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Kincaid/alwaysagirl!Harry
kink: whatever. I don't even care. I just want this for some insane reason.
kink: whatever. I don't even care. I just want this for some insane reason.
I didn't really mean to show Summer as having sway over Kincaid as doing their own bit of directing. I see Kincaid, since he is a mercenary, as being open to advice, jobs, etc. from both courts. As such, he's also used by both courts, and he's well aware of that.
So at the moment, he doesn't know why the Erlking wanted him to find Harry, he's just rolling with it. Had it been Mab, he still would have gone to check the situation out (at least in my mind).
As for the misogyny... I'm going to assume that you're referring to Kincaid's dismissal of Elaine instead of Justin, since we're talking about Kincaid here. Kincaid's misogyny is a bit different, because I see him as dismissing her because she's already becoming a power-hungry wizard like Justin (and so many others he's seen) and not just because she's a girl. So it's not really misogyny as such on his part.
Justin, on the other hand... is a scary misogynist pig.
So at the moment, he doesn't know why the Erlking wanted him to find Harry, he's just rolling with it. Had it been Mab, he still would have gone to check the situation out (at least in my mind).
As for the misogyny... I'm going to assume that you're referring to Kincaid's dismissal of Elaine instead of Justin, since we're talking about Kincaid here. Kincaid's misogyny is a bit different, because I see him as dismissing her because she's already becoming a power-hungry wizard like Justin (and so many others he's seen) and not just because she's a girl. So it's not really misogyny as such on his part.
Justin, on the other hand... is a scary misogynist pig.
Don't worry, anon. I got it and I think a lot of others did too.
List Of Why He/She Shouldn't NOT Fuck Harry Till He Begs For It
(Anonymous) 2011-02-18 02:01 am (UTC)(link)Anyone/Dresden Kink:Whatever writer wants
Pick a character who's attracted to Harry, but tries to make a list of why to NOT Fuck Harry Silly.
It could either be a blank list and them staring at it for hours trying to think up of something and just giving up and calling Harry.
Or, they did write a bunch of reasons, but decides it's not worth it and goes to Harry.
Writer can pick any character they want, but OP would be really glad if you somehow manage to use Donar, Kincaid, or Carlos. OP would still be happy if you use Marcone though. Maybe Vince if you want to give it a try.
Pick a character who's attracted to Harry, but tries to make a list of why to NOT Fuck Harry Silly.
It could either be a blank list and them staring at it for hours trying to think up of something and just giving up and calling Harry.
Or, they did write a bunch of reasons, but decides it's not worth it and goes to Harry.
Writer can pick any character they want, but OP would be really glad if you somehow manage to use Donar, Kincaid, or Carlos. OP would still be happy if you use Marcone though. Maybe Vince if you want to give it a try.
I'm just thinking of it as the prequel to the first story where John takes out Mab and takes over supernatural Chicago keeping Harry as his prize.
...I hadn't even considered that it might work with another story. Wow. You're right.
I hope the other anon doesn't mind!
I hope the other anon doesn't mind!
Hendricks has a crush on his boss. It's been building for years and years. He is now freaking out, silently and stoically, and trying to figure out how to get reassigned or, better, quit, because he thinks Marcone will kill him if he finds out. The Mob is not exactly gay-friendly, after all, and if Marcone saw this as a betrayal of trust ... bye bye Hendricks.
Cue Gard being confused (men are usually drooling over her) and then in-the-know, Marcone being a horrible cocktease, and maybe Harry making an casual joke that hits too close to home for Hendricks. (i.e. "Jealous I'm trying to steal your boyfriend, Cujo?")
I'd love it if Marcone figured out, was fine with it, and, even better, jumped Hendricks/let Hendricks jump him.
Emphasis on the slow build-up and Hendricks's agony and fear, please. If there's a point where Hendricks honestly thinks that Marcone is about to shoot him and just closes his eyes and waits for a bullet that never comes ... I may die of joy. *is a sick freak*
Cue Gard being confused (men are usually drooling over her) and then in-the-know, Marcone being a horrible cocktease, and maybe Harry making an casual joke that hits too close to home for Hendricks. (i.e. "Jealous I'm trying to steal your boyfriend, Cujo?")
I'd love it if Marcone figured out, was fine with it, and, even better, jumped Hendricks/let Hendricks jump him.
Emphasis on the slow build-up and Hendricks's agony and fear, please. If there's a point where Hendricks honestly thinks that Marcone is about to shoot him and just closes his eyes and waits for a bullet that never comes ... I may die of joy. *is a sick freak*
Harry agrees to participate in a charity event of some sort - either the Carpenters recruit him for a festival, or he agrees to help Murphy, or something - but gets a surprise when he arrives. Instead of helping sell cookies or something, he gets to man (ha!) the kissing booth. He only has to give kisses on the cheek, but sometimes someone steals a real kiss.
Bonus if some familiar faces show up to kiss Harry. (Kincaid, Gard, Hendricks, random men who work for Marcone, Odin, Lea, Susan, etc.)
Bonus if some familiar faces show up to kiss Harry. (Kincaid, Gard, Hendricks, random men who work for Marcone, Odin, Lea, Susan, etc.)
Oh, I want this. It would be adorable and awkward.
Oh JFC, I can see Marcone doing this after another meeting with Dresden being all flirty-flirty and Harry being oblivious.
I feel her the moment she comes in. I don't have to turn around. One minute I'm sitting at the bar, wondering how slow I can get away with nursing my martini, and the next- it happens. I feel her. Her presence swirls around me like iridescent perfume, pulling at me. My lips tingle; my nipple press against the thin silk of my dress, and I can't quite keep from gasping as desire pours over me. My eyes slide close and all I can feel is that she's here. She's here.
I've had good lovers. I've had great lovers.
Lara's the only woman I know who can make me come just by walking into the room.
She walks past me, letting her fingers drag lightly across my back as she passes, leaving fire in their wake. I slip from the stool and follow her, a step or two behind her, as she climbs the narrow stairways and catwalks to the balcony where she holds court. She's wearing a long skirt, of thin material, that molds tantalizingly to her legs and then pulls away with each step.
Every part of her is perfection.
She stops when she arrives at her destination, and without turning to look at me, beckons with a gesture. I step forward to stand beside her without a word, and she pushes me against the too-flimsy railing, kissing me brutally. Her tongue, her lips, her teeth, all tearing at me, as if she's trying to eat me alive. I throw my head back, and her mouth travels down, savaging my neck. Her arms are all that are keeping me from falling to my death, and I feel more alive than I ever have before.
The moment's over soon, way too soon, and I'm left dizzy and breathless and alone, so painfully alone. I sink to my knees and look for Her. It feels like there's part of me missing, forever attached to her now, and I long for nothing more than to unite myself with her again.
She settles down in the middle of a lush sofa, and smiles at me. "Come here, little one," she said, softly. I shouldn't be able to hear her over the pounding music of the club, but the words ring clear in my ears, and I rise joyfully and move to take my place at her feet. I lean my head against her legs with a grateful sigh. She's never let me do this before- I've never needed it so badly. Her hand rests possessively on my head. "There," she murmurs, and I let myself drift in the pleasure of her presence.
Maybe it's minutes that pass, maybe hours. People come and go. Lara talks to them. Some, she's happy with; others, concerned, others, angry. I don't really pay attention, though. I may never be privileged enough to sit at her feet again. I savor the moment.
