Monday, April 26, 2010

For Gaz. Walking. (a smutty fanfic)

(World of Warcraft is copyrighted to Blizzard. That's all them.)

The night was a wash of darkness, the moon a token crescent in the sky. The stars were bright, but they cast little in the way of illumination to the jungle below. The torches did that. The bonfires. The lanterns. There was the sound of drumming in the distance, and the high-pitched buzz of saws that cut through the steady pounding. The saw mill never stopped, and the stench of ogres drifted here and there on the jungle breeze.

Anmwe still hadn’t adjusted to the heat. It made his limbs feel heavy, and his bones unsteady. He’d been peeling away layer after layer of his clothing since he started his journey South, but upon arriving to the Stranglethorn he’d stuffed nearly everything he owned into a small, ragged leather satchel. A tattered loincloth hung from his hips, the fabric aged and gray. It was weighed down along the sides with bone beads, and every step caused it to strike lightly against his thighs. Even that felt to be wearing too much.

The sound of the river promised cooler air. Cooler climate. He’d thought the same would come of the sea. He’d been wrong then, but that did not deter him from turning his path now. If nothing else, he could refill the water skin that hung too light near his hip.

Anmwe’s footfalls crashed heavily through the foliage that scoured the ground. There was little of this place that was not covered in life. Even the trunks of the trees were host to brightly colored flowers. Their wispy root structures curled midair to absorb the very humidity that was causing the paint on Anmwe’s face to run out of its death mask and into a uniform ashen gray. He raised one dirt-caked foot, both toes splayed, over a trail of large ants carrying jaggedly cut leaves above their heads. The shifting glow of firelight caused shadows to dance through the sprays of foliage before him and bathed the edges of the green vines in red-orange hues. It gave him reason to pause, and to listen.

There was not much to be heard at first. Nothing beyond the usual sounds of the jungle, and he had come to know them in his first few nights. There were the rustles here and there of wildlife, and night birds, the low buzzes and loud chitters of bugs. The fire was just past the curl of waxy leaves and rough-barked trees. He could hear it crackling not more than thirty feet off.

Anmwe waited with his ears straining, and finally caught the sound of movement. Heavy shuffling, feet through sand. No discourse, and no response. It was likely that there was only one person present. His fingers slid down the outside of his thigh, the tips of both digits stroking over the aged ivory handle of the dagger strapped to his pale blue skin. His head lifted as he caught the smell of fish on the close, muggy air. Food might be worth the added addition of the fire’s heat.

Anmwe prowled to the edge of the treeline and crouched with his fingers braced on a large, sprawling root. The vines ran themselves to a halt some few feet away, giving off to firmly packed ground. That in turn led to looser sand, rounded pebbles, and the lazy flow of the river. Here, at least, the air moved.

“You’re loud enough to raise the dead.”

The voice itself was just loud enough to carry past the rush of the water and the crackling of the fire. Anmwe turned his head, tusks sweeping up and away from his folded knees. There was half silhouette, half troll lounging against a washed up tree trunk. The eye in the firelight was hidden behind the black splotch of a patch, and the eye in the shadow caught just enough light to flare red and burning in the night.

“Not my intention.” Anmwe spoke even as he moved. He was still somewhat hunched, somewhat crouched, his steps cautious as he approached the campsite. The fire spat and fizzled as droppings from the fish-laden spit fell amongst its embers.

“What was, then?”

Anmwe kept his hand carefully close to his dagger, but not so close that it would seem a threat. The other man did not seem concerned, however. He was busy running the point of a large, curving knife under the edge of one thick nail.

“I am walking,” Anmwe murmured. He said walking with a subtle shift of intent, one that gave the word more importance than the simple act of placing one foot before the other might conjure otherwise. He was rewarded with a lingering look from the other man. Anmwe brought his hand up to tuck a stray tendril of ghostly-white hair behind his ear.

“You can sit, then, and eat.” The firelight licked over the stranger’s tusks as he spoke, casting long shadows off to the side.

“Thank you,” Anmwe eased his hand away from his dagger as he spoke, “I am Anmwe.”

