Everlasting: A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic(part1)

The Norse God Himself

Walking down the cobbled streets of Westminster, the brisk chill in the air made me pull my coat tighter around me. It was early November and it was fast becoming cold. My gloved fingers tentatively clutched at my grandmother's locket for good luck. This was my first time presenting my artwork in front of anyone, and I was very nervous, but I was also in a hurry. Clearly not having paid attention to where I was going, I ran right into a tall and fashionably dressed young man of no more than 35 years. My sketchbooks fell to the v ground, pages flying everywhere.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-" I trailed off.

The young man smiling back at me apologetically was the Norse god himself, Tom Hiddleston.

I couldn't believe I was staring at Tom freaking Hiddleston! Like, oh my god! Then I remembered that I just ran smack into him.

"I'm so sorry." I apologized again. "I'm just in a hurry. Oh, I got some dirt on your sleeve." I hastily tried to wipe it off, but it just smudged the dirt on what used to be an impeccable white shirt.

"It's quite alright," Tom replied with a grin. "I never did care much for this one anyway."

I glanced at his face awkwardly, managing a slight grin of my own.

"Where are you headed to, ah. What was your name again?"

I giggled nervously, "My name is Nyssa."

He smiled and said, "What a beautiful name for an even lovelier woman."

I seemed lost in his beautiful blue eyes, until the cold November wind blew down my neck and made me shiver.

"I hate to cut this short, but I really must be going. My ass is on the line and so is my pride." I began gathering up my sketches and paintings when Tom laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Where are you headed? It's starting to get dark out and it would be safer to have an escort."

At this, I looked up. He bent down to help pick up my sketches and books, which had barely missed a puddle.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," I began.

"It's no trouble at all. Maybe you can tell me a little more about yourself along the way." I shyly agreed. I just couldn't resist that brilliant smile.

Walking down the dimly lit cobblestoned streets of Westminster with Tom Hiddleston was an interesting experience. You would think there would be a lot of paparazzi around, but there wasn't.

I had been telling Tom of life back in the States, where I went to school, and how I ended up in England in the first place. He was a great listener, and asked frequent questions. I learned he had two sisters and had actually grown up here in  Westminster. Above all else, he was fascinated by my artwork.

"When did you start drawing?" he asked, intently leafing through one of my three books.

"Oh, I don't know. I've been drawing ever since I can remember. But drawing is only one of my many passions."

He gave me a devilishly adorable grin and whispered, "What other sort of passions?" and winked.

I blushed a bright crimson, and murmured, "I love literature, especially Shakespeare. And I was involved in my school choir for four years. But I also love writing and cooking."

Tom smiled. "Is that all? You're quite cultured. What play of Shakespeare's is your favorite?"

"Oh, that's easy. If I want comedy, it has to be Twelfth Night. But for a tragedy, it would be either Hamlet our Othello."

Tom let out a small laugh and said, "Ah, to be or not to be."

I was genuinely enjoying this impossibility of meeting this wonderful man. We weren't far from the gallery now, and I was reluctant to leave.

Just as I was mulling over these depressing thoughts, Tom whispered in my ear, "Since the probability of ever setting my sights on your lovely face again is very slim-"

At this, Tom grabbed me by the waist, causing my sketchbooks and paintings to fall to the ground. He backed me up against the old brick building, his broad muscular chest pressing against me. Tilting my face up to look at him, he lowered his lips to mine; he was passionate, yet gentle. His hand slid from my face down to my hip, and I found my arms winding up around his neck, drawing him closer, to savor the moment.

When we drew away from each other, all we could do was gaze into each other's eyes, so full of the passion that was just felt a moment ago.

I drew in a shaky breath, clinging to Tom's muscled arms. "I just, wow," I breathed at last.

Tom was breathing heavily and huskily replied, "I'm sorry. I just- I just had to do that. I felt if I didn't, I would regret it for the rest of my life." My arms remained around his neck, and his hands found their way around my waist, up to my face, and back down to my hips.

"Please, don't apologize. That was- was the most amazing moment of my life," I gasped. I ran my fingers through his silky curls, and Tom let out a moan. "You have no idea what that does to me Nyssa." I kept running my fingers through his hair, at the nape of his neck.

He grabbed one of my hands and kissed the knuckles, murmuring, "If you keep that up, there might be consequences." I giggled softly. "Such mighty threats, Mr. Hiddleston. I guess I shall have to suffer the consequences," I whispered as I fingered a loose curl at the base of his neck.

At this, Tom pushed me back against the wall, his hands at my hips. I tilted my face up to meet his demanding and devouring mouth. Instead of the sweet kisses he had given me mere moments ago, these new kisses were hungry and passionate, needy. My arms tightened around him, drawing him closer to my body. I knew I couldn't have this man, not in a million years. But now, in this moment, he almost felt within my reach.

His lips, so soft and sensual. His large, roaming hands, with slender fingers. In this moment, he was my Asgardian warrior, and I was his prize.