A Most Brilliant Dance, Epilogue.
Full Headers [ here].
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77'000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5
_________
The Aspiridita Flies - Stars
Spencer loves Brendon very much most of the time. However, lying here tonight (nearly two months since Ryan turned smiling to him and kissed him for the first time, and Spencer should be used to this thought by now, but it’s still overwhelming and new), wide awake while Brendon is snoring contentedly into his pillow… It’s enough to make Spencer consider punching his friend awake to complain. He’s been lying down staring wide-eyed at the ceiling with a complete inability to sleep, trying in vain to get comfortable in their bed for the last time, for what feels like several years now, and it’s time for Brendon to share his pain.
Punching seems a little cruel, so he settles for shaking Brendon until he stirs instead, and Brendon swipes at him with an ineffectual hand before finally raising his head. He mumbles groggily, “God, Spence, what?”
Spencer hisses, “How can you sleep so easily? Brendon, we’re getting married tomorrow-”
“Oh, you’ve remembered,” Brendon says and yawns loudly, jaw cracking. “Good.”
Spencer glares at him; Brendon’s eyes are drifting suspiciously closed again. “Don’t fall asleep on me again,” he warns.
“I’m tired,” Brendon sighs. “What do you want from me, honestly?”
“How can you even think about sleeping now?” Spencer demands. “Aren’t you terrified?”
Brendon blinks up at him. “What could go wrong now?” he asks sleepily. “I don’t think Jon’s the kind of man to run out on a wedding day. Neither is Ro - Ryan. It’s all settled at last. What could possibly keep you awake?”
“The countless things I could do to embarrass myself?” Spencer suggests with more than a little hysteria. “Tripping over in the ceremony? Saying something wrong or misguided in front of his friends? Not to mention the wedding night, oh my God, I can’t-”
Brendon lets out a low, snuffly snore and Spencer narrows his eyes. “What use are you?” he asks his sleeping companion, and huffs when he receives no answer.
Spencer rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, blinking up at it until the last candle has burnt out and he thinks it must be an hour to dawn. With a muffled curse - he’s going to be exhausted all day, he’ll probably fall asleep at some stage in the ceremony, and Ryan will be too disgusted to even think about marrying him - he climbs out of bed and pulls on his trousers and boots, shoving his arms through a coat to go over his nightshirt.
The household is still and silent and he creeps down the stairs, skipping the step that creaks; much as it would suit his belligerent mood to stomp and wake everyone up, he doesn’t think the wrath of his mother would be worth it.
He considers heading into the village - by the time he gets there the sun will have risen, and there’s a good chance he can wake Frank up and get him to stay. Frank and Gerard are down for the wedding, leaving Lady Helena behind due to her rheumatism and Mikey so that Lady Helena will have someone to keep her company. Spencer had written and offered to let the two stay at Longbourn, but Frank had replied (careful and casual) that he and Gerard were fine, they’d share a room at the local inn. Ryan had laughed for nearly half an hour when Spencer had shown him.
He’s glad Frank’s here; the wedding is to be held halfway between Netherfield and Pemberley but Spencer still feels a little out of his element. Frank will be a familiar, kind face in the crowd and Spencer will be absurdly grateful for that, hemmed in by Ryan’s foreboding relatives.
And his own - although Pete and Marianne aren’t attending. Spencer wrote and invited them, and received in response a strangely honest letter from Pete. i don’t think i will, spencer, Pete had written (apparently forsaking capitals). it’s alright. yr sister is lovely company & i am quite content but i think we will stay on our own end of the country for a while. congratulations again & i hope you two are v happy. maybe we can meet in more cheerful circumstances again one day soon. xo pete. p.s. please tell yr fiancé best wishes from me. truly. Spencer wasn’t really sure what to do with that, so he gave it to Ryan, who read it and sighed, said, “At least he’s not coming to the wedding.”
“Is he okay?” Spencer had asked tentatively, unable to tell whether he cares or not anymore, and Ryan had smiled lopsidedly.
“No,” he said. “But he will be.”
Spencer sighs and puts aside the thoughts. He thinks, maybe I will go to where Frank and Gerard are staying, and then realizes he’s already halfway across the fields towards Netherfield, trousers wet up to the thigh with dew. He shoves his hands in his pockets and grins a little foolishly to himself. Probably, he tells himself, Ryan will be fast asleep and remain that way until ten in the morning, as is his habit; or maybe Spencer will lose courage, still uncertain of himself, and turn back before he reaches the main gate. As it is, though, he just keeps walking, because even if he can’t go through the gate he can sit on it and wonder and wait, and he doesn’t mind that Ryan is probably asleep. Spencer’s going to have plenty of time to talk to him.
