grenegome | Fic: Twist and Shout (2/2) (The Dresden Files: Harry/Marcone)

Entry tags:

Fic: Twist and Shout (2/2) (The Dresden Files: Harry/Marcone)

Title: Twist and Shout (2/2)

Fandom: The Dresden Files

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Harry/Marcone

Warnings: Swearing, sex.

Spoilers: Up to Small Favor.

Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, I'm only playing with them.

Summary: Harry's kind of bad at taking things slow. (Or: Flirt, flirt, flirt. Sex.)

Notes: This follows on from A Hard Day's Night, and With a Little Help From My Friends. It picks up about a minute after the end of the latter.

Huge thank yous to

beachkid for being a fantastic beta and being generally awesome. Remaining errors and oddities are my own.

Concrit: Welcomed. I'm off on my hols from Tuesday, so if you don't get a response for a week I'm not being rude!

Wordcount:10146

Part 1

The doorman looked at me suspiciously on the way in. So maybe visitors to this building were usually better dressed. I resisted the urge to tell him he was lucky the t-shirt was still clean.

"I'm visiting Jake Murati? Suite 3."

He looked down at a piece of paper and nodded. "Yeah, he's expecting you. Go straight up."

I didn't risk the elevator; John would never let me live it down if he had to rescue me from the elevator on my first visit. It's not like one flight of stairs is a hardship.

I knocked on his door with deliberate confidence; two slow raps, and then three rapid, as he'd instructed. I wondered what the protocol was if unexpected visitors rapped on his door.

The door swung open, and there he was, hair a little damp like he'd just showered. He was in jeans again, and a polo shirt, but this time the clothes looked expensive.

"Hey, Jake," I said, dryly.

"Harry," John said, and stepped back to let me in. I moved to follow him, and then froze in the doorway.

I hadn't been expecting a threshold, not in a rented apartment he occasionally stayed in under a false name. And without a decent threshold, I hadn't expected to crash into wards too subtle for me to sense before I hit them. But something had just brushed against my magic. Something watchful, something powerful.

"What the hell is that?" I said, breathless, staying very still. It felt like the magical equivalent of staring down the barrel of a gun. Or maybe a rocket launcher.

He frowned. "The guardian runes? They won't hurt you. They're only triggered by malicious intent."

I tuned my head carefully and glanced at the frame of the door. Now that I was looking for them, I could see the runic figures etched into the wood. Elder Futhark, maybe.

They were really cool.

I leaned closer, holding my breath, and sent out a teeny tiny exploratory tendril of magic to trace the edge of the working.

It slapped me in the face.

"OW!" I yelled, and then turned to glare at John. "That wasn't malicious intent!"

He shook his head. "No, that was stupidity. Do you generally go around poking mystical defences with magic sticks?"

"Hey, I was just looking. My magic stick's still in my pocket."

"I'm going to refrain from making several tasteless jokes at your expense now. Be thankful." And then he took hold of the front of my duster and pulled gently forward with a word of command: "Inside."

I let him move me and shuddered a little, letting loose a deep breath as I moved out of the influence of the runes.

In terms of purely physical defences, the door had a lot of locks, and he moved past me to slide them into place. I shifted slightly, just behind him, and he paused. "Would you rather I left them?"

Rather he... oh. I shook my head. "I'm not worried. This isn't a trap." I realized the truth of it as I spoke.

Hand still on the door, he looked over his shoulder at me carefully. "You're being very trusting. Despite knowing what I'm capable of."

"Yeah, you're dangerous. You're a lot of other things as well. So am I. But forgive me for not believing this is some elaborate plan to take me out. Or turn me."

He finished locking the door, and then turned to lean against it, arms crossed. "Oh? You don't think I could seduce you over to the dark side, Harry?"

I rolled my eyes. "Come on. We got over that years ago. If you thought you could, you wouldn't be interested."

He let silence fall for a moment, studying my face. "That was surprisingly insightful."

"I have my moments," I shrugged. And then, because I wanted to uncover the smile I sensed lurking below his politely bland expression, I leaned forward to and kissed him.

He opened up to me, not taking issue when when I dropped a hand onto his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. He slung an arm around my neck instead, pulled me closer, and widened his stance to accommodate me.

We said a long leisurely hello before I pulled away to admire his reddened lips. His damp hair was unruly, and I decided I liked him a little mussed. "Yeah," I said. "You look real dangerous, John."

He tilted his head and fixed me with a green stare. I was put in mind of Mister stalking magpies.

