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hp_rarefestTitle: Lunacy - PART 1
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shiftylinguini
Prompt: #23 Teddy was born a werewolf. James gets bitten later in life (not by Teddy) and Teddy is there to help him through his first heat.
Pairing(s): James Sirius Potter/Teddy Lupin (background Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley/Oliver Wood)
Word Count: ~19k
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): A/B/O dynamics, mentions of mild gore, mentions of mpreg, converted werewolf James and congenital werewolf Teddy, mentions of contraceptives, implied use of a morning-after potion, unexpected heat, soul bonding, knotting, established relationship, Healer Teddy, scar sensitivity, scenting, smell kink, anal sex, anal fingering, alpha Teddy, omega James, minor implied switching, hurt/comfort.
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This is my first foray into this trope, but I fell head over heels for the prompt and couldn’t resist. I hope you enjoy my (slightly skewed) take on your idea,leontinabowie.
Giant, gushing, throbbing thanks must go to the amazing L, who alpha’d, beta’d and probably omega’d this for me, and patiently listened to me bitch and whine and stomp around petulantly, while simultaneously fielding endless inane questions about dicks and werewolves and the things I wanted to make those two things do to each other. You are a saint and a genius and you made this a joy to write <3
Summary: Excerpt: Fortunately, five years of dealing with monthly involuntary transformations into an, essentially, wild animal, had equipped James with a profound sense of pragmatism and matter-of-factness in the face of most things that life could throw at him. Unfortunately, his current condition was completely outside of that realm. Between the headache, the nausea, the throbbing scar and the burgeoning erection—well, he was starting to feel a bit panicky. And completely useless.
READ IT ON AO3
The average werewolf heat can last for twelve to forty-eight hours, occurs annually and is exclusive to omega lycanthropes. It is described as being a combination of having one’s internal organs put in a blender and being emotionally hung, drawn and quartered, while one’s libido takes the wheel with a hefty dose of steroids—all in the pursuit of finding a compatible mate, getting up the duff, and continuing the dwindling werewolf population.
Of course, that’s not what the brochure which the helpful Healer’s Aide had pressed into James’s hands had actually said. But that was the overall gist he’d taken away from it, all the same. He hadn’t really been able to make head nor tail of the whole business, still too raw and overwhelmed and bleeding dully into his bandages at the time. Most of it went in one ear and right out the other; a few bits and pieces of information had been alarming enough for him to retain, but that was about it.
He’d been a bit preoccupied with the whole now a werewolf part, really. That bombshell had come just two days beforehand, after he’d regained consciousness, and had still been slowly settling in his mind as reality, like a marble making its way through honey.
He only knew one werewolf, barring of course the one who had mistaken him for dinner. The one time he’d asked his godbrother what it was like when he was eleven, Teddy had just looked at him from under his purple fringe, told him mildly that it ‘sucked’, then smiled and changed the subject. There were very few things in life that Teddy didn’t want to talk about, so James had figured it had to be either pretty unpleasant, or hugely embarrassing. Like the time James’d seen him kissing Victoire (gross), or later on kissing Stefan, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain (strangely not gross).
He hadn’t brought it up again after that, like he hadn’t brought up those other things, but he had quickly discovered for himself that Teddy’s simple ‘it sucks’ was the understatement of the century.
James hadn’t counted on getting bitten, but after the fact, he had pretty much assumed that would be the shittiest part of this whole ordeal. The nights in hospital, weighed down by the stupid, aching meat of his left arm, which was healing itself at an alarmingly rapid rate, listening to snatched pieces of the whispered conversations around him, when they thought he was too full of healing potions to hear. All poor James, he’s only 16 and this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have let him and no, this is all your fault, you should have been there and maybe he won’t turn, maybe not this time—I mean, look at Bill, there’s precedent. Some literature even talks about dormancy in werewolves. It’s a slim possibility, but—
That last one was his aunt, smartest witch in a century, but really dumb about the people she loved. Because there was never a snowball’s chance in hell he wasn’t going to turn. It took one look at his shredded shoulder, the gouge marks on his back, the ugly, ugly teeth marks lined up in neat rows across his left side to figure that one out. But James appreciated the thought, nonetheless. Almost as much as he appreciated the cocktail of painkilling potions swimming in his system, preventing him from having to participate in these conversations. Or having to admit how terrified he was of what would inevitably happen now at the turn of the moon.
And, sure enough, next full moon James was buckled over in the magically warded and sealed-off makeshift shed round the back of his dad’s place (The Dog House, as he and Albus called it, out of earshot of their dad and Mr Malfoy of course). No, he’d realised that night that he’d been way off the mark, thinking being werewolf chow was the worst part. That was just the beginning, the appetiser.
Because transforming was—well, there weren’t really words for it. None that James had ever found. Pain, and fear, and shock, as his body tore itself up and then there he was, licking a hot tongue over grey fur. And then blank, for hours. The blackouts were a side effect of the severity of his attack, apparently only somewhat appeased by the Advanced Wolfsbane he took. He never had any recollection of what he got up to as the wolf. Then the whole process would happen again, like a bad rewind. Bones cracking and tendons tearing as he’d be stuffed back into boy form, wobbling on two feet and sore from his toenails to his teeth.
It fucking hurt, and everything always tasted like metal for hours afterwards. He ached like an eighty year old the whole week of the full moon, and bitched like one too. It was just something he’d had to learn to accept, and at nearly twenty one he was something of a pro at accepting the shitty inevitable. Every full moon, for the past five years—wax, wane, full. Lather, rinse, repeat. The wolf was nothing if not punctual, and James was nothing if not resigned to it.
Suffice to say that, in amongst those things, he hadn’t really had a lot of room left to think about other potential side effects of the bite. Specifically, the ways it might affect his reproductive system, now magically altered along with the rest of his biology. Well, potentially altered—there were three ways it could go for wizards post-werewolf bite. And as he’d never shown any signs of being an alpha or omega since his attack (no heats, no ruts, no nothing), he’d figured that he’d been stood up by that whole quirk of lycanthropy. He’d struck off ‘beta’ on his werewolf bingo card and got on with being an average, run of the mill human being, who, for one night of the month, was decidedly not-human. And who spent the rest of his time working in a bar in Hogsmeade, where the hours suited his, well, limited availability throughout certain phases of the moon. James would probably take his step-dad Oliver Wood up on his recurring offer of that Assistant Quidditch Coach role sooner or later, but not just yet; he really didn’t want to deal with the publicity fallout when Harry Potter’s gay werewolf son started working with young people.
Truth be told, he’d actually been pretty pleased about being a boring old beta and that nothing had changed in the old downstairs department. Bad enough he’d lost a lump of his humanity and gained a whole bunch of wolf in its stead, or that he had to put up with the beast showing its furry face once a month. As far as he was concerned the little bastard could stay right out of the rest of his life too—especially his sex life.
The fact that Teddy was an alpha had little to no bearing on their relationship, now in its fourth month and learning to stand on its own. Well, beyond the fact that it meant he was hung like a fucking horntail and had the stamina of one as well, which was hardly a downside as far as James was concerned. Although, Teddy himself had briefly tried to make it one; it had taken no small amount of reassurance, then persuasion, then outright begging before he’d finally fucked James properly, convinced he was going to hurt him somehow. James had been more than happy to relieve him of that misplaced notion. From anyone else, that kind of overprotectiveness would have driven him up the wall, but James kind of liked it coming from Teddy, and secretly always had. Not that Teddy needed to know that. And even though Teddy was big, James was hardly made of china; chivalry was all well and good, but so was getting bent over the back of Teddy’s threadbare couch and fucked ’til he saw stars—which Teddy was thankfully on board with now.
The knot at the base of Teddy’s dick, which had formed twice so far during some particularly enthusiastic sex, had not been an issue. Teddy seemed adamant that any action in that department was pretty fucking great; the one time James had put his mouth on it, run his tongue around the swollen base, Teddy had come so hard and so loudly they’d woken the neighbours. He seemed nervous about the practicalities of trying to fuck James with it though—omegas in heat were built for knotting, not beta’s, and Teddy was perplexed about why it had even happened at all, although he wasn’t complaining. But James had to admit he was curious and getting that inside him, no matter how much prep it might take, was near the top of his fucking-Teddy bucket list.
And that was as much as James knew or bothered to understand of the quirks of werewolf sex. It’d served him well enough for the past five years since he’d been bitten.
But now, sitting on the floor of the loo of The Golden Gryphon, separated from his own twenty-first birthday celebrations by the toilet door and an increasing inability to walk upright without buckling over in pain, James was really starting to wish he’d paid a little more attention to that long ago lesson in werewolf physiology and reproductive traits. Maybe taken a look at some of the info that the inappropriately cheerful Medi-orderly had given him, or skimmed the books and articles on werewolf mating and heat cycles lying around the therapist’s office (maybe ‘Your Lycanthro-body and You’ or ‘Merlin, What’s All This Down Here Then?: An Omega’s Story’). But it had all either bored or frightened the living daylights out of him, so he’d very maturely dealt with that by using a few leaflets to clean his broom and the rest as kindling.
