Fic: Bordeaux and Black Cherry -- Part 1
Title: Bordeaux and Black Cherry
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After a month of waiting for Finch to make a move, Reese takes matters into his own hands. Sequel to Silk Stockings.
Warnings: Slash, cross-dressing
Word Count: 6600 words
Author's Note: Looks like Petunia, my cross-dressing plot-bunny, is back at it, lol. This turned out way longer than I'd anticipated, so I'm going to have to post it in two parts because LJ can't handle this much smut in one post. >_<
Reese was frustrated. Nearly a month had passed since that glorious night with Finch, and aside from the occasional sideways glance or thoughtful stare, it was like it had never even happened. Reese figured Finch needed time to sort out his feelings, but a month? Reese had jerked off every night for two weeks thinking about what they'd done, his body aching to feel Finch's touch again. Did the man have no drive, no desire for him at all? Reese couldn't bear to think about it. If that was Finch's choice, he would do his damnedest to respect it, but at the moment, no choice appeared to have been made. They were just hanging in limbo, and it was driving Reese crazy.
The Numbers kept coming, some easy, some hard, some good guys, some bad. It was a welcome distraction, but even that couldn't last. Finally, exactly one month since their first encounter and the third day without a new Number, Reese couldn't take it anymore. He was sitting in a cafe near his apartment, drinking coffee and trying to resist the urge to go to the library and jump his boss. His cell sat on the table in front of him, the screen dark, but he just couldn't stop staring at it, as though he could will it into coughing up a message from Finch.
"Well, this is a first."
Reese tensed, ready to fling his hot coffee into someone's face or smash the cup against their skull, his training and instincts kicking in in a fraction of the time it took him to recognize the voice. He managed to refrain from assaulting Detective Fusco with his beverage, glowering over his cup at the man as he sat down across from Reese.
"Never thought I'd get the drop on you again," Fusco said. "You hung-over or somethin'?"
Reese ignored the question, glancing down at his phone again. "What do you want, Lionel?" he asked, managing to sound both bored and pissed off at the same time.
"I thought you might buy me that drink you keep offering," Fusco said. "I've got news about HR."
Reese wasn't really in the mood, but he glanced over his shoulder, getting the waitress' attention.
"What can I get you, hun?" she asked.
"Coffee for my friend," Reese said, and checked his cell again.
"Cream?"
"No thanks," Fusco said. "But I will have a shortstack of pancakes and a side of bacon."
"You got it, hun," she said, making a note on her pad as she walked away.
Reese gave Fusco a dirty look. "I'm not paying for your breakfast."
"I can buy my own breakfast, thank you," Fusco replied. "Since you got me into HR, they've been throwing a lot of side-work my way, and the pay sure beats being an honest cop. Now I remember why I went dirty in the first place."
Reese was pretty sure Fusco was being sarcastic. "Lionel, you can't take that money. If you do, your hands will look just as dirty as theirs."
"And if I don't, they'll get suspicious and put a bullet in the back of my head."
"Life is filled with tough choices." They fell silent as the waitress returned, pouring Fusco a cup of coffee and giving Reese a warm-up.
After she'd left, Fusco leaned forward, speaking a confidential tone as he added sugar to his coffee. "I ain't spent a cent of it. When this is all over, I'll be more than happy to give it all back." He took a sip. "Any idea when that might be?"
"Nope." Reese picked up his cell, checking the history to make sure he hadn't missed a call. He hadn't.
Fusco sighed and glanced around the cafe. "So, what are you and Finch up to? Which one of these poor bastards do you got your eye on?"
"Can't a guy just get a cup of coffee?" Reese asked. Across the room, someone's cell made a sound and he automatically reached for his, but it was still dark. He frowned and looked out the window.
"What's the matter - you waiting for a call?" Fusco asked.
"Not really." Reese took another drink and prepared to leave.
"Ah, I know," Fusco said. Reese highly doubted it. "You got girl trouble." Reese gave him a dark look, but Fusco just chuckled. "Yeah, I see how it is. You met this girl and she's like nobody you've ever met before, and the two of you had an amazing night, best night of your life, and now you want to call her, but you don't want to seem needy. Or you did call her, and she ain't called you back. Am I close?"
"Close enough," Reese said, sitting back in his seat and picking up his cup again. God, what had he been reduced to, drinking coffee with Fusco and bitching about his love-life?
"You want my advice? Call her," Fusco said before Reese could interject that he did not, in fact, want any advice. "If this woman is hot enough to get you all tangled up, you can't let her get away."
"It's more complicated than that."
"Always is."
"We...we sort of...work together," Reese said, knowing that Fusco would probably be compiling a very short list and hopefully coming to the wrong conclusion. After a moment, Fusco arched an eyebrow and gave Reese a sly, sideways sort of look.
"Really? Anyone I know?"
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Reese said, unable to stop himself from checking his phone again. This was ridiculous.
"Call her," Fusco said again as his order arrived. Reese watched him pour syrup over his pancakes and pick up his fork. That was his cue to leave; the last thing he wanted was to watch Fusco eat. He started to slide out of the booth, but hesitated.
"What does it matter to you if I call her or not?"
Fusco shrugged. "I s'pose it doesn't," he said, taking a bite of his bacon, "but I noticed you didn't choke this time when you called me friend. And maybe if Carter gets laid, she'll quit giving me such a hard time about everything." Reese kept his expression carefully neutral, neither confirming nor denying Fusco's suspicions. After a moment, Fusco waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, be that way. I'll just ask Carter."
"Good luck with that," Reese said, unable to suppress a chuckle as he imagined Carter's expression. He slid out of the booth, picked up his phone, and pulled a wadded up twenty out of his pocket, dropping it on the table. "Enjoy your breakfast, Lionel," he said, giving the detective a hearty thump on the back as he left, almost spilling his coffee.
Outside, he started walking back to his loft, though he initially headed in the opposite direction. He wound his way up and down the busy streets, checking for tails in the reflection of store windows, entering a bookstore and slipping unnoticed out the back, jogging down a long, narrow alleyway and emerging into the wan sunlight on a quiet street. He checked for traffic, then crossed over to his building.
Once inside, he started the coffee brewing, not because he wanted any but because if he didn't do something constructive he'd end up pacing. He ended up pacing anyway as the coffeemaker percolated in the background. Finally, he sank down on his sofa, pulled out his phone, and sighed. Maybe Fusco was right - maybe he should just call Finch and get this over with. At least if Finch flat out told him that it was never going to happen, he could quit wondering. He pulled up Finch's number, but hesitated. What would he say?
Maybe he didn't need to say anything. Instead, he sent a text, just a simple My place, 10 pm. He waited for a response, an acknowledgement, but his phone remained silent. He decided to believe that the silence was an answer in itself. If Finch wasn't coming, he'd let Reese know. To stand him up would be rude, and Finch was anything but rude. With that in mind, Reese poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his jacket, and headed out. He had shopping to do.
It took him most of the day to find what he was looking for, but that still left him with way too much time to kill. He cleaned a little, changed his clothes, placed the items he'd purchased in strategic locations, picked at his dinner, changed his clothes again, reconsidered this whole insane idea, took a shower, and changed his clothes for a third time. He wondered if Finch had any idea how crazy he made Reese.
He was standing at the window, staring down at the dark street below, when the long, black town car pulled up at the curb and Finch climbed out of the back. Reese breathed a sigh of relief that fogged up the cool window glass.
