The harsh blare of a loudspeaker jolted Brian awake approximately 15 minutes later. "Attention, wenches and sires! The Men in Tights contest will be taking place in fifteen minutes at the Reveler's Stage! All contestants – please report to the back stage area immediately!"
"What?" Brian mumbled as he was startled awake from his slumber; he had been dreaming of doing some vigorous humping with a certain blond that did NOT for once involve camel fur or a putrid smell. As he dreamed he was puzzled, however, to realize their activity had not been taking place inside his loft but rather in what appeared to be a stable of some sort.
He could remember fucking Justin senseless on something that looked like straw or hay; it wasn't his typical fucking environment, but it didn't seem to matter to either of them – they seemed quite happy since he had apparently convinced his Little Boy Blue to get rid of his tights once and for all. Brian had been so intent on peeling them off the little scamp that he had simply ripped them violently off the pale legs, wadded them into a ball, and threw them several feet away where they landed at the feet of a large, evil-eyed looking ram. Well, the ram part fit at least….
Now that he was fully awake, however, he realized the reason why his dream had been so strange. They weren't anywhere near the loft, or even civilization; they were still at the damned Renaissance Festival, and Sir Tight Twat was STILL wearing those pale blue leotards that seemed to be painted onto his slender body. Brian turned his head slightly to observe the aforementioned man slumbering against his shoulder; somehow, despite the cacophonous sound that had just screeched from the loudspeaker, Justin had still managed to stay asleep. Well, if Brian was going to be tortured at this fucking monstrosity, then so was HE.
He nudged the blond's shoulder firmly. "Justin! Sir Ne'er Do Well! Wake UP! You're missing your cue!"
"Huh?" Justin unintelligently mumbled as he squinted his eyes shut against the sun now peering through the late afternoon leaves. "It's too early to get up," he complained as he tried to snuggle deeper into Brian's warm, soft shoulder. It wasn't the typical pillow he normally used, but at the moment it felt wonderful nonetheless.
Brian rolled his eyes before he poked his own little Lords of Sleeping a little harder. "Wake UP, Justin! It's time for your big debut!" he growled loudly, finally succeeding in waking his partner who lifted his head and slowly opened his eyes in disorientation. It took Justin several seconds to realize where he was before he looked over at Brian somewhat sheepishly. "Oh," he said. "I must have dozed off…..What did you say?" he asked, blinking his eyes toward slow awareness.
"You're about to miss what we CAME here for, Sir Twinkie! They just announced the Men in Tights contest! So get your tight little bubble butt off this fucking bench and get OVER there!"
Justin instantly came to life at this announcement. "Shit! Where? Where do I need to go?"
Brian was tempted to tell him precisely where to go but bit back his response. He was also tempted to direct his partner somewhere completely opposite to where the loudspeaker announcer had indicated they should go; the last thing he wanted was his lover prancing around in that too-revealing outfit while both men and women alike would be drooling over him. Unfortunately, he was prevented from doing that due to two things: one, he didn't have any idea where the "Reveler's Stage" was so he didn't know where the opposite direction would be, either, and two, the sooner Justin got done with his stage performance, the sooner they could leave this grown-up version of dress-up hell.
He sighed in resignation; he figured there would be additional announcements about the contest anyway, and besides, something told him the location was listed in the brochure that Justin currently had hidden down his pale, smooth chest, which was STILL displaying way too much luscious skin for HIS taste. You just remember who that skin BELONGS to, Little Boy…..
"Brian? Where is it being held?" Justin almost demanded as he stretched his arms above his head; unfortunately, that movement only served to make a certain part of his partner's anatomy stand even MORE at prominent attention. Did the man have to be so blatant?
Brian couldn't help glancing down lustily at Justin's perky little (all right, maybe NOT so little) cock, a movement that wasn't lost on his partner, who actually, to Brian's disgust, smirked in smug satisfaction. One side of his mouth turned up in glee as he had the gall to WINK back at the brunet, who snorted.
