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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 1 year ago

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The Job (Part 1)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 23. Forced to Watch, Alt 25. Stalked Fandom: Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby, f!reader, prostitute!reader Summary: Tommy has been hiring you for your services for a while now, but this is the first time he has asked you for help concerning his family business... Word Count: 3205 TW: Fighting, Razor Blades, Blood, Forced to Watch, Stalked, Prostitution, Reader as Bait, Smoking, Implied Death Notes: A HUGE thanks to @loverhymeswith who not only sent me the ask that inspired this fic and supported its writing, but also for getting me into Peaky Blinders in the first place! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Mastlist (coming soon)

Part 1, Part 2

“I want to hire you for a job.”

You grinned at Tommy over your shoulder as you finished buttoning up your blouse and began to pull on your skirt. “I’m pretty sure you just did.”

But Tommy didn’t seem amused by your joke. His piercing blue eyes stared at you for a long moment, his face void of emotion and completely unreadable. Then he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. As he placed it between his lips, he said, “A different sort of job. On Friday night, I need you to make yourself look pretty and go down to The Marquis of Lorne.”

“The Marquis of—” you turned to look at him straight on. “Why would you want me to go to that pub when The Garrison is right here? Places like that on the edge of your territory… People there don’t always take kindly to me. Not with my reputation and all that.”

Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette. “It’s precisely because of your reputation that I’m asking you to go.”

Placing your hands on your hips, you asked, “And why, pray tell, is that? What are you expecting me to do once I’m there? Because I’ve told you before, I pick who I service and I won’t have you demanding–”

“It’s nothing like that,” Tommy said, calmly. “Like I already told you, it’s a different sort of job. Your reputation alone is more than enough to fit my needs. Just go to The Marquis, order a few drinks ‘til you’ve created the illusion you’ve become intoxicated, and then walk out the pub, simple as that. I’ll be waiting for you after at my stables down by the canal.”

“And why do I feel like that’s not your whole plan? It still doesn’t explain why The Marquis and not some other pub.”

Tommy tapped the end of his cigarette into the glass of water you had left out on the table. You had scolded him about doing so countless times but now did not seem like the moment to comment on it. Raising the cigarette to his lips once more, he said, “There is a new gang trying to move in on our territories. They think we haven’t noticed and we mean to put an end to it before they realize we caught on. They frequent The Marquis on Friday nights so I need you to go in, get their attention, and once you have made them believe your tongue is nice and loose, I want you to start spilling all of the Peaky Blinders’s secrets— the false ones I tell you to say, of course.”

“Ahhh…” you nodded, the final pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “You want me to make them believe you’ve let slip sensitive information when you come to me for my services. Which is why you want me for my reputation. They’ll think Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore has caught him with his pants down in more ways than one.”

“I’ve always said you were a clever one.” For the first time since he had gotten dressed, something akin to a smile ghosted across Tommy’s lips.

Walking over to where he was sitting, you plucked the cigarette from his fingers and placed it in your mouth. You inhaled before slowly blowing the smoke out right in Tommy’s face. “So, that’s it? I provide these fools who are crazy enough to try and challenge you false information on the Peaky Blinders and then just go along my way?”

Tommy ignored the smoke as he reached out and took his cigarette back, his fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed against yours. “Like you said, these men are fools. They’ll believe your deception. And when you leave the pub announcing you are going to sleep it off in one of the Peaky Blinders’s empty stash houses, they will follow you. And I will be waiting.”

You had to admit, it was a clever plan. Due to the popularity of the Peaky Blinders and the constant gossip surrounding them, everyone throughout Birmingham knew who you were and about your weekly dealings with Tommy Shelby. Everywhere you went, whispers seemed to follow you and you often caught people pointing or staring. Not that you usually minded. It was actually rather good for business. After all, what man wouldn’t want to say they had bedded the same woman as the head of the Peaky Blinders?

But while you had been servicing Tommy weekly for almost a year, he had never asked you to get involved in any Peaky Blinders business before this. In fact, Tommy had made it very clear from the start that you were to have no part in that aspect of his life. You were his momentary escape, a place where he could spend an hour or so without the weight of the world on his shoulders. So for him to come to you now asking this…. He must be more concerned about the other gang than he was letting on.

“And what happens once I lead them to the stables? I’m guessing you aren’t looking for a friendly chat.”

“You just get them there and leave the rest to me,” Tommy said as he dropped the remains of his cigarette butt into your glass of water. Standing, he placed his large hands on your shoulders and gave you a tight smile. “So, do we have an arrangement?”

Biting your lip, you mulled the question over for a moment. Tommy was a brilliant strategist and you had no doubt his plan would work. But his brush off of your questions about what happened afterward had a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. However, it was ill-advised to say no to someone as powerful as Thomas Shelby, so somewhat reluctantly, you said, “Fine. But I expect double my usual fee.”

