A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I've tried to make Philip not too much of a bad guy. He's just sort of obnoxious and selfish but I don't think he always means to be.

Philip had lavishly presented Thomas with a key to the back door two days after their first encounter, having demanded it from his butler, who looked the other way and handed it to him without comment. He knew better than to question Philip's intentions, although they were always questionable.

(Philip's valet felt the same way, as Philip was constantly "misplacing" things … expensive ones at that. A silk tie left in a carriage, a pair of cufflinks forgotten in the washroom. Each item became a gift from Philip to Thomas, who never refused these trinkets of the life he longed to have someday.)

Thomas fumbled with the key in the lock, sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, making it difficult to see. Once inside, he removed his shoes and crept up the staircase as quietly as his tingling, adrenaline-charged body would allow.

Philip's bedroom door was ajar, the light streaming out of it just enough to illuminate Thomas' path as he snuck down the hall, past the room of Philip's mother.

Nosy cow, Thomas thought. (Philip had told him so.)

Thomas stood silently, trying to catch his breath, and peered through the crack. Philip sat on the edge of the bed in his burgundy dressing gown, pouring whiskey into a glass. Thomas' heart leapt at the sight of him in the soft lamplight, golden skin and long eyelashes. A lock of brown hair fell over one eye, and Thomas itched to brush it away. He slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside. Perhaps he hasn't noticed the time? he thought.

"And where the hell have you been?" Philip snarled without looking up.

Oh shite.

Thomas shut the door behind him, locked it and stood helplessly. He was sweating, from the unbearably hot summer and from the fear of the situation he found himself in.

Thomas shrugged his jacket from his shoulders. Years of training, plus recent haranguing from Carson had made Thomas hesitant to carelessly discard his livery on the floor … but with time short and his arousal heightened, he just didn't give a toss.

"I'm sorry! They wouldn't leave, just kept rabbiting on and on and on …" Thomas said and slowly approached the bed, attempting a bit of a swagger in an effort to pacify Philip's anger.

Philip snorted and growled, "A likely story." He polished off the whiskey in one gulp slamming the glass onto the table so hard Thomas flinched and stopped, reflexively ready to fall forward onto his hands and knees to clean up the inevitable shards.

With the glass amazingly still intact, Thomas straightened up and ran his arm against his forehead, wiping away the sweat from his brow. Fifteen bloody minutes late. A familiar stab of anger plunged deep in his chest, much like the ones he had felt as a child when other boys (and a few girls) had made his life a living hell.

At times like this, he couldn't help himself but to be coarse. Fight or flight. It was instinct, like snatching one's hand away from a hot stove, but fight always won out.

"What was I supposed to do?" he said, attempting a seductive smile and some weak laughter and as tilted his head. " 'Sorry, Mr. Carson, can't stay, got a duke to fuck?' "

He thought Philip would become extremely aroused at his crude choice of words (as Philip had just the night before when he made Thomas crawl across the floor and beg for his cock) but as Philip narrowed his eyes in response, Thomas instantly wished he could take them back.

Philip abruptly stood up and crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Thomas by the shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Although almost a match in size, Thomas was strong, but Philip was stronger.

"Is this a joke to you?" he hissed into Thomas' ear. "Perhaps I'll have to tell Lord Grantham that one of his servants is sullying his house's good name by indulging in highly illegal, indecent behavior."

Philip tightened his grip on Thomas's shoulders—so hard that Thomas knew he'd be bruised come morning—and kept him pinned to the wall.

Thomas' heart began pounding even harder and the walls suddenly drew closer. "You never …" he whispered, failing miserably at keeping his face emotionless.

Philip parroted back at him in a crude imitation of Thomas' accent, "You never!"

He paused, ready to continue the assault but then saw genuine fear in Thomas' eyes. Philip began laughing hysterically, "Thomas …. your … your face! You should see it right now! You look absolutely t-t-t-terrified."

Philip released Thomas' shoulders and the footman slumped back against the wall shaking, his mouth hanging open in a mix of shock, embarrassment and relief. Philip was doubled over in laughter. "Oh my God your … face. You never!" he squealed, throwing up his hands in mock horror and shaking.

