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“You look tired, mate.”
Tommy ignores him. Of course he ignores him. He leans his head back against his expensive desk chair, sucking on his cigarette like it’s a lifeline.
Alfie suspects that’s how it really is. Tommy and his bloody life-giving cigarettes. And his whisky. And his opium - yes, he knows about the opium, of course he fucking knows. Tommy’s not the only one who does his homework on enemies and allies alike.
Can’t forget about the whores, either, can you? Work every hour of every day, leaving one remaining to fill with fucking, snorting, drinking, puffing. Bloody hell, gives Alfie a migraine just to think about. Not even the great Alfie Solomons is that fucking self-destructive.
“Hmm.” Alfie taps his cane loudly on the floor, and Tommy doesn’t even blink. Nerves of steel, that one. “I said, you look tired, mate.”
“Yes, I heard what you said,'' Tommy says, a sigh apparent in his voice. He watches Alfie with those cold, dead eyes, leaning forward to tap ash into his crystal ashtray.
“You heard me? Is that right?” Alfie mumbles, squinting down at Tommy’s face from his standing position, his eyes wandering over the neat, organized piles of paperwork, then back to Tommy again.
Tommy raises an eyebrow, like Alfie is eating into his very, very precious time. And he suspects it is quite precious and compartmentalized, busy man that he is. But-
“Is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Solomons? I have an appointment-“
“Do you now?” Alfie interrupts, tilting his head to the side. Tommy’s jaw clenches visibly in the morning light streaming through his office windows, and the sight is quite satisfying indeed. When Tommy makes no move to reply, he continues. “I’ll ask you again. Are. You. Tired?”
Tommy blinks slowly, his cigarette forgotten between his lips, burning dangerously close to his skin, dripping ash onto his slacks. “What?”
“Just answer the fucking question, Tommy. That’s all you need to worry about.”
Tommy stares at him, face like stone. Always like a bloody stone wall. It irks him to no end, really, it does.
Alfie takes a step forward, then steps around the length of that ridiculously enormous desk. Tommy watches his come, face still blank, cigarette still dangling. Now, behind the desk with Tommy, just a foot away from him, Alfie lifts his cane and slams the end of it down on the chair, right between Tommy’s thighs. Not touching him, no, but dangerously close to the Crown Jewels. Dangerously close indeed.
Tommy still doesn’t react, and now Alfie is beginning to suspect that there’s something larger at play here. Because any man, sane or not, protects their precious jewels.
“You off your head, Tommy boy?” Alfie mutters, narrowing his eyes as he leans in, searching those icy blue eyes. “Hmmm? Because you are behaving, right, you are behaving…very, very strangely.” In the silence that follows, Alfie lifts a hand, gently plucking the burning cigarette stub from the man’s mouth. He leans to the side, dropping it into the ash tray.
When he turns back to look at Tommy, he’s met with a crack in the facade. His eye twitches, and he swallows, and Alfie watches it happen like a vulture preying on a dying horse, a strange anticipation flooding through his blood.
Then, there’s a knock at the door, snapping the spell in half. Alfie tuts and leans back as Tommy looks away, but he keeps his cane right where it is. Right where it is. Tommy makes no move to push it away, which is very, very strange indeed.
Another knock.
Tommy clears his throat. “Alfie…”
“Come in!” he calls out, ignoring the owner of the office. The clock reads ten minutes past the hour - any other day, he would be long gone by now, wouldn’t he? But not today. Today is a very special day. He can smell it in the air. He can bloody taste the difference, and he’s not leaving until Tommy replies to his fucking question.
The door opens, and a beautiful woman walks in, wearing a thick fur coat. Clearly a whore. Hmm. He would’ve thought Tommy gets his fucks in at night, not after his first meeting of the day.
Must be a special sort of day, then.
“Oh, I’m sorry…” the woman trails off, her fingers clutched over the door knob, uncertainty and mild fear dancing over her features.
“Well, hello there!” Alfie calls out, raising a hand. “You look lovely, don’t you? Doesn’t she look just lovely, Thomas?”
Tommy doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even move a muscle. Very, very strange indeed.
“Shall I…come back later, then?” The woman asks meekly.
