I thought this would be shorter somehow.

And that was where it all started to go wrong – as if, by lying to Thomas, he'd thrown the first deceitful snowball that began the slow but inexorable karmic avalanche.

When he got home, and carefully unlocked the front door, the house was in darkness. Well – he and Thomas had stayed late in the office – since Miss O' Brien had taken great satisfaction in announcing a number of problems in dire need of solving if the fashion show was to go ahead as scheduled tomorrow.

"Funny you didn't think to mention any of these before," Thomas had said.

"I didn't realize I was responsible for putting on a one woman show," was the tart reply. "I think you'll find my involvement begins and ends with the dresses. I just thought you might like to know," she said, as she proffered a closely-written list.

Still, Thomas had not seemed especially disheartened after she left. "She's just kicking up because that's all she can do. She won't try anything – not after her ladyship told Sarah she was holding her personally responsible."

Which was all very well, but privately, Jimmy wondered whether it was even worth antagonizing O' Brien when the end result was extra work on both their parts.

After that, Mr Carson had found his way to Thomas' desk with several other minor matters relating to the stalls. "As they say – plan in haste, repent at leisure," he had rumbled, though Jimmy thought he seemed more satisfied than not by these hindrances.

And then, of course, there had been…everything that had happened at Thomas' house (Jimmy's mind immediately skittered away from the finer details of everything).

It was no wonder he was so late. Really, what it all came down to, was that Jimmy shouldn't have gone to Thomas' house at all. It was all right this week, he decided as he picked his way across the dark kitchen, but next week, when things went back to normal, he would have to be more discreet, in case anyone notic –

The kitchen was suddenly flooded with light, and Jimmy jumped. Ivy materialized in the doorway, wearing her dressing gown and looking rather like a pink and fluffy ghost.

"Jimmy?" she said, sounding surprised. "Are you just getting back now? Don't tell me Mr Barrow had you in the office all this time."

At once Jimmy fired back, "What are you still doing up?"

It worked. The line between Ivy's eyebrows deepened and she admitted, "I just couldn't sleep. Alfred and Daisy kept me up all night, making jam."

Jimmy stared at her for a moment, hoping with all his heart (and his stomach) that the phrase 'making jam' would not turn out to be a euphemism. But then his eyes drifted left, toward the kitchen table, which was stacked high with gingham-topped jars. The relief that came with knowing that in this case, a jar of jam was just a jar of jam, was momentarily overpowering.

"Well, I hope it's worth it," Ivy said. "All that extra work you're doing for Mr Barrow. Are you getting overtime?"

Jimmy shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with this renewed focus on his activities. But it turned out to be a false alarm, because without even waiting for an answer, Ivy said, "Mind you, I can see why you might do it, even if you're not bein' paid…" she cast an unhappy glance at the kitchen table, "I might ask Mrs Hughes if she's got any extra work for me, tomorrow evening. I don't think I could take another night like this – I really don't."

He made a vague noise that could mean anything Ivy wanted it to, and made his escape, heart pounding.

It was a wake-up call – that's what it was. A warning. It was a dart that pierced the thick, soothing blanket of exhaustion that had been wrapped around Jimmy ever since this thing with Thomas began. He couldn't help but take heed of it – he'd have been a fool not to.

At the fashion show, he stood at the back, and watched O' Brien give a stony-faced monologue on fashion into Edwardian times and beyond, as a succession of people paraded their way out of the past and down the catwalk.

" – with a modified corset" –

" – and of course, an embroidered blouse to complete the look" –

" – the classic Norfolk suit" –

" – 1920's, bringing with it a new silhouette and a bolder, more modern" –

There was some satisfaction to be derived from O' Brien's distaste for the task – she clearly preferred her clothes on the dress-forms as opposed to the human body…but this enjoyment was negated somewhat by how very thorough she was. Lady Grantham sat near the back, beside Carson, and both seemed attentive to every word O' Brien uttered, but Jimmy found his focus slipping with every new-old outfit.

Thomas slipped in toward the end, and made his way over to stand beside Jimmy – just in time for the smallest member of the fashion show to make her way down the runway, holding the hand of her sister.

" - wearing a burgundy velvet dress, with a lace collar," O' Brien said. The child dropped its sister's hand and essayed a small wave (Carson inclined his head in acknowledgment) and then stamped its feet – which immediately lit up.

"The shoes," O' Brien continued smoothly, " – are not period accurate…as you may have noticed."

