(this is cross-posted from my blsky, where I update it more frequently.)
Part One.
Read below the break.
“Seed in me,” Senshi had said the last time Zon had him. The zither of his voice seemed to travel through his throat, up his flanks, vibrating through the taut walls of his arsehole which gripped Zon’s cock like the sucking clay along a riverbank. The words were muffled by the dwarf’s thick mane, fallen over his face, but Zon nonetheless heard them. Seed in me, he had said.
Zon can still see Senshi’s broad hands pressed hard into the soil of his den’s floor.
The memory is beautiful.
𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Senshi secures the straps of his rucksack. Zon notes that a couple of the dwarf’s gardening tools are fastened around the side. He steps up to Senshi’s back and asks, “You’re going up to tend your vegetables?” It’s a nonquestion; the answer is obvious. Zon does not care for these unnecessary inquiries, but he uses them to show gentleness to his wives. And… to Senshi.
“Cabbages ought to be about ready to harvest,” Senshi answers. He stands, then hefts the pack onto his back. Zon admires his back, its breadth and sinew. Senshi looks over the pack, at Zon. “Mabuma will need you throughout her estrous cycle, right? I figured that I would go take care of the cabbages for a couple of days.”
Zon grimaces. There’s nothing else to say to this logic except, “Alright.” Mabuma does need him. Though Mabuma and he have already decided not to breed, he’ll need to be with her, holding her, seeing that she’s fed and her thirst slaked, and massaging her body so that her muscles don’t cramp. Zon truly cares about her. He cares about each of his wives, always committing himself to being a loyal and dependable mate to them. This determination doubled when he became a father and more when he became chief.
Still, he’s been yearning for Senshi. Eight weeks he’s waited to be with him again. Eight weeks that Senshi’s presence in his den has dwindled. Since he was told, “… in me.” He regrets that he has duties to fulfill to Mabuma now, when Senshi has come to be with him. For that, he adds, “Sorry.”
Senshi shakes his head. “I’ll cook us a good meal when I come back.” He smiles and lingers in front of Zon until Zon leans down. Then, he places his rough palm on Zon’s cheek. The flesh is unbelievably hot.
Zon is always impressed by the sensation of the bodies of the races with simple flesh, as the orcs call it. So much of their insides can be felt through such thin and tender skin! Zon has felt Senshi’s stomach roll when he’s laid against his belly, postcoitus. Or, he’s tracked the quick change of temperature after Senshi has dozed naked on his den’s floor. He’s even pressed the flat of his tongue against Senshi’s strong neck and felt blood coursing through a vein.
Turning his head, he nuzzles against the palm. How painful this longing is… Then Senshi kisses his lips. Zon tastes him and arousal makes him quake. He straightens himself, trying to salvage some of his dignity.
“Go, then. I’ll have a place made for you when yah comes back.”
“I reckon I already have a place,” Senshi says with an idly flirtatious tone. He begins to leave, plodding away from Zon’s dwelling with that easily recognizable gait which makes Zon smile. He walks like a dwarf man, Zon has to remind himself; but, to him it feels like particular to Senshi alone.
The padding of his feet, heavy but sure, causes him to bob slightly as he goes. His low-carried weight, his broad frame, the girth of his limbs— all so attractive to Zon.
Heat stirs in his groin, like fire stoked in a forge, just watching Senshi leave. He wants to bite at the thick muscles of Senshi’s legs, arse, arms, and shoulders. He wants the dwarf’s round belly under his nose, the fine, long hairs tickling his nostrils as he breathes in Senshi’s scent.
The scent has nearly been trampled out of his den by his own routine footfalls during the eight weeks of Senshi’s absence.
Zon slaps both his hands over his face. He can’t go to Mabuma in her heat like this. It would be uncaring to show up smelling of his own arousal, especially when they had agreed that they didn’t want to create an orclet at this time. He goes to wash before attending to his wife.
𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
To be cont.