A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (7 page)

Martin knelt and unbuttoned Henry’s trousers and drawers, and they both looked in the mirror at Henry’s cock jutting out of his clothes. Martin put out his tongue and licked the head of Henry’s prick, still looking at himself in the mirror.

“I look menacing, too, Sir, don’t you think? Like I might just eat your cock.” He bared his teeth in an exaggerated snarl and laughed.

“Go ahead,” Henry urged. “If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

Martin laughed again. He held Henry’s cock steady with his hand and licked all the glossy secretions from the head while Henry swayed unsteadily on his feet and gave soft little groans. When Martin took Henry into his mouth, he did so with a wanton moan. He sucked Henry’s prick with enthusiastic, emphatic grunts, with a sense of urgency that Henry found almost unbearably arousing. He looked at Martin in the mirror, his face half-obscured, his lips shiny-wet, his mouth moving to hide and then reveal the shaft of Henry’s cock, slick with saliva. Martin’s own cock was very hard, standing stiff before his belly, and he toyed with it with his left hand while he sucked.

Watching was too exciting; Henry wanted to last at least a few minutes more. He closed his eyes and had a mental picture of Martin, naked in a half-mask, stealing into his bedroom with malevolent erotic intent. There was a creature that Henry had heard of but couldn’t remember the name for, a thing that stole into sleeper’s beds and fucked them and they
liked
it, and that’s what Martin in the mask was like.

Henry opened his eyes and looked down at Martin, at his moving head. He put his hands on the back of Martin’s head and guided him gently. Martin tilted his head back and looked up at Henry through the eye holes of the black velvet mask; it made his eyes look sharper and greener than usual, and it showed up the milk-paleness of his skin. He was so beautiful and his dirty mouth was a treasure. In the grip of an involuntary urge, a primal urge, Henry took hold of Martin’s head and hauled him in close, burying his cock down Martin’s throat again and again, and Martin gagged, fear in his eyes, and wrested his head away.

“Sorry!” Henry’s hands fluttered uselessly around Martin’s head and shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Sir,” Martin insisted, wiping spit from his chin with the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to pull away, really! I was just startled, is all. I’m more than happy to play that game if you want, Henry, believe me.”

It hadn’t been a game; it had been an accident of a sort, a brutish impulse to just take exactly what he wanted from Martin without considering his feelings, and Henry was a ashamed of himself for losing control. Martin might have been badly frightened or even hurt by Henry’s selfish behavior.

“Just keep doing like you were doing,” Henry said. “It felt so good, Martin. I just got carried away.”

“It’s all right to get carried away with me, Sir,” Martin said. He took hold of Henry’s cock, which had softened a little in Henry’s panic, and licked it hard again. When he took Henry’s prick into his mouth, he took it just as deep as Henry had shoved it, and he choked on it, too, but it was all his doing, not Henry’s. Martin moaned and Henry felt the vibrations in his cock, felt every fluctuation of the muscles of Martin’s throat and tongue, and let himself carefully, carefully pet Martin’s head without grabbing.

Henry whimpered, feeling very close to finishing. Martin made an enthusiastic sound around Henry’s cock and sucked harder, unrelenting. Henry could see in the mirror that Martin’s hand was moving faster over his cock now, and with more purpose and then, as he watched, Martin hunched over a little, making strangled, helpless cries around the flesh in his mouth, then stilled and came on the carpet next to Henry’s boot. Henry found this vulnerable picture so erotic that he lasted only a few seconds longer, Martin gasping around his prick and swallowing greedily as Henry spilled.

When Martin let Henry’s prick slide out of his mouth, his mask had been dislodged and sat twisted over his forehead and just one eye. He sat back on his heels and straightened it, and grinned up at Henry, his eyes flashing through the mask. Henry crouched down and kissed him.

“Don’t step in my mess, Sir,” Martin warned. “I’ll clean that up right away.”

Henry tucked his cock back into his trousers and sat on the edge of the bed, out of the way, while Martin mopped at the carpet with a damp cloth. “I’m really sorry,” he tried again. “I didn’t mean to—”

Martin shook his head. “Henry. Sir, please. I liked it. I
like
dirty games like that.”

