Orc boy x reader (nsfw) Part One (Patreon)

This was supposed to be a couple of hundred words, max. My hand slipped, and now I've got a 2495 word modern orc drabble with a big orc boy called Casey on my hands! I say 'Part One' because I'd like to do the rest of the story at some point... It's 12.20am now, so forgive me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (edit: updated aesthetic)

The gossamer curtains billowed around you as you sat on the windowsill, a cushion behind your back, staring at the words on the page without seeing them. With a cavernous sigh, you let your hand fall to the page, fingers tracing the print while you turned your gaze out into the night. 

Reading had always been such a comfort to you, and since sleep that night was proving elusive, you had hoped that a few pages of your favourite novel would lull you into a state of drowsiness. Alas, no luck. 

A movement across the street caught your eye and your eyes went wide as you saw the enormous outline of the guy who had moved in the day before. He stepped into the light of the front porch and pulled back the hood of the jumper he wore, revealing a long black braid, the silver studs and beads glinting in the light. The orc - you knew from seeing him in the daylight when he’d been hauling sofas and furniture around with his buddy like it weighed nothing at all - was gorgeous. 

He’d looked at you then, waving at you warmly and flashing you a beautiful smile, big tusks gleaming. You’d been coming back from work, so at least you looked relatively presentable, if more than a little exhausted, but seeing him had brightened your day. 

Now in the dim, electric light of one in the morning, he looked somehow softer as he fumbled for his keys in his pocket. His plait hung down his back in a long, black rope, ending near the base of his spine, and his jeans fitted his stunning, muscular figure so perfectly it made you sink your teeth into your lower lip and moan in the privacy of your reading nook by the window. 

A moment later, he was gone, the door clicking shut, and the light going out to plunge everything into darkness not long after. You sighed, and tried to return to reading. 

Your apartment was on the top floor of the old 20th-century house, and his was apparently the ground floor flat of a similar building across the road. This gave you a direct line of sight from the cushioned seat of your reading nook, straight into what you discovered a second or two later was his bedroom. 

He flicked the light on, and immediately ripped the hoodie and t-shirt up over his head, letting his braid swing down his back again. You held your breath at the sight of his shoulders and biceps: massive, heavily sculpted bands of tight muscle, his skin a delicate green. A massive, orcish tribal tattoo spread up his arm from wrist to shoulder and out over his shoulder blade, down his back to his hip, and sprawled round over his pecs. 

“Oh god,” you groaned, utterly unable to take your eyes off him. 

He turned around and you saw, to your pleasant surprise, that he had a bit of a belly. Then again, you realised, the ‘bodybuilder’ look wasn’t a mark of true strength, and besides, you found it more attractive than if he’d had the washboard abs of a model in a glossy magazine. The ache in you began to grow as you watched him shimmy out of his jeans, and he flumped down on his bed, sprawling out on his back and staring at the ceiling for a moment. 

After a while, you watched, holding your breath as his left hand moved to the waistband of his tight, black boxer briefs, and then you gasped, your own hand going to cover your mouth as he began touching himself. 

You couldn’t have looked away if all the money in the world were suddenly laid at your feet. 

It was mesmerising. 

At first he moved slowly, almost lazily, easing himself to full hardness, and you could see from the bulge in his underwear just how big he was. He worked his cock with his hand, occasionally jutting his chin upwards, his chest heaving every now and again, until he hit a rhythm. 

He seemed to be losing control of his body the more worked up he got. One leg suddenly bent at the knee for a moment before he straightened it. You watched as he soon rid himself of his boxers, and you tried really hard not to press yourself up to the glass of the window pane when his heavy, erect cock bounced free. No matter that you were in an upper storey room across the quiet, narrow street – you could see that his cock was absolutely perfect. 

He swiftly took himself in hand again and found that rhythm again, his right hand shifting to play with the curve of his balls, and in no time, as one finger eased slowly downwards, he spilled, mouth hanging open in a cry that was silenced by the distance and glass between you. 

