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
Back home the whole deal with Caroline was apparently being shushed down. I'm not honestly sure what happened, but nobody spoke to me about it when I returned.
She and her brothers avoided me, though, much to my delight.
I hadn't really liked that company anyway and Eleanor could take care of herself, didn't need me to help her keep them company.
The next day I'd seriously considered getting out of training again, not wanting to move too much with a behind that hurt every time I took a step.
But I couldn't cause suspicion, because, well, to put it bluntly it was tolerable to give and unforgivable to take. You know what I'm talking about.
The thing was, though, that since my responsibilities as a host had vanished, I was expected to train again, and Matt woke me up early in the morning to get me out and ready.
I'd observed that he was in chain mail and decided to wear mine as well since that was probably some aspect of today's training that he hadn't told me about.
I'd trained in chain mail before and I never liked it. The weight in itself killed my back, but it also always made my joints seem stiffer, slowed my movements down and made me tire even faster. I didn't have the right build for any sort of armour.
But I trudged out in it, sort of limping the whole way and with the two-hand training sword at my side. Chain mail wasn't for the one-hand one.
"Little brother," Matt greeted once I arrived on the training court.
"Matt," I returned, bending down in the ceremonial bow, which he returned before lashing out at me.
I jumped back, blocked and parried desperately.
Matt definitely had his advantage back. "Fall," he suddenly ordered.
My eyebrows probably flew up to my hairline.
"Fall on your arse and give yourself a good excuse before anybody notices how you're walking," he elaborated, swinging at me again.
He had a point.
Flinching at the imagined pain even before my movement had started, I let one leg go limp, the other tripping over it, stumbling slightly and controlling my fall so I landed straight on my behind.
I gave out a yelp, sharp pains shooting up my spine as the strained muscles prostested again and again. My eyes drew tears but I managed to hold them back.
Matt extended a gloved hand and I gratefully grabbed it, letting him haul me to my struggling feet. "Why have you started doing that?" he muttered.
For a moment I considered pulling the dumb-card, but Matt knew me too well for that, he knew that I was completely aware of what he was asking. "I don't know," I answered honestly.
"Ryan it's beyond stupid. If Father finds out..." He trailed off, biting his lip slightly. "It's one thing when you do what all men do, only to other boys, but when you lower youself to take the woman's role..."
"This doesn't make me any less of a man," I growled. "I honestly thought you'd be the last person to look at me differently for it."
"I don't look at you differently, you're still my little brother, you're still a man." He sighed slightly. "I'm just telling you how everybody else would see it."
"Everybody else don't understand," I muttered, shaking my head. "I'm not sure I understand myself even."
"Ryan," he replied, sighing again. "I'm just warning you. If Father finds out about this new development, all your privileges will go down the drain. He'll probably put the servant boys under his own protection, tell them to come to him when you make advances and allow them to turn you down." He rolled his eyes slightly. "He'd probably even send for your betrothed prematurely, hoping she can rein you in and in that take away your last year of freedom."
I shook agrily at those mere mentions. "He can't control me," I muttered.
"We have got to face that until Father dies and you become the next earl, he does have a certain amount of control over our lives," Matt stated, not allowing me to deny the facts.
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm not going to tell you to stop, I have no right to and you wouldn't do as I said anyway, I'm just advising you to hide it a bit better," he added.
I sighed lightly. "I know," I muttered. "What actually happened while I was gone last night?" I suddenly decided to ask, actually finding myself curious.
He smiled slightly. "I more or less made it clear to Father that I was going to rat you out in order to save your neck and our sister's marriage and he sent out the women to avoid them gossiping. Then I told them exactly why it was unlikely that you'd have made any move towards Lady Catherine and, well, they took it much better than expected actually, something about 'boys will be boys' or whatever. The whole matter will be hushed out and while the Lady still wants nothing to do with you, you're basically off the hook."
I nodded, sending him a small smile. That was much better than I could've actually expected. "Thanks, brother," I muttered.
He grinned and reached out a hand to ruffle my hair with his chain mail glove, which I must admit was slightly painful, but at the moment I honestly didn't mind.
