tommy shelby
marital bliss. tommy shelby.
part four.
concept: yn’s family is down on their luck, for want of a better phrase. tommy comes up with a rather extreme solution.
YN was never comfortable with telling people what to do, especially Tommy's staff. In fact, even calling them his 'staff' didn't feel right.
Every time she visited Tommy she could never demand anything from the maids that paced up and down the hallways; it didn't feel right asking them to do a task she could just as easily do on her own, and they always seemed busy; after all, working for Tommy Shelby had to be a demanding job, to say the least. Yet, when Tommy had asked a passing Mary to run the bath in his ensuite for her, she couldn't find it in her to protest. Instead, she followed behind her sheepishly, wringing her hands as she led the way to Tommy's room. YN got the feeling that neither of them were ready to trespass onto sacred soil, opening the door slowly and peering inside, almost as if expecting him to be there, scolding.
When they stepped inside, YN was surprised to see that Tommy's room was spotless. His bed was made, his bedside cabinet clear, no clothes sprawled on the floor like he'd so habitually made a frequent occurrence of when he came over to her house. The thought crossed her mind to throw her clothes around his bedroom when she got ready for the bath.
Speaking of, Mary escaped to the ensuite and began running the hot water. YN took a seat on the edge of Tommy's bed, trailing her hands over the thickness of the duvet, listening to the gushing of water. The anticipation of being soaked in warmth made her feet restless, tapping her toes in excitement. She wondered what side of the bed Tommy slept in.
Then, it wasn't long until Mary was finished, and she came out the bathroom drying her hands. "All done," she said.
YN beamed, jumping up and thanking her profusely, meandering past her in desperation to head into the ensuite, which she could see had steamed up over the course of the bath filling up, and the pile of towels on the radiator, too... it was enough to make her cry.
She thanked Mary again, then sauntered into the room, gracefully leaning her back on the door to gently push it closed. Closing her eyes in bliss, then opened them to see that, yes, she wasn't dreaming and this was all fantastically real. She didn’t allow a single second for the water to cool before she stripped, then stepped into the hot water. Even though it irritatingly burnt her skin, she didn't mind at all. Upon touch, she practically melted into the tub, draping her arms on the side, resting her head on the back, she let her eyes flutter close, feeling the melting sensation of all the joints in her body alleviate every tension and creak. Her body slipped further down, until she could dunk her head underwater, relaxing the tight curls of her hair. When she broke the surface she displayed a wide grin, and the hot water did the trick of rubbing the fatigue from her eyes. Again, she set her head on the bath, blissed that this was happening for her.
It still felt immoral. Like she was using Tommy in some sort of way, in spite of the fact that he’d been the one to offer. She knew she had to cherish it, still, even if it was tainted by the thought that she didn’t rightfully deserve any of this. Tommy had worked so hard, and she had just been able to saunter in, but, well, she wouldn’t be here for long. This was a quick fix, Tommy would want her out soon enough. He said himself it was just until she got back on her feet, and surely that wouldn’t take so long? Not that she no longer had to worry about their home and getting food on the table, all of that would be taken care off by the liberty of Tommy, and all that she would feel with an astounding amount of guilt. She tried, however, to abhor it for the time being, and instead focus on the vast warmth surrounding her.
Frankly, YN had never been so relaxed, it was like she was having an out-of-body experience. Then, a knock sounded to bring her right back out of it. "You alright in there?"
"Fucking 'ell, Tom!" YN exclaimed, rising with a start. Water splashed out of the bath as she jumped.
"Sorry," he chuckled. "Sorry. Just checking you 'adn't, you know, drowned.”
"Yeah," she called through the door. "I'm fine, thanks."
"Okay."
"I'll be out in a minute," she told him, beginning to pull herself out, not having realised how much time had passed. The minute she took herself out of the heaven that was the bath, she cursed the air, wanting immediately to fall back in, but her fingers were starting to prune and the water had turned a meagre room temperature. Plus, if she got back in she was bound to catch a cold, and she’d burdened Tommy enough already.
She wrapped herself up warm with the towel on the radiator, willing herself not to exclaim over how soft and purely magnificent it felt against her skin. This is how Tommy lived day to day? Why didn’t she marry him sooner?
