Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  “Getting tired?” Taylor asked while he flossed his toes with a Wet Wipe.

  Ringo nodded sleepily. “Tryin’ to fight it until we can find a place to park for the night.”

  Corentin puffed his cheeks with a sigh. “We could just pull off on a shoulder.”

  “And sleep in the truck?” Ringo asked. There was a clear uneasy croak in his voice.

  “And get kidnapped by Eddie’s flying monkeys?” Taylor asked, tucking an unruly lock behind his ear. He hesitated, noticed his hand stained in armadillo, and whimpered.

  “Idi,” Corentin corrected Taylor again. “Idi doesn’t have flying monkeys. Anyway, I thought I’d do the gentlemanly thing and find a place for us to sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Taylor asked. The fear crept into his senses. The chances of saving Atticus slipped further and further away the longer they were out here. He had to stay strong for his brother, and he knew damned well what being out in the middle of nowhere with a huntsman meant. “What you mean is you’re waiting for the right moment to stab me with your huntsman death tools. No thanks.”

  Corentin sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy sandy-brown hair. “Look…. About Twin Arrows… I didn’t mean it.”

  Taylor threw a soiled Wet Wipe into the pit of Starbucks cups, McDonald’s bags, and mummified Wendy’s fries. “Didn’t mean it? Your mission is to ki—”

  “You’d better not be tossing those on the floor,” Corentin snapped.

  Taylor glanced down at the pile of bloody and goo-stained Wet Wipes littering the floorboard and mingling with the previous questionable trash. He glared at Corentin in the rearview and frowned. “What the hell does it matter? Have you seen what’s back here? If CSI came in with a light probe, I’d probably hose myself off with boiling water and a steel brush.” He then pulled another from the box and scrubbed his toes.

  “Don’t. Leave. Them,” Corentin said, his lips in a grim line. “Please.” The phrase left his mouth like a warning.

  Ringo frowned at Taylor. “Just do what he says. Stop being bitchy just to bitch.”

  Corentin waved a finger at Ringo and grinned. “You are A-OK in my book, little man.”

  Taylor tossed up his hands. “Y’all are assholes.”

  “No,” Corentin said firmly. “If I’m going to be stuck with you for however long this plays out, I’m going to take every opportunity to call you on your bullshit.”

  Taylor stubbornly set his jaw and held up the dirtied Wet Wipe for Corentin to see in the rearview mirror. He remained still, holding the cloth and watching Corentin glance back every so often. The truck rocked with a bump of uneven pavement. The Wet Wipe swayed with the motion of the truck.

  “Don’t,” Corentin said and met Taylor’s gaze in the rearview.

  Taylor said nothing as he held the Wet Wipe between his index finger and thumb. He pressed his lips together in an indignant line.

  “You’re going to regret it,” Corentin warned him.

  Taylor let the bloodstained cloth drop to the floorboard.

  The truck swerved sharply as Corentin pulled over to a mountainside overlook lined with boulders.

  Taylor froze and curled in on himself protectively in the backseat. “Whatareyoudoing?” Taylor asked, running his words together so urgently they came out as one.

  Corentin ripped the keys from the ignition, and the truck coughed once, then went silent. Taylor watched him shift to open the driver’s side door and flung himself against the passenger side backdoor. Corentin shoved the driver’s side door open and lunged out of the truck. Taylor squealed and flailed for a handle on the door. A glance out the window made him become still when he saw a sheer drop off a mountain cliff just beyond the door.

  “Ringo!” Taylor yelped, but the pixie was nowhere to be seen. “Ringo? Ringo, help me!”

  Ringo was gone? Where did he go? He was just here! There was nowhere to go!

  Corentin yanked the back driver’s side door open, and Taylor screamed. His slick and sticky foot slipped across the seats as he tried to shove himself away from Corentin. However, Corentin latched on to Taylor’s ankle and yanked him forward with an easy pull. Taylor flailed, trying to smack at Corentin’s hands, only to succeed in falling into his waiting grip. Corentin hauled Taylor out of the truck, kicking and screeching the whole way.

  “Let go of me!” Taylor hollered. “Help!” he howled into the cold mountain air. “Help!”

