A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (27 page)

With a slightly put-upon sigh, Martin acquiesced, settling
for resting his hands on Henry’s arms as he worked, his touch light but
conveying his impatience. He kissed Henry hungrily, making little satisfied
grunts as he did so. Henry removed the studs and put them with the cufflinks on
the table between the armchairs. He ran his hands up and down Martin’s sides,
the starched cotton of Martin’s dress shirt very crisp beneath his fingers. He
tugged on the shirt, untucking it in increments, working his way around
Martin’s body until the tails were completely out. He kissed Martin’s neck and
Martin tilted his head to the side to allow Henry better access.

Henry stroked Martin’s arms, shoulder to elbow and elbow to
wrist, noting how the fabric folded against the bunched muscles, how warm his
skin was even through the shirt. He bit Martin’s neck and licked the marks his
teeth made. Martin gasped and swayed a little on his knees and Henry reached
down and squeezed his hard cock through his trousers. Martin put his arms
around Henry’s neck, and while they kissed Henry unbuttoned the shirt and eased
it off of Martin’s shoulders, down his arms, and free of his hands before
tossing it aside. Martin began to pull his undershirt out from his trousers but
Henry stayed his hands with soothing strokes.

“Let me do it, Martin. Please. We don’t have to hurry.”

With an exasperated groan, Martin let go the hem of the
shirt and put his arms around Henry’s neck again, pulling Henry half out of the
chair as they kissed.

Henry reached beneath Martin’s undershirt, his hands on
Martin’s hot skin, and pushed the shirt up to expose his nipples, pink and
hard. Henry brushed them with his thumbs and Martin growled in the back of his
throat and arched into Henry’s touch. Henry slid out of the chair and knelt
pressed against Martin, kissing him with his hands twined in his hair. Henry
tugged the hem of Martin’s undershirt up and over, off his arms, and let it
fall to the carpet.

They kissed some more, Martin’s hands on either side of
Henry’s face, as Henry worked the buttons of Martin’s trousers. When they were
undone and loose around Martin’s hips, Henry took hold of Martin’s cock through
his drawers and rubbed his thumb across the wet spot soaked through the fabric.
Martin gave a rough groan, a growl, with his mouth at Henry’s ear, and his cock
flexed against Henry’s fingers. Henry put his hand at the center of Martin’s
chest and gave him a push.

“Lie down.”

With a whimper, Martin eagerly complied, laying back before
the fire bare-chested, his cock straining at his drawers. Down on hands and
knees, Henry bent and mouthed him through the fabric, liking the way Martin’s
cock jerked when he licked over the head. After a few minutes of this, Martin
squirming and keening all the while, Henry unbuttoned Martin’s drawers and
tugged them together with his trousers off his hips. Martin helped with this,
enthusiastically lifting his hips and kicking the garments impatiently off his
legs. At last he lay naked before the fire, licked with rose-gold light, his
chest rising and falling with rapid, excited breaths.

Henry realized then how uncomfortable he was, aroused and
fully-dressed, pinched and constrained by his suit trousers.

“You really want me to keep my clothes on?” he asked, hoping
Martin might be beyond caring.

“Please.”

Henry tried not to let it be too obvious that he was finding
this request burdensome. He tugged surreptitiously at the crotch of his
trousers. “All right. I’ll get the oil.”

When he returned to the fireside, Martin knelt up and
reached for him.

“Let me unbutton your braces,” he suggested.

Henry stood obediently still while Martin reached beneath
the hem of his waistcoat and unbuttoned his braces front and back. Martin then
felt the length of Henry’s cock through the fabric of his trousers with an avid
expression, lip held between his teeth.

“You’re so handsome in your suit, Henry. So elegant. You’re
every bit a fine gentleman.”

Henry laughed. “I look the part, anyway. I don’t know that I
actually meet any of the other criteria.”

Martin made a dismissive sound, his nose wrinkled, and did
not dignify this with a response. He made short work of Henry’s buttons and
drew out his cock, but cautioned Henry to, “Keep your trousers on, please.”

Holding his trousers up with one hand, Henry went slightly
awkwardly to his knees between Martin’s feet. Martin drew his knees up toward
his chest with a little emphatic movement, exposing and offering his ass. Henry
oiled them both, lined himself up, and sank deep with a soft groan.

