A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (34 page)

Martin wanted to be fucked hard, quite a bit harder than
Henry was comfortable with or even liked, but he complied in hopes of soothing
Martin’s anger. He knelt behind Martin, holding his hips with white knuckles,
and Martin gave barking cries with each thrust and demanded
harder, Henry,
harder
, even when Henry felt it was quite impossible to go any harder
without doing someone damage. Martin’s white back was as beautiful as ever, but
Henry did miss the look of his long hair spilling off his shoulders, the wispy
curls at the nape of his neck. On the other hand, from behind like this, the
tattoo out of sight, Martin looked like a free boy.

Martin came with an enraged cry, snarling and furious, and
he continued to fume as they lay on the bed catching their breath.

“Do you feel better now?” Henry asked a little tentatively.
He was unused to Martin showing such strong negative emotions and it was
unnerving.

“Not really,” Martin admitted. “You’re going to have to give
me some time.”

Henry woke up hours later with Martin’s mouth on his cock
and coaxed him to turn so they could suck one another in tandem. Afterward, he
asked, “What was that for?”

“Because I do love you, Henry. But no more surprises,
please.”

Martin woke up almost at the same time as Henry, his eyes
fluttering open just as Henry came alert. He yawned in Henry's face. “Sorry,
Sir,” he said. “I slept in.”

It was after ten. But their time was their own now. “You
don't have to get up hours before me anymore,” Henry told him. “Go back to
sleep if you want.” Henry knew that Martin was frequently tired, getting up
early every day and then staying up late having sex nearly every night. Now
that they would both live as free men, as equals, Martin could catch up on his
sleep.

Martin shook his head, rejecting the idea. He sat up and
stretched and Henry reached for him, putting his arms about Martin’s waist and
hugging him close.

Martin pried Henry’s arms loose and gave him a little
conciliatory pat. “Might we get something to eat soon, Henry? I've usually had
my coffee before now and I feel the lack.”

Henry took his turn in the bath. Out of the tub, he called
to Martin to come dry his hair, then let Martin shave him, enjoying the feeling
of Martin's fingertips on his face. He dressed in the previous day's blue suit
and a fresh shirt, doing most of it himself, but he did allow Martin to button
on his collar and tie his tie.

“While you're in the tub, I'll just pop downstairs and ask
about restaurants, all right?”

Martin put his head around the bathroom door. “Of course,
Si—Henry. I'll just be getting ready.”

Martin seemed in a slightly better mood today, though Henry
was aware this might be a temporary condition. He would endeavor to impress
Martin with the myriad benefits of living as a free man, and surely he would
come around in time.

In the dingy lobby, there was a different clerk behind the
counter, an effeminate blond fellow with an impressive mustache that did not
substantially alter the overall impression he gave of being a delicate flower.

“Pardon me,” Henry said. “My, uh, friend and I are
interested in a good breakfast. Can you recommend any restaurants in the area?”

“I would recommend the Fleur-de-Lys Café, sir,” the clerk
said without hesitation. “My friend's establishment.
Everyone
goes there
to see and be seen, and the food is most excellent, as well.”

This sounded perfect to Henry. “Would you be so kind as to
give me the address?”

The clerk drew Henry a map on the back of a receipt. It was
only down the block and around the corner, but the clerk used the opportunity
to recommend several other friends' businesses and mark them on the map, as
well, including a haberdasher who was, according to the clerk, very
au
courant
. As the clerk was wearing a vibrant waistcoat that Henry much
admired, he was eager to visit this shop as soon as they'd eaten and had their
coffee.

Encouraged by all the advice given so far, Henry had another
thought. Perhaps Martin would become more enthusiastic about their adventure if
Henry provided him with more pleasant experiences, more opportunities for
enjoyment. A fancy dinner would be better than another meal in their dismal
hotel room. “You've been so helpful, if you wouldn't mind…I'd like to take my
friend out for a nice dinner, something special. Can you recommend a
restaurant?”

The clerk regarded Henry seriously for a moment and then
smiled. “Do you and your
friend
like dancing?”

Henry blushed at the thought of dancing with Martin in the
guise of a free man. Could such a thing even be possible? Was that what the
clerk was suggesting?

