Jimmy sat at the table, slightly morose, and watched Thomas pack his valise.
"Why can't he dress himself? I've heard tell they don't even have valets in America," Jimmy said pulling at his collar. It was bothering him today; it felt claustrophobic, or it was the phantom itch he felt all over under his skin, already missing Thomas's hands and mouth on it.
Thomas sighed and swallowed the urge to speak to Jimmy as if the footman was a petulant child (which he oftentimes was). "We've been through this before," he said softly, trying to catch Jimmy's eye as he put the last shirt into the valise.
"I know," Jimmy said, looking at the floor. He then crossed his arms on the table and laid his head down on them. "It's just not fair," he spoke into the crook of his elbow.
"Fair to whom? You?" Thomas said, raising his voice an octave. "You should be happy for me. It's a wonderful opportunity to … to go somewhere. Be someplace … different." He absently threw a pair of socks into the valise in annoyance, then changed his mind and placed them carefully in their proper place.
"Be with someone different, you mean," Jimmy blurted out. He put his face fully into his arms so Thomas couldn't see the tears that threatened to fall. Jimmy wasn't a crier; that was Thomas' territory. Jimmy was tough, manly. At least that's what he tried to be but time and time again, failed miserably to do, especially in front of Thomas. He hated that this smooth, vain, older man rattled him so and made him do things and say things he'd never admit to anyone.
Thomas knelt down beside Jimmy and placed his gloved hand gently on his back. "Look at me, Jimmy," Thomas said softly but firmly.
Jimmy lifted his head and sniffed, and blinked rapidly to hide the tears in the corners of his eyes. Thomas brushed back a bronze lock of hair that had fallen into Jimmy's eyes. Jimmy flinched—the hair was also conveniently blocking the tears—and shook his head to make it flop again over his forehead.
Thomas held Jimmy's gaze and whispered, "I. Love. You."
He slipped his hand up to cup the back of the footman's neck, then kissed his temple and spoke into his hair, "After all we've been though to throw it away for a bit on the side—never. I love you too much to ever, ever hurt you."
Jimmy sighed and sat up, looking at Thomas and pressed his lips together.
Thomas stood and turned to face the closet, his back to Jimmy. "I trust you with my life," he said, taking a pair of shoes from the shelf—and his breath hitched as he added, "And my heart."
"Please trust me with yours," he said evenly, trying to keep his voice from breaking, then turned to Jimmy, who managed a weak smile and nodded slightly. The adoration that the older man had for him was something Jimmy had experienced in his lifetime before. He was always admired for his good looks but Thomas saw something more; the light in his eyes shone deep so that he could see Jimmy's soul, his passion, his real heart behind the golden skin and false bravado.
Thomas nodded in agreement, "There that's settled then," he said brightly as he closed the lid on the valise and locked it. He straightened his jacket and reached for his cigarettes when his fingers felt the smooth face of a watch in his pocket. He drew up a chair next to Jimmy and pulled out the watch.
"I meant to give this to you last night, but we were … you know," Thomas said blushing. Jimmy loved it when Thomas was embarrassed, his cool exterior cracked with a telltale heat seeping into his cheeks.
Thomas turned the watch over in his hand. It was made of brass and shaped like the head of an owl with two clocks replacing the eyes. It hung from a long chain and Thomas dangled it in front of Jimmy, then motioned with his head for the footman to take it and said, "Go on then, it won't bite."
Jimmy took the watch gingerly and then eyed it suspiciously, his lip slightly curled in repulsion, "Well, it's a bit … ladylike, isn't it?" He felt the urge to taste the glass with the tip of his tongue for reasons he didn't know. He raised his eyebrows and moved to put the watch into his pocket. "Well, thank you very much," he said stiffly.
Thomas grabbed Jimmy's arm before the watch disappeared. "Wait," he said. "Just look at it and tell me what you see."
"Alright," Jimmy said slowly, and held the watch in front of his face and smirked. "I see two clocks with two different times. One is right and the other is about six hours too fast. Hope you didn't spend too much on it," he snorted.
Thomas hesitated and then spoke quietly, "This belonged to my mum. My dad gave it to her when he went to see his brother for the last time. In India. He was gone for six months." Thomas took the watch from Jimmy and ran his thumb over the glass. "He found it in a pile of rubbish and fixed it, and gave it to her with the time set to Greenwich on one watch and to Bombay on the other."
Jimmy rolled his eyes, wishing that Thomas would get to the point as to why he was the proud recipient of a piece of rubbish.
"That way, she'd always know what time it was. Where my dad was in his day. Was he eating supper while she was having breakfast? Were they both doing the same thing at the same time but at a … different time? It's quite romantic I think."
Jimmy shrugged in response. Thomas shook his head in exasperation and held the watch in his palm and shoved it under Jimmy's nose and said, "Now look at the bloody time on the other face, you noodle."
"I did, it's six hours behind," Jimmy whined, then suddenly a light bulb as bright as the moon came on his head. "That's New York time that is!" Jimmy leaned back and folded his arms triumphantly, then had another epiphany and quickly straightened up, bumping the chair loudly on the floor.
"Oh, Thomas," he said breathlessly, and took the watch from his hands and examined it open-mouthed, as if it had miraculously turned into solid gold. "Your mum … your dad …us,." he whispered. "Oh God, Thomas, I love it."
Thomas smiled and was relieved. Romantic gestures were sometimes lost on Jimmy. Thomas chalked it up to his inexperience in matters of the heart, but the genuine ache of love in Jimmy's voice let him know that he had made the right decision in letting go the last tactile memory of his parents.
Thomas' reverie was interrupted by a sharp, "Shut the door."
Jimmy placed the watch into his jacket pocket. Thomas looked at him, confused and began to speak but Jimmy cut him off, standing up and barking, "I'll do it. I do all the heavy lifting in this relationship anyway," he said with a smile as he dragged a chair across the floor and put it under the doorknob.
"Poor man's lock," Jimmy and Thomas said simultaneously, then their lips curled in identical grins. Jimmy dove down under the table and quickly ran his hands up Thomas' inner thighs.
Thomas was almost instantly hard and weakly protested as Jimmy let his fingers dance over his crotch,
"But Jimmy, we said our goodbyes last night." He was already leaning forward and undoing his trousers.
Jimmy reached into Thomas' pants and pulled out his erection, kissing it lightly on the tip and growled, "I've got to give you my goodbye present." He began stroking its length.
Thomas half-laughed and moaned. "But they'll wonder where I've gone off to."
"By the looks of the state you're in, this'll only take a minute anyway. They can spare you for that," Jimmy laughed. He hummed as he teased the underside of Thomas' cock with his tongue. His mind turned briefly from pleasing his lover to the cheap, brass trinket in his pocket, and he pressed it with his free hand against his heart.
"We've got all the time in the world."