Title: Lava Girl and the Ink Drop
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Bill/Lavender. Past Remus/Bill. Quite a bit of Fleur. Several werewolf OCs.
Rating: NC-17 and then some – for sex, violence and the foul language of werewolf subcultures
Content: Very violent (but consensual) sex, including some ravishment fantasy. Open marriage. DH-compliant. Het, slash and femslash included at various times. Tattoos. Everyone is over 17.
Theme chosen: Flagellation (arousal by whipping or being whipped)
Word Count: ~36,200. I KNOW. *facepalm*
Summary: The Ink Drop was the best-kept secret in the nightclubs of Wizarding London. Werewolves, or those close enough, could work out their sexual appetites on willing submissives looking for a rough ride, and nobody had to get hurt. The system generally worked best when the werewolves stayed clear of each other, but someone forgot to tell the new girl about that.
Notes: I seem to have written a lot of fic in the past year that sought to overturn werewolf-sex clichés. But screw that. This month, I decided to pile them up and roll around in them. Here, have a hugely retro werewolf cliché fic... with some Veela cliché thrown in for good measure. I know this is mostly a one-shot community, so many thanks to the DD mods for letting me write this beast for the themes this month, and for pushing back my posting date three different times when I needed more time. ♥ ! Thanks to islandsmoke for the final beta, and to florahart for some early advice and for reminding me months ago that Lavender Brown was mauled by Greyback at the end of DH.



Lava Girl and the Ink Drop

by Snegurochka

*

Saturday, 11:56 p.m.
Lava Girl walks – no, tiptoes – down Knockturn Alley, her eyes narrowed and her nose in the air. She can smell them. The doors of the businesses along the alley are locked and barred for the night, and the pulsing music she can feel through the soles of her feet hasn't escaped into the black air around her. They won't come out, not yet, and she can't fucking figure out where they're hiding, but she will. She has to. They're the only ones who can help her.

* * *

Far below Knockturn Alley inside the cavernous walls of the Ink Drop, the music throbbed right through Bill Weasley's skull. On a normal night it would have irritated him to no end; he would have charged outside and shouted at the Muggle teenagers with their portable machines on their shoulders, or Wizarding teenagers with their portable wireless boxes Levitated in front of them, shaking his fist and promising to call their parents if they didn't shut the fuck up. Bill Weasley was twenty-eight years old, had a satisfying job, a modest house and garden, and on most nights, normal nights, he would prefer to have a look through the evening Prophet, clean his teeth and fall into bed with his wife at half ten.

This was not a normal night.

The music bled into his skin and electrified him, feeding his impulses and pushing him forward through the throngs of gyrating bodies filling the dance floor. He was tall enough to see over most of the crowd, and he scanned the outer walls for the shy types, girls with long hair covering their faces or slender boys with eyes nervously darting around the room, biting their lips and rethinking their exit strategies.

Those were the ones he went after.

There was a time when he'd wanted a bit more push and a hell of a lot more fight to it all, but those days were over. Now he made do with the shy ones, the wispy little things that hugged the edges of the room as though they hadn't in fact left their knickers at home, paid the cover charge and waltzed through the front door of the place on their own two feet. Coy little bastards, the lot of them. They were all the same, though. They all came here to get fucked, hard and rough and with all the aggression of a werewolf bite behind each thrust.

Bill ran his tongue along his teeth, considering, before finally making his choice. A boy tonight. That one, in fact, sipping a gin and tonic from a trembling glass against the back wall, dark hair framing fine features and large, bright eyes. He looked scared shitless. Bill smiled to himself, finishing his beer and striding around the edges of the dance floor until he reached the boy. He passed a few others along the way, all wearing the standard Ink Drop uniform for his kind, a black vest and trousers, and he met their gazes steadily, with no fear.

Only one tried to block him.

"I've got an eye on that one," a voice growled at him as a meaty hand splayed across his chest. He followed the man's eyes to the target Bill had spotted earlier, now only a few paces away, and then turned back to the man, sizing him up. Bowden. Fucking hell.

"Then you should have stepped up sooner. He's mine now," he muttered, turning his back on the man. Blood was running too hot all through this place tonight. He didn't need a confrontation.

A hand dug into his shoulder and spun him around again. "You watch your fucking step, Weasley," snarled Bowden, "or you'll be back to fucking rats in the forest at full moon. Don't you fucking forget that I only ever let you in this place as a favour to Lupin. No Lupin, no Weasley." He snapped his fingers, sour breath fogging over Bill's face. "Just like that. Do we understand each other?"

A flash of rage surged through his body, but Bill gathered all his strength to push it down, working his jaw and curling his fingers into a fist and then out again. "Yeah," he bit out, his teeth clenched. "We're clear." It wasn't worth the fight anymore. "I'm going to go fuck that kid now, if you don't mind," he added, tilting his head to the side.

