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The little sarcastic bitchy part of my brain just went, "and so are ...herbs, amirite?"
Isn't cinnamon something you'd have to be careful with as well?
..
AAAAAAHAHAHA! DIETARY RESTRICTIONS HARRY! NO MORE BURGER KING FOR YOU! They'll gonna need an actual fir(E)ing range for her to went. With FIREBALLS!
..
AAAAAAHAHAHA! DIETARY RESTRICTIONS HARRY! NO MORE BURGER KING FOR YOU! They'll gonna need an actual fir(E)ing range for her to went. With FIREBALLS!
"Why is the coffee machine unplugged?"
*DIES* Oh, anon. Never stop. Because if Harry is suffering, clearly Marcone should suffer in solidarity. And I love the idea of Hendricks coming from a family full of women, because I have a random conviction he's a total feminist.
*DIES* Oh, anon. Never stop. Because if Harry is suffering, clearly Marcone should suffer in solidarity. And I love the idea of Hendricks coming from a family full of women, because I have a random conviction he's a total feminist.
“John?” I said gently. “You with me? Us?”
Apparently that was a difficult question, because for a moment John just stared wildly, until Hendricks started to step back, trying to let go of my hand. But then John hissed out “Yes!” and I tightened my grip.
“Ok. Good. We aren’t in a hurry.” I released them both and stepped out from between them, leaned up against John’s desk and watched them watch one another.
“You don’t look sure,” Hendricks said to him.
“You had good reason not to act. You always have good reasons.”
“Yeah. But I’ve seen you do it now. Be the Gentleman and still l- still be with someone.”
I snorted. “We’ve said the L-word, Hendricks. No-one’s going to erupt in a manly fit of denial if you use it.”
“I don’t know about manly,” Hendricks crossed his arms, and nodded towards an increasingly tense John Marcone. “He looks ready for a fit of hysterics.”
“Yes, thank you,” John said, and then closed his eyes. “This- we need a better venue.”
“And time,” Hendricks checked his watch. “Because we should have been in the car five minutes ago.”
John’s eyes snapped open, and all of a sudden he was collected. “Harry, are you free to stay over tonight? We won’t be back until late.”
“Sure,” I said. “Where at?”
“The Pine Grove apartment. It has the biggest bed.”
Biggest. Bed. Right. That was decisive. “I, ok. Yeah. Uhm. If I get there earlier?”
“The concierge has instructions to let you in. As usual.”
Yeah. I knew that. I knew that. It’s just. I’d arranged a date. For a threesome. I stared at John blankly.
“Are you two taking it in turns to panic?” Hendricks asked.
“It’s efficient,” John answered with a short smile. “Do I need anything?”
“The De Paul figures. They’re in your briefcase already.”
“Of course, thank you.” John picked his case up from beside his desk, and then lent over to drop a kiss on my cheek. “Try and stay out of trouble.”
“Hey!” I protested, but then John was off and out the door before I could point out his profession ran on trouble. Hendricks thumped me companionably on the shoulder before he left, and I just stood there, frowning at the empty doorway.
Right then.
I spent the day being useless, thinking myself around in circles and mauling basic potions until I decided fuck it, I obviously knew I was waiting, I might as well go and wait in comfort. So I packed an overnight bag, shoved in a few unfinished case files so I could at least pretend to be productive, and made my way over to the Pine Grove apartment complex.
And then I mauled paperwork on top of John’s coffetable instead, stopping periodically to run nervous hands through my hair or fiddle with my pen. I was going to look like a scarecrow by the time they turned up. If they turned up. If one of them didn’t say something stupid or have second thoughts or-
By the time the door opened, I was nearly ready to launch myself at the person coming through it, because pinning them to the doorframe and wrapping myself around them was at least something I knew how to do. It was Hendricks. With John’s briefcase. And no John.
“Is he- ”
“Safe. Sudden pressing urge to speak to the concierge. Think he thinks we need a minute.”
“Or he needs a minute?”
“Maybe.” Hendricks didn’t move from the doorway. I was on my feet, twitchy, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. I had to do- to say-
“Want to take your minute, then?” I came out with. Fine. It wasn’t my best attempt at provocative, I don’t think I have a best attempt, but it had Hendricks nodding and shedding his jacket.
“I do. Sit back down.”
If John had said that... I’ve had bared my teeth and sharpened my words and made him work for it, but Hendricks. Hendricks had never been interested in getting me to bow my head, and he made it sound like such a good idea, I found myself quieting, sitting back down and watching him, waiting. Hendricks joined me on the sofa and turned toward me, gaze running over my face but careful not to meet my eyes. “You’ve got ink on your nose,” he said eventually. I sighed and scrubbed at it. Of course I did.You’d think an imminent gay threesome would up my cool factor but sadly, no.
Hendricks didn’t look discouraged. He looked... warm. Gently amused. Maybe this was endearing. Maybe barefoot, ink smudged wizards did fall under the heading of ‘cute’. Still, I was almost surprised when Hendricks reached out and brushed a thumb along the line of my jaw, slid his fingers into my hair, and tilted my head ever so slightly to the angle that meant kissing. “Give me my minute then,” he murmured, and I did.
Apparently that was a difficult question, because for a moment John just stared wildly, until Hendricks started to step back, trying to let go of my hand. But then John hissed out “Yes!” and I tightened my grip.
“Ok. Good. We aren’t in a hurry.” I released them both and stepped out from between them, leaned up against John’s desk and watched them watch one another.
“You don’t look sure,” Hendricks said to him.
“You had good reason not to act. You always have good reasons.”
“Yeah. But I’ve seen you do it now. Be the Gentleman and still l- still be with someone.”
I snorted. “We’ve said the L-word, Hendricks. No-one’s going to erupt in a manly fit of denial if you use it.”
“I don’t know about manly,” Hendricks crossed his arms, and nodded towards an increasingly tense John Marcone. “He looks ready for a fit of hysterics.”
“Yes, thank you,” John said, and then closed his eyes. “This- we need a better venue.”
“And time,” Hendricks checked his watch. “Because we should have been in the car five minutes ago.”
John’s eyes snapped open, and all of a sudden he was collected. “Harry, are you free to stay over tonight? We won’t be back until late.”
“Sure,” I said. “Where at?”
