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[flintfiction]

For the anon who wanted a flinthamilton modern au pwp:

I’m sorry anon but tumblr decided to delete the saved draft I had of your request, but here’s something I wrote, brand new! It’s been a while but you inspired me. Hope this suffices ;)

——-

Thomas flopped down on the bed, momentarily spent. His jet-black business suit was undone where all the buttons and zippers were, shirt open and silky red necktie resting nicely across his chest. James admired the overall look against the white linen of the sheets. Thomas had not bothered to tuck himself back in after James’ machinations so James admired that, too.

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[flintfiction]

"please, just look at me." For Silverflint :D

Silver sucked in the island air, glad for a change to be offthe ship.

They’d finally made port after a long bout of hunting. He’dspent most of his time learning to accept the new condition of his leg and howto use the one Dr. Howell gave him. He’d been warned not to put weight on ittoo often, but for now it seemed to be fairing well.

Flint, on the other hand, seemed to fair less well aroundhim.

With Silver’s new handicap the captain paid him attentionless and less, though they still conversed the same when the crew was around.At first Silver scarcely thought of it. He was, at times, glad he quit catchingFlint’s gaze (far too often)…and facing those ridiculous eyes that seemed to bea beautiful, bottle green one day and then muted blue the next. But now he wasconvinced that Flint was avoiding looking at him on purpose. Even moreridiculous was that this bothered him.

So it was that Silver was relieved to be rid of the tension he felt between himself and Flint when they made port near Tortuga. Or so hethought, until that night.

He’d been drinking a bit and gambling a bit when he spotted Flinthigh on the beach. He was leaned against a large piece of driftwood, propped upon an elbow. He’d taken his coat off. His legs were stretched out and crossedbefore the fire that blazed quietly before him.

Silver wished he could ignore the entirety of the scene.

He’d caught the captain off guard, in a moment of solitude. Hesimply stood there in the darkness a few minutes longer, amazed at how sereneand tired and smart and sad Flint looked all at once.

Then Flint caught a glimpse of him and the expressionsvanished. He huffed out a sigh and crooked a leg up, but otherwise remainedwhere he was.

“What is it?” he drolled out as Silver approached him. His mouthgrew tight and straight.

“That sick of me, are you?” Silver quipped. “Doesn’t takemuch to aggravate you these days.”

“You don’t…aggravate me,” Flint gruffed back.

“Oh really? Because that’s quite obvious from your tone ofvoice just now.”

Silver sat down on a barrel next to him and took a drink ofthe bottle in his hand.

His sarcasm earned him a fleeting glance but no more. Silverimagined he saw Flint’s eyes a dark blue-gray shade, like the color of the seajust past sunset.

Silver sat the bottle down carefully, spending too much timegrinding it down into the sand, before looking back up at Flint and waiting. Flintlet out a measured sigh, staring straight ahead.

“You don’t aggravate me,” he repeated with a shockingly softvoice this time. “You distract me.”

In the wordless space that followed Silver’s heart skipped abeat.

“Then please, just look at me,” he blurted out.

Flint did so. The firelight shimmered in his dark eyes,still soft. He stood abruptly.

“Follow me.”

He walked off, away from the sights and sounds of otherpirates on the beach. Confused, Silver rose and grabbed his crutch, limpingafter his captain. Flint went underneath a fishing pier and into its shadowymaze of wooden beams. The moment Silver joined him Flint shoved him against abeam, palm planted squarely against his breast. Silver’s heart pounded. It feltas though it might spring out when Flint leaned in and pressed his lips into Silver’sown.

The kiss was hard and uncertain, but Silver felt the barestpress of Flint’s tongue against his lips before the captain pulled away, eyesdowncast. He opened his mouth to speak. Before he could Silver yanked a fistfulof shirt towards him and returned the kiss. They both seemed to melt into thecontact as Flint’s lips gave way and parted. Silver surged against him, lipsand tongue suddenly greedy. When they broke off again Silver gave him alopsided grin.

“Well why didn’t you just say so?” he said cheekily.

***

[flintfiction]

"are you smelling me?" flintham

James swung open the door to their cabin and stepped inside, haphazardly wiping his boots on the rug.

“I’m home,” he announced, voice loud and—to Thomas’s trained ears—oddly jovial.

Thomas put down his glass of wine and the book he was reading and went to greet him. James’s face was slightly flushed as he gave Thomas a peck on the lips. He seemed to pause for a moment next to Thomas’s face. Thomas could smell the ale on him.