Bowden glared at him for another long moment before a smile tugged at his dry lips. "No more wolves for you, eh?" he drawled, the smile deepening when he saw Bill shifting his feet. Fucker. He released his hold on Bill and clapped him too hard on the shoulder. "Make him bleed, then," he said nastily, heading off in the other direction as Bill closed his eyes and sought to regain his control.

He continued towards the boy with the gin and tonic, stopping in front of him at last, his hands in his pockets and his left shoulder slightly turned towards him. He flexed the arm a little bit and gazed steadily at the boy.

"Are you new?" he asked, keeping his body still and his face impassive.

The boy gulped, clutching his drink. "I– oh. Hi. Is it that obvious?"

When Bill didn't reply, the boy kept rambling.

"Yeah, okay, I've never done this– I mean, I've done it before, of course, but not like– um. I just came with–" He paused, pointing across the room.

Bill didn't look.

"Well, my friend wanted me to come, so I–"

"So, the answer is yes," interrupted Bill. God, Silencing charms should be required of these idiots along with their cover charge. But then again, half the fun of this was fucking them so hard they had no choice but to shut up eventually, so this part was only a brief hiccup to be endured. The kid had got past Jake and Simon at the door, obviously, so he must have been able to prove he was serious about this. Bill pushed his loose hair off his left shoulder, folded his arms and watched the boy's eyes flick down from the scars on his face to the ink on his upper bicep.

"Yes," the boy whispered, licking dry lips.

Bill refrained from moving towards him. Yet. "You know what this means?" he asked, nodding down at his shoulder.

The boy's eyes were still fixated on it. He nodded.

"You know what I am?"

He finally raised his gaze, his cheeks flushed. "Yes," he whispered again.

Bill paused, unfolding his arms and closing the remaining distance between them at last. He planted flat palms on either side of the boy's head, leaning in. "And you know it's full moon tomorrow night?"

He felt the shudder that ripped through the boy's body as his bright eyes widened even more and he nodded again. "God. Yes."

"Good," said Bill, taking a second to breathe in deeply, the scent of fear and arousal dripping off the boy.

"Um. My name's Mi–"

"I don't care," said Bill gruffly. "You won't care, either, once I'm done with you."

The boy closed his eyes and whimpered.

"You got a room, or do you want it right against this wall?" Bill dropped his arms. It would be last decision this kid would have to make tonight.

"Here," he breathed immediately. Well. Someone had already given this a bit of thought. "Just, maybe around the corner a bit."

Bill glanced to the side, pausing to watch a blonde girl on her knees nearby, moaning around a mouthful of werewolf cock, before grabbing the boy's arm and hauling him off the dance floor to the marginally more private corridors leading to the back rooms. "I don't waste time with blow jobs," he muttered, before throwing the boy into the wall face-first and holding him there.

"No, I– that's okay. I want–"

"What?" Bill's hand ground against the boy's shoulder blades as he leaned forward, grazing his teeth gently over the soft, pale skin of his neck. "What do you want?"

"I want to–" he gulped – "say no?" he finished in a small voice, pushing back against Bill's body.

Bill dropped a hand to his groin and pressed in hard, his dick already swelling at the very thought of what the boy was proposing. Most of them were like this at the Ink Drop, but not all would go the full mile, playing the submissive role to perfection like this. "Yeah, all right," he said, not willing to let his arousal show too much yet. "So, you shouldn't walk these roads by yourself at night," he added with a growl, sinking into the role. "All kinds of creatures out here, could do a lot of harm to a pretty little thing like you."

"No," the boy whispered, turning his head to the side. "Please, don't do this. I can give you money, if that's what you want, or–"

"I don't want your fucking money." Bill moved one hand up from the boy's shoulder blades to the back of his neck, squeezing, and dropped the other to the cleft of his arse, digging his fingers in even through the boy's jeans. "I want to fuck you till you bleed," he whispered, watching the boy's face briefly crumple before he regained his composure.

"I'll have you arrested," the boy stammered, but his eyes were all but rolling back in his head at the press of Bill's fingers.

Bill sighed. The new ones could be brilliant sometimes, young and pliant and oh so eager to please, but at other times, they were a pain in the arse: nervous and jumpy and absolute shit at role-playing.

"I'll– my uncle's an Auror!" the boy continued. "You won't get away with this!"

Oh, honestly. "Shut the fuck up," spat Bill. "The only words you're allowed to say are, No–" he paused to clench his thumb and forefinger further around the back of the boy's neck – "or Stop–" he drew he word out, mocking it, as he ripped the boy's jeans open with one hand and shoved them down his thighs – "or, It hurts." His fingers rammed into the boy's cleft, dry but for the scarce beads of sweat, and began to scratch at him.

The boy sagged against him, clawing at the wall. "Oh my God," he breathed, pushing back against Bill, who had all but lost his patience now.

