A Master's Fidelity (Ganymede Quartet Book 2.5) (6 page)

Henry looked shocked, his mouth hanging slack and eyes wide. Martin wished he could go to him and take his hand and reassure him, because Henry certainly looked as though he needed reassurance. At Martin’s side, Peter began to strip and he nudged Martin with his elbow.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Everyone’s been waiting for you.”

It was good to feel welcome. He looked to Henry for guidance, but Henry was still staring at the naked slaves. However, when Martin reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, Henry’s hand shot out and caught his wrist, staying his hand. So they were
not
participating, just as he had thought. It was mostly a relief. None of Martin’s friends would put their hands on Henry, and he was glad of it; he would have Henry to himself awhile longer. He was grinning, inappropriately happy, and did his best to rearrange his face into a more impassive expression while Mr. Ross and Henry exchanged heated words about swapping.

Martin felt affronted on Henry’s behalf when Mr. Ross kicked them out of the party. It was extremely ungentlemanly, in Martin’s opinion. There were better ways to have handled it. Simon gave Martin a commiserating look, and several of the masters looked as though they might disagree with Mr. Ross’ decision. But no one spoke up for Henry, no one said he could stay and watch, not even Mr. Briggs, and Martin wasn’t really surprised. The masters liked the rules they’d established for their parties; they wouldn’t bend them just for Henry.

Storming out didn’t go well. Neither of them were familiar with the Ross house and they ended up in the kitchen instead of the entry hall. A scullery maid had to lead them through the bowels of the house and find them a footman to fetch their hats and coats. Henry was fuming the entire time, mad at the world, and Martin hoped Henry realized they were on the same side, that he would always be on Henry’s side.

However, part of being on Henry’s side was preparing him for the future, for reality. Martin didn’t want to do it, not at all, but he felt he would be doing Henry a disservice if he didn’t encourage participation. Martin had always been taught that swaps were an important social event, a bonding experience for young men, and Henry was missing out on all of that.

Martin hurried to keep up with Henry as he strode down the sidewalk, hands jammed in his coat pockets.

“Sir? Sir?”

Henry whirled to glare at him. “What is it?” His gaze softened; he wasn’t really mad at Martin, after all.

The best way to say it was maybe just to say it. “I—I wouldn't mind, Sir. If you want.” It wasn’t true. He would mind.

“What?”

His heart was not in the offer, but he had to make it. “If you wanted to go back, Sir, I…would understand. This sort of thing…I knew it could happen. It's well-known that gentlemen have these sorts of parties after all, Sir.”

Henry came to a halt beneath a streetlamp and grabbed Martin’s wrist, jerking him to a standstill. “What? You wouldn't
mind
?”
I
mind, Martin! You…you
matter
to me.” Henry took hold of Martin's shoulders and gave him a single hard shake. He looked so sad and hurt that Martin felt terrible for making the suggestion.

Martin pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sir, I only meant—”

“It's bad enough there were men
before
me, Martin. There aren't going to be any others
after
me.”

“Of course, Sir.” He was flooded with relief, warm and golden.

Henry strode off again and Martin hurried to catch up. “And why the hell would I
want
to go back?” he demanded. “What possible reason would I have?”

Martin chose his words carefully. “It's just that the boys you know now will be your business associates in the future, Sir, and these sorts of activities bond boys together. It may be advantageous in the future, is what I'm saying, Sir.”

Henry scowled and shook his head adamantly. “It doesn't matter to me, Martin. They're all careless and selfish, even Louis. I would never let them use you.”

“Just so long as you know, Sir. I wasn't sure you understood the implications, seeing as how Mr. Blackwell is such an iconoclast—”

“A what?”

“A unique individual, Sir. A self-made man. Mr. Blackwell wasn't brought up understanding how things are done in high society, if you don't mind me saying so.” As Henry considered this, Martin added, “Thank you for considering my welfare, Sir. I appreciate how much you care for me.”

Henry sighed and gave him an affectionate bump with his shoulder, and Martin was relieved that he wasn’t angry, that he wasn’t accusing Martin of wanting to participate in an orgy. They walked the rest of the way home in a comfortable silence.

At home, Paul, obviously intoxicated, let them in.

Henry shrugged his coat into Paul’s hands and turned to Martin. “Is he drunk? Are the slaves having a party? Did you know?”

Martin laughed. “Keep it down, Sir. Don't wake the house!”

“Can I go? To the slaves' party?”

Martin didn’t want to drink anymore, and he didn’t want Henry drinking, either. He had another sort of celebration in mind. He steered Henry toward the staircase. “Why don't you let everyone have their little drinking party, Sir, and then we'll come down at midnight to set off the fireworks?” Paul had taken their coats and turned for the cloakroom, so Martin leaned in and licked the curve of Henry's ear unobserved and whispered, “I'll keep you busy until then, Sir, I promise I will.”

Climbing the stairs, he felt giddy, effervescent. Henry hadn’t wanted Tom, or Stuart, or any other slave. Henry was satisfied with Martin and Martin alone, at least for now. Martin would take that, and would be happy with what he was given.

