wither in denial [5/17]
Title: Wither in Denial
Fandom: Panic at the Disco
Pairing: Eventual GSF, everything in between until then
Word Count: 2882
Rating: NC-17
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
Previous Chapters: master post
You Got to Hide Your Love Away - Oasis (The Beatles cover)
how can i even try? i can never win. hearing them, seeing them in the state i'm in
When Jon runs towards the mansion far past sunset, he's expecting there to be some sort of light on to guide him to the correct room. His heart is beating wildly and though he has been given rough directions, he isn't sure anymore if it's the sixth or seventh window. After running up to the side of the house, he glances behind him to make sure that no one is following him, and then looks up at the window.
There's a new moon out and it's so dark but the fear is bred deep. He isn't used to breaking the rules. Until three years ago, he never had. He was used to being the perfect slave, doing anything at the drop of a hat. Three years later, he has tons of scars, and is missing a finger all because of Brendon.
He can't count how many lies he's said to save the other, nor how many times he snuck under the blankets Brendon shared with a few other slaves to sleep beside him. Yet it's never gone this far; he's never snuck into the master's - masters', in this case, which makes it all the more terrifying - house. He knows he'll be killed if he's caught.
Jon knows Brendon needs this though. The man is looking a bit more worn out every day. Jon's used to being around him hours a day; now he's lucky if he sees him for one meal. After swallowing his fear, he grabs onto a set of veins and climbs slowly, glad that Brendon had told the truth about how strong they are.
Reaching the top easily, he had to choose between the windows. The one on his left after a bit more inspection is locked, so he pushes the one on his right open and swings a leg over, climbing in. Once in, he shuts and locks the window before flexing his hands. While he can do anything he is asked, it doesn't mean that there isn't pain. He can't count how many accidents he's had working, and how many times he'd barely get his fingers set by a poorly trained doctor before having to work with broken digits.
The pain is ignored though and he looks around. There's an oil lamp, but he knows better to light it. Instead he looks to the bed, and frowns through the darkness. "Brendon?" he whispers. He knows this is such a bad idea. The winter months are finally ending and he hasn't had a good bath in a while; he knows he will once the lakes nearby warm up. Until then though, the dirt and sweat are permanently embedded onto his skin, and he knows he'll leave marks on Brendon's bed - especially when the boy is able to bathe whenever he wants now.
When there is no response, his brows furrow and he stares at the bed, lost. Slowly he climbs onto it, and through the darkness can see it's made and no one's inside. A moment's hesitation is given and he lays on top, not daring to pull back the blankets. He sinks into the mattress and he is amazed by how soft it is; he doesn't think he can ever move.
Seconds or minutes pass - he isn't really sure - and the door opens. Immediately Jon snaps up with a start, trying to blink away sleep he hadn't known he'd succumbed to. It takes a moment of squinting but his heart stops racing when he sees Brendon there, looking exhausted. "B," he says with a grin as he watched his friend shut the door. "I wasn't sure where you were."
Brendon says nothing as he walks over to the lamp and lights it. There, bathed in light, he can see bruises. They're everywhere. Brendon's neck is red, as if someone had tried to strangle him. His wrists are bleeding, making Jon think of rope. And his face is bruised badly. Jon gives a hiss of surprise, and goes to touch Brendon but the man flinches back.
"I thought..." Jon begins but he can't finish it. He thought Brendon would be fine. He thought Brendon wouldn't be touched. And instead there he stands, reeking of sex, without a shirt on, and trembling the slightest bit.
"Ryan had a bad day," Brendon whispers before he glances to a door Jon figures to be the bathroom. "Keltie changed the wedding plans again. He has to mail more people and change more things, and now she wants a dress from France and Ryan says they don't have time and..."
Slowly Jon stands and then pulls Brendon to him. The result is instantaneous. Brendon gives a sob and Jon makes soft hushing noises into his hair, but it isn't enough. Brendon's still shuddering and trying to keep back tears, something that breaks Jon's heart.
