#magic defibrillation

[severedfromthesource]

A comm for Sparks the cat of some magic defibs and mtm! Took ages and a couple redos but Im glad I kept with it. Comm info here!

[severedfromthesource]

A Warlord's Heart Part 2/3

Part 3

While racing back to the safehouse where Cira waits, Zulin succumbs to his injuries, and Splitter must get his heart beating again. M resus, M rescuer, F rescuer, mouth to mouth, magical defibrillation.

Everything hurt. Zulin no longer knew what was cold, what was broken, what was merely bruised. There was no cataloging his pains. Agonem moved swiftly through the trees, doing his best not to jostle him. He succeeded, mostly. Every now and then he hit a hard step that shot through his cargo like lightning. Zulin could only manage small groans of protest. "I'm sorry," Agonem would whisper softly. Despite this, he didn't slow down. He knew they couldn't, but that didn't stop him from wanting desperately for a moment's reprieve.

Somehow, even with his own healing injuries, the orc managed to clamber into the saddle of one of the work horses they'd stolen from the camp. It struck him that he'd been looking for Zulin when he didn't return. There was a stirring of gratitude at that, the idea his absence had worried him enough to come looking. Zulin curled his fingers against Agonem's forearm, his back pressed to the orc's chest as the steed took off in a gallop. It lit every nerve ending on fire. The motion was not gentle, the jarring ripple of movement went through his very bone marrow. Agonem clutched him close in an effort to cushion some of his against his own body, but it did little to alleviate the pain. He tucked Zulin's head into the hollow of his throat, cheek to cheek. Warm breath ghosted against his ear as he whispered, "You were very brave, Zulin. You just have to be brave for a little longer, alright? I'm going to get you back to your mate."

Gently, Zulin plucked again at the little thread in his mind. Exhaustion dragged him down, the physical and mental effort of calling on the bond too much to stand. He wanted to thank the orc, to praise him, and yes, even to absolve him of any guilt he might feel if he didn't succeed. He'd tried to save him. That was enough. His lips parted slightly, brushing against Agonem's throat as he held him close. So many things he wanted to say and didn't have the strength for.

"Zulin," Splitter growled. This close, the noise rumbled through his whole body, vibrating in the orc's broad chest as he held him close. There was a pleading edge to his voice as he murmured, "Don't, you don't get to just slip away. You have to stay with me, you hear? Cira is waiting for you, your pup is waiting to meet you." The arm around his torso tightened slightly, squeezing, miraculously, without causing more pain. The embrace chased away the chill, the strength and gentleness of it like a warm bath, all-encompassing. Safe. "I can't-" The words broke in a shuddering breath he felt against his ear. The cool, smooth shape of tusks dragged against his cheek as Splitter nuzzled their faces close. "I can't be the cause of all this. You can't die, not for me."

Zulin wanted to tell him he wasn't dying, of course he wasn't dying. There was so much left to do. Of course he couldn't leave Cira to bring their child into the world and raise it alone. But air wouldn't come. The tiny, involuntary inhalations were more like muscle spasms than breaths. His limbs were too weak to move, too cold to feel. Something throbbed painfully in his chest, once, twice. Then nothing. Everything inside him went still.

--Agonem--

Zulin sighed softly against the edge of his jaw. A little noise passed his lips, a halting sort of groan before he was plunged suddenly into silence. Cold fear washed over him. "Zulin!" he snapped, bringing a hand up to the dark elf's chest. It didn't move. He rubbed his scarred knuckles against his sternum, hard and insistent. All it did was limply jostle the paling corpse in his arms. His cheek came to rest against Agonem's clavicle, his lids laying heavily against his empty eyes.

