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The crisp, fresh air of the tundra was so different from the humid smog which blanketed Gerdaine's Hold all year round. Its sharp edge cleared the mind and spirit better than any plunge into a clean, flowing stream after a sordid night of drink, banishing old thoughts and old worries alike. And for the human standing out in the snow-covered yard, the sweat which soaked his body steaming off of his limbs with every frigid gust, such a banishment was sorely needed.

The view, too, was both refreshing and breathtaking, no matter how many times the young man had seen it. To his left and behind, the dark and sturdy edifices of Vilkhull, last and mightiest of the fortifications at the northern edge of the world. To his right and before him, the vast and interminable wilds of the tundra; the fields of stark white, peppered here and there with hints of the dark soil and stone underneath, and further off the towering peaks of the Jotunsjakt Mountains. And far above, clear and unhidden by a single hint of cloud cover—the smoke which rose from the city's chimneys freezing in the air before it reached that nude expanse—was the pure blue of the afternoon sky.

Garret took a deep breath in and then out. He leaned against the shovel in his grip, resting his sore and sweat-slickened body.

“Blast it, lad! Get the lead out of your boots and get back in here!"

He was startled out of his thoughts by the full-throated roar from the depths of the smithy at his back.

“A-aye!" His reverie broken, Garret proceeded with the task that had pulled him from the heat and smoke of the Gilded Hammer into the icy air outside: shoveling snow into the pair of buckets at his feet. Once that was done, he dropped the shovel in favor of hauling his load up, turning, and trotting back into the building. There he dumped the already-melting slush into a much larger metal bin; just in time for a red-hot length of iron to be plunged into it, hissing with all the fury of an enraged beast.

There was a grunt, and then the voice which had just bellowed at him—dropping back into its usual gravelly timbre—sounded out again from his left and just a little below his shoulder. “Get on the bellows. Don't have all day."

“Aye." With little more than a grunt of his own and a nod, Garret moved to obey. He turned in a quick-footed, well-practiced motion to dodge around the bulk of the other man—and the still-glowing length of iron in the tongs gripped in that man's meaty, leather-gloved fists—to begin working the forge's bellows. Every pump sent another surge of sultry heat into the room, quickly soaking his brow and shoulders in another layer of fresh sweat. But Garret had long worn out any complaints he may have had; he had a job to do.

The Gilded Hammer was the only smithy in Vilkhull for good reason; it's dwarven proprietor offered only the best-crafted of tools, armor, and weapons. The axes he made were sharp enough to fell the thickest of pines in a half-dozen blows, or so the lumbermen at the logging outposts to the south would claim, and his shovels and picks split dirt and rock alike with ease. The armor he'd craft could withstand any wear and tear, the ravages of both time and war, and provided the city guard with the best protection one could ask for. And his weapons, the pride and joy of any dwarven smith worth his salt, were said by many to be the reason Vilkhull could stand strong and proud at the precipice of the known world; could stand against raids from the beasts of the forests and the goblin tribes of the Jotunsjakt range, allowing its mingled population to thrive on that wind-blasted tundra.

And though Garret was but an apprentice, and a human at that, he was honored to assist in forging the creations which gave the Gilded Hammer its reputation. He was honored for the opportunity to be taught the trade from a dwarven master, and eager both to please and to be educated. However the job didn't come without a few distractions, different and much more alluring than the thoughts into which he'd sunken in his reverie outside.

The view was, after all, quite breathtaking.

Face scalded by more than just the flaring fires of the forge, Garret watched as his employer, his master and patron, the dwarven proprietor of the Gilded Hammer worked his craft. Hjaldrom Ironheart was tall for a dwarf, though the crown of his bald head still only came up to his human apprentice's shoulders; but much like the rest of his race, he was far bigger in different ways. His broad shoulders and chest and back rippled with firm musculature, as solid as the stone towers and walls of Vilkhull; and lending credence to that old legend which claimed the dwarven race had been carved by their gods out of stone from a mountain's heart.

And in the intense heat of the forge, every inch of flexing muscle was put on full display with the same pride that the armor and weapons out in the smithy's front room were; underneath his heavy smith's apron, Hjaldrom's upper body was bare. Garret could watch the bunching and working of the dwarf's biceps and pectorals as Hjaldrom swung his hammer. He could watch the sweat dripping down the stony crags of the dwarf's face from his deep-furrowed brow, down to catch like glimmering gemstones in his full and thick beard. He could admire the smith's skill, his strength and dexterity, and just how handsome the dwarf was.

Hardy. Masculine. Stern and powerful in every movement.

“More heat!"

“Aye!" Garret's own limbs—not nearly as brawny as his master's, but blessed with a fine amount of bulk built over the course of his apprenticeship—moved almost of their own accord at the order to resume pumping the bellows. He squinted his eyes against the blast of heat from the forge's heart, and swallowed down the dryness of his throat. The young man ignored the slick film of perspiration which coated his own limbs and torso under the linen of his shirt, the sudden tightness of his trousers, and the storm clouds which rumbled and roiled through his mind. With the rhythm of both his pumping motions and the sharp clanging of Hjaldrom's hammer, he fell into that old and familiar dance; the same he'd been performing with the dwarf since he'd arrived in Vilkhull four years before.

Pump the bellows. Move aside while the red-hot metal was cooled. Refill the bin with snow from outside when necessary. Use the tongs to grab a fresh ingot from the fire, and place it on the anvil for Hjaldrom to shape. It was good, honest work—much better than his prospects back home—and Garret was proud of it. Proud of being useful.

At least he could be so to Hjaldrom, and have his efforts appreciated.

The young man bit his lip to keep a scowl off his face. There was no time for those thoughts; he had a job to do.

Hours later, when the last order for the day had been set aside—prepped to be shaped and sharpened into one of the finely-crafted pieces for which the Gilded Hammer was known—the master and his apprenticed doused the forge's fire together. Hjaldrom set his hammer aside and began to organize the tools of his trade, while Garret swept the stone floor of any stray soot or metal shards. Once more the human lost himself in his work; and so the feeling of a calloused hand clapping him on the center of his back nearly sent him jumping into the air like a startled cat.

“Good work today, lad." That gruff, gravelly voice was accompanied by another pat between the human's shoulder blades. “Think you might be ready to try a few things for yourself."

“A-aye, sir." A deep breath in—not only to calm the sudden twinge of anticipation in his gut—was accompanied by a tiny smile as Garret glanced down to the dwarf. He must have been truly lost in his thoughts if Hjaldrom had managed to sneak up on him. “I'll do my best, sir."

A single eye, green as the needles of a pine tree, peered up at the human; the other was squinted shut under the slashing scar which ran from just over Hjaldrom's left eyebrow down to his bearded jaw. “You'd better. Don't make me think these past four years have been for naught, aye?" Garret barely had time to feel a tremble gathering at the base of his spine before the dwarf's voice broke out into a booming peal of laughter. “You're an Ironheart's apprentice, lad, you'll do fine. Now, let's get our bodies cleaned up and our bellies full. Nothing better to quench the thirst of a day in the forge than a pint of ale." A grin split the smaller man's lips, wide and toothy. “And nothing goes better with a fine ale than a heaping bowl of stew, aye?"