At sixteen and recovering from the bite, it’d seemed like a brilliant plan. At twenty-one and hunched over a toilet shaped like an elaborate gryphon’s head, he was rethinking that policy.
Because, as it turned out, James was significantly less beta werewolf than he’d previously assumed, or than his apparently omega body had ever bothered to indicate. It was making up for the delay in this grand announcement now though, because he was ninety percent sure he was going into heat.
And one hundred percent sure he was completely fucked.
***
James heaved again and managed to hunch over the bowl in time to throw up mostly in the toilet. Sterling effort, really. Worth at least fifteen points. He spat and fumbled for the cord, watching his dinner swirl away, then slumped back against the wall.
He wasn’t certain how long he’d been in here, but he hoped someone would miss him soon and come put him out of his misery. More likely though, he realised, was that everyone thought he was drunk somewhere, making the most of the open bar. He’d done it before.
He groaned miserably and clutched his stomach as another jolt of pain hit him below the ribs, followed by another stubborn wave of nausea. He was covered in sweat and his shirt stuck to him like a clingy, damp rag. His side felt like it was on fire. The knobbled scar running from his left shoulder to his ribs was throbbing in time with his pulse, hot and tingling—sensitive in a way it had never been before. It always gave him hell before a full moon, but that was weeks away. And even then, it never felt like this.
Right on cue, the nausea passed as a deeper, heavier, and extremely unsettling wave of arousal pushed up through him, stemming from the same location as the hideous bursts of pain. It lit up the scar tissue on his body like the most wonderful set of pins and needles he’d ever had.
Those waves were coming more and more frequently now, and had made absolutely no sense at all—until he’d begun to entertain the unthinkable.
James gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass. He knew that at least a few blissful minutes of feeling nothing would follow. Those, however, were getting shorter and shorter, which was kind of alarming. He was starting to get seriously turned on, to the point he was beginning to have trouble thinking, the arousal fogging his brain in a sort of persistent haze. He felt a bit drunk with it—which wasn’t helped by the fact that he was also a bit genuinely drunk.
Fortunately, five years of dealing with monthly involuntary transformations into an, essentially, wild animal, had equipped James with a profound sense of pragmatism and matter-of-factness in the face of most things that life could throw at him. Unfortunately, his current condition was completely outside of that realm. Between the headache, the nausea, the throbbing scar and the burgeoning erection—well, he was starting to feel a bit panicky. And completely useless.
The worst part was, he was also kind of… He grimaced. Well, wet. In places he shouldn’t be, and in a way that had nothing to do with the sweat drenching his overheated body. Wasn’t that just the weirdest sensation around. He tensed his thighs and tried not to squirm around on the tiles. It felt good, really good, and also horribly embarrassing, and the twin spikes of shame and aching stimulation seemed to just make him harder. And wetter.
That fun little fact was what had finally clued him in to this maybe not being a normal fever, and instead being another little present generously left on his doorstep by the joy of lycanthropy. Happy birthday James, indeed, he thought to himself bitterly.
He’d started feeling weird a few days earlier, but nothing he couldn't ignore. He was headachey and lethargic, had a fever and some abdominal cramps and a weirdly increased appetite. He’d even joked that he was pregnant (ha!), helping himself to crisps from Teddy’s cupboard as Teddy’d taken his temperature with a flick of his wand. The irony was not lost on James now, but it was also not helping him in the slightest, so it could get fucked. Teddy’d just snorted a laugh and given him a potion to soothe his head, then some kind of atrocious granola bar to soothe his ravenous hunger, and apologised because ‘he didn’t have anything to soothe being a giant baby.’ Some Healer he was. Bedside manner of a troll.
James had downed the lot and thought no more of it. He couldn’t reschedule the party—too much hassle and it was the only night his mum and Oliver were free for a month. That was the downside of having a mother and stepfather obsessed with Quidditch; getting free tickets was great, but the pair of them were always so bloody busy. So he’d steeled himself for feeling mildly unwell throughout the evening, given himself a pep talk in front of his mirror as he shaved, and given up on wearing a tie with his shirt. It was itchy and uncomfortable around his neck for some reason.
He’d planned to have a big lie-in the next day as a reward. Eat tomato soup and cheese toasties, maybe watch old films at Teddy’s place while they nursed their hangovers. Being hungover at Teddy’s wasn’t new, but getting to curl around him and kiss him, slide a hand up his shirt like he’d wanted to for a while—that was still new. James couldn’t quite get enough of being allowed to put his hands on Teddy. Having him to himself for the rest of the weekend was a pretty good incentive for putting on a brave face and dragging his flu-y body out the door.
Three hours and four pints into the party though, extended family and friends milling around him, James’d had to excuse himself to the loo. His body temperature felt like it was determined to rival that of the sun and he was finally willing to concede that he was maybe a little bit sicker than either of them had realised. In between bouts of throwing up and interminable pain between his hips, his scar had turned itself into a spontaneous erogenous zone and his dick had begun to fill out steadily in his shorts. He’d concluded that this was probably not normal and that subsequently this almost definitely had something to do with the furry little fucker who invaded James’s life once a month. It all explained the fever that made his body twitch and, above all, which made him desperately want to soothe the ache in his gut by getting fucked.
He definitely hadn’t felt like that last time he’d had the flu.
He still hadn’t figured this out in time to do anything useful about it though. Like Apparate home, or signal Teddy to come to the rescue.
He squirmed again and gasped. It felt so good, his vision swam and his body started screaming even more about the getting fucked bit. He’d been desperate for sex before, pretty much summed up his late teens really, but nothing that compared to how much he wanted it now. He felt almost hollow and empty without it. He knew that was just the hormones, just the heat’s drive to mate, but Merlin's tits, it was intense.
He thunked his head back against the wall and blinked at the ceiling in disbelief. His hair stuck unpleasantly to his forehead. At this rate he was going to spontaneously combust in a pub toilet, unless he managed to get home and into a vat of ice immediately. More likely though, he was going to crawl out of here and hump someone’s leg. Either option sounded about as painful and undignified as the other.
“James?”
Right on cue, the door banged open and Albus’s voice sailed into the room. “James, are you in here, you drunken tit? Uncle Bill and Charlie are doing more speeches out front and Dad’s having kittens ‘cause we can’t find you. It’s hilarious, he’s totally sloshed...”
James’s stomach leapt in joy and then immediately plummeted in horror, as his brother continued to prattle at the unresponsive stalls. Because on the one hand thank Merlin it was Al, best little brother in the world, here to save the day. But on the other hand—it was Al, his little brother. He couldn’t let him see him like this, sweat drenched and glassy-eyed, vomit down his sleeve and cock tenting his trousers. He looked like a maniac. He felt like a maniac. And Al probably had a camera, the devious shit.
His brother walked closer to his stall, rapping his knuckles along the doors as he went. “Jamie?” His voice was getting quieter and less certain, like maybe he was going to leave. James figured his dignity was well and truly shot to pieces anyway, so he screwed up his courage and prepared to never hear the end of this from his sibling.
“Hey, Al,” he choked out, then cringed at his own voice. Great, he also sounded like a maniac.
“Ah-ha!” Albus crowed triumphantly and walked towards the sound of James’s voice. “Knew you were hiding in here somewhere.” James flinched and swore as Al’s voice hit him; it seemed about a hundred decibels louder than usual and more grating than ever. “You don’t sound so hot though, you feeling ok? And…” James heard Al’s knees click as he bent down. He wiggled his fingers at James under the stall. “And are you on the floor?”
James tried to respond, but all that came out was a strangled, gurgling sound as his body rioted and he tried not to throw up again. There wasn’t really anything left in his stomach at this point, but it seemed determined to try anyway.
“Ok, that doesn’t sound great.” His brother’s voice was tinged with concern. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say maybe you’re not well?” James answered this with a dry heave, which turned into a cough and a breathy moan.
“Ew,” Al griped. “And that does not sound like a noise I want to ever hear my brother make again.” He sighed. “So, clearly you’re not well. As always. Bloody attention-seeker.” His voice was fond, despite the words, and James almost smiled. He was unwell a lot, but his little brother would be the last person to begrudge him that.
Al clicked his tongue. “Well. This sounds like a job for your boyfriend and very definitely not me. Shall I go get Matron Lupin, sir?”
James flinched slightly at Al’s words (he and Teddy hadn’t told anyone they were dating yet—his brother was far too perceptive for his own good), then cast the worry aside. That was the least of his concerns right now. He pushed himself up and gripped Al’s fingers, which were wiggling under the door again. He squeezed them, his own hand clammy, hoping he could communicate his fervent endorsement of this plan via osmosis. He didn’t really trust his voice at this point.
Albus gripped them back firmly, then stood up. “Back in a jiffy. Don’t fall in the toilet.” And he was gone.
James sagged against the door and his head swam in relief. And then it just swam. He realised he was beginning to feel properly dizzy; a combination of the alcohol and his insides apparently rearranging themselves. He ached.
