(no subject)
title: The Call
rating: R
pairing: sort of Bill/Fenrir
warnings: character death. HBP spoilers
summary: Bill ran till his legs were shaking, resting only to look up at the moon through the criss-cross canopy of trees. 700 words.
Standing on the edge of the forest at midnight, there was nothing in the air but blood and the pulse that had called him for months. He was cloaked in black, clutching the hilt of his sword, moving swiftly amongst the fallen leaves and rotting flowers, and wearing the scars of a warrior.
The distant beating call of Fenrir's heart pounded into him, deeper than blood. There was nothing to hear but that siren song, leading him hot on the trail of the creature who would make him whole again.
He moved, like twisting this and shadowy that, into the forest.
Bill ran till his legs were shaking, resting only to look up at the moon through the criss-cross canopy of trees. Each footstep, each rustling of leaves he disturbed, each pull of night mist from beyond his line of vision beat in time with the pulse of his heart, leading him to where he was being called. The drumming rhythm was dark like voodoo magic, maddening him with the fevered desire of finding the centre.
He was gold and copper, black leather and silver sword, leaping over ancient roots and winding through ancient trees, growing closer and growing wilder, every step intensifying the smell of blood and the pull of the moon.
As swiftly as it had moved, his dark flight ended; a sinister shadow curled around the nearest tree, and there Fenrir stood, naked and covered in earth.
Fenrir let out a soft whimper when he saw Bill. His eyes glowed amber and wild in the dark, and he moved like liquid, like part of the night's whispering darkness, not making a sound as he stepped up to Bill and placed his long, dirty hand on the pulse at Bill's throat. Bill closed his eyes in longing; the sounds of night stilled. Fenrir reverently pushed his face onto Bill's pulse, breathing softly, transfixed by the singular beat. "My pet. You are beautiful, my pet."
Bill hissed at the slight brush of Fenrir's fingers on the jagged scarred tissue of his face. He smelled Fenrir, tasted his breath, tasted blood and sweat and the horrifying love for their mistress, who hung luminously in the sky. "If only because you made me so," Bill replied, finally. The trees and night birds danced around him as his thoughts turned round in fever, touching Fenrir delicately, longingly. Here was completion.
His blood burned through each pump of his heart, ever-quicker, ever-desperate. Fenrir clawed at his robes, pushing them aside to bare Bill's chest and find his heart and listen, to set his long-clawed hands to Bill's life and listen.
And Fenrir stood, holding him, letting out a long breath; and Bill stood, looking up at the weaker half of the moon, letting out a long breath. He let its glow and Fenrir's touch slow the burning fever of his skin until he was whole and calm and human blood beneath human flesh. Fenrir looked up at him, feral eyes muted into the docile gaze of a man, and it was enough.
Bringing up one hand, he lightly touched his fingertips to the side of Fenrir's face, closing his eyes and taking a step back. Time twisted painfully in the moment he wrapped his fingers along the hilt and raised his silver sword in an elegant arc. With one sweeping blow, he drove the blade into Fenrir and ruined his beating heart, ending its call.
The drumming in Bill's blood abated. Fenrir's eyes flashed scarlet, nothing left of him but a gasp and a shudder as black-crimson blossomed from the wound, hissing where it touched the silver of the sword. Bill ripped the sword out, sobbing as his caller's limp body bell to the ground.
He looked down at the dead wild eyes, touching his chest where Fenrir had. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees in the sticky pools around Fenrir's body, letting his fingers brush the warmth of life still spilling out steadily. And as all magic ends with death, so did the wounds running jagged across Bill's face close and heal, leaving lines of faint silver - the colour of the sword and the colour of the moon.