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Pandora's Box

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It’s two sixteen on a hot Tuesday afternoon when he appears on Tommy’s doorstep. Any other day, Tommy probably would’ve been at his stables or his clubs or wherever the little rat goes when he’s not making Alfie’s life harder than it has to be, but today the air sticks to everything like simmering honey and tastes like dried pollen – warm, sweet, dusty. Hot.

Thus, Tommy Shelby is at home and forced by common curtesy to invite Alfie in to join him in his sitting room. To keep out the worst of the heat, the curtains have been drawn, tinting the light a soft shade of pink. There’s a bowl of flowers on the coffee table between them, the water cooling the air and the scent of English roses mixing with warm wood and the tea that’s steaming in their cups.

Neither of them has said a word in the last few minutes, but Tommy doesn’t seem to be very good at being patient when it comes at the expense of watching Alfie take a look at his belongings. He doesn’t shift in his seat, but his big eyes burn on Alfie’s skin.

Alfie, on the other hand, is in no hurry. A little smile hiding in the corner of his mouth, he takes in the glossy cherrywood, the satin-soft curves of the divan he’s sitting on, the golden frame of the mirror over the mantlepiece.

Tommy finally narrows his eyes at him. “Did you come by to look at my furniture, then?” His voice is rough and sweet, figs on Alfie’s tongue.

“Oh, you live here? I thought you were housesitting for Marie Antoinette.”

The mantel clock ticks through the look Tommy gives him, more gold shimmering in the dim light. But while it’s rather nice to get away with that shit because Tommy doesn’t know what’s in store for him, risking a bullet through the foot roughly two weeks from now isn’t what Alfie came here to do.

“I came across a little something the other day that made me think of you.”

Tommy is still leaning back, one hand on the armrest, looking detached. A pretentious low-life gangster in his doll house. “A little something of what kind exactly?”

“A gift.”

Just because he doesn’t show emotions like normal people do doesn’t mean Tommy Shelby is unreadable. Far from it, actually. The way he’s exhaling now, a short little huff, tells Alfie exactly how cautious he is of what Alfie might have for him.

“A gift?”


“You brought me a gift?”

Alfie is tempted to ask him whether he’s dense, but thinks better of it. Instead, he picks up the parcel he put on the divan when he sat down and extends his arm.

Tommy takes a moment to blink slowly at the parcel, but when nothing else happens, he gets up and rounds the coffee table to pick it up. Making sure their fingers don’t brush.

“Do you mind?” Alfie pulls out his cigar case.

Tommy glances at him, then wanders over to the mantelpiece to pick up an ashtray. He puts it next to Alfie’s teacup. “What’s in it?” He weighs the parcel, apparently not comfortable enough to sit down with it.

The ashtray is a puddle of gold, the flame of Alfie’s lighter dancing in it for a second. A ridiculous display of wealth by a tasteless street rat. It’s endearing, really. Alfie knocks his knuckle against it.
The first taste of smoke fills the room, entwining with rose and tea. “You know how presents work, yeah? You’re supposed to open the wrapper, darling, not ask what’s inside.”

Tommy stares at the parcel a little harder, as if those blue faerie eyes of his could see though the brown paper if only he tried hard enough. There’s a light dusting of freckles on his cheekbones.

“What, you think I’d ask you to open the think with me still in your little boudoir if there was something dangerous in there? I’m not romantic enough for a fucking murder-suicide, sweetheart.”

Alfie takes a first drag, the kiss of the cigar the only sound in the room as Tommy continues to be a rude person to get presents for. Finally, as warmth bleeds through Alfie’s lungs, Tommy picks up a letter opener from the mantelpiece. He cuts the cord with a shining slither of silver, then sits back down opposite of Alfie to unwrap the parcel.

A moment filled with smoke and rustling paper, then Tommy’s fingers brush over red leather, rounded corners. He frowns down at the jewellery box, but before he can ask, Alfie pulls the key out of the picket of his shirt and offers it between two fingers. This time, Tommy leans over the table to reach it, the box held tightly in one hand. His fingertips are cool, his touch tickles a little.

A quiet click, a slick turn and the lid opens. Tommy’s eyes widen. He opens his mouth, peals spill over the rim and into his lap. He catches the necklace and carefully pushes it back into its black velvet nest, eyes sparkling.

“What- are they real?”

A magpie. From this angle, Alfie can’t see the inside of this Pandora’s box, but he knows what it’s stuffed with, he’s seen the strings of pearls, the glittering diamonds, the nets and chains of silver and gold. A magic box, a treasure chest for this faerie boy.

Alfie watches with a smile as Tommy picks out a ring, the emerald flicking green specks of light over his face. “What, do you think I’d get you fake jewellery? Don’t fucking offend me.”

