Chapter Text
The Butterfly Pavilion appeared no different than a regular inn during the day, except its lacquered doors remained firmly shut.
The night was when it came alive.
As dusk settled, silk lanterns were strung up, illuminating the streets in shades of vermilion and gold. The warm light and skillful plucks of a pipa beckoned. A tantalizing invitation.
Courtesans appeared along wooden balconies. They were the image of beauty and grace, dressed in layered robes of embroidered silk that shimmered with every movement. Their hair was adorned with jade pins and kingfisher feathers. A soft smile and an extra glance peeking out from behind a paper fan was enough to draw in a crowd of patrons.
Perfume lingered in the air. A scent of plum blossoms, mixing with the smell of warm wine.
The Madame’s eyes shone as the Butterfly Pavilion filled with laughter and coin. A busy night was a blessing, and tonight promised opportunity in abundance.
Behind painted screens, her girls gathered in excited clusters, whispering over one another like sparrows at dawn. They spoke of a man who had hair of spun gold, and a face that didn’t lose to a single one of them in beauty.
The youngest General in the Kingdom was well known and adored by the people. His heroic feats guarding the border were retold by storytellers at teahouses and market stalls. The people saw hope in the fact that he was able to climb the ranks without family connections, having once been a commoner like them. The stories made passing mention of his good looks. Those meeting him for the first time realized that for once the storytellers had been guilty of understatement rather than embellishment.
He had entered the pavilion with his soldiers, their armor still bearing dust from the long road home.
The soldiers were loud with victory and relief. Cups of wine flowed as laughter filled the hall. Rough voices recounted near-death experiences for the ladies who had come to fill their cups. Courtesans drifted among them like painted butterflies, rewarding each valiant story with delighted gasps and soft laughter.
Each courtesan joining the group hoped for a chance to share the General’s company that night. A coveted opportunity to rise like a phoenix.
Yet the man himself remained distant.
Faced with his polite indifference, the women quickly read the room. Experienced as they were, they adapted and turned their attention instead to his retinue. One by one, the soldiers were claimed. Their sleeves were caught, laughter trailing as they disappeared upstairs. The men were more than happy to indulge themselves at their General’s expense.
As the night deepened and lantern flames burned low, the hall gradually emptied.
Still, the General did not rise.
He sipped wine from a small porcelain cup, looking calm and unmoved. Despite indulging in drinks with his men, he was barely flushed, his amber eyes still sharp as a knife.
The Madame tilted her head. Not even her most celebrated courtesan had managed to lure him upstairs. Perhaps he was a reserved traditionalist.
A man like him, she mused, might only be suited to someone pure and untouchable. A princess. Not someone from the pleasure district.
🏮
Stanley had stayed behind not because he wanted to find a companion, but rather to discourage his men from excessive unruliness. The new recruits could get out of hand without supervision.
A flash of white caught his eye.
A young man was speaking to the Madame, clothed in flowing white robes, with a small black ‘X’ marked on his breast. His snow-white hair, unusual for someone so young, was brushed back to reveal a wide forehead. He had a small nose and a soft mouth, which was tilted upward with a confidence that Stanley couldn’t look away from.
He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
He didn’t know this man. He was sure. If they had ever met before, he would have never forgotten. Yet, there was an inexplicable sense of familiarity that gripped him.
Dark eyes flickered over to him for moment. When their eyes met, he felt like he was looking at someone he had been waiting for all his life without knowing it.
Was he asking about him? Did he sense the same inexplicable connection?
The gaze left him so quickly that Stanley almost wondered if it was his imagination.
The man turned and disappeared upstairs.
“Who was that?” He asked the Madame. “A customer?” As far as he could tell, there were only two types of individuals that went upstairs.
“No, no. That was Xeno,” she answered, surprised at his interest. “He works here—”
He rose up abruptly before she fully finished.
With a few quick strides, he was ascending the staircase.
“Wait,” Stanley called out to Xeno before he could disappear into a room. “Xeno.” Even the name sounded familiar on his lips.
The man paused and turned in the corridor.
Wanton moans and grunts echoed throughout the hallway, unable to be held back by the thin paper doors.
Stanley ignored them completely, focusing on the one in front of him.
“How may I assist you, General?” Xeno asked politely.
