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“How are you feeling today?"

Diokles let out a soft grunt as he stretched his left arm over his head. With the bandages off, he could finally move it without much resistance. Plus, the pain was barely noticeable now. Just a faint itching from the large scars that ran down his chest to said arm.

“Better," he gave a thankful nod. “You really did a fine job, Markhor," he said to the orc shaman standing opposite him.

“Think nothing about it." Said the orc with an uncharacteristically gentle smile that surprisingly suited him. “Now try stretching the other arm."

Diokles complied, lowering the left arm as he lifted up the right. No pain. The shaman really did work wonders when healing him.

A week ago, if someone had said that Diokles would be mauled by a Frost Troll and then saved and nursed back to health by an orc shaman, he would have punched the person for the sheer ridiculousness of the scenario. And yet, however unlikely it had seemed, it actually happened by some bizarre coincidence.

Diokles had been on his way back home after a particularly excruciating quest across the country, which he had completed without much difficulty. He had decided to go through Yvormont Pass on his way back to the capital. While it was the quickest way back, it was also one of the most dangerous routes across the Northern Mountains. Still, Diokles trudged on through thick snow, confident that he could make it to the next settlement before night fell.

Just as he thought that he was going to make it through the pass, he was ambushed by Frost Troll. Now Frost Trolls were extremely territorial in winter. It was dark, and snow was falling heavily, Diokles found himself at a disadvantage. He had no choice but to fight the beast.

Try as he might, Diokles couldn't just kill the Troll. Fighting any mountain troll head on would be suicide, but it was especially true for their cousins who lived in cold mountains. Diokles had fought a couple of mountain trolls in his time, but he had never met Frost Trolls, which were much faster and stronger compared to their regular cousins. Their thick winter coat served as an extra layer of protection to their already thick hides.

And so, Diokles resorted to his limited repertoire of fire spells to steer the monstrous beast away as far as possible from him. The more distance he could put between himself and the Frost Troll, the better his chance of survival was.

When the knight thought he saw his chance to lose the troll, the humongous, nine feet tall creature jumped on him, clawing through his armor with its wicked, dagger like claws, before dashing him against the cliffs with its ferocious strength.

Through the intense pain that had blossomed on his chest, Diokles saw the troll advancing towards him, and steeled himself for the inevitable… only to see as several bursts of intense mage-fire drew the troll away. A figure clad in thick furs and a staff appeared from his peripheral vision, firing more fire-based spells to the troll while shouting in a harsh, foreign language.

With his vision darkening, the knight saw the Frost Troll retreated quickly, and his mysterious savior was now approaching him. The last thing he remembered seeing was a warm soothing light that seemed to envelope him, and he heard a soft chanting in the same harsh language, followed by a green skinned face looking down at him.

Then he'd collapsed into blackness.

When Diokles woke, he had found himself stripped bare of his armor, properly bandaged, lying on a warm, if not somewhat rickety bed. He was thoroughly surprised to find out that his savior was an orc shaman. There was no mistaking the slightly guttural voice, the deep emerald skin, and the pair of tusks sticking out from the shaman's lower jaw.

What was even more surprising was how young the shaman looked.

Diokles had studied orcish culture when he was still training under his Lord as a squire. Orcs generally didn't grow their beard until they were considered adults by their society. That, and they weren't allowed to keep their beards or even their hairs long if they hadn't passed a certain stage of their lives.

The orc shaman's inky black hair was cropped short, with the sides shaved close to his scalp, leaving a small ponytail on the back of his head, the only part of his hair that was long enough to be tied; evidence of his status as a young adult or at least an experienced one from the ponytail. A neatly trimmed beard framing his otherwise chiseled and angular, but otherwise youthful face.

As much as he didn't want to be within the care of an orc, Diokles realized that in his current state, there wasn't much of anything that he could do. He'd heard some tales about how orc shamans would perform barbaric rituals on captured Dominion soldiers or use them as sacrifices for their tribes.

