He always imagined this the other way around. John is arrogant as the day is long, and often justifiably so. But Harry Dresden has starred in so many dark night's dreams that John has played most of the scenarios over in his head. All the ways he would take Harry. Sometimes it's another offer of aid that warms Dresden's regard for him until John can lean in and take his lips before the man remembers he should protest. Sometimes it's a more solemn trade, some great task executed and Harry offering the coin his company for an evening as payment. At times, John's greater devils seize him, and grant him the vision of the wizard weakened after some ordeal, in need of the Baron's protection, and him coming to enjoy John's obsession with him. Sometimes there is no shadow play, but the black of John's bedroom and the idle thoughts: what if he lay here, what sound would he make at the first touch, would he bite my tongue for its intrusion, would he whisper 'Marcone' or grace me with a strangled 'John'.
This is nothing like that. Except that in a way, it is exactly like that.
John gets with the program quickly. It only takes one instance of Harry nipping his lips before he opens up, and the push of Harry's tongue leaves no room for John to fight back. He always imagined the look in his imagined-Dresden's eyes, the instance where he gives in and the rush of relief on his face, intense enough to be erotic all on it's own.
He feels that rush, the pounding of blood in his ears, as Harry maps out his mouth. The way he inhales John makes the Baron shake, like something more than air is being breathed in, something John has in abundance, that Harry craves. He cannot name it, cannot quite grasp the feeling. He only knows that Harry's drunk on it, and that's exhilarating in of itself.
John kisses back as much as he is allowed, but his hands are less still. He grasps at Harry in fits and jerks, when he remembers he is more than his lips and the kiss. Harry is arched above him, and John tries to pull him closer, but the angle's impossible with the man sitting on his stomach. He still needs the touch, and needs to not be the only one laid out bare. His mouth twists away for just a second as he pulls the sweater off, hasty enough and careless enough that his nails scratch the Knight's skin. He mutters as he does, almost in a daze, "You can have me, you can," reassuring himself more than anyone. He almost says please, the sibilant, "--ease," all that makes it out.
There is playing with fire, and there is standing barefoot in the flame. John very much would like to be burned in this way, aches for it.
Stupid, but he can't much dig himself deeper at this point.
no subject
This is nothing like that. Except that in a way, it is exactly like that.
John gets with the program quickly. It only takes one instance of Harry nipping his lips before he opens up, and the push of Harry's tongue leaves no room for John to fight back. He always imagined the look in his imagined-Dresden's eyes, the instance where he gives in and the rush of relief on his face, intense enough to be erotic all on it's own.
He feels that rush, the pounding of blood in his ears, as Harry maps out his mouth. The way he inhales John makes the Baron shake, like something more than air is being breathed in, something John has in abundance, that Harry craves. He cannot name it, cannot quite grasp the feeling. He only knows that Harry's drunk on it, and that's exhilarating in of itself.
John kisses back as much as he is allowed, but his hands are less still. He grasps at Harry in fits and jerks, when he remembers he is more than his lips and the kiss. Harry is arched above him, and John tries to pull him closer, but the angle's impossible with the man sitting on his stomach. He still needs the touch, and needs to not be the only one laid out bare. His mouth twists away for just a second as he pulls the sweater off, hasty enough and careless enough that his nails scratch the Knight's skin. He mutters as he does, almost in a daze, "You can have me, you can," reassuring himself more than anyone. He almost says please, the sibilant, "--ease," all that makes it out.
There is playing with fire, and there is standing barefoot in the flame. John very much would like to be burned in this way, aches for it.
Stupid, but he can't much dig himself deeper at this point.