FIC: Fair Trial (4/4) [Dresden Files]
Feb. 22nd, 2009 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darktrent182I'd been numb for hours.
It's not that unusual for me to come home tired, hungry, and looking like I'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, especially when I'd just finished working on a case. The conquering hero returning home to Spaghetti-Os and passing out for a few hours may not seem like a great reward, but it works for me.
This time, though, I wasn't sure what to do with myself.
Mister greeted me with his usual shoulder-block to my legs before sauntering out the front door to take on Chicago at large, and I stood there in the storefront. Light from the sunset filtered through the windows, painting the organized chaos of my desk in blues, purples and oranges. I really should clean it up some day, just to give the impression that I'm not too overworked to take on more cases, but given my usual clientèle, they're not really that concerned about the state of my desk.
I'd just survived a meeting with the High Council, came out of it relatively intact, and here I was, staring at my desk. Hell of a way to celebrate escaping the jaws of death.
"Harry?" Bob asked.
I turned to look at him, taking in the white hair, the blue-green eyes. "Yeah?" I said after a minute.
Bob frowned. "Are you all right?"
"I've just been put under the Doom of Damocles again," I said, not really noticing what I was saying, but just letting it all come out. "I have exactly thirty dollars to my name, I think my nose is starting to get stuffed up, and now I've got a roommate who redecorates without consulting me."
Bob blinked. "It can't be as bad as all that, can it?"
I thought about that for a moment, and then shook my head, smiling a little. "I don't think so."
Bob nodded slowly, and then added, "You're forgetting that the rent is due in five days." He heaved a sigh. "Alas, such is the life of wizards. I'm sure you'll bear up somehow." He reached out and patted my shoulder in what began as a sympathetic gesture, but turned soothing when he let his hand stay there.
Bob could touch me now.
I nodded, reaching up to cover his hand with mine, only to have him turn his wrist and squeeze my fingers.
"It's all right, Harry," Bob murmured, still smiling.
"I know." I moved in closer to him, removing his hand from my shoulder before sliding my arms around him and resting my chin on his shoulder. "Stars and stones, Bob."
Bob's arms wrapped around my shoulders, squeezing back just as firmly. "I know, Harry." A hand petted my hair. "I know."
I don't really hug people, but for Bob, I was willing to make an exception.
After a few minutes, I felt Bob loosen his grip on me, so I pulled back to look at him. "How's it feel to be alive?"
"I have not the words to describe it," Bob murmured before looking at me critically. "You look like you need to lay down."
"Aww, Mom," I whined. "I'm not tired."
Bob snorted. "While I'm hardly a paternal figure, I'm more than capable of putting you to bed." He kissed me on the cheek and nodded at the hallway leading to my living room. "I'm going to try my hand at making spaghetti, unless you have any other ideas."
"We could call for a pizza," I offered.
"And leave you with exactly five to ten dollars to your name, instead of thirty," Bob replied, looking at me askance. "There's perfectly good food here in the house, and I'm not actually that tired."
I frowned at him. "So I see. And why is that?"
Bob shrugged. "Unlike most wizards, I actually know what dying feels like. If things really did take a turn for the worse, nothing would have happened that I haven't already been through before, so there was no need to panic. My only real concern was making sure you survived the ordeal as well." He shot me a fondly annoyed look. "Letting the Merlin needle you isn't the best tactic for dealing with the Council."
I scowled. "It doesn't help that he's an arrogant asshole."
"Be that as it may," Bob said patiently, leading the way to the kitchen as he spoke, "Arthur Langtry has gotten to where he is today because of knowing his opponent's weaknesses. Your temper very nearly got you into trouble today."
"I told you before," I said, following him into the kitchen and taking a box of spaghetti out of the cupboard, "I wasn't about to just sit there and watch you get killed. It's a moot point now, anyway." I leaned a hip against the sink and watched him. "The Council didn't kill you, and the Doom will only drop if you break any of the Laws of Magic."
"I'm aware of how the Doom of Damocles works, Harry." Bob sighed, wandering through the kitchen and pulling out pots and ingredients almost absentmindedly. "What I'm objecting to is the fact that you weren't even alive when my original sentence was passed down, and now you're under the Doom as well as I if I were to use black magic."
"You said it yourself," I pointed out, a bit surprised to find myself trying to be the voice of reason for once. "The Council wasn't going to let you live without some kind of restriction. And since keeping you in a deep, dark hole away from prying eyes wasn't an option, they had to find some other way to keep you in line." I snorted. "Hell's bells, they did the same thing to me."
Bob looked at me over his shoulder while he filled the pot to boil the spaghetti in. "They didn't threaten the one person you treasured most, Harry," he said softly.
I folded my arms across my chest and watched him set the pot on the stove and turn on the burner. "Yes, they did."
Bob's eyes snapped to mine, frowning for a moment before realization dawned. "I was referring to when you underwent the Doom the first time, actually."
"Gee, I was referring to the second time," I snapped. "Bob, did you think I was kidding when I said that I love you? Do you seriously think that I could stand by and watch you be murdered? Unless you blanked out and missed the last few hours, I freaking volunteered to have the Doom put on me."
"Which doesn't say much for your sense of self-preservation," Bob snapped back.
"You must not have been paying attention all these years, or else you'd know how non-existent it is," I replied.
"That isn't something to brag about, Harry," Bob replied, turning from the stove to face me head-on. "Though, while we're on the subject, your quixotic crusades are going to get you killed someday, and if you think that I am going to stand by and watch you be murdered because you were following your personal code, you had better think again."
"You wouldn't give yourself over to black magic," I pointed out, grinning in my victory. "If you do, I'm dead."
"And have you ever considered the possibility of what would happen if you were dead already?" Bob asked in a slow, dangerous tone. "I've already given myself to over to darkness for someone I loved."
"You wouldn't," I said, my eyes narrowing. As much as I wanted to believe what I was saying, I knew that I was lying. When I'd soulgazed on Bob a few days ago, I'd seen him tear himself apart because of the loss of losing his first love. If he really cared as much for me as he had Winifred, Bob could turn into something scary. Pain made people look for alternatives, and black magic always promised quick returns for the amount of effort put into it. The only downside was that it consumed your soul in payment.
Bob didn't answer for a long time, and I could feel a shiver threaten to run down my spine at the look in his eyes.
"Would you?" I asked softly.
Bob turned back to the pot, reaching for the jar of spaghetti sauce. "I'm not sure," he admitted, not looking at me. He glanced up at my face for a moment before getting a good grip on the lid and twisting. He scowled at the jar, and tried again.
"Here," I said, holding my hand out. He gave me the jar, and I upended it, hitting the bottom with the heel of my hand before trying. The lid came loose with a satisfying pop, and I handed the jar back to Bob. "I might have, if they'd executed you," I admitted softly. It's not every day that you confess to being more than willing to murder a room full of wizards to make sure Bob got to live to see tomorrow.
Bob glanced at me again, and then he shook his head. "No, you wouldn't." He upended the jar into the sauce pot, and passed it back to me.
"How do you know? You were there when I killed my uncle." I filled the jar with some water, replaced the lid and shook it a few times to get all the sauce that hadn't come out. Then I opened it again and emptied it into the pot as well. "I used a voodoo doll to get that spirit out of Murphy. Who's to say that I won't turn to it again if they tried to kill you?"
"No matter what you may think of yourself, Harry, you are not a monster," Bob said simply, grabbing a wooden spoon from the dish strainer and stirring the sauce until it had a consistency more like a sauce instead of chunky paste. I could hear the kind of confidence in his voice that reminded me of guys who know they have the upper hand in a situation.
"And how do you know that?" I frowned.
Bob arched an eyebrow at me and looked singularly unimpressed. "You've certainly forgotten everything you've learned about soulgazes. Really, Harry, I do hope you're not suffering from senility at such a young age."
I blinked. "What?"
This time, Bob gave me one of his patient looks. "I tried to tell you what I'd seen when I looked upon your soul, but you didn't want to hear it." He turned back to the sauce, and stirred it a few times. "I won't deny that you have darkness inside you, but you're a good man because you acknowledge that part of you, and you use it to be better than what you perceive yourself to be. A weaker man would have blinded himself to the risks, taken refuge in the numbness it offered."
I knew, deep down, that Bob was talking about himself. It was strange to hear him talk about himself like I was some kind of role model to look up to, instead of a cautionary tale against the hazards of tilting at windmills. He gave me grief over the years about my impulse to do good, but I can't even say that I do it because it's the right thing to do. I mean, sure, I do, but the reason that I'd set up shop and hung my shingle out was because no one else was doing it. No one else was protecting people from things they didn't understand, no one was making sure innocent people didn't die.
"What was it you saw?" I asked. A large part of me didn't want to know what Bob had seen when he'd looked at my soul, because I didn't want to know what kind of symbolic manifestation the darkness inside of me took when Bob saw it. But a part of me needed to know just what it was that made Bob so damn sure that I was someone to believe in.
Bob raised an eyebrow at me. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Would I be asking if I didn't?" I asked.
"You've shied away from the subject each time I've brought it up," Bob said, unearthing the spoon rest from the silverware drawer and setting the wooden spoon on it. He turned to me and folded his arms across his chest, looking curious and skeptical.
"Okay, fine, I don't want to ask, but tell me anyway," I said. "I seem to remember you mentioning a forest and fireflies."
Bob snorted, his lips pursed for a moment before he pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down. "You were traveling through the forest, actually, and you looked younger than you do now."
If there was something I was expecting, it wasn't that.
"That sounds fun."
"I thought you wanted to hear this?" Bob asked mildly.
"Fine, no more color commentary," I said. "What happened next?"
"There was no moon, no stars to see by," Bob said. "But there were small lights flying just ahead of you, guiding you along a dirt path."
"The fireflies you mentioned before?" I asked, turning down the temperature on the sauce to make sure it didn't burn before I sat down at the table across from Bob.
"I was actually a bit inaccurate in my description when I referred to them as fireflies," Bob admitted. "Though, if you've ever seen a green firefly, I should like to know when you've done so."
"Green?" I blinked. "How many were there?"
"A few," Bob said, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of him. Blue-green eyes watched me as he continued. "There was a brilliant white one that flew all over the place, lighting the darkness where it went. That one was obviously your Lieutenant Murphy."
I frowned, a bit confused. "What do you mean?"
"Each of them represented people that care about you, Harry," he explained gently. "There were two distant lights, both green, which I could only guess were your parents. A golden one amused itself by darting ahead into the woods, disappearing from sight, and then returning a little while later to lead the way."