“That would be perfect,” Alfie replies. “Actually, love, don’t bother coming back today at all, alright?” He fishes in his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash, and throws it across the room. The woman catches it gracefully. “Close the door behind you. Tell the secretary that the great Mr. Shelby’s meeting is running very, very late. And that he’s not to be disturbed.”
She nods and leaves.
“Now…” he turns back to Tommy, who’s watching him warily. “…just what the hell had gotten into you, mate?”
Tommy blinks, his brow furrowing in mild annoyance. “I had an appointment.”
“And I cancelled it for you, didn’t I?” Alfie leans forward again, towering over Tommy’s seated body. He doesn’t miss the way the man’s breath hitches. “And you…you let me do it. So, drugs, is it?”
“Alfie-“
“Answer the fucking question, Tommy, or I’ll crush your cock like a tomato. Hmm. Yeah, I will do that.”
Tommy swallows again, then leans his head back in defeat. “Yes, I’m fucking tired, all right? What difference does it make to you?”
Alfie opens his mouth, closes it. Because, honestly, he didn’t really think through this, did he? Just acting in the present moment, he was. Now it’s his bloody turn to clear his throat. He leans back, lifting his cane and tapping it back down again as he racks his brain for an excuse. Tommy flinches, ever so slightly, and Alfie blinks down at him. “The difference…right…is ensuring that my very, very dear friend and business partner - who happens to be you, by the way - is getting a proper amount of beauty rest. Hmmm.”
“That right?” Tommy deadpans, reaching out for his cigarettes and lighter.
Alfie lifts his cane, stopping him. “That’s right, Tommy boy.”
“And you cancelled my appointment…to ask me that, did you?”
“Well, you didn’t leave me much of a choice. I also noticed that you did fuck all to stop me.”
Tommy just grunts in reply and reaches under the obstacle of Alfie’s cane, grasping for his cigarettes, but Alfie's had enough. He smacks his cane down on the man’s arms, rendering him surprised enough to pause his desperate attempt.
“Fags are a disgusting plague and all, but your relationship to the bloody things is bordering on psychotic, mate,” Alfie drawls. "Have you tried fishing?”
“Are we done, Mr. Solomons?” Tommy snaps. There he goes again, putting on his big boy voice to make people take him seriously. Thing is, Alfie isn’t one of his floundering brothers or fearful little minions, now is he?
“You tell me, Thomas. You tell me. Are we, in fact, done here?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly, his voice condescending and curt. But there’s one tiny little problem.
“Look at me and tell me we’re done, then,” Alfie says, dropping his cane back between Tommy’s legs, grinding it down into the leather. Tommy’s eyes stay glued to his out of reach cigarettes, his jaw doing that funny little clenching thing again.
“It’s all right, really it is. Right. Just turn your head, look deep, deep into my eyes, and tell me whether we’re done here or not. Simple, innit? Very, very simple.” Something hot and heavy starts to burn in his gut when Tommy’s fingers clench in his lap, like this is the hardest thing in the world right now. It should be funny, and it is, but that is very much secondary. Tommy tears his eyes away from his desk, traveling through the air to land on Alfie's face, and he blinks in mild surprise, as if just realizing his position. Thighs spread, Alfie's cane between them, only a couple inches from his crotch. Alfie himself towering above him, watching him very, very carefully.
“What are you playing at?” Tommy finally asks.
“No need to throw a fit, now, you silly boy. Just words, aren’t they? Just words, now you can do it. Go on.”
Tommy’s face flushes, and Alfie shifts on his feet, leaning in a bit more, because the man is taking quite a long time, and he doesn’t want to miss a single syllable. “We’re done here,” Tommy grits out. He pauses, takes a breath, then tries again, in a much calmer way. “We’re done, Mr. Solomons.”
Alfie squints at him, for a few seconds, watching as Tommy seems to lean as far back in his chair as possible, like he’s trying to escape into the very making of it. Yes, something is not quite right here. This is not the Tommy he has told himself he knows. Something is very, very…
He straightens up. “Right. Good boy, then. Took you fucking ages though, didn’t it?”