His release splashed across his stomach as he clenched, coming so beautifully hard, before slumping back into the pillows, hand still wrapped around his thick cock as it twitched and pulsed now and again. 

You were so worked up that you found yourself squirming softly where you sat, fighting the urge to touch yourself. 

He struggled to find a tissue from the box beside his bed, and he cleaned himself up with clumsy hands, as though still dazed by the strength of his orgasm. When he frowned and dabbed at his chin you had to bite your lip again. He really had come hard if he’d splashed that far up his body.

You tried to look away after that, already feeling dirty enough for having watched him at his most intimate, but as you did, he got up and moved to the window, unabashedly naked, and looked up, pausing as he drew the curtains. 

You had your head down, and did your best to pretend you were reading the book in your lap and absolutely not thinking about how you were the next thing to going to your bed and bringing yourself to completion with the memory of what you’d just witnessed fresh in your mind. Somehow you managed not to move, and caught the action of the curtains closing out of the corner of your eye, but the moment he was gone, you closed your book and did exactly that.

The following morning as you left for work, you heard a front door close opposite you, and glanced up to see him in running shorts with a hoodie on. He turned and waved at you, tripping slightly on an uneven paving stone and shooting you a chagrined smile afterwards that made your stomach lurch. 

You returned his gesture. “I saw you moving in the other day,” you said, introducing yourself by name this time. “If you ever need anything or whatever, do just come over and ask, ok?”

He paused at that, and then his grin widened. “Thanks,” he said. “I will. I’m Casey.”

You couldn’t help the little quizzical frown that flickered across your brows. 

“I know,” he laughed. “Not a very ‘orcish’ name, is it? I was adopted by a human family when I was a baby. I blame them for my silly name.”

“I like it,” you said. “Don’t let me keep you from your run.”

“Alright,” he said. “Hope to see you around.” And with that he loped off, easily bounding down the street and out of sight in about a quarter of the time it would have taken you to cover the same distance. 

You stopped off at your favourite bakery on your way home and, not knowing Casey’s preferences, got a selection of cupcakes from the patisserie section to give him as a housewarming gift. 

He wasn’t in when you knocked on his door that night, which was a bummer, so you nipped over to your own house, fetched a sharpie and a card, and wrote him a note, leaving it on his doorstep. It wasn’t due to rain, and you figured he was probably out with friends or something. 

Next morning, the cakes were gone, and you smiled, hoping he liked them. 

The party to celebrate a co-worker’s birthday a week later turned out to be much better than you’d thought it would, and you ended up staying at the bar til well after midnight. Much more than a little tipsy, you swayed on your doorstep, trying to put your key in the door in the dark, since the porch bulb had blown a couple of days ago. 

A footstep behind you made you jump and spin, dizziness overwhelming you as you lost your balance and your keys fell to the ground. A strong arm shot out to steady you, and a rich, familiar voice chuckled. “You alright there?”

“Casey?” you said, voice slightly slurred. “ ’M fine,” you added. “Just can’t get my light in the door coz the key’s off.”

He laughed again. “Is that so?”

You nodded, looking pathetic. 

“Let me help you,” he said. 

“You gonna carry me over the threshold?” you giggled, stepping back as he stepped close. 

Without missing a beat, he bent to pick up the keys from the ground, unlocked it, and pushed open the door, saying, “I will if you’d like me to.”

“I’d like you to do more than carry me, big boy,” you grinned, patting his broad chest. 

“Oh, well, in that case, maybe some other time, yeah?” he said shyly. “I like my partners to be able to consent properly, and not to be three sheets to the wind.” He guided you inside with a massive hand on your lower back. 

“I’m not a sheet,” you complained, and you heard him snort softly from behind you as steered you up the stairs, stopping you tumbling backwards on more than one occasion. 

“I hope you had fun wherever you were,” he said conversationally. 

“It was good,” you yipped cheerfully. “Wasn’t expecting it to be though. We got Mikael – he’s a tiefling in sales – drunk and he ended up dancing on the table at the bar. He was actually really good.”

“Proper ‘Coyote Ugly’ evening by the sounds of it,” he remarked, more to himself than to you. 

