Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Shadows in the Keep	By : disscordia Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 8984 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Shadows in the Keep
- 1
Title: Shadows in the Keep

Author: A. Pseudonym, aka 'Dark Morgan'

Summary: A wayward orc on the far side of the world finds desire in the arms of the enemy.

Rating: NC17, YAOI (MxM stuff. Don't like it, don't read. Obviously if you've gotten this far you're probably looking for yaoi, so moot point anyway ;)

Quests: [27] Argul Must Die, [22] The Test of Righteousness

Dikclaimer: WoW is obviously not owned by me. If it were there'd be a lot more yaoi in the flavour text & dialogue and rogues would have more quests. Also, Altreac Valley would be run cross-server rather than on each bloody server so you'd have to wait on 80 players to decide to get up off their arses and give one of the neatest Battlegrounds a go... but the 2 main characters are mine :)
------------------------------------------------------------------

The black wizard's laughter echoed over their dying screams. Kral’tuk
could hear it from where he had been thrown from the tower onto the
cold, rampart below. Their screams. His companions. Not the wizard's.
Something had gone horribly wrong. Bones throbbing, blood oozing from
where his flesh ached coldest, the orc stared blindly into the sky as
his mind tried to recover from its sudden concussion. Why had he come
to this twilight land?

Not for gold or riches had he left Kalimdor before, but then there
had never been so strong an urge for wanderlust; a need to get away
from the dry, scrublands of Durotar and the Barrens. A need to get
away from Oggrimar's society and the caste-driven mindset of its
orcish people. That was why, when a group of cloth-wearing Forsaken
approached him, he all but demanded the opportunity to accompany them
on their quest here. Here, in some lost region of Lordaeron where the
forest had grown thick and wild again. Where web fragments dangling
from the trees told of why the woods were so silent and still.
Wherein estranged villages, men became half-twisted wolf creatures by
moonlight.

The forest did not bother the Forsaken, they themselves having risen
from the graves of this very land. Indeed the only aspects of this
environment that the undead might concern themselves with would
depend on some new form of plague or poison, or an interloper like
this wizard whom they had come here to kill.

Now, with his late companions almost certainly dead and himself
wounded, weaponless and stranded on the cusp of a decaying castle,
Kral’tuk had time to realise that it wasn't the Barrens he
needed to get away from but himself. The social-stylized warrior
demanded by blood to defend his group to the death, the fearless
fighter whom he had made himself into, was gone. Here in this foreign
land, in place of a lust for glory or the blood rage he knew he
should be feeling was a compelling urge to Hide. Run. Find
someplace they won't find me. Thoughts like these were a
blasphemy to his nature; cowardice. It felt like the right thing to
do.

Rolling over to his side, Kral’tuk felt for the edge of the
rampart. Clawing towards a thatched awning that rose slightly over
the parapet he drug his body across the wooden planks that had
earlier flared with the heat of battle. Up and over the wall he
hoisted himself, coming to rest on a slated slope that proved far
less graspable than it had looked from a passing glance. He was
slipping towards the edge, made a wild grab but with one hand too
slick with blood he was falling. Airbourne once again, he hit the
paving stones below with a dull thud that reminded his body of the
pain it was trying to forget.

Kral’tuk opened his mouth but no cry came out. Instead he
grimaced, forced one knee under his chest and then the other. There
are times when a sheer force of will can keep a body in motion beyond
the conscious thought to do so. Kral’tuk came to know this was
because the mind feels detached, as if it were floating somewhere
outside of itself, while his legs executed the proper motions
necessary to propel him towards the keep's entrance.

Had the portcullis not been down, had Kral’tuk not fallen on
the wrong side of the awning, had a dark shape not stepped between
him and the moonlight, he would have escaped across the drawbridge
and into the freedom it promised there beyond. The sudden shadow
across the gate which barred his path warned Kral’tuk of a
watcher, and he flung himself against the wall to see the outline of
a creature, neither human nor wolf but something in between, standing
atop the battlement he had just abandoned. It stood in silence,
testing the air to see where he had gone. Kral’tuk held his
breath as best as he could and prayed that the wind was strong enough
to carry away any sounds he might be making. The watcher waited,
patient now in the stillness of night as to become one with the
rampart like some grotesque gargoyle that had always been there.