He tore his own trousers open and pulled his prick out, engorged tonight beyond its usual size and aching with the needs of the wolf. As usual, he'd performed all the necessary protection spells before arriving. "That wasn't one of your fucking choices," he growled, dragging his tongue over his palm and making sure the boy could see him do it, before slathering it around his dick, dropping one hand to pull him open and the other to shove inside.

The boy cried out, mashing his cheek against the wall, and Bill groaned as he felt the kid tear around him. Fuck, yes. He brought a forearm up to lodge across the back of the boy's neck, vertebra digging into his flexed tendons as his hips snapped against the boy, pulling back and pushing forward again with grunting escalation.

"Stop," the boy whispered. "It hurts."

Bill groaned deep in his throat, biting down on the boy's shoulder until he tasted blood. "Say it again," he ordered.

"No, stop," the boy complied, a breathless moan escaping his lips. "No. It hurts."

"This is how werewolves fuck, little boy. You'd better fucking remember that next time you're out in the dark by yourself. We're out here, and we want to fucking tear you up."

"Oh, God," the boy breathed, dropping his arms like a rag doll as Bill dug both hands into his hips and hauled him back over his cock, feeling the limp body acquiesce with each punishing thrust.

"Are you bleeding?" whispered Bill, his voice laced with ice. "Does it fucking hurt yet?"

In response, the boy grabbed his own dick and began to pump, his head nearly hitting the wall. "Hurts so much. Oh God. Fuck."

The boy's pleasure wasn't really Bill's concern. In fact, it wouldn't smell right if he let the kid get off before him. He needed the fear and resentment, not the arousal. He swatted the boy's hand away. "Don't enjoy yourself," he murmured in the boy's ear, his hair falling loose and sweaty over the boy's neck, before his teeth bit down and the boy gave a shout, pounding his fist into the wall.

"Fuck. Fuck."

It was almost real fear now, almost what he needed. Bill pulled him back hard, watching the blood ooze down his ear and the flush creep up his face, stained against the dark eyelashes and rosy lips. He wanted to mar all that perfection, rip it to shreds and come all over it and watch his hot semen seep in dirty pools over this creature's perfect skin. He slammed forward once more, his dick pulsing in sharp waves and his hands bruising the kid's hips.

The boy was silent as Bill pulled out, too quickly and with enough force to tear him even further. Bill paused only long enough to wipe the fluid off his dick and haul his trousers back up his hips, fastening them and casting one last glance at the boy. He had sunk to the floor, his knees pulled up and his breath coming in gulps, but his dick was still hard between his trembling fingers, as he rode out the remnants of his arousal by himself.

"Wait," he called as Bill turned to go.

Bill paused, not turning around.

"That was– God. Can I– I mean, do you come here a lot? Maybe we can– again sometime– if you–"

Irritated, hungry, and still feeling unsatisfied, Bill simply gave a wave of his hand and strode off across the club, needing the cool outside air on his face.

* * *

Sunday, 1:49 a.m.
Lava Girl pulls her knees up to her chest and tries to imagine her arse is not frozen to the fucking sidewalk. Drunks begin to stumble around her as some of the clubs empty of all but the hardest party-goers, but she keeps her chin tucked under and none of them bother her. She pushes her hair out of her eyes just in time to see a man with long auburn hair stride angrily up a subterranean flight of stairs to street level across the alley – a flight of stairs that disappears as soon as he reaches the main road, she notices with widening eyes – and shove his hands in his pockets, kicking at random stones as he passes by. Lava Girl's eyes dart back to where the staircase was. She might not have shagged Ron Weasley back at school, but she did enough with him to recognise his hair and freckles from fifty paces. That red-head isn't Ron, but there is one other Weasley she can think of who would be skulking around Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night a day before the full moon.

Her knees cracking and her patched robe falling to her ankles, she rises and follows him.

* * *

Back at Shell Cottage, Bill pushed the door open as quietly as he could and made his way to the shower. He left his clothes in a pile on the floor and stepped under the hot spray, scrubbing his body and his hair and squeezing his eyes shut against the soap and dirt swirling together off his skin and down the drain. Towelling off quickly and tugging a comb through his hair, he pulled on a pair of shorts and crept into bed.

"Mmm," Fleur murmured, turning to her side and absently touching his arm, her eyes still closed.

"Shh," he whispered, settling in beside her and stroking the hair off her forehead.

"What time is it?" she mumbled through dry lips.

"Shh, doesn't matter. It's late. I'm home now."

She smiled a bit, stretching on her back and finally opening sleepy eyes to gaze at him. "How did you do?"

He considered that. "Fine," he said at last, his mouth turning down.

"You do not look fine." She squinted at him. "Maybe you should have stayed longer. Tried another." She laughed softly and pulled him down for a kiss.