“Done.” Tommy gave your shoulders a soft squeeze then turned to grab his cap off the table. “I’ll send Polly around in the morning with the details of what you should say. She can also help you find something to wear. Then head to The Marquis on Friday at seven and you know what to do.”

His hand reached for the door, but you called out, “Tommy” – he paused and turned to face you – “I’ll do what you want this once because it’s you who’s asking, but I’m not a Peaky Blinder. And I won’t have anything else to do with their business or transgressions. I don’t want to be involved with that lot. Are we understood?”

For a moment, Tommy didn’t move as he stared at you, save for one exaggerated blink of his icy blue eyes. You wondered if you went too far and said something you shouldn’t have. But then, he nodded, his tongue sliding across his full lips. “Understood.”

You smiled in relief and ducked your head, but before you could thank him, Tommy walked out the door.

As with most of Tommy’s plans, everything that Friday night went exactly as he predicted. Polly ended up bringing you a flashy new dress to wear that Tommy had purchased and from the moment you stepped into The Marquis of Lorne, you felt the weight of dozens of eyes on you. From there, it was easy to loudly drop Tommy’s name and your connection to him as you pretended to drink—as well as your “top secret” facts about the Peaky Blinders. Your table was soon swarmed by the gang members you were targeting, each offering to buy you another drink in the hopes of loosening your tongue further.

As the night wore on, a few of the men began getting more familiar with you than you were comfortable with, but you maintained your drunken facade and smiled through it. In your line of work, you had dealt with much worse before. However after one man stuck his hand up the bottom of your dress, you decided things had gone far enough and you rose unsteadily to your feet as you announced you were taking your leave. The men tried to convince you to stay or let them walk you home, but you insisted you would be alright on your own—there was an empty Peaky Blinders stash house nearby that you could sleep in for the night. You bit your lip to hide the smile threatening to break across your face as all the men’s eyes grew wide and they exchanged telling glances. Tommy Shelby, you are one brilliant man.

As you made your way out of the pub and into the foggy night, you could hear the men following close behind you. This was the part of the plan that concerned you the most. Back in the pub, there were other patrons who would step in if one of the men went too far or you called out for help. But out here on the empty road in the middle of the night, you doubted anyone would come to your aid if the men decided to approach you. You just had to trust Tommy knew what he was talking about and they would be more interested in finding the fake stash house than harassing you.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Tommy’s stable came into view. He had promised to meet you but as you got closer, there was no sign that anyone was there. Hesitating by the door, you wondered what you should do. There was no back door that you knew of so if something had happened and Tommy wasn’t there, you would be trapped inside alone with the gang between you and the only way out. But even if you decided to leave and continue on down the road, the gang would continue following you until they eventually grew suspicious and confronted you. So there was really no choice. You said a quick, silent prayer that Tommy was waiting for you, and you stepped inside.

You continued walking until you reached the far wall of the stable, but still, no Tommy. Your heart was beating furiously in your chest as the men behind you began to call out to you—crude, drunken taunts, and horrifying descriptions of what they were going to do to you. Spinning around, you looked everywhere desperately trying to find anything you could use to protect yourself with, but there were only a few hay bales. Trembling, you sunk to the ground and waited for the worst to come.

But just as the closest man was about to reach you, a figure stepped into the doorway of the stable, eclipsing the moonlight that had been illuminating the darkened space. Relief flooded through you as you recognized that familiar silhouette. Tommy had kept his word.

The men all turned and must have recognized him a few seconds after you did because a hushed murmur rippled through their group as they looked at him. Despite the fact they very obviously outnumbered him, you could sense the air of fear emanating from them, and you couldn’t blame them. While he may only be one man, this was Tommy Fucking Shelby they were facing. And that should be enough to terrify an army of men.

Tommy began to slowly walk forward, closing the distance between him and the men. As he slipped his jacket off and tossed it to the side, he called out in a strong voice that filled the stable, “Word on the streets is that you boys are trying to move in on our territory. Take things that are ours while you think we aren’t looking.”

He gestured to where you were still huddled on the ground. Now that he had come closer, you could just make out his face. He raised one eyebrow at you, a silent query if you were alright. You nodded shakily and rose to your feet, still pressed tightly against the wall. You felt his eyes scanning you for anything amiss, and he gave a satisfied nod when he deemed you safe.

Then, addressing the men once more, he continued. “You are not the first to think you could come for the Peaky Blinders and I am certain you won’t be the last. But I’m here to make certain that after tonight, you won’t be a problem any longer.”

Tommy came to a stop—his heels clicking loudly together—just a few inches before the closest man. Though his back was to you, you could tell the man was frightened by the way his hands shook as he raised them in the air.

Tommy smiled at the gesture…. then ripped off his cap and slashed it across the man’s throat.