I was breathing heavily at the weight of the sword and the chain mail. My gloves, even more so than the usual leather ones, bit into the flesh of my hands and I was sure there were blisters forming, but I kept going as well as I could, blocking, lashing, parrying, minding my footwork and doing my best to ignore the stabbing pain from my behind.
Matt blocked one of my lashes quickly before sending one of his own back towards my chest.
I'd have to fall again, I realised. I dreaded it, but let my legs go limp again, turning a bit in the air so I landed on my side, quickly rolled around and shot up again, trying to ignore the sweat and hair attacking my eyes. Then I stroke again, my blade zooming out towars my brother's side.
He quickly turned halfway so he was facing the blow and simply grabbed the blade of my sword in his padded glove, sending me a small smile as he wrenched it away from me. "More force, Ryan. When I can do this your strikes aren't powerful enough."
"How many times do we need to have the conversation that ends up with us agreeing that you're simply stronger than me?" I asked wearily, longing to push hair and sweat out of my eyes but being incapable of doing so due to the impractical gloves.
"Many more," he answered before raising an eyebrow quickly. "Water?"
"Definitely," I answered, walking over to the edge of the court where one of the usual servants was standing with a bucket of water and ladles.
I held out a hand and the boy peeled off my glove for me before handing me the water.
I drank deeply, relishing in the fresh taste of the sweet liquid.
Then I gave it over to Matt who sent me a small smile before taking a drink himself. "But you didn't do too bad, you know," he quickly added. "Especially considering your little... problem."
I scowled slightly. "Think we could NOT make fun of me for that anymore?" I growled.
He reached out to ruffle my hair again. "We could try."
I rolled my eyes, took the ladle away from him and held it out to the boy for a refill. Then I poured most of the water over my head, shook the hair out of my eyes and drank the last bit. "You want more?"
He shook his head. "I'd like another round, though," he told me.
I rolled my eyes again. "Let's get to it, then," I muttered, walking across the court to pick my sword back up.
We only managed to exchange a few lashes before we were interupted.
"George, can I have a try?" someone yelled.
I turned around to see Frederick standing there, chain mail on as well and red hair flowing in the breeze. "If you want to fight Matt, you ask him directly," I stated.
"Actually, I wanted yo fight you," he informed.
I looked him up and down for a moment. He had four or five inches on me in height and uncountable in breadth, broad shoulders, muscular arms.
Yeah, that would be a sight. Like I could hold my own against someone like that.
I shrugged, then looked at Matt. "That alright?" I asked.
He nodded, patted my shoulder slightly, handed Frederick his practice sword and moved off the court.
My opponent quickly grasped the sword properly before bowing.
I copied his move habitually and quickly changed into fighting stance, sword held up in front of me.
Then he lashed and I parried, my feet working mechanically in spite of the pain every small movement sent up my body as we started up the ancient dance.
Another lash, which I blocked.
I could sense that he wasn't putting all of his strength behind his moves, that he was feeling me out as well as being kind because of my inferior size. I quickly stroke out against his midriff and he blocked it faultlessly. I could already feel that even while holding back he was an excellent swordsman and I prepared myself to loose.
It didn't take long, a few more minutes and his sword was against my throat.
I smiled, panting heavily, dropped the sword and held up my hands in defeat.
He removed his own blade, smiled back and patted my head.
Why did people always want to pat me?
Once again I made the servant rid me of my gloves and got something to drink before holding my hands up again. "I don't care what you two do, but I've had enough for one day," I informed.
Both men laughed slightly.
"Yeah, your foot-work seemed slightly strained," Frederick replied.
Matt sent me a look that clearly said something along the lines of, 'I told you so.' "He tripped earlier," he then said. "Fell right on his arse, it looked painful."
Once again they both laughed and somehow I felt like a child between them although Frederick was only a year older than I. It could be their superior sizes.
I went back to the servant boy and raised my arms. "Help me out of this dreadful thing," I muttered, ignoring the small look of sudden fear on his face as he started unlatching the different buckles and clasps on the chain mail before finally lifting it over my head.
