TITLE: Finn's Thanks
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave
FANDOM: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
PAIRING: Munch/Finn
SUMMARY: Finn's thinking about Thanksgiving and what's happened.
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU belongs to Dick Wolf, NBC and whoever else. I have nothing but a sick desire to play with the characters created by them. I earn no wages, just want to have fun.
FEEDBACK: If you want, it'd be very much welcome!
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com

Finn's Thanks

Of all the things that I continually give thanks for, daily thanks for, the one main entity of them all is now sprawled atop me, and right now I think that's the only place he should be. Ever. In my arms, warm under the afghan, head on my chest, legs between mine, feet draping off the edge of the couch. He's wearing his typical boxers and tee and I'm wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, wishing I wasn't even wearing those. It has nothing to do with sex, not this time anyway. I'm just longing to have his warm skin pressed to mine, colors contrasting in the dancing firelight. Even though I had no actual fireplace, I had the perfect fire: crackles and pops and no danger of loose sparks. Not to mention that I could always rewind and play it again.

VHS. Macys. $9.95. I invest in the little pleasures.

I close my eyes and notice as the CD player changes from some opera that Munch had yet to explain to me [thankyougod, thereisagod] to Johnny Mercer's Skylark, a saxophone version by Hoagy Carmichael. Just the fact that I know that song... Well, thanks John. I just hope it never becomes necessary to admit. I much prefer Nina Simone. At least with her I can pass it off as ethnic pride.

Here I am at almost two in the morning with John on top of me, and I couldn't be more... blissful. Well, maybe if he'd move his knee either between or outside of my legs instead of right on top. And of course there's the fear that if he shifts again, and its in the same direction he's been going in, his stomach's going to be pressing down on a very resilient but tender part of my anatomy. Other than that, blissful.

I'm actually surprised that I'm still up. We've both had an exhausting holiday, plus the fact that I'm warm and I have my partner in my arms- the perfect equation for a good two hours of sleep before the position becomes unbearable and I have to move us to the bedroom. But here I am, listening to the music with today's events running through my mind.

See, I don't get along with my parents at all. Just a given fact. And the given fact that I sleep with men was tough enough for them. That's all they see, you know. The sex. I mean, gay human beings can't really love each other. Thanks Mom. Thanks Dad. Know what, guys? Fuck you.

Ahem. Like I was saying. The fact that I sleep wi- no fuck men was bad enough. The fact I am currently fucking a white man... Or more technically, "being fucked by" a white man... Let's just leave it at 'this ain't the Brady Bunch'. And the fact that I bottom out would make it worse, believe me; the bottom is seen by prejudiced straights as the bitch in the relationship. So that's what I'd be.

Anyhow, they'd probably have simultaneous heart attacks if they new that I, their second oldest child, was screwing a 'honky heeb'. I don't think I need to mention going there for Thanksgiving would have been entertaining for Smackdown fans. So, in an effort to keep my own little version of the ending scene in 'True Romance' from entering the holidays, we decided not head to my parents' house. Instead we were invited to visit my sister, Lonya, her husband and three kids. Lonya and I are two of seven siblings, and we all get along very well, but Lonya was the only one willing to forgo the 'Mom & Dad Thanksgiving Spectacular' for me and John. That should give you an indication of how well we get along.

So, thanks to Lonya, my partner got a chance to really surprise the hell out of me. Of all of his relationships and marriages [my, God, what was it at last count?] he's never had a kid, and has never expressed interest in them at all. I've asked him a couple times about has he ever thought of adopting and he gives me this scared look like "What the hell is Tutuola asking?" and says something to the effect that a kid would be better off without him. I've always loved kids, and would cherish and worship one of my own, but it's not exactly a reproduction option here. And to adopt, we'd have to come out, and to come out would mean we'd no longer be working together, and maybe not working at all, which is not an option. It's also one of the reasons why no one knows about us. No one except Lonya and Jaime.

