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
May, 1397 AD
I raised the dull practice sword again, parrying the hard stroke set in by my opponent. The 'clang' resounded and added to the dull throb in my shoulders. I lifted the heavy piece of metal again, meeting the other sword once more while my rough leather glove bit into the flesh of my hand painfully.
"Mind your footwork!" the other man commanded loudly before setting in with another stroke, then a feint.
My sword left my hand, flew across the practice court, and before I could scramble after it, the other one was against my throat. I'd lost. Again.
Panting, I held up my hands quickly and the sword was lowered.
"That was... decent," I was told as I went for my practice sword, then going back and handing it over while I reattached my real one to my belt.
I rolled my eyes. "You're too strong for me," I stated.
He laughed. "I've always been, most likely I always will be. You're faster, though, you just need to start making use of it."
I shrugged. "I tire too quickly," I admitted.
"That you do, little brother. If you started using as much time on your sword practice as you do on books and boys and archery, we might be equally matched."
I didn't respond since we both knew he was right. Instead I walked across the court and took the ladle of water a servant was holding out for me and drank deeply.
My brother came to my side and I handed the ladle over, letting him drink.
He did, then looked up, blue eyes sparkling in the high sun. "Want to beat me at archery, then?" he asked after handing the ladle back to the boy.
"Always," I answered, raising a hand to flick a lock of dark brown out of my eyes. I didn't neglect sending the servant boy a wink as I took off the sweaty gloves and handed them over. "Go fetch the equipment, will you?" I ordered him before turning around and following my taller brother across the court towards the area of flat grass that had been set up for archery practice.
My dirty shirt stuck to my thin torso from sweat and I absentmindedly noted that my right boot was biting painfully into my heel. Guess it was about time for a new pair of boots. I'd liked these ones, though.
We jumped the fence around the pitch before simply leaning against it, waiting for the boy to arrive with the bows, quivers of arrows and armpieces.
The silence was comfortable, but then again it always was when I was around my brother.
Born two and a half years before me, he was my father's illegitimate son from before his marriage to my mother. My brother's mother was one of the kitchen girls. She'd died in childbirth, leaving him with her poor relatives. When I was born, though, he'd been taken to the head office of my family's lands to grow up as my servant, mentor and protector. Bodyguard, really. He'd been with me from the moment I took my first breath and hadn't left me since.
He was much more of our father's son than I, although I was the one carrying his name. The tall, muscular figure, the thick, black hair, the weaponry skills and the trademark piercing, blue eyes; father's mirror image.
I was my mother's son. Average height, slight frame, brown hair that was a bit thin, fair skin and ordinary brown eyes. Her love for books too.
I'd have been much better suited as a scholar than as the sole heir to title and lands, but things like that are for fate to decide, not man. I guess most people would've said God, but I've always had a natural disregard for Him. Well, the day He drops by in person to tell me that my ways are wrong, I may listen. Until then, natural disregard.
The boy came running across the fields until finally halting slightly behind us, on the other side of the fence, arms full of the various items we'd been waiting for.
"Thanks," Matt replied, taking first the armpieces from him and tossing me mine.
I strapped it on wordlessly, making sure it was tight enough that the harsh whip of the tight string wouldn't injure my wrist, but at same time loose enough to keep the flexibility in my hand.
Then I received my quiver. I quickly checked the quality of the arrows, counted them, was satisfied with my results before I strapped it across my shoulder.
My brother was holding out my longbow for me when I was done, and I quickly went onto inspecting it. I latched on the string, adjusted it a bit and tightened it before testingly pulling it back and letting it go. It sounded alright.
"You treat that equipment like the rest of us would a favourite horse," Matt exclaimed, letting out another deep chuckle.
I shrugged, pulling the string again before adjusting it just a bit. "I'm no worse than you are when your sword gets a dent," I returned with a subtle raise of my eyebrow.
"You should worry more about your sword too, brother. Father wants you knighted, you know you won't get there by archer skills," he told me more seriously.