Henry’s evening clothes, which had seemed extremely
well-fitting and comfortable during the dancing, were not ideal for sex. The
jacket seemed tight across the back and armpits, the shirt collar sharp and
scratchy, the trousers bunched and wadded against his balls, everything an
unpleasant distraction from the sensations specific to sex. Martin seemed to
like the experience, though, clutching at Henry’s lapels and stroking his
shirtfront as he made throaty little grunts in rhythm with Henry’s thrusts.

Martin reached for his own cock and smiled dreamily up at
Henry. “I love my life,” he said breathily. “Serving a charming young gentleman
who—oh!—looks so beautiful in a suit.”

Henry suspected this suit sex was an extension of their
earlier Master game. He did his best to look elegant and gentlemanly while he
pounded into Martin’s ass, his hands pressing down on the backs of Martin’s
thighs.

Martin’s hand moved erratically over his cock and he tossed
his head back and forth as he whimpered. “Can I come, Henry? Is it all right if
I come?”

Henry gritted out an emphatic, “Yes!”

Once permission was given, Martin redoubled his efforts and
came quickly with a few strokes, a little graceful torque of the wrist as he
squeezed the head of his cock. He was especially loud, so loud that Henry
blushed furiously, cheeks burning, fearing that Martin might have woken the
entire household calling his name, and was thrown off his rhythm by this worry.

Martin was flushed and panting, beaming up at Henry, his
chest glistening with spunk. “I love you, Henry.”

“I love you, too.” Henry lowered himself to kiss Martin and
they embraced. He rubbed his face against Martin’s neck and held him tightly.

“Henry!” Martin shoved at his shoulders. “Henry, no, your
suit!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“There was spunk all over me and now it’ll be all over your
coat!”

Henry sat back on his heels, letting his hard cock slide out
of Martin’s ass. In the dim light, it was hard to tell if there was semen on
his jacket or not. He didn’t see this as the emergency that Martin did,
however. He shrugged off the jacket and let it fall to the floor.

“If it’s dirty, it can be cleaned.” He tugged at his tie,
loosening the knot.

“I don’t know if that’s the sort of thing that
can
be
cleaned.” Martin sat up and reached for Henry’s collar as Henry slipped out of
his waistcoat.

Unconcerned, Henry said, “Then I’ll get a new coat.” He held
out his wrists for Martin to remove his cufflinks.

“But—”

“No buts. We’re rich, Martin. I can have a new coat every
week if I want. I’m not worried about the coat.”

Henry let Martin remove the studs from the bib of his shirt
while he unbuttoned the bottom half of the garment and then let the whole thing
slide from his arms and onto the floor. With Martin’s help, he shed the rest of
his clothes and at last knelt with his knees to the outside of Martin’s hips,
his cock lined up perfectly.

Martin lay back on the carpet smiling, hitching his knees
towards his chest. “You still need to come, don’t you, Henry?”

“Yes, I do.” He nudged Martin’s hole with the head of his
cock, then put his hands on the backs of Martin’s thighs and leaned his weight
on him, folding him in half. The skin around Martin’s hole glistened with oil
in the firelight and Henry’s cock, too, had a golden sheen as he pushed back
inside Martin’s body. Undressed, with Martin’s skin warm against his own, Henry
felt unrestricted, free and joyous. Martin gave startling rough cries in tandem
with Henry’s thrusts.

“Martin, am I hurting—?”

Martin shook his head adamantly. “No, it feels too good.
Don’t stop.”

Martin kept making the throaty noises, almost abrasive, the
sound going straight to Henry’s prick. He fucked Martin with a feeling of
careless abandon, holding Martin’s hips and pumping hard, and came with a
shout, with a sense that he had leapt from a great height and now hung
suspended midair, and he came down slowly, lightly, as his breathing eased and
his heart slowed.

He lay on top of Martin catching his breath and Martin
stroked his hair. “Henry?” Martin kissed his head and petted his hair smooth.
“Henry, do you want cake? I have such a craving for cake!”

Henry lay on his back on the floor, propped up on his
elbows, while Martin went for his basin and then washed him clean. They put on
their pajamas and dressing gowns and went down the back stairs to the kitchen.
They snickered and bumbled around in the dark, waking Vida and Ruby with all
their noise. Vida shooed Ruby back to bed and came into the kitchen to cut them
some of the chocolate cake from lunch and poured them milk and put it all on a
tray for Martin to carry upstairs.

They took the elevator up. Martin put the tray down on the
little table between Henry’s armchairs and quickly shed his pajamas.

“Naked cake?” Henry asked. “Should I be naked, too?”

Martin smiled. “Only if you want.”

