I Want Out of the Circus, part 1
I Want Out of the Circus
Bands: My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is..., Panic! at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, incidental mentions of others.
Pairings: Brendon/Ryan, Ryan/Spencer, Pete/Patrick, William/Tom, William/Gabe, Mike/Jon, Bob/Spencer, Brent/OFC, Siska/Suarez
Word Count: ~24,500
Rating/Warnings: R for physical abuse, violence, tangential drug use, some sexual content, prostitution and associated consent issues (sexual content implied but non-explicit), racial epithets, foul language, character death.
Summary: The Panic boys flee their poverty-stricken homes for the big city of Chicago during the Great Depression. Hard times turn harder, and the boys are forced to join Wentz and Stump's Famous (porno)Circus in order to stay alive. They find themselves plunged into a dangerous world of double-crossing gangsters, prostituion and live sex shows, anarchist rallies and violent riots. Friends turn foe and foes turn friend in the topsy-turvy Chicago underbelly, and all the boys want to do is make it out alive.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Bonus Tracks/Enhanced Content
Fanart:
Will in drag by paperdollmuse
Fanmix:
i want out of the circus by snugglebud_x3
Spencer and Ryan had been eleven and twelve years old, respectively, when they went to see the pornocircus. It was small, just one tent in the hustle and bustle of the circus proper, with a sign across the entrance reading: "Admittance for Gentlemen 21 years or older ONLY." The tent entrance itself was barred by a large man with a stern look and a thick club to make sure the sign's instructions were followed. Ryan jingled the coins in his pocket and strutted up to the man.
Say, mister, what's in the tent? he asked.
Don't blow your wig, kid, the man grunted, waving him off. Ryan argued stubbornly and futilely; the man had to threaten him with the club before Ryan backed off.
He shuffled moodily back to where Spencer was waiting in the miniature alley formed by the gap between the forbidden tent and the clown tent.
Wouldn't let me in, Ryan said with reddened cheeks; he'd promised Spencer that he'd get them in
Spencer took his hand and tugged him around the back and held aside a tattered tear in the side of the tent.
Looks like something ripped the last time they packed it up, Spencer said with a grin. Ryan's eyes gleamed, his blush gone. He ducked through the gap and Spencer followed on his heels. They emerged under a crude set of wooden bleachers. Mouthing quiet! to each other, the boys crept forward and crouched down under the front benches, peering through the thicket of trouser legs to watch the show in the ring.
The first act up, the ringmaster announced, was something Ryan and Spencer didn't quite understand about Mr. Barker and his rhythm. The ringmaster stepped aside and a man dressed in a top hat and an unusually tight suit, presumably Mr. Barker, strolled into the middle of the ring. Jazz music started up, quick and lively.
Ryan and Spencer stared out from under the bleachers in slack-jawed amazement as Barker sidled up to one of the tent poles and started writhing against and around it in ways their prepubescent brains had never before dreamed of, shedding each piece of his suit with a wicked smile.
When the jazz song ended, Barker smiled wide at the bleachers and stood, hip cocked to the side and stunningly casual in his nakedness, as a second man brought out a chair and sat upon it. Barker climbed easily into his lap and the music started up again.
We--we should go, Spencer said, tugging on Ryan's sleeve, not taking his eyes off of the two men fucking in the ring.
They stayed for three and a half more acts.
-----
For weeks afterward they could talk of nothing else. It was on their minds, roiling and bubbling beneath everything they were supposed to be thinking about. It was excruciating to not be able to talk about it as much as they wanted. They had to save their obsessions for nighttime, when they were alone in Spencer's tiny room, and even then they had to keep their voices to a whisper so as not to wake Spencer's parents in the room to the left nor Spencer's sisters and grandparents in the room to the right. Ryan and Spencer hid under blankets and talked for hours of the strange and wondrous things they had seen. The Pornocircus, they called it, though the name was not entirely accurate.
It was not the Pornocircus, but a pornocircus.
----
Once upon a time, Ryan had dreams, dreams that could've made him a big man if he had only been born five years earlier, but the Crash came and crushed his plans of getting out of Summerlin in any sort of style. Times got bad in Summerlin, so he grabbed Spencer and hopped on the first railroad car out of there.
Ryan had his pride, and that was the one thing he refused to give up. He gave up his food to Spencer and his blanket to Brent and his hope to Brendon, but he always kept his pride. Then things went from bad to worse and times went from hard to harder until there was nothing else to be done; Ryan gathered up Brent and Brendon and Spencer to join the circus.
At least, that's the version Spencer tells. Ryan tells William about different things, leaving out some parts and expanding on (lying about) others. This is the version Ryan tells, when he's learned to trust William enough with it:
Ryan and Spencer grew up together in the same old prospecting town in Nevada. They went to church together, but went to separate grammar schools. They had their birthday parties together and always played on the same team in games with the other children in the neighborhood. They snuck out together and were punished together, they went to the same parties and danced with the same girls. And when they found the advertising fliers, they scrounged up the twenty cents together and went to the pornocircus together.
Ryan's dad did his best but after the Crash all Ryan had to look forward to was joining his dad at the unemployment line, at the speakeasy, at the jailhouse for being drunk in public.
