Fic: Sexplosion
Written for the Dresden Files Kink Meme, as seen here.
Marcone/Dresden
+
I concede that I haven’t actually had that much sex. It’s a lot more intimate for witches and wizards - especially when they have sex with another witch or wizard - than it is for mundanes. We bare pieces of our soul, we gather energy from the activity, and through that, we learn something of the natures of our partners. Most wizards and witches aren’t in any hurry to leap in bed with someone, and I’m still fairly young by our standards. That I’ve only had three or four partners, all of them women, isn’t a real surprise.
That my fifth partner was a man didn’t honestly shock me as much as I might have pretended. It had been easier to act straight - I was already so strange, to mundanes. I generally was less attracted to men, so it was no real hardship to subsume those attractions. I still noticed solid muscles and pretty eyes, but that was enough.
It had been, at least, until one of the men who I, often reluctantly, trusted with my life decided he wanted something more.
And thus, John Marcone began to court me. It was awkward, at first, but I relented eventually. He was handsome, with those pretty green eyes and good bone structure. He had just as much interest in keeping this secret as I did. But the real tipping point: he could cook, and I’m not talking microwave dinners. I’ve been told I’m a bottomless pit, but never by John. He said he appreciated a man who could down a three course meal with seconds of everything.
Still, I didn’t just jump in bed with him. It was almost two months before things felt right, two months in which John didn’t pressure me or give up.
The sex itself was pretty damn good - better than at least half the women I had been with before. It was that awkward little emotional component that made me squirm.
The emotions of sex and heady relationship interaction could set off a magus’ power. And Marcone set me off big time, like no one ever had before. That should have been a sign, for me, that I was falling hard and fast for the bastard.
Much more significantly, he noticed the release of power as more than just the feeling he’d had very good sex. He gave me a hard look.
“Did you just use magic on me?”
My eyes widened. “Not like you mean. It wasn’t a spell, more like…a scream. Magic is sensitive to intent and emotions, so heightened emotions from arousal states mean the magic comes closer to the surface, and sometimes wizards, uh, release it without really intending to.”
His mouth twitched. “Like premature ejaculation?”
My face burned red. “Not the most flattering comparison, but accurate enough, if juvenile.”
“Touchy, Dresden?” he smirked. “Does it happen to you every time you have sex? That sounds like it could be…hazardous. What if a wizard and a witch…or two wizards, I suppose…both experienced that at the same time?”
“They would probably blow the electricity in the area,” I shrugged, evading the first question. I should have known that would get me nowhere with Marcone, the man was sharper than the knives he carried.
“Mr. Dresden, you didn’t answer my first question.” He started lazily stroking one of my nipples with a thumb. I swallowed.
“N-no, not every time.”
“Am I correct in assuming the reaction is stronger the more you enjoy yourself? I haven’t heard of many unusual power outages in this area.”
My mouth was so dry it almost hurt to speak. “Yes,” I muttered sullenly.
“And how much would it take to completely fry Chicago’s electrical grid?”
I blushed harder, not exactly normal for me. When I get embarrassed, usually I get angry and defensive. It was hard to get angry at anyone who had given me one of the best orgasms in my life. “An orgy, probably, of roughly five to ten wizards of my power, either in the heart of the city, or…just two or three, near the power plant.”
“I didn’t realize wizards having sex was that powerful of an EMP.”
I cocked my head, not recognizing the abbreviation.
“Electromagnetic Pulse, Mr. Dresden. A kind of bomb that only impacts electricity, for the most part. I’ve speculated for a while that magic creates something of an electromagnetic field, which explains why electronics never seem to work around you.”
“Oh,” I muttered. I felt tense and suspicious now. Was I a weapon, to Marcone? Was that why he asked?
He gave me a patient expression. “Mr. Dresden. Can a man not ask a few theoretical questions without arousing your suspicions?”
“…Not really, no,” I said with a shrug. I smiled and moved closer, stroking his hair. It wasn’t soft, exactly, more slick - but not greasy. Like silk.
He didn’t exactly purr, but he did close his eyes and make a kind of sighing, pleased noise. “They’re just theories. Mankind desires always to explain that which it does not understand. There are so many unknowns in magic, for me.”
“Ask and I’ll answer what I can, but just because wizard is derived from ‘wise’ doesn’t mean I really know all that much more.”
Marcone got an evil grin and I realized I’d promised to answer questions - questions from a man who had been pressuring me for years to tell him more about my world. I groaned.
