Perchance to Dream for inkpenpaper
Author: rubygirl29
Recipient: inkpenpaper
Title: Perchance to Dream
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,400
Pairing/Character(s): Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Notes/Warnings: Sexually explicit, m/m
Summary: John has nightmares and insomnia. Harry has a potion for that ... and some advice from an unlikely source.
You really don't know somebody until you know their dreams. I don't know who said it or if it was something that I discovered, somewhat to my dismay, after sleeping with John Marcone.
I don't mean having sex. That was easy, once I stopped freaking out whenever I thought about my heterosexual genes flipping around like a gymnast in Cirque du Soleil and gave in to the inevitable. Incidentally, the sex is great. I mean sleeping with somebody. It took a while. I was skittish, John was too private. It was like having an affair; hot sex and sneaking out to return to our individual cold beds to sleep. Sleeping together, other than a brief post-coital nap, was too intimate, too entwined.
Sleep is when we are the most vulnerable, the most open. It's the time when the lid comes off the box and we dream. Dreams reveal our secrets, good and bad. I prefer the good, but nightmares come whether we want to relive them or not. I have my share of both. I'm pretty sure John does, too. Maybe that's why we didn't sleep together. Maybe that's why we don't talk about it much.
Chicago is a cold city. The wind off Lake Michigan is brutal. Wizards may live long beyond the normal span, but that doesn't mean we don't have aches and pains like mere mortals. I was walking back to my apartment, my Volkswagen bug having succumbed again to age and technical antipathy with my wizardly aura. In other words, it was dead. I shoved my hands into my duster pocket and hunched my shoulders against the growing gale. The skies overhead promised snow; dirty gray, heavy clouds were piling up in the West. The weather forecast was for six to twelve inches of snow by the next morning. Lovely. Where was global warming in Chicago?
I was about three blocks from home when I heard the purr of a powerful motor approaching. A long black limousine came to a stop. So did I. The window came down a scant two inches and a pair of dollar green eyes crinkled at me as the owner smiled. "Cold enough for you, Mr. Dresden?"
Mr. Dresden I sighed. Last night we had been wrapped up in each other's bodies. Not even a ghost could have slipped between us. Today, I was "Mr. Dresden" to the world.
"John." Damn, my teeth were chattering.
"Get in the car." There was a touch of asperity in his voice.
"For business or pleasure?"
"To keep your damned skinny carcass from freezing solid."
"It's not that far to my place."
"You're not going to your place. You have no heat."
"I have a fireplace. Utilitarian but romantic." I batted my eyelashes at him.
"There is nothing romantic about freezing to death. Get in the car."
Another gust of freezing wind pierced me to the bone. Easy choice. "Okay," I said, "but I have to go home and feed Mouse and Mister."
"We can do that. Hendricks, open the doors."
Latches clicked and I slid into the heated leather. "Stars and stones, this is so good." I moaned.
"You'e such a slut, Harry." John was laughing, and his fingers slid across mine. They were warm, strong, and out of Hendricks' sight. Not that I harbored any illusions that Hendricks had no clue that John and I were fucking like bunnies every chance we got; it just didn't seem right to make it so obvious.
Miraculously, since I wasn't there to disrupt things, the heat was on in my apartment. I dumped massive quantities of food into massive bowls. I should have just left the bags open, but I have some standards. I gave Mouse a treat and a rough rub, and ran my hand down Mister's back, feeling him arch under my palm before he buried his nose in his dish. Then I made sure my wards were secure and returned to John's heated leather seats. Ecstasy.
"Why don't I wreck your car?" I asked John, curious.
"Gard."
Gard was John's Valkyrie. No shit. Really. She was a Valkyrie with connections to any number of Norse Gods. She didn't like me. "She did it for you, not for me," I said.
"Does it matter?"
It didn't. We went to John's penthouse. It had been nearly a year since we had finally figured out that what was between us was deeper than the antagonist/buddy flirtation we'd been passing around like a hot potato since the day we met. It was a luxurious pied a terre with a view over the city that John believed it was his duty to protect. We didn't agree on his methods, but I was beginning to tolerate his less savory business practices. He was slowly withdrawing from the seamy side of things and taking on more mainstream capital ventures -- along with his responsibilities of being the only mortal signatory to the Unseelie Accords. Baron Marcone.
All of this was no more than a fleeting thought in my mind as I looked at his profile and the shadows chasing across his pale skin. He had a light 5 o'clock stubble on his cheeks and his tie was loose, his collar open. It made me want to kiss the hollow of his throat. John, the bastard, looked like he knew it, too. I restrained myself just to annoy him.
We pulled into the garage and Hendricks let us out at the elevator. We wouldn't see him for the rest of the evening. The doors closed and John pulled me against his hard body. He kissed me, the roughness of his stubble tingling on my lips. He tasted like coffee and whiskey and I wanted more. The ride to the penthouse level was too fast. The doors slid open into John's oasis. There still wasn't much of a threshold, but I could feel faint resistance where before there had been none. It wasn't enough to block my magic. I paused and John turned around, one brow raised, "You are welcome to come in, Wizard."
"I know that," I said, sulking a bit at his address. He just pulled me through the arched entry to the living room. The fire was already lit, the candles on the mantel flickered. I smiled. "Afraid I might blow your electrical box?"
John stared and then burst out laughing. "Is that what they call it now?"
I blushed bright red. "You are so fucked!" I pulled him back to me and proceeded to ... eventually ... um ... blow his electrical box.
Later, dressed in robes and damp from a shared shower, we ate steaks, baked potatoes and baby vegetables in some sort of butter sauce. I love that John is watching out for my health. Brandy in front of the fire and more kisses were better than dessert. I was woozy with heat and sex when John pulled me to my feet. "Bed," he said, and I didn't argue with him.
It was the first time, that night, that we slept side by side. It was the first night I knew about the nightmares. They began as a small twitch of John's body against mine; I'm a light sleeper, it woke me. I curled closer to John, tightened my arms. He stilled and settled back into sleep.
An hour later, he jerked awake, gasping. He sat upright, and so did I. "What is it?" I asked.
John got out of bed. "Go back to sleep." He walked a bit stiffly to the bathroom, turned on the light. He was naked and the light wasn't kind to the scars on his body. I knew they were there. I knew them as well as he knew mine. Some, I knew the story they told. Others, were old secrets. I wondered which had caused the nightmares.