Grinning like a fool, he quickly lowered the heavy shades over the windows and adjusted the lighting, turning it down so they wouldn't be backlit, silhouetted against the shades. He checked his hair in the mirror, adjusted his slacks, and made sure all the buttons on his shirt were done up, all except for the top three at the collar. He went back to the window and peeked out around the shade. The town car was gone. Heart pounding in his chest, he headed for the door, then stopped himself, wiping his sweaty palms on the seat of his pants. God, he hadn't felt this nervous since he'd tried to work up the courage to ask Jessica out.
Actually, no - he'd been more nervous the night he met Stanton, but that was a different kind of nerves, the kind that stems from not knowing if you're going to make it out of a situation alive. He supposed that fit, too, though. He'd been lucky Finch hadn't decided to fire him after what he'd done, and if he screwed this up...
Reese glanced at his watch and frowned. The car had pulled up almost fifteen minutes ago. It was after ten. Where was Finch? He took a step toward the door, but stopped, a hollowness opening up in the pit of his stomach. What if Finch had changed his mind? Reese hadn't been watching. He could have gotten back in the car and left.
Reese stalked over to the counter where his cell was charging and checked his messages. Nothing. He hesitated a moment, then typed Where are you? and sent it. He set the cell down, running a hand back through his hair as he turned away. The phone beeped, alerting him to an incoming text and he snatched it up.
In the hall.
Reese frowned and glanced toward his door. Why?
Nervous, came the reply, along with a sad face. Reese found himself smiling at the simple yet evocative use of the colon and open parenthesis.
Me too, Reese sent back. Afraid you wouldn't come.
I want this. Want you. Just a little scared. First time.
As he typed, Reese made his way over to the door, leaning against the reinforced steel. I know. I'll be gentle. Want you to enjoy it. He rested his head against the door and sighed. Want to come in now?
Yes.
Reese put the phone in his pocket and unlocked the door before pulling it open. Finch stood there, his face red, his eyes wide, a visible tremor shaking him as he limped into the loft.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," Finch said. He was carrying an expensive-looking, brushed suede satchel, which he clutched in both white-knuckled hands.
"That's all right," Reese said, closing the door. The noise made Finch jump. "Would you like to have a seat?"
"Thank you." He took a step toward one of Reese's lounge chairs, then stopped and turned toward the sofa. He glanced at the bed, his face reddening, and turned back to the sofa. He sank down not quite in the middle and set his satchel on the floor beside his feet. His fingers plucked at imaginary lint on his trousers, his throat working convulsively as he tried to swallow.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Reese offered.
Finch gave his head a small shake, but said, "Water, or whatever you have."
"I have a forty-year old bottle of scotch," Reese said, arching an eyebrow.
Finch seemed to hesitate. "I don't normally, but...I think I probably should."
"I agree," Reese said, crossing into the kitchen area and taking the bottle down out of a cupboard, along with two thick-bottomed tumblers. He poured each of them a drink, then put the bottle away. He wanted Finch to relax, not get drunk and pass out. Moving slowly, he walked over to Finch, handed him the glass, and sat down beside him on the sofa, careful to leave almost a foot of neutral space between them. Reese sipped his drink and watched Finch gulp his, swallowing it down like it was cough medicine. Finch stared down at the empty glass, taking deliberately slow, deep breaths.
"Harold," Reese said softly, but Finch tensed as though Reese had shouted at him. "If you don't want to do this-"
"I do," Finch said quickly. "I do. I just..."
"It's your first time."
Finch nodded.
"I won't hurt you," Reese whispered. God, he just wanted to hold the man, to comfort and reassure him.
"I- I know you won't," Finch said, still looking down at the tumbler in his hands. "It's just...my neck and my hip...and I'm more than few years older than you and...and I don't have any experience. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want you to be disappointed..."
Reese swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and reached over, taking the glass from Finch. He set it and his own on the hardwood floor, then leaned close, one hand cupping Finch's cheek as he kissed him, just a tender brush of the lips.
"You could never disappoint me," Reese said. "Whatever we do or don't do will be completely up to you. I'm just happy that you're here."
"Do you have a list of options?" Finch asked. "Because frankly, I don't even know where to begin."
"That's okay," Reese said. "I do. And the rest we can figure out together." He kissed him again and this time, Finch reciprocated. Reese drew back, picked up the tumblers off the floor, and stood. "All right, I want you to go into the bathroom and take off your shoes, socks, and pants. There's a robe hanging on the back of the door for you."
"Just my pants?" Finch asked, arching an eyebrow as he rose from the sofa.
"For now," Reese said with a crooked smile. "Unless you want to take it all off. Your choice." Finch looked uncertain, but he headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Reese immediately kicked off his shoes and removed his socks, rolling up his sleeves as he padded barefoot across the room to the kitchen. From under the sink, he pulled a plastic basin. He filled it halfway with hot water, sprinkled in some lavender-scented bath salts and added a splash of rose oil. He carried it over to the sofa and placed it on a towel on the floor. Behind the couch, he had hidden a small paper bag from Bed, Bath & Beyond, filled with various tools and implements for this particular ice-breaking activity.
Finch was in the bathroom so long, if it had had a window, Reese would have started to suspect Finch had crawled through it and made a run for it. Finally, the door opened and Finch limped out, wrapped in the new burgundy robe Reese had bought for him. Reese could see his bare legs beneath the robe, but whatever else he might or might not have on was a mystery. One that Reese would solve in due time, but not yet, Reese reminded himself. He beckoned Finch over.
"What is this?" Finch asked, stopping beside the basin and regarding it with a slight frown.
"Well, while I was shaving your legs that night, I couldn't help but notice that your feet could use some TLC as well. So I'm going to give you a pedicure and a foot massage."
"Oh, John," Finch said, his cheeks turning pink as he huffed indignantly.
"C'mon, step into the water," Reese said. "Or would you rather go straight to the bed?" Reese had never seen Finch move so fast. In a moment, he was standing ankle-deep in the hot water, a reaction that Reese found oddly endearing. Finch sat down on the sofa, primly pulling his robe closed over his thighs, making Reese wonder what, if anything, he was wearing underneath. Boxers? Briefs? Those lacy silk panties he'd worn with Reese? Reese felt himself getting hard and quickly pushed the thought aside. Finch needed his undivided attention.
Kneeling down, Reese ran a hand up one of Finch's shins, feeling the dark stubble against his palm, about a month's worth of growth, he guessed. "Would you mind if I shaved your legs again while your feet soak?"
"You don't have to," Finch said quietly, unable to meet Reese's gaze. Reese put his hand on Finch's knee, waiting until the older man looked at him.
"I want to," he said. "Even if it's not a particular turn-on for me, I want to be a part of whatever turns you on. And to be honest, I did enjoy it."
"Well...all right, then," Finch said, though he still looked embarrassed as hell. Reese smiled and dug into the bag, pulling out a washcloth, a new razor, and a can of raspberry-scented shaving foam. After wetting one of Finch's legs with the cloth, he spread the foam over his skin and went to work. When he was done, he used the cloth to wash off the foam residue, then did the other leg.
"There; all done," Reese said, gathering up the supplies and taking them in to the kitchen sink. When he came back, Finch was leaned forward, one hand gliding up and down his smooth shin, his lips parted slightly, a blissful look on his face. He caught Reese watching him and quickly sat back, folding his hands in his lap again. "It's okay to touch them," Reese murmured teasingly, kneeling down again. He reached out, trailing his fingers over Finch's knee, down the curve of his calf, to where his ankle disappeared into the water, making Finch draw a shaking breath. "Is that someplace you like to be touched?" Reese asked, all teasing aside.
