Peaky Blinders | Imagines and Headcannons | Tommy Shelby | Redghs

No Names | Michael

Word Count: 468

Warnings: Fluff (?) Leading to smut/Drinking/Smoking

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He'd been looking at you all night; the man with a styled curl in his hair and a cigarette glued permanently to his lips. Wherever you went, he was there, leaning against a wall or partaking in a group conversation that held no interest to him. His eyes followed you, the odd smile catching your attention before he diverted his gaze, playing the hard game, letting you come to him.
You'd been attending a wedding with your mother, some cousin of a cousin was marrying the infamous Peaky Blinders leader, Tommy Shelby. You didn't know Grace personally, however your father couldn't bare to see her married off to such a 'villainous man', and so you had been invited to go in his place; an idea which, at the time, sounded like hell on Earth.
Although, as the party went on, you warmed to the idea, catching sight of the handsome stranger once again. This time, however, instead of simply staring back, you bit at your lip ever so slightly - a move you knew he had seen even from across the packed dining hall. Lifting your chin gently, you signalled his presence in one of the many bedrooms upstairs; and when he set his drink down on the table beside him, moving swiftly to the grand staircase, you knew he had gotten your message. 

-

Now, the two of you met in one of the many guest bedrooms of the Shelby residence, your back pinned against the door, the stranger's hand gripping your neck tightly - raising your lips to his. You couldn't help but whimper as his knee parted your legs and lips found their way to your neck - sucking hungrily at the exposed skin beneath your ear, his hands now resting on your hips.
The way the stranger took a-hold of you - claiming you, resting his weight against yours as his fingers danced toward the fabric adorning your thighs - you could only guess he belonged to the Shelby clan, with his brazen 'can-do' attitude.
You tried to speak, however your voice simply spoke as a gasp, a muted whimper the stranger chuckled at - his lips still at your neck, nipping ever so slightly, bruising the delicate plain below your lobe.
"What's your name?" You finally asked, causing the stranger to raise his gaze, once more, to yours, a deep-seated lust filling his iris'.
"No names..." His voice rumbled in reply, a soft sound in the large room you occupied. As your lashes batted against your flushed cheek, he bit at his lip ever so slightly and a warm flood cascaded over your body, the stranger forcefully taking your hips in his palms once again.
"Now..." He spoke again, this time leaning into your ear, breath dancing hot against your lobe "...Why don't we have some fun?"