Philip had, on all fronts, done a very-near embarrassingly fine job at guessing the necessary fit of Thomas's dress. The trousers may not have broke quite right at the foot, but the details which were off were only the sort to provoke comment from the hideous nouveau riche or the elderly women who still wore their hair in ringlets.
Honestly, Philip wouldn't have noticed them on anyone but himself, and only happened to note his mistakes when he watched Thomas's eyes catch over them as he appraised himself. Whatever Thomas felt, the pinpricks appeared to do nothing to deflate the pleasure which transformed his so typically mocking mouth into a genuine smile. Philip loved the smirk which he usually wore, but the sight of him in so unfamiliar a mask atop his impeccably smart suit was a thrill to behold. Philip felt as though he'd have Heaven in a rage over the frantic beating of wings within his ribs.
Tearing his eyes away from Thomas's face, he drew them slowly over his body, following the hands where they fiddled or smoothed. When he seemed satisfied with his appearance, he took a step back and took everything in.
"You look very handsome," Philip assured him.
"Don't I always?"
"You look like you're from an Arrow advertisement," Philip specified.
Thomas laughed and met Philip's gaze in the mirror before rolling his eyes. "Come here and let me do up your tie," he said, slowly turning heel away from his reflection.
"I've done it."
"Let me do it properly," Thomas responded. Philip walked over to him and he plucked the tie loose. "Honestly, Philip, this is tragic."
The sound of his name filtered through Thomas's accent was somehow a little too unsteadying; he'd not heard it so pronounced since having been asked if it were permissible. Philip kissed him over his hands, which made no motion to stop their adjusting the tie. He traced the lines of Thomas's coat down his chest and across hips, before coming to a rest with his hands beneath his braces.
"I've made quite the study of you; if I could paint, I'd be renowned for this," he said lightly. "As it is, we're the only ones to appreciate my talent."
"I'm sure you're quite impressive," Thomas teased, moving away to retrieve the brush. He brushed himself off first, outlining himself with sharp movements, before he returned to do the same for Philip. As he finished, Philip decided to to turn a fact into a buttonhole and let it rest against Thomas's lapel for the evening.
"You're no slouch."
"Oh?"
"After all," he said, turning his attention to putting on his gloves, "you've a duke in love with you, which I'm under the impression is something rather grand."
If the question had been put to him the previous week, he would not have been able to say so. Truthfully, if it were put to him at the time of their next meeting, it mightn't be so. Yet it was easy to feel when he saw Thomas so guilelessly happy and the thought refused to pass without searing itself on his mind.
He looked up and watched Thomas's brows draw together slightly. "Have I?"
"You know you have." Then, feeling altogether too serious, he added, "Think, it's something from a fairy story."
Thomas grimaced as though in pain, then laughed despite himself. He sauntered over to Philip and spooned against him, arms slung low around his waist, facing the both of them in the direction of the mirror.
Philip ran his fingers along the back of the other's hands. They did look very fine, enmeshed in the black of their dress. "I'd love," he started, moving Thomas's grip lower until his hands broke part, slowly sliding one over the length of his cock, "for the gentlemen to know what their very fine clothing was up to before they received it. I'm sure it's far more exciting than anything they'll ever get up to."
Thomas took a step back, biting out a slightly dizzy strain of laughter. "We ought to go before we get distracted."
"If you insist," Philip replied, sighing. Thomas stepped forward once more and kissed the sharply razored line of Philip's hair above his collar.
"How will you survive without your mouth on me?" He asked, removing himself to across the room to retrieve his hat, placing it atop his head.
"Whatever am I to do with you?"
"Take me somewhere devilish and get me tight, unless I'm mistaken."
"It's a lucky thing you're beautiful, because you're utterly unbearable."
Thomas met him at he was crossing to room's exit. He wove his gloved fingers into Philip's hair and pulled him, rather gingerly, into a kiss. Philip found himself pressed against the jamb, lips parted gently. "I think," Thomas murmured, moving his mouth from Philip's own to his forehead, "you bear me awfully well."
Thomas broke away from him and and turned to lead the way down the hall, heading toward the outer door of the flat. Upon reaching it, he opened it to the night rather grandly, only for Philip to come from behind him and close it.
