Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(43)

“Of course you can’t.” Saul’s breath was warm against his scalp, his touch so comforting. “Good God, it’s revolting. Does it have to be a Glyde? Surely to heaven you can find an adult volunteer, not breed a human to a purpose?”

“Oh, naturally. It’s merely a matter of finding someone one can trust with that level of power and responsibility, who has not been educated to it for his or her entire life but can nevertheless cope. And of giving away a duty that has been my family’s sole responsibility for twenty-three generations.”

“I suppose that matters.” Saul’s tone suggested he didn’t suppose anything of the sort.

“It mattered enough for my father to put the hooks in my shoulders, and for me to let him. It was unthinkable not to. And then everyone died, and I’m damned if I know what matters now.”

“No.” Saul’s lips brushed his ear. “You poor swine.”

“I don’t need sympathy.”

“How would you know? Have you had any?”

Randolph gave the ghost of a laugh. “Not a great deal. People have high expectations of my family.”

Hands slid up to hold his face, warm and firm. “I have immensely high expectations of you,” Saul told him, and leaned in for a kiss.

Randolph met it fiercely. They kissed in urgent silence, in the darkness with silver flaring in Randolph’s vision, lips and tongues giving the only comfort they could, with an echo of wartime need. Randolph knew that feeling well, the desperate need for warmth and connection in the face of things too big and dreadful to comprehend. He had no doubt Saul knew it too.

This wasn’t the almost angry biting and shoving of a wartime fuck, though. That wasn’t Saul’s nature, or what Randolph wanted of him. This was hands and skin, and simply being together in the dark.

Randolph was on his back now, Saul over him. Randolph would have liked to see him properly, not just with other sight, but at least he could feel. He skimmed his hands over a taut arse as Saul pressed against him, his hard arousal and Randolph’s trapped together, separated only by cloth. He wanted to touch; he wanted to make Saul groan and writhe, he wanted to see his face when he climaxed. He was one of those men who’d look anguished when he came, Randolph thought, and raked his nails over Saul’s back at the thought.

“God,” Saul said against his mouth. “I wish I could see you. I wish I could see. Don’t let go.”

“Are you all right?”

“No.” Hands fumbled at Randolph’s waistband, pressed between bodies. “No, I’m not bloody all right. I can’t see, I don’t know where I am, and it feels like the end of the world.” He worked a button open and his hand in. His fingers bumped against Randolph’s hard prick, a clumsy touch that still made him gasp aloud. “And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. I’m trying not to think about it. For Christ’s sake, distract me.”

Randolph lifted his hips to work his trousers and drawers down. Saul used the movement to tug at him so that they rolled over, Saul landing on his back on the grass, where at least he’d be able to feel solid earth, Randolph over him, pressing close, wanting to touch every part of the man at once. He got his mouth to Saul’s neck, licking and nipping where he was most sensitive himself. There was a slim chain around Saul’s throat holding some heavy trinket or other that had fallen to the side; he worked around it, until Saul was squirming under him, groaning.

“What distraction would you like?” Randolph enquired at last.

“How do you feel about the sin of Sodom?” Saul asked with a silvery shadow of a smile in the darkness, and that effort to brave it out made Randolph’s chest hurt.

“Dear boy, your Biblical exegesis is either terrible or superb.”

“What?”

“The sin of Sodom was arrogance. Which I will freely grant describes me to a T. But if you want a fuck, that also suits.”

“You really are the most exasperating— Fine. Fuck me arrogantly.”

Randolph didn’t feel arrogant; he’d rarely felt so humbled in his life. Saul was brave, and beautiful, and deserved so much better than a rough and ready screwing on the grass, but that was what he wanted, and indeed all Randolph had to offer.

He kicked off shoes and clothing, not moving from his position over Saul, letting one hand roam over his chest and up to his mouth. Saul caught his finger there and sucked, lips tight and close, tongue curling to wet it thoroughly.

“I want to taste your cock,” Randolph rasped. “Which, as noted, would be a bad idea until you’ve washed, but if you could put it on my bill for later...”

Saul made a noise of assent, sucking harder on his finger. It might as well have been his prick; the sensation was ridiculously erotic. Randolph pulled away with reluctance, spat in his palm for additional lubrication, and moved his hand down to between Saul’s legs. He saw Saul’s mouth open, felt his body’s tremor, heard his little gasp—

The scream erupted from behind them. A wet, phlegm-rattled, drowned gargle of a scream, a wave of fen-stench rolling over them like ancient damp rot, and then a chorus of echoing howls from all around.

“Jesus!” Saul yelled, convulsing under him as Randolph scrabbled backwards. “Randolph!”

“Here, I’m here.” Randolph grabbed his hand. “I have you. I can see you.”