The ocean’s embrace.

intolerablexsacrifice‌:

@oceanfoamed (from here)

_{There was no way of knowing which demon was tormenting Thomas at the moment, not when he barely knew any of their names- but in the end, knowing what was wrong mattered far less to him in the moment than being able to do something about it. Flint waited, patiently, as Thomas drew in ragged breaths like each one was its own agony. Either he would lash out, at which point Flint might put him to work for the sake of a distraction from his thoughts- or he would not, and James, then, could take over.}

_{In the end, Thomas reached for him. Flint’s expression softened, and James stepped closer, allowing those hands to curl around his wrists without complaint.}

_{“Love,” he murmured, and lifted his hands to brush away the tears on Thomas’ cheeks. He did not use such terms of endearment often, and never had: there was rarely a need for them when he could make something as simple as a name sound like worship. “I’m not busy.”}

_{In truth, there were things he ought to be minding. But there was very little that could not be put aside for this man, and he was confident that nothing would go drastically askew in the time they might take to lie together awhile. “Come on.”}

_{He took Thomas’ hand in his own, leading him out of the dark, uncaring of curious eyes they might pass by on the way to his cabin. Once they were safely secluded, James paused. It was second nature to him to lock the door in moments like these, but Thomas…}

_{“Do you want this locked?”}

James came for him, and the feel of the man’s wrists in his grip truly did feel more like he was anchoring himself than his lover. Their hands rose together when James decided to brush his tears away, and Thomas held on a moment longer despite the fact it was a somewhat awkward position on his end. The endearment settled something in him – the rarity of such a term making it meaningful enough to catch on to and hold as he was assured. 

His hands lowered, about to settle at his sides listlessly when James took one up to lead him, confidently drawing him by it to the cabin they had come to share, an unexpected home and sanctuary for a man who up until a couple of years ago when he had left the plantation with James, had only been on a ship but once – to be delivered to that very same plantation. 

Gratitude flooded him as James took charge, knowing in that moment that he needed this leadership, for he was very much at a loss within himself. Yet what truly pushed him over the edge he balanced so precariously upon was James checking if he would be comfortable with the door locked. It struck against his core, the awareness that the door did not have to be locked, for even if they were found in one another’s arms none on this ship would judge – or have room to do so. 

“I am so tired of locked doors,” It fell from him almost without his own volition, but the words were true. He did not see a locked door as safety so much as imprisonment now – and he did not want to feel trapped here, in this space he shared with James. Not even for a moment, not even for a metaphor. 

Taking charge himself, Thomas led James now – still holding his hand from before – and drew him to the bed they now shared. A far cry from the old one, but better together than alone. He settled in and waited until James had settled, before leaning in and damning his height as he tucked himself beneath James’ chin and gave himself over, the strain in his shoulders draining away as a true sense of security returned to him as a result of it.