"We can leave in a moment. Kiss me again."
Once comfortably seated in The Criterion, Philip wasted no time in beginning to silently disparage the intellects of everyone whom he even vaguely knew and the looks of strangers. The restaurant was not a particular haunt of his, but he'd chosen it to avoid at least the majority of his intimates who would find it rather fun to prod until he was hounded away. He had no interest in staying terribly long, but he wanted the freedom to leave at his leisure - and Thomas's.
"All of the respectable people have left so it's only sinners and parvenus."
"I can tell," Thomas replied, glancing at the people surrounding them. He lit a cigarette and watched as the waiter returned with a bottle of champagne and the necessary glasses. "How many of them are like us?"
It was rather an unmistakable crowd. Honestly, more unmistakable than Philip liked, but the tittering sort with shiny nails and cheeks rouged just east of the Theatre Royal did make for entertaining company. Particularly, if he was correct, for a fellow like Thomas who'd never been to a place with this sort of clientèle.
"Most of the men, less of the women," he responded smoothly. He poured both of them a rather ungainly amount. "I do hope you weren't kidding about getting tight," he said, swallowing a large draught to squelch the pain in his middle, "because we'll have to drink until we're not hungry."
"Do you not normally play host?" Thomas smirked.
"Not left to my own devices, thank heavens." He finished his glass, watching as Thomas surveyed those surrounding them. "Anyone you care to know about? I can almost certainly guarantee you've never served any of them."
"That blond fellow," Thomas said, inclining his head slightly to the table nearest them. The fellow was young-looking and remarkably under-dressed.
Philip glanced over briefly and conceded, "I don't know him, or of him. Judging from whom he's with, I'm nearly certain he's a whore."
"Who's he with?"
"No one important. Yellow papers. Not quite clever enough for anyone interesting."
"What about that group?" He gestured to a middle-sized group of mixed sex.
"They're doing a journal together, I think. Or most of them are. Not bad, but rather important."
Philip finished his second glass and refilled Thomas's first. Thomas laughed and took a drink. "Be careful. I can't carry you back; I don't know where you live from here."
"No need to worry. I carry champagne rather impressively," he said, feeling quite pleased with himself.
"You carry it directly to the nearest footman to ask if he'll go to bed with you. In the least subtle manner I've ever heard, if I recall."
"As it happens, I planned on doing much the same tonight."
Thomas grinned at him, again in that new genuine way. "You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm as sure of you," he said, smiling back. He kicked their feet together under the table precisely the moment heard a feminine voice drop out "Hallo, Salome" from behind him. He froze for a moment, hoping to god that Thomas wouldn't understand what she was talking about. Fortunately, the blue eyes still drifted listlessly about the room, and Philip turned easily toward Gaby.
She stood very near to him, looking pleased with herself, taking his eye contact as invitation to stand between the men, looming over them. Philip slid his chair closer to Thomas's.
"You'll be pleased to hear," he began, blazing straight by an introduction, which he hoped that she would take as a different sort of invitation, "that he has very fine taste. He appreciated your Madame de Pompadour."
Philip noted that, thankfully, Gaby had certainly had more to drink than either of them and was, therefore, slightly easier to excuse.
"See! He was very cross at me for putting up," she said to Thomas, who was looking at her with amusement, "but I told him it would create a better impression if not all of the women on his walls were Gorgons."
"My relatives aren't Gorgons," Philip said. He didn't actually disagree but there was something in his nature which couldn't help but to prolong conversation by way of friendly antagonism. To not do so was as absurd as keeping a cigar between your fingers without ever lighting it.
"Oh, you poor dear. You can't even tell."
"I know not everything filters down to your sort, but surely everyone knows not to make fun of a duke?"
"I bet he does worse," flicking her eyes at Thomas. Philip couldn't stifle his laugh; it was nothing raucous, but apparently enough to make Thomas disappear behind his glass, having turned rather red.
"Don't start that," Philip said, quickly recovering. Gaby frowned at him.
"I actually came over here to warn you that Oliver's invited himself to luncheon on Friday and is going to be merciless. He just left. But," she added, twirling a hand in the air as though willing a glass to appear, "I have more diverting company to get back to."
"By all means."
"Friday, then."
