Dhurak - male orc x reader (sfw) #1 in the Starfall Springs series! (Patreon)

Whoop! All aboard the bus to Starfall Springs!! Here is my first piece, and it's a sfw (very very light nsfw at the end). It features Dhurak, the orc I previewed a little while ago, and a gender neutral reader.

This story ended up taking an emotional turn/depth I hadn't necessarily intended, but it felt totally right once I'd got to know Dhurak a bit. Warnings in italics below. I'll do an announcement post for Starfall Springs now over on Tumblr, but this story is available exclusively for you folks on early release! Hope you enjoy!!

Length: 7424 words

Warnings: one character has lost their previous partner, five years prior to the story starting, in a car accident.

Warnings: one character has lost their previous partner, five years prior to the story starting, in a car accident.

In a cloud of acrid smoke, the clap-trap old bus left you behind on the side of the road, and you stood there coughing emissions out of your lungs for nearly a minute before you realised that you were not alone.

“Hi,” a breezy, warm voice chirped, half laughing at the sight of you. “You must be the human everyone’s been talking about!”

“Uh… what now?” you spluttered, still covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

When the stinging had dissipated from your eyes, you blinked and saw that the young woman in front of you was in fact three feet tall, had dark green skin the colour of spruce needles, large yellow eyes like a cat’s, and blade-shaped ears that twitched and moved with a life of their own. Her dark green hair was tied back in a scruffy bun, and when she grinned, you saw a row of pointed, white teeth flashing at you.

“Not quite what you were expecting, huh?” she cackled gleefully, clapping tiny, three-fingered hands. “Oh this is too precious. Ok, fine, well… um… welcome to Starfall Springs, I guess? Most of us are actually non-human on this side of the Glasspeak Mountains.”

You nodded slowly, adjusting the grip on your bag and letting that last bit of information sink in. Grandma had neglected to mention that fact…

“You… You really didn’t know, did you?” she asked, her jovial manner tarnishing a little. The goblin sighed and said, “Well then… How much do you know?”

You smiled sheepishly and said, “I mean, I know a bit? Like… you’re a goblin… right?”

“Pure blooded,” she giggled, revealing all those sharp teeth again. “And don’t you forget it! Name’s Jura,” she added, jabbing a thumb at her chest. “Right, look, come on. Let’s get you settled in. Mayor Rosalyn said she might be along to welcome you soon, but she asked me to meet you off the bus and show you to the farm. She was super excited that someone was moving into that place!”

“I wish Grandma had told me about the farm sooner, quite frankly,” you muttered as you followed the chatty little goblin down the path, your shoulder already straining in its socket as you hefted your bag along with you.

“Oh?” Jura asked, glancing up at you over her shoulder.

With a sigh, you said, “I could have used a fresh start on a smallholding a few years ago before I had a complete mental breakdown. She left me Willowbank Farm in her will, but the deeds were kept in a safety deposit box that no one even knew existed, and it’s been in her family for so long that no one else had any proof she even owned it… I had to write to Rosalyn a lot, and she was helpful, though she never mentioned the whole ‘no other humans living here’ thing. Anyway, eventually we got all the legal issues straightened out and all the documentation found…” You paused to readjust your grip on your cumbersome bag, and added, “Honestly, it was a mess and a stress I didn’t need.”

“Sounds it,” she sympathised.

The pair of you wove down an uneven and overgrown path, eventually coming out of a thicket of maple and oak trees, and the moment you saw the farmhouse ahead of you, you abandoned the bag into the dust and hissed, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Jura made a little noise that might have been a groan and might been a giggle, and said, “Yeah, it’s seen better days, that’s for sure…”

“‘Better days’?” you snorted. “Look at those weatherboards hanging off the house! And the windows are entirely missing in that room!” you said, pointing at the upper storey window of the wooden farmhouse. “Shit, the whole place looks like the set of a horror film! ”

“Ha! You’d better hope Uncle Rhae doesn’t come calling late at night then!” she cackled gleefully.

“Who?”

“Oh, never mind,” she said, waving a her small, rough-palmed, three-fingered hand. “I’m sure you’ll meet everyone in time, though maybe not him. He lives outside of town near the mines. Look, anyway,” she said, glancing at her watch, “I have to dash off actually, but if you need anything, you might want to head over to the town centre. It’s not far, maybe a mile in that direction -” she said, pointing back the way you had come and then west. “There’s the general store where you can get literally everything, and if you need anything fixed - plumbing, machinery, even cars - or if you need to buy any tools, Dhurak’s your man. Or, well, orc. But yeah. He’s a mechanic… and a blacksmith… and a welder… He’s your general fix it guy, I guess. He’s also my best friend in the whole fucking world.”