And then, we're alone again. "Oh, sweet girl," she says, "come sit by me." She draws me up to sit next to her, then pushes me back onto the couch, leaning tenderly over me. Her eyes are the most glorious shade of pale silver. She strokes my cheek, and kisses me again, gently, sweetly. "I want you," she whispers in my ear, and I try to answer her, but all I can manage is a gasp. I've left reason behind long ago.
Her fingers trace lower, over my nipples, and she gives each one a little pinch. I squeak a little, and she laughs, sweet, like birdsong. I smile at her. She's so beautiful, it hurts.
I think I could die happy right now.
Every touch on me- hands on my breasts, her kiss on the inside of my wrist, her legs twining with mine- sends little electric currents straight to my groin, and I feel a growing tightness there, a coiling power becoming stronger. "Let me take you," she says, and this time I manage to say, "yes, oh, yes please" and then her hands are stroking down, over my hips, down my legs, and then up again, and then without warning her fingers are inside me, and I never knew I could feel so good, so wonderful, so perfect.
Her fingers twitch, and thrust, and she adds another, and each movement brings me closer and closer to the edge. And then her thumb circles my clit, and the tingling starts at my toes and travels upwards in a wave of light so bright it should hurt my eyes- but no, it's not something I'm seeing, it's something I'm feeling, and it hurts my soul, so beautifully- and the moment goes on and on, as every inch of me in turn is immersed in bliss.
She's glowing, I could swear that she's glowing, clothed in my pleasure, and I shiver with the beauty of it. "Take me," I whisper. "Take all of me. I'm yours."
"Yes," she says, "You are," and then her fingers twist sharply inside me, and I don't think I can think anymore. My world is Lara. She brings me to orgasm, over, and over, and over, and I can see nothing but her, feel nothing but her, be nothing but her. She surrounds me, protects me, consumes me.
I am hers.
And she is beautiful.
I've had good lovers. I've had great lovers.
Lara's the only woman I know who can make me come just by walking into the room.
She walks past me, letting her fingers drag lightly across my back as she passes, leaving fire in their wake. I slip from the stool and follow her, a step or two behind her, as she climbs the narrow stairways and catwalks to the balcony where she holds court. She's wearing a long skirt, of thin material, that molds tantalizingly to her legs and then pulls away with each step.
Every part of her is perfection.
She stops when she arrives at her destination, and without turning to look at me, beckons with a gesture. I step forward to stand beside her without a word, and she pushes me against the too-flimsy railing, kissing me brutally. Her tongue, her lips, her teeth, all tearing at me, as if she's trying to eat me alive. I throw my head back, and her mouth travels down, savaging my neck. Her arms are all that are keeping me from falling to my death, and I feel more alive than I ever have before.
The moment's over soon, way too soon, and I'm left dizzy and breathless and alone, so painfully alone. I sink to my knees and look for Her. It feels like there's part of me missing, forever attached to her now, and I long for nothing more than to unite myself with her again.
She settles down in the middle of a lush sofa, and smiles at me. "Come here, little one," she said, softly. I shouldn't be able to hear her over the pounding music of the club, but the words ring clear in my ears, and I rise joyfully and move to take my place at her feet. I lean my head against her legs with a grateful sigh. She's never let me do this before- I've never needed it so badly. Her hand rests possessively on my head. "There," she murmurs, and I let myself drift in the pleasure of her presence.
Maybe it's minutes that pass, maybe hours. People come and go. Lara talks to them. Some, she's happy with; others, concerned, others, angry. I don't really pay attention, though. I may never be privileged enough to sit at her feet again. I savor the moment.
And then, we're alone again. "Oh, sweet girl," she says, "come sit by me." She draws me up to sit next to her, then pushes me back onto the couch, leaning tenderly over me. Her eyes are the most glorious shade of pale silver. She strokes my cheek, and kisses me again, gently, sweetly. "I want you," she whispers in my ear, and I try to answer her, but all I can manage is a gasp. I've left reason behind long ago.
Her fingers trace lower, over my nipples, and she gives each one a little pinch. I squeak a little, and she laughs, sweet, like birdsong. I smile at her. She's so beautiful, it hurts.
I think I could die happy right now.
Every touch on me- hands on my breasts, her kiss on the inside of my wrist, her legs twining with mine- sends little electric currents straight to my groin, and I feel a growing tightness there, a coiling power becoming stronger. "Let me take you," she says, and this time I manage to say, "yes, oh, yes please" and then her hands are stroking down, over my hips, down my legs, and then up again, and then without warning her fingers are inside me, and I never knew I could feel so good, so wonderful, so perfect.
Her fingers twitch, and thrust, and she adds another, and each movement brings me closer and closer to the edge. And then her thumb circles my clit, and the tingling starts at my toes and travels upwards in a wave of light so bright it should hurt my eyes- but no, it's not something I'm seeing, it's something I'm feeling, and it hurts my soul, so beautifully- and the moment goes on and on, as every inch of me in turn is immersed in bliss.
She's glowing, I could swear that she's glowing, clothed in my pleasure, and I shiver with the beauty of it. "Take me," I whisper. "Take all of me. I'm yours."
"Yes," she says, "You are," and then her fingers twist sharply inside me, and I don't think I can think anymore. My world is Lara. She brings me to orgasm, over, and over, and over, and I can see nothing but her, feel nothing but her, be nothing but her. She surrounds me, protects me, consumes me.
I am hers.
And she is beautiful.
Susan Rodriguez / anyone. Susan wants sex to be consensual but she's got that crazy vampire spit thing going. How does she handle it? Dental dams? No kissing? Having sex with Thomas? :D
Harry is raising a child (don't care whether it's a canon child or an OC). On the first day of school, he and/or whoever he's sharing parenting duties with (if he is) gets called in because, well, the kid's been around Bob his/her whole life, and Bob hasn't really censored himself...
Heh. Or really awkward early explanations of what Bob's talking about. You know the kind, where they're censored so much that they sound like words describing things the kid sees/does, so they use the words in COMPLETELY the wrong context.
Heh. Or really awkward early explanations of what Bob's talking about. You know the kind, where they're censored so much that they sound like words describing things the kid sees/does, so they use the words in COMPLETELY the wrong context.
A/N: This is so not what I meant to write.
________________
I scratched my notes into the dirt for an hour at least. There was a limited amount of space between Marcone and I where I could write without being seen, so I had to write small and rub it out to start again. I wrote what I knew. What I guessed. I couldn't tell Marcone what I was doing. There was no guarantee that the Denarians weren't listening somehow, or that they couldn't force Marcone to tell them later. There'd been points during the past day where I'd have told Nicodemus anything he wanted to know, if he'd just asked me. Marcone had given me what he knew about our location. It wasn't much. Just that we were on an island.
It was a terrible plan. There were so many things that could go wrong. I had no idea where we were, so I couldn't give them an address. There was a chance that whatever was keeping tracking spells from working around us would keep Ivy from getting this message. Or even just delaying it. I didn't know enough about how the Archive worked to make a guess. Ivy might not believe me. She might think that I was with the Denarians. It looked bad. I had called her in. I had led them to the meeting, caused the irregularity in the proceedings. Ivy, or Kincaid, might well just think I'd been in on it all and that these notes were a lure into a second trap.
