The lock on Fusco’s apartment is a joke, and Reese wonders sometimes if letting himself in this way will ever teach Lionel to reconsider, but then again he has nothing worth stealing.
Reese isn’t here to take anything he won’t be given, he reflects, as he slides into Fusco’s bed - it’s a long way down, the mattress and box spring rest on the floor, but Reese folds himself familiarly into it and Fusco just mumbles and shifts, flinging an arm out over Reeses’ shoulder and not even waking when he encounters him there.
Under the blankets, the space is warm and welcoming, and Reese slides his hands over Fusco’s chest, over his belly, runs his fingers under the hem of his boxers until he finally rouses a little and blinks sleepily down between them like he’d expected to wake from a pleasant dream, and Reese wonders when he’s stopped being a nightmare.
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