Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  He let the colours run through his mind, echoing and splashing like the tides with each tight breath, and when they had receded to hints of shade he opened his eyes, shuddering to see himself. His gaze turned to the room, to what he could see over the sides of the bathtub, counting the many candles as the water’s sting buried itself into his skin.

  It was up to his chest, nearly to his shoulders, and though it did not reach past his wound, René lifted his chin, straining to keep at least his head dry and out of the cursed water. His hair would have been wet at the ends now, if his hair had been left to him.

  A month later, and the chill reached him even now though already his hair stood out in even spikes. He would need a rich fool’s wig to even look presentable. He raised a hand from the edges of the large bathing tub and rubbed along his skull, carefully not dipping back too far toward his neck, though that wound had long since healed. That wound, but not the other, but he could not angle his head to see more than the pink and red skin.

  It was because of that that he was here and it throbbed as he thought of it, answering him as though the devil were under his very skin, spreading pain and weakness. His arm above his head already grew weary, and he let it fall, sending water splashing up into his face, dripping orange and rose-scented water down his cheek.

  He had not expected it to still be so hot, this far from the kitchens, and turned his head away from the fire at his right. The flames roared, as fierce and threatening he imagined lions would, and he wondered if other men would have sweat on their faces from the heat. René could feel only the water, lapping at his chest, and the cold of the rest of his body.

  It was because of James that he suffered, with his damned English silence when there should have been a mouthful of questions and uncertainty. For the very same month there had been only silence for him when there had been words for others. For René he thought himself to be Marechal, waiting with eyes that refused to speak.

  “Fool,” René blurted into the emptiness of the room, looking down at last to the pale length of his body blurred and distorted by the water’s moving surface. He shifted his knees to the side, pressing them together and against the warm metal of the tub. His good shoulder was pressed to the tub now too, and if the tub’s walls had been higher, he could have buried his face into the copper.

  Before he could attempt it, a door swung open behind him, creaking slightly as it was slung shut, and the silence made him jerk up his head, though he kept his body still. With narrowed eyes he watched James cross to the opposite wall and put down a bundle of clothing only to pick up another, smaller fold of thick white cloth.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, cursing anew when James raised his eyes to him and blinked, as though telling him the answer were obvious.

  “Would you rather I sent in a servant?” James stopped, hesitating at last as René brought his arm up but then continuing to walk when René dropped the arm across his stomach, over the gold of his cross, spreading out his fingers until they covered the ribs at his side. The bones were sharp, protruding hideously and contrasting with the swollen colours of his shoulder.

  “I have already seen thy body naked.” How softly he spoke, now that he had found his words. René extended his fingers and then curled them into his flesh, wishing there was more skin for him to hold, that he were not dying of this.

  Then the voice in his sickness had been James, and the hands as well, and with his own tongue, René had sent him away by daring to speak the truth about his child. The boy had held dirty cocks in his mouth, what right did he have to press it to James’ lips? None had that right.

  “I will bathe myself,” he spoke lowly, turning his head back to the side of the tub, and it echoed his words back to him, reverberating through his mind. “You are tired.” James made his voice flat, condemning him as though there had not been work to be done, as though René had forgotten the shaking of his limbs only an hour ago, when they had been left alone and the world had swirled around him.

  So tired, and the water was still so hot; he could feel the numbing pinpricks in his toes, at his ankles, urging him to lie back and let the water pour down over his head and to his feet. “I will bathe myself.” He said it again, though through his teeth, and James snorted. It was the rough sound a horse would have made, and René glared at the water when he could not find it in him to raise his head.

  “You can barely stand to piss at this moment,” James answered crudely and René did raise his head, looking across to the tall figure. “It will be me, or it will be some other servant.”

  “What do you say,servant?” René repeated his word though he knew that in English well enough. James snorted again, and René found it uglier than he had before. “You called me lover once, then sent me away. And I am not like those you call friend.” James tightened his lips and turned his head to the side. When he turned it back, he wore a smile that was sharp. “And you insult and offend those that I call friend. What else am I?”

  “No!” It came out as a cough, followed by another that was stronger, and stole his air from him. His hand came up on its own, over his shoulder as he shook. “So you will not tell me what causes your hate of Etienne Saint-Cyr?” James waited, for perhaps a moment but no longer, and then he was facing the door.

  “James?” René’s foot slipped in the water as he tried to move, pressure exploding against his shoulder when he twisted. His breathing seemed too loud though he closed his mouth to stifle it, and it was that and not his word that made James pause and turn back.

  “I will not,” René warned in the whisper that his aching chest would allow, but it was his shame that made his eyes fall. “This is not your affair, Englishman.” His voice deepened as he spoke, dismissive, and then he could no longer remain in his awkward position and had to fall back, losing sight of James.

  “If you want to stop me from discovering the truth of this matter, then get up out of that water and do it.” The quiet challenge stood between them for long moments, and then it was James who moved, coming closer though still remaining out of sight. “But you cannot, so I think I will not need your approval.”

