I only mean to show appreciation for your help. [ John still has a photocopy of the Signatory paperwork in his private safe. Oh, sentimentality. Sometimes it is all you have. ]
[ John takes the first sip, just in case that arsenic jab was enough to make Dresden paranoid. No poison, just hops and honey and whatever else Donar puts in his personal store of alcohol. ] I was expecting sweeter... [ It's good though, but somewhat outside his palate, cultivated on cheap stolen beer of his childhood and the distastefully expensive wine from his fancy dress affairs of adulthood.
It's very good, actually, and John forces himself to take it slowly. He can tell this bottle will get him in trouble if he's not careful; Donar's idea of good-natured meddling, no doubt. Slow sips, and finally unfolds his legs to stretch them out under the table. His shoes come off easily with a push at the heels, and John meets Dresden's eyes to see if he'll say anything.
Mutual understand and corkscrew trust, John thinks idly. ]
We cut a deal, asshole. [ Harry finally snaps, an inevitable response to the all-too careful banter. Like they're dancing around a knife's edge, and it'd be a bold lie if Marcone couldn't supply the blade from somewhere on his person. ] I didn't do it to help you any more than I did it to help them. And look where it got you, anyways.
[ John might take the first drink, but Harry is going to end up going through his own first. Apparently, he's so used to throwing back ale and beer that he doesn't know how to appreciate a fine mead. He just tips it back, drinks it down to buy himself as much time as possible before he has to rejoin the conversation and comes up for air by the time John's got his shoes off and gee fucking whiz it really is a slumber party. ]
[ This time, he keeps his eyes on Marcone's and reaches down to wrestle battered Chuck Taylors off his own feet. Anything you can do, I can do too. ]
[ Oh, the grin on John's face is obscene in its glee. If the lights overhead were not flickering slightly, John would push that button. He's point out that when Harry Dresden needs a favor from someone who won't stab him in the back, he swallows his pride and he calls John. That with ties to every major player in the supernatural game, Harry knocks on John's door. And when John gets an order from Dresden, he delivers, because John's been dealing with adversaries both mortal and not, and no one keeps their word and makes good on a debt like Harry Dresden.
It'd be easy to do that, just say, When our backs are to the wall, who do we call? But he hasn't drunk enough for that.
And the fire in Dresden's eyes is a little too close to the surface. John likes his office, thank you. ]
I don't blame my new position for Archleone's brand of madness, any more than we can blame the Archive for Ivy's ordeal.
[ Harry's inability to not take anything John does as a challenge should not be so endearing. John shakes his head, taking his drink more slowly and chuckles. ] Dear God, it's not strip poker, Dresden, calm down.
((OOC: and I can edit a bit now that I am conscious and aware, yay. god my comments are obnoxiously long. ))
[ Harry practically projects his thoughts. Every twitch in his eyes, the tightening of his mouth, the way his fingers curl into his palms slowly - it's no wonder that it is extremely easy to call him out on lies. He tries so hard, but he can't bury that fire. Wears his emotions out on his sleeves, even when the edges have been burnt and trailed through blood time and time again. It's a bit sick of him, to keep it up. But Harry is, after all, a disjointed man.
Which is part of why John -- composed, placid, lucid, logical, sentimental John -- gets under his skin. Fucking roosts there, on long, dark nights. ]
[ Harry visibly tenses, fingers tightening around the glass as though waiting to call bullshit in lieu of that line of thought. Damn John for his rationality. Damn himself for agreeing, if only because it was easier to find reason to blame himself. His response is sullen: ] It doesn't mean that it hurt any less. I saw you both. Ivy still has nightmares. I can only wonder about you.
[ Pointedly, he sweeps his leg at his shoes, knocking them across the floor and out of his reach. A childish gesture, but one to show he's not backing down. Perhaps he could recall that he hadn't planned on drinking any more than he already had, but by then, Harry was thrusting the tumbler back out in Marcone's direction: ] Hit me again.
[ What a surprise. John had work to do, both mundane and Baronly, but those can all wait in the wake of Dresden gracing him with his presence. Perhaps the man is tired or just satiated on food and drink, but the stark vulnerability... invites the same in kind.
John takes out his phone and sends a message to Hendricks, telling him to go home, that the rest of the night's cancelled, then powers the thing off and, imitating Dresden, swipes the thing with a hand. It spins down the table to the far end, out of reach, stopping just shy of the edge. Precision is capable with everything from knives to words to cell phones. ]
Do you, Dresden? [ John doesn't touch his scarred ear because he knows he doesn't have to if he wants to draw attention to it. Few outside this room know the story behind it, but no one knows it better than Dresden and the Archive. ] What is it that would haunt my dreams? Is it a shooting in Calumet Park, or being hung by my feet while a monster circles? The mundanities of my responsibilities or the extraordinary circumstances with the Denarians?
[ John pours them both measures of mead, silently marveling that Dresden is leading them down this road with the All-Father's special mead. It's one of the more ridiculous things John's witnessed, and it has a lot of competition. ] Do you wonder?
Edited (ALL THE TYPOES) Date: 2012-10-29 10:54 pm (UTC)
[ It seems that each has the others attention now. Shoes off, distractions purged. It's a private sort of moment that causes Harry to shift where he sits, drawing his legs back towards himself. He might not be wearing his coat, but he has several decades of defenses, and not all of them are conscious.
He waits. Until John stops questioning him like he gets off on interrogations, until his glass is full again and Harry can stick a finger in the mead and trace figure-eights through the drink absently. Waiting, contemplating. He takes a look at the supposed meaning in their actions: the cellphone, their shoes, the familiarity of sharing a bottle of rather good alcohol (he likes his drinks sweet, more often than not; primed with saccharine flavors that balance out reality and her bitterness). ] Why are you asking me a question that I already answered, John?
[ With that, he pulls the mead to himself again, cradles it as he takes his time with the second drink. ]
[ This time it's John's turn. He shoots the mead back, silently asking Donar to forgive him for his abuse of such fine alcohol. He imagines Donar would give him this indulgence though. So strange, for a good Catholic boy to be patronized by a Norse god, but that's life now for him.
Now he's made Dresden morose, which wasn't his intention. But then again, what the hell had he intended with any of this? For once he doesn't know. He has plans to kill this man, very meticulous, carefully laid plans. He could do it now, probably, with the wizard in such a state. But, just this once, John is not thinking ahead.
Dresden may be the only person John can afford that luxury with. The amount of trust between them, antagonistic as it is, is terrifying sometimes. Sometimes it's... not.
But anyway. John pours himself another, deciding to keep even with Harry, if only for the sake of fairness. ] Why? I'm not certain.
