Title: Wicked, Wild, Filthy
Author: melusinahp
Characters: Fenrir/Teddy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: chan, mild dub-con
Themes/kinks chosen: bestiality, oral sex, chan.
Word Count: 4,000
Summary: "Teddy needed to see a werewolf. He needed to know what it looked like, what it did, what it meant. So, the summer after he finished his fourth year at Hogwarts he set off to find one."
Author's notes: Thanks to my lovely betas, browneydweasley and flamewarrior.





In accordance with The Ministry of Magic's new Werewolf initiative, once a month Fenrir would lope stiffly to St. Mungo’s, where he and the rest of his brethren would be supplied with a dose of Wolfsbane Potion. Taking the potion was mandatory. Skipping it meant reincarceration. While the programme worked wonderfully for the young, it was less successful for older werewolves like Fenrir. Make no mistake, he knew that the blanket amnesty had been a Godsend. The logic was, that a werewolf couldn't be held morally accountable for deeds done whilst under the power of such a dark curse. The fact that Fenrir's worst deeds had been done while he was in human form was overlooked in the Ministry's desire to be seen as benevolently forgiving and lacking in prejudice. It was the progressive mode of thought, and Fenrir was nothing if not progressive.

The Werewolf Trace, however, ensured that whilst he was free, he was still unable to satisfy any of his true appetites. He spent the full moons curled up, shaking, hyper aware of every smell, sound and sensation, completely cognizant. How he missed the bliss of becoming an animal. How he missed that inhuman oblivion.

He was free – free of a home, free of money or consistent employment. Despite the new laws, Fenrir was still treated with loathing and fear. No one would hire him, not even out of pity. Over a decade had passed, but his legend lived on. Other werewolves – even former members of his pack -- were doing their best to blend in, to remain upstanding citizens, desperate to hold on to their new status as superficially acceptable human beings. It was sickening. They were all weak, traitors to their kind. Fenrir would have torn each and every one of their throats out if a single drop of spilled blood wouldn't have meant a ticket straight back to the bleak, cold hole in Azkaban.

He led a hand to mouth existence, accepting any work that came his way, no matter how exhausting or shameful. There was a certain sort of person, he'd found, that would seek him out, intrigued by his reputation. He'd oblige them, of course, because he had no choice. Well, he did have a choice: help them live out their depraved little fantasies, regardless of the soul crushing humiliation, or starve. He skulked about Knockturn Alley, tearing his hungry gaze away from the children whose parents would glare at him with loathing and pity. How he itched, how he longed… But no. Those days were over.

The ones who wanted him were always instantly recognisable. They were wizards and witches he wouldn't have lowered himself to spit on in his glory days. He never enjoyed it. Never. Acting as a slave, a bitch, to other wizards went against everything in which he'd ever believed.

Then the boy showed up, and his defeated, worn out heart almost cracked with joy.

---

Teddy had been well cared for. He had been adored and pampered. His grandmother doted on him, his cousins were like siblings, his aunts and uncles as close to him as parents. He'd been showered with love and had wanted for nothing.

Well.

Almost nothing.

Teddy looked in the mirror at his heart shaped face and brightly coloured hair and saw his mother. If his mother shone through him so powerfully, surely he had elements of his father in him as well. Where were they?

He'd spent his entire life clean and protected. His father hadn't. His father had been poor. He'd struggled. He'd been strong and fierce and had never weakened despite the awful way he'd been treated by other wizards throughout his life. Uncle Harry had told him all about his dad. Remus Lupin had been a fighter, a war hero.

And a werewolf.

The very word sent shivers up and down Teddy's spine. A werewolf. How could a word hold more mystery? Teddy would never know his father, but he was determined to know a werewolf. He peered into the mirror, concentrating, and made his eyes go yellow and his canines elongate into fangs. He growled at himself, and then dissolved into laughter letting his face revert back to normal. The wolf might not be obvious in him, but it had to be there somewhere.

