VII. If I was not myself/and you were someone else/I'd say much to you/ and I would tell the truth/Cause I can hardly breathe/when your hands let go of me

For the time being Azog was content to thrust against her, only imaging the feel of being inside her. She lay on her back and he laid between her legs, holding her hips as his body jerked never fully satisfied without the feel of her surrounding him. But it was all she was ready for, and she did not fight him or tell him no; she laid submissively beneath him and let him spread her legs as wide as he desired as he satiated his hunger.

And she watched his face, taking in every passing looking of pleasure that painted his features, listening to every groan and grunt and once even a purr that escaped the back of his throat. He'd once met her eye as he moved against her, and it had taken every ounce of his restraint not to turn her on her belly and take her; there was a spark of desire in her eyes, he didn't think she knew – at least not yet, for she was still young, and desire was new to her.

He no longer let her bathe in the river out of his sight, not willing to take the chance of her slipping beneath the water's surface never to come up for air. More often than not the lure of her unclothed body was too much for him, and she laid on the bank as he thrust against her with nothing more than his loincloth keeping him from entering her and it drove him mad. In these moments he held himself up so he could watch the way her breasts bounced from the movement of his hips, and every time his eyes trailed to hers she was always looking at him. She was not so stiff, not so still; he could feel her legs tighten around his waist from where he placed them, her eyes were warmer. And once he felt her shudder, her back arched and her eyes closed.

The times by the river were wearing on her, for he pressed so close against her almost penetrating. And her breasts bounced heavily as his thrusts moved her body. She did not notice it the first time, or the second or even the third. It was days turned into weeks of feeling him against her before she realized the way her entire body buzzed as though bees were trapped under her skin, was because she enjoyed it. A sharp ache throbbed between her legs, her skin prickled each time his hardened flesh rubbed against her. Once he finished, whether by the river or in the tent, she turned away so he would not see her tears. Shame scorched her soul, guilt flayed her alive; she was a whore existing only for the whims of a good fuck. She hated herself, loathed the wants of her body; and yet blame never fell on Azog, her finger only pointed at her.

On her back she lay, her legs around his waist, his hips moving against hers; a heat spread through her, one that had her gasping as her skin crawled. She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin, and her back arched; her eyes closed tight. She shoved him off her when she realized what'd she'd done, and so taken by surprise was he that she took him off balance. Her hips had raised seeking him out, pushing harder against him to fulfill the swelling need growing in her.

He sat on his knees as he looked at her, seeing her shoulders shake as she cried; unbelief that he had felt her meet his thrust.

"No," she told him, her voice cracking from her tears, when he grabbed her and laid her back down. "Please, I can't. I can't."

He did not understand those words, but desire was nothing new to him; he understood that clearly. And so he shushed her, wiping a tear that leaked from her eyes. "No," he said firmly, silencing her. He pulled her legs apart and settled between them once more, placing a hand on either side of her. "No Calla," he said again at seeing her chin quiver. She turned her head away and pressed her mouth against his wrist, closing her eyes. He knew desire, he knew it more than a young woman who had never kissed a man let alone been pleased by one. And so he moved his hips against hers, pressing hard against her and feeling the twitch in her leg's muscles around him. Only a minute it took of rubbing against her, her nails piercing his arm, her breaths coming in short pants. Her moan was muffled behind his wrists and her closed mouth, but he felt her body shake as she swam in the current of ecstasy – and even then he struggled to believe it, for he was an orc and there was no reason to believe she would find anything about him the least bit desirable.

His own need was great, for watching her as she came had ignited a fire in his blood, but he was still as her body continued to shake. One look at her face showed she was crying, and her sobs were so broken and hopeless that he could not finish. She wouldn't let him touch her, she cried and pushed him away nearly screaming when he tried; and so he handed her her dress and walked away from her, not knowing what he felt. He was angry, furious and hateful, though only because he was hurt. She did not desire him, the proof was in her tears. Azog never let himself imagine that the reason for her crying was because she did desire him, though it was the truth – and she abhorred herself for it.

In the days that followed he did not try to touch her, he knew she would not let him; he rarely went to the tent to see her for it did nothing but hurt him to see the guarded way she now looked at him – and that induced murderous thoughts, ones he honestly contemplated though did not act on. He ordered Yazneg to see to her, to insure she ate and was taken to the river to bathe as he knew she liked to do.

The few times he did go to the tent he would see her and he'd force her down, not caring if she were willing or not; until he heard her tears. Then he would growl and shove her aside as he left the tent to fuck some other woman. This continued for weeks until his patience, which was already slight and all but nonexistent, had completely worn away. He found the two at the river, Yazneg sitting on a rock with his back to her and her in her dress with wet hair.

Yazneg stood the moment he saw Azog, for Azog had been in a black mood for weeks – Yazneg knew it was because of the girl, it was always because of the girl. She would be the death of them, and his hatred to her morphed into loathing and he greatly wished Azog would rape her and do away with it all.

Azog marched toward her and stopped inches from her staring down into her surprised face. "You are mine," he told her gruffly, his eyes burning with rage.

Yazneg nearly tittered as he moved closer, turning his own vengeful eyes on her as he translated what Azog said next. "You cannot continue to refuse him," Yazneg said.

