Lionel Fusco wasn't scared of much beyond the welfare of his son, but the Detective was a shrewd calculator of risk management when it came to getting the crap kicked out of him. He had learned long ago which men would simply punch you in the nose for being a fag and which ones would take a baseball bat to your skull then bury you in some landfill in Jersey. The chances of a guy actually being interested were too low to risk it much.
Lionel learned to like soft skin when hairy arms and calloused hands turned him on. He taught himself to be satisfied with delicate, moisturized fingers that never quite gave enough friction or sensation to really get him off. He acquired a taste for perfume, shaved legs and longer, hairspray filled locks. The one thing he never quite got over was finding large, smooth, jiggly breasts when hard pecs and coarse hair just sent him over the moon. Most of his co-workers figured he was a leg man or an ass man. They couldn't understand why a huge rack never had him panting after the nearest double D's.
That was fine. Things were fine until his wife kicked him out. Married life had suited him. He had a chick to let everyone know he was straight but rarely did he have to perform husbandly duties in the bedroom after Lee was born. Lee: proof to the world Lionel was 'normal', but also the unexpected light of his life. If hiding who he was kept Lee safe and free from teasing then all the lonely nights were worth it.
Once or twice when his own hand just wasn't enough, when the ache of wanting to be held just overwhelmed him to tears, Fusco would sternly remind himself of all the guys who got beaten up, black listed or killed in his neighborhood for being queer. He couldn't do that to Lee.
Getting a steady boyfriend or a life partner just wasn't feasible. People might see them together. A boyfriend would want to go out, would want to have people over, would want to be treated like a normal couple. Lionel just couldn't see a way to have what he wanted without losing what he needed: his son.
Then an awkward, paranoid nerd who limped and produced miracles stepped into Lionel's world. Glasses was smart, brave and Christ, he was hairy. Once, Fusco helped Finch work on an ATM that was faulty and wouldn't send the video footage that was needed to catch a killer. Harold had taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to solder some wires. Fusco was needed to hold the light and hand Finch the tools he needed. It was all Lionel could do not to drop the damn flashlight when he saw those forearms bulge and twist with each precise movement.
By the time the video was broadcasting to the precinct, both Finch and Fusco were sweating like pigs, if for different reasons. Harold wiped his forehead and looked down at the dirt on his suit with disgust. He tried to stare at Fusco but Lionel kept the light away from the large bulge in his own dusty pants.
Finch sighed, "I think we have earned a rest stop to get cleaned up. We meet Mr. Reese in an hour. Go home and change clothes, maybe shower."
Fusco had done just that. If the shower took longer than necessary as Lionel took himself in hand imagining another's strong fist with somebody else's furry arm rubbing against his groin and belly well it was nobody's business but his own.