Marcone was right, as usual. In about twenty minutes, Harry was perking up and searching for the lube. She was eager to fuck him, and although he would never say it aloud, he wanted her in him just as badly.
She fingered him for longer than was her wont, carefully stretching him open. Finally, she sat back on her heels and rolled on a condom.
“I’m not sure this is gonna fit,” she said, looking between her well-slicked cock and his ass. “I mean—hell’s bells, John, you’re a pretty good size, but I am one massive son of a bitch.”
She looked stupidly smug. Leave it to Harriet Dresden to carry on about something as macho and ultimately irrelevant as penis size.
Marcone hung on to what little patience he had left. “Harry,” he said through gritted teeth, “surely you know how sex works by now. I can take it. You know that.”
She grinned, the grin that tugged at something wild in his chest. “Gonna make you take it,” she said, lining herself up. “Gonna make you take me—fuck. Fuck, John, you’re so—”
She closed her eyes, panting, her cock barely in him. Marcone realized with a shock of heat that she was on the point of coming again. He relaxed his muscles as much as possible and waited.
Finally Harry moved again, eyes unfocused. “Tight,” she managed, sliding a half-inch deeper. “Wow.”
John lay still, letting her open him up slowly. It was intense, and unexpectedly arousing. For a moment, the maleness of her body overrode everything else and he felt as though he were in bed with a stranger. A very attractive stranger, admittedly, but not someone he should be allowing to penetrate him.
Harry gasped “Hell’s bells,” as she bottomed out, and the moment passed. No one else swore like that. No one else knew the angles that he liked, knew the slow, dragging strokes that tantalized him that way.
Marcone reached for her nipples, idly pressing them between his fingers, focusing on the feel of her in him. The burn and stretch faded, and the familiar pleasure began to unfold. He clenched around her a little, saying hello.
Harry pushed her face into his neck, nuzzling. Her stubble scratched pleasantly. Marcone lifted a hand to tangle in her hair.
“You don’t need to hold back any more,” he murmured.
Harry nipped him and rumbled in agreement. She hooked one of Marcone’s legs over her arm, and suddenly there was the thick deep slide of her dick in him, the slap of her skin against his. She was stronger like this; it was a difference he could feel in every thrust. Stronger and steadier and bigger.
And then she turned it up to eleven, all of their usual violence spilling out.
“Jesus fuck,” gasped John. She’d crowded him up against the headboard, and there was very little he could do to control anything in this position. He was just getting fucked, and it felt terrifyingly good.
Harry grinned down at him. “Not so smug now,” she panted, short vicious thrusts jamming her into him deep, so deep. She kept making noise: little moans and whines that sounded unexpectedly appealing in a man’s voice. “Oh—oh fuck, John, you just feel so damn good. I want to fuck you for the next two weeks solid. Until you can’t sit down. Wanna make you come all over yourself, then come in you—”
It was too much. Marcone gritted out, “Jesus, Harry. Harder.”
She obeyed for once, slamming him up against the headboard, making him ache. His long-neglected cock was dripping. He reached for it, but she grabbed his hands and pinned them down.
“Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, words tumbling out without thought. “You come on my cock, scumbag. You come because I’m in you or not at all.”
John lost it. He gasped, bucking into her thrusts, thrashing against her grip. He was thoroughly trapped and she was fucking splitting him in two, and he was making noises he hadn’t made in years.
Harry’s hips snapped against him. He rode it, feeling a howl build up in his chest, feeling his balls tighten—
“Nngh—hell’s stars and hell’s fucking bellstones, John!” Harry’s voice rose desperately, and then she stopped, flushed scarlet, skinny chest heaving.
There were not enough swearwords in English or Italian to properly convey how John felt about this development. Fucking Harriet Dresden. Of course she’d come too soon.
“Harry…” John managed, squirming futilely. His hands were still pinned.
“Sorry,” she said, sheepish. “You were just—it was the sounds you were making. Stars, I’ve never heard anything like it.” She hastily let go of one wrist to take him in hand. It took barely anything, barely a touch before he was arching and squeezing tight around her dick and coming.
When she pulled out of him and peeled the condom off, he roused himself enough to lay a hand on her thigh and hold her there. He eased forward and licked her clean while she trembled at his tongue, making tiny, uncertain sounds. It was primitive, perhaps, but he liked having her essence in him.
When he sat up, Harry was watching him closely. “It’s limited edition, y’know,” she said.
“You’re incorrigible,” said John, stretching. And then, throwing her a bone: “I certainly intend to seek a monopoly on such a rare…”
“Elixir?” suggested Harry, giggling.
“Elixir. I recognize quality when I see it, Miss Dresden,” he said, putting on the full cultured-Gentleman-Johnny voice.
She chuckled, then went still. Marcone could practically hear her thinking.
