Oneshots by worldoftom [t.h. x female]

Don't Speak *

Summary: Tom is in a mood and you know it.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: sub!Tom, clubbing, cursing, teasing, explicit smut

*

You're out on a date and Tom is in such a fucking mood from the moment you step out of the bedroom, after spending the longest time getting ready.

The first thing he notices is that you're wearing his favorite heels, then that your legs are bare, and the skirt of your dress doesn't reach past your thighs.

The second thing he notices is that it's not even a dress. It's a skirt over your bodysuit that ties up with slim, black strings at the front and he just knows you're going to do everything to make sure he can't put his hands on you. Because you're like that. And that turns him on so much he's willing to let you torture him all night because that always ends in the best. sex. ever.

The night progresses nicely, pretty uneventful, except you keep leaning forward and he can see the top of your breasts coming out of the bodysuit (he swears at some point he can see your hard nipples through it). The tip of your foot rubbing against his legs every now and then. Your nails digging into the back of his hand when you catch him staring for too long.

He takes you dancing and you make sure to use your best skills and to make your skirt all flowy and revealing. When you look at him, he seems completely enthralled and lost in his mind. Even you feel completely bothered by this moment. The shape of your body against his. The warmth melting your skin. His nose buried in your neck, inhaling and feeling slightly cold, going straight to his brain and making him dizzy.

If you make him all light-headed just from dancing, he's fucked.

You pull on his hand and drag him across the floor, making sure he gets the perfect view of the curve of your ass the whole way to the bar. Leaning on it, you order two drinks and feel his eyes hot on you, drawing his hand onto your waist. He wraps it around you, gripping your side and pulling you into him. The only thing in your head is that he feels the same way you do. That he can feel your whole body pressed into his, that he feels you breathe in sharply when he digs his fingers into your flesh.

You half drink your cocktail, half tease him with your tongue around the straw, but if someone asks if you're giving him any foreshadowing about what might happen later, back at home, you're going to deny it.

"C'mon, baby girl, stop that," he whines into your ear, dropping a small kiss afterwards.

"I'm just drinking," you say, leaning your face closer to his until his mouth nibbles on your ear. He's moving so softly, so cautiously, you got him right where you want him.

The way he's handling your teasing is so obvious you want to laugh. He tries to disguise it, but you can feel his eyes on you at all times, eating you up, probably imagining all the things he wants to do to you in bed. Not even thinking about all the things you will be doing to him instead.

Not realizing how you're going to stick your hand in the back pocket of his trousers on the way out of the club. How you're going to hold his thigh on the drive back home, how you're going to clear your throat and practically moan, "Can't wait to have your hands all over me tonight."

"Shit," is all he says, and his brain is thinking, shit, shit, shit.

"Those fingers," you add, your hand sliding up his leg, up his arm, slipping into the hair on the back of his head as you lean closer to him to whisper into his ear. "Those fingers fucking my pussy. All crooked against my spot."