A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (39 page)

“What? Sure, we’ll go sometime,” Henry said. “But I’ve got to get home now.”

“All right, then. See you, Henry.”

Henry called out impatiently, “Martin? Come on.”

Martin came. He smiled at Henry, and Henry felt such a longing that his knees went weak. Martin came close and leaned in to whisper in Henry’s ear. “I thought about it
all day long
, Sir. It made it hard for me to keep still.” Just the backs of their hands touching, just the warmth of Martin’s breath against his ear, was enough to make Henry ache.

“I want to go home,” Henry murmured. “With you. So badly.”

“Oh, Sir,” Martin breathed. “That’s what I want, too.”

But first there was Louis to deal with, Louis and Peter. If he attempted to ditch Louis, Louis would want to know why. It was better to go home with them, like always.

Louis had heard the peep show proposition and was all for it, chattering about it all the ride home. He was also eager to explore the area around this new penny arcade, a neighborhood where prostitutes were known to ply their trade. Louis believed they would be exotic in some way, worth seeing.

“But don’t you think they’ll just look like regular women anyway?” Henry asked, quite tired of the subject.

“They’ll be different somehow,” Louis insisted. “More paint, definitely. Different clothes. They wear different colors.”

Henry was fairly certain there were no colors reserved for prostitutes but let it pass. “Maybe,” Henry allowed, hoping this vague acquiescence would put Louis in a good mood. Refusing him now might make him want to stick around and argue.

At the Blackwell gate, Louis waved a cheery goodbye and he and Peter kept walking.

Now Henry looked at Martin and saw him, saw the raw need in his eyes. He swallowed hard and resisted the urge to put his hands on Martin out here on the sidewalk. “We need to go inside,” he said, dry-mouthed, and Martin nodded in emphatic agreement.

Paul opened the door to them and they shed their coats hurriedly, passing him nearly at a run, taking the stairs two at a time. As they hurried down the hall, Katie came out of one of the unused bedrooms and ducked into another with her duster and Martin gave her a polite nod in passing. They were quiet, Henry holding his breath without meaning to. It seemed important that no one know what they were doing.

When they reached the end of the hall, Henry pulled Martin inside his room, shut the door and locked it, and pushed Martin up against the heavy oak with shaking hands. It seemed important to say it before he did it: “I’m going to kiss you.” He sounded terrified to his own ears, but also exultant. He wanted so badly to do it!

Martin closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the door. “Oh, Sir, you
shouldn’t
.” It wasn’t allowed; they both knew it.

Henry leaned closer, his lips almost touching Martin’s. “But will you like it if I do?”

“
Yes!
” Martin opened his eyes again and smiled at him. “Oh, yes, Sir.” He took off his glasses, folded them closed, and slipped them into the breast pocket of his school jacket. His remarkable eyes were dark with some intense emotion, pupils wide, lips parted as he waited for Henry to act.

Henry hesitated a moment. He had dreamed of this for so long, but he had never kissed anyone before, nothing more significant than a peck on the cheek. He held Martin’s shoulders flat against the door, then tentatively pressed his mouth against Martin’s plush lips and felt the warmth of Martin’s sigh, felt Martin’s body arch away from the door to press against his own. He had never been so close to another body, and Martin was so fiercely alive beneath his hands; it was unexpected, somehow, and remarkable.

Henry realized he was grimacing with tension, his lips tight and hard, and tried to make himself relax. “Like this, Sir,” Martin murmured. He roughly grabbed a handful of Henry’s hair and tilted his head for a better angle, licking his mouth open. Henry gasped, shocked and aroused, and reached for Martin’s agile tongue with his own, shyer and less sure.

The taste of Martin’s mouth was sweet and clean, the flesh soft and slick. Martin’s tongue seemed to find every sensitive spot in Henry’s mouth, and Henry clung to him, moaning. Areas that Henry would never have imagined to be erogenous—his gums, the corners of his lips—proved nearly maddeningly sensitive to Martin’s tender kisses, the wet sweep of his tongue. Martin slid a hand down to Henry’s ass and pulled him closer, tighter, groaning against his mouth. Henry’s cock was so hard it hurt and he could feel Martin’s, just as hard, pressing against his own. The door creaked behind Martin’s back as they moved against one another in a hard, slow grind.

