Work Text:
If the world were run by people in love, everything would fall to ruin immediately. Because few other people are that stupid.
...
Tommy has learnt his lesson from last time, and the incident with Finn. But Alfie has to go back to London tomorrow, so he can’t really say no to the company on his walk back from the hotel where they’ve just spent a night and quite a bit more than an entire day. And yeah, maybe walking is just slightly uncomfortable after that, but fuck if it’s not worth it.
“Right, so we’re not going inside this time.” Tommy states firmly –more to himself than anyone else as they stop outside the Shelby residence’s front door.
“Whatever you say, love.” Alfie cups his jaw, tilting his face upwards just a bit. “But my offer still stands, yeah? You could try to be quiet.” And Tommy just wants him to stop fucking asking, because he’s dangerously close to saying yes.
There is a knock on the window above their heads, and as they look up, they see Finn waving at them.
Tommy shakes his head. “Does that child never fucking sleep?”
“Wonder where he gets that from?” Alfie waves back.
Tommy looks up at Finn and mouths ‘go to bed’. Finn disappears from the window. Right, now he can only hope he’s actually going to bed.
“So, Thomas, do I get to kiss you here on the street.” Alfie takes his cap off. “Or will you deny me that privilege too?”
“Someone could see,” Tommy says, but there is no real concern behind the words.
“Oh, that’ll definitely be their problem. People who see things they aren’t supposed to have a tendency to go missing when I’m involved.”
Tommy pulls Alfie down and kisses him. It’s night, in Small Heath. No one gives a fuck. But he keeps it brief and-
Fuck it, life is too short.
“Fine, you can come in. But only to the kitchen. And only for a few minutes.”
Only a few minutes, he tells himself.
But a few minutes pass, and then a few more. Somehow Alfie is suddenly sat very comfortably on a chair, drinking tea, and Tommy is sitting on the kitchen table as they speak in hushed voices about everything and nothing. Well, Alfie speaks, mostly. And it’s fucking surreal, alright, that this is what they’re doing. That this feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“When are you coming to London again?” Alfie’s hand is resting on Tommy’s knee.
“Might be able to make it work at the end of next week. At least for a day or two.”
“Good. That’s good. I can look forward to a few rounds in an actual bed, then.” Alfie strokes his thigh idly, taking a mouthful of tea. “Could even spoil you with some clean sheets.”
“How very considerate of you.”
“Only the best for you, love.”
Alfie grabs his collar and pulls him down for a kiss. Tommy willingly opens his mouth for his tongue, and the kiss is deep and warm and- It’s like a drug, this. Makes his head go all light and woozy.
It’s the sound of the door flying open that snaps him out of the blissful haze.
Sometimes, life is just one big, ironic fucking joke. Because an absolutely livid Arthur is standing on the threshold
Tommy feels as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice cold water over him.
“Arthur-“ That's all he can manage to say as he straightens up and looks at his older brother.
“Before you try to get out of this one, you should know that this door is pretty shitty,” Arthur says harshly. “Yeah? You hear quite a lot. And I’m not fucking blind. So there’s no point in spinning any lies here.”
Then he just stares at Tommy with that manic glint in his eye that tells him this whole thing is about to go to hell. Before he has the chance to remedy the situation, Arthur leans out into the hallway.
“Everyone in this fucking house, there’s a family meeting in the kitchen, right fucking now!” Arthur’s voice booms throughout the quiet house.
“Arthur, get it together.” Tommy walks up to his brother, tries to talk him down. “You’re not thinking straight. We can talk-“
“You’re bloody right we’re going to talk!” Arthur snaps and gives him a rather rough shove. “And you-“ he points to Alfie. ”Get the fuck out of here.”
Alfie’s eyes take on that just slightly too wide appearance and he stands up to his full height, giving Arthur an icy stare.
“You try telling me what to do one more time, mate,” he says in that deceptively calm tone. “And I swear it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.”
The threat seems to pass Arthur by in his riled-up state, but he doesn’t push it, his mind is set on something else. He disappears from the kitchen and up the stairs, no doubt to start tearing people out of their beds.
