aneurinallday - Tumblr blog

aneurinallday · 13 hours

Text

Ikr, worst boyfriend ever 😢

The Grey Man

Chapter 6: Gone

Tommy didn’t realise he’d lost consciousness until he found himself suddenly alone, lying on the floor of the wagon. Perhaps minutes had passed, or perhaps hours - he was too disorientated to tell. The curtain cord lay nearby, along with the candlestick which Holford had struck him with. Tommy touched his fingers to his aching temple. They came away stained with blood.

“Fuck.”

He staggered to his feet, steadying himself against the dresser. His gun was gone. He noticed that his coat pockets were turned out, indicating Holford’s frantic search. His cigarettes and gold lighter were still there, and his switch-blade, but his loose coins were gone. And so was the key to the wagon.

The wagon doors refused to open - Holford had locked them from the outside. Tommy frantically searched for something to pry them open with. As he did so, it occurred to him that Holford had been acting the whole time. Playing up the pain. Pretending to be so weak he could barely move. Feigning an internal injury. Sticking his fingers in his throat to make himself retch. All the while, he’d been waiting for Tommy to lower his guard.

“Fucking bastard,” Tommy spat.

Giving up on his search, he beat and kicked the doors in a rage until the lock broke. Bursting out of the wagon, he saw no sign of the doctor - no living thing apart from his horse, who was grazing calmly nearby, oblivious to what had happened.

Why didn’t he take her? Tommy wondered. He was almost positive that Holford knew how to ride a horse - the man was upper-class, and equestrianism was a common hobby for the rich. Perhaps he wanted to stay hidden, and being on horseback would make him too conspicuous.

Tommy hurried to the horse, and was about to mount her when a glint in the grass caught his eye. It was his pistol. Presumably Holford had thrown it aside upon exiting the wagon. Why the fuck hadn’t he taken it with him?

Tommy retrieved the gun and jumped on his horse. His blue eyes scanned the surrounding fields for any sign of human life, but saw nothing. Holford couldn’t have gone far. He had a head-start, but he was on foot, hungry, and still weak from Arthur’s beating. He had no coat and no shoes. There was no way he was making it. But which way had he gone?

Tommy tried to put himself in the doctor’s mindset. They were on a flat field among rolling hills - Holford’s two options were to go uphill or downhill. If he had any common sense, he would’ve preserved his strength by choosing the latter, which was the most likely direction to find a road.

Tommy spurred his horse to a trot, heading downhill past woody coppices and big clumps of long grass. As he rode, he started to plan the things he was going to do once he found Holford. Cut out his eyes and tongue, the Peaky Blinders way. Shoot him in both knees and watch him bleed out. Or save the bullets and simply beat him to death. But first, he had to find him. He became suddenly conscious of how rugged the landscape was - there were ditches and thickets everywhere, a hundred places where a person might hide.

“Well, I’ve fucking lost him.”

Tommy cursed his own foolishness. Since the moment when he’d first had a gun pointed at his head, Holford had been so submissive that Tommy had taken his cooperation for granted. And now everything had gone to shit. This was the price he paid for showing mercy to the undeserving. No, not just mercy, but kindness. He hadn’t just spared Holford’s life, but given him food, clothes, wash-water. He’d talked to him like a human being. And this was how Holford had repaid him.

“Bastard!” Tommy snapped. His horse whinnied in consternation, and he patted her neck apologetically. “Sorry, girl. Sorry.”

It occurred to him that the doctor had spared his life. Once Tommy had passed out, Holford could’ve kept on strangling him for several minutes, until he was past the point of no return. He knew how long it took for oxygen deprivation to kill the brain - he was a fucking doctor, after all. But instead, he’d merely choked Tommy unconscious and then fled. Either the doctor had no stomach for killing, or he felt indebted to Tommy for saving him from Arthur.

“Where the fuck are you?” he muttered. “Come out.”

It was an overcast afternoon, and rapidly turning cool. Tommy doubted that the rich doctor knew how to seek shelter and light a fire. If Holford didn’t find the civilisation he was seeking, he would likely die of hypothermia overnight.

“Save me the trouble,” Tommy said.

His anger was fading with the daylight. The more time he had to think, the more he was confronted by the truth that if he was in Holford’s position, he would’ve done exactly the same thing - and probably worse. The only difference was, he would’ve kept on strangling until his captor was dead.

In a way, Tommy blamed himself. Regardless of his actual intentions, he’d dangled the threat of death in front of Holford - forcing him to feel the same dread and sense of impending doom that Tommy had felt when he’d been diagnosed. It was understandable that Holford would try to escape.

The landscape was levelling out, hills turning to fields. Ahead of Tommy lay a road, and in the distance the red telephone box where he’d called Arthur and Ada. Holford wasn’t stupid - he would’ve observed the phone-box through the wagon’s window as they’d driven past it, and done his best to memorise any natural markers that might lead him back to it. As it drew closer, Tommy saw the shadow of a figure inside. Holford was sitting on the floor of the box, his arms resting on his knees, his head on his arms.

The coins, Tommy remembered. He took the coins to call for help.

Holford raised his head and saw Tommy riding towards him. Panicking, he stumbled out of the telephone box. He didn’t try to flee - it was too late for that - but he backed away, putting his hands up.

“I didn’t kill you,” he said, “I didn’t even rob you. All I took was coins to make a phone-call. You could show me the same mercy.”

