dresden_kink_mods: black and white crescent moon and stars, sort of a burn out affect (Default)
dresden_kink_mods ([personal profile] dresden_kink_mods) wrote in [community profile] dresden_kink2012-01-10 11:13 pm
Entry tags:

Round Five by five, baby!

Round Five: Open!
Ghost Story Prompts and meta: Open!
Tracking Post: Open

| Round One: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Two: open only for feedback, WIPs continued in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Three: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation. You can also continue in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |
| Round Four: open only for feedback and WIPs continuation. You can also continue in The Overflow Post or the current round. Link back to your previous posts! |

Read this first. Do it. There will be a test.

The Rules. Including the Posting Guidelines. aka:

In the first line of your fill*, you must include:

1) Character(s)/Pairing(s)/Threesome(s)/Moresome(s) as applicable.
2) Any kinks included. Please take this to include scenarios, themes, etc. Use your imagination.
3) MANDATORY WARNINGS/CONTENT NOTES if there is dubcon or noncon, underage characters in sexual situations, major character death, suicide, self-harm, and/or graphic descriptions or extensive discussions of abuse.
Please consider trigger warnings for any other widespread triggers in your fill, such as natural disasters, or specifying instances of harm, such as eating disorders.
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.

Characters & Pairings: Mentions of Harry Dresden/John Marcone, but entirely nonsexual gen in this fic. Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Ebenezar McCoy, Thomas Raith, Justine, Listens to Wind, Mister, Mouse.
Kinks: kidfic, second childhood, age regression, family bonding, fish out of water, situational:age change, involuntary transformation
Content notes: no mandatory notes. Mentions of a previous sexual relationship between two adults, one of whom is now a child, but absolutely no sexual contact or content while said character is a kid. Veg*n trigger warning for death of an animal.


For images: Please post image prompts and fills and all other images 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"], replace [ ] with < >. If you are linking to an external image, please include a description with the link.

NEW FOR ROUND FIVE: After you have posted your fill, please go to the fill tracking post and comment there to say so, including a link back to your fill. You don't have to do this, but no guarantees it will be caught otherwise.

Thank you.

The discussion post is here. Mod questions go here. The delicious account is here, (currently on-hold. Thanks, newdelicious.). The pinboard account is here (not up to date).

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. Please indicate in the subject line that it is a Repost To Fill.

Open prompt is here: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/3344.html?thread=3032848#cmt3032848

Comments in chronological order: http://dresden-kink.dreamwidth.org/3344.html?view=flat

Edit 5-14-15 So 3+ years later, the only comments this post is getting are spam comments. I've changed the settings to screen all comments to discourage that. If you leave a legit comment, I will unscreen it. Thanks, all. I had a great time.

non-sexual Hendricks/Marcone BDSM

(Anonymous) 2013-02-13 09:20 pm (UTC)(link)
This was written, I believe, in response to some prompt or other in one of the earlier parts, but then it sat on my hard drive half-finished for well over a year, and I didn't include a link to the prompt in the file. Ooops.

Pairing: Hendricks/Marcone, non-sexual BDSM. Implicit Marcone/Helen Beckit and one-sided Marcone/Dresden.
Kinks: Non-sexual BDSM: bondage, whips.
No mandatory warnings.

I don't look up when I hear him enter the room. I stay kneeling, naked, on the floor. I slow my breathing, letting myself relax, sink into myself.
"I looked into the woman you asked me about," Hendricks said to me quietly after the others had left.

"And?" I thought I knew the answer. Mistress Celestine had always been a risk, and I had much less room in my life for unnecessary risks now. Asking Hendricks for his opinion had been, at heart, a way of stretching out slim hope just a little longer.

He shook his head. "Don't think she'd betray you for money. But she's got a kid."

