Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  His grasping fingers found slick blades of grass, and he twisted his hands about them to hold them down, nearly swallowing his tongue as James laved his collarbone, lifting one of his hands to tear free the laces of René’s shirt. He was not yet naked, not nearly as nude as James, still in hispantalons. Soon James would want that from him too.

  He ought to burn with the shame of it, but he did not deserve even that, the grace of a blush, not with what he took from James now, even as he tried to give it. His throat and mouth were dry; even if he were to open his mouth, he doubted the rain would touch his raging thirst. But open it he did, like the fool he was.

  “Would you like to undress me, James?” The water was not sweet. His mouth shut at the first stilling of James’ caresses, the first hint that James had heard him, and he tasted its bitterness as it washed down his tongue to his throat.

  Expecting some comment from James on how or what he had asked, he could not hide his surprised jump as James said nothing before slipping one smooth, muddied hand under his shirt to flatten against his stomach. He was hot and the mud was cold and the two had him wriggling and struggling not to, gasping anyway at utter strangeness of it.

  “Yes, I would.” James told him seriously, as though this amused, only to lose his composure when his hand wandered up and rubbed slickly across one nipple. Why this weakened him so when it was René’s nipple, René did not understand, but his voice quavered when he spoke again. “Very much,” James went on quietly, and moved so that he did not have to support himself on his hands.

  Kneeling he seemed very tall, and René leaned his head back, letting his hair and the mud pillow his head as he watched James, noticing the flush of arousal heating his skin even in this freezing weather. James’ nipples were red from René’s earlier attentions, marks of René’s hands darkening spots underneath his ribs, a small bruise staining the column of his throat. The rain seemed determined to touch him everywhere René would not, thousands of streams falling from his shoulders to his waist and darkening the fabric below his hips, just as they darkened the cloth still hiding his flesh from James’ eyes. Perhaps James shared his thoughts, for as he lay there panting noisily James grabbed the edges of his shirt and leaned forward to pull it up, letting it gather at René’s armpits before stopping.

  The whole of his chest now, smeared by James’ caress, and decorated only with the simple gold cross. Nipples dark with cold and a small trail of hair just above his waist. A few scars, though small when compared to the one still covered by his shirt. Still, James did not seem to want to look away from him, but the air was chill, and despite his need, René lifted his head, drawing James’ eyes.

  “S…sorry.” Looking briefly horrified, James leaned over him further, pulling one arm free of both coat and shirt sleeves before turning his attention to the other, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Likely I am nothing to your past lovers,” James said, as though from nowhere, laughing shakily, and René fell back onto the discarded garments with a shiver.

  “You do not compare to them,” René answered thickly, and knew that James did not follow his meaning; the unhappy frown marring his features plain enough, and the bruises René had gifted to him were nearly black on his pale skin. He wanted to blaspheme, to howl a curse to God into the wind for tormenting him with James Fitzroy, who required words when the sight of him would have been enough for any other man. “Do you think I gave to them what I give to you now?” He burned to hear himself speaking this way, and shook his head, creating a dizzy ache in his skull that only settled when he saw the confusion and then shock transform James’ face to something open and hopeful and frightened all at once.

  “What mean you?” His accursed English bluntness would not stop him from speaking aloud, not even now, when his blushes said clearly that he knew of what René spoke. To think he had thought those blushes to be as tempting as ripened fruit once. Now they had him raising his head to scowl, flinging one hand at James, who blinked as though René had just called him from a stack of mouldy scrolls about some long-dead fool.

  “Your cock in my ass,” he drew out the words and did not flinch, though he could see the slight leap of James’ eyebrows, the hesitant little drop of his jaw. Yet still James did not move, and René put his hands onto his coat in order to lift himself up further, refusing to feel the stinging heat in his cheeks.

  He had no more words, none worthy of James’ damned ears, but he was spared from speaking, catching sight of the rise of James’ chest as he inhaled, a sign he was about to share some thought that could not wait for a better time.

  “It will hurt, René.” The numbing constant sound of the rain had dulled his ears, and there was nothing to do but sit and wait as James braved to say such things to him, looking much as René had always imagined a soldier did when placing his hand upon a blade before his first battle.

  Rightly he feared, for was not René the monster who had chosen to hurt him time and again? He knew well the pains of a rough, raw fuck and he had done it anyway.

  He swallowed, letting his heart keep the time for him, a fast and uneven beat in his skull. Then he pulled away the strands of dirtied hair clinging to his face. “Yes.” The sky above taunted him with its tears, though he knew better than to expect the glow of the sun. He kept his eyes on the darkening Heavens as he slowly let the air sigh from his body and fell back into the dirt.

  He felt it first, the heat of James’ body as James settled back down on him, and then the slam of hands into the ground at his sides as James crawled over him. He closed his eyes to wet them and opened them to see James breathing heavily and jutting out his chin, regarding René narrowly.

  Why he should look so determined, René could not think, sucking in a breath and holding it tight in his chest. He had named him right, to call him a soldier, though René’s mind grew dizzy contemplating James bearing both the cross and the mail of a Crusader, the sword of the heretic Templars, his pale hair falling about him like a white mantle. He nearly raised his hand to mark the sign upon his chest with mud, something so profane his mother would smile to see her prediction come true.

