What Happened to the Green Fairies

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.

If you liked the ending, don't read this. If you didn't, please read this. I hope you won't be disappointed.

Thank you all. :)

What Happened to the Green Fairies? By Danimpa

Epilogue - And the Twain Shall Meet

/ But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth! \

• Rudyard Kipling

Cornwall, England March, 2010

/Brendon's POV/

Lately I've been questioning my sanity to an extent where even if I weren't crazy, I'd have driven myself mad over it.

How much can a person change over three hours?

A lot. A whole fucking lot, let me tell you.

Three hours/a fucking lifetime was what it took to go from a straight guy immensely in love with his girlfriend to a gay one who could barely pay attention to his girlfriend because his best friend was that much more breathtaking.

Suddenly Ryan had gone from being pretty awesome to being the most unbelievably amazing creature to ever set foot on this Earth.

All because of some stupid, fucked-up drunken dream or hallucination or whatever the hell it was.

Yeah, I think you'd be questioning your own sanity as well.

Ryan broke up with Jacqueline just a couple of days after the absinth incident, I never knew why, actually. He'd never been more vague about anything than he was about the end of that relationship.

I, myself, broke up with Audrey slowly thereafter as well. I really just couldn't find it in myself to stay with her after my feelings for her had just... disappeared like that.

But really, the craziest dream ever and how much it had changed me wasn't really what made me think myself insane. It was the fact that a part of me, a rather large part of me, actually, seemed to think that perhaps, somehow, it had been more than just a dream. Which was impossible, right?

But still... Ryan's sudden obsession with the roses that I knew so well from the Cornish crest, the way his talking sometimes got oddly formal, a hint of British creeping into his words the same way 'bloody' crept into my sentences.

Sometimes I asked myself if this was the real dream, if we had been caught in the fantasy world we'd created when times got rough, if medieval England wasn't more tangible and realistic than what we were living now.

I managed to fight it, push it away until that day when we were at a hotel, Ryan and myself rooming, and he came out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his slender waist. My eyes were caught by an obvious scar just beneath the point where collarbone and shoulder met, which had never been there before, the scar that I knew so well, that I'd induced myself centuries earlier.

When I searched my own torso later that night it was a mystery to me how I hadn't seen it before; my matching one on my side, the scars that had somewhat connected us, but which we couldn't possibly have here, now.

That's when I was sure I was crazy and on the verge of admitting myself to a lunatic asylum.

They say absinth makes you go crazy, right? I'd like to believe that, but somehow I was starting to think that the absinth had had next to no role to play in this whole thing.

Perhaps that thought was what was driving me crazy.

Then there was the time when Pete had briefly introduced us to Matt, who Ryan had latched himself to, hugging him so hard that I thought he might manage to strangulate the much larger man. And the fact that Matt, who'd never met Ryan before, held onto him just as tightly.

Like two long-lost brothers.

As you can see, so many things were making me insane that I didn't understand how I had still managed to function properly and maintain a somewhat normal life for five months.

We were in the UK now. We'd been in London before, and it wasn't nearly as exciting as it could've been.

Ryan, surprisingly, was the one who'd suggested Cornwall.

Everybody else, surprisingly, had agreed. After all, it was only a few hours' drive and the nature was supposed to be beautiful out there.

'Supposed to'. Oh, well, it was beautiful. I knew that much beforehand. At least it had been beautiful in the fourteenth century.

We found ourselves in a museum despite the fact that none of us really take that much interest in history, but so many things that day were surprising and strange that I didn't even manage to find it weird.

The guide was droning on and on about something, but I could honestly care less, because the place was what held me captivated.

The castle I knew and had lived in had been reduced to ruins at one point and had been rebuilt and even though it was located at the exact same spot, it was disturbingly different. Enough to steal my attention away from whatever it was we were supposed to be looking at.

That is, until we reached one exhibit in particular.