Tommy’s shoulders drop, and he leans forward a bit as the tension begins to bleed from his body. But Alfie's not quite done with him yet, is he? Not at all.
“Then-“
Alfie slides his cane up on the chair, pressing the length of it between Tommy’s legs. Right against his half-hard cock. Because he noticed. Yes, how the bloody hell could he not? Tommy’s cock has begun to shown clear interest in the way Alfie has been speaking to him and leaning over him, regardless of their owner’s thick, heavy sense of pride. No, cocks don’t give a shit about politics, do they? Not one singular shit.
“Hmmm. What’s this, then?” Alfie says calmly, pressing his cane firmly over the outline in Tommy’s slacks. “Very unprofessional, Tommy.”
Curled forward, one hand wrapped around Alfie's cane, Tommy chokes on air, his head hanging low. A lovely rosy hue dusts the tips of his ears and the back of his neck, which Alfie can still see.
“Get…off…”
Alfies gut lurches with glee. “Hmmm. You are having quite the problem with eye contact this morning, ain’t ya?”
Tommy lifts his head then, clearly seething. His cock is still hard though, isn’t it? But now, he's angry. He pushes back on Alfie's cane and stands up, body tense as a rock. “Our meeting is over. So get out of my fucking office, Alfie,” he snaps, pointing toward the door. But his voice is trembling a bit now. And he’s not getting too close. Hmm. He’s keeping his distance.
Alfie takes a step forward, crowding Tommy, who’s eyes widen. “Are you afraid of me now, Tommy? Hmm?”
Tommy, who always puts business first, always, lurches forward, lunging for Alfie. But he’s a bit off balance, and his face is still red and his cock is still hard, and Alfie has a sneaking suspicion that Tommy isn’t quite sure of what he wants right now. So he dodges the first swing at his face, then wraps a hand around Tommy’s neck and slams him bodily against the wall. Tommy gasps and glares, his hands grasping Alfie’s shoulders in an attempt to shove him off, all clenched teeth and angry grunting.
“Relax, relax, Tommy,” Alfie shushes, pressing harder on Tommy’s neck. Yeah, he’s definitely choking now, face darkening in color. Tommy brings a knee up, but Alfie smoothly evades.
He’s in control now. Clearly.
Looking down, he sees that the man’s hard-on has not disappeared. No. In fact…it seems to have grown to full mast. A delighted grin spreads across Alfie’s face, and he looks back into Tommy’s icy eyes, watching him struggle as the resistance slowly bleeds from his bones. Alfie lets off a bit, just enough for Tommy to take in some rasping breaths.
“What…the fuck-” Tommy chokes out, his face screwing up in pain…and something else. Hmmm. Something Alfie has never before seen on the man in all the years he’s known him.
“Right. That’s enough,” Alfie mutters, squeezing his fingers around Tommy’s neck once again, cutting off his airway. He can feel the man’s pulse against his fingers, fast and hard and furious. “You…have clearly been keeping secrets from me, Thomas. Secrets are very, very bad for business, aren’t they?”
Tommy’s face, only inches from Alfie’s, begins to darken again, lips parting and eyelids fluttering. Alfie mutters under his breath in annoyance, letting up again, just slightly. Tommy coughs weakly, his hands pressing heavily against Alfie’s shoulders, but Alfie is solid and strong and currently has the upper hand. Indeed, he does.
“Did you hear what I just said?” he says lowly, watching Tommy’s eyes turn on him. “Secrets, right, are very bad for business. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Tommy swallows, and Alfie’s eyes follow the movement. But he says nothing in response, just continues to take in rasping breaths, like he’s suddenly gone deaf or dumb or something.
“Cat got your tongue, did it?”
Then, the man slams his head forward like a fucking slingshot, and pain bursts through the front of Alfie’s skull. He grunts and staggers, throwing a hand out to brace himself against the wall, and Tommy scrambles out from underneath him. Through the pain, he hears the click of a gun, and he can’t help but chuckle even as he winces.
“Get out of my office, Alfie,” Tommy says, low and slow. Still on edge. Very on edge.
