Author's Notes: Just some utter romantic fluff and silliness I felt the need to get out of my system for Valentine's Day. All eight chapters will be posted today. Thank you to all who still read and love Munch & Fin!
Characters property of NBC/Dick Wolf. Written purely for fun and not for profit. While I try to follow canon timeline of events, I may have pushed or fudged a few things to suit my needs for this little series (who besides me obsessively studies the dates on the episode scene cards, eh? Hmm...)
"For this was Saint Valentine's Day, when all the birds of every kind that men can imagine come to choose their mates."
- Geoffrey Chaucer, from the "Parlement of Foules", Modern English translation
2001
"Fin, what are you doing here?"
The sharp sound of his partner's voice startled the junior detective out of his concentration and thoughts, causing him to almost jump in surprise. Fin glanced up from the files spread out in front of him and found John Munch standing behind his own desk facing Fin's, studying him like an insect under glass.
Fin knew it was late...almost eleven, he saw, when he glanced at his watch. But he liked working when it was quiet, when most everyone had already headed home for the night. He could be alone at his desk and feel like he was doing something productive with his time—something better than sitting around at home playing video games until his eyes glazed over, or contemplating the bare walls of his shitty apartment and thinking too much about the current non-existent state of his life beyond this job.
"Catching up on paperwork. Somebody's got to get these reports done while we've all been wrapped up in the Smythe case."
"But it's late, my diligent partner, even for a night owl such as yourself. And it's Valentine's Day."
"So?"
"So..." John sat on the edge of Fin's desk, in that annoying way he had of making a pest of himself until he got the answer he wanted out of someone. That often worked great on suspects in the box, but not nearly as well on his fellow detectives. "Don't you have somewhere better to be on this most romantic evening of the year than cleaning up case files on rapists and pedophiles?"
"No, actually I don't. Are you satisfied?" John sighed and gave Fin one of his still largely indecipherable looks, one that seemed to fall somewhere between sympathy, pity and irritating smugness.
Six months partnered with the man since he'd transferred to SVU, and Fin still couldn't get a solid grasp on Munch. At first he'd thought his nonstop smart-ass attitude might have been because he had a problem working with a black partner. But then Fin had figured out, from observing John interacting with the other members of their unit, that he was just that kind of an asshole to everybody.
"What are you still doing here?" Fin challenged when John said nothing in response to his admission. "Thought you'd gone home already yourself. You telling me you don't have a hot date tonight?"
"Yeah, right. I started poking around on an dead case I thought I had a fresh lead on, but, as usual, it went nowhere. Sometimes it's hard to let go of the ones you can never close, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I hear you on that." John wasn't always an asshole, Fin had also started to figure out. He had a lot of compassion and empathy for the victims they regularly encountered, especially children, which was something Fin could respect. And as a detective John had a lot of experience under his belt, an intuition for crime-solving that Fin hoped he could pick up from him in time.
John got back to his feet and slipped on his long winter coat. "Listen, that paperwork won't be going anywhere overnight. Want to join me for a round at Maloney's?"
Part of Fin wanted to say yes. He wouldn't mind some company this evening, even in the form of John Munch—or maybe especially, for reasons he didn't want to think about too closely. Another part of him hesitated, the part that had vowed he'd never get close to another partner again in this job. Work with someone, sure. Learn to put trust in that person, and learn from them, absolutely. But beyond that?
Too dangerous. Too much opportunity to be wounded, emotionally or otherwise. Too much opportunity to wound someone else...maybe even land them in the cold ground forever.
"Thanks, but I think I'll pass."
"What's the matter, afraid you might be mistaken for my Valentine's date?"
Fin scowled. "In your dreams," came his quick response, just a joke, a typical barb as they often passed back and forth. But curiously he felt a pang of regret at his words when he caught the brief flash of...something...there in John's expression. Maybe actual hurt feelings, maybe a hint of the loneliness that Fin knew all too well. Maybe something else, too, that Fin didn't know as well but he recognized with some surprise. It disappeared in the blink of an eye and the shrug of his thick brows, but Fin had seen it.
And he felt shitty for having caused it.
"Never mind then, I'll see you tomorrow."
John headed toward the door and Fin hesitated only long enough to not appear too eager to make amends. "Hold up, John," he called, turning off his desk lamp and getting to his feet. John stopped and turned back around. "One round, that's it. I ain't comin' in here tomorrow hung over from listening to your sob stories about your miserable love life all night."
"Fin, I could exhaust that subject in all of five minutes."
Fin allowed himself a small chuckle at that as he put on his coat and walked over to join his partner. What harm was there in a drink? It didn't mean they had to become best friends or anything. It didn't have to mean anything at all, except that no one really wanted to be alone on Valentine's Day.