  Corentin shoved Taylor toward the tailgate of the truck, and Taylor stumbled. The frozen air stabbed into every bit of his bare skin. The thin magenta cotton of his Boymom shirt felt rough against his cold skin and scraped at his hard nipples. A rush of arousal shot through Taylor in a torrent, and his fears of Corentin were instantaneously forgotten, replaced instead by the intoxication of Corentin’s rough, oil-stained hands around his wrists. Taylor’s cock swelled. He should be afraid, but he was overeager and overexcited for what came next.

  All the thoughts of screaming for help were gone, but instead his mind filled with the idea of screaming out Corentin’s name as he fucked him. Oh, he was going to fuck him. Taylor couldn’t wait for that part. His knees quivered with the need.

  Corentin held Taylor by the wrists in one hand and slammed the tailgate down with the other. The high-pitched wail followed by the hard clang made Taylor’s dick jump. He panted hotly.

  “W-what are you going to do to m-me?” Taylor asked, his need making his teeth chatter and his words slur.

  “You’re a princess.” Corentin sat on the tailgate and jerked Taylor forward to lay bottoms up over his lap. “Princesses get taught lessons,” Corentin admonished him.

  It was Taylor’s only warning when Corentin effortlessly ripped his cargo shorts away to his ankles. Taylor gasped, and Corentin’s fingers danced around the mounds of Taylor’s rear.

  “Nice ass,” Corentin murmured.

  Taylor’s breath hitched in his throat. His cock ached. “I-I…,” Taylor stammered. “I—” The words died in Taylor’s throat when Corentin’s palm cracked hard against his rear. Another hard slap came, and Taylor squeaked with the sting. “Oh… fuck….”

  Corentin spanked him once more, harder than the last. “That’s for cussing.”

  “Cussing?” Taylor asked while trying to catch his breath. He grinned over his shoulder at Corentin. “Then spank me like you fucking mean it, you pussy.”

  Corentin cracked him hard in rapid succession, and Taylor cried out with the sting and heat rising off his rear.

  “Learned your lesson yet?” Corentin asked him, patting Taylor’s rear gently.

  Taylor’s whole body shivered with the touch. “I think I need to learn another lesson,” he said, shifting from Corentin’s lap.

  He kicked off his shorts, and they blustered over the side of the overlook. He smirked at Corentin, and Corentin noted casually that Taylor’s shorts were no more. His cock jutted, trembling with the need to be touched. He straddled Corentin’s clothed lap and pulled his shirt over his head, then tossed it into the wind. He smiled at Corentin, a lazy, sleepy smile, and he guided Corentin’s hand to take his shaft.

  “Teach me,” Taylor said, bucking into Corentin’s hand.

  Corentin grinned, stroking so gently Taylor could barely feel it. Taylor groaned as his groin throbbed. With just the right touch, he would go off in an instant. But he couldn’t. Corentin was touching him the wrong way.

  “Teach me,” Taylor whined again, riding Corentin’s hand.

  “Teach you what?” Corentin asked with a sly grin. But he was still stroking too softly, as if there was no sensation at all.

  “Teach me how to come!” Taylor cried and fell back off the tailgate. His head clocked into a rather rubbery ground. Taylor winced and then blinked to clear the spots out of his eyes.

  When his vision cleared, he found himself in the backseat of the truck, Corentin still driving and Ringo sitting on the dashboard. All fully dressed. All still on the road like nothing was amiss. Dread hit Taylor hard, and his
hand slapped over his mouth to hold in any nausea. He noticed the crotch of his shorts was warm and wet. Taylor smashed the Wet Wipes container to his crotch to hide the evidence. He squirmed in his seat and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

  A wet dream. It was just a wet dream. That’s all. Taylor thought if he repeated it enough he’d calm down. He was so overtired and overstressed from this whole situation his hormones were ready to have a meltdown. Being a princess with a magical chastity belt was hell. All of the lust and desire and none of the payoff.

  He glanced up at Corentin in the rearview. Corentin’s eyes were on the road, and Ringo also watched the passing scenery shifting to radically different parts of the country every few miles.

  “Did you…?” Taylor croaked from the backseat and then cleared his throat of the gigantic frog that had taken roost there. “Did you pull over at any time?”

