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His chestnut eyes, the same colour as wet oak after a downpour of winter rain. Tom was a labourer on a farm north of Tithe towards its outer walls. Close to where I would escape.
Working beneath his father, he would tend to their livestock, mainly sheep, but with the odd milk cow. His physical work had crafted his body in ways that should only be possible for the heroes of ancient stories. Arms as hard as boulders, every muscle defined with proud lines. Tom was strong, not that it was required when dealing with me. He often reminded me how he just loved to pick me up and throw me around. Unlike me, Tom was obsessed with my body; he worshipped it.
With the turn of the last month of summer, Tom’s skin was kissed and golden. Freckles dusted across his broad shoulders, matching those that spread over the bridge of his sharp, straight nose. And now, looking up at me where I sat upon his crotch, sheets a knot around us, I could not deny his heroic beauty.
“At least have the decency to give me your full attention when you are fucking me, Tom,” I said finally.
He did not laugh like I expected, instead rolling his eyes as he harshly pushed me off his lap. I was forced to lie beside him, feeling stupid for even speaking. If I had thought the mood was ruined before, it was destroyed now, shattered into too many pieces to possibly put back together.
“Sometimes you are impossible to please… do you know that?”
I gazed up at the beamed ceiling of his room, admiring the intricate spiderwebs that had lived among the shadows for as long as I could remember. No matter how many times I asked Tom to clean them, he never did. And why would he? For someone who was so engrossed in his vanity, Tom was excellent at pushing the not so pretty parts of his life into the dark corners of himself. Like the spiderwebs, they were out of sight and out of mind.
“Harsh,” I said, rolling over and placing my palm across his chest. Coarse hairs tickled beneath the tips of my fingers. “Just forget that I said anything.”
I could see from the proud, tall cock still raised skyward between his legs that Tom was not satisfied. It glistened in the light of dawn that filtered through his window, covered in the lubricant that he purchased from the apothecary beneath my home.
“How about we go again…” I encouraged, running my fingers from his chest, down the mountainous lumps of muscle across his stomach, following the lines that pointed down to his lower hip. I didn’t get close to the manicured hairs that crowned his cock before Tom grabbed my hand and tore it from his skin.
“Perhaps we’ll finish later.” Tom swung his legs over the edge of his bed, which groaned with every slight move. No wonder his father and mother could never look me in the eyes. They knew what happened when I visited, ratted out by the noise his bed made when I dwelled within it. “Arlo, I think you should leave… or like just go home and get ready or something.”
I popped my elbow up, resting my head in my hand as I watched him stand. Tom stretched, the glow of morning outlining his deliciously conjured body with a halo of light.
“But I would prefer to stay here with you all day. Tom, come back to bed. I promise we will have a more enjoyable day within it than out there.” There was a forced pleading in my voice. It was not exactly Tom I wished to spend time with. But his body and the power of distraction he held were what I needed to get me through the day and those who came with it.
The elves.
Hanging off the wooden pillar at the end of his bed was my jacket, tunic, trousers, and most importantly, my pouched belt. Tom reached for it, fisted my clothes and threw them upon me before I had a chance to raise my hands to protect myself.
“Get up,” Tom scoffed, pulling his own trousers up over the bulges of his thighs before tucking his still hard cock into the band over his waist. “May I remind you, Arlo, that you are the only person in Tithe that does not wish to see the elves. I am going, like your sister. You can either wallow at home all day or join us.”
I should never have told him about the conflict between me and my sister the day prior. Tom didn’t care for my emotions and turmoil, but he listened like a patient dog, knowing that his treat would come for his good behaviour. My sex. It was always the same. Even if I could practically feel Tom’s discomfort when I expressed the worries of my life, I still never refrained from talking. Tom was a shit conversationalist, but it was better than speaking to a brick wall. Similar certainly, but better.
“You are like the rest of them,” I said, gladly climbing out of his sticky sheets. I was damp with sweat and my arse glistened with lubricant. I needed a wash as desperately as I wanted this day to be over.
“Always thinking this will be your year to be chosen. Tell me, Tom, are you going to get yourself ready and parade yourself hoping to claim the attention of the elves that visit?” It was not a question, more of a statement fuelled by a speck of jealousy at the idea of the elves taking him from me as well.
Tom was handsome enough for the elegantly pompous creatures to choose him as their boon. The creatures were equally vain and loved pretty and lovely things. Auriol. Tom. If they were taken from me, I truly would be left alone.
“Would it be so bad?” Tom turned on me with wide eyes full of pity. “A new life where you could live like a king whilst knowing your family’s lives would be changed. No more work. No more poverty. Unlike you, I actually care what happens to my family and if being picked by the fey will give them a better life, then so be it.”
My blood chilled. Arguing with Tom was not how I saw this morning going, but since he was clearly so ready for one, I supposed I could give him what he wanted.
“That is not fair, Tom.” My feet smacked onto the floor as I began dressing myself hurriedly.
“Is it not?” His voice peaked, mouth drawn into a fine line. “You are so adamant to keep your poor sister trapped in your depressive life that you can’t possibly imagine what it would be like for her to be given a chance.”
“Fuck you.”
“I already did.”
I was almost lost for words. Tom grabbed at my insecurities and brandished them towards me like a weapon, sharp and thirsty for blood, slicing me open.
“Don’t speak about matters you could not possibly understand.”
“Understand?” He barked a laugh. “How can I not understand when you waffle on about your problems and emotions every time you visit? Arlo, for your own sake, face the day like a man and stop trying to stop others from doing what it is they wish to do.”
My fingers were numb as I buttoned up my tunic. There was no doubt the wrong buttons were put into mismatching holes as I focused entirely on not letting Tom see me cry; not from sadness, but from anger and humiliation. Those were the worst tears to shed.
