[Fic] Legend Shorts 2/2

[evisersia]

More short Legend Fic

Sleeping

It was the silliest thing they’d done, perhaps ever.  Teddy was prone to his little bouts, but Ron, at his lightest, was far too dignified for such childishness.  However, a few lighthearted drinks too many, and here they were, stretched out on a bed of pillows, under a tent made of blankets and furniture, that was set up in the middle of Ron’s sitting room.  Perhaps it was fond memories of livin’ in the caravan that made ‘em do it, or just aforementioned silliness; whatever it was, Teddy had to admit that it was nice.

They’d a bottle of whiskey between them, that they took a pull off every so often, but it seemed that the more athletic portion of their evening was far over.  Ron was stretched out on his back, staring up at their blanket as he chewed on the end of his cigar.  Teddy himself, was curled up in the crook of Ron’s arm, with his face pressed into the hollow there, as he leached Ron’s insurmountable heat.  Neither felt much like talkin’ anymore, and that was alright.  They didn’t need words, did they?

Ron’s arm curled around Teddy’s back, and Teddy uncurled into a languid stretch as those meaty fingers he loved so much carded through his curls then gave the locks a little tug.  Fuck, but that was nice.  He let out a happy sigh, and shifted even closer.

It was going to be hell and stiffness, if they woke up here in the morning, but Teddy found he couldn’t give a shit.  Ron was already far enough gone to not complain ‘bout Teddy layin’ all over him, and Ted?  Well, he was comfortable enough for the time being.

He let his eyes close.


Wounded

The tears in Ronnie’s eyes could have been anything–pain, anger, actual sadness.  Teddy didn’t ask, as he shepherded the other man into the bathroom they often shared and sat him down on the toilet.  In all his years of knowing the twins, the scene in the Barn had been something unlike Teddy had ever witnessed between them before.  Oh, it had started thrilling enough– a fist fight between two of the East End’s heaviest hitters, but oh how it ended.

Teddy put his feelings on it right out of his mind, as he pulled the kit from under the sink.  Reggie had torn Ron apart, now it was Ted’s duty to put the man back together.

“He jus’ don’t get it, Ted,” Ron rumbled, eyes closed, as Teddy started blotting away at the blood on his face, gentle as he dared.  “He don’ want to get it.  Thinks I’m as fucked in the head as all the rest.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that.  They both knew, that Reggie wrestled with it, and to disagree would just sound like empty condolences.  “Still loves ya though,” Teddy said instead, as he leaned over to rinse off his flannel.  This part of the cleanin’ up was the easy part; just ‘ad to get rid of all the extra blood to get to the heart of the matter, then another discrete swipe over Ron’s cheeks to wipe away the tears.  “Would do anythin’ for ya.”

“Funny fuckin way of showin’ it.”  Ron made to push Teddy away as he got angry again at the memory, but Teddy was having none of it, and slid into Ron’s lap to keep the man in place.  That he was keepin’ Ron there was an illusion at best, as the man could upend them both, easy, but Teddy was betting that Ron was as exhausted in body as he was in mind, and would use the easy excuse to accept a little comfort.

Teddy only made bets he was sure he could win– at least when he was betting with his own currency.

“He couldn’t even come t’see me, ‘fore ‘e went runnin’ to her,” Ron growled, prompting Teddy to abandon his flannel and plasters halfway through mending Ron’s torn knuckles.  “‘E’s leavin’ me behind.”

He gave Ron’s undoubtedly sore fingers a bit of a squeeze.  “Hey now, none of that.  He’s not leavin’ ya.  N’ever will, and neither will I.”  That was an empty promise, particularly in the face of Reg’s seeming abandonment, and they both knew it.  Teddy would always act in his own best interests.  It was just as hardwired into him, as Ron’s need would Reg was.  One day, this life they were livin’, it’d get to be too much, and Teddy would go.

But today wasn’t that fuckin’ day, and for now, they could afford to pretend.

Ron surprised Teddy by leaning forward then, and pressing his lips to Teddy’s forehead.  Teddy didn’t scarce breathe at the unexpected contact, but even after a moment passed, Ron didn’t pull away.  “See that you don’t, Teddy Smith,” he all but whispered against Teddy’s skin, hard to hear even as close as they were.  Ron breathed in deep, taking in the scent of Teddy’s hair.  “I don’t know I could stand the loss.”


Holding Hands

They were on holiday, Italy again, as Ron preferred it, when Ron grabbed Teddy’s hand to drag him over to a street artist. 

“Look at this fuckin’ craftsmanship—”  Ron was talkin’ and pointing at a pot or a painting or somethin’ as he rambled about the fine make, and couldn’t get anythin’ like fuckin’ that in the East End, but Teddy was a bit too distracted about the way Ron hadn’t let his hand go, to pay the rambling any mind.  Being abroad tended to make the both of them bold, but these kinds of touches were still rare, and far between, normally saved for special moments, hidden away under tables where no one could see.

