This Town Just Wasn't Made for Two (Part five)

[pinkichan]

Not long after dinner Brendon retires upstairs to fix up a place for Ryan; the handmade cots are still set up from when Spencer had spent the night with Brendon. Ryan collects his bag and sketchbook, his blank canvas and his hat, and shoes. Jon feels a little bad and he offers to carry Ryan’s canvas and bag upstairs for him. Ryan glances at Tom and then Jon and he shakes his head, lugs his effects up the stairs on his own.

“I’m fine, Jon, really. Goodnight,” he smiles at Jon. “And it was nice to meet you, Tom,” Ryan calls to Tom as he ascends the stairs. Tom throws him a friendly wave. Jon watches the line of Ryan’s back as he retreats upstairs and he waits until he doesn’t hear any movement before he slowly turns to face Tom, the two of them finally alone.

Tom smiles and raises his arm, beckons Jon closer. Jon goes to his lover, goes more than willingly. Tom catches Jon by the wrist and tugs him over, their bodies suddenly pressed tight together. Tom’s hands sink into Jon’s hair, rough pads of Tom’s fingers catching at the slight tangles.

“I love your hair like this,” Tom whispers, he doesn’t wait for Jon to reply he just leans in and slips his tongue into Jon’s mouth. Tom‘s hands cup the back of Jon’s skull, thread in his hair while he sucks at Jon’s tongue. Jon moans desperate, the noise muffled by Tom’s mouth.

Jon loves the way Tom kisses after he’s been gone; rough, exploring sweeps of his tongue. He kisses Jon like tonight will be their last time and they’ll never get another chance. Jon walks them to the bedroom, his hands on Tom’s firm sides, sliding up and down the thin fabric of his undershirt.

They break apart so Jon can push the door closed just in case Brendon or Ryan sneaks downstairs; they’ll think of something else to explain away why Jon wasn’t on the couch later. Right now Jon could care less about anything other than whether or not Tom’s skin tastes the same.

Tom bites at Jon’s lower lip when Jon returns to him.

“We’re going to fuck right?” Tom whispers against Jon’s mouth. “Fuck, Jonny, I’ve missed you so much. You don’t know how many nights I’ve laid awake thinking about you, about being with you again. The way you feel around me. I want you so bad.”

Jon bites back a moan at the words; he whimpers instead and tugs off his own undershirt. He can’t wait for the torturously slow way he knows Tom would strip him. Tom follows suit and gets his own undershirt off, their clothes littering the floor. Jon scraps his fingers up Tom’s broad chest, tracing patterns and lines, writing his ‘I love you’s’ against Tom’s flesh. Tom shivers and his hands go to Jon’s belt, undoing the buckle with expertise.

Tom pets at Jon’s lower back, smoothes off the fabric down his thighs until his slacks are around his ankles and Jon has to step out of them. Tom is staring, drinking him in and Jon’s not self conscious about it, he doesn’t care about any imperfections that exist because he knows Tom sees only the beautiful things about him, he knows because he sees the same with Tom.

Jon undoes Tom’s belt. He gets Tom out of his pants. Tom gets Jon down on their bed, he seems to be fighting internally about whether or not he wants to take his time, let his hands memorize Jon’s skin, taste each inch and then fuck Jon slow, and steady once Jon’s worked up or whether he wants to open Jon up quick, with his fingers and his mouth and fuck Jon hard into the worn mattress.

Jon shivers when Tom allows himself a moment to let rough palms trace all along his body, down his chest, across his thighs, the length of his arms and legs. Tom settles down on top of Jon, kisses him once wet and quick and then practically growls into his ear.

“Hands and knees, Jonny.”

Jon scrambles up into position, his skin is flushed and he’s already sweating from the combined heat of their bodies and the season. His knee slips against the freshly laundered sheets but Jon plants himself on his hands and knees, a familiar position, ass pushed back for Tom. Now Tom’s running his palms down Jon’s back, cupping his ass cheeks and brushing a thick rough finger in between rubbing dryly over Jon’s hole. Jon gasps; it’s just a tease, a taste of what’s to come, of what Tom’s going to give him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Tom mutters and he presses a scratchy kiss to the base of Jon’s spine, nips at the tanned skin. Jon looks at Tom from over his shoulder and sees Tom with two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking the digits in and wetting them. Jon’s full, hard dick jerks at the sight, his body anticipating what’s coming next.

