Afterwards, Harry lay curled up next to John, a smug smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
"That," he said in a satisfied and somewhat lazy tone, "was worth waiting a month for. I think I'll just lie here for the rest of the year, too."
Harry's stomach disagreed. It rumbled. Loudly.
Harry facepalmed. "I'm sorry. Wizard metabolism. Sex makes me hungry. Especially fantastic sex. I'd better go get something and bring it back here. You want anything to eat? Besides me?"
"Michael already knew that I was with someone. He Sherlock Holmesed that pretty quickly. And hell, I'm the one who told him I was with a man. He's the bearer of Amoracchius. It's pretty hard to lie to him about love.
"And Frank...you know, mad as he is, I don't mind him knowing." He bit into a Pop Tart. "He's your best friend. I'd rather he know than have you lie to him.
"Besides, I'm the one who told Thomas." After his brother had burned himself by touching Harry's hat, that is.
"We move in regrettably astute circles." John leaned up, arm contorted so that his plate of lasagna was still perfectly level, to steal a bite of poptart from Harry's hand. Then he lay back, turning back to his own dinner.
"It's far more fun stealing them from you," John said matter-of-factly. "I don't know how well I could handle a devoted, doe-eyed lover. It's not that I don't enjoy women, I just don't enjoy men as women. ...and if it were you being pliable and effeminate, it would become horrifying."
"That, I can understand. The stealing part, I mean. I was thinking along the same lines, I think. That is, teasing the hell out of you. I LIKE driving you crazy." He grimaced. "And if I EVER turn into a doe-eyed chick with a dick, please assume that whatever is in front of you is a doppelganger and kill it with fire."
"Agreed, so long as you promise me the same." John reached up to break off another piece of pop tart. "And yes. You always have enjoyed driving me up the nearest wall. One of the earliest staples of our relationship, I think."
"That's a promise." And as John knew, he didn't make promises lightly. "And yes, I have, though not literally. I'll have to give that some consideration." John and a wall suddenly seemed like a very tempting thought.
"I'd like to say that I decided that, as a Mafia don, you didn't have enough people driving you insane and so I decided that I would help you out of the goodness of my heart." Then Harry chuckled. "But the truth is, it was partly instinct--I drive everyone nuts, you know that--and partly entertainment."
"And when you see a powerful, dangerous authority figure, it is a nigh-irresistible instinct to poke them with the nearest sharp stick?" John added, eyes twinkling. "I hear things. Rumors, reports, gossip in the magical world. You aren't always terribly polite at Council meetings, are you?"
"No, I'm not. Arthur Langtry and Ancient Mai aren't always terribly polite or terribly reasonable. I feel kind of an obligation to point out when they're being asses. No one else ever does. That's half the reason they get away with the crap that they do." He shrugged. "Someone has to say, 'The Emperor has no clothes on.'
"Also, they tend to beat the drum of 'The world would be so much better if Harry Dresden were dead.' I have a hard time being nice to people who would try judicial murder if they could get away with it. I'm damned sure that I wasn't supposed to survive the appointment as Warden. Die heroically or get executed as a Dark Wizard/necromancer, more likely."
"I'm not sure whether to be mollified that it isn't just my windmill that you tilt at... or hurt. I thought we had something special, Harry." His mouth quirked.
"We do. You're the only one who banters back. Everyone else just gets pissed or decides that I must be crazy or just plain dumb. The latter is generally the reaction I get from the bad guys, by the way. Villains tend to lack a sense of humor."
"You are crazy. They simply need to realize that that's no reason not to indulge in a bit of banter." John stroked Harry's bare ankle with his toes even as he ate his baked pasta.
"Well, you have better standards than they do. Or a better sense of humor." Harry settled back, smiling like a Cheshire cat when John stroked his ankle. "And sanity is really overrated."
"Both, I flatter myself. If you can't laugh normally at yourself, soon you start laughing maniacally at everyone else." John sighed, putting his plate aside on the nightstand; he hadn't eaten all of it, but he was really quite full. Replete, even.
Harry polished off his own lasagna, ate five or six Pop Tarts, then washed it all down with several cups of coffee. Then, putting the plates aside, he curled against John.
"That," he said in a satisfied and somewhat lazy tone, "was worth waiting a month for. I think I'll just lie here for the rest of the year, too."
Harry's stomach disagreed. It rumbled. Loudly.
Harry facepalmed. "I'm sorry. Wizard metabolism. Sex makes me hungry. Especially fantastic sex. I'd better go get something and bring it back here. You want anything to eat? Besides me?"
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"And Frank...you know, mad as he is, I don't mind him knowing." He bit into a Pop Tart. "He's your best friend. I'd rather he know than have you lie to him.
"Besides, I'm the one who told Thomas." After his brother had burned himself by touching Harry's hat, that is.
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"I'd like to say that I decided that, as a Mafia don, you didn't have enough people driving you insane and so I decided that I would help you out of the goodness of my heart." Then Harry chuckled. "But the truth is, it was partly instinct--I drive everyone nuts, you know that--and partly entertainment."
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"Also, they tend to beat the drum of 'The world would be so much better if Harry Dresden were dead.' I have a hard time being nice to people who would try judicial murder if they could get away with it. I'm damned sure that I wasn't supposed to survive the appointment as Warden. Die heroically or get executed as a Dark Wizard/necromancer, more likely."
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"Tired? Or just comfortable?"
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