i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
[ Panic! Jon/Spencer, R 6913 words ]
Spencer remembers a time when he was five.
Ryan had never not been there; even when he tried to think back to earlier in life, there was always a boy with curly, brown hair and sallow skin. But this time, this particular time, is the first time that Spencer can remember them clearly. They were sitting in his room, at the edge of his bed, watching his father pace back and forth.
It's been a little while since I've posted any form of a story. I wrote this little gem a couple months ago and finally sent it out to my beta. Infinite love to fiveweeks, who is the Ryan to my Spencer and my support system. Thanks for putting up with me sending you at least three unfinished stories a week.
Spencer remembers a time when he was five.
Ryan had never not been there; even when he tried to think back to earlier in life, there was always a boy with curly, brown hair and sallow skin. But this time, this particular time, is the first time that Spencer can remember them clearly. They were sitting in his room, at the edge of his bed, watching his father pace back and forth.
His father was an impressive man. Broad shoulders, hair tied to a pony tail at the nape of his neck, dressed to epitomize wealth. He was everything Spencer was supposed to be, but could never see himself becoming.
Ryan watched his father pace with wide eyes, so vulnerable and young, both of them just little boys, their feet not even reaching the ground, their hands clasped tightly together. Ryan was older then him, he knew that, but still, he was bigger. He was his protector.
His father was speaking, saying something along the lines of Ryan living here forever, and that they both had to be responsible boys and take care of each other in life. Ryan didn't look away, didn't blink, just watched as Spencer's father paced back and forth, looking like a porcelain doll exposed to the world for the first time.
Spencer pressed his thumb against Ryan's wrist, just to make sure he was still alive, and found his pulse beating steadily in an infectious rhythm.
Spencer remembers.
*
"She was… pleasant." Spencer James Smith IV was a cunning man who highly preferred to be called James. He's pushing fifty now and still holds the broad shoulders and a pony tail at his nape, his dark hair flecked with gray. He offers his son a bright smile, all perfect teeth, and Spencer can't find the energy to return it.
"She was a moron," he points out, and the smile doesn't melt off his father's face, just softens slightly from across the dining table.
"Your standards are too high, son," James says calmly, though there's a hint of affection Spencer can pick up on and it makes him sigh, undignified and loud, brushing off the cuff of his jacket. James just smiles a bit, small and understanding, and changes the subject quickly. "Where's Ryan?"
"The garden, I can only assume," Spencer replies, lifting a hand to smooth his hair away from his face. This was the last time he would listen to Adrianna about his hair. "May I go find him?"
James lifts his shoulder in a shrug, leaning back in his chair to cross his legs comfortably and looking to the door in which their previous company had just passed. "She was very rich, you know," James begins, and Spencer doesn't even pretend to feel remorse, instead just standing from his chair, coming over to rest his hands along his father's shoulders.
"I know, father. I know…" James raises a hand to grasps his son's, squeezing it briefly before pressing a kiss to the palm and releasing it, tilting his head up with a proud smile.
"Go find Ryan. I always fear that boy is going to drop dead if I separate you two for extended periods of time…" Spencer can only smile, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and loosening his tie as he makes his way outside.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was five and a half.
As soon as both of them fully realized that Ryan wasn't going home, they were carefree, untouchable. Every morning they painted the sky with the colors of autumn, and each night they draped the world in a black cloth, cutting holes in which to wish upon in the dense fabric. They would have Andre make them stacks of pancakes, then hide under the dining room table and devour them all, feeding bits and pieces to the dogs.
Ryan smiled in the same way, every time, closed eyes and teeth exposed, and Spencer could only return it. Ryan smiled every day, pale cheeks full and his eyes half-crescent moons that radiated happiness. He would wrap his fingers around Spencer's wrists to check his pulse, just incase Spencer had decided to leave without him.
Spencer remembers.
*
Spencer finds Ryan exactly where he anticipated he would, napping lazily in the shade of a cherry blossom tree with a book propped up on his chest. He shrugs off of his jacket, thick and uncomfortable, tossing it onto the sleeping boy's face before he plops down beside him.
Ryan makes some form of a sleepy comment, squashed beneath the thick jacket, moving it off of him to shoot Spencer an annoyed look. "You look ridiculous," he says, balling the jacket up to prop his head up on it.
Spencer gives a short snort, leaning against the trunk of the tree. "Not all of us can laze around all day," he comments softly, though his hand strays down to toy with a curl laying flat against the nape of Ryan's neck. He can feel Ryan move into the into the touch, and he can't help but snort as soon as he lifts his head to catch a glimpse of the gardener.
"You're still after him?" Spencer asks quietly, and Ryan buries his face tighter into the coat, letting out a long groan.
It was never anything they really talked about; it was just a sort of understanding that occurred when Spencer was fourteen and Ryan was fifteen. Ryan had lifted his head and stared long and hard at one of the chefs before turning to Spencer and telling him he had a fantastic body. Spencer had agreed. That was the end of it.
He was fairly sure the gardener had been with them their entire lives, lurking just on the fringes of their society. James was a kind employer, giving the workers an entire area of the house that contained bedrooms, a living room, and even a kitchen for their personal use. People had families here, and from the looks of it, the gardener boy was roughly around their age. Ryan had never had the courage to ask James about it.
"Did you at least get a name yet?" Spencer watches the golden skin of the gardener's back, moving and dancing as he bends and weaves, arms slightly dirty with a day of hard work. Ryan opens an eye, and Spencer can read that look: it tells him that he's stupid for asking that question.
They both lift their heads in interest as one of the more well known maids, Brittney, sprints from the house, the skirt of her uniform hiked up to make the run easier. Ryan lifts his head in interest as she yells, "Brendon!" a few times, his eyes quickly snapping back to the gardener, who, sure enough, responds to the name.
"Brendon," Ryan murmurs, as if to just test how it tastes on his tongue. Spencer nods his head in agreement, tilting his head back against the trunk of the tree to watch Brittney approach Brendon.
They talk in hushed tones at first, rapidly with hands, Brendon dragging the back of his wrist over the sweat gathered at his forehead. Eventually, Brittney gets louder, excitement written across her features. She finishes with, "The new employee is here!" which successfully piques both Spencer and Ryan's interest.
As soon as she's done, Brendon's reaching for his shirt, leaving her to look around until she spots them. She freezes at first, then raises her hand to block the sun from her eyes, finally recognizing the pair. "Hello Sir Spencer and Sir Ryan!" she calls out, waving happily to them and causing Brendon to turn around slowly to face them.
Spencer's smart enough to remove his hand from Ryan's hair, looking down to him as he straightens up a bit, sitting with proper posture, his hands folded in his lap. Brendon shrugs his shirt on, looking to them also with narrowed eyes before lifting his hand in a wave, offering them a wide smile.
Ryan smiles back. Spencer forgets how to.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was seven.
Hilda was very old-he knew this logically. She was an old woman with arthritic hands that shook entirely too much and would wake Ryan and Spencer up every morning with a story about the old country. She would walk around their room, tidying all the corners since Spencer already had a thing about keeping their room clean, and they would just lie in bed and watch her. Spencer knew that she was the third person ever to hold him, and the second person to hold Ryan. Spencer knew she was dying, even at seven, but still, she was the first introduction to death he had.
After as she died, James waited two months before Adrianna came.
People rarely entered the Smith estate. Outside the mansion's walls Spencer knew that poverty, disease and death lurked in every corner, every surface. But here he was untouchable. When someone died, they were replaced as soon as the time felt right, or by how necessary their job was.
Spencer remembers sitting at the top of the stairs to the servant area with Ryan, their knees pressed together. He remembers the way both of them watched cautiously as a woman of no more than twenty walked through the door, all green eyes and shiny black hair, and was warmly accepted by everyone who had gathered in the foyer to greet her, James included.
Spencer had never been an emotional person, even as a child, but as soon as Adrianna looked at him, whispered to James, pointed, and smiled, he was down the stairs and running to his room. The tears couldn't fall fast enough.
Spencer remembers.
*
Spencer tags along as Ryan goes to the bathroom to freshen up, brushing grass off his green pants and brown shirt, looking in no part the role of a rich man. Then again, as Spencer slumps against the toilet in no more then a dark dress shirt and a pair of trousers, he supposes he doesn't either. Rich men don't fraternize with their help; rich men don't care as much as they do.
