Work Text:
For so late in autumn, the heat of the night was oppressive. The street lamps appeared hazy in the twilight gloom, and the trees seemed to wither in the heavy air. Sam was stood at his usual spot outside Salieri’s place, a cigarette between his lips and his back propped up against the wall. Although sweat was starting to drip down his back and pool where his suit bunched up against the stone, he didn’t have the energy nor the will to go inside. He was waiting.
The sound of crude laughter echoed from somewhere upstairs, and Sam smirked in spite of himself. He had no intention of joining the raucous game taking place within the walls. As expected, a moment later, a set of headlights became visible down the street, like two huge eyes beaming in the sultry heat, and his head turned, resuming his expression of soft severity. From the racing speed he knew who it could be, but he swallowed down the inevitable anxiety that beat against his throat at the sight of him behind the wheel. He’d seen it a million times and it never lost its novelty; the way he handled vehicles, the confident manner that disclosed his genuine skill.
Nothing impressed Sam more than talent, though he would never let that on. Ego was best left undisturbed, especially in this job. A bastard got cocky, and that was the end for him.
Sam waited until Tom had parked the car and started to get out to approach him; playing it cool was the aim of the game. “Better get that one back to Ralph.” He observed; the sleek black vehicle was scraped along its side, two great gashes cut in what had been a flawless paint job, and several bullet holes were nestled close together at the rear. “No use keepin’ it out here for the cops to see.”
“Later, Sam.” Was all Tom said, nearly having to shoulder past him to get into the bar. “No more driving for me tonight.” Sam gave Tom a pointed look, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the damaged vehicle, but Tom simply waved him off. “I said I’ll do it later. Christ.”
Sam ended up taking the keys from him and getting the car inside himself, but it still bothered him how Tom had acted so flippant, unusually irritable. He was still new to the family, even now, and it somewhat surprised Sam that he had the balls to talk to him like that. After all, cars were his job first and foremost; Sam shouldn’t have to do his dirty work.
Perhaps it had something to do with their recent…was affair the right word? Whatever it was, Sam brushed it from his mind as he went inside to the bar. The sounds of a crowd of people had now diminished to just one or two. Paulie and Tom were stood at the bar, talking animatedly over some drinks, and Sam went straight to them. It crossed his mind to be jealous, but he quickly quashed it when he remembered Tom’s words. “It’s just you and me, pal.”
“What’re you fellas runnin’ your mouths about this time?” He asked as he took his spot next to Tom, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re tellin’ him about it before me?” His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed something akin to sincerity. “I waited out there with sweat pourin’ down my back for this.”
Tom only chuckled, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “There’s nothing much to tell. I got the car, it got banged up. That’s it.” He appeared content for a moment before he piped up again, looking at both of them either side of him. “Though I suspect payroll won’t be as lucky.” Eliciting a chortle from Paulie and a small smile from Sam.
He didn’t know what it was, but he could tell that Tom wasn’t telling him something.
Promptly Tom finished his drink; his face when he downed half the whiskey in one was astounding in the dusky light. “Welp, I guess that’s me done. I’m going home, night guys.”
But Sam was not going to accept Tom just walking out on them like this, not after he’d been so odd, secretive even. “What’s wrong with you tonight, kid?” He called as Tom walked away, successfully stopping him in his tracks. “Why don’t you have another drink like ya always do?” Tom’s shoulders seemed to tense, and whilst Paulie chuckled next to him, he did not do more than smirk.
Paulie now joined in too. Whilst this is what Sam had been afraid of, he knew that Tom was someone who could handle a tease. “Yeah, Sammy’s right! Why don’t we have some fun, not just you two this time?” Sam was horrified when Paulie shot a glance at him out of the corner of his eye; Tom was not the true target of his tease. Dumb bastard.
For a few moments Tom seemed uncertain, his brow creasing slightly, and Sam thought for sure that he was going to say no, but then he conceded. “Aight. Yeah, okay.” His steely expression from moments ago melted into a smile, and Sam could have sworn that he felt something in his stomach give out. He had thought that these sensations would have long passed by now.
