4. Solo Quest
SOLO QUEST
GREG
On Friday afternoon, the breakroom smells faintly of burnt popcorn and reheated coffee.
Everyone swaps weekend plans: movie marathons, hiking trips, brunches, some vague promise of parties I’ll never be invited to.
Everyone appreciates the IT guys in the office—just not enough to include us in their extracurriculars.
I nod politely, offer a faint smile, and retreat to my desk to grab my bag.
Lance is hunched over his laptop, muttering about a server error. Brill hovers nearby, his glow pulsing slightly with amusement as he pokes at a bundle of writhing, animated cables. “If the backup fails again, I’m quitting,” Lance grumbles.
Brill snickers, a tiny spark flaring off him. “Oh, you’d survive… barely. But I’d still have to haul your laptop to safety when it inevitably catches fire.”
I shake my head with a grin.
Us IT guys aren’t exactly the life of the party, but we’re quietly entertaining in our own unique way.
My world is small, structured, and predictable. My family still lives in Korrath, a sprawling orc community that hums with life and history, a long plane ride from Crownpoint. I left years ago chasing a different rhythm. College, computers, a life that felt more like my own.
So my weekends are simple: subway rides, takeout, my apartment, video games, and my usual private downtime. Always the same, always enough.
Franklin stops in the doorway of the server room. “Greg! It’s Friday, good sir. Don’t stay too late,” he says, that calm, reassuring smile I’ve come to respect. “Enjoy your weekend. You deserve it.”
I nod, not entirely sure what to say. “Thanks, Mr. Frost.”
It hits me harder than it should. A reminder that someone cares, even in a small, corporate way. He leads br, so it’s kind of his job, but comforting all the same.
I head home, already thinking about the two full days ahead—just me, alone.
My apartment’s a small one-bedroom, a quiet sanctuary about a mile and a half from Labyrinth Solutions.
Sure, I could walk, but I usually take the subway.
I love the soft clatter of wheels on tracks, the occasional echoing announcement, the way the train rattles beneath the city like it knows a secret.
The motion clears my head, letting the city fade while I sink into my own thoughts.
By the time I reach my building, the ache in my shoulders has eased.
The familiar creak of the front door greets me, followed by the faint whir of my computer’s standby mode.
Posters of video games line the walls, and my shelves are heavy with fantasy novels, manuals, collectible figurines, and a half-assembled drone I’ve been tinkering with.
My desk is a shrine to tech—dual oversized monitors, a custom mechanical keyboard, cords arranged in chaotic perfection.
LED strips cast soft blues and purples across the room, washing everything in a gentle glow.
Shoes off. Takeout boxes balanced precariously on the arm of the couch.
Once I discovered Ogre Oven’s pizza, it became a staple.
Two pies because even though I could probably make one work, I’ll most likely dig into the second and have a few slices leftover.
I take a seat at my desk, fire up my favorite RPG, and slip into my character, a soldier named—wait for it—Greg, known for his daring feats and quick wit.
After the load screen, my party appears.
There’s Lady Bryn, our fearless mage, and Phinneas, the archer.
Then Kael appears on screen. Kael Veyr—the rogue with the smirk and sharp quips.
He’s my favorite, and, of course, he reminds me of Sean in too many ways.
That same swoop of blond hair, sarcastic, impossible not to notice.
I glance at my phone. My thumb hovers over Sean’s contact. I’ll just send a quick text.
Sent. Done.
To my surprise, he replies. Not annoyed, not distant—not the usual curt, borderline-grumpy response I expect from Sean—but… curious. A tiny spark in his words makes me stop mid-scroll.
He texts me again, something sassy: Get a hobby. I bite my lip and reply, careful, deliberate: I have one, making sure you’re okay.
He doesn’t respond. And for a moment, I panic—did I push too far? Did I cross some invisible line? But then he hearts the message. A heart. From him. A shiver runs through me.
My mate sent me a heart.
The thought hits me like a pulse in my chest, deep and insistent.
Is he really… my mate? I’ve felt something all week—something that makes little sense.
I close my eyes, and the sensation washes over me.