It’s been so long that undoubtedly Jon will need three fingers tonight but Tom will start with two like he always does. There’s a wet pop and then Jon drops his head between his shoulders when he feels the cool damp press of a wet digit against his hole. Tom’s just circling his entrance, rubbing again and again, Jon groans, presses his face into the mattress and offers his ass up higher, pressing back.

Tom dips inside and Jon’s body is already beginning to tremble with want. He has all this pent up energy, this burning need, a want and he’s just so fucking happy that in these moments he’s not thinking of anyone but Tom. It’s been so long for the two of them that Jon doesn’t want to wait for Tom to give him each finger slow, he wants them fast; he wants Tom pulling him open and getting him ready to take Tom’s dick. But Tom thankfully has retained his composure. Tom gives him the first finger slowly, pressing inside. Jon knows he must be tight; his dick throbs with the thought that Tom must be equally as tight.

Jon spreads his legs wider and tries to keep himself relaxed. Tom’s finger is curling, searching blindly for Jon’s prostate, a move Tom doesn’t usually go for until the second finger. Tom pulls out and then Jon hears the wet suckling noise once again, he doesn’t even have to look to know that Tom is sucking on his fingers re-wetting them.

The next time Tom’s fingers return there are two of them, spit slick, pressing inside. Jon groans; he’s not used to reigning in his noises when they’re in bed. They can’t have Ryan and Brendon hearing. The two fingers already feel like a lot, Jon wishes he had had the sense to stretch himself open these last few days so it might be easier on them both now. His dick is so hard it’s almost painful and all he wants is Tom inside, filling him like only he can.

Tom is going faster now and Jon lets him despite the stretch. Tom’s fingers press inside as far as they can, curling, twisting, and pushing, searching until Jon feels that white hot shock of pleasure and stars burst behind his eyes. Jon has to bury his face into the mattress to muffle the moan that rips through him. Tom swears from behind him, brings his free hand to pet at Jon’s back.

“So good Jon, you’re so tight, fuck.”

“Tom, Tommy, come on. Hurry, I-I need-“

“Shit, I know, I know.”

Then Jon feels a third finger joining the first two. Jon fights the urge to touch himself when Tom finds his prostate again, stroking the spot to ease the burn of three fingers scissoring, stretching his ring of muscle. Tom peppers his back and the swell of his ass in damp kisses as he fucks Jon with his fingers.

Jon can already feel his cock leaking, at this rate he won’t last long at all. “I’m good,” he chokes out, “I’m ready, Tom.”

Tom doesn’t pull away, he works his fingers in and out a few more times, being careful to avoid Jon’s prostate. Jon’s about to whine about being ready; he’s seconds from begging for it, but then the fingers are gone and Jon feels empty, clenching around nothing. Tom gets up from the bed and goes to the dresser. There’s a bottle of scented oil that’s tucked between Jon’s shaving kit and Tom’s cologne. Tom takes the bottle and unscrews the glass cap.

Tom is hard, the head of his dick flushed red and leaking and Jon’s mouth waters at the sight. Tom drizzles some of the thick, flowery scented oil across his fingers. He curls his slicked hand around his dick and he groans deep in his throat as he strokes himself, coating his cock.

Jon digs his fingers into the sheets of the bed and makes frustrated noises. “Come on, come on.”

Tom squeezes at his cock once before he crawls across the bed and pushes Jon’s legs even further apart. The wet head of his dick is pressed against Jon’s hole and Jon shivers, fingers biting into the sheets in anticipation for that first press of Tom’s cock working its way inside of him.

“Tell me, “Tom begins, “Tell me if it’s too much, if you need more slick.”

“Alright, I’m fine just...”

And then Jon feels his body give and the head of Tom’s cock slides inside of him. Tom’s fingers dig into Jon’s fleshy hips, tugging him back and he sinks a few inches deeper.

“Oh god, Jon, you’re still so tight. Always so tight. Fuck.”

Tom’s legs brush against Jon’s, his hands pet at Jon’s hips. Tom sinks in the rest of the way, settling for a moment with his length fully inside of Jon, letting him adjust to the feeling. Jon pants, he loves this, that feeling of being so full. He and Tom connected so intimately.

