Pas de Trois (Part Three): gift for roga

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With as many siblings as he had, Brendon was no stranger to wedding receptions. This one, however, turned out to be as different as the ceremony. Apparently the distinction between first and second betrothed or partner had also been eradicated here--Brendon couldn't remember ever congratulating Matt's second wife or Jane, the second partner of Kyla's husband. In their town, only the first, the "real" partner had counted.

Brendon'd lost count of how many people had come up to congratulate him. He'd known that his family would come, but he hadn't expected Ryan's father's business contacts to shake his hand or Spencer's extended family to drop by. Brendon, who was usually good with names and faces, had given up on remembering everyone's names.

Thankfully, Spencer came to his rescue. "Excuse me," Spencer said while Brendon was stuck talking one of Mr Ross's business contacts. "But it's time for the food."

"Oh, of course." Brendon took Spencer's proffered arm and tried not to be too obviously grateful.

"You looked like you were caught in a bear trap," Spencer whispered.

"I was," Brendon said. "He talked to me about fur prices."

Spencer laughed and Brendon took pleasure from it. No matter what Ryan thought of him, Brendon had been able to at least charm Spencer.

The food was delicious. The cake alone was a sight of its own. It was all fine and dandy until Spencer lightly said, "I can't wait for the dancing to start."

Brendon put down his fork, when he realised that he was missing a very important piece of information. Also he already felt stuffed--if he ate another bite, the button on his pants might just pop off. "Um," he said. "How is it, I mean, who?"

Ryan sighed, just loudly enough to be heard by both Brendon and Spencer. "Do you not normally dance at weddings of your types?"

"Of course we do," Brendon replied, sharper than intended. "But usually there aren't, there's just." He breathed in deeply and tried to calm himself. "It's a bit less complicated, usually."

"Strangely I think our way is the less complicated one," Ryan said. Brendon wished he'd put just a little bit of intonation into his words, just enough that Brendon knew when he was being mocked or--as he was afraid was the case right now-- provoked. He couldn't help feeling annoyed. It was unfair, he thought, that Ryan treated him in this manner when he was very well aware that Brendon didn't know what to expect.

"I know what you mean, Brendon," Spencer said. "We will get up, all three of us, two will start dancing, only for a short while, then we'll switch. Only after everyone has danced with everyone, the dance floor is opened for all the guests."

"I see." Brendon poked at the remainder of his cake.

"If you wish, Ryan and you can start," Spencer said.

"No," Brendon said softly. "No, it's your place. I'll wait." He didn't miss the look Ryan and Spencer exchanged.

"I see," Spencer said simply.

When they got up for the dance, Brendon did so with weak knees. He felt stupid standing at the side of their table, while Ryan and Spencer assumed their position to start the dance. It was as if everyone was looking at Brendon instead of the dancing couple, even though they weren't--or, at least, Brendon hoped they weren't. Ryan and Spencer were mesmerising to watch.

The minute Ryan and Spencer were dancing stretched to feel like an hour. When they finally stepped apart, Brendon gave a little sigh and he felt like he'd been holding his breath all this time. Even without rehearsing, they'd managed to stop close enough to Brendon that he just had to step forward, and around Spencer, to take his place in Ryan's arms. Brendon thought Ryan didn't even stop dancing for a second.

Brendon was surprised that Ryan felt so steady and sure as he led Brendon over the dance floor in a wide sprawling circle, spinning themselves around their own axis. Brendon had, of course, learned this dance, but he'd always been bumbling along.

"Spencer tells me I should be nicer to you," Ryan said.

"Oh." Brendon didn't know where he should even start to reply to that. He'd rather Ryan decide on his own to change his attitude toward Brendon. "Please?"

"Then give me a reason to," Ryan said. It didn't make any sense at all, but just as Brendon was getting ready to ask Ryan what he meant, Ryan handed him over to Spencer.

"Is Ryan purposefully confusing me?" Brendon asked Spencer. "Is it a pastime of his?"

Spencer smiled. "It's only partly on purpose," he said. He spun them a bit faster and Brendon had to stop talking to concentrate on his steps. "Just relax," Spencer said. "You worry too much."

It startled Brendon into laughing. "You are the first person to ever tell me that," he said. "Normally people are keen on telling me I don't worry enough by far."

Spencer slowed them down to a stop in front of their table. "Well, then they don't know you very well, do they," he said, still smiling.

Brendon couldn't answer, as right then Spencer's mother came by to claim Brendon for a dance. The rest of the afternoon blurred into one long sequence of dancing with many people.

By the time they called the reception to an end, Brendon was glad for it. He usually delighted in parties, but his feet hurt and he was dizzy from all the turning and spinning. The afternoon had since long turned into evening and now they were going to head home.

Home, Brendon thought and turned the word around a few times in his head. It felt strange to be considering anything but his parents' house home.

The servants were waiting in front of the house. Brendon felt a bit shy when they all bowed. His mother had a cook, but she'd always been a very jovial person, always up for joking and sneaking Brendon little snacks in between meal times. She had probably never bowed to anyone in the Urie family in her entire life.

"Welcome, sir," the butler--Johnson, Brendon thought, was his name--said. "It will be our pleasure to serve you."

"Um, thanks," Brendon said, stumbling over his words. He'd had a little bit of Spencer's wine, just a tiny sip. It hadn't tasted anything like Mr Jameson's ale and it had gone straight to Brendon's head. Spencer had noticed that Brendon hadn't been drinking and he'd offered his own wine, "just for a taste." Brendon had determinedly not looked into the direction where his family was sat. Revenge, he'd thought, but it soon was pushed aside.

Ryan hadn't been drinking anything, either. He hadn't reacted to Spencer's drinking, but he'd shot Brendon a glare. It had made Brendon feel weird, like he'd done something bad, although Spencer had offered him the glass. Spencer had put his hand on Ryan's arm and smiled at Brendon. When Brendon had handed him back his glass, their fingers had touched and Spencer had stroked his fingertips over Brendon's. It felt strangely like reassurance, as if Brendon was a shying horse.

Mr Ross strode past them, not even acknowledging the servants with a single word. "Johnson, were there any letters to me?"

"No, sir."

As soon as Ryan's father had disappeared inside the house, Johnson turned to a young boy waiting in the line of servants. "Alex, fetch Mr Brendon's luggage and bring it up to their rooms."

