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mokuyoubiSort of a bummer that no one seems to care about bandom right now. I'm not really complaining. And I really have no one to blame but myself for having lost track of what's going on, where everyone is, when I disappeared forever. But, blah. I guess I should be moving on, too, but I really only want to write original stuff or bandom, so whatever.
Title: Not Your Keeper 4/?
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer (Ryan/Spencer, Spencer/Greta, Gabe/William, some others)
Rating: R (eventually NC-17)
WC: ~6k (this part)
Summary: Victorian AU. Spencer's parents have recently passed away, leaving him to care for his siblings and tend the family orchard. Brendon is the mysterious stranger who answers the ad for a farm hand.
The weather was clearing nicely by the third week of February. It hadn't snowed in several days, and the sun was melting what remained quite quickly. Brendon and Spencer spent their mornings tapping the maples, positioning the spouts and hanging the buckets. They wouldn't have any substantial, useable amount of sap for several days, but the sun had thawed the trees enough that the sap was running.
Sometimes the task could get painful and tedious, and by the third day, Spencer's muscles were screaming in protest. Brendon kept him distracted as always, making conversation.
"So your mom was born in Italy, your pa was British…how'd they ever meet and end up out here in the middle 'a nowhere," Brendon asked one afternoon.
Spencer supposed you could only go on with small talk for so long before you ran out. It wasn't a place Spencer reached often with others. After you reached that point you either had to cut off the relationship, keep it at the same place, or move forward. Spencer wasn't a big fan of sharing his personal information. All the people who knew these details were people who’d known him all his life.
Brendon took his hesitation for his answer and shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"
"Grandfather moved his family from Italy to New York City when Mother was thirteen. Father saw Mother in the park, and said he fell in love at first sight." Spencer paused, hoping he conveyed with his tone of voice his opinion on the matter.
"Grandfather didn't approve of the match, and so they eloped. When they had me, the moved back to New York. I suppose they used me to win over Grandfather." He was aware of how bitter he sounded, and he didn't care. Mother had always said he showed his emotions too much, but he didn't see how that was a bad thing.
"I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject," Brendon said, giving Spencer a way out.
Spencer paused, in the process of driving a spike into the tree, his muscles thanking him. He leaned against the tree. "Grandfather got sick when I was twelve, and he and Father got into an argument. No one would tell any of us children what had happened, only that Father would no longer inherit the business, but that it would pass to my uncle, instead.
"So my mother had this brilliant idea that a vineyard would support the family, and then when she saw the orchards in the east, she wanted one of those as well. And of course Father would never withhold from her that which she desired.
"And then, what profits we did make my father spent on paying for this mansion and gambling and whoring and then he probably got himself and my mother killed by a pimp or a debt collector, and that, as they say, is that. And now I am left with this,” he gestured to the farm around him.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and couldn't look at Brendon. He didn't want to see the pity. Somehow he felt better now that it was out in the open, and worse, because there was still nothing he could do.
"I didn't mean to—" Brendon began again, but Spencer shook his head.
"I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want to,” Spencer said. Something about Brendon made him want to share everything, all the dark little secrets he held close, all the desperate, helpless anger, all the awful things he thought. Somehow, he thought Brendon might understand. Or at the very least, not hold such things against him.
Brendon's hand touched his shoulder lightly and the smile that came upon Spencer's lips wasn't all forced. "Your turn," he said ruefully.
The hand dropped and Brendon turned away, going back to work. "I've told you all there is to know," he said at length.
Spencer felt anger rise up in his chest and his cheeks went hot. "How did you come to America?" he persisted.
"Same as your ma," Brendon said evenly. "My pa was sick and tired of having everything we owned and made being taken by the government. He moved us all to New York. And I didn't stick around long."
As quickly as his anger had come, it was gone. Brendon sounded just as bitter as Spencer felt, and it was clear he didn't want to think about it. He cast about, trying to think of a way to change the subject, but he kept coming up with nothing. The silence stretched between them and Spencer worried he'd asked too much.
"Sorry, it's just I don't get many people wanting to know about me," Brendon said. He was working steadily, very pointedly not looking at Spencer.
A sharp, tight feeling spread through his chest, entirely different from the feeling of anger. He could understand, because usually he didn't want to know about other people. Brendon made Spencer so curious that he wanted to learn as much as he could, but Brendon gave so little.
It was strange and made his heart go more quickly. He'd never been good at making friends. He'd clung to Ryan alone while Ryan had dozens of friends. He hadn't found anyone to let close since then. Perhaps it was about time.
*
By the end of the week, Spencer’s body felt as though it was one big bruise. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were sore from reaching above his head to do the tapping of the trees, and his thighs and calves hurt from crouching for long periods of time to do the same low down. Jacqueline had taken pity on both him and Brendon, and she and the girls had set out steaming baths for both of them after dinner on Friday.
Before relaxing in the water, Spencer took out the first of the magazines in the stack from Ryan. The contents page wasn’t any more promising than the cover, and Spencer remembered how Ryan had always been far more occupied with the thought of sex than Spencer himself had. When they were boys, Ryan had cooked up dozens of schemes involving sex shows, prostitutes and brothels.
The first story was entitled Abandon, and from the start, it was clear what sort of direction the narrative was taking. Though he told himself he should put it down, Spencer found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words on the page.
“Here, Isabelle, feel my arrow of love, risen just for you,” Nicholas groaned, placing her hand over his cock.
Isabelle’s eyes went wide and she squeezed hesitantly. Her small, pale hand was soft and unsure, and the touch was intoxicating. “What should I do?” She asked in an awed, quavering voice
.
“Just pull a little,” Nicholas gasped.
Spencer felt his stomach tightening, his groin growing unbearably hot. He’d developed his own erection, swelling with every passage he read. Still, he could not look away, though he was sure his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. He shifted in the water, trying to become more comfortable, but to no avail.
The next story was even more risqué, reminding him of the book Ryan had sent him in the fall. The Picture of Dorian Grey had been creative and vague, but Spencer knew enough of deviance and of Oscar Wilde himself not to be fooled. This story in The Pearl didn’t even bother to try to hide, and it couldn’t even be considered undertones when…when…
Spencer groaned, his hips thrusting up of their own accord. He could almost feel the sensations—fingers brushing his sensitive nipples, soft lips around his most intimate flesh, sliding in to warm, tight, welcoming heat.
The magazine dropped from Spencer’s nerveless fingers, landing with a loud smack on the hardwood floor. Spencer didn’t hear it, could only hear his own heavy breathing as he closed his own hand around his cock and began to stroke desperately. He found his completion far too quickly, and wished he could have prolonged it. Perhaps he could take another bath tomorrow; it was the weekend. He could certainly find time alone to read.
*
"Spencer Smith!" Jacqueline roared, when he announced on the fourteenth of March that Ryan would be arriving the next day. Brendon winced and offered him a sympathetic look.
"I really don't understand what this has to do with you,” Spencer began in a reasonable sort of voice.
"Well, let me enlighten you, then," Jacqueline said through her teeth. Brendon got up and left. Several of the younger ones followed. Heather and Silvia stayed, watching with some interest. "We only have so many bedrooms, and all of them are occupato. Capite? So then I need to find a place for him to sleep. I need to make extra food at the meals. I need to know these things. And besides."
"I'm sorry,” Spencer said. It was probably too late to head her off before it got out of hand.
"È il mio amico, troppo,” she shouted.
"I know,” Spencer said. "I'm sorry. I hadn't thought. I…" He took a shaky breath, unsure how to explain to her why hadn’t said anything.
Jacqueline and Crystal had indeed been close with Ryan, and Spencer had always been a bit jealous. They were so much more charming than Spencer had ever been, and he’d often worried that she would steal away his best and only friend. Now that Jacqueline was grown, he feared that even more.
Jacqueline gave him a dark look and stormed from the kitchen, muttering just loud enough to be heard by the entire house about making room. Spencer sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. He thought, not for the first time, that maybe having Ryan to visit wasn’t the best idea in the world.
