so, i was reading up about hammocks (as you do) and apparently, before they brought them back from the americas, sailors would regularly be thrown out of their bunks during rough seas. and all i could think about was flint’s lil swinging bed which is placed right up against a wall
james comes home in the early morning to the hamilton house, not his own hovel of a room, because, of course, the phrase ‘come home’ has only ever applied to the Hamiltons, only ever applied to his cheap, rented bed when one of them is lying in it
he sends the carriage rider off with the ever present fear that this would be the one who is too curious about the coming-and-goings of his, the one who takes a second look
but that fear dims as he steps into the house, quiet and empty but for the shuffling of a few housekeepers who are either content to ignore him or smile when he arrives, the hamiltons’ trust in them comforting him–and vice versa.
‘he’s still asleep,’ one of them says, not a warning but simple information, and he nods in thanks before continuing more purposefully towards the bedroom, stepping carefully in observance of the stillness of the morning
he sits on the edge of the bed, delicate, thomas shifting only slightly, breathing in, breathing out
‘thomas,’ james says, like a prayer, running a hand through thomas’ short hair. he stirs, finally, eyes remembering how to open, a smile alighting on his face before he’s truly awake enough to realize why.
james leans down, kissing the corner of his mouth. thomas turns his head to return the favor, hand brushing against james’ face, finding its was down to his waist, slipping under his coat.
james smiles, and lets that arm pull him into bed, collapsing on the other side of him, the tail of his coat spreading over their tangled legs.
thomas shifts, eyes closing, arm finding a comfortable grip.
he stills, and james watches that stillness, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
‘you’re wearing your boots in my bed,’ thomas mutters.
‘you hardly gave me a chance to remove them.’
‘mm…’
thomas sighs, filling his chest with something between contentment and exhaustion. the thing filling james’ chest has a simpler name.
‘just a moment longer, lieutenant.’
when he says it, it sounds like it means something else.
i love that this is one of the VERY few times flint actually touches someone non-violently of his own accord and he does it SUPER SLOWLY in this really “:3c” cat-like way and i kdsfnjfd I LOVE
Meg's Mumbles 