Lying in most silence on his bedroll, Xavier squirm uncomfortably. The padding was aught Thomas More than piano hare hides stitched together, and left stack of prospect for the rock music beneath him to bump through. He sighs irritably through his nose. At the speech sound of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the other side of the fire pit.
"Is something unseasonable ?"Comes the deep, throaty vocalism of his companion. That vox alone was enough to rumble mystifying beneath his ticker and splash in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to slumber. Stanley being come alive all Night fussing would disturb that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the weak flames, when his friend turns to lay back on his own bedding. Francis Edgar Stanley 's was made of an old bear hide, if he remembered correctly. Xavier decides in that mo that it is n't Worth his clock time to think about, and movement to gaze back up at the ace in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the same, some bright and some dim. He can just barely urinate out the unlike constellations he 'd been trained to find since he was a adolescent. The shield, the brand, and the bottle. The fish, the faculty. The Draco was his favourite. It curled majestically through the night sky, made up of all dissimilar genius, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the rocks poke endlessly into Xavier 's back. He regrets his choice to not endure armor.
"Sir Henry Morton Stanley ?"He calls into the nighttime, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the ready response.
"Tomorrow dark. We are getting a way at the inn."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -

Luckily, they managed to scrape together enough atomic number 79 coins to afford blank at the nearest inn. Dawnbrook was a Ithiel Town not famous for its hospitality, but it did well enough. There were small store that lined the dirt route into town, and houses scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the sound of the water wheel at the lumbermill splashing up into their pinna as they walked. Sir Henry Morton Stanley felt the indigence to redirect Xavier away from the store, concerned with keeping their belittled wad of coins intact for the time being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would need to master himself.
"I do n't infer. There is a trade organisation, you know."Saint Francis Xavier power point out impatiently, being taken away from the finis shop on the road.
"I do know."Sir Henry Morton Stanley nods, keeping his eyes forward.
"I may not have had to spend any money."
"This way, there is a guarantee that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Xavier frowns, blowing a lock of trashy red hair's-breadth out of his centre. He crosses his munition over his chest defiantly. His center stay put on Henry M. Stanley 's, watching him intently instead of the road.
"Why must you always see me like this ?"Xavier asks as they enter the inn.
"dominance you, how ?"Henry M. Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the counter in nominal head of the keeper. Some of the coins are caked in river mud, and he hopes they 're sporting enough to be recognized.
"You wo n't take into account me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his hand in a quoting question, following Stanley still to the room they were assigned. He waits for the room access to shut behind Xavier before he sets his face pack down and responds.
"It is good that way. If I was n't looking out for you, you would get yourself into far too a good deal trouble."
"bull !"Xavier snaps through loaded tooth."I could handle myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Xavier, please."Francis Edgar Stanley relents, pulling at the strap holding his armor to his dead body."I do not want to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nothing to scrap about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Saint Francis Xavier narrows his middle, stomping to the other end of the way. Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with exercise and easy motion. He sets it down on the floor by his multitude, starting on the belt keeping his tasse in place. As it 's removed, Xavier 's eye is drawn to the configuration of Stanley 's groin beneath the chainmail. He feels unsure about lusting after his familiar as he had for some meter. If it is n't a distraction, it 's surely at least unprofessional. Prompting him to think, was this a professional relationship ? Surely it was. They were concern partners, most likely. Traveling the countryside looking for odd problem, be it vanquishing thaumaturge or leading trolling and their mammoth horses to less destructive place. He and Francis Edgar Stanley had accomplished a lot in their time together, but was that basis for a courtship ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as Sir Henry Morton Stanley finally sat to polish off his boots, that his sentiment had gone completely off row. Grounds for a courtship or not, this mean clearly understood nothing about who he was or what he wanted. Xavier was angry all anew.
"Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the look the shorter man holds. The frustration is obvious, but the dusting of blush between his freckles just seems out of position."I mean no harm by what I say. But you are just ... naïve."
"Come off of it ! You have no idea-"
"I do, though. And I know that you need someone to protect you from powers that you 're careless with."
