Sorry to prompt again. I hope this is ok. Post series. Thomas knows it’s vain of him but he hates his work roughened hands. He hates looking at them and knowing he’ll never be the man he once was. Perhaps it’s silly but losing the softness of his hands hurt more than he would admit to anymore. When James finds out how much it’s upsetting Thomas he hunts out coconut oil to soften the skin of Thomas’ hands

complaininginthedark:

Thomas was scrubbing his hands again. He had taken to scowling down at his hands whenever they entered his eye-line and it made James’ heart break a little more each time. He would come in from the garden and stand at the sink, scrubbing with the bristles of a brush until his hands were red and sensitive. Some days he bit at his fingers as though that might rid him of the callouses that had formed there from hard years of labour and toil

“I used to have such good hands,” Thomas murmured one evening. He had trimmed and cleaned his nails, scrubbed any residual dirt from the sketching he had spent the day doing, and sat beside the fireplace in the evening with a scowl on his lips. “I was a fucking Lord once and now- now I’m calloused and broken and I can hardly hold a pencil without it shaking-”

James stopped him with a kiss to his cheek. “You’re all you once were,” he whispered, “changed, yes, but still the same man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

James took him to bed and showed him how much he loved him, longed for him, and let Thomas curl up into the space between his arms as they slept. 

In the morning he went out into town and only came home when he found what he was searching for. Hours in the hot American sun, trawling through every apothecary and healer’s shop, every old woman’s pantry open for the market, every inch of the town until he had three pounds less and one jar of coconut oil more. 

When he got home that evening Thomas was gazing out of the window as he often did. There were still many days he found it hard to speak or be social and he spent those days looking at the vast open space between their cottage and the ocean. James shut the front door, toed his boots off, and placed the bag of fresh meat and vegetables on the side as he made his way to Thomas’ side. 

“I have something for you,” he said softly. Thomas looked up at him with a clearer look than James had hoped for. “A gift for your hands.”

He took Thomas’ left hand in his own and brought out the little jar, dipped his fingers in and worked the solid paste into a softer and more malleable form. The smell of coconuts filled the room. 

“What is it?” Thomas asked, curiosity beating his melancholy as it usually did. 

James began to massage the oil into the palm of Thomas’ hand, working from the centre out to the gnarled and calloused knuckles and fingertips in smooth motions. “Coconut oil,” he answered, “Madi showed me it’s uses when her skin became coarse at sea. It is a miracle worker.”

Thomas hummed and sighed, relaxing as James worked. “It smells delicious… can you eat it?” 

“Yes, I suppose you can. Though it’s rather costly, I’d rather use it on you than put it in a pan…”

They lapsed into silence and James switched from Thomas’ left hand to his right. When he finished he brought each finger to his lips to kiss the tips, pressed more kisses to each knuckle and finally to the back of each hand. He whispered “I love you” into each kiss and let the sound of Thomas’ hitching breath wash over him. 

Thomas’ hands were more stable as he sketched that night. He smiled at the paper on the table and found joy in the act, true joy, for the first time since he had become a free man. James nearly wept at the sight. 

The next night James put the little jar on the table and knelt at Thomas’ feet. “Here, take your sock off,” he asked. Thomas did and James rubbed the marvellous oil into the misshapen jut of his ankle bone where it had been broken and set wrong many years ago. Thomas sighed and relaxed, making small contented sounds when James moved to take each of his hands again and work the oil into the skin. 

“Soon you’ll have hands as smooth as a maidens,” James said softly.  

Thomas laughed, tears in his eyes, and kissed him soundly. “Thank you,” he whispered, “God, thank you.”

They kissed again before James continued his work.