Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  James lifted his hips in agreement and was rewarded with the tension in the muscles brushing against his thighs, the shifting as René bent over him, and the same someone as before murmuring his name above the skin of his chest, something pleading in his voice even as his fingers worked between the flesh of his arse toward the tight hole he had teased moments ago.

  James went still as his mind registered where René sought him now, and the tearing burn of that morning flared in his memory though he did not move. Not even when René’s fingers found him and pressed gently into the muscle. James gasped, not at the touch of his hand but at the abrupt, amazing feel of René’s mouth on his chest, open-mouthed caresses of lips and teeth and tongue on his skin amid the soft litany of his name, and the swift, sudden urgings of a hard stomach rubbing against his cock as René twitched into motion. So unexpected was it that James threw himself up, letting the softness of René’s hair fall over his chest and the heated little body stroke all over him.

  “Yes, René,” he answered the calling of his name, though for all his intent posture René seemed not to notice that he had spoken, and James realized that as the other man moved, he had squeezed his eyes closed, leaning further into James’ body as if denying the light. “In me, please.” He repeated it hoarsely, only now realizing that he had demanded it before, somewhere amid his gasps of pleasure, and feeling how René jerked at his words and groaned into his chest, suckling desperately on his skin.

  The torturous rocking of René’s form lasted but a moment, though René’s mouth did not stop its wet possession of his flesh, and James mourned it even as fingers continued to torment him by merely pressing on the flesh again and again until he jerked his hips up. He remembered being filled, ages ago, something painful and full and raw that had made him cry and whimper with a desire that he had wished had been shame.

  “No, James,” René begged now with every intimate touch to his empty flesh, as though the words were to make sense to him when he was so empty and being denied once more, and James knew himself to be nodding in disagreement though René did not see it. “No,” René said again and slid against his prick, curving up to suck on James’ shoulder and leaving James with no thought in his mind but to push back toward René, to make René fill him with those fingers, and so he did, just as René pressed into him and he groaned even as René went still, shifting at the stretching feel of even that small part of René inside of him. It was of his choosing now, and he closed his eyes briefly at the discomfort, ready for the pleasure to follow.

  René slapped one hand down onto the ground to support himself, raising himself up enough to meet James’ eyes, and James had to frown to see him so wide eyed and breathless, his hair thrown about carelessly. For one moment, he was as James had imagined him being last night against the table in the near dark, but even then he had known that René Villon had never been one to be plundered like a woman.

  “Yes, you will,” James whispered in a voice far from his own, his body protesting their stillness. He bent his knees further, sliding his prick across René’s smooth, wet stomach, and drawing in streams of air as he jerked at the throbbing pleasure, the burst of heat twisting in his balls. René jerked in turn, and James nearly moaned at the rigid feel of René’s cock at the top of his inner thigh, wondering if René would ask him to roll over onto his stomach so that he might be fucked, and gasped at the thought, his blood raging. “Fuck me, René,” he whispered greedily, and raised his head awkwardly, smashing his opened lips onto René’s neck, inhaling René’s flesh, longing to draw in all of him.

  René’s gasp echoed through the room, but he shook his head forcefully, denying that his body was pushing back against James’, that they were thrusting gently in time with one another and that James had opened his legs wide for him. James sucked on the soft skin hard enough to bruise, his anger making him press his teeth into the salty flesh, René gasped again, yanking himself away.

  “I will not take that also.” René seemed to curse him, growling each word with narrowed eyes. For one moment, they started at one another as René sank his teeth into his pretty bottom lip, and then he was opening his mouth as though prepared to name James the fool that he was. Something hotter than even the lust in his loins made James push against the ground with his hands for one moment, lifting them both.

  “Be quiet, René,” James heard himself ordering when he had wanted to hear more words from Villon before, dropping them both easily back to the floor and bringing up his hands to grasp René’s slender body about the ribs. His fingers instantly slid down and over the unknown flesh, ignoring the utter stillness of the body on top of him. “It is my punishment,” he demanded heatedly, and ran his thumbs across the shivering, sweet skin of René Villon.

  René’s skin was soft, almost like a woman’s but for the trembling, hard muscles playing under his touch, and James slid his hands nearly to the sweet curve of arse before releasing him, letting out a sigh as he did. Black eyes were narrowed, and they both breathed and let their breaths join together in the air before René turned his eyes away, his head turned into James’ shoulder. James spent one breath into the depths of the inked hair that Mirena had so lovingly cleaned, and then René swung his head insistently back to face him, inhaling deeply as he spread apart the fingers inside of James and pushed them in further.

  Stinging liquid fell into his eyes, and James threw back his head to banish the sweat, heaving his hips upward at the sudden pressure inside of him, and the slow burn of stretching skin, and then he was moaning unabashedly as René’s fingers pressed toward that place of ecstasy. René’s cheeks were like blood on the snow, brighter than roses as he caught his breath and strained his muscles to stay upright, and James stared back as he strained his own body to meet René’s still one, shaking to hold himself from doing more.

  “This,” René’s voice was saying roughly, struggling for something, and James imagined the arrogance in the pale face, the tilt to the head as he watched James reveling in carnal pleasures, “…I give to you.”

