complaininginthedark:

There are new lines on his face. Crinkles and crows-feet around his eyes from squinting in the sun, deeper lines around his mouth from drowning or laughing (James hopes its laughing dear God he hopes it’s laughing). His skin is a shade darker, his arms and legs thicker, his muscles more defined from long days of hard labour. Thomas is stronger than he was, more steadfast and firmer in his words but no less kind of loving.

The beard scratches at James’ thighs as Thomas bathes him in kisses. The grey in it is a reminder of the time they have lost but the breathless laugh is the same as he leans up to kiss and suck at James’ chest.

“You’re bigger,” Thomas hums as he runs his hands over James’ newly reborn body. “I like it…” he fiddles with the earring and kisses the scar on James’ cheek. Thomas’ hands are eager as they explore the thick muscle of James’ belly and thighs, lightly scratching his nails over pale freckled skin and making James gasp as sensations he had almost forgotten threaten to overwhelm him.

Thomas kisses him hard, the rasp of their beards loud in the dark room even over the sound of their moans chorusing together as their bodies meet again for the first time in over a decade.

James is crying, he knows he is, but so is Thomas and it’s alright. They can cry now. They can kiss, make love, share happiness until the end of time now.

Silver unmade Flint, returned him to a state in which he could be remade. Thomas remakes him. Thomas forms him again from shards of himself with kisses and touches, words of love and forever spilling like life giving water from his lips. As he opens James with careful fingers, he brings James’ heart back together. As he pushes in, slow and almost painfully after so long, he makes James see the world anew. As they rock together, moaning and weeping and laughing with the sheer elation of the act of love, James knows who he is.

They are both different, almost strangers to the men they once were. But, wrapped in one another’s arms with legs entwined and hands clasped together, they are transparent to one another.

James Flint is dead. James McGraw is reborn. He sets down his oar and finds home at last in the arms of the man who was always waiting for him.