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Bathroom

Finch couldn’t take it anymore. He’d thought the jibes at his paranoia were bad, the incessant teasing over his clothes, his tea, his books, his computers, but when it stopped, when smirks turned into looks, when brief touches began to linger, when the interrogative questions turned more personal, he discovered that he couldn’t simply ignore it. He caught himself looking, too, leaning into Reese’s hand on his shoulder, offering not quite empty answers and less than hollow comments. And it was getting worse.

He arrived at the library to find Reese sitting in his chair, a sight that just a few short months ago would have annoyed him to no end, but on that morning, it was just good to see him in one piece.

“Ears quit ringing yet?” Finch asked as he shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on the coat rack.

“Mostly,” Reese replied. “I was just going over the surveillance from the explosion to see if any of Ramon’s gang got away.” He started to rise, but Finch motioned for him to stay where he was.

“I need to make some tea,” he said, and headed for the adjacent room that served as a makeshift kitchenette. He filled the kettle and placed it on the hotplate, measuring loose-leaf tea into his tea strainer before wandering back out while the water heated to see what Reese had turned up. “Find anything?” he asked, stopping beside the chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reese glance at him.

“I’m not sure,” Reese said. “Maybe you can tell me if this is a shadow or just smoke.” He rewound the footage and let it play through, reaching out to point at the corner of the screen. “There, that dark shape…”

Finch leaned closer, his hip giving a twinge, and he placed his hand on Reese’s shoulder to steady himself and take some of the weight off his damaged leg. He felt Reese tense and he almost pulled away, but then the muscular shoulder beneath his hand relaxed. Finch hesitated, his heart beating fast, his mouth suddenly dry. He tried to focus on the screen, but all of his senses seemed to be centered on that one hand and the solid warmth beneath it.

“Harold?” Reese said, and Finch closed his eyes, wondering if Reese had any idea of the power that voice had over him, the sultry purr of his name almost enough to shatter his iron restraint. Almost.

“I can’t tell,” Finch said, lifting his hand and starting to turn away, but he glanced at Reese as he did so and found himself caught in that intense stare, a look in those deep, blue-gray eyes that seemed to reach right into his soul and tear his resolve to shreds. The next thing he knew, his hands were flat against Reese’s chest, his lower back aching, his neck and hip giving sharp twinges of pain as he leaned into the man sitting in his chair. The bitter taste of coffee filled his mouth as his lips parted, his tongue sweeping across Reese’s, a low groan rising up in his throat as his hands curled into fists, gripping Reese’s shirt.

He drew a sharp breath, biting back a whimper as the damaged muscles in his leg protested the unusual strain he was putting on them, but he just shifted his weight and ran a hand up into Reese’s hair; it was just as thick and soft as he’d always imagined.

Suddenly, Reese grabbed him by the shoulders and he drew back, confused as Reese pushed him away. “Harold, stop,” Reese said, sounding out of breath, and it was like time ground to a halt, each heartbeat echoing in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. He stumbled back, his face hot, skin burning.

“I- I beg your pardon,” he stuttered, turning away and limping as fast as he could into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against the wood. He felt like he was going to throw up. Breathing shallow, he leaned on the sink, turned on the water, and peeled off his glasses, letting them clatter to the counter as he splashed his face, the icy water making him shiver as it ran down under his collar.

What the hell had he done? He’d ruined everything. Reese would never want to work with him now, or if he did, it would be worse than awkward. He needed to apologize, he needed to assure Reese that this would never happen again. He needed to do whatever it took to make things right. He needed Reese too much.

Grabbing his glasses, he patted his face dry on a towel and stepped over to the door, taking a bracing breath as he slipped on his glasses and pulled the door open. He made two observations at nearly the same time, the first being that he’d splashed water on his glasses, tiny drops clinging to the lenses, and the second that Reese was standing just outside the door.

Finch stiffened, instincts he’d developed in junior high kicking in for the first time in decades, and he yanked his glasses back off, shielding them behind his back. A black eye or a bloody nose would heal, but glasses had been expensive to replace. His heart pounding, Finch squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and lifted his chin, ready for whatever Reese thought he deserved.

“Harold…” Reese said, his voice low and deceptively without anger or malice. Finch flinched as Reese lifted his hand, but the taller man just reached past him and took the glasses out of his hand. Reese said nothing as he dried the lenses on the sleeve of his shirt before reaching up and settling the glasses back in place. “Do you really think I could ever hurt you?” Reese asked.

Finch looked up at him, feeling his fear and panic bleed away as he stared into those serene blue eyes. “I…I just…I’m sorry, I acted without thinking. It was a mistake and–”

“I thought you said you’d never lie to me.”

Finch blinked, taken aback.

“That wasn’t a mistake,” Reese said. “I didn’t mean for you to stop, I could just tell that leaning over me was causing you pain and…that’s the last thing I wanted.” He took a slow step forward, bowing his head and placing a soft kiss on Finch’s lips, his hands sliding beneath Finch’s suit jacket and settling at the small of his back. Finch closed his eyes, groaning into Reese’s mouth as he reached up to comb his fingers through the thick hair at the nape of Reese’s neck.

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2 Comments
  1. managerie76 permalink

    “Finch stiffened, instincts he’d developed in junior high kicking in for the first time in decades, and he yanked his glasses back off, shielding them behind his back. A black eye or a bloody nose would heal, but glasses had been expensive to replace. ”

    That made me cry. Seriously. My Boyfriend is now worried he did something wrong.

  2. Anonymous permalink

    Hey you should consider some bathtub or shower sex ^^

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