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.
I'd just like to say that Lady GaGa was robbed of the Grammy for album of the year.
Taylor Swift forgot to thank Kanye West for hers.
What Happened to the Green Fairies?
Earldom of Cornwall, England
Throughout December I kept getting better to the extent where I could get up and walk around without someone actually having to support my steps, except for the splint of course. My broken leg hadn't healed up enough that I didn't need that yet.
My weight was getting healthier although I was still even skinnier than I'd been before, and very often I was almost giving up on reaching my original body type again.
Brendon would have none of that, though. He never gave up on me for a second and he'd be cooing at me for hours when I was down or giving up, speaking to me until I'd finally eat that extra serving.
Even if he hadn't already been my everything before, he definitely was now.
But I was getting tired of my weak body and it's incapability of having with him what we'd had before. I wanted him badly, but I knew he'd never do it, and it was clear why.
When looking in a mirror, even I was afraid that I'd start falling apart at the smallest wrong movement.
He was willing to kiss me, though, and at the moment I was willing to take what I could have.
Winter solstice came, and with it came Yule.
Not that my devout Catholic of a father would ever even consider letting the family take any part in the heathen traditions.
Not that this had ever kept the servants from celebrating, though. Their quarters were full of evergreens and mistletoe; there was a Yule log in the hearth in one of the kitchens, and many of them were definitely celebrating the Twelve Days like the fertility festival it had originally been. Which could be why there always came a bunch of new kids every September/October.
Oh well, they could have their fun. Only, their evident 'activity' was reminding me all the more of what I couldn't do myself.
And probably doing it even more so to Brendon, who had more to do with them than I.
Three days into the period my Father would always make the whole staff, every last occupant of the castle, come with him into the village for a three hour long morning mass to listen to the thunderous preaching about how paganism should be kept out of our lives and how some things were reserved for marriage.
Not that it ever worked.
The preaching was always in Latin too, which didn't help matters much.
This year I wasn't going.
Matt and Eleanor had, with Mother's eventual help, convinced Father that I was still too sick to be able to handle the freezing air and thick layer of snow outside.
Since I couldn't be on my own either, it had been natural to let my valet stay with me.
I don't know what it was that changed with the simple fact that the huge building was completely devoid of life other than our own, but it did change momentarily.
Perhaps it was the fact that we weren't there to get the yearly thunder preaches.
I was sitting in my bed, feeding myself soup.
I was dead tired of soup, but it was still the easiest thing to keep down.
And Brendon had asked me to eat it, had even thrown in a pout; who was I to say no to that?
He was sitting on a chair by the desk that had been pulled into my bedroom because I lacked the energy to go from room to room to use the features each had. He was squinting at the paper laid out in front of him, his nearsightedness obvious for once, and copying down the alphabet that I had jotted down for him earlier.
Since he'd been practically tied to my quarters ever since he'd come back, he hadn't been able to do physical training, and so, as soon as I'd been fit for anything at all, we'd started the work on evening out our intellectual differences.
As much as he'd never say it, I knew it bothered him that I was well-educated while he could barely count to a hundred and wouldn't be able to know an 'A' from a 'Q' if his life depended on it.
I'm not saying he was stupid, I'm simply stating that he never got the chance.
We'd spend long hours every night with me in his lap on the bed, a big book sprawled out in front of me as I read The Iliad out loud for him, sometimes pausing to discuss a certain passage or for him to ask a question, mostly concerning their culture or religion or mythology.
But he was fascinated, and I enjoyed those moments.
By Yule he'd have been able to count to a million if he'd bothered, and he could read English to a simple extent. He kept fumbling with the letters, though, trying to perfect his own handwriting, and I was impressed to say the least.
"Ry, I can't get that curl on the capital G right," he complained, turning around to face me.
"Take a break," I told him. "You'll get it later, it's just a curl, doesn't matter."
His lips tucked into a small smile. "I suppose you're right," he agreed after a small while. "Are you eating up?"
I looked down at the soup. "Nearly. I can't get anymore down, though."
He sighed slightly, his expression going back into one of worry. "You have got to eat."
"I know," I answered. "I'm trying." I paused slightly, scooping more soup into my spoon and raising it to my mouth where I tipped it over and swallowed. I was starting to get so full that my stomach hurt. "Seriously, no more," I muttered regretfully, shaking my head before I placed the bowl down on the floor.
He picked his piece of paper up from the table, went to the bed and sat down with his back against the headboard next to me. "I don't want to pressure you, I just want you to be okay, alright?"
I nodded, placing my head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around me. "Let me see," I requested, and was presented with the paper where the alphabet was scrawled down semi-neatly about thirty times. "You're doing great," I commented, sending him a small smile.
He smiled back, turning his head towards me just enough to brush his lips against mine.
I wasn't going to let him get away that easily, though, instead raised my hand to his cheek, holding his face firmly in place as I pressed my lips back against his, closing my eyes to enjoy the feel of it.
