Chapter Twenty—

He had come to this place.

With his head bent forward the hat René had chosen to wear in the city offered no protection to his bare neck, and the mist falling around him had slowly formed into heavy drops of water. They trailed easily through his short hair, and down under the collar of his coat, soaking the shirt underneath. It was cold, and he shivered to know how intimately the water touched him, the rest of his skin tightening into raised bumps of flesh.

It was cold here. He had the thought once more, but did not lift his head from the mud splattered steps leading to the doors of the small church. The feather along the hat’s brim was growing heavy, an ugly weight that would only be made worse for the time he stood here. It took a moment to reach up and toss the useless item aside, far to the side where James would not see and whine like a child at the waste of such a thing. For all that he aspired to priesthood; James seemed to mark the cost of all he saw.

James had denied any desire to take holy vows. He had dared to grow annoyed at being addressed as a Father, frowning even deeper at René’s amusement at his anger. And then he had acted, as though determined to prove with his mouth if not with his words that he was a man of earth. As though the sky did not seek him out, sneaking through cracks in curtains to caress the lines of bared, gleaming shoulders. The touches of his hands gentle, the kisses of his mouth hard and fierce, his softness left only in his fingertips, easing down under René’s thighs as though uncertain of welcome.

Another shiver took René’s body, showing the coat to be as worthless as the hat, another gift from Mirena that he had suffered through without need. She had laughed upon seeing him two days ago, standing in the rain at the harbor without a hat or a warm coat, then laughed again moments later, the constant mirth of a foolish woman who drank too much. But even drunk she had produced both items for him within moments, set aside and in the hands of the ugly Englishman, as though she had expected René to be bareheaded and wet.

That had not been pleasing, but the annoyance was nothing to her delight at asking if he had also thought James most handsome with gold at his ear. Drunkard that she was, she had merely laughed more when René had bared his teeth.

“But you may pierce him whenever you like.” Only a grimace from the pox-marked man had wiped the crude grin from her face. René had been glad to leave her. Glad to talk with Thierry, attend to business that would leave him free to return and collect James.

Now, James Fitzroy who was not a priest, who had stolen gold in his ear and René’s promise to return, had come here. To the place where he could not be safe, to where there would be protection only from the rain. Did he not understand why he had been left in the house? The child had more sense it seemed. Left to himself James had come to one place that René would have forbidden if he could have anticipated James Fitzroy’s stupidity.

Even the soft rushing sounds of the mist were gone now, leaving a silence around him that only meant more rain on the way, the fierce sort of downpour that made peasants happy and trapped fine carriages in the mud. If he were swift enough, they might be back to the house before it fell.

His chin rose, his eyes observing the lines of saints observing him, their faces set to reveal nothing. It was an ugly house for counting sins, and no matter what James said in there now, he could not equal René in the list of crimes committed. It was only left for René to wonder if he numbered among James’ sins, if he was the only one to feel the heat of their passion a blessed sacrament.

It was a thought that would have greatly upset his Maman, upset her even though he would not speak it, and René flinched, glaring at the drops heavy on the lintel above the doors. There would be no staying dry it seemed, and he allowed himself a shudder as the cold crept into his wound and chilled his bones.

His blasphemy would not warm him, and he ducked his head under the wind and walked up the steps to the doors. James had been there, for the handle was warm, and he yanked it hard with his good arm, swinging it out to the side and stepping in to replace it before it could close. Then he did not move, shivering at the feel of air at his back, stillness in his chest.

Bent slightly as though he had only just risen from the floor, James turned to face the entrance. His eyes were wide already, startled, and they grew to twin moons to see him there, no doubt having never expected to see René Villon on the threshold of a church. And then the face flushed with a pretty colour, the mouth for once quiet as it fell open with some wordless, voiceless exclamation.

“He has come!” That wrenching voice, high with emotion, was all that could have drawn his gaze from the welcome in James’ eyes, and René felt his head go back, ringing as it hit the thick wood behind him. He could see her now, her slightness held carefully behind the solid figure of James as though to protect herself from his presence, and he blinked at the renewed throbbing of old wounds. “The Devil himself, come for me.”