"Don't flatter yourself," Brian warned defensively, his brows narrowing. "Just because you're going to prance around in those leotards, Sir Prissy, doesn't mean you have to GIVE it away." He almost had to look away to preserve his eyesight, though, because his partner's beaming, radiant smile almost blinded him. Little fucker. He knows EXACTLY what he's doing – he always knows….
He sighed, resigned with having to play along. "It's being held at the Reveler's Stage, wherever the fuck THAT is." He shook his head as he watched Justin quickly whip out the map previously hidden inside his v-neck, ivory-colored shirt and intently scan the map before his eyes lit up. "There is it!" he cried triumphantly as he hurriedly stood; Brian noted that his previous sleepiness had miraculously seemed to have disappeared almost instantly – it was a shame something else hadn't "disappeared" – if anything, someone's cock seemed to have gotten larger in those damned tights….
"Brian…" He heard a distinctive snicker as Justin said, "It's not polite to stare, you know." He once again smiled like the fabled Cheshire Cat, enjoying his partner's discomfort far too much for Brian's benefit. "You can stay here while I compete if it bothers you," Justin said gravely. His face was somber, but his twinkling eyes betrayed him.
Brian huffed. "No way, Sir Cocky…someone has to watch your ass…..well, you know what I mean," he added somewhat clumsily. Shit, when did he convert into some awkward little lesbian?
Justin, however, didn't seem to mind at all; in fact, if Brian didn't know better he would say the man was totally enjoying his discomfort. Yeah, that's what it was…..discomfort; he was just out of his element. It had absolutely, positively nothing to do with the fact that his partner, the man he (gulp) loved, was soon going to be strutting around some stage for all the world to see – straight AND queer.
"Oh, Brave Sir, I am so grateful that you will be there to preserve my honor," Justin intoned, batting his eyelashes flirtily before he giggled.
Brian rolled his eyes before he possessively grabbed his partner's arm and pulled him against his chest. "Let's get this charade over with, then," he growled in the blond's ear. "And get that goofy grin off your face before I take it off."
Justin tried hard to press his lips firmly together to prevent the smile from appearing on his face, but he was having an extremely difficult time doing so – he was just enjoying this whole episode too damned much. "I'm ready," he chirped just a little too enthusiastically for Brian's taste as he quickly tugged the other man's arm and hurried down the dirt path toward the medieval, stone amphitheater.
Brian huffed in exasperation. "Will you fucking slow down, Sir Shag a Fag? It's not going to take fifteen minutes to walk to the end of – what's the name of this quaint little street, anyway?"
"Trolls Crossing," Justin helpfully supplied as he glanced down at the map he held in his hand.
Brian snorted. "Well, that certainly fits," he growled, as he peered around at the crowd quickly converging on the nearby stage. "If the guys I see around here had pointy hats, they would be naturals for a remake of Snow White and the Seven Queer Dwarfs."
Justin chuckled. "Well, that should just make my anointing as King of Tights that much easier," he remarked haughtily. "I can add that crown to my King of Babylon crown."
"King of Tights?" Brian snorted. "Is that like being crowned Fruit of the Loom Potentate?"
"Ha, ha. Just do your job and stay close by in case the crowd tries to rush me while I'm on stage. But be selective – if it's a hot guy, I'LL take care of those types."
Brian shook his head – where had that little, scared 17-year-old blond twink under the lamppost gone? Oh, yeah – he'd been replaced with a hot, full-bodied, confident spitfire of a man who was much too sexy for his own good in those tights and satin shirt. He once again looked around for some sort of medieval weapon he could use against possible suitors…..where was a flail to swing when you needed one? He had never really been into BDSM much, but right now he could use one of those studded balls and chains for a different purpose…..
"Attention! All contestants, please meet backstage immediately!" the announcer suddenly stated. "You have five minutes until those knobby knees are on display! Just a little court jester humor, lords and ladies," the man added, earning a few groans from the rapidly-increasing audience.
