A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (11 page)

“Let's find Louis,” Henry said in Martin's ear. “I want to say goodbye.” He also wanted to press himself against Martin, full-length; to kiss his mouth and neck and fingertips. Something about all that dancing had made him feel so amorous, albeit without the least urge towards any of the women he had partnered.

“I just saw him, Sir. Down the hall.” Martin took Henry by the wrist and led him in the direction he'd last seen Louis, toward the back stairs.

“What would he be doing down here?” Henry asked.

“I wouldn't know, Sir. I just saw him headed this way.”

“Wait.” Henry planted his feet, bringing Martin to a halt also. He opened the nearest door, which was a utility closet with carpet sweepers and mops ranked along its walls. “In here.”

“Sir?”

“Come on.” He tugged Martin's hand. “Hurry before someone sees us.”

Martin followed Henry into the closet and was pulled into his arms in the pitch black. It felt so good to hold Martin, to touch him. Henry worked his hand in between Martin’s waistcoat and the waistband of his trousers and yanked his shirt and undershirt up until he bared skin. He put his hand flat against Martin’s hot, silky belly, and Martin moaned into his mouth.

“No, Sir,” he begged, breaking away. “We'll get caught,
please
!”

Henry didn’t want to be caught. He let Martin tuck his shirt back into his trousers, keeping his hand on Martin's neck. “We’ll look for Louis one last time,” he said, “and then we’ll go home. I really want to be alone with you”

“I want that, too, Sir.” A last quick kiss as consolation and they left the closet.

Louis was in the hallway outside. “What were you doing in there?”

“Wrong door,” Henry said. “I'm kind of drunk.”

“Dummy,” Louis said affectionately. “I came to tell you, you should probably go. James is feeling pretty surly right about now. He's mad about you telling him off in front of everybody, but I think it'll all blow over if you just go home.”

Even though Henry had every intention of leaving anyway, he had to ask. “What’s he going to do if I stay? Fight me?” He thought he had a good chance of being able to thrash James, actually.

“He'd have his friends hold you back and fuck Martin in front of you,” Louis said with a shrug. “That's what he said, anyway. I think it’s just talk. But you should go, Henry. He's really in a mood.”

Upon hearing this threat, Henry felt the blood drain from his face and his cold hands began to shake. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first nothing would come out. He wanted to grab hold of Martin and hold him tight, protect him, but of course he could do no such thing. “Thanks for the warning,” he managed. Henry was amazed he'd ever been so foolish as to think he was in love with James. “We'll go. It was a great party, Louis. I had a good time.”

“Thanks for coming, old chap!” Louis clapped Henry on the back. “Thanks for dancing with all my sister's ugly friends.”

“Oh, they weren't so bad!” Henry replied with affected cheer. He was still shocked by James’ threat. He headed for the front of the house with Martin close behind. They got their coats and hats and walked out into the crisp night air.

“I would
never
have let that happen,” Henry said after they'd walked halfway home. “If you were thinking about it and wondering. I would’ve killed him first.”

“He had a lot of friends there, Sir,” Martin said. “I know you would have tried, but you might have been outnumbered. I'm glad we left.” He bumped Henry with his shoulder. “It makes me happy that you care so much about what happens to me, Sir.”

Henry thought that he didn't actually care about much of anything else, but he didn't quite want to admit that to Martin. They reached the Blackwell house and Paul let them in.

Up in Henry's bedroom, Martin undressed him, then undressed himself and put on pajamas so that he could deliver their laundry to Mary. Henry lay down on the bed naked to wait for him, idly playing with his cock. He thought about the dancing, which had been invigorating in a general way, and had specifically made him hunger for Martin under his hands, against his skin. He thought about the things Madame Ersebet had said and wondered about the nature of the horrible decision he would make, wondered how badly it would mess Martin up. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Martin, but it seemed almost inevitable that he would, out of stupidity if nothing else.

Martin returned and shed his pajamas as he crossed the floor. He got onto the bed and lay atop Henry, his prick hard and insistent.

