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
I didn't return to that clearing ever again, and my mind was strongly set on never looking at Brendon Urie another time.
My backside hurt me for days, and I avoided training the best that I could with the excuse of having fallen off my horse, but as soon as I was able to move normally without discomfort, I was back at it, putting myself into it more than ever. It was a good way to get my mind off what had happened in that forest.
My nights were spent with various clean servant boys, my position much the opposite of what it had been with Urie, but I still found it dull. If anything had been good about that night, it would have to have been the urgent passion, his feisty spirit. These boys lacked that, and it bothered me more than I'd ever admit.
I never thought I'd go back to him, though. For that I felt much too violated. Not that it'd been rape, far from it, I'd been much too voluntary, but I'd relinquished my power to him, had allowed him all control, and this, the fact that he'd now taken my honour in two different ways, made me sick to my stomach.
In the beginning of August, Eleanor's betrothed and his family were to come visiting and we were to end it off with hosting a ball, officially marking their engagement to be married the following spring.
This put a sudden temporary stop to my training. Couldn't very well run around with a sword when I was supposed to play the good host.
It put a stop to the flow of servant boys to my chambers as well, which I must say frustrated me, but Mother and Father would die before letting Eleanor's soon-to-be family find out about my preference.
The day they came we were all dressed up in our finest regular clothes, and were set up look as impressive in the Great Hall as we could upon their arrival.
Mother and Father stood almost directly at the middle, me at Father's right, Eleanor on my right and Matt drawn into the background.
My breeches annoyed me. They were stiff and itchy and crawled up my crotch and not at all comfortable. Apparently these black ones looked better than my usual pairs, though, according to Eleanor who'd more or less played dress-up doll with me. My hair had been tamed for once, the parting traight in the middle so there was no hair in my face and the shirt was of silk, a cream colour that was nicely covered by a soft forest green velvet doublet. I was not liking it.
Eleanor looked her best, though, her long, semi-straight black hair pulled into a decorative hairdress, wide sky-blue eyes shining against the family's trademark pale skin and the blue dress looked good on her. In her heels she stood at least as tall as me, though, having gotten most of her looks from our father just the way Matt also had.
And finally the guests arrived, the Lord, the Lady, a man who looked a bit older than Matt, another who looked somewhere between Matt's and my age and a girl who seemed to be slightly older than Eleanor.
There were made quick introductions where we were informed that the elder of the two sons was Philip, Eleanor's betrothed, the younger was Frederick, and the girl, Caroline, their only unmarried daughter. We were also told, quite needlessly in my point of view, that their eldest son had remained at home, looking after their estates. The conversation bored me and the point where Matt was introduced as my right-hand-man, 'Master Good', angered me. Father should know that Matt is too much of a young version of him for the excuses to fool anyone.
It was going to be one boring week, or so I thought.
We were going riding the second day, Philip, Frederick, even the girls, and myself. I even managed to get Matt permission to come along under the grounds of the recent precence of outlaws in our lands.
I was sort of off to the side a bit, liking to be on my own, or at least being able to feel like it.
We were in the dunes, navigating the sand and looking out over the ocean.
It was a nice day, warm, sunny and only slightly windy. The sea lay blue and sparkly ahead and when I squinted just enough I could see the northern coast of France ancross the channal.
I was so focused on these sensations that the sudden weight and warmth on my thigh nearly made me fall off my horse. I looked up and stared into Caroline's hazy, green eyes, then back down on her hand that was rather high up on my thigh. How on Earth did she get here without my noticing? And where were the others?
I looked around for them, but realised I'd lost sight of them, and logically they must have of us as well.
I swallowed lightly before reaching down firmly, grabbing her wrist and moving her hand. "I'm betrothed and you're a Lady," I said, still firmly and with a shake of my head as I released her arm. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Don't tell me your betrothal has kept the girls out of your bed, George," she argued, pouting up at me in a way she probably thought was attractive. It might've been too. If I'd liked girls, that is.
"Servant girls, Caroline," I explained. "You're of noble descent, you are to keep yourself clean until marriage."