Brendon stuck his head in the kitchen. “The storm passed?”
Spencer swept his hand out in a grand gesture. “Come on in,” he said. Brendon pulled up the chair next to him and sat down, regarding Spencer with an indiscernible look.
“So, this Ryan fellow, old friend, I assume,” Brendon said. His fingers drew patterns on the table.
“Yes,” Spencer said weakly. That was another thing. For whatever reason, unknown to him, Spencer didn’t feel it was a good idea for Brendon and Ryan to be around one another.
“Ah,” Brendon said, as if he understood, and nodded his head. Silence spread out between them.
Unexpectedly, images from the magazine he’d read flashed through Spencer’s mind, and in his mind’s eye, he saw himself reaching out, taking a hold of Brendon’s wrist, pulling him in…
Spencer stood up quickly, knocking his chair over. He stumbled backward. Brendon stood too. “Hey, you okay?” He looked concerned. Spencer held out a hand and sidestepped toward the door, feeling his heart race. If Brendon looked at him too closely, he’d know.
“I, ah…” Spencer felt short of breath. “I should go help Jacqueline,” he said quickly, and dashed out of the room.
In his own room, door firmly closed and locked, Spencer collapsed onto his bed, his heart rate out of control. It had to be the fault of the magazine. Before that, why, he’d barely touched himself and hadn’t had the least bit of interest in a sexual relationship.
And now, because of it, he was so desperate that he turned to the only person around him not of his family, regardless of the fact that it was a person of the same gender. He buried his face in his pillow, feeling as though he might be swallowed up by guilt.
Spencer drew out the nearest magazine, and opened to a random page. He forced himself to conjure up the image of a woman—any woman. The school mistress came to mind. She was pretty, with strawberry blonde curls and full lips and a curvy frame. She always smiled when she saw Spencer. He focussed on her image, reaching into his waistband and taking himself in hand. He was already hard from the thought of kissing Brendon, but he shoved that name from his mind and thought instead of the girl. Miss Greta.
The story was, suitably enough, about a thin blonde being bound and whipped, her generous breasts heaving. Spencer imagined them pressed against his chest, but had no concept of the sensation. He tried to imagine her dripping desire, her long hair, any of it, but all he could see was Brendon’s teasing smile, Brendon’s sparkling eyes. Brendon’s lips looked soft…Spencer cried out into his pillow, coming into his hand.
*
Everyone wanted to come to town, but in the end, Spencer went on his own to greet Ryan. He needed the time to adjust to the situation on his own, first. The entire ride to town he focused on Ryan and how he would enjoy their time together and how nice it would be to have an intelligent person around. He didn’t think at all about how clever Brendon was, or how concerned he’d acted after Spencer’s behaviour the previous evening.
Ryan disembarked from the train with a glowing smile, looking far taller and handsomer than he had been in Spencer’s memory. “Hello, dear boy,” he called, taking Spencer by the elbows and pulling him for a hug.
They were of a height, Spencer’s chin resting easily on Ryan’s shoulder. It made him wonder how Brendon, small and compact, would fit in his arms. He closed his eyes tightly and willed away the thought.
“Ryan,” he said. Ryan smelled like ink and tea. “I’m sorry the others couldn’t come…”
“Ah, it’s better this way,” Ryan said. “I get you to myself for a bit. In fact, any way we could stop for a drink before heading off?”
“Oh? Um…” Spencer was surprised, but pleased. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Of course. If, that is, you don’t mind being touched inappropriately by women with loose morals and questionable intentions.”
“Sounds like just my sort of place,” Ryan exclaimed, clapping Spencer on the back. Spencer bent, taking one of his suitcases and they loaded Ryan’s things in the carriage before heading into The Carriage House saloon.
“How absolutely quaint!” Ryan said, a bit loudly, when they stepped inside. As always, the music was playing raucously, the girls were dancing in little clothing, and the men were as drunk as dogs. “You know, I’ve heard stories about your bars out here, but this…this is just…too perfect.”
Some of the towns’ people were regarding Ryan with suspicious eyes and Spencer did a poor job of hiding his smile as he nudged Ryan further into the saloon.
“Mister Smith,” the bartender said. Spencer nodded back, and led Ryan away, toward a table in the back. Ryan followed, hands twitching like he longed for a pen and paper.
“I love it, I want to move here,” Ryan said. “Father would never think to look for me here. Do you think they let rooms?”
“By the hour, most likely,” Spencer said dryly.
“Too perfect!” crowed Ryan.
“Ryan,” Spencer chastised softly, under his breath. “You’re drawing attention to us.”
“So?” Ryan challenged. “Darling girl!” He shouted to a passing waitress. She gave him an impish grin and veered off course to stop by their table. She propped her hands on the table, pushing her bosom together and leaning over Ryan. “Get me the strongest thing you’ve got, and for my friend…”
“Um…Scotch and water,” Spencer murmured.
Ryan waved a dismissive hand. “Make that two of the strongest things you’ve got.” The waitress winked and pushed off before Spencer could make an indignant noise.
“Live a little,” Ryan urged him. He scooted his chair closer to Spencer’s and crossed his arms at the wrist, and pinned Spencer with a somewhat unnerving stare. “Ah, Spence, God you’ve changed.”
Spencer felt his cheeks flush. “H…how do you mean?” he asked.
“You look like you’ve been working out, and you’ve grown out your hair, and you’ve gotten taller.” Ryan paused, a far away look about him. “You’re all grown up.”
“I’m only a year younger than you,” Spencer pointed out defensively. “And I’ve been working on a farm. What do you expect?”
Ryan pulled a face and took a drink when their waitress placed glasses of amber liquid before them. “Honestly! A farm!” He shook his head. “You really need to come home with me.”
Spencer felt the familiar pain tugging at his heart. Yes he wanted to say. God yes, take me away from here. But then he thought of his siblings, and…Brendon. Spencer turned his gaze to the table top.
“How are you, really?” Ryan asked. He reached out to lay his hand over Spencer’s. “First Crystal, then your Grandmother. Now your parents. Spence, I’ve been so worried about you.”
“It’s…” Spencer didn’t know what to say. Three years ago, right after Crystal had died, Spencer had wished desperately for Ryan’s presence. Ryan had always been the one Spencer could talk to, about anything.
Their parents had been little comfort, as always self-absorbed. It had been up to Jacqueline and Spencer to console the younger children. Up to Spencer to hold Jacqueline as she sobbed every night for months, suffering a loss Spencer couldn’t begin to understand. It was as if a part of her had died along with Crystal, a part Spencer could see missing even now.
Time and further loss had hardened Spencer against the pain. Now he didn’t see the point in talking. It didn’t make him feel any better about things. He made himself smile, but it felt tight and brittle around the edges, and he knew Ryan saw right through it. “We’re doing fine, carrying on.”
Ryan stared at him for a long moment, and then he nodded, accepting. Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “If you want to talk…” Ryan said.
“I know,” Spencer said. “I appreciate it.” Ryan squeezed his hand, and Spencer gently pulled away, leaning back in his seat. Then he threw back a good portion of his drink all in one go. “Tell me all about university.”
The afternoon bled into the evening, and one drink led to another, led to five, and before Spencer knew it, it was nearly nine in the evening and he was plastered. “You shouldn’t go out in cold weather like this,” Ryan said in a very somber tone of voice, but the effect was ruined by his slurred words.
“Are you suggesting we stay here?” Spencer prided himself on being able to speak clearly, but it took a great deal of effort, and longer than he thought was probably strictly required.
“Are you concerned about being touched inappropriately by women with loose morals and questionable intentions?” Ryan asked, leering at Spence. “We can share a room. I’ll protect you.”
The mere suggestion made Spencer feel hot all over. With the way he’d been dreaming lately, the thought of letting anyone see him while he was vulnerable in sleep was terrifying. “I’ll be fine,” he said. The alcohol had made his voice come out hoarse.
“Suit yourself,” Ryan said, shrugging. “I’m going to find someone who will want to take me up on my offer.” He staggered off after their waitress, while Spencer took care of securing lodging for the evening.
