"My word is better than any of that," he promises him.
And it is a promise, he realizes. Even if this ends like a fire dimming in the hearth when the expedition has come to a close, and Thomas goes on with his life. As he should— even if he's a committed sodomite, unlike he and Jamie who have the luxury of choice, he can find someone close to his own age with whom to weather life with. A girl who doesn't want for intimacy to look after a home while he's at sea, or a young man to split the cost of boarding with, forever confirmed bachelors to the outside world's eyes.
No matter how it goes: if Thomas asks something of him, he will do his best to see to it. Be it a kiss here, or some other momentous thing. He cannot imagine going back and not extending a hand at any opportunity where it might be needed. Or wanted.
(It would be wonderful to be wanted, wouldn't it.)
The kiss threatens to melt him. He tastes his own lips after, and leans in to touch their foreheads together. A brief rest there, before they move again. Slow, steady, with the occasional playful turn; he lets them swap again, encouraging Jopson to lead. It can't go on forever, perhaps they end on the bench along the window, perhaps they have to part for the rest of the evening. He doesn't want to keep his steward from supper all night. No matter how it settles, he kisses him again before they part.
no subject
And it is a promise, he realizes. Even if this ends like a fire dimming in the hearth when the expedition has come to a close, and Thomas goes on with his life. As he should— even if he's a committed sodomite, unlike he and Jamie who have the luxury of choice, he can find someone close to his own age with whom to weather life with. A girl who doesn't want for intimacy to look after a home while he's at sea, or a young man to split the cost of boarding with, forever confirmed bachelors to the outside world's eyes.
No matter how it goes: if Thomas asks something of him, he will do his best to see to it. Be it a kiss here, or some other momentous thing. He cannot imagine going back and not extending a hand at any opportunity where it might be needed. Or wanted.
(It would be wonderful to be wanted, wouldn't it.)
The kiss threatens to melt him. He tastes his own lips after, and leans in to touch their foreheads together. A brief rest there, before they move again. Slow, steady, with the occasional playful turn; he lets them swap again, encouraging Jopson to lead. It can't go on forever, perhaps they end on the bench along the window, perhaps they have to part for the rest of the evening. He doesn't want to keep his steward from supper all night. No matter how it settles, he kisses him again before they part.