A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (46 page)

Henry had succeeded in making everyone uncomfortable, and he was a little pleased by this. He was only sorry that Martin and poor Dick had been made uncomfortable, too.

In the wake of this inappropriate handshake, Henry’s friends all seemed a little embarrassed now, giving him sidelong glances but avoiding his gaze. Henry hoped they’d gotten what they wanted. Henry did believe that these boys
were
his friends, but he also understood that they considered him a bit of an imposter, a rough-hewn primitive masquerading as a young gentleman. His father had his many accomplishments to balance out his social faux pas, but Henry had no admirable deeds or special skills to serve as counterweight to his own mistakes. He was nothing more than a handsome clown, and the others enjoyed pointing and laughing at his clumsy antics.

“Do you want to go home now, Sir?” Martin asked, his breath a warm tickle at Henry’s ear.

Before he could answer, Louis tugged at his arm. “We’re going for sodas now, all right?” He cocked his head, expecting an answer. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“I’m coming,” he told Louis. He turned to Martin and said, “We’ll have a soda first, okay?”

“Certainly, Sir.” Martin agreed. “Whatever you’d like to do.”

On the walk around the corner to the soda fountain, Louis stuck close by Henry’s side. “I shouldn’t have let you do that,” he said in a low voice, seeming quite remorseful. “I should’ve told you not to. I should’ve stuck up for you.”

Henry shrugged. “I knew they were making fun of me a little,” he admitted.

“You
can
say no,” Louis reminded him. “Everyone will like you just fine even if you
don’t
do everything they say.”

Henry shrugged. “I know I shouldn’t have competed with a slave, but I don’t really understand
why
, and I don’t really care. My father wouldn’t care, after all.”

Louis gave Henry a look that was almost pitying. “You are
not
your father, though, Henry.”

No, Henry was not. He wasn’t accomplished or successful. He didn’t command respect or loyalty. He wasn’t astute, shrewd or cunning. He wasn’t a leader, by any stretch of the imagination. He was a very unremarkable boy whose remarkable qualities—physical appearance and wealth—were superficial.

As they neared the shop door, Robert stood waiting, Dick at his side. “Henry,” he said looking a little shamefaced. “Henry, listen.” He put his hand on Henry’s arm. “You were a good sport, so let me treat you and Martin, all right?”

Henry did his best to hide how much this pleased him. He shrugged as if it was nothing to him what Robert might do. “Sure. I’d like that.”

The shop was crowded, so most of the boys stood to drink their sodas. Henry and Martin both drank chocolate cherry phosphates, as recommended by Charles, and these were delicious. From where Henry was standing, he could see Martin, his head inclined to listen to Will, his expression lively and interested. A few strands of hair had escaped from his tail and he tucked these behind his ear with a gesture that made Henry’s chest ache with affectionate longing. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Martin. He drank the last of his phosphate, sucking it up through his straw with a rude, wet rattle, and picked his way through the tables to put his empty glass on the counter.

“Oh, Sir, you should’ve let me do that for you.” Martin was there at Henry’s elbow, giving Henry’s empty glass a little nudge. “Let me do my job, please, Sir.”

Taking care of his own mess, doing as he’d just done, would make Martin look bad to the others, of course. Henry was doing everything wrong today.

Martin’s own soda glass was in his hand, still half-full.

“Are you nearly finished?” Henry asked, nodding at the glass.

“Should I finish, Sir? I can drink fast.”

Henry laughed. “Don’t make yourself sick. But, yes, hurry and be done.” He ducked his head, his mouth close to Martins’ ear. “I want to go home.” They needn’t stay, he realized. They could go on ahead, on their own schedule, and not even consider Henry’s friends and what they might be doing.

Martin shuddered at Henry’s words. “Please, Sir. Take me home. I don’t need to finish my soda.” He set the unfinished drink on the counter with a bang and settled the strap of his school bag more firmly on his shoulder. “I’m ready to go, Sir. I’m
so
ready.”

They said their goodbyes and hurried to the omnibus stop, their shoulders brushing and Henry’s school bag bumping Martin’s hip. As they stood waiting for their ride, the silence between them grew thick and full of portent, and Henry doubted he would be able to wait to kiss Martin, sure that at any minute he’d lose control and put his hands on Martin for all to see, little better than an animal, and—

“Sir?” Martin cleared his throat and began again. “Sir, I just wanted to say, about the contest with Dick…it’s all right that you didn’t win. I know how strong you are. You shouldn’t think any more about it.”