Finch nodded and Reese gently stroked back up his leg, Finch swallowing hard and shifting slightly on the couch.
"I'll keep that in mind," Reese promised. "For now, your feet." He lifted the first out of the water and set it on the towel, patting it dry before reaching into the bag for a pumice stone. He rubbed at the calluses, the thick skin sloughing off, leaving Finch's feet slightly pink in places, but much softer. Reese pulled clippers and a file out of the bag, clipped each nail, filed them, and pushed back his cuticles. Next, he fished out a tube of moisturizing foot lotion and massaged it into Finch's skin, his strong thumbs rubbing circles against the arch that had Finch leaning back on the sofa and groaning with pleasure. He did the same for the other foot, finding calluses in strange places thanks to Finch's limp. Finch was almost catatonic - if he'd been a cat, he'd have been purring - and didn't move when Reese finally set his foot down on the towel.
"I'll be right back," Reese said, climbing to his feet and picking up the basin of now cold water. "Don't go anywhere." Finch made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and Reese grinned to himself as he carried the basin to the kitchen and dumped it in the sink. He wasn't worried about Finch falling asleep. He had one more surprise in that bag.
"Harold, I need you to spread your legs," Reese said, going to his knees again in front of the older man. Finch's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking uneasy as Reese's hands slid up his legs, trying to coax them apart.
"Now?" Finch asked, hands clutching at the bottom of his robe to keep it closed.
"No, not that," Reese said with a chuckle. "Just open your legs and lift your good one up a bit." Finch looked confused, but he did as Reese asked. Sliding between Finch's legs, Reese sat on the floor with his back to the sofa and let Finch's knee rest on his shoulder, his foot on Reese's thigh. He reached over, taking Finch's damaged leg in hand and carefully lifting it into place on the other shoulder.
"This is...an interesting position you have us in, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "I'm not sure I understand how this is supposed to work."
"It's simple," Reese said, pulling the bag closer and pulling out a pair of pink, foam toe separators. "You sit there and I sit here while I paint your toenails." He tried to work the foam in between Finch's toes, but Finch twitched his foot away, his toes curling.
"I beg your pardon? You're going to do what?"
"Paint your nails," Reese said again, as though it were no big deal. "I figured you'd have trouble doing it yourself. Now relax your feet or you'll undo all the good I did with that massage."
"But John-" Finch started, only to fall silent as Reese slid a hand over the curve of his calf, caressing the smooth skin down to the back of his ankle.
"Do you not want your toenails painted?" Reese asked, his voice soft. "I thought it would be a good place to start, something intimate without being strictly sexual, but if you don't want me to-"
"I- I would," Finch said, "I just...I can't believe you went through all this trouble...for me."
"It was a lot of trouble," Reese said, stroking the top of Finch's foot. "You wouldn't believe how many shops I visited to find all this stuff, all the weird looks I got, but you know what? I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it would make you happy."
"Oh, John..." Finch whispered, his toes uncurling. Reese eased the foam between them, then reached into the bag for the last three items.
"I wasn't sure what color you'd like, so I bought a couple. This one is called First Kiss." He held up a bottle of pearly pink polish for Finch to see. The older man didn't comment and after a moment Reese brought it back down. "This one is Bordeaux." He held up the bottle of rich burgundy. "And this one is Black Cherry." He showed Finch the dark, dark red. "Do you have a preference?"
"Bordeaux," Finch replied without hesitation and Reese grinned. The second his gaze had stopped on the dark little bottle, he'd known it was Finch. He had bought the other two as an afterthought, just in case he was wrong. He gave the bottle a shake and twisted it open, scraping the excess polish off on the inside edge of the bottle before painting a rich, glossy stripe up the center of Finch's big toenail. "Yes, that's lovely," Finch said, looking over his shoulder. "The pink wouldn't have shown up very well and the red is too dark for my skin tone. It would look good next to yours, though."
Reese paused, considering. Why the hell not? "Sure," he said with a grin. "You can paint mine when I'm done with yours."
"That's not- I didn't- I was just-"
"Take a breath, Harold," Reese said with a chuckle. "This is supposed to be relaxing. So relax. Tonight is about exploring new things and pushing our boundaries, and that goes for me, too." Finch didn't answer, but neither did he argue, so Reese counted it as a win. He turned his attention back to Finch's toes, applying the polish with slow, smooth strokes.
"Have you done this before?" Finch asked, still watching over Reese's shoulder.
"A couple of times," Reese said, dipping the brush back into the bottle. "Jessica."
"Ah."
After a moment, Reese felt Finch lean back, the muscles in his legs slowly relaxing. Reese finished with the first foot and put the lid back on the nail polish, setting it aside as he took Finch's foot in both hands and began to run his thumbs up and down the top of Finch's foot, his fingertips pressing into the arch. Behind him, Finch groaned.
With a mischievous smirk, Reese turned his head, regarding Finch's leg hooked over his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the soft skin in the crook of his knee.
"Oh!" Finch gasped, then added, almost shyly, "I- I like that." Wanting to encourage more sharing, Reese kissed him again, slow and lingering, letting his lips caress Finch's skin, the scent of raspberries tickling his nose. Sliding one hand up Finch's leg, he parted his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the crook of Finch's knee, making him shiver and squirm. Trying for a more verbal reaction, Reese opened his mouth wider, teeth scraping flesh as he licked and sucked, intent upon leaving his mark on the fair skin.
"Good grief, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sounding out of breath, his voice strained. "If you keep that up, your robe will need to be laundered."
Reese smiled against the side of Finch's knee, pleased that he was having such an effect on the man, and scaled back his efforts, trailing his fingertips up and down Finch's leg as he softly kissed the inside of his knee. "So," he said after a moment, "I thought it might be a good idea to discuss our preferences beforehand, so things don't get awkward or uncomfortable after we start."
"That's very practical of you."
"I thought you might appreciate that," Reese said and nuzzled the back of Finch's calf. "Would you like to go first?"
"I...I don't have any preferences," Finch said. "I mean, I'm sure I do, but I don't know what they are."
"All right, I'll start," Reese said. "Main one - top or bottom? I've been both. I'm a tender top, but a demanding bottom, so if you want to fuck me, you better be ready to ride me hard and leave me in need of that cushion you bought me after I was shot, and if your hip can't tolerate such strenuous activity, I'll buy you a big rubber cock and you can drill my ass with it." He paused, lips hovering over Finch's skin, waiting for a reaction.
"Well," Finch said, his voice strained, "that was certainly...candid. And graphic."
"No sense in being less than honest with each other," Reese said. "I will always tell you what I want, and I hope you'll feel comfortable enough to do the same."
"And if I can't give you what you want, if I'm not capable, what then?"
"Do you really think I'd leave you if you couldn't fuck me senseless?" Reese asked, looking back over his shoulder. "I'm not unreasonable, Harold. I'll be happy with anything you can give me. I just want you to know the things that I would like."
Finch made a quiet, thoughtful sound, but that was all.
After a moment, Reese asked, "So, what about you? Top or bottom?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"Well, think about it. Would you rather I hold you in my arms, kissing you as I fill you with my hard cock, or do you want to pin me against the sheets, my helpless cries of pleasure filling the room as you pound into my tight ass until you explode inside me? Which of those sounds like more fun to you?"
"Good Lord, John!" Finch exclaimed. "Are you trying to make me..." He seemed to struggle for the words. "Lose my dignity?"
"I do know my way around a washing machine," Reese teased, returning to mouthing the crease behind Finch's knee.
