Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/714570.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Panic!_at_the_Disco, Young_Veins, Bandom, Fall_Out_Boy
  Relationship:
      Spencer_Smith/Brendon_Urie, Ryan_Ross/Jon_Walker, Ashlee_Simpson/Patrick
      Stump/Pete_Wentz
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Fairy_Tale, AU, Fluff, First_Time, Loss_of
      Virginity, Royalty
  Series:
      Part 2 of Cinderella_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-10 Words: 20498
****** Then You'll Know You Have Arrived ******
by mokuyoubi
Summary
     Sequel/epilogue to my Brencer Cinderella fic. Basically my excuse to
     write porn that turned into an actual story, of sorts, about teenage
     virgins figuring themselves and each other out. IDEK.
Notes
     There are so many historical inaccuracies in here. This is some
     magical AU, so let’s just blame all the stuff that’s wrong on that.
     This is technically underage, since they’re both 17, but they’re
     married, and it’s historical, so. Take it how you please.
There was an unsettling silence in the carriage as the mill faded in the
distance. Zachary was riding in front with the driver. The man who had carried
Brendon’s shoe was introduced as Ryan, and Brendon felt dismayed on his behalf,
to have suffered the indignity of carrying around his old work boot for days on
end. Spencer’s valet, Jonathan, had also accompanied them on the journey. Both
he and Ryan were studying Brendon with a speculative expression.
Brendon fought the urge to squirm. The condition of his old rags was
disgraceful, covered in soot and flour, threadbare hems and worn patches. In a
habit born from years of his mother’s chagrin over its constant state of
disarray, Brendon smoothed his hair down. Spencer kept his fingers laced
through Brendon’s all the while, and Brendon knew if he looked, he’d see his
tanned and dirty fingers next to Spencer’s perfect, pale ones.
At last, Ryan leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “Spencer says you
prefer Bennett to Dupin,” he said.
Brendon sat upright, looking first at Ryan, then to Spencer. He remembered
Spencer talking about Ryan’s own opinion on the matter. Spencer said,
“Honestly, Ryan, you couldn’t wait until we were home at least, to start in on
him?”
Home¸ Brendon thought to himself, the palace, and had to take a deep breath.
“Are you alright?” Spencer asked. He was so close, fingers curling under
Brendon’s chin.
They’d been close before, but never with an audience. Never before had Brendon
let himself expect anything more to come of it. Now if he just leaned forward,
he’d be kissing Spencer, and that was allowed.
Ryan cleared his throat. Blinking, Brendon drew away from Spencer. “I’m fine,”
he said softly, then louder, swallowing, “I’m fine. To answer your question,
Ryan, I think Dupin is a bit too revolutionary for my tastes.”
Ryan snorted. “Says the miller marrying the prince.”
Brendon blushed and Spencer scowled at Ryan. Jonathan nudged an elbow in Ryan’s
side. It seemed awfully bold a move for a valet, but then, from what Spencer
had told Brendon already, Jonathan sounded more like a friend than a servant.
“I’m not going to apologise,” Ryan went on. “If that makes him blush, he’s
going to need to develop much tougher skin to deal with palace life.”
There it was, again, that fear sneaking up in Brendon’s chest, making him draw
a steadying breath. What was he thinking? Saying yes to Spencer meant
everything that came along with being a prince. Brendon could never say no to
Spencer, but how was he supposed to fit into the royal lifestyle?
Jonathan leaned into Ryan’s side and whispered something in his ear that made
Ryan’s cheeks turn faintly pink. “I’m sorry, Brendon,” he said, though he
didn’t sound very sincere.
Silence fell again. Brendon wanted to say a million things. To explain to
Spencer why he’d come to the ball, and why he’d behaved as he had, and to
apologise for just running away. He was all too aware of Ryan’s shrewd gaze to
actually open his mouth. Hopefully they would have a chance to speak in
private, soon.
*
Any hopes for a private moment with Spencer were dashed when they arrived at
the palace. There were dozens of servants waiting to attend them, and three
came to whisk Brendon away. He clung to Spencer’s hand, but Spencer just
laughed and brushed a kiss over Brendon’s cheek, saying, “It’ll be fine.
They’ll show you to your rooms, and you can change. We’ll see one another
tonight.”
Brendon noticed the way the servants were looking at the ground or each other,
anywhere but at Spencer and himself. It made him a little queasy. “Brendon,”
Spencer said, more softly. Ryan was giving them another of those appraising
looks, and Spencer stepped closer to Brendon, pitched his voice low. “It’ll be
fine, trust me?”
“Always,” Brendon agreed, immediately, and let the servants lead him off to a
side entrance.
Brendon had seen the palace once or twice, from a distance. He could only stare
in awe as he was led through the halls, at the intricate ceiling tiles and
patterned rugs, walls hung in paintings of kings and queens past, chandeliers
dripping crystals, casting sparkling light over the gold fixtures and trim.
At last they came to a suite of rooms that Brendon was informed were now his.
He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of having not only his own
bed, dressed in thick, warm, soft-looking blankets, but having a separate study
as well, when they led him through to the water closet.
There was a man waiting there, dressed in a red and cream outfit much in the
same fashion as Jonathan’s. He took Brendon in, head to toe, and said, “I think
I will handle this on my own.” The other three men left, closing the doors
behind them.
“I’m Shane, and I’ll be your valet now,” the man said.
Brendon wasn’t sure what to do with that. “I’ve never had a valet before.”
A smirk toyed around Shane’s lips. “I had assumed as much. As your valet, I
will see to all your personal needs.”
“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” Brendon said. He didn’t want to offend
anyone, but he’d been dressing himself just fine for seventeen years.
Shane considered him for a moment, head quirked to the side. “I’m here to make
your life easier, not more difficult, so if you desire to bathe and shave on
your own, by all means, carry on. However, it is my job to make you presentable
for the royal family, so until you are more familiar with how to dress yourself
to their standards…”
Put that way, Brendon could see how Shane would be useful. Of course, the
blinding fear over the fact that he was going to go before the king and queen
was enough to override any embarrassment or resistance on his part when Shane
helped him undress and led him to the bath.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Shane said. “Call for me when you’re done. I’ll
just…” He plucked Brendon’s discarded clothing up from the floor, giving it a
dubious look. “I’ll just put these away for you, then.”
Brendon flushed bright red as Shane closed the door behind him. His stomach was
churning. Inexplicably, he longed to be in front of his fireplace at home,
wrapped in blankets, reading by the firelight.
Spencer was waiting for him, though. Spencer, who wanted to marry him. Brendon
couldn’t help the soft, wondering sound that escaped him at the idea. He didn’t
know how he could ever, truly believe it. Spencer had come for him, had gone
against his parents’ wishes and announced he was going to marry a commoner and
a man. Brendon could learn to work with his valet, and he could be brave before
the queen and king, to show he was worth it.
The water was scalding hot, and there were dozens of bottles and soaps lining
the counter top. Brendon almost called Shane back in, completely at a loss. He
scrubbed with one of the soaps until his skin was bright red, and sniffing
bottle after bottle, finally guessed at which might be for his hair. It cleaned
it anyway, and didn’t smell bad, or leave him looking ridiculous.
In the end, he did call for Shane to help him shave, when he realised his hands
were shaking. He didn’t trust himself not to knick his own skin and show up for
his meeting with the royal family bleeding all over his chin.
Shane was quick and thorough about it. He paused halfway through, grinning, and
said, “You washed your hair with the elderflower cream.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have sent you out,” Brendon murmured.
“It’s alright,” Shane said, “but you should rinse with the rosemary water
before getting out.”
“What am I doing here?” Brendon asked out loud, before he could stop himself.
He shot Shane a panicked look, and Shane paused in shaving, leaning back. He
looked more casual with his sleeves rolled back, baring his arms.
“You’re here because Prince Spencer chose you,” Shane said. It wasn’t
appropriate, Brendon knew, for servants to say things like that. Especially
ones who were strangers. Then again, Brendon didn’t feel any better than a
servant himself.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted.
Shane went back to work, tilting Brendon’s face toward him, drawing the razor
along his jaw. “There will be a lot of times you’ll want to run away, I’d
imagine,” he said, finally. “They’re going to dress you up like them, and teach
you how to walk and how to talk, and every moment will feel like a test they’re
waiting for you to fail.”
“That’s hardly reassuring,” Brendon mumbled.
Shane shrugged. “I thought you might appreciate someone being honest with you.
There’s no precedence for what you and the prince are doing. For him to marry a
commoner, and a man…love matches are scandalous enough when both parties are of
noble blood.”
Brendon was silent as Shane finished shaving, then gave him the rosemary water
for his hair. Shane left him to towel off and was waiting in the bedroom with
an outfit laid out. It wasn’t as fancy as what the godparents had conjured for
the ball, but it was still far grander than anything Brendon had ever owned.
By the time Shane had done up all the buttons and arranged Brendon’s collar to
his satisfaction, Brendon was nothing but a mess of nerves. Another servant was
waiting to lead Brendon away outside his door, and Shane told him he’d still be
there when Brendon returned. While Brendon doubted he’d require help dressing
for bed, he nonetheless took comfort in the knowledge.
*
Brendon could hear the raised voices before he got anywhere near the receiving
room.
“I don’t think there’s any chance of that,” a man was shouting. “His father was
a book keeper and his mother came over with some missionaries from Hawai’i, of
all the places in the world!”
“Be careful, Lord Ross,” Spencer said. “Those are the parents of my future
consort and your future prince, of which you speak.”
The servant darted Brendon a quick, curious look, and led him to the open door.
Jonathan was just inside and ushered him in with a reassuring pat on the
shoulder.
“That could actually work in our favour,” another man said, bent over some
papers at a desk. “With all their little princes and princesses on the various
islands, and the tribals still claiming sovereignty—”
“Brendon,” Spencer said, noticing him. The man speaking fell silent, and
another man, tall and stout, and red in the face, gave Brendon a sneer. Brendon
tried to ignore them and focus on Spencer, who came to his side and took his
hand, leading him further into the room.
The king and queen were seated on a sofa by the window, and Brendon didn’t know
what he was supposed to do, or say. “Mother, Father, allow me to introduce
Brendon Urie.”
Brendon bowed deeply, murmured, “Your Majesties,” and waited.
“You may rise,” the king said. There was nothing unkind about his tone, or the
expression on his face.
“I suppose he cleans up nicely enough,” Ryan said.
The tall man gave Ryan a dark look and leaned in to grumble something under his
breath, close to the king.
“Yes, yes, Lord Ross,” the king said. “And of course that will be addressed.
Mister Urie, please have a seat.”
Brendon let Spencer lead him to a chair, taking the one beside him. Everyone
was staring at their clasped hands. “We’ve heard a great deal about you,” Queen
Ginger said. Brendon fought the urge to laugh nervously.
“Young man,” the king said, face very serious, “my son has been vehement that
your intentions are pure. I think if that were the case, you’d have turned down
his proposal, knowing what was best for him.” Spencer squeezed Brendon’s hand
tightly.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” the queen chided. She sounded weary, and Brendon felt
inexplicably guilty. “The contract Lord Ross is drawing up will assuage most of
our concerns. Though there is the question of an heir.”
Brendon hadn’t thought of any of these things when Spencer had proposed.
Perhaps the king was right. Brendon had only thought, selfishly, of how
desperately in love with Spencer he was.
“Mum,” Spencer complained. “Father was the son of the second child. One of the
twins—”
“It is not up to the twins to provide an heir,” the king said sharply.
The conversation devolved at that point, and there was a lot of yelling about
Spencer’s duties, and noble blood, and marriage contracts. A part of Brendon
wanted to just apologise and promise to go away if it would fix things, but
Spencer was clinging to his hand like Brendon was the only important thing in
the room.
“I would still like to know how this young man made his way into the ball in
the first place,” Lord Ross said. Ryan was glaring daggers at his father.
Brendon wondered what Lord Ross would do if he knew the kind of literature his
son and the prince were reading.
“As would I,” King Jeffrey said. “Certainly someone capable of such cunning and
subterfuge could also be capable of charming himself a prince.”
“Father, don’t be ridiculous,” Spencer said.
King Jeffrey gave him a quelling look. “Do not take that tone with me. You’ve
gotten us all into this mess, Spencer, with your little spectacle at the ball.
The boy will explain himself.”
Brendon felt his mouth working, but couldn’t make any sound come out. It was
such a ridiculous suggestion. Brendon couldn’t even charm his own aunt and
uncle into treating him kindly. The idea that he could trick the prince into
loving him was absurd, though, perhaps from the king’s perspective, the only
way to explain it.
And what of the party? How could Brendon even begin to explain the fairy
godparents? “I was given an invitation,” he stuttered.
“Lord Beckett’s invitation, it would seem,” one of the men supplied.
“Lord Beckett is away in Spain,” Lord Ross said. “Are we to believe he passed
his invitation along to you to go in his stead?”
“I—” Brendon gave Spencer a desperate look.
Spencer squeezed his hand and said, “It’s alright, just tell them, whatever it
is.”
“There was a man. He said he was—” Brendon couldn’t bring himself to say the
words fairy godparents in the presence of the king and queen. “He said his name
was Pete.” Something about the words made Ryan and Jonathan smile at one
another.
“Am I late to the party?” a familiar voice asked, and Pete came strolling into
the room, as if conjured from Brendon’s words. On either arm were Patrick and
Ashlee.
Lord Ross looked furious, but the king and queen seemed pleased to see them.