Alfie lowers his hands from his face, squinting through a pounding ache in his forehead at the angry man. He’s breathing hard, leaned up against his desk, pointing the gun directly at Alfie’s face. “Oh, so you mean business now, do ya? Because…earlier, when I had you up against the wall, right…you didn’t put up much of a fight.” He steps forward, cocking his head to the side, watching Tommy carefully as his fingers tighten over the lip of the desk and his teeth bare. Like he’s a cornered animal.
“Well?” Alfie stops, holding his arms out to his sides, palms up. “All I want is a little fucking honesty, mate.” Tommy just stares at him, so Alfie decides to up the ante. “You scheduled a fuck, this early in the morning, right? Now, I’d let that slide any other day, Tommy boy, but this, this is different. Because, I noticed your cock was hard, didn’t I?”
Tommy says nothing, and his face keeps that same infuriating expression. Except, his chest stills. He’s holding his breath now.
“Christ,” Alfie mutters. He takes a few brisk steps and snatches the gun right out of the man’s hand, and he fucking lets him take it. Alfie looks down at the gun, now in his hands, then back up at Tommy in utter bewilderment. “Are you gonna be a big boy and explain yourself, mate? Or are you planning on staring me into an early grave? Hmm?”
A few seconds of silence pass. The clock on the wall ticks and tocks, loud. Tommy opens his mouth, hesitates. Then, praise the lord, he finally fucking speaks. “It’s been a rough week, Alfie.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“And…” he clears his throat, looking away. “...I apologize. If I have...offended you.” He snaps the words out like they're poisonous, like it pains him to say them.
“No offense taken. But…I would like to know something, and I expect you to be incredibly honest with me. Do you understand?” Aflie narrows his eyes, casually tapping the gun against his chest as he watches Tommy. “Come now, silly boy. You know the rules. Look at me when you speak to me. Common courtesy, innit?”
Tommy’s face begins to flush again, and he clears his throat, turning his eyes from the wall to meet Alfie’s. They’re bright, wary, confused. Alfie drinks the sight in like a glass of quality rum, and it burns down his throat just the same, fueling a fire that only burns brighter with each passing second. Usually, he would consider himself a thinking man, an intelligent businessman, but right now…there must be something in the air. Whatever the fuck it is, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t care much to know.
Because when men like Alfie want something, they get it, don’t they? Whatever the fuck it is, doesn’t matter. Everything is his. Everything.
And Tommy is still fucking hard. That’s got to be bordering on painful now.
“Right,” Alfie continues, satisfied with the man’s compliance. Or is it obedience? Hmm. The latter does sound much more…pleasing. “Was it merely a coincidence, or was it planned, right, that you had a whore come in directly after our meeting was supposed to have ended?”
Tommy stares at him, seemingly frozen. Alfie folds his arms, waiting patiently for the man to snap out of it. He must’ve taken a hit of something this morning. Or perhaps the pure shock and scandal that has occurred within the past few minutes has short-circuited his brain. “Not…” Tommy says blankly, as if he’s trying his very hardest to keep his voice neutral. “Not a coincidence.”
“Hmmm. I thought so,” Alfie nods, stepping forward, crowding Tommy against the desk. “Right. Turn around now, and bend over the desk.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Go on, be a good boy and bend over.”
Tommy’s eyes couldn’t be any wider than they are now. He shakes his head, in confusion or refusal, Alfie can’t tell, then reaches for the gun in his hand. But he saw that coming, didn’t he? Tommy grunts when he’s spun around and slammed bodily down over the desk top, papers flying everywhere, ash tray clattering loudly to the floor.
“Alfie-” he hisses.
“No need to say anything at all, Tommy,” Alfie says pleasantly, pressing a heavy hand over the man’s upper back, pinning him. “Nothing at all. Simply do as I say, right, and life will be much, much easier for you.” He pauses. “Understand?”
Tommy’s hands scramble for something to grab onto, likely something to use as a weapon, but most everything is either on the floor now or is only good enough for papercuts. Alfie tuts in disapproval, snatching up the man’s right hand and pinning it at a painful-looking angle against his back. Tommy hisses, turning his head, glaring back at Alfie with a strange mixture of rage and discomfort and…there it is again…confusion.
