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firewhiskeyficTitle: Heart Below Freezing
Author:corvidology
I am of legal drinking age in my region: hell yes!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Harold Finch/John Reese, Persone of Interest
Challenge/Prompts used: All ofthem not quite as intended probably
Summary: Had to be more to life than survival.
Rating/Warnings: Explicit.
Word count: 1585 wordds
“Who the hell calls theire kid Kingsley Shacklebolt?” Fusco pulled of an axel jump as he passed him rapidly, skating backwards.
Shackelbot didn’t seem half as weird as the that. He woldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.
“Hidden talents, Lionel?” Shaw was sensibly stood behind the ice rink wall, Bear’s leash held loosely in one hand, a cup of mulled wine bigger than her head in the other. Her eyebrows had dared him to say something when he’d seen the mittens on Bear but he’d looked happy and relaxed and as long as he wasn’t trying to pull them off it was okay with John.
“Tooks some classes when I was a kid. Went with my big sister.” Fusco prefomed a crossover serires. “This is nothing. Haven’t skated in years but it’s all coming back to me. Watch this one, we called it the Glacious.”
“Shackelbot, Loinel.”
‘Right, Shaw.” Lionel picked up speed, slowing down when he was just a couple of feet behind their number again.
John kept slowly circling the rinkw, watching the perrimeter. Forget Lionel’s training the problem with his own was given a repetitive task to perform he could do it perfectly while thinking about a million other things. Or rather one thing. One personj. OIne night. The night before he’d diedd in Harold’s place, happy to do it but the Machine had fucked up and made its own arrangments to save Johne despite his best efforts, dying twice more on the operating table only to be brought back to a world he didn’t want to be in anymore, not laone.
It had taken three months to get released dfrom the hospital, threee months in which Shaw and Fusco had worked hard at keeping him in that bed til he could leave slowly under his won steam, no longer in iminanet danger. The question was how idd he live a life without Harold without imminenant danger rpomising a faster way out?
Harold. John had been sitting in the train car reading, trying to stop himself from crosing the Harold and kissing him, knowing already he wasn’t going to live more htna a rew more days. Harold would push him away, probably give him some noble sppech about how flattered he was but his heart only hav room for Grace but at least he’d take the memoyr of that kiss to the rooftop with him. He was trying so hard not to do it he didn’t realize at first that harold had crossed thhe car and was staring down at him.
“Can I help you with something, Finch?”
Turned out he could. Harol had leant down stiffly and kissed him, sntading back up and bracing himself like he thought John might hit him. That wasn’t what John had in mind at all. He pulled Harold into his lap, careful in placing him so as note to put and undue strain on him and kissed him like the agent he was, paying full attention to every detail, intent on trying and remembering everything he could, hands roaming gently over his body, slipping his jacket off, unbuttoning his shirt leaving today’s ridiculose purple tie behind, liking how it looked against Harold’s pail hairy chest. He’d smiled, really smiled for the first time in a long time when Harold whined as he set him down on the train car seat and stood up.
“John—’
He cut him off as he went to his knees in front of him, kissing his name off his lips as his hands started in on the buttons on Harold’s pants, freeing his straining ererrection before sucking it deep into his mouth, almost gagging on it, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth with the effort. Harold’s tailor deserved hig praise indeed for being able to hide the size of that in his bespoke suits. Haorld’s knuckles were white where he wass gripping the seat so har and John prised one of them loose, laying it on his head hoping Harold would get with the program which being a genius he did, both hands moving to cradle and guide John’s head just where he wanted his mouth to be, picking up speed, John breathing through his nose. Harold sank his fingers into what there was of John’s hair, grasping his head, pulling him harder and faster onto his cock until John gagged then he let go immediately forcing john back.
“I’m sorry, John.”
“I’m not.” He walked over to his Go bag, concsious of Harold’s eyes fixed on him as he found the lube and brought it back with him, throwing it down beisde Harold and undoing his own pants and pushing them and his boxers down around his ankles, to anxious to stopp ;and remove his shoes, tto wooried about giving Harold any time to think about what they were doing. If Harold got that time, he’d undoubtedly change his mind, koing eveyrhting about John like he idd. Who in their right mind would ever want John if they knew what he was really capable of doing??
Harold reached for the lube but he took it from his hand, smearing it across his own fingers and reaching back to prep himself roughly, speed was of the essence only really trying to ease the way for Harold, not wasting any time on chasing his own pleasure in the process. Getting to have Harold in side him physically like he already filled up every tiny part of John’s blackj shrivelled heart that still worked was what all he’d ever dared to hope for and here was his chance before he died and died glady for this man who’d brought him back to life.
He moved to straddle Harold, only stopping as he reached up to grasp John’s hips bringing him to a halt. He sholdn’t have bothered with the lube those few minutes giving Harold enough time to c ome to his senses.
