Fic: Dresdens and Dragons 5/(8?)
Dresdens and Dragons
A Dresden Files Fanfic
Characters: Harry, Dragon, Ensemble (eventually), Red Court Vampires (deceased).
Pairings: Harry/Dragon, Harry/Marcone (eventually).
Warnings/Kinks: Non-Con, Bestiality, Inflation, M-Preg, Masturbation, Stockholm Syndrome, Voyeurism, Possessiveness.
Part One, Part Two, Part Three,
Part Four
His nails are black like the Dragon's scales. Harry knows he isn't imagining it anymore, and the skin along his spine and thighs is constantly prickling with the need to be scratched but he can't do it because his nails are black. Black and thick like claws that cut at his too-delicate human skin leaving behind trails of blood and not helping at all, because the Dragon gets excited at the smell and Harry is too light headed to fight the tongue lapping between his legs, tickling his balls and teasing his dripping cock.
Harry doesn't think about how much easier it is too find his way around. In his eyes the shadows cast all gradations of grey -even in what he strongly suspects should be pitch black- and every tremor of sound that manages to wander its way though the twists of the underground is like a bright light flashing details into his hindbrain. His feet now find purchase where before he would of tripped, but he doesn't think about the faint clicks- that accompany his every arched step.
There are lots of things he doesn't think about, come to not think of it.
Harry swings his staff onto his back, into a sling made from half-rotted castoffs, and crouches down. Eyeballing it, there's an inhuman distance between the ground floor and the above ledge -exit!- with a chasm in between; not that it ever seems to bother the dragon. But then Dragons aren't lizards, and Someone gave them wings.
Harry raises his face, scents breathes and the air is different. Harry smiles grimly, closing his eyes and focusing his Will. It builds and curls in the pit of his stomach, cool and refreshing like a Classic Coke (and Harry misses Coke, thinking of the comparison causes his mouth to go dry as he's struck by the sudden craving), and then, cat like, he springs.
Harry starts to lose momentum, mind flashing to Willie Coyote, and just as he starts to fall into the dark that not even his new and improved vision can pick out the bottom of he breathes: "Veni che."
Wind explodes around him in a maelstrom, like the downbeat of powerful wings, halting Harry's fall and propelling him forward.
Flailing, hard black nails scrape the edge of the outcropping and dig deep scars in the rock. Laughing, muscles burning deliciously with the effort, Harry hauls himself up and once he makes it rolls onto his back with the salt of his sweat mingling with tears. The reds might have blocked off the way he came in, but the air is fresher here, clean, and if there is any old and gray wizard who has his respect it's Gandalf the Fucking Grey.
He has issues with Merlins, even if Sam Neill was his own brand of badass.
"If in doubt, Harridoc, always follow your nose." Harry would like to sleep as he's been feeling sluggish of late, but his mind is buzzing and he can practically taste freedom, so he pushes himself up. He walks, steps unfaltering, eyes closed as he lets the trickling air currents guide him.
He does doesn't think about the small voice inside that is telling him to turn around, to go back, to wait for his the Dragon to return to take care of him. He doesn't think about the phantom touches or the promises or the feeling of being painfully, gloriously full and warm.
---
Harry had forgotten how beautiful the Nevernever could be. The sky was a swirling landscape all by itself; alternating blues, pinks, and twilight purples. It looked like an artist had poured out his bottles to create some new fanciful color but left before finding the right mixture.
Harry stretched his shoulders, the warm wood of his staff in hand, hopped down the craggily mountainside, determined to find some place that was even passingly familiar. The Nevernever and the Mortal plane resided side-by-side, sort of like layers in a cake, and crossing over was fairly simple if you had the know-how and the talent, but while the Nevernever was fluid there was always some sympathetic resonance between the two planes. He wondered where he would come out if he tried to open a way. With Harry's luck, probably the bottom of the ocean, or right over a volcano. Possibly both.
The ground was dry and rough, almost volcanic, but there were some stubborn and scraggly trees in the distance, and Harry ran toward them. Fog swirled at his passage, little tendrils clinging to his heels, calling him back. Something inside twisted uncomfortably.
Harry blinked and reminded himself that fog wasn't alive.
Usually.
---
Snow fell but didn't reach the ground. Green sprouts pushed up through the dirt, twining about and leaning toward the vortex of his passage. He needed to find a road…
Harry balked, tripping and rolling as his insides lurched and melted all at once. He bit his lip curled up as his hands shook and his legs itched, a burning heat that jabbed into his stomach. It wasn't too late… he could go back… there would be no Council on his ass, or rent to scrape together, or friends to disappoint… or to leave him alone…
He was wanted, and he wanted…
The dragon's cock rose like a pillar, a fountain, a monument, extending from some unfathomable place as the overgrown lizard leaned smugly into a pile of gold. Harry could have measured himself by it as he straddled that scaly stomach and kissed at the appendage. Worshipped it. The dragon's rumbles were pleased, and Harry rubbed his cheek against the marble-smooth skin, standing on his toes to reach the top.
