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Red Court vampires are never fun.
They like to pretend they’re fun with their pretty faces and their oh so lovely sex slobber but it’s all lies. Icky, gross, chemically induced lies.
Unfortunately, they were lies that Little Harry was all too happy to lap up. Every. Damn. Time.
Now, I’ve had a lot of experience dealing with Red Court Venom and also, unfortunately, fighting battles during which my pants are far too uncomfortably tight (even naked on a couple of memorable occasions). Comes with the territory sometimes. Will power and sheer stubbornness tend to see me through though so it’s fine. As fine as anything about that kind of situation gets, at any rate.
Today? Today was different. Today, I wasn't the only one to get dosed. Some Red Court bastards had snuck in down by Lake Michigan, laying low and trying to fortify before anyone could learn what they were up to. Then a little birdie (ok, dewdrop fairy) had tattled on them to Chicago's resident Wizard after they were caught snacking on his turf. So maybe the war hadn't been going too well for us recently but damn, they had some nerve trying to worm their way back into my city.
I'd geared up and set out as soon as I'd heard. Unfortunately, my tiny informant had only told me about the half dozen or so nasties she had spotted during meal time. The other dozen had been safely tucked away in their little den of evil. They weren't messing around, it seemed. The modest little house they were operating from, not far from the lake shore, reflected that; they'd booby trapped it up the wazoo.
Getting in there was kind of fun. The first few traps were easy enough to plough passed and, being vampires, there was nary a threshold in sight. Full complement of magic and no political restrictions? Yes please. It was about then that the guys I hadn't known about came out of the deep, dark basement to play. I was not prepared for one-on-eighteen.
I'd killed two, incapacitated a third and had maybe broken a rib when reinforcements showed up. That was a fun five seconds. I realised pretty quick that they were my backup though. And I might have thanked the Almighty for the save if it hadn't come with intense, money-green eyes at the helm.
"The fuck, Marcone? What are you doing here?" Chicago's Freeholding Lord had followed in the wake of my grand entrance; through the giant hole where the front door used to be. He had a trio of gun-totting goons at his back, all of them kitted out in black tactical gear and a high-end kitchen's worth of knives. They quickly and efficiently forced the vampires back and away from the hole, giving me a clear line of retreat if I needed it. Marcone himself didn't hesitate, pushing through, blade in hand to take up position beside me.
"Me? I'm saving the pitiful life of the idiot who just bull-rushed a fortified enemy position, on his own, and ruined the sting I spent the last four days orchestrating!"
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! Should I have left them happily offing the neighbours?"
"You are impossi-Down!" I ducked swiftly, catching the glint of a blade as it sailed past my head and into the face of the creature that had come at my back. I used its moment of stunned disorientation and agony to fire a bullet through its belly.
"How the Hell did you know about this before me?"
"You think I don't keep track of who or what enters my domain? You should know better." Marcone took down another one as he spoke.
"Showoff." He didn't reply but I knew he'd heard it. A self-satisfied smirk snuck over his face, one that could be passed off as an adrenaline fuelled, heat of battle kind of thing. It wasn't though. He was revelling in getting one up on me and getting to rub it in my face. Bastard. I pretended the next vampire was the smug git and punched it in the jaw. And then one of his buddies gobbed on me.
I heard gunfire but did that really matter? Everything felt so suddenly wonderful, a tingling wash of pleasure spreading out from where the saliva dripped over my jaw and ran down my neck. I'd missed this. Why was I fighting again? It was pointless, I should just give in and enjoy it. Except then I'd get eaten. Ah.
I pulled it together just in time to catch the claws of the guy I'd punched making a swing for my cheek. They raked shallowly through my skin, that half second enough to pull away from a much worse injury. Without thinking, I raised my blasting rod to his chest and muttered, "Fuego!"
There was a little more juice to it than I'd intended, scorching through the vampire and hitting the far wall. A decorative shelf and its occupying plants fell victim too, catching alight and dropping into a growing puddle of flames on the couch beneath. I didn't get the chance to see how quickly it spread. I was already wobbly from the saliva, mix that with the sudden backwards jerk I'd made and the force of the spell in the opposite direction, I didn't have a chance. I was propelled backwards, crashing to the floor and skidding a few feet over the laminate, by now wet and slippy with blood.