But as the days progressed, it was apparent that the shaman didn't have any ulterior motives and was really working to heal his injuries.

With his limited knowledge on orcish languages, Diokles attempted to talk to the shaman on the sixth day. It was then he learned the shaman's name, Markhor, and what kind of injuries he had sustained. According to Markhor, he had several broken bones, and ribs, and had suffered massive blood loss that night. If the shaman hadn't been there, Diokles would've bled to death.

Most of his armor was not salvageable however.

During his time confined to the bed, Diokles had determined that he was held inside some sort of old keep. The knight had thought perhaps the Orcish Legion had sent small scouting parties to Dominion territories and one of them had occupied an old abandoned keep. Although, what made him unsure of his theory was the apparent lack of any other orcs in the area.

It was surprising to find out that the shaman was the only orc living inside the keep, besides the Wrymling which the orc had kept as his pet. Diokles could only wonder what powers the shaman possessed in order to tame a Wyrmling. Those dragon-like creatures were notoriously temperamental and destructive despite their speed and keen sense of smell. They were perfect for a mount and a hunting companion once they were fully grown.

Nevertheless, Diokles's uneasiness soon worn away as the shaman worked over him throughout day and night, using various herbs, constant doses of foul tasting potions, and the occasional healing spell. He even shared the game meat with Diokles from his weekly hunts. Within the week, he could already walk, even with some difficulty.

When Markhor determined he was strong enough to move about, the orc brought Diokles to have a look around his keep, which the human found had been turned into his personal 'Wizard's Tower'.

Markhor was a surprisingly good conversationalist and storyteller. He also taught Diokles the finer points of his language, and in turn, Diokles refined Markor's knowledge on Dominion common, just so they could communicate easier.

“So how come you're living alone in this keep?" Diokles asked one night over a bowl of stew. “I didn't see any other orc beside yourself."

While it wasn't uncommon to find a lone orc mercenary every now and then, never had Diokles heard of an orc shaman to be on their own. Shamans were usually accompanied by a warrior or two, or even the chieftain, at least according to Dominion reports.

Markhor hummed, running his large hands through his hair. “I had a… disagreement with my chieftain," he said. His tone suggested that he wasn't comfortable with the subject.

“Ah."

“Let's just say that I'm a free shaman now. I'm free to do as I please," Markhor said. “Anyway, how come a Dominion knight ended up this far up north? I thought knights marched along with their Lords or Kings?"

“Oh, that's because I'm a Knight Errant. While I am sworn to serve my Lord, I was given freedom to travel the land and help whoever was in need," Diokles explained. “If my Lord calls me for aid, then I shall return and provide whatever aid he needed."

Markhor hummed, his brows furrowed in thought. “I see… so you're not unlike a mercenary?"

Diokles chuckled. “You can say that. The difference is that as a Knight Errant, I'm tied under my oaths to the King and to my Lord. I'd be held responsible if I abused my title and position, meager as they were."

“Ah I see now," Markhor nodded in understanding.

Throughout the week, Diokles found a certain sort of kinship with Markhor, especially when the orc revealed that he was once a warrior, and had joined the ranks of warriors of the Legion before he found his calling in shamanism.

Before he knew it, another week had passed. Diokles woke up with more ease than he did from the past week and Markhor did his usual round of check ups and to change the dressing.

“Well, it seems like you're healing very well," he said, tracing the reddish pink scar that marred Diokles' bare, muscular chest with a finger. “You still need to be careful however. No intense physical activities just yet."

Diokles nodded. “Of course."

He watched as Markhor's hand started glowing in a warm, soothing light. The orc began chanting a healing spell as he pressed his hand on Diokles' chest. The warmth gently spread all over Diokles' like bathing in warm water. It was over by the next minute.

“Well, that should do it for now. I'll check on you again this evening before dinner," said Markhor. “By this rate, you should be fully healed by the end of the week."

