Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  “I watched you.” As though he had not just asked a question, James continued to speak, his words humming down through René’s shoulder to his chest. “And I wondered.” There James stopped, with so much he would not say, and a momentary confusion was born in René’s mind, demanding more of James’ thoughts. Then that desire fell away, forgotten next to the temptations before him.

  Darting out his tongue before that too was held away, René licked a small path underneath and behind James’ ear, sighing at the salt on his tongue, the pleasure he knew James would feel. Another such caress and perhaps James will speak again, and turn to him to demand that René please him. Already his body shuddered as René allowed his lips to brush against his ear. He waited, hesitating when the pull at his body was greater, the tension in his lap so intense that he shifted, stirring the water.

  Again confusion made René pause, hold his body so still that his muscles ached with it, and even the skin of his scalp was tight with pain. James pulled away from him, leaving René to sit back on his knees and stare. Only one of his hands remained in the tub, long fingers skimming along the surface of the water. Each idle pass created ripples that stroked at René’s chest, each one lapping a little bit higher; claiming more of his skin, and it would not rest. It sought more of him, sought to drown him, and René frowned as he shivered, and the thousand tiny bumps appeared on his arms now that he was alone.

  Underneath René’s skin more of them waited, quivering with cold and terror as James sat and observed him, and it was not only his voice that shook when he spoke. “What will you do?” It was not a shout though somehow his voice was higher than it should have been, and for that he blamed James too, glaring when James only blinked at his words and let a smile turn up one corner of his mouth.

  “He speaks!” James whispered in tones of amazement and René curled his hands under the water. James would not mock.

  But James’s smile was brief; it slipped away before he spoke again, low and with heat. “Speak again.”

  “No!” René answered immediately, though aware that he made no sense. James had turned him into this madman, and for that he would pay. A slight frown crossed James’ face, and that pleased René, though he knew that he would not like what James would say next, and in truth he did not, slapping a hand onto the water and sending a flood over the side of the tub.

  “You act like a child when I seek to please you.” Despite the thin line of James’ mouth, the words were warm, and René twitched as they reached his skin, reaching for the strength to jump from the tub and finding it gone. He tossed his head, feeling the air on his scalp, exposed by what James had done to him.

  “Do you wish I were a child for you to please?” His voice had grown shrill and ugly, but he managed to sneer his words, to raise his chin as the shock widened James’ brown eyes and made him seem all the more like a young priest. Then he was not a priest at all, but a man, large before him as he rose on his knees to strip the clinging fabric of his shirt from his chest and toss it aside.

  The rest of James’ body was hidden from his sight by the walls of the bathing tub as James leaned back on his legs, but René knew his eyes skipped back and forth across the expanse of skin, again rich with colour, and he remembered James had walked this way on board his ship, for all to see.

  “Which angers you more, Villon?” The emphasis on his name was sharp, and James’ eyes were narrowed. “That you are not a child, or that I mightplease another?” James repeated his word with an obvious pleasure, and René cursed the fever that had taken him, leaving him weak and his mind filled with a month’s worth of shadows.

  There was nothing for him to remember, nothing for him to say when he sat here naked and James possessed time without him. But he bit his tongue before it spoke for him and held himself still.

  Slowly James approached, leaning in to him like a man falling in a dream, though his eyes held no hints of his daydreams now. With deliberation he lowered his hand into the water and placed it atop René’s, curling his fingers around the tight fist. It seemed to take him no effort at all to pry it loose and raise it to the surface, turning it around until both his palm and his wrist were exposed to view.

  “I am here now, mayhap I shall please you.” Wet fingertips traced lines across the soft skin of his palm and René shivered, twisting his hand around only to splay out his fingers for more. He knew his eyes were large as he watched James’ thumb stroke the thin layer of skin at his wrist.

  “Who would you rather please?” All his strength was needed to speak, but there was no hiding the harshness in his voice, as common as a cheese merchant’s wife shouting in the street.

  James laughed, cracking the air with it, and he dropped René’s hand before René could think to struggle, shifting his body easily. The aching muscles in René’s shoulders tensed and he fought for one moment, wanting to push himself from tub and instead only slipping painfully back to the bottom when James slid his hand between his legs. He shouted at the suddenly hard metal and the soreness of his ass, and then words were hissing between his teeth as James caressed his prick, gripping the hard flesh until it pounded.

  His head went back, on something firm and he knew it would pain him later though he did not care now, not with his vision filled with James and his cock held in a steady hand. His lips moved silently, and the punishing grip eased, though it did not lessen the tight, twisting arch to his back or the stiffening of his muscles. Instead there were light, curious touches, like the awkward explorations of a virgin, and René grunted, the light of memories filling his mind at last.

  James on his ship, yes, he had taken James there, had filled his senses and his mouth with all there was of him and then had enjoyed the greater pleasure of James’ hands on him, just as this. So curious, and his fingers found the head and his grunt became longer and fiercer, glaring at James as his body thrust itself upward into his hand.

