Fic: Dresdens and Dragons 3/8
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, Stockholm Syndrome.
Part One, Part Two
Harry felt as though he were wading through jello as he twisted out of the dragon's grip. Between his own issues and the lizard king's mobile reactor he felt like he was burning up, from both inside and out. Who knew dragons were cuddlers? Harry rubbed the sleep junk out of his eyes and shifted, freezing as the arms wrapped around him tightened their hold. A blast of heated air passed over Harry's head when the dragon snorted in its sleep, ruffling his hair, and one of the scaled hands drifted down his abdomen.
It hovered over the center of the runic spiral possessively, and a strangled squeak escaped Harry's mouth as the dragon stroked his stomach. The action tickled; one part soothing and all parts creepy. The wizard was pretty sure a half-whispered mine had been muttered by the big bastard, too, and it was with renewed purpose that Harry reached out with his -thankfully- long arms to drag himself from the hold, shunting the longing pulses of the runes to a distant corner of his mind. The heat had done wonders for his aching muscles, yes, but they would just have to deal with it.
He didn't belong to anybody.
Harry's sweat-slicked body slid out onto a clear space of the floor, and he shakily stood up, his breathe coming in rapid pants. The dragon rolled over in sleep, seemingly unaware of its Harry-sized teddy bear's absence.
Harry padded away, studiously ignoring the dark patches on the stone floor- thankfully the dragon had picked up on his discomfort and tossed the body. It was probably back in that first major room, Harry dazedly mused, the one that had been filled with bones and bodies. Compost heap: Dragon edition.
His staff hadn't been moved from where he remembered seeing it, and even if the magic fire that lit the room had decreased to a dim, some might say romantic, glow Harry was sure he could still find it. The question was, should he? Yes, he wanted his staff and the power and security it represented... but what if it was a test? What if placing it so close at hand was part of some twisted dragon scheme? Was he waiting to see if Harry went to grab it, before phasing out of the shadows like some James Bond villain with henchmen in tow? "Mr. Dresden, I expected better of you…"
A snore echoed around the room, causing a precariously balanced golden bowl to fall off a pile and start a small shower of sparkling, tinkling debris.
"On the other hand, maybe I'm giving him too much credit." Harry grumbled to himself in a hoarse, soft voice while decisively stepping around the ridiculously long tail and carefully keeping his mind blank. The thing was asleep. Harry had been, too. There hadn't been much else either one of them could do after... after.
Dragons had large appetites, and no qualms about demanding seconds, thirds, fourths, or fifths.
When his hand curled around the carved wood a spark of recognition flared up within him, and Harry sighed as the tension in his shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. Now, maybe he wouldn't trip so damn much in the cluttered room. Harry looked over his shoulder, but the dragon was still out of it and now burbling something about goats in between snore-growls.
Shaking his head, Harry gripped his staff and stalked into the main of the hoard. He might have leaned on his staff more than he would have liked to admit, but that was what it was made for. Well, that and assisting in the slinging of magic.
The air in the cave was humid, and didn't do much for his over heated and sticky body. He rubbed at the back of his neck, refusing to look down, eyes searching for anything that might lead to a way out.
---
Harry felt his head tilt to the side in wonderment. "Hells bells." The dragon was obsessed. If he didn't know better, Harry would have said the thing was compensating for something. He hadn't even known they made fertility statues that big, with a shlong that doubled as a bench.
---
"Oh. Wow." Harry blinked as he held up a few twisted lengths of metal. Tarnished now, he could just make out some intricate etchings of stylized flowers and deer, as well as what might have been a broken lock. He dropped it and went back to digging through a pile of clothing and furs.
He didn't want to know why the dragon had a medieval chastity belt floating around. Whoever it had belonged to hadn't stayed chaste very long, not if the dragon had its way.
At least, Harry grumbled to himself, he'd found a semi-decent linen shirt. The damn thing needed a wash, though, because it was irritating his skin and the small of his back itched like crazy.
---
The brush of old magic against his fingers startled Harry out of his musings. He took his staff in hand and poked at the pile of junk. Anyone with sense could tell you that unknown magical artifacts were to be treated like loaded guns, because for all intents and purposes they were. Harry knocked aside a cup and a battered pair of leather pants -too small to fit- and tapped at an oblong object wrapped in some gauzy fabric. It didn't explode, or turn him purple, or do anything but buzz with a constant, old low-level of magic.
Cautiously, Harry picked it up, bracelet charged and ready to shield if the thing showed any signs of activating. It was old, that much was obvious, and after a closer look Harry realized it was granite carved into a very, very familiar shape.
Eyes widening, Harry squeaked and ran over to a completely different pile before burying the thing as deep as he could without looking suspicious. It was the twelfth... phallic object Harry had found, but the first that was also enchanted to vibrate.