You smiled. She was so earnest and vivacious, and she talked a mile a minute, that you couldn’t help liking her. The ardent affection she bore for her friend made you curious about him too. Back in the city, non-humans were not uncommon, but they did tend to stick to themselves. They still faced no end of racism and discrimination, and honestly, you’d never understood why. But, humans will be humans, wherever they go. Perhaps out here you’d get the chance to meet and learn about new species.

Jura hung around just long enough to make sure that the house didn’t actually collapse into a pile of rotten timbers and termite dust the moment you opened the front door, and hied herself off to whatever duties she had. You, on the other hand, stood in the centre of the dilapidated kitchen, eyes wide, and suddenly realised that this might have been a massive mistake after all.

This was more than a simple redecorating job. This was… serious renovation.

It took you a week of solid work to clear the house and clean it well enough that you could see what you were working with. You had squirrels in the attic for certain, and rising damp in one corner near the coal and log store, but miraculously it was mostly just debris and dust that kept it from looking nice. Once you’d torn down the old curtains that were definitely 100% heavier due to the layers of dust, and had loaded them up into the pickup truck without wheezing yourself to death, you decided just to take it all to the tip.

The pickup was forty or so years old, with rusty, peeling paint, and you’d found it online and had had it delivered to the house a few days ago at a bit of extra cost, but with that, you were able to get around more easily. It had been cheap, and you knew it was probably going to blow up on you or conk out at some point, probably soon, but you didn’t exactly have wads of cash washing around, unless Grandma had stashed some in the wainscot or something. You made a mental note to check before sanding them down and re-painting them.

The truck coughed and spluttered and finally thundered into life in a cloud of blue-black smoke, and you set off for the household waste and recycling centre on the outskirts of town to dump the mouldy curtains and the rotten floorboards and whatever else you’d not managed to salvage for the house or the garden; a few of the floorboards would be repurposed for raised beds in the potager garden. The site itself was managed by a burly orc and as you drew up to park, you swallowed thickly. This would be your first time talking to a non-human. Ever. And he was huge.

With one last inhale for courage, you cut the engine and stepped out of the truck. He had been standing on the edge of the recycling plant, his nose buried in a book that appeared to have been dumped in a recent house clearance, the rest of the contents of which were arranged on the tarmac nearby. When he saw you out of the corner of his eye, he set the book down and grinned at you. Well, that was a good start.

“Hi,” he said. “Need a hand?”

“Yes please,” you said, cursing the way your voice cracked.

He had large tusks, long hair, green eyes, dark green skin, and, to your relief, a friendly face. And biceps bigger than your head. “All of this to go?” he asked, looking at the bed of the pickup.

You nodded. “Yup.”

He frowned. “I’ve not seen you before,” he commented, hauling two massive cardboard boxes full of rotten window frames out of the back with the ease of a dockyard lifting crane. “Not that I know everyone in Starfall Springs of course,” he chuckled. “But with this much shit, I’d say you just moved in somewhere, am I right?”

You nodded again. “Yeah. I inherited a farm from my grandma, and honestly, it’s… a bit of a mess.”

He paused, squinting down at you, one box resting on his shoulder, the other tucked under his arm. He looked like an ancient statue of a warrior cast in bronze and left out to the elements. “You’re Nellie’s kid, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you said. “Did you know her?”

“I did,” he said. “She was a sweetheart. I used to help her up at the farm sometimes. We all missed her when she went back to the city to live in the home. She still wrote to me every now and again, birthday and solstice, you know, but when the letters stopped, I guessed…” He took one look at your face and added, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you said. “She was a sweetheart.”

He upended the boxes into the container and asked if you wanted to keep them. When you said no, he lobbed them into the cardboard container, and wiped his massive hands on his overalls. “I’m Larek, by the way.” You introduced yourself, and he grinned again. “Come on, lets get the rest of that shit sorted, shall we?”

You chatted with him while you chucked the rubbish into the various containers, and you confessed that while you had always dreamed of running a smallholding, it was somewhat daunting to be beginning it now. “I mean,” you said, “I’ve now cleared the house, and I’ve started on the front yard, but I’ve got no tools or anything. I haven’t even got a watering can!”

