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
Brendon looked at me uncertainly, the spoon still in his hand while I could practically see him fight himself through his eyes.
I sent him a pleading look, suddenly not so sure that I really wanted to die.
He sighed and turned around a bit to look at my brother. "Can we please have a bit of privacy?" he asked in a shaky voice.
Matt seemed to hesitate and I hurried to send the pleading look to him this time. He let go of a breath and nodded slightly. "If you leave, wake me up again on the way. I don't want him alone."
I could hear what that sentence really was in my brother's mind, 'I don't want him to die alone'
"Of course," came the meek reply.
"And Brendon, if you decide to stay, please put more wood on the fires and get into bed with him; you won't believe how cold he gets," Matt added.
Brendon nodded, and the other two left. Then he scooped more soup into the spoon and held it against my lips again.
Once again I clamped my mouth shut. I wasn't letting him get around the ultimatum, and if he didn't love me enough to stay with me then there was no reason to live anyway.
"God, Ryan," he whispered, tears in his eyes again. "Please stop being so bloody stubborn."
I sent him a sharp look.
He wasn't one to talk about stubbornness. "Alright, fine," he growled. "If you don't eat, I'm not getting in that bed with you."
It was amusing how he thought I cared. If he wasn't going to stay I didn't want him in my bed anyway, then I'd rather be cold.
"I bloody love you, you idiot!" he exclaimed, gesticulating as much with his arms as the soup could allow. "Stop doing this to the both of us!"
My mouth went slack at the confession and he took that as his opportunity, shoved the spoon inside and withdrew it again after tipping the soup off in my mouth.
I sent him an angry look before turning my head and spitting it out on the floor.
He wasn't getting off the hook that easily.
Apparently he finally got the point and put the bowl and the spoon down on the floor next to him. He reached for my hand again, but I withdrew it, my eyes feeling damp once more. Then he sighed again and got off the chair, starting to pace the room as he apparently gave up on getting bodily contact.
Suddenly he turned to face me again, dark eyes burning into my own. "Did you give up?" he asked.
I looked away slightly, my eyes starting to leak. Then I nodded.
"Bloody why, Ryan?" he asked on, his voice cracking mid-sentence.
I opened my mouth slightly, willing, willing my voice to work, just for a few seconds. "Not..." I gasped at the exertion; my throat hurt indescribably.
He walked back to me, picked up the goblet before he used one hand to raise my head while he poured just bit into my mouth.
I let him.
It would help me speak anyway.
I swallowed painfully before deciding to try again. "Not... worth it... without..." I got out in a low, low whisper.
The way my voice had cracked hurt my sore throat more than anything and I shut my mouth. I couldn't finish the sentence; my voice was betraying me too badly.
"Not without me," he finished in a whisper, the first tear falling from his eye as he looked at me again.
I nodded weakly, salty tears stinging my own cheeks again.
"Ryan," he muttered. "You must believe that I really do love you. It's just that I'd rather die than imagine you with someone else." He shook his head slightly. "I never wanted you to die either, though."
I hated seeing him in so much pain, hated to see him cry, and I managed to raise my hand again, shakily and clumsily brushing it across his cheek to get rid of those tears.
His gaze met mine again in disbelief. "You're comforting me?" he asked in a choked voice before grabbing hold of that hand, holding it tightly.
I winced slightly at the way my bones seemed to rub against each other.
That hand would bruise the next day, but I couldn't blame him. He didn't know how frail my skin, how frail everything had become.
"God, you really are going to die, aren't you?" he asked.
I didn't answer, I'd already exhausted myself with the few words I'd managed.
"I always knew you were frail, but not like this," he added. "Where did your spirit go?"
You took it.
I think he saw that answer in my eyes because the next moment he was crying again.
He was silent for the longest while, crying and thinking it seemed. Then he got up and started to put fire into the fireplace.
When he got back he climbed into the bed with me, pulled me gently into his lap before he reached for the bowl again, scooping up more soup and holding it to my mouth.
My mouth clamped shut again. I wasn't going to let him manipulate me.
"God, Ryan, eat," he begged from behind me, voice cracking again. "I'm staying. I love you. Eat."
I felt a happiness I'd forgotten how felt run through me, giving me back a semblance of warmth as I finally rested back against his chest and opened my mouth, letting him enter the spoon, letting the nutrient flow into my mouth and I swallowed, letting the lukewarm fluids run down my throat painfully, stinging the whole way until they finally hit my empty stomach, almost making me retch.
I managed to hold it in, though. For him I did it, for him I'd eat again.
We got a grand total of ten spoonfuls into me, and I was full to almost beyond the point of bursting.
Then he laid us down, his arms enveloping me, and for the first time in so long that I couldn't put a number on it, I fell asleep with a small smile on my lips and a bit of warmth in me.
I obviously didn't die by the end of the week.
I came close, though. There were several moments where I got ready to say goodbye but somehow managed to hang in there anyway.
But after that first aggravating week after Brendon had come back where I'm painfully aware that I caused him nothing but further
heartache, things finally started to get better.
