So, 2017 is going to be a big year for you and Tom: New house, Homecoming premiere, wedding planning, oh and there's that whole illegitimate daughter coming to visit. Not a damn thing could possibly go wrong! The sarcastic, sweet, and sexy saga con...
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"Earth to Y/N..." Tom said, waving his paint roller in front of you.
"Sorry," you said, snapping out of you daze. The two of you dropped off Olivia at Heathrow that morning. Tom drove you but stayed in the car to give you guys a moment. Your moment felt more like the end of a first date. You desperately wanted to know if she liked you or not, but you had to keep your cool and appear coy about the whole thing. It was awkward when you weren't sure if you should hug her or high five her. You opted for a weird little squeeze of her arm and she just kind of looked at your hand like it was some bug crawling on her. You felt like you couldn't win with her and it made you feel like some piece of shit parent or some over enthusiastic dork that just wanted to be her friend. Where do you even fit in with this kid's life? It was all overwhelming foreign territory for you and you didn't know how to navigate it and you didn't feel like you had a wheelman. Not that it was Tom's fault at all. You couldn't expect him to understand how you felt. He barely understood half the things that frolicked in your mind or trampled in your heart. But he loved you nonetheless. God knows why. You wondered that every second you were with him.
"Babe?" he said with a concerned little laugh. He brushed your arm affectionately and turned you to face him.
"You okay?" he asked, lowering his head to look you in the eyes. His hair flopped over his brow and was adorably speckled with grey paint. Actually, the paint was called "Storm" but let's not spilt hairs here. You may have only bought it because it was called "Storm". They were out of "Gambit Garnet".
"I'm fine," you said with a quick smile then turned back to the wall with your brush.
Tom gave a loud and emphatic sigh, then rolled a thick line of Ororo down the wall.
You rolled your eyes at his sigh but you weren't going to respond otherwise. You felt him watching you from the corner of his eye, trying to read your mood but you ignored that too and reached up for another stroke of paint.
Tom bent down to the pan and coated his roller in more paint. He gave another sigh and slowly stood up, staring at you. Brush, brush, brush. Stroke, stroke, stroke. You were just so focused on painting this damn wall! Even those pleading puppy dogs weren't going to distract you, however hard he tried. And you knew he was going to try.
Suddenly Tom rolled a long and deliberate stroke across your extended arm. You gasped in disgust.
"Tom! Ew!" you yelled, recoiling from him. You bent down to grab the roll of paper towels and felt the cool, sticky sensation of Tom's roller going right across your ass.
You jumped and spun around, glaring.
"Stop!" you screamed. He had a smug little smile on his face.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
"These are your boxers, dumbass," you said, wiping the towel over your ass now.
"Talk to me," he said, raising his eyebrows at you in that scolding manner. You hated when he did that. Sometimes his persistence was annoying. He only got away with half the shit he did anyway because he's so damn cute.
"I'm fine, really," you didn't feel like getting into it. You weren't entirely sure you had any right to get into it, to be feeling the way you did. You gave up those rights the second you signed her over to another. Or, at least that's what her mother thought.
"Here, my mom wanted me to give this to you," Liv said, handing you the card before she headed to the security gate. It's shape said Hallmark, probably a Thank You? You opened it on the way back to the car. It was a Thank You card, but, the sentiment was all Fuck You. You read it:
**Y/N -
Thank you for looking after Liv during her time in England. She's grown up to be an exceptional young lady, as you will see. The best gift you ever gave her was to allow us to love and raise her as our daughter. She has managed to accomplish so much without you in her life. She still has a lot ahead of her and your involvement is just another distraction. I know you will make the right decision as you made 19 years ago and stay out of her life for good.
-Yours truly ***
And her mom signed it...in felt tip, all curvy and fancy and fuck.
You sighed and walked back to the car, brooding the rest of the day, even through painting the living room.
"Y/N, every time you say you're fine, you're the exact opposite, " Tom frowned at you.
"I just don't want to talk right now, okay?" you said, bending down to dip your brush in the paint bucket. You stood up and were met with the another roll from Tom, across your chest.
"Tom!!" you screeched and smacked him hard on the chest. He stood his ground and grinned at you
You set your jaw and slapped a streak of pain right across his stomach. His muscles tensed through his shirt and rippled against the thin fabric of his tank top. Oh fuck, you thought.
"How dare you, Y/N," he said bitterly, clutching the paint soaked fabric. "I love this shirt."
"You love your dingy wifebeater from Poundland?" you remarked sarcastically.
Tom peeled the garment over his head and tossed it on the sheet you were using to cover the floor. You glanced down at the crumpled shirt then back at him.
"Well I love this shirt too!" you shouted, ripping your New York Bar Association Annual Conference tee off of you. This particular year was luau themed and Lady Justice was wearing a lei. So fucking tacky.
You put your hands on your hips, daring him to come at you with the paint again. His grin got a little lustier and his gym shorts got a little tighter.
You smirked at his raging boner.
"Does painting do it for you, Tiger?" you teased.
"You do it for me, baby," he said, biting his lip and wiggling his eyebrows. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him. His hands slipped down your (his) boxers and massaged your cheeks with relish as he pressed himself against you. You kissed those pouty little lips and bit at them playfully.
"Good answer," you purred, pulling away. Your chest stuck to his then pried apart like ticky tape.
Tom slid the boxers down. You kicked them off, sending them across the room.
"Don't mess up the paint," you said in between kisses. You groped at his shorts, pushing them down. Tom hoisted you up and backed you against the freshly painted wall. You gasped but suddenly didn't give a fuck about even lines and imperfections because something utterly perfect was in between your legs.
"Darling, I plan on messing this whole bloody wall up with you."
