Taagnus orcs

Taako lets it slip so easy, like any other snide comment shared in front of the tv, laughter on his tongue from the lewd remark one of the contestants on Faerun's Next Top Model made about another.

"They're right, you know. What they  say about orcs." With one arm still around Magnus' shoulder, he measures a length between his palms that makes Magnus' brow knit.

"You never told me you dated an orc." Magnus tries to match Taako's casual tone, but it comes out a little more like a question.

"/Dated/ is a strong word. I'd say more… /knew/ an orc. Plural orcs. You know." He says with a vague wave of his hand. Like it's no big deal. Like Magnus is supposed to be soothed now.

Magnus is not soothed.

He's not /jealous/, neither - not /really/, not in the way that hurts. He's just… taken with the idea. His fiancé is /small/, and, judging by the amount of space Taako held up, the orcs he knew were. /Not/ small.

He's /very/ taken with the idea, is all.

With Taako already asleep beside him it feels a little wrong, or maybe /dangerous/ is the better word, to be touching himself. He'd be flattered, Magnus reasons, would gloat for weeks if he told him he got off alone to thinking about him; but it's not /just/ Taako he thinks of.

His fiancé is /small/. Delicate wrists hardly half the girth of an orcish erection, he imagines. He imagines Taako stroking it like he does when they're together, lithe fingers like a piano player, slow and teasing and self-satisfied. And his mouth-- Taako can do such good things with his mouth, Magnus knows. Maybe it wouldn't all fit. Maybe it would, and it'd show as a bulge in his throat.

And, god, /inside/ him; Magnus hears his heart beat from his chest just thinking of how good it is, how good /Taako/ is, how surely no lover could resist planting their hands on the swell of his hips and holding steady. Maybe they'd be pierced, Taako would /love/ that, moan so beautiful and a little put-on like how he did when Magnus first touched him.

He feels himself swell, close and desperate, and suddenly the Taako in his imagination has more green tinted hands on him, tugging his hair and pulling at lingerie and dull tusks on his neck, and then there's nothing in his mind for a searing hot, long moment.

The pillow isn't near enough to stifle the sounds of his climax, but when he looks, he finds it doesn't even matter. Taako is awake, slip nightie falling off one shoulder and hair in a ponytail only slightly more dishevelled than when Magnus last saw it.

"Need any help there, champ?"

Magnus can't see Taako's face, but he can tell he's wearing one of his smuggest smiles. He shakes his head no.

"Well keep it down next time or I'll make you recount whatever nasty shit you were thinking about. Don't think I won't."

Magnus knows it's true, just as much as he knows the fondness in Taako's voice and the warmth of their shared bed. He wipes his hand on the sheets once Taako's head is back on the pillow, and lets himself be taken.