Tom’s hands brush down Jon’s hips; travel the expanse of his thighs, firm fingers scratching against the soft skin of Jon’s stomach. Tom is teasing him, trailing touches all along his body but ignoring his aching cock. “Tom,” Jon breathes; he pushes back against Tom’s dick, grinds backwards in a slow circle. Tom grunts and he finally, finally lets his fingers touch at Jon’s cock. Jon’s hips buck forward and Tom moves with him thrusting. The two of them moan, Jon burring his face into the mattress and Tom muffling his noises along the naked expanse of Jon’s back.

Tom strokes Jon a little, his cock jerking under Tom’s touch. He squeezes at Jon’s dick, he digs his nails into Jon’s hip and then he’s pulling out, his cock dragging slowly on its way out of Jon. It seems Tom is done with being slow, with being careful. They both know that Jon can take it in the same way they both know that Tom knows when enough is enough. It’s been too long to bother with slow, gentle sex, love making; they both need it rough and fast and now.

There is a burn as they fuck but it’s not much different than the tight hot pain that worms through him when he works the watering device for too long. Tom slams back into Jon, his hips slapping loud and slick against Jon’s ass. Jon pushes back into Tom’s thrusts; he lets his fingers tangle in the sheets.

They’re quiet for the most part, muffled grunts and bitten off moans. Tom drives into Jon again and again, filling him quick and hard and filthy. Tom’s fingers play at the curls at the nape of Jon’s neck, pulling his head back slightly. Tom’s thrusts are hard and they make Jon’s body lurch, slide across the sheets slightly with each one. Jon ducks his head and bites his lip; he works his own hand between his thighs, stroking at himself. He jerks himself off fast and rough, fingers slick with precome.

Tom is curled all along Jon’s back his hips are jerking as he fucks Jon into the spongy mattress. He grinds into Jon in these harsh circles, a move that pushes the blunt head of his dick against Jon’s prostate on each cycle, each push. Jon’s face is pressed into the sheets, head turned and mouth open on a silent cry. His whole body is shaking, trembling as Tom takes him.

“Spent so many nights thinking about this, right here,” Tom whispers into Jon’s ear, his body curled over Jon’s. “So many times I was in my bunk; hard, thinking about your hands or your mouth or how you’d hitch my legs up over your shoulders and fuck me so good; or how maybe you’d just curve forward and ride me.”

“God, Tom, me too, been waiting so long for this.”

“Maybe now we’ll have to go back to what we did when we were kids; fucking in the barn, out in the hay field, hidden away in the woods by the creek. I’d drop to my knees and just fucking blow you out there.” Tom’s mouth is filthy, voice rough with sex and each word is punctuated by a hard thrust from Tom, one that brushes Jon’s prostate and has him crying out.

They might not have their safe haven inside the house anymore but they have a whole expanse of land, hidden places in the dark where they can sneak away and fuck. Jon loves Tom’s brain. Tom’s still whispering dirty little promises of things they’ll do, of all the things he wants. Every suggestion sends sparks down Jon’s spine, through his cock and Jon jerks himself again, squeezing and thumbing the leaking head of his dick.

He can’t last much longer, he just can’t; not with Tom’s mouth pressed hot against his ear and Tom’s fucking him so hard and fast, not with how long it’s been since they’ve done this. Jon clenches around Tom’s cock, it makes Tom’s cock drag when Tom pulls out and makes Jon tighter when he pushes back in, bottoming out.

“Jon, Jonny, come on,” Tom pants. Jon’s on the edge, his skin is hot and tight like the burning pleasure just might kill him. Tom shifts and wraps his arms around Jon’s middle, tugging him back and up and then they’re both upright with Tom kneeling and Jon’s back pressed firm and damp against Tom’s chest.

Tom’s hips are working in a frenzy of rough thrusts. Jon’s vision blurs, whites out to everything that isn’t the feeling of Tom filling him and surrounding him. One of Tom’s arms is looped around Jon’s chest; holding him steady and back and the other is gripping Jon’s hip, tight enough to leave bruises. Jon is on the edge so close to toppling over and crashing through his orgasm. He doesn’t need much more. Tom is kissing the skin of his shoulder, the back of his neck; his teeth are scrapping lightly and that combined with Jon’s own hand curled around his dick, squeezing and jerking, it’s enough to send him over the edge.