My last note was the simplest. And the last resort.
'Tell Gard. I'm with Marcone. Please.'
If Ivy didn't believe me, she might at least tell Gard and Hendricks. They'd start looking for Marcone's sake, if nothing else.
I erased it, smoothed the dirt over and then couldn't think of anything else to do. We were too far away from the small fire for much warmth to reach us. The manacles pricked me every time I moved, every time I breathed. The cold burned them into my wrists. I started to go numb, and the shivering that had been wracking my body slowly died away. I wasn't feeling much of anything anymore.
There was shifting movement and then something warm wrapped around me, covering the front of me and radiating heat. The shivering kicked in again and I pushed weakly against whatever it was.
“Harry. Don't be an ass. I'm not going to let you freeze to death.” Marcone pulled me in closer to himself, legs around my back, holding me still. “I'm sorry.”
~
It was warm again. Warm. I hadn't thought I'd ever be warm again, and I felt boneless with it. Floating. I didn't want to open my eyes. I just knew that the minute I did everything would go back to be bad. To hurting. And I was tired. Tired of having to fight when I knew I couldn't win. Tired of getting my ass kicked. Tired of everything.
Hands moved me, rolled me over on whatever I was laying on. It was soft. I sighed a little. I could feel it all, but it didn't seem very important. More movement, touching, and then a heavy weight over me, pressing my back into the cushioning, and then sliding into me. Easy. No pain. I drew in a deeper breath and things started to seem important again. Nic. The Shedd. The island. Marcone. I didn't remember anything after curling against Marcone for whatever warmth we could get. I must have passed out. I was sick to death of being unconscious.
I started to force my eyes open and a hand slipped across them, hurriedly.
The brush of stubble against my cheek and then a deep male voice whispered into my ear, “I'm sorry.”
Marcone.
He moved in me, not slow, but careful. I was still loose, even though I was coming awake I couldn't seem to get my muscles working all the way. I wanted to tense up, but I couldn't. Marcone moved, fucking into me, and it was like he fit. Perfect. A shiver, sweet and liquid trailed up my spine, and I started to move with him. Part of my mind sat back and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. The rest of me knew that something was wrong, and didn't care.
“So sweet. Really. We had a deal, John. Are you going to hold up your end, or should I?” Nic. He sounded fairly close. Not right there, but maybe a few feet away. Marcone's hand moved off of my eyes and I felt the mattress beside my head dip as he braced himself.
“No.” Marcone didn't growl. When he was well and truly pissed, when he had already figured out how he was going to kill you, his voice went bland and cold. You had already stopped existing for him. You just hadn't realized it yet. That was the voice he used for Nic.
My eyes slid open as a spike of pleasure hit me. It was good. Perfect. Better than anything had ever been. I brought my arms up, the chain on the manacles rattling and grabbed at Marcone's head, his shoulders. Something, anything. I needed to touch him. It burned through me. Pleasure and need pushed everything else away. It didn't matter that Nic was there. Didn't matter what had come before. All that mattered was that it felt so good, right there.
The world exploded, sunlight behind my eyes, searing through me. I arched my back, incoherent words falling from my lips as I came, hot and sticky between us. Marcone's rhythm faltered and then he grabbed my hips, lifted and shifted our angles. He slowed down, a long, eternal glide out and then back in. Once, twice, just torturing himself, and then he slid in deep, fingers digging into my hips and came, short little jerks of his hips slapping against me.
We collapsed together, Marcone a lovely, comfortable weight against me, pinning me down. It felt good. Everything felt so good. Easy.
“Lovely. Don't you think?”
Marcone pushed himself up and then back, sliding out of me. I felt a whine in the back of my throat at the loss and the same part of me that had been going 'what the hell' was horrified. It wasn't a sound of pain, though that had started to come back as well. It was a whine of loss. Of need. I needed that feeling back, the feeling of being filled up. I needed it. That was enough. Something was wrong. Now that Marcone wasn't touching me everything hurt, every scrape and bruise and cut.
“It's sick.” Marcone rose, leaving me alone on the floor. I tried to roll over, to get my legs under me to rise, but Nic was there before the thought could become action, pressing one hand down on my chest, the other lightly touching something on my throat. The pains melted away again, as soon as he touched me, and light flowered inside of me, fluttering, warm and welcome, soothing as he touched the heavy thing around my throat.
“Sick? So judgmental for someone who deals drugs. Would you rather I allowed him to continue to rip himself apart?” Fingers stroked along the edges of the thing. It was smooth, leather maybe. It felt good. Everything did, though. Everything. “It's not permanent. He wouldn't be much good like this. A mindless slut. It is, however, a gentler way to break someone.”
I could hear Marcone moving somewhere in the room. Backing farther away. That wasn't good. I wanted him closer. I wanted touching. Nic was touching me, clothes scratchy as he knelt over me, pressed his body against me. My legs fell open, wider and wider. Inviting. I felt my hips rise up, and I didn't want to stop. This should never, never stop.
Fingers slipped into me and I was still open, wet. Two, three. I ground back onto them, gasping. Good, but not enough. I needed more. Nic laughed and pulled his fingers out. That was worse. I whimpered as he left, the rustle of clothes hitting the floor too loud, harsh. Then he was back, the head of his cock breaching me, filling me in one long, unstoppable thrust. I cried out. The vague feeling of discontent was gone. Everything was perfect again.
Things went blurry, lost in a warm, exquisite haze of pleasure. I wanted. It felt so good, so right. I felt it when Nic came, teeth digging into my neck beneath the collar. Then Marcone was there again, with Nic sliding up over my face, balls dangling there, inviting. I mouthed at them, licking, taking them in one at a time, pouring my happiness, my contentment into it. He came on my chest, the warmth of it a faint tingling sensation against the backdrop of pleasure. Strong, elegant hands moved through it, smearing his come around, rubbing it into my skin. I groaned around Nic and he pulled away, stood. Everything became even less distinct. There was only touch. Only feeling. I lost time, though I couldn't say how much. It didn't matter. Nothing did.
When I started to notice things again, I was alone on the floor. Nic stood beside me, smiling. Watching me. Marcone was kneeling in front of him, hands braced on Nic's thighs as he took him in, swallowing the man down to the root. I gasped, writhing a little. Things hurt again. I didn't want that. I wanted to feel good. I needed them. I needed them to make everything better. I reached out for them, fingers brushing against them.
Everything was stiff. Painful. And then it wasn't. Their skin drove it away.
“No more. Take it off of him.” Marcone looked up along Nic's body. I couldn't, couldn't touch them both as he rose and stepped back. Nic knelt down, giving me more contact. I wrapped around him. Grateful. The peace came back.
“Once more, John.” His hand ran down my spine and I pressed closer to him, trying to climb inside of him. Everything else had felt so wonderful, wouldn't that? “I want to see his belly swollen, filled with our seed. Our willing whore, just begging for more and more.” I purred. The image...I wanted it. It would make Nic happy, and that was good. Pleasure curled around me, radiating out from my collar.
“Please. Please.” My voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. I'd been screaming for hours. Marcone looked at me, then his eyes went to Nic's face.
He came back, took hold of my arms and pried me away from Nic. But that was okay, because that meant that he was touching me. That I could touch him. And I did. I licked, I bit, every touch against him sending pulses of happiness, of contentment and pleasure through me. More. I wanted more.