Brendon watched as Alex went to the back of the carriage and started to undo the ropes Brendon's things had been tied up with.

"If you are going to watch the servants, could you at least do so out of the way?" Ryan said behind Brendon.

Brendon startled and moved to the side.

"Good evening, Johnson," Ryan said carelessly. "Is the bath prepared?"

Johnson bowed. "Of course, sir. It will only take a few minutes to finish the preparations."

"Well, those minutes have started now," Ryan said.

Spencer sighed. "Don't mind him, he gets cranky when he's tired." He reached for Brendon's hand and towed him up the stairs to the front door. "Don't worry, Alex and Johnson will take care of your luggage."

"We will," Johnson said with a hint of a smile on his face. Brendon realised that all the servants' demeanours had softened when Spencer had turned up.

"See, nothing to worry about," Spencer said as he pulled Brendon inside.

Brendon was still marvelling at the way Spencer had made Brendon's inane staring and stumbling around appear as worry about his belongings. Whether his clothes ended up in the right room was currently the last worry on Brendon's mind.

Spencer steered Brendon into the sitting room where they'd first met. "I wonder whether I shouldn't have given you that wine," Spencer said. "It seems to have hit you hard."

Brendon laughed. "I feel as if I'm dreaming," he admitted.

Spencer smiled. "It's a nice feeling, isn't it." He sat down on the couch and Brendon felt bold enough to sit down right next to him. "I can't believe it," Spencer said quietly. "I'm married now. We're married now."

Brendon looked at Spencer carefully. "I know," he whispered. "I feel like it's not real yet."

Spencer chuckled. "It'll turn real soon enough," he said. "When Ryan's in one of his abominable moods, or when we both are tied up in business so much we're not coming home until after everyone's already gone to bed." He smiled at Brendon.

Brendon giggled. He felt the tension of the day build up until his giggles turned into loud guffaws.

"I shouldn't have given you that wine," Spencer said. He was looking at Brendon in an amused way. "But I thought it might calm you down a bit."

"Calm me down?" Brendon looked up at Spencer. "Why?"

Spencer smiled, soft and a bit sad. "You are so tense," he said.

"It was a tiring day," Brendon said. He smiled softly. "And the wine didn't affect me that much. It was only a sip, after all."

Spencer inclined his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just assumed--when you didn't drink."

"There ... wasn't much occasion to do so," Brendon said. "Should I--?"

"Oh no," Spencer said. "It's all right. Ryan isn't very fond of drinking, either." Spencer's voice had turned carefully neutral, and it piqued Brendon's interest. There was a story here, one he didn't know. But before he could open his mouth to ask, Spencer continued.

"We should retire," he said. "We should get ready for bed."

"But isn't Ryan taking a bath?"

Spencer laughed. "There's more than one bath room in this house."

Brendon ducked his head. "Of course," he said. He felt as if he was exposing his ignorance at every possible opportunity.

"No, don't feel bad," Spencer said. He leaned over and took Brendon's hand. "Come on, I'll show you our bath room."

As they stepped out of the sitting room, they happened across Johnson. "I assume our rooms are prepared for us?" Spencer asked.

"Yes, sir. I will show you the way."

They followed Johnson upstairs and through what seemed like a maze of hallways. Brendon thought that he would need a few weeks to find his way around by himself. Spencer was so sure and he made a few turns before Johnson, that Brendon thought this was all for Brendon's benefit. He wondered whether it should irk him that it was so obvious that Spencer didn't need to be shown the way to his marriage chamber, but Spencer had been Ryan's best friend for years--no, since they had been little children. They probably knew this house better than anyone else.

It was nice to be treated this way, though.

"Shall I prepare a bath?" Johnson asked when they'd reached the room.

"I'd appreciate it," Spencer said. "The usual supplies are ready, I'm sure?"

"Of course."

"Brendon, do you want to go first?" Spencer had opened the door to their room ... which turned out to be a sitting room. Prominently in the middle of the room, Brendon's chests were sitting.

"Oh, no, I'd first like to get some things out of my luggage," Brendon said. He hadn't missed the little stress on supplies, and he shivered at the thought that tonight he would, for the first time, have sex with his husband. Or husbands. Brendon figured they'd do it like the dancing, one after the other. Or maybe it was just Spencer's turn tonight. It was probably too much to hope that those supplies would come with explanations.

"I see," Spencer said. He smiled at Brendon before going into the bathroom. It was to the right of their room and Brendon committed its location to memory.

While Spencer was gone, Brendon fished out his night clothes from one of his trunks. It still left him with a lot of time, so he explored the room. There was another door to the left, and Brendon curiously opened it. It was the actual bedroom with possibly the biggest bed in it that Brendon had ever seen. It was much bigger than the space two people needed. Brendon thought that the Ross family must be truly wealthy if they could afford to waste so much money and space on a bed that could have been half as big and still been sufficient.

"Ah, I see you're already familiarising yourself," Ryan said behind Brendon.

Brendon jumped and hit the door frame with his elbow. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry," Ryan said. There was no real remorse in his voice.

"Did something happen?" Spencer turned up, much faster than Brendon had expected.

"Brendon was just examining our love den," Ryan said.

"It is a nice bed," Brendon said inanely. "Um."

Ryan didn't even look at Brendon. Spencer sighed. "I'll just show Brendon the bathroom," he said.

"Here's the tub," Spencer said. He blushed, colour high on his cheeks. "Which, um, I think you can see."

Brendon giggled. "Yes." It was a comfort to know that Brendon wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"So ... here are the supplies," Spencer said and he opened a drawer in the small cupboard in the room. "You will find anything necessary here."

Brendon hurried to his side and stared at the row of tins. "I, um." He closed his eyes and willed himself not to blush. And his tongue to work properly. "Do you, well, I don't know, I'm." Brendon's ears were burning, which was a clear sign his prayers hadn't been working.

"Oh," Spencer said. "Well, um, we can take care of that for you, if you--don't." He sounded weird. Brendon hoped he hadn't put Spencer put off, and he couldn't help but crack one eye open to glance at Spencer.

Spencer didn't look upset, though. He seemed ... interested. Which just made Brendon blush even harder. "Just," Spencer said, "um, make sure to clean well, okay?"

Brendon managed, "I will." Spencer left and suddenly he felt like he could breathe again.