Jon comes hard, harder than he thinks he ever has before. His vision blacks and he comes over his own hand and stomach. Tom fucks him through it, brutal thrusts that set little sparks of pleasure and pain shooting through Jon’s stomach. Tom grunts and he bites into the soft skin between Jon’s neck and shoulder to muffle his moan as his hips twitch and he comes inside of Jon.

They stay connected like that, Tom buried inside of Jon and Jon can feel him growing soft. Tom lowers Jon to the bed; Jon goes easily. He feels boneless and sated, his body humming pleasantly. Tom is laid out on top of him, still inside of him and he pulls back, eases out of Jon.

Jon whimpers at the loss but he shivers at the feeling of Tom’s come leaking out of him, running down the backs of his thighs. Tom flops down next to Jon and presses a kiss to Jon’s temple. Jon rolls over and presses closer. He’s sore but it’s good, he welcomes it. Tom smiles at him, his mouth is all red and kiss swollen and Jon’s sure his own mouth is mirroring the look.

Jon’s eyes fall closed he’s comfortable and warm and Tom’s hand is stroking down his back.

“I should go to the couch,” Tom slurs, he sounds tired too. Jon frowns.

“We told them I’d sleep on the couch.”

“I know. But I just fucked your brains out; I don’t think you’re up to moving anywhere.”

“No. Don’t go. I don’t care if they find out.”

Tom laughs. “You say that now.”

“Just don’t go. I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long now. Stay,” Jon tells Tom, his eyes still closed but his hand wrapped around Tom’s wrist. He feels Tom shift and move until he’s lying against Jon. Tom pulls Jon closer, heated skin against heated skin.

“I’ll be here. Now go to sleep, Jonny.”

***

Jon wakes up the next morning with Tom practically on top of him. He shifts under Tom and manages to turn on his side, sliding out from under Tom’s arms and chest. Tom is still fast asleep, laid out and peaceful, lashes fanning against pale cheeks. Jon leans over and nuzzles his face against Tom’s; he noses along the skin of his cheek and presses a kiss to his mouth. Tom stirs, his blue eyes flutter open. Tom smiles sleepily and stretches. Jon leans over and claims another kiss from him relishing the taste, the feel and the smell of their sleepy mornings together.

Tom wakes up and the two of them partake in a lazy session of slow hazy kisses. Their room is quiet save for the slight wet noise of their mouths slanting together and the scratch of their bodies sliding. Eventually they have to stop ‘before things get out of hand’ as Tom says and the two of them dress and head out into the kitchen. There are three plates sitting on the table and Tom marvels at the food waiting for them.

“Brendon,” Jon explains. Tom plops down in a chair and tucks into his meal.

“I like Brendon.”

Jon takes the seat next to Tom. Everything feels brighter; the work that is laid out ahead of them doesn’t seem as daunting. Jon’s life seems somehow so much more tolerable when Tom is there beside him.

“And what do you think of Ryan?” Jon asks between bites of his breakfast. He wants Tom to like Ryan, to enjoy having him around. Jon doesn’t have the heart to face the only other option, to make Ryan leave a steady home he’s only just found. Tom shrugs like he’s considering the boy; he chews his bite of breakfast before he answers.

“He’s an alright kid.”

“You don’t mind the two of them being here, right? They really don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Tom rests his hand over Jon’s, his thumb rubbing circles against the back of Jon’s hand.

“Don’t worry about me making them leave,” Tom says, his hand curling over Jon’s. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You’re not supposed to do it for me,” Jon laughs, “It’s supposed to be for them.”

“They’re still here aren’t they?” Tom chuckles. He leans in close like he’s about to kiss Jon but seconds before their lips meet the sound of footsteps echoing off the staircase bounces around the kitchen and their natural instincts kick in. Tom pulls away from Jon like is made of fire and he’s about to be burned.

Ryan rounds the corner and then he’s ducking into the kitchen, swallowing nervously under Jon and Tom’s shared gaze. Jon smiles and Tom follows suit. Ryan plops down at the table sleepy eyed and hair sticking up. Jon bites back a laugh at how innocent Ryan looks right now, how small and sweet he appears when he’s still trying to release himself from the grasps of sleep.

“Did you sleep well upstairs, Ryan?” Tom asks. Ryan blinks and nods weakly.

“Brendon likes to sew by candlelight but its fine. I didn’t mind.”

