So maybe your life is in shambles and you run away to London to get your head straight. Sure, you don't really have a plan but the Universe does, and before you know it, some kid from Kingston has completely turned your world upside and your body i...
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Although it was tempting to spend Tom's last day in bed, he had other plans, starting with the gym.
"Are you sure you want to spar with me?" you asked, pulling your hair back in a ponytail, "I've been highly emotional and have a lot of pent up aggression towards you."
"I thought I worked out anything that was pent up inside of you earlier," he smirked.
"I'm going to punch that smirk right off your face," you teased.
"You can't mess my face up, Y/N," Tom said seriously pointing at himself, "This face is my moneymaker," then he flashed you an award-winning smile.
"Don't worry, pretty boy, I'm not going to hurt a hair on that gorgeous head of yours," you ruffled his hair, then sat down to lace your trainers. You're going to miss this banter. Ever since the day you met him, the two of you had this verbal dance between you. His wit was one of the main reasons you fell for him.
"I'm not a pretty boy," he narrowed his eyes at you,"I'm dark and distinguished."
"You're sweet and pretty," you said, looking up at him, to give him a wink.
He shook his head at you and gave you the finger. You pulled your phone out and captured it. He was so cute when he tried to be bad.
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You grabbed your gloves and stood in front of him, holding your hand out.
"Come on, Tiger, I'll go easy on you."
When you arrived at the gym, Tom insisted on racing you to the door, beating you, then boasting obnoxiously about it. Then he had to make a game of who could wrap their hands faster. You nearly had him but he quickly kissed you, distracting you momentarily. Cheating bastard.
By the time you did step in the ring, Tom had coaxed your competitive streak to an all time high. He was all geared up and throwing trash talk your way, shuffling around the ring.
"You sure you can punch with tits those size?" he shouted.
"Big words from a man who buys his jeans in the children's department," you shot back.
"Just that one pair...," he muttered.
You started laughing, "Stop prancing around and punch me."
He stopped and looked at you seriously, relaxing his form.
"I can't," he said, those puppy dog eyes were back.
"Why not?" you stopped shuffling, but still kept your fists up.
I can't hurt you," he explained, "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't hurt me, Tom, I've got gear on." you held your fists up higher.
"I just don't think I can," he put a gloved fist over his heart, " I mean, it could be dangerous....for someone your age."
And then his eyes switched from puppy dog to straight up ass, and he gave a shitty little laugh, and before you knew it, you threw a right hook smashing into that shitty grin of his.
Tom stumbled back and did some overly dramatic spin, then dropped on the mat, kicking his feet up in the air like Bugs Bunny or something.
You ripped your gloves off and knelt down beside him. His eyes were closed.
"Oh no, I killed him before I could give him one last blowjob," you whispered sadly, shaking your head, "What a shame."
Tom eyes flung open.
"I'm alive! It's a miracle!" He shouted before grabbing you roughly and pulling you to him, kissing all over your neck.
"Say 'I'm the champion'," you insisted, pushing him away halfheartedly. You always loved it when he manhandled you.
"I'm the champion," Tom said smirking.
"Say it!" you pinched him all over, making him squirm and howl with laughter.
"Okay, okay," he said, catching his breath, "You're the champion."
You smiled proudly and stood up, holding your hand out to help him up.
