Thomas MacLaine / Francis York Morgan fanfiction.. because there’s an alarming lack of it and I adore Thomas.
York sat tied to the dingy chair, blindfolded. He tried once – twice, several times – to strain against the thin ropes bounding his wrists and ankles, but nothing gave; he only succeeded in chafing his skin. Somewhere deep down he knew, calmly, that help would eventually arrive – he knew Emily would be especially be looking for him – but when, he could not precisely tell.
“Zach, we’re not going anywhere anytime soon, so I guess we should just take a few minutes to think,” he dialogued to his inner lifelong friend. It was not unusual for York to hold dialogue with Zach, often out-loud and in front of others. He never gave it a second thought – their bond was as such that if one spoke, then there was an obligation to include or consult the other, no matter the subject. Even if the topic seemed as out of place as quietly musing while clearly kidnapped and held against one’s will.
York’s persona was, to put it one way: Unconventional.
In the right corner of the small room, he heard the old metal door open. Instinctively, he looked in that direction, even though he should have expected not to be able to see. To his surprise, however, the rag used to blindfold him was semi-sheer. A tall, thin frame glided in on delicately-clacking stilettoes; it wore a long, red silk dress, the same one the club singer Carol wore, but their hair seemed too short. The excessively-feminine gait in the stride was the key clue.
“Thomas,” York calmly called out to the red-silk figure, “I know that you’re there.”
Thomas stopped at those words, directly in front of York, and stared at him, a hand on his hip.
“Your disposition is none of my concern,” continued York, “but you do need to stop this.” York tried instinctively to gesticulate, but his tethered arm spoke for him. “Untie me. Let me go. Right now,” he softly commanded. “And you and Carol should take off. Go as far away as you can.”
Thomas kept staring, unmoved.
“Open a bar or a diner in a new town,” advised the bound FBI agent, “with your cooking, I know you’d do well.”
Thomas shifted. He was quite fond of cooking, after all, albeit very shy about his talent. He managed to floor York with his outstanding, buttery biscuits at the police station one morning, and ever since Thomas’ cheeks could not help but pinken at the thought.
The red-dressed man leaned in close, meeting York eye-to-eye through the blindfolds. Thomas could not see York’s eyes very clearly, but the FBI agent could see his. They had become softened. York could even smell the rouge on Thomas’ lips.
“Why, thank you, York,” Thomas responded, his voice painted with a thin layer of feminine warmth. York had not heard him speak with such a lilt before, but presumably because Thomas was otherwise hiding his true self at his day job with the station. “You’re so kind. Unlike… him.”
Him. ‘Love G.’ …George, York dialoged inwardly with Zach.
“If I had someone like you, things may not have come to this,” Thomas added, a peck of derangement in his sweet voice.
The red-dressed man took a few steps to the FBI agent’s left, turned back and asked, “York, have you ever been in love with someone?”
York did his best to ignore the thump in his chest.
“Thomas…” York tried to implore to the lovely, maddened man. “A long time ago, I witnessed two people that I really cared about die. Both pretty much at the same time. And since then…” as he spoke, Thomas paced to the other side of the room, off to York’s right. “…I’ve tried not to care about anyone so deeply.”
Thomas stopped and turned again, looking directly at the bound agent, hand on hip. York continued, “But recently, that way of thinking has changed.”
“Emily, right?” Thomas asked, sweetly but with a poisonous seethe beneath it, “she’s a nice girl.” He strutted back up to York and, leaning in again to meet his face: “You’d be better off not falling in love with her.”
His words hit York where it hurt, though he dared not show it. He knew – Emily was not in love with him, after all: She was in love with ‘York.’ No… The real ‘York’ was actually Zach. The FBI agent knew, despite the friendly rivalry the two shared, that Emily would choose the confident, handsome ego ‘York.’
This made York feel hurt and guilty. Zach, he dialogued, Thomas is right, isn’t he? I… We… would just end up losing her, too. Somehow. Wouldn’t we?
Ever the profiling genius, York detected the trace of pain in Thomas’ words. Love G… George was, without a doubt, the New Raincoat Killer of Greenvale. Yet, he was also the object of sweet Thomas’ affections. Too bad, Zach, York inwardly dialogued. Their relationship was clearly abusive. Even Thomas deserves better.
Meanwhile, Thomas had stood straight again and went to walk away, satisfied with the FBI agent’s brooding silence. Snapped back to the present at the sound of the red-dressed man’s clicking stilettoes:
“Thomas…” York called out gently. The other man stopped and looked back, stone-faced. York carefully proceeded, “Your ‘Love G’… He used you, didn’t he?”
Thump.
A wisp of hurt spread over Thomas’ face. His confident, statuesque stance sunk; his shoulders caved into his chest, and he rubbed his left arm with his right hand. He turned about and clicked slowly back to York, looking down at him in the face. York’s blindfolded gaze was lifted to his as well, but the image of the red-dressed man was still raggedy.
