Wither in Denial [2/17]
Title: Wither in Denial
Fandom: Panic at the Disco
Pairing: Eventual GSF, everything in between until then
Word Count: 3383
Rating: PG-13
Summary: People claim to know all about slavery, but many history books and documents leave out that there were indeed white slaves. And in 1798, two brothers named Ryan and Spencer Ross bought two new white slaves for no other reason than they were drawn to them.
Disclaimer: Plot's mine. The people and the songs aren't.
Betas: melody_so_sweet and mere_thnetos
Notes: Urgh, it took so long to finish the next chapter. Being a full time student and working twenty hours a week is hard and tiring. =[ Sorry. And this song doesn't fit 100% but it's better than the original one I had.
Take My Hand - The Cab
and did this night become the enemy? it's over, it's over, it's over now
As Jon is led into the room, he can hear Brendon's cries. There's so many slaves huddled in the large place. It's nothing more than an attached shed, large enough to hold the fifty slaves that have been bought, but in shambles. There's breaks in the wood that let in rain, and if Jon focuses up at the ceiling long enough he's pretty sure he sees a family of bats. Yet he doesn't care as he walks over to Brendon, who is huddled in a corner. He knows life will get better.
A gentle hand comes up to wipe away the blood that has started to come from where he was hit, running down his cheek. Another one brushes away the tears, but Brendon doesn't seem to notice him at all, just staring down at his feet, clinging to his legs. Jon knows he has to get his attention, that the only thing that will make him happy is knowing they won't be separated. It's hard to get Brendon to focus, though.
"Hey Bren," he whispers into his ear. Brendon just shakes his head and clings more to his legs. Jon sighs, before kissing his cheek. "Brendon, who were you bought by?"
"Why the fuck does it matter?!" Brendon snaps before he lowers his head to his knees, trying to hide away. "I'm never going to see you again." Jon watches as he glances up, and sees the anger spread over Brendon's features. It's better than sadness, at least, if only by a fraction. "Why the hell are you smiling?"
"Who were you bought by?" Jon asks again.
It takes a bit for Brendon to focus, shaking his head and mumbling words to himself for a few seconds. "Two guys."
Jon smiles and he'd seen the very end of Brendon's auction. He wants Brendon to piece it together, though. "Tall, right?" When Brendon nods, Jon continues. "One was really thin, the other was a bit heavier?" Another nod, and the smile grows. "Then maybe we can share a bed together again."
The way Brendon looks so lost is probably the thing Jon loves most about the man. He's so cheerful and happy but when he's lost, everyone can tell. It's cute in an odd way, and Jon chuckles to himself.
"What?" Brendon asks, before he seems to realise. "We were bought by the same people?" Jon only manages a nod before Brendon is throwing himself at him, tackling him to the ground in a mess of flailing arms and legs. The laugh Brendon gives is so loud and so happy that it warms Jon's heart, and makes his smile only get that much larger.
One of the building's overseers starts to head over though, and Jon tries to sit up, but Brendon either doesn't notice or doesn't care. The man looks angry, and Jon knows no matter how he acts from this point on, he will still get hurt. So he tries to move, wanting to protect Brendon. Just as the man raises his hand to strike them, a larger one grabs it.
"I told you not to touch our slaves," a man snaps. The thinner of the two is holding the overseer's hand tightly, making him wince at the pressure, and the other one seems completely annoyed with the violent man. Quickly Jon scrambles to his feet, Brendon following, and they begin to stare at their worn shoes.
A mumbled apology is heard before Jon hears heavy footsteps leading away. Brendon glances up for a second and Jon whispers, "Head down," harshly to him. Brendon listens quickly but Jon is able to peak a look at the two. They're even taller in person, and the scar on the one man's face makes Jon so lost. Masters never bore scars, at least not that bad, and he finds himself curious but knows better than to stare. Instead he looks at their shoes, shiny and new, and his own feet ache for them. Or at least a pair that has no holes.
