by Cooper, R.
“Lean back.” James gave him no time for that, continuing his regard of René’s ear as René stiffened, seeming not to see or feel how cold René grew in his arms, how his eyes sought out the sparkle of jewels on the floor, beyond James’ head, focusing on the shining brightness and willing it to consume him.
His hands remembered themselves at last, propping him on the table though truly James held him upright. His scratched his fingers into claws at the wood before finally freeing themselves and swinging around to his front, letting him push against James’ chest. His claws smoothed out again, flattening at the first hint of heat bleeding through the ugly yellow waistcoat, and the rapid beat underneath his palms, echoing through his arms to his chest.
James shook under his hands, muscles contracting beneath his touch, and it was that which made René look up into James’ eyes. He was so close, he had to let his head fall back, and when James cast his eyes upon him, he shivered at the bare expanse of his neck exposed to James’ gaze, at how small and weak and pale he must seem next to someone so strong. “You are trembling, René,” James stated, quietly, and René knew that it must please James to say it, though it was not true.
“I am cold.” Said flatly, it was enough to goad any man into action, and James was like any other man with a stiff cock. René nearly curved his lips into a snarl. If James were to do this to him, then let it happen, and let them not spend the evening in talk first.
Closing his eyes, René arched his neck, dropping his head back and not surprised at the short, wet kiss pressed to the bobbing apple of his throat, the softening of the grip on his body. There was only black behind his eyes, and against him was a hard, beautiful body that he wanted, that wanted him.
“Do you fear me, to tremble so?”
How James babbled on, suggesting ridiculous things in his strangely steady voice, and René let his eyes open only to see James’ handsome face directly above his own. “I do not…” One swallow was all that he could manage with his tight throat, and it took moments to speak again normally. He blinked, and James was still there, watching him through his damned spectacles as though he were trying to translate the Latin of his book, the book that he would not thank René for returning. René blinked again, searching for words and darting his eyes away.
“No, a man cannot fear his whore.” James answered for him, digging harder into his hips for the smallest moment, making René toss his head at the sweet pain of it, the bruising force of James’ hands squeezing his flesh. He moved, and the room was filled with a harsh sigh as his prick found James’ thigh once more. Warm flesh responded to the brief rub, and James moaned as he spoke, pushing against René’s stomach with the barest of motions. “Would you have taken me there, in Sir Marvell’s office?” he wondered in between the need for air, and René watched him, how he let his lids fall and rubbed deliberately again, forming a circle with his lips as he discovered the pleasures of rubbing another man in this manner.
He was so beautiful that way, turning to silver in the light from the window, but still firelit from behind, moaning when René would shift, and push himself back the smallest measure, teasing James until the other man would be desperate for René’s attentions.
“Yes.” Desire lowered his voice, drawing it into little more than a woman’s whisper, and yet James’s cock jerked against his middle. “Over the desk?” James’s voice rose, probably with eagerness, and René put his hands to use, stroking coaxingly over the tight peaks of James’ chest and the firm lines of muscle, pleased at the rumbles of delight beneath his fingers, the awkward twisting as James sought to prolong the caresses.
“There is no place where I would not have you.” How quickly that rushed past his lips, and how quickly James straightened to hear it, flexing his fingers as if pained and then curling them into René’s body. He stood tall and still for a long moment, leaving René to ache and throb as he stared, and then he freed one hand from René’s hip and thrust it between René’s legs, smiling faintly to himself when René jerked back into the table in surprise.
“Did you not tutor me well?” James questioned him with a sharp manner, and brought a slow pressure to René’s cock, rubbing it with his palm, pushing the cloth into the stinging flesh until René had to push back, swallowing his moans as James teased him.
“I said,” he paused in his touches to lean in and lick a path along René’s jaw, and then squeezed his prick, making René gasp and thrust upward into his hand, remembering the feel of calluses as that hand had stroked softly up and down his shaft, eased only by René’s own juices, and had prodded at the head until René had would have died if he had stopped. “…Did you not tutor me well?” James let go his grip abruptly at the comment, and the blood in René’s cock pounded so heavily that René parted his lips in astonishment, itching for another touch, clutching at James’ shirt without truly being aware.
“James,” he darted out his tongue to wet his lips and shuddered when James flicked out his own to taste his, and pleasure bolted down his spine. He fell against James’ arm and grabbed at his waistcoat. His legs failed him, and his skin screamed wherever James touched him, demanding that he fall to his knees and give James whatever he wished if only he would touch him again.
“You do not taste of liquor,” James remarked quietly, as though puzzled, before leaning slowly in and pressing his lips to René’s opened mouth. His lips were firm, asking things of him with only their slight pressure, and René had time only to blink, to go still at the other man’s kiss, and then James was sweeping his tongue into his mouth, searching, tasting, even as his hand pushed fiercely against his prick. His body followed his hand, combining their force to drive René mad, and he could not escape the heat and the feel of James against his him, his thigh, his hand, his mouth.
