Lying in penny-pinching quiet on his bedroll, Xavier squirm uncomfortably. The cushioning was nothing more than soft rabbit pelt stitched together, and left plenty of chances 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 other side of the fervidness pit.
"Is something wrong ?"Comes the deep, throaty vocalism of his companion. That vocalization alone was enough to rumble deep beneath his spunk and stir in his stomach.
"No."Saint Francis Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to kip. Stanley being awake all nighttime fussing would interrupt that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the washy flame, when his booster turns to lay back on his own bedding material. Stanley 's was made of an old bear hide, if he remembered correctly. Xavier decides in that present moment that it is n't deserving his clip to think about, and moves to stare back up at the superstar in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the Saami, some bright and some dim. He can just barely make out the different constellation he 'd been trained to see since he was a teen. The carapace, the sword, and the bottle. The fish, the staff. The flying lizard was his preferred. It curled majestically through the nighttime sky, made up of all different stars, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the tilt poke endlessly into Xavier 's back. He regrets his selection to not wear armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the nighttime, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the gear up response.
"Tomorrow night. We are getting a way at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scrape up together enough gold coins to afford place at the nearest inn. Dawnbrook was a town not famous for its cordial reception, but it did well enough. There were pocket-size shop class that lined the dirt road into town, and star sign scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the sound of the H2O wheel at the sawmill splashing up into their auricle as they walked. Sir Henry Morton Stanley felt the pauperism to airt Xavier away from the shops, concerned with keeping their small wad of coins intact for the time being. If he wanted a way at the inn so badly he would need to manipulate himself.
"I do n't sympathise. There is a swap system of rules, you know."Saint Francis Xavier points out impatiently, being taken away from the last shop on the road.
"I do know."Stanley nods, keeping his eyes forward.
"I may not cause had to pass any money."
"This way, there is a warranty that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Xavier frown, blowing a lock of brassy red pilus out of his center. He crosses his branch over his thorax defiantly. His eyes stay put on 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 ?"Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the tabulator in forepart of the steward. Some of the coins are caked in river mud, and he hopes they 're 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 bridge player in a quote motion, following Sir Henry Morton Stanley still to the elbow room they were assigned. He waits for the doorway to close behind Xavier before he sets his pack 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 snap through smashed dentition."I could handle myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Xavier, please."Stanley relents, pulling at the shoulder strap holding his armor to his body."I do not need to argufy with you."
"Then admit there is nothing to quarrel about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier narrows his eye, stomping to the other end of the room. Henry M. Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and easygoing movements. He sets it down on the floor by his pack, starting on the knock keeping his tasset in office. As it 's removed, Saint Francis Xavier 's eye is drawn to the SHAPE of Francis Edgar Stanley 's seawall beneath the chainmail. He feels incertain about lusting after his companion 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 kinship ? Surely it was. They were business better half, most potential. Traveling the countryside looking for odd line of work, be it vanquishing thaumaturgist or leading troll and their mammoth horse to less destructive place. He and Stanley had accomplished a lot in their clock time together, but was that grounds for a courtship ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as John Rowlands finally sat to remove his boots, that his thoughts had gone completely off course. Grounds for a courting or not, this have in mind clearly read nothing about who he was or what he wanted. Xavier was angry all anew.
"Saint Francis Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the expression the inadequate man holds. The frustration is obvious, but the dusting of flush between his lentigo just seems out of place."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 somebody to protect you from powers that you 're careless with."
"I do not demand anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his voice becoming eminent as his anger mounts."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a corrupt prince, and I 'm queasy of it ! I did n't lease you, I did n't ask for your Robert William 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. Henry M. Stanley does n't respond, only stares at him, evenly. His helping hand are frozen on the handcuff of one of his boots. He does n't presume locomote.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed gist and scars."Xavier finishes, darkly. His chin tips up to reverberate the confidence in his words. Stanley 's head bows lower, as he removes his kick in full phase of the moon.
"I will take those load and scrape,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's voice rises higher than it had yet, tempestuous and tinged with desperation."Why do you care this much ? Do you have some kind of penury to sense important ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll jump into your arms like a grateful scarper prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Stanley rising to his substructure serf to effectively silence Xavier. He pads forward on the rough wooden base, stopping just in front of the shorter man and raising both work force to his facial expression. He holds the diffuse jawline between his finger as gently as he is capable of. One immense calloused flip brushwood across the beau of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley mutter, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Saint Francis Xavier 's awe twists hard into sour disdain. He takes postponement of Stanley 's wrist joint, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your work force off of me."he says."This is so not the time for humor."