“Sure you don’t want to join us?” Ryan asked. Spencer looked up from fiddling with the lock to his own door. The waitress under Ryan’ arm gave Spencer an appraising look.
Spencer forced a smile and pushed his door open. “No, thank you,” he said, his throat tight around the words, and went in.
*
Jacqueline was waiting to greet them at the door when they arrived home the next morning. “Where on Earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you,” she hissed at Spencer as he passed. “Ryan!” she exclaimed and kissed both his cheeks twice, quickly, “Buongiorno!”
“Well, Miss Jacqueline,” Ryan said. “You look simply radiant this morning.” Jacqueline blushed and Ryan put down his bags to embrace her. Spencer had to look away, feeling like he was invading on something private.
“Ryan, still the flirt, I see,” Jacqueline said. The two of them laughed and Spencer shifted on his feet.
“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer asked.
“Brendon?” Ryan echoed with a small frown.
“He’s out in the field with the children. Doing your chores,” Jacqueline said. She kept grinning, as though she couldn’t believe Ryan was here.
“I should go help,” Spencer said.
“I’ll come with you,” Ryan said.
Spencer gave him a dubious look. “What?” Ryan protested. “I can do physical labour.” Spencer felt his brow arching higher.
“Why don’t you stay in and help Jacqueline with the lunch,” Spencer suggested. “I’d hate for you to wrinkle one of your fancy suits.”
Ryan glared at him and shoved past him up the steps. Spencer changed into his work clothing, and when he returned to the foyer, Ryan had changed into a more casual outfit and boots. They made their way out through the orchard, and Ryan looked around them in awe.
“This place is absolutely amazing,” Ryan said. He took a deep breath, eyes falling closed. “It’s so eerily quiet, and there’s all this open space.”
“I know, just unnatural, really,” Spencer teased. They shared a smile.
“This doesn’t seem like you,” Ryan said, and he sounded surprisingly earnest.
Spencer paused. He didn’t want to encourage Ryan, to make him think he might return to Pennsylvania with him. If Ryan continued to make the offer, Spencer wasn’t sure he could keep resisting. “It takes some getting used to. But some things make it worth it.”
“Oh?” Ryan asked, looking around them. “What?”
Honestly, Spencer didn’t even know why he’d said that. He cast about for some answer but was saved by Selena, who had seen them and gave a little shriek. She and Silvia were making a game of gathering the leaves and weeds with the younger children. The other children followed her gaze and gave similar cries, all rushing to Ryan.
Brendon looked up at all the sound, dumped his pile of waste in the nearest wheelbarrow and shucked his gloves, approaching more sedately. “Glad you’re back,” he said. His tone was so warm, sending shivers down Spencer’s spine. “I was worried Miss Jacqueline was going to form a search party if you were out much longer.”
Spencer laughed, and a little of the tension he’d been feeling since the previous evening dissipated. “I’m sorry,” he said. He had to resist the oddest urge to touch Brendon somehow, just glad to be in his presence again.
Ryan was watching them both, still being mauled by the children. His gaze was heavy and serious though his lips were smiling. “Going to introduce us, Spence?” he asked.
Spencer looked between them nervously, but Brendon took the initiative. He crossed to where Ryan stood and offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Ross,” he said politely. There was something in his tone that Spencer hadn’t heard in weeks, now. Something fake, like he was purposely trying to make Ryan believe he was less worthy of attention than he truly was. “I’m Brendon. Heard a lot about you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Ryan said.
Brendon shrugged. “Haven’t been around here that long,” he said by way of explanation.
Spencer frowned, because Brendon had been here three months now, and Spencer hadn’t thought to mention him in a letter to Ryan. Now that he thought of it, it was strange, and couldn’t say why he hadn’t.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another over the next few weeks,” Ryan said.
“I look forward to it,” Brendon said. It was as though the two of them were having entirely different conversations with their mouths and the rest of their faces. “I should really be getting back to work. It’s what I’m being paid for, after all.”
“Oh, I’m going to help,” Spencer said. “You shouldn’t have had to do all my morning chores.”
Brendon smiled at him kindly and it made Spencer’s stomach do a little flip. “No worries. Enjoy your guest.”
“It’s alright,” Spencer said. He grabbed a rake from where it had fallen, discarded, on the ground.
“I’m already dressed for it and the weather is so nice.” He felt a little silly saying it, but didn’t much care. “I love spring at the orchard best. Usually everyone else finds it tedious, but I like cross-pollinating the trees. It takes a lot of time, but…I don’t know why I like it, actually,” Spencer admitted, tilting his head to the side. Brendon laughed a little and Spencer joined him.
“What can I do to help?” Ryan asked, finally breaking free of the little ones.
Spencer looked around himself, unsure. “Ah. Really, Ryan, I’m not certain this is anything you’d want to do.”
Ryan was insistent, though. With him around, the work was done in silence, a tense feeling hovering over the orchard. The younger children eventually abandoned them, and as the sun started to get low on the horizon, Spencer decided to call it a day.
“I’m starving,” Ryan said, when they came inside. Jacqueline was at the stove and Ryan grabbed her waist. She squealed and smacked at him with her spoon. “I’m not certain, though, that I want to eat anything you’ve made.”
Jacqueline stuck out her tongue. “Well, then you don’t have to eat anything.”
When they were younger, they’d had maids and butlers and two cooks. Spencer couldn’t blame Ryan for being dubious of Jacqueline’s cooking. She’d been a quick learner, though, when Grandmother had taught her and Crystal, upon first moving west.
“I think it smells delicious, Miss Jacqueline,” Brendon told her.
Jacqueline shot a cool look at Ryan. “Thank you, Brendon,” she said.
A strange sort of silence descended. Ryan looked as though he was trying not to glare at Brendon. Jacqueline didn’t seem to notice. “Why don’t you boys go get cleaned up? Spence, I’ve put you in with Aaron, and Ryan, you can have Spencer’s room.”
“I’d hate to displace anyone,” Ryan said. “I really don’t mind sharing with you, Spence. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a room.”
Spencer swallowed hard, and Brendon left the room silently. “You’re the guest,” Jacqueline said with finality. “It’s only right.”
Dinner was a pleasant affair. The food was, as always, delicious. Once they’d had a few drinks, even Ryan and Brendon seemed more comfortable around one another. Or at least tolerant of one another. Brendon was uncharacteristically quiet as Ryan answered the questions the family posed to him.
When the children had been sent to bed, Jacqueline stayed up with Ryan and Spencer in the living room, reminiscing by the fire. Spencer asked Brendon to join them, but Brendon said he didn’t wish to interfere. When Spencer persisted, Brendon said it wasn’t his place. Ryan seemed to approve of this.
The three of them spent the evening drinking and discussing their memories of childhood. For the first time in years, Jacqueline freely spoke of her twin, and with fond nostalgia, only tinged slightly with sadness. It was warm and comfortable, and so like being back in New York that it filled Spencer with a vivid, bright pain in his chest.
They went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, but Spencer found it difficult to sleep. Aaron took up a great deal of the bed for having such a small body, and he moved a lot, kicking and hitting. Spencer curled on his side, staring blankly out the window, blaming his feeling miserable on the alcohol. It was easier that way.
*
Spencer woke late the next morning with a start. Even Aaron was already up. The sun had dawned, glistening on the glass of the window pane. He sat up quickly, ashamed that it was now two days his morning tasks had been left to Brendon. He stumbled out of bed and pulled on his clothing, running downstairs while still fastening his shirt. He stopped short when he saw Brendon seated at the bottom-most stair, pulling on his shoes.
Brendon turned at the clatter Spencer was making, and there was a full moment when Brendon’s gaze lingered on Spencer’s naked chest. “Mornin,’” he said at length, and turned back to his shoes.
Spencer’s breath was coming short from hurrying, and his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Brendon,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be doing all the work on your own. I stayed up far too late last night.”