Stanley gulped. He had rushed up here without thinking. If Xeno worked here… He didn’t want the man spending the night. Not with someone else. “I would like to purchase your services.”
Silence stretched between them.
Dark eyes studied him carefully.
Stanley licked his dry lips, feeling unlike himself. He had never sought the company of men before, let alone in this setting.
Yet, he didn’t regret his words. He would do anything to keep the attention of this man.
Xeno took a step closer. His gaze traveled from Stanley’s dust-streaked boots to his shoulder guards. The sword hanging at his hip. Xeno’s gaze lingered long enough that it made him feel, for the first time in years, faintly self-conscious beneath inspection.
“You don’t look injured, sir. What kind of services exactly were you hoping to purchase from an apothecary in the middle of the night?”
Stanley’s face heated from embarrassment at the misunderstanding. Words, so reliable in command tents and war councils, abandoned him entirely. “Apologies, I did not realize.”
Could he have made a worse first impression? He’d all but implied the other was—
Xeno gave a small shrug. “No need for apology. You aren’t wrong, I was in that profession once, before my current one.”
Jealousy flared in Stanley’s chest like an out-of-control flame.
He ground his teeth at the thought of strangers touching Xeno, claiming his attention so casually. Due to nothing but timing, they had known Xeno’s companionship, while he was left with nothing but an awkward misunderstanding.
An absurd idea crossed his mind: perhaps he could invent an illness. A headache. A fever. Anything that might justify claiming more time in Xeno’s presence.
One look at those perceptive dark eyes told him such deception would last only seconds.
While he was still finding the right words—ones that ensured this wouldn’t be the last time they spoke—Xeno reached into the satchel by his side and took out a small pad of rice paper, a brush, and ink. Leaning against a nearby table stand, he wrote something in elegant precise strokes. After he was done, Xeno blew lightly on it and folded the paper.
Due to the angle, Stanley was unable to see what he had written.
Xeno held it out like an invitation.
“If you can pay the price,” Xeno said, “I wouldn’t mind making an exception.”
Stanley paused, forgetting to breathe for a moment.
He reached for Xeno’s wrist, careful, almost tentative. Before he slipped the paper out from gloved fingertips, he brought them up to his lips for a soft kiss. The kind a knight would give a princess.
“I can,” he said.
Xeno excused himself, saying he had patients to tend to.
Stanley watched him go, his gaze following until he disappeared behind a closing door.
He felt empty, as though some small, unseen piece of himself had followed Xeno inside.
It called to him, quiet but insistent, urging him to return and reclaim it.
🏮
The Madame saw the General descend the stairs soon after ascending. He did not look like he was in a bad mood. She concluded that Xeno must have turned him down diplomatically.
“If that is your preference sir, we have some other options downstairs that may… better suit your tastes,” she whispered conspiratorially, leaning in. She chastised herself for missing this possibility for why he had been completely unmoved earlier. She’d almost missed a precious business opportunity.
“I want to learn more about Xeno,” Stanley said, a complete non-sequitur.
The Madame paused.
Her eyes searched his face for cruelty or anger. She only found genuine interest.
So, she spoke.
She told him of the child born within the Pavilion’s walls. A missing father, a mother who passed young.
He’d had to earn a living on his own or risk starving on the street.
A common story but with an uncommon outcome.
He had been quite popular with clients once upon a time. Downstairs.
His mind was sharp enough that he was able to earn himself an apprenticeship with a travelling apothecary. Sharp enough to leave that world behind.
She’d thought he’d turn away from the establishment forever to try to bury that dark part of his past.
Instead, he came back willingly. He brought herbs the courtesans desperately needed, ones to prevent pregnancy and cure diseases. There was no judgement. He had been one of them once. He also never took advantage of his position to demand a different type of payment, like other apothecaries sometimes did.
“Perhaps,” she added, dabbing delicately at a tear that did not exist, “he wishes to spare others from being born into such circumstances.”
The story was entirely true, but she may have tried to make Xeno sound particularly pitiable, to discourage Stanley from seeking revenge for rejection.
As she spoke, Stanley’s expression grew steadily darker.
“How much do I still owe for my men?” he asked.
She answered.
He paid without hesitation.
The coins settled heavily into her sleeve before he spoke again.
