VIII. keep me safe inside/your arms like towers/tower over me/cause we are broken

Black, the color of her cheek. Red, the color of his guilt. Several times he had thought of striking her, of killing her or raping her, but never had he done it. He'd hit her, hard enough her body had twisted in the air and slammed back onto the ground – he could still hear her scream. Behind his eyes was painted the image of her terrified face as he held a rock over his head to crush hers, of her tears. He had almost killed her, had Yazneg not stopped him he would have. Azog could barely look at her, seeing her bruised skin nearly made him sick and he would bow his head and turn away.

He did not touch her, his hands could do nothing but hurt her, had already hurt her. And though his desire for her had not changed, he found no release. Not with her, and he realized then that no other woman compared; he did not want screams, he did not want their pain or the quick release he could find. He wanted her, and unbelievable to him he wanted her not only willing but he wanted her pleased. He wanted to watch her face, her eyes shut her mouth open, her body wrapped around him. He wanted everything, but he couldn't have it.

If he had it his way he would have left his guilt in the tent with her, but every few days she liked to go to the river and bathe while the weather still permitted it. And no longer could he order Yazneg to her side, he could not trust she would be safe. Azog had given Yazneg to his cruelest orc, demanding he be whipped to an inch of his life – but he was not to be killed, and should he die Azog would flay the orc who killed him alive.

Without Yazneg Calla was forced to seek Azog out to go to the river. At first she had convinced herself it was not worth leaving the tent and facing the orcs alone, but she did truly enjoy sitting in the river as the sun warmed her skin – it was one of the few things she could do, and quite frankly she was bored.

Though her little white warg kept her more than entertained. Calla had taken to calling her daisy, for the first time the warg ran out of the tent she had brought back a little daisy in her mouth for her mother, with petals as white as her fur. The warg wasn't so little anymore, she now was the size of a normal warg her age if not a little bigger. Often times Calla brought her warg with her to bathe for she whined and barked when Calla left, and those pitiful sounds tugged on her heart as though the warg pup were a babe. So Calla would leave the tent with Daisy under her arm, and over the months she had been there the orcs had become more aware that she was Azog's – the proof was in Yazneg's stripped back – and they watched her warily as she walked, leering at her from afar. Daisy hadn't liked the river, her hackles had raised and she had growled lightly as she stared at her own reflection. But once Calla had removed her dressed and stepped in the little warg followed, though she was smart enough not to go too deep and get swept away.

In these moments Azog stood and watched Calla, with her hair straight and wet down her back,sit in the shallow water and bathe the warg. The warg should be with the other pups, learning the wild and what it took to survive; she could not stay by Calla's side forever, it would be the death of the white warg. But he had no way of speaking of to her for Yazneg could hardly move let alone speak, and he didn't think Calla would let him take the warg – not with the way she loved it. And there it was, love. Never before had he seen it, had he witnessed it; Calla loved her warg, and her warg loved her. Love was as foreign as kindness to him, and they both resided in the beautiful young woman that sat naked before him trusting him not to rape her.

Weeks it took for her bruise to heal, and with it much of his guilt had gone too; for he could look at her now and want her again, want her enough to almost start rubbing against her again. He didn't though, not at first. For remnants of the guilt, which had burned so warmly in his chest when he looked at her cheek, had remained and reminded him of what he'd done. So he first touched her, tracing her nude body with his hands. He grew to love taking her to the river, where she would remove her dress and wash herself clean, and then afterward he ran his hands along the length of her skin. She now shivered when he touched her breasts, his calloused fingers rough on her sensitive nipples which raised when he toyed with them. Her skin was smooth, without scar or freckle; the only thing marring her lovely skin was a small blemish near her mouth, though he thought it beautiful. He often ran his thumb over it, and then her lips; her soft full lips that he often wondered the feel of.

It was not until he saw a glimmer of want in her eyes that he lowered her unclothed body to the ground and spread her legs around him. Need had built in him so great that he hadn't had a clear enough mind to think of whether she enjoyed the feel of him rubbing against her, enjoyed how he pulled her legs further up his sides to thrust harder against her. He did not think of it, though she did. She laid beneath him and felt him full against her, remembering the way her muscles had swam and a blinding light had erupted behind her eyes as she'd felt the most incredible thing she'd ever felt before – and for a moment she had wanted him to take her, she'd ached for him to be inside her, until reality had come crashing around her.

So she laid beneath him trying to force herself to not enjoy it, it never worked. Cruelty, anger, ill words she spoke to herself in her mind, saying she was a whore when she felt her body buzzing; try as she might to keep herself from feeling anything as he growled and grunted and moaned above her, she failed. Most often he took no notice of her as he pleased himself, and she could escape with nothing more than dissatisfaction, longing, and a shame she didn't realize was lessening. But there were a few times when he caught sight of her face to see her eyes were closed, or he felt her legs tightening around him, or her hips sought his out, and he pleased her. And so he slowed his movements, pushing harder against her, holding her hips against his so that he was nearly entering her, and he was rewarded with her release – one that came without tears. She muffled her sounds behind his wrist, where she pressed her mouth to keep herself silent, but he had taken to pulling her hair so her neck was made to arch; leaving her nothing to restrain her own moans. And never before had he heard a more beautiful sound than when she moaned, a rough hard sound that came from her throat and made him nearly tear the cloth from around his waist and take her then.

