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?
By Danimpa
Chapter 12
Earldom of Cornwall, England
September – October, 1397
A week passed in a nice pace.
Brendon fell into ease much more smoothly than I would've thought possible. He didn't socialize much with the other servants, but Matt appeared to take an odd liking to him and when I was immersed in studying the two of them would spend time together, training or talking or what do I know.
The general population of servants looked at him with a sort of frightened respect and, applying for the younger males, gratitude almost. It seemed that that they were redered into disbelief at the fact that he could spend every night with me and have nothing against it. Not to mention the fact that a couple of them seemed to have guessed my turn from my usual role. Which made him some sort of otherworldly creature to be feared and avoided.
He never seemed to mind, though, did the duties that were asked of him and spent his nights with me and as passionately as he always had.
One of his chores was to help serving at our suppers, and my parents seemed at least partially pleased with it all. I'm sure they'd guessed at least part of what we did at night and I suppose that while they were happy with the fact that my keeping with only one boy would slow down the rumours, they also seemed worried as to what my apparent dedication could mean.
It was at one of these meals that my own engagement ball came up.
"Will you be ready to leave in two weeks, George?" Father asked out of nowhere, looking at me over his goblet.
"Certainly," I muttered, keeping the disdain I felt at having to have anything to do with that girl out of my voice. "Who will be going with me?" I asked quickly as an addition.
"Matthew and a dozen soldiers to protect you from whatever trouble you might run into," came the answer.
"No servants?" I asked on, trying not to let it become too clear that I was fishing for one answer in particular.
"No, George," came my father's answer. "You won't bring your toy into the house of your betrothed." His voice was harsh by then, his blue eye icy.
"He's not a toy," I muttered, looking intently at my soup.
"What?" came the sharp question. "I didn't hear you, son."
"He's not a toy," I repeated, louder this time and much more clearly, raising my eyes to meet my father's enraged gaze.
Father slammed his fist down against the table. "You will not bring him, I forbid it. You will have no access whatsoever to any servant while there and when you return I expect to welcome a proper man who's ready to lead a life with his soon-to-be wife, a life which his parents can be proud of."
I looked past Father's shoulder to meet Brendon's stunned gaze, tried to look reasurring, tried to tell him that something like that wouldn't happen, all the while fighting the mingled hurt and anger rising within myself.
Mother laid a restricting hand on Father's arm, long, thin fingers carressing lightly. "Calm down, George," she muttered.
"This is all because of you!" my father yelled, turning his rage on her all of a sudden. "If only you hadn't spoilt him like you did, this wouldn't have happened!"
"You think it easy for me?" she returned, her voice rising an octave as her own calm washed away. "He is my only son. I don't have the opportunity to wish that Matthew had been legitimate, I don't have your perfect son!"
Matt got up from his seat, grabbed Brendon's shoulder on his way and dragged him out of the room, staying away himself as well.
Mother wasn't done, though. "I know that this is because of me! Matthew is the son of a commonor whore and yet he shows more potential than my George!" She took a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes. "But MY son, MY son, whatever is wrong with his mind must be because of me as your son shows no trace of it!"
I felt tears sting my eyes but fought them harshly. It was not the first time I'd heard those words uttered, yet they never ceased to hurt. But I couldn't cry, I couldn't support Father's exclamation on how I wasn't enough of a man.
"You're right it is!" Father yelled back. "And you didn't even give me more. One son, Elizabeth! And he would be worth more as a monk. But you didn't give me the choice, no second son so I could send this diabolic blemish on my name away!"
I was shaking by then, my fingers clenched around the edge of the table to an extent where they were cramped and white, and my breathing was as hard as if I'd been training for days without a break.
My mother was crying but didn't say anything back.
My father turned back to me, his eyes masses of blue fire. "You will not defy me!" he ordered. "You will become someone I can be proud of!"
I didn't answer, couldn't answer, clenched my eyes shut instead. I felt like my stomach was falling out, that sinking feeling where you feel like it's really sinking all the way out of you. I tried to control my breathing and shaking but couldn't.
I opened my eyes again when I heard the sound of something breaking.
Eleanor was standing, shaking nearly as much as myself and on the floor by the opposite wall was a mass of glass splinters from her exquisite glass goblet, wine dripping down the wall. "You're about two minutes away from destroying my brother!" she screamed. "This isn't helping. At all. We're a family." She took a deep breath. "I wish you'd start acting like one." She looked down at her food with light disgust in her gentle blue eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I seem to have lost my appetite." And with that she left.
