Chapter 18

Dura

S picy arousal rolls off of Marvik in waves. The scent makes me wet and I start to thrum. Marvik groans.

“Huntress, it’s not fair if you do that. I’ll come before my time.”

“I don’t care if you do,” I say, boldly taking his cock in my hand. “You’ll stay hard as long as I keep thrumming and I want to see you come.”

I tentatively squeeze and he hisses lightly.

“Softer, huntress. At least at first. My cock needs to be wet.”

Alright, I can do that. I take my tongue and give his cock a prominent lick, like he is covered in honey and I want every drop. Hmm, honey. That’s an idea. I imagine dripping honey all over Marvik’s body, only to lick it clean again. But, no, for now I should focus on the task at hand.

Marvik makes a deep sound of pleasure at my actions and, encouraged, I do it again. This time a drop of his seed lands on my tongue as I reach the top. Salty, like I remember. It is a strange taste, but I want more.

“How do I make you come?” I ask, before giving another lick.

“Swirl your tongue over the head,” he grinds out, his voice almost guttural. “Then take me into that pretty, fuckable mouth. But be careful of your teeth.”

His words are coarse, but for some reason they make me more wet, more needy. Like I told him before, I like it. I like this feeling, like I am taking buttoned up, honorable Marvik and breaking him down to his most primal, dirty self. That even though I am following his commands, I am the one in charge, the mistress of his pleasure. So I do as he asks, swirling my tongue slowly over the tip of his cock, once, twice, three times, then I take him into my mouth .

Marvik chokes. “Gods, your mouth vibrates too. I won’t be able to last.”

I make a pleased hum and he shouts, spilling a little over my tongue. I eagerly lap up and swallow his seed. But my thrum is still going and he is still hard. I let him slip out of my mouth and ask, “Do you want to keep going?”

“So I will stay hard as long as you thrum?”

“Yes.”

“And I can come again?”

“I think so.” I’ve never had another lover, so I don’t know exactly.

He gives me a sinful smile. “Then, fuck yes.”

I nod and then take his cock in my hand again. This time it is wet with my saliva and when I pump my hand, squeezing lightly, he moans.

“So good, huntress. You’re doing so well. But take me back in your mouth. I want to show you how to pleasure a man.”

I have no interest in pleasuring men, but I am interested in Marvik’s gratification. And I like hearing him praise me for my efforts. So I take him back in my mouth. He’s big, too big to fit in my mouth all at once without choking. But I have the first half in and I remember that this is called sucking cock, so I suck hard, hollowing my cheeks. He shouts again, but keeps from coming, his hands going to the back of my head.

“Keep sucking like that, huntress,” he pants. “Good huntress, such a good huntress. I am going to pump a bit into your mouth, alright? I want to fuck that pretty face of yours until I come. Fuck that vibrating tongue and come down that pretty throat. But if you don’t like it, or I go too far, tap my leg and I’ll stop.”

I nod, still sucking. I want him to show me this, to fuck my face as he calls it. He pets my head and pumps lightly, experimentally, going just a little farther in. I enjoy the way he slides over my tongue and I lick while sucking. Marvik gasps, a low sound that seems to go right to my clit and pumps again .

“What do you do if you don’t like it, huntress?” he asks, flexing his hips.

I don’t want to stop to answer him, so I just tap his leg and suck again.

“Good huntress.”

With that, he unleashes his savagery. His pumps are still shallow, he is obviously being careful with me, but he picks up speed. Sometimes he goes a little far and I feel like I’m choking a bit, but I don’t hate the sensation, so I let it go. I lick and suck, careful of my teeth and fangs, pressing hard with my lips. Experimentally, I reach up with my hand, gripping the part that I can’t quite take with my mouth, so that the whole of his manhood is covered.

Marvik moans, “Perfect, huntress. You suck my cock too well. Squeeze lightly with your hand. Yes, just like that. Good huntress. You want me coming down that beautiful green throat of yours, don’t you? Coming like I’m filling up your pretty pussy.”

With deliberation, I intensify my sibilance , thrumming as hard as I can. His thrusts go wild after that, one going a touch too far. I go to tap his leg, but he is already coming in my mouth, a thick, creamy load this time. It overwhelms me and I have to stop thrumming so that I can swallow. Marvik softens in my mouth and when I am done swallowing I let him fall, flaccid out of my mouth. He tips up my chin, pulls down so that my mouth is open, looking at my now-empty tongue with a look of intense lust on his features.

