Upon returning to the church hall, Thomas shook off the rain from his coat and brushed back his damp hair from his forehead. The crowd had thinned out, and he easily spied Phyllis across the room, who made her excuses with who she was talking to and nipped over to him. "Where have you been?" She looked him up and down. "You're soaking."
Thomas noticed William back over by his mother, and a younger girl, who he assumed was his sister. William met him in a glance for a split-second, attempting to ignore him. Thomas felt a pang of hurt, but remembered that William agreed to keep their meeting to himself. "I went for a walk and had to clear my head. Spoke to my father. I talked to a grave like an idiot, but I got some things off my chest. I think I feel better for it."
Phyllis gave him an understanding nod. "We have to leave to get the train back soon, but Thomas, your mother."
Thomas took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly whilst nodding several times to himself. "Fine."
"I'll wait outside."
Thomas meandered across the room, stopping for another drink, pretending to look at a notice on the wall until finally he met his mother's eye for the second time in over two decades.
She was older than he remembered. The picture he'd kept in his mind for all those years was stale – like an old photograph. Her hair was shorter, tighter curls of grey under a black hat, her eyes tired, though he saw a glimmer as he approached. He smoothed his coat hung over his arm, and gripped a button, twisting it back and forth enough to fear he'd have to sew it back on later. "Mum," he said, his voice sounding small.
"Thomas." She shook her head to herself, looking him over, not speaking further.
Thomas felt exposed – he could sense multiple eyes on him from those still mingling in the hall – and so sat on a chair one down from her, angling himself to face her. "Mum," he repeated.
"You look ... grown, older. You were a mere boy when—" Her gaze dropped from him.
"Hopefully. I don't feel it sometimes. I was too young when—" Thomas couldn't say it. "You have a fine grandson. I've heard what people say. He looks like me. I don't want him to be like me, though. He deserves better."
"I should know what to say to you. My own son."
"It's understandable. I stopped being your son the day David and I were found."
Thomas waited for her to deny it. He wanted her to blurt out an apology. Nothing came.
"Understand, Thomas, your father's decision was the only way he could think to save you from a life of sin and loneliness. The latter was the one I cared about the most. People of that sort, Thomas, can never have what the rest of us have. It was supposed to be temporary. We never wanted you to leave forever."
Thomas gawped at her. He replayed her words over in his head, letting them sink in. It took all his self-control not to raise his voice. "Temporary?" His voice quivered. "You could have told me."
"You and David disappeared. We couldn't have known where you'd gotten to."
"Of course not! We scarpered, split up. I lost my only friend and you know what?" Thomas scoffed to himself. "You know what? Kicking me out made me the loneliest I could have been. I had no one and nothing and if it weren't for Downton Abbey, I would probably have been—Doesn't matter. We had to disappear. Father threatened us with the police. What else would we do?"
"He was never serious about that. He only meant to scare you, to wake you both up."
"It only scared me. This is how I've always been, mother. I'm not lonely. I have friends, a respectable position – despite what Margaret may have said – and David does too."
"You're still with him?"
"Not in that way. I'd love to say that love overcame all, but it didn't. We're friends though, and still close – he's the only one who calls me Tommy. I won't let anyone else."
His mother revealed a wistful smile. "He did always call you that. You never married?"
"No. I met someone, though. I won't tell you his name, but he proves you and father wrong. We are happy and have been for a long time," Thomas said, holding his gaze level.
"I think it is best I keep my opinions to myself on that subject," she said.
"Yes, that would be best."
"But, Thomas. Would you visit, once in a while? Maybe you could bring this ... friend of yours?" she asked, voice tinted with a hope that made Thomas tempted to agree.
"He's my lover, not my friend. I don't want to place him in danger. There's too much of that around here. But I might. Someone today made me realise that I have a family here, those I've never met before. I don't want to throw that away." Thomas placed his coat on his lap and rummaged around until he reached the inner breast pocket. "Here." He handed her a small card. "My card as the butler of Downton Abbey. There's an address and number on it. If you need anything, I'll be here. I can't promise more. Two decades of wounds take a while to heal."
"That seems fair."
Thomas didn't know whether to interpret his mother's reply as a type of apology or not. It was a reconciliation though and Thomas felt – as much as he had been determined not to feel it – glad they were closer to being on the same level.
Phyllis appeared at the door, nodding towards the clock on the wall.
"I have a train to catch."
"Yes."
Thomas bent and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, mother."
…
Richard was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him when Thomas returned later that evening, though Wilde got to him first. Their cat trotted up to him, greeting him with a squawk-like meow and laced himself around Thomas's legs, leaving black fur on the lower half of his trousers. Richard watched, making no move to intrude, as Thomas gave Wilde a sufficient amount of tickles and rubs before the cat had had enough and returned to his saucer of milk.
