Sorry, authoranon, but this anon was just too goddamn inspired by that fill.
every time you close your eyes, lies, lies
Harry took a cold shower and went to bed.
And he dreamed.
+
He was running through Chicago streets, hounds on his heels. His strength was failing, his magic spent. This was it, he was going to die. He could have laughed. This was when his luck ran out? Disappointing.
A black sedan looked like a majestic chariot when you were that desperate. It followed him, the window rolling down. "Dresden!" The door opens, the sedan slows just enough for Harry to kick off the ground and be pulled into the backseat. The car guns forward, the momentum slamming the door shut behind him.
He's breathing hard, back against Marcone's chest, slumped down. His limbs feel hollow and unresponsive, his heart can't get his blood flowing fast enough. Harry's waiting for his body to respond so he can get off the Baron of the city.
He can't catch his breath.
He hears Marcone chuckle in his ear. And strong arms wrap around him from behind, one over his chest to grasp his shoulder, one around his waist, and he's not going anywhere. "Stay a while, Mr. Dresden." The Baron's lips press against the side of his neck. "Harry."
The hand on his waist rucks up his shirt, spreading wide and hot over the skin of his belly. Then his belt's undone and Marcone's got his pants loosened and that hand slides down under everything.
Harry jerks and tries to move, but Marcone's hand is calloused and rough and stroking him and it feels so good. He can't do this, can't arch into Marcone's hand like he's just that easy. But the backseat is cramped and his legs are bent awkwardly enough he can't brace himself to move. The grip on his shoulder is holding him down and Marcone's licking up his neck like he's tasting him, and he can't move away.
+
He was three sheets to the wind and raging about... something when Michael found him. The former Fist of God got him out and into his truck and took him home.
To the Carpenter home. Because Harry didn't have his own anymore.
Remembering that just made it all hurt more. Harry moaned about his Knighthood when Michael dragged him out of the truck. He whined about losing his home as Michael got him inside. He sobbed a little bit about losing Susan as Charity stepped up behind him and started to help Michael wrestle him out of his duster and boots. He was guided into a room upstairs, pushed down on a bed as he talked about having Maggie in his arms-- having family and having to let it go.
Charity took his face in her hands. "You have family, Harry Dresden," she said in that commanding tone she used to reign over her household. Then she kissed him.
He was so startled by the dance of her tongue in her mouth, tipsy and confused. "What--" he managed before Michael leaned in, tilted his head to the side, and took his mouth too.
It all blurred together, how they pressed against him and whispered reassurances and platitudes to him until his sorrow eased and desire took its place.
They got him on his knees, over Charity, with her back to the headboard and his legs spread wide over her. She held his hips still while Michael curled up behind him. He held the headboard, holding his own weight-- he had too, his body still weak from what happened, something else that was Harry's fault. Harry gasped, ducking his head and pleading, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, forgive me, Michael, please--"
Michael and Charity moved together. She pushed him back as Michael moved forward, and Harry bit down a shocked scream. Michael's dick was in him, slick but not so much it didn't burn a bit. Harry shook, gasping for air until Michael was bottomed out and he sagged forward, head on Charity's breasts. Soft, he thought, then Michael was moving and it was all he could do not to cry out. "Oh god, oh god..."
Charity laughed, throaty and rich. "Even here, you take His name in vain?" She was full of humor and warmth beneath him, steadying him. Then moving him, and a moment of repositioning later and he was being pressed into her, wet and hot.
Harry moaned and let himself be pushed deeper into her by Michael. "Wait, I'm not wearing--"
She kissed his cheek as her husband kissed his shoulder, so chaste and sweet considering he was being fucked between them. "Relax, Harry," Michael said, voice coarse and rough. "Let us take care of you."
Harry shut his eyes and did.
+
She was a queen to rival the Faerie, sitting on her throne regal and wise.
And naked.
Lara held out a hand and Harry felt the force of her power hit him. It drew out his lust, made his head swim with possibility and want. "Come here," she bade him, voice thick with hunger.
He stepped forward, up to her throne.
"Kneel," she ordered.
He fell to his knees between her legs. They were spread wide, and her ass sat on the edge of the seat. She was open and waiting for him.
Lara ran a hand through his hair. "Do you want me?"
He looked up at her, eyes darkening as more and more lust built in him under her ministrations. "Yes."
"Then take me," she demanded, sending compelling power through him, setting his body afire with want.
He practically fell forward, burying himself against her. He groaned at the first taste, licking broad against her folds. Her legs quivered as she sighed, deep and pleased, and her hand petting his head. His obedience was rewarded with more heat flooding his veins.
As if he needed the encouragement. Having Lara gasp and sigh above him and wrap her legs around him to keep him there, locked in the heat and wetness... He loved it. He just wanted to stay there and serve her and drink in her sharpening cries.
Just serve her and forget.
+
Marcone bound him. His ankles to the legs of the desk, leaving him spread wide. His wrists together behind his back. The chain connected to the collar around his neck to the desk beneath him.
