John went for Harry’s belt, watching his eyes in the mirror. He saw it coming, but he still wasn’t quite prepared. Harry had fought before, but now he went crazy. The gun had worried him, the whole scenario had unsettled him, but it was only with John’s fingers on the snap of his jeans that he panicked.
John lost control of him, regained it, lost it again. He threw his entire weight over Harry, pinned his arms at the elbows, rode it out.
“I take it back,” he said, and ground his hips. “Keep fighting. I like it.”
Harry went quiescent again, trapped by his own perversity. He quivered for a silent minute, unable to stop fighting, unwilling to please John.
John let him stew, then bent and licked him once, slow and wet, up the side of his neck. Just to show he could. Harry flinched from him, vocalizing an inarticulate sound of refusal.
“Mmm,” John said, savoring the salty flavor of his sweat like it was better for having been stolen.
He went back to Harry’s belt, popped the button of his jeans, unzipped him slowly. Harry kept tensing under him, his breath coming loud and fast. John got his jeans down to his thighs one-handed. He put the other hand around Harry’s throat again. It was an awkward stretch, but he was going to need the control hold.
And indeed, Harry erupted again as soon as John slipped a finger under the waistband of his shorts.
John put a stop to that with a few seconds of firm pressure on his carotid. Harry slumped under him when he let up, panting and clearly dizzy.
“You’re a bastard, Marcone,” he said hoarsely. “You’re a bastard for doing this to me.”
“I know,” John said, and eased his shorts down, a little at a time, teasing himself. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t care.”
“You are an animal,” Harry said. “You’re a monster, you—"
Something clicked in John’s head, and suddenly he was locked in. He’d been playing it carefully, analyzing everything Harry said on multiple tracks, like listening to two different songs, one in each ear. There was the real thing, and there was the story they had wordlessly agreed on.
But suddenly John was in the story, breathing it. He had Harry Dresden stripped and helpless under him. Dresden, who had sneered at him for years, mocked and disdained him, owned him from the balls out without ever fucking trying. Or deigning to notice, the self-righteous careless presumptuous bastard.
And who, to this day, made John fight him to the mat for every intimacy, for the tiniest concession, even one Harry wanted to give. He made John dance to his tune, beg in all but fact, jump through hoops like a fucking show dog.
For once, John was going to take what he wanted. No caution, no consequences, no patience, no negotiations.
He spread Harry open with one-hand, easing back for a long look. Harry coiled up, as if the mere touch of John’s eyes was a deeper invasion than he could stand. John looked at the flushed skin inside his crack, the scattering of dark hairs, his hole.
“I will never forgive you for this,” Harry said.
That almost stopped John. Outside the story, yes, but more shockingly inside it, too. But Harry could still make him stop, and still wasn’t doing it. And John was done waiting for permission that would never come. What Harry wanted was irrelevant; John was going to get satisfaction from him at last.
He had a tube of slick ready in his pocket, along with the spare zip ties and a few other emergency supplies. He wet his fingers quickly, then spread Harry open again, leaving slick fingerprints. He tapped Harry’s hole once, just to watch him flinch. Then he squeezed warningly at Harry’s throat, and pushed a finger into him.
Harry tipped his head down, denying John his face in the mirror. He pressed his cheek to the couch. He seemed to be locking up, his body going tense as stone, his jaw clenched. John forced a second slick finger into him, just to get a reaction. Harry twisted away, then froze up. But he couldn’t stop the sounds escaping his clenched mouth.
“Relax,” John said, pressing his fingers deep and wriggling them. “You never know, you might enjoy it.”
“Fuck you,” Harry snarled.
John smiled to himself, obscurely pleased. He sunk his fingers deep one more time, a bit breathless at the heat and the pressure. That was going to feel incredible on his dick.
He let go of Harry’s throat and planted that hand in the middle of his back instead, holding him down. He slicked his dick with the other. Not a lot, just enough to keep the friction from actually hurting him.
He spread Harry open again, watching goose flesh ripple up the insides of his thighs. “Ready?” he said solicitously, just to make Harry tense up that little bit more.
Harry did. John had to work to get the head of his dick in, pressing forward, unrelenting. He grunted in satisfaction when it finally happened, sinking deep past the resistance.
“Oh fuck,” Harry said, voice cracking. But he didn’t stop struggling. He clenched, trying to force John out even as he worked deeper.
John let himself groan, more vocal in his enjoyment than usual. “Go on,” he said. “Keep fighting. It just makes you tighter.”
