Pas de Trois (Part One): gift for roga

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Title: Pas de Trois
Author: eledhwenlin
Pairing(s): Brendon/Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slight verbal abuse
Word count: 66k
Summary: Regencyish AU in which arranged marriages work in threesomes.

"We're very pleased that George Ross has accepted you as betrothed to his only son."

When Lord and Lady Urie inform their youngest son Brendon that they have found a match for him, Brendon doesn't know yet that his life will turn out much differently than he expected.



Brendon didn't pay the letter any attention. It had caught his eye, with the red seal of wax, but whatever it was, it was addressed to his father.

When Brendon was called into his father's study a short time later, however, he was man enough to admit that he was slightly nervous. "Yes, Father?"

Brendon noted with surprise that also his mother was in the room, although she rarely spent any time in his father's study. "The affairs of men hold no interest for me," she always said.

"Please sit down, Brendon, we have delightful news for you."

Brendon carefully sat down on one of the dark chairs. His mother smiled at him; his father was holding a letter and looking at it intently.

"We're very pleased that George Ross has accepted you as betrothed to his only son."

Brendon did not find this bit of news as delightful as his parents. His heart sank. He had wanted to marry for love, ever since he had read a book which put the ill-fated idea into his mind. Although he had known that his parents had been searching for a match for him, Brendon hadn't been sure if they were ready to go through with it. As the youngest child, he'd always had something of a special position--special enough, he'd hoped, to lay down his own conditions for a match.

"Brendon?"

Brendon looked up at his mother and forced his face into a smile. "I'm glad to hear," he said.

His father nodded. "This betrothal means a lot to our family--and theirs," he said. "To join our good name with Ross's--they're a family of commoners. But you know about our situation... and Ross is willing to pay for the wedding, and he's offered a generous betrothal gift."

Brendon swallowed. His parents had been very relieved when Kara had found a suitor willing to take her. There had been hushed whispers that they might lose the house to pay for the wedding. That this Ross was willing to take on all the expenses was more than Brendon could reject. "I'll accept," he said quietly.

"Excellent!" His father sounded pleased and--Brendon couldn't deny it--relieved. "I'll send word right away and arrange a meeting in the city."

"The city?" Brendon had only been to the big city a few times, as most of his parents' business took place in the country.

"Yes. Ross owns several mansions there; he offered to let us use one as a guest house."

"Isn't that fabulous?" Brendon's mother was smiling, but Brendon couldn't scrounge up much enjoyment at the thought of moving to the loud and dirty city.

"Yes, it is," Brendon said nevertheless. At least, he thought, he still had the advantage of being the first betrothal. He would take his place as the primary partner of this Ross boy and be head of the household with him. His parents, although they weren't without fault, had never allowed any of their children to marry under their worth. The second betrothal and third partner in the marriage didn't wield any power and their opinion was considered inconsequential for important matters. Brendon had already experienced what these spouses had to endure--it made him uncomfortable when everyone ignored Leila, Kara's husband's second wife, at family gatherings, or how Michael's first wife Charlotte mocked his second wife Nina.

"Ah, she spends too much time with the children," Charlotte said often. "Don't listen to her, she's not well-read in these matters."

Brendon had wondered how Nina was supposed to read any books, when she had to take care of Michael's children--her own two and the one Charlotte had given birth to. Nina was a sweet and warm woman, always with a smile on her lips and never angry at the children, even when she was exhausted. Brendon liked to sit with her and the children, telling them fairytales and singing songs from old.

In a few cold, lonely nights Brendon had lain awake and wondered what made Nina different from Charlotte--but the question only applied to his brother's wives. Brendon could see why Kara's husband had obviously chosen her to be his first instead of Leila. She was a smart, capable woman, knowledgeable and quick-witted. Brendon had hardly exchanged a word with Leila in their two years of marriage, as she was always sat in the corner, alone, looking down at the floor.

Brendon had tried his parents to explain it to him, once, but it hadn't--Brendon should have known there wasn't any point in asking his parents. It seemed to mean even more to them than the scriptures: there was no being second-best for a Urie. Even though it had almost cost them Kyla's betrothal and their family home.

That, at least, nobody could take away from Brendon--although he was not convinced that the result was worth the effort. He thought of the dozens of suitors asking for Kyla's hand, who were sent away because they were wooing her as second wife. Everything just because his parents couldn't stand the thought of not being supreme, because an old man, a priest, was telling them it was their duty and right to rule.

Brendon couldn't help himself and he glanced at the empty corner of the sitting room, where their upright piano had stood. The loss of it still smarted Brendon, his fingers itching with the need to play. He didn't think that what they'd had to give up was in any way worth the tiny bit of pleasure his parents derived from being able to say that all their children were well-matched and, oh, they were also all first partners.

As his parents were discussing the logistics of arranging a visit to the city to discuss the match with Mr Ross, Brendon looked out of the window. The trees were swaying in the gentle breeze outside. He thought it was time for another stealth visit to old Mr Jameson down by the church. Mr Jameson owned a beautifully kept old piano, and he enjoyed having Brendon play for him. Brendon's parents looked down on Mr Jameson--he was just a poor cobbler, his hands tanned like the leather he had used to make shoes all his life.

Yes, Brendon thought, he should go and visit Mr Jameson. Maybe he would even teach Brendon another dirty song, full of words that made Brendon blush, but also filled him with a desire that he could only quench at night.

His parents would just insist that Brendon ask the priest, if Brendon mentioned his desire to play. He suspected that it was partly guilt that made them so stubborn in the matter of letting Brendon play. Out of all his siblings, only Brendon had taken to the piano, and he had begged and pleaded for weeks with them to please not sell the piano. But to no avail--they had sold it and Brendon had spent the entirety of Kyla's wedding staring at her new dress, wondering how a piano and a flouncy monstrosity like that could possibly have the same worth.

Brendon used the first chance to steal away. After dinner was the best time, learned in many years of escaping his family home. His father was busy dealing with letters and his mother was working on her mending or knitting. These days, the majority of her work was mending.

Mr Jameson was, predictably, smoking his pipe and enjoying an ale. Brendon knew that Sally, the daughter of the Millers, who owned both the mill and the pub, brought him a fresh bottle each day.

"Ah, dear boy!" Mr Jameson laughed and, despite his current brooding, Brendon had to smile with him. "I wondered when you'd come by again. It's been almost a week."

Brendon ducked his head. "Kara's youngest was sick," he said. "I couldn't steal away."

Mr Jameson pointed his pipe at Brendon and winked at him. "Excuses."

