A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (13 page)

“Do you all know much of DeSade?” Theo asked the assembly.
“Do you know of his despicable behavior? His perverse acts?” There were murmurs
of interest throughout the crowd. “DeSade is the worst sort of bully. He preys
upon the weak and defenseless. His primary victims are the gentlest and most
tractable of household slaves. He kills, maims and tortures them in the name of
‘science,’ but there is nothing scientific about his butchery.”

DeSade seemed amused by this speech. “Oh, Captain Drake.
Surely, you recognize that slaves are meant to serve? While I might require
them to serve a purpose other than that for which they were originally
intended, it’s still service. What you call ‘butchery’ another man might call
‘creativity’ or perhaps ‘artistry.’”

Theo thought DeSade’s own words very damning and let them
stand unanswered, the fiend looking very smug and believing he had bested Theo
in making his point.

Eight, nine, ten shots for each man. Theo could hold his
liquor, of course, but so could DeSade. Despite his high tolerance for spirits,
as one would expect of a gentleman and sailor, Theo could sense that his
equilibrium was affected and his reflexes were impaired. There was no sign that
DeSade felt any ill effects, so Theo endeavored to hide any evidence of his own
inebriation. He suspected that his authority as a decent man and his very life
might depend on it.

Theo knew he couldn’t appeal to the crowd’s sense of right
and wrong as he might do elsewhere. No one here would care that DeSade had
stolen all of his slaves, as he hadn’t stolen them from anyone on the island.

“It won’t matter to you that all of DeSade’s Order of the Red
Eye slaves were stolen from their rightful owners, but perhaps you recognize
the deep injustice committed when he turns them into mindless zombies. He
empties them of thought, steals their memories, and breaks their wills. He
takes away their very selves. In a community that so fiercely defends the
rights of the individual to live life as he pleases, DeSade should be
anathema.”

DeSade frowned. He had no ready answer. He waved his hand
dismissively. “They’re
slaves
.”

“He’s so clearly nuts,” Henry said, “that I don’t understand
how anyone would be on his side
ever
.”

“I wonder about Turk, too,” Martin said. “Why would he be
loyal, considering how DeSade feels about slaves?” Martin seemed a bit fretful
about this. “If you were cruel to other slaves in the household, even if you
remained kind to me, it would definitely have an effect on how I felt about
you. Honestly, I might find you loathsome. I certainly wouldn’t fight at your
side!”

As far as Henry could tell, Turk’s main function in the
story was to be exotic and spooky. It did not even seem plausible that Turk
helped DeSade to dress, and the idea of DeSade using him for release was
ridiculous. Turk was there to say nothing in an enigmatic way and to crush
people with his bare hands. “I think Turk is particularly unrealistic,” he
offered. “None of the slaves in this story really behave like slaves do, not
even George.”

“Slaves behave all different sorts of ways, Henry,” Martin
said stiffly.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Henry hurried to say. “I
know you’re all people. I know you’re all different.”

Martin seemed to actively decide to not take offense after
all, and he continued with the reading.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Theo could feel George’s knuckles
digging into the back of his shoulder and knew that his friend was concerned.
DeSade’s remaining eye looked a little unfocused, which gave Theo heart. The
bottle was nearly empty. Theo poured the fourteenth round and steeled himself
to toss it back. He noted that DeSade hesitated a moment to pick up his glass.

The fifteenth shot was the last of the bottle and DeSade
poured it slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Do we need to ask for another bottle?” Theo did not want to
do this, of course, but felt it would serve him well to be the one to suggest
it.

DeSade pushed Theo’s glass over to his side of the table
without answering, looking very unhappy. They both drank their liquor
grimacing.

“There are so many different theories about how the world
functions,” DeSade offered. “I should not presume to think our little contest
could actually resolve anything.”

“Are you suggesting we declare a draw?” asked Theo. “We do
seem well-matched, at least after this first bottle. Do you think it pointless
to continue?”

DeSade clearly wanted to take this option but hesitated.

