pro tip “he freed his erection” is the most useful phrase in any smut writer’s arsenal because it means never having to figure out a dude’s pants situation. how did he do it? were there zippers? buttons? some kind of bizarre lacing situation? maybe he cut off his pants with scissors. maybe it was a wizard. maybe it busted out like the hulk busts out of his shirts. no one knows. no one cares. his dick is out now and that is all that matters. thank you helpful dick wizard.
So I saw this post from @buildarocketboys yesterday, and I needed to do a little thing for it. Nsfw hair pulling that somehow grew feelings at the end under the cut.
It would have been trite to say he’d wanted James since the moment he’d first set eyes on him. And also not true – while he’d been unable to help registering somewhere in the back of his mind that Lieutenant McGraw was attractive, once he’d realised who he was, he’d immediately dragged his thoughts out of the gutter and back to the task at hand. But, some weeks later, when he was better acquainted with the lieutenant, it became more difficult to keep entirely focused on their work. His attention would skip down to where James’ hand rested on the pommel of his sword, or to his mouth when the corner of his lip quirked up in a wry smile. And as he took his leave one evening, Thomas’ eye followed the back of his head, the coppery fall of his queue, and he longed to run his fingers through it, snag the soft-seeming strands between them.
(we start with something a little different; Vane/Flint for @thefvckingwarship and I gotta say I dig this one)
–
He was crowded against the door, the noise and bustle of the tavern below so close yet so far as Vane pounded into him. James was biting his sleeve to stifle the ragged and keening noises trying to fall from his lips. The thick pleasure in made his toes curl in his boots, even as tears pricked at his closed eyes.
“So good,” Vane was growling in his ear. “C’mon captain,” he teased, fingers winding into James’ hair, “make a little noise for me.”
He tugged, James nearly screamed.
His cock throbbed, dribbled clear fluid, his mouth falling open on a low moan as the sharp pain thrummed through him. Charles moaned with him and tugged again, forcing Flint’s head back against his shoulder, his spine bowing as perfectly as any of the whores up the street.
“Fuck, fuck!” He hissed and thrust back. Vane tugged his head to the side, making him moan again, louder, and sucked a dark bruise into the side of his neck.
A hand, hot and calloused and so tight, closed around his prick and made his vision blur.
Another tug.
Another bite at his throat.
He felt Vane’s tongue on his throat and the fingers in his hair tighten and-
“Fuck!”
He came with a bitten off cry, bucking his hips and near sobbing with how it felt. The sweat release after weeks of abstinence at sea and nothing to look at but waves and adonis-like men had left him almost desperate for this. And, as usual, Vane delivered.
(now for some classic FlintHamilton with a lil spiiice~ prompted by @primarybufferpanel@buildarocketboys and @flintsredhair thomas is the most popular it seems??? and why wouldnt he be that soft angel has a kinky side lets be real)
–
It started innocently. Thomas was passing, saw a stray lock of hair out of James’ queue, and kissed James’ cheek whilst tugging it.
James had gone bright red, a soft squeak coming from somewhere in his throat.
A grin found its way to Thomas’ lips and he leaned in, breath tickling his lover’s ear. “Why, Lieutenant, what is this I’ve uncovered?” He murmured, drawing James to him and stroking a hand down his side. “Did you like that?”
They were past the point of shame, sharing all their unusual tastes. Jame nodded and swallowed thickly. “I did,” he breathed. His body had gone rigid, the swell of his crotch noticeable even through the thick breeches he wore. Thomas brushed his hand over that bulge and listened to the delightful hitch in James’ breath.
He pulled James’ queue and reveled in the sound of pure lust that dripped from James’ beautiful lips.
It took minutes to get them both undressed, not much longer to get James on his knees on the bed, Thomas behind him and lapping at that place he was most sensitive. Not weeks ago James had been aghast at the idea; now he craved Thomas’ mouth, his tongue, his fingers.
Thomas took James’ hair in one hand and tugged, bowing the man’s back as he licked into James as though his life depended on it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Thomas you-” James panted, his breath sharp and strained as his throat worked to take in air. Though Thomas could only see so much, what he did see was beyond beautiful. The perfect arch of James’ back, the freckles across his spine and ass, the tremble in his body as he worked hard to stay where Thomas wanted him.
“Touch me!” James begged, thrusting back against Thomas’ lips with an almost desperate need. “Please, Thomas, my Lord, I beg you- fuck!”
Thomas gripped his cock in one hand and pulled his hair tighter, lifting the sailor by his hair to lean against Thomas’ chest.
“Come for me, James,” he kissed the column of James’ neck and bit down as James writhed against him.