“Ride him.” Yes. Oh, yes. Nic's voice in my ear. A brilliant idea.
I pushed Marcone down and then I pinned his hips beneath my own, guiding myself down onto him, his passage made easy by the mixture of come that slowly dribbled out of me. I fucked myself on him, each thrust bright and shining, sending my mind spinning.
When Nic slid in behind me, then up beside Marcone, deep inside me, I screamed. It was good. They should always be touching me. Nothing else was as good. Would ever be so good. I rode Marcone and Nic followed me, thrusting at a counterpoint to my movements. Sometimes I was so full I could feel them in the back of my throat, but I was never empty. Never alone.
Time suspended itself. I would have been happy to stay in this in between place forever, where I was touched. Where pleasure and happiness rolled through me. But then I heard Nic licking something behind me. It sent a little stab of confusion through me. What was he doing...
His hand, slick and shiny with his own spit came up, slid over my mouth, thumb and finger pinching my nose shut. It was a warm, strange feeling. I still felt good, happiness pooling in my belly, but my body was starting to thrash, to move without meaning to. I shook my head, trying to dislodge Nic's hand, even though it was so good that he was touching me, but through the haze of pleasure, I knew that I wasn't getting any air. His wet hand had formed a seal, cutting me off. Nothing was getting through.
The golden haze started to pulse with red and black, but I couldn't stop. I kept fucking them, need driving me. It was all so good, even the pain growing in my chest, strong enough to make in through the warm feelings because I was touching. It was just something new, a new sensation.
Marcone was grunting under me, yelling, trying to push me off, but it didn't do any good. I had to finish. Nic was speaking, laughing, but nothing made any sense any longer. Only the drive to keep moving, to keep feeling good. I pressed on and on, fingers going numb, even the good feelings going distant, leaving me with only the burn of my chest, my throat. I fumbled at Nic's hand, even though I didn't mean to, and my mouth felt too small, my tongue pressing out, seeking. I tasted the sweat on Nic's palm and then there was nothing else.
~
Someone was shaking me. Pleasure radiated from their hands on my shoulders, lulling me back into the darkness. But the voice was demanding. They wanted me awake. That would make them happy, which made me happy. So I fought up, back into my own body.
“Finally. Harry, can you understand me?” I nodded and took Marcone's hand in mine, bringing it to my mouth, where I could lick at the back, the palm, then take his fingers into my mouth, one at a time. I was throbbing in discomfort, except where he touched me. I needed more.
“No. No more. Not until you speak. We don't have much time.” He pulled away, and I cried out, reaching for him. There was no rattle of chain. It was enough to distract me, at least for a few seconds. I looked at my wrists. Bare. He held up a tiny piece of bent metal that might have started it's life as a pin. It was so bent now it was impossible to tell. “Nicodemus will be back any minute. I picked the lock on the manacles. Can you use your magic now?”
I tried, reaching out with my mind. The magic answered, nearly as warm and good as the touch of Marcone's skin against my won.
“Yes.” My voice was awful.
“We need to get out of here. I can't find a seam or a lock on the collar, or I'd get that off too. I need you to concentrate and find a way out. We need to escape. Do you understand?” I looked at him, one hand rising to trace the collar around my throat. A warm pulse moved out of it as I did. I could trace the alien writing on it and each movement made my skin tighten.
“Escape?”
“Yes. We have to get away from Nicodemus. Can you think of anything?”
One thing sprang to mind. Shining and silver as I thought of it. It would let us escape, and that was what Marcone wanted. And a happy Marcone meant a happy me. That's all there was to it.
I whispered the spell burned into my mind years before by the shadow, Lash. Reality shifted, just a little, just in the air above my open palm, and a dirty, dented old coin dropped out of thin air to land in my hand. Fire burned up my arm, tightening the muscles and driving away the good feelings.
It spread through my body and I could feel the fuzzy magic pouring off of the collar around my throat. A compulsion. Strong. I lifted one hand and slipped two fingers between the skin of my throat and the collar. Power flashed out of me and the collar sizzled, a muffled snap of power and then split in two. I threw it at the wall and pushed away from Marcone, rising.
“Harry?”
“Don't worry, John.” My voice didn't sound right. Too light. The speech patterns off. A second voice, soft and feminine whispered in my head. I stopped worrying about the speech. We'd be sharing from now on. Might as well get used to it. “We'll be leaving shortly. I just need to have a little talk with Nicodemus. Do stay out of the way.”
~
I stood on the side of the hill, the Denarians' little hideaway burning behind me. Lasciel whispered in my inner ear, feeding me necessary information. She pushed the pain from my injuries back, out of my mind. We would worry about them later.
Marcone came up beside me, tucking another spare mag for one of his stolen guns into a pocket on his stolen pants.
“Ready?”
He nodded, and I spoke a word in a language that hadn't been heard in almost two thousand years. The Way opened before us and we stepped through.
________________
I scratched my notes into the dirt for an hour at least. There was a limited amount of space between Marcone and I where I could write without being seen, so I had to write small and rub it out to start again. I wrote what I knew. What I guessed. I couldn't tell Marcone what I was doing. There was no guarantee that the Denarians weren't listening somehow, or that they couldn't force Marcone to tell them later. There'd been points during the past day where I'd have told Nicodemus anything he wanted to know, if he'd just asked me. Marcone had given me what he knew about our location. It wasn't much. Just that we were on an island.
It was a terrible plan. There were so many things that could go wrong. I had no idea where we were, so I couldn't give them an address. There was a chance that whatever was keeping tracking spells from working around us would keep Ivy from getting this message. Or even just delaying it. I didn't know enough about how the Archive worked to make a guess. Ivy might not believe me. She might think that I was with the Denarians. It looked bad. I had called her in. I had led them to the meeting, caused the irregularity in the proceedings. Ivy, or Kincaid, might well just think I'd been in on it all and that these notes were a lure into a second trap.
My last note was the simplest. And the last resort.
'Tell Gard. I'm with Marcone. Please.'
If Ivy didn't believe me, she might at least tell Gard and Hendricks. They'd start looking for Marcone's sake, if nothing else.
I erased it, smoothed the dirt over and then couldn't think of anything else to do. We were too far away from the small fire for much warmth to reach us. The manacles pricked me every time I moved, every time I breathed. The cold burned them into my wrists. I started to go numb, and the shivering that had been wracking my body slowly died away. I wasn't feeling much of anything anymore.
There was shifting movement and then something warm wrapped around me, covering the front of me and radiating heat. The shivering kicked in again and I pushed weakly against whatever it was.
“Harry. Don't be an ass. I'm not going to let you freeze to death.” Marcone pulled me in closer to himself, legs around my back, holding me still. “I'm sorry.”
~
It was warm again. Warm. I hadn't thought I'd ever be warm again, and I felt boneless with it. Floating. I didn't want to open my eyes. I just knew that the minute I did everything would go back to be bad. To hurting. And I was tired. Tired of having to fight when I knew I couldn't win. Tired of getting my ass kicked. Tired of everything.
