The morning dawned yellow and gritty on the plains of Zadnor, as was usual, and Lyon groaned himself into wakefulness as the sunlight flooded his vision. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around blearily. He was… in the arsecrack of nowhere, apparently. How he’d got there, well that was somewhat up for debate, but it probably had something to do with the horrendous taste in his mouth - like some coeurl had shat in it and he’d washed that down with a good draught of griffin piss.
Something furry swished against his face and Lyon started upright, jerking around to seen what it was, to find... nothing. Huh. He squinted around, rubbed his eyes some more and got hit once again by the furry thing.
“Alright, what the fuck is this?” he demanded of the air, scrambling to his feet and casting around for the perpetrator. A slender shadow followed his movements and he stopped for a second, realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks.
The furry thing swished around again, only this time he caught it with a swift dart of a hand - a… tail? A fucking tail. He gave it a sharp tug and then winced as that tug translated into his tailbone, hah. Pulling the thing round, he eyed it suspiciously. It twitched as though responding to his thoughts, which of course it would do, it being attached to his body and all.
He sighed deeply, letting the tail go and pushing a hand through his hair to meet - of fucking course - a pair of ears which had apparently sprouted from his head. They flickered under his exploratory pokes, and he inhaled sharply as he pinched one of them and it sent an intensely pleasurable jolt directly to his dick.
“Well that’s interesting.” Moving on, Lyon opened his mouth and pushed two fingers inside, feeling gingerly at his teeth where, yup as suspected, he found pointed fangs much more severe than his usual sharpened canines. A look down at his chest proved further enlightening as he was now covered in even more white fur than usual, in great big scraggly, mane-like tufts no less, which seemed to trail all the way down into his pants.
Lyon bared those teeth in a grin, tail swishing and ears flicking with potential. He felt stronger, too, if that was at all possible for an old dog like himself. Well, old cat it was now, wasn’t it, he figured with a growly snort of laughter. He bounced on his now-clawed feet and grinned wider at the springy responsiveness of his limbs - whatever the fuck had done this to him, it felt like he’d got twenty years of youthfulness back in one fell swoop, and it left him itching to cause some chaos.
Nose to the air, he sniffed this way and that until he caught a scent: a herd of raptors he’d seen roaming on the highest plateaus during one of their many reconnaissance sessions. He sent up a piercing, musical whistle which had Dawon the Younger landing heavily next to him, and, tail swishing in anticipation, Lyon bounded off with the griffin at his side.
- - -
A thunderous snoring greeted Menenius as he slid into the stables, and the sharp tang of blood hung in the air as though it were feeding time. He wrinkled his nose as he strode through the stables, glancing over the top of every door as he passed to identify the occupants. Panthers curled up nose to tail in one, drakes with their paws folded neatly underneath them in another, some sort of cloudkin roosting in a third, and then, finally, a mass of bright green feathers tangled with white hair and tanned skin.
Menenius stopped and leaned on the high stable door, resting his chin atop one hand while his other arm dangled down. He shook his head at the sight - Dawon the Younger laid with his huge head atop his paws, back end sideways with Lyon sprawled out against it, one arm thrown across his face to presumably keep the light from his eyes as he slept. Eyes roving over the man, Menenius catalogued some… key differences. Small, slightly pointed ears atop his head, a riot of white fur to rival any of their beasts at his chest and what seemed to be a tail, draped comfortably across Lyon’s thighs.
He rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat loudly. “What trouble have you been getting yourself into now? I don’t recall a tail, the last time we saw each other.”
Said tail swished, irate. “Nice to see you still make it your mission to disturb a man’s sleep.” Lyon bared his teeth, but didn’t remove the arm from his face. “Been out hunting, thought that’d be obvious.” He gestured at himself with his other hand, and Menenius pursed his lips, eyes narrowing as he took in the raptor carcasses stacked in the corner of the stable, and the blood and gore spattering Lyon, and Dawon’s chops.
“You really are a beast,” he replied, shaking his head. “And I wasn’t talking about that. The ears? The tail? Did Sicinius convince you to take part in another of his experiments?”
Lyon snorted. “Hah, don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t let him near me for five griffin eggs!” He removed the arm from his face and squinted up at Menenius. “Just woke up like this, out on the plateaus.” He scratched his beard, then the prodigious amounts of fur on his chest. “S’not so bad though. I’m faster, and me and Dawon can really hunt in sync, now.”
