Patience

by mcabby80

Jimmy's playing games. Thomas is patient.

"He that can have patience can have what he will."

Thomas thinks it ridiculous, really; Jimmy has been chasing him through the corridors of the servants' quarters for good ten minutes and now he can feel himself growing irritated.

"Come on Thomas, just one look. Why don't you trust me?" Jimmy whines, his fingers tugging firmly at the glove on Thomas's left hand.

"I said no, Jimmy," Thomas huffs and clenches his hand tightly, pulling it close to his chest, away from Jimmy. "No."

As things are between them, Thomas is glad that for once, there's something he can refuse Jimmy. And honestly, he doesn't understand all that fuss about a piece of worn leather anyway - Jimmy's odd fascination with a ruined hand. "I never show it to anyone. Ever," Thomas tells him through gritted teeth. In fact, he tries to avoid even thinking of it, being an awful reminder of the horrors of war and the shame that still gnaws on his insides every now and then. But for whatever reason, Jimmy just won't shut up about it.

"But I'm not anyone to you," Jimmy grumbles causing Thomas to raise a mocking brow.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Please! Why don't you?"

"It's ugly."

"Pretty please?"

"No. And stop making puppy eyes at me." Oh how Thomas curses them, those wide blue eyes which give his stomach that familiar little flutter. Every bloody day. He sighs. "Sometimes you're such a child, Jimmy."

"Yeah. That's one reason you love me." The footman grins, not realizing his careless choice of words until he sees Thomas cringe; then, Jimmy freezes instantly. "Sorry, I didn't mean-, I wasn't thinking Thomas, I- "

"S'fine," Thomas mutters quietly. He knows it just has to be and it's not as if he isn't constantly reminded of his unrequited feelings for Jimmy anyway. "You don't often. Think, I mean."

Jimmy looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn't, just blinks at Thomas, tense.

"See, you're just like Isis chasing the car," Thomas drawls, rather enjoying the way Jimmy's facade crumbles, just for a split second. "When she's got it, she doesn't even know what to do."

"Wha- I'm not like Isis!" Jimmy protests with vehemence, his arms now defiantly crossed over his chest and Thomas watches his lips curl into a characteristic Jimmy-pout.

"Yes, you are. Look, you've got such nice fur." Thomas reaches out and ruffles Jimmy's blond hair with his good hand, making a funny mess of it and Jimmy ducks his head. Despite himself, his sulking gives way to one of his broad, genuine smiles, a smile that lights up the whole room and Thomas's heart, and the underbutler wonders distantly if Jimmy has even the slightest notion of how beautiful he is.

"And you've got a cute nose, too."

"Do I?" Jimmy flushes, his searching eyes looking up at Thomas through disheveled curls.

Thomas's heart jumps. "You do," he half-whispers back and their eyes lock for a long awkward moment before Jimmy finally drops his gaze and clears his throat.

"You know, I could always make you, of course."

"Make me?" Thomas scoffs, now resting his head against the wall and side-eyeing Jimmy with amusement. "How? You're a dwarf!"

Jimmy tosses him a dark look in response before straightening himself and puffing out his chest. "Do you want to feel my muscles?" he asks, his chin lifted challengingly.

Thomas rolls his eyes at him, groaning: but damn, he does want to touch…wants to know what Jimmy's arms, his bare shoulders feel like without the annoying barrier that is his livery. A jolt of arousal flashes through Thomas as he recalls the sight of that strong naked chest and the golden tone of Jimmy's skin, a sight that burned sharply into his mind the day Jimmy started working at Downton and is still filling his dreams every night.

"I didn't say I want to fight with you. Not like this," Jimmy lowers his voice and suddenly he leans in so close, the scent of perspiring skin and his cologne is dazzling Thomas's senses. He swallows roughly when Jimmy starts whispering, "I know better, Thomas...all your weaknesses ..."

"..."

Thomas opens his mouth, then closes it again - there's nothing to say really because it's true. Most of the time Thomas feels exposed, like an open book, to Jimmy and he bloody hates it. "Oh yeah?" is all he manages, at a loss for anything better.

"Hm," Jimmy hums against his neck and Thomas shudders in delight. "Oh, you smell so very good today, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy purrs in his ear, voice sweet like honey and Thomas, eyes widening in shock, flinches as if hit by lightning.

"Wha-"

The next moment Jimmy's fingers are on his glove again, tugging and pulling on it with desperate force. "Hah! Nearly got it….ah, stay still! I want this. Let me!"

"Bloody hell no Jimmy! Get off me!" Thomas hisses, giving the footman a rough shove that sends him stumbling to the floor. He flexes his bad hand and throws Jimmy a nasty scowl. Looking both startled and somewhat humiliated, Jimmy attempts to get back to his feet with as much dignity as possible...which isn't much at all to be honest.

