Alfred was born with a sense of intrinsic goodness. Of always doing the right thing, even if it wasn't always the easy thing to do.
He had come to the Abbey two years ago full of ambition, yet never thought he'd be leaving for London to become a chef. It was a small dream he had harbored for years but had always been steered toward a life in service, with his parents' (and especially his Aunt Sarah's) hope that with his pleasant demeanor, he'd climb the ranks quickly. His slightly grim yet beloved aunt doted on the young boy as if he were her own.
On her monthly visits to her sister's house, Sarah would sit sipping tea from a cracked china cup and say, "He's going to the Abbey, he is. He's got such a marvelous bearing and would look right smart in a footman's uniform."
Like every boy from the village his age, Alfred was drafted and followed his father's advice to keep his head down and his nose clean. Alfred's wartime experience left him seemingly unscarred but with an even stronger moral fiber, but by coming to Downton after enjoying an altogether semi-pleasant stint as a hotel waiter in York, he had made enemies simply by being himself and following his heart.
Alfred now sighed and stared sadly at his empty dresser. The last of his civvies were packed into his valise and all that was left to do was say goodbye to the staff. He hadn't really expected to feel such affection for the place but the staff had grown to be his family. A highly volatile family, but family nonetheless.
He turned and sat down on the bed and looked around the sparse room, trying to capture the smallest of memories. Like the the way the sun filtered in through the flimsy curtains, leaving hatch marks on the floorboards that he would watch dance with the breeze when the mornings were light in the summer. He would take these and file them away for when he was feeling particularly homesick.
He bounced up and down slightly on the bed, and hoped that the mattress in his new dormitory would be firmer and the bedframe a bit longer. He shifted his weight and heard the familiar squeak of the middle bedspring; the sound that used to wake him on particularly fitful nights of sleep. He rose up and down, making the spring squeak repeatedly, and thought of the many times he'd spent by himself, his pants down around his lean thighs, his cock in his hand, and his mind filled with thoughts of Ivy, her creamy skin, her plump lips, her full mouth on his …
*thwap*
Jimmy knocked Alfred out of his reverie with the greeting of a wet towel across his face.
"Bloody hell!" Alfred cried and tossed the offending towel back at Jimmy, who caught it deftly with one hand.
"Well that's a fine how do you do," Jimmy sniffed as he flung the towel over his shoulder and shut the door. Jimmy's smug countenance gnawed at Alfred. He had tried to give the first footman the benefit of the doubt but in his mind, Jimmy was really nothing but a not-very-well-armed bully. A bully who was nearly a good foot shorter than him but could be as vicious as a dog when cornered.
"Come to say goodbye then? Get in one last beanpole joke or perhaps find a reason to call me a lummox?" Alfred said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Now, Alfred. We're just mates who've always had a bit of fun at each other's expense that's all," Jimmy said as he walked into the room and dragged a small wooden chair across the floor to face Alfred. He sat down in it backwards, his legs straddling the seat and his arms folded across the top.
"Oh, FUN. So that's what you call it," Alfred huffed.
Jimmy rolled his eyes and attempted a pleasant tone of voice, "Look, I just want to tell you something."
Alfred sighed and leaned back on his arms.
"It was me that took your letter. Changed it even. Said you'd hadn't made the cut."
Alfred blinked in shock, then the realization of Jimmy's words hit him harder than the stupid towel. He flew onto his feet and charged at Jimmy, yelling, "Why would you do that? What've I EVER done to you?" He kicked the leg of Jimmy's chair hard, but left the footman particularly unflustered.
Jimmy picked an imaginary piece of lint off of his sleeve, pointedly averting his eyes to Alfred's gaze of fury and adopted an air of matter-of-factness, "I was angry and I didn't want you to leave."
Alfred's anger turned to confusion, "What? Why? You DESPISE me. "
"Pfffft that's not true. I like you. I need you."
"For what? Target practice?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
Alfred had heard enough and with both giant hands easily pushed Jimmy off of the chair, knocking the footman backwards onto the floor. He fell with a thud, but was still smiling at Alfred.
Alfred shook his head in amazement and barked, "You're flaming MAD you are!"
Jimmy managed to make it to his feet, pulled down his waistcoat haughtily, and whined, "Look, you're the one who had to go and ruin everything."
