BAD MOON RISING

Everything. That was exactly what Fenrir had always liked to hear—and would insist upon if he wasn't given. But he had never had to insist upon anything with Pen; the understanding they shared went beyond what he could think to demand. There was nobody else in the world, even within his inner circle, that saw softness from him. It was fitting that they alone would receive this luxury when, unlike everyone else, he didn't have to anticipate what they would do to disappoint him. As far as he was concerned, they were incapable of that. "Why don't we find out?" Chuckling, Greyback drew his flask from his inner pocket, already intending on taking a few gulps before he started on the champagne. It wasn't like he'd never drank before a transformation, but he didn't tend to drink as much. It just didn't taste right. No surprise, his moonshine tasted the same as anything else—anything else that wasn't flesh—like ash in his mouth. It didn't matter; here and now it could have been the nectar of the gods. Passing it over to Pen, he exchanged the flask for a flute of wine. By smell alone he could have guessed that it was exorbitantly expensive, but such was the joys of magic—someone practiced could recreate almost anything. They were certainly powerful enough to accomplish it well. Smiling behind the rim of his glass, he answered, "You can have everything."

"Always," they answered him softly, giving a small nod with their confirmation. "It never stops." They happily tore their eyes away from their memory of Fenrir only to settle them on the real man standing beside them. His color was even more magnificent in person, sadly that was the only perspective that would be impossible for them to show him. They hoped that the memory would be enough, and that he was enjoying seeing the colors as they had. Lifting a dainty hand between them, they murmured in soft invitation, "would you like to sit and have a drink with me, my perfect wolf?" In their periphery they could see their remembered copies trading his flask of moonshine between them. They could still remember that night between them as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Never one to forget much, they would surely never forget a single moment they spent with Fenrir.

It never stops. What a curious way to see the world, wreathed in so much color it might as well have been magic. He wondered if that did have something to do with what they saw, or if it was just a quirk of fate. Metamorphs changed on the outside; was it really so hard to believe that sometimes people just changed on the inside? But even among the haze of wonder, Fenrir was not easily distracted from Pen—the real Pen, the person who stood near him. "I would like nothing more," he said, pulling them over to a table not far from where they had sat before, but empty of any wispy patrons, the two of them included. "What would you like? Seems to me we've got the pick of the bar." Yellowed teeth showed in half a grin, cheeky as ever.

Somewhere nice... Pen glanced briefly back to Fenrir, noting the way he had his back pressed to the wall to make room for them in the bathroom. "Yes, my wolf..." Taking up their wand, they gave it a wave and first stretched the room a bit bigger, in a way that wouldn't show from the outside but which would make it more comfortable for the both of them to be in it. Then they brought the tip of it to one of their temples, looking back down into the pensieve, trying to pick out a memory that would be nice to tuck away in together. They pulled a long, silvery strand out of their head, and let it slip light and wispy into the bowl. Slipping their wand away again, they reached for Fenrir's hand. They wanted to go together. Their other reached to graze their fingertips lightly against the surface of the pensieve, and together they fell into the cool depths of the memories inside of it. Swirling until they settled in a setting they thought Fenrir might like. The bar where they had drank together, where they had first properly seen each other. Through their perspective as it was, every color in the room was present. The crowd of patrons was a kaleidoscope of color and movement. Sitting at the bar, their memory of Fenrir was flooded with the deep, bloody red of his hue. They kept their eyes away from their own figure sat next to him, their own dark blue much less worthy of their attention.

It wasn't an obvious reaction, but Greyback's shoulders relaxed just slightly as the bathroom extended outward. No longer was he forced into the corner in order to accommodate another body. Now, he could keep close because he wanted to, and not because the walls pushed in on his oversized frame. Having that moment of relaxation helped with the task as well—calm minds traveled much easier than the frazzled variety. He had never liked feeling like he was in a cage. Slowly, his mind cleared and he felt himself tip soul-first into the pensieve. Fenrir hadn't known what to expect when he had requested what he had, but he was mildly surprised to find that Pen had taken them to the Hog's Head. Out in the real world, it would have been the wrong choice—but here, wreathed in the world of memory, it was perfect. The crowd blurred into the background, a haze of sound and light and color... and outshined by the two of them sitting at their table. Turning an admiring eye on Pen, he asked, "Is this how you usually see everything?"