You gasped in horror and pressed your hands to your mouth as a trail of blood flew through the air and splattered on the floor. Almost in slow motion, the man dropped to his knees, a horrendous gurgling emanating from his ruined throat. Then Tommy swung his cap again, using the razorblades sewn in the brim to finish the job, and the man toppled over without another sound.

The stable burst into chaos. The rest of the men rushed at Tommy but he was ready for them. Normally, it would have been near impossible odds with Tommy outnumbered so, but the men had been drinking very heavily back in the pub and their senses were dulled considerably. Tommy was able to avoid most of their attacks while landing blow after blow on the men—his razorblades sending blood flying with every swing.

You of course knew of the Peaky Blinders’s signature weapon of choice, yet this was the first time you had seen anyone use it in action. It was a horrendously strange sight to see: Tommy swinging something so innocuous as his tweed flat cap at the other men just for a burst of crimson blood to bloom in that same spot. And the fluid manner in which Tommy ducked and dodged, weaving his way from one man to the next, was almost beautiful in a way. Like a dancer taking the stage—stage made of blood.

There was no avoiding it. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, burning your nose. Somehow, it even blocked out the pungent smells from all of the horses. Even in only the pale glow from the moonlight, everywhere you looked was dripping red. You had only been spared because you had dove sideways to huddle behind the hay bales next to you once the attack began, but they had taken the full brunt of the carnage. Blood was slowly filtering through the tightly packed hay as it traveled downward toward the ground—the pool on the floor steadily creeping closer to your feet.

You had to escape this massacre as soon as possible.

Eventually, you saw an opening but just as you gathered up your dress to make a dash to freedom, Tommy spun around and pointed one blood-soaked finger at you. “You! Stay where you are.”

You froze, unsure of your next move. Tommy had never said anything about you remaining once you had done your part. Your only job was to lure the men to the stable and he would take care of the rest. Surely he didn’t mean for you to remain here to witness this slaughter?

And yet, he remained standing there with all of his focus on you despite his remaining enemies still swarming around him, blood dripping off of the end of his outstretched finger. So you did the only thing you could. You released your dress, letting the fabric fall once more to the ground, and nodded to him even as you shrank back behind the hay bales, quivering in fear.

Seemingly satisfied that you wouldn’t attempt to bolt again, Tommy slowly lowered his hand and turned back to the melee. There were only a few men still standing—the others were left moaning on the ground as they clutched at their wounds, or worse still, some lay perfectly still in growing pools of their own blood.

With fewer opponents charging him at once, Tommy took a new, less frantic approach to the fight. Instead of attacking with the blades sewn into his hat, he began to use his fists— the sound of breaking bones echoing throughout the open area as his knuckles slammed into noses and cheekbones. One man even dropped like a stone as Tommy drove his fist into the man’s jaw.

And you were forced to watch it all, terrified of what Tommy might do if you even glanced away. The one saving grace that made it even slightly bearable was that the clouds had shifted to partially cover the moon, hindering the visibility inside the stable. But that did nothing to shield you from the sounds or smells surrounding you.

Finally—mercifully—Tommy struck down the last of the gang members. He stood in the middle of the stable, chest heaving, as he looked around at the carnage surrounding him. Like this, he resembled some ancient god of war reveling in his battlefield, washed in the blood of his enemies.

Satisfied the fight was over, he picked his way through the maze of bodies on the floor and stopped before your hiding place. He held out his hand to you, but you ignored it, unable to touch the blood that coated it. Instead, you stepped out from behind the hay bales on your own and stood before him, unable to meet his eye.

He leaned in close until his face was only a breath’s distance from you and he said, “Next time I pay you for a service, you don’t leave until you are given permission. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Tommy,” you managed to choke out, tears stinging your eyes.

His eyes flickered over you, and even with such a slight gesture, you felt the weight of his gaze as it examined every inch of you. You had stood bare in front of Thomas Shelby more times than you could count, had him thrust into the deepest part of your core on a weekly basis, and yet, you had never felt as exposed or vulnerable as you did right now.

As his eyes settled once more on your face, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a stack of money. He placed it on the hay bale beside you and you shuttered to see his bloody fingerprints stained on the top bill.

“I included a little extra for your trouble.” Your eyes snapped back up to look at him. Despite the circumstances, Tommy’s voice was as calm and level as always. It was the sort of tone one would expect to hear him use when he visited the church or held a business meeting, not when standing there surrounded by the corpses of his enemies and dyed red with their blood.

“Now you are free to go.” He turned and walked calmly back towards the stable entrance. Pausing only momentarily to pick up his jacket, he slid it on in one fluid motion as he added, his back still turned towards you, “I’ll be round Wednesday at my normal time.”

Then he disappeared into the foggy night, leaving you alone surrounded by the ghastly horror he had wrought.

Part 2 coming soon and it will be much more relationship-heavy (plus pretty steamy😉)!

