Chapter 5

"…Thomas?"

"Hm?"

"Could we…" Jimmy pulled back slightly, his eyes downcast. "Could I sleep here, tonight?"

Thomas nodded mutely. He didn't trust his voice.

They separated carefully, as if the other were made of glass. Then Jimmy left to wash and dress in his own room.

Thomas felt curiously blank as he cleaned his face and teeth, but beneath some layer in his mind his thoughts were racing. Jimmy wanted to sleep with him tonight, but did that mean what he thought it meant? He'd certainly been wrong before. It was possible, wasn't it, that Jimmy might be doing this as some sort of long goodbye? Perhaps he wanted a tender memory to tie up the ends of this ill-advised love affair, and in the morning he would leave Thomas and never be so close to him again. Maybe he'd even leave Downton altogether—

A fist closed around his insides at the thought, and a tremor started up in his hands.

After that rather magnificent speech he'd given about bravery and choice, he almost wanted to laugh at himself for the cold terror he was feeling now. Perhaps he'd used up all of his courage tonight, trying to lend some to Jimmy.

But Thomas hadn't been in service so long for nothing: even with his hands shaking he managed to undo his buttons and pull on his cotton trousers with little difficultly. But then he was at a loss as to what to do with himself. Should he lie down in his bed as he usually did? Should he sit in his desk chair instead?

Was Jimmy really coming back?

A soft fumbling at the door made Thomas jump.

It was Jimmy.

He slipped inside, closing the door very quietly behind him. He wore only his white pajamas and dressing gown, his dark blue eyes clear and steady as they rose to meet Thomas's. Thomas desperately wanted to go to him and pull him close, but he dared not. The silence between them felt much too fragile to push through. Jimmy had made his decision, that much was obvious; Thomas had only to wait to know what it was.

He inhaled shakily. There wasn't enough air in the room.

Jimmy broke the silence with a sigh. "No need to be so frightened, Mr. Barrow," he mumbled, sounding shame-faced.

And just like that he slipped off his dressing gown and hung it beside Thomas's in the wardrobe. Then he moved forward, reached around Thomas, and switched off the lamp. The darkness brought little relief to Thomas's thundering heart, but it did conceal his expression, and for that he was grateful.

Jimmy pulled back the sheets and climbed into Thomas's bed. When Thomas just stood there, frozen, Jimmy huffed and pulled on Thomas's nightshirt until he unbent enough to lie beside him.

Mouth dry, Thomas dared to tuck himself against Jimmy's side, tentatively resting his head between Jimmy's neck and shoulder. He was painfully aware that Jimmy might shove him off, but he didn't; instead, Jimmy sighed and wrapped his arms around him. Thomas let out the breath he'd been holding and relaxed into Jimmy's embrace. He smelled so bloody good, and felt so warm and sweet…it couldn't get any better than this, he thought, but then it did, because after a long moment Jimmy began to comb his fingers through Thomas's hair. Jimmy had never touched him this way before; his touches had always been friendly or sexual, never intimate…it was too lovely for words to describe.

"I don't understand anything, you know," Jimmy said into the dark. "I… don't think I ever have, really."

Thomas was silent, turning this over in his mind. He wasn't sure he understood what Jimmy meant.

"Do you mean about…uh, men, or—"

"Everything," Jimmy repeated intensely. "I've realized I've been an idiot about so many things…"

Thomas couldn't help it; he snorted a laugh into Jimmy's nightshirt, joy bursting like sunlight in his chest.

"Right, you would laugh at me, of course you would," Jimmy grumbled.

Thomas struggled to compose himself. "I'm sorry, Jimmy,"

"I would've lived out my life in peace just fine without you," Jimmy added darkly.

"And now you won't?" Thomas asked. Suddenly he wasn't sure if he was right to feel so happy—Jimmy might not be teasing after all; this really might be a long goodbye.

Jimmy must have felt him stiffen because he sighed again and tightened his grip on Thomas's hair, sending faint lines of arousal and pain down his back.

"No matter what, I don't think peaceful will ever suitably describe me life," Jimmy admitted.

What the bloody hell does that mean?

"Of course," Jimmy went on in a lighter tone. "I never really wanted a relaxing sort of life, you know, Mr. Barrow. Danger, excitement—that's more to me liking, I've just never known how to get it 'till now."

Thomas felt lightheaded.

"Tomorrow I'm going to ask Mr. Carson if I can take a trip to Rotherham," Jimmy continued. "And you're going with me."

Thomas breathed at that, unable to stop his arm from tightening convulsively around Jimmy. Rotherham was Jimmy's hometown. What could he possibly want to go there for? He had no family or friends to visit, he'd told Thomas as much long ago.

"Mr. Carson won't allow it, I'm sure," Thomas told him, bewildered. "Especially considering what happened tonight at dinner…"

Jimmy yawned. "He has to; we'll just have to think of something to tell him."

Thomas swallowed uneasily. Jimmy was stroking his hair again, and it felt so sweet, but… he was still afraid. Why Rotherham? What exactly was Jimmy thinking? Had he chosen Thomas or not? The closeness, Jimmy's hands touching him tenderly made him think that he had. But there was still that tiny sliver of doubt that would not let him rest… he'd been wrong about Jimmy so many times before, he had no faith left in his own judgment of him.

