Schooled
Title: Schooled
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: Finch/Reese
Rating: R
Word Count: 632
Maybe this is a one-shot, maybe the start of a multi-chapter story. Your responses might make the difference! (LOL)
(I blame you, Coach Dupree, my 8th grade gym coach!)
“It’s for a case, Mr. Reese. It’s vital that you look the part,” said Finch, his eyes flickering between the large shopping bag and the tall, beautiful man in front of him. John’s jacket was off and his sleeves, on this warm spring day, were folded to his elbows, exposing his long, muscular forearms, which were showing the barest evidence of tanning. Finch shifted uncomfortably, suddenly thankful that the long winter was almost over.
John looked into the bag, the small lines between above his nose betraying a trace of confusion. He shrugged and grabbed it - Finch had never steered him wrong before. He hesistated, just once, before turning to leave the room.
“You sure, Finch?”
Finch nodded, suddenly wishing he’d asked John to change in in front of him.
The cracked glass had been too small to hold all of the photographs. There were dozens, a whole private school’s work - well, the Senior Class, that is, as well as a number of instructors. He’d secured positions for himself and Reese as substitute teachers. Fusco and Carter were temporarily joining the Custodial staff, all the better for the two seasoned detectives to sneak and snoop.
He heard a soft cough and looked up. John was back, dressed for his new role.
Finch began at John’s feet, clad in a pair of rather fugly black New Balance shoes. His eyes crept upward, his pupils widening as he…enjoyed the look of John’s elegant calves covered with thick athletic socks, double stripes of red below his knees. He gulped visibly as his eyes rose up, his moan almost sub-audible. The thick, tight, stretchy polyester coach’s shorts (beltless) fit perfectly, capturing the sweet tuck of John’s delightfully thick rump. They were red, like the stripes of the socks.
“Turn around, Mr. Reese,” Finch managed, barely. John spun slowly, moving closer to Finch’s chair, to Finch himself.
“Little tight here, Finch,” groaned the former op, trying, unsuccessfully to adjust the crotch, which was, quite obviously, lifting and separating his testes. Every time John moved, his thick muscular thighs stretched the clinging cuffs, which traveled only a third of the way towards his knees. His cock, pointed down, pushed against the flies, filling and straining the fabric with small twitches.
“Let me help you, Mr. Reese. Finch stood up, one hand braced against the vented nylon mesh coaches shirt, which was white and stretched taut against his broad chest. It wasn’t coincidence that the flat of Finch’s warm, soft hand covered John’s left nipple. Finch smiled as he plunged his hand down, beneath the waistband of the shorts. John moaned as Finch’s hand found his stiffness, pulling upright so it was no longer pinched in two. The small man traced the outline of John’s cock, which continued to harden. He fussed around John, tucking in the tight shirt, just right, his hands everywhere at once, it seemed to his partner.
Finch didn’t bother hiding his own erection, which ruined the lines of his thousand dollar wool slacks. He limped back to the table and found another, smaller bag.
“Bend your head down, Mr. Reese,” he whispered. John obeyed. Finch slipped a shiny silver whistle around his neck and placed a red cap on top his partner’s soft silver and black locks.
“Perfect,” he said, before pulling John into a slow, hungry first kiss.
“How long, Finch?” asked John, before kissing Finch again.
“Does it matter?” he asked, sliding his cock against John’s, through the layers of their clothes. Before John could reply, Finch answered. “Always, John. Always.”
He looked at the flushed man before him and smiled. “I think I have a basketball around here, somewhere, John - perhaps on the spare bed, in the back.”
John kissed him one more time before they went to find it.
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: Finch/Reese
Rating: R
Word Count: 632
Maybe this is a one-shot, maybe the start of a multi-chapter story. Your responses might make the difference! (LOL)
(I blame you, Coach Dupree, my 8th grade gym coach!)
“It’s for a case, Mr. Reese. It’s vital that you look the part,” said Finch, his eyes flickering between the large shopping bag and the tall, beautiful man in front of him. John’s jacket was off and his sleeves, on this warm spring day, were folded to his elbows, exposing his long, muscular forearms, which were showing the barest evidence of tanning. Finch shifted uncomfortably, suddenly thankful that the long winter was almost over.
John looked into the bag, the small lines between above his nose betraying a trace of confusion. He shrugged and grabbed it - Finch had never steered him wrong before. He hesistated, just once, before turning to leave the room.
“You sure, Finch?”
Finch nodded, suddenly wishing he’d asked John to change in in front of him.
The cracked glass had been too small to hold all of the photographs. There were dozens, a whole private school’s work - well, the Senior Class, that is, as well as a number of instructors. He’d secured positions for himself and Reese as substitute teachers. Fusco and Carter were temporarily joining the Custodial staff, all the better for the two seasoned detectives to sneak and snoop.
He heard a soft cough and looked up. John was back, dressed for his new role.
Finch began at John’s feet, clad in a pair of rather fugly black New Balance shoes. His eyes crept upward, his pupils widening as he…enjoyed the look of John’s elegant calves covered with thick athletic socks, double stripes of red below his knees. He gulped visibly as his eyes rose up, his moan almost sub-audible. The thick, tight, stretchy polyester coach’s shorts (beltless) fit perfectly, capturing the sweet tuck of John’s delightfully thick rump. They were red, like the stripes of the socks.
“Turn around, Mr. Reese,” Finch managed, barely. John spun slowly, moving closer to Finch’s chair, to Finch himself.
“Little tight here, Finch,” groaned the former op, trying, unsuccessfully to adjust the crotch, which was, quite obviously, lifting and separating his testes. Every time John moved, his thick muscular thighs stretched the clinging cuffs, which traveled only a third of the way towards his knees. His cock, pointed down, pushed against the flies, filling and straining the fabric with small twitches.
“Let me help you, Mr. Reese. Finch stood up, one hand braced against the vented nylon mesh coaches shirt, which was white and stretched taut against his broad chest. It wasn’t coincidence that the flat of Finch’s warm, soft hand covered John’s left nipple. Finch smiled as he plunged his hand down, beneath the waistband of the shorts. John moaned as Finch’s hand found his stiffness, pulling upright so it was no longer pinched in two. The small man traced the outline of John’s cock, which continued to harden. He fussed around John, tucking in the tight shirt, just right, his hands everywhere at once, it seemed to his partner.
Finch didn’t bother hiding his own erection, which ruined the lines of his thousand dollar wool slacks. He limped back to the table and found another, smaller bag.
“Bend your head down, Mr. Reese,” he whispered. John obeyed. Finch slipped a shiny silver whistle around his neck and placed a red cap on top his partner’s soft silver and black locks.
“Perfect,” he said, before pulling John into a slow, hungry first kiss.
“How long, Finch?” asked John, before kissing Finch again.
“Does it matter?” he asked, sliding his cock against John’s, through the layers of their clothes. Before John could reply, Finch answered. “Always, John. Always.”
He looked at the flushed man before him and smiled. “I think I have a basketball around here, somewhere, John - perhaps on the spare bed, in the back.”
John kissed him one more time before they went to find it.