"He never hurts me," Brendon manages out between sobs. "Never. Not intentionally. And today, I was so good too. I cleaned the entire living room without being asked because the maid is sick. I even got behind the couch." He gives a tiny whimper. "He didn't even prep me and my neck hurts and--"
Jon hushes him with a gentle finger pressing to his lips. He knows Brendon needs to get it out, but also knows that the protectiveness and the jealousy he feels will make him do something rash and stupid. He wants to protect Brendon but he knows if he does so, he's going to put himself into danger, more than he's ever been in, so he tries to change the subject. "How about we wash you up?"
A small nod is given and Brendon pulls away to head for the bathroom. The room Brendon has been assigned to is a master bedroom, with a large closet and its own bathroom. It's large and beautiful and any other person would've been jealous. Jon isn't though; he's glad for what he has, and even happier for the advantages Brendon has.
Once in the bathroom, Brendon lights the oil lamp and starts to undress. Every inch of skin Brendon reveals is covered with a new bruise or a new mark, and Jon wants to hurt Ryan. He hopes Spencer will become angry; the man seems not to want slaves hurt. Someone needs to protect Brendon.
Jon hurries to set the bath for them both. The claw foot tub is large, larger than any indoor tub Jon has never seen, and he's glad. He knows Brendon needs to relax. The water's soon warm, and he turns to see Brendon who is standing there, naked and looking so small.
It isn't as if they've never seen each other naked before. When they were allowed to bathe in the lakes at their old plantation, it was men one day, women and children the next. Jon and Brendon would always end up spending an hour horsing around, swimming and dunking each other under the water. Any modesty Brendon had is gone, at least for the most part.
"Are you going to join me?" Brendon asks as a hand comes up to rub the marks on his neck. It's a subconscious thing, really, and Jon has to wonder how the marks were made. He doesn't ask though, only nods and slips off his own clothes.
He's the first one into the bath, and it feels so wonderful on his tired muscles. He's never had a bath this warm, sometimes not even having soap to wash away the dirt. He almost forgets about Brendon as he sinks down into the water, letting it stop a bit below his mouth. He blinks up at Brendon who is suddenly standing there, a hand on his hip, looking like he's trying to be annoyed but instead much too amused.
Jon pushes himself up fast, and grins a little. "Um. Sorry. It's warm and nice and... You should get in," he says with a nod. He smiles as Brendon chuckles, and does just that, climbing in carefully. The water splashes at the sides, the tub not made for two. It definitely isn't made for two men, one of whom can't stop wiggling around in an effort to get comfortable. Soon he's leaning against Jon though, eyes closing, his back to Jon's chest as he sits in his lap.
Without a moment's hesitation, Jon grabs the available bar of soap. He lathers up his hands and begins to get the soap suds onto his shoulders, chest and back, trying to wash away the pain. He doesn't touch his neck, too afraid to hurt Brendon anymore, but he does wash his wrists in an effort to keep the wounds clean. Brendon hisses, and Jon kisses the back of his neck in a small apology before continuing.
Moments pass before Jon gets the courage to speak. "What did he do to you?" he asks quietly. He needs to know of every wound he has to fix, because after twenty-three years as a slave, he's picked up a little bit of medical knowledge.
"Choked me," Brendon says quickly. Jon's hands stop moving and Brendon gives a frustrated sigh. "Tied up my wrists. Didn't prep me. Kind of laughed when I started to bleed. Used a whip. And hit me a lot. Any other questions?" The words are tainted with anger, and Jon flinches behind Brendon, an involuntary action. Moments later Brendon mumbles, "Sorry."
Jon just shrugs to say it's okay and continues, carefully cleaning as much of Brendon's legs as he can, his stomach, his hips, and any other part until just his dick and ass are left. Jon hesitates for a moment, because the most they've done are a few confused kisses under the moon. Yet he knows Brendon needs to be washed up, so he begins to stroke the other's dick slowly, doing his best to clean it.