Menenius tutted and shook his head with a roll of his eyes. “Well, all that aside, you do realise that you missed a key strategy meeting this morning? The Resistance have been pushing further into our territory, and we sorely needed your input.” He tapped a hand against the door he leaned upon, tilting his head to one side as he sized up Lyon.
“So I missed a meeting, big deal. You’ve done without me plenty, what’s the problem?” Lyon stretched hugely, then sprang to his feet, giving Dawon a fond ruffle on his head feathers. “Besides, me and Dawon brought us fresh meat, the men’ll be happy for that.”
“Yes, raptor meat, how nutritious.” Menenius straightened up and unlatched the stable door, stepping to the side so he could swing it open. “Get yourself cleaned up and meet me back in the barracks.” He narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze up and down Lyon’s straw-stuck pants, the blood streaking his fur and beard.
“Oh aye, what you got in mind?” Lyon grinned, baring his sharp fangs. “Something exciting, I hope.”
Menenius’ eyes narrowed. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He turned on his heel and left the stables, the sound of Lyon’s guffaw following him.
- - -
“When you said I’d soon find out, didn’t expect this,” Lyon groused from his kneeling position on Menenius’ bunk. His tail lashed behind him, the tufted tip sending up a gentle draught in its wake.
Menenius tipped his head back and regarded Lyon down his nose. He sat in a tall chair facing the bunk with two more coils of coal grey rope in his lap, one hand idly playing with a loose end. One length of the same rope bound Lyon’s naked thighs, circling the width of each five times, with a row of neat knots studded down the outside between thigh and calf. Further rope bound his ankles in a more decorative pattern that was almost a boot, the line running from Lyon’s achilles back to loop in among the thigh ropes, effectively strapping calf to thigh.
“All that time spent showing me your little rope tricks and you never expected me to practice them? I’m surprised at you, Lyon.” Menenius stood up from the chair and went to one knee on the thin mattress.
“Didn’t think you’d be practicing on me,” Lyon grumbled, although his cock was hard enough to bely his complaining. He eyed Menenius, a light of curiosity in his eyes. “So what else you got planned? Gonna put that rope where your mouth is?” He bared his teeth in a feral grin, tail swishing hard enough to whack Menenius on the thigh. “Cos if I get out of these, I might just pounce.”
Menenius’ eyes flashed with amusement and he flicked Lyon’s bare, tautly muscled belly with the end of the rope. “I’d like to see you try. Good to see this change has only served to make you more feral than you already were.” He loosened the rope coil and moved in close, caressing Lyon’s arm and then taking it by the wrist and yanking it behind his back a vicious movement.
Lyon grunted, but didn’t struggle. “Embarrassed I wasn’t in the meeting, huh?” He cocked his head and regarded Menenius sidelong as he did the same to his other arm. “Surely you didn’t need me that much.”
“Sicinius had some choice words on the matter.” Menenius moved behind him then went quiet, all his attention focused on the task.
Lyon had moved his arms back out of position unthinkingly, and Menenius took hold of both wrists with a disapproving click of his tongue, yanking them back into position in the small of Lyon’s back with one hand while he pulled the last coil of rope to rest in his lap with the other. “Keep those there,” he ordered, “and take hold of each arm.”
Lyon’s tail twitched but he obeyed, grunting as the position forced his shoulders back further than was comfortable, turning each hand enough that he could press palm to flesh.
“Very good,” Menenius murmured, “hold that position until I tell you otherwise.” He leaned in to loop three turns of rope across the top of Lyon’s chest and upper arms, his own chest pressed up against his back as he worked. He locked the top ropes in place with a turn between each arm and back, then repeated the pattern underneath Lyon’s chest this time, framing his pecs between two solid blocks of rope. With the rope ends, Menenius ran the line down to Lyon’s arms and looped twice around each wrist before going back up again and wrapping round in a knot to finish the whole box tie.
Menenius pressed two fingers into Lyon’s upturned palm. “Squeeze as hard as you can. And no claws, if you please.”
Lyon obliged, and Menenius nodded, satisfied. “Don’t worry yourself, boy. I’m comfy as can be.” His tail took on a more leisurely path, waving gently with a pleased curl at the tufted end.
He then looped the final rope twice around Lyon’s waist from back to front, brought the lines around to the back again and then down to wrap around the outside of each buttock, framing their hard muscle as though Lyon was wearing strapped underwear.
