A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (19 page)

Henry kept Martin’s cock in his mouth until Martin took it away from him, and then sat back on his heels, his own prick jutting up stiff and insistent. Martin lolled against the mirror, his legs barely supporting him, and smiled blissfully down at Henry.

“Oh, Sir. It’s true, isn’t it? You’re really mine.” He reached down and tousled Henry’s hair.

“I told you so,” Henry reminded him. “I’ve been yours since the beginning.” He rubbed his hand up and down Martin’s flank. “Can you stand up?”

With a shy grin, Martin admitted that, “Yes, I can.” He gathered himself and stood up away from the mirror door. “What do you want me to do, Sir?”

“Turn around,” Henry told him.

“Are you going to fuck me from behind, Sir?” Martin sounded excited at the prospect. He turned and put his hands flat against the glass, then reconsidered and took a step in, leaning instead on his forearms and elbows.

“Probably,” Henry said, moving to kneel behind Martin. “But I’m going to lick you first.”

“Oh! Oh, Henry!” Martin shivered and the muscles of his ass clenched under Henry’s hands.

“You told me that only a lover would do this for you,” Henry reminded him. “I’ve done this for you all along, Martin. What does that make me?”

Martin moaned and spread his feet a little farther apart. “It makes you my lover, Sir.”

Henry took hold of Martin’s ass cheeks and squeezed, then dug his thumbs into the muscle and pulled them wide. Martin’s asshole twitched and Henry reached out to tease it with his tongue, just a whisper of contact, and Martin moaned again. Henry rubbed his cheeks against Martin’s buttocks, right then left, and pressed a dry kiss to his hole as Martin gave an impatient growl. Henry spit on him then, and Martin yelped and his asshole contracted as Henry’s saliva slid down the cleft toward his balls.

Henry licked between Martin’s cheeks, over and around the hole, while Martin whimpered and jerked, his asshole clenching around the tip of Henry’s tongue. He did it until Martin was moaning steadily, tilting his hips against Henry’s jaw. Henry sat back on his heels and ran his finger up and down the cleft of Martin’s ass, pushing into the hole and rubbing along the wall of the channel.

“Can you see my cock, Martin? See how hard it is?”

“Yes, Sir,” Martin panted.

“It’s not because of a spell. You know that, right?” He pushed a second finger into Martin’s body and Martin gasped and leaned into the pressure.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Call me by name,” Henry urged. “If you want me to keep going, you’ll call me by name.”

“
Henry
,” Martin said, his hands sliding on the mirror. “Please don’t stop, Henry!”

Henry pushed his fingers deep into Martin’s hole and licked all around the juncture of their skins as he thrust his fingers in and out. Martin cried out and began to shake. He slumped forward, the side of his face and shoulder pressed against the glass, and Henry stumbled forward on his knees to keep his mouth in contact with Martin’s flesh. Henry loved the textures of Martin’s body under his tongue, smooth and wrinkled, slick and furred.

His own cock was swollen and hot and he wanted badly to feel Martin around him, tight and plush. He didn’t dare touch himself for fear he’d come in an instant. He reached between Martin’s legs and hefted his balls, which were slick with saliva where it had run down the cleft of his ass. Martin moaned and spread his legs a little wider and Henry ran his hand up the underside of Martin’s cock, which was hard again and jerked in his fingers while Martin made little panicked sounds.

“I need to fuck you,” Henry said, urgency in his tone. He knelt up and pushed his trousers and drawers off his hips, then sat back so that he could kick them off.

“How do you want me, Henry?” Martin dropped to his knees and kissed Henry with a hand on either side of his face; sweeping, languorous kisses that Henry felt in his cock.

“On your hands and knees, in front of the mirror.”

“Let me get you wet, then, Henry.” Martin lowered his head over Henry’s lap and put his lips around the head of his cock. Henry took in a shaky breath and held it, willing himself not to come, as Martin sucked him in, taking him deep and leaving him dripping with spit, and then doing it again.

“Stop,” Henry said, right on the verge. “Enough.”

Martin turned and raised his ass in the air. “Spit on me again, Henry. I’ll be wet enough if you spit on me.”

Henry spread Martin’s cheeks and drooled onto Martin’s hole, spreading the saliva around with his fingers and pushing it inside. “Okay?”

