[LOG: Makaza + Jaxon] Methods of Payment

2008-01-25T03:10:27Z

Who: Makaza and Jaxon
Where: The edgetown of Arakist outside Arcadia
What: Makaza and Jaxon (alias Nikolas) meet. FC loses its virginity in its second log.
Rating: Hard NC-17 for language and graphic sex

Jaxon
Makaza

Sundown in the edgetown was cold, and Jaxon quietly cursed his crew for stranding him in Arakist with nothing more than the clothes he had on at the moment and his battered violin case. The streets of the little town were deserted once the scorching heat faded with the light, and he rubbed his hands together absently for warmth as he sauntered down the dirt track that passed for the main street until he reached the inn.

Twentieth hour. He should be a few minutes early. Jaxon squinted up at the signboard, but couldn't make out the symbol. He grinned anyway, as he pushed his way through the poorly oiled doors into the inn and looked around. Funny name. He wondered if there were connotations, as he adjusted his top hat, the familiar weight of the violin case with its bars of metal comforting over his back. One could call Jaxon slightly paranoid, but he was long wary of strangers and kindnesses.

For an edgetown, the inn was a tidy little place, not fogged with smoke even in the bar as many were. And early by a few minutes though Jaxon was, Makaza made it a policy to be early to every appointment, and so he'd already made himself comfortable at one of the tables, his cloak drawn back to hang over his chair, a wooden walking stick leaned against the table as he sipped from an ale mug.

He'd already asked two earlycomers if they were the Nikolas he was seeking, and when the newest arrival walked through the inn's door, he narrowed his eyes. The look of the man alone spoke of a ruffian. Surely he was in search of someone else. Nevertheless, he took hold of the knob of his cane and hoisted himself up to his feet to take a step toward the man, smiling ever politely. "Excuse me, sir? You wouldn't happen to be Nikolas?"

Jaxon looked the man over curiously. Tattoos and muscular, broad shoulders--an Arawnite from the tribes, perhaps. That made him feel slightly less wary. His experience of Arawnites told him that they tended to be fairly straightforward, schemes wise, and perhaps this wasn't some sort of elaborate trick to get his (modest) bounty, after all.

Besides, the man had a game leg. If everything went wrong, Jaxon thought, not without some irrational high humor, at least he could run away faster. Always look on the bright side, survival-wise.

"I am Nikolas. Are you Makaza, good sir?" He smiled his best smile, absently wiped his hand off on his breeches and stuck out his hand in Makaza's general direction to shake.

It was a strange sort of sinking feeling that overtook him. Not that he was prejudice against the rougher looking ones, but as a merchant, he had run across a good number of swindlers who'd tried to take advantage of his generous nature, thinking they could get away with it just because he was a cripple. The scruffy looks of the man--not that he was bad looking by any means, in fact quite the opposite with his inked skin and lean build--put him on guard, but he took the man's hand in a firm shake nonetheless. "I am. I assume by your messages that you drink?" Lifting his hand from the man's own, he signaled the barmaid for one more mug and gestured to his table. "On me. Come, tell me how you came to be stranded here."

Hn. A honest man, perhaps--mayhap even an honest merchant, so Jaxon read, the handshake just this side of bone crunching. He slouched into a chair at the table indicated and nodded. "I'm partial to a bit of drink when there's no business involved."

Out of habit, at least, he used his ability to check the man for weapons. A blade, or something thin and sharp, at the boot. Something small and cylindrical at the hip that didn't 'sense' like a weapon. Still, this didn't mean that the man was totally harmless.

"It was a little misunderstanding with my crew, so you've likely read from my message." He snorted. "Seems someone's been looking for the 'Nine', an' they believe that just so their old cap'n has some ability with metals means he might be one o' those sought after. As if it's something unique."

Jaxon fumbled for his tobacco pouch, and pulled his lighter out of the pocket of his breeches with a thought, hovering it just over his hand as he rolled himself a smoke. "Hope you don't mind. Want one yourself?"

His smile broadened as he settled back into his seat and set his cane aside, ignoring the few eyes nearby that turned to glance at them when Jaxon mentioned those words--the Nine. But then, Makaza was just about the last person to shut up when he ought to about certain taboo subjects. "I saw that. I'm sure the message will be deleted before long, though." Glancing down at what Jaxon produced from his pouch, Makaza shook his head. It wasn't that he would have minded, but not taking substances from strangers was another policy. "So you're a metal mage, and they abandoned you for that?" Leaning back heavily, he took a long draw off his mug. "Does anyone know the meaning of loyalty these days, I wonder? Is your ability so great that they think you godlike?" He chuckled. "If you don't mind my asking--idle curiosity."