Well, James does.
It takes a good ten minutes, but soon the pair of them are walking down the stairs to the foyer, sitting on the top ones just like they did eleven years ago when Adrianna walked through the door. Their knees touch, but Ryan's eyes are resting on Brendon's dark head. The closest person to them is Nicholas, a chef, who turns to offer them a bright wave. The two boys return it, and soon, one by one, each one of the employees are turning to look at them with genuine smiles.
Spencer's fingers are on Ryan's wrist when he feels the beat pick up, and he doesn't have to look to know Brendon's there, watching.
Adrianna is close to the door, thirty-one now and still as beautiful as ever. She's probably the last to see them, turning sharply and narrowing her eyes before yelling, "You two should be in your best clothing, not looking like you came off the street!" Ryan has the decency to look ashamed, while Spencer just takes the mature route and sticks his tongue out at her. She mimics a scissor motion that always had Spencer scared as a child, but it doesn't anymore, so he smiles warmly to her before she turns around and focuses on the door once more.
Within five minutes the door is swinging open, revealing the carriage man, Aaron, standing there with his hands on his hips, looking playfully stern. He's an older gentleman that let Ryan and Spencer take turns directing the horsing in the carriage as soon as they reached sixteen.
"Now why are you all here?" he says, taking off his hat and brushing it off slightly. People gave laughs and shouts of sharp "Aaron!"s before he steps aside to reveal their newest employee.
Spencer thinks he likes it a lot better introducing people to the house without the ghost of someone else lingering above them. Ryan makes an excited noise deep within his throat, and Spencer can only nod his head in agreement.
The man looks threadbare, with an old shirt and trousers that had patches and frayed edges. He wears sandals - slave sandals, Spencer recognizes - even though the man's skin is clearly a healthy gold from sun exposure. He has a friendly smile, plain on his face despite the beard, with good, solid eyes from what Spencer can see.
There are calls of hello and other greetings, mostly welcomes that make the man duck his head with another grin. Ryan's excited beside him; he can feel it in his pulse, in the way his body trembles just slightly and the life that's in his eyes. Brendon greets the man like a brother, pulling him into a hard hug. For a second Spencer thinks that perhaps there's a bit more, but then the man is pulling back and ruffling his hair in a friendly manner that sets the tension in his shoulders at ease.
"Spencer! Ryan!" James calls out, and Spencer immediately perks at the sound of his father's voice, standing at attention while letting go of Ryan's wrist. The entire staff is looking to them now. James parts the crowd easily, wrapping his arm around the newcomer's shoulder to bring him to the foot of the stairs. Spencer's cautious, Ryan's enthralled. "Boys, I'd like you to meet Jonathan Jacob Walker," and perhaps the name sounds smooth to Spencer's ears, but he just lifts a brow and nods his head in a curt manner as Ryan waves brightly to him.
"Sirs," Jonathan says, removing his hat and dipping his head in a respectful manner that Spencer hates and makes Ryan uncomfortable. He's surprised when Ryan's the first to correct him. "No need, Jonathan," and for a moment the entire house looks a bit surprised, so Ryan ducks his head with a small smile, eyes looking to Brendon and back. "You may address us informally."
Jonathan nods his head once more, replacing his cap on his head and immediately finding Brendon at his side, slinging an arm around him. "Jonathan will be aiding Brendon in the garden. Apparently, it's become too much for the boy to do alone…" James sends Brendon a knowing glance, causing Brendon to at first look a bit bashful before he's smiling widely. "The boys spend quite some time in the garden, especially Ryan, so I'm sure you'll be seeing them a lot."
Brendon looks up to catch Ryan's eye, and this time Ryan ducks and blushes.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was nine.
Ryan was ten and automatically far more mature, given the keys to cosmic knowledge all because he reached double digits. He ordered Spencer around, telling him to go to bed, when and what to eat, to stop playing with the pharaoh hounds because they were for hunting, not pets. Of course, Spencer would ignore him, and that resulted in Ryan stomping around the house until Adrianna or James yelled at him, in which case he would blame Spencer shameless.
Being ten also meant that he was able to have feelings for someone.
His name was Nathaniel, and he was Adrianna's brother, at the ripe age of eleven. He came often to visit his sister, just hanging around while she tidied the boys' room or carried their laundry about. Ryan never told Spencer, but the way he always spoke a bit louder when the boy was around was a dead give away. That, and they always seemed to be at the same place at the same time.
Spencer could understand why, really. He was rather… pretty for a boy. He had Adrianna's dark, silky hair, always in a ponytail at the nape of his neck tied with a satin string, but stubborn strands moved to frame his face, making his green eyes impossibly large. He looked delicate, doll-like, with wide eyes and a happy smile and a natural flush to his cheeks that was attractive.
So, every other week, Ryan was in love and would do nothing but write in his journal about Nathaniel. Spencer knew because he read them all.
Spencer remembers.
*
Life isn't changed by the coming of Jonathan Jacob Walker. There's still the smell of bread flooding the entire manor, Adrianna still beats them whenever they back sass her, and there are still three bodies in the garden.
Spencer tends to avoid it these days. Ryan, however, is more than happy to pretend to be dozing under the cherry blossom tree while watching Jon and Brendon work in the garden. Their friendship is effortless, a lot of inside jokes and laughter, and it reminds him of Spencer.
When Ryan opens his eyes completely, he finds that he's alone. He had only dozed off for maybe five or ten minutes, leaving Jon and Brendon weeding out the rose bushes, but apparently they moved fast. He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead to ease the spinning in his head slightly.
"You've been watching me."
Ryan almost jumps out of his skin, grabbing his thick, leather bound book for protection. Brendon lets out a chuckle, plopping down shirtless and sweaty beside him, and Ryan resists the urge to pick a few blossom petals off his back.
"That means you've been watching me," Ryan responds smoothly, coming to bring his knees up to his chest and cocking his head at Brendon. Brendon smiles, slow and easy, and for a second Ryan envies him before returning it.
"Either that, or I had an inkling and made Jonathan look out while we were working. Apparently, you stare so intently that 'it's as though no one else in the world exists'," he quotes, and it makes Ryan laugh a little, bringing up a hand to tuck a curl behind his ear.
They're silent for a moment, and Ryan thinks that maybe Brendon has shifted into him just slightly, until Brendon rests a hand on the ground behind his back and completely leans into him.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was nine and a half.
Ryan and Spencer hadn't fully comprehended the fact that they couldn't be together forever. James knew this. So when he tried to explain to them that when they got older they were going to live separate lives, with separate women, it only brought them closer.
Every night, Ryan would fumble in the darkness to Spencer's bed and sag into it. In return, Spencer would just let out a quiet sigh and wrap his frame around the frail boy. Ryan had dreams about invisible monsters, and Spencer vaguely thought that it was because he couldn't remember much. Perhaps there was a wall there to keep the memories out.
Still, every morning Adrianna would wake them, not once commenting on the fact that they were growing boys sleeping together in a bed. She didn't comment on the way Ryan practically clung to Spencer, or the way Spencer took responsibility wholeheartedly for his brother's well being.
Spencer remembers.
*
"Spen."
Spencer cracks an irritated eye, looking into the darkness of his room to find absolutely nothing. He rolls over onto his other hip, hiking the blanket up over his shoulder, fully prepared to fall asleep before he hears another sharp, "Spen!"
"Ry," he grunts, rough and sleep-heavy, and for a second they just keep repeating each other's names, like a strange game of marco polo. Spencer is fairly sure he couldn't turn his gas lamp on even if he wanted to. Eventually, the bed sags and Spencer turns, wrapping his long body around Ryan, his face burying sleepily in his hair.
They haven't done this in years. They stopped sharing a room when he was ten and Ryan was eleven, when Ryan took the bedroom beside his. Ryan still fits against him exactly as he did when they were younger-poorly with entirely too many bones.
"You've been avoiding the garden lately," Ryan says quietly, after a few minutes have passed. Spencer makes some type of noise in the back of his throat, his hand coming to stroke over Ryan's stomach in a way he knew he found comforting.
"My apologies," he mumbles, letting out a hard sigh as he accepts the fact that Ryan will not be letting him go back to sleep any time soon. "I've had to deal with father. I swear, the closer I come to turning eighteen, the harder he pushes."
