Fic: Escapism
After a lengthy fic-drought, it's time for more awful porn from yours truly! (Actually this is the deluge after the drought, as it were; I've been picking over ideas and angsting over not being able to write for literally months, and then last night something just clicked and I sat down and banged this out within 24 hours.) It's my entry for the fandomaid Queensland relief auction, paid for by rideout_dbza, who has been awesomely patient and hopefully will enjoy it! Beta credit goes to the lovely the__ivorytower.
NOTES: Varian Wrynn/Garrosh Hellscream. About as sweet and fluffy as you'd expect from those two. Contains rough sex, master/slave roleplay, lack-of-consent roleplay, mentions of a character being triggered. 3546 words.
Escapism
The Purple Parlor was, in its way, almost as much of an institution in the city of Dalaran as the Kirin Tor. Though the spire in which it was located was not quite as high nor as bright as those of the Violet Citadel, it more than held its own against the rest of the city; though it did not have a history of thousands of years, five hundred certainly put it in a class of its own, even compared to similar establishments in Silvermoon. Officially the place was a restaurant, and certainly the dining rooms at the peak of the spire offered the choicest foods and vintages of a dozen nations, but it was a rare customer who came there for the meals alone.
No, the Purple Parlor's foremost selling point was... discretion. The spire held a hundred private rooms, many of them only accessible by magical portal, all warded and locked by the finest mages that money (or complimentary memberships) could buy. In any one of them, the Parlor's customers could be assured of absolute privacy... and if they chose to be in private with one of the Parlor's employees, or another guest, no one would ever know.
A great many famous personages were rumored (but of course, never more than rumored!) to have been guests at the Parlor at one time or other. Right now, the guest list did include at least one king... though Varian had to admit, as he stood on the balcony of his offically assigned room in the Citadel and stared at the hearthstone that would take him to his unofficially assigned one at the Parlor, that he didn't anticipate his visit with the eagerness he usually did.
This is ridiculous. Varian glared at the small round stone, quite ready to take offense at its soft mother-of-pearl gleam and the brightly glowing rune in its center, in the absence of the person he wanted to glare at... among other things. Last week was just fine.
Last week, of course, had not involved him having a metal collar around his throat. That had been the week before last, and it had ended in disaster, in real injuries and smashed furniture and a panicked, humiliated escape back to the Citadel. Though at least he must have managed to cover that last up convincingly, or last week would never have happened.
If I go, he'll probably think everything is all right. Varian paced, scowling, the tension in his belly winding itself tighter at the thought. But if I don't, he'll know I'm - bothered - and he'll find a way to rub my face in it. That could not be borne. He clenched his hand on the stone, and growled out the word that would carry him to the Parlor spire.
He came back to the world of flesh in a small, dark room, the only illumination the glow of magical lanterns through a half-open door. The light, and the barely-audible sound of breathing from the other side, told him he was not alone; a feeling of relief he would never have admitted to loosened the knot in his gut just a touch.
All right. I can do this. It's not as if I haven't done it a dozen times before, for the Light's sake. Not bothering to activate the lights in the changing room itself, Varian turned to his left, where a small table in a wall niche would hold the things he needed.
His reaching fingers touched soft cloth, and he blinked. What's this? Squinting into the half-dark confirmed it; instead of the cold metal he'd expected, the table held a pile of cloth. A soft silk dressing robe and loose pants of the same material - an altogether familiar outfit, in fact the exact same things he'd found in the exact same spot a week ago. Which made it wrong for him to find them there now.
Not that I can't understand the message. Blessed anger flooded in, washing out both relief and concern. He thought for a moment about simply marching in there as he was, but that, too, might be taken as a show of weakness. The scowl returned, and he stripped off his clothes with quick, jerky movements; he was still shrugging into the robe as he strode into the main room.
Garrosh flinched, shifting hurriedly from cross-legged to kneeling, the apple he'd been eating disappearing behind his back surprisingly deftly considering the size of his hands. A clear provocation, a sign he wanted to start their game off fast and hard. It would have been exciting, if Varian's anger hadn't been too real; right now he didn't trust himself to strike Garrosh with less than his full strength. Not that I ought to care about that.
