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Sorry, meant to say that this is the author of the fill.
This is so interesting! I love your Harry voice. :D
The Smurfs are some kind of wildfea living in the Nevernever. Harry comes across them somehow. Smurfing ensues.
You just know how to make the OP grin, don't you? :)
Yes, this is stereotypical Harlequin enough to have me sitting in bed, grinning, trying not to laugh because all the other kiddies are in bed.
Also, this:
The words on the page kept jumping around though, blurring and shifting, hurting his eyes. Harry sighed, shut his eyes for just a moment.
He opened them again later when the waitress shook his shoulder and told him in a regretful voice that they were closing and that he should go home and get some sleep, you poor dear, do you need a taxi called for you?
Just had me going "awww... Harry. John should walk in on you. Right now."
And then, of course, I went straight to John finding him after Harry fainted. Asking Harry if he's still sure he's fine, and Harry telling John that yes, he's sure he's fine, he was just napping. On the bathroom floor. And wouldn't wake up.
And John totally not believing it, but playing along anyways. Maybe offering some more tea, with a bit of honey or milk if Harry's not fond of the taste...
Yes, this is stereotypical Harlequin enough to have me sitting in bed, grinning, trying not to laugh because all the other kiddies are in bed.
Also, this:
The words on the page kept jumping around though, blurring and shifting, hurting his eyes. Harry sighed, shut his eyes for just a moment.
He opened them again later when the waitress shook his shoulder and told him in a regretful voice that they were closing and that he should go home and get some sleep, you poor dear, do you need a taxi called for you?
Just had me going "awww... Harry. John should walk in on you. Right now."
And then, of course, I went straight to John finding him after Harry fainted. Asking Harry if he's still sure he's fine, and Harry telling John that yes, he's sure he's fine, he was just napping. On the bathroom floor. And wouldn't wake up.
And John totally not believing it, but playing along anyways. Maybe offering some more tea, with a bit of honey or milk if Harry's not fond of the taste...
Yays for FLUFF! :) And John saving innocent children while still being bad-ass about it, of course! :)
I love how Harry can't be completely fluffy in this, how there is that slight edge of molester-danger-mafia.
And the last paragraph? OP was very VERY pleased with. :) Harry certainly has his priorities straight. Well, relatively speaking that is!
I love how Harry can't be completely fluffy in this, how there is that slight edge of molester-danger-mafia.
And the last paragraph? OP was very VERY pleased with. :) Harry certainly has his priorities straight. Well, relatively speaking that is!
-OP
YAYS! \o/
Take your time. I totally understand that RL does not always conform to kink!meme desires.
YAYS! \o/
Take your time. I totally understand that RL does not always conform to kink!meme desires.
It became a thing after that. Between following Dresden on cases and watching him find new and creative ways to try and kill himself, Dresden sat with Hendricks and read. Mouse sat with them and let himself be spoiled by the other customers.
Mr. Marcone was pleased. Dresden had no clue how often Mr. Marcone took care of his medical needs, and with Hendricks following him, Dresden was more paranoid about his surroundings and had immediate back-up if necessary. This saved Dresden bruises and Mr. Marcone time, money, and grey hair.
Hendricks…liked the unexpected quiet. Dresden’s books were often thicker than his head and made Dresden thoughtful, pleased, and speculative depending on whatever the page said. Hendricks thought of the stereotypes of wizards, locked in their labs and buried in their books. He had never associated that image with the duster-clad pyro.
Now it proved surprisingly relaxing.
Dresden kept eyeing him suspiciously, like he was waiting for Hendricks to reach over, tear apart his book, and then tear him apart, too. Still, besides some sarcastic remarks, Dresden seemed content to quietly read. Hendricks thought Mouse was the marker. If Mouse grew upset, Dresden immediately followed. Mouse so far hadn’t seemed upset by Hendricks. That was probably the only reason these meetings occurred.
Hendricks started bringing Mouse food, too. He also discovered the more he fed Mouse, the less Dresden fed him off his own plate and the more he ate himself. Dresden really was a skinny bastard.
A skinny bastard who, if he found out that Hendricks was running experiments on him in his head, would no doubt burn Hendricks alive.
“You know,” Dresden said casually once, “I wish you had started stalking me a while ago. It gives me more time to read.”
Dresden’s logic confused Hendricks sometimes, but Hendricks discovered he liked it a little. Dresden was like Mr. Marcone in that sense: he had a definite sense of personal philosophy and logic, but it only made sense to him.
Then casefiles joined Dresden’s books. Hendricks watched him scatter the files over his table after another day in the office, a pen caught between his teeth. Mouse plopped beside the table, and Hendricks gave him a bagel.
Dresden completely ignored Hendricks, focused on his caffeine and paperwork. Hendricks wondered sometimes how much of Dresden’s attitude was based on his high caffeine intake. Maybe his temper grew to its legendary levels due to withdrawal.
Hendricks studied the files. Not police files: Dresden’s files. It didn’t mean it wasn’t a police case, though. He thought about Dresden’s habits and travels in the past several weeks but couldn’t think of any unusual police activity. P.I. business? Warden business?
Dresden always concentrated on his reading like he had a test coming, but there was always a fierce pleasure in his eyes. Now the lines of Dresden’s mouth were tight and grim. Definitely work then.
Hendricks knew the answer but offered, anyway: “Mr. Marcone could help with that.”
Dresden’s look was worthy of his monster of a cat. “No,” he said flatly. He went back to the files. “Look, you’ve been following me for weeks now. I don’t know what Marcone wanted, but surely he has it by now.”
Hendricks had realized over the past three months that Dresden was smarter than he had originally thought, but Dresden could still be mind-numbingly dumb at times. “You’re going into danger.”
Dresden grunted. “Wizard business.”
The man’s head was bowed over the files, so Hendricks couldn’t see his face. He studied the other man, anyway. Dresden had a strange protective impulse that had unknowingly been one of the things that had attracted Mr. Marcone’s attention. For all of Dresden’s bitching about the Outfit, Dresden still went out of his way to protect the boss’ people.
Like Dresden was protecting him now.
Hendricks wasn’t a fool. He knew why Dresden’s compromise about his “stalking” meant meeting in a coffee shop with his dog.
Trust Dresden to try to keep a mafia bodyguard and sometimes enforcer out of trouble by reading in a coffee shop.
Hendricks shrugged. “Orders.”
Dresden grunted, the disgust clear in the sound. Still, he didn’t question. Hendricks didn’t figure he would.
When Sergeant Murphy called Dresden to a suspicious suicide case twenty minutes later, Hendricks waited at the end of the block and called the boss.
Hendricks usually left after Dresden went home at night. This night, he bought coffee and waited in his car.
11:30, Dresden left his apartment, black duster whipping in the wind and his big phallic symbol in his hands. A bag dangled from his shoulder. He crunched himself in the ancient car Mr. Marcone kept grumbling he would one day vanish and drove off. Hendricks followed.
Dresden drove out to the lake. Hendricks remained at a safe distance. Mr. Marcone had an obsessive desire to understand the wizard’s skills, but the mentality of those around him had always interested Hendricks more than how and why they chose their particular spells and what empowered them. Hendricks knew enough about Dresden’s ability to discern what was going on around him, and Hendricks believed it came more from his P.I. skills than magical ability when it came to normal humans. If this was the first time a normal human had followed Dresden on a dark night while Dresden was on a case, Hendricks would write his next paper on how Machiavelli’s audience for The Prince was the ruling class and Antonio Gramsci was an idiot.
Even if he thought he was.
Dresden didn’t seem to notice he was being followed as he parked at the lake shore and scurried to the beach. Hendricks parked in the shadows. He almost wished Dresden had noticed he was being followed. That level of observation and attention would make him feel better.
The wizard knelt beside the water and dropped his bag beside him. Hendricks watched, one hand on his gun, just in case. Dresden did something on the ground with the contents of the bag. Hendricks couldn’t see what. Dresden’s voice carried but Hendricks couldn’t make out the words.
Wizardly business. Hendricks wished he brought a bigger gun.
The leaves rustled loudly in the trees, and the water rippled in the lake. Dresden dropped everything and fell forward, catching himself on his hands. Even from a distance, Hendricks could see him shaking. Hendricks took a step forward before he caught himself. Was Dresden hurt? What was happening?
The woods grew darker around them. The light of the moon faded from the lake, leaving it black as tar. Hendricks tightened his grip on his gun.
Dresden pushed himself back on his knees and wiped at his face. He resumed working on the ground. In the dim moonlight, Hendricks saw Dresden’s hands shaking.
The light of the moon faded like a cloud drifted over it, but when Hendricks looked up, he saw nothing. He looked down again in time to see something rush out of the shadows at Dresden. Hendricks raised his gun, but before he could get a shot off, Dresden was already flying into the lake.
