Page 6 of The Fall of the Orc

The displeasure — the discomfort — flashed higher in the orc’s eyes, and Gerrard somehow laughed, and lunged in again. “What do the Bautul think of cowards?” he rasped. “What does Slagvor think of cowards? What do you think he’ll do, once he finds out the truth about you?”

Yes, yes, it was working, it was — and without warning, the orc… snapped. Roaring as he hurled the sword aside, and charged straight toward Gerrard. And there was only a breath to register it, to swing up his blade — but the orc’s broad forearm easily knocked it away, and Gerrard flew backwards, crashing onto his back on the earth. The air spewing from his lungs, the pain flashing white behind his eyes, and for an instant, it was like he was back on that bloody battlefield, tossed like a useless doll onto the earth at the orc’s feet…

But this was worse. So, so much worse, because the orc was still here, right here, his massive body heavy on top of Gerrard’s, crushing him beneath its weight. And when Gerrard kicked and shoved, he only met hot, solid, sweaty flesh, and then found the truth of a huge powerful hand, clamping around his neck.

“You foolish, reckless human,” the orc’s deep voice growled, far too close, and when Gerrard’s eyes refocused, the orc’s harsh grey face was looming over his, his black eyes bright with rage. “You wish this much to die?!”

And as Gerrard wretchedly gasped for breath, blinked up at the orc’s furious face, he found that… he couldn’t seem to deny it. Couldn’t seem to stop the helpless, shameful words — the weakness — from jostling into his throat, escaping, becoming truth…

“I’m going to die anyway,” he croaked. “Sooner rather than later. You know it, I know it. I would just rather it be — on my terms. Would rather it be” — he dragged in breath — “you.”

You. What the fuck was he saying, what was he betraying, he didn’t think this, he hadn’t thought this, had he? This hadn’t once occurred to him, when he’d spoken to Bassey, when he’d deserted the outpost that morning, when he’d left his entire life behind. When he’d come up with that utterly ludicrous plan to hunt down and defeat a gigantic, obscenely powerful orc in single combat, and take his head to Duke Warmisham…

“I’m so damned sick of this war,” he gasped at the orc, without thought, without even hearing it. “It’s such a useless endlesswaste, full of shit and misery and slaughter. But you —”

The orc was still hovering over him, pinning him down, staring at him with those glinting black eyes — and maybe it was still working, maybe Gerrard could still get what he wanted from this, after all. “You’re a brilliant fighter,” he rasped. “Fought fair and clean, without any rubbish. Didn’t try to trick me. Didn’t capture or torture me, when you should have. Would have made a good show for Slagvor, you know? Gotten you a promotion, maybe.”

The orc’s breaths seemed to be heaving harder, despite the stillness of the rest of his huge body crushing Gerrard into the earth. And Gerrard might have even smiled, desperate, delirious, up into the orc’s harsh, staring face.

“So if you kill me now,” he whispered, “that works for us both, doesn’t it? Gets us both what we want?”

But to his whirling distant surprise, the orc… shuddered. His glinting eyes closing, his lashes thick and black against his sweaty grey cheekbone. And his mouth was twisting, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled, the breath hitching into his huge swelling chest…

“Foolish human,” the orc breathed, his voice dark and low. “I do not wish to kill you. I wish to…”

His eyes fluttered open, his gaze heavy and strange on Gerrard’s, and Gerrard stared back, unblinking, as a long, slithering black tongue slipped out, and brushed against the orc’s lips. And Gerrard should have been recoiling, cringing away, but he was still just staring, frozen, transfixed. Waiting, breathless, as his own lips parted, as…

As the orc bent his shaggy head, and…kissedhim.

7

Aulis Gerrard was kissing an orc.

What the fuck. Curse him, curse this orc, curse the entire world, what thefuckwas he doing.

But he was still — doing it. His mouth caught on the orc’s,inthe orc’s, as the orc’s hot huge tongue slid between his lips. And why was Gerrard gasping against it, why was he opening more, and even — even nudging his own tongue back against it. Feeling the undeniable truth of the orc’s conquest, his victory — and instead of the shame he should have felt, there was only a strange, dazed resignation.

The orc had won. Fair and square. And he hadn’t wanted to kill Gerrard, he’d wanted…this. This orc — this huge, brilliant, powerful fighter — wantedthis. Fromhim.

And surely, that was another insult. Another shameful, towering failure. A failure of Gerrard’s skill as a fighter, his worthiness as an opponent, his entire damned goal in coming here. Ending with him being crushed to the earth beneath a gigantic orc, while the orc’s hungry tongue plundered into his throat.

But it was still here, still happening, and Gerrard had even gasped into the orc’s mouth, his sweaty, shaky body reflexively arching up to meet the solid wall of muscle above him. And oh, the way the orc growled back, rumbling it into Gerrard’s tongue, his throat, as his heavy hips ground downwards. Making Gerrard suddenly, shockingly aware of that bulge in the orc’s trousers — or rather, not just a bulge now at all, but a long, thick, demanding ridge, prodding hard and hungry into Gerrard’s belly.

And most appalling of all, Gerrard’s own body was… prodding back. He was already swollen to full mast in his trousers, and what the fuck was this, why was he grinding up harder, why was he fully thrusting his own tongue back into the orc’s mouth. Tasting the strange musky sweetness of him, unlike any human’s mouth he’d ever known — and in return, that was another growl from the orc, higher-pitched this time. Sounding pained, shocked, maybe even… helpless.

A brief, bizarre flare of triumph bubbled in Gerrard’s belly, and without warning, a hoarse noise escaped from his own mouth, almost like a laugh. A laugh that the orc swallowed with a sharper, deeper growl of his own, a harder grind of his hips into Gerrard’s groin — and Gerrard met it again, arching up again. As if he was countering it, challenging it, again prodding the orc, pushing him to — to —

The orc groaned again, and then yanked himself away, back from Gerrard’s mouth. Staring at him with stunned, glittering black eyes, his mouth swollen, his sweet breath shuddering into Gerrard’s face —

And in a dizzying flash of movement, the orc grabbed Gerrard by the hips, and bodily wrenched him over. Shoving him onto his hands and knees in the dirt, leaving him scrabbling for balance, for breath…

And then — Gerrard gasped — he felt the orc’s hand on his trousers. Catching on the waistband, and then — yanking the fabric down to his thighs. Revealing Gerrard’s bare arse, exposing him fully to the cool open air.

Fuck.Fuck. Of course that was what this bastard wanted, what he expected from this. He was an orc, anorc— and why wasn’t Gerrard fighting it. Why wasn’t he punching and shouting and wrenching away. The orc hadn’t tortured him, surely he wouldn’t force him to take this, either… right? And oh, hell, that was a big warm hand, brushing tentatively against Gerrard’s exposed arse…

A suggestion. A… question.

And Gerrard’s answer was — unthinkable. It was his head rapidly nodding, as his bared, suddenly trembling body shoved back into the orc’s touch, his offer. Saying, blatant and shameful,yes. Yes. Fucking do it. Take it.Take your damned victory.

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