I went over to the door. John was leaning on the sink, his hair was damp where he had splashed water on his face. I grabbed his robe from a hook on the door. "You'll freeze," I said and draped it over his shoulders. His reflection in the mirror was gaunt, his stubble showing more silver than I had realized. No wonder he stayed clean-shaven. Nobody could think that John Marcone was aging, as we all do. His body was still firm and muscular, his reflexes were better than a cat's, but that touch of silver was a betrayal.
He shook off my hand. "Go back to bed, Harry. I'm fine."
"You?"
"I won't sleep."
I shrugged on my own robe. "Then neither will I. Tea?" I set my hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the kitchen.
"I was thinking something a little stronger."
"No. Tea is better." I expected an argument and didn't get one. I watched as he got two mugs out, two herbal tea bags, and heated water in a futuristic-looking stainless steel kettle. It probably cost a day's wages for me. John wasn't shy about his fortune and I wasn't going to quibble as long as it held hot water.
We sat across the table from each other, hands wrapped around the thick china mugs. It felt oddly domestic -- or it would have if John's fingers hadn't been clenched so tightly. "Was it the old dream?" I asked. "The Vargassi ... thing?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's over. Come back to bed, Harry." His fingers, as they covered mine, were warm from the mug. I finished my tea. I had considered asking if he wanted me to sleep on the couch, but obviously that wasn't what he wanted. We went back to bed. John didn't sleep. I know this, because neither did I. I just lay awake listening to John breathe; too quiet and steady to be natural. However, the body being what it is, I eventually fell asleep.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
The next morning John was gone when I woke up. Coffee was brewed and waiting, as were warm cinnamon rolls and chilled orange juice. The note propped up against my coffee mug said, "Later, Harry."
I didn't know it would be two weeks before I saw him again. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't mine. It was a general conspiracy of circumstances; his business and mine. I don't know what he was involved in. I didn't want to know. Me? I was investigating a case of magic gone awry. A rogue practitioner was blowing things up. Murphy was begging me to solve it before Homeland Security or the FBI took over. I was on Murph's side. I didn't like the Feds, either. They weren't too fond of me in return.
The culprit turned out to be a kid with a lot of latent power and no place to channel it. Murph talked to his single mom, I talked to Ebenezer, and together we were able to get the kid into an apprentice program -- aka wizardly Big Brothers. No Feds, a relieved Murphy, and I was feeling somewhat self-satisfied at a job well done.
I let myself in to my apartment. Let Mouse and Mister express their undying devotion to me and their food dishes, then collapsed full length on my aged sofa. I was about to drift off when the phone rang. It's a plain hard-wired phone that somehow managed to avoid the crazy effect my magic has on electronic equipment.
"Dresden," I said. Simple and direct.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"I love you, too, John." Wry. Standard issue Harry Dresden. No use in letting him think I had missed him or anything so pathetic.
"Are you back?"
"Yes, are you?"
"I'm back." There was a slightly awkward silence before he spoke again. "Can I see you tonight?"
The hesitancy was so unlike John that I just said, "Umm. Sure. I'll be over after I clean up."
"I'll send a car."
"I can drive." I hung up before he say another word. As much as I enjoyed riding in John's upholstered limo, I was starting to feel like Marcone's dirty little secret. I was awake enough to shower and grab a bowl of ramen noodles. I'd indulge tonight at Marcone's. I got into bed, felt the mattress shake as Mister jumped up and curled into the curve of my knees, then fell asleep for two hours. I woke up, put on jeans and a black sweater that was only slightly frayed at the cuffs, and drove over to Marcone's.
The doormen had obviously been told that I was on my way. They let me in without searching me. I wasn't carrying anything. I'd left my blasting rod at home. They kind of overlooked my rings and pentacle -- not that I was planning to need them. I rode the elevator up to the penthouse where I was greeted by Hendricks.
Hendricks looked bruised. Literally. That was scary. Hendricks was built like a concrete stockade. He didn't bruise easily. "If you look like this --"
"You should see the other guy?" Hendricks didn't blink.
"Umm ... I was wondering about your boss."
"Harry, are you waiting for an invitation?"
"Is that one?"
"Yes."
I crossed the threshold. The faint resistance I had felt the last time I was here, was gone. Something had shredded it, fragile as it had been. John was standing by the fireplace, his face turned slightly from me. "Hendricks looks like he went a few rounds with the UFC champion."
I could see John's cheek crease as he smiled slightly; his face still hidden by the flickering shadows. "Hendricks won."
"Who'd he beat up?"
"An enemy."
"Another one of your associates?" I took a few steps towards him. I could see him swallow. "John?"
"No." He finally looked at me. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunk in their sockets. He had a fine bruise on his cheekbone. It had to hurt. I raised my hand, touched the discoloration. My skin tingled.
"Magic?" I grabbed John's shoulder. "What the fuck, John? Why didn't you trust me with this?"
"I didn't know!" Rarely agitated, John thrust a hand through his hair. I caught it, kissed his bruised knuckles.
"What happened?"
He didn't answer. He went over to the bar and poured two bourbons. "Dinner will be ready shortly. Nothing fancy."
"No steak? I'm disappointed."
"Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits."
"Comfort food?"
John shrugged. "Why not? Let's eat."
Words. These were all words, not feelings, not a conversation. I couldn't force him to tell me what he had been up against, or why. So, I ate. It was really good. John picked at his dinner. This was a man who ate his steak bloodily rare despite having a life written in it. Everything was wrong ... I hadn't a clue.
Apparently, my appetite overcame my scruples. I ate while John made designs in his mashed potatoes. After, John led me to the bedroom. I wasn't going to let him seduce me into forgetting that magic had been involved in what he had been fighting. I stretched out on the bed, I looked relaxed, but I was watching John's every move. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me and took off his shirt. Bruises purpled one side of his ribcage. I raised up on my elbow and touched him; he drew in a breath, whether from pain or surprise, I wasn't sure.
He must have sensed my concern. "Nothing broken or cracked. I'm not stupid, Harry."
"You went up against something you had no right to be fighting without me!"