Here, everyone could see, but no one was lookin’.

When he realized he wasn’t bein’ listened to, Ron gave Teddy’s hand a tight squeeze, and Teddy startled, bringin’ his eyes up from where he was lookin’ at their joined hands back up to Ron’s face.  “What?  Oh.  Yeah Ron.  It’ll look lovely on the mantle.”


Washing Up

“Christ Ron,” Teddy cursed and shivered as Ron dumped a pitcher full of water over his head.  While the caravan was very comfortable for most things, bathing wasn’t one of them.

Ron let out a snort then, did it again.  “No lip from you, Teddy Smith, as it was you what got us into this mess to begin with.”

At least, the seclusion of the caravan meant there was no one around to witness the two of them washing the remains of what was supposed to be their supper from their bodies.  Teddy couldn’t even say how it’d happened.  One moment, they were sharing their meal, pretty as you please, and in the next, the food was everywhere as the two of em scuffled on the floor.

“Ain’t how I remember it,” Teddy huffed, petulant.

That moodiness didn’t last long.  Teddy couldn’t help it.  He was conditioned, well and truly.  Ron picked a couple of crumbs from his hair, then ran his fingers through the curls, and Teddy was gone.  All of a sudden, the cold didn’t matter so fuckin’ much anymore.

“Oh, and how do you remember it then?”

Teddy blinked.  Remember what?  “Ah, don’t fuckin’ matter, long as you keep doin’ that.”

Ron chuckled, but he didn’t stop; not until Teddy’s hair was pristine.


Reading

“What’re’y’ reading today, Ted?  Is it Shakespeare or Austen?”  Teddy was mildly surprised when Ron chose to sit next to him on the couch rather than perch in his great wingback monstrosity of a chair.  

He uncurled a bit, to accommodate Ron’s weight against his side, and flashed the other man a grin.  “Even better.  Wilde.”

Ron returned Teddy’s grin with a grunt, then after a moment, turned to stretch out along the length of the couch with his head in Teddy’s lap.  He had that pinched look about him, the one that made Teddy less surprised that Ron’d chosen the couch instead of the chair.  Bad day, then.   “Read it to me.”

Teddy shifted the book to one hand, as he flipped it back to the beginning.  He’d been near halfway through the book, but Ron would accept nothing less than from the beginning.  There was an order to books, after all.  His free hand drifted down, over Ron’s forehead, his touch light as he soothed the tension lines he found there, then up, into Ron’s hair to slowly start to loosen the locks from the product that kept them slicked flat.

Ron, let out another pleased grunt, turning into the touch, and Teddy, keeping his voice soft, began to read.  “The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden….”

Their afternoon passed that way, with Teddy reading and scratching his fingers over Ron’s scalp, until, towards the end of the third chapter, Ron relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.  Teddy kept on reading then, on through the fourth, until he was sure Ron was truly out, then turned back to his original place to continue on.

There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.


Silky
Teddy liked to pretend there were lines he wouldn’t cross and things he would not do.

The problem, with those lines was he’d say, here’s the line and that he’s not gonna cross it, then moments later stroll right over it with the kind of shamelessness he’d been born with.

See, Teddy might have been HOMOSEXUAL, capitol letters very much intended, but there wasn’t much that was effeminate about him.  So, until that box filled with frilly lacy things showed up on his doorstep, dressing like a bird had never even crossed his mind.  Even after, he shoved the box underneath the bed, wrote the benefactor a lovely thank you note –because a gift was a gift, even if he wanted no part of it-, and promptly forgot it was fuckin’ there.

Or so he told himself.

It only took another week for Teddy to get curious.  He pulled the box out and spread the contents out one by one.  The stockings and panties were easy enough, but there was shite in the box that Teddy couldn’t even begin to name.  It wasn’t like he had any practical experience with any of it.  He poked and prodded at it all, then shoved it in a dresser drawer, curiosity satisfied.

But no.

It didn’t even take days this time, for Teddy to pull the items out, and slowly slip them on.  He ripped the first set of stockings while fighting with the garter, and had to start over again, but through the power of trial and error, got himself sorted–

–and wasn’t that interesting.  Teddy got no real thrill from it himself, but he couldn’t deny that the way the fabric clung to his skin was intriguing.  The way the scrappy bits of lace framed his arse alone were worth more experimentation.

He left them on.  That night at the Barn when no one was looking, Teddy took Ron’s hand and placed it on his thigh where the other man could feel the lines of the garter belt hidden underneath the fabric of his trousers.  Ron blinked, and rubbed a his finger along the edges.  “Well what the fuck’s all this then?”

