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Harold finally allowed himself to take a break. He’d been working to prepare the Team’s new underground headquarters for most of the day. He'd been working for weeks. Wiring, welding, laying in conduit, everything necessary for the infrastructure of his new computer-lair. He was able to smuggle in all of his equipment into the new HQ over the last week through the many entrances and doorways that led to their new site, thanks to the resources and protection of The Machine that had led Harold to their new haven.
Turning on the electric kettle, Harold made himself a cup of Sencha green tea. "Nothing like a nice cup of my favorite brew to feel more at home, " he thought. There was still a lot to finish before everything was set to his liking down in this section of the IRT. Or at least as close as to his satisfaction, so he and the Team could get back in the swing of helping the Numbers, maybe also making some inroads against Samaritan.
Harold looked around the subway car, saw Bear reclining in his dog bed. Then he noticed that all the chairs, stools and seating were hard and uncomfortable. Bear's bed was more comfortable by comparison. But that didn’t stop him from sitting in the antique draughtsman’s stool in front of his newly placed computer table; he wanted to just take the weight off his feet and relax. Soon, he noticed he was slumping, his weariness catching up with him. Since he didn’t want to fall from the stool, he stood up and walked over to sit on one of the hard plastic blue commuter benches.
“I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment,” he thought to himself, and with some resignation, “then I’ll head back to my new apartment of refuge, call it a day and begin anew, tomorrow when my mind and body are refreshed.” The next moment, Harold was dozing. He didn’t know what hit him.
* * * * * * *
It was late. John had been busy working through the stack of case reports Fusco so unceremoniously dumped on Riley’s desk before he’d finally glanced up to notice the clock was edging on to 2030 hours.
“All this paperwork and no dinner. No wonder my stomach feels as though my throat’s been cut! My brain feels like it’s run out of words,” Reese realized. “Think I’ll stop by one of Harold’s favorite places and pick up some take-out for the two of us.” He looked around and noticed that Fusco’s desk was abandoned. “I guess Lionel’s been long gone, home to be with his son and fix dinner for themselves."
John called ahead, and ordered a complete chicken dinner from one of their favorite hangouts that just so happened to be in easy walking distance to Harold’s new IRT subway retreat. “I want this to be a surprise.” After dialing up Harold’s cell phone and getting no answer, he picked up his pace on the way, stretching his long-legged stride. “I hope I don’t miss Harold.”
About twenty minutes later, Reese swung into their new HQ, looking for Finch, bags of dinner in his hands. He liked to think of their new safe haven as "HQ," or "headquarters," the base of operations like it was called when he was in the military.
John took his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of Harold's computer chair. “Ok, Finch,” John said to himself, when he found him crunched over on one of the hard subway seats, “this can’t be good for your neck.” After putting the bags with the dinner on the work table, John quietly went over to Harold, reached behind his neck and gently began to massage the muscles.
Harold felt the soothing warmth as John's hands loosened his cramped neck and shoulders. “Oh, Mr. Reese! It’s you!” Harold twisted his body and looked up at John blinking his eyes behind his glasses, trying to bring John into focus.
“Yeah, Finch. I brought us something to eat. Your favorite chicken dinner from that café down the street. " He paused for a moment. "You know, Harold, it can’t be good for you to fall asleep like this. Your neck muscles are in spasms.”
“I know, I know. I just dozed off. What time is it?”
“It’s almost 9:30. How long do you think you’ve been asleep?”
“I fixed myself a cup of tea about…well, it looks like that was over an hour and a half ago. I was just going to relax. I guess the next thing I knew was feeling your hands massaging my aching neck.”
“Come on, Finch. You need to stop overdoing things." Reese paused and changed the subject. "Do you want to eat dinner here, or should we go to your place first?”
“I guess we could clear off that work table for a space to eat. We can sit and talk over the day and be safe from prying eyes before we go our separate ways.”
“Finch, we’ve got to figure out a better way to integrate the dual lives we’ve been forced to lead. Maybe use this subway haven to greater advantage?”
“I agree, but I’m still working on getting our office and computers ready the way I want it. You know, I really miss the Library.”