The strange creature shrieked when Hendricks shot it, and the darkness receded slightly. Hendricks emptied his clip before the creature could move again. It jerked but didn’t fall. While he clicked in the next clip, the creature seemed to shake itself off and started toward him.
Then red flared from the shore and the creature screamed, bursting into flames. Hendricks flinched back and raised his gun, just in case. Turned out there was no need. The creature burned like a piece of paper and crumbled to the ground, no more than ash. The darkness cleared and moonlight shone on the lake again. It reflected on the pile of goo where the creature had been.
Dresden crawled on the shore and collapsed beside his things. Hendricks kept his gun out and jogged over to Dresden. Dresden stretched out on the shore like a half-drowned Rodent of Unusual Size. His duster looked wet and heavy on him. When Hendricks tried to take Dresden’s pulse, Dresden swatted at him. “Told you to stay out of it,” he croaked. He sounded like he had tried to swallow half the lake.
Hendricks grunted and reached for his arm. Dresden swatted at him again, but Hendricks managed to roll him over. Watery blood covered the lower half of Dresden’s face, more blood trickling from his nose. Dresden coughed but still tried to hit Hendricks when the man helped him into a sitting position. Hendricks didn’t take it personally. Dresden wasn’t launching a fireball at him, after all.
“You should have stayed out of it,” Dresden insisted, even as he leaned against Hendricks. Hendricks could feel the heat radiating off him even through the cold, wet clothes. His back shifted against Hendricks’ chest with each shaky breath he took.
“It could have killed you,” Hendricks pointed out.
Dresden grunted. He slowly shifted away from Hendricks, a bony shoulder brushing against Hendricks’ chest before he managed to sit up on his own. He wiped at his face again and looked annoyed at the blood on his hand. “I wasn’t expecting it to be aggressive. They generally just sit back and feed on despair. I should have been able to just banish it.” He wiped his nose again and studied his bloodied hand. “It shouldn’t have fought back at all.”
Hendricks sat behind him and studied the other man. Dresden shivered slightly. The air was cool, the water colder, and Dresden had taken a hard hit. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
Now that cautious gaze turned to him. “Fine,” Dresden said shortly. Still, when he pushed himself up, Hendricks noticed he favored his right arm.
Mr. Marcone was going to be pissed.
“Go home,” Dresden said quietly. He didn’t look at Hendricks. He held his bag with his right hand and picked up the scattered items with his left. “It’s late.”
Hendricks didn’t move away. Instead, he knelt beside Dresden and helped him put his things away: chalk, a thimble, a handkerchief, and other things that confused him.
It worked out. Judging by Dresden’s small, darting looks, he confused Dresden, too.
Mr. Marcone was pleased. Dresden had no clue how often Mr. Marcone took care of his medical needs, and with Hendricks following him, Dresden was more paranoid about his surroundings and had immediate back-up if necessary. This saved Dresden bruises and Mr. Marcone time, money, and grey hair.
Hendricks…liked the unexpected quiet. Dresden’s books were often thicker than his head and made Dresden thoughtful, pleased, and speculative depending on whatever the page said. Hendricks thought of the stereotypes of wizards, locked in their labs and buried in their books. He had never associated that image with the duster-clad pyro.
Now it proved surprisingly relaxing.
Dresden kept eyeing him suspiciously, like he was waiting for Hendricks to reach over, tear apart his book, and then tear him apart, too. Still, besides some sarcastic remarks, Dresden seemed content to quietly read. Hendricks thought Mouse was the marker. If Mouse grew upset, Dresden immediately followed. Mouse so far hadn’t seemed upset by Hendricks. That was probably the only reason these meetings occurred.
Hendricks started bringing Mouse food, too. He also discovered the more he fed Mouse, the less Dresden fed him off his own plate and the more he ate himself. Dresden really was a skinny bastard.
A skinny bastard who, if he found out that Hendricks was running experiments on him in his head, would no doubt burn Hendricks alive.
“You know,” Dresden said casually once, “I wish you had started stalking me a while ago. It gives me more time to read.”
Dresden’s logic confused Hendricks sometimes, but Hendricks discovered he liked it a little. Dresden was like Mr. Marcone in that sense: he had a definite sense of personal philosophy and logic, but it only made sense to him.
Then casefiles joined Dresden’s books. Hendricks watched him scatter the files over his table after another day in the office, a pen caught between his teeth. Mouse plopped beside the table, and Hendricks gave him a bagel.
Dresden completely ignored Hendricks, focused on his caffeine and paperwork. Hendricks wondered sometimes how much of Dresden’s attitude was based on his high caffeine intake. Maybe his temper grew to its legendary levels due to withdrawal.
Hendricks studied the files. Not police files: Dresden’s files. It didn’t mean it wasn’t a police case, though. He thought about Dresden’s habits and travels in the past several weeks but couldn’t think of any unusual police activity. P.I. business? Warden business?
Dresden always concentrated on his reading like he had a test coming, but there was always a fierce pleasure in his eyes. Now the lines of Dresden’s mouth were tight and grim. Definitely work then.
Hendricks knew the answer but offered, anyway: “Mr. Marcone could help with that.”
Dresden’s look was worthy of his monster of a cat. “No,” he said flatly. He went back to the files. “Look, you’ve been following me for weeks now. I don’t know what Marcone wanted, but surely he has it by now.”
Hendricks had realized over the past three months that Dresden was smarter than he had originally thought, but Dresden could still be mind-numbingly dumb at times. “You’re going into danger.”
Dresden grunted. “Wizard business.”
The man’s head was bowed over the files, so Hendricks couldn’t see his face. He studied the other man, anyway. Dresden had a strange protective impulse that had unknowingly been one of the things that had attracted Mr. Marcone’s attention. For all of Dresden’s bitching about the Outfit, Dresden still went out of his way to protect the boss’ people.
Like Dresden was protecting him now.
Hendricks wasn’t a fool. He knew why Dresden’s compromise about his “stalking” meant meeting in a coffee shop with his dog.
Trust Dresden to try to keep a mafia bodyguard and sometimes enforcer out of trouble by reading in a coffee shop.
Hendricks shrugged. “Orders.”
Dresden grunted, the disgust clear in the sound. Still, he didn’t question. Hendricks didn’t figure he would.
When Sergeant Murphy called Dresden to a suspicious suicide case twenty minutes later, Hendricks waited at the end of the block and called the boss.
Hendricks usually left after Dresden went home at night. This night, he bought coffee and waited in his car.
11:30, Dresden left his apartment, black duster whipping in the wind and his big phallic symbol in his hands. A bag dangled from his shoulder. He crunched himself in the ancient car Mr. Marcone kept grumbling he would one day vanish and drove off. Hendricks followed.
Dresden drove out to the lake. Hendricks remained at a safe distance. Mr. Marcone had an obsessive desire to understand the wizard’s skills, but the mentality of those around him had always interested Hendricks more than how and why they chose their particular spells and what empowered them. Hendricks knew enough about Dresden’s ability to discern what was going on around him, and Hendricks believed it came more from his P.I. skills than magical ability when it came to normal humans. If this was the first time a normal human had followed Dresden on a dark night while Dresden was on a case, Hendricks would write his next paper on how Machiavelli’s audience for The Prince was the ruling class and Antonio Gramsci was an idiot.
Even if he thought he was.
Dresden didn’t seem to notice he was being followed as he parked at the lake shore and scurried to the beach. Hendricks parked in the shadows. He almost wished Dresden had noticed he was being followed. That level of observation and attention would make him feel better.
The wizard knelt beside the water and dropped his bag beside him. Hendricks watched, one hand on his gun, just in case. Dresden did something on the ground with the contents of the bag. Hendricks couldn’t see what. Dresden’s voice carried but Hendricks couldn’t make out the words.
Wizardly business. Hendricks wished he brought a bigger gun.
The leaves rustled loudly in the trees, and the water rippled in the lake. Dresden dropped everything and fell forward, catching himself on his hands. Even from a distance, Hendricks could see him shaking. Hendricks took a step forward before he caught himself. Was Dresden hurt? What was happening?
The woods grew darker around them. The light of the moon faded from the lake, leaving it black as tar. Hendricks tightened his grip on his gun.
Dresden pushed himself back on his knees and wiped at his face. He resumed working on the ground. In the dim moonlight, Hendricks saw Dresden’s hands shaking.
The light of the moon faded like a cloud drifted over it, but when Hendricks looked up, he saw nothing. He looked down again in time to see something rush out of the shadows at Dresden. Hendricks raised his gun, but before he could get a shot off, Dresden was already flying into the lake.
The strange creature shrieked when Hendricks shot it, and the darkness receded slightly. Hendricks emptied his clip before the creature could move again. It jerked but didn’t fall. While he clicked in the next clip, the creature seemed to shake itself off and started toward him.