The sun is about to rise by the time Spencer walks into Netherfield’s main entrance, and the light is blue and foggy. He can hear the first servants beginning to move about, someone whistling as he takes breakfast out to the dogs. Spencer waves to a maid he recognizes and then stoops to the ground, selects a few smooth, heavy stones.
He walks forward and around until he is below Ryan’s window and then raises the first stone, pausing a moment to adjust his aim, before hurling it up to strike against the window. It makes a clear noise and Spencer grins before he sends the second stone up to strike against the wooden pane, and the third after that right in the centre of the glass.
He doesn’t have to wait long; the curtains are pushed back and through the slight blur of glass Spencer sees Ryan’s unmistakable form. He raises his chin, waits just long enough that he’s sure Ryan will recognize him, and then turns and walks away.
He heads for the stables. Sean, the man who works there, used to talk to Spencer and Brendon after church. He grins and says hello when Spencer appears, then goes to fetch some tack when Spencer asks for it. Spencer goes and opens the stall of Ryan’s horse, rubs her nose hello and talks softly to it, offering an apple that’s rolled into the corner of the stall. The horse is in a good temper and snorts softly at him, and doesn’t fidget when Spencer saddles her up.
He has just guided her out of the stall and swung up into the saddle when Ryan appears at the door, scrubbing his hand through rumpled hair and blinking blearily at Spencer. He’s wearing his nightshirt still, Spencer notices with delight, and is knuckling sleep out of his eyes. His shirt is slightly too big; Spencer sees it fall away slightly at Ryan’s chest, shifting to the side to show his collarbones and Spencer’s mouth is suddenly dry. He swallows hard, drags his eyes back up to Ryan’s face.
Ryan looks bewildered. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice rough with sleep, and Spencer thinks it probably wouldn’t give Sean the best impression if Spencer got down right now and crossed the floor to Ryan, pushed him back against the wall and nuzzled at the side of his face, smoothed down that hillock of hair pointing in a different direction to all the others. His fingers twitch slightly on the reins.
Instead, he grins and says, “Stealing your horse.”
Ryan blinks at him. “You have your own horse,” he points out evenly, but the corner of his mouth is twitching up into a smile.
“Yes,” Spencer agrees. “But I like yours better.”
He kicks the horse forward, and Ryan shifts out of the way automatically so that Spencer gets through without trampling him. Spencer pauses halfway through the doors and turns towards him, says, “Race you to the river?” and then kicks Ryan’s horse into a gallop.
He waits until he’s out of sight of the stables and then slows her down, lets the mare pick her way daintily across the stones to give Ryan adequate time to saddle another horse up. He’s barely gotten halfway across the yard, though, before Ryan bursts through the stable doors, clinging bareback to Jon’s horse, eyes bright.
Spencer snorts at him. “Show off,” he says, and then nudges his own horse into a gallop again. They thunder out of the gates, Ryan only a little way behind him, and out into the open fields, racing towards Longbourn and, beyond that, the river. The early morning air is cool and Spencer gasps it in, rising in the saddle, trying not to laugh out loud with delight. This is better than tossing sleepless in bed, he thinks; out and free in the green countryside, with Ryan close behind him.
Ryan’s horse is the faster out of the two, but Ryan is a better rider, and it doesn’t take long for him to draw level with Spencer and then overtake him. He lets the horse take him well in front before he wheels it around, laughing and looking more than a little smug. Spencer lets Ryan’s horse ease back into a trot and glares at Ryan.
“Show off,” he repeats, and Ryan laughs again, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. Spencer knows he’s staring but can’t seem to help it; Ryan looks barely out of breath, and he is suddenly beautiful in the cold, grey light of dawn. “Guess we’re not going to make it to the river,” Spencer says pointlessly, and Ryan smiles dark and deliberate at him.
“Why’d you come and visit me?” Ryan asks, nudging his horse forward until they are close. If Spencer leans forward just a little, Ryan will be right there, warm and welcoming. Spencer doesn’t do it - he doesn’t quite trust his balance - but he is wildly glad that he could, if he wanted to.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, grinning a little sheepishly, and Ryan’s smile widens.
