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 7

Earldom of Cornwall, England
August, 1397

I looked down a the drink in my hand, the other one courteously behind my back as I stood in the edge of the great hall, watching the load of people in formal clothes.

I felt oddly comfortable in my own dress clothes, actually. I always had, don't know why. Even the makeup I still wore to hide the bruise didn't bother me. But all of this actually gave me the feeling of being on pretty much, but at the same time of hiding behind a facade where people saw what they wanted to see instead of the messed-up boy I was inside. It was pretty nice, really.

I was done with most of the dances manners, protocol and Mother's sharp looks from across the room forced me to take even though my arm wasn't liking it and my behind still felt sore.

Honestly I felt like bailing. The 'innocent' flirting between the young men and women or the dances as an excuse to touch someone from the opposite gender didn't appeal to me too much.

At the moment I was staying for Eleanor, because it was her ball and because she wanted me to be there.

I reached up a hand to push my chaperon back into place, the roll-like hat having slipped down a bit. The large, finely embroidered sleeve of the heavy red houppelande fell momentarily into my face, irritating slighty. I withdrew my arm, looking around me again to try and remember if there was anything more I was seriously expected to do.

I caught sight of a young girl, looking no older than twelve and wondered for a moment why she was here, then realisted that she was the daughter of the Duke of Lancaster. Definitely a duty overlooked.

I walked quickly across the floor before bending down in front of her. "Milady?" I inquired with a small smile as I held out an arm.

She grinned gratefully, elegantly placed a hand on my arm and let me lead her out onto the floor where we joined one of the many chain dances.


The next day I went out again, intent on setting things straight but also grateful that I wasn't nearly as angry anymore.

I'd left while it was still dark this time, wanting to be out of the castle before the abundance of nobles started swarming the place and trying to catch me for a bit of gossiping.

This time finding the spot was easier and when I arrived he was still asleep, rolled into my cloak for warmth and as close to the fire as he could be without it getting dangerous.

Momentarily I found myself angry again, suddenly tempted to just kill him in his sleep and free myself from the addiction. But I managed to calm myself down enough not to do anything too stupid.

Instead I sat down across from him, on the other side of the dying fire, and waited for him to wake up.

It didn't take long.

It was like he felt my precense or something and woke up accordingly, brown eyes fluttering open as he looked at me over the embers. "Back so soon?" he muttered as he reached up his hands to rub sleep out of his eyes.

I rolled my own eyes. "I'm not here to fight, I'm not here for us to do anything. I want to talk," I stated, looking at him steadily. I knew that the bruise on my face was clearly visible, but thus far he'd seemed indifferent to it.

He didn't say anything to answer me, which I took as a sign to keep talking.

"I won't stand for you hitting me again," I stated. "I'll give you another chance, but if you do it one more time I won't come back and I don't care if that means chaining myself to my brother for the rest of my life, you won't see me again. And I don't think you want that." I paused, looking him straight in the emotionless, cold eyes. "I think you want me as much as I want you," I concluded, still not getting any reaction from him. "But if anything we try to do is going to work and neither of us is to die in the process I'll admit I need to stop treating you like dirt for me to walk all over."

There was a bit of reaction on his face now, a slight surprise running over it.

"And you need to stop taking your hatred for my entire class out on me," I finished.

Now his face reflected defiance and I sighed.

I should've known that he couldn't do that, that he needed to take his anger and frustration out on me, which I couldn't handle. Which in turn meant that it had to end here. I couldn't ruin myself over this boy.

Finally he sighed too. "If you can uphold your part, I can manage mine," he muttered. "We put ranks behind us long ago in any case, didn't we?"

"We did and we didn't," I answered. "We need to start doing it completely."

He nodded.

I sighed in relief, closed my eyes and leaned back a to lie in the sand, resting the back of my head on crossed arms, still quite tired, honestly. I'd only gotten a very few hours of sleep before getting up and deciding to go out and take care of this.