I had to think about that one. "You?"
"Hardly," Bob snorted. "Ebenezar McCoy, I would imagine. He strikes me as the type to watch over you."
"You've watched over me too," I pointed out.
Bob shook his head, folding his arms on top of the table. "I've attempted to steer you away from darkness. Ebenezar would think that you need to walk through it, and as such, would lead the way so that you weren't hopelessly lost."
"Okay," I said slowly, thinking about it for a second before silently agreeing with him. "So, where were you?"
Bob looked down at the tabletop then, one of his fingernails picking at a nick I hadn't noticed before. He was quiet long enough to make me think he wasn't going to answer, but then he said, "I was cupped in your hands."
I blinked. "I would've thought you'd be flying around me, or lighting the way," I said curiously before a question occurred to me. "What color were you?"
"Bright blue," Bob answered, looking up at me.
"Blue for defense," I said.
"The symbolism wasn't lost on me," Bob acknowledged with a nod.
He fell silent again, but I knew he was holding something back. "What else did you see?" I asked, leaning forward and resting my own forearms on the table.
Bob exhaled through his nose slowly. "The blue light in your hands was so bright that if it were snuffed, you would be lost."
That was a pretty succinct way of putting it. It had been years since I'd tried to imagine Bob not being a part of my life anymore. It had gotten to the point now that trying to imagine it now felt like I was trying to rip my own arms off.
"Even with the other fireflies?" I asked, fairly sure of the answer. No one had meant as much to me as Bob did.
"Even so," Bob said softly.
Silence stretched between us before Bob stood and checked the sauce. With the water for the spaghetti bubbling away, I opened the box of spaghetti and dumped it in, stirring it with the spoon from the sauce to make sure all of it would boil.
"Harry?" Bob said, not looking at me as he turned down the heat on the sauce.
I raised both eyebrows at him. "Yeah?"
"What did you see?" he asked, glancing at me. "You had begun telling me before we were interrupted."
That had been a few days ago, right before I made a date with Heather Bram in an effort to try to move on with my life.
"Why do you want to know?" I asked. I tend to be the kind of guy who doesn't question why people have a tendency to faint or go pale when they look at my soul. Mostly because I really don't want to know what exactly I'm capable of. I already knew that I was capable of killing people and destruction of property. I didn't know what I was going to do if I ever found out just how far I was willing to go. Bob's description of the soulgaze had helped, somewhat, but I had noticed he hadn't mentioned anything about how far I would go for him or anyone else I cared about.
So, when Bob actually wanted to know what I'd seen instead of shying away from the subject, it surprised me.
Bob frowned, surprised at the question. "I recall telling you that I wanted to know."
"Yeah, but why do you want to know?" I pressed.
"Because I can't very well look at my own soul whenever I wish," he explained calmly. "Before my execution, soulgazes had acted as a personal barometer. Whether the person I gazed upon was an intended victim, or a loved one, or a dire enemy, I always wanted to know how I would measure in their eyes." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "One victim, a young man who was probably seventeen or eighteen years old at the time, described what he saw as a tailor who dismembered living people and then sewed together a lover from the harvested limbs. I'm sure that whatever you saw couldn't be worse than that."
I stared at him, the question slipping out before I could stop it. "Which victim was that?"
"The last one I was able to kill before the Wardens came to arrest me," he said. If Bob concentrated on stirring the noodles more than was necessary, neither of us said anything. He looked up from the pot, his eyes dull, his face carefully blank. "Tell me, Harry. Please."
I couldn't look into his eyes and refuse. Hell's bells, compared to being Pygmalion the Demon Tailor, seeing him burn to ashes and sacrifice himself totally would be a walk in the park.
So, I told him. When I was finished, Bob didn't speak.
I cleared my throat. "Well?"
"Well what?" Bob asked, arching an eyebrow at me.
"Are you ready to sew Galatea back together again?" I asked lightly.
He shook his head, glancing at a clock that I'd hung on the wall before fishing the colander out of the cabinet where I usually kept it. "Dinner is ready."
I resisted the urge to shake him, instead taking the sauce off the burner and stirring it a few more times. "Bob."
Bob drained the noodles and dumped them back in the pot again, followed by the sauce, and stirred it a little more vigorously than it needed. I was about to say something when he stopped, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and headed for the cabinet where the plates were. He took them out and wordlessly offered me one.
After a few minutes of serving ourselves and getting drinks, Bob with an instant coffee, I with a glass of Coke, we ended up staring at each other across the table, eating silently. Hell's bells, I could hear the clock in the living room ticking away, and that almost never happened unless I was having a bout of insomnia on a night when I didn't need to worry about the end of the world.
It took five more minutes of the unnerving silence until I finally said, "That was a cheap shot. Sorry."
Bob shook his head, holding up a hand to stop me so that he could finish swallowing. "You've no need to apologize. What you said is actually still true." He opened his mouth to say something, but sighed and examined his spaghetti intently. "I had hoped that I would be above falling to temptation again, and I'm disappointed with myself that I might not be as strong as I think I am."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"I mean that I love you, Harry," Bob said, his eyes meeting mine steadily. "And that if you were die, I might find myself turning to black magic to return you to me."
I smiled a little, waiting for the punchline. "Bob, you don't mean that."
Bob arched an eyebrow, looking at me like I was depriving a village somewhere of its idiot. "Harry, you just looked at my soul."
"Yeah, and I saw you incinerate yourself for Winifred," I replied. "She looked very pretty, by the way."
"Thank you." Bob nodded. "You told me yourself that you had seen a light in the darkness at the end of the soulgaze."
"Yeah, it was hope," I replied. "Bob, just because what I saw in your soul says one thing, it doesn't mean you're not going to be strong enough to resist using black magic again."
Bob rolled his eyes. "Harry, that light in the darkness wasn't just hope."
"Could've fooled me," I muttered, sipping some Coke.
"Do you know how incredibly difficult it is to feel anything as a ghost?" Bob demanded, setting his fork down. "And I don't mean tactile sensation. I mean actual emotion?"
I frowned. "You seemed capable enough when you were teaching me."
"I had more than nine hundred years of yearning to motivate me," Bob said. "The moment I saw you, home again after having traveled the world, wearing those ridiculously small jeans and that silly T-shirt, I felt something that I hadn't felt since I was alive. You gave me that gift, Harry. In that single moment, something changed, and it was as though I could see the world through new eyes. I had known of Justin's plans in the abstract for years, but when you discovered your father's ring in his possession, I wanted to keep you from being hurt and betrayed by what Justin had done."
"Is that what you were doing when I told you I loved you?" I snorted, feeling a familiar anger start to burn inside of me. "Trying to protect me from getting hurt?"
"Yes," Bob answered without hesitation.
"And it didn't occur to you that lying to me would hurt even more?" I knew that my voice was rising, but I didn't care.
"I hadn't anticipated that I would ever need to apologize," Bob said in a deceptively even tone, "as I'd assumed that I would remain in my prison indefinitely, and I would have to watch you die, whether it be from old age if you were lucky, or because you had gotten yourself killed because of your own need to see justice done."
"And now that you're alive?" I asked.
Bob smiled a little. "I'm in a better position to keep you alive. That is, if you don't mind having an extra pair of hands when you're working a potentially life-threatening case."
"What about the Council?" I asked. "Would you really piss them off just to save me?"
Bob snorted. "You were paying attention when the Senior Council agreed to my terms, weren't you? One of the conditions of my continued lifespan is that I make weapons for the Council, not heed their every beck and call." He smiled in a way that was both patient and a little mischievous. I have to admit that my libido started perking up at the sight of it. "Besides, making swords isn't that terribly difficult. If what Captain Luccio said about the progress bladesmithing technology has made since my last project is true, it might even go more smoothly than before."
For some reason, I couldn't stop myself from smiling.
"Harry," Bob said, reaching out a hand to cover mine. "I love you. I'm sorry that I hurt you before when I lied to you, though I can't promise it won't happen again. What I will promise, however, is that I will try my best to protect you from any threat that looms."
"How about you just watch my back?" I asked.
This time, Bob's smile was wicked, and his eyes twinkled. "Only your back, Harry? I can think of much more interesting things about you to watch than just your back."
No matter what Bob says, I didn't blush. My face might've gotten a little red, but that was because it was a little warm in the kitchen from the food. Really.
I cleared my throat. "Oh?" I licked my lips. "Like what?" I managed to ask. Some guys aren't good at flirting. I happen to be one of them.
One of Bob's long, slender fingers traced the edge of his coffee mug slowly. "I could talk about your eyes, if you'd like," he murmured, meeting my gaze. "We don't need to worry about a soulgaze, so I can admire how dark they are, how mysterious."
"Dark and mysterious?" I asked, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the table.
"I have a deep appreciation for the mysterious, Harry," Bob reminded me gently, his smile a little indulgent at the corners. "But now that you mention it, I think I'd rather watch your ass."
I blinked. "Sorry?"
Or, at least, that was what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, I'd taken another sip of my drink at that moment, and I did a classic spit-take, spraying Bob with Coca-Cola.
Bob blinked for a moment, looking more than a little surprised to find himself damp from soda, and then he started grinning.
I groaned, resting my forehead on my arms as my face got warmer.
And then the bastard started laughing. I heard his chair squeak on the linoleum floor, and when I looked up, I saw Bob wetting a dishrag and wiping his face with it, still chuckling away.
"Oh, Harry," Bob asked me, laughter still in his voice as he washed his hands. "Whatever would I do without you in my life?"
"Probably not get sprayed with Coke," I muttered, getting both of our plates and putting them in the sink. "Sorry."
"It's quite all right." Bob smiled.
"Not really," I pointed to where the Coke had gotten his shirt. "That's going to get sticky." And then I noticed a few drops where they'd landed on his neck. "And you missed a spot." Seized by sudden inspiration, I leaned in close and licked at the drops carefully, just to make sure I didn't miss anything. I could tell Bob appreciated the gesture when I felt the fingers of one hand weave into my hair, along with his soft gasp.
I kissed the skin gently before slowly pulling away. Bob let out an honest-to-God whimper that time, and when I could see his face, he didn't waste any time in kissing me deeply.
We surfaced for air a few minutes later, though Bob definitely looked like he didn't want to stop. I was able to gasp out, "Shirt," before he started nibbling on my lower lip.
"Mm, what was that?" Bob's question was half-garbled against my lips.