But this was fine, he reassured himself. Al was getting Teddy. Al was a genius and a Slytherin, and made of gold, and he would get Teddy and he would get him here without a fuss or a scene and, above all, without alerting their parents. And no one would ever be any the wiser to the ridiculous things James’s ridiculous werewolf body was deciding to do in The Golden Gryphon’s ridiculous fucking bathroom.
James’s head, dick and arse all throbbed in unison, a choir of need and pain and useless arousal, as he gripped his stomach and waited for help to arrive.
Just a little bit longer, and Teddy would take care of it all.
***
It took seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds for Teddy to arrive.
James knows this because he counted, while staring at a crack in the ceiling and intermittently wanting to drown himself in the toilet and shove his hand down the back of his pants. Sometimes simultaneously.
“James, you alright mate?” The sound of the booked-out bar, temporarily allowed in by the open door, faded back to nothing as Teddy clicked it shut and walked into the room, heading purposefully for his stall. James felt an overwhelming rush of relief at the sound of Teddy’s familiar deep voice—then realised that he was definitely, without doubt, one hundred per cent in heat.
Because James could smell him.
Teddy always smelled good to James; he could probably pick him out of a crowd based on his cologne alone, or the shampoo he used, or probably even his bloody toothpaste. But those were all things—external elements, on top of the underlying scent. A scent which James had never noticed before, because he’d never been able to pick it up.
He was pretty sure now he wasn't going to be able to ever forget it.
Right now, Teddy smelled—well right now he smelled like heaven. His scent enveloped him, warm and clean and strong and masculine. It reminded James, bizarrely, of butter on toast and crushed leaves, like hops and rain and—
And sex.
Merlin, he smelled like sweat and skin, coarse hair and broad palms, and sex. To James’s heightened senses it was utterly overwhelming. His hips stuttered up against nothing, another pulse of wet leaking down the back of his thighs.
The scent got stronger as Teddy’s footsteps got louder, each clip of his dress shoes bringing it closer to James. He felt hot all over—even his eyes felt hot, as he blinked moisture away from them. Sweat or tears, he couldn’t really tell at this point. He was so turned on he couldn’t think. He shut his eyes, back tense and shoulders against the wall, and pressed his palms into the cold floor. He tried to focus on breathing. In, out. It didn't help. He splayed his fingers and locked his elbows.
Fuck.
“James, love, which one are you in? Ah, here we are.” Teddy’s footsteps slowed and then stopped. “Al says you’re sick. Probably a flu after all, or you could have had a reaction to the potion I gave you earlier, the one… with the…” Teddy’s voice dropped off. He inhaled distractedly, then cleared his throat. “Um. Sorry. Anyway.” His fingers peeked over the top of the stall as he grasped it, tall enough to peer over the top if he wanted to. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
James opened his mouth. Then shut it again uselessly.
He had no idea how to explain this. Not even to Teddy, the person with whom he had shared the majority of his most embarrassing secrets and ailments, and who was also in the somewhat singular position of being able to sympathise, or at least understand what was happening. But still, what would he say? “So you know how I’m a beta? I’m not. How do I know this? Don’t ask questions Ted, just get in here and fuck me ’til I can think straight again and I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
Teddy’s proximity really wasn’t helping matters, either, or James’s cognitive faculties. His body seemed to have honed in on the fact that what it desperately wanted had entered the room and was standing on the other side of the door, radiating concern and smelling of whisky and spring and sex. Just the sight of Teddy’s fingers, long and slim and curled over the top of the door, made James’s insides clench again. His dick throbbed and he tasted blood as he bit his lip to keep from whimpering. The sight of Teddy’s bloody fingernails was turning him on.
Teddy made a quizzical sound. “Lost your voice, huh?” He cleared his throat, then laughed self-deprecatingly. “Hey James? Merlin, this is gonna sound weird, but something smells really fucking great in here. Like, maybe it’s your cologne… Are you wearing a new one or something?” He whistled through his teeth. “Or maybe I’m just drunker than I thought.” He laughed again, soft and warm, slightly bemused.
James stifled a groan at the sound of Teddy’s voice deepening, at his scent spiralling around him. He marvelled that he was able, somehow, to get more aroused—to get even harder, wetter. Especially at the thought of Teddy being even slightly affected by this too.
None of which was helping him explain to Teddy what ‘this’ was.
And it suddenly occurred to James that he might not have to. Teddy could sympathise with this, as James’d earlier realised, because he was also a werewolf. He was the same as James—well, mostly. If James was picking up on Teddy like a beacon, then what kind of signals was Teddy going to be able to pick up from him? The way he currently felt, it couldn't be anything subtler than a red light flashing in invitation over the door.
And from the way Teddy sounded, it was working.
“James, sweetheart, are you alright? It’s just, normally I can't get you to shut up, and I’m a bit worried you’ve passed out,” Teddy said lightly, concern edging his voice. “So, I’m gonna come in now and check on you, ok? Just make a noise if you don’t want me to do that.”
James held his breath and didn't make a sound, suddenly anxious. Teddy opened the door with a soft spell and stepped in. And then froze.
“James, what… in the name of...”
The gentle smile slid off his face, one side then the next. His eyes, wide as saucers, took James in from his tense position against the wall—his flushed, fevered cheeks, dilated, glassy eyes, and the sizeable bulge tenting his trousers. Teddy’s mouth worked uselessly. His brain seemed to be struggling to catch up with what his instincts and body and big, Healer brain were telling him was happening. He frowned and looked at James, then snapped his mouth shut, blinking rapidly, still seemingly unable to form a coherent sentence. James would have found it funny, in fact, everything about this would have been hilarious, if his insides weren’t trying to crawl out of him and if he was able to feel anything beyond hot and ouch and fuck me, now!
“James, what… What are you… What?” Teddy babbled.
“Hey, Ted,” James croaked. He was aiming for casual, but missed it by about a mile, landing instead somewhere in between ‘pathetic’ and ‘randy’. “I’m…” He shook his head, then tried again. “This is exactly what it looks like.”
He waved a hand at himself, then pulled his legs up and dropped his head onto one knee, work done. Teddy was smart, he could figure this one out. James was exhausted, and horny, and ill—and suddenly on the verge of bursting into tears, as though acknowledging out loud what was going on had been the final straw. He was ready to check out and let Teddy deal with this one from here, selfish as it was.
Teddy squatted down next to him, still looking at him with those stupid, wide, incredulous eyes.
“Exactly what it looks like...” Teddy repeated dumbly, putting his hand tentatively on the back of James’s overheated neck. He brushed wet tendrils of hair aside. Goosebumps prickled down James’s back and he shivered.
“Are you… James. It looks like you’re in heat,” Teddy finished in a hushed tone, dumbfounded.
James tensed. He was suddenly hit by the weight of what was happening, what it might mean for them—what if Teddy wasn’t ok with this, was revolted, didn’t want him anymore? Teddy sounded shocked, gobsmacked; he’d said in heat the way he would have said spontaneously sprouting horns.
James was aware that he was being irrational, that Teddy was probably not going to jump ship just because James had added another little element onto the roster of weird werewolf shit they had to deal with, but still. He choked out a noise and was horrified when it sounded suspiciously like a sob. Apparently, he now had no control over how he reacted to anything. He snivelled angrily, wiping at his face.
“Oh hey, shh.” Teddy rubbed softly, reassuringly, at James’s nape. “I’m sorry, it’s fine. In heat is fine. You’re ok.”
James made another small sound and Teddy moved to sit opposite him, bracketing James with his stupidly long legs. The stall was barely big enough for both of them.
“You just took me by surprise with this one, that’s all, Jamie.” He smiled kindly and rubbed at James’s shoulder. “Bet it took you by an even bigger one though, huh?” Teddy said softly, almost to himself.
He smoothed a crease out of James’s shirt and James sighed into it, flinching when Teddy touched his scar. Teddy moved his hand away.
“That hurts?” Teddy said sympathetically. He paused for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it, fingers moving back to James’s neck. “Ok, do you want me to get your dad? Or your mum?”
James clutched at Teddy’s sleeve and shook his head. He could honestly think of nothing worse right now—well perhaps Albus coming back with the camera, but it was a close second. His mum would fret, and his dad would fret more, and it would be total chaos.
Teddy hummed, his voice soft, calm. “Yeah, maybe not a great idea. St Mungo’s, then?”
James scrunched his eyes shut and emphatically shook his head again, digging his fingers into Teddy’s arm just in case he wasn’t clear. He did not want to go to hospital. He hated it there at the best of times, and right now—
“Ok, ow. Ok. No St Mungo’s” Teddy made another sympathetic sound, rubbing in soothing circles around the soft skin at James’s hairline. “That’s fine, I can take care of you. We can handle this. Probably,” Teddy added with a soft laugh. “No, we’ll be fine.”