I was alone with the two of them, their eyes burning into me.
"See what you did!" Father yelled at me, his finger pointing at me and underlining his words.
I got out of my seat next, my rage no longer under control. "Do you think I want this?" I shouted. "Don't you think I'd control it if I could?" I felt my shoulders slump a bit, my voice turning down the volume as well. My explosions never lasted long. "If I could, I'd be a son whose father could be proud of him and whose mother could love him." I sighed, tears threatening again. But I couldn't cry, not in front of them. "But I can't," I finished, shaking my head slightly. "Excuse me," I added, pushing my chair back to walk across the room and exiting.
The moment I was out of sight the world seemed to start spinning and I had to turn to the wall for support, tears falling down my cheeks in abundance now as I leaned my head against the cold stone, my hands grabbing at it but finding nothing to hold me up. My legs gave in and I slipped down onto my knees, my face still against the cold stone and my hands against the wall above me, fingertips digging into the slight imperfections of the stones, my nails broken and bleeding as sobs racked through me.
I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, could nearly feel them through my knees on the floor and I tried hard to compose myself but didn't manage to succeed.
"I'll admit I thought your life was easy," someone replied behind me.
I sighed in relief at the familiar voice as Brendon scooped me into his arms, one beneath my knees and one around my shoulders and I quickly nuzzled my face into his doublet.
"That supper just proved me wrong," he added, pressing a kiss against the top of my head before he started walking, presumably towards my chambers.
A few minutes later he kicked the door open, changed his grip on me a bit and carried me the last few feet before gently laying me down on the bed.
He was about to turn away and give me some space when I reached out, grabbing his arm and tugging him closer.
I needed the contact at that moment, needed his presence to come and drown it all away, and I think he must've sensed it because after quickly taking my shoes off for me he crawled in beside me and put his arms back around me.
That wasn't enough, though.
I grabbed his face and guided it down to my own until his lips were finally against mine, tears still running down my cheeks.
He kissed back, slowly and gently entering his tongue while his hands stroked down my sides.
A few moments later we had to pull away for air and he looked down at me, once again wiping away my tears. "Please don't cry, Ryan," he whispered. "They aren't worth it, they're not."
I forced a small smile onto my face, lightly carressing his cheeks with my own fingers before frowing slightly at the small splotches of blood my fingers left.
It all still hurt so much, too much. "Please?" I muttered, not needing to end that sentence anymore.
He'd know what I meant by now.
And he did, bending slightly to kiss me again before pulling my doublet off of me, my shirt following quickly. And like so many times before, he let his gaze and his fingers linger briefly on my old scar, brushing over it lightly before moving onto my breeches.
I raised my hips slightly, allowing him to pull them off me completely, then started to work on his while he removed his own doublet and shirt.
Once it was done he slowly leaned down, gently kissing my neck before moving onto my mouth, stroking my hair with one hand while the other one went back to my scar, gently rubbing the damaged tissue.
I let my own hand wander to his side, searching for and quickly finding his matching one to run my fingers over it, momentarily mulling over the way they'd come to symbolize our connection.
But then he ground down against me and all thoughts were forgotten as I moaned out, moving my hands to grab onto his shoulders. He repeated the movement, his lips back on my neck as he moved his hands down to grab hold of my thighs, raising them as much as needed while he lined up before slowly pushing inside.
Once he was in I tightened my legs around him and put my hands on his cheeks again to pull him up for another kiss.
He smiled into it, but quickly broke it, his breathing short and laboured. Then he pulled most of the way out and pushed back in, filling me completely again and brushing lightly over that spot.
I groaned out, looking up to meet his dark eyes urgently. "Harder," I managed to get out.
He simply nodded, as quiet as he usually was during the act before pulling back a bit and thrusting back into me slightly harder.
I let out a moan, my eyes dropping shut as he started to build up a pace, his hands having moved on to my hips to help me buck back up against him as he repeatedly rammed into that spot, sending waves of pleasure through my whole body.
The world seemed to melt away, my parents seemed a universe from where we were and within a moment that horrible meal was forgotten as we moved in sync, trained movements that seemed new every time.
It got faster, harder, the friction grabbed my mind and the extreme pleasure stole every line of thought I'd previously had as I arched up against him, grabbing onto his lower back to get him in deeper while my head lolled back into the pillows helplessly.
