"You don't even know who you're dealing with," Alfie hissed darkly, never taking his eyes off those blue eyes. Those bright eyes had stared at him, deep sea blue, like the storm of the sea in dark night. Perhaps it looked brighter by day. When the sun bathed the blue in light, and might illuminate the young man's gaze as well.
Alfie pointed the gun against the man's temple, the fingers of his free hand pressed like a vise around the soft contour of his throat. He swallowed, Alfie felt it keenly, felt the pressure of his larynx against the roughness of his fingers. Squeezing, choking, teasing - images flashed through his mind. Hard pressure, blue eyes rolling back, a low moan. Alfie shook his head, pressed the gun harder against his temple. The young man held still, and except for swallowing, he showed no reaction. A tough dog, apparently.
"Not my son," he said then, and Alfie grunted.
"You insured your son for more than two million pounds. Of course I want your fuckin' son."
The young man laughed quietly. Alfie increased the pressure of his hand, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh hard enough that the young man chortled. Tommy was his name, Alfie knew.
"I've got far higher insurance."
"Is that so, huh?"
"Yeah."
"And why the fuck should I believe you, huh?"
Silence, another swallow, more perverse images in Alfie's mind of tight pressure on that damn throat, the twitching of the body underneath him, lack of air. Arousal from air staying away.
"Because there are people who pay a high price for me, you'll see."
Cillian Murphy plays the most deranged, psychotic, murderous american freaks and the most pained, empty, murderous european freaks and I just want to hug all of them
Some of you don't obsessively watch Peaky Blinders and live vicariously through Tommy Shelby's ever present state of denial as a means of coping with the fact that you have years of unresolved trauma in your own life, and it shows.
The TV show may be over, but fans can now get up close and personal with the Shelbys in a new immersive theatre show. We chat to the brains bringing 1920s Birmingham to life
Alfie taking Tommy’s hand and delicately kissing each fingertip: My sweet little viper, my lovely poisoned rose, my heart aches every second I don’t hold you in my loving arms..
Tommy, tilting his hand to scratch Alfie’s beard, purring: my body aches to be brutalised…we could disappear right now…the night is still young, we could take the car…find a secluded alley—
Ada, pinching the bridge of her nose to starve off a migraine: yes please leave immediately
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
2087
prguitarman
amandla
ellievsbear
