This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are fictitious. The story and its contents are the sole property of the author. It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the permission of the author. Any act of copying or plagiarism will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you are offended by sex or sexual acts between two consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and a significantly younger one please do not read any further. Please do not read any further if you are under the age of 18 or it is illegal for you to be viewing such material where you reside. For the rest of you who don't need this read on and enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Copyright 2006
Chapter 9
"Here," Tristan declared almost reverently. Kreshtar brought the horses to a stop and cast his eyes about. They had emerged from the woods and undergrowth into a small open field. It was dominated by a large pond, almost a lake. The grasses were wild and flowers of every color and variety seemed to grow in equal measure and abundance. The pond was fed bay a small stream pouring down the side of the mountain they were on. It emptied on the far side of the field continuing its journey the rest of the way down the slope. Surrounding it all stood tall pine trees encircling the open area, sheltering them from view.
Yes, the spot was good. Kreshtar had visited homes that had been in secluded little nooks on mountainsides such as this before. It was always a hard life, but the inhabitants always seemed happy, if somewhat nervous in his presence. Certainly a man could very well lead a fulfilling life here, couldn't he?
Kreshtar dismounted and helped Tristan down as well, placing his hands on the young man's hips and guiding him to the ground. It wasn't really necessary, Tristan knew enough about horses to mount and dismount on his own. It was simply an excuse to touch him, though Kreshtar really didn't need one. Kreshtar grabbed the reins in one hand and rested his arm casually around Tristan's shoulders and they made their way over to the water's edge to let the horses drink their fill.
The climb up the mountainside had been relatively easy, particularly on horse back. They had only been riding half a day and had stayed the night in a small town at the foot of the mountain, settled next to the river that was no doubt fed by this pond and other such tributaries. The river at the mountain's base was not quite large enough to support travel and trade, that had been going on farther downstream, there was a mill, powered by a water wheel and a smithy of credible size as well. But most importantly there had been an apothecary in residence.
Tristan and Kreshtar had visited the man and had learned that, while well versed in herbs and other things regarding his trade, the man was only mediocre at healing. He made no claims to being a great healer either, simply stating that his knowledge primarily lay in other areas. This had been what had prompted Tristan and Kreshtar to find a place to make a more permanent residence.
They had been traveling for weeks, verging on almost two full months by the cycles of the moon. Each day they had left at first light and traveled almost till dusk. They had stopped only to let the horses rest and to eat sparingly. The frustrating part of the journey though, at least to Kreshtar's mind, had been the stitches. Tristan had said that they could tear if Kreshtar engaged in anything too rigorous, and the process would have to be repeated all over. So their intimacy had been limited to simple physical contact and not much beyond. When Kreshtar had grumbled about this Tristan very firmly pointed out that most often times patients weren't allowed to ride horse back or travel on foot.
Kreshtar set about gathering fire wood while Tristan took a hoe they had purchased in the town and started to clear a small patch of earth close to the water. The weather was mild verging on warm and soon Tristan was sweating heavily. He was rewarded though when he finished, he had cleared a decent sized patch of earth with relative ease, the soil was rich and not rocky. This would be a good spot to grow herbs. Kreshtar had finished gathering wood enough for the evening's fire and had settled down to watch Tristan.
"You know," Kreshtar said idly, "I could very well grow accustomed to having someone else work for me. All these weeks of rest seem to have agreed with me."
Tristan gave Kreshtar a look that was eloquent, the big man breaking into a fit of good natured laughter.
"Speaking of which," Tristan changed the subject slightly, "let's take a look at that wound." he laid the hoe against a fallen log and knelt next to Kreshtar. Tristan carefully unwrapped the clean linen bandage and cast a critical eye on the progress of the wound's healing. After a few moments of examining and prodding at the area Tristan finally made his pronouncement.
"Well, it would seem that these are ready to be removed. You are as good as new."
"Well, well then," Kreshtar exclaimed eagerly, "let's be done with it shall we?"
"First," Tristan said with an air of authority, "the fire. Afterwards we may remove them," and with that he set about to do so.
The fire was quickly built and soon Tristan sat next to Kreshtar and, using a small knife, began to systematically cut and pull the threads from Kreshtar's flesh. It was tedious work, and the process seemed frustratingly slow to Kreshtar's mind, when in reality it was a relatively simple procedure. It was also disconcerting to feel the thread being pulled out of his side.
"There," Tristan declared, pulling the last stitch free and rubbing just a small bit of ointment over the pinprick holes. There was a fine white line running across Kreshtar's side where the dagger had pierced and sliced his skin. But it was now one of many scars. The man, given his reputation, certainly had a collection of those.