He was pretty sure one of the worn words impregnated with magic was dilato, and even if his correspondence course was crap it didn't take a genius to figure out the implications.
---
It had taken far longer than he liked, but Harry had finally, finally found his coat. He pulled it on, the leather a welcome if illusionary protection. Fingering a rip that brought out a sliver of anger -Susan had given it to him, one of the most thoughtful things that had ever been done for him.- he promised himself to ask Bob about protective enchantments when he got home. He might not be able to run around in a heavy suit of armor like some people, but he could do magic. He was a Wizard.
It was about time he put some of Justin's more grey teachings to use, anyway. He hadn't done anything with those branches of magic in years... and Morgan had, supposedly, stopped stalking him, and how was the White Council going to enforce anything with him safely ensconced in the Nevernever?
His backside gave an annoyed twinge, a lance of pain the wouldn't let him sit comfortably for weeks. "Not entirely safe." Harry mumbled to himself, nose buried in his duster as he breathed in the welcome -safe- smell of leather and sweat, drowning out the sticky-sweet scent of sex that had been clinging to him like a second skin. He needed to get out, to get home, and who was feeding Mister?
Stars, Harry thought as a sudden onset of melancholy tried to drag him under a tide of tears, he missed his cat. Even if the cat probably didn't miss him. Much.
Sniffling, the wizard plunked himself down near a pool of brackish water, propped his staff against a sarcophagus sized vase, and ripped a length of cloth from his new old shirt. He dipped it in the spring, soaking it, and began scrubbing at himself. It was something he could focus on, his shoulders shuddering with each remembered touch, but it was also a relief. Once he heard a crunch as the dragon shifted, and his staff was in his hand before he consciously reached for it, but all that happened was the creature changing position.
As he cleaned, Harry found his attention once again drawn to the symbols that had been etched unwillingly into his skin. They weren't inflamed anymore, and actually looked as if they had begun to scar over, his ministrations causing them to flare into bright pale slashes and curves against rubbed raw skin. He knew wizards healed well, but they didn't heal any faster than vanilla mortals. So... how long had he been unconscious?
Or was it something else?
Harry dropped the rag he had been using, heard it plop into the water, and his mind crunched the numbers. Time did funny things in the Nevernever. Sometimes it ran fast, sometimes slow, but for those in the pockets it felt normal. You never knew what was going on until you came out. The further into the Nevernever you went, the farther from where it butted up against the mortal plane, the bigger the discrepancies.
It was one of the many reasons wizards stuck to well marked paths, or employed guides, and Harry had simply been running - more concerned with gaining distance than direction- when he stumbled into his current prison.
His heart jumped into his throat as his pulse rushed through his ears, vision tunneling, and all he could think about was Rip Van Winkle, and the need to get home to his fire and his cat and his Bob before all that was left was ashes and memory.
There was pressure at his back, and Harry came awake with a muffled scream, a clawed finger under his chin. "Wizard?" Curiosity, and what might have been worry. Harry glanced into those red-rimmed eyes, but there was no soul to gaze.
How much time had he just lost?
"What?"
"I am pleased." The dragon continued after a moment. "You've dressed your self in my things. This is good."
"It's not yours-" Harry coughed, and what he wouldn't give for one of Mac's lemonades right about then. What he would give just for Mac. "They're mine. You took them."
The dragon rolled its shoulders with a graceful, cat-like movement and rocked back, smug. "Yes. I took them. Mine." The last came out as one of those rumbling purrs that reached Harry's bones.
Harry shifted back, the wood in his hands almost creaking from the pressure, and let his magic flow. He didn't know much about fighting dragons, fire was probably going to be an epic failure, but maybe wind... if he could get enough of a head start, maybe figure out some way to navigate the giant warren, he could open a way back to Earth. And his apartment. And his wards.
The etchings in his skin gave a sudden, sharp throb. Harry nearly dropped his staff, but the opening was missed as the dragon sudden whipped its head around, hissing. Muscles moved beneath the scaled armor like a writhing mass of snakes, and Harry's back hit the wall as his breathe came out in a fog.
The dragon lurched, taking off in a run as its body flowed like liquid metal, growing in size as it ran. Harry hurried to follow, unsure of where it was headed, of whether or not he wanted to be there, but it was his best bet. Still, he quickly lost the creature as it gained mass and size, wings bursting out of its back and creating miniature hurricanes as it propelled forward.
"She dare... she dare impugn my claim?" A whisper that was a shout rippled out, almost tangible, through the dark underground chambers. "She dare trespass on my territory?"
Harry's blood sang in his veins. Who, he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he wanted to know.
He was half afraid he already knew the answer.
