Burnt

TYKE

Fay spilled her moonshine on me, and all over my Cadillac dashboard, on the way back. I cringe to think some went into the ventilation system.

Different shit for another day, I guess.

"Here. Black, without sugar."

"Thanks." This warm cup of caffeine should do the trick. I take it from Donna, who's leaning against the bathroom doorway, wrapped in her usual yellow dressing gown, her fluffy slippers on.

"You need help holding her?"

My smirk answers for me as I kneel to Fay, trying to get her to smell the coffee. She's been propped against the bathroom wall, and she keeps sliding down the left. In all cases, I got her.

"Yeah. Why do I bother?" Donna sighs with a little laugh. "I'll go get her some pajamas, and I think there is a T-shirt of yours and sweatpants in Fay's stuff." I think she's rooting for me, but I can never be too sure with this wolf.

This scene is nothing new for us. How many times have we held Fay's hair while she expelled her demons? My nerves are so high, I'm incapable of keeping this slumbering fawn straight without making her quiver. If only she could stop drinking herself into oblivion.

Raking her hair with my nervous hand, I tap her cheek lightly with my other, but the lass is burnt.

The hot mug clanks against the tile, freeing a soon-to-be blistered hand, and I can't help blowing. Fay's independent, I get that, but this was a thick-headed decision. The city's teeming with tension, adrenaline junkies, brawl addicts, and yardbirds flocking into the nightlife.

What was she thinking?

This time, I don't rip her dress off; instead, I'm careful with her wings. I never really asked myself if it hurt their birth, though she never complains when we're going at it...

She's lost her shoes in the process, but she's loaded with them, so she shouldn't miss them much.

Her purse...

Fuck.

Tomorrow.

My shit list keeps growing.

It's never-ending, really.

"Bear..." she blabbers as I remove my bile-soaked clothes.

"I'm right here."

Now that there's nothing on me, it's Fay's turn.

I take a deep breath.Here we go.Slipping my fingers between the hem of her panties and skin, my heart is savage as I pull these down.Abssul!

She moans, tipping on the side. And now she's flat on her face, showing her rear end like a motionless doll.

My bones frost.

She's got this tattoo no one ever sees, and I love it—a little orc that looks just like me. She called us 'friends with benefits,' but what sane person gets a tattoo for their fuck friend?

By Gur'ul, the God breeder, I could take her here. Destroy her for this pain I feel. Fuck her drunk and abandon her.

Fairies took everything I had...

One woman, in particular...

I grunt.

I shouldn't think about it.

Shouldn't let this queen, or president, as she now calls herself, poison this moment.

But somehow, I can't hold back this wretch from entering my head. Like a snake, Fidr wrings my thoughts like always; it's chronic.

Faefolk thinks she's the standard of perfection, Fayra being the first of her fan club members.

The thought of banging my head against her headboard that day gripped me with white-hot rage when she said, "Fidr's unbelievable. She stepped down from the throne, gave back her crown, and installed democracy. What does that say about a leader?"

A pretty good idea, alright...

A ruse, spoon-fed, to the masses. But I just smiled like an idiot.

I can't say much. Fay'll stay hell-bent on Fidr until she realizes how different it is for the other monsters who can't even voice our ordeal. We're the war's debris, reminders of the past, the guilt, the rage, the loss—basically fodder for their hatred and the jobs no one wants.

This royal treatment doesn't just apply to orcs. Resisting minotaurs were forced into the mines under Minostar city, pickaxing a volatile mineral, burnarium, used to make microchips that can withstand magic and mageksium. As for the rest of us orcs, we're right behind the Wall, at the mageksium fields, draining the very soil of our ancestors. In retrospect, I realize I was lucky. The young and fit ones get to have a taste of the high life, the fae drafting us to serve in the force, removing any remaining dignity by safeguarding their fucked-up streets: law enforcer, sending me into the line of fire for whenever blood might shed. I had to pass a series of psychological tests for this special treatment, the fae mainly ensuring I wasn't going to blow up and have a go at vengeance, that I was sporting traits like obedience, brokenness, and how dead I am inside.

Found myself in the Slums of New Orc, where the 'chosen to serve and protect' and the outcasts are. An option that was never one I still welcome right up till this day. Because it's always better than sleeping in underground bunkers, where diseases abound. It doesn't mean I'm safe, though. Everything's just a facade; we're stuck with our tongues. From the moment one takes a pill of courage and says what's on his mind about Fidr, it's over, ass shipped to the Gurnam Swamps. A fenced-in area of rough, where the protestors, dissidents, and anyone who got unlucky are left to rot. Heard stories that still don't ring true in my mind: cannibalism, prisoners killing the sick and the injured to eat them. Others about monsters called Swamp Dwellers, described as gigantic slimy beings slithering out from murky waters, hunting and dragging their victims back into moving sand and mud.