#ailesswhumptober2023 #fic #whumptober #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #reader #f!reader #prostitute!reader #angst #whump #blood tw #fighting tw #razor blade tw #prostitution tw #forced to watch tw #stalking tw

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twvstedsouls · 2 years ago

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S3.04 - PEAKY BLINDERS

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orchidsncrake · 9 months ago

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i drink the honey inside your hive

pairing/fandom: tommy/alfie, peaky blinders

rating: explicit

tags: pwp, vampire!tommy, blood drinking, anal/riding, chair sex, alfie-typical excess of patronizing endearments

word count: 3,912

summary: Tommy has a bad habit of neglecting his basic needs up until they threaten to kill him, Alfie takes it upon himself to help the poor bastard. Doesn't mean he won't enjoy it, though.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53828842

“You’re a nippy little thing, aren’t you?” Alfie admonishes, holding Tommy by the nape of his neck. “No fucking manners, hm? Whatever happened to ‘please?’”

All Alfie gets in response is Tommy thrashing against him again, relentlessly pulling away from the hold Alfie has on him and towards the other’s neck. Alfie had been reading peacefully in his armchair when the little fucker had come in the door, keyed up and frantic, pissed about something or the other. It was obvious what the actual problem was - obvious and entirely predictable since Tommy is apparently incapable of taking care of himself. He had to work himself weary with business exploits and trade routes and whatever other absurd nonissues the bastard gets himself involved with in the name of money until he is forced to show up at Alfie's bakery in the dead of night, panting and blown-pupilled. It had taken all of thirty seconds for the miniature fucking tornado to throw himself into Alfie’s lap and start pawing at his collar, the task having turned out to be too complicated for the poor thing. Now, he’s held back by Alfie’s hand and absolutely fucking furious about it, angry noises scraping free from his throat.

“Alfie-” Tommy snarls, legs slipping against the chair's leather where he’d gracelessly straddled Aflie’s lap. He makes another go for Alfie’s neck only to be held back again. The failure seems to finally calm him a bit and he gives up his half-cocked attack. He sags against Alfie’s chest, panting, but his hands keep halfheartedly trying to undo the buttons of Alfie’s shirt.

“Tire yourself out yet?” Alfie chuckles, smoothing a hand over Tommy’s back. He still has his waistcoat on, though his overcoat is nowhere to be seen. Likely in a heap wherever his missing shoes are. Alfie smirks as he looks down to see Tommy’s socked feet flailing to keep him on the chair. Taking mercy, Alfie takes hold of Tommy by the ass and hauls him up onto his lap properly. He keeps his hand there to stabilize him, ignoring Tommy’s scoff. “You’re hungry, right?”

Tommy looks up at him just to gnash his teeth. The blue of his eyes is almost entirely gone, swallowed up by adrenaline, and his cheeks are paler than Alfie would like. Pinching them makes it no better and only serves to piss Tommy off more.

“Quit fuckin’ pinching me,” Tommy growls. Alfie swats him on the ass, chastising.

“That’s not very polite, is it, mate? Didn’t your mum ever teach you to be nice to the people you want to suck dry?”

The vulgarness of Alfie’s phrasing cuts through the fog of Tommy’s anger, and he watches shame wash over the other’s face. Tommy bows his head, forehead resting on Alfie’s shoulder, and the baker sighs heavily. Loosening the grip on Tommy’s neck, Alfie starts idly running his thumb across the short, prickly hairs there, petting him. Tommy’s back tenses momentarily, presumably deciding between brushing Alfie off and starving or enduring. He relaxes the next moment, letting himself be caressed. Alfie hums approvingly.

“There you go, treacle. Now, will you tell me properly what you came here for, or are you set on going at my neck like a feral cat?”

Tommy groans. “Come on, Alfie.”

Alfie frowns and digs his fingers into Tommy’s scalp, abusing his sensitivity. “That’s not the answer I’m looking for, is it?”

The two sit in silence as Tommy refuses to answer, listening to Tommy’s clipped breathing and the grandfather clock clicking across the room. The road outside is silent except for a slight hum that Alfie suspects is rain, but he can’t be sure. Finally, there’s a gust of air against Alfie’s neck as Tommy sighs in defeat, his hunger beating his pride.

“No.”

“No, what?”

Tommy shifts in his lap, putting no effort into hiding his annoyance. “No, that’s not the answer you’re for,” he bites out, words burning his tongue.

“Smart lad, aren’t you?” Alfie says, patting Tommy’s bum. “Tell me what I want to hear.” Silence, again, and the grandfather clock. The window pane makes a dull wub sound from the wind, and Alfie decides it must be raining. The building creaks as the wind picks up.

