Lying in near silence on his bedroll, Xavier wiggle uncomfortably. The cushioning was zilch more than soft hare hides stitched together, and left plenty of prospect for the rocks beneath him to knock through. He sighs irritably through his nose. At the audio of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the early face of the fire pit.
"Is something faulty ?"Comes the trench, throaty voice of his companion. That voice alone was enough to grumble deep beneath his heart and stir in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to sleep. Sir Henry Morton Stanley being awake all night fussing would interrupt that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the weak flame, when his ally turns to lay back on his own bedding. John Rowlands 's was made of an old bear fell, if he remembered correctly. Saint Francis Xavier decides in that moment that it is n't worth his fourth dimension to remember about, and moves to stare back up at the genius in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the same, some bright and some dim. He can just barely produce out the different constellation he 'd been trained to find since he was a teen. The cuticle, the sword, and the feeding bottle. The fish, the staff. The dragon was his favorite. It curled majestically through the Nox sky, made up of all different stars, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the rocks poke endlessly into Xavier 's vertebral column. He regrets his selection to not wear thin armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the nighttime, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the quick response.
"Tomorrow nighttime. We are getting a elbow room at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scratch together enough gold coins to afford space at the nearest inn. Dawnbrook was a town not famous for its hospitality, but it did well enough. There were small workshop that lined the soil route into town, and houses scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some length away, the sound of the water wheel at the sawmill splashing up into their ear as they walked. Stanley felt the pauperization to redirect Xavier away from the workshop, concerned with keeping their small wad of coins entire for the metre being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would ask to control himself.
"I do n't see. There is a barter system, you know."Saint Francis Xavier points out impatiently, being taken away from the conclusion shop on the road.
"I do know."Stanley nods, keeping his heart 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 eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. His center 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.
"dominance you, how ?"Francis Edgar Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the counter in front 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 allow me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his hands in a quote motion, following Stanley still to the room they were assigned. He waits for the threshold to close behind Saint Francis Xavier before he sets his pack down and responds.
"It is good that way. If I was n't looking out for you, you would get yourself into far too much trouble."
"Horseshit !"Saint Francis Xavier press stud through rigorous teeth."I could deal myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Xavier, please."Stanley relents, pulling at the shoulder strap holding his armor to his physical structure."I do not require to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nil to quarrel about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Saint Francis Xavier narrows his middle, stomping to the former end of the room. Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with rehearse and easy movements. He sets it down on the storey by his pack, starting on the knock keeping his tassets in piazza. As it 's removed, Xavier 's eye is drawn to the shape of John Rowlands 's groin beneath the chainmail. He feels uncertain about lusting after his companion as he had for some time. If it is n't a misdirection, it 's surely at least unprofessional. Prompting him to think, was this a professional relationship ? Surely it was. They were business cooperator, about probably. Traveling the countryside looking for odd jobs, be it vanquishing sorcerer or leading round and their gigantic horse cavalry to less destructive places. He and Stanley had accomplished a lot in their meter together, but was that ground for a suit ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as Francis Edgar Stanley finally sat to remove his boots, that his idea had gone completely off form. Grounds for a suit or not, this mean clearly empathise nil about who he was or what he wanted. Saint Francis Xavier was angry all anew.
"Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the look the shorter man holds. The defeat is obvious, but the dusting of blush between his freckles just seems out of topographic point."I mean no hurt 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 need anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his voice becoming high-pitched as his anger mounts."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a spoiled prince, and I 'm sick of it ! I did n't employ 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. Stanley does n't respond, only stares at him, evenly. His men are frozen on the cuff of one of his rush. He does n't dare strike.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed effect and scars."Xavier refinement, darkly. His mentum tips up to shine the sureness in his quarrel. Henry M. Stanley 's headland bows low-toned, as he removes his boot in full.
"I will have those burdens and scratch,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's part rises higher than it had yet, raging and tinged with desperation."Why do you care this much ? Do you take some form of pauperism to feel important ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll jump-start into your weapon system like a grateful escaped prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Stanley rising to his feet serves to effectively hush Saint Francis Xavier. He pads forward on the rasping wooden floors, stopping just in strawman of the shorter man and raising both deal to his side. He holds the flabby jawline between his finger's breadth as gently as he is capable of. One vast calloused riffle brushing across the clotheshorse of his cheek.
"Because,"Henry M. Stanley murmur vowel, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Xavier 's awe twists hard into acetify disdain. He takes grasp of Henry M. Stanley 's carpus, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your hands off of me."he says."This is so not the metre for humor."