Teddy smiled comfortingly and James nodded again, grinding his forehead into the bumps of his own knee. He rubbed his face against his trousers, wiping away tears in an attempt to regain a bit of dignity. He sighed gratefully when Teddy didn’t mention it, as Teddy rubbed over a ridge of his spine, then back up into his hair. The contact felt like a balm to the aching, horrible feeling inside him. The heat seemed somewhat sated by each soft press of Teddy’s fingers against the sweat-tacky, overheated skin of his neck. He heard Teddy mutter a soft cleaning spell, presumably taking care of the mess of his sleeve, and he felt minutely better for it.
But it didn’t last long. James felt his skin prickle, his stomach contract and his dick twitch. It felt deeper, louder, even more insistent somehow. He whimpered again, clenching his thighs and biting at his own knee to keep from crying out—or climbing into Teddy’s lap.
“Oh, wow.” Teddy’s hand clenched involuntarily in his hair. He brushed his lips against James’s temple, breathing in deeply—scenting him—and stifling a groan.
“That is... How do you smell this good?” His voice sounded somewhere between concern and empathy, and being right on board with the James-in-his-lap thing. He breathed out again harshly.
“Ok, come on. Up we go.” Teddy stood, then put his hands under James’s armpits, lifting him like he weighed nothing. Like he wasn’t over six foot of dead-weight, nauseous, turned-on and terrified twenty one year old.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he muttered into James’s hair.
James swayed slightly as Teddy looped his right arm around his shoulder and thankfully, finally, Apparated them away.
***
Teddy’s place was small and somehow both sparsely furnished yet absolutely cluttered with stuff—books, scrolls, obscure medical journals—at the same time. James spent more time here than he did at his own place, although that had technically started well before they’d begun sleeping together. James liked being in Teddy’s space, wherever that might be, and Teddy—well his door had always been open for James. His past girlfriends had just had to deal with the fact that Teddy came with a grumpy godbrother perpetually on his couch. Luckily for James, there weren’t any more girlfriends to deal with.
They landed with a soft thud on the carpet of his living room, narrowly avoiding the small wooden table.
“Woah, there.” Teddy righted James as he stumbled, his head swimming from the sudden change of locations and, well, the sudden change of biology too, he guessed. He suppressed a manic laugh at the thought and buried his face into Teddy’s neck. He breathed him in deeply through his open mouth, hands digging into his hips as he pressed himself against Teddy as hard as he could. The contact was incredible. His head felt like it was filling with sand, as he rubbed his face against Teddy’s throat and mouthed up his jaw. Teddy’s breath hitched and he swallowed.
“Ok, James, sweetheart, we should mmmff,” Teddy tried to speak as James kissed him, licking against his mouth and sighing from his scalp to his toes as he did so. He felt a flush running up his spine, burning in time with his pulse, and he couldn’t understand how Teddy could feel so good, smell so good, and yet wouldn’t stop talking.
He kissed him harder and for a few blissful seconds Teddy responded, then broke away again. Teddy pushed him back gently.
“Wait a minute, James, we should really, oh fuck, think about—”
James growled and dropped to his knees, mouthing at Teddy’s crotch.
“Holy shit, James!” Teddy stumbled backwards, but James pulled him back via his belt. Teddy grabbed James’s shoulders for balance, then stared at the ceiling incredulously, shaking his head.
He swallowed audibly, as James sucked at the soft material of his trousers and moaned like a two-knut whore. Teddy’s fingers tightened, pulling against the over sensitised skin of his scar, and James almost shouted it felt so good. He frantically scrabbled at the fly of Teddy’s trousers.
“Oh hell, sorry, did I hurt—Woah, James, hang on, stop!”
Teddy pulled him back up, holding his hands against his chest and breathing fast. James pushed against him, blinking hard.
“No, no, no, James. Just wait, ok?” Teddy kissed him softly, chastely on the lips, pulling back and shaking his head when James tried to deepen the kiss. He did it again and James groaned in frustration. Fucking tease.
“Listen. We need to be smart about this.” Teddy breathed in deeply through his nose, trying and failing to stop James from latching on to his neck.
“Smart about what?” James mouthed groggily into the soft skin of his throat, licking up his Adam’s apple. He was pretty sure this was the smartest thing he’d ever done, he decided, as he ground down against the hot, hard ridge of Teddy’s cock through his trousers.
“Oh, fuck,” Teddy groaned helplessly and James did it again, because yes, Teddy that was the general idea. He knew, faintly, that Teddy was probably trying to say something important. That he should be at least nominally using his upstairs brain. But his faculties seemed to be happily blinking out, like snuffed lights, in the overwhelming onslaught of Teddy’s scent and shape and Merlin. He wanted this now. Fuck waiting.
James grabbed Teddy’s zip and pulled, got his shirt untucked and his hands on hot, perfect skin, before Teddy gripped his wrists like a vice and pulled them away.
“James, stop! Fuck, it’s like talking to a brick wall. A really bloody...” Teddy pushed James back again, “Handsy brick wall”.
James whined, but Teddy set his jaw and held him at arm’s length, visibly trying to keep control of himself.
“James.” He opened his eyes and looked at James hotly. He spoke very slowly. “If you are in heat, then—”
“Then we don’t need lube. And we don’t need to prep. And we don’t need to talk about it anymore do we, we can just do it now, can’t we?”
He knew he sounded breathless and desperate, and in some distant part of himself he was embarrassed as hell. But it seemed that shame, like all of his other emotions, were being thrown out the window and replaced with just want and by the overwhelming want—no, the need—for Teddy to fuck him now. He brought his hands up and sucked at the fingers Teddy had clamped around his wrist, pulled one into his mouth. He ran his tongue around the knuckle, his pulse so loud he could barely hear over it.
“Please, Teddy?” He whispered, voice so low he hardly recognised it as his own. He watched Teddy’s eyes darken, his mouth part and his grip loosen. “Please, fuck me.”
“James.”
“I need you to fuck me, Teddy,” James rasped, inching closer into Teddy’s slackening grip.
Teddy dropped his head back and bit his lip, his breathing loud in the otherwise silent room. Sensing he had the upper ground, James started undoing Teddy’s shirt buttons, slowly popping them open one by one. He wanted to rip it off, get his hands on Teddy and grip him by the ribs. Sink his fingers in and not let go. But he could be patient, if it got him what he wanted.
He got a hand inside Teddy’s shirt, ran his fingertips along the hair at Teddy’s navel. “It’ll be good. So good,” He whispered as he trailed a hand up along his belly. He ran his fingers through the soft hair at his navel, before Teddy managed to think again and stop his hand. James whimpered again in frustration.
“Please,” he ground out. “I need you to….” His voice cracked. “Make me feel better, Teddy.” He rubbed his hot face against Teddy’s cheek, stubble rasping on stubble.
“I know, I’m sorry.” Teddy kissed him again, deeply. James leant into it. “I will, Jamie, I will. But, just listen. If you’re in some kind of heat, which you definitely are, then...” Teddy swallowed, his voice wavering. “Then you’re gonna be fertile.”
He stared at James waiting a response from him at that bombshell. A response that… did not come. James nodded, but the words meant nothing to him. He gave up on Teddy’s shirt and focused on trying to remove his own.
“There’s… There’s spells and stuff… for protection,” Teddy continued as James peeled his own sweaty shirt off and dropped it on the floor, toeing his shoes off as he did and then moving to his jeans. Teddy shook his head. “But I don’t know any that will work on you.”
He stared at James helplessly, scrubbing a hand over his face. James dropped his clothes in a pile on the ground, then nodded again and reached for Teddy, thrilled when he didn’t put up a fight this time. James’s lack of reaction to the issue of fertility seemed to have knocked the fight out of him, but then again Teddy’d always been somewhat lost for words when James showed a bit of skin. Either way, James’s animal brain was counting it as a win.
“Right. Ok,” Teddy muttered to himself, breathing hard. “Ok, we’re just... gonna have to sort this out later then, yeah? James?”
James was nodding and squirming. Watching Teddy’s mouth, the pink flick of his tongue as he licked his lips, and not hearing a damn word. Teddy took in his glazed eyes and wet, parted mouth and groaned.
“You’re not hearing me at all are you? Oh, shit.” His voice hitched as James pulled his shirt open, finally undone, and latched onto a nipple. He looked up at Teddy, swirling his tongue around the soft nub, and then bit down.
And Teddy cracked. James saw it, the moment his resolve left him and the madness seemed to fully seep into him, like James had managed to finally lick it into his skin. He grinned.
Teddy snarled. He pulled James up by the hair and crushed their mouths together, hot and dirty and hard, steering them towards his bedroom.
***
GO TO PART 2
Author/Artist:
shiftylinguiniPrompt: #23 Teddy was born a werewolf. James gets bitten later in life (not by Teddy) and Teddy is there to help him through his first heat.
Pairing(s): James Sirius Potter/Teddy Lupin (background Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley/Oliver Wood)
Word Count: ~19k
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): A/B/O dynamics, mentions of mild gore, mentions of mpreg, converted werewolf James and congenital werewolf Teddy, mentions of contraceptives, implied use of a morning-after potion, unexpected heat, soul bonding, knotting, established relationship, Healer Teddy, scar sensitivity, scenting, smell kink, anal sex, anal fingering, alpha Teddy, omega James, minor implied switching, hurt/comfort.
