Page 25 of The Fall of the Orc

I have already fallen, and you have taken… all.

Gerrard arched and moaned again, clamped hard against the strength inside him, revelled in his victory — and when Olarr gasped again, the sound almost a sob in his throat, Gerrard grasped for his head, yanked it down, and kissed him. Finding that hot mouth, making it his, and yes, yes, it was his. Groaning as it instantly opened, yielded, giving up its tongue, its breath. And Gerrard took it, tasted it, gloried in it, in the way it moaned and trembled for him. And in how that huge body trembled under his touch, too, gooseflesh prickling out at the barest brush of his fingers, scattering across smooth, sweaty silver skin.

“So good,” Gerrard gasped, into Olarr’s mouth, rocking up against him, swallowing that battering ram even deeper inside him. “You feel so damn good, captain.”

Olarr’s groan was instant, guttural, and yes, yes, he was rocking now too, wedging himself even deeper, burying himself within Gerrard’s waiting grip. “Ach,” he gasped back, between heavy breaths. “Y-you also, warrior.”

Gerrard kissed him again for that, his blunt fingernails lightly scraping against Olarr’s neck, his back — and oh, Olarr liked that, the shudder wrenching all the way up his big body, escaping in another heated, helpless-sounding moan. So Gerrard did it again, again, until Olarr was writhing and kicking and howling over him, inside him. That invading pole swelling and straining as his hips frantically plunged, as the triumph and the ecstasy caught and flashed and soared, so close, so —

“Up, captain,” Gerrard gasped, into Olarr’s mouth, just in time — and Olarr lurched up, away, still howling as he kept ramming into Gerrard’s hole, and as Gerrard finally took his own ruddy, aching length in hand. Pumping it up once, twice, while Olarr choked and stared, and then matched the movements with his own shaky furious thrusts —

They shouted as they came together, the release flying between them, flaring into sharp, shattering bliss. Olarr bucking and spasming as he emptied his bollocks deep into Gerrard’s innards, as Gerrard’s own load spurted up across his chest, his neck, even his face. Spraying all over him, making a sticky mess of him, but — a distant rational part of him pointed out — at least it hadn’t seemed to go anywhere near Olarr. And instead, Olarr was moaning again, his cock inside Gerrard still erratically spasming, as his heavy-lidded eyes fluttered, and he bent over Gerrard’s spunk-splattered chest, and inhaled.

Gerrard had almost forgotten how to breathe, and he belatedly hauled in a breath too, his own eyes fluttering as he watched. As Olarr just kept hovering over him in the moonlight, breathing in slow and deep, while his spasms inside Gerrard gradually weakened, and then quieted altogether. And Gerrard could feel the thick invading flesh slowly softening, too, shrinking, surrendering. Until it finally slipped out of him, away, as if it truly had been defeated. Conquered, by Gerrard’s body, Gerrard’s pleasure.

At least, until Gerrard realized what Olarr was looking at, now. What he was… smelling, with such quiet, stilted reverence. It was his own damned belly, which now looked appallingly plump, rounded — because Olarr had indeed gone and flooded it full from both ends. Fattened Gerrard up, just as Gerrard had asked. Just as he’d… wanted.

And despite a brief but concerted attempt, Gerrard still couldn’t seem to find even a whisper of the humiliation, or the shame. He’d wanted that. He’d had a hell of a lot of triumph in that. And as strange as it was, he suddenly felt almost… light. Content. At ease.

“Yeah, keep looking, you great arse,” he groused, kicking at Olarr’s leg, though there was barely any heat in his voice. “You love it, don’t you. Making it look like you put a damnedbabyin there.”

Olarr’s glance upwards was swift and warm, the amusement kindling across his dark eyes. “Anorcling,” he corrected, husky and hot. “A hearty, hale Bautul orcling, mayhap.”

Gerrard scoffed and kicked at him again, though a smile was twitching at his mouth, too. “Well, too bad, captain,” he shot back, “because there’s no orcling in there. There’s only” — he made a face, but said it anyway — “a seedling. Anorc-seed-ling. Get it?”

