Hi there, so glad to see you back! Could I possibly request something Flint/Hamilton post reunion with body worship? Please and thank you.

complaininginthedark:

(Hello!!!! Good to be back my friend! A warning, this goes to some bad places. I have…. multiple feelings about Thomas post reunion, moreso than I do James, and it’s inspired by those feelings. I hope you enjoy it though.)

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The body is a marvelous thing.

It endures so much – physical abuse and pain, stresses untold, horrors that visit in the dead of night… Sometimes it is as though the body exists only to suffer. But sometimes the body can rest; it can be touched gently, bathed, treated with kindness and understanding.

With Thomas, James’ body does just that. His skin tingles, hair rising in goosebumps as Thomas touches him from head to toe. The scars from numerous battles are kissed, mourned, cleansed by Thomas’ touch. He spends long minutes on each and leaves no inch of skin unadorned with the light of his love. James weeps like a babe as he is loved. He had thought this was lost to him, first when Thomas was stolen from him, then when Miranda was torn from the world.

But now he is in the hands of the only one who means anything to him anymore. Thomas, his eyes bright and touch soft, whispering words of praise and adoration against the freckled and burned skin of his body. Thomas touches his reverently. His collar bones, the peaks of his nipples, the paunch of his belly and the downy hair there, the jut of his hipbones and the stiff rise of his cock. Every inch is rediscovered, lovingly mapped by fingers that bend out of shape.

When he is spent, James turns his attentions to the man who inspired him for ten years through darkness and back into light. He reaches out to trace his fingers over the ridges of scar tissue on Thomas’ shoulder, barely visible above the collar of the shirt still on his torso-

Thomas flinches, shrinks away silently with a grimace that twists his angelic face.

“Thomas,” he says, tasting the name on his tongue and finding it bitter in realisation that there is pain in his love’s face. When he reaches out again, it is to touch unmarred skin on Thomas’ upper arm. “Thomas, what is it?”

James’ breath leaves him when Thomas lifts the shirt over his head.

His back is a myriad of scars crisscrossing from his shoulder blades to the dip at the base of his spine. There are burn marks, old brands, showing between the lash’s cruel signature. His back is curved unnaturally from bending and toiling with little rest. James feels his own body ache in sympathy.

Thomas’ hands, once so elegant and precise, are gnarled and calloused. When James reaches out to hold one Thomas shies away. James sees a flash of scarring on his wrist and feels bile rise in his throat. Scars like that didn’t come from a set of manacles.

“Thomas,” he says again, shifting closer slowly, as one would with a skittish animal, and touches his knee. “Thomas…”

He spends the next hours loving each and every inch of Thomas’ body thrice-over. He kisses each scar, each burn, each indentation and badly-set bone. With each kiss he says how amazed he is that Thomas is here, how brave Thomas is to have endured, how glad he is to have the chance to love him again.

James pours his soul into each touch and word, thanks God for this moment. He kisses the tears from Thomas’ cheeks and lets the salt of them feed his spirit.

Later, when Thomas sleeps, he cries for the pain Thomas endured without him, because of him. He silently asks Miranda to watch over them from Heaven. And in the morning he will show Thomas just how beautiful he is all over again.