Brendon offered Mr Jameson his arm and the old man leaned on him heavily as they went into the sitting room.

Their current arrangement served to make them both happy, and that was the justification Brendon used for going against his parents' wishes that he not visit Mr Jameson. They'd made up contrived reasons--he was too low class, bad company, he drank and smoked. Brendon found that Mr Jameson had a warm and open heart--it had been Mr Jameson who offered Brendon the use of his piano, inherited from his parents, long loved and carefully maintained. He'd offered Brendon to taste his pipe and also the ale, that much was true, but Brendon had found both things to be despicable in taste. The tobacco smoke had made him cough so hard his eyes watered, and the strange taste in his mouth only disappeared after taking a gulp from the offered ale, which Brendon had almost spit out for its bitter taste. He had grimaced and Mr Jameson had laughed.

"They're an acquired taste," he'd said.

But those had been his only attempts at corrupting Brendon, and in truth Brendon found Mr Jameson quite enjoyable after he'd finished his ale and when he was on his second pipe. "The only luxuries I can afford, my son," Mr Jameson always said when he took a long drag from his pipe.

He had known Brendon's mother when she had been young and her parents and he could tell many stories that Brendon's parents would've been aghast to know he'd heard.

Brendon felt a sense of peace coming over him as he sat down at the piano. He carefully pulled up the cover from the keys. The first time he'd come in, he'd been amazed that Mr Jameson had never seen fit to sell it.

"Nah, boy," Mr Jameson had said. "It ain't worth much, but it's given me many fun-filled hours."

But now only sad songs came to Brendon's mind.

"You don't seem quite like yourself today, boy," Mr Jameson said from his usual observation point, his old rocking chair.

"My parents have found a match for me," Brendon said quietly.

Mr Jameson blew a smoke ring and muttered. "Yes, I've heard that they've finally found someone to take you on," he said. "The talk's been all over town. They're in quite a hurry to get rid of you."

"I--" Brendon shook his head. "They're not trying to--get rid of us."

"Then why aren't you happy about your match? Who is she?"

"It's a boy," Brendon said. "He lives in the city."

"Does this boy of yours have a name?"

"Ross." Brendon played a scale, just to have something to do with his hands. The music felt like a release, even though it was such a simple thing.

"Ross what?"

Brendon startled. "I don't know," he said. "They--they didn't tell me his first name." Brendon looked up, directly into Mr Jameson's gentle, understanding eyes and the entire ridiculousness of the situation barged down on Brendon. He started to laugh. "You're right," he said between gulps of air, "they're trying to get rid of me. They didn't even tell me his name."

Brendon hardly heard Mr Jameson shuffle over and almost jumped up when he sat down next to Brendon on the tiny piano bench. He let Mr Jameson hold him while his laughter turned into sobs.

"I wish they weren't so fixated on marrying us off," Brendon said.

"They must have a reason," Mr Jameson said.

"Yes," Brendon whispered. He knew that the reason his parents didn't want him to visit Mr Jameson because they didn't want any gossip--they had sold their own piano and now their son roamed through the neighbourhood, playing other people's pianos. In a way, it vindicated Brendon in going behind their backs. If they wanted to avoid gossip, they shouldn't have sold the piano. There must have been another way to pay for the wedding, surely. They didn't own as much land as their forefathers had--a result of too many sons vying for their shares of the inheritance--but they were still well-off.

Mr Jameson prodded Brendon's arm. "I figured you'd be happy to have a reason to leave this town," he said.

"But it's all I've ever known." Brendon shook his head. "I feel scared," he said.

"Aren't we all, son," Mr Jameson said. "And now play me a happy song." He smiled softly. "I will miss you when you're gone."

Brendon smiled back. "You will still have me long enough," he said. "First we have to meet the prospective match and then we'll decide on a date. I won't be gone tomorrow."

Mr Jameson grinned. "Then play me a happy song now," he said.

"The one with the mermaid?"

"Only if you dare to sing it."

Brendon laughed and launched into the very raunchy tale of the mermaid and the ship of sailors that follows her around. He sang all the dirty words extra loudly, revelling in the jolts they gave him.

Brendon decided to visit Mr Jameson every day now, or as many as he could manage. Mr Jameson had to teach him all of the songs he didn't know yet, after all.

~~~***~~~

The city was just as Brendon remembered it from his last visit many years ago--loud and dirty and full of people. He felt the familiar clench of unrest and unease. At times he wanted to leap into the masses, experience new things and talk to whoever lent him an ear, but other times Brendon was afraid of the unknown. He had known the names of every person in their town, small as it had been. It was unthinkable to achieve that even for just a quarter of the city.

Brendon chided himself. He was tired, exhausted from travelling, but now the carriage was rolling through the city streets, straight to the house George Ross had generously allowed them to stay in. It irked Brendon, being so reliant on a stranger's kindness. The man himself had been very generous in all their dealings to a degree that wasn't simple hospitality anymore. George Ross seemed determined to swing Brendon's parents' opinion in his favour.

Brendon thought bitterly that he needn't try so hard. His parents were already enraptured and, of course, it only took a short while for them to consider it their due. The Uries had a long history, with many illustrious personalities, and although they had been on the decline in recent times, their name was still worth gold to some.

"George Ross is a very smart man," Brendon's father had said the previous night over dinner. "He knows that he needs to convince us. The Uries haven't lost their relevance yet."

Brendon found the thought of being wooed in this style less than gratifying. Being chosen for his name and his name alone was about as far as Brendon could get away from marrying out of love.

They stopped. "We have arrived, sirs and madam," their coachmen said.

As Brendon stepped out of the carriage after his mother, he was immediately taken in by the gorgeous house in front of them. "And this is just for guests?" he asked his mother.

"Hush, my dear," she replied.

The house was splendid. As Brendon sat in the luxurious sitting room, he admired the wood panelling and the rows of books filling the shelves. If this was what the Rosses had in store for their guests, he wondered, what was their actual mansion like, the one they lived in?

"When will we meet them?" Brendon asked his father. He had been expecting someone to welcome them, but only the servants had been around.

"Tomorrow afternoon, for tea," his father replied. He smiled at Brendon. "Just have patience, you will meet your betrothed soon enough."

"Yes, father." Brendon idly perused one of the books, picked at random. He was nervous, afraid of making a bad impression. His father's words had sent a shiver over his skin, but not due to anticipation. Brendon thought it was much too soon--hadn't the reception letter just arrived? In truth, it had been weeks since Brendon first learned about this betrothal, but time had flown by. Brendon had spent these weeks visiting Mr Jameson and revisiting all his old playing grounds, a last goodbye to the place where he'd grown up. Although there had been the necessary preparations, it hadn't felt real yet. His parents arguing about getting Brendon a new suit for the wedding and what to include in his trousseau--it had all happened outside of Brendon's perception, even when his parents had asked him if he preferred this or that. It wasn't real.

Now that he was here in the city, only a mere twenty hours away from meeting the man he was going to spend the rest of his life with, Brendon felt that he hadn't had enough time to prepare himself.

Brendon hardly slept that night, his mind awash with emotions and random thoughts. He couldn't settle down, and neither did his mind. What if this Ryan Ross turned out to be awful? What if his father expected more from Brendon and rejected him now? What if, if, if ...