“Did you walk here in the rain, Tommy?” Alfie asks, stalling Tommy’s admittance. Tommy’s hair brushes against his beard as the other nods. “Where’s your cap, then? Did you put it by one of the stoves?” More brushing, the other direction. Tommy shifts in his lap, sinking deeper into Alfie’s embrace.

“I’m hungry,” Tommy rumbles out, voice rasping from speaking too low. Alfie runs his hand down to the small of Tommy’s back and up again. He considers teasing him, asking him if that was so damn hard , but decides not to. The thing’s already cold, wet, and hungry - there’s no point in adding insult to injury.

“Good, Tommy. Thank you. And I assume you came here looking for a drink?” Alfie asks instead, his voice barely a murmur.

“Yes.” Tommy’s shame weaves into the word - ashamed of being hungry, ashamed of needing Alfie, ashamed of what he is. Alfie pats Tommy again, but this time to comfort him. As much of a monster as he can be to traitors and stockbrokers, Alfie’s never considered Tommy an actual one - not like Tommy does himself.

“It’s alright, treacle. You don’t have to be upset around ol’ Alfie, yeah?” He releases Tommy’s neck and brings his hand to his collar, deftly undoing the buttons that had bested Tommy before. Tommy’s head perks up at the movement, and his eyes immediately land on the now-exposed skin of Alfie’s neck, locked and staring. “Drink up, love. Far too skinny, aren’t you?”

Tommy ignores Alfie’s comment - one that would typically earn one of his infamous marble stares - and leans in. He doesn’t do anything at first, simply presses his nose against the artery, feeling it thrum. Alfie feels a faint wetness and realizes that Tommy is licking him, quick little passes with the tip of his tongue. He smiles.

“You numbing me up, Tommy?” Alfie asks, his voice a little teasing. Tommy just huffs and runs a fang over Alfie’s neck in what is likely meant to be a threat but only serves to send a tremor up Alfie’s spine. Alfie’s hand returns to Tommy’s nape, pressing him into his neck. “Come on, then. You were so impatient just a minute ago.”

It’s sharp when Tommy’s teeth break his skin. A flare of pain in the muscle, though the superficial burn is absent thanks to Tommy’s saliva. Alfie’s hand tightens around Tommy’s neck instinctively, inadvertently pushing the other’s face further. Tommy only moans appreciably, blissed out by the rush of blood into his mouth. It only lasts momentarily before the pain turns to liquid warmth, relaxing and pleasant. Alfie’s done this enough to know it’s Tommy’s venom pacifying him, making him a more pliant and agreeable victim, but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the rush. His ears ring as the high takes over, and when it fades into the background, the first thing Alfie hears are Tommy’s frantic little moans, then the rain pelting against the window and faint ticking.

One of Tommy’s hands has somehow wormed its way around Alfie’s neck and is now pulling Alfie impossibly closer, trying to meld into the other’s body. The other is bunched up in the fabric of Alfie’s shirt, clinging onto him desperately. Alfie shushes him, still reeling but aware enough to comfort him. He rubs soothing circles into the small of Tommy’s back, making a wordless droning sound in his chest, knowing Tommy likes the vibration. Warmth pools in his collarbone, and Alfie chuckles.

“Bit of a messy eater, aren’t you?” He teases, suppressing a shudder when Tommy’s tongue dips into his clavicle, lapping up the blood. Blunt fingernails dig into his neck threateningly.

“Fuck you,” Tommy murmurs wetly, lips coated in Alfie’s blood. A different warmth flares in Alfie’s core at the thought of Tommy drenched in him, living off him. Alfie shifts in his seat, sure to hold Tommy close so as not to dislodge him.

“Not a very polite parasite,” Alfie says, tongue careless from the venom. Tommy’s reaction is immediate, pulling away from Alfie’s neck and bristling. Alfie shushes him quickly, stroking his flank and holding his head to his neck, not letting him recoil. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t call you a parasite, you’re not anything like that. The venom gets to my head, that’s all. Just drink, Tommy, yeah?”

Tommy grunts but allows himself to be placated, too hungry and blissed to hang onto his anger. Alfie sighs as lips reattach to his neck, suckling, tonguing the twin wounds to draw forth more blood. Another mouthful of the stuff settles Tommy completely, the smaller melting back into Alfie’s chest, legs limp in his lap.

“There’s a good boy,” Alfie murmurs, petting Tommy’s hair. He gets a muffled moan in return and an audible gulp in his ear. His head is beginning to spin, and he knows he’ll have to pull Tommy off soon if he doesn’t do it himself. Tommy’s not exactly tiny, and certainly not as small as Alfie likes to imply he is, but he can only fit so much in him. As it turns out, it only takes two more mouthfuls to satiate him. Satisfied and winded, Tommy releases Alfie’s neck from his mouth with a pop and rests his cheek on the other’s shoulder, idly lapping at the wounds. Alfie smiles and pets his back more, comforting him as much as thanking him for cleaning and healing the wounds. Once Tommy’s kitten-licking stops, Alfie picks up his head, cheek in palm, and turns him to look at him. The angle’s a bit awkward, Alfie’s neck too contracted and Tommy too out of it to be much help, but the sight he gets is worth it.