“Me either,” Ryan says. “I’ve been lying in bed and trying to all night. I think Jon’s given up, too. I’m pretty sure I saw a light in the library when I came down to meet you.”
“Brendon’s still snoring,” Spencer tells him.
“Bastard,” Ryan says, and Spencer laughs and dismounts, stumbling a little when he’s on the ground. Ryan’s already there - stupid noble with his stupid fluid dismount, Spencer thinks a little dizzily - and he catches Spencer’s arm even though he doesn’t need to. Spencer looks at the ground, willing the flush in his cheek to fade.
They walk forward a little, over the green fields, and Spencer says, casually, “So, there’s this party tonight, or something.”
“Oh?” Ryan asks. Spencer doesn’t look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he can see that Ryan’s stuck his hands in his pockets and is smiling crookedly at the horizon. Spencer is not Brendon, so he does not have all of Brendon’s romantic notions and whims and thoughts, and so he does not think lucky horizon. He really doesn’t.
“Yes,” Spencer says. “I don’t think it’s for anything important. Some boring people, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Ryan says, and reaches out to touch Spencer’s arm. Spencer lets him, slows down a little, and then thinks damn it and turns to face Ryan.
“Anyway,” he says. “There’s a gentleman there that I rather fancy, and I’d quite like to ask him to dance in order to encourage affections, you know. Only, the last time I did so I was rebuked rather cruelly and I’m not sure my pride can withstand another such blow.”
Ryan is grinning kind of stupidly at him; Spencer doesn’t call him on it because he thinks he might have the same expression. “Maybe you should wait for the gentleman to ask you,” Ryan suggests, voice wicked.
“I would,” Spencer says with a tragic sigh, “Only the last time he did that it did not end so well, either. He’s extremely impolite. Provokes fights during balls. Most unpleasant.”
“Maybe you two shouldn’t dance at all, then,” Ryan breathes, leaning in closer. “I can think of some other things that might occupy you in your spare time.”
Spencer lets him get just close enough for their mouths to brush gently before he leans back and says crossly, “Ross, if I don’t get a dance on my wedding night, there might just not be a wedding night.”
“Bother,” Ryan says, and then laughs a little wildly. “I’ll dance with you all you like, Spence, I’ll stay for every dance and refuse to let you get away all night-” and then he leans forward and kisses Spencer hard, mouth warm and fierce and welcome against Spencer’s, and Spencer clenches his fists in Ryan’s shirt and drags him closer, breathes him in.
Ryan breaks away and says, “I have been waiting a very long time. I will dance with you all night,” and Spencer closes his eyes, leans forward and lets Ryan hold him up.
“I’m glad you weren’t asleep,” he whispers finally, and Ryan turns his face enough that he can press a tiny, close-mouthed kiss against Spencer’s jaw. Spencer shivers, hands flexing involuntarily in Ryan’s shirt.
“Me, too,” Ryan says and then adds, “Although, I sort of wish I had a few hours rest. I might fall asleep on you in the ceremony, and then you’ll have to break up the marriage out of embarrassment.”
Spencer laughs in a voice that sounds small and breathless even to him, and he says, “I love you.”
Ryan says, “I know,” but Spencer feels the ragged swell of Ryan’s chest as he breathes in and wishes for a moment that he hadn’t been so damn stupid for so damn long. He hates it for a long moment, and then he remembers where he is: in a field on his wedding day with the first rays of the sun touching his skin, and Ryan holding him close. Spencer breathes in, breathes out, and then leans close to be kissed.
*
The celebrations stretch on through dinner and well into the night, and by half past one in the morning the musicians are still energetic, and Spencer is being danced across the room by an overly-enthusiastic Frank. Frank’s skill has not improved since the last time they danced and Spencer begins to laugh helplessly (with the occasional wince spared for his poor, bruised feet), tripping more than once himself. He’s been dancing with only a few breaks since dinner, and while most of them have been with a dancer much better than Frank, his feet are already aching, and he can’t help but wonder how much more they can take.
The music sweeps to a halt and Frank and Spencer bow, grinning stupidly at each other. “This is a fine night,” Frank says cheerfully. “I’ve had enough fun - and wine, I suppose - to even forgive you for marrying Ross, of all people, in order to have it.”
“I would have thought you would be grateful to me for that particular event, and not just for the chance to dance,” Spencer says, arching an eyebrow. “I cannot help but wonder if Lady Helena’s rheumatism was brought on by more than just old age. I take it the news was quite a blow to her?”