“Tell Xeno I’ll be back with the price he sought.”
Her eyes widened. Once he had left this line of work years ago, she had never known of Xeno offering to take on new clients.
🏮
Xeno sighed as the Madame inquired, yet again, what was written on the paper he had given the General.
He could not be bothered to lie, so he answered honestly.
“You know of my interest in creating new medicines,” he said. “I asked him for an ingredient I’ve been seeking for some time. An herb called Gemlock.” To say it had been difficult to acquire was an understatement. It could not be purchased in any market, no matter the wealth offered. Its existence almost bordered on myth. There were rumors that it grew on cliffs in a perilous mountain gorge next to a little town to the north—the harpies’ territory.
There were stories about its miraculous properties, passed from traveler to traveler like tavern folklore. Most were not stupid enough to risk their life for something they weren’t sure even existed. The ones that did rarely returned.
The Madame didn’t say anything.
Days later, after she’d asked around, she cornered him again. “Why didn’t you just ask him for the stars from the sky? It would be just as unreasonable.” She worried her lower lip, “Oh Xeno, what will we do if he comes back furious? The law is nothing in the face of someone like him. If anything were to happen to you, I don’t know what we would do…”
“He didn’t seem like that kind of man,” Xeno said. “Besides, he’s not come back, has he?”
It was true.
A month passed. Then two.
Xeno found himself pausing in the hallway where he’d met the man who’d said, “I can.”
He couldn’t explain why, but despite broken promises being as constant as the tide, a small part of him was waiting.
Another month passed.
The rumors came in. They travelled quickly to an establishment such as this.
Someone had done the impossible.
The entire harpy nest had been wiped out, bringing safety to that northern town. The legendary herb truly did exist. Now the town, which had previously been in desperate straits, was partnering with the Nanami Corporation to export it. Wealth would soon follow.
The Madame rushed to tell Xeno the news. She peered at him, her expression all but saying, “You didn’t think he could actually do it, did you? What will you do now?”
Xeno was neither alarmed nor distraught at the news.
In fact, he even felt a small spark of anticipation.
“If he comes, I’ll need a room,” he told the Madame.
🏮
Stanley finally returned two weeks later.
He came alone.
He had abandoned his armor for a plain black robe of dark silk, its wide sleeves unembroidered and its sash tied without ornament. The garments were those of an ordinary traveler, yet his bearing lent them an elegance no tailor could have crafted.
The Madame came to greet him immediately.
“Please follow me.”
He’d expected to finally see what was downstairs in this establishment, but she led him upstairs instead. They didn’t stop on the second floor but rather ascended past the familiar hum of evening revelry, to the only chamber on the third.
The room was spacious and carefully arranged. It was clearly intended for the establishment’s wealthier clientele.
A porcelain wine set sat upon a low table. Paper lanterns painted with poetry lit the room with a warm red glow. A large canopy bed sat half hidden behind wooden panels, its contents hidden by silk curtains. An open window let in a cool autumn breeze.
“He said it will take some time before he’s ready. If you wish, I can send someone to keep you company while you wait.”
Stanley shook his head. “No need. I will wait.” He paused. “What do I owe you for the room?”
The Madame shook her head. “I would not dare accept payment. Xeno holds a special place in the Butterfly Pavilion, and the room was arranged at his request.” She folded her hands within her sleeves, bowing. “If this humble hostess may ask only one thing, it is that you treat him well.”
Stanley nodded.
She exited the room, pulling shut the folding doors behind her.
Left alone, he poured himself a cup of wine and drank slowly, listening to the faint life of the Pavilion through the window.
Time stretched.
It crossed his mind around the two-hour mark of waiting that Xeno might not come at all. Maybe the request had been nothing more than an elegant refusal after all.
That would be unfortunate. He had come a very long way to see him.
Still, it hadn’t been a waste of effort. Even if Xeno chose not to appear, Stanley intended to leave behind what had been requested.
The silence was shattered by the soft sound of the doors folding open… and closing again.
Xeno stood by the open window, moonlight spilling in behind him and tracing his silhouette in silver. For a fleeting moment, he looked less like a man than a figure stepped from a painted scroll.