Tommy feels how he’s losing foothold. He doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of his and Alfie’s… relationship –is that what this is?- let them talk, or look. No one dares to do either of those things: they’re not people you look the wrong way at. But his family matter –they’re the only fucking people that do- what if they don’t accept this? And they won’t just disapprove of Alfie, it will be of the whole thing and he isn’t sure he can take that. Fuck, fuck fuck-
Tommy’s throat closes up and he can’t breathe for a moment. Right, he needs a plan. He always has a fucking plan, shouldn’t be that hard to work one out now. He just has to think logically about it. So, Arthur saw them kiss. Must’ve instantly made the connection between that and Tommy’s constant visits to London. Fuck. He’s been careless, he realises this now. It’s like his brain hasn’t been working properly these past few months, and this is how he is paying for it.
“The fuck does he think he is, trying to tell me what to do? The fucking nerve-“ Alfie starts going off about Arthur but he can barely hear it because his heart is beating too loudly in his ears.
Tommy’s mind is racing, trying to solve an unsolvable situation. Perhaps he could just leave? But then how is he ever going to face them again? What if they disown him- would they do that? No, no of course not. Him, John and Arthur went to fucking war together, surely this won’t- but he doesn’t know, does he? It’s like trying to solve a puzzle without having all the pieces. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, be so utterly out of his own control… He can’t even complete a single thought.
He always has a way out, but now he feels cornered.
Then, there’s a warm hand on his arm and he looks up to see Alfie standing right next to him.
“Hey, we can leave, if you’d like,” Alfie says in that soft, quiet voice he uses sometimes when it’s just the two of them. “Your choice, this whole thing, you don’t owe them shit. Just say the word and I’ll take you back to London for a couple of days, give you some space.” He winks. “Promise to keep my hands to myself at night if that’s what you want, too.”
Tommy swallows. “It’s fine.”
“No, it ain’t. Your eyes look about ready to fall out of their sockets. And your hands are shaking.”
“It’s fine,” Tommy repeats stubbornly and pulls out a cigarette, fighting against his uncooperative hands as he lights it. Fuck Alfie for being perceptive. He adds, in a barely audible mutter. “Thanks.” Then he starts drawing in smoke in deep breaths. “You can leave if you’d’ like.”
“I ain’t that kind of man.” Alfie states firmly, and that’s the end of it.
It’s right about that time the rest of the family starts showing up in the kitchen. Polly and Ada enter first, and both go to sit down at the table with the air of being incredibly done with everything and everyone. But Tommy thinks he’s getting some encouraging looks from them, and realises he must look like a deer in headlights. And he fucking tries to control his face, but his pulse is still racing and the smoke isn’t helping the way it should. Ada especially looks quite concerned. She knows about the men. The only one that does, to his knowledge. Because of another stupid mistake he made, with another man, before the war. When he was young, and smitten, and fucking naïve. And Ada is perceptive, Ada wants to talk, and Ada wants to listen when no one else does. Strange how little that has changed over the years.
Apparently, he hasn’t learnt his lesson. He’s still a fucking idiot when it comes to men.
“It’s going to be fine.” Ada says softly, but he can’t answer.
John comes next, and he strides into the kitchen and gets right up in Alfie’s face.
“You’re fucking dead!” He throws a punch, but it’s so sloppy that Alfie easily deflects it and Tommy rushes forward to grab his brother before he can take another swing.
“John, that’s enough, fuck- get off!” He shoves him, hard, and John thankfully backs away, staring wild eyed at Alfie, who in turn just looks at him with utter indifference. Tommy silently begs him not to start running his mouth. Or shoot John in the head.
“John, sit down, you absolute moron.” Polly gets up and pushes him into a chair. John sits, but his jaws are clenched tight.
This already fucking bizarre night just gets worse and worse.
Arthur comes in last, shutting the door behind him with a bang. Apparently Esme is the only one who’s had the sense to stay in bed. Well, her and Finn. There’s a bottle of whiskey in his hand that he’s somehow already gone through quite a bit of.
The atmosphere in the kitchen is fucking smothering Tommy. And he’s been through some shitty things alright, but somehow, being caught in a room with the only people in the world that matter while awaiting some kind of judgement from them, is one of the hardest.