  Corentin glanced into the rearview at Taylor with an arched brow. “No,” he said. “You drifted off again. Just midconversation, you were out like a light.”

  “Oh…,” Taylor said, mentally sighing in relief. He noticed the Wet Wipes littering the floorboard of the truck among all the other garbage. “Did we have an argument?”

  “About you dumping crap in my truck?” Corentin asked. Taylor watched him run a hand through his hair. “Not really. Your fairy godfather talked me into giving you a break.”

  The knot in Taylor’s stomach unfurled itself, and he relaxed into the seat. “Must have been dreaming,” he said while watching the shifting countryside. There was something that looked like Texas oil wells, then the coast of Big Sur, then the swamps of the Everglades. Despite it being really weird, it brought Taylor a margin of comfort that the game the witch was playing with them still had a sense of stable rules.

  The empty box of Wet Wipes teetered in Taylor’s lap, and he quickly corrected it.

  “Must have been some dream,” Corentin said with a Cheshire grin.

  Taylor’s eyes widened. He knew.

  “You mumble in your sleep,” Corentin added, and Taylor’s fingers clawed into the seat upholstery.

  “R-really?” Taylor asked. There was no way around it. He knew this was going to be the most awkward conversation of his life. He tried to think of how to explain it.

  So, I had this really freaking smutty dream about you that you spanked me. I’m not even into that. But apparently dream me really got off on it. And then I totally begged you to teach me how to come, like those trashy porn films you find online. Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention I’m totally gay. Please don’t kill me with your huntsman death tools because I am small and defenseless. I’d really like to keep breathing.

  There. That about covers it, Taylor thought. He frowned. That was fucking hideous. Corentin would kill him. He’d shove him in a blender bit by bit and process him into a tasty soup to feed to Idi himself.

  “She must have been hot,” Corentin said with a grin.

  Taylor’s face flushed. The fact that Corentin knew the contents of his dream but assumed it was with a woman both comforted and humiliated him all at once. “Oh. My. God. Fuck, this is embarrassing.” Taylor slapped his forehead.

  “S’cool,” Corentin said. “You’d think I’d never had one either.”

  Taylor tried not to scream. Instead, he pressed his lips together and balled his hands into fists. He flopped against the back of the seat and growled an overdramatic sigh. “This can’t possibly get any worse,” he muttered.

  “Corentin could kill you,” Ringo said while watching the road.

  Taylor glared at him. “Not. Helping.”

  The whispering growl of the tires on the asphalt hummed inside the truck cabin. They drove in silence, each of them swaying from the uneven pavement. Taylor rested his chin on the palm of his hand and stared out the window. He longed to be home. He longed to be with his family. To be with Atticus. He would have done anything for Atticus to be happy. Atticus didn’t know the first thing about tending to his own happiness. He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted most. Instead, Taylor selfishly took everything. He was Curseless, so it didn’t matter. No one cared about him conforming to some moral Enchant code. If something captured his attention for five seconds, he’d chase after it. And when it got boring, he moved on to the next thing.

  He didn’t think coming out would be such a huge deal at sixteen. His parents didn’t have the time for him anyway. When the words left his mouth in a snotty superior tone, he didn’t know his and Ringo’s lives would be forever changed.

  “I’m so selfish…,” Taylor mumbled.

  “Hmm?” Ringo asked, and Corentin watched Taylor in the rearview.

  “I…,” Taylor said, then paused. “I just want everything to be okay.” He nervously ran a hand through his hair. The tears stung his eyes.

  “It will be,” Corentin said, smiling. Taylor blinked at the moment of tenderness from him.

  “We’ll save Atticus,” Ringo said. He pounded his tiny fist into his waiting palm. “Idi won’t know what hit ’im.”

  “You shouldn’t let it get you down so much,” Corentin said to Taylor. “The princess thing. Curseless or not, you’re on a mission to save Snow White. That’s cool, right?”

  Taylor’s shoulders drooped, and he returned his attention to the rolling desert landscape. “I guess,” he said and realized how cold his lap was. The idea of a shower seemed like a distant luxury while trapped on the road.

  “You guess?” Corentin asked. “What’s with the all of a sudden defeatist attitude?”