“You been to the hardware store in town?” he asked. “My cousin Dhurak runs it, and he’s got his machine shop out the back. If you need literally anything, he’ll either have it or he’ll just make it for you.”

“Jura told me about it when I got here last week, but I’ve not had the chance to go yet.”

“Tell him I sent you,” he grinned, lobbing the last weighty box into the bin with the ease of a pro-basketball player.

“I will,” you said, dusting your hands off and looking at the empty bed of the truck.

“Hey, look, before you go, I’ve just had all this shit dumped here from a house clearance,” he said, confirming your earlier musings. “Normally we don’t like to throw good stuff away, so we sell it on, but if there’s anything you need to get you started, just take it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He nodded and grinned. “Absolutely! I’d rather it go where it’s needed, you know?”

You picked up a few things, including a rather nice table that he helped you with into the back of the truck, and a bookshelf that had one shelf missing. “That will actually be perfect for my houseplants,” you said, eyeing the gap.

It was another a fortnight before you’d cleared the garage and managed to move enough of the debris out of the front yard to start planning your little potager garden. You laid it out with sticks and string, and when you were happy, you knew you were going to have to start building raised beds. It was early spring, so you still had plenty of time to get things seeded and started, but it was going to be a lot of work. Early mornings, late nights, and nearly passing out from exhaustion were looking likely.

Not one to be easily defeated, however, you set off into town early one morning in search of the hardware store and the million and one things you’d need, starting with a hammer and some nails, an electric driver and a plethora of screws of different lengths. Oh, and some basic hand tools.

You parked up in the yard at the back of the hardware store and traipsed round to the front entrance. Jura had just turned the ‘OPEN’ sign over when you got to the door, and she squeaked and flung the glass-panelled door inwards, grinning at you. “You’re alive!” she yipped, clapping her hands. “I thought the farm ghosts had got you by now!”

“Don’t try to scare me, Jura,” you scolded laughingly. “And if anything were going to kill me, it’d be the house itself. But it didn’t fall down when I took its contents to the tip, and I’m here because an orc named Larek told me I should come buy all my stuff here.”

Her eyes lit up and she giggled. “Did he now? Well, I think he was right about something for the first time in his life - this is the place to get all your DIY needs. So, what’s on the list?”

“I think it’d be quicker to tick off what I don’t need, and just start loading the car up from the front of the shop,” you said.

“I like you,” she said. “First off though, come and meet the boss. There’s also Biscuit who works here, but he’s not here. He’s visiting his family down south.”

“Biscuit?”

“Oh,” she laughed, “His name’s really Bikset, but he lets me call him Biscuit. He’s a rattler naga and he usually works here three days a week. Got a side shave and funky spiky hair and about a million tattoos… Freaky good welder too - even Dhurak’s not as good, and that’s saying something.”

“Right,” you nodded. You actually had yet to meet another human in Starfall Springs, though you had been informed that there were humans living here too.

“Come on, come on,” she laughed, her long, tapering ears waggling with her impatience. Jura led you through the shop which was crammed with every conceivable piece of DIY hardware you could imagine, and more, and she nudged the door to the back open. “Boss man?” she yelled over the crackle of a welding torch. “Oi! Don’t make me call you Doo-Doo in front of our good looking new friend…” she snickered, shooting you a yellow-eyed sidelong glance.

“I’m glad you told me he’s your best friend,” you whispered. “I would never have been able to get away with speaking to my old boss like that…”

“Perks of the role!” Jura showed all her sharp teeth in a grin that split her face almost from ear to ear, and she said, “Wait here. Probably best you don’t get electrocuted or blinded on your first visit…”

“Or, you know… like, at all,” you yelled after her above the steady crackling and flashing of bright light from behind the protective, plastic curtain.

Jura was still laughing when she presumably frightened the life out of the orc who'd been engrossed in his work. He cried out in wordless surprise, then cursed, then laughed a deep, gravelly, rumbling chuckle that reminded you of distant thunder, and then things fell quiet for a moment before he drew back the slats of the plastic curtain and you felt your stomach flip over.

If Larek had been tall and handsome and big, well, Dhurak, his cousin, was twice that. He was every bit the typical orc, from his pierced ears and waist-length plait with side shaves, to his flat nose and deep green skin. His eyes were dark gold, and they almost seemed to glow beneath his heavy-set, frowning brows. He wore a long, loose tunic-shirt that looked more in keeping with traditional, handmade orcish clothing than anything else, and your eyes slid involuntarily down his impressive body, down his thick legs clad in scruffy, weld-scarred jeans to his sturdy, scuffed work-boots.