I nodded. "Damn." If it became known that I made a habit of putting myself in such a vulnerable position with her, it would only be a matter of time before someone tried to take advantage- and a child was a lever that could induce people to do just about anything. I had faith in my abilities to keep myself safe, when I was unbound and alert. The entire point of my interludes with Mistress Celestine was to allow myself to drop my guard. And once I had made myself vulnerable to her like that, even a bodyguard observing wouldn't be able to save me from death at the hands of a woman desperate enough to sacrifice both my life and her own to save her child. It was a scenario I could envision all too easily. It was, I told myself, a small thing to give up. One personal indulgence gone, just one more of the many sacrifices I'd had to make in these tumultuous weeks since Tony Vargassi's death.

"I could try to find a replacement," Hendricks said. "But I'll be honest. It's damn dangerous, what you were doing with her." Which he knew only in the most general terms. He was, perhaps, the one man to whom I could trust not just my life, but my dignity, something I wasn't willing to trust to those who had known me longer. I wasn't going to push it by giving him more insight into my desires than he could ever possibly want.

"Yes," I said. "I realize that."

He nodded, then after a moment's hesitation, said, "Not to get too personal, sir, but the risk assessment gets a lot friendlier if you're not tied up. One of Bianca's girls-"

"Not to get too personal, Mr. Hendricks," I said, cutting him off, "but my time with Mistress Celestine was never about sex."

Hendricks looked quizically at me. "I see," he said, though he clearly didn't.

I considered the problem, but there had always only been one answer. "A replacement," I said regretfully, "won't be necessary."


He walks up behind me, then circles once, then half around again to stand in front of me. I keep my eyes lowered, until I feel his hand in my hair, forcibly tilting my head up to look at him. He stares at me, searching, and then nods to himself, as if satisfied.<


It was several weeks before he brought the subject up again. We were, once again, alone. My usual bodyguard, the terrifyingly competent Tommy Tomm, was enjoying his evening off, and Hendricks was filling in. He was quiet, at first, a silent presence waiting nearby as I took care of the mountains of paperwork spawned by my growing business interests, legal and otherwise. But when I put down the papers with a tired sigh, he spoke.

"Wanted to ask you something."


"About Mistress Celestine." He was blushing slightly, which seemed odd, considering how matter-of-factly he'd handled the matter before. He waited for my nod before continuing. "When you said that it wasn't about sex," he said, "what did you mean?"

I looked at him, letting my chin rest on my hands. "That's a rather personal question, Mr. Hendricks," I said mildly.

He shifted his weight nervously. "It's just that I... might have found a replacement. Someone safe. But it depends on whether you were serious about it not being a sex thing."

I took a moment to respond. Some part of me was yearning for it, aching for the freedom of surrender. "I see," I hedged. It was true that my interludes with Mistress Celestine hadn't involved sex, per se. And my desires for such behavior was not motivated by my desire for sex- it was a different drive entirely. And yet, my involvement with her had undeniably been sexually charged.

"It's a guy," he said quickly, staring at a point past my shoulder.

"That's-" I started, then paused, considering. "-not necessarily an issue," I finally finished.

Hendricks grunted and looked down, twitching his hands like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. I raised an eyebrow and said, "Mr. Hendrick, am I correct in thinking that you're offering your own services?"

He nodded, looking rather like he was hoping the floor would open beneath him. "Maybe. Depends... you know. What you would want me to do. If you wanted."

So I told him.

The blindfold is cool to the touch, and thick enough to plunge me into total darkness. His fingers fasten it at the back of my head, familiar and comforting. My breath comes out as a grateful whimper, an undignifed sound that could never escape from me in any other place.
We kept it simple, the first time. With no special equipment or dedicated space available, we had to be more resourceful than when I had seen a professional. Under other circumstances, we might have used a bedroom- it would certainly be traditional- but by unspoken agreement we didn't consider that an option worth considering. In the end, we settled on the basement exercise room of one of the several houses that I rotated through.

By prior agreement, I stripped off my shirt but left pants in place. He tied me to the weight bench- of course he didn't need any instruction on how to tie someone up securely. As I felt the ropes around my wrist, it was as if a large burden had been removed from my shoulders that I hadn't even been aware of until it was gone.