Tommy looks back at him. He isn’t stupid enough to ask where the jewellery came from. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

Ah, that’s the tricky question. Alfie shrugs, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Whatever you want. Fucking sell it, if you need the money. Give it to your little sister so she can finance her revolution. Wear it in the privacy of your pink little home.”

There’s a brief moment of silence where Tommy looks at him, the reflection of the diamonds still glittering on his face. See, Alfie isn’t reckless. He takes calculated risks to get what he wants, but he’s not an idiot.

Looking at Tommy, Alfie knows he hasn’t miscalculated. Blue eyes shining in the dim light, the faintest kiss of a blush on his cheeks.

“Do you want it or not? Don’t be stupid, boy.” Alfie taps the ash off his cigar and that seems to spur Tommy into action. He takes off his cufflinks and wristwatch, dropping both on the coffee table with the sound of falling marbles. His wrists are pale and he doesn’t look at Alfie as he dips his hand into the depths of the jewellery box. The wet-cool sound of pearls, diamonds, silver entwining.

First, Tommy just raises his handful of jewellery a little to look at the way the necklaces and bracelets spill out between his fingers. Like a child, taking a fistful of cake. Buttercream dripping from greedy hands.

Tommy’s eyes have a wicked glint. He slips a ring onto his pinkie, a band of diamonds sparkling like stars. Alfie stays still, cautious like he’s watching something secret that’ll dissolve once Tommy remembers he’s not alone.

After that first step, his magpie genes start to work in Alfie’s favour. Tommy selects another ring, a silver band with a single diamond, and slips it onto his ring finger.

Another. Two more. Every move of his hands catches the light now and Tommy pulls out a tangled mess of pearls and silver strings. His knife-quick street rat hands do swift work of untangling the knots and soon three glittering bracelets rest on the table top.

Alfie remembers his cigar and takes a drag as Tommy wraps a delicate silver band around his wrist. It slips off before he can clasp it, a glittery, slick little snake. Alfie reaches out for him, cigar held between two fingers. “Here, let me.”

Tommy lets him.
His wrist is cool except for the pulse point, where his skin is thin and shockingly soft under Alfie’s touch. His heartbeat flutters against his thumb and Alfie makes sure to brush his fingertips against the delicate skin, light enough to tickle.

Tommy’s fingers twitch a little, but he doesn’t pull back. The scent of roses and warm leather clings to his hand. Alfie closes the clasp and the silver band wraps around Tommy’s wrist, shimmers pink in the tinted afternoon light.

He makes to pull his hand back, but Alfie tightens his grip on him. Tommy’s eyes flicker to his face, his pulse flutters against his thumb. It’s there and gone in a flash, but Alfie saw it. Tommy isn’t afraid.

Let me,” Alfie says again and reaches for the box with his free hand. Not giving him the chance to refuse because he knows he won’t.

Tommy’s wrist warming under his touch, the spitting hellcat docile for once, Alfie looks through the contents of the box until he finds what he was looking for among the blinding mess of diamonds and silver. A bracelet, made out of four rows of pearls with a sapphire sparkling in the middle. Worth approximately half of Tommy’s stable. The soft intake of breath indicates that he’s well aware of that.

The pearls are smooth and cool in Alfie’s hand, heavy. He holds Tommy’s hand still and carefully places the bracelet on his wrist, feeling his pulse against his thumb. The clasp slips into place.

Now that he’s leaning over the table, the scent of tea is stronger. Assam, if Alfie were to guess. A rose petal fell into the milk jug, pink half-drowned in white. Alfie thinks about fishing it out, milk running down his fingers. Tommy’s lips parting for him, tongue, rosy-hot, dripping in white. Let me.

“Would you like some milk?”

He blinks, looks up to find Tommy looking at him. His wrist still in Alfie’s hand, warm now, heavy with pearls.

“Oh, I’m fine, petal.” He squeezes Tommy’s wrist to see the little flicker in his eyes, then lets go of his hand.

When Tommy pulls back, the pearls click together softly. The sapphire catches the light. His eyes are on the jewellery box, its contents spilling over the rim. Greedy little thing.

Long, sparkling fingers slip into the knots of pearls. There’s that wet, sucking sound when Tommy crooks his fingers, feeling around. Alfie watches his fingers sink in to the knuckle, then twitch as they brush against whatever he’d been looking for. When Tommy pulls his hand back, there’s an earring pinched between his fingertips. A diamond encrusted little think with three strings of diamonds dripping from it like milk.

“It’s a clip.”

