Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  “Leave you?” That René had not actually touched the waiting peak was the only reason James knew he could still speak, biting his lip to feel the answering beat of René’s heart as René seemed to think on his answer.

  “Unsatisfied…” What René would never call petulance lowered the other man’s already husky voice as he bit out the word, sliding his body down between James’ legs and moving his hands to James’ hips. “Iwant…” He confessed to the tense muscles beneath James’ stomach, his mouth pressing a fevered line further down when James could not quite manage to utter René’s name.

  So bold, as a brazen as any street doxy, James reminded himself, closing his eyes for a moment at the lashing pain of it in his belly, behind his eyes. “No.” It was barely a mumble, hardly an order at all, not enough for what he needed and James curled his heavy hands into fists, making them leave their mapping of René’s back. Only when René’s hair brushed his knuckles did he relax his hands, letting his fingers creep up and splay out over the surface of René’s scalp, as surprised as before to feel it like this, too short to form silken curls. One hand dipped low, finding the bauble of gold that now adorned René’s ear. A match to the gold in his own, if James wished it so, if only in the choice of metal.

  But the act seemed to draw René’s notice from the cock twitching against his chest, and he glanced up, his brow crossed with a frown of displeasure, his lips already wet. “Jesu,” James heard himself praying, the blasphemy nothing when he had already prayed for this on the floor of a Roman church. “I would have you here.”

  He did not add another word though he might have, could not do more than choke on a gasp at the sting at his sides as René crawled and scratched up to him. He knew the actions hurt, felt the force of elbows and knees somewhere distant, focused solely for the moment on the panting man straddling him. He managed to grasp René’s shoulders, hold him back for a moment as he took a breath, and then he was yanking René down to him, kissing hard as he had yesterday, his mouth open already and hungry to find René’s the same.

  He had once thought René always knew his thoughts, now he knew the truth. There was warmth under his hands, heat over his body as René continued to shift, to press closer when already they were hammered tight together. Slender hands twisted in James’ hair, pulling his head back and up, holding it beneath René’s mouth as René shuddered against him.

  René. He would account himself lucky to say that name for years to come, and knew the cry would have left his lips if possible, wondered if he dreamed the break in René’s breathing as though René also held a name in his throat.

  He had thought himself tired from their exertions of last night, and yet he felt himself starting to tense, tight with the need to push back against René’s shivering body. He could push if he wished, thrust between sweaty, slick thighs that he had again tasted only hours ago. He could roll onto his belly, or slide down to again wrap his lips around René’s cock. He could do what he wished, he knew now, and René would let him, just as he had once promised James on a desk in Jamaica. But now he made no move other than to thrust gently back against René, gasping at the feel of René’s prick on his own.

  Black eyes opened the moment René pulled away from their kiss to breathe; perhaps a finger’s length away as his slender body thrust into James’ lap, never once stopping or slowing his wanton writhing. René was shameless, and James looked away from the shadows marring the smooth, pale face and met René’s gaze, feeling his face heat. Those were the thoughts René had known, his own.

  He licked his lips, once, and René’s mouth was back to his, soft, quick breaths as rapid as the questing, clenching fingers claiming every inch of James’ chest. This was enough, this,he, was what René wanted now, and James would grant it, grant anything as René would, lying back in order to give René’s lips passage down his neck.

  “James…” An impatient hiss followed by the brief nip of teeth along his collarbone. Pain later, if he wished, but not now, and with a groan James spread his legs obediently, letting René reach a knowing hand between them.

  The knowledge in the act was great. Firm and sweet and wet now, with their need, and if René did not mind now where the knowing came from, then it was only James left to cry for it.

  Black eyes were on him, always on him as René removed his hand for one moment, dragging his tongue in slow licks across his palm to torment James, intent and careful in his ministrations as though well aware it would leave James arching up from the pillows, his mouth thirsty and his cock pounding.

  “Let me…” He offered in a rasping voice that had not the sound of his own, reaching out a hand only to have it knocked away. Before he could speak again, René’s hand was back down between them, stroking both their cocks hard and fast. Then his head was down, his face buried between James’ neck and shoulder as he cried out.

  His grip tightened, squeezing as hot seed spilled between them, and James jerked at the sensation, only aware that his hands were holding fiercely to René’s hips when his own seed joined René’s and his breath passed with more ease.

  In truth there was not much of a mess at all. Not when the evening before had been so long and busy. James nearly smiled as he let his head back fall to the pillows, studying the painted ceiling far above him, aware that his hands would not be still despite his body’s tiredness. To stop them was beyond his strength now, or even, his desire, and he let out a long, pleased breath as his heart began to slow.

  The body over him had some weight to it though James believed that René could not weigh much more than Ben at the moment. Would soon measure less than the boy in fact if Ben continued to consume the stores of René’s larder as he had been. James shifted a bit to accommodate the pressing body but made no move to push René from him, letting his hands soothe over the soft, untouched skin of René’s back in order to quiet the last of René’s tremors.

