Second Wind OP
#1 of Second Wind OP
This was a story I wrote for my pal Doreth! Mostly just manly, steamy fuckin'.
The steam in the air dampened and matted fur like it was some god-given purpose, muscles bulged and armpit's sweat, each breath and chuckle was a rush of hot air and each pinch or fondle of another man's arse was met with sly, inviting eyes. Really, the humid little sauna room could only be described as overflowing with man; there was man in the deadly curve of each horn, there was man in each curve of a muscle, there was man in the each cuss and joking word, and there was most certainly god damn man in the huge slabs of meat hanging between each Tauren's legs. It looked of man, it smelled of man, it tasted of man and it felt...well, why don't you just ask them how a man felt, I'm sure they'd be happy to oblige you.
What ever could we be describing, might you ask? Well the pre-match preparations of the all Tauren RBG team - Got beef? - of course! Well, preparations is a bit of an overstatement, I suppose, more like... pre-match fucking-around-in-the-sauna-'cause-they-ain't-afraid-o'-no-ghostsAlliance. Still, the match was about to start, and luckily for them Taurajo happened to remember that or else they might have missed the game (not that they'd have cared much, to be quite honest). "Right boys! On yer 'ooves!" Their great and fearless leader, Taurajo Thunderhoof, stood upon the nearest rock, both to give him a better range and to give his boys a good eyeful as encouragement. "Warshank, get yer dick outta Dorothy and line up you big oaf. Right, we all here?" He eyed the line of Tauren before him, a towering wall of muscle and horns that'd be damn frightening to anyone to see charging towards them, not to mention those pansy Alliance.
Taurajo mayhap wasn't the fastest thinker, but he was smart enough to know he could work around that, and so he did! There was: Warshank, as had been previously mentioned. It seemed Warshank hadn't quite listened to his commanding Warchief and still had his cock buried balls deep in the other Tauren, though he stood in line quite still pretending as if there wasn't a squirming, baying bull attached to him. Or maybe he just didn't know... There was Kharkaz the Great, the resident (and only) healer of the team; a holy paladin who was thoroughly convinced that the glory days of being a shockadin have not disappeared and that healing is for shmucks. Tanuk and Dorn; both TG-specialized fury warrior brothers with a fondness for synchronized reckstorms. Skrillexqtlol, a feral druid who could never come to terms with the fact that Tauren do not make good rogues. Dontnerfmebro, the flavour-of-the-month re-roller, who would always brag about his kill-to-death ratio at the end of a match. Bramble (fuck, sometimes it was a pain having only three fingers on each hand...), the gender-confused boomkin who cared far too much about the opposition and had a fondness for tea parties (and being a fatarse chicken). Âr†hÚ?, the annoying twelve year old under-ager that no-one wanted to bring, yet was the only Tauren death knight on the server. Taurajo Thunderhoof, their brave and awe-inspiring chief who was studly and amazing and handsome and beautiful and...and...ahem. And last, but most certainly not least, Doreth, the flag-carrying Guardian druid who just happened to be a little smaller than all of his team mates and was their collective "stress reliever" and favourite object to tease about his fat bear arse.
Once he was sure that yes, indeed, they had all assembled, he clapped his hands together and gave the most devilish grin a Tauren could give! "My fellow Tauren! As I'm sure none of you remembered, today is the finals for the RBG world cup! And who, might I ask, is going to win them?" His question was answered by a number of jeers and howls of "not those pussy Alliance!" and "Got Beef!" though Taurajo continued as if he had not received an answer. "What's that? Not the opposition you say? Then that can only mean one thing! GOT BEEF?!" The following hellishly loud, baritone cry of "HOO-RAA" was horrifying enough to cause each and every living soul within a ten kilometre radius to collectively shit their pants. "Then what are you fuckers standing around here for? We've got some Alliance to slay!"