Alfie picks up his forgotten cigar and lights it again. He takes a slow drag and speaks through the smoke spilling out between his teeth. “Listen, sweetheart, when they first told me that I’d be working with a fucking gypsy, I thought I’d see some ratty, dirty feet rascal, short trousers, shirt open to here, gold hoops. Not this bullshit here.” He waves his hand to indicate the pink intimacy of the room, the burning tip of his cigar drawing a golden swirl into the air. Divans of shimmering pink silk, milk-soaked rose petals. “Don’t even have pierced ears, sweetie, do you?”

Tommy raises a brow.

“What the fuck did I say, love? No pierced ears. Had to go and find clips.”

Some time ago, Tommy might’ve been intimidated. Instead, he exhales slowly, blinks once, and sucks in his cheeks a little, sharpening his cheekbones. “Terribly sorry I’m not some half-dressed youth, Mr Solomons.” Voice dry like silk paper.

Little bastard. Alfie almost huffs a laugh, but hides it behind a drag of his cigar. “What, you don’t fucking want it?”

Tommy’s almost smiling as he picks up the earring and clips it on. Diamonds dripping down to his shoulders, almost brushing the dark grey of his waistcoat.

As he looks through the box to find the match one, his fingers tangle in a string of pearls. He pulls at it, but it goes on, dragging knots of bracelets and necklaces with it. His eyes are shiny as he gauges the length of it.
“They’re real.”

“Doll, do you want to upset me?”

Tommy isn’t listening. He untangles the pearls and takes a closer look at them. It’s one of the long necklaces that are almost out of fashion now, the ones that taste like cocaine, champagne and short skirts. Pearls, separated by little knots in the silk string.

Now and then, Alfie sees these tiny old women with their rosaries sitting by their windows or on park benches when he’s out and about. Tommy resembles them now, his eyes on the necklace that slips through his fingers, mouth forming inaudible words. Counting pearls is probably the closest Tommy Shelby comes to praying.

When he stops, it’s about halfway through. His eyes are hot when he looks at Alfie and he makes to lift the necklace over his head.

Alfie puts down the cigar, its tip smouldering against the golden ashtray. “Lose the waistcoat.”

There is hardly a pause, then Tommy gets up. The movement catches the pink light, reflecting on the hundreds of pounds glittering on him. Alfie leans back, resting his chin on his knuckles as he watches pale fingers dance over pearly buttons.

It’s another one of the boring, grey, expensive suits that Tommy wears to feel important, but in the pink light, even that tasteless boastfulness looks delicate. The dark grey silk of his waistcoat shimmers like molten silver that dripped on his shoulders and ran down to the dip of his waist. For barely a second, Alfie almost regrets asking him to take it off.

It falls open and with a rustle of pearls, Tommy slips it over his shoulders. He drapes it over the back of the sofa, diamonds spilling from his earlobe like drops of frozen light, and Alfie is ready to forget about it instantly.

In the pink light, the stiff lines of his shirt are softened, the shadows cut by the creases a delicate shade of violet. Tommy watches the way the light catches on his bracelets with a self-satisfied look. Then he raises his head to meet Alfie’s gaze and his eyes sparkle like the sapphire on his wrist. He reaches up and pulls on the knot of his tie, the hiss of light grey silk on cotton loud in his room. Alfie feels the corner of his mouth twitch.

Even as Tommy reached up and undoes the button holding his collar in place, his eyes don’t leave Alfie. He knows what he’s doing. Rose-scented light kisses the dip of his throat and Alfie feels his own smile against his knuckles.

Tommy, for all the sapphire-sparkle in his eyes and rose-gold spilled over his throat, keeps his face milk-cool even as he picks up the string of pearls. It wraps around his throat and Alfie imagines it to be cool and heavy, a line of faerie kisses. They spill down his shirtfront, some slipping into his open collar.

“You know, this would look nicer if-“

“I won’t fulfil your fantasies of half-dressed street rats if I can help it, Solomons.”

His voice is ridiculous. Alfie can taste the smoke and liquorice of it on the tip of his tongue. He smiles, leaning in. “Sweetheart-“


The ease with which Tommy says it, accepts the pet name, takes Alfie’s words out of his mouth. It’s a deliberate move, definitely, and Alfie is almost stunned by its effectiveness.
Tommy isn’t even looking at him, busy fastening the three sparkling bracelets he untangled earlier around his left wrist. It’s only when Alfie stays silent that he looks up.

“Yes,” he repeats, except it doesn’t sound like a question this time. An offer, maybe. Or the acceptance of an offer, possibly.

Alfie’s lips twitch, then he reaches inside the coat he draped over the armrest of the divan. Silk paper crinkles under his fingertips and he pulls out another parcel, pink paper loosely wrapped around a vague something that sharpens Tommy’s hungry gaze.

