Fic: Burn Out Brighter (1/2)
Burn Out Brighter
Jon/Spencer, Ryan/Brendon | 13,180 words | R
In which Lord Spencer Smith is kidnapped with his long-time servant, Jon Walker, and held for ransom.
Warning: A certain scene could be considered dub-con. Reader discretion advised.
Written for bandom_hc and based (loosely, I'll admit) on prompt #150: A sex slave AU/random kidnapped-and-put-in-cages scenario where the Panic boys are forced to have sex with each other. Bonus if there's unrequited love. Lots of bonuses if it's between Ryan/Spencer. Huge, huge thanks to lyo for all but writing the porn for me, and to my usual beta superheroes, siryn99 and themoononastick.
He hadn't meant to go out that night, but Spencer was tired of fighting with his father. Things had been building to a head over the past several weeks, leading to Spencer discovering that due to some poor decisions on his father's part-namely a drunken poker game-a good portion of their estate had been lost. And now bill collectors were starting to knock on their door.
Spencer had trusted his father, but now everything was in danger of being lost: the manor, the holdings, all of it. His sisters were barely old enough to be presented into society; losing their dowry would mean their chances of finding a good husband would be slim to none. It infuriated Spencer beyond all comprehension, but he couldn't think with his father yelling at him to mind his own business, that things would settle themselves eventually.
So he stormed out of the manor and paced the grounds, raking his hands through his hair. He loved his home, and everyone in it. It wasn't proper, but Spencer thought of the servants and staff as part of his family; the thought of making them homeless was just-
"You'll freeze to death, you know."
Spencer stopped his irritated pacing and smiled down at the ground in spite of himself. He didn't have to look up to identify the voice. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, he'd been expecting it.
"I find anger helps keep the blood flowing nicely," Spencer replied with a sigh.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow step closer. "And you finally stop all your pacing? What then?"
Spencer shook his head as Jon Walker finally came into view, his hair still mussed and his cheeks streaked with soot from having finished cleaning out the chimneys earlier that evening. Jon had been a servant at Smith manor since he was boy, when his mother had started work in the kitchen; even though Spencer had never said as much, he had always considered Jon to be one of his closest friends. But unlike Brendon, the twins' music teacher, Jon was a common servant, not trained musically or in the classics or in art. Jon fixed broken stable doors and washed the windows and replaced rotten shingles on the roof. With Brendon, Spencer could befriend him freely and never have to worry about judgment or scorn. But with Jon, it had become second nature for Spencer to be coolly polite to him in public.
In private, however, Spencer tended to let down his guard.
"When I stop, I'll know how to deal with my fool of a father," he mumbled, trying to ignore the affectionate smirk Jon gave him. Even though Jon had been nowhere near the study where the argument had taken place, he always knew how to find Spencer. It was something Spencer secretly appreciated about him, probably a bit too much.
"You'll both find a way to make this right, Spence," Jon replied softly, and it was the intimacy in the way Jon said his name, completely improper, that made Spencer's breath catch for a moment. Jon never referred to him as anything other than "my lord" unless they were alone, and then it was always Spence, said with care and a slight lisp on the end. Spencer wanted to believe that all his friends called him by the same nickname, but none of them said his name like it was privilege, or a shared secret.
Spencer shook his head. He could see his breath coming in white puffs against the cold night air. "There's so much that's gone. I don't-the debt collectors are coming almost daily now. We can't pay them."
Jon bit his lip, taking another step closer to Spencer. He was wrapped up in his old moth-eaten wool coat, bits of hay and dust clinging to him, and Spencer could smell the soot on his skin. But Jon's eyes were bright, and they crinkled at the edges as he smiled crookedly and laid a hand on Spencer's arm.
"I'm sure we could sell Ryan and fetch a handsome price," he said, making Spencer break into laughter without a second thought. Ryan was his father's assistant, having inherited the position from his own father. He was not shy in his disdain for the job, but it kept him in Smith manor, and therefore with Spencer, who considered Ryan one of his closest friends.
"Don't say that too loudly, he'll hear you and start to get his hopes up."
Jon practically beamed at Spencer. "You see? I have the best ideas. And I also know how to make you laugh against your will."
He was more correct than he even knew, but Spencer would never admit anything out loud. "I never said selling off my friends was a good idea, for the record."
"But you were thinking it. And we'd only be doing Ross a favor." Jon nodded solemnly, eyes wide and earnest, and damn it all if Spencer didn't feel his mouth twitching with the onset of more laughter.
"I thought no such thing."
Jon clucked his tongue. "Very well, then. I supposed his shoe collection will have to suffice."
Spencer really did laugh loudly at that, and he had a very witty retort on the tip of his tongue in response.
But suddenly something hard and heavy struck the back of his head, then everything went black.
~
Spencer came to with a splitting headache, one that felt as if his eyes were being pushed out of his skull. He winced in pain, rubbing at his temples as he blinked several times. He couldn't seem to focus in the dim light, but he was aware of sitting on hard, cold rock. And that wherever he was, it was almost deathly silent.
Finally, he managed to open his eyes enough to take in his surroundings. He was surrounded by four stone walls, and behind him, high up, was a single tiny window letting in a small beam of daylight.
He was in a cell, like a prisoner. Spencer thought back over the last few things he remembered from the night before, but all that came to mind was standing outside in the cold with Jon, trying to sort out his father's financial mistakes.
Jon. Spencer's heart flew into his throat as he looked around frantically, but it was so dark, even with the little stream of light. As far as he could tell, he was alone.
Then he heard a soft moan, like someone in pain. The sound came from the far corner of the cell, and even though his head was throbbing, Spencer scrambled across the dirty stone floor, blindly reaching his hand out. His fingertips soon touched an ankle, a foot.
"Jon," Spencer whispered, squinting hard as he tried to make out Jon's shape. "Is that you? Are you all right?"
There was another weak moan, then a familiar voice replied, "Spence?"
Thank god, Spencer thought, shoulders sagging in relief. His eyesight was slowly adjusting to the dim light, and soon he could see Jon slumped against the wall, his wool coat gone and his shirt torn. There was a large, dark smudge of something at his temple that didn't look like soot, and it trailed all along the side of Jon's jaw. His lip was split as well.
"Jesus, what did they do to you?" Spencer asked, his heart pounding quickly. He touched the dark smudge tentatively, only Jon winced and hissed loudly in pain. His eyes had yet to open.
"I...they were trying to take you. I tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them..." Jon struggled to sit up, but it only made him growl sharply in pain and swear under his breath. "Those bastards kicked the shit out of me, then threw me into the carriage with you. I think they believe I'm your...bodyguard?" He laughed weakly.
But Spencer did not laugh in return. "What carriage? Where are we? Who did this?" He kept running his hands down Jon's shoulders and arms, testing for any other injuries. He noticed that Jon held an arm around his torso, like perhaps he'd had a few ribs broken. The blood from his head wound was still fresh, which either meant the wound was recent, or it had been bleeding for hours.
Jon shook his head slowly. "I don't know. But I heard them mention something about your father."
Spencer went very still, then swore loudly. Of course this would have something to do with his father. No doubt this was some kind of ransom situation and Spencer was being held as collateral.
However, this was a bit extreme for a bill collector.
"What did they say?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
"Something...I'm not sure..." Jon's voice grew weaker as he gasped for breath. He shivered, hugging his arm tighter around himself. "There was a lot of shouting, I can't remember..."
"It's all right," Spencer said. He couldn't help the way he automatically pressed against Jon's side and slid an arm around his shoulders, holding him close to keep him warm. It was the most he'd ever touched Jon. "Surely these men are wanting to bargain for something, namely money, and we'll be no good to them dead."
Jon huffed, curling into Spencer. "You're no good to them dead," he whispered, and Spencer's stomach turned cold.
"I demand you stop that line of thinking immediately," Spencer replied sharply, his voice cracking on the last word.
Jon made a small groaning noise, deep in his throat. "I was an accident, Spence. They never meant to take me."
"Shut up, they'll never know who you are if we don't-"
The door to the cell opened with a loud creak.
A very well-groomed man came in, smiling politely at Spencer. He tipped his hat at him. "I see you've made yourself at home," he said with a smirk.
