Untitled fic

Sep 09, 2007 20:51

+Title - Untitled chapters 3 and 4 (seriously, the thing needs a name) (Previous parts: Abandon, Chapters 1 and 2).
+Author - Shiplizard
+Pairing - Harry/Bob established relationship
+Rating - NC-17 for Bob
+Book or TV-verse - Book
+Summary - Harry and Bob bicker; Charity does not kneecap Harry; Bob does Harry a favor and gets one in return
+Warnings - Spoilers for White Night, masturbation, misuse of a food product
+Word count - 3498
+Betas - edana_ni_emer and gehayi


3.

Back in the lab, I was hesitant to broach the subject of the magic circle. So I approached it roundaboutly, starting with Murphy's bizarre gossip.

"The cupcake and the mortician," Bob marveled. "Do you think it's for his looks or for his taste in music?"

I glared at the skull. "My apprentice is not a dessert item." And Butters was a medical examiner, not a mortician, but I could split that particular hair later. "I don't know-- he was attracted, but..."

"But he's a tiny little thing, isn't he?"

"Well..." He was. Murphy's height but probably not as muscular, frizzy black hair, beaky face. Older than her by at least five years-- oh, her mother was going to like that. Nothing like Molly's last boyfriend-- then again, Molly's last boyfriend was recovering from her magical lobotomy. Maybe she liked that Butters didn't have any vices, wouldn't cheat on her.

Maybe she was doing something stupid and using him. I had to consider that, too. I'd have a talk with him. And then her.

I was getting distracted. "That's not the reason she called me, though," I said. "This is-" I reached for my duster pocket, holding the Polaroid where the skull could see it.

Bob's eye lights flared. "I've seen something like this before."

"Good-- I haven't."

"I can't tell you specifically. I can't read those center symbols-- but that looks like a bomb."

"Really?" I lowered the photograph to look at Bob.

"Really. Not surprised you don't know about them-- they're out of style. Lots of buck, not much bang; they were flashy and impressive in the middle ages, but that's about all they're good for. Party tricks." He paused, muttering to himself-- some ancient language or another. "No, but that middle one. That's tricky. That might amplify an explosion. But that outer one is some kind of binding, it would contain everything-- Harry, are you sure this isn't a prank? This thing is silly. Useless."

I listened carefully for any evasion, but Bob seemed genuinely confused. Well, join the party.

"It was in a warehouse. An empty warehouse. Even if it was a bomb, who'd want to blow up an empty warehouse?"

"Maybe there was a shipment coming in that they would have put on it... or something... ask Murphy. Um, if you can get me more detail on the center--"

"Sure, Bob. I'll ask."

I'd been expecting something bigger. A gasp of surprise, some new horrible revelation-- and it was just a jumble. A muddle. Hell's bells, some group of teens who got rid of their own magical book. Learned a charm to make their paint permanent and threw some things together. I started feeling silly about my paranoia. I'd still have to find them, track them-- if whoever had done this had the gift, they had to be trained before they did something against the laws of magic.

I'd have to ask Molly, too. It was a long shot; she didn't know every teenager in Chicago. Not by a long shot. But she did have friends in the goth and horror scenes, both groups who might turn to flashy, dark-looking magic for fun and mundane-shocking purposes. Of course, spoiled rich kids are just as likely to dabble-- for attention, for a thrill. And poverty was a pretty good motivator, too.

But Molly was a good place to start.

"Okay. So I'll call Murphy and tell her that it's probably not dangerous. We're not going to slack off on this-- it could be trouble with the council again."

"Of course not."

"And we have to work on Little Chicago. And-" I paused. "-you know I need information on the Black Council."

The skull jumped slightly; there was the rattle of chattering teeth. "Boss."

"I know," I said, feeling guilty. The only member I knew for sure of on the Black Council-if it existed at all- was a necromancer called Cowl. Cowl had been the apprentice of Heinrich Kemmler, one of Bob's former masters. One who had been so cruel and evil that Bob had had to repress the parts of his essence that had been touched by him. Kemmler was dead, but Cowl had used the knowledge he'd left in Bob to try to become a god-- and destroy Chicago as a side effect.

Bob had stopped him.

"If I get close to Cowl again-- that he's alive-- I've already made him mad," Bob said quietly.

"Maybe he'll come after me instead. He kept calling you 'spirit', he treated you like an arcane rolodex. Just a tool--he might not even consider you as having betrayed him."

"So he'd destroy me to keep me out of the way and then come after you. Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bob asked sharply.

"I'm running out of sources to turn to," I said.