"Wouldn't say it was godlike, more than it was good enough to give reason for a mutiny over other matters," Jaxon grinned. He'd fallen out with the first mate (yet again) over a choice of targets, and this wasn't really the first time he'd been abandoned somewhere. If he got back to the ship he'd be cap'n again soon enough: if he didn't--well, all involved figured that meant he was growing too slow to be a pirate cap'n. Life on this side of the law tended to prove a little tricky.

He lit up a cigarette, leant back and let the tobacco soothe him, floating the lighter back to his pocket. "It's just a little different from the usual, bit hard to explain. Say, if you melt down a few swords into a brick, I can sense what they used to be, because of their 'mood'. They tell me. Ain't particularly useful, that. Good for identifying faked antiques, though."

Technically it was--metals of different times were resistant or pliable depending on the purposes they were to be used for, but it wasn't particularly 'godlike'. Besides, Jaxon was well aware how pronouncing himself 'godlike' was likely to mean incarceration by the less friendly aspects of the White Faith. "What's your business in Arcadia? Trading?"

"Mm." He let the topic of abilities and gods go for now--he didn't want to spook the poor man and run him off when they'd just barely sat down, after all. "I travel mainly between Halsteinn and Arcadia, but I've been to all the cities a good number of times. And you as well, I take it? You did mention your profession before the incident, if I recall. And I imagine your talent would come in great use in our line of work." All right, so he might not let it go entirely.

"I've been to all the major cities, but I prefer the edgetowns. Life's a fair bit less complicated near the deep deserts," Jaxon said, a little evasively. "Don't have to watch where you're walking or who you're talking to, if you get what I mean."

"And I suppose it does end up useful. Telling counterfeits. I trade in antiques now and then--not often, though. Money's always in the spices." That was close enough, Jaxon decided. Of course, he was intimately familiar with trade routes, ports, demand sources and suppliers, given his vocation. "I could help you out if you like, if you need some metal goods verified. Pay my way, as it were."

It seemed like the merchant was more interested in his ability than anything else. That was comforting. A few easy tricks performed over ale and smokes had the chance of earning a little trust. "Have anything metal on you? I could tell you when it was made, when it came into your possession."

"I lived far too long in the deep desert. It wasn't such a happy place for me. My clan counted a man's worth by things like this." He tapped his lame leg idly, unconcerned with sharing such insignificant pieces of his past with a stranger. "The cities are much more welcoming to me."

The offer made him visibly brighten, and he sat up a little straighter as he considered the question, only to draw his lips into a crooked smile. "Well, if you're a true metal mage, you already know if I have anything on me, but I'll humor you." At his hip, in a little holster, hung a small metal flute. It looked old because it was, a true antique in the most literal sense of the word, and it took no expert of metallurgy to see that. Slipping it from its sheath, he held it delicately, tenderly, as though any sudden movement might shatter it to pieces, and extended it to Jaxon. "Take care with that, mind you."

"Ah. The tribes." So his guess was right. Jaxon had certainly heard that the tribes were an unforgiving lot, particularly the more secluded clans, and certainly a cripple could be outcast, depending on the way the injury was collected. Or perhaps Makaza had been born that way: the pirate couldn't tell, but he did feel some sympathy. He'd not had a particularly loving childhood, but it had its highlights. "I am sorry to hear that."

Jaxon reached forward for the flute, automatically, and froze when it whispered to him, sang, and only his survival instinct prompted him to take the instrument from Makaza's hand. It felt strange, and he shook his head sharply as the metal rippled briefly under his fingers, forcing himself to look closer, even as the sheer strangeness of the information sent a chill down his spine.

Metal didn't lie, but what this one told him had to be mistaken, in a jumble of confusing sensations that Jaxon couldn't catch, save that the flute itself was old, older than anything he had ever encountered, and something else--that Jaxon was its previous owner. No, not himself exactly, but something very close, that metal had no 'words' for. Shock had to be written all too clearly on his face, as he shuddered again and handed it quickly back to the Arawnite. Still, he gathered himself quickly and smiled weakly. "Has to be worth quite a fair penny, this. It's centuries old. Probably made before the Scorching."

