Her thumb smoothed over the weathered veins of the moleskine when she caught the sight of a looming figure in the corner of her eye.
”Zara.” She could hear his smile in her name. Zara looked up at him, her thoughts scattered like crows.
”Tom,” she returned, a slight curve to her lips.
”Might I see you again?” he asked softly, gently brushing the tips of his fingers along her arm.
”You have my cell, so… I suppose that’s up to you.”
”I’m asking for your permission. I want to see you again, but not without your consent.”
”Care to join me?” she asked, gesturing toward the granite edge of the park garden.
”How are you?” Tom said as he accepted her invitation. He sat casually beside her, comfortable. But it was perhaps too close and intimate for them to be perceived as friends. Zara sensed the sudden change in atmosphere. His presence shut out the rest of the world, her surroundings she considered a haven for delving in her thoughts.
This man, he could very well be dangerous.
To you Zara. To you.
"I’m all right." She noted his slight change in position, turning toward her so he could see her entirely. She felt exposed. Though it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before. Laughing. Smiling. Sighing. Sleeping.
”You’re lost in thought,” Tom smiled faintly.
”I was thinking about you,” Zara returned blatantly. Tom would have been surprised, but he was already familiarizing himself with the woman’s shameless honesty.
”Nothing negative, I hope.” When she didn’t reply, he stared into her dark eyes, searching.
”Not quite suggestive either, but…” Zara looked away, smirking. ”I guess I’m just surprised. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
Tom reflected on the night they met, the night they discovered each other - the creeping dusk, the excitement in the thought of having Zara to himself - independent wits and all. But her honesty, which might have been inevitable if he were to have her in his life, tenderly, subtly wounded him.
”You don’t believe I meant what I said?” he asked, struggling to suppress the hurt in his voice.
Zara looked at him with the slightest hint of shame. ”Forgive me - I just… I’m sorry.”
I thought you only wanted me for that night, she thought, to share your breath and scent, to keep warm, just for that night.
She couldn’t say that though. Rather, she didn’t have to. The contrived stare in her lap was all Tom needed.
”If I’ve gotten the wrong idea… about your interest in me - “
”No, it’s not that. Really. I just didn’t think you’d have any further interest in my company. Not even after you had asked me for it. It’s been two weeks without a call, so I only assumed…” That you lied.
Refuse him, a somber voice warned. Do not allow him to string you along.
"I should have messaged you. I’ve been so busy with work and this hectic schedule. But I should have made time." Tom rested his hand upon Zara’s folded fingers. "Frankly, I should - I will - give you my number. I’ll give you my time. I meant every word I said, darling. I like you."
And your voice, your hair, your skin, your lips, your breasts, your cruel, wicked humour. All of you, he thought. My hearth.
SIGNAL BOOSTING THIS SHIT
SIGNAL BOOST THIS!!!!!!!!!!!
What the fuck this school is close to me. Fucking Lancaster is a bull shit ass city theyre so old fashioned and stupid. Im not surprised the officer acted like this and said this, many people there are ignorant.
TITLE: Would You Rather?
CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 (of 1)
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom
FIC SUMMARY: With a storm approaching, Kimberly does not want to get out of bed, especially when Tom is there to keep her company
AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: This is the first time I’ve ever written fic on Tom Hiddleston. It’s just a simple one shot. I was hesitant to post this here, but hell, I’ll give it a try. There’s some cursing, but that’s the worst of it.
I awoke to slender fingers tangled in my curls.
"Are you… playing with my hair?" I asked, my voice strained with tire.
"Yes. Good morning, darling." His smile was bright, a stark contrast with the blackened clouds shading the windows. Tom raised his brows. "Well, it’s going to pour, so it might not be such a good morning after all."
I was entirely focused on the way my senses came alive following each gentle stroke of my hair. His touch felt so… homely.
"You seem preoccupied. Are you all right?" he asked. The tips of his digits continued to caress my strands of tangled curls.
"No one’s ever touched me this way. Played with my hair."
"You mean to tell me not a single person has wanted to pull on these incredible corkscrews?" Tom kissed the top of my head.
"I’ll be honest. I’ve kept people from getting a hold of my spectacular mane.”
He laughed, encouraging me to grin before planting a quick kiss on his lips. ”Tom, call me lazy, but I do not want to get out of bed. And I don’t want you to, either.”
"Persuading me to commit sloth? Kimberly, how could you?" he said, feigning hurt.
"I promise we’ll go to confession tomorrow. I’ll confess to being a victim of gluttony. I’ll say, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I cannot keep my lover from lying between my legs. I’m afraid I ache too much for his cock.’ And then I’ll be pardoned, and so will you."
"You are just too much," Tom chuckled. "Tell me more about how much you ache for my cock."
"I would rather get out of bed," I joked.
He gasped, propping himself up on an elbow. ”You would rather get off that cute little arse of yours than - “
"Feed into your ego? Yes," I grinned.
"Well, Ms. Sourpuss," Tom said, sitting up and pulling me along, "tell me something else you’d rather do than please your lover."
I straddled him, touching my forehead against his. ”Let’s play Would You Rather.”
"Would You Rather? Is it sexy time?" he asked, a hopeful gleam in his crystal eyes.
I laughed. ”I’m not sure yet.”
"Let’s find out, shall we?" And he stuck his hand between my legs.
"Tom, dammit, hey!" I gripped his wrist.
"I felt something, something that was just begging to be ravished,” he claimed, a taunting, wicked grin spread across his lips. I rolled my eyes.
"Would you rather wear a tutu or five-inch stilettos for a month?"
"I do like my ankles, so I’ll go with a tutu." Tom continued. "Would you rather shave your head or have to walk everywhere naked?"
"Aw, not my mane," I pouted. "I’ll have to go naked."
"Fantastic." He grinned.
"Would you rather tattoo your tongue or the inside of your lip?"
Tom winced. ”Inner lip,” he decided. ”Now, would you rather have to kill Cumberbatch and fuck Fassbender on the same day, or marry Fassbender and then kill me?”
I cocked my head and laughed. ”You can’t tie in Fuck, Marry, Kill with this game!”
"I can’t? That’s amazing, because I just did."
"I would rather marry Fassbender and then kill the crap out of you."
"I am wounded. You have wounded me!”
"You’ve given me the opportunity to really give it to Michael. I mean really give it to him. And I have a soft spot for gentlemen named Benedict Cumberbatch.”
Tom sighed. ”Kimberly, if I give it to you, and I mean really give it to you, stay in bed all day, will you forget I ever asked you about these gentlemen you apparently would not mind between your legs?”
I bit my lip with a smile. ”Tom, would you rather share a sensual kiss, or fuck me into the mattress?”
He pulled me closer to his chest, hands pressed hard against my back. His lips barely brushed against mine. ”Oh, darling, why on earth can’t we do both?”
Raindrops pelted the windows relentlessly, pattering the roof with thrums of thunder. But I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a good morning.
Ireland, West Coast, County Kerry, 1988 by Harry Gruyaert