2002
A lot of things could change in a year's time. John's relationship with his current partner, Odafin Tutuola, certainly made proof of that.
A year ago, as he recalled, he could barely coax the man into a casual drink at the bar at the end of a long day. Could hardly squeeze a few words out of him that weren't work-related or—God forbid—might reveal anything too "personal" about his life.
And now, here they were, at John's apartment. Here Fin rested, naked in John's bed and sleeping the sound sleep of the well-fucked and satiated. John had only awoken to the banging and clattering noises of the garbage truck outside, crashing along in the early morning hours as it did every Friday morning on his street. With those human noises followed the first chirping songs of the sparrows that made their home in the nearby park, announcing that sunrise was almost here. Soon they'd have to get their sorry asses up for work, but for a little while longer he wanted to appreciate this moment, these rare hours of peace (if not quiet), rest and contended companionship.
How had they arrived here? Through time and a slow, strange dance of courtship acted out over the course of almost a year's time, as animosity, skepticism and conflict slowly mellowed into friendship, trust and, most intriguingly, desire.
John's curiosity about Fin had blossomed quickly, not perhaps from that first time he saw him—in that garish red athletic suit, looking more like one of their perps than a co-worker—but perhaps by the next day. That second day when the shock of Monique's demotion to desk duty had dulled, and Fin had apparently taken to heart his sharply-made comment about their victims deserving detectives who dressed like they gave a damn. In Fin had walked, that second day, in a well-fitted brown three-piece that almost put John's sartorial efforts to shame. John had smiled in approval, Fin had merely given him a cool nod, and nothing more had been said on the matter since.
I can work with this, John had thought at the time. And while Fin might not be Monique, in a good suit he wasn't too bad on the eyes in his own way, either.
And so it had begun for them, that September, simmering at a low flame all through the winter and spring until boiling over into something more in the heat of late summer. At the end of a particularly nasty case, they'd all had a reason to let loose. The entire squad had gone out drinking to celebrate a job well done, not so unusually for the hardworking detectives of the 16th. Flirting had been running high all around their table as the alcohol flowed—also not too unusual for their little gang of misfits who found it hard to meet anyone else who could understand the things they saw on a daily basis. Olivia had been getting it from both sides, sitting sandwiched between Elliot and Alex. George had seemed determined to test the boundaries of Morales' professed heterosexuality. Even the always-sober Captain Cragen had been making moon-eyes at their pretty waitress.
Meanwhile John had shared amused glances and quiet observations with Fin about their coworkers' amorous intentions and odds of success while sitting perhaps just a little too close, since no one was paying attention to them. Fin hadn't seemed to object, and had eventually asked, "So where does this leave us?" to which John's reply had been, "Maybe drunk enough to finally find out."
The rest of that night remained mostly a blur, even months later. Fin putting him in a cab and insisting on riding home with him, to make sure he didn't pass out and end up somewhere in a taxi lot in Queens. Fin fumbling through John's pockets for his keys, Fin's face so close to his own that John had to touch it, pull him even closer and not simply for support on his wobbly legs. Fin whispering in his ear, "Wait...until we're inside."
A first kiss, boozy and awkward, desperate and clumsy once they were in his apartment. John dragging a staggering Fin toward his bedroom as laughter echoed through his apartment for perhaps the first time since John had moved here to escape Charm City's ghosts and demons.
That morning he'd awoken sprawled sideways and half-undressed, head on Fin's belly and Fin's pants nowhere to be found. And he'd decided that before Fin woke up and could even suggest they forget this had ever happened, he was going for a repeat of whatever he'd clearly done to Fin the night before, just so that he'd actually remember what it was like.
When that awoke Fin, he'd had no objections—and later proclaimed John's blow jobs the best hangover cure on the market.
Now here they were in the cold of February, snuggled close for warmth instead of sweating off the heat. The hour being well past midnight meant it was no longer Valentine's Day, which was almost a relief. John had a long history of disappointment and heartache too closely tied to the day, going all the way back to the torturous years of middle and high school when it was prime season for pranks and practical jokes on the social misfits such as himself. The morning before while tailing a suspect through Battery Park, John had casually asked Fin what he wanted to do later on, being Valentine's Day and all. Fin had simply shrugged and said, "The usual, you know, grab a few beers, fuck a few times back at your place, sounds about right."
John had practically declared his undying love for the man on the spot.