Brendon had taken approximately ten thousand baths all by himself in his life, but none had felt as illicit as this one, not even the ones when he'd touched himself. He made sure to scrub his skin until it was pink. He kneeled in the tub to clean his bottom and his hands were shaking so much he had to try a second time until he could put the washing cloth there. He was married now, it was all right to touch himself there, he told himself as he prepared himself for his husband--husbands--but his mind hadn't caught up with reality yet.

Brendon put on his night clothes and felt ridiculous. Spencer had redressed in his nice clothes, although Ryan had been wearing something slightly less formal. Perhaps they weren't even ready yet and Brendon didn't know how long he had to wait until it was his turn.

When he stepped back into the sitting room, he could hear Ryan and Spencer talk through the open bed room door.

"That's very well his one saving grace," Ryan said. "It might make up for all the other mishaps."

"I wish you weren't so hard on him, Ryan. It's not his fault."

"That's what you think," Ryan said.

Brendon was still standing in the open door, but now he could hear steps coming up from around the corner. He didn't wish to be seen in his night clothes, so he stepped in. His attempts at closing the door quietly failed when he lost his grip and the door fell closed with a loud thump.

"Brendon?"

He swallowed. Here goes nothing, he thought. "I'm done."

Spencer was now standing in the bed room door. He smiled widely. "I have been looking forward to this moment," he said. "You can't possibly know how much."

"Can we move to the fun part now?" Ryan called. "I'm bored."

"Ryan, it's his first time, be patient." Spencer turned to Brendon. "I, um, I assumed that--well, after you, in the bathroom."

Brendon stared at the rug and nodded. It was a very pretty carpet, a beautiful pattern. It must have been very expensive. "I, it is. It will be." He swallowed again. "So how do we--?"

Brendon had wanted to ask how long he should wait, and where, or would he have to listen, would there even be anything to listen to. But he hadn't expected Spencer to step up to Brendon and just ... kiss him.

"Spencer?" Brendon whispered, when Spencer broke the kiss between them.

"Just relax," Spencer said just as quietly. "We'll be gentle." He took Brendon's hand and pulled him into the bed room, softly closing the door behind them. He stepped behind Brendon, put his hands on Brendon's hips and smelled Brendon's hair.

Ryan was already in bed, undressed. Brendon had to look away--he'd never seen another naked person before. "He looks pretty like that," Ryan said, with a tiny bit of interest. "That blush looks good on him."

"It does," Spencer said. He started pushing Brendon forward, toward the bed. "And he smells good."

"I should hope so, or we would have to make him take another bath."

Brendon felt overwhelmed and--and scared. He had no idea what was going on. Ryan didn't make any attempts to get up, and Spencer was gentle. The thought of being with them both was ... exhilarating, but there was a niggling thought, something was off--Ryan wasn't looking at them at all and something seemed to expand inside Brendon's chest, taking away all space from his lungs, so he couldn't breathe. Ryan wasn't looking, he wasn't interested and--Brendon pushed away from Spencer, feeling like his heart was stopping.

"Stop, Spencer," he choked out and Spencer did immediately stop and turn Brendon around.

"Brendon, what is going on?"

Brendon stepped back, away from Spencer, but he crashed against the bed frame. He stumbled, but Spencer caught him. Brendon quickly spun around so that he was with his back toward the door. "I wanted to ask you the same," he said.

"Well, it's our wedding night," Ryan added. "I figured even in your parts of the woods they'd know what happens during those."

Brendon shrank further way from the bed.

Spencer spat out, "Ryan, stop it." He held his hand out to Brendon. "It'll be fine, I promise." He let his hand sank. "Are you scared? It's all right to be scared. We can start out slow and--"

"No," Brendon said. "Are you just going to sit there?" he asked Ryan.

"Yes," Ryan said. "I'd figured I'd let Spencer go first and not deal with all the boring deflowering stuff."

Brendon looked at Spencer, who at least looked as startled as Brendon felt, and back at Ryan, who stared back at Brendon with a look Brendon couldn't read. "I'm sorry," Brendon whispered. "I'm sorry that I'm so boring."

"Oh, get over yourself," Ryan said. "What the fuck is your problem?" He swung his legs out of bed.

His words felt like a slap in the face. "I should get over myself?" he echoed. "This is my wedding night." Brendon didn't ask Ryan to give him the same kind of half-smiles Spencer received--but he thought that he deserved some common courtesy. It was just some boring deflowering for Brendon. He felt anger rise in him. Brendon hadn't asked to be married to them--his parents had made it clear that Brendon didn't have any say in the matter.

Ryan paused. "I'm aware of that. I could hardly miss spending hours in church surrounded by boring people."

"Ryan," Spencer now said. "What is--"

"Can we just get this over with?" Ryan said like, like it didn't mean anything, like it was just a chore.

That more than anything propelled Brendon away. He hadn't been able to disobey his parents, but at least in this Brendon could decide--and he didn't want the first time he lay with his husbands to be a boring chore, quick and without emotion. It gave Brendon enough incentive to grope for the door knob behind him. "I will leave you alone to get it over with," he spat out. He managed to put his hand on the knob and successfully escaped the room.

Spencer was coming after him, though. "Brendon, wait, this is--we can work this out, it's not--"

"I can't," Brendon said and he hated the way his voice broke. He tried to swallow down his anger and his frustration--Spencer wasn't the cause of any of these feelings, he shouldn't have to suffer from Brendon's temper.

"Brendon, please," Spencer said softly. "We don't have to--"

"But we should," Brendon said. He couldn't keep himself from sounding bitter. "We should and I want. But this, I don't know what, what he wants me to do, what he wants me to be like, but I can't." And then he was standing in the hallway and turned away. He just wanted to get away, get somewhere safe, somewhere without Spencer and Ryan. His chest felt like it was going to burst open and Brendon didn't want to talk anymore, he needed to be alone.

But Spencer didn't give up that easily. When Brendon heard his footsteps, he started running. He didn't even care where he was going, as long as it was away from them. He turned around the corner, took that left, up those stairs, turned right this time. He only stopped when he found himself in what seemed to be a linen closet.

Brendon was breathing hard and he was covered with a fine sheet of sweat. His heartbeat was unbearably loud in his ears and he thought that the entire house might be able to hear it, too. Thankfully, running had driven all thoughts out his mind, and it was blank. Brendon closed his eyes and concentrated on his heartbeat. Now that he wasn't moving anymore, he noticed how cold it was.

