Pairing: Draco/ erm...
Warnings: Incest, chan, beastiality, urophilia
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters belong to JKR. You know it, I know it.
Notes: This story was concieved and written as a gift to Kitsune. I am grateful to both RedDwarfer and Rinsbane for agreeing to spend time on the beta, and to Rinsbane for the extra-special encouragement I needed to believe that I could really get away with... er, I mean, that I could succeed with this story. Any errors remaining are my own.
The Inconstant Moon
The second year of school had been a complete disappointment, but the following summer was turning out to be even worse. Draco bitterly hated coming to the Malfoy Hunting Lodge, but his father had not cared to listen. Bad enough that Slytherin had lost the House Cup and that the Quidditch Cup had been cancelled, and bad enough that Harry Potter had not only embarrassed his father and cost the Malfoys their house-elf, but he was once again the glowing topic of every conversation, even in civilized society. Lucius had decided that he could not bear to smile politely every time he heard the Potter brat's name mentioned, so he had packed up his family and taken them out to the middle of nowhere for the summer months. It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, but Draco hated the Lodge - he hated rusticating, he hated not being thirteen yet, he hated being so far from his friends, and he hated the woods.
It was the woods he hated most of all.
He hated the moonlight, and the way the reflected light was broken by the ripples on the water. He hated the smell of the trees, the grass, the stones that dug into his knees and palms, the chilly night wind that stroked his naked skin. He hated the warmth of the breath behind his ear, the smell of mint that it brought to his nose; he hated the platinum hair that slid like silk over his shoulders. He hated the strength in the arm that held him close, and the feel of the broad chest against his own narrow back. He hated the slippery feel of oil running down between his legs, and he hated the way it felt to be stretched and opened by two elegant fingers.
No, he didn't. He loved it. He loved his father. It was just the woods he hated. He had to remember not to exaggerate.
"Malfoys don't whimper, son," he heard whispered into his ear, and he cut the sound off before it slipped out of his throat a second time. He knew what he was supposed to do. He licked his dry lips and remembered the way he was supposed to relax, the way he'd been taught, so that it didn't hurt as much. He was concentrating so hard on not shaming his family name that he missed the cracking of a dry twig. The fingers had left him, to be replaced with the sensation of something blunt and warm and too large pressing against -
- and the quiet moonlit night exploded.
Draco was flattened and the breath almost crushed out of him. He scrambled, trying to get his head up and around to find out what was attacking them. He heard growls and curses nearby and finally managed to right himself, only to realize that his father's comforting warmth and weight was gone. He looked up in time to see the pale blur of his father's naked body land heavily on the forest floor nearby, and heard the crack of his head meeting something hard, probably a rock. Lucius twitched, and lay still. A large dark shape loomed over the man's fallen body, growling with the low snarl of threat. It snuffled a moment, and nudged the man's naked shoulder. A thick odor of animal musk reached Draco's nose, and he almost gagged with fear.
They were being attacked by a werewolf.
He must have made a noise - the animal's head swiveled and it glared right at him with malevolent yellow eyes, eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Feral and intense. Evil. Werewolves were evil, and it was going to eat him. Draco wanted to scream, and fear choked his voice until all that emerged was a muffled squeak. Frozen with terror, still on his hands and knees, he was incapable of moving while the beast padded towards him. It was huge, just one of its paws as large as his father's hand. Its head, too, was as large as a man's. The muzzle lowered to his face, full of teeth just waiting to snap closed on his tender skin, yellow eyes gleaming with wicked intent. Draco shut his eyes, and moaned.
It was snuffling at him. The cold, wet nose poked at the side of his face, slid down to the join of his neck and shoulder. He could feel drool leaking from its muzzle as it moved down his body, sniffing everywhere that caught its curiosity. When that nose reached his arse, he heard it inhale deeply, and then whine. He felt a long, wet tongue flicked between his legs, lapping gently at his balls, and almost screamed. His body jerked, and his eyes flew open. He turned his head to look behind him. It wasn't just a nightmare - the beast really did have its head lowered between the curves of his arse, and he really did feel its tongue swiping in broad strokes between his cheeks. Draco couldn't even say the sensation was particularly pleasant. For one thing, that tongue was easily as wet and slick as the oil his father had already used on him. For another - it was a werewolf! Werewolves weren't supposed to be interested in licking a boy's bits, it was supposed to be trying to eat him! Fear, confusion, and outrage warred within him, and he narrowed his eyes to glare at the creature. Then the cold nose poked him in the arse again, and he shivered.
It used its weight to shove him roughly and he ended up sprawling, falling until he was held up only on his elbows, with his arse still up in the air. Before he had a chance to scramble away, the monster's heavy body was covering him, its furry bulk pressed against his back, his hips caught between its thighs. He felt those huge paws settle on either side of his narrow chest and that was just too outrageous to be tolerated, monster or not.
"Oy!" he snapped, trying to struggle. The werewolf merely shifted until it was more comfortable and the boy's body was secure beneath it. Draco felt something nudging at his arse, and then the beast bucked forward.
It didn't actually hurt, even though the werewolf's head and paws were not the only thing comparable in size to a man. Lucius had been meticulous when it came to preparing his young son, after all. Draco wasn't even fighting too hard to get away. Why should he? Who would have expected that a werewolf would rather fuck its prey than eat him? So when the hot length of what could only be the wolf's prick slid fully and easily into his arse, Draco didn't scream. He gasped and lifted his head, trying to turn enough to see over his shoulder.