He lurched up against James instead, fluttering his hands uselessly against the broad chest, stinging through his body at only the barest touch of lips. Heat and want had him jerking, pushing hard into James’ hand, breathing heavily through his nose as James took his mouth, stroking the length of his tongue with his own and then pulling away when René could not control how he writhed and wriggled at the taunt of it, the pain twisting in his middle and making him burn wherever James laid a hand.
“You do not taste of liquor.” James tore himself away to repeat his words, a different tone to them this time as his eyes studied René’s face. His lips seemed darker, and René could only stare as he felt along his own mouth with his tongue carefully, tasting the buzzing under his skin where James had touched him and the faint flavour of fruit.
He panted for air, filling his chest with the scent of James, and then James was groaning and lowering his head once more. But though René grew still and waited with a single breath in his lungs, James only scraped his teeth along his chin and down to his neck, trailing his tongue wetly over each spot he had marked, and there was only friction and wet and shivers as René’s body fought to find something harder than his hand. He was scalded, and little arcs of agony had him shifting and rubbing and smoothing himself into James with small, gasping cries that James swallowed as though they were his due.
“Back,” James ordered into his skin, and René quivered at the damp breath brushing across his frustrated flesh and tilted back his head, leaning slightly until the table again pressed into his ass. James rewarded him, shoving them both back into the wood until René cried out like an animal and the wood shrieked in protest, then sliding his hand from its hold on René’s prick to between his thighs, splaying out widely against the flexing muscles and pushing them farther apart so that he could slip his leg into the vacant spot.
James was moaning before René could think to do more than arch into the welcome weight and jerk his hips up and down against him, parting his legs as far as he could to allow James closer, to feel the hard body rubbing against the inside of his thighs, and how their clothing tormented them both by refusing to allow more. It scratched and irritated and trapped them until René would have
ripped it from his body to let James touch the bare skin, but he could not without ceasing the touches to James’ chest that made James bite his lip and mutter angrily against his teeth, René’s only victory as James took him roughly on this table and claimed him with his mouth.
How James loved to have his nipples pinched and teased, it was simple enough to touch them to hurt James in return for the ache he had created between his legs, for the pain of the wood at his back, but not so simple to ignore how René wanted to bite them until they blushed as rosily as James’ cheeks. Licking James, something he had only ever done under cover of darkness, and he regretted it now, wetting his lips at the remembered taste, the muffled shock in James’ voice, the twitch of the cock in his hands. James’ cock was pulsing against his belly now and René wished to move his hands, to wrap them around that beautiful prick and squeeze until he could feel the hot seed explode over his chest.
He had not meant this, had not thought to want this, and tried to piece together his dignity, opening his mouth only to emit a rough cough when James’s teeth left his neck and closed around his earbob to tug on it sharply. A snakelike hiss of pleasure slipped from his mouth and that was all it seemed to take, and James was whispering words that had the sound of no language René had ever heard, murmuring them into his cheek and then above his lips, though he did not give him another of his kisses, staying just beyond his reach, even as he stepped in as far to René as he could get without tearing René in two and dragged his hands over the heat of his outer thighs in order to hold René closely to him. Even that René would have allowed, if only James would cover him with his mouth as they thrust and grunted like savages. His mouth was not pure, but sinful to mock René with its closeness and yet deny him.
“James.” René growled it into James’ lips, and the word became something more desperate than even this shameful begging when James let his hands roam from his thighs to his hips once more, and then down to his ass. There was no disguising how he jumped at that, striving into James’ thigh as those hands discovered the feel of his ass and briefly stroked over the rounded flesh before crushing René with his fingers, daring to slip between and below, and drawing near enough to where he would have thought James would never dare to go to make René arch up in a quivering bow, suspended with the need to demand that James press there, and fill him.
He could feel how the rough embrace pressed even James’ hands into the hard wood, but James was not pulling away but groaning with lust, sending tingling vibrations over René’s lips as René looked back up into his lover’s face and jerked his body demandingly, trapping James’ hands there on his ass, wanting to hold his body within his legs if only he could.
James was frowning, at what René did not know, and he rocked back viciously against James’ thrusts, until the table slid from them and James was falling hard into his body, swearing as even Mirena would not, flushed and sweating and rubbing his throbbing cock greedily against René’s stomach even as they struggled not to fall.
His fingers tightened their hold, and then René tossed his head at the sudden surge of dizziness, alarmed to feel himself being lifted from the ground and held closely in James’ arms. He wrapped his legs around the heat of James’ body, tight around his thighs, trusting in James not to drop him as he continued to take his pleasure from that lovely body. James grunted, the sound thick with surprise and arousal, and dropped him hard onto the table’s surface. René let out a breath with a short cough, and James was sliding his hands down René’s legs, ensuring that they remained wrapped tightly around him, and rolling his hips into the space between René’s legs with a ragged edge to his actions, his thrusts coming faster now.
Agreeing, René clung to the taller man’s neck and tore away the band holding back James’ hair, using that to anchor himself as James rested them on the table and slid his hands from his legs to his back, and then up, smoothing his large hands along his spine, stopping at his neck, inflaming René with the strength barely contained in his fingers. They brushed aside his hair and then forced his head back and toward him, saying his name harshly when René only blinked like a dazed man.