"You're welcome," they murmured when they reached the top. It was hard for them to do it, but Pen did let go, allowing Fenrir to move away from them and further into the room. They knew that he was capable of moving around on his own, but all the same seeing the way he felt along the wall made them want to mold theirself back to his side and stay there. Usually it was the other way around, with them and anyone else. Usually Pen was the one who needed the extra stability. "Oh...?" Pen replied in a soft breath, surprised but not hesitating to follow after him into the bathroom, their eyes fixed on the sweet sight of his smile. "What do you need...?" As they asked, they noticed the pensieve in their periphery. Their eyes pulled away to take it in, their head tipping with it. It wasn't something they could have added with their magic, even if it were possible they knew that they hadn't.

The moment Pen joined him in the bathroom, he realized how small it really was. Normally he wouldn't have given it a second thought... but as close to the change as he was, the cramped conditions set his teeth on edge. Reconciling that it would be only a short while, he kept the complaint to himself—as he often did—and focused on the steady sound of their heartbeat, as calming as it was exciting. Adjusting to the side, Greyback pressed up against the wall to leave room for them to use the pensieve. "Take me somewhere nice, would you, love? There were still several hours before moonrise and he was certain there were much better places to spend them than stuck in his old cabin, even with Pen's nicer additions.

Something about the way he was smiling at that moment tugged the corners of their lips into a gentle smile of their own. His request was simple, and certainly something that they would help him with. They cherished the fact that he trusted them enough to be so vulnerable as to ask. "Of course," they murmured, and moved to tuck theirself against his side, slipping an arm around his waist to help support him. They let the dufflebag slip from their shoulder and float up the stairs ahead of them, and pressed a soft kiss to Fenrir's cheek before following after it, taking their time in their ascent. With a soft rubbing motion of their hand at his side, they also made him just a little lighter to help them get where they were going. The upstairs was nicer than the first floor, the wood shiny and new, everything clean. Their bed was the only furniture present yet, already removed from the dufflebag and returned to its true size, the bag itself settled on the floor at the foot of it. The only door present hung slightly open, giving a peek of the bathroom they had added to the structure.

He sighed in relief as they started up the stairs, Pen's spell helping to ease the groaning ache in his back and pelvis. As slow as they took it—and he would never admit to as much—it would have been slower all on his own; he appreciated the dignity that magic could offer more than some. "Thanks, love," he mumbled as they reached the top, eyeing the bedroom for only a moment (and noting with amusement how clean it was compared to the rest of the shack) he moved towards the bathroom, rough hand feeling along the wall. As new as it was, magic had a way of harmonizing where men often failed, find familiarity in transformation; his pensive was still here, albeit moved. This bathroom was more suited for it, anyway—at least for while it remained at the cabin. The other left him feeling cramped. "Come here with me," he called, beckoning Pen over with a slight smile on his face. "You're not done with your favor just yet."

"... We wouldn't want that yet," Pen agreed, though a smile tugged at the corners of their mouth at the thought. They glanced away, their cheeks warm and rosy as they considered how wonderful it would be when it happened in the future. When they eventually would lay theirself down for him and let him have their body in the most final of ways... It was exactly what they wished to happen to it. For his body to be their final and truest place of rest. Returning the stormy grey of their eyes to the warm happiness of his amber, they thought to tell him regardless of the trust they had in him, and in Severus's work, "if by accident you're taken from me sooner... I forgive you." They watched his expression, lifting their head a little higher and preening quietly in his attention while he looked them over. Their head tipped to the side. "Anything, Fenrir mine," they answered him without hesitation.

Fenrir blamed his own exhaustion for the warm mist that formed in his chest at the concept of forgiveness. Forgiveness. Nobody else could have made that matter to him—he had certainly never given it any thought, himself—but hearing it from them... mattered, somehow. As surprising as it was, he acknowledged that it probably shouldn't have been. After all, who would have thought someone like them could have mattered to him at all? Yet, here they were. Setting his own confusing feelings aside, he offered Pen a smile. "I thought you might say that. Help me upstairs, would you?" That in and of itself wasn't the favor he had in mind, but he had it in himself to be a little coy about it. Things were always so much fun, he thought, when they involved a surprise.