“You bastard,” Harry said, voice fracturing as he repeated himself. He went passive again, fighting the one way left to him. John could feel him trying to control his breathing, trying to relax.
John didn’t want that. He pulled most of the way out, thrust deep again, hard enough to force the breath out of both of them. “Fuck,” John said. He circled his hips, feeling Harry move under him, helplessly responding as John stretched him wider. “Yeah,” John said, talking more than he usually would just to have his voice in Harry’s ears. “That’s what I want.” He thrust again, grunting with effort. It was so good: the sweet tension around his dick, Harry’s little involuntary movements away, how he had nowhere to go after but to push back onto John.
Harry lifted his head again. His face was wrecked, his lips pulled back to show his teeth. “I’m going to kill you for this,” he said to the shadow shape in the mirror.
John thrust involuntarily, a charge crackling low down in his pelvis. “Threaten me again,” he said. “Though really, if you want me to fuck your mouth, you can just come out and say it.” He let his eyes drift half shut, imagining it. One hand in Dresden’s hair, the other holding his mouth open for John’s dick, feeding it to him until he could feel Dresden’s throat working around him.
Harry’s eyes narrowed in the mirror, and he snapped his teeth. “Try it, asshole,” he said.
John laughed again, thrilled by this defiance. He pulled half out, and on a whim slapped Harry once, high up on his right thigh. Harry squeaked, jolting.
“Nice,” John said, pushing deep through his sudden clench release, clench release. He did it again, loving the way Harry couldn’t control his response fast enough, his involuntary jerks and noises.
He pulled out all the way, wanting a little more room to work. He slapped harder that time, leaving a flushing handprint across Harry’s skin, and then one the other direction, and a third crossing them both. Harry seemed to be done pretending not to feel anything; he bucked and yelled, kicking again. John leaned his weight onto the hand in the middle of Harry’s back, holding him down and slapping him twice more, left right. He pushed back in fast enough to enjoy the echoes of Harry’s reaction. Harry was quivering under him, jerking away from every thrust like his skin was too sensitized to even bear the brush of John’s.
And suddenly John was done playing around. He planted his feet, yanked Harry’s hips up, and fucked him. No more games, no more tricks to get him to react, just the hard push of his hips and the perfect friction on his dick. He loved everything about it, the sound of their skin slapping, the way Harry’s back shifted as he responded and controlled himself, moved and froze up again.
Harry dropped his face into the cushions. His biceps flexed, fighting the tangle of his shirt and the inescapable zip tie underneath.
John held his hip for a minute, keeping him tilted up and off-balance. But he couldn’t really get enough leverage, so eventually he shoved Harry back down, bracing his hips over the arm of the couch and fucking him deep.
And Harry . . . arched. There was no other word for it. He controlled it fast, but John was on him – John was in him.
John froze. Harry froze.
“Well, well, well,” John said. He felt a slow smile splitting his face. He pulled Harry’s hips up again, snaked a curious hand underneath.
“No!” Harry blurted, shoving awkwardly up onto his bound elbows.
John ignored him. He thought he knew, but he had to be sure.
Harry was hard; more than that, Harry was desperate. Just the brush of John’s fingers made him gasp, a shiver seizing him. When John took him in hand, he howled.
“Oh,” John said, savagely delighted. “Dresden. What did it, was it when I slapped you around, or is it how I’m fucking you?” Harry was silent, face hidden. John grabbed him by the hair, forced his head up. “Answer me,” he demanded.
Harry was flushed bright red, face twisted in humiliation. “No,” he said.
John stroked him, hand gripping too tight. Harry whined between his teeth, pained and frantically trying not to let his body react.
“No?” John said.
“No,” Harry snarled. “Fuck you, no!”
John leaned over him. He licked Harry’s neck again, then bit him, sucking hard to leave a mark. “The next time I see you, we’re both going to know,” he said into Harry’s ear.
Harry yanked his hair out of John’s fingers, losing a few strands in the process. “You can’t make me,” he said.
John stroked him again, thrust his dick as deep as it would go and ground his hips. “Yes I can,” he said certainly.
Harry hid his face again, and John let him this time. He fucked Harry roughly, inconsiderate of his prostate or his preferred angles. And at the same time he jerked him off. He gripped tight, so dry that he knew it hurt. Harry writhed, trying desperately to get away from John’s hand and only managing to push back into his thrusts. He shook his head, pounding his bound hands into the cushions.