“Aye!" Garret gave the dwarf a grin of his own, and his head bobbed in an enthusiastic nod.

“Let's not tarry, then! Won't get ourselves fed standing here and jawing all night, will we?" One last pat to the human's back, hearty and open-palmed, nearly sent Garret sprawling. And then Hjaldrom grunted, stretching his bulky arms backward to undo the tie of his apron before he pulled it up and off.

Garret's gaze dropped down between his shuffling feet, but not before catching a glimpse of Hjaldrom's chest. The massive peaks of his pectorals, standing tall and proud as the Jotunsjakts. The dense forest of dark, wiry hair, flecked all over with snowy white just like the beard which fell to Hjaldrom's sternum. The vast expanse of his round gut, just as firm and supple as the rest of him. Even in the lingering heat from the cooling forge, the human could feel the stronger surge of warmth in his chest. His belly. His groin, the young man's trousers once more becoming tight—embarrassingly so—under the cover of his own apron.

The dwarf, however, seemed completely oblivious to his apprentice's little—but quickly growing—issue. He stomped his way out of the smithy into the chilly evening air with nary a flinch, his heavy boots tromping on the stone floor and crunching through the ice and snow. He paused in the middle of the yard, stretching his heavy limbs—not seeming to care that Garret's eyes had lifted upward once more to drink in every bit of the display Hjaldrom was making of himself—before bending over to take a large handful of snow into one meaty mitt. The dwarf patted the frigid precipitation right onto his chest, grunting like a great beast, and began at last to rub his sweaty upper body down.

It was a trick he'd learned in the dwarven army, Hjaldrom had told Garret some time ago, to save both time and resources during long campaigns through the snowy passes and crags around their mountain home. Snow was, after all, nothing more than frozen water, fresh and clean and available in abundance to wash away the sweat and smut of a long day's march; or, as the case may be, a day of toiling in the sweltering heat of the forge. Not the most pleasant of experiences—and indeed, the human had given his dwarven master no end of entertainment with his cries and shrieks the first few times he'd attempted it for himself—but it got the job done. And of course, it would make a long and steamy soak before bed all the more pleasant.

And so, Garret undid the tie of his own apron—making sure the dwarf was facing away, and thus wouldn't spy the evidence of his peeking and ogling—before tugging it off and folding it up to be set aside with Hjaldrom's own. His shirt quickly followed, baring the human's own lithe and toned—not nearly as hairy, but he was proud of the light dusting upon his forearms nevertheless—upper body; the already-soaked-through garment was tucked up into the hollow of one dank armpit, to be thrown in with the rest of the washing. Then, with a bone-shaking shiver and a deep breath of the crisp, clean air, Garret moved out to join Hjaldrom out in the yard.

Grabbing a few handfuls of snow.

Patting them onto his shoulders with a choked-down hiss, letting the melting slush run down his back and chest.

“That'll put some hair on your chest, aye?" Hjaldrom guffawed, glancing to the smooth expanse below the human's tucked-down chin. “That or turn your nips right to stone."

Garret huffed, lifting an arm to shield said—stone-hard and starting to ache—nips. “Y-you're one to… t-talk." Despite the chattering of his jaw and the shivering of his limbs, he reached down toward one of the dark buds peeking from that dense wilderness of chest hair, only to back away when Hjaldrom gave him a swat in return.

“Har, me nips aren't none of your business, lad." Despite the cold, Garret felt another roil in his belly—another surge of heat, another throb between his legs—at the words; and at the briefest of thoughts about what he'd do with those plump, tantalizing buds were they indeed 'his business'. The dwarf lifted one arm and then the other, patting and rubbing snow into the steaming—and just as hairy as the rest of him—hollows underneath before swiping it away. “Now come on. Don't need you catching a wee cold, do we?"

“N-no, sir…" Garret was quick to imitate the dwarf, scrubbing a handful of snow under his arms to wash away the worst of the sweat and body odor which had gathered there over the course of the afternoon. Then at last, with another day of good work behind them, master and apprentice headed up the wooden staircase on the outside wall of the smithy to the apartment on the building's second floor.

Tired.

Eager for a filling meal and a warm bed.

And, in Garret's case at least, still plagued by thoughts both supremely bitter and decadently sweet.

---

“…So there we are, just me, old Bjorn Stonefist, and a good hundred or so ravenous goblins." The dwarf's voice had dropped into a thunderous rumble, as full of portent as though it truly was coming from dark and looming storm clouds. “Little blighters had us surrounded, spears at the ready to run us through. Ol' Stoney's arm was still busted from the fall, but he was swinging his hammer off-handed like it was nothing."

Garret sat in the armchair across from the older man, still nursing a large mug of dark and foamy ale. The warmth of the drink joined the warmth of the fire to soothe away the aches and pains of the day, and his master's stories of his time in the army filled the young man's mind with scenes of bloody battles and prideful heroism; a welcome distraction indeed. “And then?" At any other time, he may have felt a hint of shame at acting like a wide-eyed child listening to a bedtime story, but in the cozy comfort of their shared living quarters it came to him as easily as breathing.

It felt right, in a way, especially when those tales were being spun by his dwarven patron.

Hjaldrom took a long draw of his pipe, savoring the tobac for a long moment before blowing a stream of white smoke into the air. His free hand moved to scratch at his broad chest through the material of his tunic, and then settled back on his knee. “And then, lad, the earth began to shake beneath our feet." The dwarf seemed to be just as caught up in his own story as the human was, every word spoken with a dramatic flourish that would put the most proficient of bards to shame. “The gobbies all began to shriek like devils from the Pit, dancing and cavorting about. And then, it stomped up from way in the back of their ranks: a bloody hobgoblin the size of a dire grizzly."

A gasp. Eyes widened. Fingers tightening their grip on his mug. “What did you do?"

“Har, what did I do…" The dwarves mouth split into a wide and toothy grin, almost a feral snarl; similar to the expression he wore in Garret's mind's eye at the sight of such a formidable foe. “It beat its chest and roared fit to brown a Jotun's drawers, swinging its club and damn near taking the heads of the gobbies what didn't get out of its way clean off. Wanted to finish us off itself, no doubt. But the blighted bastard made one fatal mistake, lad."

“What mistake?" It was like a ritual invocation, a call and response. Garret took a gulp of his drink, and Hjaldrom puffed on his pipe to let the tension mount for a long, breathless moment.

“Well, lad. That beastie was facing off with Hjaldrom Ironheart. It charged right at us, ready to smash our skulls in. But me and Stoney, we stood our ground… and when it was in just the right spot, I heaved me axe at it." A laugh, bold and triumphant. “Bastard ran face-first into my blade, got its head split clean in two for the effort."

“Fuck…" Back in Gerdaine's Hold, he would've been severely chastised for such obscenity. But up in Vilkhull, under the tutelage of the dwarf, such oaths were commonplace; Hjaldrom himself was certainly creative enough in the art of crafting oaths which would make even the sailors at Gerdaine's docks blush.

