Page 54 of The Fall of the Orc

Our kin. The relief bubbled up bright and convulsive in Gerrard’s chest, escaping in a thick, high-pitched laugh. Because not only had Olarr not left him behind, but he — he’d saved him. He’d come up with that reckless, ridiculous plan last night, and saved Gerrard’s livelihood, saved his men, saved all his goals. At great risk to Olarr’s own goals, his own clan’s future, his own damned life. And Gerrard couldn’t bear to think what might have happened if Olarr had been caught, if he’d been killed, if he’d been lost to him, forever.

“It was such a brilliant plan, captain,” Gerrard said now, muffled into his chest. “A fucking triumph of Bautul cunning and recklessness. The cape, the hat, the uniform? The stick?”

He drew back a little so he could see Olarr’s face, and flashed him a rather weepy-feeling grin. “That stick is gonna become legend, you know,” he informed him. “It was all my men talked about all night. ‘A big pointy stick! Waiting to jab me!’”

Olarr was grinning back too, his eyes dancing on Gerrard’s face. “A strong orc-stick would do this foul man much good, I ken,” he said lightly. “But I am most glad it did not come to this, ach?”

Gerrard laughed again, shaking his head, even as Olarr’s expression sobered, his head tilting. “So this all went well, then, Aulis?” he asked, more carefully than before. “How did you fare with this duke?”

That was definitely unease in Olarr’s eyes, now, surely in regards to what Gerrard had done last night with Warmisham, or promised to do in the future. And it was a fair question, one Gerrard wanted to answer fairly, too — so he took a breath, and drew Olarr over to the fur. To where Olarr had apparently pulled together another picnic for them, the brilliant bastard, and after a fervent thank-you, Gerrard sat down across from him, and launched into the full tale of the night’s events. Telling Olarr how Livermore had raved and raged about the orc in his tent, how Cosgrove and Bassey had helped drive it home, and how Warmisham had invited Gerrard in, and given him a chance to speak.

“You were right about Warmisham, because he was definitely interested in more than just talking,” Gerrard told Olarr, around a mouthful of tender, succulent venison. “But I pretended I didn’t notice, and kept it to the point. Didn’t even need to get into Livermore’s powder-induced visions at all, either — just talked about all the mismanagement, the food and supplies, the useless offenses, the deaths. And I especially focused on how keeping this outpost staffed is a waste of Warmisham’s valuable time and coin, and how we’d all be of much better service to him elsewhere.”

He could see Olarr stiffening at that mention ofelsewhere, and Gerrard squared his shoulders, and drew in a breath. “So yeah,” he said, around a dry-feeling swallow. “That means… I’m going north. We’re all going north. Shutting down the camp, starting today.”

Olarr’s body betrayed a faint flinch, his eyes gone still — but he didn’t speak, so Gerrard pulled in another breath, kept going. “I also made a good case for how Warmisham would need better protection on his way back home, with Slagvor’s orcs possibly running around, seeking revenge,” he said. “And he agreed to that, too, and even congratulated me on defeating Slagvor last night, and asked me how it went. By the end of it, he sounded like he was pretty interested in keeping me around, going forward. Maybe even giving me that promotion, if I play it right.”

Olarr’s eyes were still entirely blank, unreadable, his body frozen and unmoving on the fur. But Gerrard had been thinking about this constantly since last night, and he was committed to seeing it through. To being brave, and cunning, and honest with Olarr, even if it ached like this in his gut.

“I still don’t trust Warmisham in the slightest,” he continued. “Even if he’s outwardly less awful than Livermore. But if I’m up north with him, in the midst of it all — and especially if I can get myself that promotion — I can keep pushing toward my own goals. I can do my damnedest to help my men, and their families — and even the Bautul, too. I can keep trying to end this endless war."

Olarr audibly swallowed, but something had shifted in his eyes, and he twitched a firm little nod, and even a faint, crooked smile. “Good,” he said, hoarse. “I am most glad of this, warrior. I am sure you shall gain all you aim for, and I wish you — all the goddess’ favour, in this.”

But Gerrard could almost taste Olarr’s misery, his grief, coiling deep and heavy between them. His certain awareness that this was goodbye, after all, that Gerrard was leaving him for good. But even amidst that, he was still… encouraging Gerrard. Supporting him, strengthening him, the way he always had.

Gerrard’s eyes were blinking hard, now, and he held Olarr’s gaze, and drew up breath. “But — I’ve also been thinking,” he said slowly, weighing every word. “About how we’re such a good team, yeah? And how we — we both want the same things, and we’ve helped each other do things we could never have done alone. And how it would help both of us, and all the people we care about, if we could still keep — working together. Keep… seeing each other. Maybe even keep being… mates.”