Using a smaller towel to ruffle her hair dry, she stole a glance of herself in the mirror. Though steamed up, YN was shocked by her appearance, one she had failed to see in a long time. Her blurred silhouette was different to what she remembered, it was more crouched, it was smaller, frailer. YN gulped guiltily, and wrapped the towel around her closer. Her conscience wanting her to do anything but, she stepped to the mirror and used her cracked palm to wipe it clean, exposing her face in the reflection. Even with the healing powers of Tommy’s bath, the incandescence that had reached her cheeks was one YN knew was only temporary. The bags under her eyes were as prominent as ever, and led YN to wonder what her bedroom would be like, her bed! All to herself, too. None of her brother’s kicking legs to keep her up through the night.
Here, however, she realised she didn’t have any night-clothes to change into.
“Shit,” she whispered, more than aware that Tommy was on the other side of the door.
She balled her fists, beginning to pace along the tiles of the bathroom, hesitant to approach the door as she turned on her heel at the last minute. Asking Tommy to go get her clothes would be weird, wouldn’t it? But what was she supposed to do! Stay in the bathroom forever? Though, to be honest, that didn’t seem so bad…
However, as she thought that, the after-effects of being in the bath were starting to hit her now, and she was beginning to shiver, her feet bare against the tiles. She needed slippers, and she needed them now.
With a deep sigh, she called, “Tommy?”
“Yeah?” He answered, making YN silently curse.
“I haven’t, well, funny story actually. I just, I haven’t got my–”
The door creaked open a tad, then Tommy’s hand poked through, a pile of clothes hanging from his hold. She squealed in delight and clutched at them, cradling the thick cotton in her arms, beaming until she realised that she had never in her life been so privileged as to own thick material.
“These aren’t mine,” she said, a dead tone to her voice as she thought about slapping Tommy across the head because who on earth has the audacity to give his wife (granted, not really his wife) another woman’s clothes?
“I know,” he replied, sensing her drastic jump to conclusion. “They’re mine. Your clothes aren’t enough to keep a snail warm, never mind yourself. You’ll wear this for now until we can get you something better.”
YN heard him light a cigarette, leaning against the door to shut it closed as she dressed. Through the wood, YN held up the clothes (a jumper and a pair of trousers) and observed them with a quirk of her brow, sceptical, to say the least.
“You’re kidding, right?” She commented. Maybe it was just the luxury of being Mrs Shelby getting to her head, but she didn’t exactly see sleeping in itchy trousers as comfortable.
“It’s either that or nothing at all.”
“I think I’d rather take nothing at all.”
“Well, I wouldn’t complain about that,” he said, candidly, and YN smacked the door whilst pretending it was him. She called him disgusting and smirked at his laughter.
They fell quiet, both growing shy and both unknowingly to their counterpart. YN proceeded to drop the towel and stretch the jumper over her head, letting the warm softness drape against her, blissful at the realisation that Tommy had had it on the radiator. She was stumped when it came to the trousers.
“Seriously, what do you expect me to do here?” She asked.
“God, so picky,” he groaned. YN heard himself push off the door, disappear for a few seconds, and then stride back. YN dreaded to hear what solution he’d come up with.
“I can give you boxer shorts—”
“Boxer shorts! Tom, I am not wearing your underwear!”
She practically heard him roll her eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe, uh, literally anything else?”
“I’ve given you my bloody trousers!”
“The trousers are ridiculous!”
“Well I ‘aven’t got anything else, YN, you’ll ‘ave to deal with it.”
Astounded at his forward intentions to get her in his underwear, YN raised a brow. She contemplated on the pros and cons, filtering in between the pure awkwardness of what would unravel, and refuting it with the realisation that she could be comfortable. “Fine,” she grumbled, cracking open the door a smidge. Tommy avoided looking through, and instead essentially threw his boxers at her.
“These better be clean,” she mumbled under her breath. She stepped into the gaps, pulling them up to her waist. She was certain she looked a picture, dressed to the nines. For once, she was glad the mirror had steamed up to make her reflection invisible.
“Let me out.” She knocked on the door, feeling his weight still against it. He shuffled, and it opened. She peered out bashfully before stepping into his room, relieved that a pair of slippers awaited her. Hastily, she slid them on her feet, sighing contently when she recognised they were yet another item Tommy had left on the radiator.
And Tommy was staring at her, she could tell. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she had an urge to bow her head and never look up again. Her fingers wrung together, and when she eventually did crane her neck, Tommy was –indeed– staring.
“Don’t say a word,” she threatened. He dropped his stone-cold expression, raising his hands in defence and gaping wordlessly like he wasn’t even thinking of anything.