Spencer's fist itched to pummel itself into the man's jaw. He bit back the poisonous reply that immediately came to mind, and instead said through gritted teeth, his arm tightening around Jon's shoulders, "Who are you and what do you want with us?"
The man didn't bat an eye. "I apologize, where are my manners?" He tipped his hat once more. "Viscount Dalton at your service. It's perhaps been a while since we last saw each other, yes?"
Spencer's heart beat a little faster. He knew the man, all right. "From what I've heard, you hardly honor the term Viscount," Spencer sneered. Dalton was notorious through the countryside for running shady gambling halls and absconding with all the money, or taking it by force.
Which of course meant that Spencer's father had no doubt been unwittingly involved in one of Dalton's schemes.
"What you think, my young Lord, hardly concerns me," Dalton replied casually. Spencer noticed he never once glanced at Jon. "However, what does concern me is the money your father unfortunately owes me, yet he's been very adamant about not paying. I wager this-" He gestured to Spencer. "-will perhaps persuade him to change his mind."
Spencer could feel his cheeks flushing in anger. "There's no money," he hissed. "Even if my father wanted to pay you, it would be virtually impossible to gather the funds-"
Dalton sighed and shook his head. "That may be so, but I happen to know first hand that when pushed, Lord Smith has very, shall we say, inventive ways of solving cash flow problems. What better incentive to use his talents that to barter for his only son's life?"
Beside him, Jon made a soft growling sound, and his shoulders went very stiff under Spencer's arm. "Bastard," Jon whispered, coughing harshly.
"That's an unfortunate thing to say, seeing as how we've never been properly introduced. I'm assuming you're Lord Smith's guard?" Dalton made a tsking sound, a feigned look of disappointment in his eyes as he took in Jon's wounded state. "Really, Smith, you ought to invest in better protection in the future. This one looks about half dead."
Jon suddenly lunged at Dalton, or at least attempted to. The movement no doubt wrenched his ribs, making Jon cry out in pain before Spencer could hold him back. He could feel Jon shaking with the need to have a go at the man, and Spencer couldn't blame him.
"Go to hell," Jon gasped.
Dalton's smirk made Spencer see red. "How very noble," Dalton drawled. "I do admire your servant's courage, Smith." And then, to Spencer's surprise, he withdrew a small roll of bandages and a bottle of ointment from the pocket of his waistcoat.
"Obviously, he needs some treatment," Dalton continued. "It would be a shame to let the poor boy bleed out in front of you, when it's clear to me you care for him."
Internally, Spencer winced, knowing full well how much he'd compromised himself by clinging to Jon so protectively. Now they would use him as leverage against Spencer. But he rationalized with himself that it was safer to have Jon mean something to him than not; he didn't want to think too hard on how easily Dalton read his actions.
"You're giving me supplies to tend to his injuries?" Spencer asked hesitantly.
Jon tensed again and whispered, "Don't do it."
"Think of it as a trade," Dalton replied. "I'll allow you to tend to his injuries, so long as you give me your total cooperation on this...matter."
"No, Spence, it's a trap," Jon hissed.
Dalton laughed. "'Spence,' is it? My, my, you've let the help get terribly common with you, Smith."
It was on the tip of Spencer's tongue to tell the man that Jon wasn't simply "the help," but that would put Jon in more danger. Not to mention Spencer himself didn't even know what to call Jon.
But he wouldn't let Jon suffer because his father made some stupid mistakes. It wasn't Jon's fault they were in this mess.
"All right," Spencer finally said softly. "I'll cooperate."
Dalton gave him a winning smile. "There, now that wasn't so hard!" He tossed Spencer the roll of bandages and the bottle of ointment. "I hope we can all be gentlemen about this; violence is very unbecoming." He tipped his hat at Spencer again, then turned and left the cell, the iron bars of the cell's door clanking loudly behind him.
"Goddamn it, why did you do that?" Jon tried to shove Spencer's arm away, but it only made him wince and curl in on himself a little more.
"I'm not about to let you die, you fool," Spencer mumbled as he opened the bottle and began applying it tentatively to Jon's head wound. Jon gasped softly at the initial burn, but then he sighed and let his head fall back against the wall.
"They're going to kill me eventually. You know that," Jon whispered, closing his eyes.
Spencer's throat got very tight. "There won't be enough time to kill you. We've been gone for hours at this point, and you know as well as I do that Ryan will notice. I wouldn't be surprised if he already had scouts out looking for us even as we speak."
Jon shook his head slowly. "For all we know, Dalton's hidden us in a castle only God knows where."
"And Ryan has a knack for discovering old castles." Spencer's attempt to lighten the mood was a weak one at best. He could see Jon's strength fading as he slid into unconsciousness. "Besides, you're the optimist, are you not?"
That earned him a breathy laugh. "If it's not past noon, Ryan will not even be awake yet. We're doomed."
Because they were alone, and because Spencer knew Jon was on the verge of sleep, he gave into the urge to press a gentle kiss to Jon's temple. "You know him too well," Spencer whispered against Jon's sweat-dampened hair.
Eventually all the tension eased out of Jon's body and he sagged against Spencer, who managed to finish applying the bandages. Spencer nudged him until Jon's cheek rested on Spencer's shoulder.
"Idiot," Spencer whispered to the dark. He wasn't entirely sure if he meant Jon or himself.
~
Ryan did not like being awakened before he was ready to actually be awake. Most of the staff of Smith Manor knew this fact very well, but it didn't stop the occasional wayward interruption, especially after a night of drinking and cards at the tavern down the road. One of the perks of being an assistant to a rather scandalous Earl was that Ryan was free to do as he pleased without reprimand, as long as his duties were attended to.
And what Ryan treasured greatly were his mornings to sleep in.
But this morning there was a loud, frantic pounding on his bedroom door. He was still a bit foggy-headed from the night before; after learning that Lord Smith had all but squandered his fortune in gambling debts, Ryan couldn't stand by and watch his employer get into a screaming match with his best friend. He hurt for Spencer, but he was also just as infuriated by the elder Smith's reckless actions. He didn't want to tell Spencer to calm down and be rational-if anything, Lord Smith needed his own son to tell him what an abhorrent ass he'd become.
So Ryan had ensconced himself in the tavern and drank until he was literally kicked to the curb. Then he'd dragged himself back to the manor and poured himself into bed.
The incessant pounding simply would not do. Ryan stumbled out of bed in nothing but his nightshirt and shorts, hair completely disheveled, and threw open the door as the mid-morning light streamed through the windows.
"What?!" he bellowed, hand shielding his eyes. "For Christ's sake, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Um." Instantly, Ryan recognized the single syllable as Brendon, without even opening his eyes. His heart beat a little faster, because Brendon knew better than most that Ryan hated being disturbed before noon. If he needed something, he always went to Spencer first.
Him coming to Ryan so early in the morning wasn't a good sign at all.
"I'm sorry, Ryan, but this really can't wait," Brendon said breathlessly. Ryan uncovered his eyes and found him standing in the doorway wringing his hands, his eyes too wide.
Suddenly, Ryan was wide awake. "What is it? What's happened?"
"It's Spencer. He's-he's missing. No one has seen him since last night." Brendon swallowed. "And I can't find Jon, either."
"What? You mean they're both gone?" Without thinking, Ryan pulled Brendon into the room and shut the door behind him, immediately rummaging through his wardrobe for a pair of trousers. It probably wasn't the most proper thing to do, letting Brendon watch him dress, but Ryan knew Brendon was polite to a fault; he immediately turned his back to Ryan in modesty.
A part of Ryan wanted to remind him, once again, that his status as the manor's music teacher really wasn't all that far below Ryan's, but now wasn't the time or the place for that. "Did anyone see them together last night?" he asked.
"Mollie said she thought she saw Spencer run out onto the grounds not long after he and Lord Smith had their argument. But she didn't remember seeing Jon with him." Brendon huffed loudly as he tugged a hand through his hair. "You know how Jon is with him, Ry," he added, softer. "He would've heard the yelling, known Spence was upset-he would've gone after him."
