37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Silvyr

Ghizol hadn't changed at all.

Though Silvyr wanted nothing more than to remain in bed for the remainder of the day, locked in Brokil's arms, his orc had other plans. Much to his displeasure Brokil left Silvyr to get settled while he met with the Elders. Though he supposed he couldn't be too upset, he admired the dedication Brokil had to being Chief, and Silvyr knew the Elders would need to know of his presence, whether he was "dead" or not.

Silvyr's lips twitched when he thought about how Brokil might react when Salthu told him about her part in bringing Silvyr to Ghizol. He imagined Brokil sputtering, though he knew his stoic demeanor was harder to break than that.

While he waited for Brokil, he tried to stay busy by making himself at home. Ascal had mentioned she would handle his things, so not long after Brokil left, a few orcs appeared with armfuls of his luggage. They didn't let him help, insisting they could drop the heavy pieces off for him, and Silvyr was happy to direct them to the living space to leave the various chests and bags. Brokil would help him unpack later, he'd told them.

He recognized a few of the men, though he didn't know their names. After he was rescued from Bravrith, Silvyr had tended to their wounds, healed them when he was still technically Ghizol's hostage. He'd been met with trepidation and confusion then, yet now they offered him wide smiles as they bowed and left the home. It was an odd feeling, but a welcome one.

Bored of waiting, and not quite wanting to unpack yet, Silvyr did what he did best: found a way to explore. He returned to the roof, pleased to find the outcropping in the stone still suitable for climbing. He wondered if he would be able to talk Brokil into adding stairs to the side of the home, as once he was on the roof in the afternoon sun, the sight of Ghizol was enough to steal his breath away.

In the daylight, the rooftops glimmered and the grasses beyond the city boundaries rolled and swayed. The cool breeze sent shivers through him, as well as a smile. Summer would be just as sweet. Then Fall. He would finally see what Ghizol looked like in Winter. Year after year.

From his vantage, he could see the pyre in the center of Ghizol, as well as the orcs moving around it. Perking up, he leaned forward, honing in on the ones bringing logs to the pit, throwing them in or piling them to the side. Others brought piles of meats and vegetables toward the iron cooking stands. Elbows on his knees and head in his hands, Silvyr watched them, smiling to himself. It would be nice to watch them through the night, or at least until Silvyr couldn't keep his eyes open. Memories came to the surface of his mind—the last time he was on the roof, watching a pyre burn in the distance, falling asleep on his orc's shoulder.

If this was a dream, he hoped to never wake up. Hoped to sear the image of Ghizol prospering under Brokil's lead into the backs of his eyelids, until it was the only thing he could see. That could be enough. It would be enough.

"Already on the roof?" Brokil's voice tore Silvyr's attention from the pyre and he looked down to find his orc standing beneath him, arms crossed and a bemused smile plastered on his face. Silvyr couldn't help but return it, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sight.

"I'm watching them set up the pyre," he said, shifting to cross his legs underneath himself. "What's the occasion? I don't remember any holidays falling around this time of year."

"You are the occasion," Brokil said, and Silvyr blinked. "I announced it to the Elders this morning."

"Me?"

"You're home and we're going to celebrate," Brokil told him, each word seeming more ridiculous than the next, but he wouldn't argue with him.

Instead, he let out a bright laugh. "So, I get to go?"

"I wouldn't let you miss it. Now get down here."

Silvyr stood immediately, grinning when the wind played with the short curls of his hair. Gods, his chest felt so full with happiness, his soul so light, he was sure the wind could have blown him away if it wanted to.

"Hey Brokil," he called, something mischievous twinkling in his gaze as he stared down at his orc. The man raised an eyebrow at him, eyes widening and body jerking when Silvyr took a step closer to the edge of the roof. "Catch me?"

And then he let himself fly.

???

In the center of Ghizol, feasting with the others, Silvyr never felt more at home.

