A Cultural Exchange

"They've been at it for a long time, huh?"

Rannon glanced towards the voice; he was sitting on a bench outside the Great Hall, and had been for several hours now. The light of the sun had faded into a warm, orange glow and then into a pale blue shine of evening through the tall, regal windows, and his mother and her aides still had not come out from within the chamber. These were, he knew, important peace talks, but he was still nervous that the orcs might try something untowards. His mother, the Queen Nushala of the Silver Grove, was not without her means to defend herself, but Rannon had watched the Khan of the orcs arrive with his retinue of massive, hulking greenskin warriors, and it was hard not to let his eyes linger on their crude, heavy weapons or their bulging muscles and squat, angular faces that seemed to seethe with menace even when they were smiling. Still, he had to trust that she was safe. And right now, his attention was being drawn towards the voice, with its foreign inflection and strange, throaty sound.

"It's always like that when my dad gets going." The girl was about as tall as Rannon himself, but broader and with skin as green as the canopy of trees visible through the windows. Her eyes were deep-set and brown, and two small tusks parted her lower lips, not enough to be disturbing, but actually rather fetching. Her face lacked much of the feminine grace that marked Rannon's kind, but in its place was an earthen wisdom and, perhaps, a hint of mischievous cunning that both alarmed and enticed the prince. She wore a leather corset over a simple but ornately crafted tunic, and her feet were clad in sturdy boots of leather and fur, a far cry from Rannon's own dainty slipper-shoes.

"You are Rannon, right? The Prince of these groves?"

She was looking a little more intently at him now, and Rannon felt a nervous energy well up in him as he willed himself to respond.

"I- yes. I am. And you are Bashuk, aren't you? The Khan's daughter?"

The young woman smiled and nodded, and stepped out from where she had been standing in the doorway to the hallway. She moved without the same brute energy as her kin, Rannon noticed, but rather seemed to place every foot as if part of a dance, a dance where only she was privy to the music. Once more, the prince could not help but compare her to the women of his own kind, but where they were often so lithe as to practically be ethereal, there was a solidity to Bashuk that appealed to Rannon in a very real sense. It was perhaps a bit much to say that the princeling was taken by love at first sight, but smitten? Yes, he was smitten.

"Before he became khan, my father was the Voice of the People." Bashuk stepped over and gracefully set herself down next to Rannon on the bench. Her hands, which were as large as his, rested on her thighs as she spoke softly. "I know that your people put a lot of stock in songs and poetry, but my people, we tell stories. Stories of the old times, of heroes and gods, of the movements of the earth that shaped us into who we are today. It is a tradition to keep these stories alive, and we all like to tell them. But my father, well... he was always better than anyone else at it."

Bashuk smiled, and turned herself towards Rannon. Her head cocked as she took him in, this tall, slender young elf with his long, pointed ears and smooth, delicate skin that was like the color of bark on an oak tree. By contrast, the silver hair on his head almost seemed out of place, but it was nevertheless very well kept, and swept over his skull to fall past his shoulders. Grace, poise, elegance - the hallmarks of Elven royalty.

"So once he gets started," Bashuk continued softly, "he can be hard to stop. I'm sure that's why this is dragging out."

Rannon shrugged, not sure what to say. It felt like he was being slowly dissected by the orc woman's eyes, and he could feel a bit of sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he tried in vain to understand what she wanted from him. There had been war for centuries between their people - millennia, even! Long enough for no one to remember exactly what caused it, except old enmities and bouts of he-said-she-said. He was happy, of course, that peace was finally being discussed - and proud of his mother that she was playing an instrumental part in it - but it would be a lie to suggest that he was not wary of these people who had come to his city, and of whom he had heard nothing but malicious stories and rumors of their cunning and cruelty throughout his life. To find one so near him now, even if she was a very pretty and pleasant person, was... confusing.

"I am sure they have much to discuss," he said, and glanced over towards the door. It remained closed. Slowly, his eyes fell back on Bashuk, and he felt a strange courage stirring in him. She was an orc, yes, but she was also an honored guest, and he would be lying if he didn't admit to himself that the idea of spending time with her didn't pique his curiosity. So, clearing his throat carefully, Rannon met Bashuk's gaze and asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Would you like to see the grove in person? It's not often we have such esteemed guests... it would be my honor to show it off."