His words started a pleasant fluttering in their chest. "... You are perfection," they sighed to him, briefly nuzzling against him before pulling him into apparition. Their magic swallowed them up and spun them before settling them back down again outside of Fenrir's cabin in the deep woods. They kept their touch at his sides, staying close despite the way he breathed telling them he must have been shaken. They waited until he spoke, craned their chin forward and pressed a kiss to his chin in a silent thank you for the compliment. Finally their hands fell away from Fenrir's sides only so they could take hold of one of his own, leading him into the cabin. Pen was a powerful wix, it wasn't something they often had need or opportunity to show off anymore. Now they murmured more spell work under their breath as they approached the cabin, transfiguring its shape and conjuring amenities that hadn't previously been there before. It all settled as they passed through the door, the first floor the same as it had been apart from a staircase which led up to a second floor added by their magic. Now it would be fit for more than just playing in, but for staying in together.

It was no surprise that Pen had something grander up their sleeve. They were powerful in their own right, commanding of magic that few others could possess—and perfectly capable of transforming his worn cabin into a place of purpose. The lower level remained as it always had, full of old stains and creaking floor boards, but never before had it given him stairs to a higher level like it did tonight, an addition eagerly awaited by his aching bones. "Don't give me too much credit," he said, amusement flickering in his expression. "I still might eat you, yet." It wasn't what he hoped would come oft he evening, but it would have been a lie to say he didn't salivate at the thought. Taking them between his teeth in finality would have been the greatest privilege he ever knew, but it was also an experience they could only have once. He didn't want that yet. Once they were past the threshold, Fenrir felt himself relax. He had transformed in this cabin a thousand other times, with and without others around him, and knew it well. The wolf inside knew it equally as well and was soothed by familiarity of it all. "I have something else I want of you," he said, yellow eyes shifting to run up and down their body. "A favor."

Their hand lingered on his knee as Pen watched Fenrir slowly pull himself up, first sitting up and stretching himself a bit. The sound of his bones cracking was electric, seemed to sing through every nerve in their body despite the way it also made them want to cradle him against them. But they still had some moving to do before they could relax properly alone with each other. Their hands found his sides as he got to his feet, a soft smile on their face from the affection he spoke to them with. They knew they were the only person he met with such treatment. "Almost," they murmured, coming close enough that he would feel their breath against his face, but not yet touching. They didn't want to let him go, so they lifted only a couple of fingers away from their grasp on him. With a couple of whispered spells, the bed shrunk itself small enough to then tuck itself into the duffel bag with everything else. The bag zipped itself shut, then floated up to hang on one of their shoulders. "Now i'm ready." They wrapped their arms fully around his trunk of a waist, pulling their bodies flush together, their forehead meeting his. Their eyes slipped closed. "Hold on to me."

Fenrir's gaze didn't leave their face for a moment, shifting only to watch their lips move with their magic. He didn't need to see to recognize what they had taken, the empty space behind him louder than the crack of any spell. It was just as amusing to imagine their bed, elegant and well-made, confined at his cabin... and less amusing, but much more appealing, to think of the two of them curled upon it. It was an understatement to say it would need washing tomorrow, but magic was just as good for that, too. "I will for as long as I can," he murmured, his own eyes finally falling shut as their foreheads fell together. How could he have done anything else? Making promises wasn't something Greyback normally did, but every time he was with Pen, he could be confident that he would keep his word; they alone were worthy of his loyalty. As they landed just outside the cabin, Fenrir couldn't help but sway a little on his feet. Thankfully, that was the extent of his trouble—he hadn't splinched, and more important than that, he hadn't hurled. It was about as much of a victory as he was going to get. Still, he took a few slow breaths through his nose before he spoke again. "After you, gorgeous."

"Thank you," they breathed back softly, keeping hold of his hand for a few moments longer as he lay himself down, sinking into the soft surface of their bed. Pen knew that such comforts weren't often granted to Fenrir, not near so much as he deserved. They wanted to shower him with every luxury at their disposal, so he would know how precious and absolutely adored he was. Leaning over him, they brushed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I won't be long," they promised. They didn't take very long at all, immediately slipping theirself away from him, getting to their feet and beelining first for their closet, and then their en suite bathroom. In a large duffel bag they packed soap and shampoo, extra sets of clothing, painkillers, and various drugs. When they returned to the bedroom, they set the bag on the floor beside their bed. They couldn't help theirself, pausing for a long moment as they stared down at him stretched out across their bed, appreciating all of his perfection. The way his hair settled around his head. A gentle hand squeezed at one of his knees. "I need you up now, Fenrir."

