ceraunos:

sanctum
Thomas Hamilton/Captain Flint
14255 words.

The rush of shocked realisation, like a cool breeze, comes later as James is hesitating on the knife edge of sleep, belated because it is hardly a surprise at all that he had thought the word love and meant it.

A sort of sequel to symposium exploring the early days of James’ and Thomas’ relationship. A big ol’ pile of fluff.

X

Thomas wakes with a cool breeze on his calves and the cries of gulls and dock men in his ears. He stretches languorously against a bed harder and shorter than he is familiar with, arching into each separate ache. Somehow even the scratch of coarse, thin linens feels luxurious.

He opens his eyes and James is standing before a cracked basin splashing water over his head. In the pale morning light his back is splattered with flecks of gold and if Thomas were more inclined to move at this hour he would like to reach out and explore every freckle individually. The image of James, desperate and writhing under slow, delicate touches drifts unbidden through Thomas’ mind, both desire and a memory. Instead, he contents himself with watching James finish shaving and admires the twist of muscles under his shoulders.

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