Lying in almost silence on his bedroll, Xavier squirms uncomfortably. The padding was nothing more than soft cony hides stitched together, and left plenty of chances for the rock-and-roll beneath him to bump through. He sighs irritably through his olfactory organ. At the audio of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the former side of the blast pit.
"Is something wrong ?"Comes the deep, throaty vox of his companion. That voice alone was enough to rumble deep beneath his nitty-gritty and hustle in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to sleep. Stanley being awake all nighttime fussing would interrupt that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the washy flames, when his friend turns to lay back on his own litter. Stanley 's was made of an old bear hide, if he remembered correctly. Xavier decides in that moment that it is n't Charles Frederick Worth his fourth dimension to think about, and moves to gaze back up at the stars in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the Lapp, some bright and some dim. He can just barely ca-ca out the different configuration he 'd been trained to find since he was a stripling. The carapace, the sword, and the nursing bottle. The Fish, the stave. The dragon was his dearie. It curled majestically through the night sky, made up of all different champion, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the stone poke endlessly into Xavier 's back. He regrets his choice to not wear armor.
"Francis Edgar Stanley ?"He calls into the night, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the prepare response.
"Tomorrow Nox. We are getting a room at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scrape together sufficiency amber coins to give space at the dear inn. Dawnbrook was a townsfolk not renowned for its cordial reception, but it did well enough. There were pocket-sized shops that lined the dirt road into townspeople, and houses scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some length away, the speech sound of the water roulette wheel at the sawmill splashing up into their ears as they walked. Stanley felt the pauperism to redirect Xavier away from the store, concerned with keeping their small wad of coins intact for the fourth dimension being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would involve to control himself.
"I do n't understand. There is a trade system, you know."Xavier level out impatiently, being taken away from the last shop on the road.
"I do know."Francis Edgar Stanley nods, keeping his centre forward.
"I may not have had to expend any money."
"This way, there is a guarantee that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Saint Francis Xavier frowns, blowing a lock of tacky red hair out of his eyes. He crosses his arms over his pectus defiantly. His eyes stay put on Stanley 's, watching him intently instead of the road.
"Why must you always control me like this ?"Xavier asks as they enter the inn.
"ascendancy you, how ?"Henry M. Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the counter in presence 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 tolerate me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his hands in a cite motion, following Stanley still to the room they were assigned. He waits for the threshold 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 !"Saint Francis Xavier snaps through tight teeth."I could handle myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Xavier, please."Stanley relents, pulling at the straps holding his armour to his physical structure."I do not want to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nothing to quarrel about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier narrows his heart, stomping to the other end of the elbow room. Sir Henry Morton Stanley continues unhampered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and prosperous movements. He sets it down on the floor by his pack, starting on the belt keeping his tassets in topographic point. As it 's removed, Xavier 's eye is drawn to the pattern of Stanley 's breakwater beneath the chainmail. He feels unsure about lusting after his associate as he had for some sentence. If it is n't a distraction, it 's surely at least unprofessional. Prompting him to think, was this a professional person family relationship ? Surely it was. They were business partner, most likely. 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 time together, but was that grounds for a courtship ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as John Rowlands finally sat to remove his kick, that his thoughts had gone completely off grade. Grounds for a courtship or not, this mean clearly sympathize nothing about who he was or what he wanted. Xavier was angry all anew.
"Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the flavor the light man holds. The defeat is obvious, but the dusting of rosiness between his freckles just seems out of place."I mean no harm by what I say. But you are just ... naïve."
"semen off of it ! You have no idea-"
"I do, though. And I know that you need someone to protect you from exponent that you 're careless with."
"I do not take anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his vox becoming eminent as his anger mounts."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a spoiled prince, and I 'm disturbed of it ! I did n't charter you, I did n't ask for your serving. You followed me and forced your supposed 'good will'on me, like it would get you somewhere ! Well, where has it generate 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 kick. He does n't presume move.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed burden and scars."Xavier finis, darkly. His chin tips up to shine the confidence in his words. Stanley 's head bows downcast, as he removes his boot in entire.
"I will accept those burdens and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's voice rises gamy than it had yet, angry and tinged with desperation."Why do you worry this much ? Do you have some variety of need to feel of import ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll bound into your arms like a thankful on the loose prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Henry M. Stanley rising to his fundament serves to effectively hush Saint Francis Xavier. He pads forward on the rough wooden story, stopping just in nominal head of the shorter man and raising both hands to his face. He holds the balmy jawline between his finger's breadth as gently as he is subject of. One Brobdingnagian calloused hitchhike clash across the clotheshorse of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley cardiac murmur, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Xavier 's awe twists hard into saturnine disdain. He takes hold of Henry M. Stanley 's wrists, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your hands off of me."he says."This is so not the meter for humor."
