Work Text:
York, 1932
Richard paced the shop, straightening things that he had already straightened, and had been straight before he started wearing a hole in the floor. Mum always said he was a dreadful fidget. He’d thought he had grown out of it as an adult, but something about the man he was waiting for threw all his still-and-silent service training out the window. It had been five years since Thomas Barrow had rolled into his life—or, rather, he had rolled into Thomas’—and since then he had had to re-evaluate every facet of his existence. If someone had told him before that summer that he would be making a prank phone call at the behest of a virtual stranger to sabotage his own boss, taking that stranger on a date (or attempting to) and breaking that stranger out of jail before stealing one kiss and falling arse-over-teakettle in love via letter, Richard would have asked if they were feeling alright. But there was something about Thomas that made him feel anything was possible. That he could be daring and clever and proud the way that Thomas was, instead of wasting away with nothing but the plausible deniability of a life in service. And now was the time to act.
Five years had been far too long already. The thought of some charming guest coming through Downton and offering to sweep the Crawleys' butler off to the continent, to live the high life in some bohemian paradise was a far-fetched but chillingly frequent nightmare. After all, a man wouldn’t have to offer all of that to be a temptation compared to Richard. All he would have to offer was something more than infrequent, short-notice visits in York and carefully couched letters. But maybe, just maybe, if he could make this work and spit out the right words in the right order, then they could make a proper go of it. Maybe a little antique shop and an old Yorkshire lad would be enough. It was all new to him and far from perfect, but perhaps he could make it perfect. If Thomas could even find the place. Perhaps he should be in the flat? No, definitely the shop, he had told Thomas to use the front door when he had given the address. Good Lord, the lights were on and the blinds up. People could probably see him pacing around in here like a nutter—
A half-gloved hand rapped smartly on the window. Thomas had changed little in the years they had known each other. Only a few more grey hairs, a few more fine lines marked the passage of time. Everything about him was beautiful, from his morning-sky eyes to his dimples to his elegant, clever hands. Richard had never dared to keep a picture of him. There was no privacy in the Royal Household.
“What’s all this then?” Thomas asked, as soon as Richard let him in.
“Hello to you too.”
Thomas fixed him with an unimpressed stare. He wilted a little.
“I…um…Did I tell you my uncle Owen passed? Well, he weren’t actually me uncle…”
“Your family friend. Yes, you did.” Thomas’ eyes softened, his fingers gently brushing down Richard’s sleeve. “This is his place, is it?”
“Well, actually, now it’s my place. I suppose I sell antiques these days.”
“You left?” It took him a moment to place Thomas’ tone as concern. Though they had been together for so long, the vast majority of their interaction had taken place via letter. It bothered him, that so many parts of the love of his life were still inscrutable.
“That was as high as I was ever gonna rise, and I didn’t plan on bein’ there forever. I wanted to be closer to my family.” He swallowed. “Closer to you.”
Thomas turned away and for a moment Richard could have sworn he had tears in his eyes. But then he pulled down all the blinds and grinned at him. “Well I s’pose I know what I’m doing with all my half-days now, Mr. Ellis.”
His stomach flipped. The idea that he would be able to see Thomas more than a few times a year hadn’t truly sunk in, even though that was the whole point of everything. It was sinking in now, as Thomas approached him like a predator stalking prey and crowded him up against the wall. He tasted like cigarettes and felt like joy. Their kisses turned desperate almost instantly, fingers tangling in hair and in clothing. Richard hadn’t planned to make love to him right there in the shop, but God—
“Let’s have a tour, then,” Thomas said airily, only his kiss-bitten lips giving the slightest indication that anything was amiss.
Richard groaned, his entire body reaching within the confines of his skin. “You’re a bloody tease.”
“Now, now, Mr. Ellis. When I got on a train this evening, I was convinced I was havin’ a sordid affair with the King’s Royal Dresser. Now I’m informed that I am, in fact the lover of a shop-keep from York, and I haven’t even seen his shop.”
“Sounds like you’ve come down in the world.” He had meant it to come out jokingly. It didn’t quite work.
Thomas’ face softened into that sweet look he seemed to keep only for Richard. “On the contrary. I’ve risen from livin’ off of gossip-less letters to havin’ all this,” he ran a finger down the line of Richard’s waistcoat buttons, “within reach. So go on, show us around.”
It was easy for a moment, to guide Thomas around through the inventory he only had half a handle on. The man looked like nothing so much as a cat with his tail in the air, scrutinizing small furniture and knick-knacks and occasionally pawing at things. Until he found an 18th century music box and lost his mind over the clockwork. Richard was treated to a diatribe about the lack of quality in modern ones that carried on through the office, back to the front and halfway up the stairs, through which he grinned to himself and nodded politely.
The wind went out of his sails when they reached the top. This was the hard part.
“Thing is, about the flat…” he started, “Um, Uncle Owen left most of the contents to my cousins. So it’s a little sparse.”