"Um," I said, and without even blinking he dialled the intensity down, a well-kissed man slumped against a door instead of a playful predator.

"Let's get you out of that coat," he said, giving me space to regain my composure.

It was already unbuttoned, because it was a mild evening. He moved to stand behind me and slipped his hands under the collar, easing it off my shoulders. "Very trusting," he breathed. His words caressed the nape of my neck. "Very brave."

I bit my lower lip, concentrating very hard on not making any embarrassing noises. I couldn't quite help the shiver. "Cold, Harry? Let me get you some coffee."

He moved away from me, and I turned to follow, able to take in the apartment for the first time. We were standing in the living room. It was spotless. Everything looked tasteful and well made. There was a dark leather sofa facing a ridiculously large TV. It was a big place, but not stupidly so for one man. It felt like a hotel. No photos, no weird little knickknacks whose sole value were sentimental or amusement. Nothing to say this place was John Marcone's except his physical presence in it.

"Take a seat" he said, "everything out here's unplugged, but if you make it into the kitchen there's a significant chance you'll destroy the appliances." He ducked through a doorway into another room while I made myself comfortable.

"You going to poison me when I'm not looking?" I called, sprawled out on the sofa.

"I wouldn't bother," he replied, over the clattering of coffee production. "Not after seeing you eat. You must have the metabolism of a humming bird."

"Doesn't seem to work very well on poison," I called back. "Well, not Red Court spit anyway."

He reappeared with two steaming mugs, and a slightly disgusted expression. "You ingested Red Court saliva."

"They spiked the punch. Who does that?"

"You clearly attended the wrong kind of parties as a teenager." He contemplated me for a moment as he deposited the coffee cups on the little table in front of the couch. "Perhaps that was fortunate, considering your track record as an adult."

"Hey!" I protested, because I get enough of this at Council meetings. "It was one measly war. I don't make a habit of starting them."

"Mmm," he mused, dropping down next to me on the couch. It was plenty big enough to leave space between us, but his side brushed against mine companionably. "That's reassuring."

I sipped my coffee defiantly, and then I looked down at it. Coffee. Oh.

I cackled into the cup.

"Yes?" he asked, quizzically.

"It's not our third date!" I pointed out, adopting a fake tone of shock. "Why John, this is so forward!"

He stared at me blankly. I bet he doesn't let people see his confusion very often. "You were kissing me quite enthusiastically in the doorway. How, exactly, is coffee on my sofa any..." he paused. "Ah."

"Coffee," I repeated, and waggled my eyebrows.

"I'm going to live to regret that euphemism, aren't I?" he asked, watching me closely.

"I think it has potential," I countered. "Aren't you in the mood for a tall, skinny americano?"

He blinked, horrified by my wit, before rallying with a rejoinder. "An oxymoron," he said dismissively, but his eyes were on my mouth and I wasn't fooled.

"You're an oxymoron," I countered brilliantly, but I was aware of his warmth all down my right side. I couldn't spare the attention for a snappy come back.

"Perhaps," he said, absently. He was still looking at my mouth.

"Hey, kiss me already," I demanded, and he leaned forward to oblige me. And then he pulled away.

"Put that down first," he ordered, indicating the drink I held. "A scalded lap will kill the mood."

"But I like living dangerously!" I protested, setting it down on the table. I even used a coaster. I'm considerate like that.

"Oh, you are," he said. He moved faster than a vanilla mortal should be able to. One minute I was turning back towards him, the next I was pushed back against the cushions with John straddling my lap.

He's heavy. He's made of muscle, and fire, and sheer ferocious will, the kind that has a weight all its own. It's a good weight, when it's brought to bear on you tempered by desire. Right then, desire was the color of old money.

"Ungh," I said brightly, settling my hands on his thighs, kneading them absently. "So."

"Yes?" he asked archly. He was frustratingly close, a breath away from a kiss if I wanted to be the one to close the gap.

"So, I'm thinking," I managed, untangling my thoughts from the giddy lust reveling through me, "that slow is probably overrated."

"Is it now?" he asked, shifting his weight in a way that made it really difficult to scrabble for another sentence.

"Yeeees," I hissed. "It really is."

"Hmmm," he said, with a truly aggravating depth of composure. "There is an argument to be made, Mr Dresden, that we have been nothing but slow. That the last few years have been a careful negotiation between us, punctuated by the occasional explosion, resulting in this personal union."

"Oh good," I said. "Because I'd really like to take you to bed now."

