I wipe my brow, leaning down to a press a kiss to one flushing green cheek. The feel of Glasha's breathing is like riding a wave, her back heaving up to meet my chest before sinking back down, snugly trapped between my chest and the rumpled and torn sheets below.

"We only made it to E this time," I whisper, a grin dancing at the corners of my lips, a nudge of my hips coaxing a frustrated grunt out from the pillows below. "Last week you were able to make it all the way to Q."

Another grunt, and one tattooed arm rises from its exhausted sling over the side of the bed, levering its owner up enough for me to catch a glimpse of bemused tusks and a trail of wetness still dripping onto the bed. The motion is damn near enough to make me grunt, the sudden shift and warm clench sending a shiver down my spine.

"'s not my fault."

Glasha grins back lazily, and I slide a hand under, fingertips going wandering somewhere beneath the edge of one upturned hip.

"The little circle with the stick hangin' off puts me right in mind of -"

Her breath catches, and I blow a kiss, my fingers sinking gently in to circle around the hot, stiff nub between them. This close, I suppose it practically counts as the Unpardonable Sin of Self-Abuse, really, the feeling of her body tensing strong enough to make my own thumb brush myself right where I sink into her. Still, it's apparently far from a sin in the Church of Glasha, the gleam of yellow eyes disappearing back into the pillow and a frustrated groan coming with what, on a less substantial woman, one might call a wriggle.

"R, right?" I tease, lowering myself on one arm and running my free hand through rough-shorn hair, my stubble grazing her shoulder. "That comes after, anyway. Things were going so well, y'know? A, B, C, D, E... you can't tell me that E looks like anything remotely untoward."

Silence, save for another grunt and a hard shove back with her hips, pushing me deeper into her and sliding my fingers roughly between Glasha's legs.

"C'mon, F is easy," I tease, shoving back. It's all I can do to hold on when Glasha tosses an arm out and wraps her fingers around the bedpost, the slow tensing of her body like watching a fighter square up. Accurate enough, I suppose, my mind helpfully supplies, before I can feel the heat rising in the pit of my stomach, reaching its warm, urgent charge up to my own body and down, down, until I can feel myself pulse inside her.

Another peek of a yellow eye, and an open mouth as she turns, and I pull back, my hand curling into a rough fist around her hair.

"Yep."

She nods, and I nod back.

"That's what F stands for."

With a jaunty whistle and a cheery wave, I let the caravan judder off, rickety wheels tossing up mud behind them in a viscous slop too sullen to be consider a proper splash. I can just make out, a few wagons ahead, a wave in response, tangled black hair tied back and a grin in return. It's too far away to make out what she's saying, really, but I'm still smiling as I turn, a neatly-pressed envelope with an untidy scrawl contained within.

It's a few days to Hollowell by foot, and it's not long before my thoughts turn to where I might be able to make camp, the trees seeming to lengthen their shadows all too quickly. The late autumn chill is an unwelcome guest as well, sliding into the cracks between my clothes even as I trudge into the fluffy embrace of the pines.

Darkness comes too swiftly, even around the tiny flames crackling up into the night at my feet. I can hear the owls beginning to talk softly in the distance, and something's already howling, right on schedule. Even the embers drifting up above me, when I stretch out and tug my cloak a little tighter, seem fixed in their glowing tracks. The crack of branches underfoot comes right on schedule as well, and I'm already grinning again, spreading an arm wide and turning to see the glint of tusks and the grip of an axe. And, warmer to my heart than even the fire, curious eyes, flickering orange with the fire's reflection.

I beckon out into the darkness, inclining my head in invitation. I'm sure she can see my smile even in the guttering glow.

"Let me guess. Another student?"

This was, I'll admit, more or less a reaction to reading a lot of really, really well-done orc-themed prompts on the sub lately, and after a bit of a nasty spell at work and an even worse go of it with the weather, it inspired me to put figurative pen to metaphorical paper and try a little something.

As always, I'd love to hear from you, no matter what - got paragraphs of something wholly different you can't wait to share? C'mon in! A few silly questions that, I promise, aren't so silly? Sure thing. There is, of course, always room by the fire.

Cheers, and thanks for reading!