Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  He turned, but this time James was there, his body solid but giving. He made a noise as René said his name once more, answered it with his lips to René’s ear. “Sleep,” James ordered when he had no right to order and stroked heat down René’s back easing knots of shivering muscle. He was not fooled. James thought him weak, but he had not asked for this. In the morning James would be gone, but René could not open his eyes and only shivered with each new touch. His body was as heavy as his thoughts. In the morning, the thought came to him once more, springing from a sea of black. In the morning René would move, and demand an answer from James. For now he was warm again, and could only wonder at it as some awareness of the world pressed into his mind. How was it that he was so warm, when he had been left alone to face the cold?

  The hot, bright red of the sun was behind his eyes, and even as he had the thought René was aware of a glowing heat pouring over his face and neck and down through the rest of his body, creeping into his bones.

  His heart jumping, René opened his eyes and jerked his head up, taking in the sight of his bedroom at his house outside Paris without any lessoning of alarm. One hand reached out and found the loaded pistol he had long ago stuffed between the feathered mattresses even as he shifted his gaze from the paned glass of the windows to the curtains on either side of them and then on to the painted cherry cabinets at the opposite end of the room. The morning light shining through the glass sent a stab of pain through his head and he narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the sudden ache.

  Something was not right. His fingers curled around the pistol’s wooden grip and he held his breath, listening carefully for any sound that would give away who had dared to try to take him by surprise like this.

  He could hear it now, the slow, regular breath of his enemy, hiding himself somewhere, thinking him as helpless as a small child in a dark room. A small child locked in with those offering protection—he cut himself off there, gripping the pistol fully now. For a moment there was only rage burning fiercely inside him, hotter and brighter than the sun still caressing his skin. He was no helpless child and he needed no protection.

  A quick movement in the standing cheval-glass jerked his attention there and he blinked to see himself reflected in the mirror, still in his clothes, with one hand on his weapon. Then he saw the movement again and turned, staring down in confusion at the man next to him in the bed.

  His heart gave another violent lurch to see James lying there and he did not relax his hold on his pistol, though he was not entirely sure why. James Fitzroy was not a threat to any man’s life, except perhaps his own. That he had survived so far was the only sign René had yet to see that the God the other man so fervently believed in might actually exist.

  Desperate prayers whispered through his ears as if he was hearing them at that moment and not in his memory, and he frowned until he banished the pleading words but released the pistol, knowing he had nothing to fear here.

  His frown did not disappear at the thought, deepening instead as he switched his gaze back to the mirror and to his appearance. The bright light made his eyes water and he squinted, feeling another spearing pain that was a sign of too much wine.

  A sweet, sickening taste in his mouth confirmed that, and René wet his dry lips with a small sound of displeasure. He had no recollection of what had transpired the previous evening, only a scarlet haze of anything but the warmth that had woken him this morning, wrapped around him tightly like a lover’s arms in a painting.

  Without thinking he glanced down at the man sharing his bed, his displeasure increasing. James was dressed as well, above the bedcovers as René himself was not, as if his sleeping there was a matter of chance only. It was the other man’s regular breathing that he had heard, a peaceful sound now that the danger had passed. James had seen no threat and slept on, had even fallen asleep with his narrow spectacles still in place, pinching his nose.

  They were crooked, due to his ridiculous position, his head half buried in one pillow, his body twisted around another as if he were a babe. The glasses would break if he was not careful, and then James would have no way to read his precious books.

  A sliver of amusement made René curve his lips into a quick, little smile. Those brown eyes would be full of fury at that, no matter how much his James tried to hide it. His cheeks would be red with the force of it, and then on fire with shame once he realized how he had lost control of himself once again. But then, he tricked no one but fools with his appearance of reason and piety. René had seen him forget both on more than one occasion.

  Unexpectedly, his mind traveled back to the last such time, yesterday, in fact. A flushed heat that had nothing to do with the sun filled him, bringing pricks of sweat to his skin that he relished. He had been dotted with perspiration yesterday in the coach on their way back from the heart of the city, shivering and yet hot in the air thick with rain, unable to control himself as he had looked everywhere but at the Englishman across from him speaking ridiculous things.

  And then he had, only for a moment, but that had been long enough. He had been on James before his next heartbeat. There had only been his hard, aching cock and the welcoming heat of James’ arms. It had shocked him, just as in Jamaica, how quickly he had wanted him, but his shock had been nothing to the memory of James’ pure, soft mouth on his, and the light, rough hair of James’ chest under his hands.

  He was a treat, James, a lovely pet for him to enjoy until the time came when he would leave. René thought that he should laugh at the thought but did not, feeling instead his heart suddenly renew its frantic pumping. He did not think it had slowed at all, in the past days, the day before, in that home, and yet it must have. He had slept with James for the second time, now in a way where James could not leave and pretend otherwise.

  Disregarding both the mirror and the pistol, René turned so that he faced the sleeping James. The early morning sunlight seemed to hit precisely where James lay on his bed, and René studied the look of l innocence on James’ face for a long moment. He could also remember when that look had been replaced with tight anger and then proud triumph, something that made his scowl return. He remembered silence on his ship and then words, too many of them, calm words that James knew would wound him and yet had continued to say them.