Not surprisingly, it takes but three strokes for Brendon's breath to hitch. Jon smiles a little and then nuzzles Brendon's neck. He continues to slowly move his hand, starting up a rhythm. His thumb brushes over the tip of Brendon's dick before he lowers it down to the base, squeezes lightly, then brings it back up.
Within minutes Brendon gives his first moan, and Jon takes his free hand to tilt Brendon's head. As the younger man buries his face into Jon's neck, Jon knows they need to be quiet. He snuck in, and that's enough to get him killed. Sleeping with Brendon though... His thoughts vanish as Brendon grasps his dick, and Jon jerks up.
"Is this okay?" Brendon asks quietly between quiet pants as he jerks his friend, careful and deliberate strokes being given. Jon's eyes close and he nods, which only makes Brendon's hand go faster.
Within minutes, they're both close. Brendon's hips are rolling up towards Jon's hand and while Jon has more self control, he isn't entirely quiet, giving quiet gasps and moans at certain movements. His eyes shut and he runs his free hand through Brendon's hair, so close that he can barely focus.
It takes just a few more strokes for Brendon to come with a loud moan, and two more after that for Jon to let go in the water. Jon manages to keep himself quiet for the most part, but it had been a while since he'd been with someone, and he sees stars as he comes. The last time had been months ago at the last plantation when the master had used him for breeding purposes. Then it hadn't been about pleasure. It'd been about getting a woman pregnant in front of watchful eyes.
Now's different though as he basks in the afterglow, letting his head rest against Brendon's shoulder. He gasps for air and looks up at him tiredly. "Fuck, Brenny," he says with a laugh. Brendon's just smiling so wide at him, and Jon almost forgets what they're doing. Then the soap that he realizes he dropped somewhere along the way hits his leg, and he fishes it out of the water.
He finishes cleaning Brendon up, then gives the man a playful swat to the ass to get him out of the tub. As Brendon dries off, Jon washes up, enjoying the now lukewarm water. It washes away weeks of dirt and grime, and he almost doesn't want to get out. As Brendon sits on the floor though, waiting, Jon knows he has to.
He grabs Brendon's towel and dries off, not wanting to have even the slightest chance of him being caught. The towel's damp but it doesn't matter as it's better than he normally has, usually having to get dressed in his clothes while still drenched. Once dry, he puts the towel with other dirty towels in the room, and looks to Brendon. "Do you have any bandages in here?"
He's thankful Brendon does as he begins to patch him up. There isn't much he can do for his ass, but he puts on a bit of paste that he thinks will help heal Brendon's wounds, and wraps his wrists in bandages. A little bit of medicine is put on Brendon's neck, and then on the various bruises. By the time he's close to being done, Brendon looks annoyed, sitting on the floor with a pout.
"I'm tired," he complains as the last bit is put on.
Jon just chuckles, puts the medicine away, and nods. He's so amazed at Brendon; sometimes he acts wiser than his years, but sometimes he is such a child, wanting to be babied and taken care of. "Alright," he says as he kisses Brendon's forehead. "Bed."
Brendon gets up, and just about bounds towards the bed. He doesn't seem to mind that he's naked, and Jon just chuckles as he follows slowly. By the time he's at the bed, Brendon is curled up under the blankets, and Jon moves under them with him.
The oil lamp is shut off, and Jon's ready for sleep. He's spent twelve hours in the gardens, as a neighbour's dogs had found it necessary to run onto the plantation and destroy half of the greenery. As soon as his eyes shut, he can feel himself start to drift off.
As he is nearing sleep, he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder and tries to ignore it. Ignoring Brendon is never for the best though as a moment later Brendon shakes him hard, and whispers, "Jon, are you still awake?"
Cracking an eye open, Jon sighs and nods. "Now I am," he says tiredly but rolls over so he can see Brendon's face. The warm sheets on his naked body feel wonderful and all he wants to do is drift off but he somehow keeps himself from doing so.
