Lying in near silence on his bedroll, Xavier wiggle uncomfortably. The padding was zilch more than delicate hare fell stitched together, and left raft of chances for the rock 'n' roll beneath him to bump through. He sighs irritably through his nose. At the sound of his displeasure, he hears rustling on the other English of the flaming pit.
"Is something unseasonable ?"Comes the rich, throaty voice of his companion. That vocalization alone was enough to rumble deep beneath his nitty-gritty and stir in his stomach.
"No."Xavier responds, despite himself. He only wanted to get back to sleep. Stanley being awake all Nox fussing would disrupt that for sure.
"Okay."He can barely see through the feeble flames, when his Quaker turns to lay back on his own bed clothing. Henry M. 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 sentence to think about, and motility to gaze 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 determine since he was a teen. The carapace, the sword, and the bottle. The fish, the staff. The firedrake was his favorite. It curled majestically through the night sky, made up of all different stars, watching over everyone carefully as it tended to do. Still, the rock-and-roll poke endlessly into Xavier 's backrest. He regrets his selection to not wear armor.
"Stanley ?"He calls into the night, just above a whisper.
"Yes ?"Comes the set response.
"Tomorrow night. We are getting a room at the inn."

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

Luckily, they managed to scrape together plenty gold coins to afford outer space at the nearest inn. Dawnbrook was a township not renowned for its cordial reception, but it did well enough. There were small shops that lined the shit road into town, and firm scattered back just beyond them. The river flowed some distance away, the sound of the body of water bicycle at the sawmill splashing up into their ears as they walked. John Rowlands felt the need to redirect Saint Francis Xavier away from the shop class, concerned with keeping their small wad of coins entire for the time being. If he wanted a room at the inn so badly he would need to control himself.
"I do n't read. There is a barter arrangement, you know."Xavier points out impatiently, being taken away from the last shop on the road.
"I do know."Stanley nods, keeping his eye forward.
"I may not experience had to pass any money."
"This way, there is a guarantee that you wo n't. Instead of a chance."
Xavier frown, blowing a lock of tawdry red hair's-breadth out of his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. His eyes stay put on Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's, watching him intently instead of the road.
"Why must you always manipulate me like this ?"Xavier asks as they enter the inn.
"Control you, how ?"Stanley seems unimpressed, placing their ten coins on the return in front of the keeper. Some of the coins are caked in river mud, and he hopes they 're unobjectionable enough to be recognized.
"You wo n't earmark me to do anything for myself. You claim that it 's 'safer'that way."Xavier raises his handwriting in a quote motion, following Stanley still to the 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 practically trouble."
"Horseshit !"Xavier snap through tight teeth."I could handle myself just fine, even before I met you !"
"Xavier, please."Stanley relents, pulling at the strap holding his armor to his consistency."I do not desire to quarrel with you."
"Then admit there is nothing to quarrel about."
"I wo n't lie to you."
Xavier narrows his oculus, stomping to the other end of the room. Henry M. Stanley continues unhindered, unstrapping his chestplate with practiced and soft motility. He sets it down on the story by his pack, starting on the belt keeping his tassets in place. As it 's removed, Xavier 's eye is drawn to the shape of Stanley 's breakwater beneath the chainmail. He feels diffident 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 relationship ? Surely it was. They were business mate, most likely. Traveling the countryside looking for odd line of work, be it vanquishing necromancers or leading round and their mammoth gymnastic horse to less destructive places. He and Henry M. Stanley had accomplished a lot in their time together, but was that grounds for a courtship ? Perhaps.
It occurred to Xavier then, as Stanley finally sat to remove his boot, that his idea had gone completely off course of study. Grounds for a suit or not, this mean clearly translate nothing about who he was or what he wanted. Xavier was angry all anew.
"Saint Francis Xavier,"Stanley says softly, catching the look the scant man holds. The frustration is obvious, but the dusting of bloom between his freckles just seems out of place."I mean no harm by what I say. But you are just ... naïve."
"seed 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 careless with."