There was a wave of laughter (though O' Brien herself did not seem amused – and having spent time with the littlest member of the fashion show, Jimmy could guess why), and Lady Grantham turned to Carson and murmured, "Oh, isn't she just precious?"

It beamed at the clapping and chuckling, and waved even harder. Jimmy glanced at Carson and saw that he had a daffy kind of look on his face as he gazed at it.

"Hasn't everything worked out well? Even you have to admit that this week has been a great success, Carson," Lady Grantham said, over the "I will admit, my lady – that some parts of it have been…most enjoyable." Then, hurriedly, he cleared his throat and wiped the stupid expression off his face.

Thomas leaned in close and spoke into his ear. "Most enjoyable," he repeated, though he nodded toward the steadfastly blank expression on O' Brien's face. Jimmy smiled a tight smile and took a step to the side, widening the distance between them.

He could feel Thomas looking at him, but Jimmy faced forward and was careful not to meet his eyes.

Probably, he shouldn't have gone home – not home, he didn't mean home…he shouldn't have gone back to Thomas' house, where Thomas offered him tea, only to get distracted and end up pressing him back over the kitchen table, while the kettle whistled, ignored, in the background. Except he did – he couldn't help it.

Afterwards, he rested his chin on Thomas' shoulder and looped his arms around Thomas' back, while Thomas ran a hand through his hair, and offered him tea again.

Jimmy couldn't help it – he tensed as he pulled back…and then, forced himself to relax. "That's all right," he said. "I should probably get going, anyway." The edge of the table dug into the backs of his thighs, and Thomas went very still for a moment.

I'll stay next time. I promise.

The words hung in the air between them, accusatory. Even though Jimmy knew it was his fault for saying it, he couldn't help the flash of resentment – Why do you always have to push, Thomas? Why can't you ever just leave well enough alone?

He could, of course, have told Thomas that Ivy'd started asking questions, and if he kept on spending so much time with Thomas, she might begin to suspect. It was almost the truth. Except it sounded weak to his own ears – and he was half-afraid that if he said it to Thomas, Thomas' response would be, "So what?"

The Duke, Edward Courtenay…the random strangers to whom Thomas had offered the deluxe tour package…the fact was Thomas was no bloody good at being discreet. Or maybe it would be fairer to say – Thomas had no interest in being discreet.

But the moment stretched out, and Thomas didn't say anything, just looked at Jimmy with an unreadable face.

"It's going to be a long day tomorrow," Jimmy said. "With the – stalls." It wasn't exactly an excuse – the final day of the Heritage Week was bound to be busy…but he felt a mixture of irritation and galling uncertainty at being placed in this position at all. At having to playact that Thomas was – was his boyfriend or something, needing to be soothed. Actually wanting to sooth his feelings only served to further annoy Jimmy.

But – "Right," Thomas said finally. It wasn't in the same striving-for-wry-humour tone as yesterday. The word came out flat, and Thomas took a step back, and actually smiled – though it was the kind of smile Jimmy found he didn't want to return. I'll hold you to that, he had said, but Jimmy had known that he wouldn't risk it – that he wanted Jimmy too much to risk it.

I'll stay next time, Jimmy wanted to say, to take the sting out of Thomas' defeat, and to wipe that blank look off his face, but thankfully he managed to hold his tongue.

"Well," Thomas said, as the silence stretched. He walked over to the twice-boiled kettle and began to busy himself making tea. He glanced over at Jimmy like he was waiting for something, but Jimmy didn't know what. Thomas raised his eyebrows and said, "I suppose you'd better go, then."

Jimmy suddenly noticed that he had only taken out one cup.

Oh. Right. Thomas was waiting for Jimmy to leave. Feeling bizarrely off-balance, Jimmy pushed himself away from the table. "Right," he said, and managed a smile. Thomas just sipped his tea and watched him as he walked out of the kitchen.

He'd just…he'd known Thomas would let him go – he'd just…he'd expected Thomas to ask him to stay, first.

Mrs Patmore volunteered to help out with Alfred and Daisy's stall in the morning. Well, volunteered was too innocuous a word. Commandeered was probably a more accurate description.

"It's all right," Daisy told her. "We can manage."

"Really?" Mrs Patmore said. "Manage what, pray tell? Because I've been sat in that café for months and months watching nothing at all happen."

"But we've not been in business for months and months," Daisy said with a frown.

Mrs Patmore sighed. "Look – it's very simple. Since the café is closed so that all the food stalls get a fair shake, I may as well help you. You know what they say – Idle hands are the devil's tools. Besides," she added, in an undertone, as she rolled up her sleeves, "I'm sorting this out, one way or another."

