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“You stole my kill,” Lambert snarls, pinning the other witcher to the ground and driving a dagger into the dirt beside his head, close enough that if the other witcher so much as twitches it will draw blood.
“Dreadfully sorry,” the other witcher says, sounding rather strangled, which might have something to do with the way Lambert’s fist is clenched around a handful of his tunic, drawing it tight around his throat.
“No you’re not,” Lambert spits, lifting the other witcher a little and thumping him back down, driving the breath from his lungs with an oof. The other witcher flails a little, but Lambert is heavier and has both of the other witcher’s arms pinned under his knees.
“Well, maybe a little?” the other witcher says, batting enormous green eyes up at Lambert hopefully. He’s ridiculously pretty - who said a witcher could be this pretty? - with high cheekbones and wavy dark hair and smooth brown skin.
He is also, Lambert realizes, both a Cat - the medallion slips out of his tunic as he wriggles - and, by the faint smell, an alpha.
Which makes the fact that he’s lying there without really struggling a little more startling.
“I could make it up to you?” the Cat alpha offers. “I’ve got a bottle of very nice mead back at my camp, or a watered-steel Zerrikanian dagger…”
Both of those are pretty good offers. But Lambert, now that he’s starting to calm down a little, has to admit that while he could have dealt with the fucking chort by himself, he might have taken a nasty blow before it went down, and the Cat took it down with a really beautiful leaping strike. And Lambert has enough adrenaline pumping through his blood that he kind of needs to either fight or fuck.
“Could make it up to me with a knot,” he says.
The Cat alpha’s eyes go huge and then his pupils blow so wide there’s barely anything to be seen of the green. “If that’s what you want,” he says a little thinly, “I’d of course be honored to provide.”
Lambert snorts and takes his dagger back, then yanks the Cat alpha’s arms up over his head with one hand and pulls his own ichor-stained tunic off with the other, using it as a makeshift set of manacles and pinning the cloth to the ground with his dagger - he can mend the holes later. The Cat alpha whimpers a little, but he doesn’t object - when Lambert looks down, the Cat’s eyes are fixed on Lambert’s chest, and he keeps licking his lips. Well, that’s flattering.
“Gonna ride you,” Lambert informs the Cat.
“Sounds good,” the Cat says weakly. “Before you do, though, do you mind telling me if this is a very strange dream?”
Lambert snorts and leans down, nudging the Cat’s chin up, and bites the fucker’s throat, not quite hard enough to draw blood. The Cat gasps and shudders, hips bucking up. “Right,” he rasps, “right, not a dream, gotcha -”
Lambert snickers and gets up just long enough to yank his pants down, not bothering to take off his boots, and then manages to keep hold of his self-control long enough to unlace the Cat’s trousers politely instead of just breaking the laces.
The Cat’s prick is a pleasant size, a little longer than average and a little thinner, with what looks like it’ll be a perfectly decent knot; it’s also already most of the way hard. Lambert glances up at the Cat, who is craning his head up to watch Lambert in something very like awe, and smirks.
“Nice prick,” Lambert says.
“Thank you,” the Cat replies, with a little amused smile. “I’m fond of it.”
“Yeah?” Lambert says, and leans down to lick a stripe up the prick in question. The Cat yelps and shudders. Lambert snickers and swallows about half the Cat’s prick down, letting himself drool a little to get it slick and wet, before kneeling up and swinging one leg over the Cat’s body, his pants pinning the Cat’s legs down as Lambert braces one hand on the Cat’s armored chest and reaches down to wrap his other hand around the Cat’s prick and guide it into place against his dripping hole.
“Fuck,” the Cat breathes, staring up at him wide-eyed.
“That’s the idea,” Lambert agrees, and sits down.
The Cat’s prick fills him nicely, sinking in deep and rubbing against that golden spot along the way. Lambert takes a moment to adjust, breathing deep and grinning at the feeling of being full, and then braces both hands on the Cat’s chest and smirks down at him.
“Don’t you dare blow your knot before I come,” he orders.
“Yes, omega,” the Cat says, sounding a little strangled.