"I didn't know." He scrubbed his eyes. "One of my competitors thought he could lure me into a trap. Do you know what the bait was? Children. Harry, he had children held captive; some of them had been there for a year or more. They were ... abused." His voice dropped to a whisper. He sent me photographs to get me angry, to take the bait. I had Hendricks follow the trail. I didn't want you involved. I didn't see any reason for it. I took Hendricks and a few loyal soldiers. The children were being held in a warehouse. A chamber had been dug under the floor, like a dungeon."
"Stars and stones, John." No wonder he looked like crap. One of the first things I understood about John was that he didn't tolerate harm done to children. It was one virtue we shared. It was the base of our trust. I didn't trust John to always do the right thing. I didn't always do the right thing, but our motives occasionally clashed. Who was I kidding, they nearly always clashed. We came out on the side of right by mere accident.
'Where did the magic come in?" I sighed.
"Some sort of strength spell. Why else would Hendricks and I look like this?"
"You're alive. That tells me that it was probably a potion. Short term and poorly executed. Not concocted by a major power. Lucky for you."
"Yeah. Lucky for me. Not so much for him."
"What about the kids?"
"I took the liberty of calling Karrin Murphy. Anonymously."
He fell back on the pillows, closed his eyes. "Jesus, Harry. I'm tired."
"You did good, John." I pulled him close, wrapped my long arms around him, my long legs. There are times when being overly tall and ungainly has it's advantages. I surrounded him and felt the tension slowly leave him as he fell asleep.
I slept, too, until John twisted in my hold, fighting me, pushing me away. He was uttering harsh cries of panic. The only words I heard were, "Get away! I'll kill you!" He pushed away out of my arms, scrabbled from the bed and launched himself into the corner of the room. He looked like he was brandishing a nonexistent knife in his hand. I was grateful that it really wasn't a knife he held. I knelt, putting us on a level. "John. Wake up."
"Stay away!" He was panting, one arm wrapped around his ribs, the other clenched in front of him.
"John. Give me the knife." I spoke as I reached for his hand and closed my hand over his. "You can wake up. You're safe. I promise."
It was as if my touch broke him. He opened his eyes. Blinked at me. "Harry?" Then he realized where he was and wilted. "Oh," he said, slightly surprised. "I was dreaming?"
"Yes." I held out my hand. "Ready to go back to bed?"
"I'd rather have a drink." He sounded fragile and shaky, as unlike himself as I had ever heard him. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"When did you get back?"
"What?"
"How long has it been since you slept?"
"Five days. It's not that bad."
I pulled him to his feet. "You are one tough bastard, but you're still only human. Five days for me? A stretch, but doable. Five days for you? Not so much. You'll end up dead, Marcone. Your enemies will be on you like white on rice."
"I'm not that weak."
"You will be." I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "I'll stay tonight. Tomorrow, I'll find something to help you sleep.
We lay back down on the bed. I spooned John, felt him press back against my cock. I cupped my hand around his. The intimacy and trust made my chest hurt. This man, this enemy, this lover ... he trustedme ... at least for the moment.
He slept for two hours; probably the longest uninterrupted rest he'd had since returning home. He was up at five, as usual. I burrowed back into the covers. He'd do three miles on his treadmill, shower and then dress. I had time to try to catch up on the sleep I'd missed the night before.
When I smelled coffee brewing, I got up and borrowed one of John's luxurious bathrobes. Other than being short, it fit well. John was wearing one of his expensive suits. He still looked exhausted, maybe the dark shadows under his eyes were a little less bruised. He seemed less jagged, though. More like "Gentleman Johnny," the crime boss of Chicago. Maybe he was just a hell of an actor.
We didn't talk much. He was involved with his iPhone, and I was doing my damnedest to keep my power at a low simmer so I didn't blow another delicate gadget up in his hands. He turned the phone off, put it in his pocket and leaned down to kiss me. "Two hours. It was good. Thank you."
"You still look like crap, Marcone."
"Look in the mirror, Wizard."
"I try to avoid that whenever possible."
"Good-bye, Harry."
I pulled out my best Terminator. "I'll be back." John dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I finished my coffee, showered and went home. I needed to make a potion.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"Bob! Rise and shine!" I knocked on the shelf where I kept Bob's skull ... well, not his skull. Bob doesn't have a corporeal presence, but the skull suits him. I've never been inside Bob's head, as it were, but I had fears that it was like an Elizabethan version of the Playboy mansion. "Come on lazy bones, keep me company while I make a potion."
The skull's eyes glowed and Bob's cheery voice popped out. "Finally. A love potion for you and your innamorato -- the toothsome Gentleman John?"
"I don't need a love potion. I'm not in love with him."
"Ah, virility? I know some excellent--"
"Bob! My virility is just fine, as is John's. Get your head out of the bedroom."
"If you ever need --"
"I need a sleep potion."
"Oh, dear. This is worse than I had imagined."
"Focus on something other than sex will you?"
Bob apparently decided that he had needled me enough. "Sleep, as in knock somebody out, or sleep as in sleep the peace of the innocent."
"That one."
"Ah ... BRB."
BRB? Did Bob have texting? It was probably something he picked up from one of his romance novels. He preferred historicals with blowsy, bodice-ripping dames on the covers, but lately he'd developed a taste for more contemporary titles. I didn't want to speculate why.
"Boss? Boss! Snap out of it."
"Sorry. What have you got for me?"
"Lavender, sage, a bit of verbena. Warm milk and the light of a star."
"Geez, the first part sounds like a tisane."
Bob managed to sound wounded. "There is a reason they've worked for centuries. Add a tot of bourbon since it's for Marcone. Then do what you do best."
"What?"
"Have sex, give him a blow-job. Whatever. He'll sleep like a baby."
I blushed furiously. "You've been reading too much."
"Guy on guy, it's the latest thing." Then he was gone. I wanted to shake his skull, but that would be cruel. I mixed up the tisane -- the star part was a bit odd, but nothing I hadn't done before, though I'd have to replenish my store soon. What is starlight? Cool, sweet, a bit of shimmer when mixed with the other ingredients. That's all I can say. I infused it with power and sealed it up.
I stopped in at my office, read my mail. Called a new client who wanted me to check out a prospective house to see if it was haunted. I decided to give that one to Mort Lindquist and charge him a finder's fee. I had been putting off calling Murphy about Marcone's little misadventure the other night, but it was time to find out exactly what had been going on.
