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Draco knew it was risky to tempt a wolf that close to the moon but he had wanted the big, rugged man to destroy him for so long—he wanted Bill Weasley to tear apart his clothes, to ravage him, to claim him as his, to growl in his ears, to pull at his hair.
And he would act up whenever Bill came in to collect wolfsbane a week prior to the full moon from Severus. He would bend down obscenely on purpose—arching his back, putting his ass up in the air, almost brushing Bill’s hardening length through the pieces of fabrics—and he would turn back from where he was bent in front of the shelf, his grey eyes wide, and his pale blond hair looking like a debauched halo under the sconces of the shop. He would unbutton his collar some days, the shirt falling slightly off his shoulder, baring his pale neck and delicate collarbones and the lines of his jaw—pretty and unmarked—and he could see Bill tracking the flutter of his pulse.
It was fun, yes, he loved teasing the werewolf so close the moon, but he wanted the real thing so fucking bad. He wanted Bill to claim him, to bite the delicate juncture of where his neck met his jaw and he wanted him to come in him, to mark him as his inside and out, to have his thick, hot seed dribbling out of his hopefully used and bruised hole.
He is a Malfoy and a Black and he always gets what he wants.
Severus was on a leave the day prior to the full moon and when he had left he had looked at Draco sternly and told him “No funny business.” Draco had rolled his eyes and went back to brewing.
He knew the client list today would be werewolves on the edge, even more so than before a normal full moon, because tomorrow would be a super moon. It would be full and fat and startlingly white in the sky, much closer to the earth and pulling their blood, putting their instincts on drive. And he knew Bill Weasley would be one of them again. He had been coming in for six days prior, eyeing Draco's body head to toe, making him flush with need and desire to be wrecked mercilessly, to be taken without a care.
The first few clients already had started to come in, some asking for Severus, some looking lecherously looking at Draco who was always prim and proper and he suspected they wanted to wreck him but he had his eyes solely on one man that day. And some others were decent like his ex professor Remus, scarred and tired and Draco felt a little sorry for him, just a little.
As evening drew closer, the moon began rising in the dark sky, and it was not white like usual but this time it was so much closer, pale yellow with craters visible and he could feel it affecting him as well, making him needy and making his cock hard under the carefully chosen black silk trousers. He wore no underwear on purpose, he wanted Bill to have easy access to him tonight, and he had fingered, three slim fingers which were never enough, and slicked his hole with repeated lubrication charms and Salazar he was so needy.
The little bell rang as Draco was packing up an order of Wolfsbane for another werewolf. The door opened and in came Bill Weasley—the scars on his face catching the light of sconces in the shop, still tall and strong, red hair tied back messily, shoudlers broad, the Muggle eyebrow piercing glinting in the light, blue eyes immediately landing on Draco behind the counter and then on the old lech.
“You're a mighty fine young man, Mr Malfoy,” the man grinned, exposing his stained yellow teeth. “My my, you smell delicious today, don't you.”
Draco's eyes found Bill’s for a quick second, and he could see Bill tensing, his jaw clenching and hands curled into fists by his side. And an idea popped into his head, he wanted to play dirty.
“Thank you, Mr Burns. I try my best to make our valued customers like yourself feel comfortable,” he murmured, looking up at the man through his lashes. He didn’t look at Bill then, though he could feel the man prowling in the shadows, ready to pounce on whom, Draco wasn't sure. He could feel the air thicken significantly with musk and barely-leashed hunger.
Bill's presence filled the room like a storm rolling in, and suddenly through his peripheral vision, he could hear the heavy soles of his boots on the carpeted floorboards. Mr. Burns leaned further over the counter, nostrils flaring as he inhaled again, eyes glazing with that dangerous, moon-maddened lust. “Comfortable, eh? Reckon I could get a lot more comfortable with a pretty little thing like you bent over this counter instead of just packing potions.”
Draco’s lips curved into a practiced, coy smile. He tilted his head just so, letting the open collar of his shirt slip another inch down his shoulder, exposing the pale line of his throat. His pulse jumped visibly there, and he knew both werewolves could hear it. “I’m afraid I’m only here to dispense wolfsbane tonight, that is unless you’d like to make a more… substantial offer?”
He could feel Bill now, only a few feet away, the heat of him radiating like a furnace and the low, warning growl that rumbled from Bill’s chest was almost too quiet for human ears, but it vibrated straight through Draco’s bones and settled hot and heavy in his gut. His cock twitched against the soft black silk of his trousers, already leaking from want and the earlier preparations. He was slick, open, aching and so damn needy.