  Before the memory could fade away, René threw aside the sheet covering him and slipped one leg over James’ body. He used his hands to turn James smoothly onto his back at the same time, and then placed each hand over James’ arms so that he could not move just as the first signs of waking crossed the square, strong face beneath him. He leaned over then, waiting patiently, and was rewarded when his eyes blinked several times and then opened, staring at him through the clouds that dreams created, dreams that James would not share.

  Deliberately, René pushed his throbbing prick between James’ legs, feeling the soft length of James and nearly smiling when a faint pounding followed his move. Befuddled brown eyes started up at him, filled with his earlier confusion at first, and then widening.

  “René…” The touch of breathlessness in the way James said his name made René smile. Just as the brief tightening of muscles in James’ arms as James tested his hold on him but did not offer any resistance pleased him. A sweet, sour scent floated up to him, the scent of the vine on James’ breath as well. Were his lips equally dry? René’s felt his gaze drop to the uncertain, trembling lower lip and then felt himself shake. It had trembled like that before, in Tortuga.

  “James.” He could not stop himself from saying the name but quickly smoothed his frown. He had not felt James’ mouth on his cock since Turtle Island and his body was only demanding a similar pleasure now.

  “I was dreaming,” James told him thickly before René could state his desires, startling and irritating him at the same time. He arched one eyebrow and waited.

  “Were you?” he asked and then sharpened his gaze when James did not stop there. “Yes,” James answered, a grin curving his mouth. He did not blush or
look away or even stammer, and René found himself waiting again, waiting for more. “Have I been here all night?” James wondered and René felt his mouth twist.

  “Yes,” he snapped though he truly did not know. “Enough talk, James,” he went on and bent down so that his mouth hovered above James’, knowing this would silence the other man.

  “Did you dream, René?” James seemed not to hear him, and René went still at the intimate question. For moments he simply stayed where he was, breathing shallowly through his nose. Below him was James, staring back at him with clear, defiant eyes.Defiant, René repeated to himself and then pulled away the slightest bit, pleased to see the trace of fear enter the other man’s expression. But James did not turn his head as he should have. He did not turn anymore, now that he had seen the truth.

  “I do not dream.” René admitted at last, flicking his eyes to the vein in James’ neck and the younger man’s racing pulse. “Yes, you do.” The response was quiet but echoed through the room regardless, or perhaps it only seemed so. René knew his eyes grew large and kept them on James’ throat, suddenly unable to meet those eyes. Anger made him grip the strong arms in his hands forcefully until it had to have hurt. But though James tensed, he did not move, and only let out a small sigh. “I have seen you,” he finished.

  René could not help raising his eyes at that, fear sliding along his spine. It squeezed his heart, making him shake.

  “James.” Why he said it he did not know, but it brought the smile back to James’ face. Then his strong body rose to rub against his, breaking free of his hold as if it were nothing. Taken by surprise, René tightened his grip as James rose up, and then fluttered his eyes briefly at the sudden, soft kisses along his neck. No, he breathed the words even in his mind, taken by surprise in a way that happened all too often with James.

  Warm fingers reached around his waist and then dug into the skin firmly, not tight enough to hurt, merely hold. René opened his eyes at the sensation, wary, but James was already shifting, moving to sit up and still holding him in arms that were well-muscled beneath his borrowed coat.

  James kissed like a woman, René thought with vague amusement, letting his mouth turn up at the silken feel of the other man’s lips, at how light the touches truly were. They traced along his neck until James pushed aside his coat to reach his shoulder and collarbone. Just below, where the shirt and coat still covered it, were his wounds, the signs of Marechal’s— René jerked straight abruptly as James’ caresses slipped into roughness, a fraction of pain that the he welcomed.

  The mouth that had uttered prayers for him was suddenly hungry, opening to suck hotly on that much too sensitive area, no longer gentle and woman-soft. “James.” For the second time in only moments, the name was drawn from him. He was warm, hot,burning, sweat pricking along his skin as it had done yesterday, and he could feel James’ tongue darting out to taste it. He was exquisite, his James, embracing him with such eager, innocent lust, and René allowed a small sound of satisfaction to escape his throat, wanting James to go on, but James continued his slow pace until René was forced to wonder if James was attempting to tease him as he had done in the bathing tub.

  René curled his hands around the fine material of the rumpled coat James was wearing and tugged himself closer, until he was straddling the other man’s lap, much as James might have done with some tavern girl back in his England, with those women he had spoken of so brazenly.

  Bending his head, René closed his lips around the soft flesh of James’ ear and then sank his teeth in to the point of drawing blood, only stopping after becoming aware of the small, growl-like sound he had made. But he did not pull away, in fact pressing his body tighter against James so that he could feel the warm flush of arousal radiating from the other man. A moment later, after James had stilled at the pain and then shuddered with desire and leaned into it, he sucked on the bit of skin soothingly, moving on with an upsetting amount of reluctance.

