It was the warmest evening Warwickshire had seen in some time. Where the chill still pierced through the atmosphere with it's rightful September claim, as summer bled into autumn just the week prior, but there was a balminess that engulfed the air. A gentle essence that descended over the rolling landscape, you watched with absentminded eyes through the glass of the tall and imposing bedroom windows.

It wasn't yet cold enough that your body erupted in goosebumps, altering the smooth glide of your flesh, standing in the tranquil environment of the bedroom in that of pure silk. For it cascaded down your frame in a breathless lavender hue, as though it wasn't the season of changing leaves that was upon the land, but that of dawning spring. The tones of flowers blooming with life in a world that so desperately needed it, a color of softness, tampering the edges of a world harsh and ruthless as it did all it could to tear away traces of such genteel and purity.

Your skin was nearly completely bare to the air around you, feeling as it flowed around the coverage of silk and threatened to dip beneath the thin fabric, but you weren't the slightest bit cold. Whether in part to the warmer evening that engulfed the Earth in comforting shadows, pierced through by the heavenly glow of the full moon that enveloped the land in a pearl toned light, or the fact that a fire still crackled in the bedroom fireplace, you couldn't help but wonder if there was another reason entirely for your discovery of sudden and all-consuming warmth.

For it was strong, overwhelming your body in nothing but a sense of warmth that not only touched upon your bare flesh, but beamed upwards throughout your chest as though it might just heat you from the inside out. It was calming, in a way the flickering embers that twirled within the fireplace like the flames were entwined in a waltz, could never exude. For it washed over you like a tide, gentle but forceful enough that it cast away the heaviness that settled upon your chest and you inhaled deeply for the first time since you retreated to the bedroom for the night.

Perhaps, it had always been Thomas Shelby who exuded such fervent heat, all the while, harboring the true extent of the world's cold. For his orbs were ice, chiseled like that of his immaculate bone structure, into glistening irises that burned beneath the chill of frozen cerulean that consumed them. His mind, torn apart and sewn back together with shaky hands, remained in the clutches of a trench, cold and exposed to the harsh realities that revisited him all these years later. Despite having his feet back on solid ground, despite making it home from France with his life intact, it was an abyss in which his brilliant mind resided, one in which not a single soul but his own could touch. And his heart, strings pulling and beating to keep the man, who somedays wished against it, alive.

There were undeniable flickers of warmth that flashed from the aching organ, for you'd seen it, you'd felt it, you rather believed your name was etched upon that single part of his heart. But what once consumed the entirety of that beating muscle, had been drained and rather ripped from the very seams, leaving the other parts of Thomas's heart a bloodied and chilling mass of tunnels, cavities within left cold and abandoned. Leaving his heart no choice but to close off and harden the parts no longer in use, the parts no longer salvageable after what the war and life as a blinder left behind.

It was bewildering with that notion, that Thomas could be such a source of exponential heat, that could permeate each and every pore and exposed section of flesh upon your frame and yet, he couldn't feel even an ounce of the very same warmth in which he shed upon you. There were days, as you watched the dead set expression within his blistering eyes, that you wondered if maybe he'd made some kind of deal with the devil. One that allowed him to bestow all of the overwhelming warmth he could upon you, giving him the strength to calm you and comfort you in ways he'd never be able to feel, all for the single price of never feeling his own sense of warmth.

It was a silly little thought and yet, looking at the man who you loved more than life should have ever allowed, you believed wholeheartedly that it was something Thomas Shelby would have done. For he was selfless in his own ways, not always perceptible to those around him, but they could be felt as though you needed not a single set of eyes to witness the extent of his devotion to those he loved.

His footsteps barely made a sound as they pattered along the hardwood, shoes abandoned at the door, leaving his toes bare to press imperceptibly against the panels as he made his way towards you. Thomas carried with him a presence, one in which could immediately perforate the air of the room he occupied, for even as your eyes continued to gaze out the set of windows looking over Arrow House's estate, you felt him as though he was a mere spirit descended upon your very shoulders. But he'd always had that profound aura about him, one that could replace the oxygen in the room with a single step. Thomas Shelby was not a man who went unnoticed but rather, the kind of man in which the world stopped time especially for.

It surprised you, the way Tommy hadn't a lit cigarette burning in the grasp of his fingers. For the man was hardly separated from his smokes, tobacco sustaining him more than any amount of food as you hardly saw him eat a meal, even when sat with you at the dining table, he reached for those white wrapped sticks over his cutlery each and every time.