Of course, the stalls had not exactly been designed for three people, especially not when one of those people was Mrs Patmore-shaped. Mrs Patmore however, seemed supremely unaware of this. She stood toward the front of the stall, while Daisy and Alfred bumped around in the back.

Quite literally, as Jimmy observed when he managed to cadge a few free minutes for lunch.

"Oh, sorry," Daisy said, as she turned, smack into Alfred's chest.

"It's all right," Alfred said, reaching out his hands to steady her. He nodded down at the plate in her hand. "Careful – you don't want to drop that."

"No," Daisy agreed, staring up at him. Alfred's hands still curled around her shoulders.

Jimmy cleared his throat, and they broke apart suddenly. Daisy handed him the plate, and Jimmy frowned at the scone, thickly smothered with lemon curd. "This isn't what I" – he began, only for Mrs Patmore to lean over the counter and say, with unblinking eyes and a smile that belied her words, "Eat up."

As he did, Ivy returned to the stall. She had been dispatched with a tray containing bite-sized samples of scones and jam, to wander through the crowd, enticing customers to Daisy and Alfred's stand. Now the tray was empty, and as she waited for Mrs Patmore to replenish her stocks, she watched Daisy and Alfred with a frown.

"Whoops," Alfred said, as he knocked into Daisy. His hand shot out to her waist. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Fine…" Daisy said breathlessly, leaning into his touch.

"Is it not a bit crowded in there – with three?" Ivy asked.

"I can't say as I've noticed," Mrs Patmore said, as she calmed halved scones, and then quartered the halves. Behind her, Daisy and Alfred's hands bumped as they reached for the same jar of jam. Jimmy made a face that was only partly inspired by the lemon curd.

"It just seems a bit cramped, that's all." Ivy's voice wavered. "Don't you think they'd do better if they had a bit more room to work?"

Daisy deposited a paper bag in front of a customer, who peered inside and said, "I didn't want two strawberries and a raspberry" –

Daisy began to apologise, "Oh, I'm so sorry – I could've sworn" –

But Mrs Patmore reached under the counter and handed the woman an identical brown paper bag. "Two marmalades and an apricot, wasn't it?" she said pleasantly, before turning back to Ivy and saying, "Actually, I think we're doing fine as we are."

She deposited several little ceramic pots on Ivy's tray, and pointed at them as she explained, "Now remember, the one on the end is strawberry, and the one in the middle is raspberry."

"Right," Ivy said. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Oh, now, don't take on like that…"

"It's fine," Ivy said, smile askew on her face. "Really, it is. I mean – I'm happy for them…really." She stared down at her tray.

Mrs Patmore sighed, and extricated herself from the stall with some difficulty. She moved to stand beside Ivy, hands on her shoulders, offering a bracing kind of comfort. "It'll be all right, my girl – I promise. Believe me – I've seen it all before, and it's not the end of the world. Even if it does feel like it right now."

Ivy nodded, but she didn't look up.

"You know – I'm overdue a break. What's say we go and have a cup of tea – just the two of us?"

"All right," Ivy said in a small voice.

Mrs Patmore gave her a slight push in the necessary direction, before directing a look at Jimmy and twitching her head toward the stall. "Well," she said, "what are you waiting for? Get in there."

"Me?"

"Am I talking to someone else?"

"I'm just here for my lunch," Jimmy said, holding up his half-eaten scone as proof. Mrs Patmore was unmoved. "Well, have your lunch in there."

"I've got work to do," Jimmy said.

"Yes. You do. And right now, that work means making sure that all my hard work doesn't go to waste," Mrs Patmore said, as she manhandled him into the stall. "Three's a crowd – but that doesn't always have to be a bad thing. Just stand there and do nothing – you certainly shouldn't find it too hard. I would ask if you'd prefer to comfort Ivy – but I think that poor girl's been through enough already."

That night, Thomas said, "I think we should go out to dinner tomorrow."

Jimmy stared up at the ceiling. It took him a minute to parse the words, because his shirt had been shoved up, and Thomas was speaking into his chest.

"What?" he said.

"I think," Thomas said, and he paused to rub his jaw against Jimmy's stomach, "we should go out to dinner tomorrow." The beginnings of stubble rasping against his skin made Jimmy shiver, but he maintained focus.

"Dinner," he repeated, even as his heart rolled over in his chest with dread.