"Well, I guess this is it," Justin said nervously; his tone of voice sounded more like he was about to go on a world-wide tour rather than walk a few feet around the stage toward the back preparation area. "Better find a good spot so you won't miss anything," he said helpfully as if he were speaking to a potential client rather than his partner.
"Don't worry," Brian quipped. "I've seen it al l before, remember, Sir Cheeky?"
"Maybe YOU have, Oh Lord of the Fucks, but everyone else hasn't, though," Justin pointed out. He turned around and gave Brian a slight wiggle before he began to walk back behind the staging area.
Brian couldn't help growling after him, "Well, Sunshine, don't put your gold nuggets in your tights just yet; you haven't seen the competition." But as Justin walked away from him, he couldn't help scowling at his partner's retreating form as he noticed the perfectly-rounded ass perkily staring back at him through those damned blue tights – those tights that molded so well to his petite body. Yeah…I HAVE seen it all…And that's what I'm AFRAID of…. He shook his head in disgust before finding a fairly splinter-free bench in the center of the seating section and sitting down; he elected to sit at the end of the row this time.
He had already learned his lesson during the sword playing fiasco; if "Burke Perfect's" twin brother abruptly appeared and made a play for his partner, he wanted a way to counterattack quickly. And as he peered at the other contestants arriving – some balding, some knocked-kneed, some paunchy, and some just plain old ugly, he knew he was in trouble…BIG trouble. Even in his weird, K-mart style clothing, Justin always seemed to turn heads, both homo AND hetero. In his Elizabethan outfit, however, his own little source of Global Warming was downright dangerous and oh-so-sexy.
As the seats quickly filled up with both men and women, Brian again felt out of place in his "normal clothes;" everywhere he looked, there were men wearing velvet cloaks, ruffled shirts, or knickers, while the ladies were wearing vibrant-colored layered dresses of gold, green, or red. Some even had pointy, Juliet-type hats or flowered garlands. He briefly wondered what in the world these people did for a living in the normal world until he was interrupted from his musing by a small, brunet man rushing up to the stage with a stoneware mug in his hand. He was dressed in what appeared to be a yellow and red court jester outfit, complete with a tri-colored hat and a small bell jingling from it.
"Good afternoon, Ladies and Knights!" the man enthusiastically called out to the audience. Strangely, the man appeared to be speaking into the mug instead of drinking from it. Very subtle, Brian couldn't help smirking, although he supposed a microphone might sully the medieval effect. Perhaps back in those times, too, court jesters DID speak into their mugs – who knew? He noted the man also held some sort of corded stick in his other hand, embellished with multi-colored ribbons at the end in some grotesque resemblance of a magic wand. Why don't you act like a REAL fairy and disappear, came unbidden to his mind, as he grimaced at the flamboyant, clownish man that made Emmett Honeycutt look almost butch.
Feeling distinctly like a fish out of water, Brian heaved a barely-disguised sigh of annoyance as the man droned on. "We are about to start the Men in Tights contest!" he excitedly announced as the man almost chortled in glee. Brian thought the man looked and sounded remarkably like Woody Woodpecker as he continued, "Our contestants are busy backstage preparing for their entrance. The winner will be decided by your vote, so when the time comes, make sure you applaud for your favorite!" He quickly glanced sideways to the side of the stage before exhorting, "I'm told the candidates are ready for your inspection, so may the best tights win!"
Brian rolled his eyes – could this whole fucking day get any worse? As he observed the first contestant walking onto the stage, he decided it probably would, because if THIS man was any indication of Justin's competition, he was going to have a big problem. Then again, to him no other man could ever hold a candle to his partner anyway...
"Get ready, ladies and lords, here comes Contestant Number 1!" their host bubbled, jumping up and down as his bell jingled in harmony. He edged back toward the rear of the stage to allow the first man, wearing a large No. 1 on the left side of his chest, to enter from the curtained side of the platform.