"Shirt," I said intelligently, my hands yanking off the leather vest he wore before grabbing two fistfuls of shirt and untucking it from his pants. He hadn't had time to change out of the outfit that Joseph-Listens-to-Wind had lent him, but at that point, I didn't care. The leather emphasized the power in his shoulders and arms, the dark tan contrasting against his pale skin. We stopped kissing long enough to wrestle the shirt off of him, panting loudly before we started kissing again, his teeth nipping at my lips while I concentrated on tasting his mouth.
A pair of hands grabbing my ass made me jump, and then Bob's dark laughter filled my ears, promising all kinds of delightful things just through the sheer suggestion in it. I thrust my hips against him out of pure instinct, only to find that I was grinding against his stomach. Damn height difference.
"I did say that I wanted to watch your ass," Bob purred at me, the words rolling around his tongue as though he were tasting them. His hands had squeezed once, and I groaned loudly.
"Bed," I groaned. "Now."
More dark laughter filled my ears. "I thought you'd never ask."
We managed a kind of weird half-walk, half-stumble towards the staircase leading up to the second floor, with a quick detour against a counter for a slow grind that had both of us moaning and short of breath.
I'm still not quite sure how we both made it up the stairs without tripping and nearly killing ourselves, given that the banister isn't that strong to begin with, but fairly soon, we were falling onto my bed, desperate enough to grind against each other while still wearing our pants. Bob got off of me and made quick work of my pants and boxers, tossing them somewhere before kissing me again, his hands running down my chest. When we needed to breathe, he pulled away, only to start attacking my neck with nibbles and kisses that had my head swimming with pleasure.
I managed to get a hand on his head, fingers running through the softness of his hair, and when he found one of my nipples, the attention he lavished on it made me moan loud enough that I wondered if what neighbors I had were going to complain about the noise. I must have been writhing, because Bob stopped long enough to pin my thighs to the bed with one of his legs.
"Patience, Harry," Bob purred, and I moaned louder. I sensed him pause for a second, and then I could almost feel the mischievous surprise in the air before he leaned down, his lips close to my ear. "My, my," he whispered. I felt fingers trace random designs on my chest, that, knowing Bob, weren't entirely random. One of my nipples got tweaked, causing my hips to buck uselessly into the air. "What is this delightful feast I see before me?"
I shivered and said something that sounded like, "Nhgflp."
"Do you know how you look right now?" Bob asked, his voice rich and dark, as though he'd looked through each of my favorite fantasies and recorded them himself. "The lines of your body..." He traced his fingers along the muscles in my chest. "The way your lips are parted just so..." A single finger touched my lips, feather-light. "The way your hair trails, ever so attractively, to the exciting parts..." The fingers were tracing around my navel, meandering down towards my erection, which had already started leaking, but veered away before his skin brushed against mine where I needed it.
I might have whimpered. Just a little.
"Temptation given mortal form," he purred, teeth tugging gently on my earlobe. "Truly."
I growled, and tried to reach for him, but he caught my wrists and pressed them against the sheets. "Ah ah ah, Harry." His voice managed to drop an octave somehow, making his purr sound rough and dangerous. "I'd rather not get distracted."
I gasped and threw my head back, squeezing my eyes shut against the sudden mental image of Bob above me, behind me, taking me as rough and hard as his voice sounded. If he didn't hurry up soon, I was going to embarrass myself before he'd even gotten around to actually touching me.
"Good boy," he murmured, brushing his lips against my ear before leaving a trail of kisses to my lips. Suddenly, he kissed me, hard and deep and fast. My head started spinning, and then he got a firm grip on me and squeezed. He jerked me off a few times before I finally felt it.
I yanked my lips away from his, shouting wordlessly as my orgasm hit like a freight train. Everything went white for a second, and then I passed out.
I didn't faint. Seriously.
I woke up to find Bob dragging my legs over until I was on the bed, instead of half-laying on it, which I was grateful for. I watched, a bit bemused, as he snapped the flannel sheet out and let it cover me before he slid between the sheets and moved close enough to me that I felt his hand rest on my stomach. I dislodged the blanket a little as I moved my hand down to cover his.
"How are you feeling?" Bob asked, his eyes glittering smugly as he looked at me.
"I'm all right, I guess," I replied, grinning a little at him. "Wow."
Bob snorted. "'Wow'?"
"Take it as a compliment." I snorted back, turning on my side and sliding a hand around his waist. That's when I noticed that he was still hard. "I knew there was something I was forgetting," I murmured, leaning in to kiss him while I let one of my hands make its way down to his erection.
Surprisingly, Bob squirmed before he grabbed my hand to stop me. "It's all right, Harry."
"Sure, because not having an orgasm makes a lot of sense," I snorted.
Bob shot me an annoyed look. "Really, Harry, with as much as I've been preoccupied with sex, don't you think that I haven't tried already?"
"What's wrong?" I frowned, reaching out to touch his cheek.
Bob's eyes fluttered closed. "I get... over-stimulated." He nuzzled my hand with a contented hum.
"Thin line between pleasure and pain?" I asked, watching him. The faint rasp of his five o'clock shadow felt good against my skin.
"Is even thinner, yes," Bob sighed, kissing my palm before sucking lightly. I clenched my teeth, feeling the twitch of interest run through me, but it was too soon to get it up a second time.
"Is there anything I can do?" I murmured, wanting to move in and kiss him deeply, but not wanting to stop Bob from licking my wrist.
Bob's eyes opened, the blue-green irises darker now. "Try not to move."
I would've said something about him asking for the moon next, but then he hadn't started sucking on one of my fingers. I could feel my spine starting to fuse with my melted brain, and the best I could manage was an affirmative noise. Bob, on the other hand, was happily humming and licking my captive finger like it was an ice cream cone in the middle of July.
I could tell the moment when things were shifting, pleasure turning into pain. He let my finger go with a wet, regretful kiss before sagging onto the pillow, his cheeks flushed and his eyes hazy.
"There has to be something we can do," I said firmly, ignoring the desire that was waking up despite the fact that I'd just had an orgasm a few minutes ago. "What've you tried?"
Bob sighed, looking frustrated. I couldn't say that I blamed him. "I've tried masturbating in the shower, on the bed, in the lab. I even tried using magic to provide stimulation, but nothing's worked thus far."
I had to remind myself that imagining Bob in the shower, water cascading down his pale skin, jerking himself off, wasn't helping. Or imagining him on the bed, for that matter.
"What about not touching yourself?" I managed, my voice rough.
"An orgasm on command?" Bob raised an eyebrow, even as he brushed my lips with his fingers. "If I were capable of that kind of control, I wouldn't have to worry about over-stimulation, would I?"
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Unfortunately, my libido picked that time to provide me with a vision of Bob, flushed and panting, with me whispering in his ear while I kept his hips pinned against the kitchen counter. "Okay, so let's think of something else."
When I opened my eyes again, Bob was watching me with hooded eyes, his lips parted just enough that I could see his teeth. "What were you thinking?"
I shook my head, feeling my cheeks get hot. "Nothing that's going to help us right now."
"Oh, I don't know," Bob murmured, sitting up to plant his hands on the pillow on either side of my head. "Anything that can make you look like that would certainly be something worth pursuing."
He was doing that purring thing with his voice again, dammit. I tried not to blush harder. "Dirty-talking you into an orgasm in the kitchen isn't exactly going to help us."
Bob blinked, and then pursed his lips. "Especially since that we're not in the kitchen at the moment. The idea has merit, though."
"What?" I asked blankly.
Bob smirked, leaning down just enough to lick my lips very slowly. "Each time that I've attempted to have an orgasm, it's been through physical stimulation. We already know that my sense of touch is already over-stimulated, seeing as how I've acquired a habit of rubbing things with my hands."
"Is this going where I think it's going?" I asked weakly.
"If you mean do I want you to talk dirty to me, it's certainly worth a try," Bob's smile grew more affectionate. "Perhaps by stimulating another of my senses, I might be able to feel the pleasure without it shading into pain."
"Um, Bob? I'm not that good at it," I half-mumbled.
"Nonsense," Bob murmured. "You're creative enough when you put your mind to it, and you have a lovely voice."
"Have you heard me try before?" I asked, wondering if I'd been right all those years about him listening in whenever I brought a date home.
"I might have once or twice," Bob hedged, looking mischievous.
I started trying to think fast. It was bad enough that I was terrible at dirty-talk in general. If I tried it on Bob, I was pretty sure I was going to clam up, and that wouldn't have helped. "You said that stimulating a sense that wasn't touch would work, right? To distract you?"
"I believe so," Bob said slowly, shooting me a puzzled frown. "What do you have in mind?"
"How about a taste test?" I offered, smiling up at him. "I made a grocery run on Saturday with stuff that you haven't had a chance to try out since your return to life."
Bob looked curious now. "Such as?"
"Chocolate." I grinned, letting the syllables roll off my tongue. "Strawberries. Bananas."
"'Not that good' at dirty talk, indeed," Bob chuckled, indulging in a long, slow kiss before pulling back to look into my eyes. "It won't take long to prepare the food, will it?" he asked, kissing my cheek before whispering in my ear. "I seem to be rather hungry at the moment."
I think a couple fuses blew in my brain at that growling whisper. "Not long," I managed.
"Good." Bob pulled away, the absence of his body heat causing me to shiver. "Let's go."
"Oh, no, you don't," I muttered, turning the tables by pushing Bob onto his back. "If you try to help, we'll never get out of the kitchen."
"That's a bad thing?" Bob asked, not looking nearly as innocent as he sounded.
"I'd rather not accidentally flash Murphy if she decides to drop by." I growled.
Bob grinned. "Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
I cleared my throat and kissed him to try to get him to shut up. "I'll be right back. Keep the bed warm."
Bob made a show of stretching his arms and back, snuggling into the flannel sheets with a smile that made him look like a cat that had just been locked in a petshop full of canaries overnight. "I'll try to bear up as best I can."
I cleared my throat, improvised a toga out of the sheet and fled downstairs. I think I broke a speed record getting the food I'd bought ready, because by the time I made it upstairs, Bob looked as though he hadn't moved from where I'd left him.
"And how exactly am I supposed to keep the bed warm if you steal the sheets?" Bob asked, trying to unwrap me while I set the plate of food down on the table next to my bed.
"You're a wizard," I teased, leaning down to kiss him. "You would've thought of something."
Bob hmphed, tugging at the sheet. "It's quite likely I might have set the bed on fire by mistake."
"You?" I kissed him again before I stood up and shrugged off the bedsheet. "Perish the thought."