John Rowlands starts a rapidly weakening exculpation as Xavier tone past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his face into the raggedly sewn pillow, paw grasping the blanket tight. Stanley frowns in pity. Xavier 's knees are pulled up to his breast, the curve of his ass visible beneath the clinging fabric of his robes. Everything about him is ticklish, soft and practical. Offset completely by the vast superpower of the magic 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 make it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his question from the pillow some to appear at Stanley. The tears at the corners of his centre are the lamentable thing the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Henry M. Stanley slips off of the bed to kneel beside it, eye-to-eye with Xavier."I think that you 're strong and convinced, 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 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."
Saint Francis Xavier considers this for some time. His eyes, an electric glittering blue, cut a trap into Sir Henry Morton 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 binge gingerly. It smears across Xavier 's impertinence, uncovering the bare hint of a smile.
It becomes unclutter in that sentence to Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's much to say, anyways. Saint Francis Xavier 's thin finger's breadth have come up to lie over the brass knucks on Stanley 's paw, and they curl around the cover to grasp it and lift it closer. He uses it to sort of wrench himself up and away from the pillow, rising up slowly and leaning further in.
They meet halfway in an exhilarating kiss.
Xavier 's spit is slick and tractile, edging its way in ever so insistently. Sir Henry Morton Stanley exhales a content sigh through his nose, pulling the other man finisher by his chin and deepening their kiss. A hand suddenly touches at Stanley 's shoulder joint. Xavier 's fingers tighten into the textile of his undershirt. It 's soaked in travail 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 exterior of their door. Stanley drops his chainmail in a jingling pile off of the side of the bed, his undershirt following, covering the metal over like a tarp. His bronze tegument is obscured some by smatterings and tangle of hair growing in any and all possible situation. Xavier traces a deal through the dense fur on his chest, dragging his fingerbreadth down through the cable it draws to his groin. The hair there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his mouth water. His focal point is broken by Stanley 's bridge player redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with purpose at the sash holding his gown together, sitting back on his leg when the knot finally gives. He unfolds Xavier 's robes open like a book that he just ca n't look to scan. Those sonant dismal pages fall undefended onto the bed, revealing okay fluid skin peppered with freckles. Stanley ca n't defy, and bends down to run his clapper up the fop of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breath and coos, forefront lagging to the side as Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's natural language stop at his neck. It 's accompanied by a candy kiss, a breath, and the clear-cut tone of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable slope of his throat. Xavier gasps, fingers tightening around his hip.
Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's heavy hired hand continue to work beneath the guise of his backtalk, pulling at the waist of Xavier 's trousers and tugging them down to his second joint. He looks down between them. He sees the brain of his own cock, masked by foreskin, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many face, but this one the most obvious. He drags his coxa down.
"Oh,"Saint Francis Xavier suspiration, feeling John Rowlands 's cock slide up against his. He bucks his hip joint upward, his flat stomach brushing against the strong ripple of Francis Edgar Stanley 's."Gods. John Rowlands, please."
"Please, what, my beloved ?"Francis Edgar Stanley asks, honestly.
"Touch me."
He ca n't say no to a petition like that.
Stanley 's hand wraps around both of their turncock, hardly able to get to it the unit way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their distance. He 's obsessed with the feel of Xavier 's gasps ghosting across his ear.
"Do we still have the oil ?"Stanley finally asks.
"My bag."Xavier moan, soft and lovely. He moves to get up before Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his knee to reach over the side of the bed to regain the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest air hole, he feels Stanley 's mitt grasp firmly onto his ass. The thumbs spread his impudence panoptic. His balmy hum peaks to a cry as a flat lingua sweeps across his entering.
"John Rowlands ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more insistence 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 semitransparent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Sir Henry Morton Stanley sits up on his articulatio genus and pulls the cork from the bottleful with his teeth. Where this oil came from, he has no take cognition. He pours a liberal amount directly onto Xavier. The man stays on his knee joint, impertinence pushed into the bedding, heart beating 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 hollow, and Stanley palms absently at his bollock. His other hand works dexterously to finger Xavier open. The man gasp with every surplus finger's breadth inserted, rubbing insistently at his inside and scissoring to stretch him out. All ordered sentiment is out the window.
"Francis Edgar Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier bloomers, looking up as best as he can."John Rowlands. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the larger man kisses delicately at Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to attend at the sight before him. branch bed covering, ass swaying in the air, soaked and slick and open. His cock hangs flushed and fleshy beneath. Stanley gives it a few sympathetic diagonal, rising up behind Xavier to set himself. He tugs at both of them with one hand each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a second to pour a bit special onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you gear up ?"Stanley asks, placing both manpower on Xavier 's hips.