You could sense the vacancy of fresh smoke without having to see the emptiness between his fingers, for although the bedroom was engulfed in the scent of cigarette smoke, it was worn and stale. There was something poignant in the fresh smoke, burning upwards from the end slowly turning to ash, that enveloped the air. It altered the feeling in the space that lingered between your two bodies as well, you realized after some time having observed Tommy's relentless habit ever since you met him. Like the warmth he exuded, that had the instant ability to wrap you in comfort and unwavering safety, there was something about the way that Tommy smoked that you wondered if it did the very same.

For when Tommy smoked, it was so second nature and essential to the very foundation of his character, that you wondered if he even noticed the way it evoked such power. There was something imposing in the way he inhaled and allowed the stream of coating smoke to permeate his lungs, all the while, keeping his eyes stoic and unshifting as though he were in a haunting trance that could leave men before him crumbling beneath the weight.

There was power in the way he could stand smoking his cigarette, studying you late into the evenings and you could all but read his thoughts, as though it trickled through the air and formed the words in the breath of ashen haze. His eyes prompting seduction in a way that only Thomas Shelby could, with a single gaze that could leave you weak in the knees and warm enough to shed every aspect of clothing before his fingers ever had the chance to try. As much as you yourself disliked the habit, there was something damningly alluring in the way he smoked. The way his fingers, calloused and thick, held the delicate stick between his very pads as he took a drag, and simply let the smoke funnel through the part in his full and pouted lips without a semblance of energy spent.

Tommy spoke not a single word as he approached you, his steps determined without a shred of hesitancy but there was something about his sudden company, that felt cautious. As though, even as he reached you without ever stopping to ask if he might venture closer, he tried his best not to startle you. It wasn't until his footsteps came to a leisurely slow, the tips of his bare toes threatening to brush against the bare heels of your own, as Tommy soon stood behind you. Feeling the warmth that exuded from his flesh like that of fresh beams of fallen sunlight, seeping through the fabric of his clothing you'd yet to lay eyes on, casting over your back as though you no longer stood within the cooling shade the evening had to provide.

There was an immediate comfort in his company however, one that not many would ever understand as to some, he would forever remain a gangster, a blinder, a heathen in their eyes. But as you felt Tommy's fingertips press gingerly against your hips, gliding with ease over the silk, until his arms coiled around your frame in a strong but tender embrace, it was like having the universe's touch upon you as it whispered that all would be alright.

Your hands found his own, as his forearms flattened just beneath your navel hidden by the lavender silk, trailing your fingertips along the veins swollen and thick as they ran beneath his warm and exposed flesh.

Tommy's scent engulfed you almost as strongly as his arms had, as the scent of his intoxicating cologne, worn from the day but still lingering against his skin, as though the aroma was merely a part of himself. He smelled of a bewildering mixture of sweat and soap, a crisp and clean scent melding with the heady and masculine tones of his natural flesh, and he smelled of the Earth. Something grounded in the nature that surrounded Arrow House, the wind lingering along his collarbone from where the breeze had dipped below his collar and the aroma of soil dampened and rich by the leftover rain water.

His exhale fanned along the nape of your neck, as you felt his head dip to the left and slowly inch closer to the exposed and hypersensitive flesh, sparking a chill to climb its way up your spine from the warmth that smelled of the distinct sting of Irish Whiskey and something oddly refreshing, like that of peppermint.

Tommy's touch had an ability to make you feel like you might just dissolve where you stood, as though you were merely sand running through an hourglass, slipping through the cracks of his fingers without a chance of being captured. For his lips descended upon your neck, the softest patter of kisses trailing down the flesh, like that of butterfly wings tapping against a glass window. Gentle and nearly imperceptible, until he began to suggestively nip and tug, bound to leave peppered marks of blistering red behind come the gleam of morning light.

Your eyes fluttered closed, unable to withstand his touch, leaning back into his hold until you could very nearly feel the beat of his thumping heart against your back. Tommy's welcome assault of tempting touches and alluring kisses continued, but it was as his left hand unhooked from it's placement firm around your waist and began to travel north, that your eyes flashed open and the suffocating rise of anxiety thundered within your chest.

