Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  The somewhat cooler air of night dried his skin in patches, and he shut his tired eyes briefly before glancing around for a place to sit and try to sleep. The circle of rope was there before him, hard, but no harder than a plain wooden bed.

  He crossed to it and settled into it easily, stretching out his long legs and arms with a sound of complete enjoyment. The ship was before him, the bow visible as he sank down and then disappearing to just a view of the sails.

  Garbled French from below caught his ear and he relaxed a bit now that he knew that some were still going about their work. Though of course at least one man would be awake, standing at the helm to look over the ship and steer by the feeble moonlight until morning.

  Dropping his head back and closing his eyes, James tried to imagine he was back in his father’s house, in a soft bed, but the rough braid at his shoulders and low back would not allow that, and so he imagined instead a hard bed with a nice, soft girl at a bawdy house near his home.

  The air would be icy back in London, but he would warm himself up, mounting the girl in a way that proved he was no damned catamite. Mayhap her friend would join them, squealing as her hands moved on his prick and he placed his mouth on her breasts or mayhap lower; women had always seemed to like that and he had liked to make them happy, especially the doxies, for they smiled little.

  James sighed hungrily and licked his dry lips, wishing the scene were true. His body responded as if it was, beginning to throb heavily. If he had been alone, he might have pleasured himself. It was unfortunate that he might be joined up here at any moment. For then her hands would become her lips, and her head would be bent over him, dark hair falling onto his skin where it had slipped through the red cloth holding it back.

  “René…” He opened his eyes wide in shock at his word and stared blankly at the sight of Villon in front of him. The Frenchman was not smiling, or even arching an eyebrow. His face held no expression at all. Only his eyes glittered, visible even in moonlight alone.

  He had spoken the name, James thought deliriously, and now the Devil had come. A pale devil, he added to himself, as if he felt the effects of his drinking still. “Villon,” James amended himself hurriedly, struggling to sit up, his skin burning. He shook his head to clear it of fancies. Villon was still silent, though frowning now, his fine brows drawn together.

  He should not have come up here, James thought in alarm, his eyes widening when the other man finally moved, and raised one hand to undo the laces of his shirt until it fell around one shoulder which gleamed whitely in the dark as if it rarely saw the sun.

  “Do you dream?” The question was quiet, but clearly curious, and James blinked, a bit taken aback. But Villon looked serious so he nodded. “Of what do you dream?” A slight breeze found a stray lock of black hair, blowing it over Villon’s eyes, and James found himself leaning his head back, trying to see into those eyes before he answered. The heat, and the blood still pounding in his body seemed to possess him, making him feel almost drunk, or mad. This man had done this to him.

  “Of women!” James spit the words out angrily, uncaring if Villon heard his challenge or not. He knew his fury now would hardly matter. In fact, it made the Frenchman smile finally, knowingly. He was as cool as he had been before, and James doubted that he would ever see the man so carelessly drunk and out of control again.

  “Women?” Villon repeated, stressing that last syllable even more than he usually would have with his accented English as if amused at the thought of James with more than one. James felt himself struggling to rise again and failing, face heating with anger this time at the memory of the occasion when he had spent the extra coin for just that, mostly at a drunken Jack’s suggestion.

  Villon reached down to slide a hand under his chin. His fingers just barely rested against the skin but it held James still anyway, better than a knife at his throat would have. The thought made him tremble, and James glanced up into fiercely shining eyes.

  “Does one of these women have her head between your pretty thighs?” the other man wondered faintly, and James expelled one breath. He sucked in another so sharply that it hurt his lungs when thecorsaire continued smoothly. “Because that is where I would be this night, James. Would you have me there?” Villon went on a moment later, tilting his head to one side, his voice growing even lower.

  “You are asking?” His voice broke with the force of his surprise, and James twitched a little, distantly worried that someone might hear them. His eyes were wide and dry as he stared blankly upward, trying to see anything that would give him a hint as to what the other man was thinking. Others…some of the other men on the ship in their fevered moments at night, they asked and chose, he had learned that much of the ways here. But Villon…Villontook, the way the stories had said the pirates would take any woman on a captured ship.

  “No,” the corsaire spoke simply, proving James right. He still did not move from his spot, standing just between James’ knees, only a few finger lengths from what he was after. Villon did lift his hand, smoothing his thumb over his chin and then his mouth before releasing him. James shivered, but continued to look up, his stomach churning. “But if I did…?” This question was even softer than the one before. He had spoken so whisper quiet at the end of their debate as well, words for him alone to hear. The intimate nature of it, even separated, had made James want to lean in closer; the reaction of any man.

  James felt himself trying to breathe, even opening his mouth for his response. He had his words ready. No, not words, word. One word.No. Never. He was not… he did not… and never would. He had never wanted such things before.

  His chest tightened, and he arched up, trying to rise from the rope just as Villon suddenly moved forward, pushing James’ thighs apart with his body before he stopped. James went still at the invasion and Villon smiled. It was a smile bare of anything.