“Peter,” the queen said, and met each of them with a kiss to each cheek.
“Patrick, dear Ashlee.”
“Ginger.” Pete gave her a wolfish grin, and Brendon was scandalised on her
behalf. The queen didn’t seem to mind, though. “Jeffrey, I see you’ve met my
Brendon.”
“Your Brendon?” Queen Ginger said. She looked at Brendon again, as if seeing
him for the first time.
“Do you know them?” Brendon asked of Spencer side-long.
“Ashlee and Patrick are the prince’s godparents,” Ryan said, almost gleefully.
“Patrick gifted him with wit and song, and…” Spencer turned slightly pink as
Ryan continued, “Ashlee gifted him with grace and beauty.”
Brendon couldn’t help but smile, murmuring, “They did quite admirably.” Then,
remembering where they were, and who was watching, he turned his attention back
to Pete. “What about you? With what did you gift him?”
“I gave him you, didn’t I?” Pete said. He turned to the queen and king. “I was
the one who got him all dolled up and into the ball. Bill didn’t mind our using
his invitation, I can assure you.” Sometimes, Pete’s turns of phrase made no
sense at all to Brendon.
The queen narrowed her eyes. “I think you had better explain yourself.”
Ashlee was the one who spoke. “You both wanted true love for your children, but
that isn’t something we can promise. He needed to find it for himself.”
“And when there were obstacles put in the way, I helped Brendon to overcome
them,” Pete concluded.
“But, Peter,” the king said, “this boy—”
“Brendon is honest, hardworking, and rather painfully sincere,” Pete said.
“His intentions toward your son are indeed, the purest,” Patrick interrupted.
“You shouldn’t worry about anything else.”
The queen wrung her hands in her laps, and then stood and came to Brendon and
Spencer. She ran a hand over Spencer’s head, smoothing his hair back and cupped
his cheek. “My son,” she said. “I should have trusted you to know your heart.”
She offered her hand to Brendon, who took it and pressed his lips to her
knuckles uncertainly. The queen granted him a small smile and said, “I think,
Lord Ross, that with the assurances of Spencer’s godparents, we may proceed
without further consideration.”
Pete winked at Brendon as if to say, didn’t I tell you it would all work out in
the end? Brendon was grateful, he really was, but he also thought Pete could
have done things in a much less roundabout way and saved everyone a lot of
trouble.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Ross said, “as you mentioned earlier, there remains the
question of issue?”
The queen had a pensive look, and the king sighed heavily. Pete clapped his
hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “If you will have some patience, and trust
in me, I promise you’ll have no cause to worry over the existence on an heir.”
Queen Ginger and the king exchanged a look, and then the king rose.
“Very well,” King Jeffrey said. “There will be another ball to formally
announce the engagement. He’ll need a title before then. A dukedom, I should
think.” At that, Lord Ross looked as though he was suffering an apoplexy.
“Awesome,” Pete said, and clapped his hands. “So, that’s all settled, we should
do dinner now. Leave the business for later.”
“Oh Peter,” Queen Ginger said, in a fondly exasperated tone. Pete put his arm
around her waist, and cajoled her towards the door. She went, laughing, and
pushing at his chest.
Apparently, Pete’s suggestion was as good as royal decree, because the
gathering dispersed, Jeffrey following after his wife and Pete, talking in low
tones to Patrick. Lord Ross was still glaring at Brendon, and it was most
unsettling.
“Sp—your hi…I’ve caused so much trouble,” Brendon whispered.
Spencer shook his head. “You’re not going to start that again, are you?” he
said.
“Spencer,” Brendon said, anxious.
“They were just worried about me, but they trust my godparents, and they’ll
come to see that what Pete and Patrick said about you is true.”
Brendon hoped that what Pete and Patrick had said was true. Brendon didn’t feel
honest and pure. He felt rather selfish, putting the future of the kingdom in
jeopardy.
“Come on,” Spencer said. He gave Brendon an impulsive kiss, quick and soft, on
his mouth.
“Spencer,” Brendon admonished, feeling himself go pink. There were so many of
the king’s men still about, including the imposing Lord Ross.
“You can meet Crystal and Jacqueline,” Spencer said, and tugged Brendon to his
feet by his hand.
Brendon would much rather go hide in his rooms, but he told himself to be
brave, for Spencer. Spencer had gone against the king and queen’s wishes for
him. Brendon could make it through a royal dinner.
“That sounds lovely,” Brendon said.
*
The princesses were indeed lovely. Brendon was happy to have them prattling at
him about the newest fashions and music, and what they’d learned from their
tutors recently, so he didn’t have to pay much attention to the godparents and
queen discussing his future at the head of the table.
“He’ll need to see Victoria for lessons in deportment and diction. I think we
can spare one or two of the girls’ tutors for languages and monarchical
history,” the queen said, and made a despairing sort of ticking noise with her
tongue. “Guy will need to fit him tomorrow for the wedding. And a whole new
wardrobe.”
“Guy really makes the most gorgeous clothing,” Jacqueline said. “A wedding! I
can’t wait to see what he’ll make for us.”
Crystal made a face. “It isn’t as exciting if there isn’t a wedding gown,” she
said, then gave Brendon a speculative look. “You aren’t going to wear a gown,
are you?”
“Crystal,” Spencer said, laughing at the look in Brendon’s face.
“I think he could pull it off,” Pete said.
Brendon frowned in dismay. Luckily, Queen Ginger said, “I think a white bridal
suit will suffice. We’ll have to do something with the princess consort’s
tiara, though.”
All this talk was making Brendon feel light-headed, dukedoms and tiaras. He
took a long drink from his wine glass. The king, rather inexplicably, was
giving Brendon a sympathetic look, and tipped his glass in Brendon’s direction.
Brendon smiled nervously, though he didn’t feel it all, and spent most of the
remainder of dinner staring at his plate and eating very little.
*
As promised, Shane was waiting for Brendon after dinner, and escorted him back
to his room. “But,” Brendon protested, twisting to watch Spencer walking the
opposite direction with Jonathan and Ryan on either side. “I would really like
to speak with the prince on my own.”
Shane gave him a slightly incredulous smile. “I don’t think you’ll be alone
with the prince again until you’re married to him.”
Brendon turned bright red when the implications caught up with him. He made a
sputtering noise as Shane closed the suite doors behind them. “We’re not…I
didn’t mean…” Brendon protested.
“Oh, certainly not,” Shane agreed. “They can hardly be worried about birthdates
too soon after the wedding, but all the same, there would be concerns about the
impropriety.”
“I just want to talk to him,” Brendon said, sinking down on the sette at the
foot of his bed.
Shane paused in helping Brendon off with his boots. “I have this feeling that
being your valet is going to get me into a lot of trouble,” he said.
That was ridiculous. Brendon didn’t want anyone getting into trouble on his
behalf. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’ll talk to Jon tomorrow,” Shane said. He rose to his feet and prodded
Brendon in the direction of the water closet to brush his teeth. “I can’t
promise anything. There are some, like Lord Ross, who will be watching you very
closely for any reason to delay or cancel the wedding.”
“Why is Lord Ross so adamant against it?” Brendon asked, around his toothbrush.
“He’s Ryan’s father, isn’t he?”
Shane nodded and passed Brendon a glass of water with which to rinse. “Lord
Ross believes if the king and queen are going to allow the prince to marry a
man, he should be one of noble blood.”
Brendon couldn’t find fault with that reasoning. His expression was glum when
he glanced up at the looking glass. “Specifically,” Shane continued, “he
believes it should be his son.”
“Oh,” Brendon said. He let Shane pluck the toothbrush from his fingers and lead
him back into the bedchamber.
“Ryan is, technically, Prince Spencer’s valet de chambre, though he functions
as more of a secretary, than anything,” Shane said. “At the time of the
appointment, it was Lord Ross’s best prospect for his son. Now he is furious he
didn’t consider the possibility of a love match between the two of them.”
“But I thought…I was under the impression that Ryan and Jonathan were…” he
trailed off, because Spencer had never actually said as much, and certainly you
didn’t gossip about a romance between a Lord’s son and a valet.
“Lord Ross doesn’t know that,” Shane said. He’d make quick work of the
fastenings on Brendon’s coat and shirt, but left Brendon to change into his
nightgown unassisted.
“Ryan and Prince Spencer have been quite close since their births. Lord Ross
wouldn’t be the first person to assume there was a romance between the two of
them. Anyway, until Lord Ross passes on, Ryan won’t be making any formal
promises to Jonathan.”
From what Spencer had told Brendon of his friendship with Ryan, the two of them
sounded a lot more like brothers than anything else. He nodded anyway. “When
Spencer is king, he’ll change that,” he said. “Ryan will be able to marry
whoever he wants, and so will everyone else.”
Shane gave Brendon a wide grin. “Spencer will be a wonderful king, especially
with you as his consort.”
“You don’t even know me,” Brendon protested.
“I might as well, as much as Spencer has gone on about you,” Shane said.
“He…he spoke of me to you?”
“At length,” Shane agreed. “To me, and Ryan, and Jonathan, and the princesses,
and anyone who would listen, really. And since we all have to listen…”
Brendon laughed before he could censor himself, delighted. “I still can’t
believe this isn’t all just a dream. That I won’t wake up tomorrow back home
with my aunt and uncle.”
Shane turned back the sheets and replaced the cool coals in the warmer with
new. “I’m sure it will all sink in once you’ve spent the morning being measured
and prodded by Guy,” he said. “You should sleep. I’ll speak to Jon about
finding some time for you and the prince tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Shane,” Brendon said, sincerely. Shane gave him another brief smile
as he finished extinguishing the candles on his way out of the room, until the
only light left was from the fireplace.
Brendon thought he would be too anxious and excited to rest, but within a
matter of minutes, he was fast asleep.
*
Despite Shane’s attempts, it was several days before Brendon was able to see
Spencer in private. In the interim, he’d been through several fittings with
Guy, and had begun lessons with his tutors. Andrew, borrowed from lessons with
the princesses, had been much relieved to find Brendon already had decent grasp
on German and French.
Though he’d stopped going to school at twelve, he’d always read whatever he
could get his hands on, and his mother often spoke to them in French and her
native tongue. German he’d picked up from their neighbour.
The political and historical lessons with Adam, on the other hand, were
overwhelming and confusing, and Brendon was glad there would hopefully be many
years before Spencer acceded to the throne. Even then, Brendon wouldn’t have
any real power, and the people of the kingdom could be glad of that.
“You know that isn’t true,” Shane told him, when Brendon said as much one
night. “Spencer chose you because he sees you as an equal. He wants everyone in
the land to feel as if they have a voice, and as the common born prince
consort, the people will look to you for guidance.”
“I’m not fit to be an example for anyone,” Brendon said.
“Prince Spencer chose you,” Shane repeated. “Do you think he’d do that if he
didn’t believe in you?”
Brendon didn’t know if Spencer’s belief in him was justified, was the problem.
 
*
The royal family gathered in salon after dinner most evenings. The first
evening the godparents held court and kept things from being too awkward. Since
then Brendon had spent the time silently observing, afraid to enter into the
casual conversation. He was acutely aware of how out-of-place he was.
Besides the king, queen, Spencer and the princesses, Ryan and Jonathan often
dined alongside the family, as well, despite Brendon’s previous understanding
of a valet’s function and relationship to his master.
Towards the end of the week, Jacqueline, looking bored of Ryan’s droning on
about some piece of theatre he’d recently seen, said, “Brendon, Spencer says
you play the piano.”
Brendon chanced a look at Ryan, though he didn’t seem very put-out by the
interruption. “A little.”
“More than a little,” Spencer said. “He was going to be a composer, before his
parents passed away.”
Brendon gave Spencer a look of exasperation. “I said I’d have liked to be one,”
he said.
Spencer took his hand, and Brendon fought the urge to pull away, with the eyes
of the royalty on them. “Why don’t you play for us, Brendon,” King Jeffrey
said.
“Yes, do,” Jacqueline agreed quickly. She was usually the one to play in the
evening, and was fairly decent at it, too, but Brendon had early gotten the
impression that she didn’t care for playing the piano.
“I wouldn’t know what to play,” Brendon protested.
“Mother just got me a songbook by Moore,” Jacqueline prodded.
Really, as nervous as Brendon was about playing, it probably reflected more
poorly upon him if he kept refusing the princess. He went to the piano, spread
open Jacqueline’s songbook to the first song, and began to play. His mother had
been fond of Moore, and Brendon knew most of the older tunes, so it was easy.
Ryan and the twins sang together for a while, and then lost interest after the
first few songs. Brendon was ready to stop playing when Spencer came to sit
beside him. “You should play this one,” Spencer said, flicking forward a few
pages.
Brendon ducked his head, giving Spencer a sidelong grin. “I can’t sing that to
you in front of your parents,” he said.
Spencer smiled back, and oh, how Brendon longed to be alone with him. “They
aren’t paying any attention. Anyway, it’s in Jacqueline’s book.”
Brendon hesitated, and Spencer leaned closer, nose brushing Brendon’s cheek.
Was it because he was royalty, and unused to people telling him how to behave,
or was it just because he was Spencer, that he did these things right out in
the open, where anyone could see? “Play it for me,” he murmured.
Clearing his throat, Brendon sat up straighter. He nudged Spencer gently in his
side, and began to play the song. There was some tittering laughter from the
twins, which Brendon resolutely ignored, as he began to sing. Spencer watched
him, something unfamiliar about the expression on his face as he did so. It
made Brendon feel hot all over, made his voice catch as he sang of roses and
sweet kisses.