[ The tumbler spins nicely on the table, as smoothly as the phone did, the rim circling under John's palm. ] I think perhaps I keep asking in hopes you'll give a straight answer sometime. I don't think I've gotten one out of you since we soulgazed. It's a curious thing. You'll trust me with something as important as your life and the lives of your friends, but nothing else.
[ Harry smirks wryly, mouth curving around the rim of the glass. He takes a sip, and sets it down to the side, giving himself room to loosely lace his fingers together as he leans on the surface of the table. ] That's because straight answers will cost you.
[ Says the boy who's got a literal Faerie Godmother. Says the boy who had to train his tongue to speak an entirely new language fluently, to purposefully disengage his brain from mortality in order to cope with the blue-orange mentality of the Sidhe, lest he land himself in hot water. Ah no, a poor example. In the freezer, rather. ]
There shouldn't be such thing as freebies, [ he gestures, wordlessly asking Marcone what he'd ante up for that knowledge. And the moment he hears "as important as your life", he snickers low in his throat, because there isn't any tell better than that. ] Want a hint? You're useful, okay? Useful when applied in the right direction, otherwise you'll catch me in the jugular on the rebound. I'm here because you're useful, and given the choices I had, you were the devil I knew.
[ John takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. This feels vulnerable and it feels dangerous in a way that John hasn't felt since the Denarians abducted him. Looking into Harry's deep brown eyes is like looking down the barrel of a gun in a way that makes his skin prickle from the electric tension.
He also drinks, still matching Harry, and leans forward as well. John's clasped hands almost brush Harry's. Just how far can he goad Dresden? How much will Dresden get out of him? He should take that into consideration. But John's been so careful about everything for so long. ]
I am useful. But so is the Knight's family. [ Ignore the twinge of guilt there. ] So are the rumors of your connections to the White Court. So are Sgt. Murphy and your police allies. So are the ragtag werewolves that call themselves the Alphas. And so, I imagine, are the many other people you've accrued favors from that I haven't heard about in the grapevine.
But here, tonight, with whatever it is you're not telling me about on your heels, you don't vanish into the Ways, as any Council Warden could with Winter's permission. You come to me.
[ John grins, this time without hiding it, enjoying this game too much. ] I think it's more than that. I am the devil you know, but as much as I loathe to admit it, you made me Baron, and don't tell me I was the only option. Or even the cheapest price.
[ That articulated, John picks up his glass, holding it right between the two of them, a silent your move to Dresden, before gunning it back. Finally dropping the facade of easy grace, he lets the tumbler thump back down loudly. ]
[ Harry doesn't like it any more than you do, John. Yet he's as unable to break away, to end it. Like the act of ending it was the proverbial weakness that neither of them could afford to show each other. Teeth worry at his bottom lip, and his eyes stray from John's to where they are nearly a bridge across the table. Barely inches apart. Who might back off? Why wouldn't he want to? Why wasn't he? ]
[ The mead is working its way through him, steady as poison, loosening his tongue, unraveling the emotions he kept knotted up and stashed under the foundations. He picks the hand up that was closest to the other man's, beckons between the two of them again, trying not to look in his green-as-green-is eyes, because when he does he can still remember the layout of his soul. Harry swallows. ] We're not anything like that. Don't put yourself on their level, and don't you compare yourself to them. Don't you dare.
[ It's right before he thinks he's going to go for Marcone's throat that the man chooses to finish off his drink, and with another faint snarl of frustration, Harry retrieves his glass and buries his nose in the bottom of it. ] Sniffer dog. It's a glorified sniffer dog with my scent, and your Title is big and fancy and important enough to serve as a big fucking clothespin. I wasn't going to have it tracking me back to anyone else, their influence isn't as strong. I made you Baron, and yeah - that was my own fault.
You didn't come cheap. And I'll get my money's worth out of you. [ He states it as low and vicious as he can, like he's capable of such ruthless actions. But the fire in his eyes doesn't back his words, and they fall flat between the pair. Such a poor liar; but he tries so hard to believe in that lie, because he makes it to himself. ]
Edited (TYPOS ARGH.) Date: 2012-10-30 05:01 am (UTC)
No. [ John agrees, feeling heat run through him, from the mead, from the proximity, from the fire in Dresden's words. He can set fire to a building with them, and he can apparently set John's nerves alight just as easily. His control is unraveling, but if this conversation is about anything, it's about why that's all right. He steeples his fingers and rests them against his lips, a soft chuckle at the very back of his throat. ] No, we are not like them. I wondered if you knew. I've said before-- given enough time, Harry, you usually figure things out.
[ More mead into the tumblers. Harry looks like he needs it, and John-- John starts laughing aloud, a rumble from the back of his throat, accidentally let loose from the cage of his white-toothed smile. ] Do you know... I haven't gotten drunk since... It has to be at least five years now. Maybe longer. One of the many things I gave up. [ His smile gets wistful. ]
Our debts are getting complicated, don't you think? You must keep track as carefully as I do, given how many times we've done that dance. [ He shifts, out of his folded leg position into a recline, weight on his elbow on the table top, suddenly a predator at rest. A tiger might laze like this if you plied it with enough drink and food. ] But the numbers don't run right, do they? What is the price of my dagger's accuracy on a full moon and what's the market value of your mercy in Wisconsin? That I averted your fate to die with the ghouls, does that pay for my rescue on the island?
[ A sip, then with the glass still in hand, John waves his finger in Harry's face. ] If your signature on the Accords paperwork was so expensive, does giving you this night of safety even that score? You must have an answer; you never walk through my doors without payment in mind. What are the scales at, Harry?
I know the legacy of my position in this city, the importance of the numbers, and no one is putting me away for fucking tax evasion like Capone. [ And the idea of it is hilarious to John, the crows' feet around his eyes out in full force. ]
[ Though Harry has his mouth open to fire back, the sound of John's laughter shuts him up so fast that it's like being slapped. A stricken, wide-eyed expression pours over his face -- a question in his eyes. Something like: is John Marcone really getting misty-eyed and nostalgic in front of me? And in the meantime, he's got two hands on his drink like it's the only thing left to anchor him, because a shiver just ran down his spine and maybe he might fly apart if he lets go. ]
[ How many things did he give up? Harry's unable to pose the question (not that he expected an answer), because by the time he thinks it, it's time for another round of queries-without-answers, and he's leaning in to John's presence carefully. Trying to assert himself, use his own imposing height to overshadow the other, but he's just not able to look down on Marcone.
Where are the scales at? Where, indeed. ] Let's just say that neither of our hearts is going to be lighter than the feather. You'd agree to that. Weigh us and measure us and damn it all because I was never good with numbers, and you have an entire accounting department to handle yours.
