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 know some of you will be disappointed by this chapter. My apologies.
What Happened to the Green Fairies? By Danimpa
Chapter 33
Earldom of Cornwall, England June, 1398
I let out a gasp as he thrust into me again, nailing my spot dead-on, and I quickly reached up my hand, gasping his damp face and pulling it down to me for a long, urgent kiss on our already swollen lips.
His hand went to my cheek, caressing while his lower body kept the rhythm going, repeatedly ramming into it.
I moaned into his mouth, one hand moving to the back of his head where my fingers kneaded in his sweat-damp, tousled hair, causing him to let out a small, breathy gasp.
There wasn't much longer to go, we were hovering right at the edge and the world was beginning to melt away around us when I suddenly heard the sound of the door into my antechamber opening and closing.
I broke the kiss quickly, my breathing hard as I muttered a 'sorry' and gave him enough of a push to give him the idea.
He gave an angry growl but pulled out, rolled himself off the bed and quickly getting down beneath it, hidden by the piece of furniture and the room that was only lit by the half-dead glow of the fireplace and the moon that peaked in between the sloppily closed curtains.
There was a knock to my bedchamber door and the person didn't even bother waiting for a response, simply pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"George?" came the annoying voice and even more annoying accent.
I groaned, looking up.
She was wearing a nightgown, white and thin and practically transparent in the moonlight.
I was not liking what I saw.
She walked closer, was next to the bed by then. "Pardonnez-moi," she replied, moving to grasp my covers. She wanted to get in?
"Leave," I ordered, my voice a growl.
She did not have the right to come prancing in here like that.
Jacqueline raised her delicate eyebrow, sending me a disgusting girl-pout.
"I'm serious." I muttered the order, my voice quiet and harsh. "You don't ever come in here unless I ask you to."
She made no move to leave, bent down instead and pressed a kiss against my lips.
I raised my good arm and pushed her away, earning a sudden slap across my cheek. "Bloody leave!" I yelled, Brendon's curse word making its way into my pattern of speech as it always did when I was extremely angry.
She finally did, turned down and stalked angrily to the door, slamming it behind her.
Brendon got back off the floor, sitting down on the bed a bit away from me.
The mood was definitely dead.
"Who was that?" he asked slowly, warily.
"Jacqueline," I muttered, looking down at my hands while I folded them in my lap.
"Your... betrothed?" He seemed to choke on the last word.
I nodded, still not looking up.
"What is she doing here?" he asked, gulping.
"Father brought her back from France with him," I answered after a bit of hesitation.
"But that... was three days ago," he whispered, a hint of betrayal in his voice now.
I bit my lip, my conscience eating away at me. I simply hadn't been able to tell him. "Yes."
He was silent for a long time. "When's the wedding?" He sounded like he was choking on his words by then.
I hitched in a breath. "In a week." I finally looked up, meeting his gaze.
His eyes were teary, his mouth dropped open. But then he seemed to regain his posture and his expression changed into a glare. "The minute you marry her, I leave," he stated.
I felt my own jaw drop, my heart breaking in two and one half dropping to the bottom of my stomach, weighing me down while the other got stuck in my throat, almost choking me. "You promised to stay," I whispered.
"I thought I could," he grumbled. "But I can't. I won't be your concubine or bloody mistress or whatever. I'm not willing to sit around in your bedchamber and wait for you to return from hers." He paused, biting his lip. "I love you too much to share," he added, his voice suddenly breaking.
I leaned in to embrace him and comfort him when he started sobbing but he forcefully pushed me away, burying his face in his hands while he drew his knees up to his chest.
I was about to start crying myself and I felt completely horrid and useless as I sat there impassively, looking at his shaking form. "You know that I'll die without you," I muttered.
"Don't pull the guilt trip on me," he ordered in between sobs. "You'll be fine. You'll have her"
"I don't want her," I stated, reaching up a hand to wipe a tear off my own cheek.
He didn't answer.
"Think about how many people have died because of us, for us to be together. The guard, Phillip, Frederick, Eleanor and her child, our soldiers," I whispered, guilt pounding through me.
"Do you want me to die inside for it as well?" he asked, yelled it nearly.
I couldn't answer that, even if the words cut through me. I couldn't let him go either, though. "If you leave here," I started. "And the church finds out what you are, you'll die physically too."
