#magic trick

Tommy’s size isn’t subtle, you feel every inch as you grind, and the fullness makes your breath hitch. No rushing this time, you take it slow, letting your body get used to the feeling before finally lifting slightly… then sinking back down in a proper bounce.

The movement starts gentle but builds quickly, Tommy's hands finally land on your hips now, not controlling, just feeling the magician ride him with growing confidence. A low groan rumbles from Tommy’s chest, the first real sound he has made since they started. Pleasure is undeniable, his dark eyes locked onto where their bodies join.

“Hold onto something, Shelby” you breathe out, picking up the pace of your bounces.

The bedframe creaks in protest, expensive furniture not built for this kind of rhythm, but neither cares. The pace is good, each downward snap jolts through Tommy, sending sparks up his spine. A ragged exhale escapes him, he bites down on his lower lip briefly before releasing it with a quiet curse, impressed by how effortlessly you move like this. Tommy feels it, the way you ride him like this might be your last night together. No hesitation. Every bounce is deliberate, every roll of hips designed to wring pleasure from both of you. The magician takes what he wants… and right now? He’s taking everything.

Then Tommy’s hands slide down your back to palm that perfect ass. The meaty curves fit his large hands perfectly, and he squeezes hard as you keep bouncing. Your moans are soft but audible now, escaping between slightly parted lips every time Tommy's cock hits just right. It fuels him, the sounds, the sight of you gripping on headboard and Tommy's chest for balance… it all turns Tom on more.

A possessive heat flares in him, not claiming but simply appreciating. This is good. Really fucking good.

The kiss is messy, lips crashing together as you lean down, their mouths meeting mid-bounce. The angle changes the rhythm; now every downward thrust makes Tom can’t resist but thrusting his hips up to meet you, the sensation electric.

And you? You kiss like you need it. Hungry and slightly desperate, teeth occasionally clashing before tongues slide into sync. Your neediness bleeds into everything: how tightly you’re clenching around him… how your hips snap with urgency.

Tommy doesn’t hesitate when you bring his hand up, instinctively pushes his thumb into your mouth. The warmth is immediate, your lips part around it, sucking gently with a wet glide. The sight makes the burning in his stomach worse, you on top of him looking flushed and needy, sucking on his thumb like that. It's weirdly intimate…

A quiet noise escapes Tommy, something between approval and arousal as he watches those pretty eyes stay locked onto his while you’re giving him the ride of his life.

“Stay here…I’ll take you home…tomorrow's morning” Tommy doesn’t understand why he has been with many women to fill the void his dead wife has left him. Now a man, not just any man. You, a man he met at the Garrison, whose company he truly enjoys. You got a sharp tongue, he likes it.

“Look at you, seeking warmth” you smirked. You heard about his cold reputation, also know you might just be another fling to him. You can’t help but tease anyways. It’s amusing how you can just see through his intentions. And Thomas exhales a slow stream of smoke, his usual icy composure flickering for just a second, like the cigarette between his fingers is burning hotter than usual. Without looking at you, Thomas shifts slightly, making space on the bed beside him. A silent allowance that says stop talking shit get over here.

The room feels heavier now. The absence of Grace lingers like ghosts where warmth used to be... and maybe that's why Tommy hasn't kicked you out yet.

“I should tell you something about myself…” you said with a small grin. The conversation you had at the tavern before getting on the bed...mostly was Tommy talking about himself. You figured it would be nice to tell Tommy about your journey too.

Thomas turns his head slightly, one dark eyebrow arching with mild curiosity. Conversations are for business deals, threats, or the rare moment when Charles asks him why birds fly. But he figured, knowing more about you wouldn't hurt. Since he just took you back to the Shelby manor and fucked you senseless. That would be nice.

But he doesn’t interrupt. Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a silver flask, taking a slow sip of whiskey before offering it silently toward you.

The moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face while he waits, expression unreadable but present in a way that says Go on then, I’m listening.

