Poxipol x Shattered feelings

He swallowed it all with pleasure, tasting the semen and remembering the feeling of the first time he got Shelby’s cock. Thought it wasn’t a dream come true, it was something he wanted to accomplish for quite a time. And he wasn’t above inwardly gloating about that fact. Besides, Thomas just called him “Nath!” for the first time.
He smiled and licked his lips again, then stood up only to bend over Shelby. He send him frivolous smile and a winked.
“I recommend myself for the future,” he said, then kissed him, delicately biting Thomas’ lower lip. “When you get better, I’ll show you how rough I can be.”
Still standing between Thomas’ parted legs, he reached for the wet cloth. Thankfully the water in the bowl was still lukewarm.
“Now, just lay back and let me do what I want,” he said, but didn’t move abruptly. Instead, he made sure Thomas could see what he was doing.
He did promise to help Tommy clean up, didn’t he? And if he wanted to make it long and sensual, who could stop him? Riverside made sure to wash every inch he could access, focusing on the most tender and erogenous areas – and throughout it all, he hummed softly.

Tommy tried to stretch his arms a little, obviously content with his life at the moment and he finally opened his eyes, looked straight at Riverside's face, surprisingly unashamed. Shelby just lied there for a moment, letting his mind wander, catching his breath and enjoying a few minutes without focusing on his constatnt dizziness and dull pain.
Fuck, what those last few months did to him? Just when exactly did he get so desperate for a few moments of peace? That was not good.
"We'll see about that." Blinders' leader looked at the bowl and then, then he seemed to get a little tense again. Someone here didn't like to be treated like a kid. Or being taken care of in general, because even if Thomas was not above accepting pleasure when it was given to him, he definitely was above getting aroused and whiny while getting cleaned like a child. But the worst thing was that Shelby actually did enjoy some parts of this, his tired, unfocused brain actually was grateful for the teasing, but still gentle touches.
"Okay, that's enough." He said flatly, giving Nathaniel a calm look hating himself for the fact that he didn't actually had to work on sounding bored, because he was comfortable enough to feel pleasantly sleepy.
Fuck his life.

Who would’ve thought that all it took to make Shelby a tad bit more cooperative and in general more compliant, was a good blow job. On one had it made perfect sense in Nathaniel’s head, on the other, he still expected more troubles along the way.

But as for now, he enjoyed Thomas’ body, every part of it, as he tried to remember the feeling of his skin, the way his muscles reacted to his touch. The look on Shelby’s face – pure bliss he wanted so desperately to hide and yet, couldn’t.

If Thomas wasn’t injured so gravely, Riverside was sure, this whole situation wouldn’t happen.

“All right,” he agreed, when Tommy eventually put a stop to his ministrations.  “Go to sleep now, Tommy. You had enough for now.”

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on Thomas’ lips. He was addicted like that.

“I’ll wake you up for your medicine,” he then said, and then helped the man to get back to bed properly. He even tucked him in, even though Shelby looked as if this was the last thing he wanted in his life. Nathaniel only smiled gently.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said as a good bye, before he walked out of the room.

At least for one time in his life, Thomas didn't need to be told twice. He only nodded, held the duvet closer to himself and closed his eyes.
Jesus fucking Christ, he really got beaten up this time. How long was he awake? Tho hours? A discussion, few minutes with his son and one orgasm wore him up so badly that Shelby didn't have it in him to even protest, to say something about being treated like a kid.
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off now." Tommy murmured something else, but just a moment later, he fell asleep.
But life was never easy. Not for people like Thomas or Nathaniel.

Maybe three hours later Blinders' leader got woken up by a pained howl. It took him a moment to register that the sound was coming from his own throath, the numbing, killing pain from the side of his head and suddenly he was back in his dream, back on that fucking field, and the pain was coming from the bullet that did finally reach his head. He saw himself falling to his own fucking grave, his own blood falling to the ground, smearing on his cheeks, and he knew that this time he won't be getting out of there, that he will be leaving his family for good, and oh God, he was out of breath -
"Oh my God, Polly, she will never know where's the grave, this is the middle of fucking nowhere, fuck, they won't even know, they'll be waiting - "
Suddenly Thomas felt someone's hand on his arm. He pulled back, trying to run away, because he wouldn't let those fuckers touch him, not anymore.
"Fuck off, let me go!" This throbbing, fucking pain in his skull didn't help, why the fuck did he even felt the pain at this point? That was so fucking unfair, dying shouldn't be this fucking painful!

Nathaniel was a night owl, so when the first scream from Thomas’ room reached him, there was no time wasted on confusion on sleepiness, or even a second for hesitation. Nathaniel’s eyes widened, both in unpleasant surprise and instant worry. He didn’t care where he tossed the book he was reading – dressed in his own night robes, he ran toward Shelby’s quarters.
He reached the room in an inhumanly short amount of time, slightly out of breath and really, really concerned – he had already yelled at Maria to call for the nurse and the doctor. Whatever was happening, there was a high chance that Thomas will need professional treatment.
“Thomas!” He gasped, as he walked into the room.
Shelby was there, screaming his lungs out, tangled in sheets and desperately trying to get out of bed. Nathaniel took a second to double look – and yes, the man was still half-asleep, haunted by some kind of nightmare. When Riverside reached him, Thomas was mumbling about a grave in remote, unknow location. About his own death. About his family not knowing, still waiting for him.
Nathaniel didn’t wait and although Shelby resisted at first, with all his might, Riverside hugged the man, constricting his movements to a minimum, as to not deepen his injuries.
“Shh,” he started, in what he thought to be at least somewhat soothing. “I’ve got you Tommy. You’re in Edinburgh, Scotland. You’re safe. Injured but safe and recovering. Your son is here as well. He’s such a good boy, ay? Charlie. Remember him? Shhhh, little one, hush. I’ve got you.”
He started rubbing soothing circles on Thomas’ back and as they sat on the bed, Nat was rocking them gently as if he was trying to lull an infant.

