The wagon jostled along the cobblestone street as Thomas expertly guided it through the crowded streets of the city. The street, slick from an early morning drizzle, reflected the warm glow of lanterns hung from shop fronts and street posts.

Perched atop a crate of crisp lettuce, Richard shifted uncomfortably, his lean frame at odds with the rough wooden surface.

"Remind me again why I'm here?" Richard said, looking at the back of Thomas’s sandy hair.

“Because, my Lord, someone needs to make sure I don't get swindled. You know how I am with numbers." Thomas maneuvered the wagon through the throng of merchants, shoppers, and street performers.

"Oh please, you could haggle the scales off a dragon if you put your mind to it. I'm here because you enjoy tormenting me with early mornings and manual labor."

"You wound me, Richard," Thomas replied, clutching dramatically at his chest. "I would never dream of tormenting you. Much."

As they approached their first destination, the wholesale produce distributor, Richard's posture straightened. Despite his protests, he took his role as Thomas's partner seriously.

Thomas brought the wagon to a halt, and Richard gracefully dismounted, landing with a soft thud on the cobblestones.

"Right then," Thomas said, all business now. "Let's get this sorted."

Together, they unloaded crates of fresh vegetables: vibrant tomatoes, crisp lettuce, plump squash, and fragrant herbs. The distributor, a portly man with a shock of gray hair and a perpetual sheen of sweat on his brow, greeted them warmly.

"Ah, Thomas! Another fine harvest, I see," he boomed, his voice carrying across the busy loading dock.

With the produce delivered and payment secured, they returned to the wagon. Richard's fingers brushed against Thomas's as he handed over the pouch of coins.

Thomas pocketed the coins and clapped his hands together. "Right, that's the first order of business taken care of. Now for the fun part!"

Richard eyed him suspiciously. "Fun part? What are you up to, Thomas?"

Thomas brought the wagon to a stop, hopping down with practiced ease. "Come on then, Richard. Time to do some shopping."

Thomas's grin widened. "Shopping, of course! We need to restock our personal supplies, and I thought we could make a day of it."

Richard groaned. "Shopping? You know I'm rubbish at that. Can't I just wait with the wagon?"

"Not a chance," Thomas grinned, grabbing Richard's arm and pulling him along. "You need to learn these things. What if I'm not around one day and we need supplies?"

"If you're not around, I'll probably be too busy celebrating to worry about shopping," Richard muttered, but he allowed himself to be dragged into the shop.

Their next stop was a hardware merchant, nestled in a quiet side street away from the main hustle and bustle of the market. The shop's interior was dim and cluttered, filled with an bewildering array of tools, nails, screws, and various implements of unknown purpose.

The bell above the door chimed as Thomas strode into Celace’s Hardware, her polished shoes clicking against the worn wooden floor. Richard trailed behind.

"Good day, gentlemen," the shopkeeper greeted them, her eyes still on the last sentence of her newspaper. "What can I help you with?"

"Good afternoon, Ms. Celace," Thomas called out. "I require your expert opinion on sealants."

Ms. Celace looked up from her newspaper. "Ah, Mr. Osborne! Always a pleasure. What sort of project are we looking at today?"

"We've got quite the list today." Thomas produced a list from his pocket. "We're in need of some roofing supplies. Got a leak in one of the barns that needs sorting before the autumn rains hit in earnest."

Richard found his attention wandering. He drifted towards a nearby display of gardening tools, his fingers ghosting over the smooth wooden handles of trowels and cultivators.

A particular trowel caught his eye, its polished steel blade glinting in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the shop's dusty windows. Richard picked it up, testing its weight and balance.

"I don't suppose this one's cursed, is it?"

"What was that, my Lord?" Thomas called over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his discussion with Mr. Oakley.

"Oh, nothing. Just remembering the great trowel disaster of last month.”

"You mean the Great Rosebush Debacle of last week?"

Ms. Celace looked between the two men. "Sounds like there's a story there."

