Disclaimer: Nothing of the Harry-Potter-universe belongs to us. It's the property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury. We do not make money out of this although we would need it. If it were ours Fenrir and Harry would do a lot more snogging.

29 May 2012 - *Crying their eyes out* ! 'The Distance In Your Eyes' (and its 8 chapters) was deleted because our summary was inappropriate and not K rated... FAIL! So we're gonna try and reupload it as soon as we can publish things again...

der-gestiefelte-Kater was so proud of the 182 reviews, 312 alerts and 499 favorites we had till this morning... Thanks again to everybody who reviewed and thought we were important enough to put us on one of their lists! XD Hopefully it will help der-gestiefelte-kater because she is absolutely devastated and needs all the encouragement she can get 'cause wofl1 can only cheer her up so much!

A/N: (while writing this A/N we were on self-made apple cake so don't be surprised at our stupidity) Hi there! Here we are again. I wouldn't have been writing this if it hadn't been for der-gestiefelte-kater bothering the hell outta me because she wanted to write a Fenrir/Harry story and she had no idea for a storyline. So here I've been thinking and hoping for a story to appear in my head... And I only needed to see the 6th movie twice with her (and her perverted comments) for inspiration. This is what I came up with but I had no clue how to continue. Luckily for me, she was so taken with my first chapter that she developed the rest of the storyline at breakfast, however rough it may be. So if you have some ideas we could use we would be very grateful.

When beta'ing this chapter together with her, we had a lot of fun (due to our stupid comments) as usual. So yes, all the pathetic mistakes that are still in there are of our own doing and we take full responsibility for them.

Warning in general: Slash (M/M), bestiality (Fenrir is, after all, a werewolf...), blood, ripped bodies, gore

Warning for this chapter: some blood and an almost non-consensual sex scene... just realised... there are some rather disturbing and bloody thoughts in here...

Canon: up to 5th book

1. The Encounter

"Dinner is ready!" Mrs Weasley shouted from the kitchen downstairs in the Burrow.

"Coming!" Harry answered and made his way to the stairs, all the while listening to the occasional noise of slamming doors and the moaning house ghoul.

A small smile crept onto his features. Wizarding households were just great, especially the one of the Weasleys. The whole family was the complete opposite of what he knew from the proclaimed 'normal' one. The Dursleys that wouldn't be caught dead laughing out loud for the fear of someone else finding fault in it and labelling them 'abnormal'. The redheads were loud, chaotic and their home was always filled with laughter, chattering and love. They couldn't care less what others thought of them as long as all of them were happy.

Because of this, Harry was immensely grateful to be finally allowed to stay with Ron and his family for the rest of the summer break before his sixth year.

Musing about the fast approaching year – would this year's defence professor be a complete idiot, like most of the time, or would he be competent for a change? – he stepped out of Ron's room and had just closed its door behind himself when he bumped into another body.

Luckily enough, Harry was able to catch himself and steadied himself with a hand against the wall but the other person had fallen hard to the floor.

Apologising hastily, he blushed as he noticed who he had run into on the stairs. Immediately, he looked away, abashed.

Her bathrobe had slipped down her shoulder and revealed creamy skin.

He willed his eyes to stay focused on the wall behind her and helped her up.

His face had to resemble a tomato by now...

Catching the sound of rustling fabric, he heard her clearing her throat. Automatically his eyes strayed to her by now covered breasts and then wandered up to her flushed face. She wasn't looking at him, but he could still see that she was at least as red as he was, and it contrasted sharply with her hair.

He felt a nervous flutter in his belly when she turned her head and her brown eyes were suddenly upon himself.

Looking down in embarrassment, he shuffled his feet.

Their feet were almost touching and now that he thought about it, her toes were really cute.

Snapping his head up abruptly – had he really just thought about her feet? – he stared into her eyes and wetted his lips subconsciously.

He hadn't noticed how close they were standing.

Was it just him or was she really leaning in?

Instantly, his eyes fell onto her rosy lips and he saw how her tongue peaked out to wet them, too.

