His clothes!

You got a pretty good look at the orc's privates, a couple seconds were all you needed to become privy to the grapefruits he was hiding beneath his loincloth; despite the unwelcome showing, it left you wanting more. By looks, the sun-stone had made possible everyone around you to become a sexual deviant, only needing to be asked before sharing any part of their bodies. A grim look begins to look grimmer on the orc's face as you instinctively plot your words, no longer bound by the poetries of bardship.

"Take off every item of clothing you're wearing." you gulp, your eyes transfixed to the orc's crotch.

He raises a brow at the request. Confused, but not the least bit angry. The orc stands up, placing aside his dull steel before shimmying out of his clunkier pieces of armor.

"Is that all you want...?" he omits, almost enticingly.

The orc's demeanor had become almost comical. The once brutish warrior now obliging to your request to strip to the nude, as if it were completely normal for a dandelion bard to make such a request, and to be carried out with enthusiasm. Only, that is what the orc's mood was lacking. His take on your solicitation had been rather literal, unbuttoning the tunic that hides his chest, a patch of black hairs poking out from the collar, with no more enjoyment than simply undressing for the required action. It needed flair; it needed passion.

"You don't have to be so fast about it." gulping once again, but this time with the anticipation to see the orc's muscular body in full moonlight.

The orc bellies a laugh, waving a dismissive hand by the buttoned part of his shirt, "Only a bard would ask someone to waiver their commitment, but I can try."

At his own words, the orc slows his pace. His posture, the gestation of his actions becoming more deliberate; more erotic. He takes a hand to the fold of his open collar, pulling aside the dank fabric to display the fullness of his olive pecs, the hairs on which trailing down to uncharted territory. Not glistening like one would in dazzling sunlight or drenched sweat, just as one would in their natural appeal; rugged, and beaten. For once, the orc showed a vulnerability, to you, as if you were just another one of his female conquests he would boast about over the fire. One by one, he undoes the next button on his shirt, freeing the roundness of his belly, unobstructed by a leather cuirass, followed by his navel, adorned in scars from old battles. Finally, the orc guides his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, freely letting it drop to the uneven ground. Not a moment later does he stop, however, his hand hovering over the belt of his pants, waiting; for your permission.

Of course you're going to give it, only the words fail to form in your mouth, struck in awe by only the orc's upper body. Yet, he continues to wait for the word, no more impatient than one might be to have their body goaded by a spectator.

"Please, continue."

At your approval, the orc whips his belt off, tossing it to the treeline. It might have been a simplistic measure to an impassioned undressing, but nobody's perfect, the orc's ego had made that clear. In full confidence, in front of you, the orc plays at the band of his trousers, pulling down one side, but taking his hand to the other before any of his goods fall out. He looks up at you, curiously, his eyes assessing your reaction to his spectacular form. Whatever your reaction, he grins, appearing quite amused at the stiff bard in front of him, before bringing his hand to the bulge hidden behind his pants. A attitude of care is taken as he carefully pulls open the fly of his pants, setting free the green testes of his you've already had the pleasure to see earlier. Massive.

You'd forget the two of you are from a civilized kingship, out in the open mountain air, his animalistic qualities surfacing. The orc starts to pick up the pace, violently pulling down the waistband to his pants, exposing his glutes, calves, all the way down to his ankles, where he kicks his trousers, again, to the treeline alongside his belt. The verdant orc stands shamelessly before you; longingly, as if to spark a reciprocation on your part.

You take a hand to the orc's bare chest, running your fingers along the patches of hair, soon looking up only to see the face of an egotistical orc, who mocks you for your ballads, now in your grasp.