DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of 100% FICTION and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts between 2 consenting teenage boys. This story is based 100% off of my IMAGINATION and does NOT reflect the views of the celebrities mentioned. If this type of content offends you or if it is illegal for you to read this type of material, please don't.
What Happened to the Green Fairies?
Earldom of Cornwall, England
The next day Matt was still busy collecting tribute, and once more I was left with nothing much to do.
I decided that I should find out how good a surgeon I was and had my horse brought out so I could go see if the boy had survived the night. And in a sudden spur of the moment decision I'd gone down to the kitchens where I'd quickly gotten myself a pack with a lump of bread, some cheese and salted meat.
The quicker he healed, the quicker I could beat him and forget about him.
The weather was slightly better than it'd been the previous day. There was no rain, but it was grey and the air hung damp with low clouds, almost as if threatening to choke me.
The boy was still on the ground, curled up in my cloak and seemingly with laboured breathing, but he was alive at the least.
I tied up the horse and tossed the bundle with the food inside at him, waking him up it seemed.
"You here again, noble boy?" he asked sleepily, the usual lack of respect in his voice as clear as if he'd been awake for hours.
"I told you I wouldn't let you die before I've fought you again, outlaw," I answered. "And stop calling me that."
"If you expect me to call you 'milord', you can just shove it," he grumbled, raising his starved form up to rest on bony elbows.
I rolled my eyes, but didn't answer. It wasn't as if I was going to let this lowlife ever call me by either of my names.
"Besides," he added. "I was never outlawed, so you may want to reconsider that as well."
I raised my eyebrow and sat down just far enough away that I wouldn't feel enveloped in his everpresent smell.
"My name's Urie, but then you already knew that, noble boy." He reached for the bundle, and his eyes grew to the size of saucers when he saw what was inside. He quickly tore a piece off the bread and shoved it inside his mouth. "Brendon Urie," he added through bites. No manners whatsoever.
I grimaced at the less than appealing sight of him wolfing down half of the food before closing the bundle again, apparently saving the rest for later.
"My father was a peasant just outside of Wells," he started to explain, suddenly seemingly full of energy despite his sickness and starvation. "We couldn't pay the tribute we were due. The soldiers were angered and when the son of the earl tried to rape my sister, my father killed him." He looked up and met my gaze with hard eyes. "Never trust a noble," he elaborated.
"Nobody is asked to pay tribute that's beyond their means," I defended sharply. Every peasant was obligated to pay due tributes, but they were carefully calculated by the nature of the recent harvest, the size of their lands, their number of children. It was the peasant's own fault if he'd spent his money unwisely and was unable to pay. "And there's no such thing as a noble raping a commonor," I added, a sharp tone to my voice now. "There's only the question of how the commonor handles the situation."
"Yeah," he muttered, apparently fuming at that point. "We're all your bloody property, aren't we?" He shook his head. "Might as well be born a sheep as a commonor."
I raised my eyebrows. "You're finally getting it," I replied, only half joking.
He'd pinpointed almost exactly how I'd always looked at his kind. At least he hadn't managed to make me feel bad about it. This was just the way of the world and the more people who accepted it, the easier it would be.
I never knew why I kept coming back.
I also never knew why he didn't move his camp as he got better.
I mean, I could so easily just give the location away and have him captured and hanged like his father and the rest of the outlaws.
I guess there's a certain sense of trust between two people when both have spared the other's life before.
And he knew I wouldn't give him away before I'd had my rematch, before I'd gotten the chance of finally beating him and getting my self-worth back.
The weeks had passed fluently, with an almost routinous quality.
Matt was done with tribute duty, and we were back to our daily practice sessions.
My arm healed fully, but I kept to the one-hand sword. I was just that much better at using it.
I'd go on rides close to every day, puzzling Matt, who knew how much I disliked horses, to no end, bringing food and slowly getting the Brendon kid back on his feet.
I must admit that my nights were at least close to pleasant in this period.
The blonde stable boy a fixture of my chamber after nightfall, and while he wasn't really what I'd hoped, he still managed to bore me less than the other servant boys had. And the fact that he wasn't comfortable with staying the night bothered me less than it usually would because at midsummer even the thick stone walls of the castle were penetrated by a bit of warmth, making the temperature actually something close to comfortable.
I was on my way to the clearing again.
It was twilight and the rosy colours of the sunset still lingered over the part of the horizon that was visible over the trees, the sea slightly visible when you looked for it well enough.
Finally I reached the now so familiar circle of trees that gave way to a grassy spot with a fire in the centre.
I tied the horse to a tree the way I always did, my sword slapping against my leg slightly as I walked.
