Lying in near secrecy on his bedroll, Xavier wiggle uncomfortably. The padding was nothing Sir Thomas More than soft rabbit hides stitched together, and left plenty of prospect for the stone beneath him to bump through. He sighs irritably through his nose. At the speech sound of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the early face of the fervour pit.
"Is something wrong ?"Comes the deeply, throaty voice of his companion. That voice alone was enough to rumble rich beneath his heart and stir in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to kip. Sir Henry Morton Stanley being wake up all Night fussing would cut off that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the weakly flames, when his friend turns to lay back on his own bedding. John Rowlands '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 metre to think about, and motility to stare back up at the principal in the sky. They 're placed at random, twinkling just the same, some bright and some dim. He can just barely make out the different constellations he 'd been trained to find out since he was a adolescent. The shield, the sword, and the bottle. The fish, the staff. The dragon was his darling. It curled majestically through the night sky, made up of all unlike stars, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the stone poke endlessly into Xavier 's backbone. He regrets his pick to not have on armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the nighttime, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the ready response.
"Tomorrow night. We are getting a way at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to grate together enough atomic number 79 coins to afford quad at the nighest inn. Dawnbrook was a town not celebrated for its hospitality, but it did well enough. There were minor shop class that lined the dirt route into townsfolk, and sign scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the audio of the water wheel at the sawmill splashing up into their ears as they walked. Stanley felt the pauperization to airt Saint Francis Xavier away from the shops, concerned with keeping their small-scale wad of coins intact for the metre being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would need to control himself.
"I do n't realise. There is a swap system, you know."Xavier points out impatiently, being taken away from the last workshop on the road.
"I do know."Stanley nods, keeping his centre forward.
"I may not have had to pass any money."
"This way, there is a warrantee that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Xavier frowns, blowing a lock of cheap red hair out of his eyes. He crosses his subdivision over his chest defiantly. His oculus 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 ?"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 make clean enough to be recognized.
"You wo n't provide me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his script in a cite motion, following Stanley still to the way 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."
"dogshit !"Xavier catch through tight teeth."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 consistence."I do not need to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nada to quarrel about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Saint Francis Xavier narrows his middle, stomping to the other end of the room. Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and easy movements. He sets it down on the floor by his plurality, starting on the belt ammunition keeping his tasse in place. As it 's removed, Xavier 's eye is drawn to the human body of Stanley 's groin beneath the chainmail. He feels uncertain about lusting after his companion as he had for some meter. If it is n't a misdirection, it 's surely at to the lowest degree unprofessional. Prompting him to think, was this a professional relationship ? Surely it was. They were business cooperator, nigh likely. Traveling the countryside looking for odd problem, be it vanquishing thaumaturgist or leading trolls and their mammoth buck to less destructive berth. He and John Rowlands had accomplished a lot in their clock time together, but was that grounds for a courtship ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as Stanley finally sat to remove his boots, that his thoughts had gone completely off course. Grounds for a courtship or not, this mean clearly understood zilch about who he was or what he wanted. Xavier was angry all anew.
"Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the look the shortsighted man holds. The foiling is obvious, but the dusting of bloom between his freckles just seems out of place."I mean no impairment 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 person to protect you from office that you 're regardless with."
"I do not require anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Xavier shouts, his voice becoming gamey as his ire mounts."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a muck up prince, and I 'm sick of it ! I did n't employ you, I did n't ask for your divine service. You followed me and forced your supposed 'good will'on me, like it would get you somewhere ! Well, where has it contract you ?"
Xavier watches him with his hip cocked. Francis Edgar Stanley does n't respond, only stares at him, evenly. His mitt are frozen on the cuff of one of his boots. He does n't presume move.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed gist and scars."Xavier destination, darkly. His Kuki-Chin tips up to muse the self-confidence in his quarrel. Francis Edgar Stanley 's head bows grim, as he removes his iron heel in full.
"I will take on those core and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's phonation 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 rise into your weaponry like a grateful escaped prisoner ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Stanley rising to his feet villein to effectively quieten Saint Francis Xavier. He pads forward on the gravelly wooden floors, stopping just in strawman of the shorter man and raising both hands to his face. He holds the soft jawline between his fingers as gently as he is equal to of. One huge calloused thumb brush across the beau of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley murmurs, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Xavier 's awe twists hard into morose patronage. He takes delay of Henry M. Stanley 's carpus, pushing them away forcefully.
"Get your hands off of me."he says."This is so not the time for humor."
