Fic: Damaged - Part 35
Title: Damaged - Part 35
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What happens when Reese can't be in two places at once?
Warnings: Slash, possible spoilers for all episodes, WIP
Word Count: 1400 words
Damaged - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9
Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18
Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26 - Part 27
Part 28 - Part 29 - Part 30 - Part 31 - Part 32 - Part 33 - Part 34
Author's Note: Sorry, this one is kinda short and probably not what you've been hoping for. It's the obligatory fluff chapter before another crisis arises. But it's the last crisis, I promise, and then we'll get to the smut so many of you have been patiently waiting for.
By mutual decision, they agreed to put off the sponge bath until a later time. They were both just too tired. Finch accepted his antibiotics and half a pain pill without argument, swallowing them both before allowing Reese to help him into bed. Even though it was a big bed, Reese curled up against Finch's back, arms wrapped around him, and Finch fell asleep with a smile on his face.
He woke cold and shivering. Reese had rolled to the far side of the bed, taking the blankets with him. With a sigh, Finch reached over and touched his shoulder, flinching back as Reese jerked awake.
"Finch? You okay?"
"Just a little cold," Finch said. "Your file never said anything about you being a blanket-hog."
"Sorry," Reese said with a sleepy chuckle. He shifted closer, throwing the covers - and his arm - over Finch, his chest warm against Finch's back. Finch sighed in contentment and closed his eyes, only to feel soft but insistent lips against the back of his neck - light, unrushed kisses that drew a low moan from his lips.
"As much as I appreciate the affection," Finch said, "don't forget that we're both still injured."
"I haven't," Reese said, lips brushing against the nape of Finch's neck. "Believe me, I remember only too well." Finch couldn't tell if he was angry again or not, but it wouldn't have been unexpected. Before he could ask, Reese said, "I want you so much, Harold, and now you're right here-" His arm tightened marginally across Finch's chest. "And I can't do anything to show you how much you mean to me."
Finch was so shocked by Reese's words that for a moment, he couldn't even respond. Finally, he lifted Reese's arm and carefully shifted onto his back, slightly bending the knee of his injured leg to keep the pressure off the wound in the back of his thigh. Reese raised his head, propping his fist against the side of his head as he gazed down at Finch.
"John," Finch said, "I don't know how you could think that I don't know how you feel, and while I'm very much looking forward to the time when we can be intimate, there is so much more to love than the physical. Oh, my God, John, you've saved my life half a dozen times, you've forfeited your own to protect me, you have shown me in ways that even I can't doubt. I love you, and I know that you love me, and there is nothing else you need to do to prove that to me."
"Oh, Harold," Reese whispered, leaning down and capturing Finch's lips in a deep and tender kiss. One hand cupping Finch's cheek, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Finch's, both of them working to catch their breath. After a moment, Reese's lips twitched in a small smile. "You know, if you'd kept quiet, I would have given you another blow-job."
Finch laughed, tilting his head back to plant another quick kiss on those smiling lips. "Tease." Reese settled back down beside him, working one leg beneath Finch's knee to give him some extra support. They lay together, dozing, kissing, and...Finch could find no other word for it except cuddling...until the morning was well on its way toward afternoon. Finch would have been content to remain in bed all day, but his bladder had other ideas.
He managed to get himself into the wheelchair, maneuver into the bathroom, take care of business, and wheel himself back out, only to find the bed empty, Reese in the kitchen making breakfast. He glanced up from beating some eggs as Finch rolled over.
"French toast sound okay?" he asked.
Finch pictured a large stack of golden brown toast slices dripping with butter and syrup, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was. "Better than okay, it sounds wonderful." He realized he was salivating and swallowed. "I'm going to borrow your cell, if it's all right," he said. "I should check in with the Machine."
"Help yourself," Reese said, pulling a square griddle out of a cupboard and placing it on the stove. He gave Finch a sideways glance. "You'll tell me if there's a Number, won't you? I may not be much help, but I want to know."
"Are you sure? Even if there's nothing we can do about it?"
"Especially if there's nothing we can do about it," Reese said. "You don't need to bear that guilt alone any more. And besides," he added after a moment, "maybe I'll think of something you haven't."
"Such as shooting everyone," Finch said with a good-natured chuckle. He rolled the wheelchair over to the table where Reese's cell lay. Typing in the number to trigger the Machine's back door, he raised the phone and waited. Three notes just shy of piercing sounded in his ear.
"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service-"
Finch brought the cell down and frowned at it. That should not have happened. He dialed again, making sure he entered the proper number, but was met with the same result.
"Something the matter, Finch?" Reese asked.
"I'm having trouble reaching the Machine," Finch said, setting the phone back down. "You don't happen to have a computer here, do you?"
