Not Just a River in Egypt

By Melody Clark

Fin/Munch

Note: I am not Dick Wolf, I do not own this stuff. It's only fan fic.

No major squicks.

This is graphic NC17, so beware.


Not Just a River in Egypt
By Melody Clark

He had learned to live with the clouds, then all of a sudden the storm caps had parted and some sun slowly leaked through. Fin Tutuola couldn't have been happier…or more surprised.

He had just that morning, the one with the sunshine, been about to scale the wall of flesh made of protesters at the cemetery. The hairy- knuckled throng yelling faggot and fairy to the graveyard dead. He had shoved them back with special anger. An extra added indignation. Okay, he'd lost his cool. `If they don't shut-up, I'm gonna punch one of `em.' Hadn't that just sounded so appropriate standing there in his phat black leather and tight jeans?

"You gotta watch it," Liv had said, that night at the bar, when there was nobody else around but she and Fin because Elliot had to go straight home and Munch hadn't met them yet. She lowered her voice a notch. "You know they'd love to nail a bi black cop."

"And a bi female detective?" Fin added, saluting her with his beer before he drank.

"A big-mouthed, ballsy, bi female detective," she corrected him.

Fin nodded. "I know. You're right. I gotta watch it." He tapped his beer to subdue the rising foam. A smile wavered on his lips, as he struggled with whether or not to ask something. "Could I ask you a question? Just between you and me. And it goes no further?"

"Of course."

"You know all that talk about `dar and shit? You believe all that?"

"Gaydar? Yeah, I guess."

He looked down into his beer and didn't look up until the words were out. "What's yours say about John?"

Olivia smiled a little, regarding her own beer until she drank some off the top. She nodded. "I think there's a dimmer on the two-way switch. I think he could be flipped, if he hasn't been already. Why?" Her smiled teased him. "Somebody interested?"

Fin smirked over at her. "Maybe I'm just askin'."

"Maybe you're just interested."

"I was just thinkin'…" He returned his empty to the table, then reached for the opened, untouched beer he'd ordered for Munch. "Awhile ago, after we questioned the professor? Munch was talking…you know how he does…wondering if an overbearin' mother and an absent father made you gay, why he wasn't…"

Olivia's eyes opened a little wider. "What'd you say?"

He shrugged. "Told him…maybe…he was in denial."

"And what'd he say?"

"He said…that would explain a lot."

Olivia grinned, nodding. "Sounds to me like the dimmer switch just got a little looser."

"That's what I was thinkin'…"

"Then why not follow it up? Ask him over for dinner. A little wine, a little soft music. Romancing the Munch. You know how it's done."

Fin looked around; to make certain the subject of his query wasn't walking up. "Yeah, well. I could go through a whole lotta hope and stuff and then find out it was all for nothin'."

"It would still make for a nice evening, either way. And I think you've got a good shot." Liv smiled again, drinking off the beer. Her eyes glittered, in the way they did when she was a little drunk and a lot into mischief. "You know, I definitely see the attraction."

"To Munch?" Fin said, looking at her with a joking ire.

She shrugged, nodded, smiled again. "John's hot. Not ski lodge, snuggle up by the fire hot like Elliot, but white wine and cheese by the Hudson hot."

Fin grinned almost shyly. "I think he just hot hot."

"See, I knew it. You've got a crush," Liv said, teasing.

Fin's smile folded up, finally capped by a swig of John's beer. He hoped it didn't seem too symbolic. "At least," he said, a little sadly.

She grinned more widely, seriously, in understanding. "Fin, c'mon. Go for it," she said.

He thought a moment. "Maybe I will."

"Hot hot?" she considered, nodding finally. "Yeah, I can see hot hot hot."

"Hot hot hot hot," Fin corrected her.

"What is this?" said a sudden splash of voice across their banter as its source ambled up to the table, "some secret detective language unknown to me? Will I need a decoder ring?"

"Where you been?" Fin asked, once again moving into their boomerang barb interaction. He took his feet off the opposite chair. "We been waitin' on your bony ass all night."