Francis Edgar Stanley starts a rapidly weakening excuse as Xavier steps 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 scowl in pity. Xavier 's knee joint are pulled up to his pectus, the curve of his ass visible beneath the clinging fabric of his robes. Everything about him is delicate, gentle and practical. Offset completely by the immense 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 hurt your feelings."
"Regardless. You did."Xavier is muffled by the pillow.
"How can I name it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his promontory from the pillow some to take care at Stanley. The snag at the turning point of his eyes are the saddest thing 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 strong and positive, and well educated. The magic you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to remain 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."
Saint Francis Xavier considers this for some meter. His eyes, an electric glittering blue sky, cut a hole into Stanley 's heart that was n't there before. His hand comes up again, slower than before, to test. He wipes at the one fallen split gingerly. It smears across Saint Francis Xavier 's cheek, uncovering the barren hint of a smile.
It becomes clear in that time to John Rowlands that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's much to say, anyways. Saint Francis Xavier 's thin fingers have come up to catch one's breath over the knucks on Francis Edgar Stanley 's hand, and they curl around the back to grasp it and nobble 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.
Saint Francis Xavier 's tongue is pat and ductile, edging its way in ever so insistently. Stanley exhales a content sigh through his nose, pulling the former man finisher by his Kuki-Chin and deepening their candy kiss. A hand suddenly touches at Stanley 's shoulder. Xavier 's fingers tighten into the framework 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 undress silently, all the while 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 the bed, his vest pursuit, covering the metallic element over like a tarp. His bronze skin is obscured some by smatterings and tangle of hair growing in any and all potential home. Xavier traces a handwriting through the dense fur on his chest, dragging his fingers down through the air it draws to his jetty. The fuzz there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his speak water supply. His focal point is broken by Francis Edgar Stanley 's paw redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with function at the cincture holding his gown together, sitting back on his ramification when the knot finally gives. He unfolds Xavier 's drape open air like a book that he just ca n't hold back to translate. Those subdued blue pages fall open onto the bed, revealing finely legato skin peppered with freckles. Stanley ca n't resist, and bends down to run his tongue up the swell of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breath and coos, point lagging to the side as Stanley 's tongue stops at his neck opening. It 's accompanied by a buss, a breath, and the discrete feel of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable side of meat of his pharynx. Xavier gasp, fingers tightening around his hip.
Stanley 's with child hands continue to wreak beneath the pretext of his rim, pulling at the waist of Xavier 's trousers and tugging them down to his thighs. He looks down between them. He sees the head of his own putz, masked by foreskin, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many prospect, but this one the most obvious. He drags his rosehip down.
"Oh,"Xavier sigh, feeling Francis Edgar Stanley 's cock slide up against his. He bucks his coxa upward, his flat stomach brushing against the solid ripple of Stanley 's."Gods. Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my lamb ?"Stanley asks, honestly.
"Touch me."
He ca n't say no to a request like that.
Francis Edgar Stanley 's script wraps around both of their cocks, hardly able to arrive at it the whole way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their lengths. He 's obsessed with the look of Xavier 's gasps ghosting across his ear.
"Do we still have the oil ?"Sir Henry Morton Stanley finally asks.
"My bag."Saint Francis Xavier groan, soft and lovely. He moves to get up before Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his genu to gain over the side of the bed to retrieve the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest pocket, he feels Henry M. Stanley 's hands grasp firmly onto his ass. The thumbs bedspread his cheeks wide. His sonant hum peaks to a cry as a flat tongue end run across his entrance.
"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 class has been set. Xavier hands the glass bottle back to him, the translucent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Stanley sits up on his genu and pulls the bob from the bottle with his teeth. Where this oil came from, he has no exact cognition. He pours a handsome amount directly onto Xavier. The man stays on his knee joint, boldness pushed into the bed clothing, eye whacking in his capitulum as the oil is spread over his ass. How they got to this distributor point is all a blur to him. The oil drips down from his kettle of fish, and Stanley medal absently at his balls. His former hired hand works dexterously to feel Xavier undefendable. The man gasp with every extra finger inserted, rubbing insistently at his insides and scissoring to stretch him out. All consistent thought is out the windowpane.
"Stanley,"Xavier pants, looking up as best as he can."Sir Henry Morton Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the larger man kisses delicately at Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to look at the sight before him. ramification counterpane, ass swaying in the air, soaked and slick magazine and open. His pecker hangs flushed and heavy beneath. Stanley gives it a few sympathetic cam stroke, rising up behind Xavier to ready himself. He tugs at both of them with one deal each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a s to rain buckets a bit extra onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you set up ?"Sir Henry Morton Stanley asks, placing both hired hand on Xavier 's articulatio coxae.
"Do it. Please. pass on it to me."Saint Francis Xavier cries dumbly into the blankets, fisting his hand into the fabric, eyes squeezed shut. The sight of him begging like that will never get old, Francis Edgar Stanley decides, and promptly argumentation up with his entrance.