"Ruin what?"
"You interrupted me and Mr. Barrow."
Alfred's voice lowered, "I saved you from Mr. Barrow, that's what I did."
"Well, I've changed me mind. I like Mr. Barrow."
Alfred's lip curled up in disgust, "You're not one of his sort, are you?" he snarled.
"I'm not sure. That's what I need you for."
"What are you going on about?"
Jimmy attempted a tone of sincerity, "I was hoping you'd look on this as a grand gesture of my humble apologies."
"FOR WHAT?"
"I want to show you how sorry I am. Especially for messing you about with Ivy and all."
Alfred began to feel heat rise up in his cheeks as he shouted, "STOP IT. Don't you DARE speak her name."
"Whose name? IVY'S? You're not getting anywhere with IVY. You'll NEVER get anywhere with IIII-VEEEEE," Jimmy taunted.
Alfred clenched his hands into fists and fought every urge to punch Jimmy hard on his perfect prettyboy jawline. Instead he snarled, "Right, no thanks to you."
"I cannot help it that the ladies cannot resist my charm."
Alfred laughed bitterly, "Ah, so that's the name of your awful cologne. I thought it was chloroform."
"You're not going to make me angry today, Alfred. Let me do what I want to do and just leave it. Sit on the goddamn bed."
Alfred folded his arms and stated a simple, "No."
Jimmy ran a hand through his perfect hair in frustration and said, "Look I'm trying to be nice to you. I'm not very good at it so take what you can get, alright?"
Alfred lifted his chin defiantly and hissed, "Make me."
Jimmy charged at Alfred chest first and threw him flat back onto the bed. He straddled the now bewildered footman's hips, pinned his arms down and leaned over him so that they were nose to nose.
"If you don't go along with this—and I promise to make it so worth your time and trouble—I'm going to tell Daisy that you fancy her and want to take her to London with you," Jimmy growled.
"You'd never! That's just cruel, you prat!"
"Then don't make me do it! I need your help. Please. I need to make things right with Mr. Barrow, the way they should be and I need to practice."
"Practice what? Being a poof?"
"Don't be so coarse," Jimmy cried, then searched his brain for a more palatable term, "I'm practicing the art of pleasure." He rolled his hips into Alfred's crotch to emphasize the last word, and much to his abject horror, Alfred found himself feeling flushed with arousal and not anger. Jimmy noticed the hardening underneath his own erection and ground their crotches together. Alfred felt paralyzed by the utterly strange yet utterly delightful feel of the footman's cock against his. It felt so WRONG yet oddly natural.
"Aw, goddamnit, Jimmy," Alfred unintentionally moaned, a foreign sound to his ears.
"Mmm. That's the spirit, that's good that is." Jimmy said lowly as he eased his way slightly down Alfred's thighs to begin unbuttoning his trousers.
Alfred lay helpless. This was feeling TOO good. Way too good, but he had never been anywhere near this intimate with anyone before. Not even Reed, whose brazen American manner and supple lips left him breathless.
Alfred tried to sit up and said with an ache in his voice, "Jimmy, I can't do this."
"It's alright. Just pretend I'm Ivy. Just think how good this is going to feel. How you'll be able to get this every night once you're married. ALL THE TIME. You'll know what you like and you'll get it any way you want it. You'll be PREPARED."
Alfred hated to admit that he could see the logic in Jimmy's convoluted argument, and then groaned and lifted his hips as Jimmy slid his trousers around his thighs. Jimmy then reached into Alfred's pants gently, as if handling a newborn kitten, to free his cock.
Alfred flinched at Jimmy's touch in sudden realization and hissed at him, "This is a SIN."
"Look, the only one who's going to hell here is me," Jimmy murmured in a tone that was like lava against Alfred's eardrums. "You're just an innocent bystander. I'm the sinner. So … let me sin."
He spit into his palm and held Alfred's erection, shifting it from hand to hand, testing the weight of it, marveling at its length. (Everything about Alfred was truly outsized.) Jimmy began to slide his hand up and down Alfred's shaft.
Alfred never thought someone else's hands on his cock could feel so good and so assured. He arched his back off of the bed and cried out. Jimmy laughed a bit to himself, being very pleased at Alfred's reaction and laid his cock down carefully, then positioned himself between Alfred's legs. He ran both hands along Alfred's inner thighs, and watched the footman's reaction closely.