He let his lips brush against hers, resisting the urge to deepen it, to straddle her and pin her down until she stopped struggling, and then to – Fuck. No. He swallowed, pulling away. "Yeah. Maybe I should have. He was a bit... inexperienced."

"Ah," she said, closing her eyes again. "He."

Bill scrubbed at his face. "Yeah."

She turned to her side again and snuggled into his chest, her voice sleepy. "I like this idea," she murmured. "I will dream about it now, you know – my big, bad wolf with that he, doing everything you need to do to him."

Bill swallowed back a moan as the image of the boy underneath him flashed across his mind again, and he let his body pulse for just a second at the thought of everything he had wanted to do to that boy, but had held back. "Love you," he whispered to his wife instead, his lips brushing her ear, and she hummed softly.

"Mmm. I know."

* * *

Sunday, 8:06 a.m.
Lava Girl rolls over in the grass outside Shell Cottage, still Disillusioned as she stretches and gets her bearings. A Weasley. Ron's brother. The one with the scars. She glances up at the house and sighs. So, it's true: he's one of them, the wolves that she has only heard about in whispers, the ones who have formed a secret society for fucking. Well, there is no other word for it, not from what she's heard. Even as she thinks it, her body heats up and her cunt starts to ache. Bloody hell. Not now, dammit. But it's been like this since the attack at Hogwarts, and even though this is only her fourth full moon, she already knows what to expect.

She crawls over to a set of bushes and crouches to piss, dark and murky since she's not had fresh water since the day before yesterday. It doesn't matter. She doesn't care. Her body only cares about one thing today, so she might as well get started on it. Moving out of the oppressive sunbeam and into a shady patch by a tree, she lies flat on her back and lifts her knees, pulling her robe up as her mind fills with images of that disappearing staircase and what must be hidden behind it.

She is already wet as she pictures Bill Weasley and his wolves in their black vests and trousers, biceps thick and chests heaving as they prowl through the dark, waiting to pounce. The ache tears through her body and she wants to scratch and claw at something, mount a massive cock and feel it rip inside her, slamming through her and making her scream. She makes do with her fingers for now, just as she did last month and the month before, her irritation growing because it's not enough, not nearly enough, tiny fingers with trimmed nails that can't possibly do the damage she wants them to do.

She wants Bill Weasley to come out the door of this house and see her. She wants him to stride across the grass and drop to his knees, grabbing her robes and ripping them off. She wants him to shove her legs apart and fuck her up against this tree, his cock deep and hot inside her, stretching her wider than she's ever been stretched and tearing his fingernails down her back while he does it. She wants to feel blood over her skin mixing with the sweat and tears. She wants to grind against him so hard she's bruised for days. She wants to bite right through his lip when she comes, feeling him pound into her and shatter her with his own ravaging orgasm.

She wants... she wants...

Fuck. She slumps back down to the ground, her fingers soaked and her cunt pulsing, but it wasn't enough. Her skin still prickles with dissatisfaction, and as she gazes up at Bill Weasley's front door, she makes a decision:

Tonight, she will finally find out where they have been hiding.

* * *

Bill slept much of the day, as he usually did when the full moon hit. His body always felt just a little bit off that day: muscles too thick and bones too heavy for the surrounding skin. He sometimes had flashes of migraines after visiting the Ink Drop, the pull of the moon combining with all those flashing fucking lights to make his neurons fire in all the wrong ways.

"Here," said Fleur, bringing tea and sandwiches in for him late in the afternoon. "Get up for a little bit. You will feel better." She sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at him, her hand tracing his cheek.

He sat up and coughed a bit to clear his throat. "Thanks," he murmured, as she kissed him on the forehead. When she pulled back, he noticed her elegant hair twist for the first time, and her silk robes. "You heading out?

She touched a finger to her lips to renew her lipstick colour after the kiss. "Yes. If you do not mind?" She tilted her head to the side, but there wasn't really any way for him to object.

He gave her a lopsided grin. "I always mind," he grumbled. "You know that. Who is it?"

"Ah-ah," she tutted, wagging her finger. "You said you did not wish to know."

He sighed. "Yeah. I did say that." Without warning, the wolf surged through him and his mind flashed on an image of Fleur pinned to the floor with his cock choking her, come seeping out her sealed lips and her hair streaked with blood. He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What is it?" she said with alarm. "Are you– oh, nooo, no, no," she soothed as she caught on, cupping his face with both her hands. "Look at me, darling. You will not hurt me. Look at me. Face yourself."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded and opened his eyes. "Yeah." He swallowed again, his throat thick and scratchy. "Okay. Sorry." They might have been together only a few years, but she knew him nearly better than he knew himself, and she knew exactly how the wolf worked.

"It is Guillermo," she said softly. "He wished to buy me dinner, and as it is full moon, I thought it might be a nice evening."