It is quite a treat to see, because the Great Thomas Shelby has never been known for his confusion. In fact, there’s supposedly not one shred of it in his body. According to legend, and according to his ridiculous little family - dead or alive, they’re all the same. Ridiculous, insane, fucking floundering without the guidance of their very damaged and very suicidal leader.
No. Tommy has always been very certain, very precise, very business-oriented. Yet, here he is, pinned to his own desk by Alfie fucking Solomons, looking very, very much confused.
“Let go. Let go now,” he snaps, jerking against the iron grip on his wrist, failing at hiding a wince.
“Is that really what you want, Tommy?” Alfie replies, pressing down a little harder, pulling on his arm a little more, relishing in the sharp intake of breath and slight widening of his one visible eye in return. “Because, it seems to me that you have no fucking clue what you want, mate. No fucking clue.”
There’s a knock at the door, loud and sudden. Alfie blinks, looks up, keeping his grip on Tommy. “Who is it?”
“Is everything alright in there, Mr. Shelby?” a woman’s voice calls out. “I heard a commotion.”
A beat passes, then Tommy suddenly bucks up against Alfie, struggling furiously to regain control. Alfie leans hard on him, grunting with the strain, because Tommy may be smallish, but he is quick and stronger than he looks.
“Everything is perfectly alright!” Alfie forces out, riding the wave of Tommy’s rebellion.
The voice silences. Then, “Mr. Shelby?”
Finally, Tommy falls down limp against the desk, like a fish finally dying after flopping around out of water. Breathing hard, he replies to the woman, “Fine. Go…away.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice replies.
Tommy heaves against the desk, kicking a leg back, narrowly missing Alfie’s knee. Alfie twists his arm up higher, and the man groans through clenched teeth, fingers flexing into a fist. “Enough. Enough, you’ve proved your point. Alright?”
“Have I?” Alfie asks, tilting his head, watching the side of Tommy’s face as he leans over him. The front of his pants brushes against Tommy’s backside, and Tommy flinches. This man is quite fascinating. He can never know what to expect when he’s in the same room as the Gypsy. Perhaps that’s exactly the point, though. “What point am I supposed to have proved?”
“That you have leverage. Power over me,” Tommy spits out.
“Hmm. Indeed, I do,” Alfie replies. “Didn’t know it until today, but it seems you are correct.”
“Now-”
“I believe I understand your predicament, Thomas,” he drawls, interrupting him smoothly. “Your family, and your fucking minions, right - they worship you, don’t they? Down on their fucking knees, waiting for your godly guidance. Like little children, aren't they?”
“Alfie, let go of my fucking wrist.”
“Everyone worships you. Or they’re fucking shitting themselves, which is mostly the same thing, innit? Right. The problem with that, Tommy, is that you don’t worship anything, do ya? Quite a predicament.” Alfie takes a breath in contemplation, looking over Tommy’s back, his trembling arm, the swell of his ass, and he makes a decision. Very quickly, mind you. He presses his own front fully against the man’s ass, dropping his free hand onto the desk for support.
Tommy gasps through his teeth, jaw working, eyes squeezing shut.
“You have a problem, Tommy. You need someone to obey, don’t you? It’s clear to see, no need to hide it - I accept you, truly I do.” Alfie is mocking the man by the end of his speech, but there’s some truth in the words as well.
“Fuck you, and fuck off!” Tommy snaps, starting up his useless struggle again.
Alfie doesn’t respond this time, choosing to reach under Tommy’s body, closing his fist around the hard, hot cock trapped in the man’s slacks. The struggle ceases completely, and a surprised, angry noise boils up from deep inside the man, falling beautifully from between his lips.
“That’s it, let it out,” Alfie encourages.
Tommy’s face burns, and he lets out a groaning noise of frustration as he bucks under the painful armlock. “Alfie-”
“No, no, no - that’s all wrong, Tommy. I insist that you call me Mr. Solomons for the remainder of this meeting. Otherwise, right, I will be forced to take drastic measures.”
Tommy grits his teeth, his icy blue eye turning on Alfie. A shiver runs up his spine, and he can’t help but grin at the sight.