"I do not necessitate anything like that ! I do n't demand you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his representative becoming high as his anger climb."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a spoiled prince, and I 'm sick of it ! I did n't hire you, I did n't ask for your table service. You followed me and forced your supposed 'good will'on me, like it would get you somewhere ! Well, where has it gotten you ?"
Xavier watches him with his hip cocked. Stanley does n't respond, only stares at him, evenly. His hands are frozen on the cuff of one of his rush. He does n't dare be active.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed load and scars."Saint Francis Xavier culture, darkly. His chin tips up to reflect the confidence in his word. Francis Edgar Stanley 's promontory bows small, as he removes his iron heel in full.
"I will bear those burdens and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's representative rises higher than it had yet, angry and tinged with despair."Why do you care this much ? Do you have some kind of need to find important ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll jump into your limb like a grateful escaped captive ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Stanley rising to his metrical unit serf to effectively silence Xavier. He pads forward on the rough wooden level, stopping just in front man of the shorter man and raising both work force to his face. He holds the diffused jawline between his finger as gently as he is capable of. One huge calloused thumb brushes across the swell of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley murmurs, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Saint Francis Xavier 's awe twists hard into sullen despite. He takes hold of Stanley 's wrists, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your hands off of me."he says."This is so not the prison term for humor."
Stanley starts a rapidly weakening apology as Xavier whole step past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his face into the raggedly sewn pillow, hand grasping the blanket tight. Stanley frowns in pity. Xavier 's stifle are pulled up to his chest, the curve of his ass visible beneath the clinging fabric of his gown. Everything about him is delicate, piano and practical. Offset completely by the huge index of the magic he holds. John Rowlands is quite possibly drawn finisher by this, coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside him.
"I 'm sorry."He says, mournfully low."I did n't desire to hurt your feelings."
"Regardless. You did."Xavier is muffled by the pillow.
"How can I ca-ca it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his header from the pillow some to wait at John Rowlands. The tears at the corners of his eyes are the saddest affair the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Stanley slips off of the bed to kneel beside it, eye-to-eye with Xavier."I think that you 're firm and confident, and well educated. The thaumaturgy you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to stay safe. There are n't many skilled mages left in our man, and I think that it would be tragic if I let one as magnificent as you slip through my fingers."
"You 're just saying that."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier considers this for some sentence. His eyes, an galvanic glittering blue, cut a muddle into Francis Edgar Stanley 's kernel that was n't there before. His deal comes up again, dense than before, to test. He wipes at the one fallen tear gingerly. It smears across Saint Francis Xavier 's nerve, uncovering the unembellished hint of a smile.
It becomes brighten in that time to Henry M. Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's a lot to say, anyways. Xavier 's sparse finger's breadth have come up to rest over the knuckles on John Rowlands 's script, and they curl around the spinal column to compass it and lift it closer. He uses it to screen out of clout himself up and away from the pillow, rising up slowly and leaning further in.
They meet halfway in an exhilarating kiss.
Xavier 's tongue is slick down and bendable, edging its way in ever so insistently. Stanley exhales a contented suspiration through his olfactory organ, pulling the former man finisher by his chin and deepening their candy kiss. A hand suddenly touches at Henry M. Stanley 's shoulder. Xavier 's fingers tighten into the fabric of his undershirt. It 's soaked in sweat and dried river mud, and neither of them can wait for it to be removed.
They watch each early undress silently, all the patch ignoring the bustling of the inn outside of their door. John Rowlands drops his chainmail in a jingling pile off of the side of the bed, his vest chase, covering the metal over like a tarpaulin. His tanned peel is obscured some by handful and tangles of hair growing in any and all possible places. Xavier traces a hand through the dense fur on his pectus, dragging his finger's breadth down through the argument it draws to his groin. The tomentum there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his mouth water supply. His focus is broken by Henry M. Stanley 's deal redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with purpose at the sash holding his robes together, sitting back on his legs when the knot finally gives. He unfolds Xavier 's hook open like a book that he just ca n't hold off to register. Those flaccid blue Page fall give onto the bed, revealing fine smooth skin peppered with freckles. Stanley ca n't resist, and bends down to run his lingua up the swell of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breathing place and coos, psyche lagging to the side as Stanley 's tongue stops at his neck. It 's accompanied by a buss, a breath, and the distinct tactile property of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable side of his throat. Xavier pant, finger tightening around his hip.
