Fic: The Morning After
Title: The Morning After
Author: joss80
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The morning after Reese rescues Finch from Root
Warnings: slash
Word Count: 1000
He cracks an eye open and squints at the ceiling in the pre-dawn light. He doesn’t have his glasses on but can still tell, by shapes and shadows, that he is not in his own bed. There is a nightstand next to him, and he feels around on top of it with his left hand until he locates what he is looking for.
The room zooms sharply into focus.
To his left, a desk, and wide, wide windows.
John’s apartment. The realization hit him somewhere deep inside, and nervous butterflies war with calmness at his very core. He is in John’s bed. He is safe.
To his right, his partner is asleep on his stomach and snoring softly.
No. That isn’t John snoring. The snoring is coming from the foot of the bed, where he sees the dog with expensive tastes - Bear - curled up between their feet, a paw over his face.
He starts to remember as his brain wakes up. He remembers not wanting to be alone with the dog. Not right away, at least. And he remembers not wanting to be apart from John. Not right away, at least. The mismatched threesome had made their way to John’s apartment where there was lots of space. A contained, safe space. He had had curled up onto John’s oversized bed, finally breaking with fatigue, and John had joined him on the other side of the bed, both men stripped down to their boxers and not really caring about propriety or self-consciousness.
Harold ponders that when you’ve saved someone’s life - or have had your own life saved - things like that just don’t seem to matter anymore.
A change in breathing tells him that John is awake, and he turns on his side towards his partner and their eyes meet. John’s lips curl up in a small, familiar-yet-hesitant smile and Harold knows that his lips are doing the same.
This is the awkward part, he supposes. It’s not like they’re waking up together after a night of passion, but it does feel like it in some ways. Perhaps it’s the fact that there is new familiarity between them, a sense of closeness that wasn’t there 24 hours ago. And sharing a bed with someone - no matter how platonic the event - is still sharing a bed with someone. On the trip back to New York, John said he hadn’t shared a bed with Carter during their time in Texas.
Harold ponders that for a moment too.
The blush on his face rises despite his best efforts and he breaks eye contact, grateful for the semi-darkness and for the blanket that is covering him. His self-consciousness has returned.
It is then that he feels fingers intertwine lightly with those on his right hand, and his breath catches slightly in his throat at the gentle caress. There is no denying the heat that courses through his body, and his brain races to try to decipher both John’s motives in the touch and his own body’s reaction to it.
This is completely unchartered territory, and the urge to get up and bolt for the front door is strong.
The massive dog at the end of the bed, now awake and staring at him, is a stronger deterrent. That, and the low, smooth, sleepy voice that asks, “How are you doing, Finch?”
He slowly lifts his eyes to meet John’s again, and the moment they do his thoughts unravel like a sail, and he is a ship lost in a sea of blue, without direction and not really worried anymore that he doesn’t have a map.
He hears a voice speak as if from far away, and is surprised when he realizes it’s his own.
“Much better, thank you,” he whispers as he continues to stare at John, unable to tear his eyes away, and John smiles at hearing it and he squeezes Harold’s hand. Their smiles stretch on and on, and awkward turns into something completely different as neither of them make a move to break their connection.
He knows where this is going, then, and is powerless to stop it. Not that he wants to stop it, that is, but there seems to be some sort of magnet pulling him towards John and he finds his head moving across the pillow of its own accord until their foreheads touch. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest, and John is breathing hard an inch away from him.
“Are you sure?” John asks him, eyes closed, and Harold answers by closing the gap between them. He shudders involuntarily as their lips meet, John’s so soft and warm and moving against his. Harold brings his left had up to John’s bicep, and John responds with a moan and pulls Harold against him so their bodies are as close as they can get with their underwear still on. One of their feet nudges Bear in the process, and he jumps off the bed, unimpressed, but neither of the men notices.
Both of their mouths open to each other at the same time, and their exploration of each other with tongues and hands reaches a new, exquisite level.
Harold decides that this is the best morning he’s had in an awfully long time, and quite possibly worth all of the discomfort with Root in order to be at this exact place and time today… especially with John’s hand venturing under the waistband of his -
A scratching at the front door makes them both freeze, and a split-second later John is up and has pulled a gun from who-knows-where and is braced against the bedroom wall, peering out. Then he relaxes and looks back apologetically at Harold.
“I think we need to take Bear out first.”