“Quite,” Frank echoes, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. His gaze shifts away to where Gerard is talking quietly to a worshipful and adoring Anne and adds, a little more shyly, “I think Gerard was… almost happy about it, though. And not just because he’s happy for you two. I suspect.”
“I could have told you that,” Spencer says, grinning, and Frank looks at him with a bright fondness in his eyes.
“You look happy, too,” he remarks, and Spencer flushes and looks away. Frank laughs quietly and then says, “I can’t quite say the same of your dearly beloved, though. He appears to be flagging. Perhaps the party is a little too much for his dour tastes.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Spencer says, and thwacks him on the arm (but lightly; old prejudices, Spencer thinks with a weary sort of resignation, take a while to fade. He himself is a prime example of that). He follows Frank’s pointing finger, though, and sure enough Ryan is drooping a little in his chair, trying to appear interested in what a distant relative is saying and hiding a yawn behind his glass. Spencer says, “I’ll go and rescue him. We’d best turn in for the night.”
“Have fun,” Frank says slyly, and Spencer feels his cheeks getting hot again. He walks away so as not to have to reply, because he hasn’t even thought about - well, obviously he’s thought about - but he’s not even that sure of the technicalities of such things, and Ryan is sure to know, and Spencer is sure to look stupid, and - anyway.
Ryan doesn’t even notice him until Spencer leans over him and puts his chin on Ryan’s shoulder, addressing the elderly relative and asking her permission to steal Ryan away. She laughs and flaps her hand agreeably at them and Ryan gets up gratefully, turning and smiling at Spencer. Spencer is still somewhat unused to the full force of Ryan’s attention and happiness being turned on him, and he blinks a little at Ryan’s grin. Ryan raises an eyebrow and Spencer clears his throat.
“Ready to go home?” he asks, and bites back the stupid grin that threatens to take over his face at the words.
“Let’s just go to an inn, tonight,” Ryan says. “Halfway between Netherfield and Derbyshire or not, Pemberley’s too far to drive, tonight. Unless - wait, weren’t you dancing?”
“You’re tired,” Spencer tells him. “I think you’d fall over if you tried.”
“You can dance,” Ryan says, a little anxiously. “I don’t mind watching.”
“Ryan, let’s go,” Spencer says firmly. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else. And you danced plenty. So did I. Come on.”
Ryan blinks at him, sleepy and unsure, and then Spencer puts an arm around his waist and tugs him close. Ryan’s clearly exhausted, the lack of sleep last night catching up with him (Spencer is rather pleased with himself for not being too tired yet) and he sags heavily against Spencer. They wind their way out of the hall and into the waiting carriage unnoticed by the large company, except for Spencer’s mother who waves a hearty, giggly and - Spencer suspects - somewhat tipsy goodbye.
Spencer groans as they clamber into the carriage. “God, my mother,” he says. Ryan looks at him uncertainly in the dim light as the horses start up into a trot.
“She’s not,” he begins hesitantly, and then stops, tries again. “I may have misunderstood-”
“She is, and you didn’t,” Spencer says, burrowing close against him. Ryan’s warm and Spencer doesn’t mind his bony elbows. “Let’s not discuss the pitfalls of my family tonight, though. You can throw them in my face during our first married argument, okay?”
Ryan makes a small, unhappy sound, holding himself tense and alert next to Spencer. Spencer rolls his eyes. “It was a joke, Ross,” he says, and then, when Ryan doesn’t move, he presses his cold nose against Ryan’s neck and says, grumpily, “Ryan.”
Ryan lets himself slump, turns his face into Spencer’s hair. “I had a great uncle who thought he was a cat in his later years,” he offers into the dark, breath stirring the hairs on the top of Spencer’s head. “He slept curled on the floor in a heap of blankets and refused to drink from anything but a saucer.”
Spencer huffs out a surprised laugh and turns his face up, searching for Ryan only to find him already leaning down. They kiss carefully in the dark, slow and warm, and eventually they get a little sloppy, Ryan making tiny, content noises against the wet slide of their tongues. Spencer’s breath is hitching in his chest.
Spencer pulls away and says breathlessly, “You sound like a cat yourself.” Ryan laughs and the carriage pulls to a halt, and Ryan takes his hand, leads him out onto the cobblestones below.
“Don’t trip,” he warns, voice thick with withheld laughter, and Spencer kisses him to make him shut up.
The End ?