He smiled, victorious. And then he kissed me.

His bed was freaking huge. I kicked my shoes off to leap onto it and did a weird little bounce and roll, which at home would have sent me crashing onto the floor. Instead I collapsed onto my back and starfished out. None of my limbs poked off the edge of the mattress.

"This is awesome," I breathed joyfully. He stood in the doorway wearing a fond and familiar smirk.

"I'm glad it meets with your approval. In fact, this may be the only time you've responded positively to my conspicuous consumption."

"Awesome," I repeated, stretching and wriggling my fingers and toes.

He started to remove his shirt, keeping his eyes on me as if I might take it into my head to sneak off while he wasn't looking.

Unless I'm seriously distracted by what's going on, I've always found undressing for the main event to be a bit embarrassing. But John didn't have a shred of self-consciousness as he bared his skin, as if it were a challenge, a declaration of some kind. He paused, hands on the button of his fly, watching me watching him.

"I seem to be leaving you behind, Mr Dresden. Do you need some assistance?"

"Hey, no mistering in the bedroom," I commanded as I sat up and yanked the uncharacteristically clean white t-shirt off. I was no nowhere near as graceful as him, and I definitely didn't have the same kind of powerful physique to show off, but apparently pale and skinny does it for John. He forgot about his jeans, crawled onto the bed, and then worked up the length of my body until he could meet my mouth. We were getting really quite spectacularly good at the kissing part of things.

"If I may?" he said, fingers plucking at the waistband of my jeans.

"Oh yeah. May away," I murmured into his mouth. I was half distracted by all the skin I had to explore as I ran my hands across the breadth of his shoulders, down the length of his back. He had scars, and he didn't seem to mind them. Or mine, for that matter.

My jeans were tugged down, and without any further "by-your-leave", he had me in hand.

"Nnh!" I said, jerking up a little, but he hadn't moved my jeans any further than necessary, and lying beside me, he'd dropped one leg across my own, limiting my movements.

I grabbed at him abruptly, pulling him deeper into our kiss as he continued stroking me, just on the right side of hard and fast.

"Ok. Ok," I said a little shakily when he broke from my mouth to breathe. "Gonna be over pretty soon if you don't slow down, John."

"That's the plan." He laughed into my shoulder, briefly scraping his teeth across my neck. "I believe we agreed slow was overrated. Give it up, Harry." He made my name sound like an endearment, and he didn't slow down. He squeezed me gently in a way that made me catch my breath and buck into his hand, and then he picked up the pace.

I hissed, feeling a familiar heat in my cheeks. He really was going to drive me over the finish line before we'd even started.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough as he looked down at me. "Just. Like. That."

I closed my eyes and opened my mouth on a yell, only to have it muffled in another kiss as he coaxed me through my release.

"Easy," he breathed against my mouth. "Easy."

"What - you - Stars." I flailed a little, trying to work out what I wanted to say to him, and as usual I blurted out something else instead. "Wait, there's a plan?"

He wiped his hands off on the bedding, and the wizardly part of me wanted to make sure this all went in the wash later. But later wasn't now; I had more important things to attend to.

"Here," I said, not letting him answer, and I reached for his jeans. He intercepted my hand with a slow smile.

"Yes. There is a plan," he said, and then moved my hand to his face. He sucked one of my fingers into his mouth, and made familiar motions with his tongue. Guh. That shouldn't have been so intensely appealing considering I'd just got mine, but there was something fucking intoxicating about having his mouth wrapped around me. I impatiently wiggled the rest of the way out of my pants.

I had another hand, and I went for his jeans again. Once more he waylaid me, tangling his fingers with my own. "What?" I asked, confused.

He pulled my finger from his mouth with a pop, maintained posession of my hands, and smiled at me wickedly. And wicked is pretty damn wicked on John Marcone. He leaned in, keeping the smile. "I'm saving it," he purred into my ear. It sent a jolt straight through me.

Impulsively, I kissed him again. But then I drew back, because I had objections to register. "This isn't just for me," I pointed out insistently. It's hard to be insistent when you're coasting along on a cosy endorphin rush but hell, no-one ever accused me of being a selfish lover.

He gave me that odd, fond smile again. I'd seen it before, when we'd faced off against one another, but only in his eyes. I'd mistaken it for amusement, mockery. It wasn't that at all.
When he started talking, his voice was almost hypnotic. "Trust me when I say the greatest enjoyment I can conceive, at this moment, is seeing you undone with pleasure. We aren't in a rush, Harry. You'll have the opportunity to try everything with me. I won't deny you." He dropped a kiss onto the hand he held near his mouth. "I want this. Let me have it, please."

