Rating: Teen
Notes: This show has eaten my brain. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.
Prompt: comment_fic - Law and Order SVU, Fin/John, John can't sleep
Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.
Written: 1/2013
John groans in his sleep and the bed shifts when he does – dipping toward the center and then back toward the edge no matter how much he fidgets trying to find a comfortable spot. Eventually, he simply gives up and gets out of bed completely.
It's not that he's uncomfortable, far from it, it's just different. It's been a while since he's slept with someone – not just sex but actual sleeping where you're both trying to get some sort of shut-eye before you have to get up at an ungodly hour of the morning and do your job – but it's not the same. Not that it's bad or unfulfilling, he just finds himself sitting naked in the kitchen at two in the morning with a saucepan on the stove so the electric kettle's timer won't wake the man snoring and wrapped in sheets in the next room.
He sits against the edge of the table, rather enjoying the cold press of wood against his bare skin as he waits for the water to boil and considers exactly why he's awake and why he'd neglected to get his glasses before stumbling out of the warm embrace of his bedroom.
The glasses, of course, are easy – they were on the left bedside table, wedged between the window and the side of the bed where where he normally slept. Where Fin had nested into an extra blanket and fallen asleep while he was taking a post-coital shower. Reaching over him would be a bad idea because he'd probably wake up, and God knows he needs the sleep after pulling a double shift while he got the dignity of sitting behind a desk fielding phone calls before going home at a decent and respectable hour. And, since there weren't any sort of established rules yet, it's not exactly like he could just tell Fin to roll his happy ass over.
Well, he could, but it would probably have a somewhat different meaning in their particular context.
So, he shifts against the table and finds another cool spot as he hears the small bubbles start to skitter on the bottom of the pan – and crosses his arms over his chest, checking a watch that is also on the bedside table and would be too blurry to read without his glasses anyway. Why he's awake is another story, though he's pretty sure they're connected.
It's weird. Not even that it's a guy in his bed, as much as he lets Fin think he was the first he isn't, and while some of it stemmed from the obvious big red flag of jumping in bed with his partner there's more to it than that. It's Fin. Outside of work and a general compassion for victims of horrible crimes, he knows they've got nothing but what might pass for repressed feelings. The very thought of his friends knowing he was literally in bed with a Republican…
Well, not to mention the other stuff. He couldn't talk philosophy or independent theater… if Fin was in a coffeehouse, it was to buy a cup of coffee and get the hell out of there before a guy in a turtleneck started reading poetry or tried to discuss how communism is a good idea in theory but sucks because people are inherently power hungry bastards.
His turtlenecks have been mysteriously moved deeper into the closet to make room for Fin's suits and jackets as they've slowly made the migration from Brooklyn.
When he hears the heady boil, he manages to shift off the table and turn off the burner. Focusing on pinning the string under his thumb as he tries to get more of the boiling water into the mug than the sink – and hopefully his hand – he doesn't even realize he's not alone until after he deposits the pan in the sink, miraculously without giving himself second degree burns.
"It's not polite to sneak up on people," he murmurs, drawing the bag through the hot water when he turns back to see Fin standing in the doorway and scratching himself.
Fin frowns and shakes his head, offering a sleepy shrug; "You coming back to bed?"
"Yeah," he answers with a non-committal tone that adds the obvious 'eventually, maybe' to the mix. "Go get some sleep; you've done enough hours for both of us today."
His frown faltering slightly, Fin follows him to his chair as he sinks down on the comfortable seat. "Someone had to close the case while you were playing phone tag with half the Bronx unit."
"Mmm, perks of the job." John sighs and takes a sip of the too-hot brew more for something to do under Fin's watchful eye than actual desire to burn his lips.
"You all right?" Fin asks, leaning in close and pressing a gentle kiss against his ear. The rasp of stubble and lingering scent of sweat and cologne is unique – a far cry from the softness of the last person that had badgered him about late nights and pleaded 'Damn it, John… get some sleep…'
John replies quickly; "Fine, yeah. Just insomnia. I made some Sleepytime and I'll probably fall asleep watching infomercials on mute." He chuckles under his breath and Fin's lips find his collar bone, making him very aware of the wooden slats barely separating naked skin that could reasonably be touching him if he were back in bed.
"That's my old man." Fin's hands find John's bare chest and the touch is even warmer than he remembers, a siren's call to join him back in the nest of gnarled sheets and streetlights through blinds that have seen better days.
"Your secret old man that makes it necessary to pay rent on your cracker box and make up a girlfriend story that other detectives could pierce with a paperclip if they cared to do anything but look the other way?" John felt his lover's lips curls against his neck, another frown, and said; "I mean it, you should get some sleep. I'll be in soon."
It takes a moment, but as expected Fin pulls away and pats John's shoulder before disappearing back to bed without another word. Another word would mean talking about the truth in John's sarcasm or addressing the fact that they both know they aren't exactly sure what's going on between them beyond 'what happens is what it is'.
He takes another sip of his tea and sets the mug down, finding his glasses folded on the table by his hand. "Hey, can I sleep by the window?"