“Very scary, Thomas,” he says, bending down with a grimace as he slides his hand up to Tommy’s belt, struggling to undo the thing with the silly man twitching about. “Do stay still. We both want the same thing, don’t we?”
“What the fuck are you getting at?” Tommy hisses, jerking. “Get your bloody hands off me, you fucker-”
“See, I am doing you a great favor, aren’t I?” Alfie continues, finally undoing the buckle and quickly pulling the belt from around the man’s waist.
“Alfie,” Tommy says again, his voice low and desperate. He clearly doesn’t want anyone outside the office to come barging in with him in this position - no, that would wound his pride terribly. But at this point, he must be realizing that Alfie is winning this battle. That’s got to sting, don’t it?
“What did I say about my name?” Alfie sighs, tutting in disappointment. “You disappoint me, Thomas. Really.” He quickly undoes the buttons of Tommy’s slacks, and they fall down his legs, pooling around his ankles. Now, all that’s left is a pair of boxers.
“Fuck, fuck!” Tommy whimpers, his entire body shaking now. Alfie presses his front against the swell of the man’s ass, his own cock hard and ready now, and Tommy can definitely feel it, because his face pales. A few seconds pass just like that, then Tommy begins to jerk again, desperate to maintain his illusion of control, but Alfie just yanks harder on his arm and Tommy groans, his one visible eye growing wet, his bottom lip trembling.
What a fucking sight to behold.
“It’s alright, Tommy, really, it is,” Alfie says, leaning over Tommy’s body to mutter the words into his ear. “Just…relax. I’m going to give you what you so desperately crave, right, as a favor from a friend. Me. But you must understand that because you called me Alfie after I clearly asked you to call me Mr. Solomons…” he sighs dramatically. “Well, to be frank, I am going to fuck you now. In the arse.”
Tommy freezes.
Alfie lifts his free hand, pressing down against the side of Tommy’s face, hard enough to make the man wince. “I expect obedience, understand? If you call me by my first name, if you try to fucking kick me, if you do anything of a violent nature - I will punish you. With your fucking belt. And I don’t care if your damn secretary comes in to see what’s the matter, I really don’t.” He pauses to examine Tommy’s face. His expression has begun to melt into something…spectacular. A mixture of rage and…is that desire? Jesus fucking Christ, the man is a rare specimen. “Now, do you understand?”
Tommy says nothing.
Alfie shakes his head. “Really, you silly boy, answer me. Fucking now. Or you will regret it.”
A few seconds pass, then Tommy closes his eyes. His bottom lip is still trembling, and the color has returned to his skin, giving him that same dark flush from before. He lets out a groan, his twisted arm tensing in Alfie’s grip, his feet shuffling on the floor, then, “I…understand.” It comes out forced and quiet and meek.
“Good.” Alfie releases Tommy’s face, pulling back. Still keeping a firm, wrenching grip on the wrist in his hand, he tugs the man’s last layer of clothing off his ass, watching it pool around his ankles on top of his discarded slacks. “Shit, Tommy,” he breathes, blinking furiously at the shapely ass in front of him, the pale, soft skin seeming to glow in the early morning light. Not wanting to give Tommy (or himself) time to overthink things, he reaches between the man’s legs, wrapping his fingers around his hard cock, stroking it slowly.
Tommy tenses up and groans, his pinned arm shaking and his free hand scraping along the surface of the desk, searching for purchase. He anchors himself with a cracking grip over the front lip of the desk, white-knuckling it with his arm outstretched. Alfie grunts in approval, then releases his cock and slides his thumb over the man’s crack, pressing over his fluttering asshole.
That’s when Tommy jerks again, seeming to snap back into reality. “Fucking-get the fuck off me right fucking now, Alfie, or I swear to god-”
“Swear to who?” Alfie interrupts, his voice tight with irritation. “Spread your legs now, be a good boy.”
Tommy’s breath hitches. Alfie kicks his slacks and boxers away, freeing the poor man’s feet. In hindsight, it was not the greatest fucking idea in the world, but Tommy is quite unpredictable, much like himself, isn’t he? Yes, in-fucking-deed. A strong leg kicks back, catching Alfie right in the shin, and he grunts in surprised pain, falling clumsily on top of Tommy’s body. Tommy twists around, swinging blindly, aiming to hurt - but it’s bloody ridiculous, because he wants this. Tommy wants this, and they both fucking know it, but he’s fighting Alfie because his super-ego is getting in the way.
