there should be," Finch said. "That was divine."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Reese said. "An artist likes to know that his efforts are appreciated. But there's just one more little thing. Well, not so little actually." He stroked his aching cock as Finch shifted enough to look at him.
"Oh, John - I'm sorry, I completely forgot. What can I do?"
"Can you turn over, lie on your stomach?"
"I think so. Why-" He stopped, his gaze dropping to Reese's cock, and he swallowed hard. "Y- yes, I can do that."
It was gratifying that Finch was so willing to allow Reese to do something that he was clearly uneasy about. Reese reached out, putting a hand on Finch's hip as he started to roll over.
"Wait," he said, taking Finch's hand. "Sit up for a minute." He helped Finch up, then began working his hands under the white silk camisole. "Not that I don't like it when you dress up, but right now I want to feel your skin against mine," he said, peeling the slinky top up and off over Finch's head. He tossed it aside and slid his hands over Finch's chest, running his fingers through the soft mat of curly hair, gripping and kneading the flesh as he moved down Finch's body. He slid garter and stocking down each leg, taking a moment to caress Finch's smooth calves, making the man groan softly.
"Uh ho," Reese said when he reached Finch's feet. "Looks like those shoes messed up your toenails a little." There were a few small marks in the dark polish, hardly noticeable. "Well, I suppose you'll take it off in the morning anyway. All right, now turn over."
He helped Finch move the pillows out of the way, Finch resting the side of his face against one bent arm, much the way Reese had caught him sleeping at his computer so many months ago. Had it really been over a year? It didn't seem possible. He remembered meeting the quiet, enigmatic man like it was yesterday.
"Are you comfortable?" Reese asked, one hand gliding from Finch's shoulder down to the mound of his ass.
"Fairly. I'm not in pain, if that's what you're asking."
"That's good," Reese said, patting the rounded cheek before rising to his knees and swinging a leg over Finch, straddling his thighs. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."
"I know," Finch said, but there was a tremor in his voice.
Reese leaned down and kissed the back of his neck, over the surgical scar. "Do you trust me, Harold?"
"Yes," Finch answered immediately.
"Then relax. I'm not going to enter you. We're not ready for that yet."
"You...you can if you want to," Finch said quietly. "I think I can handle it."
"I think so, too," Reese said, "but I want to be sure. Next time." He placed a line of soft kisses down Finch's spine, to between his shoulder blades. "Now, you'll tell me if anything I do is uncomfortable or painful, won't you?"
"All right. What are you going to do?"
"Think of this as a test-run for the real thing," Reese said with a small smile. "I want to know how much of my weight you can take."
"But how is that going to...satisfy you?"
"You'll see." He kissed Finch's shoulder, then reached down, working his fingers in between Finch's cheeks and teasing his opening, which was still relaxed and slippery with lube. Finch made a muffled noise and tried to push back against him, but Reese just stroked the small of his back with the other hand and began to smear the lubricant along the crack of Finch's ass. It was starting to get sticky, as water-based lubricants did after a while, but it would work well enough for what Reese had in mind.
Stretching out, Reese braced his forearms on either side of Finch's body, lowering himself onto the smaller man until he lay draped over him like a blanket. "Is this okay? I'm not too heavy?"
"No, you're fine," Finch said. "It actually feels good to have you on top of me. I didn't expect that."
"I'm glad," Reese said, nuzzling the crook of Finch's neck. He began mouthing the soft skin, taking deep, noisy breaths as he inhaled Finch's scent, his hips rocking as he pressed his groin more firmly against Finch's ass, his cock sliding along the slick valley. Finch groaned, his legs shifting as he pushed back against him, giving him more purchase. Trusting Finch to tell him if he got too rough, Reese began to thrust, rutting against Finch, the delicious friction making him gasp and groan into the side of Finch's neck.
"That's it, John," Finch murmured. "Come on - harder; you're not going to hurt me."
Shoving his arms beneath Finch's chest, Reese clung to him, squeezing his eyes shut as the pressure inside him built, the shuddering pleasure rolling through his body.
