Chapter 2- Murtagh

WARNING! This fan fiction contains incest and sexual scenes- not for the faint-hearted! Slash- Galbatorix/ Eragon, and definite Eragon/Murtagh. Don’t like it? Tough, don’t read it! It is set directly after the battle of the burning plains in Eldest. Compliments and characters to Christopher Paolini- consider Eragon/Murtagh! Thanks for reading- what the hell, read on and see what you think!

He wore leather trousers, leather greaves and a tough metallic tunic. His face had a serious kind of handsome; dark, dangerous and supposedly Eragon’s brother- the new Rider of Galbatorix.

“Murtagh? That can’t be!” Eragon whispered, tugging his chains, desperate to discover who the person was.

The elder brother strode into the cell, slamming it shut with magic. He stood darkly before speaking.

“Eragon. The prisoner. I told you it is impossible to resist Galbatorix. You should listen to your brother.”

Eragon stared. Murtagh was no longer the boy he had travelled to the Varden with, who he had fought a variety of creatures with, whose companionship he had cherished in times of great need. The man who he had duelled with, and lost to, on the Burning Plains had grown ever stronger and greater.

“Murtagh, you cannot be my brother.”

He laughed, not a cackle like Galbatorix, but a deep, rich and wholesome laugh.

“What, Rider? Am I not good enough to be of your blood?”

Eragon sighed, shrinking into the corner.

“You’re never too good for me.” he blurted out, his eyes on Murtagh’s impressive bulge in his trousers.

Murtagh raised his eyebrows. “Eyes up here. I have orders for you. The king requested you in his room. We’re leaving, brother.”

Eragon launched himself at Murtagh in rage. Instead of striking him, he accidentally bumped onto Murtagh’s face- and fell against his lips, brushing them with a light kiss. Fireworks and peculiar happiness erupted in Eragon’s chest, but he was shocked at how weatherworn and coarse Murtagh’s lips were. He was yanked back by his chains, and the older Rider wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Murtagh’s eyes were cold and confused all at once.

Eragon blushed under his gaze.

“Eragon, what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” Eragon muttered, although he wasn’t, he was actually thrilled. “But I hate that you keep calling me ’brother’- I could never be your kin.”

“So, you kiss me? You must control yourself.”

Eragon purposefully couldn’t bring himself to look at those bewitching eyes.

“Come, ’brother’.” Murtagh said, grinning wildly. He released Eragon and pushed him out of the cell, all of the way to Galbatorix’s rooms. Eragon didn’t trust himself to speak, instead guiltily enjoying Murtagh’s rough hands on his own, fervently hopeful that Saphira would not be able to hear his thoughts.

Once they reached Galbatorix’s quarters, Murtagh pushed him in and left, hesitantly locking the door. Eragon sprawled on the floor, taking in the ordinary and boring furnishings. Galbatorix himself stood in the midst of it, his pale and powerful body covered by a robe. He was dripping from his bath and beckoned Eragon with slender, creeping fingers.

“What do you want, Galbatorix? I will not join you. If we are to duel, shouldn’t you be appropriately dressed?”

The king raised his head and showed a yellow grin at the young Rider in a perverse way. Eragon hated how he eyed up his body like a tasty scrap of meat, looking at his ragged clothes as if they were not there. Eragon tried to cover himself as best as he could.

“Eragon, come over here and honour your king with a strip.”

Eragon backed away in horror, blinking as he tried to escape the king’s smooth voice. It was just as Murtagh had said- irresistible and impossible to get away from.

“You mean you want me to-to-”

“Come on, hurry up. What do you think I’ve been keeping Murtagh for? Only, that kid doesn’t let anyone into bed with him. Too defensive. Come and strip for me, or I will chop off your dragon’s legs one by one.”

Shaking at the thought of presenting his own body to Galbatorix in a sexual way, Eragon desperately searched for a weapon. When none were apparent, he realised he had no choice. His magic was nothing compared to the king. He slowly crawled over to Galbatorix’s feet. Eragon stood up whilst the repulsive old man sunk into his bed to watch him.

Pretending that Galbatorix was anyone else, Eragon slid a hand down his own body, emphasising every muscle. He slinked down to his toes, sticking his well-formed ass out and kicking off his boots.

Very gently, he eased off his tunic, whirling it around his head playfully, allowing the king to enjoy his perfect abs and strong upper body, courtesy of Vanir’s duels. Eragon trembled, unwilling to release his manhood for the dirty old man.

Galbatorix realised the boy’s apprehension and softened.

“Boy, open the balcony doors.” he ordered.

Continued in chapter 3! Please review!