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Thomas Hamilton woke to the morning sun streaming in through the bedroom window. He lay quietly for a moment and enjoyed the warmth before he turned his attention to the man who slept beside him. It had been six glorious weeks since their reunion, departure from the plantation and settlement into a small home on the outskirts of Savannah. James slept next to him, naked except for a thin blanket that covered him from the waist down. The bright sun made the hair on his body glow a striking shade of gold. Thomas rolled onto his side to enjoy the view better.
James slept soundly, his muscled chest rose and fell with each breath. It pleased Thomas that he rested better now. Those first few weeks after their reunion had seen James plagued with nightmares and restless nights.
“I’m afraid to sleep, that I might wake and find this isn’t real,” James had confessed to him one night. “When I do sleep, I dream I can hear you calling me but I cannot find you.” The admission had brought tears to Thomas’ eyes. He had drawn James close and promised him this was real. He was real and they would never be parted again. Lately it seemed James had started to believe that.
Thomas’ eyes fell to a scar on James’ cheek. There were so many scars now, it had pained him to realize. And those were just the ones he could see with his eyes. He dared not imagine what scars on the soul James kept from him.
He slowly traced the small white line with his thumb and wished that his mere touch could erase it and the story that must lay behind it.
“I suppose I have many of those now,” James spoke softly without opening his eyes.
Thomas started but then leaned in and let his lips trail across the small scar. There was another in James’ hairline that he kissed as well before he let his lips fall to the small one on the bridge of a perfect nose. “So much pain,” he whispered sadly. “I wish I could take it from you.”
“You did,” James assured in a quiet voice. “Each scar you see is just a landmark on the map that led me back to you. I wouldn’t trade a single one for that.”
“Will you tell me about them?” Thomas asked.
With a nod, James pointed to the one on his cheek that Thomas had just kissed and answered, “Quelling a mutiny.” He indicated to the deep slash across his chest. “Same for this one. A sorry shit named Singleton tried to challenge my captaincy at the behest of Jack Rackham. We settled it with swords. And fists.”
Thomas turned his attention to that scar and slowly kissed the length of it before he let his tongue trace the smooth skin. James gasped under his touch. Thomas wasn’t a man given to hubris but, if he were honest, he loved knowing the effect he had over James. It made him feel powerful to know that he could reduce the world’s most feared pirate to a quivering mass underneath his attentions.
“This one?” he asked as his fingers brushed across a thin scar on James’ ribs, causing his stomach to clench.
“A ship named The Andromache. She was carrying guns I needed,” James answered. Thomas kissed the scar leisurely and a shudder ran though his body. He held his hands up then and indicated to the scars across his knuckles. “I had to use my fists more than a few times over the years.”
Thomas captured both of his hands, brought them to his lips to softly kiss each knuckle. He noticed what appeared to be a knife wound on James’ left forearm and began to lavish it with attention, too.
“Taking my first prize,” James recalled. When Thomas moved to a scar on his bicep, he explained, “Bullet graze defending the Maroon’s island from British soldiers.”
Thomas turned to the round scar on James’ shoulder that was clearly from a bullet wound. He traced it lightly with his fingers.
“Shot by a sniveling little shit named Dufrense while trying to take The Urca.”
Thomas kissed it softly before he let his tongue soothed over the uneven skin. “Does it ever hurt you?”
“Sometimes. When the weather is changing,” he admitted honestly. He watched as Thomas’ blond head lowered to his abdomen, his muscles clenched under those perfect lips as they whispered across another old wound. “Fighting The Eurydice.”
Thomas pulled the blanket from James’ body then and smiled at the sight of his arousal. He again reveled in the power he had over his lover while he also conceded that James had the same effect on him. Thomas let his hands lightly stroke James’ thighs, pleased when he shuddered under the soft touch. They were magnificent thighs.
James bit back a moan as the tip of Thomas’ tongue traced a scar that ran down the outside of his right leg. “Sailing through a hurricane to avoid hunters,” he tried to focus under the distraction of Thomas’ attentions.
Thomas let his lips move to the inside of James’ thigh then and stopped at the marred skin just above his knee. “Here? Who did this to you?”
James’ brow furrowed for a moment but then realization seemed to dawn on him. “A Spaniard named Vasquez,” he answered after a pause.
Thomas started to kiss it but something in James’ tone stopped him. There was a glint in those sea green eyes. “You’re being dishonest,” he realized with a laugh. “Seriously, where did you get this? It looks serious.”
“It was nothing,” James insisted and gave Thomas’ arm a tug. “Come here.”
“Absolutely not,” Thomas refused. “Not until you tell me the truth. How did you get this?”
Seeing the stubborn determination in his lover’s face, James relented and muttered, “Betsy.”
“Betsy? A Spaniard named Betsy?” Thomas teased.
“I suppose you could say that. Randall took her from a Spanish vessel we raided when she was just a few months old.”
Thomas’ brow furrowed in confusion so he elaborated, “Betsy was the ship’s cat. Or Randall’s cat, I should say.”
“A cat did this to you?” came Thomas’ disbelieving response.
“Not exactly. I stepped on her tail. It was a total accident but she let out a howl of the likes you wouldn’t believe. Randall came rushing forward and knocked me over as he grabbed her up. I fell and landed on the cook,” James admitted. “He was peeling potatoes at the time and the knife went into my leg.”
Thomas shook his head at the tale. “Why does it look so bad?”
“It got inflamed. Doctor Howell had to cut some of the flesh away. I battled fever for two days. When I finally left my cabin, it was to find my cook had quit in fear of what I’d do to him. Randall was now the cook and Betsy got the best cuts of meat. God, he was a horrible cook.”
Thomas kissed the scar before he crawled his way up James’ body and stretched out atop him. “My fearsome pirate captain, nearly undone by a cat.”
“She was a vicious cat,” James joked. “Shouldn’t you go back to kissing my scars now?”
“Hmmm, definitely,” Thomas agreed as he nuzzled James’ neck. “Which ones have I missed?”
“Here,” James pointed at his bottom lip. “I’m sure I have one here.”
“Indeed, you likely do,” Thomas agreed. He cupped James cheek before he lowered his mouth for a searing kiss.
There would be no more talk for the rest of the morning.