I am never explaining how much war booty Nick collected... as much as he could carry without being a jangling mess when the other soldiers declared he was to scout ahead because he is a tiny little rat so of course the Germans won’t notice. ....Nick doesn’t talk to his war buddies...
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"I can’t believe it’s been a year. I haven’t finished painting the couch," Nick said, glancing over to the blue-green-black-brown wood framing the faded flowerprint cushions.
"I still think it would look better in black," Peter said.
"I like the green," Nick said.
"Best get to enjoying the red," Peter said as he poured wine for Nick and then himself.
"To another year! And as many as we can manage after that! Maybe next year we’re have a lovely manor," Nick remarked as he held up a glass.
If only they could get a more comfortable life. They were often too tired to get much of anything done. But it was comfortable enough. But they were together. That was what was important.
”Are you thinking of Downton?”
"Well, I don’t think I’d have to have Downton, just somewhere big and gigantic in the middle of nowhere. Where no one can complain we’re too noisy." Nick took a small sip of wine.
"You finally learned not to drink yourself stupid," Peter said. Nick nudged Peter.
"I learned a lot more than that!" Nick said. Nick wiggled a little as he settled himself against Peter’s shoulder.
“I learned to say I love you without getting all weird about it,” Nick said.
“That you did,” Peter nodded.
“I’m still not soppy, though,” Nick teased.
“You’re soppy enough,” Peter said as put down his glass.
Nick squealed as Peter tickled him along the sides of his chest, nearly dropping his glass. He shakily put down his glass, getting into another fit of giggles--the sort of giggles he always insisted he didn’t have.
He wiggled around and kissed Peter’s neck. Nick’s fingers worked their way below his lover’s shirt. Peter laughed. They squirmed and giggled, knowing all too well each other’s most ticklish spots.
“Oh!” Nick gasped as he heard something fall to the ground.
He glanced over to see the picture frame that had fallen off the end table. Nick picked it up.
The photograph inside had been ripped in half and mangled and battered and rained upon and rubbed and then attempted to be taped back together, but it was precious just the same. How they had shouted when they found each other during the war and put it back together. It had to mean something that they found each other by chance after all those years.
Nick ran his fingers against the faded outline of his face in the photograph.
“This picture makes me a feel a bit old,” Nick remarked.
“You can barely see what you look like in this picture,” Peter said.
Peter wrapped his arms around Nick.
“Besides, your hair is much nicer now that you don’t put so much pomade into it.” Peter ruffled Nick’s hair.
“But I’ve got three gray hairs!” Nick complained.
“Eight,” Peter teased.
“Hmph,” Nick scowled.
“You’re still handsome to me,” Peter said as he kissed Nick on the cheek.
“But I’m not getting any younger,” Nick said.
“You’re not planning to do something silly to look younger are you?” Peter said, “You’re not allowed to copy the styles of those youngsters down the street.”
“No. No. Not that,” Nick rolled his eyes.
“Good,” Peter said.
“I want us to go spend good time together. You and me can go on a vacation. To see the water,” Nick said, “And a nice pretty place.”
“How are we going to afford that?” Peter asked, “You can’t build a trip on stolen picnic blankets.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I got enough. I’ve saved some,” Nick said, “And-and I-I got rid of my, um, trophies.”
“You said you nearly died getting that luger!” Peter murmured in wonder as he noticed the shelf where Nick put his war souvenirs was completely empty. He avoided looking at it in the first place. The less he had to think about the war, the better.
“Yeah… But the war was… those aren’t good memories. I’m not ever going to want to go back to some bloody foxhole in France,” Nick said, “I never want to do that again.”
Peter nodded quietly. How the war lingered in his mind. He tried not to think about it, but sometimes it just creeped its way in. That deep dread and fear. Sometimes even Nick’s best efforts didn’t pull him back to the present. And then Nick would grow scared and become cross and everything became worse.