  “How shall I thank thee for this gift?” Rain fell from James’ lips to his own as James spoke, and to his waiting tongue when he opened his mouth. He could catch the warm breath as well, rolling it on his tongue as though it were blessed wine. But James did not grant his mouth a kiss, pressing his lips instead to his forehead, lowering himself to his elbows in order to stroke back René’s hair.

  His body was hard and it pressed René down into the earth, asked that he open his legs so James could rub his arousal into his thigh. The rain was kept from his face now and still his eyes pricked with wetness as he obeyed, sliding into a position to better receive James. He could not bend his knees, not with James sprawled over him, and he tried to send his glance away only to look back at James once more when James pressed more soft kisses onto the bones of his face, under his eyes both and then lightly, across his nose and down to his chin.

  James’ eyes were closed, flickering as though he dreamed behind the curtain of his eyelids, and his hands smoothed down the line where hair met flesh. No words came from James now, and René strained against the ground listening for them, shaking at each new kiss where he had not thought to feel them, across his shoulder, the good one. The other was still red and marred, and he could feel its ugliness even when his eyes could not see it.

  Covered in mud, he could feel it on James’ fingers as they found his jaw, and then his ears, slipping down the sides of his neck. He would be uglier still when James laid those hands upon his wound, but he shivered when the first touch fell, one thumb rubbing curiously, slickly, back and forth over the tight tissue. He seemed to be waiting, leaning his head to one side and ceasing his kisses for one moment, before spreading his hand down to cover the bone that hid René’s heart, where it trembled.

  His eyes flew open, and René stared wildly back up at him. “We are both of us cold.” James made a small
sound that René knew was meant to be a laugh and then dropped his head to crush his opened mouth to René’s lips, his weight increasing as he let himself rest completely on René’s body in order to run his hands urgently down René’s sides. René gasped into his mouth, giving in to the hardness of James’ thigh and the heat of his lap.

  It pleased James to kiss him, and that was why he allowed it, why he stretched his neck to allow himself no moment of respite when it seemed James was going to pull away. James groaned pleadingly against his lips, breathing through his nose, but did not stop, pressing René head back into the ground with the force of his passions.

  It was harder than any of his previous kisses, a match to the demanding strength of him moving against René’s body, so magnificent in its heat and power that each flex and coil of muscle under his skin burned through René’s flesh. His hands were still at his sides, curled around clumps of mud, but it was too soft, too giving, and when James tore his mouth free at last René was startled to see his hands clutching the bone and sinew of James’ shoulders instead of the wet earth.

  His hands were white and blackened with the mud, streaking impressions of his fingers down across James’ collarbone and upper arms, looking almost as carvings might have. He thought how strange it was that he wanted to smile, to triumph at dirtying James when he had lamented marking him before. But James was not still, barely giving René time to observe the sight before he was moaning and sliding his long body down, down between René’s legs until his head was level with his chest and he could look into René’s face with what could not have been wickedness.

  He was hot and cold and wet and hard against René’s cock and it hardened at the teasing rub, abruptly reminding René that he wore only hispantalons and boots. The firmness of James’ stomach was right above him, and he felt himself twitch, and saw the surprised smile that meant James had felt it too.

  René watched this with wide eyes, not feeling the lack of heat covering him though he knew he must be cold, for his flesh quivered. His arms were weak, and he wanted to drop them before it would cause James annoyance. James seemed to rage with fever, and René’s palms itched already with the heat of him, and he could feel the surge of muscles as James stroked his hands over his hips and belly, pushing out his red lips to exhale softly onto his wet skin.

  Shudders racked him, so strong that he feared James would stop and curse him for his weakness, and René frowned and turned his face from James, pulling free his hands at last. A slight moment of stillness from the man above him answered this. Stillness was dangerous, for it meant that James was thinking. But the lure of a fuck must be too great for even James’ mind, because he was already moving once more, insinuating his fingers under the fabric at René’s waist and easing his hands down over his hips, pushing down the material as he did.

  René swallowed, knowing the rain would not relieve his dry throat now, no matter if he let his opened his mouth and drowned in it. James was touching him, light James touches across his lower stomach, following the thin line of hair down to where hispantalons still hid him, and René sought his breath and found the strength to bend his knees, giving James the ease he would need to remove the remainder of his clothing. James seemed to realize his motive, turning immediately to yank free his boots.

  James was tight between his legs now, and his every move echoed up through René’s chest, the brush of arms against his thighs, the momentary grip on his ankle, every move a taut prelude of what was to come.

  There was only his pantalons now, and René lifted his hips before James could ask it of him, so cold as those were taken from him that he could not be still, even when he cursed himself in many tongues in his head. He heard the breeches fall over the rising voices in his head, heard them land far from him, and then his attention was taken by the return of James’ weight to his lower body as James resettled himself between his thighs, stretching out his legs into the grass and mud.