Brendon stood, stamping his feet into his boots. Spencer didn’t know when he’d come to expect that gesture, but it was something that made him think of Brendon. When Brendon turned again, he didn’t look upset. There was a little smirk playing around his lips. “You’ve got your buttons done up all crooked.”
“Oh…” Spencer looked down and saw that the reason he was having trouble buttoning his last button was because there was no slot for it. He shook his hands in frustration.
Brendon laughed, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hem in hand. “S’alright. Ryan got up early this morning. Before me, even. He was already doing your chores when I got outside.”
“Oh.” It was all Spencer could say, because when Brendon had taken hold of his shirt, all thoughts had left his head, and the rushing of his blood had become exceptionally loud. The temperature of the room seemed to have increased by several degrees.
Brendon unbuttoned a few buttons, set them straight, and buttoned them again. “There,” he said. His tone was indulgent.
Ryan walked in from the kitchen and paused at seeing them. Brendon very quickly let go of Spencer’s shirt. Spencer cleared his throat and shifted his weight to the side, hand on his hip. “I heard you did my chores for me,” he said lightly. “Are our poor cattle still alive?”
“Funny,” Ryan said, though he sounded far from amused. “I was just coming in for breakfast.” He stormed out the front door.
Concern flared up in Spencer. He gave an apologetic look to Brendon and hurried out after Ryan. “You know,” he said, “I didn’t expect you were coming here to do all my work for me.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” Ryan demanded. “Sit around inside all day, being waited on hand and foot?”
“I…” Spencer was at a loss for words.
“I don’t mean to snap at you, Spence,” Ryan said almost at once. He sat down heavily on the front step. “Things have been stressful lately, that’s all. I was hoping coming out here would let me clear my mind.”
Spencer nodded slowly, eyes wide with worry, and sat next to him. “Is there anything—” He paused. He had always been useless with words.
Ryan gave him a pained smile. “It’s just things with my father,” he said. He didn’t offer anything more than that.
After a moment, Ryan leaned into Spencer’s side. Spencer had to tell himself not to tense up. They used to be so easy with each other as boys, but now it felt too foreign. Ryan sighed and laid his head on Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer made himself breath, slow and steady.
*
It was the third night, after they’d all worked the entire day, and after Ryan had bathed, when he and Spencer were alone by the fire with scotch, that Ryan decided to talk.
"Dad's been putting a bit of pressure on me," Ryan said at length, staring pensively at the fire.
Spencer waited for clarification, but Ryan gave none. "About school? About your choice of profession?"
"About becoming engaged to Elizabeth," Ryan said. He sounded weary.
"Well…" Spencer didn't know what to say to that. He'd never been in any relationship, let alone one so long term as Ryan's with Elizabeth. He supposed he should feel lucky that for all their failings, his parents had never tried to force him into marriage. "But it's only an engagement."
"Yes," Ryan agreed with a rueful smile. "A long engagement, to be concluded at my commencement."
"But I don't understand,” Spencer said. "You've been with Elizabeth for…well…forever. You two have been in love since we were kids."
"Oh, Spence." Ryan put his head in his hand, his eyes falling closed.
Spencer was out of his depth. He had no idea what was really taking place here. Ryan had always been so good at comforting him. He'd helped Spencer through countless rough spots in his life, most notably the death of his grandfather.
And now all Spencer could do to return the kindness was sit silent and gaping, awkward and useless. He got to his feet, moving to crouch beside Ryan' chair. For a second, he hesitated, hand in the air, before letting it fall on Ryan' shoulder.
"I've been so tempted to just run away," Ryan said in a low, urgent voice. Spencer's eyes widened. He shook his head, but Ryan wasn't looking at him.
"They want so much from me. Father expects me to just trust that he knows best in every aspect of my life, and I should just do as he says. I never wanted to practice medicine. I never wanted to go to school in Philadelphia. I never wanted to marry anyone, least of all Elizabeth. I feel like I'm living someone else's life entirely, and I just want out.” His voice grew louder with word that passed his lips until he was practically shouting.
Spencer knew that feeling of being trapped, knew that it never got better, only worse. But Ryan had all the things Spencer wanted. Spencer really didn't know what to say to that. He let his hand slide up and down Ryan' arm in what he supposed might be a soothing gesture.
"Spence—" Ryan' voice had gone soft and quiet all the sudden. He licked his lips, darting a glance at Spencer. "I…"
"What is it?" Spencer asked, trying to sound encouraging.
Ryan' gaze dropped to Spencer's mouth and Spencer wetted his lips in nervous response. "Spence," Ryan said again. He tilted his head to the side, leaning closer, his eyes drooping closed. Spencer felt his own eyes go even wider, frozen still, unable to believe that what he thought was happening was actually happening.
Footfalls sounded on the stairs and that shocked Spencer out of his stupor. He stood quickly, all his limbs tingly and weak. Ryan' eyes opened slowly and they looked at each other for a long moment before turning to the stairs. Brendon had come down, dressed in short linen pants and a button down shirt largely unbuttoned, his hair rumpled.
"Were we being too loud?" Spencer said. His heart was beating so quickly. "Were you unable to sleep?"
Brendon shook his head and stretched. Spencer's gaze was drawn to his stomach, where his shirt had risen, baring solid, muscled skin. "Wasn't 'cause of you," Brendon said around a yawn.
"Would you like to join us?" Spencer asked. Ryan narrowed his eyes, even as Spencer gestured for Brendon to have a seat.
"Nah,” he said, but he was looking at Ryan, and his gaze was just as unfriendly as the one Ryan aimed at him. "I'd hate to interrupt. I was just going to grab something to drink. Maybe take you up on the offer of something to read?"
"Oh. Oh! Of course,” Spencer said. He didn’t care to examine the reason for his enthusiasm. After all, he always loved to share his books with others, though the opportunity was rare.
"Perhaps the magazines I sent you," Ryan said, something both teasing and cruel in his voice.
Brendon looked at him oddly, and Spencer blushed furiously, mind racing with thoughts of what might happen if…just if. Spencer clamped down on those thoughts quickly. "Maybe you'd like Arthur Conan Doyle. I have a couple of his novels upstairs, I can—"
"I can get them. You enjoy yourself," Brendon insisted, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Spencer felt his heart beat slowly returning to normal and took a deep breath. If Brendon hadn't come down just then…Spencer repressed the urge to put his fingers to his lips.
"How impressive your Brendon is," Ryan said in a scathing tone. "Strong and intelligent both? Does the chores, charms the ladies, and reads literature?"
"He is a good worker and a good friend,” Spencer said, somewhat defensively. He crossed his arm over his chest and retook his seat. There was a panicky feeling in his chest, so close to and alone with Ryan.
Ryan couldn't have meant to…he hadn't been…he wasn't going to…Spencer coloured and shook his head. He wanted to go to bed, but he didn't want to leave Ryan while he was still so clearly distressed. So he just sat there, uncomfortable with the silence.
"Did you enjoy the magazine I sent you?" Ryan asked after a long silence.
Spencer’s heart fell to his toes. Once again he had an image in his head of being touched in the ways described in the stories. He cleared his throat. "It isn't the sort of thing I'd normally read.”
"That's not what I asked," Ryan said. There was something off-putting about his smile, almost more like a leer, really.
Vaguely, Spencer wondered what had happened to his best friend. "As far as the writing goes, it is acceptable. I did not read a great deal of it. There was no redeeming quality to the material."
Ryan' smile grew wider. "I think you're lying to me,” he said.
Spencer huffed, trapped. He pushed himself to his feet and turned, regarding Ryan over his shoulder. "If you can't be serious, I'm going to sleep,” he said haughtily. He couldn't get out of sight quickly enough, feeling naked in his nightgown and bare feet.
It seemed while Ryan was visiting, Spencer was setting a trend of being unable to sleep. He lay awake for a long while, not quite able to stop the racing of his heart, the nervous excitement in his stomach. He couldn't yet decide if he was disappointed Brendon had come downstairs, or glad.
Title: Not Your Keeper 4/?