“René.” Against his mouth at last, and James was using his teeth to pull René’s lower lip into his mouth and nibbling on its softness as though he were ravenous. There was a shocked gasp, and René felt the air enter his lungs and bring colours to his eyes, using his hands to find James’ shoulders and keep him from moving away, pawing at their strength and then ripping into the cloth when James pulled his mouth away.
“I please you?” James’s voice was no longer harsh, but heavy, rough and thick with passion that he could not hide. He waited, with his full mouth opened and wet and sweet, and René closed his eyes to the sight, his thighs shaking with the need to draw the other man into him. His body was so wracked with lust that he felt he must expire on the moment and still how James talked, demanding of him what was so shamefully already given.
“ Je me trouverais sur mon dos, pour vous, si vous me demandiez, James,” he was moaning though he knew James would not understand the words. It was James’ name alone that returned James to him, and René gripped his broad shoulders, wanting to claw so deeply that he would leave scars, stirring sounds from James at the hurt, though it did not stop him.
His belly was wet with the liquid weeping from James’ cock, and he knew his ownpantalons were soaked with the tears of arousal. Spirals of lust coiled in his balls, and they tightened painfully as James licked carelessly around his lips and plunged his tongue between them, the metal of gold and the sweetness of fruit caressing René’s tongue and the inside of his cheeks. René let his jaw fall, leaning farther into James and shuddering when James found his tongue and pulled it between his lips to suck it heatedly, pushing hard against his body at that same moment.
René’s body tightened, and when James plunged against him, he yelled out in surprise, pushing into James’ firm heat and arching as he spilled his seed into the fabric of his pantalons. Fires raged behind his eyes as his spirit poured from him, on and on as James held onto him, and distantly there was James, exclaiming something in an astonished voice, creating his own hot pool against René’s stomach.
It was absolute silence that finally made him raise his eyes; silence did not seem to belong with James Fitzroy next to him. He became aware of his position, seated on a table with the heavy weight of James pressing down on him, using his magic to keep him from shivering in the aftermath of their passion, and he inhaled, smelling sweat and semen and the wax from the candles, far away. At his breath, the body leaning on him jerked and shuddered, and then, far too soon, James was straightening.
The silver of the moon showed René a handsome face, with the eyes closed behind crooked glasses and parted lips. James was struggling to breathe as though weakened, though his arms still held René to his body with the strength of steel bands. He frowned once, like a dreaming man, and René recalled how James had claimed to have been dreaming that night on his ship. Just as he had then, James opened his eyes to observe him.
So serious, as though James were not pleased, and he wondered tiredly what it would take to please James Fitzroy, who rejected books and jewels and offers of pleasure but who claimed a few kisses with the groans and sighs of a poet.
His lips still hummed with the pleasure of James’ touch, and René could not help himself, but darted out his tongue to explore them, surprised to discover that the taste of James had so quickly faded.
Brown eyes narrowed and René dropped his head, seeking out the stretched, torn shirt, the spot of shoulder and neck visible to his eye, and the marks of his want. James had said nothing of that, of those, had not yet dared to scold him for the cost of the cloth even, and René wondered if he would be allowed to purchase James new clothing. The idea pleased, if only to bring painful tingles to his cock, to imagine himself tearing the clothes from James’ body, pulling himself closer until James could not escape, as he ought.
“Come with me.” It
slipped from him weakly, pulled out into the silence, and when James no longer breathed, René thought that if the God James so loved were truth, then he was surely mocking René for his foolishness. He shut tight his jaw, as though this would keep the words from having been said, and looked away, around James once more to the floor, where diamonds still glittered to taunt him.
“You are asking?” James whispered in the quiet voice of the confessional, and René returned his eyes to James’ torn clothing, seeing a different James, as though he had heard the question before, a long time ago. Then he blinked, and there was this James, strong and quiet, regarding him with suspicion and wariness. It was right that it was so, for was he not the Devil himself?
“The Devil does not ask.” René mocked with sudden force, jerking his chin up and lifting his back, noticing for the first time the ache of his position and the growing throb of his ass and thighs, his legs still wrapped around James’ lovely body. His seed was cooling, and uncomfortable in hispantalons as well, his skin itching. He made a move to lower himself to the floor and felt James’ hands twitch against his back, warm and firm before they released him.
“You are not…” James spoke and bit his tongue, bleeding to hold in his words, reminding René of just what he was dealing with. An idiot,un imbecile he was to have forgotten, to try to buy such a holy man as this Englishman, to make James Fitzroy acknowledge his lust for another man before the many eyes of his crew. James did not want him for anything other than to soothe the need of his body and even that galled him. He cast his eyes upon another, and allowed him what he denied to a vicious corsaire.
“You will not flaunt Saint-Cyr in front of me!” He fisted large handfuls of James’ shirt, glaring up into the stubborn face that would not deceive him and try to hide the truth of his words. Saint-Cyr would die sooner, and die slower, if guilt painted the golden skin a ripened plum. His blood would colour the sea and his screams would fill his sails for touching James with his stained, worthless fingers.
