Ah, Meatoberfest. The charr celebration of drink, food, and, you guessed it, meat. For Vishen Steelshot, there’s nowhere better to be. From the crisp high frequency sizzling of sausage to the low glug-glug-glug of flowing ale, all four of her ears let her know she’d arrived. Of course, she already knows where she is. She’d had her first meat pie at the ripe old age of three weeks and never looked back. The wind blew through her charred auburn mane and teased her nose with the cocktail of carnivorous cuisine cooking all around her. She sits on the ground with a steak thicker than her longest claw is long, half a dozen pickled eggs, and a sausage soaking in some ale “guaranteed to be extra viscous, just like you like it”.
She’s merrily shredding some gristle between her back teeth when she hears a familiar cough. “I didn’t think a little smoke would bother you. That tank of yours keeps spewing it in your face.”
Ranoah sits down opposite her comrade-in-arms. “I’ll have you know my baby runs on pure, clean steam.” She proudly puffs out her chest. “The kind of steam I’ll have to use to get this smoke out of my fur. I don’t know how you deal with it.”
“It brings back good memories! Next time we’re trapped somewhere awful, all I gotta do is inhale to remember hanging out at Meatoberfest with the best engineer in the Blood Legion.”
“You flirt.” Ranoah rests her chin in her palm. A fang pokes out from between her lips when she smiles. “I suppose there’s worse places to be if I have to take a break from rebuilding the harpoon retraction manifold.” She makes a big show of looking around the festival, swishing her tail nonchalantly, and skewering one of Vishen’s pickled eggs with a claw.
“Hey! Get your own.”
“Make me.” Without breaking eye contact, Ranoah opens her mouth wide, rolls her tongue out, and makes a big show of chewing the egg to bits. “You were right, that is pretty good. What else are you keeping from me?” She let her claws walk across the ground to grab a bite of steak this time. Well, that was the plan before Vishen kicks off the ground and vanishes into a snowy blur with her plate in hand. Ranoah turns around just in time to see Vishen standing on the other side of a big ol’ rack of meat.
“Empty threats? Kinky.”
Imagine a big wooden H, almost as tall as the human-and-a-half-sized charr’s proud, furred frame, and with three roast dolyak legs hanging side-by-side on the crossbar. Now imagine that same powerful body, complete with all four of her ears and two pairs of horns, charging you with the rack. Imagine her with the same victorious gleam in her eye and the same eager, sharp-toothed grin she gets when she lines up a perfect headshot. Congratulations! You’re now imagining what it’s like to be Ranoah Grindsteel while her comrade pins her to the ground with a rack of meat. Picture the claw with the skewered steak stuck just a few inches from her mouth, if it helps.
Vishen towers over Ranoah. Snowy fur shining silver under the sun. Trusty rifle gleaming on her back. Clawed foot resting triumphantly atop the dolyak leg and, transitively, her comrade’s chest. And, of course, holding her plate high and well out of a certain food thief’s reach.
“Alright, alright. You win. Let me go and I’ll fix my own plate. I’ll even replace the egg!”
“Why would I do that? You’re pinned, vulnerable, and totally helpless.” She lays down atop the huge hunk of meat with her arms folded. She grins down at her pinned prey, taking the opportunity to bare every sharp tooth she has. Her knees rest on Ranoah’s chest so she can idly rake her clawed feet against the body beneath her. Her golden eyes watch her comrade the same way she watches warthog bacon sizzle in a cast-iron skillet. “I mean, you can’t even reach your tool belt like this.”
“Jeez, Vishen, I’ve never seen you be this excited about, uh, meat before. I kinda like this side of you.”
“I bet I can get you excited about meat, too.” Vishen winks, sits up straight, and turns her back. She plucks the sausage from her flagon of ale, carefully positions it between Ranoah’s legs, and slowly slides it between her thighs. “You know, you can only get these huge sausages at Meatoberfest.” She waits to hear the “H-hey, what are you doing?” turn into moans and a “Yes! More!” behind her back, and she gets what she wants. “This thing must be at least as thick as your wrist.”
The slab of dolyak resting on Ranoah’s chest moves up and down as her breathing gets heavier. Her thighs clench around the sausage.
“I’ve got a surprise for you if you apologize.” Vishen’s tail swishes and swats her pinned prey across the nose.
“A-alright, Vishen. I’m sorry.”
“Stealing your food.”
“Mmm, close enough, but next time I want to hear you throw a few compliments in there.” Vishen rifles through her ammo pouch and produces a violet crystal about the size of her thumb. That is, it’s about the size of your thumb, if you’re eight feet tall and a perfect picture of feline grace. “A little reactor fallout never hurt anyone, right? The Chaos Crystal Caverns are full of crystals that do all sorts of things. For example, this one makes meat bigger.” By the time she tells a bound, blissful Ranoah that little tidbit, the sausage has already doubled in size.
Vishen skewers the sausage on one of her clawed toes and continues to tease. She rolls onto her belly and gazes into Ranoah’s cool blue eyes. They’re about the only cool thing about Ranoah right now. The rest of her is much more interested in grinding, moaning, and panting than having a conversation. Vishen lets her take one last look at the crystal before dropping it down the front of her own pants. She rolls the roast dolyak leg off Ranoah’s chest with a swipe of her paw. Their chests press together. Vishen digs a claw into Ranoah’s chin. The pain forces her to make eye contact.
Ranoah is a sweaty, pleasure-wracked mess. She pants and stares at those shining, sharp teeth and hungry golden eyes. She grinds against the sausage. She can feel the growing bulge pressing against her stomach. She can hear her comrade growl, “So, should I fuck you right here, in the middle of Meatoberfest?”
And she responds with a growling, panting, moaning, “What’re you waiting for?”
“That.” Vishen’s claws make short work of Ranoah’s tool belt. A few more swipes exposes everything below her waist. Vishen digs her claws into Ranoah’s chest, pulls her crystal-enhanced, er, cattlepult out of her pants, and plucks the sausage off her claw to compare. “Mine’s bigger.” She smiles.
Vishen devours the sausage while she mounts and thrusts and moans. Ranoah meows and pants and purrs. Eyes roll back with bliss. Tongues refuse to be contained by mouths. Tails swish with reckless abandon. Maws bite. Claws scratch and rend. Lengths of chain bind arms and legs. Sweat glistens like dewdrops on fur. Paws grab horns for leverage into bites and kisses. Meat disappears by mouthfuls at a time.
And, finally, the bliss of orgasm washes over them both. Vishen first, then Ranoah after her comrade’s claws rake down her chest one last time. Vishen collapses on top of her pinned prey. Both exhausted, bathing in afterglow, and picking at the last few tender scraps of the dolyak leg. Vishen eats the cube of steak off Ranoah’s claw and kisses it into her comrade’s mouth.
“I love Meatoberfest.”