I heard him move, coming closer to me, but I stayed still, my eyes remaining closed. I had to remain relaxed and let him know that despite everything I wasn't afraid of him.

Then I could feel his fingers, calloused from fighting and working, lightly tracing the bruise he'd inflicted.

I tried to stop myself from flinching but it wasn't working, that spot was still sore beyond anything.

"Sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"Hey, I was trying to hit you too," I protested. "You're just the one who succeeded."

He chuckled lightly, running his other hand down along my side.

I finally opened my eyes to look up at where he was crouched over me and I was puzzled by the expression of almost wonder, I think, in his eyes.

He shook his head slightly, a smile still tugging at his full lips. "You're so small," he stated. "I don't understnad how anybody can be well-fed and well-trained and still remain as bloody lithe as you."

Alright, so the reason for the wonder was the fact that I was small-framed. I'd have thought he'd seen naturally skinny people before.

He must've noticed the odd look on my face, because he suddenly looked embarrassed. "It's just that your brother looked so powerful," he added as an explanation.

I smiled lightly. "Matt, who wants to kill you by the way, looks like our father. Father says he can trace our roots back to Viking settlers and that that's where the bulk comes from." I raised my eyebrows teasingly. "My looks are all Mother's, and she's from up north of Wales. A Celt," I explained.

He nodded in understanding and bit his lip lightly before bending down even further to press his lips onto mine lightly, merely a chaste flutter of his chapped skin against my moist before he withdrew.

"The fact that you agreed not to hate me doesn't mean I'll break at your touch," I stated dryly.

He actually flushed, which surprised me greatly, but he didn't say anything for a moment. "You said you weren't here for us to do anything," he finally replied.

"Yes but I've already said what I wanted to," I told him with another smile. "I don't mind now." And with that said I placed my hands on his face and pulled him down into another kiss, this time a proper one, though. I plunged my tongue in betwen his parted lips and let it caress the roof of his mouth before he finally decided to participate, fighting to regain dominance of the kiss.

Suddenly he lost his balance, falling down on me, his chest flush against mine while his legs sprawled to the side of me. He bit down on my tongue unintentionally as the wind was knocked out of both of us and I quickly withdrew from the kiss, wincing.

The stale taste of blood quickly gathered in my mouth and I turned my head to the side to spit out the light red mixture of blood and saliva.

"Sorry," he muttered again.

"Stop saying sorry," I ordered. "You've never been sorry for a thing in your life."

He simply smiled inexplicably before moving up from me a bit to release my new cloak and then take hold of the hem of my brown doublet, quickly tearing it off so I was left in my thin, cream-coloured shirt, slightly shivering at the cool of the early morning.

My tongue was still throbbing.

After undoing the first few buttons of my shirt he suddenly led his hand under it, fingers lightly gracing the scar on my shoulder again.

This time I didn't end the moment, though, but let my own hand wander up beneath his own raggedy shirt and up his side to find and trace the uneven skin of his matching one. I stroked it lightly, once again trying to find out what it was that connected us, if it were those scars, getting them together, if it were saving each other's life, if it were the hatred we had previously held for one another.

I couldn't find out, couldn't guess it, so I simlpy let the mystery go, craning my neck just slightly to push my lips back against his for a mere moment.

This apparently snapped him out of whatever reverie he'd gone into and his fingers left my skin to go back to working my buttons until I could simply raise myself up a bit and let him peel the fabric the rest of the way off.

He discarded his own shirt as well before moving on to my breeches, his fingers now habitually and with ease managing my small knobs to pull them and my boots off.

I looked up at him to realise that he was still in his trousers and making no move to take them off.

He locked eyes with me for a moment, a deep lust burning there as he slowly bent down and I for a second thought he was about to devour me. Instead he simply latched his mouth onto my collar bone, sucking momentarily before moving onward, scraping his teeth across the flesh of my torso to the accompaniment of my gutteral moaning. He bit lightly down on my nipple before moving further, leaving behind a complicated pattern of trailing white marks that were rapidly turning red.