For his fingers toyed with the thin strap of your nightgown, gliding the calloused pad of his middle finger over and around, as he was on the very verge of sliding it down your shoulder. But his fingertips danced along a puckered and deep laceration, one that had since scarred over but remained raised and jagged along the base of your shoulder blade. It made your breath hitch, as his touch danced along the evidence that peppered your body in jagged lines, as though you were merely a map of running rivers. For even as the night that left you scarred and forever marred by the memories of the dreadful evening, was months ago in the very peak of summer, you still hadn't gotten used to the way your body appeared or the way Thomas's touch felt over such marks left behind.

Perhaps it was always bound to happen, at one time or another, in one way or another. Perhaps, being with Thomas Shelby the way in which you were, loving him and being immersed in his life the way that you were, was always going to come to a head with a price. It had found you that night in late July, in the middle of a dank and deserted alley, as Thomas had received colorful threats from a man he was trying to compromise on an expansion with, only to be extended to the rest of his family, you included.

Even though Thomas's life meant you'd witnessed your fair share of bloodshed, of dealings and business less than desirable or honest, of the lowest kinds of people to ever inhabit the Earth with a living, breathing soul, you never thought much about your own death. But that night, you were certain that God was to find your soul right there along the sodden and murky pavement, bleeding out from repetitive knife wounds that peppered your body. From the very tips of your shoulders all the way down to where your pelvis ended, stab wounds tearing through your body, as though it were merely a pencil having ripped through a sheet of paper.

You hadn't died that night however, having been discovered on the very brink of dawn by a good Samaritan walking by and recognizing the woman all knew to be Thomas Shelby's one true love. You didn't need a ring on your finger to symbolize to others that you were his, all of Birmingham knew, just as they would forever treat Thomas as though he was an appointed king in his city. You'd made it home, after spending agonizing nights in the hospital recovering from extensive blood loss, but you would never forget the look in Thomas's eyes when he rushed into your hospital room that first day. The fear that consumed his orbs as though it was searing and rage burned like a roaring fire, melting the ice that concealed his irises of bold cerulean. All but letting the pain and extent of vulnerability bleed into his sight as he sat at your bedside.

Months had passed since the incident and although time had certainly healed your wounds and attempted to heal the scars upon your mind, time did not a single ounce of mercy for Tommy. For he blamed himself, he berated and hated himself for what had happened, the guilt rather eating him alive. He'd never forgiven himself for what happened to you and you weren't convinced that he ever would.

Swallowing a deep breath, as your eyes gazed out through the windows, eyeing the way the pale moonlight flooded in through the glass and engulfed the front of your frame in it's pearl toned glow. "The moonlight washes over them like it'll make them less hideous."

They covered your flesh, from where your collarbone rested, down to the flesh just above your womanhood, jagged lines coated your body. Long healed over, they remained pink and inflamed, some even lingering with a tinge of bold red and somedays it felt as if you could still feel the searing stab of the blade tearing through. They had no pattern, no consistency, the knife dived beneath the surface of your vulnerable flesh in erratic movements that tugged and tore, leaving behind ghastly lacerations of each and every size.

Tommy's lips stilled along the swell of of your neck, his lips pausing their peppering of tantalizing kisses and you could feel as his fingers slowly retracted from their placement along the curve of your shoulder. Relinquishing hold of the thin strap of your nightgown, but he didn't pull away. "They're not hideous."

Tommy had the best poker face you had ever witnessed, for it was nearly impossible to gage whether or not the man was telling you the straight truth, if it was altered only a tad or if he spoke an entirely blatant lie. There were moments when you got lucky and could see it in the way his eyes looked at you, but right now, as you hadn't the ability to gaze into his orbs, you couldn't determine whether or not what he spoke was the truth. For he wasn't a man to shy away from honesty and yet, he was a man you'd learned would do all he could to spare your feelings and protect you in anyway he could. Perhaps, he was saying the words he thought you ought to hear, to make you feel less repulsive as you did peppered in scars up and down your body.

"Then what are they Tommy, ey?"

Tommy's nose buried into the warm flesh of your neck, inhaling softly as he took in a deep breath before expelling his honest answer in a serious exhale. "They're fucking nothing, is what they are, a whole lot of fucking nothing."

You wanted to believe his words for yourself, you wanted to pluck them from the air and lay them upon your aching heart, but thinking back to the way you now looked at yourself in the mirror and saw a woman you no longer recognized, you couldn't. You'd made it out of that alley with your life, the scars left behind on your body were nothing in comparison and yet, it didn't feel like they were nothing.

