It is, by all reckoning, the first warm bath he has had in over a decade.
In Bedlam the water was always cold; used to torture, to coerce, to hurt and roughly scrub away lice and dirt. Water frightened him in that place, a fear that followed him to the ship that took him to Savannah.
In Oglethorpe’s prison the water was cold simply because it was cheaper that way. Bathing was done regularly and with no privacy. The cold water was a blessing in the heat but when winter came it made him shiver and shake uncontrollably.
Thomas only let the maids cut his hair. None of them were able to get a razor near his skin, with or without water. He was terrified of the thoughts that would follow if one came close to him, thoughts of then when things had come to something akin to an end and he had almost-
He pushes the thoughts away and lets the heat sink into him. Steam is rising from the surface of the water and he finally feels warm. It seeps into his bones, so old and weak now he has time to feel it. There is soap and a mug of tea on a stool next to the large copper tub and Thomas lets himself cry softly at the sense of home and safety they give him.
James is hovering nearby, a nervous shadow in the corner like a schoolboy awaiting the cane. He had brought each bucket in from the well near their new home one by one, heated them continuously until the water made his hand pink when he tested it. Thomas had watched silently from the single armchair they owned.
“James,” he whispers, sniffling a little and stifling a laugh at how ridiculous it is to cry over hot water but knowing that this- this is luxury. “Would you- would you wash my hair?” He asks in a low voice.
James stands by him moments later and picks up the soap.
Silently he works the soap into a lather and gently washes the dirt, sweat, errant bugs, from Thomas’ hair. His fingers massage the knots from the strands, short though they are, and Thomas lets himself forget the fear of water and closeness for that time.
The scent of rosemary and clove, odd but beautiful in their decadence, fill his nose along with the tang of clean sweat from James’ form so close behind him.
“Do they make soap from pine?” He asks after a moment.
James pauses, thinking. “I think so, I don’t see why not.”
Thomas nods and sits forward. He lets James pour a bowl of water slowly over the back of his head, ignores the shake in his own hands, the sting of fear that clamps on his chest, and shudders out a breath.
“I’d like some pine soap, if it can be found,” he manages after a few moments. “I miss the woods. I miss the smell of them, I miss-” He chokes on a sob and leans back. James is there, an arm around his shoulders as Thomas falls apart a little.
It is ten minutes later, the water cooling and Thomas’ mind clearing, when James speaks again. “There is an apothecary in town. I saw a few different soaps and colognes, even some fragrant oils. We can go look tomorrow if you’d like?” Thomas nods and hears James’ happy sigh. “Pine soap for you… I’d like to smell like roses instead of sweat for once, maybe even lilies.”
Thomas laughs, the sound brittle but honest. “Lilies? Honestly, James, what would Miranda think?” It hurts to say her name but the smile James wears is worth that sting.
“She would no doubt hate it. Perhaps lilac instead, lavender on her birthday…”
Thomas is out of the bath in the next minute, dry linen wrapped around him and James softly drying him. The fire is roaring and James’ short hair is glowing like embers.
When James strips and climbs in he lets Thomas wash his back. James is quick and methodical with his cleaning, not wanting to sit in cooling water for long. In ten minutes he is out and dry, curling himself around Thomas like a contented house cat.
They watch the flames flicker in the hearth and drink tea before going to bed and sleeping wrapped in one another’s arms.
Tag: this was lovely
i wrote a little something! works just fine as a standalone, but technically it’s a companion piece to stages of appreciation. (pt3 of which is still a while off, sry.)
in which there is carpenter!flint, woodworking, domestic fluff and lots of thoughts about the ocean. i learnt a lot about tree species native to north america.
wooden tides to run – chapter 1: to carve out an ocean
rating: T (might go up to M for part 2)
pairing: james flint/thomas hamilton
word count: 1,617
Of all the things from his past he had expected to exert its influence on him, this was not one he had expected to be so significant. His father had worked mostly as mate to a ship’s carpenter, though intermittently he had taken regular landbound work the way James was doing now.
With the spectre of Captain Flint still hovering about every port of the New World, James had decided to keep his distance, lest he be recognised – not to mention that Thomas, for all his talents, did not have the makings of a sailor. Separation was out of the question, and James had found his newest home in a town close enough to the shore to still catch the ocean breeze, though it took several hours of riding to reach the ocean. And the town had found, in James Barlow, a new carpenter.
There was something deeply pleasing about working with wood.