"You're daft. The only reason you want to see my hand is because I don't want to show you, isn't it? You want to make me angry. You're a tease, Jimmy Kent. A sadist, that's what you are." Thomas pokes an accusing finger into Jimmy's chest, trying to ignore the guilt-ridden look on the blond's face.

You really are the worst kind of tease ...

X X X

For Thomas it was a painfully addictive yet equally cruel game, whereas for Jimmy it simply seemed to be tremendous fun. And though it was a rather frightening thought to Thomas, it was the truth all the same: he would do almost anything for Jimmy and whatever Jimmy wanted was his. So Thomas played along.

The rules were quite simple: Jimmy pinched him under the servants' table, whatever part of him he could reach, as hard as he could, and Thomas wasn't allowed to make a sound. "Why?" Thomas had asked him, both confused and a little thrilled, and Jimmy just shrugged, a wicked smile on his pretty lips that made something pull low in Thomas's stomach.

"Because I say so."

However, one evening Thomas nearly choked on his porridge when he felt Jimmy's fingers digging firmly into his inner thigh without any warning. The edges of Jimmy's nails were boring into Thomas's flesh while the footman was staring absently at his own plate, nothing betraying the rather unseemly touching under the table save from the dark flush on his neck.

Later that night, Thomas observed his thigh with a mix of fascination and arousal. He soon found out that those lovely purple bruises marking his fair skin were the most stimulating sight from which to bring himself off. Of course, Thomas wanted the imprints of Jimmy's fingers to remain forever and, therefore, the slow fading of the beautiful, rich purple filled him with a strange melancholy; it felt like something was being taken away from him, something he should have a right to own. And so, pathetic as he was, he started scratching his own nails over the bruises, hoping Jimmy's wonderful marks would return – a fruitless attempt since the effect was simply lost.

Still, the firm press of Jimmy's fingers so intimately close to his crotch was haunting Thomas and he couldn't eat porridge for weeks without feeling a little tingle in places he shouldn't.

X X X

"That's not true, Thomas!" Jimmy says, eyes pleading, but Thomas only waves an annoyed hand at him. He isn't able to look at Jimmy's face though, not now, when he wants to be angry with him. It's hard being angry with someone like Jimmy.

"Yes, it is. And you know what's so very funny, Jimmy?" Tilting his head back, Thomas gives a little humourless laugh that makes Jimmy flinch. "From all the things I could give you...I would do for you, Jimmy...you choose the only thing I'm not willing to share with you."

Jimmy stares at Thomas with feign calmness but his jaw's working furiously, betraying him. His face's always giving him away - most people just don't notice; they don't look at Jimmy the way Thomas does.

Thomas groans in frustration. "God Jimmy, just look how terribly stubborn you are. For god's sake, you must lose interest at some point, " he huffs, only earning a quick scoff from Jimmy.

"Oh please! You're a fine one to talk. You've never lost interest after all, have you?" Jimmy darts Thomas a pointed look, causing his cheeks to burn with silent humiliation when the penny drops. Of course he has to twist the knife, that little vain bastard. Thomas clenches his fists at his sides, trying to swallow around the nasty lump in his throat. After all, it isn't his fault that he's still in love with bloody Jimmy Kent. Thomas sighs into the silence, his eyes staring at the opposite wall.

Suddenly he feels inexplicably tired. Defeated.

A few moments tick by and when Jimmy finally speaks again, his words come out surprisingly small and uncertain. "Well, maybe we're not that different then, Thomas. Maybe...uh...maybe I'm just like you."

Thomas turns his head to look at the young footman, frowning in astonishment. "Like me?! You can't even open a jar without Carson sending for Dr. Clarkson. Don't worry Jimmy, you're not like me at all, you silly little fool!"

Jimmy's lips quirk in disapproval and, looking a little affronted, he makes a snorting sound. "So? I always get what I want anyway."

"See, that's why we're different. I never do," Thomas replies dryly and he can see Jimmy's eyes shoot up to meet his. They share a silent, lingering gaze, both of them painfully aware of the delicate subject they're touching once again. Thomas feels his heart quicken and it takes him a few seconds to gather himself together.

"Honestly, I pity the poor girl that's going to end up with you, Jimmy Kent," Thomas tries to joke. He bumps Jimmy's shoulder, a nonchalant gesture to ease the tension between them. Jimmy cracks a smirk then, light blue eyes glaring boldly at him. "Really, Thomas? Because I doubt that very much, in fact I-"

"Jimmy!" Thomas cuts in, the warning look he darts him so sharp it could cut glass.

The blond bites his lip, nodding. "I'm sorry. Look Thomas..." The footman brings an unsteady hand to his forehead and Thomas can spot an air of uncertainty crossing his features . "It's not for me anyway. I'm rubbish at that."

Thomas frowns; the smile Jimmy tries doesn't fit him. "Rubbish at what exactly?" he wants to know.

"Ah, you- you know," Jimmy stutters, his face changing into an uncomfortable grimace. "Things like...uh. Love. Always messing up things, me." He coughs.

