“My dear Miranda,” His tone is fond, and there is a subdued delight upon his features which would take no effort to hide if he willed it. As it was, he saw no reason to conceal his amusement, for it was far kinder a response than the grim foreboding her words set upon him, “I do believe you’re becoming quite the dangerous radical yourself with such ideas.”
It was hardly an insult – in the privacy of their own home, in the quiet after the last of their guests had taken their leave, dangerous words like revolution and radicalism bore tones quite deadly in the times – of fondness, gratitude and even adoration.
“To conceal one’s true intent and ambitions at all times,” He mused, stepping into his robe so that he might remove his wig without damaging his clothes, “Not only sounds tiresome in the extreme – but also as dishonest as one can get. I’ve always admired our honesty – are you suggesting that for the sake of our ideals, we become more like the dishonest to whom we must entreat ourselves?”
Maintaining a neutral expression in the wake of that particular confession proves phenomenally difficult. Thomas knows his jaw has slackened slightly in shock, perhaps more because he felt his lips part than any particular attention spent on how tightly clenched his teeth had been up until that very moment.
Quietly, his gaze seeks out the lilac vision of his wife as she mingled among their guests, seemingly harmless with her charming smile and innocuous remarks. She was perhaps his most delicate and dangerous device in these political games, her cautious wit affording her the capability of gathering intelligence with none being the wiser for it. She was a formidable ally, but she was not without her own games – he thought, for a moment, she might have put James up to this.
As it was, she was most engaged in conversation with Peter, and appeared to not be paying him or James any mind at all. He supposed that was fitting enough all things considered – she was the one who among them, was the least reckless. Making this gambit all James’ doing and therefore, all the more enticing for the fact the once so formal lieutenant could now possibly be so wickedly and delightfully bold.
“In good time,” He assured mildly, as if they were merely discussing something as indifferent as when it would be best for them to make a proposal before parliament, as opposed to the unspoken promise that there would be a great deal of kissing once their guests had taken leave for the night. “Patience may be a virtue I lack, however,” He warned, glancing over at James with a slight, hidden smile upon the corner of his lips – it wasn’t as though they couldn’t excuse themselves for a moment or two if need must.
“Not with that attitude,” Thomas assured flatly, barely even deigning to look over – and with his tone what it was, he doubted he needed to click disapprovingly to underscore the point any – but that didn’t stop him from doing so.
Stepping further away from the man to further illustrate his displeasure, Thomas made his way to the drawing room door – which he then locked, albeit almost silently but for the snap of the latch as it settled into its housing. Turning, he approached James again and laid a soothing hand upon his arm, “Tell me – does that approach work for you, with women? Or are you just that out of practice my dear lieutenant?”
To say he had not expected this outburst would have been an understatement. Thomas’ temper was not new to him, exactly–he’d seen the man rant and flail and seethe before, as captivating in his anger as in all else–but James had never before felt as though that anger was directed at him. He found it an unpleasant experience, to say the least- but knowing himself to be undeserving of such an outburst, there was no trace of guilt or retreat. James’ hands tightened behind his back, jaw set as he lifted his chin a little, staring frostily back at his lover.
He would have to ask Miranda, when he saw her, what situations like this required: if there were ways to ease Thomas’ temper short of simply leaving the room to avoid it. James debated on dismissing himself there and then- a few months prior, he would not have dared, but he was no longer just a lieutenant in this house.
Thomas, however, relented. James tilted his head slightly at that, his expression carefully contained (though his eyes were still hard), and gave a curt, understanding nod. As much as he adored Thomas–so fiercely it scared him, at times–he could not deny that in his irritation, he wanted Miranda’s company far more at the moment, and he suspected she’d be glad for the company.
“Certainly, my lord,” James replied coolly. The title had most certainly not been one of the usual slip-ups: not with James looking like it cost him something to keep from saying something far more scathing, even in the wake of Thomas’ apology. He stepped back, starting to turn away–then paused, like he was considering something.