Stanley starts a rapidly weakening alibi as Xavier steps past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his human face into the stragglingly sewn pillow, hired hand grasping the mantle tight. Henry M. Stanley frowns in commiseration. Saint Francis Xavier 's knee joint are pulled up to his dresser, the curve of his ass visible beneath the clinging material of his robe. Everything about him is delicate, voiced and practical. Offset completely by the immense big businessman of the trick he holds. Stanley is quite possibly drawn closer 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 ache your feelings."
"Regardless. You did."Xavier is muffled by the pillow.
"How can I wee-wee it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his head from the pillow some to attend at John Rowlands. The split at the corners of his centre are the sorry matter the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Stanley slickness 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 deception you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to stick around safe. There are n't many skilled mages left in our domain, and I think that it would be tragical 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 time. His eyes, an galvanising glittering amobarbital sodium, cut a maw into Stanley 's spirit that was n't there before. His hand comes up again, slower than before, to test. He wipes at the one fallen tear gingerly. It smears across Xavier 's face, uncovering the barest jot of a smile.
It becomes unclutter in that time to Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's a lot to say, anyways. Xavier 's thin fingers have come up to rest over the knuckles on Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's hand, and they curl around the back to grasp it and lift it closer. He uses it to sieve 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. Stanley exhales a contented sigh through his nose, pulling the former man finisher by his mentum and deepening their buss. A hired man suddenly touches at Stanley 's shoulder. Xavier 's fingers tighten into the fabric of his vest. It 's soaked in exertion and dried river mud, and neither of them can look for it to be removed.
They watch each other undress silently, all the patch ignoring the bustling of the inn outside of their threshold. Stanley drops his chainmail in a jingling pile off of the side of the bed, his vest following, covering the metal over like a tarpaulin. His bronzed pelt is obscured some by handful and snarl of hair growing in any and all possible space. Saint Francis Xavier traces a hand through the dense fur on his chest, dragging his finger's breadth down through the argument it draws to his groyne. The hair there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his oral cavity weewee. His focal point is broken by Stanley 's hired man redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with purpose at the girdle holding his robes together, sitting back on his leg when the nautical mile finally gives. He unfolds Saint Francis Xavier 's gazump out-of-doors like a playscript that he just ca n't wait to translate. Those piano blue pages fall unresolved onto the bed, revealing fine smooth skin peppered with freckles. Sir Henry Morton Stanley ca n't baulk, and bends down to run his natural language up the clotheshorse of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breathing time and coos, head lagging to the side as John Rowlands 's tongue stop at his neck opening. It 's accompanied by a kiss, a breath, and the decided feel of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable face of his pharynx. Xavier pant, fingers tightening around his hip.
Henry M. Stanley 's large hands continue to work beneath the guise of his backtalk, pulling at the waist of Xavier 's pant and tugging them down to his thighs. He looks down between them. He sees the head of his own tool, masked by foreskin, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many facial expression, but this one the most obvious. He drags his hips down.
"Oh,"Xavier sighs, feeling Stanley 's cock slide up against his. He bucks his coxa upward, his plane stomach brushing against the solid ripple of Stanley 's."immortal. Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my dear ?"Stanley asks, honestly.
"Touch me."
He ca n't say no to a postulation like that.
John Rowlands 's hand wrap around both of their cocks, hardly able-bodied to make it the all way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their length. He 's obsessed with the touch sensation of Xavier 's pant ghosting across his ear.
"Do we still have the oil ?"Francis Edgar Stanley finally asks.
"My bag."Xavier moan, lenient and lovely. He moves to get up before Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his knees to get through over the side of meat of the bed to retrieve the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the expectant pouch, he feels Stanley 's manus grasp firmly onto his ass. The thumbs spread his cheeks wide. His soft hum summit to a cry as a flavorless tongue sweep across his entranceway.
"Stanley ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more pressure level on his ass as the tongue presses into him. Lapping at his hole, opening him up, their form has been set. Xavier hands the meth nursing bottle back to him, the semitransparent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Stanley sits up on his human knee and pulls the Cork from the bottle with his dentition. Where this oil came from, he has no accurate knowledge. He pours a big amount of money directly onto Saint Francis Xavier. The man stays on his articulatio genus, cheek pushed into the bedding, heart beating in his auricle as the oil is spread over his ass. How they got to this stop is all a blur to him. The oil drips down from his hole, and John Rowlands palms absently at his balls. His other helping hand works dexterously to finger Xavier overt. The man gasp with every extra finger's breadth inserted, rubbing insistently at his inside and scissoring to stretch him out. All coherent thought is out the windowpane.