You take a gulp of whiskey from it, and turn to Tommy. “I’m actually the local theatre’s magician….ever heard of it? The one that just opened a few months ago?”

Thomas blinks, once. Taking in your words.

A magician.

That’s… not what he expected. He’d assumed you were some poetic author, or maybe a bartender. But a performer? Someone who entertains people for money? It’s so far removed from Tommy's world of crimes and whiskey that it almost makes him smirk, not in mockery, but genuine intrigue.

He takes the flask back, studying you properly now, the way your smile holds real pride instead of practiced charm like the women Tommy usually takes home. The realization hits…you do have talent outside these sheets.

"Show me something." he says, not an order…well, maybe, but curiosity laced with challenge.

“Yeah?” You smirked, like you have been waiting for him to say that. You slip the pack of cards from your discarded jacket and hold it out to show him.

Then the cards shuffle between your fingers with practiced ease, flourishes that aren’t just functional but artistic. For someone who deals in bullets and betrayal, this is… different. Mesmerizing even. His whiskey-flavored breath stills as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he watches.

Then you make one vanish right from Tommy’s line of sight and for half a second? The Peaky Blinder leader, actually curious, caught off guard. “Guess where that went” you muttered with amusement.

Tommy’s gaze flicks around the room, calculating sharply in his head. Not because he cares about a missing card, but because this is suddenly a game of strategy to him. He scans the bedside table, the floor near your feet… then a beat passes. Without breaking eye contact, Thomas slowly reaches under his pillow and pulls out the very card, slightly crumpled from being stuffed in there when you slipped it there during those fancy shuffles. The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost… impressed? Annoyed that someone like you has the ability to pickpocket him with these tricks? Either way, he holds up the card between two fingers like evidence at a trial.

You wiggle your fingers like a fairy doing magic “Tadaaa. You found it!” you chuckled at his still so stoic expression.

Tommy’s expression doesn’t soften, it rarely does but something shifts in his stare. The card dangles from his fingers for a second longer before he snaps it cleanly in half with a sharp flick of his wrist. A test. Not mean-spirited, just… Tommy being Tommy. If you want to play magician, you will have to do better than that. The torn halves drop onto the bedsheet between them as Thomas leans back again, arms crossing over his chest…a silent challenge spoken by his eyes Can you fix that? Or was your trick just flash?

You pick up the bended card quietly. Not upset that Tommy ruined your perfect little card. But instead you put it between your lips and lean closer to press a kiss on Tommy's lips. His breath hitches, just once. The kiss is unexpected, but the card trick afterward? That’s what really freezes him.

You pull back from the kiss and take the saliva coated card in your palm, with a smooth twist of your wrist, the crooked, wet card is gone. Replaced by a new. Clean. Card. The same two of hearts card sits still in your arm, unharmed and whole despite Tommy having snapped it seconds ago. His eyes drop to the card, then flick back up to you with something dangerously close to… awe?

A Shelby doesn’t get impressed easily but this man just kissed him and performed actual magic right after. For a heartbeat, Thomas looks almost boyish in his surprise before his usual cold mask slides back into place. Without warning, he grabs you by the neck and yanks you into another kiss, harder this time.

The kiss deepens, rough at first, Tommy’s usual intensity but then something shifts. Your fingers in his hair, gentle, warm make Tommy slow down without meaning to. His hands slide from the neck to cradle your face instead, calloused thumbs brushing over cheekbones.

It isn’t gentle by any means…Tommy Shelby doesn’t do gentle, but there's a difference now. Less like claiming territory and more like… tasting magic on someone's lips for the first time. A low sound rumbles in Thomas's chest as he nips lightly at your bottom lip before diving back in again, the tastes of whiskey and cigarettes lingering between you two.

“What do you think?” You look quite proud of yourself. Performing those fool-the-eyes tricks right after fucking Thomas Shelby. Not anyone can share the same experience.

Tommy exhales sharply through his nose, almost a laugh, if Tommy Shelby ever even laughed.

