Roman of Interest - Chapter 11
Title: Roman of Interest - Chapter 11
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: Finch/Reese
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,000
The sword is completed and Harold shows John his special order!
John tried not to mope around the house. Harold had been sleeping for over twelve hours, waking up only long enough to relieve his bladder. As comfortable as the bed was, John always got up at the crack of dawn, when he wasn’t sick or injured, that was. He wandered into the kitchen, meeting Lionel, who was carrying Rollie. Joss was nowhere in sight.
“Yours, too?” asked Lionel, gesturing towards Harold’s bedroom with his chin, his hands full of the busy toddler. John nodded.
“It’s a good thing Joss can nurse practically in her sleep,” muttered Lionel, handing the baby to John. He turned and filled two bowls with a thick gruel. He handed a bowl and spoon to John, who deftly started feeding the boy.
“You’re pretty good at that,” remarked Lionel, filling three cups.
“I had a little sister. I took care of her after my mother died. She caught a fever when she was three…” John’s hand, holding the spoon, hung in the air, until Rollie complained shrilly. John mouthed a silent prayer as he popped the spoon into the hungry child’s mouth.
Lionel sat down. “You know, we weren’t so sure about you, when Harold had you join us. We, Joss and I, want to know we think you are all right,” the solid man said gruffly. He continued, “Harold told you about my brother, Leander? And about Tailor’s father?” John nodded again.
“I know you don’t need us to ask, but please try your best against Nix! Please come back to Harold! And us! And if, gods forbid, you can’t, you’ve gotta know that we’ll take care of Harold for you.” Lionel reached over and squeezed John’s shoulder. John gave him a watery grin.
“The sun’s barely up and look at us!” Lionel wiped tears from his own eyes. He held his arms out for the baby. “Hey, come see this!”
He walked John and Rollie out the door, onto the soft grass of the atrium.
“Sit over there,” Lionel ordered John, pointing halfway across the lawn. Lionel carefully placed Rollie down, onto the grass. Lionel knelt down, steadying the small boy. “Go see your Uncle John,” he whispered theatrically in his son’s ear.
Rollie took a tentative step, then another. Without stumbling, he practically dashed into John’s open arms. John swept him up, laughing. He hugged Rollie close, murmuring, “I’m your uncle!” into the tiny shell of his ear. John turned the baby around and he proudly ambled back to his father.
“You and I are the only ones who know he can do that. He figured it out this morning. For the love of Jupiter, don’t tell Joss. It would kill her if she didn’t think she was first to see him walk -that goes for Harold, too.”
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Harold finally woke up. Groggy and sore from all the hammering, he and Joss bolted down their breakfasts and headed for a long, hot soak in the bath. Shrugging, John joined them. He quickly felt overwhelmed by the technical aspects of their conversation - their fervent talk of tensile strength and folded steel. So he gently massaged Harold’s neck and shoulders. When Joss sighed wistfully, John pulled his pruned fingers out of the water and wiggled them at her. She laughed and scooted in front of him. His fingertips probed the sturdy muscles of her neck, finding several knots. She made a low moan as he worked out the tension. John could swear that he heard another moan, one that sounded rather jealous, from the man at his side.
“That’s enough, John. Thank you! Don’t want my man to get jealous,” she smirked, her full, dark breasts floating fetchingly in the hot water. “Or yours,” she laughed. If Harold had been fifty years younger, he would have stuck out his tongue at her. She gracefully exited the tub, donned a thick robe and left the two men to themselves.
John got right to the point, or Harold’s point, to be specific. His tired fingers slipped between his lover’s thighs, stroking and tickling what he found there.
Harold stammered, “I’m afraid you won’t get much of a rise out of me, John. I’ve been in the hot water too long. We’re going to have to wait a while.”
“For you, I’d wait forever,” answered John in his smokiest, most romantic voice. “And, by the way, what was in that package Trask brought you?”