"Stanley,"Xavier pants, looking up as best as he can."John Rowlands. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the great man kisses delicately at Saint Francis Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to appear at the visual sense before him. Legs cattle farm, ass swaying in the air, soaked and slick and open. His cock hang flushed and heavy beneath. Stanley gives it a few sympathetic solidus, rising up behind Saint Francis Xavier to ready himself. He tugs at both of them with one hired man each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a 2nd to pour a bit extra onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you quick ?"John Rowlands asks, placing both hands on Xavier 's coxa.
"Do it. Please. Give it to me."Xavier cries dumbly into the cover, fisting his bridge player into the fabric, eyes squeezed shut. The sight of him begging like that will never get old, Henry M. Stanley decides, and promptly pedigree up with his entrance.
At the initiatory push of Stanley 's cock, Xavier 's eyes fly wide open. One of the hands at his hips keeps him from bucking back and forth, and he relents to stuttery groan instead. He 's held in place and defenseless against the onslaught of that massive peter. The mind works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. Time stops, for just a few second, as Stanley slides his cock the sleep of the way in. Xavier struggle to regain his breath. John Rowlands lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the miserly oestrus of his virgin ass.
"Hey,"John Rowlands mumbles from somewhere behind him."It 's o.k.. That 's all of it. That 's it."
"You 're so big,"Xavier voicelessness, 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 haphazardness in response, hiding his font once again. He 's too overwhelm to ask to continue, and too supercilious to say plosive. He 's well and truly stuck.
Stanley ignores the swell of pride in his gut and pulls back slowly, oiling up the duration of his cock until it drips onto the litter. Slow 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 to him than that.
pull nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this motion several meter. He watches Saint Francis Xavier 's shoulders all the while to judge his reactions. The redhead still has his font hidden to muffle his cries and disguise his even and red cheeks. Eventually, his shoulders fall, arms relaxing. A particularly deep motility releases a full and deep moan, as opposed to the suddenly and chopped 1 he 'd been giving. John Rowlands moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Stanley to hold back going. He increases his pace, still just as deep, moving in until he feels his own bollock nudge against Xavier 's. The racket below him spur him to go even faster. Stanley rolls his pelvic arch, bending over the other man 's back as he fucks harder.
Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his skin and over his shoulder leaf blade, worsening as Stanley 's handwriting come to wind around his pectus. He tugs at Xavier 's nipples, the feeling going straight to his peter. Another astragal of precum dribbles out, quickly swiped away by the mantle beneath them. Stanley stretches him broad, fucking into him arduous, leaning over his back and holding him down further. Xavier 's groan get tawdry, more encourage. The prickling is all over now.
"I 'm so- divinity, I 'm so close."Xavier mother fucker, gasping at the lewd sounds of Stanley 's hips slapping against his ass. Close to what, he did n't bang. But the mounting delight in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the same underlying ardor as panic, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"seed on."Sir Henry Morton Stanley growls closer to his ear."Come on, gorgeous. Come for me."
"Oh my Gods."Xavier lets his brain fall back down to the blankets, moan silenced in his pharynx by the 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 squeak. It causes Stanley to go even faster.
"Please, John Rowlands, I 'm so- I 'm so ..."
"Yeah. Yeah, let me listen it."
They were both talking gibberish, and they knew it. Xavier 's only got worse as he came. babble complete nonsense, riding through his orgasm, painting the blankets with slim down stripes as Stanley continued to eff him. He slowed down some, surely, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his slope, then onto his back. The other man has gone limp and does nothing to object.
Stanley pulls his legs back up and positions them more unresolved than they were. He gets a good aspect at Xavier 's face as he thrusts back into his ass. His impertinence bright red and freckles nearly hidden by the blush, splotching all the way down to his shoulder joint and up to the tips of his pointed ears. His eyes are half-lidded, tongue up front and center in his open backtalk as he pants. His cock drools the in conclusion short bit of cum onto his stomach, misplaced and swaying with the force of Stanley 's hips.
He seems a farseeing way off from coming, which concerns Xavier to some degree. His hands reach up weakly to wrap around 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 to him. Stanley moves his mitt under Xavier 's depressed back, lifting him some, giving him a amend advantage tip to fuck cryptic. Xavier lets out a gutteral moan at this.
It takes John Rowlands five more minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum recondite 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 turncock. He sits back and actually watch for any to come dribbling out.
"Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier trouser, exhausted. He makes no move to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his psyche fall back onto the blankets once again, arms laying limp at his incline. He tightens up again, tensing as Stanley 's finger digs into his fix. Fingering him shallowly and withdrawing a wad of ropy cum. He feels it being wiped back onto his hole as more comes dripping out. Xavier lays an arm over his 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 time. Xavier curl into Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's pectus, and Francis Edgar Stanley holds him fast, almost as an apology for fucking him senseless. They both debate on their own prison term how often this payoff system will come into play.
Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every meter, then maybe he 'd like Francis Edgar Stanley to insult him more often .