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(Untitled)
They fell over a while ago. Somehow, it’s not until this moment that gravity starts to catch up to him.
“Oh my god,” he mumbles as Finch pushes a wet little finishing kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Oh my god.”
Finch’s head drops heavy on Fusco’s shoulder. He exhales, deep and serious. After a moment, his breathing slows and his movement ( Read more... ) -
FIC: But you're just troubled, Reese/Fusco, PG-13 (part 2)
In the lobby of Fusco’s apartment building, where Reese stands, calling the elevator, and Fusco stands, arms locked senselessly around Reese’s neck and head resting against his chest, Fusco asks, “How long have you known where I live?”
Reese runs his fingernails up and down Fusco’s back, a long and familiar scratch. “Since the day after I met you,” ( Read more... ) -
FIC: But you're just troubled, Reese/Fusco, PG-13 (part 1)
He finds Benton’s Rohypnol in the pocket of an old jacket when he moves from his lousy apartment to the new one Finch bought him. It’s still there, uncrushed, white and clean in its little plastic casing. His instinct is to throw it out, flush it, throw out the last reminder of that painful chapter, but what he winds up doing is tucking the pills ( Read more... ) -
I'M TEMPORARY TOO
That little stunt actually makes things better, for a while. Reese starts calling him asking for the usual brand of shifty information and illegal favors, and Fusco’s only too happy to supply it because he misses when things were normal.
The day when Fusco realizes that this, this, has become his normal is a very bad day.
But it’s only a bad day ( Read more... ) -
I AM BUT A TEMPORARY POST
Fusco thinks he’s being followed by a man in a suit.
These days, he thinks this a lot.
That’s reasonable, isn’t it? After all, sometimes it’s true. Not most of the time, but every so often. Once somebody bursts into your life like that, tears down everything you thought you knew, and leaves you alone and friendless in dangerous territory, he thinks ( Read more... ) -
[FIC] Biting Your Own Neck, Reese/Fusco, 2/2
His phone buzzes to life for a moment on the bar in front of him, and somehow, before he even glances at the screen, he already knows who it is. This flood of relief and anger washes over him as he reads the text.
It’s pretty straightforward. Hotel. Address. Room number. Now.
He knows the hotel; it’s a pretty nice place, compared to the hotels he ( Read more... ) -
[FIC] Biting Your Own Neck, Reese/Fusco, 1/2
“Saw this; thought of you.”
This is printed on a scrap of paper folded on top of a small package sitting in the middle of Fusco’s kitchen table. It’s not signed. That’s alright. He knows who it’s from. He sighs, steels himself, and settles down at the table.
The package is a thin, white cardboard box, iridescent and textured, the kind his ex-wife ( Read more... ) -
Does this journal work?
I reckon it does.