“Swear by Tor's axe, every word is true." One thick finger moved up to tap the dwarf's right cheek, which was marked in deep blue with a runic tattoo: a long line from scalp to jaw, with two more lines crossing over it at perpendicular angles two-thirds up the length of it, indeed having the appearance of a stylized double-headed axe. He then sighed, long and heavy, and took another deep draw from his pipe. “Really like me stories, don't you?"

There was the embarrassment. He did indeed, and not only due to the dwarf's oratory skills. It was something to connect with Hjaldrom over, to bond over, to let the young man learn more about his master and patron. The man under whom he'd spent the past four years working and toiling in his apprenticeship. The one person he felt closer to than anyone else in Vilkhull, much less back home. Garrett dropped his gaze down to his cup, and stalled his answer with a long, slow, considering sip to finish off the burning drink. “Well, I just…"

“Enjoy listening to an old man jaw on and on?" A rumbling guffaw from the dwarf was accompanied by a—softer, brighter—grin.

Garret answered with a snort. “You don't 'jaw on and on', Hjaldrom sir. And you aren't that old…" His jaw worked for another moment. “It's just interesting, I guess. Listening to you talk about your service, I mean. All the adventures you had in the wilds…"

“Well, it wasn't all glitz and glory, I can tell you that." Another few puffs as Hjaldrom sat back in his chair. “But you're a damn good listener, lad. If it's you, then I guess I don't mind telling all about my 'adventures'." His eye peered at the human, keen and sharp enough to pierce. “…And if you've got anything on your mind, I'd be happy to return the favor and listen."

The young man felt his limbs stiffen. His chest tighten. His ale-and-stew-filled gut roil. “I-I…" He swallowed, doing his best knot to choke on the knot in his throat. At last, Garret bobbed his head in a nod. “Aye, sir. I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

Hjaldrom took a deep breath in, drawing the aromatic smoke from his pipe into his lungs. He let it out slowly, both men watching as that smoke furled and coiled like an ephemeral snake into the air. At last, the dwarf grunted. “So out with it, Garret. What've you got on your mind?"

He knew; as impossible as it was, he had to know. Hjaldrom was a perceptive man, of course—one had to be when a single mistake could ruin an entire afternoon's worth of work—but Garret had thought he'd been careful. The young man looked away from the dwarf, knowing full well even that small gesture was an admission in itself, and gulped down the last of his ale. “Uh, nothing much."

“Don't seem like nothing to me." Hjaldrom grunted, let out a low groan, and leaned forward in his chair to peer at the human through the smoke rising from his pipe. “Been getting lost in thought and distracted an awful lot lately. Like something's weighing heavy on your mind." Another grunt. “And I don't just mean that little crush you got on me."

Eyes flying wide. Mouth dropping open. Gaping and gawping at the dwarf as heat—far more intense than any forge's fire—surged into his cheeks and throbbed in his temples. “Uh…" He stammered, trying to master his suddenly numb tongue. “You, uh… how-"

Hjaldrom just laughed, and Garret ducked his head down, doing his best to imitate the turtles in the estuary just outside of Gerdaine's Hold; wishing he could retreat away from the situation. “Lad, I don't mean to brag, but I'm also not stupid. I know full well when someone's ogling me." He smirked, but the expression was far from the derisive sneer Garret had been half-fearing. “Not to toot my own horn, but I got plenty of it both in the military and out of it. Did quite a lot of it myself, and it got me into plenty of 'adventures' with my shieldbrothers, if'n you catch my drift."

The young man did indeed catch Hjaldrom's drift, and he began to think about it. Those burly, hairy men—dwarven men—stripping out of their armor together. Flexing their large and supple muscles, and then running their calloused hands through the thick pelts of each other's body hair. Crashing hips and chests together as they grunted and cried out in their gravelly voices, like the mountains themselves were humping and thrusting and pleasuring each other. Yet again Garret swallowed to wet his dry throat, shifting in his seat and pressing his thighs together; hoping that he wasn't revealing his interest too much, and knowing full well that he likely was. “Then you… you're, ah…?"

“Lad." A snort as Hjaldrom gave his apprentice a flat stare from beneath the craggy cliff of his brow. “Lemme let you in on a little secret: us dwarves, we aren't all split up like you humans into 'men' and 'women'. A dwarf's a dwarf." His words came out slow, and his tone was low and even, as though he was explaining the simplest of concepts to a child. “What you lot call 'homosexual' is just the natural order of things for us."

Garret flinched at such a casual utterance of that word which had caught in his throat. “Then you're not…" He could already infer the answer, and knew asking would only make him look like more of an idiot before the older male. But still, the question slipped out from between his trembling lips. “You don't, uh… mind?"

“'Course not!" The lines on the dwarf's face grew a little shallower as his expression softened. He reached across the gap between them to grasp Garret's knee, giving it a firm—yet so gentle—squeeze. “I don't mind at all when someone wants to watch me working, no matter what it is they're appreciating." He winked. “Don't go bare under my apron just because it gets too stifling otherwise, you know."

“O-oh." Garret worked his jaw in a vain attempt to ease the stinging burn overtaking his cheeks.

“So no, lad. Long as you keep an eye on your work, I won't mind if the other one wanders." Another pat to the human's knee, and then the dwarf leaned back once more to watching Garret shift in his chair. Blush. Hem and haw to himself under his master's stern gaze. “I know it's an issue for some of you humans, but you won't need to worry about that with me."

“Some more than others." A hint of bitterness in the young man's voice, and just the briefest flitter of a shadow darkening Garret's expression.

“Like your family?" The words hung in the air for a long moment, much like the curling smoke blown from between Hjaldrom's lips in a heavy sigh. “That what's got that raincloud over your head, lad?"

His family. The Malmoro family. A wealthy lineage of tailors who'd made a name for themselves in Gerdaine's Hold, and throughout the Southern lands where trade had spread their wares. They were indeed a more traditional sort—one had to be when the success of the business was so tied to the image others had of them—and Garret was indeed sure any word of his proclivities would get his name struck from the family registry in a heartbeat. Part of him, in fact, suspected it was one reason he'd been shipped off to Vilkhull in the first place; out of both sight and mind, learning a trade which would keep him far out of the family business, made into someone else's—a dwarf's, and Garret could imagine the sneer on his parents' faces—problem.

However, as he gathered up all those thoughts from the darkened corner of his mind into which he'd shoved them, Garret shook his head. “Not… exactly…"

“Well then…" A long draw of his pipe. A nod of his head as he brushed a few thick fingers through his beard. A grunt as he settled in his seat. Hjaldrom's expression was warm and paternal beneath the scarring and tattooed and weathering of age. “I'm listening."

And then the dwarf fell silent as he waited for Garret. To breathe in and then out, his own fingers fidgeting over the rim of the cup still in his grip. To set it aside, place his hands on his thighs and then the arms of his chair, shifting both inside and out to get himself comfortable. And then at last, to tell his master and patron exactly what was on his mind.