"I'm the youngest of four daughters," she informed me. "The chances of my ever getting married are slim to none." She winked. "And I might not be as clean as you think." With that her hand shot out again, this time settling directly on my crotch.
I hitched a breath and sent her a sharp look, grateful that her touch affected me less than it would the average man. "You're forgetting yourself!" I told her harshly. "And you sound like a city whore."
She gasped, withdrawing her hand and looking openmouthedly at me. "You shall regret that, Cornwall," she promised in a near-shriek. Then she pushed her horse into a trot and rode on to the rolling of my eyes.
Why on Earth had she been doing that anyway?
The situation I came home to was positively ridiculous.
For some reason Caroline had decided to lie and turn the situation around in the eyes of everybody else. Somehow she'd managed.
This was actually threatening to ruin Eleanor's betrothal to Philip, which was a shame as they'd seemed to get on rather well.
The odd thing, though, was the way Father looked at me with an odd mixture of disappointment and pride in his eyes.
I'm supposing it's because I couldn't have been rejected by a woman unless I'd actually approached said woman, which would be a major step forward for me in his book.
Caroline was bawling her eyes out in between sending me angry looks, fake to her fingertips.
Matt was the one who finally stood up to defend me. "I wasn't exactly there, milords, but some of us present know that something like the aforementioned can't have happened." He wasn't telling the reason, but I knew my own family would understand.
"So this... this mere servant is saying that my daughter is lying?" my sister's father-in-law-to-be almost bellowed, his enormous belly shaking.
"Matthew..." There was a warning tone to my father's voice. "Don't get mixed up in this."
I had to bite my lip not to say something, not to tell my father that he should stop being so ashamed to admit that Matt had an actual authority, that he was his son. Or even to admit to my dislike for girls and get this whole deal over with. But admitting that might further ruin my sister's chances of this marriage. Instead I rolled my eyes. "I'm going for a walk," I growled, turning on my heel and starting to walk towards the exit.
"George, you stay here!" Father ordered.
I didn't listen, simply walked on in a fit of sudden rage.
I kept walking for a long time, finally finding myself back by the shore where I slumped down onto the ground, trying to work things out in my mind.
If only that whore would stop lying my name would be somewhat clean again.
I was so caught up in hopeless, desperate anger and no way of getting it out that I didn't realise that somebody had come up and was standing next to me before they cleared their throat.
Then I looked up, meeting familiar dark orbs.
He looked cleaner now. Perhaps he'd gone for a swim?
"Urie," I muttered, curtly greeting him.
"Ryan," he returned, apparently deciding to use the name I'd permitted him to in a moment of madness. "Bad day?" he asked as he plopped down onto the sand next to me.
I noted that even if he was somewhat clean, his clothes still stank. "You could say that," I answered, taking a deep breath as I looked at him again.
He'd regained a bit of his bulk, looked healthier than I'd ever seen him.
"What are you doing here?" I decided to ask.
"Out in the open, you mean?" he clarified.
He held up a fish, I couldn't tell which sort, but it was rather big and a small hook in its mouth was still making it dingle from the long string. "Bloody have to eat."
I nodded again, incapable of coming up with anything to say. Was he stealing my tongue now to go with the other things? "Where'd you get the yarn and hook?" I finally asked.
He shrugged, a playful smile suddenly on his lips. "Village. The security there isn't exactly hard to surpass."
I rolled my eyes. "Then I'll have to make Father do something about that," I replied.
He frowned, but didn't answer for a while. "You have your dagger here?" he finally asked.
I raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not going to attack you. I should, I have every right to, but I won't."
"You'd only loose again," he returned. "But I actually just wanted to clean my fish."
I shrugged and reached habitually into my boot. Luckily enough I'd actually put it in today without actually having a purpose with it. Then I handed it over, watching as he cut the fish open and took out the guts, tossing them into the sand before carelessly using his foot to cover them with sand.
"Want something to eat?" he offered.
I surprised myself by nodding, underlining that with a small rumble from my stomach.
Then he got up and I followed him back into the dunes, dragging my feet through the sand.
We quickly reached the place I assumed was his new camp.
My old cloak was there and there was firewood piled up to the side, some embers still glowing in the middle of it all where he must've had a fire burning earlier.
