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st_aurafinaTitle: Best Suited
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Teen
Words: 756
Characters/Pairings: Zoe Morgan/John Reese, background Harold Finch/John Reese
Warnings/Content: Suit porn, D/s dynamics, cunnilingus
Notes: Written for![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
sapphire2309 in Chocolate Box 2020
Summary: There are requirements to working a number with Zoe.
Also at the Archive
Their number, KoKo Hathaway, is a big deal in the charity fundraiser world, so the obvious person to call is Zoe.
"I know her," says Zoe, over the speaker in the library. "She's difficult to get close to, but there are ways."
John stares at the array of images on Harold's screen: KoKo is a prodigious organiser of charity balls, and obviously enjoys her time on the red carpet. Every photo is a security nightmare. "Can't we just throw her in the trunk and drive away?" he says. "She'd be safe in the trunk, I promise."
Harold's expression of horror is matched only by Zoe's laugh, low and amused. "While that would be something to see, I think I have a better strategy."
Zoe insists the three of them meet at John's apartment to make their plans. John accommodates this, does the polite thing, offers her champagne and not beer, puts the cleaning kit and the dog toys in the closet with the guns.
John knows the champagne is good, because he stole the dusty bottle from one of Harold's cellars. Harold obviously realises too, because after the first mouthful, he gives John a suspicious glance.
Zoe sits next to Harold, and sips from her champagne flute. "I have tickets to KoKo Hathaway's gala for the American Ballet School tonight, but I'm not setting foot inside those doors until I've seen your tux, John."
Beside her on the sofa, Harold makes an affronted noise. "Have you ever had reason to find fault with my tastes, Ms Morgan?"
Zoe pats him on the leg. "Never, Harold. But there's a difference between the perfect suit, and the man wearing the suit perfectly, don't you agree?"
John goes to get changed while Harold is considering his answer.
John has a ridiculous number of tuxes: black or white, peaked or shawl lapels, white tie or black, a proper tailcoat, and one with a mandarin collar which he's pretty sure Harold bought as a joke, since it's the only one you can wear without a tie.
"No," Zoe says to the white tux. "You're my date, not my waiter." John nods, and slips it off, goes to throw it onto a chair. Harold makes a noise, the softest exhalation, but it's enough to tell John that he'd better ease that thing carefully back on the hanger. He sighs dramatically and reaches for the next one, though secretly he enjoys the whisper of the silk linings as he slides each jacket on and then off.
"Now, that one I like," Zoe says and beckons John closer so she can examine the fit.
"Don't you think the shawl lapel is overdone for this event?" Harold must be feeling territorial, because he is rarely this passive-aggressive around Zoe.
Zoe sips her champagne, untroubled. "When he's your date, Harold, you get to choose the suit."
Harold takes this as his dismissal. "I trust you both to stay safe," he says, picking up his own coat off the stand by the door.
John smiles down at Zoe, and shoots his cuffs just like James Bond. He's preening for her, and she knows it, appreciates it. She pushes a hand up over his pants and past the belt, smoothing the shirt against the muscles of his belly.
"Come here," she says, beckoning with long fingers.
John steps closer and bends down. As soon as he's in reach, Zoe hooks the bow tie and pulls him down to kiss her.
"Careful," John says into her open mouth, tasting champagne, ambition and Chanel lipstick. "We have to look good for KoKo's red carpet."
Zoe pulls John's knee towards her and he folds downwards obediently, trapped between her legs. Her glittering red dress has rucked up over her thighs, and John feels his heartbeat accelerate, at the artistry of hosiery and smooth skin. Zoe is beautiful and demanding, and John loves to make her feel good.
"The secret to catching KoKo's attention isn't just having the prettiest man," Zoe says, pushing his head down between her legs. John is careful not to snag the thigh-high stockings. "That's important, yes. But he has to have a certain look about him."
She sighs, then gasps as John eases her panties aside, parts her with two fingers and follows with his tongue. "He has to look a little rumpled, this perfect man. That can take some effort, John."
