Redwings-mechanic - Carwood

Fuck it I'm posting to Ao3 even if it's bad writing

Touch Caused the Spiral (John Shelby/Tommy Shelby, Implied Arthur Shelby/John Shelby/Tommy Shelby)

Tell me if I missed any tags

I’ve always thought Tommy would have jerked John off at some point, very pragmatically and efficiently, sending John into quite a spiral of fantasising every time Tommy put a hand on something after: Arthur’s shoulder, between Arthur’s shoulder blades, fingers over Arthur’s when handing a glass or bottle between them…

YES YOU GET IT-

I always want to put way too much backstory to these types of things even though I know I won't ever be able to put it into words correctly. BUT.

Touch Caused the Spiral (Ao3)

Perhaps it happens directly after the war, they get home and honestly have no idea how to cope, how to be okay again if all three of them can't see each other when it's dark out, so they all end up sleeping on the floor on a rug with a couple blankets and pillows. Maybe Arthur has a fit over something, needs to be alone, so it's just Tommy and John there, clinging to each other but not allowing themselves to really cling- it's just their hands touching wherever is "appropriate" and their legs are tangled together, John wiggling closer and closer through the night and eventually ends up gently rocking against Tommy's hip, mostly asleep. Tommy is wide awake, acutely aware of the way John shuffled closer, painfully aware of the heat pressed to his hip, John's hand on Tommy's chest, his brain is spinning all sorts of things because he knows John is aware of what's happening, he knows that John is intimately accustomed to Tommy's scent and the feel of his skin through a childhood of being crammed together due to their size and just never having enough space.

"Finally going to do something about that, eh?" Tommy murmurs into the darkness, tipping his head to the side to rest his temple to John's forehead, his hand slipping off of John's flank where it had been resting, having needed to feel John's movements. He plays with the waist of John's striped boxer shorts, undoing the little buttons one by one with ease, letting the back of his hand brush against the flushed, soft skin of John's cock. A shiver runs through the both of them when Tommy wraps a loose fist around John's cock, just feeling the weight of it for a minute before finally finally tightening his grip and properly touching him.

John can't help the little gasps and moans and "Tommy, Tommy, brother, fuck- please, Tommy." he needs Tommy right now, needs to feel him, to smell him, to taste him- John lets his lips brush against his older brother's cheek, not close enough to Tommy's lips to be a kiss, but just a desperate need to know how Tommy tastes now, licking his own lips to gather the little bit of sweat there. His hips rock forwardforwordforward, picking up speed, gaining a little power but it's still hazy with sleep and fear that if he moves too much than Tommy will snap to his senses and stop this. Except all of John's panted breaths against the side Tommy's face only cements that yes this will happen again, and again and again and again

"There you go. Attaboy, John, fuck me hand like you'd fuck a tight hole. Who're you thinkin' about, hm? S'it me? Want to fuck me? Or some whore from London? Bet I know who it is, it's fuckin' Arthur, isn't it? Want to fuck our big brother, don't you. He'd like it, he likes it. I've seen the way he acts with a couple of his own fingers up his arse."

It's all too much, all too fucking much for John, he can't fucking think and he can barely breathe, gasping against the side of Tommy's neck, a little slip of fear at being found out so easily... but it shouldn't have been a surprise that Tommy would know, be able to read him, they've both looked at Arthur that way for years, and they'd seen the want in each other's eyes, caught each other.

"So fucking wet, be surprised if anythin' comes out when you spill, seems like your leakin' it all out now, thinkin' of Arthur's tight-"

That's when the dam breaks, when John shudders and whines his way through the first orgasm he's had since returning home. And oh, how wrong is Tommy- it's a mess, slick splatter of cum familiar against Tommy's hip and belly and pelvis, hot stripes of it soaking through Tommy's own pants, staining them staining him. John can't seem to catch his breath, shoving his face into the crook of Tommy's neck to muffle the needy little whines slipping past his lips, involuntarily thrusting into Tommy's once more loose fist, riding the aftershocks like he'll never experience this level of pleasure again.

They sleep like that, both of them dazed and happy, sure Tommy is hard as fucking stone but that can wait, yeah that can wait cause right now all he can think about is John pressed to his side, of how his little brother is finally calm in his sleep, yeah, he'll deal with that later, he'll deal with the mess of John's cum later too, can't be bothered to even wipe it away with the blanket cause that seems like the worst idea possible, to wipe away what John has given him. Nono he lets John's spend dry on his skin, hopes it stains him through.

-

John can't get any of last nights events out of the forefront of his mind all day, eyes always darting to Tommy, fixating on his hands, perking up at ever word Tommy says, can't stop hearing "Attaboy, John" in his head. He knows Tommy can feel his eyes tracking him, he knows because every single time Tommy touches Arthur, he looks right at John, like he can see the spike of arousal that spears John right in the gut, trailing up his spine and coiling around his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and even harder to think. But he needs to think so that he doesn't do something stupid, can't fuck this up so early, the day after, not even 12 hours later.