“Surprise,” Teddy grinned.  “For later.”

Later came and went, and so did they.  Teddy might’ve crossed a line he set out not to, but seein’ Ron’s eyes as he unwrapped his present then ripped it off while fuckin’ into Teddy like a freight train.

Teddy sent the benefactor another thank you note.


Shiny Things

Teddy’s weapon of choice had always been a switchblade, and for one, very memorable encounter, a salad fork. 

Ron, well, he was a master at using whatever was on hand, and if nothing was in reach, his fists.

Reg was a different matter.  Like Teddy, he carried his weapon with him wherever he went, tucked away in a jacket pocket, just in case.  The brass knuckles were simple little things, but elegant in the same brutal way of their owner.  Teddy came across them one, laid out on Ron’s kitchen table after a fight with their golden sheen tainted with a smear of blood.

He cleaned them up; he took as much care as he had with Ron’s skin, just an hour before, and rubbed at the metal until the surfaces were all gleaming.  Reggie came across him then, cigarette dangling between his lips as he took in the scene.  “Didn’t your mum ever teach you not to touch what’s not yours, Teddy Smith?”

“She might’ve tried,” Ted, he just smiled and pushed them back across the table.  “But I’ve always been drawn to shiny things.”

Ties

Teddy kept neck ties like memories.

The first one, he nicked.  Was a plain, tweedy brown, cheap, and nothing special.  Teddy’s date for the evenin’ had stuffed it in his mouth, when he realized that no, Teddy wasn’t gonna’ shut up even while he was gettin’ fucked.  Teddy learned a little bit of something about himself that night, and the tie, well, it was stained and not good for wearin’ so what did it matter?

The next was borrowed- black, still cheap.  Teddy had an impression to make, and didn’t have the funds, or the time to steal one before the meeting. Except, it became less borrowed and more kept for himself– another memory, and a good luck charm, to the start of something new. 

Two days after their meeting, Ronnie Kray tied Teddy’s hands with it, and hung them on a coathook, because Teddy wouldn’t stop his fuckin’ squirmin’.  Teddy didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know from it, but his life changed all the same.

All the rest that mattered came from Ron.  One with a brand new, bespoke suit, to keep his boy pretty while they were out on business, another most definitely not for their one year anniversary.  Teddy collected them in all sorts of colors, styles, and never gaudy patterns.

The one he’d been wearin’ the night of the fight, was a beautiful plum silk that he burned his first night in Australia.  Some memories weren’t worth keeping.



Two -NSFW

Reg’s deft fingers run their way along Teddy’s ribcage, and beyond the roaring in his ears, he can hear Ron snort behind him.

“Look at my sweet brother, Ted.  Lookit him telling us to go easy and take it fuckin’ slow, but we both know you can take it, can’t ya, Ted?”  It’s just as well Ron doesn’t expect an answer, because Teddy’s already riding that line of too painful to keep going but don’t you fucking stop.  “So stop your wrigglin’ and fucking take it.”

Like Teddy has much choice to do anything but hang there, all but limp between them as they take their fill.  It’s not his first time handlin’ a couple’a cocks at once, but this, it’s fuckin’ intense; just as he knew it’d be.  He’s stretched thin, and filled up at the same time, dick weeping in streams and spurts that end up smeared against his and Reg’s stomachs, close as they all are.

He’ll pay for the mess later, but Teddy can be a good boy when the mood takes.  Soon as he can draw breath without wheezin’, he’ll clean it up proper.

“S’beautiful, Ted,” Reg grunts, quieter than Ron, but no less present, as he thrusts up again, pushing Teddy back against Ron’s chest.  It might be Ted’s name the man’s saying, but Teddy sure as hell isn’t the one he’s talkin’ to.  No, ‘is gaze goes over Teddy’s shoulder, with that lazer focus that’s fuckin’ familiar and alien at the same time. 

See, normally, Ted might get a bit shirty about that, but in this company, he knows his place as well as he ever has.  He might be between ‘em, but he ain’t really between ‘em either.  Just a convenient excuse.  That’s fine, he’s happy enough where he is; gettin’ the fuck of his lifetime.


Brand of Crazy

It’s one thing know the rumors about Mad Teddy, and an entirely different one to fuckin witness it.

Next to Ron’s bulk and Ron’s brand of crazy it’s easy enough to dismiss the tike, that laughs too long and a little bit too loud and follows Ron about like a hungry puppy, as harmless.

It all starts simple enough. Reg’s introducin’ a new bloke, fresh from the pen, when Teddy leans in real close, one hand round the man’s wrist.  They’ve all seen him do the move before; a bit of a touch and a bit of a flirt, testing boundries, but this time it’s fuckin’ different. The thing that happens is all so quick and so smooth that not a person there realizes a thing is wrong until Teddy crowds the bloke till they’re chest to chest and the man begins to struggle. He lets out a gurgle, his gaze gone wild over Teddy’s  shoulder, while Teddy hisses in a low tone that keeps his words a mystery to the rest of the room.

