Tag: fic rec

Gates/Hennessey as a rarepairing?

complaininginthedark:

(For some reason all I can think is modern au James is a cheeky shit in the Navy with his adoptive dad Gates having to pick him up all the time so here have this ridiculous thing that was stupidly fun to write)

——

It usually takes more than just a couple of hours for the phone call to come. This is a record breaker.

“Hal Gates,” he answers the phone curtly, sure of the reply he’ll get.

“Hal,” a familiar voice says sheepishly, “I’m in a spot of bother…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and fishes for his car keys as he moves towards the door. “Which station?”

–

By the time he gets to the police station there’s already someone else waiting. A man of average height, so slightly taller than Hal himself, silver grey hair carefully combed back under a very official looking hat, smartly dressed with creases on his trousers that could cut through glass should the need arise, and a stern frown that makes Hal want to laugh at its absurdity.

“Are you Lieutenant McGraw’s legal guardian?” The man asks, voice a shade softer than his frown.

Hal nods, holds out his hand, feels the strong and sure grip his hand is held in and purses his lips. “Aye, I’m Hal Gates. What’s he done this time?”

The man sighs and quirks his lips in an almost smile. “From what I hear, saved a young woman from a nasty situation and broken a few noses whilst doing so. Though he’ll be in a state for inspection tomorrow.”

A lightbulb illuminates Hal’s mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He asks, giving the man a chance to introduce himself. Not that Hal needs an introduction. If he’s right, this is the man who’s given James more than enough second chances and single handedly started his career as an officer.

“Admiral George Hennessey,” he says with a tip of his head, reaches up to remove his hat, “at your service. James tells me you’re a fisherman?”

Hal takes a moment to admire the soft curve of the Admiral’s eyes as he speaks of his son and lets himself look a little more as they talk. “By family and by trade. I taught James the basics before he took off to join your lot – I like to think my teaching’s done him good over the years.”

Admiral Hennessey’s smile broadens and he lets out a soft and disarming laugh. “That it has. It was clear from the start he knee his way about a ship, and not just more modern ones either. I’ve never met a man as young as he with as much knowledge of sailing ships.”

They speak a little more about James and his better qualities, a little light shone on their own lives as they go. When James is brought to them, his bail paid, he has a black eye and a split lip. There’s blood on his collar and a nasty cut on his cheek Hal will no doubt have to force him to clean.

“S-Sir!” James snaps to attention, ignoring Hal’s presence for a moment.

“None of that, you should have called me instead of leaving me to find out what happened. Your lucky to have a father like Hal here,” the Admiral turns and gives Hal a smile. “I think it might be best you took him home, maybe knock some sense into him. God knows the Navy can’t get through to him now.”

Hal laughs and shakes the man’s hand again, his smile widening as they linger a little longer than is polite.

“C’mon lad,” Hal says when he finally lets go. “You can tell me what happened on the way home… It was good to meet you, Admiral.”

“George,” Hennessey says, “call me George. It was a pleasure to finally meet you as well, Hal. I hope we meet again.”

When they get in Hal’s car James shoots him a pleading look.

“What?”

James grimaces. “You know what.”

Hal laughs and starts the engine. “I’ve had to watch you flirt with that politician ‘friend’ of yours. Let me have my fun.”

“Thomas is-“

“A brilliant man, I know, I know… But you have nothing but good things to say about the Admiral. Maybe we’d get on, having to put up with you so much.”

James snorts and leans back in his seat, a small ice pack pressed to his cheek. “Well he’s never been married and hates seafood, so don’t cook for him.”

“I’ll take that as you giving your blessing?”

“You’re my father, not the other way around! You don’t need my blessing.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

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.)

—-

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.

complaininginthedark:

 @flintsredhair :  James rescues Charles in s3 and Feels ensue. Also if they could somehow save Thomas that would be great.

HERE YOU GO. Not the most exciting piece but there is *tension* in there. 

Freeing Charles was simpler in the end than he had expected. The guards were tired; overworked, with little to no sleep and rations that were starting to spoil. He took some of the stronger and more dependable men from his crew in the dead of night and stole Charles away right under the “governor’s” nose.

Charles spat on the floor where he had been chained before taking a sword, buckling it to his belt, and a pistol in hand. The dirt smeared on his cheeks and brow made him seem more animal than man – his hair was dirty and tangled where it hung over his shoulders, adding to the image.

