Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  Atticus smirked with the knowledge that Honeysuckle had likely taken comfort in the thought that Atticus would remain pure until his true love came for him. He would never be able to consummate anything without a prince who could unlock the Princesshood spell. But Charles had found a way. Atticus recalled how his heart raced and his body throbbed with the bolts of pleasure and the sweet come spraying into his shorts. He had become addicted, and it was not an addiction he wanted to break.

  As they neared the end of the plantation drive, his thoughts drifted to the guilt, the wrongness of what he felt, and how he had lost sight of what was happening. Taylor was still out there somewhere. Atticus shook his head, dismissing the creeping dread. He wasn’t sure he wanted Taylor to come back. Taylor would see the growing desire Atticus had for Charles and take it away from him.

  Atticus knew he’d do anything to keep Charles and his pleasurable magic to himself.

  Taylor didn’t deserve that chance. Taylor too needed to be taught a lesson for his rebellion and foolishness. He needed to be taught compliance. Atticus knew it was compliance, exemplary behavior, and years of repression that eventually earned immense reward. It was the act of staying strong that earned Atticus the push he needed to be even stronger. Be whole.

  But Atticus knew Charles had been right about Taylor. Atticus’s own brother had left him with the weight of the Hatfield clan squarely on his shoulders and didn’t seem to care. He resented Taylor, and he had for years. It was a matter of opening his heart and accepting the sibling bond Atticus wanted with Taylor but which was never reciprocated.

  Atticus kept Taylor’s phone in his pocket; the sentimental photos of snow and Taylor’s plea to be crowned Snow White were a clear threat to Atticus’s title. Taylor always wanted what Atticus had. And Taylor always got his way. And when Taylor didn’t at first, he figured out how to do it.

  Taylor got to leave. He got to escape. He got to live.

  Atticus didn’t. He never had those chances. He had to stand tall, hold his head up, smile and make small talk. No one saw how he died a little bit every day on the inside. No one saw how his brow twitched at the sight of an attractive man. No one saw when the closest to erotica he could come was a men’s fitness magazine. He didn’t even have pornography on his laptop. He didn’t even look it up.

  Now, for Atticus, the fog had been lifted. Charles had kept the truth hidden all these years. Charles and Atticus grew up together in close company. As much as Atticus tried to ignore the Curseless Charles in social gatherings, he couldn’t help but notice how he had grown into such a handsome man. He had the golden hair of a Prince Charming and eyes that sparked when he smiled. Charles stirred something in Atticus at the time, but it was forbidden. Especially when Taylor had made such a showy display of his sexuality out of rebellion and spite. Atticus always wanted what Taylor wanted.

  And Taylor always weaseled his way into getting it. Like dancing with Vlad. While Vlad and Taylor could never be intimate, it was the principle of the thing that Taylor had caught Vlad’s attention and Atticus hadn’t.

  Charles was right. Charles had always been right. And Charles waited for Atticus to see.

  Atticus glanced over his shoulder as Honeysuckle scanned the trees for any danger. His brows furrowed with irritation. He could not convince her they weren’t in any danger. The more she resisted what Charles had to say, the worse it would get for her. Atticus had to convince her she needed to agree with Charles. If she wouldn’t, it would be a pity.

  “Stop fretting,” Atticus said, his lips drawing into a disapproving pout. “We’re going to be okay.”

  Honeysuckle continued to look over her shoulder, then into the oak trees, and then across the expanse of the Hatfield grounds. “How can you say that? How can you be so sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Atticus said in a low tone. “Everything will work out as it should.”

  Honeysuckle’s dragonfly wings buzzed in his ear. The sound grated on him.

  Atticus would find a way to let Honeysuckle escape. She didn’t deserve what would become of her if she didn’t get away. He respected her too much. The unthinkable would befall her if she stayed. He didn’t want to think about it. It would be easily horrific. Honeysuckle had been there for him since birth. She needed to be free of him and Charles. He would make sure Honeysuckle could never find him.

  Atticus lifted his head as they reached the edge of the plantation and the access road that led to the city. “Ah, here we are,” he said and smiled to Honeysuckle. “Easy escape from here.” He stepped forward and slammed chest-first into a clear barrier. It shimmered on impact. The frustration boiled in Atticus. He couldn’t get rid of Honeysuckle.