His arm around me pulled me a bit closer and his tongue slowly ran over my bottom lip for access.
I opened my mouth willingly, letting my own tongue rub against his when it was inside, scuttling closer and closer.
Oh God, I couldn't get close enough.
I put my arms eagerly around his neck, grateful that the previously broken one had healed up to a point where the splint had been able to go.
He let his other arm go around me too, gently pulling me closer by the waist while his tongue continues to probe my mouth, sending tingles down my spine.
It still wasn't close enough.
I broke the kiss, breathing heavy, and opened my eyes to look into his dark, amazingly clear brown ones. "I want you," I whispered before burying my face in his neck.
"Me too," he muttered back after a small pause. "But we can't... You can't, you're too weak."
I nuzzled my nose against his skin, taking in the scent of him that was so different from when I'd first met him, but there was still that clear thing to it, the thing that still made it Brendon even if he'd learnt about hygiene since. "I need you."
"I can't," he answered, voice wavering by then. "I don't want to bloody hurt you."
I pressed my lips against his collarbone after having pushed his loose shirt away with my chin, kissing him again and again. "This is hurting me," I whimpered against his smooth skin.
"Ryan..." he started but then trailed off.
Almost there. "If you're just careful, nothing will happen," I muttered, letting my fingers caress the back of his neck through his shirt.
One of his hands moved to cup my face and move me up to look at him. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"You're eating again afterwards," he told me.
I nodded again. Haven't I already stated that to any possible extent I'd eat what he asked me to?
He took in a deep breath before releasing me from his embrace to pull my doublet and shirt off, stopping shortly. He flinched at the tight bandages that were still on to support my cracked ribs and sent me an uncertain look.
I looked back, pleadingly.
He sighed and reached out a hand, slowly tracing the scar on my shoulder again, sending small sparks through my body from his very fingertips. Then, after a few moments, he moved his hands down further, gently caressing me through the breeches for a moment.
I let out a small, breathy moan, electricity shooting through me from that simple touch while I felt my blood start rushing to my loins.
Mentally wanting it had been one thing; now I most definitely wanted it physically as well.
He raised his hand off me just slightly and my hips automatically bucked back up for his touch as best as they could. He smiled slightly, allowing me the contact by stroking for another moment before he moved his hand up to start working with the strings of my breeches before they were finally undone.
I raised my hips a bit once more to let him tug them all the way off, going over the splint and everything. Then I reached up my own hands, starting to unbutton his shirt until he let it slide off on his own accord. I slowly ran my hands down his sides, rubbing my thumb over his own scar while he got rid of his breeches.
He bent down and kissed me briefly before meeting my eyes again. "With that leg you're going to have to go on your stomach," he informed me.
I nodded and let him help me roll over before I crossed my arms, letting my face rest against them.
I felt him make his way in between my legs, leaning over my body without applying any pressure on my battered upper body while he propped himself up on his arms and finally, slowly, started to push inside. He stopped about halfway in, letting me get accustomed to the feeling that I wasn't all that used to anymore.
It hurt, but that didn't matter. I'd been through too much pain over the last while to care about a stinging sensation that I knew would lead to pleasure. "Don't stop," I whispered.
He pushed the rest of the way in accordingly and bent down to kiss the back of my neck as I let out a whimper. "I love you," he whispered in my ear before pulling out and pushing back in just a bit harder.
It was so good, so good. It was all the closeness and closure I'd longed for ever since he'd apparently walked right out of my life.
He was inside me, filling me completely, and even without him having touched that point in me yet it was perfect.
I let out a small string of happy sounds and heard him give a light chuckle above me before he pulled out again, changed the angle just a bit and pushed back in, this time emitting a moan from me as he brushed against that spot, making my mind go blank and my teeth bite down on my own hand.
He kissed my shoulder and started up a pace, slowly and gently as he kept applying pressure to that point, driving me nearly out of my mind with the excruciatingly slow friction and almost too tender touches against my insides.
But it was still driving me towards the edge and my whole body was tickling from his smallest touch. My toes started to curl habitually and I was getting so tired and I didn't want to be tired.
He came down slowly once more, but this time I gathered all the strength I had left and pushed back up against him as hard as I could, sending him ramming into me hard enough to make me see stars and to make first my stomach, then everything else clench as I let go over the sheets beneath me.
He gave one last push, grunted, and then I felt him release into me, a feeling I'd never get enough of. He pulled out, panting, and managed to roll off me still without applying pressure on my injuries. He gathered me into his arms, holding me close for a moment of fatigue while our mingled breathing slowed.
After a while of just lying there he released me, kissed me slowly and got off the bed afterwards with a wide smile on his face.
I smiled back, but frowned when I saw him put his clothes back on and make for the door. "Bren, where are you going?"
"Kitchens," he answered. "Remember your promise."
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