* * * * *

We had to leave for Lonya's right after getting off from work with no time to change, so we hailed a cab from the precinct, planning on taking one back for my car after the evening's festivities. John sat there the whole time not saying a word, but instead staring out the window and chewing on the inside of his lips and cheeks. I'd never seen this habit before, even though we'd been partners for over a year, and had been dating for about four months now. I guessed that this was because it was Nervous Munch, and I had never seen Nervous Munch before. Not even when we were just getting together. Not even when he risked his own job and emotions to let me know how he felt. Of course, he'd been drunk...

Another clue that this was not the man I knew so well: he had me pulled over to him, practically sitting in his lap and his hands were wrapped around mine in a tight, white-knuckle grip, not letting it go for even an instant. I was already puzzled by this decidedly anti-Munchkin behavior, when the cabby stopped at a stop light. John had let out a ragged breath I had no idea he'd been holding, then turned to me and pressed his lips roughly to mine. It wasn't a physically deep kiss, but emotionally those lips were telling me all he couldn't the night before.

Wanting to talk to him about his going over to Lonya's for Thanksgiving before bed was like pulling a dinosaur tooth our with tweezers. Freaking impossible. It was going to be his first official little "coming out", a semi-public admittance, not to mention ours as a couple. I had known when he had nothing to say, something was wrong. He always has something to say, even if it was just some sarcastic jest. But nothing meant there was really something, and it had to be big. I just didn't know how to bring it out.

In the cab he had then let go of my hand, grabbed at my head, kissing me with just his lips but still portraying his urgency. After a moment, he pulled away, looking back to the window, and took my hand again, a little looser than it had been previously held. He left me at a loss for words and thoughts because he's not into public displays of affection. He told me that was an ever-present complaint with his many female conquests. And his unease was doubly so with us as a couple thanks to being two men, two cops, two partners. So the kiss, the hands locked together...

The need for contact must have been painfully necessary.

* * * * *

I had given him fair warning:

"Lonya and Jaime have three kids, John. Adam or 'Addy' who's ten, Jaquesha who's seven, and Antoine. You gotta call him 'Ant'. He's just turned three."

They're a handful and I explained this, yet he still wanted to go. I thought that as soon as Munch saw them, he'd flip and take the parental drama over eating with the little tykes. But I couldn't have been more wrong.

After becoming more comfortable in new surroundings [my love does not easily handle new things added to his somewhat sheltered life, so I knew this was a special attempt by him] he started to smile and make little quips to, at and about Lonya, who later whispered to me that she really liked "the Jewish prick".

Ant came in staring at the lanky white man who had entered his home with his favorite uncle. I picked him up and introduced John to him as a friend and partner. Ant introduced himself as Detective Ant [actually, it was more like Dick-ec-tive Ant] and was staring at Munch's badge [I did say straight from work]. It didn't matter how many times I pulled him up and away telling him that only my badge was open for grabs- he knew what he was after. I saw an unidentifiable glint in my partner's eyes as he and the kid had a stare down. Then John and I became distracted with Lonya, down from my arms got Ant, and away with the badge he went. The next thing I know, John's in hot pursuit and I'm thinking vengeance, then I see him tickling the kid on the shag carpet asking it Detective Ant wanted to be his partner. Ant nodded and they started whispering. About ten minutes later I notice my badge is missing and John and Ant are looking mighty smug. Not to mention John's got his back on prominent display. I suddenly realize with dismay that the hug Ant had given me earlier wasn't to show his uncle love and thanks on this gala day.

I had been duped.

The two were inseparable from that moment on and I had to censer just what kind of talk Munch did around the kid. The hero worship that was usually restricted for glances my way was suddenly lighting my nephew's eyes as he glanced at Munch, and I didn't want the kid taking everything John whispered to him as prophecy and divine knowledge. A three year old looking at both the sky and the government in anticipation of aliens and UFOs was maybe not the best thing to do to my sister.

* * * * *

On the way back to the precinct John again said nothing, but this time he was leaning back in the cab, relaxing his very full body. His hand inched it's way to the middle of the backseat where mine sat, and one finger slipped its way between two of mine. Now that was the Munch I knew. The same Munch that when we were in my car and on the way home swore to me that he hadn't see Ant creeping up to him. The same Munch that professed he hadn't felt my nephew take his badge until the last second.