I recognized that dagger; it had been mine. I recognized that sword; it had been Ryan's. His own personal shield was there as well. And a full-size portrait.

It was frighteningly, unmistakably Ryan. Cream shirt, red doublet, black breeches and brown leather boots, his brown hair hanging nearly to his shoulders in the soft waves the twenty-first century Ryan did everything to disguise. Soft, honey eyes that were depicted perfectly in the paint stared down at us, small mouth looking perpetually unhappy.

The breath hitched in my throat and everybody else seemed to look up at it.

"I now believe in doppelgangers," Jon exclaimed with wide eyes.

Ryan seemed so shocked; mouth dropped open and eyes the size of saucers.

"Yes, now that you mention it," the guide replied, looking intently at the guitarist. "The resemblance is uncanny. Are you sure your roots can't be traced to Cornwall, sir?"

"I... wouldn't know," Ryan muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "Who... who was he?"

"George the Younger Ryan of Cornwall and Ross," came the answer. "Only legitimate son of the last earl of Cornwall."

Spencer snorted, pointing at Ryan. "Meet George Ryan Ross," he introduced.

The guide raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Some coincidence," he stated. "Well, lads, you seem to have pinpointed one of the most discussed and mythological personas our small duchy has to offer."

"Earldom," Ryan corrected, almost automatically, starting to convince me again that we really had been there and that he also remembered.

"No, no," the guide said with a small smile. "It was made a duchy by the king in 1399 after George the Elder of Cornwall died, leaving no heir."

"But wasn't that his heir?" Jon asked, pointing at the portrait.

"Yes, but he disappeared without a trace." The guide smiled slowly. "Local legends have it that he ran away with his lover to avoid marrying his betrothed."

Who'd have known legends could stay so correct after more than six centuries?

"Why didn't he just marry the girl he loved?" asked Spencer.

Clueless.

The guide chuckled. "Nobles couldn't marry commoners. And most of the stories tell that his lover was indeed another man."

"Do you mean he was gay?" Jon asked in disbelief. "I didn't know they were back then as well."

I felt an almost immediate sense of anger surge through me. I was fucking gay. For Ryan anyway. And now I had to worry about whether my friends would be able to accept that.

"There have always been homosexuals," the guide informed. "In fact, look at this," he pointed at the glass box that contained my the dagger. "Any of you lads know Latin?"

"I... I think I do," Ryan whispered.

Spencer sent him a strange look. Understandably enough. Spencer had known Ryan for most of his life and had probably never known him to understand a word Latin.

"Read it then," the guide ordered.

"The words are tiny," Ryan stated.

The guide smiled softly, almost fondly, at the dagger. "George the Younger wasn't born to be a warrior or an earl. He should've been a scholar or an artist, his strength was his hands, the details, as you pointed out. He wrote poetry as well, but this is actually a quote. Try to read it anyway."

I noticed that Ryan wasn't actually looking at the dagger when he started to speak, that his eyes were actually close to shut.

He wasn't reading. He was recalling the words from his memory.

"Dein, cum milia multa fecerimus, conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus, aut ne quis malus inuidere possit, cum tantum sciat esse basiorum."

The guide nodded. "Excellent pronunciation. Can you translate it as well?"

I looked up, meeting Ryan's honey gaze as my lips started moving in sync with his, apparently out of my control.

"Then, when we have made many thousands, we will shake them all up, so that we don't know, and so that no evildoer can put a hex on us when he finds out how many kisses we have shared."

"You guys are being creepy," Spencer stated, glancing warily at us.

I broke our interlocked gazes, broke the moment and was able to chuckle. "What? It's a fairly well known poem. And it's bloody beautiful."

"Fairly? Bloody?" Jon questioned. "Brend, I think we need to get you back to the States. Fast."

"Anyway," the guide interrupted. "Correct translation too by the way, lads. Well, this was written by the bisexual Roman poet Catullus years before the birth of Christ. There has never been a time when all people where heterosexual."

