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Concrete Jungle	By : AmandaJean Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3616 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Authoress Note: Thank you for all the Five star ratings and the views. Really appreciate it XD

oOMissGOo: Has it been long? Sorry about that ;) and double sorry for how long it took to post this chapter. Hope it doesn't disappoint you too much :) . And glad that you enjoyed the last chapter!

Chapter 5

Creed’s smirk only grew as he watched the wolf in his debating. He has seen debates in others before, in Logan who was playing the part of a good old professor to a new school. The ultimate lie to himself and his more carnal nature. He was just like Creed; he just never admitted to it or submitted to it. It was sad really, Creed was only trying to help and release the runt from his burdens of the life of a sheep. That’s all he was ever trying to do. So he took the burdens, the frails away. But of course, the runt wasn’t very grateful. Not grateful at all. Then again, it didn’t help that Creed hated the runt with a passion so he would have done the same thing either way.

And above all else, it was fun.

Staring the wolf, Fenrir Greyback, down Creed stood relaxed and ready to fight. He couldn’t really understand the significance of the stick the wolf held in his angry shaking fist and why it was pointed at Creed. But it reminded him of a gun, the way it was pointed, simply held differently. And Creed doubted that it was a hidden knife of any sort. Too polished, neat and tidy for that. No metal from what he could notice.

Creed watched as the wolf’s lips were pulled back baring his yellow sharpened teeth that mocked what fangs aught to be. A silent and angry warning. One that won’t be heeded and one that won’t give the time to be heeded. Creed felt a shift in the air, a shimmer in the light as his reflexes allowed him to drop down before a small explosion hit the wall behind him. Looking back he noted white at the tip before another blotch of white shot at him.

Creed dodged snarling as he did so. Fenrir Greyback, the mangy wolf was shooting white shit at him. Curling his lips into a fang baring sneer Creed muttered to himself more anything,

“Wha’ the fuck?” He didn’t want an answer, didn’t care. All he knew was he wasn’t very pleased with having to dodge white shit around the room. No words uttered, yet, still explosive white shit was being thrown around the room. The walls that were originally painted an inviting color were now marred with burn marks that sizzled with a scent Creed never crossed before.

Creed watched coldly for any opening the wolf would give, seeing one he took it instantly. A hard swat with his clawed fingers hooked to do maximum damage to any flesh caught. Like a large predatory cat, it would feel like you are being hit by a very sturdy club with spikes on the end. It would hurt, it would catch onto your flesh and tear as much as cut. Needlessly said, it would be painful.

“Didn’t expect that did you, Mr. Creed.” The insolent fool mocked, Creed snarled loudly. It nearly outdone the music booming outside this room. His claws extended, his fangs extended and his eyes were covered now by a protective inner eyelid making his pupils all but disappear. A cruel twisted and completely bloodthirsty feline grin spread across Creed’s lips leaving his fangs fully viewable.

Creed could tell that the mangy wolf was shocked by the shifts in appearance, but that no longer mattered as Creed lunged forward. Not expecting that a hard swing of the hand with the wand would literally send him through the glass to the dancing floor below. For a second, shock overwhelmed the bloodlust that his mind was taken over by and his hearing overwhelmed by the booming sounds of the stereo’s hanging from the ceiling.

This gave him a chance to strategize and think things over to adapt. Creed as much as he would hate to admit it, but he was caught off guard. That won’t happen again! There were questions now, as to how that stick shot white shit and how did that nobody sends him flying through the glass and to the dancing floor below without even touching him. A feat like that wasn’t possible unless you were someone with telekinetic abilities, but somehow instinct told him that this wasn’t a mutant he was dealing with. He was dealing with something else entirely.

~ Werewolves ~ Feral Mutants ~

Fenrir couldn’t complain at the turn of events, it’s been so long that he fought. And the fight with the runt like man he barely escaped didn’t count. There was something, human, about that short little hairy man. Even underneath the feral expression, the snarls and growls and bared human shaped teeth. It still felt more human, felt like the little man cherished control. A bit too much.

If he was a lesser wolf, he would have howled out his excitement at the aspect of a fight against someone just as animalistic as he seemed to be. And above all else, to knock the other alpha male down. The primal promises made Fenrir’s insides quiver in excitement. So when he noticed the feral changes in the large man Fenrir didn’t bother hiding his own shock, and laced deep underneath it was a thrill that traveled his spine.

Creed lunged at him; Fenrir barely was able to dodge without gaining too much damage. His shirt was caught, tearing it easily enough and revealing his bandaged chest through four rips. Luckily he managed to use his own magic and literally send the man flying through the tainted glass to the dance floor below. He was grateful that he was capable of some wandless magic and wordless magic. And he was powerful enough to knock a wizard down with or without a wand or a spoken spell. Even though this wasn’t a wizard, it still worked beautifully.

