A/N: Before and during Episode 2.10 “Shadow Box.” Spoiler alert!
And yes, I realize I should be writing one of my many in-process stories instead, but this scenario was just too yummy to pass up… Merry Ch-Reese-mas!
WARNING: Smut ahead!
“Did I miss anything?” Reese asked as he walked back into the main office of the library, a bag of microwave popcorn in one hand and a large bowl in the other. Bear looked up from his chew toy expectantly, but when he realized that no handout was forthcoming, he settled back down on his bed.
“No, she hasn’t arrived at the restaurant yet. Detective Beecher, however, is already seated at the table.”
Finch’s fingers flew across his keyboard to reveal a grainy, black-and-white image of the man in the restaurant.
“Is that the best angle you can get?”
“Unfortunately, the other two working cameras are trained on the cash register and bar, respectively; the rest are dummies.”
“Well, at least we’ll get good audio from Carter’s phone.”
“And I should be able to bluejack Beecher’s using hers; then we’ll have stereo.” Finch took a handful of the warm popcorn and munched on it. “Mmm, this is good.”
“It’s my own secret recipe,” Reese said with a demure grin, settling into the other chair before taking a sip of his root beer. “What’s their menu like?”
“A lot of seafood. Reasonably priced for being right across the street from Central Park, actually. He’s trying to impress her, but not breaking the bank to do so.”
“Italian seafood… Does Carter like seafood?”
“Well, she agreed to this location. We’ll see if she’s familiar with their fare soon enough – here she comes.”
Finch enlarged another window on his computer, this time a street cam that showed Carter walking into the restaurant. Reese reached over to grab a handful of popcorn and ate it contemplatively as the couple on the screen exchanged pleasantries.
“I just hope he treats her right,” he remarked during a lull in their conversation. “Carter deserves a good man – not just some ‘playa’.”
“Oh, I concur,” Finch mumbled around a mouthful.
They watched and listened as Carter and Beecher ordered their dinner and talked about their families, their work, and their hobbies – the last two items being one and the same for Carter. After finishing his half of the popcorn, Finch leaned in, resting his chin on his palms and his elbows on the desk. Reese observed his wistful profile for a minute, then deliberately broke the silence.
“What’s the worst pick-up line you ever used?”
“Pick-up line?” Finch echoed. “You mean, one that worked?”
“Didn’t have to work,” Reese answered with a quick lift of his eyebrows that served as a shrug.
Finch considered it for a moment before answering.
“‘Hello. Would you like an ice cream cone?’”
Reese felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest but kept his expression serene.
“Did it work?”
“Amazingly, it did.”
“Huh. That’s pretty impressive, Harold.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reese. So… what was yours?”
“‘Care to give a soldier a ride?’”
“No finesse, I know, but it worked.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter what you say when you’re tall, dark, and handsome – and a soldier,” Finch retorted.
Reese cocked his head to one side and regarded Finch with interest. “Really? You think I’m ‘tall, dark, and handsome’?”
“Oh, please, John – as if anybody would think otherwise.” Finch tried to cover his embarrassment by picking up his bottle of root beer, but his hands were trembling.
“I’m flattered, Harold – really, I am,” Reese told him in his soft, insinuating voice. “I had no idea you found me… attractive.”
Finch opened his mouth to protest that he had never said those exact words, but – remembering his promise to never lie to the other man – he could not bring himself to deny it. And at any rate, he was distracted by Reese running his fingers over the back of his hand that lay on the armrest, combing through his hairs which were now standing on end.
“It means a lot to me, coming from someone like you… a man of obvious taste and… refinement,” Reese continued, almost purring the words. “So then, if you were taking me out on a date, where would we go?”
Finch, his mouth dry, could barely stammer out a reply. “I… uh… I have no idea. For you, a gun show, I suppose, or a shooting range…”
“I said a date, Harold, not a training session.”
“But… wouldn’t you enjoy something to do with firearms?”
“That’s not the sort of ‘gun’ I’d be interested in on a date.”
The smirk on Reese’s face as he said so left no doubt as to what he meant.
“Well, ah… It’s not like I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it,” was Finch’s careful response. “Maybe a… a private ski lodge upstate?”
“Now you’re talking,” Reese said encouragingly, sitting up and leaning closer to Finch. Their chairs were already pushed together, affording them both a good view of the computer screen (which was now being ignored), so Finch was startled by the sudden proximity of the younger man’s face to his own. Carter and Beecher finished their appetizers and started their main entrées in relative privacy.
