Finch knew better than to give in. He knew that the pleasure was only temporary, a fleeting thing, and that afterwards he would be assaulted by guilt for not having listened to his own better judgment. But when he saw the doughnut in the pink box that Reese had brought him – sparkling in its sugar coating, beckoning to him with tendrils of aroma tickling his nose, offering him the sweet and chewy sensation of its tender dough with even the promise of tangy, gooey jelly inside – he could not resist. He picked it up out of the box carefully, trying not to disturb the sugar on the surface, and happily, gladly took his first bite. With tremendous satisfaction, he savored the combination of sugar, fat, and carbohydrates (which would only turn into more fat without proper exercise) that he ordinarily eschewed with a passion. Now his passion was focused on the bit of deep-fried pastry, even though it held no nutritional value whatsoever. Finch didn’t care. It was delicious.
Reese watched Finch devouring his little morning gift – from the corner of his eye at first, then openly staring as he grew confident that his employer would not notice, so engrossed in the doughnut was he. Sipping his cup of black coffee, Reese debated whether he should reach into the box and grab the other doughnut to eat himself (since he had yet to have any breakfast), but decided that it could wait. He was much more interested in another form of pleasure… another kind of physical appetite, which he needed to satisfy more urgently.
His gaze was fixed upon the glimmer of refined sugar on Finch’s upper lip. He noted how close a shave the older man had managed, as usual, with a twinge of jealousy – Reese grew a five o’clock shadow by noon. He also noticed that Finch was holding his breath as he took each bite, no doubt to prevent blowing off the delicate dusting of sweet crystals. Seeing his undisguised enjoyment filled Reese with the warmth of gratification as well. Today was a good day. There were no new numbers to chase down (as Finch had already informed him) and the object of his attention was practically eating out of his hand – like a little bird who had been tamed.
Finally, there was nothing left of the doughnut except a few grains of sugar on Finch’s fingers and the shimmering mustache on his lip. Without a napkin handy, Finch resorted to cave-man etiquette, licking his fingers with his long tongue extended, deftly catching every morsel of sweetness. Reese swallowed hard as he saw that sinuous organ stroking the thick digits, then he stepped closer to the other man before he could realize what was happening.
Reese knew better than to give in. He knew that the pleasure was only temporary, a fleeting thing, and that afterwards he would be assaulted by guilt for not having listened to his own better judgment. But when he saw Finch’s pink tongue flickering out of his mouth – glistening in its saliva coating, beckoning to him with its dexterous twists and curls, offering him the sweet and slimy sensation of its tender muscle with even the promise of exploring the dark recesses behind it – he could not resist. He pushed Finch against a wall carefully, trying not to hurt his injured neck, and lustily, passionately stole his first kiss. With enormous satisfaction, he savored the combination of shock, fear, and desire (which would only grow stronger as he continued this exercise) that the other man was exuding. Now Finch was returning the movements of Reese’s tongue and lips, even though he had received no previous coaching whatsoever. Reese didn’t care. It was perfect.