(SHAMELESS POST-FINALE only slightly angsty FLUFF TIME)
James wakes up and immediately registers the cold.
He blinks, once, twice, as if this is some cruel trick, but he’s shivering despite the thick blanket that’s pulled over him. James shudders a bit before rolling over to seek the warmth of another body to curl around- only to find that Thomas is in fact not asleep beside him.
That gives him cause to sit up, especially since he can’t hear Thomas either. The room is still dark, the sun yet to break over the horizon judging from the limited view out of their window. James manages to fumble around to gather the blanket around him firmly before rising to seek out the other man.
There’s a faint clattering sound just as he steps out of the bedroom. When James rounds the corner into the front room, he would be lying to himself if he didn’t let out a small but relieved exhale at the sight of Thomas’s broad shoulders in the next room. The other man is kneeling in front of the empty fireplace, stacking wood in it, flint and steel on the ground.
The fireplace that does not currently have a fire in it, James’s drowsy mind provides. He wraps the blanket more around him as he leans against the doorway. “Thomas?”
“It ran out of wood.” He sounds irritated, which is fair given that the front room is even colder, and Thomas is dressed only in his trousers. “Why the fuck didn’t we put more wood on the fire?”
One of the developments that Thomas has undergone in the past ten years is his new swearing. Back in London, James had probably witnessed Thomas swear twice- and both times, in far more pleasurable contexts than now. He’s nowhere near as colorful as some of the sailors or pirates that James has heard, but the change is both parts bittersweet and amusing.
“Probably because we barely made it to the bed in the first place, earlier,” James quips, in a surprisingly good mood even though he’s tired, and the stone is freezing underneath his bare feet. He pushes off the door frame to cross the room, to where Thomas is now scrabbling with the flint. “Here,” he says, putting a hand out for the tools, and he quickly lights a fire while Thomas watches with a disgruntled expression.
“Remind me why we moved so far north?” Thomas says grumpily, while they watch the flames lap away at the small pieces of woods, steadily growing until they can finally feel the warmth from the fire.
James is about to mention the very valid reasons they had to quickly leave the south (the plantation was, to put it mildly, in less than prime operating condition when they finally left it), but then he notices the slump to Thomas’s frame.
Up close, the other man looks exhausted, prominent dark circles under his eyes. It must have been another bad night, James realizes. God knows they both have their fair share of nightmares, but he knows from personal experience that since Thomas didn’t wake him up this time, it must have been something especially terrible.
James wants to tug him by the hand back to their bed, back to where he can at least pretend he can shield Thomas from all the evil in the world, until such dark thoughts don’t even touch his dreams. But for now, he drops to sit besides Thomas, letting their knees push together as Thomas stares into the flames, lost in thought even as James studies his profile in the light from the fire.
“Come here,” James says suddenly, spreading his legs. Thomas moves so that he’s between them, turning so that his head rests up against James’s chest. James wraps the blanket around the taller man, pressing a kiss on his temple. “Kiss me.”
Thomas tilts his head up obediently, and their mouths slot together easily, even with the odd angle, as another source of warmth. James traces Thomas’s lower lip with his tongue, their kiss turning slow and sweet as he rubs small circles into Thomas’s side just above his trousers.
He breaks away eventually, letting Thomas curl up against him more as James holds them up. Both of them are in desperate need of more sleep, and to get off the hard floor, but for now, they’ll stay here.
“It’ll nearly be spring,” he promises, and Thomas tilts his head up again. “I’ve heard that Boston is lovely in the springtime. We can go swimming in the Charles.” Thomas’s smile, however small, is brighter than the flames in front of them, and James buries his face in blond hair so that he can hold onto Thomas just a little tighter.
james/thomas + 13 “Kiss me”?
Published
Meg's Mumbles 