World of Warcraft: Addiction
Garrosh was thankful for the thick rugs that carpeted the floor of his chambers-sound carried alarmingly well through steel and wood, and no-one needed to hear as he paced restlessly. It would present a bad image, he would appear weak, and that was something he needed to avoid at all costs. He felt weak for pacing, but there was little else to do to help him work out whatever had buried in him. He had to pull the odd thing to heel, but it proved to be a surprisingly difficult beast to tame.
Perhaps its obnoxiousness comes from its source.
Even the fleeting thought of the person who was the cause of his misery made him bristle and glare in a vaguely southern direction.
What was worse was that it also brought forth the reminder of how those hands had touched him in places he hadn’t thought could be sensitive, of all his fears whispered by a dark, feral voice that made him shiver.
He shook his head forcefully, but the snippet of a sentence made a cascade of sensations ripple through him. He wanted to roar in frustration, but that would make people look in on him, which was something he wanted to avoid.
“Why?” he asked the silence heatedly. “Why him?”
In Nagrand, he hadn’t really cared about his more carnal impulses, and none of the females showed interest in him anyway. He had also felt himself unworthy of romantic intent-why should someone bother with him, after what his father had done to their race, the like of which he would surely repeat?
Then he had come to Azeroth and everything was different. People thought of his father as a hero and there was no need for him to be ashamed of his heritage. So when a female had actually come on to him, he had been more than eager to follow where she would lead him. It was a relief that she had shied away from any commitment-Garrosh had no intent of taking a mate any time in the foreseeable future.
Greatmother will be disappointed if I take none at all, though, he thought absently.
Then he had been given the responsibility of Warsong Hold and was suddenly even more desirable. All the attention made him preen after he had been ignored for so long. But, the females were all passing fancies, there and gone, off to some other forsaken part of the continent after a few nights-or less. He had never yearned for them, never dreamt of having them again.
Now he found himself lusting for the last mortal he should.
Garrosh stopped as he fought against the ghostly sensations that whispered through him, and it was hard to ignore them, especially when they left him with such…
It’s not right, he thought heatedly.
What twisted through him went against a number of things that he held dear-first and foremost that the person who made him burn was a human. There was something inherently distasteful about the breed. They were too weak, too small, too soft-
Garrosh growled menacingly as his body promptly reminded just how much that hadn’t been the case when they had had sex.
That was a whole other issue. While it wasn’t particularly frowned upon, being with another male was treated as…less than ideal. Especially for a chieftain’s son.
Still, nothing he had ever felt before had been as good as that stolen time, when the hatred between them had twisted and warped and became something deliciously intoxicating.
He gripped his forehead as the whispers ran through his head again and tried desperately to control his erratic breathing. The harder he attempted to suppress his memories, they more they asserted themselves.
I want to see him again.
I need to see him again.
Garrosh prided himself on having fairly good recall for details-such was necessary when running a military operation in a land where enemies were chipping away at all sides. Unfortunately, that skill was now working against him.
The word no repeated itself endlessly in his head, even as an alarmingly large part of him wanted to find a way to get the king back to the tournament grounds so he could steal him away-regardless of how the human felt about it.
‘Garrosh…’
The overlord shuddered and stifled a groan. He had never imagined that someone saying his name could be so…so…
It took him a moment to realize why he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his armor-he was aroused and the realization was oddly shocking.
He debated trying to further fight the emotion that tormented him, but when he was presented with a reminder of how it had felt to have Varian beneath him, the man arching into the sensations he was providing, Garrosh determined that it was a lost cause.
Garrosh was glad that he had officially retired for the evening (well, the darkest part of the eternal twilight), since it meant no-one would bother him unless something dire came up. He usually slept in at least leather armor, just in case something managed to get past all his defenses, but, given his physical state, that wasn’t an option for the time being.
By the time he had finally removed all his armor, it was painfully obvious just how aroused he was.
This is insane, he thought as he voiced a quiet, disbelieving laugh. The person I want is someone who is my sworn enemy!
He found his way to his bed and lied down slowly, and even the chill of Northrend that seeped through the cracks in his room couldn’t dissuade his erection.
I can’t believe-
‘Weak…’
Garrosh shuddered.
‘Worthless…’
His eyes closed as a quiet growl, something between desire and defiance, escaped him.
‘Coward…’
“No,” Garrosh half-moaned as his hand traveled towards his groin.
It was only vaguely surprising to Garrosh that someone finally throwing in his face everything he feared was a relief, a release. Normally he hated how humans sounded-their voices grated on him-but when Varian had spoken those truths, his voice had been low, hot, and played with his senses in a way Garrosh had never expected.
Varian’s touches had burned across him, and Garrosh only vaguely felt when he began to pleasure himself, caught up in his recollections.
It was terrifying, how well he remembered the violation, of how good it felt to have something, someone, moving in him. He liked to think he was dominant, strong, that he would never submit to anyone, but he had relished how Varian had broken him down and claimed him.
He remembered clearly what it had been like when Varian had submitted to him, at how the human had conformed to him, pressed against him in ways that made Garrosh shudder and swallow hard to work moisture back into his mouth. He could recall what it felt like to move in Varian, at how it had been so very different than any of the times he had had sex.
How it had been better.
‘Garrosh…’
He remembered the pain, how his skin had scraped against icy, dark rock and how that only added an edge to the half-caresses, half-blows that Varian placed surprisingly strategically.
Too observant, he thought fleetingly.
He should have found it alarming, how easily Varian discovered the right scabs to pick at, but it hadn’t mattered because it all felt so good.
‘This is where you belong…’ Varian had said as he had rendered Garrosh incapable of movement as he pinned him beneath him, and the implication made an odd mixture of anger, hatred, and want flood Garrosh.
The only response Garrosh had managed then was a long, low moan of ecstasy, and the same thing was true once more.
He had unconsciously sped up his ministrations as the memories began to feel more and more real, he caught up in the twisted sensations, of how he should hate what he was remembering, but couldn’t bring himself to-not when it felt as good as it did.
‘Garrosh…’
That Varian had said his name meant he knew who he was fucking, who was fucking him, and that recognition was oddly the most erotic thing he could recall.
The memory of Varian half-crying his name, the man’s voice laced with loathing and heat and pleasure pushed Garrosh over and he was ashamed that he whispered Varian’s name to the silence as he came.
As the afterglow from his orgasm faded, Garrosh finally came to the conclusion that it wasn’t betrayal he had inherited from his father.
It was addiction.