#anglophile

Thomas Shelby takes a deep drink from his glass of Irish Whiskey and lets his eyes wander around the room. He’s not as interested in the show occurring onstage as he is in the number of patrons sitting at the tables around the stage. Most are men, many of them are working class. They’re drinking cheap ale and whistling at the dancers on stage. Tommy takes a note in his notebook and finishes his whiskey. His pale skin takes on a tan hue in the darker light of the bar. He has his hat pulled down over his eyes and slips the notebook back into his pocket. When he finally turns his attention back to the stage, he sees the group of scantily dressed dancers and sighs tightly. This is not really his type of scene- he’d much prefer to be alone, somewhere quiet, private, calm. He’d only come tonight to take notes on the number of patrons, a factor in his future business dealings that may or may not include buying the bar and cabaret in which he was currently sitting. Arthur and John had volunteered to do the survey for him- of course they did- but Tommy needed a clear-headed, realistic description of the place. His brothers couldn’t do that for him, they just couldn’t.

His eyes fell on one of the dancers as she steps up to the microphone stand and starts to sing “Over There."

Johnny get your gun- get your gun. 

Johnny get your gun- get your gun.

Take it on the run- on the run. 

Take it on the run- on the run. 

Hear them calling you and me, every son of liberty. 

She was a plain girl and couldn't have been more than 25 at the oldest. The song she was singing was a war song, one he’d heard in France from the Yankees. Hearing the young woman sing it forced a peculiar feeling in his chest to rise into his throat. He swallowed tightly and flagged the waiter for another drink. He turned back to watch the young woman, his face betraying no thoughts or feelings. He was leaning forward in his chair, his hand propped on his knee. He checked his pocket watch and paid the waiter for his drink.

…

From the stage, you look out at the mass of patrons hooting from their seats. This is not really what you imagined when you pictured your future as a little girl. You’d wanted to perform, and frankly, you were, just not for the right audience. You’d just turned twenty-two and felt decades older as you pranced around in your flapper dress with the low cut v-neck. You may have been the headliner, as you usually were at the cabaret, but it was certainly nothing special. Your name was up in lights but did it count when the cabaret was on a dirty side-street in Birmingham? Obviously, you have a problem with self-deprecation. You’ll have to work on that- note to self. 

But as you sing, the steaming spotlights blind you from everything except for one patron sitting near the center of the audience. You can only make out a shape, like a black silhouette, but you can tell it's a man. When the spotlight moves, your eyes adjust and faces become clear again. Your eyes return back to the man and this time you can see his cap pulled down over his eyes and the way he lies his forearms on the table as he holds his cigarette. When the routine ends, you bow, your hand covering your cleavage as you bend over. When you look up again, the man is staring at you, clapping slowly like he’s from a different point in time and space entirely. You regard him curiously as you straighten up. Cheers and whistles berate you as you hurry offstage.    

It doesn’t take long for your boss to find you backstage. 

“Diana,” he starts, brushing off a thin layer of sweat from his balding forehead, “there’s a patron that wants to meet you… he's one of the Peaky Blinders.” 

You turn, your brows furrow skeptically. “Peaky Blinders? What’s that?” 

“You-you don’t know? Eh well they’re basically the most powerful gang in Birmingham, Diana. They’re the ones that run the illegal gambling rings and whiskey dealings.” 

“And someone from the Peaky Blinders wants to meet me?” You clarify, a note of distaste and disbelief in your tone. 

Your boss nods and shrugs hesitantly, “Seems like it. I mean I can tell him that you’re not feeling well, I’ll say whatever you want, but…” he trails off. You stare at him for a moment, your morbid curiosity piqued. 

“Well… I guess I’ll meet him. Tell him that I’ll come out once everyone leaves. Can he wait?” 

Your boss nods and turns away to relay the message. He returns after a few minutes and nods, confirming that the man will wait. Exhaling, you pinch the bridge of your nose and try to prepare yourself for whatever the man may want- god forbid. To be completely honest, you’re tired. You’re dead tired. Work at the cabaret is exhausting and emotionally taxing. The spotlights may hide the eye bags and shaky muscles but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. You adjust your makeup to hide the purple circles beneath your eyes before you force yourself to stand and greet the strange visitor.