And he called Alfie by his name. Again. Time to kick things up a notch, because Tommy’s fucking asking for it at this point, isn’t he? The little bastard.
Alfie catches one of Tommy’s arms by the wrist, leaning over the man who now has his back flat over the desktop, and his vision goes white for a split second as he’s slugged clumsily in the jaw, but then he hauls off - and slaps the shit out of Tommy, making his head fly to the side from the sheer force of it, making him fall limp, all the fight draining from his flailing body.
“Fuckin hell, Tommy,” Alfie hisses, tasting blood in his mouth. He blinks furiously, clearing his vision, glaring down at the half-conscious man. Tommy’s eyes are rolled back in his head, his mouth open, groaning low and slow. “Right. Let’s get the fuck on with it, shall we?”
He turns Tommy back onto his front, pinning the top half on him to the desk with a bit of difficulty, and he reaches for the belt. In just ten seconds he has Tommy’s wrists secured tightly behind his back, out of the way. Good fucking riddance. What a nightmare it is, to be subject to an unrestrained Shelby such as him. The man begins to roll his head from side to side, coming back to consciousness, and Alfie glares at the back of his head, then turns his attention to the task at hand. Now, with both hands free, he spreads Tommy’s plump asscheeks and spits down onto his asshole.
Tommy jerks. “Alfie…” he groans tightly.
“Mr. Solomons to you,” Alfie says, pressing a thumb over the twitching hole. He cracks his neck to the side, then presses in, all the way, till his thumb is swallowed up in the tight heat.
“Fuck - fuck!” Tommy hisses, his feet sliding over the floor, head lifting, arms yanking desperately against the belt.
“Hmmm.” Alfie presses one hand between Tommy’s shoulder blades, slamming him hard back down against the desk. He drags his thumb out slowly, making sure to make it as uncomfortable as possible. “You are quite…fuckable. Ain’t ya?”
“Alfie-”
“This is your last warning, mate. I am being very, very patient with you, aren’t I? Address me with fucking respect!”
Tommy says nothing, just breathes hard and heavy against the expensive wood. Alfie nods, then spits on the man’s asshole once again before breaching with two fingers, slowly forcing them in, stretching the tight hole out. He can feel his own dick throbbing, and his patience is running quite thin.
“Mr….Solomons…” Tommy forces out, his voice breaking beautifully.
“Why, what is it, Tommy boy?” Alfie asks mockingly. He winces at the feeling of Tommy’s walls clenching over his intruding fingers, then, quite sadistically, forces them in as far as they can go - all the fucking way.
“Ahhh…” Tommy groans. “Don’t - get out…fuck-”
Alfie watches the side of Tommy’s face as he curls his fingers down, towards where the prostate should be. Tommy’s visible eye flies open and rolls, his mouth gapes, face turns as dark as a fucking tomato. “Soon, mate, it’ll be my cock instead of my fingers.” He curls his fingers again, and Tommy groans, his hands twisting into fists, entire body trembling. “Hmm. Bet you’ll love that, won’t ya?”
“Please-”
“No, no. Say ‘please, Mr. Solomons’. Like that.”
Tommy swallows audibly, his eyelashes fluttering as he tries to zero in on the man behind him. Alfie adds a third finger with some difficulty, and Tommy’s eyes start to water. He looks like he’s about to fucking cry, and it’s absolutely astounding to witness.
“Go on. Say it,” Alfie encourages, starting to finger fuck the man steadily, roughly. He spits again, adding lubrication, because god knows he’s gonna fucking need it.
“Please…Mr. Solomons…” Tommy begs, an actual tear dripping from his lashes. His ass is moving back in time to meet the thrusting of Alfie’s fingers now, and he’s shaking like a leaf. The man looks like a wreck, panting and moaning and begging. Like the fucking whore Alfie sent out of his office just fifteen minutes earlier is supposed to look - under Tommy.