There were few people in his life that he graced with real trust. Reliability was one thing. There were plenty of cogs in his war machine that he could consider reliable. But trust? That was something reserved to a rare few, and none as much as Pen was given. He had placed them on a pedestal no other could hope to reach, willing to trust them—so perfectly imperfectly human—with everything he had to offer. It was more than just his life; it was his entire heart and soul he trusted them with, too. But it didn't take much trust to know that they wouldn't keep him waiting. They knew how important tonight was going to be for the both of them just as surely as he did. Sure enough, they were ready within what felt like moments of letting his eyes fall shut, and with a grunt he pulled himself up to a sitting position. His spine protested the entire way up, but it had smarted before and would smart again; pain was something he was more than used to. "Of course, love," he mumbled, rolling his neck from side to side before he pulled his legs over the side of the bed. "You've got everything you need, then?"

Their thumb traced idly at the side of his hand, their eyes settled on his face as they watched him in quiet thought. They had no need to rush him, there were hours for them to figure out how they wanted to approach the night at hand. When he answered, meeting their eyes again, they understood what he meant by his question. They gave his hands a soft squeeze, nodding and leaning theirself a little closer to him. They didn't want to put weight against him while he was sore from moonlust, but they couldn't help wanting to be as close as possible anyway. "Will you wait and relax while I gather some overnight things...?" They remembered the cabin well, and while it had served its purpose as a remote location for the kind of bloody fun they and Fenrir loved to share together, it wasn't stocked or furnished for comfort. If they didn't die that night, then they wanted to be able to relax and focus entirely on their wolf.

Fenrir relaxed just slightly while they were rested against him. He was sore in what felt like every part of his body, but it was a soreness he had endured for almost forty years and had long since faded into the background. Between less pain and Pen, he would have chosen Pen every single time, without question, without hesitation. It wasn't something he had, or likely would, say aloud... but that didn't make it any less true. It was truer than words could have ever hoped to describe. He knew that, if nothing else, would have been clear for them to see. "Of course," he answered, nodding. It was easy to sink back against the mattress and relax into its soft hold. Comfort was a rarity where he came from and sleep was often something stumbled into, rather than willingly found. Even with the luxuries that he, as a king, demanded always fell short of the reality that luxury could be. Pen wasn't even close to the end of it, and still they had more than he would think to value, for better or for worse. "Just let me know when you're ready."

"Anywhere, as long as i'm with you," they answered immediately, a soft sigh to their voice. Even knowing that the next few hours may possibly be their last, they were content just to have him there with them, to know that he wanted them to see his true face. They gave his hands a squeeze. "... But if we're being practical, I think we should go somewhere else. If anything goes wrong... Penny..." Their breath seemed to die in their throat. They didn't want to think of the possibility that their mother could wander in to find them dead, or come home sooner than expected and be devoured by the wolf as well. Even something that would have seemed so glorious to have for theirself seemed horrible if it meant that she would not longer exist in the world. Even if they were already lost, theirself. "Is there anywhere you can take us...?"

Fenrir paused. eyes case aside in thought. They were right that, should something go wrong, that it was unlikely to be just the pair of them caught up in the mess—the wolf could never be sated on only one body, especially if others were nearby. If their mother came home at any point before sunrise, she would have died, too. That wouldn't have bothered him, but he knew it would have made a melancholy ghost out of Pen—he at least had enough respect to them that he agree on finding somewhere more isolated. "My cabin," he suggested at last, eyes finding them again. "Do you remember where it is?" He wasn't going to ask outright if they would do the aparating for them, but there was the implication in his question. As close to moonrise as it was, he found himself tired. In fact, most times he slept right up until dark.