“You are too modest, Brendon,” Queen Ginger said, when he’d finished. Brendon
started. He’d nearly forgotten anyone was present, other than Spencer. “What a
lovely voice you have. Jacqueline has finally found someone to entertain us in
her stead.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Brendon said, and avoided looking Spencer in the eye. “Of
course I’ll play whenever you desire.”
“As delightful as Moore is, perhaps you could play something of
more…substance,” King Jeffrey said.
Brendon smiled into his shoulder. It reminded him of the playful bickering
between his mother and father during the long winter nights, Brendon taking his
family’s requests at the piano bench.
It was late when the family finally began to head to their bedchambers. Spencer
and Ryan left while Brendon was finishing a conversation with Crystal. Once
Crystal had gone, Brendon was a little disappointed to find that Spencer hadn’t
waited to bid him goodnight.
Jonathan was outside the salon when Brendon left, and took him by the arm,
ushering him down the hall and around the corner. “Wha—” Brendon began, and Jon
shushed him.
There was a light on in one of the rooms Brendon passed every day, but was
forever empty. Jon all but shoved Brendon inside, and closed the door behind
him. Brendon’s protests died when he saw Spencer standing by the window.
“Oh,” Brendon said, and didn’t get any further before Spencer had him wrapped
in his arms, their lips pressed together. “Oh,” Brendon said again, a long
moment later, when Spencer drew back just enough to meet his gaze.
“You sounded amazing.” Spencer breathed hot and damp on Brendon’s cheek,
pressing kisses there and along his jaw. “It was so difficult to keep my hands
to myself.”
“Spencer,” Brendon said. It was hard to remember why this was a bad idea when
Spencer’s hands were roaming over Brendon’s hips and up his back, tangling in
his hair to lead Brendon into another kiss.
“I’ve missed you,” Brendon said, panting, lips still brushing Spencer’s.
“You’re living down the hall and I see you less than I did before we were
engaged.”
“It’ll be better soon,” Spencer promised. “Father finally settled with Lord
Ross on the date. We’ll be married on the twenty-fifth.”
“That’s so quick,” Brendon said. He was having trouble speaking with the way
Spencer was mouthing at his neck, just above the collar of his jacket. “My,
ah…my brothers courted their wives for months. Matthew didn’t marry Mary for
over a year and half.”
Spencer drew back a bit, hands light on Brendon’s waist. “Is it too soon?” he
asked. “If you want to wait—”
“No,” Brendon said quickly. He felt bold, leaning in first for another kiss.
“It’s all overwhelming, but…” Over the past week and a half, Brendon had often
questioned his decision, when he was being pestered by Guy, or interrogated by
Lord Ross, or having monarchical law drilled into him. Here, in Spencer’s arms,
Brendon knew he’d made the right choice.
“Good,” Spencer said. “I rather think with as often as I visited you at the
market, our courtship has gone on long enough.”
Put that way, Brendon had to agree, though he’d never thought of their visits
that way before. “You mean…all that time, you…you…”
“Wanted you?” Spencer finished. His hands were roaming again. He grabbed a
handful of Brendon’s clothing and pulled him closer, palms firm and rough on
Brendon’s back. “Would you—”
“Spencer.” Jon was sticking his head in the door and Brendon jumped. He tried
to pull away, but Spencer held firm. “You need to get back to your chambers.”
Spencer let out a long, steadying breath. For a brief moment, he placed his
forehead against Brendon’s and took both of Brendon’s hands in his own.
“Brendon, I—”
“Spence!” Ryan snapped, and Spencer scowled over his shoulder.
“I’m coming,” Spencer snapped back. He pressed one more, quick kiss to
Brendon’s lips and said, distractedly, “Sleep well,” before allowing Ryan and
Jon to drag him away.
*
Brendon’s family was invited to be guests of the king and queen for the wedding
and holiday celebrations to follow. They said he could invite whoever he
wanted, and so he’d added his friends from Blissford as well, Dallon and Ian.
He was going crazy only seeing Spencer at mealtimes and in the salon after
dinner. Every word was carefully chosen in the presence of the royal family.
Therefore it was quite a relief when his family and friends arrived.
They’d been given chambers near Brendon’s, and in the morning after their
arrival, a private breakfast just for them had been arranged in one of the
smaller dining rooms. It was a joyous reunion, and Brendon was so thankful to
see them again and be in their company that the longing for his parents’
presence lessened.
“Shall they be calling you princess?” Daniel teased.
Dallon ruffled Brendon’s hair. “You’ll look fetching in a tiara,” he said.
Brendon shoved him off, flushing bright red. He still didn’t know what the
queen had planned to do with the tiara. “I’ll be…” he trailed off, because it
still didn’t quite seem real. “I’ll be Prince Brendon, Duke of Edinburgh.”
“That’s—we don’t have to actually call you Prince Brendon, do we?” Ian asked,
brow arched.
Before, Brendon might have thrown a bit of his bread at him, but now he thought
of what Victoria would have to say about his table manners. “You better
hadn’t,” he said.
“Do you get to hand out titles?” Dallon asked. “I could be okay with an
earldom.”
“Oh, just an earldom,” Brendon snorted. Victoria would be displeased about
that, too. It was so nice to be allowed to be himself, without fear of censure.
Soon every eye in the kingdom would be on him.
“Sorry, Duke of Edinburgh,” Dallon said with a smirk.
“I still can’t believe they’re letting Prince Spencer do this,” Kara said.
“What about an heir?”
“Er…” Brendon took a long swallow from his water glass. “Pete—that is, one of
Spencer’s godparents—said…” Now that Brendon thought back on what Pete had
said, there was an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Well, Jackie,
or Crystal…Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Listen to him, will you,” Matthew said, “Spencer, Jackie, Crystal, just like
that.”
“Well.” Brendon sat up straighter. “I’m not very well going to call my husband
Your Highness.” Which was all very well to say to his siblings, but sometimes
hard to remember on his own.
“Your husband,” Kara sighed and drew Brendon close with an arm around his
shoulder. The touch reminded him fiercely of their mother. “I can’t believe—our
little brother! Mum and Dad would be so proud.”
*
Pete, Ashlee, and Patrick were regular guests at the palace. Though Brendon’s
initial impression of Pete had been less than favourable, all three were
quickly becoming good friends. They had taken charge of the wedding and the
king and queen had gladly handed over control.
Brendon was thankful for the distraction when they called him away from his
lessons for details pertaining to the ceremony and celebration. There were
dances to be learned, lines of the ceremony to be memorised, and they would
gather in his chambers with Brendon, helping him along.
When Brendon had screwed up his lines for about the hundredth time, only a few
nights before the wedding, he was filled with a sort of dread and panic. “Lord
Ross is absolutely right,” he said, head in hands. “I don’t belong here.”
“Kid, trust us, you’re MFEO,” Pete said, clapping a hand on Brendon’s shoulder.
“This is what we do for a living, match people up and shit.” Seriously, the man
had the most bewildering manner of speech.
Ashlee rolled her eyes. “What he means is, at the end of the day, all that
matters is how you feel about Spencer, and how he feels about you. All this
other stuff, it’s just one day.”
A very important day, where every noble in the country, and some from abroad
would all be present, watching Brendon like hawks. Anyway, it was easy for the
godparents to say—they somehow got away with having their threesome without so
much as a raised brow, probably because they could turn everyone into toads, or
something.
“Come on,” Ashlee said, prodding him to his feet. “We can work on the dance
instead. Maybe it’ll help clear your head.”
Brendon liked dancing. He was good at dancing, even if he’d never learned these
dances before. A world-weary Patrick was his partner, and Brendon wasn’t sure
how that had happened, though Patrick had mumbled about losing a bet. But
tonight, he failed at even this, stumbling over himself and stepping on
Patrick’s toes until he gave up in disgust.
“Chin up,” Patrick said. “This time Saturday you’ll be a married man.”
“Yeah,” Pete agreed, waggling his eyebrows. “A married man alone in his
chambers with his new husband.”
“Pete!” Brendon said, scandalised.
“Speaking of which,” Pete went on. “Of course there’s our official wedding
gift, which will be presented after the ceremony, but I thought it would be
better to give you this part in private.”
From within his jacket pocket, Pete produced a small, purple glass bottle,
filled with what looked to be oil. Brendon was hesitant to take it, tipping it
side to side for some sort of clue.
“For the wedding night,” Pete explained. Ashlee and Patrick groaned in dismay
at the same time. “What? Someone has to prepare these kids!” He turned his
attention back to Brendon. “It’ll help ease the way, so to speak.”
Brendon gave him a blank look. “Oh, look, how am I supposed to resist when
they’re so adorable and innocent?” Pete said, mostly to himself. “You get your
fingers all slick, and then you stick them up Spencer’s—”
“Oh my God,” Brendon exclaimed, scandalised and embarrassed on Spencer’s
behalf. Of course he understood how these things worked, with four older
brothers and Dallon and Ian for best friends. That didn’t mean he expected
anyone, not even Pete Wentz, to be so forward.
“Pete,” Brendon said, ushering him to the door of his chambers, Ashlee and
Patrick following and failing miserably at their attempts to cover their
laughter. “I am grateful to you for all your help, but there are certain
aspects of my life with Spencer which we will not discuss!”
After seeing them out, he tucked the bottle away out of sight, but he couldn’t
stop thinking about it, or what Spencer might think of it, the rest of the
night.
 
*
The day before the wedding was the liveliest yet. On top of all the guests
milling about, there were dozens of deliveries being made to the kitchens in
preparation of the wedding breakfast for the royal family and the feasting
which would last throughout the entire day and evening.
Somehow Brendon had missed the fact that Ian and Shane were cousins, and so
they, along with Dallon and Pete, spent a lot of time with Brendon in his
chambers. Pete, who apparently knew everyone in the kingdom, was also good
friends with Guy, and spent the day providing insight and opinions as Guy put
the finishing touches on Brendon’s wedding garments. Brendon was so nervous it
was hard to breathe, and he appreciated the inanity of his friends’
conversation, which helped distract him.
After dinner, Queen Ginger came to Brendon’s chambers bearing a smallish,
silver box. She looked over his wedding suit, plucked at the pearls and golden
thread, and gave Brendon a warm smile. “Very princely,” she murmured.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Brendon said, hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“Have a seat,” she said, patting the sette beside her.
Brendon was really trying to become more comfortable around the king and queen.
He knew his awkwardness only made them more uncomfortable in turn. All the
same, he felt every second as though he were about to make some unforgivable
mistake around them, and be cast out.
The queen had insisted on less formality from him, but Brendon couldn’t bring
himself to address her with any sort of familiarity. He’d managed so far by
avoiding addressing her by name or title altogether.
He seated himself beside her, noticing her perfectly arranged skirts, and tried
not to jump when she laid a hand over his, clasped in his lap. “My darling boy,
whatever is troubling you?”
“Just nerves,” Brendon said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
“The night before my wedding, the Queen came to visit me, as well,” Queen
Ginger said. “I doubt you could be any more nervous now than I was then.
Brendon snorted, and immediately cursed himself, eyes going wide, because you
did not snort in the queen’s presence, least of all in response to something
she said. “I’m sorry,” he said, fervently.
Queen Ginger sighed. “However did Spencer manage to get you to agree to marry
him?” she asked.
“I’m...I’m sorry?” It seemed the question should be the other way around.
“It’s a wonder you can look him in the eye, or speak his name, let alone how
you will visit your husbandly duties upon him,” she continued.
Brendon was sure he’d never been so red in his life. He was half-convinced he
was dreaming, because there was absolutely no way the queen was having this
conversation with him. Suddenly, it occurred to him to wonder if fairy
godparents could change their visages. Could it be Pete talking to him right
now, in the queen’s guise?
“Brendon, my child,” the queen said, “if you were a girl, do you know the
things we would have already discussed? The embarrassing rituals that would be
expected of you?”
Mutely, Brendon shook his head. “Jeffery’s mother had far too intimate
knowledge of what took place in our marriage bed, in those early days,” the
queen said.
“We never cared much for one another. I decided early on that when it was my
daughter-in-law, I’d do far better a job. With love matches there is far less
cause to worry about securing an heir. Obviously there is no precedence for
your marriage to my son, and we are all figuring this out together. We will
simply have to take Peter for his word that you will have issue.”
Queen Ginger paused and squeezed Brendon’s hand, then released it. She tucked a
finger under his chin and gave a gentle nudge until Brendon lifted his head and
met her gaze, flushing madly. “I’m doing a rather poor job of reassuring you,
aren’t I?” She had a rueful smile on her lips.
“It’s alright, ma’am,” Brendon said. “I appreciate the effort.”
“Oh, this is all beside the point,” she went on, tone lighter, “which is, I
don’t know how it is my son managed to get past this pervasive obsequiousness
of yours.”
That stung a little, because how else was Brendon supposed to be? Until a few
short weeks ago, he’d been expected to be this way. It wasn’t so easy a thing
to change overnight. “He didn’t have to try very hard,” Brendon finally
admitted. “It’s probably shameful how easily I gave in, when he asked me to
call him by his name.”
“If it was anything like my own experience has been, I doubt that very much.”
It took Brendon a moment to realise he was being teased. By the queen, no less,
and wondered if he’d entirely misunderstood the tone of this whole
conversation. “I’m sorry,” he said, and had to physically clamp his mouth shut
against the automatic “your majesty,” that tried to escape. “Ginger.”