He wore layered robes of black silk that fell gracefully to his ankles, bound at the waist with a wide violet sash tied in an immaculate bow. Fine white lines ran through the fabric like drifting snowfall, while foxglove blossoms unfurled along the hem with quiet elegance. He noticed, like the last time they’d met, Xeno was clad in silk white gloves.
A faint blush softened his pale features, dark liner accentuating his stunning eyes even more. His lips were painted a subtle shade of violet. Stanley found it difficult to look anywhere else.
“Apologies for the wait, General.”
“It was worth it,” Stanley replied, warmth blooming in him for reasons entirely unrelated to the wine. “And just call me Stanley.”
The scent of lavender drifted from Xeno as he slid into the seat beside him rather than across the table. They were close enough that their sleeves brushed.
Stanley passed over the bag he had brought, watching Xeno’s reaction.
Xeno lifted the herb, his touch light and careful. He rotated it beneath the light, observing every detail. “The density of the stem lends it resiliency in the harsh climates amid high mountains.” He inhaled deeply, “Cooling… but not weakening. That is rare. Most herbs that calm the body steal its strength in return. I should pair it with ginseng or Goji berries. I suspect it would aid those recovering from long illness… perhaps blood loss as well.”
“How elegant! There are dozens of formulations I’ve been dying to test. With the right ratios…” Xeno looked so absorbed in his thoughts that it was like he had forgotten Stanley was there altogether.
Stanley didn’t mind. In fact, Xeno’s delight was infectious. It led his lips to curve upwards as well.
Xeno cleared his throat, recognizing he had been impolite in his excitement. “Thank you. This is more than I was expecting.”
Stanley watched Xeno as though he wanted to memorize every detail.
“I meant to go alone and gather a few,” he said. “Some subordinates insisted on coming along for a group outing, so the operation expanded. The townsfolk were so delighted, they said we could take as much as we wished.”
Xeno put the bag of Gemlock to the side. He shifted closer across the cushions, studying Stanley as though he was more fascinating than any herb. “How generous,” he said, close enough that Stanley could hear the quiet words easily. He lifted a stray strand of blond hair, sliding it behind Stanley’s ear. “I’ll have to make sure you’re properly compensated.”
Stanley remembered the Madame’s words about Xeno’s past.
“I don’t want you doing anything you didn’t intend.” If Xeno had requested Gemlock as a soft refusal, he wasn’t going to insist. “Keep it. I trust you’ll put it to good use.”
Stanley’s eyes drifted to those purple lips. It wasn’t time. Not yet.
“I’d like to see you again. Spend time together. If that’s something you’re willing to allow.”
Xeno seemed to find those earnest words amusing, letting out a soft chuckle. A gloved hand slid up Stanley’s robes, tracing the solid line of his chest before lifting his chin.
“I didn’t take you for one hesitant to claim what he’s owed,” he teased. “I’m a man of my word, Stanley, and I knew exactly what I was offering.” Their noses brushed. Xeno’s breath ghosted against Stanley’s lips. But he left Stanley the final move.
“If you’re not interested…” He gave a look like they both knew that was impossible. “It would be a shame. I went through some effort preparing, you know.”
Calloused fingers closed firmly around Xeno’s wrist.
A silent, final warning.
Xeno didn’t pull back.
Stanley closed the sliver of space left between them, finally laying claim to those soft lips he’d been staring at.
Xeno tasted so delicious, he could not help but want more. He tilted Xeno’s head, slipping his tongue past violet lips to savor the sweet warmth. Heat unfurled between them, slow and consuming. It tasted like something he’d been missing all his life.
He only pulled away when Xeno tapped weakly at his shoulder.
“S-Stanley—” Xeno gasped, taking quick gulps of air. Stanley liked the sound of his name on the other’s tongue, especially spoken like that. “We have… different lung capacities. Allow me… a moment… to recover.”
Stanley’s usual patience was nowhere to be found.
He dipped his head, tracing the pale curve of Xeno’s neck. He inhaled deeply, committing his scent to memory. Every bob of Xeno’s Adam’s apple against his lips ignited a hunger he couldn’t deny.
His kisses along Xeno’s neck were bruising and possessive, as though wanting to announce to the world Xeno was his.
Even though the urge briefly flared, he ultimately decided it would be inelegant to push Xeno down onto the floor.