“No,” he said, again and again. “No no no.” It wasn’t defiant anymore.
“I can make you,” John said over him. “I can do anything I want to you.”
Harry went silent and still, whittled down to his last defenses. John tightened his grip, jerking his wrist until his hand burned with the friction and Harry’s dick must be on fire.
Harry’s breath hitched when he came. His hips bucked involuntarily. John fucked him harder, jerking him through it. He kept going even as Harry’s dick softened, stroking him wetly until Harry’s sub vocal whine rose to a desperate plea for him to stop. John kept at him for another five seconds, squeezing the sensitive head of his dick and fucking him hard, loving the way he shook and flinched, over stimulated to the point of pain.
He let Harry go at last, and reached up to slick a bit of the wetness in his palm across Harry’s mouth. “Good boy,” he said.
One of the best parts of this story is that the John POV fools you into thinking John is mentally stable and all the crazy is Harry's. And then... that's just not true.
That should be on a fucking leaflet on How To Write John Marcone. You will have succeeded when his POV makes it seem like he's the only stable man in an insane world.
I think the only other vital piece of advice is to remember he is a good man who is a black hat. He made himself into a monster by his own choice because he'd be better than the other monsters.
Also, I think it's important he believes his own press. He has to think of himself as a monster, even if he's not acting particularly monstrous. I imagine it like a mask he wear that he pretends is his real face.
Linking back to his relationship with Dresden- not necessarily in fanon, I think this stands up in canon- I rather think he actually envies Harry, because Harry actually has the power to follow through on idealistically-charged decisions, and thus, Harry is not a monster, even though the situations they face are quite similar sometimes. Marcone has to compromise with reality and make sacrifices, whereas Harry, I'm not saying he doesn't have to, but he does have more freedom on that count.
Agreed an insane amount. In fact, I think his calm attitude abotu Harry's death in Aftermath was a massive act. Marcone is bound to Chicago and Harry was a large part of Chicago's safety. He handled things Marcone couldn't. I think Marcone was, under his mask, very... disappointed in Harry's death.
And I know he must've set out to hunt down whoever killed Harry to get revenge. He'd claim it was about territory, but...
Disappointment, precisely; there was the loss itself, the danger to the city, but I think there would be a sort of personal bitterness about his death, because it would serve as a sort of proof to Marcone, it didn't work. His way of life didn't work. What he believed in got him killed... the good in the world he believed in and fought for betrayed him.
Harry's way of dealing with things is so completely different from Marcone's- I mean, he doesn't compromise. Or tries really hard not to, and for most part he gets away with it. And Marcone, watching him, must have felt a sort of wonder, this man is actually fighting evil in ways that I can't manage, and he gets away with minimal sacrifices. It actually works. And it must have given him a sense of optimism, and perhaps fascination. And I think he must have been let down, personally, when it didn't go right for Harry, who had been becoming this very private mascot.
FUCK. Oh... God. Ok, you keep reducing me to inarticulate cursing and flailing and Jesus Christ, that part where it suddenly clicks for Marcone, where their real relationship dynamics play into the narrative... fuck.
Okay, so I write. I try to write. And I can slap together words and match together my singulars and plurals, which in my neighborhood passes for writing. And I suppose I try, in that distracted on-and-off way of not-quite-teenagers-anymore trying to find something that works in life...
...and then I run into something like this and I have to stop, because there are so many things going on at once- it's unbelievably hot, yeah, but there are also character-y things going on down that, wow. I mean, I'll have to print this out and making a damn flow sheet to really figure out how everything's working out, and even then I don't think I'll understand. Like a scientist poking at the human genome, saying, okay, T is next to A here, I get it, but what does it mean? How did this happen?
Admiration. So much of it. There's this range of writing about sex; on one end is badly written "two reasonable characters with actual personalities have sex and are turned into porn actors until they stop fucking and turn back into human beings again', and the other is, they're still people when they get it on, and they drag all their issues into it, their quirks and likes and dislikes and desires... and you went so deep into that end that it didn't even feel remotely like porn.
There are *no words* for this fill. None. It's...I feel like we should be framing it, or offering it sacrifices or something.
The best part, the best part is that you *forget* how utterly, quietly off his freaking rocker Marcone is because it's his head and it all makes sense in there. And then something reminds you that, hey, this ain't 'normal'.