Marvik pulls me up to my feet and kisses me, uncaring that I just swallowed his spend. It is a kiss full of warmth and appreciation and when he pulls back, his eyes are smoldering.

“Let me say thank you, huntress,” he says, the double-meaning of his words clear.

My mouth goes dry, thinking of his mouth on my center again, when the sun suddenly shines in my eyes. I look up and am surprised to see that it is already after mid-day.

I pull back and shake my head with a smile. “Not right now. I still have snares to check and work to do before bed or there won’t be any dinner.”

Marvik just shoots me a sly grin. “Alright. Work now, but later, after dinner, I will show my gratitude properly.” He gives me one more meaningful look, then does up his trousers and picks up the hatchet, sauntering away toward a dead-looking tree.

Gods have mercy on me, I can’t wait for tonight.

???

Over the next week, Marvik and I fall into a pattern. We wake early, taking turns making breakfast and then split up the chores. I am more stealthy, so more often than not I am the one hunting, while Marvik forages for edible plants and chops wood. From his boyhood explorations he knows where several berry bushes and wild fruit trees grow and he picks plenty, laying out the extras on a flat rock so that they can dry in the sun and be stored for winter. We share an evening meal, talking about light, easy topics and then we retire to the cave. But rather than sleep, we take turns pleasuring each other with our hands and with our mouths.

I am getting better at sucking his cock, each night taking him deeper and deeper. I don’t have much of a gag reflex, so once I get over the initial feeling of choking, I start to enjoy it. The absolute power and control I have over him in those moments fuels my enthusiasm. And always Marvik reciprocates, making sure that I come multiple times before he stops.

It is a good week. A safe week. One where we focus only on what works in our relationship. That is, our physical compatibility. He does not ask me again if I trust him and I do my best not to bring up our rocky past. Every morning I wake up, half-expecting him to be gone, after everything, but each morning he is there in his bedroll, an arms-length away. It still surprises me that he has chosen to be here with me, but my Mating Instinct is at peace because he has. Well, mostly at peace. The drive to breed , to have his cock between my thighs is a never-ending ache, a desire that could drive me mad if I let it. But he is right, it is not wise to risk more of my heart with a human that I don’t trust, even if he is my Ash’ka .

We carry on this unspoken truce to only speak on safe topics until one night as we eat dinner, a repast of roast rabbit and wild root vegetables, Marvik breaks into the silence, asking, “So what are mates, anyway? To the elves and the orcs?”

I look at him incredulously. “You don’t know?”

The smile he gives me is small and a little wry. “I know what mating is, huntress. But mates? That’s not a human concept. Is it like husbands and wives?”

This is a fraught topic. Certainly with more weight than discussing tomorrow’s weather or today's snare catches, like we have been wont to do. I chew my bite slowly, considering my answer. I want to ask why he’s asking, why now , but I feel like that is a trap. A way to start an argument again. As I swallow my food, I decide to answer him truthfully, but objectively, like the answer doesn’t have anything to do with us or our lives.

“Mates are everything,” I begin, “to the elves and the orcs. More than a husband or a wife. Once mates are bound together, there is no going back, no changing one’s mind, unlike the easily thrown-away marriages of some of the other races.”

“And how are mates bound together, then? Just by meeting?” he asks.

I squash the niggling beginning of suspicion in the back of my mind, that pressing question of why he’s asking these things, and answer, “It is different for elves and orcs. There are rituals for the elves, courting practices that bring the Ash’kas closer together until they can stand under a full moon with friends and family and speak the sacred vows that make their souls as one. ”

“What does that mean?” interrupts Marvik. “For your souls to be as one?”

I consider my answer, not really knowing how to explain. “Elvish mates, Ash’kas , always have a sense of where their mate is. They know if they are safe or in danger. They understand each other and rarely argue. It is simply a knowing. They are as one . . . there’s really no other way to put it.”

Marvik nods, absorbing the information, then asks, “Are orc mates the same?”