Then red flared from the shore and the creature screamed, bursting into flames. Hendricks flinched back and raised his gun, just in case. Turned out there was no need. The creature burned like a piece of paper and crumbled to the ground, no more than ash. The darkness cleared and moonlight shone on the lake again. It reflected on the pile of goo where the creature had been.
Dresden crawled on the shore and collapsed beside his things. Hendricks kept his gun out and jogged over to Dresden. Dresden stretched out on the shore like a half-drowned Rodent of Unusual Size. His duster looked wet and heavy on him. When Hendricks tried to take Dresden’s pulse, Dresden swatted at him. “Told you to stay out of it,” he croaked. He sounded like he had tried to swallow half the lake.
Hendricks grunted and reached for his arm. Dresden swatted at him again, but Hendricks managed to roll him over. Watery blood covered the lower half of Dresden’s face, more blood trickling from his nose. Dresden coughed but still tried to hit Hendricks when the man helped him into a sitting position. Hendricks didn’t take it personally. Dresden wasn’t launching a fireball at him, after all.
“You should have stayed out of it,” Dresden insisted, even as he leaned against Hendricks. Hendricks could feel the heat radiating off him even through the cold, wet clothes. His back shifted against Hendricks’ chest with each shaky breath he took.
“It could have killed you,” Hendricks pointed out.
Dresden grunted. He slowly shifted away from Hendricks, a bony shoulder brushing against Hendricks’ chest before he managed to sit up on his own. He wiped at his face again and looked annoyed at the blood on his hand. “I wasn’t expecting it to be aggressive. They generally just sit back and feed on despair. I should have been able to just banish it.” He wiped his nose again and studied his bloodied hand. “It shouldn’t have fought back at all.”
Hendricks sat behind him and studied the other man. Dresden shivered slightly. The air was cool, the water colder, and Dresden had taken a hard hit. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
Now that cautious gaze turned to him. “Fine,” Dresden said shortly. Still, when he pushed himself up, Hendricks noticed he favored his right arm.
Mr. Marcone was going to be pissed.
“Go home,” Dresden said quietly. He didn’t look at Hendricks. He held his bag with his right hand and picked up the scattered items with his left. “It’s late.”
Hendricks didn’t move away. Instead, he knelt beside Dresden and helped him put his things away: chalk, a thimble, a handkerchief, and other things that confused him.
It worked out. Judging by Dresden’s small, darting looks, he confused Dresden, too.
I always love smart!Hendricks - the line about The Prince was priceless!
Re: Venture wants ALL the crossovers. 2/??
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wintersjuly.livejournal.com
2011-03-19 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
i just figured you mightn't have entered in the right numbers since comment ficcing can get a bit frantic when inspired (also you should get inspired more often. BOB THE SKULL IS SHERLOCK'S SKULL aldlkjaf i laugh at that at random time during the day XD) , that's all. :)
-still not sure if I'm the OP, but yeah...-
OMG, I love this. Hendricks can be a smart bodyguard/stalker, yes he can. He is not just some lug that Marcone keeps around 'cause he looks tough.
In particular, though, this line stood out to me:
Wizardly business. Hendricks wished he brought a bigger gun.
Because, yes, this is so true - and I can totally see Hendricks secretly thinking "Well damn. He's doing the wizard thing and I only brought the handgun, three spare clips and the throwing knives. I left the shot-gun in my other car, the rifle's getting modified, and we still haven't figured out how to conceal the rocket launcher. (mental sigh.) This is going to be messy."
OMG, I love this. Hendricks can be a smart bodyguard/stalker, yes he can. He is not just some lug that Marcone keeps around 'cause he looks tough.
In particular, though, this line stood out to me:
Wizardly business. Hendricks wished he brought a bigger gun.
Because, yes, this is so true - and I can totally see Hendricks secretly thinking "Well damn. He's doing the wizard thing and I only brought the handgun, three spare clips and the throwing knives. I left the shot-gun in my other car, the rifle's getting modified, and we still haven't figured out how to conceal the rocket launcher. (mental sigh.) This is going to be messy."
it's okay - i live in the dumb. the dumb and i are old friends
Also, i'm so glad other people love crossovers in the shameless shameless way that i do! they are my faaavorite!
Also, i'm so glad other people love crossovers in the shameless shameless way that i do! they are my faaavorite!
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, so much awesomeness! Go Hendricks!
Interesting and not to mention hot like Mexico. (damn you, Lady Gaga)
I am so going to hell for this.
So, option 1 for this would be someone crushing on Father Forthill or OMC who happens to be a relatively young attractive priest. *cough Stimata cough*
Option 2 is more of a roleplay/costume kink. Charecter of choice thinks those Roman collars are sexy?
Yeah, definetly going to hell but would rather not go alone.
So, option 1 for this would be someone crushing on Father Forthill or OMC who happens to be a relatively young attractive priest. *cough Stimata cough*
Option 2 is more of a roleplay/costume kink. Charecter of choice thinks those Roman collars are sexy?
Yeah, definetly going to hell but would rather not go alone.
I will not write Teenage!Michael crushing on Twenty-Something!Forthill
I will not write Teenage!Michael crushing on Twenty-Something!Forthill
I will not write Teenage!Michael crushing on Twenty-Something!Forthill
...No seriously, I have no business writing this, I don't really have the necessary background knowledge to...
....
....
But I have other fills I should be working on, so...
...
...
...
Ah hells.
I will not write Teenage!Michael crushing on Twenty-Something!Forthill
I will not write Teenage!Michael crushing on Twenty-Something!Forthill
...No seriously, I have no business writing this, I don't really have the necessary background knowledge to...
....
....
But I have other fills I should be working on, so...
...
...
...
Ah hells.
I bet Harry is actually relieved that Mac didn't use grammar. Or words at all. It's also kinda suspicious that he immediately gives Harry fruit. Do I detect very subtle watching out for the pregnant wizardess here?
Hah I totally love Thomas' reaction. :D
Hah I totally love Thomas' reaction. :D
I love Hendrick's voice in this, you've done such a great job with him, as well as capturing the complicated dynamics of the Harry/Marcone relationship
I ran from Justin's burning house, from the fire that killed him and Elaine. I don't know why I ran - it wasn't like I had anywhere to go.
But I ran and kept running until I felt safe. I looked around and realized I'd stopped on a church doorstep, and started to laugh, a little hysterically.
Places can become imbued with emotions and power: Bob had taught me that. This place felt warm and welcoming, the way I'd always imagined a good House of God might resonate. The people who came here might not all be Believers, but they loved and felt community, and that was important, too.
I opened the door.
"The church is closed for cleaning, my son," the young Father told me. It was dim, or he would have noticed I looked like shit.
"I'll help you clean it, then," I said, because going outside sounded like a terrible idea.
The Father looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded. "Come into the light," he beckoned. I stepped forward, and his eyes widened. They were grey-blue, like Lake Michigan before a storm. "You're hurt!"
"A few scratches, Father," I shrugged. "I'd like to clean up, if you don't mind letting me borrow a sink and some paper towels?"
"All that and a First Aid kit," he offered me his hand. I took it uncertainly and followed him to a back room.
After six years with Justin, I'd gotten used to neglecting my injuries. Wizards healed quickly, so why waste medicine on a few cuts and bruises? That was Justin's philosophy. The Father was gentle but brisk, like he'd bandaged a lot of vagabond kids in his lifetime. Seemed odd - he couldn't have been more than twenty-five.
"What happened to you, my son?" he asked, seeing some of the older bruises from Justin's shield-training.
"Rough neighborhood," I muttered, and the lie felt sour. The Father lifted my chin to look in my face, I flicked my eyes away. "...my guardian," I said, uncomfortable. "I, uh, ran away, I guess." Did it count as running away from home if you killed your guardian first?
"No one has the right to treat you this way," he said sadly. "What is your name, my son?"
"Harry. What about you?"
"George," he offered a hand. I shook it with a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Why did you come to the church?"
"It felt...right." I shrugged. "I dunno. You still want help cleaning this place up?"
"If you feel up to it," he nodded.
I laughed. "It's just some scratches, Father George. No big deal."
We swept and mopped the whole place - I was exhausted by the end. Father George had already dusted and waxed the pews, I realized when I collapsed on one with a huge sigh.
He chuckled.
"What will you do now, Harry?"
"Find someplace to sleep, I guess," I mumbled. I'd spent the past few hours pointedly not thinking about what would happen when I finished cleaning the church.
There was a lengthy pause. "There's a bed in the church, for nights I can't make it home," he said carefully. He knew I had nothing. He knew there was a lot of very expensive stuff in this church. And he was still willing to leave me in said church, alone. My eyes watered.
No one had ever trusted me like that, not since my dad died.
"Why are you being so nice?" I couldn't help but ask. Stupid question really - what if he took it back?