The entire city seemed to be crowded in the space, and though he stayed by Brokil's side, he felt, for once, like a part of something bigger. He feasted on roasted meats and vegetables, savoring every bite he took. He cheered when the others cheered, though he had no idea what the cheering was for, only that it sounded like happiness. He even tried a sip of orcish ale, only to cough half of it up as it burned down his throat, much to Brokil's booming amusement. He didn't have any after that, afraid even a drop more might get him drunk enough to forget the whole night, and he'd never forgive himself for that. Silvyr wanted to remember every second.

Brokil stayed by his side, always touching him and keeping him close. Not that Silvyr wanted to get far from him. During the various conversations Brokil had with the members of Ghizol, Silvyr remained silent, watching them and listening to every word while he held Brokil's hand.

Sometimes they would speak to Silvyr, to ask how he fared or thank him for helping return Brokil home, and each time Silvyr could only smile, assuring them that he would do it again and again if he had to. Each time, Brokil's hand would rest on the nape of his neck, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Each time, Silvyr would pray to every god he knew of that this was not a dream.

"Mister Silvyr! Mister Silvyr!"

The familiar voice had Silvyr turning, a smile lighting up his face as he saw Rugbu sprinting toward him, Yotul not far behind. Silvyr laughed when the child tackled him in a hug, nearly sending them both crashing to the ground if not for Brokil's steady hand on his back. In the time that he'd been gone, the ten-year-old had grown nearly to Silvyr's shoulders, and the elf wondered how long it would be before he overtook him completely. "Rugbu! You've grown! Look at you!"

Laughing bright, Rugbu let go and took a step back. "Mama said you're going to live here forever. Is that true?" Rugbu asked just as Yotul reached them, setting her hand on Rugbu's shoulder with an apologetic smile.

Silvyr glanced at Brokil, heart fluttering when Brokil nodded once. He hadn't needed the confirmation, of course, but it felt nice to have it. "Yes. I don't plan on leave Ghizol again," Silvyr answered, laughing when the child bounced with excitement.

"Really?" Rugbu's smile only grew. It almost looked painful as his newly grown tusks pressed hard into his upper lip. "I'm going to make another pie with mama for you."

"Oh, you really don't need to do that," Silvyr insisted, though his heart flew free when Yotul smiled at him.

"You're a welcome addition, Silvyr of Athowen. Though," she paused, her smile turning gentle at the corners, "I suppose you're Silvyr of Ghizol now," Yotul said.

"Silvyr of Ghizol…" His heart launched into his throat, and when Silvyr turned to look at Brokil, he was greeted by a wide smile.

"I think that sounds perfect," Brokil agreed.

"Well, Silvyr of Ghizol, we'll leave you to it. Enjoy your night," Yotul said, bowing her head. Rugbu moved to follow her motion, but with all the energy of a young child, threw his arms around Silvyr again, hugging him tight. Silvyr couldn't help but return it, his laugh nearly lost in another round of cheering from the crowd.

Yotul took Rugbu away, thanking Silvyr for humoring them, and disappeared back the way they came. Leaning against Brokil, Silvyr hummed when a thick arm wrapped around his shoulders. The heat from the pyre and the warmth of Brokil's body settled on Silvyr's skin like a blanket.

He let himself sink into the comfort, happy to watch the gathering and observe the people around him, a bubbling excitement blooming in him at the chance of experiencing something so new.

He didn't know many of the orcs at the pyre, but there were a few he could pick out. Warriors he'd patched up after Bravrith, farmers he'd met when he joined Brokil's rounds. Silvyr even grinned as he caught sight of Salthu and Ascal near the pit. According to Ascal, Salthu had provided her with a place to stay until the knight needed to return to Athowen. Silvyr couldn't express how pleased he was that Ascal was also invited to the pyre, and by the looks of it, the other orcs were excited to show her their food and drink.

He watched as Salthu offered Ascal a piece of meat, and Silvyr could swear he caught the smallest hint of a smile when Ascal accepted it happily. She washed it down with a large gulp of ale, seemingly unaffected by its strength. Though, Silvyr would wait until morning when he saw Ascal off to determine how well she actually held the ale.

He made a mental note to stay outside of strangling distance if she was hungover.

"Ah, there you are. I thought the Chief was hiding you away."

