A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (37 page)

“We have pretzels,” he told Martin. “Or I can send one of
the lads out for a sandwich, if you’d like.”

“Ha!” Henry said too loudly, giving Martin a little shove.
“Told you.”

Martin ignored him. “I’d appreciate some pretzels for Mr.
Blackwell and myself, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Anything you want,” Scotty assured him. “It’s no trouble at
all.”

Henry finished his drink and pushed the empty glass toward
Scotty. “Another, please, barkeep.”

“Really, Henry?” Martin sounded so disapproving! Honestly,
Henry didn’t appreciate his attitude, and he didn’t appreciate being scolded in
front of Scotty.

“Just one more,” Henry insisted. “It’s all right because
we’re getting food. Come on, Martin, you have one, too.”

Martin wanted to say yes, Henry could tell. It
was
a
good drink.

“Come on,” Henry repeated, squeezing his knee. “It’s a
special occasion, after all.”

“What’s the occasion?” Scotty asked. Turning to Martin, he
asked, “So, another for you, as well, Mr. Durant?”

As Martin nodded his assent to Scotty, Henry informed the
bartender that, “The occasion is that Mr. Durant and I are starting fresh.
We’re beginning an adventure together.” Scotty looked and listened with polite
interest as he began pouring ingredients into his cocktail shaker. Henry turned
to Martin. “We could buy a clipper ship and sail to an uncharted island if you
wanted.”

Martin shook his head. “I don’t think we have enough money
for our own clipper ship, Henry.”

“We could book passage on someone else’s ship, then,” Henry
suggested. “You speak some Italian, right? We could visit Reggie in Italy. We
could take the train out to San Francisco. We don’t even have to go that far.
We could go to Philadelphia or Boston. We could go south to Charleston or New
Orleans. Where do you want to go, Martin?”

Martin looked a bit flustered. Scotty put fresh drinks in
front of them and lingered, still listening.

“I’d just as soon stay here, Henry. Really, I doubt we’ll
find any place better than this city.”

Henry shook his head. “No, I think we definitely have to
leave. I want to be somewhere where no one knows me, where no one has any
expectations. I want to go somewhere I’m not going to be disappointing people
by letting myself be happy.”

“There has to be some way for you to have your cake and eat
it, too, Henry. Surely, there can be compromises.”

“You just don’t want to leave, is all.” Henry took a big sip
of his drink and set the glass down a little hard, sloshing the liquor onto the
bar top. “I don’t think you trust me to take care of you.”

Scotty set the pretzels down before them along with a
ramekin of pungent mustard.

Martin didn’t answer, but instead began eating. “Oh, this is
good, Henry. Try some.”

“You
don’t
trust me.” Henry picked up his pretzel and
tore off a piece a little angrily.

Martin sighed. “You’re asking me to adjust to a lot of
changes in a hurry, Henry. I need things to slow down.”

“The worst is already past,” Henry pointed out, attempting
levity. “Your hair’s already been cut.”

Martin scowled and shot him a sharp sidelong glance, a
warning. “
Don’t
tease about my hair, Henry.”

“I saved it, remember? Your tail?” He said this hoping it
would make Martin feel better, but not actually sure why it
would
.

It didn’t, and Martin was sneering at him now, plainly
furious. “What can I do with
that
, Henry? I could pin it on my hat, I
suppose, and pretend it’s still attached.”

Martin’s anger was unnerving.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” Henry leaned close and put a
tentative hand on Martin’s arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have
made light. I wouldn’t have had it cut if it wasn’t necessary, Martin. You
understand this, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to run off, Henry. I don’t want to pretend to
be free. I want to go home.”

Henry asked a question and steeled himself for the answer.
“Don’t you want to be with me, Martin?”

“
Yes.
Of course I do, Henry.” The question seemed to
infuriate Martin, who glared at him, lips pressed together in a bloodless line.

“Then you’ll have to come with me,” Henry told him. “We
can’t stay here, Martin. It’s not safe. We can’t let my father catch up to us.
I won’t let you be sent back to Ganymede.”

Martin scowled, and it was obvious he disagreed with
everything Henry said.

Henry would have to try harder. He presented Martin with his
dream: “I want to go someplace where we can live as free men and be together as
equals—”

Martin scoffed at this, looking disgusted.