"Oh, Harold," he moaned, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into Finch's soft flesh, but Finch didn't tell him to go easy. He could feel himself nearing the brink, his muscles tensing, his movements growing quick and desperate. "Oh, God, Harold!"
"I love you, John."
Reese gasped, his chest constricting at Finch's quiet declaration. Then it felt like he'd been dipped into melted chocolate, a slow warmth creeping over him, and he cried out as he came, remembering at the last minute to turn his head so he didn't shout in Finch's ear. He bucked, his cock sliding along the crack of Finch's ass, now well-lubed with his seed, his hips continuing to rock long after he'd stopped coming. He just didn't want it to end.
Finally, the friction grew to be too much against his overstimulated flesh and he came to a shuddering halt, turning his head back to nuzzle and kiss Finch's shoulder. "I love you, too," he murmured into the crook of Finch's neck. He didn't have to ask if Finch had meant what he said; he knew Finch would never lie to him, would never say it if he wasn't sure it was true.
"I know," Finch said. "My neck is starting to ache, though, and-"
Reese lifted himself off of the smaller man and flopped down beside him, lying on his back to keep from soiling the sheets. "And what?"
"And I think I need a shower."
Glancing down at the thick smears of white at the small of Finch's back, Reese couldn't help the lazy smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, we did make kind of a mess, didn't we?" He forced himself to sit up and grab the towel, turning it until he found a clean end to wipe most of the semen and lube off of Finch's skin. "You can shower first."
"Thank you," Finch said, climbing slowly off the bed. Reese wasn't sure if he was stiff, or weakened from all the unusual activity. Reese didn't even bother trying to stand yet; his knees felt like rubber, his whole body tingling.
"Do you need any help washing your back?" Reese asked playfully as Finch limped toward the bathroom. The older man stopped, standing there for a moment before turning back around.
"Not this time, John," he said. "I think I need a few minutes to myself. Just to...think."
"All right," Reese said. "Take all the time you need. But don't use all the hot water," he added with a smile. Finch smiled back and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Reese stared at the closed door for a moment, then sighed. He could think of worst things than giving Finch time to think, but most of them involved violent injury or debilitating illness. Hopefully, he wouldn't think himself into a guilt induced panic attack.
The muffled sound of a phone ringing drew him out of his own thoughts and he reluctantly rose to his feet, his legs wobbling slightly as he followed the sound to where he'd dropped his trousers. He pulled the cell out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Why would Carter be calling him at a quarter to midnight?
"Good evening, Detective," he said in his typical smooth, disarming voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Care to explain to me why Fusco thinks you and I got busy last night?"
Reese closed his eyes. Oh, God; he didn't. "I think Fusco must have misunderstood the conversation we had this morning."
"Well he better have," Carter said, an edge to her tone. "I don't need you spreading rumors to my partner that I'm shacking up with some vigilante killer. You're not my type, John."
"O- okay, Joss," Reese said, fighting hard not to laugh. It wasn't funny. "Do me a favor and tell Fusco that I made the call and it all worked out."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Just tell Fusco, all right, Carter? He'll understand and he can explain it to you. I have to go; I'm with someone."
"With someone-"
Reese pressed the button ending the call. Carter made for a nice, dependable ally, but sometimes her questions were just exhausting. He could still hear the shower running, so he made himself useful and finished cleaning up the bed, turning down the blankets, and gathering up their clothes that had been scattered about the apartment. He was standing beside the bed, holding Finch's panties in his hands and running his fingers over the cool silk when the bathroom door finally opened.
"It's all yours, Mr. Reese," Finch said, limping out in the burgundy bathrobe Reese had bought for him, his suede satchel in one hand and his suit neatly draped over his arm. "I hope there's plenty of hot water left. I tried to be quick."
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Harold," Reese said, walking over and handing him his underwear. Finch blushed as he took them and tucked them away in his satchel. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge; I'll be back in a few minutes."
