Title: "Snot On"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Rating: NC-17 (So very, very wrong)
Pairing: Hagrid/Fang
Warnings: rimming, bestiality, crack, Hagrid's crack, Severe Squickiness
Themes/Kinks Chosen: Fur, Fainting, Mucophagy (Someone had to do it.)
Word Count: 1330
Summary: It wasn't Flitwick who came to him one Tuesday morning when everything was quiet but for the sounds of very wet and snotty grief echoing against the Castle walls and carried over the still lake.
Author's Notes: I blame this first of all on everyone who did NOT write mucophagy this month. Secondly on zevazo who suggested the pairing after I saw that Padfoot was getting lots of action this month. And finally on red_squared who was able to guess what I was writing by my assertions I was squicking myself- and who also gave me the title. And finally, I blame all insanity and mistakes on LMoM.


Hagrid was inconsolable after Dumbledore died. He couldn't find joy in any of his normal activities. Feeding the flobberworms was without its formerly leafy, sluggy appeal, and he actually began feeding the wrong end and never noticed. Shoveling up after the thestrals no longer was a shitty but satisfying job-- now it was merely the futile hunt for invisible piles that made his back hurt. Even looking through his books on the myriad varieties of dragons failed to light his fire. He only thought about Norberta and how Dumbledore would have let him keep her- if only he were alive- but he wasn't. He was dead. Dead and gone and decaying and never coming back and giving him sweeties and sharing brandy with him again.

So Hagrid began scrubbing the white monument with his favourite toothbrush, the one that could get all the pebbles out of his molars and all the spinach from between his canines. Only now, it swept away all the dirt and owl droppings that the Scottish wind blew into the chiseled inscription that wrapped around the stone that covered Dumbledore's body. As he rubbed the bristles into the carved letters, he cried, sobbing his grief (and his tears) over the monument. It made the removal of some of the feces easier, but it was downright exhausting, and both the front of his shirt and both sleeves seemed perpetually wet.

Minerva had tried to help him, tried talking to him, tried suggesting a trip to France, to Romania, to anywhere so he'd at least return less dismally, useless and quite honestly less disturbing. She had tried to get him to change his clothes but Hagrid had protested that he was 'in mourning' and couldn't do that. Minerva hit him with a triple cheering charm but it only made him grin like Lockhart and cry in joy. She decide that was more likely to give people nightmares- including herself- and she removed the charms and swore she'd send Filius to deal with him in the future.

It wasn't Flitwick who came to him one Tuesday morning when everything was quiet but for the sounds of very wet and snotty grief echoing against the Castle walls and carried over the still lake. No, it was was someone much closer to Hagrid, someone who cared for him more than he could imagine, and could not handle seeing him hurt so much.

Fang crept up to him, afraid of the sounds of wrenching agony that were being forced from Hagrid's half-gigantic body (and Fang had seen which parts did not come from his mother). His ears dropped back and his shoulders hunched as he slunk forward, pausing a few feet away and wagging his tail faintly. But Hagrid didn't acknowledge him or say hello or even reach out to scratch him behind the ears. So the dog inched forward and nudged him with his nose. Hagrid did look up then, his hairy face slicked liberally with tears and mucus. His eyes were swollen and red (actually, an inflamed grey to Fang's eyes), and there was clear, thick moisture streaking from his nose.

Hagrid mumbled something at Fang, words ragged and unintelligible even if you weren't a dog with a maximum understanding of approximately 200 words. So he did what he normally did when he didn't understand Hagrid- and that was often- he licked his face.

His tongue slide over and through the moisture there, through the salt and the slime. He paused to lick his lips once. It was much better than most of Hagrid's cooking- though the bean and cabbage biscuits were pretty tasty- even if it make his arse noisy and smelly. But this wasn't smelly, not in a bad way, and the noise Hagrid had been making stopped when Fang's wide tongue slide over his face. So the dog took this as encouragement that he was making his master happier and he licked him again, this time dragging his tongue from below his mouth right over the tip of his nose. He slurped his tongue back into his mouth with an audible pop of his jaws.

He paused once more, and Hagrid just stared at him, blinking a few times. Fang wagged his tail enthusiastically at him then began an eager flick, lick, slurp of his face. The thin drops slipping from Hagrid's eyes were far less interesting than the thick streaks dripping from his nose. Again and again, Fang licked over his nose, narrowing his tongue as best he could to try to work it into the hairy holes of Hagrid's nostrils. He was able to get the tip wriggled in, drawing out the stringy snot from them. It reminded Fang of the eggs that Hagrid fed him, minus the crunchy bits of eggshell. This had the exact consistency of the sticky, clear part of those raw eggs, the way it would stretch out then contract again, nearly slipping away before he could slurp it back over his tongue and swallow it. He let it slide down his throat then returned for more. Flick, lick, slurp, swallow. Flick, lick, slurp, swallow. Until at last it was only his own saliva he could taste, only his own drool he could find on Hagrid's face.

Fang sat back on his haunches, his tail wagging over the ground. He barked once in question to Hagrid, and the sound finally startled him into action. He tore at his trousers, forcing the filthy striped fabric down to his ankles. Fang caught sight of the flushed shade of Hagrid's short, veiny erection and its bulbous head before the half-giant turned over to his hands and knees in front of him, and in front of Dumbledore's tomb. Hagrid reached back with one meaty hand and slapped his own furry arse.

Ears perking up at that familiar smack, Fang obeyed immediately. He scooted forward, tongue sweeping through the dark taste of Hagrid's arse, the long hair in his cleft tickling over Fang's tongue. He scraped his tongue over his upper teeth a few times to try to stop the tickle then wormed his tongue inside the large pucker that sagged between his flabby cheeks. Hagrid moaned and groaned and shook under the attention as Fang put his very long tongue to use, plunging it in and out until Hagrid's arsehole squelched and dripped with copious dog slobber.

Another sharp slap on his arse demanded for Fang to mount him, so he did. He rocked to his hind legs as he rose his upper body onto Hagrid's arse. Wrapping his front legs around him (though they only pressed into him because really they ddn't come anywhere near to going around Hagrid), Fang had to bounce up few times until the pointed tip of his jutting erection came into the proper position against Hagrid's messy, loose hole. He thrust forward, spearing his cock forward into him then he fucked him furiously, rutting fast and hard into him, hips swinging forward with enough speed and force that his back feet and claws scraped over Hagrid's calves.

~*~

Despite her earlier determination, when the sounds became interminable, Minerva strode angrily down to the source of the agonized and agonizing howling. She froze abruptly when she came around the side of the white monument and was confronted squarely with a very large, very hairy, and very fucked out arse that was still dripping with come. The rest of Hagrid was slumped over Dumbledore's tomb, one hand obscuring all but the tip of his cock, which was pointed right at unmistakable off-white splatters on the marble. Fang looked up from licking his dark red cock and wagged his tail happily- and perhaps a trifle guiltily- at Minerva who, after another moment of horrified staring, slumped to the ground in a boneless faint.

Sighing, Fang stood up and walked over to her and began licking her face. If only these humans could take care of themselves.



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