Ganymede Quartet 3 - A Willful Romantic(3)
Autor: Neni Burelli | Publicado: 2016-11-06T04:59:00-08:00




Henry Blackwell &amp; Martin

Hiram Blackwell &amp; Timothy

Louisa Wilton Blackwell &amp; Pearl

Cora Blackwell





Henry’s classmates at the Algonquin School:

Walter Addison &amp; Harvey

Jeremy Blankenship &amp; Ray*

Joshua Brand &amp; Miles*

Louis Briggs &amp; Peter*

Freddie Caldwell &amp; Tom*

Albert DeWitt &amp; Stuart*

Randall Fox &amp; Howard

Wendell Franklin &amp; Ralph*

Maurice Gaines &amp; Ollie

Daniel Hollingsworth &amp; Allen*

Gordon Lovejoy &amp; Julian*

David Maxwell &amp; Alex*

Adam Pettibone &amp; Sam

Charles Ross &amp; Simon*

Victor Spence &amp; Will*

Robert Townsend &amp; Dick*

Philip van Houten &amp; Davey*

*Henry’s friends





Blackwell Family Slaves:

Nurse: Esther

Butler: Randolph

Footmen: Billy, Paul

Housekeeper: Dora

Cook: Bertie

Scullery Maids: Vida, Ruby

Chambermaids: Peggy, Delia, Katie

Parlor Maids: Lucy, Ruth, Ellen

Laundress: Mary

Laundry Maid: Sally

Gardener: Pat

Coachmen: Jack, Old Bob

Grooms: Jerry, Arthur

Stable Boys: Little Bob, Danny


Errand Boy: Johnny









“He
loves
them.” Martin sighed. “He’s been so happy with them, and I’m
sure they’ll drop him after this. I haven’t said anything to him
because I certainly don’t want to crush his spirits, but with the
casual way Jerry talks about him…I don’t think their feelings are
as strong as his. If they loved him, too, then they might forgive
him, but I don’t think that will happen.”

Henry
supposed it was true that they might forgive him if they loved him;
he suspected he could ultimately forgive Martin anything because of
how he felt about him. Of course, he would never have the problem of
Martin bringing him gonorrhea.

They
shed their school uniforms and Henry waited naked on the bed while
Martin put everything away. Housekeeping over, they fucked with wild
intensity, Henry very conscious of how fortunate he was to have such
a partner and treating him as he knew he wanted to be treated.

“Harder,
Henry, harder,”
Martin urged, his hands overhead, braced against the headboard, as
Henry drove into him. He shifted beneath Henry, hitching his legs
higher, and Henry plunged in deeper still, his hips moving with
brutal force. Martin gave startled cries and stilled, his untouched
cock jerking out hot stripes of semen over his belly and chest, and
Henry felt a surge of adrenaline at the sight, muscles clenching at
the base of his cock.

“Oh,
god, Henry,
Henry, please come, please!”

Henry
did as Martin asked, his vision filling with violent bursts of light
as his cock pulsed in Martin’s ass. Still shuddering through the
aftershocks, he bent over Martin and kissed him the way he liked to
be kissed, slow and thorough, and let himself be pulled down to rest
on Martin’s sticky chest.

“That’s
always so exciting when it happens, don’t you think?” Martin
murmured in Henry’s ear, in reference to his spontaneous orgasm.

Henry
rolled off of him, but stayed close by his side. “Oh, yes.
I wish I knew why it happens sometimes but not others, if it’s
something I’m doing differently.”

Martin
shrugged and tightened his arm around Henry’s shoulders. “Sometimes
we’re just perfectly synchronized, I think.” He frowned at a
smear of slick white that had transferred to Henry’s chest and
wiped at it with his thumb. “I do know that no one has ever made me
come like you do.”

This
was not the first time he’d heard this, but still Henry felt a
swelling of pride. “We’re lucky. We’re lucky we found each
other.”

“Sometimes
I think of where I might have ended up instead.” Martin shuddered.
He gave Henry a little squeeze and then rolled away from him, sitting
up and getting off the bed.

He
meant Adam Pettibone, of course. “Don’t think of that,” Henry
told him. “It was never a possibility, anyway.” Henry had never
actually discussed it with his father, of course, but Timothy had
assured him that there had never been the least chance that Father
would have let Martin go to another family, another boy.

Martin
washed himself efficiently in the bathroom and emerged with his basin
and cloth. “It’s all over your chest,” he said, nose wrinkled
with distaste.

Henry
did not mind the fluids, but he let Martin wash him: chest, belly,
cock and groin, and the fingers he’d used to stretch Martin’s
hole. Martin always looked happy to do it, and so fond of Henry, and
Henry felt a sharp pang of desperate affection as Martin bent over
his hand and gave special attention to each finger.

“I
love you,” Henry blurted, the words expelled with awkward force.

Martin
looked up at him beaming, his smile dazzling. “I love you, too,
Henry.” He leaned forward and kissed Henry quickly on the mouth. He
picked up his basin and went back to the bathroom. As he came back
across the carpet, he asked, “Do you have homework? We could try to
finish it before my dinner.”

Henry
would have preferred to nap in Martin’s arms, but said, “You
could help me with the Latin, I suppose.”

They
sprawled naked on the bed with their schoolbooks. Henry had a
paragraph about Hercules slaying a hydra that he had to translate for
Dr. Foster. He took a stab at it on his own before admitting defeat
and letting Martin do the work.

“You
got some of the vocabulary right,” Martin said cheerfully. He spent
a few minutes on the entire paragraph, referring to the textbook
twice to verify his work before handing it over. “Read it over. I
think I’ve got it all correct.”

“I’m
sure you do,” Henry said. He began copying Martin’s translation
in his own sloppy hand, intending, as always, to learn something from
Martin’s answers, but in reality simply copying with only the
barest understanding.

While
Henry worked, Martin got up off the bed. “I’m going to dress and
then I’ll come help you.”

Henry
looked up from his copying. “Is it already dinnertime?”

“I
want to go down a little early so I can speak to Mr. Tim beforehand.
Are you coming with me?”

Henry
did not want to go, but he didn’t see how he could get out of it
and maintain Martin’s good opinion of him. Besides, Freddie had
done the honorable thing by coming to Henry, and Henry felt he owed
it to his friend to pass along the information.

“Yes,
I’m coming.”

By
the time Martin returned to Henry’s room fully dressed, Henry had
finished with his paragraph. He got up and let himself be dressed.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”
Martin adjusted the ends of Henry’s tie.

“Didn’t
Tom use rubbers?”

Martin
shook his head. “Not usually. Mr. Caldwell said he thought Tom was
smart enough that he didn’t have to tell him to use them, but Tom’s
like everyone else and thinks it feels better to do it without.”

“What
about at swaps? Do masters have slaves use them at parties?” Most
of Henry’s ideas about party behavior came from James Briggs, who
was decidedly anti-prophylactic.

“Sometimes.”
Martin shrugged. “Mr. Caldwell is
particular about them being used with Tom, actually, but his
preference didn’t carry over into Tom’s personal life.”

Henry
thought on this a moment. “What about at Ganymede?”

“We
did it with and without. We were taught about preventing disease and
rubbers were made available to us. With most partners, I used a
rubber, but with my closest friends I went without. It probably
wasn’t smart.” He shrugged again. “But none of the companions
in my cohort had any problems with disease. There was
a footman in the cohort who caught the clap from the man who drove
the butcher’s wagon—an outsider. Maybe it was false confidence,
but we felt quite safe so long as we were just having fun with our
friends.”

“Well,
I’m glad you never got sick.”

“Me,
too.” Martin held up Henry’s jacket so he could slip his arms
into the sleeves. “Ready?”

“Ready,”
Henry agreed.

Together
they descended to the basement.

Timothy
was in the slaves’ mess standing with Dora near the head of the
table. Their heads were close together and he was touching her hand
as they laughed. Seeing her like this, she was prettier than Henry
had realized. She might have been very beautiful twenty years ago.

Slaves
quieted as they noticed Henry, and Henry felt very conspicuous
crossing to where Timothy stood. Dora dipped in a quick curtsey and
slipped away.

Timothy
looked happy to see Henry, as he invariably did. “Good afternoon,
Sir. How can I help you?”

Henry
blushed in anticipation of discussing a delicate topic. “Can we
talk to you in private?”

“Certainly,
Sir. We can use Randolph’s office.”

Randolph
was in his office, but made way readily with assurances that it was
no trouble at all.

“What’s
this about, Sir?” Timothy asked.

“It’s
about Jerry and Arthur,” Henry began haltingly, eyes on the floor.
He had imagined Martin would tell Timothy what had happened since Tom
was Martin’s friend, but here he was, with Timothy asking him,
and no graceful way to give Martin the responsibility instead.

“My
friend Freddie Caldwell let me know today that his slave Tom has…has
gonorrhea, and Tom has been, uh, involved with Jerry and Arthur for a
little while, and it seems likely they’ll need to be treated, too.”
The words came out in a rush. Henry dared a glance at Timothy’s
face as he finished his speech.

Timothy
smiled and patted his arm soothingly. “Don’t worry. It’s being
seen to already, Sir. The doctor is at the stables now. Mr. Caldwell
Senior’s companion called me this morning to inform me of the
situation. But it was good of you, Sir, to come to me, and it was
good of your friend to take responsibility, as well. You’re all
fine boys.” He gave Henry’s arm a squeeze and reached for the
doorknob.

“Are
they in trouble?” Henry blurted.

Timothy
let go of the doorknob and smiled at him. “No, Sir, they’re not
in any trouble beyond this medical difficulty. It’s an unfortunate
circumstance, and quite inconvenient, but they’ve broken no rules.
It’s kind of you to think of them, though.”

Henry
remembered them happy with Tom at the wedding party and felt so sorry
for them all.

“Is
there anything else, Sir? Martin?”

“No,
no,” Henry said. “That’s all.”

“No,
Mr. Tim.”

Timothy
ushered them out of Randolph’s office and Henry went upstairs by
himself and did his homework. He thought he might get a B in English,
or at least a B-minus, if he worked at it a little.

When
Martin came to dress Henry, he reported that neither Jerry nor Arthur
had come to the house for dinner, staying instead at the stables, but
Johnny had taken them their meal and reported to Martin that they
seemed very angry and upset. Johnny knew nothing specific, of course,
but Martin thought this did not bode well for Tom.

Martin
had tears in his eyes and sought to hide them from Henry.

“Wait,
wait. Why are you crying, Martin?” Henry put his hands on Martin’s
face, turned his chin so he could look into Martin’s eyes.

Martin
sniffed wetly. “Oh, Henry, it’s just that I know how much this
will hurt Tom. I know he seems very cocky and confident, but he’s
actually quite fragile.” He stepped around to help Henry put on his
waistcoat. “He had a boy at Orpheus he cared for very much and
misses him so, and Jerry reminds him so much of that boy.”

Henry
considered this. If Richard hadn’t died, then he’d be out in the
city somewhere with his own master, and Martin might be longing to be
with him instead of loving Henry as well as he did.

“It’s
too bad,” Henry said. “There’s no chance he’ll see that
Orpheus boy again?”

“It’s
unlikely. It’s possible he might see him in passing, but not so he
could spend any time with him. It’s probably better not to see him
at all.”

“I’ll
bet Freddie would let him see that boy,” Henry said. “Why doesn’t
he ask?”

Martin
gave him a doubtful frown. “Mr. Caldwell already gives him such
latitude, and it hasn’t worked out terribly well, has it? Besides,
the other boy’s master might not allow them to renew their
friendship.” Martin straightened Henry’s tie. “There. Perfect.”

Henry
went down for his dinner and all during the meal thought of the
stable slaves and poor lovelorn Tom. His feelings about Tom were
complicated. He was suspicious of him and his intentions toward
Martin, but he appreciated that Martin had such a good friend, and he
liked how they looked together, and he had fantasized and actually
dreamed about the two of them fucking—though that seemed less
exciting in light of this medical matter—and he felt a bit guilty
about that. He’d wondered how Martin would respond if he told him
he’d thought of bringing Tom into his bed. Would Martin be
delighted or upset? Henry would do no such thing, of course,
especially not now,
but he wanted to somehow know how Martin would respond if he did.
It would be a test, and an unfair one, since Henry knew Martin would
feel obligated to go along with anything Henry wanted to do.

“Henry,
did you hear me?” Father was frowning, his fork held midair.

“No,
sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Timothy
tells me there’s been some medical trouble with the stable slaves.
Is there any reason to think your Martin will be inconvenienced by
this same malady?”

Henry’s
face was flooded with embarrassed heat. “No, sir, absolutely not!”

“Good,
then.” Father gave him a stiff smile. “It hasn’t escaped my
notice that you’ve used your slave very responsibly, Henry. You’re
to be commended for that, son.”

“Oh.”
Henry blinked. Praise from Father! “Thank you, sir.”

“Hmm.”
Father turned back to his plate and ignored Henry and his mother for
the rest of the meal.

Later,
Henry and Martin made each other come with their mouths and lay in
bed petting and soothing one another toward sleep.

“I
imagine Tom will have a lot to say to you tomorrow,” Henry
remarked.

“Oh,
I don’t even want to think about it!” Martin shook his head
emphatically. “It won’t be good news, I’m sure of it. And even
though you
won’t say anything, and I
won’t say anything, all the slaves in our house are already
talking, and I’m sure it’s the same at the Caldwells. Mr.
Caldwell won’t be able to keep it quiet. It’ll be all over school
in no time, and poor Tom will be humiliated.”

“I
could ask Jerry and Arthur to keep quiet,” Henry suggested.

“That
would be sweet of you, but I’m sure it’s too late already.
Besides, Tom isn’t your slave, and people might wonder what your
interest is. They might speculate that he’d infected you.”

“Really?”
This seemed a stretch to Henry, but Martin sounded so sure.

“People
love gossip, Henry, and I don’t want you to be the subject of any
of it. We’d best stay out of all the talk.” He touched Henry’s
face lightly, fondly. “I love you so much, Henry. I don’t want
anyone to have the least reason to speak ill of you.”

“I
won’t give them any reason,” Henry assured him, kissing him first
on the tip of his nose and then on his mouth. It did occur to Henry
that the very thing scandalmongers would find most gossip-worthy was
his love for Martin, but he believed they were doing a good job of
keeping it private. Despite their constant talking, Henry trusted
that Martin had told Tom nothing, and he certainly wasn’t about to
tell anyone himself. It seemed possible that they’d be able to
continue like this indefinitely, never giving anyone reason to
gossip, so long as they were able to keep their love to themselves.











Tuesday
morning, as Henry’s classmates and their slaves milled about in
front of the school, Henry noted that Tom was red-eyed and wan and
looked quite despondent. Martin went to his side and Tom leaned on
him. The raw pain on his face made Henry’s heart ache in sympathy
and he had to look away. Henry’s friends might not notice anything
was going on, but surely all the slaves would see Tom’s distress
and wonder what had happened. Martin had been right: the news would
find its way out.

It
was rainy and cold again, and after lunch boys congregated in the
library. The slaves stood together in a corner within sight of their
masters but distant enough that the two groups could carry on
separate conversations. Martin stood with Tom, an arm around his
back, and Henry decided he would have to be okay with that. Henry sat
at a table with his friends, slumped in a straight chair, idly
flipping through a dictionary looking for interesting words but not
finding any. Louis sat beside him, bored and talkative.

“Freddie,”
Louis said, throwing a crumpled-up ball of paper at him. “Hey,
Freddie. What’s wrong with Tom?”

Freddie
frowned and blushed. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

“He
looks pretty miserable for nothing,” Louis countered, flicking
another paper wad across the table.

“Knock
it off,” Freddie snapped, throwing the ball back at Louis with some
force. “It’s private, all right?”

This
did not, of course, cause Louis to respectfully withdraw his
questions. Rather, it had the opposite effect, and then all the boys
were interested in knowing what sort of trouble Tom was having.

“Oh,
leave him alone,” Henry said, his tone disdainful, intending to
shame his friends out of their interest.

“Wait
just a minute,” Louis said. “Do you
know something, Henry?” To the others, he said, “Martin is
awfully close to Tom, after all.”

Freddie
glared at Henry; Henry’s attempt to be helpful had not been
successful.

Wendell
said, “Why does Henry
know? I’m
your best friend, Freddie.” He crossed his arms over his chest and
looked very much as if he expected an answer.

“Look,
Wendell,” Freddie said, “Tom got into some trouble, and it
involved some of Henry’s slaves, so of course Henry knows.”

Louis
turned to Henry. “If Martin’s in the same trouble, why isn’t he
upset?”

“Martin
isn’t
in the same trouble,” Henry said emphatically. “It’s other
slaves at my house. It doesn’t involve Martin at all, except he
cares about Tom.”

“Why
all this secrecy?” asked Charles skeptically. “I seriously doubt
whatever happened is as interesting as you’re making it seem.”

“I’m
not trying to make it seem interesting!” Freddie insisted. “I
want to stop talking about it!” He got up and stalked away and Tom
reluctantly left the curve of Martin’s embrace and went after him.

Louis
said, “So, Henry—”

“No,”
Henry said. “I’m not talking about it. It’s Freddie’s
business.” They would all know soon enough anyway, he suspected.

Louis
pestered him for information on the way home from school and Henry
did his best to ignore him.

“You’re
like a stone,” Louis complained. “I used to be able to get
anything I wanted out of you.”

“I
used to let you boss me around,” Henry agreed. “I’m not doing
that any more.”

Louis
sighed. “You know I’m just curious. I don’t mean anything by
it.”

“Listen,”
Henry told him, “I think you’ll know anyway in a day or two. Word
will get out. Just be a little patient.”

“I’m
not good at being patient,” Louis pointed out. “I’m your best
friend, Henry. Just tell me and I promise I’ll keep it secret.”

They’d
reached the Blackwell gate. “Goodbye, Louis. See you tomorrow.”

Louis
gave a frustrated growl and swatted at Henry’s back. “Fine. See
you tomorrow.”

They
climbed the porch steps and Martin rang the bell. Billy let them in
and took their coats and they climbed to the second floor in silence.
Safely locked in Henry’s bedroom, warming themselves before the
fire, Martin embraced Henry tightly and pressed his face against
Henry’s neck.

“Are
you upset about Tom?” Henry asked. “He looked so unhappy today.”

“His
heart is broken. Jerry was very angry and cold to him and Arthur was
almost as bad. I can’t even say I blame them for being angry, but I
do wish they’d given him another chance.”

Henry
kissed his ear. “Stay out of it. Don’t interfere, all right? I
don’t need trouble between you and the stable slaves.”

“He
told them he loved them,” Martin continued. “He begged their
forgiveness. But they don’t love him back, and they didn’t
forgive him.”

“Maybe
they just need a little time to cool off,” Henry suggested. “Maybe
after they’ve all been cured they’ll feel more charitable toward
Tom.”

“Jerry
is so angry. Arthur is his treasure. Tom gave it to Arthur, you see,
and then Jerry got it from Arthur.”

Henry
sat a moment trying to understand what Martin was telling him.

Martin
saw the confusion on Henry’s face. “Tom had the infection in his
prick, and he fucked Arthur and gave it to him that way, and then
Jerry got it having sex with Arthur.”

“Oh.
So they were both fucking Arthur, but not each other.”

“Well,
no, but Tom didn’t have the infection in his ass, so Jerry couldn’t
get it from him that way, and he never let Tom fuck him.”

“And
Arthur doesn’t fuck anyone?”

“Apparently
not. I think he’s like me and prefers to be fucked.” He let go of
Henry and shrugged out of his jacket. “The only reason Jerry agreed
to keep seeing Tom in the first place is because Arthur wanted him
and Jerry wanted Arthur to be happy.”

“But
you told me Tom was especially attached to Jerry.” Henry let his
jacket fall to the carpet, as well.

“Yes,
that’s true. Tom is in love with Jerry, Jerry is in love with
Arthur, and Arthur is fascinated with Tom.” Martin knelt and untied
Henry’s boots.

“But
no one loves Tom.” Henry was surprised to find he felt badly for
Tom. It was unexpected that someone so attractive would have any
difficulty securing the love he desired. He unbuttoned his waistcoat
and let that fall to the floor, as well, and stepped out of his
boots.

“No,”
Martin agreed sadly, kicking off his trousers. “Well, I do, as a
friend, but that’s hardly the same thing.” He paused with his
hand on the button of his drawers. “Do you want to have sex, or are
we putting on our clothes now?”

Offered
the choice, Henry thought he would always pick sex. “Take
everything off,” he said. “I’ll be happy to have sex with you.”

Martin
seemed well pleased with this decision and quickly stripped off the
rest of his clothes and helped Henry undress, as well. Martin hurried
to fetch the oil bottle, and they lay down together, warm before the
hearth, Henry on his back on the carpet and Martin straddling his
hips. Henry oiled his fingers and reached between Martin’s thighs,
teasing his hole and watching as his cock stiffened to near vertical.

“More,”
Martin breathed, bearing down on Henry’s fingers. “Do it harder.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Henry’s shoulders, and
spread his legs farther apart.

“Don’t
be in such a hurry,” Henry murmured, stroking Martin’s side with
long, soothing sweeps of his hand. “I’m not going anywhere and
neither are you.” He wanted to look at Martin a little longer,
anticipating the moment he’d push his cock inside Martin’s body
and then savoring that moment when it came.

Martin’s
impatience was palpable. He reached around behind his back and took
hold of Henry’s cock. “I want to feel you, Henry, your beautiful
cock stretching me tight. That’s what I thought about all day: how
lucky I was, that I’d go home with the man who loves me, and he’d
make me feel every hard inch of his cock, and—”

“I’ll
do it,” Henry assured him, pulling him down for a kiss. “Everything
you say, I’ll do, Martin, but just let me enjoy
you a little, please. Let me look at you a moment.”

Martin
sighed and removed the scowl from his face with effort. Sticky
droplets of clear fluid had fallen from the tip of his cock to
Henry’s flat belly and Martin ran his fingers through these
droplets and used them to wet Henry’s lips.

“You
like this, I know it. You love the taste of me.”

Henry
blushed but did not disagree. He licked Martin’s fingertips and
sucked his fingers, and Martin petted his tongue and then abruptly
withdrew his hand and wrapped his wet fingers around Henry’s
throat, not squeezing but just holding him. Henry liked the
possessiveness of the gesture, but the implication that his breath
could be cut off entirely made him a little uneasy, and Martin must
have sensed this and let him go. He bent over Henry and kissed him
with wet sweeps of tongue, his breath coming in harsh pants.

“You
could do it to me,” he murmured.

“Do
what?” Henry had resumed fingering Martin’s hole.

“You
could choke me,” Martin suggested. “If you don’t want me to do
it to you, you could do it to me instead.”

“Why?”
Henry was baffled by this request.

“It
feels good. It makes the orgasm more intense.”

“It
does?”

Martin
moved his hips against Henry’s, rubbing his hard prick along
Henry’s length. “It does.”

How
did Martin know this? Who had he done it with? Richard? Henry was
suddenly filled with anxiety and jealousy where moments before there
had only been loving desire.

“You
can’t squeeze too hard, of course,” Martin continued blithely.
“You wouldn’t want to kill
me.”

Henry
most certainly didn’t want to do any sex thing that might result in
Martin’s death!

“Martin,
no, I don’t want to do anything dangerous…”

“Oh,
it’s not that
dangerous! You just need to use common sense. It will feel so good to
me if you do it.”

Henry
did not trust that he had reliable common sense, especially when
navigating such murky waters, and he was a little uncomfortable with
the way Martin was coaxing him, but the idea that Martin must have
done this with Richard and who knows who else at Ganymede was a
powerful goad.

“What
if I will do it, then? What do I do?”

“You
just hold my neck when I get close.” He kissed Henry again and
rocked his hips, dragging his ass over Henry’s cock, and it felt
good enough that, despite his misgivings, Henry was prepared to do as
Martin asked.

Again,
Henry oiled his fingers and reached between Martin’s thighs, and
now Martin seemed content to let Henry take his time, his wet fingers
making Martin slippery and stretching his hole just a little. Henry
knew that Martin liked best the shocking stretch and burn of Henry’s
cock shoved into his minimally-prepared hole, and usually tried to
accommodate him in this despite his worries that Martin might be
injured—worries that Martin always dismissed. Now, Martin whimpered
and twisted his hips down against the pressure from Henry’s
fingers. He looked down at Henry as if from a great distance, his
gaze hazy, and Henry had to wonder if Martin was really in the room
with him, or if he was remembering other lovers he’d played choking
games with.

“May
I oil your cock?” Martin held out his hand expectantly and Henry
poured a little oil on his palm. Martin reached around, arching back,
and took hold of Henry’s prick in his slick hand, tested the length
of it and drew it hard. He knelt up and held Henry’s cock in
position. “Are you ready?”

“Go
slow,” Henry said, putting his hands lightly on Martin’s hips.
“Don’t rush.”

Martin
did as Henry asked, sitting back slowly so that it seemed to take an
exquisite eternity for the head of Henry’s cock to push through the
tight ring of Martin’s hole, a squeeze that took Henry’s breath
away. Martin rocked his hips, taking in more and more of the shaft
until he sat solidly astride Henry’s hips, grinding his ass against
Henry’s lap. It seemed that Henry would never get used to the
incredible way Martin felt inside, velvety and feverish and perfectly
fitted to his cock. Henry lifted against Martin’s weight and Martin
moaned, shuddering, and let his head drop forward, his hair obscuring
his face.

“Are
you okay?”

Martin
lifted his head and smiled at Henry, the smile of a courtesan, or of
Ganymede himself beguiling Zeus. “I just love the feeling of your
cock, Henry. I just love it so
much.”
He bent down into Henry’s arms and kissed him lavishly, wet and
eager.

Henry
planted his feet on the floor and held Martin’s ass cheeks in both
hands, spread them wide, and lifted his hips again and again as they
kissed, fucking Martin’s hole with short, hard strokes. Martin
whimpered and bit Henry’s lip, then buried his face in Henry’s
neck and clung to him while he pounded up into his ass, their bodies
meeting with loud, fleshy smacks.

When
Henry’s pace faltered, Martin let go of him and sat up. “Let me
do it now.” He ran his hands over Henry’s chest and teased his
nipples hard while he rocked on his prick, taking it deep. Martin’s
own cock was hard and slick at the head and he moaned and let his
head fall back as Henry fondled it, exposing the length of his throat
and offering Henry a reminder that he’d agreed to choke him.

Martin
rose up on his knees, then sank down on Henry’s cock with a
whimper. He rose again and said, “Let me make you feel good,
Henry,” as he sat back down. He fucked himself on Henry’s cock at
a vigorous pace, not too frantic but breathtaking nonetheless, and
Henry ran his hands over all of Martin he could reach.

“Will
you do it?” Martin breathed, leaning over him. “Will you put your
hands around my neck?”

“Now?”

“Please.”

Henry’s
hands began to shake and he blushed for fear that Martin would see
and know how nervous he was. He reached up to touch Martin’s white
throat, fingers around the back of his neck and thumbs over the hard
bump of his Adam’s apple. Martin’s tattoo was bright where it
peeked out between Henry’s wrists. “Now what?”

“Just
squeeze a little. Don’t be nervous.” He leaned into Henry’s
touch, putting much more pressure on his own neck than Henry would
have felt comfortable doing, and Henry pulled his hands away,
startled.

“Henry?”
Martin caught himself from falling forward with a hand on Henry’s
chest. “Do you not want to do this?”

In
fact, Henry did not
want to do it, but he wasn’t going to admit it, not if Martin had
done this with Richard and other Ganymede boys. “How hard do you
want me to squeeze?”

“If
you let me lean on you, you won’t have to squeeze very hard.”

“All
right, then. I know what to expect now, I think.” His cock had gone
a little soft in Martin’s ass and this embarrassed him, too. He was
a frightened boy, not a man.

Martin
felt the difference and bent over him to kiss his mouth. Henry ran
his hands up and down Martin’s back and ass, tangled his fingers in
the hair at the nape of his neck, then tentatively wrapped one hand
around Martin’s throat and felt his pulse. Martin moaned against
Henry’s lips and then sucked on his tongue, leaning hard into his
touch. He twisted his hips down against Henry’s lap, making Henry’s
cock fully hard again, and Henry began to feel a little better about
this choking game.

Martin
put his hand on Henry’s wrist and sat up, taking Henry’s hand
with him, still wrapped around his throat. Martin swallowed and Henry
felt everything shift in his neck, sliding up and then down. The skin
of Martin’s neck seemed especially warm, especially soft; the beat
of his pulse felt round and rapid, like beads throbbing beneath his
skin.

