You were sitting at the vanity in the dim light of the preparation room the warm gold of the lamps reflecting in the mirror. Lipstick was the final touch your hands trembling slightly not from fear but from that heavy electric mixture of emotions that always came with Thomas Shelby. The dress flowed over your hips like a silk wave and the air smelled of powder and the roses resting on the table.

You did not hear him enter. You saw him only in the reflection dark suit hair slicked back that familiar shadow in his eyes that softened only for you.

Before you could say anything his hands wrapped around your shoulders. His fingers slid slowly firmly marking their presence on your skin. He lifted you from the chair as if you weighed nothing turning you toward him. His body pressed to yours warm certain hungry for the closeness he had denied himself for weeks.

You wrapped your hands around his wrists softly not stopping him more as if trying to pull him back to reason.

“Tommy… there’s half the British army down there…” you whispered feeling his breath against your lips the tension in his muscles that unmistakable strength that never needed words to take over every inch of space around you.

He only lowered his head closer brushing your cheek with the tip of his nose as if checking whether you were real.

Then in a low quiet voice that sounded like a promise and a warning at the same time he answered

“Let them wait. You’re mine before you’re theirs.”

He did not move back even a fraction.