This one took a while, and I freely admit it was mostly me not wanting to even look at a sex scene I originally wrote 7 years ago. So almost all of this chapter was entirely rewritten from scratch. I hope I've managed to pummel it into acceptable shape.
As always, Durgrat trudged and endured.
Razashûk was babbling on about some guy he knew who wasn't that bright but once found a bag of coins stashed among the roots of an old tree stump anyway, which he assumed was supposed to be encouraging. Perhaps it would have been, if he wasn't so weary of near-misses and stumbling blocks. And if they were only looking for a bag of coins stashed in an old tree stump.
Finding the shrine on the banks provided some small comfort, since it made the world seem less empty. Dozens of people made it this far, at the very least. No doubt even more had and simply not bothered to leave evidence.
Still, Razashûk's talk of appeasing the Great Eye had left him restless. Powers he couldn't hope to understand still held sway even after they were dead. He did his best not to let on that he wasn't quite the perfectly molded cog in Saruman's vast machine that Razashûk seemed to think. The smaller Orc was disdainful enough of his homeland as it was, and he didn't need any more fuel.
The Voice called and called, echoing across the earth and rippling through the river, but he never heard it, not the way other people did. In this, he and Graznákh were a little less alone when they found each other. They were both indifferent to its power, battered by the sheer sound of it, but their hearts and minds remained unmoved.
He knew by now he would never feel that mysterious force singing in his pulse or exhaling along his skin, and never could have. The closest he came was those bony old fingers jabbing between his ribs once, followed by an approving nod. That had been a long time ago, when he was barely out of the ground and the Wizard still deigned to check on his army's progress in person once in a while. Durgrat had been too intimidated by the mere idea of Saruman to meet his gaze, and regretted it now.
Knowing he hadn't been cracked in the skull or left to cook too long in the pit only made it worse. It wasn't so much that he even wanted to feel that compulsion for himself. But it ached, seeing others being capable of that kind of excitement over something that as far as he was concerned didn't exist. Their shared direction and bond always seemed just out of reach. Others found it, and therefore each other, without even trying, and he was a stranger, forever gazing into some happy family's locked window.
He was snapped out of his stewing by the sound of buzzing insects and chirping birds and Razashûk growling at the both of them. He squelched a laugh with a pffft noise and caught up to the other Orc, who had scrambled ahead of Durgrat's measured steps in a vain attempt to somehow outrun nature and all its attendant pests.
Their gradual descent along the road led out of the last vestiges of the forest's edge and into a wide plain, green and rolling and dotted with intermittent clumps of small trees and shrubs. Wildflowers leapt out in bright sprays of pink, white, and yellow, attracting the occasional flittering butterfly or bumblebee. It was enough to make them sick.
Squinting and and frowning, they followed the winding strip of earth. The ground beneath their feet was dense and packed, unlike the forest floor with its layers of dead leaves and softly decaying debris, and deep ruts carved out by countless wagon wheels cut into it among all the marks left by hooves and boots.
"This is worse than the forest," said Durgrat. "I thought it was bad in there, but at least there were places to hide."
"I know," said Razashûk. "And I hate the way it smells here." Pollen and grass wafted into his face, carried on the irritatingly gentle breeze. He would've given anything for a noseful of musty swamp muck or the metallic, earthy stink of fresh guts after a hunt.
"Me too," said Durgrat.
A noise stirred in the distance ahead. Durgrat wrinkled his face as if something even fouler than the scent of fresh flowers hit it. They edged away from the road and towards a clump of bushes that just barely could be considered cover if one was particularly full of wide-eyed hope and could contort into a tiny ball. Unfortunately, both Orcs were lacking in those sort of traits, and instead crumpled themselves into the scrub, shoving and swearing at each other under their breath while trying not to draw attention to themselves individually. "Be stealthy, you big stupid pillock," said Razashûk as he elbowed Durgrat.
