Tom Hiddleston Smut (In Progress)

Chapter 1

Tom Fan Fiction (smut)

Planning:
Jameson on the rocks
Heat-fav movie
Earl grey with a splash of milk
Rome
Tom Dom. Ice cubes, teasing
Needs beginning
Background info: "You" is actually you playing a character.

Chapter 1

You're just finishing washing the last dish as you hear the crunching of gravel on your driveway and look up to see a flash car that you don't recognise pull up. It was a sleek, black Jaguar with tinted windows so you couldn't see who was inside. You watch as a well-dressed man, in a tailored blue suit, you vaguely remember from somewhere walks along the path, looking at your roses as he walks up to your porch. You notice a large bulge his tailor tried so well but failed to hide, laughing and thinking to yourself 'Reminds me of the Hiddlesconda. Wait a minute...'

Suddenly, the was a sharp rap at the door, bringing you out of your thoughts. You walk out into the hallway to open it, curious to see who the man was. As you open the door, you can smell his subtle cologne, citrus and spice, and he looks up at you with gentle blue eyes.

"Good morning miss...I'm sorry but I believe I got your mail by accident with my own." He apologized as he held a letter out to you. His velvety voice washed over you, as you finally click to who it is.
"Oh, uh... Thank you?" You stammer in awe as you take your letter from him. Surely this couldn't be him, could it?
"Oh, I'm Tom by the way, Tom Hiddleston." He adds, holding his hand out to shake yours as your insides melt.
"Um, would you... Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?" You gingerly ask, looking up into his beautiful blue eyes.
"Oh! Uh, um, sure... Yeah, okay!" He looks at you, surprised at your question. You stand back as he takes off his shoes and comes in.
"The lounge is just round there on the right." You say as he walks through the doorway. As he walks into the lounge, you begin to panic. Tom Hiddleston....in YOUR house...Thomas William Hiddleston! Amidst your panic, you remember you offered him tea.
"How do you like your tea, Mr Hiddleston?" You call from the kitchen.
"Earl grey, if you have it, with a splash of milk please." Tom politely replies. You decide to dig out your fanciest tea cups for the occasion, and a range of chocolate biscuits on a plate.

Putting both teacups on saucers with a spoon each, and the plate of biscuits on a serving tray, you fake a few deep breaths before walking into the lounge. Tom was standing, looking at the titles on your wall-length bookshelf.
"You have some impressive titles," He comments as you place the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Leo Tolstoy, William Boyd, Edward St. Aubyn..." He trails off.
"Bram Stoker, Shakespeare, and that's just that bookcase." You finish for him and Tom whistles in amazement. "You definitely love your books." He says with a smile as he turns.
"Books are my way to escape the world and create my own, or get to be someone else for a while. Please, Mr Hiddleston, make yourself comfortable." You invite him to sit on the couch.
"Call me Tom," he grins. As he sits down with his legs open, you try not to look at his obvious bulge. "Mr Hiddleston was my father." He sits just off the middle of the couch, while you sit as close to the end as you could while facing him slightly, ignoring his flicker of confusion. It was a natural instinct for you to sit further away from people than most others, you do it without thinking.

Tom takes a sip of his tea, and closes his eyes. "Mmmm, perfect. You make wonderful tea, darling." You blush from him calling you darling more than the complement.
"Thank you." You reply shyly, looking down into your own teacup.
"So, what do you like to do?" He asks, sounding genuinely interested.
"Me? Oh, I mainly keep to myself. I prefer to listen to music and read books than go out and do things. I'm a hermit really." You feel yourself rambling from nerves and wince internally and unconsciously fidget with your bracelet, looking slightly over Tom's shoulder to avoid his gentle but piercing eyes.
"What kind of music do you listen to most?" He replies, watching you with a gentle gaze.
"Um, it varies depending on what kind of mood I'm in really, but it could be anything from Phantom of the Opera to bands like AC/DC, Kiss and Bon Jovi." Realising the conversation so far was all about you, you decide to ask him some questions too.
"What about you, what do you like to listen to?" You question, meeting his gaze.
"Well, I have a varied taste in music too. I like anything from Eminem to Queen to Bon Iver."
"Really?" You ask, surprised.
"Yes, I even like Daft Punk." He laughs as you think about hat for a moment.
"What are some of your favourite places? Where would you love to go?" You continue, wondering where he has been.
"Rome is one of my favourite cities, but I love rain in the autumn in London, it reminds me of my childhood. I'd love to visit Japan one day. You?"
"My favourite places are only in the books I read, I've never really gone anywhere outside of town. I love the thought of going to see the Stone Henge though, but I would never go." You look out the window as you talk, thinking.
"Why have you never gone anywhere? Why wouldn't you want to go, if you don't mind my asking?" He almost seemed concerned, as though it's not normal to want to stay put, to not want to travel.
"Well, um, I, um," you stammer and look down into your empty teacup and fiddle with your bracelet more as you try to come up with an easy answer. You don't like being asked questions about your feelings and fears, and immediately begin to shut down.

