A Master's Fidelity (Ganymede Quartet Book 2.5) (2 page)

It was cold out in the yard, but they were all tired of being cooped up inside. Shivering in his overcoat, Martin leaned against the brick wall in between Sam and Tom. Poor Sam didn’t look well at all, but he wouldn’t talk about whatever Mr. Pettibone might be doing to him, and Martin knew better than to hope that this meant the torments had ceased.

Tom slipped his arm through Martin’s and leaned against him, companionable and a little possessive, and Martin had to admit he enjoyed Tom’s attention, his affection and little gallantries. He had never given Tom any reason to think it could go any further, though, and Tom knew better than to push.

The masters divided into two groups during breaks, Henry’s faction and Mr. Pettibone’s, but the slaves always mingled freely. Miles and Simon stood huddled together for warmth, both eager to tell Martin about swaps. Ralph and Peter played rock-paper-scissors, laughing out clouds of steam. Allen and Ray lounged against the wall at Tom’s other side and Will came to join them, Allen greeting him with an easy embrace. Stuart and Alex stood a few yards distant, having some private discussion. The rest—Julian, Howard, Harvey and Ollie—played catch with a ragged baseball, gloves off, fingers pale with cold. Mr. van Houten had called Davey out of the game and seemed to be giving him instruction on some point, their body language relaxed and friendly.

“Parties are almost always held at the Ross house,” Miles offered, drawing Martin’s attention back from the game. “The masters can do whatever they like there and no one interferes.” Martin already knew this information from past discussions. However, now that he might participate in a swap, everyone was especially keen to make sure he understood exactly how their faction’s parties were run.

“Mr. Ross’ parents are very indulgent,” Simon said of his master’s family. “They like to keep him close.”

Peter and Ralph came to join the discussion.

“There aren’t any little Rosses to bother the masters,” Peter pointed out. “Mr. Briggs would very much like to host parties, but there are too many little Briggses.”

Martin could see that this was something Mr. Briggs would want badly, liking to be in charge as he did, but he could also recognize the futility of trying to conduct a swap in the chaotic Briggs house. The younger boys and even Mr. Briggs’ little sister would be far too curious and unwilling to leave the older boys alone.

“Tom’s always in the middle of things,” Ralph remarked.

“Everyone likes to see him in action,” Simon said, “because he looks like a girl.”

“I
don’t
look like a girl,” Tom insisted. “I have more chest hair than
you
.”

“A bearded lady, then,” Simon countered, ducking away from Tom’s half-hearted punch.

“Tom gets used the hardest of any of us,” Stuart said. “They all want to fuck the prettiest face, of course. You’ll be in the same situation, I think, Martin, and it’ll be worse because you’re new.”

The game of catch ended and boys pulled their gloves onto stiff, cold hands as they came to join the conversation.

“Watch out for Mr. van Houten,” warned Will.

“Hey!” Davey took offense at this slight against his master.

“Not everyone likes it as rough as you do,” Simon told him, and there were general murmurs of agreement.

“Mr. Ross is especially nice,” Stuart remarked, and Simon smiled at him, grateful for the praise for his master.

“We try to keep Julian out of things whenever possible,” Ralph said, and everyone nodded, including Julian. “He’s horrible at sex.”

Julian shrugged, a little self-conscious. “I’m not attracted to men.”

Martin was shocked by this assertion. How could a House put a boy up as a companion if he didn’t like sex with men? It was false advertising, wasn’t it? A proper companion was willing and enthusiastic about sex with his master and any boys his master wanted to see him with. Hyperion, Julian’s House, was a newer House without Ganymede’s illustrious history and sterling reputation, and they’d surely remain second-tier if they were putting boys who disliked sex with men up for sale as companions.

“What about the masters?” Martin asked, “Don’t they—?”

“No one asks for me,” Julian said. “I don’t do a good job.” He shrugged again, as if it to say such things couldn’t be helped.

Julian’s attitude was so foreign to Martin that he almost wondered if the others were all playing a joke on him. How could anyone be so blasé about having such a terrible attitude toward his work? His
life.
His very
reason for being.
Martin had no personal interest in any of the other masters, but if Henry told him to suck any one of them, he’d go to his knees in a heartbeat and do the best he could to make that boy happy for Henry’s sake, so that the others would think Henry fortunate.