The mount charged through the snowy forest, deftly weaving through brush for a charger of such size. They weren't so far from the little fisherman's cabin they'd found shelter in, they would be there in just a few minutes. But every moment Zulin went without a pulse was one moment too long. Agonem clutched the horse's mane to lead it, the other spread out against the elf's unmoving chest. "Come on," he whispered and tried shoving the heel of his palm against the smaller man's sternum. He rocked limply against him. It was hard to tell just how effective compressions like this were, if he even could squeeze his heart enough to force a pulse. There was no other option. With his head tucked against his neck to try and keep it still, he began rhythmically pounding against his ribs. Zulin's arm jolted loose from the cloak and hung, swinging at his side. Agonem's only consolation were the tiny puffs of breath he was forcing out of the elf- a sign he at least was pumping his chest fairly hard. He could do no more than pray it was enough.

They crashed through the brush in a stampede. The body in his arms may as well have been a doll for the way it rocked in the saddle with every movement. "You have to wake up," Agonem begged quietly, "You have to breathe. Breathe, breathe!" But he was met with silence. Those scarlet eyes stared through him, flat and empty. To see his face smooth, without emotion, when he had so often had creases around the mouth and at the corners of his eyes with some sly smile. The devilish glint gone out of him. It tore at his heart. His vision blurred as he looked down at the elf. "Please, just... just don't die..."

He allowed himself only a brief moment of weakness to slide his arm around his torso and pull him in close. Heat was slowly creeping away from his skin, what little he had when he'd found him. Agonem pressed his nose against the soft curls of his hair, not allowing the sob he felt building to escape. If he cried, if he let go of that tether, he would lose his courage to keep going. He'd drop from the horse and cling to him and do neither of them any good.

Time blurred into a repetition of hoofbeats and the rough work of compressions. Agonem nearly flew past their shelter in his concentration on the task. He would have, if not for Cira's startled cry from the doorway of the cottage. He brought the horse to a skidding halt as she threw herself out into the snow dressed only in her thin nightgown. He'd hardly gotten down from the saddle by the time she rushed up to meet him. "Zu!" she sobbed, taking his face between her palms. "Gods, no, no please, my love..." She fervently swept his hair from his face, touching him, cradling him, like she could revive him if she just pressed her fingers to every part. "I-Is he-!" Agonem could only shake his head, his throat tight. His words strained as he said, "He was attacked. I was too... I didn't find him in time, they hurt him badly." Tears stood out in her eyes as she looked to him, still holding up her mate's head. Then she was tipping it back against his shoulder and sealing their mouths together. The hot air she breathed down his throat was sent back into the bitter cold in a plume of fog when she broke the seal. She sniffled and gave him another lungful. That too was expelled in a noisy sigh and streamed between them. "Get him inside," she instructed. So they did.

They swiftly piled every fur and cloak they could find on the floor near the hearth, and fueled it with more wood until it was a roaring bonfire. The terrible bruises made themselves more evident by firelight. One side of his chest was a motley of purple and black and green, as well as the side of his face. Thin cuts marred one cheek, stuck still with tiny pebbles. Cira settled her hands in the middle of his chest but Agonem grabbed her wrist. "You're not well," he said gently. "I'm never well," she snapped back, but her face was wet with tears, "But I can't just-" "Cira, please. The baby." Those simple words crumpled her resolve. Her face was paler than usual, only burning with color around the cheeks from the fever she'd suffered the past few days they'd been in this shelter. Whatever fire that had animated her went out and she bowed over her mate's body. "I have to do something," she whispered, her voice thick with grief. "Breathe for him," Agonem said as he laced his hands together over Zulin's ribcage, "And hold his wrist. If his heartbeat returns you can tell me to stop." More quietly he added, "Don't hurt yourself, salim. He would not want his life to cost you your own or that of your child."

As Agonem began pumping his chest, Cira gathered up his limp hand in her own, pressing her lips against his knuckles while she kept track of his pulse. The compressions were no less violent than on the horse. They made his body jerk with each thrust. Shoulders shrugging, head dancing against the floor, chest caving, legs flinching. The only thing still about him were his eyes, staring through them both into something neither could see. For a time Agonem's grunts and Zulin's expelled huffs were the only break in silence.