“You do?”

“I like the idea of you
making
me do things, Sir. I’m your
slave
, after all.”

Henry knew that some of his friends seemed to enjoy wielding power over their slaves a little bit more than seemed gentlemanly, but it had never occurred to him that a slave might actually enjoy his subjugation, that it would seem arousing, when, in fact, a slave had no choice but to put up with it. But then he thought about how Martin had looked, just minutes ago, coming with such an air of abandoned helplessness as he choked on Henry’s cock. Martin said often that he was a dirty boy, and Henry had no reason to disbelieve him.

Martin sat back on his heels and beamed at Henry. “I think we should wear the masks to the party, don’t you, Sir?”

“Yes,” Henry said. “And I’ll remember how you looked on your knees.”

Martin smiled and got up and took his cloth into the bathroom, and Henry lay back on the bed, his legs dangling.

“Hey, Martin,” he called. “What’s the word for that creature that sneaks into people’s bedrooms and has sex with them?”

“Sir?” Martin came to stand in the doorway to the little hall, his head cocked.

“Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Martin thought a moment. “Do you mean an incubus, Sir?”

“
Yes
.” Henry recognized immediately that this was the word he’d meant. “That’s what you look like,” he said. “You in the mask. An enchanter, a seducer. A little bit evil.” Saying this aloud, he began to question the wisdom of taking Martin to a party looking so blatantly sexual, so erotically expert.

Martin seemed to like the idea. “I’ve read that you reveal your true self when you put on a mask, Sir. Do you think that maybe I
am
a little bit evil?” He came to stand naked between Henry’s feet, grinning, and reached for Henry’s hands.

Henry did not think this at all, but he did not want to disappoint Martin. “You’re diabolical,” he asserted, pulling Martin down to roll on the bed with him a few sweet minutes before Martin had to dress for his dinner. Henry would humor Martin, tell him he was a demon if that was what he wanted to hear, but in fact Henry knew him to be an angel, the most tender and precious being Henry had ever encountered. He wasn’t entirely sure, as it had never happened to him before, but he thought he might be falling in love. The idea was exciting and frightening in equal measure and Henry shivered pleasurably at the thought; he would, however, keep it to himself for the time being.

They had a ride Saturday morning, had sex and napped after lunch, and went over to the Briggs house early, ahead of the other guests, with their masks folded in their pockets. As they walked up the steps, Henry noted that the loggia rail was lined with jack-o-lanterns all waiting to be lit. Patrick let them in with a distracted air. The main floor of the house was full of people, mostly strangers, who bustled about with crepe paper streamers and papier-mâché skulls. Louis came down to meet them, Peter close behind.

“Good, you're here,” Louis said. “Everyone is being so annoying today!” Louis was frequently frustrated with his large assortment of relatives, so Henry was not particularly surprised by this remark.

“Even James?”

“Especially James.”

“What did he do?” Usually, Louis was forgiving of all his older brother’s transgressions and thought he could do no wrong.

“He used Peter without asking,” Louis said, seething. “He's never let me use Joseph and he still won't, which is completely unfair.” He looked from Henry to Martin and back again. “Don't let him get Martin alone, or he'll probably use him, too.”

Henry bristled. “Did he say that? That he wanted Martin?”

“He already said so back in September, at his party,” Louis said, and Henry wondered why the hell Louis hadn't said anything before now, but Louis continued, unconcerned: “A lot of people were interested, I guess, but then you got sick and left.”

“He knows I don't share him, right? You told him that?” Agitated, Henry fought the urge to take Martin and go home.

“I told him,” Louis said, “but you know how James is. He does whatever he wants to do.” A woman in kitchen worker's garb carried a tray of cupcakes past and Louis turned on his heel to follow her. “Let's check out the spread, shall we?”

Louis led the way. Henry hung back to walk with Martin, whose brow was furrowed.

“What is it, Martin?” Henry asked, his voice low.