“Come here, then.”

He does, footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet. Dark hair, diamond eyes, rose petal mouth and dripping in pearls, he looks like something Beardsley drew from Wilde’s mind.

His hands reach for the parcel and this time their fingers tangle as they unwrap the layers of paper. Tommy draws a sharp breath. Alfie looks up to find him looking at him.

“Yes, undoubtedly.”

Tommy looks back at the necklace. Seven rows of pearls, the sapphire in the middle the size of an egg. If Alfie were to guess, he’d assess it at roughly the worth of this house. Tommy’s grip on his hands tightens.

“Let me.”

The paper crinkles as Tommy pulls his hands back. Without hesitation, he leans in, one glittering hand perched on the backrest of the divan, wrist brushing against Alfie’s shoulder. Alfie lifts the choker, feels the weight of it.

It’s cool and wraps tightly around Tommy’s throat, pearly white catching the pink light and contrasting with his skin while the sapphire tries to match the sparkle of his eyes. After it’s fastened, Alfie wraps his hand around it, feeling the warmth of Tommy’s throat underneath the pearls. Tommy’s heartbeat flutters against his palm and his lips part.

Alfie locks eyes with him and gently tightens his grip, feeling the soft intake of breath. Tommy’s eyes darken. A soft moment, rose-scented, then Tommy leans in.

Their lips brush, then meet. It’s sweet for a moment, a chaste little thing, then Tommy sinks his teeth into Alfie’s lip, almost making him wince. Alfie rests one hand on Tommy’s arm, trying to gentle the overheated, greedy little bastard, but Tommy bites him again. Their kiss tastes like milky tea and salty-hot blood.

Tommy pushes in closer, throat working under Alfie’s palm. He kisses with the ferocity of a man disappointed that his dominance hasn’t been challenged. So Alfie, who’s a people pleaser if he wants to be, tightens his hand around Tommy’s throat until the skin-warm sapphire digs painfully into his palm and he can feel Tommy’s breath stutter. With a choked sigh, Tommy melts into his lap, his mouth hot and soft and open against Alfie’s lips.

Licking his stinging lips, Alfie pulls back to break the kiss. “That’s it, Poppet, be nice.”

Tommy is warm and heavy on his lap and looks at him with his faerie eyes, dark and unfocused. “If you don’t stop with the pet names,” he says, voice impossibly fucked, vibrating against Alfie’s palm, “I’ll make you leave.”

It’s so fucking cute, Alfie could slap him. Laughter bleeds into his voice. “You’re not making me do anything, angel, not while you’re wearing my jewellery.”

Tommy pushes against his hand, choking himself to get at Alfie’s mouth.
Alfie doesn’t make him wait, just holds him back long enough for Tommy’s cheeks to turn pink. He half-expects Tommy to refuse him then, to show some pride. But the second he’s free to move, he’s on him in a rush of pearls and tobacco infused sandalwood.

Using his grip on his neck, Alfie pulls him closer, delighted by the ease with which he spreads his legs for him. His mouth parts just as willingly, soft and hot for Alfie to take.

Tommy’s fingers are cool and his touch tickles as he finds the buttons of Alfie’s shirt. They part under his quick fingers and Alfie’s shoulders twitch slightly when Tommy slides a cool hand under the linen.

He pulls back a little and holds Tommy in place by the throat to take a look at him. “The divan, really? Not very sophisticated.”

Tommy narrows his eyes at him. “Can you shut up?” His voice, dark and sweet like molasses, sends shivers down Alfie’s spine.

“I don’t know, love, can you stun me into silence?”

A huff. Tommy tilts his chin a little and the diamonds dripping from his earlobes brush the back of Alfie’s hand. They catch the light and a rosy flush dips into the hollow of Tommy’s throat, spills down his sternum like a line of kisses. The flutter of his lashes draws delicate shadows on his high cheekbones.

For a moment, Alfie waits for him to answer, but Tommy just watches him look at him. Alfie blinks, realises he’s been staring, then huffs a laugh. “Fair, you wicked thing.”
A smile twitches in the corner of Tommy’s mouth and the diamonds tickle Alfie’s hand.

Alfie’s other hand finds Tommy’s thigh. Warm, solid, muscular under slippery-soft fabric. He squeezes, feeling the muscles jump, then pulls him closer.
Finally, Tommy’s arms wrap around him, in the process shoving he shirt halfway over his shoulder. Tommy’s fingers tangle in his hair and Alfie has to tilt his chin up to kiss him.

When they press against each other, the slither of bare skin visible through Tommy’s half-open shirt burns against Alfie’s chest. He squeezes his thigh again, then finds his nipple through the fabric of his shirt, rolling it under the pad of his thumb. Tommy’s whole body arches into him like he’s been shocked, lips parted in a sweet little gasp and oh, he’s hard.