“For orcs . . . it is darker, more primal. They spirit their chosen one away, to a place secluded, and chase them, breaking down their defenses until their chosen submits to the orc’s seduction. When that is complete, the orc gives their chosen a Mating Bite that seals them together as one.”

“And that means?” the human prompts.

I roll my eyes at the new interruption. “I was getting to that. Orc mates can feel each other's surface emotions. Not quite like reading thoughts, more like impressions. Also, an orc who Claims another like this can only have children with their chosen, cannot live without them, waste away without their mate . . .” I stop talking, realizing that I am giving away too many vulnerable things all at once. I need to remember to keep Marvik at arm’s length, until I can be sure of him and his intentions. But . . . we are working for trust, are we not? Maybe I should be less guarded, not more.

Marvik cocks his head. “Does the non-orc suffer such effects?”

“No,” I bite out, a stroke of fear going up my spine at the thought of Claiming Marvik only to leave me to suffer the wasting sickness from his loss. “They don’t.”

He whistles slowly. “The orc must really trust their partner to do such a thing then.”

I shake my head. “There’s trust, yes, but also a primal, instinctual urge. Our instinct wants us to mate. There have been many orcs in our past that chose poorly and faced the consequences when their partner left.” I think of my comrade Gunag, the right hand to the king. Another half-elf, though he spurns his elvish heritage. We grew up in the same exile village before joining the same cohort of the Horde. His mother was a wild forest elf, but his parents were not Ash’kas . His father took her in a traditional Bride Chase, and their relationship started in enmity. Still, he Claimed her anyway, which is how they came to be banished. His mother was always miserable and one day, when we were young, she disappeared. Gunag’s father didn’t last long after that, succumbing to the wasting sickness within a year and leaving Gunag, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. To this day he hates all the fair races and easily gets in fights with those that call him “elf-blessed” or “elf-pretty” when speaking of his looks.

Marvik merely nods, looking considering, then asks, “So were your parents bonded in the way of the elves or the orcs?”

A flash of hurt courses through me at the reminder of my parents, but I find that I don’t mind speaking of them. It keeps them alive, in a way, and the idea of sharing them with Marvik makes them seem present. “Both and neither. Theirs was a strange mating, filled with obstacles and so neither ritual was done in the usual way. My father first saw my mother on a diplomatic mission to Arisil.”

“Orikesh sends diplomatic missions to the land of the lunar elves?”

I shoot him an annoyed look. “Diplomacy is not our strength, but we have learned to navigate it. My father was trying to bring more healers to Orik. Arisilian elves are some of the strongest healers in the world. My mother is a gifted healer and was part of the party that greeted him on his arrival. The moment he saw her, his Mating Instinct arose. But Arisil is an ally of the orcs, not an enemy, so there was no way for him to take her to do a traditional Bride Chase. Luckily, for him at least, while they interacted as a part of the diplomatic mission, my mother experienced the Recognition. After that, he didn’t need to take her away; she wanted to go with him. She did the First Ritual of Mating immediately. ”

He breaks in, “The first ritual?”

“There are three rituals, The Exchanging, The Exploring, and The Speaking. The Exchanging is when the couple that has experienced the Recognition gives each other something of sentimental value to keep, as a sign of trust.”

“And the others?”

I clear my throat. “The Exploring is a soft way of saying fucking, coming to know each other’s bodies. The last, The Speaking, is what seals the bond, the ceremony in front of family that I mentioned. My mother, when she realized what my father was to her, didn't hesitate and gave him a ring that her brother had made for her for her ascension to adulthood, the most precious thing she possessed. When she explained to my father what was happening, he gave her a dagger, the last his mother had made before her death. With that, they were on the path of matehood, something that couldn’t really be stopped. But my mother came from a wealthy, influential family and they were horrified that their only daughter wanted to mate with an outsider. Not just any outsider, but an orc.”

Marvik cocks his head. “But you said that Orik and Arisil were allies.”

I snort. “Tense allies to avoid mutually-assured destruction. Historically we were enemies and warred constantly, but there was never a clear victor. Orcs have the superior weapons and a bigger army, but Arisil is surrounded by mountains and forests, making it difficult to invade. Even if you did make it inside, the magic of the lunar elves is formidable. After decades of bloodshed, a truce was forged. We are allies when it comes to war and trade, but it is a badly-kept secret that lunar elves still think of orcs as little more than barbarians. Inelegant and ugly. But that is not new. All the fair races think like that.”

