Title:Bottled love.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings:Fenrir/Harry/Severus *in that manwhich order kthxs*
Warnings. Slight reference to bestiality. Slight smut on part 2.
Summary. "I had a dream about this you know."
Author Notes: I regret nothing. Is there another fanfic with this pairing? That would be awesome. Review if you like, second part is on the way.
When he managed to figure out his situation, it was with him scrabbling to bring the stones at his feet and put them up onto the concrete front porch, which was at least as high as his head. A younger scrawnier boy was helping him and the sense of urgency filled him. Everything would be all right as long as all the stones were put up; a thought fluttered by, housing cornerstones maybe?, before he looked back.
There was a fence about twenty feet from the porch. Two black wolves were prowling around before they split, one went for the edge, where a chunk of fence was missing and the other went for the other side of the house that Harry couldn't see,
The boy, his helper, panicked and Harry couldn't hear himself but he wanted to warn the boy to get inside. The boy nodded, face blurry yet clear as he ran to the other side. Harry chanced a look back and winced as the black wolf was charging at him. In less than a second the wolf was on him, and an inappropriate flush of arousal gripped him as he was treated to a snarl and jaws clamped down on his bicep. Looking at the sharp teeth and the bright yellow eyes he wondered at the absense of pain and how it would feel to rub those sleek muscles under the rippling fur.
A cry shook him and he remembered the boy.
Groping around he came into contact with an object and swung it at the wolf.
Amazingly, it stopped and Harry had no time to think about it but ran, all the while glancing at the cardboard box in his hand. Huh.
He saw the boy near the wood in the backyard, the other wolf on his back doing something which made his pants tighten. The boy on the other hand, was sobbing, gripping the grass below him and trying to move the big black wolf rutting on him. Disregarding his arousal, Harry ran and tackled the
wolf, putting all his weight on it.
When he was 17, his scrawny body wouldn't have made a dent; but now, at 27, he had bulked up some. Which allowed him to pin the wolf on its back; grabbing its paws with one hand and holding the snapping jaws shut with the other. Looking closer at the wolf, he could see that it was easily as big as himself; and that it was a female. Blearily, he tried to remember if it was mating season for wolves or if it was just this one that started to arch against him and wag her tail against his crotch. Groaning, he pushed back down, and almost sighed in relief as the pressure eased something in him before it came back twofold.
He vaguely remembered the boy, and wanted to not deal with outside interference in the near future with the way this was going. Then a memory floated up of him telling the boy to run inside the big two story house and wait there. When he turned back to the wolf under him, he was surprised slightly to see there was no wolf there anymore. Only a woman, with thin hips and small breast as pale as milk. Her face wasn't clear, and Harry only got the vague sense of pitch black hair and eyes like soot smudges.
Wiry and strong limbs wrapped around him and pulled him down with a strength that surprised him before he found jaws at the nape of his neck. A hard tongue laved at his skin, his shirt seemingly dissolved to nothing; and he remembered the other wolf from before.
Feeling a hard appendage he concluded that the other wolf at his back was definitely a male. He barely had time to semi-chastise himself for being about to have a threesome with two wolves he just met before a furred paw wrapped itself around his waist. Looking down, he was confused to see a big, rough but completely human hand.
He was about to ask them if they were like those selkies of myth, and had merely shed their wolf fur before he was being taken and taking. Harry registered only warmth and wet and something coiling in him that just made his hips pump like mad. Then his mind was lost in darkness.
Severus resisted the urge to kick the man before him, however strong an occlumens he was, it was a feat worthy of a medal. Fenrir, on the other hand had no such restraint and pretty soon Pettigrew had a bruise the same size as the werewolf's boot on his ribs.