Only they never talked about love, or really anything along those lines. They were certainly good friends now—more so than anyone who had witnessed their early interactions could have predicted. They had sex—surprisingly frequent and surprisingly good sex, given both men acknowledged their quiet bisexuality had generally swung far more toward the fairer sex in the past than their own. But they never really discussed their feelings or, God forbid, this "relationship". It didn't have a name; they weren't boyfriends but they were more than fuck-buddies. They weren't necessarily "lovers"...they were just Munch and Fin, as they had been before any of this had started.
And maybe there was nothing wrong with that. Maybe that's what made it work.
2003
"This just figures, doesn't it?"
Fin glanced across at his partner and asked, "What's that?"
John let out a deep sigh as he gazed upwards, his breath forming a cloud of condensate in the cold February air. "It's Valentine's Day and how are we spending it? Digging through dumpsters behind overpriced restaurants looking for a murder weapon." He slammed the lid down on a dumpster which had yielded no results, then started walking toward the next in the narrow, filthy alleyway. "You should be treating me to a nice dinner out at one of these fine establishments, yet here we are, smelling like Fra Diavolo and covered in fish guts and table scraps."
"Number one, how come I'm supposed to buy you dinner," Fin began, gloved hands pawing through chicken carcasses which bore no resemblance to the kitchen cleaver at the center of their search efforts. "And number two, since when did you become the sentimental type? I thought you hated all of these 'fake Hallmark holidays', to use your precise words."
"I do hate them. Or rather, I hate what they have become in this modern, mass-produced era of crass commercialism. There was a time when people actually marked the day by writing their own love poems, creating handmade cards out of lace and ribbon or photographs, or giving other unique tokens of affection."
"So where's my love poem?"
John placed his elbows on the rim of the dumpster and paused thoughtfully for a moment. "How's this: Roses are red, this trash smells like puke. But I'll still fuck you tonight, I guess I'm a kook."
"You're bringing a tear to my eye, baby. Or maybe it's just these rotten onions." Fin gave up on the muck in his dumpster and went to join John at the one he'd just started working on.
"Of course, go even further back in time and we should really be thanking the Romans for the festival of Lupercalia, a celebration of health and fertility which was later appropriated by the Christians for St. Valentine."
"Did the Romans have any festivals that weren't somehow about sex?"
"I don't think so. Fun people."
"Yeah, when they weren't throwing their enemies to the lions. Shit, I think I found something." Fin caught the glimpse of a shiny and metallic object deep in the food waste that didn't look like it belonged there. "Give me a boost?"
"I could give you a big sloppy kiss right now, Odafin, if that's the object of our putrid search mission."
"Pretty sure it is. How about you save the kiss for after we can get out of these clothes and can take shower first?"
"That's a deal. Grab it, bag it and tag it, and let's get the hell out of here."
2004
"I'm just saying, Fin, it's nothing but meaningless pandering and commercial greed."
Fin sighed. "Not this rant again."
"Yes, because the truth of the matter doesn't change—only the degree to which we're force-fed this sappy nonsense every time this ridiculous 'holiday' rolls around again. I'm telling you, I'm finished with it all. Four ex-wives and more girlfriends than I can remember, all demanding over-the-top gifts to validate my love for them on Valentine's Day, and for what? It had nothing to do with 'love', just me hoping I might score a decent blow job out of the deal before the night was over and my wallet was exhausted."
"...And, that's not the end of a conversation I needed to catch first thing in the morning," Olivia remarked, walking past the two detectives who'd just entered the squadroom together.
"Sorry, 'Liv," John apologized.
"You know Munch, venting his spleen and raining on everyone's parades, as usual," Fin added.
"Well, maybe a little something he'll find waiting on his desk this morning might cheer up our eternal Grinch," Olivia said with a knowing smile.
"What the—" John's pace slowed as his eyes fell upon the garish display that had somehow exploded across his workspace overnight. A vase filled with red roses, pink lilies, and frilly Queen Ann's lace towered over his files and papers. Next to it was a large box of chocolate-dipped strawberries.
"Looks like John's been holding out on us," Elliot teased, coming over to add his commentary to the scene of the crime. "Some mystery lady out there angling to become the fifth Mrs. Munch?"
"More like someone looking to set off the next St. Valentine's Day Massacre," John sniped, picking up the small tag attached to the vase showing two lovebirds in a tree, captioned, "You make my heart sing!"
"So who's the secret admirer?" Fin asked, acting incriminatingly innocent.
"No signature on the card, surprise, surprise. But I'm fairly sure I know who is to blame." John sat down as his desk and moved the vase just enough to shoot a death glare across at Fin, when he was certain no one else was looking.
Fin very subtly gave him the finger.
Im going to kill you, John texted to Fin a few minutes later, thankful for the technology that allowed them to carry on such conversations at work without anyone having to know their private business.