That was what he wanted. It was a new idea, being generous by being selfish, but following his lead had been pretty spectacular so far.

...and he had asked nicely.

"Show me what you've got," I grinned at him, part invitation, part challenge. It sparked off that ever present rivalry between us, and he nipped playfully at my fingers. I laughed, and our exploratory touches turned into a tussle.

The mattress was big enough for two grown men to roll about on stupidly, and I kept laughing even as he ground the unforgiving denim of his jeans against me, getting some much deserved friction by locking my left leg between his own and pushing against me as we scuffled. He bit my shoulder lightly and I yelped in surprise, pushing him onto his back and ending up on top of him. I didn't have the mass to keep him down for long and he surged back up and over, catching my wrists as we we toppled and holding them against the pillows.

I was a bit out of breath. He just looked wildly intent.

"Somebody," he mused, "really should teach you how to use all this leverage you have, Harry. You waste your advantages."

I glared up at him. "I could throw you across this room with some crappy Latin and we both know it. I'm letting you pin me down."

He smiled. "Oh, I know. That's why it's so appealing." And then he thrust against me once more.

"Ow! Ok, jeans off," I said, jerking my hands against his grip. I couldn't break it. Smug bastard.

"Of course. How inconsiderate of me. Your poor delicate skin."

I thrashed around, but didn't dislodge him. I settled for glaring instead.

"I should kiss it better," he decided, judiciously. And then he was on the other side of the bed, retrieving something from the bedside table. I levered myself up on my elbows and glared some more.

"What're you -?" And then he was back, dropping a little foil packet on the bed and kissing me once more. I was beginning to suspect this was a cunning ploy to keep me from asking stupid questions.

His hands ventured south, and after a couple of welcome touches I was surprised to find my body was already eager to receive, he paused. "Actually," he murmured, "I think I'd like to see you warm yourself up this time."

"I - what?" I breathed as he started extracting one of my hands from the back pocket of his jeans.

"You wanted something to do with your hands, didn't you?"

"I wanted to do something to you!" I hissed as he moved my hand down to my cock.

"Oh, you are," he said, smile all small and dangerous again. "Show me what you've got, Harry," he threw back at me.

"I'm not - I don't-," and then I stalled, unable to work out why I was objecting.

"Hey, all right," he said, releasing my hand. "I've got you."

"No," I frowned. "I'm good, if you want - if that's really - sure."

And then I took hold of myself, feeling hopelessly adolescent for all of three seconds before seeing the hunger in John's eyes. The raw avaricious delight I was conjuring up in him was practically tangible. "Okkkay!" I gasped, because working on my own pleasure suddenly became a lot more interesting.

Still, it felt weird, displaying myself. I didn't do anything interesting, just jerked myself quickly and bit down on my lip to keep all the embarrassing gasps inside. My body didn't mind weird. My body was quite excited by all the attention it was getting, and I was hard again in no time at all. I was definitely revisiting my adolescence.

"That," he said, ripping open the condom packet in a smooth and easy gesture, "will do nicely."

He rolled the condom down the length of me with a confidence I've never managed. And then he followed it with his mouth.

I think I yelled something. I definitely grabbed the back of his neck in a grip that fell on the wrong side of tight, but it didn't distract him from his task.

He fucking devoured me, and even through the condom I could feel the slick heat of him and I gasped, thinking cold thoughts, trying very, very hard not to kick him while expressing my appreciation. I kept half a mind on my magic as well, making sure I didn't do anything creatively stupid.

I flexed the fingers that were probably bruising his neck, and he hummed appreciatively and Stars and freaking Stones, it was like channeling a thunderstorm all over again.

I didn't kick him, or slam into his mouth, but I was really glad he'd brought me off once already, or I doubt I'd have been quite so well mannered. I had more of a chance to enjoy the ride this time, and become wildly thankful that I'd let him lead. Because he knew what he was doing. In this, as in all things, he was devastatingly competent. I wondered how often he got to indulge himself, how often he'd had men in huge beds in anonymous apartments. Often enough to excel at it, to swallow me straight down without hesitation.

Yeah, I hoped he didn't have high expectations. Because I'd give it a try, but there's no way in hell it'd compete with what he was doing to me at that moment.