“So, start fucking explaining,” Arthur says, puts the bottle down and crosses his arms over his chest. On the opposite side of the room, Alife is mimicking his gesture. And Tommy is caught in the middle, rapidly finishing his cigarette.
“Not much to explain,” he says and hopes that his voice doesn’t betray that his heart is about to break through his ribcage. “You seem to have it all figured out.”
“Not much, huh?” Arthur hisses. “How about I help get you started, since you’re fucking impossible to have an actual conversation with. I guess this has been going on since the first time you went to London, yeah? When were you planning on telling us you’re sleeping with our only fucking connection there?”
“Arthur, that’s your brother you’re talking to.” Polly says and looks sharply at him. “Watch your mouth.”
“So now I’m the one who’s in the wrong?” Arthur snaps at her.
“Yeah, I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea,” Ada says. “Dragging people out of the bed in the middle of the night to have a bloody meeting about something we already know about.”
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur spits out and turns his too-wide eyes to Ada.
“Well as opposed to you two,” Ada scoffs and looks pointedly at first Arthur, then John. “I’m not a blind idiot. I’ve known for at least a month.” She gets an approving nod from Polly.
“I’ve known too!” John exclaims defensively. “I mean, maybe not about Solomons, but about the whole… thing. The other blokes.”
“We all knew that, you tosser,” Arthur smacks him in the back of the head. “This ain’t about that.”
Tommy stops gnawing at the inside of his lip for a moment.
“You know? About-” he can’t put it into words. He’s never told anyone besides Ada. Never. It’s been this unspoken truth he’s always known about himself, and why should it be anyone else’s business, who he chooses to sleep with? It’s worked just fine up until now, when Arthur has suddenly decided that it’s the entire family’s fucking business. Because he’s been careless. Fuck, it’s his own fault…
Arthur speaks up again, and his voice is a bit softer this time "Of course, I’ve known you swing that way since you were like, seventeen. Why do you think I’m so fucking worried ‘bout you all the time? Men are the fucking worst. Always knew you’d get yourself into trouble.”
“So, did you all know?” Tommy looks around the room, and gets resounding nods. He rests his eyes on Polly, lets her calm gaze anchor him. “Why didn’t you say something.”
“I figured, if you ever wanted to tell me, you would. Wasn’t really my decision to make,” Polly says softly and gives a very sharp look in Arthurs direction. Arthur either ignores it, or misses it completely.
“But this ain’t about Tommy liking cock, is it? This is about him dragging that insane fucker into our house- and our fucking business,“ John says and nods in Alfie’s direction. “Right?” He looks to Arthur for confirmation. And Arthur, who’s sort of gotten off track from his original intent with this nightly meeting, seems to suddenly remember he was furious just a minute ago.
“Yeah, because that’s out of line.” He turns to Tommy, and his eyes have gone hard again. He takes another long swig from the bottle of whiskey.
“I thought you’d made an actual fucking deal with the Jews, a business agreement. But now I see that our only tie to London, is the fact that you’re in bed with Alfie Solomons.” Don’t go there, Tommy thinks. Don’t say something you can’t take back. Arthur just rambles on, “What’s going to happen when he gets tired of you, eh? Did you think that far? Then we’ll be left picking up the pieces of both you and our business. Kimber will just jump on the opportunity to take us out. All because you just have to spread your legs for every chunk of muscle with a beard.”
Right, so that hurt a little, even though he knows it’s the alcohol talking. There’s been a few, granted, but Arthur doesn’t know about those now, does he? Then again, seems like everyone knows a lot more than he thought. He should defend himself, really, but what is there to say? Before he has the chance to form an answer, Alfie, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, steps in.
“Right, I think you’ve had enough, mate,” he says firmly and takes the bottle from Arthur. “You’ve gone on long enough, don’t you think? Jesus, worse than me. That’s a whole lot of bullshit you’ve managed to spew in just a minute or so. Some record perhaps-“ Arthur is beginning to turn quite red.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Well someone had to stop you, you’re saying some shit you’re bound to regret tomorrow.” Alfie towers over Arthur, despite their height being almost the same. Alfie can tower over anyone if he’s in the mood. And Tommy knows that right about now, he should go between them, because Arthur may be too drunk to notice, but he knows Alfie well enough to see that things are becoming dangerous. But he’s too fucking sick of everyone and just wants to go to bed. Or set himself on fire. Either would be fine.
