Date: Tue, 17 Jan 2006 16:11:50 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: While Dragons Sleep

			    WHILE DRAGONS SLEEP
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
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     The icy wind bit at Radon's cheeks and nose while he gathered wood for
the fire. A thin sheen of ice covered everything, enough to make his
footing treacherous, it was like everything was packaged up for the winter.
Preserved in ice for the spring that was yet so very, very far off.
     He had an armload of sticks and made his way back to Sir Prosil's
tent. A large, circular tent, it was designed to let them build a fire in
the middle, the smoke would make its way (eventually) out of the tent
through a hole in the roof. They lived in the doughnut-shaped area this
left for them, perhaps four feet wide all the way around.
     Sir Prosil was lounging on his cushions on the far side of the tent
(the warmest portion) and Radon dropped the sticks near the entrance. The
ice would need to melt from the sticks before he could put them on the
fire. But there were plenty more, he had now fetched enough to warm them
through most of the night.
     He knelt before his lord and said, "I have finished with the
wood-gathering, my Lord."
     "Very good." Sir Prosil said. "Now you may work on cleaning my
armor. It gathers moisture and is in danger of rust through these wet
months."
     Radon sighed. "Very well, my Lord."
     At least this let him sit inside where it was warm and reasonably
comfortable. As well as one other distinct advantage. "My Lord?" he said
after a time.
     "Yes, Radon?"
     "Why do we travel in this weather?"
     Sir Prosil smiled. "You'd rather have stayed at the castle longer?"
     Radon thought of the king's court, the plentiful food, the well-warmed
rooms, the soft beds, and he nodded.
     "But we must travel to where the dragons are, and be there before they
awaken from their winter slumber and become active once again. It is many
weeks travel in this foul weather to make it to the lands of the dragons."
     "And are there dragons truly as large as a mountain?"
     Sir Prosil smiled indulgently. "If they were, would I have lived as a
dragon-hunter these many years? The greater number of the dragons range in
size from those of a large dog to those of a small horse. The largest I
have encountered was the height of a warhorse, and nearly three times as
long. It is where I gained this gash upon my arm that I bear to this day."
     "But you killed it." Radon pressed him.
     "Of course." Sir Prosil said. "I am speaking with you now, am I not?"
     "So why must we hunt them in the spring?" Radon thought again of the
miserably cold trip they were on and would be for weeks to come.
     "Because they sleep now." Sir Prosil explained. "They will awaken and
be hungry and careless due to their hunger. They will also be weaker. We
will have some weeks of easy hunting before they begin to become crafty and
difficult. I think of you, lad. If you wish to learn how to hunt dragons,
it is best if you start with learning how to kill the slower, stupider
ones, yes?"
     "Yes." Radon had to laugh at that.
     "Leave off with that scrubbing." Sir Prosil said to him
indulgently. "We shall linger here for a few days and rest. I feel a storm
coming and we will want to wait it out."
     Radon shuddered. "I hope there won't be snow." he said.
     "You fear the snow?"
     "I fear the cold." Radon said. "My blankets are scarcely warm enough
for the nights as they now are."
     "Then you should share mine." Sir Prosil said. "They are far thicker
than yours."
     Radon nodded gratefully, sharing beds so that blankets could be
doubled up was a simple expedience to deal with cold weather. "Tell me more
about dragons."
     And Sir Prosil talked of dragons as Radon stirred up their simple
supper, and Radon performed the tasks as if in a dream, his mind filled
with the gallantry and the bravery and the cleverness of this
dragon-hunter. The talk paused while they ate, and when they were done,
Radon washed the dishes by using some water from their supply. From the
sounds of the rain beginning to fall, water would not be a problem for them
for the next few days. Sir Prosil was right, Radon judged with the
weather-sense one develops from the feel of weather and the experience of
living through it year after year. This rain would linger for days, and if
it got colder, the rain would turn to sleet, to hail, to ice, to snow.
     "We'd best get on to bed." Sir Prosil said to him. "There'll be short
enough nights aplenty when the dragons awaken."
     Radon agreed and went to Sir Prosil's bed, a simple thing for most of
it was the very cushions upon which he had been lounging all this time. But
it was Radon's duty to arrange the bedding for sleep...this time, for the
two of them. He would take the smallest cushion there for his own pillow,
he could not presume more than the bare privilege of this warm, warm
bedding.
     "Enough with the covers, lad." Sir Prosil said. "Get your clothes off
now and warm my covers for me."
     Radon stood and his feet slid off his woven shoes easy enough. He
could wish for leather shoes some day, for now, they were wool sewn around
a wooden sole, and were wearing out far too fast, he had to do some sewing
upon them from time to time. His hands went to his pants and he turned
around as he began to remove them.
