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This morning you drank the last of the coffee in your house, and you’re out of your favorite creamer. While for someone else that might be acceptable, for you this means that you need to go to the grocery store after work. You hate having to go to the grocery store during the after-work rush. It’s with a sense of impending doom that you pull into the parking lot and park.
You grab your reusable bags from the trunk of your car, snag a cart from the carousel, and head in. You just need a few things, but of course, you’re hungry, and you’re tired, and the grocery store is a bit of a madhouse right now, so this is going to be more complicated than it should be. You start in the deli, then hit the bakery. You detour for coffee, and then head for the dairy fridge.
The shelf is nearly bare, but there in the way back is one last bottle of your favorite creamer. If you stand on the edge of the door and pull yourself up, you can maybe reach it. You climb up, stretching up on your toes, but the bottle is just out of your grasp.
“Need some help?” Someone asks from behind you.
You jump in surprise, and lose your grip, tumbling backward. Strong arms catch you, and you find yourself looking up at an orc. His skin is bright green, his tusks are huge, and his dark brows are drawn close together in concern over brown eyes.
“Woah, you alright?” He asks.
“Yeah. You just… startled me.” You say, as he helps you stand back on your own feet. You don’t even come up to his shoulder, he’s possibly the biggest orc you’ve ever seen. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him around town before, because you would have remembered him.
“Ah, sorry.” He says. He rubs the back of his neck in what is clearly a nervous tic. He’s a big orc, and he’s dressed fairly casually, in worn denim jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt. “Do you need a hand still?” He gestures toward the fridge.
“I was trying to reach the creamer,” you admit. He laughs, and as he turns to the fridge to grab it– something he’ll probably have no problem with, since he’s somewhere around seven feet tall– the sparkle of his belt buckle grabs your eye.
It’s the gaudiest, most awful thing you’ve ever seen. It’s a giant pewter skull with red gemstones for eyes, and it grins menacingly at you. Some of the teeth are painted gold. It has fangs. It’s the size of your fist, and it’s impossible to miss.
“So…” you begin speaking before your brain has fully caught up with your mouth. “Why is your crotch so angry?”
“What?” He stops reaching for the creamer, and instead turns to stare at you, confusion written across his features. He blinks at you a few times, your comment clearly not registering.
“Shit. I mean. Your belt. It’s um. Unique.” You stumble over the words, and you feel your face burning in shame. You’re fairly sure this is the worst first impression you could possibly have had on him, which is unfortunate, because he’s really pretty cute.
“Oh. Oh.” He laughs. It’s a really nice laugh. He looks down at the hideous belt buckle, then at you, and he grins. “I lost a bet. Urzog’s making me wear this for the next week. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you say. Thank goodness it’s not a family heirloom or something. You can’t imagine how much more awkward this would be if he actually liked the thing. “It’s awful. I’m sorry, no wonder your crotch is so angry.”
He laughs again. You find yourself grinning back up at him.
“My name’s Garzrol,” He says, offering one massive hand. You shake his hand, and tell him your name. He smiles at you, and you’re lost. He really is handsome. “Look, maybe this is a bit forward, but… would you like to have a drink with me sometime?”
“Is the Crotch Demon going to come along?” You ask. You can’t quite help it. It’s grinning up at you, and though you don’t want to be staring at anything near his dick right now– you’ve only just met Garzrol, after all– you can’t keep your eyes away from it.
“Do you want it to?” He asks, showing the same good humor he’s had all along.
“Hmm. Maybe.” You pretend to think about it. “I suppose it should, since in a way I think it brought us together.”
“Well then, the Crotch Demon and I would love to meet you for drinks. When are you free?”
“Tomorrow,” You say, thinking about it. “Or Thursday.”
“Tomorrow is better for me.” He tells you quickly.
The two of you exchange contact details, and agree to arrange the date via text later. He finishes helping you get the creamer, and he and his crotch demon head off to finish their shopping.
Work the next day flies by. You spend most of your time thinking about a certain orc and his horrible belt. You’re excited to see Garzrol again, to see where things go. The two of you have arranged to meet at a bar at the edge of town. The one most people refer to as “that biker bar” or “that orc bar” though Garzrol refers to it as Bugak’s, which is apparently its actual name.
You pull into the gravel lot and look around. There’s an assortment of motorcycles, cars, and trucks parked around the perimeter, with a few parked in a somewhat organized way toward the middle. You opt toward one of the middle spots. As you’re getting out of your car, a motorcycle pulls in, and parks beside your car.
The first thing you recognize is the horrible belt buckle. You grin and wave at Garzrol and watch as he gets off his motorcycle. He’s wearing work boots, and black denim jeans that hug his ass beautifully as he moves. He has his back to you for a minute as he removes his helmet and locks it onto his motorcycle, and it affords you a spectacular view of his broad shoulders, narrower hips, and long legs. He’s got a black leather vest with The New Guardians Motorcycle Club logo on the back.
