Nicodemus/Dresden Forced!Marcone/Dresden Kink:Asphxiation, Collar, Come Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Con, Extreme Mind Fuck, Plugging(Faux M-Preg, Double Penetration, Blowjob, Deep throating, Dirty Talk.
Here's a big one. Now, I have added Mind Fucking before with the Dirty Talk, but what if Nic takes advantage of Harry's issues? For example, calling him insulting female insults or referring to Harry's body as a female? He decides to mind fuck Marcone since he knows that Marcone has feelings for Harry. Marcone tries his best to not hurt Harry.
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 didn't expect it either. I had a plan, and the plan went away. I hate when that happens! But all in all, I like how it turned out. :)
Mmm...yes. Obviously, 'off-screen', Nic made Marcone an offer. Participate in raping Harry, or Nic would do worse. Nothing he'd done so far would leave permanent physical wounds. Imagine putting that collar on Harry and then Nic starts in with a knife, slicing off bits. As long as Nic was touching him while he did it, Harry'd *enjoy* it.
Continuation. Maybe. I'm clearly incapable of ending this damn thing. This was meant to be the last one, the escape. And they did escape, I'd like to point out. But...ugh. Did they really win?
Nic and Lasciel's conversation was...heated. Let's leave it at that.
I miss Lash too! It's one of my deepest hopes that Harry's headaches are a sign of Lash putting herself back together! If not that, then I at least want her to come back some other way. She earned it, dammit!
Aside from that, the relationship couldn't be the same. Not exactly, anyway. Lash was an echo of Lasciel, without the full force of personality of the Fallen angel. Lasciel may prefer to work with her host, rather than control them completely, but that doesn't mean she's going to be restricted to doing what Harry tells her to do. That didn't even work a lot of the time with Lash.
Good lord, so many people need to look out with Harry taking up the coin.
I am...thinking about it. My dark porn one-off has mutated on me.
Lasciel and Nic's conversation was 'interesting'. :) Fallen angel who has authority issues being taken up by a guy with authority and consent issues after being abused and mind fucked? Yeah.
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timeasmymeasure
Nicodemus/Dresden/Marcone Threesome
Date: 2011-02-15 05:19 am (UTC)Here's a big one. Now, I have added Mind Fucking before with the Dirty Talk, but what if Nic takes advantage of Harry's issues? For example, calling him insulting female insults or referring to Harry's body as a female?
He decides to mind fuck Marcone since he knows that Marcone has feelings for Harry. Marcone tries his best to not hurt Harry.
Fill: Bad Angel IV
Date: 2011-02-18 04:40 am (UTC)________________
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.
OP Here
Date: 2011-02-18 04:57 am (UTC)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
Re: OP Here
Date: 2011-02-18 07:18 pm (UTC)Mmm...yes. Obviously, 'off-screen', Nic made Marcone an offer. Participate in raping Harry, or Nic would do worse. Nothing he'd done so far would leave permanent physical wounds. Imagine putting that collar on Harry and then Nic starts in with a knife, slicing off bits. As long as Nic was touching him while he did it, Harry'd *enjoy* it.
Continuation. Maybe. I'm clearly incapable of ending this damn thing. This was meant to be the last one, the escape. And they did escape, I'd like to point out. But...ugh. Did they really win?
Nic and Lasciel's conversation was...heated. Let's leave it at that.
I miss Lash too! It's one of my deepest hopes that Harry's headaches are a sign of Lash putting herself back together! If not that, then I at least want her to come back some other way. She earned it, dammit!
Aside from that, the relationship couldn't be the same. Not exactly, anyway. Lash was an echo of Lasciel, without the full force of personality of the Fallen angel. Lasciel may prefer to work with her host, rather than control them completely, but that doesn't mean she's going to be restricted to doing what Harry tells her to do. That didn't even work a lot of the time with Lash.
Good lord, so many people need to look out with Harry taking up the coin.
Re: Fill: Bad Angel IV
Date: 2011-02-18 08:46 am (UTC)Re: Fill: Bad Angel IV
Date: 2011-02-18 07:31 pm (UTC)Lasciel and Nic's conversation was 'interesting'. :) Fallen angel who has authority issues being taken up by a guy with authority and consent issues after being abused and mind fucked? Yeah.
Re: Fill: Bad Angel IV
Date: 2011-02-18 12:15 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: Bad Angel IV
Date: 2011-02-18 07:31 pm (UTC)