Chapter 21: The Gift
As Dalthu carried him out the back gates of the village, Samson tried to distract himself from the very muscular and very naked chest he was pressed up against. He peered out over Dalthu's arms. Even though he didn't have the excellent night vision the orcs had, Samson could still make out the impressive outline of the mountain standing guard over the orc village.
"What do you call that there? That mountain?"
"Gruumsh." Dalthu's deep voice rumbled pleasantly and, despite himself, Samson leaned in closer.
"Gruumsh?"
"The One-Eyed Father."
"So, Gruumsh is the mountain and your father," Samson mumbled, working it out slowly, "and Luthic is the cave and also your mother?"
A cool wind blew against them and Dalthu hugged Samson closer. "Gruumsh is like the mountain. Erect and virile. While the cave is our mother's womb. These two gave birth to the first orcs."
And now humans give birth to the rest.
Samson rubbed his lower belly, thinking again about the mark. It was like a brand. With it, anyone could conceive with an orc. Even a man.
What must it feel like?
He recalled when his mother had been pregnant with his brother. Samson had always considered her the most beautiful woman in the world, but, during her pregnancy, she had glowed like an Aasimon warrior. She had been delicate, magical, and terrifying all at once. Samson had always jumped at the opportunity to rub her feet when she was tired. For him, it was a privilege. He would kneel at her feet like a supplicant in worship while sneaking looks at her belly. She must have noticed his glances because she asked if he wanted to feel the baby. Samson remembered how his small hands had trembled as she guided them along her stomach. Then... he felt it. A ripple. Samson had jerked his hand away, afraid that he had done something wrong. His mother's musical laughter erased his worries. "Your little brother is anxious to meet you," she'd said.
Would a child of Dalthu's and mine be anxious to meet me too?
An unexpected warmth flooded his lower body.
Shit. Not now.
He clenched his thighs together, resisting the urge to touch himself. Samson cursed under his breath. He should have finished earlier with the egg toy. It was getting harder and harder to reign his libido in. Samson squirmed in the orc's arms and the coarse fabric of his tunic rubbed against his nipples.
Any longer and I might end up asking Dalthu for help.
Another bolt of desire shot through him. Samson shook his head, brushing his face against Dalthu's bare chest. The warrior's smell reminded Samson of tending his family's herb garden back home. A heady aroma that made him dizzy with lust. The orc's arms twitched around him.
Shit.
He'd been unconsciously nuzzling his captor. Samson jerked away, nearly launching himself out of Dalthu's arms. "Let me down! I can walk! Set me down!"
"Easy," Dalthu said, setting Samson on his feet. "It's just as well, we've arrived."
Samson turned. There in front of him was a small cabin. Dalthu opened the door and Samson gasped. Inside, a basin had been carved into the smooth rock foundation and was filled with steaming water. It was a hot spring. An indoor hot spring. Samson ran over to the side of the bath and looked into the bubbling swirls of water. A waft of steam brought the delightful scent of lavender.
The bath salts!
"How?" Samson spun to face Dalthu, who watched him from the doorway. "Why?"
"You enjoyed the communal bath so much," the golden-eyed warrior rubbed his hands anxiously, "and Shakil described how happy you were finding the salts... you have no idea how I envied him seeing you like that."
He remembered.
"I found the spring during a forage," Dalthu continued, watching him from the doorway, "and built the kasol on top. That is the how. As for the why--"
"Wait, you made this? For me?"
"Do you like it?"
Samson exhaled. "I love it."
"Then that is the why," the orc smiled.
Ba-thump.
Samson placed a hand over his heart, worrying it was so loud Dalthu might hear it. "You're serious? It's mine?"
"Mother says I am hopeless at jokes," Dalthu said, dryly. "But yes, this place is yours."
Samson laughed in amazement and spun around.
Not even the wealthiest lords have instant access to hot springs. They have to travel, sometimes for days, and here I am, poor farmer, with one in my own backyard. And it's all mine!
Samson continued to turn in place, admiring the structure and daydreaming about all the different salts and soaps he would try, when he noticed that Dalthu still hadn't stepped inside. Samson stopped spinning. "Aren't you coming in?"
"This is a place where you can go to be alone, so," Dalthu cleared his throat. "Unless invited, no one may enter."
"No one? Even--"
The orc warrior nodded. "Unless you invite me in or you are in danger, I will not enter."
"Really?" Samson raised a suspicious eyebrow, but Dalthu planted his feet as if to demonstrate his resolve. "Interesting..."
Let's test that, shall we?
Samson turned his back to Dalthu and then, slowly and deliberately, peeled his tunic off. The buttery fabric pooled at his feet as a strangled groan sounded behind him. Samson grinned.
This could be fun.
He sashayed over to the bathtub and then, making a show of looking over all the bottles and jars set out around the edge, bent waaaaaay over.
BANG!
Samson yelped and spun around, expecting to see an orc charging into the room. However, contrary to his expectations, the big lug was still outside. The banging sound had been from Dalthu slamming his head against the door frame.
"I'm not made of stone, little tiger," the orc growled. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
A nervous giggle bubbled up in Samson's throat. He knew he was playing with fire, but it felt good to finally be the one in control. "Perhaps," he shrugged coyly. "Now be a good orc and don't interrupt my bath time."
While his orc captor muttered obscenities, Samson once again turned his attention to the glorious bath in front of him. He dipped a toe into the water and the warmth that surrounded his toes sent a shiver up his body. Samson lowered himself in and the cold night air disappeared.
It feels like being wrapped in lambswool.
Samson selected one of the soaps arranged around the edge of the basin and began to wash. As he scrubbed and dipped his head beneath the waters, the world around him faded away. It was pure luxury. As a farmer, he could only have dreamed about experiencing such finery.
Funny, I never imagined my dream would include a horny green monster.
Samson glanced toward the door. Dalthu was still there, watching him intently, and... sporting an enormous erection. Samson looked away quickly. The mark on his lower belly tingled and Samson shifted in the water, trying to keep his own arousal in check. Samson tried to think of something to say, anything that would break the silent tension growing thick in the bathhouse. "The other mates said--I mean, I heard that newly mated orcs are insatiable. That going without, um, you know, is torture. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"What... what does it feel like?"
Dalthu's answer was immediate. "It feels like I'm stranded in the nine hells and my body is filled with an endless thirst." The wood creaked as the orc's grip against the doorframe tightened. "It is suffering that does not leave me for a single second."
Samson was stunned. "I didn't realize it was so painful."