Bob snorted, glancing at the food.
"See anything you like?" I asked.
Blue-green eyes gave me a once-over that had my face heating up again. "Oh, yes."
I got back into bed, shifting around a bit so that I could reach the food and Bob at the same time.
Bob smirked as he watched me. "Comfortable?"
I snorted. "But of course. Any preferences?" I motioned to the plate. "We've got a selection to choose from."
Bob did that luxurious-looking stretch again, the sheet making it more enticing somehow, like a getting a glimpse of the forbidden as it slipped down his waist. "Surprise me," he murmured, still smiling.
I considered my options and picked out one of the slices of orange. "Have you ever had oranges before?"
Bob shook his head a little, his white hair an interesting contrast against the dark blue of the pillow. "No. I knew of ships that brought them in from the tropics, but by the time they arrived in port, the shipments were usually rotten."
"Now you'll get to try a fresh one," I said, carefully brushing Bob's lower lip with the edge of the orange slice. "Close your eyes, and try to savor it."
Bob raised an eyebrow at me before dutifully closing his eyes and taking a slow bite. His eyes popped open again, looking pleasantly surprised.
"What's it taste like?" I asked. I didn't have much of a chance to eat oranges over the past few years, what with living on a shoestring budget more often than not, but I knew what they tasted like. Being able to watch Bob taste it for the first time, to watch him roll it around his tongue and hum a little, was something that I'd always treasure. He chewed a few times, his eyes slipping closed again as he savored it. He swallowed, and opened his eyes again, this time looking vaguely annoyed.
"Quite good, actually," he said. "Though I admit I am a little disappointed that you haven't started talking dirty to me."
I blinked. "I thought we were going to do the taste test instead?" I held up the half of the orange slice that he hadn't eaten as a reminder.
Bob snorted. "I agreed to the taste test. I didn't say I didn't want to listen to you whisper sweet nothings in my ear."
"Whisper sweet nothings?" I asked incredulously. "Have you met me?"
Bob looked at me for a long moment before laughing out loud. "Why, yes, I believe I have." He gave me another appreciate once-over. "Intimately, in fact."
Just for that, I popped the other half of the orange slice in my mouth and chewed.
"Now, you're just being greedy," Bob said. He reached up and tugged me closer with a hand on my arm, kissing me when I got close enough. It got a bit messy, and there was definitely a tug-of-war going on for the orange slice, but Bob won it by running his fingers down my stomach. When he reached my reawakening erection, he gave me a very firm stroke that had me moaning into his mouth. When we finally broke for air, Bob had a little smirk on his face, chewing what was left of the orange slice before swallowing in a manner that I could only really call victorious.
"Who's being greedy now?" I asked, leaning down to lick the juice on his lips and chin.
Bob hummed contentedly, his hand loosening its grip. Fingers walked up and down the hard flesh, stroking in random spots.
"If you want me to talk dirty," I gasped against his lips, "you're going to have to stop."
Bob seemed to consider this for a moment, and then the tantalizing touch of his skin against mine disappeared. "Talk to me, Harry," he purred.
I shook my head, my brain still fried from the intimate massage. "Dunno what to say."
A hand reached up and touched my face, stroking my cheek. "Say anything, Harry," he murmured. "Or, how about you tell me what you were thinking of when I mentioned being able to have an orgasm without physical stimulation."
I closed my eyes and groaned a little. "Already told you."
Fingers stroked my lips. "Tell me again. Give me details."
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the fact that my face was breaking out into a forest fire yet again, and started talking. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I described how his head was thrown back, how my hands were pinning his hips against the kitchen counter, the way his lips parted just a little, and he was moaning.
"I wanted to bite your neck," I said in a rush. "You gasped a little when I started sucking on it earlier... What would it be like to leave a mark there, for anybody to see?"
Bob stared at me, his eyes glazed over. "I could hide it with a turtleneck," he said in a low voice, looking all too interested in the idea to be serious.
"None of my stuff would fit you," I whispered, leaning down and kissing that spot I'd found before. He made that little gasp again, tensing and squirming a little before his hands found the insides of my thighs and stroked inward. "You can barely wear my old T-shirts as it is." I kissed his collarbone gently. "They show off your chest really well. I almost don't want to buy you new clothes."
Bob gave a low, dark chuckle, the sound thrilling down my spine. "Perhaps I'll only wear them around the house. Maybe when I'm working in the lab, if something might prove especially messy."
I growled, licking at his chin. "Sure, and every time you bend over, I'll have to remind myself that bending you over the lab table is a bad idea."
He made an intrigued noise in his throat. "Oh? There I am, stirring something, and when I have to get the scales from the bottom cabinet, what would you do?"
I licked my suddenly dry lips. "I'd take whatever it was off the heat."
Bob blinked for a moment, and then grinned, his hands laying on top of my thighs and stroking down towards my knees. "That's very commendable, Harry. I'm sure that I and my imaginary project thank you. What next?"
"When you stood back up with the scales in your hands, I'd set them down on one corner of the table, and kiss you."
Bob shifted a little where he lay. "Light and teasing?"
"Since when have I ever been that subtle?" I growled. "I'd kiss you deeply, take my time. Undo the fly on the jeans you were wearing, because you keep wearing my jeans."
"Indeed, I do," Bob murmured. "The denim is worn enough to feel wonderful against my skin, and some of them have tears in such interesting places. What would you do next?"
"I pull the jeans down, try to get the underwear at the same time."
Bob smirked. "I don't wear underwear."
I blinked, and then I coughed. "That's just not fair."
"Oh?" Bob looked surprised. "How so?"
"Now every time I look at you, I'm going to know that you're not wearing any underwear."
"Is that so terrible?" Bob purred, trailing his fingers along the inside of my thighs again teasingly.
"Brain melting," I managed.
"Ah, of course." He busied himself with reaching over with one hand and plucking another orange slice from the plate. "What else?"
"Where was I?" I asked.
"Easing my jeans down and discovering that I don't wear underwear." Bob grinned. He nibbled on one end of the slice of orange. My brain blew a couple fuses.
"I'd get the jeans out of the way, and touch you." I did a bit of touching my own this time, stroking up his leg until I met the wiry curls around his erection. His eyes slowly blinked for a second, his lips parting. I held my breath. "Too much?"
Bob shook his head. "Keep going," he whispered.
I took the orange from him and traced it along his lips as my other hand continued getting closer and closer to his erection. "You'd have goosebumps from the lab. I'd feel them on your hips where I touched you. You'd feel so warm against my skin."
Bob closed his eyes and took a bite out of the orange. "What then?"
"I'd take you in hand then," I said, slowly matching actions to words and wrapping my hand around him, and squeezing just a little. He gasped for a moment before moaning loudly. "You'd look so tempting, your lips red from the kissing." I squeezed again, and he moaned again. "I'd pin you against the lab table to make sure you didn't move, because I wouldn't want to just touch you. I'd want to taste you."
Bob growled low in his throat, and when I offered the orange to him again, he not only took the rest of the slice, he sucked on the tips of my fingers.
I growled back, leaning in close to his ear. "I've wanted to see you like this for such a long time," I whispered, too dazed from watching Bob to feel embarrassed. "I love going down on women, men, anybody. To know that I'm making them moan and gasp and squirm with just my mouth. Feeling their skin against my lips." I squeezed his erection again, stroking my hand up and down without realizing it. "Holding them still while they twisted underneath me, tasting them in my mouth, smelling them." I inhaled sharply, smelling Bob's scent and his desire.
That's when Bob came.
He threw back his head, half-shouting, half-gasping, his hair bright against the pillow. His eyes squeezed shut as though he were in pain, but he breathed in deeply through his mouth, his lips flushed. He shuddered once, muscles tensing as he came until finally, he sank back onto the bed, looking like he was ready to melt into a puddle of goo if I let him. He panted a few times before he got his breath back, and when he did, his lips stretched into a contented smirk.
I grinned. I couldn't help it, really. Here Bob was, having had his first orgasm in nearly nine hundred years, and I'd done it. I'd made him look like that. I hadn't gotten a chance to go down on him, but we'd have to desensitize his sense of touch first. And then I'd be able to take my time.
I started licking my hand without thinking about it. Hell's bells, I didn't realize I was doing it until Bob opened his eyes and stared at my mouth.
Then he growled, and kissed me, long and deep. Before I knew it, his hand was wrapped around my erection, and he was jerking me off again. Given how turned on I was after having watched Bob shout through an orgasm, it didn't take long for me to finish off, Bob kissing away my air as I did so.
Bob took over, pulling me back into bed and drawing the sheets up around us before resting his head against my shoulder and wrapping an arm around my waist. I looked down at him, a bit bemused.
"Comfy?" I asked.
"Mmm, definitely," Bob said with a hum. There was a little smile on his face that made my chest tighten a little.
I shifted around until I could wrap an arm around his shoulders and stroke his back. "I didn't realize that wizards doubled as pillows."
Bob snorted a little, stirring the hair on my chest. "Of course we do. How else would we be able to have children?"
Under my hand, I could feel the waxy burn over Bob's shoulderblade, the soft skin of his back. It was kind of amazing really. I had never thought that I'd be able to do this -- have Bob in my bed, content from an orgasm, using me as his personal body pillow. He slid a leg over mine, twining his ankle around it just so, and snuggling into my shoulder.
It felt... good. Like the universe had finally paid me back for all the times it had beaten me up, torn me down, and left me feeling angry and alone.
"Harry."
"Yeah?" I asked, kissing his hair.
"As much as it surprises me to say this, you're thinking too much," Bob murmured, a yawn interrupting the last word. "Go to sleep."
"Is that an order?" I asked, unable to resist teasing him a little.
"More like a friendly suggestion." He lifted his head to look me in the eye, smiling a little. "It wouldn't do for you to fall asleep while I'm having my way with you."
I frowned, a little fuzzy from the orgasm. "When're you doing this?"
"As soon as I wake up again." He smirked, kissing my cheek. He settled back down against me, laying his head on my shoulder, and after a few minutes, went to sleep.
After thinking a bit more about my good fortune, and trying not to think of when the other shoe was going to drop, and how hard, I followed him.
After all, I didn't want to disappoint him.
END
***
Like what you just read? Leave a comment!
For any interested in rereading, here are the links to the previous three parts.
Part One.
Part Two.
Part Three.
This way to the prequel, Plain Sight.
This marks the end of the Forged Series. The next series, wherein Harry and Bob deal with dragons and real life, is currently untitled, but with any luck, it will be coming soon!