They ordered more drinks, and then another round, and yet another, until the world started to tip and everything was a little hazy round the edges. Then they ordered whole bottles and went outside, hung around the yard even though the air was humid and muggy rather than sobering. At some point someone suggested that they go back in to play a drinking game, and everybody cheerfully obliged. Afterwards, all Sam could remember of these hours was a fair load of hollering, laughing and blundering about in dusky darkness, his arm entwined with Paulie’s, his other wrapped at Tom’s waist.
By the time he was starting to get a little sober, he was sat in an unfamiliar room with his jacket slung over the metal bed-frame, his head dizzy and his arms chill compared to the thick sweat coating the rest of his body. He realised with a jolt that this must be Tom’s place, since his overcoat and fedora were hung on a hook on the door. Besides, by now he could deduce him by his smell.
The whole room was smothered in blue darkness. Sam guessed it must be the middle of the night by now, some of the intoxicating heat now burned off by the soothing pale sphere of moon. The nearby window was open a crack, letting in the coolest dregs of the nighttime breeze.
He’d never been here before, despite all of the odds. Tom was hardly a private man, but up until now their relationship had been interspersed by no shortage of stresses and risks, and what had in reality been two long years felt like hardly enough time at all. What Sam had once envisioned to be a passionate affair had ended up materialising into stolen hours behind closed doors, in cramped spaces and sordid backrooms. Though he held little contempt in his heart, this fact always made a part of his chest ache with a pulling, nagging impatience, a frustration that was hard to ignore when he was alone in bed at night.
That was the other cut; Sam had never been so alone before. Even with this man supposedly waiting for him on the other side, he had not experienced such an empty loneliness since he had first left Sicily and joined the family.
A breeze picked up for just a moment, whistling around the window-frame before it died. It was only now, as some of the sleepy delirium cleared, that Sam realised he was partially undressed, his arms exposed with only a vest covering his upper body. A warm involuntary flush crept up his cheeks, wondering how he had got to be in this state; it wasn’t hard to guess from the fragments of memory beginning to seep back hazily to his brain.
“Just one more, Sammy…” He realised that the voice echoing faintly in his head was not Paulie's. His flush deepened, almost turning sour into panic. Just as Sam turned his head, still throbbing hotly from the alcohol, the door opened with a soft creak.
“So, you’re awake.” Tom’s voice, smirk filled, drifted over to him as if from another room. Painfully close and yet painfully distant. Sam’s eyes whirled to where he was walking straight towards him, but the quick movement simply made his head swim.
“Was I out?” He asked, incredulous, still piecing together fragments of the last few hours in his mind. Tom nodded, his gaze somewhat piteous, and Sam put his face in his hands. His cheeks were still hot, whether from the alcohol or some other fragile toxin he couldn’t tell.
“Yeah. Practically had to carry you back after your seventeenth shot.” He tossed Sam a look of dry amusement. “It’s not like you.” He came to Sam’s side where he was still sat rather dazed in bed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you remember anythin’?” Tom’s voice betrayed a hint of teasing, and something else almost akin to…hope? Sam didn’t have his usual skill of reading people tonight.
“Not much.” He admitted; he wouldn’t tell the whole truth, that he preferred to keep some memories for his own private pleasure. “Just that we were drinkin’, Paulie was shoutin’, you were laughin’ at something, and now I’m here in yer bed feelin’ like I just got slammed into by a train.” He chuckled wryly, soliciting a half-smirk from Tom. “By the way, where is Paulie?” In his daze he had almost forgotten that he was not here. His absence was becoming less strange to him by the day.
Tom gave a chuckle. “The guy was crazy, wooping and hollering like a madman during the game. Had to get someone to drive ‘im home.”
“Just us then?” Sam asked without thinking.
“Just us.” Tom replied, voice steady, sincere. It was equal parts infuriating and infatuating. Sam everted his eyes from where they were held with Tom’s; the potency of his gold-brown gaze was too much for Sam’s dizzied head.