“Can we go back to you fucking my brains out, please?”
“As long as the promise is not rescinded, Mr. Dresden,” he smirked.
“…Fine. I will answer your questions when I’m too exhausted to think about why I shouldn’t,” I said primly.
He nibbled my neck. “I suppose it’s my duty to bring you to that point.”
“We shouldn’t explore the other means of getting me exhausted,” I moaned. “They tend to involve a lot of pain, and I’m not kinky that way.”
Marcone lifted his head to look at me, amused. “Are you kinky in other ways?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m a red-blooded American man. Yes.”
“Other interesting questions to ask later,” he said, as though he was making a note to himself. His hands slid down my chest, caressing, holding, getting to know my every inch. I hummed happily under the attention. “You ready yet?” he asked. “Because I’m not waiting much longer.”
“Stars, just - ” I cut myself off with a loud groan as he slipped back into me easily. I couldn’t believe how hard I was already.
“Just what?” he teased, pinching one of my nipples. My skin was heating up, burning with a pleasant fire.
“Just…move already,” I snapped, to cover my embarrassment. Wouldn’t want Marcone to think I was just going to roll over at his say-so whenever, wherever.
Even if I probably would, he didn’t need to know.
“As you wish,” he said, nibbling on my ear. He thrust in hard and I arched up. I could feel my power building behind the orgasm.
There’s a reason tantric magic is so powerful, especially for thaumaturgy (my not-quite-pristine specialty). The emotions, the physical exertion, that gets transmuted into fuel for the magic, and the stronger the emotion, the stronger the spell. Strength is more than just how intensely you feel, though. Especially with magic, the purity of the emotion is a major component of what you can do with it and how easily that spell comes to you. Using loving sex to kill someone would burn a sorcerer up - that was why Victor Sells had used lust.
Whatever this was, lust may have been a factor, but there was something deeper, more meaningful. I’m not making this crap up - believe me, the last thing I really wanted was for a tension-relieving fling with Marcone to make me swoon like a schoolgirl. I could feel it, an undercurrent in the raging river of feelings becoming power. It ran fast and cold under the frothy, sunlit surface of lust. This had been building for years, and it was more than sexual tension, more than the best night of sex I’d ever had. It was a dam breaking.
My magic lends itself better to destructive metaphors.
“I can feel it,” Marcone said. His voice was filled with the kind of awe that used to swell in me - and still does, on occasion - when I used magic. He kissed me, still thrusting into me, holding me. The haste turned to slow gentleness. “God,” he said quietly, invoking faith here, of all places. I didn’t mind when women said things like that during sex, because none of them ever meant it this way; they might have had faith, but they used “God” more as a curse. Marcone used it as an expression of wonder at the beauty of the world, of this in specific. That was the kind of use that actually got God’s attention.
I kissed him to make him stop talking, uncomfortable with the sensitive turn here. Let it never be said that Marcone can’t take a hint: he sped up his movements again. My magic, which had simmered under his gentler touches, started boiling up again.
The bastard had way too much stamina. Whenever he saw me getting close, he’d slow down. It was a solid ten minutes before I noticed this and started whining, nonverbal from distraction and an unwillingness to beg.
Of course he was going to make me. He licked and sucked at my ear and whispered, “Say ‘please,’ Mr. Dresden.”
“F-fuck you.”
He slowed down.
“Hnnnnoooo,” I whimpered. “Come back comebackcomeback.”
“Say ‘please.’”
“Please,” I grumbled.
“A little more sincerely,” he said, slowing even more.
“…” now I just felt contrary.
Marcone stopped moving entirely, just nibbling on my nipple again, flicking it with his tongue.
His hand finally touched my cock, the slowest stroke from base to tip and then a thumb sliding over the slit.
“Stars!” I yelped. “Marcone, dammit - ”
“I think, under the circumstances, you should call me John,” he corrected mildly.
“John, if you don’t fucking move right now I will move you,” I hissed.
“Play nicely, Harry.”
“…please, Johnny.”
He slammed in so fast I hardly noticed the victorious smile. After all the buildup and the teasing I didn’t last very long, but at least Marcone didn’t last much longer than that.
He told me later that the magic was a visible wave, to him - and that I’d knocked out the power for ten city blocks. I think I blacked out. When I woke up, John had me pinned under him, holding me close. He looked so normal when he was asleep. Awake, he was always on high-alert, always suspicious of everyone’s motives. Like this, I could surprise him. I found I didn’t want to. I snuggled closer and fell back asleep.
