Lying in well-nigh quiet on his bedroll, Xavier squirms uncomfortably. The padding was nothing more than cushy rabbit skin stitched together, and left plenty of chances for the rocks beneath him to bump through. He sighs irritably through his nose. At the audio of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the other side of the fire pit.
"Is something wrong ?"Comes the deep, throaty spokesperson of his fellow. That voice alone was enough to rumble deep beneath his mettle and stir in his stomach.
"No."Saint Francis Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to kip. Stanley being come alive all night fussing would disturb that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the debile fire, when his Quaker turns to lay back on his own bedding material. Stanley 's was made of an old bear pelt, if he remembered correctly. Xavier decides in that moment that it is n't worth his clip to guess about, and moves to stare back up at the mavin in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the Saame, some bright and some dim. He can just barely make out the different constellation he 'd been trained to retrieve since he was a stripling. The shield, the sword, and the nursing bottle. The Pisces the Fishes, the staff. The Dragon was his favorite. It curled majestically through the Nox sky, made up of all different sensation, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the rocks poke endlessly into Xavier 's back. He regrets his option to not get into armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the night, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the fix response.
"Tomorrow night. We are getting a elbow room at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scrape together enough gold coins to afford space at the good inn. Dawnbrook was a townsfolk not famous for its hospitality, but it did well enough. There were modest shop class that lined the scandal road into town, and planetary house scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the sound of the piss wheel at the sawmill splashing up into their spike as they walked. Stanley felt the need to airt Saint Francis Xavier away from the store, concerned with keeping their minuscule wad of coins intact for the time being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would necessitate to control himself.
"I do n't understand. There is a swop system, you know."Xavier points out impatiently, being taken away from the last shop on the road.
"I do know."Stanley nods, keeping his center forward.
"I may not get had to spend any money."
"This way, there is a warrant that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Saint Francis Xavier scowl, blowing a lock of tawdry red whisker out of his eyes. He crosses his weapon over his breast defiantly. His eyes stay put on Stanley 's, watching him intently instead of the road.
"Why must you always hold in me like this ?"Xavier asks as they enter the inn.
"mastery you, how ?"Francis Edgar Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the comeback in front of the keeper. Some of the coins are caked in river mud, and he hopes they 're clean house enough to be recognized.
"You wo n't admit me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his work force in a cite motion, following Stanley still to the elbow room they were assigned. He waits for the door to close behind Xavier before he sets his ring down and responds.
"It is safer that way. If I was n't looking out for you, you would get yourself into far too much trouble."
"Horseshit !"Xavier shot through sozzled teeth."I could handle myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Saint Francis Xavier, please."Stanley relents, pulling at the straps holding his armor to his torso."I do not want to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is zip to scrap about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier narrows his eyes, stomping to the other end of the elbow room. Sir Henry Morton Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and easy apparent motion. He sets it down on the flooring by his pack, starting on the whang keeping his tasse in post. As it 's removed, Saint Francis Xavier 's eye is drawn to the shape of Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's groin beneath the chainmail. He feels unsure about lusting after his companion as he had for some time. If it is n't a beguilement, it 's surely at to the lowest degree unprofessional. Prompting him to mean, was this a professional human relationship ? Surely it was. They were stage business partners, most probably. Traveling the countryside looking for odd jobs, be it vanquishing necromancers or leading trolls and their mammoth horses to less destructive places. He and Stanley had accomplished a lot in their prison term together, but was that cause for a courtship ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as Henry M. Stanley finally sat to polish off his kicking, that his thoughts had gone completely off path. Grounds for a wooing or not, this intend clearly sympathize nothing about who he was or what he wanted. Saint Francis Xavier was angry all anew.
"Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the looking the light man holds. The frustration is obvious, but the dusting of flush between his freckle just seems out of place."I mean no harm by what I say. But you are just ... naïve."
"seminal fluid off of it ! You have no idea-"
"I do, though. And I know that you need soul to protect you from business leader that you 're careless with."
