A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (29 page)

After they’d lain idly petting one another for awhile,
Martin checked his watch. He went down for his meal while Henry dozed again,
and then Henry had his dinner.

Father scowled at him. “You’re feeling much better, I
assume.” It was clearly a command, not a question.

Henry blushed and said, “Yes, sir.”

Later, Henry found himself distracted during sex, thinking
about all the things that could go wrong on the morrow, the humiliations he
might face. He might find himself cast out like Adam, vilified and scorned.
Imagining the pain of having what he had with Martin ridiculed by his friends,
he faltered in his rhythm and ground to a halt, rocking his hips against
Martin’s ass and taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“What’s the matter?” Martin kissed the side of his face, his
temple, the corner of his eye.

He resisted the urge to snap at him, to say
Nothing
,
and said, “Aren’t you scared? About tomorrow?”

Martin tightened his legs around Henry’s hips and dug his
fingers into Henry’s shoulders. “I’m terrified.” He rubbed his nose against
Henry’s neck. “It makes me feel better to be close to you.”

Henry took this as a hint and set about his task with
renewed resolve. Martin seemed especially responsive and emotional and came
with their hands wrapped together around his cock. Once Martin had had his
orgasm, Henry would just as soon have quit then and there, but he felt he owed
it to Martin to finish. He had the terrible thought that this could be the end,
this could be the last time he ever fucked Martin, and screwed him in a panic,
a high-pitched whine leaking out past his bitten lips as he ejaculated, not
even registering pleasure.

Martin fell to sleep quickly, drooling on Henry’s arm. Henry
stared unseeing at the ceiling and stroked Martin’s hair. Martin seemed
determined to minimize the possible consequences of their actions—Henry’s
actions—but Henry decided that he would be prepared for the worst, and resolved
that he would protect Martin by whatever means necessary, even if he had to
come up with a plan all by himself.

They got ready for school without much talk, somber and
subdued. In the carriage going to school, Timothy asked, “Are you feeling well,
Sir?” clearly feeling bad about making Henry go back to school if he was truly
sick after all.

Henry made himself smile and said, “I’m just tired, Timothy,
thank you.”

Father asked Henry if he wanted pocket money, so Henry took
it, as he always did. It meant a few more seconds before he had to face his
friends.

Louis was standing with Gordon and Joshua and did not look
at Henry. Freddie hailed Henry and Henry pasted on a smile and greeted him with
a little wave, and went to stand with him and Wendell. Because Henry had been
out Monday, everyone took the opportunity to rehash their ball experiences for
his benefit. They compared the girls they’d escorted, their attractiveness and
personalities and dancing abilities. Some of the girls had proven faster than
others: Charles had gotten a kiss and a caress off his girl, and all the boys
were suitably impressed.

“How far did you get with Albert’s sister?” asked Victor.

Henry blushed. “She kissed my cheek goodbye,” he said. “We
had a friendly evening, nothing more.”

“Don’t talk about my sister,” Albert warned, pushing his way
into their circle. “No one gets to talk about her but me.”

“She was a lady,” Henry assured him, “and I was a
gentleman.”

He listened to the other boys talk about how drunk they’d
been, about how they’d impressed themselves and each other with their dancing
and suavity. He glanced over at Louis a few times, but Louis did not look at
him and, most importantly, Louis did not seem to be having whispered
conversations with anyone.

In the classroom, Henry relaxed a little. Louis wouldn’t be
gossiping as long as class was in session; it was the class breaks and lunch
that could be trouble. But again at the break, as Mr. Cobb made way for Mr.
Granger, Louis neither looked at Henry, nor did he seem to be telling tales to
anyone else.

On their way into the refectory for lunch, Henry
inadvertently found himself at Louis’ side; Louis looked up and saw him and
recoiled, which hurt Henry’s feelings a great deal, but Louis still said
nothing and did nothing to call additional attention to the strife between them.
Louis had always been a good friend to Henry, and it seemed possible he would
remain honorable even in extremity. Henry wished that he could talk to Louis,
to explain to him what had happened, what he was feeling, and why Martin was so
important to him. It seemed possible that someone—not Henry,
unfortunately—should be able to articulate his love so that anyone could
understand it and empathize.

After lunch, out in the yard, Martin was with Tom, as
always, but as Henry watched, Peter came to join them, and after a few moments’
discussion, Martin and Peter split off from the main group and stood together
talking intently beneath the ragged, abused little tree that grew in the
stamped dirt of the quadrangle.

Louis called out, “Peter!” in a sharp tone, and Peter went
to him at a trot, looking sheepish. Louis seemed to be remonstrating with him
rather severely and Peter looked appropriately abashed. When Peter went back to
join the rest of the slaves, he stood with Davey and Miles, as far from Martin
as possible. Henry hadn’t even thought about that, that Louis would take Peter
away from Martin.

Albert sidled up and in a low voice asked, “Are you and
Louis still fighting about my sister?”

“What? No, no. We’re not fighting over her.” He blushed,
though, and knew this made it seem as if he were lying.

“She still likes you,” Albert noted, “but you were right
about that Calvert fellow. She’s prepared to get married tomorrow. All of her
fits and tantrums about being sold like livestock were for naught.” He paused a
second, then added, “Louis never had a chance. I wish he’d have seen that.”
Albert gave Henry a friendly nudge. “I’m sure he’ll get over it. After all, you
two have been friends forever.”

Henry swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yes, we
have.”

After school, Henry dawdled in the cloakroom, taking his
time arranging his books in his bag. He didn’t want to wait for the omnibus
with Louis. It would be obvious that he was keeping his distance, and the other
boys would notice and remark. He asked Martin to retie his bootlaces, claiming
that they felt loose, and Martin gave him a questioning look but did as he’d
been asked.