He watched Jaxon's face carefully, and what he saw made him stifle a flinch. The chances of it being a mistake or some silly old story were too small, especially seeing the shock in the man's eyes. How such a thing had happened, how the legendary god of metals in all his gentle tenderness had become this, he couldn't fathom. He took the flute back and gazed down at it contemplatively, lowering his voice to ensure only Jaxon heard. "I wondered about that. The story was it had been in my tribe for centuries. Supposedly it belonged to Alexius." He glanced back up at Jaxon and smirked. "But then...that's just a myth."

A religious artifact. Jaxon supposed that could explain the information. He had stolen items as such before, and they did tend to give off strange readings--none as intense as the flute had been, of course, but he guessed that being subject to centuries of strange beliefs by a desert clan likely warped the metal a little.

Belonged to Alexius indeed: as though the Gods had ever existed. Jaxon didn't even need to feign his amusement, as he chuckled. "Definitely a myth. Though, something that old--I am not quite sure how you could have persuaded your tribe to part ways with it. Not that you need to tell me if you do not wish to, of course." Stolen, likely. If the tribe had had problems accepting Makaza's injury, Jaxon couldn't see them entrusting the man with some sort of spiritual icon.

Items like that probably were worth something to the right collector, Jaxon thought, as he blew out a stream of smoke to the side and took a sip of his ale. But if it was an artifact of the so-called Nine, then again, perhaps it would simply be far too dangerous an item to have, and in any case it would be poor manners to steal from a benefactor.

That made him chuckle, a genuine sound lined with guilt as he slipped the precious item back into its sheath. "Let's just say I was a spiteful youth at the time I left. My father liked to constantly remind me what a disappointment I was, and so I suppose I fell into the roll he gave me, if just to get in one good jab before I said to hell with them all." But then he pursed his lips and shook his head, his guilt growing. "Sorry. I could prattle on forever about that, but I'm sure you don't want to hear it. Whenever you've had enough ale, I've already paid for the room."

"Ah." Jaxon supposed that it had to be something like that, stolen goods, and indeed he wasn't particularly interested. Arawnite tribes didn't tend to trade in very much, and certainly stealing from the clans was far more trouble than it was worth.

Paid for the room, hm? Jaxon tilted his head thoughtfully, analyzing the way that had been said, but couldn't discern whether Makaza had meant that in invitation. Possibly not, given he wouldn't have known what Jaxon looked like before paying.

It wasn't that he would have minded, certainly, it was simply another favor with which he could repay transportation. With a sly smile, he stubbed out the cigarette on the pitted bowl on the table, and finished his ale in a few gulps. Watered down drink--it was only enough to make him pleasantly lightheaded, combined with the tobacco.

"That's very kind of you. Could split halves with you, if you'll like," Jaxon drawled, making it clear that he was open on method if need be.

Makaza blinked, innocently, but then slowly his mouth curled into a smirk as he leaned back and tipped his mug against his lips to finish it off. "It's kind of you to offer, though not necessary. But if you feel obligated, I can't say I'd mind. What did you have in mind?"

"I'm not averse to paying in coin, or other matters." Briefly, Jaxon performed a vulgar gesture with his left hand to illustrate his point, mirroring Makaza's smirk. "For the latter, I do have some rules, I'm afraid. I don't kiss, and I don't like it bloody, and if you aren't clean I'll be somewhat against being fucked."

"'Course," he added, tugging on the brim of his hat, with a wink, "There's other ways we can play if that's the case."

It didn't hurt to be careful, for casual sex, and Jaxon always believed in fair warning. He'd already told the man he was a metal mage of some ability, and he'd also told him what he wouldn't appreciate. Makaza was handsome, and judging from his build he could be a hell of a fun lay, but if the man didn't agree Jaxon could always attain a little coin in the night before they left.

Careful was one thing, and Makaza certainly couldn't fault him that. But as he listened and nodded, smiling calmly as though this were any other business transaction, he found it difficult not to become discouraged. This was nothing like he had imagined it. "That's all well and good, except for one thing. The no kissing rule...that may be a problem. But it's a small price, don't you think? And I give you my word I'd do my very best not to disgust you." He gave the man a wink and grabbed for his cane, and it was times like this when he wished doubly hard that he had better use of both legs. Hobbling around like an old man had to be terribly unattractive, never mind the rest of his build.

"I'll bite," Jaxon said cheerfully. "It's fair warning to you, and I'll be happy to work at making it up to you."

He wasn't put off by the disability--after all, he was a pirate--but Jaxon felt a little concerned as he uncoiled to his feet and dropped his gaze to Makaza's leg. "Does that hurt? Would be good to know. I'll be careful if that's so."

