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I’m frozen in place at Rurig’s sudden entrance, his question hanging in the air. I’m laying naked in his son’s old bed, with his equally naked husband behind me, spooning me with his arm thrown over my waist. Why he isn’t answering I don’t know, but it’s not like I have any idea what to say! I’m facing a wall, but my eyes are still squeezed tight, trying to will myself invisible. I can’t believe I did this, I shouldn’t be here, I have to

“I told you to help him get settled, not fuck him,” Rurig scoffs, sounding more annoyed than anything else.

Jarek groans as he rolls onto his back, away from me. “You are just jealous because I got to him first.” Wait, what?

“No, I am unhappy because there is a tree sitting in my backyard that you promised to turn into firewood this morning.” I dare to roll over myself, opening one eye to see Rurig standing in the doorway, hand on his hip, giving Jarek a very unimpressed look.

“Not a tree, just a log.” I can hear Jarek roll his eyes as he slides off the bed, bending over to reach for his pants, “but I will take care of that right away, dear.” With a kiss to his husband’s cheek, he throws his pants over his shoulder and exits the room.

“You did not even wait until he was unpacked,” Rurig calls down the hall after him, before turning to me. “Sorry about that. Go ahead and finish, then get cleaned up and come find me in the kitchen.”

“Uh, sure. Yes sir.” I nod at the smiling orc, as if I’m not laying here naked with his husband’s cum leaking out of my... Get your shit together, David.“I’ll be right there.”

I flop back onto the bed when he leaves, covering my face with my hands and resisting the urge to scream. What the hell did Khazak sign me up for? Once I’m composed, I roll off the bed, grabbing my clothes from the floor. After redressing, I fold and pile the rest of my things on Khazak’s old desk. Time to get cleaned up.

I peek my head out of the door, for some reason feeling shy that someone might see me heading to the bathroom to clean up after...that. I quietly make my way down the hall, washing my hands and face in the sink before grabbing some toilet paper and making sure I’m not leaving any wet spots on the inside of my pants... These last few weeks have been weird.

Once I’m feeling presentable, I head for the kitchen. I’m actually a little impressed that I can remember where everything is, considering I’ve only been here a handful of times. Still, I pause just outside the doorway, my nervousness creeping back up. I know Jarek said everything we did was fine, and Rurig seemed almost bored by what he saw, but it still feels like I’m doing something wrong.

“That you out there, David?” Damn orc hearing.

“Yeah, sorry. Right here.” I try to enter without looking too sheepish.

The kitchen is a lot less busy than it was the last time I was in here. Less warm too, probably because there aren’t twenty different things being cooked. Rurig is leaning against the counter when I enter, a knife in his hand and a decent sized slab of meat behind him. There’s still no sign that he’s shocked at catching me in bed with one of his husbands, just a smile.

“You any good with a knife?” he asks, holding up the one in his hand.

“Depends. Do you mean in the kitchen or a fight?” There’s that nervous joke-making habit.

“Well seeing as we are in a kitchen,” he gestures to the room with his free hand, “I obviously meant a fight. Yours is over there. Defend yourself!” The chubby, one-legged orc holds out his knife hand threateningly as he slides into a fighting stance.

I fail to hold in the snort of laughter, happy that my joke was at least well-received.

“What? Think you can take me?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye before standing up straight. “Seriously though, are you any good with a knife in the kitchen?”

“Pretty decent.” In both cases, actually. “What do you need me to do?”

“I set you up over here.” He points to a spot to his left where a cutting board sits. “I need you to peel and then cut those into cubes about this big.” He holds up his finger and thumb as an example. “Then toss them in that pot.” He points to a large pot sitting on the stove, steam slowly wafting out of the top.

“Yes sir.” That’s the second time I’ve called him sir. Thanks, years of training.

I step up to my station, a wooden cutting board with a knife on top, and some already-peeled vegetables on the counter behind it. I see carrots, potatoes, and those orange-colored potatoes Khazak told me are named camotes, but that most people who speak Common just call sweet potatoes.

“Picked those up just for you,” Rurig says on my right. Orc diets are mostly meat-based. “Have you done much cooking?”