…

Tommy is lighting another cigarette when he sees the velvet curtain shift and a person steps out from behind it. Looking over the end of his cigarette, he sees you step down from the stage and approach him slowly, your expression neutral. Tommy sits silently as he watches you approach his table, the last patron left in the establishment after closing. You stop on the opposite side of the table, your eyes unable to rest on his face for longer than a few seconds. 

“My boss told me that you wanted to meet me…” you say as your hands rest on the edge of the seat. Tommy looks up at you from his seat, his face finally fully visible beneath the shadow of his Peaky cap. 

“Yes, I did want to meet you,” Tommy responds coolly, his eyes on yours. 

You take a deep breath, unsure what to say next. “You’re a Peaky Blinder?” 

Tommy smiles slightly and tilts his head to the side in a curious manner as he responds, “I am. You’ve never heard of us?” 

“No, I try not to get involved in business outside of the cabaret,” you respond, trying to gauge what kind of person he is and whether or not he’s trustworthy. Tommy raises a dark eyebrow and adjusts himself in his seat, a deep sigh escaping his puffy lips. 

“That’s smart. Most people would be better off keeping their heads down… but sometimes business has a way of finding you, whether you’re looking for it or not. Just like trouble." Tommy’s eyes return to yours as he says the last line.  

“So this is a business proposition?” You ask, gesturing between the two of you. 

Tommy pauses for a moment and takes a sip of his whiskey. His eyes leave yours as he considers your question. Finally, his chlorine-blue eyes meet yours, a new expression visible beneath his eyelashes. 

“In a way, you could say that. I’m… interested in you,” Tommy explains slowly. 

“And I suppose I should be flattered,” you add, your eyes narrowing down at Tommy. 

Tommy chuckles and shakes his head before he finally responds. 

“Most women would consider it a compliment to be told that they’ve caught the attention of a Peaky Blinder.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not like most women,” you shake your head softly. 

Tommy nods slowly, his eyes leaving yours as he thinks. “Hmm, that much is true but you wouldn’t be my type if you were ‘most women’.” 

You try not to roll your eyes at his response and smile down at yourself, unable to take him seriously.  

“Well the problem is that I’d much rather be like most women,” you open your small pocketbook to find a cigarette. “My line of work isn’t exactly ideal.” 

Tommy raises his eyebrow and drums his fingertips against the sticky tabletop. He watches you rummage around in your handbook and pulls out his gold embossed cigarette case. He holds the case open for you, offering you one of his own cigarettes. You hesitate before taking a cigarette, meeting his eyes slowly again. He takes a drag of his cigarette and watches as you find your lighter and strike a flame. 

“A woman as talented and captivating as you can have whatever she wants. Why settle for being like most women?” Tommy’s brows furrow as he taps his cigarette over the ashtray by his elbow. 

“The safety… the normalcy,” you light your cigarette and place it between your lips. “I’m a dancer, most men see me as one step up from a common whore.” 

His eyes follow the way you place your cigarette between your pretty pink lips and he nods finally, taking a deep breath. 

“Safety and normalcy are vastly overrated. And for the record I can think of several steps between a cabaret dancer and a common whore.” 

You give him an appreciative smile and pull out your chair to sit down opposite him at the table. You tap your cigarette over the ashtray by his elbow, your bare forearm nearly brushing his coat sleeve. He looks down, following your arm with his eyes as he takes another drag. 

“Well,” you start as you exhale a thin stream of smoke, “are you going to tell me your name?” There’s a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. 

Tommy’s eyes almost darken as he watches you bring the cigarette back to your lips. He allows himself to smile softly, glancing away and then back at you. 

“Thomas Shelby. People call me Tommy… or Mr. Shelby.” 

“Well, Mr. Shelby, what can I do for you?” You bring the conversation back to its original purpose, still morbidly curious why he wanted to meet you. 

“I wanted to get to know you better… I’m not usually interested in women but you grabbed my attention.” 

“Was it the low cut dress?” You respond nonchalantly, your free hand brushing over the deep V-neck of your dress. 

Tommy laughs and rubs his thumb over his lips, shaking his head. “It certainly didn’t hurt.” 

You shrug and cross your legs beneath the table, “at least you’re an honest criminal…” 

Tommy takes a sip of his whiskey and smirks, laughing again. “I find it's best to be upfront about who I am… no point in pretending to be a good man when I'm not.” 