"My name is Ryan," the taller of the two speaks, and Jon nods before pinching Brendon so he does the same. An annoyed sigh is given though and the man - Ryan, he reminds himself - orders, "Look up at us. It's annoying to talk to your hair."
It's an order but it goes against everything Jon's ever learned. Yet when he looks up, he sees Brendon has been watching them for some time, but at least the man's silent. He has a bad habit of rambling, even while in a master's presence. They both know what happens, so Jon's glad he's silent.
"This is Spencer," Ryan says as he motions to the man by his side. "What are your names?"
Jon hesitates to answer because no one ever cares about names. If they do, they find it from the paper work, not from the slave directly. He wonders why they are acting the way they are, at least before he sees Spencer head off, getting distracted by someone. The two look kind, and he hates that. It's harder to judge how harsh they are when they have a kind face.
"Brendon Boyd Urie," Brendon says beside him after just a second, and Jon almost forgets he was asked his name. It's so rare that he can't find his voice. "And this is Jonathan Jacob Walker," Brendon continues.
"Jon, sir," Jon corrects before he glances to Brendon with an annoyed expression. Jonathan doesn't suit him in the least.
Ryan's attention is distracted though. He gives them a quick nod but is staring at Spencer, who has moved to his haunches, and is whispering to a young girl. "Spencer," he says with a roll of his eyes. "She's a slave. Not your daughter."
Spencer just smirks up at him. "I know," he says but he picks her up anyway, being careful that she holds onto the doll. Jon's unsure if he trusts him or not, but Brendon's smiling wide and it doesn't matter because he gets to stay with him. So he watches Spencer whisper quiet words to the girl, making her laugh, tears long gone.
---
The trip home takes a good hour, but that's not strange if Jon wants to be honest about it. His last master's home was only a twenty minute horse ride but most plantations are a good hour or more away from the center of town even with the best carriages and the fast horses. Yet what is strange is that they're allowed in the carriage at all.
Brendon doesn't seem to pick up on it, but it sets Jon even more on edge. It has stopped raining, the sun is out, and the dirt roads for the most part are dry. He knows their place would be outside, walking beside the carriage. An hour's walk is nothing, as it's just a few miles, and Jon's sure he could do it without breaking a sweat. But instead they are across from Ryan and Spencer, comfortable in their seats.
Spencer is playing with the girl, which just confuses Jon more. He's treating her like a daughter, not a slave. They've all learned her name - Emily. They know her doll's name - Susie. They even know where she got her doll - from her mother last Christmas. Spencer seems all too happy to sit there and speak with her, even if Ryan seems a bit annoyed with it, elbow on the window sill, hand holding his chin.
"So what's Susie's favourite food?" Spencer asks as he shifts the girl on his lap just a fraction of an inch.
She smiles up at him and looks down at Susie. A moment later, as if she was told the answer, she looks back up at Spencer. "Cantalope."
"Then we'll have to get her some when we get home, won't we?" He chuckles as she makes an absolutely ecstatic noise. The food is out of season, but he seems to have no qualms about it. A second later he looks up at Jon and Brendon, and asks, "What are you two good at again? I forgot."
It seems as if every second, Jon becomes a bit more lost because no one buys slaves unless they have a job already planned out for them. He cards his fingers through Brendon's hair, who is curled up against him, nearly asleep. They'd spent hours cleaning their old master's house, working from sunrise to sun rise to make it spotless. Besides a few breaks for bathroom and food, they hadn't had a rest. Jon tugs at the locks lightly to wake him up, because he knows how disrespectful it is to fall asleep when their masters are speaking to them.
"Brendon hasn't done much," he explains. "He's relatively new. He knows how to cook, sir, and also has helped me in the garden."
Spencer nods but doesn't seem all that interested with the answer. Instead he looks Brendon up and down once, eying him in a way that makes Jon feel nervous. The look is anything but good. "And you?" Spencer asks Jon a moment later.
"Anything you need, sir," Jon speaks quickly. Brendon blinks up at him in a tired state, mumbles something, and buries his face to Jon's neck. Jon sighs, for a moment distracted, and shifts so Brendon is forced to hold himself up. "I've been working since I was four," he continues on. "I can pick cotton, I can clean, I can even cook and sew. My main task for the past few years though was to watch over the garden, sir."