[ If anything, those scales have been tipped in John's favor that night. There are no small feats or little graces between them. It's saving each others life, turning to each other when they're cornered, pinned down, faced with immeasurably odds. And it's what John's made of himself, wound so tight about his throat that even Harry, oblivious as can be, can see them choking him. Maybe that's the thought that breaks him, because he reaches out for John's neck, eyes focused on some distant horizon as he does so. Fuck, what was he doing? ]
[ John is not so relaxed that his instincts have quieted. His reaction is instant, stimulus to respond without so much slowing down to wave at the rest of his brain. Harry's wrist is warm in his grip except where his bracelet lies. John barely registers that as he pins Harry's arm down. ]
[ The second he's done it, he blinks, and the spell breaks. He loosens his grip, looking down like he's surprised himself. He notices now that soft scar tissue is unevenly spread over the palm. The hand he'd injured so severely, he wore a glove over it for years, even in the summertime. Christ.
It's a paltry apology, but he rests his fingers against the swell of flesh at the base of Harry's palm, touch light. On an exhale, he repeats, ] One of the many things I've given up. I didn't realize how distant I'd become.
[ He's not even going to stop, to wonder what Dresden was thinking. It likely doesn't matter now.
God, he's said too much. As if Dresden needed any more ammo against him. John should worry, but it's hard to care. With his free hand, he slides the tumbler away, to hell with the showy precision, letting it spin off the table to land with a thump on the plush rug.
He's still not looking at Harry. It's easier to look away, out the window, at the Mag Mile and the river glittering with sodium lamp and reflected moonlight.] The way I see it... you and I are either going to kill each other. Or we're not.
[ John sighs and shuts his eyes, feeling his age deeply for a moment. ] I can only prepare for one of those.
[ Well, that was going down on the "dumb shit Harry's done" list, as soon as he retrieves his hand. He'd have react just the same, with someone reaching for his throat, let alone John. Wisely, he didn't say a word when he was struck down, but his free hand wrapped around the glass (bludgeoning tool, anyone?) as though preparing to lash out in retaliation. It still hurt to get old scars manhandled like that, so perhaps he shouldn't have been so quick and so naive to think that he could go reaching for John's. ]
It's so cute that you think you're going kill me, [ Harry mutters. His tone is flippant, but he knows the reality of those words. It's not enough to keep him silent. ] But the sentiment? That's mutual.
[ It's hard to maneuver his fingers still, but he shifts his thumb over the man's pinky erratically, brushes over the knuckle in passing. Glares through a mess of dark hair and lashes as he pulls his drink back, polishes it off and flicks the glass off the table towards Marcone's cellphone, knocking both objects off. ] So then, [ Harry nods to his pinned arm, ] what are you gonna' do, Johnny? Because if you don't make your move, I will.
It's cute you think I can't. [ And it will get Harry killed. Part of him wants to tell him more. That should John ever run to the basement, Harry following would spell his doom. There there is a bullet that almost literally has Harry's name on it. That every building he renovates is prepared for their final stand off. He will be ready for the day Dresden comes for him if he cannot be ready for the alternative. ]
[ Seeing the way Dresden's scarred hand is still recovering sours John. He puts his hand more fully around the scarred mess, stilling Harry's tiny placating motion. John doesn't deserve it anyway. Without trying, he gets caught up in the strange feel of the skin there: cool, with an illusion of slickness from the complete lack of prints. The skin feels very thin. Perhaps Harry should keep wearing his glove, protect himself more... ]
That's more your field. I'm not a risk-taker, Mr. Dresden. [ Bracing himself, John looks at Harry. For the first time since they met, it's a struggle to meet his eyes. ] This evening being something of an exception.
[ Harry's got rings on his fingers and bells on his toes, but he doesn't set them off. Aimed at John's ribs as they might be, it's more the threat of his magic and John's speed that's keeping them from a Mutual Kill. ] I never said you couldn't. Just that you think it's going to be you.
[ And what if it's something else that gets me?, his eyes ask. Because Harry leads a stormy life, one of defying death far too many times for far too many reasons. He holds no grand illusions of immortality. He doubts he'll make it to his next birthday, let alone centuries. Will you be sorely disappointed, John? No mistake: Harry appreciates life, but that doesn't mean he doesn't throw himself into situations that could snuff him out on a regular basis. It's not that he's been lucky so far, it's that he's too stubborn to stop living because that's pretty much all he's got left. ]
This evening-- [ He begins, though his tongue knots around itself, and he stammers. ] It could have been worse. You fed me and gave me booze, that was more than I could have expected. Surprise me, I says. Surprise me, he does.
[ Harry leans further onto the table, practically bent in half over it, trying to get under John's chin. Trying to catch the hesitancy in John's eyes. His own narrow, simultaneously suspicious and pleased at the development - it's easier as the pursuer than as the pursued. The evening has felt like one giant game of cat and mouse. Or chicken, he thinks when he takes another look at their hands. John's absurdly warm, and he thinks he can almost feel the texture of his palm, and maybe he's imagining the calluses, and maybe that's a scar - but it's hard to know for sure. ]
[ John realizes in a peripherally way that his level of obsession with Dresden is astounding. It's not as though he thinks of the wizard daily; often, his Dresden thoughts are relegated to whenever him shows up in Gard's supernatural news briefings and the bad nights when John has been up 72 hours and is just waiting for the Ambien to kick in. But when Harry deigns to blow back into John's life like a Vesuvian whirlwind, it hits him like a hammer to the temple or a bat to the kneecaps.
And tonight has been like an onslaught.
He is a romantic, as mortifying as it is to realize that. The idea that John would not be the one to kill Harry is only as absurd as the idea that Harry would not be the one to finally put John down. John has always assumed Harry was a romantic as well-- it would explain his naivete and his narrow morality-- and maybe he is, but not in the same way John is, clearly.
Later, John will blame this on the mead. He will send a missive to Donar Vadderung to expound on just how that fucking mead has ruined his life under the guise of thanking him for a gift. For now: ] I will kill you, or you will outlive me. Those are your only options, so get used to them, Dresden. [ To hell with rationality; the thought that they will someday not be doing this dance is a disgrace. ]
[ This is high on the list of things John gave up along with his name. And this man is high on the list of people who could ruin him. But at the moment, putting himself in such danger with this particular man is worth the risk. If Harry takes this knowledge and leverages it against him, John will find the secrets Harry has collected since their soulgaze and use them to dismantle the wizard's life.
He should let go of Dresden, send the man home, something to be rid of him. He definitely should not say, ] Surprise me, Mr. Dresden.