The Silver Grove was, to many, the most spiritually important place in the world. Five large, concentric rings of tall trees with dark trunks and bright, silvery leaves, it stood as the heart of Elven civilization, and had done so for as long as anyone could remember. It was said that the ley-lines of the world all connected here, and that the grove was the wellspring of all magic and every wonder in the world. This much Rannon told Bashuk as they walked side by side through the winding paths that lead through the trees, and much to his delight, she listened and nodded attentively, her eyes and smile often darting up to take in the view of the treetops above them, but invariably flittering back to focus on Rannon and his voice.

"Do you come here often?"

It was the first thing she had said in several minutes, and Rannon glanced at her before shrugging slightly. "Not often, no. Not much to do out here except pray."

"But it's so beautiful." Bashuk let her fingers trace over a nearby trunk, and felt the bark grate against her fingertips. "Where I'm from, there are few trees that aren't cut down for lumber or used to grow food. The ground is hard for trees to take root, and we need the wood to build our homes. If I lived here, I would visit this place every day."

Rannon smiled, and looked at the greenskin as she fawned over the grove. "It's easy to ignore the beauty of something when you've grown used to it, I suppose. But I've heard many stories of your home as well. Rugged plains and tall, azure skies that go on forever. I should like to see that someday."

Bashuk turned to him, a small smirk on her lips. "Why wait? You could come with us when the negotiations are over."

He frowned, then chuckled. "You are that certain they will come to an agreement?"

"Beyond a doubt." Bashuk stepped closer, her feet crunching a few dead leaves under their soles. "As khan, my father wants to take our people in a different direction. No more senseless bloodshed. I'm sure your mother agrees."

"Certainly." Rannon nodded, although he was more concerned with the sudden proximity of the orcess and her busty, muscular body. "But I'm not sure she would enjoy the idea of letting me leave, all the same.."

"You're an adult, aren't you?" Bashuk smirked, and stepped closer still. This near, Rannon had no choice but to take a step back, or let her come so close that her breasts were brushing up against his front. He stood his ground.

"She's the worrying sort," he muttered lamely, and tried his very hardest not to look down at the hint of green cleavage that Bashuk was offering him. It took all of his willpower to maintain a steady gaze on her face, and as he did, he watched her smile take on a mischievous note. When she said nothing, Rannon added, in an attempt to save what little remained of his dignity: "And besides, I'm not sure what I would even do out there..."

"You would be my guest." Bashuk gazed into his eyes, and despite the stark contrast of her features to those of his own kind, Rannon couldn't help but feel a pang of lust shiver down his spine. Her lips, her eyes, the texture of her skin so rugged, and yet-

"And you would get to see a part of the world you've always wanted to see. You said it yourself. Vast, blue skies and plains that stretch to the horizon. You would get to spend time with me. Unless, of course, that's what you're trying to avoid."

There was a challenge in Bashuk's voice, faint though it might be, and she cocked an eyebrow as she searched the elf's face for his response. It came in the shape of a frown.

"I would like to spend more time with you. I- I think you are.."

He paused, but Bashuk wasn't having it. "Yes? I am what?"

Rannon hesitated for a moment more, and then smiled. "This is forward of me. But I think you are the most interesting person I've met in my life."

A smirk creased Bashuk's lips. "Oh? That's a bold statement. You've known me for all of forty minutes." Rannon nodded, but before he could answer, Bashuk reached up and put her hand on his waist.

"I like forward," she purred, and the look on Rannon's face was enough to make her laugh as she pulled him closer to her. He was slighter than her, but still had a masculinity to him that appealed to her, and she let her fingers gently crease his shirt as she held him against her with a grip that was at once firm and yielding. He could have easily torn himself away if he wanted to. The fact that he didn't was all she needed to know.

"They'll be busy for some hours yet." This time it was Rannon who took the lead, his fingers reaching up to cup the orc's broad hips while he spoke. She nodded.

"Yes. Far into the night, no doubt."