Burns chuckled, reaching out one meaty hand as if to brush a strand of pale hair from Draco’s face. “Substantial? I’ve got plenty I could—”
A large, scarred hand shot out and clamped around Burns’ wrist before the man could finish the sentence. The grip looked casual, almost polite, but Draco saw the knuckles whiten and heard the faint creak of bone under pressure.
“Touch him,” Bill snarled, the wolf bleeding into every syllable, “and I’ll rip your fucking throat out right here.”
The older werewolf froze, lecherous grin slid off his face as he registered the threat—Bill Weasley, curse-breaker of Gringotts, survivor of Fenrir Greyback’s bite and one of the most dominant wolves in the British Isles when the moon pulled at him. It was especially true tonight with the super moon outside the shop windows, its pull yanking at his instincts like a chain.
Burns swallowed hard, eyes darting between Bill’s furious blue gaze and Draco’s wide, innocent grey ones. “Didn’t mean no harm, Weasley. I was just… complimentin’ the lad.”
“Compliment’s noted,” Bill growled. He released the wrist with a shove that sent Burns stumbling back a step. “Now take your potion and get the fuck out.”
Draco’s heart hammered wildly against his ribs as he quickly levitated the neatly wrapped bundle of wolfsbane vial and other potions across the counter. “That’ll be seven galleons, Mr. Burns. Do have a safe transformation.”
The man snatched the package, muttered something under his breath, and hurried out, the bell jingling angrily behind him. The shop fell silent except for the crackle of the sconces and the harsh sound of Bill’s breathing.
Draco finally looked up, meeting those burning blue eyes. His own were wide, lashes casting shadows on flushed cheeks, lips parted just enough to look inviting. The shirt hung off one shoulder completely now, baring delicate collarbones and the elegant line of his neck—still unmarked, and waiting.
“Mr. Weasley,” he breathed, voice soft and trembling with feigned politeness while his body screamed for the opposite. “Your order is almost ready but Severus is not here tonight.” He bit his lower lip, letting his gaze drop deliberately to the obvious bulge straining against Bill’s trousers. “I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with me instead.”
Bill took one step then another, until the counter was the only thing separating them. His hands gripped the edge of the wood so hard Draco heard it groan. The scars on his face stood out sharply, nostrils flaring as he scented the air—Draco’s arousal, the slick already leaking from his prepared hole.
“You’ve been teasing me for weeks, Malfoy,” Bill growled. His eyes flicked to the exposed skin of Draco’s neck, then lower, tracking the way the black silk clung to slim hips and the unmistakable outline of his erection. “You have been bending over like a bitch in heat and showing me that pretty neck like you want to be bred and bruined.”
Draco gasped and leaned forward over the counter, arching his back slightly so the curve of his ass was visible if Bill looked—which he did, immediately and hungrily. “And if I have?” Draco whispered, grey eyes gleaming with challenge and raw need. “What are you going to do about it, Weasley? The moon’s almost at its peak and I can feel it pulling at you.”
Bill’s control snapped with an audible snarl. In one fluid motion he vaulted over the counter, landing behind Draco with predatory grace. Strong hands seized his hips, yanking him back hard against a solid, burning-hot body. One arm banded across Draco’s chest, the other sliding down to palm his cock through the silk with rough possession.
“Going to do exactly what you’ve been begging for, you little tease,” Bill growled directly into his ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Gonna tear these fancy clothes off you and bend you over this counter and fuck you raw until you’re screaming my name and leaking my cum down your thighs. Gonna bite that pretty neck until everyone knows who you belong to.”
Draco moaned openly, head falling back against Bill’s shoulder, hips rolling back greedily against the thick, hard length he could feel pressing insistently against his ass. “Yes,” he whined, voice breaking with want. “Please, ruin me.”
Bill’s hand fisted in Draco’s pale blond hair, yanking his head to the side to expose the long line of his throat, sharp teeth scraped over the delicate skin where neck met jaw, right where Draco had fantasized about being claimed.
The heavy wooden counter creaked under Draco’s weight as Bill shoved him forward, bending him roughly over the polished surface. Draco’s chest hit the wood with a dull thud, cheek pressed to the cool grain, arms splayed out as his fingers scrabbled for purchase. His black silk trousers were yanked down in one brutal tug, pooling around his ankles along with any pretense of dignity.
Bill’s growl was low and guttural, vibrating through Draco’s spine. “You’ve been playing with fire, boy.”