Tommy’s eyes are lidded and his lips parted, still stained with Alfie’s blood. Licking his thumb, Alfie gently wipes them clean, knowing if it dries Tommy will be chapped for days. Having wiped his thumb on his trousers - he’ll deal with that later, blood on the clothes of a gang leader is to be expected - Alfie gently pushes just above Tommy’s eye, opening the lid enough to see properly. Tommy’s pupils are still blown, but where they’d been alight and frantic before they’re eyes are hazy, not trained in any particular direction. Alfie smiles and pats Tommy’s cheek, now flushed and pink, warmed by Alfie’s blood. Tommy’s nose is pink, too, making the freckles there a bit brighter.

“You really are just gorgeous, y’know that, Tommy?” Alfie whispers, stroking the delicate cheekbone in his palm. Tommy murmurs something unintelligible but leans into Alfie’s thumb, and Alfie chuckles. “Did I give you a bit too much, mate? Seem a bit blood drunk,” he muses, pressing his forehead to Tommy’s. He places a kiss there and continues stroking Tommy’s back, enjoying the moment of peace. The grandfather clock sounds off twice before Tommy starts to stir.

“Alfie,” he begins slurrily, bringing a hand up to rest on Alfie’s chest. After a few beats of silence, Alfie prompts him.

“Yes, treacle?”

Tommy licks his lips and huffs, then starts trying to get up, but with his legs folded beneath him and the remnants of his stupor, he sways back dangerously. Alfie steadies him with a hand between his shoulder blades and pulls him back. “None of that, now. What’d’ja want, Tommy? There’s not much I’d deny you right now.” Or ever , Alfie adds silently.

Tommy rights himself enough to look into Alfie’s eyes, the normal coldness gone. He’s still trying, though, evident by the slight downturn of his mouth, but the softness in his eyes gives him away. Alfie smirks and Tommy huffs, and then lips are crashing down onto his, clumsy and ferrous. Alfie startles, surprised by the sudden burst of energy, but he’s never been one to push someone like Tommy off his lap. He returns the kiss eagerly, using the hand cradling Tommy’s head to bring him impossibly closer. Tommy’s chest presses flush to his, held close by Alfie’s hand, and Alfie can feel the heat radiating off him. Heat he put there with his own blood, the blood filling Tommy and sustaining him. Part of each other.

“Can’t ever warn a guy, can you? I’m gettin’ old, Tom,” Alfie says against Tommy’s lips. He’s loose-limbed in his lap, groping clumsily. A hand slips under his shirt and rakes down his chest, scratching the hair there.

“You’re doing just fine, Alfie,” Tommy says, a bit more intelligible this time. Alfie groans and moves a hand to Tommy’s hip and grinds the other against him. Tommy grunts and follows the movement until Alfie’s holding onto his hip for stability more than anything else, panting and trying to keep up with the fevered mess in his lap. Tommy quickly grows impatient and starts trying to push Alfie’s shirt off, but is still too disoriented to do it himself. Mercifully, Alfie sheds his shirt quickly, dropping it onto the floor. Tommy is quickly divested of his waistcoat, then his collar and shirt. Now bare from the waist up, Alfie can properly appreciate the absolute fucking sauna Tommy’s turned into now that he’s not starved.

“You’re fucking burning up, aren’tcha, love?” Alfie teases, scratching Tommy’s scalp and engaging in half the uncoordinated kisses Tommy presses to his mouth. “You’re going to feel fucking feverish wrapped around my dick.” Tommy’s hips jerk against his, his gasp sucking the air from Alfie’s lungs. “Yeah? You like the idea of that, sweetheart? You want me to fuck you til you’re dripping? Full of me in every way I can manage?” Alfie slides his hand over the slight swell of Tommy’s stomach as he spits the last line of filth, appreciating the warmth there; his presence. Tommy moans and takes Alfie’s earlobe into his mouth, grinding his teeth.

“You’re a pervert, Alfie,” Tommy says, apparently having gained some lucidity since jumping Alfie’s bones. Alfie only hums in response and shrugs.

“You know what they say about shoes and fitting, sweetheart.” Alfie lands a solid swat to Tommy’s bum, and the other stiffens in his lap. Looking up, Alfie has just enough time to see Tommy’s lip curl before there’s a hand on his belt. Metal clangs and fabric shuffles as Tommy undoes Alfie’s trousers, his fine motor skills having returned. It’s a bit of a hassle getting Tommy’s trousers off, but he manages.