Through a rip in the thigh of his left leg, you glimpsed the gleam of metal, and wondered briefly if he wore a brace or even a prosthetic. Deciding that you didn’t want to stare, you looked back up into his harsh, scowling, handsomely orcish face.

“Hi,” you said sheepishly, introducing yourself by name, and adding awkwardly, “I’m new. Obviously. I just moved in to Willowbank Farm…”

He shuffled his weight slightly and glanced down at his palms. They were stained and grubby, and he snorted and said, “Dhurak. I won’t shake your hand, if it’s all the same to you. I’m filthy.”

Jura snorted and dug him in the thigh with her elbow - the highest point she could reach on him - and scoffed, “Hardly, Mr. Innocent…”

“What?” he asked, confused, turning his head and glancing down at her. As he moved, you saw that his thick, tapering ears bore, among his many piercings, a tragus piercing, and in his left lobe he had a downward-curving spacer in a crescent of what looked like horn.

You and Jura exchanged a quick look, and the goblin burst out laughing, nearly toppling over with mirth at Dhurak’s inadvertent inuendo.

“Steady,” he rumbled, catching her with a reaching hand as big as a hubcap as she staggered backwards.

“I swear if it weren’t for the fucking size of you,” she went on, still cackling, “I’d say you definitely weren’t full orc… ‘I’m filthy’ he says without blinking. How many orcs have you met with the mind of a monk, Doo-Doo?”

Realisation dropped through him like a stone, and he flushed a very dark green. For an eight foot tall orc who would have looked very much at home on the film set of some cheesy, barbarian-themed film, he suddenly seemed excruciatingly bashful and sweet. He then ruined that ever so slightly with a grunted curse. “Fuck.”

“That’s better!” Jura squealed. “Now, come on big boy. You are going to offer to help out our newest and most unusual resident, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he rumbled quietly. “But only if asked, Jura,” he said, his natural scowl deepening. “You can’t just go poking your pointy little nose into other people’s business all the time. Someone will bite it off one of these days.”

You watched the exchange between the two old friends with a smile on your face, despite the faint cloud of jealousy that billowed up inside your chest. You’d never really experienced true loneliness the way you had since moving here, where everybody knew everybody, and you were the outsider in a quiet, empty old house, alone at the end of the day.

However, when Jura huffed at his jovial rebuke and crossed her arms, turning her big golden eyes on you, you laughed. “Yes, I would definitely appreciate some help,” you admitted. “Namely… I need some new tools. Simple stuff, like a hoe and a spade and all that, but I could also do with a hand saw and some big shears or secateurs…”

“We’ve got all that,” he said with a shy smile, scratching the back of his head in a way that inadvertently showed off his biceps again. He brought his waist-length plait forward over one shoulder and you couldn’t help noticing the orcish charms and beads woven into it. You knew very little about orcish culture, but something about the way he ran his fingers over them reminded you almost of prayer beads. They clearly carried more meaning to him than just decoration. “C’mon,” he said, letting go of one bead in particular, “I’ll show you.”

As he began to walk towards you, you realised just how tall he really was. He stood at easily eight feet, and you came barely up to his mid chest as he looked down at you with a warm smile. He also walked with a slight limp, his left leg seeming perhaps a little stiff somehow. It was more of a rocking motion, and it was barely noticeable, and yet something about the lilting musicality of it had drawn your eye directly and immediately to it. Dhurak’s jaw ground slightly and you flushed and stepped aside so that he could pass.

He fished out everything you needed for your various projects in total silence while Jura rang it up on the till, and when you’d amassed quite the collection of tools, equipment, and supplies, he offered to carry them to your pickup for you. After having caught you staring at the way he walked, he seemed suddenly different; gruffer. His scowl etched itself even deeper across his brows, his flat, orcish nostrils flared slightly, and his friend sighed heavily as he set the tools down in the truck bed and wished you a curt ‘good day’.

“Something I said?” you asked, eyes locked on his retreating back. The orc really was as broad as a boulder, and you couldn’t help but stare at his gorgeous arms as he strode away, black plait swinging like a tarred ship’s rope down his back.

Jura sighed again. “No. He’s just being Doo-Doo.”

Your lips curled at the corners and you caught her eye.

“I call him that when he’s being a complete potato-brain sometimes. It wasn’t you though, don’t worry.”

“Ok, well…” you said, feeling like it had been something you’d done.