With effortless strength, he slid his arms beneath Xeno and lifted him. Xeno responded instinctively, arms looping around Stanley’s shoulders for stability.
Stanley walked over to the bed. Silk curtains parted and he laid his companion against the sheets, captivated by the sight: dark fabric spilling around moonlit hair, elegant limbs caught in folds of shadow and light.
Xeno propped himself up on his elbows, one knee bending languidly. The movement caused the robe to slip higher, baring the smooth porcelain skin of his inner thigh and the delicate line of his ankle.
The color on his lips had smudged, and the sight sent a dark, possessive thrill through Stanley. An irresistible urge to ruin this man even further.
Xeno looked at Stanley with a practiced, half-lidded smile.
“Like what you see?” he teased.
Stanley answered by bending down and catching the sash at Xeno’s waist between his teeth. Their eyes remained locked as he gave a slow, firm tug.
The knot surrendered.
Layers of black silk loosened and parted like water, sliding open to reveal sharp collarbones and the pale sweep of chest beneath. Lantern light danced across newly exposed skin, casting a warm glow.
🏮
Xeno was no stranger to peculiar client desires. Some were dangerous. He had personally aided many courtesans in recovering from their aftermath.
Compared to those, Stanley’s oral fixation seemed almost innocent.
Given the price he had requested, he had prepared thoroughly. He’d meant it when he said he wanted Stanley to be properly compensated.
Stanley’s gaze lingered briefly on the sheen of lavender oil coating Xeno’s skin. Then came the first tentative lick. A low, satisfied hum vibrated against him, and Xeno catalogued the sensation with clinical detachment: warm, wet, unexpectedly gentle.
A soft breath escaped him anyway. It had been a long time since anyone else’s tongue had touched his skin.
Stanley continued unhurriedly, kissing, licking, nipping with deliberate care, as though every inch of Xeno’s body was something rare and worth savoring. Warm breath drifted behind the sensitive ridge of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. They ghosted down the valley between his collarbones. His mouth settled at Xeno’s nipples, rolling each peak between tongue and teeth until sharp little moans slipped out. Lower still, Stanley paused at the hollow of his navel, mapping him like uncharted territory he refused to leave unexplored.
The intensity bordered on obsession.
Xeno found himself imagining Stanley as a young squire—always with a blade of grass perched between his lips to keep his restless mouth occupied.
Amused, Xeno rested a hand in Stanley’s hair, fingers combing gently through the soft strands in silent praise.
He didn’t expect Stanley to catch his wrist and bring his hand up to his mouth. Teeth closed around the tip of one gloved finger, tugging.
“Wait,” Xeno warned. “You won’t like what you find.”
He didn’t regret the mottled scars on his hands for one second. They had been caused by failed experiments over the years, but failure was the mother of success. He hid them more for others’ comfort.
Stanley ignored Xeno’s warning.
With a firm pull, he stripped the glove away.
Xeno instinctively tried to yank his hand back, but Stanley’s grip was unyielding.
He waited for the inevitable look of disgust. For Stanley to lose interest altogether.
Instead, a warm, deliberate tongue traced the uneven terrain of scarred skin. Every ridge and hollow was lathered with patient reverence.
No one had seen his hands in years, let alone touched them like this.
Xeno tried to rationalize it away, to slot it into the familiar category of client peculiarities, but he could not. Not when Stanley patiently licked his disfigured flesh like there was nothing to be ashamed of. Like his hands were made to be worshipped.
A treacherous pulse of heat shot straight to his groin. He grew embarrassingly hard from nothing more than Stanley’s attention on his ruined hands.
Each slow swirl of that wet tongue around his fingers made it impossible not to imagine it elsewhere. He was already leaking, the evidence slick and insistent against his stomach, betraying his body’s arousal.
Only once he was thoroughly done tasting every part of his upper body, with Xeno on the edge of begging, did Stanley finally slide off Xeno’s trousers. He lowered his head to Xeno’s member.
Xeno opened his mouth to insist this was a service clients requested, not one they performed, but the words dissolved into incoherent sounds as warm, wet heat enveloped him. No amount of mental preparation could have softened the shock of it. A skillful tongue traced every vein and ridge greedily, as though Stanley intended to devour him whole.
“Ahn!”