  “You are warm.” René spoke thickly into his shoulder, tired once more. If his words were meant to wound they did not, cursed to failure by the burn of René’s lips against his skin. Almost, James moved his head to look, but it was only a fleeting touch; René’s breaths already were coming slower and he would soon be asleep once more. That was a blessing James had not expected, though he should have with the state of René’s health.

  This was how he had imagined a man and wife might lie together, what he had teased René with only days before. He had thought that René would not understand his words, and he had been right, then. Now, at this moment, he knew he was wrong, and yet no shame curled low in his chest. His words had not been forgotten, and he shivered, wanting to let his smile show.

  René would find his realization obvious and chide him for being stupid. He had claimed James as his lover long before James had noticed, the hand curled over James’ hip seemed to acknowledge the truth of that, and now James did smile. René did not stir, and for that James was grateful, letting himself grin at nothing like a madman.

  Who would have thought they would come to this? Whatever René said, James saw Divine work in it. He did not look up to the fat angels on René’s ceiling, or to the window, just considered the looking-glass at the opposite end of the room. They would be visible from the other side of the bed, where René had been lying. There was no way for James to see it without disturbing René, and with that his smile left him.

  He would have liked to have seen such a vision, but he was ready to make demands of Heaven this day that would doubtless earn him Hell-fire and he could not dare to demand that as well. It would be enough to stay still for a few moments more, listening to the growing noise from downstairs and the silence outside.

  Light was coming fast upon them and the need to rise was pressing. James caught his lip between his teeth and bit, hard, letting the pain spur him when nothing else would. His head came up from the pillows and his shoulders twitched, his body’s soreness reminding him of the last day’s exertions.

  René seemed of comparable size with most othe
r Frenchman save Marechal, but the lack of meat on his frame caused him to appear smaller. His skin as well had always held the pallor of ill-health. It was no wonder, in the care of that beast. Only sleeping, René’s weight seemed to increase and James slid his hands carefully underneath René’s ribs and turned in order to settle René back into the softness of the mattress.

  He had to reach to find all the bedclothes René had tossed aside, and by the time he had returned to cover René to his chin, there was a frown on René’s face. Cold, no doubt, and for that James pushed the blankets in closely, taking even the ones from his own body.

  René had made certain of his nakedness in the dark hours last night, and now James shivered at the cold of it as he slid away from René, gasping at the feel of the floor as he stepped down from the bed.

  His stomach seemed to shift uneasily at the move, reminding him perhaps that it was not only René who needed to eat. But he felt no hunger for anything other than René’s seed in his belly, and he had no intention of stopping for even a crust of bread or cheese this morning. Some would be sent up for René instead, as well as to Ben’s room, if Ben had not already risen to steal it from the kitchen himself.

  He had made René promise, in the heat of their passion, with only the fire and God to witness. He had made René promise no harm would come to the child. It would never have come from René himself, James had known that when he asked. But there had been more in his words than that, and when René woke and thought on them, his fury would rend his house from its foundations.

  So he had not much time, not even to wonder at his calm. Clothing was scattered about the floor, some of it his, and he searched until he found a shirt and pantaloons, slipping each on quietly before the tall mirror, watching René for signs of waking as he did.

  René slept on, his dreams peaceful for the moment, making him sigh into his pillow with every breath. One arm was stretched out across the mound of bedclothes that now stood in for James, and James let out a shuddery gust of air.

  The pose was far too similar to Ben at his back every night on René’s ship, if only James had understood the motive at the time. The comparison of Ben to René came once again, and it was not pleasing. Indeed, James was so slow it was a wonder Rene would want him as a lover.

  His eyes were dry and hot, the need for sleep making his lids heavy. If René fell to sleep only to waken, James had not slept at all since their visit to the church, and René’s mother. His hand came up to rub at his face, roughly scrubbing at his jaw. His hair was unbound, and for a moment James darted his eyes away from the glass, knowing his cheeks were red to recall René’s fingers stroking through the strands, grasping eagerly and tearing away the black ribbon and tossing it somewhere in the sea of bedclothes.

  James ripped one string from the front of the thin linen shirt he had been given, using that to secure his hair at his neck, pulling harshly on the cord and uncaring of the few short hairs caught in the knot.

  His mouth tight, James looked back to the glass and went about tucking the shirt into the waist of his pantaloons. He was thinner now. He had noted his smaller wrists a few days before, but given them little thought. His darkened skin still remained, as he did his lightened hair. If it were not for his spectacles, his friends in London might not have known him.

  It was unlikely he would lay eyes upon them any time soon, so that was not important. They would not understand, and he would not have been able to explain it. The madness was confined to only a few, and for that James was grateful.

  It was Fortune then, that the lady Mirena and the murderer Deniau were loyal. Too loyal, and James wished he could laugh about the integrity of pirates and killers. But ships awaited, if need be, and friends with a spirit to shed blood in vengeance. And London was not so far away now as it had seemed in Port Royal. Just as he had told Ben, there were choices open to them, if they could bear them.