He had to wrap his arms around it as the toy in his ass increased in speed, turning Harry's legs to jelly. Viscous fluid leaked from the dragons penis, and Harry was thirsty. He purred as a claw carefully stroked his back, as he mindlessly humped and licked the cock that could kill him.
"Isn't it better this way, little wizard? Doesn't it feel good?"
And it did. If Harry was full, it didn't hurt. The burning on his arms and legs dulled into the background and all there was was pleasure and rightness and… love?
Love.
"No." Harry shook his head, ripping himself form the memory. The Dragon's methods had been insidious, quiet, a slowly creeping poison that Harry had almost missed. The Reds probably learned it from the bastard. He breathed through his nose, staring at the tree roots that couldn't decide if they were ash or birch, and glared at his still trembling hands. He knew how these things went, the first step was always the hardest. "My name is Harry Dresden. And I am an addict."
The spark that was the Dragon burst into flame in his mind, and Harry winced. Rage and something Harry refused to think of as worry skittered across their link, across the runes carved into his skin, and Harry whirled, clawed feet digging into the turf as he held his staff in an instinctual defense.
It was coming.
Harry needed to be going. He wasn't sure if he'd ever make it this far again.
…of course he could always turn around. The Dragon wouldn't be too upset if he did, and he'd be sure to keep Harry close…
"APARTURUM!" Harry screeched to drown out the traitorous parts of himself, because it no longer mattered where he landed so long as it was away.
---
Harry was falling.
He was hot, and he was falling, but he wasn't moving. His world was a mass of contradictions that kept spinning around and he laughed. He laughed because when he stopped, when he had to catch his breath, he started to cry.
"Harry!"
Someone was trying to talk to him, and there was something else licking at his hands, and his face. He shook, and whimpered as instinct and trained reactions left him wanting, his hips giving little aborted movements.
"Harry, what's wrong? What happened!?"
He didn't know what he needed, but what he wanted was wrong. Someone - someones - picked him up, pinning his arms with surprising strength when he tried for more, and set him down. There was warmth, not like the Dragons consuming heat, but a warmth all the same that soaked into Harry's too cold body.
A wet nose touched his own, and Harry wrapped his arms around something soft and warm and alive and - familiar.
Safe.
Home.
A Dresden Files Fanfic
Characters: Harry, Dragon, Ensemble (eventually), Red Court Vampires (deceased).
Pairings: Harry/Dragon, Harry/Marcone (eventually).
Warnings/Kinks: Non-Con, Bestiality, Inflation, M-Preg, Masturbation, Stockholm Syndrome, Voyeurism, Possessiveness.
Part One, Part Two, Part Three,
Part Four
His nails are black like the Dragon's scales. Harry knows he isn't imagining it anymore, and the skin along his spine and thighs is constantly prickling with the need to be scratched but he can't do it because his nails are black. Black and thick like claws that cut at his too-delicate human skin leaving behind trails of blood and not helping at all, because the Dragon gets excited at the smell and Harry is too light headed to fight the tongue lapping between his legs, tickling his balls and teasing his dripping cock.
Harry doesn't think about how much easier it is too find his way around. In his eyes the shadows cast all gradations of grey -even in what he strongly suspects should be pitch black- and every tremor of sound that manages to wander its way though the twists of the underground is like a bright light flashing details into his hindbrain. His feet now find purchase where before he would of tripped, but he doesn't think about the faint clicks- that accompany his every arched step.
There are lots of things he doesn't think about, come to not think of it.
Harry swings his staff onto his back, into a sling made from half-rotted castoffs, and crouches down. Eyeballing it, there's an inhuman distance between the ground floor and the above ledge -exit!- with a chasm in between; not that it ever seems to bother the dragon. But then Dragons aren't lizards, and Someone gave them wings.
Harry raises his face, scents breathes and the air is different. Harry smiles grimly, closing his eyes and focusing his Will. It builds and curls in the pit of his stomach, cool and refreshing like a Classic Coke (and Harry misses Coke, thinking of the comparison causes his mouth to go dry as he's struck by the sudden craving), and then, cat like, he springs.
Harry starts to lose momentum, mind flashing to Willie Coyote, and just as he starts to fall into the dark that not even his new and improved vision can pick out the bottom of he breathes: "Veni che."
Wind explodes around him in a maelstrom, like the downbeat of powerful wings, halting Harry's fall and propelling him forward.
Flailing, hard black nails scrape the edge of the outcropping and dig deep scars in the rock. Laughing, muscles burning deliciously with the effort, Harry hauls himself up and once he makes it rolls onto his back with the salt of his sweat mingling with tears. The reds might have blocked off the way he came in, but the air is fresher here, clean, and if there is any old and gray wizard who has his respect it's Gandalf the Fucking Grey.