"Mm," Thomas said. "To celebrate the end of Heritage Week." He placed his warm palms against Jimmy's stomach, then rested his chin on the back of his hands, regarding Jimmy carefully. "I won't try and shag you between courses, if that's what you're worried about."

Jimmy managed an uneasy smile. My friend Sandra says she saw them at Maurice's having dinner once. "I don't know if I can believe you," he said. The teasing tone he was trying for came out a bit mangled.

Thomas moved his hands and kissed Jimmy's navel. Against his will, Jimmy found his hands wandering into Thomas' dark hair. "Won't even hold your hand under the table. Just dinner, I promise."

He couldn't (couldn't) say yes – and at the same time, he didn't want to tell Thomas no.

Thomas clearly sensed an advantage and pressed it – sliding his palm between Jimmy's legs. "I thought it might be nice to go out, for a change," he said, and rubbed.

"Or we could stay in," Jimmy blurted, slightly too loud and too forcefully. Thomas paused, and with clumsy hands Jimmy pulled him up, and kissed him. In a lower voice (he hoped), he repeated, "We could stay in."

Thomas just looked at him for a long moment. "Yes," he said finally. "We could do that."

Jimmy kissed him again – and then again, harder, when Thomas pulled back and tried to speak – and he kept kissing Thomas, and touching him, until he was sure that the only thing on Thomas' mind was the kissing and touching – by which point he had both their cocks in his hands, and was slightly distracted himself. He tightened his grip and watched as Thomas thrust against him, feeling a detached sense of wonder – that his body could do this, could feel like this…

…that his body could want Thomas' body so very much.

"Did you ever think about this?" he asked suddenly, still looking down at where his hands encircled them.

"What?" Thomas asked, breath coming fast.

"This," Jimmy said, with a movement of his hips that dragged his cock the length of Thomas'. "Did you used to think of it, you know – before we…"

Thomas shut his eyes at the sensation and pressed his lips together – but when he looked at Jimmy again, he said, almost nonchalant (except for the quick rise and fall of his chest), "Of course not."

Jimmy stared at him, in disbelief. "You didn't."

"Would have been against the rules, wouldn't it?" he said. "After you said no, and all."

"You're telling me you didn't even think about it? Not once?"

He wore that expression again – the aggressively blank one. Mildly he said, "I was tryin' to be a gentleman."

"Liar." He wouldn't stand for it. He would make Thomas tell him. He leaned in close and kissed Thomas' face as he whispered again, "Liar…liar…"

He stroked Thomas' erection, touching him steadily, stroking him again and again until Thomas was arching up against him, and his breath was coming in broken-sounding gasps. And Jimmy couldn't bear to stop, though he had planned to – so instead he bent down and put his mouth to Thomas' ear and said, "Tell me." But instead, Thomas turned away, pressing his face against the back of the cushions, and came.

Still, he touched Jimmy without any hesitation afterward, so Jimmy didn't think it had been deliberate – at least, not until afterwards, when they lay in silence for a moment, before Thomas said, "I suppose there's no point in asking if you're staying."

Jimmy didn't say anything.

"Right," Thomas said. "Thought not." He got to his feet.

Jimmy blinked up at him, because he hadn't meant to leave right away. He'd – well…he'd always stayed for a while, at least. He'd thought that was part of it, this thing with Thomas – lying together afterwards, feeling warm and heavy, and trying not to fall asleep, with Thomas' fingers lazily stroking against his arm, or chest, or stomach. But now Thomas padded out of the room without even a backward glance.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet and began to pull his clothes on – but it was too late. By the time he'd dressed and made his way out into the hall, he could hear the sound of the shower. He stood there for a moment or two, uncertain – and then he let himself out, without saying goodbye.

The next day, things were quiet in the office – and it wasn't just because the Heritage Week had concluded, though that did seem to leave everyone with a faint, flat feeling (and a lot of clearing up to do). People shuffled around outside all morning, half-heartedly setting things to rights, while in the office, Thomas sat and tapped his pen against the desk.

Jimmy ignored him as best he could, but sometimes, instead of tapping the pen against his desk, Thomas tapped it against his mouth, and looked at him. Jimmy only caught the glancing end of these looks, because whenever he raised his head, Thomas' eyes slid quickly away, as if to pretend he hadn't been looking at Jimmy at all.

"What?" Jimmy asked eventually, shortly. If he thought anything, he thought that now the Heritage Week was over, the backdated awkwardness he'd anticipated when he'd first started shagging Thomas was making its long-awaited appearance in the office. Trust Thomas, he thought. Last night he wouldn't even stay in the same room as him, but he had no trouble mooning over Jimmy while he was supposed to be working.