Richard took Thomas's coat, hat and gloves, gave them a quick shake to remove the worst of the rain, and hung them on the hook at the bottom of the stairs. Still, he said nothing, but Thomas wasn't concerned – he could read Richard's expressions. Richard was being cautious, not smothering him, not pushing for news on how the day went. He was allowing Thomas to take his time.
"I'll make you some tea. You're cold," Richard said, steering him to a chair at the table and sitting him down with a gentle pressure on his shoulders.
"Thanks," Thomas said, feeling a little dazed, as though someone had woken him from a strange dream. His reality, his present, was a far cry from the places and people he'd been around earlier in the day. He'd walked Phyllis back to Downton, since it was dark, and on the way back tried to process everything so he'd have some way of telling Richard about it when the time came. It had not been a success.
Richard handed him the warm cup, made up to his usual requirements, and pulled a chair out, turning it perpendicular to the table, facing Thomas. "Better?" he asked, nodding towards the cup.
"Yeah. You just knew, didn't you?"
"Naturally." Richard took a few sips, observing him over the edge of the cup. Thomas felt something stir within him at the way Richard's eyelashes batted up and down with movement. "Can I ask how it went?"
"Not yet." Thomas finished the small cup, placing it with an impatient clatter onto the table.
"Okay."
"You're not curious, at least?"
"Nothing that can't wait. We don't have anywhere to be, do we?" Richard placed his empty cup down also, though with more grace. "I've been thinking about you all day."
"Me too. There were times I needed you."
"I know."
Silence followed, whilst Thomas ran his gaze over Richard. In his shirtsleeves, he looked irresistible. Sculpted shoulders gave way to lean-muscled arms hidden temptingly under a crisp white shirt. He remembered what Richard promised him before he'd left that morning and he knew, judging by the way Richard's darkened gaze never strayed from him, that he was thinking the same thing.
Thomas pushed back his chair and, before Richard could say anything, settled himself astride on his lap. "I need you now." Their lips contacted, their kisses patient, not rushed or flustered, Thomas gripped Richard's shoulders, enjoying the feel of his hands on his back, and the sensation of firmness beneath him. Of course, Thomas never objected when Richard would take him, push him up against a wall and ravish him with his lips and mouth, but there was something special about an easy pace – something that he'd only ever experienced with him.
Their kisses grew more needy, Richard's hands now abandoning Thomas's back in favour of settling on his behind. It was exactly what he needed. All day he'd felt like he was the freak – on display for all to see and mock with disdain. He'd fought it, and he'd won minor battles, but the feeling had remained all the same. Richard could make him feel like he belonged – he made him feel beautiful. When Richard let out a mixture between a humming sound and a moan, Thomas took his lips to Richard's neck and as he kissed and nibbled closer to his ear, Richard tipping his head to the side to grant the best access, Thomas spoke his desires.
To his heart-sinking surprise, Richard stiffened and pulled back – not the response Thomas had expected. His initial thought was that he'd gone too far with Richard's neck, that he'd hurt him somehow. "Sorry, was I—Did I overdo it?"
"No."
"Then...?"
"I don't think what you just asked me to do to you is what's best right now," Richard said carefully.
Thomas stood, rubbing his neck, cheeks flushing with the heat of embarrassment. "You don't want me then? Even when you said—"
Richard stood close to him in a flash, holding him again, his touch reassuring, not inviting. "No I do, really I do. As I said, I have been thinking about you all day, and yes, some of those thoughts involved more intimate things, but I was also worried about you."
"That's why I want what I asked for." Thomas stepped back from Richard's embrace.
Like a magnet, Richard only held him again. "I know it was. I can guess why and I think at the right time, what I could give you might help, but not tonight."
"Too bloody emotionally wrecked, you mean?" Thomas mumbled, knowing he sounded as pathetic as he felt inside.
"No. I only mean it's not right of me to do that to you, no matter how much the selfish part of me would like it. I love you, so I can't. You're tired—no, exhausted Thomas. I can see it in your eyes, and I felt it. Your whole body is tense. If I ... did that, then I'm afraid I would hurt you."
"You've never hurt me, and I know you never will."
Richard stroked the side of Thomas' face. "No, but you wouldn't enjoy it as much as if we waited. I'm not going anywhere. I only want to make love to you when it's right for you."
Thomas wanted to bite back, to persuade him he wanted that, but in his heart he knew Richard spoke sense. "You're right, I know that, even if I don't like it. I just want to feel..." Thomas trailed off, shrugging whilst spreading his hands in a defeated gesture. "I suppose I'm impatient."
Richard gave him a gentle kiss, smiling into his lips. "Likewise. But whilst that's off the cards for tonight, there is something I can give you, if you're up for it, if you'd come upstairs?"