Hands moved me, rolled me over on whatever I was laying on. It was soft. I sighed a little. I could feel it all, but it didn't seem very important. More movement, touching, and then a heavy weight over me, pressing my back into the cushioning, and then sliding into me. Easy. No pain. I drew in a deeper breath and things started to seem important again. Nic. The Shedd. The island. Marcone. I didn't remember anything after curling against Marcone for whatever warmth we could get. I must have passed out. I was sick to death of being unconscious.
I started to force my eyes open and a hand slipped across them, hurriedly.
The brush of stubble against my cheek and then a deep male voice whispered into my ear, “I'm sorry.”
Marcone.
He moved in me, not slow, but careful. I was still loose, even though I was coming awake I couldn't seem to get my muscles working all the way. I wanted to tense up, but I couldn't. Marcone moved, fucking into me, and it was like he fit. Perfect. A shiver, sweet and liquid trailed up my spine, and I started to move with him. Part of my mind sat back and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. The rest of me knew that something was wrong, and didn't care.
“So sweet. Really. We had a deal, John. Are you going to hold up your end, or should I?” Nic. He sounded fairly close. Not right there, but maybe a few feet away. Marcone's hand moved off of my eyes and I felt the mattress beside my head dip as he braced himself.
“No.” Marcone didn't growl. When he was well and truly pissed, when he had already figured out how he was going to kill you, his voice went bland and cold. You had already stopped existing for him. You just hadn't realized it yet. That was the voice he used for Nic.
My eyes slid open as a spike of pleasure hit me. It was good. Perfect. Better than anything had ever been. I brought my arms up, the chain on the manacles rattling and grabbed at Marcone's head, his shoulders. Something, anything. I needed to touch him. It burned through me. Pleasure and need pushed everything else away. It didn't matter that Nic was there. Didn't matter what had come before. All that mattered was that it felt so good, right there.
The world exploded, sunlight behind my eyes, searing through me. I arched my back, incoherent words falling from my lips as I came, hot and sticky between us. Marcone's rhythm faltered and then he grabbed my hips, lifted and shifted our angles. He slowed down, a long, eternal glide out and then back in. Once, twice, just torturing himself, and then he slid in deep, fingers digging into my hips and came, short little jerks of his hips slapping against me.
We collapsed together, Marcone a lovely, comfortable weight against me, pinning me down. It felt good. Everything felt so good. Easy.
“Lovely. Don't you think?”
Marcone pushed himself up and then back, sliding out of me. I felt a whine in the back of my throat at the loss and the same part of me that had been going 'what the hell' was horrified. It wasn't a sound of pain, though that had started to come back as well. It was a whine of loss. Of need. I needed that feeling back, the feeling of being filled up. I needed it. That was enough. Something was wrong. Now that Marcone wasn't touching me everything hurt, every scrape and bruise and cut.
“It's sick.” Marcone rose, leaving me alone on the floor. I tried to roll over, to get my legs under me to rise, but Nic was there before the thought could become action, pressing one hand down on my chest, the other lightly touching something on my throat. The pains melted away again, as soon as he touched me, and light flowered inside of me, fluttering, warm and welcome, soothing as he touched the heavy thing around my throat.
“Sick? So judgmental for someone who deals drugs. Would you rather I allowed him to continue to rip himself apart?” Fingers stroked along the edges of the thing. It was smooth, leather maybe. It felt good. Everything did, though. Everything. “It's not permanent. He wouldn't be much good like this. A mindless slut. It is, however, a gentler way to break someone.”
I could hear Marcone moving somewhere in the room. Backing farther away. That wasn't good. I wanted him closer. I wanted touching. Nic was touching me, clothes scratchy as he knelt over me, pressed his body against me. My legs fell open, wider and wider. Inviting. I felt my hips rise up, and I didn't want to stop. This should never, never stop.
Fingers slipped into me and I was still open, wet. Two, three. I ground back onto them, gasping. Good, but not enough. I needed more. Nic laughed and pulled his fingers out. That was worse. I whimpered as he left, the rustle of clothes hitting the floor too loud, harsh. Then he was back, the head of his cock breaching me, filling me in one long, unstoppable thrust. I cried out. The vague feeling of discontent was gone. Everything was perfect again.
Things went blurry, lost in a warm, exquisite haze of pleasure. I wanted. It felt so good, so right. I felt it when Nic came, teeth digging into my neck beneath the collar. Then Marcone was there again, with Nic sliding up over my face, balls dangling there, inviting. I mouthed at them, licking, taking them in one at a time, pouring my happiness, my contentment into it. He came on my chest, the warmth of it a faint tingling sensation against the backdrop of pleasure. Strong, elegant hands moved through it, smearing his come around, rubbing it into my skin. I groaned around Nic and he pulled away, stood. Everything became even less distinct. There was only touch. Only feeling. I lost time, though I couldn't say how much. It didn't matter. Nothing did.
When I started to notice things again, I was alone on the floor. Nic stood beside me, smiling. Watching me. Marcone was kneeling in front of him, hands braced on Nic's thighs as he took him in, swallowing the man down to the root. I gasped, writhing a little. Things hurt again. I didn't want that. I wanted to feel good. I needed them. I needed them to make everything better. I reached out for them, fingers brushing against them.
Everything was stiff. Painful. And then it wasn't. Their skin drove it away.
“No more. Take it off of him.” Marcone looked up along Nic's body. I couldn't, couldn't touch them both as he rose and stepped back. Nic knelt down, giving me more contact. I wrapped around him. Grateful. The peace came back.
“Once more, John.” His hand ran down my spine and I pressed closer to him, trying to climb inside of him. Everything else had felt so wonderful, wouldn't that? “I want to see his belly swollen, filled with our seed. Our willing whore, just begging for more and more.” I purred. The image...I wanted it. It would make Nic happy, and that was good. Pleasure curled around me, radiating out from my collar.
“Please. Please.” My voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. I'd been screaming for hours. Marcone looked at me, then his eyes went to Nic's face.
He came back, took hold of my arms and pried me away from Nic. But that was okay, because that meant that he was touching me. That I could touch him. And I did. I licked, I bit, every touch against him sending pulses of happiness, of contentment and pleasure through me. More. I wanted more.
“Ride him.” Yes. Oh, yes. Nic's voice in my ear. A brilliant idea.
I pushed Marcone down and then I pinned his hips beneath my own, guiding myself down onto him, his passage made easy by the mixture of come that slowly dribbled out of me. I fucked myself on him, each thrust bright and shining, sending my mind spinning.
When Nic slid in behind me, then up beside Marcone, deep inside me, I screamed. It was good. They should always be touching me. Nothing else was as good. Would ever be so good. I rode Marcone and Nic followed me, thrusting at a counterpoint to my movements. Sometimes I was so full I could feel them in the back of my throat, but I was never empty. Never alone.
Time suspended itself. I would have been happy to stay in this in between place forever, where I was touched. Where pleasure and happiness rolled through me. But then I heard Nic licking something behind me. It sent a little stab of confusion through me. What was he doing...
His hand, slick and shiny with his own spit came up, slid over my mouth, thumb and finger pinching my nose shut. It was a warm, strange feeling. I still felt good, happiness pooling in my belly, but my body was starting to thrash, to move without meaning to. I shook my head, trying to dislodge Nic's hand, even though it was so good that he was touching me, but through the haze of pleasure, I knew that I wasn't getting any air. His wet hand had formed a seal, cutting me off. Nothing was getting through.
