A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (42 page)

Stella looked at Henry and smiled a knowing smile, her eyes
narrowed. To Martin she said, “Kiss him, he's jealous.”

Martin laughed and reached for him. Grudgingly, Henry leaned
in to be kissed. Martin's tongue slid over his teeth, agile and slick. Henry
took hold of his lapel in a tense fist and held him close to ask, “Do you want
to fuck her?”

Martin shook his head and kissed him again. “Only if it's
what you want. I'll do whatever you ask me to do.”

“No,” Henry said. “I don't mean that. Do you want it for
yourself
?”

Martin smiled and shook his head again. “No, Henry. I only
want you.” He bit Henry's lip then quickly licked the place he'd bitten.

Mollified, Henry sat back in his chair and watched Stella
squirming on Martin's lap, watched her efforts to get Martin to touch her cock,
to kiss her. Martin laughed it all off, frequently meeting Henry's eyes to
reaffirm that he was Henry's and Henry's alone.

Stella poured another round of champagne. “Do you boys live
near here?”

It wouldn't do any harm to tell her, Henry supposed. “We're
staying near where you met us.”

“Me, I live such a long way out,” Stella said, waving her
hand at an invisible horizon. “Such a long, boring, expensive cab ride to get
to my little boardinghouse.”

“That's too bad,” Henry said politely. “Do you need cab
fare?”

“Or maybe, if you have a little couch I could sleep on, just
a corner of the bed, I could come home with you two,” she suggested. She gave Henry
a significant look, licked her lip, and held more tightly to Martin's neck. “I
could be such good company.”

Blushing, Henry thought about what it might be like to fuck
her, her little body so different from Martin's. Would she feel the same
inside? Would she make the same desperate noises as Henry pounded into her? No,
it would all be different, and he'd like to know how different would feel…but
someday, not now. For now, Martin was all he needed.

“I'll give you cab fare,” Henry said firmly. He thought it
was a graceful enough way to be rid of her. He took out his billfold and pulled
out a few dollar bills, more than enough for her to go anywhere in the city
that she wanted, and slipped it to her folded in his fist.

Stella was clearly well-pleased by the money, but money
wasn't all she'd wanted. “It's rare to see gentlemen such as yourselves in
here,” she said. “Come back another day and I'll give you a private show like
nothing you've seen before.”

“We may take you up on it,” Henry said. He did not think
that they would.

Martin waved down the waiter and reached into his own pocket
to settle the tab. Henry liked seeing Martin pay, the short hair and the collar
and the billfold all adding materially to the impression of freedom. Seeing
Martin like this, he could believe that if Martin were a free man, he'd choose
to be with Henry.

They caught a closed cab and necked all the way back to the
Calamus, spilling out onto the sidewalk giggly and aroused. They stood out in
their evening clothes and silk hats. People looked at them admiringly and Henry
thought he could quickly become very vain in this neighborhood, all the
interested parties inflating his ego.

“I was going to look after you tonight,” Martin told him,
swaying a little on his feet, “but I'm too drunk, and you'll have to look after
me instead.”

“We'll look after each other.” Henry bent close, his lips
almost touching Martin's, but remembered in time that he was on a public street
and pulled away, laughing.

They made their way into the building arm-in-arm, Martin
leaning heavily against him.

Toby was behind the desk in the lobby. He called out, “Good
evening, Mr. Blackwell,” and Henry gave him a jaunty wave as they staggered to
the elevator.

As soon as the elevator began moving, they kissed, Martin
holding Henry's face in both hands, straddling his leg and grinding against
him.

As they exited the elevator on the fourth floor, there were
all variety of noises from behind the closed doors along the hall, definite
sounds of people fucking from multiple rooms. Henry liked knowing that they'd
be adding their voices to the cacophony in just a matter of minutes.

Inside, Henry let his jacket slip to the floor, the lurid
red lining like a pool of blood. As always, Martin undressed more quickly than
Henry could manage, and when he was naked, he came to stand before Henry, his
cock hard, and took the studs from Henry's shirt. When they were undressed at
last, Henry pulled Martin over to the bed and flopped down on the sagging
mattress, tugging on Martin's arm. “Lie down with me,” he urged. Flat on his
back, the ceiling seemed very far away, and the room spun in little jerks,
incomplete revolutions.