I can't read noncon - not a trigger, just a squick, but this. This. Every once in a while I started to get creeped out in a bad way and knocked out of the story and than I came back to 'no, there's still consent' and holy shit, how do you write something like this it is so amazing.
Pretty sure that was incoherent, but this is what your fic drives me to.
I'm completely blown away by this fill. I mean, when I posted the request, I didn't even dare hope that someone would fill it, with the kink being as unpopular as it is.
But no. You fill it and you write with such clear insight into the character dynamics, with characterization so brilliant...I don't know how to express adequately in words how awesome this is.
And now. I'm scheduling couple's therapy for Harry and John.
I feel like this has rewired my brain. This is so tightly written that nothing is extraneous, everything is part of the fibre of the story, down to the commas.
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Fill (6/?)
John lost control of him, regained it, lost it again. He threw his entire weight over Harry, pinned his arms at the elbows, rode it out.
“I take it back,” he said, and ground his hips. “Keep fighting. I like it.”
Harry went quiescent again, trapped by his own perversity. He quivered for a silent minute, unable to stop fighting, unwilling to please John.
John let him stew, then bent and licked him once, slow and wet, up the side of his neck. Just to show he could. Harry flinched from him, vocalizing an inarticulate sound of refusal.
“Mmm,” John said, savoring the salty flavor of his sweat like it was better for having been stolen.
He went back to Harry’s belt, popped the button of his jeans, unzipped him slowly. Harry kept tensing under him, his breath coming loud and fast. John got his jeans down to his thighs one-handed. He put the other hand around Harry’s throat again. It was an awkward stretch, but he was going to need the control hold.
And indeed, Harry erupted again as soon as John slipped a finger under the waistband of his shorts.
John put a stop to that with a few seconds of firm pressure on his carotid. Harry slumped under him when he let up, panting and clearly dizzy.
“You’re a bastard, Marcone,” he said hoarsely. “You’re a bastard for doing this to me.”
“I know,” John said, and eased his shorts down, a little at a time, teasing himself. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t care.”
“You are an animal,” Harry said. “You’re a monster, you—"
Something clicked in John’s head, and suddenly he was locked in. He’d been playing it carefully, analyzing everything Harry said on multiple tracks, like listening to two different songs, one in each ear. There was the real thing, and there was the story they had wordlessly agreed on.
But suddenly John was in the story, breathing it. He had Harry Dresden stripped and helpless under him. Dresden, who had sneered at him for years, mocked and disdained him, owned him from the balls out without ever fucking trying. Or deigning to notice, the self-righteous careless presumptuous bastard.
And who, to this day, made John fight him to the mat for every intimacy, for the tiniest concession, even one Harry wanted to give. He made John dance to his tune, beg in all but fact, jump through hoops like a fucking show dog.
For once, John was going to take what he wanted. No caution, no consequences, no patience, no negotiations.
He spread Harry open with one-hand, easing back for a long look. Harry coiled up, as if the mere touch of John’s eyes was a deeper invasion than he could stand. John looked at the flushed skin inside his crack, the scattering of dark hairs, his hole.
“I will never forgive you for this,” Harry said.
That almost stopped John. Outside the story, yes, but more shockingly inside it, too. But Harry could still make him stop, and still wasn’t doing it. And John was done waiting for permission that would never come. What Harry wanted was irrelevant; John was going to get satisfaction from him at last.
He had a tube of slick ready in his pocket, along with the spare zip ties and a few other emergency supplies. He wet his fingers quickly, then spread Harry open again, leaving slick fingerprints. He tapped Harry’s hole once, just to watch him flinch. Then he squeezed warningly at Harry’s throat, and pushed a finger into him.
Harry tipped his head down, denying John his face in the mirror. He pressed his cheek to the couch. He seemed to be locking up, his body going tense as stone, his jaw clenched. John forced a second slick finger into him, just to get a reaction. Harry twisted away, then froze up. But he couldn’t stop the sounds escaping his clenched mouth.
“Relax,” John said, pressing his fingers deep and wriggling them. “You never know, you might enjoy it.”
“Fuck you,” Harry snarled.
John smiled to himself, obscurely pleased. He sunk his fingers deep one more time, a bit breathless at the heat and the pressure. That was going to feel incredible on his dick.
He let go of Harry’s throat and planted that hand in the middle of his back instead, holding him down. He slicked his dick with the other. Not a lot, just enough to keep the friction from actually hurting him.
He spread Harry open again, watching goose flesh ripple up the insides of his thighs. “Ready?” he said solicitously, just to make Harry tense up that little bit more.