Kral’tuk felt the urge to run rise again. Had he been spotted?
Was it waiting for him to move or show he would fight? Was it waiting
for its master to come now that it had marked his location? Kral’tuk
froze, out of fear or helplessness, but told himself he was waiting
for the watcher to make its move. The creature turned its head,
looking as if to see some quarry in the distance, and in one motion
disappeared so quickly that the orc wondered if it had ever been
there at all. Again the wind whispered by, and Kral’tuk knew he
heard something howling in its breeze that was more than just the
idle zephyrs finding their ways through the broken windows of the
keep.

Kral’tuk didn't dare throw himself at the gate. He had tried
rushing it foolishly before one of the mages located an imprisoned
Deathguard who knew the proper cantrip for opening the guardhouse
door. Some safeguard of the Wizard's must have been triggered,
however, and that way out was sealed once more. Unable to access the
lifting mechanism for the portcullis Kral’tuk searched
desperately for options.

Back
through the keep. No, guards might be back. So far the courtyard
was still empty, most of the undead servitors having disapparated at
his group's earlier approach. Try breaking through that window?
No, too loud. Wait, over... he gauged the distance between the
outer wall and the ground. Stupid The wall goes over the bridge. I
could drop right down and be gone. Now if only he could find a
way to get back up. Where'd I see rope?

The stables. Right across from him, on the far side of the
courtyard, a warm light flickered within the open archways of the
horse house. Makes sense, Kral’tuk thought. Wizards
need something to ride. Can't summon a demon like... like others do.
Hurrying along the wall, staying in shadows as much as possible,
the orc worked his way towards this guiding light. 'Sides, with
half the keep murdered...

That was one of the other charming features of the wizard's castle.
As rumour spread like winter frost in these remote regions it was
still under speculation as to how the wizard claimed possession of
the castle as his own. Few traced his lineage back to some forgotten
ancestor and more hushed whispers hinted at a night of screaming that
marked the end to traffic into and out of the keep forever. None of
its previous masters had left the keep alive but it was known that
they were still there, somewhere inside, watching the empty halls and
silent corridors.

Stablemaster, Kral’tuk thought, coming even with the
open doors. He needn't have worried, however, as the sharp smell of
blood other than its own told of the creature's recent death. Did
we kill...? Kral’tuk slipped inside quickly as the sound of
an odd pad-click rhythm echoed into the courtyard. Never mind, he
thought, moving in further as another worgen rounded the corner into
the area he had just left.

Inside the stable were three horses. Though Kral’tuk had not
seen many in his lifetime there seemed something immediately
unnatural about this group. He kept well enough away, however, and
they stayed in their own stalls watching him with an uncanny
stillness in their stance. Quietly he looked for a rope or lariat of
some sort and his eyes fell upon an old, moulding cord dropped
haphazardly in one corner under a pile of tools and a broken shelf.
Kral’tuk realised that to get there he would have to cross in
front of the stable doors, still very exposed to the open courtyard
beyond.

“Find me that orc, my children!” a grizzled voice boomed
throughout the keep, resonating from the very stones and walls as if
magnified by them, “and bring his bones back for Fenrus to
gnaw!”

Kral’tuk decided that a bold grab for the rope in his current
state would be amountable to dousing himself with blood sauce and
dancing out while singing the fourth refrain to “Glory in
Warsong.” He decided instead to climb
the ladder digging into his back that led upwards towards the hay
loft.

“Cé hé sin?” a voice called softly,
startling Kral’tuk into almost falling down the ladder. He
stared. A man – a human – was lying with his back against
the wall binding his right arm into a tourniquet. From the assorted
armour Kral’tuk could tell he was a fighter of some sort,
though something in his nature seemed far different from other
warriors he had known. A faint aura almost seemed to radiate out from
this man, and yet for a passing moment it was gone. Both stared at
the other, each frozen in mid-action with Kral’tuk perched half
up the ladder.