Instead, he strode over to the orc and hooked his fingers into the metal collar around his neck. The grip forced Garrosh's head up and back, and the orc arched his back to ease the pressure on his throat, spread his knees wider to avoid falling over. A fetching position, but right now, the grip had less to do with aestethics and more to do with the presence of the collar, of the matching cuffs around Garrosh's wrists and the loincloth that was his only clothing.
”What in hell are you playing at?” Varian growled, his disgust deepening when Garrosh met his gaze for the barest moment before looking down. Did the dimwit think the game was on after all?
”I was hungry... master.” Apparently so. Grimacing, Varian relaxed his hold and stood staring down at Garrosh as he hunched over, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. Pure theater, of course; Garrosh could take a lot more abuse than that.
So why not give him some? He hadn't wanted the master's part tonight, true, but the only real reason for that was not wanting Garrosh to hold anything over him. But at the same time... what did it say that Garrosh would willingly play the slave, even if he did it only out of concern - or, much more likely, the desire to seem like the bigger man. Viewed from a certain angle, the orc had been the first to show weakness. And in any case, backing out now that they were both here would just be... stupid.
”I'll deal with you later.” He cuffed Garrosh, hard, but signalling the blow clearly enough that the orc could turn his head and shed much of its force. ”Fetch me wine.”
Garrosh nodded, mumbled, and still on his knees, inched over to the low table that held refreshments. That and the elven-style sleep couch against the opposite wall was the only furniture in the room. Tonight, since by rights it was Garrosh's turn, the couch should have been a pile of furs and orcish blankets, and the food rare meat and spit-roasted vegetables rather than fruit or bread. The wine would have been the same, though; the merits of a late-harvest Dalaran red was one thing they agreed on.
So, for that matter, was the view. Varian turned his attention from Garrosh, who was making more of a production of pouring than usual, and to the window. It was half-open, letting in a cooling breeze that was as much illusion as the window itself; they were near the center of the spire.
The windowsill was real, though, and he leaned on it, staring out at the rooftops of a city that had little in common with Stormwind or Orgrimmar, or for all he knew, with any city that actually existed. The sight was oddly soothing; had there been people out there, which of course there weren't, they would not be relying on Varian Wrynn for anything. Not to lead them, not to save them, and certainly not to find funds for the repairs of the public baths. He snorted with amusement, wondering briefly if Garrosh had the same thoughts when it was his turn to look out at the view. He's probably thinking of how best to conquer the place.
As if summoned by the thought, Garrosh appeared at his side, offering the wine with his head bowed. Varian took the cup from his hands, and dealt him another slap as a reward. ”On your knees, slave.” Another willful break in routine. He sipped at the wine, eyes straying to the wall behind the couch, and the whip that hung there. He'd only taken it down once, preferring the immediate violence of bare hands, but if Garrosh kept this up...
Garrosh went to one knee, heavily. Varian grabbed his scalp lock with his free hand and pulled him forward until he was kneeling fully, that dark tusked face inches from Varian's groin. The closeness and the thought of punishing Garrosh - and of what would come after the punishment - sent threads of pleasant heat creeping through his body, as much as the wine did. He took another, deeper swallow and pushed his hips forward a little, hissing through his teeth when his stiffening cock brushed against Garrosh's face.
Garrosh grunted, and looking down, Varian could see his hands gripping his knees tightly, as though he was fighting to restrain himself. He smirked and pulled harder on the orc's hair, forcing Garrosh to look up into his face. ”What's the matter, Hellscream? Don't you like it?” Another deliberate thrust, another rush of blood to his cock, separated from Garrosh's lips by the thin silk of his pants. ”You should be a little more enthusiastic. You might spare yourself a stroke or two, if you please me.”
Garrosh's eyes flashed with fury - you're really piling up the offenses here - but when Varian relaxed his hold, he bent down a little, reluctantly nuzzling at the tented cloth before his face. Varian groaned, and as the attentions grew surer and more intense, it was all he could do not to spill the last of his wine. The temptation to just drop his pants and shove himself down Garrosh's throat, fangs or no fangs, was -
He froze, the empty cup dropping from his fingers, the clatter loud in the stillness. Those fangs had him trapped, closed delicately around the head of his cock, pricking him through the silk and making him suddenly, acutely aware that Garrosh could hurt him if he chose. He didn't at all like the fact that the thought did nothing to soften his erection.