He picked up the leather flogger that I'd asked him to acquire. He rested his hand, strong and rough, on my back. "You sure about this, boss?" he asked quietly.

"Please," I whispered.

He pulls me to my feet. When he pins my arms behind me in a familiar wresting hold, my instincts find a dozen potential weakpoints, a hundred ways I could try to resist. I ignore them, instead giving way to every subtle push and pull, surrendering to his strength.

Afterwards, after he'd untied me, we sat companionably together, not quite touching.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?"

I shook my head. "I need to know that this hasn't compromised our working relationship."

He didn't answer for some time, and I began to worry that I had. That letting him see me undone like that had irrevocably changed things between us.

"No," he finally said. "We're good." He stretched, and then looked me in the eye for the first time since I'd stripped off my shirt. "Same time next week?"

He presses me against the wall, his chest on my back a warm contrast to the cold of the tiles. "Stay," he growls into my ear, the first word either of us has said since he came in. The massive weight of him leaves me, and he brings one of my wrists up over my head, locks it into the cuff I know is chained to the wall. Then the other. They are soft but unyielding when I pull against them.


It didn't become a weekly ritual. I didn't need it nearly so often, and my life was not- could not be- that predictable. But it did become, as Hendricks so eloquently put it, a "thing." If the select men who stood guard outside had any thoughts, they didn't share them. No rumors flowed through the organization. And if anyone noticed how Hendricks became even more watchful and protective of me, well, that needed no explanation. Simple loyalty could bring that change in a man.

After the gruesome death of Tommy Tomm, after Lawrence's stupid, pointless betrayal, after seeing into another man's soul and finding the entire world changed afterwards, I was more grateful than ever for Hendricks' steady presence at my side. And when werewolves prowled the streets of Chicago and I was their next intended victim, I was startled to discover that my greatest fear was not that I might die, but that I might lose Hendricks.

A shiver, a thrill of anticipation, runs through me when I hear the sound of a bag being unzipped. I strain to hear the clinks and rattles, determine what it is he's taking out, but as always it's a fruitless endeavor. So I simply wait, trusting that he will return shortly, that he will bring what I need.
After the long drive home from Wisconsin, and after returning the fragile scrap of fabric to its rightful owners, I wasn't surprised when Hendricks firmly pulled me away from the work I tried to bury myself in. Trained out of screaming in frustration, let alone weeping in sorrow, I could at least scream in pain.

"Hey, boss. Promise me something?" he said to me quietly as he cradled my head on his lap afterwards.

"Mmmm?" I said, still swimming in quiet bliss.

"Don't ever do this with Dresden."

I'm sure that the stillness that came over me then was confirmation enough of his suspicions. I can conceal things from most people. Hendricks is not one of them. "Mr. Hendricks," I said, my denial more a deflection than an attempt to deceive. "where on earth did you get the idea-"

"I'm not blind, Johnny," he said, unwilling to take the hint. "Look, if you can get him, great. Fuck him all you want, I wish you lots of happiness and all that shit. But this," he gestured to the neat array of whips and canes and other implements meant to hurt without harming. "This stays between us. Got it?"

"It's a moot point, Mr. Hendricks," I said.

"Promise me," he said quietly, meeting my gaze so long and intently that it seemed like he was trying to do the impossible- for us- and see into my soul. "Please."

I looked away. "Alright, Mr. Hendricks. I promise."

The first strokes are soft, a gentle thud against my back and shoulders. More like a caress than a strike. It makes it all the more of a shock when leather is replaced by metal, a hundred tiny chains raking against my skin. The pain is little enough that, outside this room, I could ignore it, stoicly shove it aside to avoid showing weakness. But here, that isn't necessary, and I let the cry run freely through me. The next strike is harder, and the next one even harder, pushing aside everything but the pain. Perhaps if I tried, I could determine what he was doing, what he was using, but that isn't the point. The point is to simply feel.

