“Yeah, we’re done.”

He throws Camillo up over his shoulder again.

He falls twice as he scrambles around and grabs pathetically for purchase, seizing at last on Z’s ankle.

“I’m not done with him.” 

He hates this guy, but he’s also looking a little grim.

“…yeah, okay, you too.”

He picks his fingers off his ankle and grabs his hand.

Pulled along like this, he can just about manage a stumble.

They head for the exit.

“Are you going to suck me off, Z?” he asks plaintively. 

(His eyes are glazed, and his cock is deeply flushed, shiny and twitching. The blood running down his leg is streaked all the way to his ankle, and smeared on both his companions.)

“Yeah,” he says, at the same time that his other companion says

“No.”

(They duck out through the doors. It’s cold outside. The wind bites.)

"...somewhere warmer," he amends, face somewhat buried in Z's warm shoulder.

(He's squirming against him a little anyway.)

The building Z is looking for, lit by a lantern outside the door, isn’t far from the hall.

It’s a similarly wide open space, full of low beds heaped with furs and dimly lit by a smoldering fire in the center.

Z drops Camillo carefully in an already slightly bloodied pile and goes to dig through a chest at the foot of the bed.

His new friend is half draped over the side of the bed, chest on the furs, seemingly at a loss for how to move towards his goals.

Camillo will help him reach his goals. Assuming said goals are Camillo's dick in his mouth.

This is not precisely his goal but it’s too close to it for “stopping” to be thinkable.

He whimpers and sucks.

“Little sip. I said little sip.”

He finds the pouch he’s looking for, and climbs up to unwrap Camillo’s leg and assess the damage while he’s otherwise occupied.

Camillo will presently feel a strong hand holding him in place and the pinch of a needle as Z restitches part of his wound.

"Ow," Camillo complains, and shoves the head on his cock down harder to try to compensate for the pain.

His toy will obligingly choke and writhe.

“Yeah, you brought this one on yourself, dude.”

He bites off the thread, then lifts Camillo’s leg to pull out the blood-soaked bandages, and smears some kind of poultice over the wound before starting to re-wrap it. This activity interferes slightly with facefucking, but not unmanageably.

That's okay. He's honestly more in the mood to be cozily swathed in furs while a pretty boy suckles on his cock than for active facefucking per se.

"I did not. It was the alien," he argues, drowsily.

“The what.”

He ties the bandages off.

Oh right probably he shouldn't break the fourth wall or whatever. "It's not important. Suck my cock now?"

“Kinda looks like you have that covered.”

He pats the blond head currently covering it.

"Yeah but you're my faaaaaavorite."

He walks around to pull the boy’s head off Camillo’s cock and load him into bed.