Xeno didn’t have to feign a single one of his moans. They escaped him, raw and unguarded.
It had been more than a decade since he’d experienced anything like this. Even then, the roles had always been reversed.
He recalled the bitter taste, the inability to breathe, the desire for it to end—
The memory fractured as Stanley shifted, drawing him deeper.
Xeno opened his mouth to protest. Express he didn’t need to do this, least of all for someone like him, but the enthusiasm was unmistakable.
Stanley bobbed his head with open eagerness, humming softly as if nothing in the world could compare to Xeno’s taste.
He was infinitely better at this than Xeno had ever been.
A finger pressed experimentally at his entrance.
A low, surprised vibration hummed through Stanley’s throat as he registered exactly what Xeno had meant when he said he’d been “preparing.” The finger sank in smoothly to the knuckle with almost no resistance.
“More, please,” Xeno said, finally finding his voice. Stanley was making an experience he’d only tolerated before pleasurable. The least he could do was give the other enthusiastic encouragement.
Stanley didn’t need to be told twice.
He continued sucking him with devoted skill while his finger curled and stroked, massaging Xeno from both front and back in perfect rhythm. Soon one finger became two, stretching him open with careful, relentless care.
Xeno became nothing but a quivering, slick mess.
Silver hair clung damply to his forehead and neck, sweat and lavender oil mixing until his entire body was glistening and overheated.
He was mesmerized by the sight that greeted him when he looked down. He saw those sinful lips at work, stained with a smudge of violet from their earlier kisses. He saw Stanley’s long lashes, and glowing eyes that looked up at him like he never wanted to look away.
For a dizzying second, it was unclear who was serving whom.
“W-wait, if you keep going like that, I’m going to—”
Pleasure coiled tight and vicious in his belly, buzzing through every vein like liquid fire. He tried to warn Stanley, but the man only hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, the silent message unmistakable: “That’s the goal.”
Xeno cried out as release overtook him. Stanley swallowed every pulse with greedy enthusiasm, not wasting a single drop. He licked his lips afterward as if he hadn’t had enough.
Xeno’s bones felt like they had melted.
He lay there weightless, drifting in the aftershocks, chest heaving.
Above him, Stanley shifted.
Without embarrassment, he began to undress. He stripped until he was as naked as the day he was born.
Xeno’s eyes mapped the other’s body, tracing strong lines of muscle, broad shoulders, and a firm abdomen. The scars on his body suited him, each one telling of another daring escape from death’s door.
A sick part of Xeno wanted Stanley to gain a new scar, for him. Then he could live with the knowledge that he’d left permanent mark on this elegant figure.
Xeno’s gaze wandered lower.
Heat flooded his face.
Surely, being filled by that would be incomparable to his own hand, or even Stanley’s skillful fingers.
Stanley leaned over Xeno on the bed; their bodies close but not touching. The evidence of his desire left little room for doubt.
Expectation coiled low in Xeno’s stomach.
Instead of meeting it, Stanley searched his face with a gentleness that felt almost foreign.
“Should I continue?” he asked. “We can stop here if you want.”
Indignation and impatience rose within Xeno.
“I’m hardly a virgin maiden,” he shot back, “so don’t treat me like one.”
To prove his point, he hooked his arms around Stanley’s neck and locked his ankles firmly around the man’s waist, pulling him down and in.
Both of them gasped sharply as the blunt head of Stanley’s erection pressed against his entrance and began to breach him.
Stanley moved with agonizing care, giving Xeno time to adjust to the stretch and the overwhelming fullness. He adjusted his angle with every shallow thrust until he dragged directly over that sensitive spot inside.
Sparks of pleasure lit up Xeno’s spine.
He never broke eye contact.
Xeno could read far too much in that steady gaze. Lust. Desire. But also something softer, unfamiliar. As though he were more precious than Gemlock, instead of chamomile steeped too many times to hold any strength.
“Mhh, you can go faster...” Xeno managed, distracting himself from thoughts he refused to examine. “Please,” he moaned, nailed raking lightly down the muscled expanse of Stanley’s back.
His hips lifted instinctively, falling out of rhythm in impatience.
Stanley’s smile flashed, sharp and pleased.
He gave Xeno exactly what he asked for.