Part Four
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, Stockholm Syndrome.
Part One, Part Two
Harry felt as though he were wading through jello as he twisted out of the dragon's grip. Between his own issues and the lizard king's mobile reactor he felt like he was burning up, from both inside and out. Who knew dragons were cuddlers? Harry rubbed the sleep junk out of his eyes and shifted, freezing as the arms wrapped around him tightened their hold. A blast of heated air passed over Harry's head when the dragon snorted in its sleep, ruffling his hair, and one of the scaled hands drifted down his abdomen.
It hovered over the center of the runic spiral possessively, and a strangled squeak escaped Harry's mouth as the dragon stroked his stomach. The action tickled; one part soothing and all parts creepy. The wizard was pretty sure a half-whispered mine had been muttered by the big bastard, too, and it was with renewed purpose that Harry reached out with his -thankfully- long arms to drag himself from the hold, shunting the longing pulses of the runes to a distant corner of his mind. The heat had done wonders for his aching muscles, yes, but they would just have to deal with it.
He didn't belong to anybody.
Harry's sweat-slicked body slid out onto a clear space of the floor, and he shakily stood up, his breathe coming in rapid pants. The dragon rolled over in sleep, seemingly unaware of its Harry-sized teddy bear's absence.
Harry padded away, studiously ignoring the dark patches on the stone floor- thankfully the dragon had picked up on his discomfort and tossed the body. It was probably back in that first major room, Harry dazedly mused, the one that had been filled with bones and bodies. Compost heap: Dragon edition.
His staff hadn't been moved from where he remembered seeing it, and even if the magic fire that lit the room had decreased to a dim, some might say romantic, glow Harry was sure he could still find it. The question was, should he? Yes, he wanted his staff and the power and security it represented... but what if it was a test? What if placing it so close at hand was part of some twisted dragon scheme? Was he waiting to see if Harry went to grab it, before phasing out of the shadows like some James Bond villain with henchmen in tow? "Mr. Dresden, I expected better of you…"
A snore echoed around the room, causing a precariously balanced golden bowl to fall off a pile and start a small shower of sparkling, tinkling debris.
"On the other hand, maybe I'm giving him too much credit." Harry grumbled to himself in a hoarse, soft voice while decisively stepping around the ridiculously long tail and carefully keeping his mind blank. The thing was asleep. Harry had been, too. There hadn't been much else either one of them could do after... after.
Dragons had large appetites, and no qualms about demanding seconds, thirds, fourths, or fifths.
When his hand curled around the carved wood a spark of recognition flared up within him, and Harry sighed as the tension in his shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. Now, maybe he wouldn't trip so damn much in the cluttered room. Harry looked over his shoulder, but the dragon was still out of it and now burbling something about goats in between snore-growls.
Shaking his head, Harry gripped his staff and stalked into the main of the hoard. He might have leaned on his staff more than he would have liked to admit, but that was what it was made for. Well, that and assisting in the slinging of magic.
The air in the cave was humid, and didn't do much for his over heated and sticky body. He rubbed at the back of his neck, refusing to look down, eyes searching for anything that might lead to a way out.
---
Harry felt his head tilt to the side in wonderment. "Hells bells." The dragon was obsessed. If he didn't know better, Harry would have said the thing was compensating for something. He hadn't even known they made fertility statues that big, with a shlong that doubled as a bench.
---
"Oh. Wow." Harry blinked as he held up a few twisted lengths of metal. Tarnished now, he could just make out some intricate etchings of stylized flowers and deer, as well as what might have been a broken lock. He dropped it and went back to digging through a pile of clothing and furs.
He didn't want to know why the dragon had a medieval chastity belt floating around. Whoever it had belonged to hadn't stayed chaste very long, not if the dragon had its way.
At least, Harry grumbled to himself, he'd found a semi-decent linen shirt. The damn thing needed a wash, though, because it was irritating his skin and the small of his back itched like crazy.
---
The brush of old magic against his fingers startled Harry out of his musings. He took his staff in hand and poked at the pile of junk. Anyone with sense could tell you that unknown magical artifacts were to be treated like loaded guns, because for all intents and purposes they were. Harry knocked aside a cup and a battered pair of leather pants -too small to fit- and tapped at an oblong object wrapped in some gauzy fabric. It didn't explode, or turn him purple, or do anything but buzz with a constant, old low-level of magic.
Cautiously, Harry picked it up, bracelet charged and ready to shield if the thing showed any signs of activating. It was old, that much was obvious, and after a closer look Harry realized it was granite carved into a very, very familiar shape.
Eyes widening, Harry squeaked and ran over to a completely different pile before burying the thing as deep as he could without looking suspicious. It was the twelfth... phallic object Harry had found, but the first that was also enchanted to vibrate.