"Sorry, no."
Finch watched him dunk the slices of bread into the eggs one piece at a time and lay them on the griddle with a sizzle. He suddenly wasn't hungry. There was no good reason why that number shouldn't work. He reached out toward the phone again, but stopped. He couldn't do anything from there. Glancing over at Reese, he opened his mouth and took a breath to speak.
"Breakfast first," Reese said without even looking at him.
"But John-"
"No buts, Harold. I'm sure whatever it is will be a simple fix, and I don't want to have to explain to your Machine why you're skin and bones." Now he gave him a sideways look and a crooked smile. "Eat first, then I'll take you straight to the library."
Finch couldn't help but snort. "Yes, Mother." Reese was right, although Finch struggled to remember a single instance of him taking his own advice. For the first several months of their partnership, Finch had not seen Reese once, no matter how much time they spent together, be it in the library or on stakeouts. He wasn't sure if Reese thought he'd poison him if allowed near his food or what, but it wasn't until after Reese had been shot, when he'd had no choice, that they actually shared a meal together other than coffee and tea.
Reese chuckled as he turned the toast over, the delicious aroma filling the loft and driving the last inkling of rebellion from Finch's mind. He helped set the table, making several trips from the kitchen to the table with plates, silverware, napkins, butter, and syrup balanced on his lap. He levered himself into one of the taller dining room chairs as Reese came over, a heavy-duty oven mitt on one hand as he held the hot, cast iron skillet.
"Watch yourself; it's hot," he cautioned, using a pancake turner to place the four slices of toast onto Finch's plate.
"What about you?" Finch asked. "I can't eat all of this." More accurately, he shouldn't eat of all of it. With his limited mobility, that man carbs would go straight to his ass.
"I'm making more," Reese said, placing the skillet back on the stove, "and yes, you can. Dr. Tillman told me to fatten you up-"
"Oh, she did not."
"Do you want me to call her?" Reese asked, that playful twinkle in his eye.
"No, I don't think I could stomach the flirting between the two of you," Finch responded, deciding that two could play at that game.
"Flirting?" Reese sounded scandalized. "I never flirt!"
That made Finch laugh aloud. "Oh, please. You'd flirt with a lamp post."
"Only if it had a great personality," Reese quipped back with a laugh. Still smiling, Finch placed a generous pat of butter on his toast and drizzled the warm maple syrup over the golden slices. Then, he began to eat.
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What happens when Reese can't be in two places at once?
Warnings: Slash, possible spoilers for all episodes, WIP
Word Count: 1400 words
Damaged - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9
Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18
Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26 - Part 27
Part 28 - Part 29 - Part 30 - Part 31 - Part 32 - Part 33 - Part 34
Author's Note: Sorry, this one is kinda short and probably not what you've been hoping for. It's the obligatory fluff chapter before another crisis arises. But it's the last crisis, I promise, and then we'll get to the smut so many of you have been patiently waiting for.
By mutual decision, they agreed to put off the sponge bath until a later time. They were both just too tired. Finch accepted his antibiotics and half a pain pill without argument, swallowing them both before allowing Reese to help him into bed. Even though it was a big bed, Reese curled up against Finch's back, arms wrapped around him, and Finch fell asleep with a smile on his face.
He woke cold and shivering. Reese had rolled to the far side of the bed, taking the blankets with him. With a sigh, Finch reached over and touched his shoulder, flinching back as Reese jerked awake.
"Finch? You okay?"
"Just a little cold," Finch said. "Your file never said anything about you being a blanket-hog."
"Sorry," Reese said with a sleepy chuckle. He shifted closer, throwing the covers - and his arm - over Finch, his chest warm against Finch's back. Finch sighed in contentment and closed his eyes, only to feel soft but insistent lips against the back of his neck - light, unrushed kisses that drew a low moan from his lips.
"As much as I appreciate the affection," Finch said, "don't forget that we're both still injured."
"I haven't," Reese said, lips brushing against the nape of Finch's neck. "Believe me, I remember only too well." Finch couldn't tell if he was angry again or not, but it wouldn't have been unexpected. Before he could ask, Reese said, "I want you so much, Harold, and now you're right here-" His arm tightened marginally across Finch's chest. "And I can't do anything to show you how much you mean to me."
Finch was so shocked by Reese's words that for a moment, he couldn't even respond. Finally, he lifted Reese's arm and carefully shifted onto his back, slightly bending the knee of his injured leg to keep the pressure off the wound in the back of his thigh. Reese raised his head, propping his fist against the side of his head as he gazed down at Finch.