His lips were still on my neck, nibbling, kissing, sucking, furthering the extreme amount of sensations that were running through me while I moaned out loudly again and again.
My fingers on his back were slipping, the gathering sweat making him slippery as I still kept trying to make every thrust of his as deep as possible. Then my toes were curling again, my heels digging into his hips and the pleasure from all of my body seemed to be gathering in my stomach, ready to burst out.
He let go of my hip with one hand and grabbed onto my already slightly leaking member, pumping gently and in time with his thrusts until I felt my muscles go crazy, contracting around him while I released over his his toned stomach with a small cry.
He gave a weak grunt, pushed into me once more, still with me weakly trying to get him in as far as possible, and let go deep inside of me before collapsing on my chest.
I slowly let my legs fall off his waist, trying to control my breathing as I sent him an exhausted smile. Weary, but honest. "Thanks," I muttered.
He, however, didn't answer, just looked at me, once again with that wonder, that inexplicable glint in his eyes as his clean hand moved up to run once through my hair before carressing my face, tracing the lines of the dried tears, the contours of my cheeks and jaw, running slowly across my lips. His mouth opened slightly, but closed again almost immediately as if he'd been about to say something but didn't.
I stretched my neck a bit, lifting my face up to Brendon's to nuzzle my nose lightly against his for a moment before pushing my lips against his briefly. I let my head fall back against the pillows, still smiling as I entangled our legs.
He sighed lightly before removing his hand to grab hold of my body again and flip us over, leaving me on top.
I gave him another peck before snuggling up against him, the complete closeness almost comsuming me as his arms went around me, my hands on his chest, my face nuzzled into his neck, our legs still entangled and his member still right in place where it belonged.
I started drifting off almost immediately, my eyes fluttered shut and my breathing evened out and for a moment I thought I'd heard him whisper some short sentence, but I was too far gone to understand it and I suppose that was also his intention as he held me slightly closer and I finally dropped off completely.
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I dropped the subject of bringing Brendon with me to Upper Lorraine, not wanting another argument with Father.
Actually I just generally did whatever I could to avoid my parents in that period of time. Missed meals, avoided their quarters, fled the practice court whenever Father showed up to monitor my progress.
I didn't care if my avoiding them underlined the theory of my being too feminine, I just needed a long while before facing them again.
Brendon, well, let's just say that if given the chance he'd have ripped my father's nonexistent heart out. He'd grown overly protective since that supper and half the time he could be mistaken for my shadow, simply for always following me that closely.
I didn't mind. I enjoyed his presence although it was very hard to slip in and out of our two relationships, one where we were equals with strong feelings for each other and definitely eager to live them out, one where I was the master and he the servant and the slightest touch was frowned upon.
But time passed too quickly.
I didn't want to leave, but the time remaining before my departure had diminished from two weeks to one week to now only two days.
Since Matt had fittingly added protection of my person to the list of Brendon's duties they were now training with each other about as often as my brother and I did.
And I'd been slacking, practiced swordsmanship less and archery more.
This one day, a mere two days before Matt and I would go to France and leave Brendon in Cornwall, submitted to Father's mercies, I was at the archery pitch, the hood of my cloak up to keep the light rain from getting in my face.
I stretched the string taut, focusing my whole being on the bow, the arrow and the plate with a painted bull's eye four hundred feet away. I took aim, closing one eye carefully as I forced my entire line of sight on that one small plate so far away, made it grow and fill my eyes and mind completely. Then I raised the bow a bit to send the arrow up in the air to make up for gravity and let go, watched it zoom through the air and... hit bull's eye.
Mentally congratulating myself, I turned around to watch the fencing court where two forms where circling each other, blades held out in front of them.
Brendon was definitely more of a match for Matt with a sword than I could ever be. He'd never really been trained, was apparantly just a natural, but I must admit that I definitely preferred watching to fighting either one of them.
With a small shake of my head I grabbed another arrow out of the quiver, positioned it against the string and pulled it taut again. Once again I aimed, raised the bow and let go. It plunged into the board right next to the other one, still in the red centre of the wooden target.
"Great shot, little brother," Matt commented.
I turned around, surprised, and found them both standing right behind me. "Thanks," I answered, still sounding startled.
I hooked the bow over my shoulder, sent them a grin that broadened when I felt Brendon's hand slip into mine and squeezing it slightly.
This was how it was supposed to be.
But I had a nagging fear that it would all have changed once I returned from Lorraine.
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danimpa@yahoo.com
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