Work Text:
After The Command
Tropes: Guilt after friendly fire, Limited beds, size difference
Pairing: Transgender dwarf woman and Cis gender Orc man
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The guilt weighed her down, forcing Torra to linger in the back of the group. It had been her fault for not being able to block out the command. Willingly she’d never hurt another member of the party if it could be helped. Even when a little friendly fire could ease the battle's flow. Tonight… That cruel wizard’s spell was hard to ignore. Even harder to break free of, leaving her nothing more than a puppet. Leaving her mere moments away from ending Thrusk.
Torra had never seen Thrusk like that. On his knees before her, battle ax tumbling to the ground. The green skin of his forearm trembled in anticipation. Blood dripped down his chin from a cut on his thick lip. There was fear to be seen, surely… Yet what had snapped her from the spell was the underlying feeling of something else behind that. He wanted this… but which part is what alluded her.
“He doesn’t blame you.” The elven cleric whispered, not a spot of blood on her perfectly tailored robes. Of course there was none. Aerel always stuck to the back, waiting ‘till the right moment for a showy spell. No, that wasn’t fair. Torra knew that wasn’t fair, she just wanted to be mad at someone who wasn’t herself. “Maybe talking to him would help you?” Aerel suggested. Trying to be helpful, instead of letting Torra brood during the walk in the rain.
“Why don’t you?” Torra bit back, a huff leaving her lips.
Aerel rolled her eyes. “Fine. I will.” The elf gave an annoying smile, as she smoothly snuck up to Thrusk, before whispering something to the large orcish man. Causing him to look back at Torra for a brief moment, which made her ears burn. She had always felt small being a dwarf, but something about his gaze made her feel like he could step on her. Would she mind if he did?
The Rook was a small tavern with a handful of beds, and with the heavy pour of the rain those beds filled quickly. Forcing the party of six to split rooms. After a lukewarm meal from the tavernkeep that had closed the kitchens long before they had made it. They wouldn’t have even gotten that if the wizard had his way.
Torra turned in early, just grabbing one of the room keys from the table. She was half expecting Aerel to room with her, simply to try and make her feel something other than the guilt she deserved. Luckily the rooms came with attached bathrooms with heated water. Her body cried in relief feeling the hot water engulf her in the tub, which to her felt like it could fit more than one with ease.
The clear water turned a rusted color from the blood and mud. Her eyes were closed, head resting on the back of the tub, when the door opened. She didn’t bother to look up. Why would she? Aerel had seen her naked plenty of times, from being the healer of the group. There was a thump on the ground like something being set down, followed by the sounds of boots being tossed to the side. Torra finally looked up around the corner to see a view of Thrusk. Her heart raced. Did someone grab the wrong room key? He made eye contact with her. His hands worked slowly to undo the leather straps of his armor, letting the enchanted gear fall to the ground.
She wanted to look away, or breathe even. Yet everything failed her in the moment. He moved slowly over to her, giving her a chance to tell him to leave. Her body twitched in anticipation as he removed his shirt. Her heart dropped seeing a large gash down his chest. Thrusk knelt down near the tub, offering a hand out to her.
There was hesitation as she took the hand. Thrusk placed her hand on the gash, flinching only slightly at the touch. “You didn’t make that.” He stated plainly, like it was a fact she needed to know. He led her hand to a burn mark on his upper shoulder blade along his back. “Fire bolt.” He pointed out. The flesh had a lingering burning smell.
Torra was grateful she was sitting down in the tub, hidden by the last few bubbles. Her toes curled in, as she shifted to resting on her knees looking up at him. He led her hand to his upper thigh, to a small cut that looked like it left behind some necrotic energy. “You weren’t the only one that was commanded and controlled during the fight. Fijit just managed to break through shortly before you did.” Finally there was a smile.
He leaned in, after looking back at the door then back at her. His accent became a little thicker. “Would you like to see what you did to me? What you do to me?” He asked. Torra gave a nod, her skin on fire, as she felt her hand guided to his cock, fighting against the fabric of the orc’s undergarments.
Her mouth went dry feeling him, nervous that she might have been having some sort of hallucination. He let her hand go, and finally, she saw the expression on his face. The proud orc that was never scared. Who laughed in Demons’ and Deamons’ fights without an ounce of hesitation. He now wore a look scared of rejection.
Torra removed her hand, and he bit his bottom lip, nearly reopening the cut form early. The tension held in the air was thick enough you could cut with a dagger. Torra stood from her position, standing in front of the kneeling orc. Her lips crashed into his. His breathing nearly stopped as her wet body pressed against his.
His strong arms wrapped around her, easily lifting her up and carrying to the bed. Their mouths were fighting for dominance - a fight he retreated away from to seek a different battle ground. His tusks brush against the sensitive skin of her nipple as his mouth teased and played with her. Torra’s head arched back once laying on the bed, which creaked under his added weight. Her hand snaked downwards to remove the remaining cloth between them. He groaned, feeling her hand graze along the length of his cock. Something about the sweet sounds of need escaping him, caused her own cock to stir. The excitement of reducing such a large man into a needy puddle of noise excited her.
“Say ‘please’” She commanded. An order he needed a spell slot to convince him to follow. His begging was like music to her ears. If being a fighter failed, maybe Thrusk could take up being a bard? Soon after, the lingering touches and the scrapes of nails to flesh had driven them past the point of madness. Torra took to her knees and hands. Breasts pressed against the bed, as her ass was facing upwards. His fingers dug into her hips. Leaving bruises to remind her of the dance in the morning. Like a trophy from a well-fought battle.
Grease was a useful spell when you didn’t have your favorite brand of lube. Making the stretching from his cock easier for her ass. He rocked in and out in a rhythm, and pressure that caused her cock to move against the bed sheets. Building up friction.
She gasped feeling soft kisses placed along her shoulder blade. Nearly melting as he cried out her name in pleasure. The feeling was extremely mutual from where she lay. Was this to be a regular thing? It didn’t matter right now, what did matter was Thrusk was fine. And welcomed whatever mark she chose to make.
They had been so caught up in the moment. That neither caught the door briefly being opened by Aerel. A playful smirk on her painted lips, as she put a hand out for Fijit. The gnome rolled their eyes, paying up the 50gp bet. The cleric could always tell who had sexual chemistry. Aerel shut the door, letting the orc cum - deservedly so after his long day.