“Sir, Sir,” Martin said, breaking the kiss. Henry ignored him and bent to nip at his neck, which made him gasp sharply, but he persisted. “Sir,” he said. “This will be better without our clothes.”

Oh, god,
Henry thought.
It will be! It will be so much better!

“Don’t you want me naked, Sir? Think of that, Sir, me naked and hard for you.”

Henry went wide-eyed, galvanized by Martin’s words, his saucy mouth. Martin didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped around Henry and began to undress right away. Usually, Martin was very particular about where clothes were put, but now he let his jacket slide from his shoulders to the carpet, waistcoat after that. Henry watched, open-mouthed, for a stupid moment, then came back to himself and hurriedly began to work at removing his own clothes, dropping his jacket and waistcoat as Martin had done.

Martin was wearing elastic-sided boots and could just toe them off, but Henry’s were laced up around his ankles. He knelt down to untie them, glancing up frequently to see how much progress Martin had made. He was rendered stupid again when Martin shed his drawers and stood naked before him, his pretty cock hard for Henry, just as he’d said it would be.

Martin smiled down at him. “It’s because of you I’m like this, Sir,” he said. “Because of how you kissed me, like a real lover.” He took hold of his cock and gave it a couple of loose strokes. “But it’s not fair that I’m the only one naked.” He came to crouch beside Henry and, smiling, gave him a sweet kiss. “Here, let me do that, Sir.”

Martin made short work of the knots Henry had made in his laces as Henry stood upright on shaky legs and shed his clothes. He shrugged his braces off his shoulders. His school tie slithered to the floor; his dropped collar glanced off of Martin’s bent back and rolled across the carpet. Martin pulled Henry’s boots from his feet and reached up from where he knelt to unbutton his trousers. Henry held his breath as Martin slid his trousers from his hips and let them drop to his ankles. His prick was hard, straining at the fly of his drawers, the fabric translucent over the wet head.

“Oh, Sir,” Martin said, in the manner of someone being presented with a delicious treat, “Oh, Sir, is it really for me?” He knelt up, holding onto Henry’s hips, his happy face at the level of Henry’s groin, and mouthed him through his drawers, which was so unlike anything that had ever happened to Henry before that it made him squeak, a frightened sound that he immediately regretted, but all Martin did was laugh delightedly and smile up at him. He unbuttoned Henry’s drawers and pulled them down and leaned in to nuzzle the wiry hair at the base of his cock and Henry’s knees buckled and he fell back against the door.

Martin laughed again, stood, and held out his hand for Henry to take, pulling him to his feet.

“Come over here, Sir. Come lie down.” Martin led him toward the bed, put his arms around his neck and kissed him, then put his hands flat against his bare chest and pushed him backward until he felt the side of the bed against the backs of his legs and sat abruptly down.

“Lie back, Sir.” Martin climbed onto the bed beside him, erection bobbing between his thighs, and pushed at his shoulder. Henry did as he was told. Martin knelt at his hip, sitting on his heels, and said, “Is this all right, Sir? Can I do this?” He put his hand low on Henry’s belly which made Henry gasp, but he placed his hand over Martin’s so he could not easily pull it away.

“Anything’s all right,” Henry assured him. “Anything you might do.”

Martin laughed, his mouth close to Henry’s ear, which sent sparks shimmering along Henry’s nerves.

“Anything? I can think of so many things, Sir!” He bent to kiss Henry’s chest, Henry gasping at the flick of his tongue against a nipple. “Such a beautiful cock, Sir,” Martin said, genuinely appreciative. “I could eat it up.”

His words made Henry lightheaded with a frantic, nearly unbearable lust. Martin bent over, his hair pooling in waves on Henry’s belly, and took him into his mouth, soft and wet and close. Henry felt as if he had been electrified, sensation fizzing in his nipples and fingertips, the center of his being neither his brain nor his heart, but instead his almost painfully sensitive cock engulfed in the wet heat of Martin’s lips and clever tongue. Martin pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up at Henry, smiling around his cock, and Henry grunted, all the air pushed out of his lungs by the erotic force of this picture. Martin lifted his head, let Henry’s cock slide out of his mouth.

“Do you like this, Sir?” he asked. “Do you like having your cock sucked?”

“Yes!” Henry whimpered. “Yes! Please don’t stop!”

