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There were many benefits to sleeping with Finch, not least of which was the fact that John finally found out where Harold kept all his suits and where he slept most nights (not the same place).
Another - less side-benefit, admittedly, than the actual intended goal - was the current satisfaction of being in Harold's bed, warm and satisfied with his recent orgasm. John stretched extravagantly, enjoying the feeling of high-thread-count sheet against his skin, the way the bed smelled like sex and sleep and Harold.
He also enjoyed the conflicted gazes Harold threw his way. "Thinking of another round?" John asked, taking pleasure in the roughness of his own voice, the way it got Finch to flush. Hell yeah: they'll both be remembering this tomorrow.
John is admittedly a little wiped out, but for Harold, he can probably be inspired.
"I'm not twenty, Mr. Reese," Harold said, crochety and impossibly endearing. John slithered nearer and laid a kiss on Harold's naked, pale thigh. "No, if you must know, I'm debating getting my sleep clothes."
That was yet another of those benefits: getting a good look at the variety of sleepwear Harold employed. Some of it was matching, classy pajama suits, but to John's delight Harold was just as likely to sleep in threadbare track pants and an ancient MIT t-shirt, the cotton worn whisper-soft.
Usually, Harold didn't have difficulties deciding what to wear, least of all when he went to bed. "What's the issue, Finch?"
Harold looked embarrassed. "I don't normally like to sleep," he waved at John, "in the buff." John nodded, trying not to grin too obviously. "But I'd like to have skin contact."
Well, that was simple enough. John pounced - careful not to hurt Harold, only to knock him over, cover Harold's body with his own. "I'll keep you warm," he breathes in Harold's ear, feeling Harold's heart beating under him.
"Must you pretend to be a St. Bernard?" Harold said, exasperated, but his hands were telling a different story: they were carding through John's hair, tracing the lines of John's skull, as though taking inventory of something precious.