Think of England (19 page)

“Holt,” Daniel said at last. “You killed him.”

Curtis’s hand stopped briefly. “Yes.”

“I was in something of a state at the time, what with the cold, and spending a day in an utter funk, and I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely in my right mind. Nevertheless, it did seem to me that neither were you.”

“No.” Curtis had no idea what else to say about that.

“Was that what they call a berserk state?”

“You’ve read that damned book about my uncle, haven’t you?”

“Well, I have, but I have also read a number of Icelandic sagas,” said Daniel astonishingly. “I did my master’s thesis on Old Norse.”

“You’ve an MA?” said Curtis, with the instinctive alarm of one who had got a place at Oxford on the strength of his boxing.

“The German equivalent, as it happens, from Heidelberg. Hence I have read a fair few descriptions of berserk warriors, and I must say, Curtis… You looked about twice your already substantial size, you kept laughing, which was unnerving, and of course you broke his neck with your bare hands. It was a sight to behold. I don’t speak in a spirit of criticism, I was just rather startled,” he added. “Much as if one had come across a Roman legionary, alive and well in the twentieth century.”

Curtis shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know what to tell you. Quatermain, the writer fellow, used to say my uncle and I are throwbacks to our Norse forefathers. Race memory or some such tripe. Nonsense, if you ask me. I lose control of myself in a scrap sometimes, that’s all. I don’t much like it.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. Did Holt get you with that knife?”

Curtis appreciated the absence of sympathy or apology in the deft shift of subject. It was one of the things that made Daniel so easy to talk to, at least when he wasn’t in one of his prickly moods. “Slashed my forearm. It’s not deep. My coat took the brunt.” He had bundled the ripped coat up with his blood-soaked shirt and hidden them in the wardrobe, then closed the wound with strips of sticking plaster. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would heal.

“A bit low, that, pulling a knife. He was, of course, terrified of you and about to die, but still.” Daniel shook his head and said, with some satisfaction, and in a creditable impression of Holt’s tones, “Damned dirty dago trick.”

“That’s what I thought!” Curtis exclaimed, and felt Daniel shake with silent laughter against him. They were more or less reclining against one another now, Curtis on his back and Daniel on his side, which would have been pleasant if Curtis’s spine hadn’t been objecting so strenuously.

“I need to sit up,” he said with regret.

Daniel rolled away. Curtis had no idea what to say to bring him back. He sat up, legs apart with knees bent, and managed, “It’s jolly cold.”

“Should we huddle together for warmth?” enquired Daniel, moving as he spoke to position himself with his back to Curtis, leaning on his chest, seated between his legs. Curtis, heart beating a little too strongly, draped his arms over Daniel’s shoulders, and allowed himself to luxuriate in the closeness.

“Why did you go to Heidelberg for your MA?” he asked, for something to say. “I mean, why Germany?”

“Various reasons,” Daniel said, and after a moment, “I was kicked out of Cambridge.”

“Oh.” That was something of a facer. “For your, er, personal life?”

“In its way.” Daniel tilted his head back. “There was a young Adonis from the boating crew. One of the golden lads, you know. Clean-limbed noble English youth. The stuff that dreams are made on, for a ragamuffin from the East End. I was utterly besotted, and he—returned my interest, and there was one charmed, sun-drenched Easter term, and then we were caught in the boathouse by the rowing crew. And then there was the talk, the whispers. So my beloved decided to explain things away by going to the Dean to accuse me of indecent assault.”

“What?”

“Oh, he’d reasoned it all out.” Daniel didn’t look round. “He was the second son of a duke, you see, he had a social position to lose. Whereas my father’s a Spitalfields locksmith, my entire family had had to scrape together the pennies to fund my place at Cambridge. He
belonged
there. I didn’t. And thus, I had far less to lose than he did by being thrown out in disgrace. He was quite sure of that.”

Curtis swallowed. He found it hard to keep his voice level. “Christ, Daniel. That’s…” He tailed off, lost for words.

