Page 24 of The Fall of the Orc

Olarr replied with a thick, unsteady growl, and a glance up at Gerrard’s face that looked almost appalled. “This is notfine, human,” his deep voice hissed. “I — I did not think. I fought you here in the dark, where you could see naught around you. And thus” — he hauled in a dragging breath — “I wounded you, warrior. I could havekilledyou!”

Oh. Well. That. Gerrard’s gaze slid back to the sky, his eyes blinking again and again, as his breaths kept heaving through his chest. “Wanted you to hit me,” he gasped, and did he mean that, he did. “Deserved it. Was so — so shit to you, today.”

Olarr made that growling sound again, and he lurched up to look at Gerrard, staring at him with hard, disbelieving, wet-looking eyes. “You did not —deservethis, Aulis,” he said, and Gerrard couldn’t at all read that waver in his voice. “And you were not —shit. You were —wondrous.”

Fuck, maybe Gerrard was more grievously injured than he thought, because he’d surely misheard that — right? Or had he, because Olarr abruptly reached for his face, cradling it in both hands. And his hands were… shaking, as his too-bright eyes caught on Gerrard’s, and shimmered as they held.

“You werewondrous, Aulis,” he rasped. “I have never —never— had a lover do such things. Say such things. I shall never, ever forget this, in all my days, and now I have — I have —”

He was rapidly blinking, his black lashes fluttering again and again, and he shook his head, bit one of his sharp fangs at his lip. “I have harmed you,” he choked. “I have near killed you.Endedyou.Ach.”

He sounded genuinely distraught, the raw intensity in his voice catching, shuddering, deep in Gerrard’s chest. And it distantly occurred to Gerrard that he should be arguing this, that one bad blow from a wooden sword wasn’t going to kill him, and that Olarr was making a big fuss over nothing. Gerrard was a lieutenant, he’d faced worse dozens of times, he didn’t need coddling, or…

Or did he. He’d been such a reckless mess today, running off the way he had, and dumping all his own rubbish onto Olarr. All his own… fear. Fear of being betrayed. Hurt. Weak.

Gerrard swallowed hard, drew in a breath, glanced up at the shining light of the half-moon above them. While his still-tingling hand slid up, found Olarr’s broad, sweaty back — and then began stroking, up and down. Feeling the rigid strength in it, the tension in the hard packed muscle beneath his skin. The way it also spoke so powerfully of… fear. Of concern. Of…

Olarr’s breath caught at the touch, his eyes snapped strange and arrested on Gerrard’s face, and Gerrard swallowed, twitched a small, wavering little smile in return. Wanting to say, about to say, so close…

“Just glad you’re still here, captain,” he said, hoarse. “And you still won, yeah? Aren’t you gonna take your prize?”

It still wasn’t all he should have said, but it was something. And it set Olarr’s eyes shifting again, as his breath hitched, and that familiar cock shuddered and swelled beneath the front of his trousers, hardening against Gerrard’s thigh.

Gerrard was still wearing his own trousers, and he rapidly shoved down the waistband, wincing at the feel of a pointy rock beneath him — but wait, Olarr had swiped sideways, for his pack, and yanked something out of it. The — the fur. And then he lurched up to his feet, heading toward where a large, flat boulder was encircled in a ring of nearby pine trees — and once he’d spread the fur on the boulder, he came back for Gerrard again. Lifting him up with palpable care, and carrying him over the short distance to the rock. Settling him down on the fur’s plush softness, before gently pulling off his boots, his trousers.

Gerrard’s lamp had gone out at some point, so it meant that he was now fully bared in only the faint moonlight, gleaming white and silvery on his skin. And despite the bizarre unreality of this — of being undressed, spread out by an orc beneath the moon — he still felt his body relaxing, his breaths deepening, as Olarr’s warm hands began slowly, purposefully caressing him. Sliding down from Gerrard’s face, stroking against the bare skin of his neck, his shoulders, his arms. And then slowly slipping down his front, carefully skirting around his wound, before easing up again. As those shimmering, still-blinking eyes held to Gerrard’s face, watching him, searching his response, maybe even seeking his permission.

But Gerrard just gave another small smile back, his tongue brushing his lip, because oh, how this looked, how it felt. This huge, powerful, deadly orc on his knees for him, touching him as though he was starving for it, and looking at him with such strange, fervent light in his eyes. Such… reverence.

