New Year’s Eve

FAY

I'm waking up on the wrong side again. I don't know where my head is.

Lightning strikes through my brain. It's one of those migraines...

I don't want to open my eyes, nor utter a sound.

Talk about going to work...

This orc breathing behind me is all I want to hear, all I want to feel.

I feel so small wrapped in these arms, the way they secure me. Sohiswhen he holds me like this. It's more than a 360-degree embrace, more than a simple overlap of limbs; it's a camisole made of skin, possessiveness, and dominance—iron covered in greenish leathered silk. Fingers curled on each side of my ribcage, his skin lightly dances against mine to the swelling of my lungs. He's touching meslowly—a finger brush here, a thumb stroke there.

Tyke...

My skin echoes beneath, rising to its touch as I emerge from the blurs of a dreamless sleep.

This is where I don't feelalone.

It may even be the place where I feel most at home.

I take a deep breath and it rushes out, faster, heavier, and smoother than the one before. These liberating exhales are not wanted. It's my body; it responds well to safety.

With his mighty wrist artery pulsing under my chin, a forearm's length edging toward my lower belly, Tyke is nothing more than a giant piece of love.

To think I grew up in fear and was told orcs were blood-lusting killers.

Wing rippers.

Throat slashers.

Thank gods, Tyke came into my life.

Because then, everything changed.

Two years ago, at the New Year's Eve party at the NOPD, an orc bumped into me, or was it my clumsy ass flying into him, a glass ofgnomescalexploding in my hand.

"Afar Vadok'n Ur'k!"

My eyes traced up a muscular white-shirted waist and froze when they met golden almonds, the black of those eyesa darknessthat was calling me.

Our faces were soaked with red liquor, our stares stiffer than a pizza atGiorno's.

"I'm..." Tyke began, half of his hair tied back in a top-knot, an awkward but, I mean, the worst unflattering expression written across his face. Now that I look back, I must have been thoroughly stewed! Further adding insult to injury, seconds slipped by before he concluded his sentence with, "Sorry."

And then another few seconds had passed without a word being said. But then, on that fateful day,little could he have known.

Maybe he did? It was so muchin his face... How he confused me, how my heart hung in the air.

I wasn't scared, no, because I was simply not there. My mind decided to bail that evening. Perhaps because of how Tyke looked at me with this instant hunger, without reserve, without shame or tact.

Oh, Tyke had this full-on dark stare, for sure.

I hope he doesn't know this power he still has over me.

There was a part of me that scared me. Because what I was feeling back there wasn't lust...

"Tyke," he said, taking my sticky glass from my clasp. I couldn't really look away. I was trapped as dark amber eyes bore into me. Under them, tusks, thick and long, going through all the colors of the rainbow from the cheap thirty-year-old strobe lights Shelly kept unboxing for each NOPD party. They captured my eye, glinting with the slightest of his head tilts.

I think Tyke was puzzled by the mute flying rat at his feet.

So I lowered my gaze because, hey, he was eye-killing me.

There I was, drooling down Tyke's hair. It was a black cascade flowing down his shoulders—shame he cut that—and what did I do next? I did like anyone would, right? I followed the length until I met the tips. Those, obviously, had to tease his crotch...

Fucking disaster.

"Savage fairy has no name?"

I still don't know if I was amazed by the rasp of his voice or how he took my hand like I was already his. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't a snatch, either. And the overall of what made him match his eyes—soft, hard velvet, brutal fucking passion.

And so, as I dared look up, Tyke played his smirk, my wings fucking up everything for me. Not only was my shirt soaked in liquor, but now glitter was stuck on this wide wet patch, giving my chest a full spotlight, disco style!

The way he stuck on my breasts... He was like that patina statue of the fae enforcer adorning the police headquarters' fa?ade––ash-green and lifeless.

"I'm drenched," I squeaked.

Fucking idiot... I'm drenched.It should have been an ample warning for him, but despite the red flag of 'She'stotaled, run!' he went all in...

