Thomas barely even had time to register the danger he was in before a flurry of leather and rage had burst past him, and there was a rather abrupt ( albeit short ) battle before him. Lowering his book, Thomas stared in absolute astonishment as James ruthlessly cut a man down, strangely detached from the overwhelming force of the violence at hand.
He only reacted when blood seeped its way down the planks toward his shoes – urging him to rise and step lightly over the rolling mess toward James, who was breathing heavily and staring down at the corpse he had made as if incensed beyond the capacity to truly see it. Tucking his book into his shirt, Thomas reached down and clasped both hands around the fist presently clenched around the handle of a bloody cutlass, waiting until his beloved’s glorious mixed hues sought him out.
“Thank you, my dear.” He spoke calmly, unafraid of James even in this state – and perhaps that was arrogant, perhaps that was where danger like this one was born. It mattered little to Thomas – his interest, now, was solely in bringing his lover back to him, lest he be forced along with the rest of the crew to deal with Flint for who knew how long.
“Come here,” He insisted, drawing on James’ hand with one of his, pulling him close as his other hand rose to rest on the man’s opposite shoulder. Heedless of the body at their feet, uncaring about the gazes surely upon them, Thomas leaned in and kissed the man – showing his gratitude as surely as demanding James stay with him, rather than get lost in whatever place it was he had built for himself when rage was the only emotion that made sense.
Ocean Archive 