You didn’t realize he was part of the motorcycle club.
It explains a lot though.
Garzrol turns to greet you. The front of his vest has his name and “Vice President” on patches, and there’s a few other things stitched and pinned on, but you don’t recognize most of them.
“You look great,” he says. Garzrol gives you a slow once-over, and it warms you up from your blushing cheeks down to your toes.
“Thanks, so do you.” You put a bit of extra effort into tonight’s outfit. It’s your cute jeans, the ones that make you feel good and flatter you, and your favorite top- again, the one that makes you feel good and is flattering. You spent a few extra minutes on your routine, going above and beyond on the primping, and you’re grateful that he seems to notice.
He holds open the door for you, and with a grateful smile his way, you step into the bar. It’s comfortably lit; you can see what’s going on, but the lights aren’t at full bright. There’s booths around the perimeter, tables clustered around the middle, a dance floor in the back, and what appears to be some old-school games along one side. The bar is classic, with a mirror behind shelves of bottles, and alcohol signs everywhere. The wood is varnished to a shine, the stools are old but clearly maintained, and the whole thing has the patina of a kept-up dive-bar.
You love it.
At one of the booths in the back, a group of mostly orcs seem to be discussing something in excited tones. One of them spots Garzrol, and frowns.
“You’re late!” He says.
“What?” Garzrol asks the orc. He glances at you, then back at them, and you think he might actually be embarrassed.
Another one of them whispers something frantically to the one who spoke, and suddenly there’s a flurry heated whispers. Garzrol looks like he wishes the ground would swallow him right now. You bring your other hand up to rest on his bicep.
“Do you need a moment?” You ask him.
He looks from the orcs at the back table to you, then, with the air of a man about to meet his death, shakes his head.
“Nah, come meet the guys. I just… some things got must have been rescheduled this week and I forgot about it.” He says.
He guides you carefully around the tables and back to the booth. Four orcs, a minotaur, and a shadow being sit around the table. They’re all wearing the same leather vests as Garzrol, and all but one of them have knitting needles in hand. You do a double take at the knitting needles but no, they’re definitely knitting. The last member at the table is crocheting.
You have to decide quickly how you’re going to handle this, though really you’re not sure there’s a question. Grazrol has so far been an interesting, charming guy, and you’d love to get to know him better. And if his motorcycle club apparently meets at the bar to knit, who are you to judge? So you slide into the seat where they’ve made room for you, and you look at the projects they’re working on.
“Garzrol, didn’t mention you’re knitters,” you say with a smile.
“Gee, I wonder why? It’s got to be because he knows he’s going to lose the bet about who can knit more hats this month, and he was hoping you could be his excuse. It certainly couldn’t be that he’s embarrassed about it, right Garzrol?” says the minotaur, his voice somewhere between fully sarcastic and friendly teasing. He sets down his project– it appears to be a hat– and offers a hand. “Teeven, Sergeant at Arms.”
“Pleased to meet you,” You say. The introductions continue around the table, and you’d be lying if you said you kept all the names and roles straight. Thankfully, all of them at least have nicknames on their vests. The orc who originally spoke up is Lorzak, the Secretary, according to his vest. Beside him sits the shadow being whose vest says Dunnere- he goes by Dun- and is Treasurer. Then there’s Teeven, the Minotaur. Urzog, an Orc sits beside Teeven, then Batish, another Orc, who is Road Captain.
“I’m going to win the bet, Teeven,” Garzrol says as you’re done introducing yourself. He seems to have relaxed since you decided to just roll with the knitting club, and he is no longer giving off an air of intense embarrassment. “I was a bit worried that she’d see Urzog’s ugly mug and run from fear.”
There’s a chorus of laughter from around the table, and Garzrol is chuckling beside you. You glance at Urzog. He is a handsome orc, but he’s laughing along with the rest of the guys at the table. It seems the group is close, and you’re glad that you got to meet them.
“Is this your whole Motorcycle Club?” You ask.
“Nah, The Prez is busy elsewhere tonight, and a few of our folks don’t like knitting club.” Batish says from beside you. He’s the one with the crochet hooks, and he appears to be making a tiny octopus.
“Do you want a drink? Something to eat?” Garzrol asks, from beside you. He places a menu in front of you.
“What would you suggest?” You ask after skimming it quickly. Surprisingly, Bugak’s offers gastro-pub level fare, so you’re hopeful that whatever you can get from the kitchen is tasty.
“If you like bloody marys, the special’s a good drink.” There’s a muffled snicker from the corner, and you think you hear someone cluck. “And you can’t go wrong with the #4 dinner,” he points to it on the menu.