And if you're just plain lost, this way to the table of contents.
It's not that unusual for me to come home tired, hungry, and looking like I'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, especially when I'd just finished working on a case. The conquering hero returning home to Spaghetti-Os and passing out for a few hours may not seem like a great reward, but it works for me.
This time, though, I wasn't sure what to do with myself.
Mister greeted me with his usual shoulder-block to my legs before sauntering out the front door to take on Chicago at large, and I stood there in the storefront. Light from the sunset filtered through the windows, painting the organized chaos of my desk in blues, purples and oranges. I really should clean it up some day, just to give the impression that I'm not too overworked to take on more cases, but given my usual clientèle, they're not really that concerned about the state of my desk.
I'd just survived a meeting with the High Council, came out of it relatively intact, and here I was, staring at my desk. Hell of a way to celebrate escaping the jaws of death.
"Harry?" Bob asked.
I turned to look at him, taking in the white hair, the blue-green eyes. "Yeah?" I said after a minute.
Bob frowned. "Are you all right?"
"I've just been put under the Doom of Damocles again," I said, not really noticing what I was saying, but just letting it all come out. "I have exactly thirty dollars to my name, I think my nose is starting to get stuffed up, and now I've got a roommate who redecorates without consulting me."
Bob blinked. "It can't be as bad as all that, can it?"
I thought about that for a moment, and then shook my head, smiling a little. "I don't think so."
Bob nodded slowly, and then added, "You're forgetting that the rent is due in five days." He heaved a sigh. "Alas, such is the life of wizards. I'm sure you'll bear up somehow." He reached out and patted my shoulder in what began as a sympathetic gesture, but turned soothing when he let his hand stay there.
Bob could touch me now.
I nodded, reaching up to cover his hand with mine, only to have him turn his wrist and squeeze my fingers.
"It's all right, Harry," Bob murmured, still smiling.
"I know." I moved in closer to him, removing his hand from my shoulder before sliding my arms around him and resting my chin on his shoulder. "Stars and stones, Bob."
Bob's arms wrapped around my shoulders, squeezing back just as firmly. "I know, Harry." A hand petted my hair. "I know."
I don't really hug people, but for Bob, I was willing to make an exception.
After a few minutes, I felt Bob loosen his grip on me, so I pulled back to look at him. "How's it feel to be alive?"
"I have not the words to describe it," Bob murmured before looking at me critically. "You look like you need to lay down."
"Aww, Mom," I whined. "I'm not tired."
Bob snorted. "While I'm hardly a paternal figure, I'm more than capable of putting you to bed." He kissed me on the cheek and nodded at the hallway leading to my living room. "I'm going to try my hand at making spaghetti, unless you have any other ideas."
"We could call for a pizza," I offered.
"And leave you with exactly five to ten dollars to your name, instead of thirty," Bob replied, looking at me askance. "There's perfectly good food here in the house, and I'm not actually that tired."
I frowned at him. "So I see. And why is that?"
Bob shrugged. "Unlike most wizards, I actually know what dying feels like. If things really did take a turn for the worse, nothing would have happened that I haven't already been through before, so there was no need to panic. My only real concern was making sure you survived the ordeal as well." He shot me a fondly annoyed look. "Letting the Merlin needle you isn't the best tactic for dealing with the Council."
I scowled. "It doesn't help that he's an arrogant asshole."
"Be that as it may," Bob said patiently, leading the way to the kitchen as he spoke, "Arthur Langtry has gotten to where he is today because of knowing his opponent's weaknesses. Your temper very nearly got you into trouble today."
"I told you before," I said, following him into the kitchen and taking a box of spaghetti out of the cupboard, "I wasn't about to just sit there and watch you get killed. It's a moot point now, anyway." I leaned a hip against the sink and watched him. "The Council didn't kill you, and the Doom will only drop if you break any of the Laws of Magic."
"I'm aware of how the Doom of Damocles works, Harry." Bob sighed, wandering through the kitchen and pulling out pots and ingredients almost absentmindedly. "What I'm objecting to is the fact that you weren't even alive when my original sentence was passed down, and now you're under the Doom as well as I if I were to use black magic."
"You said it yourself," I pointed out, a bit surprised to find myself trying to be the voice of reason for once. "The Council wasn't going to let you live without some kind of restriction. And since keeping you in a deep, dark hole away from prying eyes wasn't an option, they had to find some other way to keep you in line." I snorted. "Hell's bells, they did the same thing to me."
Bob looked at me over his shoulder while he filled the pot to boil the spaghetti in. "They didn't threaten the one person you treasured most, Harry," he said softly.
I folded my arms across my chest and watched him set the pot on the stove and turn on the burner. "Yes, they did."
Bob's eyes snapped to mine, frowning for a moment before realization dawned. "I was referring to when you underwent the Doom the first time, actually."
"Gee, I was referring to the second time," I snapped. "Bob, did you think I was kidding when I said that I love you? Do you seriously think that I could stand by and watch you be murdered? Unless you blanked out and missed the last few hours, I freaking volunteered to have the Doom put on me."
"Which doesn't say much for your sense of self-preservation," Bob snapped back.
"You must not have been paying attention all these years, or else you'd know how non-existent it is," I replied.
"That isn't something to brag about, Harry," Bob replied, turning from the stove to face me head-on. "Though, while we're on the subject, your quixotic crusades are going to get you killed someday, and if you think that I am going to stand by and watch you be murdered because you were following your personal code, you had better think again."
"You wouldn't give yourself over to black magic," I pointed out, grinning in my victory. "If you do, I'm dead."
"And have you ever considered the possibility of what would happen if you were dead already?" Bob asked in a slow, dangerous tone. "I've already given myself to over to darkness for someone I loved."
"You wouldn't," I said, my eyes narrowing. As much as I wanted to believe what I was saying, I knew that I was lying. When I'd soulgazed on Bob a few days ago, I'd seen him tear himself apart because of the loss of losing his first love. If he really cared as much for me as he had Winifred, Bob could turn into something scary. Pain made people look for alternatives, and black magic always promised quick returns for the amount of effort put into it. The only downside was that it consumed your soul in payment.
Bob didn't answer for a long time, and I could feel a shiver threaten to run down my spine at the look in his eyes.
"Would you?" I asked softly.
Bob turned back to the pot, reaching for the jar of spaghetti sauce. "I'm not sure," he admitted, not looking at me. He glanced up at my face for a moment before getting a good grip on the lid and twisting. He scowled at the jar, and tried again.
"Here," I said, holding my hand out. He gave me the jar, and I upended it, hitting the bottom with the heel of my hand before trying. The lid came loose with a satisfying pop, and I handed the jar back to Bob. "I might have, if they'd executed you," I admitted softly. It's not every day that you confess to being more than willing to murder a room full of wizards to make sure Bob got to live to see tomorrow.
Bob glanced at me again, and then he shook his head. "No, you wouldn't." He upended the jar into the sauce pot, and passed it back to me.
"How do you know? You were there when I killed my uncle." I filled the jar with some water, replaced the lid and shook it a few times to get all the sauce that hadn't come out. Then I opened it again and emptied it into the pot as well. "I used a voodoo doll to get that spirit out of Murphy. Who's to say that I won't turn to it again if they tried to kill you?"
"No matter what you may think of yourself, Harry, you are not a monster," Bob said simply, grabbing a wooden spoon from the dish strainer and stirring the sauce until it had a consistency more like a sauce instead of chunky paste. I could hear the kind of confidence in his voice that reminded me of guys who know they have the upper hand in a situation.
"And how do you know that?" I frowned.
Bob arched an eyebrow at me and looked singularly unimpressed. "You've certainly forgotten everything you've learned about soulgazes. Really, Harry, I do hope you're not suffering from senility at such a young age."
I blinked. "What?"
This time, Bob gave me one of his patient looks. "I tried to tell you what I'd seen when I looked upon your soul, but you didn't want to hear it." He turned back to the sauce, and stirred it a few times. "I won't deny that you have darkness inside you, but you're a good man because you acknowledge that part of you, and you use it to be better than what you perceive yourself to be. A weaker man would have blinded himself to the risks, taken refuge in the numbness it offered."
I knew, deep down, that Bob was talking about himself. It was strange to hear him talk about himself like I was some kind of role model to look up to, instead of a cautionary tale against the hazards of tilting at windmills. He gave me grief over the years about my impulse to do good, but I can't even say that I do it because it's the right thing to do. I mean, sure, I do, but the reason that I'd set up shop and hung my shingle out was because no one else was doing it. No one else was protecting people from things they didn't understand, no one was making sure innocent people didn't die.
"What was it you saw?" I asked. A large part of me didn't want to know what Bob had seen when he'd looked at my soul, because I didn't want to know what kind of symbolic manifestation the darkness inside of me took when Bob saw it. But a part of me needed to know just what it was that made Bob so damn sure that I was someone to believe in.
Bob raised an eyebrow at me. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Would I be asking if I didn't?" I asked.
"You've shied away from the subject each time I've brought it up," Bob said, unearthing the spoon rest from the silverware drawer and setting the wooden spoon on it. He turned to me and folded his arms across his chest, looking curious and skeptical.
"Okay, fine, I don't want to ask, but tell me anyway," I said. "I seem to remember you mentioning a forest and fireflies."
Bob snorted, his lips pursed for a moment before he pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down. "You were traveling through the forest, actually, and you looked younger than you do now."
If there was something I was expecting, it wasn't that.
"That sounds fun."
"I thought you wanted to hear this?" Bob asked mildly.
"Fine, no more color commentary," I said. "What happened next?"
"There was no moon, no stars to see by," Bob said. "But there were small lights flying just ahead of you, guiding you along a dirt path."
"The fireflies you mentioned before?" I asked, turning down the temperature on the sauce to make sure it didn't burn before I sat down at the table across from Bob.
"I was actually a bit inaccurate in my description when I referred to them as fireflies," Bob admitted. "Though, if you've ever seen a green firefly, I should like to know when you've done so."
"Green?" I blinked. "How many were there?"
"A few," Bob said, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of him. Blue-green eyes watched me as he continued. "There was a brilliant white one that flew all over the place, lighting the darkness where it went. That one was obviously your Lieutenant Murphy."
I frowned, a bit confused. "What do you mean?"
"Each of them represented people that care about you, Harry," he explained gently. "There were two distant lights, both green, which I could only guess were your parents. A golden one amused itself by darting ahead into the woods, disappearing from sight, and then returning a little while later to lead the way."