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer (Ryan/Spencer, Spencer/Greta, Gabe/William, some others)
Rating: R (eventually NC-17)
WC: ~6k (this part)
Summary: Victorian AU. Spencer's parents have recently passed away, leaving him to care for his siblings and tend the family orchard. Brendon is the mysterious stranger who answers the ad for a farm hand.
The weather was clearing nicely by the third week of February. It hadn't snowed in several days, and the sun was melting what remained quite quickly. Brendon and Spencer spent their mornings tapping the maples, positioning the spouts and hanging the buckets. They wouldn't have any substantial, useable amount of sap for several days, but the sun had thawed the trees enough that the sap was running.
Sometimes the task could get painful and tedious, and by the third day, Spencer's muscles were screaming in protest. Brendon kept him distracted as always, making conversation.
"So your mom was born in Italy, your pa was British…how'd they ever meet and end up out here in the middle 'a nowhere," Brendon asked one afternoon.
Spencer supposed you could only go on with small talk for so long before you ran out. It wasn't a place Spencer reached often with others. After you reached that point you either had to cut off the relationship, keep it at the same place, or move forward. Spencer wasn't a big fan of sharing his personal information. All the people who knew these details were people who’d known him all his life.
Brendon took his hesitation for his answer and shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"
"Grandfather moved his family from Italy to New York City when Mother was thirteen. Father saw Mother in the park, and said he fell in love at first sight." Spencer paused, hoping he conveyed with his tone of voice his opinion on the matter.
"Grandfather didn't approve of the match, and so they eloped. When they had me, the moved back to New York. I suppose they used me to win over Grandfather." He was aware of how bitter he sounded, and he didn't care. Mother had always said he showed his emotions too much, but he didn't see how that was a bad thing.
"I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject," Brendon said, giving Spencer a way out.
Spencer paused, in the process of driving a spike into the tree, his muscles thanking him. He leaned against the tree. "Grandfather got sick when I was twelve, and he and Father got into an argument. No one would tell any of us children what had happened, only that Father would no longer inherit the business, but that it would pass to my uncle, instead.
"So my mother had this brilliant idea that a vineyard would support the family, and then when she saw the orchards in the east, she wanted one of those as well. And of course Father would never withhold from her that which she desired.
"And then, what profits we did make my father spent on paying for this mansion and gambling and whoring and then he probably got himself and my mother killed by a pimp or a debt collector, and that, as they say, is that. And now I am left with this,” he gestured to the farm around him.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and couldn't look at Brendon. He didn't want to see the pity. Somehow he felt better now that it was out in the open, and worse, because there was still nothing he could do.
"I didn't mean to—" Brendon began again, but Spencer shook his head.
"I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want to,” Spencer said. Something about Brendon made him want to share everything, all the dark little secrets he held close, all the desperate, helpless anger, all the awful things he thought. Somehow, he thought Brendon might understand. Or at the very least, not hold such things against him.
Brendon's hand touched his shoulder lightly and the smile that came upon Spencer's lips wasn't all forced. "Your turn," he said ruefully.
The hand dropped and Brendon turned away, going back to work. "I've told you all there is to know," he said at length.
Spencer felt anger rise up in his chest and his cheeks went hot. "How did you come to America?" he persisted.
"Same as your ma," Brendon said evenly. "My pa was sick and tired of having everything we owned and made being taken by the government. He moved us all to New York. And I didn't stick around long."
As quickly as his anger had come, it was gone. Brendon sounded just as bitter as Spencer felt, and it was clear he didn't want to think about it. He cast about, trying to think of a way to change the subject, but he kept coming up with nothing. The silence stretched between them and Spencer worried he'd asked too much.
"Sorry, it's just I don't get many people wanting to know about me," Brendon said. He was working steadily, very pointedly not looking at Spencer.
A sharp, tight feeling spread through his chest, entirely different from the feeling of anger. He could understand, because usually he didn't want to know about other people. Brendon made Spencer so curious that he wanted to learn as much as he could, but Brendon gave so little.
It was strange and made his heart go more quickly. He'd never been good at making friends. He'd clung to Ryan alone while Ryan had dozens of friends. He hadn't found anyone to let close since then. Perhaps it was about time.
*
By the end of the week, Spencer’s body felt as though it was one big bruise. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were sore from reaching above his head to do the tapping of the trees, and his thighs and calves hurt from crouching for long periods of time to do the same low down. Jacqueline had taken pity on both him and Brendon, and she and the girls had set out steaming baths for both of them after dinner on Friday.
Before relaxing in the water, Spencer took out the first of the magazines in the stack from Ryan. The contents page wasn’t any more promising than the cover, and Spencer remembered how Ryan had always been far more occupied with the thought of sex than Spencer himself had. When they were boys, Ryan had cooked up dozens of schemes involving sex shows, prostitutes and brothels.
The first story was entitled Abandon, and from the start, it was clear what sort of direction the narrative was taking. Though he told himself he should put it down, Spencer found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words on the page.
“Here, Isabelle, feel my arrow of love, risen just for you,” Nicholas groaned, placing her hand over his cock.
Isabelle’s eyes went wide and she squeezed hesitantly. Her small, pale hand was soft and unsure, and the touch was intoxicating. “What should I do?” She asked in an awed, quavering voice
.
“Just pull a little,” Nicholas gasped.
Spencer felt his stomach tightening, his groin growing unbearably hot. He’d developed his own erection, swelling with every passage he read. Still, he could not look away, though he was sure his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. He shifted in the water, trying to become more comfortable, but to no avail.
The next story was even more risqué, reminding him of the book Ryan had sent him in the fall. The Picture of Dorian Grey had been creative and vague, but Spencer knew enough of deviance and of Oscar Wilde himself not to be fooled. This story in The Pearl didn’t even bother to try to hide, and it couldn’t even be considered undertones when…when…
Spencer groaned, his hips thrusting up of their own accord. He could almost feel the sensations—fingers brushing his sensitive nipples, soft lips around his most intimate flesh, sliding in to warm, tight, welcoming heat.
The magazine dropped from Spencer’s nerveless fingers, landing with a loud smack on the hardwood floor. Spencer didn’t hear it, could only hear his own heavy breathing as he closed his own hand around his cock and began to stroke desperately. He found his completion far too quickly, and wished he could have prolonged it. Perhaps he could take another bath tomorrow; it was the weekend. He could certainly find time alone to read.
*
"Spencer Smith!" Jacqueline roared, when he announced on the fourteenth of March that Ryan would be arriving the next day. Brendon winced and offered him a sympathetic look.
"I really don't understand what this has to do with you,” Spencer began in a reasonable sort of voice.
"Well, let me enlighten you, then," Jacqueline said through her teeth. Brendon got up and left. Several of the younger ones followed. Heather and Silvia stayed, watching with some interest. "We only have so many bedrooms, and all of them are occupato. Capite? So then I need to find a place for him to sleep. I need to make extra food at the meals. I need to know these things. And besides."
"I'm sorry,” Spencer said. It was probably too late to head her off before it got out of hand.
"È il mio amico, troppo,” she shouted.
"I know,” Spencer said. "I'm sorry. I hadn't thought. I…" He took a shaky breath, unsure how to explain to her why hadn’t said anything.
Jacqueline and Crystal had indeed been close with Ryan, and Spencer had always been a bit jealous. They were so much more charming than Spencer had ever been, and he’d often worried that she would steal away his best and only friend. Now that Jacqueline was grown, he feared that even more.
Jacqueline gave him a dark look and stormed from the kitchen, muttering just loud enough to be heard by the entire house about making room. Spencer sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. He thought, not for the first time, that maybe having Ryan to visit wasn’t the best idea in the world.
Brendon stuck his head in the kitchen. “The storm passed?”
Spencer swept his hand out in a grand gesture. “Come on in,” he said. Brendon pulled up the chair next to him and sat down, regarding Spencer with an indiscernible look.
“So, this Ryan fellow, old friend, I assume,” Brendon said. His fingers drew patterns on the table.