Ryan wished his head weren't so muddled with leftover ale. "I should've stayed here," he mumbled, jerking his nightshirt over his head.
"I was out at a recital for Lady Harborough, I didn't get back until well after midnight..." Ryan heard Brendon clear his throat, and when he glanced over his shoulder, Brendon was pacing by the bed, his back still to Ryan. The back of his neck was slightly flushed.
"Is Lord Smith about?"
Brendon nodded, and Ryan caught his eye when he glanced back, looking away quickly when he realized Ryan was still shirtless. "Yes, he's in his study. I don't think he actually believes Spence has been...well..."
"Taken?" Ryan spat the word out as he tugged his trousers on. He'd worried this would happen, that someone to whom Lord Smith owed debts would take it upon themselves to take something valuable as collateral. Spencer was the oldest child and only son; he was heir to the Smith estate. He was more valuable than anything to his father.
It didn't make sense that Jon would be taken as well, but maybe he'd tried to save Spencer...
"You really think so?" Brendon whispered, and this time he turned around and faced Ryan, regardless of the fact that Ryan was still naked from the waist up. He'd gone very pale.
Ryan sighed. "I don't want to think it, but it makes sense. Someone kidnapped Spencer for ransom, it was only a matter of time before Lord Smith's debts got the better of him."
"And Jon? You don't think they'd-"
"Hopefully not. Hopefully he's with Spencer, keeping him safe." A deep, cold knot of dread curled in Ryan's gut at the thought of what might become of Jon, if it hadn't already. A common servant had no value, not compared to an Earl's son.
Brendon hugged his arms around himself, looking lost for a moment. "We've got to find them. Lord Smith doesn't have any money to pay a ransom, does he?" he asked softly.
Ryan wanted to lie to him, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Instead, he replied, simply, "No, he doesn't."
He wasn't one for consoling; that had always been Spencer's forte, something he'd learned from being raised by a kindhearted mother and having two baby sisters to look after. Spencer knew the right things to say, how to make someone feel at ease, whereas Ryan was better with a pen and paper.
But now, seeing the way Brendon seemed on the verge of hysterics, Ryan found himself walking across the room and putting his arms around Brendon in a tight, protective embrace. He hadn't hugged anyone in years, not since Spencer's mother died.
Brendon gasped softly, his body going slightly stiff in Ryan's arms. Then he relaxed as his hands slid around Ryan's back, holding on just as tightly.
"We'll find them. We'll bring them back," Ryan said, his words slightly muffled into Brendon's hair.
Brendon didn't reply, only nodded his head against Ryan's bare shoulder.
~
Spencer woke suddenly from a fitful sleep to the feel of something very warm pressed against him. He blinked a few times before realizing that it was Jon, and his cheeks were very pink, and very hot.
He was burning up.
Spencer shifted around until he was able to prop Jon against the wall, wiping the damp hair away from Jon's forehead. The ointment hadn't done a thing to help, it seemed, and there wasn't anything Spencer could do for him.
"Jon," he whispered, his chest painfully tight as he rubbed his thumb gently over the corner of Jon's swollen lip. "Jon, wake up."
He frowned in his sleep, then shook his head. "Tired," he mumbled.
"I know you are, but you need to-"
Spencer's words were interrupted by the cell door opening again. Two guards came in, tall and brutish-looking. One was holding a tray with some bread and a couple of apples on it, while the other held a bottle with a rubber stopper.
"Lord Dalton asks a favor of you," the shorter guard said with a smirk. "Cooperate, and you'll get food."
"Tell your master that this man is in desperate need of a doctor," Spencer shot back, glaring at the two of them fiercely. "And I won't do a damned thing until he's seen to."
The guard laughed. "As it happens, Lord Dalton anticipated your request. The ointment he gave you was nothing but glycerin. This-" He pointed to the vial the other man held. "-is the real medicine."
"Bullshit!" Spencer cried. Angry heat flared in his cheeks, and he focused on the anger to keep his panic at bay. "How can I begin to trust either of you? This is nothing but a goddamned game."
Beside him, Jon shivered, whimpering softly, his eyes still closed.
"Suit yourself, it's your friend's life." The guard shrugged. "All Lord Dalton asks is that you give him the ring with your family's crest."
Spencer blinked. "My ring?" He glanced down at his left hand. "That's all?" True, it had been in his family for generations, but if that was all it took to get Jon help, then so be it. He'd never much cared to wear the thing, anyway.
The guard swept his hand out. "That's all. One ring for food and medicine. Easy enough trade, don't you think?"
It felt too easy, but Spencer wasn't in a position to argue. He took the ring off and handed it to the guard.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he drawled as he gave Spencer the vial and the tray of food.
"Fuck off," Spencer muttered under his breath, making both guards laugh heartily.
Once they were alone again, Spencer carefully peeled back Jon's bandages and applied the new salve. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around the wound was still swollen and red.
Jon didn't move a muscle, not even when Spencer skimmed the back of his hand over Jon's cheek when he was finished.
~
But the "real" medicine seemed to work; by the next morning, Jon was no longer radiating fever heat, and his eyes looked a little clearer.
When Spencer told him about the exchange, Jon frowned. "And that was all they asked for?"
"Yes, just that," Spencer replied. "It's all right, I never cared for that gaudy thing, anyway, and besides-"
"They wanted proof," Jon suddenly whispered, eyes widening. "Maybe your father demanded proof that Dalton has you captive, and the ring was evidence. No one else would have the Smith family crest on them but you."
"But...but that would mean he's considering paying the ransom." Spencer scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing at the two-day-old scruff he'd been unable to shave. "He can't pay that ransom, Jon, it'll take everything we have. We'll be ruined."
Jon smiled crookedly at him. "You'd rather your father left you here to rot?"
"This isn't a joke. You need a doctor, and no matter how much debt my father is in with Dalton, it doesn't give him the right to blackmail people. Dalton is a bastard, and if Ryan were here-"
"Dalton wouldn't stand a chance," Jon said, laughing weakly before a fit of coughing overtook him.
Spencer waited until Jon's coughs subsided to smirk affectionately and reply, "Dalton will rue the day he let himself be at the mercy of a Ryan Ross tongue lashing."
Jon tipped his head back against the wall and gave Spencer a long, searching look. The was something in his eyes, something that Spencer wanted to call longing, but it was a ridiculous thought. Jon was exhausted and in considerable pain, and Spencer was running on very little sleep himself; he was only imagining things.
"D'you really think Ross will find us?" Jon asked softly.
To be honest, Spencer didn't know what to think. He wanted to believe Ryan was searching for them with possibly Brendon's help, but if his father was already giving in to Dalton's demands...
"He'll find us. We just have to give a little more time." Spencer tried to put conviction behind his words, feel enough determination for the both of them, but it was easier said than done.
~
"You cannot be serious." Ryan's tone was deadly calm.
Lord Smith sighed as he spread out his hands in a helpless manner. "They have Spencer, what more can I do? If I liquidate everything, I can meet Dalton's demands and have Spencer home by dinner time."
Spencer and Jon, Ryan thought irritably. No matter how many times he tried to explain to Lord Smith that Spencer was not alone, he wouldn't get it through his head.
"Forgive me, my lord, but that is absolutely insane."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Brendon's eyes flare as he covered his mouth. Granted, Ryan's role as assistant didn't give him the right to speak to the Earl in such a manner, but now wasn't the time for propriety. Ryan could see Lord Smith's desperation and fear getting to him, which didn't bode well for levelheaded thinking.
But Lord Smith was used to Ryan speaking his mind, fortunately. Instead of reprimanding him, he slumped in the chair behind his desk. "I'm out of options, Ryan. You saw Spencer's ring, there's no doubt they have him."
"And that is where you are quite wrong. You can't even be certain they'll release Spencer and Jon after the money has changed hands." Ryan looked over his shoulder and waved Brendon forward. "Brendon and I have been doing some investigating, and from many accounts, there was a large carriage that came through town with several men inside, yelling. If my timeline is correct, that carriage was spotted not long after it left this manor with Spencer and Jon."
"I have friend, an artist, who lives further out in the country," Brendon cut in quickly. "He lives near an old, abandoned manor, and he told me he's seen men coming and going from there for the past few days."
