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"Hold the beast!"

Shouts and screams echoed through Valhalla. Tyr was awake instantly and on his feet in seconds. Sword in hand, he raced towards the cries and found the other Gods crowded and struggling with something. His blood sang and pounded in his body. If there was danger then he was more than ready for battle. War was his gift, fighting his finest skill, he was unmatched by any warrior, dead or alive.

"Cursed creature, you will be held here bound or not!" He heard the desperation in Odin's bellow and his heart spiked, his body ready and eager. Freya shrieked and fell back as something lunged. Finally Tyr could see the threat. Or rather lack there of.

A young man, only just leaving boyhood, was pressed into a corner. His face was twisted into a dreadful snarl, lips curled to flash sharp little teeth. Deep growls issued from his throat, low and dangerous. His hair was a shaggy mane of grey and brown. It fell in a thick, knotted mass to the middle of his back and was thick with dried blood. It took a moment for Tyr to realise the boy was naked apart from a leather loincloth because his lean, muscular body was painted with an elaborate tattoo of grey, white and brown fur. It was so exquisitely detailed it almost looked real. Only his chest and the centre of his torso, down over his belly, was free of ink. His eyes were amber and gold and burned like liquid fire as they flashed under Tyr's gaze. The next rumbling growl was for Tyr alone. He smiled and sheathed his blade. He didn't want to hurt the poor boy, Tyr was a war god, not a bully. The young man was brave and defiant, a pure warrior.

The amber eyes flickered over Tyrs shoulder and filled with rage and anguish.

"Father!" The boy howled.

Tyr followed the gaze to a small, red haired man leaning on the opposite wall. He gave a sardonic smile and an apologetic shrug before he vanished. Loki. Tyr was shocked, if Loki was indeed the boy's father then that meant he was Fenrir, the dreaded wolf of Ragnarok. This man child would bring destruction to the old, he would create a new world order and slaughter the Gods in the process. Odin had searched for the beast madly, perhaps in an attempt to prevent that which the Norns predicted, his death from Fenrir's jaws. Tyr smiled, when the Norns had announced their prediction he realised the inevitable. Just as he and Odin had overthrown the giants, so they would be overthrown, it was the nature of life's wheel.

"Odin, why have you brought Fenrir into our halls?" He already knew the answer, but asked despite himself, his eyes never leaving the wolf boy.

"We will chain the beast until the prophesy passes, it will do mischief if we do not!" Odin's one eye was nearly glowing, Tyr felt disgusted, the lord of cunning was behaving like a coward.

"Then I'll be taking charge of him," Odin spluttered and began to refuse, "you bloody fool, he might be barely more than a boy now but soon he'll be grown and no one else will be a match for him!" There was a clamour of agreement from the other Gods. Tyr leant close to Odin's ear and whispered "You'll give him to me now or you'll be another eye short by the next moon, I stake my oath on it."

Old One Eye glared at Tyr then nodded curtly and thrust an iron chain and collar into his hands.

"I leave the mess to you then." He grinned tightly and stormed off, the rest of the assembled Gods trailing after him to the Feast Hall.

Tyr looked at the bindings distastefully and snapped the fingers of his left hand, they vanished. He turned back to those burning amber eyes and smiled.

"Come with me lad and we'll get you to a fire and some blankets, it's powerful cold here when you're half naked."

The twist of hate began to slip from Fenrir's face, although it was quickly replaced with a mistrustful glare. Tyr held back a laugh, if the boy had hackles then they'd be raised, like an angry cat trying to make itself look bigger. He slowly held out a coaxing hand.

"Come now," he wiggled his fingers invitingly and Fenrir traced every movement, still tense. Finally he took a step forward, then froze as if he was horrified by his behaviour.

Tyr gave an inward sigh.

