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The first thing you notice about Tom's room is just how boyish it is. Despite being one of the most well-loved young stars in Hollywood, and having that change most of him, Tom's room is still how you'd imagine every 20-something boy's to be -- posters tacked aimlessly on the wall, bed unmade, a strewn pile of dirty clothes in the corner. It's a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the hectic celebrity life can just wash away for a few short hours. It's here, in this sanctuary, that you find Tom, bent down and scanning a stack of Playstation games on a bookshelf. He mumbles the titles to himself which makes you smile; it's a quirk he's had since high school and only adds to the goofiness you love.
"What a view," you say.
Tom turns and grins at you. "Oh, hey, you made it. I was just picking out a game. What are you in the mood for?"
"Mm, I don't know." You bite your lip and Tom's eyes bulge; it's the exact reaction you were hoping for. You waltz forward at a painstakingly slow pace before stopping just behind Tom's arched bottom and massaging it. He moans beneath your touch for a moment then straightens, turning to look at you.
"We're here to game, remember?"
"Sure, whatever you say," you smirk, with an added eye-roll for good measure.
Tom pokes your chest hard. His bony fingers are surprisingly effective. "Knock it off, asshole. Now, come on, let's get our controllers."
"Fine, fine. What are we playing?"
"Whatever's in the system," Tom says before thrusting a gaming controller at you. You both collapse to the floor, backs pressed against the foot of Tom's bed, and stare at the television screen. It comes to life, displaying the Sony logo, then the game begins -- some zombie one you don't recognize. It's easy enough, though, and soon you're firing at the digital living dead. Beside you, Tom is enthralled in the game. You'd think he wasn't holding a controller but an actual gun with the force he's applying. It's actually kind of humorous, the way he grunts and curses beneath his breath.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he asks suddenly, not taking his eyes from the screen. You notice your character isn't moving, and in your lap, your controller is still. You've become so enamored by Tom's passion that you've stopped playing.
"Sorry," you mutter. Before you can take up moving again, though, the screen pauses.
Tom turns to you and playfully strokes your jaw. You shiver beneath his warm touch, how strange. "I can tell you're not into this." You shrug; your eyes are apologetic. "That's okay. I'll tell you what, how about we make it more interesting. You ever heard of the game where you drink after something happens?" You nod. "How about instead of drinking, we strip? At the end of each round, whoever has fewer kills has to take something off. That sound good?"
You smirk. "I'll be naked in no time."
"That works for me. Come on, let's start a new round."
You play through the first round which ends in you winning. You gasp when you see the screen declaring Tom a loser. "What the hell? How's that possible?"
"I don't know," Tom says, shrugging his shoulders dramatically and drawing out each word. It's more than clear that he's let you win. Though you should be upset that he isn't playing fair, you can't deny what an amazing feeling it is to watch Tom strip.
For his first piece of clothing, Tom grabs onto the back of his shirt and yanks it over his head where it falls to a heap on the floor. His body is something else entirely; it always has been since the moment you saw it after gym class your freshman year. Then it was just a lanky frame of a teenager, wet from the showers and pale. Now, years of intense exercise and rigorous filming have turned a lanky boy into a chiseled man. With a stomach of etched lines and a chest of bulging muscle and arms as thick as lead, it's like Tom has been crafted from the Arthurian stone.
"See something you like?" Tom teases.
"Like? No," You say, crawling up and onto Tom's lap. You straddle his hips and run your hands along the hard lines of his body. The skin is hairless and buttery beneath your touch. As you travel lower, down his chest and belly button, Tom moans. "I love what I see."
"Yeah?" Tom is panting. It's amazing, you think, just how quickly he crumbles. "Do you love what you touch?"
"There aren't enough words to describe how I feel," you admit. Tom's mouth twitches into a smile then he's on you. His kiss is deliberate at first, a painstakingly slow approach as your lips part and you begin exploring the depths of each other. It's a tease, though, and you only grab a taste before Tom is pulling away. He stares at you admiringly and you blush. His eyes are penetrating; always have been. While no one else can see into you, it's as if Tom has some kind of magnetic pull. It peels apart the layers of you and leaves you wholly exposed.
"I just can't get over this," he says breathlessly, even though neither of you has moved for a solid five minutes. It's as if you take his breath away.
