Title: Phoenix Rising
Author: wildwordwomyn
Word Count: 571
Rating: PG for angsty fluff (fluffy angst?)
Fandom/Pairing: Person of Interest slash starring John Reese/Harold Finch, past John Reese/Jessica Arndt
Disclaimers/Warnings: No episode spoilers. Not real. Just my own twisted imagination at play...
Author's Notes: Rinch, of course. I don't really know where this came from or why I wrote it the way I did. Stream-of-consciousness stuff I guess. And apparently I wrote the story around its title. So, yeah...
Summary: John makes an offer. One Finch simply cannot refuse.
It's easy allowing this desire to flow through his veins, to spill into the marrow of his bones. As easy as firing a gun or fighting an opponent. John wonders when and where the ease came from as a tense Finch stares up at him leaning against the desk, his eyes wide, lips parted in shock.
"Would you like me on my knees, Finch? Drinking from you like you were nectar from the gods? Or would you rather I spread my legs, open myself up for you? I will, if that's what you want. Whatever you want. Tell me and I'll do it."
Finch doesn't speak. Can't speak. Every time he tries nothing happens. He wants to. John can tell that he wants to say something. Yes or no or maybe just to ask for a moment to think things through. Decide if what they have today, what they could have tomorrow, is worth it. Instead he remains struck dumb by John's nearness, his words.
"You could ask anything of me," he continues. "Anything, Finch, and I would give it to you." The older man blinks in fear. John doesn't blame him, though. What he's offering has never been offered to anyone else. Not even Jessica. And certainly not like this. "I'll hold you all day long if you'd like. Or kiss you until all the pain melts away."
It takes Finch a while to read between the lines, to hear what is hidden underneath. He's used to getting other things from John. John knows that. They've both grown comfortable with the status quo. Only Finch has, in his own demanding, yet idealistic way, seen that there's more. That John has something left inside. Something secret and sacred, an intangible power that was waiting inexplicably for him alone to unleash. John can feel it now, fluttering its wings as it rises up out of the ashes of what he used to be. Once Finch smiles, accepting the gift he's been given, the wings flap harder, making John inhale so sharply his chest burns. Because he realizes those aren't wings at all. That's actually his heart beginning to beat again.
When Finch tugs on his chin he goes without hesitation. Their mouths meet like two lovers after too long an absence. A slow, sensual slip-slide of pressure. Pressure that builds as John drops down to his level. He can't get closer no matter how much he needs to. Finch fixes that by untucking, then unbuttoning his dress shirt to grip his waist with warm hands. This skin against skin makes him feel as if he's come back to himself. As if he's finally home. He sighs and Finch swallows the sound whole, returning it when John wraps him in a tight embrace. John breaks away reluctantly, leaning their foreheads together. Finch's shallow exhales brush across his cheeks while he struggles to compose himself.
"...Finch...," John whispers, his soft voice reverent, believing.
"Yes," Finch responds.
It's enough for John, who stands gracefully, his long, lean body barely showing any wear after so many years of being abused. He holds out a hand to the other man, helping him up out of his chair until they are side by side. Finch smiles again, impossibly brighter than before. John is pleased to note that he doesn't let go. They walk out of the library holding hands, ready to face the world.
The End