"Oh right!" Thomas smiles pointedly at him, trying his best to keep the gloating out of his voice. "Poor Ivy indeed."

At that Jimmy raises a disparaging brow, lips curling up in what Thomas reads as disgust. "Ivy? No, I didn't mean Ivy."

"I see," Thomas says quietly. Except he doesn't.

…

"Oh god, Mr. Carson!" Jimmy blurts suddenly and before Thomas's mind can catch up with what's happening, a strong hand is gripping his arm, dragging him along the hallway into the footman's room. Jimmy lets out a long breath after closing the door behind them with a soft click.

"Jimmy, what was that about?"

"Hush!"

"Why?" Thomas whispers in confusion.

"Didn't you hear the...um... footsteps? I'm sure it was Carson and I don't really fancy spending the rest of the evening polishing silver." Jimmy mutters, avoiding Thomas's gaze, his cheeks blooming with color. Thomas lifts a questioning brow; he's fairly certain there hasn't been any sound at all.

They stand awkwardly next to each other for a while, pressed against the door as if there wasn't enough room for the both them. And Thomas feels like there isn't really - the warm presence of Jimmy's body so close to his own makes his heart ache a little more for the young footman than it usually does.

"Can you hear anything?" Jimmy asks lowly.

Thomas gives a hesitant shake of his head while he watches the setting sun fall through the window, dancing on Jimmy's face like liquid gold. Jimmy catches his gaze and risks a shy smile. "I really didn't mean to make you upset," he says softly, the side of his leg slightly pushing against Thomas's. "I'd never. Not you, Thomas. Do you understand?"

And though he doesn't, Thomas nods mutely.

Jimmy squints against the sun for a moment, then lets his eyes fall shut as he continues, voice so low and vulnerable that Thomas feels something constrict in his chest. "I guess you were right. I just wanted it because...well it was something you wouldn't share with me." Jimmy's face tenses up noticeably and Thomas isn't sure what pains Jimmy more: the thought itself or his unusual openness. Verbal self-revelation is anything but Jimmy's strong point. "It's just that I don't want you to keep anything from me, is all. I just can't bear it," Jimmy mutters, unsteady fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. "That's so odd, isn't it? Does that even make sense?" He gives a brief shrug and Thomas shifts tensely from one foot to the other. Somehow he rather wishes Jimmy wouldn't say such things, things that give him funny ideas about what else could be between them if Jimmy only...

Thomas shuffles his foot again, gaze fixed on the ground as he speaks, "Maybe it doesn't have to make sense."

As if to banish the thoughts from his mind, Jimmy runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head a few times. "Never mind, I guess I'm just being stupid."

"You're being stupid all the time, my boy, to be honest I'm pretty used to it," Thomas teases before giving Jimmy's arm a playful nudge. "Jam juggler!"

Jimmy wrinkles his nose in response, cheekily sticking out his tongue at Thomas. The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, creating little laugh lines, and he just looks so very lovely, Thomas reaches out a hand without thinking. "Stop it, button nose," he demands with an affectionate smile and flicks a finger against the very tip of Jimmy's nose. Thomas's barely touching him, still it makes the blood rush to his face when Jimmy captures his gaze and he has to look away.

"It's so strange," Jimmy says after a long pause, his tone oddly tender, " even when you're not trying to please me, you do, Thomas. You always do."

Thomas inhales sharply. "Jimmy, don't. Don't talk like that."

"But it's true, you make me happy, " Jimmy says slowly, biting his lower lip as he looks up, straight into Thomas's face.

It's another of these moments where the underbutler can't for the life of him understand what Jimmy means, what it is he truly wants. Most of the time Thomas's not able to figure Jimmy out anyway but Jimmy looks serious now and that's not making it easier. At any rate Thomas knows he certainly can't bear any more of this and he feels himself caving in, as he always does where Jimmy Kent is concerned. After all there's still a chance that, in a few days, Jimmy will get bored and forget about that unpleasant matter entirely.

"Fine," Thomas finally says, nodding. "You win. I'm going to show you, alright? If that's what you want? Just not today. And now just stop with your-" he gestures between them "whatever it is you're trying to do here." Flirting. Teasing. Thomas sighs. Damn you, Jimmy Kent.

"I can see it? Is that a promise?" Jimmy asks, a hint of suspicion in his voice as if he's expecting Thomas's sudden drawback to be some kind of trick.

"I guess it is. You bloody well know I can't deny you anything, no matter how hard I try, " Thomas says thoughtlessly, and Jimmy rolls his eyes at him accompanied by a little snort.

"No need to be so dramatic."

"Oh don't pretend you don't know! One pout on your silly little mouth and the world is yours, " Thomas jokes, the words supposed to come out lightly but the sheer truth of it squeezes at Thomas's heart.

Jimmy awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and averts his eyes, cheeks reddening. "Don't talk like that, Mr. Barrow, " he half-whispers and Thomas manages a tentative smile, eyes glued to the footman's bashful face as he adds silently, "But it's true."