Fenrir moved to the edge, peering down at the large man who was standing in the center with a wide circle around him. Fenrir picked up the words Mutant and other cruel things. It was obvious that mutants were treated by humans the way dark creatures were treated by wizards. Interesting. Fenrir pushed that knowledge aside, instead took in the sight below him. The lights that flashed around the dance floor only exaggerated the man’s physic further and showing off his inhuman traits at a more impressive feat than the soft lights in the VIP room.

The man had pupils again, but everything else seemed to have gone feral in appearance. Elongated fangs, claws and the way the man was now holding himself. All spoke of the way animals held themselves. There was caution in the man’s stance, but no traces of fear. Fenrir expected that. With his wand in hand Fenrir shot more simple hexes at the man. Startling the dancers to taking off towards the various exits strategically placed. A few stragglers ran into bathrooms and hide under tables. But that wasn’t Fenrir’s concern. His concern was the now laughing man, Creed.

The man was backing up, a cruel grin made his way and Fenrir matched it with his own. Ready to retaliate to whatever Creed was going to do. Ready and willing. Fenrir faintly wondered what the man tasted like. He felt like howling in excitement, but he swallowed it down reluctantly. Instead, he prepared his body and his mind to watch and retaliate. To fight back with everything his capabilities as a werewolf and a former wizard would allow him to. And he was an expert dueler, most wouldn’t expect that given that he was a werewolf, but he was. Although that might come into play here, it won’t be the defining trait of this fight. The man, Creed was no wizard. He was a mutant, whatever that meant.

Despite his time traveling the muggle world, there were still things he didn’t know. Like what a mutant was he heard about them here and there, but didn’t put too much thought into the subject. It just wasn’t any concern of his at the time, but now he wished he did.

Fenrir was torn out of his thoughts as he barely had time to literally jump sideways out of the way as Creed pounced from the dance floor to the VIP room. It reminded him of a large cat and how a werewolf could leap when in its magnificent form and freed for by the moon for at least one night a month.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Creed purred in mockery as he lunged towards Fenrir, Fenrir dodged with a quick roll to his left away from the window and close to the sinfully comfy chairs they were sitting in earlier. Fenrir snarled loudly and shot another hex towards Creed, thankful he was able to do so without saying a word. Creed dodged expectedly, what Fenrir didn’t expect was one of those chairs being tossed at him.

“Wingardium leviosa!” Fenrir snapped out stopping the chair from hitting him and much to his amusement he heard Creed mutter,

“What the fuck…”

It was enough to cause Fenrir to grin savagely as he controlled his wand with precise precision and literally threw the chair back towards the large blond who dodged right and lunged without breaking a sweat or a single ounce of hesitation. This whole situation seemed utterly preposterous suddenly. After all, Fenrir knew a killer when he saw one and this blond killer seemed to be someone who could be utterly unstoppable in a fight. Yet, here was Fenrir who was seemingly holding his own with a few shots of hex’s and spells.

It almost reminded him of playing, rough tumbling playing boys. And if he was simply human, it would seem like that. But the werewolf in him told him another story. Although it was a light fight, almost gentle for the likes of Greyback. It wasn’t playing. It was testing the water, seeing who was who and what was going to be what. It told him that if decisions were made the fight would and could get very serious and quickly. If the opposite was so, things would go into another route. It was complicated, and not something a human a muggle or otherwise would understand. They would scoff at it and turn their noses up. The whole lot of them.

But Fenrir wasn’t human. And whatever a mutant was didn’t mean shit. He knew that it didn’t come into play with Creed, the blonde wasn’t human either.

So they circled like animals testing the water and ready and willing to let the cautious testing subside as it has been up to this point. The next move made would be a serious one. It would be one that would decide their standing with each other. And, despite the caution and debates that rang through Fenrir’s mind before this bout of rough bluffing and testing, he wasn’t going to debate like that.

Instead he allowed his mind to shift away from the human rationale it was forced to endure in his traveling and suddenly it snapped. Fenrir felt like a weight was lifted off of his mind and his shoulders as everything old seemed new again. Things noticed that he shouldn’t have noticed before, but now to be ignored. Fenrir’s mouth salivated and Creed’s grin widened with unspoken realizations that Fenrir understood well enough.

Like a disrespectful duelist he didn’t bother bowing to his opponent. Decision was made.

And like a skilled duelist his movements were quick, most Auror’s would have trouble matching him in speed alone. A simple hex, no words needed. Which was fine, Fenrir’s words would be more growled than spoken. But his opponent wasn’t a wizard or even a normal muggle. Fenrir’s wrist was caught in a tight and unforgiving grip, his wrist bones felt like they were grinding together and there was a scorch mark on the wall behind Creed. He missed!

So like a good werewolf he brought the rest of his body forward and sunk his teeth deep into the few soft spots that would be on the man’s body. The neck! Where the blood could flow freely from if severed the right way, and Fenrir Greyback was a cold-blooded killer who loves what he does, knows how to do it the right way. He perfected it over two wars and in between murders and rapes.

The blood tasted old, but sweet and wild. Fenrir didn’t get the chance to savor it. A hard grip to the back of his head tore his head back hard enough he nearly gained whiplash.
- 4
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- 6
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Concrete Jungle