“We’re going to make good memories. We’re going to collect sea shells and get ice cream,” Nick said as he kissed Peter.
fandom: Downton Abbey
pairing/warnings: Thomas Barrow x Peter and smut cuz “they nasty” LMAOO
author’s notes: birthday present for random-hallboy aka dreamhusband-thewarlock hey gorl sorry its not even that long but yeah also writing other people’s OCs is a terrifying thing so I’m really sorry if I fucked up real bad omg
summary: modern AU. Night only felt real to Peter when the hours were shared in that man’s bed.
also on ao3 (i’d actually recommend reading it there because tumblr fucks up text post formatting a little bit and i tried to fix it as best as I could but it might still be a little wonky blegh)
How many weeks had they been seeing eachother. When had it all begun. It was so hard to remember.
Days blurred together smudged and deformed by their monotony, by the exhaustion, by the late night shifts that bled into mornings where he found himself still awake and standing outside a bar, smoking a cigarette he didn’t remember lighting. Other mornings were spent in the college library, forgetting to blink as the printer cycled and spit out warm copies of his essays, the print barely drying before he handed them in at his morning seminar.
What was ‘night’? The blinks of sleep in between his second and third class? It couldn’t be the weekday late P.M. hours spent under the synthetic sun of the flourescent lights in the convenience store he worked the late shift at. And the time between when he flopped down on the stiff mattress in his dorm room and when his alarm clock went off felt like it lasted mere minutes.
It was as if night didn’t exist unless invited by its harbinger, Thomas Barrow. It seemed fitting. Thomas himself was dark- hair as black and smooth as a raven’s wings and eyes the color of the sea on a cloudy day. And for Peter, Thomas only existed in the witching hours of late weekend nights, shrouded by shadows and smoke. Night only felt real to Peter when those hours were shared in that man’s bed.
When they’d first met, Peter had thought he might be rich. He dressed well and he carried himself with a sort of arrogance that nearly seemed aristocratic. The watch he wore was expensive and he dressed for a job that made good pay. And maybe he did, but Peter had soon deduced that Thomas was neither rich or an aristocrat. His apartment was small and barren. It was impersonal and the furnishings were cheap, though not decrepit. At first he’d wondered if the apartment was just one of many- if Thomas was actually a married man who only had affairs with younger, prettier, men in the privacy of his secret loft on weekends. But it didn’t seem like that was the case- little items of intimacy- like the framed picture of family members that seemed to stand stiffly in his living room more like an obligation than a sentiment; or the nail clippers and cold medicine in the bathroom cupboard; and the rust starting to collect on one side of his toaster… all these things that Peter would notice when Thomas was asleep and couldn’t see him trailing his fingertips along them, all spoke to the idea that this was where Thomas lived and slept everynight.
Peter felt he knew that apartment better than he knew his own dorm room, better than he remembered his parents’ house, better than he knew the back of his own hand. He could close his eyes and conjure up the faint smell of cigarette ash that lingered in every fabric there. During the week slogging through the mud that seeped into his shoes and clung wet and cold to his socks, he could long for the soft warmth of being wrapped in Thomas’s comforter, pressed up against the heat of his back.
Despite that, he knew very little about Thomas. And Thomas knew very little about him. He didn’t know where Thomas worked or how old he was exactly or why he’d seemed so lonely when they’d first met. He didn’t know why sometimes Thomas’s smiles seemed so hesitant and careful that it was like looking at Peter was opening old wounds in him. And in turn Thomas didn’t ask him where he went to school, why he didn’t have a boyfriend there, or why his hands were so callused and littered with paper cuts (it was a combination of handy work part time jobs and careless paper shuffling on the way to classes). He only asked if Peter wanted to stay the night, if he wanted coffee when it was six a.m and he had, if he liked it when he touched him in certain places….
Peter, to his own surprise, liked it better that way. Only with Thomas did he feel the same comfort that he did in solitude- a feeling of mutual understanding that didn’t need to manifest itself in words or performative gestures. Thomas’s apartment was both a sanctuary and an adventure. Things had happened quickly between them, tumbling from stolen glances across a dimly lit room to Thomas’s knuckles brushing the back of his wrist, to Peter’s fingers mapping the feeling of the sleek fabric of the suit pants wrapped around Thomas’s thighs, an exchange of names and phone numbers. An address, that Peter would memorize the following week, repeating it in his own mind like an oath as he trudged through his daily routines.
