by Ranae Rose
Katrina continued the conversation in Brom’s absence. “Yes, I only hope that the seamstress doesn’t have a busy schedule – the gown will need to be finished within two weeks.”
John’s latest bite of pie tried to stick in his throat when he swallowed. “That soon?” he asked, coughing lightly.
“Yes.” Katrina nodded. “The wedding is set to take place in just thirteen days.” A small, private half-smile played around the corners of her mouth, and a rosy blush touched her cheeks.
“I’m happy for you,” John said, and meant it, despite the pang of agony the thought of the wedding gave him.
“I know you are, John,” Katrina said, reaching out and laying her hand over his. Her small, slender fingers were wonderfully warm. “You’ll attend the wedding, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he replied, setting his fork down in the pie dish and meeting her eyes. “I expect all of Sleepy Hollow will come to see you and Brom married.”
She smiled in earnest, gripping his hand. “Yes, but your attendance in particular would mean a great deal to me.”
She had that strange glimmer in her eyes again, the one that was at odds with the full curve of her smile. “I’ll be there,” John promised.
“Wonderful.” She gripped his hand a little tighter and leaned forward. For one fleeting moment, John thought she meant to kiss him. His heart sped at the thought, and a fresh wave of heat shot straight to his groin as he eyed her full mouth. She stopped though, her lips a mere inch from his cheek. When she spoke, her breath tickled his ear. “Brom’s a good man, and so are you, John. I’ve dreamt of my wedding day many a time, and you were always there when I imagined it.” She paused, sucking in a breath, leaving John’s cheek cool and tingling. “Sometimes I think…” Her voice wavered, but she still managed to sound as melodious as ever. “Sometimes I think it’s a shame that one of you – you and Brom, I mean – must be at the pulpit, and the other in the pews.”
There came a clattering sound at the doorway, and Brom’s shadow darkened the threshold. As he called a hearty last goodbye to Mr. Van Tassel, Katrina leaned back, her lips just barely brushing John’s cheek, their touch feather-light. Brom strode into the schoolhouse, heading straight for the desk. “Haven’t eaten all of the pie, have you?” he asked, apparently oblivious to the expression of shock John was working so hard to conceal.
“No,” John said, pushing the dish toward Brom. “Have some.”
Brom seized the dish with a hand that was almost as large as the pie itself and lowered it into his lap as he perched on the edge of the desk. Picking up the fork, he shoveled a bite into his mouth. An expression of bliss softened the hard angles of his face just a little. “Perfect,” he said, with a nod toward Katrina.
She smiled, her cheeks going a shade pinker with pleasure. “I’m glad you think so. I’ll leave you two to it – I must see the seamstress as soon as possible, if my gown is to be finished in time.” She glided toward the door with spritely speed before either of the men could offer her an arm. “I’ll tell father you said hello, John. And why don’t you stop by the farm sometime soon to return my baking dish and fork? I’ll make you another pie when you do.” She smiled and disappeared before John could consent.
In the wake of Katrina’s whispered confession, John was speechless. Brom, however, had no such qualms. “As clever as she is beautiful, isn’t she?”
John cleared his throat, hoping his voice would sound normal. “What do you mean?”
Brom swallowed a large bite of gooseberry pie. “She’s keeping an eye on you.” His eyes seemed to darken as they met John’s. “She knows.”
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“Of course not. But she knows you John, better than you might realize.”
John felt hollow, despite his generous helping of pie. Perhaps Brom was right. What Katrina had confessed to him... Strange that she should see fit to share such a fanciful – and impractical – thought, even if only in a secretive whisper in an empty schoolhouse. Had she meant to console him? If so, it had worked – strangely enough. The knowledge of her own regret, however overshadowed by her happiness, was a comfort. Just the night before, he’d felt as far away from Brom and Katrina as if there had been an ocean between them. Now…well, at least he knew he hadn’t merely imagined Brom and Katrina returning his affections. At the thought, his lips tingled where Brom had kissed him hundreds of times, and Katrina once. “Are you going to finish that pie on your own?”
