stars in your multitudes

5 or 32 or 37 pleeeeeease :) (for flinthamilton ofc

The ballroom was glittering with dozens of dancers, hundreds of glasses, thousands of candles and the sound of countless voices floated up to the ceiling like a song. 

James felt awfully uncomfortable. This was not his world and yet he was expected to let it become a part of him should he ever wish to rise in the ranks of the navy. This was all part and parcel of it. The dances, the parties, the grand castles and palaces lined with duke after duke, marquess after marquess, prince after prince. And the dinners, oh! The dinners. It was a struggle to remember how to talk to members of the nobility and which titles to use, what topics to avoid, whose loyalties lay with who. It was a blessing that both Miranda and Thomas were at his side through it all. They had navigated this world since birth and thankfully, they were both very patient teachers. 

Thomas stood by his side now. They were not quite touching but they were close enough that they could feel the warmth of the other’s body. It was comforting for them both. 

“Wouldn’t it be fine to dance?” Thomas murmured. He was dressed in sky blue fabric that shone in the lights, a material that caught under James’ hands when he touched it. He was a sight so marvelous James struggled to look away from him. 

“Do you want to dance? I’m sure there are crowds of ladies who would line up to dance with you,” James replied, glancing up at him with a grin. 

“I should like to dance with you.” 

Thomas had leaned down to whisper it in his ear and the hot breath against his cheek made him shiver. Only a few weeks had passed since Thomas had taken him to his bed for the first time. The fires of their passion showed no signs of cooling. 

James turned his head and found their faces very close together. He could see small beads of sweat forming at the line of Thomas’ wig.“I don’t think that would be allowed, my lord.”

“Il y a des histoires du frère du roi-soleil et de son chevalier. Son amoureux. They danced together all through the day and all through the night and no one ever tried to stop them.”

“But you are not the king’s brother,” James murmured, eyes drawn to Thomas’ lips. He knew little of French but what broken language he did know was translation enough. He was beginning to feel giddy. “And I am not the Duke of Lorraine. There are many who would stop you and I.”

If they had been alone, Thomas would have kissed him. Instead, he touched his arm and squeezed it slightly. “And so we must keep to the shadows, the pair of us. Go, seek out Lady Hamilton and dance with her. And please, let the two of you think of me as you do.”