Actions

Work Header

Déjà Vu All Over Again

Work Text:

John was in that space between being awake and sleeping. The moment just as lucidity begins to leave your senses and you stand on the threshold of the realm of dreams. The instant that if you’re very lucky you can choose which direction your visions take you.

One of those rare occasions that you can be the director, the producer and the star of your very own dreamscape. He loved those infrequent times, they came so seldom these days.

Then of course his phone rings and he has to wake himself enough to have a conversation, albeit probably a short one, but nonetheless he knows from experience that he’ll never be able to get to that state again this night.

He grabs the phone off the night stand impatiently. He knows who it is before looking, of course he does, there’s only one person that has his number.

“Mister Reese, I’m sending a car around at precisely 11: 30am tomorrow, please feel free to dress casually. We will be attending an outdoor event.”

“Finch?” John had been falling to sleep so well, “Do we have a new number?” he was cranky, Harold’s habit of calling him at all hours of the night was becoming tiresome… literally. “Have you noticed what time it is?”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line and then, “Oh, I’m very sorry John, please go back to sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The man is an android, John thought drowsily.

It was hard to go back to sleep now wondering what Harold had up his sleeve for tomorrow. “Thanks a lot Finch.” He mused out loud.

He had a suspicion that Harold had the loft bugged, and probably had hidden cameras too, but he hadn’t bothered to look. If it made his paranoid partner feel better it was okay with him. He knew that Harold wouldn’t invade his privacy unless there was a good reason to.

Sometimes though, when they’d had a light case load and he had time to relax in the comfort of his very own space, a space provided by his employer, he secretly hoped that Harold was watching him. He’d never in a million years tell his endearingly fussy friend that he’d like for him to hear and see him pleasuring himself.

Finch would be mortified to know that John was thinking of him as he was performing the act. He’d never do that to him, he knew his interest wasn’t returned, Harold would never be over Grace. He would probably feel as if he were cheating on her if he let himself feel anything for someone else, least of all a man, not to mention a killer.

Finally he nodded off and then it seemed only a moment later it was time to get up.

John’s normal routine was getting up at 5am, working out with free weights for twenty minutes, stretching for ten, and some yoga for half an hour before eating a light breakfast and then showering.

Then he would usually make his way to the library, picking up Finch’s Sencha, green and pastries of some kind along the way.

But today was different. He wasn’t going to the library. He felt strange about altering his routine but his partner had something planned for them and he was finding it impossible to figure it out.

Something outside… dress casual? For the life of him he couldn’t imagine anything, he was drawing a blank.

Now he found himself imagining Finch dressed in something casual and began to feel a flush come into his face as he envisioned seeing more of him. Maybe he’d get to see some skin… some body hair perhaps? Hell he’d never seen so much as a stray chest hair peeking out of any of his clothes… including his disguises. Did he even have chest hair? God he hoped so!

He cleared his throat, fighting back the images he created for himself, Harold wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt, chest hair poking out of the top of his undershirt… his sleeves rolled up to his elbows… and no tie or waistcoat! Ohhh, he needed to stop before he became too aroused to function!

He couldn’t fantasize about the man just before he was going to meet him somewhere!

Another shower, that’s what he needed, another shower! Off to the bathroom, there was plenty of time to cool off. The car wouldn’t be there for another hour and a half, plenty of time.

He got undressed slowly, finding it hard not to imagine a camera in here and wanting to put on a show… just in case.

Damn it! He was still getting worked up. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. He turned on the shower heads and set the temperature to luke warm and got under the spray.

He didn’t need to lather up, he’d already showered just a short time ago so he stood under the water and let the pulsating streams massage the back of his neck.

It felt wonderful, loosening his pent up muscles. He found himself picking up the bar of soap anyway and rubbed it over his skin. What the hell? This was his home and he was a grown man. Men do this sort of thing, he lowered the bar to his groin and ran it through the ample hair that surrounded his swelling cock.

Men do this all the time. Harold is a man… Now he was imaging Harold pleasuring himself and he was getting harder in his hand imagining the sounds his reserved partner would make, the quiet sighs to start with and then working himself up until he was close and then the sounds would turn to heavy breathing progressing into panting and gasping at the end as he climaxed.

Just as John was doing now. “Harold!” He was leaning against the marble tile with his softening member in his grip panting heavily. Had he just yelled his partner’s name as he jerked himself off?

Oh God… His ears were ringing in the small space, he must have, oh no.

But he wasn’t even sure there were camera’s or bugs. He just needed to relax. If Harold acted funny around him when they met up, he’d know then for sure. If not, no harm done.

He did feel better. A little more relaxed. He got out and toweled off.

He walked through the apartment and went to the closet, finding a pair of well broken in jeans and a navy button up. He put his boxer briefs on and finished dressing.

He looked at the clock. Another forty five minutes to go. He could do this. He sat on the black leather couch that, Harold had also provided, and sat back.

He loved this couch, it was so… Harold. He could easily envision Finch’s place designed in dark rich colors and soft leather furniture. Furniture just like the man had picked out for him. He could almost see Harold laid out on his couch, relaxed, dressed in his own wonderful style but with fewer pieces.

John’s favorite thing to see him in was a colorful ensemble of a three piece suit minus the jacket. John loved a classy lavender waistcoat paired with a paisley tie covering a pristine white dress shirt… complete with French cuffs and black onyx links.

His mind was wondering again, he was getting hot and his jeans were getting tighter.

“Jesus! What am I doing?” he exclaimed loudly.

He looked around himself guiltily. What if Finch had heard him? He’d probably think he’d lost his mind.

He looked at the clock, thirty minutes to go, he could do this!

Finch wouldn’t think he was crazy, Harold could never think that of him. The man is a saint. He is more than a saint, he is his savior.

A better man has never lived. A caring, peaceful, generous man that would sooner die himself than see an innocent harmed. He was a wonderful man, a warm, tender hearted man, a man that needed to have someone that would treat him the way he deserved to be treated. Someone that would put him above all others… someone like me, John thought suddenly.

An epiphany! John needed Harold to know how much he was loved and cared for. He would tell him as soon as he sees him and hope he doesn’t get fired.

Fifteen minutes to go. John leaned back further into the couch and closed his eyes. Yes he was going to tell him right away. It might make Harold uncomfortable though. If it does, he can handle it. If Harold doesn’t return his feeling and isn’t interested in the least he would have to be okay with that.

The numbers came first for him too. They would have to make it work. They would make it work, there was no doubt in his mind. But he hoped and prayed that Harold would return his feelings and they could become partners in all things.

John opened his eyes suddenly and looked above him. It was dark in the loft and he was in bed. He looked over at the digital clock, it reads 1:45am.

He grabs the phone off the night stand impatiently. He knows who it is before looking, of course he does, there’s only one person that has his number.

“Mister Reese, I’m sending a car around at precisely 11: 30am tomorrow, please feel free to dress casually. We will be attending an outdoor event.”

“Finch…? Do we have a new number?” Something seemed off to him instantly. “Have you noticed what time it is?”

A pause on the other end of the line… “Wait… Harold!” John felt it again, “Get some sleep… we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

“Of course Mister Reese.” Harold disconnected the line.

Yes they did have a lot to talk about and a football game would be a great place to start.

The End