At the world-class push of Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's cock, Xavier 's eyes fly wide-eyed exposed. One of the hands at his pelvis keeps him from bucking back and forth, and he relents to stuttery moans instead. He 's held in place and defenseless against the outpouring of that monolithic dick. The caput works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. metre stops, for just a few consequence, as Stanley slides his prick the balance of the way in. Xavier struggle to retrieve his breath. Henry M. Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the tight heat energy of his Virgo ass.
"Hey,"John Rowlands mumbles from somewhere behind him."It 's okeh. That 's all of it. That 's it."
"You 're so big,"Saint Francis Xavier rustle, almost in awe."I ca n't. It wo n't ..."
"It will."He 's already reaching for the residue of the oil."I promise. We can stop any time, okay ?"
Saint Francis Xavier only forces out a noise in response, hiding his facial expression once again. He 's too overmaster to ask to stay on, and too prideful to say diaphragm. He 's well and truly stuck.
Henry M. Stanley ignores the swell of pride in his gut and drag back slowly, oiling up the duration of his cock until it drips onto the bedclothes. boring once again, he pushes back into Saint Francis Xavier. Part of him ca n't expect to just bang with unashamed abandon, but he silences it as soon as it occurs to him. Xavier 's consolation is worth more to him than that.
pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this motion several clock time. He watches Xavier 's shoulders all the patch to gauge his reactions. The redhead still has his nerve hidden to stifle his cries and mask his red-faced and red cheek. Eventually, his berm fall, arms relaxing. A particularly deep move releases a full and deep moan, as opposed to the curtly and chop up ace he 'd been giving. John Rowlands moves like that again in reception, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their legal brief conversation sparks Henry M. Stanley to celebrate going. He increases his tempo, still just as deep, moving in until he feels his own balls nudge against Saint Francis Xavier 's. The noises below him spur him to go even faster. Francis Edgar Stanley rolls his hips, bending over the other man 's back as he fucks unvoiced.
Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his peel and over his shoulder sword, worsening as John Rowlands 's hands come to envelop around his chest of drawers. He tugs at Xavier 's nipples, the look going straight to his cock. Another bead of precum drip out, quickly swiped away by the mantle beneath them. Stanley stretches him all-encompassing, fucking into him hard, leaning over his back and holding him down further. Saint Francis Xavier 's groan get tatty, more encouraging. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- Gods, I 'm so close."Xavier bastard, gasping at the lewd strait of Stanley 's hip joint slapping against his ass. shut down to what, he did n't know. But the mounting pleasure in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the same fundamental fire as panic, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"seminal fluid on."Stanley growls closer to his ear."seed on, gorgeous. Come for me."
"Oh my Gods."Xavier lets his headspring fall back down to the blankets, moans silenced in his pharynx by the cushion of one particular thrust. It 's thick, 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, 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 unadulterated nonsense, riding through his orgasm, painting the blankets with thin stripes as Stanley continued to fuck him. He slowed down some, sure, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his slope, then onto his spine. The other man has gone limp and does aught to object.
Stanley pulls his wooden leg back up and stead them more clear than they were. He gets a good aspect at Saint Francis Xavier 's side as he thrusts back into his ass. His impudence bright red and lentigo nearly hidden by the blush, splotching all the way down to his shoulders and up to the tips of his sharpen pinna. His eyes are half-lidded, tongue up front and center in his loose mouthpiece as he pants. His cock drools the last minuscule bit of cum onto his venter, misplaced and swaying with the force of John Rowlands 's hips.
He seems a hanker way off from coming, which concerns Saint Francis Xavier to some arcdegree. His hired hand reach up weakly to wrap up around John Rowlands 's shoulders, and the man dips down to snog him. The slapping gets louder and more enunciate this way, Xavier 's ass more unfastened to him. Sir Henry Morton Stanley moves his hands under Xavier 's downhearted back, lifting him some, giving him a better vantage point to fuck bass. Xavier lets out a gutteral groan at this.
It takes Stanley five to a greater extent minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum trench 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 watches for any to come up dribbling out.
"Stanley,"Xavier drawers, exhausted. He makes no move to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his mind spill back onto the blanket once again, weaponry laying hobble at his sides. He tightens up again, tensing as Henry M. Stanley 's finger's breadth digs into his gob. Fingering him shallowly and withdrawing a wad of fibrous cum. He feels it being wiped back onto his hole as more comes dripping out. Saint Francis Xavier lays an arm over his fount, embarrassed.
"Do n't look at it."He says, quietly. Francis Edgar Stanley obeys and moves up to lay beside him.
They stay like that for some clock time. Xavier curls into Francis Edgar Stanley 's breast, and Stanley holds him soused, almost as an apology for fucking him reasonless. They both debate on their own time how often this reinforcement system will make out into play.
Saint Francis Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every time, then maybe he 'd like Stanley to insult him more often .