“But…but what about Mr. Lovejoy?” Martin asked plaintively. Surely, Julian felt differently about his own master!

Julian’s answer to everything seemed to be a shrug. “He gets angry at me,” he said. “He wants me to be more enthusiastic.”

Martin was horrified. He was quite sure there hadn’t been a single boy at Ganymede who would have ever considered shirking his duties, not even the lowliest of the Standard boys. He tried to arrange his face in a more neutral expression, but he found this revelation upsetting. He was offended on behalf of himself and the rest of the slaves who were dedicated and conscientious. He’d worked hard to earn his place at Ganymede because he’d wanted to be counted among the best, and he felt he would do anything Henry asked of him, anything at all, regardless of his own desires. If Julian wouldn’t do the same, he didn’t have the right to call himself a companion.

Martin lost track of the conversation, dwelling on Julian’s cavalier attitude. He’d known, of course, that not everyone was as devoted as himself, but he’d not expected anyone to be so unapologetically lax in performing his role. Julian was beautiful and smart and did well in classes, but what did that matter if he wouldn’t serve Mr. Lovejoy with his body?

Mr. Lovejoy did have a temper, but Martin supposed he wasn’t bad looking. What hardship could it be for Julian to just do what he was meant to do, after all? Of course, Martin was lucky to have Henry, and to find him so attractive. Most of his friends liked their masters well enough, and some even desired them, but he didn’t think any of them felt about their masters the way he felt about Henry. Martin had felt boundless affection for many different boys, and he’d been really in love once before, and he thought he might be falling in love with Henry now, too. He couldn’t say it, of course, but he could
show
it. He could make every action a sign. If Henry wanted to swap, Martin would perform wholeheartedly, doing his best to make sure that all Henry’s friends would envy him Martin’s superior service. Martin would prove to everyone that he’d been worth the extra money at auction.

The bell rang to end the postprandial recess and Martin made an effort to shake off his fretful, judgmental mood. He would have just a minute with Henry in the cloakroom before they returned to class, and he didn’t want to spend it dwelling on Julian. He and the rest of the slaves hurried indoors to await their masters.

In the cloakroom, they all put away their coats and hats and stood ready. Tom abandoned his position and came to stand by Martin. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Tom asked in a low voice, his lips close to Martin’s ear. “It bothers you that Julian doesn’t care about his duties.”

“It’s none of my business,” Martin admitted. “I feel badly for Mr. Lovejoy, though.”

“
You’re
so devoted,” Tom said, his tone both teasing and admiring. “Mr. Blackwell must be the luckiest of all the masters.”

Martin thought this might be true. “Mr. Blackwell is easy to serve,” he offered. “I’m lucky, as well.” And then Henry was entering the cloakroom with his friends, and he gave Martin a beautiful smile, and Martin let go all thoughts of Julian. It wasn’t Martin’s job to worry about Mr. Lovejoy. All that mattered was Henry’s happiness, and his own happiness with Henry.

Although Will’s master, Mr. Spence, and Allen’s master, Mr. Hollingsworth, didn’t associate at school, they’d lived next door to one another their entire lives and were indeed friends despite Mr. Hollingsworth’s alliance with the loathsome Mr. Pettibone. They had taken to swapping on weekends, just the two of them, trading Allen and Will and directing them to perform together. On Friday, the last day of school before the winter holiday, everyone stayed indoors out of the cold after lunch. The young masters loitered in the library, their slaves gathered together a few yards distant, and Will had many complimentary things to say about Allen, who he thought exceptionally skilled at sex.

“It’s too bad most of you fellows won’t get a chance to go a round with him,” Will said, putting an affectionate arm around Allen’s waist. “I feel lucky.” Other than Will, the only slaves who were having sex with Allen were the slaves of Mr. Pettibone’s friends.

“What does he do that’s so special?” Dick asked. He turned to Allen, “What are you doing, then?”

Allen shrugged, bashful. “I’m not sure, really.”

“He’s very considerate,” Sam offered. “Very generous. He pays attention.” He turned to Ray and said, “Don’t you think so, Ray?”

While it wasn’t some exciting technique, Martin certainly believed consideration, generosity and attentiveness went a long way.