It might have been less mortifying if the gory slip-n-slide hadn't concluded with my shoulder hitting Marcone's shin. I stared up stupidly at him for a second, surprised green eyes meeting mine. I'm not sure if he wanted to be annoyed, amused or just plain incredulous but that moment of indecision nearly cost him. From where I lay, I watched one leathery monstrosity arc through the air, over the corpses of its kin and right at Marcone.
Not on my watch. There was a flash of panic across Marcone's face when I raised my arm, blasting rod and all, right at what he probably assumed was his head and cast Forzare. I saw him tense before his head snapped round, following the stunted shriek of the vampire as the spell hit its chin. It was sent flying off, a round of gunfire behind us marking its demise. Marcone's focus dropped back to me, a blur of motion and he was dragging me back to my feet.
He didn't ask if I was ok. Not with words, anyway. He held my gaze for a heartbeat or three, obviously scrutinous, then nodded shallowly at me. I nodded back, managing not to sway and ruin the illusion of Harry Dresden, vampire slaying badass.
"Five on the run, Boss. Rest accounted for here."
"Alright. Get this cleaned up, we'll take care of the others." Something about the way he said it made me think 'we' was me and him and no one else. Yes, I may hate the Outfit and all of its associated business practices but in a fight like this? Guys with guns were always welcome. On my side, anyway. "Dresden. Let's go."
Yup. Me and him. At least we weren't on top of a moving train this time.
The merry band of bloodsuckers weren't difficult to track. At least one of them had been injured in round one and in their haste to run, they hadn't bothered to consider the blood trail. It led us into a wooded area out back, built up in lieu of fencing as a border between properties. Marcone took point and that was fine. Without the immediate threat of death, my brain had retreated into the warm fuzzies and was trying really hard to convince me to stop, sit down, maybe run a hand over my own skin. Feel the sensations and just enjoy them.
Fighting, Harry. Keep your head in the game.
It was a pretty clear night, the waxing moon casting plenty of light to see by. Branches and foliage made enough dark spots to hide a multitude of monsters though. Not that I was worried. Everything, from the air on my face to the cosy comfort of my toes in my socks, made me feel warm and relaxed. That's totally not why the vamps got the drop on us. They surprised Marcone too and he'd been paying attention. Just saying.
So, vampires. Drop on us. Literally. A couple of them flung themselves from the trees above us as the others emerged from the undergrowth ahead. Guess they noticed the blood trail after all.
Tree Jumper Number One went all in, flying directly at Marcone and crashing into a messy brawl in the dirt. Number Two either didn't have the aim his buddy did, or just really did not want to hug me, and landed between me and any gallant rescues. A quick shield kept the first swing it made from hitting but it was shaky, a reflection of my concentration, and I wouldn't be able to maintain it. With the others closing I needed to make a move.
Fire was probably a bad plan here, damn trees and their persistently flammable nature. I hastily cast another Forzare, losing the shield and sending myself staggering. It succeeded in sending the vampire flying back into a thick tree trunk with a satisfying thwack though. I doubted it had killed him but it was enough to keep him down for the moment.
My attention turned to the three coming at us. I had a few tricks that I could throw, provided I could remember which pockets I'd squirrelled them away in. The ones I got my hands round first were ideal, wrapped up in a little plastic baggie and ready to go. I faced the approaching vampires head on and with a whispered mnemonic that may actually have been yelled, I sent the tiny things speeding towards the enemy. The thin plastic was obliterated as half a dozen ball bearings arced out, a faint crackling following in their wake. I’m not ashamed to admit that my aim was not the best at that moment. Still, three of the silver spheres hit home.
The vampire at the head of the pack shrieked as scorching metal impacted its chest and abdomen, the one to its right crumpling in agony as a bearing tore through its thigh. I hadn’t designed these things to be lethal but they were definitely nasty. They functioned in a similar way to my force rings but rather than kinetic energy, the ball bearings stored heat. When released, they burned fast and they burned hot. Hot enough to cauterise the shallow wound tracts they created, with the added bonus of being iron, in case of Fae. I hadn't thought about what that might do to a vampire if a projectile were to, say, breach its blood reservoir and embed itself there.
