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Summary
"So you're the muscle," the cleric said. His voice held the exact kind of sassy tone that Mike knew he was going to have trouble with. "I was hoping for someone a little less… feral."
The corner of Mike's mouth twitched. "Feral gets the job done."
"Does it?" Hazel eyes swept over him, from his tangled hair to his scuffed boots, a look that was both dismissive and intensely curious. "I find competence is far more reliable than savagery. Do you have a name?"
"Mike."
"Mike," the cleric repeated, and something about the way he said it made Mike’s stomach tighten. "I'm Will. And I expect you to keep your… savagery… focused on our enemies, not on my orders."
"I can do that," Mike was already imagining the kinds of orders this bunny could give him, and he was so, so fucked. The urge to lean in and bury his face right in the omega’s scent gland, to lick and bite and see if he tasted as good as he smelled was overwhelming.
Or: The werehare omegaverse cleradin au nobody asked for.