Inspired by conversations with @copper-toned about Thomas’s pre-Bedlam scars. Thanks for enabling me in writing my poor sad boys. Also shoutout to @squid-inspiration for encouraging me to write more stuff about Thomas’s less than pleasant childhood.
WARNING: mentions of past child abuse and suicide attempts, as well as internalized homophobia/shame.
James once caught a glimpse of one of Thomas’s scars. Thomas quickly hid it and changed the subject. Now they’re together and about to make love for the first time. Thomas blows out the candles so they’re in the dark – he doesn’t want James to see his scars.
The first time they fucked in
the dark.Thomas had been worried that even by doing so, James may have
caught on to his game. He had caught sight of a scar on his wrist, once, when
Thomas’s long arms had stretched out of his puffy sleeves while pointing to a
particular sentence, or figure, or map reference, he forgets what. James has
stilled immediately, and Thomas’s eyes had been drawn to him questioningly –
but James’s eyes had been fixed on his exposed wrist. Thomas drew his arm back
into his sleeve, annoyed he had let it be seen – he usually kept his scars so
carefully hidden – but James was not to be deterred.“Thomas,” he had said, his voice like steel, and though they had
technically been on first name terms then, James almost always used his with an
air of embarrassment, slipping back into formality when he thought he could get
away with it. Not this time, however. “What’s that mark on your wrist?”“It’s nothing,” said Thomas, in an airy voice, but James merely
narrowed his eyes at him. Thomas sighed. Perhaps a change of subject was in
order. “I must say, James, your uniform is looking particularly fetching today.
And your hair is so neat, not a strand out of place. May I ask how you get it
so?”James always got so adorably confused and abashed when Thomas
flirted with him, and Thomas was not above using it to distract him from the
matter at hand. “Practice, my Lord,” he said, once he had recovered his
faculties, “and thank you.” A rose blush coloured high in his cheeks and Thomas
thought, not for the first time, how utterly pretty he was, like a flower in early bloom.He nodded. “I once thought of growing mine out, but it was not
considered proper for a Lord’s son.”“Really, my Lord?” James had all but stuttered, and Thomas could
not imagine what images are playing through the Lieutenant’s head, but he had
the man well and truly confounded now, and could return to the matter at hand.“Indeed,” he said, steepling his fingers and hiding a smile
behind them. “Perhaps we can return to the matter at hand, then, Lieutenant,”
he continued after a moment, and no more was spoken on the matter, although
Thomas sometimes caught James glancing at his wrists and knew that James had
not forgotten the glimpse he had caught of Thomas’s scars.So now, they were here, and Thomas blew the candles out before
he so much as removed his cravat (which in fact covered the most damning of all
his scars) hoping James would not comment upon it.
James didn’t say a word, on that matter or any other, merely stripped off and
lay face down on the bed.Oh. Oh.
“James,” Thomas whispered into the darkness, “you’ve done this
before, yes?”“You mean I’ve been fucked by men before?” James said, and the
shame and self-loathing in his voice made Thomas cringe.Thomas stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say, or do.
All of a sudden, the idea of making love to James in the dark, as if it was
shameful, something to hide, something to be
ashamed of, seemed reprehensible to Thomas. Thomas would not let James lie
there on the bed in the dark and simply be
fucked him, as if that was all this was, just a meaningless fuck, and not
one of the most important moments of Thomas’s (and, he hoped, James’s) life.
But the idea of relighting the candles, of bringing the shameful secrets of his
own childhood so mercilessly into the light…it was something he could not bear
to do. Not yet. He dithered.“Thomas,” said James from the bed, “please,” and there was pain in that voice, but there was lust and
desire too.Thomas went to the bed and climbed on, behind James, pulling the
smaller man into his arms, spooning him, ignoring the hardness between his legs
or the way James jerked when he felt it. He kissed his neck softly. “James,” he
whispered plaintively into the skin there.Thomas could feel the surprise in the tension of his body – the
way it released and then tensed up again, in a different manner, as James
twisted around to face him.“Thomas, what-?” he asked, but was cut off with a kiss.
“Hush, my love,” he said, brushing his thumb tenderly over
James’s jawline.James’s eyes sought his in the dark, and they looked…confused. What, thought Thomas slightly angrily, did he really think I was just going to fuck
him like any old bit of rough might, not kiss him, stroke him, treat him like
he was the most precious thing in the world?Perhaps, he
thought, stomach clenching, he believed
that I only wanted to get him into bed, to have him and be done with him, as if
all that had happened between them in the past few months, James’s words at the
dinner table, defending him against his father – didn’t mean a thing, in the
grand scheme of things. Didn’t mean absolutely everything.“James,” said Thomas, his hand finding James’s, lacing their
fingers together – he heard James’s breath hitch, “when I asked – I meant had
you been with a man before, to be sure, but I also meant,” he took a deep
breath, “had you made love with a man before?”“Made love?” asked James, the words sounding foreign on his
tongue, as if he were not sure such a thing was even possible. “How does that
work?”Thomas wanted to cry – his voice was so brazenly disbelieving,
as if he knew such a thing just could not be, and yet…there was a quiver to it
that was not quite convinced, that was so unsure, that wanted that to be
possible, wanted Thomas to make love
to him. Thomas was damn well going to do his best to try and persuade him.“Like this,” he said, and set to work.
Scars
Published
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