“It so happens there’s a dance tomorrow night at the
restaurant attached,” the clerk continued. “There’s a dance every Friday,
actually. It’s not the typical affair, mind you. I suspect there will be fewer
young ladies in attendance than you might be accustomed to seeing at a ball.
Some men might find that objectionable.” The clerk paused, cocking his head.
“Would that be a problem for you and your friend, Mr.…?”

“Blackwell,” Henry blurted. “No, it wouldn't be a problem at
all.” Was the clerk really proposing a men's ball? Henry had never dared hope
for such a thing!

“I would be happy to reserve you a table for dinner
beforehand if you’d like, Mr. Blackwell.”

It would be worth postponing their exodus from the city to
attend a men’s ball!

“Yes, thank you, you're very kind.” Henry suddenly had a
thought: “Will it be a problem, do you think, that we don't have our evening
clothes? We're traveling light, you see.”

The clerk smiled, shaking his head. “Oh, no, Mr. Blackwell.
All that is required is that you be in the
spirit
of the thing. You may
wear whatever you’d like.”

The clerk arranged a table for a midnight supper—later than
Henry was used to, but of course very fashionable for an adult party, and he
was more than ready to treat himself as an adult.

Henry returned to the room excited but a little hesitant to
share his plans with Martin. He wanted to think the prospect of a men’s ball
would appeal to Martin, but as he rode up in the elevator he grew less certain
with each passing floor. He told himself that he could surprise Martin, and
tried to believe Martin might enjoy a surprise despite all evidence to the
contrary. He would find the right moment to let Martin in on the plan.

In the room, Martin was out of the bath and clean-shaven,
his pale skin scrubbed a feverish pink. Henry pushed him down on the bed and
made him draw up his knees so that he could lick his hole unimpeded. Martin
came tugging his own prick, Henry's tongue deep in his ass. Henry crawled up to
lick the semen off of Martin's belly and chest, careful not to get any on his
suit.

“What about you, Henry?” Martin cupped Henry's erection
through his trousers and leaned close. “Do you want me to return the favor?”

Henry did
want that, but shook his head. “Not now.
You need coffee, don't you? I got the name of a café just around the corner.
And then I want to go shopping!”

Martin put on Henry's grey suit, which fit him reasonably
well. He dressed in a clean shirt from Henry's supply and buttoned on the
borrowed collar without argument.

“Which tie do you want me to wear?” Martin held up two
neckties, one blue-striped and the other the green paisley that Henry had worn
on the day he brought Martin home. Did Martin remember?

“Wear the green,” Henry told him.

Martin stood before the cracked mirror and tied it around
his neck. “Do you remember, Henry, you were wearing this the day we met? I
think of that day whenever you wear it.” The smile he gave Henry seemed very
genuine, almost like his usual self.

Henry loved that Martin remembered. “It was the happiest day
of my life,” he said, blushing with pleasure.

“Mine, too.” Martin snugged the knot up around his collar.

“Even though you’re…unhappy with me?” Henry asked
tentatively.

Martin sighed. “Yes, of course. This—” he gestured at the
shabby room “—doesn’t change that.”

“It’s going to get better, Martin, I promise. We’ll pick
another city, someplace my father won’t be able to find us, and then we’ll be
able to live somewhere nicer than this. We won’t have to hide.”

Martin did not seem to find this reassuring.

“We’re
free
, Martin,” Henry tried. “We can go
anywhere we want. We can do anything we want to do.”

Martin did not respond to this directly. He gave Henry a
tight smile in the mirror and said, “Are we ready to go, Sir?”

On their way out, the desk clerk gave Henry a little nod,
eyebrow raised, as if they were conspirators, and Henry blushed and looked
away.

The neighborhood was shabbier than what Henry was used to,
of course, but there were fewer signs of debauchery than Henry had frankly
expected. There was a fair amount of industry, people bustling in and out of
doors, deliveries being made. There were fewer women on the streets than Henry
was accustomed to seeing, and many fewer people with companions. The pairs of
men he saw walking together appeared to be free men, collars and ties in place,
though there was no reason to think that Martin was the only slave in disguise.