     Sir Prosil was before him, and the man was glorious in his nudity. His
fighter's body was laden with muscles, large globes that loomed from every
part of his body, yet when he moved as he did to place his hands upon his
hips, they were a symphony of conjoined intent, sliding around in simple
harmony.
     He had seen these arms, these breasts, at times in the warmer seasons
when Sir Prosil would remove his shirt after a battle to wash himself. It
was below the waist that had remained forever hidden, forever covered,
until this night. Until now, Sir Prosil had waited until the light was
extinguished to remove his clothing. Not tonight.
     His legs were broad, the muscles distending to either side and this
broadness only enhanced the space between, made it a wide white plain in
the center of which was the tower of his manhood. For it was a tower, not a
meek curl in his dark brush, but it rose in glory from its bed to gaze upon
Radon with one weeping eye.
     Radon gazed upon this powerful tool of manhood and his tongue licked
his lips without his bidding.
     "Come on, lad, finish your clothing and into the bed with you." Sir
Prosil said. "I have waited long enough."
     Radon's hands untied his waist-cord, his woolen hose fell to his
ankles with no further effort from him. His mother had sewn them for him
before his engagement to Sir Prosil, and had left them large for him to
grow into. She had seen Sir Prosil's muscles, she had sewn for a larger
man, and upon Radon, they yet bagged despite the shrinkage of woolen
fibers.
     "Now the shirt, my faithful squire." Sir Prosil said gently. "Let me
look fully upon you, as you now have upon me."
     His shirt hung to nearly his knees, he had not yet exposed himself,
but when the shirt was pulled over his head, there was nothing left to
cover him.
     Sir Prosil regarded the youthful organ whimpering at him with a gentle
joviality. "I see you have the spirit rising in you as well this night." he
joked.
     Radon shrugged, timid yet. "I am but newly a man." he explained. "I
cannot always choose when it rises and falls."
     "And why should you ever choose for it to fall?" Sir Prosil strode
toward him, two quick steps of a warrior upon the field, and he was upon
Radon. "A proud sword such as this should never be sheathed till it be
blooded." And with that, his hand seized Radon's organ and Radon gasped.
     "That's a strong lance you bear." Sir Prosil said softly. "I am glad
that it is now mine to wield upon my need. Time for you to learn another
task of the squire to a knight upon his quest."
     "My Lord." Radon gasped as Sir Prosil's hand began to stroke him with
slow but firm motions. "Oh, ah, my Lord!"
     "Such an attention from your knight deserves its return, does it not,
my lad?" Sir Prosil reminded him.
     Radon's hand fumbled quickly for Sir Prosil's cock and it met him with
a joyful flood of juices that poured upon his palm, forming an impromptu
lubrication. Radon gripped and he stroked his lord with the same tempo his
lord used upon him, and was rewarded by Sir Prosil's gentle sighs that
brushed Radon's shoulder.
     "Now, my gentle squire, we must to bed." Sir Prosil said. "It is a
busy night you shall have, but I promise that you will rise from it tired
but wiser by far than when you retired."
     "Aye, my lord." Radon panted and he felt his prick released by Sir
Prosil's hand, and Radon lay upon Sir Prosil's bed, holding back the
covers, ready to let his lord lie atop him.
     And yet Sir Prosil did not, but rather he stepped to straddle Radon's
chest, and then lowered himself to sit upon the slender breast and Sir
Prosil's shining glory of a cock beckoned to him. "Taste it for me now." he
said, and it wasn't an order, nor a request, but something in
between. Radon felt this, he could refuse, but if he did, it would mean the
end of this new thing in some way.
     And that must not happen. He opened his mouth, his hand sought and
caught the turgid tool and guided it to his lips. The saltiness of the
fluid that adorned the shaft was acrid upon his tongue, but that diminished
as Sir Prosil pushed it deeper into him. A few inches into his mouth, and
Sir Prosil stopped, as his cockhead just touched the back of Radon's mouth.
     "Taste it for me." he repeated.
     Radon reached up with his tongue inside his closed mouth and let it
curl around Sir Prosil's prong, Sir Prosil moaned quietly and his hips
moved to pull the length out of Radon and Radon's tongue caressed it as it
withdrew, then those hips pushed it back inside again and Radon's tongue
tasted a new globule of the saltiness that flowed from the slit.
     "Now, lad, hold tight with your lips and help me move it." Sir Prosil
instructed. That was the right word, instructed. Not a supplicant, and not
a commander, but one who was teaching him how to behave. Yes. That was the
duty of a lord to his squire, to teach him what he needed to know.