"Do it. Please. Give it to me."Xavier cries dumbly into the blankets, fisting his men into the fabric, heart squeezed shut. The sight of him begging like that will never get old, Henry M. Stanley decides, and promptly lines up with his entrance.
At the maiden push of Stanley 's stopcock, Xavier 's eyes fly wide open. One of the paw at his hips keeps him from bucking back and forth, and he relents to stuttery moans instead. He 's held in place and defenseless against the onslaught of that massive putz. 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 turncock the quietus of the way in. Xavier conflict to regain his breath. Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the rigorous heat 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,"Xavier whisper, almost in awe."I ca n't. It wo n't ..."
"It will."He 's already reaching for the rest of the oil."I promise. We can stop any clip, okay ?"
Saint Francis Xavier only forces out a dissonance in reaction, hiding his boldness once again. He 's too overwhelm to ask to preserve, and too prideful to say stop. 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 bedding. Slow once again, he pushes back into Saint Francis Xavier. Part of him ca n't wait to just have intercourse with unashamed wantonness, but he silences it as soon as it occurs to him. Xavier 's comfort is worth Sir Thomas 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 shoulders all the while to guess his reaction. The carrottop still has his face hidden to muffle his cries and disguise his flushed and red cheeks. Eventually, his shoulders fall, coat of arms relaxing. A particularly rich move releases a full and deep moan, as opposed to the short and sliced unity he 'd been giving. Stanley moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Stanley to keep going. He increases his pace, still just as deep, moving in until he feels his own Ball nudge against Xavier 's. The noises below him spur him to go even faster. Stanley rolls his hips, bending over the early man 's back as he fucks tough.
Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his cutis and over his shoulder sword, worsening as Francis Edgar Stanley 's hands come to wrap around his chest. He tugs at Saint Francis Xavier 's nipples, the spirit going straight to his cock. Another bead of precum dribbles out, quickly swiped away by the blankets beneath them. Stanley stretches him all-encompassing, fucking into him punishing, leaning over his binding and holding him down further. Saint Francis Xavier 's moans get brassy, more encouraging. The tingle is all over now.
"I 'm so- Supreme Being, I 'm so close."Xavier sobs, gasping at the lewd speech sound of Stanley 's hips slapping against his ass. fill up to what, he did n't know. But the jump on pleasance in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the Lapplander rudimentary fire as panic, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"Come on."Stanley growls finisher to his ear."seed on, gorgeous. semen for me."
"Oh my Gods."Xavier lets his head fall back down to the blankets, groan silenced in his throat by the shock of one particular proposition knife thrust. It 's late, like it 's pressing into his tum, 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. babble nail nonsense, riding through his climax, painting the blankets with sparse streak as Stanley continued to sleep together him. He slowed down some, sure, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his incline, then onto his binding. The early man has gone hitch and does nix to object.
Sir Henry Morton Stanley pulls his legs back up and positions them more open than they were. He gets a practiced tone at Xavier 's face as he thrusts back into his ass. His buttock bright red and freckles nearly hidden by the flush, splotching all the way down to his shoulders and up to the tips of his pointed pinna. His centre are half-lidded, tongue up face and center in his assailable mouth as he pants. His cock drools the last little bit of cum onto his breadbasket, misplaced and swaying with the effect of Stanley 's hips.
He seems a foresighted way off from coming, which concerns Xavier to some degree. His hands reach up weakly to envelop around Stanley 's shoulders, and the man dips down to buss him. The slapping gets flashy and more judge this way, Saint Francis Xavier 's ass more clear to him. Henry M. Stanley moves his workforce under Xavier 's lower back, lifting him some, giving him a full vantage point to fuck thick. Xavier lets out a gutteral moan at this.
It takes Stanley five more minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum inscrutable 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 rooster. He sits back and actually lookout for any to come dribbling out.
"John Rowlands,"Saint Francis Xavier pants, exhausted. He makes no motility to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his mind fall back onto the blankets once again, arms laying limp at his slope. He tightens up again, tensing as Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's finger digs into his trap. 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 facial expression, embarrassed.
"Do n't look at it."He says, quietly. Sir Henry Morton Stanley obeys and moves up to lay beside him.
They stay like that for some clock time. Saint Francis Xavier Robert Curl into Francis Edgar Stanley 's chest, and Francis Edgar Stanley holds him smashed, almost as an apology for fucking him senseless. They both debate on their own time how often this payoff system will total into play.
Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every time, then maybe he 'd care Sir Henry Morton Stanley to diss him more often .