Let all the trumpets sound, the day is here! It is Thomas Hamilton Resurrection Day (and also my birthday). As such, I asked for prompts, and I thank the two anons who sent me the following:
- Thomas tells James about the time he almost died as a child
- Modern AU, Thomas wakes up from a coma
Here’s my 1200-word response (and if you’d rather read it on AO3, it’s here).
“I nearly died once, you know.” They are in bed together, sticky and sweaty and replete, their bare skin cooling in the aftermath of pleasure. To other people, this would seem perhaps an odd moment for Thomas to choose such a somber topic. But not to James. James is muzzy-headed with the joy his body is still, miraculously, capable of experiencing, the joy of Thomas there to once again be its cause. He is hardly likely to stop the man sharing whatever he wants to share, given that he is alive—alive!—to share anything with James at all.
He wraps his arms more tightly around Thomas’s solid torso and offers up Did you now?, ready to hear all the stories Thomas wants to tell, be they never so unpleasant.
“I did,” Thomas answers, and shuffles to accommodate James’s limpet grasp. He, too, has seemed loathe to be physically separate from James since their reunion, and now he strokes one calloused hand aimlessly along James’s back as he goes on. “Well, truth be told, there were several incidents since we’ve been parted, but I don’t want to speak of those tonight.”
“Speak of anything you like,” James says. He rubs his cheek against the skin beneath it, relishing warmth and firm pectoral muscle. Perhaps he should be chagrined at this reference to Thomas’s difficulties in their years apart, but that can come later. Right now, he floats in blissful fatigue. James is, to put it plainly, well fucked, and pleased about the fact.
Tag: this is sweet!
Jack didn’t understand. That was problem number one. It
wasn’t just about wanting a woman. Anne had wanted women before. Didn’t drive her mad with desire, the way it
did with men. She wasn’t ruled by her cunt, not like men and their cocks. Just looking
at a women and thinking her pretty, that was nothing. Nothing to fret about. She
didn’t have to say anything about it. It was enough to just look.Problem number two was herself. Anne knew she wasn’t the
sort that other women were drawn to. She wasn’t soft or sweet; she wasn’t kind
or pretty or anything like that. She wasn’t drawn to dresses or jewels, baubles
showcasing a woman’s assets how people liked. She was like as not always rough
and half covered in grime, clothes rusty with bloodstained, long stringy hair
unkempt. As long it didn’t get in her eyes in a fight, she didn’t bother with
it.The third problem was the woman. The woman in particular, for it was just one woman this time,
making her feel as she did. Max was all of those things, but they didn’t demean
her. They didn’t fill Anne with disgust like they did sometimes on other women.
Max used her power to get what she wanted to survive, what she wanted, for
pleasure.That was something to be admired, Anne thought.
Max was meant to be admired. She deserved someone who could
give her things, who could show her how much she deserved the entire world to
be laid at her feet. How she should never have to move a fucking finger if she
didn’t want to.That wasn’t Anne Bonny. She was never going to be good
enough, she knew that.But she did her best.
She brought back a shawl from one of their plunders, a silly
bit of bright yellow silk that made her think Max when she saw it.She left it on the foot of Max’s bed one night when she was
leaving.“You forgot this?” Max came in from her dressing room, her
robe pulled loosely around her body, barely covering it. Anne shivered
slightly, knowing all the full delights that body gave her, how freely Max gave
them to her, and was what struck Anne with wonder time and time again.Max gave herself to Anne, because she wanted to.
Max held out the shawl, waiting for Anne to take it.
“Naw.” Anne ducked her head, reaching for her hat. “I didn’t
forget it. It’s for you.” She paused, watching Max’s face as she looked down at
the shawl, puzzled. “Thought you might like it, is all.” And she ducked out of
the bedroom quickly before she could see Max’s face.If she had lingered, she would have seen Max’s fingers trace
over the soft silk, gently, as though it would vanish from her fingers if she
held it too close. She would have seen Max slowly pull the shawl around her
shoulders, holding it lightly to her body with her eyes closed like she was letting
herself breathe for the first time in a long time.
Meg's Mumbles 