Apr 15, 2018
He’d wanted so much in that moment. Not just the touch, not just the promise those stroking fingers made to his skin, but the care with which they moved. The understanding in Glyde’s eyes. The kindness. Saul was a man of science; he would never, even alone, have given in to the urge to make a superstitious gesture. Glyde had dirtied a fine pair of trousers to soak that handkerchief, and done it in such a serious, priestly way that Saul had been left with a feeling of something almost like absolution. It was a comfort, even if an illusory one, to imagine his sin and shame rotting away with the cloth, and Glyde had given him that comfort when other men had spat.
Spectred Isle by KJ Charles
