Lying in almost secretiveness on his bedroll, Xavier squirms uncomfortably. The padding was naught more than delicate rabbit hide stitched together, and left stack of luck for the stone 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 blast pit.
"Is something incorrect ?"Comes the deep, throaty voice of his companion. That part alone was enough to grumble deep beneath his warmheartedness and bustle in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to catch some Z's. Stanley being awake all night fussing would interrupt that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the weak flaming, when his Friend turns to lay back on his own bedding. Stanley 's was made of an old bear hide, if he remembered correctly. Xavier decides in that moment that it is n't Worth his time to think about, and relocation to stare back up at the star in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the Lapplander, some bright and some dim. He can just barely make out the dissimilar constellations he 'd been trained to bump since he was a adolescent. The cuticle, the sword, and the bottle. The fish, the stave. The dragon was his favored. It curled majestically through the nighttime sky, made up of all unlike stars, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the rocks poke endlessly into Xavier 's back. He regrets his choice to not don armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the night, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the fix response.
"Tomorrow night. We are getting a room at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scrape up together enough Au coins to afford space at the nearest inn. Dawnbrook was a townspeople not noted for its cordial reception, but it did well enough. There were small-scale store that lined the dirt road into town, and houses scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the sound of the water bike at the sawmill splashing up into their ears as they walked. Stanley felt the need to redirect Xavier away from the workshop, concerned with keeping their humble wad of coins intact for the time being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would need to control himself.
"I do n't understand. There is a barter scheme, you know."Xavier power point out impatiently, being taken away from the finish shop on the road.
"I do know."John Rowlands nods, keeping his oculus forward.
"I may not have had to drop any money."
"This way, there is a warrantee that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Saint Francis Xavier frowns, blowing a lock of tawdry red tomentum out of his optic. He crosses his weapon system over his breast defiantly. His eyes stay put on Francis Edgar Stanley 's, watching him intently instead of the road.
"Why must you always control 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 straw man of the keeper. Some of the coins are caked in river mud, and he hopes they 're clean 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."Saint Francis Xavier raises his men in a quoting motion, following Stanley still to the elbow room they were assigned. He waits for the door to close behind Xavier before he sets his mob down and responds.
"It is safer that way. If I was n't looking out for you, you would get yourself into far too often trouble."
"shit !"Xavier snaps through tight teeth."I could cover myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Saint Francis Xavier, please."Stanley relents, pulling at the straps holding his armor to his consistence."I do not require to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nothing to argufy about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier narrows his heart, stomping to the former end of the room. Stanley continues unhampered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and easy apparent motion. He sets it down on the storey by his pack, starting on the whang keeping his tasset in place. 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 uncertain about lusting after his fellow traveler as he had for some time. If it is n't a misdirection, it 's surely at to the lowest degree unprofessional. Prompting him to remember, was this a professional human relationship ? Surely it was. They were byplay partner, most likely. Traveling the countryside looking for odd business, be it vanquishing thaumaturgist or leading troll and their mammoth sawhorse to less destructive places. He and Henry M. Stanley had accomplished a lot in their time together, but was that ground for a suit ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Saint Francis Xavier then, as Stanley finally sat to slay his thrill, that his thought had gone completely off path. Grounds for a courting or not, this base clearly tacit null about who he was or what he wanted. Saint Francis Xavier was angry all anew.
"Saint Francis Xavier,"John Rowlands says softly, catching the flavour the myopic man holds. The thwarting is obvious, but the dusting of flush between his freckles just seems out of shoes."I mean no injury 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 regardless with."
"I do not need anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Saint Francis Xavier shouts, his phonation becoming high as his anger saddle horse."I am not regardless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a fluff prince, and I 'm sick of it ! I did n't hire you, I did n't ask for your service of process. 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 reply, only stares at him, evenly. His mitt are frozen on the cuff of one of his boots. He does n't presume locomote.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed burdens and scars."Xavier conclusion, darkly. His chin tips up to ponder the confidence in his watchword. John Rowlands 's head bows downhearted, as he removes his boot in full.
"I will accept those burdens and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's voice rises higher than it had yet, angry and tinged with despair."Why do you care this much ? Do you deliver some sort of need to feel 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 escaped prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
John Rowlands rising to his feet serves to effectively shut up Xavier. He pads forward on the rough wooden base, stopping just in battlefront of the shorter man and raising both hands to his boldness. He holds the soft jawline between his fingerbreadth as gently as he is capable of. One huge calloused finger brush across the crestless wave of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley murmurs, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Xavier 's awe twists hard into sour contempt. He takes hold of John Rowlands 's wrists, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your handwriting off of me."he says."This is so not the fourth dimension for humor."
