“Stop it.” I pulled my gaze up from the crime scene report to look at Murphy. She was sitting forward in her chair, one elbow leaning on her desk, her other hand reaching for my arm. I scratched at my shoulder-blade again, awkwardly, and then brought my hand up when she gave me the look of death.
“I have an itch.”
“You've been scratching it for fifteen minutes, Harry. That's not an itch. That's a pathology.” I frowned. Had I really been scratching...well, the spot between my shoulder blades had started to itch while I was driving here, and I'd been unable to ignore it once I made it upstairs into S.I. I'd started scratching at it while I waited for Murphy and I just never stopped. “How long has it been bugging you?”
“It's really annoying. I've been itchy for a few days now, I guess.” Murph shook her head and rose from her chair, coming around the desk to stand behind me.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Buy me dinner first, at least. Sheesh. Romance really is dead.” Murphy glared at me and tugged at the collar of my shirt. I leaned forward in the chair and pulled it off over my head. Murphy set one small, warm hand against my shoulder and pushed gently, easing me forward a little more. “So? Am I turning into a giant cockroach?” Murphy snorted.
“Hardly.” She let go and stepped back. “The skins a little red, probably from some weirdo scratching at it half the day. It looks sort of dried out too.” Small fingers brushed across the itchy skin, a ticklish feeling. I jumped a little, surprised at how it felt. It was almost like I could feel her fingers everywhere at once. Intense, but the sensation faded quickly. “Yeah. Definitely dry. But it doesn't look like a rash or anything.” She headed back to her own chair. “If it keeps up, you should see Butters about it. Maybe you're developing an allergy to something.”
“I'm going to-” I dropped the little doggy bag of leftovers as Kincaid kicked my door shut behind him, one hell of a feat by itself and tackled me into the couch. In between helping Kincaid yank our shirts off and trying to swallow his tongue, I saw Mouse appear from the kitchen alcove, roll his eyes at us and pick up the doggy bag. I lost track of him after that, but if I had to guess, I'd say he took the food into my bedroom and shut the door. It's what he usually did.
I dug my fingers into Kincaid's shoulders and bit at his jaw, his throat. He growled at me, the sound going straight for my gut. I ground up, our hips digging into each other, leaving bruises. Kincaid drove down for my throat, his white teeth flashing in the firelight and I took the opportunity to twist and flip, rolling us off the couch.
We landed with a thud and a grunt. Kincaid, beneath me, laughed and grabbed at my hips, his fingers sliding along the waistband of my jeans until he found the fly. The button popped open with a loud snap and then Kincaid wormed his hand in between us, the angle terrible so that every touch could only be a tease. If I'd given him a little room, it would have been better, but with the heat that radiated off of him, the muscles beneath my hands, skin slick with sweat, smelling so good I could hardly think, I couldn't given him room to save my life.
My mouth found the sharp line of his collarbone and I followed it, licking along it to place a gentle kiss on the firm round of muscle at his shoulder. Kincaid managed to get his hand around me, firm, sliding along with a ghostly touch until he squeezed, hard enough to make me thrust down and bite at the flesh beneath my lips.
We twisted, fought, rolling around on the floor like idiots until we were both naked in front of the fire, heat rolling over us, dripping sweat, our skin glowing golden as we ground against each other. Pressure built in a spiraling cascade that tangled up my spine, made my skin tingle as if it was going to fly off of my body and I wrapped my hand around us, soft skin brushing against soft skin, pulling gently, catching, sending sparks of lightning through me.
Kincaid's fingers dug into the tops of my thighs and he sank his teeth into the side of my neck. I shouted, though it came out more like a breathless gasp of a moan and came, the tidal wave of pressure, of pleasure, bursting from me, my vision going red.
In the middle of it all, liquid spilling out of me, scorching hot and melting my last few brain cells, something happened. Not all of the pressure spilled between us. A sharp, rending pain that was in no way dulled by my orgasm slashed through my upper back, my shoulders bowing out, a hot, thick fluid coating my back, running down my body.
“Holy shit.” Kincaid's voice muttered in my ear as I fought to push myself up on shaking arms, the pain dying down to dull throbbing. I felt heavy. Something soft and leathery slid along my back, dropped down to either side of me and I jumped, startled. “Nice.” Kincaid's voice went deep, gravely. He reached up a hand and touched the leading edge of the thing.
I felt his touch. It was like someone running their hand over the inside of my arm, or my leg; someplace soft and sensitive where touch was a signal of intimacy.
“Stop that. What the hell is going on?” I shoved up from Kincaid and the muscles in my back pulled; more muscles, muscles I didn't have two minutes ago fluttering weakly. The things hanging off my back made abortive flapping movements, dragging me back down.
I propped myself up enough to glare at him. I shoved the dull pulse of pleasure that rolled through me at the feel of Kincaid, still hard and leaking, trapped between our bodies, away and focused.
“I already went through puberty, Kincaid. It did not involve...things coming out of my back. It's a curse. Got to be.” Kincaid shook his head and grabbed at the black thing I could just see out of the corner of my eye.
“It's not a curse, denial boy. You'd have noticed that, what with the black magic and all. They're wings, Dresden. Dragon wings, to be precise. Which come in around puberty for dragons. Thus...”