“Thank you Markhor, that's good news," Diokles couldn't help but grin. “Ah, which reminds me, how could I repay you?"

The shaman just gave him a patient smile. “There's no need, Diokles." He replied, gathering up his supplies.

“No, no. I insist," Diokles said as he pushed himself up. “You have saved my life and I owe you a debt."

“I just did what I need to do. There's no need for you to repay me with anything." Markhor replied amiably as he turned and headed for the door. “You should rest, Diokles."

“I've been resting for two weeks now," the knight rolled his eyes as he followed Markhor out of his quarters.

“Really, there's no need," Markhor insisted as they walked down the dimly lit corridor.

The tall, narrow windows reveal the bright, snow capped courtyard outside. The perpetual calmness of the keep was interrupted by muted snorts and the occasional growling from the black scaled Wyrmling who was currently prowling around outside.

Diokles sighed, running his hand through his beard. He really needed to shave it soon, he thought absentmindedly.

“Alright, but at least let me give you something in return," Diokles said. “Something that you might need… something for your studies perhaps? Or your experiments. I've seen you tinkering in your laboratory before. Anything I can get you, I will. I insist." he quickly added when the orc opened his mouth to protest.

Markhor opened and closed his mouth, looking unsure. “Well… there's this one ingredient that I need…" he said slowly and hesitantly.

“Yes?"

“No, forget about it," the orc said quickly and marched off.

Diokles jogged after him. “What is it? I might as well fetch it for you," he insisted. “It's a small thing compared to your hospitality," he said.

For some reason, the tips of Markhor's ears turned red. Was he blushing?

“No, no. It's not really urgent, and you don't really have to—"

“I insist. Please, let me do this, at least," Diokles implored.

Markhor gave a heavy sigh and stopped in his tracks, forcing Diokles to stop as well. The orc looked somewhat uneasy and highly embarrassed at the same time. “If you insist…"

Diokles gave a firm nod. “I do. I swear on my honor I'll get whatever you need."

Markhor rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “You don't need to swear on your honor you know, but If you're sure…"

Diokles gave another firm nod.

“Very well," Markhor signed. “You see, I'm doing a study on male physiology and effects of… er… certain potions and spells, and well… There's this one ingredient that I can't get easily."

“What's this ingredient and where can I find it?" Diokles asked.

He blinked in surprise when Markhor's entire face turned deep red.

“You won't have to travel out," the orc said. “I… well… what I require is your seed."

It took Diokles a few seconds to comprehend what the orc shaman had just said. Even so, he said, “Come again?"

“I would require a human seed." The orc, who was now flushing in embarrassment, said in a rush. “Your seed. Semen. Come. Ejaculation."

Diokles made a calming gesture with his hands. “I get it, I get it," he said.

It was definitely a most unusual request. Though, he couldn't back down now, not when he had swore to repay the shaman. He was a knight. He would not back down from any situation no matter how outlandish it was. “Alright. I'll do it."

A flash of surprise grazed the shaman's face for a split second, before he gave Diokles a nod and a relieved sort of smile. “Forgive me for the unusual request, but I wasn't sure where to retrieve some. My other option was to head for a brothel and collect samples, but I'm sure the patrons won't be very happy with my intrusion."

Diokles couldn't help but laugh. “Oh yes, they wouldn't."

Markhor grinned along. “Well… so… we can do it later this evening if you like."

“Well, it's not like I have any pressing matters to attend to," Diokles said with a wry smile.

“Right," Markhor coughed, echoing the smile. “Well, there are a few things I needed to prepare for the… ah, extraction. Just get some rest for now. I don't want you to strain yourself."

Diokles nodded. “Alright. I'll see you this evening then?"

“Yes. Come see me in my study before supper," the orc nodded.

“Of course."

---

Time passed relatively quickly in the keep. Diokles occupied his time by taking walks around the keep and reading tomes and scrolls that Markhor had provided him to entertain himself, while trying not to overthink how Markhor will collect his seed.