The people in Ryan and Spencer's town were losing jobs. Each day the town was bleeding jobs, and it was only a matter of time before Spencer's parents were out of work. Ryan's dad had already been laid off, and Ryan had to wait with him in the food line. Ryan hated it. He could think of nothing more degrading. Spencer knew that Ryan would often try to skip meals rather than go begging for the government-issued oatmeal with shame the only condiment available. Spencer helped as best he could, but there was nothing to do on the days Ryan felt guiltier taking Spencer's handout than he did Uncle Sam's.
What was worse was when Ryan's dad looked at the numbers and saw that the thin cushion of savings wouldn't accommodate both the drink money and the rent money for the month. Before the Crash, Ryan had often spent the night at the Smiths' house. After the Crash, Ryan's dad lost his house and Ryan spent every night with the Smith family. Mr. Ross sent a little money along, when he could afford to do so, or when he wasn't trying to wait out the bad times at the bottom of a bottle. The very worst day of Ryan's life up until that point had been the day he went to the food line for breakfast a few days after his seventeenth birthday with his father and a suitcase full of his belongings. That afternoon he found himself on Spencer's porch, ringing the doorbell. He stood staring at the ground, crimson and fairly glowing with embarrassment as his father, cap in hand, begged Mr. and Mrs. Smith to take Ryan in.
The next very worst day of Ryan's life was the day Brent died, but that didn't happen for a while yet. Working at the pornocircus accounted for eight of Brendon's ten worst days and six of Spencer's, but none of Ryan's. Ryan figures that at the pornocircus he may be engaging in displays of an obscene and degrading nature, and he may be having unsatisfying sex with strangers, but he gets a good, solid cut of the money and every shining penny he has earned himself. Ryan has several reasons for hating the pornocircus, but none of them have to do with what he's allowed himself to be put through.
Neither of them tell the story like this, because it's too personal:
Back in Summerlin, Spencer was getting thinner and thinner as his family tried to save up for the harsh times ahead, except the harsh times had already arrived. Spencer was a growing teenage boy. He used to have baby fat, used to get teased about it, but his waistline was shrinking rapidly. He hadn't had baby fat since he was sixteen. The year of slow starvation would have been much less bearable, he knows, had Ryan not been shrinking beside him.
Spencer had gotten a bit of muscle on him, too, muscle built by the scavenging he and Ryan had been doing, rooting around closed-down stores and factories, stripping parts and selling anything and everything they could. They weren't the only ones looting, though.
Ryan and Spencer had a stash in the compartment of an old carriage in the junk-yard. It had a lock on it that Ryan and Spencer had fashioned themselves, and it was where they kept the bits and pieces that couldn't be sold right away.
One day, they came down to the junk-yard with an armful each of parts to store until their fence was back in town. They stopped short when they saw the three older men, all in their early twenties, and all rummaging through the secret carriage compartment.
Hey! Hey, you! Hands off! That's our stash! Spencer hollered, dropping his scraps and charging right at the older boys. He threw himself at the one closest to the compartment door and began punching wildly. Ryan hurtled in after Spencer without pausing for thought or breath, with nothing in his mind but to keep the others away from Spencer.
The fight was dirty and vicious but it didn't last long. Finding this stash to be harder prey than they'd thought, the men soon backed off and went off in search of parts that needed less energy to acquire.
Spencer had a bloody nose and both eyes blackened. He was wheezing and his side was rapidly coloring an angry purple below the rucked-up hem of his shirt. Ryan's ribs were aching and he would have bet a dime he didn't have that his wrist was sprained. He turned to Spencer, meaning to check for injuries, but all he could see was this look of triumph, fierce and bright, on Spencer's face. Then and there, Ryan knew he would do anything, absolutely anything, if he could keep that look on Spencer's face forever.
They got back to find Spencer's dad looking ready to hit something. He didn't used to cuff the kids hard enough to sting, but since times started getting bad Mr. Smith's hand had started landing more heavily. Spencer's dad looked tired and frustrated and ashamed when Spencer and Ryan came into the kitchen, and Spencer's mom was getting the girls into their shoes.
Oh, there you are, boys. Spencer's dad sighed. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. Listen, now. You both know we're going through some rough times. I lost my job today. We're going to have to make some sacrifices if we want to keep the house.
The thread factory had cut the rest of their people last month, ending Spencer's mother's job. Spencer and Ryan had stayed up to listen to Spencer's parents speak in quiet, sombre tones about renting out Spencer's room or turning the boys out altogether. With Spencer's dad now out of work, both boys expected to be told to move in with Spencer's sisters or to gather their things and leave the house. All Spencer's father told them, however, was get your hats on. We're going to go to the bread line today for supper.
Ryan's face shut down. Spencer was dumbfounded. The Smiths had always been well-off, always, when the boys were growing up, and this--
He played with the hem of his shirt, winding the fabric absentmindedly around his fist. He couldn't believe it was happening, not to his family. He just couldn't believe it.
I'm not hungry, Spencer said absently. The words came out with an edge more petulant than he would have liked. He tugged Ryan's arm and nodded toward the door. Me and Ryan, we've gotta go somewhere.
If it had been two years ago, hell, maybe even last year, his mother would have questioned him, but since Spencer started turning up with scraps of money made from selling stolen parts she tended to favor deliberate obliviousness. Lately she preferred to not ask and not be told. She just nodded, her face tight, and shepherded Spencer's sisters out the door.
