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moonlettuceTitle: Hands Free
Author: Claire
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Pairing: Dresden/Marcone
Rating: PG
Word Count: 422
Summary: The worst thing about being dead, Bob believes, is the entire lack of hands.
Notes: Written for Day 01 of![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mmom.
Hands Free
The worst thing about being dead, Bob believes, is the entire lack of hands. Partly because it means he can't just pick up a pen and write down whatever thoughts come to mind and partly because he always found that having hands was an extreme useful thing when it came to weighing ingredients and mixing potions. But mainly, if he's being completely honest with himself, it's because the entire lack of hands is a major hindrance to the ability of wrapping your fingers around yourself and spending the afternoon floating in a haze of pleasure. Especially on days like today.
There have been bangs and moans and the occasional fuck, yes, John-- coming from upstairs for what seems like hours now, and while Bob's all for Harry finally getting laid (it got so bad after the entire situation with Susan that Bob had debated on buying Harry and his right hand a wedding card) he wishes they'd either go to some sort of seedy motel out of his earshot, or at least have the decency to fuck in front of him and give him a real show. Not that that would help with the entire lack of hands thing, but the visual might at least make the situation a little more bearable.
A loud thump and twin yells signal the end of this round and Bob assumes they'll go straight onto the next one until there's silence before he hears footsteps above him and soft clattering coming from the kitchen. So, it sounds as if he's got at least fifteen minutes of peace, then. Enough time for Harry to make one of those ridiculous triple decker chicken sandwiches he's started eating.
In fact, Bob's sure that the reason Harry's been eating more than take-out and junk food is Marcone's influence, as well. Which that means he's got two things to thank the Mob boss for, that he's given Harry a sex life and a better diet-- And he's apparently giving Harry both of them right now, if the sounds Bob's hearing coming from the kitchen are anything to go by. And that's it, he's never letting Harry put his skull on that kitchen table ever again. At least, not unless he sees Harry thoroughly disinfect the thing first.
Oh god, John, fuck, harder--
Bob groans to himself, cursing the death that led to the entire lack of hands situation even harder now. After all, with no fingers to put in his ears, it's going to be a long, long day.
Author: Claire
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Pairing: Dresden/Marcone
Rating: PG
Word Count: 422
Summary: The worst thing about being dead, Bob believes, is the entire lack of hands.
Notes: Written for Day 01 of
mmom.Hands Free
The worst thing about being dead, Bob believes, is the entire lack of hands. Partly because it means he can't just pick up a pen and write down whatever thoughts come to mind and partly because he always found that having hands was an extreme useful thing when it came to weighing ingredients and mixing potions. But mainly, if he's being completely honest with himself, it's because the entire lack of hands is a major hindrance to the ability of wrapping your fingers around yourself and spending the afternoon floating in a haze of pleasure. Especially on days like today.
There have been bangs and moans and the occasional fuck, yes, John-- coming from upstairs for what seems like hours now, and while Bob's all for Harry finally getting laid (it got so bad after the entire situation with Susan that Bob had debated on buying Harry and his right hand a wedding card) he wishes they'd either go to some sort of seedy motel out of his earshot, or at least have the decency to fuck in front of him and give him a real show. Not that that would help with the entire lack of hands thing, but the visual might at least make the situation a little more bearable.
A loud thump and twin yells signal the end of this round and Bob assumes they'll go straight onto the next one until there's silence before he hears footsteps above him and soft clattering coming from the kitchen. So, it sounds as if he's got at least fifteen minutes of peace, then. Enough time for Harry to make one of those ridiculous triple decker chicken sandwiches he's started eating.
In fact, Bob's sure that the reason Harry's been eating more than take-out and junk food is Marcone's influence, as well. Which that means he's got two things to thank the Mob boss for, that he's given Harry a sex life and a better diet-- And he's apparently giving Harry both of them right now, if the sounds Bob's hearing coming from the kitchen are anything to go by. And that's it, he's never letting Harry put his skull on that kitchen table ever again. At least, not unless he sees Harry thoroughly disinfect the thing first.
Oh god, John, fuck, harder--
Bob groans to himself, cursing the death that led to the entire lack of hands situation even harder now. After all, with no fingers to put in his ears, it's going to be a long, long day.
