Oneshots by worldoftom [t.h. x female]

Top of You [blurb]

Words: 791

Warnings: explicit language, pre-smut

*

"I can't focus because I can only think about sitting on top of you."

Tom sends you a look from beneath a flutter of his eyelashes. He's been keeping you company the whole afternoon, you working on your notes, him working on his script. Two laptops propped on the table side by side.

"How does work make you horny?"

"It doesn't," you reply innocently, "but you do."

At the first touch of your hand on his shoulder, Tom's lips collide with yours in an explosion of light. It filters through your closed eyelids and infects your mind with delight and want. Things have been slow most of your life, but Tom has brought out a fire in you like no one else has before.

It's more than a fire. It's an underlying current that sizzles under the skin, spreading to the red and white cells inside your veins. It burns and burns and hurts in every crevice of your body whether you're with Tom or apart.

But mostly when he's around.

It doesn't happen that often given his busy life. He's always in a studio somewhere, or on a plane, or in bed in a hotel room in an incompatible time zone sending you video messages in the dark, forcing you to adjust the brightness levels way up high so you can catch a glimpse of his pout as he says he misses you and wishes you were warming up his feet.

Those days are hard to overcome, so whenever he's home, when he's close, the burning is excruciating. And you're done waiting for the right moment. You know it will never come. There's nothing more right, more perfect than the now. That's why it's called the present.

"Tom— Tom—" You gulp down his next kiss, holding him close by both shoulders now. Tom's hands are on your waist, pulling you close, keeping you warm. Hot. Painfully searing in your veins and pores and out through the little hairs that are now standing everywhere.

"Hop on then," he murmurs into the corner of your mouth. You hear the pat of his hand on his thighs, and even though you can't see it, the idea alone is enough to dampen your knickers.

There's a loud screech when his chair drags on the floor, Tom making room for you between his chest and the edge of the table.

It takes you less than a second to crawl out of your seat, throw one leg over his thighs, and find comfort in the warmth of his lap.

"That looked so freaking hot," he says, keen on praising you at any chance he gets. While once you'd be turning coy, today the game is different.

There's not a single drop of doubt in you. Only heat. In the images swirling wildly in your mind. In your chest when you press it to Tom's. But mostly, mostly between your legs. A mix between your personal hellfire and the obvious shape under Tom's shorts.

"Do I just—" you start, but Tom blocks your words with a hasty kiss.

"Do whatever you want," he murmurs against your lips, "You feel— you are— fuck. So, so hot. And wet. And mine."

You moan at his possessiveness.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he insists, knowing you so well. "Never done this with anyone else, have you?"

"No, just you," you reply honestly, kissing him next. "I'm all yours, Tom. All yours."

His hands fly from the safeness of your waist to a dangerous spot on your bum. With a bit of pressure, the curve of your mound rubs hard onto his lap, and you feel it. You feel him. Hardening beneath you. Just for you, too.

"Then make me yours too, y/n," Tom reiterates, wrapping one arm around you to pull you impossibly close. His other hand flies to the back of your head, and as you grind down on his now obvious hard-on, his kiss switch-kills all your thoughts.

And then you take him. You claim him like you've never done before. Not to him, not to anyone.

Your core fits his lap like he's the missing piece in your puzzling life. So you rub on him, and grind on him, and feel every curve and every poke of his cock on you. It's obvious and ardent, adding up to the blazing of your insides. You wish you could spend the rest of your life doing this with Tom — so close to him that you can count every freckle of his nose that's invisible to the naked eye. Because there's only one thing more beautiful than the rounded shape of his mouth. And that's the hunger in his eyes when you cry out his name in bliss.