That was it, the moment when Ryan decided that they had to get out of there, out of the town, maybe out of the state. As soon as Spencer's parents, grandparents and sisters were out the door the boys scurried upstairs to their shared room. They packed quickly, frantic, not sure when Spencer's family would get home.
With suitcases and schoolbags stuffed, they ran to the train station. Ryan brought Spencer under one of the platforms where they waited for a train to come in.
Ryan made Spencer get in first. The train's whistle blasted a final warning through the station, and the huge wheels groaned as they began to move. Spencer clambered up into the boxcar with little trouble. Ryan jogged along beside the train, steeling himself for his jump.
When Ryan leaped at the train, he misjudged the locomotive's speed. His leg smashed into the edge of the boxcar and he slipped, dangling halfway inside the car until Spencer grabbed his arm and hauled him all the way in. They tumbled over backwards, landing in a pile.
Spencer was still holding on to Ryan and Ryan sat there. He shifted experimentally, feeling Spencer warm and solid and stretched out underneath him. Outside, the train gave off a great belch of smoke and surged forward, the inertia causing Ryan to rock against Spencer. Ryan's leg slipped between Spencer's; Ryan abruptly found the bone of Spencer's hip pressed into his stomach and Spencer's half-hard cock pressed into his hip.
All at once, Ryan's mind threw up a dizzying series of obscene images on the insides of his eyelids. He blinked once, twice, then shook his head to clear it. Beneath him, Spencer was still staring up silently. Ryan cautiously ground his hips down. He kept his eyes fixed on Spencer's face, gauging his friend's reaction. Spencer's eyes fluttered shut and Spencer answered Ryan's cautious movement with a deliberate thrust up, rubbing his cock along Ryan's thigh.
Spencer held Ryan's gaze as Spencer slid his hand down Ryan's back and over his hip. Spencer forced his hand between his thigh and Ryan's groin. Ryan arched forward as Spencer navigated his fingers up to the waistband of Ryan's trousers, dragging his knuckles against the front seam on the way. Spencer tucked his fingers into the waistband of Ryan's trousers and brought his other hand up to splay on the small of Ryan's back, pulling his best friend down onto him. Ryan's cautious grinding had given way to more regular movements, thrusting down against Spencer's leg. Spencer's hand flexed on Ryan's back. He removed his hand from Ryan's waistband and used both hands to encourage Ryan to shift a few inches to the side.
When his hips lined up with Spencer's, Ryan could feel Spencer's cock straining against the confining fabric between them. Impulsively, Ryan snatched up Spencer's hand and guided it back to his waistband. Spencer quickly caught on, inching his hand into Ryan's pants. Ryan bit his lips to keep from babbling Spencer's name and variations on more, please, when Spencer finally closed his hand around Ryan's dick.
It was uncomfortable, unlubricated as Spencer's hand was, but the novelty of another hand on his cock-- the novelty of Spencer's hand on his cock-- was enough for Ryan to keep going.
The car was quiet except for the rattling of the crates, the clack of the train wheels, and the rough sound of Spencer working on Ryan. Ryan came with his eyes screwed shut and his fingers digging into Spencer's biceps and his lips bitten raw. When the aftershocks had ceased, Ryan stuffed his hand down Spencer's trousers and Spencer ducked his head so Ryan couldn't see his face. Spencer was closer than Ryan; he'd been on edge while he worked Ryan over, had tried and failed to suppress the tiny waves of motion as his hips strained to grind down against Ryan. Now, Spencer buried his nose in the soft flesh where Ryan's neck met shoulder and whimpered through his teeth as Ryan pumped him to completion.
When it was over, they did it again.
-----
The first stop came much sooner than they had expected. The sudden deceleration surprised Spencer's hands right out of Ryan's trousers. As the train wheels screamed against the tracks they crammed themselves into a corner of the boxcar and hoped no one checked too closely. They were still flushed, though more from fear than arousal at this point; the shock and panic had chased away both the mood and their erections.
A lone railroad bull hoisted himself up to give the boxcar a cursory glance. Spencer held his breath. They'd stashed their bags behind the crates on the other side of the car in the hopes that it would make them less easy to spot, but now Spencer was terrified that they'd only succeeded in doubling their chances of getting caught. For all their scavenging, the two had never been in trouble with the law before. The thought of jail made a small, cold lump form in Spencer's guts.
They clutched each other with white-knuckled grips as the bull paused in the middle of the boxcar to leisurely pull a cloth bag from his pocket. He opened the bag and took a short knife out from the same pocket, cut off a hunk of tobacco and popped it into his mouth. He scratched his nose and gave the car another cursory glance around as he chewed. Then, clearly concluding that there was nothing to be seen in the car, he left.
Spencer allowed the breath he'd been holding to escape. Shaking slightly with nerves, he stood and made to climb over the crates when Ryan's arm shot up and yanked him back into a crouch. It was a well-timed snatch on Ryan's part; seconds later, another person climbed into the car. A shorter figure scrambled up beside the first and they stood, peering around the car.
This looks like a good one, one finally muttered to the other. The strangers sprawled over several crates, well out of sight of the doorway but apparently unaware of Spencer and Ryan. The car descended again into silence.
