St. George and the Dragon - 7. Chapter 7: Into Public

C: “I’m hungry.”

R: “I’ve got something for you to put in your mouth.”

C: “As emotionally rewarding as that is, even with as much as you cum, I still need to eat regular food. It’s been about a week since we’ve had a real meal.”

R: “All right, we’ll have to go the pub. We’ve eaten everything in the house. Let’s go, but let’s hurry back.”

C: “I can’t say I wasn’t warned.”

R: “About what?”

C: “About how needy you are. It’s not easy covering for an entire village single handedly.”

R: “I thought you used two hands.”

C: “Brag, brag, brag. Put something on and let’s go.

***

It was already late afternoon by the time Charles and Robby entered the pub. Many of the regulars were there. As usual, all heads turned toward them on their entry.

“By God, here they are at last.” Mayhew said in way of greeting. “They’ve been laying down odds as to when, and if, you two were ever going to be seen again.”

Robby glowered, good naturedly in response.

“Mr. Mayhew, thank you for the provisions you had Fred bring over. I’m afraid we’ve consumed them all.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Charles. I’d reckoned you’d need something to keep your strength up. Speaking of which, how are you faring? You seem in fine form, somewhat to my surprise. Few of Robby’s past flings seemed up to the challenge.”

Robby replied through a mouth full of food snagged from a pub patron’s plate, “Oh, he gives as good as he gets,” then returned to grazing other plates.

Eyebrows raised on every face in surprise. “What is this, then, Robby? You’ve never been so inclined before,” ventured Mayhew.

Robby swallowed and crossed the room to Charles, taking him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Mr. Mayhew, I’ve never known one such as this,” and with that gave Charles a deep kiss on the lips.

“It’s true then, St. George has conquered the Dragon?” another regular asked.

“Not so much conquered as satisfied, I think,” responded Charles as he returned Robby’s kiss. “You are satisfied, aren’t you Robby?”

“Hmmph. Mr. Mayhew, can we get some grub to go? My satisfaction level is dropping sharply.”

“By all means, Robby,” came Mayhew’s nervous reply. “Fred, wrap anything we’ve got for Mr. Charles and our Robby. They’ll need to be on their way.”

Robby smirked at Mayhew’s discomfiture. “No worries, Mayhew, all of you can relax – at least for now.” Robby winked at Charles. “Come on Charlie, I’ve got an itch only you can scratch.”

The occupants of the pub followed them out the door, clustering in the yard, watching the couple cross the bridge arms around each other’s shoulders.

“Tis a pretty site, it is.”

“Aye, I’m praying Mr. Charles is up to it.”

“Seems he is, by our Robby’s own word.”

“Who’d a thought our Robby would fall in love?”

“I don’t know about it being love, seems like a lot of fucking to me.”

“You’re daft, man. Look at them,” gesturing at the retreating couple. “Never saw two so in love. And you can see it in Mr. Charles, too. Imagine taking ‘the dragon’ for a week straight – if you’ll forgive the sayin’ – and him in the pink.”

“True enough. My ass is starting to recover.”

“I suppose it’ll mean bein’ nice to the missus.”

“What she enjoyed was you getting a bit of your own.”

“Well, let’s all pray for Mr. Charles and his continued satisfying of ‘the Dragon’.”

“What about the harvest festival? Will Robby stay on as prince? Will he want to?”

“What about Mr. Charles? I can’t see that working for him.”

“I suppose we’ve had a good run with our Robby. The good times had got to end sometime. Still I’m glad for him.”

“You won’t be so glad when the crops fail and your animals take sick.”

“Oh, that’s malarkey.”

“Says you. I remember when Archie gave up being prince. That young girl from Welton swept him away and with him a whole year’s harvest. My dad came close to losing the farm. Probably what killed him the next year.”

“Be reasonable, that’s just old sayin’s.”

The pub door opened and the vicar walked in.

“Good congregants of St. George on Wear. A fine day to you all. I’m glad to see you all looking so well. No doubt I’ll see you all come Sunday at the service.” The vicar paused, sensing tension in the air. “All right, out with it. What’s happened?”

“Well you might ask, vicar. The village is doomed. Our Robby’s fallen in love. The finest reign of a harvest prince ever has come to end. There’ll never be one to replace him.”

“Now, Ed, is it just the good luck you’re missin’?” Mayhew taunted.

“Admit it, Mayhew, you miss it as much as any of us.”

“We can’t cancel the festival. Its only two weeks away and most of the preparations are done.”

“We didn’t even cancel during the war. Some say it was St.George’s prince that helped in the victory.”

“He certainly helped repopulate the village,” smirked Mayhew in reply.

“We’ll just have to weather it together,” consoled the vicar. “As I see it, you all have even more reason to come on Sunday. No need for a late night in the pub on Saturday.”

Mayhew looked downcast. “It’s already begun, the failure of the village. My business is ruined.”