"Never seen anything like it…" he admits gruffly, the closest thing to praise he'll give anyone outside business deals or Charles's sketches.

"You should bring Charles to my show…on the next saturday” you smile. Genuinely.

Thomas pauses, magic show? Bring his kid? Tommy’s first instinct is to scoff, but… Charles likes things like that. Theatrical stuff. Maybe even this magician with the clever hands and charming smile.

"Saturday…" Tommy repeats slowly, as if testing how it sounds in his mouth. Then he nods once, a decision made. "I'll bring him."

The unspoken part: he’ll come too, not just to look after Charles, but because... hell, maybe he wants to see you perform properly under theatre lights instead of this dim bedroom.

Thomas’s thumb lingers on the scar, a mark of cowardice, not yours. But some bastard threw a rock because you dared to entertain people with skill such a scamming thing as magic instead of doing hard labor like a true man. You remembered how you got that scar, hideous memory, actually. After your boss announces the first show of the so-called theatre, just a place with a cramped room for performance, a room for preparation and makeup, storage room for performing tools. Such entertainment is still new to Birmingham, some angry men even call it trash and attack your crewmates. You, too, get a rock thrown at your forehead, get called slurs. For what? Looking too feminine? Not doing a “real” job? Hanging out with hideous looking people?

You stare at the ceiling. For a moment. “Do you think I’m a freak?”

"People call me a devil…" Tommy mutters, voice rough with something almost like anger on your behalf. "yet they're the ones throwing rocks at someone who brings joy to children."

The irony isn't lost on him. Here he is, a criminal, defending an artist while society sneers at both of them from different angles.

Thomas stares. Not just looks, stares into your soul, like a man seeing sunlight for the first time after years in shadow.

Your face isn’t conventionally pretty, it’s striking, yes, but there's something softer underneath the sharp features and strong jawline. The kind of beauty that doesn't scream, it lingers quietly in the blink of your eyes or how your lips curve when you smile.

A part of Tommy, the part buried under blood and whiskey, aches at how cruel it is that people dismiss this. That they reduce you to a "freak" instead of acknowledging you are… ethereal? Inhumanly lovely? Something rarer than most realize.

“Most people claim working in the crew means being a weirdo...or at least. Different from norms in some way...I think they are sort of true” you confessed. Your eyes are still glued to the ceiling. A habit you developed when you lay on your bed at home, having delusions of a brighter future. Not abusive, addict, in debt, unemployed parents. A life.

He understands "different" better than most. The Peaky Blinders were different, too clever for their own good in a city that wanted them to be mindless thugs.

"Being different isn't bad." Tommy says quietly, a rare philosophical moment from him. "Norms are shite." A blunt comment. The corner of his mouth quirks slightly as he adds "You're not weird though.”

“Mhmm…Can’t wait to show you what these hands can truly do.” You smirked. Cunning and mischief is written all over your facial features. It’s a part of you. In your blood.

Tommy’s eyes darken, instinctively catching the shift in your tone. That smirk isn’t about card tricks anymore. The air between them thickens, charged with something far less innocent than magic shows. Tommy knows exactly what those hands are capable of… and suddenly, he wants a private demonstration.

"Show me." He challenges again, voice low as gravel. Because there’s no such thing as all bark no bite here.

You chuckled softly at his reaction. “Save it for Saturday night. I might give you more than just a trick”

Tommy exhales sharply, half amusement, half frustration. Saturday. The show for Charles. A public performance where you would dazzle crowds with clean tricks and charm.

"Tease…" He growls, but there’s no real anger in it. Instead, he crashes their mouths together again, kissing you hard enough to bruise before suddenly pulling away and standing up from the bed.

“I need to go home though. My sister is waiting.” You muttered. Even if going back to the cramped hell is anything but what you want right now. And you met with his soft voice “Alright. Suit yourself”. Tommy sighs, if you’re not staying then he will leave. He doesn’t feel like resting if you’re not there with him tonight.