“Both
hands, please,” Martin said softly, lifting up off Henry’s lap.
His cock was leaking onto Henry’s belly, connected with a sticky
thread of fluid, and it showed a vivid dark pink against the white of
his skin.

Henry
put both hands around Martin’s neck and felt Martin’s sigh, felt
Martin come down emphatically around his cock and raise up off it
again, over and over, slippery but with just enough friction to give
Henry chills upon chills, his skin tingling all over. Martin leaned
heavily into Henry’s hands and Henry locked his elbows and resisted
the urge to loosen his grip on Martin’s neck. Martin’s breathing
was rough and constricted, and he began to work his cock with his
left hand, using the right to brace himself against Henry’s chest.

“Tighter.”
Martin’s voice came out as a rasp. His face was red, and veins
bulged in his throat. Henry hesitated, and Martin begged again.
“Tighter, please.”

Henry
squeezed Martin’s neck and Martin whimpered and closed his eyes.
His face was dark, nearly purple, and a vein throbbed in his
forehead. His face looked distorted and unfamiliar, and it was
unnerving to see this stranger’s countenance atop Martin’s
familiar, beloved body.

“Oh,
Henry,”
Martin said in a harsh, croaking whisper. “Oh, god, Henry, Henry!”
He stilled, his hips stuttering to a halt and his hand hesitating
over his cock, and he came hard, his jism hitting Henry in the face,
hot and startling, and Henry let go of Martin’s neck.

“Henry!
Did it get in your eye?” Martin raised his hand to his throat,
touching the place where Henry had squeezed him. His color was
blotchy but quickly returning quickly to normal.

“No,
no, I’m fine.” Henry took hold of Martin’s hips. “Help me
come.” He pulled Martin down into a kiss and rocked his hips
against Martin’s ass. Martin licked Henry’s cheek clean and
countered Henry’s thrusts with undulating movements of his hips,
making little satisfied grunts as he did so.

Henry
gathered Martin close and rolled him over, onto his back, and drove
into him hard enough to make him wince. Martin drew his knees up,
legs spread, wide open, and reached up to run his hands over Henry’s
chest, pinching his nipples in passing.

“Come
for me, Henry. Come on, do it.”

Henry
looked down at him, at his beautiful face and broad shoulders, at his
hair spread out on the carpet like the rays of the sun. No visual
trace of the choking game remained, and he was his familiar self, and
Henry loved him. Nothing could be easier than to come at his command.
Henry bent to kiss him, and Martin’s arms came around his back and
held him tight while he shuddered through a prolonged, intense orgasm
that left him feeling relieved and blessed and loved.

They
curled around each other, Henry’s head on Martin’s chest and
Martin combing through Henry’s hair with languid flicks of his
wrist.

“Thank
you, Henry,” Martin said, bending to kiss the top of Henry’s
head. “I always wanted to try that.”

Henry
froze. Try
it? “Wait. I thought you did this before, with Richard and whoever
else at Ganymede.”

“Oh,
no! People told me about it, but I’d never done it before. I didn’t
mean to give you the impression I was practiced at it!” He paused a
moment and then asked, “That’s all right, isn’t it? That I’ve
only done it with you?”

Henry
didn’t know how to feel. He’d only agreed to do it because he
thought Richard
had done it; it wasn’t anything he
had wanted to do. On the other hand, he loved that it was something
that Martin had only done with him, something definite he had over
Richard and the others.

“Yeah,”
Henry said slowly. “I guess.”

Martin
drew him closer. “I appreciate it very much, Henry. I know you
don’t always like the games I want to play, and you’re such a
good sport.”

“I
love you,” Henry explained. “I want to make you happy.”

“I
feel the same, Henry.” He snuggled close and wrapped himself around
Henry for just long enough for Henry to feel perfectly content, then
unwound himself and went for his basin.

Henry
lay naked before the fire and let Martin wash him: his cheekbone, his
chest, his cock, his hands. Henry pawed and petted Martin while he
worked, and when at last Henry was clean, Martin let himself be drawn
down into a kiss and stretched out full-length atop Henry’s body.

“We’re
bony.” Martin rubbed his cheek alongside Henry’s and kissed his
ear.

“One
of us should get a little fatter,” Henry remarked. “We could use
a little padding.”

“It’ll
have to be you, Henry. A companion shouldn’t ever be getting fat.
It’s part of the job to be fit.”

“Be
careful what you wish for, or I’ll end up a colossus like my
father, and I’ll get on top of you and squash you flat.” Henry
rolled Martin over onto his back and loomed over him, laughing.
Martin tickled him and he collapsed in helpless giggles, hunched over
trying to protect his ribs. They rolled back and forth across the
floor, knocking into the basin and sloshing water on the carpet.

“I
have to try to clean that up,” Martin said, breaking out of Henry’s
embrace. “I don’t want your carpet all spotty.” He got up and
went into the bathroom for a towel and then came back to blot at the
wet spot while Henry watched.

“Do
you have homework, Henry?”

Henry
grimaced. “Yes, of course.”

“Let’s
do what we can before I go down for dinner, shall we?”

“Do
we have to get dressed?”

Martin
laughed. “No, we can be naked.”

Henry
got his school bag and plopped down before the fire again. He had
another paragraph about Hercules from Dr. Foster and he translated
the few words he recognized before putting this aside for Martin to
do. He set about doing Mr. McLachlan’s math problems with good
cheer; he would not need Martin’s help with these.

Martin
went and put his damp towel in the laundry basket and returned to sit
cross-legged at Henry’s side before the fire. He picked up the
Latin mimeograph and a pencil and began translating.

They
worked in a companionable silence for perhaps ten minutes, then
Martin put down his pencil and the Latin text and said, “It’s
done.”

“Thank
you.” Henry reached for Martin, a hand around the back of his neck,
and pulled him in for a kiss.

“I
should get dressed now. It’s nearly time.”

“Of
course. Go on then.”

By
the time Martin returned fully-dressed, Henry had finished his math
and lay on his back on the floor, hands behind his head, basking in
the warmth from the fireplace.

Martin
knelt down to say goodbye. “Are you going to fall asleep here?”

Henry
smiled up at him. “I might.”

Martin
smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “You look like a god
resting in the forest. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Get
your dinner,” Henry told him, kissing his fingers. “I’ll be
here when you get back.”

Once
Martin had gone, Henry bestirred himself to copy the Latin paragraph
then flopped back down on the floor, wanting Martin to find him where
he’d left him. He dozed a little and dreamed that he was fucking
Tom and choking him, and Martin pointed out that he was safe, that he
couldn’t get gonorrhea that way. He woke abruptly, embarrassed and
aroused, and decided he would not share this dream with Martin.

Martin
returned slightly upset, having spoken with Jerry, who had many
unkind things to say about Tom.

“I
tried to explain to him that obviously Tom had no idea he was
spreading disease, but Jerry’s behaving as if Tom did this on
purpose. He doesn’t have to be friendly with Tom if he doesn’t
want to be, of course, but I don’t see the point of being hostile
and vindictive. Poor Tom is devastated as it is.” Martin put the
studs in Henry’s shirtfront, his expression pinched and fretful.

“Did
Jerry know that Tom was carrying on other affairs while he was
involved with them?” Henry held out his hands to have his cufflinks
inserted.

“He
must have. Tom never made any secret of it. Tom is—was—very
popular.”

“Where
did Tom catch it, anyway? Does he know?”

Martin
made a disgusted face. “Oh, this awful girl. Edith.”
He nearly spat the name. He knelt and held Henry’s trousers ready.

It
was just a guess, but Henry asked, “Is she a little redhead? Really
pretty?”

Martin
went wide-eyed, astonished. “How did you know?”

“She
was after him at Billy’s wedding. I overheard a conversation.”

“She
wanted him to be hers and hers alone.” Martin said this
disdainfully, as if it were self-evident that Tom would never belong
to the likes of Edith. “Meanwhile, she
had so many suitors! I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew she was
diseased and fucked him anyway.” While Henry tucked in his shirt,
Martin fetched his braces out of the wardrobe.

“If
she’s so horrible, why was Tom involved with her at all?”

“Well,
Tom
doesn’t think she’s horrible, or at least he didn’t. She is
very pretty, as you said, and Tom’s quite vain and liked the
picture the two of them made together.”

“Why
do you dislike her so much? It’s not just this latest thing, is
it?”

“She’s
always been dishonest, and she’s so possessive and clingy!”
Martin shuddered with distaste.

Henry
was a little worried by this, and a tiny bit offended. “I’m very
protective of you. Some might consider me
possessive and clingy.”

Martin
waved this off as being of no account. “But you have every right,
Henry. Edith
has no claim.” He held Henry’s waistcoat up for him to put on.
“Tom’s a companion, after all. Mr. Caldwell will always
have first claim on his attentions.”

Henry
went down to dinner with a few lingering questions. Did Martin
actually not mind how possessive and clingy Henry could be? Or was it
just that he accepted it as his due as Henry’s companion? Henry
didn’t like the idea that Martin was simply putting up with him,
though he supposed there was a certain amount of putting-up-with that
free people did in their relationships, as well. Really, Martin
didn’t behave like someone who felt burdened with Henry’s
attentions, so he couldn’t be resenting Henry’s clinginess too
much.

While
he ate, he thought about the slaves he’d seen at the wedding dance
and wondered which ones Martin would have gotten involved with if
Henry had never made use of him and allowed him his freedom instead.
Would he and Tom…? Would he have the clap right now? Henry hadn’t
seen a lot of slave boys with his own looks at the party, very tall
and dark; in the face of a lack of acceptable dark options, would
Martin be more receptive to other types, like the Spanglers’ ginger
footman? He debated whether he should ask Martin or not. He thought
not; it seemed like it could easily lead to hurt feelings or a fight.
It did seem obvious to him that someone who liked sex as much as
Martin did would have eventually found a way to get it, sanctioned or
not.

Pearl
had clearly enjoyed reading The
Ghost of Hedgecombe Manor,
and her new book, The
Lady in Blue,
seemed to be another ghost story, or at least a mystery. Henry was
immediately suspicious that the lady in blue would turn out to be
some sort of madwoman who was meant to be locked up, perhaps a
relation of the mysterious gentleman whose estate was the setting for
the story. In Henry’s experience, rich people’s lives were much
less interesting than novelists imagined. Even the Blackwell
household, boasting the drama of marital estrangement, a long
illness, and a hopelessly queer son, didn’t seem particularly
novelistic.

It
occurred to Henry rather suddenly: were there novels that catered
specifically to the interests of slaves? Were they written by slaves
or free people? What were the dominant themes? No novel Henry had
ever read dared hint at a romance between master and slave, but might
a novel written for an audience of slaves cross this line? Even if
such taboo stories were told, though, they would surely only describe
romances between males and females; slaves might do what they wished
with other slaves, but it seemed unlikely that a book would be
published that suggested a master might engage in queer behavior with
a slave. There was Drake’s
Progress,
of course, but it might only be Henry and Martin seeing the romance
there. Henry felt a deep longing to read a book about people like
Martin and himself, young men in the throes of a forbidden passion;
he would have to ask Martin about slave novels.

After
the reading, Henry kissed his mother goodnight and went down the hall
in a distracted daze. Preoccupied, he kept quiet while Martin
undressed him.

“What
are you thinking about, Henry?” Martin untied Henry’s tie and
slipped it from around his collar.

“What
do slaves read?”

“I’m
sorry?”

“Besides
regular books, obviously. Are there books meant just for slaves?
About things that are particularly interesting to slaves?”

Martin
considered this while he undid Henry’s shirt studs and cufflinks.
“I...never thought about it. I suppose there might be. What do you
think they’d be about?”

“I’d
like to read a book about people like us,” Henry told him. “People
who are doing what their hearts tell them, but it’s forbidden.”
He shrugged out of his shirt, catching it before it fell to the floor
and putting it in Martin’s hands. “You didn’t have slave novels
at Ganymede?” The more Henry thought about it, the more convinced
he became that whole genres of slave novels must exist.

“I
don’t think so,” Martin said slowly. “We had things like
regular boys would have, though not as many of them, and not as nice.
We had regular schoolbooks and regular storybooks. We had many of the
same books I see on your shelves.”

“Well,
that’s what I want to read,” Henry asserted. “A slave story. A
real
forbidden love. A romance between master and slave, like us.”

Martin
considered this, lip held between his teeth. “You know, there might
be such books, but offered for sale discreetly. For adults,
adult gentlemen. I’m thinking of the dirty book we passed around at
Ganymede; it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d be able to buy at a
regular bookshop.”

“How
does a person find a dirty bookshop?” Henry mused, not really
expecting Martin would know.

“I-I’m
not sure? I can find out if you’d like. Or you might ask Mr.
Briggs; no doubt his brother knows exactly where such shops are
located.”

It
was a good idea. James would surely know where to buy pornographic
books, but Henry didn’t want James knowing that he wanted any such
thing; he didn’t even want Louis to know.

“No,
I’d better not ask James,” Henry told him. “He’d feel
entitled to know what I wanted. He’d want to know all my business,
and Louis would be just as bad.”

“I’m
sure I can find out for you, if you’ll give me a little time.”
Martin put Henry’s laundry in the basket and hung his dinner suit
in the wardrobe. He stripped off his own clothes with efficient speed
while Henry admired him from his perch on the edge of the bed.
Gathering everything up, Martin said, “I’ll just go put my
clothes away.”

“All
right.” Henry followed him as far as the bathroom, where he brushed
his teeth. After he had rinsed and spit, he went to lay down,
sprawled across the bed.

“I’ll
be right back.” Martin bent over him in pajamas and dressing gown.
“Get under the covers, Henry. It’s cold.” He kissed Henry on
the mouth and left the room with their laundry.

While
he waited for Martin’s return, Henry thought more about what a good
master-slave forbidden-love romance would read like. He thought his
own story was a good example, actually, though he’d leave out the
ridiculous part where the master was essentially afraid to touch his
slave for weeks and weeks, as he felt this would make the master
character laughable. No, in his story, the master and slave would be
unquestionably drawn to each other in the auction hall, and they’d
consummate their desire as soon as they were alone. Or no, hmm, maybe
it was better if they had to wait for some reason, and the waiting
would make it that much more exciting when they finally did touch one
another.

Martin
returned and climbed into bed. They kissed all entwined, and Martin
ran his hands through Henry’s hair, holding Henry’s head where he
wanted it. His hard cock was slick and insistent alongside Henry’s
own.

“You’re
my dirty boy, aren’t you, Henry?” he breathed. “You’ll do
anything for me.”

Henry
thought he maybe shouldn’t agree this was true; it wasn’t very
masterful to admit it. But all he said was, “Yes. Yes I will.”











The
invitations for the Metropolitan Ball were arriving all during the
week, the boys at school visibly relieved when theirs arrived, and
those still waiting taking pains to hide their anxiety. The
Metropolitan Ball was just one of many spring balls but it was the
only one where Algonquin boys traditionally served as escorts.
Although it had never happened before, there were rumors that not all
the boys in their year would be asked, as there were boys from other
schools invited, as well, and there were only so many girls in need
of escorts.

To
Henry’s great relief, his invitation arrived on Wednesday, and when
he and Martin returned home from school, Pearl congratulated him and
explained the arrangements in his mother's place, as Mother was down
with a headache. Henry remembered hearing all of this before, when
James had been an escort four years prior. As an invited escort,
Henry would participate in a quadrille that would show the young
ladies being debuted to best advantage. It would require a great deal
of practice, of course, and Gill's Dancing Academy would see to his
training beginning the first week of March.

“I'm
sure Martin is a wonderful dancer, Sir,” Pearl remarked. “He's
such a well-trained boy. And, of course, you have always been very
light on your feet. You needn’t worry about the quadrille, Sir; it
will just be dances you already know made into combinations.”

They
would attend lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school for two
months, dancing with their slaves for the first six weeks, but
partnering with the girls for the final two weeks before the ball,
which would take place the last Saturday in April. Henry did not care
if he ever danced with another girl, but he was excited about the
ball. He wanted to see Martin in his formal clothing, and, because it
was a white-tie event, the slaves would wear collared shirts and
black
ties; he'd never seen Martin in a tie, with his mark covered.

The
only bad thing about the invitation, and it was minor, was that
Henry’s full name had been written out, and his hated middle name
had received the calligrapher’s flourished treatment.

“Eustace,
Sir,” Martin said, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth as they
climbed the stairs. “How have I known you this long without knowing
your middle name?”

“I
don’t exactly make it known,” Henry said in a warning tone. “If
you care about what I want, you won’t be saying it often.”

“Where
does it come from, Sir? Is it a family name?”

“It
was Grandfather Wilton’s name, I think. It’s from the Wiltons,
anyway.”

In
Henry’s room, Martin set the invitation on Henry’s desk, propped
up against his pencil cup.

“I’m
a bit excited,” Martin admitted. “It’ll be a real grown-up
party, won’t it?”

“It
will be,” Henry confirmed. “When it was James’ turn, Louis and
I heard all about it, of course, and it’s very grand. As you might
guess, all James wanted to do was to sneak liquor and kiss girls, but
I think most boys are pretty well-behaved.”

“I
imagine being dressed up gives everyone a sense of occasion,”
Martin remarked.

After
homework, they had a little time before Martin’s dinner, so Martin
helped Henry write Reggie a letter.

Dear
Uncle,

Thank
you for your letter. I hope you’ve been able to rid yourself of
some of your unwanted possessions since you wrote. It seems to me it
must be very trying to dismantle a life and I do not envy you the
task. I hope you are able to do it with a sense of hope and a feeling
that the future holds much for you, as I believe to be the case. We
are all certainly eager for you to return home.

I’ve
received my invitation to the Metropolitan Ball, which is quite
exciting. We start our lessons for the quadrille next Tuesday.
They’ll be with Mr. Gill, who taught me when I was little. He
probably taught you when you were little, for that matter!

I
haven’t seen Jesse since your farewell party, but I intend to call
him up. I like him very much, but I think he’s a little wilder than
me, and it’s a bit intimidating. I do have the feeling, though,
that I could tell him anything about myself and he would understand.
Do you think that’s the case?

Do
you have a camera? I would like to see pictures of your house and the
lake and vineyard, if possible.

Thank
you for writing to your friend Sully. I look forward to learning
whatever he might have to tell you.

I
will write to you again soon. Love to you and Benjy from me and
Martin.

Yours,

Henry

“Do
you think that’s all right, then?” Henry read it over, unsure.
“I’m sure Jesse has written him a poem or something.”

“Don’t
be jealous of Jesse,” Martin chided gently. “Your uncle likes you
best, you know this.”

“He
liked me best when I was 7,” Henry pointed out. “I think Jesse
got a lot more interesting in the meantime.”

“If
you’ll just seal it up, I’ll take it downstairs to Randolph to be
mailed.”

Henry
held out the pen. “You address the envelope; your handwriting is
better.”

Martin
laughed. “Very well, Henry.” He carefully copied the address off
Reggie’s envelope and then slid it across the desk for Henry to
seal, watching as Henry licked the flap and pressed it down.

“You
should telephone him, you know.”

“What?”

“Your
cousin.”

“Jesse?”

Martin
smiled. “Who else?”

“Should
I invite him over, or something?” Henry immediately worried about
how he might entertain Jesse. He didn’t have nude drawings or
cigarettes or really anything interesting to share, except maybe his
relation to Martin, which he wasn’t prepared to talk about with
anyone beyond perhaps Reggie.

“Certainly,
or you could do something with him outside of the house,” Martin
suggested. “You could go to the arcade, maybe? Or Mr. Wilton might
have some suggestions of his own.”

The
idea of seeing Jesse was appealing, and Henry liked even better the
idea of seeing him somewhere other than either of their homes, as it
seemed possible that Jesse’s exhibitionism would take over any
bedroom in which he found himself, and Henry wanted to avoid a
confrontation just as much as he wanted to avoid temptation.

“Let’s
go down together,” Martin suggested. “I’ll take Randolph your
letter and you can call your cousin.”

Henry
allowed himself to be quickly dressed in his grey suit and followed
Martin downstairs. Randolph was in the front hall and was happy to
take the letter off Martin’s hands; they went together to the
telephone alcove, where Henry sat and Martin stood in the doorway,
listening with interest.

When
the telephone was answered on the Wilton end, Henry asked for Jesse.

“May
I tell Mr. Jesse who’s calling, please?” Henry could picture the
face of the slave who spoke, but he couldn’t remember his name.

“It’s
his cousin Henry.”

“Very
good, Sir. I’ll just go inform him.”

There
was a lot of clatter at the other end of the line, the sound of Jesse
and Russ laughing, and then Jesse said a breathless, “Hello?
Henry?”

“Yes,
hi, it’s me.”

“Henry!
How nice to hear from you! I’ve been wondering how you’ve been
doing.”

“You
could have telephoned me,” Henry pointed out.

“I
was worried I upset you last time we were together,” Jesse said,
not sounding worried at all. “I didn’t want to be a pest.”

“Well,
I’m calling you now. I was thinking we could do something.”

“Do
something?”

“See
each other. Or something.” Henry felt his cheeks growing hot.

“That
would be great, Henry. I’d like that. Say, I’m meeting Eli for
lunch on Saturday—why don’t you come, too?”

“Eli
wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m
sure he wouldn’t,” Jesse said blithely. “Eli likes you, too.”

“All
right, then. Where are we meeting?”

“It’s
this place Reggie took me,” Jesse explained. “It’s called the
Third Eye Café. Do you know it?”

Henry
laughed. “He took me there, too. Did you have couscous?”

“I
did! Russ really liked it. I ended up drinking half of Reggie’s
wine and my father was furious with him for letting me get drunk.”

Henry
felt jealous—he had not even been given the opportunity to drink
wine. He made the effort to not exhibit this jealousy, however.
“Should I meet you there?”

“Eli
and I are meeting at the Garibaldi statue in Washington Square at
eleven. Why don’t you meet us there instead?”

“All
right, I will. Saturday at eleven.”

“Yep!
Oh, Russ wants me to say hello to Martin for him.”

“Oh.
Okay. I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks
for calling, Henry. I’m glad I’ll get to see you again so soon.”

They
said their goodbyes and Henry hung up the telephone and turned to
Martin. “Russ says hello.”

“Oh!
That was nice of him, don’t you think, Sir?”

He
filled Martin in on their Saturday plans and Martin seemed well
pleased.

“The
Wiltons are such nice people and like you so well, Sir,” Martin
remarked. “Since your father is willing to let you have them, you
should definitely take advantage.”











As
of Friday morning, everyone knew about Tom’s affliction. The news
had passed among the neighborhood’s slaves and from there up to
their masters. Boys were furious with Freddie for not telling them,
worried that they might have somehow contracted the clap from Tom’s
pretty mouth.

“If
he didn’t fuck
you in the ass,
then you’re fine,” Freddie snarled to the group at large. “He
couldn’t have given it to anyone by sucking a cock. I didn’t tell
you because you didn’t need to know.”

“But
you told Henry,” Robert said.

“Because
Tom was fucking Henry’s slaves!”
Freddie’s frustration was making him loud and sharp.

Robert
turned to Henry. “So Martin
has it, too?”

“No!”
Henry said emphatically. “Tom was having sex with some of our
stable slaves. He’s never
had sex with Martin.”

“He
wants to, though,” some small voice said knowingly, and boys
snickered in agreement as Henry felt an angry blush color his cheeks.
So even his friends saw it, then.

The
slaves had split up into several smaller groups instead of their
usual undelineated massing. Tom, seeming full up with shame, stood
apart with Martin, Julian, and the rest of the Orpheus slaves, Simon,
Miles and Allen. Miles had his arm around Tom and whispered in his
ear.

Robert
stepped out of the huddle of boys and called out, “Dick, come
here.”

Dick
did as he was told and Robert took him aside, although within hearing
of everyone. “Listen, I want you to keep clear of Tom for the time
being,” he said. “Just a precaution, all right?”

Dick,
seeming somewhat bemused, said, “Of course, Sir. Whatever you
want.”

Several
other boys immediately followed Robert’s example, and all the while
Freddie shouted over them.

“He
can’t give it to anyone by talking!”
Freddie yelled angrily. “No one’s going to catch anything in
school,
for chrissakes!”

At
the bell, they went reluctantly to class. Henry felt bad for Freddie
and Tom both, and disdainful of the boys who had forbidden their
slaves any contact with poor Tom, who surely needed his friends now
more than ever. After lunch, as they all went out to the yard, Henry
noted that Miles was quietly furious, tight-lipped and tense, keeping
his distance from Tom but gazing at him mournfully all the while, and
realized that Joshua had ordered Miles to abandon his friend.

Henry
had noted over the months that the Orpheus slaves were close, closer
than slaves from the other Houses. Despite having slept in the same
room—often the same bed—as Stuart for several years, Martin
showed little interest in spending time with his childhood friend.
Likewise, the Endymion slaves, Peter and Will, were not particularly
close. But the Orpheus slaves were all clearly fond of one another,
demonstrative and affectionate, and habitually spent time together.
Not only would this forced separation hurt Tom, but it was clearly
hurting Miles, as well.

Henry
didn’t know what he’d say, but he wanted to say something.
Because Tom would be hurt, Martin would feel pain, too, and Henry
felt he should try to do whatever he could to alleviate it.

“Where
are you going?” Louis asked, catching at his sleeve.

“I
have to talk to Joshua. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t
get involved, Henry,” Louis called after him.

Gordon
and Joshua were standing apart talking in low voices, Gordon looked
up as Henry approached.

“What
do you
want?” Gordon snapped, and then just as quickly said, “Sorry. I’m
just trying to talk some sense into this moron.” He jabbed at
Joshua with his finger, stopping just short of actually poking him in
the chest.

“Stop
calling me names,” Joshua complained. “I’m just trying to be
safe.”

“Is
this about Miles?” Henry asked. “Because that’s what I wanted
to talk to him about, too.”

“Good,”
Gordon said. “You
try.”

“Josh,
he can’t get the clap from talking to Tom, or standing with him, or
anything he might do with his clothes on. You know this.”

“I’m
just trying to be safe,” Joshua repeated. He had his arms crossed
stubbornly over his chest, and Henry sensed that they were at a
delicate place with Joshua’s state of mind.

“Anyone
can see how upset Miles is,” Henry tried. “He just wants to be
supportive of his friend. By keeping them apart, you’re making them
both miserable. Tom hasn’t done anything to you or Miles, after
all.” And then the argument occurred to Henry. “He did
give the clap to my
slaves,” Henry pointed out, “and I’m still letting Martin be a
good friend to him. He’s just a sick fellow, Josh, not some
diseased monster.”

Joshua’s
shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, but all he said was a haughty,
“Thank you for your opinion. Now, can we not
talk about this any more?” He walked away, leaving Gordon and Henry
shrugging at this inconclusive outcome.

However,
something must have gotten through to Joshua, because after school
Miles was at Tom’s side, albeit for only a few minutes before being
called back to attend to his master’s needs.

Freddie
caught up with Henry and Louis on the way to the omnibus, Tom
following close behind.

“Henry,
wait up!”

“Hey,
Freddie.”

“I
just wanted to thank you,” Freddie said, slightly breathless, “for
sticking up for Tom. He’s caused a lot of trouble for your house,
and you’ve been really kind. It’s a different side of you for
me.”

Henry
laughed. “What did
you think of me before, then?”

“Oh,
I don’t mean anything by it, Henry. You’re just a really good
guy, is all. Tommy appreciates it, too.”

Behind
Freddie, Tom looked sheepish but grateful. “Yes, Sir,” he said.
“I can’t thank you enough, Sir.”

“People
need their friends in hard times,” Henry said, shrugging. “I’m
glad Josh changed his mind.”

They
all rode the omnibus north, Henry and Louis getting off with their
slaves while Freddie and Tom continued on.

“That
was
nice of you,” Louis said. “I don’t think I’d go out of my way
for anyone else’s slave. Well, maybe Martin, since he’s yours,
but not any of the others.”

“What
about Ralph? He’s Peter’s good friend.”

Louis
shrugged. “Maybe. I’m just not as nice as you, Henry.” He
laughed. “I should probably try to be more like you, though, and
less like James. That should be my whole plan going forward.”

“Maybe.”
Henry wasn’t going to discourage him. “Tom’s having a rough
time of it,” Henry said. “I feel bad for him.”

“Remember
when James had the clap? He was actually proud
of it.”