He'd mentioned his curiosity to his Grandmother. She, unfortunately, held a rather unfashionable distaste for werewolves. Teddy forgave her. People of her generation were often funny that way. He told Harry, and Harry laughed and said he understood. Then he made Teddy swear to him that he'd never go seeking one out on his own.

Teddy wasn't convinced that Harry did understand, not entirely. He needed to see a werewolf. He needed to know what it looked like, what it did, what it meant. So, the summer after he finished his fourth year at Hogwarts he set off to find one. He'd heard things, listened in on the adults' conversations.

He knew exactly where to go.

---

The boy was slender, quite young, and dressed in a heavy burgundy cloak that failed to hide his thick turquoise hair and bright, amber eyes. His skin was creamy and smooth, his lips full and slightly chapped. He was boyishly awkward in his posture, as if he weren't quite used to his height or the length of his limbs. An air of intense, bubbling energy radiated from him, like a hunger, and he looked as if he couldn't tear his eyes away from Fenrir.

Fenrir grinned at him, showing off his pointed teeth, growling internally. The boy's eyes widened. Fenrir was already growing hard. He'd have to tread carefully so as not to scare this child away.

The boy told him what he wanted and handed over his money. Fenrir, slouched against the wall of the rat-infested pub he used as shelter during the day, took it and secured it in his bag. The boy shifted on his feet, licking his lips nervously.

There was a long, thin alley off Knockturn where Fenrir liked to go when he transformed. It led to a secluded dead end angled perfectly to catch moonlight. He gave the boy directions and told him what time he would be expected.

---

The man was repulsive.

He was old, with wrinkles, matted grey hair and yellow, red-rimmed eyes. His robes were ragged and filthy, as were his fingernails. Even from a yard away, Teddy could smell him – he stank of dirt and effluence. Teddy felt a sick, swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach. His father had never been like this, had he?

Fenrir's expression as he stared at Teddy was… consuming. Teddy felt his face burning. He'd never felt so inspected, so visually devoured. He had to stop himself hiding his face like a shy child.

Fenrir picked at his teeth with a long, pointed fingernail and then rasped, "So, you know what's what, yeah?"

Teddy nodded and glanced upwards. The moon was hidden by clouds, which were moving steadily across the sky. It wouldn't be long now.

"I've taken me potion, so you'll be alright." Fenrir's voice sounded bitter as he continued, "I won't bite yeh, at least not too hard."

Teddy giggled, but Fenrir didn't smile.

"You'd best take yer robes off now. Otherwise I'd be likely to tear them off once I change."

Teddy's laughter was caught abruptly short. What had the man just said? "Take my clothes off?" His voice sounded high and young.

Fenrir sneered. "I thought yeh said yeh knew what was what." He turned and spat at the ground before returning his bloodshot eyes to Teddy's. "Once I turn, the hunger will take me. As I can't bite yeh, I'll need to do somethin' else to feed it. Surely, yeh knew that?"

Looking back at Fenrir, his eyes blinking rapidly, Teddy's mind jumped about like a frog on fire. Sure, he had a vague idea of the kind of thing the man might want. He'd spent more than one rainy Saturday afternoon cloistered behind his bed curtains in Gryffindor Tower with Enoch Thomas and Devon Spinnet hooting over photos of men and women doing all sorts of hysterical yet oddly riveting things together. He'd had no personal experience with anyone else, however, and never in his wildest dreams had he thought his first real taste of sex would be with a man, much less an animal.

He should flee; he knew it. He should leave now before the man turned and he lost control of the situation.

Yet, when Fenrir lowered his chin and grinned, his horrible teeth gleaming in the alley's dappled lamplight, one tangled, overgrown eyebrow raised in an irresistibly taunting challenge, Teddy lifted his own chin. He unhooked his cloak and let it fall to the ground. Fenrir's grin widened and a growl of triumph rumbled from his throat. The clouds were moving swiftly through the sky as Teddy removed his clothing, piece by piece, forcing his eyes to remain on Fenrir's despite his queasy, fluttering stomach and trembling muscles. Fenrir's expression, once Teddy stood naked before him with his skin covered in goose bumps, was positively bestial. Teddy felt small, completely vulnerable. He was rooted to the spot. He felt like prey.