"S-stop!" he whined. The creature responded by sliding almost completely out of his body, only to surge forward, slamming its prick hard into his body again. Now Draco did make a struggle to get away. He managed to push himself up onto his hands, just in time for the next forward thrust. His new leverage had changed the angle, and he realized this almost immediately when the wolf's cock hit and then slid across that spot inside him, the spot his father usually tried to find. This was different, though - this didn't feel anything like what his father usually did to him. His body reacted to the stimulation, blood drawing down to fill out his own erection. The creature grunted in his ear, its drool slipped from its muzzle to slide down the boy's shoulder, fur scratched at his tender skin, but the sensations in his arse distracted him from these minor annoyances. It found the rhythm it was looking for, and Draco... liked it.
He didn't even realize that some of the animalistic grunts he heard came from his own throat, or that he was pushing backward eagerly. His attention was focused solely on the rough fur against his skin, the muscles in the forelegs holding him securely, the fullness within the walls of his arse, the slightest of burning sensations, the friction and pressure against that spot inside him. His own legs were splayed wide, his erection brushed maddeningly through the tips of grass as the force of each thrust rocked him back and forth on his hands and knees. The wolf's prick was shaped differently from what he was accustomed to, and the wolf itself was heedless of the boy's comfort. Lucius usually tried to be tender with the boy; the wolf was fucking him without pause or consideration.
Draco forgot time, forgot his father, only returning to his senses when he felt the wolf stiffen, and a wetness fill him. The wolf, he guessed, must be coming inside him; its prick was swelling until the pressure reached a level of discomfort. When the wolf didn't move, even after Draco thought he'd waited long enough, the boy struggled impatiently. "Well?" he demanded. "What about me?"
The wolf growled low in its throat, and caught the boy's shoulder. Its teeth didn't break his skin, but it reminded him of what, precisely, had a hold on him. He went still. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten the horrible danger he was in. There was no way that his father would forgive him if he was infected with lycanthropy. Hard on the heels of that thought, Draco had to wonder what Lucius would do when he found out his beloved son had been raped by the very werewolf that had attacked them.
So what if Draco hadn't really minded too much? He certainly didn't have to tell anyone that.
Oh, Merlin, his father! Lucius had hit his head on a rock, he thought. Was his father still alive? He had to go get help! If the stupid monster would only move, get off of him, get that horribly swollen prick out of his arse, he could run for the Lodge. And, if the stupid beast wasn't going to fuck him long enough to let him come as well, it could at least allow him to move enough to finish himself off with his hand! But it continued to hold his shoulder in the grip of its teeth, and it just lay like a lump across his back.
From where he lay unconscious on the forest floor, Lucius moaned. It caught the wolf's attention. The beast lifted its head and shifted its back legs, its movements causing its prick to push harder against Draco's prostate. The boy squeaked in response. His erection, which had been flagging with boredom, immediately roused at this prospect of further action. But, no, damn the werewolf. It had decided that enough was enough, apparently; the swelling had begun to recede. Even as Lucius moaned again, and his eyes fluttered open, the werewolf withdrew its cock heedlessly from Draco's arse, causing the boy to gasp as his abused muscles protested.
The wolf moved off of him, and Draco collapsed to the ground, panting and irritated. His hand immediately reached for his neglected cock. The wolf saw this, and growled. Its nose returned to nudge the boy's hand away. Draco wanted to curse at it, but the wolf, as if sensing his frustration, lapped at him with its tongue. It licked a hot, slick path from the root to the tip, and the boy flopped onto his back, letting his knees fall open. That tongue worked magic over his bits, sweeping over his lightly-furred balls, up the shaft, swirling over the sensitive tip before returning to start the process over again. Draco was a tremble away from relief when, once again, he was interupted, this time by his father's gasp. He looked up to see Lucius' horrified gaze fastened on him. The wolf noticed at the same time, and took away its magic tongue.
"Draco... don't move," his father whispered. "Just... don't move."
The wolf snarled at the older human, its yellow eyes glaring at him hatefully. Then, as if it hadn't a care in the world, it moved up until its giant furry body was parallel with the boy's and...
... lifted its leg.
Lucius hissed with impotent rage.
The boy's body had been overstimulated, teased for too long; he couldn't control his reaction. The stream of hot liquid that poured out of the wolf's body onto his cock, splashing over onto his belly and running down between his legs, was enough to drive him at last to the desperate edge. It scalded him, branded him with the heat from the wolf's own body. On the very edge of orgasm, Draco's eyes flew open. His gaze was caught by the fury and disgust in his father's eyes, and shame carried that heat up to his face, flushing cheeks still round with babyhood. The wolf was pissing on him, his father was watching every moment of it, and finally his body jerked and he came with a squeal. Thick streams of come mixed with the strong-smelling piss that covered his belly and crotch, washed off under the cascade.
The stream slowed, ended, and the wolf shook itself out. It growled one last time at Lucius before bounding off into the darkness under the trees.
Silence existed in the little clearing near the lake's edge, even after the danger had passed. Finally, Lucius sighed. "Draco, I want you to go down to the water and clean your body as well as you can. We'll... we won't tell your mother. I'll have thought of something before you get back."
Draco struggled to his feet, and moved off shakily to the lakeshore.
As you asked, I'm writing to report my reaction to the latest batch of your improved Wolfsbane Potion.
I don't remember much of what happened last night. I didn't seem to have much control over my instincts, from the little that I do recall, but as there has been no outcry of werewolves savaging anyone in the vicinity, I'm confident that I wasn't moved to kill anyone.
I won't be staying in this village for another month - some old acquaintances of yours are in the area. The Malfoys. You remember them, I'm sure.
There will be two more full moons before the next term starts. I have every confidence in your abilities.