Regardless, you found yourself back in his shop the very next day, having forgotten to buy brackets for the raised beds. And then two days later you were back again for some coach bolts. And again for a masonry drill bit…

Given that it was only a mile or so from your run-down farmhouse into town, you set down your tools one evening in late spring and headed for the Inglenook Inn. It was a traditional old pub right in the heart of the town, and it was run by possibly the most graceful and beautiful creature you’d ever seen. The tiefling had dark turquoise blue skin and horns that curled back over his ears before reaching forwards again, ending in a little upwards flick. He had an air of mystery around him, aided by the fact that he wore a cloth over his left eye and the rumours circulating about him varied from the improbable to the fantastical, and he never denied or confirmed any of them.

You’d been there only a couple of times before, and hadn’t stayed long on either occasion. Not that the folks weren’t friendly, but you had got a bit overwhelmed by not really knowing anyone, and had simply bolted. This time, you were determined to stay a little longer, and as if fate had granted you a little boon, you had barely got through the door when your name was yipped by a now-familiar, reedy voice.

“Jura,” you smiled. “Hey.”

“Boss man and I missed you this week,” she said, and you rolled your eyes. “We thought you weren’t coming back…”

With a laugh you said, “I think I finally have all the things I need for the farm now…”

“Aw, and here we were thinking that you deliberately found literally any excuse to come back and see us!” she crooned playfully. “After all, we saw you three times in one week not all that long ago! Anyway, come and meet Biscuit!” she said, and she actually grabbed your hand and tugged you between the busy tables towards the back of the bar where you saw a small, slim, sandy-coloured naga talking to Dhurak. Two empty beer glasses sat on the stained surface of their table, and Dhurak was wearing another soft-looking, traditional shirt, with a slightly more open neck this time.

As you approached, Dhurak’s golden gaze drifted away from his friend’s face and when he saw you he swallowed visibly and sat up a little bit straighter. Bikset, or Biscuit as Jura gracefully yelled as the pair of you neared their table, looked around to see what had made Dhurak suddenly become as awkward as a teenager, and he snorted.

The naga was gorgeous, with darkly tanned, slender arms and shoulders shown off to good advantage by a sleeveless tank top, and a very generous side-shave that became tall, spiky, dyed red hair over the right side of his head. His arms were covered from fingertips to shoulders in intricate tattoo sleeves, and you could see from the sliver of exposed skin at his collarbones and the nape of his neck that he had them elsewhere too. His facial features were sharp and regal, and his serpentine body was coiled tightly and comfortably beneath him. It was the colour of his nickname, making it doubly appropriate. He gave a broad, white grin, and you noticed that he had his lip, eyebrow, nose, and ears pierced too.

Jura clapped her hands and said, “Hey, Biscuit, I want you to meet someone. This is the human that Dhurak won’t stop banging on about all the time.”

“What?” you murmured, unable to hide an incredulous smile.

Dhurak had closed his eyes in horror at his friend’s ‘betrayal’, and shook his head, index finger and thumb at the wide bridge of his flat nose, but the naga was already laughing. “Oh I see,” Bikset said. “Yeah, I should have known the moment Dhurak went all funny…!” He spoke in a warm, slightly husky tenor, with a slight, sussurating lisp, like his tongue was marginally too big for his mouth.

“Yes,” Dhurak grumbled, “Let’s all poke fun at the orc, shall we?” He turned to you as Jura hopped up into a nearby empty chair, leaving you standing awkwardly beside Dhurak, and he said, “Please, ignore my rude friends; they’re worse when they’re together and have had a drink. How are you anyway?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, struggling to get your brain to function properly.

Until this point, you had been pretty sure that Dhurak hated you. He constantly scowled at you, and most of the time when you had visited the hardware store he had either found almost any excuse to disappear back into the workshop or had remained almost completely silent while Jura saw to your needs. Now it turned out he talked about you all the time?

Aware that he was staring at you and waiting for you to speak, you added, “But my truck won’t start, so that sucks.”

His brows twitched and you realised instantly that he actually hadn’t been scowling before at all. That was just the way his face was. Now he was scowling, but it was concern rather than irritation that furrowed his thick brows. “You need someone to take a look at it?”

You raised an eyebrow hopefully. “I mean… yeah? I can’t really afford a call-out to the garage though…”

“I know cars,” he said. “I used to fix my cousin’s belch-fire old truck all the time. I’ll come out and take a look at it tomorrow if you like.”

