Before The After (Tom Hiddleston Fan-Fic)

Chapter 9

Kate's POV

I was awoken by a kiss to my temple and a soft British accent whispering in my ear. And this was all followed by a persistent shaking of my shoulder. Tom chuckled again and I could hear his agent, Mark, complaining to his client that he had a hair appointment in twenty-five minutes. I smiled, Tom's stubbled jaw brushing against cheek.

"We're here, darling. I think Mark will literally shoot me if we don't get out right now." He confessed in a small whisper. I giggled, stretching.

"Why didn't you just say so?" I asked, sitting up. I grabbed my bag and jumped out of the car, Tom and I, hand and hand, running in the rain to his house. He laughed loudly at our already soaked bodies and pulled the key to the flat out of his front pocket and thrust it into the keyhole, shoving the door open.

I ran inside Tom close behind me. I placed the bag on the floor by the door, wiping my wet hair from my face. I giggled at Tom who was peeling off his sweater.

I sneezed, suddenly very cold. Well, we were inside now. At least his air conditioning worked. Tom looked worried for a moment, his wet hair now a dark brown instead of a reddish colour.

"Alright. Let's get you out of those wet clothes, yeah?" He asked, and I nodded, thanking him.

"Alright, stay right here, love. I think I have some clothes up stairs that would be suitable for you." He kissed my cheek swiftly, running up the stairs.

I walked around to his kitchen, looking at his pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. I smiled. So he really did cook.

I tip toed around to his den, looking at the pictures of tall, golden haired people that I guessed were his family. I smiled at a picture of Tom and an older, grey-haired man who I was assuming was his father. He had a kind face, laugh lines around his eyes that reminded me of Tom's laugh.

I felt the familiar stab of jealousy. I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the feeling that I usually got when I saw people that still had their parents. That got to see them grow older and grey, a privilege though I don't think many saw it that way. To see your parents in photographs from so long ago, to have them frozen in time as I had, didn't really give me an idea off who they were or would have been had they gotten older.

I quirked a brow at a picture of Tom and a small little girl that had blue-grey eyes that were not unlike his own and curly brown-blond hair in ringlets. Tom was dressed in a semi-formal attire, a nice shirt and dress pants with a grey tie, his head thrown back in laughter as he held up the small girl in his arms.

There was another of Tom and the little girl, but this time she was blowing a raspberry on his face, and he was shying away from it as he giggled, frozen in the picture.

"My niece." A voice said, and I jumped, chuckling. Tom looked down at me when I turned around. "Diana."

Tom had changed out his wet clothes and was now wearing soft-looking sweat pants and a blue t-shirt that said 'UNICEF' on it, the charity that he was the junior ambassador for. His hair, still damp, seemed to have been towel dried and I could help but remember wistfully how it'd felt when my fingered had been intertwined into it.

He tossed me a large t-shirt and some shorts and I put them on the couch. I cleared my throat once, embarrassed, and stepped inconspicuously away from Tom.

I raised my eyebrows. "Really?" I asked.

Tom smiled, walking towards me. "Yes."

"Hmm." I answered backing away yet again and he raised his brow this time. "She looks a lot like you."

Tom caught what I was implying and only shook his head. "She's my sister's little girl, Kate."

I threw my chin up, tilting my head. "I thought you said you sister's name was Sarah."

Tom reached for me, a sly grin on his face. "I have two sisters, darling. My eldest sister is Sarah, and the youngest is Emma. Diana, my niece, is Sarah's little girl."

A look of distress crossed Tom's face and made me reach for him, my hands squeezing his wrists. He looked down at me with a look I couldn't really decipher.

"I've not been lucky enough." He whispered, referring to his niece.

I got up onto my tip-toes and kissed him, hearing his gasp before he acted, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer to him.

It was like a person who'd been starving for years, only being vaguely satisfied, but not really ever feeling the full effect of a full stomach. That is how we were.

We were hungry, lost people, at least that's how I saw myself.

As I devoured Tom's lips, ravishing his neck as he moved us to the couch, sitting down on it as straddled him. I knew that I was a care-free, distracted person, and that I liked myself that way, I knew that I could only be bound to something for so long before my restless nature kicked in... before it would cause me to become anxious.

I would become anxious that soon the bliss and the warmth and the love would dwindle, would become unexciting, commonplace. And that was what I feared the most--that what was a fire, a rebellious, fearsome thing would turn into Luke-warm ashes.

And I knew that besides the fact the I didn't want to stay at Stanford, pursuing a career that i would inevitably end up hating ten years down the line, I really left because of my fear of boredom. I didn't want to be commonplace, living a life that lost its shine and turned into some dull, lifeless thing.

So as Tom began to peel off my shirt, leaving hot kisses on my neck and collarbone as he worked his way down, and as I tugged his shirt over his head, I silently prayed that this relationship, whatever it was, however long it lasted, that I would have the guts to stay.

That I wouldn't leave. I wouldn't leave unless he asked.