iwt-v:

jamesflintmcgrawhamilton:

james is so right 

His body hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, but his finger
pads were beginning to prune.

Thomas cracked one eye open and forced his head off the back
of the tub to look at them. They were pinkish as well. But the water was still
so warm and was making his very bones feel soft. The knock at the door cut
through his serenity and he groaned.

“Pardon my lord, but Mr. McGraw is here.”

Thomas smiled to himself. If he had been interrupted for any
other reason he might have yelled back a retort.

“Very good, Cedric. Show him up,” he said instead.

He knew he needed to get out of the tub and dress but…another
minute or two wouldn’t hurt.

And it wasn’t as though he’d be in his clothes very long
with James anyway.

Thomas wiggled a little and closed his eyes until he heard
the knock at the door. It used to be soft and polite when they had first
started seeing each other. Now it was strong and confident.

“Come.”

The door opened and closed and he opened his eyes to a
bemused James.

“How long have you been soaking this time, my lord?” James
asked with a wry grin.

“Too long, I’m sure,” said Thomas.

James approached the tub. He took in the sight of his lord—rather
lavaciously Thomas happily noted—but then he snorted.

“Thomas, there’s still steam
coming off the water.”

At last Thomas made his relaxed body move and sit, then
stand. James grabbed the bath towel.

“Thomas!” he exclaimed as his eyes traveled over Thomas’s
body. “You look like a sun-burnt raisin!”

Thomas glanced down at his body. Well, he was exceptionally pink. And wrinkled.
Everywhere.

“Hmm, perhaps I did have it a bit too warm this time…”

James stood there, not handing him the towel. His grin
turned amused, eyebrows raised.

“Oh you find this funny, do you?” asked Thomas, indignant
but feigning it just a little.

“Well look at you!” said James. He waved the towel at him as
if it were a fan. “You need to cool down first.”

“You scoundrel. Give me that!”

James chuckled as Thomas yanked the towel from him and dried
off. When he was through he discarded it and moved to the bed but James
intercepted him. He wrapped both his arms around Thomas and pecked a kiss to
his lips. Thomas melted a little.

“It was a bit too
hot,” Thomas admitted, looking at James coquettishly through his lashes.

James cocked his head and sucked in his bottom lip. He
released Thomas, who then flopped down dramatically on the bed, limbs spread
out.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you dare laugh but…would you mind fanning me again?”

***

eatingmoonflowers:

Modern AU ridiculousness about fish and chips for some reason

James was in love with his best friend. He knew he wasn’t the first or the last person to be so, nor was he the first and likely not the last to fall in love with Thomas Hamilton. That last part was enough to leave him feeling sullen and short-tempered on bad days, if he let himself dwell on it overlong. Had it been anyone else, he would have done something about it by now, one way or another. But it was Thomas, his closest friend, friend being the key word, and James wasn’t about to lose that over his own traitorous, unreturned feelings.

“Ugh, those are yours,” Thomas grimaced as he unwrapped their fish and chips, delicately nudging James’ pot of mushy peas towards him as if he might catch something from prolonged contact with them.

“Thanks,” James said absently, and tipped them out over his chips. He could practically hear Thomas wincing. “Go and sit down, I’ll get us a drink.”

Keep reading

iwt-v:

He feels relief all the way to his bones when the shot from Thomas’s pistol hits Edmund Hamilton, previous head official of Bethlem Royal Hospital, on the right side of his chest.

The brother of Thomas’s father goes down to the dirt, wounded though not yet dead. The look in his lover’s eyes tells James Thomas intends to fix that problem.

Thomas draws his sword and advances. Hamilton, his shirt coloring an ever-expanding crimson, scrambles to get on his feet, pulling out his sword with one hand and clutching his chest with the other. But Thomas is already close enough to knock Hamilton’s sword out of his grip and point his own at the man’s throat.

James watches Thomas slit Hamilton’s throat and run him through, a riptide of emotions churning through him.

Thomas sheaths his sword and stands over the dead man’s body for a long minute. At last he turns around. His face is flushed and stony, eyes as hard as diamonds. James watches him on the way home but Thomas’s expression does not change.

“I’m fine,” is all he says when he catches James’s eyes on him. James nods and lets out a quiet sigh.

They arrive home just as the sun is touching the tops of the moss-covered oak trees. They tend to the horses then go inside, shedding their boots and coats with little affair.

It is as Thomas is cutting carrots for a stew for supper that he finally breaks his silence. James startles when he hears the loud thump, followed by a curse—also loud and full of anger.

He goes into the kitchen and finds Thomas standing there, nostrils flaring. His fist is over the table still, balled tight. He refuses to look at James and James can see the moisture in his eyes. Thomas tries to relax and wipes at his eyes.

“I don’t know what it is,” he manages, trying a laugh. “It’s fine. He’s dead at last. I’m relieved. I am.”

“I know you are.”

“It’s all over now. There’s no reason…to brood. It’s over.”

James cannot form any words of comfort, because he knows Thomas would not believe anything he said.

Thomas turns away from him and starts chopping carrots again. James does not move. Within minutes Thomas’s shoulders are heaving. His head dips. James moves forward and at his first touch Thomas spins around into his arms. He smashes his face against James’s broad shoulder and sobs uncontrollably. James holds him to never let him go as Thomas cries to never cry again.

He keeps his promises to himself this time–how they’ll never be apart again and that James will fight for him always–repeating them in his mind for fear of breaking this reality should he speak them out loud.

When Thomas pulls away at last, eyes swollen and nose running, he asks, “Will it ever be over?”

James splays his fingers over the pulse on either side of Thomas’s neck.

“I don’t know. But I do know I’m willing to keep trying to make it so, if you are.”

Thomas presses their lips together softly. When he pulls away he is smiling. 

“Always,” he says.

***