"I believe my toes are dry now," Finch said, pulling away slightly. Reese backed off, turning his attention to the dark, glossy burgundy toenails. He blew gently on the polish, just to be sure, before reaching down and touching a fingertip to one toenail.
"You're right, although you'll need to be careful until the polish sets." He eased the foam spacer out from between Finch's toes and moved it to the other foot. "I thought we could use the second one of these for me," he explained. "Not that I think you have athlete's foot or anything - I wouldn't care, but I thought you might."
"Yes, I can be rather particular about hygiene," Finch said, his dry voice washing over the back of Reese's neck. "Are you certain you want to put up with me?"
"Harold, there's nothing you could do that would drive me away. So don't even try," he added with a laugh. He gave the bottle of nail polish a shake and began painting the other foot. When he was finished, he carefully lowered Finch's legs and stood up. He stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders before picking up the bottle of deep, dark red and climbing onto the couch. He sat against the arm, his legs stretched across the seat, his feet in Finch's lap. Finch stiffened as Reese's heels nudged a part of his anatomy that was already pretty stiff, and Reese couldn't repress his mischievous nature. He handed Finch the bottle of polish and the toe separator, smirking as he rubbed the side of one foot against Finch's erection.
"You're going to wind up with painted toe knuckles if you keep that up," Finch admonished, shifting Reese's feet a little farther from his crotch. Reese just smiled and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, resting his head on the back as he watched Finch. The polish felt cold on his toenails, but he wasn't really interested in that. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the older man, captivated by the small frown that creased his brow, the intensity in his stare, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
When Finch had finished with the first foot, he twisted the lid back on the bottle and balanced it on the arm of the couch. He stared down at Reese's feet, one hand resting lightly on Reese's ankle, his fingers tapping absently against his skin.
"Something on your mind?" Reese asked after several minutes of thoughtful silence.
Finch gave his head one small nod. "I...I think..." Reese braced himself, ready for the worst. "I think I might like to suck your cock, Mr. Reese."
Reese gasped, Finch's words eliciting a shudder that shook him to his core and almost caused a mess in his trousers.
Finch glanced over at him, his face red. "I was thinking about what you said about preferences, and I think that is something I'd like to try. If you want me to, that is."
"Want you to?" Reese repeated, breathless. "Just hearing you say it almost made me come." Finch looked embarrassed, but a pleased little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Since we're on the subject, how do you feel about me coming in your mouth?"
"Oh, I- I don't know," Finch said. "What does it taste like?"
"Mine? Or semen in general?"
"In general, I suppose."
"You've never-"
"I told you, I haven't-"
"But not even your own?"
Finch gave him a Why the hell would I do that? sort of look. "No, I haven't."
"Well," Reese said, "it's sort of...salty, and a little bitter sometimes. I knew one guy who tasted faintly of almonds."
"Oh," Finch said and a slight frown creased his brow. "I never really thought about you with other men."
"There were a few," Reese said, watching him closely. "Does it make you jealous?"
"No," Finch replied with a snort of contempt.
"Too bad. I think I might like you jealous."
Finch gave him a quick glance, another small smile quirking the corner of his mouth as he looked away.
"What about that thing I did to you that first night, licking you back there," he said with a slight nod to Finch's rear, because he thought the phrase 'tongue-fucking your asshole' might be a bit too much for Finch to handle. "It's called rimming, by the way."
"I- I couldn't do that," Finch said, shaking his head. Then he glanced over at Reese. "I mean, I could try, if you wanted me to..."
"No," Reese said. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything that you don't want to do. Really, there are only three things that I need from you; the rest is negotiable."
"What things?"
"I need to be kissed," Reese said. "I love kissing. And I need to be held. I won't completely smother you, but I do crave physical contact."
"All right," Finch said. "I think I can manage that. And the third thing?"
"I need to feel your cock inside me. What I said about fucking me hard - that's optional, but I need to know you're willing to top once in a while, even if all you do is lie there and let me sit on your dick."
"What colorful language you have," Finch said, his whole face turning the same shade as his burgundy bathrobe. "Yes, if this battered body can physically manage, I am willing."
"Good," Reese said with a smile. "And what do you need from me?"
"Discretion," Finch said immediately, and then seemed to regret it. "Not that I think you're a gossip, but you do enjoy teasing me, and I just need to know that certain things will be off-limits."
"Of course, Harold," Reese said. "This is our secret. I don't want to share it with anyone else."
"All right. I guess I need your patience as well. This is very new to me. Please don't be disappointed if-"
"Never," Reese said. "You could never disappoint me. Ever since you told me you were a virgin, I can't stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you, all the things I want to show you, all the ways I want to please you. Believe me, I will not be disappointed."
"That's what I'm talking about," Finch said, glancing over at him. "What if I can't live up to this idealized virgin you've created?"
"Harold, fantasies are always flashier and more glamorous than reality, but they have no substance. You can't hold them, you can't taste them. I would rather have the most boring reality than the most perfect fantasy."
"Well, that's what you're getting," Finch said. "Boring reality."
Reese chuckled. "I think you'll surprise yourself, my little bird."
Finch gave him a funny look.
"What?" Reese said with a one-shoulder shrug. "So I've spent some time considering terms of endearment. Little bird sounded better than pumpkin or snookums."
Finch snorted with laughter. "By all means, if you must, little bird is clearly the best choice. And what should I call you?"
"I don't care, just call me. Although I wouldn't be opposed to John, God of Sex or Love Machine." That made Finch laugh again, which gave Reese an unexpected feeling, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It had been a long time and was something he'd never expected to feel again. He gazed at Finch, a slow, contented smile creeping across his face.
"I think you're dry," Finch said, testing the polish on Reese's toes. He switched the toe separator to the other foot and got to work. Finished, he leaned back against the couch with a sigh.
"Neck hurt?" Reese asked, lifting his feet out of Finch's lap and carefully swinging them around to rest on the floor.
"A little," Finch said. "It always hurts after a long day."
Careful not to smudge his shiny red toes, Reese shifted closer to Finch, his heel bumping against the black suede satchel leaning against the front of the sofa. "What's in the bag?" Reese asked.
"A surprise," Finch said, suddenly blushing again.
Reese arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I have a few of those hidden around here, too. When do I get to see the surprise?"
"I could show you now...if you want," Finch said, and it was all Reese could do not to throw himself at the adorably shy man.
"Not just yet," Reese said, his voice low and husky. "Kiss me first."
"Oh...um...okay," Finch said, shifting his stiff upper body to face Reese. Reese leaned slowly toward him, noting his nervous fidgeting. Their lips met and a soft moan escaped him. One hand rising up to cup Finch's face, he deepened the kiss, his tongue flirting against Finch's, trying to coax him into reciprocating. After a moment, he felt Finch's tongue slide over his, sending a shiver racing through him. Drawing back, he gasped for breath.
"May I have my surprise now?" he asked playfully. Finch nodded, seemingly unable to speak, and stood up, taking an awkward step as he realized he still had the spacer between his toes. Reese leaned down and removed it, dropping it back into the empty paper bag on the floor. Finch picked up his satchel and headed for the bathroom.
"I'll be right back," he said, and shut the door.
Twenty minutes later, Reese's toenails were dry and he was anxiously pacing in front of the couch. He'd already gone to the door twice to ask if Finch was okay. Both times he'd been sent away with the assurance that Finch was 'almost ready'. There was a rather curious and uneven click click...click click sound emanating from the bathroom as well. Remembering that Finch had asked for his patience, he forced himself to sit back down to wait, only to spring up as the bathroom door opened.