"Jimmy," Thomas said, and then stopped.

"What is it?" Jimmy demanded again.

"All right." Thomas gave a sanguine little shrug of his shoulders (the look on his face that was not quite so sanguine, however), and said, "I take it I'm the first bloke you've ever…" he raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

And unnecessarily.

Jimmy stared at him. This was Thomas' version of 'keeping it separate'? Though almost immediately, he had to concede that, since none of their body parts were currently touching, yes…it probably was. He settled for glaring at Thomas and saying, "I don't see how that has anything to do with work." He typed a sentence of nonsense to underscore his point, fingers mashing loudly on the keys.

"It doesn't," Thomas said. He held Jimmy's gaze. "But it's important."

Suddenly, belatedly, the actual import of Thomas' question hit him. "You're asking me if I've ever shagged another bloke?"

"I'm not asking, exactly," Thomas pointed out – and, yes – he had said 'I take it I'm the first bloke you've ever…' as if it was ridiculously apparent that he was. "I didn't think I needed to."

He still sounded quite calm – if also very…careful. It made Jimmy want to throw things – because of course Thomas had noticed. Handjobs. His face burned. He'd thought handjobs were enough to keep Thomas happy – Thomas, who had spent his entire stint as a tour guide staging his own personal gay Kama Sutra within the walls of Downton. Mr "And if you look to your left, you will see…the room where I take all my prospective shags."

"Right – because it's so bloody obvious," Jimmy said.

Thomas frowned at him. "I just – think we should talk about it, that's all."

"Why? So you can give me some tips?" Anger churned sickly in his stomach. Handjobs. He'd honestly thought handjobs would be enough, when Thomas' last boyfriend had been –

"Jimmy" –

"Well, if you've got any complaints about it, you can bloody well keep them to yourself," he spat, then turned and marched out of the office, even though it was a full hour before he was due to take his lunch break.

He sat and sulked in the café while Daisy and Alfred twittered happily at another table, and Mrs Patmore bustled around the café, pointedly not calling Daisy back to work. Granted, the place was empty, except for four women in the corner who delicately grazed upon sandwich quarters, like refined gazelles.

"Sometimes you've just got to sit back and enjoy the quiet. That's what I always say," Mrs Patmore said, as she inflicted a vigorous brushing upon the floor.

"Since when?" Jimmy muttered. In his experience, Mrs Patmore had always tended more toward the 'If you have enough breath to make conversation, then you're probably not working hard enough' school of thought.

"Since now," she said, evenly enough, and then straightened, leaning against the handle of her sweeping brush. "What's wrong with you? Is His Nibs not happy with the Heritage Week? I'd have thought he'd be over the moon."

Jimmy bit back the part of him that wanted to snap that His Nibs was far too busy comparing Jimmy's lack of sexual prowess to the bloody Duke. They'd probably fucked while hanging upside-down from the ceiling. Like bats.

"You know Thomas," Jimmy said, with a tight smile. "He's never happy."

"Where's this coming from, then?" Mrs Patmore asked, eyebrows shooting upwards. "I thought you two were thick as thieves lately. Of course…they also say there's no honour among thieves…"

Jimmy scowled down at the table. He couldn't imagine the Duke being shocked by anything. He probably owned a sex-swing.

His musings were interrupted by a cloth landing on the table in front of him. He looked up at Mrs Patmore.

"If you're going to sit here with a face that spoils everyone's dinner, you can at least make yourself useful and clean up," she said.

"You want me to wipe tables for you?"

"Hard work is good for the soul," Mrs Patmore said firmly (he'd known that 'enjoy the quiet' act was just that). She cast a jaundiced eye over him. "You should try it sometimes, and find out."

When he finally returned from his extremely extended lunch break, he only got as far as coldly ignoring Thomas' urgent, "Jimmy" – before Mr Carson popped his head around the door, and said, "I assume we are still meeting today, Thomas?"

"Of course, Mr Carson," Thomas said smoothly, though Jimmy could feel his gaze darting toward him.

"Then perhaps you would care to explain to Mrs Hughes and myself why we have been waiting for the past half-hour in my office?"

The meeting to analyse the Heritage Week dragged on and on, while Jimmy sat in the corner, ostensibly to take notes. Instead, he jigged his foot against the leg of the desk and thought about Thomas. And the Duke. And sex.