"Twenty minutes, Fin," Munch said, assuming the chair Fin's feet had vacated. "Not all night even by the diminutive yardstick of the MTV generation."

"We got you a beer, but we drank it," Fin said, brandishing the confiscated brew in his hand.

Munch flashed his usual smirk. "I'll just inhale your fumes."

Then suddenly, Fin looked up at Munch and nowhere else. He held the gaze steady, as if measuring his own nerve. "Where you goin' from here tonight? You got plans?"

Munch shrugged. "Home. To a fascinating evening of Internet research and the Discovery Channel. All aliens, all the time. You?"

Fin rubbed his thumb across the mouth of the bottle, as if putting a foot into the bath water. "Why not give the internet and the aliens a night off? I was thinkin' I'd make you dinner at my place."

Munch thought a minute, then gave him a bobbing-head-dog kind of nod. "After all the crappy take-out we take in, suddenly you're a chef?"

"I got some chops with chops," Fin said.

"By all means then, lets begin the cuisine." He glanced over at Olivia. "If I were more socially skilled, I'd nimbly suggest he invite you."

"I've got stuff to do," Olivia said, winking at Fin. "Besides, you know how it is, three's a crowd."

"With me, two's a crowd," Munch smirked again, reaching for the bill. "And I know. I'm catching the tab for tonight."

"I got it covered, baby," Fin said, standing. "All you gotta do is come with me."

John's eyebrows climbed a notch. He shrugged. "Okay," he said, turning toward Liv. "We walk you anywhere? Subway, train, pumpkin coach with rat-like horses?"

"Naw, I've got my car. You guys run along. Enjoy yourselves." She smiled hugely up at John, then repositioned her stare toward Fin. She nodded in secret agreement. "Hot hot hot hot."

"Hot hot hot hot hot," Fin replied.

"I swear, another five minutes of this and I'm speaking in tongues," Munch said to them both, as he was hauled out of O'Malley's and down the shining street.

*

The Tutuola kitchen was small compared with the rest of the apartment, but big compared to anywhere Munch had ever lived. Fin reached in for the marinating pork chops from his fridge, while Munch looked on from somewhere between the tiny dinner table and the crowded wall of books. He was surveying titles, until he saw the exodus of the large chafing dish from the refrigerator.

"You always cook for two?"

"I just cook extra when I do cook, and then I freeze it for the nights when I don't want to. And when you and I don't crash some badass burger dive. Tonight, I cooked extra, so instead I'll cook it for you."

"You're a man of many talents, Fin."

Fin smiled slyly to himself. "You got no idea."

Munch glanced over at him with a capricious grin. "You'll have to submit a list to me for future reference."

Fin's smile expanded. "I was thinkin' more like a demonstration."

"So long as it doesn't involve blood-letting," Munch said, grinning more shyly than usual, which Fin took as an almost hopeful sign

Fin switched off the fire on the gas range. "Come over here a sec, John."

Munch complied, staring down at the hands of his partner as he dried them on a paper towel. "Is this the demonstration?"

"If you want it to be," Fin said simply, gently, looking him deep in the eyes.

"Come again?"

"I was gonna do this one way, but you and I don't front each other, we don't bullshit our way through the loop. I'm just gonna give it to you straight. Remember our talk before, about the reason people got gay? And I said maybe you in denial?"

Munch nodded. "And I made some pithy retort. I remember."

"Were you serious?"

Munch thought a moment before answering this one. "Do you want me to be?"

"As serious as you can be," Fin said.

Again, Munch nodded. "Okay. Yeah."

Fin smiled at the word. He looked at him openly. "You wanna find out if you're in denial?"

It was clear Munch was more than a little taken aback. But the reaction didn't seem overdone and it didn't seem bad, he was just, well, surprised.

He cleared his throat. "Shall I practice my come hither stare?"

Fin knew too well what folks back home called the pinkzone: the line at which most straight white men would allow other men to stand. Stepping beyond it made the white man at best step back, and at worst for the overwalker, throw a right cross to the jaw.