It wasn’t temperamental as the sea at first glance; but what was a tree if not ever-changing, ever-moving in its quest for growth? The whorls and gnarls were like waves made to last, their shape a testament to its history, in the same way a wave was formed by wind and currents. It was like holding a piece of the sea, made to endure by unknown hands.
to ithaca – sea_changed (foxlives) – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Miranda Barlow/Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow/Captain Flint, Captain Flint/Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow/Captain Flint/Thomas Hamilton
Characters: Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow, Captain Flint
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Miranda Lives AU, Complicated Emotions
Summary:Miranda finds him first.
to ithaca – sea_changed (foxlives) – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]
james/thomas + 13 “Kiss me”?
(SHAMELESS POST-FINALE only slightly angsty FLUFF TIME)
James wakes up and immediately registers the cold.
He blinks, once, twice, as if this is some cruel trick, but he’s shivering despite the thick blanket that’s pulled over him. James shudders a bit before rolling over to seek the warmth of another body to curl around- only to find that Thomas is in fact not asleep beside him.
That gives him cause to sit up, especially since he can’t hear Thomas either. The room is still dark, the sun yet to break over the horizon judging from the limited view out of their window. James manages to fumble around to gather the blanket around him firmly before rising to seek out the other man.
There’s a faint clattering sound just as he steps out of the bedroom. When James rounds the corner into the front room, he would be lying to himself if he didn’t let out a small but relieved exhale at the sight of Thomas’s broad shoulders in the next room. The other man is kneeling in front of the empty fireplace, stacking wood in it, flint and steel on the ground.
The fireplace that does not currently have a fire in it, James’s drowsy mind provides. He wraps the blanket more around him as he leans against the doorway. “Thomas?”
“It ran out of wood.” He sounds irritated, which is fair given that the front room is even colder, and Thomas is dressed only in his trousers. “Why the fuck didn’t we put more wood on the fire?”
One of the developments that Thomas has undergone in the past ten years is his new swearing. Back in London, James had probably witnessed Thomas swear twice- and both times, in far more pleasurable contexts than now. He’s nowhere near as colorful as some of the sailors or pirates that James has heard, but the change is both parts bittersweet and amusing.
“Probably because we barely made it to the bed in the first place, earlier,” James quips, in a surprisingly good mood even though he’s tired, and the stone is freezing underneath his bare feet. He pushes off the door frame to cross the room, to where Thomas is now scrabbling with the flint. “Here,” he says, putting a hand out for the tools, and he quickly lights a fire while Thomas watches with a disgruntled expression.
“Remind me why we moved so far north?” Thomas says grumpily, while they watch the flames lap away at the small pieces of woods, steadily growing until they can finally feel the warmth from the fire.
James is about to mention the very valid reasons they had to quickly leave the south (the plantation was, to put it mildly, in less than prime operating condition when they finally left it), but then he notices the slump to Thomas’s frame.
Up close, the other man looks exhausted, prominent dark circles under his eyes. It must have been another bad night, James realizes. God knows they both have their fair share of nightmares, but he knows from personal experience that since Thomas didn’t wake him up this time, it must have been something especially terrible.
James wants to tug him by the hand back to their bed, back to where he can at least pretend he can shield Thomas from all the evil in the world, until such dark thoughts don’t even touch his dreams. But for now, he drops to sit besides Thomas, letting their knees push together as Thomas stares into the flames, lost in thought even as James studies his profile in the light from the fire.
“Come here,” James says suddenly, spreading his legs. Thomas moves so that he’s between them, turning so that his head rests up against James’s chest. James wraps the blanket around the taller man, pressing a kiss on his temple. “Kiss me.”
Thomas tilts his head up obediently, and their mouths slot together easily, even with the odd angle, as another source of warmth. James traces Thomas’s lower lip with his tongue, their kiss turning slow and sweet as he rubs small circles into Thomas’s side just above his trousers.
He breaks away eventually, letting Thomas curl up against him more as James holds them up. Both of them are in desperate need of more sleep, and to get off the hard floor, but for now, they’ll stay here.
“It’ll nearly be spring,” he promises, and Thomas tilts his head up again. “I’ve heard that Boston is lovely in the springtime. We can go swimming in the Charles.” Thomas’s smile, however small, is brighter than the flames in front of them, and James buries his face in blond hair so that he can hold onto Thomas just a little tighter.
Meg's Mumbles 