"There'd better be a lot of romance novels in it for me," Bob said, sounding shrewd-- but he couldn't quite disguise the nervous quaver in his voice.

I let my gaze fall deliberately on a rolled up yoga mat in one corner of the lab.

Bob went quiet, his eyelights flickering. It was a while before he said anything.

"Are you sure, boss?"

"It's dangerous. Exhausting. You'd have earned it."

Another reason that I wasn't voicing was that Cowl frightened him. I didn't know if spirits of intellect could be reassured with intimacy the way that humans could, but I figured I'd offer.

"Your temper's been so much better. I was trying to break the habit," Bob said, but the eyelights in the skull were focused on the mat.

"Is that the only reason you made the arrangement in the first place? Because you thought it would calm me down?" I asked.

"...well, the first time."

"And this time?"

More silence.

"If you're offering," he said finally.

"Tomorrow, after you come back, and we've worked on Little Chicago for at least two hours. Deal?"

"Deal."

We settled down to work on Little Chicago for a while; when night fell, Mister padded down into the lab, seeming to know that he was needed.

"See you tomorrow," Bob said, just a little too brightly.

"Tomorrow."

Mister didn't so much as twitch a whisker as the spirit flowed from the skull and into him. He's used to it.

I watched them go, a coil of worry in the pit of my stomach. Cowl had taken Bob from me before-- and this time, knowing that Bob could and would betray him, he'd just destroy him. But Bob's always been my last, best line of information-- that or summoning a demon. I didn't do that anymore, for a few very, very good reasons.

The phone rang, startling me out of my worry. I bolted up out of the lab and made a grab for it.

"Mister Dresden," a woman's voice said, sharp and clear and extremely not happy.

Charity Carpenter. My apprentice's mother. Oh, crap.

"Hello, Charity," I said conversationally. "Can I do something for you?"

"Who have you been introducing my daughter to?"

I winced. "They met in a purely professional capacity," I said, resigned to the verbal flaying I was about to get.

"He's almost ten years older than her!"

"I didn't know about it! I was only told today! Now that I know, I could start going out on their dates, chaperoning-"

"Even you’d be better than Thomas."

My stomach made a jump for my throat. Molly had been hanging out with Thomas, too? Whose apprentice was she? And he was my brother! What had they been up to? If he'd so much as nibbled on her essence, brother or not, I was going to tattle to Charity and let her go after him with the warhammer.

"Thomas is-" I almost said harmless, but that wasn’t true. White Court vampires aren’t ever harmless. "He wouldn’t hurt Molly-you know that." My half-brother was slightly in her good graces; he’d along to rescue Molly from Arctis Tor.

"Watch your step, wizard. If Waldo wasn't such a nice boy, we'd be having this talk in person. If Thomas ever forgets to be a gentleman-"

I made a nonchalant sound of agreement. Something like 'gnnn.' I might have been trying to say 'please don't hurt me.'

She seemed to be considering my response. Apparently it was acceptable. "You didn't know. I believe you. But if you let anyone hurt my daughter-"

"No, ma'am," I said, very sincerely.

"Good. We understand each other. Goodbye, Mister Dresden." The phone clicked dead.

I slumped on the couch and put my face in my hands.


4.

Mister padded into the lab at about two in the afternoon. He gave me an inscrutable feline look, and yawned widely. Orange energy flowed out of his mouth, darting through the lab and into the skull on the shelf.

"Hey, Bob," I said. "How was it?"

There was a long pause. "It’s not great, Harry. I didn’t run into anyone we know, but there’s a lot of bad energy."

"Well hell’s bells," I said, almost rolling my eyes. "There’s a war on, Bob."

"Something different." Bob made a sucking sound-and without lips, teeth, or saliva. He has a talent. "Not vampires en masse. Ghouls, henchmen, stragglers. With surveying equipment."

"-that sounds bad, Bob."

"It does." The skull hissed. "I didn’t run into Cowl. Like I said. But he’s been around, Harry. Footprints. I thought he was dead-" Bob sounded miserable. Frightened.

"We knew he was alive." I gestured at the hole in Little Chicago, patched but still standing out. If I tried to use the model now, that patch would disrupt the flow of magical energies like a penny on a train track disrupts the flow of a train-with similarly destructive results. "So no surprise. And you’re all right."

"Fine," Bob said brightly. I didn’t buy it for a moment.

"You’re all right." My voice was gentler--reassuring. "All right. Let’s get to work. Show me on the model where those surveyors were-maybe while we can work we can figure out what they’re up to."

"Right. Good idea," Bob said, still too clipped and too cheerful.