"Murphy." She sounded clipped, business-like. I nearly hung up.
"Umm, it's me. Harry."
A little snort of laughter. "I think after all this time I recognize your voice, Harry."
"Yeah, well ... this is awkward."
"Does it have anything to do with your boyfriend?"
"He's not my --" Another unladylike snort from Murphy. "Okay, yes."
"What?"
"Those kids you found the other day? John made the call."
"I know."
"Oh."
"That doesn't mean I don't still think he is the scum of the earth. Just a little less scummy than he was a week ago."
"How are the kids?"
"Most are back with their parents. A few were runaways. We're working with social services to try to get them together with their families, or placed in foster care." She was silent for a moment. "I don't like him, Harry, but I admire what he did that night. He was a hero to those kids. It's a shame they can't look up to him. If you ever tell him that I used the words hero and Marcone in the same sentence I'll kill you then next time we spar."
"He'll never hear it from me. Thanks, Murph." I hung up. It was growing dark and John would be wrapping up business for the day. I risked blowing up my phone and called him.
"Marcone."
"Hi?"
"I'm sorry, this isn't a good time."
Crap. He was with somebody. "Just wondering when you'll be home, sweetie." I batted my eyelashes even though he couldn't see me."
"I can send a car for you."
I considered. I was taking a risk driving the beetle when I needed it for business the next day. "That would be great. I'll be at my place in fifteen minutes."
"Very well." He hung up. How he could manage to sound fondly amused while saying absolutely nothing was one of his charms. I closed up the office and went home. I barely had time to throw some food into the respective animal companion bowls. Mouse gave me a sorrowful look. I let him out for a few minutes. Mister apparently didn't care where I was going as long as he had kibble. True to his word, Marcone's limo purred up to my doorstep just as I let Mouse inside. He was ready to plant his wet paws on my clean jeans. "Down," I said, and got another sad look. "Go eat your food, you big baby. I'll be home in the morning." He gave a doggie sigh and lumbered over to his bowl of food. "Don't eat it all at one sitting."
I grabbed my duster and let Marcone's driver open the door for me. That never got old. Today, I didn't rate Hendricks. Either that or Marcone needed protection. That made me feel a little queasy. I gnawed at my fingernail. The driver was silent, as usual. He pulled into the garage, opened the door for me. "Have a good evening, sir."
How did you reply to that? I hope so, I'm sure I will? Hmm. They all sounded vaguely suggestive. Dating the Don? That sounded like one of Bob's romance novels. I decided a nod would suffice. In the penthouse, the fire was lit, the lights turned to an appropriate level. The bar was always open. Marcone kept a stash of Mac's ale in the beer and wine chiller. I swore I'd never tell Mac that his beloved ale was being chilled. I'd never have another if I did. I opened a bottle and settled on the couch. I toed off my boots and put my feet up on the coffee table. I was warm, comfortable, with the weight of Mac's ale in my stomach.
I was half asleep when John came in smelling like expensive cologne and fresh air. His hair was windblown and he looked weary. He pulled off leather gloves, threw his cashmere coat over a chair and went to the bar. He poured a bourbon over ice and sank down on the couch next to me.
"I could sleep for a week, if I could sleep." He closed his eyes.
I bent and kissed his eyelids. "I have something to help."
"Do you?"
"Aren't you hungry?"
"Not particularly. There's pasta from Riccio's in the fridge."
"What do you want?"
He shifted, his body close to mine. "I want to sleep. I don't want to dream."
I dug in my pocket and produced the vial. "Give me your drink." He handed it over and I poured the potion into the glass, stirring it. I blew over it, whispered a few words. The milky potion grew clear. John's eyes widened. I could feel the quiver in his muscles. "Pretty cool, huh?" I grinned. Even Marcone, who had seen me blast monsters into ash with my rod, was still a bit skittish of magic up close.
"This won't turn me into anything unusual, will it?"
"John, could you be any more unusual? It won't hurt you, by the stars I swear by."
He drank it down like a shot. "What now?"
I laughed. "Bob says I should give you a blow job."
Marcone choked. "What?"
I started unbuttoning his shirt. "Bob has centuries of experience." I slid my hands under the shirt. John's skin was warm, softer than the Sea Island cotton of his shirt, but beneath the skin was hard muscle and a strongly beating heart. I kissed him, parting his lips with my tongue and felt him smile as he yielded. I opened his belt, unzipped his trousers. He was already full and hot under my hand. His legs opened and I knelt. He lifted his hips and I slid his briefs and the trousers down, stripping them off so that he was fully exposed. I pulled his low boots and socks off and massaged the arches of his feet. He moaned and I grinned. I loved that needy sound. His legs were long and strong, a thick scar marred one thigh -- a souvenir left by a knife. I could almost smell the blood on his skin. I kissed the length of the scar, up to his groin and took his cock in my mouth.
He tasted like the ocean, like the cold night. He moved, started fucking my mouth and I let him, taking him deep, teasing the bridge of flesh behind his balls with my fingers until he was writhing and moaning. His hands tangled in my hair as he thrust into my mouth. I sucked him, tongued him and he stilled suddenly, that moment when every muscle, every nerve, was overwhelmed by arousal and then he climaxed, coming hard and deep. I gagged a bit as the stream of semen hit my throat, then relaxed and swallowed.
"Jesus, Harry. You're going to kill me." His voice was soft, thick, lazy. "Tell Bob his suggestion was excellent."
I wiped my mouth off, reached for my beer and took a deep drink to wash down the taste of John's sex. "I'll tell him it sucked. Big time."
John shook with laughter. "Take me to bed, Wizard."
"You are so easy." My voice was more tender than I had intended. I pulled John to his feet. We stumbled to the bedroom and I lowered him to the mattress. He was already limp and heavy. I stripped off my own clothes. As I had done the night before, I wrapped him in my arms, felt the same heaviness of his cock nestled into my hand. I was hard, but my own erection was already fading. In the morning I'd make sure John returned the favor. Meanwhile, he was warm and pliant, totally relaxed.
"'Night, Harry."
"Goodnight, John." I kissed the nape of his neck. We fell asleep in that big bed with its warm covers and soft pillows.
John didn't dream. There were no ghosts haunting him, no children crying, no evil pursuing him. For one night, I had given him the gift of peace.