  “It’s hard, you know,” Taylor said and straightened in his seat. “It’s hard to compete with that when your baby brother hit the jackpot as a princess. It’s like….” He trailed off and heaved a sigh. “It’s like, I’m the firstborn. The firstborn are supposed to get all the cool shit. Just… was I not good enough? Was I born under the wrong sign? Was Ringo drunk that day?”

  “So, you think you were selfish,” Corentin said and nodded once.

  “Oh no!” Taylor said. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I know I’m selfish. I’m selfish, and I’m jealous. I can admit it. It was my selfishness that got us into this mess.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Corentin asked. His gaze held concern as he watched Taylor in the rearview.

  Taylor offered a crooked, broken smile. “Trying to appeal to the guy who’s going to kill me?”

  Corentin snorted. “Storyteller’s tits,” he said with a sigh. “I’m not going to kill you.”

  “You’re not?” Taylor and Ringo asked in unison.

  “I’m trying to help you,” Corentin said tersely. “This is going to sound shitty, but I have no use for you. Killing a Curseless Enchant is worthless in my line of work.”

  Taylor’s heart sank. His lips wiggled into an uncomfortable frown. “So if I wasn’t?”

  Corentin grinned. “I would have dumped your body hours ago.”

  “Well,” Ringo said and didn’t follow it up. His wings beat in three slow pulses.

  Somehow this didn’t make Taylor feel any sliver of comfort. Corentin was just a guy in a long line of people who didn’t really care about him one way or another. Corentin did say he was trying to help. That indicated he cared. But he also said he wouldn’t have hesitated in killing him. So that indicated he had no regard for Taylor at all. Taylor mentally shifted the puzzle pieces around on the metaphorical table and found he was just a means to an end. Corentin was just using him to get what he wanted, and when he got it, he’d be off to whatever pit he crawled out of. Just as well, Taylor realized. He could deal with being used as long as he went in with his eyes open.

  A flash of his filthy dream shot through Taylor’s mind, and his cock stirred. The thought of Corentin’s oil-stained hands on his body made him shiver. “I’m just tired,” Taylor said out loud. He fought to vanquish the demons teasing him with need.

  Ringo yawned from his place on the dash. “I think we all need some sleep.”

  Taylor resumed wa
tching the stars in silence. Despite the changing landscape, the stars were their only constant.

  “Hey, hey,” Corentin said with a smile in his tone. “I see something.”

  A lit sign rose over the horizon and flashed “VACANCY” in cheerful yellow neon. Against the indigo sky, the silhouettes of round, peaked cabins emerged.

  Ringo chuckled. “That’s awesome,” he said in amusement. “Looks like we’re back in some nature of the Southwest.”

  “This looks like a good enough place to stop,” Corentin said. He slowed the truck and guided it into the parking lot. He looped an arm over the back of the passenger seat and fully looked at Taylor for the first time in hours. Taylor’s ears felt hot from seeing all of Corentin’s face instead of just his eyes in the rearview.

  “If this doesn’t make you smile, at least you’ll look silly for pouting,” Corentin said with a grin, then pointed to the curious patch of civilization. “The Wigwam Motel,” he read, then frowned. “What the hell is a wigwam?”

  Taylor shifted to look out the window and took in their momentary reprieve. Tacky concrete teepees stood in a row, painted with a feeble attempt at authentic Hopi patterns. He slowly smiled. Sometimes the world could have moments of being completely unexpected and a sliver of wonderful. “I think they’re supposed to be teepees,” he said. “You know… like Native Americans in the Old West?”

  Corentin squinted into the darkness. Spread out before them was a piece of nostalgia from an innocent time lost. A small gaggle of concrete teepees stood proudly on the desert’s hard-baked earth. Distantly, a train’s horn echoed through the emptiness of the cool air. The chugga-chugga of the engine with the rhythmic clatter of the wheels clicked along. The garish neon sign flickered as moths fluttered in frantic amorous figure eights to woo their glowing glass lover. Classic cars sat sunbaked and empty in the parking lot. They were placed there for the ambiance, as if their drivers would return by morning. A powder-blue Studebaker was parked near the entrance and patiently awaited the day his gentleman driver would return after several decades’ absence. A cherry red wing-tipped convertible was parked in front of a wigwam and suggested the young lovers who once drove the glorious machine needed more privacy than lover’s lane.