"I don't sound like that!" Thomas cried, straightening his vest and feeling the familiar heat of shame rise in his cheeks. The shame of being pelted by snowballs, of having his trousers yanked down, of being punched in the back for simply existing.

Philip saw Thomas' expression and put his hands on his hips, "Oh, come on now. You didn't believe me. You're not THAT thick," he said condescendingly.

"I'm not thick at all," Thomas said flatly, and ran his hands through his dark hair. He wished he were clever enough to quickly think of a scathing comeback.

"Oh, don't be so serious," Philip said, wiping away tears with the sleeve of his dressing gown as he walked back toward the lavishly appointed bed. "I apologize, sweetheart, but the look on your face was absolutely priceless and so worth it."

Thomas clenched his fists and stood silently fuming.

Philip turned around, slouched, and held out his arms in a half wave. "Come here, you," he cajoled.

Thomas made no move to follow him.

Philip stepped forward, took Thomas' arms and wrapped them around his waist in a sloppy hug, pressing their foreheads together. Thomas couldn't help but inhale Philip's distinct scent that made him feel lightheaded and, despite his frustration, Thomas felt the uncontrollable spark of desire deep inside his belly starting to burn.

Philip rubbed Thomas' back soothingly and slid his hands up to his neck. "I've had such a dreadful day, so please don't be cross with me. It's been so unfair to only see you at these stupid parties and not touch you. It's unbearable, and it just makes me act like a child, I suppose," he murmured.

Philip pulled his head back and carded his fingers through Thomas' hair while Thomas' eyes remained firmly glued to the floor. "I h-h-hate it, too. Those women falling all over you. It's … disgusting," Thomas spat and squeezed his eyes shut.

Philip clucked his tongue and said, "It's just a game, darling. Just think of it that way." Thomas sighed and Philip lifted his chin with one finger and leaned in for a soft kiss on his red lips.

"You're jealous," Philip whispered into Thomas' mouth. He reached down and began to slowly undo Thomas' bowtie. "Mmmm. How I love that."

Thomas felt his trousers tighten as the tie fell to the floor.

Philip unfastened the first few buttons on Thomas' shirt and said lowly, "And you're so afraid of being caught."

Thomas' breath quickened.

"It drives me mad me knowing that you're so unsure …"

Philip softly lapped at the base of Thomas' neck and began a trail upwards.

"So beautiful … so scared," Philip breathed in between kisses. He gently cupped Thomas' backside, and the footman began to moan softly as he melted into Philip's caresses.

Philip then bit down just underneath his jaw.

Hard.

"Bloody hell!" Thomas yelped. Shite. Was that out loud? he thought.

Philip snapped out of his arousal, lifted his head from his task and asked exasperated, "What?"

Thomas' throat was suddenly dry, "You, you know when you do that, what it does to me," he creaked out nervously.

Philip nodded, smirked and chuckled deeply in response. He began teasing the bite mark slowly with the tip his tongue.

"I just … I … It's just become a bit painful. And it's awkward being so … so black and blue. I'm afraid of what Carson or His Lordship would think if they were to notice."

"Your livery hides everything … you've got a high collar …" Philip said in between licks.

"... No it doesn't! I've got marks all over! I look … diseased or something!"

Philip withdrew his tongue from Thomas' neck and his hands from his backside and pulled back to look Thomas in the eyes.

"Listen to me, Thomas," Philip said firmly with his hands on Thomas'' shoulders. "You are nothing to them. No-thing."

Thomas scrunched his eyebrows, trying to comprehend what Philip was telling him and not quite believing it.

"Their minds are filled with the things that matter to them. Clothes. Money. Love. Prestige. Not … you and your petty concerns," Philip said, waving his hands dismissively. "I'm only telling you this because I know how these things are, something you'll probably never understand."

"But last night, Lady Edith gave me the oddest look when I was serving her …."

Philip snorted, "Well, that's just her face. God played a cruel trick on her."