She's the one breathing fast now, which makes John proud. Zoe trusts him, and she knows he's always willing to put in the hard work.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Teen
Words: 756
Characters/Pairings: Zoe Morgan/John Reese, background Harold Finch/John Reese
Warnings/Content: Suit porn, D/s dynamics, cunnilingus
Notes: Written for
Summary: There are requirements to working a number with Zoe.
Also at the Archive
Their number, KoKo Hathaway, is a big deal in the charity fundraiser world, so the obvious person to call is Zoe.
"I know her," says Zoe, over the speaker in the library. "She's difficult to get close to, but there are ways."
John stares at the array of images on Harold's screen: KoKo is a prodigious organiser of charity balls, and obviously enjoys her time on the red carpet. Every photo is a security nightmare. "Can't we just throw her in the trunk and drive away?" he says. "She'd be safe in the trunk, I promise."
Harold's expression of horror is matched only by Zoe's laugh, low and amused. "While that would be something to see, I think I have a better strategy."
Zoe insists the three of them meet at John's apartment to make their plans. John accommodates this, does the polite thing, offers her champagne and not beer, puts the cleaning kit and the dog toys in the closet with the guns.
John knows the champagne is good, because he stole the dusty bottle from one of Harold's cellars. Harold obviously realises too, because after the first mouthful, he gives John a suspicious glance.
Zoe sits next to Harold, and sips from her champagne flute. "I have tickets to KoKo Hathaway's gala for the American Ballet School tonight, but I'm not setting foot inside those doors until I've seen your tux, John."
Beside her on the sofa, Harold makes an affronted noise. "Have you ever had reason to find fault with my tastes, Ms Morgan?"
Zoe pats him on the leg. "Never, Harold. But there's a difference between the perfect suit, and the man wearing the suit perfectly, don't you agree?"
John goes to get changed while Harold is considering his answer.
John has a ridiculous number of tuxes: black or white, peaked or shawl lapels, white tie or black, a proper tailcoat, and one with a mandarin collar which he's pretty sure Harold bought as a joke, since it's the only one you can wear without a tie.
"No," Zoe says to the white tux. "You're my date, not my waiter." John nods, and slips it off, goes to throw it onto a chair. Harold makes a noise, the softest exhalation, but it's enough to tell John that he'd better ease that thing carefully back on the hanger. He sighs dramatically and reaches for the next one, though secretly he enjoys the whisper of the silk linings as he slides each jacket on and then off.
"Now, that one I like," Zoe says and beckons John closer so she can examine the fit.
"Don't you think the shawl lapel is overdone for this event?" Harold must be feeling territorial, because he is rarely this passive-aggressive around Zoe.
Zoe sips her champagne, untroubled. "When he's your date, Harold, you get to choose the suit."
Harold takes this as his dismissal. "I trust you both to stay safe," he says, picking up his own coat off the stand by the door.
John smiles down at Zoe, and shoots his cuffs just like James Bond. He's preening for her, and she knows it, appreciates it. She pushes a hand up over his pants and past the belt, smoothing the shirt against the muscles of his belly.
"Come here," she says, beckoning with long fingers.
John steps closer and bends down. As soon as he's in reach, Zoe hooks the bow tie and pulls him down to kiss her.
"Careful," John says into her open mouth, tasting champagne, ambition and Chanel lipstick. "We have to look good for KoKo's red carpet."
Zoe pulls John's knee towards her and he folds downwards obediently, trapped between her legs. Her glittering red dress has rucked up over her thighs, and John feels his heartbeat accelerate, at the artistry of hosiery and smooth skin. Zoe is beautiful and demanding, and John loves to make her feel good.
"The secret to catching KoKo's attention isn't just having the prettiest man," Zoe says, pushing his head down between her legs. John is careful not to snag the thigh-high stockings. "That's important, yes. But he has to have a certain look about him."
She sighs, then gasps as John eases her panties aside, parts her with two fingers and follows with his tongue. "He has to look a little rumpled, this perfect man. That can take some effort, John."
She's the one breathing fast now, which makes John proud. Zoe trusts him, and she knows he's always willing to put in the hard work.