Jura yanked Bikset’s arm and he leaned down close to let her whisper something in his pointed ear. You caught something about ‘taking a look under more than one hood’, and watched as Dhurak growled and stood up. He stalked away towards the bar muttering that he needed another beer. His first few steps showed a painful limp, but it appeared to have eased by the time he made it to where Killy the tiefling was pulling pints. When you looked at the other two, their faces looked more than a little chagrined.

“I think we pushed it too far this time, Biscuit,” Jura mumbled.

“Is he ok?” you asked.

“You mean the walk or the grump?” Jura asked, suddenly a little defencive.

“Both?” you asked. “But mostly the grump… I thought he hated me.”

“Oh gods,” Jura snickered. “No, he doesn’t hate you. Like, the opposite. He… He likes you. A lot. He’s just…”

“An idiot?” Bikset interjected.

“No,” Jura countered sharply, her ears pulling back into a pose reminiscent of a cat who's just been stepped on. “He’s not much of a talker, but he’s really fucking good at talking himself out of things. Give him time,” she said. “He deserves a shot at being happy.” She rounded on you and hissed, pointing a sharply-clawed finger at you, “And if you ever hurt him, I swear to all the gods that I will hurt you back…”

Bikset shifted slightly, his tail rattling as he moved, and he laid a graceful, tattooed hand on her tiny, bony shoulder. “Easy, Ju,” he murmured. “No need to scare off the one person he’s been interested in since… you know…”

That gave you pause. Jura dropped her gaze to the floor and grumbled something in Goblin that you didn’t catch.

“Look sharp; boss man’s coming back,” the naga hissed.

Half his beer was already gone by the time he joined you.

“Listen,” Jura said as the orc eased himself down into his seat and stared into the dark liquid in front of him. “I’m sorry, Dhurak. I didn’t mean to be such an ass. Like you said - too much to drink. I think I’m actually gonna head home now anyway. Biksi, will you walk me?”

The naga smirked a wonky smile which revealed his elongated canines, and he nodded. “Sure. Night folks,” he said, uncoiling carefully and holding out his hand to you again. His palm was rough and cool. “Night,” he said to you. “Good to meet you… at lassssst…” he added in a theatrical whisper.

Dhurak slammed his palm down none too gently on the table, and they all laughed, including the orc. “For fuck’s sake, will you stop it?” he chortled.

Bikset elbowed his boss and friend in the ribs as he passed, and you were left alone with them.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Dhurak muttered, looking anywhere but into your eyes. “They like to tease. It’s never really been much of an issue before now.”

“They mean well,” you said, sliding into the seat that Jura had occupied.

Dhurak looked up and blinked, swallowing thickly. “Can I get you a drink?”

You pursed your lips and then smiled, reaching for his glass. “We could share?” you asked before you actually came into contact with it.

A slow, warm smile crept over his face and he chuckled, eyes closing for a moment as he nodded. “We could,” he agreed.

You kept eye contact with him as you sipped his beer, and watched his big Adam’s apple bob again as he swallowed nervously. He looked like he was warring with two voices in his head, and as you looked up at him and gently licked your lips, you watched one of those voices win out over the other.

“So,” you said once you’d set the pint glass back down on the table between you. “I have to admit that I thought you didn’t like me very much…”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. The beads in his braid flashed and jingled, and he rumbled a laugh deep in his chest. “Oh boy,” he said wryly. “I’m so out of practice at all this.”

You quirked your head to the side. “Oh?”

“I…” he puffed his cheeks out. “I’m…” He brought his braid forwards over his left shoulder and drew your attention to a bead that seemed to be made of bone. “I guess it’s no secret that I’m pretty… traditional when it comes to all things orcish, right?”

“Yeah, I’d gathered as much,” you said carefully, “Ignorant though I must admit that I am…”

He took a deep breath, suddenly seeming so unsure of himself. “Well, when an orc loses a loved one, it’s often traditional to take a phalanx -” he said, rubbing the upper section of his finger where the corresponding bone lay in his own body, “- and to turn it into a bead or ornament. That way you always carry a piece of their spirit, their strength with you.”

Your heart lurched and your notions began to realign with this new possible reality. He had lost a loved one. That was what Bikset had meant when he’d warned Jura to back off. “Who… Who did you lose?” you asked quietly.

There was a long pause. “I lost my husband,” he said in a very quiet voice.

“Dhurak, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s not a taboo subject. It happened just over five years ago. I… I lost my left leg above the knee in the car accident that killed him. Might as well get that one out in the open too while I’m at it.”

