#alpha lyonel

The sound of fighting reaches him before anything else, shouts of effort and pain and the clashing of steel ringing through the air as he runs after Egg, following him across the small courtyard and around the side of the stable. The smell of hay and refuse and hot-metal anger reaches him next alongside the iron tang of blood and distress-fear-resignation of an abused omega. It's enough to have his alpha clawing at his ribs, demanding to be set free on whoever would dare hurt the omega knight he's claimed as his own. A growl builds in his throat, a low, threatening rumble, and his hand is on the hilt of his sword, blade partially drawn when he rounds the corner of the stable and stops short at the sight before him.

Huddled against the side of the stable is a young woman, clothing torn and hair a mess. There's a cut on her neck, mostly clotted, but otherwise she looks unscathed, if not horribly shaken up.

Egg goes to her while Lyonel looks to Dunk, faltering at the glorious sight before him.

He knows after two years of personally overseeing Dunk's training how formidable a knight he's become, but it still takes his breath away to see the man who blessed him by accepting his courtship throwing his sword into the dirt before tackling one of the men stupid enough to go up against him. They go rolling in the dirt, reduced to bare-knuckle brawling, snarling and snapping at each other as they vie for the upper hand in not a battle but a true scrap. The other two Egg mentioned are curled up a few paces away, and Lyonel moves to check that they'll stay down before he turns his attention back to Dunk.

They're a flurry of swinging fists and bared teeth, Dunk taking a glancing blow to the jaw before returning the favor, the alpha's head snapping to the side from the force of Dunk's strike. It knocks him back onto his ass, leaves him open, and Dunk wastes no time in clambering on top of him, pinning him to the ground with his body weight as he rains blow after blow down on his opponent's head and face. He's yelling something too, though Lyonel hears not the words, only the tone, furious and heartbroken and righteous. The alpha underneath him snarls, still bristling, but cowers back when Dunk hauls his fist back in preparation for another blow.

Lyonel reacts before he can think better of it, stepping up to the two of them and clamping his hand down on the nape of Dunk's neck. "Enough."

Dunk stiffens under his hand, a snarl ripping from him as he glares at Lyonel out of the corner of his eye. Lyonel get a flash of one fang as his lip curls, and he tightens his grip. "Enough," he repeats. "My guards will round them up and see they're carted off to the nearest shithole to rot. I'd prefer if you weren't among them for killing a man. Even if he deserves it."

"Aye," Dunk says after a suspended moment, shaking off Lyonel's scruff and lurching to his feet, leaving the bloodied alpha on ground as he stalks over to the woman by the stable.

Lyonel watches him go, palm damp with Dunk's sweat and hunger itching deep in his belly at the thought of Dunk shaking his scruff off like it was nothing. Gods, what a fucking omega I've chosen.

"Milord," one of his guards call, hurrying across the yard to join Lyonel among the remnants of Dunk's carnage. "What—"

"It would seem my mate has already done your jobs for you," Lyonel deadpans, waving a dismissive hand toward the sorry excuses for alphas groaning in the dirt. "See that these three are put in a hole and forgotten about. Then do your fucking rounds."

"Right away, milord," the guard replies, bowing briefly before turning to begin barking orders.

He leaves them to do the job he pays them for and joins Dunk by the woman, stopping a respectable distance away and waving when she hurries to curtsey. "None of that, please. Are you alright?"

"Fine, milord," she murmurs, tugging at the ruined edge of her blouse. "I don't mean to be a bother—"

"You're no bother," Dunk grumbles, giving Lyonel a look that's difficult to parse. "You've someone to look at your neck?"

The young woman nods, flashing Dunk a small, wobbly smile. "Aye, me ma is good for takin' care of small aches. She'll patch me up."

Dunk nods. "Good. See that she doesn't send you to tend the stables alone again. S'not safe for you."

"Aye, ser, she'll keep me in the kitchen after this I imagine. I should get back." She glances at Lyonel. "By your leave, milord."

"Of course, of course." Lyonel steps out of the way, keeping his hands folded behind his back and watching as the woman hurries back to the inn, slipping through the kitchen door without another backward glance. Once she's safely inside, Lyonel turns his attention on his mate, stepping easily into his space and catching his hands so he can inspect the damage on his knuckles. "Nasty business, that was. Let's get you patched up, hm?"

When he glances up from Dunk's bloody knuckles he finds Dunk staring, that same queer look in his eyes, pupils pinpricks and nostrils flared. There's a new, bright note to his scent that Lyonel has never caught before as well, and it only serves to leave him even more baffled when Dunk rumbles dangerously.