Henry laughed and undressed, letting his pajamas fall to the
floor. He slumped down into his armchair, the mohair upholstery a little
prickly on his bare skin, and Martin handed him his cake plate, then sat down
at Henry’s feet with his own.

“There’s another chair there, you know,” Henry pointed out,
gesturing toward it with his fork.

Martin looked up at him, smiling. “I want to sit like this,
though.” He took a bite of cake and leaned his head against Henry’s knee, like
a pet.

Henry swallowed, hit with a sudden wave of tender emotion,
and gently tousled Martin’s hair. Martin tilted his head into Henry’s touch and
made a contented sound.

Henry finished his cake and drank some milk and waited for
Martin to finish, too. Martin’s hair gleamed red in the firelight and Henry
stroked it gently, feeling the muscles and bones of Martin’s skull move as he
chewed little bites of cake. At last he finished eating, and turned to put his
plate on the table with Henry’s.

They got into bed and Martin made himself small, curled against
Henry’s chest. “Do you feel that your first ball was a success?”

Henry smoothed Martin’s hair. “I do. I had a lot of fun. I’m
most glad I got to dance with you, even if it wasn’t in the ballroom itself.”

“I liked that best, too.”

Henry recalled their drunken, loopy dance in the courtyard
room at the hotel, how wonderful it had felt to dance with Martin to the music
of an orchestra, albeit secretly. Someday, somehow, he’d dance with Martin and
it wouldn’t be just for practice, and it wouldn’t be furtive.

Martin quickly fell asleep. Henry lay awake a little longer,
feeling hopeful about the future. It hadn’t been so bad to escort a girl;
Abigail had turned out to be all right after all. Girls were still going to be
a problem, he knew, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to avoid
marrying, but he wouldn’t have to think of that just yet; he had years to go.
Martin was right: he had a place in society, an enviable position, and he
should try to enjoy it. His particular quirks and issues need not be problems;
he could negotiate with the world, as he’d done tonight, and the world would
bend to accommodate him.

Henry woke to Martin moving quietly around the room,
collecting their evening clothes and counting their shirt studs.

“Good morning, Henry. Did I wake you?”

Henry sat up and stretched. He felt surprisingly well,
considering how much he’d had to drink. “No, you were fine. What time is it?”

“Nearly ten. Do you want some breakfast?”

Henry yawned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He
was very tired, but that was to be expected; they’d been up until nearly four.
“Yes, I’m hungry.” He stood and strode into the bath, Martin right behind him,
there to turn on the water and hold a towel ready. After he was clean, he let
Martin shave him and brushed his teeth, at which point he felt that he could
ask Martin for a kiss.

He dressed in his blue plaid with the paisley waistcoat and
went downstairs. Father and Mother were lingering in the breakfast room,
clearly waiting for him, and he was embarrassed to have made them wait so long.

“Did you have a lovely time, darling?” Mother seemed so
alert and interested! Henry thought it very nice to see her like this.

“I did,” Henry admitted. “I danced most of the evening.” He
let Martin bring him a plate of scrambled eggs with cheese, all of the bacon
left on the sideboard, fried potatoes, and a stack of pancakes layered with
butter and syrup.

“You got along well with your partner, Miss DeWitt? Did she
like her flowers?”

“We got along fine, and she did like the flowers. After the
quadrille, I danced another waltz with her, and I danced with her mother, too.”

“That was thoughtful of you, darling,” Mother said
approvingly.

Father listened to all of this with obvious interest but
without remark.

“I wish we’d gone to see you dance,” Mother said wistfully.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Henry said firmly. “No offense
intended, Mother, but boys’ parents don’t go.”

“Oh, I know that, darling. I just feel that I’ve missed so
much of your growing up, Henry.”

Father snorted at this, and mother cast a baleful eye in his
direction. Henry had hoped that Mother and Father would become fonder of one
another as she grew more lively, but now understood that that wasn’t going to
happen.

Although Henry was, in fact, feeling very grown-up this
morning, he said, “I still have plenty of growing up to do, Mother,” to make
her feel better.

After breakfast, Henry lounged on his bed while Martin
finished putting away the previous night’s clothes. He gathered shirts and
underwear into his laundry basket and laid Henry’s tailcoat over the top.

“How bad is it?” Henry asked about the coat.

Martin frowned, lips pressed tight with disapproval. “There
are spots all over the front and the lapels. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Martin.”

“It’s my spunk all over it,” he pointed out.

“But I’m the one who made you come,” Henry countered. “And
then I laid down on top of you.”