That certainly explained the slight syncopation to his walk.

He shuffled in his chair and stuck out his left leg, tugging up the lower hem of his jeans to reveal just his bare ankle. Where you might have expected green, orcish skin to disappear into his chunky boot, you glimpsed a few inches of a strange, three-dimensional net, composed of large, geometric shapes and made of what looked like some kind of pale golden metal alloy. He let his jeans fall back down to cover it after a moment, and looked back at you with dolorous eyes. “I’d get it if you’re not interested though.”

“Not interested? Why do you think I divided my shopping list up into as many parts as I did?”

“You kept coming back on purpose?” he asked, a laugh tumbling around the edge of his words, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. “I thought you were just forgetful.”

“No,” you said, reaching across the table to where his right hand lay idly on the wooden surface. You let your fingers play over his, dancing across his huge knuckles. “No, I mean I am forgetful, but I did keep coming back in the hopes of seeing you again. But I must have misread your expression. I thought you were really angry with me for something.”

“Ah,” he laughed. “Ah, that would be what Jura affectionately calls my ‘resting orc face’. I’m sorry. She tells me I constantly look like I want to rip the head off something. I don’t, I promise, and least of all you.”

“At first, from the way she kept talking about you, I thought you two were a couple…” you admitted.

Dhurak’s burst of laughter seemed to catch both of you off guard. He threw his head back and guffawed a deep, booming, resonant laugh that drew a number of heads. When he’d recovered himself, he said, “I do swing both ways, and as much as I like a good size difference, I’m not her type.”

“She has a type?” you asked, instantly curious about the extroverted little goblin.

He shook his head. “No, not really. But I’ve never known her to want a relationship with anyone beyond friendship. She’s been my best friend for years.”

You thought of your own best friend, and how the two of you had helped each other through everything good and bad. Jura must have been at his side when he’d lost his husband. Had he been an orc too? There wasn’t really any way to tell by the carved bead in his hair without staring. You had so many questions that you really weren’t sure you could ask. Dhurak must have taken your silence for uncertainty because he sat back in his chair and folded his arms defensively across his broad chest.

“Dhurak?” you asked hesitantly. “I… I want to see where this goes, but I’ve never been with someone who isn’t human before. I… I didn’t have a whole lot of interaction with, well, with most people really, back in the city, but…” you broke off, frustrated. “This is a whole new situation for me - the farm, I mean, and moving here and all that - and I don’t know much about orcish culture or, like… any non-human culture.”

His face gradually softened as you sputtered your way through your words, and when you ground to a halt, he leaned forwards, resting his forearms on the table. “Ok,” he said slowly. “Well, if you’re interested in learning more, I’ll show you. And we can see where this goes. I’ve not dated anyone since… I lost Jon, so… this has been a bit of a surprise for me too… Falling for you like this… I never thought I’d be interested in anyone else…”

“I get it,” you said softly. “I mean, I’ve not lost a loved one like that, but… I think I can understand the sentiment at least.”

He smiled and took your hand in his, looking down at the way your fingers lay across his huge, rough palm. His orcish skin was thick and leathery, but his touch was so light as he traced the lines of your fingers. “Human hands are so small,” he said, almost to himself. “I had almost forgotten.”

“Jon was human too then?” you asked in a tiny voice.

He nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Half. He was half-orcan.” Dhurak seemed to return to the moment from whatever reverie his mind had taken him on, and he sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about the past just now. Tell me about you. What’s big city life like?”

You chatted with him for hours after that. Eventually Killy came waltzing over to your table on his lean, slender, goat-like legs, and rapped on the table with his blue-skinned knuckles. He grinned at you when you both jumped. “Sorry lovebirds,” he smiled broadly, his high tenor voice lilting and heavily accented. “It’s half an hour past closing time, and I really do need to get my beauty sleep…”

“Oh shit, Killy, I’m so sorry,” Dhurak gasped, letting go of your hand and placing his palms down on the table, levering himself to his feet.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, my darling,” the tiefling chuckled, patting him fondly on the upper arm. “ ‘Time flies…’ and all that,” he crooned musically. “Goodnight you two.”

You followed Dhurak towards the door and he held it open for you to pass through first. Outside, you drew in a deep breath of the chilly night air and let it go, feeling a knot of excitement fizzing away in your chest. When you turned around and found Dhurak looking at you, you flashed him a quizzical frown.

He shook his head with a smile on his face, abandoning whatever private thoughts he’d indulged in, and instead asked, “Did you drive here?”

