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The orc betrayed an actual groan at that, oh hell, and Gerrard heard himself laugh aloud, the sound bright and appallingly merry as he dodged in again. Swinging for the orc’s hip this time, and noticing — without at all wanting to — that the orc was already hard, of course he was, his absurdly oversized bulk tenting out the front of his trousers. Enough that Gerrard felt his own dangling cock stirring, and he gritted his teeth as he dragged his gaze back up, focused on charging in again, pushing the orc further toward the creek. And not —not— thinking about the implications in this, the heated, hovering possibility that the orc still wanted that, wanted him, and…
“Lost your voice, too, then, orc?” Gerrard taunted, husky now, as he landed another hit to the orc’s side. “Can’t admit that you’re about to be defeated by a human. A naked andinjuredhuman, at that, with only a stick to poke you with. Or maybe” — he winked — “two sticks, if you want to count this one, too?”
His audacious hand had actually slipped down to grasp at his own exposed, half-hard shaft, circling around the damnably heavy length of it — but it was working, the orc was faltering, staggering, staring at the sight with wide, hazy eyes. And it only took one more too-close rush in, Gerrard’s bare foot hooking behind the orc’s calf, his good shoulder charging hard into that solid chest, and —
The orc blanched, tilted, swiped out toward Gerrard — but he was too late, too off-balance, and finally his huge body tipped backwards, toward the rippling creek. Crashing into it with a gigantic, deeply satisfying splash, spraying Gerrard all over with streams of chilly water — and as the orc frantically floundered to find footing again, he even lost hold of his stick, which bobbed uselessly away down the creek.
Gerrard wiped the water from his eyes as he watched, his mouth twitching — and then he threw back his head, and laughed. Laughed like he hadn’t laughed in years, his entire body shaking with his guffaws, his hand clutching at his convulsing abdomen. The sounds ringing and rippling with the bubbling water around them, and suddenly there was the most bizarre urge to just jump into it, to tackle the orc’s flailing body beneath him. To claim his victory any way he wanted, and maybe the orc would… let him. Maybe he would bend over and…
And then the orc surged up. Rushing straight toward Gerrard’s laughing, undefended form — and now Gerrard was the one staggering backwards, landing heavily in the shallower water at the creek’s edge. While the orc was the one looming over him, crushing him into the bank, and glaring down at him with hard, glittering black eyes. With fury. With cold, terrifying rage.
Gerrard’s smile instantly faded, his laughter breaking off into silence, draining into the rapidly rising darkness. Because —fuck, he was a fool. He’d won, fair and square, just like he’d wanted, just like he’d planned…
And for that, now he would die.
11
Gerrard couldn’t stop shivering as he stared up at the orc’s furious face, his heartbeat distantly screaming in his chest.
Fuck. Fuck, this had been stupid. Reckless. Thoughtless. To rush straight into a foolish risk like this, to somehow forget that losing — and very likely dying — was still the only logical outcome. This wasn’t a fun game between friends, this orc was his sworn enemy, and this was war, it was life and death. Gerrard knew better, he did, and why the hell had he even come out here, what had he been thinking…
He kept gazing helplessly up at the orc, waiting, bracing for the inevitable blow. For the orc’s huge hand to start punching him in the mouth, maybe, or clamping around his neck. It wouldn’t even take long, so why was the bastard staring at him like this, dragging it out like this, please…
And then the orc’s eyes squeezed shut, and his shaggy head dropped. Dropped toward Gerrard’s bare, heaving shoulder, because he was going to bite him again, maybe leave him to bleed out here in the creek —
When the orc… kissed his neck. Kissed at just where he’d bitten Gerrard the day before, and left that mess torn into his skin. And it did still sting a little, prickling under the unexpected softness of the orc’s warm lips and tongue, and Gerrard couldn’t move, couldn’t think. What was this. What was happening. He should jump up, he should run, or maybe he should just keep lying here, maybe it would still be relatively quick and painless, and…
“Ach, human,” the orc murmured, his voice cracking. “There is no need to look thus, or scent thus. I shall not harm you, or kill you. I swore this to thegoddess.”
Gerrard’s flailing thoughts could scarcely follow the orc’s meaning, let alone the strange intensity in his voice — or the way that big, dripping body shuddered over him, pressing him heavier into the shallow rushing water beneath them. “You are only... too much, warrior,” the orc continued, hoarse. “With your skill, and your cunning, and your laughter, and your — yourscent—”
His voice faltered, his face nudging deeper into Gerrard’s neck, and Gerrard could feel him inhaling, his broad chest slowly filling. And then again, and again, as if the orc was truly smelling him, drawing him in, and… liking it. Liking it enough that his hips were grinding down, that huge ridge at his groin now prodding hungrily into Gerrard’s belly.