~~~***~~~

When the sun started rising, Brendon was glad for the chance to abort all attempts at sleeping. His dreams had been wild and fearful, and Brendon rather wanted to face this day with his head held high.

He didn't feel quite so determined and courageous by the time the carriage showed up. The ride was longer than Brendon had expected--Brendon suspected that he hadn't quite understood the expanse of the city. As Brendon counted the steps the horses took, he couldn't help himself but compare them to their town. Now, here, that was the distance between his parents' house and the town center. Then to the library. Finally they spanned the length of their town, but they hadn't yet arrived.

Brendon was taken by a sudden bout of fear. He had to live here, how was he going to find his way around? He'd tried following the directions, but they'd turned left and right so often that he'd lost count early on. How was he supposed to not get lost in this maze of streets?

And then they finally arrived. They were led into the front hall where a distinguished older man and a thin young man were waiting.

"Ah, Lord and Lady Urie," the older gentleman said. "I am pleased to receive you in my humble halls."

Humble was not a word Brendon would have used to describe this mansion. If he'd thought their town house was splendid, there were no words for this. Marble and gold everywhere. It didn't seem right, though, Brendon thought. Something was off, like ... there was too much of it.

"We are happy to be here," Brendon heard his father reply. "My dear Mr Ross, it is just our pleasure to be here."

The older Mr Ross smiled toothily and pointed them down the hall. "Shall we now have our tea?"

"We'd be delighted," Brendon's mother said.

Neither Ryan nor Brendon said anything, although Brendon noticed Ryan glancing at him. Ryan was well-dressed, in clothes that fit him well, although they were odd of colour. He was pretty, although a tad too thin. Brendon immediately felt drawn him and was startled to realise this. But for some reason--there was something in the way Ryan held himself that made Brendon curious about him.

They sat in the sitting room while tea was served. The scones were delicious and Brendon decided that he could live here. As long as the cook decided to stay.

Brendon was reaching for another scone when he noticed his mother's disapproving look, and he quickly drew his hand back.

Mr Ross laughed. "Oh, please don't hold back," he said. "It's nice to see a young man with a healthy appetite." He gave his son a sidelong glance. Ryan, Brendon had noticed, had only eaten a tiny cookie and instead had just drunk a large amount of tea.

Brendon now felt compelled to take the scone, but it didn't taste as good as the other one.

"I assume you're content with the terms?" Mr Ross took a sip of his tea. "My lawyers amended the contract as you wished."

"Of course, of course," Brendon's father said. Brendon felt a pang in his chest. Talking of the betrothal contract made everything seem so final, although Brendon had been aware of the different versions circulating between his father's study and the city.

Ryan looked up, right at Brendon. He smirked. "I'm pleased to hear that."

His father chuckled. "You must know that Ryan has become a bit impatient to marry already."

Brendon's father smiled. "Brendon, too, is looking forward to the joining ceremony."

Brendon put on a brave smile. It was only half a lie--Brendon wasn't very enthusiastic about the wedding, but he'd obey his parents' wishes. He was hoping they'd just get it over with, so Brendon could find his new place in the Ross family.

Mr Ross chuckled again. "Ah, to be young again," he said. "Don't worry, now that all the issues with the contract are resolved, we'll be able to set a date very soon."

"When shall we sign the contract?" Brendon's father asked.

"I have the copies in my study," Mr Ross said. "Shall we do it right now?"

Brendon stared at his scone, his appetite gone. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see his father nod and get up. "I find it's easiest to deal with business matters up front," he said.

Mr Ross grinned, but it didn't look nice. Ryan snorted quietly, and Brendon felt confused. "Well, I wouldn't want to make you wait any longer," Ross said.

After their fathers had left, the atmosphere in the room turned awkward. Brendon wanted to look Ryan, ask him what he thought about their engagement, but he didn't know how to talk to Ryan. Brendon was usually good at talking to strangers--there weren't many people in his town he didn't know and Brendon immediately took to any strangers coming through. But Ryan seemed so aloof and detached that Brendon didn't know where to start. Ryan had hardly talked at all during tea and it was weird that this was the person Brendon was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

Brendon's mother smiled. "I'm so happy that we've managed to agree on the terms."

"Yes," Ryan answered. "But--"

Whatever Ryan had intended to say, Brendon would never know, as right then there was a knock on the door and another young man came in without waiting for an answer. Brendon frowned at his cheek and indecent behaviour, but Ryan didn't seem to mind. Indeed, Ryan perked up when he caught sight of the man.

"I'm sorry for being so late," the man said. "There was a minor kerfuffle with the new shipment."

"Spencer! Oh, you haven't missed anything," Ryan said. "Lady Urie, this is my fiancé Spencer Smith."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Brendon's mother said.

Brendon was petrified. "Your--fiancé?"

Spencer threw Brendon a quick, unreadable look. Ryan just shrugged. Brendon's mother put her hand on Brendon's arm and squeezed once, gently, in warning. Brendon forced himself to take a deep breath and forced himself to smile. From the look on Spencer's face, it probably resembled more a grimace than an actual smile.

"Sit down," Ryan said to Spencer.

"But your father--"

"He and Mr Urie have gone to sign the contract," Ryan said. "I don't think they'll be back any time soon, considering my father's habits."

"I see." Spencer smiled at Brendon and his mother. "I'm glad to finally meet you," he said. "Ryan and I have been waiting a long time for this day."

"Oh," Brendon said. He felt wrong-footed--what was he supposed to say to Spencer, whose existence he hadn't even known about until five minutes ago? "I'm, uh, pleased to hear that."

Ryan snorted.

Spencer smiled at Brendon and simultaneously managed to ... do something, as Ryan jumped a bit and sat up straight. Spencer hadn't even seemed to move at all. Brendon recognised the ability from one of his sisters-in-law--his brother had a habit of becoming too familiar with people too soon, and she often had to stop him from spilling too much sensitive information.