Garrosh pulled back and stood in one smooth motion, his fingers curling into the cloth of Varian's robe and holding him in place. ”Now who's not liking it, human? You're pale as milk.” He sneered.
Varian stared at him, numb surprise beginning to give way to anger. ”What do you think you're doing?”
”I think I'm escaping. I think I don't want to be your slave any more.” Garrosh shoved him backward until he hit the wall, the pressure on his chest keeping him pinned. ”And I think what I put in your wine will let me take my revenge at leisure, before I leave this place.”
For a moment, Varian felt cold horror, and then a rising fury. Betrayal. I should have known. His eyes darted toward the doorway - if he could reach the hearthstone, or better yet, reach his weapons and butcher the lying brute - but then Garrosh's face came back into focus, and it hit him. The exact words... the almost searching look, behind the smirk that, at second glance, was as much theater as the humility earlier. And... there was nothing in that wine. I don't feel any different, I'm not even that drunk.
”...you'll never get away with this.” He swallowed twice, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth, though the hoarseness probably just made it all more realistic. ”My guards will stop you.”
”Then your guards will die.” Garrosh grinned, slowly, smugly. ”But you really should concern yourself with your own fate.” He shifted his grip, easily flipping Varian around and taking hold of his arms from behind; Varian suppressed the reflex to break the hold and put an elbow in Garrosh's throat, instead pretending to struggle weakly while Garrosh dragged him over to the couch.
In mere moments he found himself pinned, bent over the end of the couch, Garrosh standing so close behind him that he couldn't back up. He had his mouth open to ask how the orc meant to keep him there - surely even if he was supposed to be drugged, he could use his hands? - but then Garrosh took hold of the back of his robe and unceremoniously pulled the garment up and over his head, twisting and winding it to trap his arms, still in the sleeves. Varian had to bite back a laugh. He's obviously planned this.
Garrosh pressed closer still, seizing Varian's hips and grinding into him, and the feel of a thick, hard cock rubbing against his backside made him groan. Planned, and anticipated. He only hoped Garrosh wasn't so caught up in the credibility of his little play, he'd forget about the oil...
”Frightened, human? You should be.” Garrosh's voice was a low, lustful rumble, and his fingers eased in under the waistband of Varian's pants, brushing along his hipbones. Varian shuddered and tried to suck enough air into his lungs for a proper growl, but his voice came out rather breathless.
”You filthy beast!” He twisted from side to side, uselessly; by the sound Garrosh made, and the sudden bruising tightness of the grip on his hips, he only succeeded in stimulating the orc more. ”You can't, can't violate me like this - ”
Garrosh laughed. The vibrations shook through Varian's body, the hot breath on his skin made him shiver, and he bit his lip so as not to moan.
”Oh no?” Thick fingers dipped under his waistband again, this time easing his pants downward, and Varian could have cheerfully killed Garrosh for the poorly-faked gasp of surprise when they immediately caught on his cock.
”What's this?” Garrosh pulled his pants the rest of the way down and reached under him, touched him, skimmed a fingertip from his balls all the way up to the head, and it was Varian's turn to gasp even as he tried to make his voice reveal nothing but anger.
”I've got man parts, Hellscream. It's no wonder you don't recognize - ” Garrosh's hand was back on his balls, squeezing to the very point where pain was no longer pleasant; Varian held very still while Garrosh ground against him again, pointedly pressing the bulge of his own cock into the cleft of Varian's ass.
At least Garrosh didn't try to reinforce his point with words. Varian would not have missed the opportunity, had their roles been switched, and he suspected the orc wouldn't have forgiven him if he had; Garrosh seemed to positively get off on being mocked, sometimes, the fury and helplessness driving him to new heights of lust. Garrosh just relaxed his hold a little, enough to reach between them and unfasten his loincloth, and let Varian's own body betray him with a shivering, involuntary backward movement.
”Don't be so eager,” Garrosh chuckled, bending precariously to dig under the cushions. There was a clink of glass, a waft of scent - citrus, Varian thought absurdly, they changed it - and Garrosh pulled away a little, the twitching heat of his cock replaced by a probing hand.