[ Anything to get Harry to move. Just looking at him bent like that makes John's bones ache in sympathy. ]
[ Harry's face lights up when he's given his options, and oh, it's like Christmas. Twenty-five days worth of fuck you Marcone I'll take whatever option I make up because when have I ever done what's expected of me. It's rows of teeth, bared in a too-wide grin. Eyes that reflect the furnace in his soul, chewing up John's animosity and conviction as fuel. ]
Well, [ he elects to say ] at least that's one of those things about you that I goddamn count on. [ As equally irrational, but perhaps just as sentimental is his act of agreeing. Two options, and he hasn't said whether he'll take either one, but he'll accept them all the same. ]
[ It's Harry's turn to wag a finger at the man, admonishing him for administering such a dare. He turns his hand over and crooks a finger, beckoning John a little closer. ] Okay, okay. It might just be the mead talkin' but I'm going to tell you a little secret, Johnnyboy. C'mere. [ Lend him an ear, or no surprises; Harry tugs on John through their handhold, hiking a hip, a leg, onto the table. He sits at the edge so that he can lean towards John's bad ear - that one that brings up so many thoughts, even as he looks at it with a guilty grimace. Sympathy pangs for the enemy, good god. ]
[ There is a voice, made muffled by all the mead and fiery tension and proximity. It sounds like Nathan. It's shouting at John to put this shit in reverse and get out because that's the deal with the Dresden-Marcone non-aggression pact: it's made of spit and duct tape and sheer force of will. It is a detente that wasn't built to last, and it was going up in smoke around them.
John knows all that, and doesn't care.
For one evening, Harry wants his attention and has it. He wants his open palm and has it. He wants John leaned over the table, ignoring the way the think creaks under the weight of two full grown men? Done. His neck stretched out, unguarded and ready for any act of violence Harry might have in mind? Fine.
All are worth the price of Dresden's secrets, the ones John hasn't dug up out of court documents or scoured from Unseelie gossip and pried out of a nigh-decade old soulgaze.
John breathes slowly, forcing calm as he moves in close enough to taste that tang of coiled magic that follows Dresden like a cloud of ozone and static. ]
[ At least mead wasn't a flammable beverage. Harry's fingers wrap around the bottle, bringing the rim to his lips to chase the drink straight from the bottom. One big swallow for courage, even though the world's already gone fuzzy around the edges and the only thing he can focus on is the bizarre, crisp lines of John's face. He drops the bottle back to the table with a dull thump, and takes a moment to comprehend the vulnerable state of John's throat.
Harry's bitten out throats before. He knows he's not above it, if the situation calls for such. And he's still an animal, whether he keeps himself bound in chain or silk ribbon, he bites hands that try to feed him if he doesn't like the debt attached to the meal. The world revolves, and he comes back to the idea of breaking fast with John once more. Subtle ironies, and damn them both. ] Okay, hang on to your shiny-ass cufflinks. This is going to blow your mind.
[ The only way this is to go down is with Harry's fingers curling against John's, his other hand curling over the edge of the table closest to the man's hip. With his mouth ghosting close to that ruined ear as he speaks one thick-voiced secret for him alone, because if they're going to continue walking in circles around each other, he might as well cycle back around to what started this. Like he's planned it. ] Sometimes, I catch myself wondering whether or not I reeeeeally hate you, or whether I just don't want to have been wrong all this time.
Funny innit? I mean -- [ It's about then that he throws himself back, laughing hard as though he's realized the punchline of a joke that's practically a decade old and started in the backseat of a car, while he was late to an appointment. Like all he's got left is to laugh it off, because if he doesn't he's going to cry, and nobody cries in front of their archenemy. Right? ] Isn't that hysterical!?
[ Watching this, it feels like more damage being done to Dresden than any of John's weapons or fail safe plans could have managed. Secrets are like bits of pebbled glass in the mouth, and the coarseness of Dresden's voice doesn't sound like it's coming from just the mead.
What a useless, pathetic thing, that Harry feels like he has to stay in this agonizing holding pattern. John's always suspected-- no matter what transpired in their last meeting, what advances they might make, by the next time their paths cross, it was as though Harry reverted back to seeing John as his arch-nemesis.
As if their relationship had ever once been so simple. Arch-nemeses only existed in comic books and movies too dull to try for anything more honest. ]
[ John's lips are dry when he licks them, hyper-conscious of the fading warmth left against his ear where Harry had spoken so close. They're still close, and it's simple to pull Dresden off the damn table before it gives out under the weight of drunken wizardly antics. ] Get down from there, [ John murmurs, simultaneously coaxing and chiding. ]
If you decided you didn't hate me, I would not mind. I wouldn't very well go to the Tribune and sell them that secret, Harry. [ Straight answers were pricey, Dresden had said earlier. So, a secret in kind is only expected. ] I have never hated you. Even when you dared to appeal to my better angels in the Deeps, when I should have hated you, I didn't.
Don't want to. [ Petulantly, he attempts to refuse John's motions. If the man wants him off the table, he'll stay on it, just to refute him. To cling to some idea of defiance, even in his inebriated state. Harry swings his legs over the edge of the table, leaning forwards against his knees at John's left, and that's as far as he goes. The night has brought him closer and closer, and now that he's that far, he can't take a step back. Earlier, maybe, he could have thrown himself back at the couch and pretended that nothing had gone on; returned to their frightfully antagonistic dead-end relationship and easily forgotten the small kindnesses (for whether John saw it as a requirement that he be a perfect host or not, it was a kindness). ]
The headlines: "mob boss and PI wizard not enemies; chaos ensues." [ A soft, spiteful little laugh, directed at the situation, himself, everything but John fucking Marcone and his need to match secret with secret, rescue with rescue, keep the scales balanced. Only then does he slide from the table, and braces his shoulder against the man's well-tailored jacket, his shoulder underneath. He'll chalk it up to being loony on that mead, but at least he doesn't have to look John in the eye. ] You have to hate someone to want to kill them, though. Right to the core, to put an end to 'em in some way or form. Doesn't matter what caused it, so long as you hang onto that feeling right until you're done.
If I can't hate you, John, then I don't think I can kill you. That puts me at a disadvantage, and I swear if you try anything right now, I'll cripple you.
[ There is that ridiculous naivete John has come to expect from Dresden. Dresden's morality comes from old movies and fantasy novels, not anything resembling the real world. John, though, has been at this for a while. He knows that hate is more complicated than that. His willful blindness of Helen Beckitt shows that well enough.