It was, inevitably, Hendricks who walked in on us the first time, narrowing his eyes when he saw Helen perched on my lap with our clothing half-off and hands wandering. I saw him first, and gently disentangled myself. "Sorry," he grunted. "There's been an incident."

Helen was not an easy woman to fluster; she smiled at Hendricks politely and had restored herself to presentability in under a minute. "Call me," she murmured into my ear, and left.

Hendricks was all business, informing me of the details, making arrangements, cooly efficient. It wasn't until we were on our way that I said, "You're upset about Helen." I hadn't expected that. I'd had a handful of lovers over the years, and he'd generally approved of them. It had nothing to do with what was between us.

He shrugged, eyes not leaving the road.

It was several long minutes before he spoke. "Remember what I said about Dresden?"

"You've said many things about Dresden," I said. "Most of them unflattering."

He grunted in agnowledgement. "I mean what you promised me. About our thing."

I nodded, not that he was watching me. "Yes, Mr. Hendricks. I remember."

"I'd ask you to make the same promise about her," he spat out, "but it doesn't matter, does it? She doesn't need any damn whips. You're torturing yourself just looking at her."

I couldn't deny it. I looked away and said nothing.

I gasp ragged breaths when he stops, too lightheaded to think, and then he's pressed up against me again. His clothing is rough against my skin, an agony of it's own. His breath is hot on my neck. "Mine," he growls, his hand on my shoulder. "Mine." The other hand grips my hip with enough strength to leave bruises. "Mine," he says a third time, and reality comes unhinged when I feel his teeth on my ear, teeth on freshly healed skin, the lightest pressure imaginable on the place where a demon ripped my flesh away, a bare touch of his tongue as if he were an animal trying to clean a wound.

And then he holds me as I shake and come apart the way that I didn't then. Then, I needed to be strong for a little girl; now, he is strong for me, as I tremble and swear and sob. He holds me and is silent, knowing I couldn't take comforting words even from him. He just holds me, until I feel empty and exhausted.

I'm barely aware as he reaches up and lets me out of the cuffs, but he catches me neatly when I collapse against him, brings me gently to the ground. He takes off my blindfold- I only flinch from the light for a moment- and waits until I've come back to myself. When I nod to him, he leaves only for a few moments, coming back with hot, damp washcloths. I sit up and he hands one to me, which I use to wipe sweat and salt trails and snot off my face, as he used another to clean my back. He must have drawn blood, because once he's done I feel the sting of antiseptic, but he doesn't say anything, working quickly and efficiently.

I draw in a long, slow breath, let it out slowly, and then say, very quietly. "Thank you."

He grunts agnowledgement, continues to clean the wounds he gave me. "Been awhile," he says finally.


He hands me a clean undershirt, which I put on, and then I lean back against him, settling myself in, letting my breaths match his. Several minutes pass before I say, suddenly, "I'm breaking things off with Helen."

"Good," Hendricks says immediately.

"Jealous?" I ask, and then wish I hadn't.

But there's a reason it's Hendricks I allow myself to be unguarded around. He just makes an amused sound- almost but not quite a laugh. Then he sobers. "She's not good for you."

"No, I suppose she isn't," I agree. And she's on the short list of possibile traitors, but now is not the time or place for that conversation.

It's only a few minutes more before I push myself up to my feet, slowly dress myself. Hendricks stands as well, checking his weapons, checking his cellphone for security alerts. We don't talk or look at each other; we need this time to return to our usual roles, for me to put up the walls that so rarely come down.

"Mr. Hendricks, if you would?" I ask when I'm ready.

He nods, opens the door, eyes alert. A quick glance at the hallway and he nods to me to follow- overkill, perhaps, in my own domain, but he's always overprotective after one of our sessions.

When I close the door behind us I leave my own weakness behind. But still, I take comfort that the one person in the world I can trust completely remains at my side.


Re: non-sexual Hendricks/Marcone BDSM

(Anonymous) 2013-02-14 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
I liked this a lot!