“Perhaps there is a better way to work out our differences,”
Theo suggested. “It has been far too long since I’ve made you bleed. I
challenge you to another sort of duel. Bare-knuckle fighting, perhaps.”

“To what end?” DeSade eyed Theo mistrustfully. “I do not
believe you will be satisfied with merely seeing me bleed.”

“To such point that one of us begs for mercy. To incapacity.
To the death.”

“What is it you want from me? What would satisfy you,
Captain Drake?”

“I want you as a prisoner. I’ll return you to the city where
we met, and I’ll see you brought to justice there for the murders of countless
helpless slaves.”

“All I really want from you is to be left alone to continue
my work. But if you lose to me, Captain Drake, I
will
hurt you. I’ll
take your eye…and I’ll take your George and refashion him into a companion
suitable for my needs.”

This was a sobering thought. Theo believed he
could
beat DeSade, yet he’d never done so. He could not bear the thought of George
perverted for DeSade’s purposes, his mark replaced with ugly scars and a red
eye. He expended little thought on the idea of losing an eye; the loss of
George would be infinitely worse.

George leaned down and murmured into Theo’s ear. “You can do
it, Sir. I believe in you.”

“They’re being
stupid
,” Henry complained. “They
should just leave and forget about DeSade.”

“Henry!”

“I know it’s all about good versus evil, but I don’t care
about that, Martin. I just want them to be safe and to stay together. If
someone threatened your life like that, I’d just take you and run.”

“But what if they followed you? That’s what DeSade does.
They have to end him once and for all.”

“Except they won’t,” Henry pointed out. “Somehow, it will
end in a tie, like always.”

“Then aren’t you getting upset for no reason? Shall I keep
reading, then?”

Henry nodded, resolving to keep his outbursts to a minimum.

In Theo’s voice, Martin said, “Very well, DeSade. Would you
be amenable to Captain Valentine serving as referee?”

“I have no problem with Captain Valentine.”

“It is well after dawn,” Theo pointed out. “What do you say
to holding this contest on the morrow when we are rested?”

DeSade found this agreeable. He let Theo and George and the
rest of the men of the
Dauntless
leave while he remained at the table,
and Theo suspected it was to hide the unsteadiness of his legs.

Theo, for his part, was able to walk out without assistance,
though he leaned heavily on George once they were outside the tavern. He
announced that he needed water, food and sleep, and George led him back to the
Fata Morgana and their big, comfortable bed. They posted some well-rested men
from the
Dauntless
outside their door so that they might feel secure.
George had food brought and made Theo drink a copious amount of water as he
ate. At last, he put Theo to bed and crawled in beside him. Tomorrow would
decide their fates.

“And that’s it for another month,” Martin said, putting the
magazine down, his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth downturned. “I
have to admit, I’m a little worried.”

Henry was worried, too, but he said, “I don’t know how
they’ll get around it, but nothing will happen. They’ll never seriously hurt
one another, much less kill one another. It’ll all work out fine.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Martin said, not sounding sure at
all.

There was one cookie left on the plate, and Henry broke it
in half and offered the larger portion to Martin, who took it with a pleased
smile. Henry asked him to run a bath, explaining his soap-flavored-cock fantasy
and blushing, and Martin, although clearly bemused, was willing to go along
with the idea. Later, squeaky clean, Henry reddened again as he asked Martin to
talk to him in George’s voice while he sucked him.

Martin was delighted. “Oh, Henry, I thought you’d never ask!
I’ve been waiting and waiting and wanting to do it!”

Henry took him into his mouth, tasting of Ivory soap mingled
with salty secretions, and Martin moaned and petted his head.

“Oh, Theo,” he said in George’s slightly nasal voice. “Oh,
Theo, Sir—your mouth!”

Monday was April Fool’s Day, and Henry wasn’t sure whether
or not to believe Freddie when he took Henry aside and claimed that Tom had
been given a clean bill of health after six weeks of unpleasant treatments.

