The Only Exception - {TOM HOLLAND}

T W E N T Y F O U R

"Don't do that."

Tom raises an eyebrow, "what?"

"Bite your lip," you say, tracing circles along his collarbones with the tip of your finger, "it's distracting."

"Oh, is it?" Tom asks and the fucker has the audacity to bite his lip again.

With a huff, you move forward and hide your face in his neck. Tom lets out a laugh and wraps his arms around you even more than before, rolling onto his back so you're mostly star-fished on top of him. The bed is still warm and cozy from sleep, and your legs are tangled with both Tom's legs and the sheets.

One of his hands start to play with your sleep matted hair, and you let out a content sigh as you feel yourself doze off a little. Your hair is being played with, you're cozied up with your boyfriend, the morning sun makes your skin feel absolutely wonderful.

"How much longer do you think we have?" You ask through a yawn.

Tom shrugs, "don't know—probably not much longer."

You turn your head and press a kiss to Tom's bare shoulder, your nose following with a few Eskimo kisses to the same spot. Tom uses his hand to cup your cheek and turns your head to face him. Without much prompting, you lean to give him a proper; short and sweet. You take your finger and run it along his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

"Huh," you note and lean forward a little more, "got some freckles there baby."

"Not many," Tom says, "I think Paddy took them all."

"Shit that's for sure," you agree as you continue to run your finger around Tom's face.

Around his hairline, around the ridge of his jaw, and around the line of his lips. He playfully opens his mouth to mock-bite at your index finger. You laugh and pull your finger away, putting on a mock pout at the attack.

Tom lets out a sigh, and his hand run down your back until his palms rest dangerously close to your butt. He's looking at you with almost a hurt look, that is until he bites his damn lip once again.

"Hey, I told you to stop that," you whine.

"Yeah? Well you need to stop pouting love—it's distracting," Tom says, echoing your words from earlier.

Before much else could be said or done you both hear a door down the hall click open. It is followed by little pitter-pattering footsteps, and you give Ezra a big smile when he bumbles into the room. His hair is sticking up in seven different directions, his shoulders are slightly hunched, and he's using one hand to rub the crust out of his eyes.

Tom sits up with his arms still around you, which means you're now sitting in his lap and you don't mind in the slightest.

"Morning bug," Tom greets.

"Hi Daddy," Ezra yawns and marches over to the foot of the bed to crawl up onto the mattress, "hi Mum."

You lean over, still in Tom's hold, and help Ezra up. The four-year-old eagerly crawls over and wedges himself between you and Tom. Tom peppers the boy's face with kisses which makes Ezra shriek in delight.

"Did you sleep well?" Tom asks.

Ezra nods, "uh-huh. With all my plushies too, they keep me safe."

"Good, that's good," Tom encourages and pats his son's back.

You feel your insides melting at the scene beside you. Seriously, Tom and Ezra make your heart race and your stomach feel full of butterflies. With a loving touch, you use your thumb to wipe some dried drool off Ezra's cheek.