Brom grunted something noncommittal, scooping another bite from the dish before handing the fork over.
* * * * *
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have eaten it all at once,” John said.
Brom watched him shift on his stool behind the desk, eyeing the empty pie dish. “Feeling ill?”
“No, it’s only that it was so good, I’m sorry it’s gone.”
“She did promise to make you another one,” Brom replied, gesturing toward the dish.
John’s mouth curved downward in a slight frown, and he reached out to touch the book that lay before him on the desk, where Katrina had left it. Did he even realize he was doing it?
“A walk,” Brom said. “That’s what this day needs.” He stood, abandoning his seat on the edge of the desk. “The weather’s too fine to waste by hiding indoors.”
“We could work on the roof,” John suggested.
Brom laid a hand on John’s shoulder, searching out his eyes. “I thought we might walk to the field where we stopped on your second day in Sleepy Hollow.”
John’s eyes brightened at this, and Brom marveled at their extraordinary grey hue. He’d never seen a pair quite like them before. They were the color of rain clouds just about to burst. When Brom looked into them, dual bolts of sensation shot straight to his cock and his heart, leaving him feeling like a stormy sky – charged with a furious energy about to be unleashed, and yet, somehow melancholy.
“I’d like that,” John said, and rose from his seat.
CHAPTER 3
It was a relief that John hadn’t protested. Brom had feared that their meeting with Katrina might reinforce John’s stubborn desire to terminate their intimacy for her sake, but if anything, he seemed more relaxed now. Katrina had changed the atmosphere of the schoolhouse when she’d entered, dispelling much of the tension in the air and filling it with the sort of peace that existed between friends. The fact that she and Brom were about to marry hadn’t crushed the easy atmosphere, as he’d feared it would. Surely she and John could continue their friendship, their frequent exchanges of books and baked goods, even after the wedding. The thought put a bit of a spring in Brom’s step as he and John exited the schoolhouse. He wouldn’t let John slip away, and now he knew – neither would Katrina.
Of course, John was right – it would be terribly selfish of them to continue their relationship after Brom married Katrina – but any other possibility was unthinkable. He loved Katrina dearly, and could hardly wait to have her as his bride, but as long as John lived, Brom would – had – to have him. That truth was as unalterable as the fact that the trees would always shed their leaves each autumn, as they had already begun to. So he walked on with John, through the late morning which was cool, but not cold, and lit with golden sunshine. The distant tree line was a patchwork of multi-colored leaves and grey, half-naked branches. They walked down the dirt road for a while, then in the opposite direction, away from the forest and toward the rolling hills a little ways beyond the border of the Jansens’ land. It was a secluded place; the Jansens’ farmhouse couldn’t be seen, and when Brom and John lay down in the tall, dry grass, they were invisible to anyone but each other. At the sight of John reclining beside him, his head propped in one hand, Brom’s heart sped and his cock began to harden.
John hadn’t bothered to re-tie his hair before embarking on their solitary walk. It hung loose around his shoulders, the light-brown locks glossy beneath the sunlight. What had Katrina thought when she’d seen it that way at the school
house? He wondered for a moment, but quickly forgot the matter when John reached out and pressed a hand against his crotch, gripping Brom’s cock through his breeches.
He felt his eyes go wide with momentary surprise, then he shut them, concentrating on the feeling of John’s hand closed tight around his erection. John had done the same thing during their first time together in the field, but his touch had been more tentative then – tentative, but impassioned at the same time. Now he gripped Brom hard, his hand steady and sure as it slid up and down the length of his shaft, causing his balls to shrink up tight and tingling against his body.
Eyes still closed, Brom reached out and felt his way over John’s hip and to his crotch, his hand settling around the hardness that beckoned him. A thrill of satisfaction filled him as John moaned, flexing his hips and shoving his cock against Brom’s palm. Brom gripped it tight, running the pad of his thumb over the blunt tip, imagining how the familiar smooth skin would feel whenever he got John out of his clothing. The thought of it caused his own cock to throb impatiently, and he reached down, undoing the front fall of his breeches.