Peter wondered if he was stupid, to have gone to meet someone he knew nothing about but he’d always been like that- diving headfirst into whatever could add a spark of excitement to a duty filled and often tedious lifestyle. And Peter wasn’t afraid of anything. He chased after Thomas for the way he’d looked at him, captivated and with parted lips, as he’d lit his cigarette, and the dimples that showed on his face when he flashed a genuine smile, crooked and inherently naughty on those red lips. He’d been rewarded with sex that made his head go numb and leave his body tingling with the happy and often still sore, after effects of it, for days afterwards, and many more genuine smiles which seemed to only increase with frequency the longer Peter knew Thomas. Peter was head over heels for him though he’d never said so.
The text came at 5 P.M. on Friday. “Come over tonight?” Sometimes it came earlier, sometimes later, sometimes on Saturdays and other times on Sundays. At 5 Peter was walking out of his last class and when his phone vibrated a grin split across his face.
His school was thankfully a short but exhilirating bike ride away from the apartment building. He always ended up flushed and out of breath by the time he buzzed up to the room.
“Hello?” Thomas’s voice came across the speaker, so business like sounding it was almost comical to Peter. He pressed his forehead against the wall, catching his breath.
“It’s me. Let me up.” he took a quick glance around the lobby before leaning close to the intercom and whispering against it “and I’m horny as anything so get the candles lit and the rose petals scattered on the bed before I get up there.”
He heard a breath of laughter, fuzzy through the intercom speaker, before the loud buzz of the door opening for him.
Peter was jittery in the elevator, nearly jogged to Thomas’s door, but didn’t feel out of breath until it opened and Thomas stood in front of him, white dress shirt half unbuttoned already and dark hair falling in front of his eyes. His pupils were already blown wide, his slacks tight with his erection and color in his cheeks. The door was barely closed behind Peter before his back was pressed against it, Thomas’s hands clawing up his back and his mouth hungrily devouring his.
Peter’s hands fumbled with the buttons on Thomas’s shirt. He hated them. He wanted to rip his shirt open down the front and rake his hands down the dark hair on his chest but he didn’t want to ruin another one of Thomas’s shirts. Thomas’s thigh pressed between his legs and he felt his cock twitch in response. He groaned against his mouth and ripped the final two buttons on his shirt open, smirking as Thomas made a sound of disapproval that was muffled by the intensity of their kiss.
Peter was a good inch taller than Thomas but their builds were different- Peter was strong but lithe and graceful looking while Thomas was broad shouldered. When he pressed against Peter, he felt the weight of his body warm and heavy and smothering in the best way possible. His mouth too, was hot and his lips soft but demanding against his own.
Their bodies were pressed flush against eachother, Thomas had lifted Peter’s shirt up and he could feel the tickle of Thomas’s chest hair against his skin which felt electrified and overly sensitive. Thomas was eager, nearly desperate. He sometimes was. It was nice, Peter thought. He liked having him at his mercy a bit. He was forcing their mouths together with such force he could barely catch his breath and his lips were already going numb. He wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist and gave his bum a hard pinch to get his attention. Thomas pulled back, panting and god, those gorgeously red lips swollen and open for him as he caught his breath.
“Patience is a virtue.” Peter clicked his tongue and placed his hand in the center of Thomas’s chest, taking a moment to stroke the coarse black hair that was as abundant as fur there before pushing him gently to take a step back so there was enough space between them for him to get on his knees.
Thomas’s body was soon bent over, one arm held against the door to support him as Peter took his cock in his mouth.
Peter loved a lot about Thomas, a lot about sex with Thomas, but the taste and weight of his cock on his tongue was very high up on the list. He made sure to look up at Thomas through his eyelashes as he pulled out until his lips were only kissing the tip before taking him deeper again, his lips forming a perfect o shape around him.
“I’ve been wanting this all week…” Thomas groaned, gently curling his hand against the back of Peter’s neck and guiding his head foreward.
Peter nearly stopped what he was doing. That was a first. Usually they didn’t say much during this portion of the evening unless it was dirty talk. He felt his heart do a nauseatingly sudden backflip. If he hadn’t had a cock in his mouth he was sure he’d have blurted out “I feel the same way! I think about you every week, basically all the time. It’s actually the only thing that keeps me going some days!” like an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot, he chided himself in his head to keep himself from doing so. Thomas had stopped talking and gone back to wordless whimpering, so Peter chalked the outburst up to being a fluke.