"How was your trip?"

"It went very well," Brendon's mother replied. Brendon let her take over the small talk. Spencer and she seemed entirely happy to have the conversation all by themselves, as Ryan leaned back in his chair and didn't offer any comments, either.

Brendon secretly breathed a sigh of relief when his father came back with Mr Ross.

"Ah, Spencer has arrived," Mr Ross said. "How about the shipment?"

"All problems could be resolved," Spencer said. "The merchant in question has been removed from our lists, though, as this wasn't the first shipment without error."

"I see, I see."

"So you are Mr Smith?" Brendon's father asked.

"Yes." Spencer shook Brendon's father's hand. "I have already apologised to your wife and son about my tardiness."

"Oh, no, please don't. Business matters always come first."

Spencer nodded and sat back down.

"So the contract's been settled then?" Ryan asked. He was looking at Brendon, who felt uncomfortably put on display.

"Yes," Ross said.

"Father," Brendon said quietly, but his father didn't pay him any attention.

"You must excuse my son," Mr Ross said. "You have to know he's been waiting for a second betrothal for almost a year, and Spencer and he are most impatient to get married already." Brendon couldn't read the way Mr Ross looked at his son, even less so because Ryan was grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"Oh, young love," Brendon's father said, like he hadn't even heard the most important part of what Mr Ross had said.

Brendon was confused--if Ryan and Spencer had already been engaged for a year, how would Brendon figure into that constellation? From the way Spencer seemed to be so intimately familiar with not only the Ross family, but also their business, Brendon thought it unlikely that Ryan wouldn't put Spencer first, but--Brendon's father wouldn't allow it. He hadn't allowed it when Mr Dufresne had wanted to marry Kyla as second wife, and for a long time it had seemed like Kyla would not marry at all after that incident.

"So we will see you tomorrow evening at supper," Mr Ross said.

"To set the date," Brendon's mother said, and Brendon realised he had missed out on a good part of the conversation around him. He looked up to find Spencer looking away quickly, but Ryan kept his eyes trained on Brendon. Ryan raised his eyebrows and Brendon had the strange sensation as if Ryan were able to read his mind. He quickly pushed away all thoughts, trained his face into a polite mien and smiled.

Saying goodbye was awkward, as Brendon felt suddenly shy around Ryan. He shook Ryan's hand and thought, and you're going to be my husband, but there was no surge of happiness. Instead, Brendon felt caged and uncomfortable. Spencer's shake was much warmer and he smiled at Brendon, which only confused him more.

In Brendon's experience, the first and second betrothed more often shared a rivalry than they were friends. If two people were vying for only one person's attention, conflict could not be avoided--but Spencer didn't behave that way. In fact, he pulled Brendon in for a quick hug, which was entirely unexpected. Ryan had kept himself aloof, distanced even to his father who'd sat right next to him, but Spencer radiated a tangible physicality that went straight to Brendon's groin. "I'll be looking forward to seeing you again, Brendon Urie," Spencer whispered.

Brendon nodded weakly. "Tomorrow," he said. Spencer's laughter rolled like honey over Brendon's skin and--these were bad thoughts, he told himself sternly, trying to calm his body down. He couldn't--not Spencer--not Ryan's second.

But Spencer smiled in a way that seemed to say that they could and--what if Spencer was actually the one to decide that? Brendon shivered, but the thought was more pleasing than it was disgusting. Brendon pretended to be cold and put on his coat while he was trying to sort out his thoughts. He knew his priest's opinion on relationships between the second and third partner: they weren't to be tolerated at all, as they didn't fit into the inner workings of marriage. But Brendon disagreed with the priest and his parents on a daily basis, why should he take issue with that?

The what if stuck with Brendon, though. He couldn't shake the image of seeing Spencer and Ryan so comfortable with each other--the way Ryan had tolerated Spencer to be close to him, the way they'd talked, Mr Ross saying they've been waiting for a year for a third to complete their betrothal party ...

Brendon only waited until they were seated in the carriage and a few streets away before he spoke up. "Father, I'm afraid I do have one question to ask."

Brendon's father hummed. "What is it, my son?"

Brendon hesitated, unsure. He couldn't imagine it, but Ryan and Spencer ... "I--I am Ryan's first betrothed, am I not?"

Brendon's mother stilled in her seat and looked out of the window. His father sighed loudly. "You shouldn't care about those things."

Brendon's chest became tight, as if an invisible vice was wound tightly around him. Breathing was difficult. He reminded himself that he didn't actually care, and yet he couldn't stop himself from speaking up once more. "But, Father--"

"It does not matter, Brendon," his father said. "You are to marry this boy--whether as his first or second, it does not matter."

"No, it does!" Brendon sat up straight and realised his entire body was shaking. He was angry, he thought. Angry and betrayed. He'd lost his piano to Kyla's wedding because his parents hadn't accepted any of the other suitors who'd demanded less of a trousseau. "This is so shameful, Father."

"It'll be a shame you'll have to bear."

"No." Brendon gulped in a deep breath. He didn't want this, and his parents hadn't ever forced any of his siblings--at least, not that Brendon knew of. The wish to throw their own beliefs back at them increased. Brendon had let them take away his piano so they could hold on to what they thought was important. Mr Jameson's words rose unbidden in his mind.

They're trying to get rid of you..

"I wish to break off the engagement."

"Brendon," his mother said quietly and sadly. She sighed and took his hand. "It is too late."

"No, no, you have to go back and say--"

"No, Brendon." His father's voice was startlingly loud in the small carriage, full and booming. Brendon knew this tone of voice and he knew there was no reasoning with it. "The contract is signed, and it doesn't matter whether this boy is going to marry you first or second, or whether he is even going to look at you once you're in his home. You will marry him."

"But why? I don't understand." Brendon hated the way he sounded--small and lost, like a child. He wished he could give his anger a voice, scream and yell, but the carriage seemed to grow smaller and smaller around him and he could feel all his anger evaporate into thin air.

His parents shared a look, and Brendon's father sighed again. "We cannot afford to break off this engagement."

"But the contract--"

"This is not about the contract, Brendon. This is about the dowry."

"But I don't have any," Brendon said.

"I know." His father, for the first time, looked old and haggard. "It is our fault, not yours, but especially since Ross does not only accept you without you bringing a large dowry into this marriage, but since he also offers us compensation for losing you from our household, we cannot refuse him. And now the contract is signed."

"We could have found someone else," Brendon said quietly. "Or I wouldn't have to marry at all. I could, I could help on the farm." But he thought of Spencer looking at him, of Ryan looking at Spencer.

