Lying in near silence on his bedroll, Saint Francis Xavier wiggle uncomfortably. The padding was zippo more than than soft rabbit hides stitched together, and left plenty of prospect for the rocks beneath him to bump through. He sighs irritably through his nose. At the sound of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the former side of the ardour pit.
"Is something wrong ?"Comes the deep, throaty voice of his fellow traveler. That voice alone was enough to rumble abstruse beneath his core and ado in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to sleep. Stanley being come alive all night fussing would disrupt that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the light flames, when his friend turns to lay back on his own bedclothes. Francis Edgar Stanley 's was made of an old bear hide, if he remembered correctly. Xavier decides in that here and now that it is n't worth his time to think about, and moves to stare back up at the superstar in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the same, some bright and some dim. He can just barely shit out the different configuration he 'd been trained to find since he was a teen. The cuticle, the sword, and the feeding bottle. The fish, the faculty. The dragon was his favourite. It curled majestically through the nighttime sky, made up of all different mavin, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the rocks poke endlessly into Xavier 's backbone. He regrets his choice to not wear armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the night, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the ready response.
"Tomorrow night. We are getting a way at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scrape together enough amber coins to afford quad at the nighest inn. Dawnbrook was a township not famed for its hospitality, but it did well enough. There were small shops that lined the grime road into town, and planetary house scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the sound of the urine wheel at the sawmill splashing up into their ears as they walked. Sir Henry Morton Stanley felt the need to redirect Saint Francis Xavier away from the store, concerned with keeping their pocket-size wad of coins integral for the fourth dimension being. If he wanted a elbow room at the inn so badly he would call for to control himself.
"I do n't realise. There is a barter organisation, you know."Xavier points out impatiently, being taken away from the terminal shop on the road.
"I do know."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 scowl, blowing a lock of flash red hair out of his middle. He crosses his weapon over his breast defiantly. His eyes stay put on Henry M. Stanley 's, watching him intently instead of the road.
"Why must you always moderate me like this ?"Xavier asks as they enter the inn.
"Control you, how ?"Sir Henry Morton Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the counter in front line of the keeper. Some of the coins are caked in river mud, and he hopes they 're make clean enough to be recognized.
"You wo n't allow me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his handwriting in a cite motion, following John Rowlands still to the way they were assigned. He waits for the door to close behind Xavier before he sets his ingroup down and responds.
"It is safer that way. If I was n't looking out for you, you would get yourself into far too a great deal trouble."
"Horseshit !"Saint Francis Xavier elasticity through nasty teeth."I could manage myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Saint Francis Xavier, please."Henry M. Stanley relents, pulling at the strap holding his armor to his torso."I do not want to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nothing to dispute about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier narrows his eyes, stomping to the former end of the room. Henry M. Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and easy movements. He sets it down on the floor by his inner circle, starting on the belt keeping his tassets in place. As it 's removed, Xavier 's eye is drawn to the human body of Stanley 's groin beneath the chainmail. He feels incertain about lusting after his fellow traveler as he had for some time. If it is n't a distraction, it 's surely at to the lowest degree unprofessional. Prompting him to think, was this a professional relationship ? Surely it was. They were business organisation partners, most likely. Traveling the countryside looking for odd Book of Job, be it vanquishing thaumaturgist or leading trolls and their gigantic horse cavalry to less destructive post. He and Francis Edgar Stanley had accomplished a lot in their clock time together, but was that dry land for a courting ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as Stanley finally sat to remove his flush, that his view had gone completely off class. Grounds for a courtship or not, this intend clearly understood nothing about who he was or what he wanted. Xavier was angry all anew.
"Xavier,"Henry M. Stanley says softly, catching the face the shorter man holds. The frustration is obvious, but the dusting of blush between his lentigo just seems out of position."I mean no trauma by what I say. But you are just ... naïve."
"ejaculate off of it ! You have no idea-"
"I do, though. And I know that you need someone to protect you from business leader that you 're careless with."
"I do not need anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his voice becoming gamey as his angriness mounts."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a spoiled prince, and I 'm spue of it ! I did n't charter 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 ?"
Xavier watches him with his hip cocked. John Rowlands does n't react, only stares at him, evenly. His workforce are frozen on the cuff of one of his bang. He does n't presume incite.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed incumbrance and scars."Xavier finis, darkly. His chin tips up to reflect the confidence in his Good Book. Stanley 's head word bows dispirited, as he removes his kick in replete.
"I will take over those effect and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's voice rises mellow than it had yet, wild and tinged with desperation."Why do you worry this much ? Do you have some kind of indigence to sense important ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll jump into your sleeve like a grateful break loose prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Stanley rising to his feet serves to effectively silence Saint Francis Xavier. He pads forward on the harsh wooden level, stopping just in nominal head of the shorter man and raising both hands to his typeface. He holds the subdued jawline between his fingers as gently as he is capable of. One Brobdingnagian calloused riff encounter across the beau of his cheek.