The sight and the trembling heat of Tommy’s body wake something greedy in Alfie. He pulls Tommy’s collar to the side, exposing the milk-white of his skin, the rose pink of his nipple. Without sparing a moment or giving Tommy the time to complain, Alfie leans in and wraps his lips around the pink little nub. Tommy gasps, but when Alfie sinks his teeth into it, he moans, his voice unsteady and breathy. His hips twitch, the movement making the pearl necklace brush against Alfie’s cheek.

He isn’t exactly shocked by the revelation that Tommy likes it like this, but with Tommy grinding against his thigh, the arousal that’s been simmering under the surface finally comes to a boil and his own cock hardens so fast it leaves him a little dizzy. He pulls his teeth back and sucks, hard, enjoying the way Tommy’s grip on his hair tightens, the way his fingertips dig into his shoulder blades.

Gently, he scrapes his teeth over the poor, abused nipple, hot and puffy under his tongue, and that seems to be enough. Tommy pulls him back by his hair and Alfie finally gets a good look at him.

His flush goes down to his heaving chest, contrasting nicely with the shimmer of his pearls. The shirt is pulled halfway over his shoulder, exposing his collarbones and the blue-black ink of a sun. Alfie’s fingers twitch to trace it, but Tommy’s thighs tighten around his hips and he raises his head to look him in the eyes instead.

Tommy’s cheeks are a lovely shade of pink and his lips red, puffy and slick. He looks like he’s the one who’s been sucking on one thing or another and Alfie’s cock gives an almost painful twitch.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Tommy looks like he wants to complain about the pet name, so Alfie slides his palm up his thigh and to the curve of his arse. He squeezes once, dizzy with the fact that he can, then gets a grip on it and pulls him in, forcing him to grind against his thigh.

Tommy’s eyelids flutter, his red mouth falls open wider. He rolls his hips again, on his own accord this time, and Alfie feels the flex of his arse under his palm. His cock twitches.

“What did you want, darling?” His voice rasps in his throat and Tommy makes a choked, bitten-off sound at it, pressing his cock against Alfie’s thigh. He’s going to go mad.

“We’re going to the bedroom.”

At the sound of his voice, heat seeps through Alfie’s veins. He licks his lips and squeezed him again. “Yeah? Divan’s not classy enough after all?”

“No.” Tommy reaches down between them and Alfie expects him to squeeze himself. Instead, he feels his palm against his own fly. “You have to fuck me.”

Alfie’s cock throbs, straining against the fabric and Tommy’s touch. He bites his tongue to stifle the moan burning in his throat.

“Yeah,” Tommy’s voice sounds dreamy as he squeezes him, feeling him up. “You have to fuck me.”

At a loss as to what to say, Alfie leans in again and kisses him. Tommy’s mouth is hot, the kiss messy. He’s eager and deliciously uncoordinated as his fingers work on the buttons of Alfie’s trousers.

Alfie laughs against his mouth. “Eager.”

That gets him to move. Tommy slips from his lap, the sudden rush of air cool against Alfie’s exposed chest. The vicious sparkle in his eyes would be intimidating, but he looks so sweet in his diamonds and pearls that even his anger melts on Alfie’s tongue like sugar.

“Alright then, you little cat, lead the way.” He gets up as well and squeezes Tommy’s hip. His thumb slips over his hipbone and he watches as Tommy’s pupils melt, as he opens his mouth, closes it again.

There’s that dark hallway with the red carpets again, the cherry wood doors, the staircase. Alfie isn’t really paying attention, distracted by the sight of Tommy, whose shirt slipped halfway out of his trousers, and the specks of light that dance on the walls with each of his movements.

Upstairs there’s more carpet, more doors. Tommy finally stops in front of one, but his shoulders are tense. They didn’t get that far only to get second thoughts now and Alfie conveys that sentiment by stepping behind him and slipping his palm underneath his shirt. Tommy’s running hot and trembles under his touch. To make sure it’s not from fear, Alfie finds his nipple again, still a little wet against the pad of his thumb, and gives it a good pinch.

This time, Tommy can’t quite bite back his moan. He twitches, the pearls clicking against each other, the diamonds sparkling against the wall.

It serves is purpose, though, since Tommy gives Alfie’s shin a mean kick and opens the door. “Not in the fucking hallways.”

“What, with how long you were taking, I was assuming that was the idea, petal.” Alfie wants to press close, feel the heat of Tommy’s body as compensation for the pain in his leg. But Tommy, the ill-mannered brute, slips out of his grasp before he can pull him closer. Since there’s nothing better to do, he follows Tommy into the bedroom.