  “You would, of course, say no, calling it sin.” It was barely a whisper but James managed an eager nod. His ripped trousers ended at his calves when standing, but sitting they rose, and James could feel the other man’s heat on his exposed skin, though they were not touching. There was perhaps room for a bead of sweat between them. The fire was burning through the calico as well, heating his thighs, and combined with the wetness of the West Indies air, it was almost too much.

  James tossed his head back and tried to shift, but the only thing left for him to do was to open his legs wider. A fraction was all it took, and then Villon was on his knees without a sound, kneeling between his thighs, just as he had wanted.

  Blinking, James peered through his spectacles over the rapid rise and fall of his own sweaty chest to the dirty white of his pants, and then into Villon’s black eyes. They were hot too, when they had been cool, and James swore softly, almost pleadingly.

  “Sweet Jesu,” he muttered, his mouth going dry at what those eyes were telling him. “Why?” he wondered faintly, not sure what he was asking about. “They all say no until my mouth is on their cock,” Villon answered him, quite seriously indeed, making James blink again in confusion. But he forgot the comment entirely when a slim hand smoothly popped the round bits of bone from his breeches and pulled the material down. It stopped there, and then Villon glanced up at him with something very like amusement on his face.

  James understood immediately, closing his eyes so tightly that not a crack of moonlight was visible. Only then did he shift, the memory of how it had felt before making him lift his arse from the rope just enough for Villon to slide his pants to his ankles. He knew what would happen now, and felt the muscles in his thighs and backside lock and then shake with the strain as he tried not to move.

  Any man would enjoy it, he told himself as the steamy air rolled over his bared privates. A lingering throbbing from his fantasy seemed to support that fact, and James kept his eyes closed. With his eyes shut, it would not be hard to pretend that it was a woman.

  A touch feathered across his skin, over the trembling muscles of his left thigh, from his k
nee to his hip and then, for one short moment, lower, to where the skin was softer. James’ words were still felt caught in his throat and he choked, the sound making the touch vanish.

  It returned a moment later on his other leg, following the same pattern. Villon’s hand smeared drops of sweat, wetting James’ whole thigh. Then that touch, too, disappeared, and James lifted his chin, fighting the urge to look and see what would come next. He buried his hands somewhere between the strands of rope, holding expectantly onto the braid.

  Warm breath rushed over his dripping skin and he shivered violently, twitching in surprise at the same time. His blood was pounding in his veins, his breath still mangled in his throat, and there, between his legs, was nothing but heat.

  “Open your eyes, James,” René ordered him, still sounding amused, and oddly gentle. He trailed a finger inside of one leg and then up a bit over the curve of his arse. James held himself still until that finger probed between the flesh there and then he arched up uncontrollably. Only his hands gripping the rope kept him down.

  His face flushed at the muffled sound from Villon but he lowered himself back down when that finger moved on, his tired muscles giving way at last. He sagged onto the rope and pulled in a deep breath.A woman, he reminded himself, then shuddered when one hand became two, and exploring fingers trailed over his throbbing manhood. It rushed with blood immediately, growing in front of René’s eyes, to James’ shame. He bit his lip, but could not stop his moan this time either. Not when knowing fingertips ran up and down the length of him so lightly that it might have been a dream.

  “Open them and look at me,” Villon ordered again, the amusement growing stronger in his voice. James swallowed dryly and then shook his head once from side to side. It was mad to be resisting, but if he was mad, this man had made him so. Let him kill him, but no amount of pleasure was going to make him open his eyes.

  The sudden burst of pain in his thigh made him grunt, jerking his hips up forcefully, pushing against Villon’s body. Villon’s arms landed on his legs, holding him down in the next second, just as James opened his eyes, trying to see.

  Villon’s head was there, between his thighs as he had promised, his mouth pressed to his leg just below his balls. James stared for a moment in shock and then felt a new wave of searing heat there and tried to twist away. Sharp teeth dug into his skin fiercely at the motion, hard enough to make him gasp.

  Biting him, James realized in shock and jerked again without thinking, grunting as the teeth sank into his flesh. A wet tongue stroked the pinched skin, sending a bolt of pleasure to his groin, and James could hear himself growling lowly, grinding himself against Villon’s tongue and teeth.

  The sound of his obvious enjoyment echoed around the sleeping ship. James heard it distantly, all his attention focused on that mouth. Red lips were still pressed against his thigh, and James felt his muscles ripple as the bite gentled and a soft sucking began in its place. His body already throbbed, now the blood seemed to flood to under René’s mouth and James twisted his hands around the rope, letting it bind him down.

  The hemp rubbed harshly against his wrists and James groaned at this new pain. “You bit me,” he panted, wholly confused and wondering at himself for speaking at the same time. For an answer, Villon just licked the spot slowly, running his tongue around the dark ring his teeth had made. The throbbing there increased, bringing James’ hips off the rope. René’s tongue moved with him and James thrust up again, wanting his tongue somewhere else.

  His eyes were open now, and he could see the glint of pleasure in Villon’s expression at that. It should have made him angry. Instead he only stared back and then spread his legs when Villon moved to face him at last.

  The other man’s mouth was open, lips as dark as the dye of his scarf. James studied them in dizzy fascination and then gulped a breath when Villon ran the tip of his tongue across the slightly fuller lower lip, wetting it.

