When you have spa at 9pm, and plans to take over the world at 10pm, you make do for both.
//
More seriously, Phiros and I merely planned to complete Kugane's (small) jumping puzzle, but the view of the city inspired us to turn it into quite the photoshoot. Let's call it Warriors of Darkness verse, shall we? The Twelve know how easy it would be to tempt Ruby to Zodiark's side.
Kinktober Day 3 coming in over a month too late, but here, have some more Varrosh!
Day 3: Public/Biting (Varrosh)
The Warsong loved public displays of commitment. That much Varian had learned since his reunion with Garrosh on Draenor: after a few feast days, he had even come to expect the dance of manhandling and wandering eyes that seemed to characterize their clan dynamic.
But that didn’t stop the indignant noise that rose to his lips every time Garrosh bit down on his neck.
They sat on Garrosh’s throne. The sun casts its last rays over the cliffs flanking Grommash’ar, and when shadows swelled up in the valley the bonfires seemed to blaze all the brighter. Flames flickered in Garrosh’s golden eyes as he dragged Varian up into a kiss. His fingers tangled in his hair, pulling and jerking, leaving his throat bared like a beast at the slaughter. And Varian could only gasp a quick “what?” under his breath. Garrosh smirked, and yanked back harder.
“They’re watching,” the orc murmured and nodded towards a cluster of grunts by the fire. Varian pursed his lip and tried to look anywhere but their smirking eyes. “They’re jealous of what I have.”
Varian scoffed at that, though the sound came a bit more strained than he intended. He coughed and tried to mask it. “You’re jealous, Hellscream.”
And as if to prove his point, Garrosh bit down.
Hissing as he felt the orc’s teeth catch against his skin, he shifted, all too conscious of the orc’s cock pressed flush against his backside. A hitch in his breath interrupted their banter; by the time he found his voice again Garrosh’s fingers had wandered from his hair to his throat.
“You know I have to go back like this. Bruised like this—”
“An orc’s bite is distinct.”
“I know.” He cursed the smugness in Garrosh’s voice. Irritation and need churned in the pit of his chest, and he rocked back, trying to regain control with what little leverage he had perched up on his lap.
But Garrosh’s teeth had him too tight, and the biting only ceased after the orc found something else to grab at. Pushing up the front of Varian’s leather tunic, leaving him exposed to the warm summer breeze, to the curious eyes of orcs clustered around the fire, he moaned and felt weak: far weaker than he cared to admit. He arched his back, and Garrosh tugged down at his pants. He let out a groan, and Garrosh nipped hard at his ear.
Growling and thrusting together, he got lost in their midsummer dance.
With his cock now free to the hot summer air, Varian rose and turned to face him. He pressed his hips flush against Garrosh’s waist, finding the bulge in the Warlord’s pants and rubbing his own shaft against him. Barely concealed from the Warsongs’ eyes, they worked their cocks together, flesh against leather, lips clashing in something between a kiss and a war.
This time he left himself exposed to those teeth. There was no hair-tugging and yielding, just Varian throwing back his head and letting out a cry. Just Garrosh teasing his head with his thumb and the orc’s ridge of piercings rubbing against him through tight leather pants. He moaned, and Garrosh bit down. There was a sharp pinch, and he shuddered, all kingly composure lost to the wetness and throb of his skin, to the heat of Garrosh’s breath and the thudding of Orcish drums.
It would leave a mark. He would face his men tomorrow tousled and bruised, skin flushed with his guilt and neck swollen with orc-shaped welts. They would watch him, not with the same hunger in the eyes of Garrosh’s guards, but with brows knit together and lips set in a nervous line. He would avoid their gaze. They would whisper about him in the shadows.
But when Garrosh cried out against his skin and his own cock twitched and came against the front of his pants, Stormwind, and tomorrow, felt a whole world away.
