A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5)

© 2015 Darrah Glass

http://www.darrahglass.com

 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a critical review.

 

Digital ISBN: 978-1626227408

 

Cover art by Ulvar (
http://littleulvar.deviantart.com
)

Cover design by D. Glass

Book design by D. Glass

 

Thursday, June 20, 1901

Saturday, June 22, 1901

CAST OF CHARACTERS

GIVING THANKS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY DARRAH GLASS

On the morning of his birthday, Martin woke in Henry’s bed, under the weight of Henry’s arm, and was happy, purely happy; he thought it might be the happiest morning of his life. He kissed sleeping Henry and slipped from the bed, padding into his own room to do his calisthenics. He needed to be more diligent about exercise and diet; over these last weeks, he’d let himself become gaunt, a bony old scarecrow, and that wouldn’t do. Henry should have a handsome young man at his side, someone he could be proud to be seen with.

After his exercise and shower, Martin dressed and slipped out of the room to go downstairs to have his breakfast with the rest of the slaves. His good mood was remarked upon by the others, but he just smiled, cheeks pink, and ate his food without offering any explanation for his obvious happiness. He rather thought his colleagues could make very accurate guesses if they chose.

He ate in a hurry, eager to return upstairs to wake Henry, who smiled up at him and pulled at his hands, tugging him down into the bed. Martin did not try very hard to get away. He lay on top of Henry and enjoyed his sleepy warmth and the smell of his skin. He’d missed that smell.

Henry kissed him, and Martin kissed him back, but then pulled away laughing.

“Oh, Henry, your breath!” He pushed at Henry’s face, his hand across Henry’s mouth.

Henry laughed against Martin’s palm and broke free of Martin’s hand with a toss of his head. “Is it really terrible?” He caught Martin’s wrists and rolled their bodies over together, pinning Martin against the rumpled sheets.

“It’s very bad,” Martin assured him, squirming under his weight. He attempted to free his hands, but Henry was holding them too tightly.

Nose to nose, Henry huffed his horrible breath in Martin’s face, his eyes full of merriment.


Noooo
…” Martin groaned. He bucked and thrashed, laughing himself breathless. Oh, it was good to have this again, closeness and fun and ease.

Henry bent his head and laughed against Martin’s neck. He let go of Martin’s hands and slid off him far enough that he could work the buttons of Martin’s trouser placket.

Martin didn’t try to stop him. “What are you doing?” He did have a pretty good idea, but he wanted Henry to say it.

Henry successfully unbuttoned the trousers and went to work on the drawers, and Martin’s cock was hard, ready to spring up into Henry’s hand.

“You want me to get up, don’t you?” Henry asked.

With Henry’s hand busy with the buttons, Martin had to consider whether he did in fact want this. “Well, eventually.”

“There’s a fee,” Henry said. “A tax. If you want me to get out of bed, you have to let your cock be sucked.”

Martin snorted. “A tax? What if it’s a hardship for me to pay?” His cock stood up out of the vee of his drawers.

“What, are you saying you can’t pay it?” Henry did not sound as though he believed this. “You can’t hold still long enough to meet your obligations?” Henry slid down and huffed his foul breath on Martin’s cock.

Martin grinned and petted Henry’s tousled hair. “No, I’m definitely not saying that.”

“Because if you won’t pay, I’ll stay in bed all day and sulk,” Henry explained. “And you’ll have to tell my father that it’s because you won’t pay your debts.” He put out his tongue and licked Martin’s cock, just the wet slit.

Martin moaned and lifted his hips a little, a nudge. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll pay. Take everything I have.”

Henry did just that, the tax collection efforts increasing in complexity and urgency such that it became necessary to yank Martin’s trousers down around his ankles, and then he was folded in half, Henry alternating between sucking his cock and licking his exposed hole. The pleasure Henry gave him was keen and sharp and singular. No one had ever reveled in Martin’s body like Henry did. Martin enjoyed this skilled attention, exalted in it, and let it begin to erase the memory of all the weeks he’d gone without it. He came gasping Henry’s name with his cock deep in Henry’s mouth, Henry’s fingers moving in his ass.

Henry flopped on the pillow at his side and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did I say it yet? Happy Birthday.”

Martin laughed. “Thank you. It’s a very happy one so far.” Martin rolled to face Henry, not minding his terrible breath. He just wanted to look at him, close up, touching one another. He’d missed Henry so much.

“I want you to be happy,” Henry said with conviction, his cheeks flushing red. “I know I can’t, not really, but I want to try to make it up to you anyway.”