The same Munch that I knew to be full of it.

I shift beneath him, happily readjusting our bodies so that my left arm can get some blood flow going again. I hope I don't need a pee break soon. I'm too languidly cozy to get up. We might be the same height but he's a good fifty, sixty pounds lighter than I am, so it's like nothing to have him there. At least for a while. It's enough weight to be comfortable for a couple of hours, as long as I don't fall asleep or forget to move around a little.

As I move he makes a sort of a... Well, it's a Munchkin original. Like a mewl, a purr and a moan all in one. I grin to myself, running a hand slowly through his salt and pepper hair. He makes the sound again, louder this time, and nuzzles my bare chest sleepily.

As we both lay on the couch in the warmth of the heater, the phony fire on the TV, I try and locate certain body parts. My left arm has moved out from under his weight, which I have shifted more to the right arm and chest. My left hand is now running through his hair, up and down taking it's time. This kind of attention always does one of two things to him: it either relaxes him to an incredible degree, or excites him. Right now either will suit me fine, and it seems to, strangely enough, be doing both.

One of his hands has tangled itself in my hair, pulled out of the ponytail by his request, and the other is... I have no idea.


I peek under the afghan and- Oh, there it is. Trapped down between his leg and the cushion. Still... Some thing is pressing into my leg and all other possibilities have been exhausted. So it is what I thought it was. I grin as I move my right hand from the soothing circles I had been tracing on his back to under his pants where it now squeezes his ass. He makes a small laughing sound and I do it again.

"oda- not at wor." he begins, whispering and slurring his words helplessly.

He's got a hard on from dreaming about work?

"loo- liv's over there."

Olivia Benson and work? This is really not looking good for me.

"put your cloze back on, fin."

I laugh, squeeze the bony roundness again then move my middle finger between the two cheeks.

"sop it"

I ignore his sleep garbled words and dip my finger in a little bit more.

"oda." My name comes drawn out in a long breathy moan. I'll be damned if this isn't turning me on. My other hand rubs the back of his neck.

"not now. layer. please."

I rub the sinewy little ring and he stiffens a little, unlike me. I've stiffened a lot.

I hear him breath in. "oda," he warns. I know that I have two choices here. I can wake him up-


or I can remove my finger-


-and let him sleep.

It comes to mind how very much stress he's been through today. New people, new adjustments, the first time he was openly gay in front of two adults that knew me but not him... He did spend hours meeting part of my family.

I sigh and reluctantly remove my finger-


-and just lazily cup his ass. His, tiny Munchkin-like moan of despair does not go completely unnoticed, but it does go "unacted" upon, as does my rigid erection.

My hand keeps rubbing his head though. If he were a cat, I've no doubt his purrs would be deafening.

He likes weird music, reads more newspapers in a single day, then I work my way through in a single month, and has so goddamn much knowledge in that noggin of his that I know he's got to have a few more around, both spare and full, like little hard drives of information.

He's probably an alien gathering information from our planet. Now that would be ironic, because he'd be the last person that anyone [except me, evidently] would think would be an immigrant from another world. But it would fit.

Smiling, I think about how he seems to know something about everything. With any other human, it would be incredibly intimidating, hard to live with, even. But with him- he's just John. That's all and everything. And I love it that he's so smart. A little envious at times, and annoyed when he just will not shut up, but hey, that's him, right?

There's also the issue of the sex, my dick reminds me. I know I've found my home here with him, but I've also found my bedroom. What we're able to do to each other should be illegal and probably is in most states if not whole countries. I've never found anyone that could make me feel so damn electrified inside, warm and supple, needy and desirable, but still manly. Shit, I really don't know the right words for this, but I'm sure if I woke John up, he could help supply them.

As I lay here, love of my life wiped out and blanketing me, I realize that this has easily been the happiest Thanksgiving that I've ever been lucky enough to be involved in. He's not all I have thanks to give for, but he's always the first thing that pops to mind. Him and my fake fire.