Fin's reply came not long after:
I expect the blowjob of a lifetime first.
2005
"Sorry about dinner being a complete disaster."
"Don't worry 'bout it. Not here for that tonight. Or any night." Fin pulled John's undershirt off over his head and tossed it to the side of the bed. There it joined John's dress shirt, tie, and the gigantic teddy bear proclaiming "Life would be unBEARable without you" which had been Fin's cringeworthy mystery gift for John at the 16th this year. He'd already made quick work of his own clothes, faster to remove than his partner's many layers. But that was always part of the fun, the play, the tease, and he loved every second of it.
He dipped his head to kiss John's chest, licking and then biting one rosy nipple until his lover squirmed and groaned. Fin paused, lifting his head to say, "But next time you want to make me a fancy dinner for Valentine's Day?"
"...Yeah?"
"Just don't."
"Fuck you, Fin."
"You'll get your chance." He moved back up to John's mouth for a kiss, the taste of him far better than his ill-advised attempt to prepare stuffed Cornish hens and roast potatoes for a romantic evening in. The effort had been sweet, a sign that maybe John was starting to get over his usual bitter grumpiness about Valentine's Day. But however broad-reaching his many talents might be, cooking definitely wasn't one of them. "Whatever you want tonight, baby," Fin said in a low growl against John's neck. "I'm all yours, lousy chef or not."
"Whatever I want?"
"Mm hmm, why... You got something special in mind?"
"Maybe..." John's fingers played with Fin's loose hair as Fin kissed and teased John's skin, knowing just where he was especially sensitive. "Mmm, Fin...could we...talk seriously for a moment?"
Those weren't words Fin was used to hearing from John, especially not in the middle of them trying to have sex. Suddenly worried, he pulled back enough to look John in the eyes and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, calm down," John assured him. Fin shifted so they were resting side by side, John still stroking his hair the way he so often did. The way that made Fin want to just close his eyes and start purring like a cat, only he knew something important was up, and he didn't want to lose focus. "I was just thinking...how long have we been doing, well...this, now?"
Fin thought for a moment. He was surprised John didn't have that exact date, hour and second of their first kiss, that first night together burned into his memory the way he seemed to remember everything else in minute detail, important or not. Or maybe this was some kind of test of his own memory, Fin wondered, which was why he took his time to get it right. "Since...right around the end of my first year with SVU. August, 2001."
That was it, he remembered it clearly now. The brutal summer heatwave that year, the night of heavy drinking that had finally brought the sexual tension between them to a head. He recalled as well because it had only been a few weeks later that the Towers had fallen, when they had spent the next horrific weeks helping in desperate rescue and recovery efforts and he had been so very thankful that he'd had John there with him through it all, that they'd had each other to rely on when so many others they had known were gone, missing, or grieving lost friends and loved ones.
He remembered. Remembered spending one early night on his rooftop in Brooklyn, trying to make sense of the broken skyline, the eerie darkness of the evening hours with no planes overhead. Still not sure of what they were doing but certain that they needed to hold on to each other in that moment, in this strange new world where the ground beneath them had shifted and trembled and the city would never be as it once was. Not for any of them.
"More than three years now," John said, and in his seriousness Fin wondered if he shared those same recollections. But then John had to break the solemness with a smirk, a quip, "I think that's almost longer than the sum of my marital life, combined."
"Where are you going with this, John?"
"Have you slept with anyone else since we got together? No judgement if you have, promise. I know we never said anything about making this exclusive."
"No, I haven't," Fin answered, almost surprised by that answer himself. Not that random hook-up sex had ever held huge appeal to him, and since he'd fallen in with John he'd begun to wonder if his lack of interest in chasing many women through the years had been thanks to a stronger interest in men than he'd even occasionally allowed himself to acknowledge.
But he hadn't even really looked at another man the past few years, either. Which made this entire situation even more bizarre than he might have found it otherwise.
Maybe he had simply become...Munchsexual? That was a scary thought, and the kind of joke he could hear John making.
Shit, now he was even starting to think like the man.
"Neither have I. And my last test came back clean. You?"
"'Course, I would have said something otherwise."
"So what do you say to ditching these?" John asked, reaching over to hold up one of the wrapped condoms on his nightstand.
Fin didn't rush to answer, even as he wanted to say fuck yes please out of raging natural male desire. This was a major matter of trust, an important one he wanted John to know he took seriously himself. "Are you okay with that?"
"If you are. If you'll tell me the truth if things change, or if one or the both of us face an exposure incident at work."
"Of course. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you."
