Chapter Text
The orc gentleman clutched his arms tighter around his barrel chest and clenched his teeth in a grimace. Freezing rain cascaded over his shoulders and dripped off the brim of his hat to slip down his neck and under his cravat.
A carriage passed him, slowly enough not to throw mud on him, but then it slowed even further and came to a stop shortly ahead of him. The door opened and a female’s voice called out. “Can I be of assistance?”
His feet carried him forward until he could see within the open door of the carriage. His scowl deepened at the sight of the human woman sitting inside it. He knew her name, but little else about her, for the orc attempted to avoid the company of humans whenever possible. They were vile, ugly creatures who had treated his kind abominably over the centuries. Their relatively recent acceptance of monsters into their society was of no consequence to him.
“This rain looks most unpleasant,” the woman remarked. “I would be happy to convey you home.”
He had to admit that the inside of that carriage looked very appealing to him at the moment. So dry and glowing with warmth. But he wanted nothing to do with her. “The rain doesn't bother me.”
The woman laughed. Actually laughed at him! His brows drew down into an even fiercer grimace. “Come now, you're shaking with cold!” she said.
He forced his arms to his sides and attempted to hold himself rigid. “I'm fine,” he growled.
“Get into the carriage.” Her order was given in a gentle tone, but it was an order all the same, and he felt strangely compelled by it. This made him even more angry, though he couldn't tell whether it was at her or at himself. He let out a low growl as he placed his foot upon the step and began to climb inside.
“I don't think I can even fit in this foolish, puny human carriage,” he grumbled, sneering on the word “human,” as he tried to seat himself on the bench across from her. Even with his hat off, he had to duck his head to keep it from touching the ceiling of the cabin, and spread his thighs as wide as possible to keep his knees from jamming into the opposite bench, yet tense one leg to avoid bringing it into contact with the woman's thigh. She had squeezed herself as far back into one corner as she could, but it still did not leave him enough room.
She brought a hand up to cover her smile, but her eyes sparkled with unbridled amusement. “It does look like a rather…uncomfortable fit.” The carriage was moving again, and chose at that moment to go over a bump that sent his head thumping against the ceiling.
“It is uncomfortable, exceedingly so,” he complained.
“But not as unpleasant as walking in the freezing rain,” she pointed out cheerily.
“I enjoy walking,” he said in an obstinate tone.
She laughed lightly again. “Surely not in the rain, when it is as cold as this!”
“I had not thought it would rain tonight.”
“Obviously,” she smirked, stoking his annoyance once again.
“I didn't ask for your assistance,” he growled.
“And you've accepted it most ungraciously,” she stated, and his brows rose in surprise at her bluntness. “What, did you think only you could be uncivil?”
He gave her a sour look, but kept his mouth shut. He knew she was right; he was being uncivil. But it was her fault for being an irritating little human with a stupidly small carriage that made him ache all the way from his neck clear down to his hips.
He looked away from her and tried to shift his position on the bench to find one more comfortable. His leg spasmed, jerking his knee out against her thigh. A strange jolt of warmth shot through him at the contact, and he whipped his head back in her direction. She was staring down at the spot where his thigh now pressed against her own, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes rose to his, and a faint flush came to life on her cheeks.
She looked a bit less ugly with that color on her skin. All humans had such unappealing skin, not proper green like an orc’s, but he had to admit her skin looked tolerable when it was pink like this. She had all the other disgusting features of humans—small nose, spindly neck, thin mouth with no tusks, weak jaw—but at least she had a bit more meat on her bones than most of her kind. Her thigh felt nicely thick and soft under the press of his.
But he shouldn't be touching her; it was improper. He pulled his leg away, but couldn't move it far. He fancied that he could still feel her warmth seeping into the tiny gap between her thigh and his. It almost made him wish that he could close the gap and feel her warmth more acutely again. “Apologies,” he mumbled.
“It's all right,” she murmured. Her voice had a more breathy quality to it now. He shouldn't like that; it emphasized her weak humanity. A female orc would have a rougher, more normal voice. But to his dismay and confusion, he did like her soft voice.
“It's unavoidable for someone as big as you,” she added.
“I blame your carriage's small size, not my large one,” he countered.
She gave him a smile, a warm, genuine one, not a smirk or one of mockery. “Yes, I suppose it's both, isn't it? The awkward melding of orc and human.”
The idea of orc and human “melding” made something flutter strangely in his gut.
“Carriages really ought to be built with a greater variety of passengers in mind,” she went on earnestly, “to accommodate monsters as well as humans.”
This would not do—now he was not only liking this human's voice, but agreeing with the words she spoke! What was the matter with him? It filled him with unease. He needed to show her (or was it himself?) that he did not like her.
“It makes little sense for carriage makers to do so. Our kinds mix so infrequently. Which is exactly as it should be,” he declared, directing a pointed gaze and stern frown at her face.
Her eyes widened as that pretty color drained away from her cheeks, and her soft, open expression became an icy one. It did not suit her. She turned her head toward the window. “Perhaps that is how it should be.”
Well, he certainly had succeeded in showing her that he disliked her. This ought to have been a relief. But for the rest of the carriage ride that they spent in silence, he instead felt even more uneasy than before.
When the carriage stopped at his home, and he climbed out, the woman still did not turn her face back to him. “Good evening, sir,” was all she said.
“Good evening, madam,” he replied. He did not thank her for the ride nor apologize for his incivility, for this was just as it should be, both of them disliking each other.
Was it not?