Then he finally reached his target and closed his mouth over my member, still using his teeth to lightly scrape down before opening up again and taking me further in.

I could feel that the tip hit the back of his throat, but he simply made a swallowing motion and just like that I was all the way in.

Perhaps I'd been right about the 'devouring' part I reasoned as he started to withdraw again, still those teeth scraping over the sensitive underside. Then I didn't think anymore and I moaned even louder, my hips bucking up instictively to keep that warm, wet cavern around me.

He released me, though, smiling at the slight whine that escaped my lips at the loss of contact. Then he quickly discarded his own trousers, tossing them off to the side, grabbed my knees and pushed my legs apart before quickly doing his habitual spit-move. Finally he plunged in, all previous gentleness forgotten as the pain, which I was slowly getting used to, tore through me and my mouth opened soundlessly while my head fell back into the sand.

It only took him a few thrusts, though, to crash hard into that well-hidden point in me that brought so much pleasure with it and I managed to lift my legs on my own accord and wrap them around his waist, alternately loosening and tightening my grip to help him with the pace.

The repeated thrusting, the deep friction, the pleasure he'd already put me through beforehand all sent me to the edge quicker than ever before.

I gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other one fisting in his hair as my eyes rolled back and my mouth fell open in a drawn-out moan. My nails dug into his skin and my toes curled and I let go of my load.

He ceased moving, still inside of me, and opened his eyes to look at me, panting hard. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and I simply nodded, answering the unspoken question.

I might have reached my release, but where I usually didn't care about the other participant he was different. It would only be half an experience for me if he didn't get there as well.

He still managed to keep from moving for another moment, reaching down a hand to grab my length and stroke clumsily, roughly while the other hand first fiddled slightly with my balls, then moved down and in between his sides and my thighs to lightly caress the soft skin there until I was hardened and moaning again and back in the game.

Then he readjusted a bit again and started the pace back up, both hands back on the sandy ground to support his weight while he plunged into the spot head-on at the first try, the immediate pressure and friction already making my length twitch again.

But this prolonged thing, definitely going to hurt afterwards.

I was moaning loudly and working with him the best that I could, but I tire quickly and exhaustion was already slowing down my movements, not at all helped by the fact that I hadn't slept enough and while I wanted the sensations to last forever I knew they couldn't and I was already getting there again, my toes back to cramping, my stomach swirling and my muscles clenching as I screamed out and let go once again.

This time he just kept thrusting. Only for a few seconds, though, then I felt him let go inside me before he finally collapsed on my chest, the sweat making our skin stick to the other's body and sand attach itself to my back.

His face nuzzled tiredly into the crook of my neck and I turned my head slightly to look out over the sea.

The sky was still mostly dark, almost navy, and a few scattered stars twinkled down against the calm waters that glinted slightly every time one of the first rays of the approaching sun hit them.

I wasn't going to ask him to pull out this time. He could take whatever sweet time he needed because I had to stop separating myself into two different people; the one who kept running back to him and the one that was disgusted with him and wanted his touch far away the moment we were done. No more disgust. I liked his touch and I was not going to hate either one of us for that. Even his smell I could live with, and if he needed the reassurance of being allowed to stay inside of me, then that was the least I could do in return for always finding him willing, right?

He lightly kissed my bruised cheekbone before using his hands to gently direct my face back to look at him. "Are you going to leave now?" he asked uncertainly, biting his lip as his deep, dark eyes stared into mine, once again that thing to them, that emotion in them that I didn't understand.

Was I? Actually, no. I was going to sleep. "No," I yawned. "Too tired."

He chuckled slightly and I could see an odd bit of relief in his eyes.

It was understandable enough, I supposed. As far as I knew I was the only human contact he'd had since Matt captured his father and their group of outlaws. He must've been extremely lonely.