“Nothing can ever stop you from getting what you want, can it?” Alfie asks, holding Tommy by the shoulders as he leans back precariously to get a vial of oil from Alfie’s desk. Tommy’s back arches, pushing his pretty little chest towards Alfie, rosy and plump, and he can’t resist but lean down and suck a mark into his pec. Tommy grunts in warning, not one to like being marked, but when Alfie finds that his nose remains intact, he assumes Tommy’s in a forgiving mood.

“Why should anything stop me?” Tommy breathes, back safely in Alfie’s lap with slicked fingers disappearing behind his back. Alfie watches his face, how it contorts and relaxes as he prepares himself. Alfie wishes he could be doing it himself, feel Tommy clench around him, draw out sounds no one else gets to hear from the most dangerous man in Birmingham, but he knows that Tommy won’t slow down long enough to let him, so he settles for enjoying the show.

“It might teach you a lesson if someone did,” Alfie responds mindlessly, too engrossed with Tommy’s heaving chest in front of him and how his arm is flexing as he fucks himself with his own fingers.

“Many men better than you have died trying to teach me a lesson, Alfie,” Tommy responds breathlessly. A punched-out groan leaves him when he removes his fingers. Alfie jerks when Tommy dribbles oil directly on his cock, but he’s not given a chance to complain before there’s a hand wrapped around him, jerking him torturously slow. Tommy rises on his knees, and Alfie finds himself starstruck by his beauty, the miles of pale skin in front of him, pinkened by him. The mark on his pec is purpling now, and Alfie wonders if Tommy will press into it the next time he touches himself, if the bruise will last far longer than it should because of it. He’s forced back into the present when Tommy presses the head of his cocked against his hole, and he snaps his head up to look at the beauty in front of him; the cheekbones, the freckles, the eyes.

“Better men, I’m sure, sweetheart.” Alfie takes Tommy’s hips in his hand. “But never a worse one.” Tommy opens his mouth to respond, doubtlessly some snarky comment about how there’s no man worse than himself or how he doesn’t need a man at all, but Alfie fucks his hips up, the head of his cock breaching Tommy’s hole, and all that comes out is a moan. Tommy flushes immediately, embarrassed and infuriated at being made to make such a noise. Still, the way the rosiness travels down to his chest and belly tells Alfie it’s more arousal than anger. Tommy’s hands grip Alfie’s shoulders, his fingers strained and digging in, until finally, Tommy’s ass rests on Alfie’s thighs. With Tommy having prepared himself, Alfie hadn’t had the chance to feel how fucking hot he was inside until he was speared open on his dick.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Tom. You’re fucking boiling,” Alfie forces out, fingers sinking into the slight plushness of Tommy’s hips. Tommy is panting above him, his chest heaving and pressing into Alfie’s. Alfie runs his hand over Tommy’s chest, pinching his nipples and biting into his flushed pecs, watching the pink discolor to deep red. Tommy, as impatient as ever, sets to rocking his hips against Alfie almost immediately, and Alfie grips Tommy’s hips to keep him grounded. Tommy’s mouth drops open, stained lips and tongue on full display. Alfie can’t help but press his thumb into Tommy’s mouth, applying pressure to his tongue to watch the saliva well up. Tommy moves to suck it, but Alfie switches to two fingers and holds his mouth open. Glazed blue eyes stare at him curiously, swallowed up by black.

“Just like this, darling. I want to watch you drip,” Alfie rumbles, making Tommy shudder. He starts fucking his hips up experimentally, not wanting to rush Tommy but getting a bit desperate. Tommy takes it beautifully, back arching and jaw relaxing fully. A rivulet of pinked drool tracks down Alfie’s finger, curling around his forearm. Tommy’s fangs are still poking out a bit - milk teeth, Alfie liked to calm them to rile him up - and Alfie presses the pad of his index into one of the points. The pain is drowned out by the moan Tommy lets out, his tongue fighting free from being pinned to lap at the bead of blood.

“There you go, Tom. I can never give you enough, hm?”

Tommy just groans, higher level function out the window. Alfie makes a note that in the future when Tommy’s particularly inconsolable, he only needs a drink and a good fuck. Vampirism aside - who doesn’t? Tommy bounces a bit more enthusiastically in his lap, thighs flexing beautifully. Alfie reaches his hand around to slap his ass, only getting away with it because Tommy’s too blissed out to tell him off. Alfie fucks up to meet his frenzied movements and chuckles breathlessly when it dislodges a hiccup from Tommy.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate. Might’ve given you too much after all.” Alfie drags his fingers free from Tommy’s mouth, smearing their blood and saliva down his chin. He wraps his arms around Tommy’s back, keeping him steady as their pace becomes uneven. “You gonna come for me, Tom?” Tommy nods, mouth hung open as a near-constant stream of staccato cries is fucked out of him. Alfie reaches between them and takes Tommy’s cock in his hand, giving him a firm fist to fuck into. He figures letting Tommy control the pace is the best option, seeing as how Alfie has pushed every one of his senses to their limit.