After what felt to Spencer and Ryan like years, the train's engine began to belch smoke that swam lazily over the cars as the locomotive slowly accelerated. The two strangers held a whispered conversation, much to Ryan's frustration--they were too loud for him to not notice but too quiet for him to make out what was being said. Spencer had to laugh to himself at the expression on Ryan's face as he strained to hear the strangers.
Ryan and Spencer remained hidden for another three hours. The rail cops stuck their heads into the car at a few more stops, but there was never a thorough inspection of the space behind the boxes. The strangers seemed to have enough sense to hide at stops, at least, and while Ryan and Spencer still didn't know if they could trust the new men they were thankful that the strangers didn't give the bulls any reason to scour the boxcar.
There was one nerve-wracking stop when a bull, young and gunning for a fight, started shifting boxes around in the hopes of finding stowaways. Before he got too far along in his task, the noise of a hobo argument, loud and drunken, wafted through the dusty air from several cars down the locomotive. The bull's whole torso twisted toward the sound and in moments he was gone, off to protect the train from filthy hobos. Ryan and Spencer squeezed each other's hands, trying not to express relief too loudly in case the strangers heard them.
Ryan and Spencer eavesdropped on the two strangers' conversation, which had grown progressively louder with each stop.
Brent-- Say, Spencer, didn't we used to know a Brent? Ryan whispered into Spencer's ear. The gust of hot breath sent a shiver rolling down Spencer's spine to settle in a warm curl in his belly.
The one we went to school with, you mean? Yeah. Where did he move again-- oh, what was the name of that town?
North of us, that's all I remember.
And now he's here on the train. Spencer laughed quietly. It's like we're in one of those penny dreadfuls you used to love so much.
Oh, stuff yourself, Ryan grumbled. He had packed one such book to take with him; it was at the top of his pack and Spencer knew it.
Once they were sure that the Brent dealing in the two-man poker game across the car was the very same as the Brent who moved away from Summerlin a few years back, Spencer and Ryan come out of hiding.
Brent and his friend were surprised, but a flurry of introductions soon went around and that's how they met Brendon. Brendon was a Mormon; his family had a lot of kids. His story was very close to what Spencer and Ryan's almost was; his parents had sat him down and had explained how there just wasn't enough money to feed the whole family.
What about you, Brent? Spencer asked. Brent shrugged.
No jobs in town, he said. I'm saving up for something big.
A car? Spencer guessed. A house? A gun?
A girl! chirped Brendon helpfully. Spencer and Ryan laughed. Brent blushed and they were quick to restore his pride.
No, no, that's noble, Ryan declared. True love is the best reason to seek your fortune.
Like in the penny dreadfuls? Spencer said, raising his eyebrows at Ryan. Ryan rolled his eyes and elbowed Spencer in the ribs.
Brent and Brendon had no plans. Spencer shared some of the food he and Ryan managed to grab; Brent and Brendon were grateful.
We'll find a lot more in Chicago, they assured themselves.
They ate and talked up a storm as to what they were going to do once they arrived at their destination, which they decided should be Chicago.
After they determined to head for Chicago, Ryan spent an hour spinning wild tales of the four of them becoming powerful gangsters and wily bootleggers and having fantastic adventures that took them on a complicated path from Chicago to New Orleans. He paid particular attention in his description of the fierce gun battles, as those were Spencer's favorite parts of any story. Ryan's eyes were distant the way they got when he told stories, but Brendon's shining eyes followed every sweeping gesture of Ryan's hands.
-----
At the last stop before Chicago, their locomotive stopped next to a circus train. All four boys leaped up and peered eagerly through the slats, drinking in the sight of the exotic animals in their mobile cages and the bright, gaily painted circus cars. They didn't stop watching until the trains parted ways and the circus train dwindled to a tiny dot on the horizon. The boys piled back down on the floor with wide, matching grin plastered across their faces.
Wasn't that something! Spencer crowed, whistling in appreciation. What a sight.
I haven't been to see the circus since I moved from Summerlin, Brent said, his voice gone soft in recollection. I went with you two-- he nodded at Ryan and Spencer-- d'you remember? I stayed watching the elephants for so long that you wandered off by yourselves and left me. He shoved Spencer playfully. Damn well abandoned me. It took me the whole afternoon to find you two again.
We hid in the- the clown tent, remember, Ryan? Spencer lied glibly, looking for all the world like he really did remember hiding in a tent full of clowns with Ryan. The glance he shot his best friend would have given the game away had Brent or Brendon cared to watch it, loaded with significance and promise that had Ryan drawing his knees up to his chin so he could cross his shins in front of the sudden bulge in his trousers.
I remember. Ryan tried to send back a glance with the same heat and promise folded up neatly within it. He wasn't sure if he had managed to do it properly, but Spencer inched closer to him anyway.
We should join the circus, Brendon exclaimed, laughing. Isn't that what runaway boys are supposed to do?
Of course, Spencer agreed. He raised his arms high above his head in a stretch, allowing his shirt to ride up and expose his flat, muscled stomach. Ryan saw all this in his peripheral vision (he didn't trust himself to look directly at Spencer) and swallowed hard. He focused instead on Brent's hands shuffling the cards. With his stare fixed firmly on the deck, he didn't notice Spencer's hand until it was flattened firmly against the small of his back. He missed Brendon's flushed cheeks completely.