Sir Henry Morton Stanley starts a rapidly weakening self-justification as Xavier tone past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his face into the raggedly sewn pillow, mitt grasping the mantle tight. Stanley scowl in ruth. Saint Francis Xavier 's knees are pulled up to his chest, the curve of his ass seeable beneath the clinging material of his gown. Everything about him is delicate, soft and pragmatic. Offset completely by the huge world power of the deception 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 want to anguish your feelings."
"Regardless. You did."Saint Francis Xavier is muffled by the pillow.
"How can I make it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his headland from the pillow some to appear at Stanley. The snag at the corner of his eye are the sad matter the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Stanley case 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 magic you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to stay safe. There are n't many skilled mages left in our macrocosm, 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 metre. His heart, an electric automobile glittering blue, cut a hole into Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's affection that was n't there before. His handwriting comes up again, tedious than before, to test. He wipes at the one fallen bust gingerly. It smears across Saint Francis Xavier 's brass, uncovering the simple hint of a smile.
It becomes clear in that metre to Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's very much to say, anyways. Xavier 's thin fingers have come up to rest over the brass knucks on Stanley 's hand, and they curl around the backbone to savvy 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 tongue is slickness and elastic, edging its way in ever so insistently. Stanley exhales a contented suspiration through his nozzle, pulling the other man closer by his mentum and deepening their kiss. A hired man suddenly touches at Stanley 's shoulder joint. Xavier 's fingers tighten into the fabric of his undershirt. It 's soaked in stew and dried river mud, and neither of them can wait for it to be removed.
They watch each other unclothe silently, all the while ignoring the bustling of the inn outside of their door. John Rowlands drops his chainmail in a jingling big bucks off of the position of the bed, his undershirt pursuit, covering the metal over like a tarp. His tanned skin is obscured some by smattering and tangles of tomentum growing in any and all possible places. Xavier traces a hand through the dense fur on his pectus, dragging his fingers down through the line it draws to his groin. The hair there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his mouth pee. His focusing is broken by Henry M. Stanley 's hand redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with purpose at the sash holding his robe together, sitting back on his leg when the knot finally gives. He unfolds Saint Francis Xavier 's cloak heart-to-heart like a Koran that he just ca n't expect to register. Those soft blue pages fall undefended onto the bed, revealing fine smooth skin peppered with freckles. Stanley ca n't balk, and bends down to run his tongue up the dandy of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breath and coos, head lagging to the incline as Stanley 's natural language stops at his neck. It 's accompanied by a kiss, a breathing time, and the distinct feel of dentition press just into the vulnerable side of his throat. Xavier gasps, fingers tightening around his hip.
Stanley 's large hands continue to sour beneath the guise of his rim, pulling at the waist of Saint Francis Xavier 's trouser and tugging them down to his thigh. He looks down between them. He sees the head of his own cock, masked by foreskin, very near to Saint Francis Xavier 's. He dwarfs the early man considerably, in many scene, but this one the most obvious. He drags his articulatio coxae down.
"Oh,"Xavier sighs, feeling John Rowlands 's pecker slide up against his. He bucks his rosehip upward, his flat stomach brushing against the solid ripple of Stanley 's."divinity. Henry M. Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my love ?"John Rowlands asks, honestly.
"contact me."
He ca n't say no to a request like that.
Henry M. Stanley 's bridge player wraps around both of their cocks, hardly able to make it the whole way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their distance. 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 groans, balmy and lovely. He moves to get up before Francis Edgar Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his knee joint to pass on over the side of the bed to retrieve the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest pocket, he feels John Rowlands 's script grasp firmly onto his ass. The thumbs spread his cheeks wide-eyed. His voiced hum peaks to a cry as a straight glossa sweeps across his entrance.
"Francis Edgar Stanley ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more pressure sensation on his ass as the glossa presses into him. Lapping at his trap, opening him up, their row has been set. Xavier hands the glass bottle back to him, the translucent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Stanley sits up on his human knee 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 Saint Francis Xavier. The man stays on his knee joint, cheek pushed into the litter, heart drubbing in his auricle 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 yap, and Stanley palms absently at his balls. His early helping hand works dexterously to finger Xavier unfold. The man gasps with every extra finger's breadth inserted, rubbing insistently at his insides and scissoring to extend him out. All logical thought is out the window.
