Travelling Needs

Chapter 1

Hey everyone! It's me again! Yaoi's Consort, bringing you guys another messed-up fic derived from my sick, insane self! This one is about; you guessed it, Nar Garzhvog and Eragon! I've been re-reading the Inheritance Series, and I've just been fangirling like mad over this! I might try a Galbatorix x Eragon story next, but for now, enjoy this, ya sick children!

Warnings: Yaoi (Homosexual Love), slight kink (maybe :P), PWP, and extreme size differences.

Summary: While Eragon and Nar Garzhvog are travelling, Garzhvog feels a stirring in his lower regions (as in his genitals XD) while he watches Eragon.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! I feel like I'm majorly plagiarizing here, because all the dialogue is the same as in the book(Really I feel more like I'm paraphrasing through most of it); this is taken from page 385 to page 398 of the third book of The Inheritance Series, Brisingr.

Enjoy, my children!

Garzhvog growled as he watched the Dragon Rider, much like an elf, sprint beside him, two of the smaller's equaling one of his own bounding steps. They had only begun travelling the day before, and already the cravings were growing out of control.

Ever since he had first laid eyes on the prodigious youth, he had been struck by his grace and femininity, so much like an elven woman's. He had already sired a number of healthy rams with his mate, but this…human—no, Rider—had awakened a hungering deep within him that he was already quite familiar with—lust.

Normally, he would have rushed home to his mate and taken her, but in this chaos, and with his kinsmen still here fighting for the Varden, he could not do so. So he had tried to avoid the boy, spending most of his nights in his tent, trying to get rid of the feeling of the boy's cautious eyes watching him. This always led to his eventual self-pleasuring, and he loathed himself for it.

He would attempt to avoid the Dragon Rider as much as possible, but he always managed to find himself close to the boy nonetheless, whether it be eating, at council with Lady Nightstalker, or even to relieve himself!

He had even caught the boy after the fight with the grinning ghouls. He had been taking a bath, if you could even call It that—the smooth, white expanse of skin, covered in gore, being cleansed with cool water that caused said person to gasp slightly and shiver. Unfortunately the Kull clan leader had stayed long enough to watch it, and ended up having to sneak past most of the Varden with an erection, poorly hidden behind his loincloth, to get back to his tent.

That had ended the night, simply from the sight of the boy's naked body, with an embarrassingly large release and explosive orgasm.

Now he was running across the land with Firesword, on a journey to the dwarven city, where the graceful youth would help to choose a new king to replace the old one that had died from the cowardly magic of the red Rider.

They had set off the previous day, and had run all through the night, and that was proving to have a heavy toll on his body. The sun was setting on the horizon when they stopped. He turned to the Rider. "Firesword, I must eat, and I must sleep."

The elven youth, leaning against a stump, merely inclined his head. He looked similarly afflicted, but refused to voice his exhaustion. He opened his mouth, taking large gulps f air as he panted. Garzhvog watched, entranced with the sight of the flushed and panting Rider as he gazed at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He wet his lips, his tongue darting out briefly, and then said, "I will help you hunt."

The large Urgal merely shook his head. "That is not needed. Make us a big fire, and I will bring us food."

The boy appeared to pout slightly at that, but gave in. "Fine."

The large Urgal hurried off, sporting a rather indecent display of arousal. He took care of it first, feral grunts dripping off his lips as he thought of Firesword, quickly finishing in his hand. He wiped it off on one of the many birch trees in the area, and went off to hunt.

He quickly found a herd of deer, all of them plump and healthy. He slowly stalked his prey, pulling his sling out to prepare to get one of the large doe that had strayed from the rest of the herd.

He picked up a stone off the ground, loaded his weapon, and swung it over his head a few times. Without warning, he let the deadly missile fly, hitting the doe right between the eyes, killing it instantly. The rest of the herd panicked, running away from the body of the fallen doe.

After the herd had dispersed, he went over to his prey, slinging it over his shoulder. He made his way back to the camp that Eragon had set up, a roaring fire crackling in front of him. He sat down beside him, pulling out a knife and commenced to clean the deer.

The Urgal glanced up as the boy stood, massaging his muscles. His almond-shaped eyes glanced at him, and Garzhvog felt his body heat up at the intense stare.