Recipient: inkpenpaper
Title: Perchance to Dream
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,400
Pairing/Character(s): Harry Dresden/John Marcone
Notes/Warnings: Sexually explicit, m/m
Summary: John has nightmares and insomnia. Harry has a potion for that ... and some advice from an unlikely source.
You really don't know somebody until you know their dreams. I don't know who said it or if it was something that I discovered, somewhat to my dismay, after sleeping with John Marcone.
I don't mean having sex. That was easy, once I stopped freaking out whenever I thought about my heterosexual genes flipping around like a gymnast in Cirque du Soleil and gave in to the inevitable. Incidentally, the sex is great. I mean sleeping with somebody. It took a while. I was skittish, John was too private. It was like having an affair; hot sex and sneaking out to return to our individual cold beds to sleep. Sleeping together, other than a brief post-coital nap, was too intimate, too entwined.
Sleep is when we are the most vulnerable, the most open. It's the time when the lid comes off the box and we dream. Dreams reveal our secrets, good and bad. I prefer the good, but nightmares come whether we want to relive them or not. I have my share of both. I'm pretty sure John does, too. Maybe that's why we didn't sleep together. Maybe that's why we don't talk about it much.
Chicago is a cold city. The wind off Lake Michigan is brutal. Wizards may live long beyond the normal span, but that doesn't mean we don't have aches and pains like mere mortals. I was walking back to my apartment, my Volkswagen bug having succumbed again to age and technical antipathy with my wizardly aura. In other words, it was dead. I shoved my hands into my duster pocket and hunched my shoulders against the growing gale. The skies overhead promised snow; dirty gray, heavy clouds were piling up in the West. The weather forecast was for six to twelve inches of snow by the next morning. Lovely. Where was global warming in Chicago?
I was about three blocks from home when I heard the purr of a powerful motor approaching. A long black limousine came to a stop. So did I. The window came down a scant two inches and a pair of dollar green eyes crinkled at me as the owner smiled. "Cold enough for you, Mr. Dresden?"
Mr. Dresden I sighed. Last night we had been wrapped up in each other's bodies. Not even a ghost could have slipped between us. Today, I was "Mr. Dresden" to the world.
"John." Damn, my teeth were chattering.
"Get in the car." There was a touch of asperity in his voice.
"For business or pleasure?"
"To keep your damned skinny carcass from freezing solid."
"It's not that far to my place."
"You're not going to your place. You have no heat."
"I have a fireplace. Utilitarian but romantic." I batted my eyelashes at him.
"There is nothing romantic about freezing to death. Get in the car."
Another gust of freezing wind pierced me to the bone. Easy choice. "Okay," I said, "but I have to go home and feed Mouse and Mister."
"We can do that. Hendricks, open the doors."
Latches clicked and I slid into the heated leather. "Stars and stones, this is so good." I moaned.
"You'e such a slut, Harry." John was laughing, and his fingers slid across mine. They were warm, strong, and out of Hendricks' sight. Not that I harbored any illusions that Hendricks had no clue that John and I were fucking like bunnies every chance we got; it just didn't seem right to make it so obvious.
Miraculously, since I wasn't there to disrupt things, the heat was on in my apartment. I dumped massive quantities of food into massive bowls. I should have just left the bags open, but I have some standards. I gave Mouse a treat and a rough rub, and ran my hand down Mister's back, feeling him arch under my palm before he buried his nose in his dish. Then I made sure my wards were secure and returned to John's heated leather seats. Ecstasy.
"Why don't I wreck your car?" I asked John, curious.
"Gard."
Gard was John's Valkyrie. No shit. Really. She was a Valkyrie with connections to any number of Norse Gods. She didn't like me. "She did it for you, not for me," I said.
"Does it matter?"
It didn't. We went to John's penthouse. It had been nearly a year since we had finally figured out that what was between us was deeper than the antagonist/buddy flirtation we'd been passing around like a hot potato since the day we met. It was a luxurious pied a terre with a view over the city that John believed it was his duty to protect. We didn't agree on his methods, but I was beginning to tolerate his less savory business practices. He was slowly withdrawing from the seamy side of things and taking on more mainstream capital ventures -- along with his responsibilities of being the only mortal signatory to the Unseelie Accords. Baron Marcone.
All of this was no more than a fleeting thought in my mind as I looked at his profile and the shadows chasing across his pale skin. He had a light 5 o'clock stubble on his cheeks and his tie was loose, his collar open. It made me want to kiss the hollow of his throat. John, the bastard, looked like he knew it, too. I restrained myself just to annoy him.
We pulled into the garage and Hendricks let us out at the elevator. We wouldn't see him for the rest of the evening. The doors closed and John pulled me against his hard body. He kissed me, the roughness of his stubble tingling on my lips. He tasted like coffee and whiskey and I wanted more. The ride to the penthouse level was too fast. The doors slid open into John's oasis. There still wasn't much of a threshold, but I could feel faint resistance where before there had been none. It wasn't enough to block my magic. I paused and John turned around, one brow raised, "You are welcome to come in, Wizard."
"I know that," I said, sulking a bit at his address. He just pulled me through the arched entry to the living room. The fire was already lit, the candles on the mantel flickered. I smiled. "Afraid I might blow your electrical box?"
John stared and then burst out laughing. "Is that what they call it now?"
I blushed bright red. "You are so fucked!" I pulled him back to me and proceeded to ... eventually ... um ... blow his electrical box.
Later, dressed in robes and damp from a shared shower, we ate steaks, baked potatoes and baby vegetables in some sort of butter sauce. I love that John is watching out for my health. Brandy in front of the fire and more kisses were better than dessert. I was woozy with heat and sex when John pulled me to my feet. "Bed," he said, and I didn't argue with him.
It was the first time, that night, that we slept side by side. It was the first night I knew about the nightmares. They began as a small twitch of John's body against mine; I'm a light sleeper, it woke me. I curled closer to John, tightened my arms. He stilled and settled back into sleep.
An hour later, he jerked awake, gasping. He sat upright, and so did I. "What is it?" I asked.
John got out of bed. "Go back to sleep." He walked a bit stiffly to the bathroom, turned on the light. He was naked and the light wasn't kind to the scars on his body. I knew they were there. I knew them as well as he knew mine. Some, I knew the story they told. Others, were old secrets. I wondered which had caused the nightmares.