His heart beat was picking up and his eyes gazed back into hers. He felt hypnotised and couldn't prevent himself from being drawn in.

Leaning forwards himself, she came closer and closer. She smelled of orange shampoo and the water of the shower she had just taken.

Her warm breath was tickling his lips and he could almost taste the minty flavour of toothpaste on his own tongue.

This close he could make out green flecks in her doe eyes.

Their eyes fluttered closed almost simultaneously.

They were only a few inches apart and his heart thundered in his ears, making his palms become sweaty.

So close! It would only take a moment longer for their lips to meet for the first time!

A sudden and loud booming noise coming from the outside made the earth quake and the whole house shake, forcing Harry to grasp the banister of the stairs to steady himself. Thoughts of her soft flesh against his body were chased from his mind immediately.

Ginny lost her balance, tripped and fell backwards down the stairs. A short scream escaped her throat until her back crashed hard into the floor, the impact knocking the air out of her lungs. She didn't move as her body lay sprawled on the floor.

Horrified at the sight of her still form, Harry stumbled after her.

"Ginny? You okay?" He called, coming to a stop next to her. Instantly, he crouched down beside her, not daring to shake her shoulder, too afraid he could hurt her even more. A muffled groan escaped her lips, her eyes still shut tightly and a pained grimace crept onto her beautiful features but she pushed herself onto her elbows anyway and nodded her head.

Accepting her nod for the moment but still a bit worried, Harry stood up and offered her a hand to help her back to her feet. He pulled her up so that she stood next to him and examined her quickly before he deemed her okay.

"What was that?" He asked, not really expecting an answer from her. His eyes were still searching for an injury.

Instead of replying, she just shrugged but as soon as she did pain was written all over her face.

Harry narrowed his eyes in concern. Obviously, at least one of her shoulders had taken some sort of damage from the fall and it made her wince to move it.

Her attention, however, was already turned away from him so she didn't see his worried look. Her gaze was on their surroundings, a distinct look of apprehension entering her features.

Following her example and wanting to know what she had detected, Harry looked around and noticed the absence of the Weasley family.

"Where are the others?" He asked, not seeing anyone. Watching her carefully, he could see dread filling her face when she couldn't find a member of her family.

"Outside." Her terrified voice answered.

His eyes widened at the revelation as thoughts of what could have happened to them coursed through his mind. Immediately, fear for his family settled in his gut.

What if something had happened to them?

What if another person had suffered because of him?

What if someone had died?

Setting of at a dead sprint, he raced towards the open front door,Ginny right at his heels.

Relief washed over him upon seeing the Weasleys, Remus and Tonks all gathered in front of the Burrow. Running his eyes over them, he realised that nobody seemed to be seriously hurt, only a bit shaken from the explosion.

After he had made sure everyone was okay, he turned his gaze to the Burrow's fields, instinctively feeling that something was amiss. The atmosphere was thick with tension, so thick in fact that he could almost cut it with a knife.

Something was definitely wrong.

Suddenly he heard horrible laughter and a flame wall flared up, surrounding the house and trapping them. Wands were drawn immediately and everybody was scanning the area for the intruder.

"I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!" A familiar voice screamed, delighted, almost singing gleefully. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I killed Sirius Black!" She chanted while bombarding the house with hexes. Other curses from somewhere in the fields joined hers until finally there was another explosion and the Burrow burst into flames. Tongues of fire were licking at the nooks and crannies of his temporary home.

His anger sprang to life.

Bellatrix Lestrange had not only killed Sirius, his beloved godfather, his chance to escape from the Dursleys, but she was also destroying the house of the one and only family he had found after so long!

Harry's vision turned red and he sprinted after her, only noticing on the sidelines that the Weasleys, Tonks and Remus tried to stop him. But as soon as he jumped through the flames that were encircling the Burrow, the fire flared higher, cutting him off fromhis family.

Right now, though, he didn't care.

His mind was fixed on fulfilling his goal: To kill the one that had caused Sirius' death, to kill this madwoman. Nothing else mattered!

Determined, he followed her into the high grown cornfields that were surrounding the Burrow, the straws even taller than he. The insane, almost inhuman laughter was his only lead as to where to go.