James came as though it were an order, his mouth dropping open and a sob falling from his lips as he painted Thomas’ hand with his release.
James traces the curve of Thomas’s jaw, fingertips lazy in their
caress. His other hand slips down to brush across Thomas’s collarbone.
Thomas murmurs sleepily into his palm. Something that sounds
vaguely and hopefully like “tea?”
James smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
He rises from the bed and grabs the first item of clothing he
spies, pulling the shirt over his head, letting it fall to his thighs as he
makes his way to the kitchen.
By the time he returns with a mug of hot tea, Thomas has managed
to sit halfway up in bed in an effort to be awake. His hair is delightfully
tousled and he only makes it more so by scratching his fingers through it
sleepily.
He smiles at the sight of James in the doorway.
“What is it?” James hands him the mug, sitting down
beside him.
“Do you remember the first time you wore my shirt?”
Thomas asks.
James pauses. Does he remember that? Is Thomas serious?
* * *
He’d been so intent on leaving before Thomas woke that first
morning together. He’d gotten dressed and was creeping towards the door, clutching
his boots when there had come a soft question behind him.
“Are you really leaving before breakfast?”
James turns back to find Thomas sitting up in bed, gazing at him
with a disappointed expression.
“I know how busy you must be, my lord.” James offers
futilely. “I didn’t want to disturb you further.”
“If it comes to that, you haven’t disturbed me at
all.” Thomas’s mouth curves upward slightly. “Just one question then,
before you go, lieutenant.”
James waits, heart thumping painfully in his chest.
“Is that my shirt?” Thomas asks curiously.
James stares down at himself and then sheepishly nods. “I
just grabbed the first one I saw.”
“Come here.” Thomas reaches out a hand and half reluctantly,
James lowers his boots to the floor and goes over to him.
Thomas takes him by the sleeves, fixing his cuffs, making James
blush with the casual intimacy of the gesture. They had been in bed together,
skin to skin and still, this is what makes him blush in the morning light
after.
“Must you go?” Thomas whispers, his fingers stroking over
James’s wrist.
“I suppose I could stay a little longer.” James confesses.
Thomas smiles, drawing him down by the sleeves to kiss him
again.
* * *
Thomas is just sitting there in bed, smiling at the memory. If
he hadn’t been holding tea, James would have thrown something at him for the
sappiness of his expression.
“Of course I remembered.” James says.
He moves to straddle Thomas’s thighs, gently taking
the tea from him and setting it aside as he does.
“I was drinking that.” Thomas complains.
“Too late.” James murmurs him. “You got me all nostalgic.” He
sinks down between Thomas’s thighs, nuzzling at his cock.
“Nostalgia, is that what we’re calling it?” Thomas exhales as
James licks down the full length of him.
“Mhm.” James says and takes him in his mouth.
* * *
Do you remember the
first time you wore my shirt?
Flint stirs restlessly, again wondering at Thomas’s asking
such a foolish question. Of course he remembers. He turns over in bed to tell
Thomas this yet again.
But Thomas isn’t there. The bed beside him is empty and
cool. These sheets have never smelled of Thomas’s scent. The shirt he’s wearing
no longer does.
The sunlight spreading across the floor is dim. From the
kitchen he can hear Miranda making tea.
Flint squeezes his eyes shut against the inevitable arrival
of morning, willing himself to return to that dream world. But it’s too late.
The phantom has faded and he’s alone.
WHO PERMITTED THIS excuse me this is illegal fuck you
Later-much later- Thomas takes an inventory; a languid count
of changes visible. He trails a finger down James’ ear, whispers, eyes
crinkling, “an earring?” and presses chapped lips to the sickle-moon on his
arm, places his calloused palm across the bullet-shaped wound on his shoulder,
runs the back of his hands against the roughened grain of his scalp-
James lets him.
James takes his own silent inventory: each broken bone badly
reset, the gash on Thomas’ left thigh, the way his fingers remain bent, knuckle
joints reddened-
“I can’t remember”
Thomas says, suddenly, softly. “Not all of them. Which ones are -new- and which
are from- “he swallows- “I tried not to forget you, but you slipped away from
me, while I wasn’t being careful.”
“You didn’t forget me” James replies, “You recognized me
even”-
He finds he cannot go on; the shadows thrown by the single
lamp seem to take on a different, familiar shape, but her face is hidden from
him.
Somewhere, a house is burning to the ground.
Somewhere, a bullet meant for him has found its home.
“I recognize you” he says, after a moment, softly,
“that counts for something, doesn’t it?”
Meg's Mumbles 