Part 2
Bands: My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is..., Panic! at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, incidental mentions of others.
Pairings: Brendon/Ryan, Ryan/Spencer, Pete/Patrick, William/Tom, William/Gabe, Mike/Jon, Bob/Spencer, Brent/OFC, Siska/Suarez
Word Count: ~24,500
Rating/Warnings: R for physical abuse, violence, tangential drug use, some sexual content, prostitution and associated consent issues (sexual content implied but non-explicit), racial epithets, foul language, character death.
Summary: The Panic boys flee their poverty-stricken homes for the big city of Chicago during the Great Depression. Hard times turn harder, and the boys are forced to join Wentz and Stump's Famous (porno)Circus in order to stay alive. They find themselves plunged into a dangerous world of double-crossing gangsters, prostituion and live sex shows, anarchist rallies and violent riots. Friends turn foe and foes turn friend in the topsy-turvy Chicago underbelly, and all the boys want to do is make it out alive.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Bonus Tracks/Enhanced Content
Fanart:
Will in drag by paperdollmuse
Fanmix:
i want out of the circus by snugglebud_x3
Spencer and Ryan had been eleven and twelve years old, respectively, when they went to see the pornocircus. It was small, just one tent in the hustle and bustle of the circus proper, with a sign across the entrance reading: "Admittance for Gentlemen 21 years or older ONLY." The tent entrance itself was barred by a large man with a stern look and a thick club to make sure the sign's instructions were followed. Ryan jingled the coins in his pocket and strutted up to the man.
Say, mister, what's in the tent? he asked.
Don't blow your wig, kid, the man grunted, waving him off. Ryan argued stubbornly and futilely; the man had to threaten him with the club before Ryan backed off.
He shuffled moodily back to where Spencer was waiting in the miniature alley formed by the gap between the forbidden tent and the clown tent.
Wouldn't let me in, Ryan said with reddened cheeks; he'd promised Spencer that he'd get them in
Spencer took his hand and tugged him around the back and held aside a tattered tear in the side of the tent.
Looks like something ripped the last time they packed it up, Spencer said with a grin. Ryan's eyes gleamed, his blush gone. He ducked through the gap and Spencer followed on his heels. They emerged under a crude set of wooden bleachers. Mouthing quiet! to each other, the boys crept forward and crouched down under the front benches, peering through the thicket of trouser legs to watch the show in the ring.
The first act up, the ringmaster announced, was something Ryan and Spencer didn't quite understand about Mr. Barker and his rhythm. The ringmaster stepped aside and a man dressed in a top hat and an unusually tight suit, presumably Mr. Barker, strolled into the middle of the ring. Jazz music started up, quick and lively.
Ryan and Spencer stared out from under the bleachers in slack-jawed amazement as Barker sidled up to one of the tent poles and started writhing against and around it in ways their prepubescent brains had never before dreamed of, shedding each piece of his suit with a wicked smile.
When the jazz song ended, Barker smiled wide at the bleachers and stood, hip cocked to the side and stunningly casual in his nakedness, as a second man brought out a chair and sat upon it. Barker climbed easily into his lap and the music started up again.
We--we should go, Spencer said, tugging on Ryan's sleeve, not taking his eyes off of the two men fucking in the ring.
They stayed for three and a half more acts.
-----
For weeks afterward they could talk of nothing else. It was on their minds, roiling and bubbling beneath everything they were supposed to be thinking about. It was excruciating to not be able to talk about it as much as they wanted. They had to save their obsessions for nighttime, when they were alone in Spencer's tiny room, and even then they had to keep their voices to a whisper so as not to wake Spencer's parents in the room to the left nor Spencer's sisters and grandparents in the room to the right. Ryan and Spencer hid under blankets and talked for hours of the strange and wondrous things they had seen. The Pornocircus, they called it, though the name was not entirely accurate.
It was not the Pornocircus, but a pornocircus.
----
Once upon a time, Ryan had dreams, dreams that could've made him a big man if he had only been born five years earlier, but the Crash came and crushed his plans of getting out of Summerlin in any sort of style. Times got bad in Summerlin, so he grabbed Spencer and hopped on the first railroad car out of there.
Ryan had his pride, and that was the one thing he refused to give up. He gave up his food to Spencer and his blanket to Brent and his hope to Brendon, but he always kept his pride. Then things went from bad to worse and times went from hard to harder until there was nothing else to be done; Ryan gathered up Brent and Brendon and Spencer to join the circus.
At least, that's the version Spencer tells. Ryan tells William about different things, leaving out some parts and expanding on (lying about) others. This is the version Ryan tells, when he's learned to trust William enough with it:
Ryan and Spencer grew up together in the same old prospecting town in Nevada. They went to church together, but went to separate grammar schools. They had their birthday parties together and always played on the same team in games with the other children in the neighborhood. They snuck out together and were punished together, they went to the same parties and danced with the same girls. And when they found the advertising fliers, they scrounged up the twenty cents together and went to the pornocircus together.
Ryan's dad did his best but after the Crash all Ryan had to look forward to was joining his dad at the unemployment line, at the speakeasy, at the jailhouse for being drunk in public.