Ryan/Spencer, Brendon/Jon
PG-13
~77'000 words
Written by softlyforgotten and zarah5
_________
The Aspiridita Flies - Stars
Spencer loves Brendon very much most of the time. However, lying here tonight (nearly two months since Ryan turned smiling to him and kissed him for the first time, and Spencer should be used to this thought by now, but it’s still overwhelming and new), wide awake while Brendon is snoring contentedly into his pillow… It’s enough to make Spencer consider punching his friend awake to complain. He’s been lying down staring wide-eyed at the ceiling with a complete inability to sleep, trying in vain to get comfortable in their bed for the last time, for what feels like several years now, and it’s time for Brendon to share his pain.
Punching seems a little cruel, so he settles for shaking Brendon until he stirs instead, and Brendon swipes at him with an ineffectual hand before finally raising his head. He mumbles groggily, “God, Spence, what?”
Spencer hisses, “How can you sleep so easily? Brendon, we’re getting married tomorrow-”
“Oh, you’ve remembered,” Brendon says and yawns loudly, jaw cracking. “Good.”
Spencer glares at him; Brendon’s eyes are drifting suspiciously closed again. “Don’t fall asleep on me again,” he warns.
“I’m tired,” Brendon sighs. “What do you want from me, honestly?”
“How can you even think about sleeping now?” Spencer demands. “Aren’t you terrified?”
Brendon blinks up at him. “What could go wrong now?” he asks sleepily. “I don’t think Jon’s the kind of man to run out on a wedding day. Neither is Ro - Ryan. It’s all settled at last. What could possibly keep you awake?”
“The countless things I could do to embarrass myself?” Spencer suggests with more than a little hysteria. “Tripping over in the ceremony? Saying something wrong or misguided in front of his friends? Not to mention the wedding night, oh my God, I can’t-”
Brendon lets out a low, snuffly snore and Spencer narrows his eyes. “What use are you?” he asks his sleeping companion, and huffs when he receives no answer.
Spencer rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, blinking up at it until the last candle has burnt out and he thinks it must be an hour to dawn. With a muffled curse - he’s going to be exhausted all day, he’ll probably fall asleep at some stage in the ceremony, and Ryan will be too disgusted to even think about marrying him - he climbs out of bed and pulls on his trousers and boots, shoving his arms through a coat to go over his nightshirt.
The household is still and silent and he creeps down the stairs, skipping the step that creaks; much as it would suit his belligerent mood to stomp and wake everyone up, he doesn’t think the wrath of his mother would be worth it.
He considers heading into the village - by the time he gets there the sun will have risen, and there’s a good chance he can wake Frank up and get him to stay. Frank and Gerard are down for the wedding, leaving Lady Helena behind due to her rheumatism and Mikey so that Lady Helena will have someone to keep her company. Spencer had written and offered to let the two stay at Longbourn, but Frank had replied (careful and casual) that he and Gerard were fine, they’d share a room at the local inn. Ryan had laughed for nearly half an hour when Spencer had shown him.
He’s glad Frank’s here; the wedding is to be held halfway between Netherfield and Pemberley but Spencer still feels a little out of his element. Frank will be a familiar, kind face in the crowd and Spencer will be absurdly grateful for that, hemmed in by Ryan’s foreboding relatives.
And his own - although Pete and Marianne aren’t attending. Spencer wrote and invited them, and received in response a strangely honest letter from Pete. i don’t think i will, spencer, Pete had written (apparently forsaking capitals). it’s alright. yr sister is lovely company & i am quite content but i think we will stay on our own end of the country for a while. congratulations again & i hope you two are v happy. maybe we can meet in more cheerful circumstances again one day soon. xo pete. p.s. please tell yr fiancé best wishes from me. truly. Spencer wasn’t really sure what to do with that, so he gave it to Ryan, who read it and sighed, said, “At least he’s not coming to the wedding.”
“Is he okay?” Spencer had asked tentatively, unable to tell whether he cares or not anymore, and Ryan had smiled lopsidedly.
“No,” he said. “But he will be.”
Spencer sighs and puts aside the thoughts. He thinks, maybe I will go to where Frank and Gerard are staying, and then realizes he’s already halfway across the fields towards Netherfield, trousers wet up to the thigh with dew. He shoves his hands in his pockets and grins a little foolishly to himself. Probably, he tells himself, Ryan will be fast asleep and remain that way until ten in the morning, as is his habit; or maybe Spencer will lose courage, still uncertain of himself, and turn back before he reaches the main gate. As it is, though, he just keeps walking, because even if he can’t go through the gate he can sit on it and wonder and wait, and he doesn’t mind that Ryan is probably asleep. Spencer’s going to have plenty of time to talk to him.