He sighed. "I hate Guillermo," he muttered, rubbing his eyes and grabbing the tea cup like it was a beer stein. "He wants to marry you, you know. What's wrong with, uh, what's her name..." He snapped his fingers a few times. "Genevieve!" His mood brightened, and he licked his lips, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. "Yeah," he drawled. "I like Genevieve, thinking about those long legs wrapped around you..."

She laughed, letting him kiss his way up her neck. "I like Genevieve, too," she purred, giving the name a French pronunciation, "but she is not free tonight."

"No fair," murmured Bill, letting a hand fall down her breasts. "You got to dream of me and what's-his-name last night, but I don't get my Genevieve fantasy?"

"You have plenty of those stored away, I am sure," she said with a roll of her eyes, rising from the bed and clasping his hand. "Lose yourself tonight," she added, her voice lowering from playful to grave. "Anything you want, you are allowed to have it. Remember? It is not a night to hold back."

He shook his head, rubbing at his forehead. "You don't understand. I could really hurt one of those–"

"No, you cannot," she insisted, her hands on her hips. "Those kids go there to be hurt. There are spells to heal them! It is nothing they cannot take, or they would not be allowed in." She paused as he flopped back down in the bed, his lips a tight line. "Hurt them," she repeated, leaning down to brush her lips over his. "Let the wolf out to play. If you don't, you will hurt me."

"Don't even fucking say that," he whispered, shaking his head. "Don't even think about–"

"Hurt them," she said again, her voice icy as she straightened and headed for the door. "I will take care of you tomorrow," she added with a smile, blowing him a kiss before closing the door behind her.

* * *

Sunday, 11:01 p.m.
Lava Girl activates a fairly sophisticated – if she does say so herself – Glamour over the scars that cover her neck, shoulder, and up her left jaw line and part of her ear. Her hair is still long and she wears it loose, swinging over her shoulders and helping divert prising eyes away from the Glamour. Dressed as meekly as she could manage – loose trousers and a thin blouse – she approaches the part of Knockturn where she saw the disappearing staircase the night before. She doesn't exactly have a plan – plans aren't her forte, after all. But she curses herself for her lack of foresight as she paces in front of the grey building, her eyes darting up and down the empty alley.

"Come on, you fucking werewolves," she mutters to herself as she turns again and passes in front of the damp stone wall. "Come on. You fuckers – where are you? Come on, werewolves. Come on."

On the third pass, something extraordinary happens. She jumps out of the way just in time, as the pavement cracks and a steep staircase materialises, leading down below the street. Eyes wide, she hurtles down the barely-formed steps and through the creaking door.

* * *

As usual, the Ink Drop was packed with bodies that night, both sides eager to sate their desires as the full moon rose. Bill stood at the bar and drank, casually eyeing the crowd. For the first time in a while, he wasn't sure what he was looking for. The wolf generally dictated it: a boy one night, lithe and pliant, or a girl the next, buxom and gasping. Sometimes he'd take one of each, tying them up and watching them writhe against the bonds as he fucked them one after the other and then fisting himself to hardness a third time, coming over their faces and ordering them to lick it off each other. His dick gave a hopeful throb at the image, but nobody had caught his eye yet.

"Weasley," a low voice rumbled beside him, and he turned to find a man in a uniform like his, the telltale tattoo glinting in the strobe lights over his left arm. He gazed a second longer before turning back to his beer.

"Nash," he said with a nod. "All right?"

"All right," replied Nash, leaning back against the bar beside Bill and hooking his elbows over the edge. "You have a round yet?"

Bill exhaled. "Not yet."

Nash eyed him and started to laugh. "No shit. You're wound tighter than a cunt in a foxhole, ain't you?"

"Yeah, fuck off. What've you had, then?"

"I'm making plans," said Nash, running his tongue along his bottom lip and letting his eyes follow a blonde girl in a short skirt and tight, low-cut top as she sauntered past. She turned her head, pausing in her step, and her gaze swept over Nash and then on to Bill. Her lashes lowered and her lips parted a little bit.

Bill lifted his beer to his mouth again and took a swig, confident that Nash could take care of the girl himself in less than three minutes. He didn't generally go for blondes himself – not in this shit hole, at least.

"This ain't the place for flirtin'," said Nash, pushing himself away from the bar and beginning to circle the girl, his biceps flexing and his eyes alight. "You can go flash your tits to the Ministry cocks over at the Rose and fucking Crown, if that's your game. You don't give two werewolves that kind of look, sweetheart, and expect to keep walking."

Startled, the girl swallowed, backing away from him a bit. Her eyes flew over to Bill, who held her gaze over his bottle. "I might have phrased it a bit different," he said with a shrug, "but yeah, that about sums it up." He paused, letting his gaze fall down her body. "You want to get fucked, love, or are you just here for the cheap drinks?"