Soon the flames were only a blurry image in his head and the shouts of the others only a whisper in the wind.

But it didn't matter. In his clouded judgement, Bellatrix's voice lured him deeper and deeper into the field, hence farther away from the protection of his family.

Right now, though, his safety was the last thing on his mind. Vengeance pushed every thought of caution away. He did not care that he followed a bodiless voice, or that the other Death Eaters that had attacked the Burrow were most likely lurking somewhere in the dark. As long as he would get his revenge nothing else mattered.

Suddenly everything went quiet and her laughter died.

Harry paused in his movements, halting in the middle of the field, standing in an area in which the corn had stopped growing and the water that had been only sparsely present during his run through the fields now reached his ankles.

Where was she? Where was Bellatrix?

Standing still Harry didn't lower his wand, alert to every sound that was produced. The tension in his body was mounting and he itched to do something, anything at all!

But firing curses into the field, acting rashly, foolishly, could mean his doom. He would reveal his position to the enemy – not that they didn't already know where he was, but still, he had to start thinking rationally.

Then Harry could hear sounds of someone rushing towards him. Whoever that was, he would not go down easily. He took position...

And almost hexed Ginny into oblivion.


He took cover in the high cornfield while looking at his prey evilly, a broad smirk on his lips that showed off his sharp canines.

Voldemort's bitch hadn't given the signal to attack yet, all because of the appearance of that little Weasley chick.

Did it even matter that their prey was now consisting of two people instead of one? There was nothing the two brats could do against anyone of them. Both of them were helpless and at their mercy. And if he had any say in the matter then there wouldn't be any mercy involved. He would do with them as he pleased, torturing them whichever way he saw fit.

He couldn't wait to pounce on his two pieces of prey, play with them, have his fun with them. And then he would blissfully tear them to pieces, all the while letting them live as long as possible so he could delight in their pained cries of torture.

The looks of horror on the two brats' faces would be great. He would relish in their screams full of anguish and fear. Their smell would be exhilarating! And their blood! Their sweet, coppery blood! He could almost taste it on his tongue!

Saliva started to drip from his mouth at the things he could do to them.

He couldn't wait any longer! He didn't care that Voldemort wanted the Potter brat alive and in one piece. He had to act now! He wanted both of them!

Slowly he sneaked through the field, approaching the two.

He splashed the water at his feet intentionally. There would be no pleasure in it for him if he just jumped at them from behind and kill them with a simple stroke to the neck. The satisfaction of the hunt would be nought if they didn't try to defend themselves. He would play with them, rustle here and there, splash the water and thus drive them mad with fear. Hopefully, they would turn around before he pushed them to the ground so he could see their horror-stricken faces while he tortured them to death.

It wouldn't do if they didn't notice him. That would take all the fun out of it.

An evil grin crept onto his face, his canines showing.

And when he had them pinned beneath him, slowly eating the soft flesh directly from their bodies and ripping off limb by limb, they would start pissing themselves. Not that it would do them any good besides giving him even more... enjoyment. Their degrading behaviour would only enhance his pleasure. Their humiliation would catapult him to new highs! Not to forget of having wet themselves, showing him the utmost terror.

Ducking, he sneaked about until he was once again at their backs, his keen eyes never leaving his preys, all the while with a large toothy grin on his face. Another splashing sound made them whirl around even more frantically. Their breathing was hitched and their bodies were shaking. Delicious sweat was drenching their clothes.

The air was already heavy with their fear.

He continued in his doings and silently wondered when the first one of them would break down. When the first one of them would either sink down onto their knees and sob hysterically or try to flee. When the first one would run into the dangerous field, into him, their doom!

It wouldn't take much longer for their hectic movements to agitate the water so much they wouldn't be able to hear anything except themselves.

Fenrir couldn't suppress a mischievous chuckle. His yellow eyes glinted gleefully whilst he watched them spinning around, facing his previous hiding place.

In their fear they already couldn't pinpoint his hideouts any longer.