Richard sighed dramatically. "Our dear Thomas here seems to think my gardening skills leave something to be desired."

"That's not true at all," Thomas countered.

"I still maintain that the pruning shears were defective. No tool should bend like that under normal use."

"Normal use? Perhaps if someone hadn't been quite so... vigorous in their weeding technique?"

"Are you implying, good sir, that I don't know how to handle my tools properly?"

Thomas's eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Richard's ear. "Oh, I would never dare to make such an accusation. Your... tool handling skills are beyond reproach."

"Well," Ms. Celace interjected, "perhaps we should outfit you with some sturdier tools, Mr...?"

"Oh, forgive my manners," Thomas said and introduced Richard.

"Right," he said, perhaps a bit too loudly. "Back to sealants, Ms. Celace. I believe you were about to recommend a brand?"

With the roofing supplies and a selection of smaller tools – including a sturdy new trowel – secured, Thomas and Richard left the hardware store with their supplies – and in Richard's case, a new set of allegedly indestructible gardening tools.

As they rounded the corner, the imposing facade of Grimmjow's Forge loomed before them, belching smoke and radiating an otherworldly heat that shimmered in the air.

The forge's heat hit them like a wall as they entered. Sweat instantly beaded on Richard's brow, his eyes drawn to the muscular smith pounding rhythmically at an anvil.

Thomas cleared his throat.

"Eyes front, my Lord," he murmured. "We're here for a pot, remember?"

Richard nodded. "Right, of course. How could I forget?" He felt heat creep up his neck that had nothing to do with the forge.

As they approached the counter, a sudden gust of wind swept through the shop from an open window. A delicate, ornate clock perched precariously on a high shelf began to teeter.

"Oh, blast," Richard breathed, instinctively stepping forward. His fingers twitched, a familiar warmth building beneath his skin.

Time seemed to slow for Richard. His senses sharpened, magic tingling at his fingertips. Thomas was distracted, examining a row of cast-iron pots. The smith had his back turned, stoking the furnace.

With a subtle flick of his wrist and a whispered word lost in the ambient noise of the forge, he reached out with his magic. The clock, mere inches from toppling, froze in mid-air.

In one fluid motion, he stepped forward and plucked the clock from its suspended state, making it appear as though he'd caught it with remarkable reflexes.

Thomas turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Quick hands, Richard. I didn't know you had it in you."

The smith rushed over, face etched with dismay. "My apologies, gentlemen. These shelves have been nothing but trouble lately."

Richard carefully examined the clock, running his fingers over the intricate metalwork. As he tilted the clock, a sharp edge caught the light.

He was about to place it on a lower, more secure shelf when Thomas's hand on his arm stopped him short.

"Wait," Thomas cautioned, his voice low and tinged with concern. "This could be dangerous. Those gears look sharp."

"Your concern is touching, Thomas," Richard said. "But I assure you, I'm quite capable of handling a clock without grievous injury."

Thomas didn't remove his hand, instead letting it slide down to rest at Richard's wrist. The touch was feather-light.

"Perhaps," Thomas conceded. "But we can't have those dexterous fingers of yours getting damaged, can we? Whatever would we do without your legendary reflexes?"

Richard carefully set the clock down on a sturdy workbench nearby. "I suppose all those hours of catch in the orchard paid off, eh Thomas?"

"Is that so? Well, perhaps we should put those reflexes to use more often. I'm sure you'd look simply dashing diving for apples."

Stolen story; please report.

"Careful, Thomas," Richard murmured, leaning in close. "You're playing with fire."

Thomas's gaze raked over Richard, taking in the sheen of sweat on his brow and the smudges of soot that somehow made him look even more alluring. "Perhaps I like the heat," he replied, his voice low and rough. "After all, you cut quite the figure, all sweaty and covered in soot. It suits you, my Lord."

Reluctantly, Richard stepped back. "Now, about that pot you were looking for..." he began. "I believe I spotted a rather fine selection by the eastern wall. Shall we investigate?"

