Alpha and OmegaAuthor: ldymusycBased On/Inspired By: Feast
Draco Malfoy/Fenrir GreybackRating:
Blood, violence, dominance display. Impending non-con.Word Count:
This pup's father treated him like a dog. No more, no longer. He
is the leader, he is the Alpha, and the boy will learn his place.Author's Notes:
I have saved, bookmarked, and
viewed this piece of artwork so many times, through multiple moves and computers, that I won't even try to count them. I'm not sure I could ever do the disquieting implications of it justice, but I had to give it a try.
Fenrir likes them best when they smell of fear. The small ones, the fear drips from them, and their fear is intoxicating. They weep it, they piss it. It soaks into their hair and their clothes, coats their skin in a thin, glimmering sheen. Let others have their flowers, their roses and lilies and tulips. Let others have the scent of rain, of woodsmoke, of powders and perfumes. He wants the copper-iron tang of blood, the salt of sweat and tears, and with the Dark Lord's victory, he has it all.
The Malfoy whelp, a gift for Fenrir's service, a sacrifice for Lucius' failures, is of age and too old for his tastes, but Draco's thin frame and narrow limbs make him look younger. Draco's eyes are closed tight, the lids quivering, each thin blood vessel etched across the translucent skin like the darkness in marble. His hollow cheeks are made to hold Fenrir's fingers. His narrow chin is perfect, sharp in Fenrir's palm. His pulse beats like a rabbit in his slender throat, and he whimpers at the soft touch of one nail in the shallow dip of his collar bone.
"Don't," he whispers, his dry lips cracking as they move. "Don't do this. You can't do this. My father--"
"Is dead," Fenrir says, tempted to make his voice gentle for the entertainment of it. To give the illusion of mercy for a few heartbeats. It is a delight to watch the hope in their eyes die as the last struggles fade. He growls, his throat thick with need, and the whelp's eyes snap open. They have the crisp, pale color of a wolf in shadows, defiant and proud still, and it stirs Fenrir's blood. This pup's father treated him like a dog. No more, no longer. He
is the leader, he is the Alpha, and the boy will learn his place.
Draco cries out as Fenrir's nails scrape his cheeks. He trembles and the scent of fear rises off his skin. Fenrir's cock throbs, stiffening against the placket of his trousers. Straddling Draco's slim body, he growls. The whelp makes a quiet sound of protest and a tear leaks from one eye. Fenrir pauses, head cocked. He leans down and sniffs the pup's face. Salt and soap. Sweat. Fear. And just beneath the surface - hot, scarlet, pure
He puts a hand against Draco's cheek and pushes at his head, left to right, back and forth. The dim light glimmers in that one tear as it slips across the boy's cheek. Fenrir growls and the whelp whimpers, tucking his chin to cover his throat, curling his arms to cover his stomach. Fenrir growls again, deeper, and he smacks Draco's hands away. He circles Draco's navel with one finger, his nail scoring a white line into the pale skin. Draco scrabbles at the floor beneath him, keening with the minor pain that promises more.
Fenrir laughs, lips drawn back and tight. He bends his head and nuzzles into Draco's skin, sniffing the space beneath his ear, mouthing the taut column of his throat, licking his sternum. Draco whines. His long fingers press against the floor as Fenrir moves lower, ragged hair and stubbled jaw tickling along ribs and hips. Fenrir continues his scenting, his breath hot on Draco's skin, and runs his mouth down the narrow band of dark blond curls centered on Draco's abdomen. Sweat and musk fills his nose and he shudders. He nuzzles into the whelp's groin, the soft pouch of bollocks pushed side to side, rubbing his cheeks and chin. He sucks in a deep breath and drags his teeth along the underside of Draco's pale, quivering cock.
Fenrir snaps his head up when Draco yells and fights to push away. He locks both hands on skinny thighs, nails digging into Draco's flesh. "Want to run?" he asks, staring into those widened grey eyes. Saliva fills his mouth and he licks his lips. He bares his teeth and snorts. "Little pup. You want to run?" His muscles bunch and he jumps forward, slamming legs and arms down to cage the boy between his limbs. He dips his head and pushes the tip of his nose between Draco's eyes. "Please
do. It's been ages since I've had a good chase."
The scent of fresh tears fills his nostrils, and Fenrir growls with pleasure. He opens his mouth until his jaw pops, and he fastens over the boy's fear-whitened lips. He inhales each whinging protest, swallows the muzzled cries. He licks at Draco's mouth, nips and snaps at his lips. He sinks his teeth into the boy's bottom lip and pulls. Stretches and pulls until the skin breaks and hot blood streaks across his tongue. Growling, he licks it up, coats his teeth and throat with the whelp's vaunted legacy. Draco's blood, pure for generations, tastes no different than any other, half or mixed or mudded. It is hot and thick and racing and Fenrir shivers with hunger. He raises his head to see the scarlet tracks across Draco's mouth. His cock pulses and he drops his hips to rut against Draco's groin.
Draco turns his head, and screams
. His throat distends, his thin chest swells, and he writhes beneath Fenrir's weight. Draco screams and struggles and every ounce of defiance in him makes Fenrir harden more. He grabs the whelp's arms and squeezes, his nails piercing through skin to draw fresh blood. Fenrir licks it up, holds it on his tongue, and muzzles Draco again, feeding his own blood to him. Draco chokes and claws at Fenrir's shoulders, drums his heels on the floor. He thrashes, he fights. Fenrir snatches Draco's wrists and flips him over. He fists Draco's hair and grinds his face into the floor, flattening that pointed nose with a crunch. Draco screams again, bucking, his narrow arse thrust up.
Fenrir shoves him down. He pins Draco's wrists beneath his knees, holds Draco's hips between his thighs. He bends and fastens his mouth over Draco's nape. With a rumbling growl, he bites. He sinks his teeth into pure flesh, licks up pure blood. Draco gives a strangled cry and goes limp. He surrenders. He submits. Fenrir rises on his knees and throws his head back to howl. He
is Alpha. He shoves his trousers down his thighs, pumps his cock, and mounts.