Pen felt a shiver go up the back of their neck, tingling across their scalp when Fenrir didn't answer them with words. He grabbed for the bottle instead and drank the potion immediately, wasting no time. They liked the thought that he agreed with them, that he didn't want to risk them being taken away too soon even if the act itself might be glorious. In that moment they decided for certain that when they died, young as they were bound to die, they would ensure that their body would go to Fenrir. For the wolf to mourn and devour them however he pleased. For now they let out a breath of laughter for the sight of his grimace as he swallowed the potion. They reached to take the empty bottle from him, and with a near silent murmur sent it floating away to drop itself neatly into the bin by their door. Their eyes met his and held them, always happy to return to the familiar warmth of his amber. Comforting like pools of apple cider, and terrifying as an unknown creature peering from the shadows. He was comforting, terrifying, and more. Their hands slipped blindly to find his, taking them gently into their hold as if there were any way they could have harmed them, big and rough as they were. "Three hours, I would guess..." They were familiar enough with the light from their window, and the orange hues and long shadows gave them a fair idea of how far the sun had set so far. "What should we do, while we wait?"

Fenrir took a second to really consider their question, rolling his head from side to side to release another bout of growing tension. There were a lot of things they could have done in the hours between now and the change, but few were options he would have considered under... normal circumstances. He wasn't confident suggesting much, still. There was always the possibility that something had been missed, and he, as himself, would wake up the next afternoon still coated in their sweet blood. An alluring thought, for sure... but not particularly welcome, either. He would just have to hope for the best. "Where would you spend it?" he asked, letting his yellow gaze shift back over toward them. "If you had a few hours to kill, and you could go anywhere in the world..." Greyback himself couldn't have answered the question with any confidence. Where else would he have chosen, if not their manor? Before, it would have been the woodlands, full singing moon hanging heavy over him. He had to account for gaps where there had never been the slightest hint of space before. They were privy to a journey witnessed by few.

The sound of his neck cracking seemed to reverberate down the back of their spine before settling in their middle. Every part of him was precious, they could never resist drinking all of it in even if they wanted to, and they certainly didn't. Bringing a gentle hand up to his cheek, they grazed along the edge of his jaw with just the tips of their fingers and slipped theirself to sit on the bed beside him, closer to the potion bottle. Despite the suggestion of his words they couldn't help but smile at the thought of how terribly things could go if something went wrong. There was a reason they would only trust Severus's hands to brew such a potion for them, a reason they would only trust Fenrir's claws and teeth with the possibility of any error. He would be worthy of it, if somehow the potion didn't take effect. Had they not more time to give to him and their others, they would have allowed him to take their body in the bloodiest, most final way possible. As it was, they sighed softly for the thought, wetting their lips with a peek of their tongue the same as Fenrir had. "We wouldn't want that... Not yet." Once they had spent every year their body would allow them, then he could take them. But not yet. "I haven't had enough of you, yet..." Pen kept close as they reached for the bottle. They popped it open for him, letting the cork fall somewhere beside their bed, and offered it to him.

We wouldn't want that. It was true even with the moon beginning its slow climb into the sky, even with the pulsing of hot blood in his ears, the hint of a taste on his tongue. Yet managed to catch him a little off guard. Maybe he was too deep in fantasy to hear them properly, or maybe there was a part of them—just like there was a part of him—that wanted the wolf to crunch on their bones. Maybe it shouldn't have even come as a surprise. Hadn't he known for some time now that there was exactly one person, one human, that could hope to understand him, and that it was Pen? Of course they would understand everything, in that special way only they could. Fenrir didn't respond verbally; his urgency, he thought, was proof enough of his concern over their well-being. Taking the offered bottle between his fingers, he swallowed its contents, grimacing once he'd swallowed the foul concoction down. Even he, who had eaten a fair amount of unsavory things in his lifetime, couldn't deny that it was utterly disgusting. He could only assume that the effects would be worthwhile. "It won't be much longer now," he said, after he'd grimaced enough over the taste. "A few hours, at most." Slowly, his gaze shifted to find their stormy hues. It was just shy of maddening to be in their presence, but still he wouldn't have traded it for the world.