"I am stealthy. You just can't keep calm or quiet, you yapping runt. I could stay still if you stopped pushing me." He clamped a hand over the smaller Orc's mouth just in time for the source of the sound to appear.
A solitary Man strode along the road, his boots thumping softly as his cloak fluttered in the wind. Unlike the procession of peasants they'd dodged back at the beginning of this rigamarole, this one looked polished and full of purpose. His clothing was dusty and a bit worn, but clearly well-made and likely a uniform of some sort, seeing as the deep greens and browns of each garment matched so well. More importantly, there was long, sturdy-looking bow slung across his back, and he carried an equally impressive sword. His pale eyes were watchful beneath his hood, wandering but never losing focus.
Razashûk hissed. He could sense Durgrat tensing up out of the corner of his eye. Clearly someone dropped the ball somewhere, because an arrow whooshed towards them, and Razashûk rolled out of the way just in time for it to pierce right through his pack. "Son of a whore!" he snapped, irritated that he couldn't even smoothly cheat death without looking like a clod in the end and getting something of his damaged. He grabbed for the knife at his waist and crouched, ready to spring.
"Halt! Drop your weapons!" the Man bellowed, as if they were going to indeed drop everything and blithely obey someone trying to shoot them. "And clean up your language!" he added. "I can't have any foul sailor-talk when I parade you scum through the town square in chains! There will be women and children there."
Razashûk hardly saw what that had to do with anything, flashing back to memories of sitting with his siblings at his mother's feet while she flayed the skin from a recent kill and scraped out the gore in preparation for tanning it, softly swearing to herself on the rare occasion the knife slipped.
Nonetheless, that apparently stirred something in Durgrat. "Fuck off!" he replied as he righted himself and bared his teeth, demonstrating how much taller he was than their adversary.
The Man glowered and took aim once again. Durgrat hurled a dagger at him, which missed by several feet but was still close enough to make him panic and scatter. Razashûk figured this was probably not a good time to agree the Uruk was terrible at throwing knives. They already would have to argue about who drew the bastard's attention to them in the first place, after all.
"This isn't over!" the Man said, despite all evidence to the contrary. "There are dozens more of us!" he added as he ran back in the direction he came from.
"That much I can believe," said Razashûk. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
Durgrat darted over to retrieve his knife, then followed Razashûk back towards the gloomy edge in the distance.
The Orcs dashed away from the open road and retreated a bit further into the forest, skulking along the darkest patches they could find until they reached a small clearing relatively free of lumps or pointy things strewn on the ground.
"The road's not safe," said Durgrat.
"No shit!" Razashûk caught his breath and leaned back against a tree. He felt its bark flinch at the contact with his skin, but it barely registered underneath the crazed speed of his pulse and the desperate gasps catching in his throat.
Razashûk cursed himself. What kind of twit just blindly followed a map without considering it probably wouldn't be as simple as traipsing along as the crow flies? In hindsight it was lucky the journey had even gotten this far without any significant danger on the path itself. He managed to unfold the map and make a jittery note about not going near that area if you knew what was good for you, then carefully plucked out the arrow impaled through his bag and made sure nothing was irreparably damaged. Fortunately, it only went through a chunk of dried meat and a spare cloak that was already full of holes.
"At least you got a free arrow out of it."
He made a rude gesture at Durgrat and choked out a laugh, one of those painful ones that was more the result of relief than amusement. He still felt rattled and wary, and apparently he wasn't alone. Durgrat was sitting on a big lichen-covered log that creaked under his weight, slumped towards the ground with his eyes closed. The fog of his breath came out of his nostrils in short bursts, and his mouth was pulled into a toothy grimace.
After a few moments Razashûk pried himself away from the tree, which no doubt felt a shudder of relief of its own, and slid over to a soft spot on the ground carpeted by patchy, dark green moss. He was sure it was a lot more comfortable than Durgrat's splintery seat, and decided to shove thoughts of blame and criticism aside for now, and try and soothe his companion instead. He patted the ground next to him. "Uhm. Uh. Durgrat, c'mere."