Henry
remembered. He and Louis had been so impressed by James, how James
was living life to the fullest, consequences be damned!

“The
treatment was pretty terrible, though,” Louis said. “I think the
cure was worse than the disease for James.” He turned to Martin and
asked, “How’s Tom taking it?”

“Oh,
he’s quite miserable, Sir,” Martin assured him.

“This
is all Freddie’s fault for letting him run wild,” Louis decided.
“I imagine they’ve both learned a lesson.”

Louis
as moralizer was such a ludicrous proposition that Henry laughed,
snorting, but did not explain himself when Louis gave him a quizzical
look.

They
all said their goodbyes at the Blackwell gate. Paul let them inside
and took their coats.

Martin
took hold of Henry’s wrist on the stairs and hurried him along,
moving down the hallway just short of a run.

Inside
Henry’s room, Martin locked the door and pushed Henry up against
it, hands flat on his chest.

“What—”

“I
want to thank you,” Martin murmured, “for being so kind to my
friend.” He gave Henry a searching, hungry kiss while he busied his
hands with Henry’s trouser buttons.

Henry
kissed him back, his hands light on Martin’s shoulders and then
pulling his hair loose from its tail. “I was happy to do it,” he
said, “for you. I did it for you.”

“You
did it, Henry, and that’s all that matters.” He drew Henry’s
prick out of his drawers and went to his knees. “Hold still, and
let me thank you properly.”











Friday
afternoon and evening were spent mostly naked, Martin rewarding Henry
again and again for his kindness toward Tom. Waking on Saturday, he
pulled Martin down into the bed with him, aching with love. He wished
Martin could sleep in with him on Saturdays and Sundays, that they
could depend upon his parents being absent from the breakfast room so
that Martin might take weekend breakfasts with him.

Showered
and shaved, Henry dressed in his blue plaid suit, but then remembered
he’d worn it last time he’d seen Jesse and changed instead into
the black-and-grey check. As he dressed, he noted that Martin was
wearing his chrysanthemum waistcoat and kissed him for it, full of
fondness.

He
ate a big breakfast alone and Martin sat down and had a cup of coffee
with him, their feet touching under the table. Mother came in with
Pearl as they were leaving.

“Where
are you off to so early, darling?”

“I’m
meeting Jesse, actually, Mother. Eli, as well.”

Mother
gave him her rare, beautiful smile. “Oh, darling, that’s
wonderful!” Pearl set a cup of tea down before her, along with a
scone on a gold-rimmed plate. “My family are special people, don’t
you think?”

Henry
thought that they were, but he wasn’t sure he meant it the same way
his mother did. “Um, yes, they are.”

“Well,
have a nice time with your cousins, darling. I’ll want to hear all
about it.”

It
was only half-past nine, but Henry thought they might go to the
arcade beforehand to check out the peep show reels. They got their
coats and hats and went out into the chill to wait for the omnibus.
Henry felt slightly nervous about seeing his cousins, especially
Jesse; Jesse was unpredictable. Jesse wouldn’t be suggesting any
voyeuristic games in a restaurant, to be sure, but Henry felt a
little pleasantly wary of him nonetheless. Jesse was exciting in a
way that reminded Henry of James, yet without James’ mean streak.
With James now dishonored, it would be nice to admire someone’s
audacity again.

The
omnibus had plenty of seats open so Martin sat down with Henry, their
knees touching where no one could see.

Henry
leaned close and whispered, “I love you,” in Martin’s ear.

Martin
drew back, his cheeks pink, and said, “Sir!”

“It’s
true,” Henry said with a shrug, grinning, delighted to have made
Martin blush.

They
got off the omnibus a block from Union Square and walked over to the
arcade, where they were among the morning’s first customers. The
younger boys who ran back and forth between the strength-testing
machines seemed fascinated by Martin, his long hair and tattooed
chest, and Henry recognized that he resented their gaping fascination
far more than Martin did. Martin ignored them and bent over the
Mutoscopes, plugging in pennies as he made his way down the row.

Henry
stayed close, taking every opportunity to let his shoulder brush
Martin’s or to touch his hand in passing as they traded turns at
the machines, and Martin let him do it. He sensed that some of the
boys were envious, and whether their envy was because he was rich, or
because he had Martin, he enjoyed feeling superior and privileged.

At
a quarter of eleven, they left the arcade and walked down 5th to
Washington Square and the Garibaldi statue. They saw Jesse and Eli at
a distance, Jesse horsing around with Russ while Eli and Owen
watched. Henry had somehow imagined that Jesse would behave more
conventionally in public, but he’d actually had no reason to think
that, and here was Jesse proving that he’d been foolish in his
imaginings. There were very few circumstances in which Henry would be
willing to roughhouse in public with Martin, and midmorning in a busy
park wasn’t one of them.

“Henry!”
Jesse caught sight of him and waved, his other arm around Russ’
neck. They looked to be having a great time. Eli looked a little
uneasy, but glad enough to see Henry. Jesse insisted on hugging
Henry, but Eli was content with a handshake.

“Did
you come straight from home? Or were you somewhere else before you
came here?” Jesse asked.

“We
went to the arcade in Union Square,” Henry told him. “We wanted
to see if there were new peep shows. Those are our favorites, both
mine and Martin’s.” He felt it wasn’t too out of line to make
such an assertion of unity to his cousins.

“Owen
likes the gambling games,” Eli said. “He never wins, but he likes
to gamble anyway.” Owen seemed embarrassed by his master’s
remarks, but amused, as well.

“I
like the peep shows, too,” Jesse said, putting Russ in a headlock
that he patiently tolerated. Jesse ruffled Russ’ hair with his
other hand and said, “Russ, what’s your favorite thing at the
arcade?”

“Strength
testers, Sir.”

“That’s
because you’re stronger than me,” Jesse said, laughing. He let
Russ out of the headlock and gave him an affectionate squeeze before
releasing him entirely. “Are you fellows hungry? We could walk over
to the restaurant.”

Henry
was always hungry. “I could eat.”

“Me,
too,” said Eli.

The
three boys and their slaves began walking.

“Say,
Henry, is it true your family lets the slaves eat at the table?”
Jesse seemed energized by the idea.

Henry
blushed, feeling scrutinized. “Not always.
My father does it if he’s eating alone, or if he’s just eating
with me, so I do that with Martin, too. But when the whole family is
eating together, the slaves wait on us, like normal.”

“I
wouldn’t mind trying it,” Jesse said. “What do you think, Eli?”

Eli
squirmed a little, looking very uncomfortable with the idea. “You
mean now?”

“Why
not?” Jesse threw his arms wide, open to the possibilities. “If
they don’t eat with us now, when will
they eat?”

“If
Owen gets hungry, I’ll feed him,” Eli said, sounding defensive.

“What,
peanuts from a street vendor?” Jesse said derisively. “Henry
does it all the time, Eli. Let’s just give it a try.”

Henry
did not, in fact, do it all the time, but he liked the idea of
sitting down to a meal with Martin with his cousins. It made him feel
that he was very unconventional, very bohemian.
He glanced back at Martin, who cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him but
did not seem unduly concerned about the impropriety of sitting down
with masters.

Eli
was red in the face and seemed almost angry, but he said, “Fine.
We’ll probably get kicked out of the restaurant, though.”

“Oh,
no,” Jesse assured him cheerfully. “Not from this
restaurant. It’s run by theater
people.”

The
Third Eye Café was just opening for lunch, the waiters yawning and
unenthusiastic about having customers.

“A
table for the three of you?” asked the host.

“We’ll
need a table for six, if you don’t mind,” Jesse said, shrugging
off his coat into Russ’ hands.

The
host raised an eyebrow but did not suggest this request couldn’t be
accommodated. “Certainly, sir. If you’ll allow us a few minutes
to prepare a table.”

Jesse
elbowed Henry and said, “I’ve never sat down with Russ in public
before.” He sounded quite excited, bouncing a little on his toes.

“I’ve
never wanted
to sit down with Owen,” Eli said crankily, and Henry darted a
glance at Owen to see how he took this; he seemed unaffected, which
Henry suspected was Owen’s default state.

Two
tables had been pushed together for them; Jesse immediately sat at
the head, with Russ at his right hand. Eli sat at the other end, Owen
taking the chair next to Russ. Henry sat at Jesse’s left hand with
Martin sitting next to him, in the chair between Eli and himself.

Jesse
was looking over the menu in high spirits. He reached over and put
his hand on Russ’ wrist. “Order whatever you want,” he said.
“Anything at all.”

“Thank
you, Sir.” Russ smiled at Jesse with such fondness that Henry was a
little flustered. He was more and more convinced that Jesse and Russ
were actually lovers, but could think of no possible way to find out
except asking,
and he wasn’t prepared to be so bold.

Henry
turned to Martin and said, “Same goes for you. Whatever you’d
like.”

“I
think I’ll have what you had last time, Sir—the roast chicken.”

“It
was
good,” Henry said by way of agreement. “I’ll get something
different this time and we can share.”

Eli
seemed tense and Owen kept quiet, both perusing their menus.

The
waiter came with water for the table.

“Might
we order some wine?” Jesse asked. “A carafe of the house red
should be sufficient.”

The
waiter frowned and looked doubtfully at Jesse, and then at the rest.
“May I ask how old you gentlemen are, sir?”

Jesse
gave a very arch laugh and said, “Oh, we’re certainly old enough
to drink!”

The
waiter shook his head and said firmly, “I’m afraid not, sir.
Would you care to order now?”

Jesse
pouted a long moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll
have the veal.”

The
rest ordered, Henry choosing roast beef with horseradish and potatoes
and Martin getting the roast chicken with the exotically-spiced
couscous. Henry wondered if he could get away with feeding Martin a
bite of the roast beef from his own fork and colored pleasurably at
the thought; Jesse would certainly do as much, and much worse, and
would deflect all attention from Henry.

Jesse
was interrogating Eli. “Why are you so uncomfortable?” he asked.
“I’ve seen you eat with him plenty of times at my house.”

“That’s
snacks in your room,” Eli said. “It’s not a meal in public.”

“But
you care
about him,” Jesse said urgently, his voice lowered fractionally for
the sake of propriety. “Why aren’t you happy to do it?”

“Don’t
push, Jesse,” Eli said, warning in his tone. “Everyone isn’t
like you, all right? And I’m doing what you want, anyway, so leave
off, will you?”

Henry
cleared his throat. “Please, Jesse. Don’t make Eli
uncomfortable.” He felt responsible, it being his supposed example
that had put Eli in this predicament.

Jesse
put his hand on Henry’s arm and squeezed. “I want to share
everything with Russ,” he offered by way of explanation. “I’m
closer with him than anybody. Don’t you feel the same about
Martin?” He did not wait for an answer, saying, “I think you do.”

Henry
felt his face grow hot and red. “Y-yes,” he admitted.

“I’m
sorry, Eli,” Jesse said. “I have a habit of bossing you, don’t
I?” He gave Eli an especially winning smile, and Eli smiled back a
little unwillingly. To Henry, Jesse said, “I’ve talked Eli into
all sorts of things over the years. It’s astonishing, actually,
that he’ll spend any time with me at all.”

“You
have your charms,” Eli said dryly. “Besides, I can’t avoid you.
We’re in the same class. I see you practically every day.”

Henry’s
cousins were both twelfth-year students at the prestigious Lawton
School.

“I
wish you went to Lawton, too,” Jesse said, touching Henry’s arm
again. “I know you’re a year behind us, but it would still be
good to see you at lunch every day.”

Henry
blushed and shook his head. “I’m not smart enough to go to
Lawton,” he said.

“I
doubt that’s true,” Jesse said charitably. “I’m
not all that smart, either.”

Henry
frowned, doubting Jesse’s self-assessment. Jesse was very clever.
He might not be the smartest boy at Lawton, but he was surely smarter
than the highest-achieving Algonquin student. Henry was not Lawton
material, and he knew it.

Jesse
looked around the table. “When you eat with Henry, do you always
keep so quiet?” he asked Martin. He did not wait for an answer, but
said, “Russ, Owen, you can talk, you know.”

“I
don’t know quite what to say, Sir,” Russ admitted. “I’m a
little ill-at-ease.”

“Aw,
don’t worry.” Jesse reached out and tucked Russ’ hair behind
his ear, the gesture very tender—and not at all appropriate for
either master and slave or
for any two boys. Henry blushed again at the implied intimacy, and he
felt a hard nudge from Martin’s foot under the table.

Jesse
turned to Henry and said, “Eli and I talk all the time, you see.
I’m surprised we find anything else to say to one another! But tell
us what you’ve been doing, Henry. Have you been in touch with
Reggie?”

“I
just wrote to him this week,” Henry said. “I got my invitation to
the Metropolitan Ball and I told him about that.”

Eli
and Jesse exchanged an amused glance. “Ah,” Eli said. “Lawton’s
ball is the New Amsterdam Cotillion. We had a great time last year,
all of us.”

“Eli
and I rented one of those big carriages and went together with our
girls,” Jesse said. “They were awful girls, weren’t they, Eli?
But we had fun anyway. I loved seeing Russ and Owen and all the rest
of the slaves in their black ties.”

“I’m
looking forward to that, too,” Henry admitted. “I’m not really
looking forward to escorting the girl, though.”

Eli
looked surprised. “Why not? You’re such a catch, Henry. I’d
imagine girls make it easy for you.”

Henry
blushed. He had no idea how to say what the problem was without
causing more problems for himself.

Jesse
said, “Oh, Eli, Henry’s so shy.
I’d imagine that having some saucy little minx flirting with him is
practically torture!”

The
wait staff arrived with their plates and served the masters first.
The boys were all quiet a few minutes as they began to eat.

They
had been the restaurant’s first customers of the day, but now the
room was beginning to fill up. About half the patrons were
accompanied by slaves, and all seemed very artistic, in Henry’s
opinion. A pair of nattily-dressed gentlemen sat at a table at
Jesse’s back, their slaves at attention behind them. There was
something Reggie-ish about them that made Henry wonder if they were
simply friends, or if the relationship might be more intimate. He
could not very well eat his meat and gape at the strangers at the
same time, so he turned his attention to his plate with a red face.

Jesse
was feeding Russ bites from his plate off his own fork. Henry didn’t
know if he could manage such a thing himself; surely, his hand would
shake too hard.

Martin
leaned close and said, “Sir, would you like a bite of my chicken?”

Henry
blushed a deeper crimson. “Yes, please.” He waited a moment, and
Martin waited, too.

“Sir...did
you want me to feed it to you?” Martin asked tentatively.

“Yes,”
Henry told him. He held his breath and watched as Martin neatly cut
meat from the bone and then hesitantly held it out on his own fork
for Henry to take.

“Sir!”
Martin said in a low, thrilled tone as Henry drew the morsel off the
tines of the fork with his lips and began to chew.

Henry
looked up and saw that Eli was glancing back and forth between Jesse
and himself with a look of horror on his handsome face. Owen was
eating from his own plate with ostentatiously good table manners, his
back very straight, his eyes cast down.

“Oh,
what is
it, Eli?” Jesse asked with a put-upon sigh. “Are you fretting
about nothing?”

“I
hoped Henry would be a voice of reason,” Eli remarked, scowling.
“Instead, he’s just as incorrigible as you.”

Henry
blushed again, but was pleased to be categorized with his impetuous
cousin.

Henry
fed Martin a taste of his roast beef from his own fork, scarcely able
to breathe at his own bold actions. No one in the restaurant seemed
to notice how they were carrying on, which was a little
disappointing—he wanted to be recognized for his daring!—but
mostly a relief.

Jesse
offered Henry a bit of his veal, as well, but did not attempt to feed
it to him from his own fork. Eli declined a taste of anyone else’s
food, and no one offered or asked for tastes from any other boy’s
slave.

“But
back to the ball,” Jesse said. “We got hold of some champagne and
got quite drunk, all of us and our slaves. I imagine that happens at
all the balls, actually.”

“You
practically had to carry Russ,” Eli remembered. “You on one side
and Owen on the other, dragging him out to the carriage.” Russ was
shamefaced at this revelation and looked down at his plate.

Jesse
laughed. “Our girls were furious. They wouldn’t even sit with us
in the carriage. It was us with our slaves and them with theirs.”
Jesse reached over and smoothed Russ’ hair. “Don’t be
embarrassed. I didn’t mind taking care of you. You take care of me
all the time.” Russ tilted his head against Jesse’s hand,
welcoming the touch.

“Jesse!”
Eli said in a sharp whisper. “Knock it off!”

Jesse
waved off Eli’s concern. “No one notices anything,” he said
blithely. “And no one cares, either.”

“Does
no one really notice?” Henry blurted. He was dying to know.
“Because at Christmas I certainly noticed!”

Jesse
laughed. “You were shocked, I could tell!”

“Don’t
your parents…?”

“I’m
told my father and his Harold were exceptionally close when they were
young,” Jesse said with a shrug. “Reggie and Benjamin, too. So
perhaps it’s a Wilton tradition.” He reached over and squeezed
Russ’ shoulder. “I have a great need for affection in my life,
both the giving and the getting.”

“You
like shocking people,” Eli said accusingly.

“I
don’t mind
it,” Jesse admitted. “I don’t set out with that intention, but
it doesn’t bother me when it happens.”

“I
could never get away with being so demonstrative,” Henry noted. “My
father would definitely disapprove and my friends would have
something to say about it, too.”

“I
don’t want
to get away with it,” Eli said. “I’m quite content to keep
everything between me and Owen private.”

Jesse
cocked an eyebrow at Eli and snorted. “Semi-private, maybe. I’ve
seen plenty
from you and Owen.”

Eli
blushed a furious red and glowered at his cousin. “Shut up, Jesse.”

They
were all quiet an uncomfortable few seconds before the waiter
appeared to take their dessert orders, four chocolate tortes, two
coconut cakes, and coffee for all.

“Sorry,
Eli,” Jesse said after the waiter left. He actually seemed
contrite. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you know.”

“You
never do mean it,” Eli grumped, leaning back in his chair and
crossing his arms over his chest. “But you cause problems for me
all the same.”

“But
Henry’s our cousin,” Jesse pointed out. “It’s okay if he
knows. He cares about his slave, too. I let him in on my game—”

“Sprung
it on him, more likely,” Eli said knowingly. “Cornered him and
made him play.”

Jesse
snorted again. “I’ll admit that the first
time we played, Eli, I surprised you, and maybe you felt like you had
to go along with it. But all the other
times…what’s your excuse for those?” When Eli did not answer,
Jesse said, “I always have such fun with you, Eli, but if you want
to stop, you should stop. I don’t like the implication that I’ve
forced you into anything. You’ve definitely been a willing
participant, and I don’t like you pretending otherwise. You never
even had to start, you know. Henry didn’t want to play, so he
didn’t,
and we’re still friends.”

“You
said he watched,” Eli said, suspicious of Jesse.

“And
that was all that happened,” Jesse told him. “He was startled—”
here, he turned to Henry. “You were startled, weren’t you?”

“Er,
yes,” Henry said. “It was…unexpected.” Martin’s knee bumped
his own under the table.

“Stop
if you want to stop,” Jesse repeated. “I have other friends
who’ll play, and I have Elizabeth to tell stories to. I don’t
want to have a falling out with you because you’re uneasy about
this one aspect of our friendship.”

The
waiter brought their cakes. Henry had coconut, Martin chocolate, and
they took bites from each other’s plates with their own forks, the
dessert course being much more socially acceptable to share, and the
means of sharing certainly nothing to raise eyebrows.

Halfway
through his torte, Eli looked up at Jesse. “What friends?”

“What?”

“You
said you have other friends who’ll play. Are you talking about our
group?”

“Well,
of
course
our group,” Jesse said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Others,
as well.”

“Which
others?”

“I
don’t tell other people about you,” Jesse pointed out. “I’m
not going to tell you about them.”

“You
already told Henry about me,” Eli said.

“Henry’s
different. Henry’s our family.”

“Is
it other boys from school? I guess it has to be. Or maybe you’re
just making things up.”

Jesse
turned to Russ. “Russ, am I making things up?”

“No,
Sir, absolutely not.”

“Haven’t
we just recently entertained guests in splendid
fashion?”

Russ
laughed. “Yes, we have, Sir.”

“Of
course, you don’t have to believe Russ.” Jesse picked up the last
of his torte with the back of his fork and licked it clean. “I
can’t force you to believe either one of us.”

Henry
was shocked that his cousins were having any of this conversation in
front of him, and in
public,
but no one seemed to be paying their table any mind. Henry ate
nibbles of cake, sipped his coffee, and listened.

“You’re
going to give Henry the wrong idea,” Eli said. “He’ll think
we’re more involved than we are.”

Jesse
turned to Henry. “You understand, don’t you, Henry?”

Honestly,
Henry wasn’t sure that he did, but he nodded. “I-I think so.”

“We’re
just playing,” Jesse explained. “I think everyone is curious at
our age, don’t you?” He shrugged, fantastically unconcerned,
while Eli blushed and looked fretful.

Henry
was dying to know exactly what they’d gotten up to. He knew they’d
shared slaves, and he knew they’d watched one another have their
cocks sucked, but now he suspected they’d done more than that. Had
Eli and Jesse kissed or touched? Had they fondled their slaves for
the other to see? Had they flaunted the rules with each other’s
slaves? He wanted to know, but was quite sure Eli wouldn’t answer,
and that Eli wouldn’t want Jesse to answer, either. Henry would
have to work up the nerve to ask when Eli wasn’t around.

“Can
we talk about something else?” Eli asked. “This is making me
really anxious.”

“Of
course,” Jesse said. “Anything you want, Eli.”

“Tell
Henry about Elizabeth’s letter.”

“Oh,
right,” Jesse said happily. “Elizabeth sent me a very dirty
letter, and she included a lock of hair.” He paused a moment for
effect and added, “Not
from her head!”

Henry
was impressed and his face surely showed this. While he
wouldn’t want a lock of a girl’s pubic hair, he believed that
most other boys would be thrilled, and that Jesse was lucky.

“It
has a very distinctive scent,” Jesse said confidentially. “Essence
of Elizabeth. Amazing. It’s purely carnal.”

“Are
you going to send her some back?”

“Of
course! She requested it, naturally, but I would have sent it
anyway.” Jesse leaned close. “Have you ever had occasion to smell
a woman? Intimately,
I mean.”

“Not
directly. My friend Louis got involved with a fast girl while we were
at the amusement park and he had the smell of her all over his hand.
He made everyone have a sniff.”

“What
did you think?” Eli asked.

Henry
felt he was being truthful when he said, “Not bad,” with a shrug.
It hadn’t been great,
but it hadn’t been terrible, either.

“I
don’t have a girl yet,” Eli remarked. “What about you, Henry?”

“Me,
neither. I’m not really looking, though.”

“You
need to be careful about opportunists,” Jesse noted. “Schemers.
Girls who are after your money.”

This,
Henry realized, was probably the excuse he should use with his
friends. All he needed to do was tell Louis that his father had
warned him off girls for this very reason. Louis might think him
disappointingly meek and obedient, but he wouldn’t think he was
queer.

“Of
course, you’re very handsome,” Jesse continued. “Girls will
like you for your looks even if they don’t know about your father’s
money.”

The
waiter came and cleared away their dessert plates and brought them
fresh coffee.

Because
it wasn’t clear to him, Henry asked, “Jesse, have you actually
met
Elizabeth? Or has it all been letters?”

“We
went to Chicago to visit Mother’s people at the beginning of last
summer and I met her then. It was love at first sight.” He turned
to Russ. “Wasn’t it, Russ? I fell for her immediately.”

“It’s
true, Sir. You were crazy about her from the get-go.”

“I
think she’s absolutely beautiful, and obviously I noticed that
right away, but I could sense something so perfectly wicked about
her, something delicious,
and when we had a chance to talk, I discovered we’d read so many of
the same books, and liked the same poets and painters. All the things
that are important to me are important to her, too. She’s
refreshingly sexual, when so many girls pretend they have nothing at
all beneath their skirts. At my great aunt’s house, when she
finally sneaked into my bed—”

Here,
Henry gasped. It was astonishing enough the things that working-class
girls would do, but for a young lady
to get into bed with a young gentleman
was unimaginable.

Jesse
laughed, pleased to have elicited such a response. “It wasn’t
entirely
scandalous. We kissed and talked and just touched each other through
our clothes. She had strict rules! She’s not a complete
hoyden. I told her right then that I wanted to marry her and all
she’d say was, ‘We’ll see.’ It wasn’t until I’d returned
home and started writing to her regularly that she began to take me
seriously.”

“Your
parents must have no idea,” Henry said wonderingly, quite
impressed. “They just think you’re pen pals.”

“There’s
no point in telling my parents I’m going to marry her now.
They’ll only argue with me about it and try to convince me
otherwise. We haven’t decided what we’re going to do, exactly.
She thinks she can fend off suitors until she’s 18, and at that
point we’ll either make a case to our families or we’ll just run
away together.”

“I
think they should wait,” Eli said. “She wants to go to college,
so I think she should go ahead and do that, and then just keep
refusing to get married for long enough that Jesse starts to look
like a better option than no husband at all.”

“She
can go to college when we’re married,” Jesse pointed out. “I
certainly won’t try to keep her from going. I love how smart she
is.”

“You
just want to start having sex with her as soon as possible,” Eli
said.

“Is
that so terrible? When you fall in love, you’ll want to have sex
with that person, won’t you?”

Henry
thought this was very true. “Of course you will,” he answered for
Eli. To Jesse, he said, “When will you see her again?”

“We’ll
go out to Chicago again this July. Chicago has even worse summer
weather than here, did you know? Terrible! But I’ll get to see my
Elizabeth. She’s hinting that we can go further physically this
next time we’re together, and I’m definitely looking forward to
that!”

“You’ll
be bathed in sweat,” Eli pointed out. “You probably won’t even
want to touch her.”

“Oh,
you’re so practical,
Eli! Be a little romantic, won’t you?” Jesse urged.

The
waiter brought separate checks for the three masters. Henry laid down
the money for his own bill along with a generous tip, as he was
grateful to the restaurant staff for allowing them to eat with their
slaves without fuss.

“Do
either of you have a quarter?” Jesse asked. “I didn’t bring
enough money.”

Henry
gave Jesse a quarter, and they all put on their coats and hats and
left the restaurant.

Eli
checked his watch. “I have to go home,” he announced. “I’m
supposed to meet up in an hour with some guys from school.

“Oh.
Peter and them?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah.
They’ve been asking me to do things recently.”

“They
don’t like me,”
Jesse remarked. “Even though I’ve never been anything but nice.”

“I
think you scare them,” Eli told him. “You intimidate people with
your enthusiasms.”

Henry
could see that this might easily be the case.

“Well,
have fun,” Jesse continued. “Say hello for me, if you think it’s
worth bothering.”

“I
will,” Eli promised. He stiffly accepted a hug from Jesse and shook
Henry’s hand. The slaves all said their goodbyes, and Eli turned
and headed down the block with Owen at his side.

“Now
what?” Jesse asked cheerfully. “You don’t have to leave, too, I
hope?”

Henry
shook his head. “I don’t have any other plans. We just have to
get home in time for Martin’s dinner.”

“It’s
kind of cold, but maybe we could just walk around for awhile anyway,”
Jesse suggested. “It’s so nice to see you, Henry! I don’t want
to go our separate ways just yet.” He gave Henry’s arm an
affectionate squeeze.

“We
could go to the arcade,” Henry suggested. “We’d be out of the
wind and we could still talk.”

“I’m
out of money, though,” Jesse said. “We don’t even have change
for the omnibus.”

“I’ll
give you money,” Henry assured him, waving off his concern.

“Well,
if you’re sure…”

“I’m
sure.”

Jesse
turned and looked over his shoulder at the slaves. “Want to test
your strength, Russ?”

Russ
laughed. “Me against Martin, Sir?”

“Why
not?”

Henry
could see that Martin liked this idea, as well.

“I
think I’m up to the challenge, Sir,” Russ told him, grinning
broadly. He elbowed Martin and Martin smiled down at him.

“Martin’s
stronger than he looks,” Henry told them. “There’s practically
nothing to him but muscle.” Muscle and soft skin and a beautiful,
tender cock.

“I
can see that. You’re both very lean,” Jesse remarked, “but you
look like men. Me, I get taller and taller but I still look like a
boy. Russ may be short, but he looks more manly than I do.”

This
was actually true. Henry said, “You must be exactly what Elizabeth
prefers, though. I think it’s remarkable that you found each other,
you know.”