He grabs his clothes scattered on the floor then his coat on the chair without another word… He took a quick shower to wash off the sex scent and yours, lingering on his skin and changing into a new suit. He got business to take care of. And sleep is anything but what he wants to do tonight if it is without you. Didn’t feel like it.

Then Tommy pauses at the door, hand on the knob. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, grinning like a cat who got the cream, utterly unashamed, should piss him off. Instead? It does something worse: it makes Tommy’s pulse kick up again.

He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t smirk or wink or give any sign that he’s affected… but his steps are slower than usual as he exits into the hallway.

The second his bedroom door clicks shut behind him though? Thomas exhales hard through his nose and runs a frustrated hand on his hair. Christ.

A magician with pretty eyes and no shame had just ruined Thomas Shelby's focus for the business.

Meanwhile, the sight of the money, untouched bills stacked neatly on the nightstand for you by Tommy hits you like a bucket of cold water. It wasn’t just payment, it was dismissal.

No note. No warmth left behind beyond what their bodies had shared hours ago. Just cash on the table like you’d been any other lover Tommy hired for the night. Your jaw tightens as you stare at it, that playful spark from earlier dimming into something quieter… wounded? Angry? Maybe both.

You don't touch the money. Just leave it there and flop back onto Tommy's bed alone, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes still lingering in sheets that don't feel warm anymore without him there too. You are not a whore…or prostitute for him to just pay, fuck and then leave. Here you thought, you actually have chemistry with the man. You will return the money. A plan already formed in your head. Of course.

The place is still dim, light filtering through the fabric. You work quietly at a small mirror, applying pale foundation to even out your skin, then delicate brushstrokes of vibrant colors to paint delicate flowers along your features. It’s meticulous work, every petal placed with precision. The makeup transforms you, not just handsome now, but otherworldly, like a storybook fairy or some enchanted creature stepped right off the pages.

A few crew members glance over as they unpack props nearby, whispering about how you always look so put together.

The crew members, each with their own jagged edges and unusual appearances, move around you like shadows. Lila, the girl with twisted features due to her mother being an addict and working at the brothel, has a sharp tongue and knows how to mimic animal noises perfectly. There goes Eli, a contortionist with a weirdly long, skinny, boney body, who laughs the loudest in the room. And Marco, the juggler, dude has serious quick hands and insane reaction time. You know he works as a chef for a living, this is just his side job. No one stares or judges here, they all belong to each other, bound by entertainer life’s weird little world where "normal" doesn’t exist anyway.

The stage is bathed in golden spotlights, the audience a sea of clapping faces, children bouncing in their seats, parents smiling proudly. The energy is electric.

You step to your magic table with practiced ease, the embroidered cuffs of your sleeve catching the light as you take your hat off and bow to the audience.

A hush falls when he lifts one hand… and suddenly produces a bouquet of roses from thin air, petals bursting into color like fireworks. The crowd gasps, already enchanted before any real tricks begin. You give that bouquet to a lady in the front row before returning to the stage.

Your eyes sweep the audience, searching, maybe without meaning to and then you see them. Tommy Shelby sits in the front row, dressed in a dark suit. But what stands out is the small boy beside him: Charles. The kid is wide-eyed and gripping Tommy's sleeve with one tiny hand while clutching a stuffed bear with the other.

You don't react visibly beyond a slight tilt of his head but something warm flickers behind his professional smile at seeing them there.

The deck of cards dances between your fingers, flourishes so practiced they look effortless. You fan them out, twirl one around your index finger, then flick it upward where it spins midair before you snatch it back with a flick of your wrist.

A few gasps ripple through the crowd? especially from kids who lean forward in their seats. Even Charles giggles softly, tugging Tommy’s sleeve again like “Did you see that?!”

You approach another woman in the front row, a middle-aged matron in a fancy hat, blinking, flustered by your sudden proximity and that smile of yours. The kind that makes people feel special.

