"Needed a break from Astera so soon?" Cyran enquired, with a smirk. He could smell their recent coupling, and knew he must have come from their bed chamber. Cyran recalled enough from their travels to know that Astera was likely wrung out, asleep from their nocturnal activities.
Soarruk grinned in return, but then stared a bit too long at his subordinate to be considered polite. Cyran looked away first. There were emotions in that gaze he dared not consider. They had been through hells together, saved the other through countless horrors. There was a bond between them that words could not describe. And they had never tried to.
But maybe on this night, where it was just the two of them, sanctified under the kiss of a full moon...maybe they could speak with their actions the words they dared not utter.
Soarruk moved his hand now to the back of Cyran's neck. After a moment's deliberation, the older male leaned into his touch. They were nearly the same height, and when Soarruk leaned towards him it felt right, a meeting of equals. Cyran had expected him to immediately establish dominance, clashing his tusks against his as was characteristic of his aggressive fighting style. Instead it was a chaste kiss, his lips saying the 'thank-yous' that the two soldiers had never spoken aloud. Cyran was the one to deepen the kiss, his tongue chasing between the others fangs to wrestle in the battleground of his mouth. Soarruk kept one set of hands behind the Vrel's neck, while his lower arms trailed down his sides. When his hand reached the fist leader's firm buttocks, he pulled him closer, and now he could feel the bulge of his erection rubbing on his own. Cyran groaned and reached his hand down to cup the tent in Soarruk's shift, but the king caught his wrist before it reached its destination.
"No...tonight is just for you." Soarruk whispered, breaking their kiss. Switching so one pair of arms kept Cyran's at his side, he kissed down the front of his tunic. When he reached his stomach, he lifted up the edge of the tunic, eager for more direct contact. Now his mouth was flush against the planes of muscle. His tongue danced against each scar he encountered, recalling the reason for the injuries: a raised scar from a spear to his right abdomen, a long thin one across from a glancing sword blow, a deep dagger mark on his left hip that was poisoned and took three days to stop bleeding. Each was laved by his tongue in turn, the muscle soothing the memories. He reached the top of his loose leggings, and with a salacious grin, exposed his weeping penis.
Cyran looked down at the site of his king on his knees before him. His cock twitched at the sight alone. Forbidden thoughts like these had occasionally crossed his mind, after long nights spent cold and lonely away from home. But the dreamlike quality of this encounter outshone any prior half constructed images he had made. Soarruks palms gently grasped his bollocks as he stroked them. His testicles jumped in response. The king's mouth descended on his shaft, and he gave him one long, satisfying lick from the base to the tip. Cyran's breath came out in a sharp exhale. After a few more languorous licks, he engulfed the head completely with his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. Cyran threw his head back against the wall. Sometimes a man just knew better what spots would drive another man crazy. Soarruk's hands were now stroking the parts of his shaft that weren't in the wet warmth of his mouth. Cyran could tell he was only a few strokes away from coming completely undone when the other orc's mouth stilled. With a wet pop, he removed his mouth, leaving the other soldier unsatisfied. Soarruks mouth smiled impishly up at him.
"I want us to come together, when I'm inside you." Soarruk purred, releasing the others wrists as he stood. Cyran had never been in the position to receive another's body and hesitated. Soarruk's eyes implored his. "Please," his king breathed, uttering it with complete and desperate intensity. Cyran was moved. He never could deny his leader anything, and this was no different.
He turned and faced the wall. Soarruk placed his lips back on his body, with a new mission of finding the sensitive spots on the back of his neck. His hands felt everywhere - one was tracing the outlines of his ribs, another was feeling it's way up his inner thigh...yet another was now stroking his heavy sack, cupping his testicles one at a time. And now, one was tracing the seam in between his buttocks. He tried his best to relax and felt Soarruk's mouth curve in approval. The finger was gently tracing the rim of his asshole. The hand that was stroking his balls found their way to his shaft again, and gave him long, languid strokes. Cyran groaned low in his throat, just as Soarruk's finger passed the rim of muscle. He clenched reflexively, and then forced himself to breathe evenly and relax. The finger gently probed him, leaving a delicious burn in his wake. Soarruk sawed his finger back and forth, careful to keep his claws retracted, and stilling his movement when he felt the other clench with discomfort. With this gradual stimulation, he was able to get two, and eventually three fingers gently into the older male's ass.
Throughout this, his slow, measured rubbing of Cyran's cock persisted. The hand on his ribs was now rubbing his nipples with the occasional pinch. He was playing his body beautifully, a violin string pulled taut under his careful ministrations.
