For Stilesque in the Guilty Pleasure Fic Exchange.
Also for the Pairing Diversity Boot Camp with the prompt: quail
And the Slash Boot Camp with the prompt: self control
He is torn in two; he's the monster and its victim. He's the wolf and the man but not the man he used to be. He thinks he's barely even human, but he still bleeds like one, and he still thinks like one. He once bit a chunk out of his arm and he still tastes like one and so he must be a human being. But only just. Because lately he can't recognize one half of himself from the other until the only thing he knows is the taste of blood in his mouth and the scent of sweat in his nose. And he's disgusted with himself. Absolutely horrified.
He could never admit that to anyone though; no, never in a million years because he has a reputation to uphold and a place to earn. And he's got people who look up to him, who respect him, who quail in fear at the thought of him.
But nobody loves him.
Who could?
So he gnashes his teeth and sharpens his claws, and he's no longer the man named Fenrir, but the werewolf Greyback. He embraces the monster inside, because resistance is futile. In times like these he must assimilate or die. And he doesn't love anybody and nobody loves him. And that's all right. That's okay.
Until it's not.
He meets a kindred spirit. Not a fellow wolf perhaps, but there's something animalistic about the man. It's something in his air that suggests he's seen the inside of an Azkaban cell. He's seen his share of monsters, and maybe, just maybe some demons too.
And just like that, in the middle of a bloody uprising, Fenrir finds that somebody. And he recognizes that maybe he is more human than he thought. Because it is such a human thing to do to go around falling in love; such a bloody, complicated, emotional thing to do. And he wants to hate himself for doing that.
But he can't.
His head is swimming and he's lost in the deep swirling depths of brown eyes in a ghostly pale face. It's a face of a man who hasn't had a proper meal in months. And it's beautiful. It's so goddamn beautiful that Fenrir (not Greyback, never Greyback) wants to just grab him by that tattered scarf and kiss the man senseless.
And Fenrir (or Greyback for that matter) was never a man with self control. So he does it, the bloody fool. He pulls Scabior in by the throat. Teeth clash, and their lips are rough from the cold and the wind. It's messy and it's awkward and it's real.
And it's mutual?
Yes. Yes, it is.
And it's in that moment, that gloriously human moment that Fenrir knows.
He's been Snatched.