”Isn't that better?” An oiled finger found his opening, drove into him hard and fast. Varian hissed through his teeth and bucked, never quite sure at these moments if he wanted to get away or impale himself further. Garrosh's fingers were thicker and hotter than a human's, and they reached spots inside him that made his knees tremble. As now; Garrosh was beginning to stretch him, working carefully in and out.
”That's right, open up. Wouldn't want to hurt you... too much.” Right on cue, Garrosh pressed a second finger inside him, slowly this time, letting him feel the burn of yielding muscles and the shame of how badly he wanted it. The fingers twisted, and Varian bit back an obscenity that would have led, inevitably, to a very bad joke.
Not that I'm not going to get fucked regardless. It wasn't long before the fingers withdrew, and instead the head of Garrosh's cock rubbed over his oiled hole, seeking entry. Varian did swear this time, and paid for it with a stab of pain on the first thrust; after that, he concentrated on his breathing and on staying relaxed while Garrosh pushed mercilessly deeper.
Playing the unwilling victim was a long-lost cause, and so Varian braced as best he could with his bound hands, with his knee against the edge of the couch, and tried to meet Garrosh's thrusts. It hurt, every time Garrosh pulled out of him and every time he pushed back in, and every twinge, every tiny reminder made his cock twitch with pleasure. It hurts because Garrosh is fucking me. I'm letting him use me and it feels so good that I deserve to hurt -
Garrosh rumbled something and pulled back abruptly, leaving Varian gasping with pain and emptiness, and then Garrosh shifted his grip and shoved him roughly up and forward. He ended up sprawled on his belly on the couch, given only a moment to catch his breath before it was driven out of him by Garrosh's weight. The couch creaked in protest, and Varian griped in turn as Garrosh fumbled impatiently between their bodies, losing precious time before he finally got back inside.
Once he did, though, it was more than worth it. The angle was better, the pain less acute as his body got used to Garrosh filling him, and with every thrust his cock rubbed against the silk cushioning underneath him, giving him the last little touches he needed to arch and shudder and come. Garrosh fucked him through it, every thrust seeming to come harder and faster while the orc's growls rose to a final roar, and as Varian's pleasure finally began to ebb and his spasming muscles to relax, he felt Garrosh begin to spill inside him.
The problem with Garrosh, he decided some minutes later, was the way he tended to collapse after orgasm. He was simply too heavy for his weight across Varian's back to be anything but painful at length - even if he'd wanted to cuddle with Garrosh, which of course he didn't - and besides, one of Garrosh's tusks was digging into his shoulder. Varian thought he was bleeding, or perhaps it was just Garrosh drooling.
”Move, you bastard,” he ordered, elbowing Garrosh as best he could considering his arms were still tangled in the robe. For once, Garrosh didn't protest; he simply slid back off Varian, ending up seated on the floor and surveying him with a downright smug look.
”You look happy for a slave,” Varian grumbled, sitting up and wincing mostly-inwardly at the soreness.
”I escaped, remember?” Garrosh smirked and stretched, rolling massive shoulders. ”Leaving a fucked-out wreck of a former master behind, at that.”
”But the next time, your master will be wise to your tricks.” Varian kept his tone casual, but he gave Garrosh a hard look. He might be... pleased with this alteration to their game, but he was not about to play the victim every time. In all honesty, I could live with bottoming, but having to pretend to be outwitted by Hellscream...
Garrosh shrugged again, his smirk never faltering. ”Then whatever... my master decides to do to me, it will only fuel my determination. Orcs are made to rule, not to be enslaved.” He pushed to his feet. ”And speaking of that, I should get back to my people.”
”Who no doubt need you to console them, after their recent loss of territory in Grizzly Hills,” Varian grinned toothily. That at least punctured Garrosh's self-satisfaction; judging by his scowl, consolation would be the last thing those luckless Horde officers would get.
”We will reclaim everything we've lost, and more.” Before Varian could ask how one could reclaim more than one had lost - a positively Jaina-like form of pedantry which he would never have stooped to, except that it got so far under Garrosh's skin - the orc spun and strode out into the changing room, a series of creaks and clinks telling Varian he was in the process of reclaiming his armor.