“You ungrateful bastard. You’re coming with me.” Tommy dismounted from his horse and strode towards him, gun in hand. “Who did you call?” he demanded. “Who? The police?”

“Don’t shoot me,” said Holford, still retreating.

“Stand still. Stand still or I’ll fucking cut you.”

“Calm down, please.”

“Shut the fuck up. You know, you really took me by surprise. I didn’t think you had it in you. As I was riding here, I thought: the doctor’s got some fight in him after all. Maybe he’s not such a snivelling coward. But I guess I was wrong. You really are a worthless little cunt.”

Tommy was interrupted by the sound of motor engines rapidly approaching. Black cars were speeding towards them - two cars, from both directions.

“Your friends?” he asked.

“Oswald’s men,” said Holford nervously. “They’re here to rescue me. You’d best surrender, Mister Shelby. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

The cars screeched to a halt, and five men jumped out, wielding rifles and shotguns. Tommy knew there was no point fleeing - even on horseback, he would be gunned down in moments.

“Don’t make a fuss, Mister Shelby,” said one of the men, “Pass me your weapon.”

“Fuck,” Tommy sighed as he handed over his pistol. He had no choice but to stand there, unresisting, while his hands were roughly bound behind him with rope.

10 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 13 hours

Text

(6 Inch by Beyonce plays)

5 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 18 hours

Text

A moodboard but make it Labyrinth (that David Bowie movie)

4 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 23 hours

Text

Thank you! Glad you enjoyed! 😭

The Grey Man

Chapter 12: Blue Eyes, Green Eyes

After the warmth and glow of Doctor Holford’s presence, Tommy’s room was cold and dark in comparison. He stripped naked, and washed the old-fashioned way with tapwater and a coarse cloth. Luxury was for his guest; he himself was accustomed to frugality and discomfort. Accustomed to solitude.

Not so long ago, he’d retreated into the hills in his black wagon, preferring to face his tuberculoma alone rather than allow his loved ones to watch him deteriorate. The isolation had been a welcome relief. After a lifetime of chaos and noise, he’d finally found peace and quiet. A blessed reprieve from the madness of being Thomas Shelby.

So why was the thought of sleeping alone tonight so unappealing? Why did he already miss Holford’s company - the sound of his voice, the scent of his hair, the accidental brushes which inevitably arose from sharing a bunk? Perhaps during the weeks they’d spent cooped up together in the wagon, he’d grown more attached than he realised.

He wasn’t planning on returning to Holford’s side. But as he readied for bed, he suddenly remembered that the doctor would need fresh clothes for the morning. Pulling his trousers back on, he grabbed a few items from his wardrobe - shirt, trousers, socks - and carried them across the landing.

The few metres separating his bedroom from the guest room felt suddenly long, as if the universe were giving him a chance to turn back; but the prospect of Holford drew him onwards.

“Fuck’s sake, Tom,” he muttered to himself, “Have you ever made a good decision?”

He did the courtesy of knocking before entering, just in case Holford was exposed. He opened the door to find Holford in soft lamplight, perched on the edge of the bed. Naked apart from a pair of white linen shorts. He was fresh out of the bath, towelling his hair dry. Revelling in the simple pleasure of being clean.

“Brought you a change of clothes,” said Tommy, dumping the pile of folded clothing on the dresser. “Can’t send you out there indecent, eh.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Mister Shelby, will you sit with me for a while? I thought we might talk.”

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“There’s nothing to say.” Tommy sat down beside him. “This whole business is done. Soon you’ll go back to your home. Your routine. Your office. Your friends, if you can call them that.”

“They were never truly my friends. They were just…present. I just needed somebody. I had nobody else. Until now.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“But you are present.” Holford hesitated, then set his towel aside and turned to face Tommy. “Am I truly free to leave?” he asked.

“If you’re well enough to travel.”

“So I can walk out of that door any time I please?”

“If you choose to.”

“And if I choose to stay a little longer?”

“Why would you do that?” Tommy snorted. “You’ve no reason to stay.”

“Perhaps I feel safer here. With you.”

“With the man who held a gun to your head?”

“With the man who didn’t pull the trigger,” Holford corrected him. “And then saved my life, twice.”

“That means nothing. I was just…” Tommy hesitated, “I just didn’t want to see you die.”

“Are you glad that I’m alive?”

“Gladness isn’t a thing I’ve felt lately. But if I were to choose a word, I suppose that would be it.”

“Do you find me attractive?”

Tommy was genuinely taken aback by the forwardness of the question. Holford hadn’t seemed the type to make a direct advance.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Tommy, “It’ll spare you the awkwardness of retracting it.”

“I’ve no intention of retracting it,” said Holford. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

“Why? Are you offering?”

Holford smiled. He took Tommy’s hand and kissed it, just as he had while pleading for mercy - but now it was an act of affection, not supplication. Then he kissed Tommy’s mouth.

“Allow me to do this,” he murmured between kisses. “I’ve been lonely for a long time.”

“You’re married,” Tommy reminded him softly.

“A marriage of convenience, nothing more. I signed my name on a piece of paper, but we’ve never shared a bed in a meaningful sense. She knows about my men, and I know about hers. She wanted a comfortable lifestyle which a doctor’s income could provide, and I wanted…well, I wanted a wife. I thought the speculation might stop if I had a woman at my side.”

“And did it?”

“No. But let’s not talk about it. Besides, you’ve no grounds to take issue with my adultery. Didn’t you spend a night with Diana Mitford?”