"He means well," is Ryan's only response, which basically translates to 'there's nothing you can do', but the pat to his hand is reassuring. It takes him a few minutes, and in that time Spencer manages to doze off, but eventually Ryan murmurs, "Brendon and I are talking."
Now Spencer's definitely up, lifting his head a bit to just barely catch the curve of Ryan's cheek. His arched eyebrow of surprised goes unnoticed, but there's genuine curiosity in his voice. "Talking how?"
"We were just talking." Spencer can feel Ryan lift his shoulder in a shrug, giving a quiet sigh afterwards. "I don't know what to make of it."
"Don't make anything out of it?" Spencer offers, and Ryan just pinches the skin of his forearm, twisting the skin painfully until Spencer bites down onto his shoulder.
"Your helpfulness astounds me," Ryan mumbles, and Spencer can feel him go lax under his grip. Ryan drifts off soon after that, but Spencer remains awake until he can see the arc of his lips and the straight of his nose in the morning light.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was ten.
They had had pharaoh hounds his entire life-they were prime hunting dogs, had the rare ability to blush when excited, and the pure breeds held no scent as well as minimal shedding. They had at least two dozen, roaming the estate and coming back to the shed in the garden every night for food.
For as long as he could remember, Spencer had wanted one. Whenever he asked James, he would just shrug and tell him that they had plenty, but it wasn't the same. They weren't his. He knew all of their names, but they didn't know his. He didn't share a special bond with them as he would with his own.
He had never been around when one of the bitches had a litter, as his father had always said that he was too small and would want to touch the puppies all the time. But being ten meant that he was ready to step into the barn and help with a birth.
They were gorgeous dogs, really-taut muscles, smooth, tan pelts, ears that were entirely too big for their frame. The pups didn't exactly look like it, but eventually they would become excellent, loyal pets.
Out of a litter of five, they lost three. It wasn't exactly a good turn out, and the remaining two puppies looked as though they weren't going to fare much better. James was a man of pride when it came to his hunting dogs, so with a bit of coaxing it wasn't hard for Ryan and Spencer to convince him that those two pups hung on to be raised and loved by them.
Ryan named his Hephaistion, Spencer named his Alexander.
They grew quickly, as pups tend to, following their owners dutifully. Ryan had a tendency to baby Hephaistion, while Spencer was gentle but firm with Alexander. The dogs slept at their feet, laid with them in the garden, and eventually just became their owner.
One day, Hephaistion took sick. They didn't know why, but checked every angle they could possible examine. No one had fed him anything strange and he hadn't gotten into anything toxic; it just seemed as though the dog had finally caught whenever ended his brothers and sisters.
Hephaistion died before even reaching his first birthday.
Alexander seemed completely out of wits. He would pay attention to Spencer and Ryan, but mostly he would just roam the halls of the manor, looking lost and occasionally bumping into walls as if he was looking for something to stabilize him.
Alexander died shortly after. It was as though he realized that his job in life was done. They buried him beside Hephaistion, just because it seemed like the right thing to do.
Spencer remembers.
*
Spencer hasn't done this for as longer then he can remember. The pharaoh hounds all tend to sun themselves during the day, in the far end of the garden, sprawled out like giant cats in the sun.
It's just fun to startle them.
Then startling them leads to a game of tag, and tag leads to a wrestling match, and soon Spencer is sweating and rolling on the grass with the dogs. They're all barking happily and playfully nipping at Spencer before he scoops them up in his arms and flips them onto their backs, attacking their stomachs with scratching nails that leave their legs shaking.
With all the bustling in the manor, as well as Ryan and Brendon's imminent relationship, tension was coiled tightly in his back. Apparently all it took was a good wrestling match with the dogs to calm him down a bit, sprawled out on his back in the midst of warm bodies, panting heavily.
"You don't behave much like a person of wealth."
Spencer cracks an eye, lifting his head a bit from where it's propped up on one of the dog's backs. He's a bit surprised to see Jonathan Walker there, standing barefoot and shirtless, his hands buried deep the pockets of his dirty trousers.
He looks down at himself, dressed in a simple cotton shirt and a pair of pants he'd outgrown years ago, the cuffs coming to about his calves, and yeah, he has to agree. "Would you much rather I treat everyone like dirt and stomp around like a spoiled brat?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. Jon takes that as as much of an invitation as he's going to get, scooping up a dog to place in his lap as he sits.
"No, sir," Jonathan says, and then there's a grin curling his lips and Spencer is giving him a smile, his head dropping back down onto the dog's back.
"Spencer," he corrects, though it's gentle and languid, the heat from the sun combined with the activity making him a bit hazy, "We've never actually spoken, Jonathan."
"Just Jon," it's Jon's turn to correct, scratching behind the dog's ears thoughtfully as he looks down to Spencer. "And it seems that my best friend has stolen your brother."
Spencer shrugs, unconcerned and lazy, biting down on his lip to stifle a yawn. "Well, perhaps it's for the best. Maybe Ryan will stop reading hideously cliché romance novels?" he offers, cracking an eye to see Jon grin. He decides it looks good on him.
"And maybe Brendon will stop drawing hearts on the condensation on his lemonade glass."
That's how it begins. The conversation continues, with Spencer offering witty commentary to the terrible love story they're a part of and Jon replying. The conversation is light and witty, and they're left sitting there long after the dogs move into the barn, with Jon coming to lay down beside Spencer.
"When are you turning eighteen?" Jon asks quietly, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the grass, looking to Spencer.
"September," he answers quietly, his arms above his head, toying with strands of grass almost absently. It's strange how easily conversation and caring comes when Jon's involved. He thinks that maybe it should be more complicated than this, than two boys laying out in the grass for an entire day, catching up on years they felt they missed from each other's lives.
"Do you know who you're going to marry?" Jon's tone is cautious, as if he's testing the boundaries of their newly formed friendship. Spencer shakes his head in response, his lips quirking into a small frown. Jon just accepts the answer, letting out a slow sigh before both of them tilt their face to the moonlight, simultaneously deciding that here was a good place to spend the night.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was thirteen.
Ryan was fourteen then and decided that perhaps they needed a small break from each other. Nathaniel was around more and more often, and Spencer really didn't want to spend time with anyone else but still accepted.
He wasn't sure what Ryan did for a month during the spring. All he knew was he became heavily invested in Nathaniel before coming back to him.
Spencer remembers.
*
"Brendon?"
Brendon lifts his head from his favorite resting spot, his cheek pressed against the barely there flesh of Ryan's stomach. His chin is settled against the sharp jut of his hipbone in contrast. They're still soaked and hot, skin sticky but cooling quickly with drying sweat. Brendon never really liked coming up to Ryan's room-despite the fact that it was modest for a man of his wealth, there was still too much room for him. There was nothing like Jon and Brendon's cramped space.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, thick and sweet against Ryan's skin, tilting his head to press soft kisses into the skin. His tongue flicks out, mimicking the way he'd cleaned the boy up not more then fifteen minutes ago.
"Spencer and Jon?" Ryan's too lazy for sentences, his thin fingers mapping patterns out on the skin of Brendon's shoulders, occasionally reaching up to dip into the ink of Brendon's hair. Everything is desperately hazy, the candle flicking, needing oxygen almost as badly as their sex-muddled brains.
Brendon pauses, tilting his chin to rest it against Ryan's stomach and shrugging slightly. "They're talking a lot," Brendon offers, eyes lidded heavily with a pleased smile. "I suppose they're going crazy without us."
Ryan snorts, his fingers tugging at Brendon's hair absently."I can only suppose. I'm glad that they have each other to spend time with, though. This," Ryan uses his free hand to motion between them, "probably wouldn't have happened if Jon wasn't here."
"Well," Brendon says thoughtfully. "Can this," he gestures between the two of them, mirroring Ryan's motions, "Happen again? Preferably right now?"
Ryan just smiles, slow and contented, watching as Brendon moves over him, adjusting Ryan's legs over his shoulders. He doesn't protest when Brendon slides inside him smoothly, arching and keening, leaning up to press his mouth securely to Brendon's to stifle his moans.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was thirteen.
When Ryan was busy with Nathaniel, he found small things to keep himself occupied. He spent a lot of time alone during their month break, reading and taking strolls in the forest just on the edge of their property.