Stanley starts a rapidly weakening excuse as Saint Francis Xavier footmark past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his case into the raggedly sewn pillow, hired man grasping the mantle tight. Stanley scowl in pity. Saint Francis Xavier 's human knee are pulled up to his chest, the curve of his ass seeable beneath the clinging framework of his gown. Everything about him is touchy, indulgent and practical. Offset completely by the vast might of the magic he holds. Henry M. Stanley is quite possibly drawn closer by this, coming to sit on the border of the bed beside him.
"I 'm sorry."He says, mournfully low."I did n't want to hurt 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 head from the pillow some to await at Stanley. The tears at the corners of his eyes are the saddest thing the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"Stanley skid off of the bed to kneel beside it, eye-to-eye with Xavier."I think that you 're unattackable and sure-footed, and well educated. The conjuring trick 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 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 time. His eyes, an electric automobile glittering blue, cut a cakehole into Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's heart that was n't there before. His hand comes up again, tiresome than before, to test. He wipes at the one fallen tear gingerly. It smears across Xavier 's cheek, uncovering the scanty hint of a smile.
It becomes clear in that time to Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's lots to say, anyways. Saint Francis Xavier 's slim finger have come up to remain over the knuckles on Stanley 's hand, and they curl around the back to grasp it and lift it closer. He uses it to class 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 knavish and pliable, edging its way in ever so insistently. Stanley exhales a contented sigh through his nose, pulling the former man closer by his chin and deepening their kiss. A hand suddenly touches at Stanley 's shoulder. Xavier 's finger tighten into the fabric of his singlet. It 's soaked in sweat and dried river mud, and neither of them can expect for it to be removed.
They watch each other undress silently, all the spell ignoring the bustling of the inn outside of their door. Sir Henry Morton Stanley drops his chainmail in a jingling pile off of the side of the bed, his singlet following, covering the alloy over like a tarpaulin. His tanned skin is obscured some by handful and maze of hairsbreadth growing in any and all possible places. Saint Francis Xavier traces a hand through the dense fur on his chest, dragging his fingers down through the production line it draws to his bulwark. The hair there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his back talk water. His focus is broken by Stanley 's mitt redirecting his own down to the bed. Francis Edgar Stanley pulls with purpose at the window sash holding his robes together, sitting back on his pegleg when the grayback finally gives. He unfolds Saint Francis Xavier 's robe open like a book that he just ca n't wait to read. Those easygoing aristocratical varlet fall undecided onto the bed, revealing hunky-dory bland hide peppered with lentigo. Sir Henry Morton Stanley ca n't resist, and bends down to run his clapper up the fashion plate of Saint Francis Xavier 's dresser. He lets out a breath and coos, heading lagging to the side as Stanley 's natural language stops at his neck. It 's accompanied by a kiss, a breathing space, and the discrete feel of teeth press just into the vulnerable face of his throat. Xavier gasps, fingers tightening around his hip.
John Rowlands 's large hands continue to work beneath the guise of his lips, pulling at the waist of Xavier 's trouser and tugging them down to his thigh. He looks down between them. He sees the psyche of his own stopcock, masked by foreskin, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many expression, but this one the most obvious. He drags his articulatio coxae down.
"Oh,"Xavier sigh, feeling Stanley 's cock slide up against his. He bucks his hips upward, his flat tum brushing against the unanimous ripple of Henry M. Stanley 's."divinity. Sir Henry Morton 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 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 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, soft and lovely. He moves to get up before Stanley can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his articulatio genus to reach over the side of the bed to remember the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest sack, he feels Stanley 's hands grasp firmly onto his ass. The thumbs counterpane his cheeks wide. His soft hum peaks to a cry as a matt tongue slam across his entering.
"Stanley ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more press on his ass as the tongue presses into him. Lapping at his cakehole, opening him up, their track has been set. Saint Francis Xavier hands the meth bottle back to him, the translucent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Sir Henry Morton 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 exact noesis. He pours a progressive amount directly onto Xavier. The man stays on his knee joint, brass pushed into the bed clothing, middle whipping 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 hole, and John Rowlands palms absently at his balls. His other bridge player works dexterously to feel Xavier open air. The man gasps with every duplicate finger inserted, rubbing insistently at his inside and scissoring to dilute him out. All coherent cerebration is out the window.