With every passing day I was able to eat a bit more.
My broken bones started to heal up.
Most importantly, I think, mainly because that was what triggered all the additional improvements, I was happy. I'd gotten back my will to live and to fight for the life I'd come so close to throwing away.
There was barely a moment where Brendon left my side. He was constantly holding me or feeding me or having one-sided conversations with me. As my throat got better, though, those turned from monologues into dialogues and for the first time since we'd met, we were able to just talk about nothing for hours.
The physical side of the relationship was gone, though, aside from the constant embraces and handholding.
I didn't know whether it was because he worried about me or because he still was disgusted with what I'd done. I never asked, either. I was too afraid of the answer.
On the upside, even my parents finally tolerated his presence.
I suppose it was so obvious that he was the only heavy factor in the fact that I was getting better that they couldn't do anything else. My blood was still precious enough for them to be willing to do anything to keep me alive.
Even letting Brendon stick around.
I'd just finished eating, still soup, but also a bit of bread that Brendon had dipped in the soup to make it easier to keep down, and was sitting silently in his lap, his arms tucked carefully around me.
His head was resting lightly on my shoulder and his breathing was finding its way pleasantly into my ear.
I shivered slightly at the warm gushes of air and he automatically held me just a bit closer.
It felt odd to have the roles so completely reversed, to be sick and taken care of by him.
I think a part of him appreciated giving something back to me, though, even if he'd never openly admit that he had owed me anything.
Suddenly I was afraid, scared out of my mind that the platonic closeness would be all we'd have for the rest of our lives, that he'd never again touch me like he used to. And suddenly I desperately needed to know and I turned my head abruptly, managing to catch his lips with my own.
He was unresponsive for the longest moment and I became even more afraid than I'd been before. Then his lips finally moved slightly against my own, his eyes closed and he tilted his head just a bit to get me closer.
Somehow that single, small kiss sent me to heaven in a way nothing had before and I felt tears starting to come up as I closed my eyes. Happy tears, for once.
I raised my good hand up and placed it on his cheek, rubbing my thumb back and forth against his jaw while his hands caressed my sides and stomach gently.
Mere moments later I had to break away for air with deep regret running through me as I rested my forehead against his, looking him straight in the eye while I gasped wearily for air.
Lightning was still shooting through my whole body from that simple, nearly innocent kiss and from the look in his eyes.
There was no pity anymore, they were back to the look they'd had before I told him about France and Jacqueline, and that was more than enough to loose myself in.
"I love you," he whispered. He did that often, but this time was different, this time it was the same kind of love that had been before everything went to hell.
And I think it made me happier than I'd ever been, possibly happier than I'd ever be again.
My lips tucked into a smile as I kept my gaze locked with his. "I love you too," I answered, my voice as hushed as his.
It felt as if loud noises would take the whole situation away, the perfection of it, the sheer joy and pure happiness.
He kissed my cheek gently, still holding my eyes.
Suddenly another one of Catullus' works came to mind and my lips started moving without my conscious consent, my vocal chords spilling out the sounds that quickly became words.
"Si quicquam cupido optantique optigit umquam
insperanti, hoc est gratum animo proprie.
quare hoc est gratum nobis quoque carius auro
quod te restituis mi cupido."
He raised an eyebrow slightly. "However bloody beautiful Latin sounds, I don't understand a word," he informed me softly.
I sent him another smile, letting my body slide down a bit so that I could rest my head against his chest and still look up at him. "Someday I'll have to teach you," I muttered.
He chuckled quietly, the movements of his chest sending vibrations through me before he gently grabbed my head and tilted it backwards enough to place another kiss on my lips.
I kissed back eagerly before just sitting, still managing to keep eye contact.
I had my life back, and he was sitting right behind me, holding me while his eyes kept repeating those three blessed words.
"When something good happens to one who is
desirous and hopeful, yet not expecting it,
it is especially pleasing to his soul.
Therefore, this is pleasing, and dearer than gold to me," I slowly translated in a soft voice.
He smiled again. "To me as well," he whispered, burying his face in my hair.
Suddenly I remembered something, and another small hope was born in me. "Brendon, can you reach into that chest?" I asked hopefully.
"Please do it," I requested.
And he did, keeping my body in place with one arm while the other one reached out and opened the chest. "What am I looking for?"
"A medium-sized leather bag," I answered.
"I think I have it," he told me a moment later, sitting back up in a normal position as he handed it to me.
I shook my head slowly. "That's yours," I told him.
He opened it in my lap, one arm on either side of my body while he looked down over my shoulder.
The dagger and the ring came tumbling out onto the blanket.
"Ryan..." he started, sighing slightly.
"I love you," I told him. "Please take them."
They stayed on the blanket for another few minutes, my worry growing with every second.
Perhaps I was expecting too much of him.
Finally he sighed again. "I love you too," he muttered and slipped the ring back onto his finger, attaching the sheath and the dagger to his belt the next moment.
Everything would be alright from then on, I was sure of it.
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