Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  “Yes,” James admitted, his eyes still shut to the sight of the man before him. “Yes,” and wet lips closed around his cockhead, enveloping him with heat. There was only a moment to enjoy that, and then Villon began to stroke his aching flesh with his tongue, swirling it around and around as if licking the last bit of wine from the rim of an empty bottle, savoring the taste.Taste, James thought feverishly, straining not to thrust the rest of his prick into that mouth.Sweet Jesu, he repeated silently, not sure what he was praying for when Villon stopped that torture only to begin another, taking one hand from his arse and circling his shaft, stroking slowly up and down and drawing hungrily on the head with his cheeks and tongue.

  Fire, there was a fire in his balls, a beautiful agony, coursing from there through the rest of him, causing him to jerk in Villon’s arms and push impatiently against his mouth, wanting to be inside of him.

  Why did not he take him, James wondered painfully, his body acting only on need as he bucked his hips forward. Did not he care, he asked himself like he had earlier, looking down finally to the dark head bent down below him and focusing dizzily on the mouth already wrapped around him. He could feel those lips tightening, weakening his knees and sending him crashing back into the door, and then they moved at last, sliding up the length of him as his hand moved, then sliding back down.

  It was torture, deliberate torment he knew. The hand on his cock moved steadily, even as James begged and jerked and pleaded for more. He wanted to be taken, wanted it now, desperately. His hands left the door at last, daring to clutch Villon’s hair between his fingers, wanting his mouth around all of him.

  The hand on his ass flexed in surprise, fingers brushing the soft, hidden flesh between the cheeks before digging in and pulling James flush against Villon’s face. Then he was held there firmly as his mouth slid over him again and again until he was begging and thrusting his hips in return as much as he could. The pull from his balls intensified and he nearly pulled the red scarf from Villon’s hair as he pumped his cock in and out of his mouth furiously, his pleasure too much to bear.

  “René!” he heard himself calling hoarsely, wanting to say it again if it would allow him release, and René grabbed him hard to make him stop moving, sliding a finger over his asshole roughly and sucking so forcefully on his prick at the same time that James cried out in shock as his body jerked forward and the burning fire in his balls seemed to flow out of him uncontrollably. His eyes closed at the flash in his mind and then shot open at the intense pleasure of his spunk shooting out of his cock into René’s waiting mouth. His fingers clenched spasmodically in his dark hair as the bursts of pain lessoned into something tolerable, and then faded at last, and only a stinging tickle in his prick remained. Then he leaned back into the door weakly, his body drained almost of life itself.

  There were stars shooting, swirling, behind his eyes in a sea of black and it took him several long moments to realize that he had nearly fallen asleep standing against the door, supported only by the man next to him.

  He looked up at the thought, his exhaustion turning to alarm as he stared into the merciless black eyes looking back at him. No, not merciless, James changed his thoughts almost the moment he had them, his whole body flushing with embarrassed warmth. Villon’s cheeks had spots of colour, and his eyes were bright, and there, on his lower lip was a drop of liquid shining like a pearl in a pirate’s captured treasure.

  He left it there, and then leaned in slowly and James froze uncertainly. Surely he was not about to kiss him? But Villon continued in, lifting his head as if for just that, and something made James stand still. His lips were less than an inch away from his mouth, still dripping with his spunk. It touched him first, and James jerked without pulling away, shocked and disgusted. Before he could pull back, Villon did it for him, drawing away without ever touching their lips together.

  James was once again imprisoned by that stare, tensing at the taste of his own spirit on his mouth, unwilling to show his reaction. He feared Villon knew the truth anyway. Perhaps he was mad with fever after all, that such a sinful idea as a kiss between two men should keep him still when he should have run.