“When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mom.” I pick up my knife and grab a potato to start cutting. “I have three siblings, so she was pretty much always cooking. Everyone helped out, but I probably spent more time in there with her than anyone else. Definitely more than my brothers. All of us would be talking while mom told us what to do. I just thought it was fun.”

“Seems like you enjoyed taking orders from a young age.” I look over to catch Rurig’s toothy grin. “Cooking is important for any family, especially large ones. You would be surprised at the things you pick up when you spend most of your time over a stove. Tell me, when you would fight with your siblings, did your mother ever make the two of you help her at the same time?”

“Yeah. A lot, actually.” And it annoyed the crap outta me.

“And by the time you were finished cooking, were you still fighting?” Rurig asks next while I grab another potato.

“No, not usually.” Huh. I walk the cutting board over to the pot and drop in the potato cubes. “I’ve never really thought about that before.”

“A trick I have used myself many times.” The larger orc chuckles. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.” I grab a carrot with a smile. “When I was little, I would ask to help her anytime I could, but once I got older, I started to worry about being called a uh, ‘momma’s boy,’ so I stopped. She never stopped asking me though, even after all the times I’d tell her no or find some excuse to get out of it. It wasn’t until I was even older that I realized that cooking together like that was her way of spending time with us. So, I started helping her again, as much as I could before I left for the knight academy.”

“I learned most of what I know from my mother. I was an only child, but as you can see, she still did a lot of cooking.” The orc rubs his generous belly, moving his now-sliced meat over to a pan on the stove. “There was no one else to help, so she passed on all her skills, recipes, everything she could, to me. She passed three years ago. I still have the recipe book she wrote for me when I married Orlun, though I probably know everything in there by heart.”

“Is it a big book?” Not that it sounds any less impressive.

“Over ninety different dishes.” Holy crap. “Do you remember any of your own mother’s recipes?” he then asks, meat hitting the pan with a sizzle.

“Not really. I was never great at remembering that stuff.” Anything involving numbers or measurements, really. “I can think of how to make a few basic things, like cookies, but the more complicated stuff would take a lot of guessing. She wrote some of them down for me before I left, but there was a lot less freedom in the kitchens at the academy. I still liked working kitchen duty more than the other work assignments, but it’s not like I got to pick what we made. Plus, I don’t think my mom’s recipes would have been very useful in feeding a fort full of soldiers.”

“That is true. The more mouths you have to feed, the more creative you must get,” he tells me as I add more vegetables to the pot.

Whatever it is, it’s starting to smell good. I look in the top, seeing my cut vegetables mixing with the other ingredients, mostly spices and some greens. The broth is thicker, almost gravy-like, so obviously we are making some kind of stew; venison from the smell of it, which seems to be the meat of choice around here. Rurig starts to add the slices of venison to the pot as soon as they are done cooking, fat still dripping off.

“Alright. Nothing to do now except wait for this to finish,” Rurig declares, putting a lid on the pot once we’re both done adding things. “Got a few hours to kill. Come with me. We need to get you cleaned up again.”

Rurig leads me to their bedroom instead of the bathroom like I’m expecting. When I see the extra-large bed—that is shared nightly by no less than three men—I feel a twinge of anxiety, but when I enter the attached bathroom, I understand why he brought me here instead: it’s huge. Twice as big as the other one and at least three times the size of Khazak’s. Against one wall is a stone counter with two sinks, a wide mirror hanging on the wall just above it. Instead of a tub, the other wall houses a large shower big enough for at least two people, maybe more. It’s almost like the group showers we had at the academy, but this one has walls that reach the ceiling made of what looks like colored glass that’s been melded together.

Rurig heads to the far sink, turning the water on before pulling off his shirt. He’s got some blood on him, not his own thankfully. Cutting meat is just a lot messier than chopping vegetables. He’s not a bad looking man with his longer hair and dark brown beard. He’s got a generous chest and stomach, both of his nipples pierced with gold rings.

