Thomas Barrow, Jimmy Kent, Downton Abbey
Title: The Holiday
Warning: Language and explcit sex
Jimmy trudged after Thomas. If I have to climb one more hill in the rain or look at another farm house built in 1658 or hear another poem by Lord Alfred Fucking Whatshisface, I'm going to drown myself in the 'lovely lake at the foot of Scaffel Pike.'
When Thomas had suggested a small cottage in the Lake District as their first holiday together, Jimmy was a bit disappointed. He wanted to try London. A cozy bed and breakfast. Some late night, all night, fucking after coming home from one of those clubs he heard Lady Rose and her friends talk about. Miles away from stuffy, confining Downton Abbey.
Well, I'm miles away from Downton alright.
He lost his footing and skidded on his ass down the steep path just missing Thomas as he tried to grab at his leg to stop his embarrassing slide.
"Jesus Christ, Thomas, stop laughing and help me up."
Thomas sidestepped down towards him and took his arm.
"I'm sorry, but I saw your face as you flew by."
"Yes, very funny I'm sure. You could have told me we were going to act like mountain goats. I would have brought boots. You're going to buy me a new suit and shoes after this."
"Fine. Let's go back to the cottage and get you dried out."
Oh yes, the cottage. First, it had cost them almost a quid - a QUID - for the taxi from the station. "Where the fuck is this place, Thomas? Scotland?" What had he called it? Simple living in a pastoral setting. More like hell with no heat, just rising damp. Their first day had been enough of an adventure that Jimmy would have been willing to pay two quid to get to a train to take him back to Downton. When he opened the wardrobe to hang up his clothes a rat the size of a dog flung itself at him.
"Jimmy, it's a mouse. And you scared it. Get down from the bed."
And the bed. Let's talk about the bed. The linen was fresh, at least, but the frame itself was a single, not much bigger than a cot, while the mattress overhung it on either side by a good six inches. In the middle of the night he turned over and rolled right off onto the floor. He heard his earlier nemesis the rat scurry away. Rats can't laugh, can they?
The next morning he washed and shaved, then got dressed as he waited for Thomas to finish.
"Why didn't you shave?"
"I thought I'd grow a beard for the week we're here. I'm tired of shaving every day."
I blame Lady Rose and all those bohemian assholes she brings around.
"Really? It'll be like kissing a cactus."
"Perhaps. But think what a beard will feel like in places other than your face."
Hmm. He has a point.
"If I'm ever lucky enough to get a chance to experience it without suffering a concussion when you knock me off the bed and my head hits the floor."
Now in their third day, as he limped back to the cottage Jimmy looked sideways at Thomas. The beard, such as it was, didn't suit him. It was patchy, like someone had glued some sort of animal hair randomly to his face.
"You know, that beard gives you a more mature look. Especially the bits of grey."
Thomas stopped dead in his tracks.
"There's no grey. Is there?"
"Just a little." Jimmy reached over. "Here and here and here. Sort of reminds me of my grandfather."
"Your ... your what?"
"My grandfather. He was quite a distinguished-looking old gentleman."
Thomas started to walk again.
"I was thinking of shaving it off. It itches more than I expected and it keeps catching on my collar."
"Well, if you want to. Although ... Better yet, I could shave it for you."
"I don't know ..."
"I mean, get the fire going, we strip down, then I lather your face, sit on your lap and ...."
"I don't need to strip to get a shave."
"You really aren't listening, are you. I sit on your lap."
"Do you think you can move a little faster. It's like walking with Bates."
A nod to crocodilepatronus and mcabby80 because they wanted the shaving in Mistaken Intentions to happen. This was going to be a one of but I decided to save the shave itself for a later post.