  The shirt was looser about his stomach than he would have liked, as were his pantaloons, and James nodded thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. Behind him, at the foot of the bed was the length of cloth René had used as a belt, and James stepped back to grab it. A pair of shoes had been kicked to the side of the steps leading to René’s side of the bed, and James recognized his own.

  It was a different man who stared back at him when James knotted the sash at his waist and left the ends to hang down his thigh. Only the glasses of James Fitzroy remained that he could discern, and he wondered if he were to wake René now, who René would see.

  The thought was quick and distant and easily ignored. He listened for the even sound of René’s breathing instead as he moved, crossing to a dresser and the basin of water left from the evening before.

  The drying seed on his stomach itched as James bent over the basin and dipped his hands in the chilled water and splashed his face. It would be left to René and Ben, to decide which choices to make once their paths were cleared. The Lord could see into men’s hearts and souls, and He would be kind to them. How could He not, when Men had been so cruel already?

  Their torment continued though their tormentors were long since gone or dead, and this was testament enough. It bespoke nothing so much as need, and James held himself still above the rippling water, droplets trailing from his brow to his nose and chin before falling from him.

  He had always thought knowledge and faith enough for any soul, but that was foolish—as René had told him often enough. Rene had named him martyr on their first meeting, mocking him for his belief, and James closed his eyes, seeing René again as he had washed his hands in the bowl at his desk in his cabin, plunging his own hands into the water beneath him.

  The blood at his wrist pounded in response to the cold, his fingers stinging as he uncurled them and exposed pale palms and wrists, wavering and fantastic and separate from him. Only when touch faded to nothing did James lift his hands, looking to the floor as he dried himself on the cloth beside the bowl.

  “There is no God.” René had told him once, meeting his eyes with challenge and contempt, his words echoed in the bitter jesting of Deniau.

  “There is no God but me,” James repeated the strange chant to himself, his words too quiet to even be named whispers.

  There might be paper and a quill to be found downstairs, if James were to ask for them. But no other words came to him now, and he stopped, staring at the door without moving.

  There is no God but me.

  Deniau admitted belief in God and slandered Him at the same moment, taking the blame solely on himself without any attempt to hide his guilt. James put a hand to his stomach, rubbing his palm carefully across the itch at his side. If there was not that sin there were the others, his lies and acceptance of stolen goods, praying in a Roman church, serving thieves and killers. The pride that René had mocked him for, though it seemed nothing next to that of the family René would not claim as his blood. And then he had taken a life. Even in defense of another, it was a sin, and James had so far bourne it.

  René had spoken of the taste of ashes in his fever dreams, bitter as tears on his tongue, and James swallowed what little spit remained in his mouth, wondering once more what sin had finally left the flavour of shame and repentance in René’s mouth.

  Whatever act had been committed, it could never equal the punishment given him in return, just as the lady’s only crime had been to love a blackguard and yet had been sent to live alone with her madness. Their belief was evident no matter how René denied it. They were innocent, yet they longed for a forgiveness that would not be given. It would never be granted them. Etienne had argued much the same.

  It was not faith alone that would guide his response then. James could wonder at how someone such as Etienne or his sisters might have struggled to find their answers, but he knew himself to be only familiar with long-ago written words. For deeds he had only the memories of pirates and killers.

  “God is in me,” James murmured the words as Deniau might have, as he wished Deniau had, his che
st shuddering with every breath. He was too full of pride, and his madness still had him here, when he ought to be abed, but he would prove this to René, give him this.

  James stepped forward at last, closer to the door but still near the great bed. His face was hot, his throat tight. René slept on, peace his for moments that were too brief.

  The old words were wrong. There were greater sins than what still scented the air between them, than the ache in the small of James’ back. Those would not steer his course away.

  He did not count his steps as he moved over to René. Neither did he pause to regain his breath as he bent down. René’s face was still buried in the depths of a pillow, the one eyelid James could see fluttering as though René beheld visions even in sleep. Gentle visions it seemed, though James knew the Devil to be impatient and greedy. He would not remain at bay for long.

  With two fingers he reached out to smooth René’s brow, sweeping a touch across the soft, pale skin and sighing when René shifted, turning toward him without waking. Lashes brushed his fingertips, a dry tickle that he sought out deliberately, like breath at the back of his neck.

  Bending even further, James pressed his mouth carefully to René’s, gasping slightly when René’s lips parted for him, warm and sweet, always willing for him. James felt himself flush, and leaned further into René to deepen the kiss though he should not.

  On its own, his hand curled around René’s jaw, holding René still as he pulled away to breathe, to press another short kiss to René’s waiting mouth when he could not resist.

  Here he would bring peace. Lifting his eyes brought his attention back the windows, to the light growing ever brighter beyond the curtains. His body did not wish to move, and James thinned his lips and turned his head. The pillows were white and empty. It would likely be months until any dark hair would cover them, though James had no doubt René would insist upon his hair returning to its former length.