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"I know it's wrong, Django. I know it is. I've been this way as long as I can remember. There have been others like me, but they don't want to bottom. They want to fuck me, and I let them, but it's not enough. I want to be inside. I want to know that feeling of penetrating. I need to release myself," he confesses, taking a large swallow from the bottle.
He had never seen Doc like this before, drinking and cussing and saying all kinds of strange things. He had been quiet through King's little speech but thought now would be a good time to speak up.
"Maybe you've had enough to drink tonight, Doc."
Schultz let out a noise of frustration. "You don't understand. I hate drinking to excess. The occasional wine and brandy and beer, you know. But no. I had to tell you. I'm developing feelings for you, my boy. Feelings that I can only fight and fight until I make myself sick with want. There are so many reasons it's wrong. You're married, you're a man, you're my partner...No, it's too complex. It's too much to contain"--He takes another pull from the bottle--"So I had to tell you. I'm ruining everything good we have shared these past months. My heart aches. You should go on without me. Leave me. Let me fester alone so you may truly be free. I'm holding you back."
Finished with his soliloquy, he takes another drink and tugs at his beard as he tries to remain as calm as possible. The drink has truly gotten to him, and he had allowed it to happen. And now he had gone and ruined a perfectly good partnership, a perfectly good friendship because of his starvation for touch. He desperately desired affection of most any kind by most anyone, and becoming so close to Django was terribly confusing. He knew he was reading too much into things, seeing what wasn't even there to see. He had been alone for too long and the result was loving the first person to see him as a human being rather than a killer, a madman. Someone who was inherently sick minded and evil.
Django moves to sit down beside him and puts an arm around his shoulder.
"It's alright," Django soothes. "I'm not goin' anywhere. You got yourself worked up is all. You need some sleep."
He pulls Django close to him. He burrows his face into the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and something inherently Django.
"Can I? Can I, please?" Schultz begs.
Django can feel how hard the other man is, he's pressed in so close to him. Schultz had drunk himself into melancholy and now preferred instead to hug him close rather than sleep off his binge.
"Can you what, Doc?"
He's almost afraid of the answer, but he's even more afraid of what Schultz will do if he doesn't say anything. This fragile state of his is something entirely new. He wants to make sure his partner doesn't hurt himself over these emotions he's let loose.
"Can I kiss you? Please? Just one kiss. I wouldn't dare to ask more of you."
Django sighs, closes his eyes, and weighs his options. He's got his wife to think about. People are doing more to her than just stealing a kiss and it hurts him and angers him endlessly to think of it. He's got Schultz to think about too. The man obviously has misplaced feelings for him, but he's a stubborn fool who won't let an idea go until he experiences the consequences, good or bad, first hand. He doesn't want to lead his friend on or make promises he won't be able to keep, but he can't let King suffer like this. This isn't something that's just come about this evening. He's had this boiling beneath the surface for a long while, and his big mouth couldn't keep shut a moment more.
"It's just a kiss," he tells himself.
He opens his eyes to see Schultz looking at him expectantly, waiting and silently hoping not to be rebuked.
"Alright. If you think it'll help. Go ahead."
"Mein Gott, Siegfried, thank you," he breathes in relief.
And gently, reverently, King grasps Django's face between his two hands, brushing his thumbs over soft cheekbones. Django licks his lips nervously. Schultz doesn't keep him waiting long. Their lips meet, not violently or roughly as Django had expected, but with a shocking tenderness that makes gooseflesh pop up along his arms. King moves even closer to him, straddling his lap now to deepen his kiss, tongue tentatively running along Django's lower lip, hardly daring to expect interest. Almost without his permission, Django allows the kiss to deepen. It's so strange feeling facial hair against one's face when one is so used to the endless smoothness of a woman's. But Schultz's hair is soft and tickles, and he can't help but shiver again. King pulls back slightly at Django's tremble.
"You have no idea what that means to me, Django," he murmurs, close enough that their lips almost brush.
Without further ado, King moves to unstraddle his partner and go for a walk to take care of a growing problem. Perhaps to think some things over. Like a way out. But Django must sense something or maybe his face has betrayed him because suddenly Django's grasping his hips between his two strong hands.
"Don't, King. Don't you dare."
"Django, please. You do not understand what being this close to you does to me. Before I further embarrass myself, please let me up. I need---I need time to think."
"I understand better than you think, King. I can feel you. I can feel how alive you are on me, like this. There's no secrets between us no more."
Unconsciously, Schultz begins circling his hips against Django's stomach, Django's words like a balm. He slowly settles forward on Django's chest, hands coming up to rest against his sturdy shoulders.
It's queer to feel another man's cock against him, but hell, this is King. King needs someone to take care of him too sometimes. And a man's got needs. He's been without Hilde for years now. He can sense that struggling feeling that bubbles just beneath Schultz's surface. King nuzzles his face into the side of his neck.
"There you go. Yeah. Come on. You're hard as a rock. You can take care of that here. I got you."
King whimpers quietly as he ruts, feeling less ashamed now as Django's words both calm and excite him.
"I know you need this, King. I've got you now."
King had said he loved him. That he had feelings for him that he couldn't contain. It wasn't fair that he had to. To think that what they were doing right now could be the end of them both was unthinkable. It was strange, but it couldn't be wrong. It couldn't be bad when it made Schultz moan and mewl in his lap. But enough worrying for tonight. It was time to take care of his friend. He loves his bride, but maybe there is room in there for King too. His own special spot inside of him.
Django raises a hand up off his hip to stroke his back up into his hair and hold the back of his neck tenderly, other hand stroking his hip through the layer of his pants. The crotch of Schultz's trousers pulled taut, pressed tight up against him. Django braces his feet against the ground and lifts his hips up to give him some friction to work with. It seems to do the trick. King throws his head back and lets out a deep groan of pleasure.
"Come on now. You're right there. Come on."
He lets himself enjoy this a bit too. He's not aroused by men but getting such a reaction from King is beautiful. There's no other word for it. It's something special. It's just for them.
"I'm glad you my partner, King. I'm glad you told me," he whispers into his ear.
King comes apart. Those words. Does Django even know what he's saying? Does he realize it will deter his heart not a bit? It seals his fate to love him. It's no longer a flight of fancy, but a dream come to life. He feels a bright ball of warmth burst out from his center down the length of his fingers to the tips of his toes, moaning as his cock twitches within his trousers, soaking himself with come. Django lets him writhe and come with kind words and soft touches generously given. He drifts down from his high slowly and with a large smile across his face hidden in Django's shoulder. Django lets him rest there a moment, lets him bask in the tingling sensations that still spark within him until he finally gets a bit too heavy and a bit too damp to be comfortable anymore.
"Django?" he says, pulling himself up and off him with some effort, grimacing now at the stickiness of his pants. "I---"
"Don't, Doc. Don't do that to yourself. We can talk about this tomorrow. You sleep now, alright? You need your rest."
He leans forward and pats a reassuring hand on his partner's shoulder, and King decides it's best to trust him. Schultz nods in agreement and strips out of his soiled underclothes into a fresh pair. The alcohol and sex high have started setting in. It would do no good to discuss such matters without a clear head. Django was right. His mat and blankets feel more welcoming than usual tonight, Django goes about getting his own pallet in order, as well as his multiple, scattered thoughts.
Schultz gives one more look at his friend before giving himself over to sleep.
"Thank you, Siegfried, and pleasant dreams."
"Good night, Doc."
And finally, all was quiet.