The creature scrabbled and tore at itself, desperately trying to remove the bearing, inflicting more damage than it could heal. It was a spectacle I would have spent more time appreciating, if not for the rest of the pack.
The vampire with the injured leg was already on his feet again and hobbling at me faster than it had any right to. Without thinking, I grabbed for my trusty Smith and Wesson, forgotten since we had left the house. I couldn’t recall how many rounds had already been spent but resigned to unloading it into the thing. The repeating report was almost as gratifying as the fall of the enemy as it pounded soundly through my veins. I was lost to it briefly, letting the sensation reverberate. Then a head rolled casually between my boots and the corpses, and pulled my attention back to Marcone.
There were two bodies, one conspicuously headless, beneath him, more blood splattered almost artfully up his neck and chin. His breath short, stance still tense, and how the fuck had he removed a head with that small blade? I narrowed my eyes at him and asked as much. He didn’t deign to answer. Just stared at me a moment and turned towards the vampire slumped unconscious against the tree I’d thrown it at. With no hesitation, Marcone grabbed it by the throat, pulled it up enough to reach his target, and then slashed it cleanly across the abdomen. Was that hot? That shouldn’t be hot, right? I swallowed thickly. Damn venom really knew how to fuck you up.
I watched the liquid pool from the monster’s blood reservoir until Marcone released his grip and let the vampire drop once more. Five bodies. Job done. With an effort of will, I tried to collect myself, John taking the time to do the same. When we were as ready as we could be, we began the stumbling journey in what I sincerely hoped to be the direction of the house and away from the carnage between the trees.
As I came to learn later, it was decidedly not the direction of the house.
We crashed into the side of a brick outhouse, gasping for air while the wall kept us upright. Even with the support, it felt too much like I was drifting, falling sideways as Marcone's profile got closer and closer. It wasn't until we overlapped and he was pillowing his face on my shoulder that I realised it had been him drifting. Like having a train pass the stationary one you are in and your brain telling you it's your train that's moving, only while completely ignoring the surrounding markers that should have been grounding my perspective. It was a surreal feeling.
And then to completely destroy the final vestiges of reality, Marcone twisted his chin into my throat. And bit it. I gave a startled squeak. Or that's what the noise should have been. It came out more grateful groan, courtesy of the venom. The desperate longing for sensation had only been growing the more I tried to fight it. Harsh or not, my skin lit up under the touch. With a weak and reluctant nudge, I broke the contact between us, a displeased noise bubbling from Marcone's throat.
"How much did they get on you?" A part of me had wanted the question to come out smarmy, condescend to him over his failure to avoid the saliva and his sheer lack of composure. Not the quiet, breathy and unconcerned query that floated past my tongue.
"Quite a bit." Marcone's steady answer didn't redeem him any. He was still close enough to my skin for me to feel his erratic, heated exhales. And his fingers curling around my hips, trying desperately to slide beneath my shirt despite where it clung wetly to me in places, didn't help his cause any.
In a hazy back corner of my mind I idly wondered if this was the first time Marcone had been dosed with vampire venom. The first time was the hardest, in my experience. So I'd probably have to forgive him his wandering hands, now clinging tightly to the bare skin of my waist, and teeth pressing softly back into my shoulder. Three points of direct contact.
It felt good. Really good. I shuddered, trying to force back the effects of the venom long enough to talk some sense into Marcone.
"Quit it!" I mumbled out, a paradigm of reason, "Think of the regret when you wake up tomorrow and realise you were all over me like this."
"Who said I would regret it?"
Oh. Well, when he put it like that… Nope. Venom. Venom, venom, evil vampires, veno-nnhah!