“Come on for me then, darling. I’ve got you,” Alfie pants, leaning back to get a good look at the man in his lap. He’ll never get over how ethereal Tommy is, with his carved-from-marble cheekbones and doll-like eyelashes. His eyes are closed, hiding the blue, and Alfie thinks he may be even more beautiful like this in the throes of passion. The flush resting on his cheeks and traveling down his chest makes him look younger, livelier. Tommy makes a keening sound as his back arches, lips dropping open as he comes, cum spurting over his belly and dribbling onto Alfie’s hand. He uses it to slick his movements, pumping Tommy through his orgasm, then just teasing at his frenulum to make him buck. Tommy slumps against him, twitching a bit in oversensitivity, and Alfie wraps his arms around him and hugs him to his chest. Tommy weakly grasps at his sides where his arms are pinned but lets Alfie fuck into him frantically, letting out soft sounds into his neck.

“You’re so beautiful, treacle. Just fucking incredible, look at you,” Alfie babbles, face contorting as he gets close. “Stuffed full of me, aren’t you? Cock up your little arse and belly full of my blood. I’ll come in you too, darling, fill you up so much you can’t think of anything other than me.” Alfie’s words become nearly unintelligible near the end, but Tommy nods against his shoulder anyway, blunt nails digging into Alfie’s ribs. Alfie grunts as he tips over the edge, coming inside Tommy. He slams his hips up into him a few more times for good measure, marking Tommy as his in every way he can think.

“Alfie,” Tommy whines eventually, exhausted and overstimulated. Alfie nods, still panting as he comes down, and forces his hips to still. He slumps back into his chair, bringing Tommy with him to rest on his chest. Alfie becomes aware of his surroundings gradually, awareness growing from just Tommy’s heart pounding against his to the clock, then the silence of the outdoors. The rain must’ve stopped.

Alfie runs a hand over Tommy’s flank. “Y’alright, Tom?”

Tommy grumbles against him, shifting a bit. Alfie helps lift him off his cock, stroking his head when he groans. “I’m alright, Alfie,” he responds, sounding winded. Alfie pats him on the bum.

“Good. Let’s just rest here a bit, eh?”

Tommy nods, short hairs on the side of his head prickling Alfie’s bare chest.

“That’s a good boy,” Alfie murmurs, kissing Tommy’s temple. He loves him like this, sated and calm, free from the tornado of thoughts and fear constantly bashing around in his head. Not that he doesn’t like Tommy all riled up and bloodied - believe him, he does. But it’s only at times like these, when he’s quiet and content to listen to Alfie’s heartbeat, that Alfie feels someone is looking at him through those eyes. And when those blues blink up at him now, hazy yet somehow clearer than ever, Alfie doesn’t try to stop the sappy smile that splits his face. Blood does suit Tommy - but it’s best when it’s Alfie’s.

#peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x alfie solomons #pwp #tw smut #blood drinking #vampire

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 1 year ago

Text

The Job (Part 1)

Masterlist (coming soon)

Part 1, Part 2

“I want to hire you for a job.”

You grinned at Tommy over your shoulder as you finished buttoning up your blouse and began to pull on your skirt. “I’m pretty sure you just did.”

Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette. “It’s precisely because of your reputation that I’m asking you to go.”

“And why do I feel like that’s not your whole plan? It still doesn’t explain why The Marquis and not some other pub.”

“I’ve always said you were a clever one.” For the first time since he had gotten dressed, something akin to a smile ghosted across Tommy’s lips.

“And what happens once I lead them to the stables? I’m guessing you aren’t looking for a friendly chat.”

You smiled in relief and ducked your head, but before you could thank him, Tommy walked out the door.

Then, addressing the men once more, he continued. “You are not the first to think you could come for the Peaky Blinders and I'll bet you won’t be the last. But I’m here to make certain that after tonight, you won’t be a problem any longer.”

Tommy smiled at the gesture…. then ripped off his cap and slashed it across the man’s throat.

You had to escape this massacre as soon as possible.

Eventually, you saw an opening but just as you gathered up your dress to make a dash to freedom, Tommy spun around and pointed one blood-soaked finger at you. “You! Stay where you are.”

He leaned in close until his face was only a breath’s distance from you and he said, “Next time I pay you for a service, you don’t leave until you are given permission. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Tommy,” you managed to choke out, tears stinging your eyes.

Then he disappeared into the foggy night, leaving you alone surrounded by the ghastly horror he had wrought.

Part 2 coming soon and it will be much more relationship-heavy (plus pretty steamy😉)!

Tag list: @loverhymeswith, @heart-0n-fire, @that-sarcastic-writer, @eternallyvenus, @writercole, @deppresseddyslexic, @confetti-cakemix, @flamingdisputes, @callsign-phoenix

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