You regard him carefully, your foot jostling nervously beneath the table. “You don’t consider yourself a good man?” 

Tommy’s expression darkens and his lips pull back tightly. He downs the rest of the whiskey in his glass before pouring another one. He leans back in his chair, thinking of a response. 

“I think ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are relative terms. I think I’m a man with ambition and the will to achieve my goals. But some of those goals may not be what most people consider… ‘good.’” 

“Cheers to that,” you raise your cigarette and Tommy chuckles, raising his glass of whiskey back. 

“And what about you? Do you consider yourself a good person?” Tommy asks after taking a sip of his drink. 

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” you shrug and take a drag of your cigarette.

Tommy clears his throat and sets his glass down. “Why not?” 

“To most of the men here, I’m just a dancer. And after years of feeling less than human, I've lost any sense of introspection.” 

Tommy regards you closely, his eyes focused but look relaxed.

“And yet, you don’t act as if you feel less than. I can’t imagine you’re as shallow as most of the men in this room think you are.” 

You blow out a skinny cloud of smoke and it wavers around Tommy’s face like a gray serpent. “Funny,” you smile softly, “I didn’t peg you as an optimist.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head slowly, “I’m not much of an optimist. I’m more of a realist. And any man with a brain should know there’s more to you lot than pretty faces and a pair of legs.” 

You give a snort of laughter and stub out your cigarette. You don’t know what to say at first so you twist your mouth to the side, thinking. 

“Thank you.”

He gives you a short nod, “You get used to men not seeing you as the person you are. I won’t claim to know you, but I know you’re not the type of woman who’s content being just an object for the men in this room to ogle at.” 

 You nod, appreciating his perspective, especially coming from a man. “It pays the bills,” you shrug. 

There’s something about that moment between you. The cabaret is empty besides the two of you and everything is still and quiet. You suddenly feel so close like the space around you has shrunk. Though a table separates your two bodies, Tommy’s eyes push in with the cold severity of a cement wall. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Tommy finally breaks the silence, his voice is low and straightforward. 

You stare at Tommy for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Finally, you shake your head. 

“No.” 

He nods, his eyes lingering on your face. The way your hair is shorter than your shoulders, the faint hint of rouge left on your lips, the way your dress clings to your body… it makes his skin grow hot. 

“Do you want one?” He asks, his voice low. 

Your heart starts to hammer against your chest and you take a sudden breath. Your instincts are suddenly silent like the system has been overrun. 

“I don’t know…” you whisper. 

He gazes back at you intently, watching your reactions to his question. The way your breath hitches slightly, the rise and fall of your chest, your lips parting ever so slightly.

“Do you want me to be more plain with my question?” He asks quietly, gently, like he’s addressing a child. 

You regard him curiously and not knowing what to say, you say nothing. Tommy doesn’t even wait for an answer before he speaks. He leans forward, his chest pressing into the edge of the table. His eyes are locked on yours.

“I want you.” 

“That,” you start shakily, “isn’t a question.” 

Tommy takes in the way your cheekbones glow with color and how your neck flushes. He nods and meets your eyes again, serious. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

The way he says it sounds so effortless, so normal. You take a breath and shake your head, forcing some sense back into the situation.

“You don’t even know my name,” you argue. 

Tommy looks down, smiling softly. When he looks back up, he’s still smiling. 

“I asked your boss.” Tommy stands and trails his finger around the rim of his glass. One of his hands stays in his pocket as he clears his throat. “Your name is Diana.” 

“So you do know my name,” you look up at Tommy. Your heart seems to forget its original rhythm and hammers at an uncomfortable pace.

“Yes, I know your name, Diana.” He repeats your name and the way he says it sounds so sexy. He’s leaning across the table now, his arms crossed against his chest. 

“So you asked me to meet you just to tell me that you want to fuck me?” You clarify, your eyes narrowing. He’s not surprised by your bluntness. He’s heard much worse when talking to other gang members and criminals. He shrugs and clears his throat softly. 

“That was my initial intention.”

“And what is it now?” 

Tommy looks at you for a long moment, his eyes moving slowly across your face, taking you in. Your gaze is strong, but he can sense that beneath it there’s a hint of uncertainty. He lowers his voice as he answers.

“Now… I want more.” 