Several minutes passed in this way, with Thomas blindly staring at the wall and trying to slow his anxious heartbeat. Finally Jimmy shifted under him and whispered to Thomas to lie on his back. When he obliged, Jimmy curled up under his chin and kissed his throat and said:

"I told you, there's no need to be so frightened. Be brave…" Thomas felt him smile. "Like me."

Jimmy felt lighter than air, like he could fly off the ground if he took a running leap. Somewhere deep inside his fears were still there, trembling in the dark, but they no longer held power over him—and they never would again, if he could help it. Like Thomas had said, you only had one life to live so you must seize what happiness you can; you must choose it and hold onto it with both hands, and damn the rest of the world if you must.

So that was what Jimmy was doing. Literally.

He had both hands wrapped around Thomas Barrow and he wasn't letting go. He'd tried living without him three times: after the sleep kiss when he'd shunned him, and then after the fair when they'd been careful friends, and then after that night in the shed, when Jimmy had tried to put even more distance between them—but each time he'd tried had only hurt them both. It was like trying to fight the pull of gravity.

Never again, Jimmy swore.

He kissed Thomas's chest, sealing the promise into this skin. Thomas shivered.

"…If you've decided to be brave then, Jimmy," Thomas said shakily. "Then I'd like to know—just things I'm curious about knowing, but only if you'd like to tell me."

Jimmy grinned. Maybe he wouldn't tell Thomas about his plans for Rotherham if he asked. The poor man would really turn into Carson someday if Jimmy didn't surprise him from time to time.

"Alright," Jimmy agreed.

Thomas's silence seemed to be a taken aback one, as if he were shocked by this easy acceptance. He recovered quickly, though, and asked: "How did you know how to rescue me when I fell in that damn river? You grew up in town, not the countryside, so how…?"

Jimmy snorted. If it were anyone else asking he'd say he'd only been using his brain, but since it was Thomas…

"I didn't know it would work really, I just remember reading about it in a Penny Dreadful once," he confessed.

Thomas seemed to find this to be the height of hilarity. He muffled his laughter into Jimmy's nightshirt, his whole body shaking with it. Jimmy squeezed him hard in response, his chest fairly aching with love for him; he'd never known Thomas to laugh so freely before. Jimmy could feel a ridiculously soppy expression overtaking his own face and he didn't even care. This was really living, he thought. This wasn't wrong, this was the best thing he'd ever done. Jimmy had to blink away a sudden burning in his eyes.

When Thomas had control of himself again he asked, "When I was so ill before, why didn't you come to see me? You said we'd still be friends but then you didn't even…"

"I did come to see you, you idiot."

Jimmy could feel Thomas frown. "No you didn't,"

"I did," Jimmy insisted. "Didn't you hear me come into your room at night? I even touched you, sometimes. I couldn't bloody well help it—I love your hair, you know, and you were so feverish I worried about you."

"Oh," Thomas said softly. "I thought those were only dreams."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I thought you knew, it were half the reason I could barely look at you when you came back to work."

"I see…" he was quiet for a moment, then he asked in a softer tone: "And what about your dreams, Jimmy? You said you were having nightmares about me dying…ah, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Jimmy swallowed hard. "No, I can say it," he paused, gathering himself.

"I'd been having dreams about you dying in the river almost every night since we were rescued. In the dream I just watch you thrash around in the ice until your strength gives out, and you go under, but I can't move me body to save you. But ah, it's worse even than that because my parents are there."

"Your parents?"

Jimmy nodded, his skin prickling with remembered fear. "They were the only people I ever loved, besides you," Jimmy said. "I suppose since they're dead, and I wasn't letting myself have you, it were like I was letting you die. In the dreams my parents were always standing on the other side of the river, holding hands, waiting for you to join them… it was horrible, Thomas. After they died I thought that was it for me—I never could care much for other people so I thought it were just gonna be me contra mundum for the rest of my life… but ah—I didn't account for you. I didn't—" Jimmy tightened his arms around Thomas, pressing his face into his neck. "I didn't expect you."

Thomas let out a breath. Then he rolled Jimmy over and pressed his mouth to Jimmy's, kissing him softly and sweetly at first and then deeply, until Jimmy's whole body felt lit up from the inside out. God, how had he ever thought he could live without this? He couldn't, he really, really couldn't.

Jimmy clenched his fist in Thomas's hair and raked his other hand down his back, his fingers finding Thomas's hip so he could grip it hard. He wanted to pull Thomas into him, make him stay.

Thomas broke the kiss. "Rough, aren't you?" he whispered.

Jimmy forced himself to gentle his touch, heat flooding his face. "S-sorry, I'll stop, it's just I don't know what I'm bloody doing— before that night with you I'd never, ah, never…"

He fumbled to a halt. He couldn't believe he'd just admitted that. Wasn't it shameful, a man his age who'd been to war but had never touched anyone before? But he'd never wanted it with a woman no matter how hard he'd tried, and other men… well. It hadn't been much different with them either, really. He'd never known what it was to want until Thomas. Ha, that was soppy—

"No, don't stop, I like it," Thomas breathed, kissing him again. "I like the little hurt. That night in the shed you left wounds all over me, Jimmy…it was lovely."