“Really?” Henry narrowed his eyes and peered skeptically at
Freddie as they stood in the yard enjoying the sun. “Or is this a joke?”

“Oh—because it’s April 1st. No, it’s no joke. I just thought
you might want to know, since your slaves were affected. How’re they doing,
anyway?”

Henry was embarrassed to realize that he didn’t know. He’d
seen them when he’d gone to the stables, of course, but he hadn’t wanted to ask
them anything so personal—and then he’d forgotten, really.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Martin might know.”

“Well, it’s none of my business, I guess,” Freddie said.
“But I wanted to thank you again, too, for how kind you’ve been to Tom.”

“I didn’t really do much,” Henry pointed out.

“You let Martin stay friends with him. If he’d lost Martin,
too, the poor guy would have been utterly devastated. He really liked those stable
slaves of yours, and of course they want nothing to do with him now.”

“So I’d heard.”

“Tommy’s going to be a lot more careful in the future, he’s
promised me. Maybe you could put in a good word for him.”

“With Jerry and Arthur?” Henry was taken aback that Freddie
would ask such a thing, and his shock surely showed on his face, because
Freddie immediately backpedaled.

“No, no, of course not. Just, if they ever said anything to
you, maybe you could let them know Tommy still thinks of them very fondly.”

“I doubt it will come up,” Henry told him stiffly. Across
the yard, Martin and Tom stood together with Julian, Simon, Allen and Miles,
and everyone was touching and patting Tom and smiling, so he must have been
telling them the good news. “Are you still going to let him run around like
he’d been doing?”

“Well, none of his former partners want to take up with him
again, of course, and word’s gotten ‘round about the clap, so he really
can’t
get up to his old tricks…but he’s so good-looking that sooner or later someone
will be willing to take the risk.” Freddie hesitated a moment, then confided,
“Now that he’s got a clean bill of health, it’s just a matter of time before he
starts begging me for sex again. I suppose I’ll help him out if he gets really
desperate, but I hope he finds someone to mess around with soon.”

Henry had been wondering this for awhile. “Why did you pick
him, anyway, if you don’t want anything to do with him?”

“I like girls,” Freddie said, shrugging. “Tommy’s the
prettiest boy I could find, and I thought that would make it easier, if my
slave looked as much like a girl as possible, but I just can’t forget that he’s
got a cock. I like his mouth better than his ass, but that’s not so much fun
for him.” Freddie shrugged again. “He’s a really good slave otherwise, and we
get along very well. He just wants sex with me way more than I want it with
him.”

Freddie was an unremarkable-looking boy—medium height,
medium build, medium brown hair, medium everything—and Tom was an extraordinary
creature, and it was baffling that the peacock went begging to the wren. Maybe
Freddie had a really nice cock. Maybe Tom was just especially greedy for sex.
The idea of Tom begging for sex, groveling and debasing himself in search of
favor, was pretty exciting, though—too exciting for the schoolyard. Henry felt
heat rise up from his collar.

Freddie laughed. “Did I embarrass you, Henry? You really are
a shy maiden, aren’t you?”

It did not seem prudent to explain that it wasn’t the
subject of sex that was embarrassing, but specifically imagining Tom on his
knees, pulling his ass cheeks wide and exposing his hole while begging
Please,
Mr. Blackwell!
in a ragged voice.

All Henry did in response was mutter, “No, I’m not,” in an
unconvincing fashion, but Freddie stopped talking about sex, and that was what
Henry had wanted anyway.

After school, Martin was excited to share Tom’s news,
murmuring it in Henry’s ear as they waited for the omnibus.

“Freddie told me already,” Henry said. “He wanted me to put
in a good word with Jerry and Arthur.”

Martin reared back from him, shocked. “Really, Sir?”

“That’s what I thought!”

“Asking you to meddle in slave matters, Sir!” Martin shook
his head, marveling at Freddie’s gall.

“What are you talking about?” Louis asked.