Marcone/Dresden
+
I concede that I haven’t actually had that much sex. It’s a lot more intimate for witches and wizards - especially when they have sex with another witch or wizard - than it is for mundanes. We bare pieces of our soul, we gather energy from the activity, and through that, we learn something of the natures of our partners. Most wizards and witches aren’t in any hurry to leap in bed with someone, and I’m still fairly young by our standards. That I’ve only had three or four partners, all of them women, isn’t a real surprise.
That my fifth partner was a man didn’t honestly shock me as much as I might have pretended. It had been easier to act straight - I was already so strange, to mundanes. I generally was less attracted to men, so it was no real hardship to subsume those attractions. I still noticed solid muscles and pretty eyes, but that was enough.
It had been, at least, until one of the men who I, often reluctantly, trusted with my life decided he wanted something more.
And thus, John Marcone began to court me. It was awkward, at first, but I relented eventually. He was handsome, with those pretty green eyes and good bone structure. He had just as much interest in keeping this secret as I did. But the real tipping point: he could cook, and I’m not talking microwave dinners. I’ve been told I’m a bottomless pit, but never by John. He said he appreciated a man who could down a three course meal with seconds of everything.
Still, I didn’t just jump in bed with him. It was almost two months before things felt right, two months in which John didn’t pressure me or give up.
The sex itself was pretty damn good - better than at least half the women I had been with before. It was that awkward little emotional component that made me squirm.
The emotions of sex and heady relationship interaction could set off a magus’ power. And Marcone set me off big time, like no one ever had before. That should have been a sign, for me, that I was falling hard and fast for the bastard.
Much more significantly, he noticed the release of power as more than just the feeling he’d had very good sex. He gave me a hard look.
“Did you just use magic on me?”
My eyes widened. “Not like you mean. It wasn’t a spell, more like…a scream. Magic is sensitive to intent and emotions, so heightened emotions from arousal states mean the magic comes closer to the surface, and sometimes wizards, uh, release it without really intending to.”
His mouth twitched. “Like premature ejaculation?”
My face burned red. “Not the most flattering comparison, but accurate enough, if juvenile.”
“Touchy, Dresden?” he smirked. “Does it happen to you every time you have sex? That sounds like it could be…hazardous. What if a wizard and a witch…or two wizards, I suppose…both experienced that at the same time?”
“They would probably blow the electricity in the area,” I shrugged, evading the first question. I should have known that would get me nowhere with Marcone, the man was sharper than the knives he carried.
“Mr. Dresden, you didn’t answer my first question.” He started lazily stroking one of my nipples with a thumb. I swallowed.
“N-no, not every time.”
“Am I correct in assuming the reaction is stronger the more you enjoy yourself? I haven’t heard of many unusual power outages in this area.”
My mouth was so dry it almost hurt to speak. “Yes,” I muttered sullenly.
“And how much would it take to completely fry Chicago’s electrical grid?”
I blushed harder, not exactly normal for me. When I get embarrassed, usually I get angry and defensive. It was hard to get angry at anyone who had given me one of the best orgasms in my life. “An orgy, probably, of roughly five to ten wizards of my power, either in the heart of the city, or…just two or three, near the power plant.”
“I didn’t realize wizards having sex was that powerful of an EMP.”
I cocked my head, not recognizing the abbreviation.
“Electromagnetic Pulse, Mr. Dresden. A kind of bomb that only impacts electricity, for the most part. I’ve speculated for a while that magic creates something of an electromagnetic field, which explains why electronics never seem to work around you.”
“Oh,” I muttered. I felt tense and suspicious now. Was I a weapon, to Marcone? Was that why he asked?
He gave me a patient expression. “Mr. Dresden. Can a man not ask a few theoretical questions without arousing your suspicions?”
“…Not really, no,” I said with a shrug. I smiled and moved closer, stroking his hair. It wasn’t soft, exactly, more slick - but not greasy. Like silk.
He didn’t exactly purr, but he did close his eyes and make a kind of sighing, pleased noise. “They’re just theories. Mankind desires always to explain that which it does not understand. There are so many unknowns in magic, for me.”
“Ask and I’ll answer what I can, but just because wizard is derived from ‘wise’ doesn’t mean I really know all that much more.”
Marcone got an evil grin and I realized I’d promised to answer questions - questions from a man who had been pressuring me for years to tell him more about my world. I groaned.
“Can we go back to you fucking my brains out, please?”
