Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  “You know him!” she accused in the whispers of a child, and René wondered who would soothe away the sickness her dreams left in her mouth. No gentle touches would erase the memories; she would allow no petting now, though she had begged for such comforts before. Perhaps it was her guilt that so frightened her. His stomach twisted once more, his mouth full of hot ash.

  “What have you done with him?”

  She turned to René to make demands. Turned back to stare evil in the eye, and only a fool would weep at such a question. His eyes pricked, but his vision remained clear. “I promised I would bring him again…” James was half-turned toward her, as though trying to watch them both at once. But his rash words stopped her at least; still with pleasure at James’ mad vow.

  René dug his fingers into the cloth covering his shoulder, the burst of pain pushing his head back, his mouth opening to allow a breath. It stung, raw inside of his flesh as though the whip had torn across his heart.

  Whatever James had promised of himself would soon be lying at her feet.

  “It will rain soon,” René commented to no one, though he thought perhaps the rain was already falling and his ears did not wish to hear the sound. “Madame, René does not have the other…” Ignoring René’s madness as he would never ignore his own, James continued to attempt reason. His hesitant gestures to explain his meaning, like his words, slowed to nothing at all. Silence and stillness were James then, and René thought himself wrong, that perhaps something had truly stopped James’ mouth at last. Strange, then, that now René felt the need to speak.

  “Did you not think I had a mother, James?” To another it would have seemed amusing, dizzying awareness in eyes others thought so clever. The fear. No doubt James’ mind was spinning, confusion keeping him mute.

  René glanced away then turned back, nothing other than curiosity forcing him to stare James in the eye; no amount of James’ silent entreaties would allow for anything else. A darkening of James’ brow met him instead, and René found his hand easing down to his side, to the knife hidden away.

  “I know well that you do.” The gentle tone of James’ voice did not ease the hard light in his eyes. René knew he gasped, heard it fly across to James as his spirit always would, even without his will. Something hurt, his wound, tearing across his chest, and he lifted a hand, forgetting his weapon in order to reach out.

  His fingers stretched out over a face far from him, and though René had seen James’ head turn, when his gaze returned it was soft, his eyes patient. René blinked, letting his arm fall and wondering why his breath felt short, his movements too slow.

  “You spoke…” Once again awkward, James rolled his shoulders, sinking his teeth into his lip before continuing. “…in your fever.” “I spoke.” In James’ eyes there was knowledge, a sickness turning his stomach, a rage at what René had been forced to do for someone with no respect. Not even lies were there now, and René swallowed, shifting his gaze to the woman. To hisMaman, who stood straight for the moment, her innocence restored at James’ interference.

  “I beg forgiveness.” Whisper-soft, she addressed him, and fell to her knees with only a slight tremble to show her lingering terror of him. “He says you are not…” Confronted with the very face of the Devil, but her fears nothing to a word of reassurance from James. Her sentence she left open, bowing her head in repentance without taking her wide eyes from him, but René thought if he reached out, she might strike him with the crucifix dangling from her neck.

  “No, I am not.” He did not reach out, and stayed in his place at the door as he should have done years before. The stones around her looked cold, hard against her knees, no place for something so beautiful, and when James seemed ready to follow her, René turned to face him, making her nothing but a white and black shadow at the edge of his vision.

  “Did you come to pray?” James was a fool to ask that of him, and René blinked at the bright image his mind brought him, of James extending a hand to invite him further into such a place when if René had his choice, he would have demanded James leave it.

  His chest ached , a fierce pounding threatening to rip his arms from him, seizing his lungs until not even a shred of breath was left to him.

  “René?” The alarmed cry from James sent the shadows into motion at René’s side, and she moved; he knew she moved, her head lifting up as though she expected to see angels floating above them all.

  Against his palms there was wood, rough with age yet smooth of any splinters, so heavy he thought it would not part for him, and still René pushed, shoved hard until he was falling backwards, stepping out from orange and yellow lights into the gray air.

  He shivered long moments later to find himself far from the church’s doors and staring at the fields that led back to his house. James would hurry; the skies were dark and René would not wait in the rain for a fool to finish his prayers. James would hurry, so that René could leave this place, and he would fuck James until he screamed into the pillows of their bed, until he understood that he was not to come here again, that it was the very Devil inside of him.

  “René.” His name breathed urgently at his ear, and René thought for a moment his mind had made the image real. His lips parted, and he turned at the warmth of a hand on his shoulder, fingertips at his back. James was there, and René narrowed his eyes, frowning in denial of what James would say when he opened his mouth.

  Instead there was dry skin and heat, firm lips on his as he sighed, pulling back from the hand stroking his chest only to fall against the one at his back. He was trembling, and he shook his head to deny that too, allowing James’ mouth whatever it wished. He arched his neck, and James stopped to place his kisses there too. His lips were sweet now, wet, and they formed his name again before René dared to silence them, surprised to feel his hands in James’ hair, urging James head back up.

  He gasped as James complied, his teeth closing around the flushed lower lip that James himself had often bitten, and there was a moan from the body around him, a lustful shuddering against René’s chest that brought his head up and away from James at last.