"I..." Her face coloured and she swallowed again before tentatively stepping towards Nash and raising her index finger to trace over his tattoo. "I want to get fucked," she whispered, her hand on Nash but her eyes on Bill, and suddenly blondes didn't seem like a category he should exclude. That was as good as a verbal agreement, as far as Bill was concerned. There weren't many rules at the Ink Drop, and if you walked through the door you had to agree to pretty much anything, but to prevent unwelcome groping at any time – and mostly, from Bowden's point of view, to save him a lawsuit – there was a basic rule about obtaining some form of consent before whisking your young thing off and fucking them senseless.

Bill set his beer down and stepped behind her, his hands moving quickly over her hips and down her arse, as Nash caught her from the front, flicking his thumbs over her nipples.

"What do you say, Weasley?" Nash growled, glancing at Bill over the girl's head. "You fuck her arse, and I'll come down her throat?"

The girl's knees shuddered at that, and she sagged back against Bill, breathing hard. He took the opportunity to move his fingers under her skirt and past her thong, pressing none too gently into the cleft of her arse.

"I think I like that idea," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and his voice low. "She looks like she can take two wolves, doesn't she?"

"Don't know if she can," growled Nash, "but I sure as fuck want to make her try."

Bill shifted his fingers, gathering moisture from between her legs and moving back to her arse again. He pushed in aggressively with one finger barely slicked, and her face crumpled as she bent forward, clutching at Nash's shirt and moaning.

"Hey, not here, you fucking animals," the bartender called, as Nash started to open his belt. Bill rolled his eyes as the bartender jerked his thumb towards the back rooms. He glanced back at Nash and nodded, before grabbing the girl's arm and hauling her across the club.

Oh yes, he liked the idea of what Nash had proposed. His body had lit up like a raging fire at the very suggestion of it, being able to corner this helpless-looking thing and fuck her from both ends. He fantasised about shit like this – not just the willing girl underneath him, but the other wolf watching him every step of the way, pawing at the prey himself and maybe even letting his own nails tear Bill's flesh, their come mixing together over the girl's body. He didn't indulge those kinds of fantasies anymore, though. Werewolves – whether the real ones or the close-enough kind like him who mostly populated the Ink Drop – did not do well in each other's company, especially when sex was in the air. They tended to rip each other apart in competition for prey, and nobody liked to clean up messes like that the next morning. It wasn't a rule, precisely, but every wolf at the Ink Drop knew that it was in his best interest to focus on the prey and ignore the other wolves.

Things used to be different for him, of course, but that was another lifetime. Bill tried not to think too hard about the way things used to be, and the one wolf that used to indulge his every desire.

He couldn't turn down an arrangement like this one with Nash, though, not on a full moon night. If he wouldn't fuck the man himself – and he wouldn't; there had been no other wolves since Remus that he'd even wanted that sort of thing from – it would be good enough to watch his face over this girl's abused body, watch him fuck her mouth and choke her with come while Bill filled her arse. It was almost enough to sate the wolf completely.

Fleur would be so proud.

"I think she wants an audience," said Nash as they approached the back rooms. He glanced around a corner of the dance floor that was sparsely populated but still rather public, licking his lips and narrowing his eyes at Bill.

Bill's dick throbbed, and he threw the girl down to the floor. "Yeah. I think she does, too." He paused as she took a deep breath and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She looked back over her shoulder at Bill, her eyes hooded, and then up at Nash as he pulled his cock out. "Suck him," ordered Bill, satisfied to wait his turn for a few more minutes, if it meant getting a bit of a show.

Her shy routine flew right out the window as she gripped one hand around Nash's cock and drew him into her mouth. Bill opened his own trousers and fisted his dick, moving his eyes between Nash fucking the girl's mouth, and the way her skirt had hiked up over her arse when she knelt. He resisted the urge to drop to his knees and pound into her. All in good time.

Over the pulsing music, he heard voices shouting across the floor, and a few surprised gasps from club-goers. Another fight, probably – wolves getting too close. He didn't even look, hoping that ignoring it would make it go away, or at least not interrupt his own pleasant situation.

"You want a gilded invitation, Weasley?" drawled Nash, grabbing the girl's hair and thrusting hard between her lips. Her face was flushed but she seemed to be doing all right. It looked from the angle of her jaw like she was using a fair bit of teeth against Nash's dick, so, hell, who knew, maybe she just wanted the chance to give a proper, rough blow job without her boyfriend whinging, Ow! Stop it! at her technique every five seconds. Couldn't blame a girl for that.

He was just about to drop to his knees and shove inside her when a group of people jostled around him, knocking him off balance a bit as he stumbled into the wall. "Oh, what the fuck?" he spat, shoving his dick back in his trousers and rounding on them, but they had already moved past, forming a small circle with others in the crowd and cheering whatever was going on in the middle of it. "You want to get the fuck out of my space?" he shouted at the nearest wolf, swatting at the man's beefy shoulder to spin him around to face Bill.