Menenius passed the two rope ends forward under Lyon’s thighs and paused for a second, pensive. He moved to the front of Lyon and, with a decisive nod and a thin-lipped smile, ran the remainder of the two ropes up and wrapped them around the base of Lyon’s cock twice apiece and then down around his balls before tying off the end in an intricate knot which he nestled up against Lyon’s perineum.
Lyon’s thighs jumped under the ropes, cock twitching at Menenius’ firm handling. “How am I meant to come with that thing there?” He bared his teeth, but Menenius ignored him in favour of moving to kneel behind him once more.
“You’ll manage, it isn’t tight enough to stop you.” Menenius took hold of the knot right at the stem of the ropes, just above Lyon’s wrists, and used the leverage to push him face down onto the bed, nudging his legs apart with one of his knees.
Lyon turned his head to the side to stop himself suffocating, most of his weight taken by his chest and shoulders. “So what now, more punishment for skipping class?”
Menenius snorted. He gave Lyon’s perfectly framed arse a hard slap, leaving a reddened handprint behind. “This is hardly punishment, as you well know. Were I to really punish you, we both know exactly how it would go.”
Lyon laughed into the mattress, then grunted as Menenius slapped his arse again in the exact same spot, and then again. He clenched his fingers then immediately regretted it, as the bindings made his claws dig into the soft flesh of his inner forearms. “Yeah,” he managed to spit out, “manacles and electrowhips and all that other magitek shite you got sitting around, I know.”
“Indeed.” Menenius eyed his handiwork with his head cocked, running his tongue slowly across his bottom lip. “Yes, I think this will do.” He allowed his hands to fall, framing the pent-up erection trapped behind his pants for a moment before he popped the buttons open, just enough to let his cock free. There was something about sex while almost fully clothed that always did it for him, whether it was Lyon sucking him off under the desk while he listened to a debrief or a quick rut in the stables after a duel; and he knew exactly how much Lyon enjoyed it too - not that it wasn’t obvious from the way he started to wiggle, to try and turn his head enough that he could get a glimpse of Menenius kneeling behind him.
Menenius leant forward, allowing his cock to press against Lyon’s crack as he forced his head down into the mattress. “Be a good boy now, or you won’t get anything.”
Lyon growled, and Menenius smirked to hear the hint of a whine in it. “You’re a tease,” Lyon’s words were muffled by the mattress, but Menenius could imagine the way his teeth bared at the indignity.
“Stating the obvious, Lyon.” He let up and straightened, rubbing his cock in the deep, delicious cleft of Lyon’s arse. “You look good like this. Tied up for me like a good,” he slipped his cock down and nudged it up against Lyon’s entrance, “little,” he pushed in to the head, “kitten, ngh,” and then to the hilt in one smooth motion.
Lyon’s hips jumped and he tensed all over, hands clenching against the restraints and this time, claws drawing blood.
Menenius took hold of the ropes at Lyon’s left hip, jerking them in such a way that it angled his cock deeper, and then let go, chasing it with another hard slap to the left arse cheek this time. He drove into Lyon’s tight, unlubricated arse, savouring the friction and the raw grunts huffed into mattress every time he hit Lyon’s prostate and pulled back again, hips snapping in tight, controlled movements until he felt Lyon begin to clench around him.
“Ah-ah, no you don’t.” Menenius reached forward and took hold of the anchor knots at the stem, just above Lyon’s wrists, and gave them a sharp tug. “I tied your cock for a reason, no rutting. You’re not to come until I say so. Understand?”
Lyon turned his head, brows creased and teeth bared. “Sadistic bastard,” he spat, tail lashing against Menenius’ arse and thigh.
“It has been said.” Menenius tugged again and smiled like a knife. “Now, do you understand ?”
“Yes I fucking understand, just get back to fucking me already, you snake. Or are you afraid you’ll come too soon and spoil your little game?” Lyon clenched his arse again, this time on purpose, and Menenius choked back a groan, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out. He would not be giving Lyon that satisfaction.
But there was something about the hot, raw tightness of Lyon’s arse and the way he was bent over in front of Menenius, arms tied and unable to cause bother, head down and arse up, that flicked a switch in Menenius’ brain: he took tight hold of the ropes at both Lyon’s hips and yanked on them, drawing a startled ‘ oof! ’ from Lyon’s mouth as Menenius began to fuck him in earnest. He used the ropes for leverage, noting somewhere in his hindbrain, the part that wasn’t entirely focused on sweet friction and hot pressure, that they were leaving deep red marks against Lyon’s skin. Oh that would be sweet too, the signs of Menenius’ work pressed into that brown, hard muscle like the lash of an electrowhip, or the thud of a halberd haft leaving its marks behind.