“The Pine Grove apartment. It has the biggest bed.”
Biggest. Bed. Right. That was decisive. “I, ok. Yeah. Uhm. If I get there earlier?”
“The concierge has instructions to let you in. As usual.”
Yeah. I knew that. I knew that. It’s just. I’d arranged a date. For a threesome. I stared at John blankly.
“Are you two taking it in turns to panic?” Hendricks asked.
“It’s efficient,” John answered with a short smile. “Do I need anything?”
“The De Paul figures. They’re in your briefcase already.”
“Of course, thank you.” John picked his case up from beside his desk, and then lent over to drop a kiss on my cheek. “Try and stay out of trouble.”
“Hey!” I protested, but then John was off and out the door before I could point out his profession ran on trouble. Hendricks thumped me companionably on the shoulder before he left, and I just stood there, frowning at the empty doorway.
Right then.
I spent the day being useless, thinking myself around in circles and mauling basic potions until I decided fuck it, I obviously knew I was waiting, I might as well go and wait in comfort. So I packed an overnight bag, shoved in a few unfinished case files so I could at least pretend to be productive, and made my way over to the Pine Grove apartment complex.
And then I mauled paperwork on top of John’s coffetable instead, stopping periodically to run nervous hands through my hair or fiddle with my pen. I was going to look like a scarecrow by the time they turned up. If they turned up. If one of them didn’t say something stupid or have second thoughts or-
By the time the door opened, I was nearly ready to launch myself at the person coming through it, because pinning them to the doorframe and wrapping myself around them was at least something I knew how to do. It was Hendricks. With John’s briefcase. And no John.
“Is he- ”
“Safe. Sudden pressing urge to speak to the concierge. Think he thinks we need a minute.”
“Or he needs a minute?”
“Maybe.” Hendricks didn’t move from the doorway. I was on my feet, twitchy, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. I had to do- to say-
“Want to take your minute, then?” I came out with. Fine. It wasn’t my best attempt at provocative, I don’t think I have a best attempt, but it had Hendricks nodding and shedding his jacket.
“I do. Sit back down.”
If John had said that... I’ve had bared my teeth and sharpened my words and made him work for it, but Hendricks. Hendricks had never been interested in getting me to bow my head, and he made it sound like such a good idea, I found myself quieting, sitting back down and watching him, waiting. Hendricks joined me on the sofa and turned toward me, gaze running over my face but careful not to meet my eyes. “You’ve got ink on your nose,” he said eventually. I sighed and scrubbed at it. Of course I did.You’d think an imminent gay threesome would up my cool factor but sadly, no.
Hendricks didn’t look discouraged. He looked... warm. Gently amused. Maybe this was endearing. Maybe barefoot, ink smudged wizards did fall under the heading of ‘cute’. Still, I was almost surprised when Hendricks reached out and brushed a thumb along the line of my jaw, slid his fingers into my hair, and tilted my head ever so slightly to the angle that meant kissing. “Give me my minute then,” he murmured, and I did.
*Is grinning*
I love how Harry's always on the verge of insulting beings that are so powerful that they can smite him with a thought, but they're just amused at his reaction. :)
Lols. You just killed me there when he said, "No I'm not. I'm...Batman." 8D
I really enjoy reading this fill. I hope you enjoyed writing it, too. :)
I love how Harry's always on the verge of insulting beings that are so powerful that they can smite him with a thought, but they're just amused at his reaction. :)
Lols. You just killed me there when he said, "No I'm not. I'm...Batman." 8D
I really enjoy reading this fill. I hope you enjoyed writing it, too. :)
LOL manly fits!
I think they are definitely going to need more than one minute *grin*
"hows real-time" captcha? *snerk*
I think they are definitely going to need more than one minute *grin*
"hows real-time" captcha? *snerk*
UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE :constant refreshing:
|D I swear I'll post more soon!
SECONDED WITH ALMIGHTY FORCE
Marcone was not expecting anyone but Harriet Dresden to emerge from the Nevernever, so it was understandable that he mistook the man who came staggering out for his trouble-prone wizard girlfriend. Barefoot and in ill-fitting clothes, he did bear a resemblance to Harry after a tough day. And he was carrying a heap of canvas that looked like Harry’s duster.
And in the other hand, he was carrying what was unmistakably Harry’s staff and boots.
Marcone’s eyes narrowed. Either this man had stolen her gear, or else … well, where Dresden was concerned, nothing was too far-fetched.
He stepped forward, pulling his gun smoothly from its shoulder holster.
“Harry?” he said, not quite believing that he was asking the question.
“Marcone!” said the man, with manic cheer. “Glad you recognized me. You can put the gun down now.”
It was one thing to suspect that someone had turned your (female) lover into a man, and another to have it proven to you. Marcone’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline.
Harry looked down at him from an even greater height than usual and gave a slightly hysterical chuckle. “I’ve never seen you look bamboozled before, John. Stars, I wish I had a camera.”
Marcone collected himself and tucked the gun away.
“Might I enquire who you pissed off this time?” he asked.
She (he?) waved a hand. “It’s better not to. Anyway, don’t worry, it’s not permanent. Sure is freaky, though.” She looked down at herself. “John, I’ve got a dick.”
“How long will it last?”
She ran a hand through her hair, which hadn’t changed in length or neatness. “Uh… I’m not sure. Might go away by the next sunrise, or it might stick around for three days, or it might be going by cycles of the moon—”
“I can have Gard investigate the nature of the spell,” Marcone offered. “Perhaps she might be able to remove it.”
Harry grimaced, the expression curiously familiar on her stranger’s face. “Better to let this one run its course. I think—I think it was supposed to be a gift. Hell of a gift. I miss my breasts already,” she grumbled.
John declined to mention that he did too. Instead, he considered the ramifications of Harry’s transformation, wondering who or what would decide to give her such a bizarre present. Surely it took great power to transform somebody’s physical form as well? He needed to consult Gard.
Harry broke into his thoughts. “So, uh, I guess we’re not going to have sex for a while?”
If Marcone were a different man, he would have either laughed or choked on his own saliva. As it was, he turned to Harry and asked, “Would you want to have sex with your body like this?”
