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Damaged – Ch. 40, Part 1

It felt a little like being on drugs, not that Finch had ever experimented with illegal, mind-altering substances. Not willingly, anyway. But this did remind him of what little he could remember of being on MDMA, the serenity, the quiet in his head, no worries, no cares. Even his body felt better, the aches and pains lessened. He assisted as much as he could as Reese helped him out of the tub and dried him off, but mostly he just stood there, staring down at the back of Reese’s head as the younger man toweled off his legs and feet.

Both of them stark naked, they made their way out to Reese’s big bed. Reese lowered him to the mattress, positioning him on his good side and then covering him up with the blankets. Finch closed his eyes and sighed, warm, safe, and content.

His eyes snapped open, a momentary wave of disorientation washing over him. It felt like he’d been asleep for hours, but it could only have been a few minutes. Reese drew the covers off of him and he shivered, suddenly cold. He felt strange, empty, hollow almost, like he was all alone, isolated, like he did before he found Reese – hopeless, helpless, worthless. He looked up at Reese as the man knelt on the bed beside him.

“You okay, Harold?” Reese asked, reaching down to smooth back Finch’s hair from his forehead.

“Cold…” Finch whispered. “And…melancholy.”

“Already?” Reese asked. “I thought we’d have more time.” He rubbed a hand in circles over Finch’s back, then drew the blankets back up over him, but left his upper thigh exposed. “You’re just ‘coming down’ from your high. It’s natural and won’t last long. Just hang on for a minute – I’ve heated up some oil for your scars.”

He poured a few drops into his hand, then rubbed it over the big scar on the back of Finch’s thigh. It was delightfully hot and Finch groaned appreciatively as Reese massaged the oil into his scar, his strong hand firmly kneading the knotted tissue. When he was finished, he set the bottle of oil aside, cleaned his hand on a towel, and wiped the back of Finch’s leg before sliding into bed with him. They lay facing each other, Reese’s expression soft as he gently took Finch’s glasses and set them on the edge of the bed frame.

“It’ll be okay now,” Reese said, pulling Finch into his arms. Finch drew a deep, shuddering breath and clung to Reese, pressing his cheek into the crook of Reese’s neck, the warmth from Reese’s body chasing away his chill and soothing his heavy heart. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to slip into sleep.

Finch woke to the smell of sautéed onions and garlic, the sizzle of a cold steak hitting a hot cast iron pan filling the room. He slipped his glasses on and sat up, glancing around the room. It was late afternoon, the sun filtering in through the half-drawn blinds and giving the room a warm, amber glow. He found his robe draped across the foot of the bed and slipped into it, tying the sash as he limped across the room to the kitchen, where Reese stood at the range, dressed in just his sweatpants, a trickle of sweat running down his left pectoral from the heat of the stove. Finch had to fight the urge to lean in and lick it away.

“An early dinner?” he asked.

“More like a late lunch,” Reese replied with a cheeky grin. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“I thought you would be. How do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare.”

“I should probably turn it, then,” Reese said, picking up a pair of tongs from off the counter. He flipped one of the small steaks over, leaping back as a loud pop splattered hot grease across his chest. Grabbing a dish towel, he wiped at the shiny red spots, drawing a hissing breath through his teeth.

“Hang on; don’t do that,” Finch said, limping over to the fridge and holding his hand under the icemaker as it rattled and chunked out a handful of ice chips. Stepping over to Reese, he pressed the slush to the angry burns, making Reese gasp as he slowly slid his hand along the dotted line of grease splatters. “Better?”

“Much,” Reese said, looking down at Finch’s hand as the melting ice chips trailed water down Reese’s flat abs. His flushed skin was almost hot to the touch as Finch drew abstract designs across his chest, leaving a wet, shiny trail in his wake. Most of the chips had melted, save for one large piece. Reese drew a stuttering breath as Finch circled his left nipple before rubbing the ice back and forth over the tightening nub.

“That might be a little too cold,” Finch said, tossing the last chip into the sink. “Better let me warm it back up.” It took a little contorting to get his mouth to Reese’s nipple, but the groan and sigh that escaped the operative’s lips was well worth it. Finch laved the stiff bead with his tongue before sucking, drawing the pebbled flesh into his mouth, his hands finding the waistband of Reese’s sweats and slipping inside to cup and knead Reese’s finely muscled ass.

Suddenly, Reese grabbed the front of Finch’s bathrobe and stood him up, capturing Finch’s lips with his own in a deep and greedy kiss. Reese pressed him back against the front of the fridge, tugging at the sash of his robe. Finch groaned, pulling Reese up against him, the bulge in the front of Reese’s sweats prodding him insistently.

“Bed?” Finch suggested. Reese made a disappointed noise.

“Lunch.”

“After.”