Jimmy shuddered, feeling himself harden so quickly he felt dizzy. Oh, Christ. Oh, fuck. He didn't know why that should excite him so much but it did, the thought of Thomas wearing the imprint of Jimmy's mouth and hands under his clothes, the idea of him feeling the little sting as he went about his duties, remembering Jimmy's touch…

And Thomas liked it.

Jimmy breathed Thomas's name and resumed his clawed grip in his hair, latching onto Thomas's throat with his mouth. He licked and sucked at his pulse, hungrily pulling the blood up to the surface to make a mark, and through the rushing in his ears he heard Thomas moan softly, his hips pushing down into Jimmy's as if he couldn't help himself. Jimmy remembered the way it had felt the last time Thomas was on top of him, the way his hard cock had burned against his stomach, and suddenly he wanted that so much he couldn't breathe. Frantically he pushed the blankets off and kicked the sheets to the floor, mouth only leaving Thomas's skin so he could tear at his clothes.

"Get—get these off," Jimmy gasped.

Thomas shook his head, the moonlight drawing his outline in the dark. "Slow down, darling," he said. "It's alright…"

Jimmy trembled with lust just hearing the silken sound of Thomas's voice, but what he was saying—Jimmy couldn't do that, he'd die.

"I don't want to go slow," Jimmy said. "I can't—I don't know that I'd make it if we go slow."

Thomas straddled Jimmy's waist and sat up, gently pinning his wrists to the bed. Jimmy squirmed beneath him, desperate to get closer.

"I didn't know you'd never done it before," Thomas said. "If I'd known—well, now, you should know what it's like to really experience it."

Jimmy had thought he'd damned well experienced it before, but then, those were some unusual circumstances. Thomas hadn't even been well at the time… remembered guilt took the edge off Jimmy's lust, and he closed his eyes. "In the shed that night—I didn't, uh, take advantage or anything, did I? I didn't hurt you in a way you didn't like?"

"No, definitely not." Jimmy could hear him smirking.

Jimmy was quiet for a moment, trying to ignore the steady throbbing between his legs. "Alright, let's—let's go slow, then. I'll try to go slow."

Before Thomas could reply Jimmy added, "But if we're doin' it like that then I want a sodding light. I want to see you this time."

It was late, but surely a candle or two wouldn't shine much light under the door. Thomas seemed to have the same thought, because as soon as Jimmy thought it Thomas was leaning over and rummaging in his bedside table. A moment later he struck a match and two fat candles flared to life, filling the black room with just enough light to see Thomas's clearly. Jimmy had never seen him look like that before: his expression was unbearably tender, but at the same time his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with want. Jimmy's entire body flushed with heat at the sight of him.

Oh Christ, Thomas, I'll never manage slow…

Thomas took off his shirt over his head and Jimmy's mouth went dry. Without taking his eyes off him Jimmy struggled with his own clothes, his fingers tripping up in the buttons. After a moment of watching him struggle Thomas brushed Jimmy's hands away and began to undo them instead, one at a time. Jimmy bit his lip, his hands itching to comb through Thomas's chest hair, feel his pounding heart.

Thomas wasn't unaffected, no matter how much he insisted they should go slow. Jimmy could see how flushed he was even in this lighting, could see too the outline of his hard cock rising up inside his pajama trousers. Jimmy's breath came quicker at the sight. He wanted to touch it, but he suspected that wasn't allowed just yet.

Finally Jimmy's nightshirt was spread open on both sides of him, and Thomas was sitting back to admire him.

"You're perfect," Thomas whispered.

"So—so are you," Jimmy said. "Please, Thomas…"

Jimmy's hands were clutching Thomas's thighs in a bruising grip. He wasn't sure when they'd gotten there.

"Alright," Thomas leaned down and kissed Jimmy, softly—too softly. Jimmy groaned and licked at Thomas's mouth, trying to entice him deeper, but he would not be moved. Instead he pulled back and away, leaving Jimmy cold.

"No wait, wait—"

"Shhh…"

Jimmy sat up, realizing what Thomas was doing. He was standing so he could take off the rest of his clothes. Jimmy had never seen him naked before, not properly, so he looked his fill—and Thomas stood still to let him. In the flickering candlelight Thomas's winter coloring was burnished gold and red, the lines of his body cut with dark shadows. Jimmy could see how aroused he was, and how his chest moved as he breathed, and how the only thing he still wore was the leather glove on his left hand. Jimmy felt desire so sharp it hurt. Reflexively his hands flew down to his prick, pressing against it through his clothes as it leaked and throbbed. Fuck, fuck…

"Thomas," he croaked. For god's sake I can't go slow…

Finally Thomas showed him mercy. He returned to the bed and pushed Jimmy back against the pillow, his hands trailing down Jimmy's chest to the waist of his pajama trousers. He pulled them off, carefully lifting the waistband over his aching cock and then sliding them down Jimmy's legs.