Lord Smith sighed. "That could mean anything. We don't have any proof that they could be holding-"
"That's why we're here, my lord," Ryan said, and he swallowed his anxious dread long enough to give Brendon an encouraging smile. "Shane, Brendon's artist friend, also said he'd seen a carriage parked outside the manor as of two days ago. The description of it is identical to what witnesses saw in town the night of Spencer's abduction."
Brendon immediately flushed and ducked his head, laughing nervously. He was only timid like this in front of Lord Smith, which baffled Ryan, who often thought Spencer himself could be ten times more intimidating than his father. "We have a standing brunch appointment with one another, Shane and I, and it just so happened that he came here this morning, not knowing about the disappearance of Spencer and Jon. Once Ryan and I started telling him the details, he instantly remembered the carriage."
The room went very quiet for a moment, until Lord Smith took a deep breath and looked straight at Ryan.
"Do you think it's possible to rescue him?" he asked quietly.
Ryan very carefully folded his arms across his chest as he squared his jaw. "I believe it's possible to rescue them."
"Shane knows of a back entrance into the manor-he thinks there is a dungeon of sorts below the main floor," Brendon added, taking a step closer to Ryan, as if being closer to him would make their plan more valid. "We...we can do this."
Ryan nodded, never breaking eye contact with the Earl. "Yes, we can. Don't give in to their demands just yet, my lord. Your estate isn't forfeit just yet."
Lord Smith got up from his desk chair, and Ryan could tell from his expression that he believed them. "Then I will hold off Lord Dalton for as long as I can," he replied, nodding to both Ryan and Brendon.
Ryan opened his mouth to thank him, but Brendon was already sagging against Ryan and saying, "Thank you," in breathless relief.
There was still much planning to be done, and bringing back Spencer and Jon wouldn't solve Lord Smith's debt problems, but for the moment Ryan let himself smile a little, knowing Smith Manor would be around for a bit longer.
He reached down and squeezed Brendon's hand. "Come on," Ryan whispered. "We can't waste any time."
~
Spencer was beginning to lose track of time. He was fairly certain it had been four days since they'd been taken prisoner, if the scruff on Jon's cheeks was any indication. Not that Spencer would ever admit he knew Jon's beard tended to grow at faster rate than his own; he was just very observant of these things sometimes.
Jon wasn't getting any better, though, and his bandages desperately needed to be changed. Unfortunately, the guards only came to bring them food twice a day-once in the morning, and once at night-and they merely smirked at Spencer when he'd demand that they bring him fresh gauze and ointment.
"You're just going to let him rot here?" Spencer had yelled earlier that evening as the guard set their usual tray of bread and water in the cell's doorway. "So you'll be charged with kidnapping and murder?"
The guard laughed. "No one cares if the servant lives," he drawled. "Lord Dalton's humoring you, didn't you know?"
Spencer wanted to rip the man's head off, but Jon had laid a hand on his arm and whispered, "Don't. It's not worth it." There was a faint hint of defeat in his voice, and Spencer hated it more than anything. It was as if Jon had resigned himself to dying in this filthy cage.
Now it was the middle of the night, and a storm was raging outside, lighting flickering intermittently. Thunder cracked loudly every so often, making Spencer flinch. He could never sleep through a thunderstorm, having been caught out in one at night as a boy. His father had found him shivering in the woods along the manor grounds, hiding in an old tree stump after he'd chased a fox through the trees. Ever since, Spencer had secretly held a fear of lightning.
He was fairly certain Jon was sound asleep, until he felt Jon shift against him and say, his voice low and sleep-rough, "You're still frightened of storms, I see."
Spencer felt his cheeks blush. "What ever gave you that impression?" he whispered back.
Jon laughed softly. "You're restless. And you always leave at least a half dozen candles burning in your bedroom at night when the lightning is especially bad." He stretched a bit, his leg sliding against Spencer's. "Ross once told me you'd sleep in his room sometimes."
Spencer snorted. "All lies," he said, smiling in the dark. "Perhaps I was protecting him."
"The only thing that frightens Ross are spiders of all shapes and sizes."
"Maybe there were spiders during the storm."
Jon gently knocked his knee into Spencer's. "Your secret's safe with me, Spence," he replied softly, using the same careful, affectionate tone that always made Spencer's chest get a little too tight, a little too warm.
Spencer closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the stone wall, listening to the rain, and for a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to curl into bed with Jon, warm, soft sheets around them, and Jon's heartbeat pounding in his ear. He took it a step further, pictured himself leaning up to brush his mouth over Jon's, barely, just enough to feel the texture of his lips, and hearing the way Jon gasped quietly as he cupped his hand over Spencer's cheek to hold him steady as he deepened the kiss, until Spencer forgot all about the storm outside...
"Tell me something," Jon suddenly asked, and his voice was nearly drowned out by the rain.
Spencer swallowed hard and blinked in the dark, wishing he couldn't feel Jon's heat pressing up against his leg. "What?"
"Do you honestly believe your father won't pay Dalton? Or at least find a way to do so?"
He took a deep breath. "No. Ryan will find us, he'll convince my father to stall until he does. I know he will-he has to know that there's the possibility of...of..."
"Of Dalton killing us anyway," Jon whispered. For the first time, Spencer thought he sounded afraid.
"That won't happen," Spencer replied fiercely. "Ryan will find us, we just have to have faith in him."
He heard Jon sigh, felt him tug his knees slowly to his chest. "You love him a lot, don't you?"
"He's my best friend, of course I love him." Spencer wasn't sure what Jon meant-it was the truth, he did love Ryan with all his heart, just as he loved Brendon dearly, but it wasn't the same with-Jon was different, that's all. Spencer's heart beat faster, wondering if Jon was trying to get at something. Now wasn't the time or place for Spencer to be forced into some humiliating confession, regardless of how bad off Jon was.
"I know," Jon said. "I was only...I mean, I...I hope you're right. And I hope you get to see him again."
And there he went again, sounding defeated and sad.
"Do you remember that spring when I was fifteen and got thrown off the new horse Father bought me?" Spencer asked quietly.
Jon laughed weakly. "Didn't you pick that horse out yourself?"
"Yes, I did, but only because I liked his color. The breeder failed to tell us he had a fierce temper." Spencer still remembered quite clearly the shock and immediate pain he'd felt once he'd landed hard on his arm in the mud.
"You didn't even shed a tear," Jon whispered, as if he were reading Spencer's thoughts.
"I could barely breathe, let alone cry." He'd also been loathe to cry in front of Jon, who had come to the manor only a few years earlier with his mother. He'd given Spencer a very sweet smile upon being introduced, bowing his head slightly as he'd politely whispered, "My lord." From that moment on, Spencer had found himself secretly wanting to earn that smile, to put himself in Jon's favor, even though it was a ridiculous thing for a lord to want to impress a servant.
"But you were very brave. I remember that much. Also, that Ryan nearly broke down a stable door trying to get to you." Though he couldn't see Jon's expression, Spencer imagined he was smiling crookedly at the memory.
Spencer reached out and found Jon's hand, not quite linking their fingers together. "You found me first, though," he replied softly. "And you pulled me up and told me everything was going to be all right."
Jon didn't reply, but he didn't pull his hand away. Eventually Spencer felt his shoulders sag a little more as he said, "This isn't the same thing, Spence. This isn't just a rowdy horse and a broken arm."
"But it's you and me, and we'll survive this."
He heard Jon sigh, and then slowly slip his hand out from under Spencer's. "You don't know that. I'm...They don't need me. You heard the guard, they're only keeping me alive to humor you."
Spencer huffed, hating the way his chest clenched painfully. "Don't give up hope," he whispered. "I'm not leaving here without you, I need you with me." He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling pathetic and far too exposed, like he'd said all the things he shouldn't. But Spencer wouldn't take the words back.
Jon leaned his weight against him, and when he finally replied, "All right," Spencer felt his warm breath over his cheek, like Jon had leaned in close enough to kiss.
But it was too dark to tell, and eventually Jon laid his head on Spencer's shoulder and fell asleep.