He took a full step toward that line with John. Munch might back away, Fin realized, out of shyness. But he might, if he were intrigued, stay where he was. And beyond that, Fin might take a little more liberty. And then a little more.

He walked over the line – and Munch stuck to his ground, his big eyes shining with droll aplomb, but nothing fearful. And then when Fin took another step, he saw clearly through those cool Italian framed glasses, the gaze of a man many-times-injured so now eternally afraid.

But John didn't move. Not an inch. He just met Fin's eyes, soberly, sweetly. Fin was so proud of him. Baby, he thought. He knew what it had taken for him to make that stand.

"You clear on what's going down here?" he asked gently.

John kept the eye contact fully, not looking away. "I think so."

Fin reached aside, to a waiting bowl. What had been for desert but now seemed fitting for an appetizer for something else entirely. Okay, there had been some innuendo in their selection, but that was now becoming a straightforward implication. He lifted a seedless black grape to Munch's mouth. Munch bit down on the grape in his partner's fingers, taking into his mouth. He leaned over to suck the remaining juice off his partner's thumb.

Fin grinned, his smoky stare sparking at the unexpected flicker of John's tongue on his skin. "Ooooh, John, nice touch," he said, displaying the white grape in his other hand, sinking it deep into his own mouth.

The impact on John Munch was immediate. He was getting the picture.

Fin put another black grape in his teeth: understanding, Munch leaned in to bite the other half. Somewhere beyond that, a nibble of grape became a wide-open claim on John's lips. Fin conquered with shock and the strength of his jaw, his tongue thrusting black juice to merge with the white in John's mouth. His tongue crawled the depths of it, twisting against John's tongue as it fought to reply. It was a long and fierce and inquisitive kiss that was only broken at the need to breathe.

Fin's mouth moved down to John's long throat. As his lips struck skin, a naughty notion hardened in his head. Something that would make John feel this tomorrow as clearly as he did tonight. "I wonder what everyone at work would say if I gave you a hicky. Right there," he said, rubbing his thumb over John's adam's apple. "Where everyone would see. They'd all know you got lucky. And Liv would tell everyone who you got lucky with. She knew where we were going. Shy as you are, that would be embarrassing, huh? But in a way that you'd like it. Maybe I will…"

Fin moved his finger down, across John's heart, down his chest, through his belly, to his groin. All the while, his gaze shared the moments with John's eyes, as the older man realized where his partner's hand was headed. Every Munchean muscle tensed as Fin's hand finally enclosed, caressed the warm, awakening bulge in John's crotch.

"Promising," Fin whispered.

He could feel it respond, react… already. He felt through fabric for the glans and the primary vein, to the infinitely responsive nerve bundle under the head, the one that a praticed, dexterous, skilled manipulation would enliven to a point beyond pleasure and stay there so long as he kept moving, kept moving, kept moving.

"Jesus," John gasped.

"I'm pretty good at this, huh? You know my perfectionist shit," Fin whispered. He grinned into John's glazed-over eyes, as if the outside of a window steamed up from within. "Back in Harlen, I read all these books on masturbation. You know punk teenaged cats. Figured I could job myself better that way. It worked. The guys in the hood used to fight over my fist in the circlejerks – "

Munch's breath forced up from his lungs, a helpless groan. His other hand grabbed for wall. "Oh my god," he whispered. "This is – "

"The answer to your question," Fin murmured, brushing his lips against John's again. "I never felt any man respond like this before." He nibbled again at the deeply flushed skin of John's face. "I want what you can give me," he whispered, kissing tenderly again along a circuitous path up John's chin. Meanwhile, Fin's hand reached for John's zipper, moving it gradually down. "Won't go fast at first. Soon I'll want those long, long legs o' yours wrapped around me, but tonight, we take our time. Nice and easy, baby. John… how come you breathin' so damn hard?"

Munch's face was graced with sweat, the cold kind, beaded from the skin's surface, wrung out of the nerve. His face knit up with an intense pleasure pitched in the kingdom of pain. He was welling up against the wall, on the verge of melting.