The people in Ryan and Spencer's town were losing jobs. Each day the town was bleeding jobs, and it was only a matter of time before Spencer's parents were out of work. Ryan's dad had already been laid off, and Ryan had to wait with him in the food line. Ryan hated it. He could think of nothing more degrading. Spencer knew that Ryan would often try to skip meals rather than go begging for the government-issued oatmeal with shame the only condiment available. Spencer helped as best he could, but there was nothing to do on the days Ryan felt guiltier taking Spencer's handout than he did Uncle Sam's.
What was worse was when Ryan's dad looked at the numbers and saw that the thin cushion of savings wouldn't accommodate both the drink money and the rent money for the month. Before the Crash, Ryan had often spent the night at the Smiths' house. After the Crash, Ryan's dad lost his house and Ryan spent every night with the Smith family. Mr. Ross sent a little money along, when he could afford to do so, or when he wasn't trying to wait out the bad times at the bottom of a bottle. The very worst day of Ryan's life up until that point had been the day he went to the food line for breakfast a few days after his seventeenth birthday with his father and a suitcase full of his belongings. That afternoon he found himself on Spencer's porch, ringing the doorbell. He stood staring at the ground, crimson and fairly glowing with embarrassment as his father, cap in hand, begged Mr. and Mrs. Smith to take Ryan in.
The next very worst day of Ryan's life was the day Brent died, but that didn't happen for a while yet. Working at the pornocircus accounted for eight of Brendon's ten worst days and six of Spencer's, but none of Ryan's. Ryan figures that at the pornocircus he may be engaging in displays of an obscene and degrading nature, and he may be having unsatisfying sex with strangers, but he gets a good, solid cut of the money and every shining penny he has earned himself. Ryan has several reasons for hating the pornocircus, but none of them have to do with what he's allowed himself to be put through.
Neither of them tell the story like this, because it's too personal:
Back in Summerlin, Spencer was getting thinner and thinner as his family tried to save up for the harsh times ahead, except the harsh times had already arrived. Spencer was a growing teenage boy. He used to have baby fat, used to get teased about it, but his waistline was shrinking rapidly. He hadn't had baby fat since he was sixteen. The year of slow starvation would have been much less bearable, he knows, had Ryan not been shrinking beside him.
Spencer had gotten a bit of muscle on him, too, muscle built by the scavenging he and Ryan had been doing, rooting around closed-down stores and factories, stripping parts and selling anything and everything they could. They weren't the only ones looting, though.
Ryan and Spencer had a stash in the compartment of an old carriage in the junk-yard. It had a lock on it that Ryan and Spencer had fashioned themselves, and it was where they kept the bits and pieces that couldn't be sold right away.
One day, they came down to the junk-yard with an armful each of parts to store until their fence was back in town. They stopped short when they saw the three older men, all in their early twenties, and all rummaging through the secret carriage compartment.
Hey! Hey, you! Hands off! That's our stash! Spencer hollered, dropping his scraps and charging right at the older boys. He threw himself at the one closest to the compartment door and began punching wildly. Ryan hurtled in after Spencer without pausing for thought or breath, with nothing in his mind but to keep the others away from Spencer.
The fight was dirty and vicious but it didn't last long. Finding this stash to be harder prey than they'd thought, the men soon backed off and went off in search of parts that needed less energy to acquire.
Spencer had a bloody nose and both eyes blackened. He was wheezing and his side was rapidly coloring an angry purple below the rucked-up hem of his shirt. Ryan's ribs were aching and he would have bet a dime he didn't have that his wrist was sprained. He turned to Spencer, meaning to check for injuries, but all he could see was this look of triumph, fierce and bright, on Spencer's face. Then and there, Ryan knew he would do anything, absolutely anything, if he could keep that look on Spencer's face forever.
They got back to find Spencer's dad looking ready to hit something. He didn't used to cuff the kids hard enough to sting, but since times started getting bad Mr. Smith's hand had started landing more heavily. Spencer's dad looked tired and frustrated and ashamed when Spencer and Ryan came into the kitchen, and Spencer's mom was getting the girls into their shoes.
Oh, there you are, boys. Spencer's dad sighed. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. Listen, now. You both know we're going through some rough times. I lost my job today. We're going to have to make some sacrifices if we want to keep the house.
The thread factory had cut the rest of their people last month, ending Spencer's mother's job. Spencer and Ryan had stayed up to listen to Spencer's parents speak in quiet, sombre tones about renting out Spencer's room or turning the boys out altogether. With Spencer's dad now out of work, both boys expected to be told to move in with Spencer's sisters or to gather their things and leave the house. All Spencer's father told them, however, was get your hats on. We're going to go to the bread line today for supper.
Ryan's face shut down. Spencer was dumbfounded. The Smiths had always been well-off, always, when the boys were growing up, and this--
He played with the hem of his shirt, winding the fabric absentmindedly around his fist. He couldn't believe it was happening, not to his family. He just couldn't believe it.
I'm not hungry, Spencer said absently. The words came out with an edge more petulant than he would have liked. He tugged Ryan's arm and nodded toward the door. Me and Ryan, we've gotta go somewhere.
If it had been two years ago, hell, maybe even last year, his mother would have questioned him, but since Spencer started turning up with scraps of money made from selling stolen parts she tended to favor deliberate obliviousness. Lately she preferred to not ask and not be told. She just nodded, her face tight, and shepherded Spencer's sisters out the door.
