{ Shit To Say Meme }
“So have him replaced.” Thomas responded idly enough, “There are other crew favorites are there not? Certainly more capable sailors among them – surely he is likable, but that hardly qualifies him for the role. I’m sure with the right words in the right ears you could have him deposed in a week or so if you were truly adamant about it.”
“If a callous vanished each time you did that I’d have hands that never worked a day again,” Thomas teased, his tone warm in a way that indicated he genuinely was not bothered by the state of his hands and considered James’ attention to them truly flattering.
He made no move to stop the man, either, simply choosing to shift himself so that he could take a seat again – he had not even been gone long, so there was really no excuse for James’ needing to touch him, any more than there was a reason for Thomas craving the offer of it. Yet in the dark hours of the night, when all there was in the world was the creak of the ship and the slap of the waves to remind him of where and when he was, Thomas found he needed James more than ever to feel as if the world was real.
He never believed in happy endings before, and maybe that was why like James, he did not like being apart for more than was absolutely necessary – and that until they touched again, everything felt a little more brittle and fragile than before.
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.
@oceanfoamed (from here)
The click of the tongue made his eyes snap up, meeting Thomas’ in the dark. He thought himself rejected at first, and twitched as if to withdraw- but stopped as the covers were flipped back, and Thomas addressed him with a tone that James recognised as decidedly displeased. That alone was incentive enough to break his silence.
“Sorry,” he murmured, and meant it. It was a valid complaint, after all- Flint, too, knew that particular brand of justified paranoia. But James slipped in beside him, burrowing in close- there was no pretense, no suppression of the desire to be as close as physically possible (though naturally, this was not always the case- Flint, too, frequently needed space). He draped an arm across Thomas’ chest, looking up at his face in the darkness, the curve of his jaw. Gazing at him, as he sometimes did, as if Thomas was the only thing he wanted to look at from this moment onwards. Smiling slightly, James added, only half-joking: “Sometimes I forget you can’t read my mind.”
The niggling sense of frustration that continued to linger drifted away both in wake of the apology ( for it indicated to Thomas that the man understood the sentiment enough to be genuinely contrite ) and in the face of the easy way in which his lover tucked against him despite the cold invitation.
It was in moments like this – when James treated him normally and yet somehow still managed to remind him of all the time they had lost, and all of the love that had driven them into their reunion – that Thomas found there was no room in him to be angry. The worst of those storms had passed – and now, they had only the smaller things to weather, things any couple needed to face when getting used to being a couple.
Huffing softly, Thomas settled his arm around James and drew him in, pressing a kiss to the man’s fiery hair before returning his attention to his book and asking, in a much softer tone that betrayed the fondness welling within him, “Would you like to read with me, or shall I read to you tonight?”
Thomas jerked away sharply, rising to his feet and turning – ready to fight, ready to run – and it didn’t matter that there was nowhere to go on this fucking ship. He was ready to fly straight into the ocean’s embrace if he had to. Anything was better than this – hell – inside of himself.
For a time he simply stood there – staring at James through the sting in his eyes and dragging in breath that clawed at his throat and left him feeling more and more raw with each and every intake. He was torn in the worst imaginable fashion. He wanted to be alone, he didn’t want anyone to see him, let alone touch him. He wanted to scream, to rage, to hurt something, anything but himself..
Yet beyond all that – beyond that tempestuous, self-guarding fury – he wanted to lay his head down in a familiar lap, to feel hands combing through his hair and hear the songs that had calmed him ever since he was a boy. The songs that had rescued him time and again, from pain and anger and grief. The scent of perfume still lingering against a skirt that felt like home, and the awareness that the storms could be put to sleep. To know that it was safe to weep, until the clouds cleared, and the world was made whole as rest overtook him in the greatest peace he had ever known in his life.
He missed her – he had missed her ever since that incident, and the mutual agreement not to seek one another’s company. To protect themselves and what was left – and he had found hollow echoes since. Miranda’s soothing hands, the lap of a lover, the songs of paid entertainers – there had always been bits and pieces in place to tame the storms, but none had amounted to what he needed.
There had been something close, on the plantation. How he had found her, and how she had known what he needed he could not say. He’d found solace, and another reason to be grateful for that cage, to be glad of it. There was much to be said about learning to love a prison, and none of it could be understood by the man in front of him, who had spent so long hating the world in the name of a ghost forged by lies and the will to believe them, despite knowing their source had never known truth once, let alone the capacity to speak it.
Taking in another sharp, aching breath, Thomas accepted that what he wanted and what he could have would always be two seperate things. No rage, no grief, no pain could change that. He would, as he has always done, have to adapt. To alter himself, and compromise, again and again, for even an echo of what he needed would always, and ever, have to be enough.
Stepping forward, he reached out and clasped James by the wrists – though who he meant to anchor in that moment, was anyone’s guess.
“Can we – lay down, for a time?” His voice was quiet, if only to mask how raw it was. “Or are you – are you busy?”
Thomas stiffened, glancing over at James sharply as he just stood there – and if it weren’t for that fucking expression on his face he might have torn a strip from him for hovering like that – but as it was, he just snapped his tongue irritably.
Some habits never died.
Flipping the covers back, he remarked bluntly, “Typically speaking when a man lurks above a bed like that it doesn’t mean good things. Use your words next time.” Though he managed to keep it from being as visceral as he’d initially intended, it was still harsher than he now wanted. So in a softer, more entreating tone, he added, “Please.”
Oh Heavens, look. The dear thing thought himself clever. Thomas maintained an uninterested expression – his focus seemingly on the sea, and the horizon it reached to. When James was just close enough he couldn’t escape, he turned what had likely been meant as a sweet kiss on the cheek into something a little more – intense.
They had plenty of time, of course – with the night settling in, there was little to be done but rest. Leaning away, Thomas gave his dear lieutenant – ah, captain, – a wink before patting his chest and moving to step past him. Admittedly expecting him to be frozen enough not to react just yet – but, then, it had been ten years….
Who knew what else might have changed, aside from a simple surname.
As a general rule, Thomas had made it clear that he did not like having anyone get near his hair. Having been forced to shave it so often, forced to maintain the appearance of servitude and submission, he had taken to the freedom of expression known best to pirates by growing it out.
He might have thought it obnoxious a decade ago, pulling it back every day, but now it was all but an act of catharsis to run fingers through his hair and know that nobody could take this from him now. To tie it back and know that it was his choice to appear in such a manner held tremendous – if perhaps vain and foolish – meaning to him.
Not even James had been permitted to touch his hair without express permission thus far, and though Thomas felt the same coil of distaste he always did at first, noting who it was, and what was being done, soothed his alarm before he could even begin to wonder why it didn’t bother him.
“Where in Heaven’s name did you manage to find this?” He wondered, fingers lifting up to brush against the delicate petals of the orange tropical flower now fixed behind his ear. It had been days since they left shore – how had the man even managed to preserve it for so long?
Fascinated, he could not help but smile, “You truly are quite the wonder, aren’t you?”
This is a permanent starter call for Thomas Hamilton, of Starz’ Black Sailsexplicitly.
These calls give me a heads up on who is open to interacting with whom (which is handy for those who have exclusives among my crew! ) and gives me an excuse to kick you starters whenever something crosses the mind, or blow up your inbox knowing who would be most wanted.
These calls also serve as a final tag dump – when this call is posted it indicates a character has been fully moved into the blog and is ready for action!
For other starter calls, check the tag HERE.
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