“Me, too, Harold. It felt like home, even more so than the Loft. In case you didn't know, I spent more time in the Library than I did at my apartment."
They looked at each other with sad faces.
“So did I, Mr. Reese. It seems to me, that there is no going back, now or ever.”
“Thank you, Harold, for coming back, helping me, helping us with the Numbers. I really missed you. I worried that you’d left for good.”
“I missed you, too, John.” Harold reached out his hand to clasp John's hip. He could feel the familiar comforting warmth of Harold's hand through his clothes. John sighed, kneeled, turned and they held each other close in their arms, their cheeks tilting together.
John wrapped his arms around Harold's hips, then put his face in his lap, breathing out warm air on Harold's tailored wool trousers, through to his groin. Then he inhaled his unique scents of male musk, shower soap, residual dry cleaning solution and laundry detergent.
Looking up to his face, John sighed, "Oh, Harold. I've missed you, missed our close, loving times together. Those wonderful times we shared in the Library. When are we going to...going to... " Reese couldn't finish his sentence. Harold could see that he was almost teary-eyed. He turned his head and exhaled again, warming Harold's lap.
Finch stroked the back of John's head, the adorable little "V" of John's hairline at the base of his skull, and then gently turned his head up to face him, "John, let's eat dinner now, while it's still mostly hot. I know that's the last thing on your mind right now, but...we can talk about us and what we can plan together for the foreseeable future while we eat."
* * * * * * *
After they cleared a space on the table, they served themselves their chicken dinners on paper plates. They sat in chairs close to one another at the corner of the work table, knees touching.
"I want to have a place for you here at HQ where you don't hurt yourself instead of taking time to relax Harold. Your work is so mentally intense. We need something more like a bed where you or I can stretch out, and catch our breath. And maybe more than that for the two of us?"
"That sounds good, John, I agree. But my mind is so tired right now, that I can't really come up with any creative means to solve our dilemma. By the way, thank you so much for bringing dinner for us. Maybe we'll find a way to deal with our problem later on so we can make our subway car and the area around it an even better, more practical sanctuary. I thank The Machine for helping me find this safe retreat for the Team."
So the two of them spent the rest of their evening in relaxed conversation, talking about their activities of the day and plans for the next day.
After John and Harold finished, they cleaned up the debris of their meal. They then went home, each to their own apartments, Bear with Harold, and John by himself, all three under the watchful eye of Samaritan.
As he walked back to his place, John reminded himself, “I can’t let Harold injure himself sleeping on those hard seats. There has got to be something better. We had those overstuffed chairs and that leather couch in the Library where we could unwind and just hang out together. And later on, the bed in the back room that Harold let me know about. I wonder if I could find a way to set up a more comfortable space for Harold? He’s been working too hard for more than just these last couple of weeks, maybe overextending his physical resources. He is really eager to get things set up at his command center the way he likes it.”
It wasn’t until the early morning darkness, when John woke up with an idea. “I could bring down a futon, and piece by piece, set it up like a kind of couch-bed at the end of the subway car that's empty right now! That'd be a practical quick fix! I’ll make sure that Harold can take a break, relax and take care of himself in comfort.” He turned over on his left side and went back to sleep with a smile on his face.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Harold's sleep quality was about the same as that of John, although once he arrived at his apartment, he didn't go to bed immediately. "I wish there was a way that John and I could set up our space in the Phantom Subway Headquarters more quickly than it seems to be happening," Harold mused.
He chuckled to himself, "Sounds almost like the title of that book, Phantom Tollbooth, that I read as a kid. John is right," he continued thinking, "we do need a safe haven where we can relax and feel confident we are protected. Where John and I can be and enjoy ourselves. Both of us have an uphill battle ahead, where a positive outcome will depend on the two of us maintaining our health. And that is on all levels, not just what most people view as conventionally healthy. To me, health includes our emotional and sexual well-being."
He brushed his teeth, washed his face, put on his pajamas and got ready for bed, checking to make sure that Bear was comfortable in his doggy bed before turning out the lights. By that time, Finch was ready for sleep. He walked over to his bed, pulled back the covers, and slid between the sheets. He folded his glasses, put them on their usual spot on the bedside table and turned out the light. He was relaxed enough by now so his eyes closed and he was quickly asleep.