It takes a moment, an embarrassingly long one, for Reg to work through what’s happened and spring into motion. Ron at his side, they manage to pull Teddy away from his victim, though it’s a hard thing.  Teddy doesn’t seem too keen to let the man go, now that’s he’s got him, but he stops struggling once there’s a bit of space between them. There’s a stain of blood spreading across the man’s shirt, and it’s just as smeared on Teddy. It’s not the first time Reg’s gotten a look at that something dark beneath the lad’s easy smiles, but it is the first time that bit of dark has exploded into violence.

There’s only one thing to say really. “Ted, what the fuck mate?”

Teddy’s slow to drag his eyes away from the stain, but sure enough he tilts his chin up to look Reg in the eyes. The dazed, drunken look that Reg’s expectin’ is absent. It’s the look Ron’d have after such a bout of violence, but Ted’s focus is like a fuckin’ razor. “I didn’t like the look of his mouth,” he says like the string of words explains the secrets of life, the universe, and everythin’.

Reg’s shoulders don’t slump, he’s got more control than that at least.  He can’t quite hide the incredulous lift of his brows though, and why the fuck should he?  If there was ever a moment for a little incredulity, this is fuckin’ it.  “That’s what we’re goin’ with?  You don’like a man’s mouth, you fuckin’ punch him in it, not stab ‘im in the gut, mate.”

The lad snorts, then looks away from Reg, back to his victim.  Albie’s got the bloke’s shirt off now, and is usin’ it as a rag to the would so he doesn’t bleed all over the fuckin’ bar.  Such a goddamn mess, for such a little stab wound. Teddy’s smile widens as he catches the bloke’s gaze. His angel face looks a bit more on the side demonic, dirtied as it is.  Reg shivers, though it ain’t fuckin’ fear what makes him do it.  The look on Ted’s face is just a bit chillin’ is all, and his words just as much.   “Greedy cunts get what’s comin’ to them.”

The man ain’t stirring up a fuss like any normal person though; no, he’s starin’ at Teddy like he’s seen a fuckin’ ghost.  There’s more to this thing than a whim, and Reg knows it, but he also knows he’s not going to be gettin the truth out of Teddy anytime soon.

At Teddy’s other shoulder, Ron grunts; the first sound he’s made since this whole little drama started playing out. His eyes are dark, and he looks a bit undone.

Between the two of ‘em, if it weren’t Teddy that was all bloodied up, it’d be easy to think Ron was the one that did the stabbin’.

His eyes are glued to the blood that dots Teddy’s skin and shirt, and Reg doesn’t have to be his twin to know what the heavy gaze of Ron’s means.  He’s one step away from grabbing Teddy then and there, onlookers be damned. 

Things are rapidly spiraling out of control, and fuck if Reg still doesn’t have the foggiest why.  Time to put an end to this and take back what’s his.

“Alright.  Albie, take our friend there and get him patched up.  I don’t want to hear a word about this from any of you.  Ted?  Just make yourself fuckin’ scarce, but don’t think we’re not gonna have a talk about this later.”  Much later.

Just like that, Reg’s the king of the room once more.  He feels the thrum of satisfaction as his orders are followed without question.  His boys take the bloke out the back, while Teddy, all smiles and charm once more, throws Ron a wink as he strips out of his suit jacket then hangs it over folded arms to cover the stain on his front.  He leans in close to Reg as he passes by.  “Y’don’t want ‘im.  Greedy fuck, he is.  No matter how good ‘e has it, he’ll take off the top.”

“Can sort ‘im out for myself,” Reg sighs as he pulls his cigarette case from his jacket pocket.  He feels more himself after the first drag, and better able to handle this situation his brother’s bit of fluff has put him in. 

“That won’t happen again,” he rumbles, slow, like he’s leagues away.

Reggie doesn’t believe that for a second, not with the fuckin’ lust drippin’ off Ron like sweat, but he squeezes Ron’s shoulder all the same.  “Yeah, well, see that it doesn’t.  I don’t care what he gets up to when he’s not here, but he doesn’t stab people in my fuckin’ club.” 

Teddy’s useful enough, and a charming little thing when he isn’t going around stabbing people.  Most important, he’s good for Ron, and that’s reason enough to keep him around, but they get into enough trouble without the added strain, and if Reg has to choose between keepin’ Ted around, or keepin’ safe what’s his?  Well that isn’t even a fuckin’ proper question, now is it?

Ron rumbles a goodbye, and follows Teddy out to the car.  “Maybe now we can get a little fuckin’ business done.”