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The smell of rain permeated the air and clouds rumbled above. The forecast hadn’t predicted the downpour that would swiftly grace the streets of New York, and neither Finch nor Reese were prepared for the weather.
“How silly of me,” Finch grumbled as several droplets of rain dotted his glasses. “I should have known. I’ve been aching more than usual.”
Reese glanced over at his partner as they walked. He was lucky that he snagged his own black overcoat on impulse before they went out earlier, but poor Finch was left shivering in his suit. Reese had to rectify that. “Here,” he offered, taking the garment off.
“Mr. Reese, I’ll be quite all right until we arrive at the library. It’s not that far away.”
Of course he’d protest even an act as small as this. Reese grinned and shook it a little. He teased, “The longer I hold it out for you, Finch, the more soaked my coat becomes.”
Finch huffed. He took the coat and pulled it over his shoulders. It was too large on him—it was Reese’s size after all—and as a result, it looked like he’d draped an oddly-shaped blanket over himself, clutching at the front so that it didn’t slip off and onto the puddled sidewalk below. The blush setting in on Finch’s cheeks made it clear that he knew how comical it appeared.
The sight made Reese unreasonably happy.
Moments like this were all too rare. It didn’t matter that his white button-up shirt was now absolutely drenched in the absence of the overcoat's cover, that the fabric was cold and sticking to his skin uncomfortably, not when this precious moment was before him. In their line of work, this might be the closest Reese could get to domesticity.
It was tempting to pick Finch up and twirl him around like he’d seen in a cheesy romance flick Jessica had put on once. Reese wouldn’t—he just wasn’t one for PDA, plus the action might end up hurting Finch—but a small, delighted laugh escaped him at the thought anyway. He probably seemed delirious to the passersby that were bothered enough to notice. He didn’t care. Finch gave him a startled look.
“Don’t tell me you’re already coming down with a cold…?”
“I’m not sick, Finch. It’s just…” Reese rubbed at his jaw. “I should get you to wear my clothes more often. Looks cute on you.”
Finch muttered in disbelief, “God, you are ridiculous,” but Reese noticed a smile threatening to overtake his lips anyway. It took everything in Reese to not kiss him then and there.
Once they’d arrived at the library, out of public view and under shelter from the pelting rain, Finch pulled him forward by the soaked fabric of his shirt. He said, “You’re in need of a change of clothes, Mr. Reese,” and got peppered with a shower of kisses.