The first contestant – a tall, skinny blond – walked somewhat hesitantly onto the stage in a flowing, green filmy shirt with a lace crisscross tie in front that was loosely gathered; like Justin's outfit, the man was wearing tights but these were made out of a thicker, cotton-like fabric and did not cling as snugly to his lower body as his partner's did. Actually, it was a good thing, because this man needed all the allowance he could get – Brian thought his legs strongly resembled a stork. He wrinkled his nose up in disdain as the man smiled somewhat embarrassed while the crowd politely clapped.
The next contestant was an older man – probably in his 40's – dressed more modestly in a dark maroon cloak over his tights, which were made in a similar fabric as Justin's but did not reveal nearly as much, partly due to the mid-length outer garment. The man somewhat awkwardly walked across the stage, barely stopping to acknowledge the clapping coming from the audience. Again, the men and women studying the candidates did not appear too interested in their latest contestant.
Several other men paraded across the stage, some tall, some average, some overweight and clearly uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny, and some who should have definitely remained fully clothed for the sake of the audience's delicate stomachs, until at last the jester called out the name Brian had been dreading – Contestant No. 12, his partner, Justin Taylor: The Little Twink that Could…and probably would, to his great consternation.
Brian's eyes about popped out of his head as Justin slowly paraded – no, make that strutted – onto the stage from the left. If Brian hadn't known better, he would have sworn the man milking his appearance for all it was worth was actually an actor in real life, because Justin was definitely playing to the audience. He was too sexy already in that much-too-revealing, silky, ivory shirt open at the neck and his ice-blue tights that were WAY too snug on his lower body, but the man had the audacity to flash a beaming smile out into the audience and give a sort of circular, royal-type wave to his adoring fans, who were clapping boisterously and whistling at him. Just for good measure, also, he pirouetted in the center of the stage so everyone could get a good look at him – ALL of him, coming and going. Damn fucker…..Brian tried to telepathically transmit to his partner a warning of Just remember who you'll be COMING with later, twat, but by the look of amusement on his partner's face, he had a distinct feeling the man wasn't hearing him.
Brian felt his temperature rising and his face warming in anger at the suggestive comments being lobbied at his partner as the blond continued to slowly show off his wonderfully compact but oh-so-delicious body – his eyes widened as he observed a red carnation being thrown onto the stage by some beefy-looking, tattooed, dark-haired man standing and screeching out a wolf-whistle in the front left row.
Just like so many others, the man was dressed in period garb, but unlike most of the men, he was clad as a sort of leather-adorned version of King Henry the VIII. Yeah, and I think you've had one too many stouts of ale, Spike, Brian thought disgustedly as he noted the man's not-so-tight abs. If he ever got a hold of Justin, the man would have his partner's soft, creamy bubble butt crushed in a mound of blubber in no time. He shivered just at the mere prospect of it as he stood up and tried desperately to somehow flash a death-ray look at the would-be admirer while several "ladies in waiting" almost swooned in pleasure at the sight of his sexy Sir Prance-A-Lot.
He continued to try and transmit an icy state of death to all of the men and women ogling his partner, but it was no use; there were just too many present that were positively enamored with the blonde, golden vixen currently prancing around onstage and loving every minute of Brian's seething as Justin looked directly down at his partner and grinned smugly. Didn't these contestants have a time limit when they had to exit the fucking stage, anyway?
Finally, after what seemed like a interminably tortuous time period and several more flowers being thrown onstage later, Justin scooped up a virtual bouquet from all of his admirers and slowly disappeared behind the curtain to the right of the stage to Brian's enormous relief; the crowd, however, continued to clap, hoot, and even stomp their boot-clad feet in appreciation, yelling out disgusting phrases such as "Booty call, booty call!" and "Come back, Prince Cocky!" while the vein in Brian's neck pulsed with indignation and, yes, damn it, jealousy.
