19. Communication

Reese called Finch immediately after terminating his call from Carter.

“Harold, I think we’ve successfully managed damage control.”

“I know – I was listening. Well done, Mr. Reese.”

“I think you ought to add acting to your resume, too, Mr. Finch, in case this gig ever dries up,” Reese teased.

“Perhaps I will… as should Detective Carter. She promised that she wouldn’t call you until after five, so I was hoping to talk to you beforehand and at least give you an idea of what I’d said. But you followed it up beautifully, Mr. Reese – I couldn’t have asked for more.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Finch. I do hope you’ll be persuaded to reward me with… several of those condoms you purchased today?”

Reese could almost see Finch blushing on the other side. “Well… I suppose I could be persuaded… although I’d mostly bought them to use as a… a prop, you know. To make my story more believable.”

I believe you, Harold,” Reese smiled, throwing one leg up on the back seat of the limo and settling into a more comfortable position. “And I’ve been dying to know… did you tell the Detective anything about our sex life?”

“None of the intimate details, John,” came the bland reply. “And you’ll be glad to know, I’ve changed the credit card details for our hotel stay and restaurant bill to match the name of John Westerton, and after paying them off I closed the account. That’s one alias you will need to lose, I’m afraid, but I can always get you another.”

“What about your alias, Harold? We can’t risk having our good Detective come back to hold you ransom.”

“Of course. I’m gathering a few of my favorite books as we speak. She’s driven away, finally, so I’ll be making my way back to the library now. The rest of the things I’ll have moved tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget the condoms,” Reese grinned.

“They’re already in my pocket,” Finch told him before disconnecting the call.


Reese swapped out the battery of his cell for the spare that Finch had given him that morning, then waited for the other man to call him back. The drive into the City would take longer than the drive out, he knew, since they would be fighting rush-hour traffic. As he waited, he could not help wondering what Finch might have been thinking when he purchased the condoms – even though he’d said they were merely props – since the bare idea of Finch paying for them at the check-out made him smirk.

Reese was still daydreaming about the possibilities with Finch and condoms when Finch called to say that he had arrived at the library and was in the process of deleting all traces of one Harold Burdett.

“So, Harold… what are you wearing?” Reese could not resist asking in a sultry, smooth voice.

“You know very well that I’m wearing the same clothes as I had on yesterday,” Finch answered tonelessly, although not unmindful of the innuendo in his words.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” Reese purred. “I was just remembering how your underwear felt when I washed them… I made sure they were thoroughly clean, you know, and rubbed every inch of them between my hands… so, in an indirect way, my hands have been touching you down there all day… caressing and rubbing you the whole time…”

Finch gulped, loudly enough that Reese could hear.

“Well, ah… that’s certainly one point of view,” he responded cautiously.

“Tell me, Harold – where do you like to be touched the most?”

“I, ah… I really haven’t given much thought to that sort of thing…”

“That’s a shame. Of course, you already know where I like to be touched, so I’d appreciate it if you’d give it some serious thought, Harold. Or better yet, we can figure it out together when I get back…”

“Yes, I suppose that would be more… accurate,” was Finch’s dry reply. “I see that you’re still well over an hour out… probably longer, considering that you’ll be driving into the City right in the middle of rush hour…”

“Do you think you can hold out that long, or are you missing me too much already?” Reese prodded, with what sounded like sincere concern.

Finch’s breath caught in his throat, and for a fraction of a second he cursed himself for promising only to speak the truth to his partner.

“I have missed you today, John,” he said softly, then hesitated, overwhelmed by the need which that statement exposed to himself first of all – a hunger that threatened to engulf him and swallow him whole. He shook it off by focusing on facts, numbers, data. “At least we can stay in continuous contact until you get back. Have you switched to the spare battery?”

“Yes,” was all Reese said for a moment. He had sensed the chasm that had opened up at Finch’s feet with his admission and wished to tread carefully lest he push the other man over the edge. “Have you finished erasing your alter ego off from the face of the planet?” he inquired with just a hint of amusement, keeping the conversation light.

“Almost, yes. As of now, John Jacob Westerton has ceased to exist. I just need to delete Mr. Burdett’s medical records…” Reese waited, listening to the quick keystrokes as Finch worked his magic. “There. I believe we have rectified the situation. I’m contracting some movers to retrieve my books from the apartment tomorrow, after which I can put the building up for sale.”

“I hope it won’t cause you too much of an inconvenience, Harold.”

“Not at all… It’s actually been frustrating to have my books spread out in different locations, although I fear consolidating them in one place is too risky in case the library is… compromised. Thankfully, I have multiple copies of my most favorite books.”

Reese noted that the light tapping sounds of the keyboard had stopped.

“Are you finished with all that now?” he checked.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Because, Harold, I want you to lean back in your chair and open up your trousers.”

Finch’s brain almost literally froze for a minute. He blinked, re-adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat (which had suddenly gone dry) before responding, “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, Harold. If it’s going to take me over an hour to get back to you, I’ll just have to do this by remote – but it won’t work unless you do exactly as I say.”

Finch considered the implied demand, while a mechanical voice in the back of his mind asked since when had he ceased to be the one in charge of this supposed partnership; however, the very memorable sensations of the previous day came crowding into the forefront of his consciousness, making demands of their own.

“Er… What do you intend to do, exactly?” Finch asked with some trepidation.