  “We’ll get through this,” Honeysuckle said. Her tone was evidence that she wasn’t sure if they would.

  Atticus snorted; Honeysuckle had no idea what he was thinking. He pulled back his fist and punched into the barrier. It thrummed like striking a metal sheet. “He can’t keep us here forever,” Atticus said and considered his sore fist. He wanted to be free to see the world he had denied himself. Free to explore all the vile things Taylor did and Atticus didn’t.

  Atticus shook his head, but then he noticed something on the surface of the barrier. He stooped to get a better look at where his fist had hit and found a light dusting of ice crystals in the impression of his hand. Atticus stepped back, unsure of what to make of it. He looked at Honeysuckle, then back at the patch of ice, and then at her. “What is this? Did I do that?”

  Honeysuckle flew closer to the surface of the barrier and squinted. She beamed brightly. “I didn’t think the day would be here…,” she said in reverence.

  “What are you talking about?” Atticus asked and turned his hand over, searching for clues.

  Honeysuckle smiled and looked up at him from her inspection of the barrier. “Your magic, lollipop. It’s awakening in you.”

  “Magic?” Atticus asked. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Would it do something that would make him less desirable to Charles? “What kind of magic?” He tried to mask his concern.

  Honeysuckle fluttered to Atticus’s hand and took it in both of her little ones. “As Snow White, you’re the bringer of the Tranquil Frost,” she said and patted his palm.

  Atticus sighed. “A lot of good that does us. Gentle snowfall won’t seem to help anything.” And it won’t be of use to Charles, Atticus thought.

  Honeysuckle flew to eye level with Atticus. He retreated back a half step. Honeysuckle gave a predatory grin. “Tranquil doesn’t mean gentle. It means freezing the enemy on the spot so we can have tranquility,” she said. “We can stop this. Now.”

  Atticus brightened and raised his fist. “And now we have leverage.” He spun on his heel. “We need to get back to the house,” he said to Honeysuckle, and they started off.

  Atticus omitted the part that if he shared his hidden power with Charles, it could possibly benefit him. Not only that, make him more desirable to Charles. He maintained a straight face as Honeysuckle flew next to him while he ran.

  They hurried back to the house, and Atticus skipped up the steps. The ogre guards didn’t scare him anymore, and they didn’t raise a brow at his coming and going.

  Atticus stepped into the foyer and called up the stairwell, “Charles?” He turned, looking into the house. “Charles?” His voice echoed into the vaulted ceiling. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

  Honeysuckle made a confused gesture at Atticus, and he held up his hands, halting her. He smirked and didn’t tell her what about.

  Charles jogged down the stairs, his smile bright.

  Atticus’s heart thumped harder against his ribs. Charles resembled the classic heartthrob in a black T-shirt and tight jeans. Atticus averted his gaze, trying not to seem too excited.

  “Enjoy your walk?” Charles asked, reaching the bottom step.

  “Would have enjoyed it more if you didn’t keep us caged in,” Honeysuckle said with a snort.

  Atticus shot Ho
neysuckle a glare. “Please, be gracious,” he scolded her.

  Honeysuckle drifted back and placed a fist to her heart. “Atticus, you’ve never taken such a tone with me,” she said with a croak in her voice.

  Atticus winked at her, hoping she’d feel eased that he was playing a trick on Charles. Only there wasn’t a trick. He took Charles’s hand in his and threaded their fingers.

  Charles laughed a low rumbling chuckle. “So bold of you.” His eyes narrowed like a snake examining a mouse. Atticus shivered. “Feeling more comfortable, I take it?”

  Atticus nodded as Charles’s touch burned him from the inside out. “Thanks to you. I have something for you.” His heart raced the longer he remained in Charles’s presence. He flushed as he watched Charles consider him, tilting his head from side to side.

  “Oh, you do?” Charles asked. “Why don’t you show me over dinner? Ogres are divine cooks. Have you ever tried roasted Jabberwocky? To die for,” he said, getting a far-off look in his eye.