“And what makes you think I’ll give you what you want?” You mutter up at him. 

He’s acutely aware of how close your lips are now to his. It’d be so easy to reach out and pull you to him, over the table. He can almost hear your heart hammering in your chest and he can smell your perfume, your sweat. His eyes wander over your face, his voice low as he answers.

“Because you’re not saying no.” 

“I could say ‘no’ right now.” You threaten, whispering now. 

He places his palms on the table and leans down. He hears the lack of conviction in your voice. He's close enough now that he can feel the heat coming off your body, see the way your breathing is quickening, and his own body is reacting to your nearness.

“Then do it. Go on, say no.”  

“And what if I do…” Your voice drops off at the end like an open ended question. Tommy lets his gaze drop to your mouth briefly, seeing the way your lips fall open at the end of your sentence. His heart might be beating slightly faster but he’s completely relaxed as he leans even closer. 

“You won’t,” he says quietly but with calm conviction, his breath tickling your nose. 

“Are you always this arrogant?” You ask, too aware of the closeness of his lips. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, throbbing in time with your pulse. Tommy sees the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you blink, his voice just as soft.

“Only when I know I’m right.” He pulls back and steps around the table towards you.

“And are you very frequently right?” You press, trying to ignore the growing tension between your bodies. His cheekbones look deeper in the offcast shadow from the bar’s electric lanterns. 

He smiles slightly at you, amused. He doesn’t answer you right away, just stares down at your lips. Just before he closes the distance between your mouths, he murmurs, “almost always.” 

You feel him kiss you. The movement is fluid and deep like he’s breathing you in like a cigarette. He pulls you up from your chair and holds the place above your ribs with a gentle yet assertive touch. Your hands start on his elbows and slide up to his shoulders. The fabric of his shoulders bunch up as he holds you. When you kiss him back he immediately takes control, parting your lips with his tongue. Your lips are soft and hot against his and your breath is ragged against his face. 

He tilts your head back with one of his hands by cupping the back of your neck beneath your bob. You’re leaning back against the table when you push his hat off his head and slide your hand into his hair. Tommy groans softly against your lips and cups your jaw in his hand. 

“Can I fuck you?” He breaks the kiss you ask against your lips. His voice is gravelly and deep, like what you’d imagine coals sound like when they’re shifted over a fire. You gasp against his lips, feeling a shock through your throbbing cunt at his words. You normally don’t do this. But… 

“Yes,” you whisper and nod against his face, your noses crushed against each other. He takes a breath before slowly starting to kiss you again. 

“Here?” You ask breathlessly, looking around at the empty cabaret.

“It’s as good a place as any…” he responds calmly and kisses you again, his other hand cupping the other side of your face. You smile and laugh softly against his lips, nodding. 

“I only ask one thing,” you break the kiss again as he presses his body against yours. 

“What is it?” His eyes are closed as he bites your bottom lip and releases it. 

“You won’t pay me afterwards. I’m not a whore. I’m not doing this for any favors.” 

Tommy chuckles and moves his hands to your waist, picking you up and dropping you down on the table behind you. 

“As you wish.”

He immediately slots himself between your knees and rolls up the skirt of your short flapper dress as he starts to kiss you again. You push off his jacket over his arms and pull him closer by the neck of his vest. 

Once his jacket is off, he pushes against you again and reaches under your skirt to unclip your garters. The bands snap against your thighs and he groans quietly against your lips at the noise of them hitting your bare skin. He guides your back down to the table, kissing you deeply as he pulls down your silk underwear. 

You’re panting as you feel Tommy slowly pull down your underwear down your thighs. He stops kissing you to watch your reaction as your underwear slips over your knees. You both exhale simultaneously as your underwear slips down to your ankles and finally comes off. His hands then slide up your thighs, his eyes still on yours. In one quick motion, he spreads your legs and presses his hips against yours. You gasp when you feel his large erection through his trousers 

“You’ll be alright,” he mutters before he crushes his lips against yours, harder than before. He undoes the button at his crotch and opens his boxers with one hand with expert ease. You pull him closer, gasping when he enters you a bit too forcibly for his size. 