The use of her name made the queen grant him a brief, stunning flash of a grin,
in which Brendon saw her son. “Lovely,” she said. “Now.” She passed him the
silver, jeweled box she held in her lap. “I wanted to give you this tonight.”
Brendon took the box which weighed heavily in his hands. He undid the latch and
lifted the lid, balancing the box on his knees. Inside was a golden circlet
with rubies, pearls, and diamonds inset.
Ginger leaned close to look over his shoulder and said in a soft voice, “Lord
Ross nearly had a fit when he discovered I was giving you this particular
crown.” She lifted it from where it was nestled in silver satin. “It is
traditionally worn by the second son of the king and queen. Why don’t you try
it on?”
Brendon’s fingers felt thick and clumsy as he lifted the circlet out. He went
to the looking glass by his dresser and settled it on top his curls. Queen
Ginger came up behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders, and smiled. In
that moment, Brendon was so thankful for her, in the absence of his own mother.
“It suits you quite nicely,” she said.
Brendon rather thought it looked horribly out of place, but kept the thought to
himself.
*
Though Brendon was having some difficulty adjusting to palace life, the luxury
of a nightly bath was one he indulged in quite happily. After visiting with the
queen and being pestered by Guy and the others all day, Brendon let the softly
scented water sink into his muscles and soothe his nerves.
Shane was in and out of the water closet and bed chambers, preparing things for
the morning. He’d asked Brendon which nightshirt he’d like for tomorrow night,
so that Shane could take it to the prince’s rooms in the morning. That more
than anything else brought home the reality that tomorrow night, Brendon would
be wed. After that, even with the bed was soft and coals heated the sheets,
Brendon could not relax enough to sleep.
It had to be after midnight when Brendon heard the creak of his door opening
and started, sitting straight up in bed. The heavy drapes surrounding his bed
were parted to reveal Spencer, who gave him a grin as he climbed into bed.
Brendon shrank away, clenching the sheets tightly in his fists. “What are you
doing?” Brendon hissed.
“I didn’t see you once all day,” Spencer whispered, coming closer. He leaned in
for a kiss and Brendon turned his head, the touch landing on his jaw.
“We’ll see plenty of each other tomorrow,” Brendon said. “But if they find you
in here, I’ll be in such trouble.”
“I’d be the one in trouble,” Spencer said, “sneaking into your room.” He seemed
content with Brendon’s jaw. His lips trailed lightly along the curve of it,
then pressed a kiss to Brendon’s ear before drifting lower.
Brendon shivered at the touch and ducked his head. “They’d say I’d sed--seduced
you.” Spencer’s mouth had found a place that made heat pool in low in Brendon’s
belly. Brendon nudged him away.
Spencer gave him a droll look. “Not yet you haven’t.”
“Spencer,” Brendon said, distressed.
Spencer chuckled, forehead dropping to rest against Brendon’s shoulder. “Don’t
think I’ll give up so easily tomorrow night,” he said.
Though he knew Spencer was only teasing, Brendon was sincere when he answered,
“Tomorrow night I won’t deny you anything.”
Spencer’s eyes were dark when he lifted his head. His tongue darted out to wet
his lips and leaned in to kiss Brendon again, his touch lingering. His lips
were slick and they glided smoothly across Brendon’s. Reflexively, Brendon
licked his own, and when his tongue brushed Spencer’s lips, Spencer’s breath
caught. Tentatively, Brendon tried again, this time tracing the seam of
Spencer’s mouth. He was rewarded with a rumbling moan and Spencer parting his
lips in welcome.
It was wet and messy and sort of amazing, the way their mouths slid together,
over and over, every time opening a little more, until Brendon grew bold again.
He licked past Spencer’s lips, lapped at the roof of his mouth. Spencer pressed
him deeper into the mattress and pulled back with a little growl. His teeth
nipped at Brendon’s lower lip and the sensation shot straight down Brendon’s
spine.
“Tomorrow night,” Spencer said, breathless, and it took all of Brendon’s
strength not to grab him by the collar and jerk him back down and say to hell
with the rules and tradition. Instead he nodded shakily and held his tongue.
“Oh,” Spencer sighed, voice pitched low in a way that made Brendon feel hot and
helpless. “I love you.”
Brendon was struck speechless by the words, and it was a good thing Spencer
scrambled out of bed then, because there was no way Brendon would have pushed
him away again after hearing them. With Spencer gone, the bed was far too
empty. Brendon rolled onto his stomach, hardness pressed into the mattress, and
wished for the morning to come as quickly as possible.
*
For Brendon, the day of the wedding passed in a blur, rushed from one place to
another. The morning found him surrounded by the godparents and Guy, fussing
over his hair and face, and making sure that every individual fold in his
clothing was to their liking. Once in his suit, with rouge and glossy lips,
Pete placed the crown on his head, and this time, Brendon thought that perhaps
it did fit him.
At the cathedral there was a crowd of thousands gathered to await the
presentation of the prince and his new prince consort. Brendon’s name was
common knowledge at this point, but he had yet to be formally introduced to the
people. Now, seeing the masses, all his previous fears of inadequacy were
brought back with a vengeance.
“What am I doing?” Brendon murmured. He’d said that phrase more times than he
could count in the past weeks.
Pete wasn’t very sympathetic to Brendon, and ushered him inside with a hand
under his elbow. “Marrying your prince. Quit bitching, dude, I’m going to start
thinking you’re not grateful.”
That shut Brendon up pretty quickly, because there was no way Brendon could
ever properly express just how grateful to Pete and Patrick and Ashlee he
really was. They ushered him in and Greta, beaming pressed a bright bundle of
flowers into his hands on the way in.
After the fact, Brendon remembered very little of the actual ceremony. He’d had
his lines drilled into him, rehearsed them a million times. His walk down the
aisle was made alone. All he could see was Spencer, resplendent in blue and
white, waiting for him at the altar. He remembered clinging tightly to
Spencer’s hand after they’d spoken their vows, and once Spencer had saluted
him, their mouths still close enough they brushed with every word spoken.
Brendon had been told to keep the kiss brief and respectable, but couldn’t
care, when Spencer grinned and said, “I love you.”
This time, Brendon managed to say it back, rushed and terrified and still
amazed with disbelief, “I love you, too, Spencer, so much, I can’t--” Then
Spencer kissed him again, and Brendon ignored the tittering and whispers.
When they stepped out into the cold, bright morning after, the crowds greeted
them with cheers. Brendon watched the sea of people calling his name in
disbelief. There, among them, were familiar faces from the market. It all came
down upon him at once, that what Shane had said was true. Brendon was their
example, now.
Even though they were now married, Brendon still didn’t have a moment alone
with Spencer for the rest of the day. At the feast following the royal
breakfast and the meeting of the royal cabinet, where King Jeffrey bestowed
Brendon with his new title, Brendon was seated at Spencer’s right hand side.
The presence was reassuring, even as Brendon’s attention was demanded of
Spencer’s visiting family--princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, lords
and ladies--who wanted to know his most intimate secrets.
They did dance, and Brendon was quite proud of the moves he’d mastered in the
short time since their engagement. It would have been romantic, being held in
Spencer’s arms and twirled around, if it weren’t for all the strangers watching
them, no doubt passing judgment on Brendon based on every slight misstep, or
how close he danced to Spencer.
The weight of the circlet was heavy on his head. The shoes, much like the ones
Pete had conjured for the ball, pinched at his toes, and the collar of his
jacket rubbed Brendon’s neck in a most uncomfortable manner. When, sometime
after eleven, Spencer leaned into him, murmuring that they sneak out, Brendon
was equal to the suggestion. Most of the guests had been drinking since early
afternoon, and it was easy to go undetected as they slipped from the ballroom.
Brendon had never been to Spencer’s apartments, and he didn’t exactly know how
things would change with their marriage, but he already preferred these rooms
to his own. They looked well lived in and comfortable, and Ryan and Jonathan’s
touch was apparent here and there, surfaces covered in books in the sitting
room. Brendon silently hoped that Spencer would be happy to live like a
commoner now that he’d married one, sharing a single set of rooms each night
rather than going to separate beds.
“I’ve wanted to give you your present for days,” Spencer said, leading Brendon
further into the dark room. He took one of the lit candles from the wall and
began to light others, illuminating the room more fully.
“But I didn’t get you any present,” Brendon protested.
Spencer paused to give Brendon a soft, slow kiss that made Brendon’s pulse
speed up. “I don’t need anything other than what you’ve already given me.”
Brendon blushed and ducked his head, but gave no further protest. “Your real
present isn’t quite ready yet,” Spencer went on to say. “But I hope that this
will give you pleasure, in the meantime.”
Brendon wanted to say that Spencer’s presence alone gave him more pleasure than
he’d ever hoped to achieve in his lifetime, but then Spencer’s candle lit up
the dark corner of the room and he tugged back a white sheet, and beneath it
was a grand piano.
“I had it made for you,” Spencer said, and Brendon grabbed him in an over-
exuberant hug. Spencer didn’t seem to mind, hugging him back just as tightly.
“Does that mean you like it?”
“I love it,” Brendon said, voice muffled in Spencer’s shirt. He lifted his chin
to look Spencer in the eye. “I love you.”
Spencer’s smile softened and he dipped his head, brushing his lips over
Brendon’s lightly.
Brendon’s fingers flexed in Spencer’s shirt. “Can we...can we go into your
bedroom?” he asked, heart fluttering madly.
“Our bedroom,” Spencer corrected. He laced their fingers together, and drew
Brendon along behind him.
The bedroom was already glowing softly from the lit candles and warm from the
roaring fire in the hearth. Spencer’s bed--their bed--was high off the ground
and the thick winter drapes were pinned back and covers turned down, waiting
for them. Brendon rubbed his own arms, nervous but unafraid.
“Should I undress now?” Brendon asked, toying with the cuffs of his shirt.
Spencer didn’t answer outright. He stepped close to Brendon, crowding him back
against the edge of the bed and gave him another of those wet, open-mouthed
kisses that made Brendon shiver. Brendon let his hands drop to his side at
Spencer’s urging, and Spencer slid the jacket from Brendon’s shoulders. It
landed on the floor with a clatter of pearls and jewels, and Brendon couldn’t
find it within himself to care.
As Spencer began on the buttons of Brendon’s shirt, Brendon’s brain caught up
and he hurried to return the favour. Spencer’s kiss made Brendon dizzy, made
his fingers clumsy, and the buttons were so tiny and slippery in his sweaty
hands. After an eternity, he somehow managed to open the shirt and then
Spencer’s skin was bare under Brendon’s touch and he wanted to touch
everywhere.
Spencer broke away from Brendon’s mouth and Brendon couldn’t help the soft
sound of protest that escaped him. Spencer made a humming sound of reassurance
and trailed his lips down Brendon’s neck. His teeth scraped gently at Brendon’s
pulse and Brendon’s hips jerked forward of their own volition. Spencer was hard
against Brendon’s stomach, and Brendon just wanted to rub against him. Spencer
bit down more roughly, then soothed the spot with his tongue.
Brendon’s moan echoed embarrassingly loudly in the silence of the chamber, but
when Spencer lifted his head, grinning broadly, Brendon forgot to be
embarrassed. Spencer’s chest was bare before him, a long stretch of pale skin,
and it was all for Brendon. He took Spencer’s lead and lowered his mouth to
press a kiss against Spencer’s throat and another to the ridge of his
collarbone. With his tongue he traced the sharp edge of it, swirling in
Spencer’s clavicle and then down.
“Wait,” Spencer murmured. Brendon didn’t want to wait; he felt like they’d
already waited far too long. His fingers skimmed down Spencer’s ribs, curled
around the jut of his hipbones. Spencer’s chest heaved under Brendon’s mouth,
and he cried out softly when Brendon drew his teeth over a nipple.
Spencer’s fingers threaded through Brendon’s hair and he gave a soft tug
upwards. “Wait,” he said again. “I want to lie down with you.”
Brendon wanted anything that Spencer wanted, even if the thought of them lying
down together was too overwhelming to really contemplate. He nodded, and
Spencer began to unlace his breeches. Entirely without the permission of his
brain, Brendon’s hands hurried to free himself from the remainder of his own
clothing. It was easier to focus on than every inch of new skin that Spencer
bared.
When he was naked, Brendon finally lifted his head to see Spencer already on
the bed, pale form hidden in the shadows of the curtains. His eyes were almost
entirely pupils as they traced the lines of Brendon’s body. Brendon felt his
feet carry him forward, felt the soft comforter under his hands and then his
knees. Spencer’s mouth was hanging open and Brendon had to kiss him, lick at
the dip of his upper lip. He felt more than heard the hitch in Spencer’s
breathing as he began to kiss back.
Spencer’s fingers fumbled over the covers to link briefly with Brendon’s,
before continuing upward, over Brendon’s arms. Goosebumps rose in the wake of
his quavering touch. It occurred to Brendon then that Spencer might be just as
nervous as Brendon was, just as uncertain of what was to follow, and he found
it reassuring. Spencer’s hands closed over the curve of Brendon’s shoulder and
pulled him down.
Brendon caught himself with a hand on the pillow and shifted his weight,
tossing a leg over Spencer to straddle him, and then it was just lots of warm,
silky skin pressed to his own, making any sort of rational thought impossible.