Alfie can hardly believe his eyes. “Truly, you needed someone to take the reins for a while, hmm? But you can never use your words like a big boy.”
“Fuck, I can’t…Alfie, stop-”
Alfie’s face twists up in distaste, and he yanks his fingers out of the man’s hole, leaving him gasping. With one hand, he unbuckles his own slacks and pulls his hard cock out, pressing the head against Tommy’s clenching hole. It’s longer and thicker than Tommy’s - and a whole lot longer than his fingers, that’s for fucking sure. “You asked for it,” he hisses, reaching for Tommy’s face, wrapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his voice. He yanks the man’s body up and off the desktop, using one leg to kick his feet apart, spreading him wide…then he thrusts hard, driving past the tight ring of muscle into the wet, tight heat of him.
Tommy seizes up, going completely still in shock and pain.
Only halfway in, Alfie grunts, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and pleasure of having his dick clenched tight. He takes a deep, heaving breath, then thrusts again, forcing the rest of his length deep inside. That’s when Tommy starts to wail. Alfie lets him drop back down onto the desk, keeping his hand clamped tight over his mouth, getting into a punishing rhythm, driving Tommy’s hips against the lip of the desk with each harsh thrust.
“Fuck…fuckin hell,” Alfie hisses. “Tight as a virgin, you are.”
Tommy’s wails become whimpers, then moaning grunts with each thrust. The fight has bled from his body now, and he falls limp against the desk, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood when Alfie releases his face. Tears are leaking down his skin now, and his eyes are tightly shut - against the humiliation, no doubt. Alfie reaches around his body and finds his cock, hard and leaking like a faucet, and Tommy whimpers like a bitch when he slides his thumb over the head.
“Christ, Tommy,” Alfie groans, getting close. He releases Tommy’s cock, snagging both of his hips in a bruising grip, picking up speed, pounding into him as hard and fast as he can. Tommy’s face twists up in pain and pleasure, and his mouth opens in a sob - and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing Alfie has ever seen.
He buries himself deep as he comes, slamming a hand over the side of Tommy’s face, shuddering from the strength of a world-bending orgasm. Collapsing boneless over Tommy’s trembling body, he catches his breath.
The sound of the ticking clock and Tommy’s shaky breathing fills the room for several seconds. Alfie groans and slowly lifts himself up and off, pulling his limp dick out of Tommy’s abused asshole with a wince. His own semen starts to leak from the hole, and he watches, enraptured.
“Fuck me…that was…something of a biblical experience, mate,” he says breathlessly, pulling his slacks up and buckling his belt. He clears his throat, dusting himself off in an effort to look presentable again, not like the heathen he was a few moments ago. A sudden sense of dread comes over him as he examines Tommy’s body, still and quiet over the desk.
He’s dead meat now. Once Tommy gets free, he’ll come after him. Won’t he?
Still, he reaches over and undoes the belt, freeing the man’s hands. Tommy presses his hands against the desk and slowly lifts his head. He reaches an arm up, wiping furiously over his wet face. His bottom lip is still trembling, Alfie notices.
But he also notices…that the man’s dick is soft. He lowers his eyes, his gaze catching on a small puddle on the floor underneath the desk. A sudden sadistic delight fills him, and he raises his arms. “Hallelujah! You - truly, Tommy - are meant to-”
“Shut up, Alfie,” Tommy snaps hoarsely. “Shut the fuck up, and get out of me office. Or I’ll shoot your bloody head off.” He makes no move for his gun, though, Alfie notices. Hmm. What a strange, strange man.
“So, you are satisfied with your care, then?”
“Get…out,” Tommy hisses, yanking his pants up, swaying on his feet. Right. It’ll be difficult to walk, sit down, and such. After all that pounding, it’ll be hard to do much at all, won’t it?
“Get out,” Tommy says again, pointing a finger at Alfie.
Alfie just grins, backing away. He walks slowly toward the exit, tapping his cane against the floor with a newfound energy. His hand closes over the doorknob, and he turns around, lifting a finger. “Shall we do this again, sometime? Because, I for one-”
“Out!”
“Right. Off I go, then. Good morning to you, Tommy.”