Thomas nodded. "Lead the way, my Lord. I'm certain your... keen eye... will find us exactly what we need."

The eastern wall of the forge was lined with shelves upon shelves of cookware. Pots and pans of every size and material gleamed in the flickering firelight.

"See anything that catches your fancy?" Thomas asked

Richard startled, nearly knocking over a stack of copper saucepans. "I, uh... yes, actually," he stammered, grabbing the first pot his hand landed on. "This one seems... adequate."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Adequate? My Lord, that's a chamber pot."

Heat flooded Richard's cheeks as he hastily replaced the offending item. "Right. Of course. I was merely... testing your attention to detail."

"Of course you were," Thomas said, his voice dripping with fond sarcasm. "Allow me to assist, lest we end up cooking our stew in something far less appetizing."

Thomas began to sort through the cookware.

"Ah, here we are." He held up a sturdy iron pot, its surface gleaming with a subtle sheen. "This should serve our purposes nicely. Large enough for a hearty stew, but not so unwieldy as to slow us down on the road."

"Excellent choice, Thomas."

"You flatter me, my Lord. I simply have a knack for... anticipating needs. Shall we move on? I believe we have another stop to make."

Their next destination was a linen merchant on the outskirts of the market district. The shop was a riot of color and texture, with bolts of fabric in every imaginable hue and pattern lining the walls and spilling from ornate chests.

The proprietress, a statuesque woman with elaborately braided hair and fingers adorned with rings, greeted them warmly. "Welcome, gentlemen! How may I assist you today?"

"We're in need of some new bedding," Thomas explained. "Our current linens have seen better days."

As Thomas discussed thread counts and durability with the merchant, Richard found himself drawn to a display of finely woven sheets in rich, jewel-toned colors. His fingers trailed over a bolt of deep emerald silk, marveling at its cool smoothness.

"Find something you like?" Thomas's voice was closer than Richard had expected, and he suppressed a shiver as his partner's warmth radiated against his back.

"It's beautiful," Richard murmured, not turning around. "But hardly practical for farm life."

Thomas hummed thoughtfully, reaching around Richard to run his own fingers along the fabric. The motion brought his chest flush against Richard's back, and Richard's breath caught in his throat.

"Perhaps not for everyday use," Thomas conceded, his lips barely brushing the shell of Richard's ear. "But I can think of a few... special occasions where it might be appreciated."

Richard's imagination ran wild with the possibilities, and he had to stifle a groan. "You're a menace, Thomas," he whispered, leaning back ever so slightly into the solid warmth of his partner's chest.

"You wouldn't have me any other way," Thomas replied, his voice rich with affection and promise.

Their moment was interrupted by the merchant, who approached with an armful of more practical linens. If she noticed the charged atmosphere between the two men, she gave no indication beyond a knowing smile.

As they completed their purchase and prepared to leave, Richard cast one last, longing look at the emerald silk. Thomas, following his gaze, smiled softly.

"Perhaps for your birthday," he murmured, giving Richard's hand a quick squeeze before leading the way out of the shop.

The sun was high in the sky as they approached a shop with a sign depicting a swirling potion bottle. Inside the shop were herbs, spices, and something undeniably magical. Bottles of every shape and color lined the shelves, their contents shimmering and swirling.

Behind the counter stood a young woman with wild red curls barely contained by a bandana. She was arguing with a customer.

"Listen, buddy, I don't care if your cousin's uncle's dog's previous owner swore by it. I'm not selling you a fertility potion meant for livestock. Now scram before I turn you into a toad!"

The man scurried out, nearly colliding with Richard and Thomas. The woman – Aria, Richard assumed – turned to them, her fierce expression melting into a grin.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite customer! Thomas, darling, it's been ages." She vaulted over the counter with surprising agility, pulling Thomas into a tight hug. "And who's this cutie?" she asked, eyeing Richard with interest.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Aria, this is Richard. My... friend."

"Friend, huh?" Aria waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, any friend of Thomas is a friend of mine. What can I do for you boys today?"

