Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 36

Calloway

I lie beside Michael, head resting on his chest as he smokes a cigarette. The smell doesn't bother me like it once did.

But still I frown. "Not too many a day," I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows, grinning in spite of himself. "And why's that, eh?"

"Because you'll fill your lungs with shit," I say simply.

"Alright. How many am I allowed?"

I think for a moment. "Three."

"Three?" He taps it out in the ashtray, then lies down further, holding me close. "Well, I plan to smoke one each time I fuck you. And as we've already achieved that twice in just one afternoon, I think we might need to re-negotiate."

I lift my head, tracing the contours of his chest with my free hand. "How many, then?"

He places a finger beneath my chin, leaning in to kiss me before answering. "Two in the morning," he murmurs, kissing me again. "Two after lunch. And three before bed."

"I suppose I can live with that," I whisper. I kiss him again, our lips brushing, fire and smoke dancing on my tongue.

When I pull away, he hesitates for a moment. The emotion flitting across his face that I've come to recognise as vulnerability. He links his fingers through my own and plays with them as he speaks.

"My cousins have asked me out to the pub tonight," he murmurs. "Everyone will be there. Mum. Isaiah."

"Oh." I stroke the back of his hand with my thumb. "That's alright. I'll survive by myself for a few hours."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm asking you to come with me, Cal."

"To Arthur's pub?"

"No, to bloody Timbuktu," he mutters sardonically, softening his words with a smirk. "Of course to Arthur's pub. Though Timbuktu might be less frightening. Baptism by fire in this family."

"I think we're past the stage of awkward introductions," I point out. "Tommy's already tried to threaten me into business, and your mum spent three days helping me sit on the toilet."

Michael grins, biting back a laugh. "Suppose you're right."

"I can't be out too late, though," I say. "I'll have to go back to work in the morning."

"Not happening," he says simply, as though we're discussing a turn of the weather and not my job on the line.

"Is that right?"

"Not until we've sorted out Mosley."

I narrow my eyes. "And what, exactly, am I going to tell my boss?"

"You don't need to tell him anything. Tommy's handled it. Decided it's too dangerous. Got you signed off for a whole month, just in case."

I glare at him, outraged. "He fucking what?"

Michael shrugs. "I told him you'd be cross, but he insisted."

"Bloody right I'm cross." My hand is tense in his own, momentarily immune to his touch. "What am I meant to do with myself?"

"You could come into work with me," Michael suggests. "Sit on my desk in one of your little dresses. Run numbers all day."

I raise an eyebrow, forgetting I'm supposed to be outraged still. "Been thinking a lot about my little dresses, have you?"

"All those little fucking dresses." He kisses me, dropping my hand to run his own along the length of my waist. "Those shoes. The scraps of lace you wore to bed each night in the hotel."