YN stifled a laugh, fighting the urge yet again to roll her eyes. She thumbed the cotton of Tommy’s jumper against her skin, and wondered how long she’d get to cherish all this. It was surreal, to be surrounded by such luxury, to be who she was in that moment, and to be with Tommy, so casually and yet committed at the same time.
“So, uh, you’re all settled in,” he said, breaking her reverie. “Mary’s done your room, just across the hall, so, if you need me, I’m right here,” he said, sauntering away. He dropped his cigarette box on his bed, beginning to undo his tie.
“Somehow I think I’ll be fine,” YN laughed, but made no such effort to move.
Tommy nodded, beginning then to unbutton his waistcoat after the discard of his tie. He threw it with a similar nonchalant fashion on the bed, and YN realised he had never cleaned up for himself at all. He looked up when he noticed she remained standing, and, after a reckoning quiet, made a movement of his own for the silver box. His fingers callously traced the edge, the eventual click of its opening striking the silence of the room. YN thought if anything summarised the years that had passed between her and Tommy, what had kept them anchored to the same meeting point, it was the sound of that cigarette box.
Tommy extended his hand, closing the space between them with his offer. YN, never mind feeling guilty, stepped forward and accepted. Her fingertips trembled in trying to pry one free, only doing so more when she felt Tommy’s eyes on her, and she smiled bashfully once she was successful.
“Got there in the end,” he said.
Again, he lit it for her, striking the match he brandished from a pocket and cautiously holding the flame up to YN’s lips. The latter tried, to no avail, to ignore that the warmth coursing through her wasn’t solely due to the smoke she inhaled. Tommy’s hands were unnaturally close to her own as they both cupped her cigarette to protect the flame, him looking down on her like she was some fulfilled project made her chest contract.
He waved out the match, then —to take YN even more off guard— held his own cigarette to hers, lighting the tip of it by her flame. His eyes shifted to hers, and she fretted that he’d seen the rush to her cheeks, and hoped he’d suspect the heat to be the cause.
Once lit, Tommy backed to the bed, and shuffled over to allow her a seat. She cleared her throat, dragging a smoke as she vacated the space, deciding to shove his arm playfully when she did so, and they both chuckled blithely under their breaths. Tommy pushed back, a little too harshly, almost sending her off the bed. YN exclaimed with a hearty laugh after guffawing at his nature. She stuck the cigarette firmly between her lips and jumped to drive him back, using the meagre strength of her arms to jostle him, promptly forgetting Tommy’s tenacity.
With a ‘pfft!’ he similarly readjusted his cigarette and subsequently gripped her arms in a wrestling stance, twisting her over to pin her on the bed as she cried out. He grinned at the sound of her laughter, beaming down at her with his legs trapped on either side of her own. In vain, YN wrangled her arms to propel against his, struggling to push him off, Tommy continued to patronise her. It was funny, she thought, to see a grown man with such menace as Tommy Shelby grappling atop her, play-wrestling.
“Okay, okay, stop now, I’m done!” YN announced, her words muffled behind the cig. Tommy laughed victoriously, dropping his hands down around her head, dipping into the mattress. He was breathless, somehow, and remained stationary, perched above her, eyes gleaming before scattering over her face, then landing primarily on her lips. YN couldn’t ignore it, like she tended to do when something filled with tension like this happened, she was obliged to see how Tommy analysed her face, dotting over her features again before circling back round to the same destination. He inhaled, YN mirroring him underneath. She smiled shyly.
“You can… get off now,” she said, tapping his forearm.
“Right, yes,” he replied bluntly. He hopped off, sitting straight on the edge of the bed. He removed his cigarette, extinguishing it in the ashtray on his cabinet. As quickly as he squished it, the humour left his system, and he sat with an arched back, arms rested on his knees, a pondering expression on his countenance.
YN propped herself up on her elbows, clearing her throat. “I, uh, should go to bed. It’s late.”
He mumbled, “yep, you should rest.”
YN considered refuting him, maybe even begging him not to be so melancholic, but she was tired, and the prospect of a nice warm bed appealed to her just that bit more. She shuffled off the bed with a sigh, brushing past him on her way. Tommy gave her a small glance, but didn’t relish in anything else apart from a bidding nod. With a smile, YN realised it was probably the best she was going to get, so she whispered a ‘goodnight’ and showed herself out, reluctantly, even despite every fibre in her body feeling foreign to the notion of leaving Tommy. She closed the door behind her with an internal curse. She rested her head against the wood, mouthing a swear to herself before pushing off it and heading to the room opposite, the door creaked open a tad to display the attractiveness of it. It was beautiful, YN could already tell, with a bed bigger than her entire kitchen, adorned with pillows and a thick duvet, candles galore surrounding it. A heavy sigh emitted past her lips, and when she entered the room she found that she wasn’t at all as fulfilled as she imagined she’d be.
