Thank you so much for your messages and comments on the last chapter! I swear I have no maternal bones in my body and then I watch early episodes with Finn and Thomas or season 3 onwards with Charlie and Ruby and suddenly Tommy Shelby in dad mode becomes the most attractive thing on the planet, so it was nice to know I am not alone lol!
Chapter 26
Tommy arrived down from putting Lily to bed to find fresh tea in both their cups and Rosie absolutely engrossed in the Birmingham Evening Dispatch that he had discarded.
"You calm?" he asked her as he sat back down next to her.
"Perfectly calm as always thank you very much," she replied, not looking up from the paper.
He snorted, "Aye, so y'are."
She kicked him lightly in the shin.
"You are getting far too good at that, give us your feet up," he told her.
"Nah they're fine."
"I wasn't asking. Give me your feet."
"Why?" she asked, finally moving her eyes up from her paper, filled with suspicion, but clearly also about to laugh.
He raised an eyebrow at her, "You've been on them all day, plus they keep kicking me."
"Yes Thomas - and that's generally a reason to distance yourself from someone's feet."
"For god's sake - give them here!" he sighed and thrust his arm under her knees, yanking them up and round so that she was pulled down on the couch, her feet in the air in front of his face, the paper falling to the floor. He swatted lightly at her rear, "Does the other Miss Jackson also need a threat of sitting on a smacked backside to make her behave and do as she's told?"
"Maybe she does Mr Shelby," she retorted, but she wiggled her backside away from him, pushing herself up so she was sat sideways on the couch, her feet still in his grasp, "Or maybe she doesn't. But either way, she does want to know what exactly your intentions with her feet are."
He rolled his eyes and tucked her right foot it its usual spot under his leg to keep it warm, beginning with her left, pulling off her utilitarian wool sock and pressing his knuckles in, grinding away at the pressure points.
She sat with her mouth slightly open in amazement for a minute, watching him, but groaned audibly when he pressed his knuckle into the centre of the ball of her foot and rotated it.
"Christ Tommy, where'd you learn how to do that?"
"Gypsy witchcraft," he told her with a grin.
"You know, a lot of people round here do believe you have something of that."
He snorted derisively, "My father used tell fortunes – and steal horses. Sometimes he'd tell people their horses were going to be stolen and they'd be amazed when he was right. Any gypsy witchcraft in my family tree skipped us lot and went to Polly."
"Yeah but it doesn't matter what you do or don't have – people believe it. You know the power of reputation Tommy."
"What you saying?" he said, his eyes on hers.
"I'm saying I hear you and Arthur arguing."
"You told me to stop letting Arthur get to me," he smirked over at her, digging his thumbs into the arch of her foot.
She closed her eyes and groaned – and his trousers twitched a little.
"I did," she said, once she had opened her eyes again, "And you should. But I heard you going on at each other the other day – about how you need to drum up business and that the January excuse will only last for so long."
"It'll pick up in February."
"You said times are hard for people."
"They are, but people will always want a frisson of excitement and betting gives them that. Just maybe less people than before the war."
"What are you saying?"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying - if the shop is struggling more than you're letting me know and if you need to give people a reason to lay a bet – magic is as good as any if they believe in it. And they do. And you know the betting shop's the bit of your business you can get legal at some point, if you want to, so I know for all your money comes from elsewhere-" Tommy opened his mouth to cut her off, but she just raised an eyebrow at him and he ended up grinning at her instead of interrupting her, "For all it comes from elsewhere, you don't want to abandon the shop. That's why you're putting up with Arthur in the first place."
He tucked her foot under him and pulled out the second one, working away on it.
She really had him sometimes. And other times she was clearly just a bit too like Polly – and not in the supernatural sensing way, in the listening to other people when she was pretending to be engrossed in something else way. In the filling information away for use at a later date way. Maybe a bit too like himself for entire comfort too, come to that.
But - it wasn't altogether a terrible idea. All he needed to do was get the horse somewhere that was concealed enough it wouldn't seem like he was trying to be seen, but visible enough that word would spread. And people didn't know enough of gypsy magic to know what they'd be supposed to be looking at – but the Chinese witch on the other hand…
The real thing would be making the magic appear magic. He'd have to back it up. The horse would have to win. And Billy Kimber would need to be part of that. But he'd been thinking about Billy Kimber for a while anyway.
"Tommy," Rosie said suddenly, interrupting his flow of thought.
He turned to her, still kneading her foot.
"Do you see me as a child?"
He snorted, "Doesn't matter what I see you as, you're under eighteen – you're a child by law."
"I can leave school at sixteen. I could get married at sixteen."
"You'll leave school once you've done that leaver's certificate and not a bloody minute before," he frowned at her, not commenting on the second part of her sentence.