"I think you should take him up to your rooms, milord," Egg mutters from near Dunk's side, eyes darting nervously between the two of them. "I'll see that the horses are settled properly."

"A grand idea," Lyonel agrees, taking a step back and squeezing Dunk's hands gently. "Shall we, darling?"

He doesn't get a verbal response, but Dunk is pliant and easy when he guides him back inside, leading him up the stairs and down the hall to the room they've rented for the night. Dunk's eyes burn into his back the entire time, attention never faltering, leaving him to feel a bit like a stag being hunted as he ushers Dunk into the room and stops to close and lock the door.

Whatever is happening, he's not sure he wants anyone else to witness Dunk like this.

"Lyonel."

Stomach swooping at the rough, breathless cadence of Dunk's voice, he turns to ask what's going on and grunts when a big hand splays against his chest and shoves his back against the door. Then, before he can form a thought other than what did I do this time, Dunk plasters himself to Lyonel's front and proceeds to lave his tongue over his half-hidden bond mark. Pleasure sparks through him at the touch, head falling back as he bares his throat to his mate's questing tongue. He rests a cautious hand on Dunk's hip and, when no growl eminates from his twitchy mate, he firms his touch, sweeping his hand along his side as he rumbles gently. Dunk purrs in response and mouths at the mark, snuffling at his scent gland and attempting to press even closer as he grinds his shockingly hard cock into Lyonel's belly.

"Gods, what has gotten into you?" he breathes, spurring his movements on as Dunk's scent swells around them, sweetly alluring and devestatingly tempting.

Ignoring the question, Dunk pulls away from his neck only to bite into his mouth instead, a quiet, needy sound tumbling from him a second later when Lyonel kisses back. He paws inelegantly at Lyonel's clothing, near tearing at the fine fabric, and Lyonel chuffs, trying to catch Dunk's hands and, when that fails, reaches up to grip the back of Dunk's neck.

The volume of Dunk's snarl is so loud that Lyonel worries briefly about someone coming up to investigate if he's been gutted, but then Dunk shudders and demands, "tighter, alpha, please—"

"Fuck, alright darling, alright, just—" he does as he's told, digging his fingertips in, and Dunk keens. "Is that—"

"Yes," Dunk whimpers, pawing at his clothes again and making a rough little noise in his throat. "Why're you still dressed?"

"You haven't let me off of the door," Lyonel retorts, laughing when Dunk squints pissily at him. "Gods, I don't know what's riled you so but I can't say I'm not glad. Let me free and I'll undress so you might have your wicked way with me, mate."

Dunk rumbles again, instinctively pressing Lyonel harder into the door, and then wrenches himself away. "Hurry," he mutters, yanking at his own belt so he can discard his sword in a chair and shuck out of his jerkin and tunic. Lyonel stares, still pinned to the door by the sheer weight of the want coursing through him, and jolts when Dunk glances up and growls at him. "Hurry, I said."

Seven guide me.

His hands don't tremble as he gets himself out of his riding clothes, but they certainly don't hold steady, especially not when he hears Dunk's impatient little chuff and glances over his shoulder to find him watching while dabbing at his knuckles with a cloth from the small basin provided to them. "Ah, I meant to—"

"No," Dunk says simply, gaze burning against Lyonel's skin.

Chuckling at his short response, he finishes stripping out of his clothes and then arches a brow at his ornery mate, not wishing to incur further wrath by doing something wrong. He's like a storm, he thinks as Dunk comes stalking over, knuckles cleaned and just as bare as he. I can hardly wait to weather him.

"No broken bones, then?" He ventures, heart leaping in his chest as Dunk herds him back toward the bed.

"M'fine," Dunk mumbles, watching with dark eyes as he flops back onto the mattress and wiggles into the middle. Then, wasting no time, he climbs in after him, ignoring the creaking of the frame as he swings a leg over Lyonel and sits himself on his thighs so he can stoop to smear his cheek against Lyonel's chest. He mumbles something as well, something that might be you smell nice, but Lyonel doesn't catch it, just brings a hand up to card fondly through Dunk's hair

He means for it to be a comfort, to help dispell some of the raw twitchiness currently driving Dunk, but as soon as his hand nears the nape of Dunk's neck he's snarling again and lurching to set his teeth to Lyonel's throat, fangs pricking dangerously at his skin.

"Easy, darling," he murmurs, an intoxicating mixture of arousal and fear swirling in his gut when Dunk growls and presses his teeth in harder. "What can I do to help you? What do you need?"