Jimmy gazes at Thomas from beneath his fair lashes for a few hearbeats before his expression turns into something more meaningful, almost solemn. "I can wait, Thomas. I mean it," Jimmy says, so determinedly, it all but sounds like a strange kind of vow.

Thomas feels Jimmy's hand accidentally brush against his, the pleasant warmth of it sending a spark up his spine.

"The question is: can you, Thomas?"

"Can I what? Wait?" Thomas asks with an uncertain frown. If there is one thing Thomas Barrow is capable of it's waiting, enduring. His whole life he's been trapped in an endless wait for the feeling of acceptance and belonging, for love, and though he'd never admit it, not even to himself, he still is.

"Yeah, wait." Jimmy moves his hand, only a little, pushing against Thomas's again, a delicate touch that makes his fingers itch for more. But this time it's lingering and Thomas feels his own hands start to shake. No matter how hard he wants, no, needs to pretend otherwise, this, Jimmy's touch, is deliberate.

"I- I think so, yes." Thomas gulps. "Some things are worth waiting for."

Seconds of heavy silence ensue between them.

"Am I?" Jimmy whispers into the quiet of the room and Thomas stiffens. It feels as if Jimmy's words tug at the most secret strings of his heart.

"Are you what?" Thomas winces slightly at the broken tone of his own voice. Blood is rushing through his ears and his mind feels suddenly as wobbly as his knees.

"Am I worth it?" Jimmy mutters, giving Thomas's hand a light squeeze and then Jimmy holds, he holds Thomas's hand, and Thomas holds his breath. The sensation of Jimmy's fingers curled around his own makes him lightheaded and so Thomas can't stop the words spilling from his mouth: "Yes Jimmy, yes of course. God, you're my everything." In a blink Thomas's face is turning into a hot embarrassing mess, his eyes looking anywhere but Jimmy's face. Well bloody great, he curses himself and presses his lips into a hard pale line, but it's too late.

They both remain silent for a few stretching moments before Jimmy shifts his head and closes the barely-there distance between them, exhaling a long lazy breath. When the tender blow of warm air hits Thomas's neck, his eyes slip shut. It hurts to look at this painfully beautiful face he isn't allowed to touch.

What are you doing, Jimmy? Why all this teasing?

Cocky and conceited as he is, Jimmy Kent is constantly craving for any kind of attention, wants to be admired, if not desired, and Thomas knows that, of course. Still he has to be very careful not to overstep that thin and fragile line and fall into the trap of empty, futile hope again.

X X X

The trouble started with Jimmy walking into his room one night just when Thomas wanted to go to bed. He was leaning against the doorframe, looking completely flustered with tousled hair and his plain white undershirt half-unbuttoned - a wordless invitation to bare more of that beautiful young chest beneath. Heavy bedroom eyes were flickering over Thomas's body, up and down, up and down, sending hot waves of arousal to all the right and wrong places.

"I- um...I just want to say goodnight. Sweet dreams, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy stuttered nervously before he turned on his heel, all but storming out of the room. Needless to say that Thomas didn't sleep a wink that night, only groaned into his pillow instead and cursed that beautiful golden-haired boy with the throaty laugh.

Yes, Thomas was painfully aware of all the suggestive little banter and seemingly innocent touches here and there, in fact that was something he was able to handle. But when it came to all kinds of sexual innuendos, mostly when Jimmy was drunk and rather giggly, Thomas found himself to be at a loss.

Truth be told, Jimmy Kent was a ridiculous and awfully lewd drunk.

"What about you? Do you like that, too, Mr. Barrow?" Jimmy'd slur after telling Thomas one of his obscene stories that always made the underbutler's face grow hot and his cock throb in his trousers. (Indeed Jimmy called him Mr. Barrow then, his heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at Thomas with an expression he couldn't quite decipher, yet it did unspeakable things to Thomas's body.) Jimmy would even touch him, a gentle hand resting on Thomas's forearm all the while the footman was talking to him and it felt so wonderfully intimate that Thomas found himself taking Jimmy to the pub far too often.

However, if it hadn't been Jimmy Kent, Thomas would have considered this kind of behaviour to be a twisted manner of flirting; but with the way things were between them, Thomas figured that it simply must have been Jimmy's hunger for a delightful pastime.

Nevertheless, there were times when Thomas felt the irresistibly strong urge to grab him and press his mouth hard to Jimmy's or touch him indecently in a dark alley on their way back to Downton so Jimmy would be forced to finally admit it, say it aloud, perhaps even scream it right into his face: that he hated it and found it, him, disgusting - and he'd eventually stop his oh-so-funny games.

Of course, Thomas never did.

X X X

"But Thomas...I don't want to." There's a light waver in Jimmy's voice.

"Hm?"

As if awoken from a dream, Thomas opens his eyes, slowly turning his head only to find Jimmy's face half-shadowed, wondering how the sun had set so fast. Maybe they have been standing here for hours, holding hands, Thomas thinks dizzily - time both feels like eternity and runs away too quickly whenever he's with Jimmy.