Alfred held his palms flat against his eyes, and was desperately trying to conjure up the image and sensation of Ivy and her chapped, kitchen-worn hands caressing him so tenderly like Jimmy was right now. But Jimmy had the soft hands, the kind of hands Alfred would WANT Ivy to have if she weren't underneath Daisy's equally chapped thumb. He sobbed a bit to himself at the thought.
Jimmy licked a trail up Alfred's right thigh, then the left. He placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his cock, causing the footman to stutter. Jimmy then leaned down to nuzzle Alfred's bollocks, and at the feeling of cold flesh against his most intimate regions, Alfred shuddered and felt goosebumps rising on his skin.
Why is this so bloody good? he asked himself.
Jimmy rubbed Alfred's thighs again, and slipped his hands under his shirt across his flat belly, down his sides and to his bony hips. Alfred's breathing was becoming faster, his heart pounding in a combination of fear, pleasure, and revulsion, with pleasure quickly becoming the dominating sensation. He cursed himself for his body betraying him but it all felt so damn good. And he HAD been good his whole life; he deserved to have a bit of fun.
No matter what, you're still good, Alfred told himself. You're doing this for Ivy, proving that Jimmy isn't a real man. You're doing this for Daisy, sparing her Jimmy's cruelness.
Alfred tried focusing on Ivy once again when he felt Jimmy take him almost fully into his mouth. Alfred sat up and gasped, watching in fascination as Jimmy's blond head bobbed up and down, sucking and sliding; Jimmy's hands cupping and squeezing his bollocks. It was nothing, NOTHING that Alfred could have prepared himself for.
Jimmy's rhythm at first was inconsistent, but he soon settled into something comfortable and took Alfred all the way back into his throat, almost swallowing him.
Alfred found that his arms weren't his own and watched them reach down to Jimmy, his fingers running through the footman's hair, and yanking that once-perfect blond wave, trying to pull Jimmy down farther, to suck harder.
Jimmy obliged and began groping and squeezing and massaging Alfred everywhere he could reach with one hand while holding firm to the base of Alfred's erection. Alfred threw his head back and laughed; he had never felt anything so incredible as Jimmy's wet mouth and slight edge of teeth and velvety tongue. He began to thrust into the footman's mouth and, much to his credit, Jimmy kept steady with Alfred's frenzied movements.
Alfred's thrusting grew more desperate, his grip on Jimmy's hair tighter as his climax started to build. He felt himself slipping under, and found that he couldn't control the sheer primal, animalistic groans coming from his lips.
"Unnngh. Ahhhh. Ohhh. Unngh." Alfred grunted, and with a final push, pumped his hot seed down Jimmy's throat over and over again.
Alfred immediately fell back onto the bed panting, shocked by the power of his own orgasm. It felt BETTER not to be in control; to be at the mercy of another for the sake of release. Alfred's heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he didn't hear Jimmy cough and retch onto the floor.
Alfred lay there for a moment longer, then sat up to the sight of Jimmy wiping the floor with the towel he had thrown just a few minutes before. He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, and caught Alfred staring at him.
"Sorry," Jimmy said sheepishly. "I'm not used to … that. I should have turned my head or something but I wanted to do it all properly."
Alfred wrinkled his brow in confusion, then realized what Jimmy was referring to. Alfred simply responded with a silent "Oh" and decided that anything else was best left unsaid.
Jimmy folded the towel neatly, then stood and straightened his tie. Both footman stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, then Jimmy cleared his throat to speak, "So … how was it?"
Alfred shrugged, "It was a bit of alright, I guess."
Jimmy looked at him in disgust, then kicked him squarely in his left shin, causing the ginger-haired man to cry out even louder than before. Jimmy became flustered and barked, "You're a right cunt, you are," then punched him not very hard in the upper arm.
Alfred chuckled at Jimmy's loss of composure and said, "I'll just say Mr. Barrow is a lucky man."
Jimmy smiled smugly, turned on his heel, opened the door and said over his shoulder, "You're still a lummox, you bloody beanpole."
And Alfred lay back onto the bed for one final time, the one with the noisy spring, and had the last laugh.