“So that you and I are clear,” he said, turning slowly back to him. “You are forgiven. But I want it known that as your partner, that is absolutely not something I’ll allow you to subject me to on a regular basis.”
It was in truth for the best that James did not relent or flinch in the wake of Thomas’ anger – there were many things he could tolerate when he reached this point, but to be feared or worse, managed at such times only served to fire him higher. In the case of the former, there was a vicious and cruel desire to give that fear a reason for being there – and in the case of the latter, the idea of silencing himself for the comfort of another in his own home when he was so fettered as it was outside of it only ensured he would become louder in sheer rebellion.
To face him, unaffected and coolly uninterested in the matter as a whole – that, at least, Thomas could respond to. It was familiar and something he knew how to be himself in front of no matter what he was feeling at any given moment. It was so much like home that it registered only as someone is in the room as opposed to a cause for offense or frustration.
What did catch his attention was the deliberate use of his title as punishment. He straightened, startled enough that he forgot his anger for a split second to be genuinely thrilled by that unexpected bit of training on James’ end. It was effective – not only did it catch his attention, it ensured that Thomas knew his lover was quite displeased with him, without devolving the scene into an argument.
If he weren’t wholly aware of what he would be taking care of the moment James left the house, he might have been completely tamed by that act alone, and the desire to swiftly ensure that things between himself and James were alright. As it was, the envelope in his hand and James’ reprimand were both insurance enough against the idea, and he inclined his head in an abashed manner.
“Of course,” He agreed, knowing full well the demand was reasonable and seeing no reason to debate it. Nor to excuse himself further, when forgiveness had already been offered. “I will send for you when I return.” In future, Thomas knew he would need to dismiss himself from wife and sweetheart both, and hope that would be enough to maintain them all when Hell came rising once again to his door.
“Damn it all James – if I wanted to be fucking placated I would not have sent my wife to manage meaningless errands! Unless you wish to join her the next time I have to deal with this I strongly suggest you make yourself useful. I’ve enough on my plate as it is without you two fluttering about insisting that I calm down. Do you seriously think that is in any way a productive method of managing me?”
Even as he snapped, Thomas knew he wasn’t angry with James. Christ, this was why he sent Miranda off the moment he saw the fucking crest on these damnable missives. Why he had thought for a moment he could contain himself better with his lover than he did his wife, he could not fathom. If anything this was far worse – Miranda, at least, was used to the tempestuous nature of Hamilton tempers, but James –
Closing his eyes, Thomas gripped the back of the sofa viciously, leaning into it as he bowed his head – displaying defeat, and surrender in the other man’s direction if for no other reason than to assure James that all temper aside, his rage was not, in fact, directed at him.
“Forgive me,” The words seemed to sigh from him, and he glanced up grimly to meet the other’s gaze. “I am in no proper space to be good company to anyone, it would seem. That was ill done of me – and for the sake of ensuring it does not repeat itself, I would like for you to go. Miranda should be —- somewhere down in the market, I can’t recall what I asked her to do, and chances are she’s wandered off to do her own thing anyway. If you catch her perhaps the two of you can do something.”
Straightening, he resisted the urge to rake his hand back and drag the wig from his scalp, just for distraction and the need to feel something other than the itch of powder. “If you do not see her – please, can you call on her tomorrow for me? I – believe it best if I take my leave of the house for a few days.”
“Excuse you,” The haughty tone was not at all retracted after Thomas had taken note of the man who so rudely crashed into him – an officer of His Majesty’s Navy ought to be a great deal more aware of his surroundings, and in fact the man’s uniform only served to make matters more acerbic. “Has war been declared whilst the lords have enjoyed their afternoon tea?”
The sensation of James’ hand in his own is something of a surprise – it is not often that his lieutenant takes such daring initiatives, and though he hums his approval and gives a gentle squeeze, he finds himself at war. On one hand he wants to reward this in a grand fashion – on the other, he wants James to see this as normal – as perfectly acceptable to the point it was not worthy of note beyond the comfort that it brought between them.