Ryan glances over for the first time in twenty minutes and nods. "Alright, you'll be in the gardens. We don't have that much, though, so we will expect you to help the head maid. We'll have you talk to her later to figure out your duties. She is a bit overwhelmed lately."
A small nod and Jon wants to ask about Brendon, but he knows better than to press his luck. The way Ryan and Spencer are now looking at each other makes him feel uncomfortable because he can tell they're unsure of Brendon's position. It makes no sense to buy a slave without a job in mind, but the way Spencer keeps bouncing the girl on his knee to make her giggle, he knows they're far from normal.
---
"This is where you'll be staying," Ryan tells Jon, who is holding Brendon tight to him. It's not out of fear but a need to ground himself, because he's pretty sure he's dreaming. He can't stop staring at the house with wide eyes, unable to believe it. There's two stories, there's finished floors, there are no holes in the walls and he can even feel heat coming from what appears to be a living room. The furniture looks wonderful, no rips or tears, and Jon is pretty sure he's in the wrong place. "Let me show you to your room," Ryan says, snapping Jon from his thoughts.
Jon knows that no matter how the place looks, it will be the same. A large room with old beds thrown everywhere, some people just having blankets to sleep on. Jon is used to that, and as he walks along with Brendon, he still can't get over the house. Brendon seems unphased, and Jon knows why considering his past, but this is a mansion to Jon in its own right.
"Thank you, sir," he says to Ryan as he walks quickly behind him. The amount of doors on the second floor is confusing to say the least, because there should only be one entrance to the communial bedroom. Yet Ryan is counting to himself until he gets to the seventh door on the left, and opens it.
Inside are four sets of beds, each in a corner. They're small, only large enough for one person, and another bed is build above it to make it a bunk-bed. The room's small, just large enough for the eight beds, but Jon knows he's in the wrong place, especially as Ryan walks over and pats one in the far left corner on the bottom.
"This is your bed," he says as he looks to the neatly made mattress, with a nice looking quilt on it. Jon can only stare, and he knows it's risky but he's so shocked. "If it wasn't for Spencer, I'd have you sharing beds. But what Spence wants, Spence gets. So everyone has their own bed."
He walks to the middle of the room, looking out of place and awkward. "You are to wake up at sun rise," he tells Jon, obviously wanting to get out as soon as possible. "You will make your bed, have breakfast, clean up the room, then do your gardening work. Lunch is at noon; you have twenty minutes to eat. Then you are to go inside and help the maids by, at the latest, 12:30. You are done at sun set which is around six." Ryan glances out the window, and it's clear how much he hates standing there. "There are basic rules," he tells Jon without looking at him, instead watching the slaves in the field picking cotton. "No sleeping with other slaves. If you wish to have some sort of relationship, you must address Spencer or I first."
Jon nods, even if he wasn't expecting that. It's not that he's a virgin at all, but his only major sexual experiences weren't by choice. He's strong, he's white, and he knows he's a prime pick to make children. He's not even sure how many children he has; it doesn't phase him anymore that he's never met any of them.
Yet he has had a relationship or two, hidden kisses behind closed doors at night, whispered words in passing during the day. One was found out, and he'd never seen the man again. There'd been rumours that he'd been beaten so hard he'd been killed; Jon tried not to think about it. The other person he was with, he'd broken it off mutually because there's been far too many rumours. He wasn't partial of who he was with; growing up a slave made one just search for love, no matter in what shape or form, no matter the colour or gender.
"After the sun sets, you may do whatever you want," Ryan continues and Jon knows just how lost he looks at the idea. He's used to working from the time he gets up to the time he goes to sleep, barely getting six hours in between to feel rested. Sundays he doesn't work as much, but those days he normally sits around to listen to Bible verses from those who know them by heart, or from Brendon if he finds a Bible and feels like reading for the group.
His master gives a hint of a smile at Jon's confusion, and says, "Within reason, of course. Many slaves have homemade instruments. There's always music coming from the main room."