  How could he enjoy doing this? James wondered, spending a bare moment wondering at what the cost of his pleasure this night would be, if he would be required to do the same to Villon. There would be a price, he knew that already. Had known it from the moment Villon had come to stand between his legs, but it had not stopped him.

  His hips lifted from the rope another fraction in tight anticipation even as he acknowledged the painful thought. What was he waiting for, James asked himself desperately, embarrassed to see his aroused cock in the air like it was, even more on fire to see how he moved his body, nearly waving it front of the other man’s face in an effort to receive his pleasure.

  “James…” Villon pronounced his name slowly, slurring the J and then dropping the last letter entirely. James looked helplessly back into the other man’s eyes and away from his arousal, feeling the strange word itself roll over his prick until he could not get any harder. He wanted…he wanted Villon to say his name that way when his mouth was on his prick. He wanted to feel it.Oh Lord, he moaned silently, but could not look away.

  James shifted, trying to ease the ache René was creating with only the barest caresses. He threw his head back impatiently, straining to keep his eyes on the man in front of him even as his body jerked and twisted.

  Up, his mouth was moving up now, and James flung himself away from the rope when Villon sucked softly on the skin at the base of his cock, pulling with each pound of blood through the vein. He grunted, burying his teeth in his lip, uncaring if he tore the skin. The pain was nothing, not compared to René’s mouth.

  Soft lips worked their way leisurely up and around the length of him, wetting him at the same time, tongue darting out with obvious enjoyment whenever James would push himself upward, wanting to be inside.

  And then, finally, Villon raised one slim hand and curled his fingers around his shaft, gently rubbing up and down just as his lips slid over the head and enveloped him. It was sweet and hot and when his tongue lapped up the liquid running from the tip James could not hold himself down this time, almost jumping up and off the rope until he was nearly sitting straight and leaning over the other man. Curled awkwardly, his hands holding onto the rope to keep him from falling into the center, he could barely breathe. His whole body was straining, shaking with the effort to stay upright, and he leaned forward, changing his hands to pull against the ropes until he could hold on no longer and had to let go.

  Something raw tore out of his chest, echoing loudly into the night, but James hardly heard it. His fingers turned into claws, clutching Villon’s neck and shoulders and holding him tightly so that he could not move. Damn him for making him want this, James swore, digging with his jagged fingernails. He wanted to hurt him until his pain showed on his face.

  For several heartbeats, there was only the sound of their breathing, short and panting and heavy, Villon raggedly drawing air through his nose. James’ thoughts were spinning, but he pushed them away, aware only that his punishment was coming. And Villon gave it to him, suddenly drawing on the tip so fiercely that James could feel the urge to shoot his spunk grow sharply, lancing through his belly. He jerked, thrusting up into René’s mouth and clenched his hands into near fists to control himself.

  René muttered something against him, the words reverberating up his spine, calling to him before he began to suck harder. His hand dropped away, feather light touches gone completely. His lips clamped tightly around the head and then his tongue found the small hole, desperately leaking now. He teased it for a bare second and then pulled heavily, until James was caught between a squeal and another grunt. Villon did not stop then, but kept on sucking, seemingly intent on drawing the soul from his body.

  Furiously, violently, James dug his fingers into his pale shoulders until they surely bruised, and urged Villon’s head lower. His body moved up at the same time, pressing his cock against the back of René’s mouth. He could feel himself nudging, more than nudging, demanding, and when René opened his mouth to allow it, he did not wait. He plunged upward into his throat and growled lowly in his chest when Vill
on’s hands grabbed his hips and urged him forward at his own rhythm.

  “Yes.” James arched into his mouth at the hot whisper and then murmured it again once all of him was inside. Villon slid over him, allowing him in and then out again, and James groaned to see it, letting Villon take over. His anger was gone, turned into something so hot it burned. It drove him on, jerking his hips as much as he could until there was only René’s mouth, and his scalding wet throat, pleasuring him like he wanted. It was agony.

  “Yes,” he said again, struggling not to scream. “René.” His balls tightened, the ache growing and twisting inside. His body pushed itself forward into that fire, body thrusting mindlessly as the pleasure flooded through him. His eyes were open, but there were clouds in the sky now, around his vision, haloing René in bursts. He choked at the sight of them, and René looked up at the sound.

  His black eyes were hot in the middle of all those cool colours. Knowing…proud…James frowned vaguely, somewhere else, still pushing into René’s mouth, screwing it forcefully. “Yes,” he did growl the word this time, a hushed roar just as his cock slammed between those red lips, and then the colours exploded around him. His spunk shot out of him so hard that he yanked René forward without knowing. Oceans of it, weakening him with the force. He could feel René swallowing; the moving muscles of his throat so arousing against his hard cock that James spasmed again before falling forward.

  His body was still moving, pushing faintly into René’s mouth as he drained himself. His fingers clutched and then relaxed, clawing again when René began to suck the last of it from him even when he had thought it had all been over. His back arched and everything went very still for a few heartbeats until that mouth stopped at last. Then it was just their breathing mingling with the strangled echoes of James’ passion and the heavy scent of a fuck floating in the air.