Ever one for a good insult expertly lobbed (and Philip had proved himself a master), Thomas found himself surprised again by Philip's casual nastiness but laughed warily nonetheless.

Philip decided to change the subject by putting his hands on Thomas' chest and pushing him back onto the bed. Thomas landed ungracefully and sank into the soft cloud of duvets and pillows, a far cry from his own spartan cot. I never want to leave, he thought.

Philip climbed onto the bed and straddled Thomas' hips. "Please forget all about them," he said. "We have so much to do and so little time."

Philip untied his dressing gown to reveal his painfully erect cock and breathed, "I've been aching for you all day." Thomas smiled slyly in response as Philip began to slowly rock back and forth, pressing his erection against Thomas' crotch. Thomas rolled his eyes back and groaned, the weight and the friction delightful.

"Now say something … common," Philip said with a teasing grind of his hips that left Thomas panting. "You know I like a bit of rough," he added gruffly in a poor attempt at what he thought was a working class accent. Philip hadn't even so much spoken more than two words to his downstairs staff to even know what it sounded like.

"Blimey! Go on then, mate," Philip said, as he leaned in to clench a fistful of Thomas' hair while he resumed alternately biting and kissing Thomas' neck overtop of the bruises that hadn't even yet began to fade.

Thomas lost himself and blurted out, "But she were staring at me neck! "

"Mmmmmmm … yeah, mate," Philip purred, not fully listening to Thomas' words as he continued his task.

"I'm serious! I don't want to get sacked because of it!" Thomas shouted. Oh God.

Philip released his grip on Thomas' hair, sat back on his heels and sneered, "Really, Thomas, it's just a job. If you ever lost it, you'd get another one. It's not like it requires any thought; you open doors and serve pudding for Christ's sake!"

Philip swung his leg over Thomas and flopped down next to him on the bed. "It's not exactly something a reasonably clever man should be proud of, is it?" he asked as he reached over to pour another whiskey.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak then quickly shut it. So he thinks I'm not thick, he thought, and mentally added that to the very short list of compliments Philip gave him that didn't involve his size, tongue, taste or tightness.

"Besides, they're probably already looking for your replacement. You are getting to be a bit long in the tooth for a footman." he smirked with the casual disregard of a man who's never been told no.

Thomas let out a breath in annoyance, "That's never going to happen. I'll be a valet soon."

"Of course you will," Philip teased as he put the top back onto the decanter. "But for now, they own you. And, I'm so very glad they do."

"What are you going on about?" Thomas asked raising himself up on his elbows, genuinely puzzled, his voice going up an octave.

Philip ignored the question, emptied his glass and said, "You're their property."

"I'm not a slave. I can leave wherever, whenever the hell I want to," Thomas growled, his lips curling into a snarl.

Philip put the glass back onto the table and shook his head, "You can't leave now," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're my property tonight. And I'll mark you as I see fit," Philip said smugly as he lay on top of Thomas.

"This is mine," he said, tracing a heart-shaped line between Thomas' nipples. Thomas pressed his lips together to hold in a gasp.

"These are mine," Philip breathed into Thomas' mouth and kissed him gently, nipping and pulling lightly at his bottom lip. Thomas shivered as he lowered himself back into the pillows.

Philip then reached down slowly, and cupped his hand protectively on Thomas' erection through his trousers and whispered, "This is all mine." He lightly stroked Thomas' length, just enough to cause the footman to stifle a loud groan.

God … yes … God … yes … Thomas thought, but the sting in Philip's words about his age and his duties kept poking holes in his pleasure. The footman's pulse pounded with both desire and anger and it took every ounce of his will to not raise his hips into Philip's warm, willing and expert hand. Thomas was good at his job—damn good in fact—and it was something he was proud of.

Thomas tried to slow his breathing and focus on a slight crack on the ceiling as Philip undid his trousers and slipped his fingers into Thomas' underwear. Philip began to squeeze Thomas' cock in earnest, brushing his fingers across the already leaking tip, making it difficult for Thomas to speak. "I can … I-I can get any job … any job I want," he stammered, blinking rapidly with every word.

The hand disappeared.

Fuck. I've done it now.