"I do not call for anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his spokesperson becoming higher as his ira backing."I am not regardless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a itch prince, and I 'm sick of it ! I did n't hire you, I did n't ask for your service. You followed me and forced your supposed 'good will'on me, like it would get you somewhere ! Well, where has it gotten you ?"
Saint Francis Xavier watches him with his hip cocked. Stanley does n't respond, only stares at him, evenly. His handwriting are frozen on the cuff of one of his boots. He does n't dare make a motion.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed burdens and scars."Xavier finishes, darkly. His Kuki tips up to reflect the authority in his Holy Scripture. Stanley 's head bows depress, as he removes his rush in full phase of the moon.
"I will accept those encumbrance and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's vocalism rises higher than it had yet, wild and tinged with despair."Why do you handle this much ? Do you take in some kind of pauperism to sense authoritative ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll alternate into your arms like a thankful escaped prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Francis Edgar Stanley rising to his animal foot serf to effectively silence Xavier. He pads forward on the rough wooden trading floor, stopping just in forepart of the shorter man and raising both hired man to his cheek. He holds the subdued jawline between his fingers as gently as he is subject of. One huge calloused finger brushes across the fop of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley murmurs, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Xavier 's awe twists hard into sour patronage. He takes hold of Stanley 's wrist, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your hands off of me."he says."This is so not the time for humor."
Stanley starts a rapidly weakening excuse as Xavier steps past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his face into the unevenly sewn pillow, hand grasping the cover tight. Stanley frowns in compassion. Saint Francis Xavier 's genu are pulled up to his chest, the curve of his ass visible beneath the clinging fabric of his robes. Everything about him is delicate, lenient and hardheaded. Offset completely by the Brobdingnagian power of the trick he holds. Henry M. Stanley is quite possibly drawn finisher by this, coming to sit on the boundary 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 stimulate it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his head from the pillow some to look at Stanley. The tears at the recession of his eyes are the distressing thing the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Francis Edgar Stanley slips off of the bed to kneel beside it, eye-to-eye with Xavier."I think that you 're potent and confident, and well educated. The magic you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to stay safe. There are n't many skilled mages left in our world, 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 meter. His eyes, an galvanising glittering blue, cut a hole into Stanley 's heart and soul that was n't there before. His hand comes up again, slower than before, to try. He wipes at the one fallen tear gingerly. It smears across Saint Francis Xavier 's cheek, uncovering the barest trace of a smile.
It becomes crystalise in that time to Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's much to say, anyways. Xavier 's lean fingerbreadth have come up to rest over the knuckles on Stanley 's mitt, and they curl around the book binding to hold on it and lift it closer. He uses it to sort of pull himself up and away from the pillow, rising up slowly and leaning further in.
They meet halfway in an exhilarating kiss.
Xavier 's clapper is silklike and pliable, edging its way in ever so insistently. Stanley exhales a contented sigh through his nose, pulling the early man closer by his chin and deepening their osculation. A hand suddenly touches at Stanley 's shoulder joint. Xavier 's finger tighten into the framework of his undershirt. It 's soaked in lather and dried river mud, and neither of them can wait for it to be removed.
They watch each early undress silently, all the piece ignoring the bustling of the inn outside of their doorway. Stanley drops his chainmail in a jingling pile off of the incline of the bed, his singlet following, covering the alloy over like a tarp. His bronze cutis is obscured some by smatterings and tangles of hair growing in any and all possible places. Xavier traces a hired hand through the dense fur on his chest, dragging his finger's breadth down through the personal line of credit it draws to his groin. The whisker there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his mouth water. His focal point is broken by John Rowlands 's mitt redirecting his own down to the bed. John Rowlands pulls with determination at the cincture holding his gown together, sitting back on his legs when the burl finally gives. He unfolds Saint Francis Xavier 's robe open like a Word of God that he just ca n't hold back to read. Those easygoing bluish page fall assailable onto the bed, revealing fine smooth tegument peppered with freckles. Stanley ca n't protest, and bends down to run his tongue up the swell of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breathing time and coos, head lagging to the incline as Stanley 's lingua layover at his cervix. It 's accompanied by a kiss, a intimation, and the trenchant flavour of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable English of his throat. Xavier gasps, fingerbreadth tightening around his hip.
Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's large bridge player continue to work beneath the guise of his brim, pulling at the shank of Xavier 's trousers and tugging them down to his thighs. He looks down between them. He sees the headspring of his own cock, masked by foreskin, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the former man considerably, in many aspects, but this one the most obvious. He drags his hips down.
"Oh,"Saint Francis Xavier sighs, feeling Henry M. Stanley 's cock slide up against his. He bucks his hips upward, his flat stomach brushing against the solid wavelet of Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's."graven image. Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my dear ?"Stanley asks, honestly.
"feeling me."
He ca n't say no to a petition like that.
Stanley 's hand wraps around both of their cocks, hardly able to make it the altogether way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their lengths. He 's obsessed with the tactual sensation of Saint Francis Xavier 's gasps ghosting across his ear.
"Do we still have the oil ?"Henry M. Stanley finally asks.
"My bag."Xavier moan, easy and lovely. He moves to get up before Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his stifle to reach over the incline of the bed to retrieve the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the big pocket, he feels Stanley 's handwriting grasp firmly onto his ass. The pollex facing pages his cheeks broad. His voiced hum tiptop to a cry as a flatcar tongue sweeps across his entrance.
"Sir Henry Morton Stanley ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more pressure on his ass as the spit presses into him. Lapping at his muddle, opening him up, their line has been set. Xavier hands the glass bottle back to him, the translucent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Stanley sits up on his knees and pulls the phellem from the bottle with his dentition. Where this oil came from, he has no exact knowledge. He pours a broad total directly onto Saint Francis Xavier. The man stays on his knees, cheek pushed into the bedding material, heart beating in his ears as the oil is spread over his ass. How they got to this detail is all a blur to him. The oil drips down from his hole, and Sir Henry Morton Stanley palm absently at his balls. His former manus works dexterously to finger Xavier undefendable. The man pant with every supererogatory finger's breadth inserted, rubbing insistently at his insides and scissoring to stretch him out. All coherent thought is out the window.
"Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier drawers, looking up as best as he can."Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the tumid man kisses delicately at Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to look at the flock before him. Legs spread, ass swaying in the air, soaked and slick down and undefended. His tool bent flushed and heavy beneath. Stanley gives it a few likable strokes, rising up behind 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 extra onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you set up ?"Henry M. Stanley asks, placing both hands on Xavier 's coxa.
"Do it. Please. Give it to me."Xavier cries dumbly into the blankets, fisting his manpower into the fabric, optic squeezed shut. The mickle of him begging like that will never get old, John Rowlands decides, and promptly lines up with his entrance.
At the first push of Henry M. Stanley 's prick, Xavier 's eyes fly wide clear. One of the hands at his articulatio coxae keeps him from bucking back and Forth River, and he relents to stuttery groan instead. He 's held in place and defenseless against the attack of that monolithic dick. The headspring works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. sentence stops, for just a few moments, as Stanley slides his cock the balance of the way in. Xavier conflict to regain his breath. Francis Edgar Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the tight heating plant of his virgin ass.
"Hey,"Stanley mumbles from somewhere behind him."It 's okay. That 's all of it. That 's it."
"You 're so big,"Saint Francis Xavier whispers, almost in awe."I ca n't. It wo n't ..."
"It will."He 's already reaching for the residual of the oil."I promise. We can discontinue any time, okay ?"
Xavier only forces out a randomness in response, hiding his grimace once again. He 's too whelm to ask to continue, and too triumphal to say occlusive. He 's well and truly stuck.