“You’ve been by that new tavern again, I see,” he said with a knowing smile.

“It is becoming a habit, I admit,” James replied, a bit cheekily. “What’s for dinner?”

Thomas moved into their small kitchen area, where he was chopping up carrots and potatoes for the pot over the fireplace.

“Beef stew,” Thomas replied.

James came up behind him, strong arms gripping the counter on either side of Thomas.

“Need any help?”

“No, but you need to chew on this,” said Thomas, picking up a pinch of herbs and shoving it towards James’s face.

James snorted and moved out of range.

“I am not a goat.”

“No, but your ale breath is overpowering the pleasantries of my wine.”

“Excuse me, milord,” said James, bowing. Yes, he had certainly had a few at the tavern.

Thomas held in a laugh and shooed him away with his hand. But James stood close behind him again. Thomas heard the distinct sound of his nose sniffing around Thomas’s neck, then his ear. Thomas tensed.

“Are you smelling me now?” he asked in what he hoped was teasing tone.

James sniffed his ear again, then the other one. He blinked and Thomas felt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Are you wearing…ladies’ perfume?” James asked at last, eyebrows going up.

Thomas hastily swiped up a cloth from the counter and began wiping behind his ears.

“It is not just ladies’ perfume,” Thomas insisted, mustering up some pride. “I told you about my earache. The physician yesterday said it would help.”

James sniffed him again, with much more drama this time. Thomas attempted unsuccessfully to duck away from him. he flicked the cloth at him.

“Get away! I’m trying to cook…”

“It is ladies’ perfume,” James said smugly, grinning broadly and as though he hadn’t heard a word Thomas had said.

Thomas danced in a circle away from him but James reached out and grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling him in and into a kiss.

Thomas stopping struggling so much then. James inhaled deeply as his tongue swirled methodically inside Thomas’s mouth. Then he moved back to Thomas’s ear, whispering in a low voice, “I like it.”

Thomas sighed and relaxed into James’s touch. James’s lips kissed the back of his earlobe, one then the other. He looked into Thomas’s eyes, mouth puckering slightly.

“But it tastes terrible.”

Thomas did his best to frown and smack James’s ass with the cloth.

“I am trying to cook! Out!”

***

[flintfiction]

Oookay it’s been 87 years but here we go…

James wakes up after his first night with Thomas.

—-

Judging by the cool light filtering in through the window, it’s perhaps an hour or so after dawn. He should go.

He turns his head on the pillow—the softest he’s ever known—and looks at Thomas’s sleeping form beside him. He’s facing the window. James studies the back of his head. It’s ruffled from where James’s own hand swept through it the night before. His eyes follow the curve of Thomas’s bare shoulder, then down Thomas’s back.

He stretches his legs under the sheets. Everything still feels loose and pliant. Too good.

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[flintfiction]

Really wished I would have seen Call Me By Your Name sooner, then I could’ve written this PWP about James being naughty with a peach in peach verse a lot sooner. :D

-------

He stared at the hot water pooling in his navel, his body finally giving in.

He felt the tension ease out of his muscles, making him both heavy and light in the water at the same time. He looked down at himself, at the soft organ resting between his legs, floating in the water. He reached down and languidly touched his balls, then ran his fingers over his shaft. The warm trail left behind quickly turned cool, sending pleasant shivers through him. He gently wrapped a fist around himself, pulling over the tip of his cock. The bath water stirred gently.

The ceramic of the back of the tub felt cool and he laid his head back against it, staring at the ceiling, eyes almost closed. He pictured Thomas, in bed and demanding, legs spread as he fit four fingers into the tight fissure between his ass; the feel of him clenching fast around him, desperate sounds of pleasure passing over reddened lips.

He pulled his cock towards his belly and pressed his knees against the tub walls. With one hand he fondled his balls while the other stroked gently. He imagined Thomas on his belly on the couch, face turned to side as sound after sound came out of him as he fucked Thomas from behind, feet on the ground and legs spread wide, cock ramming in and out of Thomas’s sweet ass.

James moaned a little, shifting in the tub. The air was cool on his skin out of the water but growing hotter between his legs. He was hard now. He turned his head and happened to see a single peach left in a basket; Thomas’s own time bathing often included eating fruit. He reached over and picked it up. He always loved the texture of peaches since they’d started farming them. He liked their soft firmness and the tiny layer of fuzz on them.