The sun is about to rise by the time Spencer walks into Netherfield’s main entrance, and the light is blue and foggy. He can hear the first servants beginning to move about, someone whistling as he takes breakfast out to the dogs. Spencer waves to a maid he recognizes and then stoops to the ground, selects a few smooth, heavy stones.
He walks forward and around until he is below Ryan’s window and then raises the first stone, pausing a moment to adjust his aim, before hurling it up to strike against the window. It makes a clear noise and Spencer grins before he sends the second stone up to strike against the wooden pane, and the third after that right in the centre of the glass.
He doesn’t have to wait long; the curtains are pushed back and through the slight blur of glass Spencer sees Ryan’s unmistakable form. He raises his chin, waits just long enough that he’s sure Ryan will recognize him, and then turns and walks away.
He heads for the stables. Sean, the man who works there, used to talk to Spencer and Brendon after church. He grins and says hello when Spencer appears, then goes to fetch some tack when Spencer asks for it. Spencer goes and opens the stall of Ryan’s horse, rubs her nose hello and talks softly to it, offering an apple that’s rolled into the corner of the stall. The horse is in a good temper and snorts softly at him, and doesn’t fidget when Spencer saddles her up.
He has just guided her out of the stall and swung up into the saddle when Ryan appears at the door, scrubbing his hand through rumpled hair and blinking blearily at Spencer. He’s wearing his nightshirt still, Spencer notices with delight, and is knuckling sleep out of his eyes. His shirt is slightly too big; Spencer sees it fall away slightly at Ryan’s chest, shifting to the side to show his collarbones and Spencer’s mouth is suddenly dry. He swallows hard, drags his eyes back up to Ryan’s face.
Ryan looks bewildered. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice rough with sleep, and Spencer thinks it probably wouldn’t give Sean the best impression if Spencer got down right now and crossed the floor to Ryan, pushed him back against the wall and nuzzled at the side of his face, smoothed down that hillock of hair pointing in a different direction to all the others. His fingers twitch slightly on the reins.
Instead, he grins and says, “Stealing your horse.”
Ryan blinks at him. “You have your own horse,” he points out evenly, but the corner of his mouth is twitching up into a smile.
“Yes,” Spencer agrees. “But I like yours better.”
He kicks the horse forward, and Ryan shifts out of the way automatically so that Spencer gets through without trampling him. Spencer pauses halfway through the doors and turns towards him, says, “Race you to the river?” and then kicks Ryan’s horse into a gallop.
He waits until he’s out of sight of the stables and then slows her down, lets the mare pick her way daintily across the stones to give Ryan adequate time to saddle another horse up. He’s barely gotten halfway across the yard, though, before Ryan bursts through the stable doors, clinging bareback to Jon’s horse, eyes bright.
Spencer snorts at him. “Show off,” he says, and then nudges his own horse into a gallop again. They thunder out of the gates, Ryan only a little way behind him, and out into the open fields, racing towards Longbourn and, beyond that, the river. The early morning air is cool and Spencer gasps it in, rising in the saddle, trying not to laugh out loud with delight. This is better than tossing sleepless in bed, he thinks; out and free in the green countryside, with Ryan close behind him.
Ryan’s horse is the faster out of the two, but Ryan is a better rider, and it doesn’t take long for him to draw level with Spencer and then overtake him. He lets the horse take him well in front before he wheels it around, laughing and looking more than a little smug. Spencer lets Ryan’s horse ease back into a trot and glares at Ryan.
“Show off,” he repeats, and Ryan laughs again, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. Spencer knows he’s staring but can’t seem to help it; Ryan looks barely out of breath, and he is suddenly beautiful in the cold, grey light of dawn. “Guess we’re not going to make it to the river,” Spencer says pointlessly, and Ryan smiles dark and deliberate at him.
“Why’d you come and visit me?” Ryan asks, nudging his horse forward until they are close. If Spencer leans forward just a little, Ryan will be right there, warm and welcoming. Spencer doesn’t do it - he doesn’t quite trust his balance - but he is wildly glad that he could, if he wanted to.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, grinning a little sheepishly, and Ryan’s smile widens.