"Because you are in need, and it costs me nothing to be generous in this," he said, rubbing my shoulder. "And it would cost you greatly, should I turn you away. Refusing to help you would not only be unchristian, it would be inhumane."
I broke down and hugged him, crying. Elaine and I were friends, but we couldn't really give each other this kind of thing. For ten years, the only thing I'd gotten that I thought even approached this kind of selfless kindness was when Justin took me in - and that turned out to be a huge lie.
Father George patted me on the back and I tried to compose myself. He gave me a handkerchief and showed me the little cell - huge crucifix, small bed, the whole nine yards. My feet hung off the cot. We laughed.
He stroked my forehead and wished me goodnight before he left.
None of this explained the dream I had, but perhaps being sixteen and hormonal helped. He'd been nice to me. He was attractive, if a little feminine. I was sleeping in his bed. Having an innocent dream of him holding me wasn't a big deal. When he stopped holding and started touching, that was awkward to remember in the morning, especially when the thing that I noticed first after waking was damp boxers.
I didn't take anything from the church. I walked out and faced the Wardens, faced the trial, and I got through it all with the thought of Father George cleaning me up tenderly, stroking my forehead before I fell asleep.
And if I'm a little reluctant to deal with preachers and churches now, well, maybe it's because I'm uncomfortable at the reminder of porno dreams of the nicest man I ever met.
But I ran and kept running until I felt safe. I looked around and realized I'd stopped on a church doorstep, and started to laugh, a little hysterically.
Places can become imbued with emotions and power: Bob had taught me that. This place felt warm and welcoming, the way I'd always imagined a good House of God might resonate. The people who came here might not all be Believers, but they loved and felt community, and that was important, too.
I opened the door.
"The church is closed for cleaning, my son," the young Father told me. It was dim, or he would have noticed I looked like shit.
"I'll help you clean it, then," I said, because going outside sounded like a terrible idea.
The Father looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded. "Come into the light," he beckoned. I stepped forward, and his eyes widened. They were grey-blue, like Lake Michigan before a storm. "You're hurt!"
"A few scratches, Father," I shrugged. "I'd like to clean up, if you don't mind letting me borrow a sink and some paper towels?"
"All that and a First Aid kit," he offered me his hand. I took it uncertainly and followed him to a back room.
After six years with Justin, I'd gotten used to neglecting my injuries. Wizards healed quickly, so why waste medicine on a few cuts and bruises? That was Justin's philosophy. The Father was gentle but brisk, like he'd bandaged a lot of vagabond kids in his lifetime. Seemed odd - he couldn't have been more than twenty-five.
"What happened to you, my son?" he asked, seeing some of the older bruises from Justin's shield-training.
"Rough neighborhood," I muttered, and the lie felt sour. The Father lifted my chin to look in my face, I flicked my eyes away. "...my guardian," I said, uncomfortable. "I, uh, ran away, I guess." Did it count as running away from home if you killed your guardian first?
"No one has the right to treat you this way," he said sadly. "What is your name, my son?"
"Harry. What about you?"
"George," he offered a hand. I shook it with a small smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Why did you come to the church?"
"It felt...right." I shrugged. "I dunno. You still want help cleaning this place up?"
"If you feel up to it," he nodded.
I laughed. "It's just some scratches, Father George. No big deal."
We swept and mopped the whole place - I was exhausted by the end. Father George had already dusted and waxed the pews, I realized when I collapsed on one with a huge sigh.
He chuckled.
"What will you do now, Harry?"
"Find someplace to sleep, I guess," I mumbled. I'd spent the past few hours pointedly not thinking about what would happen when I finished cleaning the church.
There was a lengthy pause. "There's a bed in the church, for nights I can't make it home," he said carefully. He knew I had nothing. He knew there was a lot of very expensive stuff in this church. And he was still willing to leave me in said church, alone. My eyes watered.
No one had ever trusted me like that, not since my dad died.
"Why are you being so nice?" I couldn't help but ask. Stupid question really - what if he took it back?
"Because you are in need, and it costs me nothing to be generous in this," he said, rubbing my shoulder. "And it would cost you greatly, should I turn you away. Refusing to help you would not only be unchristian, it would be inhumane."
I broke down and hugged him, crying. Elaine and I were friends, but we couldn't really give each other this kind of thing. For ten years, the only thing I'd gotten that I thought even approached this kind of selfless kindness was when Justin took me in - and that turned out to be a huge lie.
Father George patted me on the back and I tried to compose myself. He gave me a handkerchief and showed me the little cell - huge crucifix, small bed, the whole nine yards. My feet hung off the cot. We laughed.
He stroked my forehead and wished me goodnight before he left.
None of this explained the dream I had, but perhaps being sixteen and hormonal helped. He'd been nice to me. He was attractive, if a little feminine. I was sleeping in his bed. Having an innocent dream of him holding me wasn't a big deal. When he stopped holding and started touching, that was awkward to remember in the morning, especially when the thing that I noticed first after waking was damp boxers.
I didn't take anything from the church. I walked out and faced the Wardens, faced the trial, and I got through it all with the thought of Father George cleaning me up tenderly, stroking my forehead before I fell asleep.
And if I'm a little reluctant to deal with preachers and churches now, well, maybe it's because I'm uncomfortable at the reminder of porno dreams of the nicest man I ever met.
Technically speaking, I'm a private investigator. The sign on the door says "Wizard", but you can't get a license for that from the State of Illinois. To get it you have to pass a bunch of tests in useful things like finding stuff out the old-fashioned human way. I have to say, I kind of liked it. I have lockpicks and everything, very classy.
My point is, I sort of actually know what I'm doing, even without magic. But I have magic, I am magic. You don't need to be a dragon to work here, but it helps.
I took a deep breath of the crime scene.
The brothel in question was the Folle Allure, which was bad French and Bianca's attempt at expanding the business. It used to be an old townhouse decorated by someone who liked Moulin Rouge a lot. Now it was smoking rubble, Baz Luhrman after the bomb.
"We won't get arrested this time, will we?" Michael asked, from a few steps behind me.
"You don't like the cell with my name on it?" I asked, bending down for a better whiff of the burnt out hulk.
Michael bent down beside me, scanning the ground with his eyes, though of course there was nothing to see. "Do you want Charity to bail us out again?" he asked mildly.
Of course I didn't. Charity and I are like oil and water; water and very, very scared fire. If I got her husband arrested again, it would be a scene straight out of Wagner and you know what happens to dragons in those.
"It's arson, not murder, as far as the cops know. They're a little less twitchy about that," I dug my hands into the pockets of my duster and shrugged. "It's been four, five hours? Plenty of time to get done and clear out. They're off on a nice burglary somewhere. Just don't touch anything."
"It decks me only to mock me, this jewelled chain of mine
It bruises me when on my neck, it strangles me when I struggle to tear it off.
It grips my throat, it chokes my singing
Could I but offer it to your hand, my Lord, I would be saved
Take it from me, and in exchange bind me to you with a garland, for I am ashamed to stand before you with this jewelled chain on my neck."
Now, I read this verse by Tagore, and instantly thought of Winter Knight Harry and possibly Marcone, because I've been living in the Dresden Files meme for about a month.
Does anyone else see what I see? Do they feel inspired to write about it?
Anyone?
It bruises me when on my neck, it strangles me when I struggle to tear it off.
It grips my throat, it chokes my singing
Could I but offer it to your hand, my Lord, I would be saved
Take it from me, and in exchange bind me to you with a garland, for I am ashamed to stand before you with this jewelled chain on my neck."
Now, I read this verse by Tagore, and instantly thought of Winter Knight Harry and possibly Marcone, because I've been living in the Dresden Files meme for about a month.
Does anyone else see what I see? Do they feel inspired to write about it?
Anyone?
Note: My god, I cannot believe it took this long to write this! I'm sorry for the delay, but, well, life. It is not always conducive to dark, dirty porn that I can't write in public! Sorry!
Also, hi! I found DW's character limit! :D
_____________
His eyes were bright, though not consumed by the green glow. A core of Harry's own brown remained. Harry had his arms wrapped around himself as though he were cold. The room was sweltering and I knew the heat was coming from Harry.
“You need to calm down, Harry.” I crossed the room to him, pressed my hand to the middle of his back. The t-shirt he worse was dark with sweat. “Or we can do this another day.”
“No. It needs to be now.” He closed his eyes and took several deep, long breaths. The air shimmered around him and a second set of eyes opened above his own, Lasciel's eyes. They seemed to blink at me and then vanished, taking the energy that was slowly filling the room with them. Harry sagged, his entire body going loose. When he opened his eyes they were dark, nearly all pupil. “She's clamped down on-” He waved a hand through the air. “So you'll be safe. Tell me what to do.”
I took my own deep breath and flexed my fingers.
“Take off your shirt.”
