The light in the room was dim, dusk having set in over the previously abandoned cottage at the edge of the village. The furnishings were scant, mostly broken and worn-out, useless sticks of this and that, with thick layers of dust on all surfaces, the dust also being heavy in the weak beams of light coming through the grimy-paned window, kicked up by the activity of the vigorous fucking going on on the cot in the corner of the room.
The smaller of the two men, barely a man himself, was bent painfully over the brass-rodded footboard of the cot, his chest pushed into a thin, dirty mattress on the cot and his legs dangling, feet almost, but not quite, reaching the worn wood of the floor, his breeches still clinging around his ankles. Crouched on his hips, like some giant bullfrog on his lily pad, was a much larger, older man, fully naked. His feet were on the mattress on either side of the younger man's torso, his fists were gripping the shoulders of the younger man hard, and his pelvis was plastered to the younger man's buttocks, riding him like a jockey and dicking him deep with vigorous strokes that bounced the younger man's body like he was a punching bag.
The younger man was whimpering and groaning and pleading for patience and mercy that never came, while the older man grunted and groaned and strained, lost in his taking, trying to get every ounce of satisfaction he could out of the young man's ass.
When the older man was done, he climbed off the younger one and started pulling his clothes back on.
"It's colder than a witch's tit in here," he muttered. "You've let the fire go out. See to that. And find something for us to eat in this shithole of a dump before we go into the village. And I'll need my jerkin scrubbed for tomorrow's journey so it can dry overnight."
The younger man had curled up on the mattress and was holding his belly, which had been badly bruised by the buffeting it had received when he was bent over the footboard of the cot. He was still moaning and panting from the rough fucking he'd received.
The older man turned to him in exasperation. "Did ya hear what I said there, Hans? Step to now. We'll want to get to the tavern before all of the teams are formed up for the night. We have an income to earn. Must I do everything to keep us from starving?"
The man sank onto a chair with a broken arm and watched Hans move painfully around, shivering from the cold despite the fire he had brought back to life, in the keeping room in the derelict cottage, trying to do all that was commanded of him.
"No, don't bother to put that shirt and those breeches back on," Gregor growled. "I'll be wanting another piece of you before we go out. Your ass is my good luck."
Gregor liked watching Hans move around in the nude. Although Hans had reached his manhood, he looked much younger, and his body was small and slender although very well formed. They had put his youthful aspect to good use in their journey across Europe from one village tavern to another. Hans contributed to the main scheme and from time to time—well, quite often—they had run across a man aroused enough by Hans's youthful, angelic looks to pay well for a cocking. It was a good thing the lad was such a sweet fuck; Gregor didn't think he was good for much of anything else. Just another mouth to feed.
* * * *
"Ah, that is a nice looking lad of yours. Your son, is he?"
Gregor and the other man were sitting at a rough-surfaced wood table, Gregor trying to rope the man into a game of darts. The man looked like the best-heeled of the lot in the tavern this evening. His clothing was finer than the others and the other men in the tavern room were differential to him. He probably, Gregor thought, was down from the big manse he and Hans had passed on their way into the village.
"Mayhap he is," Gregor answered. "His mam and I weren't all that particular who we went with other than each other. Favors her anyway, thanks be the lord."
They were sitting across the table from each other. Hans was sitting at the end of the bench Gregor occupied and was looking out into the tavern room, watching the swirl of action almost like a child in a candy shop. It was this aspect of him, perhaps enhanced because he was a bit slow, that men seemed to gravitate to.
"His mother must have been quite lovely then," the man said. "He's angelic himself. And he has a sad expression that makes one want to comfort him."
"Ah, perhaps you'd like to comfort him then?" Gregor answered, taking on a conspiratorial look. He'd been jollying the man up to fleece him in a game of darts. But the evening was young. Perhaps the man could be twice taken.
The man looked startled and his eyes narrowed, but they only strayed away from Gregor's gaze long enough to take another look at Hans. "You certainly are direct, aren't you?" he said.
"Well, we're just here for the one night and there's much to be done. Do you fancy him for yourself or not? Want to fuck the lad, do you?"
There were several ways the man could have gone from here. Standing up from the table and walking off indignant wasn't a choice the well-dressed man made. Gregor knew he had him then and his mind clicked right into the next phase of how much the market would bear.
"Five copper coins and he's yours for one go," Gregor whispered across the table. "You would have to provide the place, though, and return him here as good as he left."
The man sat there, staring at Gregor for the longest moment. But then his hand went to a pocket, and he extracted coins and flipped ten copper ones out onto the rough wood table surface. They each made a loud clinking sound as they landed. Gregor looked at the coins the man still had in his hand and regretted he hadn't been more aggressive in his pricing.
"All right then, for this perhaps not in quite as good a shape as he left in."