He met a girl during those days. Her name was Sara and she had a pretty smile and tightly coiled curls. She often took walks along one of the dirt paths that were carved out by years of travel, especially in the summer, when the trees above them produced pink blossoms that created a beautiful canopy.
That was where Spencer had his first kiss.
Sara was soft and gentle, and her lips were full and lush against Spencer's dry, chapped ones. Spencer had initiated it, his hands cradling her slender hips, feeling awkward and inexperienced. Apparently, he had used too much tongue and was a bit too sloppy, but all Sara did was pull back, smile, and show Spencer how it was done. He supposed he thanked her for his kissing skills today.
Spencer remembers.
*
"Okay," Jon begins, his hands clasped at the small of his back as he walks. He's barefoot once more, wearing only a pair of dark, dirty trousers that have a patch at the knee that Spencer sewed himself, "Favorite animal?"
Spencer pauses a bit, looking up to the blossoms of the trees above them, squinting hard against the rays of sunlight that filter through. "A panther," he decides, laughing a bit at Jon's confused look.
"A panther?" he repeats, and it's slow and slightly amused. Spencer nods his head. "I was expecting something mundane, like dogs. Or owls."
Spencer laughs now, his fingers tightening around the leather bound book, small and compact that could easily fit in the pocket of his trousers. "I do enjoy owls. However, one year, a traveling circus came to town," Spencer begins, keeping his face tilting towards the sun. "Father gave Ryan and I permission to go, so we took the carriage and went to go see it." Jon's nodding along, absently staring at the ground as they walk, but Spencer knows he's listening.
"She was beautiful, her fur all glossy and black, moving like oiled silk around in her cage. And her eyes." Spencer lets out a slow breath, shaking his head with a fond smile. "I'd never seen eyes so intelligent. I was there for feeding time, as well. She was as fierce as she was beautiful."
Jon pauses, staring right up to the canopy the blossoms created, watching as a few fall down like pink confetti. Spencer stops as well, turning to face him and looking up to catch a spot of sun in his hair. "You have wonderful taste in women," Jon comments quietly, looking down to the ground to meet Spencer's eyes.
"I have wonderful taste in panthers," Spencer corrects, tilting his head with a slight grin, even when Jon doesn't return it. "You came here for Brendon, didn't you?" he asks after a beat, reaching a hand up to pluck a petal from Jon's hair as it falls there.
Jon closes his eyes, nodding his head. "He wrote me, I came. We met during one of his trips to the village. He's watched you and Ryan grow up, you know…" Jon's speaking quietly, but for some reason it just seems right, and Spencer notices that his hand hasn't let his hair, stroking at the silky strands as he speaks.
"Your devotion knows no boundaries," Spencer murmurs, and for some reason they're a lot closer then he remembers. So close that Spencer barely has to tilt his head up to catch the gold flecks in Jon's eyes, heavily lidded and pleased.
"Your beauty knows no boundaries," Jon replies, and it's so fluid that Spencer's almost taken aback, like it's been swirling around in Jon's brain and he's just been waiting for the appropriate moment to tell him.
It's natural, the way that Spencer tilts his head and presses his lips to Jon's, kissing him close mouthed with one hand pressed lightly into his hair while the other grips onto his book for dear life. Jon's hands stay laced behind his back, unresponsive, so eventually Spencer pulls back with a soft, questioning noise.
"For the record, you initiated this," Jon murmurs softly and then finally, finally, one of his hands curls around Spencer's hip, aligning their lips once more. Spencer hears a quiet, almost needy noise and he prays it isn't him, but when Jon pulls back enough to grin at him, he knows it is.
In response, Spencer winds his arms around Jon's neck, pulling them closer together and kissing him deeply.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was fourteen.
His father had sat him down, really sat him down, and explained to him house the entire house worked. How everything was a well oiled machine and he was the conductor. He gave these people homes, reasons to live, a good, safe environment for them to raise families in, and they were a whole team.
He told him that Ryan was to be the conductor some day.
He told him that Ryan needed to find a beautiful woman, settle down, and continue their name. Ryan needed to take over the house, the expenses, and make sure that everyone was happy and healthy. Spencer could only think back to the days where Ryan said he had wanted the world, the entire world, in outstretched palm. He couldn't see Ryan being in any way like his father.
He didn't want him to be.
Spencer remembers.
*
Haley is the first woman Spencer meets that doesn't make him want to vomit.
She's beautiful, with golden skin and loose curls that flow to her shoulder blades, speaking with a soft tone and an even smile. She didn't seem to be interested him for being the son of a rich man as much as she was interested in him for being Spencer. She smiled when he spoke, laughed when he found something funny, and paid close attention when a spark ignited in his eyes, and in return he did the same.
Spencer found that he liked her company. He liked watching the sun set against her hair the first, second, even third time he saw her. Haley and her mother became regulars at the manor, and even the help took to calling Haley "m'lady" as though things were set in stone.
"Tell me, Sir Spencer," Haley says, tilting her head up to him with a smile. She's teasing him, he knows this, so it brings a small quirk to his lips. Their arms are locked together as they walk side by side through the blossom path, basking in each other's company while Spencer's mind roams. "You do not wish to get married?"
Spencer laughs, soft and private, looking to Haley with a grin. "It's not that, m'lady. I would love to get married. In my own time. On my own terms…"
"You're not the oldest child, though. Why are you going to marry when your brother could do it just as easily?" she asks, and Spencer knows she's not trying to be intrusive; she's just genuinely curious. He walks them closer to the edge, overlooking the garden, scanning the grounds with narrowed eyes.
"There," he says softly, pointing to where Ryan and Brendon lay under a blossom tree. Ryan is reading, the book blocking the sun from his eyes while Brendon naps. Ryan's head is propped up on his stomach, moving with every deep breath. "That's where he belongs. Not trapped in a loveless marriage."
Haley nods her head, cocking it to the side. "I love you, you know," she says, but it doesn't weigh Spencer down like he believed it would. He knows what she means, and likes to believe she does as well when he murmurs, "I love you, too," and presses a soft kiss to her temple.
He thinks of Jon.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was fifteen.
Ryan had this thing about sneaking around the manor, pretending as though they weren't born into money, pretending like this wasn't their home. He liked to pretend to be a peasant, one that was submissive and loyal during the day but a traitorous bastard at night.
Spencer wasn't supposed to hear. He knew this because Adrianna was whispering in the strained voice that she spoke in around their birthdays, when things were to be kept secret, and if not done so, would result in painful consequences.
Except this time his father was whispering, soft and broken, even when Spencer peeked through the door.
"The boy wasn't supposed to last this long in the first place. He's been sick for so long…"
"Yes, but he did."
"If he marries, then when he passes on Spencer can take the estate and his wife will be able to live here as well."
Spencer shouldn't have heard it. He knew as soon as he was reeling back from the door, turning onto his knees before he's up and running in a full sprint to their corridor of the house. When he got there, he reached his room within moments, attempting to slow his breathing as he noticed the dark smudge along his window.
"Where were you?" Ryan asked softly, and he sounded so frail and lost and Spencer finally, finally knew.
He was across the room in moments, pulling Ryan into his chest even though he was a bit taller. The angle was awkward and Ryan's neck probably hurt, but Spencer held him tight and whispered, "Nowhere important," into his hair.
Spencer remembers.
*
It's the night before his wedding that Jon finally catches up to him.
Spencer thinks it must be Ryan slipping through his door silently, wanting to offer his friend as much comfort as he can muster while Spencer just stares blankly at the rich clothing he is to wear tomorrow. He can hear the bed dip with weight, the sound of someone arranging themselves, and he gives a quiet sigh, turning around to find one Jonathan Walker in his bed.
Spencer doesn't want to speak, and something tells him that Jon isn't there to talk either. So he pads softly over to the bed, pausing along the side to look down to Jon tentatively. Jon snakes an arm out, his hand curling around Spencer enough to tug him forward. Spencer braces his hands on Jon's shoulders and stutters out a breath at the first touch of Jon's lips against the hollow of his throat.
When Haley finds him in the morning, she doesn’t speak. It’s not so much because she doesn’t know, but because she’s far too busy holding Spencer while he cries.
Four hours later, she is Haley Elizabeth Smith.