I considered dropping down on the cloak, but as I came close to it I realised it had adopted his smell, so I took a few more steps and sat down in the sand, my head still full of the frustrating events back home.
He rebuilt the fire and blew it back into shape before securing the fish on a stick and placing it over the now roaring fire. Then he placed a few stones on and around the end of the stick, making them support it so he needn't stand there and holding it while it roasted.
Instead he plopped down on the cloak, wiping his hands semi-clean in his torn trousers. "You never came back," he stated.
"Why should I?" I countered.
He shrugged. "Get another rematch?"
"I won that last one, you and I both know it!" I argued heatedly. "If only you'd stick to the rules," I added, somewhat more softly.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, looking at me with a fire in his eyes once again. "If it weren't for those rules I'd not be where I am. The rules don't bloody work for me."
"The rules are what makes society work, I answered, sending him a glare.
"Well, noble boy, it DOESN'T work," he retorted, practically yelling now.
Why had I followed him anyway?
I raised my eyebrow a little, putting a smirk on my face. "It does for me," I informed him.
He rolled his eyes angrily, but shook his head as if to clear it. "I've been on the wrong side of the law since before my voice changed," he muttered. "Don't try to teach me about the world, Ryan, not when you so obviously know nothing about it."
I rolled my eyes at his sudden jaded character, but decided to let it go. We weren't changing each other's view on anything with our constant arguments in any case, so there really didn't seem to be a point. And I was too mentally weary to argue, my mind still residing in that Great Hall, wondering how everything went down there. "How old are you anyway?" I suddenly asked, looking at him again as he got off the ground to turn the fish a bit.
He wrinkled his brows. "Eighteen, I think," he answered with doubt in his voice. "I think I lost count somewhere along the way. Mama was always the one who kept track of our ages."
I nodded a bit. "What happened to your mother?" I wasn't really interested in his history, just in forgetting the making of my own back in that castle.
"With Papa and outlawed, Mama and I and my sisters had to take care of the farm. Not to mention that the soldiers took our cow and pretty much everything else of value we had. I was the only son, meaning I got the most of whatever food we had. The harvest failed, Mama and my sisters didn't last the winter and Papa came for me," he explained, his voice sounding oddly emotionless.
I didn't respond, couldn't really. Somehow I just had started feeling pity for him no matter how little either of us wanted me to. And it brought up a conflict within me because I also couldn't see anything wrong in the way the soldiers and the earl had handled the situation. I wound up silently blaming his father who hadn't been able to control their economy.
"And what about you?" he asked. "How come you're the heir and your brother is reduced to nothing?"
"Matt is the result of Father's youthful exploits with a kitchen girl. He's the 'bastard son', a commonor," I explained. "I hate it and he'd have been a much better earl than I could ever hope to become, but that's the way of the world."
"You accept things too easily," he commented, sighing slightly. "You're someone who could make a difference, but you don't bother."
I rolled my eyes. "Matt's the only commonor I'll ever care about and he is alright. Even if he wasn't, I'd still be able to protect him politically. There's no reason for me to change anything else."
He huffed slightly, but simply stood again to turn the fish once more, not answering me. Then he turned around and looked at me scornfully. "You're a bloody coward and I despise you."
"Nothing new under the sun," I muttered. "I loathe you too."
Apparently that was some sort of a signal that nobody had informed me of, because in that moment he was over me again, arms pressing me into a lying position in the sand while his mouth latched itself to mine.
The kiss was an odd sensation. I'd rarely ever kissed anyone, never felt the urge to. Why connect lips when there are other bodyparts that more urgently need connecting? Somehow it wasn't bad, though. It was still as feisty and angry and passionate as our feelings, and he, thankfully, didn't taste as bad as he smelt. He tasted kind of like salt, really, confirming my suspicions that he'd gone for a swim earlier.
After a few moments his tongue plunged through my slightly parted lips, running rampid inside my mouth.
And once again my mind lost control of my body and I responded the best I could while placing my hands on his unevenly shaven cheeks.
Too soon, it seemed, we had to break apart for air, both panting heavily as he looked down on me, still that anger in his eyes.