He pulled away briefly, maybe to check in with me, maybe just to rest his jaw. It looked like hard work. "Still with me?" he asked, voice low.

"Not sure. Think maybe I'm in orbit. Round the moon."

I knew I wasn't making any sense, and from his quizzical eyebrow, he knew it too, but apparently it wasn't the kind of nonsense that made him worry. He gripped the bottom of my dick and bowed his head again.

I smothered a noise he would have found either amusing or flattering. I don't know. He might not even have noticed, he was so narrowly focused on the task in hand, working me over like a right of fucking conquest.

Not that I was. I mean, from my previous history, I'm pretty crappy at being conquered. And I could always stage an insurrection later.

"John," I stuttered. "Hey, John." That was all the warning he got, because then I couldn't do anything but kick and buck, and I pumped into his mouth. He went with it smoothly, his hand around my cock preventing me from slamming too far into his mouth, and kept up with me so I rode on a wave of relentless suction all the way through my orgasm.

He teased one last gasping thrust out of me before I fell back onto the bed, feeling like I'd been knocked into orbit around Pluto, never mind the moon. "You're really good at that," I fervently told the ceiling. "Really, terrifyingly good. And if you don't let me do something for you right now, I'm going home with a massive inferiority complex."

He covered me with his body and oh my god he still had his jeans on. That had to hurt by now.

"You really haven't mastered the art of basking in the afterglow, have you?" he asked.

I glared at him lazily. In truth, I felt wrung out. Boneless and loose, limbs heavy like I was moving them through molasses. "John Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Marcone, take your goddamn pants off and tell me what you want."

A tight smile hung off the corner of his mouth, and it was edging into businesslike. Nerves? That was new.

"I'd like to fuck you Harry," he said, casually. "May I?"

I shuddered against him. This is the part, I think, where he expected me to freak out. I was too warm and languid to get worked up. I'd come so far. I wanted to know where else we could go.

"Please," I said.

That tight smile vanished, wiped off his face by something broad and ferocious. He bit gently at my shoulder once more, which I was beginning to interpret as a weird expression of affection. "Please?" he repeated, slow and luxurious. "I've been waiting a long time to hear that, Harry Dresden."

"Pretty please," I elaborated, because he'd totally earned this moment. "With a cherry on top?"

"Fuck," He breathed against my ear. He ground against me shamelessly.

I marked that down for future reference. He took a couple of breaths while he composed himself, and then spoke again, as civil as he ever was. "Well then, how can I refuse?"

He rolled off me, went back to the bedside table, and returned with another condom and a little tube.

"Research," I sighed mournfully, and he cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously, I have no idea what we're doing," I explained, "except I'm guessing less clothes is better."

He was kneeling on the mattress beside me; I summoned the energy to sit up, planted one hand in the middle of his chest, and pushed him backwards. He let me, and I knew what he meant then about appealing. There's something about a compliant restrained power beneath you that's kind of breathtaking.

I unbuttoned his jeans and he watched me, supplies discarded on the mattress and hands pressed flat against it. I eased the zipper carefully over a kind of intimidating, kind of intriguing bulge, and then took hold of the waistband of his jeans and his boxers and yanked them down together. He raised his hips helpfully, and then his legs as I shuffled back to pull them off the rest of the way.

And there he was, John Marcone on display for me, sprawled in the mess we'd made of his bedding. His eyes were dark, his well-muscled body deceptively relaxed - apart from the straining cock jutting up towards me.

Well, it'd be rude not to introduce myself.

I grabbed his thighs and pushed them apart, making room for myself as I scrambled forward on my knees.

His cock bounced about a little as I did so, and I checked in and saw he was biting the inside of his lip. Hopefully because he was turned on, and not because he was laughing at me.

I reached forward, took hold of him, and stroked experimentally. I got a strangled moan and a quick jerk of the hips for my efforts. Turned on then. I was grinning like an idiot and I knew it, but I felt kind of like the king of the world right then. John silent and increasingly desperate beneath me, clinging to his control with his quiet will.

And I'd come undone so quickly for him.

Maybe that's why I bowed my head. Maybe I wanted him to lose some of that cool he had armored himself with. Or maybe I just wanted to know what he tasted like. Curiosity gets the better of me sometimes.

Salt, I had time to think, as I took the head of his cock into my mouth and introduced it to my tongue.

"Mary Mother of Christ!" he gasped, introducing an unexpected air of Catholicism to the proceedings. And then he had his hands in my hair, pulling me off him.