"You're not at any risk from me little wolf, I've placed you under my protection and that's where you'll remain until Ragnarok comes to pass. Until I free you I swear that I will do all in my power to ensure that you are unharmed, fates strike me now if I lie." He kept his voice low and soothing as he made his pledge.

Slowly Fenrir relaxed, he gave Tyr a considering look then tentatively took the proffered hand. Tyr squeezed it gently and led the boy away.

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Fenrir was confused, all his life he'd lived with violence and fear, marked as a troublesome child of the trickster and worse, as a world destroyer. Beatings were common until he'd grown strong enough to fight off all but the most persistent. He expected worse in Valhalla, Odin was known for his cruelty in torture. His favourite punishment was the blood eagle, splitting his victim's ribs and chest until the lungs and heart were exposed. But now weeks had passed and no torment came. The Gods stayed away from him and the room he'd been led to by a large, warm hand.

He stared across the room at the man sleeping in a narrow bed. He studied his protector and keeper. The war god had fine, red gold hair and a matching close cropped beard. He was toweringly tall and broad when standing. If he'd been awake then stormy grey eyes that seemed to smile indulgently would reflect Fenrir's face. Tyr always seemed to be laughing, to be happy. It was the first thing that Fenrir had really noticed, how he would laugh and talk easily with the dead men and Valkeries that roamed the hall, often stopping to spar good naturedly. Now he was snoring softly, almost comically. Fenrir crept closer. Despite Tyr's constant overtures he wouldn't approach the man when he was awake. But sleeping meant he was safe. Fenrir touched Tyr's hair softly and sniffed at him. The scent of leather and sweat was made bitter by the tang of iron. He sneezed slightly then leant in closer, picking up the spiced smell of flesh, warm and inviting. Tyr shifted in his sleep and Fenrir scuttled into the farthest corner he could find, heart pounding.

There was something so alluring about Tyr's smell, Fenrir sniffed at the air. He wanted more. He licked his lips, a sly look on his face. Silently he crept across the room, inching and pausing. He was intent on the large form, checking each rise of the muscular chest under the thin blanket, prepared to dash away if there was a hint of wakefulness. Finally he was at the bedside once more. Fenrir inhaled deeply, savouring the aroma, holding it deep in his lungs. But it wasn't enough, that hint of body heat. The temptation was too much, Fenrir wanted not just to breathe Tyr's warmth, but to feel it. He wanted that spicy smell to coat his own body. The boy rocked back on his heels and caught his bottom lips between his teeth, worrying at the flesh. He would reach out only to snatch his hand back at the last instant as he thought deeply about the conundrum. Then an idea came to him. Perhaps Tyr wouldn't notice if Fenrir squeezed into the gap the sleeping man had left against the wall. That way he could get closer. Tyr was facing the other way and if the man moved even an inch then there would still be plenty of time for escape.

With stealth that a cat would have admired Fenrir snuck cautiously onto the bed. He slid across the wall until he could settle down, stretched along Tyr's back. Perfect. That big hot body was radiating heat and already the comforting fragrance of the war god's flesh was wrapping around him. It lulled the boy, relaxing Fenrirs tight shoulders and tense muscles. He tried to fight it but soon he was sinking into the soft clutches of sleepless dreams and oblivion. With an almost inaudible sigh he gave up the fight and darkness claimed him.

Tyr opened his eyes and smiled, patience and planning had finally paid off. He'd wondered how long he could fake sleep while under those intense amber eyes, but now he didn't have to worry. The poor lad had staved off sleep for weeks, too suspicious and nervous to do anything but follow Tyr's every move as if he would strike at him if he looked away. There was pain and hurt in Fenrir's past, that was clear, and there would be more pain and hurt to come. But for now Tyr would give him the kindness he suspected the young man craved. He would help him grow until the inevitable came and there was no more use for a war god. Tyr rolled over carefully and gathered the exhausted lad to his chest before joining him in the realm of sleep.