"Then how come it feels like everything?" You hated the meekness apparent in the crack of your voice. You'd always avoided being completely weak in front of Tommy, doing all you could to be just as strong as he always seemed to be, a pillar of composure and instilled sustainability, but there were times in which you crumbled. When you felt yourself crack down the middle and come apart at the seams. "Like they've torn straight through what makes me... me, Tommy?"

"Because you're letting them." Tommy responded and you felt his arm let go of your waist, only for his fingers to dip into your sides and spin you around. His movement slow and careful, but stern and forceful as you knew whatever it was that he wanted to say, something about it made him want to look you straight in the eyes when he said it. "Look at me, ey?"

His fingers lifted your chin that had dropped your gaze down to the floorboards, returning it to the bold current of his cerulean waves and his hands dropped to rest firmly against your hips. Feeling the warmth of his touch seep straight from the lines in his palms, through the silk as though there wasn't a single barrier of fabric to be found. His brows were raised, in the way they always seemed to arch when he was determined and confident, when he tried to convey his point across. But even as there was a daunting depth and chill to the way his irises bobbed beneath the ebbing waves of scrutiny, there was a tenderness within them that washed over you as his lips parted to speak in a low and steady voice.

"You're letting these fucking little marks change who you are, but they don't. They don't have any power at all, yeah?"

Running the tip of your tongue over your bottom lip that had gone drastically dry, like all of the moisture had all been evaporated up into your eyes as you felt the sharp sting of familiar tears threatening to make an appearance. "They have power when I look in the mirror and they're all I can see Tom, look at me."

"I am looking at you."

His tone was calm in a way you'd never felt and the way he stared into the depths of your eyes that began to glisten with the fresh sheen of tears, threatened to leave you breathless. For it was a simple response, one immediate as it nearly clipped the ending sensation of your own voice, but it hit your heart in a way that made you realize Thomas had always seen you differently than most. Perhaps, that was the reason why you two appeared to fit so perfectly. For you saw him in ways that he let not another soul see, you saw him in all of the ways in which he wished you wouldn't and all the while, he saw you like he could see into your very soul. Falling in love with what he found.

"Then you can't tell me, honestly, that you don't fucking see 'em."

You knew it was an unfair remark, as anything other than the God's honest truth spilling from his lips, would be a lie that you both could recognize from a mile away. For it wasn't that Tommy hadn't ever seen your scars, in fact he'd seen them all with his own two eyes when they were still raw and oozing blood that had yet to clot. He'd seen the evolution of their healing process, slowly and painfully, watching as they became fainter but inevitably permanent across your flesh. When he looked at your imperfections, the evidence of your attack peppering you from nearly top to bottom, there was more guilt in his expression than that of repulsion. But there was always a part of you that wondered what he truly thought about them, about the way you looked now that you were nothing more than a human cutting board, scarred and forever burdened with the jagged lines left behind.

Tommy sighs deeply, feeling as a breath of warmth fans along your cheek and his hands tighten their grasp against your hipbones. Steadying you in place almost, as he take a single step forward and making sure he could look you straight in the eyes when he spoke his next set of words. "You know what I see?"

"I see a beautiful woman and you know why she's beautiful?" Tommy inquired in a rhetorical tone, brows arching yet again as he willed his words to be strong enough to banish the doubt and self detest from your head. "Because she's fucking mine. She always has been but now, now she's got something tainting her fucking skin just like me. Something that shows off her bravery and her goddamn stubbornness for putting up with a man like me."

Tommy felt closer to you in some way, you realized in that moment, as though your purity had finally been tarnished and he was no longer the only one burdened with lifelong evidence of pain and imperfection. You were equal now, scathed by the world and left branded by it's ruthless touch and as much as Thomas would have never in his life wished for you to get hurt as you did, there was something in the end of it all, that made him feel like he was closer to you now. You shared imperfections now and it meant something to Tommy.

Tommy's right hand lifted from your hip and you felt as his thumb slowly brush along the flesh of your cheekbone. "It's skin love, you can shred it up and peel it from your bones, but it doesn't fucking matter. It's only skin because what you've got, it's still underneath and that isn't changing no matter how many knives try to carve it out."

