Round Four IS CLOSED

[dresden_kink_mods]

Round Four is closed to new prompts and fills. Go to Round Five



| Round One: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or Round Four |
| Round Two: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or Round Four |
| Round Three: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation |
| if you previously continued your WIP in The Overflow Post or Round Four, keep going where ever you like, just link link link! |

Round Four: Closed


Read this first. Do it. It's not here to be pretty.

The Rules. Including the Posting Guidelines. aka:

In the first line of your fill, please include:

Character(s)/Pairing(s)/Threesome(s)/Moresome(s) as applicable; Any kinks included; MANDATORY WARNINGS if there is dubcon or noncon, underage characters in sexual situations, and/or major character death. Please don't conflate warnings and kinks; treat each individually, and use your pairings to indicate gen/het/slash/multi/&c. Do not warn for het, slash, or otherwise.

For images: Please post image prompts and fills with alt tag descriptions or with a text description of the piece. Example: [img src="neked.jpg" alt="Here's John being all hot and half naked saying Dresden et cetera et cetera"]. If you are linking to an external image, please include a description with the link.

Thank you.


The discussion post is here. Mod questions go here. The delicious account is here.

Don't forget about all the unfilled prompts. Got an unfilled prompt you want to give a second chance? Repost it here. Otherwise, go ahead and repost an unfilled prompt as a new comment with a link to the original if you are filling it.

Comments in chronological order: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/2675.html?view=flat

Any prompts, fills, discussion, or meta featuring authentic Ghost Story spoilers should be posted on the Ghost Story post.

ROUND FOUR IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS AND FILLS. GO TO ROUND FIVE. YOU CAN CONTINUE YOUR ROUND FOUR WIPS HERE.

Comments

Bottoms Up 2/3

[(Anonymous)]

Pairings: Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone
Kinks: first time, light BDSM, surprise-kink for bottoming, hints of surprise-kink for BDSM
Warnings: fuck-or-apocalypse style dub-con, mentions of past trauma (rape), PTSD, associations of bottoming with submission

BOTTOMS UP

Both men shed their clothes and approached the bed, determinedly casual, bluffing their way through the awkwardness settling over them.

Harry sat at the head with a pillow across his lap. John sat at the foot, forcing himself not to cover his genitalia. Neither of them looked the other in the eye, although they snuck glances now and then.

“Right,” John announced eventually, “Not that this hasn't been delightfully middle-school, but we should probably ...”

“Get on with it,” Harry finished, nodding. “Not that there's any rush or anything. I mean, midnight's three hours away, there's plenty of time if you want to wait a while longer and just, you know, work up to it.”

“I'd rather get this done quickly, Mr Dresden.”

Dresden flinched. “Don't call me that, not while we're … you know. It's weird.”

“Harry, then. The point stands.”

“Right. Yeah. Right, then. Um.”

Harry visibly shook his nervousness off, setting the pillow aside – John bit back a curse as he saw the size of the man; didn't it just figure that the first time he spread his legs it was going to be for a perfectly proportioned giant – and moving to stand at the foot of the bed. He gently nudged John's knees apart – John fought the urge to clamp them together; he wasn't some blushing maiden, and shying away wouldn't help anyway – and carefully pushed him down onto his back.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

And he slipped his fingers between his lips.

“Oh no you don't!”

Dresden's look of bafflement, hand still hanging halfway out of his mouth, would have been hilarious under any other circumstances.

“I don't know what adolescent fantasies you're working off of, but if you think you're going in there with nothing to ease the way but spit, you've another think coming, Mister Dresden. Lube – real lube – is in the drawer, along with gloves and condoms. Use them.”

Dresden boggled as John reflected on the wisdom of allowing first access to someone whose only experience with homosexual intercourse had been violent enough to scar him for life, then glared. He freed his hand and snarled, “First of all, it's Harry, remember? Secondly, I heard Cujo, no shit there's lube and stuff. I was going to start with a blowjob, you dick. I'm good at those.”

He wrapped wet fingers around John's cock and started tugging. “You are massively irritating, you know that? Can't just lie back and trust someone to take care of you, no, you have to be in control every step of the way. Jerk.”

Annoyance was a warm, familiar blanket over the cold wash of nervousness John had been fighting, and he gratefully snapped back, “Pardon my utterly irrational assumptions, Mister Dresden, I don't know why I thought a man who goes gray at the thought of being penetrated might be unaware that lubricant eases the process.”

“Shut up, scumbag,” Harry retorted, then leaned forward and took John into his mouth.

He was good at this, John thought distractedly through slurps and gulps, watching his dick slide in and out between wide, slightly chapped lips. His fingers crept unconsciously into unkempt hair, tugging at it until large hands trapped his wrists and pulled them away.

“Stop,” he ground out. “Stop now, I'm going to – ”

Dresden pulled away with an obscene pop. “Is that a problem? I kind of thought that was the whole purpose.”

“This is a good point for you to start preparing me. Penetration is a good deal less painful if you're already aroused when it begins.”

Dresden's eyebrows bounced up toward his hairline. “Really?” he asked interestedly. “Huh.”