Dunk rumbles again, tongue darting against his skin briefly before he jerks back, pressing his forehead to the line of Lyonel's jaw as he whines. "Need you to scruff me again, else I'll—I'll hurt you and then—"

Dunk shudders above him, another plaintive little noise falling from him, and Lyonel's heart cracks just a little. How long has he needed this without getting it?

Moving slowly so Dunk isn't caught unaware, Lyonel brushes his fingertips over the back of his neck, and when his throat remains intact, drapes the whole of his palm over it, squeezing gently.

The noise that rattles from Dunk is one Lyonel will dream about in the coming days, blood boiling under his skin as he holds Dunk firmly by the nape, keeping his forehead pressed to his jaw even as he tugs against Lyonel's grip. "Shh, darling. Don't fight me now—you need this, hm? Need me to take you in hand?"

Dunk moans, squirming, and Lyonel sweeps his thumb along Dunk's hairline, petting him gently as his other hand slips between them to cup Dunk's straining cock. Dunk bucks into his hand immediately at the first touch, making an encouraging noise when Lyonel gets a hand on him proper. "Yes," he hisses. "Lyonel—"

Lyonel chuckles, stroking him again just to hear the way his breath hitches. "So needy already, and I've done hardly more than touch this pretty neck of yours."

The back of Dunk's neck warms marginally under his hand, and when Lyonel peeks out of the corner of his eye he finds a blush spilling out over any bit of available skin he can see. Shy, even after he accosted Lyonel against the door and had his fangs at his throat. Gods but he's a lucky bastard. Luckier still that Dunk is confident enough now in their relationship that he doesn't bother pretending he needs permission to rut into Lyonel's fist, using the channel his fingers make as if it were Lyonel's sole purpose in life. Fuck, but what a life that would be, to be only a method in which Dunk takes his own pleasure, to get to see him, smell him, taste him as he spends over Lyonel's fingers, over his belly, in his mouth.

He's so caught up in the thought of it that he doesn't immediately notice Dunk's distressed noise, only Dunk's sudden surge against the scruff finally keying him in.

Lyonel's hand tightens automatically, ing down, a growl bubbling in his throat as Dunk keens and grinds into his hand. Something drips hot and sticky onto his thigh at the same time, the scent of sugar-laced spice blooming in the air, and his growl breaks free, low and pleased. "Gods but you're dripping, aren't you? Lift your hips a moment, there we are—"

The feeling of wettighthot temporarily steals his ability to speak as Dunk obediently sinks down onto his cock, pleasure lashing against his nerves and instincts surging within him. Dunk seems no better, a soft, pleading whine droning near constantly from him as he shifts to press their foreheads together, only the smallest ring of blue left in his eyes as he stares at Lyonel like he's given him the stars. His knees shuffle a bit wider, lowering himself further onto the burgeoning swell of his knot, and Lyonel digs his nails instinctively into Dunk's nape, choking on a breath when Dunk clamps around him like a vise. Lyonel eases his grip, just a little, and Dunk eases as well, lashes fluttering as he swivels his hips in a lazy circle, using Lyonel's knot to brush against a few of the more sensitive spots inside him.

Oh, but how he adores when Dunk uses him.

He says as much too, giddy and full of alpha pride. "Made for you, was I not?"

"Mh," Dunk intones, rolling his hips again and dragging his cock against Lyonel's belly. "Suppose so."

"Suppose so?"

"Fill me up alright, I suppose."

Growling in mock offense, Lyonel tightens his grip once more on Dunk's scruff and grins viciously when Dunk moans, cunt fluttering madly around his cock. "Suppose I could leave you to fill yourself, since I'm only alright."

"Supposing you could throw me off," Dunk counters.

Laughing at his cheek, Lyonel tilts his head to sink a fang into Dunk's lower lip, tugging teasingly before he relaxes back into the sheets, the only point of tension in his body where he firmly grasps Dunk's nape. "Cheeky cunt—go on then, take what you need. You know it's yours anyhow."

"Don't let go." Dunk lifts up onto his knees, partially off of Lyonel's cock, and then drops back down. "Don't—"

Crooning, Lyonel keeps his hand exactly where it belongs on Dunk's scruff and holds him steady as he finds his rhythm, mind clouded by the slick, clutching slide of Dunk around his cock, the smell of his arousal thick in the air, the need to claim and soothe his distressed omega. Dunk could ask for the world and he would make it his life's ambition to give it to him, but all he wants is for Lyonel to hold on to him, to ground him amongst his body's warring instincts; omega obeisance versus knightly duty, both vying to come out on top and leaving him so pulled taut he could shatter from the dichotomy.