Spencer remembers a time when he was five.
Ryan had never not been there; even when he tried to think back to earlier in life, there was always a boy with curly, brown hair and sallow skin. But this time, this particular time, is the first time that Spencer can remember them clearly. They were sitting in his room, at the edge of his bed, watching his father pace back and forth.
It's been a little while since I've posted any form of a story. I wrote this little gem a couple months ago and finally sent it out to my beta. Infinite love to fiveweeks, who is the Ryan to my Spencer and my support system. Thanks for putting up with me sending you at least three unfinished stories a week.
Spencer remembers a time when he was five.
Ryan had never not been there; even when he tried to think back to earlier in life, there was always a boy with curly, brown hair and sallow skin. But this time, this particular time, is the first time that Spencer can remember them clearly. They were sitting in his room, at the edge of his bed, watching his father pace back and forth.
His father was an impressive man. Broad shoulders, hair tied to a pony tail at the nape of his neck, dressed to epitomize wealth. He was everything Spencer was supposed to be, but could never see himself becoming.
Ryan watched his father pace with wide eyes, so vulnerable and young, both of them just little boys, their feet not even reaching the ground, their hands clasped tightly together. Ryan was older then him, he knew that, but still, he was bigger. He was his protector.
His father was speaking, saying something along the lines of Ryan living here forever, and that they both had to be responsible boys and take care of each other in life. Ryan didn't look away, didn't blink, just watched as Spencer's father paced back and forth, looking like a porcelain doll exposed to the world for the first time.
Spencer pressed his thumb against Ryan's wrist, just to make sure he was still alive, and found his pulse beating steadily in an infectious rhythm.
Spencer remembers.
*
"She was… pleasant." Spencer James Smith IV was a cunning man who highly preferred to be called James. He's pushing fifty now and still holds the broad shoulders and a pony tail at his nape, his dark hair flecked with gray. He offers his son a bright smile, all perfect teeth, and Spencer can't find the energy to return it.
"She was a moron," he points out, and the smile doesn't melt off his father's face, just softens slightly from across the dining table.
"Your standards are too high, son," James says calmly, though there's a hint of affection Spencer can pick up on and it makes him sigh, undignified and loud, brushing off the cuff of his jacket. James just smiles a bit, small and understanding, and changes the subject quickly. "Where's Ryan?"
"The garden, I can only assume," Spencer replies, lifting a hand to smooth his hair away from his face. This was the last time he would listen to Adrianna about his hair. "May I go find him?"
James lifts his shoulder in a shrug, leaning back in his chair to cross his legs comfortably and looking to the door in which their previous company had just passed. "She was very rich, you know," James begins, and Spencer doesn't even pretend to feel remorse, instead just standing from his chair, coming over to rest his hands along his father's shoulders.
"I know, father. I know…" James raises a hand to grasps his son's, squeezing it briefly before pressing a kiss to the palm and releasing it, tilting his head up with a proud smile.
"Go find Ryan. I always fear that boy is going to drop dead if I separate you two for extended periods of time…" Spencer can only smile, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and loosening his tie as he makes his way outside.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was five and a half.
As soon as both of them fully realized that Ryan wasn't going home, they were carefree, untouchable. Every morning they painted the sky with the colors of autumn, and each night they draped the world in a black cloth, cutting holes in which to wish upon in the dense fabric. They would have Andre make them stacks of pancakes, then hide under the dining room table and devour them all, feeding bits and pieces to the dogs.
Ryan smiled in the same way, every time, closed eyes and teeth exposed, and Spencer could only return it. Ryan smiled every day, pale cheeks full and his eyes half-crescent moons that radiated happiness. He would wrap his fingers around Spencer's wrists to check his pulse, just incase Spencer had decided to leave without him.
Spencer remembers.
*
Spencer finds Ryan exactly where he anticipated he would, napping lazily in the shade of a cherry blossom tree with a book propped up on his chest. He shrugs off of his jacket, thick and uncomfortable, tossing it onto the sleeping boy's face before he plops down beside him.
Ryan makes some form of a sleepy comment, squashed beneath the thick jacket, moving it off of him to shoot Spencer an annoyed look. "You look ridiculous," he says, balling the jacket up to prop his head up on it.
Spencer gives a short snort, leaning against the trunk of the tree. "Not all of us can laze around all day," he comments softly, though his hand strays down to toy with a curl laying flat against the nape of Ryan's neck. He can feel Ryan move into the into the touch, and he can't help but snort as soon as he lifts his head to catch a glimpse of the gardener.
"You're still after him?" Spencer asks quietly, and Ryan buries his face tighter into the coat, letting out a long groan.
It was never anything they really talked about; it was just a sort of understanding that occurred when Spencer was fourteen and Ryan was fifteen. Ryan had lifted his head and stared long and hard at one of the chefs before turning to Spencer and telling him he had a fantastic body. Spencer had agreed. That was the end of it.
He was fairly sure the gardener had been with them their entire lives, lurking just on the fringes of their society. James was a kind employer, giving the workers an entire area of the house that contained bedrooms, a living room, and even a kitchen for their personal use. People had families here, and from the looks of it, the gardener boy was roughly around their age. Ryan had never had the courage to ask James about it.
"Did you at least get a name yet?" Spencer watches the golden skin of the gardener's back, moving and dancing as he bends and weaves, arms slightly dirty with a day of hard work. Ryan opens an eye, and Spencer can read that look: it tells him that he's stupid for asking that question.
They both lift their heads in interest as one of the more well known maids, Brittney, sprints from the house, the skirt of her uniform hiked up to make the run easier. Ryan lifts his head in interest as she yells, "Brendon!" a few times, his eyes quickly snapping back to the gardener, who, sure enough, responds to the name.
"Brendon," Ryan murmurs, as if to just test how it tastes on his tongue. Spencer nods his head in agreement, tilting his head back against the trunk of the tree to watch Brittney approach Brendon.
They talk in hushed tones at first, rapidly with hands, Brendon dragging the back of his wrist over the sweat gathered at his forehead. Eventually, Brittney gets louder, excitement written across her features. She finishes with, "The new employee is here!" which successfully piques both Spencer and Ryan's interest.
As soon as she's done, Brendon's reaching for his shirt, leaving her to look around until she spots them. She freezes at first, then raises her hand to block the sun from her eyes, finally recognizing the pair. "Hello Sir Spencer and Sir Ryan!" she calls out, waving happily to them and causing Brendon to turn around slowly to face them.
Spencer's smart enough to remove his hand from Ryan's hair, looking down to him as he straightens up a bit, sitting with proper posture, his hands folded in his lap. Brendon shrugs his shirt on, looking to them also with narrowed eyes before lifting his hand in a wave, offering them a wide smile.
Ryan smiles back. Spencer forgets how to.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was seven.
Hilda was very old-he knew this logically. She was an old woman with arthritic hands that shook entirely too much and would wake Ryan and Spencer up every morning with a story about the old country. She would walk around their room, tidying all the corners since Spencer already had a thing about keeping their room clean, and they would just lie in bed and watch her. Spencer knew that she was the third person ever to hold him, and the second person to hold Ryan. Spencer knew she was dying, even at seven, but still, she was the first introduction to death he had.
After as she died, James waited two months before Adrianna came.
People rarely entered the Smith estate. Outside the mansion's walls Spencer knew that poverty, disease and death lurked in every corner, every surface. But here he was untouchable. When someone died, they were replaced as soon as the time felt right, or by how necessary their job was.
Spencer remembers sitting at the top of the stairs to the servant area with Ryan, their knees pressed together. He remembers the way both of them watched cautiously as a woman of no more than twenty walked through the door, all green eyes and shiny black hair, and was warmly accepted by everyone who had gathered in the foyer to greet her, James included.
Spencer had never been an emotional person, even as a child, but as soon as Adrianna looked at him, whispered to James, pointed, and smiled, he was down the stairs and running to his room. The tears couldn't fall fast enough.
Spencer remembers.
*
Spencer tags along as Ryan goes to the bathroom to freshen up, brushing grass off his green pants and brown shirt, looking in no part the role of a rich man. Then again, as Spencer slumps against the toilet in no more then a dark dress shirt and a pair of trousers, he supposes he doesn't either. Rich men don't fraternize with their help; rich men don't care as much as they do.