Silvyr spun toward the voice, his heart soaring as Urzul approached them. He threw himself out of Brokil's hold to meet her.

"Urzul!" He stumbled over his own feet, a sheepish grin on his face as he stopped just short of slamming into the woman. "Can I hug you?"

"Of course," Urzul said with a laugh, wrapping him up in a tight embrace and resting her chin on the top of his head. "It's nice not having to worry about hurting you. How are you feeling? How is that boar wound?" Before Silvyr could answer, she was already lifting his tunic to look for herself.

"Urzul," Brokil protested, though Silvyr couldn't contain his laugh. "You cannot undress him at the pyre."

"I'm not undressing him. I'm making sure he followed my instructions while he was away," she insisted, though let him go regardless, seemingly satisfied with her findings.

"I promise I did," Silvyr said. "I used what you taught me and kept up with the ointments. Though, I did miss making salves with you." Urzul's bright smile brought heat to Silvyr's cheeks. "I'd like to do that again. Learn from you, that is. If you're okay with that! I don't want to presume—"

Cut off by a hard flick to his forehead, Silvyr whined and quickly rubbed the spot. Though when he glanced up, Urzul had a soft look on her face, rather than an annoyed one. "Brokil told me I needed an apprentice," she said. "You'd be a good one."

Silvyr perked up. "Really?"

"Yes. I'm sure I've told you before that you have a lot of potential." Urzul set her hand on Silvyr's head, rubbing her thumb over his forehead, soothing the sore spot. "And it will be nice to have your company in my home until you give me grandchildren to babysit—"

"Urzul!"

The woman cackled loud and bright as she waved off her son's sputtering objection. "Oh, I'm only half-joking. You two have plenty of time." She nudged Silvyr's shoulder and winked. "But I have already started making blankets."

With a groan, Brokil tugged Silvyr into himself. Maybe he should have been a little mortified, but Silvyr couldn't stop the giggles from erupting out of him.

"If it's all the same to you, I've got something I want to show Silvyr," Brokil said.

"Of course, of course." Urzul grinned. "Go on then. If I don't see you again tonight, I'll see you tomorrow." She set her hand on Silvyr's head once more, ruffling up his shortened hair.

"I will see you tomorrow," Silvyr agreed, turning toward Brokil and slipping his hand into the orc's. "Where are we going?".

"Come with me," Brokil told him, and Silvyr wasn't going to argue. He would let his orc bring him wherever he wanted, no matter how far or how long it took, so long as he never let him go.

Brokil didn't need to say anything anyway. As soon as they broke away from the feasting and the laughter, heading toward the outskirts of the city, Silvyr knew their destination. His gait quickened, and he couldn't stop himself from all but skipping at Brokil's side, a blush spreading to his ears when the orc chuckled fondly.

He couldn't help it. As soon as they'd reached Ghizol, Silvyr had wanted to see the meadows. He'd missed them nearly as much as he'd missed Brokil, and though he had his own gardens in Athowen, they couldn't hold a candle to Ghizol's splendor. Only the distraction of Brokil and the pyre had stopped him from absconding as soon as he could, and now he was glad that he'd waited.

When they reached the meadow, Brokil squeezed Silvyr's hand just as he was about to bound away, keeping him still instead. The elf laughed, but stayed dutifully at his orc's side as Brokil led him further into the moonlit field, only pausing when they reached a single blanket laid out amongst the sleepy flowers. His heart melted in his chest, knowing that Brokil had set this all up for him and planned this ahead of time just to make Silvyr happy.

And gods was he happy. How could he not be? Here amongst the flowers, beneath a sea of stars, he was certain he'd never felt happier. Even the wind sounded joyful, carrying the music from the pyre until it twirled around them.

Silvyr's lips curled into a grin and he grabbed at Brokil's hands, tugging him further into the flowers. "Do you know how to dance?" Silvyr asked, tilting his head, catching a moonstruck glimmer in Brokil's eyes.

"Not well," his orc responded with a low laugh that reverberated deep in Silvyr's soul.

"Doesn't matter, dance with me."