"Bloody stop talking!" he ordered harshly. "I'm not some child who needs you to take care of me. I'm a grown man. I can stand up for myself, I can look out for myself. I don't need you and I don't owe you anything. My freedom is all I need."
After those words there was no need to ask me to be quiet. I froze, paralyzed, hurt. Tears rolled down my cheeks unstoppably and I couldn't raise a hand to wipe them away.
I'm not sure how long we sat there, both heartbroken and crying and longing for that other place where it was possible for us to be the only one to each other, but it was broken by another knock to the door and the habitual, "Cover up!"
Matt stepped inside, a candle in his hand. "I thought I told you to cover up," was the first thing he said. Then his eyes widened and he looked back and forth between our tearstained faces, confusion evident on his features. "You're needed, little brother," he told me, apparently having decided to let our business remain our own.
"What for?" I managed to get out, somehow getting off the bed and fetching my breeches. I succeeded in pulling them on on my own, but there was no way I could take care of the strings with one arm in a sling.
Brendon made his way out of the bed as well, starting to tie the knobs for me. "I am still your valet, remember," he muttered before helping me with the shirt, tying the empty right sleeve up and putting a doublet on over it.
Matt handed him my sword belt and he tied that around my waist before going back to the bed. "The enemy decided to try and spring our gates under the cover of darkness," my brother explained. "We need you to lead the Celts. Not only won't they answer to us, but the majority of them also don't understand the language."
I nodded and followed him out of the chamber, grateful for the unexpected distraction.
The walls were a mess of running soldiers with rocks and boiling tar to the accompaniment of screams and yells and cries from the other side.
We had the upper hand; our numbers good after we'd gotten the Scottish reinforcement as well as the advantage of Father bringing back the rest of our soldiers, the archers included.
But the whole scene was chaotic and once in a while waves of arrows would shoot over the walls, catching random people on the courtyard and pinning through them, spreading scattered dead bodies and small pools of blood that I tried to avoid stepping in.
Matt guided me over the yard until I was standing with the Celtic soldiers, translating various orders to their captain while adrenaline rushed through me at the mere thought of the bloodbath around me.
It set into motion, the Celts joining our men on the walls and helping with the defence.
People were yelling orders all around me, confusion setting in as another wave of arrows flew over the walls and a few people stumbled down, hitting the ground of the courtyard fifteen feet below.
I could hear the thumping sound of the hard attacks against the large gate and it was all like a rush of blood that made me dizzy. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced, making my ears ring and my head pound and my heart beat ten times faster.
The chain mail that Matt had insisted I wear was heavy, weighing me down, awkward on my broken shoulder and the heavy helmet was making a claustrophobic feeling rise in my head.
And a few times it rang through my brain that this was all my fault, my fault that all these men were dying, that they were really dying at my hand even if I'd never touched them or meant to harm them.
I'd never experienced anything so frighteningly poetic, so hideously beautiful with the emotions on the sleeve in the way they were, so meaningless because they were all dying for a cause that wasn't theirs.
Everything was vivid in a way nothing had ever been before and it was clearer to me than ever that this wasn't where I belonged, that I had somehow been ripped out of my context, of the purpose for which I was really born, almost as if this was someone else's place, someone else's life.
Matt yelled another order at me, which I translated breathlessly to the Celtic captain.
I watched the large man send the order on, watched as his men scurried about to carry it out.
Another wave of arrows flew through the air and I ducked, one of them narrowly missing me.
Another one followed swiftly, and a sudden familiar voice screamed out off to the side of me, making me turn my head so swiftly that the morning star wounds in the back of my head hurt so much that I nearly passed out.
I watched in disbelief as the arrow tore into my brother's chest, the world spinning into slow motion as he stumbled and fell, arrow still buried in his body.
And I ran, ran faster than I ever remembered doing it before, dropped down by Matt's side and pulled his head up into my lap.
His blood was oozing into my clothes and tears were rolling down my face again at the sight of how pale he'd gone, how laboured his breathing seemed to be.
"Matthew Good, don't you dare die," I ordered.
"I'm sorry... little brother," he whispered, turning his head slightly to spit out blood. "That... I can't... do."
"Don't leave me here alone," I whimpered.
"You have... Brendon," he informed me.
But I didn't, not anymore.
"Tell... Agatha... that I love... her," he finally got out. Then I drew in a raspy, shallow breath and after a few seconds he fell limp.
I was alone. I was losing Brendon, had already lost Matt.
I had no idea what to do.