His body in the circle around Marcone's desk. Because of course he had a concealed gold ring around his desk, ready to seal anyone out.
Or to keep a wizard in.
The circle snapped up around them, sealing in the Knight's calls to his Queen. And no one was around to hear him call out.
Except for Marcone, who ran a hand down his spine, traced a lazy spiral with one finger over one cheek. Who pinched Harry's skin, making him yelp. "You should have come to me, you know," he said like Harry was spread out on his desk, like a trapped animal being stalked by a tiger. "Instead of that Faerie Queen." His hands vanished and Harry struggled to look back at him, to see where he went. "You would have been better off with me."
The collar kept Harry in place and Marcone moved like a silent predator. He jerked in surprise at the finger, slick and pressing teasingly against his ass. Fought for a moment, but to get away or get closer, Harry wasn't sure.
Marcone rubbed the small of his back soothingly as he pushed in, worked Harry open on one finger, then two, then three until Harry squirmed and begged. "John, John, come on, oh fuck..."
Marcone pulled his fingers out, ignoring Harry's keening cry at their loss. "You should have come to me."
"I know, John, I know," Harry babbled.
"You should have been mine," he growled, suddenly spread over Harry's back, pushing him down hard on the desk. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes."
"Then say please."
Harry shuddered and whispered, "Please." Then he said nothing coherent at all as Marcone seized his hips and fucked him.
+
It was almost two hot to lie there pressed between Michael and Charity. He was too far gone to move on his own though. He let them position him as they wanted. He lay on his side, Michael against his back, Charity in front of him.
His head rested on her bust, the slowing beat of her heart comforting under his ear. She carded his hair, ran her thumb over his brow.
Michael had one strong arm over both of them sandwiching everyone together. Over Harry's head, he kissed his wife, then the top of Harry's head. Harry just exhaled softly, unable to do anything else. "Stay here, Harry. Let yourself have this," he said quietly in the dark.
Harry couldn't move and didn't want to.
+
His mouth was slick from her even now. She pulled him to his feet, pushed him onto the throne, and mounted him. She rode him fast and hard, pinned his hands to the armrests, poured more and more lust and fire into his body. It was wild and he just took it, or rather let her take it. She drank from him like he had from her, feeding her hunger.
There was a masculine chuckle to his left and Harry wearily tipped his head to the side to see Thomas watching, eyes bright with amusement.
"See, little brother? I told you. They all want you."
Harry nodded sleepily. "I know. But I want them too."
Different anon, spin-off fill
every time you close your eyes, lies, lies
Harry took a cold shower and went to bed.
And he dreamed.
+
He was running through Chicago streets, hounds on his heels. His strength was failing, his magic spent. This was it, he was going to die. He could have laughed. This was when his luck ran out? Disappointing.
A black sedan looked like a majestic chariot when you were that desperate. It followed him, the window rolling down. "Dresden!" The door opens, the sedan slows just enough for Harry to kick off the ground and be pulled into the backseat. The car guns forward, the momentum slamming the door shut behind him.
He's breathing hard, back against Marcone's chest, slumped down. His limbs feel hollow and unresponsive, his heart can't get his blood flowing fast enough. Harry's waiting for his body to respond so he can get off the Baron of the city.
He can't catch his breath.
He hears Marcone chuckle in his ear. And strong arms wrap around him from behind, one over his chest to grasp his shoulder, one around his waist, and he's not going anywhere. "Stay a while, Mr. Dresden." The Baron's lips press against the side of his neck. "Harry."
The hand on his waist rucks up his shirt, spreading wide and hot over the skin of his belly. Then his belt's undone and Marcone's got his pants loosened and that hand slides down under everything.
Harry jerks and tries to move, but Marcone's hand is calloused and rough and stroking him and it feels so good. He can't do this, can't arch into Marcone's hand like he's just that easy. But the backseat is cramped and his legs are bent awkwardly enough he can't brace himself to move. The grip on his shoulder is holding him down and Marcone's licking up his neck like he's tasting him, and he can't move away.
+
He was three sheets to the wind and raging about... something when Michael found him. The former Fist of God got him out and into his truck and took him home.
To the Carpenter home. Because Harry didn't have his own anymore.
Remembering that just made it all hurt more. Harry moaned about his Knighthood when Michael dragged him out of the truck. He whined about losing his home as Michael got him inside. He sobbed a little bit about losing Susan as Charity stepped up behind him and started to help Michael wrestle him out of his duster and boots. He was guided into a room upstairs, pushed down on a bed as he talked about having Maggie in his arms-- having family and having to let it go.
Charity took his face in her hands. "You have family, Harry Dresden," she said in that commanding tone she used to reign over her household. Then she kissed him.
He was so startled by the dance of her tongue in her mouth, tipsy and confused. "What--" he managed before Michael leaned in, tilted his head to the side, and took his mouth too.