Just as in the sitting room, the curtains have been drawn. However, since they’re made of a thicker, night-blue fabric, the light isn’t tinted but rather shut out. Through a gap, the golden afternoon seeps in with. A taste of honeyed heat.
It falls on yet another plush carpet and caresses the bed. Glossy wood, a heavy red bedspread. There has to be another bowl with flowers, since the room is deliciously cool and smells like jasmine and apples, but Alfie can’t see it.
There’s the glimmer of a mirror in the half-dark, the vague swirls of a wardrobe, a chest of drawers. He takes it all in in one quick glance, since this time, Tommy doesn’t give him enough time to sit down and have a look around.

Instead, he’s right back in his arms, sandalwood and tobacco and milky tea, offering his mouth for another kiss. Alfie courteously accepts the offer and fucks his tongue into Tommy’s mouth, making him moan.

Tommy’s hands find their way back into Alfie’s hair and he makes a delicious, half-swallowed noise, his knees buckling. To make sure he doesn’t fall, Alfie puts his hands on his arse again, getting a good grip on him.

It must be appreciated, since Tommy’s breath hitches sweetly and his hands fly to Alfie’s shirt. He seldom wears thicker material than soft cotton or linen in summer, so the touch of Tommy’s curious hands is hot even without reaching him.

The shirt parts easily under his fingers, his diamonds tickling Alfie’s chest, and soon enough, Tommy pushes it over his shoulders and down to his elbows. With regret, Alfie takes his hands off Tommy to slip the shirt off fully. He unceremoniously drops it on the carpet, forgetting about it as soon as it falls.

Tommy breaks the kiss then, licking his puffy lips as he takes a good look at Alfie. Without hesitation, he reaches for him, going straight for his belt.

“Done this before, have you?”

At that, Tommy raises a brow, his hand stilling. “And I hope you did, too, or this’ll end here.”

Alfie laughs and wraps the pearl necklace around his hand, giving it a sharp tug to pull Tommy in again, feeling his hot little intake of breath against his lips. “What’s that again with the threats, sweetheart?”

“Prove it, then.” Tommy’s voice is deep and his words stick to Alfie’s lips with how close they’re standing.

Alfie smiles and uses the necklace to pull him into another kiss. When Tommy reaches for his fly again, however, he pulls back. “Now, we didn’t go up here to fumble around standing up, did we? Get on the fucking bed, Tommy, there’s a good lad.”

Tommy’s eyes are sparking at these words, but he licks his lips and turns to do as he’s told. For once.
One knee on the bed, sunk into the buttercream softness of the blanket, he makes to slip out of his shirt.

“No, keep it.” Alfie steps in. Tommy looks at him, the sapphire on his throat catching the light at the movement. A blue flash in the dim light.

He huffs, then drops his hands to his belt instead. With the shirt in the way, Alfie can’t see what he’s doing, but he hears the slick sound of a belt buckle being unclasped.

As he makes his way to the bed, he steps in front of the gap in the curtain, the light warm on his back. Tommy is bathed in momentary darkness, the glittering jewellery the only part Alfie can see of him. Sparks dancing like will-o’-the-wisp.

Alfie takes another step and Tommy is partly illuminated again. He’s sitting on the bed, trousers and socks a dark puddle on the carpet while his skin and the cotton of his shirt shimmer varying shades of white. Despite everything they’ve been up to, his hair is still slicked back and undisturbed. His lips are bitten red, though, and where his shirt is halfway pulled over his shoulder, Alfie can make out the pink promise of a nipple.

He’s dripping in diamonds and pearls, a decadent opium dream with a wicked glint in his eyes. And still the shirt hides most of what Alfie wants to see. Judging by the glint in Tommy’s eyes, he knows it, too.

The scent of jasmine and the rustle of Tommy’s diamonds sweeten the darkness. By the bedside, still drunk on the sight of Tommy, Alfie drops his hands to his belt.

There’s a soft intake of air and Tommy shifts, his bare feet slipping on the bedspread. Alfie undoes his belt buckle, then reaches out to brush his fingertips over the bridge of Tommy’s left foot. Not a dream, then.

“Can’t move at a decent speed for once, can you?” Tommy’s voice is hoarse, the kick aimed at Alfie’s hand gentle. Alfie easily catches him around the ankle.

“Oh, am I going too slow for you?” With that, he yanks Tommy closer, making him yelp.
Despite his apparent surprise, his thighs wrap around Alfie’s hips easily. Alfie has a second to feel played before Tommy’s in his space, pulling him onto the bed.

The bedspread is warm and thick under his palm and his knees sink into the blanket. Buttercream indeed.