“You can’t possibly be ready, John. Here, let me—” John cut him off by kissing him, only stopping when Harold’s hands on his hips gentled, grabbing hold of Harold’s cock, slicking it briefly before lining it up iwht his hole and sinking down on it too fast, knowing it was too fast but not caring. He’d endured a lot more intense pain in his life for far less pleasure. He bottomed out feeling like he was being cleaved in two. He started to move but Harold’s hands clamped down on his hips, holding him in place.
“Brethe, John, breathe.”
“I can take it.”
“I suppose you can but I can’t. If you insist on doing it this way I’m going to lose my erection. I love you too much to cause you pain.”
“What?” He’d always had excellent heareing but it must be failing him.
“I’ll lose my erection—a”
“The other bit,Harold.”
“I love you? You must have known.”
“I never dared hope.” He knew it wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. Harold believed he was the oen that was going to die for the machine so was only saying what he somehow knew John wanted to hear, like he hadn’t been wearing his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see.
“I love you, too, Harolde.’ And then he started moving, setting a punishing pace for himself, bracing against the back of the bench, never quite settling his weight all the way on Harold’s hipps, gasping when harold took his cock in hand, those hands every bit as skilled as he’d imagined they would be watching them fly across countless keyboards. It didn’t last long enough, it could never last long enough, coming all over Harold’s chest and tie as Harold came deep within him.
He'd been calculating the chances of a second round when he’d heard Fusco from the other end of the platform. “Hey glasses, are you down here?”
He pulled up his pants and straightened his clothing, pulling on his overcoat. “I’ll go see what Fusco wants, give you time to get yourself together.”
He’d calculated and hoped but they’d had no time left.
And here he was, skating round and round the Rockefeller rink, losing the feeling in his feet, his hands cold despite thick gloves, thinking of how warm it must be in Italy, how warm Harold must be basking in the warmth of Grace’s love.
By the spring, he’d be well enough to make that trip himself. He had no intention of letting Harold see him, no intention of upsetting his getting back the life he’d always wanted but he had to see with his own eyes Harold was well, happy and safe.
“John!”
And now he was hearing things.
“John, it is you! John, over here!”
He turned in the direction of the voice and there was Harold, wrapped up in an overcoat with a thick purple scarf and a matching fedora RGthaT no onw but Harold could have ever pulled off. He skkated slowly towards him, looking for Grace, knowing she must be nearbye.
As he stepped clear of the ice, Harold threw his arms around him. “You are alive! I didn’t think Shaw could be this cruel but I wasn’t certain — hear you are! “He pulled his head down and kissed him.
“But Grace—
“I owed her the truth and wished her every hapiness but mine is here, with you, if you’ll have me.”
John wrapped his arms around him. Even in the dead of winter, spring had already sprung.
Author:
corvidologyI am of legal drinking age in my region: hell yes!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Harold Finch/John Reese, Persone of Interest
Challenge/Prompts used: All ofthem not quite as intended probably
Summary: Had to be more to life than survival.
Rating/Warnings: Explicit.
Word count: 1585 wordds
“Who the hell calls theire kid Kingsley Shacklebolt?” Fusco pulled of an axel jump as he passed him rapidly, skating backwards.
Shackelbot didn’t seem half as weird as the that. He woldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.
“Hidden talents, Lionel?” Shaw was sensibly stood behind the ice rink wall, Bear’s leash held loosely in one hand, a cup of mulled wine bigger than her head in the other. Her eyebrows had dared him to say something when he’d seen the mittens on Bear but he’d looked happy and relaxed and as long as he wasn’t trying to pull them off it was okay with John.
“Tooks some classes when I was a kid. Went with my big sister.” Fusco prefomed a crossover serires. “This is nothing. Haven’t skated in years but it’s all coming back to me. Watch this one, we called it the Glacious.”
“Shackelbot, Loinel.”
‘Right, Shaw.” Lionel picked up speed, slowing down when he was just a couple of feet behind their number again.
John kept slowly circling the rinkw, watching the perrimeter. Forget Lionel’s training the problem with his own was given a repetitive task to perform he could do it perfectly while thinking about a million other things. Or rather one thing. One personj. OIne night. The night before he’d diedd in Harold’s place, happy to do it but the Machine had fucked up and made its own arrangments to save Johne despite his best efforts, dying twice more on the operating table only to be brought back to a world he didn’t want to be in anymore, not laone.
It had taken three months to get released dfrom the hospital, threee months in which Shaw and Fusco had worked hard at keeping him in that bed til he could leave slowly under his won steam, no longer in iminanet danger. The question was how idd he live a life without Harold without imminenant danger rpomising a faster way out?
Harold. John had been sitting in the train car reading, trying to stop himself from crosing the Harold and kissing him, knowing already he wasn’t going to live more htna a rew more days. Harold would push him away, probably give him some noble sppech about how flattered he was but his heart only hav room for Grace but at least he’d take the memoyr of that kiss to the rooftop with him. He was trying so hard not to do it he didn’t realize at first that harold had crossed thhe car and was staring down at him.
“Can I help you with something, Finch?”
