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The Stallion Guest For DrakeHavok By Draconicon

Doran shook his head as he gathered up his possessions. As the last of the stallion's pouches were passed back to him by the policemen, he gave them a nod of respect, and turned his steps towards the sidewalk. The police turned to the rest of the homeless camp, his own presence forgotten.

Which, he supposed, was saying something as he walked down the street, wearing nothing but a pair of metal armbands and a loincloth. He drew eyes, but he was used to that. He'd been doing that for...well, as long as he could remember. Social standards might have changed, and so had governments, but beauty...well, that had stayed the same for centuries upon centuries.

Despite his muscled body, the stallion knew that the looks he got meant nothing practical, and he couldn't do much with sympathy or admiration. He gave them a polite smile, and kept walking, shifting his bag over his shoulders as he looked towards the horizon. It wasn't too hard to find west this early in the morning, and he started walking.

A soft hum came to his lips as his bare feet slapped against the wet concrete, the horse pulling an old marching song from the depths of his memories. It had been so long since he heard it that he wasn't sure who had sung it, originally. Perhaps the Persians? No, no, it didn't have the flow that they had used, way back when. It was more like...yes, yes, more like those in the Holy Roman Empire.

Satisfied, he kept walking, his eyes towards west, and his road ahead.

Unfortunately, this left him blind to the thing coming towards him. A car, to be precise, driven by someone that had little control over the wheel and less control over himself. Were it not for an interesting twist of fate, Doran would have revealed a number of other things about himself in that moment, a number of things that he wouldn't learn for years to come.

Instead, this discovery was delayed by a blur of white, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back onto the sidewalk. The car zoomed by, and one of many different timelines fizzled and came to a stop. In its place was only the sound of a car and a horse that knew no more about himself than he did a few minute ago, looking down at his rescuer.

Pressed up against his chest was a white dragon, of all things. One arm pressed against his chest, the other extended out, holding his balance. Doran smiled slightly at the smaller male, clearing his throat.

"I thank you for your help. I never would have seen the vehicle coming."

"Yeah, well...You're welcome."

Taking a step back, Doran brushed himself off. Despite being missed by the car, his legs were a little damp from the puddles on the street, and some mud had stained his loincloth. He brushed that clean as well, though it did leave the cloth flapping about. He was half-sure that his rescuer had seen something, then, but if he did, he made no sign.

Doran stood up again, and offered his hand.

"My name is Doran. Thank you, again, for your help."

"Uh, I'm Havok...um. If you don't mind me asking..."

"Please."

"Are you okay? You're kinda...naked..."

"Ah, yes. I apologize for the exposure. I haven't had clothing for...I suppose four months, now."

"..."

"Ah, no, my apologies. It's been closer to five months at this time, now that I think on it."

"...Do you need a place to stay?"

He tilted his head to the side. Doran hadn't heard an offer like that in a very long time, and it took him a moment to remember the costs of such an offer. The stallion thought about it, and nodded.

"If you would be willing to host me for a few days, I would most appreciate it."

"Sure. Uh, come with me. It's not far."

"No...no, I don't imagine it is."

The red-brown stallion cocked his head to the side as he looked over the dragon's house. It wasn't, he supposed, much to look at, but most people didn't have the means to make a palace for themselves. At least, not on the outside.

So he ignored it, walking through the door as soon as Havok unlocked it. As he stepped onto the hardwood floors, he smiled, already seeing the signs of a home that had been loved for a while.

Well-trodden, walked and paced a hundred times a day. Cleaned and swept, alone, because no one else does. A hallway that might as well be a road, each room a kingdom connected by the central passage, governed by different mores...Yes, a well-lived place.

He followed Havok towards the bedroom, where the dragon started pulling out large, stretchy pants and oversized shirts. As his host muttered to himself in the background, Doran looked around again. A simple bed, but a large one, dominated the room. King sized, and in the old meaning, rather than the modern one, big enough for three people. He chuckled slightly, and Havok turned.

"Something funny?"

