Based on an infamous piece of artwork on Tumblr. After I got done clawing my face and screaming I decided it was great. Dedicated to basically the entire Tumblr Warcraft fandom.
Theron is some kind of cat, he's pretty sure. Gallywix—Mr. Gallywix to every sod who knew what was good for them, he hadn't scraped and beaten and knuckled his way to the top to be fucking disrespected—will admit he doesn't know Theron that well. He doesn't know any of his other faction leaders that well, really; his business has always been his business and he plays the line between being loyal to the Horde and being loyal to himself hard and fast. To be honest, which Gallywix usually only was with himself, he could take the Blood Elves or leave them; flighty, haughty, and more concerned with their magic than Gallywix liked. Theron, though, Theron was solid: he talked straight, would get dirty if he needed to, and had possibly the finest ass Gallywix had ever seen.
That was why he was here, in Silvermoon, chatting up Theron to get a little inter-Horde goodwill. Hopefully in the form of all those fabrication techniques the Regent had picked up on the Isle of Thunder. Getting a better read on a fellow faction leader is part of it too, of course; Gallywix had people everywhere, and the very juicy rumor that Garrosh had staged the mess in Dalaran half to scare Theron into submission and half to end Theron's purported talks with the Alliance had reached his ears not even a day after the dust settled.
So far, though, he'd surmised that Theron had to be a cat. Gallywix had been there a day: in talks with the Regent over tea while the elf lounged on cushions and smiled at him, being shown around by the Regent and getting a priceless eye-level view of his very fine posterior, and more talking over what the elves called a light dinner but would have fed him for an entire day when he was on the streets. He respected that Theron was a cagey bastard as well as a straight-talking one, and trying to nail him down on giving his cartel rights to the fabrication techniques—or at least getting a hint as to who had the damn things so he could have them stolen—was satisfying. A duel against a skilled opponent…who had a damn fine ass.
Later, in the opulent guest suite he'd been given, Gallywix was still thinking about nailing Theron down. Not metaphorically.
With how much these people liked gold, Theron could probably appreciate Gallywix laying him out on a pile of it. He could feel his cock twitching just thinking about the piles of money he had stashed away in his lesser vaults—not the great vault, where all of his truly valuable possessions were—but banks and well-protected rooms under his palace. Theron on a pile of money would be damn enticing; nude and pale all over, maybe in a heavy collar. A leash to go with the collar too, he thought, a lynx on a leash. He chuckled, but imagined yanking it as they fucked, turning Theron to face him so he could watch his face as he wrecked him.
He'd take his time, he thought, feeling his cock swell and stretching himself out on the bed as he reached down to grasp it, teasing the head with his nails and pressing the heavy bands of his rings against the shaft as he stroked it. Binding Theron's cock would do the trick, and he stroked harder at the thought of the gleam of gold and Theron's sweat and the desperate noises he'd make with his cock twitching helplessly against his belly and Gallywix riding that gorgeous ass of his. It'd be even better with something to remember it by, and Gallywix added cameras to his little fantasy: blinking red lights recording Theron's thighs spread wide around his hips as he plunged balls-deep into the elf. Theron blushing as Gallywix yanked the leash to keep his face on camera, his good eye trying to avoid looking in the lenses as the cameras moved to capture the whole scene.
When Gallywix finally let him come he'd probably yowl like a cat too, and the thought of having that fine ass clenching around him as Theron came apart all over himself, on the gold, on camera, was what sent Gallywix over the edge. He stoked himself even as he came, and idly afterward, still aroused and now considering other things. The profits he could squeeze out of having a tape like that could be astronomical, but Gallywix thought if he really had it he'd keep it to himself. Fucking Theron until he screamed was more of a personal accomplishment than a business one, really.
The fabrication plans, though, those were something else. With his own designs he could probably improve them, make them cheap and then jack the prices of whatever he was producing through the roof and market it as 'brand new technology'. Profit was a bulletproof aphrodisiac, and he thought of Theron all laid out on a pile of gold; sweating and moaning and scrabbling his long nails against the coins for purchase only for them to slide clinking out from under him.
He'd always been ambitious. This visit to Silvermoon, he decided, he was going to get into Theron's bed and see if he really was a wildcat, or he was going to get ahold of those plans. Maybe if he played his cards right he'd get both.