ANTONY & CLEOPATRA → ALFIE SOLOMONS

christmas kisses

only one or two more chapters left!!!! ah!!!!

More smile than actual kisses. A holds mistletoe above their heads while B rolls their eyes, but pulls A down by the collar of their ugly Christmas sweater for a heated kiss. A takes B by the waist and walks forward until they are around the corner, away from the prying eyes and hoots of the rest of their friends and family.

The last place Alfie wanted to be on Christmas day was in Small Heath, Birmingham, surrounded by the Shelby family scoundrels.

But here he was. He had little Polly on his lap, listening to her intently as she spoke to him in her baby blabber, actively avoiding conversation with Tommy, who was seated on his left.

"Alfie, now's a good time to talk about the exports of your rum into—"

"Tommy," Alfie interrupted, gesturing towards his daughter, who had since ceased her talking as her uncle started speaking. "I'm busy here with my daughter, mate. Developing language skills, and such. So if you don't mind..."

"Dada," Polly whined, her grubby little fingers grasping at Alfie's beard and tugging roughly. "Hgh. Glub."

"Yes," Alfie responded, nodding understandingly. "I'm happy you pointed that out, sweet-pea. Uncle Tommy's head does resemble a box, you're quite right about that."

Defeated and a little bit offended, Tommy stood up and made his way into the kitchen, no doubt to complain to his sister about her insufferable husband. In his place, Finn took a seat next to Alfie, grinning happily as little Polly squealed with delight, reaching out her grubby hands towards her favourite uncle.

"Here you go, lad," Alfie grunted, passing off his daughter to his second-favourite Shelby (with you being the first, of course). "Your sister's still in the kitchen, is she?"

Finn nodded, bouncing little Polly on his knee as she giggled and reached for his cheeks, holding his face in her teeny little palms.

"Yeah," Finn said, kissing the girl's chubby cheeks. "She was asking for you, I think."

With a groan, Alfie hoisted himself up, reaching for his cane laying against the side of the couch. As he hobbled towards the kitchen, the woman of which he named his daughter after caught his eye, beckoning him forward. With a heavy sigh, Alfie made his way towards Polly, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to her. The blonde woman she had been speaking with—Arthur's wife; Brenda, he thinks—gave him a curt nod before abruptly standing up and moving to sit next to Finn.

"So, how's your first year of fatherhood treating you, Alfie?" Polly asked, lifting her teacup to her lips as she watched him closely. "Has your daughter proven herself a Shelby yet?"

"What, with the standoffish arrogance and thirst for life-threatening situations?" Polly gave his words an amused look. "Not really, no. Perhaps she's more of a Solomons."

"Bad temper and brute strength, then," Polly said, but Alfie recognized her to be joking. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm glad she has you, Alfie. I've never seen her look so...light before. I'm not usually wrong about matters of the heart, but I have to admit I didn't see this going very far."

Alfie snorted. "Thanks, love."

Polly placed a feeble hand on Alfie's knee, squeezing lightly. "It's a good thing, Alfie. A really good thing." She lifted her cup of tea. "To a long, happy life with your beautiful daughter."

Alfie was about to open his mouth and respond with some sort of thanks before he heard his name being shouted from the kitchen. With a friendly pat on Polly's hand, Alfie stood and made his way into the other room, casting a final glance at his daughter, who was happily gnawing on Finn's knuckle.

"Yes, love?" Unfortunately for Alfie, Tommy Shelby was the world's worst fucking tattletale. "Oh, bother."

"Did you say Tommy had a square head?"

Alfie pursed his lips. "That I did, love, yeah."

You rolled your eyes at your husband, hands behind your back. "You are aware that we're siblings, correct? Siblings who share the same head shape?"

Alfie nodded thoughtfully, resting his cane against the kitchen table. "Unfortunately, I do, yeah." He noticed the way your hands were strategically placed behind your back, and he nodded towards you. "What've you got there, love?"

"None of your business." Alfie's lips pushed into a small pout and you were disgusted with how easily you gave in. "Oh, fine, you ginormous puppy. It was supposed to be a surprise for Arthur and Linda, but I guess I can let you in on the fun."

Alfie approached with small excitement, hands reaching out to hold your waist. "I don't think I've been this excited since the birth of our child."

You couldn't help but giggle. "Close your eyes, Alf."

Alfie wasn't a man who followed orders unless they were from you, so he shut his eyes and let you have your fun. A moment passed before you spoke again.

"Okay, open 'em."

Alfie opened his eyes to see you on the tips of your toes, your arm lifted above your heads, a stupid, adorable grin on your face. He felt himself admire you for a moment before lifting his eyes, his own smile forming at the sight of the mistletoe pinched between your fingers.

"You are such a child," Alfie grumbled, using his grip on your waist to tug you closer nonetheless. "A Christmas mistletoe? Really?"

"Gimme a kiss?" You asked sweetly, shutting your eyes and puckering your lips with exaggeration. "Please?"

Alfie chuckled as he positioned a hand on your back, dipping you slightly as he planted a sweet, soft kiss on your lips. The mistletoe fell to the ground as your arms wrapped around his neck, lips pillowed against his in the most desirable way possible. Kissing Alfie was something that would take your breath away until the day you died.

"Oh, fucking come on." You groaned as you pulled away from Alfie at the sound of your brothers voice, still holding onto Alfie as you glared at Tommy. "We fucking eat here. Take these activities elsewhere, please."

"Oh, come on, Tom," you sighed, releasing Alfie and reaching down to pick up the fallen mistletoe. "It's just a little Christmas kiss. It's quite cute."

"No."

You gave your brother a devilish grin, launching yourself at him in the small kitchen with no warning, making him grunt as he caught you in his arms. He peered down at you with unamused eyes as you lifted the mistletoe.

"Gimme a kiss, Tommy," you cooed, leaning forward and pressing wet kisses all over your brother's face. "Please?"

Tommy—albeit reluctantly—found it within himself to peck you on the cheek before practically shoving your giggling self off of him and into Alfie's arms.

"You are a fucking Scrooge, Thomas Shelby."

"Yeah, merry fucking Christmas to you too."