a rough town

[ofanotherera]

London is trouble on every corner. Tommy has been shown this, time and again, but all the same, Sabini's men manage to find him on the wrong side of the Camden road, and from there it's all blood and bad fortune, for everyone involved in the little dustup.

Comments

[bleak_midwinter]

It sends a shock of fear through him, like maybe he shouldn't have come to Alfie, maybe he should have steered clear- Alfie could take him easy, right now, would have him down in a second and Tommy would be done.

"After." So they knew Tommy would bring this message.

[ofanotherera]

"Fuck me, Tommy, you scare at all the wrong things."

He says, and takes the handkerchief from him, peeling it delicately back, and clicking his tongue when he catches sight of the cut.

"You look like a fucking rabbit. Breathe, boy."

[bleak_midwinter]

It's not the beatings that scare him, but the thought of being too trusting and ending up with a bullet in his head in Alfie's office is far worse.

He listens, takes a deep breath-- he has to physically hold himself back from cursing, from showing that kind of weakness, but he does hunch over, presses his hands over his (mercifully non-black) eyes.

"Alright," he says through gritted teeth. "Tell me." Whatever Alfie is thinking, he needs to know.

[ofanotherera]

"I'm not going to touch Sabini."

Folding his arms over his chest, and watching him breathe.

"That's work for the Blinders, yeah? You're gonna take a few dozen o' yours, a few of mine, and you're gonna pick a target as you like the look of."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Yes," he says, still fighting to keep his voice down and level. Of course- Christ, like he was going to let this be done without retribution. But-

"They'll do it again, Alfie. To someone else, one of your boys, other- partners." He sits up with a groan, making an expressive gesture. His hands are tacky with blood but he doesn't seem to notice.

[ofanotherera]

"Hey, hey, hey-"

Murmuring, reaching out to take the handkerchief from him, dabbing, and then holding it still while he's still bleeding.

"I know. I know. The only one here who doesn't know the steps is you, Mister Shelby. It's trench warfare, and you went and stood up straight, not knowing any better. Now you've come home, startled that they're shooting at us for lifting our heads up. Y'see? Sabini and me, we each has our next steps to take. This is life. This is London, Shelby, so catch your breath." And here, he takes him firmly by the jaw, and looks him in the eyes. "Hey?"

[bleak_midwinter]

Tommy is a hard man, and he has seen enough- he knows how to defend his own territory, has gone unchallenged in Birmingham for years. He is not a child.

But Alfie takes him by the jaw and blots at his cuts and his voice is a soft calming murmur. He doesn't trust Alfie, but all of it, with the adrenaline crash, makes his eyes go big and hurt before they quickly harden again. The rage from before will return there later, with calculation added to it, but right now this is as close to safe as he gets.

"Next time he'll have no one left to report to him," is all he decides. He won't be made part of this war, not again.

[ofanotherera]

Alfie smiles down at him, because there he is.

He could easily develop a fetish for the way Tommy looks in the second after his composure cracks. He's so placid, normally, so icy, but when they get to that heartbeat where he looks brittle and wounded-

"You'll hit Sabini, and then when you have, my boys will too. Otherwise, you would be a pet. D'you see? And you're not, mate. We both know you're not."

[bleak_midwinter]

Tommy isn't in denial about this: the both of them are aware of how Tommy is affected right now. He hates it, hates that it makes him look so weak, like he couldn't make it in London if he wanted to, but like Alfie said--

He's not a pet. But Alfie wrenches something loose in him that he can't hide, and isn't stupid enough to try hiding.

He licks his lips and tastes blood (his own, this time), then nods. No more words to be spared on this right now; he'll hit Sabini, and that will be enough for him. Alfie can take care of his own affairs.

[ofanotherera]

"Ah, fuck."

He agrees with whatever it is that's unspoken, but in his expression right now. Alfie lowers the handkerchief, but keeps that grip on his jaw.

"It's this side of that door, and that, Tommy. I go and burn down London for you, and that line gets crossed. Nod you understand."

[bleak_midwinter]

He doesn't just nod- he shivers, almost violently. His toes curl in his boots and he tightens the muscles in his thighs, so badly does he want to move, talk, do anything at all- but also wants Alfie to keep that hold on his jaw, and to tell him these things.

[ofanotherera]

"You're gonna storm out of here in a minute. You're going to go out front, and light a cigarette, and smoke it, hard and angry. Then you're gonna walk back in the direction of your lodgings- 'cept you're going to turn left, instead of right, down past the pub. You remember your way to that house I showed you, Tommy Shelby?"