As soon as he was free of them Jimmy gripped Thomas by the hair and dragged his mouth back to his to kiss him hard. Thomas let him for a moment, but then he took control of the kiss and gentled it, slowing the pace to something hot and wet and deep. Jimmy could feel his mind buzzing, his thoughts flying further out of reach the longer they kissed.

When Thomas pulled back a second time Jimmy didn't protest. Instead he watched Thomas watching him, the way Thomas's eyes drifted over every part of Jimmy's naked body just as Jimmy had looked at his. Jimmy found he liked being looked at—he liked it a lot. If he'd given thought to it before he would've guessed he'd be self conscious, but he wasn't.

"I like you looking at me," Jimmy heard himself say, breathless.

Thomas looked up from where he'd obviously been studying Jimmy's arousal. "I'm pleased to hear it," he said. Then he smiled. "You're not becoming a narcissist now, are you Jimmy?"

Jimmy shook his head, slowly. All he knew was that he felt beautiful with Thomas looking at him—beautiful and brave.

Thomas looked a bit longer, and Jimmy looked back, until finally Thomas licked his lips and bent down over Jimmy once more. He started with Jimmy's neck, kissing him softly at first and then building intensity until he was kissing and sucking hard at the base of Jimmy's throat. Leaving a mark on me, too, Jimmy thought, and he gripped Thomas's shoulders tight. He had to hold on to something or he'd lose it completely.

When the mark was finished Thomas traced his thumb over it, making Jimmy flinch at the sensitivity. Then he moved down to Jimmy's chest and nipples, and the torture began again.

Thomas started by kissing and licking lightly at first, just the barest brush of his mouth, then gradually he built up a rhythm of increasing intensity until Jimmy was writhing on the bed, his cock leaking steadily against his stomach. Every time he tried to thrust against Thomas he'd arch out of reach, and every time Jimmy's hands reached for Thomas's prick they were caught and pinned away. Jimmy couldn't stand it.

"Please Thomas, please, I can't—I really can't, please, please—"

"You're so polite, all of the sudden—" Thomas said, but his voice was rough and shaking.

Jimmy could barely understand him. He wasn't even sure he knew what words were coming out of his own mouth. All he knew was the roaring hunger inside him, how his cock hurt it was so hard, and how Thomas felt like a living flame burning him all over his body. He'd come as soon as Thomas touched him—maybe Thomas wouldn't even have to touch him, he'd come all on his own, just from his mouth and hands on his skin.

If this was slow, Jimmy couldn't decide if it were heaven or hell.

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy didn't remember when he'd shut his eyes but he opened them now. Thomas sounded serious.

"Jimmy, are you alright?"

Jimmy nodded. He realized dimly that his entire body was shaking, and that sweat had broken out across his skin even though the room was quite cold.

"I want to try, ah, something with my mouth and hands," Thomas told him. He lightly caressed Jimmy's cock and bullocks with his ungloved hand. Jimmy's hips surged up wildly at the touch, his hands flying up to his own mouth to smother his shout.

Thomas looked surprised at his reaction, but then he bit his lip a little sheepishly, his eyes darkening as they trailed down Jimmy's body. "Maybe shouldn't have gone that slowly…" he muttered to himself. "Best wait a moment."

Jimmy only shook in response, trying to hold back the orgasm that had gotten so close to blowing his brains out.

They were silent for a long while, the only sound in the room their heavy breathing. Eventually Jimmy came back from the edge, his thoughts returning with an effort. When he managed to focus his eyes on Thomas's once more Thomas swallowed hard, and traced his hands over Jimmy's sides.

"Alright?"

"Yes," Jimmy managed.

Thomas licked his lips again. "I want to kiss you on your… here," he said, and this time he touched a single finger to Jimmy's heavy prick. Jimmy gasped but managed to keep still this time, only jolting a little.

"And I want to touch and kiss you here, and here," and Jimmy felt fingers on his bollocks and then even lower, and he whimpered.

"Would you like that, Jimmy?"

Jimmy wanted to laugh, but he couldn't catch his breath for it. Would he like that? Of course he'd bloody well like it! Instead he nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, yes, fucking hell…"

Thomas smiled again. Christ but the icy bastard smiled a lot in bed, Jimmy would have to remember that—

Then his thoughts scattered. Thomas was gently pushing his thighs up and apart, and he was shifting lower in the bed, his perfect red mouth inches away from Jimmy's cock… oh, god almighty… he wouldn't survive this.

Thomas firmly gripped the base of Jimmy's cock and licked the tip, his eyes locked on Jimmy's. Then he took the whole thing into his mouth, and sucked. Jimmy smothered another cry with his fist, his hips surging up only to be pinned back down hard by Thomas's body. He would've come but Thomas was holding the orgasm back somehow and oh it hurt but it felt so good—and just the thought of his prick in Thomas's mouth alone was—but to see it, to feel it—

Jimmy bit his knuckles and writhed on the sheets as Thomas sucked him, a low, helpless whine caught in his throat. Then suddenly that perfect mouth was gone. Jimmy gasped at the loss only to lose it all over again when he felt a wet tongue lapping at his bollocks, then gently sucking, then dipping lower to taste his—his—Jimmy hissed and felt another orgasm choke itself on the grip Thomas had on his cock.