Spencer did not sleep until the storm passed.
~
part 2
Jon/Spencer, Ryan/Brendon | 13,180 words | R
In which Lord Spencer Smith is kidnapped with his long-time servant, Jon Walker, and held for ransom.
Warning: A certain scene could be considered dub-con. Reader discretion advised.
Written for bandom_hc and based (loosely, I'll admit) on prompt #150: A sex slave AU/random kidnapped-and-put-in-cages scenario where the Panic boys are forced to have sex with each other. Bonus if there's unrequited love. Lots of bonuses if it's between Ryan/Spencer. Huge, huge thanks to lyo for all but writing the porn for me, and to my usual beta superheroes, siryn99 and themoononastick.
He hadn't meant to go out that night, but Spencer was tired of fighting with his father. Things had been building to a head over the past several weeks, leading to Spencer discovering that due to some poor decisions on his father's part-namely a drunken poker game-a good portion of their estate had been lost. And now bill collectors were starting to knock on their door.
Spencer had trusted his father, but now everything was in danger of being lost: the manor, the holdings, all of it. His sisters were barely old enough to be presented into society; losing their dowry would mean their chances of finding a good husband would be slim to none. It infuriated Spencer beyond all comprehension, but he couldn't think with his father yelling at him to mind his own business, that things would settle themselves eventually.
So he stormed out of the manor and paced the grounds, raking his hands through his hair. He loved his home, and everyone in it. It wasn't proper, but Spencer thought of the servants and staff as part of his family; the thought of making them homeless was just-
"You'll freeze to death, you know."
Spencer stopped his irritated pacing and smiled down at the ground in spite of himself. He didn't have to look up to identify the voice. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, he'd been expecting it.
"I find anger helps keep the blood flowing nicely," Spencer replied with a sigh.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow step closer. "And you finally stop all your pacing? What then?"
Spencer shook his head as Jon Walker finally came into view, his hair still mussed and his cheeks streaked with soot from having finished cleaning out the chimneys earlier that evening. Jon had been a servant at Smith manor since he was boy, when his mother had started work in the kitchen; even though Spencer had never said as much, he had always considered Jon to be one of his closest friends. But unlike Brendon, the twins' music teacher, Jon was a common servant, not trained musically or in the classics or in art. Jon fixed broken stable doors and washed the windows and replaced rotten shingles on the roof. With Brendon, Spencer could befriend him freely and never have to worry about judgment or scorn. But with Jon, it had become second nature for Spencer to be coolly polite to him in public.
In private, however, Spencer tended to let down his guard.
"When I stop, I'll know how to deal with my fool of a father," he mumbled, trying to ignore the affectionate smirk Jon gave him. Even though Jon had been nowhere near the study where the argument had taken place, he always knew how to find Spencer. It was something Spencer secretly appreciated about him, probably a bit too much.
"You'll both find a way to make this right, Spence," Jon replied softly, and it was the intimacy in the way Jon said his name, completely improper, that made Spencer's breath catch for a moment. Jon never referred to him as anything other than "my lord" unless they were alone, and then it was always Spence, said with care and a slight lisp on the end. Spencer wanted to believe that all his friends called him by the same nickname, but none of them said his name like it was privilege, or a shared secret.
Spencer shook his head. He could see his breath coming in white puffs against the cold night air. "There's so much that's gone. I don't-the debt collectors are coming almost daily now. We can't pay them."
Jon bit his lip, taking another step closer to Spencer. He was wrapped up in his old moth-eaten wool coat, bits of hay and dust clinging to him, and Spencer could smell the soot on his skin. But Jon's eyes were bright, and they crinkled at the edges as he smiled crookedly and laid a hand on Spencer's arm.
"I'm sure we could sell Ryan and fetch a handsome price," he said, making Spencer break into laughter without a second thought. Ryan was his father's assistant, having inherited the position from his own father. He was not shy in his disdain for the job, but it kept him in Smith manor, and therefore with Spencer, who considered Ryan one of his closest friends.
"Don't say that too loudly, he'll hear you and start to get his hopes up."
Jon practically beamed at Spencer. "You see? I have the best ideas. And I also know how to make you laugh against your will."
He was more correct than he even knew, but Spencer would never admit anything out loud. "I never said selling off my friends was a good idea, for the record."
"But you were thinking it. And we'd only be doing Ross a favor." Jon nodded solemnly, eyes wide and earnest, and damn it all if Spencer didn't feel his mouth twitching with the onset of more laughter.
"I thought no such thing."
Jon clucked his tongue. "Very well, then. I supposed his shoe collection will have to suffice."
Spencer really did laugh loudly at that, and he had a very witty retort on the tip of his tongue in response.
But suddenly something hard and heavy struck the back of his head, then everything went black.
~
Spencer came to with a splitting headache, one that felt as if his eyes were being pushed out of his skull. He winced in pain, rubbing at his temples as he blinked several times. He couldn't seem to focus in the dim light, but he was aware of sitting on hard, cold rock. And that wherever he was, it was almost deathly silent.
Finally, he managed to open his eyes enough to take in his surroundings. He was surrounded by four stone walls, and behind him, high up, was a single tiny window letting in a small beam of daylight.
He was in a cell, like a prisoner. Spencer thought back over the last few things he remembered from the night before, but all that came to mind was standing outside in the cold with Jon, trying to sort out his father's financial mistakes.
Jon. Spencer's heart flew into his throat as he looked around frantically, but it was so dark, even with the little stream of light. As far as he could tell, he was alone.
Then he heard a soft moan, like someone in pain. The sound came from the far corner of the cell, and even though his head was throbbing, Spencer scrambled across the dirty stone floor, blindly reaching his hand out. His fingertips soon touched an ankle, a foot.
"Jon," Spencer whispered, squinting hard as he tried to make out Jon's shape. "Is that you? Are you all right?"
There was another weak moan, then a familiar voice replied, "Spence?"
Thank god, Spencer thought, shoulders sagging in relief. His eyesight was slowly adjusting to the dim light, and soon he could see Jon slumped against the wall, his wool coat gone and his shirt torn. There was a large, dark smudge of something at his temple that didn't look like soot, and it trailed all along the side of Jon's jaw. His lip was split as well.
"Jesus, what did they do to you?" Spencer asked, his heart pounding quickly. He touched the dark smudge tentatively, only Jon winced and hissed loudly in pain. His eyes had yet to open.
"I...they were trying to take you. I tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them..." Jon struggled to sit up, but it only made him growl sharply in pain and swear under his breath. "Those bastards kicked the shit out of me, then threw me into the carriage with you. I think they believe I'm your...bodyguard?" He laughed weakly.
But Spencer did not laugh in return. "What carriage? Where are we? Who did this?" He kept running his hands down Jon's shoulders and arms, testing for any other injuries. He noticed that Jon held an arm around his torso, like perhaps he'd had a few ribs broken. The blood from his head wound was still fresh, which either meant the wound was recent, or it had been bleeding for hours.
Jon shook his head slowly. "I don't know. But I heard them mention something about your father."
Spencer went very still, then swore loudly. Of course this would have something to do with his father. No doubt this was some kind of ransom situation and Spencer was being held as collateral.
However, this was a bit extreme for a bill collector.
"What did they say?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
"Something...I'm not sure..." Jon's voice grew weaker as he gasped for breath. He shivered, hugging his arm tighter around himself. "There was a lot of shouting, I can't remember..."
"It's all right," Spencer said. He couldn't help the way he automatically pressed against Jon's side and slid an arm around his shoulders, holding him close to keep him warm. It was the most he'd ever touched Jon. "Surely these men are wanting to bargain for something, namely money, and we'll be no good to them dead."
Jon huffed, curling into Spencer. "You're no good to them dead," he whispered, and Spencer's stomach turned cold.
"I demand you stop that line of thinking immediately," Spencer replied sharply, his voice cracking on the last word.
Jon made a small groaning noise, deep in his throat. "I was an accident, Spence. They never meant to take me."
"Shut up, they'll never know who you are if we don't-"
The door to the cell opened with a loud creak.
A very well-groomed man came in, smiling politely at Spencer. He tipped his hat at him. "I see you've made yourself at home," he said with a smirk.
