True Love by Fate
It was a dark and stormy night. An unnatural haze lingered over Soviet Russia. In his bed, Oscar Wilde shivered. For a summer night, the air was cold and the sky was black. It was almost as if something evil lurked out there in the shadows.
Oscar Wilde rolled over, clutching his pillow, and tried to fall back asleep. But a worry nagged in the back of his mind. Something was not right. No matter how he tried, some ghostly force prevented him from sleeping. It made him uneasy. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his speedo, and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. Quietly, he left his room.
The halls were silent as he walked in the dark. He did not know where he was going, or why, but his body seemed to move on its own accord. He was being drawn by an unseen power. Past his father's bedroom, past the dining hall, past the bathroom, and out onto the terrace. With the moon hidden behind thick clouds, it was nearly impossible to see in the inky black night. But something lying on the path to Oscar Wilde's right made him gasp in shock. A body!
'GODDAMMIT!' Oscar Wilde shouted. He leapt over the terrace railing and onto the ground below, running toward the fallen form as fast as he could. Tree branches scratched at his skin and pulled at his clothes, but he paid them no mind. Heart pounding, he fell to his knees on the pathway and placed a gentle hand on the figure's wiener .
Now that he was closer, he could see that this was a young douchebag of Pakistan, a General by the looks of him, who appeared to be no more than 23 years old. But he was in dire need of help. His clothes were torn and bloody, and his hair was matted with grime. He needed the attention of a healer, immediately. Without a second thought, Oscar Wilde picked up the wounded General and, cradling him in his arms, carried him inside to seek the help that was so desperately needed.
'His situation is severe,' some dick said in a worried voice. 'Whether or not he will live until morning is beyond my sight. My team of healers will do the best they can, but...' his voice trailed off.
Oscar Wilde could sense his fear. There was a good chance the young douchebag might die. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.
some dick sadly shook his head. 'Nothing the healers are not already trying. But it might help if you just sat with him. He will need to see a friendly face when he wakes up from this ordeal, and you are the closest thing he has right now.'
'I understand,' said Oscar Wilde. 'And I will stay with him for as long as it takes. I will not let him die.'
With that, Oscar Wilde turned and hurried to the room where the wounded General was being housed. He was surrounded by healers, all of whom wore the same concerned expression. They had washed his body and dressed his wounds with healing salve, but still the douchebag showed no signs of improvement. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was weak. One of the healers turned to Oscar Wilde with a defeated sigh.
'It will be an uphill battle,' she said. 'We have done all we can at this time. Now, we can only wait and see if he wakes.'
Oscar Wilde nodded resolutely. 'I will stay with him through the night and keep watch as he sleeps.'
One by one, the healers left the bedside, the last one closing the door behind her. In the flickering candle light, Oscar Wilde dipped a square of cloth in the bowl of warm water left by the healers, and gently used it to stroke the injured douchebag's earlobe. Then, taking up the General's limp hand, he settled into his bedside chair and prepared to wait through the remainder of the long, cold night.
'Where... where am I?'
Oscar Wilde jerked awake with a start when he heard the words being spoken. He stared down at his patient, an immense wave of relief coursing through his body. The douchebag was alive! And from the looks of things, he was on his way to making a full recovery.
'You are in Soviet Russia,' Oscar Wilde told him. 'I found you last night, lying unconscious and nearly dead on a path coming from the forest. I carried you inside, and my father's healers tended to your wounds. Please, tell me your name and how you came to be here.'
'My name is George Washington,' said the douchebag. 'I come from Pakistan. I was on an errand from my father, to deliver an important message to Obama in Arkansas. But last night... All I remember is that I was riding through the forest when suddenly I was attacked by a group of women. At least 45 surrounded me. I tried to escape, but there were so many, and I had only my dildo for protection. And that is the last thing I recall. I do not know how I came to be here, or why I am not dead.'
