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Reese isn’t always sure where his training ends and he begins, or even if anything of the man he was beforehand still exists. He wants to believe it does, wants to believe that Finch didn’t choose him just for his skill set, but then he's too much of a realist to waste much time wishing for the improbable.
Finch knew everything about him while he knew hardly anything about his boss. He respected and admired Finch, even liked him most of the time, but he still couldn’t ignore his training which taught him to worry about the imbalance of power. Knowing that Finch preferred Sencha green tea to coffee and that he might be partial to Eggs Benedict did nothing to restore the balance.
Reese’s attempts at investigating Finch’s past having failed, it had become apparent that if he were to learn anything more, he was going to have to extract the information directly from Finch. That had left him with only three options. He’d dismissed psychotropic drugs out of hand as too risky and Finch’s mind was something he was not prepared to risk. He’d briefly considered torture but he not only assumed that Finch’s tolerance for pain must be high but that it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that Finch wouldn’t want to continue to work with him afterwards and he needed the job.
That had left sex. He’d been trained in the art of seduction. Reese smirked at the memory of his homework assignments. His trainers had been delighted to learn that his sexuality had always been flexible. He didn’t care to label himself any further than that, labels make people too easily known, but the equipment has never been as important to him as the person it’s attached to and he likes Finch.
He likes the way Finch smells, the pleasing curve of his ass, even likes his Tintin-esque haircut, all things that would make it enjoyable and not just expedient, which in turn would make his interest in Finch that much more convincing. The question that had remained was whether Finch had any sexual interest in Reese.
The training manual had cautioned that mistakes in this sensitive area were often disastrous for an operation and sometimes fatal for the operative. Without clear signs of attraction on the part of the target tests had to be run before committing to such a course of action.
A little light flirtation and small considerations in the shape of sandwiches, tea and tutting over Finch falling asleep hunched over his computer, courtesy of chapter three, "How to win the target’s trust by showing concern for his/her welfare," had only yielded a slight thawing, nothing more than the beginnings of a friendship and still no indication of sexual interest on Finch’s part. From there, it had proved necessary to move on to touch.
With men it was customary to start with active touch, the back-slapping-hail-fellow-well-met sort of thing, but it was contraindicated by Finch’s physical condition. Instead, Reese was forced to skip a level moving straight to social touch, a light hand on Finch’s arm, a slow brush across Finch’s shoulders when he was sat at his desk, and even lightly straightening Finch’s lapel while leaning in a little too closely. Trained to be observant, he hadn’t missed the slight dilation of Finch’s pupils in response and had calculated it would take two weeks before Finch would yield to the inevitable. Despite his own impatience Reese had decided it would be best to let Finch set the pace.
It had actually taken twelve days to make it to a hotel room after dinner. It had taken another two hours, a good bottle of wine and some horny teenager grade necking, he could feel the stinging warmth of a hickey blossoming on his neck, before he’d managed to peel Finch out of his jacket, vest and tie.
He generally preferred not to talk during sex in order to concentrate on his performance, but sometimes a target’s needs took precedence over his own. There'd been an army major in Caracas who’d wanted Reese to recite the rosary while fucking him...
He could feel the faint trembling of Finch’s chest under his fingers as he stripped Finch of his shirt. Reese still wasn’t entirely confident that Finch wouldn’t bolt, his eyes often skittering towards the door. Reese was going to have to talk, to re-establish the auditory connection that already existed between them from their work. “What do you want?”
Finch had been staring at Reese’s hands but raised startled eyes at his words. “Excuse me?”
His hand skimmed lightly over Finch’s zipper, he was pleased to note the straining fabric, before gently cupping Finch’s hip. “What’s your preference?”
Finch continued to stare at him.
“At least tell me what you would prefer tonight.” Reese ventured a small smirk, hoping to provoke a reaction.
Success. It was a look Finch normally reserved for a puzzle still missing its last piece. He wasn’t surprised to find that being on the receiving end of such intense focus left him half-hard.
“I just assumed, Mr. Reese, from what I know about you that you would want to—”
“Only stupid people assume, Finch, and you're anything but stupid.” Surprising Finch was turning out be a real turn-on.
“But you...”
“I, what?” He braced himself for disappointment if Finch was about to break out a set of alpha male stereotypes and apply them to him although why exactly he should be disappointed temporarily eluded him.
It was Finch’s turn to smirk. “So you would consider...” Finch cupped Reese’s hip.
Reese moved Finch’s hand to his ass. “I never take anything I’m not prepared to give.”
Finch stepped back, toed his shoes off and undid his pants letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. Then he leaned on the bedside table for support and removed his socks and boxers.