“Ní tar ar mé!” the fighter said as
Kral’tuk pulled himself over the edge of the loft. The human
had picked up a sword which had been lying at his side. Kral’tuk
could tell from the shakiness in how the fighter held it that this
was not his main hand. He raised his own hands openly to show that he
was unarmed but the human was unconvinced.

“Ní tar ar mé,” the human said
again, but he was already looking more pale than earlier.

“Please, I’m not going to hurt –” Kral’tuk
said, but the man pulled up the blade which had been drooping.
Kral’tuk could see where the makeshift bandage the man had been
tying around his arm was starting to turn a wet red.

“Ní.
Ní…”

A sudden sound beneath them, something like a cross between a cough
and a howl, drew their attention downwards to where one of the
man-wolf creatures – the worgen – had entered the
stables. It threw aside a bench which made enough noise for Kral’tuk
to scoot away from the loft’s edge without being discovered
while it bent to inspect the corpse of its dead kin. The human shot
his attention back to Kral’tuk who grabbed his blade in one
hand while putting the other over his own mouth. If they were to
communicate, Kral’tuk realized, it would have to be with the
simplest of signals that anyone could recognize. The human nodded
understanding but retained his grip on the sword nevertheless.

They watched the worgen below them snuffle wetly through the other’s
remains. A second worgen tromped up beside the first, snapping at its
head in a semi-aggressive way. The first reared back, growling over
the body and gave a return snap to the second. A distant howl from
somewhere outside of the stables caught both the worgens attention’s
and the second intruder galloped off. The first did likewise after
ripping off a sizable portion of flesh from the corpse and stuffing
it still bloody into its jaws. The orc and human in the hay loft
above this ghoulish scene waited until the last sounds of pursuit
faded in the pad-click cadence of the creatures’ gait.

“Mac tire,” the man said in a whispered breath. He
looked at Kral’tuk who returned his gaze. Neither spoke to the
other for a minute, then the fighter pulled his blade out of
Kral’tuk’s grip and set it back down on the wooden planks
beside him. “Agus… go raibh maith agat, faoi ní
marú mé.”

Kral’tuk watched as the fighter went back to bandaging his
wound. He wondered how the man had gotten this far into the keep
alone, but then given the recent disturbance his party had created it
made sense that the wizard’s attention had been somewhat
diverted as of late. Judging from the emblems across his plate, the
man was part of the Alliance rather than just a local soldier come to
get killed at his master’s bidding. Kral’tuk also noticed
that the administrations the man was trying to give himself were not
working in the least.

“Here, let me help,” Kral’tuk offered.

“Ní go raibh –” the man said pulling
back, but Kral’tuk pressed on. Pushing the man’s hands
aside he pulled out a roll of fresh bandages from his pouch and a few
leaves his Grammaga had taught him to collect. Unraveling the
crude tourniquet he examined the four ragged gouges made by a
worgen’s claw in the fighter’s bicep while the man
watched him unmoving. Kral’tuk crushed the leaves in his mouth,
chewing them until his saliva turned them into a thin paste and bent
over the human’s arm. The human looked shocked and tried to
wrench his arm back but his strength was even less than Kral’tuk’s
and the orc held on. Kral’tuk started dripping the paste into
the man’s wound and the human let out a sharp cry which
Kral’tuk cut off by putting his other hand over the man’s
mouth. He knew the balm stung if it was working as it should but did
not know how strongly it affected humans. Judging from how hard the
man was biting his palm as he ran his tongue along the man’s
bicep to force the last of the balm in, the sting was probably more
acute to their senses.