His grip intensified, and his lips were now so close that she could feel them stir as he spoke, little more than a whisper. "I suppose that makes it my responsibility to make sure the visiting princess is taken care of."

She giggled. It was all she could think to do.

Her lips were stronger and firmer than any he had kissed before, and they had a taste of mulled wine and wild berries that overwhelmed him as she leaned into him and let him sweep her into a deep, intense kiss. It was like being drunk, but as he held on to her and let his hands travel down to her thighs and ass, he could feel her sway with him, their bodies moving as one as the soft sounds of lips against lips were carried away by the gentle breeze. Soon enough, their kiss grew deeper still, and he felt her tongue move against his with reckless abandon, while something small and hard bumped against the side of his mouth. Only after several long moments did he realize that it was one of her tusks, but it did not faze him; if anything, it was enough to make him moan softly and grip her harder, his fingers digging into her flesh in a way that he had never done before with any of his previous lovers. They had all been elves, delicate and refined but slender and frail. Bashuk, by comparison, was thick and rugged and firm, and he loved her for that alone as he began to feverishly undo the knots holding her corset in place, in an attempt to strip her down.

And Bashuk was following suit with equal enthusiasm, her hands sweeping over Rannon's body and cradling the firm shoulders, the narrow hips, feeling his body press against her voluptuous chest as they groaned and gasped in unison. She had been kissed before, but never like this, where each movement of his lips seemed electric against her own, and each swirl of his tongue seemed to dare hers to push further into his mouth. It was hunger, yes, but also elegance, in a way that no orc had ever shown her. When finally they were forced to part for breath, neither of them wasted any time talking; the looks they gave each other was enough, and with the summer night laying warm and dark around them, they quickly stripped one another down to the skin, and then met once more in a warm embrace, hands now free to roam over curves and angles that had previously been obscured.

Rannon could feel Bashuk's arousal in the way her nipples pressed into his chest, and he greedily reached down and cupped her cheeks with his hands while his hard erection ground up against her stomach. For all of her rugged appearance, the orc was soft and pliable in all the right ways, and with curves that far exceeded any that he had previously touched. She moaned quietly as his fingers dug in to tease between her legs.

"What would your mother say," Bashuk voice quivered, "if she knew what we were doing?"

The elf growled playfully and hefted Bashuk up against him, his need imbuing him with the strength to shift and pull the orc over to a nearby tree. There, he pinned her with her back against the trunk, and grabbed her hips firmly.

"She'd have a fit." His eyes twinkled with amusement and lust as he shrugged. "But I won't tell her if you won't."

Bashuk nodded, and watched with bated breath as the prince began to kneel down before her. Seconds later, she felt warm breath against her lap, and then a twitch of pleasure as Rannon dove face first between her broad, green thighs. Reaching down to run a hand through his silvery hair, Bashuk spread her legs slightly and closed her eyes, and gave herself over to the sound of the grove around her, the night air rustling through the leaves, and the steadily growing sensation of pleasure as Rannon's tongue sought out the little green pleasure-buzzer hidden between her folds. Soon, her hand on his head began to tighten its grip, and Rannon both heard and felt the way she began to rise towards her peak, mirrored in the way her hips began to buck and move of their own accord.

Perhaps, he mused as he ground his face eagerly against the green lap of his new princess paramour, perhaps all of the sex he had had so far had only been a way for the world to prepare him for this. None of the rest of it, at least, had felt as good, nor as rewarding as the simple act of pleasuring Bashuk with his mouth. Normally, he would have been focused on his own pleasure above all else, but the greenskin woman exuded a strange draw on him, an attraction that went beyond the immediate desire to bed and breed her. She had an air about her that demanded attention, and perhaps a measure of respect as well. She was royalty, but she was also something more. She was... different. And exotic. And alive. More alive than any elf he had ever met.