"That is all then?" Kreshtar asked almost hesitantly.
"You are released from my care," Tristan stated smiling, "hale and healthy."
"Good," was the only thing Kreshtar said. The giant man lunged suddenly from his seated position on the ground without warning and without any signal. It seemed inhuman that a man so large should be able to move so quickly. Tristan gave a startled cry as he was forced to the ground on his back. There was a moments fear, even now after everything they had been through, or perhaps because of it.
But then Kreshtar's mouth found his, and Tristan felt the man's need and desire, his desperation, and understood. Honestly, Tristan felt them himself. Weeks of traveling, of being with each other and not being able to do the things that each so desperately wanted to do, and after almost losing one another. It had been near enough to torture.
So, after the initial surprise of the near attack, Tristan kissed back with need and desperation in equal measure to Kreshtar's own. Kreshtar probed his tongue deep into Tristan's mouth. Now running the length of his tongue across Tristan's own, now passing the tip of it across Tristan's teeth, then nibbling and biting gently on Tristan's lips.
Tristan intertwined his fingers in Kreshtar's hair, exerting a light pressure on the back of Kreshtar's head and forcing the man's tongue yet deeper. Tristan's other arm wrapped around Kreshtar's side, kneading the powerful muscles in the man's back as though they were clay. He dug his nails into Kreshtar's skin and dragged them up the length of Kreshtar's back and back down again, hard enough to leave trails but not enough to break the skin. Tristan was rewarded as Kreshtar growled and groaned deeply against Tristan's mouth, starting to grind his hips into Tristan's, Kreshtar's sex digging in and rubbing against Tristan's own answering hardness.
Kreshtar's weight was pressing down on Tristan, it was almost too much, crushing and suffocating, like being buried under the force of a landslide.
Their loincloths were in the way, was the only cohesive, coherent thought Kreshtar had in his mind. With the the arm that did not hold Tristan pressed to him Kreshtar tore at the clasp of Tristan's loincloth, it cam off in an easy motion and Kreshtar merely pulled the front portion of it from between them without bothering to pull the rest out from underneath Tristan. Kreshtar tore viciously at the clasp on his own and pulled it off himself, letting it crumble to the ground next to them.
Tristan's flesh was warm in the afternoon sunlight, his manhood felt almost hot to the touch. Kreshtar began to thrust his hips again, repositioning himself so that their loins were pressed against each other's. Tristan's face was even with Kreshtar's neck and his upper chest and he began to lick, suck and bite the skin in front of him. Kreshtar began to growl deeply in response.
Under other circumstances Kreshtar might have wanted to take his time, draw out their passion longer. But hie was desperate. He felt as though a desert, dry and parched from drought, now that it was finally raining he would greedily drink up every last drop in a hurry.
With a sudden motion and a grunt Kreshtar flipped Tristan over. Tristan grunted in response but made no complaints about the rough treatment. Kreshtar lowered himself back onto Tristan's back, placing his throbbing shaft between the cheeks at the swell of Tristan's legs. Kreshtar wrapped one arm around Tristan's neck, gripping the boy's shoulder on the other side, his other hand he placed on the young man's hip, pulling Tristan into him as he began to thrust once more. Tristan spread his legs wide to accommodate the considerable length and girth being ground into the crevice of his backside. He had almost forgotten how well Kreshtar was endowed, the man's sex being at least as long as Tristan's forearm and almost as thick as his wrist. The largest the young man had ever come across. He breathed in deeply and the smell of fresh-turned earth greeted him, and underneath that came the musky smell that he had come to associate with Kreshtar. It was an intoxicating blend o
f!
aromas.
"Oil," Tristan managed to think aloud. Kreshtar stood hurriedly and almost ran to the horses. Digging into one of the baskets strapped to the mare's back. He found the jar of oil quickly and dashed back to where Tristan lay on the ground. Tristan turned his head and watched as Kreshtar pulled out the stopper and poured a small stream down in between Tristan's splayed legs. Tristan felt the olive oil trickle down, almost tickling, while Kreshtar poured some on his monstrous shaft and spread it across the length and girth. He placed the stopper back in the bottle and set it aside. While Kreshtar continued to stroke and spread the oil on his shaft with one hand the other spread the oil on Tristan. The feel of the man's thick and calloused fingers playing with and spreading the oil across the outside of his hole was incredible and Tristan began to moan in response.
On a whim Kreshtar took his middle and largest finger and pressed it slowly and gently on the outside of Tristan's opening. He had to exert a little more pressure and then his finger slide inside smoothly. Tristan gasped in response, mentally swearing that the man had fingers the size of other men's endowments. Kreshtar began to push his finger in and out of Tristan, like he had his manhood on a few occasions before, burring it all the way up to his knuckle and then pulling it out almost all of the way. Tristan moaned loudly, but he wanted something more.