Tommy’s thighs are hot where they press against his bare hip, his ring-heavy hands tangle in Alfie’s hair. “You really don’t want to keep messing up my hair, sweet thing.”

The words are half-kisses between them. Without paying much attention to them, Tommy tilts his head a little to slip his tongue between Alfie’s lips. Alfie loses track of time until Tommy pulls back, lips red and slick, eyes dark.
“In the nightstand, second drawer.”

His arms loosen around Alfie, who looks up just long enough to locate the curves of the nightstand. He pulls the drawer open and reaches inside, blind due to the angle but unwilling to move.

Finally, his fingertips brush against a round little container. He pulls it out and drops it next to Tommy’s head before leaning in. Tommy hums, letting him push him into the sheets.

For a moment, neither of them seems to be willing to break their kiss. Milky tea and rose petals. But then, Tommy shifts and Alfie feels the hot line of his cock brush against his abdomen.

With a nip to Tommy’s hot, slick mouth, he breaks the kiss and pulls back to find the container again. The slick is a cold shock. He huffs, rubbing his fingertips together to warm it.

Tommy frowns slightly, his hair finally mussed. “You want to-“

Alfie raises a brow at him. “You don’t want me to?”

Tommy’s eyes flick over Alfie’s cheekbone, up to the ceiling. “It’s usually not-“

“Sounds like you’ve wasted a good deal of time, then. Spread your thighs.”

To everyone’s surprise, Tommy does without complaint.

Alfie picks up his foot and kisses his ankle, which makes Tommy groan in annoyance and kick at his shoulder. Terrible manners, but Alfie is distracted by the way Tommy’s shirt slips with the movement, exposing the line of his cock.

It is, unsurprisingly, very pretty. Flushed and pink and hard, leaking a pearly drop of precome.

Alfie can’t help himself, he has to wrap his slick hand around it and give it a languid stroke. It’s hot, the skin delicate. Alfie’s mouth waters.

Tommy makes a surprised little sound, a moaned gasp, and pushes into his grip. With a little hum, Alfie slips his thumb over the flushed tip, catching on the foreskin. He can’t deny a certain fascination with those, but before he can go on in his exploration, Tommy kicks him again.

“Are we going to move?” His voice is soft, honey-sweet with arousal, which pacifies and entices Alfie in equal measures.

Agreeable, he slips his hand lower, leaving sticky traces on his skin. “You know,” he says as he pushes a first fingertip in, “I don’t know why I went with jewellery. Should’ve gotten you some ropes instead, you wild thing.”

Tommy isn’t listening. Alfie’s only in to the second knuckle and already his lashes are fluttering, his mouth lax.

Sensitive. Alfie swallows thickly. He adds a second finger and watches the there and gone tease of Tommy’s tongue against his lips. It’s all he can do to keep his mind working and whose idea was it that he should prepare Tommy?

He’s so hot inside, pulling him in. Alfie can feel him stretch to make room for his fingers and he’s going to go mad. Faerie eyes, opium dream.

His cock is pulsing with every little twitch of Tommy’s eyelashes, every little hitch of his breath. Two fingers and Tommy starts biting his lip, arching his back. Three and his hips are twitching, his hitched breaths turning into half-moans that melt down Alfie’s spine. Four and-

“Fuck, that’s enough.”

Thank fuck.

Alfie pulls his fingers out as carefully as he can, but Tommy still frowns a little, displeased. That look quickly melts off his face when Alfie moves in closer and brushes the tip of his cock against his slick hole. His fingers curl into the sheets, a dreamy little smile curls the corner of his lips.

The fingers couldn’t have prepared Alfie for this. Tommy is so hot inside, so tight that for a second, Alfie feels like he might be dying. Right here, half-drowned in Tommy Shelby’s buttercream bed, with jasmine, sandalwood and tobacco in his nose and an aftertaste of Tommy’s kisses on his tongue.

It’s a passing thought, because Tommy’s mouth falls open, his lashes fluttering, gaze fixed on him. Alfie decides that if he’s going to die any time soon, he’s going to fuck Tommy Shelby first.

So he takes hold of Tommy’s slim hip, pulls out halfway and slams back in. The sound Tommy makes is sinful. A surprised little gasp, something fragile and sweet that makes Alfie’s cock throb.

The rhythm he establishes hard but slow, giving him time to get used to the dizzying heat. Tommy’s back arches and his thighs slip over Alfie’s hips.


It might’ve been offensive if Tommy hadn’t looked so drunk with it. He’s flushed down to his chest, his nipples pink and hard, his abdomen trembling.