Alfie lets out a scornful chuckle. “And don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t care less about your conscience. Fuck it, for all I care. But speaking that way to your brother, that’s just a sin, ain’t it mate? And I’m a very God-fearing man, bet you’ve heard about that.”
Arthur opens his mouth, but no words come out.
“And I know you people are used to being seen as this daunting fucking presence and all, but let me just make one thing crystal fucking clear-“ Alfie’s eyes has widened into that manic stare that means something quite gruesome is about to happen. “I’ve killed men for a lot less than using language like that about their family.”
“Is that a fucking threat?” Arthur spits.
“Couldn’t have been more clear that it was.”
Tommy is just about to go between the two men to stop a homicide happening in the kitchen, when a new voice demands his attention.
“Stop it!” The thick tension in the room evaporates as everyone’s eyes turn to the door, where Finn has quite silently appeared. He looks upset. “You’re making Tommy sad!”
“It’s fine, Finn,” Tommy says calmly and focuses fully on his younger brother. Fuck Arthur and Alfie right now. They’re not dragging Finn into this too. “I’m not sad, we’re just talking. Nothing to worry about. Go back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep, what with all the yelling,” Finn protests, and looks around at the gathered group of ‘adults. “You’re being mean, Arthur. Tommy was really happy when he got home, and now you’ve made him sad.”
An awkward silence settles in the kitchen. Tommy goes up to Finn and crouches down in front of him.
“Aren’t you tired? Been a long day, hasn’t it?”
Fin does something that is a mixture of a shrug and a nod. Tommy squeezes his shoulders.
“Tell you what, I’m tired too. Let’s go to bed, you and me. You can tell me about that treehouse you and Will are building. How about it?” He straightens up and extends a hand to Finn, who takes it and quickly wipes the tears he’s been trying to hide.
“Alright,” he says quietly.
“Let’s go.” Tommy leads him out of the kitchen, without sparing as much as a look at the remaining occupants.
Feels like he can finally breathe again once they’re upstairs.
“Scoot over.” Tommy pulls his boots off and shrugs out of his jacket, before getting into the narrow bed next to his brother. He offers his arm to Finn, who curls up against him. Because it’s late, and he’s upset, and for all his talk, he is still a kid.
“So, how’s the treehouse coming along?”
Finn starts talking, and Tommy listens. His brother goes on for a while about this and that, until he suddenly stops and pokes Tommy in the ribs.
“What’s Alfie like?”
“How do you mean?”
“Why do you like him?”
Tommy is rather tempted to just say, I don’t, but Finn has had enough of adults and their lies for one night.
“Well, he makes me laugh. He’s very smart, so talking to him is always interesting, I like that.”
“Does he talk a lot?” Finn closes his eyes and relaxes a bit.
“Yeah.” Tommy smiles to himself. “He does.”
“That’s good, because you’re really quiet.” Finns states. “I think he looks a little scary, what with the hat and the beard. But you can see that he’s nice. In his eyes, you know.” he yawns. “He’s got kind eyes. Like a dog.”
Tommy thinks about Alfie’s eyes a moment ago in the kitchen, that wide, manic stare. But then he imagines of them after they’ve kissed, how they’re all soft and warm when they meet his. “Yeah. Suppose he does.”
Alfie watches Tommy leave with his little brother, and thinks that it’s a pretty sight, him with a kid. Yeah, where the fuck did that come from? Best not to dwell on it. Instead he turns back to the remaining members of the Shelby family. God, no wonder Tommy turned out the way he did, surrounded by this lot. But the sister and the aunt seem decent enough. Maybe he can even accept John’s attempted punch, understandable enough reaction. But this older brother could turn out to be a problem.
“Well, this sure is an interesting night. Here I was, thinking I would just drop Thomas off and get a kiss goodnight, maybe a catch few hours of sleep before I dragged myself home to London. Instead I’m greeted with a full on fucking circus. If this is how you conduct your family meetings, I’m surprised this fucking enterprise has ever gotten anywhere. And I’m sort of reconsidering that deal. Haven’t even gotten the chance to shake any of your hands, bloody hell.” He reaches out and grabs Ada’s hand first. She’s got a good shake. Firm.
