There had been such a long time since anyone touched him with gentle hands. Harold's fingers dancing across his back sent shivers of almost foreign pleasure down his spine. Care, that was it. Harold took care with him. There was no attempt to claim dominance, no attempt to make sure Reese stayed down. Only care, because Harold actually cared about Reese, not the things he was capable of doing. That was unusual, men-but also women- tended to go for the upper hand. Maybe because he had never felt that Harold aimed to put him on his belly, aimed to rule him, he was so willing to let Harold do that. The urge to bare his throat, to give everything over, had become stronger and stronger.
No one had cared, not since Jessica. The shield had been easy to set up, making anyone getting too close smashing into the proverbial brick wall. It had taken Harold only a few words to make the first crack in the mortar, and now-with every gentle touch across his back- the bricks fell. One by one in a steady motion.
John had had dreams about this, Harold touching him. Secret ones, because one did not lust after one's employer. Shameful ones because who was he to think that someone like Harold would want him for anything but his muscles. But when one's employer looked at you with that appreciating glint in his eyes...What was a touch-starved merc to do?
In the quiet of the night, that was when he did it; let everything go. Principles, concerns...Odd as it was; the short, limp man had Reese on edge. With just a quick glance, a slight twitch of his mouth, Reese was instantly and painfully hard. Why? The reasons were many but none could be said to be the only one. Harold's obvious approval could be one- Harold looking at him with that half-smile, not in so many words but with the glances. Or the way he treated Reese like the finest of China when Reese needed a wound or another tended to. No one had ever done that.
The butterfly kisses of Harold's fingers kept trailing down his back, tracing the scars and scratches like treasure trails. Reese tried to control his breathing, the soft touches made him want to moan, to turn around and grab a hold of Harold. Kiss him, go to his knees, whatever Harold would want.
The Agency had been generous with 'relaxants' between missions, hallucinations weren't anything new to Reese. Back then he had needed them, once in a while even now he could feel the burn for them. Not as often though; there was something in Harold's pleased smile after they had saved another number that hit him like the best of desserts. He turned his head slightly, he had to see that this was real and it was real. Harold, the epitome of collected, was flushed red and- if Reese wasn't mishearing- he was breathing a little harder. The words from Harold's mouth, almost whispered, almost like a benediction- John- sent another shiver down his spine.
To turn around was so easy, like with everything Harold gave him permission to do. To look up at Harold from where he was kneeling was only right. This was Reese's way to baring his neck, giving it over. Harold's hands- still with the butterfly kisses- stroked gently through his wet hair.
"John", Harold said again. "John."