"No, Brendon," his mother said. "We tried. There's no one else."

Brendon looked at his mother, then at his father. Both were avoiding his eyes, and this more than anything else finally made Brendon realise that they were serious. "Oh," he said and turned to look out of the window. It was already dark, and men were going around, lighting the street lamps. It was so different from what Brendon knew, it seemed like he wasn't even in the same country anymore.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question slipped out of Brendon's mouth before he could stop himself. What smarted worse than the idea of being second-best was that his parents had known. They had let him continue in his wrong assumption that Brendon was going to be the first betrothal, even though they had known better. Brendon had often wanted to ask who Ryan was courting for his second partner--some men preferred to have members of both sexes in their beds. Brendon had wondered how Ryan wanted to solve the issue of an heir, now that he had chosen Brendon as his first, but asking had meant to acknowledge how radically his life was going to change and Brendon had preferred to ignore the matter. Now he was stuck with the question of if his parents would have lied to him, had he asked.

"We didn't want to upset you," his father said.

Brendon was angry and he gripped the edge of the seat tightly. "I would have been prepared," he said. "I would have known what to expect." I would have rejected him, Brendon thought. I would have made you reject the offer and continue searching. I wouldn't have accepted.

Would you? a tiny voice said inside Brendon's head. It sounded suspiciously like Mr Jameson after his ale. Would you have rejected your chance to leave because of a belief you don't even share?

"Brendon, we didn't have any choice."

"You had a choice for Kyla," Brendon said. It was easy to take his parents' words, things they'd said time and again, and throw them back into their faces. "All my siblings are first in their marriage, and only I, I'm going to be--" Brendon broke off.

"I talked at length to Mr Ross," his father said. "It seems his son believes that all partners in marriage should be equal."

Brendon laughed darkly. "And how is that supposed to work?" He felt conflicted that he could slip into this persona and behave like his parents had taught him. In truth, he was fascinated by their equality beliefs, so different from what he was used to. It gave him a glimmer of hope.

His father shrugged. "I don't know, but you will find out."

Brendon swallowed. He hadn't ever heard of three equal partners--it must be some new nonsense from the city, thought up by bored gentlemen and ladies who didn't have any real other concerns. In Brendon's experience, arranged marriages tended to revolve around the person who could afford to have two betrothals. He'd seen it happen with his siblings--Kara's husband was the son of a neighbouring duke. Brendon hadn't expected that he himself would be the center of the arrangement--not with the way his parents were hard up for money. But he couldn't think of any way to relate to Spencer. He was only betrothed to Ryan, even if they would all three be standing in front of the priest to say their pledges.

It was the end of the conversation, as they arrived at the house. Brendon begged an early leave from his parents, and they let him go without objections.

In his room, Brendon sat down on his bed and stared at his hands. They were shaking, even though they were lying on his lap. He pressed them firmly against his thighs, but that only made the shaking spread to his entire body, until he was barely holding himself upright. He was so angry he could hardly breathe--but he was also sad and disappointed. He felt his parents had betrayed him--by lying and omitting, they'd let him believe ... Oh, he'd been so stupid.

Brendon had come to the city expecting... he didn't know. He had spent most of his time carefully not thinking too much about the city and the Ross family, so there were no expectations beyond what Brendon was used to from idle daydreams, those general ideas how his life was going to pan out. Brendon was going to marry, and he would, of course, be the first betrothed. They would lead their business together, and whenever his husband would attend to his second betrothed, Brendon would look away. The rest was fuzzy. That had been the vision his parents had instilled in him, one they had reinforced time and again with his siblings.

Although Brendon didn't think the third partner should be treated badly, he hadn't expected to be relegated to the second rank, of being the less-important partner. He thought of the way Ryan had lit up when Spencer had entered the room, of their familiarity--of course Ryan would treasure Spencer, who had known him all his life, more than Brendon. Why should Brendon, who Ryan didn't know at all, mean more to him than his life-long friend?

Brendon pressed his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the burning in his eyes. He was being stupid, he thought. If their talk of equality was to be believed, neither Ryan nor Spencer put much store into who was first, second or third. Partnership was the word Brendon's father had said disparagingly. No, the only people who still cared about numbers were his own parents.

That his parents had lied to him smarted worse than everything else. Brendon could have coped, he thought, with not assuming the position his parents had always told him he would. They'd wanted him to do and be so many things Brendon felt he was not fit for, it would have been easy to add be second to believe in their beliefs and act like a nobleman. But they had lied to him. How could they have?

There was a knock on his door, but Brendon ignored it. His chest hurt from the screams he wasn't releasing, his head was pounding and his eyes were burning with repressed tears. He decidedly did not feel like company. He let himself fall backwards on the bed and wished whoever was at the door away.

The door was opened quietly. "Brendon?" his mother asked.

Brendon squeezed his eyes shut and hoped she would go.

"Oh, child," his mother said. She closed the door and Brendon felt her sit down next to him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him up and tightly against herself. "Please don't take it so hard."

"But, Mother--" Brendon said. "This wasn't, it's not."

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry that we had to deceive you, but we couldn't afford to lose this offer."

Brendon sat up straight, leaning away from his mother, and looked at her. It was scary to see her appear so old. Brendon wondered whether he just hadn't noticed the wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth, deep and mournful. "What, what do you mean?"

She smiled sadly. "When Matthew married, your father had to borrow some money. We have to pay it back soon, or we'll lose the house."

Brendon was stunned speechless for a moment. "The house?" He thought of his room, the sitting room where his mother would always write her correspondence, the kitchen that was always filled with the nicest smells. "But--when Michael got married?"

Michael was his oldest brother. If this was true, then his parents had been in debt for many, many years.

"Yes," his mother said. "Unfortunately the dowries weren't enough to cover the costs and so ..." She sighed.

Brendon couldn't believe that they had kept this a secret for so long. All his siblings and Brendon had always thought that their parents were, if not exactly wealthy, at least well off enough to care for all of them.

His mother kissed his temple. "I'm sorry to have deceived you, but it was for the good of all of us."