...
Richard only turned on the small lamp on the dresser by the far wall, drawing the curtains. After an incident with Wilde and a shrew the month before, the curtains had sustained a rip at the top and instead of fixing them, Richard had bought a new pair that he'd told Thomas he'd chosen as they were thicker and kept the light hidden better. They were always careful, and whilst there was a certain enjoyment that came from being together in the dark, they both agreed a little light was preferable.
In the warm yellow glow, the door closed so Wilde – who didn't know the meaning of privacy – wouldn't interrupt them as he had done so many times before, Richard adopted his valet duties once again, undressing Thomas from top to toe, one garment at a time, kisses between his movements.
Thomas reached to undo Richard's top button, but a hand stopped him.
"Not yet," Richard said, placing a kiss on Thomas's wrist – a gesture of the most intimate since Richard was one of the few who knew the true origin of those raised grey-silver lines that marred him. Every time Richard made that move, Thomas felt captivated by watching him.
"We're a little uneven here," Thomas said with a shy quirk to his smile as he stood stark naked in front of his fully clothed partner. "You're sure you don't want me to—?"
Richard answered with a small shake of the head. He walked Thomas backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of their bed. "Not yet. Sit down."
Thomas obeyed and was about to complain that he'd waited all day to get his hands on Richard when he saw Richard's plan.
Richard stood before him and undressed himself bit by bit, keeping eye contact all the while. He didn't throw his clothes to the floor; instead, he neatly folded them, giving Thomas plenty of time to ogle over his body, savouring it, drinking him in. Soon he was walking around their bedroom naked and aroused, bending down to open draws, reaching up to hang his shirt in the wardrobe – movements designed to show himself to Thomas in the most stimulating of ways. By the time Richard returned to Thomas, kneeling on the floor in front of him, darkened pools capturing him in a lustful gaze, Thomas had gripped the duvet in fists in anticipation.
"Liked my plan so far?"
"Yes."
"Liked what you saw?"
"God, yes."
"Do you want the rest of it?"
"Mmm," Thomas's strangled voice answered.
Richard rested his lips on the inside of Thomas' thigh. His chuckle sent vibrations right up his leg. "I don't need you to answer." Richard stroked up the inside of Thomas' legs, tantalisingly close to his arousal. "It's obvious, don't you reckon?"
Thomas honestly hadn't realised he'd even been sitting for so long, legs spread, splayed naked on the edge of the bed, totally undignified and vulnerable. "Does your plan involve teasing me forever? Oh, fuck!" He jumped as Richard ran his finger along the underside of Thomas' length. He swore again as Richard replaced his finger with his lips, then tongue. Merciless teasing seemed to be Richard's path, after all. He traced, tickled, blew until Thomas – despite the air being cold with winter night – had beads of sweat on his forehead. He babbled something that made Richard laugh against him again as he finally took him fully into his mouth. After a battle to regain a little composure that was required to think, Thomas held the back of Richard's head as he moved at a steady pace, taking him deeper. He soon matched Richard's rhythm, only letting go of Richard's hair as he came, shuddering out his name.
...
When Richard had finished with him, Thomas hadn't been able to ignore how hard Richard was kneeling below him. Richard had told him he could sort himself out, but Thomas had insisted – it had seemed unfair to not give Richard a slice of pleasure. They'd ended up with Thomas lying back on their bed, Richard straddling him, sitting on his hips, where Thomas brought him off with his hand. He'd taken his time, enjoying Richard's tilted back head, groans and how he stuttered out Thomas's name when he came. In the end, they'd laid under only a thin sheet, both too hot and bothered still for the duvet. It had been in those moments of peace, his body relaxed for the first time that day, that Thomas had first felt like talking about the funeral.
Thomas nuzzled down into Richard, his head barely on the pillow and more on the edge of Richard's chest. A gentle hand massaged through his hair, a finger stroking his forehead. He told Richard about the service, and the two nattering old women he'd put in their places, to which Richard congratulated him on shutting them up, his chuckle vibrating through Thomas's shoulder. He hesitated when he told him about his words to his father. Richard – his senses keen – planted an encouraging kiss on Thomas' head. He told Richard everything he's said over the grave, every word that he'd wanted to say – in past moments of defiance – to his father's face. Richard listened, waiting for him to finish before uttering a word.
"Does it feel better now?" Richard asked, his words breaking the silence of their darkened room. Only a gentle ticking of a clock in the hallway outside, and Wilde's gentle snoring at the foot of the bed, joined him. After they'd finished, they'd given into Wilde's impatient meowing outside the door.
"I felt like an idiot, if I'm honest. I mean, who speaks to a gravestone?" Thomas winced, as he realised what he's just said. "Sorry, I shouldn't have forgotten that you've done that."
