“I don’t...” Vidar mumbles, eyes falling shut. A cough leaves him, wet and sickly, and he feels blood pour out of his mouth. Fu’shj makes a startled noise, and a finger brushes over his jaw. Vidar merely shakes, and trembles, feeling so fucking weak.

Fu’shj pulls its cock out quickly, roughly, and Vidar doesn’t even make a noise. He feels the sudden emptiness, the gaping, the rush of semen flooding out of him. (It eases the strain in his stomach, if nothing else.) He flops uselessly when he’s let go, lying motionlessly on the ground.

Vidar loses time.

The loose leg is jolted and moved, and he heaves but he still has no voice. The pain is blinding, sudden, and he cries weakly, shuddering and trying to curl in on himself. Breaths ragged, he thumps his head on the ground in the only freedom he has. But somebody grabs his head, and holds it still again.

Vidar’s gasps are loud, rattling. He bites on his lip as his other leg is moved, too. When they’re let go, he sniffles. He attempts to move his toes, but he can’t feel anything.

He is pulled up, hands on his shoulder pushing until he’s sitting, and Vidar stares at his legs. One’s not bent the right way, the hip joint all wrong, and he looks away. He is lowered back down again soon enough, anyway, but this time it stops halfway. An orc is resting his upper body on it’s stomach, he notes, and he stares wordlessly up at it.

The orc lets him go, and when he doesn’t slide anywhere, it grips his jaw and pries his mouth apart. Fingers are shoved in deep and he chokes, gagging as his mouth is pulled open, the fingers splitting his mouth as far as it can go. He shudders, whines, and his HP drops to six percent.

Fu’shj steps back into his line of sight, and Vidar’s head is tilted further back. As far back as possible, mouth pulled wide open and he keeps his eyes open but can barely see a thing. But he sees... he sees Fu’shj step up to him, holding an opaque bottle. He sees Fu’shj pull the lid off, and then turn the bottle upside down.

The liquid is poured into his mouth and he chokes, truly chokes, this time. He can’t breathe, gagging and coughing but the fingers keep his head right where it is, keep his mouth wide so Fu’shj can continue to pour undisturbed.

His head is tilted so far back, his mouth so wide open, and Fu’shj’s aim is so good, that the liquid falls so far into his throat he can’t even taste it. But there’s so much, en endless stream, and he doesn’t understand how he hasn’t passed out already, frantically trying to breathe through his nose but not doing a very good job.

Fu’shj shakes the bottle when the bottle finishes, forcing Vidar to swallow the last few drops, and then his mouth is finally let go, his head released. Vidar slowly shuts his mouth, grimacing at the pain in his jaw, but he’s quickly distracted.

The pain is easing, Vidar notes. His gaze shifts to his stats, and as he watches, his HP fills up all the way to one-hundred percent. His gaze swings to Fu’shj.

“Oh,” Vidar breathes.

Fu’shj says something, looking... almost smug, and steps forward. It bends down, gripping Vidar’s stomach around his waist and then throwing Vidar over its shoulder, Vidar scrambling to get a solid grip on something, anything. And he dangles there, Fu’shj’s shoulder digging painfully into his stomach, and though his leg has healed and his insides has too and his bites all have as well, there is still cum and blood dripping from his asshole down along his legs.

His face burns. He hides it in Fu’shj’s back, staring at the silver plait hanging below him. It’s messy as fuck, most of the hair having escaped it and attempting to knot together, but it reminds him...

Soon, Fu’shj stops walking, and plops down onto a log too big to make sense. Vidar whimpers when he’s dropped at Fu’shj’s feet, a breathless moment of falling followed by a harsh meeting with the ground, and he uses his now working legs to twist onto his side, off his arms. He can feel them again, and they’re still tied behind his back; they hurt.

He wheezes into the earth, purple gaze wild. His eyes peek silently at the bare feet before him, and he can’t believe that that just happened. It just... it actually happened.