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It was so warm, wonderfully warm, that Fenrir could hardly open his eyes. He was cuddled up tight against Tyr, strong arms wrapped around his lithe body. In the months since he'd begun to sleep in Tyr's bed it had become their customary position. A faint yawning sigh trembled through him and he blinked sleepily, rubbing his face into fine thatch work of red gold hair that covered the broad chest before him. Of course, Fenrir would never sleep there if invited. He waited until the god fell asleep then wiggled under the blankets until he reached his usual spot, then woke early to free himself before Tyr stirred. He suspected that Tyr knew, but as long it remained unspoken the youth could pretend he didn't and congratulate himself on his quickness and cleverness.

The hair tickled his face and finally he began to shimmy down the bed until he could slip away. Fenrir stretched luxuriantly and scratched at his chest. His belly rumbled in discomfort. Wrinkling his nose he sniffed carefully. There wasn't the smell of food anywhere near by, he would have to hunt for his breakfast. The youth crept to the heavy oak door and swung it open, pausing to listen intently. All that reached his ears was the rumbling snores of dead warriors, every night they feasted and drank into a stupor and the gods would join them more often than not. The hall reeked with stale sweat and Fenrir covered his nose as he skulked towards the larder. He paused frequently, pressing against wooden pillars, his ears all but twitching and his eyes darting. Still safe. With a final dash he was in the larder.

The first time he'd ventured into the cold, dark room was following Tyr. The boy had been amazed. Every wall was hanging with slabs of meat from any beast imaginable. Barrels of grains, nuts and roots were stacked high. Baskets of bread graced tables scattered with salted cheeses and jugs of buttermilk. It was the ultimate sensory invasion, a barrage of mouth watering aromas, impossible for a growing youth to resist. Fenrir quickly snatched a loaf of bread, tearing a sizable chunk from the end and filled it with cheese and salted beef. He wedged his slight body under a table and devoured his meal, pink tongue flicking the crumbs from his fingers as the last mouthful was demolished. He shut his eyes and sighed, his demanding stomach content and round. Cautiously he turned to slide from his hiding place when footsteps froze him in his tracks. A tall figured had walked into the larder, the light blocked so that Fenrir couldn't make out any features. He sniffed tentatively but the food scent was too strong. Playing it safe he stayed still, but the figure closed in on him.

"I might only have one eye but I can see you creature."

Odin, fear shot through Fenrir. His shoulders tensed and his lips drew back in a snarl. He leapt, clawing and growling. A heavy staff clubbed into his stomach and Fenrir collapsed, winded and gasping for air. A calloused hand grabbed his hair, wrenching his head back painfully.

"Tyr might be keeping an eye on you, but he isn't here now cur." The god's hot breath reeked against the side of his neck. Fenrir struggled and he managed to connect an elbow into flesh before an arm like a band of iron wrapped across his chest. He was forced down to floor, a low growl rumbling through his body. Desperately he bucked but his face and torso were pressed down onto the cold stone.

"Disgusting, where is your collar little pet? If you don't have a collar how do you know who owns you?" Knees pressed into his back, the pressure caused Fenrir's gorge to rise and he gasped. The growl dropped to a whimper for a moment. Hands searched ran over his flesh, pausing at his loincloth. A wicked chuckle echoed. Cold metal flinched against the skin of Fenrir's hip and the leather was cut from his body.

"So that wicked fur covers your arse as well? I wonder how deep it goes…?" Fenrir felt the cheeks of his buttocks spread painfully. He growled and bucked as hard as he could but the weight on his back was too great to shift. He howled in frustration, scratching at any flesh he touched, not caring even when it was his own.

Suddenly the pressure on his back lifted, without a backwards glance Fenrir scrabbled across the floor until he could find enough purchase to stand. Spinning on his heel a surprising sight greeted the boy. Odin was pinned against door frame with Tyr's arm across his throat. For the first time since he'd been dragged to Valhalla Fenrir saw fury in those grey eyes. Odin was panting to breathe and Fenrir saw Tyr's muscles tighten as he pressed harder.

