HufflepuffHolland's Writing Collection

Something More (Part 10) // Tom Holland

Word count: 1400

-

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against your lips, not being able to find any other words. "I'm so sorry I lied to you. I've been lying to you," Tom's hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him while simultaneously pressing you against your door.

"Shut up, Tom," you begged, cupping his face in your hands, not being able to convince yourself otherwise. Part of you wanted to push him away, tell him to leave your apartment. You wanted to tell him that your date with Harrison was really good. But, you didn't – you couldn't. Harrison was Harrison and Tom will always be Tom.

You two kissed and nipped at each other hungrily, and you began walking him backwards toward your bed. It wasn't until your feet started moving that you realized what was happening – causing you to pull away.

"I – We can't do this. We need... we need to talk, about what happened. What you said."

"I know," he breathed out, wiping the corner of his mouth as he tried to steady his breathing. "I know, I just – I couldn't help myself." He didn't have to justify himself, he knew that. But, it made him feel less guilty the more he apologized for everything. "When you didn't push me away, just now, it... it felt like I won."

"You won?" You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows. "Won what? Me? That's a shitty way of putting it."

"Yeah," he agreed, "it is. Shitty, I mean. I didn't mean that I won you – it was like I won over this idea that I couldn't have you. Which probably doesn't sound any better but I'm tired of feeling like I don't deserve you–"

"I've never made you feel like that," you said in defense, walking over to your closet to change, realizing this may take longer than you thought.

"I didn't say you did," he reminded you, peeling off his jacket from work and sitting on the edge of your bed, sighing deeply. "I've just been reminded on more than one occasion."

"If it didn't come from me, why does it matter?" You called out, frustrated that you couldn't reach your dress zipper, remembering that you needed help getting into it, so you'd need help getting out of it. "Help?" You asked him, poking your head out of the small space. You walked out when he nodded, signaling you over.

He gulped quietly, mentally reprimanding himself for enjoying the proximity between you two. His fingers shakily reached for your zipper as he pulled it down, taking almost everything in him to not bend down and kiss the nape of your neck or you shoulder blade. "You're killing me," he muttered as you walked away, missing the smirk on you face as you retreated.

"It didn't bother me at first, it just," he rubbed his eyes, feeling how tired he actually was, "it becomes a little real hearing it from the right people." He looked up, hearing you shut the closet door. You emerged from your closet, your old college sweater hanging off you bottomed with some sweats. "Is that my sweater?"

"What? No, it's mine," you wrapped your arms around yourself for emphasis.

"Lift your arm – your right arm, lift it for a sec."

"You're ridiculous," you rolled your eyes, lifting up your right arm, anyway.

"There! Near the armpit, there's the cigarette burn I got for punching Steven Hearse in the face for spreading that rumor about you during–"

"During our second year," you finished, nodding as your fingers skimmed over the hole. "How have I not seen this, like, when I wash it?" You mumbled, trying to remember when it became part of your closet.

"I miss you."

You looked up, putting your arm down and looking at Tom. You took in his tired expression, sighing as you moved to sit at the head of your bed; Tom didn't move from his seat at he the foot of it.

"Let's start from the beginning," you suggested, sitting cross-legged as you pulled one of your pillows against you, hugging it close to you. "What did you mean... before? About not deserving me? Tom, I told you... I told you I wanted to be with you... and you pushed me away." You frowned, trying not to think too much about how bad you felt that day.

"I knew I wanted to be with you in the seventh grade, remember when I told you I had that crush on you? Then, I told you it went away as fast as it came?" He smiled when you nodded, looking down at his lap where his hands came to brush against the material against his thighs. "I lied. I've been lying since then. I never told you about it, because, when I told my dad about how I felt about you, he said, 'son, you have your whole life to think about her. Live the life you have now until you reach that one'. So, I told myself you were part of another life – like in a different life we'd been together or would be, so I convinced myself to let it go."

"I don't think your dad ever liked me," you confessed, frowning at his father's words.

"He loves you," he reassured you, laughing as he shook his head, "it was me he didn't trust with you." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I told him, during our junior year, that I was in love with you. That I thought I was ready for that life where I had you, then. He kept telling me that I didn't know what I wanted, that you did. Because you've always known, and if you wanted me then I would've figured it out. It made sense at the time, so I made myself believe you couldn't love me. You were a first, but you couldn't be a last – no matter how bad I wanted it."

"Do you still want it?" You asked, frowning as you saw his lip start to quiver. "Tom..."

"I don't know what I want, what I'm supposed to want, what I'm meant to want – I just... I know, I've always wanted you." He admitted, his head shifting to look at you when he felt the bed move, seeing you make your way over to him. He remained in his spot, only moving his arm so you could fit next to him, wrapping it around your shoulders.

"You've always been good enough for me, Tom," you said, looking at him for a brief second before laying your head against his shoulder. "You've always been it for me." You finally admitted, burying yourself further into him.

"I want to hold your hand in public."

"What if I want to kiss you in public?" You asked.

"Angel, if you wanted me to take you on your desk instead of mine, I'd fire everyone for the day while already being half-naked."

You laughed, swatting his chest as he laughed with you, tightening his arm around you.

"There's something else I want to say," he said, clearing his throat. You moved, sitting up as you wrapped your arms around his middle. "I love you." He said, quietly, almost like, despite everything you just said, he was afraid to finally speak the words into existence.

"I love you right back," you said, soothing his anxiety as the weight lifted off his shoulders. He fell back on your bed with a sigh of relief, prompting you to laugh as you rolled over, on top of him, straddling him. His hands found your hips, to steady you, and he looked up at you.

"Can't wait to see how much better our sex is now that we've finally said we love each other and shit."

"What?" You laughed, throwing your head back. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, like in movies when the "will they-won't they" couple gets together, and they have, like, magical sex?"

"You're so annoying. Oh, my god," you groaned, leaning down and kissing him nonetheless.

"I'm just saying–"

"Don't. Don't say anything unless it's you telling me you love me"

"Fine," he said, grabbing your face, and bringing it close to his, not kissing you again yet. "I love you," he said, gaining a smile from you, "and the amazing sex we're about to have."

"Oh, my god."