“Tom’s clean bill of health, Sir,” said Peter, who had been
blatantly eavesdropping. “It’s all any of us could talk about today. Now that
Tom’s better, Sir, Mr. Caldwell is going to ask Mr. Ross if he can bring Tom to
the next party.”

Louis frowned. “I don’t know if I like that idea. I might
have to talk to Charles about that myself.”

“If he’s healthy, though,” Henry put forth. “If he’s
healthy, then what’s the harm? I understand Tom enjoys the parties and puts on
a good show.”

Louis cast a suspicious eye on Henry. “Who’s been telling
you stories? I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“I learn things here and there,” Henry admitted. “I
don’t
want to know.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Henry, you
do
understand that?
I’m
your best friend, after all. Don’t be talking to Freddie
or anyone else.”

Henry laughed. “If I ever decide I want to know more about
swaps, I promise I’ll ask you before I talk to any of the others.”

At home, Henry remembered Freddie’s inquiry and asked
Martin, “So, how are Jerry and Arthur? Are they better now?” He watched naked
from the bed as Martin, also naked, hung up his school clothes in the wardrobe.

“Tom’s was a very tenacious case. Jerry’s been better for
about three weeks already. Poor Arthur finished treatment about a week ago.” He
paused and thought a moment before saying, “Tom is asking me to let them know
he’s cured, but I don’t think they’ll want to hear it. I think it will just
make them mad, especially Jerry. What do you think?”

“Stay out of it,” Henry said. “If I was Jerry, I wouldn’t
want to hear it, either.” If Jerry felt for Arthur even a tenth of what Henry
felt for Martin, he’d be staying angry at Tom forever and he wouldn’t care if
Tom ever got better.

“I’m glad you agree with me. That makes me feel better about
not wanting to do it. Let me just put away my clothes and I’ll be right back…”
He scooped up the scattered pieces of his own uniform and carried them through
to his own room.

Henry lay back on the pillows with his hands behind his head
and listened to Martin rattle hangers in his own wardrobe. He grew hard
anticipating Martin’s imminent return and closed his eyes and concentrated on
his cock, wanting it to be hard enough to hammer a nail. Martin padded back
into the room and hopped up onto the bed, light as a cat.

“Is that for me, Henry?”

Henry opened his eyes and Martin grinned at him and bent to
lick his prick.

“It’s for you,” Henry assured him. “Do whatever you want
with it.”

With a happy chuckle, Martin licked Henry’s cock until it
was shiny-wet and then put the whole thing in his mouth, and Henry moaned and
lifted his hips, pushing his cock into Martin’s throat.

“Turn around,” Henry urged. “Over my face, so I can lick
you.”

Martin turned, getting into position so that Henry could
lick his ass while he continued to suck Henry’s cock. Martin shuddered and
groaned around Henry’s prick as Henry tongued his asshole. He could only
tolerate a few minutes of this treatment before pulling off Henry’s cock,
breathing hard.

“I want you inside me, Henry,
please
.”

“I said you could do whatever you wanted,” Henry reminded
him, and while Martin got the oil and applied it to their bodies, Henry thought
back to his little fantasy earlier of Tom begging for sex, offering himself up
to Henry in desperation, and then imagined Martin in his place. The idea of
Martin having to seriously beg Henry for anything, much less sex, was just
ridiculous, though. If he was going to add Martin to that fantasy, it would be
better to have him at his side, both of them looking down on groveling Tom.
Would Martin like that? Henry was a little afraid to ask.

Martin knelt on Henry’s prick, his head thrown back, and
made a satisfied grunt as he took it into his body. He reached for Henry’s
hands and intertwined their fingers, and used this connection as an anchor as
he got his feet beneath him and crouched, bouncing up and down along Henry’s
length with his cock slapping his belly. His eyes were closed, lips parted,
cheeks pink; he let out pained whimpers each time his ass smacked into Henry’s
groin. He clung to Henry’s hands, white-knuckled, and Henry struggled to stay
steady for him, his elbows sinking into the mattress.