Kral’tuk let go of the man’s mouth as he relaxed and
wiped his own mouth free from saliva. The man still grimaced,
adjusting to the balm he had been given and Kral’tuk unrolled
his bandages, examining the human’s face in return. Even
contorted with pain it was striking. A shoulder-length mane of
fire-brown hair outlined his face cut squarely with a tapered jaw.
Some stubble traced the bottom of his chin while the man’s skin
tone – a pale, sandy colour – contrasted mildly with two
dark, almost black eyebrows. Above all it was so smooth, the man’s
face. Unlike his own angular jaw, his jutting lower fangs and ridged
eyebrows, the man’s face seemed… soft. And yet…

What was he thinking? This was the enemy! Here, in his power, was the
face the Horde were born to despise. Unlike trolls and the Tauren,
humans were weak in comparison, his balm had shown to that! Even an
orc woman could out muscle this man whom
Kral’tuk suspected was well-built for one of his kind. Orcs
were not supposed to help humans, much less lick their wounds or fawn
over how pretty they–

Did
I just think that? Kral’tuk thought, freezing in the middle
of applying his bandage.

“Céard?” the human asked, rising out of his
pain.

“Nothing,” Kral'tuk mumbled, wrapping the bandage tightly
around the human's upper arm. And yet... the orc thought,
we are the only ones here. No Horde, no Alliance. No one has to
know.

“There,” Kral'tuk said, cinching the knot tight on the
bandage.

“Go raibh maith agat,” the human said again.
Kral'tuk looked up. The human was staring into his eyes. For the
first time ever Kral'tuk felt self conscious.

His eyes, the orc thought, are green. Emerald. Like my
skin. They were staring into his own which he knew were an
unexciting mixture of black with flecks of
blue, much like his hair and half-week's growth of beard. Why do
I wish my hair was smooth, like his? Why do I want to touch...

A sharp pain ripped through Kral'tuk's chest as the human's knee
jerked up accidentally and made contact with a recently forgotten
wound. Damn. Must be worse... than I thought. Ribs.. broken.
Kral'tuk realized he was sitting on his back with the human
apologizing profusely beside him.

“Gabh mo leithsceal! Ní a beith de rud a dhéanamh!”
the human whispered, leaning forward. He hovered over where
Kral’tuk was gripping his chest. “Anseo, cuidiú
duit cead mé.”

What is he…? Kral’tuk wondered. Moving gently
the human lifted his hands off his chest and started undoing the ties
that held his leather jerkin in place. He’s… what’s
he doing? The man seemed unable to care for his own wounds. How
could he possibly help someone else?

Opening Kral’tuk’s vest exposed a violent purple-black
bruise marring his left side. Kral’tuk shuddered as the human
ran his hands over the wound, tracing his solid muscles beneath the
pectoral and above his groin.

“Gabh mo leithsceal,” the human said again,
frowning. Kral’tuk barely had a moment to wonder what he meant
by that when a sharp pain ripped through his insides. Underneath the
man’s hands it felt like blood vessels were popping, being
unwound and reknitting around the shifting fragments that were
recombining into solid bone. He heard a gasp and opened his eyes to
see that he was gripping the man behind the neck and had forced the
crown of his forehead against his own. The man held on though, and
Kral’tuk looked down to see the human’s hands glowing
with an ivory light that was bleeding slowly into his skin.

The sharp burning subsided as the glow died down leaving Kral’tuk
with a dull, warm throb where his wound had been. The emerald skin
was still marked by a purple bruise, but it was nowhere near the
level of pain it had been in moments before. Kral’tuk looked
into the man’s eyes, or at least he intended to, and before he
knew what was happening found his mouth wrapped around the other’s
lips. This surprised the man as much as himself and he jerked back,
leaving an empty breeze where his mouth had been.

Kral’tuk looked at the man. The human stared back at him still
shocked and unreadable. Kral’tuk searched for something in the
man’s face; horror, disgust, loathing, but finding none of it
raised his other hand around the man’s head and pulled his lips
back to him. This time the man did not resist but let himself be
taken, let Kral’tuk dip his tongue into his honeyed mouth, feel
the teeth that were round and nubbly at the back which gave way to
sharper-edged teeth at the front. Kral’tuk dipped his tongue
again and again into the man’s mouth, delving deeper while his
lips massaged the human’s own. He felt a hand caress his face,
a thumb sliding up one of his lower fangs, a finger tracing one of
his pointed ears.