"Can we talk?" If Brendon didn't sound so needy, Jon would've said no. Yet thinking back on it, he's certain that they haven't really been able to sit and talk in ages, so he nods in the darkness.
"About what?" he questions. His days are boring. He wakes up, eats, works, eats, sleeps. There's nothing that magical about his days, no scandalous stories to tell Brendon like the other used to tell him back when he was first captured. His life is boring and the same, every day. It's easier that way, if he wants to be honest.
Brendon shrugs though and Jon wants to slap him. All he wants to do is sleep, but moments later Brendon's humming a little, a nervous habit Jon noticed him doing when he's thinking. "You should come see Emily sometime," he says a moment later. "Spencer's adopted her or something. It's cute. Ryan hates it but Spencer adores her. Absolutely adores her. All Ryan does is bitch though that she's a dirty slave and yada yada yada. Spencer's just..."
As Brendon trails off, not really knowing, Jon finishes it for him. "Weird," he says.
Quickly Brendon nods. "You noticed?"
Now it's Jon's turn to nod. "Yeah. I've never known of a master to act like he does." And it isn't as if he's only had one master in his entire life. Every one has been cruel and uncaring. Spencer's so different.
Rolling onto his back, Brendon stars up at the ceiling for a moment. "He has almost as many scars as you, Jonny," he says, using a nickname that only he is allowed to use. Anyone else can piss Jon off by saying it. With Brendon, it's cute. "Not just the scar on his face. His back has tons of marks, like whip marks. I'd think he was a slave but I mean, obviously not."
Jon's face scrunches up into a confused frown. "Obviously," he copies, not even noticing what he's saying. It's a lot to think about though.
The simple conversation seems to have exhausted Brendon as the younger boy yawns and snuggles into Jon. "Whatever. I don't care what he is. He's just nice to me. Ryan's a jerk though," he says with a grin. "I'm tired," he announces and then flops over to cover more than half the bed with open arms. Jon just shoves at him and smiles as the boy quickly falls asleep.
Yet he does find himself wondering why Spencer acts the way he does, because no master ever has.
Fandom: Panic at the Disco
Pairing: Eventual GSF, everything in between until then
Word Count: 2882
Rating: NC-17
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
Previous Chapters: master post
You Got to Hide Your Love Away - Oasis (The Beatles cover)
how can i even try? i can never win. hearing them, seeing them in the state i'm in
When Jon runs towards the mansion far past sunset, he's expecting there to be some sort of light on to guide him to the correct room. His heart is beating wildly and though he has been given rough directions, he isn't sure anymore if it's the sixth or seventh window. After running up to the side of the house, he glances behind him to make sure that no one is following him, and then looks up at the window.
There's a new moon out and it's so dark but the fear is bred deep. He isn't used to breaking the rules. Until three years ago, he never had. He was used to being the perfect slave, doing anything at the drop of a hat. Three years later, he has tons of scars, and is missing a finger all because of Brendon.
He can't count how many lies he's said to save the other, nor how many times he snuck under the blankets Brendon shared with a few other slaves to sleep beside him. Yet it's never gone this far; he's never snuck into the master's - masters', in this case, which makes it all the more terrifying - house. He knows he'll be killed if he's caught.
Jon knows Brendon needs this though. The man is looking a bit more worn out every day. Jon's used to being around him hours a day; now he's lucky if he sees him for one meal. After swallowing his fear, he grabs onto a set of veins and climbs slowly, glad that Brendon had told the truth about how strong they are.
Reaching the top easily, he had to choose between the windows. The one on his left after a bit more inspection is locked, so he pushes the one on his right open and swings a leg over, climbing in. Once in, he shuts and locks the window before flexing his hands. While he can do anything he is asked, it doesn't mean that there isn't pain. He can't count how many accidents he's had working, and how many times he'd barely get his fingers set by a poorly trained doctor before having to work with broken digits.