"I know." John pulled him back close for a kiss, one hand grasping in his hair while the other caressed Fin's chest. John's fingers paused over the ridge of scar tissue that marked where a bullet had come dangerously close to ending Fin's life, just months before and he pulled back once again. In that moment his eyes were such deep pools of emotion, Fin could barely hold his gaze, yet neither could he stand to look away. "I love you."
"I love you," Fin echoed, because of course he did. And he'd known, they'd both surely known it without having to say it for so long. But saying it, finally, giving words to this truth was an important moment, a gift to be treasured. Something that meant far more than flowers or chocolates or a perfect dinner on Valentine's Day ever could.
That night they made love for the first time without barriers, not of the physical nor the emotional kind. And Fin knew with certainty that he had found something here that he could never lose, that he could never take for granted. He'd found the true meaning of love.
2008
John cast a wistful glance over his shoulder, away from the video screens which had been the center of his attention all day and toward two familiar, currently empty desks. Fin's desk, just as it had been now for almost eight years, and the one which used to be his but now belonged to that annoying little twerp from Brooklyn, Chester Lake.
John hadn't cared for Lake from the first day he'd shown up at the precinct trying to be all buddy-buddy with Fin, simply because they'd worked one case together in the past. As if he could stroll in here and take John's place as Fin's partner on the job like that. Maybe otherwise, even. John didn't like to let the green-eyed monster of jealousy take up residence in his brain, but it seemed to have come along with Lake's arrival as part and parcel of the deal.
Now Lake was on a stakeout with Fin and John was stuck here at the precinct, going over surveillance footage on a different case for the hundredth time, wondering if he'd missed any clue or detail the other ninety-nine times he'd reviewed these tapes. But concentration proved difficult when he kept wondering how Fin and Lake were getting on out there tonight. How did they keep each other awake and entertained through hours of tedium in the car? Fin and John had long had their own ways...or, rather, they used to.
John sighed, turning his attention away from the desks and back to his own work. He had to remind himself that he'd been the one to finally take the sergeant's exam—and to not make a flimsy excuse about losing his lucky socks to get out of it like he had back in Baltimore. And he'd done it this time because he'd thought he wanted this, wanted to protect Fin by having him take on a younger, more agile partner in the field now that John was getting close to pushing sixty.
But why the hell did that someone have to end up being Lake? Along with all his more petty reasons, John was sure there was something not quite right about the guy. Some kind of secret he was holding back on, something that would tarnish his shiny gold shield eventually. And John didn't want him to bring any harm to Fin when that happened.
He would do whatever he had to, to make sure that didn't take place.
"You still here, John?" called a familiar voice.
"Apparently so." The captain had his coat on his arm and had walked over to join John at the video monitors. "I know there's something we're missing. That I'm missing. All these cameras all over the hotel, and not one of them caught Jackson entering or leaving that night? He didn't just sprout wings and fly off from the roof deck."
"Unless our perp is a vampire."
John snorted. "That would be a new one."
"Well, I know if something's here, you'll find it. But don't make yourself blind looking for it all night."
"Not as if I have any other plans this evening."
"No Valentine's toast with Fin?" the captain asked. By now he knew of their relationship, as did Olivia, Elliot and George. John wondered if Fin had told Lake. They hadn't talked about that; John preferred to talk as little about him as possible when he and Fin were together.
"He's been out tailing Monroe all day, remember?"
"Oh, right. Well, I'm sure you'll both make up for lost time this weekend. 'Night, John."
"'Night, Captain."
Don left and it appeared that John had the place to himself, which was fine. He didn't really want to go home alone, although that seemed to happen more often than it used to now that he and Fin weren't always on similar schedules, even with them finally sharing an apartment together.
He'd even been disappointed to arrive at work this morning to find no embarrassingly tacky Valentine's gift from Fin waiting on his desk. John hadn't said anything about it, hadn't even seen Fin all day as the man had spent the night in the crib, claiming exhaustion from the case he was on with Lake.
Maybe that's all there was to it. They all got busy, and distracted. And dammit, he was not going to turn into one of those pathetic people who got stupidly sad and dejected when their lover forgot about some stupid, meaningless "holiday".
Fuck this, I need a cup of tea even if it keeps me up all night.
He went over to the coffee station to get some hot water for his mug. It was then that he noticed he'd left his own phone on his desk earlier, and picking it up he saw there was a message for him from Fin, left several hours before.
Might be out here all night, not sure yet. Miss u. Go to my desk, top drawer. Something there for u. Dont want u to think i forgot. xxx
John pocketed his phone and went over to Fin's desk, opening the drawer to find a rather large envelope on the top of his pens, pencils and paper clips. John's name was written on the envelope so it had to be what Fin had meant, though he wondered what it could be. They never did the "card" thing, all these years, so why start now?
