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You rose from where you lied on the bed, a firm set of determination plastered in your brow, and sighed. Glancing at the rustic like clock just above the dresser in front of your drowsy body, you noticed a faint line rushing past the number 12 by two numbers.
It was either you go do what you planned at 2 in the morning, or you don't and return to sleep.
You decided to go, the wish to dance the night away winning over the wish to curl into a ball and slumber.
Silently, you started to get dressed, and after several minutes you were covered. It tired you, having to wear clothes in layers all the time. The skintight fabric was like a second skin, hugging every dip and curve of your body, hidden from the world by a thick layer of your warm coat.
Soundlessly, you had escaped the darkness of your lover's dwelling, meeting the darkness of the nature's residence. Night fell over Birmingham, so dark the smoke that mingled in the air above the homes and buildings was no longer visible. It was swallowed by the night, leaving a few twinning stars to blink in the sky, accompanying the moon that glistened in the sky, aiding you in navigating around the perimeter quietly.
Your Bentley, in other words a birthday gift from Tommy, broke the silence when you turned the keys, starting the vehicle. It didn't take long for you to steer away from the luxurious manor and disappear into the woods, followed by the night only.
***
The Shelby stood by the window, his hands gripping its still. Questions arose in his head, taking permanent residence in his mind. They swirled in his head, making him think about things a million times over.
There was something in the way you sneaked out that had ceased his thoughts about your unfaithfulness to him as your lover and friend.
He shook his head, sure that wasn't why you had left into the night without a trace.
Tommy's cigarette landed into the ashtray, having been used completely. He twirled his own keys in his hands, deciding to jump into a Fiat the same way you did into a Bentley.
***
It took several minutes before you could even think about dancing. The gravel crunched underneath your boots, the sound of crickets singing in the background was at one with the sounds of waves lapping and hitting the small stones. Moonlight illuminated over the water, having looked after you since you left the house. The river was like a cloak of black obsidian, the depth it reached unimaginable to you. It drew you in, bewitching you into thinking that she was anything but cold and dark and bottomless.
Though you weren't there for a swim, you shook your head as if shooing the thoughts away, continuing to trek lightly along the side until you found the spot.
Once you did, find the spot you've marked as yours, with even grounds and perfect scenery, you took off the unnecessary layers of clothing, ignoring the way frost bite wind attacked your skin in the process.
You hummed Tchaikovsky under your breath, crouching down to the ground and slipping into the shoes you've been carrying safely under your arm. The ballet slippers were worn out and dirty, but the only pair you owned that could sustain the surrounding nature. The violins you usually danced to were playing softly in the back of your mind, the familiar tune of the symphony urging you to start.
After several graceful leaps, you only began to feel lighter in body and spirit. The story you told was through the pirouettes and jumps one would tell through whispers and yells. The routine was complex and terrifying, the theme of fairies and knights and endless love made you apprehensive of the whole idea.
Graciously, you landed on your feet, breathing in softly as if the river in front of you were the toffs you were supposed to amaze in a week time.
A loud, singular applause erupted through the night, slicing the silence that you were so used to.
Gasping, you placed a hand on your chest, the other one reaching for your discarded coat in a heap for a weird sense of security. You couldn't see well through the night, but the slight tingles you felt once you caught sight of an intimidating figure with hands clasped together at the front were giving you an idea. The silhouette moved toward you, clearing your mind of every dream about the figure being a mere tree of some sort. You wanted to run, but your legs, for some awfully uncanny reason, did not wish to move.
"Dancing the night away, hm?"
Your body released a breath you didn't even know it held, getting you to relax for just a tiny fraction of a moment. "You—you…"
Sun and sunshine weren't needed for one to know a slow smirk was plastered on his face, and by the time you had realized what he did, Tommy was already standing in front of you. He grasped your arms in his rough hands, his blue eyes taking in your state. "You were following me."
Tommy merely shrugged, acting as if what he had done wasn't a big deal. "You left in the middle of the night, love."
"That was kind of the whole point," you murmured quietly, feeling flush invade your cheeks. "So, I'm not seen."
"Why?"
His question wasn't intricate. It was simple.
But you found yourself unable to forge an answer. "I—"
With furrowed brows, you bit down on your bottom lip in wonder. "I’m a dancer Tommy."
He chuckled, "I noticed."
"I have a performance next week," you blurted. "And I'd be lying if I said I’m not nervous. I mean, I love the crowds...and the fame."
Your icy cold hands found their way to the lapels of his dark coat. "But my true love is the dance. I love the twirls and leaps, Tommy. I make them all look so easy."
"I believe you," he said, a tone of pride under the rasp of his voice. "I highly doubt those jumps were easy."
You hummed in agreement, "I wanted to tell you sooner…"
Tommy didn't look like he minded, as a part of him recognized the passion and insecurity behind your love for ballet. He did feel a little irate with himself for following you out, but the moment he saw your eyes shine in a way that suggested you had decided to drop that subject at once seemed to ease his tense muscles.
A comfortable silence fell over you both, and you took the serenity at the moment to press your lips against his. You were most passionate about dancing and sharing kisses with him, you realized. Joy, love, anxiety. You seemed to pour it all into the kiss, hoping it would heal you like it always did.
Both of you pulled away after a while, and you found solace in his arms. His hand held the back of your neck as you nested against his chest, feeling his heart thump like your own. Tommy's other hand rubbed against your back softly, "Polly told me you were a dancer. I didn't believe her."
"How did she know?"
His hands tightened in their hold, "She's Polly Gray."
"You're right," you agreed, pulling away. You ran your hands over your clothes swiftly before turning around on your heel to look for your missing shoes. Feeling Tommy's eyes on the tips of your muddied ballet slippers made a wave of confidence wash over you. Your strides were confident. Standing on the tips of your feet, you moved along the area until your eyes landed on the shoes.
Further dwelling into the fun of bragging, you raised a leg in the air, the upper part of your body twisting toward the ground. With one long leg in the air and arm extended down to the boots, you grabbed the shoes with a beaming smile. Glancing at him standing still as a statue had your heart (weirdly enough) thumping harder. Tommy didn't react to things the way his brothers did and so, over the years, your ability to decipher his thoughts became a mastery.
Thomas Shelby was impressed, proud and so terribly turned on.
His body reacted, but the dark hid it. His mind raced, wanting to take you right then and there.
And so, he did.
That night he had you trembling beneath his touch, the river accompanying your lust laced voices of pleasure.
The following week, Tommy sat front row at the performance, watching as you glided across the stage, for the first time free of worries.
All because of him.