It all blurred together, how they pressed against him and whispered reassurances and platitudes to him until his sorrow eased and desire took its place.
They got him on his knees, over Charity, with her back to the headboard and his legs spread wide over her. She held his hips still while Michael curled up behind him. He held the headboard, holding his own weight-- he had too, his body still weak from what happened, something else that was Harry's fault. Harry gasped, ducking his head and pleading, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, forgive me, Michael, please--"
Michael and Charity moved together. She pushed him back as Michael moved forward, and Harry bit down a shocked scream. Michael's dick was in him, slick but not so much it didn't burn a bit. Harry shook, gasping for air until Michael was bottomed out and he sagged forward, head on Charity's breasts. Soft, he thought, then Michael was moving and it was all he could do not to cry out. "Oh god, oh god..."
Charity laughed, throaty and rich. "Even here, you take His name in vain?" She was full of humor and warmth beneath him, steadying him. Then moving him, and a moment of repositioning later and he was being pressed into her, wet and hot.
Harry moaned and let himself be pushed deeper into her by Michael. "Wait, I'm not wearing--"
She kissed his cheek as her husband kissed his shoulder, so chaste and sweet considering he was being fucked between them. "Relax, Harry," Michael said, voice coarse and rough. "Let us take care of you."
Harry shut his eyes and did.
+
She was a queen to rival the Faerie, sitting on her throne regal and wise.
And naked.
Lara held out a hand and Harry felt the force of her power hit him. It drew out his lust, made his head swim with possibility and want. "Come here," she bade him, voice thick with hunger.
He stepped forward, up to her throne.
"Kneel," she ordered.
He fell to his knees between her legs. They were spread wide, and her ass sat on the edge of the seat. She was open and waiting for him.
Lara ran a hand through his hair. "Do you want me?"
He looked up at her, eyes darkening as more and more lust built in him under her ministrations. "Yes."
"Then take me," she demanded, sending compelling power through him, setting his body afire with want.
He practically fell forward, burying himself against her. He groaned at the first taste, licking broad against her folds. Her legs quivered as she sighed, deep and pleased, and her hand petting his head. His obedience was rewarded with more heat flooding his veins.
As if he needed the encouragement. Having Lara gasp and sigh above him and wrap her legs around him to keep him there, locked in the heat and wetness... He loved it. He just wanted to stay there and serve her and drink in her sharpening cries.
Just serve her and forget.
+
Marcone bound him. His ankles to the legs of the desk, leaving him spread wide. His wrists together behind his back. The chain connected to the collar around his neck to the desk beneath him.
His body in the circle around Marcone's desk. Because of course he had a concealed gold ring around his desk, ready to seal anyone out.
Or to keep a wizard in.
The circle snapped up around them, sealing in the Knight's calls to his Queen. And no one was around to hear him call out.
Except for Marcone, who ran a hand down his spine, traced a lazy spiral with one finger over one cheek. Who pinched Harry's skin, making him yelp. "You should have come to me, you know," he said like Harry was spread out on his desk, like a trapped animal being stalked by a tiger. "Instead of that Faerie Queen." His hands vanished and Harry struggled to look back at him, to see where he went. "You would have been better off with me."
The collar kept Harry in place and Marcone moved like a silent predator. He jerked in surprise at the finger, slick and pressing teasingly against his ass. Fought for a moment, but to get away or get closer, Harry wasn't sure.
Marcone rubbed the small of his back soothingly as he pushed in, worked Harry open on one finger, then two, then three until Harry squirmed and begged. "John, John, come on, oh fuck..."
Marcone pulled his fingers out, ignoring Harry's keening cry at their loss. "You should have come to me."
"I know, John, I know," Harry babbled.
"You should have been mine," he growled, suddenly spread over Harry's back, pushing him down hard on the desk. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes."
"Then say please."
Harry shuddered and whispered, "Please." Then he said nothing coherent at all as Marcone seized his hips and fucked him.
+
It was almost two hot to lie there pressed between Michael and Charity. He was too far gone to move on his own though. He let them position him as they wanted. He lay on his side, Michael against his back, Charity in front of him.
His head rested on her bust, the slowing beat of her heart comforting under his ear. She carded his hair, ran her thumb over his brow.
Michael had one strong arm over both of them sandwiching everyone together. Over Harry's head, he kissed his wife, then the top of Harry's head. Harry just exhaled softly, unable to do anything else. "Stay here, Harry. Let yourself have this," he said quietly in the dark.
Harry couldn't move and didn't want to.
+
His mouth was slick from her even now. She pulled him to his feet, pushed him onto the throne, and mounted him. She rode him fast and hard, pinned his hands to the armrests, poured more and more lust and fire into his body. It was wild and he just took it, or rather let her take it. She drank from him like he had from her, feeding her hunger.
There was a masculine chuckle to his left and Harry wearily tipped his head to the side to see Thomas watching, eyes bright with amusement.
"See, little brother? I told you. They all want you."
Harry nodded sleepily. "I know. But I want them too."