Twirling through the waves of flowers, each petal kissing his legs, he kept his eyes firmly on Brokil. Admiring the way his dark hair shone in the moonlight, how his amber eyes stared at him, so full of sweetness that Silvyr's stomach fluttered. The way he let Silvyr lead him through the blossoms beneath their feet, and how through all of that, the tender smile never left his face.

They could have danced at the pyre with the rest of Ghizol, but out in the meadows under the stars and their watchful eyes, Silvyr felt free. Not even Brokil's awkward steps while Silvyr floated around him could take that away. It only spurred him on, spreading his lips in a smile so wide his cheeks ached and his heart filled to burst.

Suddenly lifted off his feet, Silvyr couldn't contain the bright, squealing laugh that came when Brokil spun him in a circle and kissed his cheek, tusks pressing against his nose and ear. "How is it that you glow in the sunlight and the moonlight?" Brokil whispered, setting Silvyr's heart aflame.

Silvyr grinned, wrapping his arms around Brokil's shoulders. "Hmm, must be the elven magic."

"Must be. And you contain multitudes."

Heat flooding his cheeks and stretching to the tips of his ears, Silvyr couldn't stop himself from leaning in to kiss Brokil's lips. He poured all that happiness and love into the space between them and prayed that Brokil could taste it as Silvyr could.

When they finally settled on the blanket, Silvyr shimmied into Brokil's lap, pressing his back against the orc's chest and humming pleasantly when those thick arms wrapped tight around him. They stared out at the city, watching the pyre sparkle in the distance as Brokil pressed slow, lingering kisses across Silvyr's shoulders.

"You know, I still can't believe this isn't a dream," Silvyr said, plucking a few long-stemmed flowers nearby. "It feels too good to be true. It feels impossible."

Brokil's hold around him tightened. "It's real, Silvyr. We are real," he said, so confidently that Silvyr chuckled. If it was a dream, it was a very convincing one.

As he braided the stems of the flowers together, Brokil returned to kissing along his shoulders. Simple and sweet, Silvyr memorized the feeling. He would never let himself forget the way Brokil's lips felt against his skin, or how his tusks grazed him, making him shiver when the gold caps brushed his spine.

Finished with his crown, Silvyr grinned and turned in Brokil's lap, straddling him while he reached up to place the crown of wildflowers upon his head. His orc smiled down at him and Silvyr's heart never felt so full.

"I think this is better suited for you, Little Flower," Brokil said, letting go of him only to place the crown on Silvyr's head. "Beautiful, like a meadow nymph here to tempt me away."

Though Silvyr wanted to protest, he swallowed his words when Brokil kissed him silent. Closing his eyes, Silvyr pressed into him, wrapping his arms around Brokil's wide shoulders, as if he could pull him into himself entirely.

"Can you promise me this isn't a dream?" Silvyr asked, curling his fingers into Brokil's collar.

Brokil smiled, soft but hungry. "Let me show you."

Silvyr gasped as he was tipped back onto the blanket, Brokil leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of his throat. He tipped his head back to give the orc more room and threaded his fingers through Brokil's dark hair, humming at the softness of it. The new length, while different, felt lovely between his fingers. He hoped the man had no plans to cut it any time soon.

Brokil pushed at his linens, running his hands up the length of Silvyr's belly and sides until Silvyr arched into the touch, chasing the flames Brokil left in his wake. Continuing up and up, those hands followed the curve of his ribs and the bend of his arms, shifting Silvyr just enough to pull the fabric off completely and toss it to the side. When his trousers followed soon after, Brokil wasted no time before bringing his lips back to Silvyr's skin, his beard scratching the bared flesh as he traced his tongue over every dip and curve he could reach.

"This could still be a dream," Silvyr whispered through a gasping breath, and when Brokil looked at him, his eyes glowing in the moonlight, a shiver ran through him. "I've had dreams of you like this. More than one."

Brokil set his hand over Silvyr's throbbing pussy, rubbing his open palm in slow circles to draw out a low moan. He watched with a look that Silvyr could only describe as predatory, amber eyes following the trace of Silvyr's tongue as he licked his lips.

"What did you dream about, Little Flower?"