"Don't want to..." Thomas repeats on a whisper, letting the words sink in, and suddenly his cheeks flame. No, of course not. How could he be so stupid to actually believe that. "I'm sorry," he mumbles and rapidly pulls his hand away. He doesn't know what to do with it then, his fingers feel strangely useless now.

"No. I don't want to wait," Jimmy explains, looking a little hurt and shakes his head. "Do you?"

"Well I-"

"Bloody hell, Thomas!" With a heavy sigh, Jimmy turns to position himself right in front of Thomas before gingerly placing his left hand against the underbutler's shoulder. "I don't want to wait anymore!" Jimmy says, firmly and trails his left hand down Thomas's arm.

After pausing for a fleeting moment to gauge Thomas's reaction, he lets his fingers slip under the older man's sleeve and Thomas makes a little sound as Jimmy's fingertips graze softly across his wrist. It's the lightest of touches yet his breath catches in his throat when Jimmy's thumb starts rubbing over his pulse. The mere fact that Jimmy wants to touch him, his bare skin, has Thomas's stomach twisting in knots. That is until Jimmy's nails, short but sharp as little knifes, are scratching hard into the sensitive skin, causing Thomas to groan in pain.

"Hush! You know the rules," Jimmy demands, his quickened breathing and the strange tone in his voice sending a prickle down Thomas's neck.

"Jimmy," he warns lamely but Jimmy only brings a hand up and presses his index finger to Thomas's lips, slightly parting them. A sudden heat is radiating through Thomas's body and it takes him all he has and then some to not kiss that lovely slim finger, to suck it into the heat of his mouth. Jimmy's fingertip is practically brushing against his tongue.

"Hnnn...Ji-!"

"Be so very quiet, Thomas. I told you I'm rubbish at this," Jimmy's voice quivers a little, his lower lip trembling as he speaks the words that make Thomas grip the doorframe for support. At this. Love. That's what Jimmy said.

Thomas heart is hammering in his chest, as wildly as the night he sneaked into Jimmy's room and almost ruined everything between them. Almost.

So Thomas wills himself to stay calm, keep standing upright because honestly his knees are about to give in. He's telling himself that he must have misheard Jimmy, that his untrustworthy instincts are misleading him again. After all, Jimmy Kent is nothing but a silly tease and Thomas clenches his teeth, deciding that he will be having none of this anymore.

"Jimmy...!" he says with an unmistakable edge in his voice, "are we playing hide and seek again?"

Jimmy tilts his head to the side, carefully studying the underbutler's face as if it will reveal some tremendous secret if he only stares at it long enough. "Do you want us to?" Jimmy whispers, his face now close enough for Thomas to notice the thin layer of sweat on skin; in fact he can smell it too, the salt and something exquisite, incredibly sweet – oh Jimmy has always been a boy of contrasts - and it's stirring something profoundly feral deep inside of Thomas.

"As a matter of fact, I'd rather not, thank you very much!" he manages before facing away from the blond - Jimmy's heady scent is giving him all kinds of forbidden thoughts and he really doesn't need this now.

"Oh Thomas," Jimmy mutters and softly grabs his jaw, forcing the underbutler to look at him again.

Thomas's eyes are raking uncertainly over Jimmy's visage, tracing the curves of his too red lips that are only inches away. So close. Dangerously close. Jimmy never touches his face and Thomas feels a little funny, the warm bubbly sensation in his stomach reminding him of the first and the only time Jimmy and he shared a bottle of champagne.

X X X

To say it troubled Thomas when Jimmy started going on about "wanting to see the world and drinking champagne" would be a terrible understatement. In fact, an awful fear gripped Thomas - the fear that Jimmy might leave Downton for good. Leave him. It was a truly terrifying, mind-crushing thought that stole his sleep at night and preyed on his mind during the day since Thomas was perfectly aware that nothing he had to offer could make Jimmy stay.

God knows he would have laid the world at Jimmy's feet to keep him from leaving but as it was, he only managed to get a single bottle of champagne for his birthday. Thomas would never forget Jimmy's face, how he squeezed his arm in excitement, beaming up at him like the little boy he was sometimes.

"Will you come to me tonight?!" Jimmy asked quietly and Thomas's eyes widened in disbelief before the footman added quickly, "I want to share this with you, Thomas," waving the bottle in front of the underbutler's face. "I want to share everything with you."

Thomas had always imagined - craved for - something wonderfully titillating to happen in Jimmy's room, but of course nothing of the sort occurred. It was a night filled with tipsy laughter and genuine friendship.

It was one of the best nights of Thomas's life.

X X X

Now Jimmy's lips look just as flushed and moist as they did that night and when he leans in so close their noses are almost brushing, things start to blur a little for Thomas.