This was just too much like ANOTHER royal contest held several years ago at Babylon before Brian would ever come anywhere near to admitting he actually was bothered by these types of spectacles. When it came to his partner, however, he had finally given up on upholding that pretense.
Eight more contestants later, none of them coming anywhere near Justin in terms of stage presence or charisma, not to mention out-and-out horny sexiness, the court jester again occupied center stage as he called for all of the contestants to return and stand next to him to receive the audience's final vote of approval.
Brian knew it was a foregone conclusion who was about to win – he had no doubt about it. The audience would have to be blind not to realize who the hands-down choice was, and he hated it. There had been enough admirers staring at his partner today while they were exploring the makeshift village, but now it was going to be downright ridiculous. Plus, the little twat was going to be so smug, he would be damn near intolerable to live with now.
He watched in dread as the contestants walked back out in a single line to flank their host on either side. "Now's the time to crown the winner of the Men in Tights contest, sires and ladies!" the man said, laughing in an obnoxious way that made Brian's ears hurt. "As I point to the contestant, I want you to respond with your choice, so make yourself heard and make it LOUD!" he exclaimed.
Like a pending train wreck, Brian watched with trepidation as the host slowly walked in front of each contestant to lightly tap his wand on top of each man's shoulder to wait for the audience to respond with their choice of victor. Brian winced as he waited for what he knew was going to happen – the audience was polite or lukewarm in their acknowledgement of all the contestants until the host got to his partner, and then all fucking hell broke loose – a thunderous din arose from the crowd as the bawdy and rowdy group went totally berserk, screaming and yelling their approval as Justin for the winner.
"Well, it looks like we have our winner!" the host chortled, evoking an extremely unpleasant nightmare of another night that at once seemed like a century ago but also just like it had happened yesterday at Babylon; Brian watched as his partner was rewarded with yet another crown on his blond little head as Justin beamed under all the lavish attention.
Brian shook his head and closed his eyes shut tightly, trying fervently to escape from his nightmare, but it was no use; when he opened his eyes once more, Justin was STILL standing there on stage in those outrageously-too-snug, blue tights, basking in the admiration of his adoring court.
As the contest was finally ending, Brian didn't even wait for all the men to exit from the stage before he quickly pushed his way up through the quickly-gathering throng of both men and women admirers to snatch his little Royal Fucker off the stage.
He had to smack several hands trying to grope his partner from the first row of seats before he could leap onto the stage and reach Justin to grab his arm and begin pulling him toward the side exit to the groans of several erstwhile renaissance groupies waiting to fawn over their newly-crowned King. He gave a feeble wave of regret to his "subjects" as Brian ignored his protests.
"Brian, wait!" his partner complained as he was somewhat roughly dragged down the steps and out toward the dirt road. He had to quickly place one hand on top of his head to help anchor his crown more securely when it threatened to topple off.
"That was rude! They just wanted to pay homage to their new King," he chided the other man as Brian glared back at him. Justin was in heaven, though – he not only had a wonderful, shiny souvenir now of their adventure, but he was absolutely loving the look of possessiveness in his partner's flashing green eyes and his rough manhandling of him.
When they were finally safely out of sight behind one of the wooden storefronts, Brian finally released his hold on Justin and snarled, "The only one paying homage to that ass, Sunshine, is going to be ME! You got that, Sir Rosebud?"
Justin's eyebrows shot up mischievously and his curled his lips under in an attempt to keep from laughing at his indignant partner who was looking about as comfortable as a Mormon at a Studs-n-Suds party. Justin bowed low and replied in his cheesy English accent, "Yes, Sire, I definitely got it. My rosebud ass belongs to no one but you."
Brian raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed. Just once he wished he could go back to being the carefree stud he used to be instead of this jealous mound of insecurity. But then again, his life wouldn't be nearly as exciting as it was now – ever since a certain well-endowed, stubborn, but adorable-as-hell blond had thankfully entered his life.
