A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (39 page)

When Martin broke off kissing him, his breath coming in
harsh pants, Henry grabbed him with a hand around the back of his neck and
crushed their mouths back together. His body twitched and jerked, cock leaking.
He felt so close to coming, each thrust teasing him, bringing him closer to the
edge. He hadn’t much considered what sex might feel like from the receiving
side, and he was unprepared. The experience of being fucked by Martin was
overwhelming. He was so accustomed to Martin’s cock in his hand or his mouth,
and he was unused to anything at all in his ass, yet he could feel Martin so
intensely there now, the shape of him moving through Henry and giving him an
awareness of his body unlike anything he’d known before. His hole clenched
around Martin’s cock with each hard thrust, each measured withdrawal, and
sharp, bright stabs of pleasure radiated out from the muscle. The sensations
deep within his body were even more extreme, jagged and raw; it was nearly
unbearable, yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and harder might do it, or
faster, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to beg, couldn’t even find the words.

Henry let go of Martin’s neck and fell back on the sheets,
his breath coming harsh and fast. He felt thrillingly helpless, entirely at
Martin’s mercy. He looked up into Martin’s handsome face, seeming so manly and
assured, and felt very aware of Martin’s experience, and for once did not feel
jealousy; rather, he was grateful to the boys of Ganymede for teaching Martin
exactly how to make him feel this good.

Martin’s strawberry hair was darkened with sweat, his cheeks
and chest flushed with effort and arousal as he thrust into Henry again and
again. He was the most beautiful man Henry had ever seen, and he was Henry’s
own. Henry reached up to touch Martin’s mark, fingers splayed across Martin’s
collarbones, and felt the pulse leap in his neck.

He loved him so much. All he wanted was to be at his side
forever.

“Touch yourself, Henry. I want to see you come.”

His cock was fat, overripe, ready to burst. Martin's hips
slammed into Henry's ass as he swore under his breath. Henry made a ring of his
fingers and slipped it around the wet head of his cock. He was going to come so
hard; he could feel it building, his balls tight to his body. The dry skin of
his fingers felt exquisitely textured against the slick of his cockhead.
Martin's thrusts dragged intense sensation from deep within his body, making
him shudder with every stroke. Henry gave his cock a few pulls, rapid, just
touching the head, the sensitive skin swollen almost purple, and he came with
long, drawn-out cries, whole body contracting to push out the orgasm, white
stars exploding behind closed lids, feeling the hot semen spatter his chest.

“Oh, Henry, that’s perfect,” Martin said, sounding so proud
of him. “So beautiful.” Martin slammed against him three more times, four, and
came saying, “Oh, god,
Henry
.” He slumped over Henry a moment, then
pushed himself up, arms straight, rocking his hips against Henry's ass and
letting his breathing slow. Henry could feel Martin's cock slowly softening,
diminishing inside his body. He wrapped his legs around Martin's back, trying
to keep him in, keep him close as long as possible, and pulled Martin down to
kiss him. Martin broke the kiss, rubbed his nose alongside Henry's. He
whispered, “Did you like that?”

Henry laughed. He reached up and brushed the hair out of
Martin's eyes and smiled. “I did.” He winced regretfully as Martin's cock slid
out of his ass. “But I don't think I could do that every time.” It had been too
much, too intense.

Martin eased himself off of Henry and stretched out beside
him, his hand resting on Henry's belly. “You don't need to, not for my sake.
But I’ll do it any time you ask.”

Henry lowered his knees, straightening his legs. He felt
pleasantly wrung out. “I love you, Martin. So much.”

Martin propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down
at Henry's face. “I know you do, Henry. I love you, too.”

Because he'd always let Martin do the clean-up before, Henry
thought he might do it this time, and sat up and swung his legs over the edge
of the bed.

“Henry, where are you—?”

“I'm just going to—” Henry stood and his legs buckled and he
slumped against the side of the bed.

Martin was there, his hands on Henry's arms, easing him back
down onto the rumpled sheets. “Lie down. You're going to be a bit wobbly.”

“I just wanted to get a cloth,” Henry explained. “
You
always hop right up and get it.”

Martin laughed. “We're different. I'm
trained
.”

Henry did not think that could account for it entirely.