I shrugged. "Knighthood could mean more to me," I answered before lifting a hand back over my shoulder to grasp an arrow. "Three hundred feet?" I suggested, throwing my head towards the targets in the other end of the long pitch.
"Is that your starting distance now?" he asked.
I proudly marked the stunned feel to his voice. Then I shrugged. "Sometimes. But you said you wanted me to beat you, so I want us so far away that it won't take too long. I promised Eleanor a round of chess."
"Keeping on good ground with our sister?" he asked with a small smile.
I shrugged again. "As long as Eleanor worries about my well-being, Father will go easy on me," I explained with a small smile.
"Yeah, he does have a soft spot for the lass, doesn't he?"
"He'll be sad to see her go," I answered, referring to my younger sister's impending wedding. Then I sighed lightly. "But won't we all?"
"That we will," he confirmed. "Let's go to three hundred feet then," he added.
I nodded and started walking, leading the way to the sixth fifty feet mark.
I gave a grunt as I thrusted into the servant boy beneath me, the one who'd been waiting on us earlier, pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back in as I reached my high, pulling out and rolling off onto my side, facing away from him as my orgasm still roared through me in disregard of both the fact that the boy hadn't reached the point of satisfaction just yet and the fact that he was whimpering behind me. He was a commonor, a mere servant. How he felt wasn't my problem.
My father had had his servant girls, Matt occasionally had his, our grandfather had had his long before. Young noble men are all but expected to have commonor girls warming their beds.
I broke that perfect line of ordinarity.
The soft forms of girls had always seemed alien to me and my first few adventures with girls had been my only ones. I just never saw anything alluring in their curves nor their soft faces, and their high-pitched voices annoyed me to the point of disgust.
So boys it was. The servant boys, who might themselves have preferred the all-too-soft curves and weak bodies of the kitchen girls. But I was the next Earl. Who was to turn me down?
Matt had covered for me, hidden my secret for the longest time, but when Mother had found a boy in my bed with me there was really no way of hiding it anymore.
They'd tried purging it out of me, tried forbidding me of doing it. They'd even sent for a priest of the Catholic Church whose sole purpose was to rid me of that demonic preference. He'd taught me about hell, about purgatory, about the Original Sin, about the purity of the soul.
Of all the things I've inherited from my Mother, my stubbornness is what I appreciate the most.
The priest gave up and returned to his monestary.
My parents mourned.
In the end I had my way. I was left alone, what happened in my bedroom during the nights was silently ignored and hesitantly tolerated.
Instead they put their efforts into making sure that no rumours left our own lands, deadly afraid that word would spread to the family of my betrothed, that they would shatter the contract that had been made when I was seven and she was three. Some French lady or another, bloodties to the English crown, what-not? I could honestly care less. To my large regret, she was reaching an age where marriage was proper, though, and everybody hoped that once she arrived as the next Lady of Cornwall, she'd be able to tame me.
No little girl, lady or not, was taming me. No one was.
"Milord?" the boy croaked up from behind me.
I groaned, but turned around and faced him, looking indifferently into his frightened grey eyes.
"May I leave?" he asked meekly.
I rolled my eyes, but pulled my covers around me, shutting him out of the heat as a sign that he was free to leave.
He shuffled to his feet, mumbling out a, "Thank you, milord," as he hurriedly put on his clothes and practically sprinted out of the room.
I didn't mind all that much. Boy was boring me anyway with his frightened eyes and his movements that reminded me of those of a rabbit who'd realised that one of my arrows was zooming towards it.
I laid back, cuddling further into the flimsy warmth of my covers, grateful it wasn't winter. Yet I never regretted turning down the servant girls who'd throw themselves at me in abundance, and whom I could be sure would stay the night and keep my bed warm.
Why should I? No girl could match up to even the fleeting satisfaction I got from the hesistant boys. I'd had enough of girls already and please don't blame me for dreading having to spend the rest of my life with one.
One thing was for sure, though: that boy had been nearly as annoying as the giggling servant girls. He was NOT coming in here again.