In the countless times Reese had thought about this moment he’d assumed, based on what he knew of Finch’s injuries and the probable scarring and possible wasting, that Finch would be reluctant to disrobe and insist on the lights being off or on cocooning himself under the sheets. What he’d never conceived of was Finch just expediently undressing. While he was impressed by Finch’s bravura, he was caught flat-footed having planned on his coaxing reassurances further establishing a bond with Finch.
“You know this will work a lot better if you take your clothes off.” Finch had moved to sit on the edge of the bed after throwing back the comforter. He looked far too amused, like he could read Reese’s mind and had enjoyed derailing his plans.
He'd already removed his shoes and socks shortly after they’d entered the hotel room, the manual having warned against the unattractiveness of an otherwise naked man still wearing socks, so that left Reese in a grey shirt and black pants but not for long.
He made eye contact with Finch before beginning to slowly unbutton his shirt, his hands tracing patterns across his chest as he shrugged his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. Finch didn’t look amused now, his fingers gripping lightly at the sheets as he unconsciously slid his tongue across his lower lip.
Reese had meant to take equal time in removing his pants but he wanted his hands on Finch already and he was standing in only his boxer briefs before he knew it.
“Very nice, Mr. Reece.” Finch removed his glasses dropping them on to the bedside table. “Come here.”
Finch’s surprisingly strong hands closed over his hips, pulling him forward to half-straddle Finch’s legs, pulling Reese’s briefs down at the same time.
This wasn’t what he’d planned at all, a slow seduction breaking down Finch’s barriers, but as Finch’s mouth slowly took him in he found he couldn’t quite remember why the plan was so important. And Finch was skilled, too skilled, alternating just his tongue tantalising the head and shaft with strong steady stroking suction, one hand moving to caress Reese’s balls and then to plant one firm knuckle against his perineum. Finch’s aggressive but warmly caressing attentions made Reese relax in to it, even as he felt heat pooling at the base of his spine. He trusted Finch to take care of him— Reese’s eyes snapped open, his hands dropping to capture Finch’s wrists.
“That’s enough.”
“What?” Finch looked awkwardly up at him, his pupils blown, confusion clearly written on his face.
Reese forced a smile to mask his confusion, not willing to follow his own train of thought. “You’re just too good at this and it’s been a while for me.” He realized his thumbs were absently rubbing the inside of Finch’s wrists and abruptly let go. “If you’ll just move back on the bed, I’ll prep myself and join you.”
Finch slowly swung his legs up and over and moved sideways to the middle of the bed. Finch turned to look at him. “You don’t want me to do that?”
“You don’t have to.” Reese turned to pull condoms and lubricant out of his discarded jacket.
“But I want to.” Finch reached his hand out for the bottle, waggling his fingers, almost grinning. “I’m very dexterous, I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
He knew he wouldn’t be, wanted Finch to— “That’s what I’m afraid of. I need to calm down before I embarrass myself. Just lie back, get comfortable.”
Finch’s face fell but he did as he was instructed.
Reese removed a condom from the box and broke the seal on the lubricant, all the time trying to think and regroup, to remind himself that the plan was to get Finch to divulge his secrets, not for him to— He stared at the bottle in his hand. It was time to take charge and show Finch exactly what was on offer.
He climbed on to the bed, carefully straddled Finch’s thighs and stared down at him. He was impressed when Finch stared back. He braced his hands on either side of Finch and swooped down to glide his chest the full length of Finch’s before kissing him deeply. Finch groaned against his mouth, reaching again for Reese’s hips.
“Ah, ah, Finch, it’s my turn.” He sat up and moved Finch’s hands back down on to the sheets. “Now keep them there.”
“But, I—”
“No negotiating. Keep them there else I’ll have to restrain you. Unless you want—”
“No, Mr. Reese, I do not want.” Some shadow flitted across Finch’s face but was gone before Reese could interpret it. “I will keep my hands to myself, as you wish.”
He lowered himself again, resuming the kiss and this time Finch was quiet and pliant beneath him. It wasn’t in the least bit satisfactory but it was necessary as this was Reese’s campaign and he would win it. He’d have Finch squirming beneath him again before long. He felt Finch tense as he strung kisses, licks and bites down across Finch’s jawline and neck, an obvious area of vulnerability, before Reese finally felt Finch relax in to the sensation, his fingers scrabbling against the sheets.
