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There was a bite to the breeze that drove the waves crashing against the shore. The cold, fresh air tasted as though it had never been inhaled by another man. It held a promise of autumn. Too cold a bluster to belong to even the dreariest July day, yet the sun still possessed the strength to dispel it when the clouds parted. The chill prompted Thomas to pull his jacket tighter, warding off the gusts as they walked barefoot along the sand.
Thomas knew a great deal about time. The winding of a clock, the rhythm of a day, the passing of the seasons—each marked by mundane tasks that signposted the passing of a year within the walls of the grand house. It had been a year since the royal visit. Had you asked him that morning, Thomas would have considered a year a lifetime spent waiting for the post, hoping to recognize the familiar handwriting on an envelope. Ask him now, and he'd say it was no time at all. How effortlessly they had fallen back into step beside each other, smiling and talking about everything and nothing at all.
"Shall we sit?" Richard smiled, gesturing to the dunes of sand. Warm here beneath their feet where the sun had peeked through, winning a silent battle with the breeze.
"It's nice here," Thomas replied, leaning back to recline on the sand, no doubt ruining his suit jacket. He surrendered to the moment, content to let the world wash over him. The gentle crash of waves, the rustling of tall dune grasses, and the gulls circling above, calling out their songs on the wind.
"Imagine living here," Richard mused, drawing Thomas's gaze. He lay on his side, watching him. Thomas smirked under his scrutiny.
"You'd get bored," Thomas teased, a playful glint in his eyes as he turned to face Richard fully.
"Not if you were here," Richard countered, his voice soft and earnest, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Then we'd both be bored."
"I doubt that very much, Mr. Barrow." Richard smirked, drawing idle circles against the palm of Thomas's hand, eyes fixed there thoughtfully. "I've missed you."
"Letters aren't the same, are they?" Thomas sighed, returning his eyes to the cloudy sky. They'd both been so busy. Thomas found running Downton offered little free time. Richard's job had him moving around the country so often that he never seemed to sit still long enough to make plans. They'd tried numerous times, but their schedules clashed, days off never aligned, things came up, and time moved on without them.
"I treasure them, though." He smiled. "But I'd rather hear the words you write from your lips."
"Sometimes I thought I'd dreamed you. Like you'd never existed at all." Thomas mused, how could he possibly deserve a man like Richard? How could he ever hope to keep him?
"I'll have to give you more to remember me by this time."
Remember him by, Thomas thought. Was this to be it—a day every year, every two years, till he was just a memory, a shadow from the past? Thomas held enough ghosts close to add another. Leaving him this time would feel like losing him.
He sat upright, flakes of sand falling back to the ground beneath him. Eyes fixed ahead, he refused to meet Richard's gaze.
"Thomas, let's not leave it another year," Richard urged, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. "It doesn't have to be here—anywhere, as long as you're with me. Let's find a cottage someplace where no one knows us or cares how we spend our days. Just don't leave me waiting on the post," he pleaded, his hand reaching out to gently turn Thomas's face towards him.
Thomas froze, heart hammering, unsure if trusting his ears was wise. He'd misread things before. Assumed love where lust or friendship lay. He'd loved men who'd promised him forever only to leave without a trace, loved men he'd never hold, loved men that made him small, who asked for no name and were gone with the morning sun. He'd fallen easily, jumped at hope, crushed again and again. He didn't trust himself.
"Don't tease me, Richard," he spoke. Richard's hand still rested against his cheek. The weather at least had driven the tourists and locals alike from the beach. Secluded and quiet, theirs for a moment.
"I'm serious, Thomas. Opening your letters is the highlight of my week." His eyes scanned the beach before he leaned in, mere inches from his lips. Thomas could feel his breath escape with each word. "I fear I'm falling for you, Mr. Barrow, with every word you wrote."
"You're daft." Thomas smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek, caught and rubbed away by Richard's thumb.
"It's tragic, really, isn't it? Falling for a man I've only kissed once. You must think me terribly foolish to hope you might feel the same after so long apart."
"I'd never think you foolish." Thomas smiled, closing the distance to press his lips to Richard's. Gentle at first, a soft brush. It was all it took to break his careful restraint. His hands found the fabric of Richard's jacket, and he clutched it, pushing Richard gently back against the sand. Thomas settled over him, bodies pressed together as his hands wandered, following the seams of his jacket.
Risky and stupid, maybe, where anyone could see. But this moment, Thomas thought, was worth any jail sentence. The thrill of it, the sheer audacity. Richard's hands roamed as well, fingers threading through Thomas's hair, pulling him closer. They wandered further, the heat of his touch seeping through the thick fabric of his jacket.
A noise escaped someone's lips; Thomas couldn't quite tell whose. Too lost in the moment to care. It drew a smile to Richard's lips, and Thomas laughed, pulling back. His face flushed, eyes wide, smile wider.
"You must think me terribly foolish," Thomas smirked. "To fall for a man I've only kissed twice."