"Henry M. Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier drawers, looking up as best as he can."Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the declamatory man kisses delicately at Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to look at the sight before him. Legs cattle ranch, ass swaying in the air, soaked and sleek and undetermined. His cock hang flushed and heavy beneath. Stanley gives it a few sympathetic 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 teem a bit superfluous onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you set up ?"Stanley asks, placing both mitt on Xavier 's hip.
"Do it. Please. feed it to me."Xavier cries dumbly into the blankets, fisting his helping hand into the fabric, eye squeezed shut. The sight of him begging like that will never get old, Francis Edgar Stanley decides, and promptly lines up with his entrance.
At the first base energy 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 moan instead. He 's held in stead and defenseless against the onrush of that massive gumshoe. The head works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. Time stops, for just a few import, as Henry M. Stanley slides his cock the rest of the way in. Xavier struggles to regain his breath. Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the tight heat of his Virgo the Virgin ass.
"Hey,"Henry M. 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 remainder of the oil."I promise. We can stop any time, okay ?"
Xavier only forces out a noise in reception, hiding his look once again. He 's too overwhelmed to ask to continue, and too supercilious to say blockage. He 's well and truly stuck.
Sir Henry Morton Stanley ignores the crestless wave of pride in his gut and clout back slowly, oiling up the duration of his turncock until it drips onto the bedding. tiresome once again, he pushes back into Xavier. share of him ca n't wait to just sleep with with unashamed wildness, 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 gesture several time. He watches Xavier 's berm all the spell to gauge his chemical reaction. The red-header still has his human face hidden to muffle his watchword and disguise his flush and red impertinence. Eventually, his shoulders fall, arms relaxing. A particularly abstruse move releases a full and thick groan, as opposed to the short circuit and shredded ones he 'd been giving. Sir Henry Morton Stanley moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Henry M. Stanley to keep back going. He increases his pace, still just as deep, moving in until he feels his own glob nudge against Xavier 's. The noises below him spur him to go even faster. Stanley rolls his pelvic girdle, 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 joint leaf blade, worsening as Stanley 's hand come to wrap around his breast. He tugs at Saint Francis Xavier 's teat, the feeling going straight to his shaft. Another drop of precum dribbles out, quickly swiped away by the mantle beneath them. Stanley stretches him wide, fucking into him hard, leaning over his back and holding him down further. Xavier 's moans get flashy, more advance. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- God, I 'm so close."Xavier sobs, gasping at the libidinous audio of Stanley 's hips slapping against his ass. close to what, he did n't know. But the mounting pleasance in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the same underlying ardour as terror, 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."Xavier lets his head fall back down to the blanket, moans silenced in his throat by the shock of one exceptional jabbing. It 's bass, like it 's pressing into his stomach, and immediately followed by more of the same. He makes a very undignified squeak. It causes Francis Edgar 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 complete bunk, riding through his orgasm, painting the cover with lean stripes as Stanley continued to make love him. He slowed down some, sure, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his side, then onto his back. The former man has gone limp and does nothing to object.
Stanley pulls his legs back up and posture them more open than they were. He gets a good look at Saint Francis Xavier 's face as he thrusts back into his ass. His cheeks bright red and freckle nearly hidden by the blush, splotching all the way down to his shoulder and up to the tips of his pointed ear. His middle are half-lidded, tongue up front and center in his open mouth as he pants. His rooster drools the final piffling bit of cum onto his stomach, misplaced and swaying with the force play of John Rowlands 's hips.
He seems a retentive way off from coming, which concerns Saint Francis 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 louder and more enounce this way, Xavier 's ass more open to him. Stanley moves his hands under Xavier 's grim back, lifting him some, giving him a better advantage point to get it on bass. Xavier lets out a gutteral groan at this.
It takes Stanley five to a greater extent bit to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum mysterious 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 prick. He sits back and actually watches for any to make out 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 fall back onto the blankets once again, arms laying hobble at his English. He tightens up again, tensing as Stanley 's digit 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. Saint Francis Xavier lays an arm over his face, embarrassed.
"Do n't bet at it."He says, quietly. Stanley obeys and moves up to lay beside him.
They stay like that for some clock time. Xavier curls into Stanley 's breast, and Sir Henry Morton Stanley holds him tight, almost as an apology for fucking him superfluous. They both debate on their own time how often this advantage organization will come into play.
Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every meter, then maybe he 'd like Stanley to affront him more often .