I went over to the door. John was leaning on the sink, his hair was damp where he had splashed water on his face. I grabbed his robe from a hook on the door. "You'll freeze," I said and draped it over his shoulders. His reflection in the mirror was gaunt, his stubble showing more silver than I had realized. No wonder he stayed clean-shaven. Nobody could think that John Marcone was aging, as we all do. His body was still firm and muscular, his reflexes were better than a cat's, but that touch of silver was a betrayal.
He shook off my hand. "Go back to bed, Harry. I'm fine."
"You?"
"I won't sleep."
I shrugged on my own robe. "Then neither will I. Tea?" I set my hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the kitchen.
"I was thinking something a little stronger."
"No. Tea is better." I expected an argument and didn't get one. I watched as he got two mugs out, two herbal tea bags, and heated water in a futuristic-looking stainless steel kettle. It probably cost a day's wages for me. John wasn't shy about his fortune and I wasn't going to quibble as long as it held hot water.
We sat across the table from each other, hands wrapped around the thick china mugs. It felt oddly domestic -- or it would have if John's fingers hadn't been clenched so tightly. "Was it the old dream?" I asked. "The Vargassi ... thing?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's over. Come back to bed, Harry." His fingers, as they covered mine, were warm from the mug. I finished my tea. I had considered asking if he wanted me to sleep on the couch, but obviously that wasn't what he wanted. We went back to bed. John didn't sleep. I know this, because neither did I. I just lay awake listening to John breathe; too quiet and steady to be natural. However, the body being what it is, I eventually fell asleep.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^
The next morning John was gone when I woke up. Coffee was brewed and waiting, as were warm cinnamon rolls and chilled orange juice. The note propped up against my coffee mug said, "Later, Harry."
I didn't know it would be two weeks before I saw him again. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't mine. It was a general conspiracy of circumstances; his business and mine. I don't know what he was involved in. I didn't want to know. Me? I was investigating a case of magic gone awry. A rogue practitioner was blowing things up. Murphy was begging me to solve it before Homeland Security or the FBI took over. I was on Murph's side. I didn't like the Feds, either. They weren't too fond of me in return.
The culprit turned out to be a kid with a lot of latent power and no place to channel it. Murph talked to his single mom, I talked to Ebenezer, and together we were able to get the kid into an apprentice program -- aka wizardly Big Brothers. No Feds, a relieved Murphy, and I was feeling somewhat self-satisfied at a job well done.
I let myself in to my apartment. Let Mouse and Mister express their undying devotion to me and their food dishes, then collapsed full length on my aged sofa. I was about to drift off when the phone rang. It's a plain hard-wired phone that somehow managed to avoid the crazy effect my magic has on electronic equipment.
"Dresden," I said. Simple and direct.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"I love you, too, John." Wry. Standard issue Harry Dresden. No use in letting him think I had missed him or anything so pathetic.
"Are you back?"
"Yes, are you?"
"I'm back." There was a slightly awkward silence before he spoke again. "Can I see you tonight?"
The hesitancy was so unlike John that I just said, "Umm. Sure. I'll be over after I clean up."
"I'll send a car."
"I can drive." I hung up before he say another word. As much as I enjoyed riding in John's upholstered limo, I was starting to feel like Marcone's dirty little secret. I was awake enough to shower and grab a bowl of ramen noodles. I'd indulge tonight at Marcone's. I got into bed, felt the mattress shake as Mister jumped up and curled into the curve of my knees, then fell asleep for two hours. I woke up, put on jeans and a black sweater that was only slightly frayed at the cuffs, and drove over to Marcone's.
The doormen had obviously been told that I was on my way. They let me in without searching me. I wasn't carrying anything. I'd left my blasting rod at home. They kind of overlooked my rings and pentacle -- not that I was planning to need them. I rode the elevator up to the penthouse where I was greeted by Hendricks.
Hendricks looked bruised. Literally. That was scary. Hendricks was built like a concrete stockade. He didn't bruise easily. "If you look like this --"
"You should see the other guy?" Hendricks didn't blink.
"Umm ... I was wondering about your boss."
"Harry, are you waiting for an invitation?"
"Is that one?"
"Yes."
I crossed the threshold. The faint resistance I had felt the last time I was here, was gone. Something had shredded it, fragile as it had been. John was standing by the fireplace, his face turned slightly from me. "Hendricks looks like he went a few rounds with the UFC champion."
I could see John's cheek crease as he smiled slightly; his face still hidden by the flickering shadows. "Hendricks won."
"Who'd he beat up?"
"An enemy."
"Another one of your associates?" I took a few steps towards him. I could see him swallow. "John?"
"No." He finally looked at me. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunk in their sockets. He had a fine bruise on his cheekbone. It had to hurt. I raised my hand, touched the discoloration. My skin tingled.
"Magic?" I grabbed John's shoulder. "What the fuck, John? Why didn't you trust me with this?"
"I didn't know!" Rarely agitated, John thrust a hand through his hair. I caught it, kissed his bruised knuckles.
"What happened?"
He didn't answer. He went over to the bar and poured two bourbons. "Dinner will be ready shortly. Nothing fancy."
"No steak? I'm disappointed."
"Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits."
"Comfort food?"
John shrugged. "Why not? Let's eat."
Words. These were all words, not feelings, not a conversation. I couldn't force him to tell me what he had been up against, or why. So, I ate. It was really good. John picked at his dinner. This was a man who ate his steak bloodily rare despite having a life written in it. Everything was wrong ... I hadn't a clue.
Apparently, my appetite overcame my scruples. I ate while John made designs in his mashed potatoes. After, John led me to the bedroom. I wasn't going to let him seduce me into forgetting that magic had been involved in what he had been fighting. I stretched out on the bed, I looked relaxed, but I was watching John's every move. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me and took off his shirt. Bruises purpled one side of his ribcage. I raised up on my elbow and touched him; he drew in a breath, whether from pain or surprise, I wasn't sure.
He must have sensed my concern. "Nothing broken or cracked. I'm not stupid, Harry."
"You went up against something you had no right to be fighting without me!"