“Pick a card for yourself, madame”

She reaches out with slightly trembling fingers and plucks a card from the deck you offer. A 10 of hearts, maybe? She doesn’t show it yet, just holds it carefully between her palms like it’s something precious before checking what the card is without showing you.

“Kiss it for good luck?” You smirked. That’s just how you make interaction with the audience become mesmerizing.

The lady’s face turns pink, your smirk is lethal charm, and the audience coos at your playful suggestion. She hesitates for half a second before pressing a quick kiss to the top of her selected card. A ripple of laughter and "awws" spreads through the crowd. Even some men chuckle good-naturedly, this magician knows how to work an audience.

You show the audience your hat, empty inside and place the shuffled pack of cards inside including the lady’s selected card.

The theater erupts in gasps, audience members lurching forward, hands flying to their mouths. You collapse dramatically onto the stage floor, one arm clutching your stomach like you have been poisoned… or swallowed something terrible. Your hat rolls away with the cards still tucked safely inside, and for a terrifying second? The crowd believes it’s real. Even Charles whimpers softly beside Tommy, gripping his father's coat tighter.

Tommy himself doesn’t react outwardly, but his jaw tenses. If this magician actually dies onstage right now… well.

The "vomiting" is spectacular, you heave convincingly, but instead of actual illness… a cascade of playing cards erupts from your mouth, fluttering onto the stage like fireworks.

One by one, heart suits, spade suits, they scatter across the floor. The audience goes wild with shocked laughter and applause, kids are pointing and giggling at how absurdly funny it looks.

Charles covers his own mouth in delighted horror, is that magic or disgust?, while Tommy’s lips twitch, just once in something dangerously close to an actual smile. It’s ridiculous… and you pull it off flawlessly.

The final card, the lady’s chosen 10 of hearts flutters out last, landing gently in your palm. You lift it high, showing the audience (and specifically her, that her kiss-stained card is the very one you just "vomited" up.

The crowd loses it. Cheers explode, people clapping, kids shouting "How?!", and even a few adults laughing at how ridiculous yet brilliant the trick was.

The audience melts at the romantic gesture: you pressing a kiss to exactly where the lady kissed her card, then tucking it away like a secret into your sleeve. The moment hangs sweetly before you whip your hand out again… and suddenly, there’s an entire bouquet of roses in full bloom. Right from the same sleeve.

A collective "Aww!" ripples through spectators. Even Charles is beaming now, thoroughly enchanted by this magician who turns cards into flowers like some kind of fairytale wizard. You give it to the same lady and return to the stage.

You pluck two bills from your case, crisp but slightly creased from being tucked away and hold them up between your fingers. The same bills Tommy has given you…

Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up as you crouched in front of them, still glowing from the stage, makeup pristine, flowers on your ears.

The magician extends each bill toward Tommy and Charles like an offering. The gesture is playful but intentional, asking “does the gentleman believe in such a thing as luck?”

Offering them to kiss on the bills like earlier.

Charles, wide-eyed and full of innocent excitement, immediately presses his tiny lips to the bill you offered him, leaving a faint smudge of childish saliva on the paper. He does it with complete trust, like kissing a magic spell into existence.

Tommy hesitates for half a second. But under the weight of curious stares and your expectant gaze? He leans down stiffly… and gives his own bill an awkward but genuine kiss on one corner. You take the bill back and walk up to the stage to perform.

The transformation is seamless, your palm moves in a swift, graceful arc, and suddenly the flat bill isn’t flat anymore. It’s folded into a perfect heart shape, edges crisp, center slightly rounded like love itself.

A collective "Oh!" rises from the audience. Kids point excitedly, adults clap at how simple yet elegant the trick was.

You hold up Tommy's now-heart-shaped bill first, showing it off to him with that same knowing smirk from earlier, the one that says I did this just for you . Then you lift Charles's heart shaped folded bill too, before placing both gently back on their laps.