Well, James does.
It takes a good ten minutes, but soon the pair of them are walking down the stairs to the foyer, sitting on the top ones just like they did eleven years ago when Adrianna walked through the door. Their knees touch, but Ryan's eyes are resting on Brendon's dark head. The closest person to them is Nicholas, a chef, who turns to offer them a bright wave. The two boys return it, and soon, one by one, each one of the employees are turning to look at them with genuine smiles.
Spencer's fingers are on Ryan's wrist when he feels the beat pick up, and he doesn't have to look to know Brendon's there, watching.
Adrianna is close to the door, thirty-one now and still as beautiful as ever. She's probably the last to see them, turning sharply and narrowing her eyes before yelling, "You two should be in your best clothing, not looking like you came off the street!" Ryan has the decency to look ashamed, while Spencer just takes the mature route and sticks his tongue out at her. She mimics a scissor motion that always had Spencer scared as a child, but it doesn't anymore, so he smiles warmly to her before she turns around and focuses on the door once more.
Within five minutes the door is swinging open, revealing the carriage man, Aaron, standing there with his hands on his hips, looking playfully stern. He's an older gentleman that let Ryan and Spencer take turns directing the horsing in the carriage as soon as they reached sixteen.
"Now why are you all here?" he says, taking off his hat and brushing it off slightly. People gave laughs and shouts of sharp "Aaron!"s before he steps aside to reveal their newest employee.
Spencer thinks he likes it a lot better introducing people to the house without the ghost of someone else lingering above them. Ryan makes an excited noise deep within his throat, and Spencer can only nod his head in agreement.
The man looks threadbare, with an old shirt and trousers that had patches and frayed edges. He wears sandals - slave sandals, Spencer recognizes - even though the man's skin is clearly a healthy gold from sun exposure. He has a friendly smile, plain on his face despite the beard, with good, solid eyes from what Spencer can see.
There are calls of hello and other greetings, mostly welcomes that make the man duck his head with another grin. Ryan's excited beside him; he can feel it in his pulse, in the way his body trembles just slightly and the life that's in his eyes. Brendon greets the man like a brother, pulling him into a hard hug. For a second Spencer thinks that perhaps there's a bit more, but then the man is pulling back and ruffling his hair in a friendly manner that sets the tension in his shoulders at ease.
"Spencer! Ryan!" James calls out, and Spencer immediately perks at the sound of his father's voice, standing at attention while letting go of Ryan's wrist. The entire staff is looking to them now. James parts the crowd easily, wrapping his arm around the newcomer's shoulder to bring him to the foot of the stairs. Spencer's cautious, Ryan's enthralled. "Boys, I'd like you to meet Jonathan Jacob Walker," and perhaps the name sounds smooth to Spencer's ears, but he just lifts a brow and nods his head in a curt manner as Ryan waves brightly to him.
"Sirs," Jonathan says, removing his hat and dipping his head in a respectful manner that Spencer hates and makes Ryan uncomfortable. He's surprised when Ryan's the first to correct him. "No need, Jonathan," and for a moment the entire house looks a bit surprised, so Ryan ducks his head with a small smile, eyes looking to Brendon and back. "You may address us informally."
Jonathan nods his head once more, replacing his cap on his head and immediately finding Brendon at his side, slinging an arm around him. "Jonathan will be aiding Brendon in the garden. Apparently, it's become too much for the boy to do alone…" James sends Brendon a knowing glance, causing Brendon to at first look a bit bashful before he's smiling widely. "The boys spend quite some time in the garden, especially Ryan, so I'm sure you'll be seeing them a lot."
Brendon looks up to catch Ryan's eye, and this time Ryan ducks and blushes.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was nine.
Ryan was ten and automatically far more mature, given the keys to cosmic knowledge all because he reached double digits. He ordered Spencer around, telling him to go to bed, when and what to eat, to stop playing with the pharaoh hounds because they were for hunting, not pets. Of course, Spencer would ignore him, and that resulted in Ryan stomping around the house until Adrianna or James yelled at him, in which case he would blame Spencer shameless.
Being ten also meant that he was able to have feelings for someone.
His name was Nathaniel, and he was Adrianna's brother, at the ripe age of eleven. He came often to visit his sister, just hanging around while she tidied the boys' room or carried their laundry about. Ryan never told Spencer, but the way he always spoke a bit louder when the boy was around was a dead give away. That, and they always seemed to be at the same place at the same time.
Spencer could understand why, really. He was rather… pretty for a boy. He had Adrianna's dark, silky hair, always in a ponytail at the nape of his neck tied with a satin string, but stubborn strands moved to frame his face, making his green eyes impossibly large. He looked delicate, doll-like, with wide eyes and a happy smile and a natural flush to his cheeks that was attractive.
So, every other week, Ryan was in love and would do nothing but write in his journal about Nathaniel. Spencer knew because he read them all.
Spencer remembers.
*
Life isn't changed by the coming of Jonathan Jacob Walker. There's still the smell of bread flooding the entire manor, Adrianna still beats them whenever they back sass her, and there are still three bodies in the garden.
Spencer tends to avoid it these days. Ryan, however, is more than happy to pretend to be dozing under the cherry blossom tree while watching Jon and Brendon work in the garden. Their friendship is effortless, a lot of inside jokes and laughter, and it reminds him of Spencer.
When Ryan opens his eyes completely, he finds that he's alone. He had only dozed off for maybe five or ten minutes, leaving Jon and Brendon weeding out the rose bushes, but apparently they moved fast. He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead to ease the spinning in his head slightly.
"You've been watching me."
Ryan almost jumps out of his skin, grabbing his thick, leather bound book for protection. Brendon lets out a chuckle, plopping down shirtless and sweaty beside him, and Ryan resists the urge to pick a few blossom petals off his back.
"That means you've been watching me," Ryan responds smoothly, coming to bring his knees up to his chest and cocking his head at Brendon. Brendon smiles, slow and easy, and for a second Ryan envies him before returning it.
"Either that, or I had an inkling and made Jonathan look out while we were working. Apparently, you stare so intently that 'it's as though no one else in the world exists'," he quotes, and it makes Ryan laugh a little, bringing up a hand to tuck a curl behind his ear.
They're silent for a moment, and Ryan thinks that maybe Brendon has shifted into him just slightly, until Brendon rests a hand on the ground behind his back and completely leans into him.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was nine and a half.
Ryan and Spencer hadn't fully comprehended the fact that they couldn't be together forever. James knew this. So when he tried to explain to them that when they got older they were going to live separate lives, with separate women, it only brought them closer.
Every night, Ryan would fumble in the darkness to Spencer's bed and sag into it. In return, Spencer would just let out a quiet sigh and wrap his frame around the frail boy. Ryan had dreams about invisible monsters, and Spencer vaguely thought that it was because he couldn't remember much. Perhaps there was a wall there to keep the memories out.
Still, every morning Adrianna would wake them, not once commenting on the fact that they were growing boys sleeping together in a bed. She didn't comment on the way Ryan practically clung to Spencer, or the way Spencer took responsibility wholeheartedly for his brother's well being.
Spencer remembers.
*
"Spen."
Spencer cracks an irritated eye, looking into the darkness of his room to find absolutely nothing. He rolls over onto his other hip, hiking the blanket up over his shoulder, fully prepared to fall asleep before he hears another sharp, "Spen!"
"Ry," he grunts, rough and sleep-heavy, and for a second they just keep repeating each other's names, like a strange game of marco polo. Spencer is fairly sure he couldn't turn his gas lamp on even if he wanted to. Eventually, the bed sags and Spencer turns, wrapping his long body around Ryan, his face burying sleepily in his hair.
They haven't done this in years. They stopped sharing a room when he was ten and Ryan was eleven, when Ryan took the bedroom beside his. Ryan still fits against him exactly as he did when they were younger-poorly with entirely too many bones.
"You've been avoiding the garden lately," Ryan says quietly, after a few minutes have passed. Spencer makes some type of noise in the back of his throat, his hand coming to stroke over Ryan's stomach in a way he knew he found comforting.
"My apologies," he mumbles, letting out a hard sigh as he accepts the fact that Ryan will not be letting him go back to sleep any time soon. "I've had to deal with father. I swear, the closer I come to turning eighteen, the harder he pushes."
