A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (52 page)

“Oh, that was nice of him. I like your friends, you know. We
sent them invitations to my birthday party.”

“I’m glad you did. They all liked you, too. I think they’re
all planning on coming. Say, it occurred to me the other day that I never paid
you back that money you loaned me at lunch months and months ago—”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Henry told him.

“—and I
also
remembered that you were going to invite
me to lunch at your house, but then you never
did
, and so I thought
maybe I could invite myself, and I could bring you your money at the same
time.”

Henry hesitated. Maybe, just maybe, he could talk to Jesse
about his problems. Maybe Jesse would have some idea what he might do or say to
get an apology out of Martin.

“Sure,” Henry said. “Why not? When do you want to do it?”

“Well, let’s see…I’m busy tomorrow and Friday, and Papa and
I are looking at apartments near Cooper Union this weekend, so that’s out.
Hmm…I might be doing something at the beginning of the week, too…what are you
doing
next
Wednesday?”

Henry, who had no plans beyond sleeping in and spending his
waking hours in strained silence, was impressed by his cousin’s full schedule.

“Nothing. You should definitely come then. Say, noon?”

“Wonderful! I’ll look forward to it. Oh—Russ says hi to
Martin. You’ll tell him, won’t you?”

Henry hesitated. He…could do that. “Sure. I’ll tell him.”

“See you next week, then!”

They said their goodbyes and Henry hung up the receiver. He
sat a moment, collecting himself.

“Martin?”

Martin stuck his head around the door frame, his expression
polite and hopeful. “Yes, Sir?”

Henry got up from his chair. “Jesse is coming for lunch next
Wednesday at noon. Please tell Cook to make something special for him. We’ll
definitely want cake.”

“Yes, of course, Sir. I’ll go talk to her right away.”

Henry gave him a curt, dismissive nod, but then remembered:
“Oh, wait. Russ says hi. Jesse wanted me to tell you.”

Martin smiled—the genuine, beautiful smile that Henry hadn’t
seen in weeks—and it felt like Henry’s chest had been cracked open and his
insides had all melted. “Thank you for letting me know, Sir.” His smile became
shy, more private. “If it’s all right, I’ll just go talk to Cook now, Sir, and
I’ll be right back up.”

“Take your time,” Henry urged.

Martin disappeared into the bowels of the house and Henry
made his way upstairs. He felt excited and a little hopeful about this lunch.
He liked Jesse so much, and he seemed like possibly the only person in the
world, barring Reggie, that Henry could have a real conversation with, if he
dared. He weighed the risks of sharing his secrets with his cousin: He rather
thought Jesse would be sympathetic, and technically it was all things Henry had
done in the past anyway, and since Father already knew Henry’s secrets, Henry
needn’t worry about word getting back to him. It would be a relief to talk to
someone, a huge relief. He felt better already.

The next day, Martin had another violin lesson, and as soon
as Martin had made his way down the hall, Henry locked the door and went for
the laundry basket. Henry had continued with his furtive Thursday afternoon
masturbation sessions, wallowing in dirty laundry and rubbing his face on
Martin’s severed tail. It was a little pathetic, he knew, and he felt quite
contemptuous of his own behavior, but not so much so that he even considered
stopping.

Twice more, Martin had made bids for Henry’s affection,
coming hesitantly to him at bedtime and exuding such need, asking if there was
anything he might do for him, anything at all. He seemed conflicted at these
times, humiliated by his lust and almost in physical pain, so desirous was he
for the balm of Henry’s touch. It was wildly flattering and equally enraging,
and Henry’s traitorous body reacted to Martin’s offers with a powerful
yearning. Each time, cursing his own hopeful hard cock, Henry angrily sent him
away, and then listened, angrier still, as Martin surreptitiously masturbated
in his own room, faint rustles and sighs giving him away.

More than anything, Henry wanted to say yes, wanted to
welcome Martin back into his bed. He tried to tell himself that he need not
forgive Martin to have sex with him; he was the master, he could do as he
liked, and if he wanted to simply use Martin’s body, no one would fault him for
doing so. However, he didn’t trust himself to fuck Martin with the proper
disregard. Henry still loved him so much; he tried not to, but he couldn’t seem
to stop. If Martin would only apologize, Henry could forgive him and make love
to him, and they would never have to be parted ever again.

A more frequent temptation was the sight of Martin undressed
or undressing, bending and stretching and putting all the things Henry loved
about his body on display. Martin habitually left the connecting door open
unless specifically told to shut it, and on some level Henry wanted to see and
didn’t remember to tell him to close it, and then put himself in a position to
look. Martin’s long, pale body remained utterly beautiful to Henry’s eyes,
though he could see Martin had grown a little thin, a little gaunt, and he
wished there was some way he could encourage him to eat without it seeming as
though he cared.

Outside of Thursdays, Henry had been doing most of his
masturbating in the shower, under cover of running water. He tried to return to
thoughts of Theo and George, but Martin was all he wanted. He went over all his
memories of Martin: the taste and smell of him, his textures, his angles and
curves. When he closed his eyes, he saw Martin’s handsome face, his vivid eyes
and lush mouth. He longed to hear Martin’s voice, intimate and close, saying
bold, sweet things, things that Henry supposed he’d never hear again. It seemed
he would never tire of thinking of him, never exhaust his memories. He could
not muster any interest in Theo and George.