He straightened marginally. Once made welcome, he kept his eye on the water. His first day near the mouth of the river he’d seen a large, scaled reptile spring from the stream of it, snap a gnome in its jaws, and then disappear into the murk. This land occasionally seemed soft, but he knew better than to be lulled by that appearance.

“Kanji.” The red eye glimmered as the man turned his head. He watched Anmwe approach, and his blue lips pulled across his tusks in an elongated grin. “We’re far enough in you don’t have to worry too much. They’re lazy hunters.”

Anmwe jerked his head up, the light of the fire catching on the coppery shimmer of his own eyes and striking them red. He stared out from black-painted hollows, a rope of pale hair having fallen across the outer edge of the left. “I know that.”

Kanji grunted in reply. It was enough to indicate that he knew better, and that he knew that Anmwe should have known that particular tidbit of information. Kanji reached out with the tip of his knife to probe the side of one large fish, then diverted his hand to turn the spit. He looked across to Anmwe, studying the geometric patterns inked along the man’s broad chest and long, gangly arms.

The two sat in semi-comfortable silence for some time. The smell of roasting fish grew stronger, lingering heavily despite the fact that the air moved more here than it had in the trees. Anmwe studied Kanji, well accustomed to saying nothing and receiving little in return for it. He sized the man up as they stared. Sometimes from the corner of his eyes, sometimes directly. Kanji was clearly a fighter. Anmwe himself was fit, but the troll opposite him had at least twice the muscle. The black linen of Kanji’s trousers pulled taut across the mass of his thighs, the ends ragged about the broad caps of his knees. If the fight turned physical, Anmwe decided, there would be little of him left to defend his ignorance.

“Anmwe.” Kanji met Anmwe’s gaze as Kanji leaned forward, the light catching him full across his face. His one good eye glimmered from a band of pale paint. “Seems to me you got some confusion on how this’s goin’ down. I’m eatin’,” he dipped the broad curve of his blade toward the fish, “and then I’m sleepin’,” he continued as the knife gestured to the bedroll packed up against the fallen log. “You’re eating,” the fire caught on the blade of the knife as it was aimed toward Anmwe, “and then you’re walking. I’m done for the day. Get it?”

Anmwe watched the knife more than he watched Kanji. The blade itself was clearly well-used, the edge keen. “I understand.”

Anmwe raised the strap that went across his shoulder, lifting it clear of the tendrils of hair that snaked away from his scalp. He weighed the skin in his hand, but was stopped by a low grunt as he moved to rise. He turned his regard again to Kanji, though the heat from the fire was causing Anmwe to sweat enough that a drop of paint landed lightly on the downy blue fuzz covering his thigh.

“They hunt most at night. Wait for you to get up close, then snap you up, spin you around, and you’re as good as a ghost.”

“Perhaps I am already a ghost,” Anmwe whispered, though his tensed muscles eased. He brought his water skin to his lips and took just enough to wet the interior of his mouth.

Kanji grunted again, and pushed himself up to stand. He crossed over to the spit, drawing the fish from the fire. Anmwe watched the movement as a flicker of warm-hued lights and dark, sprawling shadows. The rush of the river was close, but it seemed almost as far away as the stars. Everything was pitched in black outside of their ring of light, and Kanji’s massive frame cast an even larger silhouette along the ground and out toward the trees. A wide, gaping mouth was leveraged into Anmwe’s field of view. He jerked back with a start, then took the offered fish with a nod of thanks. Kanji’s eye narrowed as the other troll bit into the seared flesh.

“Ghosts don’t eat.” He said with a hint of appeased satisfaction in his tone.

A low, rolling chuckle worked its way up from Anmwe’s chest. He nodded to the other man’s point, picking at his hot meal as Kanji settled alongside him in a rustle of weight and earth. The man blocked off some of the heat from the fire, and Anmwe drew in a breath of relief. He looked to his side, and was somewhat surprised to have to look up as well in order to meet Kanji’s gaze. He stared past the long curve of a single ivory tusk, gauging a moment, and then returned to his meal.