The house was quiet, and even the nightly noise from the city was muted. Brendon listened intently, but he couldn't make out footsteps. No one seemed to be following him. For a moment Brendon felt disappointed, but then he chided himself. He'd just run away, why should they come looking for him?

Brendon sighed and leaned against the closet door. He was calming down, and the sweat on his skin made him feel the cold more keenly. Brendon rejoiced in the sensations--anything to keep his mind from the two people he should share a bed with right now.

The relief didn't last long, though. It only took a few minutes until Brendon felt foolish--he had just run away from the two people he couldn't escape. He could still feel Spencer's hands on him, the way Brendon's heart had sped up, and he could clearly remember how much he had wanted to lean back into Spencer's embrace, let Spencer lead him to the bed and show him what those preparations included. He remembered his own curiosity at how those soft sheets would feel against his naked skin, whether Ryan's skin was just as soft, if Ryan's hands were as rough as his words.

Only Ryan's comments had made Brendon turn around, not his own desires. Ryan had made it obvious that he didn't care about Brendon, that his affection only belonged to Spencer. Get it over with ... Brendon didn't think that Ryan had reacted the same way the first time he'd been with Spencer. A sense of sadness filled Brendon. No, he hadn't expected Ryan to fall in love with him at first sight, or during the vows. But he'd thought that Ryan would be more lenient with Brendon, the same way Spencer always seemed to make space for him.

"Brendon, you are an idiot," Brendon said quietly. He just wanted too much. He should have known that having them both wouldn't be an attainable goal. What a fool he'd been!

He couldn't forget the look in Spencer's eyes, how desperate he'd sounded calling for Brendon--like he really wanted Brendon to stay, like he thought they could make this ride.

Brendon rubbed his eyes. He was so stupid. Shame crept up Brendon's spine. He needed to go back and fix this, even if he had no idea how. But he had to go back, for Spencer's sake. He didn't think that Ryan and Spencer would still welcome him into their bed after his rather dramatic exit and the thought that Ryan and Spencer were with each other right now made heat and shame pool in Brendon's belly. He pushed it out of his mind--he had to at least make amends to Spencer, who'd been nothing but kind and truthfully affectionate with Brendon.

Brendon should apologise and hope they weren't too mad at him. It was even possible that Ryan was as indifferent to this as he was to everything else Brendon did. Spencer did have every right to be angry at him--Brendon could only pray for the best and that Spencer was simply disappointed in him, but didn't give up on him.

Now that he'd had time to cool down, Brendon felt sheepish about being so overwhelmed. He felt he should have been more prepared--after all, Ryan had only given Brendon attention when Spencer had enforced it. It had been foolish to expect his wedding night to be different.

But no amount of fooling around with Tom, their neighbours' farm boy, no stolen kisses and secret touches had prepared Brendon for how he'd felt when Spencer first touched him with intent. Brendon sighed. There was no use in delaying it any further: he had to go back and ask his husbands of a few hours to forgive him.

His grand plan failed with the first step: finding their room again. Brendon hadn't paid any attention to where he had run, and now he was creeping through dark, unfamiliar hallways. Had he turned left or right here? Had he passed that painting, seen this vase?

It was fully dark, and the night's cold was seeping into his bones. Brendon had only been wearing his night clothes, and his feet were bare. He didn't dare open any random doors, afraid to disturb his father-in-law in his sleep.

A few minutes later, Brendon was possibly even more lost. He was sure he'd managed to turn himself around--this hallway at least seemed familiar, but that might have been because he'd just been here a few turns ago.

Brendon couldn't suppress a sigh. He'd put himself into quite a mess. He'd never gotten lost in the woods at home, as he'd known them like the back of his hand. But this was foreign territory and the carpet didn't offer Brendon any way of telling whether he'd been by before.

"Good evening, sir," someone said behind Brendon.

He jumped a good yard to the left and wheeled around. A young girl was standing there, in a maid's uniform. She was carrying a candle and a bucket of water.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said.

"No, no, it wasn't your fault," Brendon said. "I just didn't expect anyone to be around at this hour."

She bowed instead of answering. "I should have announced my presence earlier, sir, instead of startling you."

"Um, well, I guess you didn't expect anyone to be lurking in the hallways, either."

A small smile appeared on her face, and Brendon felt a little bit better.

"Actually," Brendon said. "You, uh, might be able to help me."

"Of course, sir. It's my pleasure to serve you, sir."

"Please, call me Brendon. If you call me sir, I'll expect my father to stand behind me."

"Very well, Mr Brendon," she said.

It was a start, at least, Brendon thought. "Um, I, it seems, well, I lost my way," he said. "Maybe you could, uh, show me the way back to, uh, our rooms?"

"No problem, Mr Brendon. Please follow me." She carefully sat the bucket down at the end of the hallway and led Brendon down a serious of strange hallways until they reached a door Brendon recognised.

He realised that he had to go in there while the servant was still standing here. "I bid you a good night," he said and took all his courage together and opened the door.

"Good night, Mr Brendon," the servant said.

Brendon stepped inside, making sure to turn around and close the door gently. The room was quiet, which didn't mean that Spencer and Ryan weren't sitting there, waiting for him. It had been a specialty of his parents--whenever Brendon had done something wrong, they'd sat on the sofa, waiting for him to come home. Their quiet, earnest faces had felt worse than any corporal punishment could have been.

Brendon closed his eyes. He took another steadying breath and turned to face the room.

There wasn't anyone there. The moon was shining in through the window, illuminating the room, and the door to the bedroom was closed.

Brendon sighed, feeling both relieved and disappointed. He didn't have to confront Spencer and Ryan yet, although postponing it didn't make him feel any better. But it gave him a moment to recoup, to find his breath again.

The bedroom door seemed to be mocking Brendon. The knob was shining in the pale light, and it beckoned Brendon to come and open the door. Brendon even went so far as to stand right in front of the door, put his hand on the knob--and found he couldn't turn it. In his mind images rose unbidden, images of Spencer and Ryan lying in that bed together, perhaps even kissing.

Brendon found himself back in the middle of the room. He felt the same old ball of anxiety rise up in his chest, just like when Spencer had led him to the bed. Brendon wanted--he didn't know what he wanted anymore, everything was overcome by conflicting emotions. But he didn't think he could bear to go in there and find them tousled and spent. He could even hear Ryan saying smoothly, We already got it over with, you're not needed here anymore.