Jaxon waited for the other man to lead the way. He didn't know where the room was, and he wondered how easily Makaza could navigate the stairs, and whether the man would be offended if he tried to help him. Some cripples tended to be very proud of their self sufficiency.

And Makaza was indeed. He shook his head to the question as he gathered his cloak and headed toward the stairs, at least outwardly not seeming intimidated by them. "No, you don't have to worry about me." And even if it had hurt, he wouldn't have said so. A ranter he may have been, but not a complainer.

He tackled the stairs with as much ease as he could manage. He wasn't quick, but neither did he linger on every step, hurried by the necessity not to make Jaxon wait up on him. It was silly, really. He was the one who'd come out to help the man. Why was he the one suddenly feeling like his balls were in a vice? The thought made him chuckle to himself as he extracted the key from his pocket and opened the door to Room 17 to let his guest in ahead of him like the gentleman he was. And the interior betrayed his true intentions.

Two narrow beds sat inside, making it clear that this route hadn't been his first inclination, and honestly probably should have stayed that way. Against one wall was a desk upon which sat an old computer, the monitor of which looked recently cracked, especially what with smoke still rising from the back. Makaza's bag was already set out on one of the beds, a few folders stacked next to the broken computer that...Makaza snorted at guiltily when he glanced at it. "Make yourself comfortable."

Jaxon made no comment about Makaza's movements, and tried his best not to show any further pity. It involved a man's pride, after all, and he was not so cruel as that--indeed, he felt some guilt in the first place for bringing it up in any for, but he knew that apologies would likely only make matters worse.

It looked as though Makaza had been early enough at the inn to unpack, and Jaxon approached the broken portable computer with a ship's mechanic's interest. It looked as though Makaza had somehow managed to overclock the machine, at the very least, as well as somehow managing at the same time overloading the cell screen. Impressive, and probably irreparable.

"The monitor's gone, but your data's probably salvageable," Jaxon peered at the back of the machine and unplugged the monitor, then as an afterthought, moved the monitor to the edge of the desk. He placed his battered violin case on the chair of the desk, and his hat on top of that. He grinned. "I'm not sure I want to know, do I?"

Making his way inside, he closed and locked the door behind him before settling onto the bed to watch as Jaxon worked. "You don't need to worry about it. I've got backups. Plenty, in fact. I've a...sort of fatal touch when it comes to machinery." Pressing his lips together as he watched the poor computer fizzle, he sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "It's why I don't carry watches and...certainly don't pilot my own airship. My mechanic generally handles anything to do with technology, since this is what tends to happen when I try to have a hand in it."

"Ah. I can stop the smoke, at least. I think." Jaxon put his palm on the overheated monitor, and convinced the busted fuses to cool. Small pieces of metal were no problem, at least--it was just a matter of careful heat distribution. He kept a tight lid on the sudden urge to laugh. He'd met people before who seemed allergic to technology (and vice versa), but nothing this extreme. Poor man. Gods only knew what happened to the terminal he had used to access the Network.

Or perhaps this poor burned out machine was it. Good grief.

"It's really a matter of care. I'm sure you can overcome it in time," Jaxon said, comfortingly, as he circled away from the desk, approaching Makaza at a leisurely saunter, sliding his hands over Makaza's shoulders as he straddled his lap, careful not to touch the game leg as he smiled invitingly as his fingers sought to undo Makaza's clothes.

Makaza smiled up at him with an arched brow that said he very much doubted it. He had, after all, been trying to do exactly that for a very long time. Even if he treated his machinery with as much care as he treated the flute at his side, it didn't matter. Things still short-circuited and broke.

But all that suddenly took a backseat to the man before him who came down upon him so easily to begin undressing him. Makaza dressed well beneath his cloaks, though his tribal markings still showed around his neck and forearms where his shirt left skin exposed. As the buttons came undone one by one, he lifted his own hands to settle on unfamiliar hips, smoothing up Jaxon's sides and back, feeling out the contours of muscle, playing his fingertips against the dips and swells of his body. "You don't have anything against me touching you, do you? Not a big fan of intimacy, I assume." Just what kind of intimacy he meant, he demonstrated by pulling Jaxon closer until their bodies ground together, unconcerned for his gimp leg as he settled his chin to the man's chest, gazes locked, hands lacking no amount of affection in the way they held Jaxon to him. Men like Jaxon probably preferred the more lewd kind of touching, the straight sex and then the sneaking out the door in the middle of the night to avoid any awkward mornings. If that was the case, he might just be a tad uncomfortable in that Makaza had yet to start groping him.