"I think we better sit you down before my hand really gets busy. I don't want you crackin' your head on something," Fin said, grinning up into John's half-closed eyes.

The black man reached his arms around his partner, the man he loved, the man he'd have done anything for, and lowered him down into the front room lounger to peel him, prepare him, and make him much more than a friend or even a partner.

"That was almost suave," John coughed up a laugh, through hard gulps for air.

"Shit, we ain't even started."

Fin tugged off Munch's fine linen jacket. He couldn't suppress a cocky grin, thinking of Munch entering the bar, and of where he had then believed the night was headed. And now here was decorated Detective John Munch, having his fine black linen slacks ripped off him and thrown to the floor, his belt dangling a moment from his partner's teeth. Lastly, Fin peeled away John's silk French briefs. Sleek sophistication, braided Co Beau tie, long and lean and sweet as any man he'd ever known.

Fin perched himself on the arm of the recliner. His fingers brushed across the head of John's erect, naked penis - soft and moist already, throbbing at this tenuous touch.

"You are a well-wrapped package, my man," Fin whispered to his ear, while his hand gripped completely around John's cock.

The fingers immediately took control.

John looked like one of those religious mystics when the spirits took him. Something taking him hard in its teeth. Just the look on his face made Fin's heart pound in concert with his own crotch.

"Good girls love bad boys, do good boys love bad boys, too?" Fin whispered again, smiling with impish innocence.

"You're…not…a bad…boy…" Munch gasped out, word by word.

"I'm good in all the bad ways," Fin said, smiling luridly into his eyes, "and bad in all the good ways, you know what I'm sayin'." He lapped thickly and wetly at an earlobe, easing up the grip on John's penis, as if to keep it from erupting as he said, "I'm bad in all the good ways when it comes to sucking cock."

Munch struggled for breath, his whole body arching as if hit by lightning. Ever muscle in him made a fist. Over all of this, Fin smiled with a mixture of love and heat as he slowly moved off the recliner, to stand solidly between John's legs. He made sure he had John's full, devout attention, and then Fin sank to his knees.

"Oh…my god…Fin," John said.

Fin leaned in between John's legs, blowing kisses across the dark crown of hair. He puffed softly around the glans as it beaded again. Then he tenderly gnawed with his lips up John's vellum-soft scrotum.

"Fuck," John said again, his head bowed back, his eyes closed, as if almost unable to bear the sensation.

"Look at me, John," Fin purred. "Watch me."

The eyes of John Munch focused. Fin controlled them completely. The black man moistened his lips with his tongue and then opened his mouth to wrap around the shaft of John's cock. Fin felt every nerve at the base come alive. Every muscle in John's groin pulling tightly. The vein pounding restively against his lips and tongue, until Fin kissed it again then slightly backed away.

"Don't fight it, John. Just cum for me, baby," he whispered.

Fin pounced with raw, hungry need. His mouth locked on cock, his tongue and throat ferociously, zealously, demanding it onto where he wanted it to go. Where Fin so fucking badly needed it to go. So John could watch Fin swallow his cum.

"Ohmyfuckinggod," John moaned out, as one word with one last breath.

Fin received his reward, hot spurts across his tongue, down his throat, to the end of his toes, as far as he was concerned. It filled him and he gulped him hard and loud and long. He could feel John's eyes watching as Fin swallowed him whole.

In the intervening moments, he could hear the cars out on the street, could hear the timer rotisserie click off, while listening to the undertone of the wall clock ticking off the minutes. He tasted John's cum on his lips, savoring it slowly.

He couldn't believe it, he couldn't fucking believe it really happened.

Finally, Fin leaned forward to kiss John's belly, only to find himself lifted and hurled around. He was pushed backward into the recliner.

He was being towered over by a man smiling down with equal parts love and ardor. Fin thought he'd die right there in the arms of angels.