Brian looked at his partner wryly. "Just don't you forget that, Prince Studly," he growled just before he grabbed Justin's shoulders and pushed his lips against his own for a deep, passionate kiss that left no doubt who was going to be enjoying the newly-crowned King's affections later.
As they breathlessly broke apart, Brian asked, "Now that you've been properly acknowledged by your adoring crowd, can we finally leave this fairy den? I'd like to escape while I have SOME dignity left, even though yours definitely disappeared some time ago – about the time we WALKED into this place."
Justin clucked. "Poor little Prince Brian," he cooed. "Let King Justin take you home and attend to your little sore ass properly, then," he suggested as he reached around the brunet to tenderly rub Brian's ass cheeks, producing a soft sigh of pleasure from his "man in waiting." Justin hastily added, "That is, as soon as I pick up one more thing on the way out."
Brian rolled his eyes. "Ah, NO…you've caused enough of a stir with those leotards, Sir Tighty-Whitey!"
Justin's eyes flashed in annoyance as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It's on the way out, anyway, Brian! And it's not like I'm asking you to PAY for it, for fuck's sake! Lighten up a little, Prince Burr up Your Ass!"
Brian huffed in annoyance as he shook his head. He didn't dare let Little Boy Blue out of his sight – not in THAT outfit, anyway – but his partner would be just stubborn enough to waltz off without him if he didn't agree to this last one request. "All right, all right," he growled. "But that's our LAST stop, Justin!
Justin shook his head in exasperation. "Yes, SIR, Prince Stuffed Shirt! Your order is my command!" And with that, he abruptly turned around, wiggled his tight little bubble butt at his partner, and walked back out toward the road, not even bothering to see if Brian was following him, because he didn't HAVE to – he just KNEW.
"Shit," Brian muttered as he grudgingly followed the blond back out onto the dirt road and kept a close eye on the blue-clad butt indignantly walking away from him and toward the exit. Just as they got to the gate, however, Justin turned toward the right and marched up to a wooden vendor stand titled "The Queen's Pub."
As Brian observed his partner closely (actually standing guard if truth be told), Justin handed over some of his cash to the "wench" serving him behind the window; it didn't fail to escape Brian's attention that the redhead was eyeing his partner like he was a delicacy at King Arthur's table before, a minute later, Justin took something that she passed through the window; it wasn't until his partner had turned around, though, that he was able to tell just what it was.
"Oh, my God," Brian retorted. "Uh, uh, uh…..no way….You are NOT getting in my 'Vette with…with THAT greasy monstrosity!"
"It's just a turkey leg," Justin pointed out as he began to slowly rip off some of the meat from the giant leg bone with his teeth as he walked; his licked his plump, pink lips together in appreciation as Brian's eyes widened, suddenly imagining Justin's teeth biting into HIM and his lips sucking HIS FLESH as he quickly forgot what he had been saying.
Justin smiled as he rapidly devoured the turkey leg and threw the carcass into a nearby wooden trash barrel. He seemed to take an inordinately long amount of time licking and sucking his fingers clean to rid himself of any residual grease as he made a loud popping sound each time a finger was sucked out of his lips.
"Stop that," Brian told him sharply. Little teasing fucker….
"Stop what?" Justin answered innocently with a sly smile as they finally exited the gates of hell.
"You KNOW what," Brian accused him. "Don't start something you have no intention of finishing, Sir Twat."
Justin's grin was a little wider now as he answered seductively, "Who said I didn't intend to finish it, Sir Kinney? Not everyone gets to fuck royalty TWICE, you know; just in case you're wondering, by the way, my tights aren't the ONLY thing that's tight…."
Brian harrumphed. "Well, get your royal tight ass over to the car and we'll see just how fast I can get your royal leotards off." He gave the new King of Tights a resounding smack on one of his cheeks (not the facial ones, mind you) as Justin gave a little yelp of surprise and, laughing, sprinted toward the car with an amused – and highly appreciative – Brian closely following behind him.
TBC - At least one more chapter/epilogue!