"But still..." Spencer muttered. "Wasn't it pretty damn irresponsible of him to run away with his boytoy when he was the only heir?"

"Sometimes you owe your allegiance to the heart rather than the blood that runs through it," Ryan muttered, nearly mirroring the words he'd said so long ago.

Welcome to the twilight zone.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need some air," he added before leaving with quick steps.

I looked after him, suddenly worried.

"Did I say something wrong?" Spencer questioned.

I huffed and turned around, following Ryan out without an explanation.

Once outside the building I spotted him on the top of a hill, overlooking the ocean as the wind grabbed hold of his short, stylishly tousled hair and for a split second it seemed shoulder-length and curly, for a split second his jeans were breeches and his hoodie shirt and doublet, but the next he was back to normal.

I was so going mad.

But I needed to know, needed to find out for sure if he'd been there too.

I walked up behind him until we were only a few feet apart and looked out over the sea with him. "Hey noble boy," I muttered.

He turned to face me, annoyance on his features. "How many times must I tell you not to call me that?" he asked, his voice reflecting the Ryan he'd been in another century before shock suddenly crossed over his soft face and his beautiful eyes grew wide. "We... You... Me... What?"

I smiled slightly at his confusion and opened my arms in relief.

His initial response had been all the answer I needed.

He walked into my embrace, hands clutching at my shoulders. "Bren... How?"

"No fucking clue," I muttered, holding him as close to me as he could come. "What does it matter?"

"Everything," he mumbled into my shirt before suddenly looking at me again. "But nothing... I mean, we're each other's constants. We were both there. We're both here. Nothing else carries as much weight."

I smiled slightly. Trust Ryan to go all philosophical on me. Then, looking at him again and observing his perfect, sweet features, amazing eyes and small, pink mouth, I suddenly got the urge. And I decided not to fight it. I had waited for five months for this. I leaned in, closing my eyes slowly before I pressed my lips to his, wary for a moment before I felt him responding, his hands reaching up to grab my face while his tongue ran across my bottom lip. I opened my mouth, letting him in and reveling in the intoxicating feel of his velvety tongue exploring every crevice of my mouth.

There was a sense of homecoming in the air as my hands settled on his tiny waist, pulling his body closer to mine so we were flush against each other when shortage of air forced our lips apart.

I rested my forehead against his, just looking at him, at the boy I'd once claimed and on whom I just still might have my claim. I bit my lip slightly, worried for a moment before I decided to take my chances. "Ry, I love you," I whispered.

His face lit up, smile going over his lips. "I love you too. You know that."

It was strange, going in and out between roles where one set of us had never been anything but best friends and the other had been lovers for almost a year.

I returned his smile, though, letting my lips go up and the happiness reach my eyes.

I had no idea how any of this could've happened and it would probably remain a mystery to me forever, but now, for the first time, I was happy that the time/space continuum apparently was fucked.

"I hate the fact that my dagger is on display in a museum," I admitted.

He laughed softly before pressing his lips against mine again, harder this time and slightly more demanding.

I took this as my obvious cue to go a bit further, my hands sliding up under his hoodie and shirt to lightly caress the taut, smooth and soft skin over his sharp hipbones, breaking the kiss after a moment to move my ministrations down to his neck, licking over his pulse point and kissing the small, defined curves of it.

"Bren," he muttered, voice breathless. "The others could come out anytime. We need to go somewhere more secluded."

I nodded, withdrawing hands and lips reluctantly.

He grabbed my hand in his, lacing out fingers while a thoughtful expression went over his facial features for a moment. Then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Come with me," he replied, starting to walk.

I think we walked for about a mile but after a while I was nearly recognizing where we were. Not by trees and shit, those had changed too much over the centuries, but corny as it sounds, by the feel of the place.

Not to mention the rock formations that were springing into my vision after a while.

We wound up on the top of the rocky portion of the coast, just a small, easy climb away from the cave. Our cave.