"He means well," is Ryan's only response, which basically translates to 'there's nothing you can do', but the pat to his hand is reassuring. It takes him a few minutes, and in that time Spencer manages to doze off, but eventually Ryan murmurs, "Brendon and I are talking."
Now Spencer's definitely up, lifting his head a bit to just barely catch the curve of Ryan's cheek. His arched eyebrow of surprised goes unnoticed, but there's genuine curiosity in his voice. "Talking how?"
"We were just talking." Spencer can feel Ryan lift his shoulder in a shrug, giving a quiet sigh afterwards. "I don't know what to make of it."
"Don't make anything out of it?" Spencer offers, and Ryan just pinches the skin of his forearm, twisting the skin painfully until Spencer bites down onto his shoulder.
"Your helpfulness astounds me," Ryan mumbles, and Spencer can feel him go lax under his grip. Ryan drifts off soon after that, but Spencer remains awake until he can see the arc of his lips and the straight of his nose in the morning light.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was ten.
They had had pharaoh hounds his entire life-they were prime hunting dogs, had the rare ability to blush when excited, and the pure breeds held no scent as well as minimal shedding. They had at least two dozen, roaming the estate and coming back to the shed in the garden every night for food.
For as long as he could remember, Spencer had wanted one. Whenever he asked James, he would just shrug and tell him that they had plenty, but it wasn't the same. They weren't his. He knew all of their names, but they didn't know his. He didn't share a special bond with them as he would with his own.
He had never been around when one of the bitches had a litter, as his father had always said that he was too small and would want to touch the puppies all the time. But being ten meant that he was ready to step into the barn and help with a birth.
They were gorgeous dogs, really-taut muscles, smooth, tan pelts, ears that were entirely too big for their frame. The pups didn't exactly look like it, but eventually they would become excellent, loyal pets.
Out of a litter of five, they lost three. It wasn't exactly a good turn out, and the remaining two puppies looked as though they weren't going to fare much better. James was a man of pride when it came to his hunting dogs, so with a bit of coaxing it wasn't hard for Ryan and Spencer to convince him that those two pups hung on to be raised and loved by them.
Ryan named his Hephaistion, Spencer named his Alexander.
They grew quickly, as pups tend to, following their owners dutifully. Ryan had a tendency to baby Hephaistion, while Spencer was gentle but firm with Alexander. The dogs slept at their feet, laid with them in the garden, and eventually just became their owner.
One day, Hephaistion took sick. They didn't know why, but checked every angle they could possible examine. No one had fed him anything strange and he hadn't gotten into anything toxic; it just seemed as though the dog had finally caught whenever ended his brothers and sisters.
Hephaistion died before even reaching his first birthday.
Alexander seemed completely out of wits. He would pay attention to Spencer and Ryan, but mostly he would just roam the halls of the manor, looking lost and occasionally bumping into walls as if he was looking for something to stabilize him.
Alexander died shortly after. It was as though he realized that his job in life was done. They buried him beside Hephaistion, just because it seemed like the right thing to do.
Spencer remembers.
*
Spencer hasn't done this for as longer then he can remember. The pharaoh hounds all tend to sun themselves during the day, in the far end of the garden, sprawled out like giant cats in the sun.
It's just fun to startle them.
Then startling them leads to a game of tag, and tag leads to a wrestling match, and soon Spencer is sweating and rolling on the grass with the dogs. They're all barking happily and playfully nipping at Spencer before he scoops them up in his arms and flips them onto their backs, attacking their stomachs with scratching nails that leave their legs shaking.
With all the bustling in the manor, as well as Ryan and Brendon's imminent relationship, tension was coiled tightly in his back. Apparently all it took was a good wrestling match with the dogs to calm him down a bit, sprawled out on his back in the midst of warm bodies, panting heavily.
"You don't behave much like a person of wealth."
Spencer cracks an eye, lifting his head a bit from where it's propped up on one of the dog's backs. He's a bit surprised to see Jonathan Walker there, standing barefoot and shirtless, his hands buried deep the pockets of his dirty trousers.
He looks down at himself, dressed in a simple cotton shirt and a pair of pants he'd outgrown years ago, the cuffs coming to about his calves, and yeah, he has to agree. "Would you much rather I treat everyone like dirt and stomp around like a spoiled brat?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. Jon takes that as as much of an invitation as he's going to get, scooping up a dog to place in his lap as he sits.
"No, sir," Jonathan says, and then there's a grin curling his lips and Spencer is giving him a smile, his head dropping back down onto the dog's back.
"Spencer," he corrects, though it's gentle and languid, the heat from the sun combined with the activity making him a bit hazy, "We've never actually spoken, Jonathan."
"Just Jon," it's Jon's turn to correct, scratching behind the dog's ears thoughtfully as he looks down to Spencer. "And it seems that my best friend has stolen your brother."
Spencer shrugs, unconcerned and lazy, biting down on his lip to stifle a yawn. "Well, perhaps it's for the best. Maybe Ryan will stop reading hideously cliché romance novels?" he offers, cracking an eye to see Jon grin. He decides it looks good on him.
"And maybe Brendon will stop drawing hearts on the condensation on his lemonade glass."
That's how it begins. The conversation continues, with Spencer offering witty commentary to the terrible love story they're a part of and Jon replying. The conversation is light and witty, and they're left sitting there long after the dogs move into the barn, with Jon coming to lay down beside Spencer.
"When are you turning eighteen?" Jon asks quietly, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the grass, looking to Spencer.
"September," he answers quietly, his arms above his head, toying with strands of grass almost absently. It's strange how easily conversation and caring comes when Jon's involved. He thinks that maybe it should be more complicated than this, than two boys laying out in the grass for an entire day, catching up on years they felt they missed from each other's lives.
"Do you know who you're going to marry?" Jon's tone is cautious, as if he's testing the boundaries of their newly formed friendship. Spencer shakes his head in response, his lips quirking into a small frown. Jon just accepts the answer, letting out a slow sigh before both of them tilt their face to the moonlight, simultaneously deciding that here was a good place to spend the night.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was thirteen.
Ryan was fourteen then and decided that perhaps they needed a small break from each other. Nathaniel was around more and more often, and Spencer really didn't want to spend time with anyone else but still accepted.
He wasn't sure what Ryan did for a month during the spring. All he knew was he became heavily invested in Nathaniel before coming back to him.
Spencer remembers.
*
"Brendon?"
Brendon lifts his head from his favorite resting spot, his cheek pressed against the barely there flesh of Ryan's stomach. His chin is settled against the sharp jut of his hipbone in contrast. They're still soaked and hot, skin sticky but cooling quickly with drying sweat. Brendon never really liked coming up to Ryan's room-despite the fact that it was modest for a man of his wealth, there was still too much room for him. There was nothing like Jon and Brendon's cramped space.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, thick and sweet against Ryan's skin, tilting his head to press soft kisses into the skin. His tongue flicks out, mimicking the way he'd cleaned the boy up not more then fifteen minutes ago.
"Spencer and Jon?" Ryan's too lazy for sentences, his thin fingers mapping patterns out on the skin of Brendon's shoulders, occasionally reaching up to dip into the ink of Brendon's hair. Everything is desperately hazy, the candle flicking, needing oxygen almost as badly as their sex-muddled brains.
Brendon pauses, tilting his chin to rest it against Ryan's stomach and shrugging slightly. "They're talking a lot," Brendon offers, eyes lidded heavily with a pleased smile. "I suppose they're going crazy without us."
Ryan snorts, his fingers tugging at Brendon's hair absently."I can only suppose. I'm glad that they have each other to spend time with, though. This," Ryan uses his free hand to motion between them, "probably wouldn't have happened if Jon wasn't here."
"Well," Brendon says thoughtfully. "Can this," he gestures between the two of them, mirroring Ryan's motions, "Happen again? Preferably right now?"
Ryan just smiles, slow and contented, watching as Brendon moves over him, adjusting Ryan's legs over his shoulders. He doesn't protest when Brendon slides inside him smoothly, arching and keening, leaning up to press his mouth securely to Brendon's to stifle his moans.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was thirteen.
When Ryan was busy with Nathaniel, he found small things to keep himself occupied. He spent a lot of time alone during their month break, reading and taking strolls in the forest just on the edge of their property.
