A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (53 page)

He shook Eli’s hand, and Lyle was roused so that he might also shake Henry’s hand. Martin said his goodbyes to the slaves.

Downstairs, while slaves hurried to bring out their coats, Mother’s male cousins shook Father’s hand and thanked him for the advice he had given. Reggie hugged Cora, Henry and Mother, and then shook Father’s hand very solemnly, and it was like watching a wary housecat touch paws with a bear.

In the Wiltons’ carriage returning home, Henry toyed with the fringe of the curtain and thought about what it might be like to have Uncle Reggie around again, now that he was nearly an adult. He might be able to see Uncle Reggie independent of either of his parents. He might convince Uncle Reggie to show him the secrets of the city and the places where he might be at ease around other people like himself, because surely they existed, both the places and the people.

At home, Mother needed a lie-down after the excitement of the day, and Henry boldly followed Father to his dressing room, hoping that Father might confirm for him what was going to happen in regard to Uncle Reggie, but Father didn’t have time for that, as he was running late for a dinner engagement and needed to change.

Timothy began to strip Father efficiently. Father glowered at Henry. “Don’t bother me, Henry. Don’t worry, you’ll have your uncle.”

“He gets to stay, right, sir? You’re not making him leave again?”

Lips pressed into an exasperated line, Father gave Henry a sidelong look and said, “I’ve already told you so, Henry. I made a mistake, son. I’ll do my best to rectify it. There’s no need to talk it to death.” He looked down and stepped into his dress trousers, balancing with a hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “Now, let me dress in peace.”

Martin, who had known better than to follow Henry inside, stood in the hall waiting for him. They made their way quickly to Henry’s room, where Henry took Martin’s face between his hands and kissed him hungrily as Martin struggled to engage the door’s lock. “For hours,” he gasped between kisses. “For hours I’ve wanted to do this.”

Martin broke away and began stripping off his clothes. He smiled at Henry, wicked, showing teeth. “You were watching your cousin, weren’t you, Henry? Watching the way he treats Russ, like a favorite pet.”

“It was making me crazy,” Henry agreed. “He doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing, but no one seems to notice!” He tossed his tie on the floor and went to work on his collar.

“But
you
noticed.” Fully naked, Martin came to stand in front of Henry and slipped his braces from his shoulders. “I saw you watching Russ lick your cousin’s fingers and it made you hard, didn’t it?” He pressed the palm of his hand against the front of Henry’s trousers over his stiffening prick.

“Yes,” Henry admitted, his voice roughened by arousal.

“You’d like to be like that with me, wouldn’t you, Henry?” Martin knelt to deal with Henry’s boots. “You’d love to show everyone how nicely I lick you, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Henry said again, petting Martin’s hair with both hands.

“Or would you rather have Russ lick you? You could have that instead, if you wanted.” Martin reached for Henry’s trouser buttons.

Henry’s cock jerked at the thought. “No,” he said, not sounding entirely certain. “I just want you.”

“You wanted to stay and watch, though, didn’t you? I could tell you didn’t really want to leave.” He nuzzled Henry’s cock through his drawers, then unbuttoned them and slid them off his hips.

“I didn’t want to be tempted,” Henry explained. “I was afraid I’d—” He stopped speaking, unwilling to examine exactly what he’d feared he might do.

Martin licked Henry’s cock and Henry swayed on his feet, a hand on top of Martin’s head to steady himself. Martin took Henry all the way into his mouth and pulled back with heavy suction, took him deep and sucked again. Henry closed his eyes and held more tightly to Martin’s head, very aware of the shape of his skull, the muscles of his jaw tensing under his fingertips. Martin pulled off his cock and Henry opened his eyes.

“All this licking, Henry, and talk about licking…would you do something for me? You might consider it a present.”

Henry smoothed Martin’s hair back from his face. “What is it?”

Martin gave him a smile that was somehow devilish and pure all at once. “Lick my ass.”

Henry smiled back at him. “Yes, of course. Get on the bed.”