The pain is ignored though and he looks around. There's an oil lamp, but he knows better to light it. Instead he looks to the bed, and frowns through the darkness. "Brendon?" he whispers. He knows this is such a bad idea. The winter months are finally ending and he hasn't had a good bath in a while; he knows he will once the lakes nearby warm up. Until then though, the dirt and sweat are permanently embedded onto his skin, and he knows he'll leave marks on Brendon's bed - especially when the boy is able to bathe whenever he wants now.
When there is no response, his brows furrow and he stares at the bed, lost. Slowly he climbs onto it, and through the darkness can see it's made and no one's inside. A moment's hesitation is given and he lays on top, not daring to pull back the blankets. He sinks into the mattress and he is amazed by how soft it is; he doesn't think he can ever move.
Seconds or minutes pass - he isn't really sure - and the door opens. Immediately Jon snaps up with a start, trying to blink away sleep he hadn't known he'd succumbed to. It takes a moment of squinting but his heart stops racing when he sees Brendon there, looking exhausted. "B," he says with a grin as he watched his friend shut the door. "I wasn't sure where you were."
Brendon says nothing as he walks over to the lamp and lights it. There, bathed in light, he can see bruises. They're everywhere. Brendon's neck is red, as if someone had tried to strangle him. His wrists are bleeding, making Jon think of rope. And his face is bruised badly. Jon gives a hiss of surprise, and goes to touch Brendon but the man flinches back.
"I thought..." Jon begins but he can't finish it. He thought Brendon would be fine. He thought Brendon wouldn't be touched. And instead there he stands, reeking of sex, without a shirt on, and trembling the slightest bit.
"Ryan had a bad day," Brendon whispers before he glances to a door Jon figures to be the bathroom. "Keltie changed the wedding plans again. He has to mail more people and change more things, and now she wants a dress from France and Ryan says they don't have time and..."
Slowly Jon stands and then pulls Brendon to him. The result is instantaneous. Brendon gives a sob and Jon makes soft hushing noises into his hair, but it isn't enough. Brendon's still shuddering and trying to keep back tears, something that breaks Jon's heart.
"He never hurts me," Brendon manages out between sobs. "Never. Not intentionally. And today, I was so good too. I cleaned the entire living room without being asked because the maid is sick. I even got behind the couch." He gives a tiny whimper. "He didn't even prep me and my neck hurts and--"
Jon hushes him with a gentle finger pressing to his lips. He knows Brendon needs to get it out, but also knows that the protectiveness and the jealousy he feels will make him do something rash and stupid. He wants to protect Brendon but he knows if he does so, he's going to put himself into danger, more than he's ever been in, so he tries to change the subject. "How about we wash you up?"
A small nod is given and Brendon pulls away to head for the bathroom. The room Brendon has been assigned to is a master bedroom, with a large closet and its own bathroom. It's large and beautiful and any other person would've been jealous. Jon isn't though; he's glad for what he has, and even happier for the advantages Brendon has.
Once in the bathroom, Brendon lights the oil lamp and starts to undress. Every inch of skin Brendon reveals is covered with a new bruise or a new mark, and Jon wants to hurt Ryan. He hopes Spencer will become angry; the man seems not to want slaves hurt. Someone needs to protect Brendon.
Jon hurries to set the bath for them both. The claw foot tub is large, larger than any indoor tub Jon has never seen, and he's glad. He knows Brendon needs to relax. The water's soon warm, and he turns to see Brendon who is standing there, naked and looking so small.
It isn't as if they've never seen each other naked before. When they were allowed to bathe in the lakes at their old plantation, it was men one day, women and children the next. Jon and Brendon would always end up spending an hour horsing around, swimming and dunking each other under the water. Any modesty Brendon had is gone, at least for the most part.
"Are you going to join me?" Brendon asks as a hand comes up to rub the marks on his neck. It's a subconscious thing, really, and Jon has to wonder how the marks were made. He doesn't ask though, only nods and slips off his own clothes.