When he opened the envelope he found there was, in fact, no typical card inside. It was instead a large color photograph inserted in an intricate, stenciled frame of silver and black knotwork. The photograph made him laugh out loud, as he could remember exactly when it was taken: at a hotel room crime scene, one of the first cases he and Fin had worked together years before. Fin had been photographing the room and, out of nowhere, given the camera to one of the CSU officers and grabbed John for a snapshot.
In the picture Fin stood there beaming happily while John looked utterly bewildered. He'd had no idea Fin had kept that picture from the evidence roll after all of this time, but it was surprisingly delightful to see a record of those early days they'd had together.
Eventually he realized there was something attached to the back of the photo frame, and he turned it over to find a note there in Fin's neat and precise handwriting.
John, This past year hasn't been easy for us, but I don't know how I would have made it through without you. I know I don't say it enough, or even show it enough, but never forget how much I love you. You'll always be my partner, we're together and entwined then, now and forever. Fin.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, reading over Fin's words which left him far too emotional and glancing back at that silly photograph of the two of them. But suddenly he was started by the noise of approaching footsteps and a loud conversation in the corridor outside. Fin burst in with Lake right behind him, insisting, "I still think we should have stayed through the night, Fin. Or at least a few more hours to make sure he—"
"Man went to bed, Lake, chill. You saw the lights go out, and I ain't freezing my ass off in the car with you all night just to see him headin' out for coffee in the morn—hey, John, you're still here, I thought you'd have—"
John didn't let him finish. He didn't care what Lake did or didn't know about the two of them, didn't care if Fin cared that he was about to do this. But before Fin could complete his sentence, John had him in his arms and was kissing him as if they'd been apart for weeks, or months even. Because in a strange way it almost seemed as though they had. And Fin, after a brief moment of shock, didn't seem to mind. He kissed John back, his hands wrapping around John's shoulders and back, squeezing him reassuringly, letting him know he understood.
"You are mine," John whispered against his ear, when he finally allowed Fin to breathe again.
"Yours, always, John."
Eventually John looked over his shoulder and discovered that Lake must have made a quick and speedy exit—either that or he'd spontaneously combusted from the sight of them making out like hormonal teenagers, which was a pleasing thought. "Think we scared off Junior."
"Oh well," Fin scoffed, clearly giving about as much of a damn as John did at that moment.
"Oh well. Let's go home, Fin. And tonight I'll drive."
2016
Fin stretched out on the large hotel room bed, trying to find something worth watching on the television, anything but yet more news stories about the recent events which had brought him to Chicago to help in the manhunt.
Which really sucked. All this fuss and bother and he wasn't even sure why he'd been dragged here in the first place. Now he'd missed getting to see—or at least hear—first-hand about his planned "surprise" for John, which should have been delivered to his office at the DA's that morning, being the Friday before this Sunday's Valentine's Day. Not that his damned husband would ever admit he cared about such things, but Fin kind of did. He had his sentimental moments like that, more so as he grew older, in fact.
He also loved pranking the hell out of John, and this year should have been a record-breaker.
That reminded him it was time to check his personal, not work cell, now that he had the time to relax and chill. He got out his phone and saw the expected text message from John, sent much earlier in day, and grinned.
As per usual, I'm going to kill you when you get your ass back in town.
Fin tapped the screen to call him back, and John barely let it go for two rings before answering, "I hate you, you know. I really and truly hate you."
"Yeah you say that every year."
"No seriously, Fin. It was one thing when I could pretend I had a psycho lovesick stalker sending me ridiculous gifts to the one-six. But sending me a singing strip-o-gram to the DA's office? That's an all-time low. 'When Doves Cry' is now officially ruined for life for me."
"Damn, I wish I could've heard that and seen your reaction."
"Oh, don't you worry. That little cannoli-face Carisi was there and got the whole thing on video. In fact I bet Rollins already has it up on her YouTube channel."
"Thanks for the heads up, I'll take a look for it in the morning."
"You bastard. Though I will admit, Barba's response was priceless. Carisi tipped the guy to give a little extra performance for the ADA before he went off on his merry way."
"And I missed all the fun."
"So how's Chicago."
"Cold as balls and I'm not even sure what they needed me out here for on this one anyway. How's New York?"
"Cold but not that bad, except I could use someone to snuggle up with right about now."
"I hear you on that. Doesn't feel right traveling somewhere without you."
"Lonely?"
"Mm hmm."
"What are you wearing?"
Fin chuckled. "Nothin' fancy, you know. Sweatpants, t-shirt. No underwear," he added, to make the image perfectly clear. "Just got out of a nice, hot shower so I'm feeling real relaxed."