Reese gave him one last kiss and drew back. “It won’t taste as good re-heated. Besides, your body needs fuel if you expect to keep up with me,” he added with a chuckle. Adjusting his pants, he turned back to the stove, turning the steaks again and stirring the onions and mushrooms. “Sorry, I think this is a bit past medium-rare.”

“Did I say medium-rare?” Finch asked, smirking to himself as he stepped up behind Reese. “I meant well-done.” He wrapped his arms around Reese’s waist, pressing his lips to Reese’s shoulder and his aching arousal against Reese’s ass. Reese jumped and twisted away, almost hitting Finch in the chest with his elbow.

“John-”

“I know,” Reese said, a scowl on his face as he switched off the burners and began dishing up the food, placing a steak on each plate, dividing the sautéed onions and mushrooms between them, and opening up the oven to pull out two baked potatoes. Expression dark as a gathering storm, he carried their meals to the table. “There’s a couple of cold beers in the fridge.”

Finch didn’t have much of a taste for beer, but he didn’t argue, fetching the chilled longnecks out of the vegetable crisper and limping over to the table. Reese had placed Finch’s plate at the opposite end of the table from his own and was already engaged in drowning his potato in butter and sour cream. Without a word, Finch slid his plate to the seat just around the corner of the table from Reese, set both beers down between them, and shook out his napkin as he sat down.

“Smells delicious,” Finch said, commandeering himself a small pat of butter and a generous dollop of sour cream. He cut into his steak, licking his lips as the pink juices leak out onto the plate. “Perfect. Just the way I like it.” He glanced up at Reese, but he was frowning down at his plate, eating like a man on a mission, and Finch winced as Reese barely even seemed to chew. Finch carefully stabbed a bite of steak, a slice of mushroom, and a piece of onion, lifting it to his lips and taking it into his mouth, chewing slowly to savor the medley of flavors.

“Delicious,” he declared. He started to reach for his drink, then remembered it was beer and let his arm return to its resting place. “Next time you want to cook this, let me know. I know just the bottle of wine that would set off these flavors perfectly.” He shot another look at Reese, his unease growing as Reese set down his knife and fork on the edge of his plate. The situation seemed to call for the obvious question, but Finch already knew the answer, and he knew what Reese would say in response. And he most certainly was not ‘fine’.

“I need your help,” Reese said before Finch could think of something appropriate to say. For a moment, Finch just stared at him.

“Of course; anything,” he said finally. “What-” Reese raised his head, fixing Finch with a heavy look that answered his unspoken question. “Oh…right.” He swallowed hard and decided beer might be an acceptable beverage after all. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asked after taking a swig from his bottle.

“Were you ready?” Reese asked. “Can you ever be ready for something like that? I’m ready to put it behind me, I’m ready to forget it, and I’m sure as hell ready for you to make love to me. Now, can you do this or not?”

“Yes,” Finch said. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

Reese seemed to hesitate, to falter, to lose his nerve. “Maybe you should make sure we have our afternoon cleared before we go making plans. There could be a Number.”

For the first time in years, Finch was tempted to say to hell with the Numbers, but he knew Reese would never let him. He wasn’t sure he could let himself. “All right. I’ll check the Machine when we’re done eating-”

There are no new Numbers.

Reese jumped up, almost knocking his chair over as he looked around for the source of the strange voice. It was clearly computer generated, neither masculine nor feminine, and seemed to be coming from Finch’s cell over by the bed.

“Who said that?” Reese demanded.

I did,” said the voice. “You refer to me as Machine. My name is Alex.

Reese turned looking down at Finch with wide eyes. Finch could only stare back at him, his mouth dry.

<– Prev   ~*~   Next –>

7 Comments
  1. Arrggghhhhhhhhh!! Are these two ever going to get to make love to each other?
    And wtf? The machine named itself? Are you sure you didn’t have some of your readers get off the bus to soon? Reads like there is more plot coming (Not that kind of coming) here in the story rather than just down and dirty sex..It’s all good I guess I’ve waited this long.

  2. dancingdog permalink

    Alex…like ‘protector?’. You are so good at this, it’s a treat to read.

  3. rainiejanie permalink

    I’m so tripping right now!

  4. Plink 42 permalink

    More intrigue. Part of me wishes they’d hurry up written the lovemaking, the other part of me is thrilled that there’s more story. 🙂

  5. deliacerrano permalink

    The machine is going to talk now? AND interrupt them while they concentrating on other things..more important things? That seems a little far out there for me (yes more so than the two of them finding each other) but I trust you so here we go!

  6. Ahhh! Finally, I have some time to just sit down and enjoy this…
    And you certainly didn’t disappoint! Although I was hoping for more smexxxy stuff…
    Whoa. Machine named itself. But more amazingly, it practically told them to get it on–I mean, get on with it! XD
    Minor point: “Reese turned looking down at Finch with wide eyes.” You might want to add a comma there…
    As always, can’t wait for more!!

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  1. New Chapter – Damaged – Ch. 40, Part 1 « A Concerned Third Party

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