"What can't you get over?" you ask.
Tom grins and motions over your body. "This, you. I can't believe you're mine."
Truthfully, you can't either. Tom could have any guy he wants but he's chosen you. All of your flaws and your faults that weigh on your shoulders are specks of dust that Tom flicks away. When you are with him, nothing else matters. The thought is enough to send fireworks off in your chest. You pull him in for another kiss, this one fiercer and far more eager than the last. As you press against him, Tom's hands travel to the hem of your shirt. You breathe just long enough to allow him to pull it free, then you're back at it, mouths tangling.
Neither of you says anything as your lips trail off and you nibble at each other's necks. You hiss as Tom sucks at the skin; you're sure a bruise is forming but you don't care. It'll be a reminder of your embrace. You move farther down and soon Tom's mouth can't reach you. Your tongue is warm and slick as it trails across his muscles, swirling his erect nipples and filling the crevices beneath his pecs. His hands find your hair and tangle in it as he encourages you lower. Your heartbeat quickens as your eyes lock onto the drawstring of his sweatpants. The outline pressing into the fabric is clue enough to what lay beneath.
"Yes, baby," he says, nodding eagerly.
Your mouth is practically watering as you undo the string and pull down the waistband. Tom's erection springs free and smacks against his stomach, causing him to moan softly. You wrap your fingers around it gingerly and bring it to your mouth. Tom quivers as you run your tongue along the length, tasty the cleanness of him.
"Did you shower?" You ask before resuming licking.
He nods. "I wanted to be ready for you. Is it alright?"
"Tastes fucking great." You pull him between your lips then and he bucks. He breathes your name which only encourages you. You swirl your tongue around his head and flick it across his slit. Precome leaks and you lap it up, using it as a mixture with your spit to soak Tom's rod. His veins pulse as you bob your head up and down, every so often teasing him in your throat. His hands knit in your hair and guide your rhythm; you let him without complaint. With your hands free of holding him, you begin rubbing the length of his torso, feeling how his stomach muscles constrict as he glides between your lips.
"Oh, my God," he moans, head lolled back and eyes squinted shut. "It feels so good, baby. So...fucking...good." His moans are a chime that grow higher with each word.
You come off his cock with a pop. Panting, you say, "I love...your cock."
You purse your lips and fit them around Tom's head. His slit, soaked in precome, disappears as you slurp. Tom giggles at the new motion. "I'm sorry. It feels good, tickles really. It's just funny." You raise an eyebrow and Tom continues, "It's like I'm a fucking Slurpee, babe."
You laugh then, a heavy breath escaping your nose, and come off Tom. You kiss for a moment, a fire blazing between you, then say, "And what flavor of Slurpee does that make you?"
"Hm, good question." He taps his chin methodically before diving forward and biting into your shoulder. It isn't painful but it's enough to jolt you. You push him away and he laughs heartily. "I guess I'd be green apple because I have a bite."
"Har-har," you taunt. "So funny. It's a good thing you're not known for your jokes. Now, come on, it's your turn."
"Damn right it is." Tom sets you aside and rolls onto his stomach. He wiggles out of his sweatpants before shimmying down your jeans. When he's done, you sit in just your tee shirt with Tom's hand stroking your burning erection. He teases you for a moment, gliding his thumb over your slit. It's agonizing torture and it fuels the increasing desire within. Tom knows this, too. The smirk on his face as he whispers, "Is something wrong, baby?" is evident enough of that.
"You know what's wrong," you hiss.
"Yeah, I do. Just say the words and I'll stop."
"Tom, stop...fuck!...dicking around."
He shakes his head and makes a "tsk" sound. "Those aren't the words."
"Fine. Suck...my...cock. Please."
"There it is," he says, then he's on you. The familiar slick warmth overcomes you and you slip into a chasm of pure ecstasy. Goosebumps erupt on your arms and legs as Tom bobs his head, as he swirls his tongue beneath your head and over your slit, as he pulls you into his throat and gargles. You buck your hips and throw your head back with a cry of his name. It's music to Tom's ears, inviting. He practically swallows your cock. You are sure that if he could, Tom would keep you in his mouth forever. You are his IV, the medicine that keeps his passion alive.