"I believe the lad is in my care, I'll thank you for keeping a watch on him and send you on your way," The usually laughing voice was low and filled with suppressed violence. Slowly Tyr relaxed his hold, Odin pulled himself free indignantly and spat on the floor before storming away, his single eye blazing. The war god turned to Fenrir and the young man shrank back, but all traces of anger had been swept from the tanned face. Instead he was rewarded with a gentle smile.

"I think it's getting time to start your training, you'll be growing soon and you need to learn the arts of war and battle." A broad white grin flashed. "You happen to be lucky enough to have the best teacher around, though you won't be thanking me when I put you through your paces!"

Fenrir was dumbstruck. That same big, warm hand was stretched towards him. He nodded and reached out, gripping that warmth. Tyr ruffled his hair playfully and stripped off his baggy shirt. He dropped the garment over Fenrir's head and the wolf was nearly drowned by it, his nakedness hidden. Tyr himself was still covered by grey breaches, although his glorious chest was proudly displayed. A sharp pang shot through Fenrir and he realised that for the first time since he'd been born, he loved someone.

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Metal clashed and sparked. Rivulets of sweat gleamed on Tyr's chest and a small cut on his collar bone bled profusely. Fenrir licked his lips appreciatively. Training was his favourite thing. Tyr would strip down to his loincloth, his laughing eyes serious. Then they would drill for hours before finally sparring. It meant that for a whole day Tyr only paid attention to him. Whether it was a scolding for not standing correctly or a hair ruffle for a good move, Fenrir lapped it up. No half smile or frown went unnoticed.

The flat of a sword stung against his leg and Fenrir yelped.

"Pay attention to your footwork, it's leaving you wide open!" The war god growled. Fenrir rubbed at the reddening mark and grinned cheekily.

"You promised I could ask for a reward if I could cut you," he gestured to the cut he'd made, "I was just deciding what to ask for!"

Tyr laughed. The worked he'd done with Fenrir was starting to pay off. The once reclusive boy was becoming a confident young man and growing at an alarming rate. He could practically hear the bones creaking. Instead of slinking and hiding Fenrir now walked tall. A few cocky warriors hoping for a blessing from Odin had made attacks and found out to their cost just how strong and fast the wolf was.

"Choose your reward wisely, you won't be drawing blood again! We'll break for the night, my belly tells me it needs feeding." Tyr began to stretch slowly, working his tired muscles. Nothing felt better to him than the beautiful ache that fighting left on his body.

Fenrir watched the god hungrily. He knew the reward he would demand, he'd know before he'd suggested the wager. He would taste that hot sweat tonight. Saliva filled his mouth in anticipation and the wolf swallowed hard. Since that first moment when he'd realised his feelings for Tyr he'd been plagued by fantasies. His dreams filled with slick bodies grinding and thrusting. For more than a year he'd found what little privacy he could to relieve himself when he woke, coated in the alluring aroma of Tyr's skin. He began to sneak into the bed less often. Sometimes he stayed awake all night, fearful that he might call out in his sleep. Now he could finally fulfil his cravings.

Fenrir followed Tyr into their shared chambers. The god grabbed a pail of water to wash down his body but Fenrir reached out a hand.

"Don't."

Tyr gave a confused, questioning look.

"You said I could claim any reward if I cut you?" Fenrir stared intently into grey eyes. There was a slight frown.

"If it can be done." Was the firm reply, Tyr was nothing if not honourable.

"Then I want to lick you clean." Some how, miraculously Fenrir kept his voice steady. It looked like Tyr might laugh for a moment, but Fenrir was sure it was obvious how serious the request was. The war god sat on the bed, he looked… bemused, shocked. He scratched at his cropped beard.

