Archive of Our Own

"How come you smile so rarely?"

Tommy continued to pull on his cigarette, disregarding the words that drifted across the room. He pulled slowly on the smoldering stalk, sucking the smoke tightly into his lungs. There was a slight tingle as he let the heavy air fill his lungs for a moment, and the sensation of burning almost did him good. He then expelled the smoke again, off in the direction of Alfie, who only drew his eyebrows together darkly. 

"Don't know," he replied slowly. "Not really much to smile about."

Alfie snorted. "You have a kid, aren't fathers always happy?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows gingerly, flicked the rest of his cigarette away with his fingertips. The light above them flickered, and it gave Tommy more than just the visual effect for his eyes. His skin reacted, the fine hairs on his arms standing up as the flickering made just as much of a sound. Damn industrial warehouses, why did they always meet here? It needed warmth, his skin, Tommy thought, lighting another cigarette in the same breath. 

"You don't even have kids, how do you know they make you happy?" countered Tommy, finally looking over at Alfie. Alfie had wrinkled his nose at his cigarette, Tommy loved to tease him about it. He knew full well that Alfie hated the smell and taste, and it gave him all the more pleasure. He blew a light waft over to Alfie, and there, the ruffle of his brow at least gave Tommy a twitch at the corners of his mouth. Alfie saw it, even though Tommy had long since averted his gaze.

"Ah, see? Makes you smile when you can fucking piss other people off, right. Always knew you were a real bastard."

Tommy didn't say anything big about it. He stretched out his legs, which were already hurting again, stretched them until he felt it deep down to his knees, and closed his eyes. 

His temples, they were throbbing again. It had been there for several weeks now, this violent headache that couldn't be drunk or made go away with pills. Maybe he really did smoke too much, he didn't know for sure. Maybe more glasses of water would do him better than gin all the time, but it had become such a habit that Tommy hadn't even noticed it. That it was as much a part of his daily hydration as water. Only a few breaths later, Tommy felt the shadow leaning over him, looking down at him from above. Alfie - no matter what he did - was never inconspicuous. Tommy had known directly that this man could never become a thief, because he was far too heavy and simply too present for that. As if his aura wanted to be seen consciously. 

And something else made Tommy's breath catch briefly: it was the sensation of fine fingertips curling against his temples. It wasn't a caress, but it was something like touching, lightly, not hard, as if they were feeling the throbbing and pain in his temples. Tommy swallowed. 

"You're getting gray hairs at your temples, Tommy."

Sure. Tommy exhaled deeply, then dared to open his eyes at least a crack, and look at Alfie with an accusing look. 

"It's called wisdom, I think. And they're not that gray."

"Sure they are, right there. When was the last time you looked in the mirror, mate?" grunted Alfie in amusement, and Tommy slapped his hand away in annoyance.

He put the cigarette between his lips before rising from his chair. Alfie smiled slightly, still, it seemed, as Tommy sought his gaze. 

"I'll be going, then."

"We weren't talking business at all. Just here to bug me with your smoking?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows, then breathed some more smoke into Alfie's face.

"Just that, my Jewish friend. So, see you."

"Until when?"

"Until I can stand you again."

"So offended about the hair?"

"Fuck off, Alfie."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You look good though, huh. Mature, Tommy."

Tommy didn't reply anything, just gave Alfie the middle finger before grabbing his jacket and disappearing out the door. 

It had been going on for a while, between Alfie and him. 

Tommy couldn't describe what it was, or when it had started to get so intense. It wasn't even that they talked about it, or hinted at it - except for Alfie, because he always hinted at everything, and never kept his mouth shut. No, it was different. It hadn't built up from one day to the next, it had happened rather insidiously, this inner pressure. That wanting to look at him, that feeling under his skin that wouldn't let go of Tommy whenever he was back from Alfie. They had been involved with each other for so long, even in business, that Tommy believed they were good friends by now. Even if Alfie had already betrayed him, like a cunt. But that was just Alfie, Alfie and his sense of money and power, Alfie and his things just. 