“Alfie Solomons. I’m sleeping with your brother. It’s fucking brilliant.”
He hears a distinct huffing sound coming from the eldest brother. Maybe a part of him wants to push his luck a bit, provoke him into throwing a punch, just to have an excuse to punch back. Tommy wouldn’t want him to deliver the first blow, but maybe he’d be a little more lenient if Arthur instigated it…
Polly shakes his hand too, but he doesn’t bother with the brothers. Quite clearly, the women in this family are the only ones with some sense. Alfie positions himself by the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he studies them with his sternest look on his face.
“Think this is very strange way of handling the situation. You’ve known Tommy for what, a little over thirty years, and you still thought this was a sound plan?” Alfie pins Arthur with his gaze. “Didn’t think about the fact that being stuck in a room full of people, talking about his fucking preferences in the bedroom is pretty much his idea of hell? Like trying to have a calm discussion with an animal you just caught in a fucking snare, innit? It’ll gnaw its own fucking leg of to get away, yeah? Even I know that, mate. And in the middle of the bloody night too. Nights are for sleeping, drinking or fucking. Possibly burying a dead body. Not this shit.”
He gestures vaguely around the room. No one says a word.
“So, this is what’ll happen now: I’m going to go upstairs and see if Tommy’s still awake. Then, I’ll either get him out of here for a few days, to give him some fucking respite from this insanity, if that’s what he’d like, or put him to bed here. If he lets me, I’ll stay, sleep for a couple of hours. And tomorrow, you will all have the pleasure of seeing my handsome fucking visage in your kitchen again. I make a decent cuppa. And you’ll be fucking civil about it, yeah?”
He gets two nods in agreement. John offers a shrug, which he counts as a yes. But Arthur is still scowling.
“Oi, Arthur? Cat’s got your tongue?”
“I don’t fucking trust you. I don’t fucking like you. And I won’t pretend to.”
“You don’t have to do either of those things, mate.” Alfie takes a step closer, a smirk crossing his face. “But I’ll tell you this: I sort of like your brother. And if it turns out you’ve fucked shit up with this little display of yours, you and I are going to have a very interesting nightly activity to do together. I’ll let you figure out on your own which one out of the four it is.”
Something flashes by in Arthur’s eyes. Fear? Anger? Something of the sorts.
Alfie leaves. And behind him he hears the aunt speak up.
“Right. So, while we’re all up, I guess we might as well have another, actually necessary, family meeting. The subject of this one is: How to not be an absolute fucking idiot about things that are none of my concern. And yeah, Arthur, this is very much directed at you, thanks for asking-“
Upstairs, he finds Tommy pacing the hallway, smoking his –what is it?- fifth cigarette in the span of half an hour or so? Poor thing, must’ve broken his head a bit, this whole debacle.
“Finn is asleep,” he mutters.
“You should be too. Where’s your bedroom?”
Tommy nods vaguely down the hallway, and Alfie puts a hand on the small of his back, leading him into the room in question. Isn’t this turning into quite the night? All of a sudden, he’s standing in Tommy’s own bedroom. And it hits him how different their living situations are: It’s this tiny, bleak room, barely furnished and with a narrow bed. Sometimes he forgets the fact that the Shelby’s aren’t that well off, still.
“Would you like me to leave?”
Tommy shrugs and sits down on the bed, putting the cigarette out on a plate on the nightstand.
“Well, unless you’re going to make a fuss, I’ll sleep here.” Alfie sits down on a wobbly chair and takes his boots off. “Because the alternative seems to be that prison cot of a bed we usually fuck in. And that’s about all it’s good for.” He pauses. “But if you want me to go, it’s fine.”
Tommy starts getting undressed with deft movements, stripping down to his underclothes.
“Stay. And stop staring. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“Seen plenty of sunsets in my life too, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy every new one.”
Tommy just shakes his head, but he thinks he can see a faint smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“You do realise,” Alfie whispers as they lie in bed a little while later. “That this is the first time we’re sharing a bed I haven’t fucked you in, yet?”
