A Most Personal Property (Ganymede Quartet Book 1) (49 page)

Not even Dr. Foster’s derisive remarks could bring down Henry’s mood. Just the fact that he was in Latin class meant that the week was almost over. He was looking forward to an entire weekend spent in bed with Martin.

As they walked from the omnibus stop, Louis remarked, “You seem happier recently.”

“I do?”

“You were sad when school started. I was a little worried about you, because, well—”

“Because of my mother’s troubles,” Henry finished for him. “I know.”

Louis blushed. “Yes. Because of that. But you seem different recently. Since the fight with Adam, actually. Maybe you just really needed to break his stupid nose!”

Henry laughed. As if
Adam
had made him happy! But, he had, hadn’t he? If not for Adam, Henry would never have gotten up the nerve to touch Martin. He never would have allowed Martin to touch
him
again. “Next time I’m feeling down, remind me to punch Adam in the face.”

“It’ll cheer you right up,” Louis said agreeably. He affectionately bumped Henry with his shoulder, and Henry was reminded anew of what a good friend Louis had always been to him. Louis was the one person he really wished he could talk to about what was happening between him and Martin, but he knew better than to think that was a good idea. To Louis, fairies and queers were figures of ridicule, at best, and Henry could not bear to think that his oldest friend might feel contempt for him, especially when it came to something that was making him so happy.

At the Blackwell gate, Louis said, “We’ll ride our bikes this weekend, eh? Or something?”

“Or something,” Henry echoed. “Bye, Louis.”

Truthfully, Henry had no intention of seeing any of his friends this weekend. He only wanted to be with Martin. He resolved that he would come out of his room for meals, but for no other reason.

Once inside Henry’s room, the door locked, they undressed and kissed stretched out on the bed, limbs entwined. Martin made little helpless, breathy sounds and moved his hips to rub his hard prick alongside Henry’s. Henry petted and played with Martin’s cock, toying with the head, while Martin whimpered and arched his back. Somehow, in all his imaginings, Henry had never accounted for reactions, that anyone whose cock he manipulated would feel it, and respond to it, and
like
it. That it affected Martin so, and that he submitted so eagerly to Henry’s attentions were great gifts; Martin put himself so willingly into Henry’s hands, and Henry felt responsible to him and wanted to make everything feel as good as possible.

The curtains were open, and a generous square of sunlight moved slowly across the bedcover, a shimmer of dust motes caught in its path. Martin lay in the transitory sun, white as marble, and let Henry look at him as much as he liked. He lifted a hand to stroke Henry’s cheek.

“Do I please you, Sir? Henry?” His voice was so dreamy, such yearning in his tone.

“Nothing—no one—could please me more,” Henry assured him. It was true. Martin was a revelation and Henry might easily be undone by him, of that he had no doubt. Here in the autumnal light, everything about him was better than any of Henry’s uninformed imaginings of a lover’s body. Martin’s skin in all its pale glory, faintly freckled over his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, was softer than he’d thought a man’s skin could be, and downier. Martin’s cock was like yet so unlike his own, a wonder of damp, surging velvet stiffening instantly at his touch.

They compared, Henry straddling Martin’s hips, his balls resting on Martin’s, pushing his hard cock down with his thumb to meet Martin’s where it strained upward.

“I have a nice cock, but yours is nicer, Sir. Bigger.” Martin squeezed their cocks together in his fist. “And you have a looser foreskin. See how yours still moves when you’re hard, Sir? But mine’s all used up when I’m hard. Mine barely covers the head when I’m soft.”

“I never see your cock soft,” Henry said, which was nearly true. “As soon as you get naked, you’re hard.” He thought Martin’s cock prettier than his own, rosy pink and beautifully formed, the ridge of the head flaring out and feeling so good sliding against his tongue. Henry rubbed his thumb across the head, smearing fluid from the slit across the dome of it, and Martin squirmed beneath him.

“It’s because you make me so excited, Sir.” It was flattering to have Martin say so, and, better yet, it seemed to be the truth. Henry had never before understood what it would mean to be
wanted
, how it would feel to have desire returned.