“…Fair enough.” Tommy shed his trousers, slinging them aside.

There was no rush - Holford took his time. He started at the top, kissing his way along Tommy’s handsome jaw, then down his vulnerable throat, his neck, his shoulders.

“Wait,” Tommy stopped him. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. It’s alright,” the doctor whispered, and the assurance was all Tommy needed to surrender.

Tommy let his blue eyes close and his head fall back, exhaling - losing himself in the kisses, focusing all his attention on the little sensations, the impression of a man’s unfamiliar lips on his skin. It was different from Lizzie. Different from Grace. But that was alright.

“I’m a fool,” he sighed.

“We’re both fools.”

Holford kissed his collarbone, his tattooed chest, his belly - forging a trail of kisses that led ever down, further and further. Simultaneously, he eased himself backwards off the bed and onto his knees on the rug. The position was unkind to his aching joints, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the beat of Tommy’s pulse, the changing texture of Tommy’s skin as it began to prickle with goosebumps, the low sound of Tommy’s breathing as it quickened.

He rested his hands on Tommy’s thighs, and tenderly kissed the insides of them. And then his cock.

Reflexively, Tommy tensed, his fingers tightening to grip the blanket. He was half-expecting to feel teeth, but there was no bite, no pain - just the caress of Holford’s tongue as it traced a lazy design along his swelling shaft. Holford swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip, causing Tommy to curse.

Then he took it in his mouth.

Holford’s head began to move rhythmically - slow at first, then faster. A slight scrape of teeth elicited an involuntary groan from Tommy. Tommy opened his eyes, and the sight of Holford kneeling submissive at his feet - not for the first time - delivered a sudden thrill of exhilaration. A sense of power.

“Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The throbbing tightness of his cock was becoming unbearable.

Holford pushed his head forward, trying to draw in the full length, and almost choked as it hit the back of his throat. Tommy felt the delicate membranes of Holford’s throat tighten and spasm around his cock, delivering a jolt of ecstasy which elicited a wordless cry. He grabbed a fistful of Holford’s hair, fingers clenching with more force than he intended, and moaned. Both of them were struggling to breathe.

“Fuck,” Tommy repeated with a tone of wonder - but whether he was marvelling at his own foolishness or marvelling at the surrealness of being fellated by his traitorous doctor, he wasn’t sure.

With sudden boldness, Holford reached for Tommy’s testicles and began to massage them in his hand. Almost immediately, he choked on a gush of thick, viscous fluid which dribbled down his chin. He endeavoured to swallow it. A light squeeze of his fingers brought forth another spurt, then another, then another - each one smaller than the last - while Tommy cursed and swore above him. He continued to gulp and suck and rub until there was nothing left.

“Bastard,” Tommy grunted, and let go of Holford’s hair, indicating that he was done.

Holford released the cock from his mouth and sucked in a deep breath, wiping his mouth with one hand, while his other hand eked out the last few pale, translucent drops of ejaculate. He looked up at Tommy.

“You’ve twice been married,” Holford said, “And I hear you’ve had a lot of mistresses.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘a lot’.”

Holford started to straighten up, but then winced. He’d been kneeling for too long - pins and needles stung his lower legs as the blood began to circulate again. He leaned against Tommy’s leg for support, then laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and rested his head against it too. The simple joy of laughter, after several weeks of misery, made him chuckle more, like water starting to leak from a cracked dam.

He smiled up at Tommy rather sheepishly. It was a genuine smile, bright and surprisingly sweet.

“Have you had a man do that to you before?” he asked.

“That’s not your business.”

“But you don’t deny it,” Holford teased.

Tommy tutted. He put his hand on Holford’s head - gently this time - running his fingers through tousled curls. With his thumb he stroked Holford’s cheek.

“Don’t be fucking cheeky,” he warned, but it was a perfunctory warning, bereft of menace.

“Sorry.”

Still smiling, Holford ran his hand up Tommy’s calf - against the grain of the little hairs - until the hair ended at Tommy’s knee. He kissed Tommy’s smooth kneecap. Then the smile faded, and the light left his green eyes. Suddenly he looked tired and sad again.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. And Tommy knew he wasn’t just apologising for teasing him, but for everything. For all the unhappy circumstances that had led them to this moment.

“Get up,” said Tommy. The mood was gone - Holford had ruined it. “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Can I wash up first?”

“Fine.”

Holford kissed his knee again, and said so faintly it was almost inaudible: “Forgive me.”

Tommy said nothing. He hadn’t acknowledged the apology, but he hadn’t rejected it either.

He rose to his feet with some difficulty, and walked slowly to the en-suite, his eyes downcast. Tommy slumped back on the bed, and sighed. He heard running water, soft splashes as Holford washed his face and hands. He glanced over to see Holford standing in his underwear by the wash-basin, patting his face dry with a small towel. The doctor’s expression looked sad and subdued.

Tommy thought for a minute, then sat back up.

“Come here,” he said. “Come here. Sit down.”

Holford obeyed, and they sat side-by-side on the bed. Tommy gestured to Holford’s underwear.

“Take it off.”

“Why?” Holford hesitated, a little doubt entering his eyes.

“Because it’s your turn.”

“For what?”

“You gave me a diversion. I’ll give you the same.”

“…Oh.”

Holford wasn’t sure how to respond. The shadow of Mosley still hung over him.