Tommy sighs. “That thought had not crossed my mind. But thank you for pointing it out.”
Alfie rakes his fingers through his hair, and thinks that he can finally feel Tommy’s too tightly wound body relax a bit against his.
“Look at us, being all domestic.”
“What’s domestic about this?” Tommy mutters into his chest.
“You know, sleeping in your family home and all. Wearing clothes to bed.”
“Being surrounded by my family who seems to hate you-“
“Oh, don’t say that. I’ll grow on them. Like a very persistent fungus.” Alfie is very satisfied to hear Tommy let out a quiet laugh. There’s been far too little of that this night. He adds, “Give it some time, yeah?”
Tommy sighs again and wraps an arm around his waist.
If Alfie lies awake until he’s sure Tommy has fallen asleep, no one needs to know.
...
Tommy wakes up to an empty bed the next day, which is very unusual seeing as he very rarely sleeps through an entire night, and definitely is up before Alfie most mornings. Then again, nothing about the last few hours has been normal, has it?
When he enters the kitchen, he finds Alfie and Arthur by the table, not murdering each other. What a way to start the day.
“Morning, sweetie,” Alfie says and looks up from the paper he’s reading, studying him over the edge of his glasses. There’s something so pleasantly domestic about the whole thing that Tommy almost forgets to feel incredibly uncomfortable
“Morning.” He looks between the two of them, still quite tempted to just turn in the doorway. Alfie stands up.
“I’m going to make myself decent. How about we go for a walk? That bed of yours has already fucked my back up. Need to get some blood pumping.”
Tommy gives a slightly stiff nod, because he’s not sure of how to act with Alfie around Arthur yet.
Alfie smacks his arse quite firmly when he passes. No such qualms there, apparently.
Now it’s just him and Arthur. Arthur stares down at the table, as if trying to find the solution to all of life’s mysteries in the pattern of the wood. Tommy pours himself a cup of tea and lights a cigarette, deciding to let him make the first move. Whatever it may be.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur blurts out suddenly. “I’m bloody sorry about the whole thing. I reacted like a fucking idiot. I want you to know that it’s got nothing to do with you or your… preferences or something like that. I mean, I’ve known for years and it’s all fine, whatever makes you happy-“
Arthur is talking a bit too quickly, as if he’s trying to say everything that’s on his mind at once.
“I get now that you’ve got it all sorted… London and all that. The deal. Should’ve asked you when it was just the two of us. And I’m really sorry for making shitty insinuations. You can sleep with all of Birmingham for all I care- not that you have, or should, because I feel like that would be an unhealthy coping mechanism but I-"
“Arthur, try to breathe every once in a while.” Tommy sighs. Clearly, Alfie’s had a talk with him.
"It's only because I worry, right? Because I don't want you getting hurt, and I don't fucking know, but Solomons seems like the kind of man who'd- who could hurt you. I mean, I just think about that time when he came home with you in the middle of the fucking night, and you were so fucking drunk. And I didn't have a bloody clue what he'd done to you. First impressions like that are kind of hard to shake you know? So this is really less about his involvement in the business and more- more about you, right? So I-"
"Please, Arthur, try to use fewer words." Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose, and Arthur nods, cutting himself off.
“Right: so my point is really this," he says with new determination. "If you like cock, that’s fine. The only thing I don’t approve of is that cock belonging to Alfie Solomons, because frankly, I think he might be insane. Any other man is fine.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I happen to like him.” Tommy raises an eyebrow and looks calmly at Arthur. “And his cock. So you will just have to live with it.”
Arthur’s already quite red face turns a few shades darker and his eyes shift to something behind Tommy’s shoulder.
“Thomas, shall we?” Alfie is standing in the doorway, looking a bit too pleased with himself. Tommy doesn’t comment on it, but decides to just stop talking permanently. Would probably be for the best.
“Sure.”
Alfie walks past him and grabs a piece of toast. “I’m bringing this for you.” He waves it before Tommy’s face. “You and your fucking habits with food...”
Tommy rolls his eyes and leaves. No point in arguing. All these overbearing fucking men he’s surrounded himself with…
As they leave the house, he hears Arthur calling from the kitchen.
“I support you, but I also fucking hate this whole thing!”