Olarr stilled, blinked at Gerrard for an instant — and then he threw back his shaggy head, and laughed. The sound low and rich and rolling, rumbling deep into Gerrard’s gut. And suddenly Gerrard was laughing too, shaking his head, grinning so hard his face hurt. “You just wait, you prick,” he managed, between chuckles. “Until my orc-seed-ling is born. You won’t be so happy then, will you?”

Olarr laughed even harder, his guffaws now roaring through the open air, and there were even tears streaking down his cheeks. The sight of it making Gerrard laugh harder, too, the joy so bright and warm and pure between them. Enough that he very nearly reached for Olarr again, needing to pull him close, to wrap him into his arms —

But no, no, wait, curse it, the scent.Slagvor. And Gerrard couldn’t even risk touching Olarr now, not with his own spunk spattered all over him like this, and he felt his mirth abruptly fading as he yanked a little backwards. And he could see Olarr reflexively reaching for him in return, as if wanting him close, too — and then wincing as he realized it, as he sank back to his knees on the fur-covered stone.

“Ach, warrior,” Olarr said, almost a groan, but his eyes were still so warm, so soft, on Gerrard’s face. “I am so glad you came back here tonight. And” — he winced again as his gaze dropped to Gerrard’s chest — “yet so sorry, for this wound.”

Gerrard waved it away — it only ached a little, now, and it had been damn well worth it — but found his thoughts catching, already festering, in places they had no business being, and…

“Doyou want — a real orcling, though, Olarr?” he blurted out, before he’d come close to stopping it. “Like — with a woman?”

Olarr blinked, tilted his head, while Gerrard’s heart suddenly kicked, pattering in his chest. Fuck, this hadn’t even occurred to him before, but orcs all longed for sons, didn’t they? For ahearty, hale Bautul orcling, Olarr had said. And for that, like all orcs, Olarr would need a human woman. And even if he truly did care for Gerrard, Gerrard could never, ever give him that, and —

“I do not wish for a woman,” Olarr said, speaking quickly, now, as his body shifted over to sit beside Gerrard’s on the fur, his big hand carefully slipping up to spread against Gerrard’s dry back. “My hunger has always been toward — toward strong, skilled, well-formed warriors like you. And I should gladly choose this over any orcling, ach?”

Gerrard shot him a sharp, searching look, as that uneasy whispering refrain lurched back into his thoughts — they were enemies, they still barely even knew each other — but now Olarr was mightily frowning toward him, his brows furrowed, his claws slightly pricking into the skin of Gerrard’s back.

“I would, warrior,” he insisted. “Ach, why should I ever wish to bring an orcling into this war? This would only grant me more fear and failure. More threats of loss and grief, waiting to be wielded against me.”

His eyes darkened as he spoke, his frown twisting into genuine bitterness, surely thinking of Harja, of Slagvor. And Gerrard felt his own unease shifting, settling, as he let out a breath, and leaned a little closer into Olarr’s side.

“Right,” he replied, thick. “I get that. I just — you’d be a good father, yeah? I wouldn’t want you to give that up, for… for someone like…me.”

His voice had gone very quiet, and well it should, because that was damned presumptuous, to assume Olarr really cared… that much. That this — whatever the hell this was, between them — would ever extend beyond fights and fucking, beyond taking their pleasure while it lasted. Because chances were slim that they’d even both survive this endless war in the first place, and…

“Ach, I should not regret this,” Olarr said, giving Gerrard a firm little shake. “Though you have not said, Aulis” — his forehead furrowed — “whetheryoushould not regret this? Doyounot wish for a son? Or a daughter?”

Gerrard blinked, made himself consider the question — and maybe Olarr had the right of it, because even the thought of bringing a helpless, needy child into this war felt utterly absurd. And the thought of needing to court a woman, to settle down and marry a woman, was even more alarming, and —

“Hell, no,” Gerrard said, with a convulsive little shudder. “If I ever did get to a place where I wanted a kid in my life, I’d just go — find one. An orphaned army kid like I was, maybe. One who could use the help.”

He’d been speaking without really thinking, the words tumbling from his mouth, and he was vaguely surprised to see Olarr nodding, and giving him a slow, approving smile. “Ach, I ken you would,” he said, his voice soft. “This is what we should do, then.”

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