"Rannon-!" Her voice was cracking, and the young man felt his fingers tighten around her thighs as he poured all of his attention into giving her as much pleasure as possible. Trembling and biting her lower lip to stifle her moans, Bashuk tugged at Rannon's hair and ground her hips forward, her entire body buzzing with pleasure and anticipation. It had been a long time since she had last been with anyone, and the orgasm building within her was suitably powerful as she lingered on its cusp for several long moments, maybe minutes, maybe hours- it felt like an eternity, riding that wave of almost-there while Rannon's tongue ground and swirled and teased over her clit with every bit of strength that he could muster. And then she felt something give, like a wall cracking and breaking under the pressure of a torrent of water, and Bashuk's eyes clamped shut as her voice rose into a crescendo of orgasmic cries and moans.

"Rannon..! Aah, Rannon..!!"

Her legs gave way as she came down, and Rannon gently helped her onto the ground, to lie on a patch of soft grass that cradled her green body as it shook and quivered with the aftershocks of her climax. Even so, she smiled and willingly spread her legs as the slender elf climbed in between them, and her ankles found a grip around his hips as he carefully aligned himself with her opening and looked down at her.

"Are you alright?"

Bashuk nodded, and reached up to stroke his cheek. Then she gently pressed her ankles against his lower back, and Rannon felt himself slide forward with wonderful ease as her need gave way to warm, wet pleasure around him. He fell forward, his hips grinding into her to the hilt, and so found himself face to face with the princess as she smiled up at him and blew him a kiss.

"Cum for me."

It was all she said, and all she needed to say. Slowly, Rannon began to work himself into a rhythm, and even before he had begun to thrust into her in earnest, he could feel himself building towards a crescendo that was both explosive and profound. If he had been worried that her body might not be tight enough for him, he was put to shame; if anything, she was almost painfully tight around his length, with the excitement of her body spurring him to a hardness that he had scarcely felt before in his life, and as he began to lean into a rhythm of fucking her harder and deeper, Bashuk began to move in sync with him, her arms and legs wrapped around him as her breasts danced and her rump jiggled with every smack of his hips into her. Rannon looked down, drinking in the sight of her body as it moved for him and with him, and he grit his teeth and moaned in earnest as he tried his best to stem the flood of pleasure that was threatening to spill over their boundaries. Hard, pleasured grunts of delight and exertion were pumping through his nose as he cradled her and took her with as much force as he could muster, and Bashuk rewarded him by moaning in unison with him, and angling herself up to let him drive himself home again and again and again.

"Cum for me."

It was a whisper in his ear, and a stroke of fingers down his naked back, and Rannon could no more fight the compulsion than he could change the weather or fly like the birds. All at once, his resolve crumbled, and his vision erupted into pinprick stars as his orgasm hit and surged through him, once, twice, half a dozen times. He could not think, could barely breathe, and all the while his hips kept pumping, his voice kept moaning, and Bashuk's nails kept dragging down his back as he emptied himself into her, only to finally collapse in a warm, trembling heap against her breasts. His light brown skin beaded with sweat in the warm summer night, and his silver hair stuck to his face as he gasped.

"Goddess," he moaned. "Goddess... goddess..."

The caravan left ten days later. A deal had been brokered - perhaps not the robust alliance that anyone had hoped for, but the foundations for a future cooperation - and the Orcish delegation was heading back now to the plains of their ancestral homeland. Sitting on the large, covered wagon next to her father, Bashuk looked at the towering trees of the silver grove, and cast her thoughts back to that night. It was like a painting etched in her mind, and she smiled softly as her father waved a hand to the elven queen as sign of goodbye. The queen, too, waved, but hers was a slightly less enthused gesture. Behind Bashuk, Rannon chuckled quietly.

"See? I told you she wouldn't like it."

Bashuk grinned, and turned back to him. "So? She's letting you leave, isn't she?"

The elf leaned back on his small mound of pillows and smiled. "You said it yourself. I'm an adult. She'll live."

Bashuk smiled, and climbed over to peck a kiss on his lips. "I'll take good care of you, I promise." Rannon smiled, and repaid the kiss with one of her own.

"I know you will. And besides, what better way to secure an alliance than by marrying our two peoples? Make some princes and princesses of our own..!"

She laughed and swatted his arm. "Easy there, stud! You're good, but you're not *that* good!"

Rannon grinned and folded his hands behind his head. "I'll get there," he said, and pulled Bashuk down to him. "Just you wait and see..."