Henry’s hands hovered around Martin’s head and shoulders as Martin bent back to his task. Martin sucked in the head with an obscene slurping sound, completely filthy, and Henry had never imagined anything like this, anything so dirty and perfect. As he sucked, Martin made excited little grunts, like he was eating something delicious, something he couldn’t get enough of, spoon after spoon.

Henry writhed and petted Martin’s head, lifting his hips to meet Martin’s wet mouth. He made sounds—gleeful, shameful animal sounds—that he’d never made before. Martin swallowed hard around his cock and Henry spilled over in thick pulses, crying out in surprise, his hands twisted tight in Martin’s hair. He lay still and stunned, breathing hard. Dazed, he felt his softening cock slide from between Martin’s lips.

He raised his head and looked down the length of his own body at Martin, who wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled, fond and triumphant.

“Come up here,” Henry said. “Beside me.”

“Sir?”

“I want to do it to you, too.” Henry nodded at Martin’s cock, jutting up between his pale thighs.

Martin moaned and his cock jerked at Henry’s words. “Oh, no, Sir, you
mustn’t
—”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Henry reminded him. “And stop calling me ‘sir.’ Call me by my name.”

“Yes, Si—
Henry
.”

Martin stretched out at Henry’s side, trembling and aroused, and Henry got to his knees and leaned over him, pushing his shoulders so that he lay back on the bed. Martin looked up at Henry, his breath coming fast and hard. Seeing him like this, Henry’s chest ached with longing, and the longing felt so good that it was almost a shame to have it satisfied.

Henry hesitated to put his hands on Martin, afraid that his inexperience would make him clumsy, and his hand shook as his fingertips came to touch the hollow of Martin’s throat, the tattoo that meant he belonged to Henry, and then trailed across his chest. His skin was soft and smooth and translucent; Henry traced a blue vein to Martin’s nipple, which hardened under his fingertips as Martin sighed and arched his back.

Martin’s body felt like a new land that only Henry could map, muscles shifting beneath his hands as he bent to kiss Martin’s mouth. Martin met him halfway, welcoming Henry with his embrace, his fingers digging into Henry’s back as he pulled himself up, levitating into Henry’s weight. That Martin wanted him was a gift like nothing else he’d ever been given, and he fervently wished that he knew what he was doing so that he might better please him; that he might be, as Martin said, a lover.

“
Henry
,” Martin breathed in his ear. “Oh, Henry! I’ve wanted you so much!” He moved against Henry again, lithe and strong, and Henry gripped Martin’s hip and drew him close, running his hand up and down Martin’s side, through the curve of his waist. “Please, Sir…
Henry
, touch me,
please
touch me.” Martin took hold of Henry’s wrist and moved his hand low, flat against his trembling belly. “Please,” he said again. Skin hot and smooth, a ruff of crisp hair.

Henry looked down between their bodies, at Martin’s cock glossy and slick at the tip, and Henry was hard again, and shivering like he was cold even though he was burning. He watched his hand close around Martin’s cock as if from a fabulous distance and it was unbelievable that it was happening, that this was something he could really do, but it was true, Martin’s cock flexing in his fingers, blood rushing under the skin. Martin moved against him, urgent flicks of his hips, but Henry didn’t want it to be over like that. He wanted to do what Martin had done.

He pressed Martin down against the coverlet, held him there so he knew to stay, then slipped down to kneel between his spread legs. He bent his head to kiss the thin skin over Martin’s heart, then kissed a crooked line down his belly until he felt Martin’s cock nudge the underside of his jaw. He buried his nose in the coarse curls at the base of Martin’s cock and breathed in the very essence of him, sweat and the salt of skin, while Martin’s hips rolled, pushing his cock up along Henry’s cheek. Henry turned his head and kissed it almost chastely, nuzzled the thin, hot skin, and bathed it in his fevered breath.

“No, Henry, Sir, you mustn’t,” Martin said again, though without conviction. “
Please
,” he begged, his knees rising to either side of Henry’s shoulders. “Henry, I want—” He did not say what he wanted, but instead gasped as Henry lapped at the head of his cock.

At the first taste of it, Henry moaned and his own cock jerked, a contraction deep at the root. The taste of Martin, like sea water and the bitter tang of metal, familiar and like his own flavor, but superior because it was Martin, spread on his tongue. Henry held the shaft in his hand and licked all around the head as Martin shook beneath him.