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This is my first foray into this trope, but I fell head over heels for the prompt and couldn’t resist. I hope you enjoy my (slightly skewed) take on your idea,
leontinabowie.Giant, gushing, throbbing thanks must go to the amazing L, who alpha’d, beta’d and probably omega’d this for me, and patiently listened to me bitch and whine and stomp around petulantly, while simultaneously fielding endless inane questions about dicks and werewolves and the things I wanted to make those two things do to each other. You are a saint and a genius and you made this a joy to write <3
Summary: Excerpt: Fortunately, five years of dealing with monthly involuntary transformations into an, essentially, wild animal, had equipped James with a profound sense of pragmatism and matter-of-factness in the face of most things that life could throw at him. Unfortunately, his current condition was completely outside of that realm. Between the headache, the nausea, the throbbing scar and the burgeoning erection—well, he was starting to feel a bit panicky. And completely useless.
READ IT ON AO3
The average werewolf heat can last for twelve to forty-eight hours, occurs annually and is exclusive to omega lycanthropes. It is described as being a combination of having one’s internal organs put in a blender and being emotionally hung, drawn and quartered, while one’s libido takes the wheel with a hefty dose of steroids—all in the pursuit of finding a compatible mate, getting up the duff, and continuing the dwindling werewolf population.
Of course, that’s not what the brochure which the helpful Healer’s Aide had pressed into James’s hands had actually said. But that was the overall gist he’d taken away from it, all the same. He hadn’t really been able to make head nor tail of the whole business, still too raw and overwhelmed and bleeding dully into his bandages at the time. Most of it went in one ear and right out the other; a few bits and pieces of information had been alarming enough for him to retain, but that was about it.
He’d been a bit preoccupied with the whole now a werewolf part, really. That bombshell had come just two days beforehand, after he’d regained consciousness, and had still been slowly settling in his mind as reality, like a marble making its way through honey.
He only knew one werewolf, barring of course the one who had mistaken him for dinner. The one time he’d asked his godbrother what it was like when he was eleven, Teddy had just looked at him from under his purple fringe, told him mildly that it ‘sucked’, then smiled and changed the subject. There were very few things in life that Teddy didn’t want to talk about, so James had figured it had to be either pretty unpleasant, or hugely embarrassing. Like the time James’d seen him kissing Victoire (gross), or later on kissing Stefan, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain (strangely not gross).
He hadn’t brought it up again after that, like he hadn’t brought up those other things, but he had quickly discovered for himself that Teddy’s simple ‘it sucks’ was the understatement of the century.
James hadn’t counted on getting bitten, but after the fact, he had pretty much assumed that would be the shittiest part of this whole ordeal. The nights in hospital, weighed down by the stupid, aching meat of his left arm, which was healing itself at an alarmingly rapid rate, listening to snatched pieces of the whispered conversations around him, when they thought he was too full of healing potions to hear. All poor James, he’s only 16 and this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have let him and no, this is all your fault, you should have been there and maybe he won’t turn, maybe not this time—I mean, look at Bill, there’s precedent. Some literature even talks about dormancy in werewolves. It’s a slim possibility, but—
That last one was his aunt, smartest witch in a century, but really dumb about the people she loved. Because there was never a snowball’s chance in hell he wasn’t going to turn. It took one look at his shredded shoulder, the gouge marks on his back, the ugly, ugly teeth marks lined up in neat rows across his left side to figure that one out. But James appreciated the thought, nonetheless. Almost as much as he appreciated the cocktail of painkilling potions swimming in his system, preventing him from having to participate in these conversations. Or having to admit how terrified he was of what would inevitably happen now at the turn of the moon.
And, sure enough, next full moon James was buckled over in the magically warded and sealed-off makeshift shed round the back of his dad’s place (The Dog House, as he and Albus called it, out of earshot of their dad and Mr Malfoy of course). No, he’d realised that night that he’d been way off the mark, thinking being werewolf chow was the worst part. That was just the beginning, the appetiser.
Because transforming was—well, there weren’t really words for it. None that James had ever found. Pain, and fear, and shock, as his body tore itself up and then there he was, licking a hot tongue over grey fur. And then blank, for hours. The blackouts were a side effect of the severity of his attack, apparently only somewhat appeased by the Advanced Wolfsbane he took. He never had any recollection of what he got up to as the wolf. Then the whole process would happen again, like a bad rewind. Bones cracking and tendons tearing as he’d be stuffed back into boy form, wobbling on two feet and sore from his toenails to his teeth.
It fucking hurt, and everything always tasted like metal for hours afterwards. He ached like an eighty year old the whole week of the full moon, and bitched like one too. It was just something he’d had to learn to accept, and at nearly twenty one he was something of a pro at accepting the shitty inevitable. Every full moon, for the past five years—wax, wane, full. Lather, rinse, repeat. The wolf was nothing if not punctual, and James was nothing if not resigned to it.
Suffice to say that, in amongst those things, he hadn’t really had a lot of room left to think about other potential side effects of the bite. Specifically, the ways it might affect his reproductive system, now magically altered along with the rest of his biology. Well, potentially altered—there were three ways it could go for wizards post-werewolf bite. And as he’d never shown any signs of being an alpha or omega since his attack (no heats, no ruts, no nothing), he’d figured that he’d been stood up by that whole quirk of lycanthropy. He’d struck off ‘beta’ on his werewolf bingo card and got on with being an average, run of the mill human being, who, for one night of the month, was decidedly not-human. And who spent the rest of his time working in a bar in Hogsmeade, where the hours suited his, well, limited availability throughout certain phases of the moon. James would probably take his step-dad Oliver Wood up on his recurring offer of that Assistant Quidditch Coach role sooner or later, but not just yet; he really didn’t want to deal with the publicity fallout when Harry Potter’s gay werewolf son started working with young people.
Truth be told, he’d actually been pretty pleased about being a boring old beta and that nothing had changed in the old downstairs department. Bad enough he’d lost a lump of his humanity and gained a whole bunch of wolf in its stead, or that he had to put up with the beast showing its furry face once a month. As far as he was concerned the little bastard could stay right out of the rest of his life too—especially his sex life.
The fact that Teddy was an alpha had little to no bearing on their relationship, now in its fourth month and learning to stand on its own. Well, beyond the fact that it meant he was hung like a fucking horntail and had the stamina of one as well, which was hardly a downside as far as James was concerned. Although, Teddy himself had briefly tried to make it one; it had taken no small amount of reassurance, then persuasion, then outright begging before he’d finally fucked James properly, convinced he was going to hurt him somehow. James had been more than happy to relieve him of that misplaced notion. From anyone else, that kind of overprotectiveness would have driven him up the wall, but James kind of liked it coming from Teddy, and secretly always had. Not that Teddy needed to know that. And even though Teddy was big, James was hardly made of china; chivalry was all well and good, but so was getting bent over the back of Teddy’s threadbare couch and fucked ’til he saw stars—which Teddy was thankfully on board with now.
The knot at the base of Teddy’s dick, which had formed twice so far during some particularly enthusiastic sex, had not been an issue. Teddy seemed adamant that any action in that department was pretty fucking great; the one time James had put his mouth on it, run his tongue around the swollen base, Teddy had come so hard and so loudly they’d woken the neighbours. He seemed nervous about the practicalities of trying to fuck James with it though—omegas in heat were built for knotting, not beta’s, and Teddy was perplexed about why it had even happened at all, although he wasn’t complaining. But James had to admit he was curious and getting that inside him, no matter how much prep it might take, was near the top of his fucking-Teddy bucket list.
And that was as much as James knew or bothered to understand of the quirks of werewolf sex. It’d served him well enough for the past five years since he’d been bitten.
But now, sitting on the floor of the loo of The Golden Gryphon, separated from his own twenty-first birthday celebrations by the toilet door and an increasing inability to walk upright without buckling over in pain, James was really starting to wish he’d paid a little more attention to that long ago lesson in werewolf physiology and reproductive traits. Maybe taken a look at some of the info that the inappropriately cheerful Medi-orderly had given him, or skimmed the books and articles on werewolf mating and heat cycles lying around the therapist’s office (maybe ‘Your Lycanthro-body and You’ or ‘Merlin, What’s All This Down Here Then?: An Omega’s Story’). But it had all either bored or frightened the living daylights out of him, so he’d very maturely dealt with that by using a few leaflets to clean his broom and the rest as kindling.
At sixteen and recovering from the bite, it’d seemed like a brilliant plan. At twenty-one and hunched over a toilet shaped like an elaborate gryphon’s head, he was rethinking that policy.
Because, as it turned out, James was significantly less beta werewolf than he’d previously assumed, or than his apparently omega body had ever bothered to indicate. It was making up for the delay in this grand announcement now though, because he was ninety percent sure he was going into heat.
And one hundred percent sure he was completely fucked.