Henry laughed, surprised. Did Martin think he cared about losing to Dick? “I
wasn’t
thinking anymore about it. I don’t mind that I lost,” he told him. But then he thought on it a moment longer and asked, “Do
you
mind?”

“Sir?”

“Do you think less of me because I lost?”

Spots of pink appeared high on Martin’s cheeks. “Oh, certainly not, Sir. It’s just that I—well, I’m very competitive, Sir. I like to compete, and I love to win.”

“So in my place, you’d be upset,” Henry said.

“Well, yes, Sir. It’s quite childish of me, I know this.” Martin seemed embarrassed of his feeling, frowning fretfully at his boots.

Henry gave him a friendly nudge with his elbow. “Most people feel like you do, though, don’t they? I’m the odd one out, not caring.”

Martin looked at him seriously. “You’re mature in this way, Sir. I think you have a good sense of what really matters.”

Few people had ever accused Henry of maturity, and he appreciated the sentiment now.

As Henry stood basking in the glow of Martin’s esteem, the omnibus pulled up and they boarded. Henry let a pair of working-class girls take the last seat and stood in the aisle with Martin, leaning against him a little more than necessary, but not so much as to draw attention. He breathed deeply, hungry for the hints of vetiver that rose from Martin’s hair and imagining he could smell the warmth of Martin’s skin.

Only a matter of days ago, he’d believed there was no way he could possibly want Martin more than he already did, but now that he’d had him, had put his hands on him, his previous desire seemed insignificant and uninformed. He did feel more mature now, more adult. He felt like a
man
wanting another man, not a boy. He shivered like he was cold and breathed Martin in.

Getting off the omnibus, they hurried home, nearly sprinting. Randolph let them in, and they handed off their coats and headed for Henry’s room, taking the stairs two at a time, excited and giggling. Inside Henry’s room, Martin locked the door with shaking hands and threw himself into Henry’s embrace. He sucked Henry’s tongue, bit his lip, and moaned into his mouth.

“Oh, Sir,” he said. “
Henry
. I thought about you
so
much today.” He trembled in Henry’s arms, his hands ranging over Henry’s back.

“You did?”

“I did, Sir,” Martin said breathlessly, “I thought about your cock and your mouth and your beautiful hands on my body, and I was so excited that I got hard in class—
so
hard, Sir—and I didn’t think I’d ever go soft.”

“I thought about you, too,” Henry admitted shyly. He cupped Martin’s ass with both hands and squeezed.

“I was so afraid I’d be called on, Sir, and I’d have to stand up, and then everyone would see how much I want you. No one else wants his master like I want you, Henry. No one else is lucky like me.” He put his hands flat against Henry’s chest and made some space between their bodies, then helped Henry shrug his jacket to the floor.

“Maybe they wouldn’t know it was
me
,” Henry said. “Maybe they’d think you wanted someone else.” Tom, for instance.

Martin shook his head firmly, supremely confident in what he was saying. “They’d know. They’d know in an instant, Sir. It’s only you.” He dropped to his knees and worked Henry’s trouser buttons. “Help me, Sir. Take off your shirt.”

Henry did as he was told while Martin untied his boots. He kicked off his trousers and drawers and stood naked, swaying unsteadily, while Martin, still kneeling and nosing around his cock, began to take off his own clothes. Stripped to the waist, Martin gave Henry’s cockhead a wet lick and then held up his hand. Henry pulled him to his feet and it was the work of only a few moments before Martin was naked, too, and shuddering against him, hot and sleek and tender, his open mouth pressed against Henry’s and his fingers digging into Henry’s back.

They staggered to the bed, still kissing, and fell across its width. Martin rutted against him whimpering, and it was dangerously arousing, too arousing. Henry didn’t want to come just from necking; it seemed like something a mere boy would do.

“Martin,” he gasped. “Martin, wait.”

Martin broke away abruptly, breathing hard, and got up on his knees at Henry’s side, his lips wet with Henry’s saliva. “Are you too close? I am, too, Sir. Let’s make ourselves wait a little longer.” He leaned over Henry and ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s catch our breath, all right?” He bent and kissed Henry’s mouth almost chastely, just the merest flick of his tongue.

