James had found it difficult to tear his gaze away from Thomas from the day they met but it was even harder since Thomas had started teaching him Spanish.
Thomas insisted on going to his place to teach him and insisted he couldn’t teach unless he was relaxed and comfortable.
Relaxed and comfortable apparently meant removing his outer layer and lying on James’s bed with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, black trousers making his legs look longer, bare feet sometimes nudging against James’s thigh.
James knew he was getting better at Spanish – he and Thomas spoke mostly Spanish now and the language flowed off his tongue but when Thomas smiled and started reading Don Quixote from where they’d left it last time James just gazed at him. Watching the sun rays illuminate the gold in his hair and the way his eyes creased up when he was happy and…
“James?” Thomas prompted, softly.
“I, what?” James realised Thomas was looking at him.
“Are you tired?” Thomas asked, softly, “You were staring into space and haven’t been taking in a word.”
“Actually I was staring at you and not taking in a word,” James admitted, “My apologies. What were you saying?”
Thomas smiled and James felt himself being tugged closer. It didn’t matter how many times Thomas had kissed him now, his mind went blank every time.
“Same time tomorrow?” Thomas asked as they broke apart.
“For our lesson or you kissing me?” James asked, softly, “Because if it’s the latter I do not see why it has to end at all.”
Thomas gave him one of those looks, a look that was amused and affectionate and loving and fond and a million other things all at once, a look that James had often wondered if he invented because he’d never been looked at the way Thomas looked at him before.
“I agree,” Thomas said, softly and then those hands were in his hair and he was being kissed again.
11. “Same time tomorrow?” + Flinthamilton pleeeaase!
Published
Meg's Mumbles 