"He was always good to me," Cira eventually murmured as she smoothed hair from his forehead, "Ever since we were children. The others would run ahead without a thought for me or if I could keep up. But Zulin always hung back. Even if it meant he got left behind too. It never... never felt like pity." The orc glanced up, never slowing his pace, to watch her uncurl his stiff fingers and cup them to her cheek. "I thought I heard him a little while ago... And he... he sounded so scared, even while he was trying to tell me to run. I thought it was a dream." Agonem had heard it too. A voice with no origin. Zulin called out to him as if across a gulf. He sat back on his heels and nodded to her. "Breathe." She did, forcing his chest to rise as her breath filled his lungs. He made a noisy rasp as they emptied, his mouth slack when they parted. Cira pressed her face against his and shivered. Her words were barely audible as she spoke against his cheek, "Take a breath, my darling, please. Please don't go. You can't." She moved his limp hand to press against her belly, round with the child he might never see. She showered the corpse with such gentle affection, kissing the seam of his lips and brushing back his hair with her other hand, that Agonem had to look away. His throat had grown tight. His body had begun to hurt with the exertion. The wound he had sustained from their life saving efforts not long ago had opened up, oozing blood down his side. It clotted against his shirt in a dark spreading stain. He'd have to tend to it later.

Zulin's body gave no resistance to their measures. He couldn't. He just lay there as his ribs were caved in and his heart beaten into a weak cadence. Warmth had all but gone out of him, and the lilac hue to his skin had faded into a sickly grey. Cira held his wrist, feeling the pulse the orc forced with his repetitive thumps. Unaware that he was working harder on this body than he had dared on her for fear of harming her baby. There was no such fear with Zulin, only the fear that he was too late and they had already lost him. There wasn't even the hard edge of his ribcage anymore, his chest had grown soft after Agonem's first few rounds pulverized the obstacle of his sternum. Now it seemed the only color in his body as colorful bruising seeped across his chest. He stared up and past his mate as if silently begging for her air, for her to sustain what little life remained in his body. She'd pressed their brows together as tears silently rolled from her cheek to patter against his like rain. After a few cycles of compressions and breaths, Agonem's eyes flicked up to find her pale as she bowed over him. He hadn't told her to give him air, but she was filling his lungs anyway, what remained of his ribcage bowing up against the orc's palms.

"Cira," he growled. She ignored him. "Come on," she rasped quietly, "Come back, Zu..." Sweat beaded at her temple as she gave him another breath, then another, hardly allowing him to groan out the previous breath before she filled his throat again. When she broke the seal of their mouths she was gulping for her own air, yet still took a great inhalation to give him. "Cira!" he snapped more insistently. He cupped her shoulder just in time to stop her from collapsing atop her unconscious mate. Suddenly she became dead weight in his arms. He cursed under his breath as he drew her to the side of the body and arranged her gently. Her skin was a furnace. She'd been feverish and unwell for days, too sick to even continue the travel, and this momentary burst of adrenaline had cost her dearly. Whatever strength she'd drawn on had fled her as quickly as it came. Agonem settled her head gently on the cabin floor beside Zulin's. A quick check of her pulse told him the sickly thing was beating wildly, far too hard for a healthy pregnant woman, but not so hard he feared she would succumb to another heart attack. "Foolish woman," he whispered. Abruptly he was alone. He'd never felt it more acutely.

Turning again to the task of the dying elf, he pressed his fingers to Zulin's throat. Nothing but his own heart pulsing in his fingertips. He maneuvered to press his ear against the male's chest. Silence. Nothing he'd done so far seemed to have any effect. A glance outside told him he had been at this for some time, if the lengthening shadows were any indication. His fingers tightened against Zulin's poor, broken sternum. The elf's pallid face swam before his eyes. The most terrible part, he decided, would be Cira's forgiveness. And Zulin's. If he gave up now and let him remain a corpse, both the dark elves would forgive him. The knowledge burned him, hotter than any brand. They should hate him. But they didn't. They showed him kindness, sympathy, even love. They loved him. Despite everything in the world telling him not to, he loved them back. He set his hands side by side over Zulin's sunken chest.