And yet: they were attracted to each other. Somehow. 

Tommy had tried to put it into words, or somehow into something he understood even half-drunk in the day and night, and only a few days ago the penny had dropped: Tommy wanted to fuck him. 

Just fuck with him. 

He'd had enough of sex with his wife, with women in general, had had enough of the same games, over and over. It wasn't that he didn't love her - he did, and how. But Alfie, Alfie's presence promised something great. Not once had Tommy wondered what it must feel like to have this man touch him naked, to have his heavy weight settle on him. When those heavy hands were on his skin, pressing him into a bed, holding him. So hard that for once Tommy could not resist, so that for once he did not have to think, act, do. That he could just enjoy, open up. 

The thought had occurred to him several weeks ago when he had just seen Alfie after taking a leak. Alfie had just zipped up his pants, and a thought had occurred to Tommy: whether Alfie was circumcised as a Jew. Whether the tip of his dick lay exposed, plump and shiny, and what his cock would look like when fully hard. What Alfie's dick looked like in general. And it hadn't even brought a blush to Tommy's face, he'd just eyed Alfie unabashedly, pulling on his cigarette. Alfie had returned his gaze, dark as he always did, and Tommy had almost sensed that Alfie was possibly thinking the same thing. Maybe Tommy's eyes had betrayed his thoughts too, he didn't know. And it had stayed between them, that feeling, only they had never talked about it. Why should they? 

But in Tommy it looked meanwhile differently. Again and again he was attacked by these dreams at night, fucking wet dreams, and more than once he had already woken up with a hard, dripping cock, aching with desire to be touched. He had rubbed himself against the covers, against the sheets, sometimes to the point of orgasm. And twice already his own fingers had found their way all the way down between his legs, he had inserted them cautiously at first, then shamelessly the second time, exploring, one, two, three slim fingers, and had pushed them in so deep until a wave of pleasure had burst out, abruptly, having found a fine bulge inside him. He had come immediately, without stimulating his cock enough, fingering it. He'd just taken, hard, different, had ridden out the orgasm shaking, imagining what it would be like if Alfie fingered him. Or fucked him, just goddamn fucked him. 

But men like them, they didn't talk about such desires. In the war, well, it had been easy to get certain things, because one had been damn lonely, and because everyone had done it in the sorrowful weeks. Here, here they couldn't. What was Tommy supposed to do, either? Walk up to Alfie, press him against the wall, and tell him to his face that he wanted him to fuck him? That he wanted to know how Alfie's circumcised cock felt, how he would cum? That Tommy would want to taste it on his tongue? 

Tommy lay awake for a long time thinking about these things. 

Maybe Alfie already knew, too. After all, by now they were seeing each other without reasons, not talking about business and all that, but just meeting each other, sometimes without talking much. They were not long meetings, but they saw each other. They looked at each other, talked inconsequentially, teased each other and left. 

Was it called attraction? 

It could only be attraction. And one more thought drove him crazy: that he couldn't read Alfie the way he could read women. He knew immediately when a woman wanted him, he only had to look at her, in a certain way, and knew exactly that she was getting wet between her legs, and Tommy was guaranteed to penetrate and thrust deep into her in an hour at the latest. But with Alfie? 

Alfie gave little indication, always had, of what he was thinking. Sometimes Tommy could see a twitch between the thick whiskers, and puzzled - was it because of Tommy's eyes, or was the man just amusing himself in his head again? 

When he looked at the clock, it was almost 4 a.m. again. 

He had to do something, against these thoughts, against this uncertainty that was driving him crazy. Against this desire that by now extended to his entire sex life. When was the last time Tommy had fucked his wife? Too long ago for a Shelby. 

He had to do something. Urgently. 

Tommy had not announced his visit. It was Sunday, a day he knew full well Alfie had to be home because his damn Sundays were sacred to him. It might have just been the feeling, deep in his bones, that he had - but it dissolved into a pleasant tingle when the door opened and Alfie came into view. Tommy blinked, wiped the drops of cool rain from the tip of his nose, and stared at Alfie. 