Freddie, Wendell, Jeremy and Daniel were outside and their
slaves stood nearby. Tom broke away from the others to approach Martin, and
Henry stopped to talk to the other boys so that Martin might have a minute with
his friend.

“Want to come to the soda fountain with us?” Freddie asked.
“We found a new place that makes the best milkshakes.”

Henry wanted to know what Peter and Martin had been talking
about before Louis interrupted them, but he also wanted some simple
camaraderie, boys treating him normally without harsh judgments. And, of
course, Martin would get to spend more time with Tom, which Henry thought
counted as generous on his part. He could ask about Peter later.

“Come on, Henry,” Daniel encouraged. “It’ll be fun.”

“All right,” Henry said shyly, pleased to be wanted. “I’ll
come.”

They went to a soda fountain Henry hadn’t been to before,
taking the electric streetcar instead of the omnibus. Everyone got chocolate,
whether it be milkshake or phosphate. The boys continued to talk about their
Metropolitan Ball experiences. Daniel admitted that the stolen champagne was
the first alcohol he’d ever had to drink, and the others were delighted and
unbelieving.

“Not so much as a sip before?” Wendell asked, incredulous.

Daniel laughed and shook his head. “I was an innocent boy!”

“And now you’re a man,” Wendell told him, clapping him on
the shoulder.

They discussed which other experiences counted toward
turning a boy into a man. Kissing a girl or woman was a given. Blushing, Jeremy
asked if a cousin counted.

“Is she pretty?” Freddie asked.

“Very.”

“Then it counts.”

The intimacies shared with—or perpetrated upon—a slave also
counted, obviously, but didn’t carry as much weight as “real” sex with women,
which none of them had had. Henry seriously doubted sex with a woman could feel
any more real than the things he did with Martin, and he wished there was some
way he could ask questions of the others without exposing himself to suspicion
and ridicule.

He glanced around at the five slaves, all so handsome and
fit, and found it hard to believe that of all the masters only he wanted to pay
tribute to that beauty, to experience it fully. Didn’t Daniel ever want to run
his fingers through Allen’s auburn locks? Didn’t Freddie ever want to caress
Tom’s milky skin? Maybe the others didn’t want men over women as he did, but
how could they not want these
particular
men, men they’d personally
chosen at least in part because they’d liked the look of them?

Henry could not think on this too long, however. He was
questioned again about Abigail, and it seemed her aggressive pursuit of him had
not gone unnoticed, not just during their dance lessons, but also at the DeWitts’
home.

“Albert had a few of us over,” Freddie said, “and Abigail
actually came in and started asking questions about you! She usually never
condescends to talk to Albert’s friends, you know. Poor Louis was obviously
dying inside. That fellow really wears his heart on his sleeve!”

Henry felt bad for Louis anew, but all he said was, “She met
an eligible bachelor at the ball—ask Albert. She’ll have forgotten all about me
by now.” He turned and said, “Martin, get me some water, please,” as he pushed
away the empty milkshake glass.

“Some for me, too,” said Jeremy. “Go on, Ray.”

All the slaves were sent for water. Martin returned with a
glass and set it before Henry, casually resting his hand on Henry’s shoulder as
he bent over him. “Will there be anything else, Sir?”

“No, thank you.”

Martin gave his shoulder a little squeeze and then
retreated.

Freddie turned to Jeremy. “Say,” he began, “do you ever talk
to Adam anymore?”

Jeremy made a face as if smelling something rancid. “I stay
away from him.”

“Me, too,” Daniel chimed in. “I don’t think he has any
friends left.”

Until recently, Adam’s last few friends had been Maurice
Gaines, Randall Fox and Walter Addison, and though these three still held
themselves aloof from Henry’s larger group, Henry had noticed they no longer
associated with Adam in the schoolyard.

Freddie said, “He’ll have another slave in the fall, I
guess. That’s what he told me, anyway.”

“He doesn’t deserve another,” Henry heard himself say. “I
hope the Houses refuse to sell him one.”

“Can they
do
that?” Daniel asked, seeming very
pleased with the idea.

“Why not?” Wendell also seemed to like the idea. “If a
restaurant can refuse service, why not a House?”

“Considering that a slave is a living person and a plate of
steak and potatoes is
not
, I’d think it would be more important for a
House to be able to refuse service,” Henry said, though in truth he had no idea
if this was something that the Houses would even want to do.

Freddie laughed. “You’re practically an abolitionist,
though, Henry.” When Henry looked at him, affronted, Freddie continued. “We all
know how you feel about swapping and treating slaves nicely.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being
nice
to slaves,”
Henry said, slightly offended.

Jeremy laughed. “Swapping
is
nice, though, Henry.
They seem to like it well enough.”. He turned to his slave. “Ray, didn’t you
have a good time at the last party?”

Raymond flicked a glance at Allen and smiled. “I did, Sir. I
was in especially good company.”

“The only parties I haven’t felt good about were the ones
with the college fellows,” Freddie noted. “That Halloween party with James
Briggs…ugh, that was terrible. I should have stood up for Tommy there, I know.”
Freddie turned to look up at Tom with an apologetic smile. “But he got through
it, after all, and none the worse for wear. Really, Henry, most of the parties
are fun for the slaves. You’re all worked up about nothing.”

“Maybe so,” Henry said, just wanting to change the subject.
He felt sure that this was Martin’s unshared opinion, as well; that the parties
were fun for the slaves, that the slaves looked forward to them. Now here was
Raymond confirming it was fun. Honestly, Henry was quite sure that
he
would
enjoy a slave party. He’d love having a whole crowd of beautiful boys standing
around him naked, their fat pricks hard for his mouth. He just didn’t want to
share Martin; Martin was
his.