Out of the blue, he feels hands pressing against his chest before slowly gliding down his front. Jimmy makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and then Thomas looks down, heart racing, and watches the footman clumsily tugging his shirt out of his trousers. Red faced, he quickly glances away, growing hot and cold as an instant later firm palms start running over the exposed part of his stomach.

Within seconds a sharp sensation - acute desire mingling with panic - is crushing his body. Jimmy's hands roaming around the undeniable softness of Thomas's belly makes him desperately wish he was 10 years younger and 15 pounds lighter. Or maybe 20, and less hairy too, he ponders with concern, but his train of thought is cut off by Jimmy's fingertips circling his navel, lazily teasing the beginning of that trail of dark coarse hair that's leading down to his-

"Hnn…" Thomas utters, barely able to hold back the moan that's caught in his throat. It takes him quite an effort to keep his eyes open since Jimmy's fingers are still there, continuing to trace over his bare skin and it feels so good, Thomas is starting to get hard. Terribly afraid that Jimmy will notice his improper state, Thomas's heart skips a single beat when Jimmy's hands come to an abrupt halt.

"Thomas?"

"Ji- Jimmy?"

The footman narrows his eyes at Thomas in suspicion causing his stomach to twist with anxiety. "Are you sucking in your stomach?" Jimmy asks in a chiding tone.

"Why no!" The underbutler's cheeks are flushing with apparent embarrassment - of course he is.

With a condemning scowl, Jimmy takes a bit of the soft flesh of Thomas's belly between thumb and fore finger and pinches. Hard. Thomas grits his teeth at the sudden pain but wondrously manages to remain stock-still.

"Did it hurt?" Jimmy wants to know, aiming for nonchalance that doesn't quite come through.

"Ah...only a little." Thomas bites his inner cheek and takes a shuddering breath to steel himself.

Jimmy's scrutinizing gaze is resting upon his face again. "You're a liar!" he says bluntly, and Thomas sees his expression changing. Clearly, Jimmy's made up his mind – to do what exactly, Thomas has no idea.

"Don't hide anything from me! Ever, " Jimmy scolds, pinching him again, even harder this time, so hard as though he wanted to tear a piece off of Thomas and the underbutler can't help but make a pained whining sound.

"For God's sake Jimmy, why are you-"

"There! Looks like I'm winning!" Jimmy snorts, looking pleased with himself though his smug triumph is somewhat diminished by the slight tremble in his voice. His hands are still on Thomas, now idly trailing over his stomach again, running lower and lower, until the pad of Jimmy's thumb is brushing softly over the tip of Thomas's clothed erection.

From that moment on every coherent thought Thomas's ever had is swept away. "Jimmy, Jimmy... I really can't-" Thomas feels beads of sweat form on his forehead, his hands twisting awkwardly at his sides.God, if Jimmy would only-, only-

Thomas is so aroused he's unable to think and he can't help but groan needily, trying to press up against Jimmy's fingers, thankful even for the smallest amount of friction he can get.

"Hah! You l- lost! Again." Jimmy's breath is now coming out quicker, sharper, his voice threatening to fail him. Thomas watches a dark blush spread from the blond's collar up to his hairline.

"Oh yeah? Doesn't bloody feel like it," Thomas chokes out. It's so hard to speak, to remember the words with Jimmy's fingers down there and for an insane little moment Thomas wonders whether Jimmy is about to open his trousers, push them down to his knees and...oh the way those perfect fingers would feel curled tightly around his cock, most likely hot and a little sweaty, stroking him thoroughly, not stopping until Thomas would come all over them.

"Jimmy, I- I think there's going to be a bruise. Um... on my skin. You've done that before," Thomas states, sheepishly. Why he doesn't know, it's neither a complaint nor an accusation.

Jimmy only regards him with mild amusement, as if Thomas is oblivious to something that's staring him right in the face. "I know, " he whispers after leaning in further, and Thomas can almost feel the fleeting movement of Jimmy's lips against his neck. "Had to make sure you wouldn't forget me. I want you to think of me when you're alone, Thomas. When you're-," Jimmy trails off and Thomas's back arches into the wooden door at the firm hand that's suddenly running over the front of his trousers, squeezing him once. Twice.

"Oh. Oh god." Thomas's eyes flutter open and shut. The heat of Jimmy's palm is like fire against his crotch causing his body to tremble with pent-up arousal. Not moving his hand away, Jimmy keeps searching Thomas's face, now looking wonderfully unsettled himself. Something about the bright blush on Jimmy's cheeks is rather endearing whereas his eyes are so dark and unreadable, Thomas is utterly confused for a moment. Surely he must have looked at the young footman a million times before; still, it feels like he's seeing Jimmy, all of him, for the very first time.

"My, my Mr. Barrow, quite excited, are we?" Jimmy says in a voice so thick and rough with lust, Thomas's cock starts twitching helplessly in his trousers.

