by Cooper, R.
James would not even grant him that, and he blinked and fluttered his eyes open at the quiet little swipe of a tongue across the smooth skin below his balls. So close that he jerked, thrusting hard back down into the earth when he longed to move upward toward James’ tongue. It tickled, then burned, flooding him with tension and desire all at once, and he slammed his head into the mud until the vague sense of pain returned him to his mind.
His eyes prickled, and it was not the rain that wet them, and if he had possessed a voice he would have shouted for James to end this, in a voice loud enough to be heard above the wind and the slap of skin against skin, through the haze of desire.
He frowned suddenly at the realization, the strangeness of that sound more than any other, and turned his head toward it as James returned his mouth to his prick, letting his teeth, for one desperate moment, touch against his pulsing arousal. And the sweet heat of it had him sucking in air, darting his tongue to his lips in a search something to fill his mouth, to fill the aching space in his belly that James was intent upon draining.
“I need your cock.” It was not himself who whispered this; his own lips empty of even words. It could not have been himself so weakened with lust and love that he had lost even the will to mind his words, and yet he could feel the groan of James’ reply on his cock, and the sudden pull of air as James inhaled and enveloped him nearly to the root, still groaning at the poke of René’s cock at the back of his throat.
Not enough, and he pushed himself up from the ground, his whole body surging up toward James, and his eyes were open, and he blinked, jerking forward as he came and burned and watched James, watched the strong, mud-slick hand stroking hard the firm, red flesh between James’ legs, working it as he sucked on René’s cock.
The spirit left him harshly, dragged from him, leaving him gasping and staring and twitching as each stream left him. He could feel the muscles working as James tried to swallow it all, but failed, finally pulling away, and streaming ropes of René’s semen stained his handsome face and fell from his already dripping hair.
His body tingled and stung and hurt with the effects of it, the toll leaving him shaking and staring blankly as James pulled his hand from his still-waiting cock and used it to pull himself upright, wrapping his arms around René and pressing their faces together for a lengthy kiss. He did not seem to care that he was covered in water and seed and mud, and René could only lean his head back under the force of it, dim sparks of lingering pleasure warming him.
“I am sorry.” It ended with a short, rough exclamation from James, pulling his mouth away to pant his words into René’s cheek. His face radiated heat like the sun and René wondered faintly if James blushed, and tried to collect his thoughts to determine why as James raised himself up onto his arms once more. “I did not mean… Y…yousaw.”
The return of his stumbling words recalled the image to René’s mind; so clear and beautiful that only James’ weight prevented him from curling his body around the hollow pangs it created in his middle.
James squirmed, shifting uncomfortably above him and attempting to rise, and René blinked to think of his silence, and the length of time with nothing between them as he remembered how James had touched himself. He sighed, long and slow, and turned his eyes from the red face to the muddied shoulders and bare, slippery chest, avoiding the sight of his sticky hair.
A thousand remarks came and went from his tongue until he finally found ones that revealed only a fraction of his shame, letting his body bespeak his eagerness for him. “You had only to ask.” He was a whore, and there was no denying it when he slid his hands between them without any word of encouragement from James and cupped his palms around his cock. James closed his eyes, breathing in carefully before opening them again.
“René…” he began in a trembling voice, and René saw how his shoulders shook as well, the strain telling in the fine quivering beneath James’ skin. His fingers moved without even a moment’s pause, and he wanted to smile at how James swore some polite English curse and pushed ever so gently against him, wanting more. But René did not smile, not when there was nothing left to do but withdraw his hands, and let James feel the ache that demanded he act at last.
He could see the hesitation that had James biting his lower lip, his taxed body unmoving as he watched just how James feared and debated when other men simply would have taken, and then he loomed up above him for one brief moment, seeming larger than any human creature before he dropped back to his former position between René’s legs.
“Yes.” How strange it was to be soothing now, swallowing the thickness in his throat to speak calmly in answer to a small touch to his thigh. Two or three fingers walking their way up his leg to his hip, the same path James’ tongue had taken before, though with no groans and muffled words of pleasure.
His body tightened already, anticipating pains before James even neared his ass. Controlling the shallow intake of his breath did not relax him, but the other man gave no sign that he had noticed either his tension or his attempts to dispel it, only bringing his other hand to the inside of his thigh, and pushing it wide.
“René?” James moved even as he sought reassurance, daring to brush the pad of a finger across the sensitive spot. He felt smooth, wetted by rain and mud and seed, but René felt the touch shock through him, curling his toes into the earth. James allowed his fingers another pass, and René could imagine easily the scholarly curiosity mingling with the arousal on his handsome face. René shifted his hips in response, had to in order not to scream, and felt a slight easing from the man above him though he did not know its cause.
“James…” He spoke lowly, through his teeth to let James know that there would be no games or teasing, and this was to commence now. A shaky breath shivered its way over his exposed skin, a sigh perhaps, and then the finger stilled in its wanderings.
