A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (11 page)

They were quiet for a time. Both winced a little when Martin’s softened cock slipped out of Henry’s ass, but Henry stroked his back and held him tight, keeping him close.

Henry shifted beneath him, exhaling with a little grunt. Martin winced; their lean, unpadded bodies were not the most forgiving in an embrace. He began to untangle himself despite Henry’s protests.

“I’m too bony,” Martin said in mild complaint. “I’m sure I’ve left bruises all over you.”

“Eat more cake,” Henry said with a chuckle, lightly slapping him on the ass.

“We could,” Martin pointed out as he rolled off of Henry to lie at his side. “After we get cleaned up.” He sat up, looking down into Henry’s handsome face. “How do you feel?” he asked, tousling Henry’s hair.

Henry’s smile was bashful and joyous both. “I feel good.
Wonderful
.”

“You liked it, then?” Martin grinned at him, knowing the answer.

Henry smiled back. “I loved all of it. It was a little embarrassing, but it felt
amazing
.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You do the same things for me.” He gave Henry a caress and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Henry clutched at his arm, but almost immediately gave it up as a lost cause. “When I do it to you, I don’t think it’s the same, though. I…I’m a lot hairier than you.” Henry made a face, his feelings about hairiness quite clear.

“You’re not that hairy,” Martin said, padding to the bathroom. His voice rang against the tile as he called out, “I prefer a man with some hair, you know.” There was no reply from Henry, and Martin suspected that it was because Henry disagreed with Martin’s preference. He sighed and washed his cock, then got a cloth to clean Henry’s chest and ass.

Henry was not what Martin would consider hairy at all, though he was hairier than Martin. Henry had a nice amount of hair growing over the breadth of his chest, and this tapered into an enticing trail that led down his torso to the curls around his cock. Martin didn’t have this; he had a little bit of reddish hair leading from his navel to his pubic thatch. Personally, Martin thought his own fine-haired limbs and nearly-hairless chest were a bit childish. Henry was manly without being beastly, and Martin loved running his fingers through Henry’s hair, every bit of it.

When Martin returned with his cloth and basin, Henry was lounging on his side, watching for him to come back through the door, and greeted him with a bashful smile, ducking his head to hide his blush. Martin was full of such love for him, a sense of melting helplessness, and felt almost frantic in his desire to keep Henry for himself. He made an effort to seem calm, to seem rational. Henry
was
his, now and maybe forever.

As he washed Henry’s body, he tried to communicate his love and devotion through his touch, through the small motions of his arms and wrists as Henry shifted and arched beneath him.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“When you—” Henry began, then hesitated and cleared his throat. “When you were with Richard, you were usually on the bottom, too, weren’t you?”

Martin wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about Richard just now, but didn’t think this particular question could go sour. “I liked to be on the bottom,” Martin told him. “With everyone. You know I had to be on top sometimes for training, but that wasn’t my preference.”

He did not think he would ever tell Henry, because he suspected Henry would not find it reassuring, but Richard had not actually been Martin’s best sex partner at Ganymede. Martin had been in love with Richard, and he had wanted sex with Richard the most because of it, but in terms of physical compatibility, he’d had the best sex, the most
successful
sex, with Georgie. Of all the Ganymede boys, only Georgie had ever made Martin come without touching his cock, and Georgie had also been the best at playing dirty, bossy games. Martin had always had such fun with Georgie.

But without a doubt, he preferred Henry.

“I guess I did know that,” Henry said. “What we just did, though…you did like it?”

Martin smiled as he put his basin aside. “Of course I did. You didn’t really need to ask. I think you could tell.”

Henry smiled, too. Shyly, he offered, “You seem so…
manly
when you’re on top.”

Martin laughed. “How do I seem the rest of the time?”

Henry blushed. “No, no, I don’t mean anything bad. I always know you’re a man. I
love
that you’re a man. It’s just…” his voice trailed off and he looked at Martin with apologetic eyes.