John decided he really wanted that list of names.

“Okay, get up on your knees in front of the pillows. How attached are you to using these condoms?”

“You have to ask?”

“It's just that there's not much point in using one unless you're afraid you'll get pregnant. The last time I had sex was a few years ago, and anything I might have picked up then would have been dead within a week, two weeks tops. Wizard immunity.”

“... You're still wearing a condom.”

“Okay, okay, stars. Relax, will you?”

Lubricant warm and slick in his hand, Dresden pried apart John's buttocks and eased first one broad finger and then another into the waiting hole.

It was … odd. Uncomfortable, less for the pain than the vulnerable sensation of being spread open and invaded. But strangely compelling for much the same reason. And although his muscles burned from the unprecedented stretch they were enduring, he felt frustratingly empty at the same time, for all that he couldn't imagine being forced any wider than he was now.

“You can work a little faster than this, Dresden, I'm not made of glass.”

“Seriously, John, call me Harry.”

“Seriously, Harry, don't call me John.”

“Fine, Kitten,” Harry said with a playful swat to John's rear, adding another finger before John could react.

This time he found John's prostate.

“John? John! What happened, what's wrong? Shit, did I hurt you? John!”

Harry's frantic voice ringing in his ears, John tried to speak, tried to reassure the wizard, but all that came out was, “Fisgudditagah.”*

“Shit, shit, hang on, let me get out of you, I'll go get Hendricks.”

“Nnn!” John tried again, “Fizz g'd. G'n.”*

“What?”

“S'good. Prostate. 'Gain. Pl'z.”

“Pros-what-now?”

Later John would examine that question and pity the wizard a little for what it implied, but right now he desperately wanted a wall to bang his head against. What did vocabulary matter? He had an organ that needed prodding! “Nnnn!” he exclaimed, wiggling his ass impatiently in the hopes that Dresden-Harry-whatever would get the hint. “Harry! Bump! Prostate! Sweet spot! Now! 'Gain!”

“Oh. Oh. Cool! Like this?”

John writhed, feeling like he'd stuck his tongue in a wall socket. The added stimulation tipped the balance of the sliding, in-and-out sensation firmly into pleasant territory. Gratuitously pleasant, even – soon John was pushing back onto the fingers exploring his cavity, craving more.

Finally Harry pulled out and lined himself up with John's entrance. He could feel the head nudging against his fluttering ring of muscle, warm and blunt, and he wanted it inside. Now.

Slowly, slowly, it – pushed – in. It was much bigger than Harry's fingers, massive though they were, and pain exploded as it breached the sphincter. Christ, it was splitting him in two and it still wasn't finished! More... more... John sobbed into the pillow as it finally slid home, relieved that it would stop now while he adjusted. Except it didn't. It pushed further and further in, and he scrambled to relax, trying not to fight the invasion.

“Harry, Harry stop, you have to wait – wait – I'm not ready, wait!”

“It's okay John, I know this is the hard part but you're doing great. Just hang in there, it'll get better in a second, I promise. Relax, you're making it harder by fighting it. Think of something else, like a tricky bit of office work, or flying a kite. Anything.”

John bit his pillow and thought about what he was going to do to idiot wizards who didn't understand the meaning of the words “stop” and “wait.” Then he thought about what he'd like to do to people who taught idiot wizards that words like “stop” and “wait” didn't matter. It kept him occupied until Dresden was buried in him to the hilt, shaking like a leaf and finally, finally still.

“Harry?”

“Ye-yeah?”

“In the future, when I tell you to stop doing something to me,” John explained, body finally loosening around the length impaling it, “it means you should stop what you're doing. Are we clear?”

“Um. Okay?”

“Alright then. Proceed.”

“'Proceed'? Seriously? You – ” Harry cut himself off with a huffed laugh.

“Bossy,” he murmured, pulling out slowly and pushing in again.

“Mmmmn.” That was much better. John widened his stance and tilted his hips a bit, and the head that had given him so much trouble earlier brushed across his sweet spot. John promptly forgave it.

“Yghhs,”* he announced. “Fessaher.”*

Harry continued at the same tortuous pace, sluggishly dragging the entire length of his shaft directly along the live wire nestled in John's rectum.

Desire built and pooled in John's blood, and he tried again to encourage Harry to move, move, with identical results. His failure sent him spiraling to new heights of ecstasy and despair, whimpering with need and frustration. In and out and in and out andinandout, he burned and he trembled and he couldn't do anything to affect the process. One more molasses-slow thrust had him almost there, so close, so close to the edge he could taste the stars. John went wild trying to get the speed he needed. He pushed back rhythmically, he scrabbled with his hands and feet for the leverage to shove against Harry's stabilizing – confining – grip on his hips, he shook with need, trying to plead through lips gone numb with urgency. Harry actually slowed down, the bastard, without ever faltering in his drive across John's prostate, and John shook harder, making small noises of distress.

“John? Talk to me, John. Are you okay? You're shaking pretty badly; maybe we should stop for a minute.”

“Nnn-nn-nnn,” John argued, trying to rock back onto Harry's unhelpfully motionless dick.

