by Ranae Rose
It never occurred to John to answer. Instead, he lay flat on his back, staring up at the huge figure looming against the night sky. A clunk rang out loud and clear as Brom threw the pistol, and it bounced off of a tree, falling uselessly to the ground.
As a little breath worked its way back into John’s lungs, it became clear that he hadn’t, in fact, succeeded in shooting himself. The knowledge that he’d failed in even that simple endeavor was infuriating. He ground his teeth as Brom crouched over him, leering.
Brom’s breath buffeted John’s face in hot blasts that cut straight through the cold air.
“You look like a madman,” John said, meeting Brom’s narrowed eyes.
Brom snorted and seized John by his arms, jerking him into a sitting position. “You have a lot of nerve, saying that to me.”
John could feel his flesh bruising beneath Brom’s grip, but he said nothing. He couldn’t speak – there seemed to be a blockage of some sort in his throat. He wanted to shout at Brom, to tell him that he had a lot of fucking nerve, interfering like that. But he couldn’t, so he just breathed, letting the cold air chill his insides, which had rapidly begun to heat as soon as he’d heard Brom’s voice.
“John!” The third voice was something like the sound of a bell, and it cut through John’s heart, stopping it as effectively as a bullet.
He turned in the direction of the farmhouse, feeling the color drain out of his face. Katrina was moving rapidly toward him and Brom, her skirts churning around her feet. Her golden hair gleamed in the gibbous moon’s light, and her face was whiter than snow. Even her rosebud lips were pale, compressed into a tiny ‘o’ of shock. She wasn’t alone; a whole crowd of people followed her. She was at the forefront, her bosom heaving beneath her bodice and shawl as her father trotted at her elbow, breathing heavily with the effort of keeping up. None of them were on horseback – he must have imagined the sound of hooves.
“Everything is fine,” Brom assured them all, forcing John to his feet, as if to prove his point. “John came outside for a bit of fresh air and saw a wild beast right there.” He waved one large hand toward the edge of the forest. “Scared it off with a shot, though. It won’t be back.”
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of exclamations and admonitions, expressing everything from fear to disapproval of John’s foolish decision to walk alone after dark at the edge of the woods. The one thing nobody did was question Brom’s version of events. Nobody in Sleepy Hollow did that – Brom was a local hero of sorts, thanks to his skills at the decidedly masculine arts of horsemanship and hunting. With a few more words, he convinced everyone to return to their merrymaking.
Katrina lingered, and so did her father, Mr. Van Tassel, who was clearly eager to remove his daughter from any lurking dangers. “Come, dear,” he said, glancing anxiously at the forest.
Brom touched Katrina’s arm lightly, and the gesture sent a sharp pang of longing straight through John. When she turned to Brom with an expression of mingled concern and tenderness, he wanted to look away. But he couldn’t. “Will he be all right?” she asked, and at that moment, John knew that Brom’s story hadn’t fooled her.
Brom nodded firmly. “I’ll see him home.”
Katrina went with her father then, but not without casting a long, lingering look over her shoulder at John. What he saw in her eyes made his heart race – it was the same look she’d given Brom. He was powerless to look away until she did, and then Brom tugged him in the direction of the farmhouse.
Brom paused only to retrieve the pistol he’d thrown, dusting dirt from its barrel and frowning down at it. It belonged to Brom – John knew that Brom always carried it in his saddlebag, and had taken it from there before retreating to the edge of the forest to use it. Brom glared at him as realization flickered in his eyes, but said nothing.
Brom set their pace, deliberately trailing behind Katrina and her father, out of hearing range. Despite that fact, he didn’t say a word as they trudged toward the house. He kept a hold on John’s arm though, and Brom’s heat suffused him, pumping fresh life into his body. It felt strange to recognize that fact when he’d been so sure of his impending death only minutes ago. By the time they reached the line of horses picketed in front of the house, John’s heart was beating fit to burst out of his chest.