Eventually, he comes off you, a long string of spit and precome connecting you. You giggle at it and point. "You have a little something..."
"Oh, here?" He points just to the left of the spit.
"No, it's..."
"Here?" Just to the right.
"Asshole," you quip. "Come here." You envelop him in a hug as you kiss once more. The taste of you lingers on his tongue and you revel in it. It pains you to pull away but you do and peel off your shirt. Naked, you wrestle forward and steady yourself on your hands and knees. Tom takes the cue immediately, massaging your bare cheeks in his palms.
"Fucking Christ," he breathes. "Your ass is just so plump and...and..."
"Juicy?" you finish for him.
He smacks your ass and you yelp. "Don't get corny. Now, you ready for this?"
"Eat my ass, Tom."
As soon as his tongue connects with your opening, you melt into the floor. Your arms fall limp and your cheek collides with the carpet. Your breath becomes heady and desperate as your hole twitches and spit enters you. It's almost like a superpower of Tom's; instead of shooting webs from his hands, his tongue is a key to your ass. With the right maneuver, he opens you.
"Fuck...oh my...Tom...more." Your words are muddied and uncomprehensive. The desire that has crept up your spine has leaked into your mind. All that matters is Tom's tongue in your hole, his hand on your cheeks, and the way you want it to last forever. Nothing good can, though, and soon Tom is pulling away, wiping a hand over his drenched mouth.
He smirks at you as you glance over your shoulder. "How was that?"
"The best as always," you concede. "I'm ready for you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I want your cock, Tom. Fucking fill me with that cock." The words do exactly what they're supposed to do: kickstart Tom.
He holds your ass steady and centers his tip against your opening. You've already loosened enough so that when he slides in, it's effortless. Still, you gasp; a tiny, squeaky gasp. Then you laugh and Tom joins.
"Fuck, I nearly forgot how...Oh!...good that feels," you admit.
Tom kneads your cheeks like dough and presses further in. "Me too, baby. You're so fucking tight. Christ, I needed this."
He starts thrusting then, each time hitting you in just the right spot. He knows the moves, the words, and the chords. Of course, he does. You were the first he made love to and that means something for the both of you. An invisible string binds you tautly and when you are together, that string relaxes. You are not two people but one whole entity. And as Tom picks up speed, rocking your body forward, he only further proves this.
"Fu-uh-uh-uck," you moan through the vibration of your core. "Ha-ar-ar-der, Tom."
Suddenly, Tom snatches your face in his hands and pulls you back for a kiss. Your lips lock for a moment, then he's knocking your head away. It's the ferociousness you've come to love. Like a tiger with a cub, he's silently saying, "You will love me but you will obey me." You are perfectly fine with both.
"Shit," he cries out after a few more thrusts. He pulls out of you and collapses on his ass, back pressed against the bed. "Ride me. I want to see you when I come."
You say nothing but simply smile as you saddle up and slide down on his cock. His veininess pulses against your walls as he guides you up and down. At the same time, his lips never detach from yours, your tongues never cease their enchanting dance. It is only when you feel Tom swell do you pull apart, and even then it is only for Tom to cry out his release.
You arch your back and lean onto your palms as Tom's come fills you. That familiar jolt of warm juice smacking against your spot overpowers you and soon your own length is pulsating. You stroke it one, two, three times then whimper. Your come paints the lines of Tom's stomach, it fills the crevices like the waters of Jordan. Tom wipes at the come and brings his fingers to your mouth. You lick them graciously then pull up for a kiss. You swirl the release between your tongues for a moment before swallowing shared halves. When you're done, you collapse beside each other. The heat slowly drains from your sweaty bodies but the passion remains.
Tom nudges you after a moment. "Was that the game you wanted to play?"
"Oh, definitely," you smirk. "I don't think you played fair, though. A rematch might be in order."
"Is that so? Well then, Mister Referee, how about you head to the shower? Round two is going to be a little wetter."
You stand and walk towards the bathroom door, a spring in your step. "That sounds good to me. Oh, and Tom?"
He stops wiping at the remaining come on his chest with his shirt and stares at you wide-eyed. You bite your lip and wink but not before saying, "I'm player one this time."
He drops the shirt and races forward. You yelp as he takes you into his arms and carries you into the shower.