She shrugged, highlighting the impossible gangle she’d acquired. “I don’t know. I guess I’d like to try it. But you’re not gay, so I was figuring it would be too weird for you.”
“Not necessarily.”
“So—wait, you like men, too?”
Marcone paused. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said carefully. “Rather, I am certain that my attraction to you is not lessened by the body you’re in now.”
“Huh,” said Harry. She (he? Marcone was still having trouble with the pronouns. He was going to have to ask Hendricks, who probably knew the protocol for this situation) stared at him for a long moment. Her dark, piercing eyes were still the same.
“C’mon,” she said, her new voice sounding especially deep. “Let’s go. I wanna find some clothes that fit.” She wriggled her bare toes against the concrete. “I really need some shoes. I wonder if they even sell shoes in this size. Hell’s bells, my feet are huge.”
Marcone led a grumbling Harry back to his car and his people. Hendricks’ expression when he saw her was priceless, Marcone had to admit.
Hendricks teleported to his side. “Boss?” he said, barely restrained disbelief under his quiet words. “Is that Dresden?”
“Yes.”
“Harriet Dresden?”
“Am I in the habit of rescuing other pyromaniac wizards?”
Hendricks raised his eyebrows. “Good point,” he said. Then: “Holy shit, Boss.”
*
Harry slammed her apartment door shut and heaved a colossal sigh. The fact that shopping with Marcone and Cujo had not been the weirdest part of her day… well, that said everything that needed to be said.
Being a man wasn’t that bad. It was just … strange. Okay, peeing standing up was fun—she’d admit that she’d gone “wheee!” in the department store bathroom—but misjudging her size so that she bumped into things wasn’t. Her chest felt naked without breasts, and the dangly bits were a lot creepier when they were hers.
There were two things she needed to do now: finally look at her transformation and talk to Bob. Neither was particularly appealing. Harry ended up deciding on the former. At least the mirror didn’t leer at you.
She stood in front of the one mirror she owned and stared at… not herself. There was a strange dude there: even more freakishly tall than she was, long-limbed, scrawny, with long shaggy hair tied back in a rough ponytail.
He was damned good-looking. For once, Harry could see a resemblance between herself and Thomas (and wouldn’t Thomas freak out when he saw her?) She grinned, and watched the man in the mirror smile. He had a handsome, angular, fierce face. It was her own, but sharper.
“Yeah, I’d hit that,” she said, and was once again startled by having an unfamiliar voice come out of her mouth. “Stars, I look like a male model turned hobo.”
And apparently ‘male model turned hobo’ was just as much Marcone’s type as ‘giant scruffy woman in baggy clothes.’ The things crazy Fae could teach you.
Harry turned away from the mirror and headed toward the lab. Time to face Bob.
*
“Hey, Bob.”
“Ooh, Harriet! What have we been up to? You’re a man!”
“Long story.”
“Are you gonna fuck your mafia boyfriend in the ass? Make him suck your shiny new dick?”
Harry flushed and rolled her eyes. “Jeez, you have a one-track mind. And what makes you think I’m going to start telling you about about my love life now?”
Bob subsided with a huff. “Fine. I guess you’re here to find out how you can get your tits back?”
“Not exactly. I don’t want to piss off my godmother—”
“Ah.”
“—Yeeeah. But I do want to find out what we’re dealing with here. She said it was a temporary spell, but I’m not sure how long that will be.”
“Okay,” said Bob, eye-lights flaring in concentration. “Looks pretty standard for a transformation of this sort. Should come off—yep, at the next new moon. You’re gonna have a dick for a few weeks, Harry.”
“Okay,” said Harry, frowning. “I guess I can handle that.”
*
People’s reactions were about as interesting as you’d expect.
Murphy laughed her ass off, once she got over the shock. Thomas, after his initial brotherly concern, opined that Harry made a better man than a woman. Harry punched him for that.
Michael, bless him, was unfazed. Molly looked way, way too admiring. The Alphas kept staring and sniffing. Toot-toot didn’t seem to care, as long as Harry kept the pizza coming.
And John Marcone? He didn’t seem to mind, if the swiftness with which he got Harry into bed was any indication.
And in the other hand, he was carrying what was unmistakably Harry’s staff and boots.
Marcone’s eyes narrowed. Either this man had stolen her gear, or else … well, where Dresden was concerned, nothing was too far-fetched.
He stepped forward, pulling his gun smoothly from its shoulder holster.
“Harry?” he said, not quite believing that he was asking the question.
“Marcone!” said the man, with manic cheer. “Glad you recognized me. You can put the gun down now.”
It was one thing to suspect that someone had turned your (female) lover into a man, and another to have it proven to you. Marcone’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline.
Harry looked down at him from an even greater height than usual and gave a slightly hysterical chuckle. “I’ve never seen you look bamboozled before, John. Stars, I wish I had a camera.”
Marcone collected himself and tucked the gun away.
“Might I enquire who you pissed off this time?” he asked.
She (he?) waved a hand. “It’s better not to. Anyway, don’t worry, it’s not permanent. Sure is freaky, though.” She looked down at herself. “John, I’ve got a dick.”
“How long will it last?”
She ran a hand through her hair, which hadn’t changed in length or neatness. “Uh… I’m not sure. Might go away by the next sunrise, or it might stick around for three days, or it might be going by cycles of the moon—”
“I can have Gard investigate the nature of the spell,” Marcone offered. “Perhaps she might be able to remove it.”
Harry grimaced, the expression curiously familiar on her stranger’s face. “Better to let this one run its course. I think—I think it was supposed to be a gift. Hell of a gift. I miss my breasts already,” she grumbled.
John declined to mention that he did too. Instead, he considered the ramifications of Harry’s transformation, wondering who or what would decide to give her such a bizarre present. Surely it took great power to transform somebody’s physical form as well? He needed to consult Gard.
Harry broke into his thoughts. “So, uh, I guess we’re not going to have sex for a while?”
If Marcone were a different man, he would have either laughed or choked on his own saliva. As it was, he turned to Harry and asked, “Would you want to have sex with your body like this?”
She shrugged, highlighting the impossible gangle she’d acquired. “I don’t know. I guess I’d like to try it. But you’re not gay, so I was figuring it would be too weird for you.”
“Not necessarily.”
“So—wait, you like men, too?”