When the moon suddenly emerged from its cloud covering, its light momentarily blinded Teddy. Once he'd regained his vision, he was presented with the sight of Fenrir, twisting and shaking. Despite his contortions, Fenrir kept his eyes on Teddy – eyes that grew rounder, more yellow and completely animal. Fenrir arched his back and opened his mouth, and Teddy watched, mesmerised as Fenrir's teeth elongated and became fangs. Fenrir's tattered robes were rippling, lightening from black to dark grey and painting Fenrir's distorted body, becoming thick, matted fur.

Fenrir fell forward onto all fours, his neck arching and twisting. He didn't scream or howl, but merely grunted despite the obvious pain of his transformation. Teddy cowered against the wall, wishing with all his heart that he'd left when he'd had the chance. The thing on the ground in front of him was a bubbling, writhing mass of muscle, fur and teeth. It was wrong, something that shouldn't be, and the horror and repulsion Teddy felt in his guts made him want to weep for his father.

Then, after several moments that seemed to last an eternity, Fenrir became still. He was panting, fur damp with sweat, his powerful-looking shoulders heaving. Teddy stared, swallowing a whimper.

There was a second when the wolf just looked back at Teddy, yellow eyes burning like twin torches. Teddy pressed himself harder against the wall behind him, the bricks rough and cold against his bare skin. Then the beast leapt at him and Teddy screamed in terror.

Fenrir hit him with an impact that took his breath away and smashed him bruisingly into the bricks against which he was cowering; then he was being pulled to the ground and covered with a weight he had no hope of lifting from his body. He cried and struggled, but Fenrir wouldn't be moved – his paws were securing Teddy's shoulders and his hindquarters rested on Teddy's hips. Fenrir slowly bent his neck and lowered his face until he was touching Teddy's nose with his own. Teddy swallowed, staring helplessly up into the animal's lupine face. Then Fenrir opened his mouth, displaying his teeth, and Teddy threw back his head and screamed once more.

There was no pain – no bite – only rough, hot moisture. Fenrir was licking him. Teddy lay back, shuddering but enduring it, too shocked from fear to move. Fenrir slid his tongue downwards, over Teddy's chest and belly, and then licked him firmly on his limp cock.

Teddy's eyes widened and his mind cleared minutely. He wasn't about to be torn to shreds – not immediately at least. If he was being honest with himself, what the wolf's tongue was doing felt good – very good, in fact. Teddy squirmed, his fingers twitching, as the beast's long rough tongue curled around his hardening cock. Fenrir's fetid odour radiated from his fur like mist – but the licking felt amazing, like nothing Teddy had experienced before. Soon, he was fully hard and his mind was beginning to fizzle.

The wet lapping sounds, the thick moisture – Teddy moaned and panted, knowing he was close to coming already. He arched the small of his back as Fenrir quickly and sloppily licked the length of his cock from base to head over and over again. He heard himself whimpering, the pleasure gathered in the pit of his stomach, his balls, and his cock with pulsing energy. He was there, he was about to spill over the edge and he didn't care how it was happening.

Fenrir pulled away and Teddy was left hovering torturously on the brink of orgasm. He jerked his head up to look at Fenrir, eyes huge, desperate, pleading. If it was possible for a wolf to smirk, then Fenrir was smirking. Teddy whined. The physical disappointment was agony. His smooth, bare chest rose and fell, and the wolf's yellow, bloodshot eyes bore into him. With a strange delicacy, Fenrir placed a huge, clawed paw on either of Teddy's shoulders. Teddy let his head fall back again, gazing upward. Fenrir's mouth was slightly open, his tongue hanging out, long, sharp yellow teeth exposed in a lupine grimace. A line of thick drool fell from the wolf's mouth and landed on Teddy's forehead. Teddy was aching with need, his chest heaving beneath the weight of the beast. His helpless awareness of how very vulnerable he'd made himself added a delicious edge of fear to his lust.