"Everything," Silvyr breathed, rocking his hips up, trying to chase the friction. "I dreamt of touching you, of you touching me. I dreamt of your kisses, your touches, the way you fucked me." Silvyr swallowed, reaching up to tug at Brokil's linens, a silent demand to remove them, which was readily obeyed.

"How often?" Brokil asked as Silvyr ran his hands over his chest, curling his fingers into the coarse hair he found there.

"A lot. More than the nightmares, I dreamt of you," Silvyr admitted, the words falling out with ease. Brokil's fingers slipped into the waistband of his own trousers, pulling them down and off, dropping them to the side before he returned his hand to Silvyr's pussy, gliding his fingers over his slit to draw forth another gentle moan.

Then Brokil's lips were on his, parting them with his tongue, and Silvyr shivered at the taste. "I dreamt of you too, Silvyr," Brokil whispered into the kiss.

"Really?" He almost couldn't believe it. He had thought it was his weakness, needing the dreams to keep himself moving forward. The days were easier to tolerate with the promise of Brokil in his dreams, the nightmares easier to ignore, but without them he would have crumbled.

"Every night I dreamt of you," Brokil said, his thumb lazily circling Silvyr's clit and making his hips stutter, making him gasp and arch with pleasure when Brokil pressed the first finger into him. Gods, he'd missed this so much, missed being filled by Brokil, surrounded by him, soaked in his attention.

Silvyr rested his hands on Brokil's shoulders, struggling to keep his breaths even enough to speak when Brokil slid a second finger in. "What did you dream about?"

"I dreamt of having you in my arms, kissing you, watching you walk and dance in the flowers." Brokil continued his ministrations and Silvyr rocked his hips in time with each thrust, his stomach curling into a tight knot. "Sometimes when I woke up from the dreams, I swore I could smell you on my pillows."

"Brokil," Silvyr moaned, digging his nails into Brokil's shoulders. "If this isn't a dream, if this is—ah!" Silvyr bucked his hips suddenly when Brokil curled his fingers to press against that perfect spot inside him, a teasing grin on his face.

"You didn't finish your sentence," Brokil grinned, pressing into him again, picking up speed.

Despite his best efforts to speak, the words that tumbled out of him were nonsensical and slurred. They could barely be considered language at all while Brokil's palm slapped against his aching clit with each thrust. Keening up, arching his back, Silvyr rolled his hips to grind his pussy into Brokil's hands, the lava in his stomach roiling with each pass. He couldn't stop himself from pulling at Brokil's hair to drag him in for another sloppy, wet kiss, wrapping his shuddering legs around the orc. Gods, he tasted so good.

"You going to cum for me, pretty Little Flower?" Brokil purred, his voice alone pulling forth a shameless moan as Silvyr jerked his hips.

He nodded desperately as he ground down on Brokil's hand, clamping around those thick fingers and bucking into the others on his clit. He couldn't decide which he needed more of, which to focus on and chase. The lewd sounds of Brokil's attentions brought heat to Silvyr's cheeks, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill over. It was all too much, yet at the same time not enough. He needed more.

"You're so close, aren't you?" Brokil asked, running his tongue in a long stripe from Silvyr's neck to his ear. Again, Silvyr nodded, not bothering with the words that wouldn't come. "Cum for me, Silvyr. Give me your pleasure."

The dam broke and Silvyr choked on a sob, clenched tight, his back bowing as he gushed over Brokil's hand. Only then did he let the tears fall free, lapped up by Brokil's tongue while his fingers fucked Silvyr through his orgasm.

"Gods, I need you," Silvyr whimpered. "Fuck me, please. If this isn't a dream, I need to feel you inside me."

Withdrawing from Silvyr, Brokil leaned back on his knees, dragging his gaze down Silvyr's body, and for once in his life, he didn't want to shy away from that powerful stare. This is where he could thrive. With Brokil's eyes on him, filled with desire and want, swimming something he didn't dare name but that sent his heart spiraling. Here, Silvyr could flourish.