Harold blushed. “Why don’t I show you, after lunch,” he promised.
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After lunch, Harold sent Joss and Darren to the market, in search of the finest grades of polishing stones. Lionel, exhausted, took a cranky Rollie upstairs for a nap, leaving John and Harold to their own devices. In this instance, that meant Harold dry humping John on the dining table, with an energy that belied his sense of fatique. “Oh, Harold, YES!” shouted John, apparently not caring if Lionel heard.
“Let’s go in the back,” said Harold, listening for footsteps overhead.
John didn’t give Harold the luxury of stripping him. By the time Harold limped through the door, John was stretched on the bed, naked.
“Look at you,” said Harold, his voice thick with lust. It still amazed him that John was his. Harold pulled off his chiton and carefully rummaged through a box beside the bed. John kicked his heels, impatiently, while Harold kept his back turned. He placed a bottle of oil on the bed side table and pulled a carefully chosen item from the box. John whistled, appreciatively. It was a dildo, leather this time, shorter and less thick than either man’s cock, it was substantial, nonetheless.
“I picked this one out especially for you, John. Because it’s leather, it has a suppleness that wood or ivory don’t have.” He looked down at the object in his hands, bashfully asking, “Do you like it?”
“I can’t imagine anything I’d rather have in me, except for your cock, of course!” John growled.
“Patience, my Plum. First things first. If you find you like the feeling, I’ve got another surprise in the box.” He lay down next to John, kissing his lips and moving down his throat. John groaned when Harold finally sat up and oiled his fingers. He massaged John’s sack, trailing down to his entrance. John lifted his hip, anxiously pushing back against Harold’s fingers.
“Harold, I can’t get enough of you,” he moaned. Harold could barely contain himself, entranced by the sight of his man writhing in pleasure. He pulled out his fingers, oiling up the leather phallus. John moved onto his side, curling his legs up to his chest, giving Harold unguarded access to his treasure. Harold braced his left hand against John’s hip and pressed in with his right, the dildo sliding in easily. John trembled beneath him as Harold slowly pumped into him, hitting his sweet spot as if they’d done this a hundred times. Harold pulled John’s left leg up, over his shoulder. He moved closer, squeezing the base of John’s cock to keep him from coming, not missing a beat of his slow, steady ravishing of John’s hole. He waited until John was flushed and sweaty before finally pulling out.
“Harold, no! Don’t stop!” cried John.
“Don’t you want to see your other surprise?” teased Harold, laughing as John covered his face with a folded blanket, shouting curses. He slipped something into John’s hand, something larger than the first piece. John sat up with a start. “What?” was the only word he could form. In his hand was the ‘special order’ Harold had been promising. Also made of leather, it was a dildo, over twice the length of the first, a smooth, bulbous knob on each end, with a thick, flared center.
Harold rushed to explain. “Since neither of us has ever ‘topped’ before, I had an idea that this could a bit of a compromise, something we could both do for each other.” He took the double dildo from John’s hand. “Is it all right?” he asked, anxiously. John blurted, “Yes!”
“How do we do this?” he asked, between rough kisses.
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Harold marveled at John’s abilities - just a rough sketch using John’s stomach, and a series of pantomimes and they were both raring to go.
John slicked Harold up, like a professional, and a head was seated next to each man’s entrance. Harold’s back pressed against the cushions and the wall, with his knees bent and spread apart. John scooted his ass so that it was almost flush with Harold’s. He re-inserted the slick head into Harold’s opening and pulled back slightly, reaching down between and secured his end, his knees bent and curled around Harold’s hips. John grabbed his knees and began to rock, the motion sending the dildo sliding into both orifices. Harold squeezed and pushed down, causing John to impale himself further. Within minutes the dildo actively engaged, curving precisely, hitting each man’s prostate, their cheeks brushing against each other’s.