I had to think about that one. "You?"
"Hardly," Bob snorted. "Ebenezar McCoy, I would imagine. He strikes me as the type to watch over you."
"You've watched over me too," I pointed out.
Bob shook his head, folding his arms on top of the table. "I've attempted to steer you away from darkness. Ebenezar would think that you need to walk through it, and as such, would lead the way so that you weren't hopelessly lost."
"Okay," I said slowly, thinking about it for a second before silently agreeing with him. "So, where were you?"
Bob looked down at the tabletop then, one of his fingernails picking at a nick I hadn't noticed before. He was quiet long enough to make me think he wasn't going to answer, but then he said, "I was cupped in your hands."
I blinked. "I would've thought you'd be flying around me, or lighting the way," I said curiously before a question occurred to me. "What color were you?"
"Bright blue," Bob answered, looking up at me.
"Blue for defense," I said.
"The symbolism wasn't lost on me," Bob acknowledged with a nod.
He fell silent again, but I knew he was holding something back. "What else did you see?" I asked, leaning forward and resting my own forearms on the table.
Bob exhaled through his nose slowly. "The blue light in your hands was so bright that if it were snuffed, you would be lost."
That was a pretty succinct way of putting it. It had been years since I'd tried to imagine Bob not being a part of my life anymore. It had gotten to the point now that trying to imagine it now felt like I was trying to rip my own arms off.
"Even with the other fireflies?" I asked, fairly sure of the answer. No one had meant as much to me as Bob did.
"Even so," Bob said softly.
Silence stretched between us before Bob stood and checked the sauce. With the water for the spaghetti bubbling away, I opened the box of spaghetti and dumped it in, stirring it with the spoon from the sauce to make sure all of it would boil.
"Harry?" Bob said, not looking at me as he turned down the heat on the sauce.
I raised both eyebrows at him. "Yeah?"
"What did you see?" he asked, glancing at me. "You had begun telling me before we were interrupted."
That had been a few days ago, right before I made a date with Heather Bram in an effort to try to move on with my life.
"Why do you want to know?" I asked. I tend to be the kind of guy who doesn't question why people have a tendency to faint or go pale when they look at my soul. Mostly because I really don't want to know what exactly I'm capable of. I already knew that I was capable of killing people and destruction of property. I didn't know what I was going to do if I ever found out just how far I was willing to go. Bob's description of the soulgaze had helped, somewhat, but I had noticed he hadn't mentioned anything about how far I would go for him or anyone else I cared about.
So, when Bob actually wanted to know what I'd seen instead of shying away from the subject, it surprised me.
Bob frowned, surprised at the question. "I recall telling you that I wanted to know."
"Yeah, but why do you want to know?" I pressed.
"Because I can't very well look at my own soul whenever I wish," he explained calmly. "Before my execution, soulgazes had acted as a personal barometer. Whether the person I gazed upon was an intended victim, or a loved one, or a dire enemy, I always wanted to know how I would measure in their eyes." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "One victim, a young man who was probably seventeen or eighteen years old at the time, described what he saw as a tailor who dismembered living people and then sewed together a lover from the harvested limbs. I'm sure that whatever you saw couldn't be worse than that."
I stared at him, the question slipping out before I could stop it. "Which victim was that?"
"The last one I was able to kill before the Wardens came to arrest me," he said. If Bob concentrated on stirring the noodles more than was necessary, neither of us said anything. He looked up from the pot, his eyes dull, his face carefully blank. "Tell me, Harry. Please."
I couldn't look into his eyes and refuse. Hell's bells, compared to being Pygmalion the Demon Tailor, seeing him burn to ashes and sacrifice himself totally would be a walk in the park.
So, I told him. When I was finished, Bob didn't speak.
I cleared my throat. "Well?"
"Well what?" Bob asked, arching an eyebrow at me.
"Are you ready to sew Galatea back together again?" I asked lightly.
He shook his head, glancing at a clock that I'd hung on the wall before fishing the colander out of the cabinet where I usually kept it. "Dinner is ready."
I resisted the urge to shake him, instead taking the sauce off the burner and stirring it a few more times. "Bob."
Bob drained the noodles and dumped them back in the pot again, followed by the sauce, and stirred it a little more vigorously than it needed. I was about to say something when he stopped, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and headed for the cabinet where the plates were. He took them out and wordlessly offered me one.
After a few minutes of serving ourselves and getting drinks, Bob with an instant coffee, I with a glass of Coke, we ended up staring at each other across the table, eating silently. Hell's bells, I could hear the clock in the living room ticking away, and that almost never happened unless I was having a bout of insomnia on a night when I didn't need to worry about the end of the world.
It took five more minutes of the unnerving silence until I finally said, "That was a cheap shot. Sorry."
Bob shook his head, holding up a hand to stop me so that he could finish swallowing. "You've no need to apologize. What you said is actually still true." He opened his mouth to say something, but sighed and examined his spaghetti intently. "I had hoped that I would be above falling to temptation again, and I'm disappointed with myself that I might not be as strong as I think I am."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"I mean that I love you, Harry," Bob said, his eyes meeting mine steadily. "And that if you were die, I might find myself turning to black magic to return you to me."
I smiled a little, waiting for the punchline. "Bob, you don't mean that."
Bob arched an eyebrow, looking at me like I was depriving a village somewhere of its idiot. "Harry, you just looked at my soul."
"Yeah, and I saw you incinerate yourself for Winifred," I replied. "She looked very pretty, by the way."
"Thank you." Bob nodded. "You told me yourself that you had seen a light in the darkness at the end of the soulgaze."
"Yeah, it was hope," I replied. "Bob, just because what I saw in your soul says one thing, it doesn't mean you're not going to be strong enough to resist using black magic again."
Bob rolled his eyes. "Harry, that light in the darkness wasn't just hope."
"Could've fooled me," I muttered, sipping some Coke.
"Do you know how incredibly difficult it is to feel anything as a ghost?" Bob demanded, setting his fork down. "And I don't mean tactile sensation. I mean actual emotion?"
I frowned. "You seemed capable enough when you were teaching me."
"I had more than nine hundred years of yearning to motivate me," Bob said. "The moment I saw you, home again after having traveled the world, wearing those ridiculously small jeans and that silly T-shirt, I felt something that I hadn't felt since I was alive. You gave me that gift, Harry. In that single moment, something changed, and it was as though I could see the world through new eyes. I had known of Justin's plans in the abstract for years, but when you discovered your father's ring in his possession, I wanted to keep you from being hurt and betrayed by what Justin had done."
"Is that what you were doing when I told you I loved you?" I snorted, feeling a familiar anger start to burn inside of me. "Trying to protect me from getting hurt?"
"Yes," Bob answered without hesitation.
"And it didn't occur to you that lying to me would hurt even more?" I knew that my voice was rising, but I didn't care.
"I hadn't anticipated that I would ever need to apologize," Bob said in a deceptively even tone, "as I'd assumed that I would remain in my prison indefinitely, and I would have to watch you die, whether it be from old age if you were lucky, or because you had gotten yourself killed because of your own need to see justice done."
"And now that you're alive?" I asked.
Bob smiled a little. "I'm in a better position to keep you alive. That is, if you don't mind having an extra pair of hands when you're working a potentially life-threatening case."
"What about the Council?" I asked. "Would you really piss them off just to save me?"
Bob snorted. "You were paying attention when the Senior Council agreed to my terms, weren't you? One of the conditions of my continued lifespan is that I make weapons for the Council, not heed their every beck and call." He smiled in a way that was both patient and a little mischievous. I have to admit that my libido started perking up at the sight of it. "Besides, making swords isn't that terribly difficult. If what Captain Luccio said about the progress bladesmithing technology has made since my last project is true, it might even go more smoothly than before."
For some reason, I couldn't stop myself from smiling.
"Harry," Bob said, reaching out a hand to cover mine. "I love you. I'm sorry that I hurt you before when I lied to you, though I can't promise it won't happen again. What I will promise, however, is that I will try my best to protect you from any threat that looms."
"How about you just watch my back?" I asked.
This time, Bob's smile was wicked, and his eyes twinkled. "Only your back, Harry? I can think of much more interesting things about you to watch than just your back."
No matter what Bob says, I didn't blush. My face might've gotten a little red, but that was because it was a little warm in the kitchen from the food. Really.
I cleared my throat. "Oh?" I licked my lips. "Like what?" I managed to ask. Some guys aren't good at flirting. I happen to be one of them.
One of Bob's long, slender fingers traced the edge of his coffee mug slowly. "I could talk about your eyes, if you'd like," he murmured, meeting my gaze. "We don't need to worry about a soulgaze, so I can admire how dark they are, how mysterious."
"Dark and mysterious?" I asked, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the table.
"I have a deep appreciation for the mysterious, Harry," Bob reminded me gently, his smile a little indulgent at the corners. "But now that you mention it, I think I'd rather watch your ass."
I blinked. "Sorry?"
Or, at least, that was what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, I'd taken another sip of my drink at that moment, and I did a classic spit-take, spraying Bob with Coca-Cola.
Bob blinked for a moment, looking more than a little surprised to find himself damp from soda, and then he started grinning.
I groaned, resting my forehead on my arms as my face got warmer.
And then the bastard started laughing. I heard his chair squeak on the linoleum floor, and when I looked up, I saw Bob wetting a dishrag and wiping his face with it, still chuckling away.
"Oh, Harry," Bob asked me, laughter still in his voice as he washed his hands. "Whatever would I do without you in my life?"
"Probably not get sprayed with Coke," I muttered, getting both of our plates and putting them in the sink. "Sorry."
"It's quite all right." Bob smiled.
"Not really," I pointed to where the Coke had gotten his shirt. "That's going to get sticky." And then I noticed a few drops where they'd landed on his neck. "And you missed a spot." Seized by sudden inspiration, I leaned in close and licked at the drops carefully, just to make sure I didn't miss anything. I could tell Bob appreciated the gesture when I felt the fingers of one hand weave into my hair, along with his soft gasp.
I kissed the skin gently before slowly pulling away. Bob let out an honest-to-God whimper that time, and when I could see his face, he didn't waste any time in kissing me deeply.
We surfaced for air a few minutes later, though Bob definitely looked like he didn't want to stop. I was able to gasp out, "Shirt," before he started nibbling on my lower lip.
"Mm, what was that?" Bob's question was half-garbled against my lips.