Lambert grins, showing all his teeth, and starts to move, riding the Cat’s prick like it’s a particularly well-made toy. The Cat clenches his hands into fists and throws his head back, whining through his teeth, whole body straining up against Lambert’s weight as he clearly clings to his control with teeth and toenails.
He isn’t going to have to keep that control long - Lambert can already feel his peak approaching, with the speed and inevitability of a fucking tidal wave. He gets one hand off the Cat’s chest and reaches down to wrap his fist around his own prick, stroking in fast counterpoint to the pace of their fucking.
The Cat manages to get a little leverage somehow, and bucks up as Lambert’s hips come down, and his prick nails that golden spot, and that’s it, Lambert’s gone, coming hard enough that his spend spatters all the way up the Cat’s armor to his throat. The Cat snarls, a surprisingly deep sound, and his knot blows all at once, filling Lambert beautifully. Lambert grins.
The nice thing about being an omega is not being done at one.
He grinds down, shifting his hips until the Cat’s knot is pressed perfectly against Lambert’s insides, and the Cat makes a sort of gorgeous little whining noise and shudders. Lambert snickers.
“Mocking me?” the Cat gasps.
“Nah,” Lambert says. He’s feeling much more pleased with the world than he was half an hour ago, and much more pleased with this Cat specifically. “You’re a good ride, Cat.”
“Thank you,” the Cat says, craning his head up so he can see Lambert better. “Fuck, are you sure this isn’t a dream?”
“You dream about getting ridden into the ground by Wolf omegas a lot?” Lambert asks, stroking his prick lazily as he lets his second peak build at a luxuriously slow pace.
“Well now I’m going to,” the Cat says, grinning. “Pretty much every night, I expect.”
Lambert snorts. “Silver tongue on you, isn’t there?”
“Would you like to find out?” the Cat asks, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “Because frankly I am more than amenable to letting you ride my face once my knot goes down.”
Lambert blinks. “No shit?”
“My fantasies did not previously feature being ridden into glorious oblivion by the fiercest omega I ever did see, but they are undergoing quite a lot of revision very quickly,” the Cat says cheerfully. “And I have some hope that if I do well enough, you might let me get my hands on you at some point.”
“Might do,” Lambert allows. “If you don’t go stealing any more of my kills.”
“So if I steal your kill, you ride me into the ground,” the Cat says slowly, “and if I don’t steal your kill, you let me get my hands on you. Is there a bad choice here?”
Lambert shrugs. “I mean, you fuck me over and I cut your fuckin’ throat.”
“Understandable,” the Cat agrees. “Let us take as read that I won’t be quite that foolish, if only because fucking up the chance for another round would be very, very stupid. Are you going to let me see you come, omega?”
Lambert grinds down onto the Cat’s knot, mostly so that he can watch the Cat’s eyes roll back and his mouth drop open. “Watch if you can,” he taunts, and speeds up the strokes of his hands, admiring the way the Cat’s arms strain against the makeshift bindings and the bruise rising on the Cat’s throat where Lambert bit him and the way the Cat keeps trying to focus his gaze on Lambert and losing concentration when Lambert clenches down around his knot.
Lambert comes a second time with a bitten-off curse, and the Cat whimpers, biting his own lip red and staring hungrily. Lambert shrugs, figuring he can stand to be a little generous: he’s two orgasms in to the Cat’s one, and also the Cat’s been remarkably cooperative. He offers his sticky hand.
The Cat licks it clean like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” Lambert says thoughtfully, as the Cat sucks on his fingers, tongue flickering against the calluses.
The Cat raises an eyebrow at him, and Lambert snorts.
“Yeah, takes one to know one, I guess,” he allows. “Once your knot goes down you can help me butcher that fuckin’ chort, and I’ll give you forty-sixty on whatever we get for selling the parts.”
“Deal,” the Cat murmurs around Lambert’s fingers, looking very pleased indeed. “If you’ll let me eat you out afterwards.”
“...Deal,” Lambert says, beginning to get the impression that he might have possibly gotten himself in a little more trouble than he’s quite anticipated.
…Eh, fuck it, being sensible is overrated.
Lambert will keep the Cat.