His hand rose. He reached out hesitantly and touched Tommy’s face. The uncertain touch landed on the hinge of Tommy’s jaw, between his ear and his pulse. Realising he may have crossed a line, Holford quickly lowered his hand and averted his eyes. But Tommy caught his retreating hand, and pulled it firmly back to its position on his jaw. His other hand went to the doctor’s crotch, and gently massaged him through the warm cloth.

“Take it off,” he repeated, but it was a request, not a command.

After a pregnant pause, Holford made his decision. He slipped off his shorts and tossed them on the floor. Tommy shifted position so that he was sitting cross-legged. He placed his hands on the doctor’s hips, and turned him so that they were facing each other on the bed, naked. Holford’s eyes were filled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

“Should I lie down?” he said.

“No. Face me,” Tommy said, and Holford obeyed.

Tommy’s blue eyes held no threat. He placed his hands on either side of the doctor’s head - dark curls, damp from the bath - and drew him closer. They kissed deeply.

With his right hand, Tommy began to excite him. He trailed his fingers up and down Holford’s cock, from the tip to the testicles and back again. Holford’s breath hitched; Tommy could sense his mounting anticipation. Keeping his grasp light, he began stroking up and down. Holford moaned into Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy broke off the kiss to glance down and check his own hardness. He was already erect again. Holford made a small noise of disappointment when the stroking stopped, but didn’t complain.

Tommy grasped Holford under the thighs and lifted him up a little, pulling him closer until he was straddling Tommy’s lap. Tommy guided himself inside. He entered as slowly as he could, giving Holford’s sensitive muscles time to adjust. The doctor winced and tensed, but then relaxed again.

Once Holford was comfortable, Tommy began to thrust - carefully at first, searching for a rhythm. He put his arms around the doctor to support him.

Face to face, and slightly above Tommy, Holford wasn’t sure where to look. It felt strange to be looking down at another man. Mosley had always bent him over and taken him roughly, not caring if it hurt - not caring about Holford himself, but about the thrill that came from taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. It was an act of dominance, not attraction.

But there was nothing domineering about Tommy’s touch. He held the power, yes, but Holford felt safe in his hands.

“Forget everything else,” Tommy murmured, “Think only of me. Of us.”

Holford rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder, and shut his eyes. Entrusting himself to him completely. Tommy met his trust with tenderness.

“Think only of us,” he repeated.

Holford let out a fervent whimper. His breath was warm puffs against the side of Tommy’s neck.

“Tommy,” he uttered, as if the name were a prayer.

Tommy adjusted his angle slightly. He found an area of smooth texture that felt different from the surrounding tissue. As soon as he hit it, Holford gasped and groaned. Now they were moving in unison. It wasn’t just Tommy any more - Holford was reciprocating. Keeping one hand on the doctor’s back to support him, Tommy moved his other hand downwards to Holford’s cock. He stroked vigorously.

Holford lifted his face off Tommy’s shoulder, leaving behind a small patch of dampness where his mouth had been. He struggled to speak.

“I can - I can - ”

Tommy knew what he was going to say. I can turn around for your convenience.

“No,” Tommy panted, “Face me. Face me. I want to see you.”

He hugged the doctor close, thrusting with increased urgency. Holford kissed him again - this time desperate kisses, frantic kisses. Tommy savoured them.

Holford shuddered, letting out a wordless cry, and Tommy felt a sudden wetness blossom between them. Within moments, his own climax followed. Holford was rapturous in his embrace.

Done, Tommy pulled out slowly. Holford collapsed back on the bed, breathing heavily. He was exhausted, but it was the glad exhaustion that followed a joyous exertion, not the aching fatigue of hardship. Tommy wiped himself clean with the towel, then lay down beside him. Through a euphoric daze, the doctor smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed him. For the first time in their entire acquaintance, he looked completely serene and unguarded.

“For what?”

“For everything. For letting me live. For giving me a chance. For the hot bath and the bed. For making me forget.”

Their breathing was returning to normal, their pulses slowing down, muscles relaxing. The kisses gradually ceased, until they lay together in satisfied repose. In a few hours, they would have to awaken and face the day, and the cold reality that came with it. But that didn’t matter yet.

“For a while, it was all gone,” Holford said. “Mosley. The lies. Your gun. All of it. All I could see was you. Your eyes. I felt as if you could see me too. I wish it could stay that way.”

“You’re tired. Sleep,” Tommy bade him.

“I’ve always liked your eyes,” Holford carried on. “From the first moment I saw you, I liked your eyes.”

“Sleep,” Tommy repeated.

Holford was struggling to keep his eyes open. Smiling, he let them close.

Too comfortable to move, Tommy lay and gazed at the doctor’s resting profile. Beautiful. Tommy reached out one hand, and with the back of his finger traced the elegant contour of his lips, his chin, the softness underneath.

“You were almost right,” Tommy said.

Holford made a questioning sound, only half-awake, already half-dreaming.

“I’m not sick with guilt. I’m at peace with who I used to be. So you were wrong about that. But I have been on a journey, and I can’t go back.”

Holford’s eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. He was fast asleep.

Tommy withdrew his hand, closed his eyes, and lay listening to the doctor’s steady breathing.

Peace at last, he thought to himself as he drifted to sleep, Peace at last.

