2. Rok’nhar

TWO

I'm laidout on my troll-size bed trying to jack off when I hear something bang against the wall behind me. Must be the lovebirds next door, so I slow my strokes, wondering if it'll get bad enough for me to call security again.

Always fighting or fucking those two, though I hadn't seen that flea-ridden son of a bitch around the past few weeks. I thought maybe she had finally…

Well, doesn't matter what I think, does it?

Not my business, though I can't count the number of times I'd nearly made it mine. Mama'd lose her mind if she knew how often I had to talk myself down from busting through this wall and sending that pompous pup running off with his tail between his legs for the things I heard him call the elf in 16C. Logic's always won out, though; we've got a security patrol in the complex for a reason, and that asshole can't call the cops on them like I'm sure he would on me. Kept myself out of trouble for thirty-one years now, first male of my father's line to stay on the straight and narrow. Still… part of me is always left fantasizing about pulling off some heroic deed for the elf next door. Foolish as it would be… she'd be worth it.

Nothing but quiet now. I'm guessing the storm has passed, which means I can get back to the business in hand. Raid starts in an hour and I've got to get rid of all this fucking tension before the guild goes for that server first.

I stroke my prick with a grunt and get back to the sweet little elf on my screen, moaning and squirming and doing a damn fine job of it. Except now… now I'm thinking how she looks like a knockoff version of the elf next door with those doe eyes, and godsdamn if that doesn't make me harder, make those thick veins I got running up my length writhe and weep because now it's all I can think about.

The one in the video getting plowed from behind like a fireleaf field has the same violet eyes, but platinum blonde hair instead of that sunny orange, grey skin instead of that soft, translucent gold that gleams even in the incandescent hell that is the tiniest damn elevator this side of Galtree. And this elf's tits are too big by far, anyhow. 16C has these perky little tits, the perkiest little tits I've ever seen. Proud about ‘em too ‘cause I'll be damned if I haven't seen her nipples poking through every godsdamn excuse for a shirt she wears. And that big ass, those wide hips? Criminal.

I'm dripping all along my shaft as I pump my fist harder, already closer than I should be, already driving myself half wild just thinking about her like this again. Strokes get faster, eyes squeezed shut now, phone forgotten.

"Fuck…"

My prick throbs, sac tightening as I picture the way those hips twitch when she scampers out of the elevator and trots off ahead of me down the hall, about tearing off one of those tight little numbers she surely shimmies her perfect pear-shaped ass into every morning, tits and hips bouncing as she jumps up and down and…

"Oh, fu—FUCK!"

My muscles clench and my body takes over. I'm thrusting my prick into my fist again and again as I come hard and fast, harder and faster than I expected to.

Damn.

I'm half lost in the feels-fucking-good of it all and half thinking about the fucking mess because godsdamn if it isn't everywhere. Sheets, phone, me.

Fuck.

I pull the towel out from under my bare ass and wipe myself off before realizing nothing short of another shower and a fresh set of sheets is gonna cut it.

Sticky linens get stripped in a flash, then thrown out into the living room. Pile can stay there till I shower again and—I stop dead in my tracks as something splatters onto my forehead. I look up, slowly, even though it don't take a wizard to spell out what's dripping down my tusk right now.

Fucking hell, it's all over the ceiling. And now it's in my mouth.

I grab the towel off the floor and stretch a bit to wipe away the mess up top before the bare mattress gets what I've been served, too. I must look ridiculous, standing on tiptoe, naked as a dragon egg, dragging a towel back and forth across this cheap popcorn ceiling, bits of plaster raining down on me. What the hell had come over me to make me lose it so fast, spray seed all over my whole damn room like a wild teenager?

Ten days in a row without time off had me wound up, is all. Hot shower got me all loose, and then this hot little elf…

I clean up my phone too, see the video still going. The blonde is grabbing her tits, fingering her bare little cunt as the orc unloads all over her. I feel my face get hot as I remember it wasn't those big ole titties I'd been thinking of slopping this seed all over when I came; it was the perky little pair on the elf in 16C. Orlagh.

Another knock on the wall or something, but I shrug it off. Probably more of the usual from next door, and if I keep thinking about that tangerine dream, I'm never gonna get myself washed and fed and online in time. I decide to call if they're still fighting when I get out, because I've finally got two days off and I ain't wasting them.

I hop in the shower, closing my eyes as I brace my arms against the wall and lean into the spray with a sigh.

Maybe I'm just lonely.