Waking up from a dream, Harold realized that he and John had an easy answer to their problem. "We could bring in a convertible sofa-bed of sorts that could fit in the end of the subway car that was not yet occupied with furniture. That's the way we could find our way out of this quandary—and maybe include Shaw or Root—well, maybe not those two—to rest and recover. This will help John. He wants and yearns for...he needs the emotional support we have together. Now he can stop worrying about me as much as he does. Now he'll know I'll be able to better take care of myself." Harold gathered his pillow and blankets closer and burrowed deeper in the bed, and wished that John's arms were wrapped around him, his warm body snuggling with him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Subway HQ— Part 2
The next morning, John decided to consult with Harold before adding new furniture to their headquarters. "I want to be sure that my plans fit in with what Harold wants for our protected site."
John stopped at a coffee cart on the street along the way, and picked up a cup of regular green tea. "Damn—they don't have Harold's Sencha green." And a black coffee for himself. He walked to one of the many entrances of the old IRT subway repair station.
* * * * * * *
As he made his way to work with Bear on his leash, Harold picked up a box of his favorite croquillants—crunchy doughnuts—to share with John. He didn't pick them up very often. "I want to be as unpredictable as possible—no patterns." This time, he used the hidden, encrypted vending machine entrance that he and The Machine had created early on in the Team's occupation of the old subway repair station. He keyed in the pin number: "3141"—the first numbers of "Pi."
The two men and Bear entered their subway computer station area almost simultaneously from two different directions.
"John! Good Morning!!" Bear barked his greeting and after Harold let go of the leash, ran over to John, wagging his tail.
"'Morning, Harold!" John hunkered down, and scratched Bear behind his ears, getting an almost-lick on his face from the happy dog. Reese stood up from his crouch, watching Harold all the while.
The men smiled at each other and both started to laugh, tea and coffee cups in a cardboard beverage carrier in Reese's hands and a pink pastry box in Finch's.
"Hmmm...Mr. Reese, it seems to me that we are both on a similar wavelength. I've even come up with an idea that most likely could solve your major concern that I take better care of myself, here at The Machine Central."
"Overnight, I got an idea that could help us out, too, Finch!"
"Well, we both know that 'Great Minds' saying?" Harold turned to quirk a smile at John.
"I guess we are more in tune with each other, Harold, than either we, or The Machine knows, and hopefully Samaritan will never know," John said as he put the cups down on the wooden table that they'd used for their dinner the night before. He gave Harold a grimace when he mentioned Samaritan.
Reese released Bear from his leash, and the dog promptly went to his dog bed to chew contentedly on what Harold called his 'dinosaur femur' chew toy that Shaw had left earlier that week.
"Finch, I was thinking that we could bring in a futon frame, piece by piece and set it up in the far end of the subway car. That way, it can be not only a sofa, but also convert into a bed for you to rest on. The most ungainly part of the futon to be moved will be the mattress; the frame can be in smaller units. If we're careful, we won't signal Samaritan that there is anything going on down here."
"Mr. Reese, I thought of something along the same lines, but the idea that came to me was a convertible sofa bed. But I like your idea better. A futon is much more manageable and maneuverable to move than a bulky, heavy sofa bed, and much easier to conceal as we move it in."
"This morning, it came to me that we could convert one of the restroom areas into a shower, and keep the other as a gender-neutral restroom. What do you think, Harold?"
"I'm not sure that we can do all of these improvements simultaneously, Mr. Reese, and I do think that your major concern is for me to rest and take better care of myself, especially since you are worried about the muscles in my neck, back and hip joints."
"That's right, Finch. I see your point. Plus, I can have the futon moved in and set up today, barring any action needed on our part for any Numbers that might come up."
John's face had this secret smile, an almost snarky grin (some would call it his "signature smirk"). "Harold, we can christen our Subway HQ that much sooner, maybe even tonight?" Reese was flirting again.