This was torture, this was too much, he'd die, he really would, and oh god was he sobbing?

Somehow he found his voice to beg. He had no idea what he was saying, only that it made Thomas ease his grip, suck a finger between his lips, and then his mouth was swallowing Jimmy's cock while the wet finger slid inside Jimmy's body. Jimmy cried out, the world shrinking down to a single, painful point of ecstasy and then exploding outward. Thomas held his hips down and swallowed hard as he came, his finger gently thrusting then easing itself out of Jimmy's body. Jimmy collapsed beneath him, unable to remember his own name.

When he returned to himself he felt as if a thousand years had passed. There was complete and utter bliss in his body; every part of him was empty and warm and floating, his stillness only broken by little aftershocks of pleasure.

Thomas…?

Jimmy found him still between his legs, but he was sitting up now. He hadn't come yet. Jimmy could see how dark his eyes were, how his swollen cock was leaking between them. The shaking that had been in Jimmy's body now seemed to be in his instead, making the whole bed tremble. And his mouth… oh god, his lips were bruised and red. He'd swallowed Jimmy's…

What did that taste like?

Jimmy pulled his body up with an effort. He wanted to give Thomas that—what he'd given to Jimmy. So he silently pushed Thomas onto his back and took his cock in his hands. It felt burning hot and so heavy it had to be painful. Tentatively Jimmy licked the fluid from the head. Thomas made a helpless sound that was very gratifying, so Jimmy did it again. And again. The taste was strange and very salty, but Jimmy liked it. So he took what he could fit in his mouth and sucked.

"Jimmy," Thomas gasped. "Jimmy, darling, you have to move or I—I—I'm going to—" he writhed beneath Jimmy, so Jimmy sucked him even harder, wondering if he should lick his finger and do what Thomas had done to him. But before he could decide Thomas flew upwards and pulled Jimmy's head away just in time for him to come in wet bursts all over his chest and stomach. Jimmy felt some of it hit his lips and jaw, so he licked it away.

Thomas collapsed, gasping, onto the bed. Jimmy crawled up his body to look him in the face. "Why'd you pull me off?" he asked. "I wanted to… do what you did. The way you did it."

Thomas blinked heavily, his face loose with bliss. "I wasn't sure you realized, so I tried to warn you…"

Jimmy huffed. "I'll do as I damn well please," he said, then he crawled back down to lap at Thomas's emissions to show he meant it.

Thomas shuddered and groaned while Jimmy cleaned him with his tongue. Jimmy loved every moment of it, his entire being replete with satisfaction.

When he was finished he curled up under Thomas's chin, suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life. He fell asleep instantly.

For the first time in a very long time, his dreams were sweet.

The next morning everyone seemed to think Jimmy had gone mad… again.

He strode into the servants' hall with a bright, "Good morning!" and then proceeded to eat two helpings of everything. When Mr. Carson gave him a suspicious look Jimmy only smiled serenely and went about his duties, his hair and clothes perfectly polished, his bearing upright. Even Thomas barely recognized him. He supposed Jimmy must have been in deeper pain than he'd realized, if this was him unburdened.

And, perhaps, it had just been that good between them the night before…

"What's gotten into him?" Mrs. Patmore asked, staring after Jimmy in astonishment. "Has he been replaced by a changeling in the night?"

He'd just told her he thought her new apron was jolly—and he'd said it without a sneer.

Thomas hid a grin behind his teacup. He'd have to have a word with Jimmy about being more discreet, no matter how enjoyable it was to watch him act the part of a besotted Romeo.

Mrs. Patmore glanced at him as if he'd spoken aloud, and her expression cleared. "Oh," she said.

Thomas put down his teacup. "What's that, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Oh, 'tis nothing Mr. Barrow…" but she gave him a sideways look as she left the room, her mouth curled up at one corner.

After luncheon Jimmy and Molesley were sent to rearrange furniture in the library, with Thomas supervising. During the entire affair Molesley kept up a soppy, long-winded commentary about Miss Baxter and her wonderful everything, but for once Thomas didn't tell him to shut his gob. He knew he needed Molesley's chatter to keep him cool—because Jimmy in his shirtsleeves, Jimmy bending over chairs with his arms flexing, Jimmy's shy smiles and warm glances were unbearably erotic—especially given that Thomas couldn't stop thinking about the night before.

Jimmy had left marks again, and he could feel them ache and spark with sensitivity beneath his livery. He'd left a few on Jimmy too, if he weren't mistaken.

By the end of the afternoon he was giddy with lust and mental exhaustion, yet happier than he could ever remember being in the whole of his life. He spent the remainder of the evening struggling not to show his hand, as it were—it would be much too obvious if he, too, were suddenly smiling and humming show tunes while he worked. Jimmy was doing enough of that on his own, the idiot—Thomas had heard him humming through the halls on his way to polish silver, of all things. Carson had looked positively alarmed by this behavior.

They didn't catch a moment alone together until after dinner, when they met outside for a smoke. The wall sheltered them from most of Downton's windows, but that didn't mean it was safe to press Jimmy up against it and kiss the stupid out of him—Thomas had to remind himself of this as soon as Jimmy arrived, his color high and his eyes bright.