The End

5 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 23 hours

Text

@rmelster Take your pick

Saucy pt 1

Saucy pt 2

Oh hi I didn't see you over there

Feeling dramatic

This is the knee you need to come sit on

Looking for my other sock

Found my other sock

Angry but I still need to put my sock on

I know how to dress myself, mum

I have, as they said in the olden days, "well-turned calves"

Cinderella

#aneurin barnard

6 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 1 day

Text

Part II: Containing an Account of the Misfortunes and Disasters Which Befell Barry Lyndon

#moodboard #aneurin barnard #barry lyndon #fancast #stanley kubrick

6 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 1 day

Text

Part I: By What Means Redmond Barry Acquired the Style and Title of Barry Lyndon

#moodboard #aneurin barnard #barry lyndon #fancast #stanley kubrick

6 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 1 day

Text

Enjoy! 🤘🤘

I’m at AC/DC’s concert (it hasn’t just started) and the lead singer of the supporting band (the Pretty Reckless) it’s serving so much I am literally smiling like a fool.

#AC/DC

7 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 1 day

Text

🥺 Thanks! <33 In my head, Thomas Shelby is a bisexual king of organised crime

The Grey Man

Chapter 4: Arthur

Arthur met them on the fourth day of Holford’s captivity, about two miles from the road and the telephone box, on a gentle stretch of abandoned hillside overlooking wild fields. He was a fucking mess, as expected. He’d been drinking to cope with Tommy being dead, and now he was drinking to cope with Tommy being alive. Once Tommy had pried himself out of their embrace, the two brothers sat on the grass by the campfire and shared a bottle of whiskey.

“Where’d you bury the body?” Arthur asked, “The doctor’s, I mean.”

“He’s not buried yet. He’s inside.” With a jab of his thumb, Tommy indicated the wagon behind his shoulder.

“Inside? He’s still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I see. What’s your plan? Have you cut him? We could cut him. Both of us, together. I’m here now, I’ll help you. I’ll hold him down for you.”

“Slow your horses, Arthur. I haven’t done anything to him yet.”

“Why waste time? The bastard needs to go.”

“I haven’t decided his fate yet.”

“But Tom…”

“I don’t need your fucking input, Arthur. I’ll come to a decision on my own.”

Arthur didn’t reply, but chugged his whiskey.

“Listen,” said Tommy, “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Anything, Tom. Anything.”

“I need to go into town and sort out some business.”

“What business?”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“Not this shit again. Don’t keep me in the dark again, Tom - ”

“Don’t fucking ask questions. If Thomas Shelby is going to rise from the dead, he needs to make some arrangements first. Alright? I’m taking the horse, I’ll be gone for a few hours. Watch the caravan for me, will you?”

“And the doctor too? You want me to babysit the man who caused all this mess? Is that why you fucking called me here?”

“Arthur, I called you here because you’re my brother and I wanted to see you. Will you do this favour for me?”

“Of course I fucking will.”

“Good. When he gets hungry, give him food. When he gets thirsty, give him water. But don’t speak to him. He’s smart, he’ll manipulate you.”

“I’m not fucking stupid, Tom. I’ll keep my distance. But if he makes trouble, I can’t promise I won’t cut him.”

“No.” Tommy held up a warning finger in Arthur’s face. “Do not cut him. Do not hit him. Do not touch him. Just make sure he stays put. Understood?”

“Tom…”

“Understood?”

“Fine.”

Tommy glanced towards the black wagon, just in time to see the gap in the curtains close.

Inside, Holford retreated from the window, wondering if he’d been seen. He hadn’t overheard the topic of their conversation, only snatches of voices carried by the breeze; but he’d seen enough to know that the exchange had become heated. Whoever the stranger with the moustache was, his agitation was palpable, and Tommy’s body language had shown frustration. Holford had the distinct impression that the argument was about him, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe some business had fallen through, or maybe there was trouble with the police. A man like Thomas Shelby probably had a million problems on his plate, and Holford was just one of them.

Picking up the book Tommy had given him, Holford flicked through it, trying to remember where he’d left off last night. Ah, yes - the deaths of the princes. Sitting cross-legged on the bunk, he resumed reading. He barely noticed the distant beating of hooves as Tommy rode away, leaving him alone with the stranger.

He’d just arrived at the eve of Bosworth, and the ghosts of the slain were chastising Richard in his tent, when his concentration was broken. Heavy footsteps were ascending the wagon’s stairs. The key scraped clumsily around the lock before finding its way into the keyhole.

Holford put down his book and adjusted his posture, trying to strike a balance between friendly and submissive. Being too relaxed could easily be mistaken for cockiness, but being too tense could put his captor on edge. He clasped his hands politely in his lap.

The doors opened, admitting both the stranger and the smell of alcohol. He was drunk, stumbling.

“So you’re the doctor, eh?” he said, “You’re the bastard who’s behind all this. You’re the one who’s got our Tom all muddled and confused. Get up, let me look at you.”

Holford hesitated, unwilling to make himself appear more physically dangerous by standing eye-to-eye.

“Get up,” the man repeated. “You fucking heard me, get up.”

Holford rose reluctantly, trying to keep his posture low.

“Do you know who I am?” the man demanded.

Holford gave the honest answer:

“No.”

“No? I’m Arthur Shelby.”

“...Ah..” Holford struggled to see the resemblance. This man had an angular quality to his face and a reddish tint to his hair that Tommy lacked.

Arthur took a step closer.

“I’m Arthur fucking Shelby. You don’t know me? Well, you’re going to know me, and you’re going to remember me. You’re going to remember me for the rest of your fucking life.”

“Where’s Tommy?” Holford asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Mind your own fucking business. Here’s the thing, Doctor - what’s your name?”