“I should have known you would be, Sir, but you're such a good dancer,” Martin murmured in his ear. “All the girls were half in love with you, Sir, thinking you such a gentleman.”

“You know better, don't you?” Henry bit Martin's ear. “You know how dirty I am.”

“But you
are
a real gentleman, Henry. You’re kind. Most so-called gentlemen don't spare a thought for their slaves.”

This was probably true. As far as Henry could tell, none of his friends paid much mind to what their slaves wanted or thought—and that was a perfectly correct way to behave with slaves, he wasn't saying otherwise—but it certainly wasn't his way, at least not when it came to Martin.

Martin kissed his way down Henry's body and took Henry's cock into his mouth. Henry moaned and lifted his hips up off the bed. “Turn around,” he said, “so I can suck you, too.”

He nuzzled Martin’s balls and put a finger in his mouth, wetting it, and then rubbed the pad over Martin's asshole as he took Martin’s cock deep in his mouth.

Martin groaned as Henry pushed the finger inside and then pulled off of Henry's cock. “Please, can’t I do it to you, Sir?” Martin was sure Henry would like it; Henry was not convinced at all.

Henry shook his head, then let Martin's cock slide out of his mouth and said, “No.”

“If it's not dirty for you to do it to me, Henry, then it shouldn't be dirty for me to do it to you.”

“Don't argue with me, or I’ll stop doing it entirely.” Nothing about Martin's body seemed unclean to Henry, but his own was more suspect. He'd put his hands and mouth on every part of Martin's body but had disallowed Martin any contact with his asshole, or even the crack of his ass. As he'd anticipated, Martin didn't want him to stop what he was doing and so gave up his arguments without any more fuss.

Martin finished with Henry’s fingers deep in his hole, shuddering and shouting around Henry's cock. As soon as he'd come, he climbed on top of Henry and rode him until he came, too.

Afterward, Martin lay close at Henry's side and put his head on his chest. “Sir,” he said, “Henry. You’re so good to me. So much better than the masters of any of my friends. They have no idea how much you do for me.”

“Well, let's keep it that way.” Henry kissed Martin's forehead. “We can go on like this forever,” he said, “so long as no one knows. So long as we don't get caught.”

Martin turned to kiss his chest. “I'll just get us cleaned up, Sir.” He went to the bathroom and got a basin and cloth. While he sat on the edge of the bed washing Henry's prick, Henry brought up the topic introduced at Louis' house.

“So tell me, Martin, what was the nature of this trouble that you had, but don't have any more?”

“Oh, well, Sir…I feel foolish talking about it now.” He set his basin aside and shifted so that his legs stretched alongside Henry's.

“I want to hear it, Martin, I really do.”

“Well, I may have mentioned it in passing a time or two, Sir, but I was very worried that you didn't seem to want me. My whole life, I was told that the main thing my young master would be interested in was my body, fucking me, and you didn't want that—”

“I did!” Henry insisted.

“You didn't
seem
to want that, Henry, and I just kept wondering what I'd done wrong. I thought you had to have wanted me, or you wouldn't have bid so high, but once I was yours, you didn't use me, and you didn't let me touch you after that first night. I kept wondering what had happened between the bidding and the transfer of ownership, Sir; if you'd seen someone else, some other slave that appealed more, and you regretted taking me. I thought perhaps you were disgusted by the idea of relations with another boy.”

Henry hadn't realized how much his inner conflict had affected Martin. “That wasn't it at all. I wanted you too much, Martin. I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself have you.”

Martin seemed genuinely confused. “What did you think would happen, Sir?”

Henry snorted. “Exactly what
has
happened. That I'd do forbidden things and never want to stop doing them. That I'd be crazy about you. I'm a failure as a gentleman, and I'm a bad master, Martin.”