He tugged it off over his head, moved to slide it down his arms and I caught it at his wrists, twisting and knotting it quickly. Harry jerked away, once, and I stopped, waiting. He looked down at the white cloth for a long, long minute and then thrust his wrists back out to me.
I stepped around him, watching him out of the corner of my eye as I pulled a drawer open and removed the few items I'd placed there earlier. This was the point at which I expected him to balk.
The collar was heavy in my hands, plain black leather with a flat silver buckle. I held it out so he could see it. His eyes went wider, which I would have thought impossible.
“Really?” He rolled his lips together, pressing until they went white.
“Yes.” I reached up and around him, tightened the collar and buckled it in a few quick seconds. There was enough room between his throat and the collar to slip my fingers between them. He swallowed, his throat pressing against my fingers. I held up the cuffs so that he could see them. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.” His voice was steady, strong. I pulled the shirt off his wrists and cuffed him. Ms. Gard had purchased padded ones. Harry flexed his arms, testing the chain between the leather. It rattled a little, but they were brand new and would hold through far more than a normal man's strength.
I circled around behind him, ran my hand up the curve of his spine, fingers tripping over the collar to slide into the hair at the back of his neck. He started to jerk away from my touch and twisted my fingers, knotted into his hair and jerked his head back, kicking at the back of one of his knees. Harry went down, catching himself on his hands.
I gave him a moment, let him feel my eyes on him, touching every millimeter of exposed skin. The tie I pulled out of my pocket was wide, heavy silk. It covered his eyes, and I traced the curve of his ears with my knuckles as I knotted it behind his head.
“Fucking hell, Marcone.” I knelt behind him, my hands resting on his hips before I pressed against him, let him feel me, feel how hard I was already. To have him beneath me like this. To have Harry under me, trembling, waiting for me. I was hard. I bit his shoulder, just hard enough to leave a bruise and flicked open the button of his fly.
“You're so quiet, Harry. Where's that famous whit?” I dragged the zipper down, pressed my palm against rough fabric, keeping him trapped. “I think you like it. Like the anticipation, the uncertainty. What will I do?” I pulled him out, careful to only let his half-hard member scrape the slightest bit against the zipper. “You think I'm going to hurt you, don't you Harry? Break you down, make you bleed. Scream and cry for me.” I licked along the back of his neck, rolled the taste of him, salt and fire in my mouth.
“Hells bells, you asshole.” Harry rolled his hips back against me. “Get on with it!”
I tugged on the collar, jerking him up higher on his hands and knees.
“My show, Harry.”
I bit him again, right above the collar. The leather mingled with his own taste, a sharp note on the tongue. His jeans were tight, but I worked them down his thighs to his knees, baring him to me. He had one scar that ran from his lower back down across his left flank, fading out on the back of his thigh. I traced it with my tongue, followed it down with tongue and teeth. His muscles twitched beneath my lips and he tried to jerk away, but he was well caught.
My hands fit the curve of his ass perfectly, made for it. I spread him open. I loved looking at my lovers from this angle, so vulnerable, spread out in front of me, waiting. Their most tender parts on display for me and me alone. I ran my thumb down the center line of him, pressed against his tight hole, let him feel it, feel the promise.
“You're so soft, down here.” I traced the line forward, cupped his balls and rolled them gently together. His thighs tensed, tightening on my hand. “I'm going to suck on these, Harry.” I leaned down and licked him, the rough of my tongue against the soft, crinkly skin there. I pulled his legs as far apart as they could go and leaned down, sucked one firm globe into my mouth, bathed it. Took the other one in and felt him tremble beneath me, around me, fighting not to make any quick movements. A gentle scrape of my teeth and I had to let him go as he jerked forward, his head hitting the carpeting with a muffled thud.
I turned my head, licked a stripe up behind his balls, circled the tip of my tongue over the center of him then dragged the underside of my tongue back down, letting him twist in my hands.
“F-fuck. Please.” He curled, the muscles in his back tensing up. I pinched the tender flesh where thigh turned to butt and he jerked, cursing. I placed a faint, gentle kiss against his hole and drove my tongue into him, fighting past the muscle. “Shit. T-that. So weird...you- you shouldn't do that.” I flicked my tongue inside of him, wrapped my hand around his length. Harry was hard now, his pulse leaping in my palm as I rolled the ball of my thumb across the head, smeared the drops of precome there and slicked it down him.
He clamped down on me, like he was trying to push me out. I rode it out, circled my tongue inside of him, short little jabs of movement. Harry's grip eased, slowly but surely. He sighed a little as I thrust deeper inside. I pulled out, nipped at the glistening muscle as it clenched and relaxed.
“Dammit Marcone!” The muscles of his back twitched, completely out of his control. “I told you to do what you did before! Not this fucking-” I tugged on the back of the collar, just hard enough to let him feel the press of it against his throat.
“I am doing what I did before, Harry. It wasn't all blood and violence.” I wedged myself between his legs, laid over his back, letting him take my weight. Harry grunted and shifted, locking his arms beneath him. I rocked against him, the fabric of my slacks rough against his skin and he whined, rocked back into me. It felt good, and I bit at his shoulder blade hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what Nicodemus wanted from me, Harry? He wanted to watch me destroy you. The blood and pain he wanted to do himself. But from us? Oh, he got to have a different kind of enjoyment from that.
“They feed off of suffering. We must have been quite the feast, Harry. You were torn open, bruised and bloodied. And then he put that collar on you, and Harry,” I fingered the collar again, drawing his attention back to it. “Harry, it didn't matter any more. You didn't just want more, you needed it. And it wouldn't have mattered what he did to you. You would have loved it, and begged for more. Nicodemus gave me a choice. I could fuck you, however I wanted. Or he could start carving you up. Pass you around to the other Denarians he had there. To his men, those fanatics.” His breath was hard, heavy. I took some of my weight off of him, knelt back up with my hands pressed to his back.
I ran my hand down his back, found the long sweep of scar again and pressed it with my thumb, making him feel the length of it as I traced it down his body.
“He did this, by way of demonstration.” My fingers dug into his hip, bruising. “You smiled the whole time, like it was ecstasy. You came with him fucking you while you were covered in your own blood, his fingers digging into that wound!” I shoved him away, shoved myself away and stood. I was shaking, my erection dead and gone from the memory. “So I fucked you. But I didn't hurt you. I won't. If that's what you're looking for here, you won't get it.”
He was curled against the carpet, every line of his body telling of misery and confusion. This wasn't helping. It wouldn't help and I knew it. Lasciel had to know it by now too. 'Her' plan was failing and he would shatter no matter what we did.
“Lasciel. I want to speak with you.” I knelt down and removed the blindfold. It was wet with tears. Harry blinked up at me, his pupils blown. He shook his head, but there was a quiet shift in the room and Harry closed his eyes. When they opened, they were Lasciel's. “You see?”
“Mm-hm.” She nodded, Harry's hair falling forward into his eyes and she blew at it, impatiently. “The two of you are quite the pair.” Lasciel sat up and I leaned back, giving her some room. “Would you like to take these off, or should I?” She held up Harry's manacled hands. I removed the bonds quickly and tossed them across the room. Lasciel undid the collar, rolling it in Harry's palms, thoughtful.
She stood, stretching, and kicked out of Harry's jeans, leaving him nude. In spite of everything, the sight gave me a quick jolt of pleasure. Harry's head cocked as she stared out of the windows, and then she nodded.
“Yes. I think that will do nicely.” Harry's long fingers snapped, and my hands flew to my throat. The collar Lasciel had been playing with was simply there, not tight, but there. The buckle, when I tried it, had apparently fused itself shut somehow. Lasciel smiled at me, her golden eyes fading to be replaced with the glowing green of Harry. A second set of eyes opened above Harry's once more and both of them regarded me as he crossed the room with predatory grace.
“You can say no, Marcone.” Harry's voice, but changed. Rough, gravelly. The earth moving sounded like his voice. Liquid grinding.
“And if I do?”
“We leave. Lasciel and I'll go somewhere far away.” On his own with her. No. I let my hands drop from the collar and spread them at my sides, inviting. Harry smiled and I felt Lasciel's pleasure like a caress.
“Excellent.”
Harry's hand was hot, fire warmed against my skin as he cradled the back of my head and leaned down to kiss me, his eyes glowing steady and bright. Heat trickled out of him, pressing against me as his tongue flitted over my lips, following the shape of my mouth before pressing harder, seeking entrance. I opened for him, resting my hands on his narrow hips, drawing him closer.
His free hand slid down my side, cupped me through my slacks and I twitched, grew hard again as he manipulated me. My legs hit the edge of the table, but I didn't remember moving. Harry laughed, softly, and pulled away. He pressed me back, down, and I went, the clatter of dishes and a vase crashing through the room as we pushed them out of the way.
Harry's long fingers danced over my legs, a tease through the fabric and then there came the faint, acrid scent of burning cloth and my slacks dissolved into ash, a thin, fine coating. He knelt down and blew against it, his breath sending the tiny black-gray specks flying through the air, leaving me utterly bare from the waist down.
