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.
“I am going to suck your cock,” Marcone said, undoing the last button on his shirt. “I’m going to make you come in my mouth and then you’re going to fuck me, the way you do with the strap-on.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Harry breathily, reaching down to stroke her dick.
Here was yet another oddity. In some ways, being aroused felt the same, as if those sensations had been poured into a different shape, but it hurt Harry’s brain when she tried to pinpoint and describe the changes. She did miss the feeling of being wet, but this was kind of awesome. Also, her dick was bigger than Marcone’s.
Harry smirked to herself. John shot her a look that suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking. He was naked now, and breathing heavily.
“C’mere,” she said, waving her hand at him.
He got on the bed and crawled up over her, kissing her mouth and throat, their stubble rasping. (Harry hadn’t taken to shaving her face any better than she had to shaving her legs.) Then he slithered back down, took hold of her cock, and wrapped his mouth around the head of it.
“Oh,” said Harry. “That’s—ah. Different.” Marcone had sucked her strap-on before, but feeling his mouth now was something else. The sight of him with his mouth on her like that, watching, weighing her reactions—she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He slid down a little further, and Harry’s hips jerked up. “Oops,” she mumbled. “I, uh, I kinda think that might happen a lot. You might want to hold me down. Gah.”
Marcone took her suggestion, pressing a forearm across her newly narrow hips, and went to work.
Harry was as loud as ever, moaning and swearing, whimpering when Marcone’s fingers teased at her perineum and asshole, nearly screaming when Marcone deep-throated her. He pushed, nearly choking himself on her splendid dick, sucked and licked and swallowed around her until she came in his mouth, giant hands curved around his head.
John swallowed and sat up, fiercely pleased. It hadn’t taken very long, and Harry looked wrecked.
“Hell’s bells, John,” she mumbled. “I… nngh. You. Is that how it feels when I blow you? S’ good. I want to do that again. I wanna fuck your mouth.” Then her face fell. “Goddammit, I have a refractory period now. No more multiple orgasms for me.”
“I’m sure your wizardly stamina will ensure you don’t have to wait very long,” said Marcone. It took a lot of work to exhaust her, normally, and he loved to fuck her and eat her out until she couldn’t come any more. Apparently it wouldn’t take nearly as much now. A pity.
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
Genderswapped Genderswap
Date: 2011-03-15 09:41 pm (UTC)How does she react? Is there anything she prefers? What do her friends think? And - most importantly - how does her long-term mobster boyfriend react?
Re: Genderswapped Genderswap
Date: 2011-03-20 09:30 am (UTC)Whoever takes this on should make her extremely happy that she could pee standing up.
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.
Re: Fill 1/?
Date: 2011-03-22 12:48 am (UTC)Re: Fill 1/?
Date: 2011-03-22 09:16 am (UTC)Re: Fill 1/?
Date: 2011-03-22 06:03 pm (UTC)Also, Harriet's reaction to peeing standing up made me snort my tea. Possibly because I'd do the exact same thing.
Fill 2/?
Date: 2011-03-23 02:37 am (UTC)*
“I am going to suck your cock,” Marcone said, undoing the last button on his shirt. “I’m going to make you come in my mouth and then you’re going to fuck me, the way you do with the strap-on.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Harry breathily, reaching down to stroke her dick.
Here was yet another oddity. In some ways, being aroused felt the same, as if those sensations had been poured into a different shape, but it hurt Harry’s brain when she tried to pinpoint and describe the changes. She did miss the feeling of being wet, but this was kind of awesome. Also, her dick was bigger than Marcone’s.
Harry smirked to herself. John shot her a look that suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking. He was naked now, and breathing heavily.
“C’mere,” she said, waving her hand at him.
He got on the bed and crawled up over her, kissing her mouth and throat, their stubble rasping. (Harry hadn’t taken to shaving her face any better than she had to shaving her legs.) Then he slithered back down, took hold of her cock, and wrapped his mouth around the head of it.
“Oh,” said Harry. “That’s—ah. Different.” Marcone had sucked her strap-on before, but feeling his mouth now was something else. The sight of him with his mouth on her like that, watching, weighing her reactions—she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He slid down a little further, and Harry’s hips jerked up. “Oops,” she mumbled. “I, uh, I kinda think that might happen a lot. You might want to hold me down. Gah.”
Marcone took her suggestion, pressing a forearm across her newly narrow hips, and went to work.
Harry was as loud as ever, moaning and swearing, whimpering when Marcone’s fingers teased at her perineum and asshole, nearly screaming when Marcone deep-throated her. He pushed, nearly choking himself on her splendid dick, sucked and licked and swallowed around her until she came in his mouth, giant hands curved around his head.
John swallowed and sat up, fiercely pleased. It hadn’t taken very long, and Harry looked wrecked.
“Hell’s bells, John,” she mumbled. “I… nngh. You. Is that how it feels when I blow you? S’ good. I want to do that again. I wanna fuck your mouth.” Then her face fell. “Goddammit, I have a refractory period now. No more multiple orgasms for me.”
“I’m sure your wizardly stamina will ensure you don’t have to wait very long,” said Marcone. It took a lot of work to exhaust her, normally, and he loved to fuck her and eat her out until she couldn’t come any more. Apparently it wouldn’t take nearly as much now. A pity.
Re: Fill 2/?
Date: 2011-03-23 04:49 am (UTC)Re: Fill 2/?
Date: 2011-03-24 05:39 am (UTC)Oh, Harry. Of course you'd think about that. And of course Marcone would know what you're thinking about.
And everything else about this fic is WIN.
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)