Reason why the simple fact of her being a fae is enough to keep my tongue locked.

In all cases, I don't believe they have the judgment to dig deeper. Just readily swallowing everything this fae-woman presents to them as if she were the saint of saints.

Cautiously, my fingers extend under her hips, erecting my skin so damn much it hurts to think someone could carve into her flesh. I create a gap between my folded legs, bring her back against my chest, and rest my chin on the crown of her head, her body bound in my arms—the type of hug I like to give her the most. I stare at the blue-tiled wall in front of us, thinking about her eyes when she looks at me. If something happened to her, I wouldn't set the world on fire; I'd wreck it with my fists until there was nothing left to be burned. How will she react if she ever finds out she is the only reason keeping me alive? To know the color of happiness comes from the touch of her strands, a feeling I only get when she's at my fingertips.

One of her wings waves lightly as a moan emerges from her. I tilt forth, the tip of her pointy ear tickling my tusk. "Bug..." Her head drifts out to the left as I whisper, "Water? Do you want water?"

It's no use. Fay keeps falling into slumber.

It looks like her wings are starting to run wild again. I don't know why they do this, and she doesn't, either. Pixie dust emanates in waves, floating in tiny streams, slowly traveling between us in a procession of red and golden specks. As much as it is enchanting to witness, I'm worried because I don't know what it means—and I saw the intense reaction they had in that alley with Deon. I reach out and stroke its glossy panel, attempting to soothe them as if they were independent entities.

How easy it would be to shred these, to tusk into her throat and rip out her trachea. With a fistful of her luscious hair, my fingers strangle the threads, and I break to the thought just as much.

She could be the victim of so many people—she's too innocent, too na?ve, too easy to crush.

My second time staying at the girls' place, Donna trapped me in the corridor and looked me square in the eyes. "Maybe you know, but I just want to make things clear. Fay cycles between moods, she struggles with her mental health. I've got an eye on you, Tyke."

I'm notHaresh' Ti; I've got pride and honor, and I don't deflect my frustration on the weak.

I could never allow myself to live.

I cradle Fay in my arms, and as I lift us up, for some reason, I just stand there in front of the vanity mirror. It was in that same mirror's reflection that I fell in love with her; I remember it well.

The girl was wearing my shirt for a dress, attempting to moonwalk behind me, tube socks sliding on those identical tiles. I don't think she knew I was ogling her like a perv.

And when this flying monkey said, "Hey, cute gummy, watch this!" before singing, "Best one-night stand ever, big boy!" at my fucking face, I nearly swallowed my toothbrush or, in this case, hers that day.

I'll tell you, there are worse things than to be settled in the friend-zone. It's called the fuck buddy zone...

Her moans keep brimming out of her as I carry her into the shower. I think her stomach isn't too fond of this short trip. Swiftly, while trying my best to be gentle, I tuck her into one of the shower's corners. It's safe to say angles are needed at this stage. And as I do, she mutters, "Quince..."

Who is Quince?

Nevertheless, fuck, I don't care. I'm feeling too damn grateful to give a cuss.

Running my hand under the shower's droplets, I wait for them to become lukewarm and crouch to her level. Caging her legs, only a stretch of toes and kneecaps greet the tile, and I guess it's just easier that way. I've never had a shower so low in my life. It's fun.

There are tons of plastic bottles around here, and half are empty.

Shampoo... Shampoo?I check them. Fay once explained to me the difference between body wash and shampoo. Definitely won't smudge shower gel on that pretty head.

Ocean Pearl Caress it is.It smells of yogurt, algae, and vanilla.

In my squeeze, I accidentally empty half the contents on her head.

Too bad.

And then my fingers fork into her hair, and I lose myself in the moment as I massage her scalp, bubbling up with soap. Fuck, I love everything about her. I could live in this two-by-two shower and die here with her, and it'd be a great life.

She's humming, so I think I'm doing well.

"Need a hand?"

"Duhkal!" Hell, she startled me.

Donna chuckles, and I suddenly get the feeling as to why, my naked balls tightening as she giggles. But I won't let that slip.

"You wanna join?" Yes, keep it Orcish. Invulnerable.

"No thanks, mountain Tyke. It wouldn't fit."

I'm trying not to react to what just violated my composure and do what I always do, grumble.

"Her clothes are in the sink. I'll let you two at it."

"Night, Donna." If there is one person I'm grateful to have in Fay's life, it's her. She's been her ride-or-die since childhood. Sure, she led her into dubious situations more times than one could count, but not nearly as much as Fay has done to her.

"I'm already up. Besides, it's almost five." She peeks over her shoulder, taking in what can be seen from the living room window. "I might slip into someSquadwolfleggings and join those hyper-fitness junkies in Central Arc." Soon, the swooshing sound of her slippers fades as she walks away.

I stare back at my fairy. "Amaukwa, let's get you dried and tucked in."