At the appointed time, Diokles made his way to Markhor's study, which was located on the second floor in the keep's tower. After climbing several flights of stairs, he knocked on the study's door firmly.

“Enter!"

The moment he walked through the door, Diokles' nostrils were immediately assaulted by the aroma of incense. The room, like the rest of the keep, was made up of stone, from the floor to the vaulted ceiling. It was quite spacious and well lit by several wall torches and a cast iron chandelier in the center of the room.

Despite the vast amount of space, Diokles found it to be rather cluttered. Scrolls were stacked haphazardly on an old worn desk sitting by the far wall, on the shelves, and all over the floor. An alchemy table sat opposite the shelves, emitting puffs of mist which seemed to be the source of the thick, but soothing scent. Various star charts and strange looking diagrams were hung over the worn stone walls. Occupying a third of the room was a large nest of cushions that was big enough for a full grown orc to lie down upon, and set on top of it were several pelt rugs with smaller cushions strewn around it.

A fireplace was crackling with a cheery fire on the opposite end, giving warmth to the otherwise frigid coldness of winter.

“Evening Diokles. Please forgive my study's current state." Markhor said as he made his way to the knight. “Well, make yourself comfortable." He gestured towards the cushions.

“Right." Diokles nodded and sat himself on the edge of the cushions. “So… do I need to undress?"

Markhor coughed, looking slightly awkward as he went over to the alchemy table and picked out some herbs and powders from the overhanging rack. “Yes, that would be more preferable," he uttered as he busied himself with whatever he was concocting.

Diokles was no stranger to stripping down bare within the presence of another man. Men and women bath naked in Dominion bathhouses after all. However, this particular situation was somewhat unusual, he thought with a wry smile as he pulled off his tunic and began to remove his fur boots.

“Right… this should do it." Markhor said more to himself a few moments later, lifting a vial of clear amber liquid. He turned to Diokles with a small grin, stopping short as he realized that the human had completely stripped himself bare.

Diokles was sitting on the edge of the nest of cushions, with one hand holding a smaller cushion to cover his privates.

By the spirits… what a divine body, the shaman thought. Even after working to heal Diokles' injuries for weeks, he had never really realized just how well built Diokles was. The knight's well formed musculature was marred with various faint scars, almost unnoticeable, with the only visible ones being from the Frost Troll's attack—a set of three pink lines across his pectorals, down past his upper abdominals, and through his left bicep.

Even the knight's chiseled face hadn't been spared from the troll's attack. A scar trailed from his right collarbone and up through his left cheek, leaving a clear line through Diokles' thick black beard.

Even with the scars, it was undeniable that Diokles was a very handsome man.

Markhor snapped out of his thoughts and brought the vial towards Diokles. “Here, drink this."

“What is it?" Diokles took the glass vial carefully, inspecting the clear amber liquid inside

“Something to help you with the sampling process." Markhor replied.

“Oh."

Markhor gave Diokles a look, and let off a sigh. “You know, if it will make you feel more comfortable, I could undress as well." He offered, even though he was already taking off his vest.

Diokles found himself nodding quickly. “I… yes, of course… by all means," he said.

“Do I need to drink all of it?"

The shaman shook his head as he worked on his belt buckle. “Not really. Just a sip or two will do." He said, kicking off his pants and was left in his smallclothes.

Diokles absently took a few sips of the potion, which smelled like smoked wood and cinnamon for some reason. It burned his throat like that almost rivaled the Dominion's strongest wine. He couldn't help but cough from the burning aftertaste.

Shaking his head from the slight dizziness that followed, he turned and found himself staring at the shaman who was slowly undoing his smallclothes.

For a mage, Markhor was surprisingly fit, with well defined musculature and bulk more akin to a warrior. Diokles quickly recalled that Markhor had told him how he was a Legion-trained warrior before he became a shaman. He had seen Markhor keeping up with his warrior training every morning. That, and the orc's weekly hunts through the harsh mountainous region probably helped keep him in shape.