“What is it?” he asked. There was no point in waiting for her to share.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Fill 3/4
Date: 2011-03-28 02:33 am (UTC)She fingered him for longer than was her wont, carefully stretching him open. Finally, she sat back on her heels and rolled on a condom.
“I’m not sure this is gonna fit,” she said, looking between her well-slicked cock and his ass. “I mean—hell’s bells, John, you’re a pretty good size, but I am one massive son of a bitch.”
She looked stupidly smug. Leave it to Harriet Dresden to carry on about something as macho and ultimately irrelevant as penis size.
Marcone hung on to what little patience he had left. “Harry,” he said through gritted teeth, “surely you know how sex works by now. I can take it. You know that.”
She grinned, the grin that tugged at something wild in his chest. “Gonna make you take it,” she said, lining herself up. “Gonna make you take me—fuck. Fuck, John, you’re so—”
She closed her eyes, panting, her cock barely in him. Marcone realized with a shock of heat that she was on the point of coming again. He relaxed his muscles as much as possible and waited.
Finally Harry moved again, eyes unfocused. “Tight,” she managed, sliding a half-inch deeper. “Wow.”
John lay still, letting her open him up slowly. It was intense, and unexpectedly arousing. For a moment, the maleness of her body overrode everything else and he felt as though he were in bed with a stranger. A very attractive stranger, admittedly, but not someone he should be allowing to penetrate him.
Harry gasped “Hell’s bells,” as she bottomed out, and the moment passed. No one else swore like that. No one else knew the angles that he liked, knew the slow, dragging strokes that tantalized him that way.
Marcone reached for her nipples, idly pressing them between his fingers, focusing on the feel of her in him. The burn and stretch faded, and the familiar pleasure began to unfold. He clenched around her a little, saying hello.
Harry pushed her face into his neck, nuzzling. Her stubble scratched pleasantly. Marcone lifted a hand to tangle in her hair.
“You don’t need to hold back any more,” he murmured.
Harry nipped him and rumbled in agreement. She hooked one of Marcone’s legs over her arm, and suddenly there was the thick deep slide of her dick in him, the slap of her skin against his. She was stronger like this; it was a difference he could feel in every thrust. Stronger and steadier and bigger.
And then she turned it up to eleven, all of their usual violence spilling out.
“Jesus fuck,” gasped John. She’d crowded him up against the headboard, and there was very little he could do to control anything in this position. He was just getting fucked, and it felt terrifyingly good.
Harry grinned down at him. “Not so smug now,” she panted, short vicious thrusts jamming her into him deep, so deep. She kept making noise: little moans and whines that sounded unexpectedly appealing in a man’s voice. “Oh—oh fuck, John, you just feel so damn good. I want to fuck you for the next two weeks solid. Until you can’t sit down. Wanna make you come all over yourself, then come in you—”
It was too much. Marcone gritted out, “Jesus, Harry. Harder.”
She obeyed for once, slamming him up against the headboard, making him ache. His long-neglected cock was dripping. He reached for it, but she grabbed his hands and pinned them down.
“Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, words tumbling out without thought. “You come on my cock, scumbag. You come because I’m in you or not at all.”
John lost it. He gasped, bucking into her thrusts, thrashing against her grip. He was thoroughly trapped and she was fucking splitting him in two, and he was making noises he hadn’t made in years.
Harry’s hips snapped against him. He rode it, feeling a howl build up in his chest, feeling his balls tighten—
“Nngh—hell’s stars and hell’s fucking bellstones, John!” Harry’s voice rose desperately, and then she stopped, flushed scarlet, skinny chest heaving.
There were not enough swearwords in English or Italian to properly convey how John felt about this development. Fucking Harriet Dresden. Of course she’d come too soon.
“Harry…” John managed, squirming futilely. His hands were still pinned.
“Sorry,” she said, sheepish. “You were just—it was the sounds you were making. Stars, I’ve never heard anything like it.” She hastily let go of one wrist to take him in hand. It took barely anything, barely a touch before he was arching and squeezing tight around her dick and coming.
When she pulled out of him and peeled the condom off, he roused himself enough to lay a hand on her thigh and hold her there. He eased forward and licked her clean while she trembled at his tongue, making tiny, uncertain sounds. It was primitive, perhaps, but he liked having her essence in him.
When he sat up, Harry was watching him closely. “It’s limited edition, y’know,” she said.
“You’re incorrigible,” said John, stretching. And then, throwing her a bone: “I certainly intend to seek a monopoly on such a rare…”
“Elixir?” suggested Harry, giggling.
“Elixir. I recognize quality when I see it, Miss Dresden,” he said, putting on the full cultured-Gentleman-Johnny voice.
She chuckled, then went still. Marcone could practically hear her thinking.
“What is it?” he asked. There was no point in waiting for her to share.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m gonna go shower now.”
Re: Fill 3/4
Date: 2011-03-28 03:40 am (UTC)HAWWWTTT!:)
Re: Fill 3/4
Date: 2011-03-29 05:44 am (UTC)