"Shirt," I said intelligently, my hands yanking off the leather vest he wore before grabbing two fistfuls of shirt and untucking it from his pants. He hadn't had time to change out of the outfit that Joseph-Listens-to-Wind had lent him, but at that point, I didn't care. The leather emphasized the power in his shoulders and arms, the dark tan contrasting against his pale skin. We stopped kissing long enough to wrestle the shirt off of him, panting loudly before we started kissing again, his teeth nipping at my lips while I concentrated on tasting his mouth.
A pair of hands grabbing my ass made me jump, and then Bob's dark laughter filled my ears, promising all kinds of delightful things just through the sheer suggestion in it. I thrust my hips against him out of pure instinct, only to find that I was grinding against his stomach. Damn height difference.
"I did say that I wanted to watch your ass," Bob purred at me, the words rolling around his tongue as though he were tasting them. His hands had squeezed once, and I groaned loudly.
"Bed," I groaned. "Now."
More dark laughter filled my ears. "I thought you'd never ask."
We managed a kind of weird half-walk, half-stumble towards the staircase leading up to the second floor, with a quick detour against a counter for a slow grind that had both of us moaning and short of breath.
I'm still not quite sure how we both made it up the stairs without tripping and nearly killing ourselves, given that the banister isn't that strong to begin with, but fairly soon, we were falling onto my bed, desperate enough to grind against each other while still wearing our pants. Bob got off of me and made quick work of my pants and boxers, tossing them somewhere before kissing me again, his hands running down my chest. When we needed to breathe, he pulled away, only to start attacking my neck with nibbles and kisses that had my head swimming with pleasure.
I managed to get a hand on his head, fingers running through the softness of his hair, and when he found one of my nipples, the attention he lavished on it made me moan loud enough that I wondered if what neighbors I had were going to complain about the noise. I must have been writhing, because Bob stopped long enough to pin my thighs to the bed with one of his legs.
"Patience, Harry," Bob purred, and I moaned louder. I sensed him pause for a second, and then I could almost feel the mischievous surprise in the air before he leaned down, his lips close to my ear. "My, my," he whispered. I felt fingers trace random designs on my chest, that, knowing Bob, weren't entirely random. One of my nipples got tweaked, causing my hips to buck uselessly into the air. "What is this delightful feast I see before me?"
I shivered and said something that sounded like, "Nhgflp."
"Do you know how you look right now?" Bob asked, his voice rich and dark, as though he'd looked through each of my favorite fantasies and recorded them himself. "The lines of your body..." He traced his fingers along the muscles in my chest. "The way your lips are parted just so..." A single finger touched my lips, feather-light. "The way your hair trails, ever so attractively, to the exciting parts..." The fingers were tracing around my navel, meandering down towards my erection, which had already started leaking, but veered away before his skin brushed against mine where I needed it.
I might have whimpered. Just a little.
"Temptation given mortal form," he purred, teeth tugging gently on my earlobe. "Truly."
I growled, and tried to reach for him, but he caught my wrists and pressed them against the sheets. "Ah ah ah, Harry." His voice managed to drop an octave somehow, making his purr sound rough and dangerous. "I'd rather not get distracted."
I gasped and threw my head back, squeezing my eyes shut against the sudden mental image of Bob above me, behind me, taking me as rough and hard as his voice sounded. If he didn't hurry up soon, I was going to embarrass myself before he'd even gotten around to actually touching me.
"Good boy," he murmured, brushing his lips against my ear before leaving a trail of kisses to my lips. Suddenly, he kissed me, hard and deep and fast. My head started spinning, and then he got a firm grip on me and squeezed. He jerked me off a few times before I finally felt it.
I yanked my lips away from his, shouting wordlessly as my orgasm hit like a freight train. Everything went white for a second, and then I passed out.
I didn't faint. Seriously.
I woke up to find Bob dragging my legs over until I was on the bed, instead of half-laying on it, which I was grateful for. I watched, a bit bemused, as he snapped the flannel sheet out and let it cover me before he slid between the sheets and moved close enough to me that I felt his hand rest on my stomach. I dislodged the blanket a little as I moved my hand down to cover his.
"How are you feeling?" Bob asked, his eyes glittering smugly as he looked at me.
"I'm all right, I guess," I replied, grinning a little at him. "Wow."
Bob snorted. "'Wow'?"
"Take it as a compliment." I snorted back, turning on my side and sliding a hand around his waist. That's when I noticed that he was still hard. "I knew there was something I was forgetting," I murmured, leaning in to kiss him while I let one of my hands make its way down to his erection.
Surprisingly, Bob squirmed before he grabbed my hand to stop me. "It's all right, Harry."
"Sure, because not having an orgasm makes a lot of sense," I snorted.
Bob shot me an annoyed look. "Really, Harry, with as much as I've been preoccupied with sex, don't you think that I haven't tried already?"
"What's wrong?" I frowned, reaching out to touch his cheek.
Bob's eyes fluttered closed. "I get... over-stimulated." He nuzzled my hand with a contented hum.
"Thin line between pleasure and pain?" I asked, watching him. The faint rasp of his five o'clock shadow felt good against my skin.
"Is even thinner, yes," Bob sighed, kissing my palm before sucking lightly. I clenched my teeth, feeling the twitch of interest run through me, but it was too soon to get it up a second time.
"Is there anything I can do?" I murmured, wanting to move in and kiss him deeply, but not wanting to stop Bob from licking my wrist.
Bob's eyes opened, the blue-green irises darker now. "Try not to move."
I would've said something about him asking for the moon next, but then he hadn't started sucking on one of my fingers. I could feel my spine starting to fuse with my melted brain, and the best I could manage was an affirmative noise. Bob, on the other hand, was happily humming and licking my captive finger like it was an ice cream cone in the middle of July.
I could tell the moment when things were shifting, pleasure turning into pain. He let my finger go with a wet, regretful kiss before sagging onto the pillow, his cheeks flushed and his eyes hazy.
"There has to be something we can do," I said firmly, ignoring the desire that was waking up despite the fact that I'd just had an orgasm a few minutes ago. "What've you tried?"
Bob sighed, looking frustrated. I couldn't say that I blamed him. "I've tried masturbating in the shower, on the bed, in the lab. I even tried using magic to provide stimulation, but nothing's worked thus far."
I had to remind myself that imagining Bob in the shower, water cascading down his pale skin, jerking himself off, wasn't helping. Or imagining him on the bed, for that matter.
"What about not touching yourself?" I managed, my voice rough.
"An orgasm on command?" Bob raised an eyebrow, even as he brushed my lips with his fingers. "If I were capable of that kind of control, I wouldn't have to worry about over-stimulation, would I?"
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Unfortunately, my libido picked that time to provide me with a vision of Bob, flushed and panting, with me whispering in his ear while I kept his hips pinned against the kitchen counter. "Okay, so let's think of something else."
When I opened my eyes again, Bob was watching me with hooded eyes, his lips parted just enough that I could see his teeth. "What were you thinking?"
I shook my head, feeling my cheeks get hot. "Nothing that's going to help us right now."
"Oh, I don't know," Bob murmured, sitting up to plant his hands on the pillow on either side of my head. "Anything that can make you look like that would certainly be something worth pursuing."
He was doing that purring thing with his voice again, dammit. I tried not to blush harder. "Dirty-talking you into an orgasm in the kitchen isn't exactly going to help us."
Bob blinked, and then pursed his lips. "Especially since that we're not in the kitchen at the moment. The idea has merit, though."
"What?" I asked blankly.
Bob smirked, leaning down just enough to lick my lips very slowly. "Each time that I've attempted to have an orgasm, it's been through physical stimulation. We already know that my sense of touch is already over-stimulated, seeing as how I've acquired a habit of rubbing things with my hands."
"Is this going where I think it's going?" I asked weakly.
"If you mean do I want you to talk dirty to me, it's certainly worth a try," Bob's smile grew more affectionate. "Perhaps by stimulating another of my senses, I might be able to feel the pleasure without it shading into pain."
"Um, Bob? I'm not that good at it," I half-mumbled.
"Nonsense," Bob murmured. "You're creative enough when you put your mind to it, and you have a lovely voice."
"Have you heard me try before?" I asked, wondering if I'd been right all those years about him listening in whenever I brought a date home.
"I might have once or twice," Bob hedged, looking mischievous.
I started trying to think fast. It was bad enough that I was terrible at dirty-talk in general. If I tried it on Bob, I was pretty sure I was going to clam up, and that wouldn't have helped. "You said that stimulating a sense that wasn't touch would work, right? To distract you?"
"I believe so," Bob said slowly, shooting me a puzzled frown. "What do you have in mind?"
"How about a taste test?" I offered, smiling up at him. "I made a grocery run on Saturday with stuff that you haven't had a chance to try out since your return to life."
Bob looked curious now. "Such as?"
"Chocolate." I grinned, letting the syllables roll off my tongue. "Strawberries. Bananas."
"'Not that good' at dirty talk, indeed," Bob chuckled, indulging in a long, slow kiss before pulling back to look into my eyes. "It won't take long to prepare the food, will it?" he asked, kissing my cheek before whispering in my ear. "I seem to be rather hungry at the moment."
I think a couple fuses blew in my brain at that growling whisper. "Not long," I managed.
"Good." Bob pulled away, the absence of his body heat causing me to shiver. "Let's go."
"Oh, no, you don't," I muttered, turning the tables by pushing Bob onto his back. "If you try to help, we'll never get out of the kitchen."
"That's a bad thing?" Bob asked, not looking nearly as innocent as he sounded.
"I'd rather not accidentally flash Murphy if she decides to drop by." I growled.
Bob grinned. "Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
I cleared my throat and kissed him to try to get him to shut up. "I'll be right back. Keep the bed warm."
Bob made a show of stretching his arms and back, snuggling into the flannel sheets with a smile that made him look like a cat that had just been locked in a petshop full of canaries overnight. "I'll try to bear up as best I can."
I cleared my throat, improvised a toga out of the sheet and fled downstairs. I think I broke a speed record getting the food I'd bought ready, because by the time I made it upstairs, Bob looked as though he hadn't moved from where I'd left him.
"And how exactly am I supposed to keep the bed warm if you steal the sheets?" Bob asked, trying to unwrap me while I set the plate of food down on the table next to my bed.
"You're a wizard," I teased, leaning down to kiss him. "You would've thought of something."
Bob hmphed, tugging at the sheet. "It's quite likely I might have set the bed on fire by mistake."
"You?" I kissed him again before I stood up and shrugged off the bedsheet. "Perish the thought."
Bob snorted, glancing at the food.