“Yes,” Spencer said weakly. That was another thing. For whatever reason, unknown to him, Spencer didn’t feel it was a good idea for Brendon and Ryan to be around one another.
“Ah,” Brendon said, as if he understood, and nodded his head. Silence spread out between them.
Unexpectedly, images from the magazine he’d read flashed through Spencer’s mind, and in his mind’s eye, he saw himself reaching out, taking a hold of Brendon’s wrist, pulling him in…
Spencer stood up quickly, knocking his chair over. He stumbled backward. Brendon stood too. “Hey, you okay?” He looked concerned. Spencer held out a hand and sidestepped toward the door, feeling his heart race. If Brendon looked at him too closely, he’d know.
“I, ah…” Spencer felt short of breath. “I should go help Jacqueline,” he said quickly, and dashed out of the room.
In his own room, door firmly closed and locked, Spencer collapsed onto his bed, his heart rate out of control. It had to be the fault of the magazine. Before that, why, he’d barely touched himself and hadn’t had the least bit of interest in a sexual relationship.
And now, because of it, he was so desperate that he turned to the only person around him not of his family, regardless of the fact that it was a person of the same gender. He buried his face in his pillow, feeling as though he might be swallowed up by guilt.
Spencer drew out the nearest magazine, and opened to a random page. He forced himself to conjure up the image of a woman—any woman. The school mistress came to mind. She was pretty, with strawberry blonde curls and full lips and a curvy frame. She always smiled when she saw Spencer. He focussed on her image, reaching into his waistband and taking himself in hand. He was already hard from the thought of kissing Brendon, but he shoved that name from his mind and thought instead of the girl. Miss Greta.
The story was, suitably enough, about a thin blonde being bound and whipped, her generous breasts heaving. Spencer imagined them pressed against his chest, but had no concept of the sensation. He tried to imagine her dripping desire, her long hair, any of it, but all he could see was Brendon’s teasing smile, Brendon’s sparkling eyes. Brendon’s lips looked soft…Spencer cried out into his pillow, coming into his hand.
*
Everyone wanted to come to town, but in the end, Spencer went on his own to greet Ryan. He needed the time to adjust to the situation on his own, first. The entire ride to town he focused on Ryan and how he would enjoy their time together and how nice it would be to have an intelligent person around. He didn’t think at all about how clever Brendon was, or how concerned he’d acted after Spencer’s behaviour the previous evening.
Ryan disembarked from the train with a glowing smile, looking far taller and handsomer than he had been in Spencer’s memory. “Hello, dear boy,” he called, taking Spencer by the elbows and pulling him for a hug.
They were of a height, Spencer’s chin resting easily on Ryan’s shoulder. It made him wonder how Brendon, small and compact, would fit in his arms. He closed his eyes tightly and willed away the thought.
“Ryan,” he said. Ryan smelled like ink and tea. “I’m sorry the others couldn’t come…”
“Ah, it’s better this way,” Ryan said. “I get you to myself for a bit. In fact, any way we could stop for a drink before heading off?”
“Oh? Um…” Spencer was surprised, but pleased. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Of course. If, that is, you don’t mind being touched inappropriately by women with loose morals and questionable intentions.”
“Sounds like just my sort of place,” Ryan exclaimed, clapping Spencer on the back. Spencer bent, taking one of his suitcases and they loaded Ryan’s things in the carriage before heading into The Carriage House saloon.
“How absolutely quaint!” Ryan said, a bit loudly, when they stepped inside. As always, the music was playing raucously, the girls were dancing in little clothing, and the men were as drunk as dogs. “You know, I’ve heard stories about your bars out here, but this…this is just…too perfect.”
Some of the towns’ people were regarding Ryan with suspicious eyes and Spencer did a poor job of hiding his smile as he nudged Ryan further into the saloon.
“Mister Smith,” the bartender said. Spencer nodded back, and led Ryan away, toward a table in the back. Ryan followed, hands twitching like he longed for a pen and paper.
“I love it, I want to move here,” Ryan said. “Father would never think to look for me here. Do you think they let rooms?”
“By the hour, most likely,” Spencer said dryly.
“Too perfect!” crowed Ryan.
“Ryan,” Spencer chastised softly, under his breath. “You’re drawing attention to us.”
“So?” Ryan challenged. “Darling girl!” He shouted to a passing waitress. She gave him an impish grin and veered off course to stop by their table. She propped her hands on the table, pushing her bosom together and leaning over Ryan. “Get me the strongest thing you’ve got, and for my friend…”
“Um…Scotch and water,” Spencer murmured.
Ryan waved a dismissive hand. “Make that two of the strongest things you’ve got.” The waitress winked and pushed off before Spencer could make an indignant noise.
“Live a little,” Ryan urged him. He scooted his chair closer to Spencer’s and crossed his arms at the wrist, and pinned Spencer with a somewhat unnerving stare. “Ah, Spence, God you’ve changed.”
Spencer felt his cheeks flush. “H…how do you mean?” he asked.
“You look like you’ve been working out, and you’ve grown out your hair, and you’ve gotten taller.” Ryan paused, a far away look about him. “You’re all grown up.”
“I’m only a year younger than you,” Spencer pointed out defensively. “And I’ve been working on a farm. What do you expect?”
Ryan pulled a face and took a drink when their waitress placed glasses of amber liquid before them. “Honestly! A farm!” He shook his head. “You really need to come home with me.”
Spencer felt the familiar pain tugging at his heart. Yes he wanted to say. God yes, take me away from here. But then he thought of his siblings, and…Brendon. Spencer turned his gaze to the table top.
“How are you, really?” Ryan asked. He reached out to lay his hand over Spencer’s. “First Crystal, then your Grandmother. Now your parents. Spence, I’ve been so worried about you.”
“It’s…” Spencer didn’t know what to say. Three years ago, right after Crystal had died, Spencer had wished desperately for Ryan’s presence. Ryan had always been the one Spencer could talk to, about anything.
Their parents had been little comfort, as always self-absorbed. It had been up to Jacqueline and Spencer to console the younger children. Up to Spencer to hold Jacqueline as she sobbed every night for months, suffering a loss Spencer couldn’t begin to understand. It was as if a part of her had died along with Crystal, a part Spencer could see missing even now.
Time and further loss had hardened Spencer against the pain. Now he didn’t see the point in talking. It didn’t make him feel any better about things. He made himself smile, but it felt tight and brittle around the edges, and he knew Ryan saw right through it. “We’re doing fine, carrying on.”
Ryan stared at him for a long moment, and then he nodded, accepting. Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “If you want to talk…” Ryan said.
“I know,” Spencer said. “I appreciate it.” Ryan squeezed his hand, and Spencer gently pulled away, leaning back in his seat. Then he threw back a good portion of his drink all in one go. “Tell me all about university.”
The afternoon bled into the evening, and one drink led to another, led to five, and before Spencer knew it, it was nearly nine in the evening and he was plastered. “You shouldn’t go out in cold weather like this,” Ryan said in a very somber tone of voice, but the effect was ruined by his slurred words.
“Are you suggesting we stay here?” Spencer prided himself on being able to speak clearly, but it took a great deal of effort, and longer than he thought was probably strictly required.
“Are you concerned about being touched inappropriately by women with loose morals and questionable intentions?” Ryan asked, leering at Spence. “We can share a room. I’ll protect you.”
The mere suggestion made Spencer feel hot all over. With the way he’d been dreaming lately, the thought of letting anyone see him while he was vulnerable in sleep was terrifying. “I’ll be fine,” he said. The alcohol had made his voice come out hoarse.
“Suit yourself,” Ryan said, shrugging. “I’m going to find someone who will want to take me up on my offer.” He staggered off after their waitress, while Spencer took care of securing lodging for the evening.
“Sure you don’t want to join us?” Ryan asked. Spencer looked up from fiddling with the lock to his own door. The waitress under Ryan’ arm gave Spencer an appraising look.
Spencer forced a smile and pushed his door open. “No, thank you,” he said, his throat tight around the words, and went in.