You leaned closer to whisper to Thomas "don't even think about paying me like I’m one of your girls"

a quiet blade aimed right at Tommy’s chest. No one else hears it over the applause still rippling through the audience.

Tommy stiffens. That tone… that message. It’s a boundary drawn in blood-red ink: I’m not your hired whore.

You pull back just as quickly, face smoothing into performative neutrality again as you turn away to resume your act like nothing happened. But Tommy? suddenly very aware of how badly he might’ve screwed this up earlier with those bills left behind.

The theatre transitions smoothly, your magical exit leaves the audience buzzing as stagehands quietly clear the butterflies, who scatter into nets for release later.

Next up is one of your crewmates: a contortionist named Eli. Skinny as hell and grinning with crooked teeth, he doesn’t speak much during his performance but moves like liquid.

The final act concludes with a thunderous round of applause, the crowd on their feet, clapping and cheering for the entire theatre crew. One by one, performers file back onto the stage: You, Lila, Eli, Marco.

You take your place at the center of the group as they all dip into a deep collective bow, thanking every single person who came to watch tonight. A few audience members toss flowers onto the stage, kids wave wildly. The reactions have improved so much, better than the first few shows where people still get disgusted by your crew.

The backstage area is dimly lit, oil lamps casting long shadows as crew members settle down in the room. You duck out through a side exit, craving the solitude of cigarette smoke and night air. A habit after each performance, same dark alley, same cigarette.

While Tommy, having dismissed his driver with Charles, the boy already half-asleep in the car, circles around to where he last saw you vanish. A flicker of orange light betrays him: there’s you, leaning against a wooden crate with a cigarette between your fingers… looking more human than magical right now.

You noticed. “Is that your new hobby now? Stalking?” Tommy doesn’t flinch at the accusation, just stares back with that same unreadable intensity. His hands are tucked into his coat pockets, shoulders broad against the alley’s shadows.

Stalking? Maybe. But he wouldn’t call it that.

"Needed to talk" he says flatly, no explanation beyond those three words. The cigarette smoke curls between them like a veil of tension.

Tommy studies you through the smoke, those painted flowers on your face smudged just slightly from sweat and exhaustion. The magician’s eyelids are a little heavy, but there's still that playful glint when you exhale a slow stream of cigarette vapor.

"You did good tonight." he says simply, gruff praise from a man who rarely gives it freely.

But you quickly shoot back “Say something I don't know” with a smirk.

Tommy’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. Your teasing is light, effortless… something Tommy isn’t used to from people he knows.

He steps closer, invading the magician's personal space without asking permission, typical of him, Then slowly, he reaches out and plucks the cigarette right from your lips.

Instead of taking a drag himself? He crushes it under his polished shoe with deliberate finality. His eyes never leave your face as he does it. A silent You’re done smoking now.

Instead of answering the tease, Tommy closes the distance between them in two strides. No warning, just one large hand cupping your jaw and pulling you into a kiss.

It's not gentle. It's claiming. He does it like this…by kissing you stupid right after your show where everyone adored you except him for five minutes earlier.

The kiss deepens, Tommy’s lips moving against yours with quiet hunger. He doesn’t just kiss, he devours, one hand still cradling the magician's jaw while the other slides down to grip your waist.

Your hands explore Tommy's back, over the tailored coat fabric, mapping every hard muscle beneath the thick fabric, barely feel any. The alley is silent except for their breathing and occasional rustle of fabric as they press closer together under moonlight filtering through a gap of the theatre above them.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” you smirked after nibbling on Tommy's bottom lip.

"Depends…" he murmurs back, voice lower than usual. No sarcasm, just genuine intrigue and the unspoken challenge Go on and Impress me. His thumb brushes over your kiss-swollen mouth like he's already bracing for whatever magic comes next.

Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up as the condom appears between your fingers, poof, like magic. A practical trick, not flashy… but perfectly timed. Usually, that would be a coin, and you would pull it out from a random audience member’s ear. But now, a condom.