A/N: Here is the link to the second part: Bordeaux and Black Cherry -- Part 2
Psst, it's where all the smut is, lol
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After a month of waiting for Finch to make a move, Reese takes matters into his own hands. Sequel to Silk Stockings.
Warnings: Slash, cross-dressing
Word Count: 6600 words
Author's Note: Looks like Petunia, my cross-dressing plot-bunny, is back at it, lol. This turned out way longer than I'd anticipated, so I'm going to have to post it in two parts because LJ can't handle this much smut in one post. >_<
Reese was frustrated. Nearly a month had passed since that glorious night with Finch, and aside from the occasional sideways glance or thoughtful stare, it was like it had never even happened. Reese figured Finch needed time to sort out his feelings, but a month? Reese had jerked off every night for two weeks thinking about what they'd done, his body aching to feel Finch's touch again. Did the man have no drive, no desire for him at all? Reese couldn't bear to think about it. If that was Finch's choice, he would do his damnedest to respect it, but at the moment, no choice appeared to have been made. They were just hanging in limbo, and it was driving Reese crazy.
The Numbers kept coming, some easy, some hard, some good guys, some bad. It was a welcome distraction, but even that couldn't last. Finally, exactly one month since their first encounter and the third day without a new Number, Reese couldn't take it anymore. He was sitting in a cafe near his apartment, drinking coffee and trying to resist the urge to go to the library and jump his boss. His cell sat on the table in front of him, the screen dark, but he just couldn't stop staring at it, as though he could will it into coughing up a message from Finch.
"Well, this is a first."
Reese tensed, ready to fling his hot coffee into someone's face or smash the cup against their skull, his training and instincts kicking in in a fraction of the time it took him to recognize the voice. He managed to refrain from assaulting Detective Fusco with his beverage, glowering over his cup at the man as he sat down across from Reese.
"Never thought I'd get the drop on you again," Fusco said. "You hung-over or somethin'?"
Reese ignored the question, glancing down at his phone again. "What do you want, Lionel?" he asked, managing to sound both bored and pissed off at the same time.
"I thought you might buy me that drink you keep offering," Fusco said. "I've got news about HR."
Reese wasn't really in the mood, but he glanced over his shoulder, getting the waitress' attention.
"What can I get you, hun?" she asked.
"Coffee for my friend," Reese said, and checked his cell again.
"Cream?"
"No thanks," Fusco said. "But I will have a shortstack of pancakes and a side of bacon."
"You got it, hun," she said, making a note on her pad as she walked away.
Reese gave Fusco a dirty look. "I'm not paying for your breakfast."
"I can buy my own breakfast, thank you," Fusco replied. "Since you got me into HR, they've been throwing a lot of side-work my way, and the pay sure beats being an honest cop. Now I remember why I went dirty in the first place."
Reese was pretty sure Fusco was being sarcastic. "Lionel, you can't take that money. If you do, your hands will look just as dirty as theirs."
"And if I don't, they'll get suspicious and put a bullet in the back of my head."
"Life is filled with tough choices." They fell silent as the waitress returned, pouring Fusco a cup of coffee and giving Reese a warm-up.
After she'd left, Fusco leaned forward, speaking a confidential tone as he added sugar to his coffee. "I ain't spent a cent of it. When this is all over, I'll be more than happy to give it all back." He took a sip. "Any idea when that might be?"
"Nope." Reese picked up his cell, checking the history to make sure he hadn't missed a call. He hadn't.
Fusco sighed and glanced around the cafe. "So, what are you and Finch up to? Which one of these poor bastards do you got your eye on?"
"Can't a guy just get a cup of coffee?" Reese asked. Across the room, someone's cell made a sound and he automatically reached for his, but it was still dark. He frowned and looked out the window.
"What's the matter - you waiting for a call?" Fusco asked.
"Not really." Reese took another drink and prepared to leave.
"Ah, I know," Fusco said. Reese highly doubted it. "You got girl trouble." Reese gave him a dark look, but Fusco just chuckled. "Yeah, I see how it is. You met this girl and she's like nobody you've ever met before, and the two of you had an amazing night, best night of your life, and now you want to call her, but you don't want to seem needy. Or you did call her, and she ain't called you back. Am I close?"
"Close enough," Reese said, sitting back in his seat and picking up his cup again. God, what had he been reduced to, drinking coffee with Fusco and bitching about his love-life?
"You want my advice? Call her," Fusco said before Reese could interject that he did not, in fact, want any advice. "If this woman is hot enough to get you all tangled up, you can't let her get away."
"It's more complicated than that."
"Always is."
"We...we sort of...work together," Reese said, knowing that Fusco would probably be compiling a very short list and hopefully coming to the wrong conclusion. After a moment, Fusco arched an eyebrow and gave Reese a sly, sideways sort of look.
"Really? Anyone I know?"
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Reese said, unable to stop himself from checking his phone again. This was ridiculous.
"Call her," Fusco said again as his order arrived. Reese watched him pour syrup over his pancakes and pick up his fork. That was his cue to leave; the last thing he wanted was to watch Fusco eat. He started to slide out of the booth, but hesitated.
"What does it matter to you if I call her or not?"
Fusco shrugged. "I s'pose it doesn't," he said, taking a bite of his bacon, "but I noticed you didn't choke this time when you called me friend. And maybe if Carter gets laid, she'll quit giving me such a hard time about everything." Reese kept his expression carefully neutral, neither confirming nor denying Fusco's suspicions. After a moment, Fusco waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, be that way. I'll just ask Carter."
"Good luck with that," Reese said, unable to suppress a chuckle as he imagined Carter's expression. He slid out of the booth, picked up his phone, and pulled a wadded up twenty out of his pocket, dropping it on the table. "Enjoy your breakfast, Lionel," he said, giving the detective a hearty thump on the back as he left, almost spilling his coffee.
Outside, he started walking back to his loft, though he initially headed in the opposite direction. He wound his way up and down the busy streets, checking for tails in the reflection of store windows, entering a bookstore and slipping unnoticed out the back, jogging down a long, narrow alleyway and emerging into the wan sunlight on a quiet street. He checked for traffic, then crossed over to his building.
Once inside, he started the coffee brewing, not because he wanted any but because if he didn't do something constructive he'd end up pacing. He ended up pacing anyway as the coffeemaker percolated in the background. Finally, he sank down on his sofa, pulled out his phone, and sighed. Maybe Fusco was right - maybe he should just call Finch and get this over with. At least if Finch flat out told him that it was never going to happen, he could quit wondering. He pulled up Finch's number, but hesitated. What would he say?
Maybe he didn't need to say anything. Instead, he sent a text, just a simple My place, 10 pm. He waited for a response, an acknowledgement, but his phone remained silent. He decided to believe that the silence was an answer in itself. If Finch wasn't coming, he'd let Reese know. To stand him up would be rude, and Finch was anything but rude. With that in mind, Reese poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his jacket, and headed out. He had shopping to do.
It took him most of the day to find what he was looking for, but that still left him with way too much time to kill. He cleaned a little, changed his clothes, placed the items he'd purchased in strategic locations, picked at his dinner, changed his clothes again, reconsidered this whole insane idea, took a shower, and changed his clothes for a third time. He wondered if Finch had any idea how crazy he made Reese.
He was standing at the window, staring down at the dark street below, when the long, black town car pulled up at the curb and Finch climbed out of the back. Reese breathed a sigh of relief that fogged up the cool window glass.
