A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (37 page)

They woke up to rain Saturday, so Henry was disinclined to leave the house. He showered, shaved, dressed and went down to breakfast by himself, neither of his parents deigning to make an appearance in the breakfast room. Martin sat down with him and drank a cup of coffee and ate a currant scone while Henry put away scrambled eggs, rashers of bacon, sausage, potato hash, and pancakes with both apple compote and maple syrup. Additionally, he took a scone for himself as they left the breakfast room and went back upstairs.

“What would you like to do today, Henry?”

Henry ate his scone and thought. He’d had all kinds of vague ideas during the week. He’d thought maybe they might take in a vaudeville show with friends if he could muster up a group on short notice. They always enjoyed the arcade, and there’d likely be new peep show reels since they’d last been in. He’d considered that he could ask Martin if there were things he wanted to do, like maybe look at sheet music or go to a bookstore. But all these plans required leaving the house, and it was cold and wet and miserable outside, and it was so warm and toasty here by the fire, sprawled in his armchair.

As for things he could do right here, without leaving this room, he didn’t want to play cards, and he didn’t want to read or be read to, and he really wasn’t even in the mood for the violin. What he wanted to do was to take off his clothes and climb back into bed and spend the day having sex.

Martin leaned against the mantelpiece examining his fingernails and waiting for Henry’s reply.

“What would you say to spending the whole day in bed with me?”

Martin looked at him, a questioning eyebrow cocked.

“We could just have sex all day long. Take meal breaks and bathroom breaks but do nothing else. Stay warm and dry and just…enjoy ourselves.”

Martin smiled at him, delighted. “I’d like that very much. We could make it a contest.”

“A contest?”

“With ourselves. We could see how many times we could come in a day.”

Henry liked this idea. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hands. “Come sit with me and make plans.”

Martin sat on Henry’s lap, his legs over the arm of the chair and leaned against Henry’s chest, his arm slung around Henry’s neck. They were really too long and lanky to both fit in the chair comfortably, but it seemed worth trying.

“I want to make a rule, Henry, if that’s all right. I think it will make it more fun.”

“What’s the rule?”

“We can’t do it the same way twice in a row.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we suck each other, then the next time we have to use our hands, or you could fuck my ass. But afterward we could suck each other again, just so long as we did it a different way in between.”

“That seems like a good rule,” Henry agreed. He shifted under Martin’s weight. “Let’s get on the bed. We don’t really fit in this chair.”

They undressed quickly, Martin setting their clothes aside in neat heaps in anticipation of dressing again for lunch. Henry got onto the bed and welcomed Martin with open arms.

“We won’t do anything fancy this first time,” Henry decided. “Just regular sex.”

“Even our regular sex is special,” Martin said, sounding a little prideful, and Henry loved that he felt this way.

They kissed and rolled around for a bit, then Henry got the oil and prepared them both. They began with Martin on his back, knees drawn up, and Henry moving atop him, just as they most often did it. Looking down into Martin’s face, so vulnerable and handsome, Henry was nearly overcome with a tender bashfulness, a desire to make Martin feel especially good. He angled his thrusts to rub against the sensitive place inside Martin’s body and was rewarded with a plaintive keening, Martin begging his name as he came. Henry joined him, pushed past his limit by the sight of Martin arching beneath him.

Henry lowered himself to lie at Martin’s side, within the curve of his arm, and touched his face with reverence. How beautiful Martin was, inside and out. Martin stroked his hair and kissed him, his tongue supple and slick, and Henry pulled him close with a happy groan. He felt the wetness of Martin’s spendings pressed between their ribs, and realized regretfully that Martin wouldn’t tolerate this situation.

Martin made space between their bodies, a hand on Henry’s chest. “I’ll just clean us up now.” He slid out from beneath Henry’s arm.

Henry grabbed after him, but Martin easily evaded his grasp. “Are you really going to go for your basin every time?”

Martin cocked an eyebrow and gave Henry a sardonic look. “I can’t imagine why not.”