"What?" The Uruk made his way across the clearing towards him. The moonlight reflected in his eyes with a pale yellow glow, and the gentle breeze playing through the trees made their subtle shadows dance over his face. Once again, some inexplicable force of fate had taken pity on Razashûk and given him a second chance.
"Aren't you feeling, uh, tense?"
"Of course I am." He stared at Razashûk like the Orc had just tied a rotten fish to his head and was expecting a compliment on how smashing it looked.
Razashûk ignored that and beckoned, then shuffled closer when Durgrat knelt beside him. "That stupid armor looks like puke and you should take it off," he blurted.
Durgrat snorted, but nonetheless got to doing just that, tossing his metal breastplate aside with a loud thud that made Razashûk flinch a bit, considering he'd rather not draw any more attention over to them from anyone or anything. But he quickly shrugged it off and got to helping Durgrat undo his boots, though for some reason his hands kept slipping upwards. Durgrat fiddled with the fastenings on Razashûk's clothes, his fingers slightly too big to comfortably deal with them. Razashûk could have helped him, but was enjoying making him work, and grinned when he finally got the hang of it.
He paused when the wind made a weird noise in the branches. "Are you sure? Just, you know, this might be the last time we're safe..."
"What is wrong with you?" said Durgrat. "Why are you talking about getting killed right now?" This time his bafflement had an amused edge to it. He nestled into Razashûk's throat, inhaling deeply through his nose and breathing out through his mouth with a soft rumble.
Razashûk writhed around and slouched forward, trying to minimize the focus on his chest and hoping Durgrat somehow wouldn't notice his nipples. He'd got them pierced on a whim years ago, hoping to impress some vague shadow of a person who never quite materialized. Look at me! I'm very knowledgeable about matters of physical pleasure and I really like myself, honest. Now that someone was finally looking, the dark metal rings seemed silly and shameful, a ridiculous juvenile bid for attention he hadn't earned. What made his nipples so special?
That didn't stop them from making it feel great when Durgrat ducked his head down and sucked on one before Razashûk even had a chance to try and squirm away. The Uruk's mouth flicked over the ring, sending little flutters of warmth along Razashûk's skin. He arched back without thinking.
"I've never seen that," said Durgrat. The Orc opened his mouth but only stammered indistinctly. "No, I like it." He gave Razashûk a gentle shove down onto his back and moved his head lower, nuzzling against his belly. Razashûk jolted when he felt the Uruk's hand spread his legs apart and begin exploring between them, then went slack as his huge tongue slithered and prodded further down, hot and tremendously slick. His breath quickened and he let out an embarrassing squawk when Durgrat ran his tongue around the head of his stiff prick and then plunged it into his mouth.
It was incredible, the wetness and warmth and the way Durgrat's tongue and lips moved and the fact anyone would even want to get that close to him...
Durgrat pulled away, letting the Orc's cock smack against his cheek when it popped out. His eyes pierced through Razashûk as he peered up while languidly rubbing his face against the length of it. The corner of his mouth curled up into a satisfied smile when it twitched. Razashûk shuddered and gripped the back of the Uruk's head. The squirming tension pooling in his body was radiating through his limbs now, overwhelming him, and he looked back at Durgrat with wide, ravenous eyes. He meant to say something like "Oh" or "Fuck" or maybe even "Please," but all that managed to escape his throat was a jagged moan.
Durgrat understood nonetheless, and took Razashûk back in his mouth, continuing to fondle and suck while Razashûk combed the Uruk's hair through his hands, his fingers tracing delicate, meaningless patterns on his skull. Durgrat made a low humming sound when he felt everything begin to quiver and tighten beneath his rough hands, no matter where they wandered. Razashûk rolled his head back and in a few quick throbs he was spent, pouring into the Uruk's maw. When Razashûk's hips stopped contorting and his neck snapped back in place, Durgrat sat up and unceremoniously swiped at the corner of his lip.
