Tom Hiddleston Oneshots.

you have my permission

She strolled inside the bedroom behind Tom, her fingers dexterously removing the heavy earrings that were weighing down her earlobes painfully. Setting them down on the dresser with a relieved sigh, she turned to Tom whose back to her as he crouched down and took off his shoes. What a nice ass, she mused with a grin.

"A bath or a movie, which do you fancy?" She asked, offering him the choice. Tom had seemed off at dinner, not his usual cheerful self and she was concerned. Yet, truth be told, she was tired and though a bath was relaxing perspective, she doubted she'd have the energy to leave the tub once the water lost its warmth, but those were two activities she knew Tom enjoyed particularly and she wanted to treat her good boy to a pleasant evening.

"I don't care."

She stopped in her tracks even as she opened the drawer for a fresh nightdress, a frown taking over her face. "What was that?"

"I don't care." Tom repeated more forcefully.

She had heard him right the first time, then. Hiding her surprise well, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'll remind you, darling, that's not how you speak to me."

Tom was barefoot now but standing up to his full height by the bed, an expression on his face that she wasn't acquainted with. "Or what?" He sneered with sarcasm, so far from the sweet boy she knew.

With an eye roll, she dropped the night dress on the bed. Tom had already broken so many rules within the past minute, but she was feeling clement. After all, unlike him, she had enjoyed herself immensely at dinner.

"What is it, Thomas? Why are you being so fussy tonight?" She sighed with resignation. As much as his attitude was grating on her nerves, she needed to know that he was alright. "Come on, sit down," she ordered gently, patting the mattress next to her.

"No!"

"No?" She was giving him one last chance.

To her surprise, Tom groaned, his hands tightening into fists for a moment before loosening again. "No, I will not sit down just because you told me to, not after..."

Her patience with him was thinning down to a hair width. This was not how she had envisioned their evening, but she would spend the night punishing him if she had to.

"Either you tell me exactly what's going on, Thomas, or you'll spend the next couple of days with a painful bottom (I hate this word, but everything else sounded wrong) ," she promised, crossing her arms over her chest and just barely resisting tapping her foot on the floor.

His face changed at once. Tom knew those weren't idle threats. He winced, remembering the last time she had uttered those words. Still, he couldn't shake off the fury that gnawed at him from the inside.

"I did not like our waiter tonight, nor the way you behaved with him." Tom finally confessed though his voice remained petulant.

She was unable to hold back a scoff. Was her good boy acting out because he was jealous? "Really? I thought he was very efficient, and I treated him the same respect I do all other people."

Tom's eyes widened at her statement and suddenly all she could see was their light, vibrant blue. "He spent the entire evening with his eyes glued onto your cleavage! He touched your hand when he filled your glass! And you didn't even say anything, you just let him do it!" He spat accusatorily.

A tantrum, then, she concluded, leaning back against the wall with an amused smirk as she sized him up. Thomas has misbehaved in the past - some small misdemeanours here or there that had warranted a proportionate disciplinary response from her - but this was on an entirely different level. For some reason, punishment didn't seem like the appropriate response this time around.