They were on the ground, or rather the floor of the loft. Kral’tuk
had fallen on top of the human pinning him under his muscular bulk.
He let go of the man’s mouth and shuddered as he drew in
breath. This… sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt.
It was wrong. Taboo. Forbidden. A crime never known before much
less rumoured about or committed. And yet that was what heightened
his elation. This man, the Enemy, was his and his alone to do with
whatever he pleased. He could kill him, oh yes, but why would he
want to destroy something so foreign and exotic as this? He was warm
and alive, waiting to be explored, excavated, plundered, turned out
for whatever treasures lay hidden deep within. The secrets of this
pleasure were his and his alone to own, and that thought flooded his
mind, overflowed into his spine and trickled its sensation elsewhere
where a warm, growing hotness pooled between his legs as he straddled
the man’s pelvis.

The human must have noticed this for he looked down at the heat
pressing against his thigh, his breathing ragged like Kral’tuk’s
own. A sudden hungry expression grew where there had been hesitation
before and the man shot up for Kral’tuk’s face. One hand
entwined itself in the orc’s spiked-back hair while the other
slid down to fumble with his belt. The sensation was intensifying,
rubbing his crotch in an almost teasing way while Kral’tuk
gorged on the heady scents of wood smoke and man sweat. He had to
have more. He had to have it all.

Ignoring the rules, ignoring the hands under him, Kral’tuk
ripped the plate armour off its straps popping more than a few
buckles away. The man gasped at this sudden exposure but Kral’tuk
wasn’t finished. Pushing against the man’s shoulders he
lowered himself to the man’s thighs and snatched off the belt
and codpiece there. The man lifted his hips so the orc could have
better access to his trousers but Kral’tuk tore into them as
well, ripping them along the seam so the man’s own growing
erection flopped solid and free of his confining pants. Not wasting
a moment Kral’tuk buried his face in the man’s crotch,
inhaling the exotic scent as he scooped the man’s balls into
his mouth.

The
man let out a soft cry from the orc’s fangs jabbing into his
thighs and he spread his legs wider, allowing Kral’tuk freer
reign to his ass and genitals. Kral’tuk continued mouthing his
balls, however, licking and chewing them lightly with his teeth. By
now the man’s cock was a sheer rod, rising at an angle towards
his chest which was still covered by a loose tunic. The orc licked
downwards, tracing the fleshy cleft of skin with his tongue that led
toward the man’s hole. Bringing his hands down to grasp the
the man’s buttocks he felt how smooth and firm they were,
dusted over with a fine blonde-brown fuzz that was almost hairless.
He lifted and delved deeper, encircling the man’s anus with his
tongue and drawing out more gasps as he poked into that forbidden
entrance.

Sweet,
Kral’tuk thought as he licked deeper in. Warmness and the
smell of passion enveloped his face. Skin caressed his own in strange
ways and he felt the man’s scrotum bobbing against his brow as
he pushed further and further in with his mouth. It still wasn’t
enough.

“Dia!” the man gasped as Kral’tuk surfaced.
The orc wiped his mouth off on one shoulder while both hands worked
feverishly at his belt. Getting it open he slid the whole mess down
with his trousers tearing off the loincloth he had on underneath in
the process. Compared to the man the orc was huge, surmounting
another couple of inches in length and was at least half as thick
again around. Spitting a wad of saliva into his hand Kral’tuk
smeared it across the man’s hole, massaging the muscles there
and even working in one thick finger to help loosen the man’s
eager ass.

“Ooohh...
feel that,” Kral'tuk rumbled as he the soft, inner membrane of
the human's body sucked at his finger like a hungry maw. The man
groaned while Kral'tuk stroked himself, soothing his aching organ
with a callused hand. Kral'tuk spat into his other hand, running it
up and over his shaft as he worked a slick coat onto its dark
green-purple head. A second finger prodded the man's asshole,
working its way in beside the first as he continued to massage the
man inside. By now his dick was rock hard and he lifted the man's
buttocks so he could get properly positioned.

