And then it exploded, lit up, flashed out in stunning, staggering light. In Geva’s entire body blazing up in it, in him, around him, here, hers —
“Rathgarr,” she gulped, and oh, he was swirling up too, his body locking tighter against her, his fingers stilling, his breath catching. “Oh, Rathgarr, please, Rathgarr,yes!”
His groan was more like a shout, his hand holding her hips slipping, slamming to a fist on the fur — and then he was pouring out inside her, his strength spasming again and again, spraying out rhythmic spurts of hot, gushing release. Filling her with it, flooding her with it, as her own still-shuddering pleasure kept milking out more, and more, and more. Until she could feel it straining, squeezing out its last dregs, as deep as it could go.
And then… stillness. Shivery, silent stillness, broken only by the occasional slight shudder of Geva’s body, and the faint, answering flares of his softening strength inside her. Still there, still here, not leaving. Not yet…
But it wasn’t exactly a comfortable position, with her legs shoved up like this, and she shifted a little, wincing — and then blinked as Rathgarr’s strong hands gripped her, lifted her leg, and tilted her onto her side on the bed. But also easing himself around behind her, so that — somehow — they were both lying on their sides, Geva’s back to his chest, his softened cock still jutting up slightly inside her.
It was — strange, but also warm, and maybe even… comforting. Reassuring. And while Geva couldn’t quite seem to touch at some of those memories — his mockery, her misery, his praise,please, Rathgarr, yes— he was still here. And even more importantly, still himself. Still the wicked, mocking, arrogant orc she knew, and not the blank, broken shell.
Or — was he? Because behind her, his previously silent breaths had gradually begun to sound thick, choked, laboured. His chest swelling and emptying almost convulsively against her back, his hand spasming against where it gripped to her waist.
And Geva knew, with strange, stilted certainty, that this wasn’t about her. Wasn’t about what they’d just done. No, it was surely about today. About the utter disaster today had been, despite what had obviously been Rathgarr’s best efforts, in the face of his grief, and his guilt.
And perhaps she should have pretended to sleep, or make some excuse, seek out that latrine — but there, suddenly, were more memories, clearer memories, from amidst all that.As though I am not even there. I wish for an eager, hungry helpmate…
“How would you feel,” she ventured, very quiet, “about a tale? I always tell them to myself, when I can’t sleep.”
Behind her, Rathgarr stiffened, his breaths gone silent — but then he sagged again, his hand slackening against her waist. “Ach, mayhap,” he croaked, conspicuously offhanded. “Should you wish.”
So Geva drew in breath, and launched into another one of Cecily’s favourite tales. The one with the warrior and the seven-headed spirit, full of lighthearted, increasingly preposterous adventures. And while Rathgarr didn’t speak once throughout, she could feel him listening, his body sinking closer against hers on the bed.
“Another?” she asked afterwards, into the quiet darkness, and she could feel his nod, his head tucking into the mess of her hair. And damn it, she’d forgotten to put up her hair, and she would pay for that come morning — but she couldn’t seem to muster the will to draw away. And instead, she told another tale, and then another, and another. Until Rathgarr’s body had gone fully slack against her, and that was unmistakably the sound of a soft snore, close in her ear.
But Geva finished the tale anyway, her voice fallen to a whisper. And then she stared into the darkness, and carefully thought of nothing at all, until sleep finally, finally came.
22
When Geva’s consciousness returned, she was alone in the bed, her bare body sprawled wide across its soft, cozy fur. And where Rathgarr had been — she twitched as she reached around — there was only what felt like a rag, tucked up close against… well.
She carefully pushed herself upwards, taking care not to dislodge the rag, and blinked at the room around her. Gods, she’d scarcely even noticed it the night before, and it was a good size, walled in smooth grey stone, with a variety of large, sturdy wood furnishings. Not only the bed, but a wardrobe, a chair, a nightstand with an oil lamp, and even a small, rocking cradle.
Geva’s eyes lingered too long on the cradle, something odd clutching in her chest, and she yanked her gaze away again, searching upwards this time. Up toward where there seemed to be light, somehow, coming from — she blinked — a small, intentional-looking slit, cut across part of the otherwise smooth ceiling, and letting in what appeared to be actualdaylight.
“Awake, poppet?” came Rathgarr’s voice, and when Geva twisted to look, he was striding in from around a corner. From what must have been a second attached room, she realized, as her eyes darted back to the bedroom’s main door, which even had a full-length velvet curtain strung across it.
“Y-yes,” Geva replied, noticing with a wince that Rathgarr was once again fully dressed, in yet more fine-looking clothing she hadn’t seen before. While her own clothes — she glanced around the room again — were apparently nowhere to be seen.
“Er, where are my clothes?” she ventured. “And… the latrine?”
Rathgarr smirked, his eyes purposefully angling down toward her arse, but then he strode for the wardrobe, and yanked out one of her shifts. “Here,” he said, tossing it over toward her. “And whilst we are here, should you choose to only wear this — or naught at all — no orc shall mark this, ach?”
Wait. No one would notice if she didn’tdress?! Geva gaped at him as she grasped the shift, her mouth uselessly opening and closing, and Rathgarr stepped a little nearer, raising his brows toward her. “Except, mayhap, to envy me,” he added, as he dropped a hand, and gave her bare breast a brief, proprietary squeeze. “And these plump pretty teats of yours.”
Geva ought to have been highly offended, alarmed, something — but instead she ducked her hot-feeling face and yanked on her shift, firmly pulling it down before standing up and stalking past Rathgarr toward the door. “The latrine,” she managed. “Please.”
Thankfully, he didn’t argue, and escorted her out into the wide, lamplit corridor. Which, Geva now noticed, steadily tilted upwards, and it again featured smooth stone walls, studded with more open doors, and clean-looking stone floors that felt soft and surprisingly warm under her bare feet. Suggesting, perhaps, that the floor was evenheated?
“In there,” Rathgarr told her, waving her toward another curtained door, and giving her arse a gentle slap. “I shall meet you back in our room, ach?”
Geva nodded, and soon found herself marvelling at what turned out to be a clean, spacious latrine. Featuring not only a covered toilet, but also a washbasin, a looking-glass, a flickering lamp, and a variety of clean rags and towels. And after a moment’s studying the empty washbasin, she noticed a small steel lever on the wall above it — and when she pulled it, the spout above the basin poured out fresh, clean water.
All combined, it made washing up an actual pleasure, even despite Rathgarr’s copious mess, and her still-tender arse. And when Geva stepped back into their room again, she felt clean and fresh all over, and far more optimistic about Orc Mountain than she’d ever thought possible. She could do this. One month.
“Rathgarr, this place is —” she began, stopping short at the sight of the empty room — but wait, there was a sound behind the corner, where he’d come out from earlier. And when she went over to investigate, it was indeed an entire second room, its entrance cleverly tucked into the back wall. It was only slightly smaller than the main bedroom, but instead of bedroom furnishings, it boasted multiple large chests, cases, and shelves, scattered about with a variety of glittering items.
“You survived, poppet?” Rathgarr asked over his shoulder, from where he was arranging things on a shelf. And after a moment’s blinking at him, and around at the room, Geva realized that he was… unpacking? Yes, that had to be it, his familiar pack now lying half-empty at his feet, while around him, this was… his plunder.
