akelios

Fandom: DF
Pairing: Marcone/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Kinks: fast/kind of rough sex in an alley, a little begging, sex in a public place, a little blood, thoughts of knife play
Notes: fill for this on the meme
Also available at LJ and AO3

The sounds of the street seemed far away, as though they came to us from another world. The low murmur of voices, the rush of tires over rain slick pavement, horns, distant sirens all blending together to make the sounds of the city, the throbbing pulse of Chicago's life.

But here, in the alley, there was just the two of us and the sounds we cast into the night. The slap of his hands as Harry hit the brick wall, the near living sound of leather sliding over cloth and skin as I yanked at the collar of his coat, pulling it back and off of him. The snap of the button of his jeans and then the rasp of the zipper as he pulled it down with a trembling hand, his cheek scraping over the brick beneath it.

Pants around his knees he turned back to the wall, braced himself against it and canted his hips back, spread his legs as far as he could. I stepped forward, flicking my own fly open before I took hold of his hips, the skin pulsing hot beneath my palms. The lights from the police cars in the street barely washed over us, too far away to light our position reliably. They did manage to paint his sunless, pale skin in alternating shades of red and blue. Fire and ice, life and death, over and over again. His muscles tensed beneath my hands and Harry shot me a poisonous look over one shoulder.

“Come on!”

I smiled at him in the dimly lit shadows and speared him with two fingers, quick and rough. Harry muffled his cry, biting his own arm hard enough that I could smell the faintest hint of blood. He was tight but slick enough, even if it was only barely. I spread him open, pulled my fingers from him and then pressed against him, the rough fabric of my slacks scratching against the backs of his bare thighs as I drove into him.

Harry made another muffled, pleased and pleading sound even as I swallowed my own cry. He was tight, so very tight and hotter than anything. His body gripped me, drew me in. I grit my teeth and dug my fingers into his hips, making bruises. I wanted to leave my mark on him, again and again, because they always faded. I fucked him, his hands scraping and scratching over the rough bricks, our breathing hard, deafeningly loud in the alley and the shadows between us.

I fucked him and imagined pulling out the butterfly knife I kept tucked in a sheath on my belt, snapping it open and carving my name, my real name, into his flesh in a neat line beside his spine. Tiny, perfect little letters, marking him as mine, where no one else should ever be looking. Where they would see it and know that they were trespassing if they did. I scraped my nails over the sharp ridges of his hips and slammed into him harder, faster. We'd been gone too long already. The voices that had been distant were slowly growing louder, even through the haze of lust and the sound of my body slamming into his.

Harry smacked his hands into the wall and growled out a babble of rough voiced pleas. fastergodjohnfucktakemehardersonofabitch.

“Has anyone seen Dresden?” Sergeant Murphy's voice rose over the other sounds. Harry whined, shuddered and came, dragging me over the edge with him. “Harry?” She sounded closer.

I pulled away, out of him, the friction an unpleasant burn. Harry cursed as I pulled free, but he was already fumbling with his jeans, yanking them up and closed. I wiped myself off perfunctorily, stuffing the handkerchief into an inner pocket as I bent to pick up Dresden's coat. He jerked it out of my hands and shrugged into it a second before Sergeant Murphy came into view.

“Hey Murph!” He sounded out of breath, shaky. I tugged at the front of my jacket, as though I were settling it back into place. Sergeant Murphy came closer, her eyes narrowed and one hand near her weapon.

“Harry. Everything okay back here?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Just working out a little business with Marcone. It's fine.”

Her face lost none of it's suspicious cast as she turned to look at me.

“Mr. Marcone?”

“Harry,” I drew his name out, made it a mocking caress, “was impressing on me the need for cooperation with your investigation. I am of course always happy to help CPD.”

Sergeant Murphy looked back and forth between us, then shook her head and turned to walk away.

“Whatever. Just don't start throwing punches at my crime scene. Got it?”