Below the waist, he’s got a butt to match his belly, and I suddenly understand Khazak’s obsession with spanking. I wonder if he got that from his other dad? Further down, his left leg has been amputated below the knee—an old injury from his time in the city’s militia. In its place is a prosthetic made of wood and metal, extending straight downward maybe a third of a meter before the end curves into a “C” shape. It almost looks like the handle of a walking cane, but flipped upside down. I’ve never noticed it giving him any trouble, but he’s had decades to master it.

Realizing that I’m staring, I grab the closer sink, lathering up and rinsing my hands. As I finish, I feel Rurig squeeze out of the room behind me, his stomach brushing against my back. When I’m done drying off and exit, I’m surprised to see him sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me, still shirtless.

“Alright. Get over here so I can see what we are working with.” The orc crooks a finger at me.

“Huh? Woah!” I only take a single step toward him before he grabs my shirt to pull me closer, both hands working to undo my belt and yank down my pants in record time.

“Not bad,” he comments after sticking his hand in the pouch of my jockstrap, grabbing my cock.

“Uhhhh...” I’m frozen in place, unsure of how to proceed with the man's hand on my dick.

“I figured Jarek explained all of this already.” He raises an eyebrow at me, still holding on to my now-growing dick. What? That’s what happens when it’s grabbed! “Or did he leave you too drained for more?”

“Sorry. He did explain it.” I nod. “I just was—”

“Good.” He stands, turning us both around and pushing me to sit on the bed with way more grace than I would have expected for someone his size. “Now finish taking your clothes off.”

I look up at the half-naked orc, already undoing the belt around his own waist and pull my shirt off with a sigh. I mean, I already fucked one of Khazak’s dads, right? Before I can reach for my underwear, Rurig kneels down and hooks his fingers in my waistband, sliding them down and off my feet. With both hands on my thighs, he spreads my legs and shuffles forward, eyeing my crotch like it’s a piece of candy.

After grabbing and giving me an appreciative stroke, he leans forward and wordlessly takes me into his mouth. I grab at the sheets under me as I feel the heat wrap around me, making my cock pulse. He slowly continues his journey downward until I can feel his nose against my groin, his tongue stroking against the base of my shaft. Fuck, he’s good at that.

Finally pulling back a minute later, he starts to slowly bob up and down, coaxing my dick to full hardness with his lips and tongue. He hums to himself happily when he feels me grow to my full size in his mouth, pulling off with a wet pop. He reaches one hand up to hold me steady as he eyes my cock once more.

“Nope, not bad at all.” He strokes his hand up and down my spit-slick shaft. “Pretty tasty too.”

I moan as he dives back into my crotch, a hungry twinkle in his eyes. There’s no more teasing. He’s suddenly a man on a mission, and that mission is to suck my dick. I keep my hands fisted in the sheets, too timid to reach down and grab his head. My hips don’t seem to get the same message though, happily humping up into the man’s warm mouth each time he moves down, the blunt face of his tusks bumping lightly against me.

Eventually, Rurig has enough and stands after pulling off me again, the cool air making my spit-covered dick twitch. I watch him silently walk over to a nightstand, his butt and belly bouncing slightly with each step. He opens the drawer, retrieving a vial of something, probably oil.

“Go ahead and move farther up the bed, pup.” He uncorks the vial as he speaks, dribbling some out into his hand. “Flat on your back.”

“Uh, yes sir.” I nod and slide back, turning myself so that I’m in the requested position.

Rurig climbs onto the bed and shuffles forward on his knees, careful not to let his prosthetic catch on any of the sheets I’ve messed up. He pulls my legs together and straddles me, looking down like I’m his favorite meal as reaches behind to prepare himself with oil-covered fingers. Satisfied with his handiwork, he reaches forward with the same oil-slick hand to grab my cock, spreading whatever is left over as he strokes me.

Rurig moves farther up until his thighs are above my waist, the bottom of my dick rubbing against his balls and taint. His own cock is hard and heavy, hanging over my belly and under his. It’s thick, much thicker than mine, but not quite as long, though I guess that could just be because of said belly. Gripping himself with his slick hand, he pushes down on my chest as he grinds himself onto my cock with a smirk. Fuck.

“You feel ready to me.” He lifts himself up on his knees, reaching down and aiming my cock up—straight at his ass. He sits back down, my cock sliding between his warm cheeks, and into his even warmer hole. “Mmmmm, yeah...” he groans as I breach him.