This peach was large and ripe, half deep red and half bright yellow. He rolled it in his hand, thumb rubbing over the fuzz. He rubbed it down the middle of the slight dip. It made the peach appear to be two round mounds. Interesting. He tested the firmness, pressing on the dip between the mounds. The surface of it gave with increased pressure, until he punched a hole in it with his thumb.

The inside was solid bright orange; pretty and quite slick. He moved his thumb lazily inside it. His other hand was still between his legs. He started stroking himself again, rolling his other thumb over his cock-head until it grew sticky. He closed his eyes and felt the inside of the peach, widening the hole there. He let it float in the water over his stomach, slipping two fingers inside it. It felt good; smooth and wet and accepting. He moaned deep in his throat, working his cock faster. The water in the tub jostled against the sides. He looked down as his fingers obliterated the side of the peach, squishing it open. Juices dripped down into the water. He tore out the pit. He took the peach and fucked his cock over the opening. The inside of it slid over his engorged shaft. He pressed it harder against him and oh, fuck. He fucked it over and over, his breathing growing heavy and fast.

Just then the door creaked open and Thomas was there. James startled, looking up at his husband, but his cock was hot and throbbing and he couldn’t stop.

“Oh!” said Thomas softly, eyes wide. Then he grinned, eyes locking with his husband’s as he moved in and knelt by the tub. James felt his orgasm burst inside him. He let out a low wail, fucking the peach as his come gushed out over it and his fist.

“Oh darling,” Thomas cooed, rubbing a hand over James’s stomach just above the action. James pulled the peach off him.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “I don’t know…I just…”

Thomas took the mangled peach from him. It was covered in its own juices and James’s. Thomas brought it to his mouth and bit deep. James could still hear the slight crunch. Juice ran down the side of Thomas’s mouth as Thomas closed his eyes dreamily, chewed, and swallowed.

“Delicious,” he said.

James whimpered. His hand shot out and pulled Thomas down over the tub. He locked their lips together, then opened wide. Thomas did the same, letting both peach and come filter into James’s mouth. James licked Thomas’s lips inside and out. He licked the dribble running down Thomas’s chin greedily. Thomas reached down and fisted over James’s cock once. James gasped and jerked with the overwhelming pleasure to his now-sensitive cock. Thomas pulled away with more peach residue and come on his hand and licked it off.

“Jesus,” James muttered, grin spreading over his face as any embarrassment he might have had disappeared.

“I had no idea you enjoyed our peaches quite that much,” Thomas mused.

James blushed again.

“Neither did I.”

***

[flintfiction]

Imagine: James is content enough post finale to develop a fine sense of humor.

—–

Thomas lay awake in bed for several minutes as was his habit, before deciding to roll over.

Thus far every morning spent with James fell into three equally wonderful categories: James still sound asleep (and making the most delightful little half snores), James waking him up in the various ways with his mouth, or James already up and out of the bedroom, preparing breakfast.

This morning, however, Thomas nearly died when he rolled over.

“Good morning, my esteemed lord,” James announced. He’d flung the sheets off as was still naked, propped up seductively on his side and sporting only an old white wig, very reminiscent of Thomas’s old collection in London.

James barely cracked a grin, dead serious as Thomas startled.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “What on earth? Take that thing off!” he demanded a moment later. “You look absurd!”

James’s quiet laughter made his shoulders shake. He dodged out of the way as best he could when Thomas lunged for his head and the hideous abomination resting atop it. James caught him by the wrists, laughing out loud now as Thomas’s attempts to wrest the object off his head became more comical than the wig itself.

“I’m going to burn it!” Thomas declared, finally swiping it off his head. James was beside himself with laughter. Thomas flung the offending piece to the floor, now grinning broadly despite himself. 

“You’re wide awake at least,” James said as if that was his plan all along.

Thomas lunged at him again and let James pin his wrists tight against his chest. James raised his head for a kiss.

“You’re a fiend,” Thomas muttered happily.

[flintfiction]

More peach verse fluff!

----

He stares up at the moon, his thoughts as full as the celestial body itself.

It gives him a sense of calm, of serenity; floating in the night sky and casting its cool white-yellow light down. His thoughts wonder from here to there, focusing on nothing in particular for very long. He knows the drink in his hand has something to do with that. Perhaps that was why he started drinking it.

