A Free Choice (Ganymede Quartet Book 4.5) (9 page)

“No, of course not,” Martin agreed, though he wasn’t actually terribly sure Henry would be
smart
about it. He hung his fancy waistcoat next to the plain ones.

“I’ll listen to what you say, Martin. I’ll take your advice. But I don’t think it would hurt to have one made anyway.”

Martin thought that if Henry had a dandyish, queer-signifying jacket made, he’d wear it, but saying so seemed just short of saying that Henry made foolhardy decisions. Which perhaps he did, but was a velvet jacket really so terrible?

Martin sighed as he stepped out of his trousers. “What color would you get?”

Henry’s face lit up, delighted that he wasn’t being forbidden this little bit of rebellion. “Green, maybe? Or do you think blue? A very dark blue, midnight blue. I’ll have to get trousers to go with it, but I don’t think velvet. I don’t want a velvet
suit
.” Henry’s tone implied such a thing was clearly preposterous.

“No,” Martin agreed. “That would be too much.” He stripped off his shirt and undergarments with brisk efficiency and reached for his pajamas.

“Would you want anything new?” Henry asked.

“New?”

“From
Hamilton’s
.” Henry rolled his eyes. “Do you want any clothes?”

“I could use some new trousers,” Martin admitted, pulling on his pajama pants. “Mine are all a little short now.”

“I don’t mean
boring
things,” Henry said, his impatience very evident. “Would you want anything fancier than usual? Waistcoats or something?”

Martin frowned, remembering the unwanted shopping spree downtown. “I’m happy to wear what I’m supposed to wear.”

“You like your flower waistcoat, though.”

Martin loved it, in fact, but he also loved that it was subtle, and that usually no one noticed it was any different than plain. Martin broke a great many rules with the excuse that Henry wanted them broken, and he enjoyed flouting conventions in some very specific ways, but the idea of parading around in public in colors and patterns filled him with shame.

Some of the things Henry wanted to do might make him seem stronger to other people, more powerful. They might improve his reputation. Following his father’s example and eating with a companion at the table made it seem as if he didn’t care what people thought, that he didn’t
have
to. Sitting down together on the omnibus was the same. But dandyish dress was basically the definition of caring what other people thought, actively soliciting their judgments, and it made both master and slave seem frivolous.

This, at least, was what Mr. Tim said, and it made sense to Martin. He was aware, too, that Mr. Blackwell had little patience for foppery, and certainly Mr. Tim’s remarks were intended to reinforce his master’s point of view.

Perhaps if Henry’s tastes were more in line with Martin’s, he’d be tempted to defy Mr. Tim, but the fact was that Martin did not wish to dress to Henry’s taste. Downtown, Henry had made him choose things that were attention-getting and flamboyant, making him feel conspicuous and miserable. Henry was the one who liked such clothes; Martin preferred more unassuming cuts and colors. Martin preferred his uniform.

However, he did love his chrysanthemum waistcoat!

He buttoned his pajama shirt and reached for his dressing gown. “It’s better for me to dress like the others, Henry. It’s what your father wants, and it’s what Mr. Tim wants, and—”

“It’s what you want,” Henry said, seeming slightly disappointed.

“Well, yes,” Martin admitted. He picked up the laundry basket and regarded Henry seriously. “I think midnight blue,” he said. “I like you in blue.”

Henry’s smile was beautiful to behold. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

Martin waved him off. “Get in bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As Martin performed his chores, he considered what sort of sex they might have for his birthday. Quite some time ago, Henry had expressed a desire to make Martin come just by licking his ass, and Martin thought he might suggest this. The idea was arousing, and he was grateful his dressing gown hid his stiffening cock.

When he returned to Henry’s room, he stripped naked just inside the door and made it to the bedside in three long strides, cock hard and heart pounding. Henry lay back on the pillows looking oddly fearful, his half-hard cock leaking onto his belly.

Martin got onto the bed with him and kissed his mouth. “What? What is it, Henry?” Whatever it was, he would make it better. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…for your birthday, I thought we could do something different.” Henry’s face was very red. “Only if you want.”

“What is it?” Martin asked. “What do you want to do?”

Henry dropped his gaze, fidgeting with nervous hands. “You could…you could make me do things.”

Martin was surprised. “Oh!”