James heaved again and managed to hunch over the bowl in time to throw up mostly in the toilet. Sterling effort, really. Worth at least fifteen points. He spat and fumbled for the cord, watching his dinner swirl away, then slumped back against the wall.
He wasn’t certain how long he’d been in here, but he hoped someone would miss him soon and come put him out of his misery. More likely though, he realised, was that everyone thought he was drunk somewhere, making the most of the open bar. He’d done it before.
He groaned miserably and clutched his stomach as another jolt of pain hit him below the ribs, followed by another stubborn wave of nausea. He was covered in sweat and his shirt stuck to him like a clingy, damp rag. His side felt like it was on fire. The knobbled scar running from his left shoulder to his ribs was throbbing in time with his pulse, hot and tingling—sensitive in a way it had never been before. It always gave him hell before a full moon, but that was weeks away. And even then, it never felt like this.
Right on cue, the nausea passed as a deeper, heavier, and extremely unsettling wave of arousal pushed up through him, stemming from the same location as the hideous bursts of pain. It lit up the scar tissue on his body like the most wonderful set of pins and needles he’d ever had.
Those waves were coming more and more frequently now, and had made absolutely no sense at all—until he’d begun to entertain the unthinkable.
James gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass. He knew that at least a few blissful minutes of feeling nothing would follow. Those, however, were getting shorter and shorter, which was kind of alarming. He was starting to get seriously turned on, to the point he was beginning to have trouble thinking, the arousal fogging his brain in a sort of persistent haze. He felt a bit drunk with it—which wasn’t helped by the fact that he was also a bit genuinely drunk.
Fortunately, five years of dealing with monthly involuntary transformations into an, essentially, wild animal, had equipped James with a profound sense of pragmatism and matter-of-factness in the face of most things that life could throw at him. Unfortunately, his current condition was completely outside of that realm. Between the headache, the nausea, the throbbing scar and the burgeoning erection—well, he was starting to feel a bit panicky. And completely useless.
The worst part was, he was also kind of… He grimaced. Well, wet. In places he shouldn’t be, and in a way that had nothing to do with the sweat drenching his overheated body. Wasn’t that just the weirdest sensation around. He tensed his thighs and tried not to squirm around on the tiles. It felt good, really good, and also horribly embarrassing, and the twin spikes of shame and aching stimulation seemed to just make him harder. And wetter.
That fun little fact was what had finally clued him in to this maybe not being a normal fever, and instead being another little present generously left on his doorstep by the joy of lycanthropy. Happy birthday James, indeed, he thought to himself bitterly.
He’d started feeling weird a few days earlier, but nothing he couldn't ignore. He was headachey and lethargic, had a fever and some abdominal cramps and a weirdly increased appetite. He’d even joked that he was pregnant (ha!), helping himself to crisps from Teddy’s cupboard as Teddy’d taken his temperature with a flick of his wand. The irony was not lost on James now, but it was also not helping him in the slightest, so it could get fucked. Teddy’d just snorted a laugh and given him a potion to soothe his head, then some kind of atrocious granola bar to soothe his ravenous hunger, and apologised because ‘he didn’t have anything to soothe being a giant baby.’ Some Healer he was. Bedside manner of a troll.
James had downed the lot and thought no more of it. He couldn’t reschedule the party—too much hassle and it was the only night his mum and Oliver were free for a month. That was the downside of having a mother and stepfather obsessed with Quidditch; getting free tickets was great, but the pair of them were always so bloody busy. So he’d steeled himself for feeling mildly unwell throughout the evening, given himself a pep talk in front of his mirror as he shaved, and given up on wearing a tie with his shirt. It was itchy and uncomfortable around his neck for some reason.
He’d planned to have a big lie-in the next day as a reward. Eat tomato soup and cheese toasties, maybe watch old films at Teddy’s place while they nursed their hangovers. Being hungover at Teddy’s wasn’t new, but getting to curl around him and kiss him, slide a hand up his shirt like he’d wanted to for a while—that was still new. James couldn’t quite get enough of being allowed to put his hands on Teddy. Having him to himself for the rest of the weekend was a pretty good incentive for putting on a brave face and dragging his flu-y body out the door.
Three hours and four pints into the party though, extended family and friends milling around him, James’d had to excuse himself to the loo. His body temperature felt like it was determined to rival that of the sun and he was finally willing to concede that he was maybe a little bit sicker than either of them had realised. In between bouts of throwing up and interminable pain between his hips, his scar had turned itself into a spontaneous erogenous zone and his dick had begun to fill out steadily in his shorts. He’d concluded that this was probably not normal and that subsequently this almost definitely had something to do with the furry little fucker who invaded James’s life once a month. It all explained the fever that made his body twitch and, above all, which made him desperately want to soothe the ache in his gut by getting fucked.
He definitely hadn’t felt like that last time he’d had the flu.
He still hadn’t figured this out in time to do anything useful about it though. Like Apparate home, or signal Teddy to come to the rescue.
He squirmed again and gasped. It felt so good, his vision swam and his body started screaming even more about the getting fucked bit. He’d been desperate for sex before, pretty much summed up his late teens really, but nothing that compared to how much he wanted it now. He felt almost hollow and empty without it. He knew that was just the hormones, just the heat’s drive to mate, but Merlin's tits, it was intense.
He thunked his head back against the wall and blinked at the ceiling in disbelief. His hair stuck unpleasantly to his forehead. At this rate he was going to spontaneously combust in a pub toilet, unless he managed to get home and into a vat of ice immediately. More likely though, he was going to crawl out of here and hump someone’s leg. Either option sounded about as painful and undignified as the other.
“James?”
Right on cue, the door banged open and Albus’s voice sailed into the room. “James, are you in here, you drunken tit? Uncle Bill and Charlie are doing more speeches out front and Dad’s having kittens ‘cause we can’t find you. It’s hilarious, he’s totally sloshed...”
James’s stomach leapt in joy and then immediately plummeted in horror, as his brother continued to prattle at the unresponsive stalls. Because on the one hand thank Merlin it was Al, best little brother in the world, here to save the day. But on the other hand—it was Al, his little brother. He couldn’t let him see him like this, sweat drenched and glassy-eyed, vomit down his sleeve and cock tenting his trousers. He looked like a maniac. He felt like a maniac. And Al probably had a camera, the devious shit.
His brother walked closer to his stall, rapping his knuckles along the doors as he went. “Jamie?” His voice was getting quieter and less certain, like maybe he was going to leave. James figured his dignity was well and truly shot to pieces anyway, so he screwed up his courage and prepared to never hear the end of this from his sibling.
“Hey, Al,” he choked out, then cringed at his own voice. Great, he also sounded like a maniac.
“Ah-ha!” Albus crowed triumphantly and walked towards the sound of James’s voice. “Knew you were hiding in here somewhere.” James flinched and swore as Al’s voice hit him; it seemed about a hundred decibels louder than usual and more grating than ever. “You don’t sound so hot though, you feeling ok? And…” James heard Al’s knees click as he bent down. He wiggled his fingers at James under the stall. “And are you on the floor?”
James tried to respond, but all that came out was a strangled, gurgling sound as his body rioted and he tried not to throw up again. There wasn’t really anything left in his stomach at this point, but it seemed determined to try anyway.
“Ok, that doesn’t sound great.” His brother’s voice was tinged with concern. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say maybe you’re not well?” James answered this with a dry heave, which turned into a cough and a breathy moan.
“Ew,” Al griped. “And that does not sound like a noise I want to ever hear my brother make again.” He sighed. “So, clearly you’re not well. As always. Bloody attention-seeker.” His voice was fond, despite the words, and James almost smiled. He was unwell a lot, but his little brother would be the last person to begrudge him that.
Al clicked his tongue. “Well. This sounds like a job for your boyfriend and very definitely not me. Shall I go get Matron Lupin, sir?”
James flinched slightly at Al’s words (he and Teddy hadn’t told anyone they were dating yet—his brother was far too perceptive for his own good), then cast the worry aside. That was the least of his concerns right now. He pushed himself up and gripped Al’s fingers, which were wiggling under the door again. He squeezed them, his own hand clammy, hoping he could communicate his fervent endorsement of this plan via osmosis. He didn’t really trust his voice at this point.
Albus gripped them back firmly, then stood up. “Back in a jiffy. Don’t fall in the toilet.” And he was gone.
James sagged against the door and his head swam in relief. And then it just swam. He realised he was beginning to feel properly dizzy; a combination of the alcohol and his insides apparently rearranging themselves. He ached.
But this was fine, he reassured himself. Al was getting Teddy. Al was a genius and a Slytherin, and made of gold, and he would get Teddy and he would get him here without a fuss or a scene and, above all, without alerting their parents. And no one would ever be any the wiser to the ridiculous things James’s ridiculous werewolf body was deciding to do in The Golden Gryphon’s ridiculous fucking bathroom.
James’s head, dick and arse all throbbed in unison, a choir of need and pain and useless arousal, as he gripped his stomach and waited for help to arrive.
Just a little bit longer, and Teddy would take care of it all.
