Settling the Score

You ever had a threesome to prove your manliness?

It had been years since they had first met. The two of them had seen each other on the battlefield before, and had been allies in fights long past. They never really got to know each other beyond that until they realized they were both bar patrons. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, it was just that they didn’t have a reason to talk.

But drinking, of course, is a social activity. It made for an easy way to lower the emotional tension, the social barriers of masculinity that came with being a tough brawler. They would sit down, grab their tankards, and talk about deep, personal issues for hours on end. It was special, it was passionate, and it blossomed into something more.

For many weeks after their first few conversations, their relationship became more intimate and sensual. It was Mangix who made the first move, but they both knew one of them would have to take the initiative eventually. He had been so sultry, so tender, so sweet with his advancements… the acts were clearly more than just lust.

How gently had he stroked Ymir’s tusks, how lovingly he had caressed the Tusk’s body, how absolutely gentlemanly he was when they had finally made love – they were cherished memories that both of them looked over fondly and frequently.

As time went by, however, memories were all they could cling onto. Ymir had gone back up north as winter drew ever nearer, and the Brewmaster found himself preoccupied with more and more issues popping up around town. Their relationship faded away as they both became more focused on their own personal lives, but they sat still in each other’s minds.

Then, one day, as if by fate, Mangix arrived out of seemingly nowhere. He could vividly remember the Tusk’s face when he saw the Brewmaster’s familiar figure standing in the middle of the Wolfsden Tavern. His reason for being there was rather shoddy – hell, he couldn’t even remember what flimsy excuse he gave – but as long as he saw Ymir again, the journey was worth it for Mangix.

Once again, their fling wouldn’t last for more than a few months. The Brewmaster would have to return to his abode when his mysterious contract work was done here. But that did not matter to the two lovers, as they both agreed they would make the most out of their time together.

Their romantic moments became not only more frequent, but more wanton as well. Their regard for privacy and decency dwindled as they became more desirous and lustful for each other. They remained cautious, of course, to bed only in private and only during the dark hours of the day. Even then, Mangix always had the fear of waking up some poor sod trying to sleep with two large creatures romping in the room adjacent. Ymir always told him not to worry. That was silly, and Mangix was a worrywart, he had said.

On one night, like any other, the Brewmaster lay patiently on top of the large, soft bed within Ymir’s hovel, the only thing of interest within it aside from the Brewmaster’s own beer keg he had brought with him as he brought everywhere. Though he usually hated waiting and found it rather boring, Mangix did not mind awaiting the Tusk’s arrival every night. He let his mind wander about the topics they would discuss, the things they would learn, and, primarily, the sex they would have. Perhaps he was perverted for dreaming about that so often, but he simply loved sleeping with the Tusk. It was rare Mangix could find another man with a body like his, sharing his love for alcohol, fighting and talks about emotions.

A loud rapping at the door interrupted the Brewmaster’s thoughts. What’s this? he thought to himself, Is Ymir knocking at his own door? Perhaps his hands were full… but then, how could he knock? Not wanting to leave his partner waiting, Mangix hopped off the bed and waddled over to the room’s entrance.

“Hello, Tuskie-D–” he began as he swung the door open, but saw no figure before him. “'Ey! Down ‘ere!” cried a harsh, gravelly voice from below.

He looked down to meet the gaze of a confused-looking quill-beast holding a rather crude stone flail. “You sure ain’t Tusk, that’s for sure,” the beast said, scratching his chin with a spiky claw. “But you’re lookin’ for him too, eh? Well, I got me score to settle first. You can wait 'til I’m done.”

Mangix was flummoxed. “What… are you even talking about?” he asked, completely bewildered by the snot-nosed, tired-looking porcupine in front of him. “Come… come inside, friend,” he offered, deducing the beast might have some sort of cold.

“Ah, that’s right, then. Fight a man in his own home.”

The Brewmaster watched silently as the porcupine sauntered confidently into the Tusk’s hovel. He timidly closed the door behind him, and stared at the window hoping for Ymir to arrive and explain what exactly was going on.