Grinning like a fool, he quickly lowered the heavy shades over the windows and adjusted the lighting, turning it down so they wouldn't be backlit, silhouetted against the shades. He checked his hair in the mirror, adjusted his slacks, and made sure all the buttons on his shirt were done up, all except for the top three at the collar. He went back to the window and peeked out around the shade. The town car was gone. Heart pounding in his chest, he headed for the door, then stopped himself, wiping his sweaty palms on the seat of his pants. God, he hadn't felt this nervous since he'd tried to work up the courage to ask Jessica out.
Actually, no - he'd been more nervous the night he met Stanton, but that was a different kind of nerves, the kind that stems from not knowing if you're going to make it out of a situation alive. He supposed that fit, too, though. He'd been lucky Finch hadn't decided to fire him after what he'd done, and if he screwed this up...
Reese glanced at his watch and frowned. The car had pulled up almost fifteen minutes ago. It was after ten. Where was Finch? He took a step toward the door, but stopped, a hollowness opening up in the pit of his stomach. What if Finch had changed his mind? Reese hadn't been watching. He could have gotten back in the car and left.
Reese stalked over to the counter where his cell was charging and checked his messages. Nothing. He hesitated a moment, then typed Where are you? and sent it. He set the cell down, running a hand back through his hair as he turned away. The phone beeped, alerting him to an incoming text and he snatched it up.
In the hall.
Reese frowned and glanced toward his door. Why?
Nervous, came the reply, along with a sad face. Reese found himself smiling at the simple yet evocative use of the colon and open parenthesis.
Me too, Reese sent back. Afraid you wouldn't come.
I want this. Want you. Just a little scared. First time.
As he typed, Reese made his way over to the door, leaning against the reinforced steel. I know. I'll be gentle. Want you to enjoy it. He rested his head against the door and sighed. Want to come in now?
Yes.
Reese put the phone in his pocket and unlocked the door before pulling it open. Finch stood there, his face red, his eyes wide, a visible tremor shaking him as he limped into the loft.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," Finch said. He was carrying an expensive-looking, brushed suede satchel, which he clutched in both white-knuckled hands.
"That's all right," Reese said, closing the door. The noise made Finch jump. "Would you like to have a seat?"
"Thank you." He took a step toward one of Reese's lounge chairs, then stopped and turned toward the sofa. He glanced at the bed, his face reddening, and turned back to the sofa. He sank down not quite in the middle and set his satchel on the floor beside his feet. His fingers plucked at imaginary lint on his trousers, his throat working convulsively as he tried to swallow.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Reese offered.
Finch gave his head a small shake, but said, "Water, or whatever you have."
"I have a forty-year old bottle of scotch," Reese said, arching an eyebrow.
Finch seemed to hesitate. "I don't normally, but...I think I probably should."
"I agree," Reese said, crossing into the kitchen area and taking the bottle down out of a cupboard, along with two thick-bottomed tumblers. He poured each of them a drink, then put the bottle away. He wanted Finch to relax, not get drunk and pass out. Moving slowly, he walked over to Finch, handed him the glass, and sat down beside him on the sofa, careful to leave almost a foot of neutral space between them. Reese sipped his drink and watched Finch gulp his, swallowing it down like it was cough medicine. Finch stared down at the empty glass, taking deliberately slow, deep breaths.
"Harold," Reese said softly, but Finch tensed as though Reese had shouted at him. "If you don't want to do this-"
"I do," Finch said quickly. "I do. I just..."
"It's your first time."
Finch nodded.
"I won't hurt you," Reese whispered. God, he just wanted to hold the man, to comfort and reassure him.
"I- I know you won't," Finch said, still looking down at the tumbler in his hands. "It's just...my neck and my hip...and I'm more than few years older than you and...and I don't have any experience. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want you to be disappointed..."
Reese swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and reached over, taking the glass from Finch. He set it and his own on the hardwood floor, then leaned close, one hand cupping Finch's cheek as he kissed him, just a tender brush of the lips.
"You could never disappoint me," Reese said. "Whatever we do or don't do will be completely up to you. I'm just happy that you're here."
"Do you have a list of options?" Finch asked. "Because frankly, I don't even know where to begin."
"That's okay," Reese said. "I do. And the rest we can figure out together." He kissed him again and this time, Finch reciprocated. Reese drew back, picked up the tumblers off the floor, and stood. "All right, I want you to go into the bathroom and take off your shoes, socks, and pants. There's a robe hanging on the back of the door for you."
"Just my pants?" Finch asked, arching an eyebrow as he rose from the sofa.
"For now," Reese said with a crooked smile. "Unless you want to take it all off. Your choice." Finch looked uncertain, but he headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Reese immediately kicked off his shoes and removed his socks, rolling up his sleeves as he padded barefoot across the room to the kitchen. From under the sink, he pulled a plastic basin. He filled it halfway with hot water, sprinkled in some lavender-scented bath salts and added a splash of rose oil. He carried it over to the sofa and placed it on a towel on the floor. Behind the couch, he had hidden a small paper bag from Bed, Bath & Beyond, filled with various tools and implements for this particular ice-breaking activity.
Finch was in the bathroom so long, if it had had a window, Reese would have started to suspect Finch had crawled through it and made a run for it. Finally, the door opened and Finch limped out, wrapped in the new burgundy robe Reese had bought for him. Reese could see his bare legs beneath the robe, but whatever else he might or might not have on was a mystery. One that Reese would solve in due time, but not yet, Reese reminded himself. He beckoned Finch over.
"What is this?" Finch asked, stopping beside the basin and regarding it with a slight frown.
"Well, while I was shaving your legs that night, I couldn't help but notice that your feet could use some TLC as well. So I'm going to give you a pedicure and a foot massage."
"Oh, John," Finch said, his cheeks turning pink as he huffed indignantly.
"C'mon, step into the water," Reese said. "Or would you rather go straight to the bed?" Reese had never seen Finch move so fast. In a moment, he was standing ankle-deep in the hot water, a reaction that Reese found oddly endearing. Finch sat down on the sofa, primly pulling his robe closed over his thighs, making Reese wonder what, if anything, he was wearing underneath. Boxers? Briefs? Those lacy silk panties he'd worn with Reese? Reese felt himself getting hard and quickly pushed the thought aside. Finch needed his undivided attention.
Kneeling down, Reese ran a hand up one of Finch's shins, feeling the dark stubble against his palm, about a month's worth of growth, he guessed. "Would you mind if I shaved your legs again while your feet soak?"
"You don't have to," Finch said quietly, unable to meet Reese's gaze. Reese put his hand on Finch's knee, waiting until the older man looked at him.
"I want to," he said. "Even if it's not a particular turn-on for me, I want to be a part of whatever turns you on. And to be honest, I did enjoy it."
"Well...all right, then," Finch said, though he still looked embarrassed as hell. Reese smiled and dug into the bag, pulling out a washcloth, a new razor, and a can of raspberry-scented shaving foam. After wetting one of Finch's legs with the cloth, he spread the foam over his skin and went to work. When he was done, he used the cloth to wash off the foam residue, then did the other leg.
"There; all done," Reese said, gathering up the supplies and taking them in to the kitchen sink. When he came back, Finch was leaned forward, one hand gliding up and down his smooth shin, his lips parted slightly, a blissful look on his face. He caught Reese watching him and quickly sat back, folding his hands in his lap again. "It's okay to touch them," Reese murmured teasingly, kneeling down again. He reached out, trailing his fingers over Finch's knee, down the curve of his calf, to where his ankle disappeared into the water, making Finch draw a shaking breath. "Is that someplace you like to be touched?" Reese asked, all teasing aside.
Finch nodded and Reese gently stroked back up his leg, Finch swallowing hard and shifting slightly on the couch.