A beat passes where Tommy processes it: you just pull protection out of thin air. Impressive? Sexy as hell? Both.

Tommy inhales sharply as your fingers work his pants open with practiced ease, just two buttons undone, but it’s enough. The cool night air hits bare skin before heat follows: the sudden exposure makes him tense for a half-second. His cock springs free, not hard yet, but definitely waking up under your bold touch. Tommy doesn’t move to stop you, just stands there like a statue, breath uneven in the quiet alley.

Your knees hit the dirt, face pressing a soft nuzzle against Tommy’s thigh first like a cat rubbing itself against its owner for attention. The fabric of his suit brushes your cheek before…warmth. Moist heat hit him.

A sharp inhale tears from Tommy as your lips finally make contact, slow at first, testing before you take him into your mouth properly.

Tommy’s hands fist at your hair, not guiding yet, he needed somewhere to put his hand on. The magician is doing it on purpose, with clear enjoyment in every slow bob of head as Tommy hits the back of your throat.

A low groan escapes Tommy as he feels the suction, the heat, the way you seem to savor this just as much as Tommy does. It’s desire…you take pleasure in pleasuring him.

The alley is silent except for their breathing and occasional gag sounds.

Tommy stares down, mesmerized by the sight. Your makeup is smudged now, colorful facepaint slightly streaked from sweat and exertion, his lips glistening with saliva as you take Tommy deeper.

The stretch of your mouth around him is obscene in the best way, hot and tight and those eyes locked onto Tommy’s like a challenge even while choking on him… it's intoxicating. A shiver runs through Tommy. This magician on his knees looks beautiful like this: wrecked already but still so damn in control. It shouldn't turn him on this much... but it does.

And he didn't even have to ask Will you kneel down on this filthy cobblestone ground and suck my dick.

Tommy’s hands raise, one tangling in your hair. Not rough, but firm, guiding you back before it gets overwhelming.

You gasp for air as Tommy pulls you off just enough to breathe, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. The magician looks dazed for a second: pupils blown wide with arousal and exertion from taking so much at once. A single drop of saliva connects your bottom lip to Tommy's cock, a visual proof of how far you'd gone down on him. Tommy exhales sharply through his nose… fighting the urge fuck your face stupid right then and there.

The condom wrapper tears cleanly between your teeth and you finally rise smoothly to your feet. No hesitation now, just heat in every movement. Your hands roam Tommy’s chest first, smoothing over the fabric of his suit before pushing it off one shoulder. Then lower, palms skimming down hard abs under shirt material… all while their mouths crash together again in a hungry kiss.

Tommy doesn’t pay much attention to the dark surrounding anymore, busy mapping your mouth with his own tongue to care about anything else right now.

Tommy’s strength makes lifting you effortless after pulling your pants down. One arm hooking under your thighs to hoist you up, the other bracing against the brick wall behind them. The magician’s legs lock around Tommy’s waist automatically, bodies pressed flush together. A silent curse laced under the moan escaped your lips when he pushed himself in “Agh-! Fuck…mhmp-” No preparation is the hell of you. But you don’t seem to care much right now. Just get over it…

Tommy feels you tense around him, the sharp inhale, the bitten-off moan muffled against his shoulder. Pain flares between you for a split second, but he doesn’t stop. His thrusts start slow, controlled but deep, each one making the magician’s nails rake down his back through the fabric of his shirt. Tommy grits his teeth at the sting, it only fuels him more.

No sweet words or comfort here… just rough rhythm and shared breath as you adjust to being stretched open by someone far larger than yourself.

The sudden upward angle hits a spot, your whole body jerks, teeth clamping down on your lip to stifle the louder moan threatening to escape. But Tommy hears it anyway: that punched-out gasp, the way your thighs tremble around him as he pounds onto you relentlessly. Each thrust his cock presses deeper into you like a punishment, making you squirm in his embrace. Uncomfortable yet pleasurable at the same time. Sweats linger on both their skin under moonlight… and Tommy doesn’t slow down, if anything, he drives into that sweet spot harder each time, driving moans out of you. Tears threaten to surface in the corner of your eyes as you throw your head back, letting Tommy have access to your neck and mark you wherever he wants.