Harry did. John had to work to get the head of his dick in, pressing forward, unrelenting. He grunted in satisfaction when it finally happened, sinking deep past the resistance.
“Oh fuck,” Harry said, voice cracking. But he didn’t stop struggling. He clenched, trying to force John out even as he worked deeper.
John let himself groan, more vocal in his enjoyment than usual. “Go on,” he said. “Keep fighting. It just makes you tighter.”
“You bastard,” Harry said, voice fracturing as he repeated himself. He went passive again, fighting the one way left to him. John could feel him trying to control his breathing, trying to relax.
John didn’t want that. He pulled most of the way out, thrust deep again, hard enough to force the breath out of both of them. “Fuck,” John said. He circled his hips, feeling Harry move under him, helplessly responding as John stretched him wider. “Yeah,” John said, talking more than he usually would just to have his voice in Harry’s ears. “That’s what I want.” He thrust again, grunting with effort. It was so good: the sweet tension around his dick, Harry’s little involuntary movements away, how he had nowhere to go after but to push back onto John.
Harry lifted his head again. His face was wrecked, his lips pulled back to show his teeth. “I’m going to kill you for this,” he said to the shadow shape in the mirror.
John thrust involuntarily, a charge crackling low down in his pelvis. “Threaten me again,” he said. “Though really, if you want me to fuck your mouth, you can just come out and say it.” He let his eyes drift half shut, imagining it. One hand in Dresden’s hair, the other holding his mouth open for John’s dick, feeding it to him until he could feel Dresden’s throat working around him.
Harry’s eyes narrowed in the mirror, and he snapped his teeth. “Try it, asshole,” he said.
John laughed again, thrilled by this defiance. He pulled half out, and on a whim slapped Harry once, high up on his right thigh. Harry squeaked, jolting.
“Nice,” John said, pushing deep through his sudden clench release, clench release. He did it again, loving the way Harry couldn’t control his response fast enough, his involuntary jerks and noises.
He pulled out all the way, wanting a little more room to work. He slapped harder that time, leaving a flushing handprint across Harry’s skin, and then one the other direction, and a third crossing them both. Harry seemed to be done pretending not to feel anything; he bucked and yelled, kicking again. John leaned his weight onto the hand in the middle of Harry’s back, holding him down and slapping him twice more, left right. He pushed back in fast enough to enjoy the echoes of Harry’s reaction. Harry was quivering under him, jerking away from every thrust like his skin was too sensitized to even bear the brush of John’s.
And suddenly John was done playing around. He planted his feet, yanked Harry’s hips up, and fucked him. No more games, no more tricks to get him to react, just the hard push of his hips and the perfect friction on his dick. He loved everything about it, the sound of their skin slapping, the way Harry’s back shifted as he responded and controlled himself, moved and froze up again.
Harry dropped his face into the cushions. His biceps flexed, fighting the tangle of his shirt and the inescapable zip tie underneath.
John held his hip for a minute, keeping him tilted up and off-balance. But he couldn’t really get enough leverage, so eventually he shoved Harry back down, bracing his hips over the arm of the couch and fucking him deep.
And Harry . . . arched. There was no other word for it. He controlled it fast, but John was on him – John was in him.
John froze. Harry froze.
“Well, well, well,” John said. He felt a slow smile splitting his face. He pulled Harry’s hips up again, snaked a curious hand underneath.
“No!” Harry blurted, shoving awkwardly up onto his bound elbows.
John ignored him. He thought he knew, but he had to be sure.
Harry was hard; more than that, Harry was desperate. Just the brush of John’s fingers made him gasp, a shiver seizing him. When John took him in hand, he howled.
“Oh,” John said, savagely delighted. “Dresden. What did it, was it when I slapped you around, or is it how I’m fucking you?” Harry was silent, face hidden. John grabbed him by the hair, forced his head up. “Answer me,” he demanded.
Harry was flushed bright red, face twisted in humiliation. “No,” he said.
John stroked him, hand gripping too tight. Harry whined between his teeth, pained and frantically trying not to let his body react.
“No?” John said.
“No,” Harry snarled. “Fuck you, no!”
John leaned over him. He licked Harry’s neck again, then bit him, sucking hard to leave a mark. “The next time I see you, we’re both going to know,” he said into Harry’s ear.
Harry yanked his hair out of John’s fingers, losing a few strands in the process. “You can’t make me,” he said.