“Le do thoil...” the man gasped, chest heaving and
bracing himself against the loft. “Feisigh im!”

Kral'tuk groaned as he guided the head of his penis into the man's
clenching ass.

“Aah!” the man cried, gritting his teeth.
Kral'tuk immediately felt the human's sphincter tighten around his
glans and held his breath. The man grabbed Kral'tuk's own asscheeks
and forced his dick the rest of the way in. “Feisigh im
toin!”

Kral'tuk let out a cry as the sudden rush of heat and taughtness
enveloped his penis. He could easily have been twice the man's size
and yet the sensation was amazing. It was like a secret part of
him had extended out, grown solid and firm beneath his arms to
entwine and complete his being. The man's legs spread wider as
Kral'tuk threw him back, pinned him down by his upper arms and
started a ravenous thrusting rhythm.

“Ah!
Ah! Ah!” the man called
and Kral'tuk bent down to cover his mouth once again. This time he
gulped away at the man's lips, his scruffish stubble, his open jaw,
not caring – mindless even – when one of his fangs grazed
the man's neck a drew a scratch of blood there. Their hips locked
into a motion born of passion and necessity. Damn the
Alliance, damn the Horde, this was all that mattered! This was what
Kral'tuk had been looking for, this was all he needed; an outlet for
his own desires, his own passion and to hell with the rest of the
world!

Hands
tore at the vest Kral'tuk still had on. He could feel the man's own
penis stiff as a sword caught between their sweating abs. Neither of
them could reach it and Kral'tuk didn't want anyone to. He wanted to
control it, let it feel what he wanted it to, it was his! The man
saw this and whined but Kral'tuk wouldn't let him release until he
was ready.

The orc
pounded away, shoving his cock over and over again into the man's
ass. Harder and sharper his thrusts came, bucking wildly now as he
plowed into the man's sweet heat. Somewhere he felt streaks of pain
as the man scratched wildly at his back but it only served to drive
him on. Drive him in. Pumping and stuffing furiously into that one
consuming heat.

“Ah..
. You'd.. . Better.. . Come!” Kral'tuk growled as his
thrusts became longer and hit deeper . Pulling back, almost to the
tip, he'd pause right inside the man's hole before shoving his cock
all the way back in, all the way up to his crotch, his balls slapping
the man's ass. His thighs repeated this, pistoning over and over
becoming longer and harder. “You'd.. . Better. . . C-
Come!” Kral'tuk all but yelled as he shoved his dick in
farther than he thought it could go.

“A-
Aahh!” the man cried.
Kral'tuk felt him convulse beneath him, jerking suddenly against his
stomach. A warm splash of something his his chest and Kral'tuk felt
his own balls burning, cinch up. A series of convulsions, almost
like lightning, ran through his body, encircling his anus, shooting
up between there and his scrotum, throbbing, pumping electrical
energy through his penis into the man he was fucking.

“Eeaarhh...hhhnnhh....”
Kral'tuk grunted, pumping a little more before collapsing rigid over
his captured body. Sounds that existed somewhere between growling
and purring resonated out of his body on each breath, every so often
broken by something that could have be a ripple of laughter or
exaltation. Crouched there, arched over the man's chest and
clenching his shoulders Kral'tuk pressed his forehead into the
human's own as if channeling energy; sucking it in from his breath
and mind, letting it course down his spine, dally around his
sphincter and back up into the man through his sex.

“A... Dhia dhílis!”
the man panted. He brought up a hand to wipe the sweat off
Kral'tuk's face and pulled his mouth down to his own. Hungry and
heaving, as if he had just surfaced from drowning and was going back
for more he licked Kral'tuk's maw, sought his tongue and suckled his
lips between gasps for air.

“Oh gods...” Kral'tuk mummered, running one hand through
the hair of this man who had seduced him, whom he had seduced in
return. Gods don't ever end.
Long into the night they held each other and the morning came for
the worgen to find and empty hay loft suffused by the scents of two
passions interfused.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Shadows in the Keep