The storm slammed into his body and he bucked. His legs kicked out, his chest spasming for a moment before it crashed back against the furs. Lifeless once more. No pulse at his throat, nor his femoral, nor any sound occupying his chest. Normally there was something, some hitch in the heart's rhythm, or the sense of it floundering inside their body that told Agonem when these electrical discharges were most useful. But there was nothing. Nothing but the pressing weight of impending failure and grief driving him now. If Zulin didn't wake up soon, he never would. The orc's chest heaved as he fought back tears and pressed their mouths together, delivering a far less effective breath than Cira could have given him. His clumsy tusks obstructed him, even as he covered his lips as best he could with his own and blew deeply down his throat. Too deeply. He pulled back to see a slight roundness to his once flat belly, and knew he'd pushed the air too hard into his body. In the depths of his feelings he could barely register it. He wiped tears off on his shoulder and set his hands to the small male's chest again. "She needs you," he snarled, more bestial than he'd ever spoken to either of them, "That pup needs you. And I... I need you to come back."

He shocked him. The body writhed and flinched all over.

Again. It jerked in a spasm.

Again.

Again.

When the last shock produced a hint of ozone smell and something cooking, Agonem jerked his hands away. Burn marks in the shapes of his large fingers graced Zulin's chest and ribs, thin red welts raised against nearly white skin. The elf's eyes were finally closed when he looked up in horror at his face. That was what undid him. Suddenly he was transformed from something he could beat life back into, something he could fix, to a quiet man peacefully sleeping. He could do no more violence on his body. Instead he sobbed in the quiet of the far flung cabin and gathered him up in his arms. "I'm sorry," he wheezed, "I never meant to-" He choked on the word 'hurt' and buried his face against Zulin's shoulder to weep. He had never lost someone he truly loved. No one who had loved him back. His mother was gone somewhere he didn't know, that was true, but she was the only person who had ever shown him real affection. He had never developed a bond strong enough to mourn someone's death. Now he had. He had never known such an intolerable ache inside him.

"Agonem," Cira whispered from the floor. "I'm sorry," he said once more, muffled by Zulin's soft, cool shoulder. "I feel it," she went on. "If you had never met me-" "Agonem-" "I have taken so much from you, Cira, how can you ever-" "Dove, his heart is beating." There was such little strength in her voice he nearly didn't hear her. He definitely didn't believe at first. But when he looked down, she lay on her back, her fingers twined around Zulin's wrist. His arm hung limp, shifted loose from the desperate circle of Agonem's embrace. Only when he stepped back from the storm of his emotions did he realize there was a very slight rise and fall to the elf male's chest. When he pressed his ear against his heart, he heard it. Weak, nearly not there, and with far too long pauses between each beat. But a heartbeat all the same. Alive. Barely.

[severedfromthesource]

A Warlord's Warmth

Love triangle. The night is cold, Cira is weak, and Splitter and Zulin are there to keep keep her warm. Features magical pacing, mouth to mouth, some minor lactation, NSFW. Little actual resus but basically two dudes giving a weak heart a lot of attention. I've done the reverse of what I normally do and marked the bit where the resus aspect stops and the spicier bit begins.

Winter had come in full force. Splitter had camp set in a mountain basin that had some protection from the biting winds, but it had done little to fight the perpetual chill. Every day another slave or orc lost a part to frostbite, and even commanders with full tents had trouble keeping a fire going with the sparse wood to be found. Some in their camp simply fell asleep and never woke up.