“—as
equals
, Martin. Why does that make you upset?”

“I’m sorry,
Sir
, but I don’t think you understand
what equal means.
Equals
don’t order one another to get haircuts!
Equals
don’t force each other to dress as ridiculous dandies.
Equals
don’t just
name
each other without asking!
Equals
should have an
equal
say in what happens. You’ve been imposing your will on me more in these last
two days than in all the time you’ve been my master till now, Henry, and the
last thing it seems is
equal
.” Martin’s face was tense and pale,
hostile, and it was terrible to see him like this.

Martin certainly had a point.

In the quiet following Martin’s furious outburst, Henry kept
very still, his face miserably hot, and found he couldn’t meet Martin’s fierce
gaze. “I-I’m sorry, Martin. I really am. You’re right; I haven’t taken your
feelings into account at all. It’s just…I was so afraid my father would find
out what we are to each other, and we’d be separated, and you’d be sent back to
Ganymede, and I’d have no way to get you back. We had to get away as quickly as
possible, and I had to make decisions.” He stared into the depths of his drink.
“I should have asked you to help me decide, though. I should have asked your
opinion.”

“I’m always willing to offer my opinion, Sir,” Martin said
in a small, dignified voice.

“I’ll treat you better, Martin, I will. I’ll treat you like
a real equal. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting.” He thought a moment and
admitted, “Being here in this neighborhood, surrounded by people like us, I…I
just got caught up in doing what I wanted. I’ll be more considerate from now
on, I promise.” He dared a glance at Martin, who looked slightly less angry,
but quite sad.

“You’re my master, Henry, and I’ll
always
do as you
say, but until now you’d never asked me to do anything I didn’t want to do…” He
bit his lip and turned away. Looking at Martin’s pained expression in the
mirror behind the bar, Henry was dismayed to realize he was trying not to cry.

“I’m really sorry, Martin.” He felt small and stupid and
woefully unmanly, but he had to at least pretend to be strong. He rubbed
Martin’s back in soothing circles, and Martin leaned into the touch.

In a low voice, almost inaudible in the loud barroom, Martin
said, “I love you, Henry. Let me help you decide what we’ll do.”

“I will,” Henry promised. “We’ll decide together.”

Martin smiled. “Thank you.” He tilted on his stool so that
his shoulder bumped Henry’s, and Henry was flooded with a sense of relief, so
thankful that Martin seemed to have at least partially forgiven him.

They finished their drinks and their pretzels and Scotty was
kind enough to bring them glasses of water.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” Scotty asked.

“No, thank you,” Henry told him, feeling more charitable
toward the bartender now that Martin was less angry, possibly forgiving. Henry
paid the bill, which seemed quite low to him, and gave Scotty a generous tip.
He felt he could be magnanimous toward the bartender since, after all, Martin
was going home with him.

“Come back and see me again,” Scotty suggested. Henry did
not think he was included in the invitation.

Out on the street, Martin slipped his arm through Henry’s
without Henry having to ask him to do it, though it seemed he did this more to
support and maneuver Henry along the sidewalk and less out of wanting to flaunt
their relationship, and they made their way back to the Calamus. Toby was
behind the desk and called out, “Good evening, Mr. Blackwell.” In the creaky
elevator, Henry reeled Martin in and held him close all the way to the fourth
floor.

“You’re drunk, Sir,” Martin murmured, but he didn’t push
Henry away.

Inside the room, Henry sat down on the edge of the saggy bed
and tried to remove his boots.

“Let me do it, Sir.” Martin knelt down and quickly untied
them.

Henry flopped back on the bed and swung his legs up,
wriggling around to get comfortable and trying not to slide into the trough.
Martin bent and removed his own boots, then hung his jacket on the back of the
desk chair before joining Henry on the bed, his movements somewhat hesitant,
his manner reserved. Henry tried to kiss him but Martin was reluctant, turning
his face away.

“Martin…?”

“I’m not in the mood, Sir.”

This had never happened before, not ever, and now he’d been
rejected twice in one day. Henry was shocked. Before Martin, he had feared
rejection, but since Martin had come into his life, he had never experienced
it, and had imagined they were beyond the possibility of such a thing. His
hands began to shake and his stomach felt leaden with dread.

