Chapter Text
It was the grand opening of his new hotel, and John Marcone was busy holding court over some of his admirers when he saw him. He tightened his hold on his wine glass, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second before he replaced it with a smile, and calmly excused himself from the crowd.
Hendricks stepped in his way a moment later. “Do you want me to kick him out?” he asked.
John sighed and glanced at him, knowing that Hendricks was afraid he was going to make a scene. Twenty years of holding onto his temper, and Hendricks still didn’t trust him not to lose it the way he had when they were young. “I merely wish to speak to him,” he said. “I certainly don’t remember sending him an invitation.”
“An invitation was sent to Lara Raith, at Gard’s recommendation,” Hendricks told him.
“Ah,” John said. Gard would help him manage politics for the more magically inclined, and he’d never second guess her judgement. But this was far from ideal. “I thought Lara Raith had thrown him out in the street.”
John Marcone rarely gave into his emotions enough to despise someone as much as he despised Thomas Raith. It was why Hendricks was concerned enough to stand in his way.
"He doesn’t seem like he’s here for trouble,” Hendrick’s pointed out.
“He’s here with a woman,” John sneered.
Hendricks gently took his wine from him, and set it on a passing waiter’s tray, before he ended up closing his fist tight enough to break the glass. “I’ll have him removed,” he said.
“If he’s here as Lara Raith’s emissary, we can’t,” John admitted, knowing it was true. Instead, he moved to step around him. “I just wish to speak with him.”
The woman that Thomas Raith had on his arm this time was undeniably exceptional, he could admit. She was certainly more striking than the vapid, overly made-up women that his surveillance often caught Raith with. She was a few inches taller than Raith, though some of that was her heels, and she wore a close fitting purple dress, with silver shimmering on its surface, and a slit that went from the leg almost to the waist. She had short brown hair, feathered around her face, and striking features despite wearing hardly any makeup.
She seemed infinitely too good for the vampire.
“Good evening,” John said, keeping his voice pleasant. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Mr. Raith.”
“Marcone,” Raith said, unable to entirely keep the dislike from his own voice.
His date was staring at him with wide, anxious eyes—apparently well aware that he was more than just a simple hotel owner and philanthropist. John tried not to feel guilt at her concern. “I certainly would have expected that you would bring Harry, if you did,” he continued.
Raith’s date choked, turning away to have a small coughing fit, and both Raith and John glanced at her in concern. She waved them off, shaking her head.
“I’m here as a favor to my sister,” Thomas said, with an emphasis that didn’t entirely make sense, and caused his date to narrow her eyes at him.
“And does your lovely date know who you really are?” John asked calmly, wondering how much he should intervene. Just because the lovely young woman recognized him, didn’t mean she knew of White Court vampires. Harry trusted this vampire, for some reason, but John was nowhere near as trusting.
Raith’s date laughed, more of a strained giggle than anything else, and leaned up against Raith in her mirth. “You really have earned the name Gentleman, haven’t you, scumbag?” she asked, and then met his eyes directly.
And he knew those eyes—he knew them as well as he knew his own.
“Dresden?” he said incredulously.
Harry gave a little finger wave, which was far too impertinent to belong to anyone else.
John’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he heard Hendrick’s curse behind him. “Who did this to you?” John demanded.
“My faerie godmother.” Harry grinned, with his same well-known mischievous grin, that somehow looked even more concerning on the slightly more delicate features. “Don't worry, I'll be back to myself at the stroke of midnight.”
Raith had made him angry, but no one had ever been able to rile him up the way Dresden could. He let out a breath, trying to control himself. “This is not joking matter, Dresden,” he said tensely, and then glared at Raith when he let out a strangled laugh.
“It’s my own fault, I went to her for a disguise and wasn’t specific enough,” Harry said, sighing heavily.
“A disguise,” John echoed. “I suppose it was too much to hope for that you were here for the hors d'oeuvre?”
“I’ve already sampled them all,” Harry admitted, “but no.”