The three of them eat in near silence except for discussing how they’ll section off the work now that Tom’s back. For the most part nothing will change. Brendon will continue to work with the animals except for how Tom will be more than happy to take Clover out for her exercise. Tom will also be doing more work in the field; he and Jon typically switch between running the watering device.

“Harvest is coming soon,” Tom says in between bites. “We’ll have to bail up that hay for sellin’”

“It ain’t all ready yet. Only ‘bout half,” Jon answers, “We’ll have to do it next week.”

Jon gets up to take their plates and as he walks he notes that he’s limping just a bit, his body sore from the way Tom had taken him last night. Tom doesn’t miss it either; his eyes darken drastically when he sees the slight falter to Jon’s steps. Jon sees Tom lick over his lips quickly before he coughs and speaks to Ryan and Jon.

“I’m gonna…I’m going to do the watering today, Jon. You’ve done it so much while I’ve been gone. Why don’t you just go mess around with the camera, get familiar with it.”

“You sure Tom? I’d feel bad lazing about while you’re working.”

Tom stands and takes the plate from Jon, setting them in the sink, he smiles at Jon and Jon is all too aware of the heavy weight of Ryan’s gaze locked on the two of them. Tom moves away from Jon making it a note to not touch him again, not if he doesn’t have to.

Jon doesn’t do much with the camera. He’s still tentative to really use it, scared his clumsy hands will drop the fragile device that Tom spent half his paycheck on. He mostly just stands out in the front yard and takes photos of the house, the porch, the outline of Tom’s tanned body holding the watering device. Tom works in the field with his shirt off most of the time, he’s not concerned about other people being around or what’s right by social standards, hell, if he were he wouldn’t be with Jon in the first place.

Jon snaps a few photos of Ryan who’s standing in the golden field of hay and of Brendon when he’s perched atop Dylan or chasing around a chicken.

Sometime before dusk a familiar figure comes up the path to their house. Jon already recognizes the smart suit, the shiny black dress shoes. It’s Spencer. Jon watches Brendon who’s still riding Dylan around in slow circles along the outer edges of the farm. Brendon doesn’t notice Spencer at first, not until Spencer is standing at the top of the driveway, smiling. Once Brendon spots Spencer, that’s when Jon lifts the camera and freezes the moment, Brendon’s huge thrilled grin and Spencer’s smaller but no less bright smile in return.

Spencer is polite to Tom, they talk about the business of the railroads, a topic Tom can discuss without ever fearing he’ll be one upped by someone else’s smarts. Spencer admires the camera and tells Jon he can get them the photos developed at a significant discount.

The day passes by easily and come night fall Ryan once again sleeps upstairs with Brendon on the cots while Tom feigns that he’s sleeping on the couch when really he sneaks into the bedroom, and sleeps curled up next to Jon. They leave the windows in their room open letting all the cool summer air into the house.

Jon’s never slept more comfortably than now.

***

The rest of the week passes by with a steady tranquility of everyday life. Brendon still makes breakfast every morning and never once mentions the fact that when he’s cooking there’s no one occupying the couch. Jon and Tom take turns watering the fields; Ryan picks the ripened fruit and checks the hay.

Spencer still stops by for dinner and there are nights where they break out a bottle of whiskey; drinking and laughing and talking into the wee hours of the night. Those nights Jon and Tom take the opportunity to fuck, quiet and hot, limbs and mouths loose with the alcohol, safe because the others have long since passed out.

Lately Jon has immersed himself in his camera. Tom uses it too sometimes, takes a picture of the woods from the window in their room. In bed he talks about how he’d like to take Jon’s picture. How he wants the camera to catch how Jon looks after they’ve fucked. Tom describes how beautiful he thinks Jon looks; ‘Your swollen mouth, god, Jonny. The way your eyes look, how the sheet hangs so low on your hips.’ But Tom would never dare take that photo. There’d be too many questions when they took the camera in to get the photos developed; besides that Tom doesn’t want anyone to see Jon in that way, no one but him.

Today it’s Tom’s turn in the field, watering the plants. Jon and Ryan had stuck the fresh fruit down in the root cellar, boxed it all up for when they eventually take it to sell to William. Once Jon has finished all his work he goes to his camera; the same familiar activity he’s been filling his pastimes with. Today though Jon decides he wants to travel through the thicket of lush green woods and go take photos at the clear cool creek that runs past the trees.

Ryan comes up to Jon just as Jon picks up his camera. “What are you going to take pictures of today?” he asks.