She returned the frown, "I want to work, Thomas."
"And you will – and your prospects of that will be better when you've got the certificate, so don't argue with me or you'll regret it," he said, calmly but with a raised eyebrow.
"You really don't do well at discussions, do you?"
"You see here," he said, ceasing his kneading and prodding her foot instead to emphasise his words, "I knew agreeing to these discussions of yours was a bad idea. I'll discuss things with you, I've agreed to that. I'll compromise where I can compromise – you were at that bloody job today weren't you? And you were dead on your feet afterwards. But there are certain things that I won't compromise on, and you'll just bloody well need to learn to accept that because as of right now I'm an adult and you're a child."
She yanked her foot out of his grip and glared at him.
"Don't throw a tantrum, you won't care for the results," he smirked.
"You and your threats Thomas! I'm bloody sick of them," she growled.
"Then stop inviting them."
"I don't – you just hand them out whether they're wanted or not!"
"I believe I just told your sister not to be cheeky, so you adjust your own tone Rosie," he quipped at her.
"I'm not being cheeky, I'm taking my liberties you told me you give me," she said, rolling her eyes.
She was awfully quick, he had to give her it.
"They only go so far – I'm still Tommy Shelby and you knew that when you came here," he told her, "I won't be cheeked by a saucy fifteen-year-old."
"Saucy, hmm? Didn't know you read Shakespeare," she said.
He didn't know what she meant by that, but he wasn't going to give her the upper hand, so he simply said, "I went to school once."
"Just the once? That explains a few things."
"You watch your mouth, I mean it," he frowned – unsure how they'd gone from a fairly pleasant, even if slightly emotional, evening on the sofa to this all of a sudden and not sure he cared for it.
"Well this saucy fifteen-year-old is going to bed," she snapped, swinging her legs around and standing, glaring at him, "Since I'm so dead on my feet according to you!"
"Off you go then," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the door, knowing his seeming disinterest would only rile her more but not particularly caring in that moment.
By god she'd be staying in school to do that exam and she would bloody learn to watch her tone and if his right hand had to be as red as her hair to ensure those things happened then so be it.
And she wouldn't be marrying anyone at sixteen, that was a ridiculous concept too!
And what exactly was her issue with him pointing out how tired she was?
She fumed at him, and he thought for a minute she might be about to stamp her foot, but she didn't – she just stamped by him.
He laid a smack across her backside as she passed him, and she jumped around, her hands going to her rear, glaring at him.
"You're a bully Thomas Shelby," she snapped.
He tried not to laugh as she glared at him and spoke with such venom in her voice whilst her hands rested on her backside, as if to protect it – a position Ada and Finn had adopted plenty of times when stood in front of him. No, he didn't think of her as a child. That was the truth. And there was something about seeing someone who wasn't a child, in his head, adopt the pose of a child that was incredibly funny. But he wasn't going to laugh, he was going to control himself.
"If you want to go to bed on one smack I suggest you keep moving," he said keeping his voice low and his face neutral, "If you fancy more keep standing there and talking yourself into it."
"What – so Lily will get your hand holding her and wiping her tears after you smack her, but I just get told to go to bed?"
"You were the one who decided you were going to bed. And I don't see any tears on your face my girl," he told her, raising an eyebrow, "If I thought you were penitent I'd comfort you – but you're quite clearly not."
"My girl! My girl! How come sometimes I'm my girl and other times I'm my darling girl? How come that changes - when Lily gets reassured that she's your best girl no matter what?" she shouted at him, suddenly angry for reasons he couldn't comprehend.
He stood up and took a step towards her then and she backed up, turning on her heel to flee through to the kitchen – he followed her and came to a stop in the open doors between the kitchen and the shop. She had stopped and turned half way up the stairs, evidently looking behind her to see if he was following. It was quite adorable, even if he still didn't care for the tone she'd used.
"Right, my darling girl," he said unable to hide his grin, crossing his arms and resting on the doorframe, "Get yourself up those stairs and go to bed unless you fancy sleeping on your stomach."
The corners of her mouth upturned slightly, "I'm still your darling girl then?"
He nodded, "Always. Even when your behaviour is far from darling and a little more like a saucy child's."
"Well apparently I am a child to you," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Oh no, you didn't pay attention, I never said that, I said by law you're a child. You've never been a child in your life," he returned, rolling his eyes back at her.
She smiled then, that pretty smile that made his stomach flip whenever she laid it on him.
"Oh, don't you smile at me – whether you're a child or not if you disobey me or cheek me I'll put you over my knee, and I won't care whether you're fifteen or fifty."
"You reckon you'll still be controlling me when I'm fifty do you?" she said, dropping the smile to a smirk.