Vidar’s heart is still beating a mile a minute, a frankly dangerous speed, and his hands fist in their restrains. He huffs on his breaths, holds them in and counts to ten in an attenmpt to calm down. Calm down and think.

Fuck, it actually happened.

He actually... the orc actually... there was actually... and he...

Loved it.

Adored it, even.

He gulps, swallowing his own saliva. He can still feel the orc’s cum staining him, and the collar is still around his neck. His wound has closed, must have, with his HP at one-hundred percent. But there’s still blood on the inside, and it lets him turn his head to look up at Fu’shj without also turning his body.

Vidar wets his lips. Fu’shj is looking right back down at him, gaze unreadable but dark and intense and Vidar shivers. He licks his lips again, nudging his head on the ground and relaxing his body.

Eyes half-lidded, he watches Fu’shj say something harshly and then bend down, freeing Vidar’s arms. But before Vidar has a chance to do something about his newfound freedom, another chain is connected to his collar, his head forced down onto the ground by a large hand blotting out his eyes. He gulps, once more, and when he can see again, Fu’shj is holding the collar’s chain.

Slowly, Vidar begins to move his arm, keeping an eye on Fu’shj as he painfully sits up, wincing as he catches sight of himself. His legs are covered in blood and cum, as is his stomach. Some of the bite-marks didn’t heal, for some reason, and have instead scarred over.

Vidar’s hand rises to his chest, fingers trembling as they touch the deep pink scars, and he whimpers. His hand continue up, painful though the sudden movement is, and he barely touches the collar before the chain is pulled back and he strangles as he’s pulled along, feet clawing on the ground.

Stopping at the orc’s foot, Vidar coughs as he collects himself.

Another orc approaches them and now that he’s not... well, now that he’s not distracted by fucking fantastic sex, Vidar draws his legs up to hide himself, curls his arms over his knees and tries to make himself smaller. He flinches, when the chain is pulled a little, shaking his head but it does nothing more so he relaxes.

The orc stops before them. It gestures to Vidar, says something, lots and lots of noises, and Fu’shj snaps back. The orc is the one who flinches, now, stepping back and then walking away after a brief pause.

Vidar wonders what will happen now. He has no frame of reference, doesn’t know if they’ll just kill him now, or—keep him. Maybe... go again?

A big hands lands on his head, gripping his hair. Vidar doesn’t move, stays still as the hand trails over his plait and then begins unmaking it, pulling it apart. The hand runs through the long hair, untangling the many knots and pulling bits of grass and leaves and dirt out, and Vidar’s eyes closes. He hums, leaning back until he hits Fu’shj’s leg.

He rests against it, and he turns his head and nuzzles it, drinking in the musky smell and the dirt and dust, and he feels the grip on his hair pause, then gradually restart. It’s pleasant, startlingly so, and he finds himself sinking into it, reaching almost a half-dosing state.

Water is splashed on his face, next, and Vidar peeks through mostly closed eyes, nose scrunching up when the splashing, though weirdly soft, doesn’t stop. It’s Fu’shj; he’s let go of his hair at some point, though Vidar doesn’t recall when, and he’s now dripping water onto Vidar’s face. Just as Vidar is about to protest, Fu’shj’s big hand settle on his face and begins to rub, fingers moving over his skin and rooting out the blood.

Vidar blinks. His eyes open wide, and he stares curiously at Fu’shj’s face. The orc almost seems to be avoiding his gaze, instead focusing on cleaning him, and Vidar is... very confused. But he doesn’t dislike it, so he leaves it be.

The cleaning goes on for a few minutes and Vidar’s heartbeat finally settle into something resembling normality. When Fu’shj pauses, dark gaze radiating satisfaction, Vidar lifts his hand and gently sets it on Fu’shj’s wrist. Fu’shj freezes, and Vidar licks his lips as he tries to think of something to say.

“Thank you,” he ends up saying. Fu’shj stares at him for a long moment, then gently tears himself free and sits back down. But his hand returns to Vidar’s hair, patting softly, and Vidar cuddles close again. He’s not pushed away.