“Seems our roles have reversed,” Charles grunted. There was appreciation in his voice, a dulled edge to his gaze as he stood before Flint.

“I’ve suffered the deaths of too many who mean something to me; I’ll suffer no more.”

The words were sincere. He thought at first that they would make him seem weak, but Charles lowered his eyes and shifted ever so slightly closer, held his hand out. His palm was hot, clammy with sweat, but solid and alive in Flint’s own hand. They held on a moment too long. It was only a moment, barely more than a breath, but James felt a sting in his heart as the feeling of calloused skin under his fingers took him back to Thomas’ bed.

As they left the streets, boarded the Walrus and headed out to open water, Flint let his breath come easier. The weight in his chest and shoulders lifted, his whole being finding a calmness in the moments after. They would stay out of sight for a few days, retreat away from Nassau to prevent fighting before returning to take the island back from the so-called “civilised hands” of the British Empire.

Or that was the plan.

Charles told him of news he had heard, a secret that hadn’t yet reached the ears of the governor, and James’ whole world crumbled and reassembled in moments.

“There’s a place,” Charles had said, “in Spanish Florida. Rich men’s shames are sent there to be hidden away; love children, slaves with too much in their heads, unwanted relatives… Kept out of the way in exchange for money and secrecy. Word is there’s a man there who you might have known, once.”

To say he kept his composure is a lie. James felt the sob in his throat only as it clawed its way out. Charles let him weep, only reached out to touch when the breath didn’t enter his lungs and his vision blurred and faded.

Charles asked quietly, a hand on the back of James’ neck like an anchor to keep him from drifting back into that black abyss of guilt and grief, “who is he?”

James shared his story then. Every moment of happiness, the sharp sting of loss, the blast of betrayal that finalised his form as a monster in the eyes of men. Charles listened, his expression sombre and troubled at the tale as each turn was revealed.

“You love him,” was the only thing Charles said.

“More than I can say. For ten years I’ve grieved, ten fucking years-”

A hand rested on his knee. The warmth made his chest flutter, his lips purse. Charles just touched him though; it was an act of comfort, of understanding, one that James felt linger for hours after.

They set sail for Florida as soon as the wind picks up. Charles stood by his side on the quarterdeck as the sailed towards the sun.

fic prompt: sorry if it’s boring to give you a non-sexy prompt, but i’d loove to read something about charles and jack’s sad bromance.

complaininginthedark:

(Not incredibly long, sorry… Set after the other prompt I have to do with Flint saving Charles at the end of s3 so it’s more ~feelsy~)

—

When he sees who steps out of the little dinghy his heart leaps into his throat, Anne whispers “fuck”, and the sun peaks out between the clouds.

Charles Vane, cheroot between his lips, is a vision of swagger and ease as he moves over the sand to where they stand. He looks Anne up and down with a nod, silent understanding between them. He catches Jack’s eye next.

“You look good,” Jack croaks, “for a dead man.”

Charles snorts and claps a hand onto Jack’s shoulder, squeezes, tugs him forward into a tight hug that brings tears to both their eyes. When he pulls back Charles has a dampness on his cheeks. Jack wonders for a moment if this is some fever dream brought on by staying too late at the tavern. But Charles squeezes his arm again and he knows it isn’t.

He sniffles, a pathetic sound and he knows Anne will mock him later (but she won’t, she knows what this means to him, the wreck he’s been since Charles had been captured), but he can’t help the grin on his face.

“You were dead.”

“No, not even close. Takes more than a pack of civilised dogs in wigs to kill me;” Charles winks. “Flint returned the kindness of saving his life, got there just in time.”

He turns and faces the other captain for the first time. “Thank you,” he manages to say, “I’m in your debt it seems.”

Flint just shakes his head and looks down. “Well, if anyone was going to make a trophy of him…” he trails off, shares a twisted smirk with Charles before clasping his hands behind his back. “Besides, couldn’t leave our best asset to swing, could I?”

Jack flinches, Charles does too. But the happiness soon takes the sting away.

“This calls for a celebration!” Jack claps his friend on the back, relishes the living warmth of him. “How about we all go get so drunk we can’t see straight?” Charles laughs at him and everything feels… right.

iwt-v:

And now for something different…

A short Flinthamilton post-apocalyptic au, because there needs to be a fic for them in every genre of anything ever. 