“There is no devil here.” It was a wonder that James did not at least stammer in shame at his daring to say such a thing now, but he did appear to see the disbelief crossing René’s face now. His jaw clenched, anger at René’s doubt or a desire to protect such a lovely, frail figure drawing him to his full height.

He had come here, to this place when being in the midst of the gleaming coils of the Saint-Cyrs would have offered a better sanctuary. James would put faith in her stark cloth, supposing her innocent by nature of her sex. He would protect that until death, that without even a taste of any sin. Once he knew of that he would love her.

“Still trying to reason with the mad, James?” James’ surprise seemed no greater than hers that René should speak now, the stinging words echoing louder than distant thunder outside. She would not cry for the beauty of the sacrifice being offered her; like the fools before her, she would not even see it. Prayers for his soul were all she had to give in return, words without use.

She had not aged. Perhaps her prayers had preserved her. Her hands looked smooth; René could, if he tried, pull his eyes away to look at her hands, the one curled into James’ side, the other held out in the air between them. Where was her Father now when she was faced with such a Devil? And still she dared to look pure as the fear made her shake, there should have been blood dripping from her spotless palms.

No marks of her life on her face, her brow as white and clear as milk, as it had always been, as though it was not only her mind trapped in the years before. She shuddered, and René twitched at the sign of her weakness, longing to spit in her pretty face.

“She is so very pretty, James.” She had even been pretty in the nunnery where he had found her, when the price of the asylums had no doubt seemed too costly for those who had placed her there. There was none other with such grace, and yet still he had searched. James would have stopped for her. But she had not met James then, she had met the Devil.

René wondered if James had noticed the brilliance of her eyes, how they belied the gentleness of her hands. He could see them, how they sought him out yet flinched from his gaze, and he knew that if he pretended now, and spoke as another, she would follow. No one resisted the demon for long.

She still stared at him. She waited, and René put his hands behind him, flat on the wood of the door and even all his weight would not force it open.

He opened his mouth, then turned his head. With effort, he glanced over the interior of the church, blinking to see it empty of all but the three of them yet so well lit; candles that were too bright seemed to line every surface. A steady glow surrounded the sacristy, a circle that only led back to the heavy, black candelabras lining the aisle, drawing his gaze back to the two standing together.

They had not been standing so when he had first pushed aside the oak barring his way, they had been twisted, limbs in motion. René looked to the floor, to the stones where kings and fools knelt to pray. Given a choice, James would still fall to his knees when he should stand and walk away, and René lifted his eyes to the hideous painting on the wall opposite him.

She had wished James to protect her. She would not ask. There would be no tears for mercy and roasting in demon fires, there would have been only her loveliness and James would comply.

A heat rose in his stomach, a tightness like pain, and René laughed at it, letting his head fall back to the doors that no longer parted for him. Far from him, James inhaled, a sharp gasp as though he also hurt, and René slid his gaze down and across to him.

“I have the look of him.” His laugh quieted and James stepped forward, to bring himself closer or to stand before her as a shield. René put a hand to his shoulder, which ached now, and watched the sudden gleam in James’ features, a sharp awareness only growing sharper, and he could not stop his own sigh. Behind his glasses, James was blinking, trying for once to understand instead of turning his head from truth. Now he chose to understand. Now, just as he had chosen to come to this place. “I told you to remain in the house.”

“You told me to stay.” James countered immediately, though lowly and without even a frown. A consideration for her presence, but with the knowledge that nothing would ever completely stop that mouth. “You did not say where.”

René tightened his lips before opening them again to speak, then fell back to silence at the movement of the white hands clinging to James’ body. They were whiter than sun-bleached bones, no longer the radiant pearl shades of the moonlight as the fingers straightened, pushing away from James with sudden force.

“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 guide her and erase the memories of her sins, she would allow no petting now, though she had begged for such comforts before. She had offered them before as well, and perhaps it was her guilt that so frightened her. His stomach twisted once more, a sickness that burned in his mouth like hot ash.

