Page 28 of The Fall of the Orc

“And I say you’re handsome, captain,” Gerrard breathed again, just because he could, just because it made Olarr gasp and shiver like that. “You look so good. Feel so good. I love fighting you, and fucking you.”

Olarr’s gasp was more like a groan this time, his bare body bucking reflexively up against where Gerrard was straddling him. And against where — Gerrard fought down the instinctive embarrassment — his own previously filled arse was now leaking Olarr’s own seed back out onto his grey cock, lying plump and swollen against his belly. A sight that Olarr was now watching with rapt attention, and Gerrard took a bracing breath, squeezed out a little more. Let it drizzle down between them, blatant and obscene, because Olarr liked it. Olarr wanted it. Wanted him.

“Love how much of this good seed you keep making for me,” Gerrard continued, huskier now, as he stroked a brazen hand against his own rounded belly. “Love having this gorgeous fat cock of yours hard for me. Wanting to stab itself inside me.”

Olarr bucked and groaned again, shamelessly grinding his slick shaft up between Gerrard’s parted legs, and Gerrard huffed a breathless laugh, even as his damnable leaking body ground back, meeting it, wanting it. “You want to be inside me again, don’t you, captain?” he breathed. “You want to open me even wider, pump me even fuller of you?”

Olarr shuddered all over, his head fervently nodding, his hips still bucking wildly upwards, and Gerrard smiled back, stroked up and down Olarr’s sweaty flanks with creditable steadiness. “Then you’ll need to ask me, captain,” he purred. “Very nicely.”

Olarr’s eyes were almost frantic, now, but he was rapidly nodding, licking his long black tongue at his lips. “Ach,” he croaked. “Ach, Aulis. Please, grant me this. By the goddess.”

Gerrard made himself wait, raising his eyebrows, and Olarr shuddered again, his throat audibly swallowing. “Please, Aulis,” he gasped. “You are — so stunning. So sweet. And you feel so soft and tight upon my prick, so — so —”

He broke off there, heaving for breath, because Gerrard had already shifted them together, settling that swollen, generously leaking tip against just where he wanted it. Against where he was still dripping that thick fluid out of him onto Olarr, coating him with it, just as Olarr kept pumping out more, too, feeding it back inside him, in a strange, surreal loop between them. And even if Gerrard hadn’t already been soft and slack from last time, he was so open, so ready, and he had to fight to keep himself still, to keep waiting, holding Olarr’s desperate eyes…

“I yet cannot fathom — why you wish for this — from me,” Olarr choked, between dragging breaths. “Why you keep — welcoming me, and granting me — such gifts. There is naught more I long for than to bury myself deep within you, to fill you with my seed and my scent. To know you are mine, you are forevermine—”

His voice cracked, his head whipping back and forth, and Gerrard desperately smiled through that impossible wordforeveras he finally sank downward. Swallowing that hard, straining head up inside him, and then taking in more, and more, and more. Consuming it breath by breath, making it his, only his, trapped firm and deep in his grip, in his thrall. While that captured flesh strove and shuddered, yielding to his command, spurting out more hot fluid with every milking clutch of Gerrard’s body around him.

“Good, captain,” Gerrard gasped, and now he was gripping his own straining cock, too, sweeping an easy hand up and down, while Olarr watched with stunned, blinking eyes. “Now, you’re gonna give me what’s mine, aren’t you? You’re gonna pour me full of you. Make me reek of you, fatten me up on you, until I can’t possibly hold any more —”

Olarr writhed, wrenched, roared — and oh, that was it, his captured strength swelling again and again as he obeyed. Spraying out his bounty deep inside Gerrard, flooding his guts even fuller with fresh streams of orc-seed. And fuck, Gerrard could feel his belly swelling out further, plumping up more with every new spurt, and Olarr was watching too, his eyes fixed to the sight, to Gerrard’s own rapidly pumping hand, so close —

Gerrard gasped as he leaned backwards just in time, his own pleasure screeching through him, driving out of him, spraying up all over his rounded belly. Painting it with glossy, dangling strings of his own mess, while Olarr moaned again, and ground up deeper inside, shuddering out even more. Making Gerrard’s belly swell just a little fuller, while Olarr’s wild eyes fluttered and stared, the sound from his throat almost like a sob.

Gerrard couldn’t seem to move once they were done, couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away from the sight. From his own swollen, spattered belly, and from how Olarr was still staring at it too, his black tongue blatantly curling at his lips.

“Someday, human,” he rasped, “I shall lick you clean of your sweet seed. Every last drop shall bemine.”

His voice sounded vicious, dangerous, but Gerrard twitched a shaky nod, flashed him an unsteady little smile. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Someday.”

It again felt almost like a promise, like a secret vow between them, especially once Gerrard had reluctantly extracted himself and dressed again, and headed for the door. Where he found himself abruptly being dragged into Olarr’s tight, crushing embrace, as Olarr drew in a deep, shaky inhale against his neck.

“Stay safe, Aulis,” he said, his voice a croak. “Be prudent, and cunning, and keep close watch around you, ach?”

Gerrard silently nodded against Olarr’s shoulder, his hand spreading against his chest. “You too, Olarr,” he breathed. “Especially with Slagvor. And with whatever you eventually decide to do about him, yeah? Whatever cunning vengeance you come up with?”

He wasn’t quite sure what had made him bring that up again, or what made him draw away, searching Olarr’s eyes. Where Olarr’s eyes were almost… guarded, even as he nodded, and gave Gerrard a wavering smile. “Ach,” he said thickly. “And I shall come to you again soon. Keep watch for me, and my sticks?”

They’d continued to communicate through sticks, of all things, and Gerrard managed a smile back as he nodded, and drew away. Trying to keep his expression steady, his steps light and easy, as he jogged up the stairs, and out into the cool night air of the forest.

But once he was deep in the woods again, he felt his steps slowing, his shoulders sagging beneath his uniform. That had been good… right? It had been so damned good, on all counts. And even if he was now staring down multiple days without Olarr, there was no reason for the strange little catch in his chest, the nagging whisper of something almost like unease. Like… foreboding.

But no. No. He’d already decided this. Committed to this. He wanted this, Olarr wanted this, they were in this together. Olarr cared about him, Olarr was helping him, Olarr had kept his word, again and again…

Gerrard repeated that certainty to himself as he crept back into the camp again, heading toward the med tent — but then he hesitated, and turned toward his own tent instead. He hadn’t slept in it for weeks, and after a quick sweeping out, he sank down to his mat with a heavy sigh. One hand still gripping the jar of mushroom powder, the other slipping up under his tunic, spreading wide against his swollen, rounded belly. While his blinking eyes caught on the full moon, just visible through the flap in his tent.

He could do this. He could make this work. He could wield his cunning, and gain all that he wished. Hewould.

But even so, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that urgency in Olarr’s voice, that distinct guardedness in his eyes. And surely it hadn’t meant anything, it hadn’t, he could trust Olarr, he could…

But no matter how he tried, holding his bleary eyes to the light of the watching moon, sleep still didn’t come for a long, long time.

21

The mushroom powder was an unqualified success.

Over the next few days after seeing Olarr, Gerrard had kept a close eye on Livermore, waiting for an opportunity to put the powder to the test. And his chance had finally come early one evening, when Livermore had first called for his supper in his tent, and then abandoned it in favour of berating his groom over his horse.

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