Page 32 of Steel & Thunder
Home... My mind drifts back to the dream I was having. Why was I dreaming about Mike? I mean, besides the whole “leaving home two months ago without telling anyone including your twin brother” thing. I’ve gotten pretty good at burying the guilt from that under all the stress and fighting. I can’t remember ever having any dreams about him before. Or anyone else from home. I don’t usually remember my dreams at all.
I can’t say I’ve been missing home or even my family much up until now, but knowing that I might not see them again for months or even longer is drawing out a small pang of homesickness. Maybe I could send Mike a letter? I drop that line of thinking quickly. Telling Mike would most likely mean telling everyone else, and I am not ready to do that. Gods know how pissed off Dad probably is, or what he’d do to get me back there. I wonder how long the academy took to tell him I was gone. Can’t imagine they’d even want me back at this point. What would I even say? Especially given my current situation.
A situation that at present includes my dick pressing firmly against an orc’s thigh, my leg thrown over his. Something I have been pointedly ignoring until now because… Family. Gross. But that is proving hard now that I also really need to pee. Which is the only reason I’m hard at all. That’s... That’s what I’m gonna keep telling myself. Just like how the only reason I haven’t untangled myself is so I don’t wake him.
It’s not like I’ve been getting some of the best sleep I’ve had in months. Maybe even longer.
Ironstorm suddenly shifts, forcing me to move enough that I finally feel the urge to stretch my limbs. I hiss, not realizing my mistake until it’s too late when my erection grinds into his flank. Fuck. The noise and my movements are enough to rouse him, his head turning slowly to meet my gaze, his own eyes still bleary with sleep. He lifts his head and takes in the rest of the scene before him.
“Morning,” his chest rumbles, his unused voice rough like gravel. “Seems as though you are an early riser.”
I nod my head, still too asleep myself to get the intended double entendre. I’ve always gotten up pretty early. Habit, I guess.
“Here.” He reaches over to unlock the chains I forgot were attached. “So you may take care of that.”
His nod downward finally makes the joke click in my head, and I can feel the first of what I’m sure will be many times I blush today. I carefully lift myself off his chest, pulling away from his body and ignoring the sticky trail I’ve left on his thigh as I move off the bed and into the bathroom. After some aiming and a little concentration, I manage to relieve my very full bladder. While I’m washing my hands, Ironstorm slides in behind me to take care of the same needs.
“I feel like bacon for breakfast. Do you like bacon?” he asks me while drying his hands.
“Sure.” Who doesn’t? Besides vegetarians.
“Good.” He joins me in the hallway outside the bathroom. “I left you something to change into on the bed. See you in the kitchen.” He passes me with a wink.
“Something” turns out to be a thong. It’s green at least, not pink. And I guess it’s better than being naked. Heavy emphasis on the guess. I take a moment to adjust myself, making sure all my bits and pieces are in the pouch. Not sure how anyone gets used to wearing a string up their ass. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror before walking out to the kitchen. I mean, I don’t want to be wearing it, but I am definitely pulling it off. We’ll have to see if Brull was right about my ass and jockstraps.
When I finally enter the front part of the house, I can already hear the pork sizzling in the pan. Gods, that smells amazing. Ironstorm is in front of the stove with an apron wrapped around his chest, ass still visible in the back. I stand at the counter for a minute before tentatively walking into the kitchen.
“Can I... I mean, do you need any help?” Standing around doing nothing makes me feel weird.
“Afraid there is not much else needed for bacon, pup.” Good point. “Is cooking something you enjoy doing?”
“I liked helping out in the kitchens back home.” I downplay my culinary habits.
“That is good to know.” He gives me an appreciative nod over his shoulder. “Is coffee something you drink?”
“You have coffee here?” Oh shit, I haven’t had a cup of coffee in ages. They ration that stuff like water in a desert at the academy.
“Red jar on that shelf.” He points to the shelves against the wall to our right. “Sugar should be up there as well.” He bends over to grab a kettle to fill with water.
I spot the red jar he’s talking about immediately, the smell of ground coffee hitting me when I lift off the ceramic lid. The sugar takes me a little longer as I sort through some of the other jars. The first few are nothing special, salt, pepper, even cinnamon, but after that, I have a hard time naming them. I recognize one as shockvine and I think another might be grass of Hypnos—also known as hypnograss. These are potion ingredients.
I know this because Mike got really into potion brewing during our last few years of school. There was this week I was having trouble sleeping, and I had a really big test the next day, so he convinced me to try one of his “sleeping potions.” I asked him what was in it and he told me that “it’s mostly just a lot of hypnograss.” And it worked: I could barely keep my eyes open for the next two days. I failed the test but learned to never let my brother use me as a lab rat again.
Now, you don’t have to be magical to brew potions, but it helps. So what exactly is this orc doing wi—
“Everything okay?” I freeze at the question, replacing the lid on the jar and turning.
“Can’t find the sugar.” I think about asking about what’s in the jars, but...it’s like the more I learn, the less I understand who he is. That’s enough reason to keep it to myself.
“I need to organize that shelf.” He takes the coffee from me and finds the sugar. “I am almost finished; you may wait on the couch if you would like.”
I make my way to the couch, settling quietly in one corner. My ass still feels slightly bruised from the last few days, but after applying another coat of that salve last night, it’s really only a dull ache now. The fireplace in front of me is silent. Has it really only been two days? Barely even that. But it feels like I’ve been here a lot longer. This was not what I had in mind when I left home.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I feel weight on the couch next to me. I look over to see Ironstorm with a large mug in one hand and a plate in the other. I didn’t hear the bacon stop sizzling. He squeezes in next to me, ignoring the other empty end of the couch as he sets the mug on the floor. Then he hooks his arm behind my knees, lifting and turning me so my legs are over his lap. Before I can react, he drops the plate of bacon onto my thighs and picks up the mug to press into my hands.
I don’t say anything about the manhandling—again, what would be the point?—but I give the mug a tentative sniff.
Mmm, coffee. I can see the steam rising from the mug, so I give it a small blow before taking a sip. Still way too hot, but fuck is that good. It’s black, not how I usually take it, but there’s just enough sugar that I don’t mind.