He inhales deeply. The air here is crisp and smells of wet leaves and grass at night. Sometimes it still surprises him when it doesn’t smell like salt and brine and the stink of working bodies, adhering to his orders. Every once in a while he thinks he catches a whiff of something older still—Miranda’s perfume or Thomas’s aftershave. He wonders about this now and why it is that scent evokes memories in people.

He smirks at himself and takes a sip of the wine. He’s caught himself in another strange line of thought. No, not really strange, he reminds himself. They are thoughts born from having the luxury of time to think them, a luxury he had been denied for a long time. Until he settled here, among an orchard of peach trees.

He remembers how he had wept at the sound of music not too long ago. They had gone into town to attend the town’s small theatre. The harmonics of instruments he’d long since forgotten had filled him with emotion. It had been the startling effects of the orchestra as much as it had been the music itself that drew his tears.

Thomas had understood, God bless him. Thomas had known.

He wonders if he will always be like this from now on—reacting to sights and sounds and smells, of all things, for the remainder of his days. Constantly existing between past and present in a way he was incapable of experiencing as Captain Flint. And it is a much more non-violent way of existing, he knows; a more passive way.

Yesterday, Thomas had told him he recognized more of his lieutenant than when they had first arrived here. He is happily forced to agree with Thomas, despite his still-contrary nature.

James smirks again. Thomas has a way of undoing him, piece by piece, as much as he ever did, in all things.

The door creaks open and shuts hesitantly behind him.

“Just wondering if you’d like more wine.”

Thomas’s voice. It is rougher now, but still somehow soft when Thomas wishes it, like now.

James turns in his chair, glass extended out.

“Please.”

Thomas fills his glass, his own wine glass in his other hand. He turns to leave but James gently grasps his wrist.

“Stay.”

Thomas sits his glass down and begins rolling his fingers and thumbs over James’s shoulders. James instantly melts a little, humming and closing his eyes.

“May I ask what you were thinking about?” Thomas asks.

“I was pondering why certain smells cause us to remember things, or at least that’s how it started,” he replies, eyes still closed.

Thomas lets out a small chuckle.

“I’m not sure why,” he muses. “Perhaps it is one way our minds keep us from forgetting.”

James sighs and settles down further in his chair. Thomas’s fingers are doing wonders on his muscles, easing them like a balm. His thumbs systematically smooth over the knots and thicker cords of muscle until James is half asleep. He thinks he can still see the outline of the moon behind his eyelids, a dark circle surrounded by red-orange.

He lets his head fall back against the chair.  He remembers when he was a boy and first saw the moon out at sea. How exciting it had been; the vast black ocean stretched out before him, the sounds of the water lapping and crashing against the hull. The silvery quick flash of fish swimming by and the tales of pirates in his head.

There’s the soft press of lips against his forehead.

“Time for bed, old man,” says Thomas.

James opens his eyes. The memories scatter in lieu of the face looking down at him, upside-down. Thomas presses his lips to his own. He has already made new memories in this place, with this man. Perhaps it was all worth it, he decides, letting the simplicity and comforting ease of the thought fill him and refusing to consider it further than that.

He leaves the chair and they retire inside the cabin. They finish off their wine and go to the bedroom. It is on the tip of his tongue to ask Thomas the question, ‘Do you think it was all worth it?’ but he stops himself. He is too tired. Instead he holds Thomas close, face buried in the crook of his neck. He lets all thoughts drop away. He can think them tomorrow. Or the day after. He breathes in the faint aroma of soap and ink from Thomas. He thinks of peaches and falls asleep.

[flintfiction]

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.

***

[flintfiction]

Something I threw together at work for the Flintham one year reunion resurrection anniversary:

It was the longest day of his life after he told Thomas the raw truth of Captain Flint the night before. After finding himself a slave alongside his old partner, lover, and soulmate.

Thomas had been very quiet once he’d spoken of the realities of being a pirate, despite his attempts at sparing Thomas the worst of human nature he had witnessed in the last decade.

He still managed to confess his own sins with a leaden heart and fire and brimstone burning his throat.

Thomas listened. His face had fallen grave, but there was no outright horror or recoil. Yet his silence weighed James down like the heaviest ballast. He did not deserve Thomas’s forgiveness, but if he could at least find it within himself not to hate him…

The knowledge of being able to see and touch and—sweet Jesus—taste Thomas, even if it were only for that first day, made his sufferings lighter.

