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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At some point in the middle of the night, you woke with a start. You looked over at Tom, sound asleep. That boy could sleep through anything. You looked at your phone: not quite 4am, then quietly got out of bed, careful not to wake him.
You crept down the hall and knelt in front of his suitcase, opening it. Everything was packed so nice and neatly. You wondered how someone who left the bathroom in such a disaster could keep his packing so orderly. It was always like walking into a war zone. Wet towels all over the floor, razors tossed precariously into the sink, hair everywhere. You smiled to yourself. You'll miss that disaster.
You stood up and slipped your panties off, then tucked them at the bottom, underneath all his clothes. That should be a nice reminder of what he has to come back to.
You were about to shut it when something caught your eye. Nestled in the netting, amid his brush and a stick of deodorant was a photo of you. Another one taken without your knowledge, this time from Greece, when you told Tom you wanted to go gather rocks and shells.
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You held it between your fingers, smiling. Who even carries around actual photographs anymore?
You slid it back in its place and closed the suitcase with a click and looked over on the floor. Tom's shirt was laying there, crumbled up from last night. You picked it up and brought it to you face, inhaling slowly. There was nothing in this world that smelled better than Tom Holland. Honeysuckle, fresh brewed coffee, dried autumn leaves, they couldn't hold a candle to how amazing that boy smelled.
You pulled his shirt on, just a plain white tee of his, sleeves rolled up, of course. Mine now, you thought, then held your phone up and snapped. You laid back on the floor and took another picture, rolling around and posing provocatively in his shirt and nothing else. Just another reminder.
You got up and walked back to the bedroom, texting all the pics from your little photo shoot to Tom. You heard his phone go off with notifications as you crawled back into bed. He stirred at the sound.
"Hey..." he said blinking at you, "that's my shirt." he reached a hand out and pulled at the hem.
"It's mine now, Tiger," you said, climbing on top of him and leaning over for a kiss.
"Go back to sleep," you ran your fingers through his hair playfully, "it's still early."
He glanced over at his phone, picking it up to check the time and apparently the texts too, because his eyes slowly grew wider and more awake.
"Y/N..." he chuckled, his voice still raspy with sleep.
"What?" you asked all innocently, perched on top of him, you fingertips drumming against his chest. You felt him stir even more underneath the blanket.
His hands ran up your thighs and around to your ass, giving a squeeze.
"What else do you got that's mine?" he asked, his lips curled coyly as his hips lifted slightly, lifting you as well.
"Oh, I think you know, Tiger," you purred, removing the blanket that separated you.
Tom moved his hand around to your inner thigh, brushing your skin with his fingers, then slowly slipped them inside of you.