It's intentional, it has to be intentional, Tommy is touching Arthur more today than he has in the last week, constantly has a hand on him somewhere. And it only gets more intimate, more invasive. Beginning at Arthur's shoulder at the start of the day, a good morning, then Tommy's fingers linger on the teacup he's passing to Arthur for a second too long so that Arthur is technically also touching Tommy in return- and doesn't that send a thrill of... Jealousy? Want? That sense of missed opportunity cause now John is aware that he hadn't touched Tommy much at all last night, certainly hadn't seen or heard Tommy finish. Anyway, John is violently pulled from that thought because now Tommy's hand is resting on the middle of Arthur's back, making slow circles as Arthur coughs up a lung, choking on something -John wasn't bloody paying attention- and then Tommy is fucking talking.

"You're not one to choke often, are ya?" It's said with mirth, yes, but there's a heat in Tommy's eyes that only John can see beings as Arthur is currently bent over the sink- and oh, there goes Tommy's fucking hand, down to the small of Arthur's back, splaying his fingers apart across his crisp white shirt, tips of his thumb and pinky nearly spanning the small width of Arthur's waist. Fuck. Fuck Arthur and his stupidly narrow frame, always looking breakable if not for John's personal knowledge of just how fucking strong Arthur is, how all that wiry muscle behaves exactly how Arthur wants it to, cording under his skin when he strains any.

The ways John wants to make Arthur strain...

"The fuck-" There's a wet cough, "The fuck's that supposed to mean?" Arthur snaps, eyes a little red, brows pinched together, color high on his cheeks.

-

It's almost like Tommy is mapping out a trail for John's eyes to follow, slipping 'round till it reaches the desired destination. At one point, Tommy's hand lands a playful swat to the seat of Arthur's trousers, not really connecting but it's like a fucking car crash for John, like a bomb going off in a busy bar, he just can't fucking look away. There's a whistle sounding in the room, right? It's not just John's ears ringing... Right? There's no fucking way that's made his head buzz and his eyes go a little blurry around the edges. No fucking way.

Except it did, and his face is hot, and he feels like he's about to sweat through his shirt and waist coat and jacket all in a few seconds, all from watching his big brothers horse around like a couple of teenagers in the betting shop. His cock twitches in his trousers, interested and quick to stand at attention. He's glad he's sitting down, crotch safely hidden behind Tommy's desk where it's oh so easy to place his hand on top of the rapidly forming tent, willing it to go away because how is he supposed to stand up and leave looking like he's shoved a flag pole down his pants?

Luckily for him, Tommy's phone rings, forcing Tommy to put his hands up in mock-surrender, slowly backing his way around his own desk to where John is still sitting in the large chair, eyes locked on Arthur's own. And John can't exactly move now can he? So he doesn't, stays where he is while Tommy braces a hand on the edge of the desk, bent at the hip, other hand reaching for the phone which is on it's fourth ring, and just watches with mild panic as Tommy takes a seat -his seat- directly in John's lap, somewhat-sorta crushing his cock but again what the fuck is John supposed to do here without making everything painfully obvious? Eh? What the fuck is he supposed to do?

"Thomas Shelby," Tommy answers, the picture of composure perched atop his newly conquered throne. "Yes, tomorrow, six AM."

With a little ring of the bells as Tommy places the phone back on the receiver, he says with none-too-well concealed excitement and a sneaky shift of his hips, "looks like we've got an early start tomorrow, brothers, best get to bed."

------

1,641 words of Fucked Up served hot and fresh from the Fucked Up Factory

(the boxer shorts John was wearing cause he's a playful guy)

ARTHUR SHELBY ▸ Peaky Blinders, 5.4

How do you think Joaquín would act hearing Sam's morning voice for the first time?

Sorry I just had a small idea is all

Oh my, never apologise for hopping into my inbox with cute Samquín ideas!

I might revisit this in an actual fic at some point, so I’ve just offered a couple of little ideas.

The first time, they’re not together and he’s just had to wake Sam up when he’s dozed off en route to a mission. Sam’s all disoriented, and Joaquín is a little smitten, but he’s absolutely a professional and he can totally be cool about this. Sam saying a sleep rough, thanks Torres is not something he can really dwell on in that moment. But maybe he finds himself thinking about it a little later that night, thankful he’s got a hotel room to himself instead of a cot in the barracks

The second time, it’s the first time Sam’s stayed over. They’ve been dating for a few weeks, and Joaquín is really trying not to get carried away, but he’s pretty sure Sam is the love of his life. He’d woken up first, and just laid there watching Sam dozing. He looked so peaceful, the only thing weighing on him being Joaquín’s arm thrown across his chest. He’s breathtaking and Joaquín hadn’t known how he’d got this lucky. He’d pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s shoulder, and the other man had woken up and just hmmed, mañana mi cielo in that thick, rough, sleepy voice that went straight to Joaquín’s cock. His not-boyfriend-yet-but-someday just purring in Spanish, with that pet name, sounding all tired and fucked out, and just perfect? He’d be a mess. Whatever they had planned for that day would absolutely be pushed by a good hour, because there is lazy, easy morning sex happening.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

something about the saved becomes the savior or whatever-

i find it so funny how he just. became jesus

don't do that

Peaky Blinders #3.05