Tom released his hand from Sam’s shoulder, and somehow the absence of it made Sam colder, despite the stuffy heat still built up inside the cramped room.
He tried not to think about that as Tom began to unlace his boots. His movements were a little slow and his eyes were spaced out, like he was thinking about something far out of Sam’s reach, but he was all in all in much better shape than Sam himself. Sam’s head was still spinning, and his stomach was threatening at any moment to regurgitate the apparent seventeen shots of whiskey that he had consumed mere hours ago. His throat burned with foreboding acid. “Think I’m gonna puke.” He mumbled, and before Tom could even widen his eyes he gagged and rolled over, throwing up onto the knotted wooden floorboards.
He expected Tom to cry out, or at the very least wince in disgust, but he simply put his hand on Sam’s back as he wretched, his arms shaking to hold him up as what had just an hour ago been whiskey pooled in a yellow puddle on his companion’s floor. Tom didn’t move until he was done. Sam’s eyes were streaming and his throat burning, his whole body shuddering. “Heh. Guess I had too much.” His voice wet and shaky.
“No shit.” Tom called from the kitchen, his tone sardonic though with no real malice behind it. In the momentary privacy, Sam smiled to himself. Even his sarcasm was irritatingly comforting.
By the time Tom came back with a washcloth and water Sam already had a question in mind, though his voice still croaked horribly with the sharp acid in his throat. “Ya know, you say it’s not like me to drink so much, but you’ve been odd all night. Ever since you got back from that job.” The way Tom’s jaw tensed was ever-so-slightly satisfying. “What’s up with you?”
“Not exactly the thing to ask while I’m mopping up your vomit.” Tom replied without missing a beat. He shot a withering look at Sam, and it struck him that for the first time since he’d met him two years ago, Tom looked excessively, impossibly tired.
“Look, just askin’. If you wanna be an idiot about it, that’s on you.” When Tom didn’t reply, scowling at the floor and the remnants of Sam’s regurgitated whiskey, Sam piped up again. “All I’m sayin’ is that me and Paulie both noticed.” The baggage of that statement was implicit; it was obvious, and we’re both worried about you, stupid bastard.
“Alright.” Tom sounded as if he had conceded, but a moment later he stood up, the floor appropriately clean, and went back out to the kitchen. Sam could hear the water being drained down the sink and the washcloth being squeezed, but Tom didn’t call to him, just did the chore in silence. Only when he came back in, his signature red tie now draped over his shoulders, did he explain. “The job was harder than expected. I thought one of Morello’s guys was gonna get me. It wouldn’t be the first time, I know that. But I have reasons to get out alive now. More than just the money from the Don.” Tom’s words were so sincere that Sam had to look away halfway through. His hand had come to rest on the bed-frame by Sam’s head, his breathy words making his head spin in an entirely different way.
“Those are dangerous words, Tom.” Was all he could reply, his mind racing at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. The empty hollow of his stomach somehow seemed full with emotion, both passion, and, imperceptibly, fear. “If the Don found out-“
“He won’t. Not if you don’t tell ‘im.” Tom’s eyes were hard as stone, glistening like crystals. Sam didn’t want to admit to himself that Tom was trusting him with this. Him alone.
“Alright.” Sam nodded as he spoke. The air felt thick in the silence that followed. “You know I won’t.” He added, dropping his voice to a murmur. Now that the atmosphere felt as if it could be broken like glass, he didn’t know what else to say. He was painfully aware of every part of his body, the persistent swimming dizziness in the back of his head. “You’re my buddy.”
“Please.” Tom scoffed, though his tone was hushed. “We both know I’m more than that.”
“Do we?” Sam retorted; his voice too was quiet, bordering on a hiss. “Last time I checked, my virginity was beginning to grow back.” He laughed drily, though the corners of his mouth didn’t turn up.
“Don’t pretend we have time for this.” Tom stepped closer and Sam could see the anger in his manner build, his brows creasing. “If you wanted it so bad you should have gone down earlier.” When Sam only started slightly, he elaborated “Really don’t remember, huh? You were begging for me to take them off…” Tom stooped down, wrapping one hand around Sam’s leather belt. He raised his eyebrows, clearly challenging him to deny it.