  “Look at you,” James whispered to him as though soft tones disguised his lack of mercy, as though he did not know how his fingers circled and pressed on the burning head of his cock, hard and then gentle, until the screams tore at René’s chest and some slipped past his lips, bringing a smile to James’ face.

  Rage fired in his blood, but his screams were just gasps now, too many to number as James stroked swiftly down the length of him and then back up to squeeze at the tip. There was the sound of another splash, and distantly René could see how the water rippled, but his vision was growing darker, his eyes so wide that nothing should have escaped him. Alarmed, he tossed his head, and there was only that moment before the warm slickness of soap and another hand enveloped him.

  His throat was hoarse, raw with some passion though he could not remember words, and he tried to frown, to name James for what he was for making him feel this, but his heart was too loud for him to hear what finally came from him.

  But James was talking, quietly murmuring as René’s body rocked in the water and James’ slippery, gentle hands demanded that his seed be spilled between them. Demanded with even strokes, as the other hand teased the aching, raw flesh underneath his foreskin, the heavy, wet tip of his prick.

  He would have it now, with his legs spread and his body unclothed, with only scented water to shield him and James too far away to cover him. James would take pleasure in the sight, and the throbbing in his cock and belly increased when he should have sneered, and he arched from the water, needing more of James. James would be hard too, wanting him but not touching when he was here.

  “ Je suis tout nu.”That René heard, his foolishness. “Ici,” and his good hand clutched at his stomach, where the emptiness gutted him, made him twist and jerk around, into James hands and then away. But always back, and James’ strokes grew harder until the water splashed past his neck as he thrashed under James’ attentions and pushed himself into James’ waiting palm.

  He was so hard now, ready to burst and still James would not cover him, would not ease the ache at his back now, inside of him whe
re James would not touch. “Harder, James. More,” he gave orders even as he spread his legs, demands just moans as the first spasms echoed in him and his body jerked. “Not enough!” he cursed as James cupped the pulsing flesh and pulled, his hand so hot and wet that René could remember his mouth, and the suction of eager lips and the ready tongue tasting as though he were sweet. He screamed as another spasm took him, and his seed shot from him, out into the water, hard and fast until he was shaking.

  James softened his touches as the water reached René’s chin and spilled into his open mouth, taking it all from him, leaving him with no strength and aching legs, eyes too dry. He hurt, and James knew it, releasing him at last and breathing heavily somewhere above him.

  There were no colours behind his eyes, just a thick black that pushed him down into the water, warm and tight around him. His body still pulsed, echoing in his ears, and he let his head fall to one side, searching for the sound of breathing.

  Forever passed as it grew nearer, and his eyelids fluttered at the light touch, brushing through his lashes like curious fingers.

  James sighed above him, tired and old, and René thought perhaps he frowned to hear such a sound from him. His eyes would open to show him James in his misery, he demanded, flexing his fingers into a fist. Black answered his command, and René caught his breath, turning his face into the warmth pressed against him now. It was warmer than even the water, and he grunted when he was pulled away from it and left to the cold.

  “No,” he protested as something harsh rubbed across his skin, down the legs that would not move and then back up to his stomach and chest. “No?” James mouth was at his ear, and René shivered before falling forward, pleased to feel that the warmth had returned and the cold was gone. “You do not wish to be dry?” James continued to murmur, continuing to talk in a voice that seemed louder, and René shivered once more at the rough feel of cloth at his shoulder blades. The skin under his cheek was smooth and firm and he shifted to feel more on his face, inhaling sharply at the motion around him and smelling soap and sweat and a scent almost like old paper before he was moved again.

  A silken softness hit his back, and René frowned as his body sank into it, surprised to suddenly see light before him and the outline of James’ body, moving away. All but one of the candles were extinguished before René found his voice, glancing toward the fire.

  “Do not,” he whispered and watched the figure of James grow still, turning back to him. “I must bank down the fire,” James’ voice seemed to again grow louder, and René blinked, fighting away the weight at his eyelids. “Do you want one candle to burn?” James spoke with innocence, as though he did not know, as though he were not aware, and René stared into the darkness, concentrating at the spot of red that seemed far in the distance.

  “Be quiet,” he ordered at last, and felt the smooth fabric of the pillow at his neck as he tossed his head. Silence met this, and René licked his mouth, longing for a taste to ease his thirst. “James?” he asked, and felt the hand at his cheek, across his forehead as though he were again on his ship and mad with fever. It had never left, and he sighed as fingers sought out even the remains of his butchered hair, and James’ palm curved over his skull.

  “Paris.” He let his breathing slow, matching the careful sounds from James’, pleased at the stillness in the hand at his brow. “To-morrow we go to Paris.” The only thing to answer that was a soft push of breath, and René was happy to hear James return to his silence. His own sigh seemed much quieter, forgotten when James skimmed a touch across his forehead and whispered low near his ear.

  “Paris, then,” James murmured as the black behind René’s eyes grew impossibly darker, and spun him far away. “All of us.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Paris was a dirty city. James’ eyes searched for and found the same filth and muck he thought marked every collection of houses in the world as a city, and therefore possessing more shit than a simple town or village.