In the end, he decided they could work their way to that – for now, James was so new to everything, that he deserved to have his initiatives rewarded. Miranda would doubtless have something to say about spoiling when he told her about it later, but for now his focus was all on James as he shifted his grip and brought their joined hands up, so that he might press a kiss to the back of the man’s hand to show his appreciation.
“Absolutely not,” The response was at once dismissive and amused – as if the mere thought of shame was a laughable concept to him. “I have enough to balance in my life without wasting my time on self-flagellation for the satisfaction of people whose opinions I don’t even care about.”
Taking no pity on the man whatsoever, Thomas pressed on with a question of his own, “Tell me James – how has shame benefited you? Has it elevated your status, to bow your head and behave as though your upbringing has made you lesser than those you can intellectually talk circles around? Or has it simply made it easier for them to overlook you – because you behave precisely the way that they want you to?”
No-one had ever showered James in compliments the way Thomas did. He was not unfamiliar with praise, exactly–it was often given by his superiors–but to be praised like this, just for Being, just for the small things that Thomas found so lovable in him, was… entirely something else. Who could blame him, really, for having to hide his face in Thomas’ chest while he processed it?
He might have offered a token, flustered grumble upon raising his head again had Thomas not drawn him in so swiftly. James melted immediately against him, whole body pressing forward like it was starving for this. He was still burning- the blush had spread down his throat and fanned out- but Thomas was forgiven, if James’ eagerness to be closer was anything to go by.
“You did that on purpose, you shit,” he muttered, bumping Thomas’ nose affectionately with his own, eyes closed. Both of James’ hands had splayed themselves over the other’s chest, just… resting there, just feeling him, like confirmation that this was real. Then, opening his eyes to glare at Thomas with nothing short of the utmost fondness (and watching carefully for his reaction), James added: “Fortunately, I adore you, so you’re forgiven.”
It was a true blessing for them all that Thomas was not a particularly artistic man, for were he of the capacity to immortalize how adorable James looked in that moment he surely would have taken the time to do so. As it was, he simply kept his hand against the warmth of his lover’s skin and smiled, his thumb tracing a jaw that had known the lips of both himself and his wife.
His thoughts were waxing toward the poetic when the man spoke, jarring him from it in a delightfully crass manner that startled a laugh from Thomas before he could think to contain it. Running his hands soothingly along James’ sides to assure him that the laughter came from a place of fondness rather than mockery – ever aware that the line they walked was one that was still fettered by the chains society had wrapped around his lieutenant’s neck like a noose – Thomas hummed approval as he found himself being teased. There was an endearing mischief in James that Thomas dearly hoped to see more of.
He did not hide the fondness in his own smile as he replied, “I am blessed indeed to have your adoration,” Forgiveness was rarely something Thomas ever sought, but the adoration of a loved one – that could carry a man very far indeed. “I do hope that I never lose it.” Genuine sentiment masked behind teasing words as he laid a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek.
Sunlight dripped through a crack in the heavy curtains, aligning itself across the lieutenant’s freckled skin in such a manner as to be utterly irresistible. The fact that Thomas would have much preferred a lay in was forgotten in favor of enjoying a far more pleasant morning before getting down to business matters. He had a meeting in a few hours – and he truly had meant to let James sleep until noon, at which point he and Miranda could have woken him up together – but the temptation had simply been too much for him.
Now, he had a laughing, blushing lieutenant in his bed who was only slightly begrudging his wake up call, and Thomas found himself genuinely wondering if he could put off his entire day just to spoil James. It was only the knowledge of his lover’s predictable horror at the realization of what was missed and the threat of Miranda’s disapproval that kept him from carrying on beyond a cheeky kiss to the corner of James’ lips before sitting up and laying his hand on the warm skin between his lover’s shoulders.
“If I have to be awake this early, everyone ought to,” He quipped lightly enough, “Although,” His hand slid lazily along, fingers tracing familiar patterns now amid the constellations on James’ skin, “I cannot say I would be too opposed to finding you right where I left you, if you would like to continue your repose.”
Ocean Archive 