  But run where, he asked himself, and realized that his feet had not moved from their place at all. “And now…James,” Villon was speaking almost into his mouth, an edge to his voice belying his amused tone, “Walk to my desk and lay yourself across the top. And…” He paused, likely at how James pulled back sharply, angling his head away as if ducking from the words themselves. But Villon did not seem to notice that, a bit of confusion or puzzlement in his tone, at what James did not want to try to fathom. “I want you to call me René when I take you. I like my name in your mouth.”

  René! The needy, shocked cry sounded in James’ ears, seemed to pass through the room. He had called it out, had shouted it eagerly at the promise of more pleasure, and he had pushed aside what that had meant. Even now his body still tingled with remembered lust, wishing it had not ended.Yes, he had begged, and then yes again, and would have continued until his throat had been raw if he had had to. James swallowed his fear and looked back into Villon’s dark eyes, his stomach churning sickly. He had sold himself to the Devil for pleasure, and now…

  His eyes traveled to the desk, still cluttered with charts and crumbs of weevil-infested hardtack. His pleas and moans during his crisis still seemed to be in his ears, as shameful as those midnight noises on deck. He recalled them vividly, his body heating again, and then he took one trembling step forward, stumbling out of the breeches crumpled at his feet.

  He hunched his shoulders at his nudity and made the mistake of glancing at Villon. The corsaire was watching his body with glinting eyes as he moved, one hand slipping past the crimson sash at his waist and down to the placket at the front of his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons there.

  For a moment, James forgot his own shocking nakedness to watch as the other man opened his trousers and freed his own prick, already hard at what he was planning to do. It was larger than his, thick and filling with colour.

  Suddenly, he could not move, could not take the final step to the desk, stepping instead in Villon’s direction, unsure if he wanted to beg for mercy or for the feel of his mouth again. Villon accepted this calmly, raising one eyebrow but allowing James to come close enough for him to hold him by the arms. The feel of Villon’s hands on his bare shoulders was enough to make James shudder weakly. But before Villon could speak, he was nodding slowly and turning to face the desk. Once there he only hesitated a moment before closing his eyes and bending over, stopping when vellum brushed his cheek.

  Waiting in absolute silence as he had when he had first entered the Captain’s room, James shivered in what he hoped was fear, his body tensing as a calloused hand smoothed down the line of his spine. It started at his neck and ended just above his arse, making him flinch.

  A warm chuckle was Villon’s answer to that, and then, inconceivably, a hard, swift slap on his arse, the sound of it ringing in James’ ears and making his eyes fly open. A map of the Indies themselves was all he could see, a horrible sea creature leering at him from the corner as the blood rushed to that sore spot, as it had rushed to his nipples, searing him with something hotter than pleasure though his face burned with humiliation.

  He was still tense with surprise when Villon leaned over him to whisper in his ear, his hair trailing over James’ back, and his hard, throbbing prick pressed against his arse, making him jump.

  “James…” he pronounced slowly, and James turned his head to the side expectantly until Villon’s lips nearly touched his ear. But that was all he said, trailing one hand back down over James’ ribs to his hip, where it finally stopped. He moved the other too; James heard his clothing rustle, and then jerked his body roughly against the corner of the desk when a finger brushed over his hole again, stroking softly.

  It returned before he could do more than that, circling the area around it once, pushing apart the flesh, exposing him, before it abruptly
slid inside of him. His muscles tightened around the intrusion immediately, and he bucked his hips at the feel of his body being forced open like it was. All he felt was shame that he should be seen like this, and pain at the exploring finger. He bucked his hips again, uncontrollably, when he felt another finger pressing against his small, resisting hole. The action drove both fingers inside, farther than only the one before, and he gasped loudly at the sudden burst of pleasure, stronger than anything he had ever felt before, even René’s mouth on his cock.

  His body began to throb with excitement, seemingly indifferent to the hot pain he still felt where René’s fingers had entered him. But then those fingers pressed back inside of him, and the pleasure washed over him violently, making shake with the force of it, shocked at how his manhood swelled again and pressed painfully into the desk.