We crawled down without trouble and I looked around in the half-dark 'room'.

It was much like I remembered. The walls still held the same curves, lumps and sharp crevices. When I squinted hard enough I even managed to convince myself that there was a black, sooty spot on the floor where we'd had the fire.

Although that was impossible.

But somehow I needed to believe it, needed to keep my grasp of what we'd been and how the world had been back then.

Ryan shook me out of my contemplations by leaning in to kiss me again. Hard and demanding once more, but even more so than it had been earlier. "I've waited five fucking months," he whispered. "Or six hundred eight years. Whichever you prefer."

I chuckled a bit but stopped again upon noticing the serious look on his face. "Too bloody long is what I prefer," I answered.

He smiled slightly, shaking his head. "You know, it always made me wonder when you'd randomly throw in a 'bloody hell'. I should've found this out so much sooner."

I shook my head lightly. "No, Ry. This is perfect. I mean, it all flows together here. It's perfect."

He laughed lightly at my clumsy sentence. "You're perfect." Then he kissed me again, his lanky arms going around my neck as he tilted his head to get our lips even closer.

I pushed my tongue into his mouth, pushing my thumbs into his belt loops to pull him closer, completely close. Then I moved my hands back to his hips, guiding them to work with me as I ground against him slowly, carefully, suddenly afraid I was going too far too fast.

His head fell back and he emitted a soft moan, complete bliss on his face to my great relief.

I paused slightly, just to make sure.

His eyes shot open, the deep honey hazel color of them drawing me in. "Don't stop," he breathed, leaning in to peck my lips. "Please don't stop."

I smiled and rolled my hips against his again, pleasure shooting up and down my spine and into my hardening cock.

Simply the thought that he'd experienced it too was overwhelmingly great. The fact that I was apparently about to be with him again, back where I belonged, was enough to render me to a state of eternal retarded happiness.

I slipped my hands under the material of his shirts again, keeping the movements of my hips against his going as I started to life them off of him.

He complied, raising his arms to make it easier for me.

Both objects were tossed on the cave floor and I leaned down, attaching my lips to his collarbone while my hands roamed his bare, exposed chest, finally settling on and caressing his scar.

"I've missed you so much," I muttered. "So fucking much."

"Don't think that's a one-way street," he breathed, letting a moan out right after as a response to my lips attaching to his nipple, sucking lightly for a minute before I let it go, stretching back up to reach his lips.

His long, slender hands moved under my t-shirt, grasping the hem and raising it over my head before he pressed himself back up against me, the simple feeling of our bare chests against each other suddenly emitting a moan from me.

It had been much too long and the sheer bliss of the closeness was enough to make me fear for coming in my boxers without actually being properly stimulated.

That would be embarrassing.

So, to ensure that something like that wouldn't happen, I speeded things up a bit, reaching my hands down to his belt buckle and started working clumsily with it.

Goddamnit, I was used to undoing strings on other people's Ryan's pants. Not fucking belt buckles.

Finally I managed to undo it and went on to the button and zipper, laughing slightly at what that revealed. "Commando?"

He blushed slightly. "I never got used to boxers again," he muttered.

I finished laughing and leaned in to kiss him before I pushed his pants down, letting him kick his shoes off and step out of the jeans on his own.

He quickly worked mine off as well, his nimble, talented fingers doing a much better job of it than mine had. He quickly ran his hand over my erection, squeezing slightly and earning a small moan before he grabbed the waistband of my boxers and pushed those down as well.

I got out of shoes and jeans on my own before grabbing him again, plunging my lips back against his while I slammed my pelvis into his, sending our hard-ons rubbing against each other deliciously and almost painfully.

After a few more moments he broke away, laying himself down onto the cold, hard floor of the cave. "Bren..." he whispered, skinny, frail- looking chest heaving up and down. "Please..."

I got down next to him, leaning closer.

"Please just help me remember," he finished.