Tonight was especially cold. He had hardly made the trek back to his tent for all the knee deep snow, and his limbs ached with frost. He deposited his haul of firewood at the mouth of the tent and hastily stepped inside, shivering. Zulin lay in a mass of furs, Cira wrapped up in his arms. Splitter wiped at his cheeks and glanced at the pair. "How is she?" he asked. Zulin sighed, brushing back her hair from her face. "Not well. The cold is always taxing for her. But so is the heat and the rain and everything else."

Splitter knelt to stoke the fire, putting on a few more logs. Pinpricks assaulted his fingers as he warmed them. "Pup alright?" Zulin said, "Don't think he's happy, but he's still kicking. There he goes again." The elf male nuzzled his nose into Cira's shoulder and whispered low, "Be good to your mama, little devil." Splitter watched them for a time over his shoulder as the heat licked at his skin. It was an odd position he found himself in. A few weeks had passed since he claimed the bonded pair as his house servants, but more often than not it was the warlord who waited on the slaves. Cira tired too easily to do more than darn socks or simply lay on his furs, and while Zulin did his best to serve, he was usually too busy taking care of his mate. That left their master to do most of their work. He didn't entirely mind, he had been doing it himself for awhile anyway as he normally hated slaves underfoot. But the irony wasn't lost on him.

He shed his coat and his leathers and hung them to dry, so he was only in his small clothes. He was about to fetch another fur to wrap himself when Zulin said, "Come, bed down with us." He blinked uncomprehending at him. "What?" The dark elf turned to look up at him and chuckled, "We can lend each other warmth. Cira could use it, you might run hotter than I do." Splitter could only blink again, looking between the two. Cira was indeed pale looking, though that wasn't unusual. They'd already had one or two close calls, and he'd had to teach Zulin how to thump her sickly heart when it beat out of sync. Warmth would do her well, as she seemed to be flagging. He didn't want to spend another night with her mate, trying to get her heart beating again, as they had the first night they met. But the prospect of sharing a bed with the pair made his face heat. "You... are not offended with a man... embracing your wife?" His eyes flicked to the round hills of her naked breasts under the covers and looked away again. Zulin smiled. "We share our heart with only one, but our bodies are another matter." He opened his arms and gestured him closer, saying, "Come on. She's still cold, and the night will only get worse."

So Splitter awkwardly eased in on the pregnant elf's other side. Zulin had her in a cocoon of his arms, her head tucked under his chin, and Splitter shifted uncomfortably against her back. He felt her shiver slightly and then hum a soft noise, burrowing into the warmth of both bodies enveloping her own. Splitter didn't know where to put his hand. Zulin's arm was slid around her waist, his hand pressed to the space between her shoulder blades, but Splitter's itched, unsure. He swallowed, and let his palm lay on the side of her plump stomach. Her skin was indeed colder than it should be. Even with layers of furs and the warm bodies, it seemed like her blood wouldn't heat her properly. His thumb ran over the swell of her belly absently, and she hummed again as she shifted closer to him. That small movement stole his breath. He froze, on the verge of tearing away. He didn't really want to. He liked how her full stomach filled his hand, and he found the shape oddly pleasing to map out with his fingers. Orc women weren't made for caresses and gentle touches when they were with child, they were more like pissed off goats. Most of the time they stayed with midwives in their own tents, apart from the village. An orc mother could be more dangerous than a berserker if the mood struck. But elves, ever soft and gentle things, were so mesmerizing in this state. At least Cira seemed to be. He let his hand slide a little further over her belly, letting his cheek press to her shoulder.

"It feels too slow," Zulin eventually muttered. He'd moved to cup his hand between her breasts, over her disobedient heart. Splitter readjusted so he could slide his other arm around her and feel for himself. Indeed the organ pumped sluggishly, dragged down by the effort to feed warm blood into her cold limbs. He tried not to think about how her breast laid on his wrist as he rubbed her sternum. Cira gave only a quiet groan, but did not stir beyond that. Knowing how weak her heart was, a pulse that slow was dangerous. It would tip so easily into stillness if they weren't careful, and her breath was so shallow he barely felt it, even with the heel of his palm against her sternum. "You should breathe for her," he told Zulin, though he felt oddly abashed to. This was different than the panicked desperation they found themselves in when her heart had stopped the first day in camp. All three of them were naked, tangled in each other's limbs, and though it was still a life saving measure, it struck him as odd to lay with another man while he kissed his mate. Like he was intruding somehow.