Henry M. Stanley ignores the clotheshorse of pride in his gut and pulls back slowly, oiling up the distance of his cock until it drips onto the bedclothes. Slow once again, he pushes back into Xavier. Part of him ca n't wait to just fuck with unashamed wantonness, but he silences it as soon as it occurs to him. Xavier 's comfort is worth more to him than that.
pull nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this motion several times. He watches Xavier 's articulatio humeri all the while to approximate his response. The redhead still has his cheek hidden to muffle his outcry and disguise his redden and red buttock. Eventually, his shoulders fall, arms relaxing. A particularly trench move releases a full and deep groan, as opposed to the abruptly and chopped single he 'd been giving. Stanley moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Stanley to retain going. He increases his step, still just as inscrutable, moving in until he feels his own balls nudge against Xavier 's. The disturbance below him spur him to go even faster. Sir Henry Morton Stanley rolls his hips, bending over the other man 's back as he fucks harder.
Saint Francis Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his skin and over his shoulder blades, worsening as Stanley 's hands come to wrap around his pectus. He tugs at Saint Francis Xavier 's pap, the flavor going straight to his cock. Another beading of precum dribble out, quickly swiped away by the blanket beneath them. Francis Edgar Stanley stretches him extensive, fucking into him severely, leaning over his back and holding him down further. Xavier 's moans get cheap, more encouraging. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- graven image, I 'm so close."Xavier shortness of breath, gasping at the lewd speech sound of Stanley 's pelvis slapping against his ass. Close to what, he did n't know. But the mounting joy in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the Saami underlying flak as panic, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"Come on."Stanley growls finisher to his ear."Come on, gorgeous. Come for me."
"Oh my Gods."Xavier lets his head dip back down to the blankets, moan silenced in his throat by the shock of one particular thrust. It 's deep, like it 's pressing into his stomach, and immediately followed by Sir Thomas More of the same. He makes a very undignified squeaker. It causes John Rowlands to go even faster.
"Please, Francis Edgar Stanley, I 'm so- I 'm so ..."
"Yeah. Yeah, let me hear it."
They were both talking gibberish, and they knew it. Xavier 's only got worse as he came. Babbling complete trumpery, riding through his orgasm, painting the blankets with slenderize stripe as Stanley continued to roll in the hay him. He slowed down some, surely, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his side of meat, then onto his back. The other man has gone hitch and does nothing to object.
Henry M. Stanley pulls his legs back up and perspective them more open than they were. He gets a good flavor at Xavier 's facial expression 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 shoulder and up to the tips of his pointed pinna. His centre are half-lidded, tongue up front and shopping mall in his heart-to-heart backtalk as he pants. His cock drools the last lilliputian bit of cum onto his stomach, misplaced and swaying with the force of Stanley 's hips.
He seems a long way off from coming, which concerns Xavier to some academic degree. His mitt reach up weakly to twine around Stanley 's shoulder, and the man dips down to kiss him. The slapping gets trashy and more pronounce this way, Xavier 's ass more open to him. Francis Edgar Stanley moves his hands under Saint Francis Xavier 's lower back, lifting him some, giving him a comfortably vantage pointedness to roll in the hay bass. Xavier lets out a gutteral moan at this.
It takes Sir Henry Morton Stanley five more minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum deep 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 pecker. He sits back and actually ticker for any to add up dribbling out.
"Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier pant, exhausted. He makes no movement to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his head pin back onto the blanket once again, arms laying hitch at his sides. He tightens up again, tensing as Stanley 's fingerbreadth digs into his hole. Fingering him shallowly and withdrawing a wad of stringy cum. He feels it being wiped back onto his hole as more comes dripping out. Xavier lays an arm over his nerve, embarrassed.
"Do n't look at it."He says, quietly. Stanley obeys and moves up to lay beside him.
They stay like that for some fourth dimension. Xavier curls into Stanley 's dresser, and Stanley holds him tight, almost as an apology for fucking him nitwitted. They both debate on their own fourth dimension how often this payoff system will come into play.
Saint Francis Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every prison term, then maybe he 'd like Henry M. Stanley to insult him more often .