As Thomas began discussing their supply needs, Richard wandered the shop, drawn to a shelf of iridescent blue bottles. He reached out, fingertips barely brushing the glass when a gruff voice startled him.

"Careful with those, lad. They're more valuable than you'd think."

Richard turned to find an anthropomorphic dog watching him, silver fur peppered with age. The old canine's eyes were sharp, assessing.

"Sorry," Richard stammered. "I was just curious. I've never seen anything like them before."

"No harm done, boy. Curiosity's a good thing, especially in a place like this. Just remember, in a magic shop, looking with your eyes is often safer than touching with your hands."

Aria's voice rang out. "Gramps! Stop scaring the customers. Richard's with Thomas, he's not going to break anything." She bounded over, throwing an arm around the old dog's shoulders. "Don't mind him, Richard. He's a big softie once you get to know him."

"Hmph," Gramps grunted. "That's what you said about the last one, and we're still finding pieces of that exploded crystal ball."

Richard watched as Aria and her grandfather bickered good-naturedly. Aria had that whirlwind energy, coupled with a razor-sharp wit. Gramps had a wealth of knowledge and a generous soul within that gruff exterior.

As Aria and her grandfather bickered good-naturedly, Thomas once again appeared at Richard's elbow. "Find anything interesting?" he asked, voice low.

Richard gestured to the blue bottles. "These caught my eye. Any idea what they're for?"

Thomas frowned, studying the bottles. "Not sure. They're new since my last visit."

“Ah-ah! No spoilers.” Aria said, giving Gramps a look.

"Tell you what, boys. Why don't you try to figure it out? I'll even make it a challenge. Guess correctly, and your next order's on the house."

Richard and Thomas exchanged a look. Thomas nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Alright," Thomas said. "We'll take that challenge. Richard, what do you see?"

Richard examined the bottles more closely. "Well, the liquid is iridescent blue, almost shimmering. And look at how it moves – it's not quite like normal liquid. It's... reacting to something."

They spent the next several minutes examining the shop, piecing together clues. Richard noticed a poster of blue-tinted horses on the wall, while Thomas pointed out the magical auras emanating from various potions.

"The horses," Richard said suddenly. "Their blood must be the base for the potion. And given how it reacts to magical auras..."

At Thomas's quizzical look, he elaborated. "Remember that postcard in the window? The one with the blue-tinted horses? I bet these potions are made from their blood. And given the color and the way they react to magical auras..." He trailed off, looking to Thomas to finish the thought.

Thomas's eyes lit up. "They detect curses and magical afflictions!"

Aria slow-clapped, grinning widely. "Well done, boys! I knew you'd figure it out. Now, about that order..."

Thomas turned his attention to another set of bottles – these ones filled with a pearlescent white liquid. "Ah, and here's what we really came for. The White Potion."

Richard eyed the bottles curiously. "What exactly does it do? You've mentioned it before, but never explained."

Thomas cleared his throat. "It's, ah, for strength and stamina. Vitality, you know."

Gramps chuckled. "What the grown man is too embarrassed to say is that it's also known as the Essence of Virility. Popular with the nobility, if you catch my drift."

Richard's eyes widened in understanding, his own face flushing. "Oh. Oh! And you want to buy this because...?"

"For purely practical reasons," Thomas said quickly. "Combat readiness and such."

"Right," Richard drawled. "Combat readiness. Of course."

Aria laughed, pulling out a crate of the white bottles. "Don't worry, boys. Your secret's safe with me. Now, this batch is special – made with minotaur milk, which gives it an extra kick."

As Aria rang up their purchase, Gramps pulled Richard aside. "Listen, lad. I can see you've got a good head on your shoulders. Keep an eye on that boyfriend of yours, will you? He's got a good heart, but he can be a bit... impulsive."

Richard nodded, surprised by the old dog's perceptiveness. "I always do, sir. It's kind of my job."

"Good lad," Gramps said, patting Richard's shoulder. "And remember, in this world, things aren't always what they seem. Keep your wits about you, and you'll do fine."