The next day they had little opportunity to speak as James joined everyone toiling in the fields under the ever-watchful gaze of the guards. Escaping this place would be relatively easy despite them, and though that problem had been foremost on his mind initially, it was little more than an afterthought now. He watched Thomas every chance he could, desperate to know what judgment would be passed on him.

Finally dusk came and they were allowed to rest. As soon as they were alone Thomas motioned for James to sit beside him on their straw-filled mattress. Yet he remained silent, lips pinched tightly together. James’s heart pounded like a hammer, aching.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, the silence between them cutting like a knife. “I’m sorry,” he repeated miserably.

Thomas looked up at him, eyes red and moist. He gave a little shake of his head. James’s breath hitched. Thomas let out an unsteady breath, twisting so he could gently take James’s cheek against his palm.

“Ten years,” he said, like a breath of stale wind newly revived, “Ten years. Feels like…twice as long.”

And then Thomas was kissing him full on the mouth even as tears spilled James’s face, and his body shuddered in relief down to the marrow of his bones.

They were going to be fine.

***

[flintfiction]

He’d been eating chocolate before bed again.

James let out an exasperated sigh while his husband babbled away next to him. It was impossible to be truly annoyed at Thomas when the right mixture of sugar and caffeine turned him into a motor mouth (James had always liked watching him speak), but it was after 11pm and they both had to work in the morning.

“…And the steak Anne ordered was certainly not medium-rare by any stretch of the imagination,” Thomas continued. “It was bloody and rare. You just never know how they’re going to prepare steak in restaurants nowadays. When was the last time we had steak, darling?”

James mumbled that it had been awhile. Thomas switched subjects to tomorrow’s workload, which was even worse than the topic of food at this hour.

When Thomas had turned on his side and away from him James reached over and discreetly grabbed a bottle of lube and stuck his hands under the sheets and between his legs.

“…And don’t forget to pick up your new uniform from the dry cleaners after work,” Thomas rambled on. James mumbled an ‘mm-hmm’ and kept stroking himself, imagining how open Thomas still was from earlier this evening. When at last he could take no more chatter he flung the sheets off them both and pressed his cock against Thomas’s rim. Thomas stopped talking mid-word.

“Oh fuck!”

James worked himself in and gripped Thomas by the hipbone.

“If we’re losing sleep it should be over something more worthy than your damn sugar high,” he said in a deep and steady voice at Thomas’s ear.

Thomas wiggled excitedly up against him, moaning as James started fucking him.

“Fine by me,” Thomas replied in a lusty tone.

James spent the next thirty minutes listening only to the sounds of their love-making, then fell fast asleep.

[flintfiction]

So I was randomly inspired to write some blint? Of all things. <3 Some nsfw blint, that is. A s1 first encounter. 

-----

Flint waited at the foot of the stairs as Dr. Howell finished wrapping up his bosun’s arm wound in the tiny compartment that served as a storage unit for the doctor’s medical supplies. The curtain was drawn back and both men emerged.

“He’ll be fine,” said Howell, wiping some blood off his hand. “The infection has just started. A dirty blade, no doubt. It should be gone in a few days, though I’d like to take a look at it then to make certain.”

Flint nodded and Howell took his leave. Billy made to follow up him the stairs but Flint blocked him.

“A moment, Billy, if you don’t mind.”

“Captain? Something the matter?” Flint jerked his head back towards the small supply room. Billy followed him in. Flint drew the curtain closed, leaving in the two of them almost chest to chest in the tiny space. “I’ve noticed you’ve had your eye on me the past few weeks,” said Flint. “If there’s anything on your mind, speak up.”

He had to look up at Billy, who was a full head taller than he. Here, in this room, he seemed even more massive. Flint was keenly aware of the other man’s fit form; the bandage around his massive arm was pulled tight under a wall of muscle, as were the rolled-up ends of his sleeves. His chest was just as impressive, with a tantalizing ‘V’ shaped slice of tanned skin showing underneath.

“I have no problem,” said Billy, swallowing. Flint followed the movement of his Adam’s Apple as it bobbed under his skin, looking amazingly fragile and delicate compared with the rest of him.

“It doesn’t have to be a problem,” Flint corrected. Their eyes were practically forced to meet in the cramped space. Flint was used to most men shying away from his gaze after a few seconds, but Billy did not. His pale blue eyes locked onto Flint’s. His lips parted just barely.

“Oh?” said Billy. And then his eyes swept up and down his captain’s body in one deft movement before returning to his face.