"I'll keep that in mind," Reese promised. "For now, your feet." He lifted the first out of the water and set it on the towel, patting it dry before reaching into the bag for a pumice stone. He rubbed at the calluses, the thick skin sloughing off, leaving Finch's feet slightly pink in places, but much softer. Reese pulled clippers and a file out of the bag, clipped each nail, filed them, and pushed back his cuticles. Next, he fished out a tube of moisturizing foot lotion and massaged it into Finch's skin, his strong thumbs rubbing circles against the arch that had Finch leaning back on the sofa and groaning with pleasure. He did the same for the other foot, finding calluses in strange places thanks to Finch's limp. Finch was almost catatonic - if he'd been a cat, he'd have been purring - and didn't move when Reese finally set his foot down on the towel.
"I'll be right back," Reese said, climbing to his feet and picking up the basin of now cold water. "Don't go anywhere." Finch made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and Reese grinned to himself as he carried the basin to the kitchen and dumped it in the sink. He wasn't worried about Finch falling asleep. He had one more surprise in that bag.
"Harold, I need you to spread your legs," Reese said, going to his knees again in front of the older man. Finch's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking uneasy as Reese's hands slid up his legs, trying to coax them apart.
"Now?" Finch asked, hands clutching at the bottom of his robe to keep it closed.
"No, not that," Reese said with a chuckle. "Just open your legs and lift your good one up a bit." Finch looked confused, but he did as Reese asked. Sliding between Finch's legs, Reese sat on the floor with his back to the sofa and let Finch's knee rest on his shoulder, his foot on Reese's thigh. He reached over, taking Finch's damaged leg in hand and carefully lifting it into place on the other shoulder.
"This is...an interesting position you have us in, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "I'm not sure I understand how this is supposed to work."
"It's simple," Reese said, pulling the bag closer and pulling out a pair of pink, foam toe separators. "You sit there and I sit here while I paint your toenails." He tried to work the foam in between Finch's toes, but Finch twitched his foot away, his toes curling.
"I beg your pardon? You're going to do what?"
"Paint your nails," Reese said again, as though it were no big deal. "I figured you'd have trouble doing it yourself. Now relax your feet or you'll undo all the good I did with that massage."
"But John-" Finch started, only to fall silent as Reese slid a hand over the curve of his calf, caressing the smooth skin down to the back of his ankle.
"Do you not want your toenails painted?" Reese asked, his voice soft. "I thought it would be a good place to start, something intimate without being strictly sexual, but if you don't want me to-"
"I- I would," Finch said, "I just...I can't believe you went through all this trouble...for me."
"It was a lot of trouble," Reese said, stroking the top of Finch's foot. "You wouldn't believe how many shops I visited to find all this stuff, all the weird looks I got, but you know what? I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it would make you happy."
"Oh, John..." Finch whispered, his toes uncurling. Reese eased the foam between them, then reached into the bag for the last three items.
"I wasn't sure what color you'd like, so I bought a couple. This one is called First Kiss." He held up a bottle of pearly pink polish for Finch to see. The older man didn't comment and after a moment Reese brought it back down. "This one is Bordeaux." He held up the bottle of rich burgundy. "And this one is Black Cherry." He showed Finch the dark, dark red. "Do you have a preference?"
"Bordeaux," Finch replied without hesitation and Reese grinned. The second his gaze had stopped on the dark little bottle, he'd known it was Finch. He had bought the other two as an afterthought, just in case he was wrong. He gave the bottle a shake and twisted it open, scraping the excess polish off on the inside edge of the bottle before painting a rich, glossy stripe up the center of Finch's big toenail. "Yes, that's lovely," Finch said, looking over his shoulder. "The pink wouldn't have shown up very well and the red is too dark for my skin tone. It would look good next to yours, though."
Reese paused, considering. Why the hell not? "Sure," he said with a grin. "You can paint mine when I'm done with yours."
"That's not- I didn't- I was just-"
"Take a breath, Harold," Reese said with a chuckle. "This is supposed to be relaxing. So relax. Tonight is about exploring new things and pushing our boundaries, and that goes for me, too." Finch didn't answer, but neither did he argue, so Reese counted it as a win. He turned his attention back to Finch's toes, applying the polish with slow, smooth strokes.
"Have you done this before?" Finch asked, still watching over Reese's shoulder.
"A couple of times," Reese said, dipping the brush back into the bottle. "Jessica."
"Ah."
After a moment, Reese felt Finch lean back, the muscles in his legs slowly relaxing. Reese finished with the first foot and put the lid back on the nail polish, setting it aside as he took Finch's foot in both hands and began to run his thumbs up and down the top of Finch's foot, his fingertips pressing into the arch. Behind him, Finch groaned.
With a mischievous smirk, Reese turned his head, regarding Finch's leg hooked over his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the soft skin in the crook of his knee.
"Oh!" Finch gasped, then added, almost shyly, "I- I like that." Wanting to encourage more sharing, Reese kissed him again, slow and lingering, letting his lips caress Finch's skin, the scent of raspberries tickling his nose. Sliding one hand up Finch's leg, he parted his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the crook of Finch's knee, making him shiver and squirm. Trying for a more verbal reaction, Reese opened his mouth wider, teeth scraping flesh as he licked and sucked, intent upon leaving his mark on the fair skin.
"Good grief, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sounding out of breath, his voice strained. "If you keep that up, your robe will need to be laundered."
Reese smiled against the side of Finch's knee, pleased that he was having such an effect on the man, and scaled back his efforts, trailing his fingertips up and down Finch's leg as he softly kissed the inside of his knee. "So," he said after a moment, "I thought it might be a good idea to discuss our preferences beforehand, so things don't get awkward or uncomfortable after we start."
"That's very practical of you."
"I thought you might appreciate that," Reese said and nuzzled the back of Finch's calf. "Would you like to go first?"
"I...I don't have any preferences," Finch said. "I mean, I'm sure I do, but I don't know what they are."
"All right, I'll start," Reese said. "Main one - top or bottom? I've been both. I'm a tender top, but a demanding bottom, so if you want to fuck me, you better be ready to ride me hard and leave me in need of that cushion you bought me after I was shot, and if your hip can't tolerate such strenuous activity, I'll buy you a big rubber cock and you can drill my ass with it." He paused, lips hovering over Finch's skin, waiting for a reaction.
"Well," Finch said, his voice strained, "that was certainly...candid. And graphic."
"No sense in being less than honest with each other," Reese said. "I will always tell you what I want, and I hope you'll feel comfortable enough to do the same."
"And if I can't give you what you want, if I'm not capable, what then?"
"Do you really think I'd leave you if you couldn't fuck me senseless?" Reese asked, looking back over his shoulder. "I'm not unreasonable, Harold. I'll be happy with anything you can give me. I just want you to know the things that I would like."
Finch made a quiet, thoughtful sound, but that was all.
After a moment, Reese asked, "So, what about you? Top or bottom?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"Well, think about it. Would you rather I hold you in my arms, kissing you as I fill you with my hard cock, or do you want to pin me against the sheets, my helpless cries of pleasure filling the room as you pound into my tight ass until you explode inside me? Which of those sounds like more fun to you?"
"Good Lord, John!" Finch exclaimed. "Are you trying to make me..." He seemed to struggle for the words. "Lose my dignity?"
"I do know my way around a washing machine," Reese teased, returning to mouthing the crease behind Finch's knee.
"I believe my toes are dry now," Finch said, pulling away slightly. Reese backed off, turning his attention to the dark, glossy burgundy toenails. He blew gently on the polish, just to be sure, before reaching down and touching a fingertip to one toenail.