Wintry-cold blood froze him to the spot, unable to even tremble as James pushed against the tight ring of muscle and slid in with barely a pause. His soft exclamation matched the slight huff of air René released into the Heavens, surprised at the ease of the entry. “Oh,” James murmured the word again, giving it a wealth of meaning that rang rich to René even over the sudden, fierce renewal of his pulse sounding in his ears as James carefully slid his slippery finger further inside of him.
He could feel it; the invasion of that finger, burning slightly with the pull of the muscles, almost as though someone tugged on thinly stretched cloth. And a presence, James,James working a single finger inside of him, repeating the one small word as he did as if unable to recall any others.
It felt both large and small, that finger, not as large as what was to come, but big, and his eyes stung to recall how he had barely given James that to prepare him before, his sickness no better than that of the others who would do the same to innocents.
“Another,” he commanded from the ground, moving his hips and widening his legs further. If James had not lost his tongue, perhaps he would have argued, questioned, but he had swallowed his tongue and so one finger was withdrawn and then cautiously replaced with two.
The rain pelted him, bouncing from his chest and slowly carrying with it the traces of James’ earlier touches, washing mud away until René was almost clean. But that was nothing, his mind and body narrowed to just two fingers, marking a slow circle inside of him, probing deeper with each turn, as far as James dared before retreating.
He forced a snarl from his lips, grateful to the weather for taking with it all the signs of how he had given in so easily before.
“I do not care if you hurt me, James.” He deserved nothing less, no matter the foolish notions James held to his heart. Perhaps James did understand, for he paused in his exploration of his ass and pulled his fingers free, leaving René stretched and empty and pained. Displeasure filled the space between them, a familiar awkwardness causing James’ hands to slip from his hips as James tried to grip the jutting bones. And then James found his strength, bringing the small
est sound of protest from René as he crushed his bones under his large hands as he positioned himself, squeezing the tender flesh underneath him.
“Do you not?” James was panting, sucking in air as he made the tight pronouncement and only then did he relax his hands, bringing a rush of fevered blood to René’s hips, no doubt leaving his skin red and warmed. Then James’s hands slid easily down to René’s thighs, curling around them as James moved closer.
There was no denying the second sound to push past his lips in such a small space of time, a whine smaller even than the whispers of a child as James’ cock, thick and heavy, pushed against him.
It would hurt, and he pulled his hands frantically from the ground and clawed upward, surprised to feel them encounter a warm firmness. He caused pain with his sharp nails, he knew that distantly, but there were no harsh noises of complaint or condemnation from above him, so he tore through the hot, hard skin until the heat reached even his icy fingers.
“René.” Loud and clear, it snapped his head up, opened his eyes to the sight of James, squinting at him in the growing dark though their faces were close. He had removed his glasses, René remembered with a faint thread of irritation that made him thin his lips.
“James.” So hard to say that name, though there was breath in his lungs. The weight of a man on top of him was something he had forgotten, had hoped to never again know, and yet now there was James with straining eyes.
He lolled back his head, and let the sigh fall from him at the first blunt pressure against his ass, then let it become a gasp as James’s cock began to slide inside of him. “Oh!” Again James said it, gasping along with him as he paused. Doubtless he found it overwhelming to be in such a sweetly tight space as the ass of another man. It was no easy thing to forget, this conquering, and René tried to be still, willing James silently to continue. “Bloody Hell.” James ground it out into the wind, the strain roughening his gentle voice as he slid another small way inside of him, making René jerk to hear the harsh words.
James was smooth and wet and almost cool at first, before the heat of him burned into René’s body, rigid and throbbing and large. But though he waited, the burn remained pleasant, raw but hungry, and though he stretched there was no tearing, no rip of pain stripping him to pieces.
“More,” he moaned it. A shocking, shaky little moan that gifted him with another curse from James. Then James was pushing into him, and the fullness kept René from moving for hours or perhaps only minutes as the wind swept over them.
“My G…God.” James stuttered on the simple prayer and René opened his mouth to echo it, inhaling instead. The air was clean and crisp and scented of James and he breathed in until he felt like he would burst with it.
James moved, twisting his hips curiously. Sharp stabs of pleasure followed the move, an abrupt, deep yearning bringing René’s head from the ground. James was speaking innocently from above him but René could not speak to answer him, groaning in surprise as James twisted his hips again, and the blood pounded below his waist, flooding him with fire.
Whatever answer James wanted René could not give it to him, concentrating hard on the rise and fall of his chest, the drops of salt falling to his mouth. His body moved without his thought to respond to James’ voice, pulling his knees up to push James hands under his hips, forcing James to kneel, and sliding them impossibly close together.
A shocked gasp came from his throat, and dimly he heard James whispering under his breath, but that did not matter now. Let James speak if only he would stay still until René could not bear his possession any longer.
But James would not be still, could not be still it seemed, for his whispers became loudly voiced prayers, urgent pleadings to Heaven that would surely make even the angels blush to hear of what he spoke.