  “Quel est approval?” René demanded and pressed his feet hard against the end of the bathing tub, seeking to lift himself back up. “What do you mean?” “Permission, then,” James amended his words thoughtfully, his voice so near that René paused in his struggles and fought instead to keep himself from turning his head to follow the sound.

  “James?” He spoke like a fool, repeating the name again and again, and yet nothing else would come from him but that, and it pleased James, to draw that from him, for the other man’s voice was thick as it would have been in the depths of pleasure.

  “Not even a servant.” There was a soft sound from behind him, and the whisper of cold air across his neck as something moved, and René licked his mouth, though keeping his head still. “So I am nothing to you?”

  His body twitched, and faintly, René could feel the water splashing far up to his throat, a few drops in his hair, but his mind narrowed to only a small bit of skin, just below his ear, where warm breath tormented him.

  He curled his fingers around the edge of the tub. He would not say it again and shame himself further. It was better that James find him cold, and leave him. Now they walked on the earth of France. Now it would end.

  “Tell me to leave.” Who was this James, to torture him like this, speaking softly and asking him to move when there was no strength in him. René felt his eyebrows twitch into something like a frown and then his lips, trembling and falling open at the sight of James at last. Pale hair gathered at the line of his neck and nearly falling past his shoulder as he bent over the end of the bathing tub and plunged his hands beneath the water.

  He had rolled the long sleeves of his thin shirt up past his elbows, and it was the tanned skin of his wrists that René found his eyes watching as James’ hands disappeared from view. There was a touch to his feet, and the muscles rippled underneath James�
�� skin, strength traveling up the length of his arms only to disappear underneath the material.

  “What?” It was hard to remember the English, and he feared that he had not when James did not answer. James just immersed his arms fully in the water and wrapped his hands around one of his feet, spreading out his fingers between his toes and down further to rub hard against the arch. The hands on him were slick and strong and wet, and René nearly moaned at the heat that pulsed in him now.

  He coughed as he tried to pull in air, frowning in pain and confusion as James rubbed the bit of soap up to his ankle and then pulled one hand from the water in order to grab a bit of cloth from the floor.

  “You…will…not…” René breathed carefully as the words left him, and knew his eyes widened when the cloth scratched gently against his skin. Bubbles frothed at the water’s surface, and the sent of the soap reached him, making him jerk a hand free of the edge of the tub. He dropped it into the water a moment later, forgotten as James eased the cloth farther up his leg, past his calf to the bent knee just above the waterline. With both hands James smeared the soap over his flesh, pressing hard on the softer skin underneath and tracing deep circles that left René warm.

  His gaze followed the hand for a moment longer, and then he drew his eyes up to James’ face, watched the serious light in his eyes and the colour in his cheeks from the heat of the steam. James did not return his stare, but his mouth pressed itself into a thin line. He was displeased, and René knew he was at fault. It was his shame that would not allow James to leave.

  A palmful of warm water splashed over the pale skin of his knees, taking with it streaks of dirtied soap bubbles, and then James was back over his feet, using his hands to cleanse it, ensuring that no part was left untouched.

  René’s breath hissed from his mouth this time, knowing what was to come now as James bathed him, soothing his strong fingers across the knotted muscles, sharing enough heat to bring the itch of sweat to René’s face and shoulders.

  “There is no need,” he murmured, and felt the steady, circling pressure at his heel, and then his ankle, soap and James’ hands sliding up his leg with slippery ease. A ridiculous ease, and René moved his hand from the water and placed it on his knee, somehow startled to feel James’ hand under his. From the side and above the rim of his glasses, James met his look at last, and then without even the pause of a drawn breath, James brushed René’s hand aside and shifted his large body closer to the water.

  On his thigh. René leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and parted his lips. He did not look but his mind gave him the sight regardless, and he could feel the roughness of his palms against the rawness of his skin, his fingers gripping the bone of his knee as James continued this invasion.

  “James…” A weak little boy, just as he had always seemed, as white as the Virgin herself.

  As though he knew it pained, James gentled his words, easing his thighs apart as though he were a woman, rubbing the tender flesh with the rasping cloth. “I will have thee clean,” James answered him in his strange English, and René felt the moan in his chest before he heard it leave his lips. His body was hot, and it throbbed as it had only in his dreams for the past month, and so innocently James washed his flesh, dragging the cloth once up to his stomach. The cloth was hot where the cooler air touched him, and he forgot himself, lifting his arm away.

  His face was warmer than even the water and he widened his eyes at the like red in James’ cheeks. If the other man felt shame there was no hint in his actions, and for that René stretched out his fingers so that the tips rested on the beautiful colour of James’ face.

  James’ hands drifted to his chest and then fell to the side without touching him. His body would be straining, awkward and bent above him like this, and with his head tilted back, René could watch the effect of the effort on James, the frown of intent as James would not allow himself to fall. His own lips curved, and he slid his fingers to James’ jaw and throat, just glancing across his ear before returning to his chin and the pink mouth waiting for him. If James wanted this then he would have him once again, here in his country he would part those lips and…

  “No.” James denied him and raised his dripping hand to grab his wrist, pulling it back down to the water. Water splashed across both their faces, and René felt it streaming down his cheeks as he watched the droplets cling to James’ eyebrows. It fell against his lips and he stretched out his tongue for the taste of them before he spoke, wondering at the dryness of his throat.

