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Honour Thy Warchief	By : RotSeele Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 2681 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Honour Thy Warchief
- 1
Honour Thy Warchief

Night crawled by as slow as the elements eroding the earth. Vol’jin lay awake in his hut, alone save for a crackling fire. His thoughts were tumultuous. They went from the current predicament of his people, to the fears and reservations he had about the future of the Horde, to his hatred for Garrosh, to his worry for Thrall.
Especially his worry for Thrall.
He thought about the conversation they’d had almost a week ago. His body tensed in remembered fear when he thought about Thrall’s attempted assassination and hated feeling so helpless. He couldn’t go to Thrall, to protect him as he’d done when they were both in Orgrimmar. He couldn’t afford to leave his people, as much as he desired to. He was needed here – not where he wanted to be.
Giving up on sleep, Vol’jin rolled from his pallet and stalked around the room, closing shutters and leaving the room immersed in darkness, save for the fire burning in the brazier. When he was certain he would not be bothered, Vol’jin moved to kneel before the brazier, thick fingers fisting a powdery mixture. A deep breath, and Vol’jin began to chant, lowly, quietly. Then the Shadow Hunter threw the powder mixture onto the fire.
The flames went out only briefly, then flared as they turned black and royal violet. Vol’jin watched, resolve wavering, until finally the flames settled, revealing to him a mountaintop – The Maelstrom. He saw Thrall, still unwavering in his task. Vol’jin closed his eyes, relieved and feeling foolish, and released his request of the fire with many thanks.
The troll closed his eyes, seeing that lingering image of Thrall. It comforted him in a way he couldn’t describe.
The fire flared against his closed eyes.
Vol’jin slowly opened his eyes, ready to quell Fire’s anger if need be, then gaped at the shadowy image of Thrall standing within the violet-hued flames.
“What ya be doin’?” Vol’jin whispered. “Ya shouldn’t be here.”
Thrall shrugged. “Aggra takes over when I need a rest. I’m not so foolish as to think I can heal this wound on my own.”
“Then ya should be restin’, not checkin’ in on d’ose checkin’ on ya.”
Thrall’s blue eyes narrowed for a moment. “Vol’jin, you looked in on me for a reason.” The shaman’s voice softened upon seeing Vol’jin’s eyes flick to anywhere but his image. “I worry for you, as well.”
“…I wish we were back in Grommash Hold.” Vol’jin confessed slowly. “Carin’ for our people.”
“Vol’jin,”
Vol’jin waved a three-fingered hand in dismissal of Thrall’s unspoken warning. “I know. Garrosh is what the Horde needs. But ya ain’t seen the foolishness o’ the brat. But he, for once, ain’t the reason for my wish.”
Thrall’s brow rose. “Then what is it?”
Vol’jin barked out a low curse and stalked the room for a moment, coming back to his friend’s image. “Ya want me ta honour a Warchief I don’ respect – hate, even! You’re the one I want ta honour!” He cursed again, weaker this time, and Vol’jin went to his knees before the brazier. “Why? Why her?”
Thrall’s jaw twitched. “Because I need her. Vol’jin, that night in the Hold, it was a mistake.”
“Aye.” Vol’jin whispered, though his heart and body ached because of that agreement.
The memory was clear – alcohol, curiosity, perhaps too much emotion – and Vol’jin’s body tensed in phantom memories. The troll said nothing, the only sounds in the room his breathing and the snap-crackof the flames.
“…But it doesn’t mean I’m selfless enough to give you up.”
Vol’jin glanced at Thrall, noting the pained look in the orc’s face. Thrall swiped a hand over his eyes. “There is desire and there is duty.” Thrall said. “Not a minute has passed where I haven’t thought of what would happen to you if I fail.”
“You, fail?” Vol’jin chuckled. “Impossible.”
“Improbable. Inconceivable.” Thrall chuckled darkly. “Yet still very much a reality. You want to honour me, Vol’jin? Do what it takes to protect your people – our people.”