"You want to lick me clean? As in….." He trailed off. Fenrir nodded emphatically and knelt between Tyr's muscular thighs. His tongue darted out for a moment and caught the side of Tyr's knee, flicking into the soft crevasse. The god jerked away, confusion painted across his usually jovial features.

"Fenrir…"

Fenrir clapped a hand over the questioning mouth and whined softly, his amber eyes pleading.

"You swore, you promised…surely this is something that can be done?" He lapped at Tyr's cheek, savouring the salt.

Tyr was at a loss. When he'd promised a reward he'd expected…. Well he didn't know what he expected, but certainly not this. He swallowed, they had made an agreement and he was a man of his word. It didn't matter if the request was bizarre, so long as it was in his power to grant it. He gave a shaky nod, his mouth still muffled. Delight and something darker spread across Fenrir's face. The wolf's eyes became clouded and hooded, the amber darkening to burnt sugar brown. That clever tongue continued it's ministrations on his face, sweeping his forehead and sucking at his sticky hair. At first the sensation was unpleasant, but soon a warm mouth was moving over sensitive ears and Tyr gave a moan of pleasure. He choked for a second, surprised at his own voice.

Fenrir grinned when he heard that tiny moan. He would make more, many more squeeze from that fine mouth. Delicately he nibbled and licked the vulnerable flesh of Tyr's neck and throat. There would be no inch of the muscled perfection left untried, untested. Every salty mouthful was heaven. He felt like he was coating the inside of his body with the war god's spice. Next he moved down the broad back, clambering around his seated love. Long, sensuous licks were his action of choice. Starting from the top of the cleft of Tyr's buttocks, just peeking from his loincloth (that would have to go, he noted), he ran his wet muscle all the way up to the back of the neck. The god shuddered with each movement.

Once the damp sweat on Tyr's back had been replaced with Fenrir's cooling saliva he began on the rippling arms. Fenrir nipped, sucked and licked, wrinkling his nose in distaste when the sweet sweat was made bitter with the tang of metal. Finally he was ready to take on that beautiful, tempting chest. He paused. His heart was pounding so hard under his ribs he was afraid it would explode. Fenrir looked at Tyr. The god's mouth was slack, his eyes closed and head tilted back. So arousing. Fenrir's cock ached at the sight. Slowly and deliberately he fastened his mouth over the wound he'd inflicted and sucked hard.

Tyr was practically floating. He'd never imagined that the wolf could be so cursed erotic. A sharp pain under his throat snapped his eyes open and he gasped. Fenrir was feeding at the shallow cut, his shaggy hair tickling Tyr's chin. When he pulled away there was blood around his mouth and staining his lips. It was utterly irresistible. Without realising Tyr leant down and wiped his crimson smear with a soft thumb. He then brought the digit to his tongue, savouring the mix of Fenrir's taste and his own coppery essence. A low rumbling growl trembled through the young man's body. Amber eyes fixed on his mouth.

"You made yourself dirty…" A hand wrapped in his hair. "Now I have to clean you."

Their lips met and Fenrir ran his tongue deep inside Tyr's cavity, running across his teeth and flicking the roof of his mouth. The wolf groaned, pressing harder and harder into the kiss. To his surprise Tyr was kissing back just as feverantly, swallowing their combined wetness. Fenrir pulled back, gasping. Tyr's eyes looked almost vacant. The young man could feel the god's arousal as he straddled his hips. Nothing would stop his tasting quest now. A new urgency filled his body. He pushed Tyr flat onto the bed and began to bite at his nipples, filling his mouth with the meat of Tyr's chest until no more would fit. Next he found his belly, tight and taut. Here he left his marks, the bruises from his teeth.

Finally he began to dip lower and lower. Tyr's moans echoing through him, spurring him on. Those well cut hips writhed and buckled as his chin brushed firm, throbbing flesh. He pulled the loincloth away and stared.