“Her
family wasn’t even supposed to be at my great aunt’s house, but
her mother decided to come at the last minute. Clearly, it was
kismet.”

It
took about twenty minutes of walking at a leisurely pace to get to
the arcade and they made frequent window-shopping stops. There were
clothes in the windows of the haberdashers here that made the wildest
garments from Hamilton &amp; Sons seem staid, and Henry wondered
whether or not he could get away with wearing a velvet jacket as
Reggie did.

Henry
bought them all fresh, warm pretzels from a street vendor and they
ate them as they walked.

“Have
you and Eli always been as close as you are now?” The older boys,
especially Jesse, had always been nice to Henry, but it hadn’t been
until this past Christmas that he’d felt accepted into their
circle.

“We
always liked one another when we were small—just as you and I have
always gotten along—but we became close when I started at Lawton.
Eli’s been a really good friend to me,” Jesse said, tearing off a
piece of pretzel and putting it in his mouth. “I actually have a
lot of friends at Lawton now,
but when I first started there, the only reason anyone would talk to
me was because Eli vouched for me. Lawton is a very snobbish school.”

“When
did you start there?”

“Sixth
year. My old school wasn’t anything special. I suspect your father
pays for me to go to Lawton, though I’ve never asked. I know you
have your problems with him, but so many of the good things in my
life have come from him that I can’t help but have a high opinion
of the man.”

Henry
was glad that Father had done so much for Jesse. Really, Father did a
lot for Henry, too, of course, and was always generous, but Henry
couldn’t help feeling that Father was always at least a little
disappointed in him, and this sense left Henry feeling hurt and
disgruntled.

There
were crowds of boys, most younger than them, standing outside the
arcade passing around cigarettes.

“I
have cigarettes, if you want,” Jesse offered.

“No
thank you.” Henry made a little moue of distaste. “They always
make me sick. I think I’d better just stop trying to smoke.”

“Fair
enough.” He and Henry stopped walking and let Russ step forward to
open the door so they could all go inside.

Henry
got change for a dollar and split most of it between the slaves. Russ
led Martin to the punching machine with its spring-mounted leather
pad. Henry and Jesse followed and stood watching while they took
turns. The first round was inconclusive, the slaves seeming evenly
matched.

“Do
it again,” Jesse said. “Do it until someone wins.”

It
took three rounds before Henry and Jesse agreed that Russ had the
slight edge.

“Do
you want to do it?” Jesse asked, casting a doubtful eye on the
machine.

“Not
really,” Henry admitted. “I don’t care who’s stronger.”

“Well,
it’s you, obviously,” Jesse said. “But I don’t really care,
either.”

“Can
we try the punching bag, Sir?” Martin asked. He and Russ both
looked very eager.

“You
can do whatever you want,” Henry told him. “I’ll just watch.”

Henry
leaned back against an lung tester and Jesse stood beside him and
they watched as Russ and Martin took turns, one holding their coats
while the other one punched.

“I’ve
met a few other Ganymede companions,” Jesse remarked, “and they
seem the most rigorously-trained of all. Is that your experience,
too?”

Henry
only knew his friend Albert’s Stuart, Russ and Martin, and he
hadn’t thoughtfully compared them to one another, much less to
companions as a whole category.

“I
really haven’t paid attention,” he admitted. “I’m very
pleased with Martin, obviously, though.” He blushed, heat rising
from his collar, and did not look at his cousin.

“There
are a few others in my class with Ganymede slaves, and to me the
Ganymede boys seem far more invested in their masters’ happiness
than the rest. Comparing Russ to Owen, for instance, Ganymede to
Apollo, Russ is fixated
on things being exactly right for me, always, and beats up on himself
if I’m the least bit inconvenienced. If we ever actually fought,
he’d be devastated. Owen, on the other hand, does his best and then
just shrugs if Eli is unhappy.”

This
fit the idea Henry had of Owen, to be sure.

“I
think Owen is a perfectly good slave,” Jesse continued. “He’s
obedient and makes Eli happy, which is all he needs to do, after all.
But Russ is an excellent
slave, and he wasn’t even top tier at Ganymede. It’s eerie
sometimes how good he is at being servile, like a human
couldn’t actually be that devoted. It’s not that I think there’s
something wrong with him,
but maybe there’s something wrong with doing whatever the House did
to make him this way.”

Henry
had had similar hazy thoughts in the past. “Martin is somewhere in
the middle, maybe,” he offered. “He’s very obedient, but he
also has very strong opinions about the right way to do things. He
can’t seem to hear some of the things I tell him because all his
training prepared him for his master to behave differently.”
Recently, of course, Martin had been much more receptive to Henry’s
declarations, but Henry was not prepared to share that information.
“He’s also sort of crazy about rules, and he worships my father
and Timothy like they’re gods.”

“I
feel so close to Russ,” Jesse said, “but sometimes I wonder if
he’s only like this with me,
or if he would have been this committed to anyone
who’d taken him at auction.”

“I
worry about that, too,” Henry admitted.

“But
even so, even if he’d have been this way for anyone who’d bought
him, I still want him to have whatever happiness he can get. Don’t
you feel that way?”

“Well,
of course—” Henry began.

“By
being born slaves, they’ve missed out on everything. They won’t
have families of their own. They won’t follow their dreams—they
won’t have
dreams, most likely, since their training discourages it.”

“Martin
has dreams,” Henry insisted. Martin’s dreams seemed very modest,
however, and not in keeping with his considerable potential. Martin
was much better-suited to be the scion of an industrial empire than
was his master. Thinking of the violin, Henry said, “He’s got
things he loves to do, and I encourage him in that way.”

“Well,
I’m glad you do,” Jesse said. “And I’m glad he’s got
interests. Sometimes it seems like I’m Russ’ only interest, which
puts a lot of pressure on me to be fascinating.” He laughed and
elbowed Henry. “Not that that’s so difficult for me, of course!”

As
they watched, Martin punched the bag and then shook out his hand,
laughing. Russ handed him their overcoats and stepped up for his own
turn.

“I
want to apologize in case I embarrassed you today, treating Russ like
I do. I know
I embarrassed Eli. I always
embarrass him.”

“I
don’t think I’m embarrassed, exactly,” Henry told him. “It’s
a little shocking, but I guess you don’t mind that, do you? You
really aren’t worried at all about what people might think?”

“Not
really. I know myself pretty well, after all, so it doesn’t matter
so much what other people have to say about me.”

Henry
wished he could say the same.

“I
love Russ a lot,” Jesse said, matter-of-fact. “Eli is sweet to
Owen in private and he thinks that’s enough, and maybe he’s
right.” Jesse shrugged, unconvinced. “But I feel like Russ missed
out on so much just by being born a slave that I have to make it up
to him somehow. If he’s going to get love, where will he get it
except from me?”

“Well,
he could
have someone of his own,” Henry said tentatively. “Another
slave.”

“He
doesn’t want that,” Jesse said. “I offered him the possibility
and he turned it down. Maybe someday he’ll change his mind, but for
now…we do
genuinely like one another, you understand. We’re very compatible.”

Henry
sensed that here he might ask questions and satisfy his curiosity as
to the true nature of Jesse’s relationship with Russ. However, he
would feel obligated to share in turn, and he wasn’t a good enough
liar to tell a sanitized version of his story and so let the moment
pass.

“I
like showing affection,” Jesse said, “and he likes receiving it.
He’s like a little cat.”

Henry
had a memory of Russ naked, draped over Jesse’s lap on his bedroom
floor.

“He’s
my baby,” Jesse continued in a low voice. “Even when I’m
finally with Elizabeth, I don’t think I’ll be putting him aside
like everyone says they’ll do with their slaves when they marry.
Elizabeth says I needn’t bother, that I can keep him close and she
won’t mind, so long as I let her do the same with her slave—she’ll
be getting her girl at the end of this summer, of course—and I love
that idea. There are so many possibilities! We could watch each other
with our slaves, or we could even—”

Jesse
stopped himself then, though it was quite clear to Henry that Jesse
imagined he could swap slaves with his future wife. Henry was
rendered speechless by the decadent perversity of such a scheme, and
was impressed anew by his cousin’s unconventional nature.

Returning
to the slightly safer topic of the treatment of slaves, Jesse said,
“Feeling the way I do about Russ, I’ve become really picky about
what sorts of boys I’ll be friends with. I know you don’t share
Martin, but you’ve probably heard things about the boys at your
school—who treats the slaves kindly, and who uses a party as an
opportunity to be cruel, or to take retribution for their little
disputes with other masters. And from there you can guess which boys
are good to their slaves in private and which are cold and callous.

“I’ve
stopped talking to three guys I’d been friends with since sixth
year based on how they treated Russ, or how they treated their own
slaves. I don’t see the point of being mean to a slave at all. All
they do if you’re mean is try harder to please you, especially the
Ganymede boys. They can be strangely helpless in the face of
unkindness, you know?”

“There’s
a boy at my school who was so cruel to his slave that the slave
killed himself at Christmas.”

“Really?
That’s terrible.” Jesse shuddered. “Poor thing. I can’t
imagine what you’d have to do to get a slave to give up like that.”

“He
tortured him,” Henry said. “At least that’s what Martin tells
me.” He thought a moment, then added. “The boy, the master, was
the other party bidding for Martin. It just makes me sick that it
could have been Martin instead.”

“Your
father would never have let that happen, though,” Jesse said. “Not
once he knew you wanted Martin.”

Henry
was baffled. “Everyone says that. It must be true, but I guess I
just can’t see how my father actually cares much for me at all.”

“Well,
we’re together right now, and Reggie’s coming home,” Jesse said
with a shrug. “Your father is allowing it because you want it.”

Henry
didn’t actually like this idea much. If this was true, then it was
also true that if he had only asked about Reggie when he was younger,
and expressed a preference to have Reggie nearby, Reggie might have
come home years ago. If he had only spoken up during his lonely
childhood, he might have spent more time with his Wilton relatives.

Henry
didn’t want to talk about Father anymore. “I actually don’t
hear much about the way the others treat their slaves,” he
admitted. “I sort of assume they’re being treated all right. The
only one Martin has ever mentioned was the one who killed himself.
Almost all the boys in our year knew about it and tried to get
something done, but of course it isn’t illegal to mistreat a
slave—to a point. I tried to get Father to talk to Mr.
Pettibone—that’s the other boy’s father—but there wasn’t
anything he could do, either.”

“Well,
if your father couldn’t do anything, there probably wasn’t
anything to be done,” Jesse said confidently, and Henry felt
slightly irritated by Jesse’s faith in Father.

Henry
made another effort to get off the subject of Father. “So, I wanted
to ask you…your, uh, games. Aren’t you afraid someone will accuse
you of being queer or something?”

Jesse
laughed. “Don’t tell Eli, but so
many of the boys in our class have played with me,” he said. “If
they try to cause trouble for me, I could cause trouble for them just
as easily. Besides, they have fun with me. I create a nice
atmosphere, very permissive.”

Henry
blushed, thinking of Jesse’s invitation to watch, how it had seemed
so dirty and so innocent at the same time.

“I
write down everything that happens for Elizabeth, of course, and she
sends me back assignments, things I’m supposed to do with Russ or
have one of my friends do, and sometimes they’re really difficult
to accomplish! People have limits, after all!”

“What’s
the most you’ve gotten anyone to do?”

“Well,
I’ve gotten people to do all kinds of things. Just the other day, I
got a friend to suck his slave’s cock,” Jesse said, clearly
enjoying the memory. “He said he’d never done it before, and I
believed him. I don’t think he was any good at it, though. I’ve
gotten lots of boys to kiss their slaves, of course. Practically
anyone will do that, really. Elizabeth wants me to get someone to
lick his slave’s hole, but I doubt I’m going to be able to
achieve that
one.”

Henry
felt his cheeks grow hot and turned so that his red face was a little
hidden from Jesse. “How are you getting people to do these things?”

“I’m
very persuasive,” Jesse said with a shrug. “I didn’t try very
hard with you because you’re my shy cousin and I didn’t want to
make you mad or scare you off, but I can make doing forbidden things
seem very attractive, very modern and daring. Sometimes, of course, I
have to demonstrate a little willingness to cross the line myself.”
He laughed again and nudged Henry with his shoulder.

Henry’s
face grew hotter. He was tempted to say something, to tell Jesse a
little of what had happened between Martin and himself these past few
months, but he was afraid. No matter what Jesse might do with slaves,
or even other boys, it was clear to Henry that he had genuine feeling
and desire for Elizabeth. Jesse would end up married to Elizabeth—or
some other wild bohemian girl—and even if he did continue some
level of intimacy with Russ all the rest of his life, he wouldn’t
really be queer.
Henry supposed other people might see it differently, but it was
obvious to him that there was a vast difference between Jesse and
himself. Jesse could pass for normal and didn’t want
to; Henry was barely holding onto his normal façade.

The
moment passed. Henry said nothing.

Martin
had proven better than Russ at the punching bag. Now they had moved
on to a machine where they took turns pulling hard at a handle
attached to a cable that moved a needle on a dial. A group of girls
stood nearby, pointing and giggling at the boys and their slaves.

Jesse
rolled his eyes and turned his back on them. “You don’t mess with
working-class girls, do you, Henry? It just seems so sordid.”

“I’m
not interested,” Henry admitted. “My friends think I’m crazy
for not taking advantage, but I don’t like the idea at all.”

“I’d
rather rely on Russ,” Jesse said. “He’s clean and he won’t
get pregnant. Besides, I really enjoy him. Between him and Elizabeth,
I’ve got everything I need.”

“You’re
lucky,” Henry told him. “I’d rather rely on Martin, too.”

Jesse
leaned close. “You know, if you ever change your mind, Henry, I’d
love to see you and Martin together.” Jesse blushed a little saying
this.

“Uh…”
Henry didn’t know what to say. He knew Martin would want to do it,
put on a show, but he didn’t think he could stand being so
vulnerable, so exposed. He didn’t think he could stand for someone
else to see how Martin looked with Henry’s cock in his mouth, or
how Martin looked when he stilled to come, his cock jerking. Flooded
with embarrassment, Henry said, “I, uh, appreciate that you’re
interested, but I don’t know if I could ever feel comfortable
enough to do that.”

“I
won’t bother you about it again, all right? I just wanted to let
you know that the invitation still stands.”

“I’ll,
um…keep it in mind?” Henry said hesitantly. He would, for that
matter: it was tempting, flattering, and embarrassing, and it made
him feel guilty because he had a good idea how much Martin would
enjoy doing it, and he wanted to be bold enough to do the kinds of
things Martin liked.

The
slaves were conferring at the machine, gesturing toward the dial,
their faces showing disappointment.

“What’s
the matter?” Jesse asked, stepping forward to look at the dial with
them.

“It
seems to be broken, Sir,” Russ told him. “The needle only goes so
far, no matter how hard we pull.”

Jesse
rubbed Russ’ back between his shoulder blades. “Oh, well. Do
something else.” He gave Russ a couple of friendly thumps and came
back to stand at Henry’s side.

Giving
up on strength testers, Russ and Martin moved down the row to look at
the peep shows, and now Henry and Jesse also took an interest in
spending their pennies. They spent the better part of an hour
watching all of the reels once through and then going back again to
look at their favorites. Henry was particularly taken with a reel of
well-muscled wrestlers in tiny trunks; while the gentlemen pictured
weren’t exactly Henry’s type, he appreciated the chance to see
male bodies grappling, the men behaving as though they were unaware
they were observed. He had a sudden fantasy, a reel of Martin and
himself fucking, completely lost in one another; they’d watched
themselves in the wardrobe mirror many times but it wasn’t the
same. He thought that as an adult he might be able to have such a
thing made, if he were brave enough, and no one would even try to
stop him.

Martin
and Russ seemed to really enjoy one another’s company, talking
about boys they both remembered from Ganymede. Henry stood beside
them, bent low and sneaking glances at their faces as he turned the
crank of his Mutoscope very slowly.

“…definitely
remember him,” Russ was saying. “So many boys got sick that time,
but only Richard died, right? He was a good one, your Richard. It was
really too bad.”

Martin
seemed quietly pleased. “I’m glad you remember him fondly.”

“Do
you know what happened to Noah from your year?”

“I’m
afraid not,” Martin said haughtily. “I didn’t take notice.”

Russ
laughed. “Oh, you didn’t like him, I see.”

“Not
really. We made our peace at the end, I guess, but I won’t mind if
I never see him again.”

“Well,
I
liked him. He was friendly with a lot of the fellows in my year.”

“That’s
because he wasn’t well-liked in his own
year.”

“That’s
too bad.” Russ noticed Henry bent over beside him. “Sir? Am I in
your way? I can move along if you’d like.”

Henry
stood up, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. “No, no. I’m
fine.” He turned to Jesse. “Are we done here, do you think? Do
you want some ice cream or a soda or something?”

“Oh,
a milkshake sounds good to me,” Jesse said. “What do you think,
Russ?”

“Whatever
you’d like, Sir.”

They
went to the ice cream parlor and sat down with their slaves to eat.

“Is
it really that unusual? I feel like I’ve seen a fair number of
people do it in soda shops and ice cream parlors,” Henry said,
licking chocolate sauce off his spoon. “Not so much in restaurants,
though, I guess. I’m actually pretty surprised you never did it
before, considering how well you two get along.”

“I
honestly never thought about it until my father mentioned that your
family does it. It’s nice; you can have a normal conversation
without twisting around in your seat the whole time.” Jesse reached
over and squeezed Russ’ arm. “We’ll do it this way from now on,
I think.”

“I’d
like that, Sir.” Russ gave Jesse a rather private-seeming smile
that made Henry blush a little.

Martin’s
knee bumped Henry’s under the little table and Henry returned the
pressure, his blush deepening.

Henry
finished his sundae while Martin still had nearly half his ice cream
left. It was his usual, strawberry with caramel sauce and whipped
cream, and Henry stole bites, laughing, while Martin made
half-hearted efforts to protect his dish and laughed, too.

After
they’d all finished eating, they stepped back out into the chill
breeze; it seemed colder now than when they’d gone into the ice
cream parlor. It was nearly half-past three and Henry felt ready for
a nap, maybe sex and a nap.

“We
should probably be heading home,” Henry said. “If you want to
stay downtown, I can give you some money—”

“No,
we’ll go home, too. We do need the fare for the omnibus, though.”

Henry
handed Jesse dimes for the omnibus.

“I
don’t normally need to borrow money,” Jesse said, slightly
embarrassed. “Next time we see each other, I’ll pay you back.”

Henry
shrugged. “If you remember, it’s fine. I don’t need it back in
a hurry.” He didn’t need it back at all, of course, but if Jesse
needed to pay him back, he’d take the money. Henry felt that doing
anything else would seem like he was rubbing it in Jesse’s face
that Henry was rich, that the Blackwells kept the Wiltons afloat.
Just the fact of Henry not caring about money could be construed as
an insult, he supposed.

They
walked to the stop and stood shivering in the wind a few minutes
before the omnibus arrived. They boarded and Henry and Jesse sat, and
their slaves stood beside the seat.

“It’s
nice that they get along, don’t you think?” Jesse nodded at Russ
and Martin swaying in the aisle. “I suppose it helps they have
Ganymede in common.”

“It
is nice,” Henry agreed. “It seems genuine, enough, too.”

Jesse
laughed. “Yeah, Russ will never admit to disliking anyone, even
when it’s obvious he does.”

“Martin
has one enemy,” Henry noted. “Or, well, someone he dislikes,
anyway. ‘Enemy’ might be too strong a word for it.”

“Russ
is pretty superstitious about disliking people,” Jesse remarked.
“Even more so than other slaves in our household.”

Henry
was immediately curious what Jesse knew about Hetaeria and talismans,
but did not think that a crowded omnibus was the place to ask such
questions. Martin, he knew, would be horrified and embarrassed if he
did such a thing.

“Martin
is, too,” was all Henry said. “But he and this Alex just hated
one another at first sight, I guess. There was no getting around it.”

The
omnibus neared Jesse’s stop, across the street from Hamilton &amp;
Sons.

Jesse
squeezed Henry’s arm and leaned against him for a cozy moment. “It
was good to see you, Henry. Let’s do it again soon, all right? You
come to my house for lunch, or I’ll come to yours. I’ve never
been to your house, you know.”

“Really?”
Henry hadn’t actually realized this, and he was embarrassed. “Let’s
try to do it at my house, then.”

The
omnibus jerked to a stop and Jesse got up. “Goodbye, Henry. Thanks
again. I’ll pay you back!”

“Goodbye,
Jesse.”

The
slaves said their goodbyes, and Jesse and Russ made their way down
the aisle.

Henry
looked up at Martin. “Do you want to sit?” The omnibus wasn’t
crowded, and they’d been having such success all day with Martin
sitting down with Henry. Other passengers might not like it, of
course, but Henry doubted they’d dare say anything.

Martin
looked very uneasy at this suggestion. “I can stand, Sir. It isn’t
much farther.”

Henry
decided not to insist. He slid across the bench to sit near the aisle
and felt Martin’s knuckles against the back of his shoulder.

He
turned to look up at Martin’s face. “Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes,
Sir. Very nice. If it’s all right to say so, Sir, I’d like it if
we saw them more often.”

“Of
course it’s all right to say so. We’ll try to see them again
soon.” Henry leaned back against Martin’s hand, resisting the
urge to rub his cheek along Martin’s wrist. “Russ knew Richard? I
overheard.”

“Yes,
Sir, a little. They weren’t close, of course.”

“He
knew Noah, too.”

Martin
laughed. “How much did you overhear, Sir?”

“That’s
all,” Henry admitted. “Why? Did I miss something good?”

Martin
laughed again. “I don’t think so, Sir. It was a lot of talk about
boys neither one of us will ever see again. He tells me there are
quite a few Ganymede boys at Lawton, though.”

“Well,
you’ve got Stuart.”

“Yes,
Sir, and there’s also a twelfth-year boy at Algonquin with a
Ganymede slave, but that slave is a terrible snob and won’t talk to
me.”

It
bothered Henry that anyone would snub Martin. “Should I say
something?”

Martin
shook his head vehemently. “Goodness, no, Sir! There’s no need! I
don’t require his friendship.”

They
rode the rest of the way home in a comfortable silence. The wind was
even colder when they descended from the omnibus than it had been
when they’d boarded downtown, and they hurried to the house with
their collars up, shoulders hunched against the chill.

Billy
let them in and took their coats. “Mr. Briggs called for you, Sir.”

“How
long ago?”

“Shortly
after the lunch hour, Sir.”

Henry
went to the telephone alcove with Martin at his back and placed the
call.

“Hello?
Henry?”

“I
got the message that you called. I’ve just come in.”

“Oh.
Where were you?”

“I
had lunch with my cousins and went to the arcade.”

“Really?
Since when do you do things with your cousins?” Louis asked,
incredulous.

“Since
whenever I want to,” Henry told him.

“Your
dad’s okay with it?”

“Apparently
so.” Henry did not say that apparently all that had needed to
happen was for Henry to show the slightest desire for family for his
father to reverse his decisions about the Wiltons. “We had a good
time,” Henry continued. He opened his mouth to say, You
should meet them,
but realized that he didn’t want Louis to meet Jesse, not at all.
Louis would definitely look askance at Jesse’s fawning treatment of
Russ, and that might make him suspicious of Henry, as well.

“Well,
that’s…great,” Louis said, sounding unsure. “Maybe I can meet
them sometime?”

“Sure,”
Henry said, cringing inside and already scrambling for excuses. Could
he ask Jesse to be less demonstrative? Could he explain how boys were
different at Algonquin, how they wouldn’t tolerate a boy doting on
his slave? If it weren’t for that particular aspect, Henry actually
thought Jesse and Louis might like one another. They were both
daring, albeit in different ways, and Louis would definitely
appreciate hearing about Elizabeth.

“I
called earlier because I wanted to come over, but obviously you
weren’t there.”

“I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t
be. James went off with his stupid friends right after I called, so
the main person I wanted to get away from left anyway. I took Peter
upstairs and we played with the little ones for awhile. It was sort
of fun. I need to be a good big brother now, since James is so
lousy.”

“That
was kind of you. I’ve been trying to make an effort to see Cora
more,” Henry told him. “She’s a good girl. She likes Martin
better than she likes me, though.”

Louis
laughed. “All the little ones here feel the same way about Peter,
except for Alice. Alice doesn’t like either one of us all that
much—but she’s still as obsessed with you as ever. She’s really
determined, you know, and she is the right age…”

“Ugh.
No offense, Louis, but I do not
want to think about marrying your little sister. She’s just a
baby.”

“We
could marry each other’s sisters, though, Henry. Did you ever think
about that?”

“I
try not to think about getting married, period.”

“We’d
be related for real. I mean, you’re like a brother to me anyway.”

“We’ve
got years—”

“Seven
for you, if you get engaged to Alice.” Louis chortled to himself,
enjoying annoying Henry.

“—years
before we need to think about getting married. I’m not thinking
about it until I have to!” Henry’s voice grew pressured and
fretful.

“All
right, Henry, all right. Calm down.” Louis didn’t even try to
hide how amused he was. “You’re going to have to get over this
fear of girls eventually, though, you know.”

“I’m
not afraid,” Henry insisted, and he wasn’t.

“Then
come with us to a dance hall tonight,” Louis said cajolingly.
“Gordon learned about one that sounds promising from one of his
family’s footmen so we’re all going to give it a try.

“I
can’t,” Henry said, trying to sound as if he were sorry about it.
He recalled the idea that Jesse had put in his head. “I have to be
careful,” he said. “Look at the trouble James is in. I don’t
need some working-class chippy claiming I got her pregnant. My father
put the fear of god into me about messing around with cheap girls and
I’m not inclined to cross him.”

“When
did this
happen?”

Henry
thought quickly. “After the slave party,” he said. “He warned
me off slave girls, and then he warned me off regular girls. If I
don’t want to be disowned, I’m to stay away from girls, period.”

“He
wouldn’t disown you,” Louis scoffed.

“Maybe
not,” Henry agreed, “but I don’t want to risk it.”

“Oh,
Henry,” Louis sighed. “You’re such a good boy.”

Henry
had expected this would be Louis’ response, had even wanted Louis
to feel this way, but it still stung a little. “Sorry to disappoint
you, Louis.”

“You’re
getting left behind,” Louis reminded him. “I don’t want you to
get left behind, Henry!”

“I
don’t care,” Henry told him, wanting very much to change the
subject. “We’ve talked about this already, and I’m sure it’ll
be fine.” Grasping for a new topic he asked, “Say, uh, have you
heard if anyone else’s slaves have the clap?”

“One
of the Spanglers’ footmen, that little redheaded fellow, has it,
but I don’t know about anyone else from school, if that’s what
you mean.”

“Oh!”
Henry was taken aback.

“I
wonder where he got it?” Louis mused. “Tom got it from a girl
originally, right?”

“That’s
what I understand,” Henry said, still thinking of Martin’s
red-haired admirer and feeling grateful that he hadn’t let Martin
arrange to bring the man into their bed. Did Martin know about this?
Henry suddenly wanted to get off the phone very badly.

There
was an infernal howling in the background at Louis’ end of the
call.

“What
was that?”

“I’m
not sure, but I think Edward fell down the stairs,” Louis said. “I
swear, that kid still hasn’t figured out how to walk. Listen, I’d
better go see if he’s all right. Maybe we can do something
tomorrow?”

“Sure.
Call me.”

Once
he’d hung up, Henry turned to Martin, who leaned in the doorway,
listening with interest.

“Who’s
got it, Sir? You looked shocked.”

“Your
admirer. The Spanglers’ Jimmy.”

“Oh!”
Martin was just as startled as Henry had been. He lowered his voice
to a loud whisper. “Well, Sir, it’s good you didn’t ask me to
get him for you, isn’t it?”

“Let’s
go upstairs,” Henry suggested. “We can’t talk about this here.”

Safely
inside Henry’s room, Henry turned to Martin and said, “I guess it
doesn’t matter how handsome some other man is, or how
tempting—there’s no knowing what might be wrong with him. As long
as it’s just the two of us, we’ll never have to worry about the
clap or gleet or whatever other diseases people are passing around.”

“Well,
certainly you’re right.”

“We’re
enough for each other, aren’t we, Martin?

Martin
put his arms around Henry’s neck and kissed him. “Of course
you’re enough for me, Henry.”