Tom notices you're uncomfortable and apologises.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ask a sensitive question. I just find it strange to hear, because I've travelled so much and seen such amazing places." He sounds genuinely confused and guilty at having made you feel bad. You realise you're shaking and stop yourself, but not before Tom sees. He moves and sits closer to you, worried he's upset you. "What's wrong?" He asks.
"Nothing, why?" You automatically respond like you always do, looking up and focusing just past him.
"No, seriously. What's wrong?" He tries again.
"Nothing. Really, I'm fine. What's your favourite food?" You switch topics in an effort to get the conversation started again as you pick up the teacups to take to the kitchen.
"Croque Provençal, but don't change the subject. I would like to know what I said to make you uncomfortable." He lays a hand on your wrist, and you tense up.
"I'll be back in a moment." You say as you get up and go to the kitchen, leaving Tom staring at you as you walk out.

Placing the teacups in the sink, you take a few breaths to calm yourself, pushing everything to the back of your mind and putting on the mask of happiness you are so used of doing.
"I'm going to have a Midori, would you like anything?" You call out to Tom. "I have pretty much every kind of drink you can get."
"Even Jameson?" He calls back, surprised.
"Yeap, I have plenty of whiskeys. On the rocks?" You ask as you open the fridge and grab the bottle.
"Please." You jump and almost drop the bottle as you hear his velvet voice beside you.
"Shit, Tom! Give some warning next time!" You exclaim as you grab the shelf to steady yourself.
"Sorry, darling, I didn't mean to startle you." He grins impishly as you blush and quickly turn to grab a glass for his drink. 'Stop calling me 'darling' damn it!' You think. 'Can't you see what it does to me?'

He watches you intently as you pour his drink and hand it to him, your fingers touching for a brief moment as your gaze meets his, before quickly darting away.
"Thank you." He simply says, and takes a swig as you grab your drink from the cupboard, turning your back to him for a second. Tom takes the opportunity to place a hand on your shoulder, and you freeze at his touch.
"Please remove your hand." You say quietly and evenly.
"The world can be a big place without real friends," He gently tells you. "It makes it even worse when you have no one to lend a sympathetic ear." You wonder where he's going with this. "I'll bet none of your friends truly listens to you, so you just bottle everything, and use books to push it far away."
'Damn, he's good.' You think to yourself. "You develop a mask, and unconscious instincts to try and cope, like distancing yourself from people."
'Okay, now he's getting under my skin.' You start to panic. "Take your hand off my shoulder." You try to keep your voice steady as he continues breaking down the walls you had so carefully built over the years.

"And you never let people in. When people try, you change the subject." Suddenly, you're spun round and looking at Tom, quickly averting your eyes to avoid his as you feel the starting of tears. "Sometimes, all you need is a person who will sit and listen, to anything, no matter how small." He continues as he moves your head so you're looking into his eyes. "I would be honoured, to be that person for you." He whispers. He was right; your friends were never there for you, and you did teach yourself to be distant and wear a mask. He has been here not even an hour, and he managed to find your deepest secret, and pull it to the surface. You quietly sigh, and turn your head towards his hand on your shoulder as you close your eyes.

You stop fighting yourself, allowing a single tear to fall, and put your hand ontop of his, enjoying the feeling of it. Gently, he moves in to hug you, and for the first time you can remember, you let him. As he embraces you with a warm, gentle hug, his cologne washes over you.
"Thank you." You whisper. "Thank you."