A Proper Lover (Ganymede Quartet Book 2) (54 page)

“I’m more than a little intimidated by my father,” Henry admitted. “Knowing what I know now, I’m afraid of what would happen if he found out what I’m really like. Do you think he’d want to be rid of me? Would I be exiled, too?”

“You’re important to your father,” Martin insisted. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“He might. He might replace me with little Calvin Murdock.”

“He wouldn’t.” Martin was adamant about this. “You are his legitimate son, Henry; you’re his heir. He does have great expectations of you, but I don’t believe he would ever throw you over.”

Henry felt like he knew his father better than Martin did, having sixteen years experience of the man versus Martin’s few months. Then again, Martin was a keen observer, and thus far Martin had proven right about so many things.

“Your father gave all the slaves a present, did you know, Henry? Mr. Tim handed out the envelopes at breakfast.”

“What did he give you?”

“A hundred dollars!” Martin exclaimed. “What am I going to do with a hundred dollars?” He laughed, amused at the thought.

“You’ll think of something you want,” Henry told him, although he wasn’t sure this was true. Martin seemed content with what he had, what was given to him.

Martin put the tray outside the door and they undressed and brushed their teeth. They got into bed and curled up together, Martin making himself small and tucking his head under Henry’s chin; Henry found it unbearably sweet how Martin found ways to insinuate himself, to fit closer and closer, so that even though he was nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as Henry, he still managed to seem vulnerable, in need of protection. Henry kissed the top of Martin’s head and drew him close. He loved Martin so much, he was sure of it, but was afraid to say it because it would kill him if Martin didn’t feel the same.

“Goodnight, Henry. My sweet Henry. Thank you so much for the present.” Martin pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

I love you.
It was right there on his tongue, but Henry swallowed it. “Goodnight, Martin.” He rubbed his cheek against Martin’s hair and closed his eyes.

On New Year's Eve, Cook served a light buffet. Mother went to bed early and Father went to some fancy-dress ball, no doubt meeting up with Mrs. Murdock, taking Timothy with him. At Martin's suggestion, they went up to the nursery and wished Cora a Happy New Year and Henry gave Nurse a kiss. At ten o'clock, he and Martin walked to the Briggs house and met up with Louis and Peter. The four of them walked a few blocks further to the Ross house. There were adults in evening dress alighting from carriages in front of the house, and the boys slipped inside between arrivals. Henry had only ever been to the Rosses’ house for Charles’ birthdays and was surprised that the Rosses' footman seemed to know Louis' by sight.

“Good evening, Mr. Briggs.”

They surrendered their coats in the tinsel-bedecked hall. As they were climbing the stairs to the second floor at the footman's back, Henry questioned Louis. “Why does he know you?”

Louis shrugged and blushed. “I’ve been over a few times.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, hoping Louis would elaborate, but for once Louis was close-mouthed.

They were delivered to a parlor full of boys and their slaves who were in the middle of a game of Twenty Questions, where the answer was plainly “cock,” though everyone was having such fun howling at the questions that it was obviously better to prolong the game than to win.

“Can I put it in a slave's mouth?”

“Can I put it in
your
mouth?”

Charles came to greet them, his cheeks very pink. He offered them a flask and they took surreptitious sips. “Once the party gets underway downstairs, we won't have to be cautious with the liquor, but until then we should be discreet.” There were perhaps ten boys in and out of the room and the room adjacent, all with their slaves, and there were several flasks in circulation.

Someone said, “Are we getting the slaves drunk, too, then?” with laughter as the response. Someone shoved a flask into Martin's hand and he took a sip and passed it to Peter.

Charles’ best friend Robert sidled up to Henry, offered him a nearly-empty flask, and said, “Isn't this the first one of Charles' parties you've been to?”

“Yes,” Henry said. “Does he have lots of parties? I didn't know.”

Robert blushed, realizing his faux pas. “Oh, well. I think he must have thought you wouldn't come before.”

Henry thought of the Rosses' footman familiarly welcoming 'Mr. Briggs,’ and realized that Charles must host swap parties, was maybe even the main host of swaps in their class, and that Louis had been coming to Charles’ parties without telling Henry or seeing to it that he was invited, and this stung a little. More than a little.

The game of Twenty Questions came to an end in a crescendo of hilarity that made everyone in the room fall about laughing, though perhaps only five or six of them had actually heard the joke. Henry certainly hadn't heard it, but the mood was infectious and he laughed anyway. Some of the boys found paper and pencils and started a game of Dictionary. It promised to be crude and filthy. Henry moved closer to the players so he could hear the definitions. He dared to touch Martin's hand in passing and felt Martin's eyes follow him as he made his way across the room.

The adult party downstairs was noisier now, the orchestra having started playing. Charles recruited Robert and two others to go downstairs with him to steal some bottles. Henry stood a little apart, watching his classmates laughing together. He felt some distance from them; perhaps the alcohol would help with that. What he really wanted to do was talk with Martin, but he knew how odd it would look if he chose to be with his slave over his friends. For his part, Martin looked very happy and at ease with his fellow slaves; Henry wondered, not for the first time, if Martin ever ached for him the way he did for Martin.

Louis was writing up his definitions for Dictionary when Charles and the rest returned with bottles of gin and whiskey. The game was abandoned for the moment as Robert handed around glasses. Charles brought round the whiskey and poured.

“Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers.” Henry raised his glass. “What about them?” he asked, with a nod of his head toward the slaves. “Are they drinking?”

“They have a bottle to pass around,” Charles said. “We don’t want them too drunk, though.” As Charles spoke, his Simon tilted back a bottle of gin and then passed it to Martin.