Been some time since I've had someone to tussle in bed with other than my own hands. Dating's just… rough. Too busy to go out and try to meet a girl the old-fashioned way, and not enough of a looker for the online thing.

I'm tall and strong but I ain't no gym-ratkin, and ripped arms don't change this belly I'm looking down at. The only reason I'm not rolling myself out the door every morning is because I walk to work, and I work all the damn time. I'm cooking on the line fifty hours some weeks, not to mention subbing in for Haf'thak on the main stage as Warchief Grok'hal whenever he's too hungover or up his own ass to show up for his shift. Great friend, terrible coworker.

Dinner Dragons is in the pleasure district, a kitschy tourist trap known for its ogre-sized dinner portions and old-timey fight reenactments, ones like orcs were known for way-back-when, before they went and got all civilized—or as close to civilized as can be for some, like Haf.

Subbing for his flaky ass is fun as hell, though, I have to admit. Living out my RPG dreams while raking in some extra cash is the dream, isn't it? But I'll be damned if every guest I request a favor from before a match doesn't look disappointed that I'm standing there in too-tight leather breeches instead of the picture-perfect orc they came there expecting to ogle at.Skin may be thick as the rest of me, don't make it sting any less, though.

I'd just finished soaping up, lost in thought as the water ran over my head and shoulders, when that knocking started up again. Louder, more insistent. Not on the wall though…

Shit—someone's at my door.

Toweling off quick as I can, I grab my sweats and tug ‘em on, avoiding the nasty sheets as I hop from leg to leg through my living room. Part of me hopes it's that fucking dog on the other side, especially after his impromptu interrogation last month. Still can't believe he had the nerve to stand there with three of his little lackeys and threaten me, all kinds of wild accusations flingin' this way and that. I wish I had done half of ‘em, shit. Don't know what 16C even sees in that asshole.

"Fuck, hold your damn horses, I was just?—"

Imagine my surprise when I open the door to find, of all creatures, the very elf I had just finished jacking off to. Standing there looking pissed and antsy, wearing leather thigh-high boots and a flimsy little robe that don't appear to be covering much of anything to speak of beneath it.

Fuck.

I swallow thickly, mouth snapping shut, and suck in my gut as best I can.

Fuck.

Never seen her dolled up quite like this before. Not a lick of that cropped tangerine hair to be seen. Instead, she's wearing a glossy black wig, braided all crazy and hanging down her back. The elf of my dreams always looks good enough to eat, even when we've crossed paths after she's been sweating and huffing on a run. Hell, I'd argue that she looks even better, all flushed and glistening like that. But today she's got lips like cherry wine, pursed and petulant and ripe for the pecking. Cute little crinkle between her furrowed brows, too.

I'm getting hard, and I try to shift casually to cover it up, rubbing the back of my neck and shaking a leg. Time to think about the grease trap in the kitchens, about mucking out stalls in the barn back home, about anything other than this sexy goddamn goddess standing here glaring daggers at me and looking better than anyone has a right to.

"Does it usually take you a minute and fifty-three seconds to answer the door?"

I can't speak. Fuck, it's all I can do to keep my prick from busting a hole in these flimsy ass pants. I don't even know what the hell she's talking about. How long did it take to answer the door? Why would… did I come so hard I passed out and hit my damn head?

"I, uh…"

I open my mouth and close it, then open it again as I reach my hand back over my head again to rub at my neck some more.

16C's looking at me like I'm an idiot and I'm not sure I blame her. I am a fucking idiot. Nothing to describe how I'm feeling except dumbstruck, but at least I've got enough sense to close my mouth without catching my tusks on my lip.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before rubbing her lips together, then she shines those big, violet doe eyes right at me.

"Well, I've got seven minutes and even though I know this will probably make things super awkward between us no matter what you say… I'm just going to lay it all out there, okay?"

Nothing but blinking and staring coming from me as she takes another deep breath, gripping the sash tied around her waist, looking as nervous as a succubus getting ready to bridle a unicorn.

"So, I run an OnlyFannies page. I was supposed to collaborate with another content creator tonight, but he flaked at the last minute. My fans want to see me with an orc, have already paid extra for it, and I… I don't know any other orcs, so…"

Surely I've died. Surely I am dead as a fucking dragon, or I'm about to be, and this is the last joke the gods are playing on me before I go. Because either I'm done for, or the sexpot elf next door with the perfect ass who's never spoken a damn word to me before, the one I've fantasized about for years, is about to ask me to fuck her.