Zach, I think we reached him, the FBI agent rationalized. Now’s our chance to get him to free us!
Even York knew that playing the empathy card with a deranged person could be dangerous, if said-deranged person picked up any whiff of betrayal. Yet he knew in his own heart he was not being deceitful…
…Thump. Thump.
“…York,” Thomas finally spoke after what felt like an eternity, “he… That is, G…” He paused to drop his head to the side, as was his wont when the two first met. Through the dingy blindfold rag, York could see glints of light on the red-dressed man’s cheeks, flickering for a second and then gone. Wet sparks.
Silence again. York watched through the blindfold as Thomas continued to collapse inward on himself, little by little. The FBI’s hunch on having reached him was undoubtedly correct, so long as it lasted long enough to get him free. Now to convince Thomas to untie him.
“…Hey,” York started softly, causing the other man to flick his eyes back to him. “Come here. Come closer.”
Automatically – obediently – Thomas slowly stepped closer.
Thump. Thu-thump.
Okay, Zach, York dialogued. I hope you’ll still be with me for this.
“Thomas… sit down.”
The briefest spark of confusion zapped across the red-dressed man’s face, before his cheeks began dusting pink. He gave a conservative hoist of the skirt and sat down. Right on York’s lap.
Thump. Thump.
He felt that, like an echo through their bodies.
Thomas was keeping his hands pulled into his lap, suddenly unsure; he bit the corner of his lower lip, staring pleadingly at York’s face. “Wh… what do you want from me?...” More wet sparks, this time long enough and close enough for the FBI agent to see them drop off his jawline. Thomas looked at his lap. “…Don’t toy with me. Don’t do this to me… G, he has already caused enough p-pain…”
THUMP-thump.
More tears fell from Thomas’ jawline; York could feel them hit his chest through his blazer. Thomas turned a deeply-wounded gaze back to the FBI agent, grieved to have even said the words he just did. “I… I can’t take much more…” His chest heaved a sharp sigh. “What… what did I do?... Where did I go wrong?...”
Thump.
“Just… lean on me,” York soothed. “I promise, I won’t hurt you like George did.”
Thomas stared at him, pupils blown wide and lined with tears. He carefully stood up only to hike his dress up enough to comfortably straddle the bound man’s lap. He leaned his full torso onto York, one arm wrapped around the broad shoulders; his free hand placed over York’s heart, the slender fingers sliding gently inside the blazer.
THUMP. Thump… thump!... THUMP. THU-THUMP…
York could feel their heat combine; he could feel both of their heartbeats in his stomach. The silk dress made a pleasant sound as it slid into the tough cotton fabric of the blazer. It made his breathing tremble.
Zach, do I… he began to dialogue. He did not have to finish; both personas knew the answer. But, no… I can’t, I!... Can I?...
“Thomas, if you free me, I can help you,” York attempted at last. It was risky to be so forward in an especially sensitive moment. Something in his gut reassured him that the red-dressed man on his lap was no longer maddened, but logically he could never be sure. “I can help Carol, too,” he pressed, knowing that Thomas was fiercely protective of her. Surely, the loyal brother would only want his dear sister to be safe.
“She’s gone,” Thomas whispered sadly.
“G did it,” York answered.
He felt the man on his lap nod into his shoulder and neck. Two puffs of harsh breath escaped Thomas; he began to sob silently. A minute passed in otherwise morbid silence. Then, Thomas lifted himself up over York, so that his face was mere inches from the FBI agent and looking down into his blindfolded eyes.
“…York…” Thomas breathed.
Thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
The bound man felt hands slowly slither their way up behind his head and fuss with the rag’s knot. With a soft tug from Thomas’ fingers, the blindfold fell away, snaking off of York’s face right to the floor. The two men were now completely eye-to-eye.
Thomas was beautiful. His tear-stained cheeks, tinted with mascara, were blushed enough to be seen in the dimly-lit room. All was quiet around the two; time stood still. Not a sound was heard, except…
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump… …Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-THUMP –
They were back to being chest-to-chest as well. Thomas still had a soft, pleading look in his eyes as he stared down at the bound man beneath him. His fingers traced up to behind York’s head again, this time to softly grip his neck, behind his ears, the corners of his jaw. A dewy rouge lip touched York’s, sticking for a millennium-long second. Thomas’ warm breath, tinged with alcohol, blew into York’s mouth. Likewise, the cigarette-tinged breath from York blew into Thomas’.
The red-dressed man took a brief, shuddered breath; then, as if breathing the words into the FBI agent’s waiting mouth:
“…You couldn’t learn to love me, could you?”
York’s eyelids flitted up in surprise. Who couldn’t love Thomas, Zach? He dialogued inwardly. He’s sensitive, lovely, gifted…
THU-THUMP.