A little sparse as in it had a small table with two mismatched chairs and an old mattress from his parents’ house. He was currently using a curtain rod to hang his clothes. His lover laughed when he saw the completely empty living room.
“You can say that again. It’s a good size, though. You’ll make somethin’ of it yet.”
Can we make something of it? Richard thought. All the things he had planned to say had left his head and his palms were sweating.
Thomas made a little noise of approval when they reached the kitchen, peeking in the refrigerator before remarking that the bright-green walls were “a bit much.”
“A future project.” What colour would you like them to be? “D’you want to see my favourite room?”
“Does it have a bed in it?”
Richard chuckled. “No. We’ll save that one for last. C’mon.” He took Thomas’ hand and led him down the hall. He flicked on the light to the black-and-white tiled bathroom and the monstrous tub it contained.
Thomas’ eyes widened. “It’s huge. We could both fit in that thing with room to spare.”
“That we could. Lord knows what Uncle Owen did with it.”
“Probably the same thing we’re gonna do, if I’ve gotten the right impression of him.”
Richard wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t need to think about that.” He wondered vaguely if his nephews would grow up to think of him as sexless. On the whole, he rather hoped they did.
Thomas smirked. “We’ll leave it alone for tonight, then. Bed?”
“Bed.”
Richard led the way to the master bedroom, worrying his bottom lip. He felt a bit like an actor adrift without his lines. Was it supposed to be this difficult, after so long? If one of them were a woman, they would have married ages ago. They might have managed a kid or two by this point. But they weren’t and they hadn’t, and settling down wasn’t usually an option for men like them. Richard had, until recently, convinced himself that he didn’t want such things. That there was no sense in thinking of them, let alone trying to ape them. What if that was how Thomas felt?
Thomas didn’t comment on the milk-crate nightstand, just toed his shoes off and flopped backwards onto the mattress. He looked so beautiful in the lamplight. Richard wanted to pin him down and run his hands through greying dark hair, to demand ‘stay here with me’ and hear ‘of course I will.’ He settled for crawling between his splayed legs and resting his head on his chest. All of Thomas’ limbs folded up to keep him there, warm and engulfed, the soft drag of leather across his jaw.
“Are you happy with all this?” Thomas asked softly.
“I don’t know yet,” he said, surprised at his own honesty. “I think I could be.” With you.
“That’s somethin’, at least.” He paused for a long moment, massaging Richard’s neck. “I wish you’d told me what you were doing.”
“I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t want to tell you I’d be here and then not…not be brave enough to go through with it.”
Thomas squeezed him. “I’d never begrudge you your career. We talked about this.”
“I was miserable, and you know it.” It was like dropping a weight, finally admitting it in so many words. It had been so strange, sitting on the kitchen counter in his robe that first morning, because it was his flat and he was bloody well allowed. Strange, knowing that he could let his face do what it wanted for the most part now. Strange to be just some bloke with a junk shop, and no one watching.
“I still wouldn’t begrudge you it.”
“I know. I thought of sellin’ this place, I really did. I don’t even know how to run a shop.” Richard huffed a self-deprecating laugh into Thomas’ shirt. “But I couldn’t pass up the chance to be closer to you. I’m tired of livin’ off letters. It weren’t much of a choice, in the end.”
“You…you packed up your life, you did all this…” Thomas trailed of, swallowing loudly in the quiet of the room.
“For you? I s’pose I did.”
“Jesus Christ, Richard.”
“Is that bad?”
“No…I just…Are you sure?”
Richard nodded, digging his fingers under the edge of Thomas’ waistcoat. “You make me happy. I miss you so much, all the time, and I just want…I just want…” He pressed his face into his lover’s neck and hoped that the message got across.
Thomas laid a kiss in his hair and rocked him almost imperceptibly in his arms. “If I had my way, I’d never leave you, sweetheart,” he whispered.
“Then don’t.” He raised himself up to look Thomas in the eyes. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I understand if it’s too much,” he finally remembered some of his rehearsed speech, “but would you come and run the shop with me?” He licked his lips. “Live with me here?”
“You’re willing to risk it?” The skepticism hurt, merited though it was.
“Yes,” he said in a small voice. He ran his fingers through Thomas’ hair, breaking up the pomade so it fell across his forehead. “Maybe it’s foolish, but you make me feel like we could do anything. We’d have to say we were cousins or somethin’, but…I just want to be with you. It’s all I want.”
His lover bumped their noses together, resting there for a long moment while he collected himself. “God, when you say it like that I’d follow you to the moon, wouldn’t I?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Thomas kissed him, lingering but shallow, his grin never leaving him. They didn’t leave their make-shift bed until morning, when they parted with a promise to come back the moment that Downton had a new butler. The goodbye that usually felt so bitter was easier now. It was goodbye for a month or so, not some vague promise to see each other again in half a year. And then it would be every day. Every day with their flat and their shop and their lives, and with a little luck and ingenuity, maybe, just maybe, they could get away with it. He mentioned his second-cousin to the neighbour the very next day.