Damn, this was a good one. Thomas thought to himself as he leaned his head against the cool stone wall, trying to catch his breath. He absently licked his swollen lips, appreciating the familiar calmness that started settling in his chest. "Sweet Jesus..." he murmured with a grin, shaky fingers reaching into his pocket, producing a much-needed cigarette. Thomas lit it and took a deep drag; he truly loved the pleasant taste of smoke mingling with warm cum on his tongue.

Through a blurry cloud he watched the young footman beside him, taking in his tired eyes and the intense paleness of his face with slight worry. Maybe he doesn't feel well today. Barrow wondered, yet he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Thomas, I don't think I can do this any longer." Alfred didn't look at him as the words dropped from his mouth into the silence of the wine cellar.

Barrow blinked. "What? But-" he asked, his heart skipping a beat. Suddenly he was utterly glad for the support of the wall behind him.

"You heard me." Alfred said quietly. "This is not right."

Thomas felt hot and cold; he closed his eyes, snorting.

"Oh it's the church, is it? The Bible? But of course you waited for me to finish you off before telling me this?!" All at once, the taste in his mouth turned into something bitter.

Alfred vehemently shook his head. "No. No no, this is not about God or the Bible, Thomas. It's just ..." He glared down at the floor, the sallowness of his skin tingeing a light pink.

"See...you don't even like me."

Thomas stared at him, then swallowed roughly, his mind racing for something to say. "We- … ah...we don't have to like each other to enjoy this." Thomas forced a smirk. "And you know, I really like parts of you." he tried to joke, pointedly dropping his gaze between Alfred's long legs.

Alfred looked away. He didn't laugh.

Neither did Thomas.

In fact he was rather angry. Angry with himself. Of course that stupid ginger couldn't handle it; like the bloody beginner he was. He was just too soft. All this superfluous touching and the way he kissed him had bothered Thomas right from the start, sometimes even ghosting through his head at night when it was hard to sleep.

Because Alfred was doing this wrong. His lips were too smooth. His kisses always too gentle, too slow. Like a girl's. Thomas assumed - not that he'd ever tried.

Alfred was ridiculous really. Always reaching for his hand, entwining their fingers while Thomas sucked him off.

Pathetic.

Too. Damn. Soft.

"Guess I'll have to find somebody else then." Barrow said casually. Somehow his cigarette didn't taste as good as before so he let it drop to the floor, stepping on it carelessly.

"Yeah. Shouldn't be too difficult for a man with your looks." the young man muttered. Thomas tossed him a wry look and just then Alfred's wistful green eyes locked with his own, creating an awkward fragileness that caused him to finally avert his gaze .

"Thomas..." Alfred breathed a sigh and Barrow felt a lump forming in his throat when the footman leaned in closer. In a blink, Thomas's face was cupped, caressed by long silky fingers before Alfred lowered his head and pressed a lingering kiss to the underbutler's forehead. Those damn tender lips... Thomas flinched. "Don't!" he meant to say, but his voice broke half way, turning into a small almost mourning sound.

"I wish you would-" Alfred began, his wide eyes flicking up and down Barrow's face.

"Wish I would what-!?" Thomas interrupted him, a little too harshly even for his own liking. His skin was still tingling where the other's lips had rested.

Alfred blinked. "Nothing." he said then and smiled. At least that's what Thomas thought he was trying to do.

"So it's goodbye then."

"All things must come to an end, Alfred." Thomas declared, aiming for nonchalance. That was just the way it had always been for him. Behind his back, Barrow dug his nails into the rough stone of the wall, welcoming the distraction the pain brought to him.

"Right you are, Thomas. I've known that from the very beginning, but sometimes-" Thomas heard the young man's voice crack. There was a strange undertone in it and Thomas fought the urge to shake him; ask him what he meant by that.

Instead he stood motionless, frozen, watching as the ginger footman walked out the door. Thomas's gaze rested on the empty doorway for some long minutes, the air becoming heavy with Alfred's absence and it was only then he realized it was oddly hard to breathe.

Just another mark on the list. Thomas brushed it off, doing his best to ignore the dull ache in his chest.

Alfred is nothing.

But somehow it stung. He hated just how much it stung.

And most of all Thomas hated how much he didn't believe himself ...