But
even as Henry returned his kisses and steered him toward the bed, he
remained worried that Martin wasn’t being truthful. He believed
that Martin wanted
to be telling the truth, but also thought that Martin missed the sort
of group scenarios he’d participated in at Ganymede, regardless of
what he said. More than anything, Henry wanted Martin to be happy,
but he didn’t see how he could ever contemplate bringing in other
lovers for Martin. He was too jealous, and now too fearful of
disease. He recalled Jesse’s renewed invitation to watch and be
watched and wondered tentatively if that was a compromise that might
make Martin happy, or happy enough.

They
played a version of the forced cocksucking game because that’s what
Martin wanted, but Henry made him stop before either of them could
come, and instead put him on his back. He licked and fingered
Martin’s hole until he begged for more, then fucked him hard until
he came. Henry let himself be drawn down into Martin’s embrace,
kissing his beautiful mouth and white throat while he moved against
him, trembling on the verge.

“Henry,
Henry,”
Martin whispered to him, his hands knotted in Henry’s hair. “I
love you so much, Henry.”

“I
love you, too, Martin. I don’t even know how to tell you how much.”

“Show
me, Henry. Come for me.”

Henry
was so close, so ready, and Martin was so unbearably sweet, crooning
in his ear and caressing his back and shoulders; Henry drove into him
a few final strokes and came in an efflorescence of silver sparks,
wracked with shivers.

Henry
clung to Martin until his heart slowed and then reluctantly rolled
off him to lay sprawled on his back beside him. He kept his hand on
Martin’s ribs, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. When Martin
stirred, shifting to rise, Henry clutched at him, but Martin gently
yet firmly pushed his hands away.

“I
just want to get us cleaned up. I’ll be right back.”

Henry
sighed and flung his arm across his eyes to block out the light.
After a few minutes, he felt the bed shift beneath his back, then
Martin’s hands and the warm, wet cloth he used to wash Henry’s
cock.

Martin
set the basin aside and stretched out alongside Henry. “You can
hold me now, if you want.”

Henry
gathered him close and kissed the side of his head. “So you like
Russ all right, then?”

Henry
could feel Martin smile against the skin of his chest. “Yes, I do.
He didn’t come right out and say it, but he gave me a lot of
hints…I think he and your cousin are like us, don’t you?”

“Jesse
didn’t come out and say anything directly, either, but I’m sure
they are. I-I thought about telling him about you and me, actually.”

“You
did?” Martin lifted his head from Henry’s chest to look at him,
surprised.

“I
think they do everything we do,” Henry said, “but I don’t think
Jesse’s like me, not really. He’s in love with that Elizabeth,
and he desires her. He’s not exactly a normal man, I guess, but
he’s not queer
like I am.”

“Why
didn’t you tell him? I don’t think he would use it against you,
and it might be good to have someone you can talk to while your uncle
is away.”

“What
if he sees that difference between us, that I don’t want women at
all, and thinks less of me for it? Or what if he tells Eli, and then
Lyle and my other cousins? What if it gets back to my father? Jesse
wouldn’t even need to be trying to hurt me to slip up and tell
someone he shouldn’t. After all, he told me about him and Eli.”

“I
don’t think he would possibly think less of you, but I see your
point about discretion. Perhaps you should get to know him a little
better first.”

Henry
nuzzled Martin’s hair, strands sticking to his lips. “He asked me
again if I’d consider playing his game.”

Martin
tensed with interest. “He did?”

“I
turned him down, but he told me the invitation still stands. I know
you wanted to do it at Reggie’s farewell party—”

“Oh,
I—”

“You
did,” Henry said. “It was obvious that you did, and I felt bad
then for not letting you show off, but I’m just so…so possessive
of you, Martin! I didn’t say it to him, but I’ll say it to you
now: I’m thinking about it, all right? Because I know you’d love
it, and I want you to be happy.”

Martin
tried fairly unsuccessfully to hide how excited he was at this news.
“Oh, that’s…that’s very interesting. Whatever you decide,
I’ll be happy to go along, I really will.”

Henry
felt Martin’s cock stiffen, pressing into his thigh, and laughed.
“I don’t doubt you’d be happy to go along,” he said, nudging
Martin’s erection with his hip. “Dirty boy.”

In
the time before Martin had to go down for his dinner, Martin
straddled Henry’s chest and touched his own cock while Henry
watched. When he came, he got spunk in Henry’s eye and it stung,
and Henry let himself be fussed over long after the pain had
dwindled.

Martin
went downstairs and Henry rolled over and dozed, dreaming that he
licked Martin’s hole while Jesse watched and then wrote a letter to
Elizabeth to tell her all about it.











On
the last Monday of winter term, Henry arrived home determined to
learn some Latin, to really put forth the effort, but there was a new
Pals
on the hall console, and he knew at once that he wasn’t going to be
doing any studying.

Henry
lay sprawled across his bed and let Martin remove his boots. “It
just occurred to me,” he said, “that if Dooley is getting married
in this issue, he’s going to be having sex, too. Unless he dies
first.”

Martin
snickered and bent to remove his own boots. “I’m sure it will be
handled very discreetly. Unless he dies first, of course.” He got
up on the bed and sat cross-legged facing Henry. “Are you ready?”

They
had left the Dauntless
in port, waiting on an injured crewmember. Dooley and Jeanette DeSade
were to be married the next day. They had learned that Jeanette was
the key to the location of DeSade’s Refuge, but the poor girl
denied any knowledge of its whereabouts.

At
dawn, still waiting for Kittrick to be brought back from the local
surgery, crewmembers went to the town’s shops to buy provisions for
Dooley’s wedding party. The musicians among the crew tuned their
instruments and all prepared for a good time.

Poring
over the map with George at his side and Dooley looking on, Theo
decided that they would next pay a visit to an old friend, Captain
Enoch Montgomery, now retired, who had taught him much when he was
newly Captain of the Dauntless.
Captain Montgomery’s home was a days’ sail distant, much closer
than the next-nearest Order location.

Martin
cleared his throat and in Theo’s voice said, “Captain Montgomery
has forgotten more about the ocean and its peoples than I will ever
know, Dooley. He may have some knowledge of the Order, or of this
Refuge we seek.”

“Well,
that would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” Henry remarked.

Martin
laughed. “Do you remember this Captain Montgomery from before? Was
he very important?”

“His
name has never
come up before in the story, I promise you,” Henry told him. “The
author just invents old friends for Theo as the plot requires.”

Late
in the morning, Kittrick was returned to the Dauntless
in reasonably fine shape, and with all aboard, the Dauntless
sailed out of the harbor into a bright, clear day.

While
the crew saw to the ship, Theo and George went below decks and
changed into their dress clothes, white shirts and breeches with navy
coats. George left off his sling, proclaiming his arm healed.

Martin
paused a moment and then laughed. “Henry, do you realize? George
hasn’t worn a shirt since before I came to live with you.”

Henry
thought about this a moment and laughed, too, realizing Martin was
right. “Well, I suppose it’s bad manners to go bare-chested at a
wedding.”

Theo
took up his Bible and searched for suitable readings to commemorate a
wedding, selecting Proverbs 18:22—He that hath found a good wife,
hath found a good thing, and shall receive a pleasure from the Lord.
The bride, who had been sequestered in her cabin, was invited to come
up on deck.

While
on shore, Dooley had picked roses for Jeanette and presented them to
her now. The young couple seemed nervous but hopeful, holding hands
before Theo, who faced them with proper solemnity and read the verse
and the vows. Each readily agreed to love and cherish the other, and
Theo was pleased to pronounce them man and wife.

A
great cheer went up from the assembled sailors. Theo shook Dooley’s
hand and kissed Jeanette’s cheek, followed by George, Boot, and
Elmer and the rest of the well-wishers. Food was brought up from the
galley along with the kegs of ale and the musicians began to play.
Dooley danced with his wife and the rest of the men danced together
or danced by themselves.

Thinking
of their own upcoming lessons, Henry said, “Do you think Theo has
ever danced with George?”

“Would
they have had the opportunity?”

Henry
thought back. “I recall Theo went to a masked ball years ago, but
he just danced with women, of course.”

“George
got to attend, though?”

“Yes,
George was there with him.”

“I’m
excited to go to a ball with you, even if I won’t be dancing.”

“You
know I’d rather dance with you than any girl.”

Martin
smiled in acknowledgement, then said, “You dance so beautifully,
Henry. I hope I’m a good partner for you during the lessons.”

“I
know you will be.” He stretched out his hand and squeezed Martin’s
knee. “You’ve never disappointed me.”

“It’s
kind of you to say so.” Martin looked well-pleased with himself.

Theo
didn’t dance with George, unfortunately, but he did dance with
Jeanette and again entreated her to remember anything, anything at
all that might be of use in the apprehension of her terrible father.

The
crew spent the rest of the day in feasting and merriment. The winds
were favorable, their sails full. As the sun began to go down, the
men began ribbing Dooley about his wedding night, causing both the
groom and his bride to become flustered and bashful, and so Theo
intervened, encouraging the newlyweds to go to her cabin to escape
the intrusive questions and bold remarks.

“He’s
had sex before, don’t you think?” Henry said. “Probably with
some sailor.”

“Oh,
certainly. I’ll bet lots of times. But this might be the first time
that he’ll be doing the penetrating.”

As
the sun went down and the sky grew darker, Theo and George went down
to their cabin and once again pored over the Order’s map in search
of any clue. George was undressing Theo for bed when there came an
urgent knock at the cabin door.

It
was Dooley, looking ashen. “Captain Drake, there’s something you
need to see.”

“It’s
your wedding night,” Theo reminded him. “Can’t it wait until
morning, lad?”

“It’s
Jeanette, Captain. I-I think you need to see.”

Jeanette’s
cabin was too small for four people, and they were quite on top of
each other. Jeanette sat on the bed looking somewhat disheveled, eyes
downcast and hands twisted in her lap.

Dooley
explained that he’d been helping his new wife to undress when he’d
seen the tattoo on her back, but when he’d asked her about it, she
hadn’t known what he was talking about.

Jeanette
said, “I believe my father must have marked me while I was drugged.
While in his care, I would often awake with new aches and pains and
grew quite accustomed to such discomforts. He would never tell me
what had been done to me while I was unconscious, so I gave up
asking. But perhaps it’s best if I just show you, Captain.”

Jeanette
stood and turned to face away from them and her dress was open,
exposing her naked back from her neck to the top of her hips. Her
back was described as graceful and slender, but what was most notable
about it was the tattoo across her lower spine: a set of latitude and
longitude coordinates and the words “Île Inconnue” in curling
script.

“That’s
‘unknown island,’ isn’t it, Sir?” asked George. “Do you
think that could be the Refuge, Sir?”

“By
Jove, the girl did have the answer!” Theo said excitedly. “I
think you’re right, George.”

George
copied the coordinates into Theo’s log and they left Jeanette and
Dooley alone in their cabin to enjoy the rest of their wedding night.
Theo and George returned immediately to the Order map, all thoughts
of sleep forgotten. Using the coordinates, they located a red-ink eye
on the map, but there was no land mass associated with the location,
nothing to indicate that there was anything there at all. Checking
their own map showed nothing but blank ocean. Still, Theo was in high
spirits.

“Captain
Montgomery will know something, I’m positive! We’ll find him,
George! We’ll find DeSade and he’ll pay for his crimes!”

George
entreated Theo to get some rest, pointing out that their progress
would not be hastened by Theo staying awake, and Theo allowed George
to finish undressing him.

“They’ll
have celebratory sex,” Henry decided. “That’ll put Theo to
sleep.”

“Do
you know what I was thinking about? About George?”

“No,
tell me.”

“He’s
so tan where he’s exposed to the sun, his back and chest and shins
and feet, but when he’s naked, his ass and thighs and cock are all
pale, aren’t they?”

Henry
pictured it, the contrast, the way it would set off George’s cock
and draw attention to it. Legs drawn up, dark to the knee, exposing
the dusky pink of his asshole between white buttocks. All the pale
parts of his body reserved for Theo’s eyes, Theo’s use. “Yes,”
Henry said, clearing his throat, mouth suddenly dry. “Of course
you’re right.”

Martin
laughed. “You’re picturing him, aren’t you?”

Henry
blushed and laughed, too. “How could I not?”

They
sailed into port early in the afternoon, Theo spotting Captain
Montgomery’s little boat, the Rusalka,
tied at the dock. Theo and George made haste to Captain Montgomery’s
house at harborside and knocked at his door. The Captain was greatly
pleased to meet Theo and George again after several years and was
eager to hear of their adventures in the interim.

“This
isn’t just a social call, I’m afraid, Captain,” Theo told him.
“We think we have a good chance at DeSade, and we want your help.”

Martin’s
voice for Captain Montgomery was similar to the burred tones he used
for the Dauntless
sailors but with a bit of a wheeze for the sake of age. “Whatever I
can do for you, Theo, I will do happily. I get bored in my
retirement, you know!”

While
the Captain’s parrot squawked and cracked nuts on his shoulder,
Theo and George told the story of DeSade and the Order of the Red
Eye, the strongholds marked on the map, the fiend’s daughter, and
the tattoo on her back. Montgomery listened to it all thoughtfully.

“I
know this place,” Montgomery told them. “It’s known by many
names. Île Inconnue. Ilha Invisível. El Refugio. It’s a place
where sailors of all stripes go to lick their wounds, to lay low, and
to make or break alliances. It’s an island with no ruler and no
laws, but strict codes of behavior and dire consequences for those
who don’t abide. Most of those who visit the island are pirates and
outlaws, but you’d be as welcomed as any. However, so would your
nemesis, and it sounds as though he might be well-established there
already.”

“Have
you been there, Sir?” asked George.

“A
lifetime ago. I was crew on a merchant ship that was damaged in a
storm and the Sanctuary was the nearest port where we might seek
repair. It was an old pirate who supplied the coordinates. Most of us
were callow lads and didn’t understand what sort of place we were
going to, but some of the men knew and were superstitious, fearing
that we were aligning ourselves with devils simply by entering the
harbor.”

“What
sort of place is it, then?” Theo asked. “Is it a bad place?”

“It
tolerates the bad,” conceded Martin in Montgomery’s croak. “It
doesn’t punish the bad, not unless enough people think it needs
punishing. But that was forty years ago and more. It may be a
different place now, you understand, lads.”

They
listened to more stories about Montgomery’s time on Verborgen
Eiland. Montgomery described the ways in which men settled their
scores there, the drinking games and tests of skill that were often
used in lieu of violence. Men who didn’t follow local rules would
more than likely end up dead at the hands of ad hoc vigilantes.

“So
we might corner DeSade, but not be allowed to end him once and for
all?” Theo asked. “These local rules wouldn’t permit it?”

“You’d
have to tread carefully,” Montgomery advised. “Determine what
sort of local support the man has. If he’s well-liked, your own
lives are likely at risk. If he’s not, however, you may be able to
achieve your ends. There are challenges you can make, challenges any
self-respecting man will have to meet.”

“I
can guarantee they won’t be involved in any gun duels,” Henry
said confidently. “The island’s honor code won’t allow it or
something.”

“I’m
sure you’re right,” said Martin. “Shooting a gun won’t
require enough of a man’s natural skill.”

“Bare-fisted
fight to the death,” Henry predicted. “Except no one will die.”

“We
have to go, Sir,” said George. “We have to try. If there’s even
a chance to end him, Sir, then it’s a chance we should take.”

“George
is up for anything,” Henry said fondly. “Theo’s lucky to have
him.” When Martin didn’t respond right away, Henry quickly added,
“As I’m lucky to have you.”

“I
am up for anything also,” Martin pointed out.

This
seemed quite true. Henry thought of Martin’s obvious desire to suck
his cock in front of Jesse, Martin’s seeming willingness to have
sex with groups of his fellow slaves for an audience. The needs for
privacy and monogamy had been fairly well bred out of him. These
thoughts were equally exciting and upsetting and Henry tried to put
them out of mind as best he could. “Keep reading,” he urged.

They
left Montgomery’s house having promised to return after defeating
DeSade. Back on board the Dauntless,
Theo gathered all the men on deck and told them what he and George
had learned. Some of the men had heard rumors of such a place, or had
known men who claimed to have been, but none of the Dauntless
crew had any first-hand experience of the Island.

“We
believe that this Island is where DeSade is hiding,” Theo told the
men. “In following him there, we’ll be going against him on his
own turf, and we know how cunning he can be even when he doesn’t
have such an advantage. This is a dangerous mission, men, and if
you’re not up for it, this is your last chance to opt out. We set
sail for the Île Inconnue in an hour, wind permitting.”

Not
a man among the hundred was willing to miss out on the chance to
fight Dr. DeSade. A rousing cheer went up for Captain Drake, for the
Dauntless,
for their mission. Gratified, Theo made his way among the men,
shaking hands and offering encouragements. He was on deck when the
Dauntless
sailed from the harbor, the salt spray in his face, but went down to
his cabin shortly thereafter, George close behind. They looked at the
map together.

“We’re
putting a lot of faith in this girl’s tattoo, Sir,” said George.

“Do
you think I’m wrong to do so?” Theo sounded surprised.

“Not
at all, Sir. It’s a risk worth taking.”

“We’ll
be there in a week, less if we have the winds behind us. We need to
be ready for him, George. We need to be ready for anything.” Martin
made Theo sound a little worried.

George
wasn’t worried. “You just described us, Sir: ready for anything.”
They exchanged a long look, gazing into each other’s eyes, resolute
and stalwart in the service of good.

“All
this gazing into each other’s eyes can’t just be about bravery
and justice,” Henry remarked.

Martin
snickered. “I do agree with you, Henry. Well, that’s it for this
month,” he said, folding the magazine closed. “To be continued.”

“Come
look into my eyes,” Henry suggested, reaching for him. Martin
laughed and leaned over him. “Be brave,” Henry said, pulling him
down for a kiss. “Do good.”

Martin
took his glasses off and stretched to put them on the nightstand and
gave Henry another, deeper kiss. “I love you, Henry.”

The
words had such a profound effect on Henry every time Martin said
them. He was overcome with the urge to grab hold of Martin, to draw
him close and closer still, to merge their bodies. He wanted to be
the sort of person who deserved Martin’s love and had the uneasy
feeling that he was not, that he had somehow fooled Martin into
believing him worthy.

“I
love you, too,” he said. “More than anything.”




















Winter
term was over and Henry was anxious about his grades. He expected
he’d get an A from Mr. McLachlan and Cs from the rest, but for the
first time it was possible that he’d get better than a failing
grade from Dr. Foster. He was afraid that if he failed again, Father
would reprimand Martin for not giving him better help, and, really,
Martin had helped him immensely and shouldn’t be blamed for Henry’s
inability to do well on tests. Of course, he had
gotten a D on the final test of the term, barely a D, admittedly, but
still better than an F, and that was encouraging.

“Do
any of the slaves get grades other than As?” Henry asked from the
bed, watching Martin move about the room putting away Henry’s
laundry. “You’re all so smart.”

Martin’s
mouth twisted wryly. “Well, we’re all good at school, but you
know that isn’t the only way to be smart, Henry. And, yes, some of
us do better than others.”

“Who’s
the stupidest slave?”

“Oh,
well, I-I couldn’t really say.” Martin appeared flustered.

“Come
on, Martin. Tell me. Who’s the dummy?”

“Well…Miles
and Alex each got several Cs last term. Mr. Brand’s family doesn’t
seem to care how Miles does, but Mr. Maxwell’s father was very
upset about Alex’s grades. We’re supposed to get good grades, of
course, and most of us do so because it’s a point of pride. Mr.
Maxwell’s father threatened to file suit against Alex’s House for
breach of contract.”

That
was serious! Joshua had not said anything about Miles’ grades, but
Henry was surprised he hadn’t heard anything about David’s
troubles with Alex.

“Alex
has been told he has to get better grades this term, Sir, but he
doesn’t seem to take it seriously. He’s so strange.”

“You’ll
be getting all As again, I suppose.”

Martin
ducked his head, proud but embarrassed. “I hope so. I’ve done my
best.”

Henry
had done his best, too. When he got his report card on Monday, he was
delighted to find he had received a D in Latin. He could not stop
smiling, and Dr. Foster remarked that in all his years teaching he’d
never known anyone to be so happy with such a poor showing, but he
seemed almost kind in saying so. While it was not the C Father
wanted, it was an improvement, and Father acknowledged as much,
giving all the credit to Martin. He even called Martin into his
office for a private conversation wherein he received praise and
encouragement. Martin was greatly affected by this, behaving as if
God Himself had singled him out for special notice. Martin had, of
course, received all As but downplayed this achievement as being
somehow less remarkable than Henry’s D.

“I
know the grade is all because of your help,” Henry told him, “but
I do think I understand Latin a little better on my own now. I did
better on the last test, even.”

“I’m
proud of you, Henry,” Martin said. “I think you understand it a
little now, too.”

Additionally,
Henry had received a B-minus in English, which he felt was partly due
to Martin’s influence, Martin’s superior vocabulary. Martin was
improving his life in every way, just as he was meant to do.











On
the first Tuesday in March, the boys loitered in the arcade down the
street from Gill's Dancing Academy awaiting the hour of their lesson.
Spending all his pennies, Henry tested his strength, had his fortune
told, and looked at peep shows with Martin lounging at his elbow. The
girls were having their lesson first, and the boys planned to just
happen to be outside of the dance school’s door when the girls were
let out. Louis kept an eye on the clock; it was very important to him
to not miss the opportunity to speak with Albert's twin sister
Abigail.

The
girls and their slaves spilled out from the door onto the sidewalk.
They stood in giggling, chattering clumps, waiting on their drivers
and pretending that they did not notice the boys, who were all doing
their best to seem like hardened, indifferent men. A very pretty girl
with Albert's blond-and-blue coloring came up behind Albert and
tugged at his elbow. “Are these your friends, Albert?”

“Oh,
Abigail,” Albert said. “I forgot you'd be here.”

“Of
course, I'm here, silly. I'm being debuted, not you,” she said with
an edge of sass. She tossed her flaxen ringlets and looked up at
Henry with a coy smile. “Who is this,
Albert? Aren't you going to introduce me?”

“Oh,
sure. Haven't you met before? Abigail, this is Henry, Henry
Blackwell. Henry, this is my sister, Abigail DeWitt.”

Abigail
dipped a little curtsey and held out her hand, so Henry gave her a
little bow and bent over her glove.

“It's
so
very nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell,” Abigail said in a saucy
tone. She looked at Henry as if he were delicious. It was always
unnerving and unwelcome to receive such interest from a girl.

“Likewise,”
Henry managed.

Louis
butted in. “Hello, again, Miss DeWitt.” He bowed, sweeping off
his hat.

“Oh,
hello, Mr. Briggs,” Abigail said, her expression closed off, as
fastidious as a cat with wet feet. “How nice to see you again.”

“The
pleasure is mine,” Louis assured her, and judging from Abigail's
expression, Henry thought that Louis was right.

“Well,
Albert,” she said, “if you’d like, I'll wait in the carriage
until you're done and we can go home together.”

“You
go ahead,” he told her. “I can take the omnibus.”

“Suit
yourself.” She turned and smiled at Henry. She had a dimple. “It
was so nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell.”

“The
pleasure was mine,” Henry said blandly.

She
walked away in a swish of skirts, her slave at her heels. Louis
watched her go with obvious longing, and Henry felt sorry for him.

Martin
leaned close and whispered in his ear, “That girl is very forward,
Sir,” with clear disapproval, and Henry realized happily that
Martin was jealous.

Henry
had had lessons with Mr. Gill before, back when he was still young
enough for mixed classes with girls, and remembered him as
ill-tempered and sharp-eyed, putting up with no nonsense from his
boisterous charges and taking dance very seriously. Mr. Gill was an
old man, older than Father, but tall and elegant and imperious, with
wavy silver hair flowing dramatically back from a high forehead. As
the boys milled about in the coatroom, putting up their hats and
changing into their dancing shoes, Mr. Gill paced the ballroom floor
with an expression of profound displeasure, and so the boys
congregated in the doorway, unwilling to enter the ballroom and
perhaps incur his wrath.

“Come
in!” Mr. Gill clapped his hands to hurry them. “You're wasting
time!” Reluctantly, boys began to file into the vast room. Henry
looked around and saw boys from other schools, so many unfamiliar
faces. Boys waved to one another across the room until Mr. Gill
shouted at them. “Stop flapping your hands! Socialize after
class!”

There
were two women in the room. Mr. Gill introduced them: the woman at
the piano was Mrs. Gill, and she would be the accompanist; the
younger woman standing alongside was Miss Gill, their adult daughter,
who would be helping to demonstrate the steps. The boys collectively
murmured a “How do you do?” and the women politely inclined their
heads.

They
would be dancing the Parisian Varieties quadrille. Perhaps, Mr. Gill
suggested, they had seen it danced before, at a family party or
another ball. The quadrille consisted of five figures: a waltz, a
polka, yet another waltz, a mazurka, and a final waltz. It would take
perhaps a quarter of an hour to dance completely once mastered.

“But
we must start with the basics,” Mr. Gill said. “Let us see just
how badly you waltz.”

Every
boy in the room had had dancing lessons as a child until at least age
12, but that wasn't to say they'd been any good at dancing. Henry had
always been a good dancer, though, and he knew that Martin had had
lessons up until the week he was sold, so he was not nervous about
the waltz.

Mr.
Gill made them line up and sent them across the room in whirling
pairs, his critiques delivered with frigid condescension and proving
most mortifying to their targets. Louis was told he was clumsy and
had elbows that flapped like chicken wings. Other boys were
clod-footed, graceless, and shamed for being out of breath. Henry
began to worry as he waited his turn, thinking that perhaps he and
Martin should have at least danced a few steps together at home, but
his fears were for naught. In fact, he and Martin were so well-suited
as partners that he began to worry the other boys would guess what
they really were to one another. Martin floated across the floor in
his arms, so responsive and pliant that it felt as though their feet
scarcely touched the ground. It was terribly exciting to be able to
hold one another in public, and to do something so romantic, and have
it all be sanctioned by society.

As
they traversed the floor, Mr. Gill signaled to his wife to stop
playing and turned to Henry, pointing a long finger. “You, the tall
one. Mister…?”

“Blackwell,
sir.”

“You
and your slave,” Mr. Gill said. “Very nice.” To the room as a
whole, he said, “That is how you all
should be doing it.” This earned Henry many disgruntled sidelong
glances, but for once he didn't care what other people thought of
him. He blushed at the praise, but he was proud of himself, him and
Martin both.

They
proved equally adept at polka and mazurka. Henry ignored the dirty
looks that the others—even Louis—gave them when they were praised
yet again. It didn't matter; he was having fun. The exercise brought
color to Martin's cheeks, the same kind of hectic glamour that came
over his face when Henry fucked him hard, and Henry had to put his
hand deep in his pocket and give his cock a cruel pinch to keep from
growing erect when he came to the comparison.

After
the lesson, as they all changed out of their dancing pumps and into
their street shoes, the cloakroom was full of disheartened, defensive
and angry boys, and the air was thick with cursing and complaints.

“You
had fun, though, didn't you?” Louis asked Henry, seeming to
begrudge him the experience.

Martin
was crouched at Henry's feet, tying his boots, and when he was done,
Henry offered a hand to pull him up. He sighed. He didn't want to
seem like he was gloating about the lesson, but he really had enjoyed
himself.

“I
like dancing,” he said with a shrug. “I always did, you know.”

“You've
got a good partner,” Louis pointed out. “Peter and I are terrible
together. He claims he was a good dancer back at Endymion, but I
don't see how that could be possible.”

From
Henry's perspective, it seemed very
possible. Louis had been a poor dancer as a child, and he was a poor
dancer as a young man. Peter was surely adequate, at worst. But all
Henry said was, “It's bad luck,” and shrugged again.

Philip
came up behind Louis and elbowed him. “Hey. Did you two notice
Adam?”

“No.
What about him?” Louis offered Peter his hand and Peter got to his
feet.

“He
doesn’t have a companion, right?”

“Right…oh,
but then who—”

“Footman,”
Philip said with a snicker. “He’s dancing with one of his
family’s footmen!”

They
all laughed unkindly at Adam’s predicament. Henry supposed dancing
with any kind of slave was better than not participating in the ball
at all, but not by much.




At
dinner Wednesday, Mother was in good spirits. “I had a letter from
Reggie today,” she said, offering this information equally to
Father and Henry, though Father did not deign to respond.

“How
is he? I wrote to him about two weeks ago but haven’t heard back
yet.”

“He
tells me he’s sold a great deal of his furniture already and gotten
a good price for it. I’m not surprised it would sell,” she said.
“I’m sure he had lovely things. People like him always have such
exquisite taste.”