"It has been some time since I've seen a large bed for someone that lives alone."

The dragon blushed, and Doran's smile softened a bit.

"Ah, you are one that hosts many friends, I imagine."

"Just...the occasional guest."

"And do they pay well for your hospitality?"

"You could say that."

The horse nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He felt his loincloth shift slightly, running over one thigh while his sheath pushed forward due to his position. The blankets under him felt rather nice to his sac, letting him relax rather than feeling the constant, metronome-like beat of them swaying and smacking against one thigh and then the other.

Havok had gone back to looking through the clothes, and Doran let himself think back to the last time that he'd been invited to stay somewhere. It had been months ago, perhaps as far as a year. The recent days slipped together more easily than the far ones. Perhaps it was because they felt so similar, now. Things didn't change as fast as they used to.

But his old host...yes, there had been someone quite nice, quite friendly back then. A bull, someone that held a small farm out in the middle of Europe. He'd welcomed him in, and Doran remembered how he had shown the bull his appreciation.

The soft warmth of the memory tingled as it went through his body, and his smile continued to grow, his fingers tensing and squeezing at his legs as he remembered. Kindness. Kindness was good to see.

Finally, Havok turned around, holding up a pair of sweat pants and a shirt that would have been oversized on an Olympian. The dragon blushed a bit.

"I think these will work...at least, for your top. I'm not sure that I have anything that'll cover...that."

"Your offer is more than sufficient, Havok. Anything that you offer here is beyond what you need to."

The stallion took the shirt and pulled it on. Though he wasn't as muscled as some men, his stature meant that he had a difficult time pulling it down very far. It was large, but his arms still stuck out a good four inches past the cuffs, and the bottom of the shirt didn't quite reach the middle of his stomach. He shrugged, and pulled it back off.

The pants were even worse. He tried tugging them on, but his feet were large enough that he couldn't even get them down the legs, let alone pull the waistband up where it belonged. In short order, he gave up, putting it down on the bed.

"It was kind of you to offer."

"I guess most of my other guests weren't as big - uh, I mean, as tall as you."

Doran smiled. He didn't have to look at his host to know where his eyes were going. He was showing quite a bit, after all, and he knew that people liked to look.

But there were things that needed doing. Hospitality wasn't free, after all. The rules, the rules. They always demanded one thing to be paid for with another.

"What is the time, Havok, my friend?"

"Time? Um...about 2:30. Why?"

"That should be sufficient. May I have this room to myself for a few hours, to make it suitable?"

"I...guess? What are you up to?"

"I merely wish to return the favor of hospitality."

"Oh, you don't have to -"

"Havok...allow me this, please. It is required."

"...Alright. Four hours okay?"

"That will be plenty."

"Need any dinner?"

"Not until afterwards."

It was the work of a few hours, though not quite the full four that he had been given, to properly transform the room into what he needed. Doran looked around, and smiled to himself, feeling rather proud of what he could still do.

The sheets in the closet had been hung from the ceiling, forming curtains and drapes that created a diaphanous, Arabian harem feel to the room. He had always been partial to the look, ever since a merchant prince had introduced him to a sultan and he had seen what it involved. The chance to give someone privacy while still being tangentially connected, the way that it offered bonding without intrusion, was something he had yet to see again in this world.

It was a pity that there were no real candles, but he made do with the electronic ones, lighting the room in soft, reflected pools of 'candlelight.' The windows were slightly open, allowing a slow breeze to shift the curtains here and there.

The shifting mists of time, the warmth of a connection, the care of one person for another. The old rituals, the old ways. Let them be remembered, still.

Doran bowed his head, holding out his hands at his sides. He stood in the very middle of the room, past the various 'veils' that he had set up. He knelt, his legs spread, his head down, and his arms out to his sides as he whispered old words. A language from before the pyramids, from some time that he could barely remember anymore. Words of welcome, words of warmth. Words of thanks, for giving him what was not asked for, because it was right.

For someone always listened, though he knew not who.