“Sweet Jesu. Sweet… René!” The word slipped free with an exalted cry as James pulled back slowly only to push back into him with sudden force when René curved his palms anxiously from his shoulders to his chest, seeking something to keep him.
The thrust seemed to stroke directly through his body, filling him with a more intense flush of pleasure than before, bringing flashes to his eyes and the sizzle of lightening to his veins. He jerked underneath James, and opened his eyes wide to study James as James bit his lip and thrust inside of him once more, bringing this pleasure to him.
It sang through him and though he tried he could not stop himself from lifting his hips in demand, uncaring even of the slight burn as his body grew used to the movements of James’ cock.
“René.” His name seemed a curse now, falling from James’ mouth in a tortured growl as James squeezed his eyes closed and slid his hands free of his hips. He fell down against René’s chest with another groan, and there was only time to feel it as it shook through his chest before James was searching blindly for his mouth.
René felt his own open before James’ lips even found his face. James’ tongue was hard, almost as hard as his prick seemed, and he gave instantly at the insistent demand. He thought perhaps, that James was right, for his mind could think onlysweet, and then he was moaning indistinctly against James’ firm lips at the sudden wet friction against his belly; his own cock rubbing against his chest and the unyielding muscle of James’ stomach.
He was aroused, and growing more painfully so with each surge of James’ body into him, and it was this realization that allowed him to pull away from James’ kiss to catch his breath, squirming in a shuddery, weak delight as he heard James attempting to do the same, and his heated breaths rushed into his ear.
“Saint Martin…” His head thudded against the ground but he could not make himself care as the inside of his thighs slid around the shifting muscles of James’ legs and he ground his heels into the flexing muscles. They contracted under his hands as well, straining beautiful strength determined to leave no part of him untouched. His fingers sought purchase as the throbbing in his veins intensified, and the body over him tightened, fighting hard not to surrender to the pleasure.
“Saint Michel…” René wondered at his madness, his foolishness, but did not stop himself from opening his mouth, begging for it into the wind, calling upon angels and saints to make James push harder, his voice growing fainter as he named them all until he came to the end of all the saints in his memory and he howled in frustration.
“ Saint Denis, James,please!” He wanted to curse, but God did not strike him down for the blasphemy, though he could feel himself dying anyway at the sudden, feverish pressure of James’ body full upon him, fully within him, denying him nothing. James shook with a sudden violence before going still, his cock hardening and pulsing inside of him as he came and the hot flood took René from inside.
He whispered his own madness into René’s ear, shuddering as the spirit left him, letting out short moans of pleasure. Each one hummed over his skin into his skull, and René shut his eyes, sighing softly despite the pain of it, being crushed to the ground like this, prick still waiting between them.
There would only be moments of this silence, mere moments, and then James would open his mouth to ask his questions, questions to which there would be no answers. It would be best to end it now, to ensure James would pull out from his body and walk away from him into the rain. He could remember others who had taken pleasure and then left him alone as he had wanted to be, that James had not yet was because René had become soft and weak.
“Again, I am sorry, René.” James broke through first, murmuring thickly above him, and René was startled into looking up at him, wondering when he had moved. What sin James felt he had committed now, he could not determine, and frowned wearily just as a wet, slippery hand closed around his cock.
“James!” There was no way of covering his surprise, nor the way he had yelped like a child. His hands splayed tensely over James’ broad back at the first tight stroke, and he felt the crosses he had made, the ugly tracks of nails betraying René’s passion.
The firm grip did not ease, only slowing sl
ightly as James paused for a moment to brush his thumb over the head. Just a small, sizzling, taunting caress, and then James’ fingers curled around him once more to squeeze.
René gasped at the stinging painful pleasure of that and blinked, noticing faintly that the rain had eased, though the wetness still fought at his eyes. “My gift, René,” James reminded him sternly as though he had protested, dragging his palm up and down the length of his cock smoothly. René’s hips lurched up from the ground when he could not speak, when James squeezed harder and stroked again, seeming intent on draining him twice in bare moments, possessed by some strange spirit. Madness, to do this to him when there was no need, and René longed for the driving rain now, to cool his scorched, dry throat. It scratched whenever he tried to speak or to simply moan his wants into the wind.
His cock burned, and his lower back arched itself into a strained bow, refusing to let him pull away. “Do you like it?” James demanded softly, allowing his thumb to again push against the tip of René’s cock, and René thought viciously of the woman he had taken first in his English field, and if he had demanded such admissions of her.
With a hard, ferociously throbbing prick in his hand, how he could doubt René’s pleasure, and yet still he waited, and still René could not wet his throat to speak. He nodded; certain he had not shaken like some girl and had contained the tremors that rocked him.
“Then show me.” James scowled at him, the fiercely beautiful frown of a displeased god, or perhaps a man who could not see, but it did not matter, not when he added more words to those first, and bent his head so that René could taste his own seed on James’ breath. “Come,” he said in Parisian, low and clear and heavy and so urgently that René tilted his head back to lay himself flat before him.