He tore his mouth from Spencer’s, panting, and returned to his earlier
exploration of Spencer’s body. He had the strangest impulses, to bite Spencer’s
jaw and suck on his ear. They were touches Brendon never would have thought of
as pleasurable to give or receive, but they served to make Spencer moan and, in
turn, make Brendon’s erection throb where it was pressed against Spencer’s
stomach.
Every sucking kiss placed to Spencer’s throat turned the skin a dull pink and
made Spencer writhe under Brendon. It was exhilarating, having Spencer trapped
beneath him, muscles and skin shifting against Brendon’s thighs, solid and
real. Brendon was dizzy; the air between them was stifling, and no matter how
deeply Brendon breathed, he couldn’t get enough.
“Brendon,” Spencer panted. Brendon made himself sit back and meet Spencer’s
gaze.
Though the bed was warm, Brendon couldn’t stop shaking, and he felt as though
his heart might burst free from his chest. Spencer reached out, his touch light
on Brendon’s ribs and over his hips, settling in the crease of Brendon’s
thighs. Brendon watched Spencer pet the skin there, and Brendon squirmed,
uncertain of whether he wanted to move into or away from the touch, he was so
sensitive. He was still trying to make up his mind when Spencer’s other hand
wrapped around Brendon’s cock and gave a slow stroke.
“Oh, my--” Brendon’s voice cut out on a guttural moan, chin dropping to his
chest, eyes fluttering closed. He wanted to tell Spencer how amazing it felt,
wanted to return the favour, and he would, just as soon as he was capable of
doing anything but thrust his hips forward into Spencer’s grip, over and over,
until he was spending himself all over Spencer’s fist and stomach.
Brendon slumped forward, face pushed into Spencer’s throat, still shuddering
from the force of it. He was vaguely embarrassed by the fact that he was
smearing his come between them. Spencer draw a hand down Brendon’s back and
Brendon felt as though every cell in his body rose to meet the touch.
“That was...” Brendon couldn’t think of a word to adequately describe how it
had felt, but he could show Spencer. He pushed himself up, laying kisses on
Spencer’s jaw and cheek along the way. Spencer was smiling, a sweet, open smile
that crinkled his eyes and made him look even more beautiful than usual.
Brendon forgot himself in Spencer’s mouth for a moment, kissing him languidly.
As they kissed, Brendon slid a hand between them. Spencer’s stomach was slick
from Brendon’s come and Brendon felt filthy and inexplicably aroused as he ran
his hand through it. His fingers brushed lower, lightly tracing the shape of
Spencer’s cock against his skin and Spencer’s hips stuttered up into the touch.
Even with everything else they’d done, even with Spencer’s ring around
Brendon’s finger, this felt unreal, as if Brendon was caught in a wonderful
dream. His prince was pinned beneath him, covered in Brendon’s release, hard
for him.
“Brendon,” Spencer mouthed into the kiss, urgency in his tone. “Please.”
Brendon didn’t mean to tease. “I just...” Brendon murmured, every word a
whisper of a kiss. He pressed Spencer’s cock more firmly against his stomach
and rolled his palm up the length. Spencer whimpered, head tossed back against
his pillow. Watching him was just... “fascinating.”
Spencer chuckled faintly and reached out to run his hand through Brendon’s
hair. Brendon smiled sheepishly and apologised by closing his fingers tightly
around Spencer’s erection. “Yes,” Spencer hissed on an exhale. Brendon pressed
his lips briefly to Spencer’s pulse and then leaned back to watch as he twisted
his wrist upwards. Spencer’s face was a revelation to watch as he came undone
by Brendon’s hand.
In the afterglow, Brendon curled up at Spencer’s side, tucked under his arm.
Somehow it felt almost more intimate than their lovemaking, sweat dampened skin
pressed close, drying in the air, breathing slowing in tandem. Brendon was
already growing aroused again, or perhaps he’d never entirely come down. It
didn’t feel as urgent as before, and the cuddling was nice. He turned his face
into Spencer’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of him. He nosed through the
long golden hair to press his open mouth against the skin.
After a moment, Spencer took a deep breath and rolled to face Brendon. Propped
up on one arm, he looked down on Brendon and laid a hand to the curve of his
neck, caressing downwards. His hand stopped low on Brendon’s stomach. There was
hesitancy in his touch. “Would you like...do you want to...”
“Spencer.” Brendon turned onto his side as well, taking Spencer’s hand in his.
He scooted even closer, slid a leg between Spencer’s, and leaned into kiss him.
“Yes.”
*
With their wedding so close to Christmas, the celebration spilled over, until
one bled into the other. The visitors to court stayed, Brendon’s siblings among
them. While Brendon would have preferred as much uninterrupted time alone with
Spencer as possible, he was glad to be surrounded by those he loved. Besides,
they more than made up for the time kept apart during the day at night, locking
themselves in their quarters as soon as dinner was finished. Since they were
newlyweds, no one seemed to mind.
The days will filled up with those eager to spend time with them. William and
his Spaniard were among them, as well as nobles from the north and Spencer’s
cousin Victoria. Brendon found them easier to talk to than most of the other
nobles, and they, along with Ryan, Jon, Ian, and Dallon often went riding
together, or spent long days in the music room, singing and playing from the
newest musicals and compositions.
Brendon was so distracted by concerts and delicious dinners, and long nights by
the fireplace with Spencer, their families, and all their new friends, he could
go whole days without missing his parents.
Sometimes, though, palace life could be overwhelming and Brendon would hide
himself in the library. Ryan and Dallon would often join him, and they would
just read in silence for hours at a time until Spencer came and whisked Brendon
off to their chambers.
And palace life certainly took some adjusting, but for the most part Brendon
didn’t mind. He still didn’t know how to deal with being waited on hand and
foot. Everyone around him seemed to take the servants for granted and went
around as if they were invisible.
Spencer wasn’t that way with Jonathan, and thankfully Jonathan and Shane
managed to perform their valet duties without intruding on Spencer and
Brendon’s privacy too very much. But Brendon was keenly aware that he was no
better born than any of the men and women who served in the palace, and felt
very out of place because of it.
None of that really mattered once evening fell. The nights grew longer as
winter fully settled in, and Brendon and Spencer took full advantage of the
fact, ensconced in their bed. It was an island isolated from the rest of the
palace where they were just Brendon and Spencer, no titles or expectations.
Brendon worried occasionally, because he knew that nothing they’d done so far
actually constituted as consummation of their marriage. He doubted anyone would
question the legitimacy of their marriage at this point, but knowing that they
could left him feeling unsettled.
Brendon’s thoughts often strayed to the little bottle from Pete, kept safe and
secret in the pocket of the only pair of trousers Brendon had left from his old
life. Guy and Shane had despaired over them, but Brendon didn’t really care.
Maybe he’d never wear them again, but they were his. Also, now a convenient
hiding spot.
It was maybe silly to be embarrassed of Spencer finding the bottle, given how
much they’d already done together. But, while in general the people of the
kingdom didn’t care if two men were lovers, some more old-fashioned folks did.
Brendon had heard enough of those people’s opinions in his life to feel vaguely
ashamed to admit that he wanted Spencer to take him like Brendon was a woman.
He didn’t even dare think about things going the other way. Certainly Spencer
treated Brendon as if there were no difference between them, but Spencer was a
prince by birth, and there was no way he’d let Brendon take him.
Spencer seemed perfectly content with what they were doing right now, and it
wasn’t as if Brendon could give him an heir, anyway. Maybe Spencer wouldn’t
want to do that with Brendon. So Brendon spent a lot of time thinking about it,
perhaps more than was healthy, and didn’t come to any great conclusions.
Some nights, when Spencer had been touching him in just the right way to tease
and draw out the pleasure, when Brendon was weak and dizzy with wanting him,
the words almost found their way past his lips. There was an aching emptiness
that no amount of pleasure filled. Then he’d see Spencer’s eyes dark in the
shadows of their bed and think that as much as he loved Spencer, there were so
many parts of each other they didn’t know yet, and the fear caught up in
Brendon’s throat.
*
Brendon’s first official royal duty was to visit churches with Spencer to pass
out gifts to the orphans. As intimidating as Brendon found his new role, and
for all that he didn’t know how to deal with people addressing him as Prince
Brendon, he didn’t mind at all when it meant he could help children like
himself. Perhaps he’d managed to avoid the orphanage, but he had been no less
an orphan in his aunt and uncle’s care.
Even more daunting a duty was trying to come up with a gift for his new
husband. Brendon had never been particularly good at giving gifts. Luckily his
parents had been happy with the silly handmade things he’d presented them with
in his childhood.
Spencer could have anything his heart desired, and Brendon still didn’t
actually have any of his own money. The queen had explained that he would have
access to some funds in Spencer’s account. Brendon hadn’t really understood
what she meant, or when he’d get it. He didn’t want to press the issue, mostly
because he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually be able to bring himself to spend any
of the money in it.
Ryan and Pete were singularly unhelpful, making all kinds of lewd suggestions
about Brendon offering himself up as a gift. It was ridiculous, because Spencer
had to already know that Brendon would gladly give all of himself, in whatever
way Spencer wanted it.
In the end, Brendon thought back on his own parents. His mother had always give
his father handmade slippers lined in felted wool and embroidered with his
initials. It was a tradition passed down from her mother, and one she’d passed
onto Kara, as well. Brendon’s lack of sewing skills aside, Spencer hardly
needed new slippers, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Guy was helpful
enough in procuring the appropriate materials, and even held his tongue when he
saw the finished product.
On the twenty-second, all of the royal family went to their country castle.
Brendon had thought, it being in the country, it would be less grand than the
London residence, but he had been wrong.
King Jeffrey dragged all the men out hunting one afternoon. Somehow Ryan
managed to escape, but instead of telling Brendon how, he just looked
infuriatingly smug and holed up next to the fire with a book.
“It’s a bonding experience,” Dallon smirked.
“My dad never took me hunting,” Brendon said. He could think of better ways to
bond.
In the end, it turned out Jeffrey wasn’t much of a hunter, either, and really
the afternoon consisted of them sipping coffee and bird-watching. Before they
returned to the castle, Jeffrey swore them all to secrecy. Brendon had the
feeling Ginger knew already, if her teasing about their lack of game was any
indication.
They played board games in the evening and took turns singing as Brendon, Kara,
and Jackie played piano for Ian, Ryan, and Jon to sing along. A grand Christmas
tree was set up in the salon and they all decorated it together. There were
many beautiful, delicate ornaments crafted of blown glass, gold, and jewels,
but among them were ones handmade by Spencer and the twins.
It wasn’t anything like Christmastime had been with Brendon’s family, but he
could see himself growing used to it.
*
“I was thinking we could wait until Boxing Day to exchange our gifts,” Spencer
said, when they’d retired after Christmas Eve dinner.
Brendon considered it as he finished brushing his teeth. There was no reason to
argue, especially if it meant exchanging their gifts in private. Brendon would
rather make a fool of himself in front of Spencer only, than the entire royal
family. Still, he was curious.
“What’s special about Boxing Day?” he asked, when he climbed into bed.
“Do you remember our wedding night,” Spencer began, drawing close to Brendon’s
side under the warm comforter. Brendon flushed and Spencer gave him a wicked
grin before continuing, “I told you your real present wasn’t ready yet.”
“But,” Brendon sputtered, “But, Spencer, you’ve already given me—I mean, so
much, the piano was too much, as it is, and I never wanted anything anyway,
other than you.”
Spencer cut him off with a kiss, which both calmed and excited Brendon at once.
He lost his train of thought as the kiss lingered, and deepened. Spencer
shifted, easing Brendon back against the pillows and looming over him. By the
time they parted, Spencer was settled in Brendon’s lap. He began working on the
lacing of Brendon’s nightgown as he spoke.
“The piano was as much for me, as it was for you,” he said. “I love to hear you
play, and to see the pleasure it brings you.” His finger stroked over the bare
skin he’d revealed, and Brendon shuddered.
“Spencer,” Brendon said, trying to keep his voice level, because as much as he
loved how his body reacted to Spencer’s touch—as much as he loved that Spencer
wanted to touch him—there were things he needed to say. “I can’t give you the
sort of gifts you give me.”
Again, Spencer ducked his head, licking past Brendon’s lips this time. He
tasted of the hot chocolate they’d had after dinner, listening to Ryan tell
Christmas stories. The rich, bitter flavour was taking some getting used to,
but Brendon loved the way it tasted in Spencer’s mouth.
“I don’t know why I bother dressing for bed at all,” Brendon murmured. He was
new to this teasing, but the thrill in his chest was addictive, especially when
Spencer chuckled, lips brushing down Brendon’s throat.
“Because you know how much I love undressing you?” It still made Brendon’s
heart race to hear Spencer say such things. He obligingly lifted his hips when
Spencer began to tug at the hem of his gown, raised his arms above his head so
Spencer could draw it off and cast it aside.
Brendon lay back fully as Spencer got up on his knees, shifting his weight side
to side as he gathered up his own nightgown. It got all caught up somewhere
around Spencer’s shoulders, making him sway unsteadily, and Brendon brought his
hands up in reflex, framing Spencer’s hips to steady him. He swallowed hard,
thumbs brushing lightly over the skin as Spencer continued to fight with his
gown.
“That’s why you undo the buttons, first,” Brendon said, and his voice came out
a little breathless. It wasn’t as if Brendon hadn’t touched Spencer like this
what seemed like a million times already, but the position was different,
Spencer half-hard, so close to Brendon’s face.