Moments later, we're in the lady's room, with Tyke attempting to remove the red alcohol from my white shirt. A typical stiff-arse chick would have pulled the harassment card, but I wasn't casting that shit. He was genuine, stuttering some Orcish words while pulling tissues from the dispenser.

"It's okay. I can take it from there. Thanks. No. It's... Oh! Okay, thanks. Ah, yes, another one. Thanks. And... another one... Never too short on paper towels," my stupid full-on-blush self cheeped.

He kept handing them over to me, piling up in my arms until I could hardly see a thing. Now that I think about it, perhaps he was trying to cover my chest.

"I'm sorry, I don't always look down," Tyke said, removing this ridiculous amount of tissues from me. He placed them on the vanity counter, took one, and began scrubbing my shirt. Of course, my nipples went full-on erect.

I cringe just at the thought of it.

"I'm small. It's okay!" I gasped, my two little apples being manipulated in the most backassward way possible.

There was a need for damage control at this point. I mean, who was going to take accountability for this cobweb tangle of an exchange? Me?

Ah. No.

It may come as a surprise, but Tyke is a fast striker, and here's why...

"No, I didn't mean it that way. You're not small, fairy. I mean, you're not big. It's..."

I had to stop this comedy, so I grabbed his wrist, which, like a mesh sponge on a pan, was deep scraping my blouse.

Well, I forgot to let his wrist go. I was being proactive, and I wasn't even trying!

"You... were under... my... eyes. And..." Drawing closer to me at each ragged breath and blushing glance, Tyke went straight to the point. "I want to fuck you."

I looked at him like a deer in headlights.

His jaws tensed while mine were unhooked.

And so, here I was, seconds later, locked behind a small toilet door, my back against the wall, five feet off the ground, choking my mewls against his skin, being punished for running into him. He rammed his cock into me as if spoiling some fallen Contessa, ruthless. Tyke's clench over my ass was firm as he lifted me, holding me still like a platter of thighs, legs dangling over his forearms, the length of his little finger filling the full line of my rear's groove right up to my tailbone. I know, right? An oversized grip, one could say. It was a first for me.

Anyway...

There was a countdown, "Four, three, two..." that could be heard from across the walls.

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," he'd breathed, a damp forehead resting against mine. There was a tusked smile that came with it. "Leave with me... At my place, I'll treat youbad,kill your body, not your spirit." He brushed his tusk against my cheek, making my legs watery, and finished me with a growl. "And I promise I'll resurrect it over and over again..." And it's from that precise moment that I knew I had to keep this murderous smile.

And for myself alone.

And now, look at me, too afraid to give my hundred percent to probably Mr. Right. I want to be faithful, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I look like a fucking slut machine. All my little problems keep building, and they seem to always spill over onto Tyke. Every time something goes wrong, every time I fall into trouble, he's the one who shows up.

Hell's Garden... five times he came to pick me up this year, driving me back to his place. Worst part is that I never remember a single event, not even dialing his number, blacking out like it's the Super Eldritch Bowl of memory lapses. Yet, I never asked what he felt about it. Maybe I thought it was okay, us being friends and all. Friends... what friends?! We were never just friends. My denial, undoubtedly, was...

And from the very start. It made its grand entrance, worming itself in my brain when the notion of commitment amid our beautiful, tolerant society became too real. Because I knew, I knew on the first day, on that very first morning when I allowed Tyke to use my toothbrush––the symbol of cohabitation, the symbol of trust, of everything couple!––I was in some deep shit, probably what made me force out a 'best one-night stand ever.' behind his back. So natural, too... As for allowing Tyke to see the ugly parts of me, it came to such a close-up that I braked. Ever since, it's been a constant battle between wanting to let him in and fearing what might happen if I do. I know it's getting old, but I can't help it.

And nowForgive Meis my fourth name.

Will he?

Will Tyke forgive me?

Right now, I'm taking in everything. His every exhale, every heartbeat and chest wave pushing against my back. Even this warmth in the crack of our bedded flesh—it's wet for this dewing heat burning between our bodies. We're flushed, sunk into one another, and it's a fusion begging to take.