"Fuck off," the wolf growled, shaking Bill off. "Not every night you get a show like this." He glanced behind him at Nash and the girl, who still seemed unaware of the commotion. "Beats your little tea party down there."

"What, wolves fighting over twat?" Bill forced a laugh. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

The wolf raised his eyebrows. "The twat's the one fighting the wolf," he drawled, a grin spreading over his face as he pointed to the centre of the circle, jeering onlookers still pumping their fists and shouting at the participants.

Bill paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Nash and shrugging off his questioning look, before wading into the crowd and straining for a look at the problem. Fucking eldest child syndrome: he could never help getting in other people's business, especially if it meant breaking up a fight.

"You want to fuck me?" a voice screeched as he got closer. "Come on, then. Fuck me, arsehole. Fuck me till I fucking bleed. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Then lie down on the floor and fucking take it, cunt," another voice growled back, deep and annoyed. "If I wanted a fight, I'd try to fuck my wife."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. The music dimmed, and the voices became louder as more people from the dance floor crowded around the pair. Bill worked his way to the front just in time to see a slight girl launch herself at Bowden, one of the biggest wolves in the room as well as the club's owner and alpha. She was wearing only knickers and a ripped blouse, and catching him off guard, she was able to wrestle him to the ground and straddle his hips. With one hand around his throat and the other working his trousers open, she pulled his bulging cock out and shoved it underneath her body in a matter of seconds, dropping down on top of it like it was a toothpick.

Bill stared, his mouth open and his blood searing hot.

Bowden shouted out and scratched thick nails down her thigh, but her grip around his throat held, and Jesus fuck, she was strong, because he couldn't get up. She began to ride him hard, pumping her thighs and lifting herself off of him only to slam back down again, grinding against him. Her free hand clawed down his chest, tearing at his vest and drawing blood.

"You fucking cunt," he managed through rasping breaths. "You want to get torn up? Fucking keep it up."

With that, she punched him in the face. His head hit the floor and rolled to the side, and a trickle of blood emerged at the corner of his mouth. "Shut up," she screamed. "Shut up – shut up – shut up." She kept punching at him, battering his chest and face with her small fists, all the while riding his cock hard and fast. He struggled against her, twisting his hands against her breasts or trying to choke her, but she kept going. At last, she sucked in a deep breath and stilled, her thighs tense and her fingers clenched in the flesh of his chest, and watching her bliss from the sidelines, Bill could almost feel her hot pulses over his own dick.

He shuddered and briefly closed his eyes, trying desperately not to come in his trousers.

As the crowd's surprise wore off and the girl's strength was tempered by her orgasm, Bowden succeeded in throwing her off and flattening her on her back on the floor, his friends moving in to hold her arms and spread her legs.

"Was that fun, little girl?" he growled, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Did you get off on that?" The other wolves laughed as Bowden directed one to rip the rest of her blouse off. "Now it's my turn, you little bitch," he added, settling between her legs with his cock still hard and dripping. She tried to kick at him, and he responded by closing a massive fist around her throat, his fingers curling up her jaw. "Lie still, little girl. The big, bad wolf is going to teach you a lesson about manners."

"See if I fucking care!" the girl was shouting, her legs still struggling. "Go ahead, then. Do your fucking worst. I can take it. I can take any of you! Fuck all of you, you fucking–"

"All right, Christ, someone get her up," Bill heard himself saying, shoving a few others aside and making his way into the centre of the circle. "This is horse shit. She ain't worth your time, mate," he said carefully to Bowden. "Simon! Get her the fuck out of here," he called over his shoulder to the bouncer. "She's not our kind."

The skirmish heated up again as Bowden rose to his feet and stuffed his dick in his pants, staring Bill down with wild eyes. "Weasley, you fuck," he bellowed. "You want this piece of twat? You fight me for her."

Bill steeled his jaw, reason warring with the bloodlust of the wolf in his veins. "No, I don't fucking want her," he began. "Throw her out on the fucking street. She either submits, or she doesn't get past the door – you know the rules. Why are you wasting your time with this shit? Go get yourself a real bird. Hell, there's one back there I was just about to fuck up the arse." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "She fucking loves it; hasn't said a word and sure as fuck hasn't punched me in the fucking face, yeah? You can have that one; I don't even fucking care."

Simon worked his way through the crowd before Bowden could respond. He grabbed the wolf's arm and hauled him off. "All right, boss?" he said, and Bowden shook him off, wiping his mouth.

"Yeah. This little bitch ain't fucking worth it."

"Go fuck somethin' else, mate," said Simon, nodding in sympathy, and with a last growl in Bill's direction, Bowden made his way through the crowd with his friends. "And you," continued Simon, closing his fingers around the girl's wrist and dragging her up off the floor. "Get your kit on and get the fuck out of here." He leaned in close, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. "If I see you here again, I'll rip your fucking face off." He shoved her roughly away, and she stumbled towards Bill, the rest of the crowd dispersing with shaking heads.