Once he had gone to remove his loincloth, seeing plain in her eyes that she was ready only for her to tell him "no." It had been weak, lacking conviction, and he knew her resolve was waining. So he had hovered over her and lifted it, settling between her legs, seeing from the way her chest rose and fell she awaited with anticipation. He roared more in shock than in pain when the little white warg bit his leg, knowing what the word no meant. That was all it took for Calla's senses to return and for her to move from underneath him, gathering Daisy in her arms so he could not throw her aside. He had been left on his knees more in need than he'd ever been, his leg bleeding, and his eyes begging her; it hurt how much he wanted her, it throbbed and he almost whimpered. She saw his need and she put her warg down before laying on the ground, and without words he knew he would not be taking her.

He had growled enraged at coming so close to having her only for her to refuse him again, and he had turned her over and thrusted against her backside, and he heard from her gasps that the rocks were cutting into her skin. But he did not stop, he kept a hand on her back flattening her to the ground, and it might have been alright had she laid still beneath him. But the movement of his hips had her entire body moving with him, and her nipples dragged painfully against the cracks in the rocks as well as her skin. When he'd finished he'd stood and charged away from her, leaving her laying naked on her belly breathing heavily – and even then, she did not cry. For her own release had built in her and the feeling of her nipples being pinched on the rocks had sent a thrill through her, something she cursed herself greatly for as she put her dress on.

He would have tried to take her again, had wanted and sometimes almost did try, but he could see so clearly in her eyes that she was close to wanting it herself, that he waited. He continued to please himself and when he saw it he pleased her, watching and enjoying the way her mouth opened and her eyes screwed shut, her legs clenched around his hips and her nails digging into his skin as her release tore through her. It took every ounce of restraint he had, and then it took more, to keep himself from having her; wanting to be inside her, wanting the feel of her warmth as she sheathed him. Her will was crumbling piece by piece, and he realized that the more he aroused her the lesser her refusal became.

Months of this he broke down her resolve, it having been early spring when he'd first taken her and it now being the start of fall. She hardly even noticed; one day she would curse herself for the desires of her body, and the next she would embrace them. She was caught between a state of wanting and knowing she shouldn't – but day by day she remembered less and less why she shouldn't want him. He did in fact arouse her: his growls of pleasure, his hands on her hips, feeling him pressed fully against her spread legs, the gentler moments when they sat beside each other in silence doing nothing more than being in the other's company. There were days he didn't touch her at all, when he brought her something such as a hair tie or a comb; she did not know where he got these, if during the day he had gone to raid a village as orcs so often did, or it was something taken from a previous pillaging. But she accepted everything he gave her with a smile, seeing from the way he would nod once before sitting beside her that all he'd wanted by giving it to her was for her to like it. Something that touched her more greatly than anything, for in those moments he was hardly an orc to her at all.

…

Once and only once did Azog leave her alone by the river, returning to the camp to speak with his second of moving the camp for the oncoming winter. He had watched her step into the river, and then as her warg followed after, lunging for a fish and doing no more than making a splash that startled her; and he had turned his back on them, knowing if he didn't then he would stay, and he went back through the trees to the camp.

Yazneg, who could now stand, watched Azog return to the camp knowing he had left the girl at the river. It was not even five minutes later that Yazneg saw the small white warg run barking through the trees; and he realized he was not the only one to know the girl was alone. Whether it be fear of Azog that he might discover he'd known she was being hurt, or whether a tiny part of him cared that she was being hurt, he stood and made for where Azog had gone, gathering the wriggling warg in his arms. The moment Azog saw the warg he knew it had been a mistake to leave her, and every single orc watched as he ran for the trees taking up no weapon as he growled dangerously. Only moments later they heard a terrible shrieking and over that the bellowing of Azog. Abruptly the shrieks ceased and the orcs stood in silence, looking nervously at each other.

Yazneg had slunk slowly after Azog, holding the now still warg, as he walked through the trees. Blood dripped from Azog's hands, and the orc laid dead and torn at his feet. Yazneg held the warg, wrapping his hand around its jaw so it wouldn't bark, as he watched. He saw the girl on the ground, her dress pulled up exposing her legs and tears wet on her face as she stared up at Azog with wide eyes. Yazneg then watched shocked as she stood and wrapped her tiny arms Azog's waist and cried, and Azog stood motionless in his own shock as he felt her shaking against him. It was then Yazneg understood why Azog let her refuse him, why Azog gave into her and did not force himself on her; she trusted him, and more than that she was slowly growing to like him – and that Azog cared for her.

The song is We Are Broken by Paramore.

Because I didn't say it; the orc didn't rape her. He was literally about to when Azog burst through the trees. As a warning,*(technical spoiler) I may have the sex next chapter - and keeping Azog as an orc, he really only knows how to rape. So she's not gonna enjoy it very much, however that's only in the beginning. And it won't be rape, she just won't find pleasure in it cause he's a little too rough. Just as a heads up so no one is like shocked and appalled at me.*(end)

Guest: thank you so very much, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I actually really enjoyed writing that chapter. And I'm glad you liked that he was guilty, I liked making him feeling guilty.

PS: thank you, I'm so freaking happy to hear you think it's credible cause he's difficult sometimes. There's certainly some heat between them, and it should happen next chapter. And I hate to say this but she's not gonna enjoy it in the beginning.