Fenrir "whiny little bitch" Greyback (thewolfman) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-03-08 12:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-03] march, fenrir greyback |
Who: Fenrir Greyback
What: It's the new moon and Fenrir suffers through it
Where: Fenrir's hut in the Dark Peak area the Pennines
When: 7 March, 1979. Sunset and beyond
Rating: R for masochism and concepts that might squick.
Status: Complete
Fenrir Greyback stood in the shabby curtained off area that served as his bedroom in the ramshackle hut he'd claimed in the depths of the Dark Peak area of the Pennines. He was standing in front of a rickety table covered with a variety of small silver objects and he was naked except for a pair of thin, skin-tight leather gloves. He stared out through the large picture window that he'd transformed from the small window that was usually in the wall. The transfiguration he'd done wouldn't last much longer than sunrise but that was all he needed.
He stared out into the now-dark sky and searched the blackness for the moon but all he saw was stars. A soft whimper escaped from his lips and he reached out blindly, fumbling along the surface of the table until his fingers knocked against one of the silver objects. He picked up the tiny silver dagger and raised it up until he was in front of his eyes. He stared at the dagger for a moment then looked past it to the moonless sky.
He pressed the flat of the blade against his chest. Pain, silver-bright and sharp, flashed through him, wrapping itself around his spine. He threw his head back, arching into the blade and increasing the pain. He grunted and a smile broke over his face.
The silver burned and silver only burned a werewolf. He wasn't human. He wasn't weak. He was the wolf.
He pulled the blade away and panted lightly as the pain slowly died down. He then raised the dagger again, this time pressing the edge of the blade against his chest and drawing it across and down. The silver burned and blood bloomed and trickled down his skin in the wake of the blade's passage. Fenrir growled low in his chest as the thin wire of pain from the blade joined the burn of the silver and he closed his eyes, slow pleasure growing on his face.
He dropped the dagger on the floor and reached out for the next silver object. His hand closed around a silver ring inset with a small emerald that he'd stolen from one of his victims. He pressed the silver ring against his shoulder and growled as the feel of the burning slid down his spine. His cock hardened slightly as the mild euphoria from the pain began to grow. He ran the ring down his chest and pressed it against one nipple. Pain lashed through him and he arched his back with a vicious snarl.
He dropped the ring to the floor and looked down to see that he was still only half-hard. He shrugged; sometimes the pain worked, sometimes it didn't, either way... he didn't care. He reached out once again and picked up a thick silver chain. He wrapped it around his gloved hand and brushed the chain across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Pain lashed through him and he howled at the sky.
When he lowered his head, there was a wide, feral smile on his face.
The silver burned. It hurt and it burned.
He was not human. He was not weak.
He was wolf.