And there was no longer any question about getting attached. It now went on HOW attached we were going to get.

He stretched out a bit, grasping for something before finally producing the cloak he'd taken off me a while earlier and as he flipped us over he managed to get us wrapped up in it, sheltering us from the cool of the morning now that our activities weren't keeping us warm anymore.

With him still in me I cuddled up against his chest, my arms hugging him while his went around my waist to pull me, if possible, closer.


How Matt found us I'm not sure, because he couldn't have been following me. If he had, he would've showed up before anything physical had happened between us.

Perhaps he followed my footsteps in the sand?

Whatever it was, I was grateful that he'd at least made the men stay back a few hundred yards.

I wasn't exactly interested in them seeing me in a position like that.

We were still asleep when he DID show up and I was awakened by him clearing his throat rather loudly.

My eyes shot open and I looked first up at Matt, then down on Brendon who was slowly waking up beneath me.

I could feel that his member still was in my body and I had a feeling that Matt knew exactly what an intimate situation he'd actually caught me in even if we were both mostly covered by the cloak.

The sun was most of the way up.

We'd been sleeping for hours, I realised.

I looked up at Matt again. "One moment, please," I muttered.

He nodded, sighing exaggeratedly, but turned around and left.

I quickly pulled myself off, wincing at the slight pain of that movement before I located my breeches and pulled them on, tying the knobs as quickly as I could.

Brendon quickly reached out a hand, wiping my fluids off my stomach and chest for me and I sent him a hurried smile.

Then I got on my shirt, ignoring the glaring little scratches and red marks down my upper body as I did the buttons and pulled the doubtlet on to cover it before finishing off with the cloak, which smelt of sweat and intimacy and Brendon.

I looked over to see him already fully dressed as well before suddenly remembering my boots and pulling those back on as well. "I'm sorry for any trouble this is going to get you in," I muttered, reaching out to grab his hand and giving it an urgent squeeze.

He half-smiled, a brave mask in place on his face. "It'll be alright," he assured me before leaning in and placing a slow kiss on my lips.

I kissed back, only to be interrupted almost immediately by another clearing of Matt's throat. I broke away, letting go of Brendon's hand as well as my brother's stern look made me slowly stumble to his side.

"I knew we never should've let this one go," the tall man muttered, rage in his eyes as he looked at the raggedy boy in front of us.

I bit my lip, not knowing at all what I was supposed to do. "Matt..." I muttered, having no actual clue what to say, but at least I'd drawn his attention to me. "Brother..." I added, my voice begging and my eyes most likely matching.

"This man has assaulted you at least twice, milord," Matt started, using his official voice, which, as always, made me flinch. "For all I know he's raped you."

I scowled. "Everything that's happened between us has happened out of my own free will," I growled.

Matt's eyes narrowed. "The bruise on your face? The fact that you come home and can barely walk for days, little brother? The way you almost bled to death because he stabbed you?"

"We've already discussed hitting me," I muttered. "He won't do it again. Walking is my own problem, and I have a feeling you never got to see his side after I stabbed him."

"Ryan..." Matt started, then shook his head. "You won't listen to me anyway," he finally stated. Then he turned to Brendon. "I'm the one who has to pick him up every time you're through with him," he informed him. "You're bad for him, you and I both know it." He sighed. "Since Lord George outranks me I need you to turn yourself in, outlaw, otherwise I can't hold you back, but I swear that if you don't, I will kill you this instant." And his hand went to the hilt of his sword. He was serious.

"Matt, he was never even outlawed," I protested.

"Step back, milord," he ordered. "Let me do my job for once."

"Matt," I said again, pleadingly.

Matt simply stared hard at Brendon.

I turned to look at the boy again, regret, I'm sure, was etched into my features.

He was biting his lip, then running a hand through his already tousled hair. Finally he sighed and held out his hands, gathered at the wrists and ready to be tied up.


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