Marcone paused. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said carefully. “Rather, I am certain that my attraction to you is not lessened by the body you’re in now.”
“Huh,” said Harry. She (he? Marcone was still having trouble with the pronouns. He was going to have to ask Hendricks, who probably knew the protocol for this situation) stared at him for a long moment. Her dark, piercing eyes were still the same.
“C’mon,” she said, her new voice sounding especially deep. “Let’s go. I wanna find some clothes that fit.” She wriggled her bare toes against the concrete. “I really need some shoes. I wonder if they even sell shoes in this size. Hell’s bells, my feet are huge.”
Marcone led a grumbling Harry back to his car and his people. Hendricks’ expression when he saw her was priceless, Marcone had to admit.
Hendricks teleported to his side. “Boss?” he said, barely restrained disbelief under his quiet words. “Is that Dresden?”
“Yes.”
“Harriet Dresden?”
“Am I in the habit of rescuing other pyromaniac wizards?”
Hendricks raised his eyebrows. “Good point,” he said. Then: “Holy shit, Boss.”
*
Harry slammed her apartment door shut and heaved a colossal sigh. The fact that shopping with Marcone and Cujo had not been the weirdest part of her day… well, that said everything that needed to be said.
Being a man wasn’t that bad. It was just … strange. Okay, peeing standing up was fun—she’d admit that she’d gone “wheee!” in the department store bathroom—but misjudging her size so that she bumped into things wasn’t. Her chest felt naked without breasts, and the dangly bits were a lot creepier when they were hers.
There were two things she needed to do now: finally look at her transformation and talk to Bob. Neither was particularly appealing. Harry ended up deciding on the former. At least the mirror didn’t leer at you.
She stood in front of the one mirror she owned and stared at… not herself. There was a strange dude there: even more freakishly tall than she was, long-limbed, scrawny, with long shaggy hair tied back in a rough ponytail.
He was damned good-looking. For once, Harry could see a resemblance between herself and Thomas (and wouldn’t Thomas freak out when he saw her?) She grinned, and watched the man in the mirror smile. He had a handsome, angular, fierce face. It was her own, but sharper.
“Yeah, I’d hit that,” she said, and was once again startled by having an unfamiliar voice come out of her mouth. “Stars, I look like a male model turned hobo.”
And apparently ‘male model turned hobo’ was just as much Marcone’s type as ‘giant scruffy woman in baggy clothes.’ The things crazy Fae could teach you.
Harry turned away from the mirror and headed toward the lab. Time to face Bob.
*
“Hey, Bob.”
“Ooh, Harriet! What have we been up to? You’re a man!”
“Long story.”
“Are you gonna fuck your mafia boyfriend in the ass? Make him suck your shiny new dick?”
Harry flushed and rolled her eyes. “Jeez, you have a one-track mind. And what makes you think I’m going to start telling you about about my love life now?”
Bob subsided with a huff. “Fine. I guess you’re here to find out how you can get your tits back?”
“Not exactly. I don’t want to piss off my godmother—”
“Ah.”
“—Yeeeah. But I do want to find out what we’re dealing with here. She said it was a temporary spell, but I’m not sure how long that will be.”
“Okay,” said Bob, eye-lights flaring in concentration. “Looks pretty standard for a transformation of this sort. Should come off—yep, at the next new moon. You’re gonna have a dick for a few weeks, Harry.”
“Okay,” said Harry, frowning. “I guess I can handle that.”
*
People’s reactions were about as interesting as you’d expect.
Murphy laughed her ass off, once she got over the shock. Thomas, after his initial brotherly concern, opined that Harry made a better man than a woman. Harry punched him for that.
Michael, bless him, was unfazed. Molly looked way, way too admiring. The Alphas kept staring and sniffing. Toot-toot didn’t seem to care, as long as Harry kept the pizza coming.
And John Marcone? He didn’t seem to mind, if the swiftness with which he got Harry into bed was any indication.
Yay! You've been writing so MANY things I love...
"Why is the coffee machine unplugged?"
Cujo, do you realize the line you crossed, taking away John's coffee, too?
I am so loving this fill.
Poor Murph, having to give Harry the relationship talk.
Huh?
Probably not Marcone or Gard. They don't feel different enough for it to have counted. Which leaves Marcone and Thomas.
Huh?
NOTES: Takes place after Turn Coat and Even Hand, and before Changes. Spoilers for Even Hand. Very dub-con.
The gun was in my hand almost before I had woken.
Thomas Raith sat on the edge of my bed, a studied casual grace covering his alert tension. "Your security has a few holes in it," he said. "You really should see about fixing that."
I pushed the question of exactly what weaknesses he had exploited aside; I could deal with that later. I thumbed the safety off. "Get out."
He moved with an inhuman speed, almost faster than I could see. Before I could react, he was on me, pinning my wrists to the wall behind me, gun pointed to the ceiling. "No," he said. He held me with an inhuman strength. I became uncomfortably aware of where his hand touched my skin, of the weight of him on my legs.
"Mr. Raith," I said, "what do you want?" If I had thought there was any chance this was an assassination attempt, I would have simply shot him. But if he had wished to kill me, he could have done so before I woke. Ordinarily the sound of anyone entering a room in which I slept would cause me to instantly awaken; I assumed the vampire's powers allowed him to be more silent than any human could hope for.
"This," he said, leaning forward until his face was inches from my own. His pale grey eyes glittered softly in the dim light coming through the windows.
I don't have many weaknesses. But one of them is my attraction to dangerous people. It's why I allowed myself more liberties than I should have with Helen Beckett. It's why I'm more sentimental than I should be about Harry Dresden. And it's why I didn't resist as Thomas Raith, vampire of the White Court, closed the distance to take my lips in a gentle, sensuous kiss.
I couldn't tell you where my natural desire ended and his supernatural charm began, if that was even a meaningful distinction to make. I know the vampires of the White Court can make their victims feel, can induce lust where there would otherwise have been none. That's not what was happening. A man of his looks, his build, his power, pressed against me like this, hard muscle and soft, pale skin, kissing with a steady passion- it would have been a distraction even without any psychic vampirism. But a distraction I could overcome. Not so, now; my lust for him was not a small, steady tug, easily pushed aside. It was a sudden, irresistible force, a tidal wave of desire, crashing over me, drowning me.