“There you go,” he whispers, breaking the kiss to exhale against you. Your stomach tenses in pain and you whimper tightly. Tommy slows his thrusts down only slightly and puts his hand beneath your head to support it. His other hand holds your thigh up to rest at his hip. You moan and grip the fabric of his dress shirt on his shoulders as it starts to feel better. Tommy moves his mouth down to nip at the skin beneath your jaw. His thrusts get progressively stronger, leaving you gasping against his ear. 

Tommy moves his hands down to your hips and holds them in place as he moves, lifting his chest from yours. His jaw is clenched as he puts space between you. You cover your mouth with your hand as you start to cry out in pleasure. Tommy chuckles down at you, his grunts and groans are dark and low. He says nothing as he goes deeper, his hands pulling your hips closer to the edge of the table. 

You feel your pelvic muscles contract as a wave of pleasure comes over you. Your heart’s racing and you can feel sweat pool between your breasts. Tommy leans down again as he feels you get closer and nips down your neck again, his teeth barely scraping over your skin. He kisses your collarbone and pants against the shelf of it. 

“That’s it, girl,” Tommy groans against you, his fingers digging into your upper thigh. 

“Mr. Shelby,” you gasp against his scalp, feeling a climactic surge of energy through your body.

“It’s alright, girl. You’re alright,” he nods reassuringly. His words pull an internal trigger in your body and you orgasm. In your orgasm, you grab the back of his neck. Feeling your grip, Tommy raises his head to look into your eyes and watch you cum. Your mouth falls open in a way that makes him shiver in pleasure. His hips slow as you ride your climax and he starts to feel his. He thrusts deeply into you, his hips rutting against you with reserved power. 

“Open your eyes,” he mutters and presses his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it down to expose your row of bottom teeth. Your eyes flutter open and you see him looking at you. His gaze is nearly as penetrating as his cock.

Without giving you further instructions, he looks down into your eyes, his mouth open in a sigh. With a few more deep, slow thrusts, he finishes. He groans softly and lowers his face to yours but doesn’t kiss you. After a second of sharing breath, he pulls back and pulls out. He fixes himself back into his clothes and shrugs his jacket on once again. You sit up slowly, your thighs and abdomen shaking. 

Tommy bends over and takes his cap from the floor and secures it onto his head. He hands you your underwear and looks away respectfully as you pull your underwear back on and clip your garters back to your garter belt. 

“Alright?” Tommy nods at you as he looks over his shoulder, ensuring that the cabaret is still empty. 

“Jesus Christ, Mr. Shelby,” you fix your hair quickly and push the skirt of your dress back down. “Ever a businessman, aren’t you?” 

Tommy chuckles and offers his hand to help you down from the table. His eyes study your face down to your body. 

“I try to stay efficient…” he mutters with a small smirk. 

“Of course,” you smile softly back and smooth down your dress. Tommy chuckles again and shakes his head, enjoying your attitude. He leans in close to your ear.

“Thank you for your company this evening,” he whispers and pulls back to see your face. You blush and nod once. 

“My pleasure, anything for a Peaky Blinder.” 

“You tease me,” Tommy drops your hand with a chuckle and fixes his suit lapels.

“Yes,” you nod and take a few steps back towards the stairs of the stage. Tommy turns in the opposite way at first and then turns, slightly surprised to see you turn back to the stage. 

“Live here, do you?” He asks, half joking. You look between him and the stage and shrug nonchalantly.

“It’s affordable.” 

“Right.” He nods and takes a cigarette from his cigarette case. You watch him in silence as he switches the case for a lighter and lights the end of the cigarette. 

“Will you be back to watch my shows?” You ask, and it surprises you that you almost hope that he says yes. You want him to treat you suddenly like all of the other men in the cabaret, to adore you. Tommy clicks the lighter closed and slips it back into his pocket. His brows are furrowed when he finally looks back to you. 

“It’s not really my… thing,” Tommy gestures loosely with his cigarette. You nod in understanding and turn your back to him as you climb the stairs up to the stage. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby,” you call over your shoulder. Tommy grins around his cigarette as he watches you cross the stage. 

“Goodnight, Diana,” he calls back and after a few moments of watching you retreat backstage, he exits the cabaret. On the street outside of the cabaret, Tommy takes a drag of his cigarette and looks back at the small building. Your name is spelled out on a hand painted sign. He runs his hand over his mouth and exhales a slow line of smoke. He contemplates going back inside, finding the girl, finding you. For what reason? He can’t say.