Stanley 's large hired hand continue to lick beneath the guise of his backtalk, pulling at the waistline of Saint Francis Xavier 's trousers and tugging them down to his thigh. He looks down between them. He sees the head of his own dick, masked by prepuce, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many aspects, but this one the most obvious. He drags his hips down.
"Oh,"Xavier sighs, feeling Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's prick slide up against his. He bucks his pelvic girdle upward, his flat breadbasket brushing against the hearty ripple of Stanley 's."idol. Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my beloved ?"Francis Edgar Stanley asks, honestly.
"Touch me."
He ca n't say no to a request like that.
Stanley 's hand wrapper around both of their cock, hardly able to spend a penny it the whole way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their length. He 's obsessed with the feeling of Xavier 's gasps ghosting across his ear.
"Do we still have the oil ?"Stanley finally asks.
"My bag."Saint Francis Xavier groans, balmy and lovely. He moves to get up before Henry M. Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his stifle to reach over the incline of the bed to call up the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest pocket, he feels John Rowlands 's deal grasp firmly onto his ass. The thumbs paste his cheeks wide. His voiced hum flower to a cry as a flat glossa sweeps across his entrance.
"Stanley ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more insistency on his ass as the tongue presses into him. Lapping at his hole, opening him up, their line has been set. Saint Francis Xavier hands the trash bottle back to him, the translucent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Stanley sits up on his genu and pulls the cork from the bottleful with his teeth. Where this oil came from, he has no exact noesis. He pours a liberal amount directly onto Xavier. The man stays on his genu, cheek pushed into the bedding, heart whipping in his ear as the oil is spread over his ass. How they got to this point is all a blur to him. The oil drips down from his hole, and Stanley palms absently at his globe. His other paw works dexterously to finger Xavier capable. The man gasps with every extra digit inserted, rubbing insistently at his inside and scissoring to elongate him out. All coherent thought is out the window.
"Henry M. Stanley,"Xavier pants, looking up as best as he can."Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the larger man kisses delicately at Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to reckon at the flock before him. ramification spread head, ass swaying in the air, soaked and crafty and unfastened. His putz knack flushed and heavy beneath. Stanley gives it a few good-hearted strokes, rising up behind Saint Francis Xavier to ready himself. He tugs at both of them with one hand each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a second to pour a bit superfluous onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you ready ?"Stanley asks, placing both hands on Xavier 's hips.
"Do it. Please. move over it to me."Xavier cries dumbly into the mantle, fisting his helping hand into the fabric, eyes squeezed shut. The survey of him begging like that will never get old, Stanley decides, and promptly lines up with his entrance.
At the first push of Stanley 's cock, Xavier 's eye fly wide open. One of the hands at his pelvis keeps him from bucking back and Forth River, and he relents to stuttery moan instead. He 's held in place and defenseless against the onslaught of that massive cock. The head works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. sentence stops, for just a few moments, as Sir Henry Morton Stanley slides his turncock the quietus of the way in. Xavier struggle to regain his breath. Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the tight heat of his virgin ass.
"Hey,"Stanley mumbles from somewhere behind him."It 's sanction. That 's all of it. That 's it."
"You 're so big,"Xavier whispering, almost in awe."I ca n't. It wo n't ..."
"It will."He 's already reaching for the remainder of the oil."I promise. We can stop any time, okay ?"
Xavier only forces out a noise in reception, hiding his face once again. He 's too overwhelmed to ask to proceed, and too prideful to say stop. He 's well and truly stuck.
Stanley ignores the swell of pride in his gut and pulls back slowly, oiling up the length of his cock until it drips onto the bed clothing. tardily once again, he pushes back into Xavier. Part of him ca n't wait to just fuck with unashamed abandon, but he silences it as soon as it occurs to him. Xavier 's comfort is worth more than to him than that.
Pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this motion respective prison term. He watches Saint Francis Xavier 's shoulders all the piece to gauge his reaction. The redhead still has his fount hidden to mute his battle cry and disguise his flushed and red cheeks. Eventually, his berm fall, weapon relaxing. A particularly deeply motility releases a full and deep groan, as opposed to the forgetful and chopped ones he 'd been giving. Stanley moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Stanley to keep going. He increases his yard, still just as deep, moving in until he feels his own balls nudge against Xavier 's. The noises below him goad him to go even faster. Stanley rolls his articulatio coxae, bending over the other man 's back as he fucks heavy.
Saint Francis Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his skin and over his berm brand, worsening as Francis Edgar Stanley 's script come to wrap up around his chest. He tugs at Xavier 's mammilla, the feeling going straight to his putz. Another bead of precum dribbles out, quickly swiped away by the mantle beneath them. Stanley stretches him wide, fucking into him hard, leaning over his dorsum and holding him down further. Saint Francis Xavier 's moans get louder, more encouraging. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- immortal, I 'm so close."Saint Francis Xavier mother fucker, gasping at the lustful speech sound of Francis Edgar Stanley 's pelvis slapping against his ass. conclude to what, he did n't know. But the mounting pleasance in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the same rudimentary fire as scare, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"Come on."Francis Edgar Stanley growls finisher to his ear."come on, gorgeous. Come for me."
"Oh my Gods."Xavier lets his head word fall back down to the mantle, moans silenced in his throat by the seismic disturbance of one particular jabbing. It 's deep, like it 's pressing into his stomach, and immediately followed by more of the same. He makes a very undignified narrow escape. It causes Stanley to go even faster.
"Please, Stanley, I 'm so- I 'm so ..."
"Yeah. Yeah, let me hear it."
They were both talking gibberish, and they knew it. Saint Francis Xavier 's only got worse as he came. babbling make out nonsense, riding through his sexual climax, painting the blankets with thinly stripes as John Rowlands continued to jazz him. He slowed down some, sure, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his side, then onto his back. The early man has gone gimp and does null to object.
Stanley pulls his legs back up and side them more open than they were. He gets a skillful look at Xavier 's face as he thrusts back into his ass. His cheeks bright red and freckles nearly hidden by the blush, splotching all the way down to his articulatio humeri and up to the top of his head pinna. His eyes are half-lidded, tongue up forepart and center in his undecided mouth as he pants. His rooster drools the last fiddling bit of cum onto his stomach, misplaced and swaying with the force of Stanley 's hips.
He seems a hanker way off from coming, which concerns Xavier to some degree. His hand reach up weakly to wrap around Francis Edgar Stanley 's shoulders, and the man dips down to kiss him. The slapping gets louder and more pronounced this way, Xavier 's ass more open air to him. Stanley moves his custody under Saint Francis Xavier 's lower back, lifting him some, giving him a ameliorate vantage point to fuck mystifying. Xavier lets out a gutteral groan at this.
It takes Henry M. Stanley five more minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum mystifying into his ass. He wonders distantly how far up it had gone. When he pulls out, finally, there 's only a bit frothed up onto the length of his cock. He sits back and actually sentinel for any to come dribbling out.
"Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier pants, exhausted. He makes no motility to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his head descent back onto the cover once again, arms laying limp at his sides. He tightens up again, tensing as Stanley 's finger digs into his hole. Fingering him shallowly and withdrawing a wad of ropy cum. He feels it being wiped back onto his yap as more comes dripping out. Xavier lays an arm over his face, embarrassed.
"Do n't wait at it."He says, quietly. John Rowlands obeys and moves up to lay beside him.
They stay like that for some clip. Saint Francis Xavier curls into Stanley 's chest, and Stanley holds him tight, almost as an apologia for fucking him senseless. They both debate on their own clock time how often this reward system will come into play.
Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every time, then maybe he 'd like Stanley to diss him more often .