Marcone's tongue ran the length of my neck while he moved across me, holding me full body against the brick, chest to chest and … and hip to hip. It was a good thing my sense of dignity had already given up on me for the evening, or I might have been mortified by the sound I made and just how loud I made it. Before I could properly process the sensations, yet more were piled on. Marcone's mouth had migrated past my jaw to press firmly against my open mouth, not hesitating in claiming the new territory. I could taste blood on his tongue and briefly wondered if it belonged to one of us or …
The morbid thought was chased away by fingers scratching into the hair behind my ear pleasantly and the ratcheting desperation of the kiss. Damn could Marcone kiss. And touch. And grind. Too much and nowhere near enough. He clearly shared the thought; the hand in my hair slid back down until Marcone's thumb rest in the hollow of my throat and the other sacrificed its place on my waist to begin fighting with my belt. And by fight, I mean overwhelmingly conquer. He was finished with the buckle and on to my flies with the kind of speed and dexterity that would have put a Sihde Lord to shame.
A blink later and I was overwhelmed by the heat and the pressure and the yes of Marcone's fingers, dipped unabashed into my boxers and wrapped tight around my cock. I might have lost it right there, had it not been for the aggressive crackle of static that preceded an unwelcome interruption. A rough voice cut the air, one of Marcone's goons, I realised, reporting in. Terrible timing, and Marcone seemed to agree.
"We're done," he replied tersely, practically growling at his valiant little walkie-talkie. "Finish up there and head on back."
Part of me wanted to be pissed at him for the way he kept stroking me while he spoke, knowing that any of his men might have picked up on our gasping breaths or any potentially mortifying noises we might have made. Another, much larger part was just eternally thankful that he took the answering, "Sir?" and shut down any arguments or future distraction.
"You have your orders." Marcone's tone was final and the walkie-talkie skittering off across the dirt even more so. I showed my approval by dragging him back to my mouth, swallowing the groan as we made an effort to remove any space between our bodies once again. Rebuilding the layers of sensation the static had attempted to thwart, capitulating to the hazy, desperate demands for more that now seemed to permeate from every fibre of my being.
"When did you last…?" Marcone's spare hand snuck down the back of my jeans, running inquiringly to the center and down. His intent was startlingly obvious and I'm sure that if my face could flush more than it already was, then it would have then.
"I uh … never?"
A possessive growl bubbled up from Marcone's throat. Instantly he closed on my mouth once again, a pang of frantic, desperate energy breaking through the mellow haze. He pulled my leg up, trying to hook my knee over his hip and my balance finally gave in. All of my weight was suddenly held by my shoulders, the brick behind me and one awkwardly angled leg. Gravity didn't need to be told twice. I slid down in awkward jerks, my duster catching over and again on each tiny snag it could find. I'm so damn elegant.
John simply followed the movement down, somehow managing to keep kissing me all the way, until he was sat on his knees with a lap full of gangly wizard. Almost before we'd settled like that, he was pulling at my jeans, sliding them as far as they would go in this position. Which was, admittedly, not far but it was enough. I gasped into John's mouth as he took the opportunity to squeeze my bare arse with both hands, back slipping a little more as he inadvertently pulled me more soundly against him.
I could feel him hard beneath me, still tightly confined within unforgiving fabric, and that was hardly fair now, was it? John deserved the chance to experience all these lovely tingly sensations too, didn't he? With an awkward twist that regrettably pulled my mouth from his, I started tugging at his belt and flies until he was as free as I was. John groaned into his new home on my neck when my fingers ghosted over his cock, the vibrations a distraction as they rippled through me. How'd he manage to make sound feel good? Mystery for later.
Mission accomplished, I leaned my weight back against the wall while John adjusted himself, revelling in his tongue on my throat. Quiet noises enveloped us and I realised dimly that they must be from me because I couldn't feel them the way I had a moment ago. A louder one confirmed the notion, coinciding with the wonderful slide of skin as John's cock passed my own and pushed under my balls.
His skin was so warm, even against my own overheated flesh, at every point of contact. I grasped at the shoulders of his tactical vest, using the coarse fabric as a grounding point. As soon as both John's hands were back on my rear and his mouth soundly pressed against my neck, I martialed what little focus I had left and rolled my hips down into his lap.
The sucking kiss on my neck became a bite, John's muffled moan coursing hot through to my fingertips and toes. The tingling euphoria pushed me to do it again. And again. John's teeth retreated until only his forehead against my jaw and his panting breaths over my damp skin remained. His hands held to me tighter though, enthusiastically encouraging every movement I made.