“Thinking of headin’ down to the creek back beyond the woods.” Jon points in the direction, the woods thick enough that the stream is undetectable from a distance. Ryan wipes at his forehead with his faded red handkerchief and grins nervously.

“You mind if I come along? Nature scenes are kinda my specialty.”

“Sure yeah, it’s no problem.” Jon’s stomach sort of twists up at the thought of being alone with Ryan in a secluded area, his mind flashes back to the prior time they were alone and how heated Ryan’s skin felt under Jon’s hands. Ryan smiles, tucks away his handkerchief and goes inside, presumably to grab his sketchbook or maybe his canvas.

Jon stops by the field to tell Tom that he and Ryan are going to the creek. Jon wants to lean in and press a kiss to Tom’s mouth but they’re outside and Brendon is milling around between the chicken coop and the horse barn. Tom says he doesn’t mind; he tells Jon that he likes that Jon is enjoying his gift so much.

Ryan comes back outside with his cloth bag draped over his shoulder. The two of them walk in step chatting about nothing of particular importance.

“Have you ever used a camera?” Jon asks. It’s something that’s really caught his interests, the way he can almost see the world in a different way now, all shadows and lights, shapes and movement. Ryan shakes his head.

“I haven’t. My art is strictly charcoal and brushes.”

“You haven’t been painting much since you got here. You having trouble finding any inspiration?”

“Nah that’s not the case. There are beautiful things here, things I’ve never quite seen before and I’m so damn glad I didn’t miss them.”

“Really? Like what?”

Ryan doesn’t say anything; he just looks at Jon with deep sparkling eyes and he smiles small and soft.

“Just things.”

Jon remembers the pages of the sketchbook that are filled with drawings of hands and broad backs; the large scale drawing of Jon sleeping. A chill runs down his spine and heat flares in his chest. He ignores the thought, he doesn’t want to let himself hope that he’s the thing keeping Ryan here in the town.

The two of them cut through the thick smattering of oaks and pines, cool dark earth that blocks out the sweltering heat of the day. On the other side of the woods there’s a clearing and there’s the clear water of the stream, the banks of greenery. Jon sets his camera on the ground before he takes his shoes and socks off, he rolls his slacks up to his knees before he picks it back up.

Jon walks into the shallow mouth of the stream, icy cold water washing over his feet and ankles. Jon focuses the camera and takes a picture of his feet engulfed in crystal clear water. He looks over at Ryan and Ryan is sitting on the bank, digging through his cloth bag, the blank canvas settled next to him.

Jon watches Ryan for a few moments. The curve of his long body sprawled out across the ground and the soft concentration on his face. Ryan really is beautiful, breathtakingly so. Jon raises his camera before his mind even realizes and then Ryan is looking up at the sharp snap of the camera. Jon smiles from behind the shield of the camera and he watches Ryan through the tiny square of lens.

Ryan smiles, “What are you doing?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’d make a good model?” Jon asks. He snaps another photo, this time Ryan is smiling small and curious, lopsided. He’s leaning back with his hands planted in the grass and his legs stretched out in front of him, his face tipped up.

“Nope. I’m usually on the other side of the artistic vision. I guess I’m not used to someone looking at me and seeing something they want to capture.”

Jon wades out of the stream and back on to the bank. He’s towering over Ryan who’s still looking up at him with big brown eyes and curly bangs. Jon’s mind flicks over to the possibility of heated touches and the opportunity of Ryan curled down on his knees. Jon has to clear his head of the thoughts before he can look at Ryan again.

“Do you mind if I take pictures of you?” Jon asks. Ryan turns his head and Jon snaps another, shadows slipping over Ryan’s face and his hair covering his eyes, fingers tangled in the long grass. Ryan visibly swallows but he shakes his head.

“Is there…is there a certain way you want me?” Ryan asks uncertainly. Jon bites his lip. He knows Ryan means it strictly in a photography manner but Jon’s mind entertains the idea; the double meaning. The image of Ryan stretched out on the ground, writhing and arching with Jon hovering above him sneaks into Jon’s mind before he can stop it; Jon shivers and his skin erupts into gooseflesh.