Evidently, though, he didn’t need to wait. The beast was already launching into a story about why he had arrived. “Name’s Rigwarl, but you can call me the Bristleback. I’m a right proper basher, yeah? Well, me an’ Tusk got into a nasty brawl a while back. And he won, the dirty fighter he is. Left in shame, and went from bar to bar challenging the locals down south.” He sniffled before continuing. “Now I want my rematch, so’s I walked all the way back up here lookin’ for him. And this is where he lives, eh? Gonna be a nasty surprise for 'im.”

The Brewmaster still didn’t really understand, and the beast’s – Bristleback’s – thick accent didn’t help matters much. He didn’t like what he heard, though. Tusk was a good fighter, for sure, but he didn’t want to have to see one tonight, or any night. Really, he’d like this Bristleback out of the area altogether, but the quill-beast seemed dead set on his plans.

Suddenly, an idea struck. Perhaps if he couldn’t convince him to leave, he could convince him to stay… on the Brewmaster’s terms. “Ah ha!” he laughed, as if amused by Rigwarl’s story. “A brawl, eh? Then you like to drink, I take it?”

“Yeah!” the quill-beast affirmed enthusiastically. “If I can’t beat 'em in a fight, I always beat 'em in a drinkin’ contest.”

“Well, Bristleback, you can call me the Brewmaster. And I ought to give you and Tuskie – Tusk – some drinks before you start, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rigwarl nodded in agreement, “that’s a smart idea. Makes it more authentic, eh?” He dropped his weapon to the side, apparently realizing he wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

Already, Mangix was filling steins from his trusty keg. “Authentic, yes, yes” he feigned agreement as he concentrated on getting as many mugs filled as possible. “I’m sure this will really, er, shake things up for you two.”

He would have liked to slam the steins on top of a bar counter, but there was none to be found in the hovel. Instead, he gingerly placed them on the ground and sat back once more, awaiting Ymir’s arrival. Minutes passed as Rigwarl continued to talk about his disdain for the Tusk that Mangix didn’t bother listening to.

Eventually, the door opened again. “Hello, Mangix, I am here,” Ymir said as he began to walk inside. “I see you’ve poured a few glasses of all. What could the occasion be?” he asked, before he caught a glimpse of the Bristleback leaning against the wall.

“You!” Ymir and Rigwarl growled at the same time, pointing at each other angrily. “I told you not to come back here, Rigwarl,” the Tusk hissed as he clenched his armored glove into a fist.

“Well, I’m not much for listening, aren’t I?” the Bristleback sneered.

“No, it appears you aren’t! And now you will regret defying the Terror from the Barrier!”

“Wait!” cried Mangix. The two brawlers glared at him, though the Bristleback gave a slight wink. “I, uh, thought you two should settle down and have a few drinks first,” the Brewmaster stammered.

The Tusk’s arms shook, then he relaxed them. “Well… that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Only it Rigwarl here drinks his fair share, too.”

“Ha! Are you jokin’ me? You’re one to talk about 'fair shares’, you lightweight.”

“Don’t you call me a lightweight, Rigwarl. We both know half of your body mass is those stupid quills ok your back.”

The Bristleback laughed. “Yeah? All your body mass is blubber, Tusk.” With that, before Ymir could reply, he swept a mug off the ground and began to down the contents.

The Tusk followed suit, and soon empty steins littered the floor of the hovel as the two brawlers chugged more and more of the Brewmaster’s ale. It wasn’t long before there were only two cups left, and they were picked up in unison.

“This’ll be the one…” Rigwarl said groggily, putting the lips of the glass to his mouth and beginning to drink.

“Never!” the Tusk claimed, mimicking the quill-beast’s movements.

They both dropped their mugs to the ground and stumbled over woozily. The Bristleback slurred something and held up his fists, then weakly punched the air before his hands dropped to his side.

“I don’t think I can fight like this,” he mumbled, his speech even harder to decipher.

“You know, I… agree with that,” the Tusk said, struggling to keep his balance.