"Yes, John, I'd like that very much." Harold smiled in return. "Last night, I woke up and wished that we were sharing my bed, nestled together. I miss those times."
* * * * * * *
As Harold began searching the Internet for futon shops close by, John took off his suit jacket, and, in his shirtsleeves, began clearing the rest of the space at the far end of their subway car "computer cubicle."
Finch glanced over to watch as Reese worked, "Oh my heavens, John! Your arms look more than provocative when you roll up your shirtsleeves. The muscles in your forearms are such a...a... so... so attractive to me."
"Back atcha, Finch. You always look sexy to me when you're busy at your computers, and seeing you in your shirtsleeves is a real turn-on!" Reese raised an eyebrow. "I think our futon-solution is right on time for us! Or...maybe it's too late?" Grinning at Harold, John smoothed the fly of his pants with his free hand, revealing a growing bulge beneath the fabric. In reaction, Harold curved his quirky smile back, then had to shift in his chair and readjust his arousal inside his boxers.
* * * * * * *
Once a suitable futon and frame were located and purchased (using an alias other than "Harold Finch" or "Harold Wren," of course) John's final detail was to police* the whole subway car, sweep it clear of any remaining dust. He then left to retrieve the new furniture so they could get it set up before Shaw or Root found out.
Finch dressed in worker's coveralls, and took the freight elevator that connected to the basement-subway up to the sidewalk. There, he met Reese, carting the rolled and tied futon-mattress (with red fabric upholstery) from the furniture shop on a borrowed dolly. Together, they took the elevator back down below the pavement, and pulled the metal elevator gates closed, blocking the view into the basement space that went to their headquarters. John wheeled the dolly close to the place where he was going to set up the wooden frame and stowed the futon, still tied up, on one end by the hard blue plastic commuter seats. Then, he took the empty dolly back up the stairs and returned it to the furniture outlet.
Piece by piece, John brought the frame down and, using adjustable Crescent wrenches, fit it together with the accompanying bolts as Harold watched from his tall, vintage wooden draughtsman's chair in front of his computers. Before Harold knew it, it was past lunchtime, and Reese had the futon and light colored teak wood frame all set up for them.
John found Bear's leash, and took him out for a walk before their lunch. When he returned with some sandwiches, Reese made sure that Bear was comfortable, then washed his hands before he set out the food. Finch had made them some hot tea. The two of them ate companionably, talking over the fact that they hadn't had any Numbers so far today.
John then showed Harold how the newly assembled futon functioned.
"See, Finch, you can move this rail to adjust the slope of the futon back so you can sit or recline. And then, if you put the rail here, on the lowest slot, it turns into a bed. Here, I've stowed some pillows, a thick bedspread and a duvet in bags that fit under the frame." John took the pillows in pillowcases out of the zippered black canvas sailcloth bags and arranged them on the red upholstery of the futon.
He walked over to Finch, stretching out a hand, "Come on, Harold, try it out."
Harold took his hand and walked the short distance to the futon-space, and sat, then stretched out and lay down. "Hmmm...not like sleeping on memory foam, but comfortable, nonetheless."
Reese stretched out next to him. He took Finch's hand and put it on his own groin, holding his hand there, warming his awakening genitals with the heat from Harold's palm through the fabric of his trousers. "Feel me, Harold? Feel that, how much I love you? We've waited...I've...I've waited...too long for this."
Finch turned to face Reese, leaned down and kissed him, deeply and lovingly, leaving his hand where John had placed it. "Yes, far too much time for Samaritan to have put our relationship on hold, to separate us, to keep me from sharing my love for you, John." Harold put John's free hand on his own pants-fly, so he could feel his growing erection. John tenderly cupped him, kissing Harold again.
Reese smiled, his eyes glowing with moisture, crinkling at the outer corners. "Finch, I took two of those "Do Not Disturb" door hanger signs from your Coronet Hotel and put it on the doors of the subway car. You know, just in case Shaw gets too curious." His smile grew wider, bordering on wolfish with a show of teeth. "At least we can point at the sign and laugh at her, in case she walks in on us."