Letting his jaw go, and saying again, more vehemently.

"Fucking nod you understand."

[bleak_midwinter]

Playing at anger won't be any trouble: Tommy's eyes are dark and stormy now, with something very close to anger.

He nods, firmly, his chin up, shoulders squared. It's like he was falling somewhere, and a tender word would have made him crash to the ground. Instead Alfie tells him what to do and grips his jaw, and he is saved from that crash.

[ofanotherera]

"Fuck me."

He murmurs again, nakedly covetous, appreciative. As soon as he gets him alone, he is going to make him cry.

"I'll be two blocks behind you. Go."

Nodding his head at the door.

[bleak_midwinter]

Satisfaction curls in Tommy's stomach, knowing that at least in this, he has Alfie Solomons. He's careful not to show it: he is ice, like he shows the world.

He gets up, works through the stiffness that has settled in his muscles, and then walks out the door. He takes a wet rag on his way out and cleans the blood off his hands, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to hold on to his cigarette if he didn't. Alfie can handle the rest of it, he figures, and he thinks of that as he smokes.

It doesn't even pay to light a second on the walk over to the house, and so he doesn't. He looks people in the eye and watches them flinch away, and by the time he's made it to the front door no one looks at him, and he is free to anticipate.

[ofanotherera]

Alfie is, true to his word, there behind him just a few minutes later.

He shakes his hand, like this is a fucking business meeting, squeezes it firm enough to hurt a little, and then opens the door for him, gesturing him inside.

"Now this may be obvious, mate, but this is one of those doors we shut ourselves in behind, and everything fucking changes."

[bleak_midwinter]

It does hurt, because his knuckles are bruised, his hands sore from the fight. He must look a sight, all bloodied up and bruised and shaking Alfie Solomons' hand like they're going to have tea.

He steps inside, and he is still hard, still ice; he can't let go of it that easily just yet. The only thing is that he doesn't reply, just hums and looks straight at Alfie: he understands alright.

[ofanotherera]

Alfie shuts the door, locks it, and then lunges. He grabs Tommy hard by the collar, and his hand lifts up, threatening a slap as he shoves him up against the wall. He nearly does it, too, but stops himself just short, running his knuckles along Tommy's cheek.

"How much do you like it to hurt, then?"

[bleak_midwinter]

He physically flinches away, can't help the instinctive motion- the relief of knuckles instead of the sting of rings makes his mouth drop slightly open.

"Badly," he whispers, hoarse all of a sudden. "I don't know- You're the only-"

He hasn't gone back to those dark alleys, he means; he doesn't know what would be too much because he hasn't been experimenting with others.

[ofanotherera]

"I would burn down London for you."

He admits, and pushes two rough, dirty fingers into Tommy's softly parted mouth.

"If only you'd forgive me for it. But you wouldn't, Tommy Shelby."

[bleak_midwinter]

He wants to suck on those fingers, badly, but instead he just pushes his tongue against them, drops his mouth open further in a soft, wet promise. It's a good distraction from the things Alfie's words make him think- he wouldn't, he wouldn't forgive him, but the fact that Alfie admitted to this makes Tommy's mind reel. He has a sinking, fearful suspicion that he will never be able to anticipate what Alfie will say.

[ofanotherera]

Alfie hooks his fingers into Tommy's mouth, pushing down against his tongue, and gives a soft little jerk with his wrist.

Down.

"Knees."

[bleak_midwinter]

He goes, wanting to do it gracefully but feeling a sharp twinge in his ribs that makes him go down, hard, knees thunking on the floor. He looks up at Alfie with those big, blue eyes, already softening, melting for him.

[ofanotherera]

"Tommy, be honest. Are you too scared right now to let me have that mouth?"

Drawing his thumb over it.

"I know what I want, but I'm not sure that it's quite what you need." But, fisting a hand in his hair, the side away from that newly staunched cut. "Talk. Out loud."

[bleak_midwinter]

The request takes just enough fear out of him- he shows Alfie, first off, by chasing that thumb by just a centimeter. He lets it go in favor of speaking, feeling incredibly grateful for the question, the consideration, for Alfie.

"I've never done it before," he has to admit, and that's frightening. But right now, behind this door, the rest of the fear he feels is good. An edge, not something to paralyze him. "I want it."

He thinks, perhaps, that Alfie needs him to say it in order to be able to go on and enjoy this, so he reaches up, curls one bruised hand around Alfie's hips, and says, "Please."