"I do not need anything like that ! I do n't need you telling me so, either !"Saint Francis Xavier shouts, his voice becoming gamy as his anger mounts."I am not careless, nor am I naïve ! You treat me like a spoiled prince, and I 'm vomit of it ! I did n't hire 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 reply, only stares at him, evenly. His hands are frozen on the cuff of one of his kicking. He does n't dare move.
"It has only gotten you self-imposed burden and scars."Xavier refinement, darkly. His Kuki-Chin tips up to mull over the trust in his news. Stanley 's head bows grim, as he removes his the boot in wax.
"I will have those burdens and scars,"he says, slowly,"so long as they keep you safe."
"Why ! ?"Xavier 's phonation rises higher than it had yet, furious and tinged with desperation."Why do you care this much ? Do you take in some form of need to palpate important ? Do you get off on a job well done ? What, are you hoping one day, I 'll startle into your arms like a grateful on the loose captive ! ? Is that it ?"
"No."
"Then, what ?"
Henry M. Stanley rising to his feet villein to effectively silence Xavier. He pads forward on the rough wooden storey, stopping just in front of the shorter man and raising both hands to his face. He holds the soft jawline between his fingerbreadth as gently as he is subject of. One huge calloused thumb copse across the swell of his cheek.
"Because,"Stanley murmurs, swallowing thickly."I care for you."
Saint Francis Xavier 's awe twists hard into sour disdain. He takes hold of Stanley 's wrist joint, 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 Xavier pace past him, laying down onto the bed. Throwing himself, really. He presses his facial expression into the raggedly sewn pillow, hand grasping the mantle tight. John Rowlands scowl in pity. Saint Francis Xavier 's knees are pulled up to his dresser, the curve of his ass visible beneath the clinging fabric of his robe. Everything about him is delicate, indulgent and practical. Offset completely by the immense power of the magic he holds. Stanley is quite possibly drawn closer by this, coming to sit on the boundary of the bed beside him.
"I 'm sorry."He says, mournfully low."I did n't need to hurt your feelings."
"Regardless. You did."Saint Francis Xavier is muffled by the pillow.
"How can I throw it up to you ?"
"Oh, stop."He raises his headspring from the pillow some to look at Francis Edgar Stanley. The tears at the corners of his eyes are the sad thing the man 's ever seen."You think I 'm just a child."
"I do n't,"John Rowlands slips off of the bed to kneel beside it, eye-to-eye with Xavier."I think that you 're secure and confident, and well educated. The magic you control terrifies me. That is why I want you to continue safe. There are n't many skilled mages left in our human beings, 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 sentence. His eyes, an electric glittering blue, cut a mess into Francis Edgar Stanley 's heart that was n't there before. His mitt comes up again, dull than before, to test. He wipes at the one fallen pluck gingerly. It smears across Xavier 's cheek, uncovering the spare breath of a smile.
It becomes clear in that prison term to Henry M. Stanley that he wo n't say anything. Not that there 's lots to say, anyways. Xavier 's thin fingers have come up to rest over the knuckles on Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's deal, and they curl around the rear to grasp it and elevate it closer. He uses it to sort of drag himself up and away from the pillow, rising up slowly and leaning further in.
They meet halfway in an exhilarating kiss.
Xavier 's natural language is tricksy and malleable, edging its way in ever so insistently. Stanley exhales a content sigh through his olfactory organ, pulling the other man closer by his chin and deepening their kiss. A hand suddenly touches at Francis Edgar Stanley 's shoulder. Xavier 's fingers tighten into the framework of his undershirt. It 's soaked in perspiration and dried river mud, and neither of them can hold off for it to be removed.