The letter he'd received a week or so before; a missive from his parents down in their home at Gerdaine's Hold. The brief report on the family goings-on—his sister was with child, their aunt and uncle were well and recovering from the illness with which they'd been stricken, his brother's negotiations with the East Kanthgira Trading Company had reaped a wealth of opportunities for the business—which preceded a dry and toneless upheaval of Garret's world. Due to his brother's success, it had been determined that he would be made sole heir to the Malmoro fortune, along with any stakes or holdings in the family business which that entailed.

His brother, Olsen Malmoro. The younger of the male progeny, but by far Garret's superior in every way. He'd taken to the family business like a bird to flight, whereas Garret had struggled and ultimately failed. He had a cavalcade of young debutantes awaiting their chance at becoming his wife, whereas Garret's 'misfortune' in love seemed to doom him to bachelorhood. He was handsome and strong, athletic and bold; the definition of a golden child, whereas Garret was the black sheep.

Garret had long grown used to being compared to his younger brother, and to being found wanting. His entire life was one long string of occurrences where he'd been shown up by Olsen. And at last, in a missive with no acknowledgement of parental or familial affection beyond the tersest of wishes for his wellbeing, he'd been thrown aside in favor of that golden child. All but abandoned in Vilkhull. Out of sight, out of mind, and forgotten.

That was the reason for his ill demeanor and petulant mood in the days after he'd received that damnable letter. It was why he'd retreated into himself when they weren't working at the forge together, barely acknowledging Hjaldrom's presence outside of the smithy; receiving quite a few—well-deserved, he admitted with a sheepish look to the older man—verbal lashings for it. And it was why, only a few days prior, he had written and sent off a letter of his own in response.

As there was to be no place for him in the line of succession, Garret wished to withdraw from any consideration in family affairs going forward, and he humbly requested that his name be taken out the family registry. He thanked the Lord William and Lady Annette Malmoro for all they had done for him during his formative years, and wished Olsen well in his endeavors. He prayed for their wellbeing and prosperity, and renounced both his family name and any familial ties to the lot of them.

By the time he finished, Garret's arms and hands were trembling; much like they had as he'd sealed that letter and then handed it off to be delivered. He kept his gaze locked upon the floor between his and Hjaldrom's boots, working his jaw and letting his fingers fidget against one another. “So… that's that."

“Garret…" The young man could hear the soft rumble of Hjaldrom's voice. The quiet clack of the dwarf setting his pipe down on the side table, and then a sharp grunt as he hauled himself to his feet. Garret watched the other man's boots shuffle closer, and then flinched as a massive hand—rough and calloused, yet so careful and gentle in its touch—settled on his shoulder. “Stand up."

Garret nodded and moved to obey, standing up—stomach to chest, chest to face—before the dwarf; then he grunted, and at last let out the low whimper which had been gathering in his throat throughout his tale, when the musclebound arms he'd been admiring for so long wrapped around him in a firm embrace.

“Hang the lot of them." Hjaldrom gave the human a—spine-cracking—squeeze with his bulky limbs, and looked up to the taller, younger man with a face full of beaming pride. “They don't know what kind of man they're losing."

It was awkward with the difference in their respective heights, but Garret was eager to return the dwarf's hug. He hunched down, slung his arms over Hjaldrom's broad shoulders, and pressed in close to the other man as he felt large and strong hands patting and stroking his back. “A bad son and homosexual, you mean?"

A tighter squeeze, which truly did cause Garret's spine to creak and ache for the briefest of moments. “None of that, lad, you're a fine apprentice. And I'd much rather a homosexual with a steady hand and quick mind than some puffed-up snotnose. Even with that wandering eye and mind of yours." Their gazes met once more, and the human could only duck his head at the sight of the dwarf's toothy and playful grin. But the firm set of his brow and the glimmer of his pine-green eye made it clear that every word Hjaldrom spoke was the truth. “You've got skill and diligence. And by my arm and my hammer, I swear to make you one of the best smiths in the land. Worthy of the name Ironheart."

Heat bloomed in Garret's cheeks and belly; not the searing inferno of the forge-fire, but gentle and soothing as a flame stoked to warm one's bone from the cold. His arms grew slack around the other man, and the trembling of his knees forced him to step back and drop down into his chair once more. “You… you mean…?"

This time it was Garret's shoulder being squeezed, once one massive mitt of a calloused hand clapped down upon it. “Aye. Like I said, you're a fine apprentice. And since you've gone and cut your ties, you can stay here and work as long as your please." The older man shifted from foot to foot; even in his bluntness, such sincerity didn't seem to come easy to the dwarf. “Those blighters down where home is—was—for you may not appreciate you, but I say that any man should be honored to have you as a son." His brow furrowed as he looked away, the lines of his face deepening; and was that a hint of red under the deep, white-flecked black of his beard? His voice, a low rumble like stone grinding against itself, sparked yet more heat within the young man. “I know I would."

“Hjaldrom…" Before he even realized it, Garret had surged forth to wrap his arms around the dwarf in another embrace. Much more well-fitted this time, his sitting position allowing the human's arms to wrap tight around Hjaldrom's trunk. Hunched in his chair as he was, it was easy for him to press in against the older man. And when one massive arm pulled him in closer, and the other hand began to stroke through his messy brown hair, Garret at last let out the long sigh which had been gathering behind the knot in his throat. “I'm honored to be your apprentice. And…" He hesitated, took a deep breath, and then plunged forward. “And you're a far better father than I could ever have asked for."

The pair stayed like that for a long moment, just listening to the crackling of the fire filling the silence. The weight of Hjaldrom's hand upon the back of Garret's head brought it down, down, until without realizing it the human had settled his cheek upon the dwarf's large, strong, supple chest. He could feel every twitch and flex of the musculature underneath the older man's tunic; and how many times had he fantasized about being in exactly that position, to feel and explore that wide and firm expanse. To run his fingers through the salt-and-pepper forest which ran between the proud peaks of Hjaldrom's pectorals and down the supple field of the dwarf's gut?

To breathe in, and out, and have every breath tinged with the rich aroma of the other man's hardworking body?

Garret allowed his eyes to slip closed, rubbing his cheek into the scratchy wool of Hjaldrom's tunic as he took another slow, deep sniff. That aroma tingled in his nostrils, sent sparks down his throat, and ignited searing warmth within his lungs. Duller and softer than the sharp and sweaty reek which would waft off of the dwarf in the sweltering heat of the smithy, the snowy scrub-down earlier having robbed the odor of its pungency. As firm and solid and masculine as the dwarf's muscles; and long had Garret fantasized about exploring it to its fullest, just as he'd fantasized about running his hands and fingers over the other man's shoulders and chest, his back and belly.

Would Hjaldrom tease or scorn him were he to edge his nose closer towards the side of his torso, towards that built and bulky arm, towards the crease which hid the dwarf's armpit? Or would his master give him a stern and paternal look, allowing his apprentice—his lad—to indulge?

Would the older man allow Garret to lift that arm upwards, baring the hair-filled hollow underneath? Would he allow it when they were like this, comfortable and clean and ready to settle in for the night, and in the moments between their work in the smithy when that dark forest would be soaked through with bitter-spicy sweat and odor? Would he merely allow it, or pull the human down into that armpit of his with a grunt, a chuckle, a gravelly murmur of approval?

