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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Fill 1/?
Date: 2011-03-22 12:29 am (UTC)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.