Those words, the reverse of the ones I'd heard him utter so many times before, did something to me. Made my fucking heart swell or something. Made my protective instincts act up anyway.

I smiled. "I'll try my best," I muttered, bending down to kiss him.

He spread his legs, making room for me, and seemed to just wait.

I crawled over and got situated above him, propping myself up on my elbows before I leaned down to press another kiss to his lips, grinding my hips down against his again, both of us groaning at the friction. I was about to enter him when I remembered that he was in no way used to this anymore. I raised my body back up, sitting back on my knees and biting my lip. I suppose this version of me was slightly more civilized because I was actually feeling bad about not having any lube.

"Just spit," he muttered. "You always spat. Hurry."

Oh yeah, how had I forgotten that?

I quickly raised my hand, spat in it and rubbed it onto myself, suppressing moans at the mere feeling of something, even my own fucking hand, touching me. Then I leaned back down again, kissing him hard on the lips and snaking my tongue inside, reveling for a moment simply in the taste that I couldn't explain but was just so... Ryan. I felt his legs wrap around me and I knew it was time to go.

I pushed into him, slowly; caressing his cheek with my hand while my heart nearly broke at the sight of the few tears that left his eyes. "It'll be alright in a minute, baby," I whispered. "You know it will."

He nodded, sniffing slightly while I held still and let him get adjusted to the initial feeling. After a few moments he nodded and I pushed all the way in, biting my lip at the sound of his painful whimper.

"I'm so sorry," I muttered, choking back a moan at the mind-stealing tightness around me, at how inexplicably good it felt to be inside him again.

"No you're not," he whispered, sending me a small smile. "You're never sorry, remember?"

"I am, though," I answered, leaning down just a bit to peck his lips again before I pulled halfway out and pushed back in, slowly and gently. As slowly and gently as I could what with the state I was in anyway.

Hit?

No.

Damn.

I pulled almost all the way out this time and held back for a moment, changing the angle just slightly before I pushed back in harder.

His muscles clenched just slightly around me and a long, loud moan weaved out of his throat as his eyes fell shut.

Score.

I set up a pace, gradually quickening and hardening it to go with how I knew he preferred it and after a while constant incoherent sounds and cuss words were coming out of his mouth, and occasional 'I love you' mingling in here and there.

I didn't use my vocal cords much. I never really did, stayed mostly quiet instead, watching the petite beauty beneath me while I fought to bring the both of us closer to release, Ryan occasionally bucking up against me either to help out or because he couldn't keep himself from doing it.

His muscles occasionally constricted around me when I managed to ram into his prostate precisely and just hard enough and I could feel his legs tightening around my waist, heels digging into my lower back.

I knew without looking that his toes were curling just as they always did, and I leaned down again to kiss him, brushing a few sweat-slicked strands of hair out of his eyes before I moved the hand down between us, grabbing hold of his pulsing cock and slowly started to pump, going quicker after a bit until it was matching the pace with which I thrust in and pulled out of him.

I was close, dizzyingly close, and I finally let go of the moan that had been caught in my throat for I've no idea how long.

Ryan came suddenly, without warning, giving a yelp as he released in my hand and over my stomach, his walls closing in around me until it was unbearable and new beads of sweat started dripping down my face.

I felt cross-eyed, felt like I was floating, and finally I orgasmed, letting go into his body before I collapsed on his chest, heaving for air.

His hand reached up, shaking as it ran through my hair, stroking and caressing so soothingly that I immediately started to calm down, falling into a daze almost.

"I love you," I whispered again before I pulled out and rolled off him.

"Love you too," he answered in a tired voice. "No matter what title or what year. Always have, always will. That's the way it's meant to be." With that said he cuddled up against me, his beautiful head resting on my chest as his breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

I stayed awake, watching him.

Thinking.

Realizing.

He'd been right.

We were each other's constants.

Everything else had changed, but somehow we were still the same.

I still had his devotion and he still had my freedom.

The end.