It was clear from Martin’s expression that they were going
to have to agree to disagree. Martin took the laundry downstairs, and Henry
realized after he’d gone that Martin would have to tell Mary what had gotten
all over Henry’s coat and blushed, embarrassed for Martin and himself both.

If Martin felt any shame over the experience, he gave no
sign of it on his return. He stood beside Henry’s bed and played his violin.
Henry’s thoughts drifted. He thought of the ball, the exhilaration of dancing,
the beauty of the black-and-white forms all moving together. He thought of
lively Abigail and how much he’d actually ended up liking her; it was too bad
they couldn’t be friends somehow, as he felt it possible he might enjoy her
company at least as much as that of her brother. He wondered if Abigail would
marry Mr. Calvert, and if she’d do it gladly after all.

He then thought of his possibly-ruined tailcoat and then of
other clothes; he wondered if it might be time for another trip to Hamilton’s.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he could get away with wearing a velvet
jacket like Reggie did, or if that would seem too obviously queer. He’d have to
be very confident to do so, at the very least. He wished Martin would let him
dress him in more stylish garments; Martin had looked so beautiful in his full
dress costume and it just made Henry want to see him in more regular clothes,
his mark covered.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Martin’s playing
halfway through the
gigue
. Martin put down the violin and answered the
door.

Martin shut the door but didn’t lock it. Turning to Henry,
he said, “Mr. Briggs is here. I told Paul he could send him up.”

Henry sat up, smiling. Louis! He wanted to hear all about
Louis’ ball.

Louis seemed awfully somber for someone who had just been to
a party. “Henry, can I talk to you in private? No slaves.” He shot Martin a
withering glare.

Surprised, Henry said, “O-okay, sure.” To Martin he said,
“Why don't you take Peter downstairs for a bit?”

Martin seemed surprised, too, but was properly obedient.
“Certainly, Sir.” He ducked a little bow and led Peter from the room.

Louis stood in the open door and watched their slaves move
down the hall. “Okay, they're gone,” he said, stepping inside and shutting the
door behind him.

“Why did we send them away?” Henry was confused. He sat on
the edge of the bed, slumping a little.

“I have something I want to talk to just you about.” Louis
stood nervously shifting from one foot to the other. “I don't want Martin to
hear.”

“Just Martin?” Henry began to feel wary. “Not Peter?”

“Not Peter, either,” Louis said. “Just—look, it's about the
dance last night.”

“About the dance?” Henry could not imagine what Louis would
have to say about the ball that couldn't be discussed in front of slaves.
They'd all had a marvelous time! “Didn’t you enjoy yourself?”

Louis grimaced and shrugged dismissively. “
You
had a
good time, I know.”

“But you didn't?”

“Because of Abigail, I found something out,” Louis said.

“Because of Abigail? What did you find out?” Was it
something about Albert? Why was Louis so grim?

“I like her, Henry.”

“I
know
that, Louis.”

“She likes you,” Louis continued. “You don't like her back,
I know, but
she
likes
you
.”

“She likes one of those bachelors now,” Henry told him. “I
don’t think she cares about me at all anymore.”

“She asked to be your partner for the quadrille,” Louis
continued. “That’s why she got switched with that Miss Collingsworth. She
asked
.
Albert told me.”

Henry felt sorry for Louis, but also frustrated. “But you
know that has nothing to do with me, right, Louis? That was all something she
did.”

“I know,” Louis said. “But it still hurts. She won't even
give me the time of day. I got one dance with her and that was only because
Albert made her do it. All the time we were dancing, she was talking to me
about you.”

“That was rude of her,” Henry said, frowning. “Why are you
wasting your time fretting over some rude girl who can’t see your worth?”

“A guy like you, you could have her or any girl in that
room, Henry, and you don’t even seem to care!”

Henry shrugged. “I guess I
don't
care, not really,”
he said boldly. “Besides, we're not old enough. We won't be courting anyone for
years and years.”

“She was saving another spot on her dance card for you after
supper, just in case, but she couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought I knew
where you might be, and so I told her I’d find you. I did it because I
like
her
, and I wanted her to like
me
, and I’m an idiot—”

“You’re not an idiot,” Henry hurried to say, but Louis just
shot him a dirty look.

“I
am
an idiot. I left Peter behind, which was lucky.
He was busy messing around with Will and Miles so I just went by myself,
because it was only going to take a minute…and I went downstairs, and…and I saw
you, Henry.”