Ray agreed with Sam, as did Ollie, Howard and Harvey, the other boys who regularly had sex with Allen at their faction’s parties.

“He’s got a really nice cock besides,” Howard said. “You do, Allen. It’s lovely.”

Allen blushed and smiled at his boots. “Thank you.”

“Get Mr. Spence to host a party,” Ralph suggested to Will. “Get him to invite Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“I always enjoyed a fuck with Allen back home,” Tom said. “Didn’t you, also?” He looked questioningly at Simon and then Miles, the other Orpheus slaves. “He was definitely the most popular boy in our cohort when it came to topping.”

Allen looked embarrassed but pleased nonetheless. “You were also popular, Tom.”

Tom laughed. “Not like you. Boys
swooned
over you, Allen. You got so many love notes.”

Simon smiled shyly and said, “I was a fan.”

Miles laughed and said, “Me, too. You were definitely my favorite, Allen.”

Although he was obviously grateful for the praise, Allen seemed a little uncomfortable with all the attention. All the rest of the slaves whose masters were
not
friends with Mr. Pettibone were scrutinizing him, picturing him without clothes, and considering his potential as a sex partner.

It was impressive how many fans Allen had, but auburn-haired Allen was not really Martin’s type; really, none of the others were Martin’s type.
Henry
was Martin’s type, so absolutely perfect for him with his black hair and golden skin and sleek muscles. He thought it very unlikely that Allen had a nicer cock than Henry’s. He was taken by the urge to tell the others about Henry, about how good he was at sex, better than even the best at Ganymede. He wanted them to know how lucky he was, how he was lavished with affection, what a good master he had. But he bit his tongue, as he always did. It wouldn’t be prudent to brag. Peter and Tom knew a little of the truth, but most of the others were under the impression that Martin’s relation to Henry was very nearly chaste.

“I wish our masters would try to get along as well as we all do,” Miles said, crossing to stand at Allen’s other side and also putting an arm around his waist. “It seems terribly unfair to be kept apart from an old friend just because of some grievance between masters.” He leaned his head on Allen’s shoulder, and Allen inclined his head to look at him, and for a moment Martin thought they might kiss, which would have been shocking.

There was an uncomfortable silence, so perhaps everyone had thought that a kiss was imminent, but then Allen and Miles separated with a burst of nervous laughter.

“What do you like, anyway, Martin?” Dick asked. “Do you like to be on the bottom or the top?”

Martin’s face grew hot. “Er, well…”

“Back at Ganymede, he was
famous
for being good at bottoming,” Stuart offered, which Martin supposed was true, but he didn’t think it was Stuart’s place to have mentioned it and gave him a stern glare.

“That’s lucky,” Ralph remarked. “So, there’s you, Simon and Will who like being on the bottom, then, and the rest of us just putting up with it.”

“If you could only have sex with Allen,” Will said rhapsodically, “you’d be much more enthusiastic about bottoming.”

“We’ll have to take your word for it, I guess,” Ralph said.

“Well, even putting Allen aside, any one of us is still a better fuck than a master, of course,” Dick remarked.

Martin felt this was not at all true, but was at pains not to say anything. It didn’t matter if all his friends thought Henry was lousy at sex.

“Well, I think Mr. Ross is quite nice,” Stuart said, and he blushed rather prettily when everyone turned to look at him. “He’s…more skilled than the others.”

Again, Simon liked Stuart’s praise for his master. “He makes an effort,” he agreed.

“None of the rest of us will ever know,” Miles pointed out, “since he only ever wants Stuart at parties.” He elbowed Martin and added, “Mr. Ross is the only one who’ll fuck a slave in front of his friends. The others only get their cocks sucked, but Mr. Ross bends Stuart right over and isn’t shy at all. He’s practically like a slave himself in that way.”

“Simon’s lucky,” Stuart said, still blushing.

“I am,” Simon agreed, a little smug. “Mr. Ross is very interested in my satisfaction.”

“What’s Mr. Blackwell like?” Miles asked. “You never say, Martin. Does he have a nice cock?”

It occurred to Martin with bracing abruptness, then, that if he was to be swapped and put on display, Henry would necessarily be free to be serviced by any of Martin’s friends, and Martin adamantly did not want this to happen. Henry was his, his very own, even though he knew better than to be possessive. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his right.