It's funny, he thinks to himself, that such a young and apparently inexperienced bloke like Jimmy should make him feel like a bloody beginner. Not that he minds though - he can't remember when he last felt so good, so wanted. And this is the point where a disturbing thought strikes Thomas, probably in the last sane corner of his tortured mind: It couldn't be that easy, not for him anyway. Of course he's tempted to just reach out and kiss Jimmy again, to taste these glorious lush lips right in front of him. But he's been here before and he knows that it's not allowed. Perhaps, this is nothing but a last cruel joke of the universe and Jimmy will sneer into his face any moment.

"Stop mocking me! If this is another game to you Jimmy Kent, I swear I- " Thomas's voice sounds entirely wrecked. He needs Jimmy's hands on him, all over him and the intense pulsing between his legs is becoming impossibly stronger. His whole body is longing for Jimmy's like never before.

Jimmy's brow furrows in irritation. He looks somewhat feverish, as if he was drunk, Thomas notices. "A game? Hardly," the footman mutters, pushing his hips forward, just a little, yet enough for Thomas to feel Jimmy's erection bumping against his own.

"Dear god, Jimmy," he whispers brokenly, his mind turning as blank as a clean white bed sheet. "So that's what it's all about? That's what you want?"

Jimmy winces, making a face at Thomas's words as though they were a horrible insult. "No! Well yes, but … uh." He lets out a heavy sigh before pressing his forehead to Thomas's temple. It's a small gesture, yet for Thomas it's significant, a defining moment, almost too intimate to be borne. He shudders.

"I think I want this," Jimmy mutters and places a soft kiss to a spot under Thomas's ear. "But I want this, too," he says quietly while his fingers trace the outline of Thomas's erect cock through his trousers, savoring the rather impressive length. Thomas hisses in approval. "I thought about that, you know?" Jimmy swallows. " A lot."

"You- you really did?" Thomas's heart is hot and loud in his chest now, beating violently against his ribs with all his love and desire for Jimmy.

Jimmy's movements pause. "Well, didn't you?" he asks, a little piqued and Thomas lets out a shaky laugh. He feels giddy, as if his head is filled with soft white cotton. "I've had enough time to think about quite a few things, Jimmy."

"Good. You've got to tell me some day because I want to know everything," Jimmy speaks into his ear and much to his surprise Thomas finds himself strangely thrilled by the prospect of sharing all the filthy little scenarios made up every night in the privacy of his room.

"I will," is all Thomas manages before he gets distracted by a tentative tongue that's sliding across his neck. Slick hot perfection. A stifled moan escapes Thomas's lips and he can't help but wrap his arms tightly around Jimmy's small firm waist to pull him into a close embrace, to hold Jimmy Kent in his arms. Finally.

When Jimmy withdraws again, he licks across his own bottom lip, excruciatingly slow, eyes not leaving Thomas's face.

"Kiss me," Thomas gasps, not quite able to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Please, Jimmy." The footman only smiles, then places a quick peck on the top of Thomas's chin and all the underbutler can do is blink at him in confusion. "I said kiss me."

"And I just did," Jimmy replies, the impish smile on his face enraging in a way.

"You bloody well know that was not what I meant," Thomas groans in frustration, his fingers pressing down into Jimmy's back in a hopeless attempt to speed things up; every fiber of his body is aflame and aching for Jimmy.

"Patience, Mr. Barrow. A wise man once told me that 'Some things are worth waiting for'," Jimmy says, with an air of complacency.

"God, I hate you."

After carefully studying Thomas's visage, Jimmy tilts his head to the side and gives a little boyish laugh that's so devastatingly gorgeous, it makes Thomas want to throw Jimmy gracelessly onto the bed and love him, good and proper, right here and now.

"No, you don't." Jimmy lifts a hand to softly stroke the side of Thomas's face. There's an oddly soothing, healing warmth in Jimmy's eyes that's fairly rare and Thomas likes how it's only ever directed at him. "You still love me, Thomas."

The underbutler averts his gaze, sighing. Of course Jimmy knows, he just has to. Despite himself Thomas is being quite obvious about his affections for Jimmy. Always has been.

"You've never stopped, have you?" Jimmy mutters before both his hands grab Thomas's face possessively, as if Thomas is his and his alone, and he can do whatever he wants. And of course Jimmy can, so he does...

Thomas holds very still as Jimmy gently kisses every inch of his face he can reach, all the way from the center of his forehead over the smooth temples down to his slightly stubbled jaw. Though barely able to keep his hands to himself, Thomas doesn't dare move, afraid to wake from this magnificent dream with no Jimmy beside him. Jimmy's face is rubbing against his neck, the heat of his mouth almost ruining Thomas's mind. Oh it's such a heavenly torture and Thomas wonders vaguely if Jimmy can feel the wildly racing pulse beneath his lips.

Unsurprisingly, the sight of Jimmy the moment he glances up at Thomas again, heavy-lidded and red lips swollen after long minutes of kissing, does nothing to lessen his arousal. "Please, Jimmy. Please, " Thomas begs quietly.