Your head titled into the touch of his hand ever so faintly, gazing up into his orbs of bewilderingly warm arctic blue and breathed out one last question in a timid breath. "You really don't care about my scars?"

"Do you care about mine?"

And there, in Tommy's answer posed as an inquiry all his own, you discovered the truth you'd been seeking. For you didn't care about his scars, not a single one that lined his body or left behind deep and battered wounds upon his brilliant mind. They didn't matter to you, holding not a sway of interest either way, as your fingers trailed across them in bed at night or when the ones in his head became inflamed and lashed out into nightmares and isolation. You never once judged Thomas based on his scars, the imperfections that left him the man that he was and you realized in that notion, that he didn't judge yours either. He didn't care if your skin was no longer flawless and unscathed, he didn't think any less of you because after everything you'd seen, everything you'd been through, everything you knew of Thomas Shelby, you hadn't once thought any less of him.

Tommy loved you the way you loved him, completely and emphatically, with little regard to anything other than what lingered beneath the surface within your hearts and souls.

He wasn't always one to say the words or shower you with blatant affection that wasn't behind that of closed doors. But there was something in the way that Tommy looked at you, that made you feel like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. For his eyes were hardened by truth, they spoke not a single ounce of dishonesty when it came to his opinion of you, the waves of deep cerulean washing over you like a tide of breathless candor. It was staggering, the way you could peer into Thomas's eyes as he gazed downward at you, beneath the hovering shadow of his scrutiny and immediately know that what you saw swirling within the current of frosted blue, was honesty from the core of his heart.

Thomas saw you in a light that no one else ever had before, as though he had a way of looking straight into your soul and the very foundation of what made you a living human being, discovering that that was where true beauty stemmed. For it had never been that your worth was there upon your flesh or even in the fineries that you adorned, but rather beneath the surface, where only Tommy alone could see. Thomas Shelby had always managed to see you for all that you were and everything you had yet to know for yourself. No amount of scarring could alter the way in which the man before you now saw you.

The heat of Tommy's touch burned like a wildfire beneath his palms, as though the warmth seeped through the lines running long across his flesh and as they held their placement stern upon your hips, the fire spread straight into you. For it bypassed the silk, as though the lavender that concealed your bareness, was all but scorched straight through. That if he were to remove the firm grasp of his hands, prints might just be burned upon your flesh in the shape of his unmistakable touch. For even as his fingers slowly began to glide upwards, softly bunching the fabric in his hand's wake, it felt like his flesh was right there on top of your own. Branding you with his mark, despite the thinnest material separating you from the full extent of his touch.

You peered up through your lashes, finding the sight of frozen blue that burned with the heat of a melting sun through the delicate tear dampened sprawl, only to watch as his gaze faltered and fell to where his hands journeyed up your frame. Slowly with caution and yet, there was something agonizing in the way his fingers took their time. It was a bewildering sensation that only Thomas Shelby could invoke upon you, for you craved his touch as though it was the very thing that might just keep you sane or perhaps the one thing that might just quench an unrelenting thirst. But within the fervent desire he'd instilled in you after all the time you'd spent with the man, there remained a part of you that was as timid and soft as the very first time you'd been entangled in Tommy's sheets.

For as you peered up at him, as his own gaze washed down the inviting presence of elegant silk, you felt the eruption of butterflies in the pit of your stomach and their fluttering journey up into the cavity of your chest. For Tommy's touch had the ability to taint you with the most lascivious and enthralling sensations and yet, you felt breathless and anxious in the way his presence nearly overwhelmed you.

He was stripped down for the night, gone was the three piece suit that tailored his physique to perfection and abandoned was the cap once adorned with blades of glinting intimidation. Tommy stood before you now, appearing as though he was just an ordinary man, with an ordinary life.

Ivory concealed his flesh from the waist up, with the top two buttons of his long sleeve left undone, giving the slightest glimpse of the solid ink peeking out from the corner of his chest, where his heart lay thumping beneath the surface. The fabric bunched around his forearms, as though he'd been pushing up the sleeves a little too often in haste and it managed to accentuate his muscular build. With thick suspenders pressed firmly over his shoulders, as his trousers were laxed but were slowly beginning to keep little to the imagination in the wake of his sensual exploration of your silk clad body with his bare hands.