  James rolled his body underneath René’s, unable to not to, driving René’s fingers hard against that spot inside of him, rubbing himself into his stomach until they would both be sore with the force of his eagerness. He wanted to spill his seed onto René’s skin, and wondered if René wanted that as well, if he would close his eyes and moan as James itched to do. He had never seen René in moments of absolute pleasure before, but surely it could not be more beautiful than the fierce light shining from his slender, rose-coloured face at this moment, with part of him inside of James, captured between his legs.

  Would René beg for a hard fuck if James were to plunge his fingers inside of him, squeeze apart the firm flesh of his arse as he had done last night through his clothes and caress him so intimately? The blood raced and burst into his already stiff cock at the notion, and René’s name burst from James at the daring image. He reached up, digging his hands into the other man’s waist and holding them together with a sudden strength.

  “You will be still,” René ordered with his jaw clenched, and a single sweep of the fingers inside of him had James slamming back into the wall for pain to distract from the intense spiraling burn streaming from where René had touched him.

  “No, René,” James disagreed mindlessly, and pushed up, grunting at the heat of René’s body, yanking them tightly together. René’s cock was so hard, and he wanted it inside of him, René farther in him, now.

  Teeth scraped his neck as René choked on a startled word, and then there was a quick tongue, lapping at his sweaty, stinging skin with soft little sounds of hunger, pleased when James arched his throat to allow more.

  He could hear his own breathing as well as René’s; the other man’s had a shallow, desperateedged sound that surprised him, though not enough for him to risk questioning it and having René pull himself away. It filled his ears as he recalled the taste of his breath, and it seemed a thing of his mind to suddenly feel it as well, blowing down hi
s shoulder faster than even the rapid beating of his heart. James jerked his chin up expectantly, tingling across his shoulders and down to his nipples and belly, tingles becoming an urgent tearing as they neared his balls and arse and cock.

  René stroked harder inside of him, pushed hard against him, squeezing his prick firmly between them at the same moment, drawing strangled cries from James’ dry throat, loud enough for the world to hear. Because he had no shame he uttered more, gasping and groaning as René sought to tear him apart with the harsh pleasure that he had demanded from his strange new lover, flinging himself up and opening wide his eyes.

  It was dark in the small space between them, but light enough for him to see the agony flashing across René’s face as he pulled partly back, the opened mouth and spent breath as he pushed up his head and moaned through swollen lips, staring at James with glittering eyes.

  So impossibly good to have this, that James could not understand the agony even as his body strained with it, and he gasped a question that he forgot as soon as it slipped past his lips. It did not matter, could not at that moment with René thrusting inside of him and repeating his name like a tortured priest at prayer. James’ body clenched around those questing fingers, and his name slipped into a pleading whisper, as though the waiting were a torment to him.

  Punishment, he had promised, and James nodded rapidly, moving his thick tongue to find more words, moaning instead as René twitched his fingers in a new direction before renewing his hot little strokes, circling back and back again to the flesh that was swollen and hot and begging for him.

  “You have me,” James explained as the pleasure spiked higher and his limbs would not be still. The bitterness would be not be denied, the burning truth as he pleaded to be taken. But René said nothing as his fingers did what his cock would not, and James lifted one hand from the ground to squeeze the flesh of René’s shoulder, knowing as he did it that it would fall away to find the strands of dark hair. “Please.”

  Cool, tangled silk against his palm before his hand curved gently around the bones of René’s skull, fragile as René seemed to push himself into his hand, letting his body fall against him, his breath coming so fast that his chest seemed scarcely able to contain it.

  “No,” René murmured savagely, drawing his body up and grasping James’ cock with sudden ferocity, heavy on the head. It twitched and pulsed, hardening as his body strained for more. James could only gasp, and then another fierce wave of lust burned out his insides and left him hollow except for René inside of him, and he thrust up to meet it, feeling the shaken stillness of René’s body for one small moment, the grasping hands and heated breaths, and then knowing nothing but being filled with an ache so intense that he was deaf and dumb to all else.

  The pressure inside of him burst him into nothing but pleasure, and he lay shaking and soft upon the floor as the last of it drained from him, feeling hardness beneath him and heat above and distantly, ropes of silk, wet against his middle.

  There was shivering skin under his palm, and so James stroked it, up and down with his weighted hand until the shivers were gone and there was just still, soft warmth. Tickling hair across his face and shoulder made him sigh and open his eyes, staring in curious exhaustion at René’s small body spread out on top of him, hands clutching at his hips and chest.

  A most strange sight indeed, but James swore softly to see the marks of his roughness the previous night. He had forgotten, and had been equally rough now, even if René had not complained. In the heat of his lust he had even forgotten that they were in an open room, that anyone might have walked in, or have seen them.

  He lifted a hand from René’s skin, tugging gently on the shirt bunched up about his waist, and felt the first stirrings of the body above him. Just a faint trembling, like the ground of Port Royal was sometimes said to stir, and then René was still once more, heavy upon him. His weakness had taken him at last then, doubtless the events of the night leaving him drained of spirit.