Razashûk really wanted to do nothing but lie back and close his eyes, drifting in and out of blissful semi-consciousness. But Durgrat was still right beside him, hard and panting, and he couldn't just leave him there to finish himself off, not after what he'd done.
"Do you," he faltered for a moment, realizing just how big Durgrat really was relative to him, "...do you want me to do that to you, too?" His defensive gutter mouth had apparently fallen into a mystery hole somewhere along with his strength.
The Uruk paused a moment to catch his breath. "It'd be nice, but I'm not going to cry if you don't want to. I've got hands."
Razashûk was already painfully aware of that, and decided to meet him in the middle. He felt a bit of heat return to his face as he scrambled to right himself, then tugged and stroked Durgrat's cock, surprised at how smooth the flesh of it was. He wasn't sure why he expected otherwise. He twisted his fingers around, sliding the foreskin back and forth. Durgrat gasped and his thighs tensed. Returning the favor didn't take long. He was already so wound up Razashûk didn't have to do much of anything before he bucked his hips up and growled, then spilled all over Razashûk's hand.
Razashûk barely had time to wipe himself off on the moss before Durgrat grabbed him and pressed the smaller Orc against him, resting his head on his chest so that his heartbeat thrummed in Razashûk's ear. His breath was heavy and his eyelids drooped as he gazed off into the blackness, squeezing Razashûk's backside with one hand while running the other up and down along the bumps of his spine.
"You're good," he said. "You're really good."
For once, Razashûk didn't poke about for clarification or question the sincerity of what he heard.
After what could have been an eternity of stillness, Durgrat shifted. "We need to move along," he said.
Razashûk's limbs were still slightly weak and shaky, and besides, he hadn't felt that good in ages for any reason. "Can't we just stay like this a few more minutes?"
The Uruk sighed. "All right," he said, and let Razashûk slump back against him. "But I think I saw something odd over there." He motioned his head towards a patchy spot running nearly parallel to the road.
"Odd like what?" Razashûk asked, a bit jarred. "Odd like some twigs being rather out of place, or odd like fresh corpses with pieces missing?"
"It's probably nothing," said Durgrat. Razashûk nodded and then rested his head once more.
As the darkness grew thicker, a few minutes of rest turned into a few hours. They untangled from each other and shuffled back into their clothes when the cold air began to bite too hard. Neither of them particularly felt like putting much effort into foraging, but had built up a ferocious hunger, so they tore into what was left of the rations. After eating, they sat in silence for a few minutes, then Durgrat lost his patience with all that insufferable peace and quiet and decided to find out if he had actually spotted anything after all.
Razashûk watched him from the corner of his eye as he went off to investigate, but wasn't terribly engrossed. He was preoccupied with too many things rattling around inside his cranium already, fragments like I didn't expect that to be nearly as good as it was, and Well I guess I'm not completely repulsive after all, and Maybe now we don't even have to get in some shitty argument about that idiot tark getting in our faces, and No, seriously, that was pretty nice. Every single one was slightly overshadowed by Oh fuck, what have I done? He felt as if he'd tried to untangle something, but put a dozen more knots in it instead.
He'd have to untie them later, though. Durgrat's voice roared out from the foliage in a most un-stealthy manner. "Hey, Raz! I was right! Come look at this."
Razashûk traipsed off towards him.
"Someone left footprints and didn't bother trying to cover them."
"Shit. They're pretty big," Razashûk noted.
Durgrat nodded sagely but kept his gaze on the ground. "Well that's interesting," he said, as he hovered his leg next to one of the dents.
"Huh?" Razashûk didn't follow.
Durgrat stomped down and then inspected his fancy footwork. "Whoever left these has the exact same kind of boots as me."
Fantastic. Make that a lucky thirteen knots, then.