Attention boys and girls, this is probably the most depraved thing I've ever written (which for me is saying a LOT). If you can't handle utter non-con rape, bloodplay (for lack of a better term), and snuff, go read something else.
Title: Debts
Pairing: Fenrir Greyback/minor
Warnings: I think I already covered those...
Rating: NC-17
Fenrir Greyback...that name struck fear into the hearts of parents in the wizarding world and rightfully so. This monster had preyed upon the children of magical families for nearly as long as any living witch or wizard could remember. Always children. It was rumored that he never went after an adult for the simple fact that children tasted better. No, this was quite false. He attacked children because he hated mankind and who better to exact his revenge on than the children of mankind? And if his attacks took their petty lives? So be it. Life, as it was said, was far from fair.
Fenrir stalked the boy, crouching low beside the concrete wall. The towheaded child was scurrying home, obviously late for his full moon curfew. Fenrir closed the distance quickly now; his lust and desire overtaking what little sense of caution that he might normally possess. "Here, child. Come here," he growled, licking his lips.
The lad took his eyes from the stones beneath his feet at the sound. His eyes flashed behind him in search of anything that could have made such a feral sound. He caught but a glimpse of a blur as Fenrir leapt from the shadows and his eyes widened in absolute terror. He began to run and had made it three steps when a loose cobblestone caught his toe, spilling him to the ground in a heap. He managed to roll over on his back and put a hand protectively over his face when Fenrir was upon him.
Bent low, Fenrir reached a clawed hand down and scooped the child up as easy as a crisp wrapper. The boy put up a fight but Fenrir was simply too strong. Tucking the brat under one arm, Fenrir closed his eyes and the two of them disappeared from the street with a slight pop.
They reappeared in what looked to be the most run-down hovel in all of Europe. Blood stained the walls and the floors, and even a bit on the ceiling. Ripped fabric littered the room, a partially unstuffed sofa sat in one corner and a filthy mattress occupied the other. And the stench...the stench could only be described as putrid.
He dropped the boy on that sofa and stepped a pace back. "Do you know why you're here, little one?" The boy could only shake his head side to side. "Have you ever heard the old saying that a son shouldn't suffer the sins of his father?" Again, the boy shook his head. Fenrir grinned, showing a mouthful of teeth. "I don't believe in that." The boy was trembling now and Fenrir liked it.
"Do you know who I am, little one?" Fenrir asked as he knelt in front of the sofa. The boy nodded his head affirmatively this time, slightly, but affirmatively.
"F-Fenrir Grey-Greyback."
"That's right, my boy. I'm Fenrir Greyback." He looked the boy over for a moment. "Oh I'm so glad that your father crossed me, boy."
"Quinn," a little voice whispered.
"What? What was that, little one?"
"My name...my name is Quinn."
Fenrir showed him another of his maniacal smiles. "Quinn it is then." He paused, running a hand through Quinn's long hair, "I think we're going to have a time to remember, Quinn." He secretly enjoyed the boy's shudder of revulsion as he touched him. It was always better when they had some mettle to them. He brought a hand to Quinn's cheek and rubbed the soft, soft skin, slowly bringing the claws down to the boy's collar. In one movement the button was flying across the room and in an ever quicker gesture the hand had shredded the boy's shirt to the waist.
Innocent eyes and quivering lips met Fenrir's gaze. "Your father did me dirty, Quinn, and now you must pay for his misdeeds." The boy edged backwards against the wall in an attempt to get away from him. "I'm sorry, Quinn, so terribly sorry." With that he leaned in closer still, their faces only inches apart, and howled. Fenrir howled and howled until his lungs were empty and the only sound in the hovel was that of the sobbing child.
Quinn was ripped from the sofa and manhandled across the room to the dingy mattress. He sprawled on his back and found Fenrir on top of him before he could so much as blink. "Now the fun starts, boy. Not so much fun for you, but for me? Oh yes." His words became moans and grunts and growls from that point on as he completely surrendered to the beast within. The boy's trainers were torn to ribbons and his pants were literally torn in half at the seams, leaving him only in a pair of light blue briefs. Fenrir stood back for a moment to enjoy the sight: a milky white stomach marred only by two light pink nipples, a face that was still years away from any signs of puberty and a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. No, he grinned, he knew exactly where they went.
He leaned low again and sniffed Quinn's crotch, inhaling the musky smell of boy. He could never get enough of it. One whiff was worth a million years in Azkaban. With the foreclaw on both hands he gently ripped the flimsy material of the briefs up the side. He didn't want to spill any blood...no, not yet. That was for later. For dessert.
It seemed that the removal of the last of his clothing flipped the fight off in Quinn. No longer was there that spark of defiance, that bit of 'fuck you' that there had been a moment before. As much as this was a disappointment, it was only a small one, he decided. Very unimportant in the grand scheme of his plans. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Quinn?" The boy nodded that didn't. This was even better in Fenrir's mind. Youth was a great thing to destroy but innocence was even better.