“What have you done with him?”

She turned back to him to make demands. Turned back to stare evil in the eye to ask of him. Only a fool would weep at such a question.

“I promised I would bring him again…” James was half-turned toward her, as though trying to watch them both at once, never realizing the presence of the other that also watched this. But his rash words stopped her at least; no doubt pleasure at James’ mad vow keeping her still. Whatever he had promised of himself would soon be lying at her feet.

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

“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 as he tried to explain his meaning slowed to nothing at all as his words died. Silence and stillness were James then, and René thought himself wrong, that perhaps something had stopped James’ mouth at last.

“Did you not think I had a mother, James?” How frightened James looked now. To another it would have seemed amusing, dizzying awareness in eyes others thought so clever. No doubt his mind was spinning, confusion striking him mute if only for the moment.

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, clear with sharp intentions. René knew he gasped, heard it fly across to James as his spirit always would, even without his will. Something hurt, the pull of his wound perhaps, 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 through René could see James’ head turn, a moment away from him and when James’ gaze returned it was again soft, his eyes muddy and 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.” He confessed as though a Father was present, his tongue thick.

“I spoke.” In James’ eyes was knowledge, a sickness turning his stomach, a rage at what he 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 his Maman, who stood straight for the moment, her innocence restored at James’ interference.

“I beg forgiveness,” whisper-soft, she addressed him calmly, 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 this man. Her sentence she left open, bowing her head in repentance without taking her wide eyes from him, and René thought if he reached out, she might strike him with the crucifix dangling from her neck.

“No, I am not.” But 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, leaving 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 and 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.

Here it was cold, and he shivered, finding 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 he would not wait in the rain for a fool to finish his prayers. James would hurry, so that he 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 his head back up as though he wanted another.

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 James’ hesitation. If his laugh seemed high, James did not remark on it, in the same strange way that James had not yet said anything of what had happened earlier, or of how René had leapt upon him only moments ago. 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 awkwardly, 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 his Maman 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. And 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 was so cold and harsh that he flinched before even 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 damned books until they fell to sleep with the light on their faces.

“I did not ask of your women!” René screamed it to the sky, startling James with the force of it, 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. But James was even nearer than that, leaning his face down to his and pressing their lips together warmly.

Bare seconds later he was taking himself away, and 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 now, and trapped it behind his closed lips, rubbing his face against the warm 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. And 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 simply waited, gazing up over James’ head at the dark sky before the rain made him close his eyes tight.

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…” And 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.

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 his pantalons, and 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, and let the rain dance on his tongue.

“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 moldy 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. And 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. Didn’t James understand?

He swallowed, letting his heart keep the time for him, a fast and uneven beat in his skull. And 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 they fell to his waiting tongue when he opened his mouth, and 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 himself 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 laughter 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. And 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 noisily through his nose, but did not stop, pressing his 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. And 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 his pantalons 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. But James seemed to rage with fever, and his 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. And 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, touching light James touches across his lower stomach, feeling the thin line of hair, following it down to where his pantalons 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. And 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.

“Hmmm.” 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 he 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 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 pounding madly.

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. But 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 have laughed 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 snake. 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. But it was not meant to be that, 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.

And 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 shamed 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.

But 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 feverishly 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…you saw.”

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.

He had decided, and there would be no more hesitating.

“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 had failed in all things and 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 smallest 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. And 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.

And then James moved, twisting his hips curiously. Sharp stabs of pleasure followed the move, an abrupt, deep yearning bringing René’s head from the ground.

“Did I find it?” James was asking 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 to René 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 only sweet, 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. And 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 horrifying way he had yelped like a frightened 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 marking James and betraying René’s passion.

The firm grip did not ease, only slowing slightly 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 roughly.

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.” And 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 for me,” he said in Parisian, low and clear and heavy and so urgently that René tilted his head back to lay himself flat before him.