“Sounds good,” you say. The dinner does look good, and you’re curious what, exactly, makes the drink special special.
“Anyone else?” Garzrol asks the group. There’s a couple requests. Grazrol waves off the offered cash, and heads off to place the order.
“Did you really ask if his dick was angry at you?” Dun asks, leaning close.
You snort.
“No, I asked if his crotch was angry. Did you find out about this and reschedule just to crash his date?” You ask with a laugh.
“Maybe?” Teeven admits. The minotaur gives you a wicked smile.
“I like you guys,” you say. There’s another chorus of snickers before Garzrol returns.
“Whatever embarrassing stories you’re telling her, knock it off.” He says as he slides back into the seat next to you. “I can embarrass myself enough without your help, thanks.”
You lean into his side and smile up at him, batting your eyelashes and giving him a look.
“I mean, you scared the daylights out of me and then showed me your angry crotch jewelry, I think I’ve earned some embarrassing stories.” Your hand rests on his hard thigh, and you can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
There’s more laughter, punctuated by the clicking of knitting needles as Batish tells you about the time Garzrol was trying to prank Teeven, and ended up getting caught by The Prez. This apparently caused things to escalate, as The Prez loves a good prank, and it ended with Garzrol trapped in a hunting snare and hanging from a tree in nothing but his unmentionables.
Garzrol just hides his face in his hands. You giggle, the club members at the table laugh loudly. Your hand on Garzrol’s thigh squeezes slightly, hopefully reassuring him. You find this endearing, and though he doesn’t know it yet, you have every intention of telling a humiliating but funny story of your own to make it up to him.
It’s at this point that the bartender arrives.
“Which one of you fuckers ordered the drink special?”
“Me!” You say, leaning forward so he can see you from between the giant orcs on either side of you.
“Well, here’s your Cluck, Cluck Motherfucker.” The orc says, sliding you a bloody mary. It has a chicken foot in it. The foot is flipping you off. You stare at it for a good minute before you start laughing.
“Fucking brilliant,” you finally manage.
“You’re damn right it is.” The bartender says before leaving.
The rest of the evening passes in much the same manner, and you hope that Garzrol is having as much fun as you are. There’s more stories about the shit the club members get up to, and the things they do when they’re not getting into mischief. Apparently the knitting club makes things for charity, and most of them are working on hats and blankets for the local hospital. Garzrol relaxes more and more as the night goes on, and by the end of the night, he’s got one big arm draped over your shoulder, holding you close.
Just before midnight, Lorzak stands up and declares the knitting club meeting to be ‘duly and legally closed’ and bangs his beer bottle on the table. The group disperses, and Garzrol walks you out.
Near your car, he stops you.
“You good to drive?” He asks.
“Probably?” The bloody mary was your only drink, and it was a couple hours ago. You’ve eaten, you’ve had water. You feel fine. You like to play it safe though, and aren’t against calling a cab.
“I can give you a ride, if you want?” He offers.
“On your motorcycle?” You imagine for a moment, the kinds of rides this orc could give you. You know you’re blushing.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He smiles, and it’s wicked.
“Fuck yeah, let’s go!” You throw your car keys and phone back in your bag.
“Hang tight, let me grab one of our human-sized helmets from inside.” He heads back into the bar. You lean carefully against his motorcycle and wait. It’s only a moment later that he’s back.
In no time, he’s helping you get the helmet on, his huge fingers deft as he secures it under your chin.
He tucks your purse into the saddle bags, throws one long leg over the side of his bike, and then talks you through climbing on behind him. You wrap your arms around his middle and rest your feet on the pegs of his bike.
“You good?” He asks.
“Yeah!” you say.
And then there’s the roar of the engine, and you’re off.
It’s exhilarating and terrifying and you love every minute of it. You’re clinging onto him, and feeling the warmth of him between your thighs, and leaning with him when you go around turns. It’s not a long ride home– certainly not long enough for your taste– and before you know it, he’s talking you through getting off the bike and securing the kickstand.
He pulls off his helmet, then stoops down to help you with yours. He lifts it off your head, and though you know your hair’s a mess, he’s got this soft look on his face, like you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen.
“Garzrol?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me?”
He does. Oh-so-gently, he presses a kiss to your lips. His fingers trail across your cheek, before he carefully cups the back of your head. Your hands come up to frame his jaw, holding him as you kiss. He pulls back after a second, his breathing is fast, and he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.
“I would very much like this to continue,” You manage to say after a second. “But I also think that we should get to know each other better first.”
“You are absolutely right.” There’s heat in his gaze as he looks at you. He steals one more quick kiss, his lips just brushing against yours before he stands to his full height and steps back. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Hopefully our second date will be just us.”
“I look forward to it.” You say.