Martin got on the bed and Henry knelt behind him, putting a hand between his shoulder blades and pushing him down to all fours. “All the way down,” Henry told him. “Ass up.” Martin dropped down to rest on his elbows, his back arched. Henry put a hand on each of his ass cheeks, and pulled them apart, exposing his hole. He leaned over him and let a pendant of saliva fall from his mouth to land on the dusky skin just above the pucker and mentally congratulated himself on his aim. Martin whimpered and flinched, and Henry spit again and watched the viscous fluid run down over Martin’s twitching hole.

“Henry,
please
,” Martin murmured, low and urgent.

“Please what?”

“I want your mouth.”

“Be patient,” Henry told him. He slapped Martin’s ass hard enough to sting, then smoothed away the hurt with a caress, and Martin gasped and shuddered.

He spread Martin’s cheeks again and rubbed his finger over the tight opening, pushing just the tip inside, and was gratified to hear a little growl from Martin. He bent and bit Martin’s left cheek hard enough to make him yelp and then began to lick him.

Long strokes of his tongue back and forth over the hole then circling it with his tongue, pushing at the muscle, plunging inside. Martin moaned and shook; he was so sensitive here, so responsive to everything Henry did. The skin felt so smooth and thin beneath his tongue, delicate but elastic and hot. Martin was even hotter inside and quivered, breath hitching, as Henry tried to push his tongue in deeper, then deeper still.

Henry could feel in the way Martin’s body shuddered that he was touching himself, his hand moving over his cock. Henry lifted his face from Martin’s ass. “Stop it,” he said. “You can’t touch yourself.”

“Please!” Martin begged. “
Please
, Henry!”

“Not yet,” Henry insisted. “Not unless you want me to stop.”

“
No,
Henry,
please
don’t stop!”

He bent back to his task, licking and nipping at the tender skin. Martin began to breathe in sobs, began to beg,
please, Henry
, over and over again. It was only when Martin was hiccupping and frantic that Henry decided he’d withstood enough and oiled his cock and fucked him.

“Touch yourself,” he said, pushing the head of his cock into Martin’s spasming hole. “Now you can touch yourself.”

It didn’t take Martin long to finish, wracked with tremors and calling Henry’s name. Henry came then, too, pulled Martin close, and curled around him.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice muffled by Martin’s hair.

Martin chuckled and reached back to keep him close. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Henry.”

“I’ve been spoiled, you know,” Henry told him. “There’s never going to be a better present than you.”

“I could say the same.” He turned in Henry’s arms and kissed him.

“Did you have Christmas at Ganymede? With a tree and presents?”

“We had a big tree and a nice dinner, and we all got a tangerine and a piece of candy, but no, we didn’t have Christmas like people out in the world. There were too many of us to have presents.”

Henry hesitated a moment, considering whether he would say anything after all, but then offered, “I…I have something for you, actually.”

“For me?” Martin was plainly delighted. “You’re giving me…a present?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Henry was already regretting committing himself to sharing the gift. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it right.”

“A present…” Martin repeated, his tone wondering.

“Don’t get too excited,” Henry warned him. “Let me just get it.”

The present was in his desk drawer, small enough to hide in his hand. He’d made it just over a week ago, hunched over his desk pretending to be diligently doing homework while Martin played the violin at his back.

Martin sat cross-legged near their pillows, beaming with anticipation and Henry cringed a little, quite sure that Martin would be underwhelmed by his offering, possibly even offended. He might have committed some terrible faux pas—he didn’t know the rules, after all.

He sat on the bed facing Martin, their knees touching. “Hold out your hand.”

“Should I close my eyes?”

“If you want.”

Martin closed his eyes, grinning, and gave a happy shudder. Henry took and held a deep breath and put the talisman in Martin’s hand. He held it there with his own hand, pressed between their palms.

“What is it, Henry? Can I look?”

“You can look,” Henry agreed, letting go of his hand.

He’d gotten the idea when he saw the rock in the schoolyard, a pale, flattish disk that he’d thought would make a perfect Hetaeria protection stone. His first thought had been to give it to Martin to use for that purpose; his second thought was to make it into such a talisman for Martin himself. Martin had talismans from all his other friends, but surely Henry was his most important relationship, and surely no other friend was as concerned with his well-being.

Martin opened his eyes and looked at the decorated stone. “Henry?” He looked a little tentative, a little confused.

“If I did it wrong,” Henry hurried to say, “tell me, and I’ll undo it, or fix it, or whatever needs to be done.”