Read part 2 here
Author: joss80
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The morning after Reese rescues Finch from Root
Warnings: slash
Word Count: 1000
He cracks an eye open and squints at the ceiling in the pre-dawn light. He doesn’t have his glasses on but can still tell, by shapes and shadows, that he is not in his own bed. There is a nightstand next to him, and he feels around on top of it with his left hand until he locates what he is looking for.
The room zooms sharply into focus.
To his left, a desk, and wide, wide windows.
John’s apartment. The realization hit him somewhere deep inside, and nervous butterflies war with calmness at his very core. He is in John’s bed. He is safe.
To his right, his partner is asleep on his stomach and snoring softly.
No. That isn’t John snoring. The snoring is coming from the foot of the bed, where he sees the dog with expensive tastes - Bear - curled up between their feet, a paw over his face.
He starts to remember as his brain wakes up. He remembers not wanting to be alone with the dog. Not right away, at least. And he remembers not wanting to be apart from John. Not right away, at least. The mismatched threesome had made their way to John’s apartment where there was lots of space. A contained, safe space. He had had curled up onto John’s oversized bed, finally breaking with fatigue, and John had joined him on the other side of the bed, both men stripped down to their boxers and not really caring about propriety or self-consciousness.
Harold ponders that when you’ve saved someone’s life - or have had your own life saved - things like that just don’t seem to matter anymore.
A change in breathing tells him that John is awake, and he turns on his side towards his partner and their eyes meet. John’s lips curl up in a small, familiar-yet-hesitant smile and Harold knows that his lips are doing the same.
This is the awkward part, he supposes. It’s not like they’re waking up together after a night of passion, but it does feel like it in some ways. Perhaps it’s the fact that there is new familiarity between them, a sense of closeness that wasn’t there 24 hours ago. And sharing a bed with someone - no matter how platonic the event - is still sharing a bed with someone. On the trip back to New York, John said he hadn’t shared a bed with Carter during their time in Texas.
Harold ponders that for a moment too.
The blush on his face rises despite his best efforts and he breaks eye contact, grateful for the semi-darkness and for the blanket that is covering him. His self-consciousness has returned.
It is then that he feels fingers intertwine lightly with those on his right hand, and his breath catches slightly in his throat at the gentle caress. There is no denying the heat that courses through his body, and his brain races to try to decipher both John’s motives in the touch and his own body’s reaction to it.
This is completely unchartered territory, and the urge to get up and bolt for the front door is strong.
The massive dog at the end of the bed, now awake and staring at him, is a stronger deterrent. That, and the low, smooth, sleepy voice that asks, “How are you doing, Finch?”
He slowly lifts his eyes to meet John’s again, and the moment they do his thoughts unravel like a sail, and he is a ship lost in a sea of blue, without direction and not really worried anymore that he doesn’t have a map.
He hears a voice speak as if from far away, and is surprised when he realizes it’s his own.
“Much better, thank you,” he whispers as he continues to stare at John, unable to tear his eyes away, and John smiles at hearing it and he squeezes Harold’s hand. Their smiles stretch on and on, and awkward turns into something completely different as neither of them make a move to break their connection.
He knows where this is going, then, and is powerless to stop it. Not that he wants to stop it, that is, but there seems to be some sort of magnet pulling him towards John and he finds his head moving across the pillow of its own accord until their foreheads touch. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest, and John is breathing hard an inch away from him.
“Are you sure?” John asks him, eyes closed, and Harold answers by closing the gap between them. He shudders involuntarily as their lips meet, John’s so soft and warm and moving against his. Harold brings his left had up to John’s bicep, and John responds with a moan and pulls Harold against him so their bodies are as close as they can get with their underwear still on. One of their feet nudges Bear in the process, and he jumps off the bed, unimpressed, but neither of the men notices.
Both of their mouths open to each other at the same time, and their exploration of each other with tongues and hands reaches a new, exquisite level.
Harold decides that this is the best morning he’s had in an awfully long time, and quite possibly worth all of the discomfort with Root in order to be at this exact place and time today… especially with John’s hand venturing under the waistband of his -
A scratching at the front door makes them both freeze, and a split-second later John is up and has pulled a gun from who-knows-where and is braced against the bedroom wall, peering out. Then he relaxes and looks back apologetically at Harold.
“I think we need to take Bear out first.”
Read part 2 here