A cold realization stole over Henry, a numbing. He forced
himself to speak, trying to keep his voice light, casual. “Saw me what?”
Fervently hoping that Louis was going to say anything other than what Henry
knew he was about to say.

“I saw what you were doing.”

Henry laughed, a false-sounding bark. “What, drinking
champagne?”

“Come on, Henry. You know what I’m talking about. I saw you.
You kissed him.”

“No, I didn't.” Henry was a bad liar; he would not have
convinced himself, and he couldn't expect Louis to believe him, either, but he
forged on. “It was dark in there. You just thought you saw—”

“It was
so
stupid, Henry. The door was standing open.
Anyone could have walked in. Anyone could have seen you.”

“I was drunk,” Henry offered desperately. “I don't really
remember what happened anyway.”

“I'll tell you what happened,” Louis said, his voice rising
in volume. “You pushed Martin up against the wall and kissed him. You were all over
each other. It was disgusting.”

Henry was quiet. There did not seem to be any point in
denying it. Louis was neither blind nor stupid. Now that he’d been found out,
Henry discovered he wasn’t ashamed at all, but rather quietly furious that
Louis would characterize his love for Martin so disparagingly.

“It’s not disgusting at all,” he insisted. “You don’t know
anything about it.”

“I don’t
want
to know!” Louis shouted. “What’s
wrong
with you, Henry? We’ve been like brothers our whole lives. I know you better
than anyone!” He shook his head, red-faced with anger. “This isn’t like you. If
Martin’s gotten you into something, you need to get back out of it!”

“Gotten me into something?” Henry said with venom. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“If he's talked you into some sort of…queer love affair.”
Louis averted his eyes. “You'll have to get rid of him, Henry. He's just a
slave. You can’t let him ruin your life.”

Martin wasn’t ruining his life; Martin had
given
him
a life. Hands clenched angrily, Henry spat out the words. “You're wrong, Louis.
It's not Martin's fault, none of it. It's all
me
. You think you know me
so well, but
this
is what I'm really like. I've
always
been like
this.”

“You haven't,” Louis insisted. “It’s only because of
Martin.”

Henry made a sharp sound of denial. “Ha. You don't know,
Louis. There's never been a time when I didn't dream of other boys. My first
crush? Was on
James
.”

“Don't say that,” Louis said angrily. “He'd kill you if he
heard that.”

“I
know
that,” Henry said. “I’m not
stupid
.” They
sat in heavy silence a moment, then Henry asked, “Who else have you told?”

“No one,” Louis said. “I had to talk to you first.”

“You really expect me to get rid of Martin, then?”

“I think you'd better, Henry.”

“I won't,” Henry said simply. “I love him.”

Louis winced. “Oh, no, Henry, don't say that!”

“It's true,” Henry said. “I won't give him up.”

“This isn’t natural, Henry. It’s bad for you. You’ve gone
too far.”

“I don't believe that,” Henry told him. “I think it's
good
for me. I'm happy for the first time.”

“This isn’t who you are,” Louis insisted. “If you had a
different slave—”

“I have Martin,” Henry said angrily. “I’m not going to have
a different slave.”

“But if your father knew—” Louis began.

“Don’t you
dare
tell him, Louis!” Henry clenched his
shaking hands into fists.

“If your father knew,” Louis continued, “he’d get you a
different slave, and you’d see. Martin did this to you. If you had a normal
slave, you’d go back to normal, too.”

Henry felt frantic. If Louis took it upon himself to go to
Father, Henry didn’t know what might happen. Terrible things, irrevocable
things.

Louis' homely face was pained and pinched. “Look, I won't
tell anyone, Henry, I won’t do that to you, but I can't…I can't be around you
like this. I don't know what to do. I can't be friends with—”

“An invert? A queer?” Henry lashed out. “Fine, Louis. Just
remember, I've been this person all along, the whole time we've known each
other. You've been friends with a queer for years.”

They glared at each other a few long moments.

“I'm sorry, Henry,” Louis said, shaking his head, “but this
is your fault, anyway. If you come to your senses, I'll be glad to be your
friend again.” When Henry said nothing, Louis added, “Just get rid of him.”

“You'd better go now,” Henry said. “I'm not going to do what
you want, so just go.”

“Fine. I will.”

They descended to the front hall in a bristling silence.
Henry’s face felt hot and he was angry and scared. He couldn’t look at Louis.
Paul was there in the hall and Henry sent him down to get the slaves. He and
Louis waited in uncomfortable proximity, Henry staring at the toes of his
boots.