The fish did not last long, though there were four in all, and each a solid couple of pounds. The two trolls ate with pleased grunts and grumbles, the pops and cracks of the fire underscored by the pops and cracks of bones. They fell back against the log in contented slumps, the remains of their meal scattered about. Anmwe licked continually at his lips and sucked at his fingers, his gaze rolling contentedly to the sky.

Silence again. Silence and heat. He felt so loose and heavy. He was contentedly full, though mildly thirsty. The fire crackled, dwindling, bowing to its own period of somnolence. The stars held his attention, leaving his paint to bead off into his hair and down the contours of his throat. Anmwe drifted in a haze of lethargic thought as he listened to the song of a confused cicada on a nearby tree.

He could not have said how much time had passed before the heavy touch fell upon his thigh. It was possible that he’d drifted entirely to sleep. The fire was lower, in any case, and the hand cupped without hesitation. Two fingertips curled along the inside of Anmwe’s leg, the pad of Kanji’s thumb settling to the outside of Anmwe’s knee.

Long tusks caught at similarly long tusks as Anmwe jerked his head up. They rasped and scraped, grinding one to the other as Kanji refused to give way. Red eyes fixed on their like, though the looming black void of an eyepatch threw off the symmetry. The firelight caught on the pale sweep of Kanji’s hair, momentarily attracting Anmwe’s attention as the man growled. The low, rumbling sound was not entirely threatening, but it brooked no argument. Anmwe peeled his lips away from his sharpened teeth, exposing the bases of his tusks as he returned the sound in kind.

The world moved abruptly. Anmwe’s left shoulder struck the packed earth, his head following shortly after. He gave a dazed shake, but did not reach for his dagger. Kanji’s own knife was threaded through a belt that dangled from one of the felled tree’s withered roots. Rules were being established, and it was a dangerous thing to draw a knife on a man who was not expecting it. Anmwe had learned that the hard way. He eyed Kanji cautiously, then gathered his legs up close.

Kanji moved faster than the shadow panthers that lurked near the road. He was upon Anmwe in an instant, a fraction of the time it took for a heartbeat to pass. Kanji was larger, and more powerful, but Anmwe was not soft in the way of the Southern priests. He took the other troll’s momentum and used it against him, skillfully catching at the man’s shoulder to send Kanji rolling off to the side toward the thinned ends of the vines. Anmwe did not anticipate the hand that caught at his hip, pulling him along in a weighty roll and tumble.

Anmwe had once thought, at a much younger age, that fighting would become clear as crystal when he was experienced enough. It had become easier to track, but it was only so clear as mud. One moment he knew where his opponent’s fist was, the next he did not. He could track the blow of an elbow to his cheek, and the dig of his tusks through the other man’s skin. They rolled and tumbled, though the ground was not sloped, and the effort of tossing Kanji about caused Anmwe to grunt between their exchanged growls and snarls.

Over, about, a pivot on a hip. They made enough noise to drive off the local prey, and perk the attention of the predators. None of them dared interrupt the scrap, if they dared take the time to give more than a passing observation. Even a tiger knew better than to throw itself into the fray with two bloody large trolls.

Anmwe drew abruptly to a halt, chest heaving, legs quivering. Kanji’s tusk had found Anmwe’s throat, and the tip settled along the rapid flutter of his pulse. Anmwe swallowed hard, bobbing the sweat-streaked lump within the shadow of the ivory threat. The fire glinted in the red of Kanji’s one eye as he grinned down at Anmwe. Anmwe looked away, grunting. Kanji had won that round.

The larger troll scrambled up and away, his skin dusted with fine dirt. Kanji brushed away a few pebbles from the thicker fur on the back of his arm, then peeled off the thin linen of his trousers. He hurled the fabric off toward his bags and the more substantial armor propped against them. Kanji dropped his weight into the bend of one knee as he crouched over Anmwe in order to reach for the man’s loincloth. The two stared hard at one another, keeping eye contact as though breaking it might risk, or promise, a change in the order of things.