“I-I don’t want Mr. Briggs—James—to use me, Sir,” Martin admitted, but grudgingly, as if it pained him to assert a preference.

With a furtive glance around, Henry dared to squeeze his hand. “He won’t,” he promised. “I won’t let him.”

The reception room was set up with tables laden with food, all of it heartier and simpler than the sort of food served at more formal balls. There was an alcoholic punch as well as a great bowl of spiced apple cider, urns of coffee, trays of cupcakes and doughnuts, and tiered plates of sandwiches. Bowls of candy were scattered about the room, as were harvest-themed floral arrangements and an assortment of the plaster skulls and devils they'd seen people carrying in the front hall. They took what they wanted, much to the dismay of all those charged with arranging things nicely, and went upstairs to Louis' room, Louis telling Patrick to send all his friends up as they arrived.

Henry lounged on Louis' bed eating his cupcake, preoccupied with the idea that James had designs on Martin. He remembered what James had said back in September about Martin's “good mouth” and felt he was going to have to be very vigilant to keep James away from him. He leaned close to Martin and said, “You stick by me all night, understand? No matter what James or anyone else says.”

“Yes, Sir. Of course.” Martin seemed pleased that Henry was prepared to look out for him.

Louis and Peter had skull masks that were very dramatic and lurid, but hard to breathe in, and impossible to eat in, so they were probably not going to wear them, or not going to wear them for very long. Louis thought the half-masks were both boring and sophisticated, and allowed that it was all right for Henry and Martin to wear them.

Albert DeWitt and Stuart arrived. Louis had invited Albert’s twin, Abigail, but she had her own friends and her own parties to attend and sent her regrets. Albert was excited that James was home, since he felt he had really missed out by not attending the party where Henry had become ill—Louis had told such tales that the party had become legendary. Despite having been at least nominally in attendance, Henry remained mostly in the dark as to what had gone on, as Louis knew he didn't like to hear about the cavalier treatment of slaves. Louis told Albert about James' transgression with Peter and Albert was sympathetic, but not overly so.

“If he'd asked, what would you have said?”

“I'd probably have said yes,” Louis said. “But he
didn't
ask!”

Albert shrugged. “But if you would have let him anyway, what's the harm?”

Louis made a frustrated growl. “Ugh. You don't get it, Albert.”

Victor Spence showed up with Will, then Charles Ross and Robert Townsend with Simon and Dick.

“Your parents' friends are starting to show up,” Robert remarked. “I'll bet the orchestra will get going soon. Are your sister's friends here yet?”

“Don't get your hopes up about them,” Louis warned. “They're practically all engaged now.”

“We can still dance with them, though, right?”

“You can ask. They're all
so
stuck up, though, and none of them pretty enough to act that way, in my opinion.”

“What do you know, though?” said Charles. “You don't think your sister's a beauty, and she definitely is.”

“She's not,” Louis said firmly. “Not if you really get to know her.”

“My sister's the same, Louis,” Albert said. “You're not missing anything by not knowing her better.”

Freddie Caldwell and Wendell Franklin came in together with Tom and Ralph, and Tom immediately came to greet Martin, who was happy to see him, as always. Henry wondered, not for the first time, exactly how Tom felt about Martin. Was he some variety of queer? Or were they really just friends, as Martin insisted? Henry's jealousies were countermanded to some extent, though, by a furtive desire to see the two slaves together just for the look of it: their beautiful faces in proximity, Tom's fine black hair spread across Martin's pink-and-white skin. Henry blushed at the thought and tried to banish it from his mind.

Philip van Houten showed up with Davey, who Henry knew Martin didn't like, though he greeted Davey with seeming enthusiasm. Henry felt similarly about Philip, yet likewise behaved as though he were glad to see him. David Maxwell came with Alex, and Gordon Lovejoy with Julian. Only Joshua Brand and his Miles were missing, and they would not be coming after all. Gordon informed them that Joshua was in deep trouble, having been caught in bed with the Brands' pretty new chambermaid, and was forbidden from all forms of fun through the end of the year. The girl, of course, would be whipped.