  “Hmm.” James’ words were to himself, hidden below the sound of the wind and muffled against the skin of René’s hip as he pressed his face there, and René jerked hard in surprise at the feel of his rasping tongue. It did not stay there long, creating a wet trail up nearly to the bone of his hip before sliding over, and it was so near to his cock that René bit his lip to stop his moans.

  He had to reopen his mouth a moment later if only to breathe, needing more air than his lungs could hold when that was exactly where James’ turned his attentions, burying his nose in the curls around the base of his prick and then speaking again. Slow vibrations shimmered through his flesh though he could not understand the words, and he wondered faintly if he was meant to.

  He knew his cock was rigid and demanding in the air between them though he did not look. He could feel the flush of humiliation at his body’s betrayal but held his place, panting unevenly with his gaze to the sky. James would be content with that, as most men were with a willing body laid out before them, and the strong hands pushing against his thighs to urge for room followed that thought, as though James were tired of his teasing already.

  Leaving his eyes open was difficult, with nothing but shapeless clouds above him, so he closed them, unprepared for the sudden soft suction on the shaft of his prick. “James!” It slipped past his lips, too anxious for his liking, and James seemed not to hear him, sliding his mouth down to the base of the shaft now to suck hard on where the thick vein would be throbbing and madly pounding.

  He did not have to, did not need to do this act, and René’s hands scrambled up from the earth to grip at his shoulders. James was unmoving, unyielding at René’s slight push, digging his fingers stubbornly into the flesh of René’s thighs and increasing the pressure of his mouth, mumbling against his shaft in between each needy kiss, working his way back up the length of him, until his tongue first probed the slickness of his foreskin, and he shifted his position.

  There was only that as a moment’s warning, and then James was pushing back the skin with his tongue to expose the crown. He breathed heavily, barely pausing to consider before closing his mouth around the head of René’s cock to renew his fierce suction.

  René could not hold his muddied hands still. They flew into James’ hair and then splayed down over his neck, spasming as James’s tongue worked on the underside of his prick, and his heat swallowed up the tip, holding it captive between firm lips. It was too much; he could feel the way James’ tongue pillowed him, pushing up as though eager to taste more of the drops René knew poured from him.

  A sound emerged from him, a growl at James’ presumption, and he felt his hands pull at the sopping strands of hair, hard enough that even James would have to pull away. It took his little strength from him, but James released his prick and René could feel the reproachful stare.

  “You do not have to,” he explained, then heard the same animal growl come from him again that he had had to explain this at all. Another sound rose from James in reply, and René nearly raised his head up to prove his ears wrong, that James could not havelaughed in reply to his words.

  “It is my gift,” James said only, when his fit of coughs had subsided, as though reminding René of their unspoken bargain, and put an end to all words by the simple act of licking the moisture from René’s cock, humming against the head and swirling his way around and around it like some sort of benevolent serpent. It was as though he were being knifed throughout his body, arcs of a sweet sort of agony taking hold of him, ripping through his veins.

  He had not intended to have James suck him here in this field where anyone might see James’ shame, and he shook himself to clear his mind of lust and need.

  James stopped his laving of his cock to push at the head with his lips as though thinking of swallowing him whole, not seeming to feel how René clutched and grabbed at him with each little probe of his tongue. Still his questing tongue would not cease, growing bolder when a slight touch to his leaking slit itself brought forth the moan at last from René lips.

  It sham
ed him, and he held back more in his raw throat, swallowing over and over to keep them down, hating himself for how he cursed James for this torment. For James was not done with him, giving when René had not asked him to. Such pleasures he took in his slow exploration of René’s cock, as if fearful he might not be allowed such a thing again. Down the length of the shaft his tongue dipped, wetting him eagerly, and then back up, always back up to the head to suck hard as though James needed the taste of him to go on, attempting to milk it from him with a force that had his hips twitching up, his shoulders thrashing against the ground.

  Lies, it was only another kind sacrifice James made for him, and it was René’s weakness and sin that he could not push it away. James was no sinner as René was, to enjoy the weight of a cock in his mouth, the sting of his eyes as it pushed back toward his throat. But his mind betrayed him, making him remember how James had taken him in that far, how he had met his eyes only days ago as his mouth had wrapped around his prick, and how he had not seemed to mind, how he had swallowed down almost every drop and blushed with delighted pleasure.

  “James.” He tried to speak once more and the words were choked before the left him, breaking James’ name into pieces of a word with no meaning. A darting tongue had dared to go lower, finding the throbbing sac of his balls and scraping with a slow madness over the burning flesh. If he looked now, he would doubtless see only the dark, wet head as it bobbed between his legs, pressing open-mouthed caresses to his tight, aching balls.

  A strangled cough stole his breath as James slipped one heavy ball between his lips, holding it there almost curiously before releasing it, and René heard his name amid the mumbles this time, but could not seem to form an answer to whatever nonsense James spoke.

  There was the rustle of cloth, and the loss of a warm hand on his thigh, and he knew James had moved, perhaps to rid himself of his breeches and prepare to take him. The tease had gone on long enough, and he remembered well the feel of the wanting cock pressed against him when James had thought to soothe him with his soft kisses. It would be now that James would plunge into him, and he bent his knees in further, holding himself still, waiting for the rage that James had created in his blood to fall away.