The action made Flint inhale sharply. His pulse quickened. He had thought this would be a failed mission, that Billy, like so many other men of his kind, would never own up to his own desires. Flint leaned back against the wall, his hip jutting out. He kept Billy’s gaze as he unfastened his wide belt and let it drop to the floor.

Billy watched it drop, eyes flicking down. They came back up more slowly. His jaw was clenched tight as he took a step towards his captain so that they literally were chest to chest. He reached out for Flint’s pants and Flint felt heat surge up over his body, especially in his cock. Billy gripped either side of Flint’s pants and jerked them down roughly past his thighs. His lips parted more as Flint’s cock bobbed out, half-erect. Flint stood straight as Billy dropped down. He dipped his head to take Flint’s cock in his mouth.

Flint sucked in a breath of air as tight, wet heat closed around his head, then his shaft. Billy’s mouth stretched wide as he worked his way over his cock until Flint felt rock-hard. He closed his eyes and thumped his head against the wall, savoring the feel of another man sucking him off.

Billy was no stranger to it either, it seemed. When Flint looked down Billy was running his tongue up and down his swollen shaft, then sucking hard on his cock-head. Hot goosebumps covered his arms and his cock pulsed faintly as Billy rapidly flicked his tongue over his slit. “You can fuck my mouth if you want,” Billy said in a thick voice, blue eyes blown jet-black. Flint groaned and pushed himself all the way in his bosun’s mouth. He leaned his palms against the wall opposite and thrust inside the wet hole of Billy’s mouth.

It was a struggle not to make more noise aside from his quickened panting as his cock moved back and forth inside Billy’s wanting orifice. It was only moments before he came that Flint looked down and saw how fast Billy was pulling between his own legs. There was a tease of the thickest thighs Flint had seen on a man, aside from his own.

The sight pushed him over the precipice. His seed filled Billy’s mouth and then the floor. He leaned back, light-headed and throat dry. Then, still in the throes of his orgasm, he tugged Billy up and took hold of his cock, jerking him off. Billy was long and stiff in his fist, precum already soaking his head. He came gasping for air, eyes momentarily screwing up. Flint watched the heave of his chest, then his cock as it shot out his seed across the floor. It was thick and white and it made Flint’s mouth water. He restrained himself though, settling for squeezing it all from Billy slowly and watching the rest of it leak out in thick drops.

They cleaned up unceremoniously, still not having uttered a word between them. As Flint buckled his belt again he nodded at Billy and took leave of the cubby. As soon as his back was to his bosun he grinned broadly to himself, making a mental note to re-visit the tiny room with Billy a second time. At least one more time.

***

[flintfiction]

There were times he still wondered—awestruck and dazzled—how he could pull James apart so completely and be left with the greatest sense of fulfillment he’d ever known.

Times such as these, during their most passionate love-making that James allowed himself to be little more than a wanting vessel of flushed desire and hyper-sensitive nerves, hell-bent on surrendering to Thomas’s touch.

He was lying on top of Thomas, balls of his feet digging into the bed while Thomas filled him from underneath, each thrust violently pulling on the threads that kept James in control at other times.

Thomas looked at him, at James’s rose-hot skin, the sweat beaded on his forehead, and the way his lips stayed parted, one noise after another issuing forth from them. It felt like a challenge to be able to make him so. Thomas savored his victory.

Thomas thought often of the man he’d known in London and about the man—or monster—he’d heard so much about in the Bahamas. At times he could not decipher the man James was now—a hybrid of sorts, shaped by circumstances both in and out of his control. Other times he could feel that man in his very bones, in the blood-filled chambers of his heart.

And James would say this thing to him in the throes of passion that he had never uttered during their life in London. Like now, with his head thrown back, cheek pressed against Thomas’s, his near-breathless voice would leak out, “Make me come. Please, make me come.”

He would not even touch himself. Thomas had found out he could, in fact, make James reach his peak with the force of his touching and sex alone.

So he wrapped an arm tight around James’s stomach as he drove his cock in deep, his every sense attuned to James’s singular desire. Oh, how he darkly wished he could have bore witness to the monster at times, if only to know the stark and utter contrast to the man before him, who could only function again because they were together, whose shattered moans and breathless erotic whisperings fed his own arousal. It was as much as an arousal of the soul as it was a physical one, something Thomas had ever experienced before and which often shook him to his core.

So yes, he was awestruck as he watched his lover fall apart.