That's gotten rid of him. Having to linger and talk afterwards was always awkward, but right now it would have been worse than usual; he had to figure out a way to get out of this damnable robe, preferably without having to chew through the thing. And then... I really should give some thought to next week, and how to tame a rebellious slave. Drained as he was, his balls tightened at the thought. If Garrosh could change the game, well, there were a few things Varian would like to try...
NOTES: Varian Wrynn/Garrosh Hellscream. About as sweet and fluffy as you'd expect from those two. Contains rough sex, master/slave roleplay, lack-of-consent roleplay, mentions of a character being triggered. 3546 words.
Escapism
The Purple Parlor was, in its way, almost as much of an institution in the city of Dalaran as the Kirin Tor. Though the spire in which it was located was not quite as high nor as bright as those of the Violet Citadel, it more than held its own against the rest of the city; though it did not have a history of thousands of years, five hundred certainly put it in a class of its own, even compared to similar establishments in Silvermoon. Officially the place was a restaurant, and certainly the dining rooms at the peak of the spire offered the choicest foods and vintages of a dozen nations, but it was a rare customer who came there for the meals alone.
No, the Purple Parlor's foremost selling point was... discretion. The spire held a hundred private rooms, many of them only accessible by magical portal, all warded and locked by the finest mages that money (or complimentary memberships) could buy. In any one of them, the Parlor's customers could be assured of absolute privacy... and if they chose to be in private with one of the Parlor's employees, or another guest, no one would ever know.
A great many famous personages were rumored (but of course, never more than rumored!) to have been guests at the Parlor at one time or other. Right now, the guest list did include at least one king... though Varian had to admit, as he stood on the balcony of his offically assigned room in the Citadel and stared at the hearthstone that would take him to his unofficially assigned one at the Parlor, that he didn't anticipate his visit with the eagerness he usually did.
This is ridiculous. Varian glared at the small round stone, quite ready to take offense at its soft mother-of-pearl gleam and the brightly glowing rune in its center, in the absence of the person he wanted to glare at... among other things. Last week was just fine.
Last week, of course, had not involved him having a metal collar around his throat. That had been the week before last, and it had ended in disaster, in real injuries and smashed furniture and a panicked, humiliated escape back to the Citadel. Though at least he must have managed to cover that last up convincingly, or last week would never have happened.
If I go, he'll probably think everything is all right. Varian paced, scowling, the tension in his belly winding itself tighter at the thought. But if I don't, he'll know I'm - bothered - and he'll find a way to rub my face in it. That could not be borne. He clenched his hand on the stone, and growled out the word that would carry him to the Parlor spire.
He came back to the world of flesh in a small, dark room, the only illumination the glow of magical lanterns through a half-open door. The light, and the barely-audible sound of breathing from the other side, told him he was not alone; a feeling of relief he would never have admitted to loosened the knot in his gut just a touch.
All right. I can do this. It's not as if I haven't done it a dozen times before, for the Light's sake. Not bothering to activate the lights in the changing room itself, Varian turned to his left, where a small table in a wall niche would hold the things he needed.
His reaching fingers touched soft cloth, and he blinked. What's this? Squinting into the half-dark confirmed it; instead of the cold metal he'd expected, the table held a pile of cloth. A soft silk dressing robe and loose pants of the same material - an altogether familiar outfit, in fact the exact same things he'd found in the exact same spot a week ago. Which made it wrong for him to find them there now.
Not that I can't understand the message. Blessed anger flooded in, washing out both relief and concern. He thought for a moment about simply marching in there as he was, but that, too, might be taken as a show of weakness. The scowl returned, and he stripped off his clothes with quick, jerky movements; he was still shrugging into the robe as he strode into the main room.
Garrosh flinched, shifting hurriedly from cross-legged to kneeling, the apple he'd been eating disappearing behind his back surprisingly deftly considering the size of his hands. A clear provocation, a sign he wanted to start their game off fast and hard. It would have been exciting, if Varian's anger hadn't been too real; right now he didn't trust himself to strike Garrosh with less than his full strength. Not that I ought to care about that.
Instead, he strode over to the orc and hooked his fingers into the metal collar around his neck. The grip forced Garrosh's head up and back, and the orc arched his back to ease the pressure on his throat, spread his knees wider to avoid falling over. A fetching position, but right now, the grip had less to do with aestethics and more to do with the presence of the collar, of the matching cuffs around Garrosh's wrists and the loincloth that was his only clothing.