Anmwe reached his right hand up. The action was slow to make it nonthreatening, but also because his arm felt so unwieldy in the sticky air. He raised his ass from the ground as the thin fabric of his loincloth tugged, letting the leather thong that held it be snapped free. His thigh bumped against the head of Kanji’s heavy cock, a thin, sticky trail smearing along the inward curve of musculature. Anmwe fanned open his outstretched hand in order to grasp at Kanji’s tusk.

The air filled with another burst of sound. Another flurry of activity. Growls and bites, snarls and grunts. They were tumbling and turning anew, the sharp tang of blood in the air. Confusion and pushing, each vying for leverage.

Anmwe rasped as he hit the ground hard on his back, the air vacating his lungs so fast it shocked the rest of his system into seizing up. Kanji chuckled as he stretched himself out on the smaller frame beneath him, grinding the hard length of his drooling cock to the swollen arch and jut of Anmwe’s. Kanji grasped both tattooed wrists and threw them wide into the ground, watching the muscles in Anmwe’s chest bunch and roll with his fitful struggling.

Kanji lingered for a moment, savoring the writhe and squirm of the body beneath his own. The fight had been just enough to quicken his blood and rush his breathing, though Anmwe’s chest heaved more earnestly beneath him. Kanji rocked his hips, grinding, stroking, then brought one thigh up to nudge in encouragement.

Anmwe drew his leg upward with a slight kick, sending a shallow spray of pebbles out and away. The nail at his heel scraped along the other man’s calf, then up along the back of Kanji’s thigh and the curve of his ass as Anmwe wrapped first one leg, then the other about Kanji’s waist.

There was no gloating, nor smugness. What basking was had was not so much in victory as it was in the sensation of tangled limbs and grinding joints. Low growls and snarls churled through the air, unfurling with spits and heated puffs from taut lips as Kanji drove the head of his cock hard against Anmwe’s ass. It glanced bruisingly along the heated cleft, drew back, then slid to notch against a pucker of reluctant muscle. There was a hiccup of motion, a simple alignment and gathering of tension. Just enough for Anmwe to draw in a breath and let out a loud yowl as Kanji drove the broad flare of his cockhead hard against dry skin.

The man was rewarded with another knocking of tusks and a wild scrabbling of ragged nails. The tight drum of skin gave suddenly, and Kanji drove forward eagerly once he’d fanned the inflamed tissue wide. His hips bucked forward forcefully, tugging to the point of tearing, then rocked back just enough to slick on the abrasion. He ground his cock forward again, slicker into the tight pull and cling, and let out a satisfied grunt as his hips crashed into Anmwe’s upturned thighs.

Anmwe panted and heaved, his cock straining against his curved belly, his pulse so heavy in his ass it nearly made him ill. He squirmed once Kanji was fully in, meeting the man’s lingering rock with a tight clench of ass. A pulse, a throb, a bit of a fidget, and then Anmwe found the angle he’d been after. His heel swung out, and red eyes rolled shut as a low, throaty groan escaped paint-smeared lips.

Kanji laughed. The sound tumbled about in the broad barrel of his chest and rolled outward like the distant pounding of drums in the half-ruined village. Anmwe grunted as the other man pulled backward, so much so that the broad splay of his cockhead stretched the broken tissue wide all over again. Low groans and pleased growls mingled into the heated bursts of breath between them, and Kanji rocked forward again. Out, and in, and out, faster each time, so that the bruises on the backs of Anmwe’s thighs had the opportunity to form. His spine rocked, creaking, grinding into the sand.

More laughter, more tangling. Sometimes fucking was like fighting, all confusion and moments to track. Tusks clacking here, his cock bumping pleasantly there. They went rolling, tussling, and Anmwe’s hair fell past his shoulders as gravity swung about. There were beads weighing some of the lengthy dreadlocks, and they clacked lightly against one another as he worked himself eagerly up and down the massive length of Kanji’s shaft.