That was it, the moment when Ryan decided that they had to get out of there, out of the town, maybe out of the state. As soon as Spencer's parents, grandparents and sisters were out the door the boys scurried upstairs to their shared room. They packed quickly, frantic, not sure when Spencer's family would get home.
With suitcases and schoolbags stuffed, they ran to the train station. Ryan brought Spencer under one of the platforms where they waited for a train to come in.
Ryan made Spencer get in first. The train's whistle blasted a final warning through the station, and the huge wheels groaned as they began to move. Spencer clambered up into the boxcar with little trouble. Ryan jogged along beside the train, steeling himself for his jump.
When Ryan leaped at the train, he misjudged the locomotive's speed. His leg smashed into the edge of the boxcar and he slipped, dangling halfway inside the car until Spencer grabbed his arm and hauled him all the way in. They tumbled over backwards, landing in a pile.
Spencer was still holding on to Ryan and Ryan sat there. He shifted experimentally, feeling Spencer warm and solid and stretched out underneath him. Outside, the train gave off a great belch of smoke and surged forward, the inertia causing Ryan to rock against Spencer. Ryan's leg slipped between Spencer's; Ryan abruptly found the bone of Spencer's hip pressed into his stomach and Spencer's half-hard cock pressed into his hip.
All at once, Ryan's mind threw up a dizzying series of obscene images on the insides of his eyelids. He blinked once, twice, then shook his head to clear it. Beneath him, Spencer was still staring up silently. Ryan cautiously ground his hips down. He kept his eyes fixed on Spencer's face, gauging his friend's reaction. Spencer's eyes fluttered shut and Spencer answered Ryan's cautious movement with a deliberate thrust up, rubbing his cock along Ryan's thigh.
Spencer held Ryan's gaze as Spencer slid his hand down Ryan's back and over his hip. Spencer forced his hand between his thigh and Ryan's groin. Ryan arched forward as Spencer navigated his fingers up to the waistband of Ryan's trousers, dragging his knuckles against the front seam on the way. Spencer tucked his fingers into the waistband of Ryan's trousers and brought his other hand up to splay on the small of Ryan's back, pulling his best friend down onto him. Ryan's cautious grinding had given way to more regular movements, thrusting down against Spencer's leg. Spencer's hand flexed on Ryan's back. He removed his hand from Ryan's waistband and used both hands to encourage Ryan to shift a few inches to the side.
When his hips lined up with Spencer's, Ryan could feel Spencer's cock straining against the confining fabric between them. Impulsively, Ryan snatched up Spencer's hand and guided it back to his waistband. Spencer quickly caught on, inching his hand into Ryan's pants. Ryan bit his lips to keep from babbling Spencer's name and variations on more, please, when Spencer finally closed his hand around Ryan's dick.
It was uncomfortable, unlubricated as Spencer's hand was, but the novelty of another hand on his cock-- the novelty of Spencer's hand on his cock-- was enough for Ryan to keep going.
The car was quiet except for the rattling of the crates, the clack of the train wheels, and the rough sound of Spencer working on Ryan. Ryan came with his eyes screwed shut and his fingers digging into Spencer's biceps and his lips bitten raw. When the aftershocks had ceased, Ryan stuffed his hand down Spencer's trousers and Spencer ducked his head so Ryan couldn't see his face. Spencer was closer than Ryan; he'd been on edge while he worked Ryan over, had tried and failed to suppress the tiny waves of motion as his hips strained to grind down against Ryan. Now, Spencer buried his nose in the soft flesh where Ryan's neck met shoulder and whimpered through his teeth as Ryan pumped him to completion.
When it was over, they did it again.
-----
The first stop came much sooner than they had expected. The sudden deceleration surprised Spencer's hands right out of Ryan's trousers. As the train wheels screamed against the tracks they crammed themselves into a corner of the boxcar and hoped no one checked too closely. They were still flushed, though more from fear than arousal at this point; the shock and panic had chased away both the mood and their erections.
A lone railroad bull hoisted himself up to give the boxcar a cursory glance. Spencer held his breath. They'd stashed their bags behind the crates on the other side of the car in the hopes that it would make them less easy to spot, but now Spencer was terrified that they'd only succeeded in doubling their chances of getting caught. For all their scavenging, the two had never been in trouble with the law before. The thought of jail made a small, cold lump form in Spencer's guts.
They clutched each other with white-knuckled grips as the bull paused in the middle of the boxcar to leisurely pull a cloth bag from his pocket. He opened the bag and took a short knife out from the same pocket, cut off a hunk of tobacco and popped it into his mouth. He scratched his nose and gave the car another cursory glance around as he chewed. Then, clearly concluding that there was nothing to be seen in the car, he left.
Spencer allowed the breath he'd been holding to escape. Shaking slightly with nerves, he stood and made to climb over the crates when Ryan's arm shot up and yanked him back into a crouch. It was a well-timed snatch on Ryan's part; seconds later, another person climbed into the car. A shorter figure scrambled up beside the first and they stood, peering around the car.
This looks like a good one, one finally muttered to the other. The strangers sprawled over several crates, well out of sight of the doorway but apparently unaware of Spencer and Ryan. The car descended again into silence.