You don’t have time for slow romance or candlelit intimacy, this is a quick, raw alleyway fuck under moonlight and theatre noise in the distance. So Tommy speeds up, harsh, efficient thrusts now. Only focus on chasing that release before you two are interrupted by late-night stragglers or stagehands passing by. The slap of skin on skin echoes softly between them… and you clings tighter to Tommy like he might disappear if you let go, arms wrapped around his neck for balance.

The climax hits you like a wave, body shudders, warmth flooding through you as pleasure surges. But Tommy doesn’t stop; the man is still chasing his own with relentless focus. The overstimulation makes you squirm, sensitive now, overspent but trapped between Tommy and the wall. Every continued thrust sends jolts of mixed sensation: too much, not enough… all at once. Tommy’s jaw is clenched tight, close to finishing himself but refusing to let go until he does. His rhythm turns slightly uneven, signaling how near he is.

The oversensitivity is written all over you, toes curling tightly inside your stage boots, your whole body tensing with every continued thrust. Your moans are softer now, almost whimper-like, pleasure edged with that tingling too much feeling.

Tommy feels it, the way you clench tight around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down. Not yet. Just a few more hard drives of his hips… until finally…A sharp groan escapes Tommy as he reaches his own climax, burying himself deep for those final pulses before stillness settles between them. Your hole squeezes around him in the most perfect way, involuntarily milking every last pulse of pleasure from his release. It’s a delicious kind of torture: overstimulated but so fucking good.

Tommy drops his forehead against your shoulder for a brief second, breath ragged. You’re still trembling slightly in his arms, oversensitive and pliant after coming first.

A beat passes, neither moves… just catching their breaths in the quiet alleyway, skin sticky with sweat under cool night air.

Tommy stays exactly where he is, still buried inside of you, bodies pressed close. The heat between you lingers, no rush to separate yet.

His cock softens slowly, but the warmth remains, a quiet intimacy after the intensity of what just happened. Tommy doesn’t speak, just lets his weight lean slightly into you while they both come down from it.

Your legs are probably sore… and Tommy’s back might ache from holding you up against the wall… but neither complains.

After a while, Tommy gently lowers you back to your feet, his movements careful now, almost tender compared to the roughness of moments ago. He steps back slightly, discarding the used condom in the trash bin nearby first, then adjusting his own clothes: straightening his suit jacket and refastening buttons on his trousers.

Then he watches as you bend down, wincing a little, to pick up discarded pants and put them on. The magician’s makeup is smudged beyond saving tonight… but otherwise they both look mostly composed again.

A comfortable silence stretches between them, no awkwardness, just post-fuck calm under alleyway shadows.

You decided to break the silence first “Will I see you again?” A glint of hope. You really enjoy his company, and it’s rare for a lad like you to find a male bed partner in this society so…you cling to whatever you have.

Tommy studies you for a long moment, calculating, as he always does. But there’s no hesitation in his answer.

"Yeah.” No explanations or conditions attached, just certainty. Whether it's another show, backstage again… or something else entirely, Tommy has no intention of this being a one-time thing. A faint smirk tugs at his lips before he adds "You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

The moment you step back into the makeup room, every head turns. Your crewmates Lila, Marco, even Eli still stretching from his act, freeze mid-conversation.

It’s obvious what happened: smudged facepaint, scent of sweats and sex, slightly messed up hair… and that look. The one people get when they’ve just been thoroughly kissed or fucked…or both.

A beat of silence. Then grins spread across Eli’s face like wildfire. “No shit! Your married man again?”

The crew exchanges knowing glances as you aggressively dabs cotton with makeup remover, your movements a little too harsh, your face a little too flushed. They’ve heard you talk about Tommy Shelby: the married Birmingham crime boss who keeps showing up backstage…