He held that position for a while, running through the ancient litany, before there was a knock at the door. The horse lifted his head, and smiled, resting his hands on his legs before calling out.

"Come in, please."

He heard more than saw the door open, though he could immediately make out the silhouette of his host at the doorway. It froze, and Doran shook his head.

"Do not worry. I will put this all away before I leave. This is my way of thanking you."

"What the heck are you doing? Making a haunted house?"

"I would hardly give such a 'gift' to someone I have just met. Please, come to me...but leave the curtains up. It will help."

"You're talking like they're real."

Are they not, in this day? Has it been forgotten? The spirit houses where the dead and the wandering fly, where the rooms shiver as they whisper their forgotten tales, where the joys of good memories and the tears of sad ones leave the house shimmering with memories and songs and sensation?

Doran shook his head, letting the slight sadness fade away in favor of the surprise that he had planned for the dragon. He let his legs spread a bit further, his heels digging into his rump as he settled more firmly on the mattress. His sac dangled down and down until it touched the bed, and his tail switched from side to side, the long, soft hairs almost tickling his legs and rump in the process.

He thought of the things that he would do for the dragon, dragging them from the back of his mind, and his shaft responded. The long rod that all horses were known for began to emerge, sliding free of his groin. The loincloth was set aside, laid over the back of the bed, and his shaft pushed upwards without encumbrance.

It was still rising when Havok passed the final partition. Doran smiled, allowing his fully-exposed body to be seen, and waited.

And waited...And waited, as the white dragon stared at him. The stallion cocked his head to the side.

"Is something wrong, my friend?"

"You...you're more naked."

"Yes, I am. Because it is a price I am happy to pay, for your hospitality."

"Price - you mean, you think -"

"It is not a matter of thinking. It is a matter of knowing. Of rules."

The horse gestured, and Havok followed, coming to the bed and sitting at the foot of it. Doran reached down, guiding the dragon's hand to his groin. Almost as soon as those scaly fingers touched him, they wrapped around his shaft, squeezing it about the base and starting to tug it up and down, rubbing and stroking it almost too eagerly. The horse groaned at it, feeling his shaft continue to rise.

"You have offered me your home. I must be allowed to offer myself to you in return."

"You...you really don't have to."

"Havok."

He smiled, sidling slightly closer, reaching down and squeezing his host through the front of his clothes. The white dragon jumped, but he felt the excitement there, the bulge, the throb. Yes, it was there, as he knew it would be.

"I wish to offer myself. It is a small service I can give, some small thing that might make up for the hardship of another around. A gift given must be paid for with a gift in turn. Lest I leave it out of balance.

"So, Havok, how may I serve?"

In the silence that stretched on, Doran waited patiently. It was not the first time that someone had been struck dumb by the rules of hospitality. Rules that had been laid down since the ancient times, rules that most would not be bound by, but - from his long life - he was. He waited, patiently, gently stroking the dragon through his pants as he himself was stroked in turn.

Soon enough, Havok stood up. The white dragon pulled his pants down, getting on the bed on all fours, and pushing his tail up.

"I'd like...I mean, I haven't had a horse visit in a long time..."

"I understand."

The stallion smiled as he gently guided Havok towards the head of the bed. With the remnants of his loincloth, Doran tied the dragon's hands together, gently keeping him pinned in place. It was barely more than a rope from hands to bedposts, but it would keep him still, would keep him relaxed. No need to think, no need to back out of it. All he had to do was lay there and enjoy it.

He was hard, now. Doran stroked himself, feeling the rigidness that flooded his shaft. The thick head dripped with pre, copious enough after a month of being backed up to give him sufficient slickness. Gripping himself around the base, he dragged the head around his host's rump, slicking it up from side to side with his pre, and drawing circles of it around the hole itself, making it drip with his juices.

All through the process, Havok whimpered and moaned, pushing back against his cock head. Every time, Doran pulled back, stroking himself to milk a little more pre out, making sure that it was as slick as he could get it.