*
Jacqueline was waiting to greet them at the door when they arrived home the next morning. “Where on Earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you,” she hissed at Spencer as he passed. “Ryan!” she exclaimed and kissed both his cheeks twice, quickly, “Buongiorno!”
“Well, Miss Jacqueline,” Ryan said. “You look simply radiant this morning.” Jacqueline blushed and Ryan put down his bags to embrace her. Spencer had to look away, feeling like he was invading on something private.
“Ryan, still the flirt, I see,” Jacqueline said. The two of them laughed and Spencer shifted on his feet.
“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer asked.
“Brendon?” Ryan echoed with a small frown.
“He’s out in the field with the children. Doing your chores,” Jacqueline said. She kept grinning, as though she couldn’t believe Ryan was here.
“I should go help,” Spencer said.
“I’ll come with you,” Ryan said.
Spencer gave him a dubious look. “What?” Ryan protested. “I can do physical labour.” Spencer felt his brow arching higher.
“Why don’t you stay in and help Jacqueline with the lunch,” Spencer suggested. “I’d hate for you to wrinkle one of your fancy suits.”
Ryan glared at him and shoved past him up the steps. Spencer changed into his work clothing, and when he returned to the foyer, Ryan had changed into a more casual outfit and boots. They made their way out through the orchard, and Ryan looked around them in awe.
“This place is absolutely amazing,” Ryan said. He took a deep breath, eyes falling closed. “It’s so eerily quiet, and there’s all this open space.”
“I know, just unnatural, really,” Spencer teased. They shared a smile.
“This doesn’t seem like you,” Ryan said, and he sounded surprisingly earnest.
Spencer paused. He didn’t want to encourage Ryan, to make him think he might return to Pennsylvania with him. If Ryan continued to make the offer, Spencer wasn’t sure he could keep resisting. “It takes some getting used to. But some things make it worth it.”
“Oh?” Ryan asked, looking around them. “What?”
Honestly, Spencer didn’t even know why he’d said that. He cast about for some answer but was saved by Selena, who had seen them and gave a little shriek. She and Silvia were making a game of gathering the leaves and weeds with the younger children. The other children followed her gaze and gave similar cries, all rushing to Ryan.
Brendon looked up at all the sound, dumped his pile of waste in the nearest wheelbarrow and shucked his gloves, approaching more sedately. “Glad you’re back,” he said. His tone was so warm, sending shivers down Spencer’s spine. “I was worried Miss Jacqueline was going to form a search party if you were out much longer.”
Spencer laughed, and a little of the tension he’d been feeling since the previous evening dissipated. “I’m sorry,” he said. He had to resist the oddest urge to touch Brendon somehow, just glad to be in his presence again.
Ryan was watching them both, still being mauled by the children. His gaze was heavy and serious though his lips were smiling. “Going to introduce us, Spence?” he asked.
Spencer looked between them nervously, but Brendon took the initiative. He crossed to where Ryan stood and offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Ross,” he said politely. There was something in his tone that Spencer hadn’t heard in weeks, now. Something fake, like he was purposely trying to make Ryan believe he was less worthy of attention than he truly was. “I’m Brendon. Heard a lot about you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Ryan said.
Brendon shrugged. “Haven’t been around here that long,” he said by way of explanation.
Spencer frowned, because Brendon had been here three months now, and Spencer hadn’t thought to mention him in a letter to Ryan. Now that he thought of it, it was strange, and couldn’t say why he hadn’t.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another over the next few weeks,” Ryan said.
“I look forward to it,” Brendon said. It was as though the two of them were having entirely different conversations with their mouths and the rest of their faces. “I should really be getting back to work. It’s what I’m being paid for, after all.”
“Oh, I’m going to help,” Spencer said. “You shouldn’t have had to do all my morning chores.”
Brendon smiled at him kindly and it made Spencer’s stomach do a little flip. “No worries. Enjoy your guest.”
“It’s alright,” Spencer said. He grabbed a rake from where it had fallen, discarded, on the ground.
“I’m already dressed for it and the weather is so nice.” He felt a little silly saying it, but didn’t much care. “I love spring at the orchard best. Usually everyone else finds it tedious, but I like cross-pollinating the trees. It takes a lot of time, but…I don’t know why I like it, actually,” Spencer admitted, tilting his head to the side. Brendon laughed a little and Spencer joined him.
“What can I do to help?” Ryan asked, finally breaking free of the little ones.
Spencer looked around himself, unsure. “Ah. Really, Ryan, I’m not certain this is anything you’d want to do.”
Ryan was insistent, though. With him around, the work was done in silence, a tense feeling hovering over the orchard. The younger children eventually abandoned them, and as the sun started to get low on the horizon, Spencer decided to call it a day.
“I’m starving,” Ryan said, when they came inside. Jacqueline was at the stove and Ryan grabbed her waist. She squealed and smacked at him with her spoon. “I’m not certain, though, that I want to eat anything you’ve made.”
Jacqueline stuck out her tongue. “Well, then you don’t have to eat anything.”
When they were younger, they’d had maids and butlers and two cooks. Spencer couldn’t blame Ryan for being dubious of Jacqueline’s cooking. She’d been a quick learner, though, when Grandmother had taught her and Crystal, upon first moving west.
“I think it smells delicious, Miss Jacqueline,” Brendon told her.
Jacqueline shot a cool look at Ryan. “Thank you, Brendon,” she said.
A strange sort of silence descended. Ryan looked as though he was trying not to glare at Brendon. Jacqueline didn’t seem to notice. “Why don’t you boys go get cleaned up? Spence, I’ve put you in with Aaron, and Ryan, you can have Spencer’s room.”
“I’d hate to displace anyone,” Ryan said. “I really don’t mind sharing with you, Spence. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a room.”
Spencer swallowed hard, and Brendon left the room silently. “You’re the guest,” Jacqueline said with finality. “It’s only right.”
Dinner was a pleasant affair. The food was, as always, delicious. Once they’d had a few drinks, even Ryan and Brendon seemed more comfortable around one another. Or at least tolerant of one another. Brendon was uncharacteristically quiet as Ryan answered the questions the family posed to him.
When the children had been sent to bed, Jacqueline stayed up with Ryan and Spencer in the living room, reminiscing by the fire. Spencer asked Brendon to join them, but Brendon said he didn’t wish to interfere. When Spencer persisted, Brendon said it wasn’t his place. Ryan seemed to approve of this.
The three of them spent the evening drinking and discussing their memories of childhood. For the first time in years, Jacqueline freely spoke of her twin, and with fond nostalgia, only tinged slightly with sadness. It was warm and comfortable, and so like being back in New York that it filled Spencer with a vivid, bright pain in his chest.
They went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, but Spencer found it difficult to sleep. Aaron took up a great deal of the bed for having such a small body, and he moved a lot, kicking and hitting. Spencer curled on his side, staring blankly out the window, blaming his feeling miserable on the alcohol. It was easier that way.
*
Spencer woke late the next morning with a start. Even Aaron was already up. The sun had dawned, glistening on the glass of the window pane. He sat up quickly, ashamed that it was now two days his morning tasks had been left to Brendon. He stumbled out of bed and pulled on his clothing, running downstairs while still fastening his shirt. He stopped short when he saw Brendon seated at the bottom-most stair, pulling on his shoes.
Brendon turned at the clatter Spencer was making, and there was a full moment when Brendon’s gaze lingered on Spencer’s naked chest. “Mornin,’” he said at length, and turned back to his shoes.
Spencer’s breath was coming short from hurrying, and his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Brendon,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be doing all the work on your own. I stayed up far too late last night.”
Brendon stood, stamping his feet into his boots. Spencer didn’t know when he’d come to expect that gesture, but it was something that made him think of Brendon. When Brendon turned again, he didn’t look upset. There was a little smirk playing around his lips. “You’ve got your buttons done up all crooked.”
“Oh…” Spencer looked down and saw that the reason he was having trouble buttoning his last button was because there was no slot for it. He shook his hands in frustration.
