Chapter Text
Tommy could barely breathe, but it didn't matter as long as those fingers were on his body, exploring his body, pressing him down on the mattress with the heavy weight of Alfred's body. Breathing was overrated, complete when he could feel those lips on his, the fierce pressure of their bodies against each other. No space between the heated skin, just heat rushing through Tommy's body like blind adrenaline.
His fingers had long since undone the button of Alfred's pants, the zipper to release his bulging erection; he had moaned, ever so slightly, as he had gripped Alfred's cock with slender fingers, so familiar, so warm, so hard against his own erection. Alfred pressed him harder onto the mattress, squeezing their cocks closer together with a breathless, hoarse moan that sounded all too familiar to Tommy.
"You're impossible, Tommy. Look at you, what are you doing to me? Huh?", Alfred breathed hotly against his neck, pressing his erection tighter against Tommy's, with heated movements, light, that nevertheless stole Tommy's mind. Again, and again his eyes fell closed, making him feel the giddiness of pleasure, harder than he had ever felt in his life. He clawed his hands at Alfred's shoulders, kissed him bitingly.
"I want all of you, Alfred. Now don't tell me you don't do that," Tommy moaned softly, his full lips closed lightly around Alfred's lower lip; he cast a fiery glance at the man above him with every spark of fire he felt inside him. Alfred's arms began to shake, and he gave Tommy another hard thrust with his cock.
"I don't want you to think it always goes like this. Because it doesn't," Alfred breathed hoarsely, and Tommy rolled his eyes.
It was a strange feeling as he pushed Alfred off of him, with a slightly amused grin - much more confident than he usually was. He pulled his pants completely off, wasting not a second in finally pulling Alfred's pants off those tight legs as well; his eyes sparkled as he sat down on the slightly perplexed, yet aroused Alfred with a breathless movement. His legs and knees settled slightly beside Alfred's hips, and he had to swallow briefly as he felt Alfred's thrusting, thick shaft between his legs, his own cock sliding gently against the hot flesh.
Alfred's hands immediately found themselves tight around Tommy's hipbones, and Tommy splayed his fingers on Alfred's chest, still rubbing the movements of his hips. He sought the friction, that damn warm, slightly damp friction, and was delighted by the way Alfred's fingers dug more firmly into his skin.
A shiver went through Tommy's veins, and he let out a low, almost whimpering moan. Alfred's mouth opened slightly, and Tommy smiled.
"Then this will be the first time you'll never forget. Routines are made to be broken," Tommy hummed, lifting his own fingers from Alfred's chest; he put them in his mouth, and began to suck on them breathlessly, while Alfred eyed him from below, his hands clamped around his hips like a berserker. He began to move Tommy slightly, with a soft roll of his hips, until Tommy hissed softly.
He pushed Alfred's hands away, and drove his own between his legs. He loved the way Alfred's lips opened, the way a neutral, desirous sound slipped from him, almost like sharp exhalations, as Tommy inserted two fingers into himself. He closed his eyes. The pressure was pleasant, and he loved how he could still feel Alfred's hot cock between his legs. And with each movement more, it was as if more and more of old Tommy Shelby was suddenly forcing himself into his body and soul. The confidence was rising, the certainty about the man beneath him, and Tommy began moving his hips more urgently, taking in one more finger, all under the greedy and hungry eyes of Alfred, whose hands were now sliding more to Tommy's chest, gently circling his nipples.
"Fuck, Tommy..." he groaned, and Tommy opened his eyes. He was so hot, but he continued to ride his own fingers, even as he felt Alfred's hard grip around his body growing. Alfred let out a hiss, but when he tried to push himself up to Tommy, Tommy pressed him firmly back into the mattress with his free hand.
"You stay there. Until I tell you to," Tommy hummed, throwing his head back. He was prepared enough, and he didn't care if he oozed Alfred, either. He released his fingers from his body, and breathlessly bent over Alfred, who was already seeking more friction with his hard cock. Tommy's fingers circled over his tattooed chest, slowly, agonizingly slowly, and he breathed softly, "Do you have any lube there?"
Tommy couldn't even look that fast, as Alfred rummaged through his drawer with a groan. He found the tube; squeezing a small amount onto his hand, he encased his own cock with it while his free hand slid straight to Tommy's chest. "Fuck Tommy, you're driving me crazy."
"I know," Tommy hummed hoarsely, and expelled air silently, sharply, as Alfred pulled him onto his lap. The hard cock slid pleasantly between his legs, and Tommy deftly grasped the root of it, holding Alfred tightly before settling down on the hard flesh with a soft moan.
For a moment, as he slowly, agonizingly slowly lowered himself, neither made any sounds. It was Alfred who first clawed his hands firmly into Tommy's waist, hard, and let out a deep moan as Tommy settled completely. Tommy licked his lips, meeting Alfred's hot gaze before he began to move with a hoarse whimper.