Yes, Brendon thought after she left, but what about me?

~~~***~~~

It was another night of restless sleep, of dreams full of anxiety and anger that left Brendon shaken and short-tempered. He wasn't looking forward to going back to the Ross manor this afternoon, and even less after his parents were discussing possible dates over breakfast.

"We should have the wedding this month," his father said.

"No, we can't do that," his mother said. "Next month is much more suitable to travelling. Remember, Kara has just had another child; she won't be able to travel such a long distance so soon."

"You are right. Also, it might seem indecent to have the wedding too soon."

Brendon poked his porridge. It had smelled delicious when he'd sat down at the table, but now it turned to mud in his mouth. "Next month sounds good," he offered, fully aware that he didn't give the impression of being happy about it.

His parents paused, but didn't comment. For a moment, Brendon was so angry that he wanted to stand up and yell at them. This was his life they were selling off. They should at least acknowledge him and let him have a say.

"I hope they won't want to wait for much longer," Brendon's father said. "Given Ryan's long betrothal to this Spencer boy, I think his father will be glad to finally see him married."

He pointedly didn't look at Brendon, but Brendon understood anyway. Brendon wasn't of importance here. It left him in a sad mood which he couldn't shake all day. He still felt morose when they got out of the carriage at the Ross manor. At least the cake was bound to be very good today.

This time Spencer was already there, along with an older couple who turned out to be Spencer's parents.

"We are delighted to meet you," Spencer's father said.

His mother smiled at Brendon. "We've only heard good things about you."

Brendon smiled back--it was impossible not to, because she seemed sincerely happy for him, and Brendon couldn't bring himself to say that they didn't know him well enough yet to know his faults. Although he did wonder what good things Spencer had been able to say about Brendon--they'd only met the day before and Brendon didn't think he'd talked enough to Spencer to leave a lasting impression.

"It's our pleasure, too." Brendon's father put his hand on Brendon's shoulder, the very image of a proud father. "It is a fine match we have found for our son."

Spencer's mother laughed. "Don't be too rash," she said and winked at Brendon. "You don't know which faults they keep hidden."

Brendon immediately liked her, and the fact that his father stilled and tensed up at her words only made him like her more.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find out about them soon enough," Brendon said, smiling at Mrs Smith. "I hear that's what the wedding night is for."

Spencer's father chuckled. "Yes, you'll fit right in with them," he said, and it took Brendon a moment to realise that the warm, weird sensation he was feeling was pride and a flicker of hope. He didn't, however, miss the flicker of irritation on his parents' faces. Talk like that was taboo at home. Brendon smiled broadly at the Smiths and thought at his parents, You reap what you sow. His parents wouldn't reproach him openly, not in front of the people who could solve their financial problems.

Brendon figured that they should expect him to exact a bit of revenge. If his parents were willing to give him to the first person to offer a good bargain, they would have to deal with Brendon cheerfully crossing any and all boundaries as he saw fit to.

Although Brendon's parents were impatient, the Smiths postponed talking about the date until after tea. "I find it's such a drain on the conversation--talking about business, I mean," Spencer's mother says. "I'd much prefer to hear more about Brendon."

Brendon also much preferred to talk about anything but when life as he knew it was going to end, so he cheerfully told Mrs Smith everything about his home town. Although he'd often felt suffocated by their small-minded town, he now felt nostalgic and even missed it, already he hadn't actually left yet. Next to him, his parents shifted from time to time, but Brendon didn't let them bother it and embellished his stories even more. Ryan and Spencer's reactions turned out to be more disruptive.

"... and that's when we found the foal in the field," Brendon finished his tale, making both Spencer and his mother laugh loudly. Brendon thought he could get used to hearing Spencer laugh.

"In the field?" Ryan didn't sound any different than he'd done all day, his voice was smooth and calm, but there was something off.

"Yes," Brendon said slowly. He felt a sense of dread, although he couldn't tell why.

Ryan smirked. "Well, that is certainly that won't happen to you here," he said. "There are very few fields here."

Brendon looked down at his plate and took a careful sip of tea. Ryan's response astonished him--up to this point Ryan had acted favourably toward Brendon and his sudden criticism was both unexpected and out of place, he thought.

"Ryan," Spencer said, a tiny bit of warning.

Ryan shrugged. He exchanged a look with Spencer, and again Brendon had the feeling that he'd just been part of a conversation he couldn't understand. Spencer seemed open and accessible at first glance, but there was more to him than could be seen. Ryan remained an enigma with his bored glances and monotonous speech. It intrigued Brendon, though, to poke at their shells and figure out how their minds worked. He hoped that he instilled at least a little bit of curiosity in them.

"You must excuse them," Spencer's mother said. She sent a clearly chastising look at Ryan, who looked a bit taken aback. "They certainly have never handled a foal."

Brendon smiled at her, but he couldn't get his old cheerfulness back. Ryan's comment had only served to make Brendon more aware how different he was from them and how little he did fit in here. He tried to see his tale from an outside perspective--and thought that he must come across rather as a country bumpkin than an educated nobleman. No wonder Brendon's tutors had despaired over him. He'd only ever been interested in music. "Well, I don't think there are many opportunities to chase foals in the city."

Spencer's mother put her hand over Brendon's and squeezed gently. "I think you'll find that the skills you need for chasing foals will turn out to be useful no matter what the environment."

Brendon smiled and hoped she was right. He was relieved when Mr Ross spoke up and everyone's attention focused on him.

"I think we've spent enough time dillydallying. It's time to talk about business."

Brendon felt his stomach sink. He didn't think that anyone cared about his opinion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

Brendon's father nodded. "Yes, I agree."

"Have you already considered any dates?" Spencer's father asked.

"We would like next month," Brendon's father said. "We find it's well suited for travelling."

Mrs Smith nodded. "We would much prefer it, too."

Brendon stared at his hands and only half-listened to the conversation, since he didn't have any say in the decision. He wished it was already over--it only reinforced the feeling of being a puppet in his parents' plans. He startled when he heard someone speak his name.

"Brendon, what do you think?"

Brendon looked up at Mr Smith who was looking at him and smiling. "Pardon me?"

"The date," Mr Smith said gently.

"Oh," Brendon said.

"It's the 15th," Spencer said. He was looking at Brendon and frowned slightly. Brendon couldn't stand to look at him, so he made sure to smile at Mrs Smith when he answered her.

"It's, yes, that's, I like it."

Spencer's mother sent Brendon a look that clearly said she didn't believe him.

"Well, we've already agreed," Brendon's father said.

"Yes, but we believe that the opinion of the young people in question should matter," Mr Smith said.

Brendon's parents did not look impressed. Indeed, they looked rather put out. Brendon could see his father's eyes hardening and hurriedly spoke to prevent an argument. Of all things, he thought the date was a rather silly thing to argue about. "I'm fine with it," he said. "The 15th is a good date."

"Then it's decided," Mr Ross said. "The wedding ceremony will take place on the 15th of next month."

Brendon smiled, but he didn't feel very happy. A death sentence couldn't have felt more final. There was a tiny part of him, however, that fluttered in excitement.

"When you come into town next time, you'll have to come over for tea," Spencer's mother said when they took their leave. "I can't wait to see you again for the fitting."

"Thank you, Mrs Smith," Brendon's mother said. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, though, and she had a tight grip on Brendon's arm, almost hard enough to hurt.