”What in hell are you playing at?” Varian growled, his disgust deepening when Garrosh met his gaze for the barest moment before looking down. Did the dimwit think the game was on after all?
”I was hungry... master.” Apparently so. Grimacing, Varian relaxed his hold and stood staring down at Garrosh as he hunched over, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. Pure theater, of course; Garrosh could take a lot more abuse than that.
So why not give him some? He hadn't wanted the master's part tonight, true, but the only real reason for that was not wanting Garrosh to hold anything over him. But at the same time... what did it say that Garrosh would willingly play the slave, even if he did it only out of concern - or, much more likely, the desire to seem like the bigger man. Viewed from a certain angle, the orc had been the first to show weakness. And in any case, backing out now that they were both here would just be... stupid.
”I'll deal with you later.” He cuffed Garrosh, hard, but signalling the blow clearly enough that the orc could turn his head and shed much of its force. ”Fetch me wine.”
Garrosh nodded, mumbled, and still on his knees, inched over to the low table that held refreshments. That and the elven-style sleep couch against the opposite wall was the only furniture in the room. Tonight, since by rights it was Garrosh's turn, the couch should have been a pile of furs and orcish blankets, and the food rare meat and spit-roasted vegetables rather than fruit or bread. The wine would have been the same, though; the merits of a late-harvest Dalaran red was one thing they agreed on.
So, for that matter, was the view. Varian turned his attention from Garrosh, who was making more of a production of pouring than usual, and to the window. It was half-open, letting in a cooling breeze that was as much illusion as the window itself; they were near the center of the spire.
The windowsill was real, though, and he leaned on it, staring out at the rooftops of a city that had little in common with Stormwind or Orgrimmar, or for all he knew, with any city that actually existed. The sight was oddly soothing; had there been people out there, which of course there weren't, they would not be relying on Varian Wrynn for anything. Not to lead them, not to save them, and certainly not to find funds for the repairs of the public baths. He snorted with amusement, wondering briefly if Garrosh had the same thoughts when it was his turn to look out at the view. He's probably thinking of how best to conquer the place.
As if summoned by the thought, Garrosh appeared at his side, offering the wine with his head bowed. Varian took the cup from his hands, and dealt him another slap as a reward. ”On your knees, slave.” Another willful break in routine. He sipped at the wine, eyes straying to the wall behind the couch, and the whip that hung there. He'd only taken it down once, preferring the immediate violence of bare hands, but if Garrosh kept this up...
Garrosh went to one knee, heavily. Varian grabbed his scalp lock with his free hand and pulled him forward until he was kneeling fully, that dark tusked face inches from Varian's groin. The closeness and the thought of punishing Garrosh - and of what would come after the punishment - sent threads of pleasant heat creeping through his body, as much as the wine did. He took another, deeper swallow and pushed his hips forward a little, hissing through his teeth when his stiffening cock brushed against Garrosh's face.
Garrosh grunted, and looking down, Varian could see his hands gripping his knees tightly, as though he was fighting to restrain himself. He smirked and pulled harder on the orc's hair, forcing Garrosh to look up into his face. ”What's the matter, Hellscream? Don't you like it?” Another deliberate thrust, another rush of blood to his cock, separated from Garrosh's lips by the thin silk of his pants. ”You should be a little more enthusiastic. You might spare yourself a stroke or two, if you please me.”
Garrosh's eyes flashed with fury - you're really piling up the offenses here - but when Varian relaxed his hold, he bent down a little, reluctantly nuzzling at the tented cloth before his face. Varian groaned, and as the attentions grew surer and more intense, it was all he could do not to spill the last of his wine. The temptation to just drop his pants and shove himself down Garrosh's throat, fangs or no fangs, was -
He froze, the empty cup dropping from his fingers, the clatter loud in the stillness. Those fangs had him trapped, closed delicately around the head of his cock, pricking him through the silk and making him suddenly, acutely aware that Garrosh could hurt him if he chose. He didn't at all like the fact that the thought did nothing to soften his erection.
Garrosh pulled back and stood in one smooth motion, his fingers curling into the cloth of Varian's robe and holding him in place. ”Now who's not liking it, human? You're pale as milk.” He sneered.