Bill watched to make sure Bowden was still heading away from the fray, and then he scrubbed his face with his hands.

"So, you're Bill Weasley."

"What?" He turned to see the girl in front of him. "Yeah."

"Hi."

"Uh, yeah. Hi. Look, what the fuck do you think you're doing? You can't fight like that in here, like a–"

She ignored him, also ignoring the fact that she was standing there in ripped knickers and an open blouse. "I've been trying to meet you, actually."

He paused. "There are other ways you might have gone about it. A Floo call, say, or stopping by for tea." He folded his arms, glaring down at her. "Who the fuck are you?" A wounded look passed over her face, as though she'd been expecting him to know exactly who she was, and Bill tilted his head to the side, studying her. As he looked closer, he narrowed his eyes. Wait a fucking second. Grabbing his wand from his back pocket, he held her to the spot with one hand on her shoulder while the other touched the wand to her neck. He murmured a string of words, and the air around her body shifted, perfect skin melting away to reveal a mess of fresh scarring over her jaw, neck and one shoulder.

"Fuck off!" she whispered fiercely. "I'm already thrown out of this place – you want to get me eaten alive, too?"

He ignored her. "Holy shit," he said in awe. "You're that girl from Hogwarts."

"Weasleys," she muttered, her eyes darting around as she pulled her long hair over the scars. "Geniuses, the lot of you."

"My brother said you'd got hurt," continued Bill, still staring at her in wonder. "I've been looking for you. Where the fuck have you been?"

Her paranoia seemed to melt at that, and her face relaxed into a brilliant smile. "You have?"

"I tried to find you at St Mungo's after the Battle, but they said you were gone. Couldn't get your folks to answer an owl, either. What, did they send you off somewhere to recover?"

"Recover." Her face darkened, and her eyes dropped to the floor. "That's one word for it," she muttered, but a second later, she brightened again. "But you were looking for me? Really?"

He shrugged. "Figured we'd have something in common, and maybe I could help out." He paused. "I used to know someone, a much kinder man than I am, and he always stopped to help a fellow werewolf whenever he came across one." He cleared his throat, pushing down a surge of old feelings. "Pretend I was honouring his memory or something, looking out for you." He stared at her for a long moment. "I have to say, though: Greyback never usually went for girls."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, no, obviously not, or you lot wouldn't be such raging dickheads about letting a girl in, now, would you?" She glanced over at Simon minding the door again and snarled. "There are plenty of girls, though. We just–" She stopped suddenly, her face clouded in panic.

"What?"

She swallowed, pushing her hair back. "Nothing. We're somewhere else, is all. Anyway, look, it doesn't matter. Professor Trelawney always used to say, what's in your tea leaves is just in your bloody tea leaves, right? Not much sense in trying to change your fate. Now, as for letting girls in." She folded her arms, glaring at him. "What are you going to do about that?"

"Is that what you– that was–" His mouth dropped open as realisation hit. "You're like us," he said flatly, more to himself than to her. "You want to fuck at the full moon, is that it?"

She stared at him, before drawing her lower lip under her teeth, wet and slow, and stepping closer to him. Her thumb brushed over the ink on his upper bicep as she gripped his arm, and she stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Not just fuck," she murmured. "I want to bleed at the full moon. I want to tear something up, fuck it so hard it can barely limp away from me afterwards. And then?" She paused, biting at his neck. "I want to grab it while it's hurt and pull it back to me and fuck it again, until it's crying and bleeding and begging me to stop."

A surge of desperation and arousal shot through him at her words, something he hadn't felt in months, not since – well. Fucking, bleeding hell. He took in a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the way her fingers on his arm had ignited every bit of fire in his body.

"Isn't that what you want?" she whispered, her lips moving down his neck and arm until her tongue swept over his tattoo, and it took all the strength in him not to throw her down to the floor the way Bowden had done.

"I want even more than that," he admitted, pinching his thumb and forefinger around her tiny wrist and holding her still. "I want that thing to fight me every step of the way, until I'm crying and bleeding and begging right along with it. But I don't think you're going to find that here," he added, glancing over her to the space of floor she'd been pinned to. "As you now know." He released his hold on her, lightly shoving her away from him as he turned and wiped a hand across his mouth, trying to regain control of himself.

"Are you still fucking here?" Simon's voice cut through Bill's thoughts, and he turned to find the bouncer with a meaty hand around the girl's arm, hauling her away. "I thought I told you to get the fuck out."

"Come by Shell Cottage tomorrow," he murmured quickly to her, not even sure what he was saying. All he knew was that he needed to be near this girl again, and he needed to know what she needed. "We should talk more... about how you're doing."

She cast him a faint smile before letting Simon drag her through the club and out the door, and as Bill watched, he couldn't stop her words from repeating on an endless cycle in his head.

* * *


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