Title: "Animal Natures"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Characters: Firenze/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Centaur!Sex, Sex Magic, Bondage, Dubcon
Themes/kinks chosen: Abandoned prompts month
Word Count: 1885
Summary: Prompt: Remus happens to wander too deep into the Forbidden Forest on a full moon night and is caught by a few Centaurs, tying him up over a fallen tree. In the morning, Firenze finds him and takes advantage of the situation. Perv!Firenze and AlmostSplitInTwo!Remus. A plus if Remus enjoys it.
Author's notes: Many thanks to misfit_ragdoll for giving me her posting date to allow for the craziness of divorce courts and wildfires. *hopes she's finding some fun in London* And love to ladyblack888 who got to listen to me whine. :P



He walked the perimeter of the centaur herd's land, passing familiar trees and the low rock outcropping where the blue metal creature had made its home for the past year. He paused to see if it was awake but it lay sleeping and still in the early morning light so he continued on.

He wasn't certain where he was, not the soft warmth of his bed nor the worn rug in front of the fireplace in his office. He tried to call out to someone, to see if anyone was around, but there was no sound from his throat, so he slipped back into unconsciousness.

He broke into an easy lope, letting his muscles stretch under his pale skin. He shivered as the bracken brushed over stomach, over his sheath and balls. When he tried to think of the last time he had found release in anything other than his own touch, no memory surfaced so he ran on, hoping exertion would relieve him of need.

He woke up slowly, gradually aware of the the ache in his bones, the illusionary prickle of pins and needles over his skin, the strain on his back. When he opened his eyes all he saw was darkness, rough and unyeilding so he closed his eyes again, praying that the world would stop spinning just for a moment.

He paused on the edge of a clearing, hearing ragged breathing that was unfamiliar, out of place. He stepped cautiously forward, head tipped to the side as he listened. His eyes scanned the bracken and heather until he saw pale skin draped over grey stone at the center of the clearing. After a quick glance around for any sign of further danger, he fit an arrow into his bow then walked cautiously forward, body tense and prepared for flight.

He heard movements: the heavy thuds, the crush of leaves, the slowness of breath. He tried to turn his head to see what had made them, but the sudden glare of light when he did was too much. He moaned and tried to work his way off of whatever he was bent over, uncomfortably, achingly. But he found himself stuck, bound perhaps by magic that is not his, held fast and tight and- as the unsettling breeze over his arse attested- exposed.

He watched the man- for man it was- shift and writhe over the fallen log. His face was hidden over the far side, covered by the edge of wood and the rise of encroaching plants. But his arse was high, spread, and waiting; all the months of solitude and need rushed through Firenze, swelling his cock. It lengthened below him, sliding slow and beautiful from his sheath. The bicoloured flesh hardened as it descended, pink skin stretching into grey into pink again. He replaced his arrow into his quiver and leaned his bow against the log, so his hands were free.

He tried to gather strength enough to pull away, to fight the magic, but only his hips shifted. For now it was enough because the uneven bark of the fallen tree was too sharp against too sensitive of places. Remus barely had the energy to curse Greyback once again for this curse, for the sluggishness of his mind after a moon, for the way the world seemed to be blurred and distant. His lips moved silently when the morning sun was blocked out by whatever had come up behind him, a centaur his brain dimly registered once all the pieces of the unfocused puzzle came together.

Firenze spoke in low murmurs, soothing things that were more sound than word. He stroked his hand down the man's back, along the line of his spine to his proffered arse. So perfect in shape, narrow but not overly defined, angles softened but not too round. And just enough spread on his knees to give a perfect view of the puckered flesh of his arsehole. Firenze caressed his arse cheeks slowly, hind legs shifting anxiously. Then he reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a vial of violet fluid. Centuars didn't often fuck humans, but when one presented himself so openly to it, they were prepared.

Remus exhaled a slow breath at the sounds. He couldn't understand them, but he'd often heard such things from Poppy or Sirius- years ago- and his body relaxed despite the setting. But he stiffened again when the large hand swept down his back with obvious intent. He'd been touched like that before, determined, purposeful, invasive. His jaw tightened when he realised that with no voice and no strength, he had no choice, no option, if the owner of the hand was determined to have him.

Once he was certain he had enough of the oil for his use, Firenze slipped his hand down under the man, stroking softly over his scrotum, shifting his balls with an expert touch. He palmed them slowly and determinedly until the cock above them began to harden. Taking a deep breath to calm himself some, he closed his hand around it, stroking it a few times, soft skin sliding over an increasingly rigid core as his hips rose and fell, rocking forward and back, fucking his hand. With his other hand, Firenze opened the vial of oil and dripped it down the cleft of the human's arse.