The golden haze started to pulse with red and black, but I couldn't stop. I kept fucking them, need driving me. It was all so good, even the pain growing in my chest, strong enough to make in through the warm feelings because I was touching. It was just something new, a new sensation.
Marcone was grunting under me, yelling, trying to push me off, but it didn't do any good. I had to finish. Nic was speaking, laughing, but nothing made any sense any longer. Only the drive to keep moving, to keep feeling good. I pressed on and on, fingers going numb, even the good feelings going distant, leaving me with only the burn of my chest, my throat. I fumbled at Nic's hand, even though I didn't mean to, and my mouth felt too small, my tongue pressing out, seeking. I tasted the sweat on Nic's palm and then there was nothing else.
~
Someone was shaking me. Pleasure radiated from their hands on my shoulders, lulling me back into the darkness. But the voice was demanding. They wanted me awake. That would make them happy, which made me happy. So I fought up, back into my own body.
“Finally. Harry, can you understand me?” I nodded and took Marcone's hand in mine, bringing it to my mouth, where I could lick at the back, the palm, then take his fingers into my mouth, one at a time. I was throbbing in discomfort, except where he touched me. I needed more.
“No. No more. Not until you speak. We don't have much time.” He pulled away, and I cried out, reaching for him. There was no rattle of chain. It was enough to distract me, at least for a few seconds. I looked at my wrists. Bare. He held up a tiny piece of bent metal that might have started it's life as a pin. It was so bent now it was impossible to tell. “Nicodemus will be back any minute. I picked the lock on the manacles. Can you use your magic now?”
I tried, reaching out with my mind. The magic answered, nearly as warm and good as the touch of Marcone's skin against my won.
“Yes.” My voice was awful.
“We need to get out of here. I can't find a seam or a lock on the collar, or I'd get that off too. I need you to concentrate and find a way out. We need to escape. Do you understand?” I looked at him, one hand rising to trace the collar around my throat. A warm pulse moved out of it as I did. I could trace the alien writing on it and each movement made my skin tighten.
“Escape?”
“Yes. We have to get away from Nicodemus. Can you think of anything?”
One thing sprang to mind. Shining and silver as I thought of it. It would let us escape, and that was what Marcone wanted. And a happy Marcone meant a happy me. That's all there was to it.
I whispered the spell burned into my mind years before by the shadow, Lash. Reality shifted, just a little, just in the air above my open palm, and a dirty, dented old coin dropped out of thin air to land in my hand. Fire burned up my arm, tightening the muscles and driving away the good feelings.
It spread through my body and I could feel the fuzzy magic pouring off of the collar around my throat. A compulsion. Strong. I lifted one hand and slipped two fingers between the skin of my throat and the collar. Power flashed out of me and the collar sizzled, a muffled snap of power and then split in two. I threw it at the wall and pushed away from Marcone, rising.
“Harry?”
“Don't worry, John.” My voice didn't sound right. Too light. The speech patterns off. A second voice, soft and feminine whispered in my head. I stopped worrying about the speech. We'd be sharing from now on. Might as well get used to it. “We'll be leaving shortly. I just need to have a little talk with Nicodemus. Do stay out of the way.”
~
I stood on the side of the hill, the Denarians' little hideaway burning behind me. Lasciel whispered in my inner ear, feeding me necessary information. She pushed the pain from my injuries back, out of my mind. We would worry about them later.
Marcone came up beside me, tucking another spare mag for one of his stolen guns into a pocket on his stolen pants.
“Ready?”
He nodded, and I spoke a word in a language that hadn't been heard in almost two thousand years. The Way opened before us and we stepped through.
O.O So did not expect this...
Hmm.... Why did Marcone agree to fuck Harry while Harry was like that? Is it because Nicodemus threaten him to hurt Harry even more?
Is there going to be a continuation to this? Harry did take up Lasciel's coin, this is probably going to have serious consequences from them both.
This part in particular was quite ominous: “We'll be leaving shortly. I just need to have a little talk with Nicodemus. Do stay out of the way.”
I hope Harry's relationship with Lasciel will be like Lash. I miss her.
Marcone's going to have to trend carefully with Harry. He's not exactly in the best state of mind right now. Not to mentioned his injuries.
Either way, I still love this fic. :D
Hmm.... Why did Marcone agree to fuck Harry while Harry was like that? Is it because Nicodemus threaten him to hurt Harry even more?
Is there going to be a continuation to this? Harry did take up Lasciel's coin, this is probably going to have serious consequences from them both.
This part in particular was quite ominous: “We'll be leaving shortly. I just need to have a little talk with Nicodemus. Do stay out of the way.”
I hope Harry's relationship with Lasciel will be like Lash. I miss her.
Marcone's going to have to trend carefully with Harry. He's not exactly in the best state of mind right now. Not to mentioned his injuries.
Either way, I still love this fic. :D
If you are a sick freak, then I'm right there with you because dear gods how did I not know I needed this until right now?
Re: List Of Why He/She Shouldn't NOT Fuck Harry Till He Begs For It
(Anonymous) 2011-02-18 05:26 am (UTC)(link)Dear OP: This does not include anybody actually giving in and fucking Harry. But I hope you kind of like it anyway?
Kincaid looked down and the piece of notepaper. Across the top of it said 'Reasons not to fuck Harry Dresden through nearest wall'.
Below that he had written: 1. Karrin might be pissed off.
2. But only if I break him.
3. ?
He was still staring at it several minutes later when Ivy drifted in to the room. Since puberty hit her with a vengeance, she had taken to moving around ghostlike in clouds of faded chiffon and Chantilly lace; as best Kincaid was able to determine, she had decided to milk the "creepy little girl" thing as long as possible by way of the Gothic Lolita look.
She paused, looking over Kincaid's shoulder at what he was writing. He grunted and covered it with a hand: they both knew it made no difference to what Ivy knew, but several years ago they had come to something of an agreement about pretending.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "It appears you haven't made very much progress on your list. Are you in need of assistance?" She smiled primly at his eloquent look in response. "I am a fourteen year old human female, yet possessed of almost unimaginable power. I have been expending a great deal of mental effort in reaffirming my conviction not to make unnecessary concessions to my awakening libido."
Kincaid squinted at her. "Uh, should I be giving you 'the talk' or something?" He'd never really figured it would be required, but this job had turned out to include a lot of things he hadn't expected.
Ivy rolled her eyes, and fluffed down into an armchair in a flounce of black lace. "Of course not. I merely wanted to make you aware that you were far from the first person to attempt such a list."
He laughed. "Yeah, I suppose throughout human history nearly everybody's descended to this level at least once, haven't they?"
"Yes, certainly," Ivy said, but then her eyes sparkled a bit. "Though I was referring specifically to such lists about Harry Dresden."
Kincaid felt a grin slowly stretching across his face. Of course he hadn't been the first. And somehow knowing there was at least another equally frustrated sod out there made him feel a lot better. He stretched out, dropped his pencil, and said, "Okay, you don't get to say something like that without sharing. Cough it up."
Ivy glanced up into thin air, and smiled slightly. "Which one?"
"What?"
"Which one would you like me to start with? For example, John Marcone maintains a decade-old, heavily encrypted database file, which requires its own designated data storage. It includes extensive cross-referencing, including dates, locations, and statistical and probabilistic simulations of a high degree of sophistication, as well as attached appendices and references including extensive surveillance files and a collection of scientific papers in the fields of biology, psychology and ethics."