Brendon laughed, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hem in hand. “S’alright. Ryan got up early this morning. Before me, even. He was already doing your chores when I got outside.”
“Oh.” It was all Spencer could say, because when Brendon had taken hold of his shirt, all thoughts had left his head, and the rushing of his blood had become exceptionally loud. The temperature of the room seemed to have increased by several degrees.
Brendon unbuttoned a few buttons, set them straight, and buttoned them again. “There,” he said. His tone was indulgent.
Ryan walked in from the kitchen and paused at seeing them. Brendon very quickly let go of Spencer’s shirt. Spencer cleared his throat and shifted his weight to the side, hand on his hip. “I heard you did my chores for me,” he said lightly. “Are our poor cattle still alive?”
“Funny,” Ryan said, though he sounded far from amused. “I was just coming in for breakfast.” He stormed out the front door.
Concern flared up in Spencer. He gave an apologetic look to Brendon and hurried out after Ryan. “You know,” he said, “I didn’t expect you were coming here to do all my work for me.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” Ryan demanded. “Sit around inside all day, being waited on hand and foot?”
“I…” Spencer was at a loss for words.
“I don’t mean to snap at you, Spence,” Ryan said almost at once. He sat down heavily on the front step. “Things have been stressful lately, that’s all. I was hoping coming out here would let me clear my mind.”
Spencer nodded slowly, eyes wide with worry, and sat next to him. “Is there anything—” He paused. He had always been useless with words.
Ryan gave him a pained smile. “It’s just things with my father,” he said. He didn’t offer anything more than that.
After a moment, Ryan leaned into Spencer’s side. Spencer had to tell himself not to tense up. They used to be so easy with each other as boys, but now it felt too foreign. Ryan sighed and laid his head on Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer made himself breath, slow and steady.
*
It was the third night, after they’d all worked the entire day, and after Ryan had bathed, when he and Spencer were alone by the fire with scotch, that Ryan decided to talk.
"Dad's been putting a bit of pressure on me," Ryan said at length, staring pensively at the fire.
Spencer waited for clarification, but Ryan gave none. "About school? About your choice of profession?"
"About becoming engaged to Elizabeth," Ryan said. He sounded weary.
"Well…" Spencer didn't know what to say to that. He'd never been in any relationship, let alone one so long term as Ryan's with Elizabeth. He supposed he should feel lucky that for all their failings, his parents had never tried to force him into marriage. "But it's only an engagement."
"Yes," Ryan agreed with a rueful smile. "A long engagement, to be concluded at my commencement."
"But I don't understand,” Spencer said. "You've been with Elizabeth for…well…forever. You two have been in love since we were kids."
"Oh, Spence." Ryan put his head in his hand, his eyes falling closed.
Spencer was out of his depth. He had no idea what was really taking place here. Ryan had always been so good at comforting him. He'd helped Spencer through countless rough spots in his life, most notably the death of his grandfather.
And now all Spencer could do to return the kindness was sit silent and gaping, awkward and useless. He got to his feet, moving to crouch beside Ryan' chair. For a second, he hesitated, hand in the air, before letting it fall on Ryan' shoulder.
"I've been so tempted to just run away," Ryan said in a low, urgent voice. Spencer's eyes widened. He shook his head, but Ryan wasn't looking at him.
"They want so much from me. Father expects me to just trust that he knows best in every aspect of my life, and I should just do as he says. I never wanted to practice medicine. I never wanted to go to school in Philadelphia. I never wanted to marry anyone, least of all Elizabeth. I feel like I'm living someone else's life entirely, and I just want out.” His voice grew louder with word that passed his lips until he was practically shouting.
Spencer knew that feeling of being trapped, knew that it never got better, only worse. But Ryan had all the things Spencer wanted. Spencer really didn't know what to say to that. He let his hand slide up and down Ryan' arm in what he supposed might be a soothing gesture.
"Spence—" Ryan' voice had gone soft and quiet all the sudden. He licked his lips, darting a glance at Spencer. "I…"
"What is it?" Spencer asked, trying to sound encouraging.
Ryan' gaze dropped to Spencer's mouth and Spencer wetted his lips in nervous response. "Spence," Ryan said again. He tilted his head to the side, leaning closer, his eyes drooping closed. Spencer felt his own eyes go even wider, frozen still, unable to believe that what he thought was happening was actually happening.
Footfalls sounded on the stairs and that shocked Spencer out of his stupor. He stood quickly, all his limbs tingly and weak. Ryan' eyes opened slowly and they looked at each other for a long moment before turning to the stairs. Brendon had come down, dressed in short linen pants and a button down shirt largely unbuttoned, his hair rumpled.
"Were we being too loud?" Spencer said. His heart was beating so quickly. "Were you unable to sleep?"
Brendon shook his head and stretched. Spencer's gaze was drawn to his stomach, where his shirt had risen, baring solid, muscled skin. "Wasn't 'cause of you," Brendon said around a yawn.
"Would you like to join us?" Spencer asked. Ryan narrowed his eyes, even as Spencer gestured for Brendon to have a seat.
"Nah,” he said, but he was looking at Ryan, and his gaze was just as unfriendly as the one Ryan aimed at him. "I'd hate to interrupt. I was just going to grab something to drink. Maybe take you up on the offer of something to read?"
"Oh. Oh! Of course,” Spencer said. He didn’t care to examine the reason for his enthusiasm. After all, he always loved to share his books with others, though the opportunity was rare.
"Perhaps the magazines I sent you," Ryan said, something both teasing and cruel in his voice.
Brendon looked at him oddly, and Spencer blushed furiously, mind racing with thoughts of what might happen if…just if. Spencer clamped down on those thoughts quickly. "Maybe you'd like Arthur Conan Doyle. I have a couple of his novels upstairs, I can—"
"I can get them. You enjoy yourself," Brendon insisted, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Spencer felt his heart beat slowly returning to normal and took a deep breath. If Brendon hadn't come down just then…Spencer repressed the urge to put his fingers to his lips.
"How impressive your Brendon is," Ryan said in a scathing tone. "Strong and intelligent both? Does the chores, charms the ladies, and reads literature?"
"He is a good worker and a good friend,” Spencer said, somewhat defensively. He crossed his arm over his chest and retook his seat. There was a panicky feeling in his chest, so close to and alone with Ryan.
Ryan couldn't have meant to…he hadn't been…he wasn't going to…Spencer coloured and shook his head. He wanted to go to bed, but he didn't want to leave Ryan while he was still so clearly distressed. So he just sat there, uncomfortable with the silence.
"Did you enjoy the magazine I sent you?" Ryan asked after a long silence.
Spencer’s heart fell to his toes. Once again he had an image in his head of being touched in the ways described in the stories. He cleared his throat. "It isn't the sort of thing I'd normally read.”
"That's not what I asked," Ryan said. There was something off-putting about his smile, almost more like a leer, really.
Vaguely, Spencer wondered what had happened to his best friend. "As far as the writing goes, it is acceptable. I did not read a great deal of it. There was no redeeming quality to the material."
Ryan' smile grew wider. "I think you're lying to me,” he said.
Spencer huffed, trapped. He pushed himself to his feet and turned, regarding Ryan over his shoulder. "If you can't be serious, I'm going to sleep,” he said haughtily. He couldn't get out of sight quickly enough, feeling naked in his nightgown and bare feet.
It seemed while Ryan was visiting, Spencer was setting a trend of being unable to sleep. He lay awake for a long while, not quite able to stop the racing of his heart, the nervous excitement in his stomach. He couldn't yet decide if he was disappointed Brendon had come downstairs, or glad.
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Date: 2013-03-24 10:59 am (UTC)c'mon ryan. what is up your nose? hmmm?
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Date: 2013-03-24 03:16 pm (UTC)I think the next part will deal more with the Ryan issues. This is sort of dragging, and I'm trying to fix that. I guess the problem with posting a WIP is that the pacing is all over the place, and you can't go back and fix some of the issues. Blah.