I feel my cock twitch at the thought, half-hard already. She doesn't miss it, and I don't miss her cheeks going red as a summer strawberry.

"… w-would it be too weird to hire you to spank me? It's not going to be public public, just broadcast to my top tier subscribers, and I'll still pay you what I was going to pay the other guy. Four hundred bucks for about fifteen minutes? I think that's a decent rate. I don't know honestly, because it's my first time not going solo and… look, I know this is crazy, but I've got like five minutes until I go live, so…"

She pulls a wad of cash out from… well, hell; I have no clue where she had that stashed. A pocket? Her boot? All I know is I'm drinking in the sight of her like an orc dying of thirst and she's watching me do it, honed in like a hawk and blushing like a berry, and I'll be damned if that doesn't make my prick twitch again, make those cheeks of hers burn even brighter.

Now I'm wondering what it'd be like to make her ass that red, wondering if she blushes that pretty when she comes, if that little crease in her brow turns into a big old crinkle as she squirms and sighs and…

I shake my head and clear my throat, finding my voice again. "So, you want to hire me to?—"

"To spank me."

One boot is tip-tapping her impatience out on my dorky ass doormat, the one that I got for pre-ordering OrcWars 3.

"… spank you."

"Yes. On camera. For money." She waves those crisp bills in front of me, looking over my bare chest for a pocket or something, blushing all the more, and for a moment I think she's just gonna tuck it into the waistband of my sweats. "You don't have to talk, or do anything else, but I, um… well, I'll be in… character."

"Character."

Good gods, what am I, a fucking parrot?

Orlagh holds my gaze. One second she's jutting her pointed little chin out at me, all fire and determination, and the next her shoulders are slumping, all deflate and defeat.

"It's crazy, I know. It's crazy and crazy last minute and weird."

She wrings her hands, and for a moment it looks like she's gonna scamper back down the hall to her apartment before she steels her gaze and unties the sash around her waist.

"I'll be Zoya, and she's kind of modeled after a comic book character. I don't know if you're familiar, but Zoya wears this just like Red?—"

She throws open that skimpy excuse of a robe and all I can hear is the sound of my own heart thump-thumping between my ears; I'm pretty sure my brain's short-circuiting. The door creaks audibly, wood splintering as I grip it even harder, nearly pulling it off its frame. I look down the hall both ways, certain this is a fucking prank, certain some television personality or even that fucking fleabag is going to pop out and hit me with a gotcha, because underneath that scrap of silk she's got on is a scale bikini straight out of my old comic collection. I'd know it anywhere, because it was one of the first things that got my prick hard and those particular comics are sitting on a shelf behind me as she speaks, about as far from mint condition as they can be. And seeing that getup here, now, as she's standing right in front of me, covering so blessedly little?

Something between a growl and a groan rumbles in my chest, and I do my best to cover it up with a choked cough. Because those perky tits I'd just imagined spraying my load all over? They are right there, right there, with just two tiny little triangles of flimsy metal keeping them out of my sight. I could reach right out and tear them away in a heartbeat, could run my hands over those perfect tits, roll a thumb over each of her nipples before dropping to my knees and worshiping them with my tongue. And boy, do I want to see her nipples, spent many a night wondering what they looked like. Are they pink? A darker, duskier gold than her skin? Am I about to find out?

Fuck, I'm not going to make it out of this with my sweats intact.

Double fuck, cause she's still talking and I've been staring at her tits for at least fifteen seconds with my damn mouth wide open.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"—so just land your slaps on my ass cheeks, maybe the back of my thighs, too? I can ham it up, usually do when I'm on my own anyway, so you don't have to worry about getting super into it, although my partner was at least supposed to be dressed all fantasy-ish too, but I don't expect you to?—"

My brain kicks back into gear and takes a sharp turn to the understudy gear I've got in my work bag—leather breeches, hide boots, body paint—as well as the old cosplay gear I've got stashed in the back of my closet—shoulder armor, eyepatch—finally awake and alert and eager to cash in on this golden fuckin' ticket that I'm still not sure exactly what I've done to deserve.

"I, uh," I clear my throat in an attempt to distract her from the fucking dick dance I'm doing over here. "Yeah. I'll help you out. Oddly equipped for this."

Her eyes dart down to the all-access pass my fucking pants are providing and I cough, dick dance getting jauntier by the second. "Costume-wise, I mean. Just, uh… give me a few minutes to get ready?"