As they finalized their purchases, including a crate of white potion bottles that Thomas insisted on ("For stamina, Richard. Don't give me that look."), Thomas paused, his hand resting on the crate of White Potion.

He glanced at Richard, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, Richard, I've been thinking."

Richard groaned dramatically. "Oh no, not again. Should I alert the royal guard?"

Thomas ignored the jab, his lips quirking into a smile. "Maybe we should test out this potion. You know, for science."

"Science?" Richard echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Well, we need to make sure it works, don't we?" Thomas said, his tone mock-serious. "Can't have faulty potions in our supplies. It could be dangerous."

Richard snorted. "Oh yes, very dangerous. We wouldn't want you to lose your... combat readiness."

They locked eyes for a moment, barely containing the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Then Thomas broke, doubling over in a fit of giggles that had Richard joining in despite himself.

As their laughter subsided, Aria approached, a knowing smirk on her face. "You boys planning a private tasting session?"

Thomas straightened, trying to look dignified despite the blush creeping up his neck. "I'll have you know, these are for strictly medicinal purposes."

"Oh, of course," Aria nodded, her expression entirely too innocent. "I'm sure you'll be fighting off hordes of... enemies... with your newfound vigor."

Richard coughed to hide another laugh. "Don't encourage him, Aria. His ego's big enough as it is."

"You two are adorable, you know that?" she said.

Richard spluttered, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled Aria's hair. Thomas, for his part, merely grinned.

"Now, now, Aria," Thomas chided playfully. "Don't go giving Richard any ideas. You do not know how he gets when he's flustered."

"I do not get flustered!" Richard protested.

Aria laughed warmly. "Oh sweetie," she said, patting Richard's cheek. "Denial is not just a spell you can cast, you know."

As Richard continued to sputter indignantly, Aria's grandfather emerged from the back room.

"You boys heading out?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Thomas nodded, straightening up and adopting a more princely demeanor. "Yes, sir. Thanks for helping me out with these. They're always of the highest quality."

The old dog harrumphed. "Just make sure you use them wisely. Especially that white potion. It's more potent than you might think."

Richard, who had just managed to regain his composure, felt his face heat up again. Thomas, meanwhile, had the grace to look slightly abashed.

Aria suddenly clapped her hands together. "Oh! I almost forgot. I have a parting gift for you two." She disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with a small, intricately carved wooden box.

"What's this?" Thomas asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Aria grinned, handing the box to Richard. "A little something I've been working on. It's a communication device. When you open it and speak into it, the matching box in my shop will light up and play your message. You know, in case you need any... advice... while you're out on your adventures."

Richard opened the box carefully, revealing two small crystals nestled in velvet. "Aria, this is... thank you," he said, genuinely touched by the gesture.

"Yes, well," Aria said, waving off the gratitude with a flick of her wrist. "Can't have my favorite customers getting into trouble without a way to call for help, can I? Plus, I expect full reports on how that white potion works out."

"Aria!" Richard exclaimed, scandalized, while Thomas burst into laughter.

Finally, with the wagon loaded and farewells said, Thomas and Richard prepared to depart. Aria rushed forward, enveloping them both in a tight hug.

"Don't be strangers," she said, her voice muffled against Thomas's shoulder. "And remember, if you ever need anything – potions, advice, or just a friendly ear – you know where to find me."

"Ready to go?" Thomas asked, offering his hand to help Richard onto the wagon.

Richard nodded. "Lead the way. Try not to get us lost this time."

Thomas laughed, the sound bright and clear in the evening air. "Me? Get us lost? Never!"

As the wagon began to move, Aria called out one last time. "Remember boys, what happens in the Mageborns’ Market, stays in the Mageborns’ Market!"

Once they hit the road and were alone, Thomas reached for a vial of soothing oil from his pack. Thomas slid his abusive hand down Richard’s pants intimately, while gripping his own cock with his other hand. This time, both sprang to life instantly—hot, hard, and ready to go.