Martin went to the bathroom and splashed some water around,
then came back with a damp cloth to wipe Henry's chest and the oil-slicked skin
around his asshole. He smiled fondly down at Henry. “Did it feel like you
expected?”

“No,” Henry admitted. “It was more…” His voice trailed off;
he had no words to describe it. It had been overwhelming. He'd been scared, a
little. Never, in all the times he had fucked Martin, had he ever considered
how brave a person had to be in the receptive position, how brazenly
vulnerable, and he felt ashamed of himself for taking Martin's submission for
granted.

“I don't believe you're a bottom by inclination,” Martin
remarked. “I think it's something you might enjoy every now and then, but not
for every day.” He took his cloth back into the bathroom, then climbed onto the
bed and slid down to lie with Henry in the trough.

“A bottom? Is that what it's called?”

“Bottoms and tops,” Martin told him. “
I'm
a bottom,
most definitely, and you're a top. But we can both be flexible.” He kissed
Henry's chest. “Some people are very rigid in their preferences, but I think
it's nicer if one can try new things.”

“Like what we're doing here, for instance,” Henry pointed
out, waving a hand to take in the whole squalid room. “It's
all
a new
thing.”

Martin shrugged, conceding the point.

“Our life is going to be wonderful, Martin, I promise.” He
kissed Martin's forehead and hugged him close. He could see their future
blazing brilliant: free men having a marvelous adventure.

Henry woke near eleven o’clock on Friday, the day of the
possible men’s ball, with Martin already awake and watching him.

“Good morning. How do you feel today?” He ran a hand down
Henry's side, cupped his buttock, squeezed.

“It hurts a little,” Henry admitted. “But I don't mind.” His
asshole felt swollen and tender, but the sensations served as a pleasant
reminder of all they'd done.

“See, Henry?” Martin said, sitting up and swinging his feet
to the floor. “Sometimes it’s nice when things hurt.” He laughed and put on his
glasses.

Henry had Martin run him a deep bath and soaked, the hot
water soothing to his tender hole. He felt like he was a fully-initiated queer
now, which he was a little proud of. Martin got in with him and washed them
both. When they got out, Martin dried him and then coaxed him to bend over, his
hands on the rim of the tub, and licked his asshole, pointing out that it was
just freshly clean and so Henry ought not to have any objections.

“Touch yourself.”

Henry did as he was told, bedeviled by Martin’s tongue and
gasping, and came quickly. Martin then made himself come, kneeling on the
bathmat while Henry sat on the edge of the tub and watched. Henry reached to
push Martin’s hair off his forehead and Martin rubbed his face against Henry’s
palm, kissed it with an open mouth, and came with Henry’s fingers deep in his
throat.

Martin shaved them both and dressed Henry in the grey suit
and himself in the brown.

“Why did you decide to bring this one?” Martin asked,
frowning down at the brown suit. “Why not the green, or the blue plaid, or the
black-and-grey check? You love that checked suit.”

Henry blushed, feeling slightly annoyed with Martin for
bringing it up. “We were in a hurry,” he said. He’d panicked, essentially.
“Besides, you’ll have more to wear later today.” That the new clothes weren’t
really anything Martin wanted to wear either went unsaid.

They bought a paper and went back to the Fleur-de-Lys for
breakfast, where their waiter of the previous morning remembered them and
seemed genuinely pleased to see them. Once again, the place was packed with
mostly men, all unshy of demonstrating their interest in one another. He noted
again that Martin drew a great deal of admiration, but so did he; they were
young and handsome and well-dressed. Henry would not have guessed it would be
conducted so openly, this meeting and ascertaining of interest, though he found
it exciting that it was.

Their waiter was friendly and flirtatious, and he was a
handsome man with coloring similar to Martin’s, clearly confident in his
appeal, but even so Henry would choose Martin; he suspected he’d always choose
Martin.

Although he was distracted by the socializing going on all
around him, Henry made himself finish going through the paper while he ate; the
only mention of Blackwell was in regard to the railroad his father owned, and
there was no reference to a missing heir. Martin must be right about Father
waiting for a ransom note. Henry didn’t like the idea of everyone being worried
about him for so long. They’d definitely send a note before leaving the city,
timing it so they’d be long gone by the time it reached his father’s hands.

Inspired by the louche atmosphere of the restaurant, Henry
leaned across the table and spoke in a low voice. “If you could have any man
here, who would you pick?”