"All right," Finch said, his attention on his clothes as he draped the suit over the back of one of Reese's chairs, fussing with the fold of his trousers so they wouldn't crease crooked. Reese headed for the bathroom, but something made him stop and glance back, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to shrug it off and started walking again.
"John?" Finch said, and he turned back. "Thank you." There was something very raw and vulnerable in his eyes, and Reese couldn't help but feel that this was a very deep and all-encompassing thank you - thanks for his work, his dedication, his friendship, his love, his patience, his tenderness.
He smiled in spite of the bleak certainty that settled over him. "You're welcome, Harold." He went into the bathroom and shut the door, the air warm and damp, the shower head still dripping as he stepped into the enclosure. As he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, he tried not to think about Finch getting dressed in the other room, even though that was surely what he was doing. He would be gone when Reese came back out, but Reese didn't try to hurry, didn't try to get done before he could leave. This was just how it had to be, at least for now. Reese didn't particularly like it, but that was what Finch needed, and he could respect that.
Reese finished washing up and climbed out, drying off before wrapping the damp towel around his waist. Taking a bracing breath, he turned out the light, opened the door, and stepped out into the silent, empty apartment. He glanced around and let slip the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Ignoring the hollow pain in his chest, he crossed to the door and locked it before turning out the lights and going to bed.
Determined not to make Finch feel uncomfortable about what they had done, or the fact that he'd snuck out without even saying goodnight, Reese entered the library with a peace offering of green tea and donuts. His steps were easy and fluid as he climbed the stairs and sauntered down the hall, but inside he was tied in knots, the worry eating at him. Would Finch even be there? Would he speak to him? Had Reese ruined everything?
"Morning, Finch," Reese said, managing to keep his relief from affecting the air of casual professionalism he'd decided on. "Do we have a new number yet?"
Finch glanced up as Reese set the tea and box of pastries down on the table beside his keyboard. For a moment, it seemed there was something searching in his gaze, but then it was gone.
"Just came in early this morning," Finch said, levering himself out of his chair and limping over to the printer. His limp was noticeably more pronounced this morning, and on his chair sat the cushion that Reese had never used. Reese felt terrible. He opened his mouth and took a breath to apologize, but Finch turned back around, pictures in hand.
"Her name is Sasha Baker, twenty-six years old, college student at NYU. She's about to graduate with a degree in elementary education, probably at about the worst possible time to be a teacher. It's appalling that the moment there's a shortfall in the budget, education is the first sacrifice they make. It's no wonder this country has so many problems."
Reese just listened, watching him tape the young woman's picture to the board, unable to fight down the feeling of disappointment, even though he was damn sure not to let it show. Business as usual was not what he wanted. A long, slow good morning kiss would have been closer, but just an acknowledgement of the glorious moments they had shared would have been nice.
"Are you listening to me, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked and Reese snapped out of his self-pitying reverie.
"Sorry, Finch," he said. "My mind wandered for a moment. Please, continue."
Finch regarded him, then turned back to the board, taping up two more photos, one of an older woman who appeared to be in poor health, her skin dull and papery, her hair thin and lank, and the other of a young man with gang tattoos on his arms and chest.
"I'm still wearing the nail polish," Finch said suddenly, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the cracked pane of glass. "I went to take it off this morning and...I didn't want to. So I didn't." After a moment, he turned stiffly to look at Reese.
Reese smiled, relief washing over him. "Same here," he said. He took a step toward Finch, stopping as the smaller man tensed, his eyes darting around, as though afraid they might be seen. "I think we're alone, Harold," Reese teased. "And I promise, I'm not going to turn the library into a love nest, I just need this right now." He finished closing the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Finch, and kissed him. Finch stood stiff against him for a moment, then melted into his arms, returning the embrace and the kiss, a soft groan escaping him as Reese slipped his tongue past Finch's lips, tasting green tea.
He drew back and licked his lips. "Maybe I should give that tea a try," he said with a grin. "It's pretty good."
Finch rolled his eyes and turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the broad smile that lit up his face. "Are you ready to get back to work now, Mr. Reese?"
"I believe I am, Mr. Finch," Reese replied, turning his attention to the board.