  “Can’t say I have,” Atticus said. The embarrassment prickled at Atticus’s skin when he realized he wasn’t as cultured of an Enchant as someone like Idi the Witchking. He had a lot to learn if he was going to be suitable to him. Atticus watched Charles’s face, trying to find the true face of Idi just under his skin. His stomach fluttered with butterflies. Soon. Atticus would show him soon and get his just reward.

  Honeysuckle’s wings buzzed just beyond his ear. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. Of all the times to be chained to a pixie guardian. Atticus desperately needed to be alone with Charles.

  “That’s all right, then,” Charles said and pulled Atticus close. Atticus gasped as they met groin to groin. Charles arched a brow as Atticus’s body responded with its need. “Why don’t you run upstairs and get cleaned up?” Charles asked casually. “It’s… terribly hot this evening.”

  Atticus nodded, catching the suggestion in Charles’s voice. He stepped away. “Of course,” he said softly and then jogged up the stairs.

  Honeysuckle fluttered after, and Atticus withheld his frustration for her following him. “What’s gotten into you, gumdrop?” Honeysuckle asked. “How can you make yourself into such a harlot?”

  Atticus pivoted sharply at the waist and snatched Honeysuckle out of the air. She squealed her surprise. Atticus clamped his hand over her mouth as she squirmed. “Listen to me,” Atticus whispered harshly. “I have a plan. You just need to believe me.”

  Honeysuckle jerked her head away from Atticus’s hand. “By temping that creature with the pleasures of your princess flesh? I won’t have it. What would your parents say? How shameful!”

  The anger brewed inside of Atticus. “Nothing’s going to happen anyway. Especially with the Princesshood spell,” Atticus said and tried to calm her nerves. If anything, Charles would take him to the field of sunflowers and let him run until he had spent himself beyond the last drop. He’d remain some sense of intact, as it were, but no longer completely innocent.

  Honeysuckle narrowed her wintergreen eyes. “I will not have you make a whore of yourself like your rotten brother,” she warned him.

  Atticus staggered like he had just been clubbed at the back of the head. “My brother? A whore? If anything, Taylor is a lonely, miserable, insignificant speck of an Enchant. There is no possible way for him to even have someone want to fuck him.”

  Honeysuckle’s wings vibrated against Atticus’s hand. Her face reddened in what seemed like embarrassment. “Such language,” she snapped. “I don’t approve of this. And you shouldn’t think of your brother like that. I can think of him what I please. But you love your brother!”

  Atticus sighed and stormed down the long hall to the master bedroom. Honeysuckle had made her opinion known frequently; she never cared for Taylor. And even in a situation where Taylor was likely never to return, she was still vocal about her dislike of his quirks. Atticus knew the truth though—Taylor was likely the purest of all. With such a stigma as Curseless, who would want to touch anyone like Taylor? They reached the master bath, and Atticus let Honeysuckle out of his grip.

  She took flight and then shook off being manhandled. “Did you not hear me?” Honeysuckle asked as she patrolled the stately room.

  Atticus noted her constant paranoia. “Right, Taylor. Right,” Atticus said as he stepped into the master bath.

  Honeysuckle lingered at the threshold, and she wrung her hands as Atticus considered himself in the large mirror. “Darling…. What’s gotten into you?”

  Atticus didn’t answer her but saw her out of the corner of his eye in the mirror. He studied himself. He had never noticed what a sensual creature he had grown into. His life had been filled with college, studies, the officer academy, and the dreams of getting into West Point. His dream was to serve the country he loved so dear. The people he desired to protect. Squash the desire for a man to lay with him.

  He and Taylor had similar narrow faces, with high cheekbones and larger eyes than most young men. Taylor had his unusual peach-pink eyes; it was a trait from nowhere in the family as far as they knew. Taylor’s eyes always made him look a bit like a crazed alien. Atticus had the calming lilac, like their mother. The brothers had the same dark hair, which Taylor insisted on growing into a scruffy mop, but Atticus kept his more trim, with a sweep of bangs across his forehead. Atticus pressed two fingers to his full lips, discovering the attribute of his own face. He watched himself, arching a brow and imagining Charles’s cock at his lips. His dick stirred at the thought.

