Chapter Text
Jimmy hated his job. Well, hated probably wasn't the right word. Loathed was more accurate. Loathed with a burning passion. Jimmy had never had much in the way of ambition when it came to employment, but even he had hope for something better than a barista.
Even calling myself a barista is pushing it, he thought with chagrin, I'm more of a dogsbody who they occasionally let pour coffee. I'm a table-clearing, floor-mopping, bin-emptying dogsbody.
It was tiring job; boring and busy, tedious and intricate, all at the same time. And Jimmy wasn't particularly good at it either; he didn't care enough to bother, rather preferring to use his looks and his deliberately tight trousers to charm his way through the day. The hours were long, with never a chance for a sit down, and the money was poor even if you included the good tips that Jimmy frequently collected from blushing young women. Jimmy had even taking up smoking just for the solace of five minutes of quiet in the rubbish-strewn alley behind the shop. Lung cancer or listening to Alfred go on about rocky-road while Daisy makes ridiculous doe-eyes at him, Jimmy mused, leaning on he rough brickwork outside the shop, I'm not sure what's worse.
Then there was Ivy. Silly, flirty, Ivy. It was obvious that she was besotted with Jimmy by the way she flushed and giggled whenever he so much as looked at her. Jimmy grinned at how easy she was to manipulate into covering his shift or helping with his work; he knew he was taking advantage of her but he just didn't care. Jimmy found it increasingly hard to care about anything these days. His boss, Mr Carson, had chastised Jimmy on every evaluation for his 'poor work ethic' and 'lack of goals.'
I've got goals, Jimmy pouted, they just don't involve cappuccinos.
He'd had a vague notion of studying drama or something at university but that had been ruined when both his parents had died quite suddenly, one after the other, so Jimmy had moved to London in the hope of falling into modelling or acting, getting by on his good looks and charm. Pity so many other more qualified and experienced people had the same idea, Jimmy sighed, blowing a plume of cigarette smoke skywards. He'd taken on the job at Downton Coffee Co as a 'temporary' solution; his landlady Mrs Hughes was nice enough, but after a few months with no rent, even she began to lose patience. And surviving on instant noodles and cereal had quickly worn thin. Not that I'm exactly rolling in it now, he thought, but at least I can afford wine and a flutter on the horses every now and again.
"Jimmy!" Daisy hissed, peering out of the fire exit. "Hurry it up! We've got a rush on."
"Alright," Jimmy flicked his half-smoked cigarette across the alley, "I'm coming."
Daisy hadn't been exaggerating; the queue was out the door. Jimmy pulled his apron up over his head and fixed his name badge back in place: Hi! I'm James! it proclaimed happily in bold white letters. Jimmy considered snapping it in half and throwing it in the espresso machine, but resisted the urge. He started serving a large, red-faced lady who couldn't decide what she actually wanted.
"What do you recommend, James?" She asked, her voice suggestive and syrupy.
"Coffee," was Jimmy's snide reply, as he forced a smile onto his lips. There was a snigger from another customer a few places back and Jimmy tried to peer around the rotund hulk of his current customer to see who had appreciated his clever response. His gaze rested upon a tall, well-dressed man, a few years his elder but equally as handsome, if not more so, than Jimmy himself. His shock of dark hair was a lovely contrast to his soft, pale skin and light blue-grey eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of the man's red lips and Jimmy realised he had been caught staring. Jimmy pulled his eyes away, a light blush settling over his cheeks, a heavy feeling pooling low in his stomach. Jimmy served customers all day, men and women, attractive and less-so, but he'd never had such a physical reaction to any one of them before.
"...so I think I'll just go with that please," the large lady finished, waiting for Jimmy to confirm her order. Except he had no idea what it was.
"Coming right up," he smiled. I'll just make a cappuccino, he thought, she'll never bloody know anyway. He tried to concentrate on frothing the milk, but Alfred bumped into him at an inopportune moment and he ended up spraying hot milk all down his apron. And in his hair. And on his face. He presented the (soggy) cup to his customer with a very unhappy smile and took what may or may have not been correct payment.
