˗ˏˋ꒰ 💰 ꒱ ━ ☐ Thomas Shelby never thought he would fall in love with a whore. In the bustling streets of 1920s Birmingham, Alicent, a prostitute since her teenage years, with her irresistible charm, had only one goal : to make money. Every encounte...
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THOMAS SHELBY USED TO SAY THAT EVERY PERSON WAS A WHORE, because everyone sold different parts of themselves.
He had since taken the habit of coming once a week, every Thursday night, to the brothel. It had become a ritual. Each time, he came for her. It was a fact, a truth that she had finally accepted without reservation.
The hallway noises on her name – Thomas Shelby – had been floating around her, but she chose not to linger. She didn't want to know. Whatever he does, he pays well. And he knows what he wants.
But every Thursday was tinged with an underlying melancholy. At the end of each evening, as she was getting dressed, a question haunted her : would he come back the following week ?
The answer, although already known, remained uncertain each time. The promise of her return was the thread that guided her through the meanders of her life.
That night, Alicent was wandering the halls with a misty mind. The hours were running without her really being able to notice the day that had set in. The monotony of her daily routine had kept her from the passing time.
She felt almost lost in a whirlwind of faces and ephemeral encounters when, by an almost instinctive reflex, she headed for an old calendar hanging on the wall, yellowed by time.
As she looked at the dates, she was surprised to find that it was Thursday. A slight smile formed on her lips, almost imperceptible.
His presence had something intoxicating, a warmth and an intensity that allowed him to forget, even for a moment, the evils of the world. And forget some other clients... old men with trembling hands and tired eyes, alcoholics who, as the glasses went, became more demanding, violent men, those who found pleasure in hitting her during the act, playing with her pain.
Then the door opened with a familiar creak, and she saw him enter as she had always known him : imposing, confident. He was wearing his black coat, shoulders slightly drooping after a long day. His eyes were sweeping the room, looking for something or someone, and when their eyes crossed, he instinctively approached.
"Good evening, Mr. Shelby."
She felt special, even though she knew that for him, she was just another facet of his life.
He approached her, the scent of her perfume enveloping them, a fragrance mixing leather and a subtle note of tobacco, and reached out to her, which she accepted, walking with him towards one of the alcoves.
She sat on the bed, watching him approach with a determined air. He joined her, his hands delicately grasping her face to kiss her.
"Tell me your week," he asked, his voice low. Alicent hesitated for a moment, aware of the fine line between their reality and the stories they told themselves.
"What do you want to know ?"
"Everything."
"There's not much to say. Here it's always the same, the same faces. Returning customers, always looking for something..."
He cut her by a kiss, his lips caressing hers before it slightly spread to descend into her neck. She straightened slightly, looking for his gaze.
"Tell me about your week. You're not an ordinary man, are you ?"
"What do you want to know ?"
She smiled. "Everything."
"It was... well, bumpy. Between business and some issues to be settled. Business never sleeps." It was not much, but she felt that he opened up a little more.
"Issues ?" She couldn't help but be curious, even though she knew it could lead them onto slippery terrain.
He kissed her again, this time with more passion, before answering. "People who think they can challenge me. Nothing but dreamers," he declared, his breath hot against his skin.
She looked at him, both fascinated and worried. "What do you intend to do with these dreamers ?" Her curiosity made her ask questions, but she also felt that she was walking on a fragile line.
In response, he grabbed her by the waist, drawing her closer to him. "I am not here to discuss my business," he said firmly, his tone suggesting that he was not joking. "This is not the time or place."
She nodded slowly, remembering why they were there in that alcove. Sex, escape, nothing else. But this answer disturbed her a little.
"So what do you really want ?"
"Just you, without the questions, without the rest." He drew her against him, his hands becoming more insistent, the sweetness of his caresses making her tremble.
He captured her lips again, her deep and ardent kiss, as if to drive out any hesitation from her mind. She knew what he wanted, so without hesitation she slipped her hands down his thighs, fingers caressing his warm skin as she gently pressed her pants. Soon he appeared naked.
She could feel his warm breath against her face, the smell of his perfume mixed with that of leather and tobacco, something deeply masculine and intoxicating. She leaned slightly, placing a gentle kiss on her chest, exploring every muscle with her lips.
"Don't forget why we're here."
She straightened slightly, her hands sliding on her thighs, rediscovering her body, then she came even closer.
When she finally reaches her most sensitive limb, her body stretches out, while her hand entangles itself in her long hair, guiding her rhythm, her mind consumed by the sensation of her mouth on him.
He can hardly think clearly now, his mind and body being consumed by it. He is on the brink of collapse, so close to losing control completely. He pulls her hair, trying to hold it back, trying to make the moment last a little longer.
Alicent concentrated on each movement, trying to bring her an unequalled pleasure. When she heard him groan something.
"Grace..."
She looked slightly at him, trying to unravel the mystery behind this mention.
"Keep up your work," he said abruptly, his gaze hardening.
She obeys.
When they had finished their sex, they were lying on the bed, naked, the calm reigning around them. He had his head resting on her thighs, and she took advantage of this proximity to play with her hair. Her fingers slid through the dark locks, enjoying the smooth texture and warmth of her body against her.
He had his eyes closed. Here, in this shared intimacy, he was not a murderer, nor a criminal and even less a gangster, he was simply a man, vulnerable.
Was he really the monster some people portrayed ?
Suddenly he moved slightly, his eyes slowly opening to meet his own. "You're still there," he murmured, his voice raucous and haunting.
"Where else would I be ?" she replied with a smile in her face, while continuing to stroke her hair.
On these words, she took a cigarette from the bedside table, lit it, inhaling the smoke with a mixture of pleasure and relief. The heat of nicotine mixed with his mind.
She exhaled slowly, leaving a cloud of smoke rising above them, mixing with the already charged atmosphere of their labors. Looking at the cigarette, she noticed a slight reflection of her lipstick on the filter. A mischievous smile appeared on her lips.
He stood up and did not hesitate to take the cigarette between his fingers, her eyes in hers. She watched him take a puff.
They passed the cigarette, each taking puffs in turn, until it slowly fades between their fingers.
When Alicent woke up several hours later, she blinked, slowly stretching out, but a void next to her immediately reminded her that he was no longer there.
She stood on the bed, her hair in disorder framing her face. Her eyes instinctively sat on the bedside table. There, in plain sight, were several bills, neatly stacked. It was always more than she would have imagined for a night.