“Oh, John!” cried Harold, trying to bite his lip to keep from alerting the house and their neighbors of his sexual ecstasy. He began pulling at his thick, hard cock. The motion transferred to his hips and to the dildo itself. John began stroking himself, as well. So well in tune were they that within minutes they’d established a rhythm, a hot beat sending charges of pleasure through each man. Thick cords of muscles popped on John’s neck as he grabbed the blanket beneath them and began to shake, thrusting the tip over and over Harold’s prostate. Harold squeezed and stroked, sending himself over the edge. John was right behind him, his cock pulsing its load over his quivering stomach.
They were silent now, except for soft sighs and gasps for air. John moved first, disengaging the dildo from himself. He gently extracted the other end from his supine mate, wrapping it with a spare towel and putting it aside. He took another damp rag and gently cleaned Harold and himself.
“That was incredible, Harold. You really think of everything.” Harold, his head buried against John’s broad chest, muttered something that sounded like, “I couldn’t do it without you.”
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Harold left John lounging in the bed. He stumbled into the kitchen, still in an orgasmic haze.
There, sitting at the table, where he’d only an hour before rutted against John, was Joss. Annoyed Joss. Angry Joss. Giving him her patented ‘stink eye’, Harold noticed, without a bit of regret.
She emptied a large sack full of stones, of various grades of coarseness. He carefully selected three of them, and silently followed Joss into the foundry. Harold took the roughest of the three and inserted it into a wooden clamp, placing a bucket of water next to it. Joss sat on a low wooden stool, her knee practically tucked under her arm as she rested her right foot on the clamp. She inserted the sword, starting on polishing the tang, the part closest to the grip. She continued, gliding it carefully, back and forth over the wet stone, working the back of the blade. Harold changed stones and she slowly, carefully moving from the blade’s midline to sharpening its point.
Finally, Harold took the katana. He selected the smallest, finest grade stone and sat down at workbench. He carefully stroked the cutting edge, over and over. The sword should fit the man, he thought, and he strove for perfection. It was hours until he was satisfied - the sword was finally a match for John.
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: Finch/Reese
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,000
The sword is completed and Harold shows John his special order!
John tried not to mope around the house. Harold had been sleeping for over twelve hours, waking up only long enough to relieve his bladder. As comfortable as the bed was, John always got up at the crack of dawn, when he wasn’t sick or injured, that was. He wandered into the kitchen, meeting Lionel, who was carrying Rollie. Joss was nowhere in sight.
“Yours, too?” asked Lionel, gesturing towards Harold’s bedroom with his chin, his hands full of the busy toddler. John nodded.
“It’s a good thing Joss can nurse practically in her sleep,” muttered Lionel, handing the baby to John. He turned and filled two bowls with a thick gruel. He handed a bowl and spoon to John, who deftly started feeding the boy.
“You’re pretty good at that,” remarked Lionel, filling three cups.
“I had a little sister. I took care of her after my mother died. She caught a fever when she was three…” John’s hand, holding the spoon, hung in the air, until Rollie complained shrilly. John mouthed a silent prayer as he popped the spoon into the hungry child’s mouth.
Lionel sat down. “You know, we weren’t so sure about you, when Harold had you join us. We, Joss and I, want to know we think you are all right,” the solid man said gruffly. He continued, “Harold told you about my brother, Leander? And about Tailor’s father?” John nodded again.
“I know you don’t need us to ask, but please try your best against Nix! Please come back to Harold! And us! And if, gods forbid, you can’t, you’ve gotta know that we’ll take care of Harold for you.” Lionel reached over and squeezed John’s shoulder. John gave him a watery grin.
“The sun’s barely up and look at us!” Lionel wiped tears from his own eyes. He held his arms out for the baby. “Hey, come see this!”
He walked John and Rollie out the door, onto the soft grass of the atrium.
“Sit over there,” Lionel ordered John, pointing halfway across the lawn. Lionel carefully placed Rollie down, onto the grass. Lionel knelt down, steadying the small boy. “Go see your Uncle John,” he whispered theatrically in his son’s ear.