"John," Finch said, "I don't know how you could think that I don't know how you feel, and while I'm very much looking forward to the time when we can be intimate, there is so much more to love than the physical. Oh, my God, John, you've saved my life half a dozen times, you've forfeited your own to protect me, you have shown me in ways that even I can't doubt. I love you, and I know that you love me, and there is nothing else you need to do to prove that to me."
"Oh, Harold," Reese whispered, leaning down and capturing Finch's lips in a deep and tender kiss. One hand cupping Finch's cheek, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Finch's, both of them working to catch their breath. After a moment, Reese's lips twitched in a small smile. "You know, if you'd kept quiet, I would have given you another blow-job."
Finch laughed, tilting his head back to plant another quick kiss on those smiling lips. "Tease." Reese settled back down beside him, working one leg beneath Finch's knee to give him some extra support. They lay together, dozing, kissing, and...Finch could find no other word for it except cuddling...until the morning was well on its way toward afternoon. Finch would have been content to remain in bed all day, but his bladder had other ideas.
He managed to get himself into the wheelchair, maneuver into the bathroom, take care of business, and wheel himself back out, only to find the bed empty, Reese in the kitchen making breakfast. He glanced up from beating some eggs as Finch rolled over.
"French toast sound okay?" he asked.
Finch pictured a large stack of golden brown toast slices dripping with butter and syrup, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was. "Better than okay, it sounds wonderful." He realized he was salivating and swallowed. "I'm going to borrow your cell, if it's all right," he said. "I should check in with the Machine."
"Help yourself," Reese said, pulling a square griddle out of a cupboard and placing it on the stove. He gave Finch a sideways glance. "You'll tell me if there's a Number, won't you? I may not be much help, but I want to know."
"Are you sure? Even if there's nothing we can do about it?"
"Especially if there's nothing we can do about it," Reese said. "You don't need to bear that guilt alone any more. And besides," he added after a moment, "maybe I'll think of something you haven't."
"Such as shooting everyone," Finch said with a good-natured chuckle. He rolled the wheelchair over to the table where Reese's cell lay. Typing in the number to trigger the Machine's back door, he raised the phone and waited. Three notes just shy of piercing sounded in his ear.
"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service-"
Finch brought the cell down and frowned at it. That should not have happened. He dialed again, making sure he entered the proper number, but was met with the same result.
"Something the matter, Finch?" Reese asked.
"I'm having trouble reaching the Machine," Finch said, setting the phone back down. "You don't happen to have a computer here, do you?"
"Sorry, no."
Finch watched him dunk the slices of bread into the eggs one piece at a time and lay them on the griddle with a sizzle. He suddenly wasn't hungry. There was no good reason why that number shouldn't work. He reached out toward the phone again, but stopped. He couldn't do anything from there. Glancing over at Reese, he opened his mouth and took a breath to speak.
"Breakfast first," Reese said without even looking at him.
"But John-"
"No buts, Harold. I'm sure whatever it is will be a simple fix, and I don't want to have to explain to your Machine why you're skin and bones." Now he gave him a sideways look and a crooked smile. "Eat first, then I'll take you straight to the library."
Finch couldn't help but snort. "Yes, Mother." Reese was right, although Finch struggled to remember a single instance of him taking his own advice. For the first several months of their partnership, Finch had not seen Reese once, no matter how much time they spent together, be it in the library or on stakeouts. He wasn't sure if Reese thought he'd poison him if allowed near his food or what, but it wasn't until after Reese had been shot, when he'd had no choice, that they actually shared a meal together other than coffee and tea.
Reese chuckled as he turned the toast over, the delicious aroma filling the loft and driving the last inkling of rebellion from Finch's mind. He helped set the table, making several trips from the kitchen to the table with plates, silverware, napkins, butter, and syrup balanced on his lap. He levered himself into one of the taller dining room chairs as Reese came over, a heavy-duty oven mitt on one hand as he held the hot, cast iron skillet.
"Watch yourself; it's hot," he cautioned, using a pancake turner to place the four slices of toast onto Finch's plate.
"What about you?" Finch asked. "I can't eat all of this." More accurately, he shouldn't eat of all of it. With his limited mobility, that man carbs would go straight to his ass.
"I'm making more," Reese said, placing the skillet back on the stove, "and yes, you can. Dr. Tillman told me to fatten you up-"
"Oh, she did not."
"Do you want me to call her?" Reese asked, that playful twinkle in his eye.
"No, I don't think I could stomach the flirting between the two of you," Finch responded, deciding that two could play at that game.
"Flirting?" Reese sounded scandalized. "I never flirt!"
That made Finch laugh aloud. "Oh, please. You'd flirt with a lamp post."
"Only if it had a great personality," Reese quipped back with a laugh. Still smiling, Finch placed a generous pat of butter on his toast and drizzled the warm maple syrup over the golden slices. Then, he began to eat.