Henry gave an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto his back, wishing Martin would not always be so fastidious. However, he lay still for Martin to do his work; he found the washing excessive at times, but he did always enjoy the contact.

Clean-up complete, Martin put the basin on the nightstand and lay down next to him, smiling and eager. “What next?”

Henry had not thought ahead. “Um…we could suck each other, maybe?”

Martin nestled close. “Mm…I’d like that.” He bent his head and licked Henry’s nipple.

Henry arched his back, pushing his chest insistently against Martin’s mouth, and Martin accommodated him, licking and sucking and then nipping, sending hot darts of pleasure to his cock. The pleasure built and built, but more than an orgasm for himself, he wanted Martin in his mouth, Martin calling his name.

“Lie back,” he said, pushing on Martin’s shoulder. “Spread your legs.” He knelt between Martin’s shins and bent to lick and bite his thighs, then pushed his legs up toward his chest, folding him in half. He licked Martin’s hole while he gasped and begged
Henry, Henry
, then pushed two fingers into his body and sucked his cock. Martin moaned and ran his fingers through Henry’s hair, his heels drumming against Henry’s back, urging him on. He came making little broken cries and pulled Henry up to kiss him, seeking traces of himself in Henry’s mouth.

“Can I do the same to you?” Martin kissed the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose. “I know you’d like it if you’d only let me.”

Henry shook his head, deeply uncomfortable with the idea of Martin licking or fingering his asshole. He was convinced he wasn’t clean enough, could never be clean enough, and he was afraid of penetration. He was afraid it would hurt, despite the obvious pleasure Martin took in it, and he was afraid of what it would mean.
Fairies
were penetrated, and he felt he might somehow elude that designation so long as he behaved like a gentleman in this very specific way.

“Martin, no…” His tone was pleading, a little ashamed. He hated to say no, but he couldn’t possibly say yes.

Martin was clearly disappointed, but he shook it off. “If you ever change your mind, Henry…”

“I’ll let you know.” He kissed Martin and took hold of his hand by the wrist, pressing it against his hard cock. “You can still use your mouth, though.”

Martin kissed his way down Henry’s body and took him into his mouth and it felt amazing, as it always did. Henry kept thinking he would eventually become accustomed to their sex and would become jaded, but so far that hadn’t happened. He ran his fingers through Martin’s hair and Martin lifted his head from Henry’s lap and licked his wet lips and said
Make me do it
, and Henry did, pushing Martin’s head down and holding it in place while Martin struggled for breath. When he let Martin go, he reared up, red-faced and gasping, and grinned at Henry, his eyes streaming. Not for the first time, Henry wondered what it was Martin liked about this game; certainly it felt good to Henry, but he couldn’t imagine what benefit Martin received.

Martin sucked Henry to completion without further dramatics, his hair pooled on Henry’s belly and Henry’s hands guiding his head ever-so-gently. Henry came in blissful pulses, his fingers curled around Martin’s ears, and drew him up for a kiss. They found places for all their limbs and held each other tightly. Henry petted and stroked Martin all over, revisiting the tiny mole on his shoulder blade, the scar on his elbow, the long curl at the nape of his neck—all the little secrets of his body, the things only Henry was privy to. They kissed lazily, in a daze, and Henry thought he might have fallen asleep for a minute or two.

“Henry?”

“Hmm?” Henry pulled Martin closer and rubbed his nose against the hair at his temple.

“What should we do for the third round?”

Henry laughed. “You want to go again
already
?” This was, he thought, a good example of Martin’s competitive spirit in action.

“Yes, please. Will you fuck me again?”

“If you want. How do you want me to do it?”

Martin considered this a moment. “Hard from behind?”

“I can do that,” Henry agreed. He could also lick him again, and he knew Martin would like it.

