The last orc pulled out and Caleb coughed up a mixture of spit and bile which splattered across his face before dribbling down his cheeks. His back felt sore, seriously doubted he could take one more until another one was pushing in anyway, still slick and too warm with his own saliva. It felt impossibly huge, and it hurt and he couldn't take it anymore.
“Please,” he tried again, “Bitte, bitte, nicht mehr...” The pain was terrible, he couldn’t even see straight, eyes gazing blindly out at the blackness that now created the rest of his world.
The orc grunted, hips grinding against Caleb in short violent pulses. Each jarring thrust was too deep and—too much—and Caleb had to clench his jaw, fingers scraping across the floor under him as the orc crooned something he couldn’t make out over the rush of blood in his ears. Multicolored stars burst behind his eyes and each vicious thrust made them explode again, made him throb up to his lungs and drove a cracked noise of pain from his throat. The orc laughed, leaned over him to lick his neck and hummed as if tasting something delicious.
"Go on, then, mutt," he murmured to Caleb as he jostled them both steadily with long hard strokes that bludgeon a rising ache into him and knock a terrible succession of little high noises out of his gasping mouth. "Cry for me." Another thrust and the orc was completely embedded in him, pressing at all the wrong places and Caleb keened, cried out in a blend of agony and overwhelmed sensations.
When the orc finally came, Caleb had no voice left. He wailed soundlessly, bile splattering up onto his skin as his legs fold beneath him. He collapsed, tipped over onto the sheet and lied there for an immeasurable time, marked only by frenzied heartbeat and ragged breaths, feeling every last bit of his being evaporated.
The world shattered around him, peeling away in fractions, faces and sensations blurring together. He was drifting in a sea of noise and he had nowhere safe to go; no place he can go to ground and hide from this because it was all inside of him. He could still feel them. Inside. Moving. And he was—a doll, not a real person. Only an object to be turned and moved and hurt and used. He was a shell, battered hollow and stickily besmeared.
He moaned in a heart-in-throat reflect when a hand grabbed his head, forcing his unfocused eyes to look up, blinked at the dark black hole where their face should be. He was stuck behind the half-filled blackness of his eyelids and he could feel. Everything. Like it was happening all over again and why—
Shadows loomed over him. A voice was ringing, calling him—his name? But it was quickly fading away in the back of his mind. He was numb all over, aside from the constant shaking of his insides that felt more like scurrying insect legs scratching around in his belly. And then there were hands on his chest, his ribs, he could feel them, every finger burning into his skin and marking him like he was something and they were all over him and.
He hummed to himself, sticking to the shadows easily. There were always a lot of shadows in his dreams.
----
Beau was the last one to leave the shed.
She waited until the last of them has left the door—Caleb, bundled in the cleanest cloths they could find, out like a light in Caduceus’ careful arms. Fjord limped on his good leg, flanking their left, his armor bloodied. He leaned on Jester, half folding her into his chest for a comfort hug. Nott, quiet and crying and seething, teeth bared for her own sake, trailing behind them all. Her small arms clutched Caleb’s coat and his books, leaving his component pouch for Beau to pick up.
She felt the back of Yasha’s hand brushed hers, bloody knuckles grazing against each other. Gently, as if afraid she might get hurt. As if she was the one who was hurt—
Sucking in a shaky breath, tasting blood and poison on her tongue, she finally turned away, throwing the torch on the dirty floor full of bile and spit and blood and the screams still echoed among the crackled walls. Wiping her nose, she watched as the fire spread, draping over the bodies, swallowed up the evidences of what had transpired in a violent blaze.
FILL: Feuerstarter (Orcs/Caleb, E, non-con) 4/4
“Please,” he tried again, “Bitte, bitte, nicht mehr...” The pain was terrible, he couldn’t even see straight, eyes gazing blindly out at the blackness that now created the rest of his world.
The orc grunted, hips grinding against Caleb in short violent pulses. Each jarring thrust was too deep and—too much—and Caleb had to clench his jaw, fingers scraping across the floor under him as the orc crooned something he couldn’t make out over the rush of blood in his ears. Multicolored stars burst behind his eyes and each vicious thrust made them explode again, made him throb up to his lungs and drove a cracked noise of pain from his throat. The orc laughed, leaned over him to lick his neck and hummed as if tasting something delicious.
"Go on, then, mutt," he murmured to Caleb as he jostled them both steadily with long hard strokes that bludgeon a rising ache into him and knock a terrible succession of little high noises out of his gasping mouth. "Cry for me." Another thrust and the orc was completely embedded in him, pressing at all the wrong places and Caleb keened, cried out in a blend of agony and overwhelmed sensations.
When the orc finally came, Caleb had no voice left. He wailed soundlessly, bile splattering up onto his skin as his legs fold beneath him. He collapsed, tipped over onto the sheet and lied there for an immeasurable time, marked only by frenzied heartbeat and ragged breaths, feeling every last bit of his being evaporated.
The world shattered around him, peeling away in fractions, faces and sensations blurring together. He was drifting in a sea of noise and he had nowhere safe to go; no place he can go to ground and hide from this because it was all inside of him. He could still feel them. Inside. Moving. And he was—a doll, not a real person. Only an object to be turned and moved and hurt and used. He was a shell, battered hollow and stickily besmeared.
He moaned in a heart-in-throat reflect when a hand grabbed his head, forcing his unfocused eyes to look up, blinked at the dark black hole where their face should be. He was stuck behind the half-filled blackness of his eyelids and he could feel. Everything. Like it was happening all over again and why—
Shadows loomed over him. A voice was ringing, calling him—his name? But it was quickly fading away in the back of his mind. He was numb all over, aside from the constant shaking of his insides that felt more like scurrying insect legs scratching around in his belly. And then there were hands on his chest, his ribs, he could feel them, every finger burning into his skin and marking him like he was something and they were all over him and.
He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s—
He hummed to himself, sticking to the shadows easily. There were always a lot of shadows in his dreams.
----
Beau was the last one to leave the shed.
She waited until the last of them has left the door—Caleb, bundled in the cleanest cloths they could find, out like a light in Caduceus’ careful arms. Fjord limped on his good leg, flanking their left, his armor bloodied. He leaned on Jester, half folding her into his chest for a comfort hug. Nott, quiet and crying and seething, teeth bared for her own sake, trailing behind them all. Her small arms clutched Caleb’s coat and his books, leaving his component pouch for Beau to pick up.
She felt the back of Yasha’s hand brushed hers, bloody knuckles grazing against each other. Gently, as if afraid she might get hurt. As if she was the one who was hurt—
Sucking in a shaky breath, tasting blood and poison on her tongue, she finally turned away, throwing the torch on the dirty floor full of bile and spit and blood and the screams still echoed among the crackled walls. Wiping her nose, she watched as the fire spread, draping over the bodies, swallowed up the evidences of what had transpired in a violent blaze.