  Having been born in London, it was strange that he should have thought otherwise, but James had other memories of green fields and air sweet with rain, and when others would speak of the grandness of their home cities or the promise of the future of the New World, he found himself remembering the feel of wet dirt under his shoes. He had not the soul for farming, anymore than he had the spirit for piracy, whatever the lady Mirena had thought, but he could remember, and decided that if there was ever to be Paradise in the world of man, it would be in a field open to the Heavens.

  The streets outside the carriage’s window were filled with people despite the gray sky and icy wind, their many voices just a murmur above the creaking of wood around him and the thunder of the horses’ hooves, drawing the coach at as fast a pace as the city would allow. Only upon entering the city, crossing a bridge that Etienne had recognized with a small huff of air, had they been forced to decrease their speed.

  The chill in the air seemed to be reaching the son of Saint-Cyr, as René had referred to him in his sleep; Etienne was shivering. James let himself study the cloth that made up the other man’s pantaloons and shirt, not surprised that even the heavier coat had holes in it. It was all the good lady pirate had been willing to share with him, no doubt guessing James’ purpose in asking for them. Etienne had not said a word however, had not yet complained of cold that James had heard, only flicking one considering look to the long, warm coat that James had donned at the same lady’s request. Etienne had not asked for it, and James had not offered it, reminding himself of René‘s hatred of this man, and of his own already-committed treason in helping free him.

  The blade had been almost a feather in his hand, as light as the sudden lifting in his chest upon watching Etienne’s attention focus on the steel. He had long wanted to see naked honesty on the face of a Saint-Cyr, and should have known it would take a knife.

  But the ship had reached land, and with that they had both known how little time they had. Yet for all his hopeless talk of death, Etienne had not thought James would be his killer. That had been clear in widening of his eyes at James’ approach, the swipe of his tongue across his lips.

  Knowledge of Etienne’s fear was another thing surprisingly easy to carry. There was shame at the memory, but warmth as well, for in that glimpse of humanity he had known his path the right one, and had not hesitated to walk around Etienne to cut the ropes from his trembling hands.

  Etienne would have hidden that sign of terror from James even if it had meant his death, as though he were not still a young man who deserved to live, as if James would scorn him for not wanting to die.

  It was that knowledge that had made his voice harsh; he would rather take a man’s life than take all he had left. It had been enough to know it had been a mask after all each time Etienne had laughed in the face of pain.

  “If you truly wish to die, then stay here. Otherwise, follow me.” He could remember biting out the words when Etienne had not moved. With René gone ashore and Thierry with him, there had been no one else on board to object. He did not think anywould dare now, not when even Deniau had not seemed inclined to interfere, though James had not hidden his intentions.

  Etienne had opened his mouth, licking once more at cracked lips before slowly bringing his hands around to rest on his legs. His bonds had been strong, and the red lines that wrapped around each wrist spoke of pain. He had flexed his hands once, and then left them in fists on his lap.

  “Etienne.” The name had slipped out despite his anger, and Etienne had lifted his head. Even in the darkness, James had seen some of the life return to his cheeks. “James,” Etienne had stared at him, and that life in his face had only been more fear. “I will need help to stand.” To know him, to know them, was to know that they would consider such a request nothing less than begging. But he had still begged, and James had moved to answer, laying down the knife and ignoring how Etienne’s eyes had followed it.

  A hand on Etienne’s back had been all he had been permitted, then Etienne had stumb
led away to lean against a wall. The lack of grace had meant more pain, but he had not so much as glanced away from James’ face.

  “No one will stop us.” James still felt a fool for making such a vow. It was the same as promising Ben that all would be well when he had no such assurance. But he had promised, as he had promised himself that he would save all of them, that he would not allow Etienne to be crushed like a rat down in that hold.

  Neither could he allow René to be hurt, no matter how justifiable the need for vengeance. Reasonable men would always find a compromise if they wished to survive, and he thought now, as he had then, that Etienne would know how to survive.

  Just as with René, James would have it be as a good man.

  Bearers of those black eyes must learn to peer into minds while keeping their own thoughts hidden, for Etienne had answered what James had not asked aloud.

  “…And for this, what must I do?” James had not seen any trace of fear at the question; Etienne would not let himself slip again. Another time, long ago it seemed, those words would have shocked him. Now James only considered the man sitting across from him. He would never have thought the noble he had known in Jamaica would know how to strike deals, deals for things a man should never have to ask for, but that man back in Jamaica he would never have truly dared to call friend.

  Now they shared secrets, no matter how much Etienne must hate him for it. René also struck out in horror and hatred, then drew James closer with clinging hands and soft words. It was for René that he had done all of this, for those grasping hands and whispered confessions. He would keep him clean of this, even if René would send him away.

  “You must not seek revenge.” Stupid words to say and to hear, but he had not stopped. “I will… attend to all of this. But you must not seek him out. You don’t know what would drive Re…what would drive a man to this.”