“The fair races?”

I blush slightly at my slip, but there’s no way I can refuse to answer. Not after my speech earlier this week about not dodging questions. I feel my ears heat as I say, “It’s a . . . not kind name orcs call elves, humans, and nymphs.”

He quirks a brow. “It doesn’t sound too insulting.”

I mutter, “It insinuates that they are only good for their looks. For . . . breeding purposes. But that they have no strength or skill worthy of respect.”

Marvik surprises me by barking out a small laugh. “It sounds like the disdain is mutual then.”

I smile a little, relieved that he isn’t offended to be lumped into such a group. At the very least, I do not think that he is only good for his looks, though I don’t say so. “I suppose so. Anyway, my maternal grandparents and uncles tried and failed to stop the rest of the rituals. They made their disapproval loudly and forcefully known. When that didn’t work, they refused to acknowledge that my mother had experienced the Recognition. They shunned her and when my mother and father stood beneath the full moon and spoke the binding words, they did so alone, with no love or support from family.”

“That must have been hard for your mother.”

Nodding, I say, “It made her mating very bittersweet. She has never forgiven them for it and says that she is shunning them now, that even if they reached out, she would not accept them.”

Marvik nods again, finishing off his meal. “Not all families deserve second chances.”

I think of what Marvik said about his mother and father. I suppose he understands that just because someone is family, it doesn’t mean that they automatically deserve trust and forgiveness.

My lover continues, “But you said that they did the orc tradition as well? Or at least in their own way?”

I finish off my own meal, wiping my mouth before saying, “Oh yes. After they got to Orik, my father took my mother to a secluded place to chase her and breed her. I was most likely conceived on that very trip. ”

Marvik makes a choking sound, though he didn’t appear to be swallowing anything. When he composes himself, he sputters, “They told you that?”

I laugh at his reaction. “Orcs are not as prudish about sex as humans. Neither are elves. It is seen merely as a fact of life. But I assure you, it was tastefully told, without too many details. I wouldn’t have been able to stomach too much of that either.”

Marvik considers this for a moment, then asks, “But why did your father take her to chase her if she was already his mate? Was it a ritualistic thing as well?”

I shake my head, “It’s part of the Mating Instinct I told you about. Orcs are, at our core, predators. We have a need to chase, to hunt, to Claim. It is as integral to our being as eating or breathing.” A warning voice goes off in my mind, reminding me that I may be giving away more information than is wise, but I’m in too deep now. There’s no way to stop the conversation without making things tense and awkward.

The man across from me cocks his head to the side. “To claim with that bite you mentioned earlier?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes. It also makes the binding permanent.”

“So your father did that on the chasing trip?”

Shaking my head again, I say, “It wasn’t that simple. How much do you know about the king before Rognar?”

Marvik shrugs. “Not much. Just that he was more warlike and ruled with an iron fist. There were rumors of tortures and executions like there were under Yorian in Adrik. His son was considered a gentler, weaker orc when he took the throne.”

I bristle a little at his words. Rognar is not weak. He is one of the strongest orcs I know. He overthrew a tyrant and has undone decades of abuse in Orik, challenging the toxic ideals of his forebears. He has righted wrongs and brought peace and prosperity to a kingdom and people that knew only war.

I don’t have time to be offended though, as Marvik just shrugs again and says, “Obviously those rumors were wrong, since your king crushed our invasion with barely any effort. And there are more kinds of strength than force of arms; Adalind taught me that.”

I relax a little at his acknowledgement. I remark, “Well, your rumors weren’t completely wrong. There wa s a tyrant on the throne of Orik and the king before him as well. They got it into their heads that Claiming mates was weak foolishness, that orcs should be trying to have as many children as they could with as many partners as they could in a quest to have the strongest offspring possible and not risk the wasting sickness. They outlawed Claiming with the Mating Bite.”

Marvik raises his eyebrows. “But you said that it is something as necessary as food or air.”