Alfie stared back. It was a different stare than usual, though; it almost looked as if Tommy's sight shocked him. His pupils dilated for a brief moment, and he seemed to shift his weight to his other leg, silent. It faltered some uncertainty in Tommy that Alfie didn't say anything. Normally, he would have already pressed a stupid line at him, about what he was doing so wet in his door on his fucking Sunday. But Alfie kept silent, and then he did something that made all Tommy's dams burst: he swallowed. 

He just swallowed, and Tommy saw that tiny movement on Alfie's neck, on his Adam's apple, and already the last barrier fell. If Alfie didn't want it, he should say it now.

Tommy didn't even wait for Alfie to put a sentence together in his brain. He lifted both hands, took a deep breath, and pressed all his weight against Alfie, only to grab a piece of his clothes by the shoulder and neck, pull on it, pull Alfie closer, and kiss him. 

Tommy's body immediately showed a reaction at the first touch of their lips. Heat shot through his belly, it was like a violent, sudden fever spreading furiously. He reached out at the shoulder, rolling his fist tightly into that glorious fabric that smelled damn good - Tommy released, pressing the tip of his nose into it, only now realizing how violently he was actually breathing. Alfie didn't move at first, until those warm, coarse hands wrapped around Tommy's face, lifting it, their eyes met, and finally, finally Tommy could see it, read it, feel it. Alfie's body was firm and warm and great, and Tommy clawed fingers tighter into that statue even before Alfie let out a hoarse gasp. It hit Tommy's face, hot and delicious. 

"Tommy hey, what are you doing," he whispered, but it sounded so painfully wanting that Tommy shook his head, eyes still on Alfie. 

"I want this. Now, I need this." It startled him himself how breathless he sounded, his voice ragged and rough as after an evening at the boxing ring. Alfie opened his lips, fingertips running through Tommy's hair, lingering at his temples. Touched, more of it at last, and Tommy only now realized how good that touch felt. 

"What exactly, petal."

Dizziness, sweet dizziness, coupled with pounding lust. Tommy felt that he was already half hard, that his body was speaking for him where he could find no words. That's why he pressed up against Alfie, pressing his half-hard cock against that thick trunk of thigh, emitting a beguiling, deep moan. Alfie returned the leg pressure, then those hands held Tommy's face again, it hurt so damn good, then they kissed again, more urgently than before. Tommy couldn't keep his tongue in his mouth a second longer, he pushed it into Alfie's heated mouth, pushing, pressing, rubbing that thigh. Something shook them both, the wall behind them, Tommy's back slamming against it, and it only turned him on more. More, more, more!

"Say it, I want you to say it." Hands slid to his chin, fixed it. 

Alfie's fingers and hands felt just as Tommy had always imagined. Coarse, rough, perfect, big and strong, and they held him in check. Firm in their grip, while Alfie looked down at him, lips half open with arousal. 

"Fuck me, Alfie," Tommy pressed out between his teeth, trying to break free of the grip, but Alfie held him fixed. Those eyes, they were undressing him, pulling the clothes off his body, tearing them off, in shreds, they were just clothes. Tommy saw it every second he looked into those eyes, but still those fingers held his chin, not pulling him off. 

Tommy expelled air, licked his lips, stared into Alfie's face. 

"You want me to fuck you?" murmured Alfie then, and even as he spoke those words, he gave Tommy a quick kiss, fingers sliding away from his chin, ripping the heavy fabric of his jacket from Tommy's shoulders. 

"Yes, yes...please." Tommy never begged. But here he couldn't help it, and he ripped open Alfie's shirt, paying no attention to the buttons that popped off and landed on the floor. He needed this. Nothing more. The wall, it came closer again as Alfie pushed him against it again, driving a hard, thick piece of dick right between his legs that elicited another moan from Tommy. 

He needed this.