Dunk rises and falls above him relentlessly, hips working in a smooth, even rhythm, and Lyonel nearly laughs with the thought of Dunk riding him like a stallion, working with the involuntary twitches of his hips instead of fighting against them. He angles himself to gain the most pleasure, cock rubbing its mess into Lyonel's belly, and thinks nothing of Lyonel, which sends a hungry little thrill through him. It makes his fangs itch just a little, wanting to take something for himself even though he's thoroughly enjoying Dunk wrapped like silk around him, taking his slowly swelling knot every other drop just to moan at the stretch before he's continuing. He contents himself with occasionally tightening his hand, sparks bursting behind his lids every time Dunk whimpers and clamps around him when he does.

Despite Dunk's stamina and riding prowess, he can still tire, and when he begins to flag Lyonel is already there, thumb rubbing soothingly as he murmurs, "just a moment, darling, scoot up with me, hm? There we go, give me a bit of leverage so I can fuck you the way you deserve."

Together they shift until his back is mostly propped against the headboard, Dunk curved over him, and then he sets his heels in the bed, squeezes Dunk's nape, and says, "try not to scream."

He snaps his hips up right after, before Dunk can retort, and smirks when Dunk keens. He sets a quick, shallow pace at first, free hand clutching at Dunk's hip to tug him into the right angle until he's skating right up against the spot that makes him moan high and tight in his throat. When that inevitably becomes not enough he adjusts, lengthening each thrust while increasing the power and depth as well, popping his knot in and out of Dunk with every movement. And Dunk? He writhes, alternating between rutting against Lyonel's belly and rocking back to take every thrust as deep as he can, one hand ed on Lyonel's chest while the other braces against the wall behind them. Noises fall from him freely, hitching gasps and pleading whines and demanding growls, all of them overshadowed by the wet, percussive slap of their bodies meeting over and over again.

He doesn't dare interrupt the rhythm, not wanting to disappoint his omega, and he's rewarded when he hears Dunk's breaths begin to stumble over one another. "Close, darling?"

Whimpering, Dunk grinds their foreheads together in a facsimile of a nod.

Lyonel laughs, the stinging pressure only heightening the pleasure that has pooled at the base of his spine, waiting to be set free. He strengthens his scruff, needing Dunk to focus one last time, and says, "do you need my hand?"

The feeling of Dunk spending across his belly answers him well enough, and when Dunk clamps down around him he's helpless to do anything but follow, his own completion crashing over him like a white-tipped wave. The pressure of his knot swelling so abruptly is a sweet torture, one that has him moaning restlessly into the space between their mouths, toes curling when Dunk allows his full body weight to sink him deeper onto the knot.

"Gods above," he murmurs, laughing breathlessly when Dunk slumps against him, mouthing fondly at his bond mark. "Can I let go of you now, darling, or do you still need my hand?"

"C'n let me go," Dunk says, smushing his cheek to Lyonel's sweaty shoulder. Lyonel takes the opportunity to sink his hand into Dunk's hair instead, dragging his nails soothingly over his scalp and snickering when Dunk leans into the touch like a great cat. "Sorry."

"I have no need nor want for your apologies," he replies. "Do you need mine?"

He can practically hear Dunk's mind working, both to come up with some way to apologize again and some way to call Lyonel a prick. In the end, he settles a mumbled, "what're you apologizin' for?"

"Scruffing you in the yard."

Dunk shrugs a shoulder, fingers swirling through Lyonel's sweaty chest hair, unable and unwilling to separate yet. "It was what I needed, ser. I doubt I would have listened otherwise."

"No ser in bed unless you never want to leave it," Lyonel reminds, dipping his head to nip at the pink shell of Dunk's ear. "Would you care to enlighten me on your reaction?"

Dunk shrugs again. "Instinct?"

If all omegas had his instinct, there wouldn't be any need for half the knights in the kingdom. "Hell of an instinct. Kept you safe in Flea Bottom, I imagine."

"Mh," Dunk agrees, sitting up so he can steal a slow, lazy kiss, circling his hips to get more comfortable. And make him moan with overstimulation, but Lyonel has never gotten him to admit to it and he suspects he never will. "Don't need it anymore, though. You won't scruff me unless I deserve it."

"Or you beg for it," Lyonel leers.

Cheeks flushing anew, Dunk growls at him and brings a big hand up to cuff Lyonel around the neck. "None of that now—we're stuck here for an hour already."

Laughing through the warm, hazy blanket that has fallen over his mind, Lyonel gets his hands around Dunk's soft waist and murmurs, "oh, at least the afternoon."