  “What are you doing, child?” Honeysuckle asked in a flustered tone.

  Atticus snapped to face her from his place in the bathroom. “I’m not a child!” he bellowed. “Not anymore! I’m a man, goddammit. I am not your child, your sweetie, your candy cane. I am Atticus.”

  Honeysuckle zipped back from the door, her wings frantically buzzing. “Atticus!” she gasped. “What on earth has gotten into you? Do you not see?”

  Atticus slammed his palm on the counter. “Do I see?” he asked. He puffed a sigh. “Do I see?” he asked again and stalked into the bedroom. Honeysuckle flew back from him. She didn’t understand, and Atticus would make her. “Oh. Oh, yes, Honeysuckle. I see. Do you see what Taylor has done to us?”

  “T-Taylor?” Honeysuckle croaked and flittered out of Atticus’s reach. “How is this Taylor’s fault?”

  Atticus threw up his hands in frustration. “You hate him, call my lazy, pathetic brother a whore, and now you’re siding with him?” He pointed a shaking finger as she lingered at the ceiling. “This is all Taylor’s fault. I see that now. Charles has helped me see so much.”

  Honeysuckle circled Atticus, and she annoyingly remained out of reach. “Charles has put lies into your head. Please, Atticus, whatever he’s promising you, it’s a lie!”

  “He promised me nothing,” Atticus spat. “I’ve merely seen the truth. That I don’t have to hide anymore. That I don’t have to keep it in.”

  Honeysuckle shook her head sadly. She remained out of reach at the ceiling. “You’ve… never had to hide….”

  Atticus lunged for Honeysuckle, and she darted away. “That’s a lie, and you know it. You made me hide. You made me be the perfect princess. You made me into this,” he said and gestured to himself, grabbing at his T-shirt desperately. “This? Is this what everyone wants? What about what I want? What I need?”

  Honeysuckle dived at Atticus, getting eye to eye with him. She pointed an angry finger. “You listen to me, you spoiled fuckwit,” she snarled. “You had every opportunity to be the man you always wanted to be. And guess what? You did. I’ve given you everything. Your life is set for you. You were going to marry a lovely lady prince, preserve our legacy, and live happily fucking ever after.”

  Anger tore through Atticus, and he lunged for Honeysuckle. She darted out of reach again. “I want freedom!” Atticus screamed and reached for a chair. “I want freedom!” He threw the chair with all his might at the ceiling, hoping to knock Honeysuckle out of the air.


  The chair crashed into the ceiling, and Honeysuckle streaked away.

  Atticus spun to scan the expanse of the master bedroom. Honeysuckle was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. He had gone blind with the rage and a touch of madness surging through him.

  Atticus’s body burned, and his clothes were like fire. He stripped, tearing at his clothes in frustration. He couldn’t breathe. He was too hot. Much too hot! He staggered back into the master bath. His feet tangled and he collapsed onto the cold tile floor. The coolness stung at his skin in a prickling kiss. He needed more of it. More!

  He pushed himself to his hands and knees. The frost and ice crystals slithered across the floor from his fingertips. He panted with the stifling heat. The air was too thick, and he couldn’t breathe.

  He found the glass shower stall and fumbled into it. With trembling hands he turned on the cold faucet and moaned at the exquisite pleasure of the frigid water at his back. Atticus’s cock painfully hardened, and without a second thought, he gripped it in hand. He pumped himself hard and fast, but even in his hysteria, he knew he’d never reach an orgasm. Atticus screamed, crying out in frustration, begging to have just one orgasm. Just one. He’d give anything to be back in the sunflowers.

  The glass of the shower frosted under Atticus’s touch as his need raged. The water wasn’t cold enough, nothing could be cold enough. He burned; the pain consumed him. Driven to the edge of madness, Atticus assumed his climax was the only thing that would save him now.

  “Charles!” Atticus wailed, “Charles, I need you!”

  But the spray of the showerhead was the only sound. Atticus’s desperate tears seared into his cheeks. He would die here. Succumbing to his own drunken need, his own passionate madness, and captive to his own fracturing sanity.

  He cried out the only name to anyone that would hear. “Idi, please!”