Soon it would be time for him to attack, to maim, to kill them, but still not now. For a short moment he wondered if they were the type to piss themselves in a situation like this, but pushed that thought to the back of his mind when he could see terror in their eyes.

Oh, how exhilarating!

Not much longer.

Their terror had already ten-folded. He could smell it in the air.


Suddenly everything went quiet around them. Not one sound could be heard in the dark night except for his and Ginny's fast breathings. Harry knew that it wasn't Bellatrix doing this stupid mind game. She wouldn't have bothered with the creeping around and would've attacked them head on. Something else was lurking in the shadows. Something more dangerous even, because they were doing this thinking about the next move and not completely mindless like Bellatrix. And whoever or whatever it was, they had stopped hunting them, or at least moving. Maybe they sat somewhere in the field, watching them out of sinister eyes.

They had to get out of here, fast. He didn't care what happened to him as long as he could get Ginny out of there unscathed. Her body was trembling at his back. Of course, she was courageous, but she wasn't used to situations such as these.

Abruptly, Harry heard another noise in his eerily quiet surroundings. Whirling around and pointing his wand in that direction, he couldn't make out anything. Again, silence reigned. Only his and Ginny's shallow breathings echoed through the darkness, disturbing the unnatural stillness.

What was go-

There! Something had moved over there in the cornfield!

Immediately he spun around again.

His eyes widened. Out of the thick field came one Fenrir Greyback. Voldemort's tame werewolf – as far as werewolves could be tame.

The beast took confident strides towards them, a menacing grin on his features which showed off his sharp canines, his amber gaze gleaming with something Harry couldn't place while it was fixed upon him.

Harry's eyes narrowed. If Greyback thought he would get them without a fight then he was sorely mistaken.

Taking a protective stance in front of Ginny who had gripped the back of his shirt when she had first recognised the monster, he fired the first curse coming across his mind.

"Stupor!" He shouted and saw the hex vanishing with a flick of Greyback's wand. Angrily he started throwing random spells and curses at the werewolf but without success. The hexes all but dissolved into thin air.

It only registered in the back of his mind that Ginny was trying her best to hold off whichever Death Eater it was that was attacking from behind, because Harry was still fixed on Greyback's smug smirk that widened with every curse that didn't harm the beast.

Fury welled up in Harry at his own incompetence. He had to hit him, not only for his own sake but also for Ginny's. He had to protect her. There was no way she stood a chance alone against the present Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback if he failed and then they would be doomed. They would experience an absolutely gruesome death. He couldn't let that happen. Besides this man was the one who had turned Remus. He couldn't let that go unpunished! He had to take revenge for his godfather!

Gripping his wand tighter, his magic flared to life, giving his hexes and curses even more ferocity. His eyes glared at the beast in front of him. There was no way he would let this monster escape unscathed!

A smirk crossed Harry's features as soon as finally, one of his hexes struck its target. But his triumph was short lived and Harry's grin vanished when Greyback didn't hit the ground or at least stumble. The curse pearled off of the beast like water off of skin.

It didn't have an effect on him! What was going on? Why hadn't his stunning spell worked? After all it hadn't been the ordinary one. It had been one with much more force, bordering on being a dark spell! Why wasn't Greyback unconscious on his back yet?

Looking away from Greyback and at his wand, he examined it. Nothing seemed to be wrong with it. So why hadn't it cut down his enemy? His eyes again locked on Greyback, uncertainty clearly written all over his face. The beast's smirk was still in place. Why hadn't it worked?

Harry shot another stunning spell at Greyback, this time it seemed as if the werewolf let himself be hit on purpose.

And again, nothing happened.

Insecurity captured Harry's heart, dread washed over him and filled him to the core. How should he protect himself and Ginny if his spells didn't work?

Greyback's grin widened, showing even more of his sharp teeth if that was even possible.

Maybe stunning spells just didn't work against werewolves? Maybe he should give another curse a try?

The Petrificus Totalus spell appeared to be weak in comparison to the former used stunning spell but maybe it would work. Rendering Greyback immobile was better than nothing after all.