"Hey," I batted at his hand, "a 'no thanks, Harry' will do."

"I - sorry," he said, a little breathless. "I wasn't expecting that. You nearly brought a premature end to the evening."

I think I may have looked smug then. He batted me lightly around the ear. "Also, Harry, that is what condoms are for. For future reference."

"Oops?" I had time to offer and he shook his head. He leaned in for a thorough kiss that gave no clue as to how worked up he was.

"If you've finished exploring?" he asked, encouraging me to lie back as he moved over me. "Perhaps you'd do me the favor of relaxing."

"I'm about as relaxed as it's possible for a man to be without being asleep," I pointed out. We'd swapped positions now; me on my back with my legs parted for him, John crouching between my thighs. He touched himself as briefly as possible while putting on the condom.

"I'll have to work on keeping your attention then." He planted one hand next to my head, holding himself over me with no sign of strain, and dipped down for another kiss. I could tell from the way he moved that his other hand was busy with something. There was a brief click, and then a wet sound. "Lubricant," he said, against my mouth. "Makes things, mmm, considerably easier for both parties."

"Whoah!" I said as that unseen hand made a reappearance, brushing against my balls, and then easing further back to somewhere I'd never thought of as an erogenous zone before.

I'd been wrong, obviously. My cock was still out for the count, but the rest of my boneless, pleasure-drenched body thrummed its interest. My legs spread further without any input from my brain. He was slow, and patient, giving me time to adjust to the new sensations he was wringing from my drowsy body.

He's got his fingers inside you! Yelled the part of my brain that had scheduled a heterosexual panic and was beginning to feel ignored.

"Shut up," I muttered, and John paused, sitting back between my thighs. "Not you," I said, mustering enough effort to prop myself up on my elbows just as he resumed the gentle slide of his fingers. He brushed against something inside of me.

"Nnngh!" I said, and collapsed backwards, scrabbling madly at the bedding.

"There we are," he purred, the picture of satisfaction. He crooked his fingers and sparked off another bout of inarticulate flailing.

He admired his handy-work for a moment before removing his fingers and wiping them on the bedding. "If you wouldn't mind turning over?" he asked, patting my thigh in encouragement.

I raised my head and scowled at him.

He smiled ruefully. Stars, I didn't know he hid so many shades of smile on a daily basis. "Whilst I admit having you on your hands and knees for me is a particularly enticing image, this really is for your benefit. It makes things easier."

Oh. Like the lubricant. He didn't want to hurt me, and I didn't want him to hurt me either. I rolled over and scrambled up to my hands and knees, a little less co-ordinated than I could have been.

His hand smoothed down the length of my back.

"Thank you, Harry. Why don't you breathe out for me?"

I did, and then he was against me. The head of his thick cock carefully nudged inside me and I grabbed at the bedding again, not quite sure if this was good or painful or just plain weird. But I knew a good way to find out. "Muh- more," I gasped shakily.

"Patience, please," he hissed, careful control beginning to fray again. "I believe I'm the one expected to be impatient here."

He should have been. He'd brought me off twice while exploring my body, and I suddenly, desperately, wanted to give him everything I could. I pushed back against him, and he caught a startled breath as he slid home, falling forward to rest against my back.

Painful and good and weird, I decided.

"Fearless," he breathed against my hair. "Bold. Crazy."

"Those the best - best - sweet nothings you've got, John?" I tried to tease him, but I was too - I was too much to sound anything other than overwhelmed. Too full, too vulnerable, too close to the edge of something unarticulated.

He grazed his teeth against my ear. "Have I been - remiss," he groaned, "in complementing you? I can. Atone. I'm sure."

I didn't manage a reply; he'd set up a slow and easy pace which introduced his cock to the that part of my body that made me crazed and wordless. He pushed back in and I gave a shaky gasp, clenching my hands in the pillows.

"How about -" he managed, and holy hell, how was he still talking? "- beautiful? Passionate. Powerful -"

"Stop!" I cried, closer to that edge of something. Not a physical release, because I had nothing left to give, but something just as shattering.

And then he stopped. "No, don't stop that, you bastard! Stop talking! I just - please-" I don't know what words I wanted. Maybe I wanted to tell him what he'd done to me, that he could take everything he wanted and be thanked for it later. I don't know.

But the please must have been enough, because I couldn't describe the noise he made then. It was triumphant, possessive, but tender. Proud, maybe. I couldn't tell without seeing his face, but I was stuck admiring the ridiculous thread count of his pillowcases instead. He leaned back, taking more of his weight on his knees and no longer covering me with his body. His hands found their way to my skinny hips and took hold there.