  “I do not wish to stop.” He spoke as though James had protested, as though his strong body did not shake underneath the hands moving over it with such purpose. Perhaps James would have spoken, whispering questions about the cold, and the rain, reminders of their place or where they had been, if only those hands had not been so very quick.

  How his James blushed, a fiery glow that heated the drops of water rolling down his newly bared chest from the weeping sky above. René tasted each innocent tear with pleasure, collecting the drops on his tongue before swallowing them eagerly. Questioning without words, James’ fingers twitched against his shoulders, but James only moaned as René’s teeth found one nipple and tugged at the sweetly peaked skin.

  The cold air had made them so. He had shivered, and grunted with his unstoppable mouth when René had first stripped him of his coat and shirt, glancing about as if expecting to see the whole world watching them. James, who had dropped to his knees in an alley without shame, who had pressed René into a desk with others only yards away, had been frightened of the open air, and the unseen eyes of no one but dead and ugly saints so far away.

  But René would not be denied, though he chuckled into James’ skin to remember the man’s hesitation. If his laugh seemed high, James did not remark on it, in the same way that James had not yet said anything of what had happened earlier. René was pressed so closely into his heat that he would have heard any gathering of laughter in James’ broad chest, but there was only the quick drumming of his heart and shallow, rasping breaths, growing more and more frequent as René stroked his tongue along the tip of the captured peak.

  Quickly, uncaring of James’ suffering, René thrust one hand between them, finding James’ lap and pushing hard against the demanding length of James’ prick. The hands on his shoulders tightened and released and then James collapsed onto his knees, and then the backs of his legs bent awkward
ly, slipping underneath him in the wet earth. The force of the ground meeting his knees jarred René enough to pull his mouth away, but he would not release his grip. Only the slight shifting of James trying to regain his balance in the mud brought them apart, and René grabbed with his free hand at anything, finding the waist of James’ breeches and yanking him close, shuddering at the cold of even a moment’s separation.

  “René, please…” James was whispering urgently, but halting his words when René turned his attention to his other nipple, nipping at it hungrily, pinching the tip between his teeth to summon more broken gasps of pleasure. So exquisitely beautiful James was. Even hisMaman had thought so; looking up for a moment to see his light in the same way that she had perceived René’s darkness. Warm and welcoming and beautiful, open under his mouth and grasping him closer now, allowing René to taste what he did not deserve to have.

  René forced out another laugh, this one loud enough that James had to hear it even through the delirium of pleasure. To echo it, René again found James’ lap and stroked delight over the rigid, swollen flesh. James jerked his hips upward into his hand, arching his back to the sky wantonly, defying his shame now that René had awakened his lusts.

  “And will you blush later at how we have lain in this field?” René raised his head to ask, using James’ own gentle word for this act, shaking with the cold and letting the rain pour over his wet face until the world was blurred. But James was near, and he could see how James opened eyes that René had not seen fall closed, and then his brows became one in a tight frown, and René knew he had to speak again before James did.

  “Have you never had a country fuck, James?” he wondered, his voice so harsh that he flinched before James could translate. There was no place that René had not fucked, and only a few places that he had not been fucked, and this field of late-blooming flowers was one of those. How James would jump and turn away at the truth of that, of what a whore he was, when James had the strength to be a man.

  “Aye,” James answered softly, but above the wind, and René was startled into meeting his gaze, clear enough with James’ spectacles tucked away for the rain. “My first…” He ducked his head in an awkward, embarrassment close to his sentence, painting the scene with only a shyly proud smile and a splash of crimson across his cheeks.

  A sun-drenched meadow of green hills and purple flowers. That is the place where James would have first pressed himself into a woman, some place like Heaven itself, with clean smelling breezes to dry the sweat on his back as he moved, placing a thousand soft kisses to the full body of a quiet girl, and her hair would be as golden as his in the sun, and she would look up at James with eyes that loved him. And they would laugh as lovers were said to laugh, and he would hold her after he had pleased her, telling her tales from his books until they fell to sleep with the light on their faces.

  “I did not ask of your women!” René screamed to the sky, startling James, for the other man pulled back, and the rain dropped from his parted lips as he sought to find his tongue. His mother’s words came to him, his wickedness and his sins all obvious to even a madwoman, and René shuddered and slid his hands to the sides of James’ body, grabbing at the soaked fabric covering his hips, digging in when he felt the muscles move. “Please,” he turned his head to the side and shivered with the cold so hard that his words shook with him. “I…I am s…sorry, James. Do not go.”

  There was silence from James, and the bunching of muscles underneath his hands, but James did not move, and the rain fell on them both for moments longer. “You seem cold, my René.” Like he sang to a child, James’s voice was soft and coaxing, lightening painfully at the end and René swung back around furiously. He was no babe, and James would not mock him with such a name. James was the pet to respond when called. The reminder of that was inches from his fingers even now. James was even nearer than that, leaning his face down to his and warmly pressing their lips together.