“Like that, just maybe turn your head,” Jon says. Ryan turns his head and his jaw is profiled and strong. Jon takes the picture. It’s nice but it feels off, it isn’t what he wants. “No here,” Jon drops down to his knees and his hand takes Ryan’s jaw gently the way he would handle something of value. Jon tilts Ryan’s face in just the right way. Ryan’s skin is warm and smooth where Jon is touching and Ryan lets out a small gasp as Jon touches him.

“This is good?” Ryan asks as he holds the pose. Jon nods.

“Very good.”

Ryan stays that way, perfect and still. He looks a little like a statue, long granite limbs and porcelain smooth face. When Jon wants to change the angle he kneels down again and he touches at Ryan’s elbow, signaling for him to move his arm, to tilt his head and straighten his legs. Ryan’s hair has been in his eyes for most of the shots and Jon wants a clear view of his eyes so without hesitation he moves his hand up and brushes away the curls that fall there.

Ryan’s eyes lock with his and Jon is briefly taken aback by the look he sees there. There is a heat burning in Ryan’s eyes and it could very well be a flicker, a ghost of something that Jon wants to be there. Jon’s hand lingers on Ryan’s face and time stutters around them. Right then it’s just the two of them crouching on the ground, so close but miles and miles apart.

Once again that unsettled feeling of unease knots up Jon’s stomach. He had thought that the rampaging desires would cease now that he had Tom back and was having sex on a fairly regular basis, but still being alone with Ryan; it’s all too clear just how much he wants. Jon recalls the staircase, how easy it would’ve been to kiss Ryan, how it’s even easier now.

“We should,” Jon clears his throat; he pulls back from the younger man. “We should go back.”

Ryan looks uncertain; he looks dazed, but he nods and stands up quickly, brushing the dirt off his pants. Jon sets his camera down and pulls on his socks and shoes. Ryan collects his untouched canvas and his bag and the two of them head back to the farm in a tense silence, avoiding each other’s line of sight the entire way.

Back at the farm Tom is finished with his work and he’s sitting in his rocking chair; Brendon and Spencer on the porch.

“Hey,” Tom says when they grow close to the porch. “How’d the photo session go?”

Jon forces a smile. “Good, got some real good shots.”

“Maybe you can give me some advice then,” Tom suggests. “I haven’t really messed with it much yet.”

Jon leans back against the railing. “Not much advice to give. I’ve just been taking photos of things I like to look at Things I think are beautiful, you know.”

Jon doesn’t even think about what he’s saying. He doesn’t. But after the words leave his mouth his chest seizes up and his eyes flick from Tom to Ryan. Ryan is looking down at his feet, the tips of his ears a bright pink. Jon looks away, looks back to Tom. No one notices the exchanged look; no one feels the tight tension in the air. Tom smiles loose and content, Jon’s stomach twists.

***

A few days later Jon and Tom manage to steal away a few precious moments of alone time. Ryan and Brendon are out working in the field and really have no reason to come into the house. Tom has Jon pinned against the counter, their hips pressed tight and hot, not an inch of space between them. Jon’s hands are gripping the edge of the counter and Tom’s hands are fisted in Jon’s hair, keeping him close and their mouths connected sloppy and wet.

They haven’t had the opportunity to fuck these last few days and the two of them are on edge, bodies tight with lust and heat. Tom bites at Jon’s mouth, sucking on his bottom lip making Jon’s head swim with foggy sweet pleasure.

“Do you think we have enough time for me to blow you?” Tom pulls away to ask. His breath his hot against Jon’s face and he grinds his hips against Jon’s, their cloth shielded cocks brushing. Jon hopes so, god he hopes so.

“I... I don’t-“Ryan and Brendon could come inside for a break, they could. If Tom and Jon do this then they probably shouldn’t stay in the kitchen. But Tom’s not waiting for an answer from Jon; his hands are reaching for Jon’s belt buckle, undoing it before tugging down the zipper of his pants.

“I can be quick,” Tom whispers against Jon’s mouth. Just before Jon mumbles out an agreement, just as Tom’s hand dips into Jon’s slacks, just then the door opens and one of their farmhands stumble into the house. Tom pulls back from Jon’s mouth and he freezes, his hand still breaching Jon’s pants and they’re too close to play it off, to make a joke of it. There’s too much evidence and after such a long time of being careful the two of them fucked up and Jon can feel the safe haven, the walls he and Tom built up all crashing down.