Martin knew what he meant, though. “Putting your cock in someone else’s body
is
a very manly action,” he said. “Nothing ladylike about it.”

“There’s nothing ladylike about any of it, though, is there? Even on the bottom.” Henry stretched and opened his arms to Martin.

“No, I don’t think so,” Martin agreed, fitting himself into Henry’s embrace. “A woman’s body isn’t the same, after all, and I’m sure it feels very different for her.”

As if it had just occurred to him, Henry said, “Oh! Men and women have sex like we do, too, don’t they? Back instead of front.”

“Yes, of course. I don’t know what’s in it for the woman, though. Women don’t have the same gland inside.”

“Having any kind of sex with a woman, you’d never know what she was feeling,” Henry mused. “You might know if it felt good or not, but nothing more.”

“Well, maybe someday you—” Martin began.

Henry squeezed him hard. “No, Martin. Shut up. I don’t want to hear about my wife.” His tone had a hint of warning, but he laughed and kissed Martin’s forehead. “I like that our bodies are the same,” he said. “I love that I feel something like what you feel when I do these things to you. It’s what seems natural to me,” he admitted. “Sex with a completely different kind of body seems a little gross.”

Martin worked not to show his disdain for this opinion. Henry was entitled to his feelings, however exaggerated and silly Martin found them. Martin was mildly curious about women’s bodies. Not lustfully, but perhaps scientifically. He’d seen pictures, and he’d heard stories from Tom, but that wasn’t practical knowledge. He was very sure Henry would
never
want him to have sex with a woman, but he’d do it without complaint if Henry asked it of him. It would be an interesting experiment.

He was quite confident, though, that no woman’s body could compare to Henry’s, that no woman could offer anything superior to Henry’s cock. And despite occasional niggling worries, he didn’t believe that any woman’s body would ever appeal to Henry more than Martin’s own. It was possible that Henry might be swayed from his devotion to Martin by another man, but not a woman, not even a wife.

Henry still insisted on seeing a wife as a threat, but Martin saw her as a possible ally. It just needed to be the right woman.

“It wouldn’t have to be gross, Henry. It might just be different.”

Henry shook his head, denying this possibility. “I don’t think so.” After a moment’s pause, he said, “Didn’t you say something about cake?”

They dressed to go downstairs, woke up Vida, and returned to Henry’s room with generous slices of birthday cake and glasses of milk. They sat cross-legged on the bed, side by side, backs to the headboard as they ate.

Henry ate a bite and said, “Do you remember? The other night, you asked me if I’d imagined having other lovers.”

“Yes, I remember. You said you’d never even thought about it.”

Henry laughed. “No, I really didn’t. But I wondered…who did you think I’d take as a lover, anyway? Did you have someone in mind?”

Martin had, but wasn’t sure he should share. “Oh, you’ll think I’m being silly…”

“I might,” Henry agreed, nudging Martin with his elbow.

“Well…I’ve seen how you look at Tom sometimes,” Martin offered hesitantly, “and he’s very free with his body. I thought you might—”

Henry laughed. “I definitely don’t want to have sex with Tom.”

“You don’t?” Martin was surprised. He had been quite certain Henry entertained some sort of fantasy involving Tom.

Henry shook his head. “No, I promise. Tom
is
very handsome, though. No one can help but notice that.”

“Well, yes, he is,” Martin agreed. “But he’s got many other good qualities besides.”

Henry nudged Martin again. “Well, he’s got you as a champion, too. That speaks to his character.” He ate another bite, his expression pensive, then asked, “Would
you
take him as a lover?”

“What?” Martin stiffened, instantly wary.

“If we’d never reconciled, would you have ever taken Tom as a lover?”

Martin had thought about this before—he couldn’t avoid thinking about it, with how insistent Tom had been at times. Taking Tom as a lover seemed like a bad idea, dangerous. Tom wanted too badly to be in love, and Martin did not think he could ever take him seriously in that capacity. He was quite sure he’d enjoy the physical acts with Tom, but he didn’t want Tom’s ardency, his devotion; he only wanted those things from Henry.