“Michael Holford.”

“Michael, eh? I knew a Michael once. He was a right cunt. Got his brains blown out by our Tom. Like what should’ve happened to you.”

Holford glanced past him, through the open doors of the wagon, hoping to see Tommy outside. But there was nothing except grass and sky. Nobody to protect him from this man’s obvious and increasing anger.

“Tom’s not here, don’t bother calling out for him,” Arthur said, as if reading his thoughts. “He’s gone far away. He can’t do anything.”

“What do you want from me?” Holford asked.

“Well, here’s the thing, Doctor Holford. You made three mistakes. First you made friends with those pigs at the BUF, that was your first mistake. Then you fucked with Thomas Shelby, that was your second mistake. And your third mistake - your third fucking mistake was disrespecting me.”

“I meant no disrespect whatsoever to you. If I’ve insulted you somehow, I apologise.”

“Do you know what we do with fascists like you? We kill them. Just ask the IRA who showed up at our pub.”

“I’m not a fasci - ”

Without warning, Arthur punched him in the face. Holford didn’t have time to brace himself. The back of his head rebounded off the wall behind him, and he slid down onto the floor, where he lay stunned. He’d never been punched before, and his first experience was a severe one. He felt himself being hauled across the hard wooden floorboards, and a sequence of hard bumps as he was dragged down the wagon’s steps. Arthur dumped him on the grass.

“There we go. Don’t want to make a mess in there.”

Arthur removed his cap, and Holford’s dazed eyes focused on it. He saw the disposable razor-blade gleaming in the brim.

“Should I cut out your eyes? Or what about your tongue? It’s told enough lies, caused enough damage…it needs to go…”

Holford rolled over onto his front, trying to hide his face from the threat of the razor. His fingers curled in the dirt, leaving deep furrows, soil burrowing under his nails.

“Please,” he wheezed.

“Nah, I won’t cut you. I’ll leave that up to Tom. Tom deserves to be the one holding the blade.”

Arthur put his cap back on. He kicked Holford in the ribs, then shoved him onto his back. Winded, the doctor gasped for breath. Arthur straddled him, pinning him to the ground.

“You can stay in one piece. You can keep your tongue, your eyes. Your balls, if you have any. I won’t take those. But what I will take, is your pretty face. You think you can win Tom over with it? Well, you won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

With his fists, he began to beat Holford. The doctor didn’t fight back. He knew resistance was pointless - it would only make Arthur angrier. So instead he shielded his head with his hands, burying his face in his forearms, and waited for it to be over.

“You fucking bastard,” Arthur snarled. “You thought you could get away with what you did? You thought you could cross the Peaky Blinders and just carry on with your life?”

He rained down punches, pummelling Holford in a frenzy.

“Nobody fucking crosses us! Nobody crosses the Shelby family! Do you hear me?”

Holford no longer had the strength to shield himself - his arms fell limp at his sides. A punch landed on his mouth, splitting his lower lip. Another punch, and the insides of his lips were cut against his own teeth. Holford drooled blood.

“You think you can kill Thomas Shelby? You’re nobody. You’re nothing. We’re the Peaky fucking Blinders, and you’re fucking nothing!”

“Stop,” Holford said, his voice wet and muffled through blood. “Tommy wouldn’t want this.”

“How the fuck would you know? How would you know what he wants? He’s nobody to you. I’m his brother. I’m his brother!”

Arthur’s knuckles connected with the doctor’s cheekbone, dangerously close to his eye socket.

“I did everything for him - I fought for him, I killed for him. I fucking killed for him!”

The punches slowed, and finally stopped altogether. Arthur had tired himself out. He spat in Holford’s face.

“There,” he panted, “That’s what Tom should’ve done from the fucking beginning.”

Staggering back to the campfire, he sat down and resumed drinking. Holford was left bleeding in the dirt. There was a fiery pain in his whole face, and a deep ache in his cheek.

But even now, his mind was already working, seeking a way he could use this situation to his advantage. This would be his first (and perhaps only) chance to make Tommy lower his guard. It was imperative that Tommy discover him in the most pitiful state possible. So instead of dragging himself back inside and patching up his injuries, he simply lay there and waited for Tommy to return.

To complete the scene, he rested his head and one hand on the wagon’s bottom step, as if he’d been trying to crawl back inside - back into his prison, where Tommy wanted him to stay - as if his commitment to Tommy had overpowered his instinct to escape.

Grass tickled his skin. Something tiny crawled on his face, then flew away. The blood on his mouth slowly dried to a crust. The warmth on his back gradually moved as the sun changed position in the sky.

He didn’t know he’d passed out until suddenly he was cold. Afternoon had turned to evening, and the temperature had dropped. There were raised voices above him. The two Shelbys, shouting at each other.

“What the fuck happened, Arthur? What did you do?”

“I was angry.”

“Why? Did he provoke you?”

“No, he was just…he was just pissing me off.”

“For fuck’s sake, Arthur!” The hand disappeared as Tommy spun around to yell at his brother. Holford lay motionless, listening to their quarrel. “What did I say? What did I fucking say? Did I say you could lay a finger on him? Did I say you could take matters into your own hands? Did I? No! I gave you clear fucking instructions!”

“But he needs to pay, Tom,” Arthur pleaded, “He tried to kill you - not directly, but he tried to kill you. A move against you is a move against all of us - all the Shelby family, all the Peaky Blinders. I can’t just let that slide.”