Via tongue, teeth and hands mapping the way, his exploration continued down across Finch’s chest finding by touch half a dozen scars that were still a mystery to him for now but he would find out about them. As Reese slid slowly downwards, he began to push his ass firmly down against Finch’s hard cock trapping it beneath him. The almost pre-verbal noises slipping from between Finch’s lips were like music to his ears. As Reese finally reared back, ready to demonstrate his own oral skills, Finch raised a hand to his shoulder pressing against him slightly.
“If you do that, the game will be over.”
The wording struck Reese as odd but he understood what Finch meant and instead reached for the small bottle lying on the bed next to him. He slicked up three fingers and reared up on to his knees as he reached back between his legs to prepare himself. It had indeed been a while and the position was awkward. He would have preferred Finch’s fingers even if that was a luxury he could ill afford but the look on Finch’s face spurred him onward.
“You’re quite beautiful, John.” Finch bit his lip like the words had just slipped out.
“Not where it counts.” So both of them admitted things they hadn’t ever meant to say.
Finch looked away, concentrating on finding the packet, before tearing open the foil wrapper and rolling the condom slowly down on to himself.
Reese shuffled forward slightly wiping the excess lubricant on his hand down over the condom before lining Finch’s cock up with his ass. He slowly lowered himself feeling his muscles reluctantly yielding, breathing through the resulting pain he knew would pass, willing his body to relax and adjust to the intrusion. Hands braced against his thighs to fight gravity, he watched Finch stare at where their bodies were now joined before he abruptly looked away. He wondered if Finch was now distracting himself by reciting baseball scores in his head.
As he felt his muscles finally relax Reese slid slowly down until he was resting against Finch, before slowly pushing back up, his thigh muscles doing all the work. If he said so himself he had superb muscle control and by the time he was finished with Finch he’d be his. His rhythm faltered at the thought, no, Finch’s secrets would be his to know. Reese picked up the pace but only slightly, starting to squeeze Finch on the down stroke forcing a deep groan from him.
“Now. You’re just. Not. Playing fair,” Finch panted out as Reese repeated the move.
“All’s fair, Finch.” He smirked down at Finch.
“If that’s. The way. You feel. About it.” Finch’s hands latched on to Reese’s hips, bending him forward slightly as Finch thrust upwards connecting with Reese's prostate.
“Fuck, Finch.”
“All right, if you insist.” Finch held his position, his hands still holding Reese at an angle.
“Your injuries—”
“Are my business.” Finch pulled him further forward and Reese dropped on to his hands, bending his body to kiss Finch and nuzzle again at his neck as their pace increased.
Finch wrapped one hand around Reese’s straining cock deftly stroking him, but it was the litany of fond filth murmured in Finch’s still dry if somewhat breathless tone that finally pushed Reese over the edge, his orgasm stunning in its ferocity, sweeping Finch along with him as his muscles clenched tight.
Reese rolled off Finch and on to his back, warm and loose-limbed in a way he couldn’t remember being in years, vaguely hearing Finch mumble something about the bathroom.
“Mr. Reese.”
He woke up when Finch gently shook his shoulder. He woke up. He never slept after sex with a target, it was too dangerous but then Finch was... Finch.
He sat up against the headboard, noting Finch was fully dressed again including his overcoat. “I was hoping you’d stay.”
“If it’s all the same to you I thought I would leave before the pillow talk interrogation could begin.”
“What are you talking about?” Finch couldn’t possibly—
“Do you remember when I told you that I know exactly everything about you, Mr. Reese?”
“I remember.” It was the first time he’d decided not to kill Finch.
“Your CIA training manuals made fascinating reading...” Finch concentrated on his buttons as he did up his overcoat. “...I suppose I should thank you for not picking one of your other two options.”
“Considered and rejected as too risky. I need this job, Finch.” Now he had Finch’s attention again. “Would you answer one question for me?”
Finch was slow to respond. “That would depend on the nature of your question.”
“If you knew, why did you come here?”
“...Curiosity, I suppose, about how far you might take this... Although that’s not the whole answer and I promised I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m in—” Finch moved closer to the bed and for one moment Reese thought Finch was reaching to caress his cheek, before Finch’s hand dropped sharply back to his side “—only human and you really are very attractive.” Finch stepped back. “Goodnight, Mr. Reese.”
Finch was halfway across the room when Reese called after him.
“You never thought I might really want—”
“No, Mr. Reese, I never did. I don’t lie to myself either.” He paused at the door, finally looking back towards the bed. “I’ll call you when we have another number.” The door closed quietly behind him.
He’d failed. There was always a risk of failure when the mission wasn’t clearly enough defined, when the assignment was obfuscated... and when an agent wasn’t honest with himself about his real objective.
But Reese knew what he wanted now.
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