Brendon's eyes light up and Jon lets a chuckle escape. Ryan's lips twitch into a frown and Jon looks down, not wanting the other to think he was laughing at him. "Sir, may I ask about Brendon?"
Ryan eyes Brendon for a few moments. "He's going to live in our house." Brendon looks conflicted, not wanting to be away from Jon but at the same time, being allowed in a large house once more is all too tempting, Jon knows.
"Doing what?" Brendon asks, before he mutters a 'sir' on the end as Ryan's eyes darken in warning, not caring for the fact that he was so informally addressed.
"We like music." Brendon smiles, and Jon's relieved, until he can tell Ryan isn't done speaking. "And also, our last night slave became pregnant by mistake. We've come to realise we need someone who can't, and it's too much to neuter her so you are to be in our bed every night." Jon's used to the words, to slaves being referred to as nothing more than animals, but Brendon seems annoyed with Ryan's words.
Yet even if Jon was annoyed with the words, he wouldn't have been able to focus on them. He can feel Brendon tensing beside him, the man unsure of what Ryan truly wants or trying not to accept it. Jon does his best to ignore the anger bubbling in his chest, because he has no right to do this with Brendon. It's not uncommon, but Brendon's religious, one of the most religious slaves he'd met. And Jon knows the most he'd done with someone is a kiss on the cheek so he knows he has to protest for him. "Sir, may I speak?"
Ryan looks to Jon with dark eyes and Jon shrinks back. "No, you may not," he snaps before looking back to Brendon. "During the day, we expect you to help out in the kitchens, or gardens. Your workload will be minor. During the nights though, we want you in our bed at no later than ten. You will have your own room a few doors down but I doubt you will be using it much. We will tell you during the day which bed we want you at night. Most likely, it will be Spencer's. If anyone visits, you are a cleaner. Do you understand?"
Brendon's shaking his head, and looks near tears. Jon wants to tell him to stop because he knows he's only going to get hurt. "No, please. I can be on the fields," Brendon begs. "I'm great on the fields. I don't want to. You can't--" The words are muted as Ryan backhands him, and that's all it takes for Brendon to start crying, staring at the ground while trying so hard not to hold his hurt cheek.
Jon knows he has to do something but honestly he has no idea what. He takes Brendon's hand in his and begins to talk to him as if Ryan wasn't there. He knows damn well that if he whispers to the other, it'll get them both in trouble. "Bren," he says quietly but not too quiet. "B." The younger male finally looks up and Jon gives a hint of a smile. "Think about it. You're going to get to stay inside on the best beds, in the best clothes. You'll get to eat the best food and you're going to feel normal again. Isn't that what you want?"
A small shake of Brendon's head is given. "But. But you..."
"I'll be right here," Jon says with a smile. "I'm going to be all around the house anyway. It'll be fine. I promise." It takes just a few seconds for Brendon to calm down, and when he finally does, he's staring at the ground. Two quick nods are given, before his hand comes up to tug lightly at Jon's shirt. He looks up at him with pleading eyes, needing something to be asked but not knowing how.
Jon bites his lip for a second before looking to Ryan. There's fear in his eyes as he says, "Brendon's a virgin. Can--" He won't ask anything of his masters. He has no right to. Yet Ryan's face softens in understanding.
A nod is given as Ryan looks to Brendon. "Alright." He turns around and starts to walk out of the room, leaving the two alone. Once he gets to the door, he stops to say, "I expect you in the house by sundown, Brendon. You are free to do whatever you want until then." He doesn't look back at them, not having enough respect to do so. He begins to walk away again, and Jon knows Brendon's never look so ready to collapse.
He takes him by his arm and leads him to his bed. "Hey. Hey, it'll be fine," he whispers but Brendon's shaking his head. With gentle hands, Jon lays him down, and the squeezes in next to him on the small mattress. A small kiss is given to the side of Brendon's mouth, nothing more than comfort behind it, and he holds Brendon as the man curls up next to him. It takes just seconds for Brendon to start crying into his shoulder, sobbing quietly.