John’s palm was mostly smooth, bearing only light callouses from the occasional farm work he assisted the Jansens with when needed. They were the hands of a rural New England scholar, more accustomed to turning the pages of a book than wielding a scythe or gripping a plow, though not complete strangers to manual labor. The combination was perfect, and the feel of John’s palm and fingers wrapped snugly around Brom’s bare shaft was enough to make him tense against the ground, his mind already filling with visions of release.
Apparently absorbed in the giving and receiving of pleasure, John had made no move to unfasten his own breeches. Brom did it for him, resisting the urge to tear the garment from John’s hips for the sake of his sparse wardrobe and modest income. But God, how he would have liked to rip the fabric away, baring John’s body – hard, lean, tight and perfectly inviting as it was. By the time he’d loosened the front fall, he was breathing hard. He opened his eyes when John relinquished his hold on his erection and placed his hands on his chest instead.
John unbuttoned Brom’s waistcoat with obvious eagerness, and soon Brom had shed his other remaining garments as well. The tall grass tickled him as he lay in it, an errant stalk rubbing against his stiff shaft, while another poked his earlobe. The discomfort of prodding vegetation was a small price to pay for the sight of John on his knees, his breeches hanging open in the front to reveal his leanly-muscled hips and the stiff flesh extending from between them. The tip of his cock was bright pink with readiness, the shaft thick. Brom reached out and grasped it, pushing his hand to the base of it in one firm stroke and reaching below to cup John’s balls.
John moaned, sinking a little deeper into the grass and tipping his head back, toward the sun. Satisfaction welled up in Brom again at the sight of John’s ecstasy, and he ran his hand up John’s shaft, caressing, then gripping and forcing his tightly-closed fist to the base again, admiring the blunt tip protruding proudly from between his thumb and forefinger. With his eyes closed against the bright morning light and his lips parted, John was the picture of focused bliss. At that moment, it was as if the events of the past twenty-four hours had never happened, as if they’d slipped through some flaw in time and found themselves together for the first time. Brom stroked John again and again, settling into an urgent rhythm.
John exhaled sharply, sinking even lower, as if he would melt right into the earth. His shoulders were rigid though, thrown back as he moaned. Brom caressed him, stroked him harder and faster until warm wetness met his hand. John breathed hard, his release spilling from the tip of his cock, pearly and gleaming in the sunshine. Brom’s hand glided easily over John’s shaft during the last few strokes, moist with his seed. When he relinquished his hold, John’s cock shone wetly, still stiff and flushed pink. At the sight of it, a jolt of ball-tightening sensation seized Brom, and for a moment, he thought he might burst from desire. Seizing John by the shoulders, he pulled him down into the grass and kissed him, hard.
John kissed back, half-gasping as Brom ravaged his mouth, pressing his naked body flush against John’s. The semi-rough fabric of John’s breeches and waistcoat met his skin, except for where they parted, and John’s slick cock pressed against Brom’s belly. His muscles went involuntarily hard against it as a shiver of lust raced through his being. Moving blindly, hands gliding over John’s body by feel alone, he began to undress him.
Within a couple short minutes, they both lay entangled in the tall grass, limbs and bodies bare. Brom was breathing as hard as John, his cock throbbing with eagerness to be inside the other man. John’s tongue was sliding against his, and the sweet-tart scent of gooseberry pie filled his nostrils as John exhaled, denting Brom’s lower lip with his teeth. It stung a little; his lip had been left raw from the previous night’s kisses. He savored the sensation, groaning when John grasped his cock and began to stroke him skillfully, threatening to make him spill himself then and there.
But that wouldn’t do. He craved the tight embrace of John’s body. Rolling, he pinned John to the ground and lay on top of him, hips to hips and chest to chest. John had let go of Brom’s cock, and now it was trapped against his, tight between their bodies. It felt good, but not as good as what he was about to do. Propping himself up on his elbows, he shifted, lowering his hips between John’s thighs and gripping one, lifting John’s leg and spreading him wide open. The tip of his cock met hot flesh. A little moisture had spilled from it, and he reached down with one hand and spread it over the crown to ease his passage into John’s body.