He's naked and... breaking orc customs.

It must be a work of its own for him to refrain from doing me—a naked female against an orc. He's not a sexual psycho, it's just a breeding thing. They have trouble having children, so any opportunity to conceive is deeply rooted in their bones—a primal instinct, one could say.

A scientific review published an article about it, but even that was sick how it came out in the press, depicting orcs like animals.

Fighting against everything he knows for me and struggling to fit in, Tyke is trying so hard to adjust.

There's a whisper that's not meant to be heard. "Lul Kurv..."

I suck in my cheeks, my heart bouncing.

I've learned a few words, and it literally translates asflower whore. Sounds like an insult, right, but really, it meansfairy lover. That's for him, not for me—Tyke's culture is nowhere close to the fae one.

His lips brush over my hairline gently, as if taking in the scent of my hair. It has a sense of ownership, like a dragon stroking its keep.

The quilt makes a ruffling sound, a light crinkle. It's me. I want to bury myself deeper against him. Deepen as much as I can...

Him.

Him.

And I blink.

It's a flutter of confusion, my brain is still too tied to alcohol.

And then my eyes stay wide, analyzing what's going on. To the sun spearing into the room, the patterns of falling leaves on my cover. The olive-drabbed skin superposed over mine. Veins like rivers flowing over it. Yes. My eyes stay wide, for this is real. Tyke.

Bits and bats of the evening are piecing together, and my breathing keeps shortening at every intake.

I made a fool of myself. Again.

A weight takes siege in my chest. He can't be here. I'm poison.

"Amwaki." There's a slight brace of his arms as if pressing his fluff toy against his chest. Yes, it feels exactly that way, and I sip in the warmth of his breathing against my nape while his head tucks ever deeper into it. He's like an antidote... This conclusion hits me like a ton of bricks. Why would poison need a remedy? Doesn't this go against its very nature?

A contradiction, that might be what we are, defying logic and order. Maybe that's why we get hurt, because we're not meant to be in the same jigsaw puzzle box. And yet, life wants us to fit perfectly together, and we do. And I hate it just for that.

And this word, Amwaki. I think it means wife. Tyke says it occasionally, but I understand this as a possessive way of saying I like you. As for me, I brush it aside because we are for each other what we are—an odd hookup arrangement. Amwaki sometimes falls off his lips when he loses his train of thought or thinks I'm not listening. And I never pick it up because I know he needs to say it, yet he doesn't want to be heard. It's part of those things like the whispers we give to sleeping people, the letters we write but never send, the gifts we buy but never give. Thoughts that never really materialize because of obstacles only we know... Yes. I have known Tyke's feelings for a long time.

My nerves are coiling, agitating my fried brain, some muscular reflexes betraying my awakened state.

"Not sleeping?"

Talk, not talk. What should I do?

That whisper again. "I know you're not in thesea of dreamsanymore. Your wings wake up before you do."

I don't know what to say. Where to start? How to express what I feel?

"I'm sorry." It'll never be enough. Is there a word more substantial than that? I wish there were.

He doesn't say anything. Orcs and apologies, I once heard it's an insult. I'm offending his honor. It's like an ongoing thing, a vicious circle I can't get out of.

He doesn't need my apology.

He's hurt, yes, but he's a tough guy, strong. He doesn't need my apology as a validation to rebuild his feelings. I wouldn't want someone to apologize for hurting me; instead, I would cut the snake's head. An apology is allowing the person who hurt you to fix you, is it not?

Am I that worthy of Tyke?

This arm over me moves, and soon, a hand begins to trace the curve of my back. My spine responds in tense muscles, pressuring that hand for more.

I want to be his so badly.

"No need, it happens." Tyke dips on the crown of my head, his hand skating over my hips and beyond...

As I envision his touch, his effort to go slow as our bodies awake, a resounding sensation overtakes me, and before I can even comprehend it, something unties within; it's unbidden, unexpected, freeing...

"Do you love me?"

What. The. Fuck, Fay!?