He likes the bad boys, I think. That’s why he loved ‘G’, George. Someone bigger, stronger, more imposing and controlling; someone to pull him from his comfort zone, and show him adventure… Somebody unlike himself, it seems.
York paused his conversation with Zach to tilt his head slightly and stare deeper into Thomas’ waiting eyes.
…Poor Thomas.
Even though the two men had only known each other for a short time, York – with his savant-like profiling gift – was able to glean a lot of information about Thomas’ personality, just by observing his quirks, listening to his responses to questions, or watching him coquettishly work around him and George. York found himself fondly smirking at the shy officer, especially when he caught him dancing to records – no doubt thinking he was alone – or when proudly rattling off fun facts about nature and cooking. Hell, Thomas even looked like a goddess in that red dress, somehow exuding more feminine dignity in it than Emily did in her blue dress that one night.
He and Thomas were more alike than even Zach would care to admit: Both had experienced deep love and suffered severe loss thereof. Both men had felt powerless and meek when faced with wall upon wall of adversity and self-doubt. They both even had a close confidant to tell all of their worldly secrets to.
The key difference between the two, sadly, that York had Zach at least for as long as he may live. Carol was gone. If she was ever a voice inside her brother’s head, it would only be echoes of the past.
“…You’re not as delicate as you think, Thomas,” York finally whispered back. “You’ve just been made to feel weak, by George.” He could feel his own pupils widen with genuine empathy and…
“…I promise I won’t hurt you. Ever.” …Affection, he told Zach. Sincere affection.
The red-dressed man’s pleading gaze slowly morphed into warmth; then to aching joy. “Heh,” he laughed down to him. His eyelids slowly closed, leaning in he whispered “…I knew there was something about you, from the moment… I…”
York’s own eyelids had closed, as well. Their lips gently pressed together, in a soft but firm, dewy kiss.
The FBI agent’s and red-dressed man’s hearts thumped in synchronicity – equally loud, equally hard; knocking longingly at the other’s body. Zach went fully-silent in York’s brain, something usually reserved for sleep; Thomas sighed and moaned so quietly and so delicately into York’s mouth that he felt the other man jerk a hand from behind. York seemed to forget for a moment that he was tied up.
Thomas broke the kiss gently, smiling lovingly into York’s face. He kept one hand on the back of the FBI agent’s head, going in for another long, soft kiss; the free hand deftly undid the rope from York’s wrists.
Now’s the time! It was Zach, dialoguing to York. It caused York to jump as if shook awake. Thomas took this as a sign of surprise.
“Yes, I’m freeing you,” Thomas responded, his expression morphing into sadness. He stood up carefully, kneeling down to untie York’s ankles. Keeping his eyes downcast as he rose to his feet, he murmured, “Go. You can go now.”
York’s face showed genuine confusion, but it only made the red-dressed man feel negged. “I know why this all happened, York,” he growled, defensively, “so just go before I change my mind.” Another wet spark appeared as he added: “You’ll never have to see me again. It can all just be a bad dream.”
The FBI agents stood up slowly, staring hard at Thomas. He could still feel those rouged lips against his, having inhaled his alcohol-touched breath in a moment when they reknit their lips together. York’s hyper-detailed focus on the kiss sent him into profiling mode.
What should I do, Zach? He tried to ask inwardly. However, even Zach’s silence spoke volumes.
Thomas was still looking away and shedding silent tears, a finger pointing out the door defeatedly, when York reached out with both hands and pulled his thin waist in close. Thomas looked up, bewildered, but did not resist. Instead, he found a hand instinctively placed itself on York’s heart again.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. THU-THUMP.
Thomas’ lips curled into an unsure smile, and he blushed profusely even in the dim light. York gingerly lifted his chin to meet his uncharacteristically-warm gaze, and pulled him in for another kiss. This time, Thomas wrapped his arms around York’s broad shoulders and dabbed the tip of his tongue on the man’s bottom lip. York instinctively reciprocated and, with the tip of his own tongue, lead Thomas’ tongue in. The kiss began to burn, a passion building inside the two.
‘You’re better off not falling in love with her,’ Thomas had said, about Emily.
At first, the thought was rude and unthinkable. However, in the midst of the slow-burning desire and empathetic attunement to the red-dressed man, York began to feel a different reaction:
It’s because I had Thomas in front of me, all along, Zach.
They once again broke their passionate kiss and just stared at each other. Solidly; lovingly.
Suddenly, Thomas’ eyes widened. “Y-you need to get out of here! Before G gets here! B-besides,” he broke the gaze, “Emily will… will be worried. S-she’s not a bad woman, I… I…”
York grappled Thomas’s face, tenderly, in both hands. “We leave together…” Then, running a hand down his neck, shoulder and arm, clasping the hand at the end:
“…I mean it. I promised you, Thomas.”
