Chapter 6: The March Begins
The forest path was narrow, winding through ancient pines that blocked out most of the early sun. The air was cool and damp, smelling of rotting leaves and distant pine resin. It was a world away from the cramped room and the looming city. For the first hour, they walked in a comfortable quiet, the only sounds their footsteps and the chatter of waking birds.
Drac was the one who broke the silence. He glanced sideways at Silas, who was walking between them, a sly grin tugging at his bearded mouth.
“So, princeling,” Drac began, his tone casually probing. “Last night wasn’t your first time riding something that wasn’t… human. Am I right?”
Silas laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet woods. He didn’t look embarrassed. “Is that a question, or are you just stating the obvious?”
“Call it curiosity. You got a type? Orc? Dragonborn? Kobold, obviously. You just go after anyone with scales or tusks?”
Silas kicked a pinecone, sending it skittering ahead of them. He thought about it, his expression turning genuine. “I don’t really care,” he said, shrugging. “Human, non-human… it’s just packaging. If I like someone, if the spark is there…” He looked up at Drac, then at Kazan, a deliberate, heat-filled look. “I spread my legs for them. Simple as that.”
He stopped walking, making them stop too. He turned, standing in the middle of the path with the mist curling around his boots. He looked from Drac’s broad, scarred face to Kazan’s wary, amber eyes.
“And I really like you two,” Silas said, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge for something more direct. The meaning was plain, hanging in the air between them.
Kazan shuffled, the scales on his neck flushing a darker gray. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Silas. “This, uh… this hot spring. How private is it?”
A slow, knowing smile spread across Silas’s lips. He took a step toward Kazan, closing the distance. “There’s no one else around for miles,” he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “Not a soul. So we can do… whatever we want.”
As he said the last word, he reached out, his hand pressing firmly against the front of Kazan’s trousers. The thick, hardening length beneath the rough fabric was unmistakable. Silas’s fingers curved, applying a slight, teasing pressure.
“Seems the big guy is excited already,” Silas remarked, his eyes locked on Kazan’s.
A booming laugh erupted from Drac. He moved in from the other side, his own significant bulge pressing against Silas’s hip. The contrast was dizzying—Kazan’s heated, shy hardness on one side, Drac’s confident, demanding press on the other. Silas was caught between two towers of pent-up, primal need.
“Eager doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Silas breathed, tilting his head back to look up at Drac. “I feel like I’m standing between two landslides.”
“Better stand clear then,” Drac rumbled, giving a slow, deliberate grind of his hips that made Silas gasp.
Silas laughed, a breathless, excited sound. He extricated himself gently, a flush high on his cheeks. “Patience. The water’s better.” He turned and continued up the path, feeling the weight of their stares on his back—on the sway of his hips, the line of his shoulders. It was a palpable heat.
After a few minutes of walking, the tension still thick enough to taste, Silas glanced back at Drac. “So. You’ve clearly had some experience. What’s your usual… taste? Before conspiracies and exiled princes.”
Drac didn’t hesitate. “Humans. Mostly whores, sure. Easy, uncomplicated.” His grin turned sharp, almost predatory. “I like proving a point. Orc stamina, orc strength… orc size. It’s a way of winning a battle nobody talks about. Shows them their supposed superiority is a fragile fucking thing when they’re screaming your name.”
He nudged Kazan with an elbow. “Been trying to get this one to see the light for ages. Let loose. Claim what he wants.”
Kazan kept his eyes on the path, but his tail twitched. “It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” Drac countered. “Look, it’s biology. Orcs, Dragonborn… we’re built for it. The muscle, the sheer mass. The cock.” He said it plainly, a fact of life. “And the load. Gods, the volume. It’s a point of pride. A physical truth they can’t argue with. Lets you mark your territory in a way that really sticks.”
Silas listened, fascinated. It wasn’t bragging. It was a cultural truth, a weaponized sexuality born from a lifetime of being told you were less.
Kazan’s voice was small when he finally spoke. “I just… didn’t want to. With anyone. It felt… risky. Letting someone that close. Seeing that look in their eyes—fear, or disgust, or just… novelty.” He shook his head. “It was easier to just not.”
“Made you pent up, though,” Drac said, not unkindly. “All that fire, all that juice, with nowhere to go. It’s not good for guys like us. That kind of pressure needs a release valve, or you start to rust from the inside.”
Silas reached a bend in the path where the sound of running water grew louder. He looked over his shoulder, his brown eyes glinting with promise and possession.
“Well,” Silas said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
The path opened into a small, secluded gorge. A natural rock basin steamed in the cool air, fed by a trickling waterfall that spilled from mossy stones above. The water was crystal clear, reflecting the patch of gray morning sky. It was perfect.
Silas didn't hesitate. He pulled his tunic over his head, letting it drop to the damp earth. His trousers followed. Soon he was just pale skin and lean muscle in the misty air, his brown hair tousled. He walked to the rocky edge and slid into the pool with a soft sigh.
The water was blissfully, deeply hot. It soaked into his sore muscles instantly.