Spencer's fist itched to pummel itself into the man's jaw. He bit back the poisonous reply that immediately came to mind, and instead said through gritted teeth, his arm tightening around Jon's shoulders, "Who are you and what do you want with us?"
The man didn't bat an eye. "I apologize, where are my manners?" He tipped his hat once more. "Viscount Dalton at your service. It's perhaps been a while since we last saw each other, yes?"
Spencer's heart beat a little faster. He knew the man, all right. "From what I've heard, you hardly honor the term Viscount," Spencer sneered. Dalton was notorious through the countryside for running shady gambling halls and absconding with all the money, or taking it by force.
Which of course meant that Spencer's father had no doubt been unwittingly involved in one of Dalton's schemes.
"What you think, my young Lord, hardly concerns me," Dalton replied casually. Spencer noticed he never once glanced at Jon. "However, what does concern me is the money your father unfortunately owes me, yet he's been very adamant about not paying. I wager this-" He gestured to Spencer. "-will perhaps persuade him to change his mind."
Spencer could feel his cheeks flushing in anger. "There's no money," he hissed. "Even if my father wanted to pay you, it would be virtually impossible to gather the funds-"
Dalton sighed and shook his head. "That may be so, but I happen to know first hand that when pushed, Lord Smith has very, shall we say, inventive ways of solving cash flow problems. What better incentive to use his talents that to barter for his only son's life?"
Beside him, Jon made a soft growling sound, and his shoulders went very stiff under Spencer's arm. "Bastard," Jon whispered, coughing harshly.
"That's an unfortunate thing to say, seeing as how we've never been properly introduced. I'm assuming you're Lord Smith's guard?" Dalton made a tsking sound, a feigned look of disappointment in his eyes as he took in Jon's wounded state. "Really, Smith, you ought to invest in better protection in the future. This one looks about half dead."
Jon suddenly lunged at Dalton, or at least attempted to. The movement no doubt wrenched his ribs, making Jon cry out in pain before Spencer could hold him back. He could feel Jon shaking with the need to have a go at the man, and Spencer couldn't blame him.
"Go to hell," Jon gasped.
Dalton's smirk made Spencer see red. "How very noble," Dalton drawled. "I do admire your servant's courage, Smith." And then, to Spencer's surprise, he withdrew a small roll of bandages and a bottle of ointment from the pocket of his waistcoat.
"Obviously, he needs some treatment," Dalton continued. "It would be a shame to let the poor boy bleed out in front of you, when it's clear to me you care for him."
Internally, Spencer winced, knowing full well how much he'd compromised himself by clinging to Jon so protectively. Now they would use him as leverage against Spencer. But he rationalized with himself that it was safer to have Jon mean something to him than not; he didn't want to think too hard on how easily Dalton read his actions.
"You're giving me supplies to tend to his injuries?" Spencer asked hesitantly.
Jon tensed again and whispered, "Don't do it."
"Think of it as a trade," Dalton replied. "I'll allow you to tend to his injuries, so long as you give me your total cooperation on this...matter."
"No, Spence, it's a trap," Jon hissed.
Dalton laughed. "'Spence,' is it? My, my, you've let the help get terribly common with you, Smith."
It was on the tip of Spencer's tongue to tell the man that Jon wasn't simply "the help," but that would put Jon in more danger. Not to mention Spencer himself didn't even know what to call Jon.
But he wouldn't let Jon suffer because his father made some stupid mistakes. It wasn't Jon's fault they were in this mess.
"All right," Spencer finally said softly. "I'll cooperate."
Dalton gave him a winning smile. "There, now that wasn't so hard!" He tossed Spencer the roll of bandages and the bottle of ointment. "I hope we can all be gentlemen about this; violence is very unbecoming." He tipped his hat at Spencer again, then turned and left the cell, the iron bars of the cell's door clanking loudly behind him.
"Goddamn it, why did you do that?" Jon tried to shove Spencer's arm away, but it only made him wince and curl in on himself a little more.
"I'm not about to let you die, you fool," Spencer mumbled as he opened the bottle and began applying it tentatively to Jon's head wound. Jon gasped softly at the initial burn, but then he sighed and let his head fall back against the wall.
"They're going to kill me eventually. You know that," Jon whispered, closing his eyes.
Spencer's throat got very tight. "There won't be enough time to kill you. We've been gone for hours at this point, and you know as well as I do that Ryan will notice. I wouldn't be surprised if he already had scouts out looking for us even as we speak."
Jon shook his head slowly. "For all we know, Dalton's hidden us in a castle only God knows where."
"And Ryan has a knack for discovering old castles." Spencer's attempt to lighten the mood was a weak one at best. He could see Jon's strength fading as he slid into unconsciousness. "Besides, you're the optimist, are you not?"
That earned him a breathy laugh. "If it's not past noon, Ryan will not even be awake yet. We're doomed."
Because they were alone, and because Spencer knew Jon was on the verge of sleep, he gave into the urge to press a gentle kiss to Jon's temple. "You know him too well," Spencer whispered against Jon's sweat-dampened hair.
Eventually all the tension eased out of Jon's body and he sagged against Spencer, who managed to finish applying the bandages. Spencer nudged him until Jon's cheek rested on Spencer's shoulder.
"Idiot," Spencer whispered to the dark. He wasn't entirely sure if he meant Jon or himself.
~
Ryan did not like being awakened before he was ready to actually be awake. Most of the staff of Smith Manor knew this fact very well, but it didn't stop the occasional wayward interruption, especially after a night of drinking and cards at the tavern down the road. One of the perks of being an assistant to a rather scandalous Earl was that Ryan was free to do as he pleased without reprimand, as long as his duties were attended to.
And what Ryan treasured greatly were his mornings to sleep in.
But this morning there was a loud, frantic pounding on his bedroom door. He was still a bit foggy-headed from the night before; after learning that Lord Smith had all but squandered his fortune in gambling debts, Ryan couldn't stand by and watch his employer get into a screaming match with his best friend. He hurt for Spencer, but he was also just as infuriated by the elder Smith's reckless actions. He didn't want to tell Spencer to calm down and be rational-if anything, Lord Smith needed his own son to tell him what an abhorrent ass he'd become.
So Ryan had ensconced himself in the tavern and drank until he was literally kicked to the curb. Then he'd dragged himself back to the manor and poured himself into bed.
The incessant pounding simply would not do. Ryan stumbled out of bed in nothing but his nightshirt and shorts, hair completely disheveled, and threw open the door as the mid-morning light streamed through the windows.
"What?!" he bellowed, hand shielding his eyes. "For Christ's sake, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Um." Instantly, Ryan recognized the single syllable as Brendon, without even opening his eyes. His heart beat a little faster, because Brendon knew better than most that Ryan hated being disturbed before noon. If he needed something, he always went to Spencer first.
Him coming to Ryan so early in the morning wasn't a good sign at all.
"I'm sorry, Ryan, but this really can't wait," Brendon said breathlessly. Ryan uncovered his eyes and found him standing in the doorway wringing his hands, his eyes too wide.
Suddenly, Ryan was wide awake. "What is it? What's happened?"
"It's Spencer. He's-he's missing. No one has seen him since last night." Brendon swallowed. "And I can't find Jon, either."
"What? You mean they're both gone?" Without thinking, Ryan pulled Brendon into the room and shut the door behind him, immediately rummaging through his wardrobe for a pair of trousers. It probably wasn't the most proper thing to do, letting Brendon watch him dress, but Ryan knew Brendon was polite to a fault; he immediately turned his back to Ryan in modesty.
A part of Ryan wanted to remind him, once again, that his status as the manor's music teacher really wasn't all that far below Ryan's, but now wasn't the time or the place for that. "Did anyone see them together last night?" he asked.
"Mollie said she thought she saw Spencer run out onto the grounds not long after he and Lord Smith had their argument. But she didn't remember seeing Jon with him." Brendon huffed loudly as he tugged a hand through his hair. "You know how Jon is with him, Ry," he added, softer. "He would've heard the yelling, known Spence was upset-he would've gone after him."