     Radon obeyed Sir Prosil's instructions to the letter, and soon no more
words were needed, he was moving upon Sir Prosil's dong with sure motions,
the warm prod sliding in and out of his mouth.
     Sir Prosil's body was above him, and Radon's hands moved up to caress
him, and while this was not in the instructions thus far, Sir Prosil not
only allowed it, but groaned his approval. The student learned well, that
was the words buried with the syllable-less sound of Sir Prosil's voice.
     "Now you have the way of it." Sir Prosil said. "Let me upon the bed
proper now and you may take a firmer control of this."
     Sir Prosil laid back upon the bed, and Radon splayed his own body
below, so that his mouth could again reach that noble organ and renew his
ministrations, he was in the service of his lord, and this was a delight of
its own as so many things were when one was apprenticed to the teachings of
a noble knight!
     Sir Prosil accepted this until Radon's mouth felt the heat
building. He knew from this that Sir Prosil was close to his
release. "Enough now, lad." Sir Prosil panted.
     Radon stopped, his stomach fluttering. He was not naive entirely, he
and his friends had spoken of this and that, and he had overheard more by
careful listening at nights when his parents had company and he had been
sent to bed. He knew what must be about to happen next.
     And Sir Prosil surprised him yet again, instead of moving to take
Radon's lower opening, he shifted instead so that he could take Radon's own
dong into his mouth, and now he presented his manhood again to Radon's
attentions, and Radon was quite enraptured by the sensations now rushing
through his body that it took a knocking by the cockhead upon his cheek to
remind him of his duty.
     That long cock now fitted into his mouth and throat as though it had
been born there, as if his mouth was a sheath for this man-sword, and it
was sliding into its new home, a perfect match of form to function, and now
they were two bodies moving in synchronization, their motions complementing
each other, so that they held each other's cocks deep inside at the same
time, and moved apart as well so that they could return again, and again
and again.
     Sir Prosil had timed this well. Radon's young body could not stand
long the warm, wet mouth that had captured him so fully, even as Sir
Prosil's own climax began to be born, Radon found his own orgasm clawing
its way to its own birth.
     And so squire and knight moaned together as their delight took them,
as their mouths sped up to drive their shafts faster and yet faster into
each other, and the hot explosion of rapture claimed them as one.
     Radon could only shiver as his climax seized him, as his body
ejaculated into Sir Prosil's mouth. Sir Prosil did not release him, but
only continued to suckle him as an eager calf to its mother, drinking down
his man-milk as quickly as his young squire provided it.
     So when Sir Prosil's own heat burst upon him, Radon braced himself, he
would take this whatever it was like. It was strongly-flavored, it was
true, and yet the pungency of the pre-come was not there, this was the
man-fruit in full ripeness, not the beginning decay of the cast-aside
fluids that inhabited the shaft in hopes of some release. It felt upon
Radon's tongue as so many bites of ripe plum, hot from summer sun, tart but
pleasant-tasting, and he could swallow this, aye, he could drink this as
though he quaffed from the finest keg of wine tapped in the winter to warm
the bones and heat the heart in the bitter chill of the winter winds.
     And he drank down his lord's juices, while he fed his own in turn, and
even when both cocks were empty, they still strove to bring forth that
final, succulent drop, while the last sparkles of the fireworks of their
orgasms still lingered in the skies of their consciousness.
     Sir Prosil released Radon's dong with a heavy sigh. "And you show
again what a natural talent you have to be the squire of a knight on the
tramp." he said with hearty approval. "I knew it the moment your mother
presented you to me, begging me to take and teach you. And I have taught
you, but you have talent that made the lessons a joy."
     Radon blushed from this praise. "It was always my fondest wish to be a
dragon-hunter like you." he said. "It was my own importunities that caused
my mother to bring me upon my manhood's arrival, to you that I may learn my
craft. And I shall learn, my Lord, learn all that you wish to teach me."
That for the still-to-be-vanquished virginity of his body.
     "And we shall have days here to teach you all of it." Sir Prosil
promised him. "And now, my command to you is to come up and lie within my
arms. The dragons sleep now, and so shall we, and take this journey to
their lands in easy stages, all the time readying ourselves for their
awakening. And this is the time that you will cherish even more than the
times when the dragons are awake and about, and you fight for your life and
salvation from their fangs and their claws. Now is the time, while dragons
slumber, that a knight and his squire can build the bonds that shall carry
them throughout their lives."
     Throughout their lives. Radon cherished that thought, that they would
spend so many more years like this, journeying to the dragon lands to fight
the menace, then back to court upon the coming of fall. And then the early
departure such as this, the time together, to enjoy each other, to love
each other, for the dragon-hunters to and pledge their loyalty and their
love, living the best part of their lives while dragons sleep.

				  THE END
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