A/N: I own naught.
A PWP that is chronologically taking place after Age of Mortals, and yes, I am working on an epilogue. This is part of an AU storyline and contains terms and events not in any way associated with WOW. Unbeta'ed, read at your own risk.
She should by all rights have been fully occupied by a dispute between farmers in Theramore's northern fields, but at the moment, Lady Jaina Proudmoore would not have given a damn if Onyxia her self crashed into the room. Had any coherent thoughts entered her mind, it might be that most of her contemporaries would infinitely rather face the black Brood Mother than do what she was doing. But coherent was a far cry from her present state.
Jaina was on her hands and knees on the red skin of Bloodbeak, head tossed back and her mouth open in a wordless scream. Her long, blond hair cascaded down her back and arms in a wild haystack, and her eyes were hazy. Behind her, one large hand gripping her shoulder, the other cupping her buttocks, was the orcish Warchief, tusks prominently displayed by his rasped breathing and long black braids flying wildly as he pumped his hips against Jaina's shapely rear.
"Ahhh, ahh, I…!" Jaina was hardly aware of what she was uttering, her mind aflood with a fiery pleasure so great it hurt. Behind her, her orcish lover shifted, grabbing her with one arm so her back was flush against his broad chest, her legs splayed to either side of him.
"Just enjo- !" he didn't finish the sentence. Jaina had ground her self into his lap, pushing his hard length further into her. With a deep growl, he latched his arms around her lean stomach and began to trust away with abandon.
Feeling her climax coming, Jaina leaned back, latching her own arms around the Warchief's neck and pulled his head down to a fervent kiss, broken in the next instance when her whole body shuddered as her orgasm ripped through her like a thunderstorm.
Her screams of pleasure was soon drowned out by a bellow of ecstasy and she could feel his member contract as he shot his hot semen into her.
Panting, she clung to his arms, the last eddies of her orgasm running through her.
"Light above, how can it feel so good?" she whispered, when she found a measure of air.
A stubbly jaw-line nuzzled against the nape of her neck.
"I don't know. Should we try again, just to make sure it was not an once-over?"
She twisted in his grasp, swatting him on the arm. "Three times in a night is not enough to convince you?" she grinned.
"I'll never tire of you, Jaina," he replied, seriousness replacing mischief. She gently turned in his arms and looked at him. Thrall, Warchief of the Horde, one of the fiercest and most powerful warriors to ever emerge from the orcish race; a dedicated and highly skilled Shaman; a supremely capable commander and leader; as noble a spirit as she had ever encountered. There was no place she would rather be than in his arms.
"I love you," she whispered, "I love you so much."
Thrall smiled, his blue eyes so soft it was hard to believe he had once stared down a demon.
"Dagaz, Dagaz," he muttered, stroking her hair. "Not as much as I love you."