Fenrir bent his head, slowly, his mouth opening, and this time Teddy felt the pointed tips of Fenrir's teeth pressing against the skin of his neck and shoulder. The realisation of what would happen if the teeth were to actually break his skin rushed through him like lightening. It was a delightful kind of fright – feeling so completely helpless and at the mercy of this powerful, feral, stinking monster.

Fenrir's jaw tightened slightly, clamping but not quite biting. Teddy forced his body to relax. He allowed Fenrir to pull him upwards and reached back until he was sitting, supported by his arms. The wolf let go and backed away. As the creature moved, Teddy had a glimpse of something red and wet protruding from his abdomen. He froze. His imagination hadn't actually travelled this far. He raised his eyes to Fenrir's face and saw that now the wolf appeared to be grinning. Teddy swallowed.

Fenrir gestured with his head, and somehow, Teddy knew what he wanted. What he didn't know was whether or not he could go through with it. The idea was sickening, terrifying, but what choice did he have? Without letting himself think about it further, Teddy gingerly got to his knees and then turned, exposing his naked arse to Fenrir. The wind in the alley seemed to have gotten colder. The stones of the cobbled ground pressed icily into his palms and knees. He was shivering from head to toe.

A blast of heat against his hindquarters told him that Fenrir had come closer, and then Fenrir's tongue was on him again. This time it lapped deliciously across his balls, making Teddy groan with frustration. Then it moved upwards. It licked at his buttocks – which tickled – and then pressed between them, into his crack – which felt strange and invasive. Fenrir continued, pressing harder into him, concentrating on his hole. Teddy gasped. It had never even occurred to him how amazing that could feel. Images of his father that he'd seen in photographs flickered through his mind. He'd do anything Fenrir wanted, anything. Then, Fenrir's tongue was < i>in</i>, forcing its way inside, wet and slimy. Moaning aloud, Teddy bent forward until he was resting on his elbows on the ground and his head on his forearms.

When the wolf first mounted him, Teddy almost collapsed under his weight. He firmed his back and braced himself. It was coming now, this was it. His breath was coming hard and fast and his skin felt cold and clammy.

Fenrir's cock felt sharp and thin as it entered him. Teddy whimpered. The sensation was so strange, so wrong, and Teddy swooped dizzily between desire and disgust as he felt it slide inside him aided by Fenrir's saliva. Not so bad. It hurt, but only a little. Then, without further preamble, Fenrir began to fuck him. The animal's thrusts were fast and regular and their force made Teddy's arms and knees grind against the stones beneath them. He gritted his teeth, amazed at himself and thinking that he'd never tell anyone about this ever or he'd surely die of shame.

The wolf snorted above him. Something was changing. Teddy's arse was beginning to burn with each of Fenrir's quick, hard thrusts, as if the wolf's cock were growing inside him. It was growing inside him. Something hard, like a knot, was grinding and twisting. It hurt, and then the pain grew until Teddy panicked and began squirming beneath Fenrir, trying to pull his body away from the rod that felt as if was tearing him to pieces. Fenrir growled, and the sound vibrated through his heaving chest into Teddy's back. It was threatening enough to make Teddy become still and submit. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, bearing the pain and the movement, letting it fill and consume him.

Fenrir was grunting and panting as he fucked – his body a warm mass of moving fur and muscle that pulled Teddy backwards and forwards with each movement. Teddy felt small beneath the enormous wolf's body, fragile, trapped and violated. He let his mind go completely until he was nothing more than something soft and pliant being penetrated beneath the wolf's thick fur and heaving muscles. Once again the teeth were pressed into Teddy's neck. Fenrir gripped him hard enough to bruise. Teddy was trapped too firmly under Fenrir's undulating body to move his arms and touch himself, but the feeling of powerful jaws clamped against the back of his neck in combination with the tantalising fear was enough to bring him to edge.

