Tom Hiddleston Oneshots

A Little Romance

Tom wasn't home when I returned to our flat after my rehearsal and giving Benedict Cumberbatch a good tongue lashing for being a pompous, smarmy git. He only smiled haughtily through it before turning it back on me, as if it were my fault.

With his well-practiced charm and gentlemanly civility displayed all over his face, he thanked me, "As always, sweet (Y/N), I thank you for your constructive criticism and honest candor regarding my person. Next time, I shall turn the other cheek so you can slap that one too. Tomorrow perhaps?"

My fiance said that I wasn't allowed to hit him.

I kicked off my flats in the hallway, and stripped down to nothing on the way to the en suite bathroom through our bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes along the floorboards like breadcrumbs. I didn't have time to worry about it as I had a date, an actual for real date.

Tom and I did our Friday night thing every week, but we usually went to the cinema, a no brainer, our routine. But Tom called me like we were dating and asked me for a proper date, this night was special. I didn't know why or where or what, but I didn't care about the details, only that I would be out with my fiancé.

I hurried through a quick shower, washing away the smell of rehearsal and brand new show, to make me feel like a female again. Sitting Indian style in yoga pants, a baggy t-shirt and a jumper for comfort instead of fashion on a scuffed hardwood floor for hours, subtracted a certain amount of allure and appeal. I knew Tom wouldn't have minded, but I did.

I was dressed in a cute little summer dress, and was working on taming my hair when the front door buzzer sounded.

With only half my face applied and my hair far from coiffed, I raced down to answer it barefoot. I flung the door open with an exasperated sigh that caught in my throat when I saw my fiancée in the doorway, holding a bouquet of roses.

The mega-watt smile appeared on my face in an instant, and I might have even swooned. Smartly he greeted with a smirk, "(Y/N)."

"Thomas, please come in."

As he moved into the foyer, he handed me the red flowers, with a kiss on the cheek. Somehow he made me feel giddy and nervous, excited and smitten all at once, and the smile never left my face. I glided into the kitchen to fetch a vase to house my fully in bloom bouquet. Tom closed the door and surveyed the mess I'd made in the hallway. "Give them back," he teased mercilessly, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.

"No, they're my flowers. You gave them to me."

"Do you think you deserve roses with the mess you've made in my flat?" He teased.

I placed the vase filled with water and my roses in the middle of the kitchen table, fixing this baby's breath, moving that rose, spinning the entire thing to get the perfect display. Musing to the blooms, I said flippantly, "So when I make a mess, it's your flat."

I approached him alluringly, leveling my gaze on him, licking my lips slowly, all for his benefit. I nuzzled his strong neck, blowing a breath against his skin, drawing him in seductively. My fingers crawled up the center of his chest from his belt buckle to the patch of skin at the v created by one button left undone.

"If it's clean, is it ours?" He held his breath, closed his eyes and attempted to restrain every male instinct in him that screamed at him to take me. I could tell by the flare of his nostrils and the twitch of his eyebrow, his hands were itching to touch me.

Valiantly, he refrained by keeping his hands to himself while I toyed with him. Whispering, on my tiptoes, into his ear, I asked, "Is it our flat when I'm writhing beneath you and screaming your name?" My finger lightly circled around his chest under his stiff and tight white shirt.