“Then would you mind telling me what’s going on? Preferably before I have to cash in on my fire insurance on my opening night,” he said.
“You burn down one building,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.
“I thought the purpose of the disguise was so that we wouldn’t have to deal with this,” Thomas said, his voice low and irritated, but not so quiet that John couldn’t hear him perfectly well.
Harry snorted, tugging himself away from Thomas. “As if I would get all dressed up like this for him.”
“Well,” Raith said, reaching out to recapture Harry’s arm and pulling him back. “We’ll see you around, Marcone.”
John was not fond of the way Harry docilely let Raith lead him away, but he was prevented from following by Hendricks standing again in his way. “I want to know where he is at all times.”
“Raith?” Hendricks asked.
“Dresden,” John clarified.
“Right,” Hendricks said, looking long-suffering, but immediately sending out a text to their team.
“And do we still have a way to contact Kincaid?” John asked.
“You can't kill Raith,” Hendricks said immediately.
“No,” John agreed. “But Kincaid could.”
Hendricks gave him another, even more long-suffering look. “He's not even cheating on him, that’s…Dresden, somehow, I guess.”
“He has before,” John reminded sharply. “Too many numerous times to keep track.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him, boss,” Hendricks promised, and John let it go.
But it was only a half hour later when both Raith and Harry disappeared.
“They turned a corner, and then they were gone,” Hendricks said. “Has to be some of Dresden’s hocus pocus.”
“Certainly,” John agreed. “They weren’t here tonight because of me. Something else is going on. I want him found.”
“Got it, boss,” he said, before heading off towards Gard for her assistance.
He shouldn’t have worried so much, however, as Harry Dresden never went unnoticed for long, whatever his disguise. Within five minutes a loud explosion from the kitchens had them evacuating the entire hotel. John managed to push against the flow of the crowd, slamming into the kitchen just in time to see Raith disappearing out the back door.
Harry, on the other hand, was standing near a smoking kitchen stove, covered head to toe in some kind of gelatinous blue substance. He reached up, pushing the soaked bangs out of his eyes and blowing upwards like it might help.
John had to actually take a moment to get his composure, so he didn’t ruin his reputation with a laugh. He crossed his arms. “Your date seems to have abandoned you at the scene of the crime.”
“Oh, this?” Harry asked, looking up with wide, almost comically innocent eyes, considering. “This wasn’t me.”
“You’re just a bystander, I’m sure,” John agreed.
“I mean, if it was me, though, you’d owe me thanks, probably, because it could have caused a lot of trouble for you tonight,” Harry continued.
“As oppose to you, and the trouble you’ve managed,” John said patiently. He shook his head, and then stepped around some fallen pans to reach Dresden.
“Don’t touch me,” Harry said, as he frantically backed up.
John narrowed his eyes. “Is it poisonous?” he demanded, glancing around to see if there was a nearby hose.
“No, not exactly, but, uh, you don’t want it on you,” Harry winced, shaking some goo free from his fingers. “Ugh.”
“I see. I’ll have Gard arrange clean up carefully,” John said, mentally cursing Raith, for having left him in this state. Perhaps he could reach out to Kincaid personally, if only he could find where Hendricks kept his contacts. “Would you mind elaborating what it was?”
“It was an Erotes,” Dresden said, trying to wipe some goo on his already saturated dress. “Don’t worry, they’re nothing like the mythological Erotes, I didn’t just blast some cute flying baby. It was hundreds of years old and blue. With three sets of teeth.”
“I see,” John said again, though he didn’t suppose that cleared things up at all. But he didn’t need to interrogate Dresden over something like this, he was unlikely to be cooperative and he could have a full report on his desk from Gard by morning anyway.
“You happened to open your hotel on a very weak barrier to the NeverNever, did you know that?” he asked. “I’m surprised Gard didn’t stop you.”
Gard had, in fact, recommended the location. John’s goal was not so much to run a successful hotel, as it was to control this area and keep it from getting worse. But Harry may or may not believe that, and it wasn’t worth the argument—not when he didn’t know what that substance might be doing to him, in the meantime.