John stroked him again, thrust his dick as deep as it would go and ground his hips. “Yes I can,” he said certainly.
Harry hid his face again, and John let him this time. He fucked Harry roughly, inconsiderate of his prostate or his preferred angles. And at the same time he jerked him off. He gripped tight, so dry that he knew it hurt. Harry writhed, trying desperately to get away from John’s hand and only managing to push back into his thrusts. He shook his head, pounding his bound hands into the cushions.
“No,” he said, again and again. “No no no.” It wasn’t defiant anymore.
“I can make you,” John said over him. “I can do anything I want to you.”
Harry went silent and still, whittled down to his last defenses. John tightened his grip, jerking his wrist until his hand burned with the friction and Harry’s dick must be on fire.
Harry’s breath hitched when he came. His hips bucked involuntarily. John fucked him harder, jerking him through it. He kept going even as Harry’s dick softened, stroking him wetly until Harry’s sub vocal whine rose to a desperate plea for him to stop. John kept at him for another five seconds, squeezing the sensitive head of his dick and fucking him hard, loving the way he shook and flinched, over stimulated to the point of pain.
He let Harry go at last, and reached up to slick a bit of the wetness in his palm across Harry’s mouth. “Good boy,” he said.
Re: Fill (6/?)
[/kinkmeme]
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 03:31 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 09:35 pm (UTC)(link)WOW
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 09:36 pm (UTC)(link)I am crying at the awesome here. And, um, yeah. Wow. /babbles
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 10:16 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill (6/?)
That should be on a fucking leaflet on How To Write John Marcone. You will have succeeded when his POV makes it seem like he's the only stable man in an insane world.
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 01:50 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill (6/?)
I think the only other vital piece of advice is to remember he is a good man who is a black hat. He made himself into a monster by his own choice because he'd be better than the other monsters.
Also, I think it's important he believes his own press. He has to think of himself as a monster, even if he's not acting particularly monstrous. I imagine it like a mask he wear that he pretends is his real face.
But YMMV, obvious.
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 03:35 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill (6/?)
And I know he must've set out to hunt down whoever killed Harry to get revenge. He'd claim it was about territory, but...
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 07:05 am (UTC)(link)Harry's way of dealing with things is so completely different from Marcone's- I mean, he doesn't compromise. Or tries really hard not to, and for most part he gets away with it. And Marcone, watching him, must have felt a sort of wonder, this man is actually fighting evil in ways that I can't manage, and he gets away with minimal sacrifices. It actually works. And it must have given him a sense of optimism, and perhaps fascination. And I think he must have been let down, personally, when it didn't go right for Harry, who had been becoming this very private mascot.
Author Re: Fill (6/?)
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill (6/?)
How so awesome.
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 02:03 am (UTC)(link)...and then I run into something like this and I have to stop, because there are so many things going on at once- it's unbelievably hot, yeah, but there are also character-y things going on down that, wow. I mean, I'll have to print this out and making a damn flow sheet to really figure out how everything's working out, and even then I don't think I'll understand. Like a scientist poking at the human genome, saying, okay, T is next to A here, I get it, but what does it mean? How did this happen?
Admiration. So much of it. There's this range of writing about sex; on one end is badly written "two reasonable characters with actual personalities have sex and are turned into porn actors until they stop fucking and turn back into human beings again', and the other is, they're still people when they get it on, and they drag all their issues into it, their quirks and likes and dislikes and desires... and you went so deep into that end that it didn't even feel remotely like porn.
Does this make sense. Anyway. I am in awe.
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 02:12 am (UTC)(link)The best part, the best part is that you *forget* how utterly, quietly off his freaking rocker Marcone is because it's his head and it all makes sense in there. And then something reminds you that, hey, this ain't 'normal'.
Re: Fill (6/?)
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 06:00 am (UTC)(link)I can't read noncon - not a trigger, just a squick, but this. This. Every once in a while I started to get creeped out in a bad way and knocked out of the story and than I came back to 'no, there's still consent' and holy shit, how do you write something like this it is so amazing.
Pretty sure that was incoherent, but this is what your fic drives me to.
OP
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 08:21 am (UTC)(link)But no. You fill it and you write with such clear insight into the character dynamics, with characterization so brilliant...I don't know how to express adequately in words how awesome this is.
And now. I'm scheduling couple's therapy for Harry and John.
Re: Fill (6/?)
Author Re: Fill (6/?)