Anmwe ground down hard each time, rocking just so to strike the spot inside that sent spiders and flares of electric heat stirring through his belly and chest. He was pouring sweat, and the musk of it mingled with the musk of sex was almost overpowering. Heat in his palms, and he braced back on the solid muscle of Kanji’s thighs. Up and in, rocked forward to claw at the man’s belly, to find that spot again along the back of his spine. Anmwe moaned, and panted, and laughed, then sucked a breath into silence as Kanji’s hand grasped the cock smacking down against his belly.

Anmwe kicked his leg to the side in surprise, sending another spray of dirt outward. It scattered into the fire, sending the light lower, though it continued to catch on their profiles and the long, pale gleam of tusks. Anmwe rocked forward into Kanji’s hand, pulled himself up through his knees, and fell down again. Again. Their shadows merged on the right, sprawling for the trees. His tongue thrust against the base of his tusk. Close, so close.

Another tumble. Broad fingers at his ribs, at his waist. The ground into his shoulder. Again. Kanji’s cock slid free, leaving a thin trickle of red to float along ribbons of precum that glistened in the firelight. Anmwe howled, as it felt like being split anew.

There was dirt under his jaw, rocks grinding into his chest. His tusks sifted through the coarse, loose pebbles. Pressure, and stretching, and relief. Dreadlocks tumbled into his face, down about his shoulders. He squirmed his upturned hips as nails dug along his flank. Kanji speared into the folded figure beneath him, one broad hand grasping at the thick ropes of Anmwe’s hair.

Kanji growled and worked his hips forward with sinuous ripples of spine. The fire light caught along his back, warm on the cool blue fur. It cast shadows in the dimples of the man’s ass as he worked, rutting deep and hard as his cock swelled and pulsed into the tight pull of Anmwe’s ass. He growled, gripping tight and panting heavily.

Anmwe snaked a hand beneath himself, contorting his arm awkwardly for his pinning. His hand wrapped about the downward dip of his cock, clutching hard as he pulled and tugged, occasionally flicking his fingers toward the smack of Kanji’s balls into his own. A little squirm, muscles tensing, hips angling. There. And there. And there again. Anmwe groaned loudly, puffing violent breaths past his lips as he bore back against Kanji. There again. Anmwe’s thumb slid over the slit of his own cock as the man drove into him. And there. Red eyes slid shut, his ass clenching tight in a rippling spasm as the little tendrils and spiders of heat burst and flooded.

Anmwe’s sweat-slick skin slid easily beneath Kanji’s grinding, hips pistoning and rocking and thrusting even as the smaller troll came with a long, throaty moan. Cum spilled over Anmwe’s fingers as they worked along his cock, splattered the coastal sand in thick, hot globs. Kanji buried himself deep in the lingering ripples of tension, the so-tight constriction of Anmwe’s ass. Kanji rocked and ground as his balls drew tight and he came with a snarl of pleasure. His lips peeled back along his teeth and tusks as he filled the other man with swell after surge of sticky seed.

They fell one atop the other as silence came racing in. Anmwe heard little beyond the rasping of his breath and the hammering of his heart. He blinked at the blur of paint in his eyes, and licked at his lips as he struggled to get his bearings. Sweat dripped down the backs of his thighs and arms, cum slithered in wet, clinging ropes at the backs of his spent balls, and his hair bunched uncomfortably between his shoulders and neck. He was too hot to indulge in the rubbing of Kanji’s tusks along his back, and so bucked the man off to the side with a low grunt. He fell onto his hip and shoulder an instant later, eyelids drooping shut and saliva pooling sticky in his cheek. He didn’t stir at Kanji’s amused rumble, nor at the rustle of movement.

Moments later a weighty sway rippled up against Anmwe’s arm. He slit his eyes open to peer at the full water skin resting there. Not his own. He removed the stopper and drank eagerly, gulping the water as if he’d not had a drink in days.

“Wait til they’re sunning to get it. They sleep then. Mostly.”

Anmwe grunted in response, breathing heavily through his nose.

“You can sleep here if you want, but then you’re walking.”

Anmwe grunted again. There was another rustle of movement at his back, and then the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. He stayed awake just long enough to watch the last of the fire sputter out. The cicada went quiet, and the slow rhythm of Kanji’s sleepy breathing took its place.

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