She smiles, and it's like I've got a belly full of warm apple pie while I'm watching the sunrise on the shore, toes in the sand and all. That smile is so warm and so bright that I can't help but lean through the doorframe towards her to bask in her glow, tusks flashing as I grin like a fool.

"Oh. Okay. Okay! Great! I'll leave the door unlocked. You're actually supposed to come in while I'm stealing your treasure and that's when you decide to punish me, so…"

She's staring past me, and for a minute I'm convinced I've already died and gone to the seventh circle of hell because it must be the sheets, the cum soaked sheets in the middle of my fucking livingroom she's gawping at. But as I follow her gaze, I see it's the warhammer on my wall that's drawn her eye, the foam replica of the one I wielded in the original OrcWars that I'd spent a pretty penny and a fair amount of time bringing to life for conventions.

Fuck, the raid…Wait. Fuck the raid.This is the call to action I've been fucking dreaming about for two years now, isn't it?

"Can I… can we use that? For the scene?"

Hell, I'd have ripped this door clear off its hinges and handed it to her all wrapped up like a nameday present if she'd asked me to, pretty little bow and all. I'd even sing the song.

"Sure. Of course, yeah. Let me just…" I amble over and pluck it down from the wall, feeling her eyes on me all the while.

Two years of awkward glances and the rare nod of thanks when I'd hold the elevator for her, of only knowing her name from hearing that asshole screaming it out when they were fighting or fucking, and now she's asking for my LARP weapon to use in her OnlyFannies stream, and me along with it?

I still can't fucking believe it, even as I hand my hammer over and watch those elegant hands run all along the haft, testing its weight.

"Whoa, it's much lighter than I expected. This is… wow, this is actually going to work. I…"

She looks up at me through her lashes and I'm actually getting lightheaded from the feeling of every last drop of blood in my body fighting over who gets to rush to my prick first. "I can't thank you enough. You're really saving my ass."

We share a look at the unintended pun that sends us both into fits of nervous laughter, and fucking hell if my prick isn't still reaching out to say hello while we're doing it, no dick dance in the world jaunty enough to cover up what's happening down there.

"Um, wait till about five minutes past the hour and just barge in? Room is down the hall, and it's just the one. Follow the extension cord and you can't miss it."

I nod, still dumbfounded, still wondering if this is all a dream, if I came so hard I blacked out, if that prick she's shacked up with—shit. Is she still with him?

"Is, uh… that is, well, I thought you were livin' with?—"

She turns around halfway back to her door, heels clacking as she trots backwards, that bikini jingling and jangling as her tits bounce, nearly tripping over the bowl of cat food by her door.

"Shit," she teeters on her heels a moment before setting herself to rights, squatting down and scooping some of the scattered kibble back into the bowl. "I keep forgetting this is here. I hope you don't mind I put this out for him?"

"Oh. Uh, no ma'am, not at all," I say with a smile, brow furrowed in confusion. Where she wants to feed that cat of hers is her business, after all. If anything I should be the one asking her about the appropriateness of that little kitty igloo I set out on my balcony last month, see if setting out scraps is crossing a line or messing with a feeding schedule, but… later; now don't seem like the proper time to talk about all that—or the fact that her cat is quite clearly a female.

"And my ex is gone. For good. I'm Orlagh, by the way. Probably should have introduced myself to you when I moved in two years ago..."

The smile on her face as she stands back up gets wider, brighter, and hell if it doesn't make me swell up and sigh somewhere deep in my chest, somewhere much more dangerous than my prick. Luckily, I'm able to pull my head out of my ass and offer her a tusky grin in return, right before she gets her door open.

"Worth the wait. I'm?—"

"Rok'nhar," she says as she turns the handle, that smile getting more catlike by the second. "I know."

She… knows my name.

Damn it all if that doesn't make my heart flip over backward and drop into my stomach, make my prick throb with a renewed sense of determination at the same damn time.

"You know, huh? I, uh…" A chuckle rolls through me, kind of breathy and low. Did my voice just tremble? Doing a hell of a job playing it cool. "Well, only my boss and my granddad call me Rok'nhar. Call me Rok."

She tilts her head to the side just a touch as she opens her door, looking me over again.

I'm sucking in my belly like the fate of the known world depends on it, standing all sideways as I try to distract from the situation below.

And then she goes and says something that makes me melt in a place that big, strong orcs aren't supposed to get melty in this fast, throwing the final, sunshiny-stone on my funeral pyre.

"Rok, then. My hero."

Well, hells.

I'm done for.