[ John wasn't a young man anymore, and grunted when their positions were switched. Everything was distant, the twinge of pain fading quickly, and then John found his hands instinctively settling on Harry's hips, steadying him. They couldn't be closer, but it felt like they were, that this was much more intimate. John was so used to handling people, maneuvering them into strategic positions, and stacking the deck. Being pushed down and into position by someone else-- yes, John could get used to that.]

That depends. [ John wraps his hands around Harry's wrists, digging his thumbs slightly into the pulse points there, dragging them up and down. ] Tell me, Dresden, how does this end? Are you going to say I plied you with alcohol to get us here? Are we going to quietly go our separate ways and pretend this never happened?

[ His hand slides through Dresden's hair, the messy locks tickling his palm as he quietly encourages Harry to do whatever he wishes. ] Or would you prefer me not to ask that yet?

[ He smiles, not trying to think, Are you still going to hate me in the morning? ]