Vol’jin sighed with a weary nod. “I wonder what lies ahead, Thrall, as always.”
Thrall’s shadowy eyes darkened. “Vol’jin. Look at me.”
The troll obeyed. Thrall’s hazy eyes burned into Vol’jin’s. “I don’t have much time. There’s little I can do from here.”
“Perhaps all ya need ta do is watch.” Vol’jin gave a weak, if tormented, smile. “Ya’ll have ya woman, after all.”
Thrall’s jaw twitched. “Strip,” he growled. “Now.”
Vol’jin knew he’d pushed his friend a little too far. Aggra was duty – he was desire. Yet it became increasingly difficult to believe such.
He was wearing only simple linen pants. The heat of the islands made too many clothes impossible for those who dwelled there. Vol’jin slid his hands down his bare chest, then hooked his fingers in the hem of his pants. At a growl from Thrall, he slid the garment down and off, then knelt before the brazier. The heavy flesh of his cock hung loose between his legs. He could already feel the twinges of heat starting in his abdomen and rushing downwards, but his eyes never left Thrall.
Thrall’s eyes raked over him from head to toe, then slowly settled on Vol’jin’s length. “I want to watch you.” He said at last.
Vol’jin’s chest tightened reflexively. “You wanna watch me do what?”
Thrall met Vol’jin’s eyes and slowly, lazily, grinned. “You’re going to give me a good show, Vol’jin.”
The troll blinked, then gave a lazy grin himself. He settled his weight on his knees and grasped his cock with his right hand. The heat from his palm started the process, the motions he began with his hand finished it. His cock stood stiff and erect, hot and hard in his hand. He didn’t stop, continuing to push and pull the flesh, up and down, gliding his fingers over the head. He heard Thrall’s breath catch, and Vol’jin closed his eyes, listening to the noises Thrall was making and had to muffle to keep his companion from hearing. Vol’jin kept moving his hand, up and down, over and under, and then Thrall began to speak.
“Not yet, Vol’jin.” Thrall said in a harsh, aroused whisper. “I don’t want you coming just yet. I want you to show me what you want from me.”
Vol’jin’s eyes snapped open and he stared at the orc. Thrall’s hand was inside his robes, obscuring Vol’jin’s view, but he knew what the orc was doing to himself. “Ya are serious.” Vol’jin whispered.
“You called me.” Thrall replied. “Now. Do it.”
Vol’jin shivered at the command. He continued to jerk himself off, hand almost a vice around his aching flesh. Sweat was already beading on his brow, and he wondered how Thrall was going to explain his “rest” to Aggra. That thought made Vol’jin smile.
He released his cock and spat into his hand, returning to jerking himself a moment after. He kept watching Thrall, kept moving his hand until he felt pressure building in his balls and heading up. White liquid beaded at the tip of his cock and Vol’jin ran his palm over the head, going back down to coat the length of his cock with a mixture of saliva and precome. It wouldn’t be enough for what he had planned, but it would do, and he didn’t want to break the look of serious concentration on Thrall’s face. The orc was focused on him, on his hand, on that stiff cock, all limned in only the light of the fire. Thrall’s own hand was moving beneath his robes. Vol’jin said nothing, didn’t ask how close Thrall was, intent on giving the Warchief the honour he deserved.
Slowly, Vol’jin lay back, shifting enough so that Thrall would be able to see every last detail of his lower body. He carefully balanced on his left elbow as he settled, legs spreading wide enough that he could reach between them. He heard Thrall’s breath hitch, and let his head fall back so Thrall couldn’t see him grin.
He coated his hand in the mixture on his cock, then abandoned his erection altogether. His slickened fingers traveled along the inside of his right thigh, leading Thrall’s eyes to the pucker of flesh between Vol’jin’s legs. Vol’jin touched the first digit just lightly to his asshole, and heard Thrall’s choked back groan. He thought back to that night in Grommash hold, and imagined it was Thrall’s fingers instead of his own probing him, seeking entry into his body. His finger slid inside, and Vol’jin muffled his own moan and held his wince of pain. He pushed a second digit inside, and began to move his fingers.