“That's not true at all, Sir,” Martin insisted. “You're a better master than I ever dared hope for. Whatever your struggles, I'm so glad you decided to make use of me. I never thought it would be as good as this. We were made to understand that our masters wouldn't be concerned with our pleasure. But you, Sir, you make me come so hard! I never felt the like!”

“Is that really true?”

“Yes, it's true! I'm the most fortunate of all the slaves, Sir, but they'll never know. I let my friends think I'm neglected. What would be the use of telling them, anyway? They'd only be jealous.”

“Do any of them like their masters? The way you like me, I mean.”

“I think we're special, Henry. Some of the others like their masters well enough, but most of the slaves would prefer a female partner, too, Sir—it's not only the masters. I'm lucky because I have no feelings for women, none at all. I believe I’m quite thoroughly homosexual. What I have with you, Henry, is exactly what suits me.”

Henry thought a moment, then dared to say the words aloud. “I'm the same as you,” he said. “Homosexual, then, I guess.” He’d not heard the term before, but imagined it must be something like queer. “I don't want a woman and never will.”

Martin frowned, then spoke carefully. “You’re a free man and a gentleman, though, Sir, and one day you’ll marry a girl from a good family.”

“I don't want to,” Henry said stubbornly. “I don't want anyone but you.”

“But you’ll need to marry, Sir,” Martin insisted. “You’ll marry, and you’ll put me aside. It’s how things are done.”

“What if I don’t? What if I don’t get married?”

Martin shook his head. “I don’t understand. Your father will insist, won’t he, Sir? He’ll want a grandson.”

Henry’s father would insist; he would. Henry scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t want to think about a wife and family.

“But whatever happens, Sir, I’ll still be with you always. I can picture it, Sir, you giving me your firstborn child to hold, and I’ll be just as proud as you.” Martin paused a moment, as if contemplating the scene. Then, seeing the look of dismay on Henry’s face, he hurried to add, “But that won’t be for years, Henry. I’ll have you to myself for awhile longer and I promise I’ll make good use of my time.” With that, he bent over Henry’s lap, plainly intending to suck his cock again.

“No, don’t. It’s okay.” Henry stayed him with a hand on his cheek. “Just lie down with me.” He coaxed Martin to stretch out on the bed at his side, then to put his head on Henry’s chest again. “One of my favorite things is to sleep with you, just sleep.”

“So, you like sharing a bed after all, then, Sir?” Henry felt Martin smile against his skin.

“As long as it’s with you.” Henry pressed a kiss to the top of Martin’s head. He thought of the unwanted wife in his future and did his best to block her out. “It’s always going to be you, you know. Whether I get married or not.”

“I should discourage you from saying such things, Sir, but I won’t. The idea makes me very happy.” Martin yawned and turned his face to kiss Henry’s chest.

“It’s not just an idea,” Henry insisted. “It’s the truth.” He was slightly annoyed by Martin’s refusal to take his feelings seriously.

Martin sounded already half-asleep. “All right, Sir. I believe you.”

Henry suspected that Martin was merely humoring him, but it did not seem the right time to argue the point. Martin was asleep within minutes and Henry stayed awake only a short time longer.

Henry woke with a slight headache and his eyes were especially sensitive to the autumnal sun coming in through the breakfast room windows. He had the fortune-teller’s predictions in the back of his mind as he ate his breakfast. He had taken some comfort in learning that the gypsy had given unsettling readings to everyone else, as well, all the boys and their slaves, but it occurred to him that this knowledge might have had the opposite effect on Martin. Martin had been told he would have a hard time of it, after all. Martin might well think that all of them were
doomed
. Everyone said slaves were prone to silliness and superstition, as had been amply demonstrated at the party, and there was no reason to think Martin was immune.

Up in his bedroom, Henry asked Martin, “Are you still thinking about your fortune today?” He sat down on the edge of his bed and watched as Martin knelt down and removed his boots.

“Oh, Sir…” Martin looked guilty. “I know it’s just foolishness, I really do.” He bit his lip and, sounding as if he wished to convince himself, said, “No one can know the future, Sir, isn’t that so?”