Ryan wished his head weren't so muddled with leftover ale. "I should've stayed here," he mumbled, jerking his nightshirt over his head.
"I was out at a recital for Lady Harborough, I didn't get back until well after midnight..." Ryan heard Brendon clear his throat, and when he glanced over his shoulder, Brendon was pacing by the bed, his back still to Ryan. The back of his neck was slightly flushed.
"Is Lord Smith about?"
Brendon nodded, and Ryan caught his eye when he glanced back, looking away quickly when he realized Ryan was still shirtless. "Yes, he's in his study. I don't think he actually believes Spence has been...well..."
"Taken?" Ryan spat the word out as he tugged his trousers on. He'd worried this would happen, that someone to whom Lord Smith owed debts would take it upon themselves to take something valuable as collateral. Spencer was the oldest child and only son; he was heir to the Smith estate. He was more valuable than anything to his father.
It didn't make sense that Jon would be taken as well, but maybe he'd tried to save Spencer...
"You really think so?" Brendon whispered, and this time he turned around and faced Ryan, regardless of the fact that Ryan was still naked from the waist up. He'd gone very pale.
Ryan sighed. "I don't want to think it, but it makes sense. Someone kidnapped Spencer for ransom, it was only a matter of time before Lord Smith's debts got the better of him."
"And Jon? You don't think they'd-"
"Hopefully not. Hopefully he's with Spencer, keeping him safe." A deep, cold knot of dread curled in Ryan's gut at the thought of what might become of Jon, if it hadn't already. A common servant had no value, not compared to an Earl's son.
Brendon hugged his arms around himself, looking lost for a moment. "We've got to find them. Lord Smith doesn't have any money to pay a ransom, does he?" he asked softly.
Ryan wanted to lie to him, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Instead, he replied, simply, "No, he doesn't."
He wasn't one for consoling; that had always been Spencer's forte, something he'd learned from being raised by a kindhearted mother and having two baby sisters to look after. Spencer knew the right things to say, how to make someone feel at ease, whereas Ryan was better with a pen and paper.
But now, seeing the way Brendon seemed on the verge of hysterics, Ryan found himself walking across the room and putting his arms around Brendon in a tight, protective embrace. He hadn't hugged anyone in years, not since Spencer's mother died.
Brendon gasped softly, his body going slightly stiff in Ryan's arms. Then he relaxed as his hands slid around Ryan's back, holding on just as tightly.
"We'll find them. We'll bring them back," Ryan said, his words slightly muffled into Brendon's hair.
Brendon didn't reply, only nodded his head against Ryan's bare shoulder.
~
Spencer woke suddenly from a fitful sleep to the feel of something very warm pressed against him. He blinked a few times before realizing that it was Jon, and his cheeks were very pink, and very hot.
He was burning up.
Spencer shifted around until he was able to prop Jon against the wall, wiping the damp hair away from Jon's forehead. The ointment hadn't done a thing to help, it seemed, and there wasn't anything Spencer could do for him.
"Jon," he whispered, his chest painfully tight as he rubbed his thumb gently over the corner of Jon's swollen lip. "Jon, wake up."
He frowned in his sleep, then shook his head. "Tired," he mumbled.
"I know you are, but you need to-"
Spencer's words were interrupted by the cell door opening again. Two guards came in, tall and brutish-looking. One was holding a tray with some bread and a couple of apples on it, while the other held a bottle with a rubber stopper.
"Lord Dalton asks a favor of you," the shorter guard said with a smirk. "Cooperate, and you'll get food."
"Tell your master that this man is in desperate need of a doctor," Spencer shot back, glaring at the two of them fiercely. "And I won't do a damned thing until he's seen to."
The guard laughed. "As it happens, Lord Dalton anticipated your request. The ointment he gave you was nothing but glycerin. This-" He pointed to the vial the other man held. "-is the real medicine."
"Bullshit!" Spencer cried. Angry heat flared in his cheeks, and he focused on the anger to keep his panic at bay. "How can I begin to trust either of you? This is nothing but a goddamned game."
Beside him, Jon shivered, whimpering softly, his eyes still closed.
"Suit yourself, it's your friend's life." The guard shrugged. "All Lord Dalton asks is that you give him the ring with your family's crest."
Spencer blinked. "My ring?" He glanced down at his left hand. "That's all?" True, it had been in his family for generations, but if that was all it took to get Jon help, then so be it. He'd never much cared to wear the thing, anyway.
The guard swept his hand out. "That's all. One ring for food and medicine. Easy enough trade, don't you think?"
It felt too easy, but Spencer wasn't in a position to argue. He took the ring off and handed it to the guard.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he drawled as he gave Spencer the vial and the tray of food.
"Fuck off," Spencer muttered under his breath, making both guards laugh heartily.
Once they were alone again, Spencer carefully peeled back Jon's bandages and applied the new salve. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around the wound was still swollen and red.
Jon didn't move a muscle, not even when Spencer skimmed the back of his hand over Jon's cheek when he was finished.
~
But the "real" medicine seemed to work; by the next morning, Jon was no longer radiating fever heat, and his eyes looked a little clearer.
When Spencer told him about the exchange, Jon frowned. "And that was all they asked for?"
"Yes, just that," Spencer replied. "It's all right, I never cared for that gaudy thing, anyway, and besides-"
"They wanted proof," Jon suddenly whispered, eyes widening. "Maybe your father demanded proof that Dalton has you captive, and the ring was evidence. No one else would have the Smith family crest on them but you."
"But...but that would mean he's considering paying the ransom." Spencer scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing at the two-day-old scruff he'd been unable to shave. "He can't pay that ransom, Jon, it'll take everything we have. We'll be ruined."
Jon smiled crookedly at him. "You'd rather your father left you here to rot?"
"This isn't a joke. You need a doctor, and no matter how much debt my father is in with Dalton, it doesn't give him the right to blackmail people. Dalton is a bastard, and if Ryan were here-"
"Dalton wouldn't stand a chance," Jon said, laughing weakly before a fit of coughing overtook him.
Spencer waited until Jon's coughs subsided to smirk affectionately and reply, "Dalton will rue the day he let himself be at the mercy of a Ryan Ross tongue lashing."
Jon tipped his head back against the wall and gave Spencer a long, searching look. The was something in his eyes, something that Spencer wanted to call longing, but it was a ridiculous thought. Jon was exhausted and in considerable pain, and Spencer was running on very little sleep himself; he was only imagining things.
"D'you really think Ross will find us?" Jon asked softly.
To be honest, Spencer didn't know what to think. He wanted to believe Ryan was searching for them with possibly Brendon's help, but if his father was already giving in to Dalton's demands...
"He'll find us. We just have to give a little more time." Spencer tried to put conviction behind his words, feel enough determination for the both of them, but it was easier said than done.
~
"You cannot be serious." Ryan's tone was deadly calm.
Lord Smith sighed as he spread out his hands in a helpless manner. "They have Spencer, what more can I do? If I liquidate everything, I can meet Dalton's demands and have Spencer home by dinner time."
Spencer and Jon, Ryan thought irritably. No matter how many times he tried to explain to Lord Smith that Spencer was not alone, he wouldn't get it through his head.
"Forgive me, my lord, but that is absolutely insane."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Brendon's eyes flare as he covered his mouth. Granted, Ryan's role as assistant didn't give him the right to speak to the Earl in such a manner, but now wasn't the time for propriety. Ryan could see Lord Smith's desperation and fear getting to him, which didn't bode well for levelheaded thinking.
But Lord Smith was used to Ryan speaking his mind, fortunately. Instead of reprimanding him, he slumped in the chair behind his desk. "I'm out of options, Ryan. You saw Spencer's ring, there's no doubt they have him."
"And that is where you are quite wrong. You can't even be certain they'll release Spencer and Jon after the money has changed hands." Ryan looked over his shoulder and waved Brendon forward. "Brendon and I have been doing some investigating, and from many accounts, there was a large carriage that came through town with several men inside, yelling. If my timeline is correct, that carriage was spotted not long after it left this manor with Spencer and Jon."
"I have friend, an artist, who lives further out in the country," Brendon cut in quickly. "He lives near an old, abandoned manor, and he told me he's seen men coming and going from there for the past few days."