The appendage that pulsed, naked to the air was enormous. Fenrir had never seen the like before. It was as thick as his wrist and twice the length of the wolf's own, nicely sized, cock. He bit his lip. This might be his only chance to touch his love so intimately. Where should he start? So far his body had moved by instinct alone, driven by fantasy and the small knowledge he'd gleaned from bawd jokes and stories. He blew on the heated meat and heard Tyr give a sigh, his hands fisting the bed sheets. So far, so good. Nervously he dipped his head and rubbed his cheek against the tip. This earned a soft cry and a thrust against his face. A pearl of moisture appeared from the narrow slit. Fenrir grinned to himself, he was definitely doing something right. Cautiously he took the purpling head inside his mouth and sucked lightly. Tyr bucked his hips hard at the pressure and Fenrir's mouth was forced wide, the shaft pushing into him. The velvet flesh was delicious, firm and soft at the same time, twitching and throbbing. Fenrir sucked harder, his tongue running over Tyr's cock. His saliva ran down the exposed shaft, while he worked to cram more into his heat. He drew back when he was forced to breathe.

Tyr was staring at him, his stormy eyes nearly black with lust. His hands twisted into Fenrir's hair, stroking and caressing. The wolf leaned into the touch and lowered his head to lap contentedly at the juices leaking from the broad head. Tyr arched back. The pleasure was incredible, intense. But for Fenrir it wasn't enough, he ached between his thighs, he itched for something. He slid up Tyr's broad body and pulled off his own, uncomfortable loincloth. With a gentle rocking motion he began to grind his hardness against Tyr's, their balls bouncing and mingling together. It was a sweet sensation, slowly stoking the fire that curled in both men's stomachs. Tyr pulled Fenrir up his body, finding the young man's mouth and delving into it. The height difference meant that the tip of Tyr's member was now pressed against the back of Fenrir's sac. He ground against it. The burning wet thrusting against his crevice and fondling his balls was melting the bottom half of his body, just as a demanding tongue was driving any thought but pure arousal from Fenrir's head.

Tyr couldn't understand what was happening, it was as if his body was moving on its own, his mind had shut down inside a fog of lust. All he wanted was more and more of his lovely grey wolf. The immature but muscular body that rocked against him was more exciting than any wench, but still he craved satisfaction. It was clear that although Fenrir knew some arts in seduction, he was a novice in sex. Tyr grabbed Fenrir's hips and lifted them slightly so that the wide head of his cock brushed against the silky, tight hole between his legs. Fenrir whimpered and licked submissively at Tyr's lips. The war god began to move his weeping tip back and forth over the puckered entrance, pushing up slowly in the clenching ring of muscles with increasing pressure before rubbing again. He repeated the process over and over. Soon the clenching relaxed enough for him to enter slightly then withdraw. Fenrir was now collapsed against his neck gasping. But with his next shallow entrance the little wolf pushed down hard. Tyr hissed and froze, he was half sheathed inside Fenrir's exquisite cavity. The youth was whimpering softly, his eye closed and his jaw locked in pain, but he carried on forcing his body down, working to contain Tyr's thickness.

By the time Fenrir had managed to cram as much of Tyr's length as he could into his body he was panting and sweating. He felt so full and stretched that he couldn't move, but this was it, this was what his body craved. Minutes seemed to pass while the pair remained motionless. Finally Tyr rolled over, trapping the young man beneath him and withdrawing. Fenrir began to protest at the loss but suddenly Tyr thrust inside him again. The wolf arched against the bed, biting at his hand to keep himself from screaming out. The pain was intense and he felt a trickle of hot run down his thigh. He struggled slightly and tears clouded his vision.

Tyr withdrew again, as he did Fenrir felt an odd sensation mingle with the pain, a kind of numbness that was almost pleasure. As the war god began to push in and out, the numbness spread and became a warm tingle, though still marred with painful prickling. Then without warning Tyr's cock brushed something deep in Fenrir's body. Now the short gasps of pain became interspersed with blissful panting. Fenrir began to urge Tyr on, gentle shallow thrusts were no longer sufficient. He raised his hips so that with each movement Tyr could bury his hot flesh deeper and deeper. The numbness and pain mingled with shots of pleasure. It was intoxicating and his prick throbbed.