  “René.” He was groaning it now, grinding his hips against the desk as that finger moved inside of him, and then moaning like the dying when the fingers slid out and only echoes of pleasure remained. He wanted them to return, even with the pain, and welcomed the warm nudge against the sore spot a moment later. It was so sweet that he leaned further into the desk and spread his legs like a woman when René pressed his hardness to him. It was his only warning, and then René pushed his cock inside of him swiftly, tearing flesh as he pushed his way in, forcing muscles to stretch around him.

  Screaming inside at the pain, James lowered his head to the desk’s surface, squeezing his eyes shut and biting down on his lower lip. His hands found the sides of the desk and he clutched them desperately, a low moan escaping despite his efforts when René pulled out just as quickly as he’d entered.

  The blood was pounding through his body, flooding to where he had known it would, settling below his belly in a rush of heat and desire. René thrust in once more, and this time James felt the pleasure build again when René’s cock pressed deep inside of him, brushing against some place so perfect that he could have cried.

  His prick ached, growing with each of René’s thrusts, with each touch to that hidden place, and he moved his hips, following René’s actions blindly, bringing them closer with each upward movement. The hand on his hip dug into his skin when he moved, something almost frantic in the way it clung to him before relaxing and sliding down, down under his stomach. Then it curled around his burning shaft.

  “René!” James called it out as he had been commanded to do, screwing his body into that hand as René plunged into him. The breathing in his ear was growing more ragged, hotter, and René grunted once in reply, slamming his cock into him fully.

  James’ head swam at the pain of it, at how the full length of his cock brushed against that spot and made him gasp. Even the balls slapping against his ass were a kind of exquisite torture, and he moaned into the map, panting at the sea creature before turning his head to feel René’s heavy breath on his face.

  He could feel it now, feel René’s prick hardening inside of him, feel his thrusts growing stronger, nearly shifting the desk. The tight pull in his own balls was driving him mad, and when René shouted out his climax and the hand on his cock spasmed as René spilled into him, James bucked frantically against the hard desk and drained himself again until he thought surely there was nothing of him left.

  It could have been hours, or only a quarter hour since Marechal had first shoved him through the door, James could not be sure. He was not even sure he cared. He just sagged against the desk and felt René’s weight crush on top of him as the other man relaxed, groaning as he expelled the last of his spunk.

  The unfamiliar sensation of liquid running down the back of his thighs came to him slowly, after long moments of heavy breathing and silence. It was that that finally made him raise his head, though he could not do much more, not with René still pressed inside of him and resting over him. Another man’s cock in his arse… A blush of shame heated James’ face and his turned his head into the desk, trying to pretend that none of it had happened. But the wet feeling on his legs, the stuffed fullness of his arse, the lingering pain all reminded him that it had indeed happened. He had been buggered,willingly buggered, by this man. By a man who had mocked everything he was and believed in. Even now his spunk was splattered over the wood of the desk he had gladly bent over.

  He groaned, recalling the strength of his expulsion, and then shifted at last, tingling at the feel of the prick in his arse softening. The action made René lift himself up suddenly, and pull out of him. He had stepped away before James could do much more than go still as his body protested even that.

  Wondering at himself, still bent over the desk like some kind of whore, James pushed himself up at last, and held himself erect for a moment. He pulled in several deep breaths and managed to keep himself from shaking, though his shamed blush spread down over his whole body.Dear Lord, he lifted his head slightly, seeing the wooden ceiling above him but wishing it were the heavens.What have I done, he asked the same Savior for guidance that the corsaire had just offended with his words but received no answer. He put his hands at his sides and then lowered his head enough to look at the other man, his heart seizing at having to do even this, after what they had just done. Then he turned around.

  René was standing calmly by the same basin of dirty water, using a slightly damp rag to wash the mess from his prick. Blood, James thought with sudden horror, and reached behind him gingerly, touching two fingers to the wetness he felt. He pulled them back quickly and stared in shock at the sight of a thick, pearly pink mixture, spunk and blood, his blood.