The pace increased, deep and relentless. Pleasure rapidly disintegrated Xeno’s control. All he could do was allow Stanley to take, to claim. He watched, breathless, as those powerful core muscles flexed and tensed with every deep thrust.
Broken, needy sounds spilled from his lips. Stanley’s name tumbled out again and again.
“Stan! Ahn… it feels too good…”
The words only spurred Stanley on.
He thrusted harder, deeper.
The world blurred at the edges. Xeno barely registered the moment his second release overtook him, warmth spilling across his stomach as his body trembled through the aftermath.
His insides pulsed wildly, leading to a sharp inhale from Stanley.
“Can I—inside?” Stanley’s voice was rough, strained at the edges.
Asking.
He was always asking.
No one else ever had.
Xeno wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at this odd man.
“Yes. Inside,” he whispered, voice raw.
Stanley embraced him as he finished. His hips stuttered once before he buried himself deep and let go with a low, guttural groan.
An unusual feeling struck Xeno, like they had connected in some way beyond just bodies meeting.
He dismissed it at once. Nothing more than the pleasant fog of a thoroughly satisfying release. Nothing worth examining.
Warm slickness trickled from him as Stanley slowly pulled out.
Xeno became abruptly, unpleasantly cold when the other man rolled aside to lie beside him.
They lay naked in the lamplight, close but not touching, the only sound their gradually slowing breaths.
After a measured pause, Xeno glanced over.
Stanley was already hard again.
Yet, he made no move, clearly restraining himself.
Always worrying. Always overthinking.
Finally, my turn to take the lead.
Xeno pushed himself upright and swung one leg over Stanley’s hips, straddling him in one fluid motion. The new position pressed their bodies together, skin still slick with sweat and oil.
Stanley’s eyes widened. A hot gaze tracing every bite, every mark that had been left on Xeno’s body.
“We have the whole night,” Xeno purred, voice low and velvet-smooth, the practiced cadence of a courtesan sliding into place. He licked his lips slowly, deliberately. “Let’s not waste it.”
Leaning forward, he reached between them to guide Stanley back to his entrance, teasing the head against his still-sensitive, slick hole before sinking down just enough to let the tip breach him. A soft, appreciative hum escaped his throat.
“You’re a knight, but I’m no princess. You can be rougher with me.” It was an instruction he’d never given before. Yet, somehow, he trusted Stanley not to weaponize it against him. “I won’t break.”
He rolled his hips once, teasingly shallow, letting Stanley feel exactly how open and ready he still was.
“Show me, General,” Xeno whispered, voice dripping with seductive challenge as he braced his scarred hands on Stanley’s broad chest. “Show me what you can really do.”
🏮
Stanley woke with bone-deep satisfaction settled warmly in his muscles, even though he had slept only a few short hours.
The bed beside him was empty.
He sat up at once, heart lurching. For one disorienting second he feared the entire night had been a vivid dream—the silk sheets, the lavender oil, the broken moans that had spilled from Xeno’s lips. Then the memories flooded back.
He would never forget them for the rest of his life.
“I’d like to see you again,” he’d whispered in the night.
“I can pay of course,” he had added, the words feeling clumsy and insufficient even as they left his mouth. Any language other than payment seemed like overstepping a boundary, and he didn’t want to risk being unable to see Xeno again.
Xeno’s silhouette had stayed perfectly still in the low lantern light.
“I will consider it,” Xeno had finally answered, voice soft and unreadable. “It’s time for sleep. Sweet dreams, Stanley.”
The answer to that consideration now rested on the nightstand.
A single sheet of parchment lay there, accompanied by several carefully tied rolls of paper that had not been present the night before.
Stanley let go of the breath he’d been holding as he read. His lips curved upwards.
Of course, Xeno’s requests could never be ordinary.
Next time, the payment he requested was ore from the western mines, the very ore that had fallen into short supply because a horde of trolls now blocked the main route. No deadline given.
This time, he provided blueprints.
Stanley unrolled them carefully, eyes widening as he studied the elegant, precise weaponry and armour designs. They were signed at the bottom with Xeno’s name.
Stanley’s fingertips traced the elegant lines of ink, lingering on the name as if he could still feel the warmth of the man who had written it.
This mission is yours should you accept it. I have included a few small designs that may be of assistance.