Stripping in the Wilderness
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zeldathemes
Stripping in the Wilderness.

Fusco/Finch, rimming - reallyprivateperson

this is safe for no workplace that has ever existed.

He’s finally coming to terms with the fact that he’s never going to be able to repay Finch. He just doesn’t have enough cash in his pocket or hours in the day. Fusco tried a couple of times to treat Finch like Finch treats him, tried to take him out to dinner or buy him something nice but his efforts seem so small and sad when he realizes that Finch could outdo him ten times over without so much as denting his wallet. He’s stopped trying to stave off the classy restaurants Finch likes to take him to or the fancy clothes Finch likes to see him in because it’s hard to keep saying no when it makes Finch as happy as it does. And he likes it too, if he’s honest with himself. It’s just that his pride can’t really take the hit and he’s not used to being provided for.

He’s tried to explain that to Finch a couple of times, and he almost seems to get it sometimes. But then he’ll start saying that Fusco shouldn’t feel like he has to do anything in return, and that’s a crock of shit if Fusco’s ever heard one. Of course he owes Finch.

But he’s never going to make up that distance in cash, so he contents himself with doing stuff that Finch can’t quite buy. Fusco likes it when Reese puts him on Finch protection detail, partly because he gets to feel like a big fuckin’ hero in front of Finch, and partly because he figures that every time Fusco saves Finch’s life makes them more or less even until Finch gets a chance to start fussing over him again. He also likes it if he can catch Finch in a moment of weakness, like if his back or his legs are giving him pain or if he’s tired or if he just needs a little closeness for quiet reasons of his own, because it gives Fusco an excuse to be the one fussing for a change.

He used to think it was a good idea to pay him back by letting Finch have his own way in the sack, seeing as how Finch likes his control and he’s too delicate to play rough with besides. There’s also a part of him that thinks, well, dammit, if Finch is screwed up in the head enough to look at all the people in the world who would fall over themselves to sleep with somebody that smart or that rich or that damn nice and somehow pick Fusco out of the crowd, Finch might as well get what he wants out of the deal. Least he can do, you know?

Except it’s not that way because what Finch wants, Fusco feels guilty giving because Finch wants…well, Finch wants a lot of things. Finch is creative in a way that Fusco has never been. Finch has peculiar and complex needs that Fusco can’t quite fathom. Finch is fond of phrases like, “I’d like to try something new” and “Don’t panic.”

Finch likes doing things to him.

Which isn’t a problem on the face of it. True, Fusco didn’t initially appreciate having his long-held notions about what is meant to be stuck where knocked down like so many dominoes, but Finch made a pretty good case for that so Fusco’s not too pissed off about it.

It just drives him up the wall that Finch, given the opportunity to do whatever the hell he wants with Fusco, chooses to think up a dozen new ways to make him come without asking for so much as a blowjob in return. Like that could somehow be enough for him. Like Fusco isn’t lying back and taking it again while Finch keeps right on giving. Drives him nuts, is what it does.

So sometimes, just to feel like he’s here, like they’re anywhere close to even footing, he’ll ask if he can be in charge of the weird sex tonight, and sometimes Finch says yes.

Fusco first experienced what they’re doing tonight on the receiving end. That’s the case with a lot of things. That time, Finch let his neat freak self run wild, bullying Fusco into the shower and practically scrubbing the life out of him with what Fusco thought was excessive force until Finch had him on his back with his legs spread and Finch’s head began to drop and Fusco finally figured out just what was about to happen and he barely had time to say “Jesus Christ, man, you don’t have to,” before the flat of Finch’s too-smart tongue brushed against his asshole and his voice went all high-pitched and formless.

Sometimes it seems like he’s doomed to go on embarrassing himself where Finch is involved.

Right now, though, things are going pretty okay. Finch went along with it when Fusco asked and didn’t ask if Fusco was doing this because he wanted to or because he thought Finch wanted him to, like Finch asks sometimes if he’s spoiling for a fight. Right now Finch is on his stomach, sprawled on top of pillows that prop him up at the hips, while Fusco slices a condom up vertically so it unfurls into a thin latex square. His fingers are shaking just a little.

Finch is trying to keep to the cushions like Fusco asked him to, but he keeps twisting around to look back over his shoulder as best he can, trying to be a backseat fucker. “It can’t have any holes,” Finch says.

“‘M not an idiot. I get how it’s supposed to work.”

"I know. I just." Finch shifts, resettles, tears his eyes away. "I just want it to go right."

"And it won’t go right," Fusco answers, "if I’m running the show. Is that it?"

Finch goes quiet.

Fusco stretches the square of latex out, red and shiny and unbroken and, because Finch suggested it might make things a little easier, cherry-flavored. “You okay to start?” he asks.

"Mmm."

He uncaps a bottle of lube with a quiet snap, pours a little bit over his fingertips, starts to lube Finch up just a little.