The first few movements still hurt a bit, but it got better with every thrust and ride. Tommy had the feeling that he was only himself partially master of his body; for it was guaranteed not his skills in riding that made his body slide deep over Alfred's cock again and again. It was the Tommy Shelby, like a demon that had possessed him, riding his Alfie again, hard and greedy, as they had done so often back then.
At one point Tommy could no longer suppress his moans in the hard and merciless riding motions. Alfred's cock touched just the right spot inside him - hitting his favorite spot, his prostate, and after a while making him see stars. The warm glide of the cock inside him was an ordeal, and Tommy clutched tightly at Alfred's chest, his legs tight against his sides, his cock untouched and hard in front of his body.
"Ohh... fuck, yeah... Alfie! Oh my...", Tommy groaned out, completely unaware of what he was saying there; his hands clawed deeper into his chest, running over the many tattoos as Alfred suddenly sat up with a jerk. There were strong arms around his body, all at once, like a cage, as Alfred thrust firmly from below over and over again, his arms holding Tommy tightly around the waist. They pressed their foreheads against each other, breathless and sweating.
"You're so fucking beautiful.", Alfred moaned hoarsely, his right arm tighter around Tommy's waist, pulling him closer to his chest. Their skin touched, rubbing together more with each ride and thrust, and Tommy actively felt his orgasm begin to build in his belly. Friction everywhere, wetness everywhere, their bodies finally one. His hips moved more violently, and he had to swallow hard against all this sensation.
Fuck, he loved this man. He just loved him. Everything about him.
Tommy wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, letting himself be catapulted harder and harder towards climax. His legs were already shaking, and he was almost passing out from pleasure in this steady, hot rhythm between them, in and out, in and out, and there was a slight, almost stifled moan from Alfred, almost driving him over the top. Almost.
His fingers clawed firmly into Alfred's hair once more, the bed creaking softly beneath them as Tommy moved his hips violently once more. "I missed you...fuck...Alfie!" it escaped him, and there were maybe two, three more thrusts, two, three more movements, and Tommy was transported over the top.
His legs began to tremble violently, and the orgasm spurted hard out of him; he could barely rest, his lungs feeling empty as he pulsed over and over again around Alfred's cock, his muscles contracting hard in time with his orgasm.
Alfred fucked him through his orgasm, through to violent oversensitization, until he too lost the battle against pleasure. Alfred came deep and murmuring, and his arms clung so tightly around Tommy's body that Tommy felt that touch deep to his core; the glorious muscles of his tattooed arms twitched with it, and Tommy wanted most never to let him go. They stayed in that position for a long time, Tommy on top of Alfred, their heads leaning against each other, breathless and sweaty. Tommy didn't even know how long it went on. But his body felt as if he had finally found meaning in this life again, along with this man who, after a while, buried his head in the hollow between his neck and collarbone, kissing Tommy lightly.
At some point they disengaged from each other, but only briefly; Tommy rested his head on Alfred's chest, closing his eyes under the tingling sensation of the fiercely beating heart within. He was himself again, or was he? It was a feeling hardly to be described. As if both Tommys had grown together, in this act of love and unity, after so many years. As if Tommy suddenly had two souls inside him that had silently melted together in the orgasm.
After a while, however, other feelings crept up in Tommy. The throbbing for an answer. Was Alfred so quiet because he knew? Did he remember his body, their connection, now that they had been in bed? Tommy's fingers crept slowly over Alfred's chest, stopping at a writing, and he felt Alfred tilt his head slightly in his direction. He smiled, though wearily.
"How do you know my nickname?" he asked wanly, pressing a warm kiss to Tommy's forehead.
Tommy's fingers clenched slightly on Alfred's chest. He had almost forgotten that! It had just slipped out of his mouth, that name, because it had always burned on his tongue. Alfie, it was as natural as breathing. The name was burned into his soul, into his routines, into his life. Tommy blinked softly, clasped Alfred's neck with a soft movement, returning the gaze even as his heart pounded up to his throat.
"It... was obvious to me that...that Alfred's nickname is Alfie. Sorry, I didn't mean to-" Tommy began, and Alfred grinned.
"It's okay, really! I was just wondering. You're welcome to call me that too, it makes no difference. Funny, isn't it? We haven't known each other two nights, and you made me break all my rules. I'm glad Nana wasn't there," Alfred grumbled in amusement, and Tommy tried to ease the sudden dryness in his throat. He licked his lips lightly.
Alfie. He was allowed to call him Alfie. But he didn't know, nor could he sense, if that was a coincidence, or if Alfred actually remembered him. On the other hand, if he would, he would have said something. Wouldn't he?