Fandom: Panic at the Disco
Pairing: Eventual GSF, everything in between until then
Word Count: 3383
Rating: PG-13
Summary: People claim to know all about slavery, but many history books and documents leave out that there were indeed white slaves. And in 1798, two brothers named Ryan and Spencer Ross bought two new white slaves for no other reason than they were drawn to them.
Disclaimer: Plot's mine. The people and the songs aren't.
Betas: melody_so_sweet and mere_thnetos
Notes: Urgh, it took so long to finish the next chapter. Being a full time student and working twenty hours a week is hard and tiring. =[ Sorry. And this song doesn't fit 100% but it's better than the original one I had.
Take My Hand - The Cab
and did this night become the enemy? it's over, it's over, it's over now
As Jon is led into the room, he can hear Brendon's cries. There's so many slaves huddled in the large place. It's nothing more than an attached shed, large enough to hold the fifty slaves that have been bought, but in shambles. There's breaks in the wood that let in rain, and if Jon focuses up at the ceiling long enough he's pretty sure he sees a family of bats. Yet he doesn't care as he walks over to Brendon, who is huddled in a corner. He knows life will get better.
A gentle hand comes up to wipe away the blood that has started to come from where he was hit, running down his cheek. Another one brushes away the tears, but Brendon doesn't seem to notice him at all, just staring down at his feet, clinging to his legs. Jon knows he has to get his attention, that the only thing that will make him happy is knowing they won't be separated. It's hard to get Brendon to focus, though.
"Hey Bren," he whispers into his ear. Brendon just shakes his head and clings more to his legs. Jon sighs, before kissing his cheek. "Brendon, who were you bought by?"
"Why the fuck does it matter?!" Brendon snaps before he lowers his head to his knees, trying to hide away. "I'm never going to see you again." Jon watches as he glances up, and sees the anger spread over Brendon's features. It's better than sadness, at least, if only by a fraction. "Why the hell are you smiling?"
"Who were you bought by?" Jon asks again.
It takes a bit for Brendon to focus, shaking his head and mumbling words to himself for a few seconds. "Two guys."
Jon smiles and he'd seen the very end of Brendon's auction. He wants Brendon to piece it together, though. "Tall, right?" When Brendon nods, Jon continues. "One was really thin, the other was a bit heavier?" Another nod, and the smile grows. "Then maybe we can share a bed together again."
The way Brendon looks so lost is probably the thing Jon loves most about the man. He's so cheerful and happy but when he's lost, everyone can tell. It's cute in an odd way, and Jon chuckles to himself.
"What?" Brendon asks, before he seems to realise. "We were bought by the same people?" Jon only manages a nod before Brendon is throwing himself at him, tackling him to the ground in a mess of flailing arms and legs. The laugh Brendon gives is so loud and so happy that it warms Jon's heart, and makes his smile only get that much larger.
One of the building's overseers starts to head over though, and Jon tries to sit up, but Brendon either doesn't notice or doesn't care. The man looks angry, and Jon knows no matter how he acts from this point on, he will still get hurt. So he tries to move, wanting to protect Brendon. Just as the man raises his hand to strike them, a larger one grabs it.
"I told you not to touch our slaves," a man snaps. The thinner of the two is holding the overseer's hand tightly, making him wince at the pressure, and the other one seems completely annoyed with the violent man. Quickly Jon scrambles to his feet, Brendon following, and they begin to stare at their worn shoes.
A mumbled apology is heard before Jon hears heavy footsteps leading away. Brendon glances up for a second and Jon whispers, "Head down," harshly to him. Brendon listens quickly but Jon is able to peak a look at the two. They're even taller in person, and the scar on the one man's face makes Jon so lost. Masters never bore scars, at least not that bad, and he finds himself curious but knows better than to stare. Instead he looks at their shoes, shiny and new, and his own feet ache for them. Or at least a pair that has no holes.
"My name is Ryan," the taller of the two speaks, and Jon nods before pinching Brendon so he does the same. An annoyed sigh is given though and the man - Ryan, he reminds himself - orders, "Look up at us. It's annoying to talk to your hair."