“Don’t worry, Harold – I’ll be gentle,” Reese chuckled. “And if it’s any help, I’ll be doing the same thing, too.”

“In the limo?

“Relax, Harold – the driver can’t see or hear me with the partition up. And so what if he could? I’m sure he’s seen stranger things on prom night. Anyway, Harold, I want you to get comfortable, open up your fly, and take out your wonderful… package. Are you with me so far?”

Reese listened to the other man’s slightly strained breathing as he complied, which was followed by a meek and embarrassed “Yes.”

“Good! Now, hold the package tenderly with one hand, and lick the thumb of your other hand, then rub it over the slit… back and forth, back and forth… and imagine that it’s my tongue touching you there, tasting your skin, circling around the rim…”

Finch attempted to suppress a moan but the microphone of his headset was very sensitive. Reese smiled, his own manhood responding to the stimulation of his hand as well as the vision of Finch performing the same act in the little office in the library.

“Do you like that, Harold? I wish I were really there so I could lick you all the way from the base to the tip, then put as much of you into my mouth as I can cram in! But for now, I want you to stroke yourself, making a ring with your thumb and index finger. Are you doing that for me, Harold? Up and down, up and down… Does it feel good?”

“Y—Yes…” Finch managed, his breathing already ragged.

“How fast do you usually go, Harold? Tell me how you’re doing it now.”

“Uh… Well… Up, down, up, down…”

“Harold, I want you to slow it down, just a tiny bit. Think of me crouching on the floor in front of you, tantalizing you by going slow… Can you do that?”

“Ye—heh—Yes… Now, I’m going up… and down… up…” Finch wheezed.

“That’s perfect, Harold! Just keep doing it nice and slow… You can stroke it with your whole hand if you want, but you have to imagine that it’s my hands touching you. Can you feel it? Can you feel me touching you?”

“Yes… John…”

Reese threw his head back and grinned in ecstasy. Finch was calling his name as he pleasured himself! Even though he had to do it himself one-handed, since he needed to hold the cell phone to his ear, he was certain that he was just as excited as Finch was at this point. His long member was already leaking moisture from the tip.

“Okay, now take the hand that’s supporting it, and use your fingers to knead the underside of your balls. Not all at once, but one finger at a time, like you’re playing a piano, or some other… delicate instrument… Because you are, you know – you’re like a Stradivarius, and I want to play you with the perfect touch and make you make beautiful music… Sing for me, Harold!”

“I… I’m tone-deaf, Mr. Reese…”

“I don’t care, Harold – I just want to hear your voice! Tell me how good it feels. Tell me you want my fingers touching you there. Tell me how much you want me to suck on you – suck you dry until I’ve squeezed out every last drop from you!”

“Oh… John… ugh… mmm… yes… I want you to… touch me… s—suck me… make me come… with your fingers… and tongue… and… uh! Ahhh!”

“Can you feel me sucking you, Harold? All wet and warm around you, licking the tip with my tongue? And I’d be touching your balls, rolling them around and squeezing them like a pair of walnuts. You know what, Harold – I want to kiss you there. Take your thumb and rub behind your balls, back towards your crack. That little patch of skin is mine, Harold! I love every last part of you, but that part especially! That wonderful little spot that nobody ever sees, always hidden from the light – I want to kiss it with my lips and taste it with my tongue, because it’s a part of you that only I can touch! Does it feel good, Harold? Do you like it when I touch you there?”

“Yes… Yes! I want you to… touch me… there… everywhere…” Finch panted, his hands obeying Reese’s directions almost automatically.

“Oh, Harold… I do want to touch you everywhere… I want to take off your shoes and socks, and rub my cock against that tender spot on your feet. I could do that while I’m sucking your cock, you know – it would feel so wonderful! And I want to touch your legs, rub them all over, and kiss the soft skin on the inside of your thighs. I’d make you spread your legs as far as they can go, so I could see that special spot between them, and kiss your thighs, and bury my nose in your fur so I could lick that special spot and suck on your balls. I’d take them both into my mouth if I could, Harold – I’m not sure it’s possible, but I’d sure like to try! And then I’d suck your cock, just like some wild baby animal sucking on its mother’s teat, until all your milk comes gushing out… Is it coming yet, Harold? I’m so thirsty and hungry… I want all of it, Harold, every last drop of it… I want you to come into my mouth… I love you so much…”

“John… oh, John… it’s… ah! Mmm… Nnhhh… Ahhh! Ahhh! AHHH! AHHHHH! AHHHHH!

Listening to Finch’s helpless cries as his male geyser shot fluid all over his trousers, Reese was also overcome by the sudden need and impulse to ejaculate; he frantically yanked on his own member until his one hand was covered in come, spattering his trousers as well. He allowed himself to float on the natural high for a few minutes, simply waiting for his own and Finch’s breathing to settle down.

“Was it as good for you… as it was for me?” he finally asked, laughing, into the phone.

“I believe so…” Finch answered, almost in shock and disbelief.

“Well, I hope that tides you over for a bit,” Reese murmured. “Harold… do me one more favor?”

“What is it?”

“Put a finger behind your ear and rub where it meets your head, down to the earlobe.”

“Um… Okay…”

“I just kissed you there,” he explained, the smile audible in his tone. “Now, Harold, I want you to be good until I get home.”

“I think I can manage that,” came Finch’s wry answer.

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