“Me either,” Ryan says. “I’ve been lying in bed and trying to all night. I think Jon’s given up, too. I’m pretty sure I saw a light in the library when I came down to meet you.”
“Brendon’s still snoring,” Spencer tells him.
“Bastard,” Ryan says, and Spencer laughs and dismounts, stumbling a little when he’s on the ground. Ryan’s already there - stupid noble with his stupid fluid dismount, Spencer thinks a little dizzily - and he catches Spencer’s arm even though he doesn’t need to. Spencer looks at the ground, willing the flush in his cheek to fade.
They walk forward a little, over the green fields, and Spencer says, casually, “So, there’s this party tonight, or something.”
“Oh?” Ryan asks. Spencer doesn’t look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he can see that Ryan’s stuck his hands in his pockets and is smiling crookedly at the horizon. Spencer is not Brendon, so he does not have all of Brendon’s romantic notions and whims and thoughts, and so he does not think lucky horizon. He really doesn’t.
“Yes,” Spencer says. “I don’t think it’s for anything important. Some boring people, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Ryan says, and reaches out to touch Spencer’s arm. Spencer lets him, slows down a little, and then thinks damn it and turns to face Ryan.
“Anyway,” he says. “There’s a gentleman there that I rather fancy, and I’d quite like to ask him to dance in order to encourage affections, you know. Only, the last time I did so I was rebuked rather cruelly and I’m not sure my pride can withstand another such blow.”
Ryan is grinning kind of stupidly at him; Spencer doesn’t call him on it because he thinks he might have the same expression. “Maybe you should wait for the gentleman to ask you,” Ryan suggests, voice wicked.
“I would,” Spencer says with a tragic sigh, “Only the last time he did that it did not end so well, either. He’s extremely impolite. Provokes fights during balls. Most unpleasant.”
“Maybe you two shouldn’t dance at all, then,” Ryan breathes, leaning in closer. “I can think of some other things that might occupy you in your spare time.”
Spencer lets him get just close enough for their mouths to brush gently before he leans back and says crossly, “Ross, if I don’t get a dance on my wedding night, there might just not be a wedding night.”
“Bother,” Ryan says, and then laughs a little wildly. “I’ll dance with you all you like, Spence, I’ll stay for every dance and refuse to let you get away all night-” and then he leans forward and kisses Spencer hard, mouth warm and fierce and welcome against Spencer’s, and Spencer clenches his fists in Ryan’s shirt and drags him closer, breathes him in.
Ryan breaks away and says, “I have been waiting a very long time. I will dance with you all night,” and Spencer closes his eyes, leans forward and lets Ryan hold him up.
“I’m glad you weren’t asleep,” he whispers finally, and Ryan turns his face enough that he can press a tiny, close-mouthed kiss against Spencer’s jaw. Spencer shivers, hands flexing involuntarily in Ryan’s shirt.
“Me, too,” Ryan says and then adds, “Although, I sort of wish I had a few hours rest. I might fall asleep on you in the ceremony, and then you’ll have to break up the marriage out of embarrassment.”
Spencer laughs in a voice that sounds small and breathless even to him, and he says, “I love you.”
Ryan says, “I know,” but Spencer feels the ragged swell of Ryan’s chest as he breathes in and wishes for a moment that he hadn’t been so damn stupid for so damn long. He hates it for a long moment, and then he remembers where he is: in a field on his wedding day with the first rays of the sun touching his skin, and Ryan holding him close. Spencer breathes in, breathes out, and then leans close to be kissed.
*
The celebrations stretch on through dinner and well into the night, and by half past one in the morning the musicians are still energetic, and Spencer is being danced across the room by an overly-enthusiastic Frank. Frank’s skill has not improved since the last time they danced and Spencer begins to laugh helplessly (with the occasional wince spared for his poor, bruised feet), tripping more than once himself. He’s been dancing with only a few breaks since dinner, and while most of them have been with a dancer much better than Frank, his feet are already aching, and he can’t help but wonder how much more they can take.
The music sweeps to a halt and Frank and Spencer bow, grinning stupidly at each other. “This is a fine night,” Frank says cheerfully. “I’ve had enough fun - and wine, I suppose - to even forgive you for marrying Ross, of all people, in order to have it.”
“I would have thought you would be grateful to me for that particular event, and not just for the chance to dance,” Spencer says, arching an eyebrow. “I cannot help but wonder if Lady Helena’s rheumatism was brought on by more than just old age. I take it the news was quite a blow to her?”
