Person of Interest (Season 3): Domestic Intimacy #1: Domestic Intimacy

A/N: Domestic Intimacy is a collection of 38 shorts technically set after my story, "Mr. Mr. Rinch", but for the most part, each of these can be read as a standalone. (Some of these do reference MMR.) Set late season three through season five, some will be set after specific episodes, but most will not. The important thing to know, is that Harold identifies as bi-romantic asexual and John identifies as bi-romantic demi-asexual. Occasionally other characters will pop in, such as Carl and Anthony, but this is mostly about John and Harold.

My inspiration for this collection was this quote: "Intimacy is defined as being able to feel vulnerable with someone while still feeling safe." - Unknown

Domestic Intimacy was originally written for National Novel Writing Month 2018.

This first story is set just after my story "Mr. Mr. Rinch." Just after confessing their tentative feelings for each other, Harold has gotten a concussed John back home and must leave him to run an errand.

"Harold?" John called out from his bed in a sleepy voice, as Harold approached the front door to his apartment. "Where are you going?"

Harold smiled to himself. In about a minute, John would be dead to the world, getting the sleep he needed.

"I'm just going to pick up Bear from Detective Fusco. I won't be long."

"But you're coming back here, right?"

"Of course."

"Goo-" John's voice slurred, then stopped. He was sound asleep, his head buried in his pillow.

Harold slipped out the door, making sure to lock it behind him.

When Harold returned, Bear was straining at the leash, having been apart from John for too long while they'd been at a couple's retreat with their previous number. Harold guided the dog to his bed by the couch and ordered him to lay down. Bear did as he was told, but whimpered his discontent, and stared in the direction of John's bed.

Harold sat on the couch and began taking his shoes off. He should have stopped at his apartment for some fresh clothes, but he could use John's washing machine to wash what he had from his suitcase. It would have to do. Maybe he would do a load of wash while John was sound asleep.

"You coming to bed?" John mumbled.

Oh. "You're still awake?"

"Heard you come in. What are you doing?" John still sounded sleepy.

"I was going to do a load of laundry."

"You don't need to wash your pajamas. Come to bed."

Harold pursed his lips. "It's almost dinner time. I thought I would also start dinner soon."

"Fridge is empty. We'll order out. Come to bed."

Harold sighed, dug around in his suitcase for his pajamas, and moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed, opposite John, where he noticed John's copy of The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart had taken pride of place on his nightstand over Guns and Ammo magazine.

Bear whined from his bed across the room.

"How's your concussion?" Harold asked as he began undressing.

John turned over to smile at him. "Better, now that you're here."

It was easy, rolling into John's arms, their legs tangling, his head resting on John's chest.

There was a yip from Bear, and Harold looked up to see the dog barreling toward them, giving a play bow, and placing his front paws up on the bed to get at John. His tail was wagging nonstop.

"Bear, no," Harold said as sternly as he could.

Bear left the bed and ran around the apartment, sniffing for something until he came back with his beloved tennis ball.

John's eyes were closing again, the sleeping pills he'd taken earlier working hard to claim him again.

Harold instructed Bear to drop the tennis ball and go back to bed. The last thing John needed was Bear keeping him awake.

Bear whined, trying to sound as sad as possible.

"You too, Bear," John mumbled. "Come to bed."

Without seeking Harold's permission, the dog jumped up on the bed, circled a spot for a few seconds, then plopped himself down right next to John on his other side, resting his head on John's hip.

"Well, this is awkward," Harold commented.

"You like it," John said.

"I'm not admitting anything. I just want to make sure your concussion heals properly."

"That's not the only reason why you're here, Harold, and we both know it."

Harold smiled. "You're right, of course."