He even reached down and gently pulled at the dragon's hole, using two fingers to hold it open as he drizzled pre inside, letting it slowly drip inside and get rubbed around. That seemed to excite his host all the more, and he smiled.

"Has it been so long, Havok?"

"I'm dealing with being the top for multiple people...and I miss this..."

"I understand. We all must do things that may not be true to what we are, at times."

"So stick it in me and remind me what I am, then."

"Soon."

He spent another minute milking himself before he finally took his hand off of his cock. It was more than a foot of horse-flesh ready to impale the dragon, and he wondered how it would be taken. Would it be like the princess of a hundred years ago, or the farm hand that had already been under his feral cousins? Or something in between?

Thick fingers groped the dragon's rear, spreading his cheeks. Doran lined his shaft up, and started pushing. The pucker resisted him, trying so hard to keep itself closed. He pushed harder, pulling on the scaly hips to keep himself lined up, never pulling back, only pausing to line himself up better. He wiggled back and forth, trying different angles, until -

"AH!"

Havok's gasp stilled him, holding him in place as he let the white dragon get used to the feeling of the thick head inside of him. It didn't bother Doran to wait; after all, the rim was squeezing him tightly, and the inside was warm, wet, as all dragons seemed to be. Hotter than others, it was a delight all on its own.

He waited, and waited, until Havok tapped him on the thigh with his tail. Then, and only then, did he start pushing further.

Every inch was a mix of struggle and pleasure. He was thicker than anyone that the dragon had taken lately, he could tell; he was bigger around, and longer, for sure. The inner walls took a long time to properly part for him, and they squeezed him constantly, reminding him that he was bigger than anything else that the dragon was used to.

But slowly, surely, he worked his way in and made it his own. The dragon accepted his shaft, and he started sliding in and out, back and forth, gradually working his way towards a faster speed. His pre kept flowing, making it wet and sloppy, and some of it started oozing backwards, sliding out as he opened Havok up.

Doran tensed himself up as he felt his shaft starting to throb early, working his muscles to keep it from getting too intense. This was for his host, after all. It was the rite of hospitality, paying for his stay in the only currency that was accepted all over the world.

"Ooh...ah...please...faster..."

"Your wish is my command."

The horse sped up, his hips slapping against the dragon's ass, driving louder and louder moans out of him. He could feel his balls slapping against Havok's, feeling the difference in size between them, and he smiled at that. In and out, in and out he went, his cock throbbing harder and harder, mercilessly pounding against the dragon's prostate.

He pulled back, leaving only the flared head inside of the hole, and marveled at the way it stretched. The rim was pulled wide by his thick shaft, spread almost as big as his fist from how thick his cock was. Havok's breath came in short, fast gasps, only to be driven out in a rush as he slammed back in, hard.

Doran leaned forward, wrapping his arms gently around the bound dragon. He hugged him to his chest as he humped, thrusting deep as only a stallion could, filling the dragon with every single inch of his shaft.

And through it all, Havok moaned.

Ten minutes in, the dragon came, shooting all over the bed. He moaned and shuddered, panting and shaking, but he didn't ask for Doran to stop. So the stallion kept going.

Thirty minutes in, Havok was on his back, and Doran held his legs high. The dragon's upraised rump was getting the pounding it needed, the horse thrusting in deep, and forcing Havok to cum all over his own face.

An hour in, and a third, nearly non-existent orgasm was milked out of the white dragon as he bounced his ass up and down on Doran's cock, taking it to the hilt. Through it all, Doran held himself back, waiting for those magic words.

Two hours in, they came.

"Fill me..."

And he did.

The old ways are wonderful...but they never had showers, Doran thought as he washed himself down. His host was asleep, resting from the long bout of sex that they'd just had, and oozing horse cum into a bowl that Doran had placed behind his host before heading into the shower. No need to spill it everywhere.

Still, he was tired. Thousands upon thousands of years old, and two hours was the most he could manage anymore. It was a pity. He'd need to get in shape again.

The End