Dresden is a handful when drunk, and John isn't too steady himself. This would be much easier if-- no, no, on second thought, no. None of this would be happening without copious amounts of mead. John wouldn't let the wizard come this close. He would not put his hands on Dresden's hip, his shoulder, holding him as he sways. He sure as hell would pull just slightly, hoping Dresden would sway into him more, already addicted to that prickly static feeling pouring out of him. ]
Believe me, you don't. It doesn't have to come from hate. [ He whispers, because this isn't the sort of thing you say out loud. This is especially not what you say to a man practically in your lap whose death you have planned out to the bullet. ] I could do it. [ His hand alights up, curls so gently against Dresden's skin, where his neck meets collarbone. ] I like to think you could too. On the day I stop being your lesser evil.
[ Because if anyone has earned the right, it's you. ]
[ John cannot help the smile that takes over his face, and he ducks his head down, chuckling into Harry's sternum. ] Look at us. How goddamn morbid we've become.
[ Naivete's carried him this long, which is why it's so ridiculous. The balance of cynicism and naivety is so precarious that it's no wonder a little bit of alcohol loosens his tongue, and his emotions with it. Just don't ask him how he feels about Helen Beckitt, John. You confuse him enough already, and that topic isn't something he needs to start running his mouth about. ]
What the fuck else is there? [ He gets a forearm between them, balancing his weight across John's chest, barring himself from getting any closer, from being pulled any closer. He wants to be able to see that man's eyes. Not because he'd rather wax poetic in his thoughts about them, but because they're the only warning bell he gets before John goes off like a serpent. He's fast. He's in control. That's what he's created for himself, and regardless of age (how old is he, anyways?), he's always been physically superior. Hey, he's really warm too and kind of sturdy. ] No, really. Tell me, John. Losing someone you like is like losing parts of yourself. Kill them, you're killing yourself. How much of you have you lost and killed?
[ But Harry doesn't freeze when he feels fingertips curl so close to his throat. The throat is vulnerable, it's a hotbed of sensation and he's had necklaces made of bruises so often that he once could count where old layered over new. But he'd reached for John's throat as well, and in that, he can understand why his advance had been refuted. For a moment, he contemplates biting John's hand in retaliation. Instead, he leans back a little, arching his spine over his heels to see if he can catch sight of what that too-warm hand is planning on - which must have looked like a goddamn invitation, because it's what gives the other just enough room to bury into his chest. ]
[ And he should shove John off. That's what he thinks, but he leans back along the carpeting and laughs with him because everything is ridiculous: John's ridiculous and being drunk with him is ridiculous and liking the contact but maybe-not liking the company but wanting to be touched anyways is ridiculous, but Harry laughs under his breath until he whimpers. Tries to cover it up by pressing at John's shoulder, his voice a hiss: ] All right, all right, now get off me. Morbid and creepifying, just shut up about it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
also: caffeine.
Date: 2012-10-29 05:34 am (UTC)[ John takes the first sip, just in case that arsenic jab was enough to make Dresden paranoid. No poison, just hops and honey and whatever else Donar puts in his personal store of alcohol. ] I was expecting sweeter... [ It's good though, but somewhat outside his palate, cultivated on cheap stolen beer of his childhood and the distastefully expensive wine from his fancy dress affairs of adulthood.
It's very good, actually, and John forces himself to take it slowly. He can tell this bottle will get him in trouble if he's not careful; Donar's idea of good-natured meddling, no doubt. Slow sips, and finally unfolds his legs to stretch them out under the table. His shoes come off easily with a push at the heels, and John meets Dresden's eyes to see if he'll say anything.
Mutual understand and corkscrew trust, John thinks idly. ]
no subject
Date: 2012-10-29 05:51 am (UTC)[ John might take the first drink, but Harry is going to end up going through his own first. Apparently, he's so used to throwing back ale and beer that he doesn't know how to appreciate a fine mead. He just tips it back, drinks it down to buy himself as much time as possible before he has to rejoin the conversation and comes up for air by the time John's got his shoes off and gee fucking whiz it really is a slumber party. ]
[ This time, he keeps his eyes on Marcone's and reaches down to wrestle battered Chuck Taylors off his own feet. Anything you can do, I can do too. ]
paging John's borderline-creepy Dresden obsession to the white courtesy phone~
Date: 2012-10-29 06:08 am (UTC)It'd be easy to do that, just say, When our backs are to the wall, who do we call? But he hasn't drunk enough for that.
And the fire in Dresden's eyes is a little too close to the surface. John likes his office, thank you. ]
I don't blame my new position for Archleone's brand of madness, any more than we can blame the Archive for Ivy's ordeal.
[ Harry's inability to not take anything John does as a challenge should not be so endearing. John shakes his head, taking his drink more slowly and chuckles. ] Dear God, it's not strip poker, Dresden, calm down.
((OOC: and I can edit a bit now that I am conscious and aware, yay. god my comments are obnoxiously long. ))
harry's brain never really catches up with his mouth jfc
Date: 2012-10-29 09:47 pm (UTC)Which is part of why John -- composed, placid, lucid, logical, sentimental John -- gets under his skin. Fucking roosts there, on long, dark nights. ]
[ Harry visibly tenses, fingers tightening around the glass as though waiting to call bullshit in lieu of that line of thought. Damn John for his rationality. Damn himself for agreeing, if only because it was easier to find reason to blame himself. His response is sullen: ] It doesn't mean that it hurt any less. I saw you both. Ivy still has nightmares. I can only wonder about you.
[ Pointedly, he sweeps his leg at his shoes, knocking them across the floor and out of his reach. A childish gesture, but one to show he's not backing down. Perhaps he could recall that he hadn't planned on drinking any more than he already had, but by then, Harry was thrusting the tumbler back out in Marcone's direction: ] Hit me again.
harry you are so dumb and playing with so much fire ilu
Date: 2012-10-29 10:41 pm (UTC)John takes out his phone and sends a message to Hendricks, telling him to go home, that the rest of the night's cancelled, then powers the thing off and, imitating Dresden, swipes the thing with a hand. It spins down the table to the far end, out of reach, stopping just shy of the edge. Precision is capable with everything from knives to words to cell phones. ]
Do you, Dresden? [ John doesn't touch his scarred ear because he knows he doesn't have to if he wants to draw attention to it. Few outside this room know the story behind it, but no one knows it better than Dresden and the Archive. ] What is it that would haunt my dreams? Is it a shooting in Calumet Park, or being hung by my feet while a monster circles? The mundanities of my responsibilities or the extraordinary circumstances with the Denarians?
[ John pours them both measures of mead, silently marveling that Dresden is leading them down this road with the All-Father's special mead. It's one of the more ridiculous things John's witnessed, and it has a lot of competition. ] Do you wonder?
oh my god john marcone you really are a ridiculous creature
Date: 2012-10-30 12:39 am (UTC)He waits. Until John stops questioning him like he gets off on interrogations, until his glass is full again and Harry can stick a finger in the mead and trace figure-eights through the drink absently. Waiting, contemplating. He takes a look at the supposed meaning in their actions: the cellphone, their shoes, the familiarity of sharing a bottle of rather good alcohol (he likes his drinks sweet, more often than not; primed with saccharine flavors that balance out reality and her bitterness). ] Why are you asking me a question that I already answered, John?