“Well, then!” Mangix exclaimed, grinning, “I guess we’ll have to have a different way of settling this!”

“Oh, yeah?” the Bristleback asked, “what are you on about?”

“Let’s see how, ah, fit you are,” the Brewmaster started, trying not to sound too coy, “and I’ll decide who would have won if you actually had fought.”

The brawlers thought for a moment. That idea didn’t really make any sense. But they were drunk and tired, and they both agreed to the Brewmaster’s plan.

“Now… Ymir, let’s see your muscles.”

The Tusk flexed a bit and flashed a goofy grin.

“No, no,” laughed Mangix, “I can’t see anything with all your winter clothes on!”

“Ah, that makes sense…” Ymir’s voice drifted as he fumbled with his clothing a bit, his fuddled hands failing to grasp the buttons.

“Ah, you need help, don’t you?”

“Eh… yes.”

The Brewmaster was only too happy to help. His nimble paws pulled off the Tusk’s heavy coat, then shoes, pants, and lower shirt. Ymir sat before him in nothing but his undershirt and underpants, a view Mangix had seen often but Rigwarl was not used to.

The Brewmaster began to pull off Ymir’s undershirt, but the Tusk interjected. “Ah… I don’t know about that, Mangix.”

“Don’t know about what?”

“Do you really have to see me without anything on to tell him how fit I am?”

“What if I told you Rigwarl’d have to do it too?”

“Hmm… that would be okay, then.”

Mangix continued. He was already getting a little aroused from the process of undressing the Tusk, and it only grew more intense as he exposed Ymir’s bare chest. Then came the underpants. It was all the Brewmaster could do to stop from panting heavily as he dropped the Tusk’s shirt’s to his ankles, leaving him completely nude.

Mangix glanced over at Rigwarl, who was expressing something he couldn’t quite place. Could it have been embarrassment? Jealousy? Heated rage? It did not matter, as the Brewmaster slowly crept over to him. “Now it’s your turn, Rigwarl. You’re up against some stiff competition.”

The wordplay slipped out unnoticed, as the Tusk’s cock was quite flaccid. Mangix, however, could feel a raging erection poking against his loose clothing, eager for attention. He hoped that the two didn’t notice it, or were perhaps too polite to say anything about it. Still, though, he knew it wouldn’t be long before his dick was out of his pants and hopefully in one of the two men.

“Well, uh, go ahead, then. I don’t need as much clothin’ as that tosser.” Rigwarl smirked. “That’s what me quills are for.”

Indeed, the quill-beast was not donned in any sort of cold-weather clothing like the Tusk. He was already shirtless, and the only articles of clothing that needed removing were some claw-boots and some tight pants. They came off nonetheless, like Ymir’s clothes before them. Soon enough, the two rivals were both naked and shivering, opposite each other on the cold bare floor.

The Brewmaster took a long look over the other men. He was already familiar with the Tusk’s big, burly frame, similar to his, but he had to admit he was a little envious of Rigwarl. The quill-beast was certainly in rather good shape, and his cock looked as delectable as any other. Mangix’s gaze drifted back and forth between the two for a moment before he made an offhand comment.

“You know, a true bar brawler lasts long in bed.”

Ymir and Rigwarl stared wide-eyed at each other, then at Mangix, then each other, before they both furiously flew towards the bed behind the Brewmaster.

“Ahh, that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?” “You know I could beat you in any sort of compe… compa… competition!” “I’d like to see you try!” Shouts rang out behind hiccups as the Brewmaster tried to mediate once again.

“Ladies, ladies, please!” he chuckled, looking upon the two eager creatures. “We can have you go two at a time.”

There was no explanation needed. Mangix simply pulled himself back onto the bed, laid down, then outstretched his arms invitingly. “Come on now. Let’s start this first round.”

The contestants kneeled before him, their cocks shaking with anticipation. The Bristleback’s had foreskin pulled over his, but the Tusk’s was thin, long, and slimy. As Mangix wrapped his hands around each cock, pushing and pulling around a bit for each, he got himself acquaintanced with the foreign feeling of Rigwarl’s cock. He would have liked to pay special attention to it and learn all its secrets… but this contest had a fair judge. He would have enough rounds to determine a winner.