Sam swallowed down the lump that had surfaced in his throat, barely able to hold Tom’s gaze. “Doesn’t surprise me. Been havin’ to do it myself for weeks.” Even as Tom glared back at him, Sam was fighting the urge to buck up his hips into Tom’s hand. He could feel himself beginning to get hard even from just the thought.
“You want it then?” Tom’s voice felt as if it were coming from another room again. By now Sam was getting cold, the light gusts from the window turned chill. In the back of his mind, he heard himself say I could use the warmth.
“Only if you can give it.” The words tumbled out as if from another person’s lips. With a devastating rush of clarity he realised that he wanted to lose control of himself for once. To be sober and choose the passion and chaos his life entailed. “And right now, I dunno if you have the skill-”
Before Sam was even done, Tom had seemingly crushed into him, his lips smashing into Sam’s without direction or restraint. “I have the skill, you bastard.” He gasped as he pulled back, catching Sam’s teeth with his lower lip for a moment before he repositioned himself.
Though it was awkward with Tom half-standing whilst Sam sat in shock on the bed, he really couldn’t care. A rush of what felt like fire sizzled through his entire body, and he shuddered as Tom’s hand moved, treacherously, to his waist, pulling himself in closer. He began to reciprocate after a moment of pushing furiously against Tom’s shoulders, his own muscles suddenly weightless as he melted into the kiss, Tom’s tongue brushing against his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth. He felt like his entire body could go up in flames.
“Ah- Tommy-” Sam’s moan slipped free as Tom pushed him back onto the bed, not even pausing to kick off his shoes before he got on top of him. In this light he looked deadly, nothing like the startled cabbie he had met two years ago. “Fuck-” he winced as a warm hand sunk below his waistband. He hadn’t even noticed Tom unbuckling his belt. The bulge in his trousers was now undeniably obvious.
“Sammy, Sammy, you think you’re the guy to beat.” Tom bore down on him now, Sam’s body on autopilot as he tilted his head for better access to his neck. “‘Every girl wants a piece of him’, that’s what they all say. But I know, really, you want nothing more than a dick in your ass or in your mouth.” Sam almost choked; it almost didn’t sound like Tom at all, his speech growling and lilt. “You’re just as much a whore as the rest of ‘em. Deep down, you know that.” He bit down on Sam’s clavicle, eliciting a sharp whine.
“Mnn- I-” Sam could have screamed as Tom used his free hand to lift his shirt, finding one of his nipples and rolling it between his fingers as he simultaneously yanked down his briefs, Sam’s length freed from his trousers. “Oh, God-”
“Heh.” Tom chuckled hoarsely, his own breathing laboured as he pushed Sam’s trousers and briefs messily down to his ankles, lopsided and hurried. “Didn’t know you were the religious type.” His tongue brushed the spot just under Sam’s earlobe and he shuddered again, his whole body caught in a tremor as Tom’s voice vibrated in his ears.
Sam could only groan incoherently as he felt marks being left; they were most likely clear as day, red and raw. Everyone would see them, even Paulie and the Don. Just the way Tom liked it. “Roll over for me, buddy.” Tom instructed, his tone still sardonic but permeated with a faint softness now. “I gotta warm you up, if it’s true what you say.”
“Hn…Yeah, you sick bastard…You left me high and dry for weeks…” Sam laughed as he moved as Tom had ordered him to, if you could call it a laugh; the croaky chuckle died halfway between his throat and his tongue.
“Yeah, and you’re lucky I don’t keep you like that now; get you to suck my dick and leave you out there on the street.” He snapped back, palming Sam’s ass when he lifted it into the air, more desperate than provocative.
“Y’know what Tom? If you were as cocky as you seem, you wouldn’t kiss a guy who puked on your floor.” Sam retorted, knowing it would get him nothing but the slap that followed moments later, sending a sharp bolt of electricity shooting through him.
