complaininginthedark:

Thomas is near silent after that first blissful moment of recognition. After he has cried and after James has cried, they’re hurried out of the open and into a small cramped room. At least, James thinks, it’s some sort of privacy. 

They stand staring at one another as the door closes and James’ skin prickles at the sound of a lock. 

“Do they think that’s necessary?” He asks lowly, noting with mounting fury the flinch that jerks Thomas’ body when the sound reaches him. Thomas shakes his head and sits on the one of the only pieces of furniture in the room; a wooden pew, one of several. It’s probably a small chapel, he decides. 

Thomas takes a deep breath, a shuddering thing that makes his shoulder quake. He flinches again when James sits next to him, puts a hand on his knee, but puts his own hand over James’ to stop him pulling away. When their eyes meet James sees the fatigued and broken thing living in Thomas’ body. 

“Thomas…” He whispers under his breath. “Gods, Thomas what have they done to you?” 

Again, Thomas says nothing. He shakes, his features collapse into a mess of grief and relief, tears falling down his cheeks and catching in the beard he now sports. 

James holds him for what feels like an hour. They rock gently, both taking comfort in the proximity of another who is there to heal, not to hurt. 

After a while Thomas calms and kisses James’ jaw. “I’d almost given up,” he says in a voice like granite. “I- I didn’t think I’d give up again but-” Another sob. “Ten years,” Thomas croaks, lips curving in a sad smile that breaks James’ heart. “Feels like twice as long.”

James laughs despite himself. 

–

Two days later he sees the scars on Thomas’ body and breaks three chairs, four mugs, a table and his own finger. He only isn’t punished because he can fix the things and because he is still “acclimatising to his station” as the fucker who owned the place called it.Thomas watches the display with a quiet air but something… something wanting on his face. That night he kisses James like they had the first night they made love.

The night after that Thomas reduces James to senseless babble and keening moans, the two of them falling into one another with desperation and need so powerful it makes James beg for more. 

Thomas is… different. Not very different, he is still kind and loving and as sharp as a razor but- there is something brittle about his wit and something dark lurking beneath his words. James sees it each time Thomas looks at a guard as he works, each time he takes a bowl of gruel and a piece of stale bread. He knows that sort of darkness and is both sickened and joyous that Thomas has found his own. 

After a week of moments, kisses, tears and touches, Thomas lays at his side and tells him something. 

“I want to see this place burn,” he says, grasping at James’ hand. “I want to make theses people, who have lived and profited off of my suffering pay for every moment I’ve been here. James,” he touches James’ face and draws him into a blistering kiss, “will you aid me? Will you lend me your strength?”

James whispers “yes” before he can even think to say no. 

When the time comes they have fifty men and women with farm tools ready to revolt. James gives the signal and Thomas sets the main building ablaze. There is a bloody fight, a brawl, and James watches in awe as Thomas drives a scythe up and through a man’s chest. He’s the man who had taunted Thomas for holding James’ hand. Thomas is grinning as the man splutters blood and spit. 

In front of the burning buildings, crackling flames and weak moans of dying guards behind them, Thomas kisses James sweetly leisurely, as though nothing in the world would be more important than that kiss. 

With a deep breath and a longer stride, Thomas sets off down the road. He only stops to turn and hold a hand out to James. There is blood on his wrist and fingers but James takes it, holds tight, and follows wherever Thomas might lead him.