A warm, strong hand held him, caressed his hard, wet cock and there was nothing to do, no way to escape it, just as before, nothing to do but murmur his pleasure against James’ heat and thrust back into that giving palm as James surrounded him, as James always had. So close to him that René could have flicked out his tongue to touch James’ lips. And he did, and remembered the words that had come from them as James squeezed him again, hard and firm and commanding.

“James.” A soft little hiss as he came, a small explosion of liquid between them as James continued to jerk his prick in his hand, and then a heaviness seeping into his bones. His eyes fell closed, and even the ground seemed comfortable enough to serve as a bed as the last of his seed left his body. The heat was better than a flaming hearth and blankets of warm wool, and he sighed once more, clutching mindlessly at the shoulders beneath his hands.

“René.” A flat, almost dry acknowledgement, and then the heat collapsed tiredly over him, crushing him though he could not seem to mind yet as he drew shallow, careful breaths.

Water splashed them as the seed between them cooled, though it was some time before that finally drove itself into his consciousness enough for him open his eyes, and remember that they lay in a dirty field, miles from shelter, covered in mud and naked to the elements.

“James.” He shoved weakly against one shoulder as he said it, and James snapped his head up to squint at him. Then his face again filled with red, as dark as an aroused prick, flushing with blood at something that no doubt was not the reason that he ought to be blushing.

James’ cock slipped free of him and René frowned at the oddly familiar sensation of emptiness, a wide ache in him at James’ absence.

“Have I hurt you?” James was suddenly rising up from with a furious sort of urgency, running his hands lightly over René’s sticky chest. René shivered, but was pushed back when he tried to rise, a one-handed shoved from James keeping him down. “I…” Whatever he meant to say he could not finish, and René knew his eyes widened as James ducked his head to nearly between his legs, and then pressed his fingers to the tingling, sore hole.

“What are you doing?” He demanded and shoved away the hand to push himself into a sitting position. James was bent before him and regarding his ass so seriously that René would have blushed if he had not been concentrating on the sight of James’ back, the red line and welts from René’s roughness. A few of the marks were bleeding slightly, slight, scattered beads of scarlet that were growing pink with each drop of rain that hit James’ skin.

“You do not bleed.” James seemed both relieved and puzzled, and then embarrassed, realizing that he held René’s attention with a suddenness that had him jerking his back onto his knees and avoiding René’s eyes.

“James.” He knew he had the sound of a fool, repeating that name, but it was all his mind would grant him, and he touched his tongue to his lips, tasting the rain once more. Free to move now, René moved himself out from under James and slid up to his knees as well, not looking at his own stained and used body, awkward and pale next to James, who seemed all honey and wine-coloured strength. Strength that bleed, nonetheless, for having been touched by René, and he recalled how he had looked away that first afternoon, when James had wiped himself clean of the effects of René’s fucking.

“You do,” René told him finally, and surged forward, twisting himself like a cat in order to drag his tongue along the blood from the scratches he had made, and swallow the saltiness before James would push him away for his madness.

An arm crossed his chest, bending to crush him in place when he would have slid away, and though it could not have brought James comfort, René could feel his hand at his back.

“You will not send me from you.” The blood was like spirits on his tongue, leaving his mind numb and foolish, nothing but warmth in the cheek that he pressed to James’ back.

He had no place for his own arms, and held them from James’ heat for a moment, hearing the rush of James’ sigh through his chest at his hesitation. But he was not weak, and let his fingers creep back over James’ skin, feeling James do the same.

“No.” The sweetness of James’ breath at René’s shoulder echoed René’s short exhalation, and René closed his eyes before the rain could return, knowing that did not have long to sit here like this. Already his body wanted him to move.

The beat under his ear did not slow, and René’s fingers curled, holding tight in sudden fear. When his eyes opened, he saw that nothing about them had changed. Yet still, James would view it strangely, his body tense.

“Aye,” James spoke for himself, his words nearly swallowed by the wind, and only then did he turn his head, easing his hold so that René might move and look him in the face. He was calm, gentle whispers only as he reached for dirtied coats and scraps of what clothing remained dry. “Let us leave this place, René.”