"I'm not going to fuck you," Brokil said, even as he settled between Silvyr's legs, strong hands pushing his thighs further apart. "I'm going to ravish you, thoroughly. I'm going to show you this isn't a dream, and I'm going to claim you, Silvyr." Silvyr watched as the orc dipped his head down, his lips brushing against the soft rise of his belly, trailing down to the mound of soft golden curls between his quivering legs. "Will you let me claim you?"

"Yes," Silvyr didn't hesitate to say. There was nothing else he desired more than this. More than Brokil. "Will that make you mine, too?"

Reaching up with one hand, Brokil entwined their fingers together, locking his gaze on Silvyr's. "I was yours the moment I saw you, Silvyr. I was claimed the moment I looked into your eyes, I just didn't know it yet."

Brokil dipped back between his legs before Silvyr could respond and ran his tongue along Silvyr's slit, slow and wet. Hips jerking, Silvyr grasped the blanket beneath him and whined. He didn't dare look away. He watched as the orc teased his tongue past Silvyr's lower lips with agonizing slowness, watched every long lick that sent heat scorching through him.

When Brokil wrapped his lips around Silvyr's clit, his entire body shuddered, and he dropped the blanket to grasp at Brokil's hair instead. Another suck had him pulling hard enough to earn a low growl from the orc that fueled the hot coil in his stomach. Brokil's hands moved from his thighs to press his thumbs at Silvyr's swollen lips, spreading him open to dip his tongue into the wet heat.

"Gods, Brokil," Silvyr whimpered, licking his lips. "Please, ah!"

Silvyr's pleading only prompted the orc to bury his face deeper into his drenched pussy, each stroke of his tongue rocking Silvyr's hips. When Brokil finally brought his mouth back to Silvyr's clit, sucking at it mercilessly as the tip of his tongue flicked over the swollen nub, Silvyr couldn't stop himself from squeezing his legs so tight around Brokil's head it must have hurt. He trembled, babbling something that sounded like an apology or a curse, but Brokil only pressed his hands to Silvyr's thighs, holding him in place while he unabashedly feasted on Silvyr's pleasure.

Eyes rolling back, hips thrusting of their own volition, Silvyr keened and clenched as the heat inside him snapped, releasing hot and wet into Brokil's beard. Still the orc didn't stop. Even as the tears streamed down Silvyr's face, even as his body thrashed beneath Brokil's strong grip, that mouth continued. Silvyr could do nothing but sob and moan as each stroke and lick and slurp shot bursts of white through his vision. He could do nothing as he yanked at Brokil's hair, unable to decide if he needed to pull him closer or push him away.

Finally lifting his head, Brokil licked his lips and stared down at Silvyr, watching while he struggled to catch his breath.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Brokil groaned, leaning in, guided by Silvyr's pull on his hair.

When Brokil finally pressed inside, thick and hot and filling him completely, Silvyr's moan got lost between their lips. Lost between the hands grasping at his hips, between the fingers digging into his soft flesh. Silvyr wrapped his legs around the orc's waist, hooking his ankles together to draw him closer, deeper, and lost himself in the feeling of being completely surrounded by the other man.

"Tell me," Brokil said as he began to thrust, barely pulling out before rocking back in. "Tell me you're mine, Little Flower."

"I'm yours," Silvyr moaned against his lips, keeping one hand in Brokil's hair, the other clawing desperately at his back. "Forever. I promised you, and I meant it."

"Forever," Brokil agreed.

With each slow, deep stroke, Silvyr fell deeper and deeper into the pleasure.

There was nothing sweeter, nothing greater, nothing at all that could come close to the way Brokil felt when he pressed into him. Brokil fit so perfectly inside him, stretching him and keeping him filled and fucked. If he could, Silvyr might have stayed like this forever, locked in this embrace until it became impossible to tell where his body stopped and Brokil's began.

Brokil cradled Silvyr's cheek in one hand as his thrusts began to pick up pace, a low rumbling growl building in his chest. Silvyr met his eyes, panting hot against the orc's mouth, and he swore he could see the entire universe within the pools of amber. All the realms and all the beauty contained in the earth. Everything Silvyr wanted, needed, craved. Everything was right there, staring into his soul.