"You don't have to," Fin murmured. "It's your first – "

"Odafin," Munch said, tossing him his get real smirk. "Fin, I've been bi since 1969. Remember? Free love? Glow for blow? Acid for oral sex? And I spent most of the `60s blasted out of my head. Forget what they say about text-based education. It's practice that makes perfect."

That Munch smile had gone all sweetly evil and nicely twisted, just like Fin liked it.

"Oooh, John," Fin said.

"Oooh, Fin," he answered, leaning into the man. He pressed his palm at the muscular chest below the hot red sweatshirt. "I love you," he said simply. "Just so you know."

Fin nodded raggedly. "I love you, too, baby."

"Good, because right now, I could just fuck you raw." John's lips opened and clamped down on Fin's chest, sucking madly at a passing nipple, moving onto the ripple of horny muscle across the man's hard gut. He slid between Fin's knees, shoving apart his solid thighs.

He tore down the zipper of Fin's hot black jeans that hugged his ass just tight enough for Munch to notice…to notice a lot. The surprise came when he saw it was a wrap around zipper, one of those things that fastened down the crotch.

"You hot bastard," he whispered against his healthy bulge and the naughty extra option on his jeans.

"I got `em for stake-outs," Fin whispered, "just in case. I guess we can put `em to use now."

John reached in for the bulge, pulling out a fiercely engorged purple-black penis as his prize. He pressed his lips to the head, then licked it lovingly, keenly with plentiful, sloppy tickling kisses with tongue.

"That almost feels obscene," Fin gasped out.

"This is nothing," Munch said. "Where do you keep the sticky stuff?"

Fin grinned guiltily, reaching into his pocket, visibly flinching at the pleasure that coursed teasingly through his groin when he moved. He pulled from it a KY packet, pitching it to his partner.

"Your distant Boy Scout past," Munch grinned, trying to calm his own breathing to last…to last…

He squeezed the packet over his fingers. The minute Fin saw this, his whole body arched upward.

"Perfect timing," John said, slipping his slick fingers under and up Fin's ass. He wiggled the fingers until they moved into places, reveling in the moans that fled Fin's lips and the flexes of his body. He forced apart his legs to perfectly comply.

John rubbed his partner's prostate warmly, ambitiously, encouragingly. He lipped his way around the head of the penis again, and then primed his throat for depth oralism, as the academics called it. Hold-your-balls, check-your-choppers, take no fuckin' prisoners deep-throat fucking. This was serious shit, and Munch had only ever done this to a couple of men, both of whom he'd loved. And he'd never done it to anyone like he was going to do it to Fin.

The black cock thrust into his mouth, down his throat, striking deep, while John's fingers jacked away with joyful precision. The jacking of mouth and fingers in time summoned a rhythmic response from the man fucking back from the chair. He was lost in the grip of something big and building to something even larger.

"John," he cried out, in one body-flexing spasm after another until Munch felt Fin's ass grasping at his fingers…and sensed the explosion scuttle his throat and thickly storm his tonsils.

John watched while the waves of bliss blasted through his partner, encouraging them tenderly along with caresses, with tongue. He'd never seen Fin cry before. He'd never seen Fin cum before. And he'd never seen anyone cry when they came.

"You," Fin murmured, crawling up from the chair. He wiped the torrents from his face. "I have never… ever…" He shook his head hard.

Munch was seated back on the companion chair, his long legs stretched out before him. His eyebrows lifted with questions. "Sorry. First-timer. I'll try harder next time. Thanks for going slow."

Fin grinned and he meant it. He got up from the chair, stripping off his jeans and throwing them in the direction of Munch's slacks. He beckoned to Munch.

"To hell with dinner. We goin' to bed now, my man," Fin said.

Munch's brow furrowed with overstatement meant to make a point. "What happened to tonight, we take our time. Nice and easy, baby, I believe
it was."

Fin reached for John's tie, pulling him with him. "We goin' to bed now, John," he said. "We goin' to bed for the night. We might even get some sleep before morning, but somehow I don't think so."

Munch grabbed the other man's hand. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't we go to bed for the night?" he said.

Fin nodded, following him. "Now you got the idea."


melody@melarry.com