The two beasts grunted as their dicks were delicately felt up by the Brewmaster’s soft furry paws. Ymir knew the feeling well, but loved every second of it nonetheless – the Brewmaster had a soft, sensitive touch he wasn’t able to find anywhere else. For the Bristleback, he was having a more difficult time. The last few times he had sex, they weren’t quite as intimate as this. The mere feeling of Mangix caressing his cock was already weakening him, and he hoped the following rounds would go by more quickly so he would be able to hold on. At this rate, he was thinking he’d blow his load all over the Brewmaster’s face right here.

The cum wasn’t flowing just yet, though. Mangix pulled his fingers off the ends of each of their shafts, and sat up on his knees as well. “All right, boys. That’s the first part. Now for round two.”

He opened his mouth and patiently waited for the two to take action.

After just a moment, the creatures nearly lunged for the back of the Brewmaster’s head. They pulled themselves into standing positions, and swatted their cocks against each other as they both tried to fit inside of Mangix. Then they pulled apart a bit, and found that they fit excellently at each end beamed down at Mangix’s bemused face. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask, What can I tell you to do? I have two cocks in my mouth.

The two of them began to push into the Brewmaster’s mouth, but took care to remain gentle. After a couple few thrusts, though, Rigwarl could not help himself. He began to pick up the pace. Nowhere near as fast as some other escapades he fondly remembered, but certainly a level of speed faster than what the Brewmaster would normally consider pleasurable.

Not wanting to be outdone, of course, the Tusk took note of this and did the same. He had a snowball’s chance in any of the Seven Hells of being beaten by the lowly Bristleback at any kind of contest. The two of them pulled in and out of the Brewmaster’s open maw with alacrity as he slurped and sucked on the attention-starved cocks.

Yet the Tusk could also feel it, the same sensation Rigwarl had. He knew he was going to climax sooner or later, and of course he was counting on later. The warm, lovely feeling of the Brewmaster’s hungry mouth wasn’t helping matters any, though. “Please tell me there’s not another round after this!” he cried.

Abruptly, Mangix pulled his head away from the erect cocks, leaving them wet and dripping in the open air. “One more. And it starts now.”

He turned around to face away from the participants, shook his tail teasingly, and spread his asshole wide. “You two are both going to fit in here.”

With neither hesitation nor communication, the two devised a strategy they agreed upon. The Tusk slid underneath the Brewmaster’s belly, his face nearly touching his partner’s. He maneuvered his long, pointed rod until it pushed up against Mangix’s entrance, and waited there until he could continue.

Rigwarl pounced upon the Brewmaster’s exposed back and dug his claws into the bushy coat on his sides. His eager, excited cock nearly shining with precum prodded impatiently.

“What are you two waiting for?” Mangix giggled. “Just start already!”

With all their might, the two creatures plunged their cocks in and out of the Brewmaster’s poor hole. It felt as if the Bristleback was assaulting him, the way he was holding onto Mangix’s body for life as he relentlessly shoved his cock into the burly beast. The Tusk envisioned himself as more gentle, but he was no less desperate: his absolute length plunging in and out of the Brewmaster felt good enough to make his own eyes roll back in his head.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to cum. And cum they did, with the term “finish” perhaps being an understatement. The two beasts jammed their girth deep into Mangix’s hole, and their cocks froze as they felt the surge run through them. The viscous, sticky substances combined as they collided within the walls of flesh, leaking out of the tight, occupied hole and running down the legs of the defiled Brewmaster. Mangix’s entire body was shaking as he felt the warm, lovely fluid fill his body and overflow outside of it. It would be a lot to clean up later, but he didn’t mind. No worse than beer stains. The air was hot and heavy as all three of the men inhaled deeply after the rather rousing activity.

“St-stuck you good, hah…” Rigwarl whispered feebly.

“Well, Mangix? Who do you think won?” the Tusk asked, short of breath.

“Hmmm… I did.”