Page 25 of A Brat's Tale
“Too late, it’s already gone to both of them.”
I roll my eyes. “That it for today then?” I kind of hope so. I’m knackered.
“That’s it for this. Come. We’re going for a ride. I promised you frogs.”
We’re high up. From this vantage point we can see all of Aldrien and the way Bayaden looks over his homelands reminds me of the way I used to do the same in Markaytia. There are times Bayaden and I are like oil and water and other times I think we are the same. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I wanted peace.”
I laugh. “With me? You know I’m not a peaceful companion.”
He’s lying on the grass and I move across him thinking I’m going to go off and explore, but I’m wrong. He grabs my ankle and my feet slip out from under me. Suddenly, I’m in the giant Warlord’s arms, trapped. “I know how to tame you. If I want you quiet, I’ll just stuff your mouth with my cock.”
He smiles down at me and he’s beautiful. He leans into kiss me and it’s not long before I’m kissing him back with ravenous desire. I can’t get enough of Bayaden. I love how large he is, I love that I can hang off of him, I love the feeling of safety he gives me. I’m the sort who can take care of myself, but there are things I have trouble handling inside and over time I’ve come to realize he eases that.
Like Corrik did.
The thought doesn’t haunt me as much as it used to, as much as itshould.
Elves are more open about such things than Markaytians are. It’s not uncommon to see a brat running from his Top through the sandstone hallways and many times, that brat is me. Bayaden can never officially be my Top, but he is a Master of sorts and we ended up falling into a natural brat-Top rhythm. I’ve asked him questions about it, I’ve asked others questions, and they were more than willing to share like Diekin was. It’s a spectrum, with many designations and various subsets and levels within those designations.
I take pride in being a brat, especially when I’ve made some brat friends.
Tom isn’t brat, though. He’s got an inner submissive like Corrik was trying to train me to be. Tom and I relate, because we have manyof the same qualities and inner wiring, but we differ in thewaywe need dealing with. Submissives need stricter guides and boundaries than us brats. They’re also more likely to please and be good boys and girls.
Brats, we’re a strange dichotomy. We need guides and boundaries too, but we also need room to run. And when we need the boundaries, we need ultra-firm ones, maybe even more so than a submissive, but as for the rest of the time, we need to be able to play and tease. “You need enough rope to hang yourself,” as Bayaden often says, which I fought him on until it happened too many times and I was forced to consider it.
I was also forced to think back to being a kid and how Father handled me. He tended to lean more toward firm and was less likely to let my brat run free. But I think it was because he wasn’t used to handling a brat.
When Bayaden releases me, he runs a hand through my hair, which is still short. I’m not permitted long hair, to remind me that I’m a slave of Aldrien and no longer Markaytian or Mortougian royalty. Oddly, I don’t care much about the no longer being royalty thing, other than the conveniences it afforded me, which I admit, were nice, but now I feel like I don’t belong to anyone, but myself.
Well, and Bayaden I suppose. But that I’m all right with.
I know it’s odd that here I am a slave, finally feeling like I’m myself for the first time, but I do. I’m nobody, I have no larger obligations—Bayaden’s boot closet notwithstanding—and after my duties for Bayaden, all I have to do is what I love—work hard at training practice.
I can be a Warlord, even though I have no army. Deglan’s right, Warlord is who I am. I live and breathe those morals; I live to serve in that way. Recently, Deglan invited me to show my skill with a bow to the youngling Elves picking up their bows for the first time. My own mini-army.
“I know you’re not smiling about me stuffing my cock in your mouth, what are you thinking about?”
“The kids. I love teaching them.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You know, you do have warriors to train, you’re not going to have them trained properly if you’re watching me all day. Wasn’t I punished earlier for swooning over you while training?”
He whacks my arse, which is now covered by the pants he had made for me. They match the tunic of my homeland, Markaytia. “You are an insufferable brat. I am Elf, I can do both at the same time. You cannot.” Right.Elves.“You are good with them. I think you could teach my warriors a thing or two.”
That is a high compliment from the resident Warlord. “Be still my heart. Did you just offer me a compliment?” It’s one thing for him to say I’m good with the younglings, and something else entirely to say he’d trust me with his warriors. He nods. “You’d have a full-fledged mutiny on your hands.”
Bayaden has grown fond of me, but the other warriors have not. “I could get them to obey me, but I cannot change their feelings and as you know, I need their hearts as well. A warrior cannot fight for an Elf he doesn’t believe in.”
“I know and I’m not offended, Bayaden. I don’t care what they think of me.”
He rolls on his back, so I am above him now and stares up at me. “You don’t. I admire that. That’s what will make you a good Warlord someday.”
Wait a minute. “Bayaden, what are you … You know I’m never going to be a Warlord. Are you taunting me?” Because that’s too far and we don’t typically go that far anymore.
His eyes fill with tears. “No.” He takes my hand. “It was all fun and games when we were just fucking, but Tristan, Iloveyou, which means I cannot in good conscience keep you. I am a man of honor, what honor would I have if I didn’t treat the one I love with respect?”