Edinburgh? They took him to the fucking Scotland? There was no chance his family will ever find this place, if they will try to find it at all.
None of his brothers knew about his affairs with IRA, no one would even suspect that he got taken from the races and killed in the middle of fucking nowhere.
And what, what they would do in this situation? How long would it be before his family gave up on him? It hurt to imagine, but Thomas was not an idiot, he knew that after some time they will have to move on, just like he did in France, because eventually everybody moves on. Thomas thought about them waiting, and then standing over an empty grave, never knowing if he actually died or betrayed them, taking care of Charlie without him -
Wait. Charlie? Oh God, Charlie. His son, his boy, his everything.
Tommy wasn't on that fucking fields right now, because he had already been there, and he didn't die that day, how could he even forget that? How could he forget about crawling out of his own grave, the mud squelched under his feet, sucking him down, ready to bury him once more?
"Fuck!" Thomas slowly came back to the real world, noticed his shaky breath, cold sweat on his back, tears streaming down his cheeks. He felt Nathaniel's arms stopping him from hurting himself, his soothing touches actually making Shelby aware of his surrondings and calming him down.
"I'm fine, I'm okay, just a fucking dream." Thomas leaned his forehead on Riverside's arm and closed his eyes. He remained motionless, trying to slow his breath and heart, trying to stop his palms from shaking.
After a short moment though, Shelby tried to pull away and cover his mouth with his hand. His head was killing him, dizziness and pain mixed with memories were making him nauseaus again.
"Fuck off, don't want to throw up on you."

It was just as during the war – Nathaniel understood what nightmares are when he was on the front line, haunted by people he murdered and the ones that wanted to murder him. Damned by the possibility that he’ll never taste good whisky again, that he’ll never feel sun and clean air on his skin – by the chance, that he’ll die there, unnoticed, unimportant. Forgotten by all but a piece of white paper informing his family that he had died.
Back then, he was one among hundreds that couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep – back then, Shelby had had his brothers to soothe him and to comfort him. They were inseparable, the three of them and part of Nathaniel envied Thomas for having such comfort. For having someone to trust, to rely on. But on the other hand, he couldn’t imagine worrying about his family on the battlefield.
“Slowly,” he muttered, when Shelby seemed to come to his senses. Riverside would have to ask about that grave in the middle of nowhere at other occasion. Now, Thomas’ health was the most important.
“Doctor will be here shortly,” he said, keeping his voice low and his hand still on Shelby’s back, rubbing him gently. “Do you need a bowl?”
Nathaniel would rather that Shelby didn’t threw up on the floor if he could simply give the man a bowl instead.
“Keep breathing,” he reminded him, when Shelby looked as if he might pass out.

"No. I'm better. I'm fine. It's jus' my head killin' me." Oh God, he was actually slurring. No, that wouldn't work.
Shelby took another deep breath and looked at Nathaniel. The man was in his night clothes, visibly affected by the situation, still a little bit out of breath, concern basically written on his face. Apparently he ran here, in the middle of a night, just to calm Thomas down.
Shelby felt the guilt building up. Great. He woke the man and made a scene in the middle of a fucking night. And wasn't that just pathetic? The fact that Nathaniel actually decided to come here, that he tought that Shelby needs to be comforted? Thomas would laugh at himself if he wasn't so dizzy.
"Sorry for wakin' you up. That's childish."
The thing was, Birmingham's king actually wasn't used to being comforted: during the war he was the sergeant major, and he deeply believed that he was the one who had to make sure his soldiers were fine, that they had slept and ate, he was the one to provide clothes, shelter and help, he was the one to always keep a brave face. Not the other way around. And he brought those beliefs back to Birmingham, because he tought it was actually a good thing, that the war that made him realise it was his resposibility to not show any weakness, to be immovable. Tommy believed he came back cold, that he solidified his former dreams into iron ambitions. For some time he actually believed that nothing moved him now, that no guilt restrained him, and no violence is beneath him.
Shelby, from time to time, had problems believing this bullshit himself sometimes. Other people couldn't have those doubts. The irish bitch was right - Tommy had a fucking reputation to uphold.
"Fuck off, I'm good." Brunette tried to pry himself away from Nathaniel's hand. Slowly - and way to delicately, but fuck this now - he brushed his his fingers against his brushed skull. Even such a slight touch made him hold his breath. Fuck.
"Just give me more painkillers." Tommy gave Nathaniel a look. Well. That didn't sound very nice. "Please".
Someone knocked on the door. Propably a doctor. God, if he didn't have some good stuff, Shelby would kill him. Right here and now.
"And a cigarette. God, kingdom for a smoke..."