It had bothered him, before – the thought of Thomas and the Duke. And sex. But oddly enough, it bothered him even more now. He couldn't bear the thought of Thomas – comparing them. It…that…the things that he and Thomas did – they belonged purely to them (at least, that was what it felt like to Jimmy), and there was no room for any third party.

He couldn't bear the thought of Thomas comparing them – and Jimmy falling short. He wasn't going to stand for it.

Finally, the background drone of Mr Carson's voice faded away.

Apparently, no-one else had been listening to him either, because there was a long, expectant moment of silence before Thomas blinked and said, "Oh. Yes."

Another moment of silence, after which Mr Carson coughed and hinted, "You have nothing to add?"

"Not really," Thomas said. Jimmy could feel the pressure of his eyes like a physical touch. He didn't look up. "I think you said everything there is to say, Mr Carson. Several times over, as a matter of fact."

"Well, I have something to add," Mrs Hughes said. "If that's all right with you, Mr Carson," she added, in a voice that very much didn't care whether it was, or not.

"Quite," Mr Carson said.

"In that case – congratulations, Thomas. In spite of some minor teething troubles," this was addressed to Mr Carson, "this week has been a great success. So well done. To both of you," she finished, with a brief smile in Jimmy's direction. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr Carson?"

Mr Carson cleared his throat, and coughed out a grudging agreement.

"Now – off you go. Home. An early night's in order – for all of us – after the past few days."

In spite of her words, and the fact that there were only ten more minutes left in the working day, neither of them seemed particularly inclined to take Mrs Hughes' advice when they got back to their office. Jimmy immediately sat back down in his chair, while Thomas lingered by his desk.

"Jimmy," he said. Jimmy stared down at his computer.

"Jimmy," Thomas repeated, coming a little closer. "Look – about earlier" – Jimmy clenched his hands into fists and rubbed them against his thighs.

Thomas moved to stand directly in front of him, boxing him in, impossible to ignore. "Jimmy. I didn't mean" – he began, but Jimmy took a deep breath, and stood. Their bodies slid together, and Thomas immediately went to take a step back, but Jimmy grabbed his wrist, keeping him in place.

"Have you got any?" he asked, pleased that his voice came out so steady, if lower than usual. His thumb rubbed against the thin skin of Thomas' wrist. Thomas' breath caught.

"What?" he said.

Jimmy leaned up and took Thomas' bottom lip between his teeth. He bit it softly, then released it. "Complaints," he said.

Thomas blinked once. "No…" he said, and closed his eyes when Jimmy pressed forward again – this time to touch his tongue delicately to Thomas' mouth - to the place he'd just bitten. Thomas' voice wavered slightly, "…no…complaints."

"Good," Jimmy breathed. "Because I'd hate to think you were just – lying back and thinking of England the entire time." He insinuated his thigh between Thomas' legs.

"What happened to – not bringing this into the office?" Thomas asked. Jimmy slid an arm around his back, bringing them even closer together.

"Well you started it," he said matter-of-factly – though strangely enough he wasn't thinking of the morning when he said it. Instead, he was remembering the night of the exhibition, when Thomas had disappeared off with the Duke.

Thomas looked at him for a long moment. Jimmy stared back and raised his eyebrows challengingly.

And then, suddenly, Thomas was kissing him, and pushing him hard against the bookshelves, though his hand immediately wrapped around the back of Jimmy's head, stopping him from banging it. Jimmy's hands went straight to Thomas' shirt, yanking it out of Thomas' trousers, and then fumbling with the button and zipper. His heart pounded in his ears as he slid his hand into Thomas' pants. He was already hard, and they hadn't even really done anything.

Just try and tell me you're thinking about anyone else right now, Jimmy thought. I won't believe you.

Thomas did not seem at all inclined to argue this, however, returning Jimmy's kisses with as much desperate want as Jimmy felt. Jimmy closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to gather himself, stomach turning over with nerves and anticipation. Because he was going to do it – he was going to get down on his knees for Thomas, right now –

There was a knock on the door – which opened at almost the same second, leaving them no time to even move apart as Ivy entered the office, already mid-sentence –

" – sorry Mr Barrow, but Mrs Hughes was" –

She stopped dead and there was a moment of frozen silence as she took in the tableau in front of her, before she clapped a hand over her mouth and backed toward the door, eyes wide and voice muffled as she said, " – oh. I'm sorry – I didn't…know – s-sorry, I" –

The door closed behind her – and there was another moment of frozen silence before Jimmy yanked his hand out of Thomas' pants and cursed, "Shit shit shit," practically vaulting over Thomas as he followed her.