"Next," he grumped, not looking up from his notepad, "what can I get you?" A trickle of warm milk dripped from Jimmy's nose but he didn't care any more. He was a joke, might as well embrace it.
"Coffee," a smooth, low voice replied. Jimmy instinctively knew it had come from the tall, handsome stranger; the voice, complete with a tinge of sarcasm, fitted him completely.
"Very droll," Jimmy replied, looking up and right into the impossibly blue eyes of the stranger. His breath caught in his chest - even under the cheap neon lights of the Coffee Co, this man looked flawlessly handsome, his sharp cheekbones casting deep shadows in his hollowed cheeks. Jimmy has never been taken aback by the sheer look of someone before, especially not a man, but he found it quite impossible to look away.
"It was your joke," the man replied casually, "and I'll have a medium black coffee, to go please. I usually drink lattes, but I don't think anything with milk is a safe option." He looked Jimmy up and down and leant across the counter, ghosting his fingers over Jimmy's hair and wiping away a little errant milk foam. Jimmy jumped as if he'd been bitten and resisted the urge to lean into the touch. "You had a little foam," the man paused, reading Jimmy's name tag, "James."
"Jimmy," Jimmy replied, his head still buzzing from the brush of the stranger's hand, "only my mum and my boss ever call me James."
"Thomas," the stranger smiled, his teeth white and perfect, "and I'm late for work so..." he gestured towards the coffee cups and Jimmy snapped back to reality.
"Oh," he said, unable to form a coherent sentence, "sorry." He made the coffee with shaking hands, alert to the fact that Thomas was watching his every move, and intensely aware that his trousers were obscenely tight. I might as well be naked from the waist down, he thought, I feel naked with him looking at me. "On the house," Jimmy said without meaning too, "erm, because of the wait and...the foam." Jimmy pushed the cup across the counter and threw on what he hoped was a winning smile.
"Well," Thomas smirked, making to leave, "with that kind of service I might just become a regular." He dropped a few coins into the tip jar and sashayed out of the shop. Daisy appeared at Jimmy's elbow.
"He were very handsome," she chirruped, "but weren't not s'posed to give away free coffee."
"Good job Carson didn't see it then," Jimmy snapped, still trying to regain his composure. "And no one's going to tell him, are they?" Daisy pulled a face and shook her head.
"No, but you better get cleaned up before he sees you," she looked disapprovingly at his apron, "you're all..."
"Foamy," Jimmy finished, "I'm aware."
~
Downton Coffee Co had a single, over-used and under-cleaned bathroom, with a smeared mirror and permanent lack of toilet paper. Jimmy splashed his face in the tiny sink and rearranged his hair into some semblance of a style. He appraised his face in the mirror; his blue eyes and full lips looked tired but handsome. Not bad, he smiled, but not as handsome as Thomas. He thought about Thomas's angular but fine features, the swell of the man's chest and the broadness of his shoulders, and was shocked when his body flushed with a deep warmth that settled in his groin. It was impossible to ignore the stirring of his prick inside his tight trousers, or how his pulse started to race when he ran his fingers lightly over the taut fabric, imagining it was one of Thomas's hands instead of his own.
Am I really going to touch myself in the dingy work bathroom? he thought, abashed at his own lack of control, as he unzipped his fly and took himself I'm hand. So what, he grimaced, it doesn't mean anything. Jimmy ran his hand slowly but firmly up his length, swiping the pad of his thumb over the bead of moisture on the end of his cock. He leaned against the wall, setting himself into a quick, jerky rhythm, catching sight of his red face in the grubby mirror. He blushed, ashamed, as his mind conjured images of Thomas's red lips and Jimmy imagined how they would feel pressed against his prick. He came quickly, over his hand, his eyes pressed shut, his legs shaking from exertion, a quiet moan escaping from his lips. It doesn't mean anything, he repeated to himself, I've just not had sex in...well, ever. Jimmy grimaced, wiping his hands on the cheap, green paper towels. It's natural to get a bit worked up. It's not like I'll ever see him again anyway.