Fully in the nude, Markhor sat himself down next to Diokles, not bothering to cover his manhood. “I forgot to warn you about the taste, though I suppose it's too late now." He chuckled apologetically.

“Ah, it's fine" Diokles nodded, idly scratching his scarred chest. His eyes trailed down towards the orc's well endowed package almost subconsciously. He quickly tore his eyes away and focused on something else. The potion must have worked since he was starting to feel rather warm. He blinked when he felt a pair of strong hands gently clasped around his own.

“Let me put this elsewhere," the shaman said as he stood up and went to place the half empty vial on an empty rack and took a second vial, empty of any liquids. He went back to sit beside Diokles, whose cheeks had flushed red as the potion began to affect his senses.

“Perhaps we can remove this?" the orc asked, touching the cushion which had been hiding the human's manhood.

Diokles felt as if he was seeing through a light haze. He felt relaxed yet alert somehow despite his vision, which had started to blur around the edges. He could only nod at Markhor's suggestion.

Markhor removed the piece of cushion and watched with unabashed fascination as Diokles's cock grew to its full length. Like all Dominion men, the knight was circumcised and his pubic hair was trimmed short. However, his week-long stay in Markhor's keep had let his natural body hair to grow, evident from the thick beard the man was sporting and the fine carpet of hair which had spread across Diokles' thick chest, trailing down his abs, and forming a thin dark fuzz crowning the man's thick manhood.

“Just keep yourself relaxed," the shaman instructed, taking a small pitcher which he then poured over the knight's shaft. Diokles recoiled slightly from the coolness of the oil-like liquid but tried to make himself relax, even though he was finding it increasingly hard to do so.

Diokles gave out a gasp when he felt Markhor touching and prodding his privates. The situation was so surreal and in any normal circumstance, he probably would have kicked the shaman and slain him right then and there. But this was not an everyday circumstance for the knight, and he knew deep down that he truly trusted Markhor. Diokles let out a short gasp as his skin suddenly flooded with an extreme sensitivity, making the orcs soft rubbing over his cock feel like the most pleasurable sensation he'd ever experienced.

“Just relax," Markhor reminded him, one calloused hand tenderly wrapping around Diokles's throbbing member, slick from the oils, while the other gently pushed the man on his chest, forcing him to lie down on the nest of cushions.

Diokles was openly moaning now from the light touches Markhor was giving him, writhing as light jolts of pleasure rattled his body.

Markhor kept himself professional, giving the human's shaft several slow strokes. With the potion in effect, the knight was already leaking precum from the small amount of stimulation.

“T-that was one hell of a potent potion…" Diokles panted, biting back a moan as Markhor began to give his manhood light squeezes as he continued to stimulate his member. “Markhor… s-slow down…" He panted, feeling himself coming closer and closer to his release. He had never felt so close to cumming this fast before.

The shaman nodded, slowing down the movement of his strokes. However the combined effect of the potion and the stimulus proved too much for the human, and less than a minute later, Diokles bucked his hips into Markhor's hands, spewing out thick ropes of white hot seed with a loud cry.

Without missing a beat, Markhor grabbed the empty vial and scooped up the trail of cum which was leaking down the man's throbbing shaft. It amazed him how Diokles continued to ejaculate, ropes of cum flying from his shaft. Might be one of the side effects of the aphrodisiac he had given the man beforehand. Oh well.

Diokles had never felt a continuous barrage of pleasurable sensations coursing through his body this intensely before. It was unnatural and yet… he took an uneven breath, shaking those thoughts away as he glanced up at Markhor, who was corking the vial which had been filled up two thirds of the way with his thick, viscous white liquid. The orc shaman placed the vial down on the tray on the desk and went to the knight who was still shuddering from the intensity of the session. He grasped Diokles's arm and helped him up. The human staggered on his feet, still flushing red as the potion had not yet worn off.