I did the only thing I could. I let the arousal wash over my body, let myself moan into his mouth as his tongue entered my own, let myself feel and react, dropped my control and impassive walls, gave into him utterly. And then, in a small corner of my mind, I used every drop of willpower I had to build a mental fortress to retreat into, letting my rationality remain unmolested, if powerless. It was difficult, and only years of practice and coaching by Gard let me even do this much. But at least that one small part of me remained free to think.
He broke off the kiss, dragging his lips gently along my neck. "I just wanted to thank you for saving Justine," he said before nipping at my collarbone, heading straight for the most sensitive spots.
Justine. The girl had come to me perhaps six weeks ago, running from a Fomoran sorcerer with a child who had been his prisoner. And in killing the sorcerer, I had by necessity let her see my current capabilities for protecting myself against magic and penetrating magical defenses. They hadn't been ideal against the sorcerer we faced that day, but they had worked.
They had, in fact, been designed to take down Harry Dresden. I didn't want to kill the man if I didn't have to. But if I had to- and I had every reason to think that it might one day come to that- I would be prepared.
Thomas took the gun from my hands, laid it out of reach on the nightstand. I didn't resist. I was unlikely to be able to use it effectively. It was unlikely my physical safety was at risk, now- this attack, and it was an attack, was mental. Whether it was intimidation, or, more problematically, trying to establish some sort of mental control over me, what I needed to maintain was not physical control of the situation, but mental clarity. I wouldn't endanger that over something so useless to me now as a gun.
Christ, he was beautiful. I remembered watching him and his sister Lara, fighting ghouls in that cavern. Frightening and dangerous, yet utterly beautiful. He removed my shirt with hands that could kill me with as little effort, fingers sliding against skin that hadn't felt another's touch in months. I whimpered in protest when the contact broke, suddenly needing to feel him. I grabbed his head, dragged him towards me to kiss him again, to lose myself- all of me except that one small part, in his sensuous mouth again. He obliged, and that kiss felt better than anything I'd felt in years. I surrendered to him, and to that part of myself that I usually kept on a tight leash, the part that desired and wanted. I let him lower me onto the mattress, let myself be pinned underneath him, helpless and vulnerable. It didn't matter. Inside my mental fortress, I knew that fear was useless; outside, I was too aroused to be frightened. Or perhaps the fear simply melded into the lust, intensified it.
He paused a moment to remove his own shirt- a tight black t-shirt that had already shown off his impressive physique- and then bent over me again, the touch of his own chest against mine nearly electric. I wondered if he was feeding. He probably was. I had never found a satisfactory description of the process from the perspective of the victim- only that, in the case at least of the Raiths who fed on lust, that it felt good. Like a drug. And god did this feel good, every touch, every stroke, every kiss rivaling the average orgasm in pleasure. In its corner of safety, my rational mind observed, calculating, leaving the rest of me free to simply enjoy. It occured to me that, given that I was reasonably sure he wasn't trying to kill me, it might be better if nobody found us until he was done. After all, he might reveal something to me, in his private threats; if he was removed now, I would learn nothing but that there was, among those protecting me tonight at least one traitor or incompetent. Or perhaps my walls were not so strong as I thought, and I was simply rationalizing my desire to continue. And yet, of course, there was no way I could influence the outcome either way; either help would come, or it would not.
His mouth trailed down my chest, briefly visiting each nipple in turn, making me gasp and arch against him. He pulled off my loose pyjama pants, and my achingly hard cock sprang free into the cool air. He didn't touch it, instead holding my hips down against the bed. He pressed a kiss to the inside of each thigh, and I growled in frustration. He gave a few more teasing kisses, but then, mercifully, took me into his mouth, hot and wet, and I let myself just feel as he sucked and swirled and did things I didn't even comprehend. His fingers, slick and wet, trailed down behind my balls, down, and then they were right there, probing and testing and then one slid in, at just the right angle, and I was amazed I didn't come right then.
Thomas removed his mouth from my cock and smirked. I glared back for a moment, but then his finger was moving again. Every tiny movement felt wonderful, every poor, neglected nerve ending lit up like a christmas tree as he stretched me open with another finger. My world was this man, and his fingers, and my tiny shred of sanity holed up in an ocean of sensual hedonism.
"Oh, there was something else I wanted to tell you," he said, almost conversationally after some time of this.
"Ah?" I asked weakly, thrusting against his fingers.
He didn't continue immediately. He removed his fingers from me, triggering an undignified whimper- and slowly, with deliberate showmanship, removed his own dark leather pants. His cock was impressive, long and solid and looking like it was made of white marble. His pale, pale eyes met mine steadily as he spread lube on it. If I was going to move to escape, I realized, now would be the moment. But I didn't. I lay there, ready for him, just wanting him in me and fucking me. And waiting for him to speak again.
He pushed into me smoothly, and I groaned in satisfaction. How long had it been since I had a man's cock in me- ten years? Fifteen? Too fucking long. I wrapped my legs around his back, letting him in deeper, and he leaned over me, and whispered into the mangled remains of my ear, "If you hurt Harry, I will kill you." He pulled out a bit, then thrust into me again, each motion deliberate and unhurried. "I know the sorts of weapons you have," Out again, and then in again, angled perfectly to make me cry out at how good it felt. "If you use them against him, I will kill you."
Ah, I thought distantly. So this is what this is about.
"Did you ever hear what happened to my cousin Madelaine?" he murmured, like a lover's endearments. "How Lara killed her?" He pressed a kiss to my temple. His pace remained maddeningly slow and steady. Sensual. "She died in the throws of ecstacy. She died in sexual bliss, as Lara tore her guts out." His hand moved to cover my belly; he dug his nails in slightly, not enough to really hurt, though I think even pain would have felt good then. "I could do that to you," and here he dug deeper, leaving indentations in my skin, "right now. If I wanted."
God help me, that almost sounded good. To die like this, torn to shreds by this beautiful, beautiful creature... I let the thought pass, unmolested, neither fighting it or accepting it, not sparing the energy to clamp down on a death-wish that was not my own. Instead I directed what self-control I had available to me to speaking, in a steady voice. "If you want to do that to me, you should do it now. You won't get a second chance."