"I can imagine. Did you pack that shower gel I like so much on you? I love the way you smell when you use it, right out of the shower, your skin all soft and warm and still a little damp. Makes me want to lick you all over, get a taste for myself."
"Uh huh," Fin said, his free hand moving down his chest to the waistband of his pants as he heard John breathing in deeply over the phone, could almost feel his breath on his skin. He knew exactly what John had in mind right now and if they couldn't be together in person tonight, they could work with what they had. "I know it's your favorite, baby. Was thinking of you when I got all lathered up."
"Did you jerk off in the shower?"
"No, saving it for you. Shame you're not here. This bed's nice and soft, good height...I could bend you over the side and take you real hard, the way you like it when we haven't been together for a while. Remind you who your ass belongs to 'cause you'll be feelin' in for days." Fin untied the string around his pants, his hand slipping inside them so he could touch himself while they talked. "What're you wearing right now?"
"One of your old sweatshirts, because it's soft and warm and smells like you."
"What else?"
"My black pyjama pants."
"My favorites. Always like when you wear them and we're sitting together at home. Silky smooth, I can feel you get hard almost as soon as I start touching you down there."
"You always get me hard, Fin. Just the way you look at me sometimes, before you even touch me. But right now I'm imagining you in that big hotel bed, all alone and lonely and if I were there I'd be kissing you all over. Just imagine how it should be: I'm kissing your neck until you start to giggle because it tickles as much as it turns you on. You're pushing my head down because you really want me on your dick, and I'll get there, but not yet. I'm going to stop to lick your chest, first, over your heart, so close I can feel it beating. Faster, now, because you want this, want me so badly, don't you?"
"Yes, John. Please."
"Then I'm kissing your stomach, I feel it flutter when I kiss that one spot that always makes you shudder, makes you squirm and push my head down to where you really want it. I love it when you get a little rough like that. Makes me know how much you want me."
"I want you right now, baby. Want your mouth on my dick, sucking me off just until I can't take it any more. It never takes too long the way you use that mouth on me. I'm gonna come but I'm not ready for it yet, want to make it last, want to get you off too. So I pull you up and get on top of you, tell you not to touch me, it's my turn now. I'm gonna fuck you with my mouth, gonna suck you hard and dry." Fin took a break to lick his lips, and listened to the sound of John's heavy breathing on the phone. There was a time when he could only sit back, groan and beg when John did this to him, but now he enjoyed being the one to talk dirty as much as hearing John talk dirty to him.
"Please let me touch you, Fin."
"Not yet. Not until I almost have you ready to come. You're whimpering now, frustrated as fuck, so am I because I want to be inside of you. I'm burning, baby, burning up I need it so bad. If I touch myself now I'm gonna come, and you are too. So I get up and tell you how I want you. Bent over the edge of the bed. It's nice and high. Perfect for fucking. But I gotta get you wet and ready first. I get the lube and pour it all over my fingers. I'm gonna finger fuck you till you're begging for my cock."
"You've already got me begging. I need more than that, Fin, I need to feel that shock of you, inside me, filling and stretching me out before I'm ready for it. A cold sweat breaking out on my skin because it's too much, it hurts, I don't think I can take it but I don't want you to stop. But then you reach around and you touch me, you start stroking me with that slick hand while you're balls deep and it just feels...so good."
"So fucking good," Fin echoed, close now. "I need you to come. Come in my hand, baby, 'cause I can't...almost there..."
"Yes..." The word was a hiss in Fin's ear, drawn out, followed by a low and throaty moan he knew so well it was all he needed to finish the job himself. He came with shuddering quickness, groaning more for John's benefit than his own, to let him know what his words and his voice had done to him.
"Feeling better now?"
"You know it." Fin sighed, and then fumbled for the box of tissues at his bedside to make a quick job of cleaning up.
"Good. I know you'll be asleep in thirty seconds so I'll just say good night, love. Call me when you know what flight home you'll be on so I can meet you at the airport."
"'Kay, I will." He yawned and turned off the light over the bed, ready to drift asleep with John's voice in his ear. "Love you."
"Love you, too. Stay safe."
2025
Snow fell in lazy, large flakes upon the trees in Central Park, coating the ground and briefly painting the city in a beautiful, almost blinding blanket of white. Winter storms in the city rarely stayed this pretty for very long; streets had to be plowed, determined joggers and dog-walkers stomped down the paths into dirty slush and ice, children played and ran amuck celebrating the day of escape from lessons and classwork.