"I didn't know." He scrubbed his eyes. "One of my competitors thought he could lure me into a trap. Do you know what the bait was? Children. Harry, he had children held captive; some of them had been there for a year or more. They were ... abused." His voice dropped to a whisper. He sent me photographs to get me angry, to take the bait. I had Hendricks follow the trail. I didn't want you involved. I didn't see any reason for it. I took Hendricks and a few loyal soldiers. The children were being held in a warehouse. A chamber had been dug under the floor, like a dungeon."
"Stars and stones, John." No wonder he looked like crap. One of the first things I understood about John was that he didn't tolerate harm done to children. It was one virtue we shared. It was the base of our trust. I didn't trust John to always do the right thing. I didn't always do the right thing, but our motives occasionally clashed. Who was I kidding, they nearly always clashed. We came out on the side of right by mere accident.
'Where did the magic come in?" I sighed.
"Some sort of strength spell. Why else would Hendricks and I look like this?"
"You're alive. That tells me that it was probably a potion. Short term and poorly executed. Not concocted by a major power. Lucky for you."
"Yeah. Lucky for me. Not so much for him."
"What about the kids?"
"I took the liberty of calling Karrin Murphy. Anonymously."
He fell back on the pillows, closed his eyes. "Jesus, Harry. I'm tired."
"You did good, John." I pulled him close, wrapped my long arms around him, my long legs. There are times when being overly tall and ungainly has it's advantages. I surrounded him and felt the tension slowly leave him as he fell asleep.
I slept, too, until John twisted in my hold, fighting me, pushing me away. He was uttering harsh cries of panic. The only words I heard were, "Get away! I'll kill you!" He pushed away out of my arms, scrabbled from the bed and launched himself into the corner of the room. He looked like he was brandishing a nonexistent knife in his hand. I was grateful that it really wasn't a knife he held. I knelt, putting us on a level. "John. Wake up."
"Stay away!" He was panting, one arm wrapped around his ribs, the other clenched in front of him.
"John. Give me the knife." I spoke as I reached for his hand and closed my hand over his. "You can wake up. You're safe. I promise."
It was as if my touch broke him. He opened his eyes. Blinked at me. "Harry?" Then he realized where he was and wilted. "Oh," he said, slightly surprised. "I was dreaming?"
"Yes." I held out my hand. "Ready to go back to bed?"
"I'd rather have a drink." He sounded fragile and shaky, as unlike himself as I had ever heard him. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"When did you get back?"
"What?"
"How long has it been since you slept?"
"Five days. It's not that bad."
I pulled him to his feet. "You are one tough bastard, but you're still only human. Five days for me? A stretch, but doable. Five days for you? Not so much. You'll end up dead, Marcone. Your enemies will be on you like white on rice."
"I'm not that weak."
"You will be." I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "I'll stay tonight. Tomorrow, I'll find something to help you sleep.
We lay back down on the bed. I spooned John, felt him press back against my cock. I cupped my hand around his. The intimacy and trust made my chest hurt. This man, this enemy, this lover ... he trustedme ... at least for the moment.
He slept for two hours; probably the longest uninterrupted rest he'd had since returning home. He was up at five, as usual. I burrowed back into the covers. He'd do three miles on his treadmill, shower and then dress. I had time to try to catch up on the sleep I'd missed the night before.
When I smelled coffee brewing, I got up and borrowed one of John's luxurious bathrobes. Other than being short, it fit well. John was wearing one of his expensive suits. He still looked exhausted, maybe the dark shadows under his eyes were a little less bruised. He seemed less jagged, though. More like "Gentleman Johnny," the crime boss of Chicago. Maybe he was just a hell of an actor.
We didn't talk much. He was involved with his iPhone, and I was doing my damnedest to keep my power at a low simmer so I didn't blow another delicate gadget up in his hands. He turned the phone off, put it in his pocket and leaned down to kiss me. "Two hours. It was good. Thank you."
"You still look like crap, Marcone."
"Look in the mirror, Wizard."
"I try to avoid that whenever possible."
"Good-bye, Harry."
I pulled out my best Terminator. "I'll be back." John dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I finished my coffee, showered and went home. I needed to make a potion.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"Bob! Rise and shine!" I knocked on the shelf where I kept Bob's skull ... well, not his skull. Bob doesn't have a corporeal presence, but the skull suits him. I've never been inside Bob's head, as it were, but I had fears that it was like an Elizabethan version of the Playboy mansion. "Come on lazy bones, keep me company while I make a potion."
The skull's eyes glowed and Bob's cheery voice popped out. "Finally. A love potion for you and your innamorato -- the toothsome Gentleman John?"
"I don't need a love potion. I'm not in love with him."
"Ah, virility? I know some excellent--"
"Bob! My virility is just fine, as is John's. Get your head out of the bedroom."
"If you ever need --"
"I need a sleep potion."
"Oh, dear. This is worse than I had imagined."
"Focus on something other than sex will you?"
Bob apparently decided that he had needled me enough. "Sleep, as in knock somebody out, or sleep as in sleep the peace of the innocent."
"That one."
"Ah ... BRB."
BRB? Did Bob have texting? It was probably something he picked up from one of his romance novels. He preferred historicals with blowsy, bodice-ripping dames on the covers, but lately he'd developed a taste for more contemporary titles. I didn't want to speculate why.
"Boss? Boss! Snap out of it."
"Sorry. What have you got for me?"
"Lavender, sage, a bit of verbena. Warm milk and the light of a star."
"Geez, the first part sounds like a tisane."
Bob managed to sound wounded. "There is a reason they've worked for centuries. Add a tot of bourbon since it's for Marcone. Then do what you do best."
"What?"
"Have sex, give him a blow-job. Whatever. He'll sleep like a baby."
I blushed furiously. "You've been reading too much."
"Guy on guy, it's the latest thing." Then he was gone. I wanted to shake his skull, but that would be cruel. I mixed up the tisane -- the star part was a bit odd, but nothing I hadn't done before, though I'd have to replenish my store soon. What is starlight? Cool, sweet, a bit of shimmer when mixed with the other ingredients. That's all I can say. I infused it with power and sealed it up.
I stopped in at my office, read my mail. Called a new client who wanted me to check out a prospective house to see if it was haunted. I decided to give that one to Mort Lindquist and charge him a finder's fee. I had been putting off calling Murphy about Marcone's little misadventure the other night, but it was time to find out exactly what had been going on.