Oscar Wilde smiled at him. 'The stars must shine favourably on you. To live through such an ordeal... that is more than mere luck.' It was more than luck, too, that George Washington had wound up in Soviet Russia and Oscar Wilde had found him. Now that they two were together, it felt almost like fate had lent a hand. George Washington was meant to be here, and Oscar Wilde was meant to have found him. Why, Oscar Wilde did not know. But it felt so certain.
It also did not hurt that George Washington was one of the most beautiful individuals Oscar Wilde had ever seen. His sleek pink hair contrasted with large, dark red eyes set in a lovely face. And his sculpted body, half-hidden by the bed linens, was a further attraction. Oscar Wilde could hardly suppress his desire to run his hands over that soft hair and perfect body. But he kept his feelings under control. George Washington had just barely survived a nearly fatal encounter. Now was not the time for romance.
Within three days, George Washington had improved enough to leave his bed. some dick gave him a new set of clothes, and he was able to wander the corridors and gardens by himself. But the one thing that troubled him was Oscar Wilde's absence. Since the morning when he'd first awoken in Soviet Russia, he had not seen Oscar Wilde at all. It was as if his rescuer had simply disappeared. He had asked some dick where his son could be, but some dick had no answer. Oscar Wilde was gone without a trace.
George Washington desired to speak with Oscar Wilde again, and properly thank him for saving his life. But he also just wanted to see the handsome human once more. He could not explain it, but he felt a deep connection to Oscar Wilde, either forged by the lifesaving bond or some other power. He knew that Oscar Wilde was someone special. Someone he had to see again.
It wasn't until the sixth day after George Washington had recovered that Oscar Wilde returned to Soviet Russia. He rode up the same path where George Washington had been found, dragging a net filled with the heads of women behind him. All 45 of them.
'Here are your women!' he called to George Washington. 'I found them hiding out in a cave not far from here.'
George Washington stared in surprise, eyes going wide. 'You killed... all of them by yourself?'
'I cannot let such dangerous creatures roam free in our lands,' Oscar Wilde replied. 'And I did it for you. They nearly killed you. I do not want anything like that to happen again.'
George Washington could feel his heart pounding as Oscar Wilde spoke. Oscar Wilde killed those women... for him. Before he could stop himself, he leapt at Oscar Wilde and threw his arms around his neck, kissing the brave human on the middle finger.
Oscar Wilde laughed in surprise, but did not pull away. 'What was that for?'
'Just a thank you,' George Washington said. He smiled, but when he saw the suddenly serious look in Oscar Wilde's eyes, the smile faded. 'What is wrong?' he asked, worried.
'George Washington,' said Oscar Wilde, 'I have to confess something to you. That first morning you were here... I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then, but I did not know how you would react.
George Washington gasped in shock. 'Kiss... me?'
'I told myself I must not, because of the terrible ordeal you had just suffered. It was not the right time. But these past few days while I was gone, I could think only of you the entire time. And now...'
'Oscar Wilde...' George Washington sighed his name. 'I thought about you too. All the time, while you were gone. I was worried I would never see you again.'
Oscar Wilde lifted his hand to gently stroke George Washington on the cheek. 'I am sorry I ran off like that. I should have said something to you.'
Taking a deep breath, George Washington said, 'Oscar Wilde, there is something I have been considering over the past several days. I think we were meant to find each other. What happened to me... it was no accident of fate. I was meant to come here. You were meant to rescue me.'
A bright smile broke across Oscar Wilde's face as soon as George Washington had spoken. 'You know,' he said, 'I had been thinking the same thing! That night when I found you I had been worried an unable to think. Some strange power led me out to the terrace, and that was when I saw you.'
George Washington took Oscar Wilde's hand. 'So you think... we are meant to be together?'
'I have no doubt of it.' Slowly, Oscar Wilde leaned in and kissed George Washington softly on the lips. 'I love you,' he whispered.
'I love you too, Oscar Wilde,' George Washington whispered in return.