"Doesn't matter."
"I felt pathetic. The rain didn't help. I was the lonely character in a novel – a stereotype. My father probably wasn't even listening. I'm not sure if I am disappointed about that or not." Thomas twisted around to look at Richard. "I really am sorry. It wasn't pathetic of you to talk to Jack."
"It might have been, if he hadn't been there listening the entire time," Richard said, a tinge of sadness in his voice, that Thomas could tell he was trying to disguise. "Yours was a different situation."
"Damn right," Thomas muttered.
"You did well. If he heard and it made him feel uncomfortable, then he deserved that."
"Yeah."
Silence followed, for how long Thomas didn't know.
"Did you see your mother?"
"I did. Phyllis encouraged me. I put it off the whole time. She told me it was never father's intention for me to be disowned. He wanted to scare me into submission. She didn't use those exact words, but you get my meaning?"
Richard nodded, shifting so his arm looped around Thomas's shoulders.
"She tried to use that explanation as a sort of apology, but she never explicitly said sorry, but she wanted me to visit again. I didn't know what to do about that. She was trying, but still believed my father's actions were the right ones. I gave her my card in the end and told her she can call if she needs anything."
"My mother would give her a piece of her mind."
"I bet she would." Thomas smiled to himself at the thought. "There was someone I met, though, someone who might tempt me to go back."
"Oh, don't tell me, some handsome lad you had a thing for as a boy who's now grown up and measured out in every way a man should be? Do I need to be jealous?"
Thomas rolled his eyes and sighed exaggeratedly. "Shut up, you!"
Richard snorted out a laugh. "Sorry, go on."
"I met my nephew, William. I think you'd like him. He told me people say he's the spitting image of me when I was thirteen and have a tendency to agree. He's full of cheek; kept on asking me for a cigarette. We got talking, he told me about what people have said about me, but yet..." Thomas trailed off, a warmth growing inside his heart that he assumed was what hope felt like.
"Yet?" Richard prompted.
"But yet he's not like his mother. He didn't like what they said about me. I don't think he believed it, but he was angry, as no one would tell him enough about me for him to make up his own mind. He didn't like being treated like a child, so I didn't. It was awkward, but I told him the truth and you know what?" Thomas pushed himself, resting on one elbow, to look down at Richard. "His reaction was unexpected."
"Good?" Richard narrowed his eyes whilst frowning up at him.
"Yes! I know what reaction to expect usually, and him wanting to know me despite what I told him ... I don't know ... it's a wonderful feeling. I almost told him about you. He wants to come and visit."
"I like the sound of him. He should."
"He can't. Not yet. I won't encourage him to do anything that might put him at odds with his family, especially his mother. Margaret didn't even want him to talk to me. She forbade it, apparently. She doesn't want him to turn out like me. I don't want that either."
"Thomas?"
"I don't want him to go through the pain of losing a family." In a sudden movement, Thomas sat up, his back to Richard. "I worry that ... I worry she might be right."
"Thomas, that's not how it works, you know that."
"I know. It's illogical, but I still worry."
Richard shuffled behind him. "But if he ever did, you know now that William would be okay. He'd have you, us, his uncle, to help him understand."
Thomas's eyes began to sting and water. He blinked rapidly several times, taking a couple of deep breaths, still not willing to let Richard see him. A silent tear fell warm against his cheek. He pushed it away with an angry swipe.
Richard's chest pressed warm against his back, powerful arms encircling him from behind, hands flat on his naked stomach. "It's okay."
"No." Thomas tried to push him away, but with no success. He put little effort in. Another tear fell. "I don't understand. Not sure why I'm crying. I hate him. My father is the reason for every single thing that's ruined my life for over twenty years! I shouldn't give a damn. I'm clearly messed up, I don't know ... Richard?"
Richard was in front of him in a flash.
"I don't know why," Thomas said between shaking breaths as he tried to fight back the sobbing.
"It doesn't matter if you don't know." Richard pulled him in close, cradling the back of Thomas' head as he let the tears fall onto Richard's bare shoulder. It was as if Richard knew he needed the tiniest inch of privacy. "He was your father, a part of you. You can feel anything you want to, don't fight it. You don't need to be brave for me. It's only us. No one else needs to know." Richard spoke each word in the gentlest of tones, his words soft and warm. "Let it out, my love, let it out."
Richard continued to hold him, continued to speak whispered words of comfort and tenderness into his ear as Thomas let over half a lifetime of pain out.
Note: I hope you enjoyed this emotional Barris filled overload! I never intended to write a sex scene into this chapter that was as detailed. It just happened and I hope it was okay as I've never written like that before. I blame it on my current read being a historical gay romance novel!
Next, we're back to Larry's situation.