grenegome | Fic: Breaking Curses, The Traditional Way (Dresden Files, Harry/Marcone)

Title: Breaking Curses, The Traditional Way
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Pairing: Harry/Marcone
Warnings: Language, blasphemy
Spoilers: One for White Night, if you read between the lines.
Disclaimer: As you suspected, I do not own the Dresden Files.
Summary: Faeries should not be allowed to read fairy tales.
Notes: This is unbeta'd, as it's short and was intended as an excercise in writing Marcone's POV, but then I realised people might enjoy it anyway.
Concrit: Very welcome.
Word Count: 988

I sat down with the intention of working on bits of a sequel to my earlier fic, but started messing around and came up with this instead.

"It's a faerie spell", Dresden snarled, slamming back into my office, "and if your absence from the Accords meeting wouldn't kick-start a war, there's no way in Hell I'd be doing this."

"Doing what?" I asked. "Attempting to frown the curse into submission? Breaking it with the force of your temper tantrum?" I was standing by the window, one hand braced against the glass. Try as I might, I couldn't quite maintain my usual stiff posture. Continual, agonising waves of pain will do that to a man, when he's been suffering from them for more than three days.

He strode towards me before drawing to a halt, almost in arm's reach. I watched Hendricks reposition himself, concerned. Harry turned to look at him.

"OK," he said, pointing at my bodyguard, "you aren't allowed to shoot me."

Hendricks simply watched him, silently.

It was my turn to be pointed at. There aren't many men in Chicago stupid enough to jab their fingers at me whilst they speak. "You, no stabbing." He announced. "Are we clear?"

"Mr. Dresden, if you've found a way to remove this enchantment, then yes, I believe I'm capable of refraining from physical violence for the duration of your visit." I could ignore the pointing finger. I've overlooked much worse, from him in particular.

"Good." He said, and then he stepped forward and took hold of me, hands on my shoulders. He'd been correct to warn me, as I had to quell the automatic urge to defend myself. I held up a hand to Hendricks to keep him still.

"Mr Dresden," I began.

"Shut up." He said, more than a little panicky, and that is not a tone I like to hear from a man about to perform magic on my person.

He didn't spout any pseudo-Latinate phrases. He lent further forward.

And then he kissed me.

It was a brief, close mouthed peck but it was utterly unexpected. For a moment, the pain that seemed to have wrapped itself around my very bones relented, and I suppressed a groan of relief.

I stared at him.

"Not my fault!" He protested. "Crazy Fae who believe their own press. Someone's been reading them fairy tales."

He hadn't let go of my shoulders, I noted. I raised a hand to remove his, but then the pain came crashing back down upon me.

I couldn't help the gasp, and I stumbled forward.

"Whoa!" He said, but he was too close, and it was either let me knock us both down or keep me upright. He opted to take my weight, strong hands relocating so that one arm wrapped around my waist. I lent against the side of his body, head on his shoulder.

Jesus Fucking Christ, this was embarrassing.

"Either that didn't work, or I'm a better kisser than I thought." He observed. This was not one of the occasions on which his foolishness amused me.

"It worked perfectly." I growled, fighting my uncooperative body for just long enough to raise my head. "For about thirty seconds."

I caught sight of Hendricks. It looked like he was seriously considering ventilating Dresden. I shook my head, and very carefully didn't whimper at the effort that it cost me.

"Thirty seconds?" He repeated, and sighed. "Damn stupid crazy pervy Fae. Fine. Fine! Cujo, you may want to close your eyes for this bit. Marcone, just lay back and think of Chicago, or something."

With that warning, he used his other hand to tilt my head back, leaning me away from his body and into the support of his steady arm. I let him.

He took my mouth with surprising confidence for a man with relatively little experience. I realise I may have an unhealthy obsession with the details of his love life, but every man needs a hobby. The Life of Harry Dresden was of strategic interest to me, as well as an entertaining spectator sport.

But yes, he was a good kisser. Hopefully he would read my grip tightening on his duster as pain, or outrage. In truth, the pain had fallen away as soon as his mouth had met mine, but then he'd started doing rather clever things with his tongue, and I'd gotten distracted.

A little indulgence I could justify, but he'd clearly found this whole venture distasteful, and I couldn't countenance prising more from him. I broke away.

"I believe that may have resolved matters. Thank you."

He looked a little shocked. Apparently he finds the details of his life as ridiculous as I do, on occasion.

"Good." He said. "Great. Wonderful."

"Perhaps you could cease cuddling me? Unless it has some magical significance, in which case, please feel free to continue." I could stand unassisted now, but he hadn't made any move to let go.

He stumbled away from me, hands up as if I had him at gunpoint.

"That wasn't cuddling! That was a manly grip." He looked from me, to Hendricks, and back again. "I vote we all take a vow of silence on this?"

I checked my watch. "Agreed. It's 4.30, and we have a meeting to attend. May I offer you a lift?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a political mastermind, but I'm not stupid. I'll make my own way there."

A pity. Arriving with a representative of the White Council, particularly Harry, would strengthen my position. He wasn't the appointed spokesperson for the Council, and considering his youth in wizarding terms, likely only had an invitation due to the location of the talks. Still, his name is known, and many of those present were more than likely to have an eye on him.

"Then I'll see you in the meeting. Do try not to be late."

As it happened, he was. But as he arrived with rips in his jeans and t-shirt, holding his shredded ceremonial robe, and smelling slightly of smoke, I'm sure he had a good reason.