It felt so good, violently good, and breathlessly hectic;
Martin was always a lively bed partner, but this ride made for a particularly
vigorous, athletic picture, and Henry was spellbound, rendered dumb. The slide
in and out of Martin’s body, hot as coals and smooth as water, occurred at a
breakneck pace, the sensations intense and urgent and overwhelming. Slick,
molten flesh, squeezing tight and close from base to tip and back again. Henry
didn’t want to come, not yet; he closed his eyes against Martin’s pretty
suffering and bit his lip hard as a distraction.

With a soft moan, Martin sat back on Henry’s cock, knees on
the bed, rocking in place. His chest rose and fell as he gasped for breath.

“Tired out?” Henry pushed himself halfway to sitting and
stroked Martin’s hair back from his brow. “I’ll take over if you want.”

“Do it,” Martin agreed, his voice low and rough. “You take
over. You fuck me.”

Somewhat awkwardly, Henry managed to put him on his back and
kneel between his feet without sliding out of his ass. He leaned over him and
they kissed, Martin making insistent little groans and moving impatiently
beneath him.

“
Please,
Henry.” Martin looked up at Henry with
unguarded eyes, his lips parted. Henry felt swept up in such complicated,
conflicting emotions. He wanted to protect Martin from any harm, and he wanted
to fuck him to raw, rattled pieces.

“
Please
, Henry. Take over.”

Martin hitched his knees higher and Henry helped him,
putting his hands on the backs of Martin’s thighs and pressing them down toward
the bed, folding him in half. He pulled his cock halfway out of Martin’s body
and then slammed it back in deep. Henry knew that if he offered the choice to
Martin, he’d pick being fucked to pieces, so he did what Martin would want and
pounded him hard, imagining himself as a flesh-and-blood machine or some animal
bred for just this purpose: to fuck Martin hard and make him come.

Henry slowed to catch his breath and bent over him, asking,
“Is this what you wanted?” between kisses.

Martin laughed shyly and turned to hide his face, cheeks
pink. “I love the way you fuck me.” He looped his arms around Henry’s neck and
pulled him down for another kiss. “
Harder
, Henry. Do it harder.”

“Whatever you want,” Henry promised, “I’ll do for you.”

Henry kept expecting to grow used to the sensation of being
inside Martin’s body. He kept expecting that one day it would lose its vibrancy
and seem nothing more than skin and bone and fluids, less than the sum of its
parts. But this hadn’t happened yet, and kept not happening. He’d put his cock
in Martin’s body and feel suddenly, dramatically, exponentially more alive, as
if he’d developed extra senses or magic powers. He couldn’t know for sure, but
he thought he did something similar for Martin, that there was some
scintillation between their skins and in the air they shared that electrified
Martin, too. Now he pushed into Martin’s body and Martin cried out in triumph
and relief and looked up at him, his expression so starkly vulnerable, and
Henry ached with love for him. He could not imagine it was possible to love
anyone more.

They went a few more rounds of hard fucking broken up by
interludes of impassioned necking before Martin took hold of his cock and gave
it a few tugs, just precise twists of his wrist.

“Oh god, Henry,
harder
,
please
…”

Henry thrust into Martin hard enough that Martin’s teeth
snapped together, biting off an anticipatory moan. Henry’s own nerves were
humming, his body buzzing and sensitized, and he knew he’d come as soon as
Martin spilled. Martin had his eyes closed, his lip held between his teeth, and
he worked his cock with economical jerks, no wasted movement.

“Henry,
Henry
, oh, god, I—” Martin cut himself off
mid-speech with a shout, stilled, and came, his semen shooting in a high arc
and splatting down on his mark, just below his collarbones.

Henry gritted his teeth on a bolt of lightning, silver
sparks melting on his skin as his cock pulsed in Martin’s ass. He poured into
Martin, emptied himself out, and hung over him in a woozy haze, holding himself
up with locked elbows while he caught his breath.