Lyon was panting, now, claws planted thoroughly into his own flesh and blood streaking his forearms as he rocked forward with every thrust, just the head of his cock rubbing against the mattress until he was nearly keening with need and want and urgent, urgent desperation.
“Please,” he spat into the bunk, muffled by fabric and his own weight, “please Meneni- please ,” and he didn’t even know what he was pleading for - release or more harsh treatment.
Menenius’ eyes rolled back in his head, the sound of Lyon’s begging hitting that part of his brain that lit up from cruelty, driving him over the edge; he bent over Lyon’s back and shuddered out his seed with a long, guttural groan, hips jerking erratically until he was spent and boneless.
With the single onze of brainpower he had left, he reached around and took hold of Lyon’s cock, thumb rubbing over the damp head as he squeezed and coaxed and slicked. Lyon’s forehead pressed into the mattress, breath coming in harsh growls until he finally came too, the sharp brightness of pain and the pressure of rope enhancing his orgasm like nothing he’d ever felt before, and Menenius’ voice in his ear, allowing him the release.
Lyon collapsed onto the bunk, Menenius’ lanky bulk draped on top of him as they both caught their breath and slowly came back to themselves. He wiggled, the tuft of his tail twitching languidly back and forth. “You’re heavy for a stringbean,” he groused, turning his head to try once again to catch sight of Menenius, “and your damn buttons are digging into my arse.”
Menenius snorted. “All this rope and you’re complaining about buttons?” He rolled off Lyon with a sharp hiss as his softening cock got exposed to the chillier air. He went to his knees and tugged at the thick bundle of knots above Lyon’s wrists, using them for leverage to manoeuvre Lyon back into a more upright position, back onto his knees. “You’re a bloody mess.”
“And whose fault is that?” Lyon’s tail still flipped back and forth, but there was no bite in it.
“Do I even want to know how all this happened?” Menenius tapped Lyon’s claws. “Am I supposed to believe you just ‘woke up like this’?” The air quotes were palpable, and Lyon couldn’t help but laugh, his chest heaving as the movement strained against the ropes.
Menenius’ hands went to work, pulling and tugging over and under until Lyon was free of all the ropes - free to topple backwards, broad back pressed against Menenius’ chest as he shook the strain out of his arms. “I woke up like this,” he said, finally, laughter in his voice. “Nah, there was something on the wind, I remember getting a whiff of it before I blacked out. Couldn’t tell you what, mind. Something Sicinius is cooking up, you think?”
Menenius reached around and took hold of Lyon’s wrists, turning both to eye the clawmarks, weighing the extent of the damage. “Mm, unlikely. Not controlled enough for his liking, I suspect. Wouldn’t do to ruin your own experiments like that.” He ran a thumb through the blood streaking both Lyon’s arms and then brought it to his lips, tasting it thoughtfully.
“Oh, you into blood now as well?” Lyon tilted his head back to regard Menenius upside down, a strange light in his eyes. “Can’t say as how it’d surprise me, mind.”
“Is that so.”
“Mmhmm. Scalekin like blood, right? The scent of it sends ‘em wild, shows ‘em where to strike.”
“Ah of course, this metaphor again.” Menenius rolled his eyes, but was unable to keep the fondness from his voice. He lifted up Lyon’s arms, stretching them out as he observed the deep imprints left behind by his ropes, following the lines of them down to his chest, his thighs. “These marks suit you. I wonder how long they’ll stay around.”
“Oh? Want to claim me in front of the others, huh? Didn’t know you had it in you, lad.” Lyon chuckled, one ear flicking as Menenius rested his chin atop his fluffy mane of hair. He draped his tail over Menenius’ thigh and settled back against his chest with a pleased sigh.
“I can hardly be blamed for leaving visible marks, there’s barely a place on you that’s hidden when you will insist on wearing very little clothing.” He smiled, though, into Lyon’s hair. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”
“Hah, I fucking knew it! I knew you liked it, you stopped bitching about putting me in armour ages ago!” Lyon grinned triumphantly, but was greeted with nothing but a soft snore, Menenius’ nose buried in his hair.