He's the first one into the bath, and it feels so wonderful on his tired muscles. He's never had a bath this warm, sometimes not even having soap to wash away the dirt. He almost forgets about Brendon as he sinks down into the water, letting it stop a bit below his mouth. He blinks up at Brendon who is suddenly standing there, a hand on his hip, looking like he's trying to be annoyed but instead much too amused.
Jon pushes himself up fast, and grins a little. "Um. Sorry. It's warm and nice and... You should get in," he says with a nod. He smiles as Brendon chuckles, and does just that, climbing in carefully. The water splashes at the sides, the tub not made for two. It definitely isn't made for two men, one of whom can't stop wiggling around in an effort to get comfortable. Soon he's leaning against Jon though, eyes closing, his back to Jon's chest as he sits in his lap.
Without a moment's hesitation, Jon grabs the available bar of soap. He lathers up his hands and begins to get the soap suds onto his shoulders, chest and back, trying to wash away the pain. He doesn't touch his neck, too afraid to hurt Brendon anymore, but he does wash his wrists in an effort to keep the wounds clean. Brendon hisses, and Jon kisses the back of his neck in a small apology before continuing.
Moments pass before Jon gets the courage to speak. "What did he do to you?" he asks quietly. He needs to know of every wound he has to fix, because after twenty-three years as a slave, he's picked up a little bit of medical knowledge.
"Choked me," Brendon says quickly. Jon's hands stop moving and Brendon gives a frustrated sigh. "Tied up my wrists. Didn't prep me. Kind of laughed when I started to bleed. Used a whip. And hit me a lot. Any other questions?" The words are tainted with anger, and Jon flinches behind Brendon, an involuntary action. Moments later Brendon mumbles, "Sorry."
Jon just shrugs to say it's okay and continues, carefully cleaning as much of Brendon's legs as he can, his stomach, his hips, and any other part until just his dick and ass are left. Jon hesitates for a moment, because the most they've done are a few confused kisses under the moon. Yet he knows Brendon needs to be washed up, so he begins to stroke the other's dick slowly, doing his best to clean it.
Not surprisingly, it takes but three strokes for Brendon's breath to hitch. Jon smiles a little and then nuzzles Brendon's neck. He continues to slowly move his hand, starting up a rhythm. His thumb brushes over the tip of Brendon's dick before he lowers it down to the base, squeezes lightly, then brings it back up.
Within minutes Brendon gives his first moan, and Jon takes his free hand to tilt Brendon's head. As the younger man buries his face into Jon's neck, Jon knows they need to be quiet. He snuck in, and that's enough to get him killed. Sleeping with Brendon though... His thoughts vanish as Brendon grasps his dick, and Jon jerks up.
"Is this okay?" Brendon asks quietly between quiet pants as he jerks his friend, careful and deliberate strokes being given. Jon's eyes close and he nods, which only makes Brendon's hand go faster.
Within minutes, they're both close. Brendon's hips are rolling up towards Jon's hand and while Jon has more self control, he isn't entirely quiet, giving quiet gasps and moans at certain movements. His eyes shut and he runs his free hand through Brendon's hair, so close that he can barely focus.
It takes just a few more strokes for Brendon to come with a loud moan, and two more after that for Jon to let go in the water. Jon manages to keep himself quiet for the most part, but it had been a while since he'd been with someone, and he sees stars as he comes. The last time had been months ago at the last plantation when the master had used him for breeding purposes. Then it hadn't been about pleasure. It'd been about getting a woman pregnant in front of watchful eyes.
Now's different though as he basks in the afterglow, letting his head rest against Brendon's shoulder. He gasps for air and looks up at him tiredly. "Fuck, Brenny," he says with a laugh. Brendon's just smiling so wide at him, and Jon almost forgets what they're doing. Then the soap that he realizes he dropped somewhere along the way hits his leg, and he fishes it out of the water.
He finishes cleaning Brendon up, then gives the man a playful swat to the ass to get him out of the tub. As Brendon dries off, Jon washes up, enjoying the now lukewarm water. It washes away weeks of dirt and grime, and he almost doesn't want to get out. As Brendon sits on the floor though, waiting, Jon knows he has to.