"I think you're scaring the rest of the staff," Thomas said. "They're not accustomed to the sight of you in such a good mood, it's giving Carson quite a turn."

Jimmy rolled his eyes, grinning, and leaned his shoulder against Thomas's. "He wanted me to change me attitude, didn't he? I'm just following orders."

"Cheeky,"

They smoked in blissful silence for a couple of minutes, keeping their shoulders pressed tight together. Thomas thought about giving Jimmy the 'be discreet' speech but found he couldn't, not now. This day belonged to them alone; there would be time enough for speeches later.

"It's almost warm today," Jimmy said, looking up at the sky shot through with amber and violet. The sun was setting, but the days were growing longer, the chill of winter lessening its grip bit by bit.

Frankly Thomas couldn't feel the cold at all; his body was too alight with joy and restrained desire to notice any nip in the air. He only hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Bloody fucking hell," Jimmy groaned with sudden violence. "I wish we didn't have work!"

Thomas stared at him. Jimmy was scowling, suddenly, his arms crossed over his chest like a child in a fit of temper. Thomas recognized the furious expression and snorted. "Didn't last long, did it?"

Jimmy flicked the ashes off his cigarette with unnecessary force. "What didn't?"

"Your good spirits."

Jimmy took a deep pull of smoke, his face dark, then halfway through his inhale he burst out laughing—which naturally made him choke and cough. Thomas patted his back and smiled a little, though he wasn't sure he knew what was so funny. Jimmy's moods changed so quickly he couldn't keep up.

When Jimmy finally managed to breathe he gasped, "But that's just it, Thomas, I am in good spirits!"

"Of course that's not confusing at all—"

Jimmy shoved him. "Oh, shut yer mouth!"

Thomas gracefully blew smoke into Jimmy's face. Jimmy pretended to be offended, waving the cloud away, but then he sighed and tipped his forehead against Thomas's shoulder, his body slumping against his.

"But that's just the trouble," he said wistfully. "I wish we didn't have to work today because I feel so light, Thomas, like a heavy weight has been lifted off me back— or like I'm finally standing up on my own two feet after being caged up for years. I want to dance, or scream, or run like mad, just you and me together…"

Oh, Jimmy, I love you so. Thomas swallowed the words—best save that for later, when they could pour everything out at once.

"It—it's like that for me, too," he said instead.

Between their bodies Jimmy wound their fingers together, the dark fall of Thomas's coat concealing the gesture. Thomas felt so happy he barely recognized himself.

In silence they finished their cigarettes, and then in no time at all it was time to go back inside.

"Well, I had better find Carson before bed," Jimmy said when they parted. "Got to ask him about Rotherham."

Thomas had almost forgotten about that. "What's this about Rotherham?" he asked curiously. "You never said."

Jimmy smiled sweetly, kissed his own fingertips, then pressed them to Thomas's mouth. "If you can't guess already then it'll be a surprise, won't it?"

About an hour later Thomas found Jimmy exiting Carson's office, beaming. Thomas fell into step beside him, his heart fluttering with nerves and anticipation.

"We're going to Rotherham on March first," Jimmy told him triumphantly.

Thomas couldn't hide his shock. "How'd you get Carson to give permission? He were ready to murder you yesterday and no mistake."

Jimmy cocked his chin up. "I just told him the truth, didn't I?"

"And what truth is that, exactly?"

But before Jimmy could reply Anna and Mr. Bates turned the corner, laughing, so they saved the rest of their discussion for later.

Later came much later, after everyone had gone to bed for the night.

"So, what'd you tell Carson, then?" Thomas asked breathlessly.

Oh, Jimmy looked so good like that, half-dressed and heavy-lidded on the fresh sheets.

Jimmy pulled at Thomas's hips, trying to bring him down on the bed with him. His brow creased with frustration when Thomas would not be moved.

"Thomas, please—"

"I just want to know what you said— and why we're even going—"

Jimmy groaned and used Thomas's clothing to drag himself up on his knees, the arch of his body as he moved too beautiful to be borne. When he reached Thomas's throat he latched on with his mouth, sucking at the skin with hungry, bruising pulls. Thomas's throat would be raw before long, the way Jimmy carried on so.

Thomas didn't mind one bit. He tipped his head back, feeling the last of his resistance crumble. Not there had been much to begin with.

"Later," he insisted. "You'll tell me everything later."

Jimmy pulled away just long enough to nod, but Thomas could see he was lying by the way he widened his eyes at him. Thomas found it unbearably attractive. Then Jimmy's mouth returned to his neck, only this time his hands were sliding down Thomas's sides, then around to take his arse in a firm grip.

Oh, to hell with it, he thought dizzily. Seizing Jimmy's wrists, he dragged his hands away from his body and pushed him down on his back. Jimmy laughed in delight.

Over the coming weeks Thomas tried to get Jimmy to tell him why they were going to Rotherham—and what exactly Jimmy had told Carson to get him to agree. But Jimmy would not be moved on the subject, no matter how Thomas coaxed him.

By the second week Thomas almost didn't care anymore. Instead it had become a game between them, something to fight about between kisses, or laugh about in code in the servant's hall.