Martin rolled his eyes and smiled. “It would be you, Henry.”
He ate a bite of his pancake and licked the syrup from his lip.

“All right,
besides
me. Who would you pick?”

Martin considered this a moment, eyes narrowed, as he
surveyed the restaurant. “The waiter,” he said slowly. “He wants you, it’s
quite obvious, and I think I’d like to see that.”

That was an interesting turn, Martin imagining them having
someone together. “That’s really more for me, isn’t it? You wouldn’t pick
someone for yourself?”

“I’ve had other partners,” Martin said dismissively. “and I
certainly do like that you’ve only been with me, but maybe you’d like a broader
experience.”

Henry both did and didn’t want this for himself. But when he
tried to imagine making love to another man, any other man, instead his mind
went unbidden to an image of Martin entwined with Tom, and his face went hot
with titillated guilt.

Martin leaned across his plate, his voice lowered. “You feel
so good to me, and I know you’d feel good to that waiter, or to anyone else.”
Martin’s ankle rubbed along Henry’s beneath the table. “I can just imagine the
look on his face when he’d see your beautiful cock. I’d love to hear the sound
he’d make when you fucked him and filled him up with that very first thrust.”

Henry blushed and shifted in his chair. He hadn’t really been
thinking about where the conversation might go when he’d started talking.

Martin leaned closer, lowering his voice further still. “Or
if you didn’t want that, Henry, then I’d want you to pick a man you like the
looks of, and he could fuck me while you watched, or you could fuck me while I
sucked his cock.”

Henry was picturing Tom again, or perhaps still. Two boys at
once, a group scenario. “Like at Ganymede,” Henry said dreamily.

“Yes, Henry. Like at Ganymede.” Martin dabbed at his mouth
with his napkin.

“You’d do that?”

“You know I’d do anything you wanted.”

Henry almost asked Martin if
he
wanted it, if
he
wanted Henry along with another man for his own sake. Now that they were
leaving their old life behind, Henry couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret
that he hadn’t ever worked out a way to get Tom into their bed, even though he
probably didn’t really want that. Not
really
. But now, with Tom no
longer a possibility, he was quite sure he couldn’t let another man touch
Martin. Not today. Maybe someday.

The waiter came by their table and smiled at Henry and asked
if there was anything else he could do for him, and Martin snickered and poked
Henry’s shin with the toe of his boot.

“Just the check, please,” Henry said, blushing. Once again,
the waiter brought two checks, and Henry remembered he needed to give Martin
some money. He imagined the waiter lying beneath him moaning and left him a big
tip.

They walked around the neighborhood arm in arm. They were
actually only a few blocks from the arcade where they’d spent so many hours
with Louis and Peter, and thinking of Louis made Henry sad. He wanted to think
of happy things; he thought of leaving the city and going somewhere no one
would know them and starting a life on their own terms. They’d be Mr. Watkins and
Mr. Durant. Or maybe he could think of a better name than Watkins; since Martin
had rejected it, Henry had had to reconsider whether it was any good after all.

“What are you thinking about, Henry?”

“Where we might go. San Francisco sounds exciting. Or, wait,
what about New Orleans? You said once that you wanted to go to Carnival.”

“But Mardi Gras was back in February.”

“Then we could be there and ready for next year.”

“What about Reggie? You said something about visiting
Reggie.”

It would be quite the adventure to take a ship across the
ocean and show up on Reggie’s doorstep, but Reggie might not appreciate it. Not
to mention the trouble Reggie could subsequently be in with Father, however
undeserved it might be. Also, they might have to wait around until a boat was
leaving, but if they stayed on the continent, they could take a train at any
time. They just had to decide where to go.

Henry shook his head. “I don’t think we should go to Reggie.
I hadn’t thought it through when I suggested it. Let’s think about New Orleans,
all right? Pros and cons.”

“Well, we don’t know anyone there,” Martin said, clearly
disapproving.

“Is that supposed to be a con? Because I definitely think
that’s a pro, Martin.”

“What would we do there? It might be hard for us to find
work.”

“We don’t have to work,” Henry told him. “Not for a long
time, anyway. We have plenty of money.”

Martin was not convinced. “Let’s just think about it a
little longer, please, Sir.”