The pleasure was already drowning out the lingering pain, and Gerrard’s breaths were coming even deeper, his body relaxing heavier against the fur. And though a distant whining unease was still there somewhere, rattling deep in his skull, Olarr’s touch, Olarr’s reverence, was so much closer. So much stronger. Shouting at Gerrard, swarming him all over with a strange, settled certainty.

He wanted this. Wanted to keep trying this, fighting for this. Wanted to accept what Olarr kept telling him, the way Olarr kept doing this. Kept looking at him like this, touching him like this, pressing all those impossible words deep into his wounded skin.

I have already fallen. None have ever called to me, as you have. You were wondrous, Aulis. I shall never, ever forget this.

And maybe — maybe Gerrard hadn’t really let himself believe it, until now. Lonely soldiers talked that way, sometimes, after a taste of physical contact that wasn’t battles and fighting — but it didn’t mean anything, because your body could just as well be anyone’s, anything with warm hands and a heartbeat. But Olarr hadn’t gone for anyone else, he’d kept coming for Gerrard, multiple times now, and…

“You haven’t fucked anyone else, right?” Gerrard’s cursed voice croaked, all on its own. “Since we started this?”

Olarr blinked, drew a little backwards, and Gerrard was already wincing, bracing himself, stupid,stupid— but wait, Olarr was shaking his head, his hands still caressing, stroking, so warm and gentle against Gerrard’s skin. “No,” he whispered back. “None have called to me as you do, ach?”

Right. That again. And somehow Gerrard was smiling again, as relief shuddered through his still-sore chest. “Same,” he said, quiet and certain, over the increasingly distant nattering in his skull. “Just — you.”

And now it was Olarr smiling, a brief quirk of flashing approval, or even appreciation. “Ach, I ken,” he replied, just as quiet. “I have scented this, upon you. You now reek ofme, warrior.Onlyme.”

He’d even shot a brief, smug-looking glance down at Gerrard’s belly — which was still slightly rounded from earlier, damn it — and instead of the weakness and humiliation Gerrard should have felt, he was rolling his eyes, and kicking at Olarr’s leg with his foot. And then arching up further into Olarr’s touch, into that hard, hungry ridge still prodding into his thigh…

“You gonna do it again, then, captain?” he asked, spreading his hand against Olarr’s arse. “Make me reek even stronger of you? Fatten me up on you?”

And fuck, the way Olarr’s breath choked, his nostrils flaring as he glanced downwards, his wide eyes now blatantly lingering on Gerrard’s belly. No doubt imagining how he’d look after being filled from both ends, curse him — and the smug bastard was already yanking himself out of his trousers, his swollen, shuddering grey length hovering huge and hungry over Gerrard’s groin. But as Gerrard arched up again, grinding into the still-stroking press of Olarr’s big warm hands, he still couldn’t seem to find the energy to protest. He was doing this. He wanted this. Wanted Olarr’s touch, his pleasure, his care.

And yes. Yes. That was care, in the way Olarr’s hands slid down to Gerrard’s thighs, gently grasping them, tilting them up and back. The way that slick, pulsing head settled against Gerrard’s tight heat, waited for him to soften in return. And oh, the way Olarr’s reverent eyes rapidly darted between Gerrard’s face, and the sight below his upraised legs. Where he could feel himself slowly, slowly, stretching wider and wider as that fat, slick, pulsing orc-prick gently breached him, and began easing its way inside.

It felt even bigger this way, like a whole damned horde gaining ground breath by breath, and splitting Gerrard apart. Occupying him, conquering him, setting up camp and pitching fucking tents, while he surrendered, opened, welcomed them in. Letting in more, and more, and more, until they were everywhere, it was everything, buzzing and brawling and jabbering inside him, foreign and loud and bright and strange. Packing in tighter, ramming in thicker and deeper, until — Gerrard keened, convulsed all over — he was full. Full, closed off, wedged to the brim, with hard strength pressing flat all around his entrance, locking the gates tight behind that blunt, brutal invasion.

Gerrard gasped and arched again, shuddering against the battering ram breaching him — and then… felt the ram shiver in return. Felt the entire force wavering, not only inside him, but all over him. Because Olarr had fallen to his elbows over Gerrard, and his huge, powerful body was… shaking. Trembling with what looked like uncontrollable spasms as he gasped desperately for air, as his bright, shimmering eyes rapidly blinked down at Gerrard’s face. Looking at him with that same reverence, that affection, that… care.

And then it all shifted, spun up and around and sideways, and it occurred to Gerrard, with yet more shuddering certainty, that he had Olarr’s entire force… trapped. Surrounded. Locked and held and conquered, deep inside his body, his heart.

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