Not through any fault of the maids, no, but more to the feeling that the room seemed awfully empty without Tommy in it. She wanted to slap herself for that thought, but there was nothing she could do to deny it.
But, even so, there was nothing to be done about it. She prepared herself for bed, pulling back the cover and climbing in, more than ready for a sleepless night upon the realisation that she longed and missed a man who was a mere ten feet away. But boundaries kept them apart: doors and whatever feelings and morals that separated them. YN was not a Shelby, despite what the paperwork said. She was nowhere near Shelby status; if they were to be anything, it would be nothing but wrong.
She tried her upmost best to dismiss the thought as she lay in bed. She had expected to be doused in serenity when she did this, but focusing on the silkiness of the sheets was evitable when all she could feel was Tommy’s proximity, still. The way he stalked towards her, eyes intent; how he didn’t touch her but YN felt him all the while. Even now, the pressure of his presence exacerbated around her, and she tossed and turned in the bed in a vain attempt to rid of it. It was fruitless. Tommy was the only thing on her mind, rather than the comfort encompassing her exit she had imagined would be the primary focus.
Frustration only accumulated when the hours went by without any redemption. YN sighed, threw the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She made it thus far, then contemplated on her oncoming decision, feet bare against the wooden floor. The bed became significantly more appealing, but something was pulling YN away in the other direction. She hung her head, then jumped off the bed and tiptoed to the door. It, obviously, had to creak when she opened it, yet when she popped her head out into the hallway she saw it had alerted no one, and she was alone.
She sent a sneaky eye to the door opposite her, closed and making YN freeze in her step. A dull light shone under its gap, and she cursed the fact that it had because it meant that she really had no excuse to not commit.
With a foreboding sense of regret, YN proceeded, raised her fist and took the leap to knock on Tommy’s door. The quiet that followed was claustrophobic, and, if it hadn’t been for the resounding fear that struck within her, she would have backtracked; escaped to her room, slam the door and pretend like she’d never left. Instead, the petrifying anticipation kept her still, and she was doomed to wait for Tommy to answer the door.
Of course, she could lie. Pretend she had got the wrong door, like she was looking for her mother instead, you know, like she hadn’t just been in his room and she was bound to know where it was as a result. Or, maybe, she could say she was hoping to get a glass of water, and didn’t want to bother the maids so please could he do it for her? It wouldn’t be weird… right?
The door opened before she could make her decision.
“You alright?” Tommy asked. He looked at her inquisitively up and down, leaning his arm on the doorframe.
YN was stuck for words, she thought she forgot the whole English language.
“Fine,” she exclaimed, surprised as if she hadn’t been the one to knock on his door in the first place. “Fine, yeah.”
He quirked a brow, “…alright.”
“I just,” YN continued, “I never really thanked you for all this.”
“No need to thank me.”
“I disagree.”
Tommy smiled, then stepped back to allow more room for YN to enter. She bowed her head and did so, wringing her hands as she headed inside. The door closed behind her, and Tommy gestured at the edge of his bed for her to sit.
“Drink?” He offered, swaying to the alcohol cabinet appropriately placed by his bedside. YN was of immediate refusal until she saw the array on his cabinet. In particular, a glass bottle stood out to her.
“Is that your gin?” She asked, excited.
In the midst of pouring his own whisky, Tommy’s eyes danced over to the bottle standing tall within his collection of booze. He allowed a small chortle, then grabbed the neck of it and swung it to his side. By his lack of caution, YN guessed he was already a few drinks ahead of her.
He set it on a nearby cabinet, pouring the Shelby gin into a drained glass which YN guessed had some remnants of another previous drink. She watched him feverishly, eyes wandering over his posture until they bulged at his antics.
“Jesus, Tom, alright.” She leaped forward, grabbing the glass when he surpassed the halfway mark. “You do know you’re supposed to have something with gin?”
“If you’re boring,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. YN scoffed, diluting it with a tonic she’d snatched off his trolley.
Tommy didn’t waver in joining her side, residing back into the imprint he’d formed on the bedsheets. He cleared his throat and swigged the whisky in his hand, clinking the glass back down on the trolley, ‘aah’ing in satisfaction. He propped himself sturdily up by his hands on his knees, eyes, like a rotting tree, hollow and full of decayed life, centred on the wall ahead of him. YN wondered vehemently what he was thinking, and came to the conclusion that she’d rather not know at all.