Martin appreciated that Henry would want to do this, but he wasn’t really interested in being offered favor as a kind of recompense. Rather, he’d prefer to move forward, not dwelling on unpleasantness, and treating each other with kindness and respect and love, things that Henry had offered him so generously in the past. Henry had made mistakes, but Martin was certain he had, too.

“Do
you
owe any taxes?” Martin fondled Henry’s beautiful cock, which was very hard, and Martin loved that it was his to touch again.

Henry gave a little grunt and tilted his hips against Martin’s hand, but he said, “Not just yet. I’m hungry. Besides, it’s
your
birthday.”

“I do like making you come, though,” Martin pointed out. “It’s one of my favorite things to do. Shouldn’t I get to do it on my birthday?”

Henry stretched long and yawned. “Well, of course, if that’s what you want. But later. Don’t we have other business? We have to get your hair trimmed, right? And I need to talk to Louis.”

“I’m glad you’ll be able to reconcile with Mr. Briggs.” Martin buttoned his trousers and sat up. “Do you want me to start your shower now?”

Henry showered humming snatches of the
allemande
, and Martin waited with his towel and thought again about what Henry had said about making things up to him. He was glad Henry had apologized, because Henry
had
been awful, and it did make him feel that Henry held him in very high regard that he would make such a concession to a slave. When he wasn’t trying to force some ersatz freedom down Martin’s throat, Henry really did treat Martin as an equal most of the time.

Martin definitely would have preferred they’d never been estranged, but now that it had happened, he felt they’d learned important things about themselves, both as individuals and as a couple. Their estrangement had been, in its way, as bad as the loss of Richard. The only thing that had kept Martin going was the fact that Henry was very much alive, and so long as he was alive there was a chance of reconciliation and forgiveness. It had been hard to be grieving a devastating loss when all the while Henry was right there, surly and gruff and wounded and hurtful, and not letting Martin explain his actions.

Henry’s apology really had been so wonderful, so unexpected. Martin had hoped that one day Henry might relent and give him the opportunity to beg for his position back; he had not even considered that Henry might come to him begging forgiveness. It was easy to want to forgive Henry, especially when his apology was so sincere. Martin had known Henry was stubborn, that he didn’t always think things through, and that he was easily hurt, so his wounded cruelty hadn’t actually been surprising. It had been heartbreaking, but not surprising.

Martin did believe that Henry wouldn’t want this to happen to them again, that if they chanced to disagree he would be willing to talk, and to listen, as he had promised. Henry had taken Martin seriously when he’d said he’d leave if Henry was cruel again, and Martin was quite sure Henry wanted him to stay. He seemed prepared to be even more loving than before, even more generous and giving. Martin was especially appreciative of how vulnerable Henry had let himself be last night. Martin had loved fingering Henry’s ass, and it had been thrilling to hear Henry call his name during sex; he was quite sure Henry had never done that before, not ever.

Henry shut off the water and turned, dripping, to face Martin with a smile. Almost shyly, his cheeks pink, he asked, “Would you please dry me?”

Martin was surprised by the strength of his emotion, the rush of love that made him lightheaded. He’d always gleaned such pleasure from the necessary closeness of service, and having that taken away from him had injured his pride and heart both.

But all he said was, “Yes, of course. Come out here, then, and let me do it.”

He was wiping droplets from Henry’s shoulders and broad chest when Henry sighed and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close, the damp towel pressed between their bodies.

“Henry! You’re getting me wet!”

Henry nuzzled his ear. “You can change your shirt.” He sighed again and squeezed Martin more tightly. “I missed you, Martin. I missed you so much. And all the while you were right here, and I was hurting you. I was hurting us both.” His voice cracked, a pained rasp, and he pressed his face to Martin’s neck.

Martin returned the embrace. He
could
change his shirt. He petted Henry’s sleek, wet head. “But you’re sorry, Henry, I know you’re sorry, and it’s past now.”

Henry shook his head without lifting his face from Martin’s neck, his shoulders hunched. “How can you just forgive me?” he asked, his tone anguished. “These have been the worst days of my life, and
you
weren’t being mean to
me
.”

Martin didn’t want to dwell on his hurt. He absolutely believed Henry was sorry, so he wanted to forgive him. Ideally, something good would come from this bad stretch, and Martin liked to think they would be closer now, could better understand each other going forward. Things wouldn’t go back to the way they were before, but they could be
better
. Holding a grudge would serve no purpose. However, he
would
let Henry make it up to him if he wanted to try.

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