Martin lay down beside him, close beside, so warm, and Henry
took hold of his cock. Martin made a happy sound and wriggled closer still.

“That man in the washroom,” Henry began. “In the stall.
Would…would you do that? Would you want to?”

Martin's cock flexed in Henry's hand and he gasped at
Henry's words. “If you wanted me to do it, I would.”

Henry bit his neck, nuzzled the marks his teeth left. “No,
you know what I mean. Do
you
want it? Would you want all those men to
have you, all in a line like that? Everyone watching?” He could tell from how
hard Martin was, how he trembled, that the answer was some form of 'yes.'

“It's a good fantasy, Henry. I-I like the idea, I do.” He
nuzzled Henry in return. “But it'd be better with twenty versions of you, not
twenty strangers.”

This was flattering; Henry would like it to be true. “You
wouldn’t want a variety?”

“Yours is the best cock I’ve ever known,” Martin said
emphatically. “Why would I wish for anything else? I’d rather have one of you
fucking me hard, without any concern for how I feel, and the next one watching
and barely able to keep from pulling you off of me he's so eager for his turn.”

“What else?”

“All the ones in line stroking their cocks, keeping ready
for me, some of them wanting me to feel good when it's their turn, others
wanting to hurt me, to punish me for being so dirty, and I wouldn't know what
to expect each time a new one shoved his cock in my ass.”

“Keep going.”

“I'd get tired, and it'd hurt, and I'd want to stop, but
there'd still be men in line and I wouldn't want to disappoint them. My ass
would be so full up with spunk, it would be dripping out of my hole…there'd be
a puddle…” He squirmed, spreading his legs farther apart, and Henry reached
back behind Martin’s balls and ran the pad of his finger over his asshole,
which contracted against the pressure. “Would that disgust you? Me all slick
with other men's mess?”

“All of
them
are coming,” Henry pointed out, “but
what about you?”

“When they were all finished, I'd bring myself off while
they stood around and watched. But I couldn't come, not until I'd satisfied
everyone in line.” This idea excited Martin, sticky droplets collecting on his
belly beneath the head of his stiff prick.

“You
do
like this idea,” Henry said, aroused and
amused. “I think you would’ve liked it if I'd shared you.”

Martin shook his head, but didn't deny it. “I have lots of
dirty thoughts. But not all of them need to be acted out.”

“But you would have liked it.” Henry imagined Martin on his
back, spreading his ass cheeks for the delectation of some generic man with a
big cock, and then he imagined it was beautiful Tom instead, desperate and
passionate, going after Martin like a wild animal taking down prey, and the
image made his own cock twitch against his thigh. In his inebriated state,
Henry felt a pang of regret that he’d never allowed Tom’s interest to go
anywhere, because surely it would have made a marvelous picture to see such
beauties together. But Tom was in the past now, unreachable, and they were
moving forward. Maybe someday he'd let Martin have some version of this
fantasy, with some other fellow, but for now Martin would have to be content
with Henry alone, not even twenty versions of Henry.

“But I also like that you don't want to share me, Henry. I
love that. You treasure me. The way you love me…I never thought anyone would.”

“Who wouldn't love you?” Henry said. “It's impossible not to
love you.”

“Will you love me no matter what?” He sounded so hopeful; it
was charming.

“Of course,” Henry scoffed. “There's no doubt.”

“This was a really good night, wasn't it?”

“The best,” Henry agreed.

“What do you want me to do tonight, Henry? Anything you
want, anything you can think of.”

“I'm not like you,” Henry reminded him. “I don't have a head
full of filthy ideas.” Martin laughed at this and rubbed the tip of his nose
against Henry's. “I just want you to love me,” Henry said. “That's all.”

“I can do that. That's easy.”

The kisses Martin gave him were so loving, so passionate.
Martin rolled atop Henry and intertwined their fingers, stretching their arms
overhead as they kissed. Henry arched up beneath him and shuddered, so aroused.
It was surely due in part to the champagne, but he felt like he was dissolving,
the only thing solid the tender flesh of his cock. Martin kissed him deeply,
finding sensitive spots behind his teeth and along the edges of his tongue, and
Henry moaned and trembled, always amazed at the sensations Martin could draw
out of him. Letting go of Henry’s hands, Martin bent and kissed his nipples,
licked and sucked and bit, and Henry writhed beneath him, hardly able to bear
the focused intensity of the pleasure.