The men they passed in the street seemed to take an interest
in them, looking them up and down with more or less subtlety, and receiving
such attention was both flattering and unnerving, though Henry felt he was
quite prepared to become used to it. Some of these men wore sober suits that
wouldn’t be out of place uptown, but others wore richly-colored velvet jackets
and boldly-striped suits that marked them as
bohemian
, at the very
least. They passed a flamboyant character with rouged cheeks and blackened
lashes who raised a plucked eyebrow at Henry as he walked past. None of these
fellows seemed the least concerned that anyone would object to these peacock
displays, these blatant signs of deviance, and the idea of having such freedom
to express oneself made Henry giddy.

Seeing all the street activity solidified Henry’s impression
that this was in fact a significant queer society functioning in tandem with
his parents’ world, running on a parallel track. There seemed to be all manner
of businesses catering to the needs of fairies and queer gentlemen, and it was
a thriving neighborhood, and it seemed very possible that people could live out
full lives here, eating in the restaurants and making purchases in the shops,
just as normal people did in their own neighborhoods. This was the sort of
place he wanted for himself, for him and Martin together. He would have to
convince Martin that he wanted it, too.

There was a boy selling newspapers at the corner of the
block, and Martin stopped Henry with a hand on his arm.

“We should buy a paper, Sir, to see if your father is
reporting you missing.”

Martin was so smart! He thought of all the things Henry
didn’t think of. He really should have asked for Martin’s help in planning
their getaway in the first place—if he’d done so, Martin wouldn’t be so upset
now, and the plan would have been a better one.

He made a cursory examination of the paper standing there in
the street and, seeing nothing, folded it back up and tucked it under his arm
to be perused in full at the restaurant.

The Fleur-de-Lys Café was both shabby and over-decorated,
everything gilded or worn or both. The cooking smells were delicious, however,
and the place was busy, most of the tables occupied when they arrived. The
other patrons interested Henry; they were young, on the whole, and mostly
dressed in what Henry considered a very stylish manner, similar to the men
they’d been passing on the street. There was a young woman in an elaborate hat
sharing a table with a flamboyant fellow, but the rest of the patrons were all
pairs and groups of men. Several of the patrons looked a bit worse for wear, as
if they'd been up all night, and Henry supposed it was possible they had been.
He liked the idea of living a life with Martin where they'd have cause to be up
till all hours, out on the streets, doing as they pleased.

The handsome young waiter was very friendly and interested,
although perfectly servile. He asked if they were new to the neighborhood,
indicating that most of the other patrons were regulars.

“We're visiting,” Henry said.

“Well, you're most welcome here, sir.” The waiter smiled and
winked, taking Henry aback. Was the man
flirting
with him? How
unprecedented! How utterly delightful!

Coffee was brought to the table. Martin pronounced it very
good and seemed surprised of it. Well aware that Martin was doubtful of what
they were doing, any little thing that pleased him was something for Henry to
be glad of.

As they looked over their menus, in a hoarse whisper Henry
asked, “Do you see, Martin? All the men like us?”

Martin sniffed and said, “They’re
not
like us, Sir,
not at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“
You
come from a society family, Sir,” Martin said in
a supercilious tone. “
These
people wouldn’t be allowed to darken your
house’s service door.”

Henry burst out laughing, drawing the interest of fellows
from surrounding tables. Blushing but amused, Henry said, “You’re such a snob,
Martin.”

Martin shrugged, not looking up from his menu.

Henry tried again. “It’s all men who…who enjoy other men,
you can see that, I know you can.”

Again Martin shrugged, conceding the point.

“We can go to another big city, and we can find a place like
this,” Henry said, leaning across the table to be sure he was heard. “We can
live as free men, and we can be together and no one will pay us any mind.”

Martin’s only response was a sigh.

After they ordered, Henry looked at the paper, handing each
section to Martin as he finished scanning it. There was nothing about the
Blackwells at all, nothing about a prominent industrialist's missing heir. Did
Father not care that he was gone? Despite what Reggie and Jesse said, Henry had
never believed Father was especially fond of him.