"Stand up, Quinn. Now turn around." The naked Quinn did as he was asked, craning his neck to keep an eye on his captor. "Face forward," Fenrir growled and Quinn obeyed, shaking. Fenrir raised his hands over his head and flexed the muscles, the claws sliding out. He slashed downward, leaving eight ruby red slashes across the skin. Quinn screamed out. "Yes boy, yell!"
Yell he did. Quinn wailed and wailed. Fenrir pushed him against the wall and held the boy's arms above his head. The blood ran down, pooling for a moment just above the cleft of his ass before rolling along through. Quinn screamed now, his sobs long behind him. The pain in his back had awakened his desire for survival. He tried to wrench his arms from Fenrir's hand and nearly succeeded but Fenrir only tightened his grip. "Blood is life, boy, drink up." He ran a hand across the wounds and brought it to Quinn's mouth.
Quinn shook the hand away and was squashed against the wall for his efforts, something rubbing between the cheeks. "Oh Quinn..." He nibbled on the back of the boy's neck, drawing yet more blood. His free hand raced to the boy's front side and caressed his stomach. "So soft, so innocent, so pure," he said, elongating the last word into a snarl. His claws jumped out again and carved yet more lines into the boy, tearing furrows across his belly.
The time was now. Fenrir could wait no longer for the debt to be repayed. What little restraint he had left dissolved when Quinn backed into him while attempting to get away from the claws. His right foot swept both the boy's legs apart and he squatted just a bit to get the perfect angle. Quinn'd just started to turn his head when a pain worse than anything he could imagine erupted from his backside.
The boy's screams were music to Fenrir's ears. He plunged deep inside the boy, slightly aided by the blood, the rest by brute force. Some part of him was deeply satisfied with the knowledge that he'd most certainly torn the lad wide open. A debt was a debt, after all, and debts have to be settled.
Rhythmic, grunting thrusts rocked the boy back and forth against the wall. Fresh blood covered age-old stains on both the plaster and the mattress. One muscular arm grabbed around Quinn's neck in a choke hold and began slamming him down in time with the upward thrusts, the boy's yells getting progressively softer as his breath was exhausted. The boy's head began to roll about like a rag doll's on his shoulders. Leg muscles that were starved for oxygen began to tremble. Quinn's few remaining gestures of resistance faded as darkness overtook him.
Fenrir noticed none of this and even if he had he'd not have cared. He was close now, so very close. His thrusts increased again in both frequency and viciousness and the arm around Quinn's neck threatened to snap it like a twig. He let loose with one final howl and slammed forward, filling Quinn. Quinn's body sagged back limply against him as he emptied himself.
As he slowly regained what remained of his mind, Fenrir shoved Quinn off of him. The boy landed in a very awkward sprawl of limbs, something that even Fenrir's unnatural eye noticed. He collapsed beside the boy and sniffed him, his nose catching the unmistakable smell of death. Nearly any other being in the world would find that smell at the very least unsavory but Fenrir found it catching. He dropped to his hands and knees beside the body and began to lick his scratches.
It was slight at first, a solitary spark in the universe, but as he licked the corpse his lust began to grow again. He cleaned Quinn's back and lowered his head further, his tongue lapping at the still-warm blood between the soft mounds. That little spark soon became a supernova and he flipped the boy on his back with utter abandon, lapping the blood on his belly.
Fully aroused again, Fenrir grabbed the boy's legs behind the knees and shoved them backwards as hard as he could, his growls drowning out the sound of ligaments and tendons tearing as both femurs dislocated. Legs now hanging limply by the boy's ears, Fenrir took one last moment to gaze at the sight before him before leaning forward and jamming his cock back into the torn asshole.
That werewolves have incredible stamina is something that even the youngest students learn but very few actually see it up close and in action. Even fewer live to tell about it as young Quinn could testify. Fenrir had his way with the corpse, his thrusts shaking the head into positions that would make any creature with a soul shudder.
This assault lasted much longer and was even more violent than the first, so much so that were anyone unfortunate enough to have witnessed it, they would have been grateful that Quinn's soul had departed for it was a truly terrible sight to behold. When Fenrir finally came a second time he had nearly torn the body apart with his flailing claws and red-lined jaws.
Fenrir regained his senses a few moments later, coming to covered in blood and other fluids. He stood and looked at his destruction. Had he not known what the lump of savaged meat had been before it would have remained a mystery. But he knew. And he smiled. "I think your father's debt has been repaid, Quinn." He snaked his tongue around his lips, savoring the taste that was completely unlike any other.
A short while later he'd dressed himself again in his rags, and after hoisting the remains of Quinn Smythe under one arm, disapparated. He reappeared on the doorstep of the Smythes and promplty dropped his cargo. Fenrir lashed a foot out against the door, shaking it hard against the frame. He quickly diapparated to a nearby vantage point and watched as the door of the house was thrown open.
Mrs. Smythe, Fenrir had never bothered to learn her given name, saw what had formerly been her son and loosed a scream. Fenrir joined her with a howl of his own and watched as lights around the neighborhood popped on. It was time to go now, he figured. He had another stop to make before the moon set.