He pulled a keycard from his jacket pocket, and flashed it in front of Harry’s eyes. “I do have the Royal Suite, if you’d like to get cleaned up.” Harry reached for the keycard, and John pulled it back and spun on his heel, leading the way back towards the elevators. “Do my elevators still work?”
“Fifty fifty chance,” Harry grumbled, but followed him.
He stumbled and nearly fell three times on the way to the room, but at least the elevators held out. John had to resist the urge to catch him, but Harry warned him off each time. “I’m fine, really,” he said, though he disappeared into the bathroom the moment the door was open.
John should leave him and go check on the evacuation, but he knew Hendricks would have it well in hand. He didn’t want to leave Harry alone, like Raith apparently had, without a second thought. Perhaps Raith had known he’d be far more forgiving of Harry than of him, but it was still no excuse for fleeing as he had.
Harry emerged a moment later, clean but soaking wet, and still in the dress.
“We do supply all our rooms with Egyptian cotton robes,” John offered wryly.
Harry’s skin was littered with goosebumps, and he could tell he was trying not to show any shivers. “I just wore the dress in the shower,” he said, and shrugged. “Who has the money for dry-cleaning, anyway? And this is my only dress, you know.”
“I could have five more in your size here in the next fifteen minutes,” John offered.
“How do you know my size? I don’t even know my size,” Harry snorted. “I’ve only been this size for like four hours, and I won’t be this size much longer, assuming Lea’s good mood holds.”
John filed the name away for reference, but didn’t bother to ask a question that would just clam Harry up. “Are you sure you have no ill effects?” he asked. “You barely managed to walk here.”
Harry blushed bright red for some reason, and glanced away. “It’stheheels—“
John frowned. “Pardon?”
Harry huffed out an irritated sigh. “It’s these monstrosities Thomas put on my feet!” he said, shaking them resentfully from where they dangled from his hand. Then he pursed his lips in the same adorably confused way he always did as a man. "I don’t even know how to put them back on. There’s no way this many straps were necessary.”
Harry leaned down to try and put one of the shoes, and as if proving his point, fell right to the floor without managing to get it on. John rushed forward, immediately helping him sit up. “Are you going to tell me what that did you now?” he asked sharply, wondering how he could delay Harry from leaving until he knew what they were dealing with. He didn’t know how he would stop him if he didn’t want to tell him, but he didn’t like the idea of him on the streets alone in this state.
“It was an aphrodisiac,” Harry admitted. “That’s why Thomas ran off, aphrodisiacs and White Court vampires aren’t a great mix.”
John tightened his grip on Harry’s arm. “Did he hurt you?” he demanded.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I meant what I said, this is nothing life threatening, and it leaves you sound of mind. Erotes are just a nuisance, but it's gonna be extremely uncomfortable if I don't do something about it, and I'm not in the mood to deal with that. Besides, I figure this is a once and a lifetime chance to take this body for a test drive." He frowned thoughtfully. “Well, at least I hope it is.”
It took a moment for what Harry was saying to sink in. “You don’t do one night stands,” he finally said, his voice stiff.
“God, you're such a stalker, Marcone,” Harry said, though it sounded almost fond, as he pulled his arm free and went back to struggling with the shoes. "I don't normally, no. But I also don’t—“ Harry trailed off. “Well, let's just say I'd like to sleep sometime in the next twenty four hours, so I'm gonna make an exception.”
"If it’s just a matter of…scratching an itch,” he said, “perhaps you needn’t go so far. If you wanted to stay here, you wouldn’t need to deal with those shoes.”
Harry froze, his eyes widening as he looked up in surprise. “Oh,” he said. “Um, you know the girl parts are temporary, right?”
"I certainly hope so,” John agreed, he’d miss his Harry Dresden as he was if they weren’t, no matter how often Harry might say he’s not his. “But you’re still you.”