Drac was right behind him, a mountain shedding its landscape. Leathers, boots, the linen undershirt—all were discarded in a heap. His green skin gleamed, a tapestry of old battles under the water’s surface. He stepped in, creating a small wave that lapped against Silas’s chest.
“Gods, that’s good,” Drac groaned, sinking up to his neck.
Kazan lingered by the tree line. He watched them, his amber eyes wide. The shyness was back, a physical weight on his shoulders. He watched Drac’s massive hand come up to cup Silas’s jaw, watched the prince lean into the touch, their mouths meeting in a slow, deep kiss. The steam rose around them.
The kiss was hungry. Drac’s tongue plunged into Silas’s mouth, a dominant, claiming stroke. Silas moaned into it, his hands coming up to grip Drac’s scarred shoulders. Water sluiced between their bodies. It was raw, uncomplicated need.
Kazan stood frozen, one hand awkwardly on his belt. He was still dressed, a statue of gray scales and conflicted desire.
Silas broke the kiss, breathing hard. Water droplets clung to his lips. He looked right at Kazan, his gaze sharp and wanting. He pulled himself out of the pool, water streaming down his body. He didn’t bother to dry off.
He walked toward Kazan, each step deliberate. The chill air pebbled his skin, tightening his nipples. He stopped inches from the Dragonborn, looking up at him.
“You just gonna stand there and watch?” Silas asked, his voice a low tease. He reached for Kazan’s belt, his fingers working the buckle with practiced ease. “It’s such a shame to waste this.” His hand palmed the thick, hard outline in Kazan’s trousers, squeezing firmly. “Such a beautiful cock. And not a single tight hole in sight for it.”
Kazan’s breath hitched. “I… last night was…”
“Was incredible,” Silas finished for him, pulling the belt loose. He undid the trouser buttons, pushing the rough fabric down over Kazan’s hips. The sheer, scaled length of him sprang free, heavy and already leaking. Silas whistled, low and appreciative. “And you’re still this shy about it?”
From the pool, Drac chuckled, a warm, rich sound. “See? Told you. All that fire, all that juice. He’s a damned cathedral and thinks he’s a toolshed.”
Silas dropped to his knees in the soft moss. He stared up the towering length of Kazan’s body, his eyes wide and dark with blatant hunger. “You don’t need to worry about hurting me,” Silas said, his breath ghosting over the tip. “I can take it. I want to take it.”
Then he leaned forward and took Kazan into his mouth.
It was hotter than the spring water, a solid, salty weight on his tongue. Silas hollowed his cheeks, swallowing him deeper, his throat working open. A ragged groan tore from Kazan, his claws digging into his own thighs. Silas pulled back, lavishing attention on the broad head before diving down again, his pace hungry and relentless.
He pulled off with a wet pop, nuzzling into the heavy sac beneath, worshipping the evidence of Kazan’s potency with his lips and tongue. “Let loose,” Silas gasped, looking up the line of taut stomach muscle. “Take charge. It’s yours.”
Drac climbed out of the pool then, water sheeting off him. He walked to stand beside Kazan, a pillar of green muscle. He put a solid, reassuring hand on the small of Kazan’s back.
“He wants it,” Drac murmured, his voice right in Kazan’s ear. “I know you’ve got it in you. You’re holding back your true nature.” His hand slid down, giving Kazan’s flank a rough, encouraging squeeze. “You’re not a monster, Kaz. You’re a horny beast who knows how to ravage a pretty prince. So ravage him.”
Silas, still on his knees, turned his head. He took Drac into his mouth now, alternating between them, his head bobbing between a column of green and a pillar of gray. He looked up at them through his lashes, his expression one of complete, slutty rapture, worshiping each heavy set of balls with devoted swipes of his tongue.
Kazan watched, his chest heaving. He saw the bliss on Silas’s face, felt the unwavering support of Drac’s hand. The careful walls he’d built, the fear of his own strength, began to crumble.
A low, guttural growl started in his chest. It wasn’t human. It was a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated the air.
He moved.
In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped Silas up. He placed the prince sitting on his broad shoulder, as easily as lifting a child. Silas laughed, a bright, exhilarated sound, gripping Kazan’s horn for balance. Kazan turned and marched them both into the hot spring, the water rising to his waist.
He slid Silas from his shoulder, catching him in his arms before he fully submerged. Drac was there instantly, circling them. The two massive bodies closed in, caging Silas between them in the steaming water.
Hands were everywhere. Kazan’s mouth found Silas’s, the kiss finally free of hesitation—it was deep, searching, and possessive. Drac kissed along Silas’s neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin. Silas was pinned between a wall of cool scales and a furnace of green muscle, their hands mapping his back, his ass, his thighs.
He was in complete heaven. The heat of the water was nothing compared to the heat of their bodies, their mouths, their hard lengths pressing against him from both sides. He arched between them, a low moan torn from his throat.
He was so turned on he felt lightheaded, his own cock aching and ignored. He wanted them to utterly ravage him, to use him as the release valve for all their pent-up fury and desire. He wanted to be the battlefield where they finally won.