His eyes burned, and Brendon rubbed them automatically. His fingers were cold and his feet were freezing. The entire day caught up with him at once--he was married and he was already having his first fight with his husbands not even one day after the ceremony. He suddenly felt bone tired, all his emotions draining from him, leaving him empty and exhausted.

Brendon just wanted to go to sleep, but the bed room door still seemed like an unsurmountable mountain, barring him the way to the only bed he knew about. But then he would have to deal with his husbands, something he didn't think he could do just yet--not while he was barely holding himself upright.

But he also didn't dare leave the room, afraid he'd get lost again.. There would already be enough gossip--Brendon was sure that the servant girl would share the fact that she'd met Brendon in the middle of the night, far away from his husbands. He didn't need to add more fuel to the fire by sleeping somewhere else--if Brendon was even able to find an unused bed room. Right now he wasn't convinced of it--in fact, he believed that he'd get lost the second he stepped outside.

Brendon was considering sleeping on the floor (the carpet was indeed very thick and soft), when he caught sight of the chaise longue. He sighed and hoped it wasn't as uncomfortable as his grandmother's one.

The chaise longue was in the corner, facing the bedroom door. But it also offered Brendon the view out of the window. It wasn't a very exciting view, as it was only half a moon and a tree in his line of vision. The swishing motions of its branches in the wind were very relaxing, though, and Brendon let their never-ending, monotonous journey carry him to sleep.

~~~***~~~

Brendon woke up slowly. He first kept his eyes closed and listened, but the room was quiet. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The light filtering in through the window was still dim, so it was still early morning.

Brendon felt comfortably warm and stretched--only to shiver when his foot was exposed to cold air. Someone had draped a warm blanket over him during the night.

Brendon ran his fingers over the soft fabric. It was knitted, a simple pattern, but the yarn was thick and warm. He wondered who'd done it. Brendon hadn't noticed them at all.

He looked up and saw that the door to the bedroom stood open. Brendon's heart beat faster. Was it an invitation? An order? Currently he thought Ryan capable of both. And Spencer ... Brendon's heart skipped a beat. It was the thought of Spencer that made Brendon get up slowly. He kept the blanket wrapped around him, as some kind of protection or shield, and shuffled toward the open door.

It was a disappointment to find the bedroom empty. The bed had obviously been lied in, but it was not very disturbed. Brendon slowly moved closer and touched the sheets with shaking hands. The fabric was cool to the touch, but warmed up surprisingly fast when Brendon let his fingers rest on one spot.

This was supposed to be Brendon's wedding bed. He still didn't know whether that scared him more than it excited him.

The mattress was firm to the touch and Brendon couldn't withstand the temptation of sitting on it. It was just the foot end, but some perverse curiosity made Brendon inch up toward the pillows. Maybe if he were closer he would be able to see, or smell, something.

But the sheets were pristine and there were no telltale spots. Brendon felt a weird pang of something at that--it had been their night just as much as Brendon's and he'd ruined it for them. But the fact that they hadn't done anything obvious enough to leave evidence, it made Brendon's heart flutter.

Brendon let himself slide sideways, down onto the mattress. He just wanted to know what it felt like, he told himself. The pillow was as soft as everything else, stuffed tightly. Brendon turned his face toward the fabric and breathed in deeply. The pillow, he realised, smelled like Spencer's hair. Without consciously deciding to, Brendon reached for the other dented-in pillow and found the sharp odour of Ryan's shaving water hanging to it.

As he lay there, with one pillow under his head and the other pressed to his nose, Brendon felt sad. He wished that things came easier to him, that he didn't make it so difficult for them to like him. He'd imagined this night so many times, but not one single time he'd considered himself running away like a frightened chicken, overwhelmed by his emotion. Of course, he had always seen himself with the love of his life, who'd sworn to marry only Brendon, and this night as the culmination of their desire.

Brendon thought he might have read too many of Kara's romance novels. His mother had frowned upon them, but they'd read them, anyway, no matter how often she had confiscated the books.

He also hadn't pictured himself being forced to marry a stranger, either. All in all, it hadn't quite been the wedding Brendon would have wished for.

The sheets warmed up and together with his blanket Brendon felt enveloped. He clung to the pillows and slipped back into sleep.

~~~***~~~

The next time Brendon woke up, it was to someone letting something heavy drop and cursing.

"I'm sorry, sir!" It was one of the younger boys--Alex, Brendon thought. "Cook told me to clean and Mr Ryan and Mr Spencer are already away and I thought--"

"It's not your fault," Brendon said. "I should have gotten up hours ago."

Alex nodded. "I'll bring you some hot water," he said and vanished before Brendon could stop him.

Brendon sighed and got up to fetch some clothes. He would have to get directions from Alex how to find the kitchen or the dining room.

Alex was only too glad to be of help. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," he said. It was a nice change to all the servants who seemed to lose their capability of speech, the way Alex was babbling on and on. It reminded Brendon of himself.

"Don't be," Brendon said. "Just show me the kitchen."

Brendon wasn't as late as he'd feared, but Mr Ross also had already finished his breakfast.

"The young misters are in the garden," Cook said. She was a fabulous woman, not unlike Brendon's mother's cook. She insisted on feeding Brendon about twice as much as he wanted to eat. "They'll still be there when you've finished your eggs."

Brendon managed to get completely lost on his way to the garden. Apparently it wasn't just "straight through the hallway."

Brendon wondered whether he could get one of the servants to draw him up a map of the house. He felt stupid asking them for directions for everything after having lived in the same house his entire life. He wasn't used anymore to not knowing where everything was.

"Oh, good morning, Brendon!" Spencer appeared in the door frame. He was smiling, and it seemed genuine. "I hope I didn't wake you up this morning," he said.

Brendon shook his head. "No, you didn't."

"Please, step in," Spencer said.

Ryan was sitting at a desk, and he only looked up briefly when Brendon came in.

"Good morning," Brendon offered cautiously.

Ryan's answer was to look down and ignore him.

"Ryan," Spencer said.

"No, no, it's my fault," Brendon hurried to say. "I owe the two of you an apology and--"

"I don't care," Ryan said. He closed the book he'd been reading and stood up. "I have to go to the treasure office. Spencer, I think Father requested you to be there this afternoon."