"I don't think anyone controls you, you little wench. But I reckon we'll still be rubbing along together then because no man'll have you and your mouth. And I'll have done you no favours in that regard I imagine by equipping you with a gun and liberties."
"Quite selfish really – you're designing it that I'll be the old maid who lives here with Tommy Shelby?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh no," he shook his head at her and watched her upturned mouth straighten completely again, her eyes narrowing at him, "You were quite right when you said I had to keep a hand on the betting shop because I can legalise it. I have non-legal business to build and put through that legal business if I'm going to achieve what I want – and as part of those achievements I very much intend to have left here and have bought a much bigger house for us by the time you're fifty – though preferably before then. I got a fancy fountain pen for Christmas to let me sign the documents."
"You know maybe no man will have me, but no woman will have you either Thomas Shelby, and it'll be nothing to do with your guns, it'll just be because you're a smug, insufferable…"
She trailed off, throwing her hands up and searching for a word.
He raised an eyebrow, "Baboon?"
"I was thinking more like bastard," she snapped.
He crossed to the foot of the stairs, his groin twitching slightly when she shifted as though she were going to move backwards and maintain the distance, one hand sliding to her backside. He crooked a finger and beckoned her to him, more than a twitch happening when her mouth did that thing where it fell slightly open and he noticed her nipples were poking through the men's nightshirt, erect at his action. Crooking his finger at her – that was one to file away for use later.
She stared at him for a minute then came down slowly towards him, the thud of her footsteps the only sound. He waited till she was on the last step before grabbing her wrist and pulling her to him, whirling her round so her arse was pressed into his already erect groin, the hand that wasn't holding her wrist splaying across her stomach and pulling her back against him.
"Now what exactly is your problem tonight you little wench?" he demanded with a growl.
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, "All this legalising and by law talk Tommy, it's very disappointing – I didn't think you cared much for being on the right side of the law, I mean, isn't that precisely why you bribe that Sergeant Moss every week? So that you can do what you like?"
"It's true that I may have little regard for keeping myself on the right side of the law, but I have a large amount of regard, Miss Jackson, for keeping innocent people on the right side of the law as much as possible. I'll risk myself, but when there's no need to risk others, I won't – you understand?"
She didn't answer and he released her wrist and used the hand he'd splayed on her stomach to grip her pyjama top and yank her forward, applying his free hand to her backside.
"I said do you understand?" he growled, smacking her on every syllable.
"Ow! Leave off Thomas!" she said, her hands flying behind her to shield herself, "I understand!"
"Move your hands."
"Thomas!" she whined at him.
"Be a good girl and move your hands," he said, letting the words out smoothly and slowly.
She didn't answer but she turned her head so that he could see her biting her lip. If he hadn't already been full erect, he would have been after that.
"Move your hands or it'll be worse for you," he growled at her.
She sighed, but slowly inched her hands away.
"Good girl," he said, moving his hand to smack the undersides of her rear and the tops of her thighs.
"You know I'm beginning to think you like smacking my arse Thomas Shelby," she said, wiggling around, almost seeming, despite all her protestations, to be arching her back and sticking her arse out for him.
"Well it is a good fat arse, I'll give you that," he replied, keeping his hand smacking upwards, his eyes transfixed on the ripple and bounce of the arse in question – or what he could see of its movements through the pyjamas.
She squealed and danced a little, but the hands she had moved from her rear end had wound themselves around the arm he had in front of her and had slid down that arm to entwine her fingers with his. There was a pressure on his arm too as some of her weight pressed down upon it, which meant she was definitely bending herself over, at least slightly, to present him with a better target.
He was half tempted to slip his hand to her waistband, give it a tug and get a look at her arse in its glory, and he was fairly sure she'd have given a token objection and then accepted it if he had decided to continue on her bare arse – but he didn't know if he had the bloody control.
He landed a round of quick fire, stinging swats to her then wrapped his right hand around her waist, latching it onto his left elbow to encircle her and pulled her tight against him. She squirmed backwards against him and tilted her head to the side as it to offer him her neck – and god he wanted to kiss it. But not now. Not yet. He could feel heat radiating from her through to his groin as she squirmed – and he didn't think he'd smacked her enough to be able to credit it all to that. Looking down over her shoulder he could see her nipples still boldly making their presence known through the shirt and it took all of his willpower to keep his hands on her waist and not to slide his hands up and stroke them.
"Now," he growled in her ear, "I get the feeling you might like me smacking your arse as much as I might like smacking it – but don't get yourself mixed up sweetheart – there's the type of nice heat you can get from a smacking from a man who is devoted to you and there's the fire a real spanking can put in you that'll have you crying some real tears and eating standing up for a while – and that one can come from anyone in the world who's devoted enough to your safety and wellbeing to provide it. So you will do what I tell you, you will stay within the boundaries of the law unless I say otherwise, you will keep yourself safe and if you don't – or if I get that saucy mouth of yours past my limit – you will find yourself over my knee and I promise you it will not be the fun and games I think you might think it'll be."
