Thomas thought back to the day in Jimmy's empty room and tried to conjure up Jimmy's scent, then quickly tore off the glove on his left hand and held the two fingers that had made contact with Jimmy's skin against his lips. He lay still for a moment and sweetly kissed his knuckles and slid the two fingers into his mouth with a moan. (Thomas would never, ever admit this to any lover, but he was always incredibly aroused by the sound of his own moans.) He sucked on his fingers then drew them lightly out through his teeth over and over again, his fingers a poor substitute for Jimmy's what-Thomas-knew-would-be-as-beautiful-as the-rest-of-him cock.
With the right hand, Thomas began his way down his own chest, stopping to brush against and then pinch his nipples. He hissed and twisted on the cot and removed his fingers from his mouth. Got to … slow down … not get carried … away, Thomas stammered in his thoughts.
He combed both fingers through the dark hair that sprinkled his chest and thought of Jimmy's first day at Downton when he saw the new footman getting dressed through the crack in the door. He'd never seen anything quite like it. So smooth like marble, Thomas felt practically simian compared to Jimmy's bare expanse. I want you so much, he had thought in that brief instant—and now even more—and whimpered at his longing for Jimmy's hands to touch him.
Thomas slipped his hands down to his new, slightly rounded (much to his dismay) belly and caressed it in circles, softly groaning, "Oh Jimmy please … don't stop … oh god, Jimmy." He tried to put an exchange that occurred the previous evening out of his mind, but felt O'Brien's caustic words spilling over into his bliss …
After dinner, Daisy had come into the servants' hall with plates of treacle tart. She stopped at Thomas with the last serving and sighed, "Ivy's gone and sliced it unevenly. Looks like you get the biggest piece, Mr. Barrow."
Thomas looked around the table and chuckled, "And it's my favorite! Aren't I the lucky one!" He picked up his fork and happily started to dig in.
"Lucky?" O'Brien snorted from across the table. "Careful there. You'll be as big as Bates soon enough."
(Thankfully, Jimmy—always unable to sit still for too long—was too deep in thought, trying to pick out a tune on the piano he had heard in the Grantham Arms earlier that day. Anna was still upstairs appeasing Lady Mary's fussiness while Bates was still languishing in prison.)
Thomas chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and then said icily, "Well, it's worked for him. He's got Anna, and who've you got?" He raised an eyebrow then returned to the tart, stabbing it purposefully with his fork.
"I could ask the same of you," O'Brien replied, pursing her lips. "You're not exactly fighting off the ladies, are you? Or suitors for that matter."
Alfred and the hall boys snickered at the end of the table, not quite sure what they were laughing at; it was just exciting to witness any opportunity for Mr. Barrow to become flustered. Alfred stretched out one long arm and quietly slid the tart sitting in front of Jimmy's empty place toward the hall boys, one of whom scraped it onto his plate.
Thomas inhaled deeply, trying to think of a devastating comeback while Mrs. Hughes trilled, "Now, Miss O'Brien, that's quite enough …"
Suddenly there was a commotion at the far end of the table. Jimmy had returned to an empty plate at his seat. He looked at the hall boys in disgust. "Oi! You! Give it back!" shrieked.
The hall boy (Donald or Ronald … no one could remember) quickly shoved the entire piece in his mouth and gleefully chewed open-mouthed at Jimmy. Jimmy then leaned over the table and swung wildly at Ronald (or Donald) who jumped up and rolled his hands into fists while coughing out crumbs.
"James! Donald! Ermmm … Ronald! Enough of this nonsense!" Mr. Carson bellowed from the head of the table. "I will not tolerate fisticuffs over a pilfered tart. Or for ANY reason for that matter."
"Sorry, Mr. Carson," Jimmy and Ronald (or Donald) mumbled simultaneously … Donald (or Ronald) still coughing. They both sat down heavily onto their chairs grumbling.
Thomas seized the opportunity. "Here Ji … ummm, James, have mine," Thomas said amicably and passed his plate to Jimmy. (Thomas was sorely tempted to try and feed Jimmy with his fork, watching his lips slide down, then licking the crumbs away with his soft, moist tongue and ah … he decided to quickly shut down that notion.)
Jimmy's face lit up. "Thanks ever so much, Mr. Barrow," he said as he shoveled a large bite into his mouth. "You are MY hero," he muttered through a sloppy mouthful.
"James …" Mr. Carson growled slowly, "Might I remind you that although you are off duty, you must always comport yourself with the utmost in decorum. To my knowledge, you were not raised in a barn."
"Noooooo, Mr. Carson," Jimmy mooed, then tilted his head down to his plate in exaggerated shame and raised his eyes flirtatiously to Thomas, who smiled and blushed in delight like a besotted schoolgirl.
Mr. Carson sighed heavily while O'Brien stared at Thomas and squeezed her mouth into a tight smirk.
Thomas stopped his caresses, rested his hands on his belly and sighed. Jimmy doesn't want a fat old man, he thought. Can't do anything about the old, but will stop eating all superfluous food starting tomorrow. Or perhaps the next day … depending on tomorrow night's pudding.
Thomas raised his arms above his head and stretched. His erection was beginning to soften and he desperately willed it to harden again while massaging his groin and thighs with both hands. His breath quickened as his mind searched for the right scenario, with Jimmy—always Jimmy—as his object of love.
Jimmy the Virgin.
Thomas had never been anyone's first, and was dying, dying to be given the honor. His first time had left him tearful, bleeding, and sore for days. He had already decided that he would be patient, sweet, and tender, because there would be plenty of time to explore every aspect of pleasure on the nights to follow.
But where would it happen?