  “Life is pain, James,” René said calmly, just as he had said it before, as if he had said it a thousand times. “It is best to take pleasure from that pain,” he went on, glancing at him with a look so cold that James shivered. The fevered flush was gone from his face now; he had even straightened his hair after what James had done it to against the door. It was as if James had not touched him at all.

  James blinked, unsure of what he was hearing. He could not even move; his hand was still in the air, two fingers still covered with the marks of his degradation. His whole body was throbbing with a new pain, lancing through his belly sharply like the cutlass that still hung at René’s side.

  He frowned, trying to clear his mind and then straighten up and walk away-if he was to be allowed to do that. He focused on his trousers, lying abandoned near where René-Villon-was standing, and took one cautious step towards them.

  Villon moved, stepping round to the other side of the desk for a moment. Then something brown was pushed into James’ vision and his eyes widened in surprise at the small clay bottle under his face. The cork had been removed, and he took it and raised it to his nose in disbelief.

  Fresh water, if it could be called that, brackish and stale, part of the ship’s limited supply, not even from last night’s rain. A rag hit his chest, and he raised a surprised hand to catch it before looking back up at Villon, who was drinking from another bottle of wine several feet away. The seawater was still drying on the man’s hands and James stared at them as if they held the answers he was seeking. Villon did not turn to him or even direct his gaze his way, so he lowered his eyes once again.

  The water was for him to wash without pain, James realized, then shook his head, still not understanding anything. But he poured some water carefully onto the material and then tentatively wiped away most of the mess on the back of his legs. It was sticky and already drying and he grimaced as he did it, the last traces of his arousal fading away.

  He wanted to go. He wanted to be home, back safe in London, or at least on the other ship, away from this man and the knowledge that he had…had enjoyed what had just happened, even if he did not want to understand it, or even why he had been chosen.

  When he was done, he set both items carefully on the desk so as to not damage the maps and flicked a look at Villon. The other man was still silent, not even looking at him now as he walked stiffly over to his breeches and carefully bent over to slip them on again. He winced at the brief ago
ny shooting through his lower body but continued dressing quickly, horribly aware of his naked, debauched state, not that Villon seemed to care.

  Damn the man. James suddenly wanted to shout, louder than he had screamed the man’s name in a frenzy of pleasure. He clenched his hands into fists and felt the cracked nails dig into his skin. His fury was strong, raging more than it had at watching Carter killed.

  The pain was intense now, no longer pleasurable, and James was doubtful that he would be able to walk amongst the crew without anyone knowing. He closed his eyes, praying silently, his body trembling with fear and anger. Then he straightened.

  The door was before him, but he could not make himself move, not yet, not even with Villon watching him. His mind was reeling, dizzy, and he still did not understand. If only the man would speak, explain.

  “Please.” The word slipped from his closed lips so lowly that James’ ears almost did not catch it. It echoed his fevered begging and he knew it, even more shamed now to find himself staying. He was not sure what he wanted the other man to say or do, only that he could not leave like this, not without knowing…

  “I would not have called you here if I thought you would say no…James.” Villon was merciless now and James brought his head up to stare at him, dark streaks swirling before his eyes to match the storming sea in his stomach. The sickening bile rose to his throat at the sharply spoken words and he felt himself sway on his feet. He inhaled, but the air only cleared the way for the anger to burn out of him.

  “Was this your revenge?” he spat out bitterly in a hoarse voice and raised one hand, clenching it tightly until the bile in his mouth made him gag. He wanted to be sick, vomit up all the fear and rage and hurt in his belly until it was no longer a part of him. Shame was there too, increasing when he saw the surprise and then fury flash in Villon’s dark eyes for a moment before the man hid it. James’ fingers relaxed instantly and he dropped his hand though it was too late, horrified at his temper and loss of control. What sort of man was he, to blame Villon for what he had done only too willingly?