Martin arched his back and shivered. “I think so, Sir.” He shifted his weight from one knee to the other, spreading his thighs, presenting himself to Henry, while Henry sat back on his heels and watched him, his cock straining upward.

Henry knelt up and held the head of his cock down with his thumb, rubbing it against Martin’s hole, and closed his eyes. The pressure against his cockhead as it pushed past the tight muscle was intense, his skin so raw and tender, and Martin was hot as coals, hot as lava, making such a sweet burn all down Henry’s length. Henry opened his eyes and looked into the mirror, watching Martin’s face, and saw how he winced as he was stretched by Henry’s cock.

“Do we need oil?” He rubbed Martin’s side, soothing strokes.

Martin turned at looked back at him over his shoulder, smiling, and shook his head. “No, Henry, it feels good this way.”

Henry’s hands ranged all over Martin’s back and ass; Martin turned awkwardly, kneeling up as he reached back for Henry, and whimpered as he sought Henry’s mouth with his own. They kissed greedily, desperately. Martin’s cock stood up straight, close to his belly, and he touched it with deft, graceful gestures that Henry found entrancing.

“Look,” Henry said, nodding toward the mirror, his voice low and rough. “Look at yourself. You didn’t need magic to make me feel anything.”

Martin blushed so prettily—nothing like Henry’s angry red flushes—as he looked at himself in the mirror. With a knowing smile, he said, “I like the way we look together, Henry.” He dropped back down to hands and knees and met Henry’s eyes in the mirror. “Are you going to fuck me?”

“I am.” Henry was ready to come, throbbed with the need to spill, but he wouldn’t do it, not without making Martin come again. He held Martin’s hips and thrust into him, pulled his cock out halfway, then shoved it back inside, and then he did it again and again. Without oil, Martin’s ass felt especially tight, his flesh pulling on the skin of Henry’s cock each time he withdrew. Martin grunted with Henry’s thrusts and tossed his hair back.

Martin kept his left hand on his cock, tugging on it in an irregular rhythm, eyes falling closed as he bit his lip. His right arm trembled beneath his weight as he arched his back

Henry pulled his cock all the way out and Martin made a loud cry of protest.

“You’re not wet enough,” Henry said. “Not for me to fuck you as hard as I want to.”

Martin moaned. “
Oh
, Sir! Yes, please,
harder
, Henry!” He arched his back further still and dropped to his elbows, trembling with anticipation.

Henry drooled liberally on Martin’s ass, put his lips against the open hole and spit inside, and pushed his cock back into the velvety slickness.

“
Oh, god
, Henry, you feel so good!” Martin pushed his hips back to meet Henry’s thrust, his left hand on his cock. “Go harder, Henry; go as hard as you want!”

They both looked in the mirror as Henry pounded into Martin’s ass, watching each other’s expressions. Henry’s brow was creased with the effort not to come; Martin’s face was slack with pleasure. Their bodies came together with heavy smacks, the flesh of Martin’s ass quivering with each impact. Martin let his head drop to rest on his forearm while his left hand began to move more purposefully over his cock.

Henry didn’t know how much longer he could go on. His entire body was somehow numb yet also tingling, his cock felt leaden and extra-sensitized, and he felt he was in danger of saying something stupid, something ardent and heartfelt, and bit his lip to hold it back. Martin made a shaky, broken sound and spread his legs a little farther apart and Henry had to clamp down on his raw nerves to keep himself from coming.

Martin’s hand made harsh, precise movements over his cock and he began to call out for Henry, and Henry could have cried with relief.

“Henry,
Henry
, oh, god, Henry!” Martin stilled and came, thick pulses spilling onto the carpet.

Henry let go at last, exultant and wild, holding tight to Martin’s hips and thrusting hard through the spasms. He looked down at Martin’s asshole stretched around his cock and saw how his semen had backed up onto his shaft and spattered around Martin’s hole; they didn’t usually fuck in this position, so he rarely got to see his spendings on Martin’s skin and he liked seeing them now. He pulled out and rubbed the head of his cock over the hole, smearing milky fluid everywhere, and then pushed back inside with his semen easing the way.

He stayed inside Martin as long as he could, but his cock eventually softened, and Martin was clearly worried about the carpet and proved decidedly unreceptive to Henry’s tender post-coital gestures. Sighing, he got up off the floor and went to lie on the bed to wait for Martin to come clean his cock.