"So long…" I was so focused, I almost missed it when Marcone began mumbling, not a shred of his stoic control left to him. "...wanted… so long… don't stop… "
And who was I to refuse?
I gathered everything I had left and redoubled my efforts, grinding between John’s faltering thrusts and the rub of his tactical gear against my crotch.
"Please, Harry…"
That 'please' did something to me that nothing else had, hit on a weak spot that I just wasn't ready for. I could feel every muscle in my body tense before static explosions washed through each nerve at once. Orgasm was one thing. This was on a different level altogether. Even the tingling aftershocks sent wave upon wave of sensation flowing through me, each one taking more and more of the accumulated desperation with it and dispersing it away to who-cares-where.
In the overwhelming muddle of feelings that followed and passed, I regrettably missed John's own release, only processing it vaguely when I realised he was curled quietly against my chest. But that was ok. He was still warm and looked like he was comfy. I felt oddly calm watching him from increasingly heavy eyes. Was nice. Was safe. The encroaching darkness cuddling round us like a blanket, I drifted along after John into blissful unconsciousness.
-----
Malicious, blinding light tore me from unconsciousness and threatened to split my brain in half. I squinted past the pain, dodged the evil purple-black haze that still swam in clouds at the edge of my awareness. I was outside. The sun was rising. Everything hurt. My butt was cold. It was all very suspicious. I'd have to investigate. Next year. When this … hangover? Had I been drinking last night? When it fucked off. I'd figure it aaaalll out then.
There was a groan from somewhere to the side, someone else getting the same shitty wake up call from the obnoxious ball of gas above us. Right there with you, buddy. I briefly wondered if I knew the person but decided I didn't actually care at the moment. Instead I focused on my mind and my body, slowly running inventory on bodily function and motor skill.
Besides the imploding skull, my limbs were heavy with lethargy and ached with the slow thrum of my heartbeat. The pain in my back was sharper but that wasn't really surprising when I'd gone and used heat-cracked earth as a mattress. My chest was a more interesting story. It wasn't any worse than the pain elsewhere but the bite was different. Tight and maybe swollen, a pressure making itself known every time I inhaled.
Had I been in a fight? Hell, it felt like it. Another displeased noise reached my ears and I found the strength to turn my head, needing to be sure no one was injured. I regretted it instantly. John Marcone was laying barely a foot from me, an arm slung over his eyes against the sunlight. There was dried blood cracked and caked over his hand and face, with more likely hidden by the black of his clothes.
The whole evening came back in a slow trickle of memories at the sight of him. Nothing dramatic, I didn't have the energy for more than drifting through the recollections. Maybe if my limbs hadn't felt like lead I might have kicked up a scene, yelled and denied and fought. But they did and I couldn't. So I just lay there, staring dumbly at Marcone while the truth of what had happened sank in.
We'd killed more than a dozen vampires and then I'd had sex. With Marcone. And it was good. I mean, of course it had been, we'd both been jumped up on a powerful aphrodisiac. The most horrifying thing about it though was that I couldn't shake this one question.
How good would it be without the venom?
It was a question I shouldn't want answered but it wouldn't leave me be, especially not when guarded green eyes settled on mine, a vulnerability and fear there that I'd only seen once before. Like I'd witnessed something I shouldn't have, stumbled upon something he had never wanted me to know.
I gave a shaky smile and said, calm as I could, "Uh… Hey. Come here often?"
Marcone held the eye-contact for a long minute, and heck knows what he saw there but it seemed to do the trick. He exhaled heavily, turned his head skyward and shut his eyes again, calm as you please. I snorted out a laugh, both at his reaction and my own bad joke. And then I realised why my butt was still cold. I groaned, making the mistake of looking down to check. Yup, my trousers were waaay too far down to be anywhere close to decent. Forget zip codes, them and decency weren't even in the same state anymore. It was mortifying but even that wasn't enough to force my limbs to cooperate. At least that question had been answered though. Not like I was the only one compromised either, I don't think Marcone had even noticed that his dignity was dangling out his flies yet. Goddamn.
Red Court venom could go suck a dick.
And perhaps so could Marcone, if he was so inclined.