"Murphy." She sounded clipped, business-like. I nearly hung up.
"Umm, it's me. Harry."
A little snort of laughter. "I think after all this time I recognize your voice, Harry."
"Yeah, well ... this is awkward."
"Does it have anything to do with your boyfriend?"
"He's not my --" Another unladylike snort from Murphy. "Okay, yes."
"What?"
"Those kids you found the other day? John made the call."
"I know."
"Oh."
"That doesn't mean I don't still think he is the scum of the earth. Just a little less scummy than he was a week ago."
"How are the kids?"
"Most are back with their parents. A few were runaways. We're working with social services to try to get them together with their families, or placed in foster care." She was silent for a moment. "I don't like him, Harry, but I admire what he did that night. He was a hero to those kids. It's a shame they can't look up to him. If you ever tell him that I used the words hero and Marcone in the same sentence I'll kill you then next time we spar."
"He'll never hear it from me. Thanks, Murph." I hung up. It was growing dark and John would be wrapping up business for the day. I risked blowing up my phone and called him.
"Marcone."
"Hi?"
"I'm sorry, this isn't a good time."
Crap. He was with somebody. "Just wondering when you'll be home, sweetie." I batted my eyelashes even though he couldn't see me."
"I can send a car for you."
I considered. I was taking a risk driving the beetle when I needed it for business the next day. "That would be great. I'll be at my place in fifteen minutes."
"Very well." He hung up. How he could manage to sound fondly amused while saying absolutely nothing was one of his charms. I closed up the office and went home. I barely had time to throw some food into the respective animal companion bowls. Mouse gave me a sorrowful look. I let him out for a few minutes. Mister apparently didn't care where I was going as long as he had kibble. True to his word, Marcone's limo purred up to my doorstep just as I let Mouse inside. He was ready to plant his wet paws on my clean jeans. "Down," I said, and got another sad look. "Go eat your food, you big baby. I'll be home in the morning." He gave a doggie sigh and lumbered over to his bowl of food. "Don't eat it all at one sitting."
I grabbed my duster and let Marcone's driver open the door for me. That never got old. Today, I didn't rate Hendricks. Either that or Marcone needed protection. That made me feel a little queasy. I gnawed at my fingernail. The driver was silent, as usual. He pulled into the garage, opened the door for me. "Have a good evening, sir."
How did you reply to that? I hope so, I'm sure I will? Hmm. They all sounded vaguely suggestive. Dating the Don? That sounded like one of Bob's romance novels. I decided a nod would suffice. In the penthouse, the fire was lit, the lights turned to an appropriate level. The bar was always open. Marcone kept a stash of Mac's ale in the beer and wine chiller. I swore I'd never tell Mac that his beloved ale was being chilled. I'd never have another if I did. I opened a bottle and settled on the couch. I toed off my boots and put my feet up on the coffee table. I was warm, comfortable, with the weight of Mac's ale in my stomach.
I was half asleep when John came in smelling like expensive cologne and fresh air. His hair was windblown and he looked weary. He pulled off leather gloves, threw his cashmere coat over a chair and went to the bar. He poured a bourbon over ice and sank down on the couch next to me.
"I could sleep for a week, if I could sleep." He closed his eyes.
I bent and kissed his eyelids. "I have something to help."
"Do you?"
"Aren't you hungry?"
"Not particularly. There's pasta from Riccio's in the fridge."
"What do you want?"
He shifted, his body close to mine. "I want to sleep. I don't want to dream."
I dug in my pocket and produced the vial. "Give me your drink." He handed it over and I poured the potion into the glass, stirring it. I blew over it, whispered a few words. The milky potion grew clear. John's eyes widened. I could feel the quiver in his muscles. "Pretty cool, huh?" I grinned. Even Marcone, who had seen me blast monsters into ash with my rod, was still a bit skittish of magic up close.
"This won't turn me into anything unusual, will it?"
"John, could you be any more unusual? It won't hurt you, by the stars I swear by."
He drank it down like a shot. "What now?"
I laughed. "Bob says I should give you a blow job."
Marcone choked. "What?"
I started unbuttoning his shirt. "Bob has centuries of experience." I slid my hands under the shirt. John's skin was warm, softer than the Sea Island cotton of his shirt, but beneath the skin was hard muscle and a strongly beating heart. I kissed him, parting his lips with my tongue and felt him smile as he yielded. I opened his belt, unzipped his trousers. He was already full and hot under my hand. His legs opened and I knelt. He lifted his hips and I slid his briefs and the trousers down, stripping them off so that he was fully exposed. I pulled his low boots and socks off and massaged the arches of his feet. He moaned and I grinned. I loved that needy sound. His legs were long and strong, a thick scar marred one thigh -- a souvenir left by a knife. I could almost smell the blood on his skin. I kissed the length of the scar, up to his groin and took his cock in my mouth.
He tasted like the ocean, like the cold night. He moved, started fucking my mouth and I let him, taking him deep, teasing the bridge of flesh behind his balls with my fingers until he was writhing and moaning. His hands tangled in my hair as he thrust into my mouth. I sucked him, tongued him and he stilled suddenly, that moment when every muscle, every nerve, was overwhelmed by arousal and then he climaxed, coming hard and deep. I gagged a bit as the stream of semen hit my throat, then relaxed and swallowed.
"Jesus, Harry. You're going to kill me." His voice was soft, thick, lazy. "Tell Bob his suggestion was excellent."
I wiped my mouth off, reached for my beer and took a deep drink to wash down the taste of John's sex. "I'll tell him it sucked. Big time."
John shook with laughter. "Take me to bed, Wizard."
"You are so easy." My voice was more tender than I had intended. I pulled John to his feet. We stumbled to the bedroom and I lowered him to the mattress. He was already limp and heavy. I stripped off my own clothes. As I had done the night before, I wrapped him in my arms, felt the same heaviness of his cock nestled into my hand. I was hard, but my own erection was already fading. In the morning I'd make sure John returned the favor. Meanwhile, he was warm and pliant, totally relaxed.
"'Night, Harry."
"Goodnight, John." I kissed the nape of his neck. We fell asleep in that big bed with its warm covers and soft pillows.
John didn't dream. There were no ghosts haunting him, no children crying, no evil pursuing him. For one night, I had given him the gift of peace.