closet and was pulled into his arms in the pitch black. It felt so good to hold Martin, to touch him. Henry worked his hand in between Martin’s waistcoat and the waistband of his trousers and yanked his shirt and undershirt up until he bared skin. He put his hand flat against Martin’s hot, silky belly, and Martin moaned into his mouth.
“No, Sir,” he begged, breaking away. “We'll get caught, please !”
Henry didn’t want to be caught. He let Martin tuck his shirt back into his trousers, keeping his hand on Martin's neck. “We’ll look for Louis one last time,” he said, “and then we’ll go home. I really want to be alone with you”
“I want that, too, Sir.” A last quick kiss as consolation and they left the closet.
Louis was in the hallway outside. “What were you doing in there?”
“Wrong door,” Henry said. “I'm kind of drunk.”
“Dummy,” Louis said affectionately. “I came to tell you, you should probably go. James is feeling pretty surly right about now. He's mad about you telling him off in front of everybody, but I think it'll all blow over if you just go home.”
Even though Henry had every intention of leaving anyway, he had to ask. “What’s he going to do if I stay? Fight me?” He thought he had a good chance of being able to thrash James, actually.
“He'd have his friends hold you back and fuck Martin in front of you,” Louis said with a shrug. “That's what he said, anyway. I think it’s just talk. But you should go, Henry. He's really in a mood.”
Upon hearing this threat, Henry felt the blood drain from his face and his cold hands began to shake. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first nothing would come out. He wanted to grab hold of Martin and hold him tight, protect him, but of course he could do no such thing. “Thanks for the warning,” he managed. Henry was amazed he'd ever been so foolish as to think he was in love with James. “We'll go. It was a great party, Louis. I had a good time.”
“Thanks for coming, old chap!” Louis clapped Henry on the back. “Thanks for dancing with all my sister's ugly friends.”
“Oh, they weren't so bad!” Henry replied with affected cheer. He was still shocked by James’ threat. He headed for the front of the house with Martin close behind. They got their coats and hats and walked out into the crisp night air.
“I would never have let that happen,” Henry said after they'd walked halfway home. “If you were thinking about it and wondering. I would’ve killed him first.”
“He had a lot of friends there, Sir,” Martin said. “I know you would have tried, but you might have been outnumbered. I'm glad we left.” He bumped Henry with his shoulder. “It makes me happy that you care so much about what happens to me, Sir.”
Henry thought that he didn't actually care about much of anything else, but he didn't quite want to admit that to Martin. They reached the Blackwell house and Paul let them in.
Up in Henry's bedroom, Martin undressed him, then undressed himself and put on pajamas so that he could deliver their laundry to Mary. Henry lay down on the bed naked to wait for him, idly playing with his cock. He thought about the dancing, which had been invigorating in a general way, and had specifically made him hunger for Martin under his hands, against his skin. He thought about the things Madame Ersebet had said and wondered about the nature of the horrible decision he would make, wondered how badly it would mess Martin up. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Martin, but it seemed almost inevitable that he would, out of stupidity if nothing else.
Martin returned and shed his pajamas as he crossed the floor. He got onto the bed and lay atop Henry, his prick hard and insistent.
“I should have known you would be, Sir, but you're such a good dancer,” Martin murmured in his ear. “All the girls were half in love with you, Sir, thinking you such a gentleman.”
“You know better, don't
“No, Sir,” he begged, breaking away. “We'll get caught, please !”
Henry didn’t want to be caught. He let Martin tuck his shirt back into his trousers, keeping his hand on Martin's neck. “We’ll look for Louis one last time,” he said, “and then we’ll go home. I really want to be alone with you”
“I want that, too, Sir.” A last quick kiss as consolation and they left the closet.
Louis was in the hallway outside. “What were you doing in there?”
“Wrong door,” Henry said. “I'm kind of drunk.”
“Dummy,” Louis said affectionately. “I came to tell you, you should probably go. James is feeling pretty surly right about now. He's mad about you telling him off in front of everybody, but I think it'll all blow over if you just go home.”
Even though Henry had every intention of leaving anyway, he had to ask. “What’s he going to do if I stay? Fight me?” He thought he had a good chance of being able to thrash James, actually.
“He'd have his friends hold you back and fuck Martin in front of you,” Louis said with a shrug. “That's what he said, anyway. I think it’s just talk. But you should go, Henry. He's really in a mood.”
Upon hearing this threat, Henry felt the blood drain from his face and his cold hands began to shake. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first nothing would come out. He wanted to grab hold of Martin and hold him tight, protect him, but of course he could do no such thing. “Thanks for the warning,” he managed. Henry was amazed he'd ever been so foolish as to think he was in love with James. “We'll go. It was a great party, Louis. I had a good time.”
“Thanks for coming, old chap!” Louis clapped Henry on the back. “Thanks for dancing with all my sister's ugly friends.”
“Oh, they weren't so bad!” Henry replied with affected cheer. He was still shocked by James’ threat. He headed for the front of the house with Martin close behind. They got their coats and hats and walked out into the crisp night air.
“I would never have let that happen,” Henry said after they'd walked halfway home. “If you were thinking about it and wondering. I would’ve killed him first.”
“He had a lot of friends there, Sir,” Martin said. “I know you would have tried, but you might have been outnumbered. I'm glad we left.” He bumped Henry with his shoulder. “It makes me happy that you care so much about what happens to me, Sir.”
Henry thought that he didn't actually care about much of anything else, but he didn't quite want to admit that to Martin. They reached the Blackwell house and Paul let them in.
Up in Henry's bedroom, Martin undressed him, then undressed himself and put on pajamas so that he could deliver their laundry to Mary. Henry lay down on the bed naked to wait for him, idly playing with his cock. He thought about the dancing, which had been invigorating in a general way, and had specifically made him hunger for Martin under his hands, against his skin. He thought about the things Madame Ersebet had said and wondered about the nature of the horrible decision he would make, wondered how badly it would mess Martin up. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Martin, but it seemed almost inevitable that he would, out of stupidity if nothing else.
Martin returned and shed his pajamas as he crossed the floor. He got onto the bed and lay atop Henry, his prick hard and insistent.
“I should have known you would be, Sir, but you're such a good dancer,” Martin murmured in his ear. “All the girls were half in love with you, Sir, thinking you such a gentleman.”
“You know better, don't
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