~
Alfred, Daisy and Ivy were chatting excitedly as they cleared up Downton Coffee Co - the last customer had left and Mr Carson had confined himself to the office for the evening with the cashing up and paperwork. Jimmy mopped the floor absentmindedly, not listening to the conversation.
"D'ya want to come with us Jimmy?" Ivy smiled, "And make an even number?"
"What?" Jimmy shook his head, "Sorry, I wasn't listening."
"He's been like that all day," Daisy said, "like he's off somewhere else."
"Ain't he always?" Alfred added.
"Hello?" Jimmy frowned, "I am here. You can stop talking about me like I'm not, thank you very much."
"Alright, no need to get upset,' Daisy shrugged. "There's a new bar that's just opened up around the corner, s'posed to be real nice and have live music and everything. We're going after work if you want to join us."
"Please come," Ivy pleaded, "it'll be lovely."
I'd rather throw myself under a bus, Jimmy thought, but if I go home I'll just...do something unseemly. "Sure," he shrugged, "but only because Ivy wants me to." Ivy giggled stupidly, Alfred glowered and Daisy just rolled her eyes. You're all too easy to mess with, he grinned.
~
Jimmy had to admit that the bar was pretty nice; it was modern but comfortable, with plenty of low leather chairs and little round tables, opening out into a modest dance floor and a small stage. It was early, but there were already two-dozen patrons milling around, leaning against the bar or talking animatedly in small groups. Ivy selected a table near the stage and sat down with Daisy whilst Alfred and Jimmy waited to be served at the bar.
"I spend all day fetching others people's drinks," Jimmy groused, "and now they've got me fetching theirs too." Alfred just pulled a face.
"You shouldn't flirt with Ivy like that," he said quietly, "it's not right."
"Why not?" Jimmy frowned, "She's not your girl."
"Not yet," Alfred replied, "and you know why. You're just using her. You don't even like her."
"So what?" Jimmy pouted, tired of the conversation.
"You're...hopeless,"Alfred shook his head, "just order the drinks will ya?" Jimmy turned back to the bar to find the barman waiting to take his order. Jimmy froze, surprised to find himself staring right into the grey-blue eyes of Thomas.
"Ah," Jimmy stuttered, his face redding at the memory of what had occurred in the work bathroom, "hi."
"Hello again," Thomas smiled and Jimmy's heart jumped into his throat.
"You work here?" Jimmy asked, dumbfounded.
"No I just do this for fun," Thomas grinned. "I'm actually the manager," he thumbed his name tag which read 'Mr Barrow - Manager', "but one of the barmen is off sick so I'm stuck pulling pints."
"Oh," Jimmy said weakly. He could feel Alfred impatiently jostling his elbow.
"Can I get you something?" Thomas said, his voice low, "Or are you just here to stare?"
"Erm, yes drinks," Jimmy fumbled for the right words. He was usually so self-assured, but around Thomas all his bravado seemed to melt away, leaving a ridiculous stuttering wreck in its place. "Two pints, a shandy and..." Jimmy hesitated, blushing, "sex on the beach. Please." Thomas raised an accusatory eyebrow. "It's for her," Jimmy pointed across the room at Ivy.
"She your girlfriend?" Thomas asked, pulling the first pint.
"Is it likely?" Jimmy snorted. He could sense Alfred's look of disapproval without even turning to look at him. Thomas smiled, placing two expertly-dispensed pints on the bar. Jimmy watched intently as Thomas poured the shandy and skilfully assembled the cocktail.
"On the house," Thomas said, "and we've got a good band on later, so stick around."
"I intend to," Jimmy grinned.