Again the werewolf seemed to let himself be hit on purpose. And again nothing happened, aside from the widening of the beast's smirk.

Suddenly horror gripped Harry's heart when realisation hit him. He couldn't do anything against Greyback. How was he to fight him if nothing affected him? This just couldn't be! It couldn't end like this! Who should get rid of Voldemort if he was killed tonight? He would never get revenge for his parents' death. And even more innocent people would die, even more Muggle-borns!

The beast approached slowly, with each step stirring more fear and hate in Harry.

This just couldn't be!


Fenrir saw the exact moment the brat realised that such weak curses didn't do anything to him.

Stupid stick waving was futile against him. He was the fucking Alpha of Britain's werewolf population! He was immune to such pathetic curses the brat was using. Only the very dark ones had an effect on him and even they were not as efficient as bodily harm and silver. Damn metal!

He saw the confusion turning into blank terror, coursing through the brat's body. But Fenrir could still make out a certain amount of revulsion and hate on the brat's face.

Interesting, though his body seemed to be frozen to the spot the brat could still feel animosity and disgust. Most of the other people he had encountered so far – though they hadn't lived for much longer – had been fixed on their fear.

His courage hadn't left the boy yet. Fenrir could see the brat plotting his and the Weasley bitch's escape in spite of his fear.

Very interesting, however he couldn't let that happen. He had waited far too long for a lovely bloodbath to let them escape.

Licking his lips, he stepped forwards, his gaze fixed on the spot where the brat's neck met the shoulder.

He could already imagine his canines slamming into that smooth neck, tasting the blood, letting it gush down his throat.

He was by no means a vampire – the thought alone was all it needed for Fenrir to lose his temper and snarl in disgust – but his wolf side craved the red, pulsing liquid.

And finally, when he had enough of that blood that was frantically being pumped through the brat's body, he would rip parts of his throat out.

But not enough to kill him immediately, mind you! That wouldn't do! No, that would definitely not do! He needed to see the pained expression on the Potter brat's face when he withered on the ground, desperately clutching his neck while trying to stop the blood-flow, but nevertheless knowing that it was already too late.

Yes, and when the brat realised his doom. Fenrir would start on his body. He would lick at it to take in the sweet moisture that would build the brat's body. Sweat out of fear for him. Simply delicious! Occasionally he would bite into the skin of the brat, ripping it open and letting the precious liquid spill out of him. Then he would take a bite of that mouth-watering flesh and enjoy it and the whimpers or cries of pain!

He had to have a bite of him now! He wanted …

Oh yes, he wanted the boy ... needed the blood to dip down his chin.

He had just taken another menacing step towards them, when suddenly a pleasant scent reached his nose.

Instantly, Fenrir halted in his movements to take another whiff.

Immediately all his senses were on alert. He had never smelled something so divine before, not even the purest of virgins he had defiled and killed had come close to this blissful aroma!

Pinpointing the delicious scent, his nose led him to the Potter brat.

His eyes widened. He couldn't believe his nose. Just moments ago it had told him all about the fear and disgust the brat felt towards him.

Now this!

This marvellous scent! Of course, it smelled erotically seductive and ripe. Not to forget the innocence and – Fenrir would have raised an eyebrow if he hadn't been that enchanted already – virginity. But there was freedom in the scent as well. It smelled like home and as if he was running through the wild.

He had never encountered something like this before!

It was mouth watering!

Now giving the Potter pup a once over – the first time he had only glanced at him and not really taken notice of his appearance – his cock gave a little twitch.

The pup was small, but then again, nobody was as tall as he himself. The boy's form was slim, however that didn't mean that he was weak. Fenrir could see some small muscles under the shirt the pup was wearing. Then there was that famous black mob of hair the Dark Lord cursed on a daily basis. But the most captivating about his appearance were his eyes. One look into them reminded him of a forest through which he was running.

As soon as he was done with examining the Potter pup, the next thing that caught his attention was the other's thundering heart. It was music to his wolf-ears. The fear that caused adrenaline to course like a maelstrom through the pup's system and his scent were like a drug to the beast.

He had to have him. Now!