The rough tip of one finger pressed gently behind my balls, and I jumped, a small sound escaping. Amusement flavored the air we breathed as Harry ran that finger down along the sensitive skin there and circled my opening, pressing just enough to feel the resistance. Another snap of fingers and there was a warm ceramic jar resting beside my hip. A lazy, indulgent smile ran across his features as Harry dipped his hand in the jar, coating his fingers well.
“It's all about the trust, isn't it, Marcone? Do you trust me? Do I trust you, little Baron?” His voice cycled between the rough earthen sound to his normal voice, to the one I associated with Lasciel. They were coming together, becoming one.
He pressed forward with one finger, piercing and sweet for it's hint at fullness. I flexed, squeezed down on him briefly and then relaxed. Lasciel chuckled and he licked behind my knee, a surprising sensation. I found myself choking back a tiny yelp and hooked my leg over his shoulder, spreading myself wider. The second finger was welcome, and I pressed back into it, savored the slight burn. It had been a very long time...
We settled into it, the three of us, the room heating up until it was a sauna as Harry stretched me, slowly. Harry's hands were long, like the rest of him, his fingers strong and talented. I found myself gasping and trying to thrust back onto his hand, to take more as he spread me wider to take the third finger, and then the fourth.
I could feel my orgasm coming, just over the edge, building slowly, fighting for that last little bit of sensation to bring it full force. I hissed, cursed Harry's name and fought against the restraining hand he had pressed against my hips, fingers spread wide with his thumb following the inner seam of my pelvis and thigh, so he could control me, but not touch my aching erection.
Harry pulled his hand back, almost all the way out and I knew what was coming. Denied the control to take him in as I wanted, harder and faster than would be wise, I fumbled at my own shirt, tearing at it. It was hot, choking and oppressive on my skin. The air, no cooler, but still a wonderful release, sent my skin tingling as the cloth fell away, and my trembling fingers stumbled across my chest, across the old, faded scars there to find my nipples, tight and erect. I rolled them, traced my palms across them in a sweat slick tease, and gave voice to a low, pained cry as Harry finally slid his hand forward.
It was slow, slower than I wanted, and I fought him, digging my heel into his back, half trying to sit up so that I could grab at him before small hands, hands that were not there pressed into my shoulders and held me down. Lasciel. I opened my eyes though I couldn't remember closing them and thought I could see a face shimmering in the air, feminine and pleasant, amber eyes gleaming as she held me for him, whispered encouragement to the both of us.
He was inside me, huge and wonderful, and Harry twisted his hand, still so slowly, but it was enough now, more than enough, and I felt my orgasm, so long waiting begin to come over me. A sharp 'cluck' of the tongue, and then fingers were wrapped around the base of my penis, squeezing, cutting me off and I screamed in frustration and pleasure as my orgasm built, the feeling crashing over me and being denied release.
A small mouth crushed itself against mine, swallowed my screams and drank them in. It hurt, wonderfully.
Also, hi! I found DW's character limit! :D
_____________
His eyes were bright, though not consumed by the green glow. A core of Harry's own brown remained. Harry had his arms wrapped around himself as though he were cold. The room was sweltering and I knew the heat was coming from Harry.
“You need to calm down, Harry.” I crossed the room to him, pressed my hand to the middle of his back. The t-shirt he worse was dark with sweat. “Or we can do this another day.”
“No. It needs to be now.” He closed his eyes and took several deep, long breaths. The air shimmered around him and a second set of eyes opened above his own, Lasciel's eyes. They seemed to blink at me and then vanished, taking the energy that was slowly filling the room with them. Harry sagged, his entire body going loose. When he opened his eyes they were dark, nearly all pupil. “She's clamped down on-” He waved a hand through the air. “So you'll be safe. Tell me what to do.”
I took my own deep breath and flexed my fingers.
“Take off your shirt.”
He tugged it off over his head, moved to slide it down his arms and I caught it at his wrists, twisting and knotting it quickly. Harry jerked away, once, and I stopped, waiting. He looked down at the white cloth for a long, long minute and then thrust his wrists back out to me.
I stepped around him, watching him out of the corner of my eye as I pulled a drawer open and removed the few items I'd placed there earlier. This was the point at which I expected him to balk.
The collar was heavy in my hands, plain black leather with a flat silver buckle. I held it out so he could see it. His eyes went wider, which I would have thought impossible.
“Really?” He rolled his lips together, pressing until they went white.
“Yes.” I reached up and around him, tightened the collar and buckled it in a few quick seconds. There was enough room between his throat and the collar to slip my fingers between them. He swallowed, his throat pressing against my fingers. I held up the cuffs so that he could see them. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.” His voice was steady, strong. I pulled the shirt off his wrists and cuffed him. Ms. Gard had purchased padded ones. Harry flexed his arms, testing the chain between the leather. It rattled a little, but they were brand new and would hold through far more than a normal man's strength.
I circled around behind him, ran my hand up the curve of his spine, fingers tripping over the collar to slide into the hair at the back of his neck. He started to jerk away from my touch and twisted my fingers, knotted into his hair and jerked his head back, kicking at the back of one of his knees. Harry went down, catching himself on his hands.
I gave him a moment, let him feel my eyes on him, touching every millimeter of exposed skin. The tie I pulled out of my pocket was wide, heavy silk. It covered his eyes, and I traced the curve of his ears with my knuckles as I knotted it behind his head.
“Fucking hell, Marcone.” I knelt behind him, my hands resting on his hips before I pressed against him, let him feel me, feel how hard I was already. To have him beneath me like this. To have Harry under me, trembling, waiting for me. I was hard. I bit his shoulder, just hard enough to leave a bruise and flicked open the button of his fly.
“You're so quiet, Harry. Where's that famous whit?” I dragged the zipper down, pressed my palm against rough fabric, keeping him trapped. “I think you like it. Like the anticipation, the uncertainty. What will I do?” I pulled him out, careful to only let his half-hard member scrape the slightest bit against the zipper. “You think I'm going to hurt you, don't you Harry? Break you down, make you bleed. Scream and cry for me.” I licked along the back of his neck, rolled the taste of him, salt and fire in my mouth.
“Hells bells, you asshole.” Harry rolled his hips back against me. “Get on with it!”
I tugged on the collar, jerking him up higher on his hands and knees.
“My show, Harry.”
I bit him again, right above the collar. The leather mingled with his own taste, a sharp note on the tongue. His jeans were tight, but I worked them down his thighs to his knees, baring him to me. He had one scar that ran from his lower back down across his left flank, fading out on the back of his thigh. I traced it with my tongue, followed it down with tongue and teeth. His muscles twitched beneath my lips and he tried to jerk away, but he was well caught.
My hands fit the curve of his ass perfectly, made for it. I spread him open. I loved looking at my lovers from this angle, so vulnerable, spread out in front of me, waiting. Their most tender parts on display for me and me alone. I ran my thumb down the center line of him, pressed against his tight hole, let him feel it, feel the promise.
“You're so soft, down here.” I traced the line forward, cupped his balls and rolled them gently together. His thighs tensed, tightening on my hand. “I'm going to suck on these, Harry.” I leaned down and licked him, the rough of my tongue against the soft, crinkly skin there. I pulled his legs as far apart as they could go and leaned down, sucked one firm globe into my mouth, bathed it. Took the other one in and felt him tremble beneath me, around me, fighting not to make any quick movements. A gentle scrape of my teeth and I had to let him go as he jerked forward, his head hitting the carpeting with a muffled thud.
I turned my head, licked a stripe up behind his balls, circled the tip of my tongue over the center of him then dragged the underside of my tongue back down, letting him twist in my hands.
“F-fuck. Please.” He curled, the muscles in his back tensing up. I pinched the tender flesh where thigh turned to butt and he jerked, cursing. I placed a faint, gentle kiss against his hole and drove my tongue into him, fighting past the muscle. “Shit. T-that. So weird...you- you shouldn't do that.” I flicked my tongue inside of him, wrapped my hand around his length. Harry was hard now, his pulse leaping in my palm as I rolled the ball of my thumb across the head, smeared the drops of precome there and slicked it down him.
He clamped down on me, like he was trying to push me out. I rode it out, circled my tongue inside of him, short little jabs of movement. Harry's grip eased, slowly but surely. He sighed a little as I thrust deeper inside. I pulled out, nipped at the glistening muscle as it clenched and relaxed.
“Dammit Marcone!” The muscles of his back twitched, completely out of his control. “I told you to do what you did before! Not this fucking-” I tugged on the back of the collar, just hard enough to let him feel the press of it against his throat.