She paused, then smiled. "Including Mr. Hendricks' latest. That's new. And delightful. He also keeps a shorter file on his personal organizer - at the moment an iPhone IV - which includes notes on items which need to be appended to the larger file. Right now, the most recent entries include 'car insurance recently redefined "act of God", did not budget for another rate increase', 'that T-shirt is utterly egregious, cannot fuck someone with such bad taste' and 'is a day ending in Y. Promised Hendricks.'"
Kincaid laughed uproariously. "Of course the creepy OCD bastard has a file like that. Okay, Ivy, you've officially made my day, I don't need you to recite the whole thing."
Ivy just grinned at him and continued. "Now, Karrin Murphy is considerably less well-organized in her personal life, but if you collate and concatenate everything she has ever written on the theme, it comes to nearly as much material, though with a much higher degree of redundancy. Among the most recently-repeated are 'it would take way too much work to train him up to standard', 'I need someone to visualize stabbing when I'm working on sword katas,' and 'suspicion always lands on the SO - much harder to get away with murdering him if I'm fucking him too.'
"Murphy's corpus also has a high degree of overlap with a list once made by Molly Carpenter, as well. I am particularly fond of the first three items, which are: '1. He's a controlling patronizing misogynistic bastard pig and I hate him. 2. Anyway I deserve better. 3. Also I bet he's really really lousy in bed, it would explain so much.'"
"...Ivy," Kincaid said. "How many of these lists are there?"
"Oh, lots!" she said brightly. "Although many of them are similar, it gets rather samey after awhile. A few of them stand out, though. Like the one Michael Carpenter used to carry around in his wallet that said only 'Charity would kill us both.' And then there's the two lines Charity Carpenter once wrote in the middle of a shopping list: '1. Michael would never go for that sort of thing. 2. It would take more than the two of us can give to fix what's wrong with Harry." She shrugged, and added, "Then she ended it with '3. Probably a lousy lay,' but I did say there was a lot of repetition. Knight Sanya's first list ended with 'If I gave in, would not be able to keep a secret from Carpenter family. Is not worth enduring the years of 'I told you so's.'"
"Both the Carpenters?" Kincaid said, impressed. He wouldn't have given them credit for that much creativity, although on reflection it was, well, fucking hot. He wondered in a moment of madness if Charity would consider making an exception for anyone other than Dresden...
"They do both have a great deal of admiration for him, and do not often have the opportunity to convince him of that fact. Although among admirers of Harry's I suspect Warden Ramirez meant his largely in jest," Ivy continued. "Or possibly was under a chemical influence when he wrote it - it contains long descriptions of his own predicted prowess and how Warden Dresden would be unable to survive the ecstasy, which would be a great loss for the White Council. Also that he is still holding out for the possibility of unicorns." She smirked. "And that Harry would probably be lousy in bed. Although I understand that despite the frequent repetition, that may be untrue. The lists made by Susan Rodriguez and Elaine Morgan, who are in the best positions to know for a fact, do not, though full of many responsible and well-considered arguments based mostly on practical and emotional concerns, include that particular item. Very much to the contrary, in fact." She raised her eyebrows.
"Okay, do Dresden and I have any mutual acquaintances who haven't had to talk themselves out of it?"
Ivy shrugged. "As many people have written, I believe 'there's just something about Dresden that makes you want to fuck him until he's begging for mercy.' Of course, I am only privy to the writings of humans. I cannot swear to the proclivities of any of our nonhuman acquaintances." She looked at him, sideways, "Was this of any help with your dilemma?"
And, yeah, oddly enough, it was. Kincaid's never been a guy to get tied up about the occasional casual fuck (or, at certain periods of his life, more than occasional), and there is just something about Dresden - Kincaid thinks it's the whole mouthy bottom thing he's got going on, he's practically daring everybody he meets to try to bring him to heel - but he's also old enough to know that sometimes a casual fuck isn't worth what you'd lose by it. So, you know, it's not like he's going to turn it down if the opportunity should arise, but he doesn't really need to talk himself out of doing something stupid any more. "Yeah," he told Ivy, "Thanks, you were a help." He stood up, dropping the abortive list into the rubbish bin, and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You're getting a lot better at that kind of thing, kid," he told her, and he could almost swear she blushed.
He didn't really think about it again until the next day, when he was doing some idle tidying and picked up a torn piece of paper that had drifted under Ivy's writing desk. It was her favorite purple notepaper, torn neatly in half. He didn't entirely mean to read it, but his eyes inadvertently skimmed it and caught on her assiduously neat glitter-pen handwriting. It was the very end of a list:
6. Despite his broad experience and very long life, he maintains some strangely anachronistic conceptions of 'honor', especially regarding women and dependents.
7. He will always, always see me first as a child.
He chuckled fondly to himself before he crumpled the page and dropped it in the rubbish to join his own effort. He supposed their conversation had gotten Ivy thinking - and even she wasn't immune to whatever it was about Dresden. She must have meant it about her awakening libido. It was hard to see her even now as anything but the little doll of a girl with an adult's world-weary knowledge, but yeah, when he thought about it, the curves were starting to get unmistakable. Well, there were worse people she could choose for a first crush, and she did seem to be thinking rationally about it.
It wasn't until he was lying in bed that night, considering sleep, that the first line in Ivy's list drifted across his mind's eye again, and it suddenly struck him that -- wide experience and notions of chivalry aside - Dresden hadn't lived a long life even by human standards, and the odds were growing exponentially against his making it to forty.
Which meant that Ivy's list couldn't have been about Dresden.
Which meant.
Oh shit.
Kincaid looked down and the piece of notepaper. Across the top of it said 'Reasons not to fuck Harry Dresden through nearest wall'.
Below that he had written: 1. Karrin might be pissed off.
2. But only if I break him.
3. ?
He was still staring at it several minutes later when Ivy drifted in to the room. Since puberty hit her with a vengeance, she had taken to moving around ghostlike in clouds of faded chiffon and Chantilly lace; as best Kincaid was able to determine, she had decided to milk the "creepy little girl" thing as long as possible by way of the Gothic Lolita look.
She paused, looking over Kincaid's shoulder at what he was writing. He grunted and covered it with a hand: they both knew it made no difference to what Ivy knew, but several years ago they had come to something of an agreement about pretending.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "It appears you haven't made very much progress on your list. Are you in need of assistance?" She smiled primly at his eloquent look in response. "I am a fourteen year old human female, yet possessed of almost unimaginable power. I have been expending a great deal of mental effort in reaffirming my conviction not to make unnecessary concessions to my awakening libido."
Kincaid squinted at her. "Uh, should I be giving you 'the talk' or something?" He'd never really figured it would be required, but this job had turned out to include a lot of things he hadn't expected.
Ivy rolled her eyes, and fluffed down into an armchair in a flounce of black lace. "Of course not. I merely wanted to make you aware that you were far from the first person to attempt such a list."
He laughed. "Yeah, I suppose throughout human history nearly everybody's descended to this level at least once, haven't they?"
"Yes, certainly," Ivy said, but then her eyes sparkled a bit. "Though I was referring specifically to such lists about Harry Dresden."