Tom only laughed at him, louder now, sending hot arousal straight to his dick. “I could taste the fucking whiskey.” He paused, as if considering a moment, and Sam heard him spit onto his fingers. “And I would if it was you, you filthy fuck.”
“You’re an idiot.” His entire body burned with wanting, his voice nothing more than a hot rasp.
“Relax for me, Sammy.” Tom said, his tone rumbling and hot, before shoving two fingers into Sam’s hole, drawing out a strained gasp. Sam thought for a moment that his whole body might give out, that his arms would lose their strength and crumble into a warm puddled mess, but to his surprise he held up, the sudden jolts of pain giving way slowly to a more gradual pleasure as he felt Tom begin to stretch him out. “You were tellin’ the truth, huh. You’re tight as a virgin.”
“Ahn- Shut up-” Sam cursed again when Tom pressed deeper, fighting the instinct to clench his muscles, knowing it would only make the pain of the intrusion worse. “Please, Tom. Don’t do that again.” He was still shaking but beginning to find a rhythm, a flow and ebb of pleasure and pain which made Tom’s spreading fingers bearable.
“What? Leave you like a begging whore? Now I know how good this feels, I’ll do it all the time.” Tom’s breath was starting to huff, and Sam yelped when he withdrew first one finger and then the other; the tight warmth of the sensation had been intoxicating. “You like that?”
Sam was hardly prepared to answer honestly, but that was what came tumbling from his lips anyway. “Yes…Yeah, Tom. I like it. Please, Tom, fuck me already.” He had lost all control of himself, of any hope he had to act big or play it cool. All that was left was to beg; so bittersweet.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Sam could have melted into those words, stayed there forever, in that scarlet moment, had not a great burning sensation ripped through him when Tom pressed into him from behind. He had not heard him undoing his belt nor opening his flies. Everything but his groaning, dulcet voice had been a blur.
Tom’s dick sank into him and he nearly screamed, stuffing some of the blanket in his mouth to keep from making too much noise. He had taken thicker than him before, but Tom knew all of Sam’s weak spots, his sweet spots, could make him cum by hitting his prostate at just the right angle, pounding the same spot over and over until his body was wrecked and his hole leaked with his…lover’s fluid.
“You’re so good at this Sammy.” His body gave another tremor, pain shooting through as he momentarily tensed at the praise. He felt Tom bear down on him from behind, his shirt laying over his bare skin, and a hand come close to stroke his cheek. Involuntarily he leaned into the touch, the utterly inebriating warmth. “Soon I’ll have your cum all over my sheets.”
Sam hardly had time to utter any form of reply before Tom started thrusting into him, sinking deeper than his fingers had made room for, causing Sam to arch his back in a thrilling combination of sharp pain and unmasked pleasure. It struck him now, as Tom dug his nails into his hips and forced him further onto his dick, that they had never had a chance like this, and, chances were, never would again. The passion would never burn this way again, that feeling, deep in his chest like a bright geode resting underwater, would never see the light of day like it did tonight, Tom’s body inside his, with his. He would never feel this close to heaven again, and he knew it well. Hell came with the job and all that.
“Christ, Tom-” He shuddered as he moaned out, the blanket falling from his mouth as he let out a high-pitched cry of pleasure. It felt like his body was simultaneously on fire and yet weightless in the air. Sweat dripped down his forehead and a red flush had spread right to the tips of his ears. “I think I’m gonna bust-”
“Not yet.” Tom commanded - that was the only real word for what that strong, authoritative tone entailed - letting go of Sam’s hips a little, picking up his pace to thrust in and out of him in longer motions; almost coming out of him before pounding back in, the sounds of Sam’s moans and the slapping of skin on skin the only sounds to be heard in the heated quiet, the moon peaking in and washing Sam’s skin paler than chalk. “Not ’til I’m done with ya.”