Would they stop there, or would Garret be allowed to explore further; to sample the thick, cloying, virile scent of Hjaldrom's manhood from every sweaty crease and dank hollow where it could be found?

He was broken out of his reverie—from the lustful stupor into which his thoughts had sunken—by a quiet clearing of the throat from above. The hand on the human's scalp slid down to his nape, and then the space between his shoulder blades, before giving the young man a gentle pat. “Don't mean to spoil the moment, lad, but…" Another cough, and then a quiet grumble before Hjaldrom continued. “This… all this… may be a little odd. Considering…"

Garret blinked. Reluctantly, he pulled back to look up at the dwarf; rose out of his hunched position to meet Hjaldrom eye to eye. When the dwarf only responded with a downward nod, shame—hot and searing—exploded in the human's face and chest; however, he followed that motion downward with his own gaze, confirming what Hjaldrom had wordlessly indicated.

He was hard. The length of his erection tented the thin material of his trousers, standing tall and firm as a spear beneath the cloth. There was no way to turn away and hide it, no way to conceal it between his pressed-together thighs. Hjaldrom had seen, and Hjaldrom knew full well what it meant.

“O-oh…"

Before he could duck his head once more, before he could pull away, before he could retreat from the older man, Hjaldrom took a—gentle, but firm—hold of Garret's beardless chin. When he tilted it backward, forcing the human to meet the dwarf's gaze, the younger man wasn't sure what kind of expression would meet him; and so he shut his eyes, waiting for the hammer to fall one way or the other.

“Tell me something, lad. And be truthful." The gravelly voice, so familiar, washed over him. Engulfed him. “If I were to… take you in… Not just as my apprentice, but as my… as an Ironheart…" Was that hesitation? Or something else? “…Would that little crush of yours go away, do you think?"

Garret could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Could feel the blood pumping in his temples, in his ears. Could feel a twinge in his stomach; and below that, a bone-shaking throb. “…No, sir. I don't think it would."

Silence. Was that the wrong answer? Those hands weren't shoving him away, or pulling back to strike him. And what was that warm puff of air on his face, tinged with the aroma of ale and meat? “Would me making you my kin stop you from ogling your… ogling me, lad?"

He flinched; and another throb from the rock-solid length between his legs—accompanied by a splash of sticky-wet heat on his thigh—answered for him. However, as Garret's lips trembled and his tongue went numb, he forced himself to speak. “…No, sir."

Another puff; Hjaldrom's breath. The calloused pads of the dwarf's thumbs tracing over the human's cheekbones. A quiet rumble, like the distant sound of thunder. “…Would you want to do more with your… Daddy… than just ogle, lad?"

Garret swallowed, pressing forward against the scratchy sensation upon his chin; Hjaldrom's beard. “…Aye, Daddy."

The dwarf pulled him forward to close the gap. Their lips pressed together. Hjaldrom and Garret were kissing; the smith was kissing his apprentice, his lad, pushing his tongue forward to delve into the younger man's mouth. And Garret surrendered utterly, hands moving to grasp and squeeze his master and patron's—his Daddy's—shoulders while letting his jaw relax to invite the dwarf in.

Moaning. Groaning, Rumbling and muffled whimpers. The pair stayed like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds the other was making as their tongues met between their working lips. It was easy, natural, right for the younger man to let the older take the lead, Garret sinking back into his seat as Hjaldrom pushed forward. Pinned him in his place. Ravished him.

At last, the kiss broke, and both men were left panting and gasping as they met each other's gaze. The dwarf smiled, reached over to take the human's hand in his own, and gave it a reassuring squeeze before stepping backward. With a mere tug, Hjaldrom pulled Garret up to his feet. “Well then, lad… let's get comfy, shall we?"

---

The bedroom of the dwarf's apartment above the smithy—the only other room—was just as ascetic as the rest of the home Hjaldrom had made for himself in Vilkhull; beyond the ornamentation on their ceremonial weapons and armor, dwarves had little use for decoration or frippery in their abodes. Two beds, sturdy and plain, with a chest of drawers between them. Off to the side, a squat desk; and on the other side of the room, the tub and cloths for both bathing and washing laundry. And on the far wall from the doorway was a window, which provided both light in the daytime and a view of the cities spires and towers. It was simple. It was homey. It was far more comfortable to Garret than even his childhood bedroom; in large part because it was the quarters he shared with Hjaldrom.

It was into that room that the dwarf led the human by the hand, pulling him along as Garret followed obediently. He moved over to one of the beds—his own, the other dwarf-sized one ill-fitted for both his frame and what they were about to do—at Hjaldrom's direction, unbuttoning and shrugging off his shirt as he did so. Both men pulled their boots off, Garret as he sat down and Hjaldrom as he moved over to stand between his apprentice's spread legs. They kissed again, hands landing upon each other's sides to stroke. To tease. To work each other's belt buckles open, brushing so dangerously close to throbbing, tented bulges, before the dwarf allowed the human to pull his tunic up and off with an indulgent chuckle.

Heavy, built arms staying lifted and crooked behind his head, baring the rich-smelling and hair-filled pits underneath. Chest flexing, showing off the rock-solid peaks of his pectorals. Inviting the human—his lad—forward with a warm and paternal smile. “Go on."

And Garret took that invitation, eager to finally explore those muscles the way he'd been dreaming of for so long; waking up in that very room, sticky wet heat soaking his crotch as his heart pounded in his chest, listening for any stirring from the dwarf slumbering in the other bed. He wrapped his arms around Hjaldrom's torso, and buried his face in the snowy forest which filled the valley between those pecs. Rubbing his cheek against them. Feeling the rough hair gently brushing and scratching him while he took a deep breath of the other man's scent.

“Har, that's it, lad." A hand stroking through his hair. “This what you've been wanting?" A rumble from above, vibrations like the aftershocks of an earthquake passing from the dwarf's chest right into the man's cheek; accompanied by the slow, steady, powerful rhythm of Hjaldrom's heartbeat in his ear. “You been wanting to suck Daddy's nips, boy? Lick the sweat right out of Daddy's pits?" His husky voice sending bolts of lightning straight down into Garret's throbbing groin.

“Mmngh…" Garret rubbed his face into the rough pelt of Hjaldrom's chest hair. “…Thought your nips weren't none of my business, Daddy."

“Har har." The dwarf grunted, and then that heavy and tender and gentle hand was guiding Garret's lips towards one of those thick buds. “Be a good lad and suck, now. You aren't the only one who's been wanting this…"

The words did just as much as the insistent pressure of Hjaldrom's hand on his scalp to make Garret obey. Without a second thought, he wrapped his lips around the firm bud of his master and patron's—his Daddy's—nipple to suck upon it. To knead it, carefully and tenderly. To reach up with his free hand and cup the other twitching pectoral, idly kneading it and flicking his fingertips over the nipple which crowned that peak. All the while, Hjaldrom murmured out his approval while stroking through his lad's hair; and with his own free hand, he reached down between their pressed-together bodies to stroke Garret's thigh. To trace his own fingertips up towards the tent in the human's trousers. To tug on them, to push under the waistband, to finally fish Garret's erection out of its hiding place.