"Yes, John. I get your sense of humor, even though I'd rather we not be interrupted at all." Harold's posture stiffened a bit; he was not pleased with that possibility.
Finch and Reese got up from the futon, then took a moment to spread out the bedspread to cover and protect the new upholstery on the mattress. John arranged the folded duvet along the far side of the wooden futon frame.
Harold moved closer to John, reaching up to caress his cheek. He watched John's eyes glow with joy, tears and love. He knew that John only looked at him this way.
"Harold, your eyes are shining, you look so happy," John embraced him closely, warmly. "Wait. I need to take these off first, before we break them." Reese took Finch's glasses from his face, folded the earpieces, and placed them on the top of a cabinet within Harold's easy reach.
He lowered his head and began kissing Harold on his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. Harold reached out, embracing John as closely as he could, rubbing his crotch over John's. Both of them deepened their kisses, tongues in play. They parted, faces flushed pink from their shared pleasure.
The two men began to undress each other, at first not overly fast, but once John got past unbuttoning and removing Harold's waistcoat, his patience was at an end. He quickly undid Harold's tie, shirt, pants, removed his shoes, socks and underwear. Soon the two of them were both nude and very aroused, their clothing strewn over the floor John had so carefully cleaned earlier.
Harold looked up at John. They both looked at each other, taking in the beauty they saw in each other's bodies, their erect penises, the aroused blush of their skin.
John stepped closer to Harold, reaching out to hug him. He knew sometimes that Harold often felt that he was less than attractive, that he could have chosen a lover who was better looking. But he had chosen Harold. He craved Harold's touch.
At first it was the second chance for life Finch had given him. Now it was more. At the risk of his own life, Harold had saved John's life twice...and more! John would never forget that. It was that and more that fed Reese's gratitude and continually growing love for the older man. In his eyes, Harold grew more handsome each day.
Harold felt John's erection pulsing in time with his own heartbeat. Reese looked down and kissed Finch on the top of his softly spiking hair, embracing him more intensely.
"Harold?..."
"Yes, John?"
"You know how much I love you, don't you?" John lowered his hands to clasp and cuddle Finch's butt cheeks. "I love how you already have precum shining on the tip of your beautiful cock. I've missed seeing you like this." John moved his hand to gently pay attention to Finch's dick and balls, his fingers slicking the moisture over Harold's crown. "I've missed holding you naked next to me, touching me, touching you."
They began kissing each other more deeply, each kiss growing more fervent. Finch finally managed to maneuver the two of them to the futon-bed. Reese helped Finch to sit down, get comfortable, shifting the pillows around and then he moved up close to spoon his back, massaging Harold's neck and shoulders. He moved his fingers down Harold's lightly furry chest to tease his nipples. John rolled onto his back, holding Harold, taking him with him, his arms wrapped around his torso. He reached down to cup and fondle Harold's scrotum and penis.
Groaning, Finch relaxed even more as he lay embraced on Reese's body. He felt his penis become even more stimulated. He put his hands over Reese's. "John, I love how you make me feel."
"Yeah, I do too, Harold. Feel how my dick loves expanding between your butt cheeks?"
"Mmmm... I do." Harold smiled and wiggled his hind end, feeling John's penis twitch, the passion growing.
After a few moments, Reese rolled Finch back to the bed, raising his body on his hands as he continued his hot kisses over Finch's lips, face, moving to his chest and down, finally kissing the crown and taking his excited cock into his mouth. Harold moaned, feeling only bliss.
Panting, breathless and groaning, Finch struggled not to buck his hips into Reese's mouth. "Oh, John, that feels so good. So wonderful..."
John reached down, his slender fingers massaged Harold's sac, gently tweaking each testicle in turn. Then, he smoothed his fingers over Harold's perineum, letting the pad of his thumb lightly press on the base of his scrotum. Harold moaned, his body tensing, gathering itself closer to the edge; he loved how John knew just what he needed. Reese's gentle touches and expert suction on his dick sent Harold over, into total euphoria. He released his essence, pulsating into John's welcoming, swallowing mouth. He shuddered and groaned several times during his orgasm, clutching at the bedspread as his body continued to throb through his climax.