Stalking closer to the Potter pup, he closed in on him like the predator he was on its prey.

Fenrir's own blood started moving downwards. The prospect of a hunt combined with the smell and appearance of the pup was arousing.

With each step he took, the blood running frantically through the pup's veins became louder. Delicious! He had to have a taste of it!

Immediately Fenrir's gaze fell onto the junction of the Potter pup's neck. It looked to be made just for him, for him to bite into, mark him, taste his blood and so much more!

Oh, just the mental image of it and he was achingly hard!

The desire to defile and sully him arose like a fire would in a forest.

Fenrir was high on all the impressions he got from the Potter pup. There was no doubt left in him that he was Fenrir's long sought for mate.

Not being able to stop himself any longer, he jumped at Harry, transforming in mid-air into a large silver wolf, broader in shoulders and taller than the average werewolf, with yellow, piercing eyes. When standing on all fours he would reach Harry's midsection. Strong muscles moved beneath the silver fur, indicating the deathly predator. His front paws were strong enough to fell a man with one swipe and his strong jaw with a row of very sharp teeth could easily rip a man to pieces.


Harry didn't know what was happening. He was aware of the fact that Greyback had been staring at him for quite some time, distant footsteps the only other thing he noticed. In the back of his mind he realised that the Death Eaters to whom the footsteps belonged came to a stop only a few metres away, still hidden in the cornfield. Then suddenly Greyback jumped at him, changing into his wolf form while doing so.

The only thing he could do before the beast collided with him was to push Ginny aside, too surprised to do anything else.

The air was knocked out of him when the werewolf pushed him to the floor. His vision became dark for a moment and all he could see were stars floating around his head. He couldn't think, he couldn't act. He could do nothing else but feel the nauseating feeling the impact on the ground had caused in him.

And then there was nothing else but endless pain. It started out at his shoulder and spread through his whole body, reaching every corner of it.

It rendered him completely motionless, the anguish too overwhelming to do anything else but lie there.

Harry was more than happy when he was finally allowed to pass out. This way he would not experience his excruciating death.


It didn't happen often but as soon as Fenrir had transformed into his wolf form he lost control over his human senses completely. His primal instincts came to the forefront and they told him to protect. To provide and protect his currently passed out, still not marked mate.

He had to get him away from the stick swinging monsters or else they would harm his vulnerable mate! He wouldn't stand for it!

Letting go of the bitten throat and thus spilling precious lifeblood he looked up from his mate and glared threateningly at the imposing two leg using animals. He could sense their malicious intent for his weak mate. Growling lowly in his throat, he warned the threats to stay away or they wouldn't live for much longer. He would fight to the death to protect his mate. Letting him become hurt would be unacceptable.

The stick swinging menaces stopped in their approach. It seemed they got his warning not to draw any closer. Even that mad smelling bitch appeared to get the message.

Giving one last growl, Fenrir bit gently into his mate's throat to get a hold of him and pulled him carefully into the fields.

When they were far enough away and he felt safe in the depth of the fields, he let go of his mate. It took some effort but as soon as he had regained enough of his human senses, he changed back after letting go of his mate's throat.

Looking at the pup, he still couldn't fathom that he had found his mate. Of all the places he could have found him it had to be here, in the ranks of the enemy.

He was tiny. The earlier assumption that he wasn't as tall as himself was the understatement of the year. Standing straight he would only reach his chest. Yes, of course he had muscles, he would be able to protect himself but he wouldn't stand a chance against Fenrir – then again, nobody would. Following the pup's body downwards, he noticed strong thighs that had fallen open.

Fenrir gulped. They screamed an invitation at him to lay down between them and take what was rightfully his. The interested twitching of his cock was enough indication for him to know that he wasn't opposed to do just that.

Ripping his eyes forcefully from the inviting thighs, his gaze locked on the face of his mate.

Not able to believe the soft and relaxed expression on his unconscious mate's face, Fenrir touched it to make sure he wasn't imagining things. The skin beneath his roughened fingers was smooth and supple. Completely different than it had been before the pup had passed out. When awake he had looked hard and unrelenting, like a real fighter, and now, lying here, fainted as he was, he appeared to be the purest and most fragile being on earth.