"Fun and games indeed – so what was that Thomas, was that not a real spanking?"
"Oh, I think you and I both know that was not a real spanking, Rosalie."
"Is that your way of declaring your devotion to me then?"
"Get to bed," he said, taking his arms from around her and turning her towards the stairs.
"Really Thomas?" she demanded.
"Really," he said, smacking her again to get her moving.
She turned and glared, "You know you are just the singular most infuriating person I have ever come across in my entire god-damned life Thomas Shelby," she spat out.
"Oh likewise Rosalie, bloody well likewise. Now get up those stairs before you wake up your sister with your blarting and clarting about."
"My blarting and clarting about?" she half shrieked, then glanced over her shoulder up the stairs.
"You know I'm right," he smirked, "So get your smacked arse up the stairs."
"I hate you Thomas Shelby," she hissed.
"You and everybody else," he grinned.
"Well I hate you more than anybody else does! More than the rest of them all put together!"
"I will notify the relevant parties that they are no longer first in line for my neck then."
"I don't want your bloody neck – I don't want any bloody part of you!"
"Aye alright love, that's why you're mad that I called you my girl instead of my darling girl."
"I am not mad about that! I don't give a flying fuck what you call me!" she snarled, which was rather a blatant lie but he figured her dignity demanded he accept it as if it were the truth, " I'm mad at your – at your inappropriate approach to life."
He threw back his head and laughed at that, "My inappropriate approach to life? Bit late to be mad about that now isn't it darling?"
"Well your inappropriate approach to me then!"
"Are we characters in one of your books now eh? Inappropriate approach indeed."
"Oh aye - cause the gangster and the whore's child are the type of people people write about."
"Look here you – you're the one all worked up because I'm abiding by the law in recognising that you are technically a child, so if anyone's being inappropriate with anyone here…" he trailed off, raising an eyebrow.
"Shut up Thomas."
He walked up to her, putting his face to hers, noticing the flush on her cheeks, the dilation in her eyes and shortness of breath. He was sure if he had tugged down the pyjama bottoms her arousal would have scented the air, and he was sure it hadn't gone anywhere. She was all talk; her pride was just wounded because he wouldn't declare his devotion to her. Not yet. Now wasn't the time for that, now was that time to decide whether to let her carry on with her talk or point out the truth.
Or to compromise somewhere in the middle.
"My darling girl," he said, wrapping his arms around her, one on her waist and one on her bottom, "I gave you my promise – and you told me you understood. I will keep you safe - that is what I promised you. I will keep you and Lily safe. Now, one of the easiest ways for me to do that is by not breaking any laws where you're concerned – by not dragging you into unsafe situations in the first place. Do you understand?"
He patted her backside as he asked, a gentle imitation of his earlier accompaniment to the same question. She arched her back almost automatically to the gesture and he only just managed to keep his face in its serious expression.
"Do you understand?" he repeated, using the hand on her backside to push her to him so her body was pressed against his, her face tilted up to meet his gaze.
God he could kiss that little mouth so easily – and it was parted, open, perfectly ready to accept his kiss. Because she would let him kiss her – and she'd kiss him back, he was sure of that. He could feel the heat in her own groin against him now and her nipples pressed into him, erect enough that he could feel them through both his shirt and hers. He was sure she could feel him too – but he didn't know if she'd realise what it was that she was feeling against her or not.
"Yes Thomas," she breathed up at him.
"Good girl," he nodded down at her.
And then he pressed a very gentle kiss to her forehead – and her eyes fluttered closed as he did – before he took a step back and placed his hands on her waist turning her firmly around and smacking her sharply.
"Now, go to bed."
She made a great show of rubbing her bottom with both hands, as though she'd been very severely spanked, the entire way up the stairs - but if she'd thought to make him remorseful of his actions by it, she was severely mistaken in her method of achieving her aim. On the contrary if he hadn't already been solid he would have been from watching her little hands rub at the heat he'd put in her arse.
"Goodnight Rosalie," he called up as she was about to disappear out of sight.
She turned her head, both hands still on her rear and said, very softly, "Goodnight Thomas."
As soon as she was gone he headed out the backdoor to the outhouse, where he spurted his load with the aid of only a few tugs on his dick – something he hadn't done since he was a legal child himself. He stood against the brick wall, knowing it was filthy and not really caring, letting his breathing return to normal.
It was all a very informal end to an evening that, in amongst sarcastic comments and threats and insults and a case of serious ball ache, had contained what seemed a rather formal agreement.