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Alfie enjoyed smoking his pipe in the evenings, sitting in companionable silence while Tommy caught up on articles in the paper. Quite liked to read himself, also, when he was able to find his glasses. Which, oftentimes, were abandoned on the dresser. Mixed in with the laundry, left carelessly in a waistcoat pocket. Balanced haphazardly on the rim of a half-drunk teacup, leftover from breakfast.
"Thought the chain was supposed to keep them on you," Tommy muttered, searching the table to find them for the rare occasion where they might actually become necessary. Alfie's sciatica was acting up again and he couldn't very well lumber about to look himself. Was never very much bothered by their absence at all, in fact.
"Yeah, well." Alfie grunted, filling his pipe and squinting hard to see what he was doing in the low lamplight. "Need to keep you on your toes, don't I? Can't have you getting bored round here."
"So all this is for my benefit, eh?"
"'Course, darling."
Eventually Tommy would abandon his task and get back to his paper, only to find them a day or two later as he thumbed through a book. Wedged between the pages, they were, to mark Alfie's place.
They had more books than a person ought to have. Could put a library to shame, Alfie. These days, Tommy took to reading out loud. It was easier that way, what with the blindness and recurring misplacing of said glasses. And, not that it needed saying, Tommy simply enjoyed doing it. Although the opportunity to needle at Alfie about his carelessness was, in itself, also quite enjoyable.
"Curious," Tommy would say, face carefully neutral as he pulled their latest read out from between the couch cushions, "how they seem to go missing just as you're in the mood for a story. Beginning to think you're losing them on purpose."
Alfie leveled him with a look of mock outrage, giving away nothing yet absolutely everything. "Right, well how dare you. Insinuating such things, the nerve. Don't know what you're on about, mate." Don't see what use I have for them when you're around. "Now I will forgive your transgression if you would be so kind as to keep on. I'm very well invested in the whole ordeal between the Greeks and the Romans."
Then he would gesture pointedly to the book, and Tommy would read. His own glasses carefully sat on the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world quite content. The sound of seagulls and the ocean waves a pleasant backdrop to the quiet baritone murmur. Eventually, Alfie would fall asleep sitting in that well loved chair. Relaxed. Head tipped back, mouth slack. Snoring. And Tommy would watch, horribly endeared, as Alfie inevitably snorted himself awake.
"What did I miss?" Alfie would ask, looking sheepish yet altogether pleased with the whole affair. And Tommy would grace him with a small smile, open the book and read again.
On days when the weather was pleasant, they walked along the beach and regaled each other with stories of times past. Or, perhaps more accurately, Alfie would bugger on about this and that whilst Tommy listened and, occasionally, interrupted.
And Alfie did so adore the sound of Tommy's voice, and that was enough to encourage his active participation. Which he did so by telling increasingly unbelievable and wildly untrue tales, until Tommy had no choice but to protest and, in an effort to get him to cease and desist, tell a story of his own.
"And I'm to believe all of that took place over a fortnight?" Tommy pressed, absolutely delighted by Alfie's immediate snort of indignation. "Surely the construction of a ship that size took considerably longer." Wouldn't do, of course, to let him have the satisfaction.
"What's this, then? Are you accusing me of embellishing my very accurate retelling of my travels?" Alfie complained theatrically, waving his cane about as they made their way along the shoreline. "Honestly. The cheek on you, Thomas."
Sometimes, after their walks, they would put the radio on. A pleasant hum of background noise to soothe and entertain them when the mood struck. Alfie with his pipe and Tommy with his whisky, enjoying the gentle breeze flowing in from the balcony. There was no need for conversation, then. Just the simple pleasure of existing in each other's company, gentle moments wrapped in soft music.
And then, after the maids had gone for the night, they would draw a bath in the large copper tub sat before the fireplace in the living room. A permanent fixture since Tommy had taken up residence. Very fond of his worldly comforts, Tommy was. He slipped into the hot water, cigarette in hand, while Alfie busied himself with tea in the kitchen. And then he'd return with a tray, drag over an ottoman to set it on before finally undressing.
And then they would sit. Bask in the warmth of the fire and pleasantly heated skin. Alfie settled at the back of the tub, Tommy resting comfortably against his chest. Sometimes they would talk quietly about nothing in particular as they sipped their tea. Sometimes they didn't need any words at all.
This was one of those times.
Tommy had his head tipped back onto Alfie's shoulder. Dark hair curling at the ends from the humidity. Fan of his lashes down against pale skin, hiding the devastatingly beautiful blue beneath. He looked most at peace like this. Mind blissfully quiet. Not a care in the world.
And Alfie couldn't very well leave him untouched when he was like this. Had to, absolutely had to, press a kiss into every bit of skin he could reach. Behind his ear, the sharp jut of a cheekbone, the delicate curve of his neck. Then his hands moved to settle on Tommy's stomach. Pressing. Keeping him close. Cherished. Like a secret.
And Tommy's hand would find its way to Alfie's, down beneath the water. Rest firmly, significantly, over the back of it. Eyes still closed to take in the moment. Enjoy the fullness of it.
"I love you." Alfie said into the stillness. Watching tendrils of smoke from Tommy's cigarette drift out of his mouth, up against the orange glow of the firelight. Wondering if, perhaps, this really was Hell and he'd wake to find that this was all a ruinously perfect dream.
But no. It was real. As real and solid as Tommy's body, moving against his, turning around to face him. Eyes fully open now, looking at him with the full force of that gaze. A gaze he wanted to be worthy of. Lovely and open, showing Alfie everything. All the things he couldn't rightly put to words. Moved closer still, until their lips were touching. And it was perfect.
Damned though they might have been, they found that the afterlife was exceedingly agreeable.