So Alfie only huffs, raising a brow at him. “What, I bring the jewellery and now I’m expected to do all the work?” He doesn’t stop his thrusts, digging bruises into Tommy’s milk-white thighs.

Tommy glances at him out of half-closed eyes, his whole body rolling with Alfie’s thrusts. “What, are you tired?” His eyelashes flutter a little and his words melt into half-moans. “Do you need rest? Should I find someone to help you out?”

Alfie’s going to fucking devour him. “Oh, shut it.” He huffs a laugh, slaps him across the face.

Tommy gasps, his breath hitching. His eyes roll back and he throws his head to the side in a rain of diamonds. He tightens around Alfie’s cock, making him dizzy.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Alfie can’t quite keep the moan out of his own voice. He licks his lips, sweat runs down his temple and into his beard. He feels like he’s melting, like Tommy’s drowning him. “I know what your lot likes, sweetheart, don’t I?”

At that, Tommy’s thighs tighten around his hips. His nails dig into Alfie’s arm. His eyes slip over Alfie’s face.

“What, first there’s all this big fucking talk and now you’re jealous?” Alfie leans in, lips brushing Tommy’s softly. “Don’t be fucking stupid.” He’s not going to apologise, but it’s close enough.

The little sound Tommy makes at that seems to indicate that he’s forgiven, so Alfie straightens again. He makes sure to change his angle on the next thrust, watching as Tommy’s eyes widen comically. “Now, where were we?”

To be nice, he slaps Tommy again and fucks him through his dazed little mewls, fast and hard. Tommy’s eyes are glazed over, his cheeks flushed and reddened from Alfie’s palm. The pearl necklace slipped up with how Alfie’s thrusts are rattling him and now it’s brushing Tommy’s pink lower lip.

It’s a maddening sight. Alfie feels an intoxicating rush, a wild mix of power and pleasure. He has to bite his tongue for a second so he doesn’t lose his rhythm.

When Tommy’s hand slips over his arm, helplessly clawing at his wrist, Alfie doesn’t have to ask. “Of course, love,” he says instead and wraps his hand around Tommy’s throat. Pearls dig into his palm, skin-warm by now.

Tommy gasps, bucks like a wild thing, squeezes Alfie’s cock. Sparks explode in front of his vision and his blood pulses through his veins like molten gold. He snaps his hips helplessly as Tommy’s hole throbs around him.

Tommy’s thighs twitch against Alfie’s hips. He tips his head back and bares his throat, presses into his palm. Alfie can feel his pulse, his sweat-slick skin, and tightens his grip.

The pearl necklace slips between Tommy’s parted lips rests in the corners of his mouth. With every thrust it clicks against his teeth, slips against his tongue. His eyes roll back and his entire body convulses, feet slipping on the sheets and hips twitching. He gasps and chokes, clawing at the sheets, lashes fluttering and cheeks pink. A possessed, mad thing, a feverish dream.

Alfie puts his back into it, fucks him so hard the bedframe groans in protest. Here, on the peak, he loosens his grip.

Tommy takes a rasping, desperate breath and comes so hard his body twitches and shakes with it. He’s impossibly tight. Impossibly hot. His cock pulses come over his abdomen, his open shirt. His pearls.

Alfie thrusts into his twitching-hot hole once more, twice, then his orgasm crashes through him as well. It blinds him, chokes him with pleasure.

He shakes through it for what feels like hours, helpless to the waves crashing through him. It takes a while until he can finally think again.

Tommy looks up at him, dizzy and drunk. With an exhausted sigh, Alfie pulls out, gently patting Tommy’s thigh when he makes a displeased little sound. Then, after untangling Tommy’s thighs from around his hips, he sinks into the sheets next to him.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The darkness around them is warmed by their body heat, it’s jasmine-sweetness soaked with sex. The sheets, however, smell mostly of Tommy, of the private little something he hides so painstakingly underneath sandalwood and tobacco. Alfie inhales deeply.

“That what you came for?” The pearl necklace slips over Tommy’s heaving chest, slick with saliva. His voice is still fucked, rough and deep.

It warms Alfie, makes the corners of his mouth twitch. “A little. Found that box and had to think of you.”


There’s another pause. Alfie feels his eyelids grow heavy.

“You’re staying for dinner?”

He opens his eyes again and finds Tommy avoiding his gaze in the intimacy of this half-dark room. The silence trembles in his lashes.

“I’ll take a nap fist, if you don’t mind.”

The contrast between dimness and light sharpens Tommy’s features as he turns to look at him. Blue shadows spilling down half his face, the golden afternoon dripping honey down the other half.

He doesn’t quite look real. A wild, feral thing. A faerie, a dream. When he smiles, his teeth shine like pearls and his eyes sparkle like sapphires.