[ With that, he pulls the mead to himself again, cradles it as he takes his time with the second drink. ]
I'VE BEEN SAYING. though, really, pot, kettle, etc.
Date: 2012-10-30 01:07 am (UTC)Now he's made Dresden morose, which wasn't his intention. But then again, what the hell had he intended with any of this? For once he doesn't know. He has plans to kill this man, very meticulous, carefully laid plans. He could do it now, probably, with the wizard in such a state. But, just this once, John is not thinking ahead.
Dresden may be the only person John can afford that luxury with. The amount of trust between them, antagonistic as it is, is terrifying sometimes. Sometimes it's... not.
But anyway. John pours himself another, deciding to keep even with Harry, if only for the sake of fairness. ] Why? I'm not certain.
[ The tumbler spins nicely on the table, as smoothly as the phone did, the rim circling under John's palm. ] I think perhaps I keep asking in hopes you'll give a straight answer sometime. I don't think I've gotten one out of you since we soulgazed. It's a curious thing. You'll trust me with something as important as your life and the lives of your friends, but nothing else.
i can't stop internally screaming now ARGH
Date: 2012-10-30 02:29 am (UTC)[ Says the boy who's got a literal Faerie Godmother. Says the boy who had to train his tongue to speak an entirely new language fluently, to purposefully disengage his brain from mortality in order to cope with the blue-orange mentality of the Sidhe, lest he land himself in hot water. Ah no, a poor example. In the freezer, rather. ]
There shouldn't be such thing as freebies, [ he gestures, wordlessly asking Marcone what he'd ante up for that knowledge. And the moment he hears "as important as your life", he snickers low in his throat, because there isn't any tell better than that. ] Want a hint? You're useful, okay? Useful when applied in the right direction, otherwise you'll catch me in the jugular on the rebound. I'm here because you're useful, and given the choices I had, you were the devil I knew.
oh my god this is so good I am biting my knuckles uuuuugh
Date: 2012-10-30 02:57 am (UTC)He also drinks, still matching Harry, and leans forward as well. John's clasped hands almost brush Harry's. Just how far can he goad Dresden? How much will Dresden get out of him? He should take that into consideration. But John's been so careful about everything for so long. ]
I am useful. But so is the Knight's family. [ Ignore the twinge of guilt there. ] So are the rumors of your connections to the White Court. So are Sgt. Murphy and your police allies. So are the ragtag werewolves that call themselves the Alphas. And so, I imagine, are the many other people you've accrued favors from that I haven't heard about in the grapevine.
But here, tonight, with whatever it is you're not telling me about on your heels, you don't vanish into the Ways, as any Council Warden could with Winter's permission. You come to me.
[ John grins, this time without hiding it, enjoying this game too much. ] I think it's more than that. I am the devil you know, but as much as I loathe to admit it, you made me Baron, and don't tell me I was the only option. Or even the cheapest price.
[ That articulated, John picks up his glass, holding it right between the two of them, a silent your move to Dresden, before gunning it back. Finally dropping the facade of easy grace, he lets the tumbler thump back down loudly. ]
gnrghr i can manage only inarticulate noises!
Date: 2012-10-30 04:28 am (UTC)[ The mead is working its way through him, steady as poison, loosening his tongue, unraveling the emotions he kept knotted up and stashed under the foundations. He picks the hand up that was closest to the other man's, beckons between the two of them again, trying not to look in his green-as-green-is eyes, because when he does he can still remember the layout of his soul. Harry swallows. ] We're not anything like that. Don't put yourself on their level, and don't you compare yourself to them. Don't you dare.
[ It's right before he thinks he's going to go for Marcone's throat that the man chooses to finish off his drink, and with another faint snarl of frustration, Harry retrieves his glass and buries his nose in the bottom of it. ] Sniffer dog. It's a glorified sniffer dog with my scent, and your Title is big and fancy and important enough to serve as a big fucking clothespin. I wasn't going to have it tracking me back to anyone else, their influence isn't as strong. I made you Baron, and yeah - that was my own fault.
You didn't come cheap. And I'll get my money's worth out of you. [ He states it as low and vicious as he can, like he's capable of such ruthless actions. But the fire in his eyes doesn't back his words, and they fall flat between the pair. Such a poor liar; but he tries so hard to believe in that lie, because he makes it to himself. ]
/SCREAMS INTO KNEES
Date: 2012-10-30 05:16 am (UTC)[ More mead into the tumblers. Harry looks like he needs it, and John-- John starts laughing aloud, a rumble from the back of his throat, accidentally let loose from the cage of his white-toothed smile. ] Do you know... I haven't gotten drunk since... It has to be at least five years now. Maybe longer. One of the many things I gave up. [ His smile gets wistful. ]
Our debts are getting complicated, don't you think? You must keep track as carefully as I do, given how many times we've done that dance. [ He shifts, out of his folded leg position into a recline, weight on his elbow on the table top, suddenly a predator at rest. A tiger might laze like this if you plied it with enough drink and food. ] But the numbers don't run right, do they? What is the price of my dagger's accuracy on a full moon and what's the market value of your mercy in Wisconsin? That I averted your fate to die with the ghouls, does that pay for my rescue on the island?
[ A sip, then with the glass still in hand, John waves his finger in Harry's face. ] If your signature on the Accords paperwork was so expensive, does giving you this night of safety even that score? You must have an answer; you never walk through my doors without payment in mind. What are the scales at, Harry?
I know the legacy of my position in this city, the importance of the numbers, and no one is putting me away for fucking tax evasion like Capone. [ And the idea of it is hilarious to John, the crows' feet around his eyes out in full force. ]
no subject
Date: 2012-10-30 11:07 pm (UTC)[ How many things did he give up? Harry's unable to pose the question (not that he expected an answer), because by the time he thinks it, it's time for another round of queries-without-answers, and he's leaning in to John's presence carefully. Trying to assert himself, use his own imposing height to overshadow the other, but he's just not able to look down on Marcone.
Where are the scales at? Where, indeed. ] Let's just say that neither of our hearts is going to be lighter than the feather. You'd agree to that. Weigh us and measure us and damn it all because I was never good with numbers, and you have an entire accounting department to handle yours.
[ If anything, those scales have been tipped in John's favor that night. There are no small feats or little graces between them. It's saving each others life, turning to each other when they're cornered, pinned down, faced with immeasurably odds. And it's what John's made of himself, wound so tight about his throat that even Harry, oblivious as can be, can see them choking him. Maybe that's the thought that breaks him, because he reaches out for John's neck, eyes focused on some distant horizon as he does so.