“I didn’t know that was a factor in my favor,” Harry said, eyes still wide as deer in the middle of a traffic.
“Harry, certainly you know that I respect you,” John said, wondering how he still didn’t seem to realize it. “Would you really rather have some stranger than me? I can get you an escort, someone safe, if you insist,” he offered, as painful as it was to do, his people were the best in the business and he could trust them at least. "But don't expect me to just let you walk out of here in this state—“
"And how, exactly, would you stop me?” Harry asked, smiling slyly over at him.
John settled on his knees beside him. “I know I can’t win a fight, and bribery doesn’t work on you,” he admitted. “So I suppose I'd have to try my hand at begging.”
"Oh,” Harry said again, this time more breathless than the last, listing forward until their lips brushed.
John did not, it turned out, have to beg, as Harry fell against him and kissed him deeply. “What about Raith?” John asked, as he pulled away for a breath. He didn’t particularly care about Raith, but despite Harry’s assurances he worried the wizard’s judgement may be impaired, and he didn’t want him to do something he might regret.
"What?” Harry asked, looking bewildered. “Oh. Um. We’re not exclusive.”
“Really,” John said curiously, wondering if perhaps all of Raith’s philandering might have been pre-approved after all. “I very much am.”
Harry went still, pulling away. “This is a one time deal, Marcone,” he said. “No strings. Take it or leave it. I’m sure I can find someone else. I’m not the prettiest girl, I know, but I’m still a girl at the moment. How hard could it be?”
John didn’t want to agree to those terms, but he knew they were likely as good as he would ever get. “I can do no strings,” he promised. This might hurt him, but he’d long since stopped trying to tie Harry to him, and he certainly wouldn’t use this to do it.
"Okay. Okay, good,” Harry said, before sliding into his lap. He was soaking wet, but John didn’t care. “It’s weird being this short.”
“You're the same height as me,” John said.
Harry flashed a grin. “I said what I said.”
“Hmm,” John said. “If you can still smart off, I’m not doing my job.”
Then he neatly flipped them, bracketing Harry beneath him, and kissed him until all he could do was moan.
- - - - -
Harry Dresden had never had to take the walk of shame home, but sneaking out the hotel room at quarter to midnight, holding his shoes—he still couldn’t figure them out, damn it, Thomas—left little to the imagination of what he’d been up to. He’d barely managed to sneak out of the hotel with Hendricks seeing him, though maybe he should have asked for a ride home, considering how little time he had left.
He even decided to risk a cab, because though his godmother wasn’t actually coming at midnight—specifically, she said she would return him to himself at the witching hour—he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of the street wearing this dress in his own body.
It was bad enough in this body, considering the leer he had to endure from the cab driver the entire way home.
There was nothing he wanted more than to just collapse into bed, but he was barely in his apartment when he heard the obscene moaning coming from Thomas and his latest conquest from his bedroom. “I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered, dropping the shoes and then stumbling forward to collapse face first onto the couch.
He woke a couple hours later, at the witching hour he assumed, with Mister asleep on his butt and his godmother brushing back his hair.
“Hello, godson,” Lea said.
He fought the urge to pull away, mostly so he wouldn’t disturb Mister—but apparently the small twitch was enough to upset him, as he grumbled at him and then dived off the couch. Harry pushed himself up, and waved over at her. “Can you do your thing? I’m so done with the breasts. It’s messing with my sense of balance.”
Lea flashed a beautiful smile, and shook her head. “If you wanted to be returned as you were, you should have been more careful, my godson, I’m afraid you’ll be this way for awhile longer yet.”
Harry went still. “What?” he said. “What are you talking about? You said the witching hour, Lea. You said you’d turn me back.”
“And I would have,” she agreed, reaching up to brush his hair back again. “But what kind of godmother would I be, if I were to harm my little god-grandchild to be?”
"What? No,” Harry said, going white as a sheet. “No, Lea. Undo it, Lea—“
Lea just leaned forward calmly and kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you in nine months, my dear,” she promised, and then disappeared.