The hallway was quiet, save for the hollow thunk of a young man's head against his locked door.
Click.
He twisted the knob again, keyless, hopeless, breath fogging in the early autumn chill. His jacket was soaked through—half from rain, half from the stale sweat of heartbreak and cheap whiskey.
His ex's words still rang in his ears. "You're not who I thought you were, Ren. You've changed."
Ren Ishikawa stood in the dimly lit hallway of his apartment complex, slouched against the cracked paint of the wall, his keys nowhere in his pockets.
He slumped down, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a kicked dog, eyes glazed.
"Of course," he muttered, patting himself down one last time. "Lost the damn keys."
Then the door next to his creaked open.
He looked up and saw her—Mazra.
His neighbor.
Orc. Older. Taller. Built like a pro athlete, if pro athletes had fangs and eyes that always looked like they were holding back laughter… or hunger. She wore a black tank top stretched across broad green shoulders and soft shorts that clung to thick hips. Her arms were crossed under her heavy chest.
She paused when she saw him there, slumped like someone who'd just been told the world wasn't real.
"Locked out?" she asked, one brow raised, arms folded across her chest.
Ren exhaled a weak laugh. "Forgot my keys. Kinda drunk. Kinda dumped."
She tilted her head slightly. "Rough night."
"Yeah," he said. "Feels like something's about to snap."
Warm light spilled into the hallway, followed by the silhouette of her.
Mazra stood framed in the door, wearing a black tank top stretched across broad green shoulders and soft shorts that clung to thick hips. Her arms were crossed under her heavy chest, red eyes squinted at him.
"Locked out?" Her voice was low and lazy, laced with that dry sarcasm he'd heard a few times in passing.
Ren blinked up at her. "Yeah... and dumped."
She tilted her head, one brow raised. "You're bleeding sad-boy energy all over my hallway."
"I can leave," he muttered, trying to push himself upright. His body swayed.
Mazra stepped forward, barefoot, quiet, firm, and caught his arm with one powerful hand.
"No, you'll just fall asleep in a stairwell or get picked up by some thirsty harpy. Come on." Her grip was firm but careful. She hauled him upright like it was nothing. "You can crash here."
Her apartment was warm, with wooden floors, thick woven rugs, and the earthy scent of sandalwood and leather oil. Handmade decorations hung from the ceiling: animal bones etched with orcish runes, feathers, beads, and raw crystal knots. The place felt alive.
Ren barely registered it. He swayed near the door.
Mazra stepped behind him… and stopped dead.
She inhaled. Slow. Deep.
There it is again, she thought. A scent. Rich. Heady. Male. But not just human. Something feral threaded beneath it.
He reeked of broken pride, booze, and confusion, but underneath, like smoke through the trees, was something else.
Something that stirred her.
She exhaled through her nose, jaw clenching.
"You smell different, Ishikawa," she muttered.
"Huh?"
"Go shower. Bathroom's down the hall, second door left." She turned away, too fast, retrieving a towel from a nearby shelf. It was comically small, meant for her face, maybe.
She tossed it to him without looking back. "Use this. It'll cover... something."
Ren staggered to the bathroom, stripped, and stepped under hot water. His thoughts blurred, memories of arguments, of her walking away, of not being enough.
But what stuck in his mind… was the look in Mazra's eyes. And how she sniffed him like she was starving.
When he stepped out, dripping wet and barely wrapped, Mazra was already sitting on the couch, legs spread, elbow resting lazily across the back. A cup of steaming tea in one hand.
She looked at him.
His hair was still short and red, sides faded clean, steam curling the top slightly. And his silver eyes, like stars behind stormclouds, looked back at her, unreadable.
Her gaze dropped to his body.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Lean, but built. His chest had started to define from working out. His abs weren't carved, but they were forming strong lines across mocha skin that gleamed under the low light.
That towel didn't do much. Not for his broad chest. Not for his abs. And certainly not for what hung heavy between his thighs, barely hidden beneath the damp cotton.
Her throat flexed.
Ren hesitated. "You sure this is okay?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she stood. Walked over. Each step was quiet, slow, full of intent. She stopped just inches from him.
"Your scent is stronger now," she whispered.
She leaned in.
Her nose brushed his collarbone. She inhaled again—this time with no shame. Her hands rested on his hips, thumbs stroking the towel's edge.
"You used to smell like a boy," she murmured, lips brushing his skin.
She dragged her nose up to his throat. "Now? You smell like a problem."
Then, her tongue slid against his neck.
Ren froze. His heart thundered. Her breath was hot. Her tongue was rough.
And suddenly, he moved.
His hand tangled in her hair.
Mazra's breath hitched.
"You want this?" he rasped.
Mazra chuckled, low and smoky. "You don't know what I want."
"Then tell me."
She stepped forward, pressing her thick body against his, hips rolling gently, arms snaking around his waist.
Mazra's fingers trailed down his body, rough yet gentle, grounding him. "You're more than what I want, Ren."
His breath caught again as her palm cupped him, firm and warm. She kissed his forehead, then his temple, a tender claim that stirred the fire between them.
She led him to her room.
She had him in her hand against, hick, heavy, pulsing with heat. Her thumb traced along the vein, and for the first time all night, she looked... surprised.
Her brows arched, but the smirk never left her lips.
"Well," she muttered, voice dark with amusement. "A little bigger than I expected…"
She licked her lips slowly. Her pride wouldn't let her admit it—but when she leaned forward and tried to take him in, her lips barely stretched over the head before her throat tightened in protest.
"Nnhhh—"
She backed off immediately, gasping with a wet breath, her hand stroking him down as her chest rose in ragged, eager heaves.
Ren groaned above her.
But she wasn't done. Not even close.
"Don't get cocky," she said with a flick of her tongue across the tip, breath hot.
"I'm still gonna ruin you."
This time, she opened wider, jaw relaxed, and took more of him, slow, fighting through the resistance. Her lips stretched wide, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as her throat tried to adjust.
"Mmmph—hhhnnn…"
She moaned around him, loud, wet, struggling—but she kept going. Her fists clenched in the sheets beside her, nails digging into the fabric. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from pure, desperate effort.
His hands twitched at his sides. He tried to say something—maybe a warning—but she shoved him down with one palm, never breaking rhythm.
"Ghhhk—hahhh—fhhhk, you're gonna make me—"
She whimpered through her nose, breath trembling, her throat working in stubborn, rhythmic gulps as she tried to take him deeper, just a little more. The sound—raw, hungry, determined—filled the room.
Slurp… slurp… gag—gkkk—mmmnnn—!
When she pulled back, her lips glistened, chin soaked, eyes glassy but sharp.
"You're not getting away with not finishing after this," she growled hoarsely.
"So brace yourself."
And then she dove back in.
Faster. Harder. Her moans vibrated up his spine like thunder.
[10 minutes later…]
She lies back, chest still heaving.
Ren kisses her collarbone, both of them glistening and ruined.
"Still cocky?" he asks.
She laughs—a weak, breathless sound.
"Shut up and bring me water… round six is mine."