A good, average size; a little on the plump side, with a nice amount of length. A small, sparse, manicured patch of hair surrounding the base of that shaft. Its pale-pink glans peeking shyly out from the taut embrace of the human's foreskin, and crowned with a dewy pearl of precum at the very tip.

“Beautiful, lad."

“Mghdaddy…" The human whined, long and low, as he continued to nurse upon the dwarf's pert and hair-ringed nipple. He bucked his hips when Hjaldrom began to pump his shaft, as slow and gentle as every other touch the dwarf had given him. Patient. Paternal. His eyes slipped shut, and he allowed the warm sensations which flooded through his body and mind to overtake him like a tide.

He was safe in his Daddy's arms. He was loved.

He latched off the dwarf's one nipple, and then switched sides; suckling on the bud he'd been tweaking and teasing between his forefinger and thumb, and then doing the same with the saliva-slickened bud he'd left behind. He listened to every gasp, every grumble, every pleasure-filled groan from just above him. He breathed in and then out, slow and deep, and noticed the dwarf's scent growing stronger as he turned his face towards the crease of Hjaldrom's armpit.

Stronger.

Thicker and more cloying, roiling like a fog through his heavy head.

Garret grunted; without even realizing it, he'd followed those wafts of bitter-spicy scent into that crease. Grinding his nose into it. Whining with a need which was only fulfilled when Hjaldrom, with a low and indulgent laugh, lifted that arm up to bare the hollow of his armpit. Garret plunged deep into the dank forest within it, feeling the wiry hair engulf his face as he sniffed again. And again. Like the deep drawing of one smoking a pipe, he filled his lungs with the smell of his Daddy's sweat and musk.

Moaning.

Panting.

Whining and whimpering and slavering like a starved beast.

“Aye, that's it. Breathe in deep." His nose and lungs obeyed of their own accord, taking in another deep breath of sheer, masculine scent. “There's Daddy's good lad." He clung tighter to the dwarf, to his master and patron, to his Daddy, grinding his nose and lips and burning cheeks into the pungent expanse underneath Hjaldrom's lifted arm. “You like that?"

“Mmhngh…" Garret nodded, feeling his head sway and bob as though he'd downed an entire barrel of dwarven ale. His thoughts seemed to be packed into soft cotton, lingering in place for a moment too long before slipping back into the depths of his mind. When he felt Daddy tugging on the sides of his pants, his hips moved and rocked and lifted upward to let the dwarf pull them down his thighs. Down his legs. Off, leaving him completely bare to Hjaldrom's own explorations.

Rough fingerpads teasing into the smooth creases at the base of his pubic expanse. A calloused palm cupping the silky sack which held his balls, hefting the twin stones before giving them a careful squeeze. He felt up and down Garret's pulsing length, rolling the tight foreskin back and forth, and then swiping against the damp and slickened tip before popping that finger into his mouth to sample his lad's flavor. “Think I know something else you'll really love." A gentle pat on the crown of his head, and then—whimpering and whining—the human's face was pulled out from Hjaldrom's armpit. “Lay back and roll over, lad. On your belly."

The human obeyed. His body moved before his mind even realized it, laying down on the firm mattress before squirming around into the position Hjaldrom desired: on his stomach, upper body turned towards the side of the bed, head hanging off the edge of it. He felt warm, blissful, intoxicated; but even so, it didn't take long for him to realize exactly where that position had put him.

His eyes locked onto the massive bulge which hovered right before his hazy eyes, straining the fabric of the dwarf's own trousers. He watched, moaning and panting with need, as Hjaldrom's thick—but surprisingly deft—fingers pulled the fly open. He flinched, and whined, and felt his mind sink further into the mire which engulfed it as another blast of virile dwarven musk wafted from the opening; quickly followed by the true prize he'd been craving for so long.

Hjaldrom's large, thick, monolithic erection.

Dwarves were, of course, comparatively short; even Hjaldrom, who stood a head taller than many of his brethren, was no exception. However, they were all large in other ways; wide and bulky, their squat frames lending themselves to powerful limbs and cores. And it seemed they outshone their human counterparts in a third way as well: their cocks were massive in proportion to their size, as Hjaldrom handily demonstrated to his awestruck apprentice.

Garret eyed the length of it, his gaze running from the dense forest of curly, wiry, snow-flecked hair at the base all the way up to the ample hood of foreskin hiding the plump glans. It was the dwarf himself who did the honors of rolling said hood back to expose his cockhead; and it was Garret whose jaw went slack as he was hit in the face with yet another waft of pungent dwarven musk. That heavy and gargantuan shaft was shaken right in the human's face, even batting against Garret's jaw to leave a slick smear of precum behind. “You like your Daddy's cock, lad?"

“Aye…"

A gentle laugh as it was rubbed on Garret's burning cheek. Under his flaring nostrils. Against his lips. “You wanna suck on it?"

“A-aye…"

“Then get to it." Hands on the crown of his head. Fingers stroking through his hair. His Daddy's warmth, his scent, his sheer presence engulfing the human.

Garret obeyed.

With a whine of need, he surged forward to bury his nose in the crook of the dwarf's thigh, inhaling that rich musk right from the source. He sucked the lingering remnants of sweat and faint hints of smut right out of Hjaldrom's pubes, wetting that dense pelt—as dense as the hair running down Hjaldrom's broad chest and firm gut—with his saliva to reinvigorate the acrid flavor. He lapped at one of the dwarf's heavy balls and then the other as they were fished out of their cloth prison, gave the overfull sack a long and lingering kiss, and then began to lick and lap his way up that throbbing shaft.

Tracing the pulsing protrusion on its underside to draw out a low hiss of pleasure from above.

Working his lips around the length, teasing it to full hardness.

Delving his tongue into the musky nooks and crannies and folds of Haldrom's ample foreskin, and then latching onto the head just in time for a gush of salty-sweet pre to fill his mouth.

“Aye, that's it. Attaboy, lad…"

Garret could have happily spent the rest of his life there, lying on his belly on the bed. Smelling the aroma of Hjaldrom's crotch, and tasting its musky flavor on his tongue. Feeling the girthy shaft pulsing in his mouth, the virile length occupying every thought which managed to pull free from the foggy depths of his mind. But his Daddy had given him an order, and his body could do nothing but obey; he had a job to do.

And so, Garret nursed upon the dribbling tip, gulping down his Daddy's precum, and then began to bob his head. To push down lower, and then lower, choke and pull back before settling at around that erection's halfway point. To work his lips and wriggling oral muscle, and—as it pushed through into his gullet for the brief moments when he could manage it—to swallow around the dwarf's manhood.

As his lad continued to suck, moaning when the older man's hips began to rock so he could work his cock into the human's mouth, Hjaldrom reached to grasp Garret's soft and supple rump. He kneaded each cheek in one large, strong, calloused hand, feeling the cushy give of the flesh and solid firmness of the muscle underneath, and then peeled them apart to open the man's cleft. It was hairless as the rest of his lad's crotch, leaving the tender ring of Garret's puckered hole bared to the dwarf's gaze. The young man flinched when he felt a fingerpad press right against that tight ring, rubbing over and around it, and then answered a soothing croon from above with a muffled moan. “You a virgin?"