“A-ah.. fffuck…” Thomas’s fingernails dug insistently into the back of Peter’s neck, drawing his mouth faster across his length. Peter pulled out enough so that when Thomas finally came, gasping and pulling at Peter’s hair, his cum pooled in the center of his tongue.
Thomas was a wreck. He smoothed his hair out of his face with one hand but his chest was trembling from the ragged breaths he was taking. Peter stood up and made sure to flash him his most self satisfied smirk. He didn’t have long to keep it there though before Thomas was kissing him again, as passionately as ever, this time with his hands stroking his face as he did so.
Thomas’s hands were nothing like Peter’s- they were unimaginably soft and callous free. When he pawed at Peter, trailing his fingertips down his neck to his collarbone and rubbing his thumb in a circle over his nipple, it felt like being petted with silk. When his hand dipped lower, following the trail of hair on Peter’s stomach and then palming his cock- that was heaven. Like being wrapped in cool, rose petal, smoothness tugging him and coaxing him hard in all the right places.
Peter opened his mouth when Thomas pulled away to catch his breath. He wanted to speak- thought it rude to leave Thomas’s previous comment without a reply.
“I-“
“Let’s go to the bed.”
Peter closed his mouth. “…right.” he said, trying not to sound miffed at all. Didn’t matter anyway, as Thomas had already turned around and started walking for the bedroom.
Peter pushed it from his mind. It was easy to do when he walked into the bedroom and Thomas was stripping down naked. He really was beautiful. And not in the same way that other men had called Peter beautiful. Peter had never been particularly attentive to his own looks but he wasn’t unaware of the fact that he was, as he’d joked before ‘the poor, gay, man’s abercrombie and fitch model’ and maybe not even a very poor man, at the very least he’d give himself credit for being an upper middle class man’s abercrombie and fitch model. But there was something very out of the ordinary about Thomas’s looks. Something almost garish about the wide, red, cut of that crimson mouth and the sharp, deep set angles of his cheekbones, the stark edges of his profile and aquiline nose. He was captivating.
Even more so when he was sat on the edge of his bed, working his cock roughly in one hand, and looking Peter directly in the eye while doing so.
He looked so serious about it Peter almost wanted to laugh at him. But he wouldn’t. He’d always got the feeling that Thomas took some things rather seriously to the point of sensitivity. Maybe that’s why he’d looked lonely when they’d first started seeing eachother. Peter never wanted to hurt Thomas. In fact, he wanted to give him everything he wanted. If only he knew what that was exactly.
At that moment his current need seemed fairly obvious. Peter stood in front of him, trailing his fingertips down the curve of his cheekbones and pausing at his lips. He slid one finger between them, breath hitching at how it looked sliding in and out of his mouth. Thomas was nearly in a haze- his eyes half open and fluttering, to the same rhythm as Peter’s heartbeat it seemed. He pressed his finger deeper into his mouth, pressing down on the soft pad of his tongue.
Reluctantly he withdrew his finger, making sure to smear saliva over Thomas’s lips as he went, and used the slicked digit to begin working himself open as Thomas continued working himself hard.
It didn’t take much effort or discomfort before he was ready for Thomas and climbed onto his lap, gripping his shoulders for support as he seated himself on him.
Peter’s head spun, the same as it had been consistently for weeks since their first time together. Thomas could always hit his sweet spots on the first try it seemed and all at once his body felt like it had been doused in gasoline and lit aflame, the pool of heat starting deep in his belly and quickly spreading outward until it caused even his fingers to tremble.
“Thomas… f-fuckk…. Thomas….” it wasn’t very eloquent. Nor romantic. He had a hard time putting into words that when he was being fucked by Thomas it felt like something much more important than simply fucking. Nearly spiritual in the way he felt a sense of freedom and relief when he had his arms wrapped around Thomas’s neck and was grinding against his hips. Like that was where he was meant to be.
He arched his back until his cock was dragging across the line of hair on Thomas’s belly with every hitch of his hips. The friction scratched the underside of his shaft in a dangerously sweet mix of pleasure and discomfort.