"I must seem like a freak to you," Tommy murmured, and Alfred pulled him into a warm kiss that tasted so sweet Tommy had to exhale deeply when Alfred released his lips.
"No. More like a gift," Alfred grinned.
Tommy didn't know what made him falter more slightly; the fact that Alfred told him such a thing, bringing a blush to his cheeks, or the fact that he hadn't kicked him out after all his escapades. Tommy pressed another kiss to his mouth, almost soft, before snuggling back into Alfred's arms. They were silent for quite a while.
Thoughts circled in Tommy's head. He had so many questions he couldn't answer for himself yet - so many things that were there in his head that he just couldn't ask. He had come so far. Had wandered through the dreams, through this agony, through dying. Had found the golem, the message he still carried in his jeans; but he also knew, somewhere deep inside, that Alfred wasn't ready.
"Do you believe in... in reincarnation?" Tommy asked softly at some point; dusk was already slowly descending across the sky, across the windows in Alfred's room, as Tommy pressed closer to him. Alfred didn't move at first; he stretched slightly, and only then could Tommy hear his soft voice.
"What makes you think that now? Did I fuck you into a new life?" he joked, and Tommy rolled his eyes slightly and slapped Alfred's chest lightly with the flat of his hand. He laughed.
"No, it just came to me because I..." because I saw you, because we are one, you and me. For a hundred years. "...Because I saw a movie like that the other day," Tommy murmured softly. He didn't look at Alfred, just stared out the window. The sun decorated the sky in wonderful warm reds, ready for the evening.
"I don't know. I don't think so. There is no such thing, and if there were, we humans wouldn't know it. You can hardly prove something like that scientifically, and no... I think when you die, you're just dead. There is nothing more. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," Alfred replied quietly, and Tommy nodded mutely.
He pushed down all his rising emotions, praying inwardly that they wouldn't show in his voice. It was too much, just too much.
"Although some say I look like a great-great-great ancestor of my family. I don't know where Nana threw that picture. But still, yeah - if there was such a thing, I'd remember it, I'd like to think," Alfred added when Tommy made no reply.
Tommy's heart grew heavy, and he turned his head more firmly into the hollow of Alfred's shoulder. Breathed in the scent, the fresh smell of skin that was still so heatedly warm after sex. And there he stayed tucked in, deep, until he fell asleep next to Alfred.
§---§---§
They saw each other almost every day, whenever everyday life allowed.
Tommy didn't know what it was between them - but it turned out more and more that he seemed to be made for Alfred, that the two of them grew together more and more into a solid bond. They dated often, and soon Tommy was sleeping at Alfred's house every other night. The day he got to meet Nana was a very important day for him and Alfred - and brought home to Tommy once again how tightly life was built. For Nana looked very much like a person from his own past, and when he shook Nana's hand, it was almost as if a very aged Polly Gray was staring at him through heavy lids.
Or Tommy was going slowly mad.
He tried to push away the thought of that witch and the note he still carried with him - they had found each other, and they were happy. So, the thought grew in Tommy that he didn't have to worry anymore, that the task was done. And that he could finally live in peace. Happily.
Until one night changed everything again.
Tommy dreamed. He dreamed of the shot in Alfie's face, of their last day in Margate on the beach, their last breaths, his last breaths, with which he had desperately cried out for Alfie. Had cried out into the darkness until they had both died bleeding in the grains of sand.
And when he woke up, it was worse than the last time: Tommy couldn't breathe, sat up in the bed, panicked and gasping for air, coughing, and took minutes, violently long, half-dying minutes, before he realized he was back in the here and now, and that a warm hand had settled on his shoulder, caressing him.
"Is everything all right? Bad dream?" murmured the still half-sleepy voice of Alfred next to him, and Tommy had to gasp hard.
His lungs were on fire, his head was on fire - but most of all, his heart was on fire. He was shaking violently, as if he could still feel the shot in his chest, as if it had all just passed. The pain bored deep into his body, and a single tear ran down his cheek. It was almost as if an invisible shadow was sitting on his chest, pushing him down into what he had been trying to suppress.
And he knew, more with each breath, that he no longer had a choice.
He had to tell Alfred. Because these dreams would never stop otherwise, never, and continue to torment him forever.
Tommy's heart was beating so hard in his chest that it hurt when, after another cough, he lay down with Alfred, beside him, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above them. Alfred had raised both eyebrows and was looking anxiously at Tommy, his strong arms around him as Tommy swallowed slowly and ran his hands through his sweaty hair.
"Alfred, we need to talk." he groaned, still breathless, still reeling from the gunshot in his dream. The shock was too deep, the fear of what would happen if he did nothing about this fate now. It was burned in. Burned into his skin, Tommy felt it, the fine line vibrating and burning in his hand, and he slowly closed his hand into a soft fist.