“T-thanks." The man uttered, glancing down on his soiled state and chuckled weakly. “You have something to help me clean off?" He asked, looking at the green skinned shaman expectantly.

Markhor nodded and produced a spare cloth from his desk, handing it over to the human. He frowned when he noticed that Diokles was still in a bit of a daze. The knight's green eyes were rather unfocused. “Are you feeling alright?" He asked, waving his hand over Diokles' eyes. The orc gave a jerk when the human's powerful grip seized his arm.

The shaman had thought the human knight had come to his senses and was about to retaliate for the humiliation he had been put through. What he wasn't expecting however, was for Diokles to pull him forward, mashing his lips on the shaman's own while pressing his hard, chiseled body against the orc's sturdy, green skinned frame.

Diokles didn't know why he did it, but he just did. His heart was hammering against his ribcage as he nipped and licked against Markhor's lips and tusks. The orc tensed under his vice-like grip, but soon relaxed, and reciprocated the gesture almost smoothly. He let go of the orc's arm and went to grasp his backside, pulling him closer.

The sensation of Markhor's warm skin and hard muscles rubbing against his own was quite pleasant. He shuddered when Markhor's own hands wrapped around his back, tilting his head to the side as he pushed his tongue past Diokles' lips. The knight put up a slight resistance, trying to push the orc's tongue away as they fought for dominance. But it was evident that Markhor had the upper hand, as he succeeded in making Diokles moan from his lips alone.

The knight soon pulled away, breathing hard for much needed air. “I-I don't—"

“Don't… don't speak." Came the shaman's husky voice as he nipped on Diokles's lower lip tenderly, one hand rubbing on the knight's hairy, muscled chest. “Just let me…" he trailed off, pushing the knight back on the cushions.

Diokles bit his lip as he let himself sink into the soft fabric. Markhor kneeled directly in front of him. His own orc shaft was already hard, its greenish purple head pushing past his foreskin was leaking profusely. The orc took Diokles' hard on and pressed it against his own hard on. The orc's big hands wrapped around both members and began to pump.

The knight's moans were immediately silenced when the shaman locked his lips with him again. Shuddering, Diokles let Markhor take the reins as he pulled himself deeper into the kiss, letting the orc's expert and delicious tongue to ravage his oral orifice.

They pulled away a few moments later, both breathing hard. Markhor rubbed the knight's muscled body, the sight of the scars somehow enhanced the knight's appeal. With one arm blindly reaching for the pitcher of oil which he had placed on the nearby table, nearly knocking it over.

“What are you…" Diokles breathed as he watched Markhor smearing his fingers with the oil, before he let out a gasp as he felt the cool liquid drenching down his buttocks, flowing down past his crack.

“Something to help ease me into you." The orc replied, somewhat breathless as he smeared the liquid around the knight's back entrance. Diokles's eyes widened with realization.

“I-I've never…" Diokles's breath caught, pausing for a few seconds before he nodded, mentally preparing himself. He had never thought to give himself off to another male, or an orc for that matter. A tiny part of his mind screamed of the wrongness of this situation, but the other part wanted him to give in--wanting nothing more than to feel the strong orc inside him so desperately.

“Do it." He uttered with a strong resolve.

With the knight's permission, Markhor pressed his cock into the knight's tight pucker. The oils eased the entry in, but it did little to soothe the pain.

Diokles hissed through clenched teeth as he felt the stabbing pain on his backside as the orc's flaring head pushed past his back entrance. “Agh! By the gods…"

“Shh… just try to relax," Markhor breathed as he successfully pushed the head of his manhood through Diokles' wonderfully tight asshole, and slowly began to push his shaft further in.

The knight, still feeling intense discomfort, let out a breath of relief. At least it wasn't as bad when Markhor first entered him. He let out a sharp gasp when he felt a jolt of pleasure running through his body when Markhor began to move his hips.

The orc simply smiled to himself as he heard pleasured moans coming from the knight's lips. He knew he had hit the man's right spots. With that thought, Markhor began to pump his manhood into the knight's rump, gyrating his hips as he pushed and pulled, stimulating the already sensitive body of the knight.

