Haley Thistle
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Art the Orc (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2023-05-17 20:00:01 +0000 UTCThe visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and scrapped away.
The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.
Inside the place had a familiar smell, or paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.
“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”
“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.
A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered and paint spattered t-shirt.
“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.
You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”
There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”
You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”
You fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”
You held it in, but he knew where you mind went.
“It’s short for Arthur, but its also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”
“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.
He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”
“It’s a common issue, Art,” I didn’t look at him as I said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”
He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”
“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can me reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”
Art made a face. “You can do all that.”
You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.
“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”
“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”
“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.
You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”
“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.
You couldn’t tell if he was being kind of underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”
He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”
“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”
His face read: easier said than done.
Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. but for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.
Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.
“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.
You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”
Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”
“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”
Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”
“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”
Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.
Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.
“Mom said it was inhospitable.”
You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”
Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.
Once the floor was cleaned and all the old was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.
“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.
You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrant or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”
Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.
“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”
There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”
Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”
You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”
“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” I asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”
He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.
Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propper the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.
“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.
“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”
Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”
You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”
You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”
He let out that heavy, burgeoned sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”
I clicked my tongue. “Oh.”
“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.
“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. I motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”
Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”
Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose he sentimentality was far too deep for that.”
“It’s a good painting,” you offered.
“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”
“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered.
You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.
“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.
A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.
“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.
“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.
“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”
It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”
You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”
Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.
That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.
Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.
“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.
You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”
“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.
The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an indepth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.
From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.
“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.
“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, its natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.
“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”
You smiled at hi, cuckling as your cheeks grew warm.
The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.
“We should stop.”
“We should.”
“Why aren’t we?”
“It’s hard.”
“Very hard.”
You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.
“It’s hard.”
“Very hard.”
You smiled at him, missing him again while his hands moved below. You panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!
You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the room of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.
“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before. He pressed deepl yinside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.
The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.
“Hi” he said breathlessly.
You smile bloomed. “Hi.”
Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”
“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.
He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”
“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.
Art nodded his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”
You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”
“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”
You laughed and cuppe dyour hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”
“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.
“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set ont he front desk. “What’s this for?”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”
You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”
Comments
Chelsea Norris
Oh how ADORABLE!! Cute and awkward and if he pulls a Pleasantville and paints her nude on the front window, I'll squeal.