Brendon was by the fire, crouched down as he was apparently heating up the rest of the bread and meat I'd brought him the day before, and upon hearing me he quickly looked up, the familiar scowl adorning his full lips. "You know I don't bloody need your pity anymore, right?" he asked as I tossed him the usual bundle.
"I've never pitied you," I returned truthfully. "I don't care about you enough."
He rolled his eyes. "Glad to know I'm not the only one," he grumbled, but kept the bundle anyway.
"How are you feeling?" he asked him, suddenly just wanting to get out of this more than I ever had before.
He shrugged, removed the sticks of food from the fire and got to his feet. "Good as new," came the answer.
I nodded. "How do you feel about that rematch?"
He laughed slightly. "Why not just order me to do it?" he asked.
"You wouldn't obey," I answered matter-of-factly, shrugging my shoulders.
"Know me that well already, noble boy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, kicking lightly at the grass with a bare foot that was brown and green from dirt and plant juice.
"I know your kind," I answered carelessly, shrugging again before reaching up to push my chin-length hair out of my eyes. "That should do it."
He rolled his eyes a bit. "You don't bloody know a thing about me, noble boy. Don't pretend you do."
"Why would I want to?" I returned, getting annoyed now.
"Alright," he said though now gritted teeth. "I'll fight you as long as I won't have to look at that self-righteous face of yours ever again."
"I'm self-righteous?" I asked loudly, taking a deep breath. He was definitely getting me worked up. "I'm self-righteous? At least I've never broken the law."
"At least I treat people like people, noble boy," he returned once again, his voice getting louder as well. "And at least I'd never lower myself to use somebody who'd rather be anywhere else."
"In your case that would be everybody," I hissed out, my hand instinctively falling to the hilt of my sword.
"Oh, resorting to petty insults now?" he asked mockingly, while his body instinctively fell into battle stance, right foot going back a bit, arms lifting, upper body bending slightly so that the bent arms could protect as much body as possible.
"Must've been around you too much," I answered, taking another deep breath as I willed myself to calm down. He wasn't worth getting worked up over. "How about that fight, though?"
"I'm ready," he stated. "But I say no weapons."
I think my jaw dropped a bit. I'd only gotten faint training in weaponless fighting. Matt had given up nearly immediately, saying that I was too lithe and would never be able to hold my own against anyone who was male and older than fourteen. I stubbornly kept training a while longer, but when Eleanor, who liked to sneak out and train with Matt and I when we were younger, beat me, I gave up. "So you can use your bulk and beat me despite inferior technique?"
He laughed loudly, then held out his arms. "What bulk? I've just been sick, I'm no bigger than you. At least you've been properly fed."
"And you haven't?" I pushed, angered even more by his disregard for the meals I'd brought him.
"Not as well as you in any case," he argued. "And you've been training all the while I've spent waiting for my side to heal up, correct?"
"I've always trained daily," I muttered, avoiding the subject. "And my shoulder had to heal as well."
He huffed slightly. "Rods," he said then. "We won't seriously injure each other, but you'll still get to use your bloody technique."
I nodded, ignoring the fact that hurting him had been a big part of my purpose in this. Somehow both of us walking away unharmed suddenly seemed like a better solution. "We fight to both shoulders on the ground," I cleared up.
Finding proper rods actually turned out to be less than easy. Ones that were solid enough and which I didn't have to wreck the edge of my sword cutting off were hard to come by, and by the time we held one each, the last bit of twilight was gone and the full moon was bathing the clearing in ghostly, shadowy light, the only source of actual normal light being the fire that was still roaring.
I stood across from him, my rod grasped securely in my gloved hands and my feet spread steadily, the heavy soles of the boots digging into the ground.
He moved first, jumping forward with the rod madly spinning in his hands, coming towards my head.
Ducking it was easy, simply leaning backwards so he hit empty air, possibly killing a mosquito or two. Striking back was the next objective. I leaned down quickly, fluently and latched out a hard strike againt his bare ankles.
He jumped over the rod, though, which more or less made me loose my balance.
I quickly managed to control my fall and used the momentum it gained me to shoot back onto my feet, parrying his next hit in the same motion. Then I started to propel it around, spinning it quickly simply for the sake of being unpredictable because we for some reason seemed to read each other too well. And I got a hit in across his stomach, not a hard one, granted, but he did stumble back a bit, gasping for air. I went after him, extending the rod again to behind him so I had it slamming into the back of his knees, making him fall down, dropping his rod in the fall.
Once again I let myself drop after him, settling my knee on his chest and placing the rod over his throat. And for a short moment I was tempted to push down, to crush his larynx with that stupid rod, but then he opened his eyes.