“I am doing what I did before, Harry. It wasn't all blood and violence.” I wedged myself between his legs, laid over his back, letting him take my weight. Harry grunted and shifted, locking his arms beneath him. I rocked against him, the fabric of my slacks rough against his skin and he whined, rocked back into me. It felt good, and I bit at his shoulder blade hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what Nicodemus wanted from me, Harry? He wanted to watch me destroy you. The blood and pain he wanted to do himself. But from us? Oh, he got to have a different kind of enjoyment from that.
“They feed off of suffering. We must have been quite the feast, Harry. You were torn open, bruised and bloodied. And then he put that collar on you, and Harry,” I fingered the collar again, drawing his attention back to it. “Harry, it didn't matter any more. You didn't just want more, you needed it. And it wouldn't have mattered what he did to you. You would have loved it, and begged for more. Nicodemus gave me a choice. I could fuck you, however I wanted. Or he could start carving you up. Pass you around to the other Denarians he had there. To his men, those fanatics.” His breath was hard, heavy. I took some of my weight off of him, knelt back up with my hands pressed to his back.
I ran my hand down his back, found the long sweep of scar again and pressed it with my thumb, making him feel the length of it as I traced it down his body.
“He did this, by way of demonstration.” My fingers dug into his hip, bruising. “You smiled the whole time, like it was ecstasy. You came with him fucking you while you were covered in your own blood, his fingers digging into that wound!” I shoved him away, shoved myself away and stood. I was shaking, my erection dead and gone from the memory. “So I fucked you. But I didn't hurt you. I won't. If that's what you're looking for here, you won't get it.”
He was curled against the carpet, every line of his body telling of misery and confusion. This wasn't helping. It wouldn't help and I knew it. Lasciel had to know it by now too. 'Her' plan was failing and he would shatter no matter what we did.
“Lasciel. I want to speak with you.” I knelt down and removed the blindfold. It was wet with tears. Harry blinked up at me, his pupils blown. He shook his head, but there was a quiet shift in the room and Harry closed his eyes. When they opened, they were Lasciel's. “You see?”
“Mm-hm.” She nodded, Harry's hair falling forward into his eyes and she blew at it, impatiently. “The two of you are quite the pair.” Lasciel sat up and I leaned back, giving her some room. “Would you like to take these off, or should I?” She held up Harry's manacled hands. I removed the bonds quickly and tossed them across the room. Lasciel undid the collar, rolling it in Harry's palms, thoughtful.
She stood, stretching, and kicked out of Harry's jeans, leaving him nude. In spite of everything, the sight gave me a quick jolt of pleasure. Harry's head cocked as she stared out of the windows, and then she nodded.
“Yes. I think that will do nicely.” Harry's long fingers snapped, and my hands flew to my throat. The collar Lasciel had been playing with was simply there, not tight, but there. The buckle, when I tried it, had apparently fused itself shut somehow. Lasciel smiled at me, her golden eyes fading to be replaced with the glowing green of Harry. A second set of eyes opened above Harry's once more and both of them regarded me as he crossed the room with predatory grace.
“You can say no, Marcone.” Harry's voice, but changed. Rough, gravelly. The earth moving sounded like his voice. Liquid grinding.
“And if I do?”
“We leave. Lasciel and I'll go somewhere far away.” On his own with her. No. I let my hands drop from the collar and spread them at my sides, inviting. Harry smiled and I felt Lasciel's pleasure like a caress.
“Excellent.”
Harry's hand was hot, fire warmed against my skin as he cradled the back of my head and leaned down to kiss me, his eyes glowing steady and bright. Heat trickled out of him, pressing against me as his tongue flitted over my lips, following the shape of my mouth before pressing harder, seeking entrance. I opened for him, resting my hands on his narrow hips, drawing him closer.
His free hand slid down my side, cupped me through my slacks and I twitched, grew hard again as he manipulated me. My legs hit the edge of the table, but I didn't remember moving. Harry laughed, softly, and pulled away. He pressed me back, down, and I went, the clatter of dishes and a vase crashing through the room as we pushed them out of the way.
Harry's long fingers danced over my legs, a tease through the fabric and then there came the faint, acrid scent of burning cloth and my slacks dissolved into ash, a thin, fine coating. He knelt down and blew against it, his breath sending the tiny black-gray specks flying through the air, leaving me utterly bare from the waist down.
The rough tip of one finger pressed gently behind my balls, and I jumped, a small sound escaping. Amusement flavored the air we breathed as Harry ran that finger down along the sensitive skin there and circled my opening, pressing just enough to feel the resistance. Another snap of fingers and there was a warm ceramic jar resting beside my hip. A lazy, indulgent smile ran across his features as Harry dipped his hand in the jar, coating his fingers well.
“It's all about the trust, isn't it, Marcone? Do you trust me? Do I trust you, little Baron?” His voice cycled between the rough earthen sound to his normal voice, to the one I associated with Lasciel. They were coming together, becoming one.
He pressed forward with one finger, piercing and sweet for it's hint at fullness. I flexed, squeezed down on him briefly and then relaxed. Lasciel chuckled and he licked behind my knee, a surprising sensation. I found myself choking back a tiny yelp and hooked my leg over his shoulder, spreading myself wider. The second finger was welcome, and I pressed back into it, savored the slight burn. It had been a very long time...
We settled into it, the three of us, the room heating up until it was a sauna as Harry stretched me, slowly. Harry's hands were long, like the rest of him, his fingers strong and talented. I found myself gasping and trying to thrust back onto his hand, to take more as he spread me wider to take the third finger, and then the fourth.
I could feel my orgasm coming, just over the edge, building slowly, fighting for that last little bit of sensation to bring it full force. I hissed, cursed Harry's name and fought against the restraining hand he had pressed against my hips, fingers spread wide with his thumb following the inner seam of my pelvis and thigh, so he could control me, but not touch my aching erection.
Harry pulled his hand back, almost all the way out and I knew what was coming. Denied the control to take him in as I wanted, harder and faster than would be wise, I fumbled at my own shirt, tearing at it. It was hot, choking and oppressive on my skin. The air, no cooler, but still a wonderful release, sent my skin tingling as the cloth fell away, and my trembling fingers stumbled across my chest, across the old, faded scars there to find my nipples, tight and erect. I rolled them, traced my palms across them in a sweat slick tease, and gave voice to a low, pained cry as Harry finally slid his hand forward.
It was slow, slower than I wanted, and I fought him, digging my heel into his back, half trying to sit up so that I could grab at him before small hands, hands that were not there pressed into my shoulders and held me down. Lasciel. I opened my eyes though I couldn't remember closing them and thought I could see a face shimmering in the air, feminine and pleasant, amber eyes gleaming as she held me for him, whispered encouragement to the both of us.
He was inside me, huge and wonderful, and Harry twisted his hand, still so slowly, but it was enough now, more than enough, and I felt my orgasm, so long waiting begin to come over me. A sharp 'cluck' of the tongue, and then fingers were wrapped around the base of my penis, squeezing, cutting me off and I screamed in frustration and pleasure as my orgasm built, the feeling crashing over me and being denied release.
A small mouth crushed itself against mine, swallowed my screams and drank them in. It hurt, wonderfully.
The sound of my breathing filled the room as I shuddered and tried to pull myself together from the orgasm that wasn't. Movement, the heated brush of flesh against my own, and I focused to see Harry straddling me, one arm reaching back behind himself. A soft, slick sound reached my ears, and I moaned. He was stretching himself for me, with the same hand he'd just fucked me with. I bit the inside of my cheek to contain the lazy rush of heat that image sent through me. I wanted to stay hard, for this.
Harry smiled, all four eyes gleaming and giving the impression of pleasure. He lowered himself onto me, tight heat stabbing through me, up my spine and into my brain. I let my head fall back to the table, my hands found his hips, just resting there. Touching him.
Muscles tensed around me, his legs flexing and he rose, then fell, every movement precise and controlled. Ghostly fingers touched my cheeks, my throat, my chest. A faint weight settled over me, over my face, and I could just make out the feeling of slender, smooth thighs to each side of my head. A rolling purr wrapped around me as I released Harry, my hands coming up to rest on flesh that wasn't real. But I could feel it beneath my hands, hot as the air around us, but solid.
I lifted my head, swiped my tongue out over what should have been nothing, and encountered soft, familiar heat. Delicate folds of flesh parted for me, slick as any I'd ever touched. Harry whined as I did so, as I found the hard little pearl of ghost-flesh and sucked at it, pressed it with my tongue, my teeth. I kept hold of her hip with one hand and brought the other up into her, finding my way by touch. She clenched around me, just as Harry did, and I felt the brush of the back of his hand against my stomach.
I looked through the hazy form of Lasciel above me to Harry. He was staring, green eyes half closed, watching me. His hand a slow, twisting tease against himself, shining slick, drawing us all together, binding us in this one act. I ached, arched my hips as he came down, taking him harder than he had been taking himself at the same time I crooked my fingers inside of Lasciel, pinning her between my teeth. A scream shook the room and I heard the tinkle of glass shattering. Harry echoed her, shouting, and I felt him come, coating me with himself, marking me. I followed them, taking up every empty space inside of Harry, making him mine, finally.
