When the rest of the Snatchers go off to assess the situation, Scabior and Greyback find themselves alone in the woods, and it is not often that that is the case. They are hardly about to question it, though. It is rarely that they have the chance to be alone together these days.
Greyback pulls Scabior by the collar of his shirt towards him, then thrusts him to the ground, clambering on top of him, and already his breath is heavy. Scabior's fingers grip tight into his shoulders, hard enough to bruise, he's sure, but neither of them care.
It is frantic and it is rough and it is dirty, up against a log with the bark grating on his skin once Greyback has ripped his shirt off him, but it's the best Scabior has ever had. It's always the best. Greyback in him, hot breath on his throat, nails digging into his skin and his own fingers gripping the dirt. Desperate moans, pants, growls and that inevitable howl that means Greyback is finished. His own body tensing and arching into Greyback's, like that is what it was meant for. He can't imagine anything better than that.
Greyback is coarse and rarely gentle but Scabior knows he wants him, and being wanted alone is enough.