"Nothing against it," Jaxon said, purring to demonstrate this as they were pulled together, settling on Makaza's lap. The shirt seemed to be of fine material--Makaza was well to do, then, Jaxon surmised, as he unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off the other man. He traced the tribal tattoos with curiosity, stroking his fingers over the patterns.

"Just didn't want to do anything you'd find uncomfortable." He didn't look at the crippled leg, but he began to rub himself against Makaza, carefully at first, then with lazy purpose, lowering his head to nip at the other man's shoulder. "Do what you want, within the rules."

To emphasize this, he nipped hard at Makaza's ear, then flicked his tongue over the flesh when it reddened. He flattened the palms of his hand over the toned flesh of the Arawnite's back, enjoying the warmth of another body, however brief the intimacy would be.

Within the rules. Of course, rules had loopholes. Jaxon didn't kiss, but just then he didn't have to. Makaza practically purred as he pressed his lips to the man's collar, then nipped a trail up his throat to suckle at the tender skin there in a way that was anything but chaste. He ground back up against him, rolling his hips up and pulling Jaxon down to them as his hands slid over the firm rounds of his rump and squeezed.

And then, without warning, Jaxon was on his back. For a cripple, Makaza moved fast when not having to walk or stand. He leaned over him, knees between Jaxon's thighs, keeping his weight off the weak one as he gazed down at him for a moment before dipping his head to kiss his neck. The rocking of their hips picked up again when his arm beneath the Malakite forced him to arch up against him, rubbing purposefully against the bulge between his thighs as his kisses descended over his chest, tracing his tattoos and intoxicating Makaza on the scent of musk and smoke.

Jaxon relaxed, leaning eagerly into Makaza's touch. So the man knew what he was doing. It looked like this could be quite entertaining, after all--Jaxon had been half-expecting a quick fuck, all business, but he supposed that if they were catching the morning winds they had time to play around. He grinned when pushed on his back, slipping his hands back up to scratch lightly down the Arawnite's muscled back, searching for scars. He braced his feet against the bed, toes slipping briefly off the edge, and bucked upwards, his teeth bared in a breathless gasp of pleasure.

Gentleness. That was surprising. As Makaza moved down, he picked his fingers into his long hair, then pushed himself partially upright by leaning back against an elbow, watching. His breathing was deepening, and there was a nervous flutter in his belly that was unusual--it wasn't looks, and Jaxon would bet it wasn't the tenderness. He told himself it was likely the pressing issue of his lost ship, as he let out a hungry moan that wasn't totally an act.

His tongue made teasing patterns over Jaxon's ink, nipping over his ribs and dipping against his navel. A hand slid along his upper thigh to rub him through the fabric of his breeches, middle finger pressing to the place where his little opening would be as his palm kneaded his cock and the heavy sac beneath. A little more confidence came back with Jaxon's shudders, and he lifted his smirking eyes up to that beautiful face as he nipped at the waistband of his pants before pulling them down to bunch around his thighs.

He didn't seem to remember that Jaxon was the one who was supposed to be paying him for his kindness, though the way he gladly took the length of him in his grasp and stroked him, following the path with his tongue, Jaxon might have thought this was perfect repayment. He loved feeling those genuine responses, pulling real trembled cries from his lips, and he worked for every one as he sealed his lips over the head of Jaxon's cock and pulled him into his mouth.

Jaxon felt like he was floating, dizzy past alcohol and tobacco, whispering little wounded gasps under skilled fingers, his hands growing nerveless in Makaza's thick long hair, grumbling a breathless, filthy curse at the necessity of boots and the bloody inconvenience of removing them. He growled behind gritted teeth as Makaza finally took him into the tight, wet heat of his mouth, arching, then hissing, "Fuck, more," as he curled his toes into the coarse sheets.

He had to concentrate not to buck--since Makaza was showing him this much care it was only polite in turn, twisting his cheek onto the sheets and growling, wanting it faster, didn't want to choke him, didn't want him to stop. "Makaza."

Makaza would have to thank him later for not bucking. As diligent and happy to oblige as he was, his skill had its limits, as did his gag reflex. But he gave him more, took him deeper, until the fleshy tip tapped the back of his throat and he had to withdraw. He worked into a steadily building rhythm, the tight seal of his lips massaging the length of him as his arm wound around the man to lift him up and hold him there. With every thrust, he sucked him deeper, slowly opening his throat until he managed to swallow him.