He pushed himself up on his hands and, looking back at Kreshtar over his shoulder, locked eyes with the man and said one word.
"Please."
Kreshtar needed no further encouragement. He returned his arm around Tristan's neck and placed his hand back on the boy's hip. Then, despite his pressing desire, he began to push gently. Tristan hissed in a sharp breath as his hole was forced wider and made to accommodate the size of Kreshtar's manhood.
"You alright?" Kreshtar managed to growl into Tristan's shoulder in a husky voice.
"Yes," Tristan breathed, voice a little high and airy with pain. "I think that this part is always going to hurt to start with. You're simply that big."
"Sorry," Kreshtar mumble against Tristan's neck apologetically.
"Don't apologize," Tristan said with a small laugh. "Believe me, it is a good thing. Just, go slowly."
Kreshtar began to do as Tristan asked. Slowly moving his manhood deeper and deeper into Tristan. He pulled his length slowly out and with each gentle thrust Kreshtar pushed just a little bit deeper. Tristan's breath cam in sharp hasps as he felt Kreshtar's shaft thrust deeper and deeper inside him. It was painful, oh sweet goddess, how did she ever create a man this large? But that pain was slowly being overridden with pleasure. Tristan wanted it all, and began to roll his hips back in time with Kreshtar's movements, making himself more accessible to the fullness of Kreshtar's incredible size.
Kreshtar's took this as an unspoken signal from Tristan. He forcefully and unapologetically slammed the rest of his length inside of Tristan, he had only been about half way in.
Tristan cried out. It was a cry that was part pain, part pleasure, part shock, but all euphoria. Kreshtar's manhood rubbed against that spot, that place deep inside of him that he could not quite tell whether or not touching it was incredibly painful or incredibly pleasurable, all he knew was that he did not want it to stop.
Tristan was suddenly aware that he had pushed himself up on his hands again, arching his back to its fullest extent in response to Kreshtar shoving in the last of his length. Kreshtar's hand moved up from Tristan's hip and had found one of his nipples, pinching and twisting it. The man's breath was hot against Tristan's neck, scorching even. It felt as though it would burn Tristan away, consume him till there was nothing left but bones and ashes. Tristan turned his head to the side and Kreshtar's mouth met his. Heat, molten like metal heated in a forge.
Kreshtar began to thrust again, slowly and then gaining speed as he found a rhythm. By Odin, Thor and Tyr, by all the gods in Valhalla there was noting to compare to this. Kreshtar began to grunt and growl in time with his thrusting, Tristan moaning and crying out in response.
Kreshtar suddenly pushed himself up to his knees, pulling Tristan with him without pulling his shaft out of the young man. Tristan cried out again as the angle changed dramatically all of a sudden and the end of Kreshtar's sex probed an entirely different spot.
Tristan's chest and stomach were heaving, his torso was covered in moist dirt that was almost mud. It was almost becoming too much, he was not sure how much more he could take. Kreshtar kept his arm around Tristan's neck, his hand moving over Tristan's young chest and shoulder. Even from here he still towered over the boy. He leaned his head down and kissed Tristan deeply, Tristan stretching his head up to meet him. Kreshtar wrapped his other hand around Tristan's own sizable manhood, hard and leaking, squeezing it till he knew it must almost be painful and began to move his hand in an opposing rhythm to his thrusts.
Tristan felt it build, like a pot about to boil and froth over. He heard Kreshtar's voice change as well, a distinction in pitch that was unmistakable. All it would take to send him over was...
There. Tristan cried out against Kreshtar's mouth, it was more of a scream that raked itself from the depths of his throat that had nothing in the world to do with pain. He felt his sac tighten, his body convulsing as his seed shot from him like an arrow from a bow. Kreshtar roared behind Tristan, screaming down the young man's throat, Tristan's convulsions being just enough to push him over the brink. Tristan felt Kreshtar's manhood erupt inside of him, thick searing ropes that felt like they should burn him from the inside out.
They both collapsed on the ground, Kreshtar still on top of Tristan, their tremors slowly subsiding. They both were gasping for breath, hearts pounding against each other.
"I think," Tristan said between gasps for air. "I think that I am going to have to put you on bed rest more often."
"Why is that?" Kreshtar asked almost defensively.
"Because this is apparently what happens when you come off of it." Turning his head to look at the man on top of him, wearing his signature grin, both incredibly innocent and incredibly wicked in the same stroke.
"This can happen all the time without denying me rigorous pursuits," Kreshtar retorted. "I'll just have to prove it to you," a wicked smile of his own spreading across his features.