Brom mounted his huge black stallion, Torben, in silence, tucking his pistol back into a saddlebag while John turned warily to Gunpowder. The pale grey gelding was every bit as tall as Brom’s horse, but lean and lanky, and always with a vicious gleam in his eyes. John had never encountered a more detestable animal, and yet, he was grateful that the Jansens had lent him the beast for the night. Otherwise, he would have had to walk through the forest on foot, and anything was preferable to that – in the dark, anyway.
Gunpowder swung his head around and nipped at John as he tightened the girth. John swore under his breath, barely managing to dodge the wicked creature’s long yellow teeth. It was obvious that the gelding had been named for his frequent and often explosive bursts of bad temper.
Brom reached down from the saddle, smoothly catching Gunpowder by the bridle. This allowed John to mount in peace, for once without having the horse snap at his legs.
Brom let go, and they started wordlessly for the path that led through the forest. Brom and Torben led the way, and John kept Gunpowder at the other horse’s flank. He tried to keep his eyes on the twisting branches that hung over the path instead of admiring the broad expanse of Brom’s shoulders. They were rigid beneath his coat, and that telltale sign belied the calm veneer he’d been maintaining since the crowd had shown up at the scene of John’s attempted suicide. Brom’s breath came in deep, slow rushes and clouded around his face, evanescent in the night air. There was no question about it – he was furious.
John didn’t know what would happen when they reached the Jansens’ home, where he lived, and didn’t have the presence of mind to wonder about it. Any speculation would give way to fantasy all too easily, and he couldn’t bear to succumb to that. He still felt the sharp pangs of loss; Brom was no longer his.
At last, the Jansens’ farm appeared. It was abandoned, as all the other homes in Sleepy Hollow were that night, save for the Van Tassels’. Everyone had gone there to celebrate – he and Brom were very much alone. They rode slowly toward the stable, their horses’ hooves beating a dull tattoo against the earth.
To John’s surprise, when they reached the stable, Brom led his mount into a stall.
As he and Brom exited the stable together, John swallowed the thick knot that had formed in his throat. They walked side by side, and he couldn’t bring himself to speak. The house was close by, and when they reached it he stepped inside, resigned to one more night of his mortal troubles. Brom followed, pulling the door firmly shut.
John had never seen the house so empty before. The Jansens had four lively boys, and the farmhouse was usually filled with the din of chatter and busy feet. It was eerie without them, and as his gaze fell on Brom, his heart raced furiously. At any time before tonight, he would have been delighted to find himself alone in the house with Brom, knowing he had hours before the Jansens arrived. As it was, he wished that he’d succeeded in killing himself.
Brom stood in a moonbeam that poured through the parlor window, and it cast a silver halo around his body. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes were just visible, gleaming black beneath the shadow that had fallen across his face. The force of his gaze felt like the blow of a hammer, and John forced himself to meet his eyes for several moments before he turned on one heel and marched up the stairs. He had no words to offer Brom – at least, nothing he could bring himself to say.
Brom was close behind him, and the stairs shook beneath his every step. The hair on the back of John’s neck stood up, but he didn’t stop until he reached a modest bedroom on the second floor, where he’d been staying since his arrival in Sleepy Hollow. Brom followed him inside and slammed the door shut. The resulting reverberations mad
e the floorboards tremble beneath John’s feet, and it was all he could do to face Brom without doing the same.
“God damn it, John,” Brom growled, stepping into John’s personal space and breathing down on him like an angry bull, “what were you thinking?”
John exhaled slowly. For a moment, rage had burned white hot inside him, and he’d heard his own blood rush in his ears. The sensation had been fleeting though, and as he met Brom’s eyes, he was suddenly exhausted. He turned aside, but Brom seized him by the arm. John almost wanted to laugh – it wasn’t as if there was anywhere for him to go in the small room, where most of the space was taken up by a narrow bed and modest desk. With his free hand, he reached out and touched one of his beloved books, a leather-bound volume that lay on the desk. “There is a spell on this place,” he said, keeping his voice low even though they were alone. “I felt it as soon as I first entered Sleepy Hollow, and it has haunted me since.”