He was undoubtedly dignified and handsome in his suits, for you feared there was not a single instance in which you would never find the man, who's hands held you securely, anything but attractive and ravishingly alluring. But there was something about Tommy in this light, when he was dressed down and dare you say, relaxed, that you loved even more than the perfectly tailored suits. He looked like a simple man, who was simply loving a woman.

Thomas's hands trailed up your frame as though he had your body memorized in his head, like he needed not a single map to know where his fingers should journey, as the silk made sliding up your clothed frame easy. For he traced your exterior, the palms of his hands spreading heat as he moved up and over each and every divot of your ribcage, knuckles brushing against the very edge of your concealed cleavage until his fingers lifted and slid along your shoulders. It hadn't been long since his fingertips found the bare flesh left open to the air, welcoming in the heat of his touch. But this time, he didn't hesitate when the pads of his fingers found the thin straps of your nightgown. For as his chilling gaze of cerulean blue washed over your flesh, you felt the swift skim of straps trailing own your arms, until the silk collected in a puddle of spring blossomed lavender at your ankles.

The air was not cold enough for your exposed flesh to immediately burst with goosebumps or a strong shiver, but there was something about this moment that threatened to make your bones shake. For it certainly was not the first time you'd been intimate with Thomas since that dreaded night months ago, but it was the first time since that you'd been completely bare in front of him. You'd never shed all of your clothing when he took you to bed, claimed you as his own again and again until night turned to day, you'd always concealed the majority of your disfigured flesh from Tommy. But now, as he'd slipped the silk from your frame and you felt it wrap around your feet in a smooth bundle of security, you felt utterly vulnerable before him.

Thomas had a way, as you felt the unmistakable rake of his eyes up and down your naked frame, of looking not at what made the woman such, but at the woman for all that she was. For he took in the sight of your curves and the intimate parts of yourself that only his eyes were allowed to see, but there was not a single sensation of objectification. He looked at your body in undoubtfully lustful purposes but he also gazed at your body like it were a masterpiece created from the heavens.

Perhaps Tommy could sense the build of your nerves, rising higher in your chest that was beginning to tighten, for he stepped even closer and recollided his gaze with your own. Returning it to the sight of your eyes that watched his each and every movement and with a single flutter of your lashes, he leaned forward. Capturing your lips as though he hadn't kissed you in far too long. He tasted of smoke and peppermint and something perplexingly sweet, but it was a combination that touched upon your taste buds and immediately became an addiction.

For your craved his taste, his touch, the way in which his full lips collided over and over again with your own. Dominating and controlling you in a way that made you want to relinquish every ounce of power up to him, allowing him to take care of you however he saw fit. The temptation of his kiss was never more apparent, than in the sudden retracting of his lips, feeling the absence freeze against your lips as the source of flooding heat disappeared.

But Tommy's kiss wasn't far, as you soon felt his lips descend upon the bridge of your collarbone. Suckling the flesh that was left pink by the shallow slash of the blade, gliding down over a deeper wound now scarred over but still blisteringly red. Thomas Shelby began to kiss his way down your body, from the very top of your chest, all the way down to where his knees began to bend in order to touch upon the skin of your stomach, where the collections of scars were far deeper and evident beneath his kiss. His lips finding each and every scar that peppered your flesh and his touch felt like a soothing balm to your wounds.

Tommy kissed each and every scar, until not a single imperfection was left unscathed by the warmth of his touch. As though by the heat of his lips, pressing upon flesh puckered and inflamed, the marks that marred your body might just heal without a trace left behind. For as you woke to the timid streak of morning light breaking into the bedroom, curled unashamedly bare and exposed beneath the nestle of sheets against Tommy's firm chest, it felt as though he'd managed to absorb all of the pain and all of the hatred from your scarred over wounds. Leaving behind only love and acceptance in the collection of your beautiful imperfections.

A/N: Oh my, I'm slightly obsessed but completely in love with this piece! And also, I could stare at that GIF forever!😍❤

I fell in love with this idea as soon as it came to me and the scene and dialogue really unfolded for this one, flowing out of me and coming to life with ease! I really love exploring the softer, more sensual and romantic sides to Thomas and this was one that I could really picture. From the words I could hear in his voice, the look in his eyes and expression across his face, I could truly visualize Tommy in this intimate scene and it makes me so happy! This one shot is grounded in deep emotion and unbreakable love, and I am just so incredibly proud of how this piece turned out and all that I was able to create here!! I hope that you all enjoyed this piece as much as I loved writing it!❤