Tristan gave a breathless laugh in response. Kreshtar gently pulled himself out of Tristan and sat up, releasing the young man. Tristan stood on legs that were not entirely steady and walked over to the mare. Out of one of the baskets he produced a loaf of bread they had purchased in the town and some dried strips of meat. He picked up one of the water skins and brought it all next to the fire where Kreshtar had already situated himself.
Tristan plopped himself down in between Kreshtar's legs and leaned back into Kreshtar's muscular torso. He handed half of the meat to Kreshtar and started to gnaw on the strips he kept for himself. They broke off pieces of the loaf and washed it down with the water skin.
"Well," Tristan said idly, "we certainly made a mess of ourselves."
"You're complaining?"
"By now means," Tristan responded heartily. "I simply think that maybe we should get cleaned up before it gets too much later, since we have a lake so conveniently located next to us."
"You lead and I shall follow," Kreshtar replied warmly.
Tristan stood and they both made their way to the water's edge. The lake was cold, fed by snow farther up the mountain side, but it was also refreshing. The two did not linger though, the sun having made it's way to the western edge of the horizon. Kreshtar retrieved the heavy blanket from their things as they made their way back to the fire. He sat down, Tristan sitting in front of him again, and wrapped the blanket about them both against the cooling evening.
The two sat in silence for a while, the light of day slowly fading and dying around them in degrees.
"Are you certain about this?" Tristan asked, breaking the long comfortable silence that had stretched out.
"As certain as sunrise and sunset," Kreshtar responded without hesitation. "In order for you to practice your craft you must settle down and make a permanent home for yourself. So too shall I dwell with you."
"Kreshtar," Tristan said again after another long moment, "there is something that I wish to ask you."
"What is it?" Kreshtar responded.
"Can you, will you teach me what you know?" Tristan asked hesitantly.
"I can and shall," Kreshtar said after a moment, "if that is what you wish. But I'll warn you now, it is not an easy path to walk. All the training that I can offer and in this world cannot adequately prepare you for killing a man. I can teach you the sword, but of death and killing, the only way to truly learn of that is from experience. And I pray to the gods that you never have the chance for that."
"I know," Tristan whispered back. "But if I had even known just a little of how to fight then maybe I wouldn't have been captured by the soldiers all those weeks ago. I don't ever want to feel helpless again."
"And maybe, just maybe," Kreshtar countered, "if you had known how to fight at all, then the soldiers might have deemed you a threat to be dealt with lethal force. Your inability to defend yourself was probably what ultimately saved your life that night. But nevertheless, I shall teach you."
"Thank you," Tristan whispered, leaning back into Kreshtar's torso and closing his eyes in contentment.
"Here," Kreshtar invited, "the day is done, let us lay down for the night. Tomorrow I'm going to sell the mare in town and see what assistance we can get with building a home."
"Well," Tristan commented, "we should be able to offer help with other things for different people in return for help building the house."
"This is true," Kreshtar said, as they both stood up and he arranged the heavy blanket on the ground so they could go to sleep. "But a number of them will want coin or something more tangible in return. So we will have to figure something out."
They both lay on the blanket, Tristan in front of Kreshtar and pressed up against his comforting weight and warmth. Kreshtar wrapped his arms around the young man in front of him, one arm underneath the hollow of Tristan's neck and shoulder and the other circling his waist. Tristan reveled in the warmth and feel of Kreshtar's body pressed against him and soon fell fast asleep. Kreshtar lay awake for a while though, listening to the sounds of the night begin to surround them and the steady, even sound of Tristan's breathing.
So, this was it. The thought ran through his head. He wanted this, to stay and live with this young man, this boy, that had become such an intrinsic part of his life and habits. But another part of him was hesitant, would he be able to live with out fighting? He thought of his two 'mistresses', how war and conflict had always given him his meat and drink. This new life offered him was strange, and oddly enough he felt no little amount of fear and uncertainty about it.
Eventually he pushed such thoughts from his mind and turned his attention to what exactly he would do to help sustain them. Hunting, the conclusion finally came to him. He would hunt, it was something that had always come naturally to him. They could keep the meat for themselves and the skins and furs could be tanned and stretched to be used or sold. The innkeeper Marcus had said that he had gotten a number of fur traders through that city. And while Kreshtar didn't think that he would ever really journey that far south or east, certainly he could find adequate wealth closer to where they would make their home. The next town over even had river travel and trade only about a week's journey away.
Sleep finally claimed him, and Kreshtar willingly submitted himself to it. The young man in front of him putting to rest any doubts in his mind that he might have had, at least for the time being.