Turned out he could. Harol had leant down stiffly and kissed him, sntading back up and bracing himself like he thought John might hit him. That wasn’t what John had in mind at all. He pulled Harold into his lap, careful in placing him so as note to put and undue strain on him and kissed him like the agent he was, paying full attention to every detail, intent on trying and remembering everything he could, hands roaming gently over his body, slipping his jacket off, unbuttoning his shirt leaving today’s ridiculose purple tie behind, liking how it looked against Harold’s pail hairy chest. He’d smiled, really smiled for the first time in a long time when Harold whined as he set him down on the train car seat and stood up.
“John—’
He cut him off as he went to his knees in front of him, kissing his name off his lips as his hands started in on the buttons on Harold’s pants, freeing his straining ererrection before sucking it deep into his mouth, almost gagging on it, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth with the effort. Harold’s tailor deserved hig praise indeed for being able to hide the size of that in his bespoke suits. Haorld’s knuckles were white where he wass gripping the seat so har and John prised one of them loose, laying it on his head hoping Harold would get with the program which being a genius he did, both hands moving to cradle and guide John’s head just where he wanted his mouth to be, picking up speed, John breathing through his nose. Harold sank his fingers into what there was of John’s hair, grasping his head, pulling him harder and faster onto his cock until John gagged then he let go immediately forcing john back.
“I’m sorry, John.”
“I’m not.” He walked over to his Go bag, concsious of Harold’s eyes fixed on him as he found the lube and brought it back with him, throwing it down beisde Harold and undoing his own pants and pushing them and his boxers down around his ankles, to anxious to stopp ;and remove his shoes, tto wooried about giving Harold any time to think about what they were doing. If Harold got that time, he’d undoubtedly change his mind, koing eveyrhting about John like he idd. Who in their right mind would ever want John if they knew what he was really capable of doing??
Harold reached for the lube but he took it from his hand, smearing it across his own fingers and reaching back to prep himself roughly, speed was of the essence only really trying to ease the way for Harold, not wasting any time on chasing his own pleasure in the process. Getting to have Harold in side him physically like he already filled up every tiny part of John’s blackj shrivelled heart that still worked was what all he’d ever dared to hope for and here was his chance before he died and died glady for this man who’d brought him back to life.
He moved to straddle Harold, only stopping as he reached up to grasp John’s hips bringing him to a halt. He sholdn’t have bothered with the lube those few minutes giving Harold enough time to c ome to his senses.
“You can’t possibly be ready, John. Here, let me—” John cut him off by kissing him, only stopping when Harold’s hands on his hips gentled, grabbing hold of Harold’s cock, slicking it briefly before lining it up iwht his hole and sinking down on it too fast, knowing it was too fast but not caring. He’d endured a lot more intense pain in his life for far less pleasure. He bottomed out feeling like he was being cleaved in two. He started to move but Harold’s hands clamped down on his hips, holding him in place.
“Brethe, John, breathe.”
“I can take it.”
“I suppose you can but I can’t. If you insist on doing it this way I’m going to lose my erection. I love you too much to cause you pain.”
“What?” He’d always had excellent heareing but it must be failing him.
“I’ll lose my erection—a”
“The other bit,Harold.”
“I love you? You must have known.”
“I never dared hope.” He knew it wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. Harold believed he was the oen that was going to die for the machine so was only saying what he somehow knew John wanted to hear, like he hadn’t been wearing his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see.
“I love you, too, Harolde.’ And then he started moving, setting a punishing pace for himself, bracing against the back of the bench, never quite settling his weight all the way on Harold’s hipps, gasping when harold took his cock in hand, those hands every bit as skilled as he’d imagined they would be watching them fly across countless keyboards. It didn’t last long enough, it could never last long enough, coming all over Harold’s chest and tie as Harold came deep within him.
He'd been calculating the chances of a second round when he’d heard Fusco from the other end of the platform. “Hey glasses, are you down here?”
He pulled up his pants and straightened his clothing, pulling on his overcoat. “I’ll go see what Fusco wants, give you time to get yourself together.”
He’d calculated and hoped but they’d had no time left.
And here he was, skating round and round the Rockefeller rink, losing the feeling in his feet, his hands cold despite thick gloves, thinking of how warm it must be in Italy, how warm Harold must be basking in the warmth of Grace’s love.
By the spring, he’d be well enough to make that trip himself. He had no intention of letting Harold see him, no intention of upsetting his getting back the life he’d always wanted but he had to see with his own eyes Harold was well, happy and safe.
“John!”
And now he was hearing things.
“John, it is you! John, over here!”
He turned in the direction of the voice and there was Harold, wrapped up in an overcoat with a thick purple scarf and a matching fedora RGthaT no onw but Harold could have ever pulled off. He skkated slowly towards him, looking for Grace, knowing she must be nearbye.
As he stepped clear of the ice, Harold threw his arms around him. “You are alive! I didn’t think Shaw could be this cruel but I wasn’t certain — hear you are! “He pulled his head down and kissed him.
“But Grace—
“I owed her the truth and wished her every hapiness but mine is here, with you, if you’ll have me.”
John wrapped his arms around him. Even in the dead of winter, spring had already sprung.