He remembered almost hiding in an alcove with Thrall, hot and tipsy from alcohol. He remembered Thrall’s mouth on his neck, his own hands fisted in the orc’s black hair as Thrall’s thick hand wrapped around his cock and it was all Vol’jin could do not to yell.
He wrapped his left hand around his aching cock and balanced himself on his hip and lower back, drilling his fingers deeper into his body and jerking himself off in successive rhythm. He closed his eyes and remembered the night he fell in love with his Warchief.
Thrall pinned Vol’jin to the hard stone wall of the alcove, their only noises the panting and barely muffled groans as heat raced through their blood. Desire and curiosity drove them to explore each other’s bodies, deep green and blue-green racing over blue-green and deep green. Thrall’s hand tightened on Vol’jin’s cock, stroking the troll’s hard need as his mouth worried at Vol’jin’s neck. Vol’jin’s hand sought the belt of Thrall’s own pants, jerked the belt open and pulled the leather down. His three-fingered hand wrapped around Thrall’s cock and began moving, causing the orc to groan deeply against Vol’jin’s throat.
Vol’jin pushed Thrall back and sank to his knees, careful of his tusks as he touched his tongue to the orc’s cock, hearing Thrall growl and feeling the orc’s hand tighten in his hair. Thrall’s scent filled Vol’jin’s nose, his taste lingering on his tongue with each swipe. Thrall growled again and jerked Vol’jin up. He didn’t hold the troll for long. He forced Vol’jin over, forced the troll to put his hands on the wall and bend at the waist. He spat into his hand, rubbed the liquid over his aching cock, then stepped closer to the Shadow Hunter, He rubbed the head of his cock against the pucker of flesh between Vol’jin’s legs. Vol’jin tensed as he felt the pressure – moaned as Thrall forced his way inside that tight passage, first the head of his cock, then the first inch, the second, until he was fully inside the troll, hips touching Vol’jin’s asscheeks. Thrall didn’t remain still for long, pulling out almost all the way before shoving back in. Vol’jin mewled, clapping one hand over his mouth to muffle his sounds as Thrall’s pace increased. Between the troll’s noises and the orc’s grunts, the only sound was flesh slapping against sweaty flesh. Thrall’s hands gripped Vol’jin’s hips bruisingly, and then he slid one hand between Vol’jin’s legs, fisting the troll’s dripping, hard cock.
Vol’jin bit into the meat of his hand as he was caught between two perfect pleasures, feeling the deep stroke of Thrall’s cock against that perfect little spot deep inside him and the vice around his cock pushing and pulling on his blood-engorged flesh. Thrall kept thrusting, kept going as deep as he could. Vol’jin tensed, shuddered, then cried out despite the muffling hand as his passage clamped down tight on Thrall’s cock as his own jumped in the Warchief’s hand. Hot white ribbons coated the orc’s fingers. Thrall gave a few short jerks of his hips then buried himself as deep as he could in Vol’jin, groaning into the troll’s back as he released every last drop into the hot recesses of the slim body beneath him.
Vol’jin couldn’t help the muffled cry of Thrall’s name as he came, white lines of come sliding over his fingers and abdomen as his passage clamped down on his fingers. He saw stars against his eyelids, his entire body tense for a long moment. Then it was over, and Vol’jin fell where he was, panting harshly and finally relaxing. He drew his fingers from his body and released his spent cock, finally shifting to look at Thrall’s image.
The orc’s eyes were focused on him, hot and smoldering with every drop of emotion he couldn’t afford to put into words. A wet stain was barely visible on the shadowy material that was his robes, and his hand, now visible again, had the minute traces of moisture on his fingers. Vol’jin slowly pushed himself upright and smiled as Thrall let out the breath he’d been holding.
“…When I’m able to come back to Durotar,” Thrall growled out.
Vol’jin smiled. “…I’ll honour ya properly.”
The flames winked out, leaving Vol’jin alone in the darkness.
- 1
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Honour Thy Warchief