Inside Henry’s room with the door locked, Martin felt frantic with joyous relief and couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough. They left a trail of mistreated garments inside-out and crumpled from the door to the bed. Naked, Martin backed Henry up to the bed, pushed him down, and kissed him all over—all the places Henry would allow, at any rate—and paid special attention to his nipples, liking the way he moaned and writhed as Martin licked and bit. Henry rarely said coherent words in response to pleasure, but this time he said
oh god
over and over in a worried whisper and then
feels so good
in a wondering little voice as he knotted his fingers in Martin’s hair and arched against his open mouth. Martin smiled against Henry’s skin, quite sure it was the whiskey talking.

Martin oiled Henry’s cock and sat back on it, letting out a hissing breath at the intense stretch as it filled him. The pressure felt good, so good, throbbing with his pulse and winding him tighter. He squeezed Henry’s sides with his knees and rode his cock in triumph: it was his and none of his friends would touch it, or suck it, or even look at it. None of them would have the opportunity to feel what he was feeling right now. They should be jealous, every one of them, even Julian.

Henry groaned and clutched at Martin’s hips as Martin raised and lowered himself over Henry’s length. Martin folded forward onto Henry’s chest and kissed him and let him do the work, pumping up into Martin’s ass. Each stroke struck sparks off the sensitive place inside Martin’s body and it felt so good it was nearly unbearable. Martin moaned in Henry’s ear and bit his neck, and it was just the right kind of pain to make Henry gasp, to make his cock swell even harder. Henry seemed especially sensitive and abandoned, and perhaps this was also due to the whiskey. Martin teased Henry’s nipples stiff with his fingertips and pinched them hard enough that Henry gave a startled shout. Twisting them, Martin scraped his thumbnails across the stiff peaks, and Henry cried out and came, arching up beneath Martin’s weight.

Henry clung to Martin, breathing hard, cock still flexing in his ass. His hands ranged over Martin’s back, tailbone to nape, and his mouth was searingly hot against Martin’s throat, his jaw, his eager lips.

“I want to make you come,” Henry murmured in Martin’s ear. “Get up here,” he urged, motioning Martin towards the head of the bed. “Come fuck my mouth.”

Martin knelt over Henry’s face and fed him his cock. Henry’s eyes fluttered closed and he moaned, his tongue curling around the slick head. Henry’s mouth felt syrupy and molten and so close and tight. Martin made shallow, excited thrusts into Henry’s throat and whimpered when he felt Henry’s fingers push bluntly into his hole, sloppy and slick with spunk. Martin shuddered at the easy slide, feeling a dirty thrill. Henry certainly hadn’t been trained to be fastidious about fluids; he reveled in them. Henry made little grunts and pulled Martin closer, fingers hooked in his hole, encouraging him to pump into his mouth.

Martin tried to be careful, thinking that Henry didn’t actually want to be
made
to suck his cock, but then Henry reached behind with his other hand and pushed more fingers into Martin’s hole, filling it tight and spreading it wide, and it felt so filthy that it made Martin’s mind go black and blank for a shocked moment. Eyes rolling back in his head, he thrust deep into Henry’s throat and came with single breathless
Henry!

Henry kept his fingers deep in Martin’s hole while they kissed. Martin combed his hands through Henry’s hair and looked into his eyes, and Henry was still drunk enough that he held Martin’s gaze and didn’t immediately blush and look away. They kissed until Martin came unmoored, nothing in the world but his mouth on Henry’s, the heat of their skins. Henry let his fingers slip from Martin’s hole and Martin gave a little sob at the loss. He stretched out on top of Henry and lay limp and sated while Henry petted his back and shoulders. They knew it was midnight when they heard the first shouts and bangs out in the world beyond the windows.

“Happy New Year, Henry.”

Henry smiled and reached to tuck Martin’s hair behind his ear. “Happy New Year.”

Martin hurried to wash them both, and they dressed and went down to the yard to watch the rest of the family’s slaves set off fireworks.

Later in bed, buoyed by sex and pyrotechnics, Martin remained exhilarated with the relief of having Henry to himself. Henry had so adamantly not wanted to share Martin or to experience any of Martin’s friends. It was plain that Henry had only wanted to watch a little, just as he had obviously wanted to watch his cousin at Christmas. Perhaps there would be opportunities in the future for Henry to do something like that if he wanted; Martin would be happy to arrange it if Henry would only ask. They could watch
together
.

Henry muttered something in his sleep and his hands twitched against Martin’s skin. Martin soothed him with gentle strokes and kissed his forehead. Henry could still change his mind, but for now he was just Martin’s; he was Martin’s own.

He wished it one more time, for luck, before he slept.

Want only me
.

Henry Blackwell & Martin

Henry’s classmates at the Algonquin School:

Walter Addison & Harvey

Jeremy Blankenship & Ray

Joshua Brand & Miles*

Louis Briggs & Peter*

Freddie Caldwell & Tom*

Albert DeWitt & Stuart*

Randall Fox & Howard

Wendell Franklin & Ralph*

Maurice Gaines & Ollie

Daniel Hollingsworth & Allen

Gordon Lovejoy & Julian*

David Maxwell & Alex*

Adam Pettibone & Sam

Charles Ross & Simon*

Victor Spence & Will*

Robert Townsend & Dick*

Philip van Houten & Davey*

*Henry’s friends

Thanks to Leta Blake, Ajax Bell, and Anne-Marie for reading, critiquing and making good suggestions. Thanks to Nozman Glass for his infinite patience and good humor.

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed and responded to the Ganymede Quartet books so far. I wasn’t sure anyone beyond my close friends would want to read this story, and I am so pleased and honored by the response Henry and Martin have received.