Alive. The rasp of his voice prickled down the back of their neck, and Pen's gaze heavied, slipping away from his own only so they could watch the swipe of his tongue. They didn't miss the limp in his step, and they were already tugging him gently towards their bed before he admitted to any soreness. When he did, they pressed a kiss to his cheek and murmured softly for him to sit. Even as they understood the pride he had in his transformations, the power he found in the pain that came with it, it was hard for them to resist the urge to care for him. To cradle him gently to them and take his pain for theirself. If only such a thing were possible. They could see it in the glint of his teeth, in the way he averted his eyes when normally he would have given them every ounce of his attention. He wanted to sink his teeth into them already, and even still he never would. The thought had their cheeks flooding warm and pink, a soft smile pulling at their lips. There was nothing so comforting as the knowledge that Fenrir reciprocated their feelings so completely. That he understood them. "I have the potion ready for you," they breathed, gesturing with their chin to the bottle on their bed. "Should you rush to take it?" Tipping their eyes, the silver of their eyes settled again on Fenrir's lips, yearning.

Greyback, of course, was a man of more pride than he would readily admit. Weakness and pain was unbecoming of someone like him so long as it was intolerable, and he tolerated much in that mindset. Transformation was really no different. So long as he adamantly believed it was a gift, no drawbacks included, he would continue to scoff at the help of others—except under specific circumstances. This was one of those circumstances, and Pen one of those people. It was only for them that he would dare to unmask even a shred of his discomfort. He took a seat on the bed gingerly, rolling his neck to release the tension that was building there. It clicked loudly, drawing a low sigh from deep in his chest. Better, but not perfect. Perfection would only come when the transformation was complete, once the harsh glow of the moon released his new body from its silvery clutches. But this time would be different, he knew. Fenrir had never taken the Wolfsbane potion before. Not only was it a newer invention—few potions makers cared about the fate of lycanthropes in their midst—but it was notoriously expensive. Why waste his limited funds, what he needed to keep his pack up and running, on something he had no need for? That was another thing Pen came in clutch for—and Severus, too... although he resented to give him credit for much. "I should," he answered, voice raspy. "If I take it too late, it won't work." His tongue swiped along his maw again, considering the implications. The wolf, the beast, would have eagerly reveled in the resulting bloodshed... and to an extent, so would he. He would have devoured them, savoring the taste of every inch—but then where would he be? Lost and confused. Lonely.

It was the night of the full moon and while usually that didn't mean much more to Pen than knowing they would maybe get to hear some familiar howling coming from deep within their woods, tonight they were expecting much more. They knew about werewolves from their various studies, and they knew that they should take care to be prepared for when Fenrir arrived. And they were. Their bedroom was silent, with every light turned off in their section of the house in an effort not to make his overstimulation worse. The light of the just setting sun lit up their space well enough anyway, until a large and familiar shape jumped up into the window to block it out. Pen glanced up from their place laying across their bedsheets, having rested all day in order to ensure they would have as much energy as possible to enjoy the night ahead of them. In anticipation for his arrival, they had chosen to wear a black lace night gown instead of their usual shorts and tank top. Slipping to their feet, they crossed gracefully to unlock their window, letting their wolf inside. "Fenrir," they breathed softly as they ever did, reaching for the front of his shirt to help pull him in. They leaned into him, meeting his eyes and searching his expression as if they might be able to tell how he was hurting from that alone. "How are you feeling...?"

He crept into the bedroom gingerly, favoring his left leg. It wasn't injured, but as with people, werewolves and their transformations were all different. His always started on his right, earlier and earlier with each month that passed. Longer and longer after moonfall, too. Slowly but surely, Fenrir was certain that whatever man still lurked within him was being snuffed out, replaced by his true higher self—a perfect predator. But for while his lesser shape still held, he met Pen's gaze with clear, if hungry, eyes. "Alive," he answered, voice low and cracked around the edges, tongue swiping along his lips. It was true, even—pain was one of the clearest signs of life. It reminded him of parts of himself that he seldom paid mind to, of old injures aggravated over and over by the chaos of transformation. "But sore, too," he admitted with a half-hoarse chuckle, sharp teeth gleaming in the lowlight. Finally, his gaze shifted, falling toward the side and out to the rest of the room. It was hard not to look at them and only see a piece of meat, somethin succulent and pumping with life. He could hear Pen's heartbeat strong in their chest, pulling at him like siren song. The taste of their blood hung in his mouth even at just the sound—he couldn't help but salivate at the thought of tasting it again. Not tonight.