Brom made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. He hated what he often referred to as ‘superstitious nonsense’, and had often made it clear that he thought John was full of it.
“I could leave, but I’m sure I’d remain under the spell, wherever I went,” John continued. “And so I…” He wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. How was it that he was hot? The night was cold, and so was his room.
Brom’s grip had tightened on John’s arm as he’d spoken; now Brom sighed, low and long. “That’s your answer? A load of superstitious shit?” His grip tightened again, and John sensed that he was fighting the urge to shake him.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean,” John said, feeling absurdly calm. “You feel it too – I know you do.”
Brom ground his teeth, and a tendon stood out fat and taut below his clenched jaw. “Tell me plainly what drove you to such insane measures. It was the engagement, was it not?”
John tried not to break eye contact with Brom, but couldn’t help himself.
“I knew it,” Brom sighed.
John pulled his arm from Brom’s grasp, and the other man didn’t try to hold on. Turning to face the window, John peered up at the moon, which hung not quite full but bright in a clear sky.
“It had to be done,” Brom said. “I’m expected to marry, and for good reason. I cannot remain a perpetual bachelor without even a sibling to pass my family’s estate to. It’s well past time for me to take a wife, and Katrina is the finest woman in Tarrytown – in all of New York, so far as I’m concerned.” He paused before continuing. “I told you first out of consideration. I wouldn’t have if I’d had any idea you’d run off and try to blow your brains out.”
It all made sense, too much sense – the cold logic of Brom’s words stung. “I know,” John said simply, his shoulders slumping. The moonlight played tricks on his eyes, and he imagined that he saw a dark shape flitting to and fro by the edge of the distant forest, but it was gone as soon as he’d seen it. Even as gooseflesh rose all over his arms and the back of his neck, he wished for it to reappear, to provide some sort of distraction. It didn’t, and he was uncomfortably aware of what he had to do next. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for ruining your engagement party.”
Brom’s hand descended on his shoulder like a vice, and he felt himself being turned around, forced to show the window his back and face Brom. “You think that’s why I’m angry?” Brom asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a dangerous gleam in his dark eyes.
John said nothing, but held Brom’s gaze, refusing to look aside.
“Christ,” Brom choked out, “I hadn’t given the party a single thought from the time I noticed you were missing until now.” He leaned a little closer, and his breath warmed John’s face and neck. “I knew something was wrong as soon as I realized you were gone.”
He must have been speaking the truth – why else would he have ventured away from the party and to the edge of the wilderness? John hadn’t considered it until now, but something inside him snapped at the thought of Brom thinking of him even during the excitement of his own engagement party, of Brom braving the cold night to seek him out. When Brom’s lips brushed his jaw, he didn’t – couldn’t – pull away.
Brom was breathing slowly but hard, and the scent of ale was on his breath, along with the sweet, autumnal smell of pumpkin pie. It was another reminder that he’d been torn away from the party, that they weren’t supposed to be here, alone together. But they were, and John felt himself drawn to Brom like a moon to its planet. Every inch of his body flooded with heat as Brom stepped close enough to press against him. Now he could smell the musky odor of man, arousal and – was that fear? It wasn’t something he’d smelled before on Brom, and he could scarcely believe it. This unexpected revelation threw him off-kilter, and before he knew it, he was babbling.
“I didn’t mean to upset you – revenge was not my intention. It was only that… I can’t bear it, Brom.” He squeezed his eyes shut and reached out toward the desk, blindly brushing the spine of a book again. “Before I came to Sleepy Hollow, my world consisted of books – of learning, and educating. Now I find that those things mean nothing to me in comparison to you and Katrina.” He opened his eyes to find that Brom was still staring back at him, his gaze intent.
“For the first time, I stepped outside of that comfortable, solitary world and really lived. It was wondrous, at first, but now I fear that it will be the death of me.”
“Don’t be a fool.” Brom’s voice was low. “You were the one firing the gun.”