The servant's hall was a jolly place these days. Jimmy was constantly playing piano and had even brought himself to sing a few songs. He had the most beautiful voice Thomas had ever heard. It was difficult not to snog him senseless in those moments, but somehow he always managed to wait until night fell, and they were gloriously alone once again.

On March 1st the day dawned bright and clear, still cold, but with a promise of spring in the sun and wind. Jimmy told everyone he was going to Rotherham for personal family reasons, and Thomas told them he was going to London to buy a few things. No one seemed particularly interested in either story. Only Mr. Bates gave them a suspicious look as they left after breakfast. His wife made up for it with a warm smile and a wish they'd both have a pleasant journey.

They boarded the train in Ripon, which was only fifty miles to Rotherham. Jimmy chattered happily the entire way there, telling Thomas all about his life before Downton, and the war.

Thomas was amused to learn that Jimmy's father had been a barber and hairdresser, "the best in all Yorkshire," according to Jimmy.

"So that's how you've always got such pretty hair," Thomas said with a smirk.

Jimmy's hair was a bit wild when left to its own devices, a fact which annoyed Jimmy greatly. Every morning Jimmy woke with a tumble of waves and little curls: to tame them he used a bevy of various hair creams from France, and sometimes a curling iron. Thomas's own hair was naturally neat; he had only to use a comb and a bit of pomade, and he was finished. Jimmy liked to complain about the injustice of it all, even as he constantly stroked Thomas's dark hair when they were alone.

Thomas also learned it was Jimmy's mother, not his father, who had taught Jimmy to play the pianoforte. "She were from a higher class than me dad, you see?" Jimmy confided. "She was the daughter of a rich lawyer in London, but she ran away to be with me dad… she were almost like one of the upstairs, really. She knew how to speak French and play music and that. She was clever, but she never had her nose in the air like that lot." And he rolled his eyes.

When the train pulled into the station and they stepped out onto the platform, Jimmy said: "Want to know what I told Carson to let us do this?"

Thomas managed not to sigh, but it was a close thing. Instead he made a show of nonchalance, lighting a cigarette before he said a word. "'Suppose I might,"

Jimmy grinned. "I told him I'd been in emotional distress, and that there was a personal matter troubling me greatly. I said that it was a matter that could only be settled if you and I were permitted to go to Rotherham for the day."

Thomas gaped at him. He couldn't believe that had worked.

Jimmy looked very pleased with himself. "See? I only told him the truth."

"But I still don't know what we're really doing here," Thomas grumbled. "And hasn't your 'emotional distress' been settled, quite thoroughly, sometimes more than once a night since then?"

Jimmy coughed, his cheeks turning pink. "Yes, but—oh, come on, follow me."

Jimmy led Thomas through the streets of Rotherham, which was quite a bit bigger than Ripon or the village. Thomas even heard several people speaking French and Dutch as they passed—refugees left over from the war, no doubt. It was quite a lovely city, Thomas thought. He could see Jimmy living here, growing up here.

Finally they came to a stop in front of a barbershop on the corner of a small side street. It had a handsome green and gold sign over the door declaring it to be "Kent's Barbershop and Hairdressing."

"Is this where you lived then? Over the shop?" Thomas asked. He tried not to let his overwhelming curiosity show in his voice, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Jimmy nodded. Immediately Thomas pictured a golden-haired, miniature version of Jimmy coming home to this place after school, likely harassing his father in the shop and getting underfoot of the patrons.

"Who owns it now?"

"Just some young bloke who knew my father, name of Robert Worth. He lives in that nice house we passed on the hill earlier, the one with the cat in the window."

Thomas was surprised. "He didn't move into the rooms upstairs?"

Jimmy shook his head, smiling at him sideways. "Would you, if you already had a place like that? No, he doesn't live upstairs, he just rents it out to anyone willing to pay for it. But, that's not why we're here."

And with that Jimmy led him inside the warmth of the shop, a bounce in his step. Thomas followed.

A tall, skinny man with brown hair and spectacles was sweeping the floor of hair trimmings when they came in. He reminded Thomas strongly of Alfred.

"Jimmy Kent? Is that you?"

Jimmy smiled politely and shook the bespectacled man's hand. Pleasantries were exchanged; the man of course was Robert Worth, but he didn't sound particularly warm towards Jimmy at all—knowing Jimmy, he'd probably been rude to Mr. Worth once or twice before, and never apologized.

Jimmy introduced Thomas as his "very dear friend," which made Mr. Worth look at him twice.

Not one for friends at all, were you Jimmy, Thomas thought fondly.

"Anyway, we're just here to check on my things, see about selling a thing or two to Mr. Barrow, here," Jimmy said smoothly. "I need the key if you would, Mr. Worth."

"Oh, yes, got it right here," Mr. Worth pulled a large brass key ring off his belt and handed it to Jimmy.

Jimmy led Thomas to a room in the back of the shop, which obviously served as a little office. Beyond the desk and chair there was another, larger room, which Jimmy unlocked to reveal a plethora of furniture, boxes, dishes, and other assorted items stacked tightly together.