Zulin cupped her face in his hands and sealed their lips together. When he blew into her mouth, her ribcage rose and filled Splitter's hand. She sighed the breath back out noisily. He gave her another. Each exhalation of her mate's air was a weak moan, which did nothing to lessen the oddness Splitter felt about the whole thing. He stared down as their lips joined once more, her cheeks rounding, the exhale. The silver thread of spit hung between their mouths. He felt himself harden and shifted so he wasn't pressing up against her backside. It was difficult not to think shameful things when he had a hold of her breast, the supple curve of her ass pressed against his thigh, and the oddly sensual noises she was making with every breath Zulin forced into her lungs. Still, he was ashamed. This was vital for the survival of both her and her baby, and he hated how his mind wandered.

Zulin laid his pointed ear against her chest after a few more breaths. "It's still slow," he murmured in a frustrated growl, "Don't be stubborn, Cira." Splitter slid his hand back into place, lowering his mouth to speak against the shell of her ear, "Stay with us, salim..." Her mate looked up into the warlord's eyes. "That thing you did before. The lightning. Would that ... do anything?" He considered it. He'd never tried it on a heart beating too slow, only one that was quivering too fast. The last thing he wanted was to shock her heart too much and jolt the poor thing into stopping altogether. He laid his palm flat against her breastbone, pressing her in against his body. "Perhaps... if it's small, it might help," he said. Zulin replied, "Try it. Before she slips too far away."

So he called the storm. Well, more like he called a little rain shower. He focused on reining in the spell as much as possible, so when he did loose the charge into the chambers of her heart, Cira only jerked a bit. Muscles contracted minutely, a quick spasm and then it was over. He felt her pulse strengthen, as if awoken by the jolt. This only lasted a moment before the beats against his fingertips began to fade again. He tried again, to much the same result. It was helping, somehow, but the effect seemed short lived. As if her heart was simply determined to wind down and let the cold take her away. His lips found her cheek as he whispered, "Keep going, little one. You can do it." He gave her the quick, weak jolts again and again, making her body flinch. The pattern settled until he was shocking her to the beat of his own heart, forcing her to match rhythm with him.

Meanwhile, Zulin kept up breathing into her mouth. He eyed the orc after a few minutes of this ritual of filling her lungs and beating her heart, one they'd become too accustomed to performing together. "How did you learn that trick anyway? With the lightning?" Splitter reached for an answer, unused to being asked much about himself or his abilities. "My mother was a spell weaver. She taught me a few things." "Like how to start a heart?" "That... I learned that from a tiefling artificer. His son was born with a heart like hers, too weak to sustain him. So he made a device with a lightning stone to implant in his chest." Zulin's eyes rounded. "Did it work?" "As far as I saw. It corrected the rhythm whenever his heart beat irregularly." The elf looked into his mate's face, deep in thought. More to himself he murmured, "If only I had such a device for you, my love..." Then he kissed her chest, just above where Splitter's hand jolted her heart repeatedly. Those soft lips brushed the orc's fingers, a fleeting connection, yet again it heated the warlord's face. "I fear she might not survive the birth," Zulin went on, a furrow in his brows. "She's strong," Splitter said before he realized, "For an elf." The elf kissed air into her, the gesture lingering so long and so tenderly that Splitter had to avert his gaze. Cira's muscles went on jerking against his hand. He jumped when Zulin asked, "That name you used earlier. Salim. What does that mean?" He grunted, "Mh. Sparrowheart." "Ha. As apt a pet name as any." He did not know 'pet name' had a different connotation in elvish, not literally meaning the name of a pet. Most would have considered the bonded pair his pets anyway. He also did not elaborate that in the orcish language, the more thorough translation would be "dearest with the heart of a sparrow", using the more familiar structure reserved for a close friend. Or a lover. Why had he even said it? Was it that he enjoyed watching her darn socks, her work laid out on her rounded belly? Perhaps, more than once, he'd imagine it was his own pup rounding her hips and softening her thighs and swelling her breasts. He liked rising from his bedroll in the morning and seeing her sleeping face nearby. He relished the times they were alone and she felt free enough to speak with him, and they spoke of philosophy and history and all the things the camp took little stock in.

