This was Dresden's fault. If the young hothead had actually listened to him for a change, rather than assuming he was only trying to make his life miserable for no good reason, they wouldn't be in this mess.

But no. The other Warden had run straight into the trap without pausing to think, so now they were stuck in a binding circle. There was scarcely enough room for one man inside it, let alone two; they couldn't even turn around without brushing up against the other. It was a recipe for disaster – or possibly murder, given how well they were getting along at the moment.

In hindsight, perhaps he shouldn't have blamed Dresden for this out loud.

Now they were arguing, and loudly too. It hadn't gotten to the point where either of them had slugged the other, but it seemed to be getting there when Dresden demanded, "Is this the part where you throw me to the floor and ravish me?"

"Excuse me?" Morgan snarled back.

"Oh, so you don't swing that way?" was the reply. "Sure could have fooled me; you're certainly obsessed enough with me to—"

He didn't give Dresden the chance to finish that sentence. In a lightning-fast movement, he'd shoved the younger man against the wall of the binding circle and pinned him there. "What the fu—" was all he had time to get out before Morgan's mouth crashed against his, obscuring the rest of his word into unintelligibility.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one didn't come anywhere near that category. This kiss was one of anger, of frustration and impotent rage. Dresden tried to jerk away, but Morgan held the other wizard in place, releasing every dark emotion he had into that one kiss.

Every rebellious look Dresden had ever given him, every time the arrogant young wizard had gotten away with bending a Law on a technicality, every superior tone of voice, all his frustration with having once been manipulated by the Merlin into trying to get rid of him; all of that was wound together and pushed into the kiss.

And that wasn't all. His hatred for those who flaunted the Laws and got away with it, his frustration with the corruption in the White Council that he could see but not find, the pain he'd held inside since the raid on Archangel, and even his exhaustion from the war with the vampires; those feelings too were included.

Finally he pulled away, his grey eyes glittering darkly. "How's that for obsession, Dresden?" Morgan growled.


Standard disclaimer: I am not by any means a slasher. This scenario just popped into my head and demanded to be written. I do not ship Harry-Morgan. (What would that be, anyway? The HMS Wardenslash? The SS Self-Destruction?) All I request is that you, the readers, keep an open mind. Be warned that flames will be posted to my livejournal and mocked.

I do not own the Dresden Files, Harry Dresden, or Donald Morgan. They all belong to Jim Butcher, and I've put them back now that I'm done with them. Cheers.