“It was fairly bad,” Daniel said. “Of course, the Dean knew it was so much hot air, but he took the same view as my erstwhile lover on our relative importance. At least he was sufficiently embarrassed to seal the records on the incident, so it didn’t blight my career quite so much as it might have. As it happens, I took a full scholarship to Heidelberg not long afterwards, which put paid to the family recriminations, so from that perspective it was doubtless for the best. I should probably have thanked him.”

“The selfish shitlouse.”

“It did him no good. He was arrested two years later—pure chance, a police raid on a Cleveland Street molly house, he was just one of many picked up. He shot himself after he was released.”

“Oh God.” Curtis had no idea what to say to a story like that. He’d heard so often that “men like that should shoot themselves”. This was the first time it had struck home that they did.

“Yes.” Daniel was silent a moment. “Well. Enough of that. I don’t know why I bored you with that unedifying tale.”

“I’m glad you told me.” Curtis frowned, thinking about it. “You are careful, aren’t you? That is, might you not find yourself in trouble too?”

Daniel paused for a second. “By
trouble
, do you mean spending a day tied to a rock waiting to be murdered?”

“No, I mean with the police.”

“Yes, my dear, I know, I’m just amazed by your perspective on life. In fact, I am very cautious, little though you may think it.”

Curtis didn’t think it at all, and he found himself seized with alarm at this threat to Daniel, which he had somehow never considered before. “You’re nothing of the kind,” he objected. “You make it very plain—”

“I may do, but that’s not illegal. One has to be caught in the act, as it were, they don’t arrest one for being campish quite yet. Really, don’t worry. I know what I’m about.”

That was more than Curtis did, and Daniel’s light tone had a hint of steel that warned him to drop the subject. “Well, if you say so.” He ran his hand down the crumpled linen instead, smoothing it over the warm skin beneath. “So how did you come to work for my uncle? You, er, don’t strike me as the type.”

“My dear chap, I open locks, move quietly, have few qualms about gentlemanly behaviour, and speak the language of one of our major European rivals. I’m precisely the type, and there are people who keep their eyes open for such things.”

“Even with the, er…”

“Especially with the ‘er’. Your revered uncle told me once that he found it convenient to have a few queers he could call on when necessary. I assured him I felt the same.”

“You did not.”

“I did. He didn’t laugh.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t,” said Curtis faintly, considering his formidable uncle. “You’ve nerve.”

His hand was running up and down Daniel’s torso, further each time. It felt like an inestimable privilege to sit here, in the dark, touching him. He let his fingers spread and they met something oddly solid. He felt it, not really thinking what he was doing, noted that it was small, round and hard, and realised that he was fondling the nipple ring just as Daniel gave a distinctly inviting purr.

“Oh,” he said, and carefully touched it again, giving it the slightest rub this time.

“Mmm.” Daniel’s back arched, pushing towards Curtis’s hand. He ran a thumb firmly over the little nub. “
Mmm
.”

“Is it—that is, may I—” He had no idea what he was asking, but Daniel said, throatily, “You may,” and reached up to flick open a couple of buttons. Curtis slid his hand inside the opened shirt, over Daniel’s smooth, warm skin. His fingers made direct contact with the silver ring and the erect nipple it pierced, and both of them jolted at the contact. Curtis rubbed with finger and thumb, not sure what he was doing, but thrillingly aware of the effect he was having on the other man. Daniel’s breathing was deepening, he was shifting under Curtis’s hand, and perhaps it was the shadows of the faint moonlight, but…

Curtis cursed his own mutilated state, but at least the glove concealed his ugly deformity, even if it cut off so much sensation. He leaned forward, still caressing Daniel’s chest with his left hand, and brushed the right over Daniel’s waist and further down.

Yes: Daniel was very definitely excited by what he was doing.

He began to stroke there too, through the dark material, running his hand over the hard arousal. Daniel made a whimpering noise, bucking his hips forward in invitation, and Curtis realised that his two-digit grip would be no use at all for what he wanted to do.