Henry
blushed at ‘people like him.’ He was one of those people, of
course, though he wasn’t sure he had what anyone would describe as
exquisite taste. The word Martin had used was ‘baroque.’ But the
matter of taste made him suddenly aware of a change in his mother’s
appearance.

“Is
that a new dress, Mother? It’s very becoming.” Rather than her
usual black or grey, like mourning clothes or slaves’ dresses, this
gown was a rich dark blue and had a bit of frippery attached.

Mother
smiled at him, grateful and gracious. “Yes, it is, darling. How
kind of you
to notice.” She darted a sharp glance at Father, who was seemingly
paying no mind to either of them. “Your Aunt Virginia and I went
shopping. I’ve an entire new wardrobe, everything very smart and
modern.”

“A
little color looks good on you,” Henry told her. It was true. She
looked healthier, more robust. “You seem happier, too, if you don’t
mind my saying so.”

Another
gracious smile. “Be sure to tell Reggie when you write him next,
darling. He worries about me so.” She ate a bite of her chicken,
chewed and swallowed, then thoughtfully said, “I enjoyed spending
the day with Virginia. I regret that we haven’t been closer to my
family over the years.”

“I
like Jesse,” Henry told her. “I think we’ve become real
friends. We’re going to try to see each other more often.” Henry
wanted to see Jesse again soon, but not too
soon; Henry was quite sure that Martin had not forgotten Henry’s
promise to consider playing Jesse’s voyeuristic games, and Henry
still wasn’t sure what he might do.

“I
can’t tell you how happy that makes me, darling. I know that
Gilbert and Virginia would love to know you better, too.”

Father
looked up from his papers. He was stone-faced, and Henry would have
guessed that he was unhappy to hear so much talk of Wiltons, but he
turned to Henry and said, “You know, Henry, you can take a carriage
to visit your cousin any time you’d like. You needn’t ask
permission.”

“Th-thank
you, Father.” Henry blinked, surprised. “I might do that, sir.
But, really, I don’t mind taking the omnibus.”

“As
long as you don’t feel that you’re being kept from seeing your
cousin,” Father said stiffly.

“No,
sir. Thank you, sir.”

Mother
was looking at Father as if seeing him anew, but Father didn’t
notice, having turned back to his letters.

Later
in bed, Henry spooned Martin and kissed the nape of his neck. Martin
snuggled back against him and said, “It was good of you, Henry, to
notice your mother’s dress.”

“She
seems so much better these days.”

“Pearl
has been in very good spirits recently, too. It’s been very hard on
her, Sir, to have a mistress who’s been so unhappy for so very
long.”

“Mother’s
unhappiness certainly hasn’t been Pearl’s doing, though.”

“But
she can’t help feeling responsible. If you were unrelentingly sad
for a decade, Henry, I’d definitely feel that it was at least
partially my fault. It’s part of the companion’s job to see a
master through his moods.”

“The
master has to address his moods himself first, though, doesn’t he?
Mother didn’t want
to feel better until Reggie came back.”

“No,
she didn’t,” Martin agreed. “Thank goodness for your uncle,
then.”

Henry
thought about his mother’s unhappiness and her great and obvious
love of her younger brother. It did bother him that she hadn’t
loved either Cora or himself enough to pull herself out of the
doldrums, but he was also so fond of Reggie that it made it easier to
forgive Mother her preference.

He
did not think his parents would ever have a happy marriage, but since
Christmas Mother had steadily brightened and grown stronger, and it
seemed possible that she might one day want to take her rightful
place at Father’s side, with all the responsibilities and
advantages that that would entail. Mrs. Murdock would surely never be
gone, not with her little boy and his presumptive blood ties to the
Blackwells, but perhaps her importance could be downplayed.

As
for Pearl…Henry hoped that he would never put Martin in such a
position, despairing and unhappy and powerless to change his
situation. He had to take care of Martin. They had to take care of
each other.

With
the thought of taking care of Martin, he returned to his vague
fantasy, the idea that there was a place where he could be completely
at ease with Martin, a place of benign judgment and infinite
tolerance where a man might love his companion and be applauded and
admired for the purity of his feeling. Perhaps such a literal
fairyland was too much to hope for, but surely there were more
options for queer gentlemen than he was aware of. While he had a hazy
sense of the liminal world where the likes of Reggie flitted to and
fro, a place where one had freedom but was subject to disdain and
condescension, he wanted something better for Martin and himself.

Henry
fell into a restless sleep and dreamed of an accommodating version of
the city where he and Martin made love in public and appreciative
strangers remarked on their skill and good fortune.




On
Thursday, Louis put pressure on Henry to get to the dancing school
early enough to see the girls as they were leaving. Once again, when
Abigail emerged, she came to where Albert stood with his friends and
flirted with Henry, much to Louis' chagrin—and Henry's.

“What
is your slave called, Mr. Blackwell?” She paused, but when Henry,
who was taken aback by her question, did not answer, she continued.
“My Helena thinks him very handsome.” Helena, standing just
behind her mistress, blushed but did not in any way indicate this was
untrue.

Henry
coughed. “Uh, Martin. He's called Martin.” He looked around for
Martin, who was a few yards away talking with Peter and some other
slaves, and willed him to keep his distance.

“I'm
so glad to know it,” Abigail said, her dimple showing. “Now if
Helena writes him a love note, she'll know whom to address it to.”

Henry
dearly hoped that no love notes would be forthcoming. He did not want
to end up inadvertently courting Abigail DeWitt through the proxy of
a manufactured romance between Martin and her Helena.

At
last, Abigail retired to her carriage, taking the possibly-lovelorn
Helena with her, and the boys entered the school.

At
the last lesson, Mr. Gill had identified the truly bad dancers and so
this time they were sequestered in a shameful corner of the ballroom
for remedial work taught by his son, also Mr. Gill, who they were to
call Mr. Gus for the sake of clarity. Mr. Gill split up the remaining
adequate dancers into sets. Henry and Martin were in a set with Louis
and Peter, Albert and Stuart, and a tall, gangly boy called Stephen
Reinhardt and his slave Eddie, who were from another school.

“Salute
your partners, gentlemen!” Mr. Gill's voice was stentorian and
terrifying. Henry bowed; Martin made a little curtsey, which Henry
found both silly and charming. They had been positioned as the #1
couple in their set, which meant they would perform all the figures
first, unfortunately without the benefit of seeing any of the others
do them and learning from their mistakes. Henry was rather concerned
Mr. Gill was giving him too much credit for his good performance on
Tuesday.

Now
that basic politeness was out of the way, the Gills attempted to
teach them the first figure, a waltz. The #1 and #3 couples would
perform the same maneuvers, as would the #2 and #4. Mr. Gill and his
daughter demonstrated the #1 steps, first with invisible
counterparts, then again with a pair of boys from the nearest set,
people Henry did not know. It did not look terribly complicated, but
there were murmurs of anxiety all around the ballroom.

All
of the #1s from each set were meant to act as one, and this most
certainly did not happen. There was chaos around the room as Mrs.
Gill began to play the piano. At a little nudge from Martin, Henry
hurried his step to get into the middle of the set, holding Martin's
left hand high with his own right. He paraded Martin around the
square and spun him back into place. So far, so good.

“Right
and left, vis-a-vis,”
Mr. Gill called.

Henry
and Martin moved forward to meet Stephen and Eddie opposite them in
the #3 spot, each master taking the other's partner briefly by the
right hand and passing by to the opposite side of the square, then
taking their own partner's left hand in left, spinning them into
place. They repeated the crossing and returned to their original
positions. Henry relaxed a little and smiled. It wasn't so hard.

There
was mayhem erupting all around them. Boys stood confused in the
center of their sets. Boys had the wrong partners.

“You
stupid boys! You need only be able to count to four!” Mr. Gill
shouted, outraged. “Surely, you can all count to four! Da, da, da,
DA!”

It
took several attempts for all the #1s to complete their steps in the
measures allowed, and only then could Mr. Gill move on to the steps
for the #2s. Albert and Stuart stood in the #2 position and,
thankfully, were reasonably adept dancers. Really, in all cases, the
slaves were at least passably good dancers—they had to be, to have
been sold as companions—and the fault for poor performance rested
solely on the shoulders of the clumsy, privileged boys who mastered
them.

The
#3s repeated the #1's actions, and the #4s repeated the #2's, seeming
perhaps to have learned a little from watching the earlier couples.
In the #4 position, Louis didn't do too badly, but became noticeably
frustrated and embarrassed when he was off time. It did not help that
Peter was taller than him and they made a somewhat comical picture, a
fact of which Louis was certainly aware.

After
every boy in the ballroom had completed his steps more or less
successfully, Mr. Gill made them do it all together, all the way
through, twice, before at last adding the actual waltz portion in a
third run-through. As they spun around their square of floor, Henry
exulted in the feeling of freedom, lightness and daring that the
dance brought to him. Martin was in his arms, in front of a room full
of boys always ready to jeer at any hint of queerness, yet no one saw
anything untoward and he could enjoy himself without worry. If only
he could kiss Martin, all would be perfect!

When
they were finished for the day, Mr. Gill made them stand and wait
while he called out three pairs, including Henry and Martin, as
having done an especially good job, and Henry flushed with pride.

After
class, Louis did not bother to temper his resentment. As they stood
around the cloakroom changing their shoes, he said, “Well, you're
the last person I expected to be teacher's pet,” he remarked,
“considering how you do at regular
school.”

Henry
bristled. “Hey, now! That's uncalled-for!”

Albert
chimed in with his opinion. “Oh, come on! You're just jealous,
Louis, because my sister prefers—”

“Don't!”
Henry held out a hand to stay Albert's words. “That's enough,
Albert.”

“I
don't need you
sticking up for me,” Louis grumped. He looked down at the back of
Peter's head, gave it a light rap with his knuckles. “Aren't you
done there yet?”

“Yes,
Sir.” Peter stood, brushing off his knees. “Laces tied, Sir.”

Martin
stood, too, and let the back of his hand stay in contact with Henry's
just a moment longer than accidental. “You're ready, too, Sir.”

They
all took the omnibus home. There weren't enough seats for all the
masters to sit, so Henry stood with the slaves, Martin's body swaying
against his as they rolled through the corners. Louis got off with
Henry at the stop half a block from the Blackwell house.

“Listen,
Henry, what I said before…” Louis began. “I'm sorry I was cross
with you.”

Henry
shrugged, embarrassed. “It's all right.”

“Albert's
right, you know. I'm mad because Abigail likes you.”

“I'm
sorry,” Henry offered helplessly. “If I could, I'd make her
change her mind.”

Louis
gave him a sharp, critical look. “You really don't like her, even a
little?”

Henry
shook his head. “No. I guess I'm not really interested in girls.”
He cringed a little inside; he had not meant to say it quite so
bluntly.

But
Louis let this pass without remark. “She's definitely the prettiest
girl in that entire group, at least to my eye. And she's very modern,
not at all afraid to talk to boys. If not her,
which one do you like?”

Extremely
uncomfortable with this line of talk, Henry squirmed a little. “Oh,
I don't know. There are some pretty ones, I guess.”

They
stopped in front of the Blackwell gate. “See you tomorrow, Louis.”

“G'bye,
Henry.” Louis walked off with an air of defeat, his shoulders
slumped. Henry watched him a moment, wishing he could make Abigail
see all of his friend's good qualities.

“The
dancing lesson went long, Sir,” Martin reminded him in a low voice.
“Let’s hurry inside so we can have sex before my dinner.”

“Yes,”
Henry said in quick agreement. “Let's go in.”

While
Martin was eating his dinner, Henry lay on the bed and worried about
Louis. He hated to see his friend so bereft over Abigail, who surely
wasn’t worth it. He would have to think of some way to make himself
less appealing to her without outright insulting her or embarrassing
himself too much. Why couldn’t she just be interested in Louis, who
was so interested in her? Henry was perfectly willing to be a polite,
solicitous dance partner to girls, and that ought to be enough. He
could only hope that his tepid responses to Abigail’s advances
would temper her ardor over the coming weeks.




On
Friday, Henry came home to a pleasant surprise: an invitation to
Jesse’s birthday party in two weeks’ time. He had never been
invited to Jesse’s party in the past, or at least he hadn’t seen
any invitations, and he was excited and apprehensive about the
prospect of socializing with his cousin’s circle of friends.

Martin
was excited, too. “There are quite a few Ganymede boys among his
friends’ slaves, or so Russ has told me. They’re not from my
cohort, of course, but they’re still familiar faces.”

“It’ll
be fun,” Henry said, determined that this would be the case. “I
wonder if Jesse’s friends will be as, uh, uninhibited
as he is?”

Martin
snickered. “I thought of that, too. What if all Lawton boys are
like that?”

“Ha!
I’m imagining that proper Eli is the odd one out!” If Lawton was
full of boys fawning over their slaves, Henry would have to bring his
grades up so he could transfer.

When
Henry brought the invitation up during the family hour that evening,
Father merely grunted and did not look up from his newspaper.

Mother
said, “I’m so pleased you’re becoming better friends with your
cousin, darling. I’m sure it’ll be a lovely party. You know, when
I was a girl, invitations to Wilton parties and balls were much
sought after.”

“When
your father was alive, Wiltons could afford to have extravagant
parties,” Father pointed out. “Gilbert doesn’t have that
luxury.”

“Well,
give him some extra in his budget, then,” Mother said testily. “Let
him give his boy a nice party. We can certainly afford it.”

Father
frowned. “If Gilbert needs more, he need only ask and offer
justification,” he said stiffly. “But I’m not going to start
padding his allowance any time you
think he might appreciate more money.”

To
Henry, this sounded very reasonable, but Mother did not seem
convinced. “We have more money than you can count,” Mother said,
full of haughty hostility. “What’s the harm in sharing with
family?”

“I
think I’ve shared amply with your relatives, Louisa, and I will
continue to do so as long as such help is required. However, I don’t
think it necessary to concern myself with minutiae like birthday
parties unless Gilbert sees fit to bring such things to my attention,
and even then I would be doing him a great courtesy to hear his
petition. I’d thank you not to lecture me about my obligations to
your
family.

“They’re
your family, too, Hiram,” Mother insisted. “They’re all the
family you’ve got.”

“Hmph.”
Father indicated he was through with the conversation by simply not
responding and turning his attention back to his papers.

This
talk of family made Henry think about Father’s relationship with
Mrs. Murdock and the little boy he had with her. He could never ask
Father, of course, but he could ask Louis, and Louis could maybe find
some things out. Where did she live? Was it a big, ostentatious house
or something more fitting for a secret family? Did she have a full
complement of slaves? Were they all from Ganymede and Demeter? When
her boy was old enough, would he go to Algonquin? Would Henry be
starting his last year at Algonquin at the same time Calvin Murdock
was beginning his first? What sort of boy was he? Did Father like him
more than he liked Henry? Henry did not think Calvin Murdock would
have to clear a very high hurdle to be better-liked than Henry.

Henry
supposed Mrs. Murdock made Father happy, and maybe father deserved to
be happy, after all. Certainly Mother—even this better version of
her—did not make Father happy and didn’t even try. Mother
reserved all her love for Reggie and cared little for Father and only
slightly more for her children. Someday, Henry himself might end up
married to some woman who deserved better, but he’d be in love with
his slave instead of her. Even Cora was fixated—for now—on an
inappropriate person in Martin. It was difficult to stay actively
angry with Father about his mistress when no one in his family loved
who they ought.




After
their first lesson with Mr. Gill, Henry had asked that the Blackwell
ballroom be readied for his use, so the maids had dusted the
chandeliers and the grand piano and waxed the floor and all was in
readiness for dance practice on Saturday morning after breakfast. It
was too bad the room had not seen more use over the years. It was a
vast space with canary-yellow wallpaper and ornate plasterwork,
glossy herringbone parquet, glittering mirrors on the walls, and
grand multi-tiered chandeliers at either end of the room. Henry
thought it a magical place, the prettiest room in the house. The
gleaming black grand piano had last been played at the ball when
Henry was 7 years old. None of the Blackwells could play. When Martin
tried the keys, it proved woefully out of tune.

“We'll
have it tuned for you,” Henry said. “It should be played, don't
you think?”

“I
would like that, Sir,” Martin admitted with a pleased smile.

“What
shall we do for music?” Henry wondered. He had not thought of this
until now; should they hire a pianist, as well?

“I
can sing it, Sir, if you’d like,” Martin told him.

It
was not complicated music. Martin sang the piece as they danced,
la-di-da, frequently breathless, and laughing with happiness.

Henry
delighted in Martin’s delight. He wanted Martin to be this happy
always. He was taken with a sudden visceral urge to have Martin's
cock in his mouth, the weight of it, the feeling of it throbbing
against his tongue. He whirled to a stop mid-step and pulled Martin
to him, running his hands up and down Martin's back, cupping his ass,
and burying his face in his neck.

“Sir,”
Martin said, low and urgent, pushing him away. “Sir, we mustn't.
Not here.”

“We’re
alone. No one will bother us,” Henry said with unwarranted
certainty. He leaned in and kissed Martin, a hand around the back of
his neck, and put his other hand flat against the front of Martin’s
trousers, feeling the shape of his cock and balls.

Martin
inhaled sharply but took a step back. “No,
Sir. Not here. Please.
Take me upstairs if you want me.”

“It’s
all right, Martin—” Henry reached for Martin’s arm, his knobby
wrist.

Martin
jerked his arm out of Henry’s grasp and backed out of his reach.
“It’s not,
Sir! Please.
We mustn’t get caught!”

Henry
disliked Martin’s refusal. He could order Martin to do whatever he
wanted, and Martin would have to comply, and for an arrogant moment
he thought he would do exactly that, but just as quickly he
reconsidered. He would never allow himself to be a man who would
force Martin to do things he didn’t want to do.

Martin
had retreated to the far side of the piano, eyeing Henry warily. The
last thing Henry wanted was for Martin to be frightened of him, and
he felt his skin tingle with a flush of shame.

“I’m
sorry, Martin. I won’t push.” Henry held out his hand, wanting
Martin to come back to him. “Please. I’ll be good, all right?”

Martin
came back around the piano, though his eyes were still full of
mistrust. “Take me upstairs if you want me, Sir,” he repeated.

Inside
Henry’s room, the door locked, Martin kissed him willingly, deeply,
but he was shaking as he did it. He gave Henry a solemn look, his
face very pale. “You frighten me.”

“I
didn’t mean to frighten you,” Henry said, which of course was
true. He’d only wanted to express his passion.

“We
can’t take chances like that, Henry. What if someone had come in?
What if Billy had found us, or Randolph?”

It
would have been disastrous, of course. Even if the slaves didn’t
tell Father, they’d know,
and surely Billy would tell Paul, at the very least, and probably his
Jane, too. No doubt the information that young Mr. Blackwell was a
fairy, and with his slave to boot, would be of interest to slaves and
masters all up and down 5th.

“I
wasn’t thinking,” Henry admitted. “You’re right, of course.”
He wanted to make it up to Martin. “Here,” he said, setting to
work on Martin’s trouser buttons, “let me show you what I wanted
to do.”

Later
at night, lolling sated in Henry's bed, Martin brought it up again.
“We have to be so careful, Henry. If we're caught doing something
like that, I’m sure your father would take me away from you. I
might even be sold!”

Martin’s
worries seemed extreme, but then again, he might be right. Martin was
in fact Father's property and not Henry's, not until Henry reached
the age of majority, and if Henry's behavior with Martin displeased
Father, it wasn't unthinkable that Father might take Martin away.

“I’ll
be more careful,” Henry said, mollifying him. “I’ll keep you
safe, I promise.” He rolled over on top of Martin and held him
down. Trying for levity, he said, “But you have to do your part.
You have to stop looking at me like you want my mouth on your cock.”

Martin
laughed, a low chuckle. “I do no such thing, Henry.” But then he
looked at Henry just as he'd been accused of, and burst out laughing
again, and harder, arching up beneath Henry’s weight. “I do like
your mouth.”

They
rolled around making a tangle of the bedding in a mock battle for
dominance. Martin ended up on top, and Henry was happy to lie beneath
him, thinking that this was what it would feel like to take Martin’s
weight if he let Martin fuck him. The very idea gave him a thrill of
terror; he pulled Martin down into a fervent kiss as he wondered, not
for the first time, what that might be like, if it would hurt, if he
would love it. He had never played with his own ass, and he still
hadn’t let Martin touch it, so he hadn’t a clue what it might
feel like to have even a finger inside his body, much less a cock. He
wanted to try it, though, he did. He kept waiting for the right time,
but what if the right time never came? Maybe he should
just…acquiesce. The idea of doing just that made him quake with
excited fear.

“Henry?
Are you all right?” Martin pushed himself up to look down into
Henry’s face with a concerned expression, brow furrowed.

Before
he could change his mind, Henry blurted, “You can do it, if you
want.” He felt his face grow hotter and hotter and could not meet
Martin’s eyes. If he let Martin have this, maybe it would make up
somewhat for scaring him in the ballroom.

Martin
blinked, confused. “Do what, Henry?”

Oh,
god. He would have to say it. “Touch my…touch me. You can touch
me. My hole.”

“Oh!
Really, Henry?” Martin’s delight was immediate and obvious, and
he beamed down at Henry’s frightened face. He ran his hands up and
down Henry’s arms in a soothing gesture. “It’ll feel good, I
promise. You needn’t be nervous.”

“I
can’t help it!” Henry insisted, his mood verging on irritable.
“I’m not like you.” And he wasn’t. After all, there were no
proscriptions on what a slave might do with his body. No matter what
he did, or what was done to him, Martin would always be a slave, but
it was different for Henry. He had been steadily chipping away at his
gentlemanly veneer for months now, unable to stop himself from
behaving counter to the dictates of society. He was barely
maintaining an appearance of normality, and he felt that anything
Martin did to his asshole would all but eradicate these last vestiges
of his civility.

Immediately,
Henry wanted to rescind the offer. “I don’t know…maybe I
shouldn’t—”

“Henry?”
Martin’s face fell. “Please, Henry. Just let me try. I think
you’ll really like it.”

Well,
that would be the problem, wouldn’t it? If Henry liked it, if he
liked it anywhere near as much as Martin did, he’d become a
decadent, unrepentant fairy in no time, and he’d be shunted off
into exile, and Martin would probably be taken away from him. How
could Martin not see these worrisome possibilities?

But
letting Martin do this would bring them closer together, and it would
make Martin happy.

Martin
was lying beside him, kissing him, stroking his body with soothing
sweeps of his hand. “We don’t have to do everything,” Martin
murmured, his tongue tracing the curve of Henry’s ear. “I’ll
just…explore a little, all right? You’ll tell me if it’s too
much and I’ll stop.”

It
was already too much, and Henry had made a mistake, but he couldn’t
bring himself to say it.

Henry
took a deep, shaky breath and let it out. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

Martin
kissed him, a deep, searching kiss, a little bossy. “Good boy.”
His hand dipped between Henry’s thighs, stirring the fine hairs.
“Spread your legs for me.”

Henry’s
heart thudded with dread, but he inched his legs apart.

Martin
bent over Henry’s chest and licked and bit his nipples while he
fondled his cock and balls. His touch was leisurely and assured; he
was in no hurry to get to Henry’s hole. After Henry was hard and
panting, Martin began stroking the sensitive skin behind his balls.
Each movement of Martin’s fingertips sent shivers over Henry’s
skin. His nipples seemed connected to his crotch, to the skin between
his legs, and he felt every nip and swipe of tongue in his cock.
Martin’s tongue flicked at a nipple, and the feather strokes of his
fingertips slipped a little further down between Henry’s legs, just
at the verge of the skin of his hole, and this secret flesh was
thrillingly sensitive to Martin’s touch.

Henry
groaned and shuddered with mixed fear and arousal.

Martin’s
voice was low and close when he repeated, “Good boy.” He brought
his fingers to his mouth to wet them then reached again between
Henry’s legs. His wet fingertip was circling now, and Henry had
never suspected his lowly hole capable of producing such sensations.
His entire body was covered in quivering gooseflesh, sensation
spreading out in overlapping ripples from this point of contact, and
it was overwhelming.

It
felt so good, but it was a mistake. He’d never come back from this.
He’d have to stop it. Soon.

Martin
slid down Henry’s body to kiss and lick the head of his cock, and
Henry began to groan, sobbing gasps, while his cock jerked against
Martin’s lips and Martin’s fingers massaged his twitching hole.
He wanted Martin to do more, something more, but he didn’t know
what.

Martin
hefted his balls, then squeezed the shaft of his cock.

“Knees
up.” Martin patted Henry’s hip and shifted to kneel between his
legs.

Henry
began to panic again. He’d resolved to let Martin touch, but he
didn’t want Martin to look
at his hole. “Wait, Martin, you can’t—”

“Let
me see, Henry. It’s all right.”

Henry
wanted to refuse, but he didn’t want to disappoint Martin. He was
shaking as he slowly drew his knees up toward his chest.

Martin
looked down at Henry’s exposed hole with an expression of such
tenderness that Henry was able to relax a little, reminding himself
that Martin loved him, after all, and wouldn’t want to hurt him.
The air felt cool on his skin, and he felt as conspicuous as if there
were a very bright light shining down between his buttocks. Martin
reached out and petted Henry’s hole with his thumb, and Henry’s
muscles clenched at the contact.

“You
are such a good boy,” Martin said approvingly. “Letting me see
you like this.” He put his fingers in his mouth again and rubbed
his fingertips over Henry’s hole, and the slickness of his saliva
added a lush dimension to the sensation of contact. Martin’s touch
made all the hairs stand up on Henry’s skin, a scintillating tingle
that was almost effervescent. Martin touched Henry with one hand and
idly stroked his own cock with the other. “Does it feel nice?” he
asked.

“Y-yes,”
Henry managed. He found he was holding his breath and let it out with
a shiver.

Martin
leaned forward and spit on the skin just above Henry’s hole, and
Henry felt it dripping down, giving Martin’s fingers more slip.
Henry’s hole contracted spasmodically, like a greedy little mouth
sucking after Martin’s fingertips.

“Do
you know what feels even nicer?” Martin asked. He cocked his head,
waiting for an answer.

“N-no.”
Henry couldn’t begin to formulate a guess.

“Licking,”
Martin suggested. He shifted on his knees and bent over, lowering his
face toward Henry’s hole.

No.
Absolutely not. He couldn’t let Martin do…do that!
He wasn’t clean enough, couldn’t possibly be.

“No!”
Henry brought his knees down and sat up, scooting back. “No, you
can’t!” Fingers were enough, more than enough.

“Henry?”
Martin looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“Please,”
Henry said, embarrassed by his frightened shaking. “You just can’t,
all right?”

Martin
rubbed Henry’s knee, ruffled the hairs on his shin. “I’m sorry,
Henry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m
not scared,” Henry lied.

“It’s
just, you know how much I like it when you do it to me.”

“I’m
not like you,” Henry said firmly. And he wasn’t.

Unlike
Henry, Martin seemed to love himself and was comfortable in his own
skin to an enviable degree. He had enormous confidence in his body,
both in its functions and its value to a partner. On those rare
occasions when Martin didn’t readily accept Henry’s mouth on his
ass, he’d just go wash himself and then let Henry get on with it.
But Henry wasn’t sure if he’d know if he was ever clean enough.

It
was humiliating to shake like this. His cock was still hard, but he
felt quite prepared to ignore it and pretend none of this had ever
happened.

“I
won’t push, Henry. I’m sorry.” Martin put his arms around him
and kissed his cheek. “I can still make you feel good, can’t I?”

“It’s
enough I’m letting you touch,” Henry insisted sullenly, mortified
by his fearfulness. “You don’t have to lick me, too.”

“Okay,
okay. Of course you’re right.” Martin stroked Henry’s hair and
pulled him close. “You were good to let me do that much.”

Despite
his embarrassment, Henry let Martin hold and soothe him. He wanted to
be cossetted and cared for more than he wanted another orgasm, and
Martin seemed content to give this to him. Now, with the perspective
of even a few minutes, he felt slightly ridiculous for reacting as he
had, but he just could not countenance letting Martin put his lips
and tongue on his ass.

“I
won’t try to lick you again, all right?” Martin asked. “But
maybe it would be all right if I put a finger inside?”

Henry
had been prepared to agree to this before, but the licking had
utterly derailed him. “Another time.” Despite how good it had
felt, he didn’t think it would be soon.

Martin
sighed, but he tightened his hold around Henry’s shoulders.