That pull. That connection. It’s faint but undeniable, like a thread stretching tight between us, vibrating with possibility.
It’s the only explanation for why I can sense he’s close to a meltdown from three hallways away.
My pulse accelerates. My stomach twists in a way that I’ve never felt in all my thirty-seven years.
I try to rationalize it—maybe it’s just the thrill of the chase, the flirting, the novelty. But deep down, I know it’s something more. Something primal. Something that has nothing to do with games or tech or my carefully controlled life.
There’s something about him. Only him. Only Sean. My pulse hammers. My chest knots. My mind swirls with questions I don’t yet have answers to.
I feel it deep in my core.
I shake my head and return to my video game. To Kael.
Ignoring the rest of the party, I chat with Kael like he’s real. I tease, I flirt, I push the conversation, hoping he notices, hoping he responds. Every line of dialogue, every imagined reaction, makes my head spin. My pulse sharpens in my ears. My cheeks warm.
I lean back in my gaming chair, muttering to myself as I type. “Honestly, Kael, you’d be insufferable if you weren’t brilliant.”
He smirks in my mind’s eye. I imagine Sean’s mouth smirking the same way, leaning over a desk, eyebrows raised.
Hours pass. I eat the first pizza, stand to stretch, but mostly I stay in this world where fantasy and reality blur, where the person I can’t stop thinking about exists just out of reach.
I talk aloud to Kael, soft and low, imagining Sean hearing it, responding, teasing me back.
The game becomes a stage for what I want, what I’m afraid to say out loud in the real world.
I pace a little, lean closer to the monitor, grab two slices from the second pizza and stack them.
My mind spins with scenarios: casual touches, stolen glances, laughter at my silly jokes.
I imagine Sean noticing me, really noticing me, beyond IT support, beyond the office, the smile he flashes when he thinks no one’s watching.
The apartment is quiet except for the purr of the PC, the soft clatter of the keyboard, my voice filling the air with quiet, muttered flirtation. I’m grinning like a dork, flushed, tense, alive in a way I don’t get during the workweek.
Kael: Late night, soldier? You sure you’re not just avoiding the tavern again?
I smirk at the screen. “Avoiding loud NPCs and their bad music, thank you very much.”
Kael: Hah! You and I both know you’d rather spar with a boss than drink with bards. Admit it.
I type back quickly, fingers flying. “And you’d rather sit here taunting me than actually help me on this quest.”
Kael: Only if you make it worth my while.
I pause, my pulse spiking. Worth his while? Worth my while? I imagine Sean saying that, sitting in his chair, letting me lean on him as I check his computer. Heat rises to my ears. My pulse flares, and I have to rub my temples. I chuckle softly. “Keep talking, Veyr. You’re warming up.”
Kael: Maybe I just like hearing your voice when you type.
I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I imagine Sean saying that line, tempting me, raising an eyebrow. My heart climbs into my throat.
“Careful,” I type, voice soft, almost a whisper. “You’re dangerously charming for a rogue.”
Kael: Charming? Maybe. Dangerous… absolutely. But only for you.
I bite my lip, leaning closer to the monitor. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Kael: Maybe both. But you’d have to survive long enough to find out.
I chuckle to myself, muttering, “Survive? In a game, or in my head?” The thought of Sean sitting across from me, mischievous and sharp, makes my cock pulse with longing.
I pause the game and roll my chair back.
The screen dims, casting long shadows across the apartment.
I exhale slowly, letting the quiet fill the space.
Kael has always been… appealing. Clever, alluring, impossible to ignore—but he’s not real.
Just strings of code meant to feel alive. He’s fantasy, not flesh.
Sean Rivers is real.
The thought hits me harder than I expect. Real. Tangible. Unpredictable. That blond sweep of hair and irresistible tummy. Those few freckles below his bright blue eyes. The way he smiles when he thinks no one’s watching. The way he excites and challenges me in the best possible way. My mate.
I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over the messages, and reread our texts. The flirting. The curiosity. That filament between us that makes my pulse stutter and my stomach twist. Heat gathers in my groin, low and insistent, drumming with a rhythm I can’t ignore.