Thomas’s hands were spreading his ass, squeezing him and guiding him up and down on his cock. His forehead pressed against the hollow of Peter’s neck and his tongue flicked against the sweat soaked skin of his chest.
He was murmuring quietly under his breath “Good… that feels so good… God… fuck…” stuttered out, hoarse, whispers that felt hot and ticklish against Peter’s skin.
Then all at once Thomas did the worst possible thing and stopped Peter, pulling out.
“Wait… wait… like this…” Thomas’s mouth slurred out between kisses against Peter’s jawline as he wrapped his arms around his waist and flipped him over. In an instant Peter was on his back, lying flat on the bed with the full weight of Thomas’s body on top of him. And god did the pressure from their cocks forced together feel good but he also felt empty.
Thomas sat up and kissed Peter once again, then gently bit his lower lip, tugging on it slightly with his teeth. Peter liked that. Made it known by whimpering in delight and crushing their mouths closer together in a bruising embrace. Thomas gripped him under the knees and pushed his legs up, opening him up for him and forcing his back against the bedframe. When their lips pulled apart he was nearly bent in half, knees up near his ears and thank God he was flexible because if he wasn’t he wouldn’t have held out when Thomas began thrusting into him with more force, driving his hips against his ass until Peter was gritting his teeth to keep from yelling.
Thomas’s hand was tugging at his erection, those soft hands quickly pulling at his cock and then ghosting across the head, his thumb lightly grazing the tip teasingly.
He was still ramming against him with a force that had Peter keening and biting the back of his hand. His whole body felt tense in that position, every muscle taut and on the edge. And Thomas was about to bring him over it.
His orgasm came like a wave rolling over him. It nearly seemed to start in his toes and work its way up until his head was fuzzy and he was moaning loudly and cumming in bursts into Thomas’s hand. He rode it out, still feeling intoxicated with the pleasure as Thomas thrust into him a few times more before tensing and then going still, pressed deeply into him as he came as well.
Peter liked this part of their meet ups. When they were both sweaty and weak in the knees and craving a cigarette. Thomas used to ask him ‘are you staying over?’ but he’d stopped asking a few weeks back. When had that been? Peter couldn’t remember and it annoyed him. He supposed it was whenever Thomas realized that he’d always say yes. Even if it meant waking up early because he and Thomas both worked even on weekends. He even liked waking up at 6 A.M. if it was done in Thomas’s bed and meant drowsy morning kisses and only slightly burnt toast that Thomas made for him.
Thomas stood up and opened the bedroom window halfway and lit a cigarette.
The first thing Peter had noticed when he’d come into the apartment was that while it may have been small and sparsely furnished, it had a nice view. Not scenic, couldn’t be scenic in the city. But it wasn’t facing the brick wall of another building the way his dorm room was. And somehow in the view from Thomas’s window, you could always see the stars even though so often the city smog seemed to obscure them.
“I was thinking of you too.” Peter said to Thomas’s back, lying on his side tangled up in the bedsheets. “All week.”
The silent felt abrasive, like it was making his skin feel itchy and uncomfortable. He wanted to crawl away. He could feel his cheeks going red.
“I mean… I really like… this. Doing this. I like seeing you.” he stammered out.
Thomas turned around by the window and he had the most charmingly shocked expression on his face Peter had ever seen in his life. His cigarette was in danger of falling out of his mouth if he wasn’t careful.
And then he smiled, one of his genuine smiles. The kind where he ducked his head and looked like for once he was struck speechless.
He sat on the edge of the bed and handed his cigarette to Peter. Peter took a drag, not taking his eyes off Thomas.
“I was a little worried I’d made a fool of myself.” he said quietly.
“With me?” Peter laughed in response. “Well…” he didn’t know where to start. Trust me, I’ve been day dreaming about you in glass like a besotted school girl, seemed to be sharing a little too much. He settled for: “Don’t worry about making a fool of yourself in front of me.”
“I was worried I’d scare you away.”
“I don’t scare very easily.”
Thomas barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he accepted the cigarette Peter handed back to him. “Sorry, it’s just… Good.” he nodded, looking privately amused. “That’s good. I’ve… not had much luck making the first move in the past.”