Housekeeping over, Martin went into his room to dress to go down for his dinner and Henry followed him, lounging naked in the doorway.

“Do you feel a little better now?” Henry asked him. “Was I any help?”

Martin laughed and tucked in his shirt. “The sex was wonderful, Henry, but I must admit I’m still worried about what the others might say to me at our meal.”

“They’re not allowed to be unkind to you,” Henry decided. “I won’t let them be.”

“No need to make any dire pronouncements, Sir,” Martin said gently. “They’re my family, Henry, and family has a right to judge a little, don’t you think?”

Henry only knew that he was uninterested in being judged and he wasn’t willing to concede judging rights to anyone, family or not. “I’m your family, too,” he pointed out, “and my opinion counts more than theirs.”

Martin stepped in and kissed him quickly. “I appreciate that you’re willing to come to my defense, Sir.”

Martin went downstairs and Henry sprawled naked on the bed and thought about the way his spunk had looked all white and slick around Martin’s open hole. Seeing it had made him feel a particularly possessive satisfaction, had made him feel that Martin was
his
, in his heart, though of course Martin had washed it all away.

He dozed a little, dreaming of a bed lumpy with pennies where he covered Martin in semen, and woke to Martin’s hand gently shaking him awake.

Martin seemed cheerful and relieved. “I’ve got something for you, Sir.”

“For me?” Henry yawned and stretched. “How was it? Were they mad at you?”

“Not terribly, Sir. Everyone was very understanding.”

“Oh? That’s good.”

“Yes, Sir. Our relationship, Sir—yours and mine—is different than any of the other slaves have with a master. Everyone has a sense of that, Sir. Also, everyone liked what you said, about believing in friends before gods. I think it put them all at ease.”

Henry had said something like that, hadn’t he? It sounded rather smart. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet on the floor. “You said you have something for me?”

“Arthur made it for you this afternoon.” Martin pulled something out of his pocket. “He says if you don’t want it, Sir, you should burn it.”

It was a little straw doll, similar to the one Martin had and just as neatly made. This one was tied with purple thread where Martin’s had been tied with white.

“It’s got juniper and thyme inside, Sir,” Martin explained. “Juniper to attract positive energy and thyme to attract loyalty and affection. Which you already have from me, of course, Sir.”

“Does the purple thread mean something?”

“Purple draws magic, Sir. He used it because you showed an interest in our beliefs.”

“Het…Hetter…”

“Hetaeria, Henry,” Martin said slowly. “Het. Air. Ee. Ah.”

“Hetaeria,” Henry repeated.

“That’s right, Sir.” Martin leaned in and kissed him. “You need to dress now.”

Henry felt extremely flattered that Arthur would do such a thing for him but suspected that Arthur’s goodwill toward Henry was in fact an expression of his goodwill toward Martin, with whom he actually had a friendship. Still, it was a kindness, and it was thoughtfully done.

“Should I make something for him now?”

“I don’t think it’s necessary, Sir.” Martin crouched down with Henry’s drawers, holding them for him to step in. “You only need thank him, if you see fit.”

“Of course I’ll thank him.” Henry put the doll on his nightstand so he could finish dressing. He caught Martin looking over at it several times as he dressed, brow furrowed.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“You shouldn’t leave it out, Sir. They’re meant to be kept out of sight.”

“Will something bad happen if I don’t put it away?”

“I-I don’t actually know, Sir, but it makes me very uneasy nonetheless. Will you put it in the drawer, please?”

“Sure.” Henry put the poppet in the nightstand drawer alongside the oil bottle. “Should I get a box to put it in, like you have?”

“It wouldn’t hurt, Sir. I’ll ask around downstairs to see if there’s something suitable.”

At dinner, Henry wished he could talk to his parents about the things that actually interested him, things like the secret lives of slaves. He wished he could talk to them about whether or not friendships were more valuable than gods, or the significance of different colors, or whether fortune telling should be taken seriously. Some of his friends, he knew, had lively discussions with their families. The Briggses all talked over one another and discussed every subject imaginable; whenever Henry chanced to eat at Louis’ house, he was invariably overwhelmed by the chaos. Henry wondered what would happen if he tried to bring up any of these topics, but he suspected such conversation would be met with annoyance from his father and apathy from his mother.