After
a few moments silence, Henry said, “I’m sorry. I did get scared.”

“There’s
nothing to be scared of, you know. I love you. I want to make you
feel good.”

“I
know you do.” Henry did know. And someday he’d gather his
courage, and he wouldn’t think too hard about anything, and he’d
let Martin do whatever he wanted. Someday.

After
another short silence, Henry said, “I really am sorry about pushing
you in the ballroom.”

“Maybe
it’s my fault, too, Henry. You said the way I look
at you—”

Henry
gave a derisive snort and a firm shake of his head. “No. It’s not
up to you. I actually don’t think it matters what you do, Martin. I
just always want you, to greater or lesser degree, but I need to
behave myself. I forget sometimes how serious the consequences could
be if we were caught.”

The
idea of being separated from Martin was sobering, and Henry did take
it seriously, but when he weighed the risks against the pleasures of
doing just a little of what he wanted, he kept coming down on the
side of pleasure. What he wanted was a life where he could kiss
Martin in his family’s ballroom and all anyone would mind about if
they were caught was the impropriety of a display of affection
outside the bedroom, not the level of intimacy between the two of
them as men, or as master and slave. Every time they got away with
something, he felt a little closer to this fantasy world he so wanted
to live in.

But
all he said to Martin was, “I’ll be more careful,” and believed
that he would be, despite all evidence to the contrary.











After
breakfast on Sunday, Henry had the idea to visit Cora, and was
pleased with himself for thinking of this on his own, rather than
needing Martin to remind him that he was someone’s brother.

“Do
you want to take her to the park, Sir, or do you want to play with
her here? Is it too cold to ride, do you think?”

“Nurse
will think it’s too cold for her to ride yet,” Henry said with
confidence. “But we could go to the menagerie, maybe, or we could
just play in the nursery. She’ll want to play with you,
anyway. I’ll just end up watching.”

“I
like Little Miss, Sir,” Martin said, seeming quite happy at the
idea of playing with a bossy little girl. “She’s a funny little
person, don’t you think?”

They
went up to the nursery and Nurse was pleased to see them. Cora leapt
up from her cross-legged seat on the floor.

“Martin!
Henry!” She ran to them and flung herself first at Martin, then at
her brother. “Did you come to play with me?”

“We
thought we could go to the menagerie,” Henry suggested. “If Nurse
says it’s all right, of course.”

“Please,
Nurse? Can we go?”

Nurse
peered at the windows, at the abundant pale light. “If it’s not
too cold, Miss…let me check at the window.” She crossed to the
windows and opened the nearest sash.

“Come
see,” Cora said, tugging at Martin’s hand. “You, too, Henry.
Come see Martin.”

She
led them to her dollhouse, dancing with excitement. “See? There he
is with Henry.”

The
Henry doll, to which they had been previously introduced, lay in bed
with his little china head on a miniature pillow. Next to him in the
bed lay another boy doll, this one with reddish painted hair and a
pair of wire eyeglasses sitting crookedly on his nub of a nose.

“His
hair is short,” Cora pointed out, “but that’s because they
don’t sell any
boy dolls with long hair. Isn’t that stupid?”

“You
can imagine long hair, though, can’t you, Miss?” Martin smiled
and adjusted the glasses on the doll’s nose with a fingertip.

“Yes,
I can,” Cora agreed. “See his violin? He can’t really play it,
though. It’s just for show.”

There
was a tiny violin laying on the floor beside the bed, a pretty piece
of craftsmanship, and Henry’s first thought was that Dollhouse
Martin would step right on it if he got up from the bed; however, he
did not share this with his sister.

Henry
surveyed the dollhouse rooms, curious about the other little bisque
inhabitants. The father doll was in the parlor reading a miniature
newspaper, his faceless slave behind his chair. The mother doll lay
face down on the parlor floor in front of her wing chair as if
stricken down by the hand of a god, but her slave stood quite
unconcerned in her proper position. Honey the dancing bear sat in the
kitchen with the lady acrobat from the wooden circus. The nameless
infant remained neglected in its cradle in the nursery, watched over
by a faceless nurse. He did not see the sister doll at first glance,
but a second look revealed that she stood in the Henry doll’s room,
peeking around the high headboard of the bed. Was Dollhouse Cora
spying on Dollhouse Henry and his slave? Henry felt his face tingle
with hot prickles at the very thought.

Martin
was also interested in what Dollhouse Cora was up to. “Is that doll
a little you, Miss?”

“Yes,”
Cora said firmly. “I’m watching you sleep.”

“Oh.
Well, Miss.” Martin flushed, too, and seemed quite flustered.
“That’s a peculiar hobby, Miss, I must say.”

“Nurse
says it isn’t nice,” Cora said blithely. “She
says it’s snooping, but I
think it’s just curiosity. She wants me to play something else.”

“If
you did that in real life, Cora, it would be very rude,” Henry
pointed out, itching with the urge to remove the sister doll from the
boy doll’s room. “It would make me very angry.”

“Well,
it’s only pretend, Henry,” Cora reminded him, unconcerned.

Nurse
shut the window. “If Little Miss keeps her coat buttoned up, I’m
sure we’ll be fine, Sir.”

Cora
whirled to face Nurse, her expression delighted and eager. “We can
go?”

“Yes,
Miss. Do you want to wear your green coat or your red cape?”

Cora
thought about it a moment. “Green coat, please.”

While
Nurse got Cora into her coat, Henry and Martin stood before the
dollhouse, looking at their little china effigies.

“I
really want to get that sister doll out of there,” Henry murmured.
“Do you think I could just—?” He reached for the china girl,
but Martin stayed his hand.

“You’d
best not,” Martin whispered. “It will only upset her, Sir. She
doesn’t mean anything by it, after all. It’s just an innocent
game.”

“I
don’t like it,” Henry grumped. “It’s not that
innocent.” While Cora might not know exactly what she was playing
at, he thought her instincts were accurate: at some point, perhaps a
few years in the future, she’d love to watch Martin in bed.

“We’re
ready, Sir,” Nurse called, and Henry turned reluctantly away from
the dollhouse, leaving Dollhouse Cora in her voyeuristic position.

They
walked to the park playing the lift-and-swing game, and Henry made
himself play a little longer than he cared to do for Cora’s sake,
though he still called an end to it long before she was ready to
quit.

“Doesn’t
it make your shoulders hurt?” he asked, wanting to convince her
that she was better off being through with the game.

“It
doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “It’s so much fun that I don’t
care.”

This
sounded like Martin’s arguments in favor of any number of things
that were surely painful, and just that thought made him blush, but
then that thought in relation to his little sister was utterly
shameful, and he turned a mortified red, nearly purple.

“Are
you all right, Sir?” Nurse put her hand on Henry’s arm and peered
into his beet-colored face with a worried expression. “You suddenly
got so very red.”

“I’m
fine,” Henry insisted, shaking his head, willing everyone to look
elsewhere. Martin grinned at him over the top of Cora’s head.

They
made their leisurely way around the menagerie, spending extra time
with the bears, as usual. Henry bought everyone pretzels and peanuts
and bottles of ginger ale as they strolled along the path. They
steered clear of the shit-flinging chimpanzees, which no one much
liked, and spent some time with various of the big cats, which were
Nurse’s favorites.

They
finished their circuit of the menagerie and headed back home. Cora
contrived to take hold of Martin’s hand and skipped ahead, leaving
Henry and Nurse to walk behind.

Randolph
let them in at home and took their coats, and Henry bid his sister
farewell in the hall before the elevator.

“Why
won’t you come play with me?” she asked, hanging from his arm.

“It’s
time for our lunch,” Henry told her, “and we just spent the whole
morning with you.”

“But
we didn’t play,”
Cora insisted, digging her fingers into his forearm. “We didn’t
play with my dolls or my circus.”

The
elevator bumped to a halt in front of them.

“Say
goodbye to Martin,” Henry told her, prying her fingers back.

Martin
crouched down. “Goodbye, Miss. I enjoyed spending the morning with
you.”

Cora
flung herself into Martin’s arms with a little sob. “When will
you and Henry visit me again?” she asked, her voice muffled against
Martin’s neck.

“We’ll
visit when your brother has time, Miss.”

“Why
is Henry so busy?”
Cora asked, quite despairing.

Henry,
who was busy by no one’s estimation, bit his lip against guilty
laughter.

Martin
unwound Cora’s arms from around his neck and stood. He pulled back
the elevator grille for Nurse and Cora to step inside.

Nurse
reached for Cora’s hand. “Come along, Miss. Let the boys get on
with their day.”

Cora
called out mournful goodbyes as the car rose and both Henry and
Martin had to work to keep from bursting out laughing at her
distress. As the car disappeared from view, they headed for the
breakfast room.

Henry
said, “I shouldn’t laugh, I guess, but she’s so dramatic!”

“She
is indeed, Sir. If it weren’t an entirely unsuitable profession for
a gentleman’s daughter, I’d say she’d excel on the stage.”

“Don’t
tell her that, or she’ll want to do it,” Henry cautioned. “We
don’t need my father getting mad because you talked my sister into
becoming an actress.”

Martin
pulled out Henry’s chair, then prepared a plate for him with
sandwiches and Saratoga potatoes. There was cake on the sideboard, as
well.

“What
sort of cake is that?” Henry asked, craning his neck from his seat
at the table.

“Coconut,
I think, Sir. Do you want a glass of milk?”

“Yes,
please.”

Martin
brought Henry his food, then prepared his own plate.

When
Martin sat down, Henry leaned toward him and said, “I’m trying to
help teach her manners, of course, so I’m going to tell her that
other people’s opinions count just as much as her own…but I don’t
really feel that way. You are
the best one, Martin, no question.”

Martin
laughed. “I’m glad you feel that way, Sir. It would be terribly
sad for me if you preferred another.”

Henry
chewed a bite of egg salad sandwich and thought on this a moment. “I
asked you before, a long time ago, but I don’t think you really
answered. Do masters ever prefer another’s slave?”

Martin
swallowed and drank some milk before answering. “Oh, certainly,
Sir, but I don’t think they prefer another passionately.
Do you remember at New Year’s, Sir, what Mr. Ross said about—”
and here he lowered his voice “—preferring Stuart’s mouth over
Simon’s?”

Henry
didn’t like to think of New Year’s, but he did remember. “Yes,
of course.”

Still
speaking scarcely above a whisper, Martin said, “Well, it’s not
as if Mr. Ross is pining away for Stuart, Sir. He just has a
preference for him at swaps, and Stuart doesn’t mind at all because
Mr. Ross is quite considerate.”

“But
Charles isn’t in love with him.” Henry felt quite confident of
this.

“No,
Sir, of course not, no more than he’s in love with Simon.”

Henry
was less sure of this. “You’re certain he isn’t? From what
you’ve told me…”

“Mr.
Ross enjoys his luxuries, Sir,” Martin explained primly. “He is
very fond of Simon, Sir, but I believe his affection falls short of
the mark for romantic love.”

“So,
about New Year’s,” Henry began. “I have some questions,
actually…”

Martin
frowned. “Are they suitable for the breakfast room, Sir? Or should
you ask me upstairs?”

Oh,
they were definitely not breakfast room questions. “I’ll ask when
we’re through eating,” Henry decided.

After
they’d eaten all the sandwiches they could stomach, as well as
large squares of cake, they retired to Henry’s room. Martin removed
Henry’s boots and then his own, and they sprawled together on the
bed.

“All
right, Henry. What are your questions?”

“Well,
I was thinking,” Henry began slowly. “With all the group
situations and all the show-off sex, the slaves are fucking each
other quite often, aren’t they?”

“Some
more than others. It depends on what the masters want to see.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Well,
until his troubles, the masters always wanted Tom at the center of
things, whether he was fucking or being fucked, because he’s so
pretty and he has a nice cock. Tom also usually enjoyed himself, and
that’s more fun for the masters to watch. But Julian, even though
he’s so beautiful, is almost never asked to do anything because
he’s terrible at it. He’s unenthusiastic and half-hearted in
putting on a show and uses poor technique when he’s asked to do
anything for a master.”

“Do
you think he’s being terrible on purpose?”

“Oh,
certainly, but it’s still no fun for anyone.”

“Who
else is enthusiastic, then?”

“I
understand Allen is especially good at doing the fucking. All of the
others are very complimentary and they like taking a turn with him.
Some of my friends even joke that Allen should give lessons to the
masters—though you must never repeat that, please, Henry!” Martin
took hold of Henry’s arm and clung a little desperately. “Please,
Sir.”

“Of
course I won’t,” Henry assured him. He pictured lanky Allen with
his long auburn hair, imagined him without his clothes, and had a
moment’s fantasy of letting him fuck Martin so that Martin might
compare their technique. “Who else?”

“Will
loves to be fucked. As I’ve mentioned before, Will’s like me.”

Will
could not compare to Martin in Henry’s opinion, of course, but he
did accept that they shared a preference for men.

Martin
continued. “Simon’s the same, and neither of them likes to do the
fucking.”

“What
about Peter?”

“What
do you mean?”

“Is
he especially good at anything?”

Martin
considered a moment, clearly thinking over a lot of past
conversations. “Hmm…I don’t really recall hearing anything one
way or the other. Not everyone can be a standout, after all.”

“Who’s
especially terrible? Besides Julian, I mean.”

“Julian
is definitely the worst. Let’s see…Dick is apparently pretty
awful at sucking a cock. He gags very easily.”

“That’s
unlucky,” Henry remarked, feeling a little sorry for Dick’s
master Robert.

“A
boy like Dick wouldn’t have been made a companion at Ganymede,”
Martin said with confidence. “Any boy who couldn’t take a cock
would have ended up a butler or a footman.”

“Which
house is Dick from again?”

“Perseus,
Sir. It’s a newer house, of course.”

Martin’s
snobbery made Henry laugh, and he pulled Martin into a close embrace
and kissed his neck. “Ganymede is definitely the best House.”

“Well,
it is,”
Martin said, slightly affronted. “I
got very lucky when you chose me, but when you chose Ganymede you
were guaranteed good sex.”

Henry
didn’t believe he could have been truly satisfied with any other
slave, Ganymede or otherwise. “I doubt I would have been as happy
with Stuart, or Charlie, or whoever else, though, Martin. I wouldn’t
have gotten from them what I get from you.”

“Well,
no,” Martin conceded. “But I’m especially good with you.”

“That’s
because you love me.” Henry kissed his neck again, and Martin
tilted his head to the side to expose more of his throat for Henry’s
mouth.

“Perhaps
it’s the other way around.”

“Hmm?”
Henry eased Martin down onto his back and got on top of him.

“Maybe
I love you because I’m so much better with you than with anyone
else, and it’s been that way from the beginning. It was natural to
fall in love with you, Henry. It was obvious that I would.”

Were
these things different? Henry wasn’t sure what Martin was telling
him. Ultimately, though, Martin loved him—he was definitely hearing
that. They kissed and groped one another, Martin writhing beneath him
and whimpering. They shed their clothing in fits and starts,
frequently halting their efforts to give attention to the body parts
most recently bared. Martin was breathless and trembling, high color
in his cheeks, as he shucked off his trousers and drawers. Henry
kissed him and stroked his pretty cock like it was a little animal he
wanted to tame. Martin gasped against his mouth and shuddered in his
arms.

Martin’s
breath was hot in Henry’s ear as he said, “Fuck me, Henry. Please
fuck me.”

Henry
got the oil out of the drawer and stuffed a pillow beneath Martin’s
ass and fucked him, and they were
so good together, so amazingly good. He believed that Martin was
telling the truth when he said he was better with Henry than with
anyone else. Whoever else Martin might have been with, he was with
Henry now, and it was Henry’s cock filling him, and it was Henry
making him come.

“Oh,
god, Henry, Henry!”

Henry
was so familiar with how Martin came, how he looked and how he
sounded and the way his body reacted, but he never tired of
experiencing it. Feeling Martin go still just before he’d begin to
spurt was like being given permission to come himself, and he felt
such gratitude as he let himself go and let the pleasure wash over
him as his cock jerked in Martin’s ass.

He
lay on top of Martin a little longer than usual, if only to keep
Martin with him and prevent him from getting up and running to the
bathroom to fetch his basin. Henry’s entire skin was numb and
buzzing, and he wanted to be in contact with Martin as long as
possible.

“Henry,
I can’t breathe,” Martin said, pushing gently but insistently at
Henry’s chest. “Get off me, please.”

Sighing,
Henry relented and rolled to the side. Martin sat up, then leaned
over and kissed him before sliding from the bed and padding into the
bathroom. Henry lay with his forearm over his eyes to block out the
light and listened to Martin splashing around as he washed up and
then filled his basin. Martin came to sit on the side of the bed and
Henry moved his arm so he could open one eye and look at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey
yourself.” Martin smiled at him, seeming pleased, his cheeks pink.
He washed all the parts of Henry that might conceivably need washing
and then set his basin on the nightstand before crawling into Henry’s
arms.

“Do
you want to sleep a little, Henry? I could nap, unless there’s
something you want to do.”

“Let’s
sleep.”

Henry
slept and dreamed that he was fucking Martin again, and it felt
wonderful, as it always did, and he was coming in blissful pulses,
the pleasure drawn out…and looked up to meet the intent gaze of his
little sister, peering out at them from behind the high headboard. He
woke with a horrified shout, his heart pounding against his ribs. He
startled Martin awake with his commotion and was unwilling to even
try to go back to sleep, staying alert and jumpy until Martin arose
to go down for his dinner.











Henry
had heard complaints aplenty but no substantial news of James since
Christmas, but now Louis informed him that James was indeed getting
married to his barmaid. It was going to be a quiet affair, just
family, and Louis made Henry promise not to tell anyone at school.

The
girl James was marrying, a Janie Babcock, was very pretty now, though
Louis felt she would easily go to fat if she wasn’t careful. She
was noticeably in the family way, which was part of the reason for
the secrecy around the wedding. Neither the bride nor the groom was
terribly enthusiastic about their pending union. While Miss Babcock
had clearly once found James very compelling, his machinations in the
service of remaining a bachelor had no doubt made him seem much less
attractive to her, and she was marrying him under duress at the
behest of her parents, who understandably preferred to see her
married to a rich man’s son instead of raising a child out of
wedlock on her own.

Miss
Babcock’s main appeal for James had been her pretty face and
physical attributes, including the virginity that he had summarily
despoiled. She had wanted him to marry her after the loss of her
maidenhead and he had refused, but they had still continued to see
each other because they were handsome young animals and couldn’t
seem to help themselves. James, who was averse to using
prophylactics, should not have been surprised when Janie got in the
family way.

Although
Miss Babcock was a tavern-keeper’s daughter, her family was
well-established in the town where James had been enrolled in
college, and her father was a childhood friend of the chancellor of
the school. There was no chance that James would be allowed to shirk
his responsibility.

Mr.
Briggs had decided James should marry in hopes of settling him, and
also with the hope that a marriage would alleviate some of James’
other troubles. It was thought that the college and the disgruntled
slave owners he’d left behind there might be more likely to settle
their differences out of court if they saw James being responsible
for something.
Besides, even if Miss Babcock’s family had been willing to be
bought off, there was always the danger that she or the child would
come back later to cause trouble, and it seemed wiser to control the
situation from the outset.

“He
should have stuck to prostitutes,” Louis said irritably. “If a
prostitute gets pregnant, she takes care of it herself. She doesn’t
expect the man to marry
her.”

The
date chosen was an innocuous Wednesday, conveniently slotted between
Louis’ dancing lessons. They’d be married by a judge in his
chambers, simple and legal, without a church ceremony. Louis wasn’t
even sure if the bride would have a bouquet. He apologized to Henry
for not inviting him.

“It’s
not like I want to go, either,” Louis told him. “Everyone’s
going to be sad and embarrassed. It’ll be the worst wedding ever.”

“I’m
sorry,” Henry said, since he was, though he was mostly sorry for
Miss Babcock and her unborn baby. James would be a lousy husband and
a lousy father. Suddenly, it occurred to him:

“Louis?
Does she even have a slave?”

Louis
snorted. “Of course not! My father is trying to find some suitable
girl in a hurry, but I doubt he’ll be able to get one before the
wedding. She’ll have to have one of the chambermaids
serve her. Ugh!” He sighed, disgusted. “I can’t believe I ever
wanted to be like him,” he lamented. “He’s absolutely the
worst. First he ruined Christmas, and now he’s ruining everything
else.”

“At
least you have the ball to look forward to,” Henry pointed out. “He
can’t ruin that, can he?”

“I
guess not.” Louis thought a moment. “I will
dance with Abigail, no matter what,” Louis said, determined. “That
will make up for stupid James and his stupid shotgun wedding.”

Henry
patted Louis on the back a little stiffly, trying to be supportive,
and Louis slumped into his touch.

Louis
left school at lunchtime on Wednesday, and Henry claimed ignorance
when the other boys asked if he knew where Louis had gone. Wednesday
evening, he called the Briggs house, but Patrick informed him that
the family were not taking calls unless there was some emergency, and
Henry didn’t believe his curiosity was an emergency, so just left
the message that he had called.

On
Thursday, there was neither time nor opportunity to talk to Louis
during the school day, but they dawdled behind the rest of the group
on the way to dance class and Louis was able to inform him in a
furtive whisper that the wedding had been a disaster.

“James
was drunk,” Louis said in disgust. “He was practically falling
down and he kept laughing. It was so embarrassing!”

“But
he’s married now?”

“Oh,
yes. And he and the new Mrs. Briggs are living with us until Dad gets
James a place at another school…and she might be living with us
forever,
actually, because Dad doesn’t trust James to take care of her, and
I don’t blame him.”

“Do
you like her all right?”

Louis
scrunched up his face in a way that implied his feelings were
complicated. “She’s very nice, not too bright—obviously—and
keeps wanting to do things that we have slaves for. Like, she wants
to bring people tea and clean up after herself, but hopefully she’ll
get out of the habit. I think I told you she’s pretty, right? Well,
she does have that going for her. I think Mama is looking forward to
dressing her up, even if it’s just maternity clothes.”

“You’re
going to have a niece or nephew,” Henry pointed out. “That’ll
be all right, won’t it?”

Louis
frowned. “It’ll be a baby,”
he reminded Henry. “With screaming and crying and diapers. Remember
when Edward was born?”

Henry
did remember and winced.

“Babies
are no fun,” Louis said grimly. “No fun at all.”











They
hadn’t ridden much over the winter because it had been so cold and
wet, unpleasant for both riders and horses, but the weather had been
improving such that by mid-March riding conditions were excellent.
Henry told Martin to call the stables to have the horses readied.

They
crossed 5th to the park, Henry letting Martin ride a little ahead, as
he always did, so he could admire his ass moving over the saddle. It
was a bright, overcast day, the sky a uniform white, and the trees
were gauzy with bright green buds and new leaves. The air smelled
fresh and clean and vegetal. There were a fair number of riders on
the bridle path, but it was far from crowded. They rode west, then
north. Martin turned his face up to the pale sun, smiling, eyes
closed, then looked at Henry with such frank desire that Henry felt
his astonished heart skip a beat.

Martin
tilted sideways towards him. “Sir,” he said in a conspiratorial
tone, “Sir, isn’t this just a perfect day?”

Henry
blushed, but grinned at him. “Yes,”
he said. “Yes, it is.” For a moment, he dared to ride near enough
to Martin’s side that their knees touched, but, as always, the
horses didn’t like being in such close proximity, snorting and
tossing their heads until Henry moved Marigold away.

Henry
still held onto his earlier idea of finding a secluded place in the
park where he might share some intimacy with Martin, just something
small. He had not discussed this much with Martin, as he knew Martin
would be reluctant to do anything that might expose Henry to public
condemnation, but he thought he could get Martin to cooperate if he
were presented with such a situation suddenly, without time to talk
Henry out of it. With this in mind, Henry scanned the trees to either
side of the path for likely places, hidden pockets of privacy. Of
course, the sort of place he was looking for was the kind that
wouldn’t
be visible from the trail; they’d have to go into the woods to find
it.

“Let’s
try one of these side trails,” Henry suggested, reining Marigold to
a halt by an indistinct path leading off into the trees.

Martin
wheeled Partita around and came back to Henry’s side. “I don’t
think we’re supposed to ride on that, Sir. I don’t think it’s
even a real trail.”

“Oh,
come on,” Henry said, wheedling. “If it doesn’t lead anywhere
interesting, we can always come back.”

Martin
hesitated. He really did mostly like to follow rules. “Well…”

“Please,
Martin? It’ll be fun.”

“Very
well, Sir. Let’s see where it goes.” He let Henry ride ahead and
followed him off the bridle path with a worried glance around.

It
quickly became difficult to stay on horseback. Bushes encroached upon
the trail and the lower branches of the trees smacked them in their
faces. Henry could no longer hear the sounds of the bridle path
traffic; nothing but birdsong and the sounds they themselves made
moving through the forest. Henry slid from Marigold’s back and led
her through the trees, and Martin did the same.

“Sir?
I don’t want to get lost, Sir…”

“We
won’t get lost,” Henry assured him. “We can follow this same
trail right back out.” Martin seemed appeased and followed Henry
without further complaint.

After
perhaps ten minutes without seeing another soul in the forest, Henry
found exactly what he wanted. The faint trail dissolved into a bright
little clearing full of waving long grasses. He turned and grinned at
Martin.

“I
told you we could find a private place in the park, do you remember?”
He reached for Martin’s hand and pulled him into the meadow—their
meadow, secluded and perfect.

Martin
hesitated, pulling back on his hand. “What are we doing here, Sir?”

“I
just want to be with you somewhere that isn’t my bedroom,” Henry
explained, a bit of pleading in his tone. “We don’t have to do
much, all right? I just want a little closeness.”

Martin
frowned and shook his head. “No. We’re in public,
Sir.”

“Not
really,” Henry insisted. He took in the little meadow with a sweep
of his arm. “This is our private place. Just you and me.” He
imagined it was a refuge, a secret island just for them, a place
outside of rules and expectations.

Martin
looked around the clearing, arms crossed over his chest, unconvinced,
but he wasn’t arguing.

“We
haven’t seen or heard anyone since we left the bridle path,”
Henry pointed out. “It’s such a big park, Martin. No one will
find us here.”

Martin’s
frown deepened. “Sir, I don’t think we should risk it.”

Henry
felt a little desperate. He wanted so badly to kiss Martin here, the
breeze stirring their hair, the loamy smells of the forest mixed with
Martin’s vetiver. “Please,”
he begged. “Please, Martin.” He put his hands on Martin’s
shoulders. “It would mean so much to me.” If he could make Martin
understand how much it meant, he knew Martin would agree to whatever
he wanted. “Just a little closeness. Please.”

Martin’s
brow furrowed and he seemed conflicted. “Sir...” he began
haltingly.

Henry
put his hand around the back of Martin’s neck, ruffled the hairs at
his nape with the side of his thumb. “Use my name while we’re
here,” he suggested. “Do that at least. It’ll make me so
happy.”

Martin
met his eyes and gazed at him a long moment, and then his face
relaxed as he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He gave Henry
a fond, tender smile, a smile that made it clear he could deny Henry
nothing. “All right, Henry.
I do want to make you happy. It really does seem private enough,
doesn’t it? Besides, the horses will enjoy grazing.”

They
turned the horses loose and Henry sat down in the grass. It wasn’t
really warm, but Henry shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat and
bade Martin help him with the rest until he was bare to the waist. At
Henry’s request, Martin did the same, his reluctance slowly
eroding, and they sat side by side in the filtered sun, bare-chested,
nipples tight in the chill, braces tangled at their hips.

“There’s
enough sun I might freckle,” Martin remarked, brushing
ineffectually at his shoulders.

“I
like freckles,” Henry told him. He lay back upon his shed clothing
and tugged at Martin’s elbow. “Lie down with me.”

With
a glance around, still concerned they might be observed, Martin lay
back at his side, shoulder to shoulder.

Henry
looked up at the sky, so pale that blue was only a suggestion, and it
wasn’t so different from the color of his ceiling at home, but it
was different in every other dimension, open and vast and endless,
and he thrilled at the feeling of limitless freedom that coursed
through him as they lay half-dressed in the tall grass.

Martin
might have been feeling this sense of possibility, too; he reached
for Henry’s hand and held it tightly, and Henry loved that Martin
had done this, that it had been Martin’s impulse.

Henry
rolled up onto his side and leaned over Martin, his breath warming
Martin’s lips a moment before they tilted their heads and kissed,
their first public kiss. At the touch of Martin’s lips, Henry felt
like a switch had been flicked and he was now buzzing on, on, on. The
bare skin of his torso was sensitized to the movements of the air and
his cock sent him increasingly-urgent messages, his body craving
touch.