On Friday, Henry turned down an invitation to a card party
at Albert’s house, fearing that there would be an expectation that he swap
Martin; he was no more able to countenance swapping when he and Martin were on
the outs than he had been when they’d both been deeply in love. Instead, they
stayed home and Henry read while Martin played his violin with the door open.
Martin had made as if to shut the door and Henry had stopped him, saying
gruffly that he wouldn’t mind hearing after all, and Martin had given him a
smile of such gratitude that Henry had become red-faced and tongue-tied and
hurried to hide his face in his book.

Martin played as beautifully as ever, and the
chaconne
was,
in Henry’s estimation, perfect, though no doubt there were technical problems
that someone interested in such things could pick out. It was, however,
definitely much improved. He had to nearly sit on his hands to keep from
applauding at the end of the piece, and then regretted his reserve as being
unduly withholding.

When Martin eventually emerged from his room to go down for
his dinner, he had said, “I hope my playing wasn’t too loud, Sir,” and Henry
felt he had been given a second chance.

“The
chaconne
is getting easier for you, isn’t it?”
he asked stiffly, keeping his eyes on his book.

“Perhaps a little easier, Sir. I’m working very hard.”

“It sounds better,” Henry told him. “It was already good,
but now it’s even better.”

“Thank you for noticing, Sir.”

Henry merely grunted in reply and kept his eyes fixed on his
book. Martin stood looking at him a few moments longer, then excused himself
and exited the room.

Henry let out the breath he’d been holding and smiled to
himself, unable to control his expression. It was humiliating how thrilled he
was to have had even this trifling civil exchange with his slave. He wondered
if it had meant anything to Martin, anything at all. Perhaps Martin had become
used to their estrangement, or had even come to prefer it, and exchanging a few
words with Henry meant nothing to him. In fretting about whether or not his
attentions were truly of interest to Martin, he quickly burned through the
little bit of positive feeling generated by the encounter, ending up just as
bitter and lonely as he’d been before Martin had played.

Sunday was spent on horseback with Victor, Daniel and David
and their slaves. Henry felt a pang of guilt for making Martin ride with
David’s slave, the hated Alex, but he hadn’t had any way of knowing David would
be included. Henry liked David quite well, so it wasn’t bad at all from
his
perspective.

David was saying something about Alex. “You three have
well-behaved slaves,” David said, “so you won’t know what it’s like, but it’s
getting bad enough I’m considering an exchange with the House. That’s what my
father wants me to do.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Victor asked.

“Well, as crazy as he is, I’m attached to him,” David
admitted. “I mean, could you just give up Will?”

Victor shook his head. “No, of course not. Will’s too sweet.
But your Alex isn’t sweet.”

Henry felt a pang of guilty longing. Martin was sweet.
Martin was the sweetest boy imaginable.

“He can be,” David insisted. “No one else will ever see it,
maybe, but he can be lovely.”

“Be careful—you’re making it sound romantic,” Victor said,
laughing.

David laughed, too. “Maybe. Maybe a little bit. You spend
enough time with them, you end up developing feelings for them, after all.
Don’t pretend you haven’t got feelings for Will, Vic.”

Victor darted a glance at the slaves riding some distance
behind. “No, of course I won’t pretend that. I’m plenty fond of Will, but
he’s
practically in love with me,” he said in a low voice. “He tells me he
prefers men.”

“That’s lucky all around.” David turned in the saddle and
said, “What about you, Henry?”

“Uh…” Henry blushed a furious red and averted his gaze.
“What was the question?”

“You end up developing feelings for them, don’t you?”

“Er, yes,” Henry admitted, deeply uncomfortable. “Close
feelings.” Overwhelming feelings of love and connection. Feelings so intense
they’re like a kind of damage, leaving marks. Deeply romantic feelings
inextricable from physical desire.

“I’m really close with Allen, too,” Daniel offered. “I can’t
imagine giving him up.”

“Well, that’s why I’m having a hard time giving Alex up,”
David said. “Feelings.”

“What would happen to him?” Henry asked. “If you sent him
back to the House and got a different one?” A slave who had a serious flaw
couldn’t be resold, could he?

“I’m not really sure. The Houses keep quiet about what they
do with the defectives. Probably nothing good.”

“I’ve heard the crazy ones get thrown into asylums,” Daniel
offered. “But I’ve also heard they just…well, they
euthanize
them.”

“That can’t be true!” Victor said, shaking his head. “That’s
just a story, Daniel.”

“Euthanasia is probably better than being locked away in
some asylum, though,” David said glumly. “He’s a terrible slave, and I take
care of him more than he takes care of me, and it’s obvious there’s something
really wrong with his brain, but…” David sighed and glanced back over his
shoulder at Alex, who was gesticulating at Martin and running his mouth, though
at this distance none of the masters could hear what was being said.

“You deserve a good slave, though,” Victor said. “That’s
what your family paid for, after all. Do you really want to put up with a crazy
slave all the rest of your life?”

“No, of course not,” David said. “So that’s why I’m probably
going to do it. I’ll make the exchange, and I’ll have a different slave when we
start school again.”

“You and Adam,” Daniel remarked.

“Don’t lump me in with Adam!” David seemed properly
horrified. “Our situations are
entirely
different!”

There was some disturbance behind them on the path, the
voices of the slaves rising precipitously in volume, and all four of the young
masters turned around.