He has issues with Merlins, even if Sam Neill was his own brand of badass.
"If in doubt, Harridoc, always follow your nose." Harry would like to sleep as he's been feeling sluggish of late, but his mind is buzzing and he can practically taste freedom, so he pushes himself up. He walks, steps unfaltering, eyes closed as he lets the trickling air currents guide him.
He does doesn't think about the small voice inside that is telling him to turn around, to go back, to wait for his the Dragon to return to take care of him. He doesn't think about the phantom touches or the promises or the feeling of being painfully, gloriously full and warm.
---
Harry had forgotten how beautiful the Nevernever could be. The sky was a swirling landscape all by itself; alternating blues, pinks, and twilight purples. It looked like an artist had poured out his bottles to create some new fanciful color but left before finding the right mixture.
Harry stretched his shoulders, the warm wood of his staff in hand, hopped down the craggily mountainside, determined to find some place that was even passingly familiar. The Nevernever and the Mortal plane resided side-by-side, sort of like layers in a cake, and crossing over was fairly simple if you had the know-how and the talent, but while the Nevernever was fluid there was always some sympathetic resonance between the two planes. He wondered where he would come out if he tried to open a way. With Harry's luck, probably the bottom of the ocean, or right over a volcano. Possibly both.
The ground was dry and rough, almost volcanic, but there were some stubborn and scraggly trees in the distance, and Harry ran toward them. Fog swirled at his passage, little tendrils clinging to his heels, calling him back. Something inside twisted uncomfortably.
Harry blinked and reminded himself that fog wasn't alive.
Usually.
---
Snow fell but didn't reach the ground. Green sprouts pushed up through the dirt, twining about and leaning toward the vortex of his passage. He needed to find a road…
Harry balked, tripping and rolling as his insides lurched and melted all at once. He bit his lip curled up as his hands shook and his legs itched, a burning heat that jabbed into his stomach. It wasn't too late… he could go back… there would be no Council on his ass, or rent to scrape together, or friends to disappoint… or to leave him alone…
He was wanted, and he wanted…
The dragon's cock rose like a pillar, a fountain, a monument, extending from some unfathomable place as the overgrown lizard leaned smugly into a pile of gold. Harry could have measured himself by it as he straddled that scaly stomach and kissed at the appendage. Worshipped it. The dragon's rumbles were pleased, and Harry rubbed his cheek against the marble-smooth skin, standing on his toes to reach the top.
He had to wrap his arms around it as the toy in his ass increased in speed, turning Harry's legs to jelly. Viscous fluid leaked from the dragons penis, and Harry was thirsty. He purred as a claw carefully stroked his back, as he mindlessly humped and licked the cock that could kill him.
"Isn't it better this way, little wizard? Doesn't it feel good?"
And it did. If Harry was full, it didn't hurt. The burning on his arms and legs dulled into the background and all there was was pleasure and rightness and… love?
Love.
"No." Harry shook his head, ripping himself form the memory. The Dragon's methods had been insidious, quiet, a slowly creeping poison that Harry had almost missed. The Reds probably learned it from the bastard. He breathed through his nose, staring at the tree roots that couldn't decide if they were ash or birch, and glared at his still trembling hands. He knew how these things went, the first step was always the hardest. "My name is Harry Dresden. And I am an addict."
The spark that was the Dragon burst into flame in his mind, and Harry winced. Rage and something Harry refused to think of as worry skittered across their link, across the runes carved into his skin, and Harry whirled, clawed feet digging into the turf as he held his staff in an instinctual defense.
It was coming.
Harry needed to be going. He wasn't sure if he'd ever make it this far again.
…of course he could always turn around. The Dragon wouldn't be too upset if he did, and he'd be sure to keep Harry close…
"APARTURUM!" Harry screeched to drown out the traitorous parts of himself, because it no longer mattered where he landed so long as it was away.
---
Harry was falling.
He was hot, and he was falling, but he wasn't moving. His world was a mass of contradictions that kept spinning around and he laughed. He laughed because when he stopped, when he had to catch his breath, he started to cry.
"Harry!"
Someone was trying to talk to him, and there was something else licking at his hands, and his face. He shook, and whimpered as instinct and trained reactions left him wanting, his hips giving little aborted movements.
"Harry, what's wrong? What happened!?"
He didn't know what he needed, but what he wanted was wrong. Someone - someones - picked him up, pinning his arms with surprising strength when he tried for more, and set him down. There was warmth, not like the Dragons consuming heat, but a warmth all the same that soaked into Harry's too cold body.
A wet nose touched his own, and Harry wrapped his arms around something soft and warm and alive and - familiar.
Safe.
Home.