Henry’s voice dropped even lower, and Martin had to lean close to hear him. “You can fuck me, too.” And then, his voice scarcely more than a whisper, he added, “If you want.”

As a matter of fact, it was not at all important to Martin that he be on top, or that he boss Henry around. He liked being bossed, and he liked being on the bottom. But that Henry wanted to offer him these things was incredibly touching, incredibly precious. He would not wound Henry by refusing these gifts.

He would ask for licking another day.

“You’re a dirty boy, too, aren’t you?” Martin said softly, tucking Henry’s hair behind his ear.

“Y-yes,” Henry said, sounding very uncertain. Oh, he was sweet. He was lovely.

Whatever residual resentment Martin had in his heart softened in the face of Henry’s naked offer of submission. Such a sweet boy. Henry trembled, and Martin touched him as tenderly as he could, wanting to soothe his nerves. He petted Henry’s head, smoothing his hair back from his brow, and Henry looked at him with worried eyes.

“I love you so much,” Henry confessed, his voice low. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things up to you.”

Martin leaned close, their breaths mingling, and kissed him, just the barest brush of their lips. Henry sighed and opened to him, a blossoming. Agile tongues met in a melting, muscular slide, and Martin felt he could lick into Henry’s mouth for endless time, but instead he broke the kiss and gently pushed Henry away.

“On your knees,” he said. “Down on the floor.” He slid from the bed and stood, expectant, as Henry slowly knelt, clasping his hands behind his back and casting worried glances at Martin’s face. Martin petted Henry’s head, and Henry looked up at him seeming so fragile, wanting to please.

“You know you were a terrible master,” Martin said softly. “So unkind. I’ve been as good a slave as I know how, and you were so cruel.”

“I’m so sorry,” Henry muttered, casting his gaze down at the floor. His ears were very red. “I’ll never do it again.”

“Prove it.” Martin took hold of his own cock, angled it down, and poked it at Henry’s face. “Do something nice for me.”

Henry gave a helpless little moan and opened his mouth for Martin’s cock.

Martin hesitated, rubbing the slick head on Henry’s lower lip. “What’s your word?” He ran his free hand through Henry’s hair.

“My word?” Henry blinked, confused.

“If it’s too much for you,” Martin explained gently. “What will you say to make me stop?”

“Oh…” Henry’s eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding Martin’s gaze. “I…I don’t know.”

“Think of something.” Martin traced the shape of Henry’s lips with his cockhead.

“Can it be the same as yours?” Henry asked timidly. He put out his tongue and passed it over the head in a quick swipe, almost furtive, as if he thought it might not be allowed.

Martin shook his head adamantly. He simply felt this would be wrong, though he wasn’t sure why. “No. You have to have your own.”

Henry worried his lip between his teeth as he thought, as Martin continued to bother him with his cock, poking it at the corner of his eye and drawing damp spirals on his cheek. “Um…how about…
Dauntless
?” Henry looked up at Martin hopefully.

Martin smiled. “Like the ship? Oh, that’s good.
Dauntless
it is.”

“I won’t need to use it, though,” Henry said, as if to convince himself. He had a determined set to his jaw, but his eyes were filled with trepidation.

Martin did his best not to laugh. What on earth did Henry think Martin would do to him?

When Martin was the subject of a bossy game, he wanted it to be unlikely and accusatory, full of claims of shirking and sub-par service. It riled him up and made him want to prove his accuser wrong. The more they played, the better Henry got at teasing Martin, and the more dirty fun it was. But Henry wouldn’t want a harsh game; he might
think
he did, but he wouldn’t, not really.

Martin carded his fingers through Henry’s hair. “Here. Prove it,” he repeated. “Show me how sorry you are.”

Henry looked up at him, very solemn, and then let his eyes flutter closed, long lashes shadowing his cheekbones, as he pressed a kiss to the tip of Martin’s cock. Lips pursed around the head, tongue in the slit and swirling in a syrupy spiral before he sighed and sucked Martin in to the root.

Martin cupped the back of Henry’s head and pulled him close, feeling rather than hearing the low sound Henry made as Martin’s cock slid deeper over his tongue. Wet velvet suction, Henry moaning with nervous arousal. Martin let Henry set a rhythm, back and forth, out and in, with a bossy hand in Henry’s hair to suggest discipline, control. Henry’s mouth was hot as fever, as hot as the blush blooming on his cheeks. Martin shivered with silvery pleasure, hairs standing on his skin and nipples tightening. He grunted and thrust his hips forward, burying himself in Henry’s throat, and Henry choked, eyes opening wide in panicked surprise. His hands flew up to take hold of Martin’s hips, but he stopped short of pushing Martin away.