Gerrard swallowed, felt the orc’s mouth kissing again, lingering on his wounded skin with a fervent, focused attention. Almost as if to lick the bite clean, despite the bubbling water still swarming around it. And somehow, foolish,foolish, Gerrard felt himself relaxing a little, his breath exhaling, his eyes fluttering closed. Sinking into the impossible feeling of the orc’s hot mouth, how it had begun trailing down his shoulder now, to where… to where it hurt again. Because right, that was where the orc’s axe had slammed into him the other day in the battle, and — Gerrard glanced sideways — it had apparently grown into a massive black bruise. A bruise that the orc was intently kissing, his mouth moving so careful and gentle over it, his lashes long and dark against his hard cheekbones.
Gerrard’s heart skipped a beat as he watched, but he didn’t move, and the orc didn’t stop. His mouth skating over the bruise again and again, until the twinges of pain had seemed to… fade, somehow. And only then did the orc shift away again, his lips slipping downwards. Moving slow and deliberate over the wet chilly skin of Gerrard’s chest, lingering on every single one of his welts and scrapes, until…
Until those lips found Gerrard’snipple, and sucked it inside. The sheer sudden sensation making him choke and gasp, his body arching up into the press of the orc’s weight — and that was the feel of the orc’s soft chuckle, rumbling into his ribs, before his mouth pulled off again. But that long, sinuous black tongue kept caressing, curling against that rigid pink nub, and Gerrard gazed blankly down at the sight, while his heartbeat lurched faster in his chest. He wasn’t still doing this, wasn’t wanting this, wasn’t watching the orc’s mouth licking across his chest to his other nipple, sucking that in deep too…
But it was still here, still happening, and Gerrard distantly noticed that his hands had found the orc’s broad shoulders, gripping against smooth shifting skin. While the orc kept licking and sucking and lavishing him, not just his nipples, but now down his abdomen, to his belly, curling into his taut navel, the sharp hollows of his hips, closer, closer…
Gerrard’s own cock was fully hard now, its ruddy length straining up eager and shameless, bobbing toward the orc’s hot, clever mouth. And yes, yes, the orc’s swirling, sinuous tongue was seeking ever closer toward it, licking into the coarse hair at its base, caressing against Gerrard’s bulging, aching bollocks. And then that slick black tongue slowly, leisurely twined itself around the full girth of him —fuck— and began slipping up the length of his swollen, spasming shaft. And Gerrard was bucking, moaning, his hand clutching at the orc’s thick black hair, needing him to put that hot wonderful mouth all around him, to swallow him whole —
But then the orc jerked up, back, away. His head shaking, his eyes squeezing shut, as if he’d suddenly remembered what he was doing — and as if he regretted it. Hated it. Had stopped himself, just in time.
The darkness swirled again in Gerrard’s chest, stark and bitter and cold. Damn it, why the hell did he keep getting dragged into this? How the hell did this orc keep doing this to him? This bastard was fucking with him, he apparently didn’t evenwantthis with him, and Gerrard dropped his inexplicably prickling eyes, and fought to shove himself up, away. He was going to get dressed and then he was going to leave, and forget any of this had ever happened, forever…
“Ach, wait, warrior,” came the orc’s voice, sudden, frantic — and he was here again, catching Gerrard’s wrists, holding him in place. And now Gerrard and the orc were both kneeling together in the shallow rippling water, both breathing hard, and Gerrard’s brief, baleful glance up at the orc’s face found him looking… urgent. Alarmed.
“You ken I would,” the orc’s voice said, almost a croak. “I only — I cannot risk even adropof a man’s seed on my skin, let alone my tongue. Most of all a man such as you. A warrior. Anenemy.”
Gerrard blinked at the orc, at his wincing mouth, his surprisingly earnest eyes in the moonlight. “The scent and taste of fresh human seed,” the orc’s rushed voice continued, “is so strong, and so sweet, it should — it would at once speak of this to any orc who scented me. And thus, to Slagvor, also.”
Oh. Right.Right. The scenting again. And as Gerrard kept blinking at the orc’s pained, shimmering eyes, he felt his own body relaxing, his shoulders sagging. While something damnably like commiseration, like relief, shuddered through his chest.
So the orc…hadwanted it, then. He just… hadn’t wanted to risk getting tortured by Slagvor over it.
“Uh, spunk doesn’t taste sweet, orc,” Gerrard belatedly replied, his voice rough, because it was all he could dredge up, curse him. “Tastes like something rotten, you mean.”