In his imagination Teddy could feel the teeth piercing his skin, marking and contaminating him, turning him into a beast. The fear was tremendous and shivered through him twisting together with they physical pain and knotting into a tight, frantic ache that throbbed in his groin with the same intensity as the pounding of his heart. More thrusts inside him, a slight deepening of fangs into his neck, and Teddy came, crying out in an overloaded haze as waves of pain, terror and pleasure flooded through his body. He heard himself sobbing; his muscles had turned liquid and prickly. Seconds later he felt Fenrir clench above him. The wolf's entire body seemed to turn to stone and a muffled howl poured from his throat. His breath was hot against Teddy's skin as his teeth came with a hair's breath of drawing blood and Teddy felt his insides flooded with wet heat.

It seemed to go on forever – Fenrir gripping his body, trembling, heavier now, pressing Teddy into the ground. When Teddy made a weak attempt to extricate himself, Fenrir roused enough to snarl, so Teddy let himself relax. He could still feel Fenrir's cock inside his arse. It still hurt, and he prayed quietly to himself that no real damage had been done. Eventually, after what seemed like an incredibly long amount of time, Fenrir pulled out and moved away; a flood of liquid followed his withdrawal, coating Teddy's arse and thighs.

Teddy rolled to his side and curled up on the ground. He felt drained, wrung out, but beneath it all something new was humming. He'd crossed a line and would never be able to go back. He hugged himself, his mouth trembling into a small smile. Eventually, he felt the night air cold on his bare skin and realised that he'd better get home soon or his grandmother would awaken and discover that he was missing.

Reaching out, Teddy grabbed his clothing and pulled it on, grateful for it's warmth and softness. Once he was dressed he turned to glance, almost shyly, at the wolf who was sitting a yard away looking at him with a strange kind of sadness in his eyes.

Teddy paused. He had no idea what sort of etiquette was appropriate in this situation. He walked up to Fenrir and patted him stiffly on his head, making the wolf shake his head in irritation. Then Teddy turned and ran as fast as he could.

---

Fenrir lay alone, curled in the corner of the icy cold alley, licking himself absently. It would be several hours before he changed back into his human form. The boy's scent was all over his fur and he couldn't escape it. His body was limp and satisfied, but his mind was restless. Sleep wouldn't come. He stood and began to pace the alley, willing the sun to rise early.

It has been a complete lie, of course, the thing he'd told the boy. He'd gone through many a full moon without getting his leg over, but he'd known it was the kind of tall tale the boy would swallow. It had seemed as though he'd wanted to hear it; he'd put up no resistance at all. Strange lad.

Soon, exhaustion over came his restless mind and Fenrir turned three times and lay back down in the corner. He remembered what it felt like to feel powerful, to be feared. He remembered the smell of blood. As he fell into sleep, it occurred to him that his romp with the boy might well have been the last bit of pleasure he'd know in life. Tomorrow it would be back to scrounging and begging enough to buy a drink strong enough to drown the memories of howling at the moon at the head of his pack.

---

The night was dark, but held the promise of dawn as Teddy scampered over the cobbled stones of Knockturn Alley towards the crack in the wall where'd he'd stashed his broom. His body ached and burned in all kinds of ways, but he felt light-headed and cheerful, almost giggly. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. It had been so much more than he'd expected.

So, that was a werewolf. That was what a werewolf was like.

Teddy stank. He'd never felt so dirty in his life. It was marvellous. He was covered in scrapes and bruises with bleeding knees and elbows. Too young to help himself with cleansing or healing charms, he'd have to bathe in the bathroom quietly before his grandmother awoke. She kept a jar of Dittany in the cupboard that would take care of the worst of it.

He'd leave the bruises, though. Those, he'd let heal naturally. He ran a hand under the hair falling over the back of his neck and squeezed, relishing the tenderness. If his Quidditch injuries were anything to go by, it would be worse by the following morning.

A werewolf. Like his father. His father – the Hogwarts professor, the war hero -- had had a filthy, stinking beast within him, just like the creature who had ravished Teddy only hours earlier.

Teddy embraced his knew knowledge with secretive delight. Clearly, deep down there was a filthy, wild beast within him as well.

-- The End