The eyes were honestly the only flattering part of his appearance through the smelly dirt, the rags, the greasy hair and the cheeks that were sucked in from undernourishment. But somehow, in a few situations, those eyes made up for everything else no matter how much the smell and the dirt disgusted me. They were large, a deep dark brown that I don't think I'd ever seen anywhere else, wide and framed by thick, long black lashes, and deeply expressive.
And as his eyes met mine while his panting made his chest continuously raise my knee, they didn't express the fear I'd expected. They were as feisty and spirited as always, and in a way accepting.
But his deceiving eyes were the only things to apparently accept the situation, because the moment he'd regained his breath, his hands shot up, wrenched my rod out of mine and threw it across the clearing before attempting to flip us over, having finally gotten the weaponless fight he'd wanted.
I quickly managed to hammer a fist into his midriff, though, stopping the flipping motion short as I hurried to my feet.
He stayed lying on his side for a moment, clutching his stomach as he tried to regain his breath once more. "You realise I've only had one shoulder to the ground," he panted out.
He'd had both to the ground, twice, but to expect honesty from a commonor had seemed slightly stupid anyhow.
I'd just have to hope I could hold my own until I'd gotten him down so many times he wouldn't be able to deny his defeat anymore.
I kept standing, waiting for him to get up. He might not be worth my nobler ways, but my upbringing wouldn't allow me to strike against someone who was lying down.
Suddenly his arm stretched out, grabbed my booted ankle and yanked so hard that I was knocked to the ground, the wind slammed out of me.
And then he was over me, hands forcing my shoulders to the ground, holding them there. "Satisfied, noble boy?" he asked, a wild glint now residing in his eyes.
I managed to keep myself from habitually spitting him in the face, instead merely scowled up at him. "I told you not to call me that," I growled.
He raised an eyebrow.
"My name is Ryan," I finally got out, for reasons that I couldn't comprehend suddenly letting go of the barriers between our classes.
"Well then," he returned, an odd smile suddenly playing at his lips. "If you're eradicating your rank there's no reason why I should take, is there?"
I had no idea what he was talking about, didn't comprehend at all until his hips suddenly took a dive, crashing against my own and causing me to let out a gasp.
"Don't think you're the only person on Earth who never took any interest in girls," he murmered breathily as his abdomen ground into mine again.
I didn't know what came over me, didn't know why I responded at all, why I let go of my repulsion at his lack of hygiene, the smell, the dirty face. I suppose the reasonable explanation would be that my brain capacity fled my head with the blood that had gone on a sudden rush towards my groin.
But suddenly my doublet was off, my shirt was undone and hanging around my right arm where the sleeve was never released. The knob on my weapon belt was loosened and the strings of my breeches were untied and I was on my hands and knees on the dirty forest floor. "I despise you," I muttered frustratedly, but my body wasn't listening to the reasonings from my brain. Definitely not the 'stop', not even the 'you never take'.
I heard him spit in his hands, heard a few moans, and then he plunged into me.
I let out a loud cry, my body screaming objections at the sudden intrusion and my fingers digging into the dirt beneath me at the harsh, insistant pain.
"Good to know it goes both bloody ways," he moaned back before pulling most of the way out, shuffling a bit and pushing inside again.
I bit my lip to hold back a whimper, tried to force my body to relax as I formulated plans of petty revenge in my mind.
He repeated the move, and this time he crashed into a point of me I never knew existed.
I had to let go of a moan, my member twitching, my toes starting to curl and my knees lightly buckling. Even my arms threatened to give into my weight, and the arm he suddenly snaked across my lower stomach to hold me up was momentarily the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the ground.
He started to build up a proper pace and suddenly, despite the pain, it was so much better than I could've ever imagined.
I was moaning, groaning, grunting, getting so close to release that the moon seemed to be right in my face instead of millions of miles away and the sounds from the forest around me, while so insignificant, were turned up to the point where the mere volume enveloped me.
The arm around my stomach shifted and the hand grabbed my length, ungently tugging and pumping, pushing me further towards the incoming orgasm as my hips started to work instinctively, rolling back against him, bringing him against that point even harder.
My toes were cramping, they were curling that hard, my stomach was clenching and my muscles were convulsing around the intruding member and I forgot about my family, forgot about all the expectations and all the disappointments and I let go into Brendon's hand with one last moan as my body shook so violently that I collapsed on the ground in a useless mess of limbs.
He managed a few more thrusts before pulling out and rolling over to lie next to me, his breathing just as hard and uneven as mine.
I'm not sure how long I stayed. Long enough to regain my breathing and other bodily functions, possibly a few minutes more, but then I got to my feet, staggeringly and wincing from the pain as I put my clothes back on and moved to my horse, which I was no longer sure how to ride.
I managed to get onto its back and quickly left the campside behind, my weight supported on my feet in the stirrups as the only solution.
What on Earth had I just done?
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