“It is,” I say, moving on with my story, “and when my father brought my mother back he fought constantly against the urge, the need , to Claim my mother. The punishment for ignoring the order of the king was . . . severe. After I was born, however, my mother got sick. She almost died from the illness and it took her a whole year to be well again. After that, my father decided he loved my mother and didn’t care about the consequences. He wanted to be as close to her as possible, that if they died without experiencing a full mating that it would be his greatest regret. So he gave her his bite. As soon as it was found out, he was immediately stripped of all his power and position and banished from the capital. So I grew up in a small village in the mountains filled with others exiled for the same reason. It was a hard life, a meager living, but it was full of warmth and support.”

“So no regrets from your parents?”

I laugh at the idea. “My parents are absurdly happy. All their years of scraping by in the exile village were nothing in the face of the contentment they found with each other. And when Rognar took the throne, all the exiled were pardoned and could return home again, though maybe not to the same positions as before. He didn’t want to ruffle too many feathers as there were other orc families that took the exiled orc’s place in their absence. Still, their story has a happy end.”

Until they lost their only child, never to know what happened to her , I finish silently, guilt welling up in me again. But as I look at the man in front of me, safe and whole, I find the guilt quiets a little. There is solace in my Ash’ka’ s presence, even if we aren’t mated. Now that we are not at odds, at least. Probably similar to the comfort my parents took in each other when they suffered their own losses. I was right. Talking of them, even with the twinges of pain and guilt, was cathartic and made me feel closer to my parents than I have in a while.

Marvik shakes his head and stands, wiping his hands on his trousers as he does so. “It’s a good tale,” he remarks, “and you tell it well. I would say that your father is a lucky orc in many ways.”

That brings me up short. ‘What do you mean?”

“You said he was lucky that your mother experienced the Recognition so they could be together, and he was, but I think he was equally lucky that they weren’t at war and he didn’t take her like he wanted to at first.”

“Why?”

Marvik gives me a bemused look. “Your mother sounds strong and stubborn. If your father had kidnapped her, I very much doubt she would have submitted to him, even once her Recognition hit.”

I absorb what he says silently. He is most likely right; my mother is stubborn and deceptively delicate-looking. Underneath her healer's hands she has the heart of a warrior. Certainly many other orc matings fail because they start with a traditional Bride Chase. My mind shifts back to Gunag, sparing a little pity for my friend and comrade. But I cannot help but read into what Marvik is saying. Is he saying that all relationships with a bad beginning are doomed to fail? Our relationship certainly had the worst beginning I can think of. I almost killed him, for fuck’s sake. Are we doomed to fail? Is this fragile bond we are working towards destined to snap and tear asunder ?

Oblivious to my turbulent thoughts, Marvik holds out his hand and pulls me up to standing. Without warning, he kisses me, warm and sweet and my thoughts vanish for a moment like smoke in the wind.

He pulls back from me and says, “Thank you for answering all my questions, huntress. You’ve given me much to think about.”

Instantly my wariness is back. What can he mean? I want to ask and at the same time I am afraid of the response.

So, like a coward, I merely nod and say, “You’re welcome.”

My lover smiles at my words and then, bright and quick, kisses me again. “Shall we retire, then?” His words are clear in their double-meaning, but though I try to swallow down my unease and dismiss it as foolishness, I cannot.

I shake my head and say, “Not tonight. I find I am quite tired.”

Marvik’s face shifts to a look of concern. He brushes my hair back from my forehead and feels the skin there. I almost laugh at the gesture. Orcs run hotter than humans as a rule. If I had a fever, he wouldn’t be able to tell. “I thought that orcs do not get tired. Are you feeling ill?” His hands are gentle and his eyes grave as he looks at me.

I force a small smile and say, “I am well. Just tired, like I said. Any being of flesh and bone can get tired under the right circumstances.”

He looks at me searchingly for another few moments, then says softly, “You make me wish we had this Mating Bond, so that I can know what you are truly thinking. You are too good at hiding your thoughts, Dura.”

I take in a sharp intake of breath, his words shocking me. Surely, he cannot mean them. Shaking my head, I try to dismiss them with a joke. “That would be a shit reason to become forever mated, just so you could know what I was thinking.”

He smiles a little at the tease in my words, but then goes back to being thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he replies, giving my hand a squeeze. “ Perhaps not. But for now, let us go to bed. I hear that my lover is tired.”

That makes me genuinely smile for a moment and I roll my eyes at him, before letting him lead me to bed.