Peter watched his cheeks hollow around his cigarette. How he held the smoke before letting it curl from his lips, all the while tactfully ignoring Peter’s gaze. He sat up in bed, putting one arm around Thomas’s waist and pulling him close to him.
“How’s this for a first move-“ he said quietly, cupping Thomas’s face in his hand and kissing the side of his mouth, then again gently on the center of his lips before parting them with his tongue and pulling him into a deeper kiss. They both tasted like smoke. By the time they pulled away the cigarette was turning to ash in Thomas’s hand.
That night Peter didn’t sleep curled up against Thomas’s back, they slept face to face. Well- more like Peter’s face snuggled against Thomas’s chest and Thomas’s chin resting on the top of his head. In the morning they were sore from how tangled together their legs were. And it was torture having to get out of bed when Peter was so delightfully warm and cozy.
Thomas looked excellent making breakfast in a t-shirt and boxers. Thomas gave him a smirk over his shoulder that told Peter that he was thinking how Peter looked excellent with bed head and one of Thomas’s shirts hanging loosely on him.
Their morning felt normal. They were both quiet and Peter felt comfortable. The sun began to come up as they were finishing their toast, splaying light onto the tile floor. By the time they were getting dressed there were birds chirping loudly from the windowsill.
Peter didn’t like being in the elevator with Thomas. He always wanted to take the stairs so they could have more time together. And there was something so impersonal about standing next to someone in an elevator. So he kissed him on the neck and gave him a naughty bite on his earlobe to remedy the awkwardness.
“Same time same place next week?” Thomas asked when they were outside and Peter was unchaining his bike.
“Nah.” Peter said. Thomas looked crestfallen so he quickly leaned forward and kissed him on the lips even though several passerbys saw. (Fuck ‘em).
“Take me out to dinner next week.” Peter said.
“Cheeky.” Thomas mumbled as he kissed him once more.
“Will you?”
Thomas put his hand on the side of Peter’s waist and pulled him close. His breath tickled the side of his cheek before he bit down, rather hard, on Peter’s earlobe, returning the favor from the elevator.
"Are we continuing with the silent appreciation?" Peter grouched as he laid back in bed, giving a sideways glance to Nick who had his face deep in some book about pirates. He felt sore all over from the day and Nick seemed barely inclined to even acknowledge him. And some nights before.
"What?" Nick murmured as he looked over from his book.
"I don’t work all day to watch you read a book," Peter said.
"You didn’t want me to read it out loud," Nick said.
"A hug or a kiss or something?" Peter said.
"If you want me to do something, you ought to say so," Nick said. That sounded reasonable enough, didn’t it?
"You haven’t started anything lately. Do you want to kiss me or not?" Peter said.
"It’s nice," Nick replied.
"So I shouldn’t have to remind you," Peter said.
"I didn’t really think about it-" Nick started.
"Oh good. You don’t even think about me!" Peter spat.
"That’s not what I meant!" Nick huffed. His face burned. He set down his book harder than he intended to, the other items on the bedstand clattered.
"Then what?" Peter said.
"I-it just didn’t really occur to me, I guess," Nick mumbled.
"You always talk about how clever you are and you can’t figure out something so simple," Peter grumbled.
"Well, it’s not simple for me! I’m sorry I’m not a soppy git like you!" Nick blurted.
If they could get their things inside of it, anyway.
"Lift higher," Peter groaned as he held one end of their salvaged couch with faded flower print.
"Why don't you lift lower?" Nick complained.
With a few twists, turns, and swears, the couch made it through the front door.
Nick slowly carried boxes up one by one as Peter took two at a time.
Peter sat down on the couch after the last of their worldly possessions were brought inside. He wasn't sure how it came to so many boxes. He fancied that Nick had brought his treasure hoard with him. He was sure he had seen a bright red lampshade.
"It's home sweet home now," Nick said as he settled in Peter's lap. His fingers danced along the surface of his hair. Whether it was long or short, his hair was still one of his favorite things.
"It's not home until we've got everything just how we like it," Peter said, flicking the tip of Nick's nose.
"Well, I got you how I like it," Nick said as he kissed Peter.