“As long as the promise is not rescinded, Mr. Dresden,” he smirked.
“…Fine. I will answer your questions when I’m too exhausted to think about why I shouldn’t,” I said primly.
He nibbled my neck. “I suppose it’s my duty to bring you to that point.”
“We shouldn’t explore the other means of getting me exhausted,” I moaned. “They tend to involve a lot of pain, and I’m not kinky that way.”
Marcone lifted his head to look at me, amused. “Are you kinky in other ways?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m a red-blooded American man. Yes.”
“Other interesting questions to ask later,” he said, as though he was making a note to himself. His hands slid down my chest, caressing, holding, getting to know my every inch. I hummed happily under the attention. “You ready yet?” he asked. “Because I’m not waiting much longer.”
“Stars, just - ” I cut myself off with a loud groan as he slipped back into me easily. I couldn’t believe how hard I was already.
“Just what?” he teased, pinching one of my nipples. My skin was heating up, burning with a pleasant fire.
“Just…move already,” I snapped, to cover my embarrassment. Wouldn’t want Marcone to think I was just going to roll over at his say-so whenever, wherever.
Even if I probably would, he didn’t need to know.
“As you wish,” he said, nibbling on my ear. He thrust in hard and I arched up. I could feel my power building behind the orgasm.
There’s a reason tantric magic is so powerful, especially for thaumaturgy (my not-quite-pristine specialty). The emotions, the physical exertion, that gets transmuted into fuel for the magic, and the stronger the emotion, the stronger the spell. Strength is more than just how intensely you feel, though. Especially with magic, the purity of the emotion is a major component of what you can do with it and how easily that spell comes to you. Using loving sex to kill someone would burn a sorcerer up - that was why Victor Sells had used lust.
Whatever this was, lust may have been a factor, but there was something deeper, more meaningful. I’m not making this crap up - believe me, the last thing I really wanted was for a tension-relieving fling with Marcone to make me swoon like a schoolgirl. I could feel it, an undercurrent in the raging river of feelings becoming power. It ran fast and cold under the frothy, sunlit surface of lust. This had been building for years, and it was more than sexual tension, more than the best night of sex I’d ever had. It was a dam breaking.
My magic lends itself better to destructive metaphors.
“I can feel it,” Marcone said. His voice was filled with the kind of awe that used to swell in me - and still does, on occasion - when I used magic. He kissed me, still thrusting into me, holding me. The haste turned to slow gentleness. “God,” he said quietly, invoking faith here, of all places. I didn’t mind when women said things like that during sex, because none of them ever meant it this way; they might have had faith, but they used “God” more as a curse. Marcone used it as an expression of wonder at the beauty of the world, of this in specific. That was the kind of use that actually got God’s attention.
I kissed him to make him stop talking, uncomfortable with the sensitive turn here. Let it never be said that Marcone can’t take a hint: he sped up his movements again. My magic, which had simmered under his gentler touches, started boiling up again.
The bastard had way too much stamina. Whenever he saw me getting close, he’d slow down. It was a solid ten minutes before I noticed this and started whining, nonverbal from distraction and an unwillingness to beg.
Of course he was going to make me. He licked and sucked at my ear and whispered, “Say ‘please,’ Mr. Dresden.”
“F-fuck you.”
He slowed down.
“Hnnnnoooo,” I whimpered. “Come back comebackcomeback.”
“Say ‘please.’”
“Please,” I grumbled.
“A little more sincerely,” he said, slowing even more.
“…” now I just felt contrary.
Marcone stopped moving entirely, just nibbling on my nipple again, flicking it with his tongue.
His hand finally touched my cock, the slowest stroke from base to tip and then a thumb sliding over the slit.
“Stars!” I yelped. “Marcone, dammit - ”
“I think, under the circumstances, you should call me John,” he corrected mildly.
“John, if you don’t fucking move right now I will move you,” I hissed.
“Play nicely, Harry.”
“…please, Johnny.”
He slammed in so fast I hardly noticed the victorious smile. After all the buildup and the teasing I didn’t last very long, but at least Marcone didn’t last much longer than that.
He told me later that the magic was a visible wave, to him - and that I’d knocked out the power for ten city blocks. I think I blacked out. When I woke up, John had me pinned under him, holding me close. He looked so normal when he was asleep. Awake, he was always on high-alert, always suspicious of everyone’s motives. Like this, I could surprise him. I found I didn’t want to. I snuggled closer and fell back asleep.