"I'm just trying to explain," Brendon started again.

"And I don't want to hear it," Ryan said. "I don't care what your issues are. I can be with Spencer and ignore you."

He walked past Brendon, and it felt like a wall of ice swept past Brendon. Brendon stared at the book shelf that dominated the entirety of the opposite wall and tried to remember how to breathe. "But I'm sorry," he whispered. He knew he'd brought it on by himself, that storming away hadn't helped matters, but it still hurt.

"Don't listen to him," Spencer said. "It's mostly just hurt pride." He gave Brendon a smile. "You are the first person who did not jump into his bed willingly, no matter how he treats them. He'll take a few days to get over it."

"Oh," Brendon said. "People actually like it when he's mean to them?"

Spencer sighed. "You'd be surprised at what people like."

"Um, so he--he isn't?" Brendon itched to ask how many people Ryan had been with, but he thought it was probably indecent to ask even from his husband.

Spencer's smile turned small and careful. "No," he said. "We both aren't."

Brendon couldn't suppress a sigh. Another thing in which Ryan and Spencer were alike, and Brendon differed.

"It will be all right," Spencer said. "He'll calm down soon enough."

"I'm so sorry," Brendon said. "I just should have--" He waved his hand in an imitation of get it over with.

"Brendon, no, you shouldn't have" Spencer said. He stepped close to Brendon and took Brendon's hand. "We should have prepared you better."

He smiled, rueful and sad. "Ryan has been ... He hasn't ever lacked for admirers and his father never put any value on entering marriage as a virgin. Neither have my parents. We believe that these traditions are out-dated and old-fashioned and have no place in our modern society."

"I'm not entirely ... inexperienced," Brendon said. "Just not ..." He made another vague gesture. He wished his cheeks wouldn't heat up whenever he thought of being with his husbands. It made him feel younger than his years.

"That returns my peace of mind," Spencer said, still smiling.

"But since we don't want to make you any more uncomfortable, we've decided to, at least for the short term, adopt more traditional values." Spencer inclined his head. "We had intended to share only one bedroom, but given last night, that might not be the best course of action."

"You don't--" Brendon started, but Spencer shook his head.

"No, we moved too fast last night," Spencer said. "I've instructed Johnson to prepare the two bedrooms which traditionally belonged to the spouses."

"Two bedrooms?"

Spencer nodded. "I can hardly keep on sharing a bed with Ryan, while you are alone."

Brendon protested. "You shouldn't have to give up on Ryan because of me," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm complicating everything."

"No," Spencer said. "I'm fine with the decision." He reached for Brendon's hand. "If slow is the way we have to proceed with you, I'm willing to do it. My mother taught me that feelings need time to grow--and I've had a long time with Ryan already."

Brendon squeezed his hand tightly. "Thank you," he whispered. He was disappointed almost, but refrained from telling Spencer that those feelings were already there--what if Spencer thought him flighty and fickle? Brendon felt he'd created already enough of a disruption.