Ryan is standing frozen inside the frame of the door. His mouth is in a soft ‘o’ and his deep brown eyes are wide. None of them are moving, stuck and waiting with bated breath for the next move, for the impending clatter and implosion. Tom makes the first move. He pulls his hands from Jon and Jon has enough sense to do up his slacks. Ryan’s gaze is heavy, fiery, burning Jon’s skin, Jon’s whole body like flames licking at dying wooden logs.

“I should... I’m-“ Ryan stammers and he turns to try and dart back out the door but Tom is faster, smoother on his feet and he beats Ryan to the door, pushes it closed with a heavy hand. And now Ryan is trapped between the broad muscle of Tom’s chest and the solid wood of the door. Jon can see Ryan’s face fill with a silent panic, he watches it slowly bubble over the edges, crashing over the rest of his body.

Tom’s mouth is a hard line and for a fleeting moment Jon fears for Ryan’s safety, but Jon knows, he knows Tom wouldn’t hurt Ryan over this. Scare him into keeping quiet? Possibly, but hurt him? Never.

“Ryan, Ryan, listen,” Tom starts. Jon straightens himself up, bites at his swollen bottom lip and thinks about what to say, how to explain. Ryan peers at Jon from over Tom’s shoulder and he swallows thickly.

“You two are together?” Ryan questions, his words are treading carefully, probably fearing pissing off Tom.

“We are,” Jon confirms, his voice is both rough and soft and he clears his throat in an attempt to make it all go away, to rewind back to at least an hour ago when things were still safely tucked away, hidden. “We are but, Ryan-“

“I won’t say anything,” Ryan spits out quickly. He looks at Jon as he speaks, “I won’t.”

Tom looks over his shoulder at Jon.

“I believe him,” Jon admits. Tom looks down at Ryan.

“You’re not going to go and tell Brendon and Spencer are you?” Tom asks. He’s bearing down on Ryan; Jon can see the line of his back tense and hard, how the black suspenders he’s wearing are stretched with the way his arms are up over Ryan’s head, pressing against the door.

Ryan shakes his head, curls flopping with the motion.

“I’m serious, you know? This isn’t a fucking game. This is our life.” Tom sounds so worried and it’s been some time since Jon’s heard his lover anything but unflappable.

“I get it,” Ryan says, “I do. You two have been so kind to me…I’d never do that to you.” Ryan’s eyes had slipped back to Jon as he spoke and the way he said it ‘I’d never do that to you’ it makes Jon feel like he’s not so concerned with keeping Tom’s secret but keeping Jon’s.

Tom gives Ryan a once over before he backs away, returns to Jon’s side and in a freeing move he laces his fingers with Jon’s, because they can, because Ryan promised. Tom squeezes Jon’s fingers and Jon looks at him and smiles before he switches to Ryan. Ryan is surveying the two of them, as if he’s seeing them for the first time as a couple, as a duo, as if he’s seeing Jon for the first time.

“I’m going to go back to work now,” Ryan says as he motions towards the door. Tom nods approvingly and Jon lets his gaze fall to the dusty wood floorboards. Ryan goes back outside and its quiet before Jon feels callused fingers tipping his head up and his eyes meet a clear blue.

“Are you alright?”

Jon tries to smile. “I’m okay. I was scared, real scared. I thought, god, I thought we were gonna have to move and start all over again.”

“You trust him though? Ryan?”

“Of course I trust him, Tom.”

Tom lets his hand blossom over the side of Jon’s jaw. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

Jon leans in and rests his forehead against Tom’s, stares at him until he goes cross-eyed. “What the hell would you have done if he said he couldn’t keep quiet?”

Tom laughs. “I dunno actually. Intimidated him? I’m intimidating right?”

Jon kisses Tom briefly; that sexual energy that had been so charged between them just moments ago is vanished, the mood unsalvageable. “Sure you are.”

That night after Brendon’s gone upstairs Tom makes use of the fact that Ryan knows of their secret. They don’t have to hide the fact that they’re going to sleep in the same room tonight. Tom doesn’t fight the urge to brush his hands along Jon’s shoulders and neck as he passes by or to curl his fingers around Jon’s hip. Ryan watches them. Jon can tell he’s trying not to, but his gaze keeps meeting them, heat flaring in his cheeks. Jon and Tom go to bed before Ryan does, Tom leading Jon into the room. Jon spares a passing glance at Ryan who tries to smile supportively. Jon crumples on the inside. He should be happy, he should, but he’s not.

Part six