Martin’s hand curled around the stone, just slightly, and he touched it gently with a fingertip. His tone was awed, a little unbelieving, when he said, “You made this for
me
?”

“I don’t know the right symbols or anything,” Henry admitted in a rush. “And I didn’t have any paint, so it’s not pretty, but I just…” He sighed. “I want you to have
my
protection, too,
my
friendship. You told me the talismans represent relationships, so…so this is me caring about you.” He swallowed nervously and clasped his hands tightly to keep them from shaking.

Martin didn’t say anything, but traced the heavily-inked H on the stone’s face with his index finger. Henry had done his best job with the lettering and it
had
turned out rather elegant. He’d also drawn some spiral curlicues around the edge of the disk and these were perhaps less artistically successful.

“If I did it wrong…” Henry said again.

“No.” Martin shook his head adamantly, and looked at Henry with wet, shining eyes. “No, Henry, you did it perfectly.” His smile was tremulous, joyous, and he got to his knees and leaned in to loop his arms around Henry’s neck. “It’s so thoughtful of you, Henry! So considerate. It’s a
perfect
present. You really do care for me, don’t you?”

Henry snorted. “More than anything.” He returned the embrace, full of happy relief that he hadn’t done anything inadvertently stupid.

Martin was an awkward fit on Henry’s lap, clinging fierce and insistent, all elbows and knees. His cheek was wet against Henry’s neck.

“Martin? Are you crying?”

“Don’t make fun,” Martin said. “I’m
happy
. I’m so happy you would do this for me, Henry.”

Henry lay back on the bed and pulled Martin down with him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I
love
it. I never thought I’d have a master like you, Henry. A friend like you.” He kissed Henry’s cheek, the corner of his mouth. “You’re so good to me, Henry. I feel so lucky.”

“Me, too,” Henry told him. He tasted the tears on Martin’s wet cheek, then kissed his mouth. They necked for a bit, Martin squirming and making little insistent grunts as they did so, but Henry was content to do nothing more than kiss and Martin didn’t press for more.

Martin smoothed Henry’s hair back from his forehead and smiled down at him. Bashfully, Martin said, “I’m sorry I don’t have a present for you.”

“You can make a talisman for me sometime,” Henry suggested. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I will,” Martin decided. “I’ll make you something really special.”

They lay in each other’s arms a few contented minutes and then Henry’s stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry yet?” Henry asked. “Did you get enough to eat at the Wiltons’? I want some of that cake we had at breakfast.”

“I want cake, too.” Martin hesitated, then asked, “Henry? Is it all right if I put your talisman away?”

“You have to, don’t you? You’re not supposed to leave them out, right?”

Martin smiled. “No, they shouldn’t be left out. Let me just put yours with my others.”

Henry liked that Martin was treating his offering just as he’d treat any legitimate Hetaeria talisman made by a slave who knew what he was doing. Henry felt his was a gift where it was definitely the thought that counted, and Martin seemed to be taking the thought to heart.

Martin went into his room with talisman in hand and returned in his pajamas and dressing gown. He helped Henry to dress and then they went down the back stairs to the kitchen. Many of the rest of the household’s slaves were in the slaves’ mess room just off of the kitchen celebrating their own Christmas, and when Cook heard them shuffling around, she came out to see what they wanted.

“Mr. Blackwell was hoping for some more of your spice cake, Bertie,” Martin said. “Is there any left from this morning?”

“I’ll just get that for you directly, Sir,” she said. “And for you also, Martin?”

“Yes, please.”

She cut them large squares of cake and found them forks and napkins. “I’ll get you a tray, and I’ll send Billy up for it later.”

“Thank you, Bertie. Could we also trouble you for some milk?”

Martin carried the tray up to their rooms. Henry was struck anew by how competent and imperturbable he was, what impeccable service he provided. He was so very happy that Martin was his own, that he’d have Martin as long as they both lived. They sat on the floor of his bedroom in front of the dying fire and ate their cake.

“Today was wonderful,” Henry said. “Everyone made me so happy. My uncle, my cousin, even my mother, and you most of all.”

“What about your father, Henry? He’s letting your uncle stay, after all. You must feel a little pleased with his decision.”