I wrinkled my nose at the smell of rust that hung to the padded cream-coloured shirt I always wore beneath the mail and felt a quick urge to go change.
But once again I was interupted from what I wanted to be doing.
"George?" Frederick called.
I turned around.
"I hear you have a splendid archery pitch," he called after me. "Care to show me?"
I fought the urge to roll my eyes but nodded, turning around and walking back. The washing and changing would have to wait if this guest wanted my company even after finding out why I wouldn't have gone after his sister.
"Boy! Equipment!" I yelled quickly before starting towards the pitch.
"I'm going back inside, milords!" Matt yelled, as always making me flinch at his use of titles.
Frederick followed me and jumped the fence while I wincingly dragged myself over it.
"I feel sorry for you, George," he suddenly stated.
I looked up into his green eyes, feeling very confused.
He smiled slightly. "You and I, we're the same, but you just had to be the first-born legitimate son. So I feel sorry for you."
I think my eyebrows went on a flight again. I was most definitely still very confused.
He sighed. "The boys," he elaborated. "Nobody cares what I do with them because I'm the youngest son. I have no betrothed and only a small inheritance, it's frankly best if I don't have children, so I'm left alone while everybody is just happy that I won't have any illegitimate children at the very least." He paused a bit. "You, you're expected to marry and give up on all of that, you're not only expected to produce an heir, it's honestly close to your only real purpose in life. Yeah, I wouldn't fancy being in those boots of yours."
I rolled my eyes a bit, finally understanding. "I can manage. It's not as if marriage is going to change me," I muttered, trying to keep the doubt out of my voice.
If there was one thing I dreaded, it was that marriage, it was having to do things with my soon-to-be wife that would disgust me to even think of doing with any female.
He shrugged. "It might be easier for you if it did," he informed me, patting my shoulder again. "But I hope you're at least having fun while you can."
I gave a small laugh. "I'm trying," I replied.
He grinned. "Well, let's make a deal."
"What?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.
"We trade boys," he answered. "I get one of your servants tonight, you get one of mine. Then we'll do the same thing again in the spring when you come to our estate for the wedding."
I had a bad feeling about it for a moment, but I shrugged it off. Trying something new could be fun. And perhaps he actually had a servant that wouldn't bore me. "Fine," I answered.
He nodded. "Blonde or brunette?" he asked, still a playful smile on his lips.
"Brunette," I answered immediately before suddenly starting to wonder why I'd done that. I'd always liked blondes. But well, tonight was for trying something new, right? "And you can just take your pick between the servants here and say to whichever one you choose that you have my permission."
Fooling around with other people's servants was against the law same as stealing, or women being unfaithful. Besides, it was just something you didn't do if you had any sorts of manners, incredibly impolite.
He nodded again. "Let's get that archery done, then," he replied as the boy came running with the equipment. "I hear you're a fair archer, George."
"Then I shall do my best not to disappoint," I returned, starting to strap on my hand-piece.
I gave a few last thrusts, the tightness stealing away my last grasp on sanity as I rode out my orgasm, the boy beneath me actually reaching his height too, which, I must admit, was a pleasant change.
A few moment later I pulled out and rolled off, watching him for a moment.
He was a few inches taller than me, but nearly as lithe and with a head full of blackish brown curls, a sweet, tan face and wide, blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. And he was clean!
He made no move to leave completely either, but simply got off the bed with only a slight wobble, indicating that he was used to this, fetched a washing cloth and a water bowl to quickly wash his liquids off of me. Then he got rid of both items and crawled back in bed without a word before snuggling up against me, sharing warmth as he closed his eyes to go to sleep.
Well-trained, this one. Beautiful, willing and still with the mind of a servant.
But why didn't I feel satisfied?
It was still that spark, I decided. The boy had been too passive, hadn't wanted it enough, had lacked feistiness and passion.
And I knew only one place to come for those.
And even as I fought myself, even as I woke up the boy for another round, even as I orgasmed again, I knew I'd keep coming back.
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