Calla looked at Azog with wide eyes and a set jaw, and she shook her head. Azog sighed, sounding more a growl. "I gave you your warg. I have been sheltering you, and feeding you and keeping you safe. Why do you say no?" he demanded. He waited as Yazneg told her what he'd said, his eyes never leaving her face. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out and all caring left him. "Get on your knees."

Yazneg sneered at her. "Get on your knees."

She turned to Azog with wide eyes. "No," she told him firmly, though inside she was quivering for she did not fully believe he would not rape her any longer. Azog bared his teeth at her before saying something through a clenched jaw.

"Get on your knees or he will go to a woman and fuck her in front you," Yazneg told her.

She did not doubt him, not with the fury that was in his cold eyes. And still she shook her head. He grabbed her arm and she slammed her hand on his chest. "No!" she cried stilling him.

Yazneg stared at the girl in utter shock. No one refused Azog, no one that lived anyway, and yet the girl refused and still drew breath; not only that but she struck Azog and still he did nothing against her. Yazneg was baffled, perhaps even awed if spite did not swell in him at her freedom to tell the pale orc no.

"Why?" Azog asked, staring down at her with hard eyes.

Calla stared up at him, hearing Yazneg's translation, realizing she would have to give an answer. "I am afraid you will hurt me," she said, her voice small and meek.

Yazneg looked to Azog, wheels turning in his mind for he realized something; he could make this all end now, put Azog in a mood to rape her while teaching the whore her place.

She knew the moment Azog turned to Yazneg in shock after he translated that something was wrong. She cried out more in surprise at his hand on her cheek and her body in the air, than she did in pain. She did not feel pain until she slammed into the ground, her cheek was on fire and cold all at the same time and she had trouble seeing straight.

Yazneg stood back and watched with glee as she was thrown off her feet, and then as Azog sat on her waist. It was not until Azog held a rock above his head that Yazneg realized he had made a mistake in what he'd said; as much of an orc as he was, as awful and cruel and vicious as he was, her kindness had worn him down to where he did not entirely wish her dead. "Wait," he cried before Azog could bring the rock down on her head. Azog turned to him and Yazneg nearly shrunk back from the pure rage in his eyes. "I may have mistranslated," he said timidly, watching Azog's resolve wain slightly. "Shall I ask her to repeat herself?" He waited until Azog nodded before he stepped forward, and he looked down at her wide tear filled eyes as she lay heaving and shaking beneath the large orc. "What was it you said?"

Calla looked up at him confused, finding it hard to breathe for how heavy her fear was. And then she understood. "You lied."

Azog did not understand her words but he knew they were not the ones she had said before. He looked from her to Yazneg, betrayal was in her eyes and there was a sliver of guilt in his. And then Azog knew what had happened. With a roar he lunged for the orc, grabbing him around the throat and throwing him against a tree. "What did she say?" he thundered, his voice a resonance of fury. Yazneg nearly whimpered in terror as Azog descended upon him once more, wrapping his large hand around his throat and squeezing. "What did she say?"

Yazneg sucked in air when Azog loosened his grip for him to answer. He should have let her die, Azog would have never known. "She was afraid you would hurt her."

Calla sat on the ground staring at the two, not understanding their words. Azog looked at her after Yazneg spoke, and his eyes were filled with not only shock but also guilt. She gasped when Azog hit Yazneg's head against a rock and then threw him. Yazneg was launched in the air when Azog's foot connected with his side, and he cried out in pain. "No," Calla said standing, her head ringing and her balance shifted.

Azog either didn't hear her or didn't care, he grabbed Yazneg by the throat and lifted him high in the air; watching as his legs kicked uselessly and his eyes bulged – almost smiling as he watched the life leaving the orc's eyes. "Azog." He turned without lowering the suffocating orc to see Calla at his side, her cheek already bruising. "No," she said softly, placing her hand on his arm. Her touched softened him, if only slightly, and he let Yazneg fall to the ground with a thump and a cough.

She stared up at him seeing the guilt and shame in his eyes as he raised a hand to her cheek; he had never been so gentle, his fingers were but a butterfy's kiss upon her skin. She watched as he walked away, wishing she could say something. Instead she turned to Yazneg who was holding his neck and gasping. "What did you tell him?" she asked, for he was the only one who spoke her tongue – therefore he could not die.

He looked up at her, it not being lost on him that she had save him. "I said you did not wish to lie with him."

And there it was. Again she was forced to come face to face with the fact that Azog did not just wish to lie with her, he wished for her to want it too.

"Was I lying?" Yazneg demanded with all his wounded pride, knowing she didn't. "Do you wish to lie with him?" So sure was he that the answer was simply no, that he was shocked senseless when she answered; "I don't know." For she had given him her answer, one she had yet to admit to herself for it was too much bear. Yes, she did.

The song is Dead In the Water by Ellie Goulding.

I'm not sure if I ever said how old she was, but at the moment she's only 16 or 17 so she's still really young. And hasn't experienced lust, so she's a little innocent to that. I wasn't sure how well I captured that.

PS: she is melting really hard, and will only melt more. I don't think it's fully Stockholm, because she's not misinterpreting his not hurting her as kindness. I mean his feelings are genuine, though he hasn't quite figured out what he feels or at least he's not admitting it. I think her "feelings" are heavily influenced by her situation but I don't think it's fully Stockholm (it is a little bit though) And yeah you did say he about Azog, you're seeing him as more of a person now huh? :)