“Quite,” Frank echoes, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. His gaze shifts away to where Gerard is talking quietly to a worshipful and adoring Anne and adds, a little more shyly, “I think Gerard was… almost happy about it, though. And not just because he’s happy for you two. I suspect.”
“I could have told you that,” Spencer says, grinning, and Frank looks at him with a bright fondness in his eyes.
“You look happy, too,” he remarks, and Spencer flushes and looks away. Frank laughs quietly and then says, “I can’t quite say the same of your dearly beloved, though. He appears to be flagging. Perhaps the party is a little too much for his dour tastes.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Spencer says, and thwacks him on the arm (but lightly; old prejudices, Spencer thinks with a weary sort of resignation, take a while to fade. He himself is a prime example of that). He follows Frank’s pointing finger, though, and sure enough Ryan is drooping a little in his chair, trying to appear interested in what a distant relative is saying and hiding a yawn behind his glass. Spencer says, “I’ll go and rescue him. We’d best turn in for the night.”
“Have fun,” Frank says slyly, and Spencer feels his cheeks getting hot again. He walks away so as not to have to reply, because he hasn’t even thought about - well, obviously he’s thought about - but he’s not even that sure of the technicalities of such things, and Ryan is sure to know, and Spencer is sure to look stupid, and - anyway.
Ryan doesn’t even notice him until Spencer leans over him and puts his chin on Ryan’s shoulder, addressing the elderly relative and asking her permission to steal Ryan away. She laughs and flaps her hand agreeably at them and Ryan gets up gratefully, turning and smiling at Spencer. Spencer is still somewhat unused to the full force of Ryan’s attention and happiness being turned on him, and he blinks a little at Ryan’s grin. Ryan raises an eyebrow and Spencer clears his throat.
“Ready to go home?” he asks, and bites back the stupid grin that threatens to take over his face at the words.
“Let’s just go to an inn, tonight,” Ryan says. “Halfway between Netherfield and Derbyshire or not, Pemberley’s too far to drive, tonight. Unless - wait, weren’t you dancing?”
“You’re tired,” Spencer tells him. “I think you’d fall over if you tried.”
“You can dance,” Ryan says, a little anxiously. “I don’t mind watching.”
“Ryan, let’s go,” Spencer says firmly. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else. And you danced plenty. So did I. Come on.”
Ryan blinks at him, sleepy and unsure, and then Spencer puts an arm around his waist and tugs him close. Ryan’s clearly exhausted, the lack of sleep last night catching up with him (Spencer is rather pleased with himself for not being too tired yet) and he sags heavily against Spencer. They wind their way out of the hall and into the waiting carriage unnoticed by the large company, except for Spencer’s mother who waves a hearty, giggly and - Spencer suspects - somewhat tipsy goodbye.
Spencer groans as they clamber into the carriage. “God, my mother,” he says. Ryan looks at him uncertainly in the dim light as the horses start up into a trot.
“She’s not,” he begins hesitantly, and then stops, tries again. “I may have misunderstood-”
“She is, and you didn’t,” Spencer says, burrowing close against him. Ryan’s warm and Spencer doesn’t mind his bony elbows. “Let’s not discuss the pitfalls of my family tonight, though. You can throw them in my face during our first married argument, okay?”
Ryan makes a small, unhappy sound, holding himself tense and alert next to Spencer. Spencer rolls his eyes. “It was a joke, Ross,” he says, and then, when Ryan doesn’t move, he presses his cold nose against Ryan’s neck and says, grumpily, “Ryan.”
Ryan lets himself slump, turns his face into Spencer’s hair. “I had a great uncle who thought he was a cat in his later years,” he offers into the dark, breath stirring the hairs on the top of Spencer’s head. “He slept curled on the floor in a heap of blankets and refused to drink from anything but a saucer.”
Spencer huffs out a surprised laugh and turns his face up, searching for Ryan only to find him already leaning down. They kiss carefully in the dark, slow and warm, and eventually they get a little sloppy, Ryan making tiny, content noises against the wet slide of their tongues. Spencer’s breath is hitching in his chest.
Spencer pulls away and says breathlessly, “You sound like a cat yourself.” Ryan laughs and the carriage pulls to a halt, and Ryan takes his hand, leads him out onto the cobblestones below.
“Don’t trip,” he warns, voice thick with withheld laughter, and Spencer kisses him to make him shut up.
The End ?