Their eyes lock in wordless understanding and when Jimmy moves his head, slightly parting his lips for Thomas, there's only one thing that can happen now.

"Ah," Thomas gasps when he feels Jimmy's warm lips on his, at last, and his trembling fingers curl into Jimmy's waistcoat. The lightness of the kiss is maddening, Jimmy's mouth so sweet and shy, barely touching his and yet Thomas is about to lose all his senses. I love you, Jimmy. I love you so. A burning feeling starts pulsing through his veins with overwhelming force.

Jimmy's lips move languidly and delicate against Thomas's. A hand is slipping behind his neck and into his hair, the other one pressing into the small of Thomas's back, strong and safe, urging him closer until Thomas can feel Jimmy through his trousers. It's such an odd sensation, the incredible softness of Jimmy's lips coupled with the hardness of his cock pressing against Thomas's hip.

Jimmy nips at his lower lip, tasting him and moans quietly, an unfamiliar, tantalizing sound Thomas's never heard Jimmy make before and it makes him impossibly harder. It's both agonizing and wonderful how Jimmy doesn't rush things: he takes his time, idly licks the underbutler's bottom lip while his hands are holding Thomas firmly against the door. Thomas is sure - this is what their first kiss should have been like. Slow. Loving. Perfect.

And when Thomas finally dares to open his mouth for Jimmy, he feels them crossing the line, leaving the realms of friendship for good. Thomas knows there's no going back once Jimmy's tongue pushes past his lips and into his mouth, there's just no excuse for that, can never be.

Jimmy gasps in release – as if this is exactly what he's been waiting for a long time. He tastes like mint, cigarettes and desire, a divine mixture Thomas knows he will remember forever. Jimmy's breath has always been like little airy kisses Thomas could smell. In the morning, right after breakfast, Jimmy usually smells like strawberry jam and tea and Thomas envisions sweet giggly kisses against the corner of his mouth between friendly chatter and silly jokes. But late at night in one of their rooms, when Jimmy exhales the odor of wine and smoke while talking in that low husky voice of his, there is something incredibly sensual, rich about it that makes Thomas think of deep and passionate kisses, hungry tongues and hands sliding over naked skin...

But now Jimmy's kissing him in the most tender of ways and Thomas realizes he needs just that. For once he rather wants to be kissed than to kiss, so he lets the other man take control, only slightly brushing his tongue against Jimmy's. He doesn't want to miss out on anything, wants to memorize every little detail: the way Jimmy's pliant lips feel against his; the quickening rise and fall of the footman's chest; and how a single blond curl tickles against Thomas's cheek - every sensation dragging him deeper and deeper into his love for Jimmy.

Thomas's clearly surprised, stunned at Jimmy's sudden ardent affection that seems to be all for him, and as Jimmy's fingertips dance along the outlines of Thomas's face, he feels like the most precious, loved man in the world. The moment Jimmy eventually draws back, breathless, is almost physical pain.

"I'm going to come to you tonight. There are some things I need to know. Mr. Barrow," Jimmy says in a suggestive manner - half-moans it against Thomas's mouth. It sounds a little filthy and Thomas's cock is throbbing at the mental picture of what exactly Jimmy might want to do tonight.

Tonight. The word echoes in his head and all Thomas can do is stare at the other man in amazement, wondering how this, Jimmy Kent asking for a tangle in the sheets with him, could ever be real.

Jimmy ducks his head then, gazing up to bat his fair lashes at Thomas. "If you want me to, that is."

Thomas bites his lip to keep from both screaming and laughing. Everything he's been hoping for, all that painful raw longing for the young footman - reality seems to change in a heartbeat, turning his whole world upside down.

"What do you bloody think Jimmy, I've been waiting for yea-"

Abruptly, Jimmy clutches at Thomas's lapels and shuts him up with a kiss so entirely different from the one before, that it takes Thomas's breath away. It's fierce and hungry, all wet tongues and teeth and Thomas makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat at the unexpected bold hand that's groping and kneading at his arse.

„Ah...ah Jimmy." When Thomas tears his mouth away, gasping for air, Jimmy doesn't miss a beat. He rubs his nose against the underbutler's neck before placing a path of rough kisses there, adding the barest touch of tongue, and Thomas can't do anything but screw his eyes shut tight at the sensation. What a wonderful mouth it is, sweet and red and so incredibly hot on his skin.

At once, Jimmy's lips and fingers magically seem to be all over Thomas, grasping into his hair, clawing at his chest, his arms... his hand. What follows is the soft sound of something dropping to the floor, landing right between Thomas's feet.

...

"You. Bloody. Bastard."

Jimmy, still red-faced, tips his head up to nudge Thomas's nose with his and gives a perfect bright smile against Thomas's lips. "I told you Thomas," he says, entwining their hands so his smooth palm presses tenderly against Thomas's rough marred one, "I always get what I want."

And for once in his life, Thomas Barrow does, too.