"You're right, although you'll need to be careful until the polish sets." He eased the foam spacer out from between Finch's toes and moved it to the other foot. "I thought we could use the second one of these for me," he explained. "Not that I think you have athlete's foot or anything - I wouldn't care, but I thought you might."
"Yes, I can be rather particular about hygiene," Finch said, his dry voice washing over the back of Reese's neck. "Are you certain you want to put up with me?"
"Harold, there's nothing you could do that would drive me away. So don't even try," he added with a laugh. He gave the bottle of nail polish a shake and began painting the other foot. When he was finished, he carefully lowered Finch's legs and stood up. He stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders before picking up the bottle of deep, dark red and climbing onto the couch. He sat against the arm, his legs stretched across the seat, his feet in Finch's lap. Finch stiffened as Reese's heels nudged a part of his anatomy that was already pretty stiff, and Reese couldn't repress his mischievous nature. He handed Finch the bottle of polish and the toe separator, smirking as he rubbed the side of one foot against Finch's erection.
"You're going to wind up with painted toe knuckles if you keep that up," Finch admonished, shifting Reese's feet a little farther from his crotch. Reese just smiled and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, resting his head on the back as he watched Finch. The polish felt cold on his toenails, but he wasn't really interested in that. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the older man, captivated by the small frown that creased his brow, the intensity in his stare, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
When Finch had finished with the first foot, he twisted the lid back on the bottle and balanced it on the arm of the couch. He stared down at Reese's feet, one hand resting lightly on Reese's ankle, his fingers tapping absently against his skin.
"Something on your mind?" Reese asked after several minutes of thoughtful silence.
Finch gave his head one small nod. "I...I think..." Reese braced himself, ready for the worst. "I think I might like to suck your cock, Mr. Reese."
Reese gasped, Finch's words eliciting a shudder that shook him to his core and almost caused a mess in his trousers.
Finch glanced over at him, his face red. "I was thinking about what you said about preferences, and I think that is something I'd like to try. If you want me to, that is."
"Want you to?" Reese repeated, breathless. "Just hearing you say it almost made me come." Finch looked embarrassed, but a pleased little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Since we're on the subject, how do you feel about me coming in your mouth?"
"Oh, I- I don't know," Finch said. "What does it taste like?"
"Mine? Or semen in general?"
"In general, I suppose."
"You've never-"
"I told you, I haven't-"
"But not even your own?"
Finch gave him a Why the hell would I do that? sort of look. "No, I haven't."
"Well," Reese said, "it's sort of...salty, and a little bitter sometimes. I knew one guy who tasted faintly of almonds."
"Oh," Finch said and a slight frown creased his brow. "I never really thought about you with other men."
"There were a few," Reese said, watching him closely. "Does it make you jealous?"
"No," Finch replied with a snort of contempt.
"Too bad. I think I might like you jealous."
Finch gave him a quick glance, another small smile quirking the corner of his mouth as he looked away.
"What about that thing I did to you that first night, licking you back there," he said with a slight nod to Finch's rear, because he thought the phrase 'tongue-fucking your asshole' might be a bit too much for Finch to handle. "It's called rimming, by the way."
"I- I couldn't do that," Finch said, shaking his head. Then he glanced over at Reese. "I mean, I could try, if you wanted me to..."
"No," Reese said. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything that you don't want to do. Really, there are only three things that I need from you; the rest is negotiable."
"What things?"
"I need to be kissed," Reese said. "I love kissing. And I need to be held. I won't completely smother you, but I do crave physical contact."
"All right," Finch said. "I think I can manage that. And the third thing?"
"I need to feel your cock inside me. What I said about fucking me hard - that's optional, but I need to know you're willing to top once in a while, even if all you do is lie there and let me sit on your dick."
"What colorful language you have," Finch said, his whole face turning the same shade as his burgundy bathrobe. "Yes, if this battered body can physically manage, I am willing."
"Good," Reese said with a smile. "And what do you need from me?"
"Discretion," Finch said immediately, and then seemed to regret it. "Not that I think you're a gossip, but you do enjoy teasing me, and I just need to know that certain things will be off-limits."
"Of course, Harold," Reese said. "This is our secret. I don't want to share it with anyone else."
"All right. I guess I need your patience as well. This is very new to me. Please don't be disappointed if-"
"Never," Reese said. "You could never disappoint me. Ever since you told me you were a virgin, I can't stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you, all the things I want to show you, all the ways I want to please you. Believe me, I will not be disappointed."
"That's what I'm talking about," Finch said, glancing over at him. "What if I can't live up to this idealized virgin you've created?"
"Harold, fantasies are always flashier and more glamorous than reality, but they have no substance. You can't hold them, you can't taste them. I would rather have the most boring reality than the most perfect fantasy."
"Well, that's what you're getting," Finch said. "Boring reality."
Reese chuckled. "I think you'll surprise yourself, my little bird."
Finch gave him a funny look.
"What?" Reese said with a one-shoulder shrug. "So I've spent some time considering terms of endearment. Little bird sounded better than pumpkin or snookums."
Finch snorted with laughter. "By all means, if you must, little bird is clearly the best choice. And what should I call you?"
"I don't care, just call me. Although I wouldn't be opposed to John, God of Sex or Love Machine." That made Finch laugh again, which gave Reese an unexpected feeling, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It had been a long time and was something he'd never expected to feel again. He gazed at Finch, a slow, contented smile creeping across his face.
"I think you're dry," Finch said, testing the polish on Reese's toes. He switched the toe separator to the other foot and got to work. Finished, he leaned back against the couch with a sigh.
"Neck hurt?" Reese asked, lifting his feet out of Finch's lap and carefully swinging them around to rest on the floor.
"A little," Finch said. "It always hurts after a long day."
Careful not to smudge his shiny red toes, Reese shifted closer to Finch, his heel bumping against the black suede satchel leaning against the front of the sofa. "What's in the bag?" Reese asked.
"A surprise," Finch said, suddenly blushing again.
Reese arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I have a few of those hidden around here, too. When do I get to see the surprise?"
"I could show you now...if you want," Finch said, and it was all Reese could do not to throw himself at the adorably shy man.
"Not just yet," Reese said, his voice low and husky. "Kiss me first."
"Oh...um...okay," Finch said, shifting his stiff upper body to face Reese. Reese leaned slowly toward him, noting his nervous fidgeting. Their lips met and a soft moan escaped him. One hand rising up to cup Finch's face, he deepened the kiss, his tongue flirting against Finch's, trying to coax him into reciprocating. After a moment, he felt Finch's tongue slide over his, sending a shiver racing through him. Drawing back, he gasped for breath.
"May I have my surprise now?" he asked playfully. Finch nodded, seemingly unable to speak, and stood up, taking an awkward step as he realized he still had the spacer between his toes. Reese leaned down and removed it, dropping it back into the empty paper bag on the floor. Finch picked up his satchel and headed for the bathroom.
"I'll be right back," he said, and shut the door.
Twenty minutes later, Reese's toenails were dry and he was anxiously pacing in front of the couch. He'd already gone to the door twice to ask if Finch was okay. Both times he'd been sent away with the assurance that Finch was 'almost ready'. There was a rather curious and uneven click click...click click sound emanating from the bathroom as well. Remembering that Finch had asked for his patience, he forced himself to sit back down to wait, only to spring up as the bathroom door opened.
A/N: Here is the link to the second part: Bordeaux and Black Cherry -- Part 2
Psst, it's where all the smut is, lol