Martin laughed fondly. “Do you like that?”

“I love it,” Henry panted, petting Martin’s shoulders, the
short hair at his nape. “I love you and everything you do.”

“I love you, too.”

Martin sat up straddling Henry’s hips and stretched to get
the oil bottle out of the nightstand. He held the bottle up to the light.
“We’re almost out.” He turned around so that he sat astride Henry’s torso,
facing his feet, and bent over, presenting his ass. “You do it. Make me ready
for you.”

Henry took the bottle from Martin’s hand and wet his fingers.
He slid his oiled fingers up and down the cleft of Martin’s ass and then
circled the opening. Martin would get impatient if he took too long here; he
pushed his index finger inside to clutching heat and quickly slid his middle
finger in alongside it. Martin moaned and pushed his hips back against Henry’s
knuckles.

“More,
please
.”

Henry poured more oil on his fingers and then handed the
bottle to Martin. “Oil my cock.” He fit three fingers in Martin’s asshole and
Martin squirmed, trying to get Henry’s fingers as deep inside himself as
possible. Martin’s oiled hand pulled Henry’s cock straight and hard, then
harder still.

“Turn around.”

Martin lamented the withdrawal of Henry’s fingers with a
whimper but did as he was told. Martin knelt over Henry’s hips and Henry
reached between his legs to play with his ass while using the other hand to
fondle his cock.

Martin swayed over him, face flushed. A drop of clear fluid
fell from the tip of his cock to Henry’s belly. “Can I have your cock now,
Henry? Please?”

“Slowly now,” Henry said. “Don’t be in a hurry, all right?”
Henry held Martin’s hips while he sank back onto his cock. Martin took him in
an inch at a time, muscles trembling in his thighs, making desperate little
noises as he lowered and then lifted himself along Henry’s shaft.

Henry played with Martin’s cock as he worked his way down
Henry’s length, rubbing his thumb through the wetness at the slit and pushing
at the sensitive place on the underside of the head. When at last Martin’s ass
met Henry’s hips, Henry pulled him down into an embrace and rubbed his back. He
pushed his face against Martin’s neck and had a moment’s sorrow for the loss of
Martin’s hair. He rolled over, taking Martin with him, and put him on his back.

“Can I fuck you the way I want to?” Henry asked. Just
regular sex, he meant, without games or extremes. He reached for a pillow and
shoved it under Martin’s ass.

“Will you make love to me, Henry? Be sweet?”

“I will,” Henry assured him. He let his cock slide out of
Martin’s ass—Martin complaining, letting his disappointment be known—and knelt
up, arranging himself with his knees to the outside of Martin’s hips, and
pushed his cock back inside Martin’s tight hole. Sinuous movements of his hips,
long strokes, his hands on the backs of Martin’s thighs spreading them farther
apart and pushing them down towards the bed. It felt like he could keep fucking
Martin this way for hours, for days, always on the verge of orgasm but never
quite spilling over the edge.

Martin was especially vocal, unshy with his rhythmic moans,
and it took Henry perhaps longer than it should have to realize that Martin’s
cries had shaded over into shaky sobs.

Henry stilled his hips. “Martin?” Are you all right?”

“Please, Henry, don’t stop!” His voice was creaky with
tears.

“Why are you crying?” He bent over Martin and touched his
face. “Martin? What’s the matter?”

Martin sniffed and looked away, embarrassed. “It’s nothing.
I’m just drunk, and you feel so good…” With another wet sniff, he put his arms
around Henry’s neck and drew him closer. “I want you to be so happy…”

“I
am
so happy,” Henry told him, kissing away tears.
“Don’t cry, Martin.” He was still hard but his cock had deflated a bit once
he’d realized Martin was in distress. “Do you want me to stop? We can stop if
you want.” He was a little confused and worried, but he really didn’t
want
to stop, not unless Martin needed him to.

“
No
.” Martin dug his fingers into Henry’s hips.
“Don’t stop.” He moved beneath Henry’s weight, encouraging Henry to move in
return. “Make me come,
please
.”