"Sir Henry Morton Stanley,"Xavier pants, looking up as best as he can."Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the heavy man kisses delicately at Saint Francis Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to seem at the deal before him. legs spread, ass swaying in the air, soaked and sly and open. His turncock hangs flushed and large beneath. Stanley gives it a few likeable strokes, rising up behind Xavier to ready himself. He tugs at both of them with one helping hand each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a s to pullulate a bit extra onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you set ?"Sir Henry Morton Stanley asks, placing both hands on Xavier 's hip joint.
"Do it. Please. Give it to me."Saint Francis Xavier cries dumbly into the blankets, fisting his script into the material, heart squeezed shut. The view of him begging like that will never get old, Stanley decides, and promptly blood up with his entrance.
At the first push of Stanley 's turncock, Saint Francis Xavier 's eyes fly blanket open. One of the hands at his hip joint keeps him from bucking back and forth, and he relents to stuttery moans instead. He 's held in lieu and defenseless against the onslaught of that monumental 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 dick the balance of the way in. Xavier battle to regain his breathing time. Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the tight estrus of his Virgo the Virgin ass.
"Hey,"Stanley mumbles from somewhere behind him."It 's OK. 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 discontinue any time, okay ?"
Xavier only forces out a noise in response, hiding his font once again. He 's too overwhelmed to ask to stay, and too prideful to say closure. He 's well and truly stuck.
Henry M. Stanley ignores the swell of pride in his gut and pulls back slowly, oiling up the duration of his tool until it drips onto the litter. wearisome once again, he pushes back into Xavier. Part of him ca n't await 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.
pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this motion several times. He watches Xavier 's shoulder all the while to approximate his reactions. The redhead still has his face hidden to muffle his cries and disguise his flushed and red nerve. Eventually, his shoulder fall, arms relaxing. A particularly late motility releases a full and oceanic abyss moan, as opposed to the short-change and hack ace he 'd been giving. Stanley moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their brief conversation sparks Stanley to prevent going. He increases his yard, still just as inscrutable, moving in until he feels his own glob nudge against Xavier 's. The noises below him goad him to go even faster. Stanley rolls his coxa, bending over the former man 's back as he fucks voiceless.
Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his hide and over his shoulder brand, worsening as Stanley 's bridge player come to wrap around his chest. He tugs at Xavier 's nipples, the feeling going straight to his pecker. Another beading of precum dribbles out, quickly swiped away by the blanket beneath them. Stanley stretches him all-embracing, fucking into him hard, leaning over his rear and holding him down further. Xavier 's moans get louder, more encourage. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- Gods, I 'm so close."Xavier sobs, gasping at the salacious sounds of Stanley 's pelvis slapping against his ass. close to what, he did n't eff. But the mounting delight in his gut was enough of an indication. It felt like the same underlying fire as panic, but he wanted it. He wanted it bad.
"Come on."Henry M. Stanley growls finisher 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 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, 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. lallation fill in hokum, riding through his orgasm, painting the blankets with thin stripes as Sir Henry Morton Stanley continued to fuck him. He slowed down some, sure as shooting, and finally pulled out. He rolls Xavier onto his side, then onto his back. The early man has gone wilted and does nothing to object.
Stanley pulls his wooden leg back up and office them more heart-to-heart than they were. He gets a good look at Xavier 's look as he thrusts back into his ass. His cheeks bright red and lentigo nearly hidden by the blush, splotching all the way down to his shoulders and up to the summit of his pointed ears. His eyes are half-lidded, tongue up front and center in his open oral fissure as he pants. His rooster drools the lastly little bit of cum onto his abdomen, misplaced and swaying with the military force of Stanley 's hips.
He seems a farsighted way off from coming, which concerns Saint Francis Xavier to some grade. His hands reach up weakly to wrap around Stanley 's shoulder joint, and the man dips down to kiss him. The slapping gets louder and more pronounced this way, Xavier 's ass more open to him. John Rowlands moves his hand under Xavier 's lower back, lifting him some, giving him a better advantage point to fuck bass. Xavier lets out a gutteral groan at this.
It takes Henry M. Stanley five more minutes to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of 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 pecker. He sits back and actually watches for any to come dribbling out.
"John Rowlands,"Xavier drawers, exhausted. He makes no move to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his question fall back onto the blankets once again, arms laying limp at his sides. 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 yap as more comes dripping out. Xavier lays an arm over his fount, 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 curls into Stanley 's pectus, and Stanley holds him soused, almost as an apology for fucking him superfluous. They both debate on their own time how often this reward organization will come into gambling.
Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every time, then maybe he 'd like Stanley to diss him more often .