“M-Markhor...mmmgh!" With the potion still in effect, the pain and pleasure his body was receiving was amplified tenfold. The human's body trembled from the barrage of sensations he was receiving. His own manhood throbbed and leaked profusely, ready for another release.

The moans and cries of the other male only served to inflame Markhor's passion. The orc increased his pace and was practically pounding the human with his shaft, letting out a pleasured growl. Diokles's tight, warm hole was pressing and squeezing against his manhood in all the right places.

The knight bit his lip as he gripped his throbbing member and started to jerk himself off, almost in tandem with the shaman's thrust. He needed release, and badly at that, but he couldn't let himself go just yet. He wanted to remember the pleasure that Markhor's cock was giving him, but he seemed to be fighting a losing battle as the knight soon felt a familiar tug and the increasing pull of pleasure within his privates.

“I-I'm going to…" Diokles started, only to be silenced as Markhor roughly pulled his head up to meet his, gnashing their lips together as the orc drilled his manhood deep into the human. All forms of resistance quickly broke down, and the knight released his second load, letting out a loud cry.

“Ooh…" Diokles slumped against Markhor's hold as his pent up energy was sapped. He could feel his warm spunk dripping down his chest and abs, and might have soiled the orc's body as well. But the orc didn't seem to be done with the knight however.

His thrusts suddenly picked up their intensity, plowing into Diokles's ass with such force that the human almost saw white as his prostate as jabbed in a quick, continuous succession. His cock twitched and spurted out a few dribbles of cum just as Markhor delivered one final thrust.

With a roar, the orc filled Diokles with his potent seed. The hot white liquid shot up and seared the knight's insides like a hot iron. The human nearly passed out from the intensity of the sensation alone as the orc shaman continued to pump him full of his seed, thrusting wildly in and out of his tight hole.

They both collapsed on the cushion not long after, panting heavily, with their muscular chests both heaving for air. Their bodies glistening with sweat and in Diokles's case, were smeared with cum. The knight moaned lightly when Markhor pulled his manhood out of his abused hole, and the orc's thick, warm seed immediately began to ooze out from his crack.

He felt somewhat lightheaded from their intense session. Some part of him thought he should have felt ashamed as his mind slowly cleared and he realized what he had really done, but then after a few moments, all he felt was a calm sense of contentment. The knight couldn't help but grin tiredly at the naked orc lying right across him.

“Forgive me." Markhor uttered once he had somehow regained his breath. “I don't know what come over—“

Diokles waved his hand, cutting the shaman off. “I asked for it. It's not your fault, Markhor." He said, patting the orc's arm and brushing his fingers down across the male's chest. “I could only thank you for… that." He chuckled, cheeks flushing slightly as he gave the orc a grateful smile.

Markhor looked relieved, if not slightly happy. “I never thought I'd be doing that with a human to be honest." He confessed, pulling the naked knight close to him.

“Well, I never thought I'd be giving into a male, let alone an orc for that matter." Diokles interjected. “But… I really, really enjoyed it."

“I'm glad." Markhor nodded, humming lightly to himself.

A calm moment of silence followed as the two males simply enjoyed the moment of the afterglow. Markhor exhaled and ran his fingers through his short cropped black hair. Sitting up, he turned to the knight beside him and said, “You know, I think you should—“ He stopped short, realizing that Diokles had fallen asleep. Soft snores were coming from the rugged looking knight. The potion and their session must have drained much of his energy, Markhor thought with amusement.

Deciding that leaving the human to rest would be the best option for now, the orc shaman shrugged and laid back down, pressing himself against the man, while wrapping his arms around Diokles's powerful back.

Cleaning up could wait until after they both awoke later on, he decided as he slowly stroked his not quite flaccid member which was pressed lightly against Diokles' own softening shaft.

Yes, cleaning up could definitely wait.