It took a moment for the question to pierce the haze into which the human had fallen. Then Garret grunted, and blushed, and nodded as much as he could with the dwarf's cock in his mouth. “Mgh… mm-hm…"

“Well then…" That fingertip ground a little harder against Garret's flexing anal ring, sending sparks shooting up the young man's spine. There was a rumbling laugh from above, and then that digit pulled away. Garret heard slurping, grunting, and at last Hjaldrom's finger returned to his hole; slickened with the dwarf's saliva, spreading that wet heat over the tender flesh. “We're gonna change that tonight."

Hjaldrom pushed. Garret whimpered. The dwarf's finger popped through the human's tight ring, sinking into the young man's virgin back passage to the first knuckle.

“Easy. Easy, lad. I got you…" Slow, and gentle, and yet insistent. “Daddy's got you, Garret." Wriggling around to press and rub against the clenching inner walls. “Relax, lad…" Pushing in deeper, deeper, pulling back out to give the tight rim a few careful tugs, and then pushing in deeper; to the second knuckle, and then hilting at the third, then finally starting to rock in and out of the young man's backside. And as he took another deep breath of that cloying, intoxicating, thought-dissolving and mind-enveloping scent from the dwarf's crotch, Garret felt his body obeying his Daddy's words. His inner walls grew looser around the working of that thick digit inside him; enough to allow a second girthy finger to join its fellow in probing his depths. His hips began to rock, both pushing his rump up against the gentle penetration and grinding his own erection down onto the mattress beneath him. He gulped, and swallowed, and allowed Hjaldrom's shaft to sink a little deeper into his throat with every bob of his head. Deeper. Pulling back to grind the glans on the young man's slackened lips, giving him the opportunity to lap and slurp all over it, and then pushing in deeper.

Until the dwarf was thrusting, humping, fucking Garret's face with short yet powerful thrusts.

“Aye, Garret…" That massive ballsack batting on the human's chin. “Fuck, been too long since I've done this…" The older man filling the younger one's mouth and gullet with that virile cock, just as his nose and lungs were filled with the dwarf's scent as the former ground into the wiry pubes which blanketed its base. “Take it, lad…!"

The dwarven manhood drawing out of the human, leaving Garret panting and gasping and whining as both of Hjaldrom's fingers hilted in his stretched passage, then at last erupting all over the young man's burning face.

One thick, sticky, hot spurt of potent dwarven seed. Another. Another. Garret lost count as the ropes of his Daddy's cum splashed on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead; coating him in the evidence of what they'd been doing. Marking him as Hjaldrom's; his apprentice, his lad, and more things which sent surges of burning lust through the young man's own throbbing loins. At last the tide abated, and the pair were left to gasp and pant as the dwarf's manhood smeared his essence all over the human's face; grinding it into his skin as that shaft throbbed. Pulsed.

Stayed iron-solid and erect.

“Mmf…" Garret moaned, long and low, warmth all around him as though he was sitting in a warm bath; if it weren't for the insistent pressure which roiled in his balls and sparked along the length of his cock, he could have easily settled in to sleep for the entire rest of the night. But that throbbing, pulsing, iron-solid erection wouldn't stand for being ignored for much longer. “Daddy… please…" He felt the fingers in his ass continue their gentle ministrations, and whimpered as his back passage clamped down around them. “Please…"

“Shh…" Soft. Soothing. Gentle and tender; and accompanied by a slow spreading of those two digits, scissoring Garret's pucker open. “Told you, lad. You aren't gonna be a virgin by the time I'm through with you. In fact…" Hjaldrom pulled his fingers free, and gave the human a gentle pat on the rump. “You're gonna learn how dwarves fuck, lad. Consider it a test to see if you're worthy of the name Ironheart."

The human licked his lips; and then he reached up with his own hand to scrape the cooling cum off his face, sucking it from each digit with a hungry groan. “Anything. Just tell me, and…" He meant it; with the sweet-burning fire gently licking at every inch of him, he probably could have been convinced to do anything the dwarf asked of him.

Luckily for Garret, all that entailed was, “Roll over and lay back, lad. Show me that face of yours, and get comfy." The human's limbs pulled him up and around to lie on his back, looking up at the dwarf as he settled onto the bed properly. He watched Hjaldrom push his trousers down and step out of them, and then crawl onto the bed as well; just as naked and shameless as the panting, lust-and-musk-drunk human. He allowed Hjaldrom to grasp his ankles, lifted and spread his legs at the dwarf's direction, and then curled his lower body upward as they were hooked over the older man's broad shoulders. He felt Hjaldrom settle in at his backside, and then press the fat and slick head of that proud dwarven erection against his opened hole. “You ready?"

“Aye…" Garret nodded. He whimpered. He shifted and squirmed on the bed in anticipation. “Do it, Daddy."

The dwarf moved forward, pressing against and then sinking into the human's back passage, and the pair cried out together as Hjaldrom began to push. Deeper. Deeper. Pulling out to work the first few inches of his erection through Garret's burning ring, and then sliding in deeper.

It hurt, of course. The young man's inner walls itched and ached, both from the earlier stimulation and at this further intrusion. But a deep kiss—a scrub of his Daddy's beard, and a few flicks of the dwarf's own tongue to swipe up the splashes of cum which Garret had missed—soothed the roiling in his gut and his balls. Settled his thoughts back into the thick and sticky and bitter-spicy-reeking mire which had filled his mind. Relaxed Garret's limbs, the knot in his chest, the clenching of his inner walls, to allow Hjaldrom in deeper.

Deeper.

All the way to the hilt.

The dwarf stayed still for a long moment, just watching every flinch and shift of the human's expression as that gargantuan erection filled him. His balls ground upon his lad's smooth and supple asscheeks, heavy and yet not at all oppressive. His large, strong, calloused hands stroked Garret's shoulders, and his sides, and over the peaks—smaller, and lacking the dense forest of hair Hjaldrom sported, but no less pleasing to the eye or touch—of the younger man's own firm pectorals. The older man grunted, brushed his nose against Garret's own, and rumbled.

And then, once he was sure his lad was comfortable, he began to pound Garret's ass in earnest.

Out and then in. Out and then in. Out, working just the head of his cock through the human's clamping ring a few times, and then slamming back in. The rhythm was familiar, the same one with which he'd hammer the red-hot metal pulled from the forge. The rhythm Garret had heard earlier when he'd rested his cheek on his Daddy's chest. The rhythm he'd been fantasizing about for years, and was at last experiencing.

Hard and fast and deep.

Ravishing him to his very core.

Putting sweet, tingling, aching pressure upon a spot deep within him which the human had never felt before.

“Fuck!"

Through the haze of pleasure, the young man could see the looming crescent of Hjaldrom's grin. The dwarf shifted his hips, and then every single one of his thrusts was jamming right against that knot of nerves in Garret's inner walls. The human howled, the sound muffled by another smothering kiss from his Daddy, as he writhed and bucked and finally erupted all over himself.

His balls drew up. His cock twitched, and throbbed, and jumped. His load—meager compared to the dwarf's deluge of seed—splattered between them, wetting both his Daddy's hairy gut and his own smoother, flatter stomach. But even once the tide which had engulfed him receded, and his erection began to wilt and soften, Hjaldrom continued to fuck him.

In and then out. Again and again. Harder and faster and deeper, until the older man was grunting like a rutting beast with every punishing smack of his crotch against Garret's tenderized backside. The human began to lose track of time, once more sinking into a haze of pleasure and warmth and his Daddy's sweaty, musky scent and presence; until at last he felt it.

One final, slamming thrust to hilt that virile erection within him. And then, like a punch to his gut, the first shot of thick and sticky warmth into his depths. But Garret didn't have time to whimper or cry out before the next came, and then the next, flooding the human's passage with a surge of dwarven cum.

And still, Hjaldrom's erection didn't soften.

The dwarf grunted and drew his cock free of that broken-in hole, keeping Garret's legs lifted and spread so he could enjoy the sight of his handiwork. The loosened, reddened pucker, which gaped open around the emptiness his manhood had left behind. And as it flexed and clamped and clenched, he could see dribbles of his seed leaking out from the depths into which he'd shot it. Hjaldrom laughed, long and low and lustful, and met Garret's gaze as he reached to stroke his lad's blushing cheek. “Beautiful."

A gulp. A soft whimper. A tiny, shy smile. “Thank you, Daddy…"

“Oh-ho, don't thank me just yet." With a wink, Hjaldrom reached down with his free hand to grasp his cum-soaked shaft by the base. Squeezing it. Shaking it. Drawing the human's attention down to the still-throbbing cock which rose from his Daddy's groin. “I'm not even closed to finished with you." The burning light in the dwarf's eye flared, like the flame of the forge being stoked. “Get back down there. Be a good boy and clean Daddy's dick off, Garret."

Garret blinked, and flicked his tongue over his lips. He looked down to that erection, then up to Hjaldrom, and worked his jaw a few times. “Must I…?"

“Yes." Firm. Stern. Paternal and demanding. “Ironhearts don't back down from anything. And you're an Ironheart, aye, lad?" The hand on Garret's cheek moved down to clap him on the shoulder, and the human swallowed once more before answering.

“Aye!"

“Good boy." A squeeze, filled with as much pride as the dwarf's smile. “Then show Daddy you can take it like a dwarf."

The pair moved around into a more comfortable position for the deed, Hjaldrom taking Garret's place—as well as that of the human's pillow—at the head of the bed, sitting up and splaying his legs open to invite his lad between them. Garret laid his cheek on one of those firm, supple, muscular thighs, just breathing in his Daddy's pungent and bitter-spicy scent while eyeing the dwarf's long, thick, cum-smeared shaft; and with every breath, he was drawn closer to it. With every breath, it became easier to just let his worries and qualms sink into the depths of his mind; let the sheer masculine presence of the older man engulf him. With every breath, he found himself more and more eager to obey both those murmured-out words from above and the gentle grip on the back of his head.

“Go on, lad. Suck it like a good boy for Daddy."

His tongue moved out to caress the dwarf's ballsack, hefting and fondling those still-full orbs while spit-shining the hairy, silky flesh. He licked at the base of the shaft, moved up, and then at last latched onto the pulsing length. He could smell his own scent upon it, taste his own flavor clinging to the musky erection, mingling with that of the dwarf's salty-sweet cum. And with every sharp suckle and slow bob of his head, he found himself enjoying it.

He'd marked his Daddy just as thoroughly as the dwarf had marked him. He'd staked his claim. Guaranteed his place

“That's it. Let's get a nice load in that belly of yours, aye?" The hand—hands—which had settled on his scalp pushed with firm insistence, and with a groan of bliss Garret got to work.

Bobbing up and down, swirling his tongue around the shaft. Up and down, working his lips upon it; both to provide slick friction, and to tease that ample foreskin back and forth over the leaking tip. Up and down, until it was hilted in his gullet and he was swallowing around its considerable girth; listening to the groaning and rumbling, the grunting and roaring of pleasure from above, and feeling the deluge of cum flooding into his stomach.

Thick. Sticky. Heavier, heartier, and more filling than any meal he'd ever eaten.

And still, Hjaldrom's throbbing erection refused to soften.

“Dad… Daddy…" When he pulled off, panting and gasping and swallowing down the tenderness in his throat, Garret stared at the monolithic dwarven malehood with wide and awe-filled eyes. Grasped it to confirm what he was seeing. Squeezed the rigid length; and didn't flinch away when he got a spurt of precum right onto his flushed cheek for his efforts.

The dwarf laughed and ruffled the human's hair, stroking through the mussed brown locks. “Aye, us dwarves are a hardy folk. Gonna take a lot more than blowing a load or two to satisfy me." His pine-green eye twinkled as he gazed down at Garret; and again, the man could swear there was a hint of red peeking shyly through the dense black and grey of his beard. “You gonna be a good lad… a good son… and help Daddy drain his balls?"

With a flutter in his chest, Garret nodded and pressed a kiss right to that pre-soaked tip. “Aye, Daddy."

Another laugh. Another moan. Another gentle caress of the human's head. “That's the kind of answer I expect from an Ironheart, lad."

Again and again, on and on, their lovemaking continued. Garret lost track of the times he was flipped or rolled over, lost track of the times that erection sank between his lips or hilted in his sloppy hole, lost track of the loads pumped into him. It was always the same: a hard pounding of his ass, then a moment to catch his breath as he licked his Daddy's cock clean, and then he was pulled down to swallow and choke and whimper around it as Hjaldrom pounded his face. There was a rhythm to it, much like the dwarf's working in the forge, and much like the rocking of his powerful hips with every deep, slamming thrust; and Garret surrendered himself completely to that rhythm, allowing his master and patron and Daddy to do with him as the dwarf pleased.

Again and again. On and on. Until Garret's belly had been filled—overfilled, growing into a small but round and firm gut of his own—from both ends with the dwarf's seed. Until Hjaldrom's manhood finally began to wilt, to soften, sated at last. Until the pair collapsed into a sweaty, cum-soaked, boneless tangle of limbs together, muffling their pleasured grunting and sighing with a deep and ravenous kiss.

The human rested his head upon the dwarf's rising and falling chest; allowing his thoughts—his worries and fears and doubts—to fade away as, safe and warm in the older man's embrace, he enjoyed the breathtaking view. Right before him, the dark and snowy forest surrounding the solid peak of a firm pectoral. Below, the wide field of Hjaldrom's belly over which his idle fingers and palms wandered. And above, the crescent of a warm and paternal smile, along with the glimmering star of his Daddy's proudly-gazing eye.

Garret took a deep breath in and then out. He settled in against the dwarf to rest his sore and sweat-slickened—but so very satisfied—body.

“Love you, lad."

He smiled and murmured in response, both to the words and to the tender kiss pressed against the crown of his head, even as he began to drift off into slumber.

“Love you too, Daddy."