“Please, Martin.” He didn’t know what to do; he would beg if
he had to.

“I’m still a little upset with you, Henry. I’m not in the
mood for sex right now.”

But Martin loved having sex! Martin had such praise for his
cock! He could make Martin come harder than anyone else ever had! How could
Martin not want him?

Martin was still speaking, his words faintly slurred. “All
this talk of equals, Henry…you know, I’ve been with boys who really felt I was
their equal—”

“Richard, you mean,” Henry said sullenly.

“Richard and others, too, Henry. Boys who believed I was
just as good as them, just the same. They let me do things you won’t let me
do.”

“Like what?” Henry knew what, though, and clenched his
buttocks reflexively.

“They’d let me play with their asses, Henry, and then they’d
let me fuck them. Richard loved for me to play with his ass.” Martin had his
chin up, defiant. He might have even been trying to make Henry angry; clearly,
he understood this was a possibility and was willing to take the risk.

This information was titillating and enraging and made Henry
desperately jealous. Whatever Richard had done, he wanted to do, as well.

“Is that what you want? I’ll do it,” Henry decided.
“Whatever you want, Martin.”

Now Martin seemed to reconsider. “No, Sir, you’re drunk. We
both are. I shouldn’t be pushing. Another time, Sir.”

“I’m not
that
drunk.” Henry grabbed Martin’s hand and
held it over his half-hard cock, pressing down. “Don’t you want to?”

Henry didn’t know how to read Martin’s expression.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Martin said slowly, “But
this isn’t how I imagined it would happen.” Martin shook his head. “We could
have done it so many times before, at home in your nice bed.”

Henry liked that Martin
had
imagined it, that Martin
had
wanted it.

“I was scared to do it before,” Henry told him. “I’m not
scared now—”

“Because you’re drunk.” Martin snorted and gave Henry’s
shoulder a nudge.

“Maybe a little drunk. But I’m not scared, Martin. I love
you, and I want you to do it.”

He
was
scared though. He was afraid that it would
hurt, but even more so he was afraid of what it would mean to allow it to be
done to him. He’d already done so many things that a gentleman shouldn’t do,
but once he’d done this final thing, he’d have to acknowledge, if only to
himself, that he was an unrepentant degenerate fairy, and the prospect was
daunting. But despite his fears, he did want to try. He wanted to have
something, another thing, to tie Martin to him, and to make them equal in every
way.

“This isn’t really the place for a person like you to…to
surrender his virtue, Henry,” Martin said.

“What do you mean, a person like me?”

Martin smiled down at him. “A little prince of industry,” he
said, not unkindly. “You deserve better than
this
.” He lifted his hand
from Henry’s prick and gestured around the room.

“You’re such a snob,” Henry said fondly. “I just need you. I
don’t need a fancy room.”

“Do you really want this? If it’s only because of what I
said about Richard…”

“It’s not,” Henry hurried to insist.

“You’re not in competition with him, Henry, you know that.”

“You loved him a lot,” Henry said sullenly.

“Oh, Henry.” Martin sighed and pushed Henry’s hair back from
his forehead. “Please don’t be jealous. If you want me to take this idea of us
as equals seriously, you have to accept that I loved someone before—”

“I do!” Henry insisted. He caught Martin’s wrist and pulled
his hand down to press over his heart.

“—before I even met you. I had every right to love him. My
time with Richard was very brief and very precious and I won’t apologize for
it.”

“I’m not asking you to.” He hesitated a few moments, then
said, “But I
am
in competition with him. He was more generous than me—”

“Henry, I never said that!”

“But he was. He gave you things I’ve been afraid to let you
have. But now I’m telling you I’m not afraid anymore, and I want you to have
everything.”

Martin smiled at him and bent to kiss him, very tenderly. “I
appreciate the sentiment, I really do.”

Henry gasped with relief as Martin’s lips pressed against
his own. He pulled Martin down to lie on top of him, embarrassed by how much he
wanted Martin’s kiss, and by how meaningful it seemed. Martin kissed him again
and again, and Henry held tightly to him, his hands ranging over Martin’s back.
He lifted his hand to run his fingers through Martin’s hair, but of course his
beautiful hair was gone. Oh, how he would miss Martin’s hair!