“You can take it,” Martin assured him, fingers knotted in Henry’s hair keeping him still. He rocked his hips against Henry’s mouth and felt Henry’s throat clutch at his cockhead. Henry was wild-eyed, and he shuddered as he gulped for air. Martin traced the wet line where Henry’s lips stretched around his cock, laid his hand against Henry’s cheek. “You can take anything I want to give you,” he promised.

Henry
could
take it. They played as hard as this all the time; this was only different because Henry was on his knees and giving it especial meaning.

He relaxed his grip on Henry’s hair and let him breathe a little, gasping around his cock. “Hands behind your back,” Martin told him. “If you want to stop, you know what to say.”

Henry shook his head as he pulled off Martin’s cock. “I won’t say it. I won’t need to.” He put his hands behind his back.

Martin certainly wouldn’t argue with him about it. He didn’t think Henry would need to say it, either.

“Keep sucking,” Martin said, feeding Henry his cock a little carelessly. “Keep proving to me that you deserve to be forgiven.”

Henry moaned and swallowed Martin down.

Martin fisted one hand in Henry’s hair and used the other to touch his neck and the angle of his jaw, feeling the slide of his cock in Henry’s throat. He fucked Henry’s mouth slowly at first, nice and easy. Henry sucked greedily, shifting nearer on his knees, and he moaned, a low rumble that Martin felt in his gut, tightening his balls.

“You like doing this, don’t you, dirty boy?” Martin said, voice low, a hand cupping the back of Henry’s head. “You like sucking a slave’s cock.”

Henry wrested his head from Martin’s grasp with some difficulty. “I love it,” he said defiantly, “I
love
it.”

“Who said you could stop?” Martin asked, giving his hair a tug. “You haven’t proven anything.”

Henry made a rough sound, frustrated and impatient and determined, and dove after Martin’s cock with all the urgency of a man who felt keenly that he did indeed have something to prove. Martin thought Henry might appreciate a challenge, and began to fuck his mouth in cavalier fashion, hard and selfish and deliberately unconcerned with how Henry might be taking it. It was all right if Henry was a little scared. It was even better that way.

Henry cried out around Martin’s cock, startled by the harsh treatment, but he didn’t struggle, and he didn’t try to get away, and he certainly wasn’t shouting
Dauntless
! He opened his eyes and looked up at Martin and held his gaze, and he blushed but didn’t look away.

Brave boy. Sweet boy. Martin grinned down at Henry and shoved his cock past his teeth. “Dirty boy,” he chided. “What a terrible, cruel master. If you’re mean to me again, I’ll run away.”

Henry made an emphatic sound around Martin’s prick and shook his head. Martin thrust deep as Henry choked, and then he did it again as the muscles spasmed in Henry’s throat. It felt good, so good. It felt amazing.

“I’ll leave you,” he said. “I’ll leave you all alone.”

Maybe he was still mad at Henry after all.

Henry let out a strangled sob and sucked harder still.

Martin was shivering, pulse pounding, a little out of control. Leaving Henry was the last thing he wanted to do. Henry’s soft lips, slick curve of tongue, and yielding throat were
his
, were meant for his cock alone. No one else had ever had Henry in this way, and no one ever
should
. If Henry was going to his knees, it should be for Martin, only for Martin.

These weren’t the thoughts of a slave, but he let himself think them as he thrust into Henry’s wet mouth, and he let himself believe them as Henry looked up at him with such hopeful trust. He smoothed Henry’s hair back from his forehead, fingers curling around Henry’s ears, and slowed his wild pumping until he was just making shallow movements, shifting his weight back and then forward again. Henry gasped for air around his slick shaft, and he was trembling a little, but Martin thought he was all right. He really couldn’t hurt Henry, after all; his cock was perfectly lovely, but it wasn’t as intimidating a specimen as Henry’s own. You
could
hurt someone with a cock like Henry’s unless at least one person involved knew what he was doing with it.

He
knew what to do with it. He’d proven it over and over. Henry’s cock should be his, too.