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
Somehow the realization I'd come to about going back made me all the more determined not to.
But to be honest I knew it was only a matter of time, of how long I could keep myself reined in.
In a way it felt stupid to be fighting myself, fighting that urge so hard when I knew beforehand that I'd loose.
It took two days, two days and four different servant boys, much training and avoiding pretty much everybody else of my own rank.
Then I broke down and went out to, logically, the last place I'd seen him. The dunes along the beach.
It was early morning, the sun was still rising, spreading its oranges and pinks and purples and reds across the sky above the land where the trees looked like a bluish black blur in comparison, looked almost like something out of a dream what with the fog that lay like a blanket over the scenary.
It took me a while to find the actual spot where his camp should be, and when I finally got there, he was nowhere to be seen. The cloak was still there, as were the embers in the fire, but there was no sign of Brendon.
I took it as a sign, as Fate telling me that this wasn't where I was supposed to be, that I should simply give up on it. So I turned around, preparing to walk away, only to come face to face with the familiar boy.
He had another fish in his hand, his hair was dripping wet and his eyes squinting against the rising sun. "You back already?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I simply nodded, inwardly cursing Fate out for playing with me.
"What do you want?" he asked again, still just standing there in front of me.
The answer to that question would be obvious, but I still held onto my pride too hard to come right out and say it.
Instead I simply walked the few steps that separated us, put my hands on his face and connected our lips harshly.
Once again there was that salty taste of the sea and it was quickly addicting.
I exploited the fact that shock had parted his lips for me and took control for once, shoving my tongue into his mouth.
His free hand settled on my hip in a hard grip as he broke into the kiss, his tongue battling my own roughly. Then he slammed his pelvis into mine, causing me to gasp back a moan.
We pulled apart for air for a moment before he sucked in my lower lip and bit down sharply, extracting a half-moan half-whimper from me as I tasted blood in my mouth.
He released my lip a moment later, dropped the fish and put both hands on my shoulders.
I had a moment to feel disgusted at the fact that a hand that had just held a slimy fish was on my shirt, then I had to concentrate on staying on my feet as he slowly moved towards me, making me back away at the hungry look in those deep, brown eyes.
I'd known it was only a matter of time before I'd trip and was grateful that my behind wasn't hurting anymore although, well, that was about to change momentarily and we both knew that.
Then I tripped, falling on my back into the sand and he came after me, pushing his way in between my legs to push our now throbbing lengths together again.
I moaned loudly, pushing back up against him urgently.
He sent me an inexplicable smile before ripping off my shirt with ungentle fingers.
I think I lost a button, but at the moment I couldn't have cared less.
For a moment his gaze seemed to linger on my shoulder and he briefly touched the scar he'd made there, but the moment of somewhat tenderness was cut short by myself as I grabbed his face again, pulling him down for another kiss.
He ground down against me again and our moans weaved together, indescernible through the sound of the waves hitting the shore not so far away.
Then I found the hem of his shirt and pulled the rag off him, careful not to tear the already ruined piece of clothing.
His hands were already dealing with the strings of my breeches and the next moment they were down by my ankles and I was flipped over onto my hands and knees again.
Guess that was a good idea anyhow. I wouldn't get nearly as much sand on me this way.
There was the familiar sound of him spitting, the few moans, and then there were hands on my hips, fingers digging into my sensitive flesh.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the expected pain.
And it came as he plunged into me as roughly and powerfully as always and I gasped out at the pain, my fingers starting to dig into the sand while my eyes clenched shut, but it wasn't as bad as earlier. I guess you could get used to anything.
His nails were digging into the skin of my hips as he fought to stay still for a moment before pulling most of the way out and thrusting back in. "Couldn't stay away, could you?" he muttered into my ear as he repeated the move, finally hitting the spot.
I moaned out loudly instead of answering.
"Thought so," he summed up, his voice sounding more strained by now as well as he started up a pace that brought him against that spot again and again.
"Don't think you're irresistible," I growled back, trying to keep my voice steady. "You smell worse than anything, but by God I was bored."
His reaction was to bite down on my back, hard, while still keeping up the pace, only starting to go harder, faster and definitely rougher.
I cried out a bit at the sudden additional pain, but it was quickly forgotten in the mass of moans that escaped my throat at the harder pressure against my spot. And once again, my knees and arms threatened to let me down as I started to shake. I managed to keep my balance though, pushing back against him to further deepen the pressure, to get him in as deep as possible.
His arm snaked around me habitually, grabbing my length and starting to pump in time with his thrusts and the double pleasure was too much.
My toes were curling again, my stomach swirling and I groaned gutterally as my muscles clenched out of my control, squeezing in around him from all sides as my release shot out to decorate his hand and I felt his own fill my insides simultaniously before we finally collapsed together in the sand.
"Get off," I muttered once I'd regained my breath.
"Why should I?" came the response from where his head was lying on my shoulder.
"Just get out," I growled, starting to get angry. I still hated the power he had over me and I didn't need him to underlining it by refusing to pull out.
Actually it was all a fight between us, one that he won every time I came running back and one where I got back the control by leaving the moment it was done with. But that day he had apparently decided not to let me get equal ground back, rather trying to force me to stay.