It's an order but it goes against everything Jon's ever learned. Yet when he looks up, he sees Brendon has been watching them for some time, but at least the man's silent. He has a bad habit of rambling, even while in a master's presence. They both know what happens, so Jon's glad he's silent.
"This is Spencer," Ryan says as he motions to the man by his side. "What are your names?"
Jon hesitates to answer because no one ever cares about names. If they do, they find it from the paper work, not from the slave directly. He wonders why they are acting the way they are, at least before he sees Spencer head off, getting distracted by someone. The two look kind, and he hates that. It's harder to judge how harsh they are when they have a kind face.
"Brendon Boyd Urie," Brendon says beside him after just a second, and Jon almost forgets he was asked his name. It's so rare that he can't find his voice. "And this is Jonathan Jacob Walker," Brendon continues.
"Jon, sir," Jon corrects before he glances to Brendon with an annoyed expression. Jonathan doesn't suit him in the least.
Ryan's attention is distracted though. He gives them a quick nod but is staring at Spencer, who has moved to his haunches, and is whispering to a young girl. "Spencer," he says with a roll of his eyes. "She's a slave. Not your daughter."
Spencer just smirks up at him. "I know," he says but he picks her up anyway, being careful that she holds onto the doll. Jon's unsure if he trusts him or not, but Brendon's smiling wide and it doesn't matter because he gets to stay with him. So he watches Spencer whisper quiet words to the girl, making her laugh, tears long gone.
---
The trip home takes a good hour, but that's not strange if Jon wants to be honest about it. His last master's home was only a twenty minute horse ride but most plantations are a good hour or more away from the center of town even with the best carriages and the fast horses. Yet what is strange is that they're allowed in the carriage at all.
Brendon doesn't seem to pick up on it, but it sets Jon even more on edge. It has stopped raining, the sun is out, and the dirt roads for the most part are dry. He knows their place would be outside, walking beside the carriage. An hour's walk is nothing, as it's just a few miles, and Jon's sure he could do it without breaking a sweat. But instead they are across from Ryan and Spencer, comfortable in their seats.
Spencer is playing with the girl, which just confuses Jon more. He's treating her like a daughter, not a slave. They've all learned her name - Emily. They know her doll's name - Susie. They even know where she got her doll - from her mother last Christmas. Spencer seems all too happy to sit there and speak with her, even if Ryan seems a bit annoyed with it, elbow on the window sill, hand holding his chin.
"So what's Susie's favourite food?" Spencer asks as he shifts the girl on his lap just a fraction of an inch.
She smiles up at him and looks down at Susie. A moment later, as if she was told the answer, she looks back up at Spencer. "Cantalope."
"Then we'll have to get her some when we get home, won't we?" He chuckles as she makes an absolutely ecstatic noise. The food is out of season, but he seems to have no qualms about it. A second later he looks up at Jon and Brendon, and asks, "What are you two good at again? I forgot."
It seems as if every second, Jon becomes a bit more lost because no one buys slaves unless they have a job already planned out for them. He cards his fingers through Brendon's hair, who is curled up against him, nearly asleep. They'd spent hours cleaning their old master's house, working from sunrise to sun rise to make it spotless. Besides a few breaks for bathroom and food, they hadn't had a rest. Jon tugs at the locks lightly to wake him up, because he knows how disrespectful it is to fall asleep when their masters are speaking to them.
"Brendon hasn't done much," he explains. "He's relatively new. He knows how to cook, sir, and also has helped me in the garden."
Spencer nods but doesn't seem all that interested with the answer. Instead he looks Brendon up and down once, eying him in a way that makes Jon feel nervous. The look is anything but good. "And you?" Spencer asks Jon a moment later.
"Anything you need, sir," Jon speaks quickly. Brendon blinks up at him in a tired state, mumbles something, and buries his face to Jon's neck. Jon sighs, for a moment distracted, and shifts so Brendon is forced to hold himself up. "I've been working since I was four," he continues on. "I can pick cotton, I can clean, I can even cook and sew. My main task for the past few years though was to watch over the garden, sir."