Then he shook his head. "This is stupid," he muttered, rolling his eyes lightly.
Was he trying to make me beg?
The lower parts of my own body were telling me to anyway, my mind too, suddenly, my mind that was running on overload with the events back home, with all the things I didn't want to remember right at that moment.
And I desperately wanted not to think about it.
"Hold you mouth," I started, then shook my head at myself. I needed to lower myself enough to let go of that attitude for one moment. "Please just help me forget," I muttered, suddenly something akin to a whimper in my voice.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Please," I added again, rolling my eyes at how pathetic I was being before subconsciously licking for the salty taste still lingering on my lips.
I didn't have to ask him another time, because then he was on top on me again, desperately fiddling with the strings of my breeches before he finally managed to get them off, his own trousers quickly following.
Once again he merely spat into his hand, rubbing it onto himself afterwards. Then he put my legs over his shoulders and thrusted into me.
I bit my lip so hard I drew blood to hold back that yelp at the sudden pain. Instead I laid my head back against the sandy ground, clenching my eyes shut while I tried to will my muscles to relax.
He kept still for a few seconds, then drew out and plunged into me again, slowly building up a pace.
The sand was scratching at my neck and getting into my hair and I'd need a bath later that night and by God it hurt.
He changed the angle a bit sometime in the middle of it and finally hit that spot, making me gasp and then moan in pleasure. Then he smirked down at me for a short moment, looking rather pleased with himself before that facial expression dissolved back into one of pure pleasure, his hands grabbing my hips roughly to help me work with him.
My thighs were slammed against my clothed chest again and again with his every thrust, a stinging pain spreading there as well, but I wasn't about to complain, not when he kept pushing into that point, making me moan like no tomorrow.
In and out, in and out he went on, panting hard above me, and I was getting close, my toes curling again and a tickling rising from my stomach at the friction. The movements inside of me gave me a sudden feeling of fulfillment and the right-on hits sent tidal waves of pleasure through my body.
All too soon, it seemed, I was beyond any control I'd ever had, my eyes were rolling into the back of my head and my hands went wandering to find my neglected member to get over the edge.
He slapped them away, though, smirking down at me for another moment before he grasped my length himself, pulling and stroking roughly for a few fragmented moments as I finally reached my release, yelping out as my muscles cramped and my balls drew back to let out their load.
He let go as well, collapsing on top of me where he stayed for a short moment before he managed to pull out, remove my legs and roll off.
Once again I stayed long enough to get rested before I got to my feet, grateful it at least hadn't hurt as much as the first time. I shook as much sand as I could out of my hair and pulled my breeches back on before suddenly laughing. "Your fish is about to catch fire," I informed him.
He quickly got to his feet, securing trousers around his hips in the process and ran to get the fish off the fire. Then he yelped as he burnt his fingers on it and I laughed even more. He sent me a glare and finally managed to drop the fish on the cloak. "Still want some?" he inquired.
I shook my head. "I like to sit down and eat and that's not exactly an option right now," I remarked. Then I started off, trying to walk as naturally as I could but with a feeling that I was badly failing.
"Are you coming back this time?" he asked suddenly, an odd uncertainty to his voice.
Please tell me we weren't getting attached.
"You'll know if and when you see me," I answered. "Don't know why you care anyway."
"I don't," he answered, glaring at me.
His eyes were narrowed to slits, but he still repeated my word, "Good."
"And don't get yourself killed out here," I added, not really knowing where that came from. "Or captured. I've already saved your sorry behind once, I might not be able to do it again."
"Don't talk as though I owe you anything, Ryan," he demanded. "We both know I don't. And we both know I won't get captured again. I like freedom too much."
I huffed, once again feeling the urge to get that attitude beaten out of him. "Go drown yourself," I muttered, not sure if he heard me or not.
"Go hang yourself," he returned, apparently having heard it after all. "Your family has gallows enough from what I've heard."
I gritted my teeth and started walking again. "We need them for people like your 'Papa'," I called over my shoulder, half-expecting an attack the next moment.
But it never came, and I was free to limp my way back to the castle, once again questioning my reasons, not to mention my sanity.
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