“Hold on,” he murmured, giving Daniel’s nipple a little pinch and eliciting a gasp of pleasure that went straight to his own groin. “Let me just—” He transferred his working hand down to Daniel’s waist, and moved the gloved right hand up to his nipple.

Daniel shook his head at the touch of leather. “Take it off.”

“What?”

“The glove.”

“It’s not a pretty sight.”

“I don’t want your aesthetic judgement,” Daniel bit out. “I want your
skin
.”

Curtis hesitated, but it was dark, and he wanted to touch, so much. He pulled the black leather off and dropped it to one side. The gnarled scar tissue was black in the dim light. Daniel’s elegant hand met his own mutilation, his fingers closed round Curtis’s scars, and then he guided the hand back down to his nipple.

And after all, finger and thumb were all Curtis needed for that.

He dealt with the trouser buttons, remembering with a shock as the hard cock sprang to his hand that of course the man had no drawers after that hellish night, and wrapped his good hand around Daniel’s erection. It was in proportion to the rest of him, long and slender and smooth, and he caressed it, up and down, as he worked the tight nipple and felt Daniel buck against him with an ecstasy that Curtis could hardly believe he’d created.

“Daniel,” he whispered.

Daniel’s head was thrown back, eyes shut, mouth open, spine arched. He was thrusting gently into Curtis’s hand, but allowing him to set the pace. Curtis realised that he was in control of Daniel’s responsive, willing body now, and the thought made his own cock throb almost unbearably. “Oh God, Daniel. I should have done this before. I wanted to.” And there was something else he’d wanted to do. He shifted and twisted down, keeping his hands working as best he could, till he could press his face to Daniel’s chest. So smooth, so warm, a tang of salt sweat on his lips. He found Daniel’s other nipple with his mouth and kissed it.

“You
should
have done this before.” Daniel gave a grunt as Curtis sucked, then licked, amazed at his own daring. “We should have done nothing else all week. Oh, yes, like that.
That
.”

“I wanted to touch you.” Curtis whispered the words, not sure if Daniel could hear, or was even listening. His hips were moving faster and his cock was so hard in Curtis’s hand now. “I wanted to touch you all the time. Back in my room, with that collar stud, I thought you were going to bring me off just by talking—”

Daniel gasped a laugh. “I will. Some day.”

“I want to bring you off. I want you to come because of me.”

Daniel twisted under his fingers, back arching, for once beyond speech. Curtis tightened his grip on the nipple, pinching, and gave a triumphant grunt as Daniel gasped and thrashed and jerked with climax, spilling over Holt’s stolen shirt, and his own bare chest, and finally Curtis’s fingers, as he milked the last few drops till he heard the whimper of oversensitivity.

Daniel slumped against him, boneless. Curtis bit his lip against his own arousal, enjoying this moment. He felt like a conquering hero, and Daniel, tousled and spent, looked entirely conquered.

“What are you grinning at?” Daniel asked, without opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” Curtis looked at the almost hairless chest, the dark nipples. “Why do you only have one of them pierced?”

“If you could do that to me with both tits, I’d never get out of bed again.”

Curtis had to laugh. Daniel’s mouth curved responsively. Curtis carefully cleaned him off as best he could with his handkerchief, straightened up his clothing, and tugged him up and closer, pulling a heavy, scratchy blanket over them both.

“Let me—” Daniel began.

“No, stay there.” He owed Daniel this pleasure. And he would not have another chance to hold him in his arms all night. That had seemed inevitable two days ago; last evening he’d have been pathetically grateful to know he was alive; now it felt unbearable that it had to end so soon. He held on to him, keeping him warm and safe and close.

Daniel’s hands were tracing shapes on his legs. He spoke after a few moments. “Tell me, how did you get me back from the cave?”

“Carried you. Why?”

“The small matter of your injured knee, that’s all.” Daniel sat up. “Good God, Curtis, I was hoping you’d say you had a bicycle, or a cart, or a native bearer. Have you damaged yourself?”