Ryan glances over for the first time in twenty minutes and nods. "Alright, you'll be in the gardens. We don't have that much, though, so we will expect you to help the head maid. We'll have you talk to her later to figure out your duties. She is a bit overwhelmed lately."
A small nod and Jon wants to ask about Brendon, but he knows better than to press his luck. The way Ryan and Spencer are now looking at each other makes him feel uncomfortable because he can tell they're unsure of Brendon's position. It makes no sense to buy a slave without a job in mind, but the way Spencer keeps bouncing the girl on his knee to make her giggle, he knows they're far from normal.
---
"This is where you'll be staying," Ryan tells Jon, who is holding Brendon tight to him. It's not out of fear but a need to ground himself, because he's pretty sure he's dreaming. He can't stop staring at the house with wide eyes, unable to believe it. There's two stories, there's finished floors, there are no holes in the walls and he can even feel heat coming from what appears to be a living room. The furniture looks wonderful, no rips or tears, and Jon is pretty sure he's in the wrong place. "Let me show you to your room," Ryan says, snapping Jon from his thoughts.
Jon knows that no matter how the place looks, it will be the same. A large room with old beds thrown everywhere, some people just having blankets to sleep on. Jon is used to that, and as he walks along with Brendon, he still can't get over the house. Brendon seems unphased, and Jon knows why considering his past, but this is a mansion to Jon in its own right.
"Thank you, sir," he says to Ryan as he walks quickly behind him. The amount of doors on the second floor is confusing to say the least, because there should only be one entrance to the communial bedroom. Yet Ryan is counting to himself until he gets to the seventh door on the left, and opens it.
Inside are four sets of beds, each in a corner. They're small, only large enough for one person, and another bed is build above it to make it a bunk-bed. The room's small, just large enough for the eight beds, but Jon knows he's in the wrong place, especially as Ryan walks over and pats one in the far left corner on the bottom.
"This is your bed," he says as he looks to the neatly made mattress, with a nice looking quilt on it. Jon can only stare, and he knows it's risky but he's so shocked. "If it wasn't for Spencer, I'd have you sharing beds. But what Spence wants, Spence gets. So everyone has their own bed."
He walks to the middle of the room, looking out of place and awkward. "You are to wake up at sun rise," he tells Jon, obviously wanting to get out as soon as possible. "You will make your bed, have breakfast, clean up the room, then do your gardening work. Lunch is at noon; you have twenty minutes to eat. Then you are to go inside and help the maids by, at the latest, 12:30. You are done at sun set which is around six." Ryan glances out the window, and it's clear how much he hates standing there. "There are basic rules," he tells Jon without looking at him, instead watching the slaves in the field picking cotton. "No sleeping with other slaves. If you wish to have some sort of relationship, you must address Spencer or I first."
Jon nods, even if he wasn't expecting that. It's not that he's a virgin at all, but his only major sexual experiences weren't by choice. He's strong, he's white, and he knows he's a prime pick to make children. He's not even sure how many children he has; it doesn't phase him anymore that he's never met any of them.
Yet he has had a relationship or two, hidden kisses behind closed doors at night, whispered words in passing during the day. One was found out, and he'd never seen the man again. There'd been rumours that he'd been beaten so hard he'd been killed; Jon tried not to think about it. The other person he was with, he'd broken it off mutually because there's been far too many rumours. He wasn't partial of who he was with; growing up a slave made one just search for love, no matter in what shape or form, no matter the colour or gender.
"After the sun sets, you may do whatever you want," Ryan continues and Jon knows just how lost he looks at the idea. He's used to working from the time he gets up to the time he goes to sleep, barely getting six hours in between to feel rested. Sundays he doesn't work as much, but those days he normally sits around to listen to Bible verses from those who know them by heart, or from Brendon if he finds a Bible and feels like reading for the group.
His master gives a hint of a smile at Jon's confusion, and says, "Within reason, of course. Many slaves have homemade instruments. There's always music coming from the main room."