"To tell the truth," Finch says, "I’m a little nervous."

"What for?"

"I’ve never had this done to me before," he says. He tries to say it lightly, like they’re talking over drinks, but there’s a faint quaver in his voice that makes Fusco’s fingers go still.

"Yeah?" He lets his fingertips push inward, just a little, just so his finger slides into Finch up to the first knuckle and Finch’s breath catches. "You could have fooled me."

"Well. I had some idea of what it would be like when I did it to you. But aside from that," and Finch’s hips have begun to lift off the cushions of their own accord, to push back against Fusco’s hand, "I was utterly without experience."

"Huh." He’s not totally certain what he thinks of that. Finch always seemed like he knew what he was doing, like this was just something he liked doing and wanted to share. The knowledge that this was something Finch tried for the first time with Fusco fills him with a kind of dark, sly happiness. He spreads the unrolled condom out across Finch’s ass, stretched tight so it’s almost not there. "Ready?" he asks.

"As I’ll ever be," Finch says, a nervous laugh running under his words.

Fusco leans in close and swipes hard at the latex with his tongue.

Finch goes very, very still.

"You okay?" he asks again.

Finch makes a strangled sound in the affirmative.

So he goes for it again, just lapping gently for now, just figuring out what he’s doing. The condom kind of tastes like cold medicine and he tells himself that he’s going slow so he can get used to that and not everything else.

He licks hard twice, slow and deep, and Finch moans. It’s almost a murmur, private and soft and shivering, and something about that sound hits every button Fusco has. His tongue slides wet and pushy against the dam and Finch’s moan rises up to a sharp, jagged point before suddenly being muffled.

He thinks Finch likes it. He catches himself with a cracked, overjoyed grin plastered on his face before he gets back to kissing ass.

He doesn’t know. It’s a weird experience, like he’s sort of detached from it all, ‘cause he’s not getting much out of it besides an achy tongue and the taste of cherry Robitussin and those little jolts of fierce arousal that go straight for his dick every time Finch groans like that. He can’t even keep an eye on Finch like this, can’t even look up at him like Fusco likes to do when he’s blowing him, and it makes him feel like he’s someplace far off. Or maybe it’s just the condom. They gave up on protection some time ago because neither of them is sleeping with anyone else and neither of them has anything to pass on. He’s gotten too used to there being nothing between him and Finch.

His licks have become little circles and Finch’s groans have become curses. His hips are lifted off the pillow again and rocking backward into Fusco, open and desperate, and Finch is not quite screaming.

Not quite.

He digs his fingers into the cheeks of Finch’s ass, holds him still while he fucks into him with just the tip of his tongue, and that fixes that.

He takes a break after that, rubs his jaw and rubs at the small of Finch’s back while he whines and twitches. Fusco has the quiet, slightly cruel realization that he could keep this up for a while. Hours and hours, if he wanted. He gets the feeling that it’s something Finch is at least going to think about doing to him one of these days, just tie him down and tease him half the night until Fusco begs so prettily that Finch has to fuck him. Fusco could get his preemptive revenge for that moment right here, right now, if he wanted. But, he thinks as he reaches beneath Finch’s body and finds the damp pillow and the hard, slick cock and hears Finch’s slightly hysterical whimper as Fusco’s fingers close around it, who’s he kidding?

Fusco’s never gonna have that kind of patience.

So he turns Finch over, really gentle, keeping the shoulders and hips in line. He’s always got the patience for that, even though tonight Finch doesn’t seem to. It’s the first time Fusco’s seen his face since Finch started bitching about the condom, and Fusco’s glad he couldn’t see it all that time, because he never would have held out this long otherwise. Not with his lips parted and his eyes half shut and that pink blush sprawled across the ridge of his cheekbones. Not with his hair dark and stuck up with sweat.

The second Finch is on his back, he pushes up his hips hopefully and Fusco doesn’t even mess around, just pins Finch to the pillows and swallows him down. He barely hears Finch’s strangled yell because he’s too damn busy with the taste and the scent of him, and the weight of Finch’s dick against his tongue.

It’s a matter of a few seconds before Finch is jolting upward, fucking out the last of it into Fusco’s mouth and then they’re done, Finch flat on his back, spent and mumbling, Fusco with his head resting on Finch’s hipbone and his hard-on tenting the front of his underwear.

"Just you wait," Finch is gasping as his fingers sink into Fusco’s hair. "Oh, just you wait."

"Take your time," Fusco says sleepily. He’s surprised to find he means it, that just this was maybe enough for him. Maybe that’s what Finch is getting at when he gives Fusco a hard time about wanting to settle the score.

"What I’m going to do to you." Finch says that with some force behind it, even as his eyes drift shut. "Oh, just you wait."

  #reallyprivateperson    #person of interest    #poi hiatus fics    #finch x fusco