Spencer grumbled something unintelligible, finally getting one hand free, then
the other, pulling off the offending garment and leaving that beautiful hair in
disarray. In a second he’d sink back down into Brendon’s lap, lay them out side
by side, and then Brendon didn’t know when he’d find the courage to try this
again. So he didn’t think about what Spencer’s reaction might be, just raised
up on his elbows and closed his lips around the head of Spencer’s erection,
suckling.
“F—fuck,” Spencer cried, hands flying out to brace against the headboard, and
his hips jerked forward.
Brendon drew back and met his gaze, startled. Spencer had never used that word,
or any obscenity before, in Brendon’s presence, and certainly that couldn’t be
a good thing. Spencer was panting, cheeks red, eyes wide.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” Brendon said. He didn’t know the first thing about what was
proper bedroom etiquette, and he was mostly going on what felt right.
And it had felt right, just that brief moment. Brendon was achingly hard, but
too terrified to move. His hands fell away from Spencer’s hips to clutch the
sheets. “I just—I didn’t think—”
There was something in the way Spencer looked at Brendon, as if he could read
every thought Brendon had, written out on his face. Then Spencer drew back, and
Brendon’s heart started racing again, this time in fear. He wanted to reach out
and pull Spencer close again, but couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t
know what he’d do if Spencer wouldn’t come to him.
“You think too much, is the problem,” Spencer said. Before Brendon could muster
a reply, Spencer had pushed back the comforter, and Brendon watched, heart in
his throat, as Spencer slid down the length of Brendon’s body and took his cock
in hand. “Allow me to remedy that at once.”
Spencer’s beautiful, princely mouth was far too lovely to be debased in such a
way, and Brendon wanted to protest. But then Spencer drew Brendon’s cock in
until his lips brushed his own fist, and Brendon was left speechless. He wanted
to thrust upwards, but absolutely would not allow himself to do so. His body
spasmed with the effort to remain still. There was a helpless keening noise he
could not contain, rising up from his chest.
“Spencer,” Brendon pleaded, “you can’t,” because Spencer was his prince. He
pushed feebly at Spencer’s head. Spencer began to suck, his tongue pressed hard
against Brendon’s cock, every small movement designed to rob Brendon of his
reason and control.
It was unlike anything Brendon could have ever imagined. There was nothing he
could do but rock into it. His hands wouldn’t listen to him, no longer pushing
at Spencer. Instead, his fingers threaded through Spencer’s hair, squeezing
tight, holding him down, tugging him closer.
“Please,” Brendon heard himself saying, voice completely foreign. He didn’t
even know what he was asking. He began shuddering, and the pleasure tore
through him almost violently, making him curl up off the mattress, hugging
Spencer’s head to him and he pulsed into Spencer’s mouth.
Brendon fell back against the pillows, drawing gasping breaths. He couldn’t
seem to make his fingers loosen their grip in Spencer’s hair. Spencer slowly
drew back, every drag of his lips against Brendon’s sensitive skin making
Brendon quiver. He placed soft kisses over Brendon’s hips, low over his
stomach, nipped at Brendon’s pelvic bone.
Finally, Spencer rested his chin against Brendon’s thigh, and his eyes lifted
to meet Brendon’s. “I’ll say it as often as I need to, until it gets through,”
Spencer said. “There is nothing you could ask me for that I would not give you,
within our bedroom, or without.”
Brendon wanted to believe it was the truth, and he certainly believed that
Spencer believed it. Perhaps that was only because Spencer hadn’t even fathomed
the things Brendon wanted.
“I’ll try to remember that,” Brendon promised. He smoothed his fingers through
Spencer’s hair, down his cheek, and hooked them under Spencer’s chin. He gave a
gentle prod, lifting Spencer’s face as he wriggled lower in the bed.
Spencer met him halfway, a familiar, delicious weight pressing Brendon into the
bed with his kisses. Brendon wanted to tell Spencer how much he loved him, but
the words felt small and insignificant right now.
Instead, he clasped his arms around Spencer’s shoulders, pressed kisses along
Spencer’s chest, and rolled Spencer beneath him. Even that still felt like such
a bold move. Spencer was hard and leaking against Brendon’s thigh, rolling his
hips in time with the salty sweep of his tongue against Brendon’s.
Spencer had taken Brendon in his mouth, and Brendon wanted to return the
gesture, but Spencer was clinging so tightly to him, pulling him back for more
kisses every time Brendon’s mouth strayed. Brendon gave up fighting and worked
his leg between Spencer’s. He got a hand on Spencer’s hip, and rocked them
together, until Spencer came, biting and tugging on Brendon’s lip.
They were silent, both recovering, and Brendon rolled off Spencer to lie beside
him. He kept his eyes closed, still embarrassed and confused, and wondering if
it would always be like this. Brendon wished he could just cast aside all his
feelings of inadequacy down to the differences in his and Spencer’s different
upbringings, all his inhibitions. They were husbands, now, and that should be
enough.
Times like this, though, lying in the dark, sweaty and sated, and so unsure,
Brendon felt like Spencer was a stranger to him. He couldn’t figure out how to
reconcile the man he’d fallen in love with in those brief, stolen moments at
the market with who Spencer was in the castle, surrounded by the luxury and
ceremony of his station. Or the sweet and hesitant lover, with the man who said
fuck and took Brendon so readily in his mouth. Just thinking of it, Brendon’s
stomach twisted, while his cock twitched in interest.
“I wish you would just say what you’re thinking, that makes you frown like
that,” Spencer whispered. He traced a gentle thumb across Brendon’s brow.
Brendon wasn’t sure Spencer knew what he was asking for. “I was thinking how
much I love you,” Brendon said, “and that I don’t deserve you at all.”
Spencer kissed him, hard and fast, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it made
Brendon’s skin tingle. “Setting aside the fact that you somehow think you’re
unworthy of me,” Spencer said, scowling, “you’re what I want, Brendon. I don’t
care what you or anyone else thinks I deserve. Wasn’t it you who told me to
follow my heart?”
Brendon swallowed, finding it difficult to meet Spencer’s gaze. He could only
remember a few times Spencer had ever been anything other than pleased with
him. The annoyance was always over this same old thing, when Brendon slipped
and referred to Spencer as your highness, or said something self-deprecatory.
Right now, Spencer seemed more than annoyed, he sounded angry.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said
.
“For what?” Spencer snapped. “For sucking my cock?” Brendon flinched, even as
his traitorous body responded with excitement. “Or for coming in my mouth?” He
breathed out the words into the curve of Brendon’s neck, punctuated them with a
sharp bite.
“I want you, Brendon,” he said, and his tone had changed entirely, soft,
pleading, vulnerable. “I want all of you, all those parts you keep hidden away
from me because you don’t think they’re appropriate, or messy, or whatever you
tell yourself. I’m yours, Brendon, don’t you see that? I thought you
understood, being a prince, that’s just my title, and I can’t escape it with
anyone but you.”
Brendon wanted to cry. “I’ll be better,” he promised. “I’m so sorry, I know
this isn’t what you wanted. I’ll be better.”
“I don’t want you better,” Spencer shouted, sitting back on his heels. “Goddamn
it, Brendon, you—” Brendon drew the covers close to him, waiting for Spencer to
tell him to leave, tell him it had been a mistake.
Spencer took his hand, softening. “Please, Brendon. I feel as though I’ve let
you down. You draw away from me whenever I say or do something that you don’t
think is right, or proper, for a prince, and I thought you understood,” he
repeats. “No one makes me feel the way you do, like I can say and do these
things. You make me feel bold, and then you rebuff me.”
Brendon shook his head. “I won’t. I won’t do it any more,” Brendon said. Then,
in a rush, before he could censor himself, because it ached to know he was
causing Spencer any pain, “I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing. I’m so
scared I’ll say what I’m thinking and change your mind.”
“Do you think so little of me?” Spencer asked. “I pledged myself to you before
God, for all our lives.”
“It isn’t that, Spencer,” Brendon said, but he was confused and uncertain of
the truth of the statement. Maybe he had doubted Spencer. He hadn’t thought of
it in those terms, but now that Spencer said it, it was all Brendon could see.
“Just tell me what you were really thinking, Brendon,” Spencer said. He reached
out, fingers cold on Brendon’s arm.
How had they come to this, from the earlier warmth and ease, teasing one
another as they undressed?
“The things I want from you,” Brendon said, before he’d even made a conscious
decision to speak, tongue heavy in his mouth. “That’s what I was thinking
about.”
Spencer scooted closer, his thigh chilled from the air. Brendon laid his hand
over the skin without thinking, and it was so soft. He let his touch shift
higher. “I’ve wanted to do that to you for so long.”
“Do…suck me, you mean?” Spencer asked. He flushed at the words, and it made
Brendon feel hot despite the cold. How did Spencer say it so shamelessly one
moment, and blush over it, the next?
“Yes,” Brendon agreed, even though he was so terribly ashamed with himself.
“Please say it,” Spencer murmured, leaning in closer still, breath stirring
Brendon’s fringe.
Brendon shook his head firmly, cheeks on fire. “Please,” Spencer said again,
lips brushing Brendon’s temple, then his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth.
“It’s only me. You can say anything to me, Brendon, please trust me.”
Brendon thought of the way it made his heart race to hear Spencer use those
words. Was he being unfair, expecting Spencer to react any differently, because
he was a prince? Spencer just wanted to be a man with him, and Brendon kept
clinging to the title. “I’ve wanted,” Brendon breathed, closing his eyes.
“Tell me,” Spencer said.
“I—” Brendon shook his head again. “I can’t say—”
Spencer laced their fingers and gave a tug. Brendon opened his eyes, watching
Spencer lie down. “Show me.”
That, Brendon could do. He moved to over Spencer, and Spencer spread his legs,
letting Brendon settle between them. Brendon let his hands come to rest on the
smooth, soft skin of Spencer’s inner thighs, a touch familiar to both of them
by now. Spencer was only half-hard, but with every second growing harder.
Brendon leaned in, took a deep breath, and told himself very firmly that
Spencer was worth overcoming all his embarrassment and misgivings, and
surrender to what they both wanted. He drew his tongue up Spencer’s length,
startled and turned on by the way Spencer’s cock jumped at the touch. Brendon
tried again, teasing his tongue against Spencer’s foreskin, becoming tauter
with each touch.
Spencer let out a harsh breath and Brendon glanced up at him from beneath his
lashes. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, watching Brendon with
heavy eyes. Brendon hooked his thumb around the base of Spencer’s cock, angling
just right for Brendon to fit his mouth down the length.
How had he resisted this as long as he had? The hot, silky glide of Spencer
against his tongue was so better than Brendon’s imaginings. He couldn’t tear
his gaze from Spencer’s face, the way Spencer’s brows knotted together, and how
his mouth formed the panting cries he made. How had Brendon withheld this
pleasure from them both?
Suddenly, Brendon cursed himself for not paying attention to the advice Pete
and Ryan had offered. He wanted to know all the ways to make Spencer unravel.
He’d thought before that he’d been giving all of himself to Spencer, but saw
how untrue that was. No longer was he ashamed of saying or doing those things
that might bring Spencer pleasure, instead ashamed of his own naivety and
shyness.
Spencer kept biting his lip, on long, drawn out fricatives ending in harsh,
swallowed clicks. Brendon couldn’t help but wonder if he was holding back from
crying out for fear of Brendon’s reaction. He drew back, momentarily distracted
by lapping at the liquid weeping from the head of Spencer’s cock, which made
Spencer toss his head side to side in a restless sort of way.
“I want,” he tried to say, around his mouthful, and Spencer thrust upwards.
Brendon hummed, just to make Spencer’s hips jump, draw forth more of those
desperate, aborted fffff—k sounds. He let Spencer fall from between his lips,
and tried again, “I’ve wanted to suck your cock, for so long.”
Spencer’s eyes snapped open, nostrils flaring. “I’ve wanted to feel you inside
me, Spencer.” It came out hesitant and sounded terribly awkward to his own
ears. Telling himself he was unashamed and actually being able to control the
way his voice caught and his cheeks burnt were two very different things, but
Brendon made himself continue, as his fist closed around Spencer’s cock,
jerking. “In my mouth, in my…” his voice abandoned him altogether, and Spencer
reached for him.
“Come here,” Spencer groaned, grabbing Brendon wherever he could, one hand on
his shoulder, one in his hair. “Brendon.”
Brendon resisted, lowering again to mouth along Spencer’s length. “I’m not
finished,” he said, and drew Spencer back between his lips.
The hand in Brendon’s hair tightened almost to the point of pain, but the
sensation felt like a jolt straight down Brendon’s side to his own erection,
pressed against the sheets. He wanted to go to Spencer, but he wanted the
satisfaction of Spencer releasing in his mouth, more. It didn’t take much
longer. Brendon had barely gotten an opportunity to enjoy the texture of
Spencer in his mouth as he sucked, until Spencer was arching off the mattress,
coming on Brendon’s tongue.
Brendon fought the immediate urge to gag, swallowing quickly instead, and sat
back on his heels, breathing hard. Spencer was sprawled boneless beneath him,
hands fallen limply at his sides, and he was looking at Brendon with wonder.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Brendon said, because it could go both ways,
this uncertainty, Spencer had to realize.
“Fuck, Brendon,” Spencer said, and instead of flinching this time, the words
startled a bark of laughter from Brendon. After a second, Spencer began
laughing, too, and Brendon collapsed in Spencer’s arms, full of disbelief over
the twists and turns of the evening. Discussion of Christmas and wedding gifts
seemed a million years away.