“It was my life, Arthur. My life they tried to take away. Not yours. What he did - ” Tommy pointed at the injured man bleeding on the ground, “ - is between him and me. I’ll be the one who decides what happens to him. Not you, not anyone else in this family. Me. He’s mine. Do you fucking understand me?”

“You’ve killed better men for less. What makes him special?”

The doctor’s eyes flickered open. He saw Tommy’s black shoe and dark grey trouser leg, standing within reach. Extending a hand, he touched Tommy’s ankle with wavering fingers, trying to get his attention. The leg moved away, and for a second Holford thought he was pulling back for a kick. But instead Tommy crouched down, placing a hand on Holford’s shoulder.

“Can you hear me?” Tommy said.

“Mister Shelby,” Holford mumbled.

“Don’t move, alright? Don’t try and move.” Tommy straightened up again, lowering his voice to hiss at Arthur. “I never struck him. The whole fucking time he’s been my prisoner, I never once struck him. Then you come along and you beat him to a pulp. You spill blood in here, in my home. What gives you the right, Arthur? What gives you the right?”

“I’m your brother, I have a right to avenge you.”

“Look at the fucking state of him! You could’ve killed him.”

“But I didn’t, did I? Besides, he had it coming.”

“It’s not your fucking place, Arthur!”

“Not my place? Where is my place? Where is my fucking place, Tommy? Or is it just wherever you say it is? Am I just whatever you say I am?”

“Go!” Tommy yelled. Then, softening his tone, he said, “My brother, go home. Just go home, eh?”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Arthur said, “This wasn’t what I wanted. I’m not a bad man. I’m not a bad man.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m a good man. I am…”

“Arthur. My brother. My last brother.” Tommy gripped Arthur’s face between his two hands, and pressed his forehead to Arthur’s. “I trust you. You know that. But this can’t happen again. Whether this man lives or dies, it’s a choice I need to make on my own. I can’t have you around, making a mess of things, eh? Just go.”

“I love you, Tom.”

“Just go, please.”

“Alright, Tom. Alright.” Arthur swayed. “I don’t think - I don’t think I should be driving.”

“Fine. Fine, I’ll drive. Just give me a minute to sort this out, eh?”

Pulling Holford’s arm around his shoulder, Tommy heaved him to his feet and helped him back inside the wagon. Doctor Holford knew the symptoms of a concussion, and he feigned them along the way - swaying on his feet, mumbling. As Tommy sat him down on the bunk, he winced and touched his ears as if they were ringing.

“Hey.” Tommy snapped his fingers. Holford forced his eyes to wander, as if he couldn’t focus. “Are you there?”

“Dizzy,” Holford muttered. “My head hurts.”

“Alright. Fuck. I’ll be gone for a half-hour. Just stay here and don’t try anything. Understand? If I come back and I find you gone, I will hunt you down and cut you. You think you’re hurting right now? You have no fucking idea what hurt is. I will slice your hamstrings so you never fucking run again, and I’ll make you crawl back to the caravan. Got it?”

“I’ll stay,” Holford promised.

“Good.”

The Shelbys departed, and Holford was left nursing his injuries inside the locked wagon. He could only hope that he’d sown the seeds of sympathy on Tommy’s side. As he lay wheezing on the bunk, his exhausted body gave out, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#i just love putting cute guys in peril

9 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 1 day

Note

No thoughts, just him <33

Ah, to be the cigar that he's chomping...

#aneurin barnard #goddammit

3 notes · View notes

aneurinallday · 2 days

Text

The Grey Man

Chapter 12: Blue Eyes, Green Eyes

The few metres separating his bedroom from the guest room felt suddenly long, as if the universe were giving him a chance to turn back; but the prospect of Holford drew him onwards.

“Fuck’s sake, Tom,” he muttered to himself, “Have you ever made a good decision?”

“Brought you a change of clothes,” said Tommy, dumping the pile of folded clothing on the dresser. “Can’t send you out there indecent, eh.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Mister Shelby, will you sit with me for a while? I thought we might talk.”

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“There’s nothing to say.” Tommy sat down beside him. “This whole business is done. Soon you’ll go back to your home. Your routine. Your office. Your friends, if you can call them that.”

“They were never truly my friends. They were just…present. I just needed somebody. I had nobody else. Until now.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“But you are present.” Holford hesitated, then set his towel aside and turned to face Tommy. “Am I truly free to leave?” he asked.

“If you’re well enough to travel.”

“So I can walk out of that door any time I please?”

“If you choose to.”

“And if I choose to stay a little longer?”

“Why would you do that?” Tommy snorted. “You’ve no reason to stay.”

“Perhaps I feel safer here. With you.”

“With the man who held a gun to your head?”

“With the man who didn’t pull the trigger,” Holford corrected him. “And then saved my life, twice.”

“That means nothing. I was just…” Tommy hesitated, “I just didn’t want to see you die.”

“Are you glad that I’m alive?”

“Gladness isn’t a thing I’ve felt lately. But if I were to choose a word, I suppose that would be it.”

“Do you find me attractive?”

Tommy was genuinely taken aback by the forwardness of the question. Holford hadn’t seemed the type to make a direct advance.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Tommy, “It’ll spare you the awkwardness of retracting it.”

“I’ve no intention of retracting it,” said Holford. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

“Why? Are you offering?”

Holford smiled. He took Tommy’s hand and kissed it, just as he had while pleading for mercy - but now it was an act of affection, not supplication. Then he kissed Tommy’s mouth.