It took seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds for Teddy to arrive.
James knows this because he counted, while staring at a crack in the ceiling and intermittently wanting to drown himself in the toilet and shove his hand down the back of his pants. Sometimes simultaneously.
“James, you alright mate?” The sound of the booked-out bar, temporarily allowed in by the open door, faded back to nothing as Teddy clicked it shut and walked into the room, heading purposefully for his stall. James felt an overwhelming rush of relief at the sound of Teddy’s familiar deep voice—then realised that he was definitely, without doubt, one hundred per cent in heat.
Because James could smell him.
Teddy always smelled good to James; he could probably pick him out of a crowd based on his cologne alone, or the shampoo he used, or probably even his bloody toothpaste. But those were all things—external elements, on top of the underlying scent. A scent which James had never noticed before, because he’d never been able to pick it up.
He was pretty sure now he wasn't going to be able to ever forget it.
Right now, Teddy smelled—well right now he smelled like heaven. His scent enveloped him, warm and clean and strong and masculine. It reminded James, bizarrely, of butter on toast and crushed leaves, like hops and rain and—
And sex.
Merlin, he smelled like sweat and skin, coarse hair and broad palms, and sex. To James’s heightened senses it was utterly overwhelming. His hips stuttered up against nothing, another pulse of wet leaking down the back of his thighs.
The scent got stronger as Teddy’s footsteps got louder, each clip of his dress shoes bringing it closer to James. He felt hot all over—even his eyes felt hot, as he blinked moisture away from them. Sweat or tears, he couldn’t really tell at this point. He was so turned on he couldn’t think. He shut his eyes, back tense and shoulders against the wall, and pressed his palms into the cold floor. He tried to focus on breathing. In, out. It didn't help. He splayed his fingers and locked his elbows.
Fuck.
“James, love, which one are you in? Ah, here we are.” Teddy’s footsteps slowed and then stopped. “Al says you’re sick. Probably a flu after all, or you could have had a reaction to the potion I gave you earlier, the one… with the…” Teddy’s voice dropped off. He inhaled distractedly, then cleared his throat. “Um. Sorry. Anyway.” His fingers peeked over the top of the stall as he grasped it, tall enough to peer over the top if he wanted to. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
James opened his mouth. Then shut it again uselessly.
He had no idea how to explain this. Not even to Teddy, the person with whom he had shared the majority of his most embarrassing secrets and ailments, and who was also in the somewhat singular position of being able to sympathise, or at least understand what was happening. But still, what would he say? “So you know how I’m a beta? I’m not. How do I know this? Don’t ask questions Ted, just get in here and fuck me ’til I can think straight again and I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
Teddy’s proximity really wasn’t helping matters, either, or James’s cognitive faculties. His body seemed to have honed in on the fact that what it desperately wanted had entered the room and was standing on the other side of the door, radiating concern and smelling of whisky and spring and sex. Just the sight of Teddy’s fingers, long and slim and curled over the top of the door, made James’s insides clench again. His dick throbbed and he tasted blood as he bit his lip to keep from whimpering. The sight of Teddy’s bloody fingernails was turning him on.
Teddy made a quizzical sound. “Lost your voice, huh?” He cleared his throat, then laughed self-deprecatingly. “Hey James? Merlin, this is gonna sound weird, but something smells really fucking great in here. Like, maybe it’s your cologne… Are you wearing a new one or something?” He whistled through his teeth. “Or maybe I’m just drunker than I thought.” He laughed again, soft and warm, slightly bemused.
James stifled a groan at the sound of Teddy’s voice deepening, at his scent spiralling around him. He marvelled that he was able, somehow, to get more aroused—to get even harder, wetter. Especially at the thought of Teddy being even slightly affected by this too.
None of which was helping him explain to Teddy what ‘this’ was.
And it suddenly occurred to James that he might not have to. Teddy could sympathise with this, as James’d earlier realised, because he was also a werewolf. He was the same as James—well, mostly. If James was picking up on Teddy like a beacon, then what kind of signals was Teddy going to be able to pick up from him? The way he currently felt, it couldn't be anything subtler than a red light flashing in invitation over the door.
And from the way Teddy sounded, it was working.
“James, sweetheart, are you alright? It’s just, normally I can't get you to shut up, and I’m a bit worried you’ve passed out,” Teddy said lightly, concern edging his voice. “So, I’m gonna come in now and check on you, ok? Just make a noise if you don’t want me to do that.”
James held his breath and didn't make a sound, suddenly anxious. Teddy opened the door with a soft spell and stepped in. And then froze.
“James, what… in the name of...”
The gentle smile slid off his face, one side then the next. His eyes, wide as saucers, took James in from his tense position against the wall—his flushed, fevered cheeks, dilated, glassy eyes, and the sizeable bulge tenting his trousers. Teddy’s mouth worked uselessly. His brain seemed to be struggling to catch up with what his instincts and body and big, Healer brain were telling him was happening. He frowned and looked at James, then snapped his mouth shut, blinking rapidly, still seemingly unable to form a coherent sentence. James would have found it funny, in fact, everything about this would have been hilarious, if his insides weren’t trying to crawl out of him and if he was able to feel anything beyond hot and ouch and fuck me, now!
“James, what… What are you… What?” Teddy babbled.
“Hey, Ted,” James croaked. He was aiming for casual, but missed it by about a mile, landing instead somewhere in between ‘pathetic’ and ‘randy’. “I’m…” He shook his head, then tried again. “This is exactly what it looks like.”
He waved a hand at himself, then pulled his legs up and dropped his head onto one knee, work done. Teddy was smart, he could figure this one out. James was exhausted, and horny, and ill—and suddenly on the verge of bursting into tears, as though acknowledging out loud what was going on had been the final straw. He was ready to check out and let Teddy deal with this one from here, selfish as it was.
Teddy squatted down next to him, still looking at him with those stupid, wide, incredulous eyes.
“Exactly what it looks like...” Teddy repeated dumbly, putting his hand tentatively on the back of James’s overheated neck. He brushed wet tendrils of hair aside. Goosebumps prickled down James’s back and he shivered.
“Are you… James. It looks like you’re in heat,” Teddy finished in a hushed tone, dumbfounded.
James tensed. He was suddenly hit by the weight of what was happening, what it might mean for them—what if Teddy wasn’t ok with this, was revolted, didn’t want him anymore? Teddy sounded shocked, gobsmacked; he’d said in heat the way he would have said spontaneously sprouting horns.
James was aware that he was being irrational, that Teddy was probably not going to jump ship just because James had added another little element onto the roster of weird werewolf shit they had to deal with, but still. He choked out a noise and was horrified when it sounded suspiciously like a sob. Apparently, he now had no control over how he reacted to anything. He snivelled angrily, wiping at his face.
“Oh hey, shh.” Teddy rubbed softly, reassuringly, at James’s nape. “I’m sorry, it’s fine. In heat is fine. You’re ok.”
James made another small sound and Teddy moved to sit opposite him, bracketing James with his stupidly long legs. The stall was barely big enough for both of them.
“You just took me by surprise with this one, that’s all, Jamie.” He smiled kindly and rubbed at James’s shoulder. “Bet it took you by an even bigger one though, huh?” Teddy said softly, almost to himself.
He smoothed a crease out of James’s shirt and James sighed into it, flinching when Teddy touched his scar. Teddy moved his hand away.
“That hurts?” Teddy said sympathetically. He paused for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it, fingers moving back to James’s neck. “Ok, do you want me to get your dad? Or your mum?”
James clutched at Teddy’s sleeve and shook his head. He could honestly think of nothing worse right now—well perhaps Albus coming back with the camera, but it was a close second. His mum would fret, and his dad would fret more, and it would be total chaos.
Teddy hummed, his voice soft, calm. “Yeah, maybe not a great idea. St Mungo’s, then?”
James scrunched his eyes shut and emphatically shook his head again, digging his fingers into Teddy’s arm just in case he wasn’t clear. He did not want to go to hospital. He hated it there at the best of times, and right now—
“Ok, ow. Ok. No St Mungo’s” Teddy made another sympathetic sound, rubbing in soothing circles around the soft skin at James’s hairline. “That’s fine, I can take care of you. We can handle this. Probably,” Teddy added with a soft laugh. “No, we’ll be fine.”
Teddy smiled comfortingly and James nodded again, grinding his forehead into the bumps of his own knee. He rubbed his face against his trousers, wiping away tears in an attempt to regain a bit of dignity. He sighed gratefully when Teddy didn’t mention it, as Teddy rubbed over a ridge of his spine, then back up into his hair. The contact felt like a balm to the aching, horrible feeling inside him. The heat seemed somewhat sated by each soft press of Teddy’s fingers against the sweat-tacky, overheated skin of his neck. He heard Teddy mutter a soft cleaning spell, presumably taking care of the mess of his sleeve, and he felt minutely better for it.
But it didn’t last long. James felt his skin prickle, his stomach contract and his dick twitch. It felt deeper, louder, even more insistent somehow. He whimpered again, clenching his thighs and biting at his own knee to keep from crying out—or climbing into Teddy’s lap.