Spencer squeezed back. "We will be all right," he said. Brendon hoped that maybe at some point he could be as convinced about it as Spencer was.

~~~***~~~

Married life turned out to be lonely and rather boring for Brendon. Ryan didn't show any signs of forgiving Brendon any time soon. Although Spencer tried to make up for it, it grated on Brendon. The fact that both Ryan and Spencer were involved in Ryan's father's business only worsened the experience.

Spencer, the more business-minded one, left the house early for the office, while Ryan partook in a number of lunches and other leisurely affairs. Mr Ross explained it to Brendon.

"Ryan must meet all my business contacts," he said. "He will take over the company, and it wouldn't do to do it all in a hurry. Unfortunately, though," he sighed, "Ryan does not like numbers. Spencer, however, excels at it--my books haven't ever been as well-kept since he started doing them. I firmly believe that everyone must bring in themselves with their best talent."

Nobody asked Brendon about his own special talent, though, and it left Brendon at a loss of things to do. He didn't think there was much need for playing the piano in a business operation. For a moment he entertained the notion of playing in a bar between scantily clad dancers and drunkards. The vision made him laugh.

But right now he was busy enough trying to remember how to find his bedroom.

"I wish I could support you more," Brendon said to Spencer while they were having tea one Sunday afternoon. "I feel useless."

"Just wait," Spencer said. "Ryan's father owns so many different companies, we'll find something that fits you."

Brendon suppressed a sigh. He didn't think that keeping books for a trading company was any different than keeping books for a theatre. The items being kept were just different.

"Besides, you're still getting used to the city," Spencer said. "I would be much too worried about you getting lost."

He winked at Brendon, but the remark still smarted--all the more because it was true. The other day Brendon had gotten lost in the orchard, when he'd gone left instead of right and had ended up in the lemon trees.

"I suppose you're right," Brendon replied.

The next day Spencer and Ryan left early. "We're awaiting a shipment of goods this afternoon," Spencer said, "and we still don't know which warehouse to use."

"You're making such a big affair out of this," Ryan said. "As if my father doesn't own a dozen warehouses just at the market alone."

As usual, when the conversation turned toward Ryan's father, Ryan's tone became sharp enough to cut. Brendon hadn't seen Mr Ross in three days, a not uncommon occurrence, but it worried Ryan, as Spencer had told Brendon.

It left Brendon alone in the house, though, with too much time on his hand. One bright spot was the weekly afternoon tea with Spencer's parents. Brendon had been apprehensive at first, but immediately after stepping into Spencer's parents' house his fears were allayed. His parents were as friendly as Spencer, and they treated Brendon like their own son. Better, Spencer had complained with a teasing twinkle in his eyes, because Brendon always got the best seat on the sofa and the largest scone.

This afternoon Brendon could do well with some cheering up. He felt lonely with his husbands gone for most of the day, and he hadn't yet been able to make friends in the city.

"Brendon!" Spencer's mother walked toward Brendon with her arms wide open. "I'm so happy to see you."

Brendon laughed. "You just saw me only days ago," he said. Secretly he rejoiced in her easy embrace and found himself relaxing. "I also sent you a note just yesterday."

"But I like to see your face," Ginger said. She wouldn't let Brendon call her Mrs Smith under pain of death, and Brendon took a thrill out of being so familiar with her. At least some people were easier to become friendly with than Ryan.

They sat down for tea. Ginger pushed the strawberry jam and clotted cream toward Brendon. "Help yourself please," she said. "Don't hold back."

"I couldn't even, if I wanted to," Brendon said. "Scones are my weakness."

Ginger laughed. "I hope it's not your only weakness, or you'd be much too perfect for my son and Ryan."

Brendon smiled at her. "I believe it's not--just my biggest. How's your mother doing?"

Ginger sighed. "Not as well as we would like. My sister has asked me to come down to the south and I plan to leave soon. This will be our last tea in a while, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brendon said. "I hope your mother will recover soon."

"I believe she will," Ginger said. "She's old--even simple things take time to get better."

Brendon looked down at his scone. "I will miss you," he said. "I'll be lonely."

"Brendon," Ginger sighed. "I think you need a hobby."

Brendon looked up. "A hobby?"

"Yes," Ginger said. "Something to do."

"But the business--"

"Forget the business," she said. "You have a big house--there must be many things to take care of, no?"

And so it came that Brendon idly wandered through the hallways and wondered what to do. He hadn't been able to discover the house on his own so far. But Ginger was right--the house needed some upkeep. It was a huge house and lately there had been a lapse: many of the carpets hadn't been properly cleared in what seemed to be a long time. Someone would have to take the lead on it.

Brendon stopped in the middle of the hallway. It was only eight o'clock: Cook would now start to bake scones for tea, the kitchen servants would be doing the washing up, and the boys would be outside, chopping wood and keeping the garden in order. And Brendon didn't know what kind of room was behind that particular door. He boldly reached for the doorknob.

The room was dusty and mostly empty. It had been a sewing room, the cupboards still holding needles and some old, almost disintegrated threads.

Despite the fact that the room was nothing special, Brendon felt giddy at his discovery. He bounded into the next room, an unused guest room, which was much less dusty. And on and on he went, until his stomach grumbled and he realised it was time for lunch.

As Brendon walked back downstairs, he formed a plan. If he couldn't help with the business, at least now, he could start to help with the upkeep of the house. Brendon's mother had always said that a house needed one mistress, one person to be responsible. As both his husbands (the word still gave Brendon a small jolt, a happy one) were clearly more business-minded, this could be Brendon's turf.

It was a place to start, anyway.

Happily, he skipped down the hallway to the dining room, already contemplating what he'd need to do. Those rooms needed to be cleaned and someone had to make an inventory, oh, he was so hungry he could hardly think. He hoped Cook had made one of those pastries Brendon liked so much--or it was rather that Ryan liked them a lot, so Cook made a huge batch, in the mistaken hope that Ryan would eat them all.

On his way to the kitchen, Brendon looked into the dining room, but nobody was there. Brendon turned toward the kitchen. Ryan and his father often ate with business contacts, and Spencer usually didn't come home for lunch, so it had become habit for Brendon to take his lunch in the kitchen. It was warm and full of people, which was a definite plus for Brendon who still found it difficult to spend most of his day by himself.

The smell wafting in from the kitchen was delicious and Brendon's stomach grumbled again, much louder. He skipped towards the kitchen, humming. He thought that Cook could do without some of the servants, at least until the house was in top shape again and--

"Mr Brendon!" Cook sounded completely aghast. "Not in my kitchen!"

Brendon stopped on the spot and blinked. "But I'm hungry," he said.

Cook stemmed her hands into her hips. "What have you been doing? Oh, look at you?"

Brendon did look. And realised he was covered in dust all over. He sneezed. "I'm, uh, gonna wash up first," he said.

"I will have a bowl of stew ready for you, Mr Brendon," Cook said.

Five minutes later, Brendon was allowed into her kitchen. As he sat over his lunch, he asked her about the house. "Those rooms seem to have been unused for years."

Cook sighed loudly. "After Mr Ross's second wife died, too, he lost interest in maintaining all the rooms. It was enough for him that the rooms he and Ryan occupied were presentable."

"But didn't he host dinners?"

Cook's face grew grim and a hint of hurt was in her voice. "Only at the other houses."

"Oh." Brendon stirred his stew. "I'd like to use those rooms again," he said. "I need you to give me a list of servants who are free to clean those rooms."

"Are you sure, Mr Brendon?"

Brendon nodded. "I also need a complete inventory of the house," he said.

"Oh, we have one," Cook said. "It's in the library."

Anna led Brendon to the library. "Mr Ryan keeps the books he reads in his own rooms or the sitting room," she said. "I'm afraid this room might be dusty, too."

"Don't worry about it," Brendon said. "I think I can handle a little bit of dust."

The library was a huge room, bigger than even the main sitting room. Brendon stared at all the books. No wonder Ryan considered Brendon boring if he'd read all of these.