John and Fin sat close together on one of the park benches, keeping a watchful eye on two such children busy erecting a massive fortress of packed snow with their mittened hands, a pair of small shovels, and a plastic brick-shaping tool. Mateo and Dante, the two young boys Ken and Alejandro had adopted through the foster care system, seemed blissfully unaware of the arctic chill in the air as they worked diligently on their snow-day project.
"I'm afraid it's official, Fin."
"What's that?"
"We've become those cranky old men who spend their days sitting around in the park watching the world pass them by and doing nothing but bitching in futile rage over it."
"You're the one always doing the bitching and moaning. I just sit here and have to listen to it all the damn time," Fin said.
"I suppose it is preferable to chasing suspects around the park, or looking for dead bodies in the brambles."
"Or a dead baby in the Reservoir."
John grimaced at that particularly unpleasant memory. "Definitely better than that."
Despite such grim activities being part of their job description, John had struggled, not so gracefully, to transition finally to full retirement. But after several years of making himself a nuisance around the DA's office after leaving SVU, and with the boys needing some extra help with two rambunctious toddlers on their hands (and them needing extra attention and care to make up for the neglect suffered during infancy thanks to a drug-addicted mother), John had finally said his last goodbyes to law enforcement to become a full-time conspiracy crackpot...and a doting grandfather.
Fin had followed suit not many years later, stating that he didn't want to miss the chance to be more of a grandfather than he'd ever had the chance to be a father in his younger days. Though before then he'd finally, grudgingly, taken and passed the sergeant's exam himself, if just to stop having to take orders from Dodds. He'd found himself no better suited for the extra responsibilities of the job than John had been years before, who'd only shake his head and say "I told you so" every time Fin came home complaining about it.
Dodds hadn't been cut out for SVU long term, anyway, leaving Rollins now moving up the ranks, second beneath Olivia in the unit and proving Fin had been right about her being a damn fine cop all along. John knew Fin was proud of her, just like John was and always would be proud of Fin.
They'd all done good work. Sometimes it hadn't felt like it, sometimes it seemed like nothing they'd done really made a difference in the grand scheme of things. But that they could be happy to stay here in New York in these senior years even when they didn't have to, and feel comfortable seeing Mateo and Dante grow up in the city? John believed that had to mean something positive about where the city was today compared to decades before.
"What do you feel like doing tonight?" Fin asked. It was Valentine's Day, albeit a wintry one, a holiday John had only begrudgingly begun to appreciate as it had come to mean something more to him than pressured expectations of professed affection and love. They didn't have to do anything extravagant to mark the day, not after all of this time and not that they had ever made a huge stink about it. But he did feel it was worth reflecting back on the fact that they had each other, for another year, that love had found them both when they had nearly given up on the possibility of ever finding it themselves.
"Probably nothing more involved than taking a nap once we return our budding civil engineers over there to their parents, then maybe a bottle of good wine, some pizza and a movie at home? Every restaurant in the city will be a mob scene."
"Sounds good to me," Fin agreed.
A flicker of color cut through the snowfall, a bright red cardinal chasing a duller tan female in the trees. "According to some traditions," John said, "St. Valentine's Day marked the day when birds would choose their mates for the year ahead."
"Just for the year?"
"Well, you know. Birds are flighty creatures."
"Ouch. I would have thought a pun like that beneath you."
"Cut this old brain of mine some slack and be thankful I still know what a pun is."
"Ain't that old," Fin grumbled, and John dropped that line of conversation, even if some days he felt positively ancient. Today wasn't one of those days, not really, because there was something invigorating about the cold and the beauty of the park in the snow, the laughter of happy children and the warmth of Fin's gloved hand in his own.
Glancing across, he caught Fin watching him with bemused expression, to which John could only ask, "What?"
"Nothin'. Just thinking back on some things."
"Good, bad?"
"Little of both, but mostly good. Guess I'll choose another year stuck with your bony ass, all things considered."
"All things considered, I accept."
Fin smiled, that shy smile that never seemed to change, never grew old, and always beckoned John closer to him for a kiss. And for a moment, it seemed as though twenty-odd years was nothing but the blink of an eye, and the coldness of February was forgotten in the warmth of their affection.
...until a sudden blast of icy snow pelted John in the shoulder, shrieks of laughter following soon after. Both men turned just in time to catch the top of Mateo's hat disappearing behind the outer wall of the boys' snow fortress.
"Assault with a non-deadly snowball, that's a serious offense, sergeant," John said, brushing off the ice crystals from his scarf. "And I do believe there may be a second gunman."
"Looks like we got us some perps to chase down today after all," Fin said, getting to his feet and scooping up a large handful of snow while he was at it. "We'd better not go in there unarmed."
"I got your back."
"Just like old times."
"Just like old times," John agreed. He wouldn't want it any other way.
*end*