Brendon's eyes light up and Jon lets a chuckle escape. Ryan's lips twitch into a frown and Jon looks down, not wanting the other to think he was laughing at him. "Sir, may I ask about Brendon?"
Ryan eyes Brendon for a few moments. "He's going to live in our house." Brendon looks conflicted, not wanting to be away from Jon but at the same time, being allowed in a large house once more is all too tempting, Jon knows.
"Doing what?" Brendon asks, before he mutters a 'sir' on the end as Ryan's eyes darken in warning, not caring for the fact that he was so informally addressed.
"We like music." Brendon smiles, and Jon's relieved, until he can tell Ryan isn't done speaking. "And also, our last night slave became pregnant by mistake. We've come to realise we need someone who can't, and it's too much to neuter her so you are to be in our bed every night." Jon's used to the words, to slaves being referred to as nothing more than animals, but Brendon seems annoyed with Ryan's words.
Yet even if Jon was annoyed with the words, he wouldn't have been able to focus on them. He can feel Brendon tensing beside him, the man unsure of what Ryan truly wants or trying not to accept it. Jon does his best to ignore the anger bubbling in his chest, because he has no right to do this with Brendon. It's not uncommon, but Brendon's religious, one of the most religious slaves he'd met. And Jon knows the most he'd done with someone is a kiss on the cheek so he knows he has to protest for him. "Sir, may I speak?"
Ryan looks to Jon with dark eyes and Jon shrinks back. "No, you may not," he snaps before looking back to Brendon. "During the day, we expect you to help out in the kitchens, or gardens. Your workload will be minor. During the nights though, we want you in our bed at no later than ten. You will have your own room a few doors down but I doubt you will be using it much. We will tell you during the day which bed we want you at night. Most likely, it will be Spencer's. If anyone visits, you are a cleaner. Do you understand?"
Brendon's shaking his head, and looks near tears. Jon wants to tell him to stop because he knows he's only going to get hurt. "No, please. I can be on the fields," Brendon begs. "I'm great on the fields. I don't want to. You can't--" The words are muted as Ryan backhands him, and that's all it takes for Brendon to start crying, staring at the ground while trying so hard not to hold his hurt cheek.
Jon knows he has to do something but honestly he has no idea what. He takes Brendon's hand in his and begins to talk to him as if Ryan wasn't there. He knows damn well that if he whispers to the other, it'll get them both in trouble. "Bren," he says quietly but not too quiet. "B." The younger male finally looks up and Jon gives a hint of a smile. "Think about it. You're going to get to stay inside on the best beds, in the best clothes. You'll get to eat the best food and you're going to feel normal again. Isn't that what you want?"
A small shake of Brendon's head is given. "But. But you..."
"I'll be right here," Jon says with a smile. "I'm going to be all around the house anyway. It'll be fine. I promise." It takes just a few seconds for Brendon to calm down, and when he finally does, he's staring at the ground. Two quick nods are given, before his hand comes up to tug lightly at Jon's shirt. He looks up at him with pleading eyes, needing something to be asked but not knowing how.
Jon bites his lip for a second before looking to Ryan. There's fear in his eyes as he says, "Brendon's a virgin. Can--" He won't ask anything of his masters. He has no right to. Yet Ryan's face softens in understanding.
A nod is given as Ryan looks to Brendon. "Alright." He turns around and starts to walk out of the room, leaving the two alone. Once he gets to the door, he stops to say, "I expect you in the house by sundown, Brendon. You are free to do whatever you want until then." He doesn't look back at them, not having enough respect to do so. He begins to walk away again, and Jon knows Brendon's never look so ready to collapse.
He takes him by his arm and leads him to his bed. "Hey. Hey, it'll be fine," he whispers but Brendon's shaking his head. With gentle hands, Jon lays him down, and the squeezes in next to him on the small mattress. A small kiss is given to the side of Brendon's mouth, nothing more than comfort behind it, and he holds Brendon as the man curls up next to him. It takes just seconds for Brendon to start crying into his shoulder, sobbing quietly.