The Heart of a Villain (a Tom Hiddleston fanfiction)

Ours

[Rose]

Rose opened her eyes and found an arm wrapped around her. An arm clad in an expensive and familiar blue shirt. The sleeve rolled to just under the elbow. The hand entwined with hers.

She thought she was dreaming. She had dreamed lucidly before, and it was a familiar, heavy feeling. When she was a child, in this state she had killed monstrous spiders, had conversations with talking cats, and other variously weird things. So a dream this vivid didn't strike her as odd, didn't frighten her.

It was obviously Tom, curled along her back. Perhaps her subconscious, which still whined at her now and then, missed him so immensely that it conjured this vision. Or the guilt. Or the pressure. She could dream-feel him lying behind her, big spoon to little spoon. The hard lines of his body were familiar and comfortable. She didn't want to move.

His mouth was on the back of her neck, nose nuzzling her hair. Then, he was kissing her, his lips sliding along the curve of her neck onto her shoulder.

It was nice. In this dream, she wasn't angry at him. She wasn't afraid of him. She wasn't trying to get away from him. He was just being sweet, affectionate, and unguarded.

Slowly, she shifted. Too much movement and she'd wake herself up and chase away the dream, but it still felt solid as she turned to face him. His beautiful face was so distressed, and she felt an overwhelming desire to comfort him. She stroked his cheek, whispered against his neck, sweet nothings that had no real meaning.

He pulled her closer to him, and Rose's vision was filled with his lips, his stubble, his mussed hair, his burning eyes which were nearly green in the morning half-light. She dragged her lips against his, caressing more than kissing, feeling their texture.

His hand dragged along her side, pressing; his eyes bore into hers, begging her for something. Rose felt herself slipping into a deeper sleep, but before it took her, she lowered her head and her lips found the hollow of his throat. His long neck and its perfect lines had always been one of her favorite parts of him...although if pressed she could never pick one favorite, they all gained her favor at one time or another. She had to be the only woman in the world who honestly had a lover who was more attractive than her, but instead of letting it make her jealous she had always felt a twisted kind of pride. Tom was, physically, quite beautiful. It was the only word for him. But she was only allowed to tell him that in their most intimate moments.

Tom groaned and pressed her deeper into his chest, wrapping himself around her with his long arms and legs. She felt his mouth in the crown of her hair. Heard his whispering.

"I love you, Rose. I love you, so very much."

Encased in this cocoon of bliss, she drifted off again.

And when she woke up, alone, the dream still lingered around her, the feeling clinging to her insides and making her awakening that much ruder.

But the sheets...they smelled of him. He had smelled of whiskey last night, which wasn't unusual. Tom savored his whiskey, it was his favorite drink. It was natural that the smell would follow into her dream, as the smell always made her think of him. This, however, was a bit thicker than usual.

She climbed from her bed and pulled on her robe. She was compelled to check on him. Of course she would dream of him. This last month had been hell on Earth, but worth it. The charity was doing some good, and no small thanks was due to a lot of late nights. Getting everything organized. Finding a suitable second that she could trust -- Christoph had been a God-send. Fending off the sharks who thought she owed them favors because of their donations.