~
It was a desert again, bright sun baking him, burning.
Lasciel's eyes, the only thing he could see through the veil she wore smiled at him. Her robes, dark green and loose, blew in the breeze. The air was hot enough that even the breeze did nothing to cool them off.
Horses and people screamed, somewhere over one of the rises, a child's voice rising above all the other noise, high and terrible before it cut off.
“Do you want to see this one, or have you seen enough?”
“What is it?”
“Karbala. Politics and greed, disguised as religion.” She shrugged. “But then, that's often the way, no matter which faith we speak of.”
“I've seen enough. What do you want? Want to hunt up Nicodemus and get on the apocalypse wagon? Because I won't do that. I don't want the world to end.”
“Neither do I! Anduriel is angry, like a child. Daddy doesn't love him best any longer, so he's going to smash all the toys. And Nicodemus,” Her voice took on a mocking tone as she said his name. “Is still angry at being used by someone he thought was his friend, two millenia ago. They're both of them children, throwing tantrums.” She paused, thoughtful. “Though in his case, I suppose it could be a question of who betrayed whom. He did sell his friend for money...and that was before he knew that he was being used to bring about 'the plan'.” She even did the air quotes, which looked odd and I laughed, a little.
“Then what do you want?”
“I told you. God betrayed us. He betrayed his first born, who honored him above all else, for you. For humans. And then he abandoned you. We are both of us in the same boat! Betrayed by our creator! Unloved, and cast aside. Your kind do terrible things, but it's not your fault. It's his. Every crime, every death, every sin – his fault. Just as everything I have had to do since his betrayal can be laid at his feet.” She took my hands, her fingers gentle and cool. “I don't want to destroy you, my younger brothers and sisters. I want to help you.” Her eyes gleamed. “You need guidance. Leadership. Protection. That is what I offer, what I wish to give. And I need your help, Harry. My friend. We can save so many of them, if you will just work with me.” High, joyous shouts cut through the air from the battle we couldn't see, and I shuddered. “Will you help me? Help save them? Help me show him the error he made, turning his back on us?”
~
Harry stood on my balcony, the stonework completely clear of snow. I could see tiny trickles of water, where it had run off after he'd melted the snow clear.
“Harry?” He turned, his eyes deep brown, and worried.
“I said yes.”
“To what, Harry?”
“To Lasciel. To helping her. I-” He shook his head, and the air around him flexed. The air seemed to tear, and huge, graceful wings formed out of fire beat the air behind him. Shades of white, red, yellow, gold, blue, green formed the feathers, delicate in appearance, for all that they seemed powerful and were perhaps a foot taller than Harry himself. They didn't seem to put out any heat that I could feel, but the air around them shimmered with heat waves. “She wants to save humanity from itself. I said I'd help her.”
His eyes shifted to golden brown.
“Must I take you to the top of Willis Tower, show you the kingdoms of the world? We have the same goal, I believe, my Baron. Humanity will be what it will be. I seek only to mitigate the damage it causes to itself. To show it control, and discipline. Together, we can give it what it lacks. A focus. Leadership. Guidance. It is the same thing you have begun, only on a grander scale.”
“And what will we be, Lasciel, Harry? Saviors?”
She laughed, bells ringing.
“Hardly. They've had a few of those, and see how well it has served them.” She shook Harry's head. “No. We will be leaders. Rulers. And, when need be, necessary evils. It is our purpose, Baron.” Harry smiled, and the golden light went out of his eyes until it was just him again.
“We can save her, John.” My eyes met his in understanding.
“Yes.”
Harry smiled, all four eyes gleaming and giving the impression of pleasure. He lowered himself onto me, tight heat stabbing through me, up my spine and into my brain. I let my head fall back to the table, my hands found his hips, just resting there. Touching him.
Muscles tensed around me, his legs flexing and he rose, then fell, every movement precise and controlled. Ghostly fingers touched my cheeks, my throat, my chest. A faint weight settled over me, over my face, and I could just make out the feeling of slender, smooth thighs to each side of my head. A rolling purr wrapped around me as I released Harry, my hands coming up to rest on flesh that wasn't real. But I could feel it beneath my hands, hot as the air around us, but solid.
I lifted my head, swiped my tongue out over what should have been nothing, and encountered soft, familiar heat. Delicate folds of flesh parted for me, slick as any I'd ever touched. Harry whined as I did so, as I found the hard little pearl of ghost-flesh and sucked at it, pressed it with my tongue, my teeth. I kept hold of her hip with one hand and brought the other up into her, finding my way by touch. She clenched around me, just as Harry did, and I felt the brush of the back of his hand against my stomach.
I looked through the hazy form of Lasciel above me to Harry. He was staring, green eyes half closed, watching me. His hand a slow, twisting tease against himself, shining slick, drawing us all together, binding us in this one act. I ached, arched my hips as he came down, taking him harder than he had been taking himself at the same time I crooked my fingers inside of Lasciel, pinning her between my teeth. A scream shook the room and I heard the tinkle of glass shattering. Harry echoed her, shouting, and I felt him come, coating me with himself, marking me. I followed them, taking up every empty space inside of Harry, making him mine, finally.
~
It was a desert again, bright sun baking him, burning.
Lasciel's eyes, the only thing he could see through the veil she wore smiled at him. Her robes, dark green and loose, blew in the breeze. The air was hot enough that even the breeze did nothing to cool them off.
Horses and people screamed, somewhere over one of the rises, a child's voice rising above all the other noise, high and terrible before it cut off.
“Do you want to see this one, or have you seen enough?”
“What is it?”
“Karbala. Politics and greed, disguised as religion.” She shrugged. “But then, that's often the way, no matter which faith we speak of.”
“I've seen enough. What do you want? Want to hunt up Nicodemus and get on the apocalypse wagon? Because I won't do that. I don't want the world to end.”
“Neither do I! Anduriel is angry, like a child. Daddy doesn't love him best any longer, so he's going to smash all the toys. And Nicodemus,” Her voice took on a mocking tone as she said his name. “Is still angry at being used by someone he thought was his friend, two millenia ago. They're both of them children, throwing tantrums.” She paused, thoughtful. “Though in his case, I suppose it could be a question of who betrayed whom. He did sell his friend for money...and that was before he knew that he was being used to bring about 'the plan'.” She even did the air quotes, which looked odd and I laughed, a little.
“Then what do you want?”
“I told you. God betrayed us. He betrayed his first born, who honored him above all else, for you. For humans. And then he abandoned you. We are both of us in the same boat! Betrayed by our creator! Unloved, and cast aside. Your kind do terrible things, but it's not your fault. It's his. Every crime, every death, every sin – his fault. Just as everything I have had to do since his betrayal can be laid at his feet.” She took my hands, her fingers gentle and cool. “I don't want to destroy you, my younger brothers and sisters. I want to help you.” Her eyes gleamed. “You need guidance. Leadership. Protection. That is what I offer, what I wish to give. And I need your help, Harry. My friend. We can save so many of them, if you will just work with me.” High, joyous shouts cut through the air from the battle we couldn't see, and I shuddered. “Will you help me? Help save them? Help me show him the error he made, turning his back on us?”
~
Harry stood on my balcony, the stonework completely clear of snow. I could see tiny trickles of water, where it had run off after he'd melted the snow clear.
“Harry?” He turned, his eyes deep brown, and worried.
“I said yes.”
“To what, Harry?”
“To Lasciel. To helping her. I-” He shook his head, and the air around him flexed. The air seemed to tear, and huge, graceful wings formed out of fire beat the air behind him. Shades of white, red, yellow, gold, blue, green formed the feathers, delicate in appearance, for all that they seemed powerful and were perhaps a foot taller than Harry himself. They didn't seem to put out any heat that I could feel, but the air around them shimmered with heat waves. “She wants to save humanity from itself. I said I'd help her.”
His eyes shifted to golden brown.
“Must I take you to the top of Willis Tower, show you the kingdoms of the world? We have the same goal, I believe, my Baron. Humanity will be what it will be. I seek only to mitigate the damage it causes to itself. To show it control, and discipline. Together, we can give it what it lacks. A focus. Leadership. Guidance. It is the same thing you have begun, only on a grander scale.”
“And what will we be, Lasciel, Harry? Saviors?”
She laughed, bells ringing.
“Hardly. They've had a few of those, and see how well it has served them.” She shook Harry's head. “No. We will be leaders. Rulers. And, when need be, necessary evils. It is our purpose, Baron.” Harry smiled, and the golden light went out of his eyes until it was just him again.
“We can save her, John.” My eyes met his in understanding.
“Yes.”
Page 137 of 177
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