Martin was meant to serve him, but all Henry wanted to do was to make him feel good. All Henry wanted was to know him like he’d never known anyone else, intimately and completely. With Martin spread out in their golden square of sun, Henry licked him everywhere, tasting every inch of his skin: his armpits and the salty backs of his knees, between his toes, behind his ears, and dipping into the shallow cup of his navel. And then, once again, and shaking with exhilaration, Henry made him get on hands and knees and licked the cleft of his ass and the pucker between the cheeks that contracted beneath his tongue as Martin shouted into a pillow and bucked his hips.

He put his fingers where his tongue had been and Martin gasped and thrust his hips back against the pressure. He kept a hand on Martin’s hip and reached for the nightstand with the other, coming back with the bottle of oil. He greased his cock and rubbed the head over Martin’s hole. Martin gave a little hiccup, breathy and needy, and leaned into the contact. Henry held his cock in readiness, pushed down on the head with his thumb to guide it in, and tilted his hips forward. Martin groaned and leaned into the pressure and they were joined, Henry taking hold of Martin’s hips and pulling him back further onto his cock.

Sex was still so new, and Henry wanted to know everything, wanted to learn it all. While he knew he could fuck Martin and come, that he could pound steadily away and they would both enjoy themselves, he felt he had experience enough now to see there could be nuances; he wanted to know what else could be done. He concentrated, paid attention; he tried different tempos, different angles, listening to Martin’s breath and the little grunts he made when Henry’s hips smacked into his ass. He saw the way Martin’s hands scrabbled for purchase on the coverlet when he fucked him hard and deep, and noted how Martin trembled when he hesitated mid-thrust, delighted in how he’d beg his name. Unsurprisingly, Martin made the most noise when he used long, hard strokes, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in. Henry bent over Martin’s back, wrapping his arms around his chest and pulled him upright to sit astride his lap, prick still deep in his ass.

“Henry! Sir!”

“Does it feel better from behind?” Henry asked, his cheek pressed to Martin’s shoulder blade. “Or if we’re facing each other?”

“I—
oh god!
—I couldn’t say, Sir. This feels very good, Sir!”

“My name, Martin.”

“Sorry, Si—
Henry
. What you’re doing feels so good!”

“I want to try it the other way, too.”

Obligingly, Martin climbed off his cock and lay down on his back, drawing his knees up to his chest. Henry guided his cock in, repeating his experiments and finding it much more exciting to see Martin’s face as he reacted to everything Henry did. He could also bend to kiss Martin as often as he wanted. Martin seemed to enjoy it even more than he’d liked getting fucked from behind. At one point, Martin suggested putting a pillow under his ass which made everything better, made access to his hole just a little bit easier. Henry knelt up, holding onto Martin’s hips, and drove into him roughly, watching his pretty cock bounce against his belly, watching his handsome face twist, then slacken, then twist again.

“Touch yourself,” Henry said, panting with effort. “I want to see you come.”

Martin took his cock in hand and bit his lip. He tugged it in rhythm with Henry’s thrusts. “Harder,” he said. “
Harder
, Henry.”

Henry did his best, slamming against Martin’s ass hard enough that his teeth snapped together like the jaws of a trap. Martin moaned and hitched his knees higher and stroked himself faster and faster until he stilled and tensed and then came with a single
Henry!
, painting his chest in streaks of white. Seeing this, Henry let himself feel all that had been building up and came a few thrusts later.

They lay panting on the bed, Martin on his back and Henry sprawled beside him, an arm over his ribs. Martin turned to him, smiling.

“You’re so good at this, Si—
Henry
. Are you quite sure you never did it before?”

Henry blushed at the praise. He even believed Martin was being sincere. “Of course not,” he said. “When would I have ever had the chance?”

“Sometimes boys, with one another, Henry…” Martin made a vague gesture, implying bodies coming together, but he offered this up as though it were obviously unlikely.

“Like who?
Louis?
” Henry laughed. “No, I promise, I’d never done anything like this until
you
.”

“You have a natural talent, then, Sir.” Martin slid out from beneath Henry’s arm and padded off to the bathroom.

Henry liked the idea that he was good at sex, or at least good at sex with Martin. But he also couldn’t avoid recognizing that Martin’s remarks alluded to Martin’s much broader experience. Henry understood he’d received some sort of training, but wasn’t sure what that entailed, and he’d been a little hesitant to ask. Martin had said he never expected to be sucked
again
, so obviously it had been done before. He was clearly comparing Henry’s performance with that of other partners, and even though he seemed to think Henry was at least as good as them, Henry was jealous.

