The small, highborn youth of eighteen barely had time to slip back into his clothes when his father dragged him by the arm before the fieldhands. The landowner caught Danny, his bookish second son, rolling in the hay with Brian, one of his dimwitted fieldhands. If the boy had a spine to begin with he wouldn't have minded. He wouldn't have minded if he knocked up some village girl with a bastard, either. But to see his timid son, who should be off making something of himself, giving himself to the help...
"Boy, I am at my wit's end with you!" his father shouted. "If you're going to go letting my field hands plow you you're going to BE one. I've got your brothers to carry on the family name and fortune."
Blushing madly, Danny stuttered back "I'm sorry father. I'll go. If I could get my books and my alchemy set, I'll go. I'll never trouble you again."
"It was my go that paid for that, boy! You haven't even got the clothes on your back. You’re going to work off every morsel you’ve ever eaten, here, I swear," he spit with rage, turning back to the house and leaving Danny alone, penniless, and in shock. The fieldhands quietly scattered and returned to work. He then felt a tough hand on his shoulder, Brian's.
The two boys were close as ever over the next few days as Brian showed Danny the ropes of being a field-hand. It was exhausting work that the small youth was ill-suited for. He was sore and sunburnt at the end of each day. The other field-hands didn't make it any easier, and they enjoyed teasing "Little Lord Danny." They took what few possessions he had and left him with nothing but tattered rags and filthy work-boots. It was always Danny who had to clean the stables, and do the filthiest and most humiliating jobs. He thought Brian would give him some protection, but it was just the opposite, the oaf was even more in love with the new and rustic Danny. As the weeks passed the nobleman’s son lived for nothing other than laying beside Brian in their makeshift bed of straw in the loft.
But still, Danny was miserable.
“Yer doin’ good work, Shit Boy,” Brian ruffled the youth’s hair and clapped him on the back. Danny was mucking the stalls again which was smelly, miserable work in the summer heat. He had stripped down to his britches. The weeks of work had made him toned, but he had yet to fill out as Brian had.
“I don’t like it when you call me that,” Danny sighed glumly and set the hoe aside. The pet name was growing on him, almost, but he hated to admit it. “I was smart. I’m not meant for this.”
“Me too, Danny, but I turned out fine,” Brian grinned stupidly “I was an elf once ya know. I knew magic and other stuff, but that don’t matter anymore. Plowin fields is fine for me, and shoveling shit is fine fer you.”
Danny was dumfounded. Is this why he fell in love with Brian? Was it that glimmer of intellect still inside him and not his giant cock? He realized he needed to give Brian his brains and life back. It was the clever boy underneath the oaf he really loved. Danny’s father had barred him from their home, but he realized slipping in to find his alchemy set shouldn’t be hard.