Martin kissed him and took hold of his cock, pulling it straight and hard. Henry marveled at his own body’s responses. Part of it was youth, certainly, but he couldn’t imagine he’d be like this with anyone else. Just the knowledge that Martin wanted him made him eager to do whatever Martin wanted done. He wondered if it would always be like this and hoped it would be; how terrible if they ever became indifferent to one another. How terrible if the day ever came when Martin would touch him and his prick wouldn’t spring instantly to life.

But that day wasn’t today. He buried his hands in Martin’s hair, tilted his hips into Martin’s grip, and kissed him until they were both gasping. He wanted to ask Martin what it meant, the way they wanted each other; he thought Martin would know, but was unwilling to admit he didn’t. He pushed Martin over onto his belly and lay on top of him, cock slotted between his buttocks, and Martin moaned and twisted his hips against Henry’s weight. Henry pushed himself up with a hand between Martin’s shoulder blades and leaned on him.

“Too much?”

Martin shook his head, his face obscured by the fan of his hair. “No, it’s good, Henry. Hold me down.”

Despite what Martin had said, Henry didn’t put his full weight on him. One hand on the bed, the other on Martin’s back; his hard cock leaking and making Martin’s crack slippery as he made gentle, sliding thrusts.

“Harder.” Martin squirmed and spread his legs. “You can go harder, Henry.”

Harder would come later. For now, Henry would do what he liked.

“Up on your knees,” Henry told him, sitting back on his heels. “Show me your ass.”

Martin hurried to do as Henry asked, on elbows and knees with his ass offered up to Henry. He reached back with his left hand to pull his cheek wide, looking back over his shoulder with his hair spilling over his face. So beautiful, and so eager. Henry gave a little moan and his cock jerked as he lowered his face until his mouth touched skin.

He licked and nipped and let Martin beg and demand and plead for a good long time before he finally fucked him, oiling him in a rush and pushing inside the slick, plush grip of his body. Martin gasped Henry’s name and pushed himself up off the bed to hands and knees only to collapse back down to his elbows, moaning aloud and squirming as he leaned back into Henry’s thrusts. Henry fucked him hard, as he’d been asked, and gave him permission to touch his cock. Martin came shouting into the rumpled bedding, and it took only a few more hard, pounding thrusts before Henry came, too, and collapsed on Martin’s back.

Henry caught his breath and rolled to lie at Martin’s side. “That’s three,” he said, stroking Martin’s sweaty ribs. “I think we can do a lot more, don’t you?”

Martin turned over onto his back. “What was our record before? Do you know?”

“Three or four, I guess.” Henry shrugged. “I never thought to keep track. I know we’ve done three lots of times, but most days it’s twice.”

Although Henry attempted to detain him, petting and stroking and wheedling for him to stay just a minute longer, Martin rolled off the bed and took his basin to the bathroom to fill it with clean water. Henry could hear him splashing as he washed himself, then he returned to attend to Henry.

“
Now
will you lie down with me?”

Martin smiled and set his basin down on the nightstand. “Of course, Henry. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Let’s have a short nap,” Henry suggested, opening his arms for Martin to lie close. “Just a few minutes, and we’ll be ready again when we wake up.”

Martin frowned, though he came willingly into Henry’s embrace. “We can’t sleep away the whole day, Henry, or we’ll never set a record.”

“Just a few minutes.” Henry kissed Martin’s forehead and gathered his hair to lift it off his neck. He pressed kisses to the arc of Martin’s throat. “We have lots of time.” Martin relaxed a little against him, acquiescent.

Martin fell asleep first, his breath soft and regular against Henry’s throat. Henry stroked Martin’s hair back from his forehead, ran his thumb over Martin’s eyebrow, kissed the places he’d touched. Martin made a kittenish sound in his sleep and nestled closer. Henry resisted the urge to crush him to his chest; he didn’t want to wake him, only claim and keep him.

He wondered if Martin did this, too; watched him sleep. He was up before Henry every day, and might have the time, might make the time. Henry suspected that he looked stupid asleep, slack-mouthed and drooling, though admittedly when he saw Martin in such a state he found the sight endearing and intimate.