“No,” you said heavily. “I walked.”

“I’ll walk you back if you like?” he offered.

“Thank you,” you said. “I would like that. Though not because I don’t trust the inhabitants of Starfall Springs or anything, but because I don’t trust myself not to get lost in the dark and fall down a ditch…”

His sonorous chuckle made you smile, and he tentatively reached out his hand and brushed your hair back off your forehead with a curled finger. That was as much as he gave you, but it felt somehow deeply intimate. “Come on then,” he said.

Your walk back home was quieter, but it was not the awkward, heavy kind of silence of two people who’ve run out of things to talk about. It was the quiet, easy kind of silence that reassured rather than unnerved. As you finally turned off the main road and onto the dirt track that led up to the dilapidated farmhouse, you turned and gazed up at him. “I know the way from here…” you said, not wanting him to feel awkward when you got to the front door of your house.

“I don’t mind walking you all the way, unless you’d rather part here?”

You shook your head. “Is it too cheesy to say I don’t want this to end at all?” you snorted. “Oh man,” you blushed. “No, I’m just conscious that you’ve got a long way to go home. Unless you want to stay the night…”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet,” he said, and his quiet honesty struck you deeply.

“Of course,” you said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“You’re not being pushy,” he reassured you, taking your hands in his again and squeezing tightly. “I’m just… yeah… I…” His eyes glimmered in the dark and you realised as his voice cracked a bit that he was choking up a little. “I’m just a bit… overwhelmed… I’m sorry.”

“Dhurak,” you said, squeezing his fingers hard. “It’s ok. Whatever pace you want to set, I’m cool with that.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m not very… not very good with… you know… expressing myself. But I think you get it.”

“I think I do too,” you said, “But if it seems like I’m not getting it, just tell me.”

He nodded, swallowed, and let go of your hands. “Maybe I will go back now,” he said, blinking quickly. “Will you be alright?”

You nodded. “Give me your number and I’ll text you when I’m home, just to prove I’m not face-down in a farmyard ditch…”

He grinned, and the two of you exchanged numbers.

“Dhurak, can I give you a hug before you go?” you asked.

His smile was beautiful, his big, silver cuffed tusks jutting out of his square jaw, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I’d like that. I was going to ask if I could kiss you though.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…” you grinned. “Get down here and kiss me.”

Still chuckling softly, he brought his lips to yours. His kiss started out slow, tentative, as though he were expecting himself to want to pull back, but once he’d allowed himself a moment to appreciate just what he was doing, instead of drawing away, he slid his hand behind your head, holding you while he deepened the kiss. It was tricky to avoid being jabbed by his tusks, even if they were rounded, but you grew very quickly to like the feeling of them against your skin.

Breathless, Dhurak straightened and stared at you, his orcish retinas flashing briefly in the low light.

“Alright?” you asked him, dreading any answer but yes.

Another slow smile crept over his face and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow. When’s a good time?”

“What?”

“Your truck,” he chuckled. “Or was that just a ruse to get me out here?”

“Oh!” you laughed. “No, she’s very much broken. Well, I can’t get her going anyway…”

“If Jura were here, she would tell me that the next words out of my mouth should be some painful innuendo if I call myself a true orc, but I’ll just say I’ll come over whenever suits you, so you set a time.”

You grinned. “You could come over for breakfast? Say, nine o’clock?  I’m actually not a horrendous cook?”

Dhurak laughed and nodded. “I’ll be here for breakfast then. Thank you.”

When the knock at the door came just after nine the next morning, you opened it to find Dhurak standing there with a huge bunch of flowers and a colossal basket of fresh fruit from the market place. “Lesson number one,” he said before you could even gasp in surprised delight, “Orcs always bring food to a feast,” he said. “And when you’re courting someone, you bring the nicest stuff you can find…”

“Let ‘Intro to Orcish Culture’ class number one begin,” you giggled, standing back and letting him step inside.

He stooped to kiss you on his way past, and you grinned back at him. “Coffee?”

“Tea?” he asked hopefully.

“Tea it is then,” you said, eyes widening at the massive basket of fresh oranges, lemons, apples, blueberries, apricots, and lots of other goodies besides. “That basket is big enough to hold a golden retriever!”

He laughed as he set it down on the table. “That’s Lesson Two in orcish courting,” he said with a glint in his eye.

***

I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I did writing it!

Don't forget that you can browse my masterlist for other stories and posts (since the format of this site is not great for finding older works)