ceraunos:

um, no angst… not sure what’s happening but i keep writing the complete opposite of what I intend 🧐. So have James and Thomas being bitchy at a party they didn’t mean to throw, instead.

Send me more prompts from this list!

~

‘One more word and I swear I’ll leave you.’ Thomas hisses at James. ‘You’ll have to fend for yourself out there.’

It had started as a salon, a fairly routine set of affairs, turned into dinner and is now somehow a fully formed party, complete with too much wine and too little taste in conversation. Thomas is convinced more people have arrived since the evening began, although how word got out he has no idea.

James leans against the wall nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just deduced every man in the room’s dirtiest secrets. It’s a game Miranda sometimes plays at state functions to pass the time, except she’s escaped with all the other women to behind a closed door and left Thomas and James to entertain themselves. Without her the subject of the game has gone from political scandal to something far wickeder and Thomas entirely blames James for starting it.

‘Where do you plan to go?’ James asks. Thomas admits he has a point, it’s his house they’re currently occupying after all.

‘The library door locks.’

‘It would be in very poor taste to leave your navel advisor to host a room of men he’s never met before and whom are all above his station, don’t you think?’

Thomas shrugs.

‘At this point I’m not sure I care. How is it possible for men of intellect to descend to such base dullness when given too much drink?’ Thomas turns to James suddenly urgent. ‘I don’t do that? Do I?’

James shakes his head. ‘The crucial difference is that your -’ James gestures wildly with his hands, searching for a word ‘- intellectual panache stems from some core part of you. For most of these men it’s second hand, worn as societal fashion and shed as soon as their minds are otherwise occupied.’

‘Oh, good. In that case wish more of these men were more true to their ideals, though.’

‘In time, perhaps. We can’t all be as convicted as your good self.’

‘You’re not like them.’

‘No, I never pretended to be a radical in the first instance.’

‘Ah, but you are now. Are you not?’

‘Mm,’ James hums. ‘Revolutionised by winged words and wine-coloured lips.’

Thomas sways towards him, leaning closer than should probably be comfortable in such a public space, except they’ve both had their fair share of drink too and no one is watching them and for a moment Thomas thinks he’s going to kiss James. He catches himself, but not before James has also tipped his head fractionally, mouth parted and eyes wide. There’s a fleeting flicker of fear that runs through James’ features, and Thomas knows it’s at how close they just got to what nearly happened.

‘Intellectual panache?’ He raises his eyebrows, a distraction more than a genuine query. He doesn’t need his ego inflating any further, really.

‘Oh shut up.’ James elbows him in the ribs.

Lord Bradbury, a genuine friend of Thomas’, suddenly appears by their side.

‘My wife and I are going to head home. I’ll try and persuade as many of these as possible.’ Bradbury gestures to the crowd of men still in Thomas’ drawing room, some of which he doesn’t even recognise.

‘Thank you.’ Thomas says, a great relief in his voice. ‘How this happened I have no idea.’

‘You’re too generous, that’s the problem.’

‘He’s right.’ James cuts in, when Thomas looks sceptical. ‘You should have let me turn them out before dinner.’

Bradbury claps Thomas on the shoulder and shakes James’ hand before rounding up a handful of the more intoxicated crowd.

Thomas and James stay loitering in the corner. It’s poor hosting by all standards, but the conversation – something about wild boar hunting – seems to be flowing without his help and Thomas has no interest in joining it.

‘Him. How long ago, do you think?’ James points to a rotund man with ruddy cheeks and an awful wig, his legs spread so wide he takes up the whole chaise.

‘A week?’ Thomas guesses generously.

‘A month. At least. Look at him, he’s gagging for it.’

Thomas snorts, knowing he should feel awful about this crude game of theirs and yet finding no remorse for it.

‘I’d wager even his wife doesn’t want it.’

‘Especially his wife.’

‘Do you think he can even – you know…?’ Thomas hedges and James bursts into startled laughter.

‘No, I’d imagine he can’t get it up.’ James looks mildly stunned behind the amusement that it was Thomas who suggested such a thing. ‘I’ll make a sailor out of you yet.’

When their laughter dies down, the men in the centre of the room are still droning drunkenly on oblivious to the growing warmth of want left between James and Thomas that tugs with need. Thomas leans close again, bending to whisper in James’ ear.

‘The library door locks.’

James looks at the other guests and then at him for confirmation.

‘They’ll see themselves out in time.’ Thomas shrugs, pushing off the wall. James follows.

~

(300% surprise inspiration I definitely didn’t think I’d get round to writing this today as well)