Life Is What You Make It (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic)

Chapter 4: I Could Have Danced All Night

Hope I Don't Act Like the Chitauri

As we gather around tables that are set up for cocktails, it's evident that this evening is more about partying and less about dining in any sophisticated manner.

"Thank Aphrodite," I think, "At least I can let my hair down with everyone else."

I look over the buffet that has been set up, and it appears most of the food and desserts have been assembled in a an appetizer-like fashions.As I wander over to the food tables, I sigh contentedly at the offerings. There are bite-size portions of ravioli, pasta primavera, and what appears to be spaghetti with mizithra cheese and butter. There are also skewers of grilled meat, such as filet mignon, chicken breast, and seared ahi tuna available.

I pick up a skewer of bite-sized filet when I hear a voice behind me say, "I'm sorry I insinuated that you don't eat regularly. I can see from you spearing that meat that you do have a lust for food."

"Oh holy Aphrodite," I think.

I turn slowly toward what I now know is Tom's velvety voice, skewer and meat still in my hand. Tom looks at my face, then at the meat skewer, then he erupts into the "Eheheh" that we all know and love.

"You think you're so cute," I say, before I can stop myself. Since I've already said it, I wait to see the reaction I get.

Tom seems a bit confused at first, like he's trying to determine if I'm still a keg of dynamite ready to explode. I look at him sideways trying to give a bit of reassurance, and I am pleased when he seems to read my psychic transmission of, "All is well. Remain calm."

At this, Tom breaks into his first true smile of the night which reaches all the way to his eyes. He starts to expound on the benefits of Italian cooking, talking about the advantages of eating pasta and natural sauces, and how the Italians live longer lives than Americans and even other western Europeans.

As I am naturally socially awkward, I recognize a fellow ackwarder when I see one, and I know that Tom is prattling on like a first-grader whose tried a caffeinated drink for the first time.

Still, I am mesmerized as he speaks, looking at the way his mouth moves and the oh-so-subtle way one corner of his mouth doesn't seem to cooperate with the rest of his lips. What I wouldn't give to kiss him silly right now.

To cover my desire, I decide to ask Tom to dance. In an excited voice, he says, "Yes. Of Course! I'd love to."

I Hope This One is Not the Mashed Potato

Tom's dancing skills are practically world-renowned. I admit to Youtubing him to see some of his most famous performances, and I have to say that his dancing is both enthusiastic and sexy as hell.

As we make it to the dance floor, the music changes from a fast, upbeat song, to the latest ballad by Ed Sheeran. "I wasn't anticipating a slow song. We can wait to dance if you like," I say and smile up at Tom."Actually, I think a slow dance is perfect to start with. We can then work ourselves up to something fast later," Tom says as he touches the small of my back lightly to bring me into his embrace.

No surprise here that Tom is a proper gentleman when slow dancing. He holds up his left hand to take my right, and he places his other hand somewhere between the small of my back and by shoulders. He's an excellent dancer, directing us effectively on the small dance floor without making it seem too constricted. He brings me close, but not so close that someone would say "Get a room!" to us.

In fact, I almost crack a joke about the nuns being impressed with the amount of space he's left between our bodies when I look up and into his eyes.It's there that I see something unguarded, as if he didn't expect me to look into his eyes at that moment. The look is sweet and tender, and yet hungry and beseeching. It's as if he is asking for permission and demanding acquiescence at the same time.