Henry frowned, frustrated. They could pack their bags and be
on a train this afternoon, and he could simply
tell
Martin that was what
they were going to do, and Martin would go along…but he wanted Martin to be on
board with the plan. He wanted to give Martin an equal say, but he couldn’t
wait forever for Martin to decide. However, he supposed he could let Martin
have a little more time to think about things—he didn’t want to get on a train
today anyway, not when they had a men’s ball to attend tonight.

They came to a shoe store, a different one than where they’d
bought their patent leather boots, and Henry impulsively decided to go inside.
The shop had very stylish footwear, both traditional boots and more modern
low-cut shoes, many in two-tone patterns and with perforated wingtips. Henry
came away with black-on-grey boots and black-on-white shoes. He could not
induce Martin to try anything on which left him feeling somewhat disgruntled,
but the pleasure of new footwear ultimately overrode his annoyance.

They took Henry’s packages back to the Calamus. The maid had
been in and made up their bed. Martin found room for the shoeboxes in the
wardrobe and Henry flopped down on the bed.

From where he knelt before the wardrobe, Martin said, “Your
boots, Henry.”

Henry sat up and guiltily removed his boots before lying
down again.

Henry would have been content to simply laze about napping,
but Martin seemed determined to have sex. At first, Henry worried that Martin
wanted to fuck him again and wasn’t sure he wanted to do that; it had spooked
him a little, despite how good it had felt. That was not what Martin was after,
however; Martin wanted Henry’s cock inside him.

He undressed Henry completely and undressed himself from the
waist down, and while he rode Henry’s cock in his shirt and necktie, Henry
imagined that he was a fellow schoolboy, a free boy, who was too eager to be
penetrated to get all the way undressed. Henry came and then Martin straddled
his chest and fucked his mouth while Henry fingered him. Afterward, they slept,
Martin in shirtsleeves and Henry limp-limbed and naked.

He woke up to Martin easing out of bed. “Martin?”

“Sorry, Sir.
Henry
. It's getting late. I thought I'd
go pick up the suits, if that's all right. Why don’t you stay here and sleep?”
Martin pulled on his trousers and began tucking in his shirttails.

Henry liked the idea of Martin moving independently through
the world, and he liked the idea of Martin appreciating the gift of the
garments enough to think to fetch them. “Of course it's all right. I think I
will
just doze and wait for you here…”

Martin put on his jacket and reached for his hat.

“Wait,” Henry said. “Bring me my jacket, please.” Martin
did, and Henry reached into the inner breast pocket and pulled out his
billfold. “Before I forget. You need to have some money of your own. It won't
do for me to always pay your way.” He pulled out several bills of each
denomination without counting and pressed them into Martin's hand. “You should
buy a money clip or wallet or something at the shop.”

“Thank you, Henry.” Martin kissed him and was gone.

Henry slept again, dreaming amorphously of a new life in New
Orleans full of parades and wrought-iron balconies and easy-going people. He
woke to Martin moving quietly around the room, putting away his new clothes.
“Hello, you.”

Martin smiled very genuinely, in seeming good spirits, and
the sight of his beaming face made Henry’s heart soar. Martin looked happier
than he’d been since the day after the ball. Maybe it just took getting used to
these early tastes of freedom, collars and folding money. “Hello, Sir. I tried
not to wake you.”

Henry stretched and yawned. “It's all right. I slept long
enough.”

Martin picked Henry's pocket watch up off of the dresser.
“It's just after six o'clock, Sir. Should we get something to eat, something
small? I don't know if I can wait until midnight.”

Henry decided this was a good time to reassert his
preference. “Remember, Martin, call me Henry or call me nothing at all.”

“Henry,” Martin agreed. “Are you hungry, Henry?”

“I could eat,” he admitted. “Let's go out, then. We can go
visit Mr. Scott if you want. You wear something new.”

Martin’s smile broadened, a spark of playfulness. “You pick
it out. Tell me what to wear.”

Henry looked thoughtfully at the clothing hanging in the
wardrobe. “Black-and-grey-striped suit,” he said. “Pink shirt, green waistcoat,
and the black-and-white tie.”

Martin made a face. “Couldn't I wear the suit waistcoat?”

“You said I could dress you,” Henry reminded him. “I like
the green.”

With obvious effort, Martin reconciled himself to the idea.
“Very well.” He began to undress.