“You settle in okay?” He asked, out of nowhere, almost making her jump. The distant tone of his voice alluded that his query had been the last thing on his mind, but had simply been asked out of courtesy. YN felt an astonishingly overwhelming sense that she wasn’t welcome, but clutched her glass tighter and stayed. She turned her head to the side, focusing her attention on the small details of Tommy’s room that she’d failed to notice before. More of his clothes were strewn across the floor, and there were a few oddly disfigured stains on the carpet where ash had fallen and been rubbed in over time.
“Yeah, I did. Thanks,” she said. She took a drink, then found the courage to turn back to him and pull together a strong smile. He flashed one back with a similar uncertainty, finally craning his neck in an effort to peer at her.
“Good.” He coughed. “Good,” a whisper, now. YN’s heart began to expand against her ribs when Tommy’s stare remained on her, or rather, her lips. She bit her lower one to prohibit herself from saying anything stupid.
“So, I just, thought I’d come over and say, you know, thank you. I can’t explain it, really, what it means… to my Mum and Jack, too. I know Jack doesn’t say much, but—”
“YN.” Tommy’s hands clasping hers, all of a sudden. “You don’t need to thank me.”
YN, often prone to refute anything that came out of Tommy’s mouth, became uncharacteristically quiet, whether from astonishment of his kindness or the way his eyes traced every minuscule movement of her lips, she didn’t know. A sharp intake of breath shattered the silence of the room, and YN’s grasp tightened on her glass, wondering if she could really prepare herself for what she predicted would be next.
“There’s something else you should know.” Came Tommy’s husky voice, close, YN perceived, as he’d shifted nearer to her without her notice. “About my proposal to you.”
YN gulped, nodding in anticipation. She rested her glass on her knee with a gentle hold. Her eyes focused on Tommy’s mouth as he leaned in, his arm snaking behind her to rest on the mattress while his other graced her cheek. They were close now, with the callouses of Tommy’s fingertips trailing against her cheekbone. His eyelashes flickered upwards, peering almost sheepishly to her. YN struggled to repress a giggle, and raised her hand to rest on his bicep. There was a brief, tense moment, a quick, fluttering glance, before Tommy gently pulled her in and into his kiss.
Surprisingly, Tommy’s lips were soft. When they moulded into hers YN swapped her vacant hand to hold her gin and tonic in order to caress Tommy’s cheek; it quickly reached his hair, grazing against the buzzed sides until clambering to his scalp. Her fingers ran through while Tommy pressed their kiss further (YN allowed him), then travelled down to his chin, cupping it endearingly.
If someone had told her this morning she’d be living in Tommy’s house, married to him, she may have just believed it, knowing that Tommy is awfully prone to fathoming incredulous ideas. If someone had told her this morning that she’d be kissing him, she’d have laughed in their face.
Yet, here she was, holding his neck and moving her lips in rhythm with his, and not finding it completely utterly disgusting.
“Tommy,” she whispered, though, pulling apart from him. She willed herself to ignore the string of saliva that stretched out between them.
The aforementioned automatically gravitated back to YN, eyes still closed in a daze and silently begging for another indulge. Her hand pushed on Tommy’s chest, and he looked at her like a child whose favourite toy she’d just broken.
He cleared his throat, then sat back. “What’s wrong?”
The way he looked at her made YN want to backtrack the whole thing: shake her head and claim it was nothing before kissing him all over again. But she persisted.
“I don’t think we should,” she said, exhaling deeply, with Tommy followed suit.
“You’re my wife, no?” He joked.
“We both know that’s not what this really is.”
Her words made Tommy’s faltering smile finally drop, as well as his hands from her face. He cleared his throat, looking away in what YN could only establish was embarrassment.
He licked his lips, and YN turned her torso away to stare at the floor, resting a hand on her lap while the other was preoccupied with supplying the gin and tonic. She took a loud gulp, biting her lip in the abhorrent silence. Eventually, the sound of rustling cotton signalled her movement, standing from the bed.
“I should… I should go,” she said, smoothing out Tommy’s jumper against her. It was vital she didn’t look down at him when she embarked, instead she bid him goodnight and fumbled out the door, leaving –it felt– as quickly as she had arrived.
Inside, Tommy listened ardently to YN’s curses from the other side of the door, and wondered intently to himself what the hell he had gotten himself into.
part five
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