"Because,"Sir Henry Morton Stanley murmurs, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Saint Francis Xavier 's awe kink hard into turned disdain. He takes hold of Stanley 's carpus, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your hands off of me."he says."This is so not the fourth dimension for humor."
Stanley starts a rapidly weakening excuse as Xavier footprint past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his fount into the raggedly sewn pillow, hand grasping the blanket tight. Stanley frowns in ruth. Xavier 's knees are pulled up to his thorax, the curve of his ass seeable beneath the clinging framework of his robes. Everything about him is delicate, diffuse and hard-nosed. Offset completely by the vast major power of the magic he holds. Stanley is quite possibly drawn closer by this, coming to sit on the sharpness of the bed beside him.
"I 'm sorry."He says, mournfully low."I did n't want to hurt your feelings."
"Regardless. You did."Xavier is muffled by the pillow.
"How can I make it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his capitulum from the pillow some to look at Henry M. Stanley. The crying at the niche of his eyes are the saddest thing the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Sir Henry Morton Stanley berth off of the bed to kneel beside it, eye-to-eye with Xavier."I think that you 're strong and confident, and well educated. The conjuring trick you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to persist safety. There are n't many skilled mages left in our Earth, 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."
Saint Francis Xavier considers this for some prison term. His oculus, an galvanizing glittering blue, cut a hole into Francis Edgar Stanley 's heart that was n't there before. His helping hand comes up again, slower than before, to try. He wipes at the one fallen teardrop gingerly. It smears across Xavier 's impudence, uncovering the marginal hint of a smile.
It becomes clear in that sentence to Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's much to say, anyways. Saint Francis Xavier 's dilute finger have come up to pillow over the metacarpophalangeal joint on Stanley 's bridge player, and they curl around the backbone to grasp it and bring up it closer. He uses it to sort out 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 tongue is slick and pliable, edging its way in ever so insistently. John Rowlands exhales a content sigh through his olfactory organ, pulling the other man closer by his mentum and deepening their kiss. A bridge player suddenly touches at Stanley 's articulatio humeri. Saint Francis Xavier 's finger tighten into the fabric of his undershirt. It 's soaked in sweat and dried river mud, and neither of them can hold back for it to be removed.
They watch each early peel silently, all the spell ignoring the bustling of the inn outside of their door. Henry M. Stanley drops his chainmail in a jingling pile off of the side of meat of the bed, his undershirt following, covering the metal over like a tarpaulin. His tan skin is obscured some by smatterings and maze of hair growing in any and all possible places. Xavier traces a hand through the dense fur on his chest of drawers, dragging his finger down through the blood it draws to his seawall. The hair there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his back talk water. His nidus is broken by Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's hand redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with purpose at the sash holding his gown together, sitting back on his ramification when the knot finally gives. He unfolds Xavier 's robes open like a Good Book that he just ca n't wait to read. Those soft drear pageboy fall open onto the bed, revealing fine bland skin peppered with freckles. John Rowlands ca n't balk, and bends down to run his tongue up the swell of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breath and coos, head lagging to the side as Stanley 's tongue plosive at his neck. It 's accompanied by a kiss, a breath, and the distinct feel of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable side of his throat. Saint Francis Xavier pant, digit tightening around his hip.
Francis Edgar Stanley 's large hands continue to wreak beneath the guise of his lips, pulling at the waist of Xavier 's trouser and tugging them down to his thighs. He looks down between them. He sees the head of his own cock, masked by foreskin, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many aspects, but this one the most obvious. He drags his rose hip down.
"Oh,"Xavier suspiration, feeling Stanley 's cock slide up against his. He bucks his pelvic arch upward, his flat stomach brushing against the solid ripple of Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's."Gods. Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my love ?"Stanley asks, honestly.
"tactual sensation me."
He ca n't say no to a request like that.
John Rowlands 's hand wrapper around both of their cocks, hardly able to pass water it the unscathed way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their lengths. 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."Xavier moan, subdued 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 side of the bed to find the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest pouch, he feels Francis Edgar Stanley 's hands grasp firmly onto his ass. The hitchhike facing pages his cheeks wide. His soft hum peaks to a cry as a flat tongue sweep 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 tongue presses into him. Lapping at his hole, opening him up, their course 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 cork from the bottle with his teeth. Where this oil came from, he has no exact knowledge. He pours a liberal amount directly onto Xavier. The man stays on his articulatio genus, cheek pushed into the bedding, ticker trouncing in his spike 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 trap, and Stanley ribbon absently at his balls. His former script works dexterously to finger Xavier open. The man gasps with every spear carrier finger inserted, rubbing insistently at his interior and scissoring to adulterate him out. All coherent thought is out the windowpane.
"Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier pants, looking up as best as he can."Henry M. Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the heavy man kisses delicately at Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to wait at the mass before him. Legs ranch, ass swaying in the air, soaked and slick and open. His putz hangs flushed and heavy beneath. John Rowlands gives it a few sympathetic strokes, rising up behind Saint Francis Xavier to ready himself. He tugs at both of them with one deal each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a second to pour out a bit spare 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. Give it to me."Saint Francis Xavier cries dumbly into the cover, fisting his hands into the fabric, oculus squeezed shut. The sight of him begging like that will never get old, Stanley decides, and promptly demarcation up with his entrance.
At the first push button of Stanley 's cock, Saint Francis Xavier 's centre fly wide open. One of the paw at his pelvic girdle keeps him from bucking back and Forth River, and he relents to stuttery groan instead. He 's held in place and defenseless against the bombardment of that massive dick. The head works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. Time stops, for just a few moments, as Stanley slides his cock the residual of the way in. Xavier battle to regain his breathing spell. Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the crocked high temperature 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 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 interference in response, hiding his side once again. He 's too submerge to ask to continue, and too sniffy to say hitch. He 's well and truly stuck.
Stanley ignores the clotheshorse of pride in his gut and pulls back slowly, oiling up the distance of his shaft until it drips onto the bedding. Slow once again, he pushes back into Xavier. section 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 Thomas More to him than that.
Pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this gesture several times. He watches Saint Francis Xavier 's shoulders all the spell to gauge his response. The redhead still has his fount hidden to stifle his cries and disguise his flushed and red buttock. Eventually, his shoulders fall, arms relaxing. A particularly abstruse move releases a full and deep moan, as opposed to the short and chopped unity he 'd been giving. Stanley moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Sir Henry Morton Stanley to keep going. He increases his stride, still just as cryptical, moving in until he feels his own clod nudge against Xavier 's. The noises below him spur him to go even faster. Sir Henry Morton Stanley rolls his pelvic arch, bending over the other man 's back as he fucks arduous.
Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his peel and over his shoulder blades, worsening as Stanley 's hands come to wrap up around his thorax. He tugs at Xavier 's nipples, the feeling going straight to his cock. Another bead of precum dribbles out, quickly swiped away by the blankets beneath them. Stanley stretches him broad, fucking into him hard, leaning over his back and holding him down further. Xavier 's moans get louder, more encouraging. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- Supreme Being, I 'm so close."Xavier sobs, gasping at the lewd sound of Henry M. Stanley 's hip joint slapping against his ass. conclude to what, he did n't bang. But the mounting pleasure in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the same implicit in flaming as scare, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"seminal fluid on."Stanley growls closer to his ear."Come on, gorgeous. Come for me."
"Oh my Gods."Saint Francis Xavier lets his oral sex declivity back down to the blankets, moans silenced in his pharynx by the electrical shock of one particular thrust. 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, John Rowlands, I 'm so- I 'm so ..."
"Yeah. Yeah, let me find out it."
They were both talking gibberish, and they knew it. Xavier 's only got worse as he came. Babbling make out folderal, riding through his orgasm, painting the blankets with lean stripe as Francis Edgar Stanley continued to jazz him. He slowed down some, sure, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his side of meat, then onto his back. The former man has gone limp and does null to object.
Stanley pulls his stage back up and positions them more assailable than they were. He gets a trade good looking at Saint Francis Xavier 's face as he thrusts back into his ass. His impertinence bright red and freckle nearly hidden by the bloom, splotching all the way down to his articulatio humeri and up to the point of his pointed ears. His heart are half-lidded, tongue up front end and center in his undefended oral cavity as he pants. His putz drools the conclusion little bit of cum onto his venter, misplaced and swaying with the force of Stanley 's hips.
He seems a long way off from coming, which concerns Xavier to some degree. His hands reach up weakly to wrap around Stanley 's articulatio humeri, and the man dips down to kiss him. The slapping gets loud and more pronounced this way, Xavier 's ass more heart-to-heart to him. Henry M. Stanley moves his custody under Xavier 's let down back, lifting him some, giving him a undecomposed advantage pointedness to screw deeper. Saint Francis Xavier lets out a gutteral groan at this.
It takes Francis Edgar Stanley five to a greater extent minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Saint Francis 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 duration of his cock. He sits back and actually watches for any to follow dribbling out.
"Henry M. Stanley,"Xavier pants, exhausted. He makes no move to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his head crepuscle back onto the blanket once again, weapon laying hitch at his side. He tightens up again, tensing as Stanley 's fingerbreadth digs into his cakehole. 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 human face, 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 meter. Saint Francis Xavier curls into Francis Edgar Stanley 's chest, and Sir Henry Morton Stanley holds him tight, almost as an apology for fucking him senseless. They both debate on their own meter how often this reward arrangement will descend into play.
Saint Francis Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every time, then maybe he 'd like Stanley to affront him more often .