He smiled and moved his hand down to wrap around my cock, still fucking me tortuously slowly. "I know," he said. "I'll never have it this easy again." His thumb rubbed over the head of it in small circles. "If I thought you actually wanted to kill Harry, you'd be dead already."
"And within a day, you would die as well," I said. "Within hours, most likely." I had enough people loyal enough to me to ensure that.
"Yes," he agreed, stroking lazily. "I probably would. And if you do hurt him, I will probably die taking you out in return." He began to jerk me off in earnest, fucking me harder and faster. I leaned into the onslaught gladly. "I have no illusions that I'll be able to kill you poetically, or satisfyingly, or gracefully. It will be messy and desperate, or efficient and cold, most likely." It was all I could to to take in his words; the rest of me was clawing desperately towards release, each threatening word only arousing me more. "If you hurt Harry," he said as I panted and gasped my way to orgasm. "I. Will. Kill. You."
And I came, feeling it through my whole body, from toes up to head and back down to my groin, coming all over Thomas's hand.
I must have blacked out for a moment; when I next opened my eyes, he had withdrawn from me, and was licking my semen off of his hand with a desperate hunger, as if it was too precious to waste. Then he lay beside me, trailing his other hand possessively over me.
I felt drained, exhausted, but in a pleasant sort of way. I knew the man in my bed wasn't trustworthy, and yet all my instincts told me I was safe.
Thomas smiled slightly, charming and harmless. "I trust I've made myself clear?"
I looked at him, long and hard. "You would, wouldn't you. Sacrifice yourself for him, I mean."
His smile fell away. "Of course," he said softly.
I nodded. "You're right. I don't want to kill Dresden. That doesn't mean I won't do it, if it comes to that. And on that score, nothing has changed. Though I appreciate the warning. I shall have to account for your insanity in my contingency plans."
Oddly enough, he smiled again. "It's hard to behave sane or rationally where Harry is involved," he said. And then, with a knowing look. "But then, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Raith," I lied.
He rolled his eyes. "Be that way, then." He levered himself off the bed and began dressing again. "For the record, I think you should go for it. If only because you're less likely to wind up killing each other if you're fucking. Harry gets awfully sentimental when it comes to people he's fucking. I should warn you, though, you'll have a tough time of it. He's the most oblivious man I know when it comes to people hitting on him. Also, he thinks he's straight." He grinned at me and shrugged. "I'm sure you'll manage though."
My mind was still reeling from our earlier... activities. His entire monologue seemed so completely at odds with how he had been behaving a few minutes earlier. I grasped the one part I could comment intelligently on.
"May I infer that this means that you are not and have never been Dresden's lover?"
He shrugged. "I don't have sex with people I care about. Not anymore. Not after what happened with Justine."
"And now you're encouraging me to... seduce him."
"If it makes you feel better," he said, "you can count it as some horribly complex plan to get you to become closer allies with him, thus giving me more influence in your organization through my own connection to him."
"And is that your goal, then?"
"My goal," Thomas Raith said, "is to make Harry happy and keep him safe. However I can do that." An alarm sounded, elsewhere in the house, and he started. "And that would be my precautions wearing off." He made an elaborate, courtly bow, then opened the window. "I'd say 'until next time', but I think we'd both be happier if there isn't one. Have fun with your internal investigations."
And then he jumped straight out of the fourth story window and disappeared into the night.
The gun was in my hand almost before I had woken.
Thomas Raith sat on the edge of my bed, a studied casual grace covering his alert tension. "Your security has a few holes in it," he said. "You really should see about fixing that."
I pushed the question of exactly what weaknesses he had exploited aside; I could deal with that later. I thumbed the safety off. "Get out."
He moved with an inhuman speed, almost faster than I could see. Before I could react, he was on me, pinning my wrists to the wall behind me, gun pointed to the ceiling. "No," he said. He held me with an inhuman strength. I became uncomfortably aware of where his hand touched my skin, of the weight of him on my legs.
"Mr. Raith," I said, "what do you want?" If I had thought there was any chance this was an assassination attempt, I would have simply shot him. But if he had wished to kill me, he could have done so before I woke. Ordinarily the sound of anyone entering a room in which I slept would cause me to instantly awaken; I assumed the vampire's powers allowed him to be more silent than any human could hope for.
"This," he said, leaning forward until his face was inches from my own. His pale grey eyes glittered softly in the dim light coming through the windows.
I don't have many weaknesses. But one of them is my attraction to dangerous people. It's why I allowed myself more liberties than I should have with Helen Beckett. It's why I'm more sentimental than I should be about Harry Dresden. And it's why I didn't resist as Thomas Raith, vampire of the White Court, closed the distance to take my lips in a gentle, sensuous kiss.
I couldn't tell you where my natural desire ended and his supernatural charm began, if that was even a meaningful distinction to make. I know the vampires of the White Court can make their victims feel, can induce lust where there would otherwise have been none. That's not what was happening. A man of his looks, his build, his power, pressed against me like this, hard muscle and soft, pale skin, kissing with a steady passion- it would have been a distraction even without any psychic vampirism. But a distraction I could overcome. Not so, now; my lust for him was not a small, steady tug, easily pushed aside. It was a sudden, irresistible force, a tidal wave of desire, crashing over me, drowning me.
I did the only thing I could. I let the arousal wash over my body, let myself moan into his mouth as his tongue entered my own, let myself feel and react, dropped my control and impassive walls, gave into him utterly. And then, in a small corner of my mind, I used every drop of willpower I had to build a mental fortress to retreat into, letting my rationality remain unmolested, if powerless. It was difficult, and only years of practice and coaching by Gard let me even do this much. But at least that one small part of me remained free to think.
He broke off the kiss, dragging his lips gently along my neck. "I just wanted to thank you for saving Justine," he said before nipping at my collarbone, heading straight for the most sensitive spots.
Justine. The girl had come to me perhaps six weeks ago, running from a Fomoran sorcerer with a child who had been his prisoner. And in killing the sorcerer, I had by necessity let her see my current capabilities for protecting myself against magic and penetrating magical defenses. They hadn't been ideal against the sorcerer we faced that day, but they had worked.
They had, in fact, been designed to take down Harry Dresden. I didn't want to kill the man if I didn't have to. But if I had to- and I had every reason to think that it might one day come to that- I would be prepared.