After what felt to Spencer and Ryan like years, the train's engine began to belch smoke that swam lazily over the cars as the locomotive slowly accelerated. The two strangers held a whispered conversation, much to Ryan's frustration--they were too loud for him to not notice but too quiet for him to make out what was being said. Spencer had to laugh to himself at the expression on Ryan's face as he strained to hear the strangers.
Ryan and Spencer remained hidden for another three hours. The rail cops stuck their heads into the car at a few more stops, but there was never a thorough inspection of the space behind the boxes. The strangers seemed to have enough sense to hide at stops, at least, and while Ryan and Spencer still didn't know if they could trust the new men they were thankful that the strangers didn't give the bulls any reason to scour the boxcar.
There was one nerve-wracking stop when a bull, young and gunning for a fight, started shifting boxes around in the hopes of finding stowaways. Before he got too far along in his task, the noise of a hobo argument, loud and drunken, wafted through the dusty air from several cars down the locomotive. The bull's whole torso twisted toward the sound and in moments he was gone, off to protect the train from filthy hobos. Ryan and Spencer squeezed each other's hands, trying not to express relief too loudly in case the strangers heard them.
Ryan and Spencer eavesdropped on the two strangers' conversation, which had grown progressively louder with each stop.
Brent-- Say, Spencer, didn't we used to know a Brent? Ryan whispered into Spencer's ear. The gust of hot breath sent a shiver rolling down Spencer's spine to settle in a warm curl in his belly.
The one we went to school with, you mean? Yeah. Where did he move again-- oh, what was the name of that town?
North of us, that's all I remember.
And now he's here on the train. Spencer laughed quietly. It's like we're in one of those penny dreadfuls you used to love so much.
Oh, stuff yourself, Ryan grumbled. He had packed one such book to take with him; it was at the top of his pack and Spencer knew it.
Once they were sure that the Brent dealing in the two-man poker game across the car was the very same as the Brent who moved away from Summerlin a few years back, Spencer and Ryan come out of hiding.
Brent and his friend were surprised, but a flurry of introductions soon went around and that's how they met Brendon. Brendon was a Mormon; his family had a lot of kids. His story was very close to what Spencer and Ryan's almost was; his parents had sat him down and had explained how there just wasn't enough money to feed the whole family.
What about you, Brent? Spencer asked. Brent shrugged.
No jobs in town, he said. I'm saving up for something big.
A car? Spencer guessed. A house? A gun?
A girl! chirped Brendon helpfully. Spencer and Ryan laughed. Brent blushed and they were quick to restore his pride.
No, no, that's noble, Ryan declared. True love is the best reason to seek your fortune.
Like in the penny dreadfuls? Spencer said, raising his eyebrows at Ryan. Ryan rolled his eyes and elbowed Spencer in the ribs.
Brent and Brendon had no plans. Spencer shared some of the food he and Ryan managed to grab; Brent and Brendon were grateful.
We'll find a lot more in Chicago, they assured themselves.
They ate and talked up a storm as to what they were going to do once they arrived at their destination, which they decided should be Chicago.
After they determined to head for Chicago, Ryan spent an hour spinning wild tales of the four of them becoming powerful gangsters and wily bootleggers and having fantastic adventures that took them on a complicated path from Chicago to New Orleans. He paid particular attention in his description of the fierce gun battles, as those were Spencer's favorite parts of any story. Ryan's eyes were distant the way they got when he told stories, but Brendon's shining eyes followed every sweeping gesture of Ryan's hands.
-----
At the last stop before Chicago, their locomotive stopped next to a circus train. All four boys leaped up and peered eagerly through the slats, drinking in the sight of the exotic animals in their mobile cages and the bright, gaily painted circus cars. They didn't stop watching until the trains parted ways and the circus train dwindled to a tiny dot on the horizon. The boys piled back down on the floor with wide, matching grin plastered across their faces.
Wasn't that something! Spencer crowed, whistling in appreciation. What a sight.
I haven't been to see the circus since I moved from Summerlin, Brent said, his voice gone soft in recollection. I went with you two-- he nodded at Ryan and Spencer-- d'you remember? I stayed watching the elephants for so long that you wandered off by yourselves and left me. He shoved Spencer playfully. Damn well abandoned me. It took me the whole afternoon to find you two again.
We hid in the- the clown tent, remember, Ryan? Spencer lied glibly, looking for all the world like he really did remember hiding in a tent full of clowns with Ryan. The glance he shot his best friend would have given the game away had Brent or Brendon cared to watch it, loaded with significance and promise that had Ryan drawing his knees up to his chin so he could cross his shins in front of the sudden bulge in his trousers.
I remember. Ryan tried to send back a glance with the same heat and promise folded up neatly within it. He wasn't sure if he had managed to do it properly, but Spencer inched closer to him anyway.
We should join the circus, Brendon exclaimed, laughing. Isn't that what runaway boys are supposed to do?
Of course, Spencer agreed. He raised his arms high above his head in a stretch, allowing his shirt to ride up and expose his flat, muscled stomach. Ryan saw all this in his peripheral vision (he didn't trust himself to look directly at Spencer) and swallowed hard. He focused instead on Brent's hands shuffling the cards. With his stare fixed firmly on the deck, he didn't notice Spencer's hand until it was flattened firmly against the small of his back. He missed Brendon's flushed cheeks completely.
Part 2