"How did you kill it?"

"With my sling."

"Do you intend to cook it on a spit? Or do Urgals eat their meat raw?"

The clan leader felt his temper flare at the statement, glaring at the boy. "We are not beasts, Firesword."

He looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "I did not say you were."

Garzhvog simply grunted, returning to the task of cleaning the deer in front of him.

After a few minutes, the boy spoke up again. "It will take too long to cook on a spit."

Garzhvog grunted again, then replied, "I thought a stew, and we can fry what is left on a rock."

Firesword looked puzzled. "Stew? How? We don't have a pot."

Garzhvog smirked slightly, rubbed his hand against the ground, and took out his bear's stomach from his pack. He tossed it to the boy.

He missed, though, seemingly from fatigue. He reached down to grab it, and appeared confused as it opened. "What is it?"

The Kull grinned, showing off his teeth as he began talking. "The stomach of a cave bear I killed the year I first got my horns. Hang it from a frame or put it in a hole, then fill it with water and drop stones on it. Stones heat water, and stew tastes good." He stated simply.

"Won't the stones burn through the stomach?" Firesword asked.

"They have not yet."

"Is it enchanted?"

Garzhvog huffed. "No magic. Strong stomach." He grunted as he broke the doe's hips, splitting the breastbone with his dagger.

Eragon gazed at him in awe. "It must have been a big bear."

Garzhvog chuckled deeply, creating a ruk-ruk sound deep in his throat. "It was bigger than I am now, Shadeslayer."

"Did you kill it with your sling as well?"

"I choked him to death with my hands. No weapons are allowed when you come to age and must prove your courage." The Kull paused, his knife buried to the hilt in the deer carcass. "Most do not kill a cave bear. Most hunt wolves or mountain goats. That is why I became war chief and others did not."

He glanced at Eragon—again with the stupid stuttering of his heart!—and watched the male dig a hole, put the stomach in it, while he commenced to prepare the meat, cutting it into reasonable chunks.

He swiveled his head when he heard Eragon say the rocks were ready, and told him to put them into the stomach, which he had filled with water. The water sizzled, coming to a boil as more stones were added. Garzhvog added the meat, along with a variety of herbs and seasonings. He placed a piece of shale beside the fire, and roasted strips of the doe on it.

They carved themselves spoons from a stump, the Kull watching him closely as his fingers danced across the wood, peeling away strips of wood to form a rough spoon. Once the food was ready, they ate. Garzhvog shivered slightly as Firesword took his first bite from the stew, eyes widening as an involuntary moan of pleasure escaped his throat. The youth was not aware of it, but this was part of the courting ritual for Urgals—finding there beloved food and serving it to them.

After the meal, the Kull cleaned his teeth with one of the thighbones, watching the human-elf crossbreed closely. He was looking at him curiously, and the Nar's breath hitched as he watched the male sweep his eyes over his bulk. He watched as his eyes widened slightly, a mischievous glow decorating their depths. He raised an eyebrow at what could have amused him so much.

"The dwarves have the same number of toes as you do," he commented.

He glanced down at his toes, than spit a piece of gristle out into the fire. "I did not know that. I have never wanted to look at the feet of a dwarf."

The boy gazed at him inquisitively. "Don't you find it curious that Urgals and dwarves should both have fourteen toes, while elves and humans have ten?"

Garzhvog snarled at the comparison. "We share no blood with those hornless mountain rats, Firesword. They have fourteen toes, and we have fourteen toes. It pleases the gods to shape us so when they created the world. There is no other explanation."

The Rider grunted, turning away to watch the flames dance. Garzhvog took this chance to examine the prodigal youth further. He had thin eyes and pointed ears, like an elf. His hair seemed to glow, like an ethereal halo, as is shone with the light of the flames. His body, slender but still strong, had supported him through this age of war and bloodshed so far. Garzhvog growled at the thought of someone touching that perfect expanse of creamy flesh, marring the surface and causing pain to his mate—eh?

Garzhvog started slightly when Eragon abruptly met his eyes, capturing him in their depth. "Tell me a story your race is fond of, Nar Garzhvog."

I was planning on a oneshot…doesn't look like it's even going to be a twoshot, or even a threeshot…