—-

The cold damp air seemed to soak to his bones as James looked at the four dead vicious hounds at his feet, his laser pistol still warm.

He was in the marshlands and every direction he turned toward was more of the same under the green-gray, radiated sky, save for the crooked shell of a house he stood in front of. This would have to do for the night.

One more night to add to the many spent away from Thomas’s arms. The thought was no less agonizing than the previous night, or the night before that, or the night before that—stretching back to—when?—Two months ago when they’d become separated.

James stepped inside the burnt and hole spattered house. Cold water sloshed around his ankles. The ground slumped up against the back wall and out of the water. He took off his power armor and unrolled his mattress there.

He also took out the old wooden pencil and half-burnt magazine he’d found and began to write:

<em>It’s colder the further south I go. I’m cold all the time. All I can think about is how you’d keep me warm, Thomas. God, I feel your absence like a gaping wound, impossible to heal or ignore. When I see you again, I swear nothing on this earth will ever separate us again—”</em>

He stopped, unable to continue. He looked skyward and blinked until the tears dried out. Then he carefully put away the pencil and magazine and tried to sleep, clutching his laser pistol beside him.

Read Into the Breach Once More on ao3

Stimulus – AstronautSquid – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]

squid-inspiration:

Rating: E
Pairing: James Flint/Thomas Hamilton
Tags: Domestic Bliss, Hurt/Comfort, Premature Ejaculation, Erectile Dysfunction, Character Study, pure millennial wish fullfillment: give me a cozy cottage and devoted lover, lethal amounts of fluff and porn, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Cock Warming, Body Worship, so much cuddling

—

After ten years of separation and hardship, their hearts love each other the same. 

It’s their bodies that need longer to settle.

—

“Don’t worry—” Thomas began.

James couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t understand,” he moaned wretchedly. “I’ve willed myself through unspeakable things, forced my body through starvation and war and sickness, and now, of all times—”

Thomas hushed him.

“Maybe it’s time that you don’t force yourself to do anything, for once. Is it any wonder that finally, after ten years of performing at the very limit of what is humanly sufferable, your flesh falters in the face of tenderness? Stop performing,” Thomas added softly and drew James’ face to him.

James submitted to the kisses readily, and was glad when Thomas let him bring him to orgasm again, using his fingers. It didn’t take very long and Thomas buried his face in James’ neck afterwards, as if embarrassed by how quickly he had gone off. They had spent so many mornings and nights making unhurried love back in London, fucking lazily for hours to draw out the pleasure, and now the best they could manage was… this.

James’ face burned quietly, and he was glad that Thomas couldn’t see in the dark.

Stimulus – AstronautSquid – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]

realmofvane:

Backstory Month: Charles Vane – Childhood

G U A R D I A N  by RebelGeneral

Summary: Although he did not grow up to be a kind man, Charles would not even understand the sentiment had it not been for Corrick. 

The first memories he had were those in bondage. The sound of the lash against bare skin cutting deep enough to erase all that had been there before. Any soft sounds of those who held him dear vanished, all soothing caresses of perhaps a mother stood a haze his mind would soon deem to be a trick, and any memory of a calm presence to hold him close became more and more a fantasy.

His only reality was the looming figure of his Captain, towering and formidable, casting a shadow upon his body, as he wielded the loathsome whip for the hundredth time. Charles Vane never begged. The absence of screams only served to prolong his suffering, until the whip bearer himself would exhaust and break. That was the only victory he knew for a long time.

There was one man in the camp, a stranger. At first, Charles had paid him no heed. An old man of seventy, so scrawny and weak he could see outlines of the rib cage upon his chest as he heaved and carried the meager supply of water to the slaves. Far from being able bodied to either cut or carry the logs, his place was far beneath even him and the rest of the slaves. The only use Albinus put him to was to do errands such as this, until, they all undoubtedly hoped, he would finally give way to his toils and labors and succumb to the afterlife. Men like him were not an investment, but a burden and every time Charles saw him, a rush of pity took over. Perhaps death would be a mercy after all. Nobody would mourn this man the day he passed on, same as him.

His stomach turned. Perhaps their fates weren’t so different after all.

Read more on ao3, fanfiction.net