Fuck, what was he doing?]1/2
Date: 2012-10-30 11:40 pm (UTC)2/2
Date: 2012-10-30 11:41 pm (UTC)It's a paltry apology, but he rests his fingers against the swell of flesh at the base of Harry's palm, touch light. On an exhale, he repeats, ] One of the many things I've given up. I didn't realize how distant I'd become.
[ He's not even going to stop, to wonder what Dresden was thinking. It likely doesn't matter now.
God, he's said too much. As if Dresden needed any more ammo against him. John should worry, but it's hard to care. With his free hand, he slides the tumbler away, to hell with the showy precision, letting it spin off the table to land with a thump on the plush rug.
He's still not looking at Harry. It's easier to look away, out the window, at the Mag Mile and the river glittering with sodium lamp and reflected moonlight.] The way I see it... you and I are either going to kill each other. Or we're not.
[ John sighs and shuts his eyes, feeling his age deeply for a moment. ] I can only prepare for one of those.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-31 12:19 am (UTC)It's so cute that you think you're going kill me, [ Harry mutters. His tone is flippant, but he knows the reality of those words. It's not enough to keep him silent. ] But the sentiment? That's mutual.
[ It's hard to maneuver his fingers still, but he shifts his thumb over the man's pinky erratically, brushes over the knuckle in passing. Glares through a mess of dark hair and lashes as he pulls his drink back, polishes it off and flicks the glass off the table towards Marcone's cellphone, knocking both objects off. ] So then, [ Harry nods to his pinned arm, ] what are you gonna' do, Johnny? Because if you don't make your move, I will.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-31 12:49 am (UTC)[ Seeing the way Dresden's scarred hand is still recovering sours John. He puts his hand more fully around the scarred mess, stilling Harry's tiny placating motion. John doesn't deserve it anyway. Without trying, he gets caught up in the strange feel of the skin there: cool, with an illusion of slickness from the complete lack of prints. The skin feels very thin. Perhaps Harry should keep wearing his glove, protect himself more... ]
That's more your field. I'm not a risk-taker, Mr. Dresden. [ Bracing himself, John looks at Harry. For the first time since they met, it's a struggle to meet his eyes. ] This evening being something of an exception.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-31 01:55 am (UTC)and bells on his toes, but he doesn't set them off. Aimed at John's ribs as they might be, it's more the threat of his magic and John's speed that's keeping them from a Mutual Kill. ] I never said you couldn't. Just that you think it's going to be you.[ And what if it's something else that gets me?, his eyes ask. Because Harry leads a stormy life, one of defying death far too many times for far too many reasons. He holds no grand illusions of immortality. He doubts he'll make it to his next birthday, let alone centuries. Will you be sorely disappointed, John? No mistake: Harry appreciates life, but that doesn't mean he doesn't throw himself into situations that could snuff him out on a regular basis. It's not that he's been lucky so far, it's that he's too stubborn to stop living because that's pretty much all he's got left. ]
This evening-- [ He begins, though his tongue knots around itself, and he stammers. ] It could have been worse. You fed me and gave me booze, that was more than I could have expected. Surprise me, I says. Surprise me, he does.
[ Harry leans further onto the table, practically bent in half over it, trying to get under John's chin. Trying to catch the hesitancy in John's eyes. His own narrow, simultaneously suspicious and pleased at the development - it's easier as the pursuer than as the pursued. The evening has felt like one giant game of cat and mouse. Or chicken, he thinks when he takes another look at their hands. John's absurdly warm, and he thinks he can almost feel the texture of his palm, and maybe he's imagining the calluses, and maybe that's a scar - but it's hard to know for sure. ]
I have something in my eyes
Date: 2012-10-31 04:15 am (UTC)And tonight has been like an onslaught.
He is a romantic, as mortifying as it is to realize that. The idea that John would not be the one to kill Harry is only as absurd as the idea that Harry would not be the one to finally put John down. John has always assumed Harry was a romantic as well-- it would explain his naivete and his narrow morality-- and maybe he is, but not in the same way John is, clearly.
Later, John will blame this on the mead. He will send a missive to Donar Vadderung to expound on just how that fucking mead has ruined his life under the guise of thanking him for a gift. For now: ] I will kill you, or you will outlive me. Those are your only options, so get used to them, Dresden. [ To hell with rationality; the thought that they will someday not be doing this dance is a disgrace. ]
[ This is high on the list of things John gave up along with his name. And this man is high on the list of people who could ruin him. But at the moment, putting himself in such danger with this particular man is worth the risk. If Harry takes this knowledge and leverages it against him, John will find the secrets Harry has collected since their soulgaze and use them to dismantle the wizard's life.
He should let go of Dresden, send the man home, something to be rid of him. He definitely should not say, ] Surprise me, Mr. Dresden.
[ Anything to get Harry to move. Just looking at him bent like that makes John's bones ache in sympathy. ]
I just c an't anymore
Date: 2012-10-31 06:21 pm (UTC)Well, [ he elects to say ] at least that's one of those things about you that I goddamn count on. [ As equally irrational, but perhaps just as sentimental is his act of agreeing. Two options, and he hasn't said whether he'll take either one, but he'll accept them all the same. ]
[ It's Harry's turn to wag a finger at the man, admonishing him for administering such a dare. He turns his hand over and crooks a finger, beckoning John a little closer. ] Okay, okay. It might just be the mead talkin' but I'm going to tell you a little secret, Johnnyboy. C'mere. [ Lend him an ear, or no surprises; Harry tugs on John through their handhold, hiking a hip, a leg, onto the table. He sits at the edge so that he can lean towards John's bad ear - that one that brings up so many thoughts, even as he looks at it with a guilty grimace. Sympathy pangs for the enemy, good god. ]
jhsfkjdja you are a fucking poetic RPer do you know that
Date: 2012-10-31 07:35 pm (UTC)John knows all that, and doesn't care.
For one evening, Harry wants his attention and has it. He wants his open palm and has it. He wants John leaned over the table, ignoring the way the think creaks under the weight of two full grown men? Done. His neck stretched out, unguarded and ready for any act of violence Harry might have in mind? Fine.
All are worth the price of Dresden's secrets, the ones John hasn't dug up out of court documents or scoured from Unseelie gossip and pried out of a nigh-decade old soulgaze.