Outside the wind howled and tore at the tent, but inside it was warm. Cira's heart grew stronger with their gentle care. Breathing on her own, her pulse finally got to a point they could again see it at her throat, and feel it in her wrist. Finally she opened her eyes. Only a sliver, only enough to see Zulin and smile weakly. "Morning," she croaked, her head rolled back against Splitter's chest. Her mate kissed the corner of her mouth. "Morning, my love. Feeling better?" "A little..." Only now realizing there was another form against her back, she craned to look over her shoulder. "Oh," she squeaked, gaze widening, "Master. I'm... H-Hello." Both of them noticed at the same time his massive hand was still nestled between her breasts. Splitter jerked it away. "It- You were-" "Your heart was weak," Zulin supplied with a crooked smirk, drawing her face to look at him once more, "Our kind master was helping her along." Cira flushed a soft pink under the pale lavender of her skin, inclining her head in his direction as she said, "Well. Thank you, Master Agonem." His name on her lips made his stomach shrivel. Her mate asked, "Are you warm enough?" But the shiver that went through her was answer enough. She pressed her face into his chest and huffed a breath. "I'd be a glacier without the two of you. Feels like I just want to go to sleep forever." "You cannot," Splitter was a little too quick to say, and a little too vehemently at that. She laughed softly, glancing back at him with dazzling crimson eyes. "I do as my master commands. You're the one with dominion over my heart, anyway." She grinned. "If I go off to the great sleep, you'll be there to bring me back, right?" Yes. As many times as he had to. If it kept those eyes looking at him and glinting in the firelight, he would bring her back a thousand and thousand times.

"If the master is willing," Zulin said in a mischievous sing-song voice, "I know a way to warm you up." She laughed and it turned into a rumble that shot straight to the warlord's chest. "Oh?" "Did you know, Master Splitter, that we call the winter months 'Rabbit Rut' in our language?" "I... did not..." "Wonder why? Because when the cold hits, there's nothing more to do besides rutting like rabbits." So saying he slid his hand, momentarily skimming Splitter's, down Cira's body and between her thighs. Splitter felt a light headed rush when he realized what was happening. The elf male locked gazes with him over Cira's head, that capricious glimmer still winking in his dark eyes. "Only if the master is willing, of course," he said and grinned. "Master is willing," he replied, unable to stop himself before the words came tumbling out. Needing no further goading, Cira rolled her bountiful hips back against his cock, already stiff against the curve of her ass. His fingers found her outer thigh and gripped, hard enough to bruise, as Zulin pinned his mate into the sculpted wall of Splitter's body. He was kissing her all over as his fingers worked up the slick dewing between her legs. Her breath caught. "We need not even be too cautious," he said against her collarbone, "We have a healer right here if that poor heart of yours gives out." "I'd rather not die during sex. Again," she chuckled. Splitter was struck by that in a way he didn't anticipate. A healer. He might have been that, once upon a time. It occurred to him that he liked being the frail elf's bulwark. The one to bend her body to his will in a way that did not involve violence. The one to save her. He so rarely got to be the savior, always playing the monster that needed slaying. It had not crossed his mind that what he felt, amidst the fear and adrenaline of having a life in his hands, was something like pride. No sooner did he think this that his cock throbbed needfully in the cleft of Cira's backside.