My cock flexes involuntarily against the tight heat surrounding it. It feels amazing, though it’s hard to fight against the urge to start thrusting up. Rurig’s eyes are closed, savoring the feeling of being filled, something I am all too familiar with. He’s already taken me to the hilt, and I didn’t see an ounceof pain on his face while he did it. Nothing but pleasure. With how fast he prepped himself and how fast he’s going, he’s gotta be an old pro at this. Being married to a couple of other men probably helps. I could learn a thing or two from him. Not sure how—or what—I’d ask, though.

With one hand on my chest to steady himself, Rurig lifts himself off an inch or two before sliding back down. His other hand is still gripping his dick, slowly stroking himself, revealing his wet head each time his foreskin is pulled back. I’m actually kind of jealous, normally when I get fucked my dick is only half-hard at best. I guess I just become so focused on the one thing that my dick just says “meh” to everything else.

I’m biting my lip as the wet heat of his ass slides up and down my length, occasionally snapping my hips up to meet him halfway. This is so much better than jerking off. Rurig’s riding picks up speed, but the hand on his cock keeps steady. I reach one hand up to rub across his chest and stomach, watching the way his belly ripples with the movement of his wrist. The skin is soft under my fingers, lined with the occasional stretch mark. I’m not sure if I have a “type,” but as far as bodies go, I have yet to find one I didn’t like.

With my other hand I grab his balls, thick and weighty against my stomach. He moans when I roll them in my palm, thrusting down onto me hard when I give them a light squeeze. The more I play with them, the faster his hand moves, and more importantly for me, so do his hips. Rurig is all but fucking himself on my cock as he works himself closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “If you keep that up, pup, you are going to make me—”

He cuts himself off with a growl, his whole body tensing, including his ass. I squeeze his thighs as he squeezes me, and when he finally unclenches, a thick, hot, rope of cum shoots from the head of his cock, covering me from stomach to neck. He paints the rest of my torso with shots two through six, releasing his cock with a happy sigh when he’s finally finished.

While he catches his breath, my cock twitches, still inside of him. He opens one eye, peeking down at me with a soft grin. His body is more relaxed, his belly pressing his softening cock against me. Not sure what comes over me, but I run a finger through the mess he left on my chest, bringing it up to my mouth to taste. That makes him grin even wider.

“I knew I liked you.” He bends over, reaching behind my head to pull me up and meet him halfway for a kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth for only a moment before he pulls away, letting me fall back to the bed. “Your turn.”

With both his hands on the side of my chest, he starts to ride me again. He resumes the pace he had set for himself earlier, not showing any signs of feeling overstimulated. My hands hold onto his thighs, my own hips snapping up steadily to meet his. He wants me to cum, and I am more than happy to oblige.

Fuck, this feels so good, so different from what I’m used to. I may have to talk to Khazak about doing some more of this. He’s got a pretty nice ass himself... A sudden feeling of wrongness pops into my head, thinking about the son of the guy I’m currently inside of, but I shake it off easily. Or maybe it just doesn’t feel as wrong as I think, seeing as it’s the thing about to push me over the edge.

“Gonna cum,” I blurt out, hands tight on Rurig’s thighs.

“Good,” is his reply, riding me even faster.

I can't help but thrust up when I finally unload, trying to bury myself as deep as possible with each shot. Rurig lets all of his weight fall, leaving me just enough leverage to keep thrusting shallowly. When he’s finally drained me and I’ve stopped moving, he bends over and kisses me again, this one slow, all tongue. He sits up straight with a sigh, looking like a hunter pleased with his catch.

“Spirits, I love that feeling.” He grinds himself down, my cock slowly softening inside of him. “But I doubt I need to tell you that.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty familiar.” It is a nice feeling...

“Alright, I suppose it is time to check on—”

“Seriously, Rurig?” Both our heads whip around to look in the open doorway, where somehow we both (okay, so maybe I’m the only one facing this way, whatever) missed a large green man now standing in it: Orlun, Jarek and Rurig’s third husband. And he doesn’t look too happy. Uh oh.

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