  Bare seconds later he was taking himself away. René shivered anew, but James was smiling, laughing to himself almost before resting his forehead against René’s and sighing. “Shall we not take this inside to your dry,warm bed?” he asked in his own tongue, slipping back to it as he did in moments of passion, and the plainly spoken English made René blink, trying to focus on the face far, far too close to him.

  “She offered you the sun, and I bring you only rain,” René heard himself accusing, trying to turn away and instead only speaking the words into one dripping cheek, and the temptation was too much. He lapped at the sweetness slowly, savoring the forbidden drops and the startled sigh from the man before him.

  “Who?” James was asking him, but René had regained control of his tongue, and trapped it behind his closed lips, rubbing his face against the down of James’ cheek when his body would not let him be still.

  “Only rain,” he repeated it in rising tones, feeling the desperation claw at his insides, turning his hands into grasping talons tearing into James’ hips and stomach. It hurt James, René knew though James was silent, and cursed himself again, the Devil that his parents had cursed and sent away. He had not meant to hurt, not this time, and still he would bruise James’ skin.

  James grunted at his assault, pushing himself further into René’s hands with a trust that would kill him. He arched up, sliding René’s hands toward his lap, and murmuring his agreement into René’s ear, agreement becoming encouragement when for the smallest moment, René allowed himself to be distracted in this way, and grazed the aching hardness of James’ cock with his thumbs, and felt how it jumped for him.

  James’ hands still rested on his knees, almost in the mud, and René shook his head minutely, frowning enough that surely even James had to feel it. The rain splashing off his head and shoulders was a distant thing, the chill of the wind was nothing at all, and yet still he shivered, far too cold for even his own bed to warm him.

  He had only to encourage a little and James would grow bold, and so he held his breath, tilting his head to allow his lips to brush against James’ mouth. A hot, liquid buzzing spread from his lips down his throat, hotter even than a bellyful of semen, and he gasped in surprise to feel this again, more than in Jamaica, the honeyed pleasure of James’ kiss.

  Sweet lips parted for him, and he could feel the warm breath travel from James’ mouth to his own, his very soul sneaking inside of him. His heart skipped and lurched in his chest and a hand pressed over it, hard against his frantic pulse, splaying out over his mother’s cross. Another pressed into the small of his back, hot through his heavily soaked clothing, asking for more though James would not demand of him aloud.

  He dared, slipping his tongue between the rows of teeth, searching beyond them until James’ tongue rose to meet him, and it was he who grunted now, shocked as he pulled away. The hand at his back did not allow for much movement, but before James could realize this, René was shifting to sink down into the mud, dirtying himself like the whore he was.

  James blinked as the rain hit his eyes, or perhaps he was surprised at the act, his mouth still readied and waiting to be plundered again, and René wondered sickly what James expected of this, what he thought René wanted of him here in this field. He would yield to him, if René asked it, in any way that he wished.

  Unable to breathe, René raised his hands from James’ demanding prick to his back, wrapping his arms tightly around the breadth of his body. Once encircled he trembled, allowing himself that as he knew James would blame the weather, and then he fell back, collapsing tiredly into the mud and grass and pulling James down on top of him.

  He could feel the stalks of grass crushing under their weight, his own body pinned under James’ body as James lay there for one stunned moment, and he was hard and heavy and warm, so warm René uncurled his legs and let his head rest back into a mound of earth. He could not get up now, not unless James got up first, or René fought to free himself, and he waited, gazing up over James’ head at the dark sky before the rain made him close his eyes tigh
t.

  James wriggled to free his trapped hand from beneath René, and then he was pressing his hands into the mud to lift himself partly from the ground, holding himself over René carefully.

  “Are you mad?” he demanded in tones of amazement. “Your clothes… You will need to bathe…” The heat entered his voice before he had finished, doubtless recalling René’s last bath, and the slick glide of his hand on René’s cock.

  The rain ceased to batter his face, and René cracked open his eyes to find James’ leaning over him, wet hair falling around them to screen out the sounds of the storm. James had seen him naked then, leaving no part of him untouched, and he had been weak and helpless in the water, trapped by the soft murmurings in his ear as James had forced him to feel pleasure.

  He scowled, displeased by the questioning stare when he was on back in the mud like some peasant and still James had not moved to take what was offered. With some effort, he kept the intense stare as he thrust his body upward. He was only half-aroused, swollen from James’ kiss, but James was ready for him, and winced at the spark of lust at the glancing touch of his cock before uttering a pathetic mew of a sound and dropping his head to nibble at René’s throat. His hair fell, cold and icy, over his shoulder, and for the briefest moment, René also remembered that bath, and the steaming water James had delighted in trickling over his skin.

  Already James was lowering himself gently back down in order to rub himself against the length of his body, sliding one knee between his legs to part them and sighing to himself in ecstasy when René twitched in return. He was as low and desperate as the women who loved James, to lie here in the dirt and spread his legs, and yet when James tasted the pulse of the vein in his neck and opened his lips to suck at where the blood pounded the fiercest, he could not stop his hands from sliding into the ground. It was too damp to hold his fists, and he felt his hands slipping free with small, wet sounds, searching for the firm muscle of James’ back.