Henry wanted to touch Martin’s cock, but surely that wouldn’t help either of them to calm down. Instead, he ran his hand up and down Martin’s thigh, ruffling the fine hairs, much finer than the hairs on his own body. As he watched transfixed, a bead of clear fluid slipped from the tip of Martin’s hard cock and traced a glistening trail down the underside. Muscles clenched at the base of his own prick and he looked down to see that his own fluids were collecting on his belly.

Martin saw, too. “Oh, Henry, you have no idea…the others would be so jealous of me if they could ever see your cock.”

Flattered and amused, Henry said, “Why is that?”

Martin snorted. “
Look
at it, Sir. I told you, Henry, it’s beautiful; a perfect shape and size. And it feels so
good
…” He gave a happy little shiver and reached for it. “It feels good in my mouth, and my ass, and here in my hand, and you get so nice and wet…I’m sure it’s the nicest of any in your class, Sir.” He petted Henry’s cock fondly.

Henry laughed. “Do you talk a lot about our cocks, then?”

Martin shook his head. “I don’t talk about yours at all, Sir. But some of the others are…less discreet. But it’s complaints mostly.”

“Complaints?”

“None of the others are getting fucked so well, Sir, and not with such a special cock. If I were ever to say anything—which I
won’t
, Sir, believe me—they’d all call me a braggart. But, really, with the way you feel inside me, I think I was made to be fucked by you.”

Henry certainly liked this idea. He couldn’t imagine any other boy’s ass would possibly feel better than Martin’s, and he didn’t care to find out anyway. Martin was all he needed.

“Feel how hard I am, Sir, just thinking of being fucked by you.” He picked up Henry’s hand and put it on his cock. Henry felt a surge of wetness against the palm of his hand and smeared this over the head with his thumb while Martin gave a quavering moan.

“Does it really feel so good? Being fucked, I mean.” He was quite certain he didn’t want it done to him, but he
was
curious.

“Oh, yes,” Martin said, letting his head fall back. “It’s my favorite thing, Sir. It feels
amazing
.” He knelt at Henry’s side, eyes closed, trembling as Henry fondled his cock. He sighed and touched Henry’s wrist, staying his hand. “Can I get myself ready, Sir?”

“Yes, please.”

Martin straddled Henry’s hips and reached for the nightstand drawer, returning with the oil bottle. He knelt up and poured a little oil on his fingers and reached back to touch his hole, but Henry stopped him.

“Wait—let me do it, Martin.”

Martin beamed at him and handed him the bottle. He then leaned forward, placing his hands on the bed to either side of Henry’s shoulders, balls hanging down but his hard cock riding close to his belly. Henry oiled his fingers and reached between Martin’s legs, tracing a slick path from behind his balls to his hole, which contracted under his fingertip. Martin made a little satisfied hiss when Henry’s finger breached his body and he bore down against the pressure.

Martin was so hot inside, molten and velvety, and his muscles clenched around Henry’s finger just as they would around his cock, and Henry let out a shaky breath and slid his finger in and out, feeling the squeeze around his knuckles. He was so hard, so aroused, lifting his hips against nothing in search of pressure for his cock. He reached up and pulled Martin down for a kiss, his hand tight around the back of his neck.

Martin was breathing hard when he said, “Two fingers, please, Sir,” leaning his forehead against Henry’s and moving his hips to fuck himself on Henry’s hand.

“Do I need more oil?”

Martin considered this as he uncoiled upright, straddling Henry’s hips. “A little, Sir, but just a little. I…I like it rough.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Henry frowned, not liking the idea of ‘rough’ at all.

“I can take a lot, Sir,” Martin assured him. “Please—you can give me more.”

Henry propped himself up on his elbows and awkwardly applied more oil to his index and middle fingers and reached again between Martin’s legs. Martin gave a little grunt and bit his lip as Henry pushed inside. He looked down at Henry with a hazy gaze, his breath coming in pants, and he smiled and tossed his hair back over his shoulder. He made the most erotic picture imaginable.

“Will you do something for me, Sir?” Martin asked. “There’s a place inside, at the root of the cock…a firmness…feel for that, Sir. Find it for me.”

“O-okay…” Henry pushed his fingers in deep and probed, his movements tentative. Martin’s flesh felt delicate and plush and, despite what Martin said, Henry was afraid he’d hurt him.