“Allow me to do this,” he murmured between kisses. “I’ve been lonely for a long time.”

“You’re married,” Tommy reminded him softly.

“And did it?”

“No. But let’s not talk about it. Besides, you’ve no grounds to take issue with my adultery. Didn’t you spend a night with Diana Mitford?”

“…Fair enough.” Tommy shed his trousers, slinging them aside.

There was no rush - Holford took his time. He started at the top, kissing his way along Tommy’s handsome jaw, then down his vulnerable throat, his neck, his shoulders.

“Wait,” Tommy stopped him. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. It’s alright,” the doctor whispered, and the assurance was all Tommy needed to surrender.

“I’m a fool,” he sighed.

“We’re both fools.”

He rested his hands on Tommy’s thighs, and tenderly kissed the insides of them. And then his cock.

Then he took it in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The throbbing tightness of his cock was becoming unbearable.

“Fuck,” Tommy repeated with a tone of wonder - but whether he was marvelling at his own foolishness or marvelling at the surrealness of being fellated by his traitorous doctor, he wasn’t sure.

“Bastard,” Tommy grunted, and let go of Holford’s hair, indicating that he was done.

“You’ve twice been married,” Holford said, “And I hear you’ve had a lot of mistresses.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘a lot’.”

He smiled up at Tommy rather sheepishly. It was a genuine smile, bright and surprisingly sweet.

“Have you had a man do that to you before?” he asked.

“That’s not your business.”

“But you don’t deny it,” Holford teased.

Tommy tutted. He put his hand on Holford’s head - gently this time - running his fingers through tousled curls. With his thumb he stroked Holford’s cheek.

“Don’t be fucking cheeky,” he warned, but it was a perfunctory warning, bereft of menace.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. And Tommy knew he wasn’t just apologising for teasing him, but for everything. For all the unhappy circumstances that had led them to this moment.

“Get up,” said Tommy. The mood was gone - Holford had ruined it. “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Can I wash up first?”

“Fine.”

Holford kissed his knee again, and said so faintly it was almost inaudible: “Forgive me.”

Tommy said nothing. He hadn’t acknowledged the apology, but he hadn’t rejected it either.

Tommy thought for a minute, then sat back up.

“Come here,” he said. “Come here. Sit down.”

Holford obeyed, and they sat side-by-side on the bed. Tommy gestured to Holford’s underwear.

“Take it off.”

“Why?” Holford hesitated, a little doubt entering his eyes.

“Because it’s your turn.”

“For what?”

“You gave me a diversion. I’ll give you the same.”

“…Oh.”

Holford wasn’t sure how to respond. The shadow of Mosley still hung over him.

“Take it off,” he repeated, but it was a request, not a command.

“Should I lie down?” he said.

“No. Face me,” Tommy said, and Holford obeyed.

Tommy’s blue eyes held no threat. He placed his hands on either side of the doctor’s head - dark curls, damp from the bath - and drew him closer. They kissed deeply.

Tommy broke off the kiss to glance down and check his own hardness. He was already erect again. Holford made a small noise of disappointment when the stroking stopped, but didn’t complain.

Once Holford was comfortable, Tommy began to thrust - carefully at first, searching for a rhythm. He put his arms around the doctor to support him.

But there was nothing domineering about Tommy’s touch. He held the power, yes, but Holford felt safe in his hands.

“Forget everything else,” Tommy murmured, “Think only of me. Of us.”

Holford rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder, and shut his eyes. Entrusting himself to him completely. Tommy met his trust with tenderness.

“Think only of us,” he repeated.

Holford let out a fervent whimper. His breath was warm puffs against the side of Tommy’s neck.

“Tommy,” he uttered, as if the name were a prayer.

Holford lifted his face off Tommy’s shoulder, leaving behind a small patch of dampness where his mouth had been. He struggled to speak.

“I can - I can - ”

Tommy knew what he was going to say. I can turn around for your convenience.

“No,” Tommy panted, “Face me. Face me. I want to see you.”

He hugged the doctor close, thrusting with increased urgency. Holford kissed him again - this time desperate kisses, frantic kisses. Tommy savoured them.

Holford shuddered, letting out a wordless cry, and Tommy felt a sudden wetness blossom between them. Within moments, his own climax followed. Holford was rapturous in his embrace.

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed him. For the first time in their entire acquaintance, he looked completely serene and unguarded.

“For what?”

“For everything. For letting me live. For giving me a chance. For the hot bath and the bed. For making me forget.”

“For a while, it was all gone,” Holford said. “Mosley. The lies. Your gun. All of it. All I could see was you. Your eyes. I felt as if you could see me too. I wish it could stay that way.”

“You’re tired. Sleep,” Tommy bade him.

“I’ve always liked your eyes,” Holford carried on. “From the first moment I saw you, I liked your eyes.”

“Sleep,” Tommy repeated.

Holford was struggling to keep his eyes open. Smiling, he let them close.

“You were almost right,” Tommy said.

Holford made a questioning sound, only half-awake, already half-dreaming.

“I’m not sick with guilt. I’m at peace with who I used to be. So you were wrong about that. But I have been on a journey, and I can’t go back.”

Holford’s eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. He was fast asleep.

Tommy withdrew his hand, closed his eyes, and lay listening to the doctor’s steady breathing.

Peace at last, he thought to himself as he drifted to sleep, Peace at last.

The End

5 notes · View notes