Draco’s only answer was a broken, needy whine that spilled from his throat like he couldn’t hold it back. His cock, already leaking steadily, slapped against the underside of the counter as Bill kicked his feet wider apart and the cool air kissed his slick, fluttering hole, and he pushed back shamelessly, presenting himself like an animal in heat.
“Fuck—please,” Draco gasped, voice cracking high and desperate. He was trembling, hole clenching around nothing. “I need you inside me right now.”
Bill didn’t waste words. The sound of his belt and zip was harsh in the quiet shop. Then the thick, blunt head of his cock was there, hot and insistent, smearing through the mess of lube and slick already dripping down Draco’s thighs. Bill gripped one pale cheek, spreading him open, his pretty pink hole visible, and drove in with a single savage thrust. Draco cried out—loud, shameless, the sound echoing off the shop’s stone walls. The stretch was brutal and perfect, splitting him open on that fat length.
His eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream that quickly turned into a string of broken whimpers. “Ah—ahh—fuck, yes—!”
Bill snarled and set a punishing pace immediately, hips snapping forward hard enough to rock the heavy counter on its legs. Each thrust punched deep, dragging against that spot inside Draco that made stars burst behind his eyelids. The wet, obscene slap of skin on skin filled the shop, loud and filthy. Draco’s cock bounced untouched, dripping onto the floorboards, his balls drawn tight. The super moon hung huge and yellow in the darkened night sky, its light pouring through the clear glass panels above and below the frosted section of the door.
Anyone walking past the alley could glance in and see everything, how the elegant Malfoy heir bent over his own shop counter, trousers around his ankles, getting railed like a cheap whore by a scarred, feral werewolf. The door was still unlocked and the bell could ring at any second. The thought only made Draco clench harder on Bill's cock.
“Shit, listen to you,” Bill grunted, one big hand fisting in Draco’s messy blond hair, yanking his head back so his back arched obscenely. “So fucking loud like you want the whole street to hear what a desperate little slag you are?”
Draco’s answer was another high, keening whine. “Yes…don’t stop—harder—please, Bill—!”
Bill obliged with a rough laugh that sounded feral. He leaned over Draco’s smaller frame, caging him in, teeth scraping along the exposed curve of his neck. The bite came without warning—sharp canines sinking into the soft flesh where neck met shoulder, marking him with a claiming bite. Draco screamed, the pain blooming into white-hot pleasure that shot straight to his cock. His hole spasmed wildly around Bill’s thrusting length.
Bill didn’t let up. Instead, he fucked Draco through the bite, hips pistoning relentlessly, the wet squelch of his cock driving in and out of that slick, greedy hole growing louder with every stroke. Draco was a complete mess—cheeks flushed dark red, lips swollen and parted on constant whimpers and cries, pale hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and temples in damp strands and tears of overwhelming pleasure leaked from the corners of his grey eyes.
“Gonna fill you up,” Bill growled against the fresh bite mark, tongue lapping at the blood beading there. “Pump you so full you’ll be dripping my load for days and then everyone will smell it on you—know you’re mine.”
Draco’s voice cracked into a sob of pure need. “Do it—come inside me—breed me—please, I’m yours—fuck, I’m so close—!”
Bill’s rhythm turned erratic. One scarred hand snaked under Draco to wrap around his neglected cock, stroking rough and fast. That was all it took. Draco came with a loud, shattered wail, hole clamping down like a vice as his cock pulsed, painting the side of the counter and the floor with thick ropes of white. His whole body shook, legs threatening to give out.
Bill followed with a deep, animalistic roar, burying himself to the hilt. His cock throbbed hard inside Draco as he came, flooding him with pulse after pulse of hot, thick seed. He kept grinding through it, forcing every drop as deep as it would go, until it started to leak out around his shaft despite how tightly Draco’s body gripped him.
They stayed locked together while Bill’s knot was beginning to swell, stretching Draco even wider, locking them in place. Draco whimpered softly at the pressure because he was so oversensitive but he pushed back weakly anyway, greedy for every second of it. Bill pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the claiming bite, then nipped at Draco’s ear.
“Mine now,” he rumbled. “And next full moon, I’m taking you somewhere with a proper bed… or maybe I’ll just fuck you against the window here so the whole wizarding world can watch.”
Draco could only manage a shaky, blissed-out laugh that dissolved into another needy whine as Bill’s knot pulsed again, another weak spurt of come filling him even more. Malfoys truly get everything they want.