The air reeked of sex, whiskey and smoke. The staggering scent of lust and desire melding with the indisputable smell of sin and regret. Penetrating the atmosphere and every breath you shallowly inhaled, permeating the oxygen in your lungs until it was nearly as tainted as the smog that consumed the streets of Small Heath. The ceiling above you danced only with the illuminated shadows cast by the candlelight, a single swaying flame irradiating the small confines of the bedroom in a citrine hue. One sharper than the beam of a rising sun but falling just short, as the heat of it's glow could only be seen and not felt, it's presence dwindling before ever having the chance to seep into your bare flesh.
Perhaps, the glow of the flickering flame, was only there to shed an unforgiving and saturated light upon the mistakes and regret that tarnished the very sheets wrapped loosely around your body. As though with it's pale orange beam, your lust fueled actions appeared evident upon the ivory of your linens as if they were crimson as blood or black as ash.
The air was thick, humid and dense with the heat of two bodies expelling spent breaths and sweat that trailed along the stench of sex, permeating the tight four walls. As you lay flat on your back, staring nowhere but up at the ceiling above you, as your fingers clutched to the thin ivory sheets coiled around your naked frame. They were futile in their efforts to conceal your body from the man who lay beside you, in the very same form, as only minutes ago his eyes had swept over every inch of your flesh as though through his very sight he might just manage to mark it as his own.
It was instinct, perhaps, as you extracted your limbs from each other's and rolled to your sides of the warm mattress, that your fingers instantly clambered for a hold of the bedsheets. Pulling them over your exposed frame, until your modesty returned with the protection of a mere piece of cloth. The man beside you however, remained bare to the humid air that swirled around him. Only the remnants of your sheets falling across his lower abdomen, covering his manhood, while his bare chest and the dangerous v dipping down from his muscles, disappearing into the bunch of loose fabric, remained bare to your sight.
Thomas Shelby's presence was unequivocal, for even as you rested, with a battling sensation of sated and regret, in your own bed, it felt as though you were just a mere visitor. That it was you who would soon gather your strewn clothes from the floorboards, dressing in a rush as his eyes remained on your body as you did so, only to slip out the door and back into the night. Tommy had always had that way about him, making the world appear as though everything in it was up for the taking by his hand, that at the end of the day, there was nothing that he couldn't have if he so desired to want it.
Tommy shifts beside you, feeling as the mattress dips as his arm reaches over towards the small dresser beside the bed, his fingers sliding over his silver case and pulls it along with his lighter down upon his bare chest. Your head refrains from turning to watch him, but your eyes peer through your peripheral at his movements. Listing to the distinct click of his smooth silver case, popping open as he slides a single cigarette from it's enclosure before clasping it shut again.
Your eyes observe him as he brings the cigarette to his lips, for Tommy had a quirk you'd only ever witnessed from him, watching as he ran the edge of his smoke along his plump bottom lip back and forth a couple times before finally letting it hang between them. His hands lifting with the lighter as a sharp flash of orange brightens his softly shadowed face for a split second, the extent of the glow hurting your eyes until it extinguishes as a strong puff of trailing ashen smoke swirls in it's place.
You'd never cared for the scent of tobacco, but there was something about watching Tommy smoke and smelling it in the air that he shared and lingering against the warmth of his flesh, that made you crave the habit without having tried a single drag. For you knew, you'd never be able to wash the scent from your sheets. Never scrub it from the surrounding walls or even expel the traces of his smoke from your lungs. But perhaps, there was a part of yourself deep down, that had no intention of doing so.