“Somewhere quiet, you know, to get away from the city,” Finch continued, desperately attempting to make his suggestion sound more like a company retreat than a romantic getaway. “You could ski or snowboard or whatever, on a hillside all to yourself, while I curled up in front of a roaring fire with a few good books.”
“Mmm… sounds cozy. Maybe I should join you in front of the fireplace.”
“Ah… if you’d like…”
“And while you’re reading your book, I could find some other way to… amuse myself…”
The mischievous twinkling in Reese’s eyes boded nothing good. He let his gaze slowly travel down the length of Finch’s body, linger on his crotch, and then lick back up to his face again before elaborating.
“You know how fond I am of guns… and how good I am at… giving them a thorough cleaning…”
Finch gaped at him in shock. One part of his brain had deciphered exactly what sort of message Reese was sending him, while the rest of his brain simply refused to believe it.
“Last question,” Reese announced, moving even closer to whisper in Finch’s disbelieving ear. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
“Two…” Finch gulped. “No, closer to three years ago…”
“That’s too long… And the sad thing is, it’s been even longer for me…”
Finch started when he felt something wet and hot touch his earlobe. He tried to back away, to lean toward the other armrest of his chair, but Reese had already grabbed his shoulders and held him immobile.
“Harold…” he sighed, his warm breath on his skin sending shivers down Finch’s spine. “I need this… just as much as you do. We’ve both been living like monks, working ourselves to the bone, as if we’re paying a penance for our past sins… but we can’t go on like this forever. We’re only human. We need some time to unwind… to feel connected… to love and be loved…”
With each phrase, Finch’s defenses were torn apart and cast aside, bit by bit, until he realized that Reese’s hands were not confining him so much as caressing him. When Reese ceased talking and began kissing, Finch was ready; he turned to face Reese so he could properly kiss him on the lips, not just his cheek. Finch closed his eyes and opened his mouth; by so doing he opened his very soul to the other man. It was an unconscious and ultimate expression of trust, which he had secretly wanted to do for a long time.
Reese exercised all of his self-restraint in not plundering the mouth that was offered to him, but rather savoring it, tasting the other man with his tongue as a connoisseur might a fine wine. He explored the contours of his teeth, committing the outline to his memory, and found a strange anomaly. At that point he was pushed away by Finch, who seemed to be flailing.
“I—ah—I’m sorry,” Finch gasped, already flushed bright red. “Corn hull… from popcorn… Need a toothpick or floss to get it out…”
“Finch… Harold,” Reese said soothingly while preventing him from pulling away and getting out of his chair. “It’s all right – allow me.”
“Wh—What?” Finch asked, confused and flustered.
“I’m good at cleaning things, remember?” Reese teased, then drew their mouths together again. As Finch’s unfocused eyes bulged in shock, Reese worked at the stubborn piece of hull with the tip of his tongue, dislodging it from between Finch’s tooth and gum.
“Got it,” Reese declared at last, sticking out his tongue to show the trophy on the end.
“Oh, yes,” Finch murmured, unsure whether to be more aroused or embarrassed, but the next moment Reese had withdrawn his tongue and swallowed the offending piece. “Oh, gross!”
“What? It’s just corn,” Reese said with mild amusement.
“But it was stuck between my teeth,” Finch protested in horror. Reese only shrugged.
“I don’t mind. Unless you want it back?”
Laughing at Finch’s expression, Reese slipped out of his chair and knelt on the floor in front of him.
“Okay then – I’m ready to show you how I’d clean your gun. If you think a piece of corn stuck in your mouth is gross, I’m guessing this would be… downright filthy.”
As he said this, he groped the bulge in the front of Finch’s trousers. It had been growing steadily through their tongue-tangling session although it had suddenly lost steam when Reese had ingested the food particle; however, cupped in the warmth of his hand, it now twitched with renewed interest.
“John, what on earth… you can’t possibly mean…” Finch babbled, trailing off when Reese unbuttoned his trousers and carefully pulled down the zipper.
“Yes… I’ll have to be sure to clean it… very thoroughly…” Reese mumbled as though to himself. His deft fingers pulled out the already swollen organ and held it upright while his eyes appreciatively measured its potential. “Mmm… Nice and hot and… juicy.”
He emphasized the last word since Finch was leaking pre-cum. Reese used the pad of his thumb to swirl the fluid around the cockhead, and the soft, slippery sensation made the penis grow larger, harder, and straighter, the balls drawing up in anticipation of pleasure. Finch’s breathing became labored as Reese continued to fondle his genitals, stroking the thick shaft with one hand while massaging the balls with the other.