Rollie took a tentative step, then another. Without stumbling, he practically dashed into John’s open arms. John swept him up, laughing. He hugged Rollie close, murmuring, “I’m your uncle!” into the tiny shell of his ear. John turned the baby around and he proudly ambled back to his father.
“You and I are the only ones who know he can do that. He figured it out this morning. For the love of Jupiter, don’t tell Joss. It would kill her if she didn’t think she was first to see him walk -that goes for Harold, too.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Harold finally woke up. Groggy and sore from all the hammering, he and Joss bolted down their breakfasts and headed for a long, hot soak in the bath. Shrugging, John joined them. He quickly felt overwhelmed by the technical aspects of their conversation - their fervent talk of tensile strength and folded steel. So he gently massaged Harold’s neck and shoulders. When Joss sighed wistfully, John pulled his pruned fingers out of the water and wiggled them at her. She laughed and scooted in front of him. His fingertips probed the sturdy muscles of her neck, finding several knots. She made a low moan as he worked out the tension. John could swear that he heard another moan, one that sounded rather jealous, from the man at his side.
“That’s enough, John. Thank you! Don’t want my man to get jealous,” she smirked, her full, dark breasts floating fetchingly in the hot water. “Or yours,” she laughed. If Harold had been fifty years younger, he would have stuck out his tongue at her. She gracefully exited the tub, donned a thick robe and left the two men to themselves.
John got right to the point, or Harold’s point, to be specific. His tired fingers slipped between his lover’s thighs, stroking and tickling what he found there.
Harold stammered, “I’m afraid you won’t get much of a rise out of me, John. I’ve been in the hot water too long. We’re going to have to wait a while.”
“For you, I’d wait forever,” answered John in his smokiest, most romantic voice. “And, by the way, what was in that package Trask brought you?”
Harold blushed. “Why don’t I show you, after lunch,” he promised.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
After lunch, Harold sent Joss and Darren to the market, in search of the finest grades of polishing stones. Lionel, exhausted, took a cranky Rollie upstairs for a nap, leaving John and Harold to their own devices. In this instance, that meant Harold dry humping John on the dining table, with an energy that belied his sense of fatique. “Oh, Harold, YES!” shouted John, apparently not caring if Lionel heard.
“Let’s go in the back,” said Harold, listening for footsteps overhead.
John didn’t give Harold the luxury of stripping him. By the time Harold limped through the door, John was stretched on the bed, naked.
“Look at you,” said Harold, his voice thick with lust. It still amazed him that John was his. Harold pulled off his chiton and carefully rummaged through a box beside the bed. John kicked his heels, impatiently, while Harold kept his back turned. He placed a bottle of oil on the bed side table and pulled a carefully chosen item from the box. John whistled, appreciatively. It was a dildo, leather this time, shorter and less thick than either man’s cock, it was substantial, nonetheless.
“I picked this one out especially for you, John. Because it’s leather, it has a suppleness that wood or ivory don’t have.” He looked down at the object in his hands, bashfully asking, “Do you like it?”
“I can’t imagine anything I’d rather have in me, except for your cock, of course!” John growled.
“Patience, my Plum. First things first. If you find you like the feeling, I’ve got another surprise in the box.” He lay down next to John, kissing his lips and moving down his throat. John groaned when Harold finally sat up and oiled his fingers. He massaged John’s sack, trailing down to his entrance. John lifted his hip, anxiously pushing back against Harold’s fingers.