He fucked me.

I tripped over that nameless edge, gasping, trembling as he took the everything offered up to him.

He finished on a wordless cry, shaking against me.

I held out until he finished, taking part of his weight as well as my own, and then I dropped us both onto the mattress. "Oof," I said.

He patted clumsily at my shoulder. Sure, now he lost his higher brain functions. I wiggled and caught him with an elbow and I think he got the message because he pulled away, pulled out, and flopped onto his back next to me. There was a brief bout of shifting which must have been him dealing with the condom, and then I managed to turn onto my side, and caught his eye. "I - thank you," I managed.

He smiled, slowly, with more teeth than I'd seen before.

"C'mere," he mumbled, and obviously, I shouldn't have been expecting post-coital formality, but it was still a surprise. Rolling towards me, he slipped a leg over my thigh and draped a hand across my chest. "You," he said, "are everything I thought you would be, Harry."

"You thought about this?" I asked, checking in with my body as we spoke. I felt well-used, pleasantly aching, but not really pained.

"Mmm. In board meetings. When people are annoying me. When I'm stuck with paperwork. Every. Single. Time you've ever mouthed off to me."

"That's a lot of thinking," I said, startled.

"Oh yes," he answered, combing his fingers through the hair on my chest. "I didn't think I could ever have this. But you delight in surprising me." He yawned.

"Nap time?" I asked, teasing.

"Uhn," he said, deciding he preferred my shoulder to the pillow.

"You're a cuddler!" I said, gleefully.

"Mr Dresden," he mumbled into my shoulder, "I believe I fucked your brains out about thirty seconds ago. Please spare a thought for my ego before demonstrating your wizardly stamina."

I grinned. I wasn't up for another round, but I was definitely full of juice. My magic and I were tingling in all the best ways. "Cuddler," I repeated, fondly. He didn't reply.

He had, in fact, fallen asleep.

That looked like a good idea. I closed my eyes and gentled my joyful magic, encouraging it to coil around me comfortably and not maraud around John's apartment hexing his gadgets. Honestly I didn't think he'd mind me cutting loose right then, even if I accidentally did a bit of structural redecorating. Not that I would. It's kind of rude to trash people's property when they've just shown you a good time.

John felt content and easy pressed against my side. It was a good way to end the day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Okay ...I need a cigarette. LOL! This was just hot, and tender, and amusing and I have a big goofy smile on my face because they are just so damn good together!

Have a wonderful holiday. You've made this reader very happy. :-)

Haha! Making someone need a cig may be a new one for me. Thanks for commenting!

Nrrggh!! OMG this is the hottest H/M series ever! I adore your Harry and John banter and I've been eagerly awaiting a sequel to With a Little Help From My Friends. Definitely did not disappoint ;D

I get surprisingly embarassed writing sex scenes, so I'm pleased this works for you :-D

You always do the characters justice. I think Butcher would even agree you have his narrative voice down to a T. And *this* fic in particular was just mind blowing.

I love you.

:D

Hurrah! I enjoyed writing it a lot :-D

Oh, yummm! What a happy, teasing, hot end to this wonderful trilogy of fics! Thank you very much for writing & sharing them.

Thanks for commenting, I had fun with this!

wizardly stamina!
I have no words.
Hot. Really
Thanks:)

:-) glad you like it! Thanks for commenting.

You much write more! Your fics could so easily be inserted into the novels and no one would bat an eye!

Hahaha! Except possibly Jim Butcher, I think his head might explode.

This was bloody awsome, absolutly perfect!!

Your icon is brilliant. Thanks for commenting!

No prob, thanks I love that icon as well XD.

Again this was awsome. Well written, in character, it really made my day.

Dude, I LOVE your Dresden Files fic! Found this via del.icio.us -- your Marcone is AWESOME and I can't wait for more. This is pretty much the way the Dresden Files should be, I think.

The Dresden Files practically slashes itself (or Harry does anyway), it's a lot of fun! I'm slightly in love with Marcone. Thanks for commenting :-)

Oh WOW!!I'm a big fan of The Dresden Files book series.You just add a new yumminess to the whole Dresden/Marcone dynamic.Thank you!Um,more please...

Thanks! They are a yummy pairing, and kind of fun :-) I'm sure there'll be more from me in future!

Mmm. Hot, funny, and tender. This was delightful, thank you.