He was pretty sure one of the worn words impregnated with magic was dilato, and even if his correspondence course was crap it didn't take a genius to figure out the implications.
---
It had taken far longer than he liked, but Harry had finally, finally found his coat. He pulled it on, the leather a welcome if illusionary protection. Fingering a rip that brought out a sliver of anger -Susan had given it to him, one of the most thoughtful things that had ever been done for him.- he promised himself to ask Bob about protective enchantments when he got home. He might not be able to run around in a heavy suit of armor like some people, but he could do magic. He was a Wizard.
It was about time he put some of Justin's more grey teachings to use, anyway. He hadn't done anything with those branches of magic in years... and Morgan had, supposedly, stopped stalking him, and how was the White Council going to enforce anything with him safely ensconced in the Nevernever?
His backside gave an annoyed twinge, a lance of pain the wouldn't let him sit comfortably for weeks. "Not entirely safe." Harry mumbled to himself, nose buried in his duster as he breathed in the welcome -safe- smell of leather and sweat, drowning out the sticky-sweet scent of sex that had been clinging to him like a second skin. He needed to get out, to get home, and who was feeding Mister?
Stars, Harry thought as a sudden onset of melancholy tried to drag him under a tide of tears, he missed his cat. Even if the cat probably didn't miss him. Much.
Sniffling, the wizard plunked himself down near a pool of brackish water, propped his staff against a sarcophagus sized vase, and ripped a length of cloth from his new old shirt. He dipped it in the spring, soaking it, and began scrubbing at himself. It was something he could focus on, his shoulders shuddering with each remembered touch, but it was also a relief. Once he heard a crunch as the dragon shifted, and his staff was in his hand before he consciously reached for it, but all that happened was the creature changing position.
As he cleaned, Harry found his attention once again drawn to the symbols that had been etched unwillingly into his skin. They weren't inflamed anymore, and actually looked as if they had begun to scar over, his ministrations causing them to flare into bright pale slashes and curves against rubbed raw skin. He knew wizards healed well, but they didn't heal any faster than vanilla mortals. So... how long had he been unconscious?
Or was it something else?
Harry dropped the rag he had been using, heard it plop into the water, and his mind crunched the numbers. Time did funny things in the Nevernever. Sometimes it ran fast, sometimes slow, but for those in the pockets it felt normal. You never knew what was going on until you came out. The further into the Nevernever you went, the farther from where it butted up against the mortal plane, the bigger the discrepancies.
It was one of the many reasons wizards stuck to well marked paths, or employed guides, and Harry had simply been running - more concerned with gaining distance than direction- when he stumbled into his current prison.
His heart jumped into his throat as his pulse rushed through his ears, vision tunneling, and all he could think about was Rip Van Winkle, and the need to get home to his fire and his cat and his Bob before all that was left was ashes and memory.
There was pressure at his back, and Harry came awake with a muffled scream, a clawed finger under his chin. "Wizard?" Curiosity, and what might have been worry. Harry glanced into those red-rimmed eyes, but there was no soul to gaze.
How much time had he just lost?
"What?"
"I am pleased." The dragon continued after a moment. "You've dressed your self in my things. This is good."
"It's not yours-" Harry coughed, and what he wouldn't give for one of Mac's lemonades right about then. What he would give just for Mac. "They're mine. You took them."
The dragon rolled its shoulders with a graceful, cat-like movement and rocked back, smug. "Yes. I took them. Mine." The last came out as one of those rumbling purrs that reached Harry's bones.
Harry shifted back, the wood in his hands almost creaking from the pressure, and let his magic flow. He didn't know much about fighting dragons, fire was probably going to be an epic failure, but maybe wind... if he could get enough of a head start, maybe figure out some way to navigate the giant warren, he could open a way back to Earth. And his apartment. And his wards.
The etchings in his skin gave a sudden, sharp throb. Harry nearly dropped his staff, but the opening was missed as the dragon sudden whipped its head around, hissing. Muscles moved beneath the scaled armor like a writhing mass of snakes, and Harry's back hit the wall as his breathe came out in a fog.
The dragon lurched, taking off in a run as its body flowed like liquid metal, growing in size as it ran. Harry hurried to follow, unsure of where it was headed, of whether or not he wanted to be there, but it was his best bet. Still, he quickly lost the creature as it gained mass and size, wings bursting out of its back and creating miniature hurricanes as it propelled forward.
"She dare... she dare impugn my claim?" A whisper that was a shout rippled out, almost tangible, through the dark underground chambers. "She dare trespass on my territory?"
Harry's blood sang in his veins. Who, he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he wanted to know.
He was half afraid he already knew the answer.
Part Four