Brendon was sad--he'd grown instantly fond of Mrs Smith and her attempts to include Brendon. He liked her easy way of talking, although he knew that this was the exact thing that made his mother abhor Mrs Smith. His mother had grown more and more distantly polite toward the Smiths, and Brendon had had a hard time preventing himself from rolling his eyes. It was rather obvious that his parents favoured Mr Ross--a fact that made Brendon uncomfortable. The Smiths were much more likeable.

Brendon smiled at Mrs Smith. "We'd be delighted to accept your generous offer," he said, despite his mother clenching down on his arm in warning. Brendon was supposed to spend the week prior to the wedding in the city, accompanied by his mother. He wanted to have at least one thing to look forward to.

Mrs Smith smiled widely. She seemed rather amused. "I'll make sure to tell our cook to prepare scones for that day," she said.

It startled a laugh out of Brendon, and he flushed when he realised that both Spencer and Ryan were looking at him. Ryan was smirking, as if he were secretly heckling, but Spencer seemed ... interested. He eyed Brendon and grinned. "We'll be looking forward to seeing you again," Spencer said, and the tone of his voice made Brendon's heart beat faster. He sounded like he actually wanted to see Brendon again.

Brendon smiled at them. "In three weeks," he said. Spencer smiled back and nodded.

That day, Brendon left the Ross manor in a good mood. It didn't last long. His parents, as Brendon had already figured out, were not impressed by the Smiths and they used the carriage ride to vent their feelings.

"What vulgar people!" Brendon's mother exclaimed.

"I agree, my dear," Brendon's father agreed. "It's very obvious that there's no gentry in their lines."

Brendon suppressed a sigh. "But, Father, today one's standing does not exclusively depend on one's ancestry. The Smiths seemed like very nice people."

"My dear son," his father said, "they are very nice vulgar people--they are not good company for people like us."

Brendon stared. He didn't know what to say. He had to bite his tongue not to fling their words back at them--they weren't good company, but apparently they were good enough to marry into.

"Their opinions are so rude and indecent. They spoke to us like we were commoners, too," his mother added.

Brendon didn't point out that, superficially, they looked much more like common people than both the Smiths and the Rosses. Brendon had secretly admired Spencer's jacket, with its high collar and fanciful embroidery. Brendon's best clothes looked liked rags in comparison.

Brendon's father sighed. "If we didn't need their money..." He trailed off.

"We can continue to look for someone else," Brendon suggested. His anger was turning into confusion, as he'd thought his parents were at least content with the choice they'd made for him. If no one felt comfortable that Brendon was going to marry a nouveau-riche, who'd become wealthy by trading and other business, well, why had they chosen one then?

"No, we cannot," his father said harshly. "And you'd better get used to your situation. The contract is signed, everything's arranged."

"But you're not--"

"It doesn't matter." His father was almost yelling. "You will marry this boy, and I will not hear any more objections."

Brendon forced himself to nod. "Yes, Father, as you say."

This evening was their last in the town house and Brendon used it to excuse himself early. They were scheduled to leave early in the morning and the trip to the Uries' home town was anything but comfortable.

Brendon did not sleep well again that night, too many thoughts running rampant in his mind. His parents' decision became more and more curious, the more Brendon learned. They chose Mr Ross, although they detested his "kind". They agreed to Brendon being the third partner, although all his life they'd preached to Brendon that he was destined to be more.

If money led one to make such decisions, against firmly held beliefs, Brendon wasn't sure he would like to have any money. Mr Jameson seemed happy enough, with just enough to make ends meet.

Brendon slumped down in their carriage and hoped that those nights weren't exemplary for the city. He was used to birds chirping, the wind in the trees and foxes yowling in the night--all familiar noises that had often soothed him into sleep. The noise of horse carriages at all times of day and night, the lack of natural noises... Brendon had to get used to it first.

Brendon looked out of the window, and when they passed the city gates, he whispered, "Goodbye." Three weeks until Brendon would pass those gates again and would here to stay.

Brendon's heart hurt as they left the city behind. It hurt all the way to their town and even more when they reached their house.

His heart was destined to hurt for those three long weeks leading up to his final trip to the city. Three long weeks, which seemed to pass in an instant. It was part wistfulness for his old life and part longing for his new life in the city.

Brendon's siblings were just as taken aback as Brendon was as they heard about the exact conditions of Brendon's betrothal. Only Michael seemed to know the seriousness of their financial situation. He took Brendon aside on that first evening back.

"I want you to know that I think you're doing something very brave," Michael said.

Brendon shrugged. "But I don't have any choice," he said. He didn't think he was being brave, as that would imply Brendon was going to do something he loathed, when in fact he had started looking forward to the city, if not actual married life. That, he figured, would come in due time.

Michael smiled. "I know," he said. "I tried to talk to Father when he first mentioned this Mr Ross and his offer, but he wouldn't budge. But you are taking this situation much better than I thought." He pulled Brendon in for a hug. Brendon had always been the youngest, the neediest for physical contact, and Brendon knew that Michael did it more for Brendon's comfort than his own.

Brendon sighed against Michael's shoulder and held on tightly. He didn't know how to tell Michael that it wasn't as awful as everyone was making it out to be. Charlotte had loudly exclaimed that she could have never endured such a terrible fate while Nina was in the room, tending to their children. It had made Brendon bristle, but everyone had thought he was angry about the way he was treated instead of how they treated their third partners. No, Brendon thought, they wouldn't understand.

"You are still brave in accepting and bearing your fate without fuss," Michael said. "I'm proud of you and I hope this Ross person will recognise your value and appreciate you like you deserve."

Brendon hugged back tightly. "Thank you," he said, for lack of anything else.

Michael's words didn't leave Brendon's mind. They all thought he was being noble in the face of a terrible ordeal and it almost made Brendon want to laugh. But he based all his assumptions that he wouldn't be treated like Nina or Leila on part of a conversation he hadn't even participated in fully. What if their talk of equality really was just that--talk and nothing more?

It unsettled Brendon--enough that he was quiet for the rest of the evening. Even in bed he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Brendon turned from one side to the other. He hoped Ryan wouldn't see him as inferior--and that Spencer wouldn't think of Brendon as a rival.

Brendon closed his eyes. It was easy to recall Spencer's smile, bright and full of warmth. Brendon could see Ryan's fingers wrapped around his tea cup, holding it carefully.

Brendon's cock stirred. Brendon hesitated to touch himself. He felt awkward thinking about them in this way--but, then, they were going to be married, weren't they?

He resolutely shoved his hand into his underwear. His parents were convinced that this was a sin, but Brendon had long ago discovered that nothing relaxed him faster and better than touching himself.

Brendon pictured Spencer, laughing, his eyes shining, and the warm shiver the sound had sent over Brendon's skin the first he'd heard Spencer laugh. Ryan was leaning close in Brendon's imagination, whispering something into Spencer's ear--and then Spencer looked at Brendon, with that mischievous face.

Brendon stroked himself leisurely--except it wasn't himself, it was Ryan, those long, lean fingers wrapped around--Brendon gasped and pressed his face against his pillow to muffle himself.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, surprised at how fast he'd come. He was covered in goose bumps and every muscle felt like pudding.

Brendon's eyes closed of their own accord and Brendon let himself sink into sleep.

His last thought before falling fully asleep was that if this was wrong, Brendon didn't want to be right.