"It’s good work, Bob. I won’t ask you to go out again."

"Thanks, boss." The two words were quieter-I could hear the relief in them. I shot the skull a reassuring look.

We worked.

Bob didn’t mention it when we passed the two hour mark; he let me work until my stomach was grumbling. I glanced at the clock.

"Hey. We had an appointment, didn’t we?"

"I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re no fun when I pull you away from something," Bob said, the tone in his voice implying a shoulderless shrug. "You need to focus."

"Considerate, Bob, but I think I’ve had all the focusing I can stand for right now. For one thing, I’m starving..."

"Wait till I get done with you," Bob said, the leer in his voice sounding just a little forced. "You’ll want to eat a whole cow."

"I didn’t realize that was one of your kinks," I said dryly.

"Well, actually, if you’re offering, I’d appreciate it if you got a bottle of syrup or honey or something."

That was alarming. I had accommodated Bob by assembling a few very dubious props, but none of them had so far been edible.

"Uh, that had better not go anywhere that a quick shower won’t take care of."

"No worries, boss. But you know how I feel about you getting oral."

I cleared my throat and stared at the opposite wall until my blush receded.

When I let Bob affect me, he wipes my inhibitions blank. I do what feels good-to a point. He’s never let me hurt myself or damage the lab. But there are other, harmless things that I tend to enjoy. They just completely embarrass me when I’m not under the influence. For instance, Bob likes to light up the nerves in my lips and tongue. I enjoy kissing. Licking. Sucking.

Bob enjoys it when I enjoy sucking. He’s had me look at it in a mirror on a few occasions.

"I’ll... back in a minute." I went upstairs, and took a moment to cool down before opening the trap door again and heading back down to the lab with a jar of honey.

"That’ll work," Bob said, his cheerfulness not sounding even slightly forced this time. "All right. Let’s get this show on the road-"

"Keep it in the lab, Bob."

I sighed, taking a breath to center myself, and started preparing. I’m always nervous beforehand. The ritual helped; first lay out the mat. A yoga mat, comfortable and soft; I spread it out on an empty expanse of floor. Unlock the small, nondescript box under one worktable, in case I wound up wanting a prop. Douse the kerosene lamps and blow out the candles. If I needed candles lit, I’d light them. Mostly, we did this by the light of Bob.

"Ready, Harry?"

I stood next to the mat, nodded.

Motes of orange energy poured out of the skull, drifting towards me. The energy spread out to envelop me, flowing under my clothes to cling to my skin.

First, the feeling of a rush of air-an ocean breeze over my whole body. It made my hair stand on end. My nipples perked up. Other parts withdrew, just a little.

Then... warmth. And a rush of sensation as every nerve seemed to jump to double capacity. The rough brush of denim against my thighs became fascinating; the cotton of my shirt sliding on my shirt was distracting. I flattened my hands over my flannel robe and sighed in pleasure. I knew how good it would feel when I was lounging on the mat in nothing but my robe. Or nothing at all-Bob would keep me warm even in the lab’s chill.

There was a flutter of force over my hands and fingers. Not an order-a suggestion. Bob helped me strip, guiding me like a man curled around his girlfriend to teach her to play pool.

Not that I was particularly feminine. But the pool cue was an interesting image.

I shed my shoes and socks, kicking them into the darkness in the corner of the lab. I slowed down for my shirt.

"Harry, you tease," Bob murmured appreciatively.

"If it didn’t feel so good, I wouldn’t take so long," I told him quietly, stroking the cool, smooth surface of a button. "Hold your horses."

"Rather hold you." He squeezed me under my pants and I grinned, shutting my eyes.

"So what’s the honey for?" I asked, leisurely pulling off my shirt and pitching it after my shoes.

"I like how you suck your fingers."

"I know you do. ...you know what I haven’t done in a while?" My zipper undid itself with a flare of orange energy and I stepped out of my pants. "That clear toy you like, with the veins-think it’s honeyproof?"

A wave of warmth broke over me-my reward for surprising Bob.

"Harry, you’re terrible. You had me fooled with that prude act of yours."

I grinned, kicking out of my boxers and lying down on the mat, reaching for the jar of honey. It was a texture I hadn’t felt before, warm and viscous; I popped a finger in my mouth to sample the taste.

"That’s what I like to see." Tendrils of warmth stroked down my legs, up to my inner thighs.

"Mmm. Mm. Backseat driver," I said, reaching for another dollop of honey.

"I saw that movie!" Bob chimed in, and I laughed-dripping the honey down my arm. "Ooh, lick it off."