Martin came back with his chest wiped clean, holding a basin and cloth to wash Henry. While Martin washed his cock for him, Henry formulated his question as best he could.

“At Ganymede,” he began, “what sort of training did you have for this, exactly?” He felt he’d done a good job of not sounding too accusatory.

Martin gave him a guarded look, so perhaps he had sounded a little blameful after all. “Thorough training, Sir. All boys are fully trained before they can be sold.”

“What does that mean, then?”

“We were taught to do anything a master might want to try, Sir.”

“You’re avoiding giving me a straight answer,” Henry said, beginning to get annoyed. “What things specifically?”

With an exasperated sigh, Martin said. “Fine, Sir, since you insist. We learned anal sex, oral sex, and manual stimulation, Sir.”

“How did you learn, then? Did you practice with a teacher? Or with a…a false cock of some kind?”

“A dildo, Sir?” Martin’s superior knowledge inflamed Henry’s irritation.

“Yes, whatever it’s called. So was it a teacher, or some wooden cock?”

“Both, Sir.”

“Both?”

“Well, at different times, Sir,” Martin explained.

“Stop calling me ‘sir,’” Henry reminded him sharply. “Say my name or say nothing.”

“As you wish, Henry.” He got up and took his basin back to the bathroom.

Although he didn’t like that he’d obviously upset Martin, Henry couldn’t help it. He felt slightly insane thinking about Martin lying under some other man, knees drawn up, begging the faceless stranger to go
harder, harder
.

Martin returned from the bathroom looking wary and guarded. He stood beside the bed, seeming hesitant to lie down.

“What are you waiting for?” Henry asked crossly. “Get up here, Martin.”

“Sir, are you mad at me?” Martin sat down on the edge of the bed gingerly, looking as if he might run for the safety of his own room at any moment.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Henry said petulantly, arms crossed over his chest. “Did you do anything wrong?”

Quietly, head bowed, Martin said, “No, Sir, I did not. I completed my training, which is why I’m here with you now. I did what was required of me.” He fidgeted with the edge of the coverlet, passing it absently between his fingers. “Please don’t be angry with me, Sir. It would have been the same with any companion you’d have chosen, really.”

Henry didn’t want to be mad at Martin but he didn’t know how to stop. If he could explain it to Martin, if he could make him understand, maybe it would fix itself. Henry doubted he could articulate his feelings well enough, but he had to try.

“This means a lot to me, Martin, these last few days.
You
mean a lot to me. I never thought anybody would want to…” Henry didn’t know what words to use, and finished lamely “…with me. I wasn’t even sure that other people really wanted to do these things. It makes me crazy to think that maybe this isn’t anything special to you.”

“Oh, Henry.” Martin leaned in, took hold of Henry’s arm. “Believe me, Sir, what I have with you is very special.” He shifted closer still to Henry, his expression avid and tender. “Please try not to be jealous, Sir.
This
, with you, is what I dreamed of—even better than my dream. The ones who came before, they were only what I needed to do to get me to this point, here with you.” He smiled fondly at Henry and ruffled Henry’s chest hair with his fingertips. “You’re a real lover to me, Henry. You can’t imagine what that means to me.”

“I wasn’t going to be,” Henry admitted. “I was afraid that I—well, I was afraid. But then Adam touched you and I couldn’t stand it, that he knew you in a way that I didn’t.

When Henry said Adam’s name, Martin made a sour face. “He’s a pig, Sir. I know I shouldn’t say that about a master, but it’s the truth.”

“If he ever touches you again, I’ll kill him,” Henry said, and realized as he said it that it was true and not just boastful talk. “If anyone touches you, I’ll make them sorry.”

“I don’t want you getting in fights over me, Sir,” Martin said, but he seemed pleased by the idea nonetheless.

Henry felt a little better. Martin was right—he never would have ended up in Henry’s arms if he hadn’t been thoroughly and completely trained, so how could Henry resent that process? Well, he did, actually, quite a bit, but he understood his feelings were unreasonable, and not Martin’s fault.