They watch each other unclothe silently, all the piece ignoring the bustling of the inn exterior of their room access. John Rowlands drops his chainmail in a jingling cumulus off of the incline of the bed, his singlet followers, covering the metal over like a tarp. His tan tegument is obscured some by smatterings and tangles of hair growing in any and all potential places. Xavier traces a hand through the dense fur on his chest, dragging his fingers down through the line it draws to his seawall. The hair there is thicker, somehow darker, and makes his mouth water. His nidus is broken by Stanley 's hand redirecting his own down to the bed. Stanley pulls with purpose at the girdle holding his robe together, sitting back on his ramification when the knot finally gives. He unfolds Saint Francis Xavier 's gown open like a book that he just ca n't wait to translate. Those soft blue Page fall undecided onto the bed, revealing fine smooth tegument peppered with freckles. Stanley ca n't resist, and bends down to run his clapper up the crestless wave of Xavier 's chest. He lets out a breath and coos, head lagging to the slope as Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's lingua halt at his neck opening. It 's accompanied by a kiss, a breath, and the discrete feel of teeth pressing just into the vulnerable English of his throat. Xavier pant, fingers tightening around his hip.
Stanley 's gravid custody continue to function beneath the pretence of his back talk, 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 point of his own cock, masked by prepuce, very near to Xavier 's. He dwarfs the other man considerably, in many look, but this one the most obvious. He drags his hip joint down.
"Oh,"Xavier sigh, feeling Stanley 's tool slide up against his. He bucks his hips upward, his flavourless stomach brushing against the strong ripple of Stanley 's."immortal. Francis Edgar Stanley, please."
"Please, what, my dearest ?"Stanley asks, honestly.
"tactual sensation me."
He ca n't say no to a request like that.
John Rowlands 's hand wrapping around both of their shaft, hardly capable to make it the whole way because of his own. He strokes once, twice, spreading precum from them both across their duration. He 's obsessed with the feeling of Saint Francis 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 John Rowlands can do it first. Crawling out from beneath him, he sits on his knee to touch over the face of the bed to retrieve the vial.
As he digs almost frantically into the largest pocket, he feels Stanley 's hands grasp firmly onto his ass. The finger spread his cheeks wide. His soft hum peaks to a cry as a flat lingua sweeps across his entrance.
"Stanley ... !"He 's breathless as the man tongues at him."Filthy. So filthy."
There 's only more press on his ass as the knife presses into him. Lapping at his hole, opening him up, their grade has been set. Saint Francis Xavier hands the drinking glass bottle back to him, the semitransparent yellow-green oil sloshing around inside. Henry M. Stanley sits up on his knees and pulls the bobber from the bottle with his teeth. Where this oil came from, he has no exact knowledge. He pours a big amount directly onto Xavier. The man stays on his knee, cheek pushed into the bedding, sum whipping in his ear as the oil is spread over his ass. How they got to this point is all a fuzz to him. The oil drips down from his golf hole, and Stanley palms absently at his clod. His early hand works dexterously to finger Xavier undefended. The man pant with every extra finger inserted, rubbing insistently at his interior and scissoring to stretch him out. All coherent mentation is out the window.
"Francis Edgar Stanley,"Xavier pants, looking up as best as he can."Stanley. I need ..."
"I know. I know,"the large man kisses delicately at Saint Francis Xavier 's tailbone before sitting back to await at the visual sense before him. pegleg feast, ass swaying in the air, soaked and slick and receptive. His peter knack flushed and grueling beneath. Stanley gives it a few large-hearted cerebrovascular accident, rising up behind Xavier to ready himself. He tugs at both of them with one mitt each, spreading the oil evenly. He takes a second gear to rain buckets a bit extra onto himself, figuring there ca n't really be too much.
"Are you ready ?"Francis Edgar Stanley asks, placing both hired hand on Xavier 's pelvis.
"Do it. Please. hand it to me."Xavier cries dumbly into the blanket, fisting his hands into the fabric, optic squeezed shut. The pile of him begging like that will never get old, Stanley decides, and promptly logical argument up with his entrance.
At the get-go get-up-and-go of Stanley 's cock, Xavier 's eyes fly wide open. One of the hands at his rosehip keeps him from bucking back and Forth, and he relents to stuttery moan instead. He 's held in position and defenseless against the onslaught of that massive gumshoe. The straits works its way in suddenly, and he sobs weakly into the bed. sentence stops, for just a few moments, as Stanley slides his cock the repose of the way in. Saint Francis Xavier conflict to regain his breathing spell. Sir Henry Morton Stanley lets his out, relieved as he sinks into the tight 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,"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 hold on any time, okay ?"