"The inventories are kept here, sir," Anna said and she went to a shelf right next to the door. "They might be out of date concerning Mr Ryan's rooms."

Brendon stroked the thick leather spines. "Thank you, Anna," he said. "I don't need you any more right now."

The books had been obviously kept meticulously until about ten years ago. Then the regular monthly new entries stopped and instead the books had only been updated occasionally.

Brendon spent the rest of the afternoon studying the books. Many of the now unused rooms had simply been covered up, and he found a number of interesting items. A painting called The Satyr seemed interesting enough. He wondered whether it was similar to a story he'd read once--although it had made him blush, Brendon had kept the book, hidden underneath his bed. He'd often touched himself thinking about the people, the men, in the story. He couldn't remember where the book had ended up--for many years he'd made sure that nobody ever saw the book. And then Tom had started at the Jennings' farm, Tom with his broad hands and shoulders, his brogue a lilting sound like birds tweeting. Brendon sighed, remembering the many stolen summer afternoons they'd spent hiding in the barn, kissing each other silly. He wished he had the same kind of rapport with his husbands, but Ryan kept a careful distance and Spencer seemed to always be mediating between them. It saddened Brendon that he hadn't been able to make amends yet, that Ryan wouldn't let him. He knew that it would take time and he had to work hard to quench his natural impatience. He couldn't force Ryan to forgive him. He couldn't help wanting things to move at a speedier pace, though. He turned back toward the inventory--at least it offered answers to Brendon's questions.

Brendon read until his eyes hurt from trying to decipher the small handwriting. He sat up and rolled his shoulders. His back popped loudly enough that he grimaced. It was nearly supper time--he should clean up and get ready to welcome his husbands home. Not that Ryan was talking to Brendon much.

Brendon sighed, as he got up. He rolled his shoulders again to loosen the muscles up. When he turned around, his gaze fell upon two neat rows of notebooks in between books.

Brendon's mother had always warned him that curiosity was the death of the cat. It hadn't helped. Brendon stooped down and reached for one of the notebooks, when someone behind him cleared their throat.

It was Johnson. "I've come to fetch you for supper, Mr Brendon."

"Very well," Brendon said. "Can you tell me what's in those notebooks?"

"Of course, Mr Brendon. Those are the young sirs' schoolbooks."

"You mean--Ryan's and Spencer's?"

"Yes, Mr Brendon. Mr Spencer shared a teacher with Mr Ryan, and their fathers thought it appropriate to have them study together."

"I see," Brendon said. In fact, he could see the image inside his head: a younger, less sharp Ryan hunched over his notebook, whispering to a younger Spencer while they were supposed to listen. It made Brendon smile all the way back to the dining room.

"Good evening, Brendon," Spencer said. He seemed tired, as he leaned on the table heavily. Brendon hadn't ever seen Spencer slump before.

"Good evening," Brendon said. "Did you have a hard day?"

"Yes, we did," Ryan said. "We spent all day fixing some mistake our accountant made, costing us five thousand, and one of our dock workers at the harbour almost died. Not that you know what that means."

"I'm sorry," Brendon said shortly. Ryan's reactions angered him, but their peace felt too fragile for Brendon to confront him.

Spencer just sighed. "Don't listen to him," he said to Brendon. "He's just upset he couldn't go to his tea appointment, but had to help me figure out how to provide for Morris, the worker who had the accident."

Dinner was subsequently a quiet affair. Spencer retired early, citing exhaustion and another early day. He smiled softly. "We are expecting a delivery of wheat," he said. "And we have already sold most of it, so I need to be at the warehouse to supervise the sales. We can't afford to lose a well-paying customer because we let someone else take the goods he already paid for."

Spencer kissed both Brendon and Ryan good night, which made Brendon feel mellow. He stayed in the sitting room, writing a new letter to Kara. He hadn't written daily, not quite. But it was a small comfort when he could tell her all the little details of his new life. When he'd finished that letter, Ryan was still reading his book. He didn't look up when Brendon stood up and put the letter on the desk.

"I'm going to bed," Brendon said.

"Good night." Ryan stared at his book, although Brendon was sure he wasn't even reading for real anymore. He hadn't turned the page in minutes.

"Good night," Brendon said. Then, on an impulse, he leaned down and gave Ryan a quick peck on the cheek before he left the room. It had been intended as mockery, a mimicry of Spencer's behaviour, but then Brendon felt his heart jolt and he thought, Oh. Outside he stopped and had to lean against the wall for a minute until his heart calmed down and he didn't feel anymore like it was going to jump out of his chest.

He had the sudden intense desire to tell someone and then he realised ... Spencer. He hoped Spencer was still awake. His room was closer to Ryan's than Brendon's, but Brendon had to pass it anyway. It made Brendon feel a bit less ridiculous when he stopped at Spencer's door. If Spencer was asleep, Brendon wouldn't have to sneak away like a thief.

The door didn't allow Brendon to discern any sounds, but he couldn't make out any snoring, so he knocked tentatively. There was no answer. Brendon pondered it for only a moment, but the need to talk to someone won. He boldly opened Spencer's door, relieved when he found it unlocked.

But the first sound Brendon heard made him stop dead in his tracks. That had definitely been a groan. Spencer's bed was to the left of the door, allowing Brendon to stand in the door unseen, if Spencer didn't look closely, and watch Spencer.

Spencer was lying on his bed. Brendon couldn't see his hand, but there was some tell-tale movement under the comforter. Brendon shivered--it felt illicit to watch Spencer like this, standing in the shadows, but he couldn't make himself move away. A better person, Brendon supposed, would have left Spencer alone in what obviously was a private moment, but Brendon longed to be with him so much.

Something kept him from announcing his presence, though, from joining in just yet--Spencer made all these little sounds, quiet moans and biting his lips, and Brendon leaned against the door frame, just listening. He wanted to see how it was for Spencer. Brendon had watched Tom jerk off, had compared the way he touched himself to how Brendon did it, although Tom had laughed at him.

Spencer moaned. Brendon leaned forward to have a better look. Spencer raised his hand to his mouth and licked his palm--Brendon had learned that particular move from Tom, and he shivered in anticipation of how it would feel.

There was a tiny sigh coming from Spencer. He also raised his other hand to his mouth. Brendon frowned--was Spencer going to use both hands? Wasn't one enough?

Spencer sucked two fingers into his mouth, but then he pushed his hands under his shirt. Brendon mimicked Spencer's movement, trying to figure out what he was doing. His thumb brushed his nipple, sending an electric jolt through Brendon's body. He bit down on his lip hard to keep himself quiet.

Brendon's body felt overloaded, his nerve endings firing. He rubbed over his nipple again and couldn't hold back a gasp. Thankfully Spencer didn't seem to notice.

Brendon was glad that Spencer enjoyed that particular move--Brendon had once tried, and managed, to come simply from touching his nipples. Tom hadn't understood--he hadn't been particularly sensitive there and had occasionally joked about Brendon's excitability.

There was a particular loud gasp and Spencer jerked, throwing his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. Brendon's cock was throbbing, but he pressed his hand firmly against it. Spencer gave a tiny, contended sigh and rolled over onto his side.

Brendon closed the door quietly and hurried to his own room. The image of Spencer's face, his mouth half-open, had burned into his mind, and he felt like he would explode if he couldn't touch himself soon.

When Brendon tried to open his door, his hands were shaking and he had to fumbled with the doorknob. Finally the lock clicked open and he threw himself inside. He didn't even go to the bed, just leaned back against the closed door and shoved his hands into his pants. It only took pulling on his cock a handful times, Spencer's gasps echoing in Brendon's mind and his face, god, his face, until Brendon spilled himself in his underwear.

"Oh," Brendon breathed. He gulped in air fast, gasping loudly. He staggered to his bed on unsteady legs. All his nervous tension had seeped from his body, and Brendon only managed to step out of his clothes and roll underneath his covers before sleep claimed him.

Part Four