  “It is a word you have spoken before.” The tightness in his throat did not ease, making him swallow. The act seemed to only increase his great thirst, and he could feel a quickening of his blood, surprising him with the force when he had been so weary only moments ago.

  The drops of water fell from James’ face as he drew his brows together, one leaving a trail on the glass of his spectacles before it too fell back to the water below. Then James shook his head once, with enough force to slide his glasses to the side. Impatient with the device it seemed, James removed it from his nose and placed it to the side before leaning in until if it had pleased him to do so, he could have pressed his mouth to René’s for one of his kisses.

  “Indeed you have quite addled my mind with pleasure,” James agreed in a calm enough voice, and René knew himself to be a fool for not seeing before the traces of lightening behind James’ eyes. James’ anger was naked before him now, and he flinched before he could control himself, his breathing uneven. “Yet you did not make me so dizzy that I did not notice that you have never said the same to me.”

  The metal was hard against René’s back as he pushed against it, his hand splaying out over his stomach as though somehow he could escape this, push past James and hide his nakedness.

  He was cold, shivering as he shook his head and fought the pain in his shoulder until he could raise his arm and press it to James’ chest, wanting him gone. James leaned in, dismissing his pitiful strength, and his lips were hot, open against his cheek and then shuddering above his mouth, hesitating long enough for René to remember the taste of him.

  Between his legs a hand moved, and in his shame René moaned into James’ mouth, weak and burning as James laid his hands to his flesh. At his touch René shivered, feeling his mind slip away as his prick hardened, pounding his want against James’ palm.

  “Over a month without this.” James’ longing was in his voice, as deep as his own if he had been able to speak. Openly, James wanted, rubbing his palms slowly over René’s cock, breathing heavily above him.

  It was not René who had held himself away, though the strength of his own body startled him now, and he wondered if James had known, if he was a witch for healing him with only a touch. Power remained in the brown eyes studying him, and René turned his face away, nearly moaning again when James removed his hands from his prick. Cupping warm water in his palms, he smoothed his hands down the pale skin of his chest, scratching curiously in the hair near his nipples, lifting the gold from him in order to leave no part of him unclaimed.

  “’Tis beautiful,” James remarked as though it were nothing, sweeping his hands underneath the cross again, separating him from the weight of it in his quest for cleanliness. He would place himself above even that then, content himself with scrubbing dirt from his body while René ached with touches ended too soon.

  René pulled it back against his chest, crushing James’ hand to him as he did, knowing his eyelids fluttered at the newer, heavier weight of James on him, his body wracked with momentary fire. A pull, and James would topple, fall over him into the water, his mouth ready for the taking.

  His arms lacked strength, or James possessed too much, and with a curse René turned to face the smile on James’ face, rage burning brighter than his lust for a moment, granting him enough force to raise his arm and strike James across the shoulder. It went only as far as that, and then he stared in surprise at James’ hand on his wrist, pushing his hand back down underneath the wa
ter, feeling the hot, sluggish blood in his veins that would not allow him to fight.

  “You do not like that I am stronger, that I clean you?” James let his smile fall away, running the soap-slick tip of his finger over his ribs, leaving René to shudder in his grasp. Each rib was clearly visible under the thin layer of his skin, and René wondered at James’ sudden love of it, how he stroked each bone as though they were the strings of a harp. “That I touch you?”

  Mournfully, James bent his head, giving René only moments to try to clear his mind and fathom his meaning before James bent down even further and licked a slow trail up his chest, taking even the gold chain into his mouth before he was finished.

  A noise reached his ears, rasping and desperate and loud, and that it was his own breath came to him only when James took even that from him, abruptly releasing the chain in order to roll his tongue around one of his nipples. He opened his mouth wide as he tasted, then pursed his lips, sucking softly on the throbbing flesh.

  The soap that had been used to clean him still scented the air, still coated parts of his chest, and yet it was wrong. He shook his head until the world dipped and spun and still James would not cease, and though his mouth was open René could not speak, could not demand of him what he knew was right.

  “Hmm, you taste as the water.” James released him and René fell back against the walls of the tub, unsure when he had left them. Eyes wide, he watched James, panting as James looked considering, as though he might climb into the tub too, and push himself hard between his legs. “Shall I wash the rest of you?” James asked politely, cold when they both knew of René’s hardness waiting between them.

  “You watched me, all during this month.” Nothing would silence James now, nothing would stop his tongue as he punished René, and though René shook his head again, James ignored him, murmuring softly as he ran a hand over René’s good shoulder, sending cascades of water down his arm. “Do you want me to touch you, René? You would have had me beg, should I demand the same?” Just as softly, his lips touched to the wet skin, and René had a moment of his nearness, his mouth only inches from the fall of light hair and the pink curve of his ear.