Louis came to stand by Henry. “Who do you think will be first to get sick?” he asked. “I know it won't be me.” Louis had a cast-iron stomach, hardened by years of attending James' parties and taking his dares.

“Me neither,” Henry said, though he had far less authority to make such a claim. “Maybe one of the slaves?”

“Nah,” Louis said, shaking his head. “They never get that drunk at these things unless someone insists. They're always on duty, after all.”

“You've been to a lot of Charles’ parties, I guess.” There was more acid in Henry's tone than he'd intended, and he was a little embarrassed at how jealous he sounded.

Louis colored. “They haven’t been the sort of parties you’d like Henry.”

“How do you know what I'd like?” Henry asked, surly, tossing back his whiskey.

Louis scoffed at this. “How would
I
know? Right, Henry.”

“I might have changed my mind,” Henry said, just to be contrary. He had not changed his mind. “Is
this
a swap party, then?”

Louis shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know what Charles has planned. Do you want more whiskey, then? Or would you rather have gin?”

Henry made a conscious effort to shake off his jagged jealousy, to be in a more lighthearted mood. He let Louis pour him more whiskey and tried to drink it judiciously, not wanting to be the fellow vomiting in the toilet while the rest were having fun.

Everyone was feeling the alcohol, that was plain. Charles and Robert tried to act out for the group a recently-viewed peep show of men leap-frogging, which resulted in Charles falling on Robert's head, laughing helplessly.

“It's not supposed to go like that,” Robert said, wincing and rubbing his scalp.

“Make the slaves do it,” someone suggested.

Charles shook his head. “No. Don't want to tire them out
now
, do we?”

Henry took a seat on the sofa. He felt a little out of place, embarrassed by the understanding that all of these boys had been getting together without him. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, of course, but he’d tried not to think about it. He didn’t want to swap Martin, but he wanted to be included anyway, somehow, and it hurt that he hadn’t been. He knew he was different than the rest, but he didn’t want to be an
outcast
.

He didn't have much to contribute to the conversation, but as the boys around him chattered, he laughed at their jokes and encouraged them to tell their stories. He drank still more whiskey, dimly thinking that it might not be his best idea to get drunk. Louis caught his eye now and then and smiled. He could hear Martin's voice at his back, Martin's laughter, and resisted the urge to turn around to look at him.

The whiskey bottle was passed around and around, Henry topping off his drink each time it came his way. The door to the other room was closed now and Henry realized he’d never seen what was on the other side. Gradually, Henry blearily noticed that the crowd was thinning out. Had Charles made another liquor run and taken the group with him? Louis sat across from him on a spindly chair, Albert sat cross-legged on the floor, Wendell and Freddie stood in the corner mixing gin and whiskey in their glasses and making faces as they drank the results. Where had the others gone?

Albert stood up and called to his slave. “Stuart!” To the rest, he said, “I'm going in, then, I guess. See you in a bit?”

“Maybe later,” Louis said. He flushed and looked down at his drink.

Albert opened the door leading into the next room and ushered Stuart inside, then followed him in and closed the door behind them.

Wendell and Freddie looked at each other and shrugged, then beckoned to Ralph and Tom. They also disappeared behind the connecting door, leaving just Louis and Henry and Peter and Martin in the room.

There were thuds and laughter from behind the door. Henry felt a distinct unease. “Louis, what's going on?” He knew, though.

Louis winced. “Aw, you can guess, can’t you, Henry?”

Henry could. “But there’s a whole ball going on downstairs!” he said in protest, thinking how improper it seemed to be having a sex party over the heads of the oblivious adults. But just the other day, his own cousins had been swapping with a very merry Christmas party happening below. Boys could swap in any circumstances, it seemed, their determination and lust unaffected by unfavorable or precarious conditions.

“We do this all the time, Henry. The adults don’t interfere—they know exactly what’s going on. The rest of us have been getting together to play with them since we first got them. You had to know this, Henry.”

Of course Henry had known, but he hadn’t wanted it to be true. “Why haven’t I been invited, then?” he demanded.

“You’ve never liked the idea of swapping, Henry, and I’ve always known this. I told people not to invite you, because I didn’t want you to be put on the spot. Besides, when you fought with Adam about the…cocksucking incident, you made it clear to everyone that you didn't want to share, so why would they invite you to parties where sharing is the point?”

“Why was I invited to
this
party, then?”

Louis shrugged, looking irritated. “
I
don't know, Henry. Ask Charles. But I'd guess it's because you're a good guy and he likes you all right, and maybe he thought you'd have changed your mind about swapping by now. If he'd have asked
me
, I'd have told him not to invite you. No one needs you being all judgmental, Henry. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Angrily, Henry drained his glass. “I’m not being
judgmental
,” Henry insisted. “Just because I don't want to share Martin doesn't mean I care what the rest of you do with your slaves,” he said, though this was actually untrue. He did care about how the other slaves were treated.

However, despite his sincere concern for their well-being, Henry was absolutely not opposed to the slaves being made to have sex at a master’s whim. The idea was extremely titillating. In truth, Henry would very much like to observe a swap party, if not actually participate in it. He imagined being with Martin, hidden behind some filigreed screen or velvet curtain, watching and listening and pleasuring one another as inspiration hit. He didn’t really want to see his friends’ cocks, but he liked the idea of seeing the beautiful slaves naked and aroused. He liked the idea of seeing two boys kiss. He liked a lot of things about the idea of swaps, but he didn’t want to share. He wouldn’t. Martin was his own.

The door opened and Albert leaned into the room. “Are you two coming?” There were shouts and laughter behind him.

Louis turned around in his chair to answer. “Just a few more minutes, I think.”

“What about you, Henry?” Albert tilted his head, cocked an eyebrow. “Don't you want to come in?”