Thomas took the gun from my hands, laid it out of reach on the nightstand. I didn't resist. I was unlikely to be able to use it effectively. It was unlikely my physical safety was at risk, now- this attack, and it was an attack, was mental. Whether it was intimidation, or, more problematically, trying to establish some sort of mental control over me, what I needed to maintain was not physical control of the situation, but mental clarity. I wouldn't endanger that over something so useless to me now as a gun.
Christ, he was beautiful. I remembered watching him and his sister Lara, fighting ghouls in that cavern. Frightening and dangerous, yet utterly beautiful. He removed my shirt with hands that could kill me with as little effort, fingers sliding against skin that hadn't felt another's touch in months. I whimpered in protest when the contact broke, suddenly needing to feel him. I grabbed his head, dragged him towards me to kiss him again, to lose myself- all of me except that one small part, in his sensuous mouth again. He obliged, and that kiss felt better than anything I'd felt in years. I surrendered to him, and to that part of myself that I usually kept on a tight leash, the part that desired and wanted. I let him lower me onto the mattress, let myself be pinned underneath him, helpless and vulnerable. It didn't matter. Inside my mental fortress, I knew that fear was useless; outside, I was too aroused to be frightened. Or perhaps the fear simply melded into the lust, intensified it.
He paused a moment to remove his own shirt- a tight black t-shirt that had already shown off his impressive physique- and then bent over me again, the touch of his own chest against mine nearly electric. I wondered if he was feeding. He probably was. I had never found a satisfactory description of the process from the perspective of the victim- only that, in the case at least of the Raiths who fed on lust, that it felt good. Like a drug. And god did this feel good, every touch, every stroke, every kiss rivaling the average orgasm in pleasure. In its corner of safety, my rational mind observed, calculating, leaving the rest of me free to simply enjoy. It occured to me that, given that I was reasonably sure he wasn't trying to kill me, it might be better if nobody found us until he was done. After all, he might reveal something to me, in his private threats; if he was removed now, I would learn nothing but that there was, among those protecting me tonight at least one traitor or incompetent. Or perhaps my walls were not so strong as I thought, and I was simply rationalizing my desire to continue. And yet, of course, there was no way I could influence the outcome either way; either help would come, or it would not.
His mouth trailed down my chest, briefly visiting each nipple in turn, making me gasp and arch against him. He pulled off my loose pyjama pants, and my achingly hard cock sprang free into the cool air. He didn't touch it, instead holding my hips down against the bed. He pressed a kiss to the inside of each thigh, and I growled in frustration. He gave a few more teasing kisses, but then, mercifully, took me into his mouth, hot and wet, and I let myself just feel as he sucked and swirled and did things I didn't even comprehend. His fingers, slick and wet, trailed down behind my balls, down, and then they were right there, probing and testing and then one slid in, at just the right angle, and I was amazed I didn't come right then.
Thomas removed his mouth from my cock and smirked. I glared back for a moment, but then his finger was moving again. Every tiny movement felt wonderful, every poor, neglected nerve ending lit up like a christmas tree as he stretched me open with another finger. My world was this man, and his fingers, and my tiny shred of sanity holed up in an ocean of sensual hedonism.
"Oh, there was something else I wanted to tell you," he said, almost conversationally after some time of this.
"Ah?" I asked weakly, thrusting against his fingers.
He didn't continue immediately. He removed his fingers from me, triggering an undignified whimper- and slowly, with deliberate showmanship, removed his own dark leather pants. His cock was impressive, long and solid and looking like it was made of white marble. His pale, pale eyes met mine steadily as he spread lube on it. If I was going to move to escape, I realized, now would be the moment. But I didn't. I lay there, ready for him, just wanting him in me and fucking me. And waiting for him to speak again.
He pushed into me smoothly, and I groaned in satisfaction. How long had it been since I had a man's cock in me- ten years? Fifteen? Too fucking long. I wrapped my legs around his back, letting him in deeper, and he leaned over me, and whispered into the mangled remains of my ear, "If you hurt Harry, I will kill you." He pulled out a bit, then thrust into me again, each motion deliberate and unhurried. "I know the sorts of weapons you have," Out again, and then in again, angled perfectly to make me cry out at how good it felt. "If you use them against him, I will kill you."
Ah, I thought distantly. So this is what this is about.
"Did you ever hear what happened to my cousin Madelaine?" he murmured, like a lover's endearments. "How Lara killed her?" He pressed a kiss to my temple. His pace remained maddeningly slow and steady. Sensual. "She died in the throws of ecstacy. She died in sexual bliss, as Lara tore her guts out." His hand moved to cover my belly; he dug his nails in slightly, not enough to really hurt, though I think even pain would have felt good then. "I could do that to you," and here he dug deeper, leaving indentations in my skin, "right now. If I wanted."
God help me, that almost sounded good. To die like this, torn to shreds by this beautiful, beautiful creature... I let the thought pass, unmolested, neither fighting it or accepting it, not sparing the energy to clamp down on a death-wish that was not my own. Instead I directed what self-control I had available to me to speaking, in a steady voice. "If you want to do that to me, you should do it now. You won't get a second chance."
He smiled and moved his hand down to wrap around my cock, still fucking me tortuously slowly. "I know," he said. "I'll never have it this easy again." His thumb rubbed over the head of it in small circles. "If I thought you actually wanted to kill Harry, you'd be dead already."
"And within a day, you would die as well," I said. "Within hours, most likely." I had enough people loyal enough to me to ensure that.
"Yes," he agreed, stroking lazily. "I probably would. And if you do hurt him, I will probably die taking you out in return." He began to jerk me off in earnest, fucking me harder and faster. I leaned into the onslaught gladly. "I have no illusions that I'll be able to kill you poetically, or satisfyingly, or gracefully. It will be messy and desperate, or efficient and cold, most likely." It was all I could to to take in his words; the rest of me was clawing desperately towards release, each threatening word only arousing me more. "If you hurt Harry," he said as I panted and gasped my way to orgasm. "I. Will. Kill. You."
And I came, feeling it through my whole body, from toes up to head and back down to my groin, coming all over Thomas's hand.