"Always happy to," Alfred said, and Tommy could sense that he was tense. No wonder, if Tommy had roused him from sleep like that, in the middle of the night, with sounds like he was about to die an agonizing death of suffocation next to him in bed.
Tommy took a deep breath. His heart gave no rest, and his insides burned. It was a strange feeling, fierce shame mixed with remorse, with what was burning inside him. It was hard, far too hard to put into words, because it was so crazy - and because he knew Alfred didn't believe in such things. But Tommy had to do it. He didn't want to have that dream again, ever.
"Don't think I'm crazy, okay? It's... complicated.", Tommy began, after licking his lips softly and sighing. Alfred smiled softly, his arms still wrapped tightly around Tommy.
"You know I don't think you're crazy. After all, you've been in my bed for weeks," Alfred replied, and Tommy swallowed.
And then he told. He told everything. He started with his nightmares, with the gypsy witch and her tea, and described each of his dreams to him. He talked about Alfie, who had undoubtedly lived, about the paraphernalia in Alfred's house that proved it, about his research with his sister. He talked about the golem, about the kiss they had performed in front of this centuries-old being - he talked about Alfie's promise, and about the note. And he didn't leave out the scene from the beach, either. The last look at each other, their inability to speak, their death together in unspoken love on that beach, and of the recurring nightmare he had since. He explained everything the witch had told him, trying not to make it sound too crazy - even if it was. After all, he knew it himself. But as soon as he said the first words, there was no turning back, and no stopping.
Tommy felt the twitch in Alfred's forearms and felt the very tenseness in his body when he stopped talking. And then came the thing Tommy had always been afraid of: endless, oppressive silence.
Just silence.
Alfred didn't move, Alfred didn't say anything, not even when Tommy slowly turned to look at him. Alfred just stared at the ceiling, for a long time, and released his arms from Tommy's body after a while. It felt cold, like walking away, and Tommy's throat immediately went dry.
"Alfred, please. I'm not making this up, it really happened."
Alfred nodded, very slowly, almost too slowly and strangely ponderously. But he did not look at Tommy.
"Listen, Tommy... I um... I'd like to believe you, I really would. It's just... this whole thing sounds too crazy, you know? Just... crazy. I don't believe in that kind of thing, even though I'd like to for you, but... I can't. Would you have even recognized me if it weren't for those fucking dreams or whatever? Would you have even noticed me?" Alfred said dryly, and tears immediately burned in Tommy's eyes.
Fierce heaviness drove into his limbs, and he looked at Alfred, startled. "Of course I would have spoken to you like that! I was in love with you at once. Don't you remember how I looked at you? That first night?"
"You were drunk."
"Never mind that! Alfred please, I didn't make it up!"
Alfred bit his lip, then shook his head. "It's enough that Nana is already so loopy, but you too? Tommy, I can't believe you. Is that a stupid excuse for something? Do you think it's funny to fuck with me? I knew it, I shouldn't have let you into my life so soon."
Tommy's heart broke. He felt it acutely, the muscle contracting violently, and the hot tears running again from the corners of his eyes. He stared at Alfred for quite a while, during which he got only a brief sideways glance; he could understand the arguments with Nana, but not the rest. It took an agonizingly long moment before Tommy snorted, stood up, and put on his clothes.
"Tommy..."
"No! I didn't choose you because of those dreams, I found you because of them! Why don't you understand?" he hissed, and Alfred rolled his eyes.
"Because it's fucking crazy! Simple!"
Tommy bit his lower lip fiercely, then rummaged furiously in his pants pocket. He found the small piece of paper, and took a step towards Alfred, who was still lying half-naked in bed. He threw the old, well-guarded note on Alfred's chest, so hard that it clapped lightly.
"Here, you wrote this! One hundred years ago! I got it from the synagogue, the big one in London, straight from the golem's mouth. Keep it - as a souvenir of a madman.", Tommy sneered in Alfred's direction, put on his jacket and stormed out of the room.
Alfred stared after Tommy for a long time, heard the front door close downstairs, and only then directed his gaze to the note on his chest. He then carefully unfolded the very damaged and old-looking paper.
‘I wish one day I could tell you all the things I can't tell you now, and that then this time would no longer separate us. A. Solomons’
Alfred opened his mouth, swallowed slightly when he read those words. A strange tingling sensation ran through his body, and he was just about to speak, puzzled and questioning - until he remembered that Tommy had just left.
Though for a moment, reading it, it had felt like he was standing right next to him, a warm reflection of Tommy, without the tears Alfred had caused.
And the worst part of it was still: it was actually his own handwriting on the piece of paper - a piece of paper with words he had never seen before in his life.