  He ran the tip of his tongue around the raised, pink walls of James’ ear and then probed the center delicately, nearly purring like a kitten when James’s body shook violently, and the hands holding him clenched and then unclenched in bursts.

  Shifting so that only the linen of their pants kept James from feeling his hard cock pressing against his sweet, stiffening prick, René plunged his tongue into the little cave of his ear. James’ mouth, still pressed into his shoulder, fell open, and his tiny groans echoed and rumbled through René’s chest, sending waves of pleasure down below his waist.

  “You…are…mine…” he heard someone whispering in the rough Parisian of his childhood, biting out each word with his mouth still pressed to James’ wet, flushed ear. It was only when the body under his froze that René realized what he had muttered, and that he had followed it with one word in English.Forever.

  His body tightened until breathing was painful, until even his heart’s beating seemed unnatural, and René could not move. They were words he had spoken before, to many captives who became his crew.Mine until you die,or I release you. It all equaled the same thing.

  A measure of calm returned to him at the notion, and let out one slow, breath, pleased when James shivered. But his small smile of triumph was stolen from him when James pushed himself off the feather stuffed mattress. Before René had time to do more than swear, he was on his back on the bed with James staring down at him, his eyes half closed as if he were trying to hide whatever might be seen in their depths.

  That was almost as shocking as his forcefulness, and René frowned and dug his hands into the silken sheets to try to push himself up. A heavy body was pushed back down on top of him as he did, and he glanced furiously up into those drooped eyes, no longer amused. He reached for his pistol, not taking his eyes from the Englishman’s face, and had his arm pinned down in a matter of moments.

  James’ arms were strong, stronger than his, René thought much as he had the first time he had called James’ to his cabin on his ship. But his heart still lurched, skipping beats as it pounded, and he jerked up as much as he could, baring his teeth threateningly. He was no sweet bit of meat.

  The eyes above him opened wide, showing clear, clean brown through the scratched surface of the glass lenses, full of surprise and concern, lessoned only by something hot. Desire. Anger. He knew each just as well.

  The voice that spoke was gentle. “René?” the other man wondered softly, bending down so that the air was moist on his face. René shivered at the lightness of it, once and then again when the buttons of his coat and waistcoat were slowly undone and his shirt pulled up to expose his stomach. “René?” that voice was pleading now, and René blinked and then frowned at James’ ridiculous expression of worry.

  “What?” he snapped in English and watched the hurt creep into James’ expression before he lowered his eyelids again. He had done much the same yesterday, a new skill, and René did not know where he had learned it.

  It did not please him to see James hiding his heart, as it did not please him to be forced onto his back like this. But he arched one eyebrow and waited, aware of James’ arousal pressed against his thigh. He even shifted, taunting him by touching his prick to that hard length until James’ face flushed. It only took half a moment of the contact for James to lock his jaw and harden his expression.

  Now it would come, René reflected knowingly, even curving his mouth in a bitter smile. Now James would take him like so many others. The breath locked tightly in his chest when James touched his lips to his neck, and René moved his eyes upward, surprised to see the fat, ugly angels painted on his ceiling. He narrowed his gaze to one plump, gilded form and then let his breath out.

  “May I?” someone murmured in French. Awkward, halting, thickly-accented French, the kind the English nobles in Jamaica spoke, and his brows drew together curiously though he did not take his eyes off the hideous angel. When he did not move, the question was repeated.

  How stubborn James could be, René thought with a small burst of irritation, a
nd then something like amusement. His lips even twitched with the urge to laugh. Shocked, he dropped his eyes and focused instead on the honeyed strands of James’ hair. It was all he could see of James, aside from broad, velvet-covered shoulders and anxious eyes peering at him over the top of his spectacles.

  His arms were free, he realized, his mind working as slowly a fly in barrel of molasses. He lifted them cautiously without taking his eyes from James and then went still. James had moved himself so that his arms were one either side of his hips and was now stopped with his head only a small distance from the cock still trapped inside his redpantalons. René’s body burned to see him there and he felt his mouth fall open.

  James tilted his head up to study him, and René took in his blushing face eagerly, unable to look away from the trembling lips and naked eyes. What he had first thought in Tortuga returned to him, and this time he allowed the thought, sliding his hands through the soft waves of James’ hair with a smile he was only partly aware of. James was what God’s servant should be. He sighed inwardly and then dropped his head back onto the pillow when a shaking hand opened the front of his breeches.

  How he trembled, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Fear made a boy’s hands so unsteady, but James was a man. Perhaps it was not James that was shaking, but him. The thought brought with it a new wave of anger, and René shifted his head, turning irritably from one side and then to the other, so that he was looking into the streaks of morning light from the window. It was then that James touched him, freeing his cock from hot, sweat-soaked linen with cool, gentle fingers.

  Blinking at the painful brightness before his eyes but not turning from it, René lifted his hips slightly. He could not move much, not with the heat of James surrounding him, and he tested the limits to his freedom cautiously. The motion brought the head of his cock in contact with something warm, something that made James gasp, and René shivered as the air traveled down over his tingling prick. Before he could do more than jerk his head from the pillow and then firmly return his eyes to the sun, wet lips slid over the tip, enveloping him.