You stopped though, and spun around. “Oh my god, you know that film! I love it! It used to be my favourite!”

“Careful,” he chuckled as you swayed into his body at the top of the stairs. 

“Whoa,” you murmured, gripping his bicep. “You’re really… solid…”

“Thank you,” he said. “Come on, you should drink some water and get into bed. If you can manage to brush your teeth too, you’ll thank me tomorrow morning.”

“I can think of a way to thank you in the morning,” you said, your hand trailing over the soft swell of his slight paunch. 

He caught your wrist gently in his massive fingers and you couldn’t help comparing the size of your wrist to the girth of his cock, but mercifully, something made you think that wasn’t appropriate and you held your tongue. 

“Brushing teeth now,” you said, turning and walking as steadily as you could towards the bathroom. 

He called after you down the corridor. “You gonna be ok?”

“Yeah,” you said, missing the toothbrush head and blobbing toothpaste into the sink on the first go. “Thanks. I don’t want to keep you up.”

You thought you heard him mutter something about already being up, but you started to brush your teeth. Leaning on the doorframe for support, you glanced down the hallway and saw him take a deep breath. 

Casey looked up at you then, dark eyes burning, but he just said, “Goodnight then.”

“Night,” you said around a mouthful of minty foam. “And thank you for taking care of stupid, drunk me.”

He grinned. “Pleasure,” he said, and then he was gone. 

The horror of what you’d said and how you’d behaved hit you shortly after your hangover did the next morning. “I’d like you to do more than carry me, big boy,” was one such memory that hurt you almost as much as your head did. “Fuck,” you groaned. “‘Big boy?’ Who says that?” You shuddered.

By mid morning, you had dragged yourself out of bed and were curled up on the sofa under a blanket, scrolling through various websites, everything from the news to Pinterest, when there was a knock at your door. 

Scowling, you ran a hand through your hair and then went to answer it. 

You opened it to find Casey standing there with a crate of… stuff under one arm, and a smile on his face. “Morning,” he said quietly. “I don’t work weekends, and I thought you’d be sporting a killer hangover after last night… Thought I’d offer to cook you my ‘secret orcish recipe’ hangover-cure breakfast, if you’re up for it.”

“Uh… you really don’t have to,” you said. “I already made a complete arse of myself once in front of you. Why risk it happening twice?” 

His musical, yet still somehow effortlessly silly laugh rumbled right through you, and you found yourself holding the door open before you could stop yourself. 

“I didn’t know if you were vegetarian or not,” he said, eyeing the crate of food under his massive arm, “So I brought options…”

“I’m fine with anything,” you said. “Except gummy bears. I can’t stand those.”

He snorted. “I think we’re safe on that front – no gummy bears. Just eggs, bacon, a few other ingredients, and the best soda bread this side of the Atlantic…”

He found his way around your kitchen with absolute ease, and he even found the time to pop out and bring you a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice after you’d dashed to the bathroom to make sure you at least didn’t have crusty drool down your chin or something. 

“Casey?” you asked as he retreated, sipping the delicious juice and trying not to moan because you knew it would come out sounding obscene while he was right there, being all domestic and sweet in your kitchen. 

“Yeah?” he paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, long braid swinging attractively. 

“Why are you doing all this for me? I mean, you hardly know me…”

He flashed a grin, all tusk and humour. “Maybe I want to get to know you better?”

“You mean…” you faltered. “You mean my stupid mouth didn’t get me into trouble last night? I didn’t put you off completely by spouting all kinds of embarrassing things at you while entirely too inebriated?”

He chuckled again, the sound emanating from deep in his belly. “No,” he said, adding as he turned back to tend to the breakfast. “And I think you have a lovely mouth.”

In a rush of bravery, you called out after him, “I meant what I said about finding a way to thank you though.”

There was only silence after that, and you worried you’d pushed it too far too soon. 

When he emerged, however, with a plate in each hand, and brought them over to the sofa, he handed one to you and said, “Here, try this. If you like it, you can have two reasons to thank me.”