ofanotherera | office party

office party

It goes almost just as Alfie would have expected. He ends up spending the most of the night with cocky, hotshot second year associates trying to subtly talk themselves up, and him grinding his teeth and holding an incongruously delicate champagne glass- then eventually trading it for a tumbler of scotch.

When Tommy finally springs him, he puts a warm arm around his waist, give him a kiss on the throat, just below his ear, and walks him out of the place just like that, standing tall against the stairs, and nobly waiting untl he gets to the elevator to chuckle.

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He reaches up, and this time, rather grabbing the nape of Tommy's neck, takes him by the front of the throat, big, broad palm curling over his windpipe, thumb and forefinger pressed up under his jaw.

He has to watch Tommy's face closely on this one. It's the first one he thinks might very well be a firm 'no.' On the chance that it isn't, though-

The moment Alfie's fingers press into the tender skin underneath his jaw, the moment he feels that pressure, Tommy's eyes go wide, his pupils blown, and he focuses hard on the man underneath him. It's a positive reaction in every way, even though it's not the loose-limbed mindless submission he'd felt when Alfie had bound his arms. His hand is tight around the bottle of lube and he breathes in hard, short bursts.

Another thing he had no knowledge of. He wonders if Alfie will ever stop surprising him.

Alfie smiles, and sits up, pushing himself on the other arm, settling like that, still holding Tommy in his lap by the throat, as he reaches out his hand to him. He doesn't let up, but orders.

"Slick my fingers."

He doesn't look away from Alfie, but he pops the bottle open, searches out Alfie's hand by feel and slicks his fingers. His hands are trembling, clumsy.

Alfie smiles, and reaches between his legs, giving him a quick, wet stroke before pressing his fingertips against him, pressing his fingers into him.

This, while the other hand tightens, just enough to make his blood pound in his head.

It's not just his blood that's singing: it's like every single nerve is on fire, like he can feel every single heartbeat whisper underneath his skin. He's hyper-alert of the fingers pressing slowly inside of him, the push and stretch of them, and he idly imagines he can feel Alfie's fingerprints on his throat, feel Alfie's pulse against his own. He's silent and still, but not even close to absent.

"Keep quiet for me."

Alfie instructs him, remembering that little admission from before, crooking his fingers.

"All I want to hear is you trying to breathe."

He widens his eyes to show that he understands, doesn't even try to nod. He doesn't think he could speak, even if he wanted to, his whole body held rigid with pleasure and just enough fear. His breath stutters when Alfie crooks his fingers inside of him, but other than that he breathes deep.

He takes long, deep breaths with him, and sets about trying to make the pleasure more difficult to behave through, finding his prostate and beginning a slow, tortuous motion, humming contemplatively in Tommy's ear.

His breath hitches more often, but it's like he can't, like his voice is blocked, and it winds him up tight- makes his breath high and almost squeaky. Instead of moaning, he clenches his thighs so hard they start trembling against Alfie's legs.

"Shaking for it."

He whispers, and picks up the pace a little faster, fucking him with three fingers now, eyes half shut.

"Fucking beautiful. Going to do this to you right on top of that desk."

He sees Alfie's eyes drop a little, but his own are still wide open, their light blue darker now. He almost chokes when Alfie says that, involuntarily moving his hips down, for more of that.

When Tommy chokes, Alfie's hand squeezes, wanting to keep him croaking, keep him fighting for air, as his fingers work harder.

"Yeah. Pretty thing on a pretty shelf."

He genuinely chokes, now, but his eyes are still open- still consenting, still fine, but soaring, like his body is at once nowhere and three times more sensitive than usual. He wants to come- so badly wants to come, but this time can't without the extra stimulation, while Alfie's hand is still keeping him anchored to the spot.

"I'm going to let you breathe, and when I do, you're going to come."

Alfie tells him, softly, like that, once said, is that. Not yet, not yet, but looking him in the eyes, making sure he understands.

"You are going to come for me. Like a good little-"

He catches the implication through the haze in his mind, eyes wide and shocked, hips stuttering, and his mouth drops half-open in a perfectly silent moan. He feels like a can of soda that got shaken around too much, ready to burst whenever Alfie wants him to.

"Tommy-"

Hoarse, now, or rather, even hoarser than his usual croak. He lets his throat go, and reaches down, stroking him hard with that hand, ready to help him the rest of the way there in case his body isn't ready, enjoying the vicarious rush.

The moment Alfie touches him he sobs, even if his muddled brain isn't sure if he's allowed- but he can't hold back as he shakes apart in Alfie's lap, coming in thick, hot spurts. His eyes press closed and he keeps coming around Alfie's fingers- dry, but still jerking his hips, still shaking. He falls forward eventually and wraps his arms around Alfie's neck. His breath is irregular and raspy in Alfie's ear.

Another night, Alfie will do this to him again and fuck him right now, like this, right through the aftermath. Today, though, he stops, and swallows his desire, wrapping his arms around him and taking the time to reassure him.

"Good God in heaven, Tommy Shelby, the way you make me feel."

He can't even make a joke; he's still shaking, and every few breaths it sounds like a sob is just a hair away. He pushes his head into the side of Alfie's neck, trying to calm himself down, but every time he moves he feels the pressure again and he wants to moan or cry or kiss Alfie until the other man can't breathe himself.

Alfie makes soft and careful shushing sounds, and eventually reaches up, gripping him hard by the nape of his neck, and giving him a little shake, hoping it'll be enough to push him one way or the other, into weeping outright or breathing properly.

He lets out one short, heart-wrenching sob and then- settles, easy as that, legs wrapping around Alfie more comfortably.

"You take care of me," he whispers, eyes still closed. "Can I...?" Help in turn.

"How tired are you, pet?"

He wonders, rubbing the clean hand through his hair.

"How worn?"

He shakes his head. "Tell me?"

Because there are parts of him that are exhausted and parts that are not; he can't answer before knowing what part Alfie wants.

"I'd have you. Any way you like."

Grinding his hips up, before leaning up to steal a kiss.

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