He met a girl during those days. Her name was Sara and she had a pretty smile and tightly coiled curls. She often took walks along one of the dirt paths that were carved out by years of travel, especially in the summer, when the trees above them produced pink blossoms that created a beautiful canopy.
That was where Spencer had his first kiss.
Sara was soft and gentle, and her lips were full and lush against Spencer's dry, chapped ones. Spencer had initiated it, his hands cradling her slender hips, feeling awkward and inexperienced. Apparently, he had used too much tongue and was a bit too sloppy, but all Sara did was pull back, smile, and show Spencer how it was done. He supposed he thanked her for his kissing skills today.
Spencer remembers.
*
"Okay," Jon begins, his hands clasped at the small of his back as he walks. He's barefoot once more, wearing only a pair of dark, dirty trousers that have a patch at the knee that Spencer sewed himself, "Favorite animal?"
Spencer pauses a bit, looking up to the blossoms of the trees above them, squinting hard against the rays of sunlight that filter through. "A panther," he decides, laughing a bit at Jon's confused look.
"A panther?" he repeats, and it's slow and slightly amused. Spencer nods his head. "I was expecting something mundane, like dogs. Or owls."
Spencer laughs now, his fingers tightening around the leather bound book, small and compact that could easily fit in the pocket of his trousers. "I do enjoy owls. However, one year, a traveling circus came to town," Spencer begins, keeping his face tilting towards the sun. "Father gave Ryan and I permission to go, so we took the carriage and went to go see it." Jon's nodding along, absently staring at the ground as they walk, but Spencer knows he's listening.
"She was beautiful, her fur all glossy and black, moving like oiled silk around in her cage. And her eyes." Spencer lets out a slow breath, shaking his head with a fond smile. "I'd never seen eyes so intelligent. I was there for feeding time, as well. She was as fierce as she was beautiful."
Jon pauses, staring right up to the canopy the blossoms created, watching as a few fall down like pink confetti. Spencer stops as well, turning to face him and looking up to catch a spot of sun in his hair. "You have wonderful taste in women," Jon comments quietly, looking down to the ground to meet Spencer's eyes.
"I have wonderful taste in panthers," Spencer corrects, tilting his head with a slight grin, even when Jon doesn't return it. "You came here for Brendon, didn't you?" he asks after a beat, reaching a hand up to pluck a petal from Jon's hair as it falls there.
Jon closes his eyes, nodding his head. "He wrote me, I came. We met during one of his trips to the village. He's watched you and Ryan grow up, you know…" Jon's speaking quietly, but for some reason it just seems right, and Spencer notices that his hand hasn't let his hair, stroking at the silky strands as he speaks.
"Your devotion knows no boundaries," Spencer murmurs, and for some reason they're a lot closer then he remembers. So close that Spencer barely has to tilt his head up to catch the gold flecks in Jon's eyes, heavily lidded and pleased.
"Your beauty knows no boundaries," Jon replies, and it's so fluid that Spencer's almost taken aback, like it's been swirling around in Jon's brain and he's just been waiting for the appropriate moment to tell him.
It's natural, the way that Spencer tilts his head and presses his lips to Jon's, kissing him close mouthed with one hand pressed lightly into his hair while the other grips onto his book for dear life. Jon's hands stay laced behind his back, unresponsive, so eventually Spencer pulls back with a soft, questioning noise.
"For the record, you initiated this," Jon murmurs softly and then finally, finally, one of his hands curls around Spencer's hip, aligning their lips once more. Spencer hears a quiet, almost needy noise and he prays it isn't him, but when Jon pulls back enough to grin at him, he knows it is.
In response, Spencer winds his arms around Jon's neck, pulling them closer together and kissing him deeply.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was fourteen.
His father had sat him down, really sat him down, and explained to him house the entire house worked. How everything was a well oiled machine and he was the conductor. He gave these people homes, reasons to live, a good, safe environment for them to raise families in, and they were a whole team.
He told him that Ryan was to be the conductor some day.
He told him that Ryan needed to find a beautiful woman, settle down, and continue their name. Ryan needed to take over the house, the expenses, and make sure that everyone was happy and healthy. Spencer could only think back to the days where Ryan said he had wanted the world, the entire world, in outstretched palm. He couldn't see Ryan being in any way like his father.
He didn't want him to be.
Spencer remembers.
*
Haley is the first woman Spencer meets that doesn't make him want to vomit.
She's beautiful, with golden skin and loose curls that flow to her shoulder blades, speaking with a soft tone and an even smile. She didn't seem to be interested him for being the son of a rich man as much as she was interested in him for being Spencer. She smiled when he spoke, laughed when he found something funny, and paid close attention when a spark ignited in his eyes, and in return he did the same.
Spencer found that he liked her company. He liked watching the sun set against her hair the first, second, even third time he saw her. Haley and her mother became regulars at the manor, and even the help took to calling Haley "m'lady" as though things were set in stone.
"Tell me, Sir Spencer," Haley says, tilting her head up to him with a smile. She's teasing him, he knows this, so it brings a small quirk to his lips. Their arms are locked together as they walk side by side through the blossom path, basking in each other's company while Spencer's mind roams. "You do not wish to get married?"
Spencer laughs, soft and private, looking to Haley with a grin. "It's not that, m'lady. I would love to get married. In my own time. On my own terms…"
"You're not the oldest child, though. Why are you going to marry when your brother could do it just as easily?" she asks, and Spencer knows she's not trying to be intrusive; she's just genuinely curious. He walks them closer to the edge, overlooking the garden, scanning the grounds with narrowed eyes.
"There," he says softly, pointing to where Ryan and Brendon lay under a blossom tree. Ryan is reading, the book blocking the sun from his eyes while Brendon naps. Ryan's head is propped up on his stomach, moving with every deep breath. "That's where he belongs. Not trapped in a loveless marriage."
Haley nods her head, cocking it to the side. "I love you, you know," she says, but it doesn't weigh Spencer down like he believed it would. He knows what she means, and likes to believe she does as well when he murmurs, "I love you, too," and presses a soft kiss to her temple.
He thinks of Jon.
*
Spencer remembers a time when he was fifteen.
Ryan had this thing about sneaking around the manor, pretending as though they weren't born into money, pretending like this wasn't their home. He liked to pretend to be a peasant, one that was submissive and loyal during the day but a traitorous bastard at night.
Spencer wasn't supposed to hear. He knew this because Adrianna was whispering in the strained voice that she spoke in around their birthdays, when things were to be kept secret, and if not done so, would result in painful consequences.
Except this time his father was whispering, soft and broken, even when Spencer peeked through the door.
"The boy wasn't supposed to last this long in the first place. He's been sick for so long…"
"Yes, but he did."
"If he marries, then when he passes on Spencer can take the estate and his wife will be able to live here as well."
Spencer shouldn't have heard it. He knew as soon as he was reeling back from the door, turning onto his knees before he's up and running in a full sprint to their corridor of the house. When he got there, he reached his room within moments, attempting to slow his breathing as he noticed the dark smudge along his window.
"Where were you?" Ryan asked softly, and he sounded so frail and lost and Spencer finally, finally knew.
He was across the room in moments, pulling Ryan into his chest even though he was a bit taller. The angle was awkward and Ryan's neck probably hurt, but Spencer held him tight and whispered, "Nowhere important," into his hair.
Spencer remembers.
*
It's the night before his wedding that Jon finally catches up to him.
Spencer thinks it must be Ryan slipping through his door silently, wanting to offer his friend as much comfort as he can muster while Spencer just stares blankly at the rich clothing he is to wear tomorrow. He can hear the bed dip with weight, the sound of someone arranging themselves, and he gives a quiet sigh, turning around to find one Jonathan Walker in his bed.
Spencer doesn't want to speak, and something tells him that Jon isn't there to talk either. So he pads softly over to the bed, pausing along the side to look down to Jon tentatively. Jon snakes an arm out, his hand curling around Spencer enough to tug him forward. Spencer braces his hands on Jon's shoulders and stutters out a breath at the first touch of Jon's lips against the hollow of his throat.
When Haley finds him in the morning, she doesn’t speak. It’s not so much because she doesn’t know, but because she’s far too busy holding Spencer while he cries.
Four hours later, she is Haley Elizabeth Smith.