He grabs Brendon's towel and dries off, not wanting to have even the slightest chance of him being caught. The towel's damp but it doesn't matter as it's better than he normally has, usually having to get dressed in his clothes while still drenched. Once dry, he puts the towel with other dirty towels in the room, and looks to Brendon. "Do you have any bandages in here?"
He's thankful Brendon does as he begins to patch him up. There isn't much he can do for his ass, but he puts on a bit of paste that he thinks will help heal Brendon's wounds, and wraps his wrists in bandages. A little bit of medicine is put on Brendon's neck, and then on the various bruises. By the time he's close to being done, Brendon looks annoyed, sitting on the floor with a pout.
"I'm tired," he complains as the last bit is put on.
Jon just chuckles, puts the medicine away, and nods. He's so amazed at Brendon; sometimes he acts wiser than his years, but sometimes he is such a child, wanting to be babied and taken care of. "Alright," he says as he kisses Brendon's forehead. "Bed."
Brendon gets up, and just about bounds towards the bed. He doesn't seem to mind that he's naked, and Jon just chuckles as he follows slowly. By the time he's at the bed, Brendon is curled up under the blankets, and Jon moves under them with him.
The oil lamp is shut off, and Jon's ready for sleep. He's spent twelve hours in the gardens, as a neighbour's dogs had found it necessary to run onto the plantation and destroy half of the greenery. As soon as his eyes shut, he can feel himself start to drift off.
As he is nearing sleep, he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder and tries to ignore it. Ignoring Brendon is never for the best though as a moment later Brendon shakes him hard, and whispers, "Jon, are you still awake?"
Cracking an eye open, Jon sighs and nods. "Now I am," he says tiredly but rolls over so he can see Brendon's face. The warm sheets on his naked body feel wonderful and all he wants to do is drift off but he somehow keeps himself from doing so.
"Can we talk?" If Brendon didn't sound so needy, Jon would've said no. Yet thinking back on it, he's certain that they haven't really been able to sit and talk in ages, so he nods in the darkness.
"About what?" he questions. His days are boring. He wakes up, eats, works, eats, sleeps. There's nothing that magical about his days, no scandalous stories to tell Brendon like the other used to tell him back when he was first captured. His life is boring and the same, every day. It's easier that way, if he wants to be honest.
Brendon shrugs though and Jon wants to slap him. All he wants to do is sleep, but moments later Brendon's humming a little, a nervous habit Jon noticed him doing when he's thinking. "You should come see Emily sometime," he says a moment later. "Spencer's adopted her or something. It's cute. Ryan hates it but Spencer adores her. Absolutely adores her. All Ryan does is bitch though that she's a dirty slave and yada yada yada. Spencer's just..."
As Brendon trails off, not really knowing, Jon finishes it for him. "Weird," he says.
Quickly Brendon nods. "You noticed?"
Now it's Jon's turn to nod. "Yeah. I've never known of a master to act like he does." And it isn't as if he's only had one master in his entire life. Every one has been cruel and uncaring. Spencer's so different.
Rolling onto his back, Brendon stars up at the ceiling for a moment. "He has almost as many scars as you, Jonny," he says, using a nickname that only he is allowed to use. Anyone else can piss Jon off by saying it. With Brendon, it's cute. "Not just the scar on his face. His back has tons of marks, like whip marks. I'd think he was a slave but I mean, obviously not."
Jon's face scrunches up into a confused frown. "Obviously," he copies, not even noticing what he's saying. It's a lot to think about though.
The simple conversation seems to have exhausted Brendon as the younger boy yawns and snuggles into Jon. "Whatever. I don't care what he is. He's just nice to me. Ryan's a jerk though," he says with a grin. "I'm tired," he announces and then flops over to cover more than half the bed with open arms. Jon just shoves at him and smiles as the boy quickly falls asleep.
Yet he does find himself wondering why Spencer acts the way he does, because no master ever has.