Yay! Happy it worked for you.

Da-yummmm. And I mean yum.
Seriously, it's pretty rare that you find a fic where the emotional, char-to-char bits are hot. Harry's complete and total surprise at his own homosexuality is hilarious, and the whole rivalry thing is actually totally sweet, and the sex is fantastic. And every time I read a mention of Marcone in the books I'll just know he's only getting past the stresses of life by thinking about kissing Harry now. Oh, and Harry's shiny aura... :D Thank you for writing this.

I find pretty much every conversation they have in the books kinda hot, so I'm glad I managed to convey that here :-D

Marcone totally has many and varied Harry related thoughts to get him through stressful/boring moments. I'm sure he's going to invest a lot of time working down that list. Hee.

wow, fantastic! I love this series. thanks!

Yay! :-D

Oh, the dialogue is *perfect* and the sex is ridiculously hot. I just loved how you can feel just how much Marcone cares about Harry, just absolutely adores him, and yet is still completely in character. Thanks for this, and can't wait for more from you!!

I have far too much fun writing the dialogue (my fics would totally resemble radio scripts if I didn't reign myself in), and am happy to know you think I've got that balance right for Marcone. Thanks for commenting!

There were far too many amazing parts in this to quote all my favorite bits (though I will say, "Stop perving on my aura!" is going to be my new catchphrase) but suffice to say it was wonderful and I loved it. You nailed all of the characters wonderfully, not just Harry and Marcone, but also Bob and Thomas, as well.

The bedroom scenes were great! Even authors who are quite good at characterization sometimes slip into the sex scenes and it quickly becomes just two random people. You completely avoided this pitfall, keeping them in character while still turning on the heat--the dialogue did seem a tiny bit stilted in parts, but not enough to detract from the story.

Lovely work!

Hah, the Bob scene is quite popular for something I didn't actually intend to write, it just sort of worked its way in there!

Ohh, concrit is love. Is it anything you can put your finger on for the dialogue or just a general feeling? (I get horribly tangled up writing dialogue for sex scenes, this is the slightly-less-sounding-like-a-porn-script-version :-D)

Thanks very much for commenting!

I am loving this series so much. *grins* There is something weirdly hot about Marcone--intense, focused, driven Marcone--taking things slow for Harry. Of course, Harry refusing to stay slowed down is just as hot. MMmmmmmm.

Harry is just a contrary individual :-D

I do have a bit of a thing for writing Marcone as careful and restrained for Harry's benefit, so I'm glad it works for you!

LOL! That was perfect - sweet, hot and intimate. Loved it.

Thanks! Glad you liked it :-)

Um, okay, I thought I commented on this the first time I read it, but apparently my brain had been shorted out from the incredible hotness of this fic, so yeah. Forgive me. Harry and Marcone's banter is *fantastic*, as always, and it was great to see Harry throw himself into the proceedings without any issues, and just enjoy himself.

Also, I *adore* that you refer to the please-prettyplease-cherry on top conversation from White Night, because, hello personal favorite scene in the books. That's one of the slashiest things I've ever read and seems to be sadly ignored in fic. So, yeah. *applause* Write more!

Hah, I have totally imaginarily commented on fic before, glad I'm not the only one! Very happy you liked it :-D That scene in White Night...it's...just... how is it subtext? I mean, I *know* I read with my slash goggles firmly in place, but I literally don't know how else I'm supposed to read it!

You write SO VERY GOOD YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES.

Haha! Enthusiasm much appreciated! :-D

Gah! Perfection. :)

Glad you liked! *adds you to list of people-who-share-two-little-fandoms*

I've got about a hundred hours of study time ahead of me and then I somehow stumbled over this while I was just checking my emails during breakfast and it absolutely saved my day.

Thank you!

Hurrah! Am glad to brighten your morning :-D Thanks for commenting!

Wonderfully, deliciously, awesomely hot. Harry and John are perfect together in this.

Glad you liked it! It was fun to write :-)

Oh this was AWESOME. Perfect end to the two other lead in fics. It would really be awesome if you could archive this all at AO3 so its easy to read. It's kinda hard to troll your lj and find stuff.

I absolutely LOVE the characterizations in this -- you have their voices down so well! This was hot and sweet and thoroughly entertaining, with just the right level of humour for a Dresden story. You made me actually giggle out loud at parts (especially Bob perving on Harry's aura!)

Great work! :D

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Fic: Twist and Shout (2/2) (The Dresden Files: Harry/Marcone)

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