Krav/orc jizz

"Such a pretty little bird, aren'tcha?"

Kravitz is too dark for a blush to show on his cheeks. Still, he hides his face, keeps his eyes trained down. In case the two orcs standing above him can /tell/.

He needs this sometimes, is the thing. A /big/ someone, or two, cocks hard at the defiled image of him. To be tugged at. Complimented in a way that's only for the benefit of getting his legs spread. He needs this. He /needs/ it--

One of the orcs grunts, close to orgasm and no longer satisfied with just /looking/ at Kravitz's pretty face. Before he can brace for it, there's a cock rutting against his cheek, the thick, sticky heat of it jammed against the cartilage of his nose. He doesn't care that they didn't ask. He /needs/ it.

The two come almost in tandem; the one who isn't touching Kravitz marks his hair - "/pretty/ bird, /pretty/, gotta preen clean again…" - and the one against his face grips a fistful of braids and feathers and leaves his mark on Kravitz's cheekbone, eyelashes.

He has to wipe it off, thick and pungent, before he can open his eye properly again. By the time he's blinking back up towards them, the orcs are tucking themselves back into their pants, and there's no one to see him if he cleans his palm in careful, savoured licks. Pretty, pretty, preening bird.