I must have blacked out for a moment; when I next opened my eyes, he had withdrawn from me, and was licking my semen off of his hand with a desperate hunger, as if it was too precious to waste. Then he lay beside me, trailing his other hand possessively over me.
I felt drained, exhausted, but in a pleasant sort of way. I knew the man in my bed wasn't trustworthy, and yet all my instincts told me I was safe.
Thomas smiled slightly, charming and harmless. "I trust I've made myself clear?"
I looked at him, long and hard. "You would, wouldn't you. Sacrifice yourself for him, I mean."
His smile fell away. "Of course," he said softly.
I nodded. "You're right. I don't want to kill Dresden. That doesn't mean I won't do it, if it comes to that. And on that score, nothing has changed. Though I appreciate the warning. I shall have to account for your insanity in my contingency plans."
Oddly enough, he smiled again. "It's hard to behave sane or rationally where Harry is involved," he said. And then, with a knowing look. "But then, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Raith," I lied.
He rolled his eyes. "Be that way, then." He levered himself off the bed and began dressing again. "For the record, I think you should go for it. If only because you're less likely to wind up killing each other if you're fucking. Harry gets awfully sentimental when it comes to people he's fucking. I should warn you, though, you'll have a tough time of it. He's the most oblivious man I know when it comes to people hitting on him. Also, he thinks he's straight." He grinned at me and shrugged. "I'm sure you'll manage though."
My mind was still reeling from our earlier... activities. His entire monologue seemed so completely at odds with how he had been behaving a few minutes earlier. I grasped the one part I could comment intelligently on.
"May I infer that this means that you are not and have never been Dresden's lover?"
He shrugged. "I don't have sex with people I care about. Not anymore. Not after what happened with Justine."
"And now you're encouraging me to... seduce him."
"If it makes you feel better," he said, "you can count it as some horribly complex plan to get you to become closer allies with him, thus giving me more influence in your organization through my own connection to him."
"And is that your goal, then?"
"My goal," Thomas Raith said, "is to make Harry happy and keep him safe. However I can do that." An alarm sounded, elsewhere in the house, and he started. "And that would be my precautions wearing off." He made an elaborate, courtly bow, then opened the window. "I'd say 'until next time', but I think we'd both be happier if there isn't one. Have fun with your internal investigations."
And then he jumped straight out of the fourth story window and disappeared into the night.
Confused me too. I think author meant "Kincaid or Gard"
*starry eyes*
Anon, you rock my world. This is the hot, disturbing Thomas/Marcone of my dreams. I love how John is getting off on the danger of it all. And all the mentions of how long he's been practicing self-denial, and how that makes him vulnerable to pleasure in a way he isn't to pain or fear.
And Thomas, wow. I think he was telling the truth the whole time, but I get the feeling I really don't know what his game is. How does he expect Marcone to react to this? Possibly my ability to analyze his actions is impaired by how unbelievably fucking sexy he is. Like Marcone, I am a tiny island of rationality in a sea of "mmm, Thomas."
Thank you so much. :D
Anon, you rock my world. This is the hot, disturbing Thomas/Marcone of my dreams. I love how John is getting off on the danger of it all. And all the mentions of how long he's been practicing self-denial, and how that makes him vulnerable to pleasure in a way he isn't to pain or fear.
And Thomas, wow. I think he was telling the truth the whole time, but I get the feeling I really don't know what his game is. How does he expect Marcone to react to this? Possibly my ability to analyze his actions is impaired by how unbelievably fucking sexy he is. Like Marcone, I am a tiny island of rationality in a sea of "mmm, Thomas."
Thank you so much. :D
So glad you enjoyed!! ^_^
I'm actually not sure what the hell Thomas was thinking either. I'm sure it all made sense in his head, though.
I'm actually not sure what the hell Thomas was thinking either. I'm sure it all made sense in his head, though.
At the risk of sounding greedy and needy...
OP says, please - may I have some more?
(refreshes several times)
apologies; I'm a bit too tired for a more coherent response tonight. Either that or the image of Harry and Hendricks together has fried my remaining brain cells. They are definitely doing a happy dance and not thinking very much at the moment...
OP says, please - may I have some more?
(refreshes several times)
apologies; I'm a bit too tired for a more coherent response tonight. Either that or the image of Harry and Hendricks together has fried my remaining brain cells. They are definitely doing a happy dance and not thinking very much at the moment...
I love you so hard right now. That is insanely hot, Thomas just taking control, and John freely giving it.
Thomas' voice, John's voice. Both so perfect, and Thomas really would go to any length to protect his brother. The plans within plans.
And I think that Thomas knew exactly what he was doing - and what excuses he was making, even to himself.
Thomas' voice, John's voice. Both so perfect, and Thomas really would go to any length to protect his brother. The plans within plans.
And I think that Thomas knew exactly what he was doing - and what excuses he was making, even to himself.
“Are you two taking it in turns to panic?” Hendricks asked.
Hendricks, this is now your life. How does that make you feel?
f5f5f5f5f5
Can I just say that I really and truly and thoroughly enjoy all of this, everything, especially John's supernatural experiences in Afghanistan and Britain? And poor Sherlock, I wonder how he'd do at magic-logic as opposed to science-logic, and how badly that'll fuck with his head when he realizes it's going to open up a whole world of possibilities for every weird crime scene he ever investigates again. Your writing is excellent; I love that you made Bob hide properly, not being much more than an occasional note of 'huh, odd' in the apartment.
I don't think so. Not the OP, but I read that as Kincaid and Gard being ruled out as the people the spell hit, which leaves Thomas and Marcone as possibilities. How did you read it?
I was reading some discussion on Harry’s heteronormative attitude and was thinking about how little opportunity he would have had to encounter a different viewpoint. With Justin, not only was he extremely isolated, but anything Justin was aware of would have been used to control him. Whatever Eb’s views on sexuality, there would have been a heavy theme of "There are a whole bunch of things you Do Not Do if you want both you and I to keep our heads. And even after he got out into the wider world, Morgan breathing down his neck would not have encouraged experimentation. So...
What if Elaine had been Alan? No other changes to the backstory. What would the resulting adult Harry Dresden be like?
What if Elaine had been Alan? No other changes to the backstory. What would the resulting adult Harry Dresden be like?
Page 147 of 177
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