~~~***~~~

A few days later his parents sent Brendon to their town's tailor. "We will have to have it refit in the city," his mother said. "But Mrs Simmons has known you all your life and there's nobody who'll be quicker in sewing a suit for you than her."

Brendon chose a dark grey for his suit instead of the usual black. His parents wouldn't be very excited, but Brendon was still exacting revenge where he could.

"It suits your eyes," Mrs Simmons noted as she measured him again. "Oh, now I will have made all the wedding clothes for all your siblings and you."

She smiled, but Brendon had to work hard at responding in kind. "It must feel like a rite of passage to you," he said. "Now you won't have to sew any fancy dress for us anymore. You must be glad."

Mrs Simmons shook her head. "No, I'm not," she said. "It does indeed feel like something's ending. I never thought any of you would leave this town."

Brendon looked down. "I have to go where there are suitors for me," he said. He was still torn between abject horror of leaving everything he'd ever known and exhilaration about all the new things he'd be able to discover in town.

"I know." Mrs Simmons didn't look at Brendon, but he suddenly had the feeling that his parents' precarious financial situation was not as well-kept a secret as his parents would like.

In fact, it seemed like everyone knew--no matter who Brendon talked to, they all had the same look in their eyes: pity. It irked Brendon, and he took to saying that he was looking forward to the city. It only made everything worse, as people looked at him smiling and Brendon could read in their eyes how sad they were for him.

The weeks passed quickly, as Brendon packed up the few belongings he was going to take with him. He only owned very few things, as most of the books belonged to his parents. It turned out so little in the end that Brendon felt almost ashamed. Ryan, he thought, surely couldn't fit all his clothes into just two chests.

His only reprieve was his afternoons with Mr Jameson--and those with Tom. Mr Jameson had listened to Brendon rave about his betrothal.

"Aren't you glad?" Mr Jameson asked.

"Why should I be?" Brendon said. "My parents, they--I don't know what they were thinking."

"Leave your parents out of it for a moment, boy." Mr Jameson stomped his walking stick against the floor. "They matched you up with two men. Does that please you?"

"That's not the point," Brendon protested.

Mr Jameson snorted. "Only months ago you were sitting here in that very place, and how afraid you were they would force you into a marriage like Michael's. Have you ever actually kissed a girl?"

"Yes," Brendon said defiantly. He'd kissed Sally once, on a dare.

Mr Jameson just gave Brendon a look. "But you haven't ever desired one."

Brendon leaned against his piano and sighed. He'd never made a secret of his proclivities in front of Mr Jameson--the old chap was the only one Brendon felt like he could really talk to. "No."

Mr Jameson stomped his stick again. "So are you pleased?"

"I--don't know," Brendon said. "I'm. I think so? Maybe. I'm not sure they knew that--about Spencer."

"Oh, believe me, they knew," Mr Jameson said. "When there are contracts involved, they knew."

Brendon rubbed his face. "I'm relieved," he said. "I expected at first to be matched with one woman and now it's--" He sighed.

"Have you told your boy?"

"He's not my boy," Brendon said softly. Whatever Tom was to him, it had been clear from the beginning that Tom wasn't Brendon's. He was their neighbours' farm boy and he hadn't ever pretended to Brendon that their relationship was exclusive.

"Have you told him?"

"I will today," Brendon said. He'd been afraid of telling Tom, of ending what was between them. It was familiar and comfortable.

Mr Jameson got up and put his hand on Brendon's arm. "Then you should leave now, my dear boy," he said. "It won't do to keep him waiting."

~~~***~~~

"Tom?" Brendon called into the barn.

"Up here," was the answer. Brendon climbed up the steep ladder to the hayloft, where Tom had already spread out a blanket.

"Hi," Brendon said softly.

"Hey." Tom pulled Brendon close and kissed him. Brendon felt the tight knot of anxiety inside his chest relax, as Tom held him and pushed his tongue into Brendon's mouth.

Maybe it was a cowardly decision, but Brendon let Tom open his pants. If this was the last time they would be together like this, Brendon wanted all of it.

Tom's calluses were rough against Brendon's skin as Tom fisted Brendon's cock and jerked him off.

"Tom," Brendon whispered, and he groaned when Tom gently bit his lip.

"Do me," Tom said and that was something Brendon could do. Tom's pants were easy to open, just a simple bowstring keeping them up. Tom wasn't quite hard yet and Brendon rubbed his fingers softly over Tom's balls, pushing at that place Tom liked.

Tom leaned his head back and groaned. "Brendon, harder," he said and Brendon obeyed. Tom flicked his finger over the head of Brendon's cock in a move that made Brendon want to come right now.

It didn't take much longer for him to come, and he let himself slide down onto the blanket with a sigh. Tom followed, pushing their pants out of the way, and rubbed himself against Brendon's thigh, until he spilled over Brendon's groin.

"I'm going to miss you," Tom said, as they lay on the blanket side by side a few minutes later.

Brendon felt guilty. He liked Tom, and he should have told him much earlier. But he'd thought that Tom would stop their encounters--as he'd done with other people who left. Brendon took too much pleasure and comfort from their tumbles in the hay to give them up so easily.

"I'm sorry," Brendon said.

"Don't be, I knew it was gonna happen," Tom said. He rolled back on top of Brendon and kissed him. "But I know how you can make it up to me."

That Brendon didn't have a problem with.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7