Precious Valentine
Title: Valentine Treasure
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: FInch/Reese
Word Count:500
John kicked off his shoes and sprawled out on the battered leather couch, a copy of The Hobbit in hand. It had been years since he’d been to see a movie and was dying to go, only not alone. Perhaps, he thought, Finch’s curiosity might be piqued if he saw him reading it. He was making fast progress, skipping past the boring songs, pausing to imagine the warmth of Finch sitting beside him in a darkened room, their hands meeting as they both reached for popcorn… A warm thrill coursed through his body at the thought - not wanting to sympathetically pat his half-engorged cock he compromised by scratching absentmindedly at his belly button. Picking up the story line again, he neglected to pull his shirts back down, much less tuck them in.
Humming contentedly, Finch puttered back and forth, re-shelving armfuls of books. It was on his second trip to the reading room that he noticed the pale band of skin of John’s middle, almost glowing in the warm morning sunlight. It was then that he decided to make his move, a course of action long contemplated but all too easily pushed aside by doubt.
“Mr. Reese, would you kindly be of assistance?” asked Finch, standing next to the couch, his jacket off, tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
John almost jumped. “Of course, Harold - need help shelving?”
Finch moved primly to his knees, firmly pushing John back into the cushions. “No, John, I need something else, entirely.”
John had a vivid imagination but had never imagined THIS! Soft, warm hands, stroking his belly - Harold’s damp tongue tracing the fine down before circling John’s belly button, plunging and flicking inside the small, warm hole.
“Harold?!?” gasped John as he arched his back and pulled up his shirt some more.
“Please hold still, John,” was Finch’s reply, in tones so dry and careful he might have been describing one of Harold Wren’s insurance policies.
Quiet, again, he continued to mouth John’s belly, moving to apply wet kisses to the knot of scar tissue from Snow’s bullet.
Finch allowed John to stroke his hair, to fondle the back of his neck , to grab it gently as Finch began applying pressure, marking his territory with a series of suck marks. Finch looked up at the warm, brown column of John’s neck, the former agent’s head thrown back in painful ecstasy. Feeling he’d been, perhaps, a bit unkind, Finch made one more mark before pulling himself up, straddling John’s tense thighs. He unbuckled and unbuttoned, teasing the zipper down until he’d freed John’s erection. Spitting hot on his palms, he used both hands to stroke and fondle John’s blood-dark cock. The beleaguered first-edition Tolkien flew through air as John climaxed but neither man cared.
Smiling, Finch traced through the warm, white spots, connecting the red hickeys to form a perfect heart on John’s belly.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my Precious,” he whispered.
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: FInch/Reese
Word Count:500
John kicked off his shoes and sprawled out on the battered leather couch, a copy of The Hobbit in hand. It had been years since he’d been to see a movie and was dying to go, only not alone. Perhaps, he thought, Finch’s curiosity might be piqued if he saw him reading it. He was making fast progress, skipping past the boring songs, pausing to imagine the warmth of Finch sitting beside him in a darkened room, their hands meeting as they both reached for popcorn… A warm thrill coursed through his body at the thought - not wanting to sympathetically pat his half-engorged cock he compromised by scratching absentmindedly at his belly button. Picking up the story line again, he neglected to pull his shirts back down, much less tuck them in.
Humming contentedly, Finch puttered back and forth, re-shelving armfuls of books. It was on his second trip to the reading room that he noticed the pale band of skin of John’s middle, almost glowing in the warm morning sunlight. It was then that he decided to make his move, a course of action long contemplated but all too easily pushed aside by doubt.
“Mr. Reese, would you kindly be of assistance?” asked Finch, standing next to the couch, his jacket off, tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
John almost jumped. “Of course, Harold - need help shelving?”
Finch moved primly to his knees, firmly pushing John back into the cushions. “No, John, I need something else, entirely.”
John had a vivid imagination but had never imagined THIS! Soft, warm hands, stroking his belly - Harold’s damp tongue tracing the fine down before circling John’s belly button, plunging and flicking inside the small, warm hole.
“Harold?!?” gasped John as he arched his back and pulled up his shirt some more.
“Please hold still, John,” was Finch’s reply, in tones so dry and careful he might have been describing one of Harold Wren’s insurance policies.
Quiet, again, he continued to mouth John’s belly, moving to apply wet kisses to the knot of scar tissue from Snow’s bullet.
Finch allowed John to stroke his hair, to fondle the back of his neck , to grab it gently as Finch began applying pressure, marking his territory with a series of suck marks. Finch looked up at the warm, brown column of John’s neck, the former agent’s head thrown back in painful ecstasy. Feeling he’d been, perhaps, a bit unkind, Finch made one more mark before pulling himself up, straddling John’s tense thighs. He unbuckled and unbuttoned, teasing the zipper down until he’d freed John’s erection. Spitting hot on his palms, he used both hands to stroke and fondle John’s blood-dark cock. The beleaguered first-edition Tolkien flew through air as John climaxed but neither man cared.
Smiling, Finch traced through the warm, white spots, connecting the red hickeys to form a perfect heart on John’s belly.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my Precious,” he whispered.