“Oh, wow.” Teddy’s hand clenched involuntarily in his hair. He brushed his lips against James’s temple, breathing in deeply—scenting him—and stifling a groan.
“That is... How do you smell this good?” His voice sounded somewhere between concern and empathy, and being right on board with the James-in-his-lap thing. He breathed out again harshly.
“Ok, come on. Up we go.” Teddy stood, then put his hands under James’s armpits, lifting him like he weighed nothing. Like he wasn’t over six foot of dead-weight, nauseous, turned-on and terrified twenty one year old.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he muttered into James’s hair.
James swayed slightly as Teddy looped his right arm around his shoulder and thankfully, finally, Apparated them away.
Teddy’s place was small and somehow both sparsely furnished yet absolutely cluttered with stuff—books, scrolls, obscure medical journals—at the same time. James spent more time here than he did at his own place, although that had technically started well before they’d begun sleeping together. James liked being in Teddy’s space, wherever that might be, and Teddy—well his door had always been open for James. His past girlfriends had just had to deal with the fact that Teddy came with a grumpy godbrother perpetually on his couch. Luckily for James, there weren’t any more girlfriends to deal with.
They landed with a soft thud on the carpet of his living room, narrowly avoiding the small wooden table.
“Woah, there.” Teddy righted James as he stumbled, his head swimming from the sudden change of locations and, well, the sudden change of biology too, he guessed. He suppressed a manic laugh at the thought and buried his face into Teddy’s neck. He breathed him in deeply through his open mouth, hands digging into his hips as he pressed himself against Teddy as hard as he could. The contact was incredible. His head felt like it was filling with sand, as he rubbed his face against Teddy’s throat and mouthed up his jaw. Teddy’s breath hitched and he swallowed.
“Ok, James, sweetheart, we should mmmff,” Teddy tried to speak as James kissed him, licking against his mouth and sighing from his scalp to his toes as he did so. He felt a flush running up his spine, burning in time with his pulse, and he couldn’t understand how Teddy could feel so good, smell so good, and yet wouldn’t stop talking.
He kissed him harder and for a few blissful seconds Teddy responded, then broke away again. Teddy pushed him back gently.
“Wait a minute, James, we should really, oh fuck, think about—”
James growled and dropped to his knees, mouthing at Teddy’s crotch.
“Holy shit, James!” Teddy stumbled backwards, but James pulled him back via his belt. Teddy grabbed James’s shoulders for balance, then stared at the ceiling incredulously, shaking his head.
He swallowed audibly, as James sucked at the soft material of his trousers and moaned like a two-knut whore. Teddy’s fingers tightened, pulling against the over sensitised skin of his scar, and James almost shouted it felt so good. He frantically scrabbled at the fly of Teddy’s trousers.
“Oh hell, sorry, did I hurt—Woah, James, hang on, stop!”
Teddy pulled him back up, holding his hands against his chest and breathing fast. James pushed against him, blinking hard.
“No, no, no, James. Just wait, ok?” Teddy kissed him softly, chastely on the lips, pulling back and shaking his head when James tried to deepen the kiss. He did it again and James groaned in frustration. Fucking tease.
“Listen. We need to be smart about this.” Teddy breathed in deeply through his nose, trying and failing to stop James from latching on to his neck.
“Smart about what?” James mouthed groggily into the soft skin of his throat, licking up his Adam’s apple. He was pretty sure this was the smartest thing he’d ever done, he decided, as he ground down against the hot, hard ridge of Teddy’s cock through his trousers.
“Oh, fuck,” Teddy groaned helplessly and James did it again, because yes, Teddy that was the general idea. He knew, faintly, that Teddy was probably trying to say something important. That he should be at least nominally using his upstairs brain. But his faculties seemed to be happily blinking out, like snuffed lights, in the overwhelming onslaught of Teddy’s scent and shape and Merlin. He wanted this now. Fuck waiting.
James grabbed Teddy’s zip and pulled, got his shirt untucked and his hands on hot, perfect skin, before Teddy gripped his wrists like a vice and pulled them away.
“James, stop! Fuck, it’s like talking to a brick wall. A really bloody...” Teddy pushed James back again, “Handsy brick wall”.
James whined, but Teddy set his jaw and held him at arm’s length, visibly trying to keep control of himself.
“James.” He opened his eyes and looked at James hotly. He spoke very slowly. “If you are in heat, then—”
“Then we don’t need lube. And we don’t need to prep. And we don’t need to talk about it anymore do we, we can just do it now, can’t we?”
He knew he sounded breathless and desperate, and in some distant part of himself he was embarrassed as hell. But it seemed that shame, like all of his other emotions, were being thrown out the window and replaced with just want and by the overwhelming want—no, the need—for Teddy to fuck him now. He brought his hands up and sucked at the fingers Teddy had clamped around his wrist, pulled one into his mouth. He ran his tongue around the knuckle, his pulse so loud he could barely hear over it.
“Please, Teddy?” He whispered, voice so low he hardly recognised it as his own. He watched Teddy’s eyes darken, his mouth part and his grip loosen. “Please, fuck me.”
“James.”
“I need you to fuck me, Teddy,” James rasped, inching closer into Teddy’s slackening grip.
Teddy dropped his head back and bit his lip, his breathing loud in the otherwise silent room. Sensing he had the upper ground, James started undoing Teddy’s shirt buttons, slowly popping them open one by one. He wanted to rip it off, get his hands on Teddy and grip him by the ribs. Sink his fingers in and not let go. But he could be patient, if it got him what he wanted.
He got a hand inside Teddy’s shirt, ran his fingertips along the hair at Teddy’s navel. “It’ll be good. So good,” He whispered as he trailed a hand up along his belly. He ran his fingers through the soft hair at his navel, before Teddy managed to think again and stop his hand. James whimpered again in frustration.
“Please,” he ground out. “I need you to….” His voice cracked. “Make me feel better, Teddy.” He rubbed his hot face against Teddy’s cheek, stubble rasping on stubble.
“I know, I’m sorry.” Teddy kissed him again, deeply. James leant into it. “I will, Jamie, I will. But, just listen. If you’re in some kind of heat, which you definitely are, then...” Teddy swallowed, his voice wavering. “Then you’re gonna be fertile.”
He stared at James waiting a response from him at that bombshell. A response that… did not come. James nodded, but the words meant nothing to him. He gave up on Teddy’s shirt and focused on trying to remove his own.
“There’s… There’s spells and stuff… for protection,” Teddy continued as James peeled his own sweaty shirt off and dropped it on the floor, toeing his shoes off as he did and then moving to his jeans. Teddy shook his head. “But I don’t know any that will work on you.”
He stared at James helplessly, scrubbing a hand over his face. James dropped his clothes in a pile on the ground, then nodded again and reached for Teddy, thrilled when he didn’t put up a fight this time. James’s lack of reaction to the issue of fertility seemed to have knocked the fight out of him, but then again Teddy’d always been somewhat lost for words when James showed a bit of skin. Either way, James’s animal brain was counting it as a win.
“Right. Ok,” Teddy muttered to himself, breathing hard. “Ok, we’re just... gonna have to sort this out later then, yeah? James?”
James was nodding and squirming. Watching Teddy’s mouth, the pink flick of his tongue as he licked his lips, and not hearing a damn word. Teddy took in his glazed eyes and wet, parted mouth and groaned.
“You’re not hearing me at all are you? Oh, shit.” His voice hitched as James pulled his shirt open, finally undone, and latched onto a nipple. He looked up at Teddy, swirling his tongue around the soft nub, and then bit down.
And Teddy cracked. James saw it, the moment his resolve left him and the madness seemed to fully seep into him, like James had managed to finally lick it into his skin. He grinned.
Teddy snarled. He pulled James up by the hair and crushed their mouths together, hot and dirty and hard, steering them towards his bedroom.
GO TO PART 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2016-06-15 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-04 02:56 pm (UTC)you have no idea how happy this made me when I saw this!!!
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Date: 2016-06-16 06:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-04 02:58 pm (UTC)I normally don't get into the whole Alpha/Omega thing
*whispers* honestly, neither do I, unless it's a certain dynamic-- and then I'm really, really into it lol. Thank you SO much for reading and commenting, I was so happy to read this while anon!!!
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Date: 2016-06-17 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-04 03:03 pm (UTC)I definitely like how Teddy is trying to be all adult-like but you know, James is just so hot that he can't!</i. Ahahaha <33 :D:D:D
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Date: 2016-06-19 04:19 am (UTC)So funny and freaking hot, MA! Encore! :) ♡
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Date: 2016-07-04 03:05 pm (UTC)So funny and freaking hot, MA! Encore! :) ♡
Music to my ears!! Again, thank you so much <333
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Date: 2016-06-19 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-04 03:09 pm (UTC)Also, *whimpers* Teddy is giving in, Teddy is giving in.
Ahahaha <3 He tried!
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Date: 2016-06-23 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-04 03:06 pm (UTC)