Martin
moaned and arced up against Henry’s weight, his arms tight around
Henry’s back, and Henry felt flush with joy, so happy that Martin
had come around to seeing things his way.

They
rolled over and over in the grass, taking turns holding each other
down. Martin straddled Henry’s hips and leaned forward to pin his
wrists to the ground. Henry made a show of struggling, lifting his
hips against Martin's weight and squirming to free his hands, but
gave up all pretense of wanting to get away when at last Martin bent
and kissed him. Henry pulled against Martin's grip and this time
Martin let go his hands, which Henry ran over his shoulders and back
with fond possessiveness. He loved the way Martin's shoulder blades
fit beneath his palms, the long channel of his spine, the silky whorl
of hair at the nape of his neck. Martin moved over him, rubbing his
crotch along the length of Henry’s hard prick while they kissed.

“You
could fuck my mouth,” Henry suggested.

Martin
groaned and said, “Sir...”

“Henry,”
Henry corrected.

“Henry.
I don’t think we should—”

“No,
Martin, it will be all right.” Henry went to work on Martin’s
buttons, feeling and shaping the hard cock beneath the breeches as he
did so, and Martin let out a nervous whine but did nothing to stop
his hands.

“I
want to do it someplace besides my room,” Henry told him, drawing
his cock out of the vee of his drawers. “I want to do what normal
people do.”

Martin
scoffed. “Normal people don’t do this,
Henry!”

Henry
noted that while Martin was clearly uneasy, he wasn’t stopping
Henry touching his cock and he wasn’t buttoning his breeches.

“I
just—” Henry didn’t know how to explain it. If he wasn’t
going to be allowed to walk down the street arm-in-arm with Martin
and have his feelings acknowledged and respected by all of society,
then he deserved to be free with him somewhere.
It was only fair.
“I just want to suck your cock. I know you like it, Martin.” He
squeezed Martin’s cock and ran his thumb over the wet slit.

Martin
shuddered and sighed. “Oh, Henry. You know I love it. You know it’s
not that.”

“We’re
all alone here,” Henry insisted. “We’re already half-naked.
Just come up here and let me suck you, all right? Just a little bit.”

Martin
looked around the clearing, brow furrowed. He was very hard, and
Henry knew he wanted to let Henry do it.

“Come
on, Martin. It’ll make me so happy.”

With
a last worried glance around, Martin said, “All right, Henry, but
do it fast.”

“That’s
sort of up to you,” Henry pointed out. “Get up here.”

Martin
moaned as he fed Henry his cock. Henry shuddered, overwhelmed. The
green smell of grass mingled with the intimate smells of Martin’s
body, Martin’s prick. The bitter-salt flavor of him spread
throughout Henry’s mouth. The globes of Martin’s ass flexed in
Henry’s hands as Henry tried to cram Martin’s prick further,
deeper into his throat. Martin’s hand cupped the back of Henry’s
head, fingers digging into his scalp as he thrust into Henry’s
mouth. It was so satisfying to do it, to have Martin’s cock in his
mouth here in the open air, that he thought he could come from just
sucking him without needing to be touched at all.

Martin’s
breathing sped up, intensified. He said, “Henry!”
in a low voice, over and over, and his prick swelled just a little
fatter before he stilled and jerked in Henry’s mouth. Henry
swallowed down his spunk and sucked on his softening cock until
Martin took it away, wincing. “That’s enough.” He flopped down
on the grass at Henry’s side, chortling with pleasure as he
buttoned himself up. Henry bent over him, and Martin kissed him
passionately.

“Now,
what would you like from me?” He seemed in a very good mood, his
tone playful, an eyebrow arched.

“You
could return the favor,” Henry suggested. He shifted, making room
for his hard prick in his tight breeches. “I came so close just
from sucking you that it won’t be much work for you, I don’t
think.”

“But
you know I don’t mind work,” Martin said mischievously. He rolled
on top of Henry and kissed him, reaching between their bodies with
his left hand to unbutton Henry’s breeches and drawers. Henry
sighed as his prick sprang free into Martin’s waiting hand. Martin
bent to kiss his neck and Henry arched beneath him. Martin began to
kiss his way down Henry’s chest and Henry pulled the tie from
Martin’s hair and took it in handfuls, smelled it, rubbed it
against his skin. Martin kissed his nipples, little licks and bites
that sent jolts of sizzling intensity to his cock, and Henry ground
his hips up against Martin’s weight.

“Kiss
me again,” Henry said in a hushed, urgent voice. “Kiss my mouth,
Martin, please.”
His lips felt swollen, sensitized, and they opened eagerly for
Martin’s tongue. Martin’s clever fingers teased his nipples,
twisting them as they grew harder and harder still. Henry cried out,
his breath coming in harsh pants. The fact of Martin touching him
like this outside of his bedroom was so arousing he couldn’t be
still. He reached down and squeezed Martin’s fingers tight around
his prick, tight enough to hurt, and humped up against Martin’s
fist.

“…could
have said she didn’t like boating, for chrissakes, and I would’ve
understood and planned something else. Oh! Look, someone’s horses!”
A male voice, sounds of twigs cracking under boots.

Martin
froze on top of Henry, a look of shocked horror in his eyes.

A
different male voice. “Horses? Here?”

“See?
Horses.”

“Where
are the people?”

“Our
shirts!” Henry rasped in a loud whisper. “Martin, our shirts!”

Martin
rolled off of him and dove after their clothes.

The
first voice again, laughing. “There they are!”

Henry
dared to look. Two men in hiking costume, perhaps in their
mid-twenties, stood staring at him and Martin as they scrambled in
the grass. Martin shoved Henry’s shirt into his hands and Henry
struggled to pull it on over his head.

“Oh,
my god,” said the second man. “I didn’t realize…that’s two
men!” He began to laugh.

“If
you can call them men,”
said the first. “It’s just some rich fairy and his slave.” His
amusement seemed to have graded quickly into cheerful disgust. He
leaned forward, peering at them more closely. “Wait a minute…”
He took a step forward. “Say, you there! You’re Hiram Blackwell’s
son, aren’t you?”

“What?
No!” Henry jerked his shirt into place and snatched his waistcoat
from Martin’s hand. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Henry’s heart was a trip-hammer pounding frantically as he
struggled back into his clothes. For once, he wasn’t blushing;
instead, he was bloodless and cold with fear.

“No,
you’re definitely him.” The man nodded, confident.

“Who’s
Hiram Blackwell?” asked his friend.

“You
know, the industrialist? This is his kid, I’m sure of it. He was
with his father at the opening of the Blackwell office building in
the spring. Lots of fanfare, and this guy—” he jerked a thumb
toward Henry “—was moping while his dad gave a speech.” He
turned to Henry and explained, “I’m a reporter, see, and I never
forget a face.”

Oh
god.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. This was the absolute worst thing that could
ever possibly happen. It would be in the paper: Prominent
Industrialist’s Son Proven to be Fairy.

Henry
tugged and yanked at his clothes, frantically putting himself into
rumpled order. Martin, already dressed, reached to help him, but
Henry panicked and batted Martin’s hands away, not wanting these
strangers to see them touch.

The
friend had lost all interest in the scene and stood with his arms
crossed, bored. “Well, what do you propose to do about it?” he
asked. “I say just let them get on with it, so long as I don’t
have to see it.”

“Well,
seeing it—that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Again he turned to
Henry. “It’s stupid to have sex in the park, you know. It’s
crawling with people. Of course you got caught.”

“I-I’m
sorry,” Henry managed. He got to his feet unsteadily. He was much
taller than either of the men, but he felt tentative and puny. “It
was stupid. I won’t do it again, I promise!”

Martin
got to his feet, too, standing close to Henry, and Henry was ashamed
of himself for doing so, but he sidestepped to put distance between
them.

“Your
dad will want to keep this out of the papers,” the reporter said,
again very confident in his conclusions.

“Please
don’t tell him!” Henry blurted, wringing his hands. He looked
around the clearing, eyes darting, searching foolishly for a
solution. He had a moment’s gruesome imagining of himself and
Martin overpowering these fellows and choking the life out of them,
but he doubted Martin would cooperate and do his part, and in any
case he didn’t want to be a murderer on top of the problems he’d
already made for himself.

The
reporter was studying them both, looking between his face and
Martin’s. He seemed quite jolly, disdainful yet amused.

His
friend was becoming annoyed, sighing and rolling his eyes. “Are we
done here?”

“Sure,
sure.” He gave Henry a smile that was ruthless but not unfriendly.
“I’ll be contacting your dad as soon as possible, so you might
want to get your story in order.”

“Please…”
Henry said rather hopelessly.

“See
ya, kid.” The reporter walked off with a jaunty bounce in his step.
To his friend, he said, “That’ll be a nice paycheck!”

“Ugh,
there are inverts everywhere these days!” the friend complained.
“But finish your story.”

The
reporter was happy to comply. “Anyway, as I was saying, she didn’t
bother to mention that she gets seasick…” The men disappeared
into the trees, continuing down the trail.

Henry
and Martin stood side by side, but not looking at one another, and
they said nothing; there was nothing to say.

They’d
been caught, and his father would know what they’d done. Henry
tried to tell himself it could have been worse. The men might have
been more affronted and caused a scene. It could have been worse, but
it was bad enough: they’d called him a fairy, an invert, and they’d
done it with such casual contempt. The shame he felt was
overwhelming, and it made things even worse that Martin had heard the
strangers’ disparaging words.

They
led their horses back they way they’d come in silence. Where the
trees thinned out nearer the bridle path, Henry got on Marigold’s
back and Martin mounted Partita. They rode at a trot back to the park
gate, quickly crossed 5th , and made their way back to the stables,
still without words.

At
the stables, Jerry said, “Are you all right, Sir? You look pale.”

“I’m
fine,”
Henry snapped at him, immediately feeling bad for punishing Jerry for
something not his fault. If it was anyone’s fault, it was obviously
Henry’s—Martin wasn’t the one pushing to have sex in public.
“Sorry,” Henry said to Jerry, mustering some fairness. “Thank
you for taking care of our horses, by the way. I appreciate
everything you do for them.”

Jerry
smiled with surprised pleasure. “You’re quite welcome, Sir.”

They
walked home in silence. Henry didn’t know what to say. He was
humiliated. Martin had to think him a fool. Martin had thought it was
a bad idea, but he’d insisted, and he’d been wrong. He’d been
stupid.

“Sir?”

Henry
waved him off angrily. “Not yet, Martin.” He’d have to talk to
Martin eventually, but he hoped to put it off as long as possible,
hoping that he’d come up with something to say that would make it
all better.

At
home, Randolph let them in.

“D-do
you want your lunch, Sir?” Martin asked tentatively. “I can go
tell Cook.”

They
were back early; no one would be expecting them for another hour, at
least.

“I’m
not hungry,” Henry said, which was a first. “If you want to eat,
we can.”

Martin
shook his head. “No, Sir. We can eat later.”

They
went upstairs to Henry’s room. “I need to take a shower.” His
impulse was to wash the experience away. Martin helped him to undress
in a tense silence, and Henry gritted his teeth and shuddered at
Martin’s touch. What if he couldn’t ever be close to Martin again
without being reminded of this humiliation?

He
had Martin run the water scalding hot and let it rush over him,
streaming from his hair and over the planes of his body. He could see
Martin out of the corner of his eye, standing by the door with a
towel, his face very white, eyes wide and frightened. As he watched,
Martin put the towel down and started to undress.

“What
are you doing?”

“I’m
getting in with you, Sir.”

“No,
Martin, I don’t—”

“Please,
Sir. I need you. I’ve had a bad scare and I need you.”

Henry
felt ashamed anew. He needed to take better care of Martin, to
consider what he might be going through. He’d done this to Martin,
after all. “Come in, then.” He opened his arms and Martin stepped
into them, holding him tight. Martin’s body was both familiar and
miraculous, sleek and tender and sensitive, his back feeling just as
good here under Henry’s hands as it had in the meadow at the park.
Martin bent his head and pressed his face against Henry’s wet neck.

“They
don’t know the first thing about you, Henry,” Martin said
angrily. “Belittling what we have…they just don’t know.”

Until
today, of course, no one had known, and Henry understood this was
safest, but how he wanted to live in a world where his feelings could
be shared openly! How he wanted what he had with Martin to be
acknowledged and respected! But, “I shouldn’t have taken the
risk,” he admitted. He smoothed Martin’s wet hair back from his
face and looked into his olivine eyes.

“I
shouldn’t have let you, Henry. I should have—”

Henry
kissed him to quiet him. “No, Martin. It was my fault. I wouldn’t
listen to you.”

“I
should have tried harder—”

Henry
shook his head. “I wasn’t in a mood to listen, Martin. I wanted
it too much.”

“You’re
willful,” Martin agreed. “You’re romantic.”
He sounded disapproving.

“Is
romantic so bad?”

“No,
but it’s not always practical. It’s not realistic.”
He shifted position, turning his face out of the spray, his body
pressed up against Henry’s. “I’m crowding you, aren’t I?”
There wasn’t really room enough for the both of them in the shower.

“Yes,”
Henry admitted, but he held Martin tighter. “It was your idea,
though. See it through.”

He
kissed Martin while the water rained down. They necked beneath the
spray until the water started to cool and left the bathroom without
drying off, dripping across the carpet and onto the bed. Martin
clung, trembling, his fingers digging into Henry’s back. The
coverlet absorbed a spreading damp spot beneath their wet bodies.
Henry held tightly to Martin, desperately needing closeness. He’d
imagined they’d make love when they got to the bed, but now that
they were there, his cock was soft and he was cringing and fearful
and just wanted comfort.

“Do
you think maybe he won’t contact Father?” Henry asked hopefully.

Martin
looked as though he regretted having to say, “No, I don’t think
that at all, Henry. I think he wants to be paid off.”

“Father
won’t take you away from me,” Henry said, feeling less confident
than he would have liked.

“He
might not,” Martin agreed in a small voice.

“What
did that reporter even see, really? What can he tell Father, after
all?”

“We
were half-naked in a public place,” Martin pointed out. “He
definitely saw that much, and that’s scandalous enough.” He
thought a moment more. “But they weren’t nearby when you were
sucking me. They can’t actually accuse you of anything more than
being a slave owner and taking advantage of my services. You’re
well within bounds to have me service you, after all. You just
shouldn’t have done it in a public park.”

“That’s
what I should tell Father,” Henry decided.

“If
he tells your father we were kissing, you can deny it,” Martin
said. “The grass was very tall, and he couldn’t have known what
he was seeing.”

“I
wish you could talk for me,” Henry said with a sigh. “I’m
worried I’ll tell it wrong.”

“You
won’t,” Martin said firmly. He gripped Henry’s arm and gave him
a little shake. “It’s a simple story and you’ll tell it
perfectly.”

“I
will?”

“Yes,
you will.” Martin kissed him hard and stroked his cheek. “You’ll
do it for me.”

Henry
thought he could do that. The idea of doing something for Martin, to
protect Martin, had a calming effect and gave him resolve.

They
dressed and lay quietly on the bed in each other’s arms, well out
of the enormous damp spot, waiting for a summons. They went down for
a quiet lunch with still no word from Father, and returned to Henry’s
room once again to wait. Henry surprised himself by actually dozing a
little, exhausted by stress.

Paul
came and knocked at the door just after two o’clock. “Sorry,
Martin. Mr. Blackwell’s father would like to see him in his office
right away.”

“We’ll
go down directly,” Martin told him. “Thank you, Paul.” He shut
the door and leaned against it with a sigh. “Henry? Are you ready?”

Henry
was not, but it wasn’t as though he had a choice. He let Martin tug
his suit back in order and they shared a perfunctory kiss, both
distracted by imminent events.

They
descended the stairs in silence and walked down the south corridor to
Father’s study with their boots very loud against the marble floor.
They stood a moment before the door; Henry realized he was holding
his breath and let loose a shuddering exhale, trying forcibly to
relax.

“Shall
I knock, Sir?” Martin didn’t wait for a response, but reached
past Henry and rapped on the door.

Timothy
opened the door. He stood looking between their faces, disapproval
writ across his mild features. Henry hated having disappointed
Timothy almost more than disappointing his father and felt his face
grow miserably hot.

Timothy
stood aside and ushered them in with a sweep of his arm. “Sir,
Martin. Please come in.”

Father’s
office was fogged with bluish strata of cigar smoke. Father sat in
the chair behind the desk, which creaked beneath his bulk.

“Henry,”
he said, gesturing with the cigar at the empty chair before the desk.
He tilted back, glowering, and the chair squealed at the strain.
“Timothy? Where is that drink, old man?” Father’s
already-florid face was an angry red and he looked as if he might
burst.

“I’ll
just get it for you, Sir.” Timothy went to the sideboard and busied
himself with a decanter and glass.

Henry
went gingerly to the chair, almost on tiptoe, as if he might avoid
angering his father further if he were very quiet and unobtrusive. He
sat up very straight, hands wringing in his lap. He was aware that
Martin stood behind the chair, close behind, but was afraid to turn
to look at him. He was hesitant to look anywhere for fear of
incurring his father’s wrath, and stared unseeing at his own lap.

Father
said, “Look at me, son.”

Henry
tentatively raised his gaze to meet his father’s. He didn’t know
how to read his father’s mood. He’d expected yelling and blaming,
but Father was contained and exasperated, and, despite his size, he
gave the impression of being some powerful animal set to spring, in
supreme control. Father made a sound, half-growl, half-sigh, and
shook his head as he knocked ash from his cigar into a heavy crystal
ashtray. He accepted his drink from Timothy with a nod of
acknowledgement.

“You’ll
know what this is about,” Father said, quite certain.

“Yes,
sir.” Henry wanted to curl in on himself, to hide his red face and
protect his soft parts.

And
even though they did both know what this was about, Father saw fit to
lay it out anyway: “A reporter managed to hunt me down today to let
me know he’d found you carrying on indecently with your slave in
the park. In public. Is that accurate?”

Henry
swallowed hard. “Well, yes, but w-we were a great distance off the
path,” he offered as mitigation. “Deep in the trees.”

“So
you imagined it would be all right.” Father’s tone was full of
condescension

“I
didn’t think anyone would find us,” Henry admitted in a
near-whisper.

“I’m
having a hard time understanding what must have been going through
your head, son. Were you overcome with some irresistible urge?”

“Er…”
How should he explain it? “I wasn’t really thinking?” he tried,
his tone tentative.

Father
abruptly turned his attention to Martin. “So, Martin. What was your
opinion of this plan?”

“S-sir?”
Martin’s voice came out high and unsteady.

“You
heard me. Did you think this was a good idea?”

“Oh,
Sir, I-I don’t know…” Martin was floundering, and Henry hated
that he’d put him in such a position.

“No,”
Henry answered for him. “No, he didn’t, sir. He thought it was a
bad idea and told me we shouldn’t.”

“But
you didn’t listen to him.”

“I
should have,” Henry admitted.

Father’s
heavy silence reinforced that Father shared this opinion.

“I
understand you were half-dressed, the both of you,” Father
continued, “but the reporter didn’t see much of anything, and his
recounting was short on salacious details. I might easily sue him for
libel should he report anything beyond bare chests and foolishness.”

“We
were in tall grass,” Henry offered tentatively. “He couldn’t
have seen much.” And then, boldly, remembering all he’d discussed
with Martin, he said, “He didn’t see anything, anyway, because
there wasn’t anything to see.” He felt his face go hot with the
lie.

Father
gave him a long, considering look. “That’s the line to take,
Henry.” He puffed on his cigar and sat pensive for a moment,
sipping his scotch.

Henry
stared at his hands in his lap, twitching and nervous.

When
Father spoke again at last he said, “You’re a gentleman, Henry. A
young gentleman, with all the rights and responsibilities that go
along with that status. The services of a companion are one of the
perquisites of your position, but I expect you to use those services
appropriately. Gentlemen don’t exact favors from their slaves in
public, certainly not when the slave is advising against it.”

“No,
sir,” Henry agreed.

“Should
you require a change of venue,” Father pointed out, his tone
somewhat caustic, “this house has a great many unused rooms.”

Oh,
this was mortifying! “Th-that won’t be necessary, sir.”

“You’re
lacking in common sense,” Father remarked, shaking his head and
knocking the ash from his cigar. “You’re impulsive to a worrisome
degree.”

“I’m
sorry, sir.”

“One
expects young men to be…spirited, but this was just extravagantly
foolhardy!”

“Yes,
sir.”

“I’m
at a something of loss as to how to punish the two of you,” Father
said. “If I take Martin away from you, it makes more work for the
others.”

Henry
froze, blood running cold. He gritted his teeth against a wail of
protest.

“Timothy
thinks the embarrassment of being caught at your tomfoolery is
punishment enough, but he’s always been soft-hearted when it comes
to you.”

“I-I
appreciate that Timothy cares for me, sir.”

“Yes,
well. You’re to be restricted to the house for the next week.
School and home again, no dilly-dallying and no socializing.
Certainly no riding or walks in the park.”

Shocked,
Henry blinked and went still. Was that it? Would that be the entirety
of his punishment?

“Timothy
will have some extra work downstairs for Martin during the week, as
well. A little time apart will give you perspective, I think.”

“That
seems fair, sir,” Henry said tentatively, hiding his eagerness.
Anything was fair, so long as Martin wasn’t being taken away.

“As
the son of a rich man,” Father pointed out, “your mistakes are
all bound to be costly ones.” Again, he stopped speaking to sip his
scotch and puff on his cigar. “I can easily afford to cover for
your indiscretions, Henry, but surely you can see it’s better for
you to not make mistakes in the first place.”

“Yes,
sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“This
reporter tried to claim that you were carrying on like a fairy, but
it was plain he’d seen nothing to support that assertion. Still,
you can see how easily someone might draw such a conclusion. If
you’re caught in a compromising position, it’s possible for
anyone to extrapolate circumstances that are even more dire.”

“I-I’m
not a fairy!” Henry bleated, sounding less convincing than he’d
hoped.

“Of
course you aren’t,” Father said firmly, his tone brooking no
argument. “The reporter admitted his observations were
inconclusive.” Father paused again to sip his drink. He sighed,
deflating a little. “You’re a bit of a fool, son, but you’re a
young fool, and young people can easily change. If you don’t intend
to be labeled a fairy, don’t engage in suspect behavior. Simple as
that. Keep your pants on and stay out of the woods.”

“Yes,
sir. I can do that, sir.”

“You
know I’m made of rough stuff, Henry. I didn’t grow up with your
advantages.”

“Yes,
sir. I do know, sir.”

“Your
mother’s people are eccentric, to say the least, and a passel of
fools, but they’re acknowledged as quality, and thus you are, too.
Your life can be a very easy thing, Henry, all open doors and
accommodation. Don’t cause problems for yourself.”

“I
wasn’t doing anything anyway,” Henry said, feeling more
comfortable with the untruth this time around, though he wasn’t
able to meet Father’s eyes as he said it.

“Yes,”
Father agreed. “As you said.”

Henry
was not sure what Father actually believed had happened, but the
position Father intended to take was clear: Henry was not a fairy
because he was a gentleman of good family–it was axiomatic.

“I’ve
taken care of this reporter,” Father continued. “He won’t cause
problems in the future.” Henry flashed back to his terrible fantasy
of strangling the reporter in the park and wondered how far his
father might go to protect Henry’s reputation. “But there will be
plenty more where he came from. You’ll need to be careful, Henry.
You’re now of an age where the things you do might easily result in
scandal.”

“I’ll
be careful, sir. I’m really sorry.”

“Your
friend,” Father said, making an impatient gesture with his hand.
“The short fellow, the Briggs boy.”

“Louis?”

“I
know you used to look up to his older brother. Worshipped him like a
god. Joseph, is it?”

“No,
sir. It’s James. Joseph’s his slave.”

“You’re
aware of what a hash he’s made of his life, I think.”

“Uh,
yes, sir. He had to get married.”

“To
a barmaid,” Father said. “Nothing wrong with that, it’s honest
work, but I won’t see you married to a barmaid all the same. His
father let him run wild, but I won’t do that with you. You need to
have a spotless reputation, Henry. No dalliances, no scandals, no
questions about your suitability as a husband. I’ve set a course
for you and I expect you to follow it. Let this be your last
indiscretion.”

“Y-yes,
sir.”

“Do
you have any questions?”

“No,
sir. You’ve been, uh, very clear.”

Father
exchanged a glance with Timothy. “Why don’t you go on ahead,
Henry? We’ll just have a word with Martin.”

“Sir?”

“Go
on. He’ll be right up.”

Henry
stumbled from the room in a daze, heart full of trepidation. He had
not wanted to leave Martin behind, but he didn’t see what else he
could have done.

In
his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands dangling between his
knees. If Martin was receiving some extra punishment, he’d have to
protest. It was unfair; none of this was Martin’s fault.

With
time on his hands, Henry considered his punishment. It was much
lighter than he’d expected, scarcely a punishment at all, and this
should have made him feel better, but he worried this meant that all
the blame for their wrongdoing was being placed on Martin’s
shoulders instead.

When
Martin knocked and let himself inside a long twenty minutes later, he
was very pale, but did not seem unduly distressed.

Henry
kissed and kissed him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m
fine, really,” Martin insisted, putting his hands flat against
Henry’s chest and making space between them. “Mr. Tim just had a
few words for me about my responsibilities.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I’ve
said before, Henry, I’m supposed to try to keep you from making
mistakes.”

“You
do
try.”

“Not
hard enough,” Martin pointed out. “If you’re making mistakes,
I’m not trying hard enough.”

Henry
did not think this was fair. He wanted what he wanted, and he didn’t
think things through, and this certainly wasn’t Martin’s fault.
Above all, Martin wanted him to be happy, and so ended up doing
things Henry wanted done because Henry was stubborn and wouldn’t
relent. It was all his fault.

Martin
lay on the bed with him and let him huddle and cling, but he was
worrisomely distant, and Henry felt sure his father had said
something else, something that would turn Martin away from him.

When
it was time for him to go down for his dinner, Martin put up with
some desperate affection from Henry, gave him a distracted kiss, and
got up from the bed.

“I
don’t think the others will know that I’m in disgrace,” he
said, admitting his concern. “I don’t think Mr. Tim will have
told anyone, but I can’t be sure.”

Henry
got up, too, and took hold of his shoulders. “They can’t treat
you badly!” Henry insisted. “I won’t allow it!”

Martin
shook his head. “You don’t have any say in this arena, Henry.”
He sighed and let his forehead drop to rest on Henry’s shoulder.
“I’m not a good slave, and Mr. Tim knows it. I’m terribly
ashamed.”

“That’s
not true. You’re the best slave.” All Henry could think to do was
pet and kiss him, and it made him feel better to do it, but he wasn’t
sure it did anything for Martin.

Henry
understood that Timothy’s good opinion was important to Martin, so
of course he wanted Martin to have it; however, he didn’t have a
similar expectation regarding his own father. He did not think
anything he might do would ever give Father a positive opinion of
him; all he hoped was that he might escape Father’s scrutiny and,
more importantly, his wrath. He felt that today he
had gotten off very easily, and he wished that Martin might have some
feeling of relief, as well.

Martin
came back from his dinner in a slightly better mood.

“Mr.
Tim was very kind and encouraging,” Martin admitted, crouching to
help Henry on with his trousers. “I’m very fortunate. It’s more
than I deserve.”

“You
deserve the best,” Henry insisted. “I’m sorry I put you in that
position. It really was all my fault, Martin.”

Martin
shook his head. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

As
Henry was dressed, he worried about the dinner hour, and the family
hour to follow. Would Mother have heard of his misadventure? Would
she recognize that he was like Reggie and say as much to Father? He
was quite terrified that Father would have had time to reconsider his
leniency and would now be planning to take Martin away entirely.

He
looked pale in the mirror, face tight with apprehension. He wanted
desperately to be away from other people’s expectations, other
people’s plans. Despite—or perhaps because of—the events of the
morning, he still wished for someplace in the city where he could
behave as he wished with Martin. He wanted some version of a pirate
island of their own, some lawless refuge. Surely such a thing was
possible; smart people said that truth was stranger than fiction,
after all. He held out hope that Reggie would find out about such a
place for him when he returned in the summer, but he really didn’t
know if he could wait that long.









TO
BE CONTINUED

 
 
 






































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Ganymede
Quartet Book 4 out in June 2015