Silvyr whimpered, leaning his head into Brokil's touch. "Brokil, please—"

Pressing his forehead against Silvyr's, breath caressing his lips, Brokil thrust deep into him, grinding their hips together until stars flashed beyond Silvyr's vision and his body tensed. He dug his nails deep into emerald skin, sobbing and quaking as another orgasm crashed through him.

"Such a good boy," Brokil whispered, dragging his hand down Silvyr's chest, tweaking a nipple as he passed before his fingers found Silvyr's swollen clit. "One more time. Cum for me one more time, Little Flower."

"I—I can't," Silvyr whimpered, despite how his legs tightened around Brokil's waist, his body jerking when his cock pressed ever deeper and his fingers even harder. "I've cum so much."

"Yes, you have." Brokil's lips curled into a hungry smile that filled the pit of Silvyr's stomach with ravenous heat. Holding his hips tight, Brokil slammed into Silvyr with a newfound intensity that snapped Silvyr's back off the blanket, his pussy spasming as a new stream of hot tears ran down his face. "And you're going to cum again for me, Little Flower."

Brokil's words fell away as he drilled into him, replaced with desperate grunts and heavy breaths in Silvyr's ear. Beneath him, Silvyr writhed, hips struggling to meet each thrust, to match the erratic rhythm that Brokil had set.

"I'm going to cum," Brokil whispered, nearly begging as he pressed his lips against Silvyr's neck, teeth scraping the curve of his shoulder. A promise. A question.

"Cum inside me, Brokil. Please," Silvyr said, his muscles sore and clit throbbing, bordering on painful, but gods, he didn't want it to end. There was nothing greater than this. Nothing greater than Brokil's growls against his neck and his hands gripping with bruising force. The promise of a lifetime of this tightened the knot in his stomach. "Claim me, make me yours."

Brokil groaned and gasped, teeth clamping down hard on Silvyr's shoulder as he spilled into him, filling him with sticky heat. The dull ache of the bite, the knowledge that it would leave deep amaranth bruises petaling over his collarbone for the entire world to see, sent Silvyr over the edge only seconds later. Back arched off the blanket, head tossed back.

Letting the night hear how Brokil claimed him.

Neither of them moved for a long while after that. Or rather, Silvyr didn't allow them to move, his arms and legs, though still quaking with the aftershocks, refused to untangle from around his orc, to let him pull out or move away. He was comfortable with the warmth of Brokil's skin and the rabbiting harmony of their hearts beating together. He wasn't ready to part with it.

"Not yet," Silvyr whispered when Brokil made to pull out, clamping down on him instead, despite the hiss they both released at the sensitivity. "Let me stay with you."

"Demanding thing," Brokil chuckled, and though he didn't pull out, he did roll onto his back, letting Silvyr sprawl out over his chest and tuck his face into the orc's throat. "You think just because I love you, you can start ordering me around?"

Silvyr hummed happily, those three words echoing like a symphony in his mind. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Before he could think better of it, he opened his mouth and dug his blunt teeth into the meat of Brokil's shoulder. It didn't break skin, hells, it probably wouldn't even bruise, but when Brokil grunted in surprise and Silvyr pulled away, he could see the imprint of his own claim shimmering beneath the moonlight.

"You're mine now too," Silvyr said, grinning up at Brokil when the orc snorted out a laugh, "which means I can demand as much as I like."

"That so?" Brokil's thumb dragged across the mark he'd left on Silvyr's collar, something fond and playful twinkling in his eyes. "And what do you demand, my Little Flower?"

Silvyr leaned up until his lips brushed against Brokil's, close enough to feel the tusks tickling at his cheeks. "Tell me again," he demanded, refusing to look away from that starlit gaze beneath him. "Tell me again that you love me, that I'm yours. Tell me again in the mornings, and in the evenings, then never stop telling me."

Gentle hands cradled his face. Hands that bore the marks of a warrior, that wielded a sword as skillfully as it wielded his heart. Hands that held him as if he was the most precious gem in all of Ghizol.

"I love you, my Little Flower, my Silvyr. I will never stop loving you."