"Since Mr. Worth was so fond of me dad and mum, I managed to convince him to let me use this room to store me parent's things," Jimmy explained. "For a small fee, of course. See the furniture? Nice, isn't it? When me mum ran off with me dad she took some things with her to sell, you know, since she knew she'd be disowned for it in any case. Her and me dad used some of the money to buy good china, nice furniture, things like that. I thought that meant that we were wealthy, when I was a boy…" Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head at the memory.

Thomas found a large, ornate music box sitting on small oak table. There were vines and flowers carved into it, and it gleamed even in the dim light. Sometimes people had brought music boxes into his father's workshop to be repaired, since they were made of clockwork, but Thomas had never seen one so beautiful. It must have cost a fortune.

"That was me mother's," Jimmy said. "She loved it—she'd play it for me when I couldn't sleep. I thought about taking it with me to Lady Anstruther's, but I were afraid I'd break it, so I left it here."

"May I?"

Jimmy nodded.

Thomas opened the box, and the familiar notes of "Silent Night" began to play.

They listened until the song ended, then Thomas shut the lid carefully. "This is all wonderful Jimmy," Thomas said. "But why exactly did you want to show me all this?"

Jimmy looked away, and Thomas sensed he was embarrassed. "I wanted to show you that, even though I don't have a lot of money saved, I do have something to contribute." Jimmy said. "If you and I ever wanted to leave Downton someday… I'd be able to help is what I mean. We wouldn't have to buy furniture or china or anything, not with all this."

Thomas stared at him, his heart swelling up in his chest. Jimmy had been thinking of them in the future, of a life together on their own?

"That's—that's good of you, Jimmy," Thomas said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I love it—I'd love to, to go somewhere with you and take all this with us. It'd be lovely."

A beautiful smile spread across Jimmy's face, and he blushed.

They left the barbershop to eat lunch in a café downtown, and when they were finished Thomas asked Jimmy if a tour of the city were in order, or if they'd go back to Downton now. All in all it had been a wonderful day. The best.

"Oh, but there's one more thing I've come here to do," Jimmy said. "It's—it's stupid, really, but it's important."

Jimmy led Thomas to a flower shop. He bought a lovely bouquet of flowers tied up with white ribbon, and when he saw them Thomas suspected he knew where they were going next. He was right: after the flower shop Jimmy took him to an old church on the outskirts of town, one that stood near a little wood with the usual scattering of graves in the yard. Jimmy walked the path with purpose to a modest double headstone near a crumbling wall, and stopped. "James and Maria Kent" were the names written there. Jimmy stared at them for a moment in silence, then he gently placed the bouquet on the stone.

Thomas stood back a respectful distance, thinking Jimmy would prefer privacy. But almost immediately Jimmy huffed in annoyance and waved Thomas forward. When Thomas was standing side-by-side with him Jimmy took his gloved hand in his, gripping it firmly.

"This is Thomas Barrow," Jimmy said to the stone.

Thomas was too shocked to move. He glanced at Jimmy sideways and found a deadly serious expression on his face, his cheeks red and his jaw tight. He'd told Thomas once he reckoned dead people were just gone, and that they weren't watching over anyone or any of that rot. So why was he doing this now?

"I know you probably wouldn't understand," Jimmy went on. "Well, you might, Mum—but I love him. I love Thomas. I didn't think I'd ever love anyone besides the two of you, but I did. Just—just thought you should meet him."

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed.

"I wasn't happy with myself for a long time," Jimmy continued, and now Thomas could hear the depth of emotion in his voice, the way it was starting to crack. "But he… he changed me mind. He saved me life. He's quite clever, really—" Jimmy laughed a little, and squeezed Thomas's hand. "He knows what he's about, and he's helped me to see what I'm about, and he makes me happy. So happy. He's… he's the dearest thing in the world to me."

Thomas felt he would weep. His throat ached and his eyes stung, but he held it back by force of will. He'd never expected such a thing from anyone before—never expected it from Jimmy. Suddenly he felt lucky, blessed even, for the first time in his life. He'd always felt the universe was against him, ever since he was a little child, but now… perhaps he'd been wrong, perhaps it had all been worth it, if it had been leading up to this.

Before Jimmy could say another word Thomas embraced him, right there in the churchyard. He didn't even care if anyone saw; nothing was more important than holding Jimmy now, and telling him how much he loved him, how much Thomas would always love him.

Embraces were what churchyards were for, in any case.

He heard Jimmy sniffle a bit. "Alright, alright, that's—that's enough, then," he mumbled awkwardly. "I just thought I should tell them, in case they can hear me somehow. And I thought—I thought I should say it to you in front of them, to show you I really mean it. I'm not going to hurt you again."

Thomas pulled back so he could look at Jimmy. God, he was beautiful like that, his face flushed and his mouth vulnerable and soft. Jimmy could be soppy as anything until he realized what he was doing, and grew embarrassed. He was like that now, dropping his eyes and shuffling his feet.

Thomas loved him so much it hurt.

"I know you really mean it, Jimmy," Thomas said. "I've known it since you told me to brave like you."

Jimmy laughed, turning away from the churchyard and starting back up the path. "You did not, you smug bastard!"

Thomas smiled so wide his cheeks ached. "Did too," he insisted, following Jimmy's lead.