"Shall I?" she asked softly, and when he understood her meaning, Splitter nodded. She took his length, which likely would have been a discomfort in her condition, if not an outright agony to try and take fully, into the space between her thighs. While Zulin paid attention to her short elven cock and slit, she rolled her body to work the warlord's considerable girth. Already precum leaked between her legs. He moaned a low noise he didn't mean to make and she reached behind her head to bury her fingers in his hair, clutching his head against her own. Zulin was working his fingers in and out of her sex. He'd stopped his trail of kisses at her swollen breast, having taken one of her erect nipples into his mouth to nibble and suckle at. She writhed under the attention, Splitter cupping the other breast in his own hand. Rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he was surprised when a dribble of milk wet his fingers. He'd been so entranced by how lovely her tits were, he'd forgotten their actual function was soon to be fulfilled, and he rolled the pearls of milk against his palm.

"It's quite sweet," said Zulin, still at her other teat, "Want to try?" "T-Try?" Splitter asked with eyes the size of the moon. The elf chuckled in that dark way of his, and the orc watched in fascination as he drew her nipple back into his mouth and sucked a few times. His mouth held closed, he leaned in to capture the warlord's. So stunned by this, he obediently parted his lips and let him in. Warm liquid spilled onto his tongue and he drank it up like the sweetest ambrosia. It was, in a way. The sweetest milk he'd ever tasted. He was breathing hard when they parted, Zulin licking some of it up off his chin. "Good?" he chuckled. "Very," Splitter rasped.

Every sensation was overwhelming. He felt raw, untethered. He'd had plenty of partners in his life, but they had always been like him. Rough, snarling things that took their pleasure with speed and ferocity. Orc women who'd sooner just shove your face in their cunt than kiss you. Even orc men, who were by far the worst, who left you feeling like you'd fought off an army more than taken a lover. But this was slow. Gentle. The little sounds Cira made and the way Zulin kissed her skin and the soft writhe of their bodies. Splitter found he was shaking. Literally shaking like some boy under his first dame. He was huffing against Cira's bare shoulder, his lips dragging against the supple skin as he worked his cock between her thighs. "I can't," he whined, gods, he was whining. "I'm-nnh- I'm going to- hah-" Cira held his head close to herself, tilting her own so she could kiss his lip and the edge of his tusk poking from his teeth. "Cum for me, Master," she whispered, and he was broken in an instant. He came as she bid, spilling between her legs with an undignified groan, burying his face against her back. He had the urge to bite as he would with an orc partner, but she was too delicate and fine to risk harming, so he was left only with pathetic whimpering and trembling, clutching her against him. She kept grinding against his sensitive cock, rubbing her thighs against one another to draw out every moment of his climax. Then she was letting out her own shaky moan, twisting and turning in his arms while Zulin fingered her to her height alongside their master. She arched back against him, and he could feel her pulse throbbing through her back. Splitter's large hand slid beneath one of her breasts, worried, only briefly, that she might suffer another attack with the way her heart raced. But she collapsed into the embrace of the two men, panting, glowing healthily, and his fears abated as her heartbeat gradually slowed to normal.

Zulin took his soaked fingers into his mouth with a chuckle, eying his mate with intent. "Hot enough, love?" She playfully bat his chest, then nestled against it. "Devil," she panted. He grinned wide, and his hand once more slid beneath the furs. When Splitter felt those long, slender digits against his painfully sensitive cock instead, he jerked involuntarily. "Seems Master enjoyed it too," he said in a low, sultry tone, absently petting the underside of his shaft.

It was big enough his fingers didn't quite get all the way around it, and longer than his longest finger by quite a few inches, but he cupped it in his palm and stroked up and down it's length. Splitter shuddered, face still pressed to Cira's sweat damp back. "P-Please," he stammered, and felt his whole body heat with shame. He'd never said please in that weak, tremulous way, and certainly never to a slave. Then again, a slave had never brought him to such an unfamiliar and dizzying place.

They would bring him there a few more times before the sun rose on the snowy mountains.