Varian stared at him, numb surprise beginning to give way to anger. ”What do you think you're doing?”
”I think I'm escaping. I think I don't want to be your slave any more.” Garrosh shoved him backward until he hit the wall, the pressure on his chest keeping him pinned. ”And I think what I put in your wine will let me take my revenge at leisure, before I leave this place.”
For a moment, Varian felt cold horror, and then a rising fury. Betrayal. I should have known. His eyes darted toward the doorway - if he could reach the hearthstone, or better yet, reach his weapons and butcher the lying brute - but then Garrosh's face came back into focus, and it hit him. The exact words... the almost searching look, behind the smirk that, at second glance, was as much theater as the humility earlier. And... there was nothing in that wine. I don't feel any different, I'm not even that drunk.
”...you'll never get away with this.” He swallowed twice, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth, though the hoarseness probably just made it all more realistic. ”My guards will stop you.”
”Then your guards will die.” Garrosh grinned, slowly, smugly. ”But you really should concern yourself with your own fate.” He shifted his grip, easily flipping Varian around and taking hold of his arms from behind; Varian suppressed the reflex to break the hold and put an elbow in Garrosh's throat, instead pretending to struggle weakly while Garrosh dragged him over to the couch.
In mere moments he found himself pinned, bent over the end of the couch, Garrosh standing so close behind him that he couldn't back up. He had his mouth open to ask how the orc meant to keep him there - surely even if he was supposed to be drugged, he could use his hands? - but then Garrosh took hold of the back of his robe and unceremoniously pulled the garment up and over his head, twisting and winding it to trap his arms, still in the sleeves. Varian had to bite back a laugh. He's obviously planned this.
Garrosh pressed closer still, seizing Varian's hips and grinding into him, and the feel of a thick, hard cock rubbing against his backside made him groan. Planned, and anticipated. He only hoped Garrosh wasn't so caught up in the credibility of his little play, he'd forget about the oil...
”Frightened, human? You should be.” Garrosh's voice was a low, lustful rumble, and his fingers eased in under the waistband of Varian's pants, brushing along his hipbones. Varian shuddered and tried to suck enough air into his lungs for a proper growl, but his voice came out rather breathless.
”You filthy beast!” He twisted from side to side, uselessly; by the sound Garrosh made, and the sudden bruising tightness of the grip on his hips, he only succeeded in stimulating the orc more. ”You can't, can't violate me like this - ”
Garrosh laughed. The vibrations shook through Varian's body, the hot breath on his skin made him shiver, and he bit his lip so as not to moan.
”Oh no?” Thick fingers dipped under his waistband again, this time easing his pants downward, and Varian could have cheerfully killed Garrosh for the poorly-faked gasp of surprise when they immediately caught on his cock.
”What's this?” Garrosh pulled his pants the rest of the way down and reached under him, touched him, skimmed a fingertip from his balls all the way up to the head, and it was Varian's turn to gasp even as he tried to make his voice reveal nothing but anger.
”I've got man parts, Hellscream. It's no wonder you don't recognize - ” Garrosh's hand was back on his balls, squeezing to the very point where pain was no longer pleasant; Varian held very still while Garrosh ground against him again, pointedly pressing the bulge of his own cock into the cleft of Varian's ass.
At least Garrosh didn't try to reinforce his point with words. Varian would not have missed the opportunity, had their roles been switched, and he suspected the orc wouldn't have forgiven him if he had; Garrosh seemed to positively get off on being mocked, sometimes, the fury and helplessness driving him to new heights of lust. Garrosh just relaxed his hold a little, enough to reach between them and unfasten his loincloth, and let Varian's own body betray him with a shivering, involuntary backward movement.
”Don't be so eager,” Garrosh chuckled, bending precariously to dig under the cushions. There was a clink of glass, a waft of scent - citrus, Varian thought absurdly, they changed it - and Garrosh pulled away a little, the twitching heat of his cock replaced by a probing hand.
”Isn't that better?” An oiled finger found his opening, drove into him hard and fast. Varian hissed through his teeth and bucked, never quite sure at these moments if he wanted to get away or impale himself further. Garrosh's fingers were thicker and hotter than a human's, and they reached spots inside him that made his knees tremble. As now; Garrosh was beginning to stretch him, working carefully in and out.