At the first touch of the hand over his balls, Remus felt his stomach twist. He knew what to expect next, the tight crush, the sharp twist. Pain and demand from dirty nails and lupine growls that only grew louder at a full moon. But instead, the fingers were gentle, caressing, cajoling. And in his shock he found himself responding quickly, his cock hardening and his hips rocking forward to that perfect grip. He tightened his arse at the first drops of oil, but rather than cold, they slid down over his arse in hot rivulets that made him squirm. A moment later he realised that it was more than just lubrication as pleasure, languid and easy, and magical, blossomed through him. It rose up along his spine and he moaned silently with it.

Firenze watched as the potion started to affect him, the way his back began to arch with fluid ease, the way his skin rippled with a pale flush. Tipping the vial down again, he poured a bit more over his hole and began to rub it in, slow and diligent. While never fully comfortable even with magic, humans could take a centaur's cock, if that centaur took time and care, gave enough attention to proper stretching, used enough of the potion which would relax them physically and mentally, as well as slick their holes properly. Firenze tried to be as careful as he could, though his cock was throbbing, his hind legs moving again. He needed to fuck. He needed to come. He pushed one finger into the man's arse, twisting it as he thrust it in and out, finally adding a second, then a third finger, all the while gently caressing the hairless flesh of back and hip and arse.

He wanted it. Oh god but he wanted to feel him. Wanted more, wanted it all. Remus couldn't think of anything else. Only what was being done to him, what could still be done to him. He could only assume it was just one finger in his arse at first, then gradually more, but never enough. Always needing more, needing filled and fucked and fucked and the words fell soundless from pleading lips.

He couldn't stand it any more. The scent of him, the tightness of him, the deep heat around his fingers that should be around his cock. But it wasn't, not yet, and it needed to be. The fourth finger pushed in, forcing more oil into him and some dim recess of Firenze's brain warned him not to overdose the human with the potion, to risk driving them into madness, endless madness for more. Maybe it was the potion affecting him, snaking tendrils of hungry desperation up from his coated fingers, but he didn't care. He pulled his fingers out then stepped up over the log with his front legs, standing above the bent human, his cock jerking and searching its mark. When it found it, Firenze thrust.

Remus cried out. The pressure and fullness in his arse were suddenly gone and he was empty, oh god he was so empty. Then there was heat and shadow above him, over him, covering him and a beautiful, blissful pressure against his hole. He squirmed back against it and felt it start to penetrate him then suddenly the equine body above him bunched and pushed and thrust and Remus cried out again, the force of his unvoiced shout bending the leaves around his head, ruffling the hair at the back of yellow-gold forelegs.

This was what he needed: clenching heat around his aching cock. It wouldn't take him long, not when it had been so long since he'd fucked, since he mounted and thrust and thrust. And now he did. Again, and again, pushing in until he felt resistance, pulling out, pushing in again, farther, more. But for all the animal need in him, centaurs did, must, will keep their control. His palomino flanks shivered, quivered with tension as his cock was sheathed and unsheathed then sheathed once more. Until finally his climax overtook him, and , white-blond tail flagging, he spurted his release out in the waiting arse below.

It should have hurt, maybe it did, but pain was pushed into pleasure, stretched out into euphoria, burning through him in wave after wave of pounding ecstasy. He teetered on the edge of orgasm as he was fucked, as that thick cock thrust deeper and deeper into him until even breathing was difficult for the pressure but still it wasn't enough, not fucking enough. His nerves were so alive and so hot that he felt like he might actually die of pure sensation, and there was nothing he wanted more than that final burst of power, of come. When it finally came, pouring into him, Remus' eyes rolled back in his head and the world exploded into light.

When his cock softened, it slipped out of the man's arsehole with a large, audible splash of fluid onto the ground between his legs. Firenze backed up carefully as his cock retreated back into his sheath, then he looked down. Once pale skin was now suffused with pink, the formerly tight arsehole open and flushed, dripping with come to a creamy puddle. Firenze just stood still for a few moments, his flanks and chest heaving until he felt steady enough to tend to the now unconscious human, releasing him from the spell that held him pinned to the log, from the magic that kept him silent. He lifted him up and turned him over, then realised who and what he had just fucked. With an ironic smile, he set about cleaning him.

When Remus woke for the third time that day, he found himself in his chambers at Hogwarts, naked under warm sheets, the afternoon light streaming in through stained glass windows. His body ached, muscles felt strained, and head was pounding. But this was nothing new. Every month for thirty years he had awoken to these now familiar pains. All familiar, except for one. He groaned then closed his eyes again, hoping that when he finally got, he would have the necessary potions in his possession, so he didn't have to explain to Poppy that for some reason, after a full moon, his arse felt thoroughly fucked. Then with a smirk, he decided that he would tell her, just to see the look on her face once she worked out the implications. He was after all a werewolf by curse, but a Marauder by nature.



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