Young Rob On The Road Pt.2 #liamconnor

Young Rob on the road Pt.2 #liamconnor

I love all their reactions especially the maid's 👀

Best reactions to Jimmy’s entrance s3e4

Fun fact: Edward Courtenay was the name of one of Queen Elizabeth I’s suitors,

This just warms my heart!

Thomas Barrow stripteases for your pleasure!

I mean I’m not sure how to answer this ask except to say uh, yes please? Oh how about:

Thomas slips off his tails with measured movements, slate-grey eyes never leaving yours across the room, before slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat, those dexterous fingers moving assuredly, as if with a promise that they’d move across your skin in such a manner later. The tie goes next in one smooth flourish - he throws it into the air and it flutters down like a forgotten streamer from some ticker-tape parade. Shoes are toed off and kicked to one side, sock-garters and hose discarded; then come the bracers, snapped off one shoulder then the other. He lets them hang there for a moment and licks his lower lip before popping off his collar, studs falling to the floorboards and rolling away. Then his cuff links get the same treatment - left to sit in the fine layer of dust on the floor. He’s too busy now, occupied with the task of stripping for your pleasure, to worry about a lost link. He pauses for a moment, waiting for the moment you’re about to beg, before continuing. Buttons are slid free of buttonholes, then the shirt is untucked and cast aside. Trousers fall to the floor in a billow of black, pooling at his ankles. One layer remains; a white undershirt and shorts, fabric almost thin enough to reveal whats beneath. But not quite. The undershirt goes first, up over his head, revealing the expanse of pale chest beneath like dawn rolling over a snowy morning. Nipples as red as his lips; a dusting of coarse black hair that tapers down to a stomach, slightly soft from age and Patmore’s cooking. Half-nude Thomas changes from a cold statue to something soft, warm, tactile - something that begs for hands to be run all over it. For fingers to scratch through dark hair. Thomas does just that, trailing a hand down his own chest and stomach until he reaches his waistband. He hesitates and for a moment you catch the uncertainty, the fear of rejection, the need in him - so you nod, a smirk pulling up the corners of your mouth. He returns it and emboldened, pushes his shorts to the floor.