Sam let out a sound akin to a sob, nodding weakly as his body rocked with the force of Tom’s thrusts. “Ahh- You know I can’t take that-” His whole body caught under another searing tremor as Tom found his sweet spot, a little tentative at first but then quickly pounding at it, turning Sam to a wet hot puddle of arousal beneath him. “Hnn…m…” His words lost all meaning, overcome by the sweet waves of pleasure beating his body. He could feel himself about to cum any second; anything Tom did would send him over the undeniable precipice.
“Such a pretty whore, aren’t ya? You act like the man in town, but in bed you belong in the cathouse like the rest of ‘em.” His words were permeated by short, huffing breaths, his voice no more than long gravelly rasps. Sam couldn’t take it anymore, the vulgar beauty of his degradation overwhelming.
They both came roughly at the same time; Sam cried out in shock as he felt the warm bursts of liquid shoot inside of him. A long, heady groan was barely audible from Tom, his own pleasure deafening. “Ahh- F-Fuck-” He arched his back as he felt the liquid being pumped inside of him begin to calm, a settling fullness, his own high coming down. “Mnh…” He breathed, his body blissfully weightless and full at the same time.
Tom slapped his ass, though there was no real force in the blow, before he pulled out, as if the ruined Sam beneath him was a prize he was proud of. “You like that?” He repeated the same phrase from before, but his voice had diminished to a rough murmur, nothing like the intoxicating growl that had put Sam on all fours for him.
“…Yeah.” Sam could only huff out, his body starting to come back to him by increments. “Never felt so good in all my life.” After a moment when Tom didn’t reply, he suddenly regretted this honesty, a short sharp sting of fear-
“Me too.” Though his tone was somewhat matter-of-fact about it, Sam could still deduce the underlying warmth in what he said. As he pulled out Sam could feel the load of sticky liquid begin to leak out, and a fresh flush of humiliation bloomed across his cheeks. “You look good like this.” Tom muttered, perhaps half to himself, only causing Sam further embarrassment.
“Don’t get cocky, kid.” He managed to choke out, but not without great effort. “A man like you gets cocky, and that’s the end for him.” He tried to sit up, but all he could do was inelegantly position his limbs until he was somewhere close to upright.
“Oh yeah, and you’re definitely a threat I’ll watch for.” Tom raised his eyebrows and chuckled as Sam narrowed his eyes, though he too was keeping down a laugh that bubbled in his throat. Without thinking, Sam clumsily leaned forward and kissed him. Lingering, warm, passionate. Tom’s lips opened slightly against his, and he brushed his tongue along his bottom lip, caught it against his teeth. But then it was done, in a fleeting moment he pulled away, a quiet sigh of breath exhaled as he looked at Tom’s whole face, his strong masculine features so much in contrast with his bright brown eyes, staring intently into Sam’s blue-grey ones.
“Still.” He murmured, their lips still mere inches apart. “Wouldn’t hurt to look over your shoulder from time to time.” Tom smiled softly and nodded, and Sam couldn’t help himself indulging; he kissed him again, the delicate warmth like a drug. Even as he moved he could feel the liquid inside of him turning slick and sticky, no longer a pleasant fullness, but he had lost half of the mind to care. Tom was in front of him, disheveled, with his one shoe still on, his hair falling partially across his face, and in that moment he was all he had ever wanted.
In the morning when Tom awoke, spread-eagled on the bed, Sam was gone. The room smelt of a mixture of semen and stale sweat. Tom sat up, dazed and a little hungover, one shoe still on and his hair mussed up, a shiver suddenly taking his body. So, the cold snap had finally arrived. The unusual heat of late October finally burned out. He went over and closed the window, went into the kitchen to find something to eat, and then put his sweat-soaked clothes on the floor for the wash.
He missed the note entirely, tucked neatly into his trouser pocket. The washerwoman missed it too, what with her busy schedule. It eventually turned up as a creamy mush about two weeks later, when Tom put his hands in his pockets, and he cursed that he thought he had lost a five dollar bill.
Little did he know what it had said. Even when Sam had glanced at him the day after, blue-grey eyes expectant, he never suspected a thing, simply returned the look with a smirk.
It had read: “Don’t get cocky kid. I won’t always be here to keep you in check. - S.T.”