“I'm not a dragon.”
“Nope.” He did something with his fingers along what felt like a joint and the...wing twitched, spreading. They were moving easier now. Drying. Hells bells. Wings. I turned my head to look.
They resembled bat wings, only more heavily built. The membranes between the bones didn't look as though they would tear in a heavy wind. They were dark brown, mottled with faint black spots, small patches of dirty gray fuzz appearing here and there.
“You're not a dragon, but someone in the family tree was. Recessive gene, heavy interbreeding with pure humans, blah, blah. You really want to talk about the science here?”
“Not particularly, no.” I managed to get myself into a crouched, kneeling position, half-sitting on Kincaid's thighs. With a little concentration of thought I moved the wings back and forth, a lifeless breeze kicking up in their wake. Holy hell. Wings. Really. “This is not good. Not good at all.”
“I like it.” Kincaid swirled his fingers in the mess I'd left on his stomach and took his erection in hand, slicking himself up further with my seed. I felt an interested throb in my stomach and my cock twitched.
“So I see. These are gonna make it hard to move around town though. Dammit. I do not believe this.”
“Eh.” He traced a sticky finger over a large vein in one wing. I jerked the limb back, staring at him. “You can make them go away, you know. Dragons don't go around with wings all the time. Highly visible, makes it easy for the angry villagers to target you.”
“And how, exactly, do I make the wings go poof?” Kincaid grinned. He squirmed and I shifted my weight off of him, letting him slide out from beneath me.
“Just relax and let Dr. Kincaid help you out.” I shot him a look over my shoulder. Or I tried anyway. The freaking wings got in the way.
At his urging I laid flat on the floor, my arms pillowing my head. Fingers whispered up along my back, tracing invisible patterns over my skin. Kincaid pressed in carefully around my spine, places that had grown tense without me really registering it. By the time he had made his way up to my shoulders, to where the wings joined the rest of my body I was limp and nearly drifting, the heat from the fire, the feeling of his body against mine and the skill of his hands all combining to make me nearly sleepy with pleasure.
The first touch of his fingers at the base of the wings sent a renewed stab of pleasure through me. It was different from the touch of skin against skin. It was both more and less, as though the flesh there was sensitive in an entirely new way. My muscles trembled and the wings flexed without thought, fanning wide and then rising to envelop Kincaid where he knelt.
He took a second to run his hands over the membranes of the wings. I moaned, happy, and slowly grew hard, lengthening where I was pinned between my own stomach and the soft rug beneath me.
“Scales. Right there, where the major joints for the wings are. It's just a small patch, really. But beautiful. Black, but the kind of black that's made up of colors.” He leaned forward and licked between my shoulders, over that strange new flesh. It made me buck up, coming half-way up to my hands and knees. Kincaid slid backwards to kneel behind me. “Remember Harry, just go with it.”
He moved, unseen behind the screen of my wings and then he was spreading me wide, holding me open with both hands. I flexed my muscles, a challenge, an invitation. Kincaid chuckled and then his mouth was on me, a wet, open kiss that made me jump a little, stifling the urge to giggle. I wasn't ever going to get used to that.
The strong wet glide of his tongue over me, swirling around the tight edges, teasing my hole until I wanted to scream, to shove backwards and make him damn well do something. Kincaid chose that moment to pull me open further, drive his tongue into me like a spear. It always felt so strange, but so very, very good, just big enough to make me feel it, but moving, perfectly sensual in a way that nothing else was.
I fumbled at my own aching cock, stroking in time with the pulses and twists of Kincaid's tongue hollowing me out. When he pulled back, another wet kiss against me, it felt like he'd sucked my spine out, but I somehow managed to stay upright. I knew what was coming and I clamped carefully down on my arousal, holding myself back.
Slick, heavy sounds behind me and then Kincaid was pushing in, the broad arrow shaped head breaching me, peeling back layers of my body, massaging away the last few flickers of tension. He slid in easily, like he was always meant to fit inside of me and I dropped my head, the angle changing, making it deeper, sharper.
Hands gripped the top of my wings again, stroking the strong lines of bone and muscle. Kincaid started to pull out and I shoved back at him, taking the few inches he'd stolen from me. He snarled and gripped my wings at the base, drawing out of me and then gliding back in, his hips slapping against me. The sound of flesh against flesh rose over everything else, the crackle of the fire, our gasps and moans, everything, until it became like my heartbeat, heard so deeply that I could feel it.
Kincaid came with a growl, his fingers digging into the base of the wings. His hands pulsed on my wings, squeezing and releasing with gentle insistence and it throbbed through me. I took one more shaking breath and then everything came spilling out of me in a long, gentle wave.
I dimly registered a tingle of magic as Kincaid slipped out of me. His hands ran down my back, over where the wings had been and there was nothing but skin there. They'd vanished without so much as a twinge. I rolled over and pulled him down to me with a gentle grip on the back of his neck. He let himself be pulled.
“Told you I'd take care of it.”
“Mm. What about if they come back?”
“You'll be able to control it, eventually. But...” Kincaid tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling a little so that I could feel the tug of it, sharp and sweet against my scalp. My body thrummed and something that was both beneath the skin of my back and not there at all flexed as if it wanted to come back into being. “Maybe we should get some more practice in?”