And then James was coming, each new thrust inside him forcing his seed out beautifully. And even now James did not touch himself so Thomas did it for him. Airy, panted out kisses, desperate kisses, found his face, as if to say ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you, and Thomas returned them.

When they both were finished, heartbeats slowing down, James’s composure returned. They laughed a little and enjoyed their satiated giddiness. James was James McGraw-Flint again.

Thomas could not wait until he pulled him apart once more.

***

[flintfiction]

And now for something different…

A short Flinthamilton post-apocalyptic au, because there needs to be a fic for them in every genre of anything ever. 

—-

The cold damp air seemed to soak to his bones as James looked at the four dead vicious hounds at his feet, his laser pistol still warm.

He was in the marshlands and every direction he turned toward was more of the same under the green-gray, radiated sky, save for the crooked shell of a house he stood in front of. This would have to do for the night.

One more night to add to the many spent away from Thomas’s arms. The thought was no less agonizing than the previous night, or the night before that, or the night before that—stretching back to—when?—Two months ago when they’d become separated.

James stepped inside the burnt and hole spattered house. Cold water sloshed around his ankles. The ground slumped up against the back wall and out of the water. He took off his power armor and unrolled his mattress there.

He also took out the old wooden pencil and half-burnt magazine he’d found and began to write:

It’s colder the further south I go. I’m cold all the time. All I can think about is how you’d keep me warm, Thomas. God, I feel your absence like a gaping wound, impossible to heal or ignore. When I see you again, I swear nothing on this earth will ever separate us again—

He stopped, unable to continue. He looked skyward and blinked until the tears dried out. Then he carefully put away the pencil and magazine and tried to sleep, clutching his laser pistol beside him.

Read Into the Breach Once More on ao3

[flintfiction]

Can you imagine James buying a ring to propose to Thomas. They can't get really married, but it's more symbolic. He's made arrangements with Miranda and had big plans on how to do it. And that's the day they took Thomas away, before he could?

Mirandaheld it up to the light between a thumb and forefinger. Its silver edge gleamedbrightly. Inside the band it said simply, ‘Love Forever.’ The letter weren’tvery elegant but they were well crafted into the ring.

Jamesnervously rubbed his knuckles.

“Isit all right?” he asked.

Mirandaturned her smile from the ring to him.

“Ofcourse it is.”

“It’snot too shabby?” he pressed, accepting it back from her. “I didn’t have themoney to pay the blacksmith for a better inscription, and the silver I don’tthink is the highest quality…”

Mirandasilenced him with two palms clasped against his face, her soft dark eyes warm.

“Hewill love it, James. You know hewill.”

Jamesgave her a crooked smile.

*

Theydiscussed for a final time how the ring would be delivered to theirunsuspecting lord. The anniversary of the Hamilton’s marriage was coming up andThomas and Miranda had invited James, eager to incorporate him further intotheir lives. Furthermore the event would be a much needed respite from thestress and tension of the Nassau plan, which was still teetering dangerously onedge after the encounter with Alfred Hamilton had gone sour. All three of themwere tired from it and needed a break.

Theywere planning on opening their best and oldest wine for the occasion. Mirandawould be the one to open the bottle and pour them drinks when the time came, discreetlydropping the ring into Thomas’s wine glass.

“Whatif he doesn’t see it?” James had asked.

Mirandahad shrugged and replied with another teasing smile, “Well then you’ll justhave to kiss him and pull it out of his mouth before he chokes on it.”

Thedate was set and James had given her ring a few days prior, during his lastappointment at the Hamilton household. He worried about the timing. Thomas moreso than any of them was under the most strain from recent events. Perhaps heshould wait? But the idea of waiting made him equally nervous; a naggingfeeling that he might regret putting it off. He was fully prepared to devotehis life to this man; mind, body, and soul. He needed Thomas in his life. His mind was made up. But first, therewas the appointment with Admiral Hennessey to deal with. One more political hurtleto jump before they could all relax and make merry.

*

Hourslater everything was turned inside out, ripped and gutted and blackened so fastit made his head spin. It was only later, after they’d settled down in Nassau,that Miranda had shown him the ring, telling him she’d tucked it away in herbaggage when they left London forever.

Thetears hovered heavy in her eyes as James very carefully took it from her. Hesaw the inscription on it and gave it back to her, turning around quickly andwalking outside. He yelled and cursed and shouted at the heavens and God.