"See anything you like?" I asked.
Blue-green eyes gave me a once-over that had my face heating up again. "Oh, yes."
I got back into bed, shifting around a bit so that I could reach the food and Bob at the same time.
Bob smirked as he watched me. "Comfortable?"
I snorted. "But of course. Any preferences?" I motioned to the plate. "We've got a selection to choose from."
Bob did that luxurious-looking stretch again, the sheet making it more enticing somehow, like a getting a glimpse of the forbidden as it slipped down his waist. "Surprise me," he murmured, still smiling.
I considered my options and picked out one of the slices of orange. "Have you ever had oranges before?"
Bob shook his head a little, his white hair an interesting contrast against the dark blue of the pillow. "No. I knew of ships that brought them in from the tropics, but by the time they arrived in port, the shipments were usually rotten."
"Now you'll get to try a fresh one," I said, carefully brushing Bob's lower lip with the edge of the orange slice. "Close your eyes, and try to savor it."
Bob raised an eyebrow at me before dutifully closing his eyes and taking a slow bite. His eyes popped open again, looking pleasantly surprised.
"What's it taste like?" I asked. I didn't have much of a chance to eat oranges over the past few years, what with living on a shoestring budget more often than not, but I knew what they tasted like. Being able to watch Bob taste it for the first time, to watch him roll it around his tongue and hum a little, was something that I'd always treasure. He chewed a few times, his eyes slipping closed again as he savored it. He swallowed, and opened his eyes again, this time looking vaguely annoyed.
"Quite good, actually," he said. "Though I admit I am a little disappointed that you haven't started talking dirty to me."
I blinked. "I thought we were going to do the taste test instead?" I held up the half of the orange slice that he hadn't eaten as a reminder.
Bob snorted. "I agreed to the taste test. I didn't say I didn't want to listen to you whisper sweet nothings in my ear."
"Whisper sweet nothings?" I asked incredulously. "Have you met me?"
Bob looked at me for a long moment before laughing out loud. "Why, yes, I believe I have." He gave me another appreciate once-over. "Intimately, in fact."
Just for that, I popped the other half of the orange slice in my mouth and chewed.
"Now, you're just being greedy," Bob said. He reached up and tugged me closer with a hand on my arm, kissing me when I got close enough. It got a bit messy, and there was definitely a tug-of-war going on for the orange slice, but Bob won it by running his fingers down my stomach. When he reached my reawakening erection, he gave me a very firm stroke that had me moaning into his mouth. When we finally broke for air, Bob had a little smirk on his face, chewing what was left of the orange slice before swallowing in a manner that I could only really call victorious.
"Who's being greedy now?" I asked, leaning down to lick the juice on his lips and chin.
Bob hummed contentedly, his hand loosening its grip. Fingers walked up and down the hard flesh, stroking in random spots.
"If you want me to talk dirty," I gasped against his lips, "you're going to have to stop."
Bob seemed to consider this for a moment, and then the tantalizing touch of his skin against mine disappeared. "Talk to me, Harry," he purred.
I shook my head, my brain still fried from the intimate massage. "Dunno what to say."
A hand reached up and touched my face, stroking my cheek. "Say anything, Harry," he murmured. "Or, how about you tell me what you were thinking of when I mentioned being able to have an orgasm without physical stimulation."
I closed my eyes and groaned a little. "Already told you."
Fingers stroked my lips. "Tell me again. Give me details."
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the fact that my face was breaking out into a forest fire yet again, and started talking. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I described how his head was thrown back, how my hands were pinning his hips against the kitchen counter, the way his lips parted just a little, and he was moaning.
"I wanted to bite your neck," I said in a rush. "You gasped a little when I started sucking on it earlier... What would it be like to leave a mark there, for anybody to see?"
Bob stared at me, his eyes glazed over. "I could hide it with a turtleneck," he said in a low voice, looking all too interested in the idea to be serious.
"None of my stuff would fit you," I whispered, leaning down and kissing that spot I'd found before. He made that little gasp again, tensing and squirming a little before his hands found the insides of my thighs and stroked inward. "You can barely wear my old T-shirts as it is." I kissed his collarbone gently. "They show off your chest really well. I almost don't want to buy you new clothes."
Bob gave a low, dark chuckle, the sound thrilling down my spine. "Perhaps I'll only wear them around the house. Maybe when I'm working in the lab, if something might prove especially messy."
I growled, licking at his chin. "Sure, and every time you bend over, I'll have to remind myself that bending you over the lab table is a bad idea."
He made an intrigued noise in his throat. "Oh? There I am, stirring something, and when I have to get the scales from the bottom cabinet, what would you do?"
I licked my suddenly dry lips. "I'd take whatever it was off the heat."
Bob blinked for a moment, and then grinned, his hands laying on top of my thighs and stroking down towards my knees. "That's very commendable, Harry. I'm sure that I and my imaginary project thank you. What next?"
"When you stood back up with the scales in your hands, I'd set them down on one corner of the table, and kiss you."
Bob shifted a little where he lay. "Light and teasing?"
"Since when have I ever been that subtle?" I growled. "I'd kiss you deeply, take my time. Undo the fly on the jeans you were wearing, because you keep wearing my jeans."
"Indeed, I do," Bob murmured. "The denim is worn enough to feel wonderful against my skin, and some of them have tears in such interesting places. What would you do next?"
"I pull the jeans down, try to get the underwear at the same time."
Bob smirked. "I don't wear underwear."
I blinked, and then I coughed. "That's just not fair."
"Oh?" Bob looked surprised. "How so?"
"Now every time I look at you, I'm going to know that you're not wearing any underwear."
"Is that so terrible?" Bob purred, trailing his fingers along the inside of my thighs again teasingly.
"Brain melting," I managed.
"Ah, of course." He busied himself with reaching over with one hand and plucking another orange slice from the plate. "What else?"
"Where was I?" I asked.
"Easing my jeans down and discovering that I don't wear underwear." Bob grinned. He nibbled on one end of the slice of orange. My brain blew a couple fuses.
"I'd get the jeans out of the way, and touch you." I did a bit of touching my own this time, stroking up his leg until I met the wiry curls around his erection. His eyes slowly blinked for a second, his lips parting. I held my breath. "Too much?"
Bob shook his head. "Keep going," he whispered.
I took the orange from him and traced it along his lips as my other hand continued getting closer and closer to his erection. "You'd have goosebumps from the lab. I'd feel them on your hips where I touched you. You'd feel so warm against my skin."
Bob closed his eyes and took a bite out of the orange. "What then?"
"I'd take you in hand then," I said, slowly matching actions to words and wrapping my hand around him, and squeezing just a little. He gasped for a moment before moaning loudly. "You'd look so tempting, your lips red from the kissing." I squeezed again, and he moaned again. "I'd pin you against the lab table to make sure you didn't move, because I wouldn't want to just touch you. I'd want to taste you."
Bob growled low in his throat, and when I offered the orange to him again, he not only took the rest of the slice, he sucked on the tips of my fingers.
I growled back, leaning in close to his ear. "I've wanted to see you like this for such a long time," I whispered, too dazed from watching Bob to feel embarrassed. "I love going down on women, men, anybody. To know that I'm making them moan and gasp and squirm with just my mouth. Feeling their skin against my lips." I squeezed his erection again, stroking my hand up and down without realizing it. "Holding them still while they twisted underneath me, tasting them in my mouth, smelling them." I inhaled sharply, smelling Bob's scent and his desire.
That's when Bob came.
He threw back his head, half-shouting, half-gasping, his hair bright against the pillow. His eyes squeezed shut as though he were in pain, but he breathed in deeply through his mouth, his lips flushed. He shuddered once, muscles tensing as he came until finally, he sank back onto the bed, looking like he was ready to melt into a puddle of goo if I let him. He panted a few times before he got his breath back, and when he did, his lips stretched into a contented smirk.
I grinned. I couldn't help it, really. Here Bob was, having had his first orgasm in nearly nine hundred years, and I'd done it. I'd made him look like that. I hadn't gotten a chance to go down on him, but we'd have to desensitize his sense of touch first. And then I'd be able to take my time.
I started licking my hand without thinking about it. Hell's bells, I didn't realize I was doing it until Bob opened his eyes and stared at my mouth.
Then he growled, and kissed me, long and deep. Before I knew it, his hand was wrapped around my erection, and he was jerking me off again. Given how turned on I was after having watched Bob shout through an orgasm, it didn't take long for me to finish off, Bob kissing away my air as I did so.
Bob took over, pulling me back into bed and drawing the sheets up around us before resting his head against my shoulder and wrapping an arm around my waist. I looked down at him, a bit bemused.
"Comfy?" I asked.
"Mmm, definitely," Bob said with a hum. There was a little smile on his face that made my chest tighten a little.
I shifted around until I could wrap an arm around his shoulders and stroke his back. "I didn't realize that wizards doubled as pillows."
Bob snorted a little, stirring the hair on my chest. "Of course we do. How else would we be able to have children?"
Under my hand, I could feel the waxy burn over Bob's shoulderblade, the soft skin of his back. It was kind of amazing really. I had never thought that I'd be able to do this -- have Bob in my bed, content from an orgasm, using me as his personal body pillow. He slid a leg over mine, twining his ankle around it just so, and snuggling into my shoulder.
It felt... good. Like the universe had finally paid me back for all the times it had beaten me up, torn me down, and left me feeling angry and alone.
"Harry."
"Yeah?" I asked, kissing his hair.
"As much as it surprises me to say this, you're thinking too much," Bob murmured, a yawn interrupting the last word. "Go to sleep."
"Is that an order?" I asked, unable to resist teasing him a little.
"More like a friendly suggestion." He lifted his head to look me in the eye, smiling a little. "It wouldn't do for you to fall asleep while I'm having my way with you."
I frowned, a little fuzzy from the orgasm. "When're you doing this?"
"As soon as I wake up again." He smirked, kissing my cheek. He settled back down against me, laying his head on my shoulder, and after a few minutes, went to sleep.
After thinking a bit more about my good fortune, and trying not to think of when the other shoe was going to drop, and how hard, I followed him.
After all, I didn't want to disappoint him.
END
***
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For any interested in rereading, here are the links to the previous three parts.
Part One.
Part Two.
Part Three.
This way to the prequel, Plain Sight.
This marks the end of the Forged Series. The next series, wherein Harry and Bob deal with dragons and real life, is currently untitled, but with any luck, it will be coming soon!
And if you're just plain lost, this way to the table of contents.
