Harold/Nathan: RainsilvreyOctober 4 2012, 05:11:29 UTC
It's been a long day of work for Nathan, of people, but Harold gets home at the loft at 8pm sharp and it isn't at all late for him.
The sky is dark and heavy when Nathan decides to visit, but he forgets his umbrella in the rush and is caught in a downpour four blocks away. When he finally arrives, fumbling the key in his haste, he's utterly drenched.
Harold welcomes the out-of-breath, dripping giant to his abode with a measured stare that takes everything in, and no one says "I didn't know you were dropping by tonight."
Reese/Finch: Power OutsilvreyOctober 4 2012, 05:35:56 UTC
Silk slides through his fingers. Wool: thick, yet supple. Cotton, buttoned all the way to the throat.
Sometimes, Reese knows that his actions are wrong; at others, he only pretends to be unaware. With needs we are given desires, and from desires come gifts. John knows not to waste them.
In the evening, with the power out, Reese undresses the man he has been given. Finch is in the adjacent room, still sleeping the drugs off, but more than sleep he needs this.
Root may have torn her way in, but Reese has a duty to sew him back up again.
Finch/Fusco: FoodsilvreyOctober 4 2012, 05:52:16 UTC
"It's a pretzel," Fusco says, breaking off a piece. "D'you want one?"
"No thanks." Finch is perched on the other end of the bench, hands on his knees and swaddled in a thick winter coat. He couldn't look less like he wanted to be here if he tried.
"Suit yourself." It disappears in no time, until Fusco's only flicking the last bits of salt from his fingers. "So, seen our guy?"
"Yes, Detective." And only mentioned it after an hour in the freezing cold. Naturally.
Harold/Nathan: LovesilvreyOctober 6 2012, 12:34:56 UTC
He's awake, and it's been 18 hours, and he's been awake too long.
When he was twelve, his dog slipped the leash. Yesterday - today - he lost another chain holding him to the ground.
Maybe he should feel free, untied. Instead, he gets out of bed, wears the same clothes, goes to the office.
Like being unburdened was in itself a settled weight in his brain.
Everything is too the-same, everything except he couldn't sleep, and he finds himself unable to get comfortable in his chair; the computer fan is too loud; the paper next to him is too unstirred.
Harold/Nathan: FixingsilvreyOctober 25 2012, 21:51:04 UTC
Nathan has his hands on his chest and could be asleep, but he's above the sheets and it's an unusual position to choose for it.
"What are you doing?"
A slow exhale through his mouth, which quirks upward in response. "I'm meditating."
Harold looks at him, still laid out with eyes closed. "Sure."
"It relaxes you, Harry." Inhale, perceptible rise of his chest. "Give it a try."
When Harold finally agrees, he lies on his own bed focusing on his breathing, and as he disowns every thought, his brain manifests Nathan's voice as the touch of sheets all around him.
Comments 6
The sky is dark and heavy when Nathan decides to visit, but he forgets his umbrella in the rush and is caught in a downpour four blocks away. When he finally arrives, fumbling the key in his haste, he's utterly drenched.
Harold welcomes the out-of-breath, dripping giant to his abode with a measured stare that takes everything in, and no one says "I didn't know you were dropping by tonight."
Reply
Sometimes, Reese knows that his actions are wrong; at others, he only pretends to be unaware. With needs we are given desires, and from desires come gifts. John knows not to waste them.
In the evening, with the power out, Reese undresses the man he has been given. Finch is in the adjacent room, still sleeping the drugs off, but more than sleep he needs this.
Root may have torn her way in, but Reese has a duty to sew him back up again.
Reply
"No thanks." Finch is perched on the other end of the bench, hands on his knees and swaddled in a thick winter coat. He couldn't look less like he wanted to be here if he tried.
"Suit yourself." It disappears in no time, until Fusco's only flicking the last bits of salt from his fingers. "So, seen our guy?"
"Yes, Detective." And only mentioned it after an hour in the freezing cold. Naturally.
"Who?"
"The pretzel vendor."
Reply
When he was twelve, his dog slipped the leash. Yesterday - today - he lost another chain holding him to the ground.
Maybe he should feel free, untied. Instead, he gets out of bed, wears the same clothes, goes to the office.
Like being unburdened was in itself a settled weight in his brain.
Everything is too the-same, everything except he couldn't sleep, and he finds himself unable to get comfortable in his chair; the computer fan is too loud; the paper next to him is too unstirred.
Reply
"What are you doing?"
A slow exhale through his mouth, which quirks upward in response. "I'm meditating."
Harold looks at him, still laid out with eyes closed. "Sure."
"It relaxes you, Harry." Inhale, perceptible rise of his chest. "Give it a try."
When Harold finally agrees, he lies on his own bed focusing on his breathing, and as he disowns every thought, his brain manifests Nathan's voice as the touch of sheets all around him.
Reply
Leave a comment