Author: I don't own anything. I just wish I did. Thankx to Mirokou
for the assistance as always.
Silence and darkness had become their best friends while they remained each other's closest companion. Whatever town they came to, one would put on a brief show with Gwin's assistance to gain attention before the other would take other, dazzling the locals with fire breathing and torch juggling. On any given night they could earn their meals and board in a local inn while using their money to buy more supplies for the road.
Dustfinger sat at the table in the room they had earned for the night, counting their earning of the day. Farid stood on the otherside of the room, juggling small plastic balls. "How much did we make?" the Arabian asked.
"With or without the money you slipped from people's pockets?" he chuckled.
"With." the younger man said.
"Roughly $108." the blonde said.
"Is that good?" Farid asked.
"Pretty good. It'll keep us a while." he muttered, putting the money away in a secret pocket of his jacket. Farid continued to juggle, occassionaly muttering to himself. After a bit Dustfinger pulled a notebook from one of the bags and began to write. During their travels he had made it a habit to write letters to Resa. She alone knew where they were and where they had been.
"Dear Resa," he wrote, "We're in a small town somewhere in Germany. Farid is getting to be very good with fire play but I still don't think he's good enough for torch juggling yet. He's been wasting my matches... again, by lighting them and putting them out in his mouth. Gwin's run off to hunt even though he ate dinner with us when the inn owner's wife brought it up. There's a bunch of children in the square who were enchanted with him, poor rascal. Tell your daughter, the crazy old book lady and both Silvertongues we're still alive and content in our travels. Hope you're well, Dustfinger."
Farid didn't look up when Dustfinger walked out the door. He was used to the older man leaving and returning when he pleased. The young Arab sighed softly, won-dering at the odd feelings that stirred in his chest. Was it possible for two men to...? He shook his head, vainly trying to expell the "evil" thoughts.
"How is it even possible for me to...?" he muttered as Dustfinger returned.
"What are you muttering about?" the sandy haired man asked, sounding bored.
"Nothing," the other quickly replied, returning his focus to the balls he juggled. His eyes followed Dustfinger as he leaned back in the chair, propping his feet up on the table as he did so.
Sometime later, Farid tucked the balls he had been juggling away in his bag and glanced at Dustfinger. The blonde was asleep in the same position he had settled into when he returned earlier in the evening. He had the chair propped on it's back legs with his feet propped on the table. It was something that he had tried several times, falling backwards everytime. Silently he moved over towards the older man, hoping that he wouldn't wake up and discover him. For some reason Dustfinger was like a wild animal in that fact that he refused to allow anyone to very close to him. He made it a habit to avoid crowds but slid past people without even touching them. Emotionally he had closed himself off from the rest of the world. The firebreather wore nothing but jeans, boots and a sweater. His long blonde hair hung over the back of the chair like his trenchcoat. Carefully he leaned down, gently tracing the scars Basta had given him with his fingertips. Two slender ones ran down the length of his face over his eye and the third cut across his cheek. Dustfinger thought the scars ugly but Farid silently begged to differ.
Slowly Dustfinger began to reconize what he was feeling. There was a soft touch on his face, tracing his scars. The last person to touch his face so tenderly had been Resa when they had been locked in crypt below Capricorn's castle. But the touch didn't belong to Resa, it was a bit too rough, too callaused. He murmured sleepily and opened his eyes. Slowly his blurred vision sharpened and he saw who he had felt touch him. Farid stood over him, eyes wide like a hunted animal's. "What the hell?" he muttered, letting the chair drop to all four legs.
"I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to wake you up... I..." the Arabian whimpered, as he began to back away. Quickly Dustfinger grabbed his arm to keep him from going far. He released Farid's arm and buried his hand in his dark hair, pulling him close as he kissed him roughly.
Farid set one hand on the table to steady himself as he felt his knees weaken. "Dear Allah." he thought as all of his "evil" thoughts resurfaced. Dustfinger kept his hand buried in his hair as he kissed him. Without a thought he returned the kiss, letting his free hand slid into the blonde's hair gently. Then as quickly as it began, the kiss ended.
The blonde man stared at him hungerily. He hadn't been with anyone in a very long time, man or woman. Traveling with the Motley Folk he had become introduced to the "forbidden" side of desire: women with women, men with men, several women together, several men together and sometimes even two women with one man or two men with one woman. It was while exploring this side of desire that he had found his first male lover: a juggler whose wife also traveled with the Motley Folk. The man had treated him well: welcoming to his bed whenever he came knocking and making sure he never left before he was pleasured and fed. Sometimes when he was extremely lonely, Dustfinger found himself missing the juggler dearly.
Farid yelped as Dustfinger pinned him to the bed.
"Do you know what you're getting into?" he asked. The boy shook his head; he was honestly fairly scared.
"I guess I'll have to be very gentle with you." the blonde muttered as he pulled off his sweater. "Undress." he told him. Nervously, the Arab striped out of his shirt, pants and underwear. The older man ran his heated gaze over him. He had a very dark tan, lean build and decently endowed, probably four or five inches long when not erect. His own pants and boots hit the ground nearby; he wore nothing under his jeans. Farid inhaled sharply as he took in the other man's well built body and cock that was not even fully erect and already about eight inches long. "On your stomach." he said, glancing around the room. The Arabian boy obeyed as Dustfinger grabbed something off the table. A second later Farid yelped as one of the firebreather's slick fingers slid into his ass.
"What?" he gasped.
"It'll help." the other man promised as another finger entered him gently. The dark haired boy hissed when the other's fingers brushed his prostate.
Dustfinger slicked his cock with olive oil, the same as what he used to stretch the younger man and gently began to slid into him. He growled at how tight the other was around him as he slowly entered him.
"Oh." Farid panted.
"Does it hurt?" he whispered.
"No, it's just uncomfortable." he admited softly.
"It will be for a couple of minutes." he told him softly. As soon as Dustfinger was sure Farid had adjusted, he began to move slowly. He remembered his first time with another man all to well. He had been on his back on the other man's bed while the juggler's wife has smoothed his hair from his face as he had adjusted. He moved with deep, long strokes being extremely carefully to not cause the other any unneccesary pain. Farid moaned as he felt Dustfinger's hand wrap around his own body.
"Have you ever been with anyone?" the blonde whispered.
"No, but the thieves and murders... they told stories about being with women." he admited. The older man paused; he was taking a younger man's virginity. He had at least been with a woman before. "Don't stop, it feels... very, very good." the other begged. As fire pooled in his body he increased the speed of his thrusts into the dark haired man's body and the speed of his strokes. Farid came first, crying out as he came onto the sheets and Dustfinger's hand. The blonde followed shortly afterwards, head tilted back in ecstasy, filling his new lover to the brim.
Dustfinger flopped on the bed after pulling his pants back on. "I must be getting old, I used to be able to go for several rounds before I need to sleep." he thought.
"Um.. Dustfinger?" He opened an eye and looked over at Farid who stood fully dressed by the bed.
The firebreather sighed and muttered, "Come on then." Farid climbed onto the bed and lay down beside him.
"Thank you." the arab whispered after a moment.
The blonde patted his head and said, "Go to sleep."