"More… ah! Tyr!" He huffed, his arms wrapping hard around Tyr's broad back while his mouth nibbled at his neck.

Tyr gave a throaty chuckle and began to pound harder and deeper. The squeezing heat inside Fenrir's body was superb and every thrust brought him closer to climax, his balls tight and tingling. The sight of Fenrir's flushed face and the incredible moans he gave were exhilarating. If any thought but desire could have entered the war god's head he would have wondered how he'd ever lived without this before. As his peak approached all restrain vanished and he rammed hard and fast into the wolf's body, straining towards completion. The pair's voices mingled together. Tyr felt heat spray against his belly as his own burning seed flooded Fenrir. There was a frozen instant where both men enjoyed absolute pleasure before they collapsed, spent and broken on the bed.

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"Will you bless me lover?"

Tyr started from his thoughts. He'd been all but lost in the last two years without his beautiful wolf. But he'd known to wait, to be patient. He smiled but didn't turn.

"Why would the bringer of the new order want blessings from an old god?" A pair of arms wrapped around his chest, a sword streaked with blood a filth still tightly clenched in one hand. Something between a growl and a whine sounded against his back and a hot mouth found the god's neck.

"I'll always want your blessing. I've missed you Tyr." Sharp teeth nibbled at Tyr's jaw, a tongue stroked through the whiskers of his beard.

With a soft moan Tyr turned into Fenrir's embrace. His once little wolf was a man now, although still slender he was broader, his muscled cobbled and hard. His hair was still shaggy but his eyes were clearer, his stance confident. Tyr was proud of him and let that pride shine in his eyes.

"I missed you too. Valhalla was different after you left, little wolf." Those amber eyes were still as hot and alluring as Tyr remembered. He would give his blessing as he died and be blessed in return for them to be the last thing he would see.

"I heard." The beautiful eyes darkened with anger and Fenrir ran a tentative hand across the stump at Tyr's left shoulder.

"Hush before a give you a smack with my sword. I broke an oath, it was a fitting punishment." It wouldn't have mattered if it had cost him more, he'd let Fenrir free again if he had the choice.

"I took his other eye before letting my followers tear him apart, they will feast on a god and become strong." That flashing grin begged to be kissed and Tyr did just that. By the Norns he'd missed that flavour, wild and hot. He suckled the taste drawing Fenrir's very essence into his body. The god had gone so long without his lover.

With a groan he pulled the wolf hard against his body. Fenrir melted against him, arching wantonly, rubbing the hard heat of their pricks together. There was a metallic clang on the floor. Frantic hands clawed at Tyr's arse, grasping and caressing the muscled globes. The drop of the sword pulled Tyr back to reality and he tore away, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling himself.

"Its time for you to take my head and feed my flesh to your people, do it now lover." Tyr had long ago come to terms with his fate, but it hurt him to leave Fenrir this way, he wanted to see the new world his wolf would make. He wanted to stand at his side and share his bed, watch the warm flush of pink arousal spread up that white belly over and over.

A growling laugh sounded, surprising the war god.

"I may have to consume you, but the Norns never said how." Fenrir smiled and tutted, his eyes mocking. His voice dropped to a sensual whisper. "I'll take you until every part of you is mine, swallow your essence whole….."

Tyr shut his eyes. His heart beat out of control, all but climbing from his body. Forever with Fenrir, with his strong, lovely creature. Bliss. He knew now that he hadn't existed before the day when that growling bundle of bones had taken his hand.

He pushed away from grasping hands and dropped backwards onto his bed, thinly clothed legs spread and inviting. Tyr smiled.

"Yes."