“Come here,” Spencer moaned, tugging Brendon closer and reaching between them
to stroke Brendon’s cock. “Fuck, Brendon.”
Brendon’s chuckles turned into moans and he bucked his hips into Spencer’s
touch. He closed his eyes and kissed Spencer’s shoulder, and when Spencer moved
down his body this time, Brendon trembled in anticipation, gasped when Spencer
swallowed him down.
This time when Spencer curled up at Brendon’s side, licking at his lips as if
chasing Brendon’s taste, Brendon turned into him, lacing an arm over the curve
of Spencer’s hips.
“I…” he cleared his throat and made himself continue, “When you came to the
market, I couldn’t help but notice—I was so ashamed of myself, because you’re
the prince, and all I could think about was your smile, and the colour of your
eyes, and the way your hair glistened in the sunlight. And as if that weren’t
bad enough, I’d dream of you at night, imagine having you like this, and it was
horrible, Spencer.”
Spencer made a face, and Brendon hurried on to reassure him. “I mean, I never
could have imagined you’d want me back. Never as anything more than a friend.
When I was awake I didn’t let myself think about it, but my dreams betrayed me,
and it was horrible. I think, sometimes, that I’m still caught back there. It
hasn’t entirely become real, that I get to have you.”
“Brendon,” Spencer said, and kissed him softly, then rested his cheek against
Brendon’s shoulder.
Slowly, Brendon felt something inside unclenching. “I love you so much,
Spencer,” he said, helplessly. “You can’t blame me for being scared.”
“I don’t,” Spencer said quickly. “I don’t blame you. Just trust me, more.”
Brendon nodded, pressing his cheek to Spencer’s soft hair.
It was late, the whole castle still and silent. Beyond the curtains of their
bed, Brendon could hear frozen rain slapping against the window. It must be
Christmas by now. Brendon was tired, but he wasn’t ready for sleep. Spencer’s
hand kept skating up and down Brendon’s side, tickling over his ribs in an
absent sort of way. They’d held enough other enough times before now, but for
the first time it finally sunk in, Spencer was his husband.
Brendon pushed up on his hands, suddenly, scooting to the edge of the bed,
dodging Spencer as he reached for him.
“Where are you going?” Spencer asked, sitting up, when Brendon slipped past the
curtains.
“I want to give you your gift now,” Brendon said. He went into the study,
taking the slippers from their hiding place in his desk drawer.
Spencer was giving him a strange look when Brendon came back to bed. “Is this
okay?” Brendon asked. “You can still give me my gift on Boxing Day.”
“Of course it’s okay,” Spencer said. He took the gift from Brendon, tugging on
the ribbon and parting the tissue paper.
The slippers were made of pale blue satin, the same colour of Spencer’s heavy
winter robe and the ribbons that lined most of Spencer’s nightgowns. Brendon
certainly didn’t have his mother’s skill at embroidery, but he’d done his best
with Spencer’s monogram. The detail on the crown wasn’t anywhere near the
quality of work on Spencer’s other belongings, but Brendon suddenly didn’t
care. He was proud, anyway.
“My mother used to make a pair for my father, every Christmas. She promised
that so long as she was alive, his slippers would never wear out,” Brendon
said, as Spencer traced a long, elegant finger along the curve of the S, picked
out in silver thread.
Spencer’s hand wrapped around the back of Brendon’s neck, fingers sinking into
his hair. He pulled Brendon close to his chest, and Brendon closed his eyes
against the damp, stinging sensation.
“I know there’s nothing I could give you that you couldn’t buy for yourself,”
Brendon continued, speaking into the hollow of Spencer’s throat, as they
hugged. “But you’re my husband, so it’s my duty to make sure your feet never go
cold, so long as I’m alive. I’ll keep you warm.”
Spencer was silent for so long, Brendon had to draw away to look at him. There
was a pensive expression on Spencer’s face. Brendon wondered if he’d got the
gift wrong, after all. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Spencer said, “I—only hope you won’t find my gift lacking in
comparison.”
Brendon laughed. He butted his head to Spencer’s. “I somehow doubt that will be
the case.”
“These are the best gift anyone has ever given me,” Spencer said, and he
sounded quite earnest, but Brendon just laughed harder.
“Oh, I doubt that very much, too.”
“Don’t,” Spencer said, and kissed him once, and then again, and again. “Trust
me.” He sat the slippers gingerly on the bedside table, and pulled Brendon with
him under the covers, cuddled close to keep the cold at bay and kept kissing
Brendon in a way that Brendon had come to learn felt like comfort and home, at
last.
*
Spencer wore Brendon’s slippers all throughout Christmas day, and it gave
Brendon a warm glow every time he caught sight of them. He doubted anyone else
noticed or cared, but he almost preferred it that way.
A sort of calm had settled over Brendon the evening before and it lasted now.
He was comfortable in his skin like he never had been before, tucked close to
Spencer’s side as their family and friends exchanged gifts after dinner.
When Spencer laid his cheek against Brendon’s head, Brendon was even so bold as
to turn his face into Spencer’s neck, breathing deeply, and pressed a quick
kiss there. Spencer granted him a smile that made Brendon’s toes curl, made
heat pulse low in his stomach. They made their excuses shortly thereafter, and
though Brendon was sure everyone knew precisely why they were going to bed
early, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.
They had breakfast alone in their bed chambers on Boxing Day, feeding each
other and getting more on the bed and their bodies than in their mouths.
Brendon couldn’t help giggling, even as Spencer’s mouth traced lines of cream
down his throat.
After, they shared a bath, and Brendon couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of
it before, though he would definitely make sure it happened regularly now. It
was absolutely delicious, the hot, slick slide of skin on skin. He straddled
Spencer’s lap, clinging around his shoulders as they rocked together. Every
time he slipped, fingers digging into Spencer’s back, ass rubbing over
Spencer’s cock, he thought of the oil Pete had given him. He couldn’t wait to
get back to the palace.
*
Dallon, Ian, and Brendon’s siblings all left to return home from the country
castle, promising to visit again soon. Alone with Spencer in their private
carriage, Brendon watched the scenery pass, Spencer half asleep with his head
on Brendon’s shoulder, and he was content and happy.
It was selfish of him, to miss the others already, when he already had Spencer.
Not to mention Shane and Ryan and Jon. Still, it was so, so tempting for
Brendon to use his new position to make it so they could all live in London
year round.
As if sensing Brendon’s thoughts, Spencer pressed his face into Brendon’s neck,
breathing deeply, and said, “You can appoint your own valet, you know. Whomever
you like.”
“I like Shane,” Brendon said.
Spencer lifted his head enough to smile sleepily at Brendon. “You can have more
than one.”
“I can’t have three,” Brendon said. “And, anyway, it would be weird, having Ian
and Dallon work for me.”
“Do you see Ryan doing any work?” Spencer muttered. “Because if you have, I’d
really like to know. It might be the first sign of the end times.”
Brendon laughed and rubbed his cheek against the crown of Spencer’s head. “That
is because Ryan has Jon wrapped around his finger.” Spencer hummed his amused
agreement.
“There are other positions they could fill. Or they could simply stay with us,
indefinitely,” Spencer said.
“Maybe,” Brendon said. “Maybe in a few months, I’ll invite them to stay. But as
much as I’ve enjoyed having them and my family around, I’m looking forward to
spending time with just you.”
“Yeah?” Spencer asked, and lifted his head again. There was a sweet, private
grin on his face that made Brendon’s stomach drop in the most pleasant way.
Brendon nodded his head, brushing his lips to Spencer’s. Spencer shifted,
pressing Brendon back against the wall of the carriage, deepening the kiss with
intent. Fighting the initial urge to push Spencer away, Brendon relaxed, open
his mouth to Spencer’s questing tongue. Maybe it wasn’t proper, doing this in a
carriage, but maybe what was proper didn’t matter.
*
Brendon woke when the carriage came to a stop with a jerk. There was weak light
leaking from around the curtain. It was too quiet here, though. There was no
sound of servants or other horses and wheels on the gravel. Brendon stretched
and asked around a yawn, “Why’ve we stopped?”
Spencer grabbed his hand and tugged him along as he climbed down from the
carriage. “We’re home,” he said.
They were standing before a moderately sized stone mansion. Warm, welcoming
light glowed in the downstairs windows, and two women and a man were waiting at
the open door.
“Spence,” Brendon said, looking around in wonder. The garden was a lovely green
even so deep in winter, and there was a pond just off in the distance, right
before a wooded area. At the end of the drive was a high stone gate, beyond
which Brendon could see a busy London street, but it was too far for the noise
to carry. “What is this?”
“I told you,” Spencer said, giving Brendon’s hand another tug. “We’re home.
Come on.”
Brendon allowed himself to be led up the steps to the entrance, where the
waiting servants bowed and curtsied and said, “Your Royal Highnesses.”
“Brendon, this is Cassandra, our butler; Robert, our chef, and Mrs. Steele, our
housekeeper.” Brendon offered his hand for shaking, and after a brief
hesitation, they each took it, in turn.
“Dinner will be ready on the hour, Sir,” Robert said, following them into the
entrance hall.
The place was still far nicer than any Brendon had set foot in before meeting
Spencer, but it wasn’t as overwhelmingly opulent as the palace or castle. “Very
good, Robert. Cassandra, have our trunks brought to the master bedroom. I’m
going to show Brendon around.”
Spencer led Brendon to the first room off the hall, a parlour where a fire was
crackling merrily in the hearth. Brendon’s piano was sitting by the window in
the corner and Brendon went to it, drawing his hand over it wonderingly.
“What…”
“Your present,” Spencer said, gesturing around him.
“My present is a house?” Brendon said blankly. He had to be misunderstanding.
“I’ve seen how uncomfortable you are at the palace, with all the servants and
all the visitors to court,” Spencer said. “Besides Cassandra, Robert, and Mrs.
Steele, there is only Zachary and two maids, and they all have apartments at
the back of the house. Shane, Jon, and Ryan will be staying in the main house,
but they’ll only enter our bedroom at our biding. And all the grounds staff
live in cottages at the back of the property.”
“But—but you’re the prince, don’t you have to—I mean, shouldn’t you—” Brendon
wasn’t even sure what he meant to ask.
“I can carry out my duties from here as easily as from the palace,” Spencer
said. “Of course we’ll still spend plenty of time there. Mother will expect us
at dinner regularly, and the twins will probably pester us if we don’t come
around at least twice a week.”
Spencer came to stand beside Brendon and placed his hand against the small of
his back. “Let me show you the rest.”
*
After a day of travel, being shocked by the house Spencer had given him, and
stuffing himself on the delicious meal Robert had prepared, Brendon was ready
to sleep for ages.
Most of their possessions had been moved while they were at the country palace
and were now in their smaller, cosier bedroom. Someone had unpacked and
organised everything so that it was almost as if they’d been living here all
along. Brendon left his clothing in a pile at the bedside and flopped down onto
the soft, warm mattress with a groan.
“Don’t go to sleep on me yet,” Spencer murmured. He climbed up to straddle
Brendon’s hips, skin cool and smooth. His teeth scraped up the column of
Brendon’s throat, pausing to suck at his pulse, before closing around his
earlobe.
Brendon hummed sleepily, eyes still closed, let his hands ghost up Spencer’s
thighs. “Haven’t you had enough?” he asked. Even saying, Brendon could feel his
body responding to Spencer’s attention.
“I never have enough of you,” Spencer said, voice low and deep next to
Brendon’s ear. It made goosebumps rise on Brendon’s arms, made his skin prickle
hotly. He made a weak sound of embarrassed protest.
“It’s true,” Spencer said. “And now that we have our own home, I can keep you
in bed all day, if I want.”
Brendon laughed and opened his eyes to see Spencer giving him a rakish grin. A
jolt went through him, and just like that, Brendon wasn’t as tired anymore. He
reached up to wrap an arm around Spencer’s neck and drew him in for a kiss.
*
“And then you’ll be leaving for Scotland for Easter celebration, before heading
on to Germany, then France, then Italy, and finishing in Rome,” Ryan listed off
the locations with a sort of bored drawl. Brendon, who’d never been any further
north than Blissford, or south than London, was feeling more overwhelmed.
“That seems like a lot,” he said.
Jon shrugged. “They’ve moved Spain back until the Duke’s wedding, so actually
that gives you a bit more flexibility in your schedule.”
Brendon rubbed his forehead, but it didn’t do anything for his building
headache. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
Spencer got up from his desk and came to stand behind the sofa. His fingers
were strong and sure, working on the tense muscles of Brendon’s shoulders and
neck. “Your people love you, and so will everyone else.”
“Our people love you,” Brendon said. “So they’ll tolerate me.”
“I don’t know how you married someone so stupid,” Ryan muttered. He kicked his
feet up on the coffee table.
Brendon glared. He was getting to know Ryan better, but his sense of humour
often seemed to be lacking. “What Ryan is trying to say,” Shane said, “is that
all the celebrating after the wedding, all gifts sent to the palace
specifically for you, all the nobles clamouring for your attention, would
suggest a certain fondness for you.”
“Well,” Brendon said, and crossed his arms. He was irritable and tired of all
the public appearances in his own country. As much as the idea of travel
appealed to him, all the meeting with foreign politicians and royals was
terribly daunting.
“It’s just so soon. We’ve barely been married. I’ve been having lessons for a
couple months. Surely it would be better if I didn’t go. What if I say or do
the wrong thing and start some sort of international incident?”
