Primal Instinct
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: Hard R/NC-17, for suggestive content, adult themes, and violence.
Word Count: 1047
Summary: When Greyback had first established the Underground, he had not anticipated the place to become so primitive and instinctual. He understood the wolves’ needs to fulfill their bodily functions and drives, but his need to infect was stronger.
For: SPEW 007, prompt Tear.
“Intriguing arguments, Lupin, but you have a long way to go in convincing me that those wizards you think so highly of will pay heed to anything of the sort,” a scarred man with a permanently menacing glare and throaty voice answered.
Greyback listened in on their conversation, fascinated at how adamant this new
wolf was about the “good” side. For the last week all the wolves, those neutral
and opposite this man’s side, had been debating about rights of wolves and
who was right and who was wrong. Greyback couldn’t help but roll his eyes and
scoff at Lupin’s determination to win the argument, though he knew, deep
down, that none of his words would penetrate these werewolves already
made-up minds. They just didn’t hold water.
Taking a swig from the bottle of Vodka in his hand, Greyback turned around and
walked out of the tunnel, not flinching in the slightest at the underground’s
draft. He could not continue to listen to Lupin’s pathetic attempts to sway
his pack. Greyback had these wolves practically brainwashed. They were
well versed in their words, something which Greyback was quite proud to admit.
He had let the omega know upon sheltering in the underground that his
wolves would not be so easily reversed in their opinions.
Navigating his way out into the forest, Greyback sat by the small, murky lake not
even a mile away from what he considered home. The lake was purple in the
moonlight, with a couple large rocks decorating it in an ugly sequence. He
watched as a few werewolves, particularly those one or two females who lived
in the underground, bathe in the lake’s dark water, showering their lovely
feminine wiles with water from their cupped hands. His favorite one being the
buxom blonde attentively tending to each breast, holding one with a hand while
using the other to circle the areola and pinch the pert nipple. He couldn’t help
but to let a satisfied, wolfish smirk distort his usually unsavory glare.
Looking ‘round once more, he noted a couple other werewolves had found their
way out of the Den and had occupied spaces around the lake, many of them
practically drooling and even masturbating as the two females bathed in the
water. Greyback couldn’t be involved in such distasteful behavior, finding long
ago that he much rather in question be fucking the she-wolf rather than
ejaculating to their sultry movements. He figured, though, that they were still
young and didn’t know where their true priorities lay. They would know soon
enough.
Hearing footsteps, the elderly werewolf turned to see that Lupin had crossed
behind him. The omega nodded his head in false respect at him and
proceeded toward the small waterfall where he awkwardly shed his clothing,
crossed his arms defensively (or because the wind had picked up), and tiptoed
into the water.
Greyback was quite intrigued at how attracted the blonde one seemed to be
toward the new wolf; it did not sit well with him that she was. She had stopped
mid-bathing, and confidently strode to where the omega shyly washed
his upper body. He dropped the soap bar he washed himself with into the water
at her intrusion, but had calmed down when she began to massage his
shoulders in a manner that clearly said to Greyback that was wished to mate
with him. A grotesque scowl creased the older werewolf’s rough
features.
When Greyback had first established the Underground, he had not anticipated
the place to become so primitive and instinctual. He understood the wolves’
needs to fulfill their bodily functions and drives, but with so few females at their
disposal, the two that currently lived with them were their only source of sexual
release. Although Greyback didn’t condone homosexual behavior, he somewhat
envied the Benders. Of course, he also felt lucky that he himself had lost much
of his own sexual drive, as old age had crept itself upon him. His mission to
infect was much stronger.
His thoughts drifted to a particularly fond memory of a woman he had
gruesomely razed into only a few months ago. She had been the wife of a man
who had dared to speak out against him, and to return the favor, Greyback had
positioned himself in their back garden, waiting for the moon to rise and for his
incisors to lengthen. When the moon’s light had finally reached its height, his
muscles tingled in anticipation and his lips upturned into a feral grin. His entire
body quivered and his bones dislocated, enlarging and becoming stronger as he
soon found himself on all fours at the woman’s back door.
He could smell his prey inside, and he used brute force to break the door in,
where the scent became stronger and intoxicated his senses. His ears perked
up when he heard the soft footsteps of the occupant, and lowered the front half
of his body, biding for her approach around the corner. When a dainty foot toed
the floor and the woman turned in the hallway, the color drained from her face
and her shriek could be heard from kilometers away. Her legs couldn’t move fast
enough, and Greyback lunged for her.
The next morning, Greyback remembered the Daily Prophet had described the
act as “inhumane” and her body as “unidentifiable.” A sadistic smile creased his
grizzly face at having dismantled her limbs from her torso and slurping her
organs through his teeth. He had used his claws to carefully slice the skin from
her muscle and gouged her eyes out of their sockets. He had left her husband
nothing but the bones he’d spit out and a mass of pureed tissue.
The old werewolf gruffly guffawed and contemplated other ungodly acts of
violence, finding that recently he preferred to leave the non-werewolves alone
when they didn’t have any children for him to inflict his Lycanthropy upon. The
murder of the petite, nubile wife of the Unspeakable had brought on a pleasure
that not even a masochistic romp with one of his slags could compare. This
malcontent suited him in his mission to infect the young and naïve, a satisfaction
he could not attain by other means, and he hoped that the werewolves he
raised would one day feel the same.