I lean back, letting my head fall against the chair’s headrest. My pulse races, thoughts spinning between Kael’s mischievous lines and Sean’s sharp, real-world smirk. The fantasy of Kael feels hollow now, a placeholder for something I actually want. Something I can touch beyond the keyboard.
The intensity between my legs becomes impossible to ignore, a live wire tracing down my spine. I glance at the screen, then at my phone, then back at the empty apartment around me. No distractions, no interruptions—just me and the mounting, undeniable pull of desire.
I undo my pants, letting my hands move with purpose.
Every nerve ending seems alive, every thought of Sean, every imagined glance and tease, sending sparks straight to my core.
I murmur—a low, breathless sound—imagining Sean at my desk, eyebrow raised, smirk baiting. Video game fantasy has nothing on this.
The heat and longing pull my focus. The thought of him drives me higher, faster, until there’s nothing left but the rhythm of my strokes and the release waiting just beyond reach.
I grip myself, eyes tracing over my cock, imagining what Sean might think.
I’ve seen enough porn to know I’m… different.
Bigger. Much bigger. Greener. And then there’s my horn—well, we’ve always called it that.
The sac holding my balls, vaguely horn-shaped, highly sensitive, yes, but meant for a partner’s pleasure.
Not that I’ve had many partners. One sort-of-boyfriend in college. A few hookups after that taught me they’re not for me. I want a connection. Someone I truly desire, inside and out.
My joggers and briefs are pooled around my ankles.
Head tilted back, I picture his face. That mouth.
That perfect “O” he made when he tasted one of the Splatters I’d given him.
What it might be like to touch him. Kiss him.
Hold him in my lap. To see his lips stretched around my long, fat dick, taking as much as he can while I tell him how handsome he is.
Feel his skin. His ass. Have him touch my skin. My cock. My butt.
“Fuuuck.”
Heat coils deep inside me, and my horn tightens, a familiar sign of what’s coming. And because of my DNA, it’s a lot.
I pause, weighing my options. Stay in the chair, shirt on, pants around my ankles, and deal with the aftermath of a massive cleanup, or… I stand, head for the bathroom, strip, and plant my ass on the seat in the shower. Easier. Cleaner. Smoother.
Eyes closed, I picture him again—my mate. The faint freckles dusting his cheeks. That first morning in the breakroom, I barely noticed them, but once I looked closer, really studied his face, they stayed with me. Tiny stars scattered across his skin, impossible to forget.
My hands work in tandem now, slick with my spit, guiding my cock in and out with every stroke.
I shimmy back and forth, spreading my ass until the cool tile of the seat hits my hole, making my dick even harder.
I’m not even sure what I’d do with Sean—only that I’d give him whatever he wanted.
I’d love to explore him, touch him, taste him.
Play with his cock, his plump ass. Have him return the favor if he wants.
He’s so damn small, but we’d figure it out.
My hands pick up speed, instinct guiding me. Every thought circles back to him—his freckles, his quiet focus, the way his laugh feels like it was meant just for me. The need to be near him, to protect him, to see him smile again, builds until it’s almost too much.
When my release comes, it’s not just about the heat or the pleasure—it’s about him.
Sean. About the bond threading between us, invisible but real.
When my cum erupts, hard and fast, I do my best to point my dick away from me, but the sensation overwhelms me, and I end up letting go.
My cock, free from the steering of my hands, blasts over my torso and face until I’m utterly drenched.
Sticky and glistening, glazed from head to toe like an oversized donut.
My breath slows, my pulse steadies, and I lean back against the cool tile, letting the warmth fade.
It’s been ages since I’ve come like that. Always plenty, yes, but this… thinking of him has made every nerve feel alive, every pulse of pleasure more intense than I remember. And in the quiet that follows, the truth settles in, heavy and certain—Sean Rivers is my mate.
I shower, towel dry, and catch my reflection in the mirror. My ears tinge pink, my tusks gleam, and I look like someone with a heart that’s already too full.
“Yeah,” I mutter to my reflection, shaking my head. “You’ve got it bad, Greg.”