Gaby received a solemn nod before she forged her way back into her party. Thomas looked bemusedly after her. "She's quite - " he trailed off, apparently hoping Philip would add in an acceptable adjective.
Philip, however, found the sentiment perfectly expressed as it was, and simply said, "Yes."
"Does she not mind?" Thomas helped himself to more champagne and Philip plucked the cigarette from between his fingers and began to smoke it.
"Not unless she does a very fine job of hiding the fact, which I rather doubt. She's not especially opaque, as you may have gathered."
They sat a while awash in the conversation in others, Philip tapping his foot against Thomas's. Thomas never looked especially relaxed, even for a blink, so intrigued by the clusters of people surrounding them. He made a point to not stare at an altogether too brash pair who nearly locked fingers over the table, though his eyes flitted around them like a moth to flame.
"Do you not know anyone?" Philip wondered aloud. Any possible response was cut off by the appearance of a somewhat beleaguered-looking waiter, from whom another bottle was requested. Philip repeated himself at the man's departure, clarifying, "Not generally, of course, but - "
"I figured what you'd meant. No. A maid I work with knows. About me. But I don't - nothing like that," he said, letting his words fade. His speech had lost the nervous bumps of their arrival and had turned to drift on plucked champagne strings.
"How did she come to know?"
"Guessed. It were nice to have someone know and not seem to mind much, so I let her keep knowing." He shrugged.
"That sounds slightly ominous," Philip replied, perking up at the waiter's return. He poured the both of them another glass and pulled out his watch. They'd not been there at all long, but the evening's point had been driven as deeply as it was likely to. "Would you like to go after this?"
"Glass or bottle?"
"Oh, heavens, bottle."
Thomas laughed. A line of heat burned visibly across his face and Philip fancied that he could streak the colour if he were to touch it. Heedlessly, he tested the thought, reaching up to run his forefinger along Thomas's cheekbone and down to the pale flesh beneath. The lashes above his finger fluttered slightly.
"Don't do that," Thomas said, voice strained some against unease.
"The people here know and don't mind so much," Philip replied, intentionally reverberating Thomas's sentiment. The hollow reassurance of it would have grated, but it had the benefit of being true and was an entirely pleasant thing to give oneself over to. No response forthcoming, Philip reached beneath the table and laid his hand over the curve of his thigh.
"You get worrying when you've had a bit to drink, don't you?"
Philip frowned; he didn't think he did. It was just a matter of knowing where and when being foolish was permissible. It was rather disappointing that Thomas didn't seem to see the fun of it, yet when he made to pull his hand back, Thomas suddenly grabbed it and rested their palms together, marking soft lines on Philip's wrist with his fingertips.
"It's no Paris, but it's also not - York, or wherever," Philip said, punctuating what he felt was to be a spiel with a drink. "Take advantage of a thing when you've got it. I fully intend to live beyond my means until the bloody means are gone, otherwise there hardly seems a point in having had them. I mean, I don't aim to lose them. But I don't aim at much and look at how far I've gotten for it."
There was a pause between them, comfortable enough, but borne on the crest of what Philip thought was Thomas battling with himself. Then, he should have known better, for the response, when it came, was merely -
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if I kissed you?"
Thomas tightened the joining of their hands and Philip would have given up so much to acquiesce.
"This isn't really the place for that. Tragically. God," he said, with a flustered laugh, "what a tragedy."
The bottle between them was very near to empty. Thomas poured the remainder into his own glass, unfocused eyes fixed on Philip's. He began to bring the champagne to his mouth when Philip stopped him, provoking a quizzical look.
"To - ?" Philip asked.
"-Not being in Ripon."
"That may be the least enthusiastic toast I've heard," he rejoined, keeping his grip on Thomas's arm. Philip watched Thomas's eyes run over his face, watched his lips part as though to speak, only to twist themselves anew with thought. He appeared, for a moment almost disconcerted.
"I think I do love you."
Philip's heart seemed to want to beat through his chest to meet Thomas's. Without hesitation, Philip drew his hand along Thomas's arm, letting it linger for a moment too long as their hands met once more, before he snatched the glass from him. Philip lifted it quickly, spilling some of its contents over his fingers.
"To bloody anything."