“Only because I had no other choice. Cut off from you and Katrina, I’ll be thrust back into my old world, my old way of life. I can’t live that way anymore. I… I know I was a fool to think that I could ever keep either of you, but there you have it.”
Brom’s voice was barely above a whisper, but edged with anger nonetheless. “What makes you think that you’ll ever be cut off from me?”
His question sent a shiver down John’s spine, and he hated himself for the hope it inspired; it blossomed inside him like a weed, strangling his senses. For a moment, he could almost feel Brom’s hands on his body, his lips on his face. Before he could bring himself to respond, Brom pressed a hand behind John’s head, burying his fingers in his loose hair and cupping the curve of his skull.
Brom’s lips were hot and firm, and they collided with John’s, shocking him out of his torpor. He responded the only way he could: with hunger. For several moments, Brom ravaged his mouth, biting his lips and slipping his tongue inside, tasting every inch of John’s. John kissed him back, just as hard, and was unsurprised when he detected the sharp tang of blood. Breathless, he leaned back, ending the kiss but staying close enough that he could almost still taste Brom.
Brom still held John’s head, his fingers hopelessly tangled in his thick locks. As John let his lungs fill with precious air, Brom’s fingers tensed, threatening to force their mouths together again. “Mmm…” John was unsure which of them had moaned – maybe they both had. All he could think about was the jolt of sensation that had shot through his cock and up into his belly when he’d shifted against Brom and the man’s erection had rubbed against his. He could still feel it, thick and hard, straining Brom’s breeches. His was doing the same, and felt ready to burst.
Brom sank down onto the edge of the narrow bed, pulling John with him. The mattress flattened beneath their combined weight, but the frame was sturdy enough to support them both. John thought of nothing as Brom slid his hands beneath John’s coat and began to peel his clothing away layer by layer. His own hands flew over Brom’s body, stripping him from his broad shoulders to his toes. It was only when they were both naked, their skin glowing in the moonlight, that coherent thought returned to John. “We mustn’t,” he said when Brom pressed his hand to the back of his head again, preparing to draw him close.
Brom’s voice was a low growl. “Why not?”
John summoned Katrina’s beautiful face to mind, recalling it with painstaking clarity. God, what would she think if she knew –
if she could see them now? “You’re engaged to Katrina. This must end, and now is as good a time as ever.” It took every last bit of his willpower to say it.
Brom pulled him so close that their lips brushed and their breath intermingled, hot and rushed. “This is never going to end,” he said, and caught John’s lower lip neatly between his teeth.
John gasped, rendered immobile by the bite.
Brom laid his hands on John’s shoulders and pressed him down onto the mattress, releasing his hold on his lip and slipping his tongue past his teeth instead. John arched beneath the familiar weight of the other man’s body and groaned when their cocks met. Brom’s hand skimmed John’s cheek as he pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, and fresh heat rushed through his body at the feel of Brom’s calloused fingertips. He’d felt them a hundred times if he’d felt them once, but still relished the roughness of them, as always.
“John.” Brom’s voice was rough too, almost rasping when he broke the seal of their kiss. His lips were inflamed from the force of their contact, and a little blood was smeared across their full lower swell. “Never. Never, John. I mean it.” He reached below, forcing a hand between their hips as he continued to mutter “never” under his breath.
John had intended to reply with words, but was rendered incapable of anything other than moaning when Brom gripped both their cocks, trapping them together in one large fist. He thrust his hand from their tips, down both their shafts, then up again with a little twist of the wrist that John had long since come to savor. His body arched instinctively in response, but he was caught beneath Brom, trapped against the hard plane of his chest. He pressed a hand against it and tossed his head backward, gasping. A hint of moisture smoothed Brom’s motions, allowing his hand to glide smoothly over stiff flesh – had it come from just one of them, or both? Brom seemed to know when John simply couldn’t endure it any longer, and stopped when John was on the verge of climax. Judging by the way he was breathing, Brom wasn’t far off either. Slowly, he unwrapped his fingers from around their cocks.