Harry, typically, ignored John's articulate rebuttal and began easing out. “This is not going to work if you're freaking out so badly you can't stop shaking long enough to speak, John.”

The sudden emptiness where he'd been so full was too much to bear. Panicking, half-mad, he shifted his weight to one hand and reached back with the other to grab Harry's hips and slam them forward until he was balls-deep in John, his only warning a hoarse cry of “Mmmore!”

John had a brief moment while Harry recovered to savor the shivery, stretching, skin-prickling sensations that resulted, gasping at the burn and the indescribable stuffed feeling. He was so full it was uncomfortable, and the perfection of it was nearly painful. Then before John could blink he was pushed forward onto his face, legs spread wide and useless, both hands firmly pinned to the mattress, Harry's cock still fully engulfed in him, and this, this was perfect. “No,” a deep, harsh voice growled in his ear, and John came undone, world vanishing into endless white fire.

***

He came to with Harry rocking into him; small, involuntary thrusts accompanied by a repetitive litany of Harry's unique brand of swearing.

“D'es'n? H'ry?”

“ –ll's fucking bellstones you rat-bastard, you – John? Was that you?”

“Mmmm.” Sleepy and sex-stupid, eager to please as he always was after a truly earth-shattering orgasm, he shifted and offered up a genuine smile. In the shocked silence that followed he nudged over closer to the hand – apparently forgotten – still pinning one of his wrists and nuzzled it. Harry let go with a start and John whined in protest. When it returned, hesitantly, he kissed it gratefully, mouthing at the thumb until it lifted and he could wrap his lips around it and suckle.

Harry sucked in a breath, choked and ragged, then growled, “I swear you do this on purpose, do something completely inconsiderate and get me good and mad, then turn around and be decent, or even sweet. It's twisted. You're twisted, John.”

John hummed happily, laving the digit in his mouth with his tongue. The stretch and slide in his ass was exquisite. He might be hitting middle age, but his body seemed to have decided he was ready for another round already – he could feel his cock stirring, taking an interest in proceedings once more. One of the more alert fragments of his mind wondered dazedly if this was a perk of sleeping with a wizard or just some random miracle of biology. Refractory period, what refractory period?

They rocked together in silence for a time, until Harry sighed, “You're so beautiful like this. What I wouldn't give to see you like this all the time.”

John's wrists were moved up over his head, held by one massive hand as the other pushed down on his back, pressing him firmly into the mattress before stroking upward to close over his neck. A soft “oh,” escaped him. He started to buck under Harry's ministrations, gasping for breath.

“Stars, John. What I'd do to make you mine.”

Electricity rolled through John's body in a wave, thorough and merciless. “Yessss,” he moaned shamelessly, writhing on his captor's cock, nearly pulling a muscle trying to tilt his hips to give the man a smoother slide, “please. Yours. Yes.”

Harry groaned and shoved, hammering away just millimeters from the spot that would tip John right over the edge. John sobbed, barely aware of the muffled, “Not fair, not fair, you don't mean that, don't make promises like that, John, it's dangerous,” pressed into his shoulder.

“Please,” he begged, unsure what he was asking for. Release? Captivity? “Please.”

Harry shook – and didn't that trigger some interesting sensations, physical and otherwise – shook like a recovering junkie offered crank. “Don't. Don't. You don't understand what you're promising. You don't know what I could do with an offer like that. Don't promise me that when you don't mean it, John, please, it's not fair.”

John whimpered deep in his throat. He craved … but he wasn't in charge … but he needed, needed, needed. Naked, pinned, incapable of rational thought, let alone cogent argument, John dipped into the last weapon left to his arsenal. Biting his lip, he turned his head as far as he could manage and dredged up the most piteous puppy-dog eyes he could summon after three decades of disuse.

Apparently the dust brushed right off, because Harry froze in place to stare, lust and indignation and lust and horror and lust warring on his face for supremacy. Finally he gave a full-body shiver, collapsing onto John and burying his face in John's neck.

“You manipulative bastard,” he accused, but his voice held traces of fond, if anxious, laughter and he pressed a kiss below John's ear before continuing.

“Fine. For this one night, until the sun touches the sky, you're mine, Johnny Marcone. Mine,” he repeated, voice dark and fierce, before sinking his teeth into John's shoulder.

Shivering as much with anticipation as apprehension, John rode the pain down into blissful oblivion.

“You have no idea what you've let yourself in for, Kitten.”


*Translations from Drool for the uninitiated:
“Feels good, do it again."
"Feels good. Again."
“Yes,”
“Faster.”

Re: Bottoms Up 2/3

[(Anonymous)]

Ggggnnnnh!
OMG this is one of the most fucking hot things I've ever read on this meme, honest.
I can't wait for more, anon!

(Now, if you will excuse me, I'm gonna run under a cold shower)

Re: Bottoms Up 2/3

[(Anonymous)]

*blushes* You flatterer you! I'm so glad you like it! Part 3 is in the works, and more than half-way done already. I just need to get John out of the bed and over to the damn phone...