Not in either of their rooms— Thomas wanted it to be special and not an uncomfortable fumble with any telltale squeaking of the bed frame.
Not in the garden—Thomas was terrified of bees after helplessly standing by at the age of eight in the garden while his young cousin was stung and suffocated to death.
Not by the sea—the thought of potentially getting sand in his nether regions made Thomas shudder.
Not in the stables—the smell of manure and the buzzing of flies did not create an environment conducive to romance.
In the Ripon bedroom—yes. Thomas was very fond of the upstairs guest bedroom that had a southern exposure overlooking the flowerbeds, with lavender walls and a rich plum duvet and … pillows! Real pillows, a pile big enough to devour anyone lucky enough to enjoy a night in the room's silky embrace.
He pictured Jimmy's sweet, golden head sinking into the yielding pillow, and looking up with an expression full of love and fear and desire. Just the splendor of Jimmy beneath him, ready and open, made Thomas shiver and moan.
Thomas ran a fingertip across the head of his cock to spread the liquid that was beginning to bead from the slit. He stroked his cock slowly with one hand and cupped the other around his bollocks, squeezing them softly. He then encircled the head into a tight fist, imagining himself engulfed in Jimmy's enticing tightness and warmth.
Thomas began to rock up and down quietly on the mattress, mindful of any excess noise his actions might make.
"I'll be so gentle," he said to the ceiling, "So gentle, my love." Both his hands and his hips started to move faster at the thought of Jimmy pulling him closer, digging his nails into his back, and clinging to Thomas as though he might slip away forever.
"Don't be frightened." Thomas whispered. "I'll take care of you … oh Jimmy."
Thomas could almost hear Jimmy's moans as he surrendered to the sensations. Thomas put the back of one hand against his mouth and mumbled, "My love. Jimmy … oh god, oh, god, oh god." He was getting closer and closer, and heard Jimmy groan in his mind, as clear as if it were the younger man's mouth desperately breathing it in his ear, "Thomas … god … Thomas."
Thomas cried out as he bit his knuckles, and arched his back over and over again as he came, sobbing Jimmy's name.
He lay on the bed heaving as the aftershocks rippled through his body. Once he could see clearly again, Thomas rolled onto his side and pulled the extra pillow he used for occasions like this from underneath his cot. It belonged to Bates, and in a moment of inspiration, Thomas had snatched it from the former valet cum accused murder's room.
Bates' pillow was thicker than those of the rest of the staff. He claimed he needed it to help straighten his spine to release any discomfort that might affect his leg.
"Bollocks!" Thomas had barked when O'Brien relayed this particular tidbit. "Just because he and his lordship were thick as thieves in the war doesn't mean he deserves any better than the rest of us."
One day, Thomas had left Bates' room with the pillow and nearly bumped into Mrs. Hughes. He tried in vain to quickly hide the pillow behind his back and cursed himself for not hearing her omnipresent gaggle of keys jangling down the hallway.
Mrs. Hughes leaned slightly to the side and shook her head at the white fabric peeking out from behind Thomas' black jacket.
"Really, Mr. Barrow? Stealing the poor man's pillow!" she cried.
"What? It's for me back! It's not like he's going to be using it anytime soon."
"If you'd wanted another pillow all you'd had to do is ask."
He saw the usual look of disappointment on Mrs. Hughes' otherwise kind face. It was an expression he'd seen far too often in his lifetime on so many other faces, both young and old. He decided to turn on the charm and the "upstairs voice" that had saved him in the past.
"I didn't want to trouble either you or the maids, Mrs. Hughes. You are always so dreadfully busy keeping the house in top form," Thomas said soothingly. "I promise that as soon as we receive the joyous news that Mr. Bates has been exonerated, I'll put it back. With a freshly laundered pillowcase, of course."
Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion.
"I'll even leave a rose on it if you'd like. And, of course, you'll get one too for being such a kindhearted spirit and an inspiration to us all," he finished, smiled his most sincere tight-lipped grin, and waited for Mrs. Hughes to fall for every word.
Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes. She had heard enough. She waved her hand and sighed, "Go on then, take the pillow but you'd best believe once Mr. Bates comes home, that pillow is his."
"Anything for you, Mrs. Hughes!"
She shooed Thomas away and said, "That's a promise I'm going to hold you to, Mr. Barrow, and no mistake!"
Thomas walked triumphantly to his room with his prize.
In his afterglow, Thomas rubbed his flaccid, sticky cock against the bare pillow, smearing it with his seed. See how he likes that, the smug self-righteous bastard, Thomas thought.
The servants' cots were insultingly small and narrow, with flimsy excuses for pillows. Thomas could never fully stretch out on it, always ending up slightly curled on his side to sleep. He couldn't imagine (or didn't want to imagine) how Alfred folded his lanky frame in his cot in a comfortable fashion.
But even if he had just an inch of space to himself and barely caught a wink of sleep, it would be worth it to have Jimmy next to him every night. Thomas had imagined what would happen post-love even more than the act itself; the need for closeness and warmth greater than his desire for release.
He had enacted it virtually every night since Jimmy's first appearance in the kitchen. Clutching Bates' pillow against his chest as if it were Jimmy, Thomas had always planned to be on the outside, acting like a shield from the rest of the world for the younger man. Thomas lay on his side and imagined breathing in the warm scent of Jimmy's hair. Placing small kisses on the back of his neck. Stroking his hip. Whispering sonnets into his ear, or silly stories of unicorns and dragons. Chiding him for his cold feet or for stealing too much of the blanket.
Thomas hugged the pillow, sighed contentedly, and smiled into the darkness.
Soon. Everything will come together for us soon.