The memories came back the more he touched him. He'd held this man before; he knew it. It may not have been him as he was now, but it was him. He'd taken him like this before, felt him tremble and cry out his name before, though the name wasn't the same. Still, to hear it on Jaxon's lips in this life made him shudder, and he forced himself down harder upon that shaft, taking him in over and over again, faster and deeper with more abandon, and as he looked up over Jaxon's arched body to the bliss in his face, he felt himself strain against his breeches. He couldn't help himself. He needed to touch more, and so he reached up along his form to smooth his palm over his chest, rubbing his shoulder and back down his arm as he worked diligently to taste his climax.

Even amidst the uncontrollable ecstasy, confusion grew--this felt familiar, somehow, vaguely, and he felt for a moment that he could grasp why, then shuddered away from it. He didn't want to know--he was a pirate, after all, and complications were anathema to his way of life--but he leaned into Makaza's touch, his whispers turning to breathless cries.

Then he was tugging urgently at the Arawnite's hair, gasping, stuttering, trying to warn him as the pressure mounted, became unbearable, then inexorable, "Makaza, I'm... ah, hey... don't-" the rest of his words melted into a choked curse as his body shuddered into its release, into boneless pleasure, and he let go of the other man, sinking panting against the sheets, staring up at the ceiling.

When he recovered his breath, he began to chuckle. "Fuck, that was good. You do this often?"

He groaned into Jaxon's release, grinding his hips down against the mattress to assuage his own ache as he swallowed him down, sure to suck him dry of every drop and then lick him clean before lifting his head to let out a heavy breath tinged with Jaxon's sex. "You taste absolutely...-divine-." He raised an eyebrow, but then chuckled as he worked his way to a half sitting position, resting his weight on his good leg as he pushed Jaxon's into the air to strip him the rest of the way of his pants and undergarments.

"Only now and then, when the offer's a good one." Except that it had been longer than that, longer than Jaxon would have guessed, but he kept that to himself as he gave the man's calf a rub and let it settle on his shoulder. "You have any oil?"

Jaxon snorted at Makaza's statement, though he lay back and let Makaza remove the rest of his clothes. He very much doubted it--when he performed services himself, he tended to be careful not to swallow. Still, the world took all sorts, and he propped himself up on his elbows and grinned lazily when Makaza asked.

"I don't go around lookin' for this sort o' fun usually, you know. There's some minor wounds salve that would do." He turned his head to the violin case and crooked his fingers, willing it to the edge of the bed, then took his leg off Makaza's shoulders and reached down, picking up the jar from the case. Then Jaxon rolled onto his knees, and jerked his thumb at the headboard with a sly grin.

"Why don't you sit down over there and let me do some work for a change? Seems like it's been all take on my part so far."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." And as he watched Jaxon beckon his case, Makaza took the opportunity to lean down and steal a nip of the man's jaw before murmuring hotly against his ear, "You've given plenty. I'd take your moans and cries any night." Catching his earlobe between his teeth, he gave it a nibble and a flick of his tongue before drawing back to nevertheless do as Jaxon suggested.

It was a bit of a hassle ridding himself of his breeches. Once he undid the fastens of his belt and the buttons that followed, he had to more or less balance on one knee to push them down, then rolled to sit on the edge of the bed once more, less than gracefully, to kick them the rest of the ways off after he'd removed his boots. A little more sensuality to his movements would have been nice. Unfortunately, he hadn't been born with such a leisure, and so had to hope it wasn't too much of a turn-off for Jaxon to see him fumbling about before he finally gave a sigh of relief that blew his hair out of his face as he slumped back against the headboard and gave the man a helpless, rather sheepish smile. "Not the most graceful person in the world, I'm afraid."

Jaxon grinned at Makaza's words. "Could be, that could be, but I'm not quite the type to just lie down and take it. Won't be quite as fun that way."

He was about to help the other man with his clothes, but decided to watch instead, curious to see how Makaza managed. It didn't look as though the leg actually hurt him, come to think of it--more that it was simply dead weight. The pirate also found Makaza's almost-apology for the process amusing--his grin widened, as he slipped over to straddle the Arawnite's lap. "No need to impress me, man. Not like we're dancin' or doing it for keeps." He lowered his voice, with a sly wink, as he reached between them and trailed his fingers up Makaza's shaft, stroking his thumb playfully over the tip, then giving it a light squeeze.

Then Jaxon reared back, unscrewing the top of the small earthenware jar with some effort, dipping two fingers into the salve and sitting back carefully on the bed, pulling up his knees as he pushed the first finger into himself with a soft purr, watching Makaza intently. "Don't move."