Lord Smith sighed. "That could mean anything. We don't have any proof that they could be holding-"
"That's why we're here, my lord," Ryan said, and he swallowed his anxious dread long enough to give Brendon an encouraging smile. "Shane, Brendon's artist friend, also said he'd seen a carriage parked outside the manor as of two days ago. The description of it is identical to what witnesses saw in town the night of Spencer's abduction."
Brendon immediately flushed and ducked his head, laughing nervously. He was only timid like this in front of Lord Smith, which baffled Ryan, who often thought Spencer himself could be ten times more intimidating than his father. "We have a standing brunch appointment with one another, Shane and I, and it just so happened that he came here this morning, not knowing about the disappearance of Spencer and Jon. Once Ryan and I started telling him the details, he instantly remembered the carriage."
The room went very quiet for a moment, until Lord Smith took a deep breath and looked straight at Ryan.
"Do you think it's possible to rescue him?" he asked quietly.
Ryan very carefully folded his arms across his chest as he squared his jaw. "I believe it's possible to rescue them."
"Shane knows of a back entrance into the manor-he thinks there is a dungeon of sorts below the main floor," Brendon added, taking a step closer to Ryan, as if being closer to him would make their plan more valid. "We...we can do this."
Ryan nodded, never breaking eye contact with the Earl. "Yes, we can. Don't give in to their demands just yet, my lord. Your estate isn't forfeit just yet."
Lord Smith got up from his desk chair, and Ryan could tell from his expression that he believed them. "Then I will hold off Lord Dalton for as long as I can," he replied, nodding to both Ryan and Brendon.
Ryan opened his mouth to thank him, but Brendon was already sagging against Ryan and saying, "Thank you," in breathless relief.
There was still much planning to be done, and bringing back Spencer and Jon wouldn't solve Lord Smith's debt problems, but for the moment Ryan let himself smile a little, knowing Smith Manor would be around for a bit longer.
He reached down and squeezed Brendon's hand. "Come on," Ryan whispered. "We can't waste any time."
~
Spencer was beginning to lose track of time. He was fairly certain it had been four days since they'd been taken prisoner, if the scruff on Jon's cheeks was any indication. Not that Spencer would ever admit he knew Jon's beard tended to grow at faster rate than his own; he was just very observant of these things sometimes.
Jon wasn't getting any better, though, and his bandages desperately needed to be changed. Unfortunately, the guards only came to bring them food twice a day-once in the morning, and once at night-and they merely smirked at Spencer when he'd demand that they bring him fresh gauze and ointment.
"You're just going to let him rot here?" Spencer had yelled earlier that evening as the guard set their usual tray of bread and water in the cell's doorway. "So you'll be charged with kidnapping and murder?"
The guard laughed. "No one cares if the servant lives," he drawled. "Lord Dalton's humoring you, didn't you know?"
Spencer wanted to rip the man's head off, but Jon had laid a hand on his arm and whispered, "Don't. It's not worth it." There was a faint hint of defeat in his voice, and Spencer hated it more than anything. It was as if Jon had resigned himself to dying in this filthy cage.
Now it was the middle of the night, and a storm was raging outside, lighting flickering intermittently. Thunder cracked loudly every so often, making Spencer flinch. He could never sleep through a thunderstorm, having been caught out in one at night as a boy. His father had found him shivering in the woods along the manor grounds, hiding in an old tree stump after he'd chased a fox through the trees. Ever since, Spencer had secretly held a fear of lightning.
He was fairly certain Jon was sound asleep, until he felt Jon shift against him and say, his voice low and sleep-rough, "You're still frightened of storms, I see."
Spencer felt his cheeks blush. "What ever gave you that impression?" he whispered back.
Jon laughed softly. "You're restless. And you always leave at least a half dozen candles burning in your bedroom at night when the lightning is especially bad." He stretched a bit, his leg sliding against Spencer's. "Ross once told me you'd sleep in his room sometimes."
Spencer snorted. "All lies," he said, smiling in the dark. "Perhaps I was protecting him."
"The only thing that frightens Ross are spiders of all shapes and sizes."
"Maybe there were spiders during the storm."
Jon gently knocked his knee into Spencer's. "Your secret's safe with me, Spence," he replied softly, using the same careful, affectionate tone that always made Spencer's chest get a little too tight, a little too warm.
Spencer closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the stone wall, listening to the rain, and for a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to curl into bed with Jon, warm, soft sheets around them, and Jon's heartbeat pounding in his ear. He took it a step further, pictured himself leaning up to brush his mouth over Jon's, barely, just enough to feel the texture of his lips, and hearing the way Jon gasped quietly as he cupped his hand over Spencer's cheek to hold him steady as he deepened the kiss, until Spencer forgot all about the storm outside...
"Tell me something," Jon suddenly asked, and his voice was nearly drowned out by the rain.
Spencer swallowed hard and blinked in the dark, wishing he couldn't feel Jon's heat pressing up against his leg. "What?"
"Do you honestly believe your father won't pay Dalton? Or at least find a way to do so?"
He took a deep breath. "No. Ryan will find us, he'll convince my father to stall until he does. I know he will-he has to know that there's the possibility of...of..."
"Of Dalton killing us anyway," Jon whispered. For the first time, Spencer thought he sounded afraid.
"That won't happen," Spencer replied fiercely. "Ryan will find us, we just have to have faith in him."
He heard Jon sigh, felt him tug his knees slowly to his chest. "You love him a lot, don't you?"
"He's my best friend, of course I love him." Spencer wasn't sure what Jon meant-it was the truth, he did love Ryan with all his heart, just as he loved Brendon dearly, but it wasn't the same with-Jon was different, that's all. Spencer's heart beat faster, wondering if Jon was trying to get at something. Now wasn't the time or place for Spencer to be forced into some humiliating confession, regardless of how bad off Jon was.
"I know," Jon said. "I was only...I mean, I...I hope you're right. And I hope you get to see him again."
And there he went again, sounding defeated and sad.
"Do you remember that spring when I was fifteen and got thrown off the new horse Father bought me?" Spencer asked quietly.
Jon laughed weakly. "Didn't you pick that horse out yourself?"
"Yes, I did, but only because I liked his color. The breeder failed to tell us he had a fierce temper." Spencer still remembered quite clearly the shock and immediate pain he'd felt once he'd landed hard on his arm in the mud.
"You didn't even shed a tear," Jon whispered, as if he were reading Spencer's thoughts.
"I could barely breathe, let alone cry." He'd also been loathe to cry in front of Jon, who had come to the manor only a few years earlier with his mother. He'd given Spencer a very sweet smile upon being introduced, bowing his head slightly as he'd politely whispered, "My lord." From that moment on, Spencer had found himself secretly wanting to earn that smile, to put himself in Jon's favor, even though it was a ridiculous thing for a lord to want to impress a servant.
"But you were very brave. I remember that much. Also, that Ryan nearly broke down a stable door trying to get to you." Though he couldn't see Jon's expression, Spencer imagined he was smiling crookedly at the memory.
Spencer reached out and found Jon's hand, not quite linking their fingers together. "You found me first, though," he replied softly. "And you pulled me up and told me everything was going to be all right."
Jon didn't reply, but he didn't pull his hand away. Eventually Spencer felt his shoulders sag a little more as he said, "This isn't the same thing, Spence. This isn't just a rowdy horse and a broken arm."
"But it's you and me, and we'll survive this."
He heard Jon sigh, and then slowly slip his hand out from under Spencer's. "You don't know that. I'm...They don't need me. You heard the guard, they're only keeping me alive to humor you."
Spencer huffed, hating the way his chest clenched painfully. "Don't give up hope," he whispered. "I'm not leaving here without you, I need you with me." He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling pathetic and far too exposed, like he'd said all the things he shouldn't. But Spencer wouldn't take the words back.
Jon leaned his weight against him, and when he finally replied, "All right," Spencer felt his warm breath over his cheek, like Jon had leaned in close enough to kiss.
But it was too dark to tell, and eventually Jon laid his head on Spencer's shoulder and fell asleep.
Spencer did not sleep until the storm passed.
~
part 2