Kincaid felt a grin slowly stretching across his face. Of course he hadn't been the first. And somehow knowing there was at least another equally frustrated sod out there made him feel a lot better. He stretched out, dropped his pencil, and said, "Okay, you don't get to say something like that without sharing. Cough it up."
Ivy glanced up into thin air, and smiled slightly. "Which one?"
"What?"
"Which one would you like me to start with? For example, John Marcone maintains a decade-old, heavily encrypted database file, which requires its own designated data storage. It includes extensive cross-referencing, including dates, locations, and statistical and probabilistic simulations of a high degree of sophistication, as well as attached appendices and references including extensive surveillance files and a collection of scientific papers in the fields of biology, psychology and ethics."
She paused, then smiled. "Including Mr. Hendricks' latest. That's new. And delightful. He also keeps a shorter file on his personal organizer - at the moment an iPhone IV - which includes notes on items which need to be appended to the larger file. Right now, the most recent entries include 'car insurance recently redefined "act of God", did not budget for another rate increase', 'that T-shirt is utterly egregious, cannot fuck someone with such bad taste' and 'is a day ending in Y. Promised Hendricks.'"
Kincaid laughed uproariously. "Of course the creepy OCD bastard has a file like that. Okay, Ivy, you've officially made my day, I don't need you to recite the whole thing."
Ivy just grinned at him and continued. "Now, Karrin Murphy is considerably less well-organized in her personal life, but if you collate and concatenate everything she has ever written on the theme, it comes to nearly as much material, though with a much higher degree of redundancy. Among the most recently-repeated are 'it would take way too much work to train him up to standard', 'I need someone to visualize stabbing when I'm working on sword katas,' and 'suspicion always lands on the SO - much harder to get away with murdering him if I'm fucking him too.'
"Murphy's corpus also has a high degree of overlap with a list once made by Molly Carpenter, as well. I am particularly fond of the first three items, which are: '1. He's a controlling patronizing misogynistic bastard pig and I hate him. 2. Anyway I deserve better. 3. Also I bet he's really really lousy in bed, it would explain so much.'"
"...Ivy," Kincaid said. "How many of these lists are there?"
"Oh, lots!" she said brightly. "Although many of them are similar, it gets rather samey after awhile. A few of them stand out, though. Like the one Michael Carpenter used to carry around in his wallet that said only 'Charity would kill us both.' And then there's the two lines Charity Carpenter once wrote in the middle of a shopping list: '1. Michael would never go for that sort of thing. 2. It would take more than the two of us can give to fix what's wrong with Harry." She shrugged, and added, "Then she ended it with '3. Probably a lousy lay,' but I did say there was a lot of repetition. Knight Sanya's first list ended with 'If I gave in, would not be able to keep a secret from Carpenter family. Is not worth enduring the years of 'I told you so's.'"
"Both the Carpenters?" Kincaid said, impressed. He wouldn't have given them credit for that much creativity, although on reflection it was, well, fucking hot. He wondered in a moment of madness if Charity would consider making an exception for anyone other than Dresden...
"They do both have a great deal of admiration for him, and do not often have the opportunity to convince him of that fact. Although among admirers of Harry's I suspect Warden Ramirez meant his largely in jest," Ivy continued. "Or possibly was under a chemical influence when he wrote it - it contains long descriptions of his own predicted prowess and how Warden Dresden would be unable to survive the ecstasy, which would be a great loss for the White Council. Also that he is still holding out for the possibility of unicorns." She smirked. "And that Harry would probably be lousy in bed. Although I understand that despite the frequent repetition, that may be untrue. The lists made by Susan Rodriguez and Elaine Morgan, who are in the best positions to know for a fact, do not, though full of many responsible and well-considered arguments based mostly on practical and emotional concerns, include that particular item. Very much to the contrary, in fact." She raised her eyebrows.
"Okay, do Dresden and I have any mutual acquaintances who haven't had to talk themselves out of it?"
Ivy shrugged. "As many people have written, I believe 'there's just something about Dresden that makes you want to fuck him until he's begging for mercy.' Of course, I am only privy to the writings of humans. I cannot swear to the proclivities of any of our nonhuman acquaintances." She looked at him, sideways, "Was this of any help with your dilemma?"
And, yeah, oddly enough, it was. Kincaid's never been a guy to get tied up about the occasional casual fuck (or, at certain periods of his life, more than occasional), and there is just something about Dresden - Kincaid thinks it's the whole mouthy bottom thing he's got going on, he's practically daring everybody he meets to try to bring him to heel - but he's also old enough to know that sometimes a casual fuck isn't worth what you'd lose by it. So, you know, it's not like he's going to turn it down if the opportunity should arise, but he doesn't really need to talk himself out of doing something stupid any more. "Yeah," he told Ivy, "Thanks, you were a help." He stood up, dropping the abortive list into the rubbish bin, and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You're getting a lot better at that kind of thing, kid," he told her, and he could almost swear she blushed.
He didn't really think about it again until the next day, when he was doing some idle tidying and picked up a torn piece of paper that had drifted under Ivy's writing desk. It was her favorite purple notepaper, torn neatly in half. He didn't entirely mean to read it, but his eyes inadvertently skimmed it and caught on her assiduously neat glitter-pen handwriting. It was the very end of a list:
6. Despite his broad experience and very long life, he maintains some strangely anachronistic conceptions of 'honor', especially regarding women and dependents.
7. He will always, always see me first as a child.
He chuckled fondly to himself before he crumpled the page and dropped it in the rubbish to join his own effort. He supposed their conversation had gotten Ivy thinking - and even she wasn't immune to whatever it was about Dresden. She must have meant it about her awakening libido. It was hard to see her even now as anything but the little doll of a girl with an adult's world-weary knowledge, but yeah, when he thought about it, the curves were starting to get unmistakable. Well, there were worse people she could choose for a first crush, and she did seem to be thinking rationally about it.
It wasn't until he was lying in bed that night, considering sleep, that the first line in Ivy's list drifted across his mind's eye again, and it suddenly struck him that -- wide experience and notions of chivalry aside - Dresden hadn't lived a long life even by human standards, and the odds were growing exponentially against his making it to forty.
Which meant that Ivy's list couldn't have been about Dresden.
Which meant.
Oh shit.
Re: List Of Why He/She Shouldn't NOT Fuck Harry Till He Begs For It
(Anonymous) 2011-02-18 05:37 am (UTC)(link)Which meant that Ivy's list couldn't have been about Dresden.
Which meant.
Oh shit.
So in love with this. So in love. If you ever feel so compelled to write a sequel with Kincaid dealing with this, I would encourage such an endeavor.
Can't commenting properly now. Too busy LOL-ing. 8D
How could I forget that Ivy has access to all the Harry's Lists ever. :D
How could I forget that Ivy has access to all the Harry's Lists ever. :D
Re: List Of Why He/She Shouldn't NOT Fuck Harry Till He Begs For It
(Anonymous) 2011-02-18 05:54 am (UTC)(link)This is so great.
Got to love Hendricks...have always wanted to see him in action during his quest for higher education. Wish I had had a few classes with him. And I have to say in the past I have wikipedied many people and Nietzche was one of them.
Re: List Of Why He/She Shouldn't NOT Fuck Harry Till He Begs For It
(Anonymous) 2011-02-18 06:19 am (UTC)(link)ILU.
So fucking much.
So fucking much.
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