Forbidden Alliances // Alfie Solomons Peaky Blinders

(131) Done

*edited 04/10/23*

"You smell different."

"Hhhm?" Alfie cringed and pulled away.

Freya was lying beside him with one hand on the side of his cheek and another pressed to her mattress. She held herself from leaning on Alfie as she kissed him and played with the ends of his beard.

"You've changed since the last I've seen you... And you smell different"

"Hm," Alfie hummed warmly, moaning against her lips and refusing to lessen his grip on the back of her head. "Bad?"

"Hmnhm." She shook her head and reeled back. "No, it's just different. You're different but... not bad," she whispered, closing her eyes and pressing one more kiss to his lips before peeling herself from his sticky skin.

She knew that no matter how disagreeable he was, no matter how much he changed, she still loved him. She would always love him because it was him.

It wasn't a choice. If it were, she would have saved them both the effort and pain by choosing someone else. But love wasn't rational. It would never make sense why she loved him so dearly. It wasn't something to understand.

She would love him as he aged, as his smell changed, as his hair grew grey, as long as she had him; in any form, she would love him.

After changing into clean clothes, Freya tried tying her hair up in the mirror but Alfie had other plans.

He walked in behind her and sighed. He wrapped his hands around her but it was different than before. He seemed genuine this time. He didn't seem like he was doing something for the sake of keeping the peace or making it up to her in some way.

His muscles were more relaxed and he didn't limp as harshly either. He seemed calmer, more blissful.

His eyes closed peacefully and his fingers were pulling her hair from her shoulder so he could press his full, blushing lips against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Alfie..." she sighed, leaning into the touch and placing her hands over his as she watched him in the mirror.

"Shhh," he hushed her.

He molded her body like clay and his touch was delicate and lavishing. Even if Freya needed to leave, to be mad at him, to refuse him, she couldn't. She was enamored.

"A moment longer, Love..." he begged raspily, refusing to open his sleepy eyes as he used one hand to hold her hair over her opposite shoulder and used another to strap her hips against his.

"You make it seem like this is goodbye," she informed him with a melancholic tone. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Too long..." he mumbled before flipping his eyes open to meet her stare in the mirror. "That's far too long..." he whispered longingly beside her ear, causing goosebumps to rise above the surface of her skin.

Freya smirked tenderly and slowly shook her head in chuffed disbelief.

"We've been through worse, my love," she said in a hushed tone.

"Never again."

He pulled back and raked his fingers through her hair before all the knots were gone and a stale shine reflected off the lights above. Freya watched intently at the studious look in his eyes as he braided her hair down the center of her back.

He was content and each tug he gave to her scalp was always so precise and careful.

She watched as his chest rose and fell. She watched how his eyes followed the workings of his fingers and how he would smooth down the ruffles of curls that didn't want to cooperate. She watched how his lips fell agape when he was concentrating. She was content in just watching him do his work. She was content in watching him take care of her.