"Yes, Bob," I said, rolling my eyes. "Yuck. It’s stuck in the hair." But I gave it a try-worth it, because I hit a hot spot in the crease of my elbow that made my hips buck.

"Harry, that looks obscene," Bob said, mock-sternly. "That’s terrible."

"Mmph," I told him-might have been a ‘hush’ if my tongue hadn’t been buried in my elbow. This wasn’t anything I’d have considered before, but what else were these sessions for?

Information. Payment. Sure. But when else do I get to explore like this.

Something thumped on the mat by my elbow-the toy Bob liked. I remembered vaguely being extremely embarrassed when I bought. The shape was extremely suggestive. Made me blush, under normal circumstances.

But past the silly reactions-the texture of the little sculpted veins was more fun than should be. And Bob had the best reactions when I ‘got oral’ with it.

I smeared honey across the surface and licked meditatively.

There was a sudden squeeze-buttocks, legs, feet. Like half a dozen hands. "Damn it, Harry," Bob said, his voice tense.

"Your academic interest is showing," I chuckled and flicked a drop of honey off the tip. One of those invisible hands went directly between the legs and stroked. "Don’t do that. I’m pretty close."

"You’re so easy."

"You’re easier." I licked a line from the bulge at base of the toy to the tip, and Bob flared bright.

His voice was a purr. "I’ll let you come right now if you suck it."

My whole body was moving with the kneading hands, hips grinding down into the mat. I considered teasing Bob a little longer, but-I wanted it now. "Mm?" I wrapped my lips around the smooth, clear shaft, letting the head brush the roof of my mouth.

The half a dozen hands doubled and tripled, pinching, playing, stroking JUST where they felt the best-Bob was as desperate as I was.

My hips thrust up and I threw my head back. Silent.

All the metaphors. Falling. Flying. Melting. Something. I rolled onto my back, the back of my head hitting the mat.

For a few minutes I just breathed, enjoying how relaxed my muscles felt, how there was a residual tingle all through my body. "We should do that more often," I said after a while.

"I know. But convince you of that." Bob said with a breathless sigh.

"You should," I told him. I usually said that at this point, drunk on relaxation and the feeling of complete peace.

"I try." He tsked. "Ready?" Well, no I wasn’t. I knew what was coming; tensions and awkwardness. But I had to resign myself to it. Bob’s voice was almost fussy; "Put your robe back on-you’ll get cold." The flannel itself tugged up over my shoulders, and I slid my arms through the sleeves.

The warmth slowly faded out of my skin, the sensations dulling as my nerves eased down to normal function.

This was the part I didn’t like. The chill settling into me, the sense of disappointment and the empty feeling that I should be spooning with someone. Preferably female, long legs. And the inevitable embarrassment.

I’d gone for the one Pyrex dildo again. I groaned. And I had to put honey on my shopping list, because I didn’t think I wanted to use this particular jar for anything involving food.

I opened my eyes again.

Bob wasn’t back in his skull. He was hovering over the table, a nebulous cloud of light. I stuffed down the embarrassment to deal with later and hauled myself to my feet. At least I could stand up comfortably this time.

"How’re you feeling, chief?"

Back to the false cheer. I frowned. "Good. Satisfied with the deal this time?"

"Always." The cloud roiled. "...Cowl wouldn’t bother coming after me, would he?"

"No, Bob. I don’t think he would," I said. He’d treated Bob like a magical encyclopedia, not a thing with a consciousness. He wouldn’t come back after him-he didn’t need him, the ritual from the Word of Kemmler hadn’t worked.

He wouldn’t come back for Bob.

"He won’t come back. He won’t get you again."

"Harry, if-" And Bob cut off, drawing into a small, tight point of light.

"What?" I crossed my arms.

"Never mind." He pulsed fretfully for a moment, flickering to each side.

"Tell me, Bob."

The light darted back into the skull suddenly. "Is that a command?" The skull asked.

I paused, considering, and then shook my head. "No, it isn’t."

The light in the eyesockets blinked out, and I paused before heading up the stairs.

In general, what scares Bob scares me. He’s a creature of the Nevernever; flighty, fairly (make that extremely) powerful, mostly unconcerned with mortal problems. Whatever makes him sit up (figuratively) and take notice is going to be worse than usual.

And on another level-well, I considered Bob sort of like family. An annoying cousin, maybe. A very distantly removed annoying cousin, considering what he did to me sometimes, but family nonetheless. I didn’t like him being so scared, and I didn’t like not being able to help.

I cleaned up and left. I had to focus on other things now.

fic:strange devices, wip, author:shiplizard, user:shiplizard, fic, rating:nc17

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