Martin shook his head. “No. I think it would be very troublesome. Tom would misunderstand my intentions.”

“He really adores you,” Henry said, thankfully not sounding blameful at all. “Isn’t it strange that your good friend also wants you for a lover? I can’t imagine being friends with Louis if he wanted me so badly but I didn’t want him back.”

Martin snorted at the idea of Mr. Briggs desiring Henry. But he said, “Well, sometimes it makes things awkward, but I
do
care for him so much. He’s a wonderful friend. And someday he’ll meet someone who’ll love him in return and he’ll lose interest in me, don’t you think?”

“Hmm. I think he’s always going to love you best,” Henry said.

Martin didn’t like this idea. “I certainly hope not. That would be tragic.”

Henry didn’t look up from his cake plate as he said, “By the way, I haven’t forgotten about your present.”

Martin allowed himself a small, pleased smile. “I didn’t think you had.”

Still looking at his plate, his face red, Henry said, “I’ll have to talk with Jesse and see if he’s still interested—”

Martin was unable to suppress a derisive, amused bark; he had no questions whatsoever about Mr. Wilton’s continued interest.

Henry gave him a sharp look. “Anyway, I’ll ask him soon, all right? Maybe at my party.”

“Thank you, Henry. I really appreciate that you’re willing to do this. I know it’ll be fun for both of us.” He remembered very well Henry going to his knees in the back room at the dance hall, the strangers crowding around and egging him on. Personally, Martin thought that scenario a great deal more frightening than playing with Henry’s friendly, supportive cousin, and hopefully Henry would come to see it that way, too.

“I really will do anything for you,” Henry said very sincerely. He tilted sideways and bumped Martin with his shoulder.

Martin believed him. “Are you done with your cake?” He reached for Henry’s empty plate and kissed his cheek.

Lying in bed, an ear against Henry’s ribs and an arm thrown over his chest, he was lulled by the sound of Henry’s heart. Henry was already asleep and Martin was almost there. He’d had a real birthday! Yesterday he’d expected it to be a misery, but it had been an amazing day, one of the best.

He’d have settled for the opportunity to make an apology. If only Henry had let him, he’d have said he was sorry and gratefully taken his place at Henry’s side without requiring anything from Henry in return—because he was a slave, because a master owed him nothing beyond food and shelter. But what Henry had given him was much more meaningful and generous than anything he could have hoped for. Humility. Contrition. Love.

For the second night in a row, after many weeks of difficult sleep, he closed his eyes feeling hopeful and secure, and he was blessed with happy, unmemorable dreams.

Martin woke long before Henry on Saturday, the day of Henry’s party. He did his calisthenics, showered, and went downstairs for his breakfast. He was excited and full of energy and found it hard to concentrate on anything. Luckily, nothing much was expected of him; he’d concluded all his preparatory work by mid-week, and Mr. Tim and Miss Pearl would be overseeing the running of the party.

Mr. Tim got up from the breakfast table on some business or other, and as soon as he was gone, Martin’s friends had a great deal to say about his relation with Henry. He’d been teased a little yesterday, but Martin was not surprised they had not yet exhausted their enjoyment of his discomfort.

Billy leaned across the table and said, “I couldn’t help but notice that you and young Mr. Blackwell didn’t leave the house at all yesterday.”

“Oh, you’re very observant,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. He took another bite of his potato hash.

“Did you even leave his room?” Jerry slid over a chair closer so he was directly at Martin’s elbow, all the better to be annoying.

“You saw me at breakfast and dinner,” Martin pointed out. “Of course we left the room.” They
had
only left for meals, though.

“Well, it’s good you enjoy your work as much as you do,” Billy said, his tone playfully sanctimonious, “since you seem to have such a lot of it.”