“Harold, I can’t get enough of you,” he moaned. Harold could barely contain himself, entranced by the sight of his man writhing in pleasure. He pulled out his fingers, oiling up the leather phallus. John moved onto his side, curling his legs up to his chest, giving Harold unguarded access to his treasure. Harold braced his left hand against John’s hip and pressed in with his right, the dildo sliding in easily. John trembled beneath him as Harold slowly pumped into him, hitting his sweet spot as if they’d done this a hundred times. Harold pulled John’s left leg up, over his shoulder. He moved closer, squeezing the base of John’s cock to keep him from coming, not missing a beat of his slow, steady ravishing of John’s hole. He waited until John was flushed and sweaty before finally pulling out.
“Harold, no! Don’t stop!” cried John.
“Don’t you want to see your other surprise?” teased Harold, laughing as John covered his face with a folded blanket, shouting curses. He slipped something into John’s hand, something larger than the first piece. John sat up with a start. “What?” was the only word he could form. In his hand was the ‘special order’ Harold had been promising. Also made of leather, it was a dildo, over twice the length of the first, a smooth, bulbous knob on each end, with a thick, flared center.
Harold rushed to explain. “Since neither of us has ever ‘topped’ before, I had an idea that this could a bit of a compromise, something we could both do for each other.” He took the double dildo from John’s hand. “Is it all right?” he asked, anxiously. John blurted, “Yes!”
“How do we do this?” he asked, between rough kisses.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Harold marveled at John’s abilities - just a rough sketch using John’s stomach, and a series of pantomimes and they were both raring to go.
John slicked Harold up, like a professional, and a head was seated next to each man’s entrance. Harold’s back pressed against the cushions and the wall, with his knees bent and spread apart. John scooted his ass so that it was almost flush with Harold’s. He re-inserted the slick head into Harold’s opening and pulled back slightly, reaching down between and secured his end, his knees bent and curled around Harold’s hips. John grabbed his knees and began to rock, the motion sending the dildo sliding into both orifices. Harold squeezed and pushed down, causing John to impale himself further. Within minutes the dildo actively engaged, curving precisely, hitting each man’s prostate, their cheeks brushing against each other’s.
“Oh, John!” cried Harold, trying to bite his lip to keep from alerting the house and their neighbors of his sexual ecstasy. He began pulling at his thick, hard cock. The motion transferred to his hips and to the dildo itself. John began stroking himself, as well. So well in tune were they that within minutes they’d established a rhythm, a hot beat sending charges of pleasure through each man. Thick cords of muscles popped on John’s neck as he grabbed the blanket beneath them and began to shake, thrusting the tip over and over Harold’s prostate. Harold squeezed and stroked, sending himself over the edge. John was right behind him, his cock pulsing its load over his quivering stomach.
They were silent now, except for soft sighs and gasps for air. John moved first, disengaging the dildo from himself. He gently extracted the other end from his supine mate, wrapping it with a spare towel and putting it aside. He took another damp rag and gently cleaned Harold and himself.
“That was incredible, Harold. You really think of everything.” Harold, his head buried against John’s broad chest, muttered something that sounded like, “I couldn’t do it without you.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Harold left John lounging in the bed. He stumbled into the kitchen, still in an orgasmic haze.
There, sitting at the table, where he’d only an hour before rutted against John, was Joss. Annoyed Joss. Angry Joss. Giving him her patented ‘stink eye’, Harold noticed, without a bit of regret.
She emptied a large sack full of stones, of various grades of coarseness. He carefully selected three of them, and silently followed Joss into the foundry. Harold took the roughest of the three and inserted it into a wooden clamp, placing a bucket of water next to it. Joss sat on a low wooden stool, her knee practically tucked under her arm as she rested her right foot on the clamp. She inserted the sword, starting on polishing the tang, the part closest to the grip. She continued, gliding it carefully, back and forth over the wet stone, working the back of the blade. Harold changed stones and she slowly, carefully moving from the blade’s midline to sharpening its point.
Finally, Harold took the katana. He selected the smallest, finest grade stone and sat down at workbench. He carefully stroked the cutting edge, over and over. The sword should fit the man, he thought, and he strove for perfection. It was hours until he was satisfied - the sword was finally a match for John.