Page 10 of A Brat's Tale
And yet, Ilovedhim.
Ilovehim.
I wipe a tear from my eye.
I can barely eat my breakfast, but I do since Bayaden has this weird thing about me eating. He leaves me to finish, and heads to the back of his closets, returning with something on a hanger. “Is that my…? But it’s got …”
“Pants.” He holds out both my Markaytian battle tunic and a new, matching pair of pants, proud. “I couldn’t let you wear such a nice battle tunic with those hideous things you wear. I had them made in the same color as like you would have had at home.”
It is burgundy.
Home. I know this sounds fucking sappy, but these days home isn’t a place like it was when I was a kid, it’s when the end of the day comes and I lay with Bayaden in his bed, looking at the stars out his window.
You had another home once, Tristan.
But why? Why washehome too? None of it makes any sense. Corrik cared about Corrik.
You just said his name.
Ugh, stop it brain. Besides, I didn’tsayit. Ithoughtit, there’s a difference.
“I wear these ‘hideous pants’ because you won’t allow me anything else,” I say. These pants are my only article of clothing and I’m lucky to have them at all. Receiving another article of clothing is a big deal. Not to mention, Bayaden’s never given me a gift before; I had to stealthe pants I’m wearing, with the only other thing on my body—the black collar bearing his insignia. I don’t know what to say. I stand and rush over to him, he hands me the outfit. I hug it, and can still smell home on the tunic, a smell that will never leave it no matter how much it's washed: blood, mud, and sweat.
It reminds me of Father. I miss my father.
What would he have to say about you? You didn’t even try to escape. You didn’t want to. Aldrien was a convenient place to hide.
Things with Corrik were so hard though. Things with Bayaden are easy.
“Thank you, Bayaden. I have no words. This is the nicest thing someone’s done for me in a long while.” This tugs at the threads of me and I’m a loosely sewn cloth at best these days. “Does this mean we’re boyfriends? Are we going together? What do you Elves call it?” I love teasing the giant Warlord.
“You’re a hair away from a spanking,” he says.
I smile and press my lips to his. “Thank you,” I murmur. “This is most precious.”
He inhales as I kiss him, gathers me into his arms and then tosses me onto the bed. Most slaves don’t wear clothes in the palace. Being given clothes is meaningful; I’ve just gained a bit of status for myself.
Bayaden begins to ravage me like a madman after that. He nips and bites at my neck, sucking his way along my thigh where his mouth clamps down and I moan at the lovely pain. I release my new prize, the clothes, in favor of his dark hair, which I cling to by the root and he lets go my thigh in favor of my cock. He’s only teasing me though; I know he wants to fuck me.
Before long, he’s readied my entrance for him, though there’s seldom a time anymore that my entrance needs much readying—we fuck a lot.He slams into me with wild abandon pouring the feelings he cannot say into each thrust.
We kiss. “I love kissing you, Tristan.” His tongue weaves with mine, he thrusts some more, his hands are all over my body, he thrusts again and we’re both breathing as if we’ll never get air. He comes, releasing his seed into me, and without any more urging from my cock, I comejust after him. Without stopping to clean ourselves, he flips me over and we begin again.
I don’t worry over Corrik for the rest of the morning, but he’s entered my sphere again and like Corrik does, his energy barges in and takes over everything.
Chapter 2
“You’re a happy boy this morning. Why could that be?” Deglan says.
She knows; I play along. “Because, look. Bayaden gave me my tunic back, and he had pants made for me.” Donning my old tunic on after this long is an indescribable feeling. It doesn’t fit as well as it used to. Even with the many months of training with Bayaden’s army, I’ve still some size to put on before I’m back to what I was on the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, where Father named me future Warlord of Markaytia. It won't take me much longer though and I’ll be back to that. I’ve always put on muscle easily, Papa always said it was my dragon’s blood.
Deglan laughs. Her blonde hair whips with the light breeze. “Yes, Warlord. You look magnificent. I must admit, I had a hand in that. Baya asked me if he should do it and I said that, of course, he should.”
“Thank you,” I tell her with all my heart. I love Deglan, she’s a magnificent war Elf. I might love her as much as Diekin. She’s kind and her skill on the field is almost unmatched, aside from Bayden that is—he is Warlord for a reason. She is large—Elves only seem to come in size large—and fearsome when she wants to be. I’m used to Elves towering over me by this point.
She is beautiful to watch with her bow. The way she spins on a coin and can hit a target from many paces out. The graceful way she nocks her arrows with her fingertips gracing along her cheek. She angles her torso back like she’s marrying with the wind and finds the path to send it toward her target.
The only thing better is watching Baya shoot an arrow or play with swords or fuck me into oblivion.