“R—Ree—Reese,” Finch panted, his hands wandering helplessly over Reese’s; he could not decide whether he wanted to reject Reese’s attentions or not, and his motions reflected his ambivalence. “John… you… you’re not going to… to…” – he made a jerking gesture at his exposed manhood, his brows rising expressively – “…you know… are you?”
“What? You want me to stop now?” Reese asked, shooting a devilish grin up at him.
“No… No, I just… I haven’t showered since… last night…”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Not like you’ve gone out and fucked a few whores today – have you?”
“No! Of c—course not.”
“And you haven’t been messing around with Bear?”
“NO! I—I—I would never!”
“So it’s clean enough for me,” Reese declared, then proved his point by sticking his tongue out and running the tip of it all along the underside of Finch’s cock, from the base to the head. The sensation, coupled with the unbelievable sight of Reese licking his cock, left Finch helpless with raging desire. When Reese flicked the lower rim of his cockhead, titillating it with the tip of his tongue repeatedly, Finch fell back against the chair and his eyes rolled up in his head.
“Mmm… delicious,” Reese said with genuine pleasure. He liked the smell of Finch’s musk, strong now after a full day of sitting at the desk with only brief breaks when his penis was aired out at the latrine. Leaning further over Finch’s lap, Reese took the cockhead into his mouth, careful not to scratch it with his teeth, and let his saliva pool for a moment before swallowing. The startled moan that Finch made was proof of his skill.
With renewed confidence, Reese started easing his head down the cock, allowing the tip to move further into his mouth, then finally into his throat. All the while, his one hand continued to massage Finch’s balls, but his other hand – now bereft of the shaft – began stroking Finch’s inner thigh in a tender, loving gesture that also communicated something of Reese’s desire. He wanted to care for Finch, to give him pleasure and comfort; he craved that pleasure and comfort himself but was willing to make it secondary to Finch’s fulfillment; and he wanted most of all to become one with this man whom he so loved, trusted, and admired. Sucking his cock was just a small token of his feelings for Finch.
When his throat had grown accustomed to the intrusion of the meaty penis, Reese began bobbing his head up and down on the organ, occasionally pausing to swallow around it, the rush of fluid and contraction of muscle sending Finch up the stairway to ecstasy. Seeing Reese’s handsome cheeks pulled in from the suction was almost as much of a turn-on as seeing his lips molded around the cock. Finch was as hard as he had ever been in his life; he was gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white; and the sounds coming from his mouth were hardly coherent anymore.
“Oh Ja—John… Oh God… Augh! Ohh! John… Oh God… Umph, mmm, hmmm… Oh! Oh! Auwrah! Augh! Hawraughhh! Hmwrahhh!! Hm, mm, mm… Hel—Help… Oh God, I… I’m gonna… AH! AH! AHH!! AHHH!!! AAAUGHHH!!!!! AAAUGHHH!!!!! AAAUGHHH!!!!! AAAUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!”
Reese had felt the tension building in the balls so he was prepared for the violent eruption of semen in his mouth. He pushed down deeper, impaling himself further on Finch’s penis, and swallowed again and again, taking in all of Finch’s cum as well as stimulating his cockhead to ensure that every last drop would be released. Finch could not stop himself from thrusting up into that wonderful, warm cavern. His injured hip was forgotten as he concentrated on fucking Reese’s mouth, plunging into his throat, and ejaculating all of the pent-up emotions and desires of the past three years into that welcoming receptacle. It was glorious. It was magnificent. It was all Finch had ever dreamed it might be. And at the end of it, he was left as limp and exhausted as a marathon runner who had given the race every last ounce of his strength.
“Mmm,” Reese hummed with satisfaction as he sucked along the softening cock, cleaning it as he removed it from his mouth. “That was wonderful, Finch. I knew you had it in you.”
“Ungh,” was all Finch could manage.
“Rar-wohr,” came a moan from right beside Reese. Bear had been watching the proceedings with intense curiosity, even growling and groaning in his excitement, but the two men had been too engrossed in their activity to notice him.
“Sorry, Bear – Dit is mijn speelgoed [This is my toy],” Reese informed the dog in Dutch.
“I’d resent that if I weren’t so… comfortable,” Finch offered in weak protest.
“D’you think your gun is… thoroughly clean?”
“Oh-my-goodness yes,” Finch answered without hesitation.
“Good. Because now it’s my turn to get my gun cleaned.”