The leg wasn't completely dead. He could move it. Sometimes he could even feel it. There were times when it tingled, and times when it almost hurt--a sort of pressurized pain when he put too much weight on it. He just couldn't support himself with it. He tried to look on the bright side; at least he hadn't been born with both his legs more or less paralyzed.

The reminder that this was supposed to be a one-time thing stung, but then Jaxon oiled his fingers and reached beneath himself, and all negative thoughts abandoned him. His breaths quickened with the jolt of electricity through his stomach and chest as he watched the man prepare himself. The hand over his own shaft made him loose a soft moan through parted lips, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the vision Jaxon made before him. And though he'd been told not to move, it was impossible to just watch, to not touch in some way, if only the hand that he lighted against Jaxon's hip to rub him encouragingly. "Gods, you're beautiful."

"That's what you call girls, mate," Jaxon pointed out playfully, stretching himself, making it more of a show. Two fingers. He moaned as he scissored, pushed the digits deeper in the awkward angle, his free hand stroking himself back to arousal. So close to his previous climax, the oversensitized flesh hurt a little, but it wasn't anything Jaxon wasn't used to.

At three fingers Jaxon finally bored of the play, and leant forward to slick Makaza's shaft with his palms, leaning down to flick his tongue over the tip teasingly. The man looked clean, at least, as far as he could judge, and as he shifted up, gently guiding the thick flesh up to rub against his entrance, he grinned breathlessly, bracing his free hand on Makaza's shoulder. Funny world, this--a man as good looking as the Arawnite truly seemed to be single, unless he saved gentleness for the occasional casual fuck. But then, Jaxon reminded himself, he never did quite understand the tribesmen.

Slowly, he pushed himself down, gritting his teeth at first, then exhaling as it grew a little easier. "Hah..."

"I don't care. There's no better word for it." He was mesmerized, gaze tracing over every muscle, devouring every movement, adding his hand to Jaxon's own to cover his shaft and stroke it to arousal--gently, of course, minding the sensitivity.

And when Jaxon touched him, he hissed, already throbbing with his need as the man positioned himself. His brows drew together in a furrow as though in pain as Jaxon lowered himself onto him, head tipping back against the headboard as his eyes fluttered closed and he let out a hum that was almost a purr at the way that tight body squeezed him. He resisted the urge to take him by the hips and pull him down all the way, letting Jaxon guide himself and set the pace until he couldn't help but lift his hips to thrust a little harder into him than Jaxon was perhaps ready for.

"You're a strange one," Jaxon murmured, hissing at the buck as the burn heightened, but settled down all the way, his fingers curling tight into Makaza's shoulder, waiting for his body to adjust, forcing his breathing to even and relax. He'd almost expected the Arawnite to be rough, despite the gentleness so far--it wasn't as though he couldn't take it.

Eventually, he began to move, rocking a little awkwardly at first as he shifted, then more roughly, rolling his hips and tilting his head back. He knew this wasn't the best of positions, but it was his favorite. It probably was about the control, as much as he didn't feel so trapped, and he could set the pace, watch his partner's hands. As the burn faded, he began to moan, interspersed by gasping curses as he moved against Makaza, both hands tight on broad shoulders now, splayed over tense muscles, listening to the wet slaps of flesh, his own brown tresses matted with sweat.

"Strange?" He smiled through a growl, arms folding around Jaxon to pull him closer as the man took every inch of him in and settled into his lap. "In what way? Not a bad thing, is it?" Nothing about the way he touched him--dragging his fingers through the sweat that beaded on his back, squeezing his shoulders, pulling him nearer so he could kiss along his collar as Jaxon started to move--spoke of a want to be rough. Just the opposite, there was a reverence in his kisses and caresses, something that almost worshipped the man in his arms, and perhaps that was what Jaxon meant by strange. Yes, Makaza could imagine not many casual one-night stands involved this kind of tenderness, but he craved it, needed it, couldn't just pretend that this was some meaningless fuck even if Jaxon thought exactly that. He pressed a kiss to his jaw as he pushed a hand into the mattress to lift himself up into the thrusts, breathing hard against his neck as he struggled to hold back what promised to be a painfully powerful release.

"Hnn. I haven't decided," Jaxon murmured, too distracted to lie, already out of rhythm, snapping his hips down against the thrusts, arching back with a groan as the heat within him stroked up against his core, sinking his blunt nails sharply into Makaza's skin.