Against his own body’s urging, Brom entered John slowly, aware that what they’d done the night before had surely left John sore. John didn’t complain though, only sucked in a breath as Brom eased inside, then exhaled sharply as he continued, burying his cock halfway before pulling back, then plunging all the way inside. When Brom had sunk his cock to the root, John arched beneath him. Brom had shut his eyes, immersing himself in pure physical sensation. Now he opened them to find John staring back, his grey eyes hooded, the pupils dilated with pleasure. His cock brushed Brom’s belly, hard again – in fact, Brom had never even noticed it going soft. That must have happened when they’d been kissing; the bliss of that had left little room in Brom’s mind to notice anything else.
Brom flexed his hips, thrusting as gently as he could stand to. John’s responses of heavy breathing, arched body and internal spasms quickly brought him to the brink of climax. A stalk of grass scratched his cheek with every movement, and he focused on the annoyance, not wanting to spill himself yet. It was a fine afternoon, and he’d abandoned his farm for the first half of the day – he might as well enjoy this for as long as possible. Besides that, if he held out for a little longer, he’d be able to give John satisfaction again. The thought of John coming as he lay on his back in the grass, his release rushing onto his own belly and Brom’s, was almost enough to send Brom over the edge. He focused intently on the piece of grass, which fortunately was causing his jaw to itch terribly.
Suddenly, the itch was gone. A flash of movement caught Brom’s eye; John had noticed the offending stalk of grass and had snatched it from Brom’s cheek, uprooting it and tossing it out of the way. One corner of Brom’s mouth threatened to curve into a smile. He searched John’s face for any sign of humor, but found none, only an expression of intense enjoyment. His own cock ached with the desire for gratification, and his balls felt ready to burst as they slammed against John’s body. It was now or never.
John groaned, his passage tightening around Brom’s cock. Brom joined him, squeezing his eyes shut and losing himself in the simple, urgent motions and the mounting rush of sheer need. He gripped John’s thigh more tightly than ever, riding him hard. John cried out, loud enough that some crows roosting in a tree somewhere relatively nearby burst into motion, their flight heralded by a cacophony of indignant caws. Brom barely registered the sounds, too absorbed in the beginnings of his own climax
to care. John’s seed spilled against his belly, hot and wet. A tightening feeling began at the base of his spine, seized his balls and then shot through his cock as his own release burst out of him. Groaning, he thrust hard into John, getting the most out of each deep-reaching stroke. When all erotic sensation finally faded, he stopped and became aware of the world again.
John was looking wildly, wonderfully disarrayed beneath him, with his hair loose around his face, entwined with the unkempt grasses. His eyes were hooded, but the visible sections of his storm-grey irises gleamed, and he’d buried an eyetooth in the full swell of his lower lip. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and his body spasmed one last time, gripping Brom’s cock hard again, for just a moment.
With one last groan, Brom withdrew, letting his body crash into the soft cushion of grass. A crushed stalk jabbed him in the ass cheek, but he didn’t care. The mingled relief and satisfaction of release had enveloped him, and he had thoughts for no other physical sensation.
John rolled onto his side, facing Brom. His eyes were clear and open now, though he was still breathing as if he’d just sprinted. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Brom asked, laying a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun, which was creeping closer and closer to its noontime zenith.
“Crows,” John said, narrowing his eyes. He plucked a stalk of grass and examined it, explaining further under his breath, almost absentmindedly. “A bad omen.”
Brom snorted, but said nothing. He’d learned long ago that reasoning with John over such matters was impossible. Those who wanted to see omens saw them. Besides, Brom’s body was still tingling with pleasure, his skin being kissed by the sunshine and cool air alike. He was in no mood for an argument. “When does the winter school term begin?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Next week,” John said, accepting the change of subject.