Disclaimer: I do not own the game that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
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The Orc Thrall, Warchief of the Horde, walked slowly through the halls of Orgrimmar, the concerns of his people still ringing in his ears even in the silent hallways. The new addition to his city had been one of their primary concerns, and already he was debating his own judgement and wisdom in ordering Orannis to "claim" the Night Elf. Half the people demanded her head, others simply wanted her gone, removed from Horde territory, and most questioned his decision to simply hand her over to his Shaman Master, some even going to far as to say his choice had been wrong. Faith in his leadership had never been so low, but he had his reasons, even if they could never be made public.
Reaching the doors of his suite, the Warchief nodded at his Honour Guard that flanked the entrance before entering, closing the door and beginning the long process of stripping off his ceremonial black plate, the Doomhammer heavy against his back.
It was as he unbuckled the bracers guarding his wrists that something struck him as wrong, and he paused, calling to the elements he mastered to aid him as he walked slowly to the centre of his disquiet, the bedchamber. Prowling in almost silence, Thrall leaned against the wall next to the door and pushed it open with his foot. Garnering no reaction and sensing no immediate danger, the Warchief risked a glance over the threshold, and almost dropped the Doomhammer in shock.
Sprawled across his bed in a debauched fashion lay Jaina Proudmoore, naked save for strategic positioning of long blonde hair, the crook of a thigh shielding her sex from his gaze, a smile dancing across her lips as she took in his surprise.
"I would have expected more of a welcome than silence, Thrall," She teased softly, shifting slightly into a more upright position, blue eyes never leaving his face. "It has been an age since we last saw each other."
The Orc growled in response, striding purposefully into the room. "I must admit, I am surprised the guard did not sense your presence." He paused at the foot of the bed, "And it has not been that long since we last met, Lady Proudmoore."
"So formal!" The Human woman replied, laughter colouring her words as she watched him still peruse her naked form. "Anyone would think you were unhappy to see me."
Green eyes met blue. "Not unhappy, merely confused." He admitted quietly. "Did you not say this... affair was over last time we met?" Moving to sit on the end of the bed, he continued quietly, "Or did I simply imagine it?"
"Words said in anger," Jaina admitted quietly, drawing her knees to her chin, suddenly ashamed of her nudity, "Always come back to haunt, do they not?" She paused, studying Thrall for a moment, "I will leave, if that is what you wish."
Shaking his head, the Warchief turned his gaze to the floor. "I do not wish you to leave Jaina," He began, "But, I cannot keep up with your ever-changing position on this."
She managed to suppress the entirely inappropriate giggle his words summoned. "I understand," Reaching out a hand, the blonde touched his shoulder, attempting to return his gaze to hers, "Thrall... I am sorry if I upset you before. There is no excuse for how I behaved, and I must admit, I was surprised to find your wards still allowed me entry when I teleported." Sighing deeply, she shifted position again, coming to sit next to her lover. "I made a massive error in judgement and have come to beg for forgiveness. I'll quite happily get on me knees if that is what you wish."
Thrall couldn't quite manage to stop the half-growl of arousal the image that suddenly danced across his vision had caused, and he stood, stepping away from the bed. Jaina sat back in confusion, looking up at his back until he turned, his eyes boring into hers.
"Make up your mind, Lady Proudmoore, once and for all," He demanded harshly, "I will not sit here and pine for you if that is what you are hoping for." The words were angrier than he intended, his mind distracted by the position she was now in, leaning back on her elbows, legs spread ever so slightly giving a glimpse of tantalising flesh, blonde hair fallen back over her shoulders so her breasts were now in plain view, so unintentionally open and inviting he had to fight the urge to simply claim her as he had so early in their tempestuous relationship. She still bore the scar of that encounter, the small, circular scars on her inner thigh caused by his lower canines puncturing the flesh during rough, heated sex in her tower.
As if reading his mind, Jaina spoke. "I let you claim me then, Thrall. I may fight it, but you and I are too bound for me to deny," She confessed quietly, "We both carry the weight of our worlds on our shoulders, and sometimes it will spill over into this one. All we can do is acknowledge the intrusion and deal with it." Rising, she slid her hands over his chest, the plate cold against her fingers, and then up into his short, dark hair, her body a hairs breadth from his, head tilted upward slightly to match his gaze. "Am I forgiven?"
Growling, Thrall hauled her body to his, ignoring her soft gasp of shock as the cold plate met her flesh, green eyes boring into hers. "Perhaps," He snarled, gloved hands tightening ever so slightly on her waist, "If you stop fighting me."
Her eyes widened. "I'm no submissive peon, Warchief," She replied, squirming in his grasp which only tightened his grip, causing her to narrow her gaze, laying her hands on his arms and channelling fire until the heat on the plate became almost unbearable and he released his hold on her, sending her tumbling back onto the bed.
To Jaina's surprise Thrall merely threw his head back and laughed, tugging at the buckles on his gloves and discarding them, before making quick work of the rest of his black plate until the green-skinned Orc was stood in front of her clad only in a thin linen shirt and leather pants. "Submissive?" He retorted, dragging the shirt over his head, "You?" Making quick work of the laces on his pants, then dragging them down his muscular thighs and kicking them away, "Never, Lady Proudmoore, dominance is bred into your soul."
Her face twisted into a snarl, "Well, if there ever was a finer example of rising above breeding it would be you," She shot back, trying to ignore his blatant arousal even as he strode toward her. "And as for fighting you... I thought you enjoyed it? The scars on your back say you do... however did you explain *that* to your people?"