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[flintfiction]

Hey, how about a strong cup of James and Thomas angst? especially after I wrote the drabble about Thomas and the ribbon I absolutely had to follow it up with this:

—–

He doesn’t find it until that first night in his cell.

He has no reading material nor anything else to occupy his mind, save for the growing guilt and torturous thoughts of “what ifs” and “should haves” that plague his thoughts of the recent past. He idly touches his pocket seams and feels it there. His fingers pull it out and he inhales sharply. James’s hair ribbon. It’s the softest thing in the room.

*

He spends the first night in Nassau with Miranda tight against him.

He holds her as she curls into him, fingers playing with a lock of his long, dark copper hair. Though they had arrived safely he can sense her fear. Fear of this strange and alien world, so unlike England. It doesn’t concern him much. He’s too busy remembering how Thomas would whisper little praises of how beautiful his hair was in his ear, of how he would always pull his queue out during their intimate moments, letting it spill over his shoulders. Once he is certain she is asleep he lets the tears spill over. By the time they have turned cold and crusted he only feels anger.

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[flintfiction]

He’d lost it.

Thomas cut off another section of fencing, channeling his anger into his work. James had quit for the day nearly an hour ago. Now, in the dying light, Thomas thought for the hundredth time what could have possibly happened to it. 

He’d always kept it in the bottom of the writing desk James had built for him. He would take it out from time to time when he was feeling nostalgic or melancholy; just to look at it and marvel how it had survived with him through sea voyages, incarceration, and the plantation. The small piece of ribbon had once been tied in Lieutenant McGraw’s hair countless times since Thomas had bought it.

James had used another one the last time he was in Thomas’s bedroom, leaving it on the dresser. Thomas had taken it—faint scent of his lover’s hair gracing the fabric—and tucked it into his pocket.

That was the day they’d taken him. Several hours later he was stripped and assaulted cruelly with buckets of cold water before his “stay” in Bethlem began. They’d given him back his breeches as they shoved him into a cell.

James was calling to him again from the porch. Supper was ready. Thomas cleaned up and ate. Afterwards, as was their evening ritual, they sat side by side in front of the fire. James finally asked.

“You’ve been quiet all day. What’s the matter?”

A kiss followed, placed on the corner of his eye. The soft pressure of James’s lips, wherever they touched, was like a balm. He could not ignore it or the sea-green eyes watching him.

He gingerly sat down his cup of wine and looked into it.

“When I was a lord, I thought there were so many possessions I considered dear to me. You remember some of this. When I was taken to Bedlam, it turned out there was only thing I needed to remind me that hope and love still existed. This will sound silly, but—”

James’s brow furrowed.

“What?” he asked in a silken tone.

Thomas huffed out a sigh.

“I kept your hair ribbon, the one you left the last time…we were together. I’ve had it with me this entire time, and now I’ve lost it.”

James blinked.

“You’ve had it for the past ten years?”

Thomas nodded. James looked to the floor, eyes darting around in his head as he thought.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Give me a moment.”

Before Thomas could inquire why James was up in a flash, moving to their bedroom. He returned a few seconds later. He presented the small piece of black fabric to Thomas. Confusion and relief washed over him as he took it.

“This is it! But how—”

“I found it on the floor, under the table. You had the windows open that day because of the breeze.”

“Good lord,” Thomas muttered. Of course. It had just rained and he’d wanted to let in the fresh air. He’d sat the ribbon down on the top of his desk.

He stroked a thumb over it, elated to have it back. When he looked up James had unshed tears in his eyes.

“I recognized it,” said James, “but I didn’t think it had been mine, of course. You kept it, this entire time,” he said in wonder.

Thomas curled his hand around the ribbon.

“It allowed me to cling to you, no matter what.”

James kissed him with a fierce tenderness then, his palms cupping the sides of Thomas’s face. Thomas breathed him in and the lips and tongue and beard that now tasted like home.

***

[flintfiction]

Hi there, I love the way you write. Do you take ficlet requests? If not it's cool, but if so, I'd love to see you write a 69 where Thomas eats James's ass while James sucks Thomas's cock. Xoxoxo

Oh, a fellow porn mongerer! I do take requests, and I have never met a flintham porn request I didn’t fulfill. So without further ado:

—–

James didn’t know which was more agonizing: the days he didn’t see Thomas or the days they spent together but in the public eye, able to look but never to touch.

Either option left James impatient and wanting by the time they were alone. Today was no different, and as soon as the bedroom door shut behind them James wondered what new pleasures his lord would introduce him to today.

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