Fenrir's probing finger's wandered down the pup's neck, his eyes all the while following. His hand stopped to rest on his mate's other, not injured side of his throat and caressed it softly while his eyes were locked on the blood that streamed out of the wound he had inflicted.

Still stroking his mate, he realised he wanted to taste the blood. Earlier on when he had bitten the pup it had flowed into him, yes, but he had been so high on emotion that he hadn't tasted anything. The bite had only served to change the pup, not to revel in its taste, and not to mark him yet.

Lowering himself to crouch over his mate's form, he leant forwards, hovering over the wound and inspecting the red liquid.

His pupils dilated, saliva was forming in his mouth as the sweet scent of his mate's blood entered his nose.

Leaning downwards, he carefully licked at the blood.

Immediately he was on an emotional high again.

Savouring that little lick of blood as long as possible in his mouth, it did not simply stir feelings of possessiveness and protection in him. It stirred something completely different, something that was now achingly hard and pressed against the pup's mid-section. And he knew he couldn't stop himself from taking the pup for much longer.

He wanted to defile him, to sully him, to finally take him!

But he couldn't do that in this damned field! Although he would love to do just that! Take him and get to know his whole body. Feel his heated skin rub against himself while moaning and whimpering in wild abandon. Needing Fenrir to fill him to the brink and take him in as deep as possible. Submitting completely while Fenrir mounted him, all the while tasting some of his blood. And it would only spur him on even more knowing that he would take the pup's virginity, knowing that he would be the only one his mate would ever submit to.

Because he knew that the pup would never willingly submit to anybody else. His stubbornness would never allow it.

The fight earlier had revealed as much to him.

And he so wanted to deflower his pure mate!

Ripping his pup's shirt into pieces, his eyes immediately fixed on two rosy nubs. Absolutely mouth-watering! He couldn't resist the urge to lean forwards and take one of them into his mouth while twisting the other between his fingers. Beautifully, it fit just beautifully.

His other hand slid down his mate's body, over a firm chest, a taunt stomach, until he reached the waistband of the pup's trousers.


He felt pain, endless pain. Being prisoner in his own mind, the only thing he could do was suffer through it. He had lived through so many things so why not this as well?

Another wave of agony tore through his body.

Then again... he couldn't even whimper because of his weakened state to make his displeasure known.

The Cruciatus Curse was nothing against this!

Drowning in the dark abyss of his suffering, the mounting anguish pushed him deeper and deeper into the sea of torture.

Suddenly the torment surrounding him diminished some.

The darkness was breached by light and pushed the gloomy atmosphere aside, enveloping him in warmth. The agony started to recede, the warmth now spreading through his whole body and taking the sharp edge out of the anguish he felt. Starting to relax some he dared taking deeper breaths.

He could feel again, feel something other than the excruciating pain wreaking havoc in his body. Something – or rather someone – was caressing his body, chasing away the darkness. Giving himself over to the tender touches he let himself be consumed by the waves of emotion crashing down on him.


His mate whimpered.

Fenrir recoiled. Yes, he longed to hear his mate whimper, but with need. The whimper he had heard only moments ago was filled with pain.

How could he have forgotten? He had bitten his mate! The change – not to forget the bite itself – would be excruciating! Besides that the bite had been open too long. The blood loss was too much.

He couldn't take his mate! No matter how much he wanted to the pup wasn't up for it! He wasn't even conscious! There would be no fun in it if his mate didn't feel anything he had to offer. The endless pleasure and warmth he would give afterwards. The protection he would provide his mate with. He would never allow anything bad to happen to him! Fenrir would treat him like the most precious thing he possessed.

So no matter how much he wanted to take him he couldn't! He knew he didn't look like it but he wanted to make his mate's first time as special as possible. They would spend the rest of their lives bound together so if his mate found any reason to hate him...!

Senselessly fucking him in a damp field wouldn't do. No matter how much he regretted not to.

Could you please leave a (very much appreciated) review...?