”That's right, open up. Wouldn't want to hurt you... too much.” Right on cue, Garrosh pressed a second finger inside him, slowly this time, letting him feel the burn of yielding muscles and the shame of how badly he wanted it. The fingers twisted, and Varian bit back an obscenity that would have led, inevitably, to a very bad joke.
Not that I'm not going to get fucked regardless. It wasn't long before the fingers withdrew, and instead the head of Garrosh's cock rubbed over his oiled hole, seeking entry. Varian did swear this time, and paid for it with a stab of pain on the first thrust; after that, he concentrated on his breathing and on staying relaxed while Garrosh pushed mercilessly deeper.
Playing the unwilling victim was a long-lost cause, and so Varian braced as best he could with his bound hands, with his knee against the edge of the couch, and tried to meet Garrosh's thrusts. It hurt, every time Garrosh pulled out of him and every time he pushed back in, and every twinge, every tiny reminder made his cock twitch with pleasure. It hurts because Garrosh is fucking me. I'm letting him use me and it feels so good that I deserve to hurt -
Garrosh rumbled something and pulled back abruptly, leaving Varian gasping with pain and emptiness, and then Garrosh shifted his grip and shoved him roughly up and forward. He ended up sprawled on his belly on the couch, given only a moment to catch his breath before it was driven out of him by Garrosh's weight. The couch creaked in protest, and Varian griped in turn as Garrosh fumbled impatiently between their bodies, losing precious time before he finally got back inside.
Once he did, though, it was more than worth it. The angle was better, the pain less acute as his body got used to Garrosh filling him, and with every thrust his cock rubbed against the silk cushioning underneath him, giving him the last little touches he needed to arch and shudder and come. Garrosh fucked him through it, every thrust seeming to come harder and faster while the orc's growls rose to a final roar, and as Varian's pleasure finally began to ebb and his spasming muscles to relax, he felt Garrosh begin to spill inside him.
The problem with Garrosh, he decided some minutes later, was the way he tended to collapse after orgasm. He was simply too heavy for his weight across Varian's back to be anything but painful at length - even if he'd wanted to cuddle with Garrosh, which of course he didn't - and besides, one of Garrosh's tusks was digging into his shoulder. Varian thought he was bleeding, or perhaps it was just Garrosh drooling.
”Move, you bastard,” he ordered, elbowing Garrosh as best he could considering his arms were still tangled in the robe. For once, Garrosh didn't protest; he simply slid back off Varian, ending up seated on the floor and surveying him with a downright smug look.
”You look happy for a slave,” Varian grumbled, sitting up and wincing mostly-inwardly at the soreness.
”I escaped, remember?” Garrosh smirked and stretched, rolling massive shoulders. ”Leaving a fucked-out wreck of a former master behind, at that.”
”But the next time, your master will be wise to your tricks.” Varian kept his tone casual, but he gave Garrosh a hard look. He might be... pleased with this alteration to their game, but he was not about to play the victim every time. In all honesty, I could live with bottoming, but having to pretend to be outwitted by Hellscream...
Garrosh shrugged again, his smirk never faltering. ”Then whatever... my master decides to do to me, it will only fuel my determination. Orcs are made to rule, not to be enslaved.” He pushed to his feet. ”And speaking of that, I should get back to my people.”
”Who no doubt need you to console them, after their recent loss of territory in Grizzly Hills,” Varian grinned toothily. That at least punctured Garrosh's self-satisfaction; judging by his scowl, consolation would be the last thing those luckless Horde officers would get.
”We will reclaim everything we've lost, and more.” Before Varian could ask how one could reclaim more than one had lost - a positively Jaina-like form of pedantry which he would never have stooped to, except that it got so far under Garrosh's skin - the orc spun and strode out into the changing room, a series of creaks and clinks telling Varian he was in the process of reclaiming his armor.
That's gotten rid of him. Having to linger and talk afterwards was always awkward, but right now it would have been worse than usual; he had to figure out a way to get out of this damnable robe, preferably without having to chew through the thing. And then... I really should give some thought to next week, and how to tame a rebellious slave. Drained as he was, his balls tightened at the thought. If Garrosh could change the game, well, there were a few things Varian would like to try...