John breathes slowly, forcing calm as he moves in close enough to taste that tang of coiled magic that follows Dresden like a cloud of ozone and static. ]
kgddgnd what can i say you bring out the best in me? :D
Date: 2012-10-31 08:24 pm (UTC)Harry's bitten out throats before. He knows he's not above it, if the situation calls for such. And he's still an animal, whether he keeps himself bound in chain or silk ribbon, he bites hands that try to feed him if he doesn't like the debt attached to the meal. The world revolves, and he comes back to the idea of breaking fast with John once more. Subtle ironies, and damn them both. ] Okay, hang on to your shiny-ass cufflinks. This is going to blow your mind.
[ The only way this is to go down is with Harry's fingers curling against John's, his other hand curling over the edge of the table closest to the man's hip. With his mouth ghosting close to that ruined ear as he speaks one thick-voiced secret for him alone, because if they're going to continue walking in circles around each other, he might as well cycle back around to what started this. Like he's planned it. ] Sometimes, I catch myself wondering whether or not I reeeeeally hate you, or whether I just don't want to have been wrong all this time.
Funny innit? I mean -- [ It's about then that he throws himself back, laughing hard as though he's realized the punchline of a joke that's practically a decade old and started in the backseat of a car, while he was late to an appointment. Like all he's got left is to laugh it off, because if he doesn't he's going to cry, and nobody cries in front of their archenemy. Right? ] Isn't that hysterical!?
/creys
Date: 2012-10-31 10:16 pm (UTC)What a useless, pathetic thing, that Harry feels like he has to stay in this agonizing holding pattern. John's always suspected-- no matter what transpired in their last meeting, what advances they might make, by the next time their paths cross, it was as though Harry reverted back to seeing John as his arch-nemesis.
As if their relationship had ever once been so simple. Arch-nemeses only existed in comic books and movies too dull to try for anything more honest. ]
[ John's lips are dry when he licks them, hyper-conscious of the fading warmth left against his ear where Harry had spoken so close. They're still close, and it's simple to pull Dresden off the damn table before it gives out under the weight of drunken wizardly antics. ] Get down from there, [ John murmurs, simultaneously coaxing and chiding. ]
If you decided you didn't hate me, I would not mind. I wouldn't very well go to the Tribune and sell them that secret, Harry. [ Straight answers were pricey, Dresden had said earlier. So, a secret in kind is only expected. ] I have never hated you. Even when you dared to appeal to my better angels in the Deeps, when I should have hated you, I didn't.
my keywords are "don't you cry" in reference to your subject oh my gosh
Date: 2012-11-01 05:11 am (UTC)The headlines: "mob boss and PI wizard not enemies; chaos ensues." [ A soft, spiteful little laugh, directed at the situation, himself, everything but John fucking Marcone and his need to match secret with secret, rescue with rescue, keep the scales balanced. Only then does he slide from the table, and braces his shoulder against the man's well-tailored jacket, his shoulder underneath. He'll chalk it up to being loony on that mead, but at least he doesn't have to look John in the eye. ] You have to hate someone to want to kill them, though. Right to the core, to put an end to 'em in some way or form. Doesn't matter what caused it, so long as you hang onto that feeling right until you're done.
If I can't hate you, John, then I don't think I can kill you. That puts me at a disadvantage, and I swear if you try anything right now, I'll cripple you.
i can't get over him saying this considering how he kills Susan ABLOO BLOO BLOO /TEARS
Date: 2012-11-01 05:56 am (UTC)Dresden is a handful when drunk, and John isn't too steady himself. This would be much easier if-- no, no, on second thought, no. None of this would be happening without copious amounts of mead. John wouldn't let the wizard come this close. He would not put his hands on Dresden's hip, his shoulder, holding him as he sways. He sure as hell would pull just slightly, hoping Dresden would sway into him more, already addicted to that prickly static feeling pouring out of him. ]
Believe me, you don't. It doesn't have to come from hate. [ He whispers, because this isn't the sort of thing you say out loud. This is especially not what you say to a man practically in your lap whose death you have planned out to the bullet. ] I could do it. [ His hand alights up, curls so gently against Dresden's skin, where his neck meets collarbone. ] I like to think you could too. On the day I stop being your lesser evil.
[ Because if anyone has earned the right, it's you. ]
[ John cannot help the smile that takes over his face, and he ducks his head down, chuckling into Harry's sternum. ] Look at us. How goddamn morbid we've become.
kill what you love, kill love itself I BLAME YOUR FANMIX
Date: 2012-11-02 03:32 am (UTC)What the fuck else is there? [ He gets a forearm between them, balancing his weight across John's chest, barring himself from getting any closer, from being pulled any closer. He wants to be able to see that man's eyes. Not because he'd rather wax poetic in his thoughts about them, but because they're the only warning bell he gets before John goes off like a serpent. He's fast. He's in control. That's what he's created for himself, and regardless of age (how old is he, anyways?), he's always been physically superior. Hey, he's really warm too and kind of sturdy. ] No, really. Tell me, John. Losing someone you like is like losing parts of yourself. Kill them, you're killing yourself. How much of you have you lost and killed?
[ But Harry doesn't freeze when he feels fingertips curl so close to his throat. The throat is vulnerable, it's a hotbed of sensation and he's had necklaces made of bruises so often that he once could count where old layered over new. But he'd reached for John's throat as well, and in that, he can understand why his advance had been refuted. For a moment, he contemplates biting John's hand in retaliation. Instead, he leans back a little, arching his spine over his heels to see if he can catch sight of what that too-warm hand is planning on - which must have looked like a goddamn invitation, because it's what gives the other just enough room to bury into his chest. ]
[ And he should shove John off. That's what he thinks, but he leans back along the carpeting and laughs with him because everything is ridiculous: John's ridiculous and being drunk with him is ridiculous and liking the contact but maybe-not liking the company but wanting to be touched anyways is ridiculous, but Harry laughs under his breath until he whimpers. Tries to cover it up by pressing at John's shoulder, his voice a hiss: ] All right, all right, now get off me. Morbid and creepifying, just shut up about it.
it doesn't seem fair Harry would fall for the kingcraft of a meritless crown?
From:i thought that said 'minecraft' and nodded sagely: 'yes yes he'd be burning the forests'
From:jkdfd half-expecting Harry to punch John for this buuuut here we go
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From:oh hai let me impotently try to emulate your style
From:oh hello let me devour it because it's that delicious
From:hedjkfhfdjdf TO CHICAGO, WITH LOVE /crying
From:if people went in search of john's birth records, that's all they'd find.
From:oh my god yes please /sobs over the idea of it
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From:precious sleeping asshole
From:precious stupid boys, uUGHHH!
From:and tbh John is stupider when sober, so
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From:harry jfc STOP IT
From:NO KIDDING.
From:COMMUNICATION IS KEY IN ANY RELATIONSHIP.
From:/SOBBING
From: