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“How were you made?”
“Well, I went to the tin-smith and he gave me tin limbs and-.”
“No, my friend. When you were a munchkin man, how did you come about?”
The tinman stared at his straw-filled friend, a look of confusion on his face. He understood the question just fine, yet was puzzled as to why the strawman was so intrigued by his origins. The two were sitting beside one another on a plush sofa before a glowing fire in the quarters of the Tin Woodman’s palace during the dead of night. Every Winkie was asleep, yet the two men were unable to do such, and instead enjoyed the company of one another. The tinman was indulging in a book he had read times over, whilst the Scarecrow played with the hems of his sewn-together body.
He was thinking of his most wonderful friend and couldn’t keep himself from catching glances of said tin companion. He was reflecting the orange flames of the fire, shining so proudly and brightly. Flicking past the pages of the book, eyes scanning the words as he escaped to a different world, the tinman's face stayed gentle yet stern and sharp as it always was. Scarecrow couldn’t keep his eyes off the man.
So he was stuck thinking of the Tinman. He knew he had been turned to tin and that he was once human, many years ago. He knew how he had become tin. But how did he become human in the first place? With his sharp brain, he tried to deduce a solution, but no matter what solution he thought up, he couldn’t find one that made sense to him. So he supposed he could ask the tinman himself. The scarecrow trusted him greatly and knew he would never judge him for simply asking a question.
The Tin Woodsman waited a moment as he caught his breath, and Scarecrow waited eagerly for his response, excited to learn more about his dearest friend.
“Well, many years ago, I was born a young boy to my mother and father,” the Tinman explained matter-of-factly, smiling at the scarecrow. However, the Scarecrow rolled his painted blue eyes and sighed heavily, his head falling backwards in frustration.
“Of course. I was aware of that. But how were you made?” The scarecrow questioned. “When I was created, I was made of cloth and fabric, then stuffed with straw, and then I was conscious. Were you stuffed with flesh? Well, no… that would be silly. So, my friend, please enlighten me!” The scarecrow displayed a big smile on his face, his curiosity unwavering.
The tinman stuttered for a moment, embarrassed by the implications of their conversation. His mind raced as he tried to fit together a story that wouldn’t be too vulgar for his liking.
“Well, I suppose I will care to explain…” He sighed, ready to give his friend a lesson on munchkin biology. “If a couple wishes to have a child, they can… lie… by one another and before they know it they will have their infant in their arms.”
“So, they build it,” The scarecrow declared, scratching his head. “I suppose that makes sense.” The tinman cut that thought short as he corrected himself.
“No, dear, naive scarecrow, not quite. The two combine a part of themselves, and before they know it, they will be growing a baby,” the tinman explained hesitantly, placing a gentle hand on his companion's shoulder.
“Oh, yes! So are they grown underground or on a vine?” The scarecrow asked with glee, although the Tinman could only bring his metal palm to his metal forehead, shaking his head side to side.
“You are mistaken; the child is grown inside the woman. After the man combines his part with the woman’s. The process takes around nine months,” The tinman continued, hoping this would be the end of his endless questioning
“What if they are both women?” The scarecrow asked, intrigued, expecting the process to be similar. He didn’t understand the significance of gender in the reproductive process, making the topic even more difficult to explain
“Ah, well, no. Two women cannot create a child with each other,” the tinman muttered just loud enough for his friend to hear, as he watched his friend’s brow furrow.
“Well, that isn't fair! How about two men?”
“No–, not that either.”
The two sat in silence as the Scarecrow pouted. It was unfair that only a man and a woman could create this new life. And why was the woman the only one meant to bear the child? He just couldn’t wrap his new brain around the unfairness of the situation. The tin man had to be fibbing!
In protest, he pushed the tinman gently so that he fell onto his side before moving close next to him to lie beside him. The tinman let out many gawks of protest as the scarecrow squished up beside him.
“I don’t believe you,” plainly stated the strawman. “So I will lie beside you.”
“Scarecrow, my dearest friend,” The tinman started, whilst pushing him away, his voice faltering, “you must understand that neither one of us can hold a child.”
The scarecrow glared at the Tinman with painted eyes, before squirming closer to the Tinman. “I believe I am capable of holding an infant!” The scarecrow claimed foolishly. He supposed his straw was soft enough and wouldn’t hurt the child. Alas, he was gravely mistaken about the process of pregnancy.
“My naive companion, you are composed entirely of straw. And even if you could hold a child, this is not the true method in which babies are made,” the tinman paused, sighing to himself. “I may have misled you. To reproduce, a couple must go further than simply lying beside one another.”
The scarecrow stared at his friend in shock, banging a straw fist against his tin chestplate, sending an echo to bounce in his chest. He stuck his nose in the air and looked away from his metal friend as the echo slowly faded away.
“I cannot stand to look upon the face of a fabricator!” The Scarecrow protested, standing from his spot on the plush sofa. The tinman sat up straight as the Scarecrow returned to his original spot across from the man. The tinman turned to face him, clutching his friend's hand with his, metal. The tinman reached for his friend’s face, and fixed it so that they could look into each other's eyes in a moment of eternal trust and connection.
“I apologise for lying to you,” the Tinman spoke sincerely while pushing straw out of the way of the scarecrow’s blue, painted eyes. “You do know I would never in a million years lie to you again, no matter how embarrassing the situation?”
The Scarecrow/s scornful expression softened as he looked at the tin exterior of the woodman. It was hard to stay mad for long when his gentle friend spoke to him so enchantingly, and his tin reflected the roaring flames of the fire most majestically. The two stayed silent for a moment, looking at the face of the other man. The scarecrow’s gaze faltered for a second before it returned to the Tin Woodman’s eyes.
“Do you promise me that you will only tell me the truth from here on out?” The Scarecrow questioned.
“I promise,” replied the Tinman. The scarecrow’s eyes darted nervously before the two locked eyes again.
“Do you promise to answer my questions and guide my learning, no matter how foolish my questions may seem? I only wish to learn more about the world,” The Scarecrow said hopefully. The tinman sighed before his response was received.
“Yes, my friend, I promise,” The Tinman assured. “You are my noblest companion, and I could never feel ashamed around you. You must forgive me, however, if my demeanour may falter, as our conversation may take quite the vulgar shift.” If the Tinman were still made of flesh and blood, blush would have spread through his cheeks.
“I will forgive you,” The scarecrow smiled, “always.”
The tinman collected his thoughts, preparing for Scarecrow’s intimate questions. And the Scarecrow asked him the true method by which children come into this world. Through a series of hesitation yet level-headed and loyal answers, the tinman explained the anatomy of regular men and how typical humans would reproduce and the pleasure that could be achieved through it.
By the conclusion of his piece and what he believed may have been the end to the scarecrow's questioning, the tinman fell back onto the cushions of the couch, as steam threatened to pour out of his kettle-hat. The room was silent, save for the crackling flames and wind from the outside sweeping past.
A cutting noise broke the silence: a long, drawn-out hum from the strawman. The Tinman glanced over to see the scarecrow scratching his head, and his fingers in the shape of an ‘L’ resting on his chin. The tinman raised a mechanical eyebrow, trying to analyse the scarecrow's face to decipher what he was thinking.
His deep thought only seemed to intensify when his brow furrowed further.
“Whatever is bothering you, my dearest?” The tinman pondered, hoping his friend was alright.
“Nick, I am quite puzzled. How could creatures such as us, who have none of the aforementioned anatomy, partake in these actions? We two could not do this, could we?” The scarecrow pondered. The tinman, however, sputtered over his words as gears churned in his chest.
“You are not asking for me to participate with you, are you, Scarecrow?” The tinman gawked, surprised at his friend's forwardness.
“Well, I suppose we couldn’t anyway, seeing we don’t have the correct tools for the job,” the scarecrow deduced with a sigh. “Moveover, why does my comment alarm you? Suppose we were able to partake, is it inappropriate to suggest these activities to you?”
The tinman became flustered at the very thought of having some form of intercourse with the Scarecrow. His mind raced with ways in which they could achieve their pleasure without the essential anatomy for sexual intercourse. Images of a vulnerable scarecrow raced through the tinman’s mind as he remembered his time as a munchkin. What a time it was! The pleasure was quite a delight, he would have to admit, and he supposed it would be glorious to indulge once more. However, the scarecrow was a straw man, and he himself was a Tin Woodman, and throughout all his life, he had never known if it was acceptable for two men to act this way.
“Usually, this action is one of extreme love. A love above any other you have ever experienced. It is a true and sacred form of connection between two parties,” the tinman explained, but he only noticed the falling expression of his comrade.
“Do you not love me more than anything?” The scarecrow sobbed meekly– if he was the one who had received a heart, it most definitely would have shattered.
Quite quickly, the tinman wished to reform his words, as he did not wish his friend to have the wrong idea about their connection.
“Of course, I do, dearest scarecrow. I suppose I love you more than I have loved anyone before you. I may even adore you more than I do myself…” the tinman thought for a second. “Yes, indeed. With my heart, I love you more than anything in the universe.”
The scarecrow wrapped his arms around the tin man's body, digging his face into the sharp corners of his tin suit. If his eyes allowed it, he would have sobbed into the polished tin of the tinman’s suit. Perhaps it was better that he couldnt, so the tinman wouldn’t rust. The tinman simply held his friend as he dryly sobbed into his chest, offering comforting words. The scarecrow tilted his head upwards to his friend, a smile wrinking on his face.
“Oh, Nick, how I love you! You are but the best man to have ever lived, and such a noble emperor. And you are the best companion I have ever met,” The scarecrow complimented, admiring his friends features. “How I wish we could-! Well, I… suppose it would be nice to well,” the scarecrow stuttered out, not knowing how to place the words. The tin woodman could only assume what the scarecrow couldn’t say and steam poured from his kettle headpiece. Embarrassed, he placed his hands over the steam and tried to swat away the blooms of white smoke.
He thought of what the scarecrow hadn’t asked but what the tinman knew he wanted. If he was still man, he knew that the space between his legs would have warmed. Now, however, he could feel his silk heart beating in his chest as he stared at his straw friend who looked ever so gorgeous laying atop him. The tinman looked towards his friend whose face was once again deep in thought.
“Nick?” The Scarecrow asked, before receiving a hum in response. “Do you think, for scientific purposes, of course, you could demonstrate how a couple would usually engage in the activities?”
The tinman mulled over this for a moment. It wouldn’t be truely accurate as they weren’t bestowed with the nessacary organs, but the tinman’s mind fogged as he didn’t think he necessarily needed them to enjoy the mimed actions they would perform together. He wondered how the scarecrow would react to the sensations that wouldn’t quite be felt. But they of course, would fall to the suggestive implications of their deed.
“I will do anything you wish to do, my friend.”
With that, the tinman ran the scarecrow through the process of what they would need to do. The scarecrow asked to be the one beneath the tinman, as the metal man had more experience being on the giving end of the fun. The scarecrow held himself on his elbows against the armrest of the sofa, locking eyes with the tinman. His lower half was propped up higher by a pillow or two. The tinman held his hips in place, his groin flush with the scarecrow’s.
“Are you ready for me to commence?” The tinman asked, running his thumbs up and down the straw man’s side.
“Oh, I am rather eager to start!” The scarecrow cheered through giggles. “I feel quite anxious to replicate the act with you.”
“If I happen to act too roughly, please ask me to slow my pace,” the tin woodman warned. “I want to ensure your comfort throughout this experience.” the scarecrow nodded, a large smile growing across his face.
The tinman, recreating an act from many years ago, rocked his hips towards the space between the strawmans legs, at a steady, easy pace. The familiarity and nostalgic warmth consumed him as he performed a show he hadn’t rehearsed in years. The strawman elicited small gasps as he felt the powerful thrusts of the tinman shaking his straw most wonderfully.
As the tinmans thrusts continued in a rhythmic pattern, he leant down to the scarecrows forehead and place his metal lips onto the scarecrow, imitating a kiss. The scarecrow leant into the kiss, his blue pained eyes staring into the other man’s, composed of tin.
“Are you feeling okay, Scarecrow?” The tinman verified. “Is this swell for your research?” The scarecrow groaned, enjoying the slow increase and intensity of the tinman’s thrusts. The scarecrow groaned as his straw filled legs shook and tensed.
“Oh, forget the research, Nick,” the scarecrow exclaimed, his voice wavering and jolting everytime the tinman’s hips met him. “May we connect simply for our love to be expressed in the most powerful way that men of tin and straw can? I beg of you, Nick. Please, I love you.”
With steam pouring from his ettle, the tinman nodded eagerly, bringing his metal lips to meet with the stitching of the scarecrow’s. The tinman’s thrusts made the scarecrow go numb in a blend of pleasure and devotion. The tin woodman’s gears ticked inside him repetitively and his heart beat in succesion with his hips.
He wished so badly, that he could have had truely experienced sexual endevours with his straw friend. It was simply unfortunate they were made without the correct anatomy. Perhaps one day, he could commission a good tinsmith to create him a new appendage. Then perhaps we could bring true, extreme pleasure to his friend. Perhaps he couldn’t consider the man groaning and whimpering beneath him as his friend, as this was not something he’d consider doing with any other. There was something different about the scarecrow that made a special emotion rise through his body.
Love, he considered. Love as a life-partner, not a friend, he deduced.
As the relentless thrusting continued, the scarecrow’s moaning increased as his legs wrapped around the tinman’s body, knowing he was about to reach his equivalent of a climax. The tinman could feel his kettle rattle as he listened to the sounds his lover sounded, knowing they were both reaching their highs.
“Dearest Nick, this is so swell, yet I feel… something rising within me.. Please, you must go faster… please… I need you,” The scarecrow cried. The tinman did not have to be asked twice to increase his pace before his thrusts became off beat, feeling himself draw closer.
With one final thrust, the tinman felt a strong burst of steam escape his kettle whilst the man beneath him groaned and threw his head back. The tinman fell beside his soft partner, nuzzling his head into his friend’s shoulder. The two shared no words, yet gasped in rapid succession to catch their breaths.
“Oh my, Scarecrow. That was certainly quite wonderful,” The tinman commended, reaching his arms around his friend.
The straw man was smiling with such joy, he couldn’t help but plant a kiss on the woodman’s head. Smiling at one another, the two appreciated the beauty of one another, overjoyed with their experiment. Hoever, there was a thought haunting the scarecrow’s superior mind.
“My sweetest Nick. If you would be okay with it,” the scarecrow paused, taking a deep breath, “I would very much love to call you my lover, my partner. I hope you will reciprocate my feelings.” The tinman smiled widely, overjoyed with the scarecrows proposal. He hugged the man tight, grinning in exponential joy.
“Why yes, of course. I could never deny that request! I love you so very much and would love to go forward with this label. Thank you so much for asking me this!”
And with that over, the tinman and scarecrow laid against each other with a shared happiness that radiated throughout the room. The two remained flush against one another as the flames of the fire turned to embers and the morning sun waved hello to the couple through the window. The two supposed an announcement would have to be made to the Winkies. Or perhaps they could keep it to themself. Either way, they only cared that they were together, and would be for as long as they lived.