Tonight he'd been brewing a complicated potion of his making in the deeper dungeons, and could not make it to the monthly dinner that Potter had with the Dark Lord. He'd been slightly disappointed, it was always good to double check his theoretical work with Potter beforehand. It was a sore point with the Dark and Light Lords; at this point in time, having Potter on their side would mean the end to the war that had basically been reduced to a good old fashioned grudge match between the two older men. Although with the death of his godfather, Potter had since worked on becoming a neutral third player in their little war. Neutral as in 'hurt any of my people and I'll end this war by destroying both of you'; sometime after the Veil fiasco, he'd slipped up and brought in Voldemort's attention to his loyalty. Which had resulted in being 'gifted' to Fenrir to break; Albus had dropped him faster than a hot coal and left him to fend for himself.
The only thing positive that came out of the whole thing was Fenrir's bizarre attachment to him (and subsequent refusal to let anyone kill him on Voldemort's orders) and his name on The List.
The List was a scrap of indestructible parchment located in the Dark Lord's and Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. It had several names in it, and if any of those people died as a result of either Dumbledore or Voldemort's actions Harry Potter himself would "murder both of them and their little toy soldiers as well". Severus had no idea how his name came to be on The List, but Potter and he had entered into a strangely passive aggressive cameradie afterwards.
But that shaky truce would be destroyed if Potter ever realized the Dark Lord's plan. So he was pulled away from his work and begged by the rat to fix someone else's mistake.
He stalked across his potions lab and collected several antidotes and phials. Of course, today of all days, when Lord Voldemort had Harry Potter as a guest; would Peter be sent in someone else's place to acquire a small bottled Imperius sample to try out on the boy wonder. Only to choose the wrong one, and give Potter an aphrodisiac instead.
Sending a withering glare at the rat, he stormed out of his lab, closely followed by Fenrir and Pettigrew; they were lucky that the Dark Lord was called away on business right after dinner with the boy-who-lived. As they arrived at the guest wing, he had time to wonder why it was that Potter was still known as Boy-who-lived when the man was almost thirty.
Fenrir perked up and Severus eyed him warily, that look was never good. As they reached the door, the wolf seemed to get more and more restless; Snape was thoroughly unnerved and resolved to dump the antidote down the man's throat and run before Potter realized that the Dark Lord had tried to steer his loyalties to them through underhanded means. Then they heard a moan filter through the heavy oak door.
Fenrir practically shoved the door aside and the potions master wished he had at least knocked to wake the damned saviour up.
He'd twisted the covers that lay on the floor, discarded along with his shirt. The tight leather pants that he'd shown up with hugged his hips and muscles, while doing nothing to hide the hard on he sported. His hair had grown slightly longer since his last visit, Severus distractedly noted while trying to keep his gaze at least above the waist.
His efforts to protect Harry's dubious modesty were dashed as Fenrir practically jumped from the doorway to the bed. Running his bare hands over the torso presented to him as the man woke up to find a grey haired semi-clean werewolf leering over him.
Snape wanted to curse him something fierce as the dratted boy just blinked lazily and told Fenrir. "I had a dream about this y'know." in a sleep roughened voice that made those words more than slightly erotic. Then a fact floated across his mind, and belatedly he realized that as Fenrir straddled the man, and ran his hands and tongue down a bemused Potter's chest, the aphrodisiac running through his veins was spread by skin to skin contact. Which might explain the dazed and increasingly lustful looks Fenrir was giving the boy-who-lived. Or it might not actually.
The werewolf turned and basically snarled, "Leave already!" as he all but ripped his pants off. Pettigrew made a faint choking sound and hightailed it out of there. Snape turned to go but a small sound made him freeze and turn around again. His gaze caught Potter's and he closed the door behind himself instead; setting the potions he had with him on a dresser by the door he never looked anywhere else until he was mere inches from the owner of those green eyes.
"You know what this potion does, don't you Severus?" Potter practically crooned his name. Mouth parched he could only nod, even if the boy didn't know which potion it was, by gauging Fenrir's reaction right after contact, he could make a pretty good guess.
What he could never figure out though, was why he didn't move away as Potter brought his bare hands to Severus' face.