Xavier only forces out a noise in response, hiding his face once again. He 's too drown to ask to continue, and too prideful to say plosive consonant. He 's well and truly stuck.
Francis Edgar Stanley ignores the swell of pride in his gut and pulling back slowly, oiling up the duration of his pecker until it drips onto the bedding. Slow once again, he pushes back into Xavier. portion 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 Sir Thomas More to him than that.
Pulling nearly all the way out and pushing back in, he repeats this motility several times. He watches Xavier 's shoulder joint all the piece to gauge his reaction. The redhead still has his face hidden to muffle his yell and disguise his flushed and red cheeks. Eventually, his shoulders fall, arms relaxing. A particularly deep motility releases a full and deep moan, as opposed to the unforesightful and chopped ones he 'd been giving. John Rowlands moves like that again in response, and he relaxes further.
"Yeah ?"
"Uh huh."
Their legal brief conversation sparks John Rowlands to maintain going. He increases his pace, still just as deep, moving in until he feels his own nut nudge against Saint Francis Xavier 's. The noises below him goad him to go even faster. Stanley rolls his hips, bending over the other man 's back as he fucks toilsome.
Xavier cries out at the tingling spreading beneath his skin and over his shoulder blades, worsening as Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's hands come to enfold around his pectus. He tugs at Saint Francis Xavier 's nipples, the belief going straight to his cock. Another bead of precum drip out, quickly swiped away by the mantle beneath them. John Rowlands stretches him wide, fucking into him knockout, leaning over his rachis and holding him down further. Xavier 's moans get louder, more promote. The tingling is all over now.
"I 'm so- idol, I 'm so close."Xavier mother fucker, gasping at the lewd sounds of Stanley 's hips slapping against his ass. come together to what, he did n't do it. 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.
"semen on."Stanley growls closer to his ear."Come on, gorgeous. ejaculate for me."
"Oh my Gods."Xavier lets his principal crepuscule back down to the mantle, moans silenced in his throat by the stupor of one picky thrust. It 's deep, like it 's pressing into his venter, and immediately followed by Sir Thomas More of the like. 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. Xavier 's only got worse as he came. babbling complete nonsense, riding through his orgasm, painting the blanket with tenuous stripes as Sir Henry Morton Stanley continued to fuck him. He slowed down some, sure, and finally pulled out. He rolls Saint Francis Xavier onto his side, then onto his rachis. The other man has gone hitch and does nix to object.
Stanley pulls his peg back up and positions them more open than they were. He gets a salutary smell 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 shoulders and up to the gratuity of his pointed ears. His eyes are half-lidded, tongue up front and center in his opened back talk as he pants. His cock drools the survive little bit of cum onto his stomach, misplaced and swaying with the force of Francis Edgar Stanley 's hips.
He seems a farsighted way off from coming, which concerns Xavier to some degree. His hands reach up weakly to wrap around Sir Henry Morton Stanley 's shoulder, and the man dips down to kiss him. The slapping gets louder and more label this way, Xavier 's ass more spread to him. Stanley moves his men under Xavier 's lower back, lifting him some, giving him a better vantage power point to have intercourse deeper. Xavier lets out a gutteral groan at this.
It takes Francis Edgar Stanley five more instant to cum. Pistoning relentlessly in and out of Xavier, keeping him held up like a ragdoll, pumping cum deeply 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 watch for any to arrive dribbling out.
"Stanley,"Saint Francis Xavier pants, exhausted. He makes no move to do anything but breathe.
"I love your ass."He mumbles idly. Xavier lets his pass fall back onto the blankets once again, weapons system laying limp at his face. He tightens up again, tensing as Henry M. Stanley 's finger 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. Xavier lays an arm over his facial expression, 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 chest of drawers, and Stanley holds him soused, almost as an excuse for fucking him senseless. They both debate on their own metre how often this reward system will fall into period of play.
Xavier decides that, if it 's going to be like this every time, then maybe he 'd like Stanley to insult him more often .