That wasn't happening, though. With every last bit of strength I still possessed I managed to flip us over and pulled myself off, flinching at the friction that was irritating the fresh cuts inside of me.
I quickly pulled my breeches back up and tied the strings before finding my shirt and putting it on as well, not bothering to look for the missing button although buttons were quite expensive.
I looked over at him briefly to find him pulling on his own shirt, his trousers already in place, an odd expression in his dark eyes, one I couldn't read and honestly wasn't sure I wanted to understand anyway.
"Don't do that again," I ordered in a muttered tone.
"Do what?" he asked dryly.
"Try to control me," I answered. "I won't stand for it."
"But I am," he suddenly stated. "You keep coming back, don't you?"
A red-hot anger took me over at that simple statement, at the fact that he knew my weakness and was willing to say it out loud. I shot out my hand, fully intending to slap him again, but his hand grabbed my wrist in mid-motion and he quickly twisted my arm, forcing my body to turn around in the process so he had me in an effective arm-lock. I could easily feel his lower parts against my behind as he pressed me against him.
"Don't ever bloody try to hit me again," he muttered. "Not if you know what's good for you."
I flinched as he twisted my arm a bit more, the now helpless anger tearing through my insides. "Let go of me," I ordered harshly, malice in my voice.
"What did you say, Your Grace?" he returned spitefully.
I rolled my eyes and breathed in deeply, preparing to lower myself again although I knew it would only anger me further. "Please let me go," I whispered, having to force each syllable over my lips.
He released me and I pulled my arm to me, cradling the aching limb.
"Pathetic piece of filth," I muttered, spitting on the ground before I walked off, forcing my battered body to do my bidding.
That's when I received a blow against the side of my head and stumbled to the ground.
Brendon was above me, angry fire in his eyes. "I loathe you," he muttered.
I was too dizzy to formulate a proper sentence, my head spinning and starting to hurt. "So what are you going to do now?" I finally managed to ask. "Rape me?"
He laughed slightly. "Why would I do that when I know how much it kills you every time you come crawling back to do it out of your own free will?"
I groaned, knowing very well that he was right.
"Are you going to get back up or what?" he asked harshly.
"No," I muttered angrily. "If you wanted to keep me from leaving you've done a good job of it."
He rolled his eyes and walked off to pick up the fallen fish. Then he groaned upon realising just how much sand was stuck on it but kept it in his hand as he started to walk towards the beach, presumably to get the sand off.
I, very slowly, managed to drag myself to my feet, the world spinning and my head aching while my arm and my behind were both calling out for attention. If I truly knew what was best for me I wouldn't keep coming back.
As it was, all I could do was try to get away, and so I stumbled off as best as I could, trying to come up with a proper excuse for my condition.
Somehow I'd managed to sneak into bed and be stopped by nobody although the castle was almost swarming with nobles at the moment as people had started to show up for the upcoming ball.
I couldn't sleep, though, merely lay awake restlessly for the longest while as I tried to forget anger and physical pain. Why on Earth was I doing this to myself? Why not just be free of him?
Because I was caught up, I was addicted and as soon as the wounds stopped hurting I would be on my way back no matter how much I didn't want to. He DID control me and while I didn't like it I also didn't know what to do about it.
"Coming up for training, Ryan?" Matt asked suddenly.
Odd, I hadn't even heard him enter. "No," I muttered. "I don't feel good."
My bed sank a bit as he sat down next to me. Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him. He grimaced at the sight. "Your cheekbone is purple," he informed. "No, I doubt you'd be feeling good."
I swallowed slightly and closed my eyes.
"Look at me, brother," he said softly, running a hand through my hair.
I opened them again, hesistantly, meeting his concerned gaze.
"Who did that?" he asked, his finger lightly tracing the bruise.
I flinched at the pain but shook my head.
"Ryan I've grown up being expected to protect you. Will you please help me do my job?" he muttered exasperatedly.
"Will you please stop being my bodyguard and start being my brother?" I whispered back, suddenly on the verge of crying.
"Any brother would react the same way," he protested.
"Matt, you can't save me," I whispered. "The person I need saving from is me and that's something I have to take care of myself. Please just be here for me."
He sighed but nodded, pulling me up and into his embrace.
I hadn't hugged him, hadn't hugged anybody platonically for nearly a decade I realised. I'd grown up too quickly and right now this was what I needed: safety, not excitement.
But it was only a matter of time before that would change again.
When I managed to get out of bed much later that day, after Eleanor had smeared a generous amount of makeup on my face to conceal the glaring bruise, it was still grinding at me; the fact that I knew I'd be back, the fact that I knew it might wind up being the death of me. It tortured me much more than the wounds managed and the anger was still tearing at me, rendering me helpless and snappy.
I knew I had to do something, but I had no idea what. Neither of us were exactly known for being reasonable, but I didn't exactly fancy the idea of him beating me around.
Whatever I was going to do, I knew I couldn't do it that night. Getting back to the castle at all had been almost impossible; I was in no condition to walk back out there.
The following night was out as well, what with the ball and all. Yeah, the ball. I definitely hadn't been thinking when I decided to invalidate my behind just before my sister's engagement ball.
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