“Alright,” Spencer said. He reached over the back of the sofa to lace his
fingers through Brendon’s. “I think I’m taking my husband to bed.”
“Spencer,” Brendon hissed, dismayed by the knowing looks on Jon and Ryan’s
faces. At least Shane had the decency to pretend not to hear. Brendon took back
his hand and hurried from the room and up the stairs.
“They’d know what we were doing whether I said it or not,” Spencer reasoned,
following at a slower pace. “And either way, they don’t care.”
“Still,” Brendon muttered. He was in a bad mood and not ready to be talked out
of it.
Spencer caught Brendon around the waist, right in the middle of the hall, and
jerked him close. Brendon fought the kiss at first, but it was hard to remember
why he was struggling when Spencer’s tongue was teasing past Brendon’s lips,
slicking hotly against his own.
“I want to try something,” Spencer whispered, between nipping kisses. He walked
Brendon backwards until he bumped into their open bedroom door.
Brendon made a noise of agreement. Generally the things Spencer wanted to try
ended up feeling pretty amazing. He kicked the door closed behind them.
“Whatever you want,” he said, and thought about the oil Pete had given him.
“If you don’t like it—” Spencer started, and Brendon stopped him, pushing
Spencer back on the bed and climbing on top of him, leaning in. It was
distraction enough, apparently. Brendon lost himself in the kiss, in the slow
grind of Spencer’s cock against his, still delicious through layers of
clothing.
Brendon had to keep sucking kisses down Spencer’s throat, in the little hollow
between collarbone and shoulder, but never strayed too far from Spencer’s
mouth. Spencer kept trying to draw away, sink down Brendon’s body, and it was
tempting, but Brendon wanted to kiss Spencer forever.
Spencer rolled them over, laughed against Brendon’s mouth. “We’re never going
to get anywhere if you don’t let me go,” he said.
Pouting, Brendon released the grip he had on Spencer’s shoulders. He meant to
say something, but got distracted when Spencer began to undress. He’d lost
count of how many times they’d done this, but the sight of Spencer naked still
did funny things to Brendon’s body.
“It works better when you undress, too,” Spencer said.
Brendon made a grumbling noise but got up on his knees, fighting with the
buttons on his shirt. Spencer scooted closer, working on the fastenings of
Brendon’s trousers and with some tugging and wiggling, they both got Brendon
naked. He’d barely adjusted to the change before Spencer pinned him back to the
bed and went down on him.
This, Brendon would never get used to. This amazing, moist heat that made
Brendon’s whole body tremble and surge. He sank his fingers in Spencer’s hair,
nails scraping along Spencer’s scalp.
But Spencer didn’t stay there long. With one last suck, Spencer released
Brendon’s cock. His tongue traced over Brendon’s scrotum. Brendon made an
undignified, high-pitched noise, squirming.
Spencer straightened up and stretched over Brendon to fumble with the bedside
table, jerking the drawer open. He retrieved a bottle that, when uncorked,
released a vaguely sweet scent and was clear when Spencer poured it in his
hand. “Okay?” he asked.
Brendon nodded, biting his lip. There was some apprehension, but that was
nothing compared to the way his stomach kept turning over and over in
anticipation. Spencer got down on his elbows between Brendon’s spread legs. The
first touch made him clamp his legs together as much as he could with Spencer’s
shoulders in the way.
“We don’t have to,” Spencer said.
“No, just.” Brendon took a deep, steadying breath and let his legs fall open,
knees hitting the sheets. “I need to get used to it.” He laid his open palms
against his thighs, holding them down when Spencer tried again.
At first it tickled more than anything, which wasn’t exactly the reaction
Spencer was going for, probably. His fingers circled lightly, and Brendon
trembled with the effort to stay still. Then Spencer pushed forward with two
fingers and it stopped tickling.
It burned, and it felt really strange, but it felt good, too. Good, slick and
tight, and not enough. Spencer sucked down Brendon’s cock again as his fingers
stretched and crooked, inching deeper so, so slowly. Brendon worked his hips
back, trying to take more, and when that didn’t work, whined, “Spencer, more.
You can—more.”
Spencer pulled back, sitting up a little. His fingers were unmoving and Brendon
felt tense and on edge and a little desperate. “Ryan said—”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you talked about this with Ryan,” Brendon muttered.
“Well, how else was I supposed to know what to do?” Spencer asked, a little
testily. “And he said to go slow.”
Brendon just grabbed Spencer’s hand and poured more of the oil over his
fingers. “I’ll let you know if you need to slow down,” he said.
For a second, Spencer looked like he was going to argue. Brendon wasn’t above
begging, if that’s what he would take. He couldn’t stop the little whine
curling up in the back of his throat, and that seemed to be all the more
motivation Spencer needed.
Three fingers were shocking. Brendon shifted back and forth on his hips, trying
to find the right angle to lessen the sting. “Maybe,” he said, and had to stop
and take a few panting breaths. “Maybe give it a minute.”
Spencer stopped, his free hand petting up Brendon’s thigh. “We could switch?”
he said.
Just the thought made Brendon’s brain go white and fuzzy, that Spencer was even
offering to let Brendon take him like this. As tantalising an offer as it was,
and one Brendon would follow up on at some point, he’d been longing for this,
just the way they were now. Even through the burning, stinging pain, Brendon
wanted this.
Almost by accident, it got better. Brendon kept squirming around and Spencer
kept adding more of the oil. The sheets were wet and slippery, and Brendon
could only briefly spare a thought of apology for the servants. Then Brendon
sort of squeezed down instead of clenching up, and Spencer’s fingers slipped
all the way inside.
There was another sharp stinging followed but an almost unbearable burst of
pleasure that made Brendon’s hands scrabble at the sheets in desperation. He
heard himself almost through a haze, whining, begging, “Fuck, fuck, Spencer,
fuck.” He would have been scandalised at himself, if there was anything left to
feel other than the bright sparks of so fucking good shooting down his spine,
through his dick, like Spencer’s fingers were wired all throughout his body.
Spencer sat up, pulling his hand free quickly, but carefully, and wiping it on
the sheet. “Did I—are you okay? Are you hurt?”
The sudden emptiness left Brendon bereft. He grabbed Spencer by the hair and
tugged, sitting up to meet him halfway in a messy kiss, all the while trying to
squirm lower in the bed, trying to get Spencer where they both wanted him to
be.
“Brendon?”
Brendon flailed around blindly until he found the bottle again. He broke the
kiss to flash Spencer a kick, distracted smile and leaned in again. By touch he
got the bottle open and spilled it over Spencer’s cock. Spencer groaned into
the kiss when Brendon wrapped a slick hand around him and began to stroke.
After a moment, Spencer reached out to return the favour. Brendon almost let
himself be distracted by it. It was familiar and oh so good. But there was a
sort of aching emptiness that he somehow knew only Spencer could fill.
“W—” Brendon lost his train of thought when Spencer began to suck on his
tongue. “No, wait,” he insisted, and turned his head away. Spencer sucked at
his throat instead.
Brendon grabbed him by the chin and brought Spencer’s gaze to his. Spencer
swiped his thumb over the head of Brendon’s cock, and seriously, how was
Brendon supposed to be able to think like this? “Spence,” he said, and tried to
sound firm. “I want you to fuck me.”
That got Spencer’s attention, head snapping up. Brendon flushed bright red. He
didn’t think he’d ever get used to these words, but if the way Spencer’s cock
jumped at hearing them was any indication, he liked it.
“Yeah,” Spencer moaned. “Yeah, I want that, too.”
Brendon gave Spencer’s dick another squeeze and then let go, laying back on the
sheets. He spread his legs wider in welcoming. Spencer just stared at him for a
long moment, eyes darting all over, nostrils flaring. The look on his face made
Brendon feel bolder than he was. He dragged a hand down his own chest,
bypassing his aching cock, and brushed his fingers over his opening.
Spencer cursed under his breath and surged against Brendon, kissing him hard
enough to bruise. Then he was lining up, the blunt head of his cock nudging
Brendon’s fingers. Brendon closed his hand around Spencer’s length, guiding him
in. He let out an unsteady breath at the first push and reminded himself to
bear down.
“Oh,” Brendon panted, “oh, oh, fuck.” He dug his fingers in Spencer’s arms,
buried his face in Spencer’s neck. He couldn’t stop the noises that kept
pouring past his lips, breathy, gasping whines.
“Should I—is it okay?” Brendon couldn’t see Spencer’s face, but it sounded like
it was taking all his effort to speak, holding still, only just breaching
Brendon’s body.
“You can move,” Brendon managed. “Just, slowly.”
It seemed to take forever, and Brendon had never thought much about the size of
Spencer’s cock until now. He didn’t really have much to compare it to, but he
liked the way it fit in his hand, and how it stretched his jaw, but now it
seemed impossibly big.
Then Spencer sank that last little bit, skin flush against Brendon’s ass, and
there was another spark of pleasure, fainter than before. It was enough to
distract from the discomfort. Brendon clung to Spencer’s shoulders and shifted
his hips experimentally and there it was again, sharper.
“That’s good?” Spencer asked. He sounded strangled.
Brendon nodded frantically, grinding his hips in tight circle. This time
Spencer pulled back just slightly and rocked back in, and “Oh.” Maybe later
he’d come up with something more eloquent to describe how amazing it was, but
he couldn’t get past the single syllable.
From there it didn’t last very long. With every slow thrust of Spencer’s hips
the slide got easier, and the pain faded to a dull, satisfying ache. If Brendon
tilted his hips just right, there was that white hot spark of liquid pleasure
every time Spencer drove back in. When Spencer started moving faster and harder
it only got more intense, until Brendon was rocking up to meet him every time.
“Brendon,” Spencer said, and he’d never sounded that way before, so utterly
wrecked. “You feel—I can’t—”
“You can,” Brendon said, petting his hair, his shoulder, anywhere he could
reach. He snaked a hand between their bodies, wrapping around his own dick and
pulling fast. His own release shocked him. There was none of the normal build,
it just hit him out of nowhere, sudden and powerful and he spilled all over his
hand and Spencer’s belly.
“Oh,” Spencer said, “Fuck, Brendon, you—that—” and then he groaned, hips
jerking fast and hard as he came.
Brendon was trembling and he felt giddy. He kept swallowing back little bursts
of laughter. It had never felt like that before. Spencer rubbed his cheek
against Brendon’s chest where he’d fallen. “Are you okay?”
“I’m—” Brendon finally gave in to the urge and laughed, shaky and joyful. He
wrapped his arms more tightly around Spencer, clinging. “I’m—that was—God, I
love you.”
Spencer laughed too. Brushing a kiss over Brendon’s collarbone, he sat up a
little. “Yeah,” he said, “me, too,” and pushed up to claim Brendon’s mouth in a
soft kiss. The movement made him slide free of Brendon’s body. Brendon couldn’t
stop the pained moan that caused.
“Sorry,” Spencer said. “Is it really bad?”
Brendon shook his head. “Not really bad,” he said. Strange, the rush of liquid
warmth pouring out of his body, and lingering sting. “I don’t mind. It’s a
reminder of what we did.”
“You were—you felt amazing,” Spencer said in a rush. “You can—next time you can
have your turn, it was—”
“It felt pretty good from this end, too,” Brendon said. He felt inexplicably
smug, and he just wanted to luxuriate in this afterglow as long as possible.
Now no one could say he and Spencer didn’t belong to each other entirely. Not
even the idea of anyone having heard them bothered Brendon at the moment.
“Move over.” Brendon nudged at Spencer’s stomach until he got the hint and
moved to the other side of the bed, away from the wet, slippery mess. Spencer
tucked Brendon close to his side, arm around his shoulders to pull him in.
Beneath his ear, Brendon could hear the steady thump of Spencer’s heart,
throbbing in time to the ache that had settled in Brendon’s ass. “I really wish
you wouldn’t worry about Europe,” Spencer said. “You’re going to be brilliant.”
“You have to say that because we’re married,” Brendon muttered.
“I married you because it’s true,” Spencer said. Brendon didn’t feel like
arguing. He had the feeling it was something they would disagree on for the
rest of their lives, and it didn’t bother him so much when looked at in that
perspective. So he sighed and relaxed further into Spencer’s side.
“And whenever you get too tense, or upset, all I have to do is drag you off to
bed,” Spencer teased.
“Hmm,” Brendon said. “Somehow I don’t imagine King Louis would appreciate us
leaving in the middle of a state dinner to go have our kit off.”
Spencer laughed, and Brendon liked the way it buzzed against his ear, along his
jaw. He let his hand trace idly along Spencer’s waist, the gentle curve of his
hip, along the flat of his belly, and felt proprietary in a way he never had
before.
“I don’t know about him, though he is French. You should hear the stories my
grandmother used to tell about his father,” Spencer said. “Queen Mary, on the
other hand, might just ask to watch,” Spencer said.
Brendon felt himself go a dull red. “What is it about those of you with noble
blood that deprives you of all shame?”
“It probably stems from our divine right to rule,” Spencer mused.
“Right,” Brendon said, grinning, and thinking of how Ryan liked to tease
Spencer sometimes. “Or all the inbreeding.”
Spencer pinched him, and Brendon poked back, and after a brief spate of
tickling they ended up with Brendon flat on his back and Spencer curled up half
on top of him, nestled close. “You’re the one who married into it,” Spencer
said.
“I did,” Brendon agreed. “Best decision I ever made.”
Fin.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!