  Almost fearfully, James reached up again, smoothing out the gathered lines of cloth to cover the abused skin and then leaving his palm in the small of René’s back. Still, the heart beating against his chest remained steady and slow, and James blinked as he realized that the other man had fallen into sleep in his lap.

  His skin itched, heated and naked yet sticky with drying sweat and his own jelly. Below the waist there was only René to hide him from the eyes of strangers, and his back and neck ached as well. But mostly there was the different ache of his vacated body that made James frown, longing to roll René to the side to straighten his clothing and leave the room.

  It was the pirate after all, who had left him this way. Denying him what he had wanted and yet ensuring his pleasure so that his mind would remain empty. Frowning harder, James clutched at the flesh under his fingers and tensed his muscles, pushing slightly in order to shift the other man’s weight and be freed. Easily enough, René’s limp body slid to one side, a quiet cry coming from him as he moved, though he did not wake.

  Strands of hair slipped down across James’ bared neck, falling to the floor as weakly as one of René’s hands. The other remained curled tightly in James’ shirt, but it would be nothing to pry it loose.

  James slid his hand from René’s side, up his arm to the pale hand buried against his chest, between them. His other hand he brought from the floor, cautiously smoothing over the silky hair covering René’s skull. He found the lump in an instant, hard not to miss the misshapen, hot bump of soft flesh, even harder to ignore the cracked, broken skin, crusted now with blood.

  The length of René’s body shook violently until James moved his fingers, and then it subsided to shivers, a sure sign of fever in this heat, or mayhap just the troubled dreams that came with fever. Mayhap he dreamed of the battle to come, perhaps a day away, perhaps only hours if the lady’s boast were true. James could feel it drawing nearer too, feel himself pushed toward it, and René and the child, and he knew himself to be weak protection.

  James expelled a long breath and let his head fall back to the wall. He tangled his fingers in long, black curls, held them too tightly for one moment as fear came and went. He closed his eyes as his own heart slowed. As René had said, he was no killer, had no place here. There would be blood spilled in moments, and even the ocean would not wash him clean after it, yet all he did was sit and hold a killer in his arms, too tired to even find that strange.

  Chapter Twelve

  The heavy fog was making those near him anxious, and their chattering was enough to make him fling his hair back and turn his face into the wind, letting the low, deathcoloured clouds stroke his cheeks. There was nothing to be frightened of in the

  weather, and the slight chill to the touch would put colour in his face, and put an end to Mirena’s nagging all at once. Something shifted in the fast-moving sea of clouds that had surrounded the ship in the early hours of morning; something that was not merely a trick of the eye or the roll of a low wisp of vapor, and René narrowed his eyes, searching through the haze for what he wanted. It was there, and his chest seized to know it.

  Mirena’s words were more than boasting then. If he lived another day, perhaps he might praise the swiftness of her vessel, or perhaps just take it. His fingers curled around the hilt of the weapon Mirena had loaned him. The sword was spotted with rust and unbalanced, but the blade was sharp, and it would do until he took another.

  “It is them,” he remarked without turning, and heard Mirena’s chuckle. “Then it is time,” she returned with barely a pause, placing one hand on his shoulder. “I do not like this sky. This fog…” She shuddered, and René could almost imagine her crossing herself as peasants did whenever God presented them with one of his creations that failed to please them.

  “Hell is on the other side of the clouds, Mirena.” René smiled as he stepped forward and her hand fell from him. He felt light without it, as though he could ascend into the sky now like the highest thrones of his mother’s angels, an
d he clutched at the wooden rail at his finger tips to keep himself down, sliding his fingers into the smooth wood and staring all the way down through the clouds to the water so far below.

  There were dead men dancing from the limbs of mangrove trees that had more colour than these clouds, and his smile grew. “We must strike now.” Before the other ship sighted them and Marechal had a chance to prepare himself for what was to come. He would be taken unaware and the pain would be exquisite. René was already shaking with it, a harder joy perhaps than the feel of an innocent mouth on a cock but with an end much the same. “Some of your men will fight,” Mirena repeated what she had already said to him the day before, in the hot space of her cabin once James and the child had left him.

  “Then some of them will die, as will the cowards, who will watch today and do nothing.” The back of his neck seemed to throb and grow hot, the sky and the sea spinning like the winds of a hurican. A moment later it was gone, and he opened his eyes to see the ocean flat and waiting.

  Mirena said nothing, and René took her silence as approval, and wondered if she would still agree when she saw their bowels being fed to the fish. She preferred a quick death for most, unless they crossed her as Marechal had done. But she would control her rage for now and be careful not to stand in his path. They both knew who owned Marechal’s soul.

  “Pull alongside her!” Mirena suddenly turned and began shouting in a mix of tongues, directing her words at anyone near her. René could see no order to her crew, and yet men moved and ropes were pulled, wood creaking above them as the ship raced toward their victim.

  “Faster.” René swore under his breath, pushing into the railing worn bald by a thousand hands. They did not hear him, straining their filthy collection of bodies to do Mirena’s bidding, shivering at the wind like children hearing their father’s voice, and René glanced away from their bent forms out to the dark shape of his ship.