He remembered enough, however, to jerk his chin away at the brushing kiss--close--tilting his head to the side and reciting the latitudes of trade routes in his mind to fend off his climax. He could sense Makaza was close--Jaxon bared his teeth in a feral grin, jerking down, clenching tightly, his prick already dripping against Makaza's flat belly. He was close, but it was a favor to Makaza.

"Tell me when you do." As much as he could in such a helpless position, he angled his thrusts up to stab that sweet spot at the center of Jaxon's pleasure, gasping and growling as he felt himself close in too rapidly. Counting multiples of six in his head likely wouldn't help him; this was too powerful to be blocked out by simple mind tricks. He didn't want to block out any part of it. Lifting a hand, he cupped Jaxon's face, stroking the pillow of his bottom lip with the callused pad of a thumb as he pulled him closer, forcing him to suffer the moist, succulent kisses he peppered along his jaw and throat.

And when he felt them draw close together, bodies tensing in want to stave off their peak for one more second and then one more after that, he dropped his hand to Jaxon's cock, taking it into a tight grip and using the man's own seed to slick him and stroke him in time with their haphazard pace.

"'M not sure I can bloody think right now... th... thank you very much," Jaxon was sure he was babbling, losing himself, dizzy, his mouth shaping open-mouthed almost-sobs against Makaza's shoulder. He wasn't going to let go, not before Makaza, focusing on that stubborn, irrational snap decision just as his body complained, shuddering in ecstasy.

Another thrust, another, and he was holding back closer than he ever had to, laughing now, wild and disbelieving and half-mad. "Just fuckin' give it to me, damnit," he growled, his eyes flashing, as he ground himself down hard against Makaza's hips, felt himself tense, then shatter, with a harsh snarl that he could barely hear.

Those words snapped something in him, and Makaza gave it to him. In those final moments, he shoved himself forward to come down on top of the other man, pulling him up into him and hammering out their last mutual thrusts. They bordered on brutal, the passion was so intense, like nothing he'd ever felt in this life, and just as Jaxon broke and Makaza felt his body tighten around him, he crushed his lips with his own, drinking in his spilled cries and moans as, with another handful of thrusts, he followed him, filling the willing body beneath him with his seed and refusing to let him go until the stars ceased to dance behind his eyes and he began to melt.

Jaxon instinctively tried to pull away from the savage kiss, growling weakly and trying to bite, but sank into ecstasy instead with muffled cries, dimly disconcerted by the sense of completness he felt in Makaza's embrace, yet revelling in the liquid heat within him, against him, his body bruised from the rough treatment.

He pulled away as quickly as he could once Makaza's grip loosened, and used his ability to pull his pouch and his lighter to him, wiping his hands vaguely on the sheets and rolling a smoke. "I've rules for a reason," he said, with a hint of mild reproach, his voice raspy even to his own ears.

Melted as he was, Makaza barely lifted his head when Jaxon tore away, wilting where he was, forcing his breaths to leave him in measured exhales as he brushed his lips over the man's shoulder. The words brought him back to his senses, if only slightly, and he peered up at him with a raised brow and a smirk. "You taste just fine to me." Of course, he was probably slightly biased...

Jaxon growled, deeper this time, jerking away once he felt the kiss over his shoulder, but the wildness in his eyes flickered quickly to his usual lazy grin. "Sure, if you like days old beer with a touch of tobacco." To emphasize his point, Jaxon blew a grey stream of smoke out towards the window, then snapped the shutters open for some fresh air. He stretched, winced with a muttered grumble at the ache, and leant back against the wall. He'd finish the smoke then move to the dry bed.

"When are we leaving tomorrow?"

And with nothing more than a whisper of a thought, Makaza forbade the blustering night wind to carry a speck of sand inside, nothing but a cool breeze wafting through the room to dry the sweat on their skin. Makaza tilted his chin up into it affectionately. "Daybreak. We'll grab a bite of breakfast, probably take it with us unless you particularly want to sit down and eat. You should probably get some sleep while you can."

"Sounds good to me," Jaxon said, with a glance at the soiled bed he was seated on, and decided he was too damned tired to be polite. Scratching the growing stubble on his chin, he managed to stagger into the other bed, curling in a corner and nursing his cigarette. He'd wait till Makaza sleeps before he does--the caution is second nature to him. Tomorrow.

. l e t . t h e . w i n d . e r a s e . m e .

[LOG: Makaza + Jaxon] Methods of Payment

[Filter: Public] It Begins