Reese cradled Finch's body as he recovered. John continued to kiss Harold, small, hot kisses over his face, neck and chest.
Finch reached out and lovingly clasped Reese's left hand, and then caressed the angular planes of his beautiful face, shining with sweat and love. John looked at Harold, his eyes shining.
"Oh, John... John..." Finch gasped, "Oh my God, I've missed you, I've craved our love making... John... I love you so much. After I catch my breath, then...then it's my turn for me to send you over into ecstasy."
Reese only held Finch more passionately, embracing Harold's body while his erection pulsed on his lover's hip, clear pools of precum leaking onto Harold's skin.
"Finch, you know there's no rush." John murmured. "You don't have to feel that you have to 'do me.' We make love together. It's not about a trade off. You know that I love making love with you."
Reese kissed Harold deeply on the mouth. John's joy was overflowing so much that he broke his kiss laughing, holding Harold even more fiercely, "You know, Finch, now we've almost completely christened our Subway HQ! All that's left is for me to come with you here."
Reese got up, took a moment and found the lube and condoms Harold had so thoughtfully stashed ahead of time in a cabinet drawer near the futon.
John enjoyed being sexually versatile—he loved topping as well being topped. For him, it was a special way to share sexual intimacy.
He warmed the bottle of lube between his hands, then squeezed some on his left index finger, and reached for Finch's rosebud muscle within his rear cleavage, smoothing and relaxing Harold to ease his own way into that tight warmth.
After an enjoyable sequence, building up to three lubed fingers—the preparation process excited John as much as it did Harold—Reese rolled the condom over his hard penis, then gently and with purpose began to lovingly enter Harold. John had to fight his response to come immediately after feeling the tightness around him within Harold's passage.
Panting, working to keep control, Reese slowly eased his shaft into Harold, one of his intentions being to carefully massage Harold's prostate, and make this loving encounter twice as euphoric for his partner.
Finally, John was balls-deep in Harold.
It felt so good. They were both breathing hard, hyperventilating together.
John moved back slightly, the crown of his cock nudging Harold's prostate. Harold gasped, then moaned, "Uhhh...Do that again..." That was already something John wanted to repeat more than once for Harold's pleasure.
As they made love, Harold reached down to stroke his own penis, meeting John's left hand.
"Let me love you this way, Harold." Reese panted, smoothing Harold's penis with lube, while slowly pumping himself inside Harold's tightness.
It wasn't long before John throbbed his orgasm, filling Harold, shouting his joy out loud. "Ahhhh...Harold!" Tears filled his eyes, falling on Finch's chest.
Then Harold surprised himself, having an unexpected second orgasm while John's cock pulsed on his prostate, creamy white drops on his stomach.
They were both enervated after their mutual climax.
"Oh, Harold," John breathed, then chuckled, almost to himself. "Now our HQ is really and truly christened."
Some time later, John carefully removed his resting penis, still wrapped in the condom. John threw the condom in the nearby wastebasket. He then helped clean up the remnants from Harold's orgasm using some tissues.
Afterwards, he embraced Harold from behind, and gently they moved to lie side by side, slipping into a post-coital nap.
Before he nodded off, Reese reached over and spread the duvet he'd previously readied over the two of them, so they could sleep together in warmth and comfort.
John reached for Harold's cheek, running the knuckles of his left hand along Finch's jaw line. Harold was almost totally asleep, his breath moving in a regular rhythm.
"Thank you." John whispered. He was quickly sliding into sleep, as he cuddled closer to his lover. "Thank you. I can never thank you enough. Know that I love you so much, Harold."
As they slept, the energy of their loving intimacy expanded, emanating outward like the waves from a stone thrown into a pond. This energy filled the space of the subway car, the old abandoned IRT repair station and the whole area of the underground location—even to the darkest of corners—with the positive force of their love. This was truly much more than what others would call a conventional sexual christening of a space, like an automobile, for example.
All this positive force, energy, and more—from the love Harold and John have for each other. All of this and more, including the caring and help from The Machine that Harold had built.
* * * * * * * * * * * *