Something else shifted in Olarr’s eyes, maybe doubt, maybe astonishment — so Gerrard drew in another breath, kept going. “I know it won’t be easy,” he continued, faster. “It’ll mean a hell of a lot of time apart, and more distance to travel, and all the rest of it. But” — more breath, more truth — “if this was ever going to work with us long-term anyway, I need — to trust you, Olarr. I need you to show me I can trust you. I need you to keep coming back to me, even when it’s not easy. I need you to decide to tell me the full fucking truth, and keep your word to me, again and again and again, until I can believe you’ll always do it. Until I can trust you enough to make a full life with you. And if you can’t do that, or you won’t, then —”

He jerked a shaky-feeling shrug, but he couldn’t move his eyes from Olarr, couldn’t stop searching his face. “So you can take it or leave it,” he said, his voice a little hollow, now. “It’s up to you. But I’m still going. No matter what.”

His heart thudded faster, his breaths shallow in his chest, his eyes still searching Olarr’s face. Waiting, waiting, as Olarr’s throat spasmed, his mouth twisting, and…

Olarr lurched forward with a gasp, his huge body tackling Gerrard’s back to the fur, his hot face shoving deep into Gerrard’s neck. “Ach, Aulis,” he croaked, muffled, into Gerrard’s skin. “Ach, I should be most honoured. I shall prove this to you, and regain your trust in me. No matter how long this takes.”

Oh. Oh, goddess. Gerrard’s relief swarmed him all over, fizzing through his belly, escaping in a strangled little laugh. And his arms and legs were already wrapping around Olarr, drawing him closer, harder, as his body arched up, his neck willingly pressing into the threat of those seeking, hungry teeth. Inviting it, ordering it, oh fuck, and Olarr’s groan might have been a sob as he took it, obeyed it, flashed Gerrard full with his pain and his pleasure.

“And it’ll be — only me,” Gerrard gasped, as his hand pressed Olarr’s head closer, his fingers spreading, sinking deep into his messy hair. “Only my scent on you. Only me fucking you.”

Olarr’s gulping, greedy swallows abruptly choked off, the sound loud and betraying in Gerrard’s ear. Enough that Gerrard caught on it too, considering it — and when he nudged Olarr upwards again, Olarr jerked back, his mouth rimmed with red, his eyes stunned and hazy on Gerrard’s face.

“Because that’s gotta be part of it too, captain,” Gerrard said, lifting his chin, holding those eyes. “Goddess knows I’ve waited long enough, yeah?”

And oh, hell, the way Olarr groaned. The sound rumbling down the full length of his body, fluttering his eyes, flushing his cheeks. Sparking Gerrard’s own simmering hunger higher, into a shivering dizzying craving — and before he could think better of it, he shoved himself up, and pushed Olarr over onto his back. Not missing how easy he went, how his long tongue hungrily licked his red lips, how he was already fully hard in his trousers.

“Good, captain,” Gerrard breathed, as he began yanking at those trousers, pulling them down and off over Olarr’s hips, his legs, his feet. “You’re gonna let your man undress you? Let me take care of you?”

Olarr groaned again, his bare swollen cock already bobbing up, streaking white against his belly. And Gerrard gazed at it, feasted on the sight of it, as he rapidly shucked off his own clothes, and knelt between Olarr’s big, hair-dusted thighs. “So good, captain,” he continued, as his hungry hands stroked those thighs, slowly spread them wide apart. “You’re gonna be so good for me, aren’t you? Gonna let me finally learn how good you feel?”

Olarr nodded and moaned, his gaze rapt and almost pained on Gerrard’s face — and it was enough to stop Gerrard short again, to drag his frenzied thoughts backwards. Back to many weeks before, when they’d talked about this, to the darkness Olarr had hinted at around this…

“Only if you’re sure, though,” he said, quieter now, holding Olarr’s eyes. “If it’s not going to…”

But Olarr’s hands were already reaching down, clasping at Gerrard’s hips, drawing him in closer. “Ach, I am sure, Aulis,” he replied, his voice hoarse, his eyes glimmering. “It shall be a great honour, to gain such a gift from you.”

The heat was swarming Gerrard’s face, pooling in his groin, and he gave Olarr a smile that felt almost shy as he stroked up and down that gorgeous silver body, felt it shudder and flare beneath his touch. And when his seeking hand found Olarr’s cock, smoothing up easy and gentle, Olarr gasped and rocked to meet it, his thighs falling open wider, welcoming Gerrard in.

So Gerrard kept touching, kept stroking, now slicking one hand with Olarr’s slippery, spurting seed, and slipping it downwards. Caressing Olarr with it, coating him with it, nudging it into that smooth pulsing heat with hungry, trembling fingers. And then also slathering the seed all over his own cock, until he was liberally dripping with it, and seeping fresh from his own slit, too. Because fuck, this felt so good, it looked so good, this vicious powerful orc on his back for him, spreading for him, opening for him. And then shivering all over at the very touch of Gerrard there, at his slippery head kissing against that slick soft heat.

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